The B.R. Zimmerman residence, 310 N. Roop St., Susanville.
1912 was an exciting time in Susanville with the anticipation of the arrival of the railroad. There was a housing building boom. There were more houses constructed in Susanville in 1912, than the previous eleven years combined! It also ushered in a new architectural style, the bungalow, and the days of the Queen Anne were over.
Interior of the Zimmerman residence. Both photographs courtesy of the B.R. Zimmerman Collection
Another unique change was financing, as was with the case of the B.R.Zimmerman residence at 310 North Roop Street, Susanville. Built in 1913. Instead of using a traditional bank Zimmerman financed the residence through a local home building and savings loan company.
In the mid-1920s, Red River had two hydro-plants in operation to generate power. This abundant power supply created an unusual man-made landmark. Red River was able to conserve its sawdust/wood waste pile, which took on a life of its own as it started looking like a small mountain. This created a nice reserve of free fuel that was readily available at any time should there by interruptions from the hydro-plants. To comprehend just how large it was, a Ripley’s “Believe it or Not” column once designated it as the world’s largest waste pile. In 1941 it lost its status to Portland General Electric Company who reported having a 130-foot high pile of sawdust.
Anything of this magnitude created its own hazards. One of the first lessons learned was how to prevent it from spontaneous combustion. A conveyer belt, along with a steam shovel and caterpillar tractor were employed to constantly work on the sawdust pile—whether adding to it or feeding the conveyer belt to the power house. It was not unusual for a worker to get trapped in a sawdust pocket where one could easily die from suffocation. While no fatalities of this nature occurred, there was one death attributed to the sawdust pile. On the morning of January 20, 1925 Alexander Kollinkoff was killed when he was struck by a large piece of frozen sawdust while operating a steam shovel.
Red River also explored other ways to utilize this enormous wood waste pile. When the mill operated at full capacity it produced 400 hundred tons of sawdust and wood chips in a twenty-four period, over half of which was used to fuel the boilers in the powerhouse. In February 1927 Red River installed an interesting piece of machinery, one that manufactured the modern day version of briquettes. This impressive device was capable of compressing a ton of wood waste into briquettes every hour. About a third of the wood waste which it compressed into briquettes could be used for home use, camping or even at the plant itself.
Did you ever notice that North Street runs in an east-west direction? It does not make sense, until you go way back when Susanville was first surveyed. There you find the answer to this perplexing issue. You see, North Street was most northern street in the town. The same thing happened in the 1920s with an adjoining subdivision to the south, in which South Street became the most southern street.
Looking east on North Street from Weatherlow during the 1938 flood. Courtesy of Betty Barry Deal
In addition, when North Street was laid out, it ended at Weatherlow Street. It was not until 1910 when it was extended to connect with Halltown to the east.
Tim
P.S. – This is an old post from March 2015. This morning’s post appeared, I did not receive a notification. So I am doing a test this afternoon, to if it is functioning or not.
Illustration of the Christmas Edition, Lassen Mail, December 14, 1928
Lassen Mail, December 14, 1928- “Making the Most of Christmas. One of the truest sayings in life is that you receive a proportion of what you give, be it in word, deed, thought or material things.
”Those who have lived a full life—who have tasted the sweetness of success, the bitterness of failure, the nectar of joy and the vinegar of sorrow, claim that getting the most out of Christmas is in giving.
”Remembering the poor on Christmas day is one of the most effective means of getting the most out of the anniversary of the birth of Christ. And aside from the satisfied feeling within that you have done something worth while, every dime that you give to charity will be returned to you ten times over. This fact has been proven in every day life and it is doubly emphasized at Christmas time, the greatest and most joyous holiday of the year.
”There is something missing in the make-up of those who not get a real thrill out of Christmas giving—the tieing up of packages with ribbon on them—the writing of names on cards—the knowledge that someone will be ‘surprised’ and made happy.
”What you give willingly in the name of charity shall be returned to you one hundred fold.”
Since we have had a taste of fog lately, is there more to come? Late December can be notorious, partially. due to short. daylight hours and valley inversions.
In 1859 residents of the Honey Lake Valley experienced one of the most dreaded winter weather conditions, a pogonip—the Indians term for an ice fog. The term loosely translates into “white death,” for many Indians caught pneumonia and died. This fog settles in the mountain valleys. One can ascend a few hundred feet above the valley floor, bask in sunny temperatures and overlook a sea of clouds. Pogonips vary in severity. A mild one will consist of persistent endless fog with sub-freezing temperatures. The worst variety is when it turns into a literal ice fog, coating everything. The first day can be spectacular with ice crystal formations on everything. After several successive days of those bone chilling temperatures, it quickly loses its appeal. The pogonip of 1859 was one of severest on record. The heavy cold fog lasted six weeks. So much frost accumulated on the grasses that cattle could not eat it. In addition, since the first settlers had been accustomed to mild winters, very little hay was put up, and a great many cattle starved to death that winter.
A 1920 pogonip scene on the north side of the Lassen County Courthouse.
In the early 1890s, when the railroad town of Amedee came into prominence, led to many interesting developments. One of these was the discovery of lime deposits, then a key ingredient used in cement. In 1893, a lime kiln was constructed on the hillside above Amedee. However, due to the nation’s economic depression and the NCO Railroad’s refusal to lower freight rates the enterprise abandoned.
In 1913, with another railroad at Amedee and a surging economy, Susanville businessmen fired up the abandoned lime kilns. After over a year in operation, this they discovered it was not the most prudent business investment, and once again the kilns were abandoned.
Amedee Lime Kiln, January 26, 2020
If you don’t succeed the first time, try again and again. In the 1920s, Janesville resident William B. Hail operated the lime kilns. In 1927, he used the lime for construction of the Bigelow Apartments in Susanville. After that it they were finally abandoned once and for all. Hail stated it was due to the poor quality of the lime.
1927 holiday greeting card from the Lassen County Sheriff’s Office. Left to Right, Sheriff Jim Leavitt, Deputy Tom Massey and Deputy A.C. “Cass” Hunsinger.—Betty B. Deal
Sifting through old scans, I came across the above holiday greeting postcard of the Lassen County. While this photograph was scanned and uploaded to the website back in October 2015, for reasons unknown I never bothered to publish the same, until now.
How much longer when the old jail remains standing is anyone’s guess. After all the the roof has collapsed on the back half of the building.
Susanville, 1905. Courtesy of Dick & Helen Harrison
In 1910, with no substantial proof that a railroad was coming to Susanville, some of the powers to be thought the town could use a makeover. In February, the Lassen County Chamber of Commerce thought the town had a image problem. In their opinion, the town’s name should be changed with something of a more cosmopolitan flair. This was, of course, a delicate maneuver, since the town’s matriarch and namesake, Susan Roop Arnold, was still a resident of the community and had been for forty-six years. The Chamber advised her that it did not mean to be disrespectful, but felt changing the City’s name would be in the best interest of the community. The Chamber believed the town was destined to become an important city and that with name of with suffix “ville” carried a stigma, as being associated with a hamlet or village.
The City Trustees listened to Chamber’s proposal. They decided to postpone it until the March meeting. The Trustee’s appointed a committee to provide a propose name change. The group were not very creative and the best they could come up was Lassen. They cited that if the Lassen name was adopted, very few changes would have to be made. Numerous businesses and organizations had already incorporated the name into their respective establishments. The City said no, end of story.
The abandoned Milford Flour Mill as it appeared in 1901. Courtesy of the A.J. Mathews family
Okay, may be because its December and on certain fronts things are winding down. There are lots of towns named Milford across the country, and the one in Lassen County is of no exception.
The Milford Post Office and Store, 1909. Courtesy of Betty Barry Deal
This community so named back in 1861 was the location of two mills—a flour and a sawmill. However, even a community with a singular mill and named for such, why is the second “l” eliminated?
