Nature's Birthday

Thirty years ago tomorrow... Already? My, my, how time slips away! The eruption of St. Helens is one of those unforgettable experiences that help define one's life. As with the Kennedy assassinations, the death of Prefontaine (an acquaintance), the Twin Towers falling, et. al., I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the event occurred.

On May 18, 1980, I was sitting in Civic Stadium (now PGE Park) watching a Portland Beavers baseball game when my friend Mark returned to his seat next to me with a pair of beers and said, "She did it." I said, "She did what?" He said, "She blew." "Did she?" I said, possibly thinking of something else. "The mountain just blew up!" he said. "Oh, that," I said.

We left the game and walked a short distance over to the Jefferson Street Bridge that crosses I-405 in the Goose Hollow neighborhood. There she was, one angry Helen, a perfect view of her on the clear horizon. I'll never forget the sight, and the battle with falling ash for the next few weeks.

Portlanders donned their masks, like denizens of a small island nation somewhere stricken with a possibly fatal flu virus. You had to if you wanted to go outside and lead a normal existence.

Old Harry Truman challenged nature that day at his Spirit Lake home. Said he would rather die there than leave, and he did, along with 56 other souls.


TS