The Life and Times of Jerry Rust Sr.

by Jerry Rust Jr.

    

    

    

Jerry Rust died peacefully while dozing in his chair, 

pictures of Thelma on the wall, and her rugs underfoot, 

just days before
 the murderous events that changed the world. 

 Before he slept he took a final, forbidden spin in his 

pick-up-to collect mail at the post office. His world on 

top of a hill in Glide was slumbering too, as

Jack, Larry Bonnie, Betty and I remembered.

    

Dad had been at work on his memoirs, so all the books, pictures, and

other artifacts of his life were at arms reach on desks and shelves.

We read some titles:

Gold and Cattle Country; Pete French Cattle King; Making Rustic

Furniture; Stone Age on the Columbia

 River; Gunfighters; The Horse in

the West; Pan Bread and Jerky; Captain Jack-Modoc Renegade; Will

Rogers; NRA Magazine; Oregon Sheriff Magazine; The Yew Tree;

Reverence for Wood; How High the Bounty, autographed copy by the

author, Jessie Smith; The Bible; and one titled, "Today I Baled Some

Hay to Feed the Sheep the Coyotes Eat".

    

The pictures spanning 100 years of Oregon history, family
 history,

with all the hunting, fishing, farming, building, and family life

were inches deep on desks and tables.

    

Walking through the shop and around the grounds is a visit to a

Western shrine. Antique tools compete for space on the walls; Willow

and Dogwood stems stand in the corner-waiting to be made in to

furniture; Wobi lies quietly in the small office where guns and more

pictures, and more artifacts were kept. Everything about this

collection recalls the Indian, the miner, the logger, the cowboy, the

pioneer,

 the Old Oregon.

    

The Working shop bristles with hand tools of every description, and

big power tools, lathe and bandsaw.

    

This was where this man of the West made his last stand.

This was his site to close down a forty-year contracting career that

included jobs like the Winchester Fishladder; Mills in Glide; North

Umpqua Highway; Carter Tire buildings; Powers High School; 
 and,

among numerous residential structures-the largest log house in Grant

county.

    

    

And you soon noticed, that he was an artist at work-on each project.

He mastered the ability to do architectural drawings on his own. He

could turn huge pieces of wood on the lathe. I remember one of those

pieces came off at full speed, and the light-hearted way he shrugged

off being "chased around the shop" by the spinning piece of Myrtle or

black walnut.

    

Jerry Rust began his journey on a farm on the Owahee river, one of

four children.

 It is obvious from the pictures, stories and diaries,

that from a very early age Jerry was counted on to pull a heavy load,

and he was eager to pull it. Let his own words of sixty years ago be

heard. Here's a diary entry from 1935: January 1. "Vacation time.

Hauled manure and set a few muskrat traps and did a few other things.

Next morning did the chores, looked at my
 traps-had a rat or two.

Skinned and stretched the hides. Did chores, harnessed horses and

hauled a load of poles from the swamp" And that's vacation. In

truth, for Dad, work was play.

    

His world changed abruptly, when his twin brother Jack died in a

motorcycle accident, and his father passed on, too. Jerry headed out

for the Blue Mountains where he fit right in with the ranchers,

became the sheriff of Long Creek, and met and married my mother.

    

 Here's another diary entry:

"Feb. 23, 1938. Balmy. Feeding and Hauling Posts. Hooked

 to the

sled this morning to feed the cattle up on the hill.After feeding we

went on up above the old place and broke a trail in to some other

parts. The snow was very deep and we had to rest the horses

continually. It wasn't so bad coming back because the snow was

already broken and we had all downhill going. The horses gave me a

little trouble, but we got home
 with all the posts. After dinner we

worked on the sled about an hour, then hooked up and went after a

load of hay, hauled a load to the cows and fed it. Loaded up again

and took it to the barn where we unloaded it and went back after

another load. I chopped wood quite a while before supper."

    

Here's May 4th, same year, 1938:

"We milked the 12 cows in about an hour and a half. Ate breakfast

and started to work. Still windy and cold with an occasional flurry

of sleet and snow. Going down for dinner my Gray horse got scared

and broke loose. 

 Fortunately no damage was done and I caught him

again. Ate dinner and finished about 4 o'clock. Coming up the trail

I again had some trouble when Ol Kate walked around a pine tree,

tearing off the halter and causing the others to break their ropes.

Being on a saddle horse I caught them again."

    

 A few years later, he's still in the Blue Mountains:

February
 22, 1941. "Up at 4 o'clock and cooked a big breakfast.

Fixed a bunch of biscuits and pork. Also had jerky and candy bars.

Left at 9:30 and pushed my horse hard till I crossed the Middle Fork

river at the mouth of Slide Creek. Left the river at the mouth of

Indian Creek and reached the Bowman place by noon. I walked and led

my horse as I was in elk country. Struck elk sign about a mile from

the creek. Crossed Indian Creek at the Government bridge and hunted

up the creek keeping to the South slope, as the snow was very deep on

the north slope. 

 Continuing on up in to higher country and more

snow. Saw 5 deer and one bull elk, but unable to get a shot.

Started to cross over the divide, but got in to deep snow, and had to

back track and cross below quite a ways. Terrible hard traveling for

my horse. Hit fresh elk sign on the top of the ridge and followed

them in the deep snow for about a mile. It was
 almost dark and I

followed them as fast as I could go. Just as it was getting dark I

saw them.

    

The next day, February 23, 1941:

"Up early to feed my horse his grain. Ate some jerky and my last

biscuit. Started just after day light and struck fresh elk sign.

Started trailing them and jumped them in a bunch of brush. Got 3

shots, but missed them all on account of so much brush and trees to

shoot through. Went on in to lower country. Saw three bulls on a

hillside quite a ways away. Took a shot, and missed because of the

distance. Went across

 the left prong of Indian Creek when I jumped a

5 point bull and killed him with 3 shots. Skinned him out. Cut the

meat off the bones. Packed my horse and started towards home, which

was about 12 miles away. Got in about 7:30 very tired, but satisfied

with my hunt. Started snowing-and snowed all night."

    

And then came Thelma.

    

By now Jerry was
 living in a cabin on Pine Creek. Here are several

diary entries at about the time he met his future wife, our mother.

February 1, 1941:

"Rode over the hill to Weisenflu's to go to the dance with them.

Keen time at the dance. Spent most of my time dancing with Thelma

Graves. Dance over a little after 3 o'clock A.M.

    

Next Saturday, Feb. 8, 1941:

"Rode down to Wiesenflu's and went to the dance at Fox Valley with

them. Thelma Graves was there, and I had the time of my life with

her."

    

You don't have to read between too many lines to know he'd met

 the

love of his life.

    

His diary entries for the Summer and Fall of 1941 are full of

references to Thelma. Here's September, 27, 1941:

"After quitting time we threw a camp together and Thelma, Phyllis and

I took off for the high country of the Middle Fork.

Got there late, and slept in an old barn for the night.

Built a bon fire and got warm while
 Thelma played guitar and sang.

    

But world events were moving fast in the Fall of 1941. Here's his

diary entry for December 7, 1941:

"While at work today Mr. Stubblefield came up and told us that Japan

had attacked the Philippines and Hawaii. It was quite a surprise,

and us young fellows had our minds made up that we were willing to

enlist to fight for our country".

    

And late that year, December 24, 1941:

"Gave Thelma an engagement ring for Christmas…..we were both quite

happy and plan to be married the first chance we get."

    

The record shows

 that they were married the following Spring; I

showed up about one year later; and a year and one day after my birth

Jerry was sworn in to the U.S. Navy in Portland, Oregon. He would

serve on the USS Hancock, a carrier, in the decisive naval battles of

the Pacific. He was in the thick of it as just one diary entry makes

clear.

    

April 7,
 1945:

"We were alerted this morning as Japanese planes came out to look us

over for an opening. We were all pretty sleepy from so little sleep

and so much war and attacked all the time. You can be assured we are

all grateful in having come this far without getting a direct hit.

About 12 o'clock noon the battle gong sounded and we all jumped for

battle stations. Before the shrill whistle of General Quarters had

died our guns opened up. Most everyone flung themselves prone with a

prayer that our luck would hold. I ran out on the cat walk just in

time to see a Japanese

 plane come out of the clouds ahead of us and

start his dive on the UVL Cabbot. He veered towards us, and it was

apparent he would finish his run on us. He corkscrewed expertly

through our anti-aircraft fire at a terrific speed. I watched the

tracers go in to him, and I know he was dead, but his terrific speed

carried him in to us out of
 control.

Captain Hickey tried to swing the ship from the path of it, but it

had to hit, and I dived in a hatch and fell flat as the Hancock

shuddered from the awful blast of the bomb tearing in to her innards.

Seconds later, another explosion as the Japanese plane was still in

flight, and helped by the momentum of the blast of bomb continued aft

striking 12 parked bombers on the fantail, blowing them all up as

they were loaded with gas. I came out on the catwalk, but couldn't

see or hardly breath as smoke was so dense. We ran our hoses out

though and soon checked the fire

 pretty well on the fantail, although

it was dangerous with the planes' guns and ammo going off. I worked

up to the bomb crater and ran a hose with two other fellows in a

rocket magazine and wetted it down; then Ordinance unloaded the

rockets overboard.

Fighting fire at the bomb hole then we heard cries from below. Smoke

cleared a
 little, and we discovered 3 men trapped in Mounts below. I

ran to Repair locker with Comm. Butts to get cable and lines. We

pulled the boys up to the flight deck and I went down on a line, but

boys were dead down there. 28 of them, and an awful mess. Shorty,

the barber ran off in the elevator pit and broke his neck. Just

scared, I guess. Another wounded lad fell over and drowned.

Many men went overboard as they thought we would blow up like the

Franklin. Many lost their lives trying to save them. Many were

wounded and could not swim. Destroyers picked up 17 floating

 bodies,

besides dozens of survivors.

I'm glad I stayed and helped fight the fire. The urge was great to

jump and don't know yet why I didn't as I was so darn scared I

couldn't even talk for a while.

After securing the fire I helped take the dead gunners and officers

from mounts and directors. It was a gruesome job. The men
 were

cooked and popped open whenever we moved them. We had to leave one

man in director as a plane came at us again, but they didn't get in.

I had the duty tonight and couldn't sleep as tired out as I was.

They had me watch for electrical sparks at the bomb crater all night.

Every once in a while a flash of blue light would come from the torn

cables as some of them were still alive, and light up dead bodies and

all. There was never a dawn so welcome as April 8 was to me."

    

That was just one day. He served out the rest of the war on the

Hancock, seeing and hearing things humans

 should not have to witness.

He records the A-bomb; the surrender; the occupation; and return to

the U.S. He was done with diaries.

    

Like the rest of his generation, he went on with the rest of his

life, rarely speaking about the war.

    

And, now Jack and Larry, Bonnie and Betty followed. We lived on a 60

acre farm with
 Gramma and Grampa Graves on the South Deer Creek

This period will forever remind us of paradise. The creek, the cows,

the hunting, the huge gardens. No diaries, but plenty of pictures,

and lots of memories.

It reminds me of a poem by Dylan Thomas, Green the whole day long,

and "famous among barns".

    

Jerry Rust was a giant; a legend for our time; a family man; and

would it be too much to suggest, a real American hero?

    

As the season is changing we will recall a thousand hunting stories.

We will miss him around the fires at hunting camp

    

I would like to address the persistent

 rumor that he was known to

open the season early upon occasion. I can't lay that rumor to rest

entirely, but I believe it has ancient origins. In the Old Country

the Rust clans resisted the notion that all the deer belonged to the

King and his nobles. The Rusts lined up on the side of the common

folk-taking a fat
 forked-horn on the 4th of July was just an

extension of his birthright. It's the same ancient impulse that

makes many westerners, including dad, believe that to give up your

guns is to surrender to tyranny.

    

I had an assistant for many years, Allen Miller, who knew dad. Allen

fell in the Lane County courthouse of a heart attack. Even though

his heart had stopped, and he was not breathing, emergency personnel

got his pulse restored. He awoke from a coma the next morning long

enough to whisper to his family at his hospital bed side, what he had

seen and heard during the minutes he had been dead.

 He said there

was a large body of water, and giant trees; and large rocks on that

distant shore; and beautiful music.

    

We can all build on these images of heaven, and know that Jerry is

with Thelma. That this is a home where buffalo and lots of wild

game roam. And his skies are not cloudy all
 day.