Excerpts from the book,

Thomas Condon, Pioneer Geologist of Oregon,

By his daughter, Ellen Condon McCornack.

Tradition says that (William the) Conqueror granted the Condons lands in southern Ireland because there was not enough in England to satisfy his followers.  About six hundred years later Cromwell confiscated most of the Irish lands and gave them to his English followers.  The date of this dispossession is given as 1657 and in its record, the Condon Estate in Cork is mentioned.  The City of Cork was not far away, but much of the property was on the Funcheon River, a tributary of the Blackwater….

Thomas Condon always referred to his grandfather, Bebe Condon, as a grand old man who lived on a small fruit farm near The Blackwater and never mentioned him without the deepest reverence and affection.  At the time Thomas Condon was born in 1822, the family lived in the small village of Ballinafana near Fermoy.  His father was an expert stone cutter and the walls of their small cottage were simple slabs of limestone from the nearby quarry while the roof was thatched with straw, and the old castle on the Funcheon was only fifteen miles away….

When the lad Thomas Condon was about eleven years of age the family left their home in southern Ireland and crossed the ocean to New York.  The city at that time occupied only the lower part of Manhattan Island and the first Condon home was within the uncultivated wilderness of what is now Central Park….

In those days New York had no railroad in the western part of the state, and a son of Dr. McNevin had a contract for surveying the Erie Railroad; so they proposed to take (Thomas) for help on the survey.  In order to prepare him for the work, it was arranged that he be tutored with Dr. McNevin's younger son in algebra and geometry.  His preparation in arithmetic had been thorough and he enjoyed his study of algebra, but when he dipped into geometry his joy was complete.  He said later:  "It lifted me to the clouds; I drank it in as a mental food…."

In his nineteenth year, the boy, now nearly a man, made a trip with his father "out west" to Michigan, where they secured some farm land.

Upon his return from Michigan, instead of going back to the city as he had intended, he decided to remain in central New York and for a time attended a collegiate institution at Casenovia.  He taught his first school at Camillus, where there was a strong debating society; and he was very fond of a good debate.  One winter evening there was to be a noted debate at the Camillus school building and, being one of the principal speakers, he was eager for the fray.  Something had detained him so that he was late in starting.  He had just reached the foot of a long slippery hill when an old lady called to him.  "Oh, Thomas, you are just in time to help me up this steep, icy hill.  I could never make it alone."  Right there he faced a strong temptation and fought a quick and fierce battle with himself.  This delay seemed at first impossible, but the gentleman won; and he gave the old lady his arm and slowly walked by her side up the long icy way.  He entered the school house believing that his evening was spoiled, but found that the storm had so interfered with transportation that one or two out of town debaters were also very late, and he was in time after all.

About 1842 he taught in Skaneateles near the lake of the same name.  Here there lived a poetical wag who wanted to test the new teacher's ability and sent him a problem to solve in the following language.  "In the midst of a meadow well stored with grass, I bought me an acre to feed my ass.  What length of rope will feed him all round, on no more and no less than an acre of ground?"  The teacher accepted the challenge, solved the problem and answered as follows:

If in the midst of a meadow a pasture you'd take,

                        Whose area exactly an acre would make,

                        X feet of rope

Would just about give your due I should hope.

                        But your ass you must tie close by the nose,

                        Else all this our poetry better were prose.

                        For if for a holder you'd take his hind leg

                        The further, of course, he'll roam from the peg;

                        And you'd be to blame your friends thus to bother,

                        Besides cheating your neighbor who sold you the fodder.

…He had decided to be a minister of the gospel, and finally settled at Auburn to begin the course in the Theological Seminary.  These were busy years for in order to work his way through the seminary he spent his evenings teaching the inmates of the State Penitentiary located at Auburn.  The studies required at the seminary, especially the languages, filled out his education and were a source of great pleasure in after life.

When he was ready to begin work in his chosen field, the young minister had some difficulty in finding a parish that wanted his services.  The church officials usually asked, "Where were you born, Brother Condon?"  And his answer, "in Ireland, Sir" brought him no success, for he found many Scotch people in Central New York who evidently believed that it was quite impossible for an Irishman to be properly "indoctrinated."  A good old friend said to him one day:  "Brother Condon, you see what a prejudice there is here against your nationality.  When next they ask where you were born, had you not better say that you had spent most of your life in New York or some other evasive answer that would be perfectly true?"  He quietly considered the kindly suggestion for a moment but answered:  "Brother Delivan, if the Lord has any work that He wants me to do in the world it is work that an Irishman can do."

He graduated from Auburn Theological Seminary in 1852 and a few months later was married to Cornelia Holt, a young teacher from the village of Colden near Buffalo.  The bride was of New England ancestry, with large dark blue eyes, a strong, clear mind and tender, loving heart.  They were both full of the missionary spirit and decided to go to the Oregon Country made famous by Dr. Whitman and his friends.  So Thomas Condon applied to the Home Missionary Board of the Congregational Church and was accepted.

In the autumn of 1852, The Trade Wind, a beautiful clipper ship, sailed from New York Harbor bound for San Francisco, carrying besides other passengers a group of Home Missionaries to the Pacific Coast.  Among these were Thomas Condon and his young bride, whose lives were to be mingled with the sturdy pioneers of Oregon.  Much of interest might be written of the long and romantic voyage around Cape Horn, with its fire at sea when both courage and physical endurance were tested by several days' struggle with flames in the smoldering cargo.  Those days of peril were remembered as among the most thrilling experiences of their long and eventful lives.

At San Francisco a transfer was made from the clipper ship to an ocean steamer which carried our young missionaries up the coast and across the Columbia Bar and within a few hours landed them at the small pioneer town of Portland….

Mr. Condon's first missionary assignment was at St. Helens, a small village on the lower Columbia, and their first home was high above the great river in a lonely spot half a mile from the village.  Mrs. Condon was only twenty, a young teacher fresh from the settled home life of western New York….

Every man in Oregon then made his own furniture or hired a more skillful neighbor to fashion a rude but substantial bedstead, table, or chair.  One day the Condons were delighted to learn that the Reverend Horace Lyman and wife, of Portland, were coming down the Columbia to make them a visit.  But they had brought around Cape Horn only one good mattress and were at a loss for a second bed.  Nothing daunted, Mr. Condon climbed some of the spruce trees near by and detached a quantity of the long streamers of gray moss, with which they made a new mattress that did very well for the emergency.  There was certainly nothing helpless about our pioneers; and no one who has always been supplied with life's necessities without responsibility or care, can realize the real joy of quietly studying a needed problem until some bright idea illumines the mind, and then with a feeling of triumph, cheerfully working out and enjoying a substitute for civilization.  And this power of initiative has certainly been one of America's most striking characteristics.

In 1854 the Condons moved to Forest Grove, twenty-five miles west of Portland….Aside from a few river steamers, transportation was almost wholly with teams.  Bridges were very few and the pioneer and his brave wife, with three or four children, would pack their lunch box and start for a visit, a church gathering, or some other celebration, twenty or thirty miles away, expecting to ford the Luckiamute or the Rickreall or some other little stream that they had seen months before as a gurgling, sparkling brook that any child might wade; only to find, when they reached the brook, that it was a broad, swift stream.  But there was no other way.  The wagon box was tight and the horses were tried and true; so the brave pioneer—or was he reckless?—started steadily across, headed up stream.  The horses were soon swimming; then the wagon box, lifted by the current, was floating around against the team; so there were a few moments of real peril before the horses found the firm rocky bottom, and in a moment more were pulling the precious load up the bank.  The frightened children would be very quiet for a few moments, but would soon resume their monotonous chanting song as they jolted over the rough country roads….

In 1857 Mr. Condon had moved to Albany as pastor of the Congregational Church.  Even so far away as in Oregon, the spirit of the Civil War was soon hot and bitter; for the North and South were both well represented in our distant state.  In 1860 there was a Sunday School celebration in Albany and Mr. Condon made a silk banner, which was carried through the streets in the procession of Sunday School children.  It bore the words:  "Liberty is Too Young to Die."  The letters were made of fresh white flowers of the old fashioned Feverfew variety, and each flower was carefully sewed to the banner of blue, so that the words stood out bravely in their rustic purity.  It was a plea for liberty which must have helped to crystallize local sentiment for a United Country.

Many years after, the following appeared in the Albany Herald:

RELIC OF THE LATE WAR

Unearthed by the Albany Herald.  A Bit of Oregon History.

     "Carefully laid away at the home of Mrs. Thomas Monteith, Sr., of this city, is a relic of war times which possesses a special interest just now, says the Albany Herald.  This relic is a banner which was made by Professor Thomas Condon, of the University of Oregon, during the Civil War, when he was pastor of the Congregational Church at Albany.  The banner was wrought in silk and bears the significant words,

"Liberty is Too Young to Die."

"The words are suggestive of the noble-minded, patriotic, big-hearted, little geologist at Eugene, whom everybody loves.  The banner was made for a Sunday school celebration, and was carried through the streets of Albany and Lebanon at a time when the spirit of war was raging."

After ten years of active pioneer missionary work in the favored region of western Oregon, Mr. Condon could not resist his longing for a more needy field and finally planned to move his family to the eastern part of the state, where he felt there was much greater need of Christian service.

The memorable winter of 1861 and 1862 was nearing its close.  It was the winter of December floods, when the river-boats steamed over the rich farms of the Willamette Valley, rescuing the frightened mothers and children and anxious fathers from their own house-tops or upper windows; when barns went drifting down stream carrying their freight of fowls and lowing cattle.  It was the winter of deep snows and ice blockades, but, as spring approached, a trial trip up the Columbia had proved the possibility of reaching The Dalles in spite of drifting ice.  To be sure, the snow was still ten feet deep at the Cascades, but those were pioneer days, and the first through boat carried among its passengers Mr. and Mrs. Condon and their four children, who had been waiting for the opening of navigation on the Columbia.

On account of drifting ice this first trip occupied parts of two days, making it necessary to spend the night at the Cascades.  The next morning found our passengers "Crossing the Portage" around the surging rapids of the Columbia Gorge….

At the Upper Cascades another boat of the Oregon Steam Navigation company was waiting to carry the travelers fifty miles further up the great Columbia.  Finally, having reached The Dalles, Mr. Condon was very much surprised to learn that the house he had recently purchased was already filled by three families and a bachelor.  The little town was full to over-flowing, and families were indeed fortunate to find comfortable shelter until they could build their own homes.  Gold had been discovered in eastern Oregon and southern Idaho, and there was a mad rush to the mines.

The Dalles was the head of navigation on the Columbia River, the gateway through which all the wild, reckless mining population poured eastward to the newly-discovered Eldorado of the West; so The Dalles, full of lawless and desperate characters, was at this time a missionary field to satisfy the most ardent and devoted spirit.  Shooting and stabbing affrays were of daily occurrence, and no good team of horses was safe over night, unless carefully guarded from the reckless gold seekers.

Here Mr. Condon found a small Congregational Church membership, organized by Rev. Mr. Tennie, meeting in the courthouse, for they were without a house of worship.  Churches were few and the powers of evil were rampant.  But the power of good was there too; all it needed was a strong wise leader.  It was just the kind of work our young minister had been looking for, and he threw himself into it with all his latent powers.  In a few years he found himself the pastor of a strong working church that would have puzzled any student of ecclesiastical history to classify.  There were Congregationalists from New England, Presbyterians from New York, Episcopalians from Virginia, and Baptists from the South, all forgetting themselves and their differences in a common enthusiasm for the work of The Master.  To be sure, the minister carried an oil can, for his people were only human; but the wise, tactful use of the lubricating spirit proved one of his most potent elements of success.  Then, too, every opportunity was given his people for hearing ministers of their own denominations; for years a set of prayer books was kept in the church, ready for the Episcopal service; and many times the bishop or white-robed rector accepted a cordial invitation to hold service with the church of many creeds.  The pastor learned to love his band of helpers, but his heart went out with all the yearning of his loving nature to the wild reckless sinners around him.  And who can calculate the power for helpfulness of one such life?  Saloon keepers, drunkards, and gamblers loved him; and to many his earnest, beautiful life, so full of the spirit of The Master, was the only tie that bound them to the higher spiritual life.  He attracted their children into the Sunday School, where his faithful helpers threw their greatest enthusiasm.  And when the Sunday School gave an evening concert, these same rough characters would go to the church and stand, if need be for hours, delighted with the children's work.  On one such occasion the concert was about to close, when a saloon keeper near the door asked to say a word.  He said:  "The Sunday School is doing a good work; we saloon men like it for our children; we believe in it and want to help.  Now, Vic," he called to a comrade, "let's take up a collection.  You take your hat and go down that aisle and I will take this side."  And the collection was one long to be remembered.

…. A minister without a study, Mr. Condon took his pencil and paper, and climbing the steep bluff above the town, roamed over the breezy hillsides while thinking and jotting down notes for the Sunday's sermon.  When the sermon was all thought out, and the outline on paper, a stop might be made at the old stone quarry and a tool not usually carried by a minister—a geologist's pick and hammer—would appear from a spacious pocket.  A few skillful blows upon the quarry stone might reveal a beautiful branch of acacia, with its long tapering thorns and each folded leaf clearly outlined against the gray stone….

As he came down from the quarry one day carrying his geologist's pick and hammer and a large hand specimen of rock, he found a stone mason at work preparing a block from the quarry for building purposes.  He stopped suddenly and holding up his own specimen, said:  "Gaylor, what would you think if I should give this piece of rock a blow with my hammer and find a spray of leaves on the inside?"  Gaylor stared with incredulity as Mr. Condon placed his piece of rock on a solid foundation, carefully studied its probable line of cleavage, struck a quick sharp blow and the two sides fell apart, revealing a beautiful spray of leaves.  He, himself was delighted with the result, but when he looked up with a smile into the face of the stone-cutter he found him white with fear and astonishment; for to him it was nothing short of a miracle.  No explanation seemed to relieve the poor man's superstition, and he could never quite forgive the minister who was in league with the spirits.  (pp. 1-28).

The Gambler's Overcoat

During these early days in The Dalles when the town was still full of professional gamblers and while they as yet seemed unashamed of their occupation, they adopted a certain fashion of overcoat which was well known as a gambler's coat.  Some wag among them proposed that they make the new minister a present of one of these elegant overcoats.  They enjoyed the prospect of the joke and appointed one of their number to make a presentation speech; then met the minister by appointment and in a very gentlemanly, appreciative address presented the overcoat.  It was intended to be very long, reaching almost to the heels.  It was of rich dark brown material, elegantly trimmed with a lighter shade of brown fur.  Of course Mr. Condon saw it was a practical joke, but it would do no good to resent it; so he thanked them in the same kindly manner in which they had made their presentation.  Then looking at the handsome garment he spoke with hesitation, as if in doubt, as he said naively, "I think I can teach that coat to behave itself."

 

Mrs. Condon came to the rescue by removing the fur trimming from across the bottom of the coat and making it ten or twelve inches shorter.  In this way the minister wore the coat several years, and it is safe to say that no garment ever had a better reputation than that gambler's overcoat.  Perhaps it was because they felt a little ashamed of their joke, or perhaps only because it served as an introduction, but the gamblers were always among his warmest friends.  (pp. 28-29).

No Color Line

At the close of one of (his) frequent visits to White Salmon, Mr. Condon with others had been waiting under the cottonwoods for a sight of the river steamer which could always be seen a mile or so down stream looking like a great white swan upon the water.  When finally it was hailed and after much swinging and backing and churning of water it was stopped broadside to the sandy river bank, the long, slender gangplank was made fast and the passengers quickly passed over the intervening water, using a tightly suspended rope for a hand-rail.  Then the crowd looking down from the upper deck, saw an Indian woman start across with a pack on her back and carrying a heavy child.  She had watched the others and had seen the teetering and bending of the slender board.  She was too badly loaded down to control her own movements.  She was sore afraid, stopped and drew back.  If she had been a white woman any deck hand would have offered to carry her child, but she was only an Indian.  Suddenly Mr. Condon darted down the plank to her rescue, reached out his arms for the little "papoose" and carried it across; and the mother, thus relieved, made her own way to safety.  The Indians were usually allowed to look out for themselves; but to him she was a woman, one of God's creatures and a mother, needing a helping hand, and his chivalrous nature saw no color line.  (pp. 33-34).

He Always Brought Sunshine

(From a letter by Thomas Condon to a scientist in the East, dated June 10, 1871, Dalles City, Oregon):

"I am about leaving home to be gone two weeks.  On my return I will write you more at length, and now only make some explanations that may indicate my position, opportunities, and ability to comply with your request for Oregon fossils.  I am not able to spend much time in the field.  I am pastor of a Congregational Church in the place, and besides that charge, have a family to watch, guide and care for.  From these home duties I am occasionally able to break away for four or five weeks to pursue my wild search for fossil wealth in the wilderness.  A week or more of this time is taken up in the journey leaving me but from two to four weeks of working time, large deductions from which are often made by stormy weather; and only within two years past could one be safe from Indian annoyance, except when an escort of soldiers was occasionally granted."  (p. 106).

By this time (1871) the geological collection was growing rapidly, for there was less danger of roving bands of hostile Indians.  New fossil exposures were frequently discovered, for Mr. Condon had made friends of the ranchers in the mountains and of the rough teamsters who carried freight to distant settlements and to the mines, and when they were in the wilderness they all thought of him and brought him many treasures.  He, too, had a way of remembering the teamsters' home folks with an interesting book or other token of friendship and appreciation; and as one of these ranchers said:  "he often called at our house, and he always brought sunshine."

A regular mode of transportation at this time was Uncle Sam's mule trains carrying supplies to the various military camps in the interior.  The freight wagons were immense and several would start together, each heavily loaded and drawn by 18 or 20 sleek government mules, each bearing suspended over its neck an arch of tiny bells.

Mr. Condon interested these soldier freighters in picking up any curiosities on their way, and on their return trips many an empty freight wagon with its long line of dusty mules and tinkling bells halted at his door long enough to gladden his heart with some rare fossils or sparkling crystallization carried scores of miles by the kind-hearted teamster.  So, not only through his own vacation trips and by hired help in the field, but through the kindness of many warm friends, his collection was steadily growing in value.  But the more the specimens accumulated, the more new scientific problems were made evident.

When we realize the many trained specialists now required to determine the different forms of life found in a large geological collection, and that each specialist has access not only to all the scientific literature in his line of research, but to museums containing mounted skeletons of both fossil and modern forms for comparison, we can better appreciate the magnitude of the work accumulating in the hands of one busy man and he, thousands of miles from other collections, without the needed books and far from other scientists with whom to confer.  (pp. 76-77).

…To have accomplished all this, virtually alone, seems remarkable; for after the passing of more than fifty years of research most of the findings of Oregon's pioneer geologist still remain basic truths.  (p. 72).

The Fire

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.")

Preparing to Leave The Dalles

In the summer of 1871 Mr. Condon had an able helper in his oldest son, Edward Gerald Condon, who had been attending college at Forest Grove but was obliged to drop his studies in the early spring on account of trouble with his eyes.  He spent a part of May and the month of June on a surveying trip in the Blue Mountain Country and by the middle of July was ready for fossil hunting….

Although only seventeen, this boy was a son of whom any father might well be proud.  He had a pleasing personality with decidedly scholarly tastes, and a real love for out-door sports, especially hunting, fishing and skating; so he threw himself into the new game of fossil hunting with all the ardor and enthusiasm of youth, and proved himself a real success in the work….(pp. 123-124).

But a few weeks after the beginning of the new year a great sorrow cast its dark shadow over the Condon home:  the son, Edward, was stricken with pneumonia, from the effects of which he died in February.  The grief of the family was too deep for words and there were those who said that the father, as they knew him around the camp fire in the wilderness, was never so full of joyous, light-hearted youth again.  And yet, he had enjoyed the companionship of this choice spirit, with his eager, inquiring mind, just long enough to make him appreciate the questioning of all earnest college boys about religious and scientific truth; and he realized even more than before the responsibility of religious teachers in guiding young people through the tangle of conflicting opinions and beliefs.  For to him, the spiritual was just as real and of far more vital importance than the material side of life….

Mr. Condon was a pioneer by nature.  It gave him great pleasure to work with rough, unpolished human character, and to discover the glint of gold hidden under the rough exterior.  The book of nature was indeed fascinating, but did not appeal to him as did the work with men.  He had the artist's eye for seeing the beautiful in character and the enthusiasm of a Christian Phidias for shaping rough, faulty human nature until its beauty reflected the Divine.  To many minds these two lines of interest, the development of character and the study of nature, would seem incongruous, but to him they were both God's truth—the one the preparation, the other the culmination of God's work.  And yet strange and unusual as is this combination of a geological minister, it seemed exactly what was needed to equip one for usefulness over fifty years ago.  The storm, foreseen by our minister at the stone quarry, was already brewing and these were years of great strife in the scientific and religious world, for the author of "The Origin of Species" and "The Descent of Man" had given his theory of evolution to the world.  The grand truths developed by that galaxy of brilliant English writers—Spencer, Huxley, Tyndall, and others—had already been seized by German materialists, who were calling upon all thinkers to discard the Bible as out of date, because not in harmony with scientific thought.  If Christian ministers had only been ready, these rash demands of materialists would have been quickly set aside.  But Christian ministers were not scientists; and the principles of "higher criticism" if thought of at all, were considered dangerous heresies, against which to warn their people.  To Mr. Condon the theory of evolution presented to the human mind a wider conception of God than the world had ever known before.  It involved a plan of unthinkable grandeur, beginning with the smallest, simplest things, gradually unfolding into more complex life, often interrupted by some great upturning of nature; but never losing the continuity of purpose, the steady progress toward the culminating glory of all—the spiritual life of man.  To have all of this new wealth of spiritual vision seized upon and appropriated by materialists was a source of deepest sorrow.  The storm starting on the intellectual heights of Europe was slowly traveling Westward; but our prophet of the stone quarry found all effort to prepare the churches vain.  A little later the magazines were full of the subject, and materialism was creeping into college life with the claim that evolution was antagonistic to religion.  The young men who studied science found no Christian leader to interpret the beautiful adaptation of evolution to the spiritual life.  It was no wonder that college boys, studying geology, affected materialism, because to be a Christian was to be "behind the times."  Our geological minister saw that the old ramparts erected by theologians were no longer a safe retreat; that the church must be defended by science herself, and he longed to help unfurl the Christian flag over this newly-discovered land of truth.

These thoughts, together with the urgent need for higher educational opportunities for his children, were drawing him irresistibly into closer touch with college life and teaching, where he felt he could have a better opportunity as a Christian leader to help the boys and girls of Oregon.

But to leave The Dalles was not easy.  The rough stirring life of mining days had long since passed away and The Dalles had become an attractive home town full of energy, integrity, and growing culture.  Then, too, the personal ties that bound him to his wide circle of loyal friends were mutual and very strong.  One of The Dalles boys of this period became an editor of a newspaper in eastern Washington and in later years after a glad meeting with his old friend on the streets of Dayton wrote"  "Thomas Condon is one of my boyhood's idols which time, the great iconoclast, has failed to obliterate."

The change would also mean moving still farther away from his especial field of research, the John Day Valley, but it seemed inevitable….  (pp. 130-134).

The Accident

(An) expedition was…arranged for April and Mr. Condon took with him his second son, Seymour, who will give from his own vivid recollections an account of this ill-starred trip.

"We left The Dalles at a very early hour in the morning on the regular Canyon City

Stage.  It was a Concord Coach with six spirited horses and "Billy Bird," an experienced and most skillful driver, holding the lines.  In the coach were two gentlemen, one of them weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, besides my father, four Chinese and myself.  Soon after reaching the summit of the Deschutes grade and while making much better time on the Eastern slope the horses became frightened and the rest was a wild ride down that heavy mountain grade behind six frantic animals with the coach tipping and careering at each sharp turn and threatening disaster all the way.  The down grade was three or four miles long, and do his best, the driver could only keep the stage on the grade, he could not check the speed of the frightened horses.  We inside passengers could see but little.  I was seated on the Canyon side and well remember it was a long, long way to the bottom.

"The extremely heavy passenger became frantic with fright and tried to jump thru the doors—first on one side, then on the other—but father held him back, for a jump on either side would have been fatal.  The climax soon came, for at the foot of the grade where the road struck the level, the wheel horses plunged headlong to the ground and the coach turned somersault.  Father struck the ground with the heavy man on top of him, resulting in many serious injuries.  No one else was so badly hurt.  The passengers were taken to a stage station nearby and help was summoned from The Dalles and the next day father was carried home."

When this slow tedious journey of thirty miles was over and Mr. Condon was at home again, it was found that his injuries, although serious, were not as dangerous as was at first supposed, and his recovery was only a question of several weeks of quiet convalescence.

The autumn before, Professor Marsh of Yale had left a package of small coins with the request that they be used for buying arrow-heads from the Indians.  And it was while Mr. Condon was still confined to his bed that the Wasco Indians began coming with their little bundles of arrow-heads for Professor Marsh of Yale.  Of course, some one had to appear at the side-yard of the Condon home and bargain with the Indians.  At this time refined families did not encourage their children, especially their daughters, in learning the Chinook language.  But it was extremely interesting and most of us were delighted when we were privileged to listen to an expert linguist as he talked fluently to a group of Indians and to note their replies.  The meaning of some words was so dependent upon modulations and accompanying gestures that the language had a primitive charm all its own.  For instance, when Mr. J. said:  "How far away did you find my horse?" if the Indian answered "Siah," in a quick staccato voice, he meant only a short distance, perhaps three or four miles.  If he answered "Si—ah" it might mean ten miles or more.  But if the tall Indian raised himself to his full height and threw back the bright blanket from his long outstretched arm and pointed his bony finger upward and beyond the distant mountains, and then said "Si—yah—", trailing the last syllable into vague infinity, then Mr. J. knew his horse had wandered very far from home.  It was partly because of its appeal to the imagination that most young people needed no encouragement to acquire a speaking knowledge of this fascinating language and it fell to the lot of one of Mr. Condon's daughters (no doubt, Ellen, the eldest) to spend Professor Marsh's small coins in exchange for Indian arrow-heads of flint, obsidian, and tinted carnelian.  (pp. 130-137).

Transition to Teaching

The Oregon State Legislature created the office of State Geologist for Thomas Condon, to which the governor appointed him on 24 October 1872 with a salary of $1000/yr.  He resigned in 1876 when he accepted a teaching position at the University of Oregon.

The family left The Dalles, and moved to Forest Grove, Oregon in September 1873 where Thomas began teaching at Pacific University while he awaited the opening of the University of Oregon.

The Condons moved to Eugene, Oregon in July 1876 where Thomas filled the chair of Natural Science at the newly opened University of Oregon.  He taught geology, mineralogy, and natural history at a salary of $2000 per year, which salary had to be reduced to $1500 per year since the legislature failed to make adequate appropriation for the maintenance of the university.  The university was nearly foreclosed upon when it was only five years old.  The property was advertised for sale, and was only saved when railroad magnate, Henry Villard, came forward and paid the university's indebtedness.  During this difficult time Thomas was offered, but declined, the position of president of the University of Washington.  (Summary of pages 138-275).

The Teacher

During the first years the teaching force of the university was quite small, and as the other professors had their time well filled with Greek, Latin, and mathematics, it fell to Mr. Condon's lot during these years to teach Geology, Paleontology, Mineralogy, Botany, Rhetoric, Guizot's History of Civilization, Physical Features of the Earth, Mental Philosophy, International Law, Constitution of the United States and Ethnology.  But the breadth of his scholarly tastes was such that all of these studies had long been of deep interest to him and this made their teaching a pleasure.

One of the early students wrote:  "To students in the University of Oregon, Professor Condon always held an enchanter's wand.  Coming as we did from high schools and small educational centers, we knew a little of the knowledge found in books and learned from observation, but Professor Condon led us out into a new world.  Every object in nature had its meaning, its history, easy to read and understand when interpreted by an earnest explorer in the realm of science…. Students were indeed filled with awe and wonder when shown the rare specimens of ancient life by the ever-interested and inspiring teacher."…

Every one had a "parlor" in those days and a "sitting-room."  In the sitting-room was the fireplace with its cheerful blaze or glowing coals, the easiest chairs, the magazines and papers, the fruit and flowers—the things that spoke of home and family life.  In the parlor was "the lounge," the whatnot, the best chairs, the old fashioned organ or piano.  Everyone loved the sitting-room, and it was hard to keep a genial house-guest in the parlor.

Mr. Condon was fond of music and one of his daughters (Ellen) learned, if she went into the parlor in the early evening and played some of the dear old-fashioned melodies that he loved, he soon slipped into the room and threw himself down upon the couch to listen.  She always rewarded his interest by playing for a time, and then would turn suddenly and speak a few words, only a few; for when the heart is full to overflowing with the real or imagined troubles of youth it is always hard to talk, to explain in words.  Perhaps a few tears would fall but he understood and with penetrating insight gave not only sympathy, but advice and understanding wisdom until the cloud-like burden lifted and the sun shone on life again and youth went singing on its way.

Many of his University boys and girls perceived this unusual power of penetrating sympathy and understanding, and took their troubles to him.

Of course, the cabinet was all open with admiring young folks trooping in and out, and yet it was remarkable how little damage it suffered.  One such case is related by a University girl who "always registered in Professor Condon's classes, whether she cared particularly for the subject or not."  She said:  "It was my birth stone and I loved it.  I didn't feel that I was doing wrong when I broke off a little piece of the beautiful specimen of amethyst and I took it home with me, but when I began to think, I was ashamed and very sorry.  Finally I took my grief to Professor Condon and told him all about it.  He saw my distress and comforted me as he always did and then gave me his amethyst."

He enjoyed discovering signs of worth and talent in the awkward bashful students and loved to help them unfold and grow in ability and confidence.  Some of the wayward, reckless boys were also very dear to him and he yearned to help them.  Of one of these he said:  "For some reason I have a wild uncontrollable love for that boy."

William J. Roberts, an able engineer who graduated at the University of Oregon and then took post-graduate work in the Boston School of Technology, wrote:

"I knew him in the University as a teacher of science—my first teacher in what is now styled "the laboratory method."  He taught me how to use the pencil and lens, how to consult authorities on pronunciation and definition, and lavishly gave of his time in counsel and suggestion for public debates.  We loved him because he seemed to get closer to us than others of the faculty.  We were always sure of one friend and a wise counselor when in trouble or need.  His ideals were always so high and his motives and aims so free from any self-achievement that it was good to have been with him and know him."

One of the later presidents of the University, a Johns Hopkins man, laughingly remarked:

"When the boys and girls first come from the high school they are so full of life that I scheme to have them enter a class in Prof. Condon's room as soon as possible; for he seems to have an unusual power of leading them into quiet, gentle conduct."

The following letter is from a young lady who entered the University from eastern Oregon and after finishing her freshman year went to Columbia University, New York.  A few years later she wrote Professor Condon:

"I will confess that I have forgotten many of the historic facts you told me in ethnology.  But I never can lose the deeper spiritual lessons you taught so unconsciously—the patience and comprehensive kindness of one who had long before reached his mastership in knowledge—extended so graciously to one who was just beginning."…

At the close of one of the school years Mr. Condon said:

"I have thoroughly enjoyed those two divisions of my geology class.  Some of them have been behind through sickness or carelessness or indolence and missed lectures.  I would say:  'Sampson, you are behind; name a day and hour when you can let me give you that lecture'—and to give a lecture all over again to one person on account of carelessness or indolence is not the usual way but it has paid, and I now feel at parting with them that I have in them all a large body of friends.  And that to me is the highest reward of teaching—money is nowhere, compared to it."…

Several volumes of different books of the New Testament were noticed in different parts of his University room and in explanation he said:  "I like to have two or three of them scattered in my room—for nothing at all but for their fragrance."  And yet, many good Christian people were afraid of his religious teaching because he was an evolutionist.

He said:

"The Holy Spirit is a scientific necessity, a constant emission from the Being of God affecting human character, just as the sun affects the crude starch of an unripe peach, transforming it into sugar, and making the rich, luscious, perfected peach.  The human brain has been gradually evolved to prepare it to receive these rays of divine light and the human spiritual life is but the crowning of preparation.

"Sin is being behind in God's plan of progress—being like the tiger and the hog, when God wants all human beings to leave the animal nature behind.

"God wants, commands you to use your own judgment in the light of his twentieth century, to tell you what is right and beautiful and true.  I believe in inspiration as a living force now."

Dr. Joseph Schafer has written:

"Professor Condon is widely known as a scientist, but he was more than a scientist.  He was by endowment a poet.  His mental powers, uncommon in other respects, owed much of their splendid efficiency to that strong yet delicate imagination which lent a charm to all he did or said.  It was nearly impossible for him to be commonplace, even for a moment.  His utterances fell naturally into a unique form, gentle fancy investing with poetic atmosphere even the things of every day.  'Come in,' he would say to his friend, 'when your cup is effervescing, and let us enjoy the overflow.'

"By living habitually in the higher reaches of thought, his sensitive nature took on more and more attributes suggesting the sublime.  He impressed one as not merely a scholar and poet, but a seer."  (pp. 276-285).

The Rocky Mountain Nautilus

A lucky accident took me past Professor Condon's door at the time when the case containing the Rocky Mountain Nautilus had just arrived from the Black Hills, and the venerable professor invited me in to "help him hurrah," as he expressed it.  But as the contents of the case were unpacked and specimen after specimen, in an almost perfect state of preservation, came into view, he forgot the presence of others, forgot everything except the beauty and wonder of the opalescent objects that glowed in his hands, or the possibilities that the unwrapped packages might contain; and as he hovered over his treasures, laying one carefully here, another lovingly there, whistling all the while softly into his beard a little comfortable tune that defies reproduction, I thought that I had never before seen such enthusiasm, such rapt absorption as this man had in his work.  He straightened up once and a rare smile lighted his face as he came over to me, and laying his hand on my shoulder, said, as if in explanation, "Oh the tune inside of me is too big for my whistle."  He returned to his shells and I to my class room, realizing that the message from the Black Hills must indeed have been of rare eloquence so deeply to move the soul of this High Priest of nature.  (Irving M. Glen, fellow University Professor).

(p. 300).

Old Age

As the years passed, most of his time and strength were given to his teaching at the University, while his summer vacations were spent with his family at his Nye Brook cottage by the sea.

Here his life was almost unique, but it again brought him into the most friendly relations with many classes of people from all parts of the Northwest.  Sometimes there were formal lectures before a Summer School, but more often there was an informal announcement that "Professor Condon would lecture on the beach," perhaps near Jump-off Joe; and here his audience would gather around him in the shelter of the bluff or headland, some standing, some sitting on the rocks, others perched upon the piles of weather-bleached driftwood, while the children sat turk-fashion upon the dry glistening sand.  And he, with his tall alpine stalk in his hand, his broad hat, and loose raglan coat, made a picturesque figure standing in their midst.  Perhaps he talked of the three beaches, the one upon which they stood and the two old geological beaches so plainly visible in the ocean bluff behind them….

Or perhaps a geological picnic was planned up the beach to Otter Rocks.  After a brisk ride of a few miles over the hills and along the beach, Mr. Condon's carriage would stop, the other vehicles would group themselves around nearby, and standing in his conveyance, he would give a short talk on the geological formation of the particular cove or headland with its base of old sandstone full of fossil shells.  Then the company would move on, and after a few miles of delightful beach ride upon the hard sand near the breakers, they would leave their carriages, gather their picks, hammers and chisels and spend an hour chipping fossils from the bluff or from the large boulders at its base….

In September 1901, a great sorrow had come to him in the death of Mrs. Condon, who had been his beloved companion for almost fifty years.  It was written of her:

"She was one of earth's noble women.  The beautiful qualities of heart and mind, the sweet simplicity and tender modesty of her character endeared her to all who knew her well; yet, blended with these gentler attributes were the readiness to use her strength and voice in opposing wrong and the superb moral courage in defense of the right.  A true woman of the hearth and home, impressive in moral integrity, saint-like devotion to truth and sterling Christian worth, her influence is far reaching and the world is better in that she lived and the memory of her pure life is an inspiration to the friends who loved her."

And Mr. Condon, in his great sorrow, exclaimed:  "The light of my life has gone out."

…A few years later one of Professor Condon's children wrote:

"Yesterday was father's 82nd birthday.  He went to the University twice as usual and received many calls there and at home from professors and students and friends.  A written message from the Junior Class was brought to the house before eight o-clock in the morning, and the Senior Class gave him a bouquet of messages, each written on a separate card and tied with their class colors.  There were also many flowers and other tokens of love and affection.

"This morning in speaking of his sight he said:

" 'The cross-lines that produced double vision are all gone.  The branch of the tree is only one branch.  When I see two people walking together on the street they are just two, not four.  And I haven't a bit of rheumatism.'  And he began whistling Juanita softly to himself.  His grandson, Hall Bean, came over and pumped up his tricycle and he went off to the university as easily as a man of sixty."

He appreciated and enjoyed the many tokens of affection from his students and at one time exclaimed:  "There is something perfectly grand in having such a halo of friendship among the young people."

…. Mr. Condon was not a specialist, either by nature, inclination, or education.  And it was well for the early development of Oregon that he was a true pioneer with a large appetite for all knowledge, a keen pleasure in imparting that knowledge to others, and a broad, sympathetic outlook into the needs of the Northwest.  If he had been a specialist he might have received more technical credit in the scientific world, for he discovered many new fossils and named but few.  But what is the naming of a few fossils more or less, when compared with the grandeur of such a broad sweep of knowledge permeated by such a beautiful spirit of helpfulness?

The pioneer work in this new and unexplored state, so remote from the great centers of learning, required just his type of mind; just his habit of first sketching in the broad outlines and then filling in the details with all their picturesque beauty.  For as the artist works, he worked:  A colleague who wrought by his side has said of him, that instead of beginning with the minute details and progressing toward the large facts of life, he always began with the broad outlines, the great principles of any subject, and worked down to its details.

After this active, eager life had passed and failing health gave him ample time for retrospective meditation, he realized that he had lived through a grand period of pioneer history and remarked as he looked forward into the future in store for the rising generation:  "I do not know that I would exchange the rich chapters of my own life for all the future opportunities of these young men."  (pp. 342-350).