Obituary:
Today Mr. Lucas will not park his car near the Redwoods hotel. His strong hand will not turn a key in the office door in the corner of the building. Not today, neither tomorrow, nor ever. Tragedy has come to our city and to our community, and Dr. Lucas is no longer with us. When Clifford was a small boy, he fished Rogue river with a salvaged hook and line attached to a willow pole. He rowed a boat across the stream when his head scarce showed above the gunnels and when at times both boat and boy would be hidden in the trough of the turbulent waves. The neighbors said, "Plucky little fellow! He sure isn't afraid of the water." When his legs reached midsides on a horse, he, with two other boys of the same size, took saddle and pack animals and adventured into the hills pack of his home near Agness. They returned a few days later, proudly exhibiting a bear pelt and the neighbors said, "Brave little boys, aren't they? Starting out pretty young," Rod and gun were his plaything; the river was his playground. When he became a man he said. "I will build myself a boat and it shall be just the kind of boat I want." With boyish enthusiasm, he set about building that boat. He molded it to please his fancy, trimmed it, painted it, equipped it with his own hands. And when it was done, he was proud of it; he loved it. It gave him unbounded pleasure. The diversion and relaxation it brought was the very elixir of life. Clifford's brother, Larry, heard about the boat. He got a motor and brought it out to Clifford. But when Larry Saw the boat, he shook his head. "It isn't safe." he said. "I will not contribute to your danger," and he took the motor back. But what mattered it if Larry should condemn the boat, It was his own, his pride. He scoffed at the thought of danger, and installed a motor. Sunday morning he got up at 4 and took the boat to the river. The chill of river mist meant nothing, for he was following that great urge which was a part of his being. irresistible, the lure of deep waters. the desire to match strength and endurance with the mighty Chinook salmon. When disaster overtook him, he again scoffed at danger. "Save yourself, Sandy' he called to his companion. You stay with the boat." He wasn't afraid. He didn't know how to be afraid. He'd get the boat to shore. Just one more lark on the river. Something it'd be fun to tell about. He drifted down stream, fighting to get the boat to shore, spurning all thought of personal safety. When realization of danger came, it was too late. Cold and numbness, or perhaps. some jagged rock, had done their work. It was early. There were few fishermen on the river. No help came. Today the beautiful boat, its motor stripped, is crushed and broken on the shore. a worthless bauble. A family staggers under a new and poignant reality. And a community suffers in heart-felt sympathy over a loved and respected citizen who lost his life through his own fearlessness. (R. I. Helm). -Grants Pass Courier, April 27, 1937
Biography:
In the early morning of April 25, 1937, thirty-five year old Clifford "Doc" Lucas , a local doctor, and his twenty-six year-old friend Eric "Sandy" Westergren went out on the boat that Clifford had built recently to go fishing along the Rogue River in Grants Pass, Oregon where they both resided. They launched at Pierce Riffle Park and started to fish when the rushing water and strong current overturned their boat while spinning it around, tossing Sandy and Clifford into the water. Clifford had grabbed Sandy and helped him get to the more shallow waters then yelled for his friend to swim to shore if he could and that he was going to save his boat and new motor. Sandy eventually managed to grab some willow branches further down the river at the foot of Green Creek Riffles and dragged himself to the base of the cliff bank near the number 6 hole of the golf course. Robert Hudson, the greens keeper lowered a rope down and Sandy tied it to his waist so they could pull him up. The last time he saw his friend, he was riding with the boat around the bend. The very next day, Sandy's wife had a baby. Clifford, most likely chilled by the rushing water, ended up being carried two miles down the river before sinking in plain view of local fishermen Jay Higgenbotham and E. Light. The boat could be seen on the opposite side of the river. The largest search ever put together up to that time was put in place and hundreds gathered to watch from nearby bridges. Over ten boats were searching all day for four days. The irrigation dam gates at Savage Rapids were closed on Thursday morning, lowering the water to the point where Roy Thomas and Frank Perry, searchers in one of the boats, spotted Clifford's boots sticking up out of the water wedged between two rocks. Cal Allen and John Blodgett managed to dislodge the body with a rope and it was sent to the local coroner. Sadly, he also never saved his boat. It was found further down the river on the shore, badly broken up and the motor crushed. Clifford left two young children and his wife, Georgeina. Dr. Lucas was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park in Grants Pass, Oregon. His wife eventually remarried and passed away in 2007 at the age of 98. His friend, Sandy, that he helped survive during this ordeal died in 2003 at the age of 92.
Today Mr. Lucas will not park his car near the Redwoods hotel. His strong hand will not turn a key in the office door in the corner of the building. Not today, neither tomorrow, nor ever. Tragedy has come to our city and to our community, and Dr. Lucas is no longer with us. When Clifford was a small boy, he fished Rogue river with a salvaged hook and line attached to a willow pole. He rowed a boat across the stream when his head scarce showed above the gunnels and when at times both boat and boy would be hidden in the trough of the turbulent waves. The neighbors said, "Plucky little fellow! He sure isn't afraid of the water." When his legs reached midsides on a horse, he, with two other boys of the same size, took saddle and pack animals and adventured into the hills pack of his home near Agness. They returned a few days later, proudly exhibiting a bear pelt and the neighbors said, "Brave little boys, aren't they? Starting out pretty young," Rod and gun were his plaything; the river was his playground. When he became a man he said. "I will build myself a boat and it shall be just the kind of boat I want." With boyish enthusiasm, he set about building that boat. He molded it to please his fancy, trimmed it, painted it, equipped it with his own hands. And when it was done, he was proud of it; he loved it. It gave him unbounded pleasure. The diversion and relaxation it brought was the very elixir of life. Clifford's brother, Larry, heard about the boat. He got a motor and brought it out to Clifford. But when Larry Saw the boat, he shook his head. "It isn't safe." he said. "I will not contribute to your danger," and he took the motor back. But what mattered it if Larry should condemn the boat, It was his own, his pride. He scoffed at the thought of danger, and installed a motor. Sunday morning he got up at 4 and took the boat to the river. The chill of river mist meant nothing, for he was following that great urge which was a part of his being. irresistible, the lure of deep waters. the desire to match strength and endurance with the mighty Chinook salmon. When disaster overtook him, he again scoffed at danger. "Save yourself, Sandy' he called to his companion. You stay with the boat." He wasn't afraid. He didn't know how to be afraid. He'd get the boat to shore. Just one more lark on the river. Something it'd be fun to tell about. He drifted down stream, fighting to get the boat to shore, spurning all thought of personal safety. When realization of danger came, it was too late. Cold and numbness, or perhaps. some jagged rock, had done their work. It was early. There were few fishermen on the river. No help came. Today the beautiful boat, its motor stripped, is crushed and broken on the shore. a worthless bauble. A family staggers under a new and poignant reality. And a community suffers in heart-felt sympathy over a loved and respected citizen who lost his life through his own fearlessness. (R. I. Helm). -Grants Pass Courier, April 27, 1937
Biography:
In the early morning of April 25, 1937, thirty-five year old Clifford "Doc" Lucas , a local doctor, and his twenty-six year-old friend Eric "Sandy" Westergren went out on the boat that Clifford had built recently to go fishing along the Rogue River in Grants Pass, Oregon where they both resided. They launched at Pierce Riffle Park and started to fish when the rushing water and strong current overturned their boat while spinning it around, tossing Sandy and Clifford into the water. Clifford had grabbed Sandy and helped him get to the more shallow waters then yelled for his friend to swim to shore if he could and that he was going to save his boat and new motor. Sandy eventually managed to grab some willow branches further down the river at the foot of Green Creek Riffles and dragged himself to the base of the cliff bank near the number 6 hole of the golf course. Robert Hudson, the greens keeper lowered a rope down and Sandy tied it to his waist so they could pull him up. The last time he saw his friend, he was riding with the boat around the bend. The very next day, Sandy's wife had a baby. Clifford, most likely chilled by the rushing water, ended up being carried two miles down the river before sinking in plain view of local fishermen Jay Higgenbotham and E. Light. The boat could be seen on the opposite side of the river. The largest search ever put together up to that time was put in place and hundreds gathered to watch from nearby bridges. Over ten boats were searching all day for four days. The irrigation dam gates at Savage Rapids were closed on Thursday morning, lowering the water to the point where Roy Thomas and Frank Perry, searchers in one of the boats, spotted Clifford's boots sticking up out of the water wedged between two rocks. Cal Allen and John Blodgett managed to dislodge the body with a rope and it was sent to the local coroner. Sadly, he also never saved his boat. It was found further down the river on the shore, badly broken up and the motor crushed. Clifford left two young children and his wife, Georgeina. Dr. Lucas was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park in Grants Pass, Oregon. His wife eventually remarried and passed away in 2007 at the age of 98. His friend, Sandy, that he helped survive during this ordeal died in 2003 at the age of 92.
Obituary:
Today Mr. Lucas will not park his car near the Redwoods hotel. His strong hand will not turn a key in the office door in the corner of the building. Not today, neither tomorrow, nor ever. Tragedy has come to our city and to our community, and Dr. Lucas is no longer with us. When Clifford was a small boy, he fished Rogue river with a salvaged hook and line attached to a willow pole. He rowed a boat across the stream when his head scarce showed above the gunnels and when at times both boat and boy would be hidden in the trough of the turbulent waves. The neighbors said, "Plucky little fellow! He sure isn't afraid of the water." When his legs reached midsides on a horse, he, with two other boys of the same size, took saddle and pack animals and adventured into the hills pack of his home near Agness. They returned a few days later, proudly exhibiting a bear pelt and the neighbors said, "Brave little boys, aren't they? Starting out pretty young," Rod and gun were his plaything; the river was his playground. When he became a man he said. "I will build myself a boat and it shall be just the kind of boat I want." With boyish enthusiasm, he set about building that boat. He molded it to please his fancy, trimmed it, painted it, equipped it with his own hands. And when it was done, he was proud of it; he loved it. It gave him unbounded pleasure. The diversion and relaxation it brought was the very elixir of life. Clifford's brother, Larry, heard about the boat. He got a motor and brought it out to Clifford. But when Larry Saw the boat, he shook his head. "It isn't safe." he said. "I will not contribute to your danger," and he took the motor back. But what mattered it if Larry should condemn the boat, It was his own, his pride. He scoffed at the thought of danger, and installed a motor. Sunday morning he got up at 4 and took the boat to the river. The chill of river mist meant nothing, for he was following that great urge which was a part of his being. irresistible, the lure of deep waters. the desire to match strength and endurance with the mighty Chinook salmon. When disaster overtook him, he again scoffed at danger. "Save yourself, Sandy' he called to his companion. You stay with the boat." He wasn't afraid. He didn't know how to be afraid. He'd get the boat to shore. Just one more lark on the river. Something it'd be fun to tell about. He drifted down stream, fighting to get the boat to shore, spurning all thought of personal safety. When realization of danger came, it was too late. Cold and numbness, or perhaps. some jagged rock, had done their work. It was early. There were few fishermen on the river. No help came. Today the beautiful boat, its motor stripped, is crushed and broken on the shore. a worthless bauble. A family staggers under a new and poignant reality. And a community suffers in heart-felt sympathy over a loved and respected citizen who lost his life through his own fearlessness. (R. I. Helm). -Grants Pass Courier, April 27, 1937
Biography:
In the early morning of April 25, 1937, thirty-five year old Clifford "Doc" Lucas , a local doctor, and his twenty-six year-old friend Eric "Sandy" Westergren went out on the boat that Clifford had built recently to go fishing along the Rogue River in Grants Pass, Oregon where they both resided. They launched at Pierce Riffle Park and started to fish when the rushing water and strong current overturned their boat while spinning it around, tossing Sandy and Clifford into the water. Clifford had grabbed Sandy and helped him get to the more shallow waters then yelled for his friend to swim to shore if he could and that he was going to save his boat and new motor. Sandy eventually managed to grab some willow branches further down the river at the foot of Green Creek Riffles and dragged himself to the base of the cliff bank near the number 6 hole of the golf course. Robert Hudson, the greens keeper lowered a rope down and Sandy tied it to his waist so they could pull him up. The last time he saw his friend, he was riding with the boat around the bend. The very next day, Sandy's wife had a baby. Clifford, most likely chilled by the rushing water, ended up being carried two miles down the river before sinking in plain view of local fishermen Jay Higgenbotham and E. Light. The boat could be seen on the opposite side of the river. The largest search ever put together up to that time was put in place and hundreds gathered to watch from nearby bridges. Over ten boats were searching all day for four days. The irrigation dam gates at Savage Rapids were closed on Thursday morning, lowering the water to the point where Roy Thomas and Frank Perry, searchers in one of the boats, spotted Clifford's boots sticking up out of the water wedged between two rocks. Cal Allen and John Blodgett managed to dislodge the body with a rope and it was sent to the local coroner. Sadly, he also never saved his boat. It was found further down the river on the shore, badly broken up and the motor crushed. Clifford left two young children and his wife, Georgeina. Dr. Lucas was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park in Grants Pass, Oregon. His wife eventually remarried and passed away in 2007 at the age of 98. His friend, Sandy, that he helped survive during this ordeal died in 2003 at the age of 92.
Today Mr. Lucas will not park his car near the Redwoods hotel. His strong hand will not turn a key in the office door in the corner of the building. Not today, neither tomorrow, nor ever. Tragedy has come to our city and to our community, and Dr. Lucas is no longer with us. When Clifford was a small boy, he fished Rogue river with a salvaged hook and line attached to a willow pole. He rowed a boat across the stream when his head scarce showed above the gunnels and when at times both boat and boy would be hidden in the trough of the turbulent waves. The neighbors said, "Plucky little fellow! He sure isn't afraid of the water." When his legs reached midsides on a horse, he, with two other boys of the same size, took saddle and pack animals and adventured into the hills pack of his home near Agness. They returned a few days later, proudly exhibiting a bear pelt and the neighbors said, "Brave little boys, aren't they? Starting out pretty young," Rod and gun were his plaything; the river was his playground. When he became a man he said. "I will build myself a boat and it shall be just the kind of boat I want." With boyish enthusiasm, he set about building that boat. He molded it to please his fancy, trimmed it, painted it, equipped it with his own hands. And when it was done, he was proud of it; he loved it. It gave him unbounded pleasure. The diversion and relaxation it brought was the very elixir of life. Clifford's brother, Larry, heard about the boat. He got a motor and brought it out to Clifford. But when Larry Saw the boat, he shook his head. "It isn't safe." he said. "I will not contribute to your danger," and he took the motor back. But what mattered it if Larry should condemn the boat, It was his own, his pride. He scoffed at the thought of danger, and installed a motor. Sunday morning he got up at 4 and took the boat to the river. The chill of river mist meant nothing, for he was following that great urge which was a part of his being. irresistible, the lure of deep waters. the desire to match strength and endurance with the mighty Chinook salmon. When disaster overtook him, he again scoffed at danger. "Save yourself, Sandy' he called to his companion. You stay with the boat." He wasn't afraid. He didn't know how to be afraid. He'd get the boat to shore. Just one more lark on the river. Something it'd be fun to tell about. He drifted down stream, fighting to get the boat to shore, spurning all thought of personal safety. When realization of danger came, it was too late. Cold and numbness, or perhaps. some jagged rock, had done their work. It was early. There were few fishermen on the river. No help came. Today the beautiful boat, its motor stripped, is crushed and broken on the shore. a worthless bauble. A family staggers under a new and poignant reality. And a community suffers in heart-felt sympathy over a loved and respected citizen who lost his life through his own fearlessness. (R. I. Helm). -Grants Pass Courier, April 27, 1937
Biography:
In the early morning of April 25, 1937, thirty-five year old Clifford "Doc" Lucas , a local doctor, and his twenty-six year-old friend Eric "Sandy" Westergren went out on the boat that Clifford had built recently to go fishing along the Rogue River in Grants Pass, Oregon where they both resided. They launched at Pierce Riffle Park and started to fish when the rushing water and strong current overturned their boat while spinning it around, tossing Sandy and Clifford into the water. Clifford had grabbed Sandy and helped him get to the more shallow waters then yelled for his friend to swim to shore if he could and that he was going to save his boat and new motor. Sandy eventually managed to grab some willow branches further down the river at the foot of Green Creek Riffles and dragged himself to the base of the cliff bank near the number 6 hole of the golf course. Robert Hudson, the greens keeper lowered a rope down and Sandy tied it to his waist so they could pull him up. The last time he saw his friend, he was riding with the boat around the bend. The very next day, Sandy's wife had a baby. Clifford, most likely chilled by the rushing water, ended up being carried two miles down the river before sinking in plain view of local fishermen Jay Higgenbotham and E. Light. The boat could be seen on the opposite side of the river. The largest search ever put together up to that time was put in place and hundreds gathered to watch from nearby bridges. Over ten boats were searching all day for four days. The irrigation dam gates at Savage Rapids were closed on Thursday morning, lowering the water to the point where Roy Thomas and Frank Perry, searchers in one of the boats, spotted Clifford's boots sticking up out of the water wedged between two rocks. Cal Allen and John Blodgett managed to dislodge the body with a rope and it was sent to the local coroner. Sadly, he also never saved his boat. It was found further down the river on the shore, badly broken up and the motor crushed. Clifford left two young children and his wife, Georgeina. Dr. Lucas was buried in Hillcrest Memorial Park in Grants Pass, Oregon. His wife eventually remarried and passed away in 2007 at the age of 98. His friend, Sandy, that he helped survive during this ordeal died in 2003 at the age of 92.
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