The other galleries are People’s Art of Portland, AIR gallery, and One Der Gallery. Mall management has not yet announced which store will replace the galleries.
“We knew we were getting a great deal,” Woolley says of his month-to-month lease at the mall, which he said came with relatively low rent.
Exactly four years ago, Woolley opened his mall gallery after a period curating pop-up art shows. He closed his last permanent space—a gallery on SW 2nd Avenue—in 2009 due to the economic downturn.
“We’re all art professionals, so we’re not freaking out,” he tells WW. “You can look around Portland and see that the climate that allowed us that great deal doesn’t exist anymore. Hopefully, that also means there’s more people buying fine art.”
The galleries were given five weeks to vacate their space.
One Der Gallery/PoBoy Framing owner Jason Brown had just finished moving in after losing his frame shop space in Southeast, according to Woolley. One Der Gallery’s grand-opening party was Nov. 17, less than five months ago.
“The hardest thing is calling people and telling them that the next show won’t happen,” says Woolley.
The galleries will host a “final countdown” party beginning at 5 pm Saturday, April 16—the party will be open to the public.
Future plans are up in the air for Woolley, who says he might do pop-ups again, or just move to New York.
“I’ve thought about pairing with my friends who moved to New York,” he said. “Even a little tiny space on the Lower East Side is way more than Portland, but it’s a pie in the sky.”
A Portland woman who was working for Uber says a company investigator entered her home this month without permission, according to Buzzfeed News.
The woman, Morgan Richardson, says the Uber investigator entered her home while trying to figure out who leaked internal data regarding rape and sexual assault to Buzzfeed.
Richardson worked as a customer service representative for Uber from November 2014 through November 2015.
Buzzfeed obtained a cease-and-desist letter from Richardson’s Portland attorney, Martin Dolan, that says on March 25 at 7:30 am, an Uber investigator pounded on Richardson’s door and then when she opened the door to speak to him, entered without permission.
During this conversation, the investigator asked if he could come into her apartment and she refused. Despite this refusal, he walked into her apartment while she was getting a pen. This clearly constituted trespass and frightened Ms. Richardson since she had just refused him entrance.
Uber is seeking the identity of Buzzfeed’s source or sources for an earlier story about the incidence of complaints of sexual assaults involving Uber drivers.
An Uber spokesperson told Buzzfeed that an investigator did visit Richardson’s home but denied the investigator entered. The Buzzfeed post doesn’t name the spokesperson.
“The investigator knocked once and the conversation lasted about two minutes.” An Uber spokesperson later added: “At no time did anyone enter the home.”
A regional Uber spokeswoman could not immediately be reached for comment by WW.
Contemporary Native Photographers and the Edward Curtis Legacy
[SEE ART] Iconic portraits by Edward Curtis, an ethnologist who documented Native tribes a hundred years ago, are on display alongside the work of contemporary native artists Zig Jackson, Wendy Red Star and Will Wilson. Jackson uses humor and metacommentary in his black-and-white series. Red Star employs color, scale and interaction with museum visitors to highlight the traditions of Crow women, a matrilineal people whose lives were not captured by Curtis’ sepia portraits of male chiefs. Wilson’s breathtaking tintypes are digitally scanned and printed so that the original images can be offered to his subjects with whom he collaborated on the portraits, something Curtis never did. Portland Art Museum, 1219 SW Park Ave., 226-2811. $20. Through May 8.
Heathers: The Musical
[CORN NUTS] Triangle Productions’ candy-colored musical version of the 1988 cult classic is slightly lighter, but with the same body count. Picture fewer F bombs, and when mean girls get knocked off, they hang around as specters to enjoy the show. Hilarious song and dance numbers make excellent use of the movie’s best lines—you’ll be singing along to “My Dead Gay Son” in no time. On-brand bonuses include a pre-show signature cocktail called the Heathers-Up, snack-size bags of Heather C’s favorite snack—corn nuts—and scrunchies on sale to benefit a local crisis hotline. Bright-Faced Malia Tippets shines as the outsider Veronica, particularly in the duet “Seventeen” with the darkly-funny and brooding J.D. (Ethan Crysal). Extra show at 7 pm Sunday, April 3. MERYL WILLIAMS. Triangle Theater, 1725 NE Sandy Blvd., 239-5919. 7:30 pm Thursday-Saturday, through April 2. $15-$35.
Love in This Club’s 1080p Showcase, with Bobby Draino and Auscultation
[HAZY SYNTH] If you want to understand Canadian cassette label 1080p, start with Bobby Draino. Solo endeavors by the former drummer of post-grunge band Weed are a hazy gaze into Vancouver, B.C.’s esteemed house and techno scenes, whose common threads are 6 am underground parties, clouded synth pads and a holy devotion to kush. His debut album, a split with D. Tiffany as Xophie Xweetland called Chrome Split, crystallized this unique moment for Cascadian dance music via an abstract, acid-tinged sound all their own. And the cover, depicting a bosomed bong lounging on a plastic beach, is simply one of the best album covers of all time. Read the full article. Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison St., 9 pm. $5 advance, $7 after 11 pm day of show. 21+.
Potions, 555, Antecessor, Magisterial
[MAGIC TOUCH] Chicago’s DIY dance outfit Potions trades in an off-the-cuff style of breezy electronic music, with woozy synths floating in and around convoluted 707 drum patterns. The artist’s latest funky brew,Pushing the Cuboid, released on the lysergic L.A. label 100% Silk, builds off Potion’s catalog of VHS retro-wave in deconstructing dance tropes. Tonight’s MIDI party starts with Italo house band Magisterial’s triumphant return to the stage, and also features the hardware-hesh worship of Antecessor dialing in the wayback machine for headbanging analog heads. WYATT SCHAFFNER. Xhurch, 4550 NE 20th Ave. 7 pm. Donations suggested. All ages.
Prince Rama, Dinner
[FEVER-DREAM POP] Like African Head Charge fronted by the Bangles, or Hall & Oates begging for Brian Eno’s help, or Kate Bush Groundhog Day-ing her way through the mid-’80s and getting angrier with each iteration, Prince Rama is a hard band to add up. It’s best to talk about the Brooklyn group in retro time periods, in neon colors and especially in infectious energy. Touring behind Xtreme Now, their eighth album in eight years, sisters Taraka and Nimai Larson have coined a new dance genre—“extreme sports”—which goes a long way toward describing the kind of manic, bombastic live show to expect. Or, y’know, not. DOM SINACOLA. Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside St., 231-9663. 9 pm. $10 advance, $12 day of show. 21+.
[AUTHOR TALK] In 2004’s What’s the Matter With Kansas?, Baffler co-founder and current Harper’s columnist Thomas Frank discussed how the Democratic Party’s shift from social equality to “social issues” like gay marriage and abortion morphed his home state from the heart of the populist Progressive movement to a reliable Republican stronghold. In his newest book, Listen, Liberal: Or, What Ever Happened to the Party of the People?, he continues along this line of thinking, arguing that the party only represents upper-socioeconomic classes. Read the WWHotseat. Powell’s City of Books, 1005 W Burnside St., 228-4651. 7:30 pm. Free.
SATURDAY, APRIL 2
[DANCE] Addiction and trauma look like a faded Chicago on loop in the newest dance from Kidd Pivot, Canada’s best contemporary company. Artistic director Crystal Pite paired with Vancouver’s Electric Company Theater for the company’s first theater-dance hybrid. As Betroffenheit opens, a gaunt man appears alone on a stage resembling Abu Ghraib. Then, Pite’s five company dancers—wearing faded sateen bras, pinstripe trousers and bowler hats—tap dance maniacally around the drab central figure. Lights strobe, dancers buckle at the joints, and speakers blast voices from places they don’t belong—doorways, light fixtures and dancers’ bodies. It’s like cabaret torture, equally entertaining and horrifying. Newmark Theatre, 1111 SW Broadway. 8 pm Thursday-Saturday, March 31-April 2. $25-$34.
Belgian Beer Day
[DRINK BEER] For the last time before moving to a former yogurt shop on Northwest 23rd‚ the Abbey Bar will celebrate Belgian Beer Day with a live feed from Antwerp and other Belgian-style beer bars, with special beer flights and beer shwag on hand. The Abbey Bar, 716 NW 21st Ave., theabbeybar.com. Noon-midnight.
[DRINK CIDER] The 15th Avenue Hophouse will hold a yard party for cider in its parking lot, featuring a whole mess of cideries, including Reverend Nat’s, Cider Riot!, Incline, Neigel Vintner Cider, Wandering Aengus, Apple Outlaw, Finnriver, and Wildcraft. 15th Avenue Hophouse, 1517 NE Brazee St., oregonhophouse.com. 2-7 pm, April 2-3. $30-$40.
Mishka Shubaly and Kristine Levine
[COMIC AUTHOR] Mishka Shubaly cleaned up, but his comedy didn’t. Once a tattooed addict who accidentally stabbed himself and used an alias to get treated at the ER, he’s now a sober, plant-powered marathon runner with six Amazon Kindle bestsellers. But his jokes are still dirty. Shubaly joins Kristine Levine at Bossanova Ballroom on Saturday to promote his new memoir and first physical book, I Swear I’ll Make It Up to You. Before coming to Portland, Shubaly talked to WW about teaching at Yale, being a deadbeat son and one night in NEW Mexico with Levine. Read the full Q&A. Bossanova Ballroom, 722 E Burnside St., 9 pm Saturday, April 2. $15. 21+.
[MOVIE NIGHT] Long before the crime masterpiece Heat and the pastel-hued coke freakouts of Miami Vice, Michael Mann hit the scene with Thief, a smaller-scale, ultra-stylized caper flick featuring James Caan at his best. And Jim Belushi, for some reason. Laurelhurst Theater. April 1-7.
[CULT FILM ON STAGE] We’ve seen a rash of live stage versions of cult movies lately. There is Point Break Live, the local Hot Gun take on Top Gun, the touring Evil Dead Live and a local adaptation of Manos: The Hands of Fate, which is largely considered the worst movie of all time. But this is different: a reverent tribute to a funny film, rather than a parody. Local actor Steve Coker and his Stageworks Inc. company are transforming the movie into a minimalist musical packed with a robust live score. Clinton Street Theater, stageworksink.com. Thursday-Saturday, March 31-April 9.
SUNDAY, APRIL 3
Freddie Gibbs, ILLFIGHTYOU, Chaz French
[GANGSTER RAP] With lame Twitter beefs and Future-clones dominating the conversation, Freddie Gibbs stays in his own lane as rap’s unsung hero. Despite having the exact same delivery as Tupac, as well as lyrical prowess, Gibbs has almost a decade of mixtapes under his belt, maintaining a social consciousness alongside coke-rap braggadocio. Piñata, his 2014 collaboration with beat alchemist Madlib, is a masterpiece which showcases Gibbs’ dexterous flow amid cinematic sample hooks, with a steady narrative of maintaining the block—not to mention his sanity—from the powers that be. His latest, Shadow of a Doubt, trades throwback for trap, as he makes a darkly introspective build toward the mainstream. WYATT SCHAFFNER. Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE César E. Chávez Blvd., 233-7100. 8 pm. $18. 21+.
City of Gold
[MOVIE-MUNCHIE NIGHT] Jonathan Gold is one of food journalism’s only legitimate heroes, and certainly the only one with a Pulitzer on his metaphorical belt buckle. With his Counter Intelligence column for L.A. Weekly and the Los Angeles Times beginning in the ‘80s, Gold helped change the way traditional working-class and ethnic fare like tacos and pho are viewed by food critics—as cuisines every bit as layered, vital and full of history as the stuff at high-dollar French spots. This new documentary by Laura Gabbert accompanies the legendary journalist as he tours the eateries and neighborhoods of L.A. Gold told WW, “I love the way it makes Los Angeles look. It’s a part of Los Angeles that doesn’t make it onto film so often. In a way, it’s probably as much about the ecstasy of being in your car as the sun sets as it is about going to restaurants.” Read the full Q&A with Gold. NR. Cinema 21.
[ELECTRO-POP] Differentiating between pop superstars can be tough. Just remember: Nicki Minaj raps, Ariana Grande wears bunny ears, Rihanna surpasses everyone in talent, and Taylor Swift is, well, Taylor Swift. Ellie Goulding, meanwhile, joined the lineup as the EDM pop queen in 2010. She’s also British, and therefore the only one to use the word “shag” in her lyrics, with an accent that comes through as strongly as Lily Allen’s at times. Goulding’s newest album, Delirium, includes the impossibly catchy “On My Mind.” But each of her insanely popular three albums has a song like that, just like we knew they would. SOPHIA JUNE. Theater of the Clouds at Moda Center, 1 N Center Court St., 235-8771. 7 pm. $59.50. All ages.
[SHORT STORIES] The author of 24 books of fiction and nonfiction and the winner of Pushcart Prizes and O. Henry Awards, Rick Bass is one of the titans of the short story. A geologist by training, the Montanan’s work has a strong grounding in nature and the environment. His latest collection, For a Little While, includes new and old stories that follow calves with diarrhea, hellacious ice storms and dog trainers voyaging into the wilderness. Powell’s City of Books, 1005 W Burnside St., 228-4651. 7:30 pm. Free.
We Are Proud to Present…
[COMI-DRAMA] The new show at Artists Rep is a theatrical mic drop. The audience sat in silence for three minutes (I timed it) when the show ended on opening night, except for the sound of a few people trying to swallow their sobs. It’s a hilarious, belly-laughing show about German soldiers committing genocide in Namibia. Read the full review. Artists Repertory Theatre, 1515 SW Morrison St., 241-1278. 7:30 pm Wednesday-Sunday and 2 pm Sunday, through April 3. $48.
Marcelino Alvarez, a fixture in the Portland start-up scene for many years, and an alum of Wieden+Kennedy, will be speaking at TechfestNW this year. His talk: Beyond the Hype: the future of the Internet of Things and why Portland should be at the epicenter.
Alvarez’s firm Uncorked Studios, is a product design and development company that has long had a social conscience. In 2011, Uncorked developed Safecast, an open data initiative to help residents of Japan report and understand the levels of radiation following the Fukushima earthquake and nuclear disaster. Uncorked has also partnered with the Bezos Family Foundation, the March of Dimes, and Magnum Foundation to develop social impact products. In addition to this sort of work, Uncorked collaborates with some of the world’s top brands, including Google, Intel, Adidas, and Samsung, to prototype and develop smart home, mobile, and web products. It has become a substantial player in helping companies understand the opportunities presented by the Internet of Things.
Join Marcelino Alvarez and our other excellent speakers at TechFestNW 2016: April 25-26 at The Armory in Portland, Oregon’s Pearl District. For more information or tickets to TFNW, visit techfestnw.com.
Base Camp Brewing owner Justin Mark Fay was arrested at his Tabor home after allegedly answering the door to two police officers while carrying an illegal make of AR-15 assault rifle, according to court filings obtained by KOIN yesterday.
Officers reportedly came to the door of Fay, 33, after he called 911 seven times in 10 minutes, complaining about homeless people. Officers believe Fay may have been under the influence of alcohol, according to filings.
Fay’s company, Base Camp Brewing—best known for its aluminum bottles of S’mores Stout and India Pale Lager— was founded in 2010, and its brewpub location on Southeast Oak Street is popular among the local outdoor set. (Here’s a recent image of Fay, on the right side of the photo.)
The responding officers were able to “take control” of the rifle, according to those filings. Chris Shull wrote of Fay, “Defendant asserted that he had many more weapons inside the house and told (the officer) that he wanted to go back inside so he could go get another gun and kill (the officer).”
Fay was arrested March 30 for seven counts of improper use of an emergency system, criminal mischief in the second degree, and unlawful firearm possession.
According to KOIN, when officers seized the assault rifle, the safety was off, and the gun was loaded with 30 rounds. The weapons charge results from the short length of the barrel—8 inches, which is shorter than the 16-inch barrel allowed under Oregon law.
According to KOIN, once Fay was in custody in the back of the police car, he kicked the roof and back seat. He also kicked the police car’s window until it broke.
Fay appeared in court Wednesday. He posted $5,000 bail at 8:44 am Thursday. The hearing is scheduled for April 7.
Neither police nor Base Camp’s publicist immediately responded to requests for comment.
Iggy Pop has been thinking a lot about death lately. He looks further from it now, at age 68, than he did 40 years ago, when he seemed determined to immolate himself in a blaze of rock’n’roll excess. But facing mortality is the subtext of his new album, Post Pop Depression, which he’s hinted might be his last. And sometimes, he just comes right out and says it.
“Is there a heaven for the brave?” he wondered aloud Tuesday night at Keller Auditorium; it was two songs in, and the charcoal blazer he entered with was already slung over his shoulder, returning to his natural state of shirtlessness. “Would I like it? Is it like Vegas?”
Seeing him onstage, maneuvering and contorting that famously lithe physique, looking nowhere close to an almost-septuagenerian, it’s hard to imagine he’ll find out very soon. But even an indestructible force must confront the void eventually, particularly when it begins to swallow those around them. Pop has seen it happen a lot recently: to his Stooges bandmates, Ron and Scott Asheton, and auxiliary member, saxophonist Steve Mackay; to his old partner in bad behavior, Lou Reed; and of course, to the biggest ghost in the room, David Bowie. Although never mentioned by name in Portland, it’s his thin white specter that looms largest over this current tour: Save the brand-new material, and a revisit of his theme to the 1984 film Repo Man, the setlist is taken entirely from the two albums they made together in the ’70s.
To a degree, Iggy is the last man of his era standing, so it’s understandable that he’d begin to ponder the end, and whatever comes after. But at the Keller, one thing was made clear right away: He ain’t dead yet.
Bounding out to “Lust for Life,” joined by his new collaborator, Queen of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme (who produced Post Pop Depression), and four other Homme associates, that particular message resonated as loud as the big, familiar opening drum beat. What was once a song exalting the dangerous living that probably should have killed him has become, four decades later, an affirmation of survival. Over two hours, it became the night’s mission statement: If this really is it for the Great and Powerful Ig, he’s going down swinging—and gyrating and pirouetting, and falling backward into the audience, and humping the occasional speaker. It was as much a feat of stamina as the Bruce Springsteen marathon a week ago, but with a heightened sense of live-wire unpredictability. No, he didn’t cut himself open or smear peanut butter on his chest like in his streetwalking cheetah days, but there were still moments rarely seen inside the normally mannered walls of the Keller—for instance, when a hand reached up from the front row and grabbed his crotch. Pop, of course, didn’t flinch.
For their part, Homme and company, wearing matching red satin jackets, rightfully ceded the spotlight, except for when Pop put the spotlight on them: calling out his “funky drummer,” Matt Helders of Arctic Monkeys; leaving them alone onstage to jam the run-out of “China Girl.” But they didn’t just fade into the background, either. New songs, like “American Valhalla” and the tumbling “Sunday,” stomped and grooved as anyone might expect from a Homme-helmed project, and the band brought some of that revitalizing sludge to the Bowie-era material: “Some Weird Sin,” “Baby” and the lurching “Mass Production” may have been Queens of the Stone Age songs this whole time.
In the end, though, there was only Iggy. After the house lights went up, following a celebratory run through 1977’s “Success,” he remained onstage as the rest of the band exited, grinning wide as he flipped a loving double-bird and waving to the crowd, as he did throughout the night. It was uncertain if they were meant as hellos or final goodbyes. Either way, the show confirmed something which once seemed improbable: Against every possible odd, Iggy Pop is going to die old, and leave an exquisite corpse.
A man living in a tent in the Buckman neighborhood was critically injured by a gunshot early this morning.
Police say the injured man was found near the corner of Southeast 11th Avenue and Pine Street at 5:08 a.m.
The victim lived in a tent nearby, police said, and the shooter is believed also to be a camper. Homicide detectives are now investigating.
Southeast 11th has long been a site of homeless camping. St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church, which serves meals to roughly 100 homeless men and women every day, is located just a block away from where police responded.
Mayor Charlie Hales has issued a statement.
“This particular incident highlights that our homeless population are among our most vulnerable to being victimized by criminals,” Hales said, “regardless of whether the criminal lives indoors or out.”
Last week, Hales revealed plans to for a Homeless Navigation Center, an innovative shelter designed to be welcoming to people living on the streets, at the Washington High School campus, six blocks away from the scene of the shooting.
Portland police issued the following press release, and have since updated their report to say the man’s injuries are life-threatening:
On Thursday March 31, 2016, at 5:08 a.m., Central Precinct officers responded to Southeast 11th Avenue and Pine Street on the report of a shooting.
Officers and medical personnel arrived and located the victim, a male adult, suffering from a gunshot wound. He has been transported by ambulance to a Portland hospital for treatment to serious injuries that do not appear to be life-threatening.
During the investigation, officers learned that the victim is residing in a tent on the sidewalk and that the suspect is believed to be a fellow camper.
Officers, including a Police Canine Unit, are checking the neighborhood but have not located the suspect.
Assault Detail detectives have been notified and will continue the investigation.
Anyone with information about this shooting is asked to contact the Detective Division at 503-823-0400.
Hales’ full statement reads:
“Gun violence is absolutely unacceptable, whether committed by someone who is housed or homeless. It puts everyone’s safety at risk regardless of their housing status and is of highest enforcement priority for police. Alarmingly, we are on pace to match or even exceed our tragic gun violence statistics from last year—our worst year on record—particularly for those involved in gang-related gun violence.”
“This particular incident highlights that our homeless population are among our most vulnerable to being victimized by criminals, regardless of whether the criminal lives indoors or out. It’s why the City has been aggressively working to find safe places for people to sleep in the short term and to get back to the safety of a permanent home as quickly as possible.”
Faye Stewart II has a big challenge ahead of him. He’s running in the Republican U.S. Senate primary and hopes to challenge incumbent U.S. Sen. Ron Wyden (D-Ore.) in the fall.
Stewart is a Lane County commissioner from Cottage Grove and part of the family that built one of Oregon’s largest forest products companies, Bohemia Lumber. There’s even a state park in Washington County named after his uncle, former state Rep. L.L. “Stub” Stewart.
And earlier this month, at a March 10 candidate forum at George Fox University in Newberg, Stewart told the crowd that Vietnamese refugees in Portland once “harvest[ed] people’s dogs and cats” to feed themselves.
The Daily Caller writes that Stewart “retold a story about Vietnamese refugees coming to the Pacific Northwest.” Eugene Weeklyreported Stewart’s comments yesterday.
“Our government housed them in buildings in the Portland area—my understanding—and what ended up happening was is they didn’t know how to heat their homes,” Stewart said at the forum.
What did they do? They started a fire in the middle of the living room in that apartment complex. Or when they needed something to eat they went to their natural ways of doing it by harvesting people’s dogs and cats because their culture and their lifestyle didn’t mix with ours.
“In Vietnam, dog is not a pet like here,” says Tran. “So people in Vietnam eat dog.”
But Tran says refugees didn’t bring that practice with them. “When the Vietnamese immigrants came over in different programs sponsored by the government, we adapted,” he says.
Tran says it would be extremely unusual for a Vietnamese person in Portland to eat dog meat.
Stewart told us via email that his remarks about Vietnamese people in Portland were in reference to the Syrian refugee crisis. “I received my information from a very close friend that lived in Portland that witnessed the items I referred to,” he wrote.
But he regrets mentioning it at the candidate forum. “I’m very sorry I made that reference as I never intended it to be hurtful or cause harm,” Stewart says.
He also feels like the video of his comments has been taken out of context, saying:
We can’t afford to create further division and hate in our communities, our state, and our country. It was bad enough that I made the statement that did just that but to have someone take my comments, edit them out of context, and use them to drive hate makes me sick.
Lana Co, current president of the Vietnamese Community of Oregon, says her organization has received information about Stewart’s comments.
“As a commissioner,” she told us via email, “he should not make a stereotype comment.”
“We do not know where he gets the information about our community but that does not represent us as a whole,” says Co.
The Vietnamese community has made substantial contributions to the cultural, religious, political, and business life throughout the state of Oregon. He needs to take his comment back and he owes us an apology. He cannot represent us in the Senate.
When eco-activist Tre Arrow famously climbed to a ledge on the U.S. Forest Service building in downtown Portland in 2000, he was protesting logging in the Mount Hood National Forest.
When Sara Graham, one of Portland’s Seriously Pissed-Off Grannies, threw herself in front of a tank during the 2007 Grand Floral Parade of the Portland Rose Festival, she was protesting U.S. militarism.
And when Matt Rossell, a noted animal rights activist, planted himself in front of Scamps pet store in the Lloyd Center Mall in 2009, he was protesting puppy mills.
A Multnomah County circuit judge ordered Arrow off the ledge. Portland police arrested Graham. And mall cops tackled and handcuffed Rossell.
And at their side in court was Stu Sugarman, a celebrated defense lawyer who represented everyone in Portland from pimps to protesters with equal vigor, say activists and colleagues. Sugarman died Monday from complications of diabetes. He was 52.
“So many people in the activism community had him to thank for their legal representation,” says Rossell. “He was an activist in his own right, and he genuinely believed in the causes he was fighting.”
Sugarman represented high-profile protesters such as Arrow, but also Iraq War protesters and Occupy Portland participants.
“Stu was always there,” wrote friend and activist Cat Jones in an eulogy posted online Wednesday. “He was a comrade in arms. He defended the famous, the infamous, and the unknown with equal resolve. If you were a forest activist, an animal rights activist, a media activist…any underdog fighting the good fight, you didn’t need to worry if you couldn’t afford a lawyer; Stu would stand up for you pro bono.”
His work had implications far beyond individual cases. In 2004, with Sugarman helping to coordinate legal arguments, the Oregon Supreme Court struck down a state law that allowed police to break up protests that inconvenienced or annoyed the public.
“All Oregonians are better off for the work that he did,” says lawyer Ryan Scott, who called Sugarman “the very definition of a happy warrior.”
Sugarman, who stood 6-foot-6, also defended indigent clients in criminal cases and pursued a yearslong case that sought to block chemical weapons incineration in Umatilla, Ore.
“He’d be in court one day on a robbery case, and on the next day he’d be involved in really in-depth, dry ammunition litigation,” says Multnomah County Circuit Judge Cheryl Albrecht. “He practiced law with his heart and his mind.”
A memorial is planned for Thursday, March 31, at Laurelhurst Park from 6 pm to dark at Picnic Area E, near Southeast Ankeny Street and the pond.
“Stu,” says Graham, one of the Seriously Pissed-Off Grannies, “was absolutely wonderful.”
Welcome to another edition of Hortland, in which WW freelancer Jay Horton unearths one of olden Portland’s most obscure or beautiful or non-trivially interesting historical remnants, and then leaves it out to rust in the sun.
Before Portland won the the MLS Cup, before there were Cannabis Cups, the silver chalice of Lord Stanley gleamed as the noblest prize of a thriving sport. One hundred years ago, the Portland Rosebuds became the first American team engraved on the Stanley Cup—despite, technically, not really winning it.
We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead – Easter 1916
The 1915-16 season was Portland’s second in the Pacific Coast Hockey Association, which had been founded four years earlier by the heirs to a British Columbia lumber fortune, Frank and Lester Patrick.
When Portland constructed its new Portland Ice Hippodrome (advertised as the world’s largest) at NW 21st and Marshall, the Patricks inaugurated the United States’ very first pro hockey outpost in our own Portland.
The team—which local newspapers soon dubbed the Rosebuds after the city’s nickname and signature festival—played a decidedly early draft of the sport. Goalies wore minimal pads and no masks whatsoever. One match at the indoor Hippodrome was called on account of fog. Fan-favorite Thomas Ernest “Moose” Johnson used an outsized stick reportedly granting a 99-inch reach, which would surely seem a Bunyanesque exaggeration if not for photographs depicting the perennial all-star (already down two fingers from a childhood electrical accident) wielding a curved wooden spear nearly as long as his body.
Although famously rough—the previous season, Johnson played through a broken jaw, cracked ribs, and an eye dislodged from its socket (once bandaged, he returned to the game)—the Patricks had already begun initiating an array of breakthrough changes meant to speed up play and improve the onlooker’s experience. Under their leadership, players now wore numbers on the backs of jerseys, raised their sticks to celebrate a goal, advanced the puck through the forward pass, took penalty shots, lost possession for icing, and had to contend with goalies no longer required to stay on their feet.
After raiding the NHL-precursor National Hockey Association for talent, the combination of elite athletes and modernized rules drew crowds comparable to the more established clubs back east, and, less than two years after Stanley Cup trustees had briefly forbade western squads from competing for the prize, the 1915 Vancouver Millionaires claimed the Cup for British Columbia.
While Vancouver was returning a strong club that winter, the Rosebuds were stocked with talent. Before the season, Moose Johnson had held out for better contractual terms but (along with Rosebuds captain Eddie Oatman) re-signed with the team despite more lucrative offers from NHA stalwarts and went on to earn his second of five consecutive all-star berths. Newly-acquired Tommy Dunderdale would finish his career with the most goals in PCHA history, Oatman and Charles Tobin were among the league’s top scorers, and Tom Murray allowed nearly a goal less on average than the next-best backstop.
Still, through the final week of the season, the Rosebuds ran neck and neck with the Millionaires. On February 18th, 3,500 fans packed the Portland Ice Hippodrome for a pivotal home match against the Victoria Aristocrats. After each team surrendered an early goal, play had slowed to a fierce defensive struggle when fate took a hand during the first intermission.
According to Rosebuds-rights-holder Jon Mikl Thor and Empire of Ice: The Rise and Fall of the Pacific Coast Hockey Association author Craig Bowlsby, “it was common as smelling salts for players of that era to take a swig of spirits to get them through the pain and back in the game when things got tough.
In between periods, sitting on a bench in the dressing room, Moose Johnson grabbed for a bottle of gin and took a drink only to find that the contents were ammonia—used in the old indoor rinks as a refrigerant. He became quite ill and started vomiting but refused to be taken to a hospital and went back on the ice.”
As the second period began, Johnson took the puck, weaved through the heart of Victoria’s defense, and single-handedly buried the goal to give the Rosebuds a lead they wouldn’t relinquish. This was two years before the Patrick brothers invented the playoffs, and, coupled with Vancouver’s loss to the Seattle Metropolitans that same evening, the PCHA crown was mathematically Portland’s by the time a defeated Victoria captain/coach Lester Patrick flung his stick into the crowds. (Patrick would apologize to the unsuspecting local woman nearly knocked unconscious. She’d keep the stick.)
Although the Rosebuds won their league, the sport’s true prize remained the silver bowl that Canadian Governor-General Lord Stanley of Preston bequeathed in 1892 to the finest hockey team within his Dominion: The Stanley Cup.
For more than two decades, possession of the Stanley Cup had been decided by official challenges that met the approval of Cup trustees—lifetime appointments whose duties blend boxing promoter with the Knights Templar.
But after hockey went pro, it was guaranteed that the only legitimate contenders would emerge from either the NHA or PCHA. The rival organizations agreed their respective champions would meet for an annual post-season best-of-five contest —up from the three game maximum decreed by Lord Stanley, though no series had yet gone the distance. The winner would get the Cup.
The new system led to unexpected repercussions—like the threat of a foreign Portland team winning the Cup from the Canadians.
Although nearly all the Rosebuds hailed from the great white north —Dunderdale was Australian, of all things, and Michigan-born Charlie Uksila starred for the Multnomah Athletic Club in the NW amateur circuit —the U.S. press dubbed them “The Uncle Sams.” There was a real threat the Cup would be taken home by the Americans.
Or, worse, by the French.
Owing to the era’s limitations of travel and the dramatic differences separating each league’s regulations, the NHA and PCHA heads negotiated a compromise in which the series’ site would alternate between East and West each year with a majority of games officiated according to the home team’s normal guidelines.
Since Vancouver had last hosted the Cup finals, the Rosebuds would not only be required to head across the country and play their first and third games (plus, potentially, the climactic fifth) under strange rules—operating without their customary seventh man as defensive rover, most notably—but each match would also be fought beneath the roar of the highly-partisan Quebecois faithful.
The Canadiens had grown to become an emblem of pride for Montreal’s passionate francophone community that transcended athletics; only three months earlier had the team dispensed with a directive stipulating they could dress no more than one English-speaking player.
Led by future hall-of-famers Jack Laviolette, Didier “Cannonball” Pitre, and captain/coach Edouard “Newsy” Lalonde—regularly deemed the greatest of his era (and ranked 32nd all time by the 1998 Hockey News)—“The Flying Frenchmen” were the only NHA team sufficiently fast to keep up with the more freewheeling PCHA squads and boasted a legendary brick wall behind goal. Georges Vezina, among the nine original inductees of the Hockey Hall Of Fame, had surrendered the NHA’s fewest goals for the third year (of an eventual seven) and survives today as namesake for the annual prize awarded to the NHL’s best goaltender.
In that first game, however, Rosebuds’ backstop Tom Murray proved the star.
Despite arriving just one day prior after a train trip of some 3,000 miles, the Rosebuds shocked the crowds by scoring twice in the shutout. Alas, though the following game was played to the Rosebuds’ usual specifications against a Montreal squad without stars Lalonde (illness) and Laviolette (broken nose), all hopes of riding an early momentum to an upset sweep quickly faded as the Canadiens emerged with a 2-1 victory to tie the series. Fully recovered from his cold, Lalonde led a ferocious Canadiens assault in the third game’s 6-3 shellacking as chief playmaker and aggressor. Briefly laid out after a vicious retaliatory cross check from Moose Johnson, Lalonde came up swinging, both benches cleared, and the violence soon spread to the stands. With reportedly more than 500 men and women set upon one another, the referees were helpless to stem the melee until the local Chief of Police slid onto the ice and threatened to arrest the lead combatants should they not abide penalties.
Johnson, it turned out, hardly needed more publicity. Years earlier, he had starred for the Montreal Wanderers before heading to the greener pastures of the PCHA. Claiming a breach of contract, the club had won a judgment approaching $45K (all sums estimated for 2016 dollars) but were unable to force recompense outside the jurisdiction of Quebec courts. Alerted to his presence, Wanderers ownership demanded forfeiture of his series pay – each of the Rosebuds had been guaranteed around $7,500K for victory and $5K for a loss – and area headlines eagerly trumpeted the news that Johnson planned to sit out the remaining games. Whether sparked by their teammates plight or simply exploiting their familiarity with ‘home’ rules, Portland leapt to an early 3-0 lead with such apparent ease that Johnson was cajoled out of the locker room to start the second period. Even with their defense again intact, the embarrassed Canadiens embarked upon a run of their own to tie the score, and the Rosebuds barely escaped with a 6-5 win that sent the series to a climactic game five.
If previous contests had been marked by bluster and showmanship, the deciding match proved a tense struggle between well-matched squads whose speed of play was tempered by newfound focus and officials anxious to prevent another near-riot. Skene Ronan, the rogue English-speaker who’d forced Canadiens to change lingual policy, garnered an early lead for Montreal with a freak goal from face-off nine minutes into the game. (The Rosebuds manager would furiously argue Ronan had batted the puck from the air before it hit the ice—a clear violation—but there wouldn’t be video review of a coach’s challenge for another 99 years.)
With both squads settling into defensive alignments and a steady string of whistled penalties, the first and second periods ended without a change of score. Finally, near the start of the third, Tommy Dunderdale broke free to put Portland on the board. As the teams traded cautious possessions and the minutes ticked by, the deadlocked game appeared surely headed for overtime when coach and captain Lalonde turned to the unlikeliest of heroes for an inspired of feint of misdirection.
With just over three minutes remaining, Lalonde appeared to gather an errant shot from behind the Canadiens’ goal for another weary charge, but he had actually left the puck for (and drawn attention from) defensive substitute Goldie Prodgers who flew up the length of the ice—evading Johnson, miming a slapshot that forced goalie Murray into a desperate lunge, and batting the puck into an empty net for the lead. In response, the Rosebuds sent all of their players on a frenzied offensive attack, but, once again, they could not quite overcome the goaltending that had bedeviled them throughout the series.
Later that evening, Vezina’s wife gave birth to a child soon famous across Canada after a photo was taken of the baby happily nestled inside the Cup. They’d name the boy Marcel Stanley.
This would be the first of 24 Cup victories for Montreal. As the NHA gave way to an NHL, the Canadiens emerged as the newly dominant league’s signature team.
The fates proved less kind to Portland and the PCHA. But the Rosebuds made their mark.
Technically, only the victors were allowed to engrave their names on the Stanley Cup. And over nearly a quarter-century, Cup-holders could stamp their identities as they pleased.
The first winning club added a base ring to inscribe “Montreal AAA/1893.” When the 1907 Montreal Wanderers took possession, they scrawled twenty names of players and executives along the insides, which forced the pre-NHA Senators to attach another ring beneath for their “Ottawa/1909” snippet.
And, though the trophy had only passed to Portland by organizational fiat, you can’t really blame the Rosebuds for forging their own names on the ledger of heroes.
As far as Portland was concerned, they were the winners. The formalized agreement for an East/West series was only a year old—and over the past season, Portland had won four of their six matches against Vancouver (a total of 15 goals to 11). Any prior interpretation of Cup ownership would surely have vouchsafed their claim.
According to Bowlsby & Thor, the 1916 matches against the Canadiens were nearly canceled. “Oddly, the PCHA was not talking officially to the NHA because of a serious rift so the Stanley Cup challenge almost never happened. If that was the case, the trustees would have revised their decision, and, even though they weren’t the defending champions, a challenge probably would have been taken by the Montreal Canadiens against another team for the Cup.”
In the formal histories, the Rosebuds survive only as the losing squad of a forgotten series fought between the dimming hopes of a near-bankrupt league against legends soon to embark upon arguably the most successful run ever enjoyed by any franchise of any sport.
But our boys held the literal Cup. And “Portland Ore. / PCHA Champions / 1915–16” shall forever gleam from a central placement across the 1909 base ring.
Later, another note was engraved weeks afterward by a Montreal club so hastily indignant they inexplicably rendered an anglicized, singular version of their own moniker. “Canadian,” reads the top line. Below that, it reads: “N.H.A. & World’s Champions/Defeated Portland/1915-16”.
While the Rosebuds likely never believed themselves legitimate victors, the impromptu engraving now seems at worst a plucky bit of gamesmanship midst the still-aborning codes of professional sports. In any event, their defiant exclamation aged rather better than the Canadiens’ sloppy protestations. No such thing as bad publicity, after all, so long as they spell the name right.