PSU Magazine Fall 1998

C- he Columbia River Ba in, a vast area encompassing most of the states of Oregon and Washington, as well as large chunks of Idaho, Montana and British Columbia, holds many tales-some commonly known and others hidden, but still a force in the shaping of the Pacific Northwest and its people. Harnessing hydro– power, the rise and fall of timber and fishing, displacement of Native American peoples, establishment of new ethnic enclaves-these stories comprise the history of the Basin. Sorting out these complex, often unknown tales is a group of researchers from across state lines. Researchers from the Center for Columbia River History (CCRH), Washington State Historical Society, Oregon Historical Society, Washington State University– Yancouver, and Portland State University are making the Basin's history more accessible and vital to the millions who live in the region . William Lang, a PSU history professor who is directing the project, believes existing historical documenta– tion of the Columbia River Basin lacks the modem-day perspective as well as the per pective of the many people and communities who voiced dissent as events unfolded earlier in the 20th century. "As historians we've focused on big events and big changes, such as the damming of the Columbia River, but we haven't investigated very deeply the context and content of social change, especially in the smaller communities in the Basin," says Lang. Clark Hansen, an interviewer with the Oregon Historical Society, says the voices of common people are in short supply. He relishes the opportuni ty to talk to people of average means and standing who, through their pass ion for the Columbia River Basin, have made an impact-people such as Reed Burkholder, a piano teacher living in Boise, Idaho. or years, Burkholder was convinced that the four dams on Idaho's lower Snake River were killing off fish runs while doing little to benefit farmers. He researched the issue on his own and decided that 16 PSU MAGAZINE FALL 1998 removing the dams was best for farmers and fish . He drew puzzled looks when he offered his proposal to Idaho Rivers United, a coalition of Idaho river orga– nizations. But the coalition's board looked into Burkholder's views, did research of its own, and eventually agreed with him. Idaho Rivers United then corralled additional support, even– tually getting the backing of the Idaho Fish and Game Commission for return– ing the lower Snake River to its natural state. The issue is expected to come before legislative officials next year. "Here's a person who had little money and no special connections, who went out and made a big change," Hansen says. Hansen , along with interviewer Michael O'Rourke and Jim Strassmaier, chief oral historian at the Oregon Historical Society, are glean– ing some 60 oral histories from persons who have disagreed with management of the Columbia River since the 1930s period of dam building. The histories of environmental critics, Native Americans pushed off traditional tribal lands, and others who voiced dissent will be distributed to libraries through– out the Northwest and will eventually appear on the Center for Columbia River History's Web site: www.ccrh .org. hile newspaper accounts often help documentary history, oral histories can provide greater depth in telling the stories of grassroots movements or individuals. To the newspaper journalist, an hour– long, face-to-face interview is consid– ered a luxury; to the oral historian, it's not uncommon to spend 10 to 20 hours with a subj ect. A person who is interviewed for a lengthy time is apt to get more comfortable with the inter– viewer, and may thus be more open with information, Strassmaier notes. "Journalists often can't put down everything they hear or find out. In oral history we have room to go more in-depth. Good interviewers can help subj ects grapple with their own failures and disappointments," he says. Hansen tells the story of Eagle, Idaho, resident Ed Chaney-a tragic tale of personal integrity. OFTHEC Untold tales of the region are finding an audience. Chaney was a state information officer for the Oregon Fish Commission in the 1960s, and attended the John Day Dam's dedica– tion in September 1968. At the time of the ceremonies, the fish ladders weren't completed. Chaney noticed hundreds of fish backing up behind the dam. They were dying in massive numbers, and Chaney photographed