John Alfred Poor got frostbite and pneumonia on his grueling trek to bring trains from Canada to Portland.
The sailors came back one night, three weeks later, with a 6-pound cannon. They fired it into King’s house.
Before she was 20, at a time when women weren’t trusted to vote, she rode a motorcycle to stardom on the wall of death.
There’s still two remnants of Union Station you can see in Portland today. Part of the train shed made its was to Thompson’s Point. What’s left of the old clock sits in a glass case in Congress Square.
He used the three cents in his pocket to buy three newspapers, which he sold on the corner at a profit. By the end of the day, he had nine cents. When he died, 71 years later he was worth $174 million, which is $43.2 billion in todays cash.
An alternative headline may have been: “Where’s the governor’s hotel key? The fish ate it.”
He wanted to see his son, Elwood, before he died. He was the only family Modoc had left. His wife and two other children had already succumbed to disease.
The creature had a long neck and a broad head held up, out of the water. It stopped 125 feet from their boat. Though they could see no eyes, they knew it was looking at them.
Later, while Dow and the militia were enjoying their crackers, a doctor came in and asked Dow if he knew a man lay dead outside.
Raimondi also had standards. He wanted folks who didn’t like the sculpture to gawk in amazement at the craftsmanship that went into it. No sloppy welding or cutting was allowed.