Those Confusing Newcomers!

First, as you have heard me say before, there were numerous different kinds of newcomers that came to what is now known euphemistically as the “Emerald Triangle”.

The very first newcomers seemed to be hard core drug addicts that they had chased out of the cities. They came to Humboldt County because we paid larger welfare allotments. There were quite a few old tumble down mill-shacks left over from the declining lumber industry. The newcomers figured that if nobody was living in them that they must be a free place to live. They figured that if they didn’t squat in them that somebody else would. The locals started “cleaning up” the old mill-camps by bulldozing or burning the abandoned houses.

The next wave of newcomers were trust-fund babies and back-to-the-landers. They were a little more sophisticated than the drug addicted trash that were the predominant part of the fist wave. This second wave of people were people with means and education. They either had the wealth or knew how to parley themselves a piece of land. Some of the poorer folk fell prey to the land speculators that were willing to take their money. The speculators would sell them land with a large balloon payment at the end of the year. The second wave of newcomers sold “Humboldt Homegrown” to their friends back in the city. Some were even able to pay for “their land”.

They always referred to “their land” as just that, “their land”. They never called it “home”, or anything other than “Their land”. The first thing that they did is put up NO-Trespassing signs. They jealously guarded their borders like they thought that they owned a small country or something. You could no longer take a hike in the woods. Woe be unto him that stepped of a newcomers “Land”. That trend became noticeable to the children of the area. The children were used to being able to hike to the top of Pratt Mountain, or scale Bear Buttes. It was kinda’ thought of as free range around here for the kids. Often the kids would run across somebody on a horse out riding the range and checking on the sheep or the cattle. The kids would always wave and say hello, or brag about their latest quest. The admonishment from the riders was always “take care of yourself and don’t get hurt.” Otherwise it was understood that you should just have fun.

The biggest thing that was different about the newcomers, that I have only been able to recently put my finger on, is that they didn’t seem to have standards! When I was growing up, everybody knew what their favorite pick-up truck was. It was either a Ford or a Chevy. Some of the outsiders that showed up in the late fifties and early sixties drove “Corn-Binders" as they called the International Harvester trunks. They are simply called International trucks now. But, back then, most people referred to them with a certain amount of disdain. They were called “flat-Lander Trucks” or “Okie Trucks”.

There were other trucks, like Studebaker or Dodge. It always seemed like the people that owned them were trying to put on airs. They were always trying to justify why they thought that they were better, or cheaper, than a Ford or a Chey.  Those people with high standards knew that there were really only two trucks, Ford and Chevy. But, Corn-Binders were a laughable truck for the logging roads back then. Everybody knew that a person needed to make a good run at at few of the logging road hills. Or make a run at a mudhole to get accross. Corn-binder were as heavy as a lump of lead, they always got stuck in the mud or they never seemed to get over the top of the hill. Maybe it was just the flatlanders drivers, nobody knows, because no self-respecting logger would drive one.

There didn’t seem to be much difference between the two trucks. The best part about owning a ford was being able to make fun of the people that owned Cheys, and visa-versa. The bragging and ridicule was discussed to great length in the local beer bars. Sometimes the discussions ended up outside, rolling and fighting in the dust or the mud, depending on the season.

When the wave of newcomers came to town in the late sixties and early seventies, they didn’t drive Fords or Chevys. Most of them drove old beat-up and gaily painted Volkswagen's, or some other foreign made, non-patriotic vehicle. My God, NO standards what-so-ever! Can you image the shock of the people that were used to actually fighting each other over what was the best truck???

Then we had our favorite beer, depending on which canyon you lived in. In our particular, South Fork of the Eel canyon, you drank Lucky Lager or Olympia, Nicknamed lovingly as “Lucky” or “Oly”. The same disputes rose out of which was the best beer. Sometimes it was back outside in the dust and mud again. As was the custom of the time, the winner of the fight would graciously buy the loser a “good beer” always the winners favorite brand.

Then of course, being good people of high standards, the local men were very proud of their work. They were either a logger, or they were mill men. With the usual settling of the argument of superiority in the dust or mud outside. It was considered an insult to not ask somebody what they did for a living, they were quite proud of being a millworker or a logger. It was acceptable to work in a grocery store of a gas station, not everybody could qualify to be a real man and work in the lumber industry. Strangely, the newcomers that moved into this country, that were able to get lumber jobs, were readily accepted. As a newcomer you knew that you were accepted, because of the endless ribbing about being a Newcomer, it never stopped. Some are still confused though, the newcomers never seemed to try to understand the locals. They just looked at us with incredulity on their faces. They never really tried to understand US!

What you did in the mill counted for brownie points in the pecking order. The top of the pecking order would be the sawfilers, then the millwrights, then the lumber graders, then the sawyer, the edgerman, the planer men, the planer-chain pullers, then the green-chain pullers. Then if anybody disagreed with that order, it could always be settled in the dust or the mud, but the winner always had to buy the beer. Sometimes the loser would think that he won and try to buy the beer, that always ended up back outside again until it became very clear who got to buy the beer.

The woods was much the same, it always seemed to follow the progression of things, the top of the pecking order was the fallers or choppers, the newcomers called them “timber fellers”. That caused no end of belly laughter, after a hundred or so years of being “choppers” or “fallers” the newcomers re-named them "fellers". In the local language a “feller” was somebody that just showed up and didn’t know what kind of a man he was yet. Then on down the pecking order was the Catskinners, the truckers and the choker setters. The bottom of the heap was the swampers, or knot bumpers.

The Choppers always had their favorite saw. Back in the fifties and sixties it was a Homelite or a McCullogh. If you owned any other kind of  saw, nobody would hire you, because it was VERY clear that you didn’t know what you were doing. The “best brand of saw” was most often determined in the dust or the mud. The only difference that I could ever see was a McCullogh cut faster, if you could get it started. A Homelite was easy to start and dependable, it just cut a little slower. At the end of the week the choppers would cut about the same amount of timer. But, they would still argue about who's brand was the best.

The newcomers never really caught on to how things were supposed to be around here. They thought that we were just supposed to blindly accept them. You have got to be kidding! We didn’t even accepted ourselves!