Four Rubbings

Chapter 17: Seth Patches Together a Life

WHEN I DO RESEARCH, I like to peel back the layers of a project like an onion. Most times, I get so deep inside the onion that I can't remember what I was searching for in the first place.

Tonight's research is the same. After discovering an article about the drowning of Sergeant Paxton's hometown, I can't help but find out how this fifty-year-old piece of history was saved. And that's how I found Jessie Case, my new hero.

The article about the watery ghost town of Hover would've been lost forever if it weren't for a group of communications students at Columbia Basin College, led by Jessie Case. A child of the Tri-Cities, Seattle's sagebrush sister to the east, Jessie knew urban media outlets like Seattle Timesarchived everything. But the history of dusty farming communities was never considered worth saving by big city folks until she made it her personal mission.

Looking for a valid senior project, Jessie Case found her subject from a blurb in the local paper: the Tri-City Herald. In an attempt to cut costs in the bad economy, the paper planned to empty a century of old newspapers and photos from a costly storage warehouse. Jessie got the blessing of her professor, secured funding and organized volunteers to document, scan and archive every old article. She created a website and posted the old newspaper articles online. Slowly, the website became a rich, well-organized virtual library. And three years after earning her bachelor's degree with honors, Jessie Case still leads the foundation, traveling to other parts of the country to raise money by organizing similar programs for all the overlooked rural nooks and crannies of the United States. And that is why Jessie Case is my new hero.

A quick glance out of my window at the star-filled sky tells me that it is nearly time for some shut-eye. I switch on my desk lamp and hunch over a copy of the newspaper article that explains the fate of Sergeant Paxton's hometown. Once a humble farming community on the banks of the mighty Columbia River in eastern Washington, Hover boasted a lively main street that attracted shoppers with tidy brick stores that included, among others, Paxton Hardware.

After returning from World War II, Isaac Paxton had no interest, however, in running the family business. He sold the last of his inventory to nearby Prudhomme Hardware and moved to Seattle to recruit young soldiers for the U.S. Army, an easy post-war job that would bring a paycheck and benefits.

Mr. Paxton is quoted in the article: "I've got no living relatives left. I guess it's time for me to try someplace new. And I certainly don't want to be here when they open the dam and flood this place." The black and white image accompanying the article shows a fit young man, with strong shoulders and arms. But even this grainy image can't hide the pain in his eyes and the dark circles beneath.

When the McNary Dam was opened in 1957, Hover and four other towns down the Columbia flooded. Residents stood on the hill above gawking, picnicking, cheering, crying, and reminiscing as the mighty river claimed Hover one painful inch at a time. Today, the town sits preserved under the wind-chopped river. The streets are empty except for the occasional prehistoric white sturgeon that slithers through the crumpled brick rubble.

My cell phone vibrates, bringing me back to the present.

"Hi, Josie. What's up?"

"I need to talk with a friend." Her voice sounds strained and I eye the clock on my nightstand.

It's eleven minutes after eleven. I make a wish on the lucky digits. "What's going on?" I ask, typing search words into the computer.

"I had one of those weird dreams again," she pauses. "Hey, Seth. Are you in the middle of something?"

I stop typing. "I was looking a little deeper into my guy, the sergeant."

"Have you found any of his relatives yet?"