This is a newspaper story about his tragic death that hung in Uncle Thomas's house for many years. It is very fragile. It's kept in a frame to protect it for as long as possible.
Here is the story that is written at the bottom of the page:
Oscar Johnson, young fearless, broad-shouldered, strong limb and strong of heart, was carried into the very maw of death and lived to jest of the terrible experience. So close had he looked into the face of the grim angle that he scoffed and jeered at its fateful power, once he had escaped its clutches and then-but that is the squeal. Johnson's friends tell with baited breath the second chapter, for the young man was so daring is on more among the men who live.
Where the broad Columbia River sweeps southward through Central Washington there is a distance of several miles down which the waters tumble and roar. This is Priest Rapids, the roughest most dangerous part of all the hundreds of miles that make up the mighty stream. Cascade after cascade marks the progress of the water as it dashes between the granite islands that block the current's course and over the giant boulders that strew its downward path. That a human being could pass down those rapids and live is a marvel of that outstrip action.
Above the rapids the Handford Irrigation Company is putting in a dam to force the waters into its canal. Foreman of this work was Johnson, 25 years old, tall and striking in appearance. In the swift current of the river great square cribs of wood are put in position to be filled with rock and other heavy material as a foundation for the dam. These cribs are held in place from the shore by heavy iron cables. Blocks of ice were floating swiftly down the stream on the bosom of a rising current when the crib in which Johnson worked snapped its shore cable and careened into the foaming waters of the rapids.
Like a rat in a trap was the foreman caught, and a cry of horror arose from on-shore, who had no idea of seeing their leader alive again. Down, down the path of the seething current was the cribbing carried; over and over it rolled as it struck rock and island, but the man it carried, agile as a cat fighting for his life as he never fought before, kept above the water ans out of harms way as his strange craft tore madly on its course.
For below the starting point of this wild ride the water, for a short distance, flows smooth and quiet, as if resting from its wild flight preparatory to its next leap downward. Reaching this place, though almost exhausted, Johnson managed to cast himself free and swim for the shore. Soon his companions were with him, joyful of his miraculous escape.
A week passed, and then the second chapter. Johnson thought he was immune from death; that his time had not come and he could brave the fate he chose. He kindled a fire with dynamite used in blasting for the company's work and instantly the scythe of his reaper cut him low. With a workman named John E. Bluher, he was engaged in thawing out his explosive. This is the story that Bluher tells:
"At about 2 o'clock p.m. on February 12, Johnson and I are standing near a little fire, where he was thawing out powder. He carelessly tried to rekindle the fire, which had burned low, with dynamite. He held a stick in his hand and was breaking off small pieces with his left hand and throwing them into the fire. He was standing then about two feet from twenty-four sticks of dynamite which he was thawing. The stick in his hand, and the twenty-four nearby appeared to explode all at the same time. Johnson was killed instantly, and was thrown fifteen to twenty feet be the force of the explosion."
It's a hell of a way to go, in my opinion.
Here is a picture of his funeral:
"Oscar Johnson's funeral at Priest Rapids in Washington
He was killed February 12th, 1908."
Not sure who has this picture. I just have a photo copy of it.
A number of years ago my parents went out to Washington to find where he was buried.
Here is a copy of a picture from Maptech, Inc copyright 2002:
If you look real close you will see where it says Johnson Grave.
My dad made a marker and was able to put it on the spot where his body is.
Well, that is the tragic tale of my Great Uncle Joel Oscar Johnson.
But there are still so many unanswered questions.
Like how involved was he with his girlfriend.
Do I have family in Washington that we don't know about?
Will I ever know the reason he went out to Washington to work?
Maybe someday I will learn more about him. But the odds of that happening are growing smaller as each day goes by.
Well that's all for now.
I hope you will come back again soon for more Fading History.
Till then.
Your friend,
Sandy
