Heroes and rascals, shipwrecks and lost gold: Strange but true stories and secrets of Oregon's wild past | Offbeat Oregon History The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (now known as Osho -- yes, THAT Osho) as he appeared when he lived in Wasco County with his followers. That's also him in the white Rolls-Royce surrounded by followers, in a scene from Rajneeshpuram. (Four-part story starts with Column No. 73, May 9, 2010 While doing some cleaning-up around the Odd Fellows Hall in Scio, a local girl found a tiny coffin with this partial skeleton inside. Whose? We'll probably never know ... (Story No. 204, Oct. 14, 2012) The ever-elusive D.B. Cooper peeks into the page from behind his signature shades. The story of his skyjacking exploit starts with episode 237, from June 2, 2013. Meet Kitty Kat, the wealthiest feline in the state of Oregon and landlord to the City of Tangent. Kitty Kat, until he died at a ripe old age in 1995, owned City Hall. (Story No. 163, Jan. 8, 2012) This crazy-looking speedboat was the invention of Portland wizard Victor Strode. The city commissioned a harbor patrol boat based on his design, but it didn't work out. (Story No. 201, Sept. 23, 2012) The Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh (now known as Osho -- yes, THAT Osho) as he appeared when he lived in Wasco County with his followers. That's also him in the white Rolls-Royce surrounded by followers, in a scene from Rajneeshpuram. (Four-part story starts with Column No. 73, May 9, 2010 This is the roof of the Franz Bread Rest Hut at Pixieland, the Oregon Coast's ill-starred answer to Disneyland, which opened in 1969 and went out of biz in 1974. The Rest Hut consisted of a giant fiberglass loaf of bread sticking out of the top of this giant fiberglass hollow log, the whole thing towering over a log-flume roller coaster ride. It's probably the most campily awesome example of the proud display of crass commercialism that was Pixieland. (Column No. 52 - Dec. 6, 2009)
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Goofy was from Oregon. Also Bluto, Grumpy, Sleepy, Bozo, dozens more.

Vance "Pinto" Colvig, from Jacksonville, was a pioneer in animated cartoons and a gifted show-biz man.


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When the 'Dark Strangler' preyed on Portland landladies

His M.O. was simple: While a woman was showing him a room or house for rent, he'd strangle her, take her jewelry and flee.


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The tawdriest love triangle in the history of the universe.

Lulu Reynolds was having a torrid affair with her music teacher. Her husband carried a .38 in his jacket pocket. It wasn't the kind of thing that ends well. It didn't.


A screen capture from an episode of ABC's legendary 1970s show "Happy Days." Because the show is set in 1950s Milwaukee, Wisc., "The Fonz" is actually breaking the law in this scene; pinball was outlawed in Milwaukee at the time.

Graft, corruption, racketeering, and ... uh, pinball?

Until just a few dozen years ago, pinball was illegal, and the mobbed-up characters who supplied the games played for keeps.


The front cover of the May 1946 issue of 44 Western Magazine shows a scene vaguely reminiscent of the downtown gunfight between feuding newspaper editors in 1871 Roseburg.

The Roseburg "newspaper war" that was settled with a gunfight

The owners of rival papers escalated their war of words when they went for pistols on a downtown street one morning in 1871.


An artist's sketch of what D.B. Cooper may have looked like, from an FBI bulletin sent out shortly after the skyjacking.

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The man calling himself Dan Cooper parachuted into legend, and 40 years later the case remains unsolved ... but there are plenty of theories.


The front cover art of "For Men Only" Magazine showed a scene that bore some resemblance to the scene on the day Dave Tucker robbed the bank of which  he would, 32 years later, be named Vice-President.

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After he got out of prison, Dave Tucker spent 30 years rebuilding his reputation in his hometown of Joseph, and it seems he succeeded.


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This cover illustration from "Masked Rider Western," published in 1950, bears an uncanny resemblance to the events that kicked off Vigilante rule in Crook County.

When prineville was ruled by masked vigilante riders

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Buck Rogers-style police boat didn't work out for city of Portland

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There's a piece of lava from central oregon in this photo, on the moon.

It was left there by astronaut Jim Irwin at the request of a friend from Bend — who gave him a sliver of Oregon lava to leave on the moon's surface. And so he did.


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During a conjugal visit at a cheap motel, the prisoner escaped

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James Lappeus, former Portland Chief of Police. He eventually was fired over allegations that he'd offered to 'accidentally' leave the jailhouse door open for a convicted murderer if his wife paid a $1,000 bribe.

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HOW OREGON ALMOST LOST PUBLIC ACCESS TO ITS BEACHES

A Portland real-estate guy found a loophole in the law and claimed a patch of beach for his own, and his friends in the state Legislature tried to keep it that way. Here's the story.


A color lithograph of George and Kate Ann Williams’s Victorian  mansion, located at 18th and Couch streets downtown.

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The archway monument leading up to the Wallowa County Courthouse,  built in 1936. The bronze plaque on the inside left of the arch includes  the name of murderer and horse thief Bruce “Blue” Evans.

A monument in honor of a horse thief and mass murderer?

Bruce "Blue" Evans led the gang that slaughtered over 30 innocent Chinese miners in 1887. So why is his name celebrated on a monument to Wallowa County Pioneers? . Here's the story.


Title screen from a Bugs Bunny cartoon. Mel Blanc, the legendary Looney Toons voice man, grew up in Portland.

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The gravestone of Ame, who despite having died 10 years after the Civil War, was still considered a slave.

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Ray V.B. Jackson in a booking photo from the Oregon State Pen, in 1896. Four years after this photo was taken, he was teaching grade school in Silver Lake.

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Was suspicious death in “The Boneyard” really a murder?

The coroner ruled Thomas McMahon's death an accident, and everyone moved on. But the testimony of witness Eliza “Boneyard Mary” Bunets was suspicious and contradictory. Could she have gotten away with murder?

The notorious Oregon Steam Navigation Company "boneyard,"
covering the waterfront at the north end of the North End and stocked
with old and dilapidated steamboats, as it appeared in an 1892
commemorative publication by the Portland Morning Oregonian.
(Image: City of Portland Archives)

This is the story of Portland’s coldest cold-case file — a suspicious death in the worst neighborhood of the old Stumptown waterfront, almost lost in the mists of time, 135 years ago. Was it an accident? Or a murder?

We’ll never know for sure. But there are good reasons to be suspicious.

The Night Before

Our story begins in a smoky, lamp-lit saloon in the rough part of Portland, back in early February of 1878. W.H. Harrigan, one of the tough, hardworking longshoremen who worked the docks in early Portland, was having a drink or two with his friend Thomas McMahon — known to friends and enemies alike as “Mac.”

The cover of this 1952 story of a coal-boat pilot on the Monongahela
River in Pennsylvania looks as if it could have just as easily served
as cover art for a story about late-1800s riverboat culture in Portland.
(Image: Dave Thomson collection, http://steamboats.com)

Mac was a scow operator on the river, in charge of one of the large flat-bottomed boats that helped shuttle cargo among ships in the harbor, and he lived in a cabin on board the scow.

Mac wasn’t his usual free-spirited self that evening. In fact, Mac told Harrigan he was flat-out scared. He explained that he’d gotten in a fight with a man named Jack Abrahagen a week or two before, and Abrahagen had beaten him badly and then pulled a knife. Abrahagen was, at that moment, under arrest in the city jail awaiting trial for this deadly assault, and McMahon was worried that Abrahagen would come for him and finish the job, so that he couldn’t testify against him. Would Harrigan be willing to come spend the night at his place, for protection?

Harrigan said he would. But as the night went on, the two of them proceeded to tax their capacity for intoxicating liquors. They did such a fine job of this that Harrigan was arrested for public drunkenness and thrown into the drunk tank.

It was the last time Harrigan would ever see McMahon alive.

Missing

The next day, Harrigan stopped by McMahon’s scow to check on him, and found no sign of the man anywhere.

Alarmed, Harrigan kicked in the door of the scow. There was no sign of Harrigan, but all his belongings were still there in the scow — including, most alarmingly, $4.50 (about $105 in today’s dollars) in cash.

“I then started for up town,” Harrigan said, during the coroner’s inquest that followed a few weeks later, “and after I had passed the house of Boneyard Mary she called to me and said McMahon had fallen in the river; that she saw him swimming; that she thought he had got out as someone struck a light in the scow.”

Boneyard Mary

This lithographed image from The West Shore magazine in 1887 shows the
opposite side of the river from the boneyard. At the extreme left is a man
working on a scow similar to the one Thomas McMahon would have had
charge of. (Image: Univ. of Oregon Libraries)

“Boneyard Mary” was the nickname of a woman named Eliza Bunets, who lived on one of the old riverboats in the steamboat company “boneyard” — the place where old steamboats were moored after they were mostly worn out, in case parts were ever needed. Aesthetically, the boneyard was kind of like a combination of a junkyard and a haunted mansion, the whole thing floating on an occasionally evil-smelling river at the foot of Flanders Street, decrepit by day and, in those pre-streetlight days, positively sinister by night.

McMahon’s scow was anchored right next to the boneyard, so he and Boneyard Mary were neighbors — but, it seems, not friends.

Boneyard Mary gave her occupation as “laundress,” and, well, maybe she was. A careful reading of the newspaper accounts, though, suggests she derived most of her income in other ways.

Harrigan had no reason to disbelieve Boneyard Mary. He moved on, trying to convince himself that McMahon had simply gone on the lam to avoid being called as a witness against Abrahagen. But something about the whole thing bothered him, especially the money. Why would he leave his money behind?

Two weeks later, Harrigan’s worst fears were realized. A young boy fishing off a nearby dock hooked and reeled in the unfortunate McMahon’s corpse.

The Inquest

At the coroner’s inquest, Harrigan told his story, and then it was Boneyard Mary’s turn. She said the evening Harrigan was arrested, she was there when he arrived home for the night.

“I went inside the house and told (neighbor) Mr. Nelson and his wife that McMahon was very drunk,” she testified. “I then stepped out on the wharf, and in a few minutes heard a splash in the water. I ran to the edge of the wharf and looked down in the river and saw an object in the water which I thought was him.”

Boneyard Mary then went back to the house and notified Nelson and his wife that McMahon had fallen in the drink. Nelson promptly came out to help.

“Mr. Nelson went immediately on board the scow,” Bunets said, “and found a hat saturated with water, and Mr. Nelson said he thought he had gone in the cabin and was all right.”

Motives for murder?

A few other interesting things developed out of Bunets’ testimony, though. First, Jack Abrahagen — the man arrested for beating and knifing McMahon — was, as it turned out, more than just Bunets' friend. He’d been living with her for several weeks before the fight broke out. She’d been smuggling letters to him in jail, slipped inside newspapers. And the two of them were engaged to be married.

Furthermore, she told the court, “I think the fight between (Abrahagen) and McMahon was about some bad words being said by McMahon about me.”

Also, after McMahon disappeared, Bunets smuggled a letter to Abrahagen “stating that he need not be afraid now as ‘Mc’ had gone away.”

Could it be that Eliza “Boneyard Mary” Bunets had something to do with McMahon’s drowning that night?

Certainly Bunets had the motivation to do the job. She was 40 years old — an age at which a “working girl” in the 1870s couldn’t look forward to many more years of plying the trade. She’d met a man who wanted to marry her — to make her a “respectable” married woman. Now that whole dream was being threatened by the prospect of attempted-murder charges. If Abrahagen were hauled off to the state penitentiary, it was likely those wedding bells would go forever unrung.

The only way that could be prevented with absolute certainty would be for McMahan to “disappear” before he could testify. And it’s not hard to spin a not-too-fanciful theory about how she might accomplish such a thing.

Murdering McMahon: A theory

Let’s say, theoretically, that she sees Mac coming home drunk that night, and sees her chance. She slips over to his scow with a bottle, a smile, and maybe a little extra something to put in his drink — or maybe she just drinks with him and goads him into having more than he should, and he passes out. It would be the work of a few minutes to slip the unconscious McMahon into the river to quietly drown.

Then she dips his hat in the water, plants it on the boat and trots up the wharf to the Nelson house to fabricate an alibi. “Mac is very drunk tonight,” she remarks, as if just making chit-chat, and then wanders back out again. She dawdles outside for two or three minutes, then hustles back in.

“Help!” she shrieks. “Mac fell in the water! Help me get him out!”

Nelson runs down to the scow and, as Boneyard Mary had planned (in our hypothetical scenario) finds the wet hat.

“Oh good,” Boneyard Mary remarks innocently. “He must have gotten out.”

The two of them talk it over and decide McMahon must have run off to Washington Territory to avoid testifying against Abrahagen, and they all go to bed. Boneyard Mary has her witness and her alibi. The currents of the river seem likely to carry the body out to sea and no one will be the wiser. Everything is going right according to plan … until that pesky meddling kid fishes up McMahon’s corpse and gets the cops involved.

Could this have been what happened that night? Maybe. Certainly it would explain why there was a wet hat on the scow even though McMahon never made it back aboard.

But we’ll never really know. Because the Coroner ruled the death an accident, and that was the end of that.

(Sources: Portland Morning Oregonian, Feb. 25-26, 1878)