‘Dad’ Owens Knew Something About Everything
Tri-City Herald, 13 November 1960, pg. 13
By BURTON 0. LUM
Tri-City Pioneer
De Witt Owen, Pasco’s “Dad Owens” was one of its most jovial and well liked
early citizens. A tall, stopped, man, he resembled “Father Time.” A tremendous
long graying beard covered his face. His twinkling Welsh blue eyes beamed out
through a thicket of whiskers. His bold sunburnt and freckled head was seldom
covered by a hat or cap. His forebearers had come from the New England state
to Iowa in the early days. He grew to manhood in Iowa before the Civil War.
A natural mechanic, he was an expert in most of the crafts. When the Civil War
began, because of his various abilities, he was not sent to the battle front.
He was to fill in at home in any capacity needed. The war ended. He married
the town’s belle and started a fruit tree nursery. Young De Witt threw his talents
into the business. It prospered under his operation. Life was rosy for the young
couple. A blessed event was expected. Sorrow struck as the young wife died in
childbirth. De Witt Owen was crushed. He was an only child, his parents had
both passed away shortly before the war. He sold everything of value he possessed
and joined a wagon train for the Oregon Country. Arriving in Salem, he sought
employment. A fabulous gold strike had just been made in Idaho. Stern wheel
boats were being built above the Celilo Falls of the Columbia. They were to
ply up the Columbia and the Snake to Idaho. He secured employment in the construction
of these stern wheelers. As a mill wright he took many trips on these vessels.
He became interested in Indian Curios. There was one location on the Columbia
near the mouths of the Yakima and the Snake that was very rich in Indian Curios
and Artifacts. He settled on this spot to ply his hobby. When the Northern Pacific
Railway Co. selected this location for the site of its division point and called
it Pasco, he was on the ground floor. He helped with the various buildings then
purchases lots in the newly platted townsite. He constructed cottages to rent
to the railroad employees and also built a cottage for himself containing a
large room for his Indian Curios. Tiring of batching, he wrote glowing reports
to his niece Miss Peace. She was graduating from a leading Boston art school.
She came West to see him. Arriving on the night train, she was met by her uncle.
The next morning she arose early to view the landscape that her uncle had so
glowingly described in his letters. She stood on the front porch gazing out
on the thick sagebrush, sand, prickle pears, alive with horned toads and lizards.
Uncle approached, she turned and said, “Where is the timber you wrote about?”
Pointing to the sagebrush he said, “That’s it. It isn’t very tall but it is
quite thick.” His niece did not panic at the situation. She visualized an art
studio built in their cottage wherein she could finish and hang her canvases
depicting the wild hideous, unconquered aspects of the now existing scenes.
Her huge trunk contained an ample supply of art materials, brushes, crayon,
pencils, canvases, academy board and a china kiln. Uncle De Witt built the studio.
The culture of Boston had entered the Wild and Wooley West at Pasco. Pasco was
booming. The studio boomed. A romance was booming. Miss Peace, his niece, was
losing her heart to young Civil Engineer Rockwell of Cornell University who
had just finished his task of laying out the Kennewick Ditch. His engineering
ability displayed in this project was outstanding. He was called to California
to take charge of a large proposed irrigation project. Miss Peace sold her studio.
They were married and left for California. Uncle De Witt would not leave Pasco.
He ate his meals across the street at the Pasco House. “Dad Owens” was always
ready to give a helping hand. Many sought his aid in solving their problems.
Pasco’s leading grocer was annoyed by his neighbor’s large dog. The dog was
too familiar with the grocer’s sidewalk vegetable display. The grocer asked
“Dad” what he should do. Dad said, “I will take care of it for you Bill.” The
next morning bright and early “Dad” stood nonchalantly near the sidewalk vegetable
display carrying on old walking stick, the lower end of which he had broomed
up and soaked in turpentine. Soon the dog came to pay his respects. “Dad” poked
the dog with the turpentine soaked end of the cane. The canine leaped high into
the air emitting a howl “longer than a Missouri wagon tongue.” He landed on
his haunches and skidded along on the splintery wooden sidewalk yelping Oo-ya,
Oo-ya, Oo-ya! Do you know? They could never make that dog walk on that side
of the street again.