The Briscoe Residence, Oysterville c. 1900
I don’t know if this is a joke or a truism among authors: the first page you look at in your newly published book is the one on which you’ll find an error. The best you can hope for is that the mistake is a typo that was overlooked in the copyediting and proofreading processes. The worst, at least for someone who writes about historical “truths,” is an error of fact.
Sometimes, those more substantive errors don’t reveal themselves right away – usually not until you are deep into the research for another, unrelated project. Take, for instance, the whopping error in Oysterville, my second book for Arcadia Publications. The book was published in 2010, yet it wasn’t until yesterday while working on an article about place names, that I found I had totally confused two generations of Briscoes.
I was looking for information about the little Briscoe gravesite north of Long Beach. It’s to the west of the highway, about at 140th, and is surrounded by a white fence. I have always thought that it was a baby who was buried there but I found that there are actually two stones – one for Lucy Briscoe who died in 1881 and the other for John Briscoe who died in 1901 at the age of 88.
This information triggered a number of semi-related thoughts. I remembered my mother’s friend, Lucille Wilson (a descendent of the Briscoes) telling me that her ancestors had taken out a Donation Land Claim for that property in 1853. I remembered the identification on the back of a photograph given to me by Charlotte Jacobs: Briscoe House, Oysterville. And I remembered what I had written on page 38 of Oysterville:
Not far south of the Pacific House was the home of Judge John Briscoe, who served as the area’s fifth representative to the Territorial Legislature. In 1854, he was appointed probate judge by Gov. Isaac I. Stevens and was reelected to that position for some years. He and his wife, Julia, were highly respected members of the pioneer community.
My current thinking is that I’ve confused two John Briscoes, father and son. The elder was the homesteader near Briscoe Lake north of the present-day Long Beach, was elected to represent Pacific County in the Washington Territorial Legislature at Olympia, was appointed probate judge, and had a wife named Lucy. The younger John Briscoe lived in Oysterville with his wife Julia, served as postmaster here from 1874 to 1877, was a trustee of the Oysterville Methodist Church and, like his father, became a judge.
The 1860 Oysterville Census, which certainly could have included the Briscoe DLC, lists the Briscoe family: Briscoe, John, 47; Briscoe, Lucy, 43; Briscoe, Joseph, 11; Briscoe, John, 9; Briscoe, Pacific B., 5; Briscoe, Ida G., 1. Although I found one reference to the elder Briscoe as “John D,” I have yet to mind a middle initial for the younger John. I am still on the search for later census information.
So, my personal jury is out regarding the Judges Briscoe. All I know for certain is that I’m confused, and that if Oysterville ever goes into a second printing, some corrections are in order.
There was lots of activity at the Oysterville Store yesterday. Lighting fixtures were being installed; paint spatters were being cleaned off the floor; shelves were being dusted and glass display cases were being polished. The finishing touches were being applied to the window decorations. By late afternoon all was in readiness for today’s “Sneak Peak and Book Signing.” Or at least I think it was.
Otherwise, the shelves were mostly empty. All that will, of course, be remedied by the actual opening date, July 6th. The point of today’s opening, after all, is to give the community a taste of what’s to come. And an opportunity to “buy local” – at least with respect to cards and books. And a chance to eat a celebratory piece cake.
My article about Greg Rogers and his ideas for the “new” Oysterville Store ran in yesterday’s Chinook Observer. I was pleased to see that it began on the front page – right on the fold, to be sure, but still attention-getting with its headline, “Back to old business in Oysterville” and “Greg Rogers reopens the Oysterville Store” as the sub-head.
Shortly after dawn’s crack yesterday Nyel and I headed to Meeting Room A at the County Building in Long Beach to attend a public hearing. The meeting concerned the application for a special use permit for the Oysterville Guest House. The house, at the north end of the village, was purchased last summer, along with the adjacent Captain Stream House, and new owners Marty Kilmer and Steve Romero want to continue offering it as a vacation rental.
Once again the Great Pumpkin has visited Oysterville in the middle of the night strewing pumpkins along the verges of Territory Road. I thought he might have given up on us after last year’s experiences, but he seems undaunted in his determination to spread autumnal cheer.
Labor Day weekend! Hard to believe. The summer has gone by in a whirl of people and parties and fun with some important milestones along the way – Louise’s memorial celebration, the goodbye party for Storekeeper John and Postmaster Jean, and Nyel’s birthday bash in Tokeland.
We have quite a few friends who live out in Surfside and, though it is not something I’m proud of, I find it difficult when we go their way to visit. Try as I might, I can never get over the shock of arriving at ‘the beach’ and finding it clotted up with houses and streets.
It doesn’t help much that my parents’ friend, Bon Bailey, was Surfside’s main developer and that they were enthusiastic about the entire project. My dad, especially, had the ability to embrace the future and to see the possibilities and positive outcomes. My mother, too, enjoyed seeing the changes time brought, although she fiercely honored the past and the memories of long ago.
Yesterday morning went by in a blur of calls and visits and reports and claims with the Sheriff’s Department, our insurance company and our local towing company. It culminated with both of our vehicles being carted off to have tires replaced.
making that ‘curbside’ parking mistake again – not with either vehicle. Of that I am confident,
