The Pittsburgh Press (January 14, 1942)
Rambling Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
SCOTIA, California – This little town in the great redwood country of northern California is wholly owned by the Pacific Lumber Co.
I have just spent two nights here, as the guest of two lumber men.
One night was at the cottage home of a cousin of mine from Indiana. He works for the lumber company, driving a bulldozer to gouge out logging trails in the mountains.
The other night was at the luxurious mountain lodge of Stan Murph, who is president of the huge company my cousin works for. My cousin has never met Mr. Murphy.
My cousin’s name is Paul Saxton. His father is my Uncle Oat back near Dana, the coon-dog man with the laugh that peals and rings. I saw Uncle Oat just a few weeks ago, but Paul has not seen him for 12 years.
Paul Saxton was born in a log house in Indiana two miles from where I was born. We used to play together as kids. But we have seen each other only once before in 20 years.
Paul left the farm when he was 21, worked a couple of years in the shops of Detroit, and then came west with some boys in a Model-T. He has never been back.
Always worked in woods
He has always worked mm the woods out here. At first he was a “high-climber,” which is the precarious job of climbing to the tops of these towering redwoods and preparing them for the fall. That is dangerous and dramatic work, but my cousin liked it. He changed only because he could make more money driving a caterpillar.
I got to my cousin’s house before he got home. I never had met his wife, yet she knew me before I introduced myself. It was strange, too, because as far as she knows she had never even seen a picture of me.
They hadn’t known I was anywhere near this part of the country, so she decided to play a joke on my cousin.
She saw him pull up, and went out and told him there was a Government man inside to find out why he hadn’t sent in the papers about his car. “He’s good and sore, too,” she told my cousin. “Aw, to hell with him,” my cousin said.
Then he came in the house. He looked hard at me and I could see he was puzzled. “Why didn’t you send in those papers like you were supposed to?” I said, trying to sound tough. Obviously he heard me, but he looked startled and said “What?”
I said, “You’re gonna get in trouble for not sending in those papers.” He looked pretty grave and was fishing for an answer. It might have gone on for quite a while except his wife giggled, and then it was off. He took one good look and knew who I was.
Bought his own home
My cousin went only part of one year to high school, and he says that has deprived him of many better jobs. But he has saved his money and bought his own home – one of the few among his crowd who have.
They have nice clothes and a bath and a big radio and an electric washer and a Dodge sedan in addition to the old Ford. They are by no means badly off.
My cousin likes it out here. He loves the woods and the outdoors and the rain. He wouldn’t leave here on a bet. But his wife doesn’t like it, because there are occasional earthquake shocks, and they frighten her. One quake last summer knocked down both their chimneys.
My cousin has a scar on his lower lip. I said to him, “Have you had an accident since we saw each other last?”
And he said, “Why, no. Don’t you remember? I got this when I fell out of the eucalyptus tree when I was little. You ought to remember. You were up in the tree too.”
Funny that a boy who falls out of trees and gets a life scar should wind up working in the tallest trees known to man. He says he’s never fallen out of a tree since. And neither have I, for I’ve never been up in a tree since. And never intend to be.