Excerpt from

Thomas Condon, Pioneer Geologist of Oregon

By Ellen Condon McCornack, his daughter,

Published Eugene, Oregon at the University Press, 1928

During (the) busy summer of 1871, a Portland minister called at Mr. Condon's home accompanied by a representative of one of the great eastern colleges who wished to purchase the Geological Cabinet; but he found the Oregon Collection was not for sale.  The offer was liberal and the callers persistent, but neither gold nor persuasive eloquence could influence the owner to consider the proposition.  Finally the Portland gentleman became impatient at what seemed the folly of an enthusiast.  "Why, Mr. Condon!" said he, "how can you refuse?  Here you are a poor minister with a family to educate, and your wealth centered in this great collection crowded into a common wooden house.  Don't you know a fire at any time may destroy it all?"  But even threatened disaster could not prevail and the discouraged callers finally took their leave.

The day so full of care was over and the night was gladly welcomed for its quiet hours of rest and thought.  The offer for his cabinet had been so unexpected, and so persistently urged, that he had found himself taking the defensive without stopping to analyze his decision; and now in the quiet night, he asked himself whether he had been hasty, whether there was more sentiment than reason in his determination not to sell.  As he reviewed the history of his geological work, its relation to his family and society, he found his judgment fully sustained his decision.  In the emergency he had acted from an intuitive conviction, itself the result of years of quiet, half-unconscious thought.  Yes, he had cold financial reason on his side, but it was always warmed and uplifted by the enthusiasm of his love.  Besides to part with the collection would seem almost like shattering his own personality, of which it had become a part.  Did not each specimen have its own identity, its own personal story known only to himself?—and yet, after all, the caller was right; a fire might destroy it any day.  Then the thought of fire so took possession of his tired nerves that he could not rest.  Finally he grew indignant at his own useless worry; he resolved to plan for the danger and then put all thought of it aside.  He remembered a large tank of water beside the hydrant, some discarded carpets, boards, and timbers within reach.  He planned what to do if a fire should break out down town, with the summer wind from the west.  Finally, when every detail had been thought out, the tired minister fell asleep.

A few days later, while the family were at their noonday meal, the fire bell rang, and Mr. Condon saw a column of black smoke pouring from the old "Globe Hotel" several blocks away.  There was a stiff breeze from the west, and remembering his midnight plans, he immediately began work upon the scaffolding.  It was barely finished and he was spreading the (wet) carpet upon the roof when he turned to find the flames sweeping through the next block.  The fire had fanned the breeze into a gale, everything had melted before the fierce heat, cinders were already falling around him and a wall of flames was surely, swiftly coming on.  In a moment twenty men were running to his help.  And how they worked!  The roof took fire, one man fell prostrate from the heat; but the heroic work, the vacant lot on the west, tall trees close to the house on the east, and thorough preparation—all helped; and those who had time to note the progress of the fire saw it burn almost everything near, even the tall factory beyond, and yet the little house of wood stood unharmed in its setting of charred and blackened trees.  When it was all over everything was found in confusion, many things had been carried out only to be burned, and worse than all, the shelves that held the cabinet were almost bare.  Most of the choicest specimens were gone.

Late in the day, when the scattered people had again gathered at their homes and the homeless ones were sheltered, Mr. Condon began holding a reception which lasted many days.  First came a sturdy blacksmith carrying a fine oreodon head.  "Well, Mr. Condon," said he, "I am awful glad you were not burned out.—Yes, I lost everything, house, shop, and all.  My little boy heard your house was on fire, so he rushed in and got this stone head.  I don't see how he ever got away with it for it's awful heavy.  He said he was bound to save something for you and he always liked this head with its fierce looking corner teeth.  Once he stepped on a cinder and most dropped it but I guess it's all right."  Then a young man called to leave a box of horse and rhinoceros bones and teeth that he had saved.  Still later came a little blue-eyed girl with her gingham apron full of beautiful sea shells.  She said:  "I could not bear to have them burned up, so I just took those I liked best and carried them in my apron for you."  Finally, just at dark, came a small boy bringing home the head of a fossil dog.  "You know, Mr. Condon, you showed me your rocks one day and I liked this because it's a dog.  So I just saved it for you."  Day after day they came until nothing seemed missing except a little cube of amber in which insects were entombed and after weeks had passed even this was found in the street.  It is not strange that this tribute of affection made a new and tenderer tie between him and his people.  (pp.125-129).

(A footnote says:  "It is a historic fact that most of the finest specimens were carried away,—many of them by children, and that they were carefully returned within a few days.")