The Florence Rifles, Research Help, and Memories.

[CountryGent]

Curious title, no? Allow me to explain ...

So, I started reading the book Panic on the Pacific: How America Prepared for the West Coast Invasion, by Bill Yenne. As one can gather from the title, it covers the fear that gripped the west coast in the wake of Pearl Harbor and the steps taken by the government and private entities in that period. And it jogged a memory.

I grew up south of Florence and north of Reedsport, in the dune country. I remember reading an article in the mid-90s about a civilian organization that called itself "The Florence Rifles" that consisted of men too old to be drafted, but who wanted to help with the war effort by patrolling their little slice of the Pacific Coast. The article mentioned they organized, practiced on the dunes and carried out watches. There was also a mention of acquiring a belt-fed machine-gun from some governmental organization. When reading the article some two decades ago, I remembered me and my childhood friend finding a very old .50 BMG case on the dunes in the early 80s. If it was related to the aforementioned organization, I have no idea and it was just as likely was not.

Anyway, has anyone ever read of this group? My searches on old news articles haven't yielded much beyond false positives and I may not be looking in the right place; anyone have experience digging up old news articles?

Thanks!

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[pakrat57]

I remembered me and my childhood friend finding a very old .50 BMG case on the dunes in the early 80s. If it was related to the aforementioned organization, I have no idea and it was just as likely was not.

Thanks!

I don't know about The Florence Rifles but I have found at least half a dozen .50 cases and belt links in the Winchester Bay dunes. I was told that the dunes were used as target ranges for our fighter planes.

 

[Ura-Ki]

You can write to the different Military Departments and ask, Each had quite a lot going on with protecting the Oregon Coast from possible invasion. I would start with the Army and go from there. IF you get a chance to get up to Astoria, Stop in the the Maritime center and ask about the WW-2 period. I also know the U.S. Air Force has extensive archives and displays on the coastal defenses set up during WW-2 at Wright-Patterson A.F.B. in Dayton Ohio. The Navy had contracts with Boeing to build powered coastal monitors using spare/left over naval guns, and the navy also had a supply chain for the shore batteries.
My Grand Mother and relatives all took part in various watches and my Grand mother even stood watch atop a tower and would look for ships, Periscopes, and any planes that might come by. She was in the Reeds Port area for the first 2 years of the war.

 

[Medic!]

To heck with the Florence rifles.

I want to find a WWI Winchester 94 ''Spruce Gun''.
That would be a cool NW Historical Military connection I could get behind.

 

[66PonyCar]

This was in the Oregonian for December 6, 1991. It's almost at the end of the article. They were called the Siuslaw Rifles.

Multnomah County Library /All Locations

 

[Howard1955]

Maybe these folks can help:

Oregon Coast Military Museum - Online

 

[66PonyCar]

Here's another article. It cites a book at the end.

Lincoln County Guerrillas

 

[CountryGent]

Thanks all. Much appreciated!

You can write to the different Military Departments and ask, Each had quite a lot going on with protecting the Oregon Coast from possible invasion. I would start with the Army and go from there. IF you get a chance to get up to Astoria, Stop in the the Maritime center and ask about the WW-2 period. I also know the U.S. Air Force has extensive archives and displays on the coastal defenses set up during WW-2 at Wright-Patterson A.F.B. in Dayton Ohio. The Navy had contracts with Boeing to build powered coastal monitors using spare/left over naval guns, and the navy also had a supply chain for the shore batteries.
My Grand Mother and relatives all took part in various watches and my Grand mother even stood watch atop a tower and would look for ships, Periscopes, and any planes that might come by. She was in the Reeds Port area for the first 2 years of the war.

Thanks for the info and recollections.

Maybe these folks can help:

Oregon Coast Military Museum - Online

Thanks for the link. I will contact them for info. Come to think of it, I might have to stop in there in person the next time I'm in the area.

This was in the Oregonian for December 6, 1991. It's almost at the end of the article. They were called the Siuslaw Rifles.

Multnomah County Library /All Locations

Thank you for the reply. It certainly could have been "Siuslaw Rifles" and my recollection simply incorrect.

I'll see if we have access to Multnomah County Library through an inter-library system as it looks like the Oregonian's 1987 and newer archive is hosted there, and it requires a MCLS card to login.

Here's another article. It cites a book at the end.

Lincoln County Guerrillas

Thanks again.

 

[66PonyCar]

Here's the article from the Oregonian.


AMID SACRIFICES OF WAR, AN AIR OF EXCITEMENT

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Oregonian, The (Portland, OR) - December 6, 1991Browse Issues

• Author/Byline: RICK BELLA - of the Oregonian Staff Research for this project provided in part by Lovelle M. Svart and Carol A. McMenamin of The Oregonian library staff.
• Edition: FOURTH
• Section: LOCAL STORIES
• Page: A01

Summary: Oregonians respond to the attack with a feeling that they can overcome any obstacle

When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, the shockwaves rocked Oregon to its roots.

The sneak attack fostered an unprecedented feeling of unity and cooperation among Oregonians. A sense of belonging to something worth any personal sacrifice. A belief that Oregonians could accomplish anything if they'd just work hard enough.

``It truly was the worst of times and the best of times,'' said G. Thomas Edwards, who grew up in Oregon and now teaches history at Whitman College in Walla Walla. ``There was a war on, and, of course, that was terrible. But there also was this exciting feeling that people could conquer any problem if they'd just work together.''

It was an era when propaganda posters reviled ``dirty Japs'' as buck-toothed monkeys with round, horned-rim glasses.

It was an era when air raid sirens wailed every day in Portland, and Civil Defense officers with helmets and clipboards critiqued citizens' efforts.

It was a time when hundreds of Oregonians volunteered to stare into the Western skies, on guard for the Japanese invasion of the mainland that never came.

It was a time when old men and young boys on the Oregon coast formed guerrilla bands, hoping their collection of World War I souvenir weapons and hunting rifles would turn back an invasionary force.

It was an era when Hollywood stars played the little stage of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse steps, urging the lunchtime crowds to buy War Bonds.

It was a time of rationing and shortages, of scrap-metal drives at the high schools.

Of censoring your own mail and conversations.

Of looking over your shoulder for spies.

Of interning Japanese-Americans, regardless of their loyalties.

Of stories of glory.

And of hurrying to enlist.

``It's getting hard now to explain the feeling in the air,'' said Sam McKinney of the Oregon Historical Society. ``It was everything -- everything -- for the war effort. I was just a teen-ager at the time. And here in Portland, before anybody saw bodies or wounded servicemen, it all seemed terribly romantic to us.''

Right after the Pearl Harbor attack, Gov. Charles Sprague fueled the general feeling of vulnerability by declaring that the state was in a combat zone. He may have overstated the case, but not by much.

Oregon became the only state where a Japanese submarine shelled a fort, the first attack on the continental United States since the War of 1812.

Oregon was the only state where a Japanese plane dropped bombs.

Oregon was the only state in the union to suffer fatalities as a direct result of a Japanese balloon bomb. In fact, more bomb-carrying balloons were found in Oregon than in any other state.

This also was the era before spy satellites could pinpoint the movements of planes and ships. Radar had just been invented, and it wasn't yet common anywhere.

There were no anti-aircraft missiles or high-altitude reconnaissance jets -- there were no missiles or jets at all. Even radios were used sparingly by the military, which still relied on low-tech mainstays such as the telegraph, telephone, observation blimp and binoculars.

Though only 50 years ago, it truly was a different age.
Revenge motive
When Doolittle's raiders bombed Tokyo in April 1942, the B-25s also dealt a blow to Japanese confidence. For the first time, the Japanese realized their leaders were not invincible and that their island nation was open to attack. Immediately afterward, Japanese military strategists began planning for face-saving measures that included attacks on the U.S. mainland.

Any attack on the United States had to be launched from Japan, nearly 6,000 miles away, or from right offshore.

On June 21, 1942, the Japanese tried the second plan.

The first target in Oregon was old Fort Stevens, which was built on the mouth of the Columbia River during the Civil War. The fort, with its complement of 2,500 men, featured a system of massive concrete gun emplacements, called batteries, where the Oregon National Guard's 249th Coastal Artillery housed 10-inch guns capable of firing a 600-pound shell nine miles out to sea. The fort was expected to protect shipping and guard the river.

``We really didn't have any indication that there were any Japanese subs in the area,'' said Dick Emery of Tualatin, a retired Army lieutenant colonel. ``We had planned to do some target practice in a couple of weeks with the fellows stationed across the river at Fort Canby. It was about 11 o'clock at night when we heard the explosions, and we said, `Gee, but those guys sure are starting early.' ''

Quickly, however, they realized that the large Japanese I-25 submarine had fired a 5.5-inch deck gun at the fort, sending nine shells screaming into the night.

``Luckily, the shells went over the top of the battery and went into the woods,'' said Daryl K. Mason, who now lives in Lake Oswego. ``We did our weather checks right away to help our gun batteries to get a fix on the sub. But they never fired.''

The men remained on alert all night, expecting a second wave that never came. In the morning, the men found gaping shell craters.

``We were real fortunate, there,'' Emery said. ``One shell fell within 100 yards of our living quarters. But the sand dunes and the trees deadened the impact, and nobody was hurt.''

In nearby Astoria, the shelling could be heard as a series of dull, hollow thumps; few people ventured into the streets for several hours. The explosions could be heard as far north as Ilwaco, Wash., and as far south as Tillamook Rock, where the lighthouse keepers feared for their tiny island.

A few days later, this sign appeared in the barbed wire surrounding the battery:

FIRST FORT ATTACKED

ON CONTINENTAL

UNITED STATES

9 SHOTS FIRED 9 SHOTS MISSED

TO HELL WITH

YOU HIROHITO
More unwanted callers
Three months later, Oregon weathered another attack that used some of the most ingenious technology of the day.

Shortly after sunrise of Sept. 9, the Japanese I-25 submarine again surfaced off Curry County's Cape Blanco, north of Gold Beach. With practiced precision, the crew unbolted a watertight bubble-type hangar on the deck to reveal a modified Zero fighter plane with detachable pontoons and wings. After outfitting the plane, the crew catapulted it off the 30-foot foredeck and sent a lone pilot on the first bombing mission ever attempted on the U.S. mainland.

When the Zero reached the vicinity of Mount Emily, nine miles northwest of Brookings, the pilot dropped two incendiary bombs in the dense fir and cedar stands of the Siskiyou National Forest. At first, some speculated that the fires were caused by lightning. But a forest ranger observed both the flight and the bombing and quickly went to the scene to put out the blazes.

Meanwhile, a nearby U.S. Army Air Force A-29 bomber on anti-submarine patrol caught wind of the bombing. But the little Zero didn't stick around to fight. As soon as the plane landed near the sub, the crew detached the wings, stowed the plane under the hangar, then sent the sub diving below just as the A-29 churned up the sea with three 300-pound bombs.

The Americans thought they had destroyed the sub, but that wasn't the last Oregon saw of the I-25 -- yet.

On the night of Sept. 29, the sub surfaced again and the Zero made another bombing run, this time in the Sixes River area east of Port Orford. Again, two incendiary bombs slammed into the forest. But this time, the bombs were duds.

Noting the failure of the first two missions, the submarine commander canceled a planned third run.

The incendiary bombs were expected to touch off massive forest fires raging out of control, perhaps spreading to cities and causing panic. Instead, the attacks only fueled the fears that already gripped the state after Pearl Harbor.

``Those of us living in Ashland in the mountains of Southern Oregon were sure that our town would be the next target,'' said Fred Buehling, now a Salem resident. ``Every light in town was blacked out.''
On the home front
Meanwhile, war fever had spread like wildfire.

Celebrities like Lana Turner and Clark Gable whistle-stopped through the states, appearing in Portland to lend their star appeal to War Bond rallies.

Housewives saved grease and turned in aluminum pots and pans that could be used for aircraft production. They sewed for the Red Cross or knitted for Bundles for Bluejackets. Some joined the Oregon Women's Ambulance Corps.

High school students across Western Oregon, like Buehling and his friends in Ashland, became aircraft spotters. Generally, they worked from tall buildings or a whole string of towers erected along the Coast Range or in the Cascades.

``Our first post was on the roof of the old Lithia Hotel, the tallest building in the valley,'' Buehling said. ``But glory turned to ice as Jim and I took our turns on the icy windswept roof. We discovered after our midnight-to-2 a.m. shift on the roof, without a single enemy plane to warm the experience, that war was, indeed, hell.''

Shortages of items needed for the war effort interrupted nearly everyone's life.

``For us kids, the worst things were rationing gasoline and rubber,'' said McKinney. ``I was a student at Grant High School at the time, and we spent a lot of time worrying about how to stretch our tires and gas. We could only get four gallons a week.

``I was a little better off than most because my my father had a paint company. I used to mix paint thinner in with the gas. Only God knows what that did to my car, but it ran.''

Other shortages rang ironic, even at the time.

``We hardly could get any lumber at all in Portland,'' said Karl Klooster, a Portland historian and author. ``I remember my father needed some 2-by-4s to fix our fence, and he had a hard time finding them. Here we were, right in the heart of the lumber-producing capital of the world, and the average citizen couldn't even get it.''

But they could enlist easily. On June 7, 1942, six months to the day after Pearl Harbor, the Navy held dances and parades around Portland before staging a mass swearing-in ceremony for 191 men in old Multnomah Stadium. The men, called the Oregon Avengers, joined 200 more from around the state to form the nucleus of two or three companies assigned to an amphibious fleet that liberated the South Pacific.

But Portland's biggest homefront sacrifice -- and maybe all of Oregon's -- was made when a good-will gesture backfired.

The USS Oregon, once the flagship of the nation's Pacific Fleet, had been moored in the Willamette River as a floating museum since 1925. After distinguished service in the Spanish-American War, the Oregon served off the China coast during the Boxer Rebellion, then was used as a training ship during World War I.

Sprague, believing the old warship might again be used for training or defense, offered to return the Oregon to the U.S. Navy. President Franklin D. Roosevelt was delighted to hear it but decided to make the ship a shining example of America's commitment to scrap-metal drives. To the horror of many Oregonians, the ship's superstructure was cut off and the hull was used as an ammunition barge.

``I was the last newsman to ride on her as they hauled her off,'' said J. Richard Nokes of Tigard, retired editor of The Oregonian. ``Scrapping her was considered the patriotic thing to do, and nobody really could object. But there went our memorial in the harbor. It was the saddest thing of all.''

After the war, the hull was towed to Japan to be melted down. Only a few pieces of the ship remain in Portland as a monument.

``Yes,'' Nokes said. ``It was a waste.''

Other scrap drives simply produced piles of rusting metal in front of the schools, armories and fire stations. But all had served their purpose in morale-building, whether or not they actually contributed to the war effort.
The resistance
One of the strangest wartime efforts, however, is the little-known tale of the guerrilla bands that were formed on Oregon's 400-mile coast.

Immediately after the Dec. 7 bombing, a group of 200 angry, scared, defiant and poorly outfitted men gathered in a Florence meeting hall, determined to repel the invasion they were sure would follow. Conventional wisdom said the Japanese would choose the relatively sparsely populated coast to take Highway 99 and cut off the supply lines between the aircraft industry centers of Seattle and Los Angeles.

At their second meeting, the Lane County men formed the Siuslaw Rifles, a band entirely separate from the Oregon National Guard. They were armed with surplus World War I weapons, as well as sporting rifles and shotguns and any type of club or pitchfork they could find.

Meanwhile, similar groups formed in Lincoln and Tillamook counties, all preparing for the so-called ``Battle of Oregon.''

``It was all deadly serious because of the tremendous fear and hatred of the Japanese,'' said Professor Edwards. ``I was living in Taft, near Siletz Bay. As a boy, watching these older men I knew in the community -- some of them 65 years old -- drilling on the beach was really something spectacular.''

By the spring of 1942, most of the groups were integrated into the Guard. But some rejected the regimentation and refused to join, holding out to defend their home turf on their own terms throughout the war.
Death touches Oregon
It was foggy on Cape Lookout on Aug. 21, 1943, when a B-17 arrived from Camp Pendleton late for a six-plane training mission. The 10-man crew had missed the rendezvous planned at Cape Disappointment and were flying low to spot a landmark. But there weren't many. Most lights were blacked out, and radio signals were shielded so they wouldn't broadcast over the ocean.

The pilot asked the crew to keep an eye out, but when they found out where they were it was too late. The four-engine plane slammed into the windswept cliffs, killing nine.

Only Wilbur L. Perez of Denver, a second lieutenant assigned as bombardier, survived the crash -- and just barely. His hip was broken and dislocated. His shoulder was dislocated. He was cut, bruised badly and in shock. Perez apparently slept through the first rescue attempt, and it wasn't until the next day that he was able to hail fishermen close to shore.

While an observation blimp from the Tillamook Naval Air Station circled overhead, Coast Guardsmen from Pacific City hacked their way up through the wind-tortured firs and cedars. Finally, they reached the crash site and were able to help Perez, who made the long ride to Fort Stevens while shot full of morphine. He eventually recovered and worked in sales until retiring.

``A few years ago, somebody was out hiking in the woods in that area,'' said Wayne Jensen, director of the Tillamook County Pioneer Museum. ``Somehow, they came upon the nametag from Mr. Perez's jacket. It had been out there all those years. We have it in the museum now.''

The saddest story of death, however, was a case in which innocence came face to face with the ugliness of war.

On May 5, 1945, two weeks after the Japanese Imperial Army abandoned its balloon-bomb campaign and just three months before Japan would surrender, a bomb exploded near Bly, about 54 miles east of Klamath Falls, and caused the only war deaths in the 48 states.

Starting in November 1944, the Japanese took advantage of the high-altitude, 200 mph jet stream winds to launch 6,000 balloons carring 30,000 bombs toward the United States. The balloons, usually made of mulberry paper glued together with a potato paste, were 33 feet in diameter, 70 feet tall and filled with hydrogen. Some carried incendiary bombs; others high-explosive anti-personnel bombs packed with shrapnel.

Little was said about the balloon bombs in the U.S. media. But they were found as far east as Texas and Michigan. Alaska was hit by 37, Washington by 28 and California by 25.

Oregon bore the brunt of the attack, with 45 landing in 11 counties. As early as New Year's Day 1945, one lodged in a tree in Estacada. Fifteen were recovered safely in Klamath County. Only the Bly explosion was fatal, killing six.

It was bright and clear on the morning of May 5 in the Sprague River Valley. The Rev. Archie Mitchell, pastor of Bly's Christian and Missionary Alliance church, set out with his wife, Elsie, and five young members of their Sunday school class for a fishing trip and picnic near Salt Springs, about 250 yards west of Leonard Creek. After they arrived, some set off on a short hike in the woods and yelled that they had found something strange hanging from a tree about 50 feet south of the road. They began to try to take the device apart, ignoring Mitchell's cries not to touch it.

Before he could investigate, the blast killed all six persons standing within 10 feet of the bomb.

Dead were Dick Patzke, 14; Joan Patzke, 13; Jay Gifford, 13; Edward Engen, 13; Sherman Shoemaker, 11; and Elsie Mitchell, 26, who was five months pregnant.

The Rev. Mitchell, about 40 feet away, was the lone survivor.

The bomb blew away a crater 6 feet across and more than 2 feet deep.
The enduring legacy
Today, there are plaques commemorating those who died in Oregon, monuments to valor and misfortune that keep alive the memories of World War II. Monuments explain the shelling and bombing raids. But there are other, subtler monuments everywhere.

The Navy blimp hangars remain in Tillamook, long ago put to use as lumber mills. Small military airstrips all over the state have been turned into municipal airports. The shipyards have been absorbed by the ports. A monument in Portland's Tom McCall Waterfront Park honors Japanese-Americans who were victims of racism. And aircraft spotting posts have been converted into fire-watch lookouts or Coast Guard towers, reminders that Oregon could never again turn its back on the Pacific, in war or peace.

``But in a way, the aftermath of the war was very disappointing,'' said Professor Edwards. ``Those of us who lived through the war believed that sense of cooperation would carry over and that we'd solve all of the world's problems. Of course, it didn't happen. But once you've had a taste of that feeling, it's hard to forget.''

 

[Certaindeaf]

No, but my Dad grew up in St Johns and word was everyone, especially sharp eyed little kids, keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary during WWII.

 

[CountryGent]

@66PonyCar. Thank you for posting the text.

 

[Sgt Nambu]

"You cannot invade the mainland United States!" "There would be a rifle behind every blade of grass!" Misattributed to Fleet Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto.
I still believe it's an accurate assessment!

 

[Medic!]

I don't think today we would be needing any pitchforks. As stated in the article.

There are a lot of people today, with a lot of rifles.
I would guess gun owners today have many more guns than the average Man owning guns in 1942.

And those rifles have quite a bit more firepower than your fathers, fathers civilian owned rifle.
Not to mention the stock piles of ammo people keep today, compared to the couple of 20 round boxes men once felt was sufficient.