CATEGORY: UNIVERSITY YEARS

In my second year at the U of O, Bob Anderson and I were seeing each other regularly.  Jari was in Wyoming living on a ranch with her aunt and uncle: Howard’s sister and her husband.  Bob lived in Portland and I in Eugene. On weekends, either he would come to Eugene or I would go to Portland.  I preferred to go to Portland since it was so nice to get away from Eugene.  On the way back to Eugene, going south on the I-5 corridor near Albany, I would notice a red billboard with large white letters that read COME TO ALBANY, THE BRIGHTEST SPOT IN OREGON’S FUTURE.   When I saw this sign, I was incredulous!  Albany, a “bright spot”?  How could Albany be a “bright spot”?  Right behind this sign and directly adjoining the freeway, was one of the dirtiest paper mills in all of the Pacific Northwest.  It was like a huge mechanical dragon with a forest of vertical tubes coming out its head and rear end, each one belching, puffing and farting poisonous smoke and fumes.  You could smell it for miles.  It was as if the sign were plastered on to the front of this monster like a title.  Every time I passed it I thought, THIS is the Brightest Spot in Oregon’s Future?  Poor Oregon!  What a bitter end to a once beautiful State.  Whoever put up this sign in this place is just asking for it!

But what was IT?  Finally, on a return trip to Eugene, my indignation settled to the bottom and penetrated a mischievous idea that was lurking there.  Why not change the sign?  Well, why not?  I had figured out knottier problems than this.  When I got home I wrote out the words of the sign and I figured out that BIGGEST STINK could be substituted for BRIGHTEST SPOT in the same amount of space, even using the same “B.”  My car at that time was an old station wagon that would hold a step ladder so I took one with me on the next trip north.  I also took a measuring tape and threw in an old piece of carpet.  The carpet was to throw across the barbs of two barbed wire fences, one on either side of a railroad track that was between the sign and the freeway.  I didn’t want to tear either my jeans, or the skin on my hands or my behind.  On my way home on Sunday, in broad daylight, I parked beside the freeway, crossed both fences carrying the ladder, set it up in front of the sign, climbed up and measured the letters and the length of “BRIGHTEST SPOT.”  I also had some red paint samples so I could match the background.  No police came.  No one stopped to ask me what I was doing.

The next day I got a sheet of tempered 1/8th inch masonite and some red and white paint.  I cut out the right-sized pieces and painted them red.  Then I carefully painted BIGGEST STINK in perfectly sized white letters.

My apartment was one of three on the top floor of a nineteenth century house.  We three neighbors knew each other and often left our doors open for better ventilation.  My immediate next door neighbor was what the students called a geek.  He was a thin, stooped, brainy fellow with sallow skin and coke bottle glasses.  His name was Dave Leephorn.  He happened to be in the hallway when I brought in the masonite and helped me get it into my kitchen.  I explained what I was doing.  Afterwards he came in often and watched my progress.  He said, “You won’t be able to put that up alone.”  I said, “Yes I will!”  He said, “What will you do with your car?  What if the police come by and see your car there and you up on a ladder doing things to the sign with twelve million watts of light shining on you?”  I thought it over.  Yes, there were spot lights attached to the top of the sign shining down on it so that everyone would know it was the brightest spot in Oregon‘s future, even at night.  It would be wise to get some help.  Besides why should I have all the fun?

With what I thought was caution, I mentioned it to some of the guys at school.  I immediately got two takers.  One of them, Joe, was a loud, cynical guy who always wore a World War I helmet that he had painted brown as a message that his girlfriend had shit on him.  He also was constantly getting parking tickets that he ignored and stuck in the band of his hat until one day the police put a lock on the wheel of his car.   I didn’t know him very well, but he was so eager to be part of this little episode that I was pleased to have him.  The other one was his friend, Ed.  Ed was Joe’s complete opposite: slow, good natured, easy going, quiet.  We talked it over and the guys decided that they would be the perpetrators while I drove the get-away car.  Well, OK, what the hell; I wasn’t that attached to my starring role.

I planned the whole operation carefully.  I decided to use contact cement because it stuck very firmly and would not damage the sign.  The drawback was that it had to be painted on both surfaces and then allowed to dry before putting the two sides together.  It would take about 5 minutes to dry during which time I imagined that the perps would climb down off the ladder and sit on the ground.  They would be nervous and it would help if they had something to do.  Cookies!  In typical Ma Baker style, I baked cookies for them to eat while they waited.  Then there were the lights.  Aluminum foil!  They could cover the lights with aluminum foil!  There was enough light from the freeway to be able to see what they were doing if the lights were covered.   The next thing was to decide on what day and what time.  I did not want it to be raining. The whole point was that we wanted publicity.  We wanted people to see it clearly before it was discovered and removed.   I kept calling in for the weather report.  At last we got a clear night. This was it.

Yes! Step ladder, carpet scrap, sign pieces, contact cement, paint brush, aluminum foil, cookies, plus the three of us.   Everything was there. Everything was ready.  We waited until 2:00am.  As we got close to Albany it became foggy, but we decided to go ahead anyway.   As we drove along, I related the procedure.   I explained about the contact cement having to dry and that there were cookies to eat while they waited.  The lights were not so high that they could not be reached from the ladder.  I said the aluminum foil was to put over the lights.  I went over it all carefully.   What was notable was that Ed actually listened.  He was as calm and serene as a windless day at sea.  But Joe was like a caged wildcat.  He was nervous.  He fidgeted.  He kept saying things like, “What if—–”, and “If they——”.  I was beginning to be sorry I had included this chump in my faultless plan.

The sign was between two overpasses.  I would drop the guys off and then keep making the loop until they were through.  I drove past the sign which was on my left going north.  I drove over the first overpass to the north, headed back south, and then pulled up opposite our target.  We got out the stepladder and the sign boards.  I handed the contact cement and paint brush to Ed (they refused the carpet).  Then I started to hand the aluminum foil and the cookies to Joe.  He pushed them away, grabbed the other stuff and started off.  I said, “But they are for you to have something to do while the contact cement dries.”  He called back, “Are you kidding?!!!  We are going to slap on these babies AND SPLIT!!!”  Totally gutless, this guy.

I was beginning to wonder if Joe was actually an escapee from the state mental hospital.  What was he so worried about?  There wasn’t much traffic.  There was even the fog as a cover.  I sighed.  I drove the car as slowly as possible down to the next overpass about a mile away and then back.  As I passed the scene of the crime on my way north, I looked over and there was Ed, up on the ladder with those 12 million watts shining on him, calmly painting on the contact cement as if he were part of a Saturday morning beautification crew.  Joe wasn’t anywhere in sight of course.  By the time I did the loop and came back, they were waiting by the road.

As soon as they were back in the car Joe exploded.  He had changed from a fingernail chewing paranoid nerve case into a maniac.  He was like an exuberant overweight Great Dane puppy barking, howling and bouncing off the sides of the car.  He started slapping us all on the back and yelling, “WE DID IT!  WE DID IT!  WE DID IT!” as if he had just, all on his own, won the gold cup at a dog show.  Ed and I ate the cookies. They were chocolate chip from the old Tollhouse recipe.   I said, “Why didn’t you use the aluminum foil?”  Joe said, “Are you kidding?!!  If the cops had come by and seen those lights out it would REALLY have drawn their attention!  It would REALLY have looked suspicious!”   I suppose, if the police had come by and seen Ed up on the ladder calmly painting away, they would not have been at all suspicious.   Joe didn’t stop exulting all the way back to Eugene.  After a while I tuned him out and started planning in retrospect how I could have done it alone.  I could have parked the car long enough to unload its contents down by the first fence.  Then I could have gone on to the first overpass, taken the exit, found a safe place to park, left the car there, walked back and done the whole thing myself.  “If you want a job well done, do it yourself and do not leave it to others.”  Miles Standish, I believe.

But the biggest hind sight jolt came the next day.  Dave wandered in to ask how it went.  I told him.  Then he scratched his head and in his usual laconic way said, “You know, you could have changed just one letter.  You could have changed the R in BRIGHTEST to an L—the BLIGHTEST spot in Oregon’s future.”   I just looked at him in stony silence.  He was right when he said I should have had some help.   It should have been Dave and I should have cut him in at the beginning.  Some people just have genius.

THE GREAT SIGN CAPER got into the Eugene Register Guard and The Portland Oregonian before the Albanites (Albanians?) took our sign down.