J.B. Fisher - Echo of Distant Water: The 1958 Disappearance of Portlands Martin Family

Echo of Distant Water: The 1958 Disappearance of Portlands Martin Family

Copyright 2019 J.B. FISHER. All Rights Reserved.

Published by:

Trine Day LLC

PO Box 577

Walterville, OR 97489

1-800-556-2012

www.TrineDay.com

trineday@icloud.com

Library of Congress Control Number:2019943255

Fisher, J.B.

Echo of Distant Water 1st ed.

p. cm.

Epub (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-241-7

Kindle (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-242-4

Print (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-240-0

1.Martin family disappearance December 7, 1958. 2.Murder -- Oregon -- Portland -- Case studies. 3.TRUE CRIME / Murder / General. 4.Political corruption -- Oregon -- Portland -- History. 5.HISTORY / United States / State and Local / Pacific Northwest (OR, WA). I. Title

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the USA

Distribution to the Trade by:

Independent Publishers Group (IPG)

814 North Franklin Street

Chicago, Illinois 60610

312.337.0747

www.ipgbook.com

In memory of the Martins

Table of Contents

AUTHORS NOTE : What follows represents six years of dedicated research into the Martin family disappearance. The author does not purport to solve the case and some questions remain unanswered. However, a plausible trail is presented through careful research of police reports, newspaper coverage, the personal notebooks and papers of several detectives and reporters, interviews with friends and family members, and the examination of archival documents and materials. Some scenes and conversations are dramatized, while others are presented directly from the archives. Where dramatizations occur, these are based on specific research findings. No conclusions have been made about parties responsible, although the historical record invites further scrutiny of this question.

ABOUT THE TITLE: The phrase Echo of Distant Water alludes to the word Wyam which in several native languages of the Pacific Northwest means echo of falling water (also water falling over rocks). Wyam was the name that native peoples gave to Celilo Falls, an important ceremonial salmon fishing ground on the Columbia River east of the city of The Dalles, Oregon. With the opening of The Dalles Dam in 1956, water levels behind the dam rose significantly and the falls were inundated. Two years later, the drama of the Martin family disappearance would play out in the shadow of The Dalles Dam. The flooded waters of Wyam could only be a silent witness.

I think one should work into a story the idea of not being sure of all thingsbecause that is the way reality is.

Jorge Luis Borges

The Dalles, the largest city in Wasco County, Oregon, was an important trading center for Native American tribes for at least 10,000 years. According to Lewis McArthur in Oregon Geographic Names (3rd Edition), the name is derived from the French word dalle, meaning flag-stone, and was applied to the narrows above the present city of The Dalles, by French-Canadian employees of the fur companies. Among other things, dalle meant a stone used to flag gutters, and the peculiar basalt formation along the narrows doubtless suggested gutters. The word dalles signified, to the voyageurs,

Prologue

Ken Martin and his 1954 Ford Station wagon, date and location unknown. (Collection of Sarah Martin.)

A moment earlier, the 1954 cream and red Ford station wagon had backed out of the parking lot and onto Oak Street just as dusk was falling in Hood River. The father raised his foot off the clutch and shifted the heavy vehicle into gear, instinctively checking the mirrors as he merged into the westbound lane toward the highway back to Portland. Through the rearview, he saw his three daughters belted securely into after-market seatbelts on the middle bench seat. Behind them, where the rear row seats had been removed for the trip, he quickly eyed the bulky heap of a charcoal grey Pendleton camp blanket. Funny, he thought fleetingly, that blanket seems larger than it did before.

Adjusting his view back out toward the road, he gently accelerated the vehicle and prepared to turn left onto the highway. Now he checked the rearview mirror again and as he did so, movement flashed from the back of the car. For the briefest second, he thought that one of the girls was pulling the grey blanket over the seat. At the end of that brief second, he realized that all three girls were still facing forward and that the blanket kept rising upward. Stopped in the turning lane, the father shifted his weight and looked behind him. Almost reflexively, his wife sitting next to him in the passenger seat cried out quizzically Barbie Gina Sue? as she turned her head to see what her husband was looking at.

There was a man emerging from the blanket and now he was making his way stealthily over the bench seat. A sinewy, tattooed arm pushed one of the girls aside roughly and as he clambered over the middle row, he knocked a small paper bag sending a half-dozen oranges spilling across the vehicles floor.

Before anyone could protest, he forced himself in between the husband and wife and almost immediately the driver felt something cold and hard and metal being pressed into his fleshy side.

Drive the damned car! the man ordered through clenched teeth and a panicked foot sent the station wagon lunging forward into the left turn and onto the approach ramp.

A crushing silence filled the vehicle as the father squeezed the steering wheel, his leaden foot straining unceasingly on the accelerator.

The girls sat frozen, the youngest pressed tightly against the oldest and the middle sister wedged against the sharp edge of the door handle.

Darkness was approaching now and the father cautiously reached for the headlight switch. As he did so, he felt the gun dig deeper into his rib.

How fast can this hunk of trash go? the man growled, and the father watched the needle inching toward 80.

The mother kept her eyes forward. She saw only a blur of roadway and trees and oncoming headlights because that was all that she could do to stay calm, to keep from blurting out or trying to grab him in a sudden burst. She knew this would not be a good idea because she had noticed the gun when he jumped over the seat. So she kept still and looked out the window.

A few minutes later, another command broke the silence. Pull over hereat the turnout! he ordered.

The father slowed and carefully brought the car to a stop at the turnout. He noticed a pair of headlights in the rearview and another vehicle came to a stop behind him, its white hood glowing red from the station wagons taillights.

If you so much as move this car an inch, youre dead the man said as he expertly slipped back over the bench seat, reached for the door handle, and jumped out.

The mother and father moved closer together in the front seat. One of the girls made slight whimpering noises but no one dared to speak.