PSU Magazine Spring 1998

and no self-respecting tore would carry red clothing); the Washington Park Zoo's seemingly endless supply of Zoo Doo (that is, the filtered and refined product-early versions of pachyderm poop created an unwelcome peanut crop when the International Rose Test Gardens were fertilized with it); and, in 1987, the 20th anniversary of the Goose Hollow Inn, the tavern found ed by our esteemed lederhosen-wearing, bike– riding, and canoe-poling former mayor, Bud C lark. I t wasn't until the summer of 1988 that I ventured into participatory journalism, which has become my signature style. The annual Rose Festival was just getting under way and the town was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Navy ships. Portlanders were encouraged to "Dial a Sailor" and volunteer to entertain lonely, seasick sa ilors. I dialed, and as soon as I iden– tified my elf as a Wall Street Journal writer, I was offered the deluxe plate: a two-fer, one ail or, one marine. I was thrilled. After years of waiting by the eawall with the rest of Portland 's female population, I got myself two men in uniform without even batting an eye lash. Truth to te ll, it wasn't such a hot date. The sa ilor turned out to be an offi cer, which meant that the marine had to call him "Sir" all night. Both of them called me "Ma'am." We were all on our best behavior during a quick tour of Portland. Then I took the fellas out to dinner at Jake's. I to ld them the Wall Street Journal was picking up the tab and they ordered accordingly. I watched them eat platters of food and listened to their yummy noises, trying to fee l sa intly for furnishing the best meal they'd had in years. I don't know if there wa a connec– tion , but after my articl e appeared, "Dial-a-Sailor" was renamed "Ho t-a- Sailor." Requirements for "hosting" were made far more stringent, with preference given to families and church groups. Oh well. By that time I'd given up on sailors, but not on the Rose Fe rival. Participating in festi val events has given me some of my most memorable adventures, and articles. The year I joined a pooper scooper brigade for the Grand Floral Parade, I had the honor of cooping behind Gov. Barbara Roberts- that is, behind the horses that fo llowed her car. Our group was costumed as washerwomen in vintage house dresses, with our hair in curlers. Shortly before the parade began, my fellow scoopers and I lea rned our scooping assignment. Hardly able to contain our joy, we found the governor and squea led, "We're behind you! We're behind you!" Gov. Roberts turned and saw a band of giggly women in ragged dresses. Smiling ympathetically, she made a thumb -up ign and sa id, "We upport you, too." P eople tell me they like my articles because I can take ordinary things and make them interesting. I guess that remark also help define the quirkiness of Portland, which I believe is the essence of our famed quality of life. It is the ordinary thing , the things we take for granted-for example, the myriad events of the Rose Festi va l (I swear, someday we'll be able to buy T-shirts that say "Today is the First Day of the Rest of the Portland Rose Festival) ; the annual celebration of Packy the Elephant's birthday; our colorful politicians and political causes-that make us interesting to the rest of the country. To answer that woman who accused me of giving Portland a quirky reputa– tion: l can't take all the credit fo r it, but l do try to make a steady contribution. 0 PRI NG 1998 PSU MAGAZINE 15