by Judith Altruda | Feb 21, 2023 | Portrait of Gene
Jack Brockhoff’s gear shed, drawing by Eugene Landry, 1969
Tokeland, Washington is a fishing village (population 300) located on Willapa Bay. One of its most cherished residents is Loretta Brockhoff. Approaching her 93rd birthday, she can tell you many stories about life here; from the 1962 Columbus Day storm to the day the cannery burned down. Next to her home is an old gear shed where her husband, a commercial fisherman, once worked on his crab pots. Like a lot of old Tokeland shacks, its exterior was covered in faded fishing floats.It was picturesque and funky, the kind of subject matter favored by Gene Landry.
She remembers, “One day, Gene knocked on my door and asked if I would mind if he drew that old gear shed.” He spent an afternoon in her yard drawing the shed from various angles, she recalled. A watercolor he later made of it now hangs in her home, next to photos of her husband’s fishing boat, the Shirley Lee. And the old shed, now empty, still stands next door.
Loretta’s poems about the fishing life capture a world unknown to most. They are rich in detail and specific experience.
Loretta, whose “big dream” was to become a newspaper reporter, came to Tokeland in the summer of 1947. A high school student, she spent the summer at her sister’s home here. She got a job shaking crab at Nelsons Cannery for 4 cents a pound. Basically, she never left. Three years later, she married Jack Brockhoff, a commercial crab fisherman. While raising their five children and working at the cannery, Loretta was also a charter member of the Tokeland Mother’s Club, (a precursor to the PTA). Somehow, she also found time to write. The subject matter was her life.
Loretta, circa early 1960s, in her Tokeland kitchen
One of her poems, The Tale of the Barbara Lee, gives the tragic account of a crab boat that sank while attempting to aid the coast guard boat Invincible.
It happened on January 29, 1960. Loretta listened to it go down on Hallicrafter radio in her kitchen, hoping it wasn’t her husband’s boat in trouble. She wasn’t the only one:
The wives along the coast set their hallicrafters
Ship to shore on the marine band channel
For each lived her own nightmare
Of having her world ripped asunder by one call
It wasn’t something you were ever prepared for
It was just the way you lived, praying and hoping…
In 2020, Loretta read her poetry at Astoria’s iconic Fisher Poet’s Gathering to standing ovations. It was great to see this (then) 90-year-old poetess get some long-deserved public recognition. Loretta hopes to return this to Fisher Poets this year. “If I’m still alive, I’ll be there,” she promised.
To read more about the upcoming Fisher Poets Gathering (February 24-26) and Loretta, check out Hipfish Monthly, Astoria’s alternative newspaper.
Loretta Brockhoff on the stage at KALA, Astoria, Oregon 2020, reading her poem, Home from the Sea.
Home from the Sea
The old hallicrafter radio, ship to shore,
Sits on the kitchen shelf.
Our lifeline—our contact
It cuts across the kitchen,
It cuts across our lives!
You so seldom speak on the radio
But I track you thru your running mates
As they banter back and forth.
Limey had tuna signs offshore
Hear the fish are hitting off Blanco
Awful long haul down there
Rumors of tuna 200 fathom straight out
Aw getting dark—better pack it in for the night!
They come home from the sea,
They smell like dead fish, rotten bait,
They smell like dried saltwater
Like diesel, oil, life and death!
Oh God, we’re glad to have them back!
Life goes on; summer is underway
Beach fires, hot dogs and swimming
With the kids at the Davis swimming hole.
Trip should be winding down
Fuel and supplies running low.
Will they head home or for another port?
The old hallicrafter cuts thru our lives
As we wait some more!
You catch your breath,
Your heart skips a beat!
You plaster your ear to the speaker
As you scream at the kids
Be quiet! Someone’s in trouble
Whew! Not one of ours
Earl is the closest—heading their way
Three men aboard—taking on water
89 to 90 miles to Newport!
Rumors are flying—the boats are heading home
Maybe the hatch is loaded, maybe not.
Radio says they should make the dock around six.
As the boats slip around the corner onto the dock
I spot your blood-spattered cap cocked over one ear.
That stupid grin lights up your blue eyes
As they momentarily meet mine.
Go get me a beer, I hear you yell;
As the cannery crew arrives,
The work of unloading begins
One trip safely over,
Another soon to come!
They come home from the sea
They smell like dead fish, like rotten bait;
Like diesel oil, like life and death.
Oh God, we are glad to have them back!
by Judith Altruda | Jan 2, 2023 | Portrait of Gene
In 1970, Bill Mueller, a third-year art student at the University of Oregon was at a crossroads in his life. “It was a difficult time for me,” he recounted in 2021, “I was only 23 or 24 years old; I’m wondering what this is all about? What is my future going to be?” Seeking answers, the future public works sculptor took a year off from his studies. He moved to the tiny fishing village of Tokeland. There, he met Eugene Landry.
“I think we must have met at Capt’s Tavern.” The local’s hangout overlooked a salt marsh and was steps away from the cabin where Bill was living. He described how Gene “stood out” in the tiny community; “He was like a rock star, driven around in a either a vintage ’49 Cadillac or a Citroen by his Canadian caregiver.” Discovering they had a common interest in art, Gene invited Bill to his studio on Willapa Bay.
“One day he asked if he could paint my portrait. It was a beautiful day, sunny. The light quality was incredible. There were some windows facing the ocean. We ended up in a long conversation. He was engaged with me on one level and on another level, he was very engaged in painting. When he painted, he was in another world. He was not in a wheelchair.”
Bill recalled how Gene held a brush between his teeth to add details, “It made a different sound when it contacted the canvas–different from when he hand-held it.”
Portrait of William Mueller by Eugene Landry, oil on canvas, 32″x17″ 1970
Landry became an art mentor for Bill. “I’m hanging out with Gene, visiting with him. He’s telling me all kinds of stories. It’s like he also was part of my journey to the art world. He had been to the art school in Seattle. My brother said he also went to Paris. I really cherished the time I got to spend with him.”
The following year, Bill returned to the University of Oregon. There, he came under the tutelage of Jan Zach, Chair of the Sculpture Department and an internationally known Czech/American sculptor. Bill graduated with a BFA in sculpture in 1974, and worked as Zach’s assistant for 9 years on large-scale public art commissions.
Bill has enjoyed a long and successful career in public art; his large scale sculptures can be seen in many towns along the west coast, Idaho and Colorado.
“Journey to Paradise”
Sited at Plaza of the Rockies, Colorado Springs, CO
Upon learning about the ongoing Eugene Landry exhibit at the Shoalwater Bay Tribal Museum, Bill donated two letters Gene wrote to him when he resumed his studies at the U of O. “Gene wrote one of them from Arizona. He’s saying ‘I’m going a little crazy, away from the ocean. And then you flip it over and he did a drawing of a guillotine. It’s a wonderful letter from him, handwritten in black ink.”
“Being that far from the ocean and water does funny things to your head.”
In August 2022, Bill and his family traveled from their home in Sedalia, Colorado to Washington State for a family reunion. They came out to Tokeland and revisited old haunts.
The cabin where Bill lived in 1970, still standing in 2022.
They went to the Shoalwater Bay Heritage Museum to see the Landry exhibit. Located near the former site of Gene’s studio, its windows overlook the same view as when Bill sat for his portrait over 50 years ago. The impact of encountering his friend’s art after so many years was, at times, emotional.
Looking back, Bill reflected; “It’s interesting when you meet somebody who has a challenge like that. He was only 34 or 35 when I met him. He was still a young man. He loved painting and it brought him a great deal of pleasure. He was very animated. He was somebody to me that transcended his physical condition. And I was amazed by him.”
William Mueller, Shoalwater Bay Heritage Museum, with Landry’s letters in display case.
by Judith Altruda | Jul 4, 2022 | Portrait of Gene
L: Kenneth “Poggie” Baker, 82, “showing the ropes” to a new generation. Raleigh Anderson, 20, gets an education in fireworks-and tribal history- while working in Baker’s warehouse.
On a late June morning at Shoalwater Bay, Kenneth “Poggie” Baker rode his motorized “Jazzy” scooter along the shoulder of Highway 105, against traffic. An American flag fluttered behind him as he lumbered along, cap pulled low over his face to keep out the sun. The 82-year-old entrepreneur headed to work, passing seven firework stands in the half mile between the casino and Chief Charley’s Smoke Shop. There, he crossed the road and motored to his “office”; a huge garage stuffed with cases of pyrotechnics.
Baker’s helper, tribal member Raleigh Anderson, checks the inventory: Excalibur, Chicken on a Chain, One Bad Mother, Loyal to None, “cakes” “backpacks” “canisters” and more. Throughout the day, firework stand owners will stop by to replenish their stock. Business is brisk as July 4th approaches.
Almost 60 years ago, Baker and his extended family opened one of the first Indian reservation firework stands in Washington State.
“My aunt, Myrtle Landry, her son Gene [Eugene Landry] and her husband Fred came up with the idea,” the elder says. “They got everybody involved.” It was 1965. Five family members invested $500 apiece to buy inventory. “Reginald Hunter and I drove a truck down to Canby, Oregon and filled it full of fireworks.”
Baker’s brother in law, Reginald Hunter, riding atop Myrtle Landry’s Cadillac, 1979
They parked their 1950 Chevy pickup in an open field on the reservation. Their open-air display was set up on “a couple of saw horses with planks across them.” Their inventory was limited: M80s, red white and blue firecrackers, bottle rockets, fire crackers and fountains. Baker still remembers their first sale, to “four young guys in a yellow VW bug. They spent over $100. That was a lot of fireworks.” (Back then, firecrackers sold for a penny apiece.)
They sold out the first day and got another truckload. They did this several times, and then bought a trailer-full of inventory.
The next year they built two stands. Eugene Landry designed a mural for one of the stands. “It looked like a sunrise with red white and blue beams,” Baker recalled. “Gene was at the stand every day. He counted the money. It was Gene’s idea to raise the price of firecrackers to 4 cents.”
Brothers and partners: Dennis Baker (L) and “Poggie” Baker (L) 1965.
As the big holiday drew near, customers “came out of the woodwork.” They usually sold out before Independence Day. On July 4th, “We’d have a family show. We built a big fire out by the road; put a big pot on it, boiled hot dogs and had pop or beer for whoever wanted to stop by. It was a lot of fun.”
But there were also challenges from the Feds and the State.
In the mid-1970s, Baker got a call from a friend who worked at the State Capitol, who warned that US Marshals were heading to Shoalwater Bay to raid their stands. “We removed most of the inventory, just left a small amount on the shelves. Everybody was sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for them to arrive, even the kids.” Two Federal Marshals pulled up in an unmarked car. “One guy sat there with his hand on his gun. The man who came to the stand wore a pistol. He said they were here to confiscate our illegal fireworks. I asked to see his ID.”
The Marshall seized all the firecrackers and bottle rockets, but “had to leave the smoke balls because they weren’t illegal.” After the officer piled everything up, he asked Baker for a bag. “I told him no.” The elder chuckled. “Then he asked for a box… The answer was negative.” State Senator Slade Gorton sent Baker a letter, “telling me I was a communist-or Un-American. I wrote back and said I had a right to sell fireworks here, we are a sovereign nation.”
Baker mused, “I always thought it would be nice to have a painting of an Indian in a fireworks stand and a marshal with his hand on his gun, and three little kids peaking around the corner at them. Who was that guy who used to do all the Americana?
“Norman Rockwell?”
“Yeah. That would have been a hell of a Rockwell.”
Tires crunched on gravel as a truck backed up to the warehouse. Baker put his coffee cup down. He would have to continue his story later. Independence Day was just around the corner.
Originally published in the July 2021 Shoalwater Bay Tribal Newsletter. (Updated for 2022.)
