Now, I'm going to tell you some stories of Oregon laws. This one is about the Initiative and Referendum. Away back in 1885, there was a man running a newspaper in Albany, Oregon, named John W. Roark. He was a strong believer in real democracy; that the people of a democracy should do things directly. He had a good, strong voice and was a pretty good orator. So he sold his paper, bought a wagon and a pair of cayuses, and with his wife and two children started out to convert the State. For the next four years he visited every section of Oregon, preaching the gospel of direct primaries, and for the peoples' control. It was a political question for both parties. Then a man named Nelson, a painter in Portland, became a zealot in behalf of the measure. Once when the two political parties each had their convention in Salem at the same time, he played one against the other. He made them believe that each had to beat the other to it. Finally Roark, Nelson and Mrs. (Henderson) Lewelling, got together and formulated a law that they introduced to the legislature. That was when U'ren stopped into the picture. Later, when submitted to the people, the measure carried and became a law. But it was Roark, who died in 1891, who may truthfully be said to be the father of Oregon's Initiative and Referendum Act.
Now as to the Parole Law. Judge Henry McGinn (on the circuit bench of Oregon from 1910 to 1916), was a warm personal friend of mine. Whenever he was disturbed over some question he would come in here and talk it over. Sometimes he would get so excited he would jump up, prance around the room and shed half his clothes; while he cussed and slapped his hands together. He had a great habit of slapping his hands. In 1909 there was an old gentleman and his wife in Portland, named Henderson. They had two sons in Alaska, and one of the boys came home, bringing gold dust to the amount of $700.00, which he turned over to his father to pay off a mortgage for that sum on their home. As the old man was going down town to pay the mortgage he was robbed by a young fellow with a gun. Well, the money was gone, he couldn't get in touch with his sons, and it looked like the old folks were going to lose their home after all. But the very next day, after the robbery, a prostitute in the old Paris House, at 4th and Couch streets, called the Police Department and reported that a young fellow, drunk and with a lot of money was at her place, and for the police to come and get him. The police got him all right, but he only had a little of the money left. Three weeks later the young robber went to trial. When Henry came in then he had the worst spasm of all. He raved and swore. The boy was going to prove guilty and there was nothing to do but send him to the penitentiary. But what good was that going to do anybody? It wouldn't save the old people's home, and it would probably mean the boy's eternal ruination. I took my apron off and sat down facing the judge. "Now, Judge," I said, "haven't I read somewhere that a circuit judge can make the law? If that's the cases if I were you, I'd make a little law. Give the boy the limit, and hold the commitment over him till he pays that money back; and then tear the commitment up." The Judge cussed something awful. "There ain't no law for that," he yelled. "To hell with the law," [sez?] I. "Yes," sez he, "You'd have the guts to do it, law or no law." Well, the case went before the judge; the prosecuting attorney did his stunt, and the lawyer for the defense put in a plea of guilty. I can hear McGinn snort now, as he delivered sentence, which in effect was: "You can't escape that way. That was a cold-blooded robbery that deserves the limit of a 25-year sentence to the penitentiary." The court was aghast. Then the Judge continued, "Your going to the penitentiary won't help these old people to keep their home. But with that sentence hanging over you you can undertake payments on the mortgage so as to stop foreclosure proceedings, and you can keep on doing that until the mortgage release is in my hands." At that the father of the boy spoke up and said he could raise the money right away if they'd let his boy off. But the Judge held that by doing that the boy wasn't being punished at all; his father was. Finally he made the decision that if the boy would make restitution to his father, it could be managed that way. So the father paid the mortgage, and the boy paid his father a little at a time, and when he got it all paid the judge tore the commitment up. That started the parole law, the passage of which was forced through the very next session of the state legislature.
Comment:
Mr. Coulter proved an almost perfect informant, very generously giving the interviewer more than two hours' time, and patiently explaining and showing his various instruments and the improvements he has worked out.
F.E. Coulter, Lutier