History of Early Pioneer Families of Hood River, Oregon. Compiled by Mrs. D.M. Coon

JOHN H. CRADLEBAUGH                              D.M.C.             1839

     George T. Prather began the publication of the Hood River Glacier in May 1889; it was printed in the office of the Sun, at The Dalles and John B. Cradlebaugh was hired to edit the paper.
     In September of the same year Mr. Prather sold his interest in the Glacier to Mr. Cradlebaugh, who bought a printing press and moved the plant to Hood River. For five years Mr. Cradlebaugh made his home in our town, making a host of friends and molding public opinion through the medium of his paper. In 1894 he sold the Glacier to Samuel F. Blythe. During his residence in Hood River he owned and operated a drugstore which he sold to Charles N. Clarke.
     In 1890 he was editor, for a few months, of the Dalles Chronicle. This was a now publication and he acted as temporary editor until a permanent one could be found.
     One of his ardent admirers, in Hood River, was an old Indian known as "White Salmon Dave" who had come to be a chronic beggar, looking to the editor for most of his food and clothing. This same Indian (according to H.C. Coe, who is authority) applied the torch to the home of E.C. Joslyn at White Salmon in 1856.
     After leaving Hood River, Mr. Cradlebaugh located at Salem, where he edited the Capital Journal. He died in that city Dec. 18th, 1918. An article from that paper is copied in full.
     "Salem, Ore. 18 Colonel John H. Cradlebaugh, pioneer newspaperman, one of the unique characters in Oregon, died Tuesday afternoon at 2:30 o'clock after an illness of several months.
     He was 70 years old, and leaves a widow, a son and a step daughter. Although he had reached his allotted three score years and ten, he remained in active news-paper work until his last illness, and even during the last several months, when his health was practically gone, he nerved himself on several occasions to return to his desk at the Capital Journal office and labored as long as physical endurance would permit.
     No one seems to know where he acquired the title of "colonel" but it was es-tablished as part of his life at Salem. It may be that he brought the title with him front the mining fields of Nevada, when he had a varied and exciting career. At one time he was district attorney in Nevada. He was also successful at mining and amassed a fortune of $l,000,000 in the early days, and went to San Francisco where he lost it in a short time dealing in mining stocks. In these days he was an intimate friend of Mark Twain and Brete Hart, and he, himself, was a writer of considerable ability.
     Leaving the mining districts he went to Portland and engaged in newspaper work for some time, and about 15 years ago came to Salem, where he was contin-uously associated with the Capital Journal as editorial and news writer.
     Three or four years ago he collected many of the poems he had written and published them in book form. He was widely known in this part of Oregon and leaves a host of friends."
     The Portland Journal says "He was a kindly man, a friend in good fortune or in bad. His passing will leave no sentiment but sorrow and regret in the minds of those who knew him. As an editor and a newspaper writer for many years Col. Cradlebaugh has left the imprint of his thought upon the minds of a wide circle of people in the Oregon Country. Clear, forceful and vigorous in style, progressive in thought, he wrote in support of those principles and precepts which he believed were for the best interests of the people of the state. His influence has been felt in shaping the public mind and molding it from the old order of things into the new.
     He will be missed by his friends, and by his readers, who were his friends."
     The following poem is from his pen and will be appreciated by his friends.

The Old Camp Ground.

The old camp ground has come to life, and blooms with pioneers
With men and women young again, in spite of passing years.
And gray heads wag as hand clasps hand, and memory finds her tongue
Among those hardy boys and girls, almost a century young.

Whet memories of those far gone years cane pouring in a flood,
About the trip across the plains, the seeming endless road,
The dreary Platte, the mountain 0limb, and then the great reward
When after this their tired feet pressed the valley's emerald award,

When cabin doors were opened wide, and hearts that knew not gates
Were open as the cabin doors to "strangers from the states".
And friendships then were formed that have grown stronger with the years
Explained in this expression "Why we all were pioneers.

And so tonight the boys and girls of that far long ago,
Will hear the old-time fiddle squeak to the tune of "Old Black Joe"
Will dance the old quadrille, perhaps attempt the "toe and heel",
And as they did in those old days, lead the "Virginia Reel".

And gallant youths will play the beau, and girlish eyes grow bright,
Though all will drop a tear for those who "Can't come out tonight",
For those who slipped away, as slip the fleeting years,
But who upon the other side, are still -- just pioneers.

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