Skip to main content
Growing up in Cherokee County, Oklahoma, we young men, raised on “patriotic” propaganda and military veteran elders, were ready to go when Vietnam began. On my first night in Vietnamese coastal fishing waters, we ran over a sampan with an extended family of Vietnamese aboard. The captain joked about it. “Holy shit,” I thought, “we’re doing to them what was done to us (Native Americans), but this time I’m the bad guy.”
In 1986, after two tours of duty and 15 years of post-military photojournalism around Asia, I was ready to move back. I’d never been to Oregon but had two siblings here. I visited, bought a used car on 82nd Avenue, and drove 8,500 miles around the country looking for the right place.
Portland had this sacred land and coast, the rivers, Powell’s, Forest Park, and a beautiful downtown. The daily papers did not inspire. They were too comfortable with themselves and the status quo. Major scoops here often appeared first in The Washington Post and The New York Times, but there was one very bright local luminance, Willamette Week.
WW had real reporting, community, Katherine Dunn (!!!). It was a real aortic connection to what was actually happening and, thank goodness, no obsessing over sports. It was an important factor in my choosing Portland as my “American” home. Online blather may have, I’m afraid, diminished WW’s overall prominence, but it’s as relevant as ever and better, more dependable, and far less corporate compromised than anything else we have.
I’m proud to be able to support this paper.