November 04, 2003

'locally the most celebrated doggerel ever penned'

It would be difficult to imagine Portland without its bridges, several of which can be seen in the aerial photograph that serves as part of this site's banner. And so I bring you another excerpt from Portland: People, Politics, and Power, 1851-2001 by Jewel Lansing:

The Morrison Bridge opened April 11, 1887; it was the first bridge across the Willamette and the longest vehicular bridge west of the Mississippi River. The wooden bridge was built and operated by a private company with the consent and ecnouragement of the city council. Portlanders on both sides of the river joined in jubilant celebration. All bridge traffic was free the first day. Afterward, the toll was five cents for foot travelers, loose sheep, and hogs; ten cents for loose horses, cattle, and a lone horse with rider; fifteen cents for a wagon with a single horse and driver; and twenty cents for a wagon with two horses and one driver.

Agitation for a bridge had been especially strong on the east side. Candidates running for office had always favored such a bridge, but were dissuaded by ferryboat interests after election day. This waiting engendered a poem, "locally the most celebrated doggerel ever penned," by a printer named Stephen Mayhill. The seven verses, of which the first and last are printed below, bemoaned the fate of a lad who sat on the riverbank, waiting, waiting, waiting -- "through boyhood, through middle age, and into senility, chanting endlessly."

Behind the pines had sunk the sun,
  And darkness jung o'er Oregon,
When on the banks of Willamette
  A youth was seen to set and set;
And set and sing unto the moon
  A wild, yet sweet pathetic tune --
"They're going to build, I feel it yet,
  A budge across the Willamette."

***

Years pass'd -- there came a trav'ler roun'
  To visit our East Portland town;
As on the river he stood,
  He saw a sight that froze his blood;
Right there beneath the glowing sun,
  There sat a ghostly skeleton,
Which turned its hideous, fleshless head,
  And grinned most horribly, and said:
"They're going to build, I feel it yet.
  A bridge across the Willamette."

Regardless of how the name was pronounced (even then, Willamette correctly rhymed with "dammit" rather than "yet"), the river would never again be a formidable barrier to trade and communication.

Lansing received more press today, this time from the Portland Tribune, in an article which includes the dates and times of her upcoming book-signing events. I'll be at the one this Thursday afternoon at City Hall.

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