‘Tis hard to read what’s not there, yet we often sense it. Body language requires neither diaphragm nor vocal cords to communicate. Likewise, you’ve heard reports that covered the bases from alpha to omega, yet sensed that somewhere in between lay the explanation for why what happened, happened.
In The Missing Paragraph, I hope to illuminate the gap between the expressed and the unstated, to chase down the backstory, and to tell the story behind the story. I’m no Paul Harvey, but that’s the flavor I seek.
So, it’s tally ho, and off we go.
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It’s hard to miss Ewing Young around these parts. Of course, there’s the school that bears his name. A local skate park is named for him, where skaters attempt tricks in the shadow of a largely forgotten pioneer. Young’s remains lie on a farm near Newberg beneath an oak tree, just six miles from where I sit. A distillery named after Young—Oregon’s first distiller—now occupies the site. (Read the Roots’ story on the Ewing Young Distillery website to learn how they got started.)
Most of us have heard that Young’s death in 1841 led, two years later, to the formation of Oregon’s first provisional government. What far fewer accounts explain is why his death proved to be the catalyst. That missing paragraph—the one connecting the event to its consequence—is too often dropped into history’s wastebasket. Yet it wasn’t mere words that were missing; it was an entire framework of governance.
In 1841, “Oregon” generally referred to the vast Oregon Country, not the later U.S. Oregon Territory. Vast? Think of what is now the province of British Columbia and the states of Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and western Montana as far as the Continental Divide. Several nations had once asserted claims to all or part of it: Russia, Spain, Great Britain, and the United States. Spain surrendered its claims in 1821. Russia withdrew in 1824. That left Great Britain and the United States.
The United States based its claim on exploration (especially Robert Gray’s 1792 voyage), the Lewis and Clark Expedition, and the 1811 founding of Astoria. Even so, Washington, D.C., lay 2,363 miles away.
Great Britain, though governed from London, had a far more immediate presence. The Hudson’s Bay Company operated Fort Vancouver just 30 miles away, while retired French-Canadian employees had settled on French Prairie, east of Newberg across the Willamette River. The fort’s Chief Factor, Dr. John McLoughlin, was the region’s de facto civil authority—at least for British subjects.
Formally, Oregon Country was under the joint occupation of the United States and Great Britain per the Convention of 1818. In practice, however, there was no recognized American civil government in the Willamette Valley. American settlers had no probate courts, sheriffs, or judges. British subjects had a system they could turn to. When disputes arose, there was no need to appeal to Caesar in distant Rome. One simply called upon the Chief Factor at Fort Vancouver. Lacking any civil authority of their own, American settlers often accepted the Chief Factor’s judgments as well—not because they were obliged to, but because there was no practical alternative.
And Ewing Young was an American. When he died in 1841, he left no will and no heirs in Oregon. Who would inherit his land? Who would claim his cattle? More importantly, who had the legal authority to decide?
That was the question.
Some in the area did not care which political system governed. They wanted the cattle.
Wolves had caused losses to settlers’ livestock throughout the region. The pioneers held “Wolf Meetings” to discuss ways to control predators, limit predation, and stop financial losses. Before long, another concern entered the conversation: the disposition of Ewing Young’s vast herds.
Young’s lack of a will or heir created a complicated problem. The pioneers recognized the dilemma. Without courts, judges, sheriffs, or an established system of law, there was no recognized authority to administer Young’s substantial estate.
The question of dividing Young’s wealth became one of establishing a probate process. But probate required more than paperwork. It required a judicial system—laws, courts, judges, and officers to enforce decisions.
Would that system follow British traditions or the American republican model? Debate ensued. Those discussions, along with concerns over law, property, and order, helped lead settlers toward the Champoeg meetings.
At Champoeg, settlers addressed practical matters: probate law, estate administration, and rewards for hunters who killed animals threatening livestock. Beneath those immediate concerns lay a larger question: What kind of government would this community create?
The meetings eventually culminated in a vote on May 2, 1843. On that day, Joe Meek called for a divide—an election. It wasn’t a simple issue. The question facing the settlers was not merely whether to live under Britain or America. It was whether independence without institutions was preferable to order without self-rule. Was it nobler to remain free yet uncertain, or to accept the protection of a system that provided stability while denying them a voice in its authority?
Before the vote, Meek worked hard to persuade two French-Canadian men to change their minds and support the move toward an American-style government. His words—or possibly his whiskey—were effective. Two years after Ewing Young died, the Provisional Government of Oregon was born.
Officially, Oregon’s birthday is February 14, 1859—the day it became a state. Others point to August 14, 1848—the day Oregon became a territory.
But in my book, Oregon became Oregon on May 2, 1843. Not because Congress acted. Not because a president signed a bill. Oregon began when ordinary settlers decided they needed a government of their own.
And it all began because Ewing Young left no will. No paragraph explaining who received what. A missing legal document exposed a missing government.
From that question grew a republican government that would eventually govern from Salem and lead a territory toward statehood. That was the missing paragraph.
Now, before you close this page, go get your will drawn. History has shown us what happens when one is missing.
Mark Holady is a Newberg resident and attorney seeking interesting, historic, quirky, and occasionally controversial stories in Newberg and Dundee.
