A couple of months ago I posted a story about how Kerby, Oregon was founded. I thought it was a "tall tale," but it turns out it was based on a true story.
Thanks to Kerby Jackson, well-known Southern Oregon author, historian, independent miner and mining rights advocate, I now have the original story.
It was written by Dennis H. Stovall and published in "Sunset Magazine" in 1903.
"On the stage road that leads its crooked way over the mountains from Crescent City, California, to Grants Pass, Oregon is Kerby, once known as Kerbyville. Nestling at the foot of the pine-clad hills, with one long street, and overlooking the valley and the winding river, is this, the oldest mining camp in Oregon.
Kerby today is as quiet an old town as one would care to see. But Kerby was not always asleep. There was a time when Kerbyville was the gayest and thriftiest, and exchanged more "dust," than any other mining town north of San Francisco. That was during the palmy and gold-fevered days of half a century ago. Then the streets of Kerbyville seethed with the stampede of excited gold-hunters. From a half score saloons issued day and night the boisterous merriment of reveling dancers, the clink of glasses and the monotonous hubbub of the faro tables.
Kerbyville, during those days, was in reality only a California mining camp moved over the Siskiyou range. It was composed of the same stampede that swept across the plains during the excitement of '49. A few miles below Kerbyville, on the Illinois, Josephine creek empties its waters into the larger stream, and it was here that gold was first discovered in the Oregon territory, April, 1851. It was the news of this discovery that brought the living stream over the narrow trail of the Siskiyous and started swarms of men up every gulch and creek in southern Oregon. Gold was discovered plentifully and miners flocked in by the hundreds.
Today, as the stage is borne along in a cloud of dust through the one long street, the traveler will see but a few scattered remains of the gay Kerbyville of fifty years ago. The old courthouse is gone--for here was the first county seat of Josephine. The old town hall still remains. Farther on up the street is the jail. It still stands, just as it stood forty years ago--a two-story, dark, gloomy structure, beneath the spreading branches of the entwining maple, whose limbs served as an ever-ready gallows for the popular "hangin's" of the rough and ready days.
Along the street are found the crumbling remains of the dance halls and stores. The wind and the weather, the worms and the decay of half a century have done their work, and long since put many of these out of business. The walls all lean toward the center, the windows are boarded up and a few scattered signs punctuated with the bullet marks of the old-timers' "six-guns," still cling desperately to the decaying walls.
Among the many saloons that once did duty in Kerbyville, only one remains. In that one remaining "dewdrop" stands an old billiard table. In outward appearance it is much like all other billiard tables, but in the matter of historic interest there is not another in the whole world that can equal it. To that old table is due the honors of establishing Kerbyville. It was the first brought into the state of Oregon, and, clustering about it are a multitude of historic associations more interesting, more fascinating than has ever befell a similar relic of the ivories and cue.
That old table, which seems to be tottering with age on its carved and crooked legs, was brought over the narrow and mountainous trail from Crescent City on the back of a pack mule. Anita was the old mule's name. She was the favorite pack animal of Martinez, a California and southern Oregon packer. Martinez, or "Tig," as he was more familiarly known among the miners, was under contract to deliver the table to Althouse, a mining camp of the Illinois valley. It was consigned to Jake Cohen, a saloonkeeper of the place. The mule gave way beneath her great load when within eight miles of Althouse. There was not another pack animal in the whole west that could stand up under the billiard table, so Tig was obliged to let it lay where Anita dropped it. The old packer demanded his pay of Cohen. The jew refused. The table had not been delivered. What the Mexican told the Hebrew wouldn't do to print.
At last a bright idea came into the head of Tig, the packer. He built a saloon around the table, advertised a "grand opening" and got the stampede headed his way. All of the miners of the Oregon country were there that night. With the only billiard table north of San Francisco as a drawing card, the other Illinois valley camps were deserted. The town became the leading mining camp of the Waldo hills. In 1856 Kerbyville became the county seat of Josephine, which honored position she held during the palmy days. From Eight-Dollar mountain, which stood sentinel at the valley's northern entrance, to the rising slopes of the snow-clad Siskiyous in the south, Kerbyville was supreme."
It was written by Dennis H. Stovall and published in "Sunset Magazine" in 1903.
"On the stage road that leads its crooked way over the mountains from Crescent City, California, to Grants Pass, Oregon is Kerby, once known as Kerbyville. Nestling at the foot of the pine-clad hills, with one long street, and overlooking the valley and the winding river, is this, the oldest mining camp in Oregon.
Kerby today is as quiet an old town as one would care to see. But Kerby was not always asleep. There was a time when Kerbyville was the gayest and thriftiest, and exchanged more "dust," than any other mining town north of San Francisco. That was during the palmy and gold-fevered days of half a century ago. Then the streets of Kerbyville seethed with the stampede of excited gold-hunters. From a half score saloons issued day and night the boisterous merriment of reveling dancers, the clink of glasses and the monotonous hubbub of the faro tables.
Kerbyville, during those days, was in reality only a California mining camp moved over the Siskiyou range. It was composed of the same stampede that swept across the plains during the excitement of '49. A few miles below Kerbyville, on the Illinois, Josephine creek empties its waters into the larger stream, and it was here that gold was first discovered in the Oregon territory, April, 1851. It was the news of this discovery that brought the living stream over the narrow trail of the Siskiyous and started swarms of men up every gulch and creek in southern Oregon. Gold was discovered plentifully and miners flocked in by the hundreds.
Today, as the stage is borne along in a cloud of dust through the one long street, the traveler will see but a few scattered remains of the gay Kerbyville of fifty years ago. The old courthouse is gone--for here was the first county seat of Josephine. The old town hall still remains. Farther on up the street is the jail. It still stands, just as it stood forty years ago--a two-story, dark, gloomy structure, beneath the spreading branches of the entwining maple, whose limbs served as an ever-ready gallows for the popular "hangin's" of the rough and ready days.
Along the street are found the crumbling remains of the dance halls and stores. The wind and the weather, the worms and the decay of half a century have done their work, and long since put many of these out of business. The walls all lean toward the center, the windows are boarded up and a few scattered signs punctuated with the bullet marks of the old-timers' "six-guns," still cling desperately to the decaying walls.
Among the many saloons that once did duty in Kerbyville, only one remains. In that one remaining "dewdrop" stands an old billiard table. In outward appearance it is much like all other billiard tables, but in the matter of historic interest there is not another in the whole world that can equal it. To that old table is due the honors of establishing Kerbyville. It was the first brought into the state of Oregon, and, clustering about it are a multitude of historic associations more interesting, more fascinating than has ever befell a similar relic of the ivories and cue.
That old table, which seems to be tottering with age on its carved and crooked legs, was brought over the narrow and mountainous trail from Crescent City on the back of a pack mule. Anita was the old mule's name. She was the favorite pack animal of Martinez, a California and southern Oregon packer. Martinez, or "Tig," as he was more familiarly known among the miners, was under contract to deliver the table to Althouse, a mining camp of the Illinois valley. It was consigned to Jake Cohen, a saloonkeeper of the place. The mule gave way beneath her great load when within eight miles of Althouse. There was not another pack animal in the whole west that could stand up under the billiard table, so Tig was obliged to let it lay where Anita dropped it. The old packer demanded his pay of Cohen. The jew refused. The table had not been delivered. What the Mexican told the Hebrew wouldn't do to print.
At last a bright idea came into the head of Tig, the packer. He built a saloon around the table, advertised a "grand opening" and got the stampede headed his way. All of the miners of the Oregon country were there that night. With the only billiard table north of San Francisco as a drawing card, the other Illinois valley camps were deserted. The town became the leading mining camp of the Waldo hills. In 1856 Kerbyville became the county seat of Josephine, which honored position she held during the palmy days. From Eight-Dollar mountain, which stood sentinel at the valley's northern entrance, to the rising slopes of the snow-clad Siskiyous in the south, Kerbyville was supreme."
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