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Marshal Dale Perry

Courtesy of Eric Bunday (via his FaceBook page) Thank you Eric

This is the corner of Columbia Blvd. and Crouse Way in St. Helens, Oregon. Most people pass by this every day not knowing the tragedy which occurred here 95 years ago today on a foggy Saturday night. Retired Oregon State Police Senior Trooper Randy Fargher and I made a promise to two old men in the waning years of their lives nearly 15 years ago that we would carry forward the message of what happened at this intersection on November 22, 1924 and the incredible life lost in the line of duty.

I've made a post for the past few years on this date to honor this amazing man, and again this year, on the 95th anniversary, I want to tell as much of the story of Marshal Dale Perry as I can to pass on the memory of his life and legacy. He certainly left his mark on me, though I never met him, and he continues to have a profound impact both on my career as a police officer and my life in general.

Dale Perry was born on September 3, 1895 on a farm in the Yankton area, just outside of St. Helens. From the time he was a small child, it was clear there was something different about this determined young man. He excelled in whatever he set his mind to, and the physical feats he was capable of were impressive even by today's standards. As a high schooler, he became so dominant in football and track and field that the very mention of the name "Dale Perry" was enough to strike fear in the hearts of even the most formidable opponents.

During the latter portion of his high school athletics career, St. Helens High School was scheduled to visit Scappoose High School for a track meet. However, the evening before the event students from Scappoose played a prank on SHHS by repainting the school steps in SHS school colors. The track coach in St. Helens told his team they would not be participating in the meet as a protest for what occurred, but Dale had other ideas. He would exact his revenge the only way he knew how: by competing. He walked nine miles from St. Helens to Scappoose, announced he was there to compete as the St. Helens High School track team, and then proceeded to win every event by himself. His athletic prowess earned him enshrinement in the St. Helens High School Athletics Hall of Fame.

Recruited by Oregon Agricultural College (now Oregon State University), Dale moved to Corvallis to play football for the Beavers. He was a key contributor to the 1917 squad and its 4-2-1 record, which included OAC's second-ever victory over the Ducks in the Civil War game by a 14-7 margin. Dale's time at OAC was not long, though. He met a young lady at school named Betty, and she soon became his wife. They moved back to St. Helens, where they bought a house on S 4th St.

When the United States entered the First World War, Dale attempted to enlist in the military, but he was turned away when it was discovered he was flat-footed. He helped the war effort, instead, by working in the shipyards. After the war ended, Dale's family grew by one in 1919 when Betty gave birth to their first son, George.

Soon after George?s birth, Dale found work as a fire watchman for the Columbia County Rural Fire Protection District spotting forest fires. He was simply told by his superiors to find a good spot to watch the area to the northwest of St. Helens, so Dale found the tallest fir tree he could in the area and built a lookout in it singlehandedly. At over 250 feet above the ground, it was thought to be the tallest ever erected in the area. Dale received much attention for this achievement, which included newspaper articles lauding the feat. The board of directors for the District, however, did not feel as warmly about his accomplishment, and they ordered him to discontinue using it, referring to it in their letter which first thanked him for his efforts as being a "dangerous proposition for a man to use."

The Perry family grew again in 1922, when Dale and Betty welcomed their second son, Robert. Dale and Betty continued to raise their family in St. Helens when duty called again for him in January 1924. Dale was offered the position of town marshal, which he graciously accepted.

Dale patroled the fledgling city on an Indian motorcycle with a side car that he used for prisoner transports. With Prohibition in full swing, he often paired up with Sheriff Wellington to bust bootleggers, and the stories of their exploits filled the local papers. Dale, still held in high esteem for his many athletic feats in high school and heroic feats after returning to St. Helens, was widely regarded as a fair and patient law enforcement officer.

Dale wore no helmet when he patroled the city, and he carried a .38 caliber revolver, a billy club, and handcuffs as his only equipment. He had no radio to call for backup, so he relied on his communication skills to work his way through sticky situations. There was no dispatch center, so citizens called to report crimes on a telephone which rang directly into his house. In June, Dale was involved in a wreck on his motorcycle in which he was struck by another vehicle and suffered a broken leg. In the days before worker's comp and staying true to his nature, Dale was back to work within a few days, even with his leg in a cast.

On November 22, 1924, Dale climbed aboard his motorcycle and set out to patrol the city on a foggy autumn evening just five days before Thanksgiving. What happened during his shift remains shrouded in mystery. It is known he arrested and lodged a suspect for a misdemeanor offense in the Columbia County Jail.

Shortly after nightfall, he was on patrol likely headed westbound on Columbia Blvd. (at the time a two-way street) in what was then the neighboring city of Houlton (the town marshals would take turns patroling each other's areas when they were on-duty due to the proximity). It is believed he saw a speeding motorist headed eastbound on Columbia Blvd. He likely turned around and gave chase to the speeder when he lost control of the motorcycle near Crouse Way. The motorcycle left the roadway and struck the telephone pole on the east-side of the intersection. A passerby found Dale and alerted the minister in the nearby church?s parsonage. An ambulance was summoned, and Dale was transported to the nearest hospital, Good Samaritan in northwest Portland. Dale died shortly after arriving at the hospital. He was just 29-years-old.

The city held his funeral a few days later. Businesses shuttered and children were dismissed early from school as a grieving community bade farewell to their fallen hero. People returned to their normal lives shortly thereafter, but for Betty, George, and Robert Perry life would never be the same. There was no memorial for fallen law enforcement officers in either Washington DC or Salem, and his death began to fade into a distant memory for the community. However, for the Perry family, the memory of Dale and the pain of his death never faded from their memories.

In the years before federal and state death benefits for survivors of line-of-duty deaths, Betty was left to raise her sons, just five and two when their father died, almost completely on her own with some limited assistance from Dale's family. She found work as the secretary to the president of the local mill, but she would not remarry until both of the boys left for college and started families of their own.

George and Robert bore striking resemblances to their father, both physically and in their athletic prowess. They excelled in basketball, and Robert eventually joined his father in the St. Helens High School Athletics Hall of Fame. George went off to college first, following in his father's footsteps to Oregon State College. Robert broke with tradition and attended Willamette College. Both of the Perry boys, however, found their passion in education and pursued careers as teachers.

As the winds of war blew across Europe in 1940, George felt the same sense of duty which tugged at his father, and he enlisted in the United States Army Air Corps. Commissioned in 1941 as a second lieutenant, he was trained as a B-17 pilot. He was sent to England as part of the Eighth Air Force, by which time he was an aircraft commander. During a mission in early 1944, George's bomber suffered insurmountable damage over Germany. After ordering his crew to bail out, George successfully belly-landed the bomber on a lake, but was soon captured by German forces and taken to a POW camp, where he was imprisoned for the remainder of the war in Europe. Robert followed his brother into the Air Corps, and he was commissioned in 1943 and also given command of a B-17 bomber. He was sent to the Pacific Theater, where he flew 28 missions as part of the Air-Sea Rescue Unit, locating and dropping life boats to downed airmen to keep them alive until the Navy could rescue them.

After returning from war, the Perry brothers started their careers as educators. George became a highly-regarded woodshop teacher and coach with Portland Public Schools, spending the balance of his career at Wilson High School. Robert was a teacher and coach at Beaverton High School, where he retired in 1980 as the athletic director. In their off-time, the Perry brothers felt a strong desire to continue to give back to the community, which led them to purchase a piece of land just outside of Vernonia and build the Perry Sports Camp. This camp is still in operation today as Larry Steele's Cedar Ridge Sports Camp.

For George and Robert Perry, the memory and legacy of their father continued to guide them throughout the remainder of their lives, even though they had barely known him. However, for the community of St. Helens, Dale Perry's name was lost in the annals of local history and lore until February 2005.

I was just three years into my career with the St. Helens Police Department working dayshift when Randy Fargher came into the squadroom and asked me if I knew anything about a line-of-duty death in St. Helens some years ago. I had never heard anything about it, nor had anyone else with the agency. He told me he had a chance meeting with an old family friend who mentioned something about an officer dying in the 1920s, but he had no other details to provide.

We looked at the roster of former St. Helens marshals and police chiefs, and we spotted Dale's name. We did some research with the archives of the various county newspapers, and we finally found an article in the Clatskanie Chief that briefly reported the death of Marshal Perry.

We now knew the identity of the fallen officer, and we discovered his name was neither listed on the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial nor the Oregon Fallen Law Enforcement Memorial. However, nothing prepared us for what would happen next: we found out George and Robert were still alive. We agreed Randy would get in touch with George and I would contact Robert.

I will never forget the phone call I placed to Robert, who was then 82-years-old. I told him who I was, and I asked him, "Are you Dale Perry's son?" He replied, "Yes, why?" I told him we were researching his father's death to finally have him honored, and he choked up. ?I didn't know anyone outside of the family knew about that any longer," he replied. He invited me to come to his house. I accepted, and I drove to his house in the Cedar Hills area the next day.

Robert still had everything his mother saved about his father's life and death. Newspaper clippings. Photos. Family accounts. You name it, he had it. He told me about his time in the service. He proudly talked about his career in education and the sports camp, and he took me on a tour of his wall of photos that would make the biggest sports nut jealous.

Yet when he started to talk about his dad, he was a little boy again. He would well up with tears as he talked about how he only had fleeting memories of a father who was taken from him at two-years-old. He spoke with pride about the amazing job his mother did raising the two boys. ?We were typical boys, and everyone always said we were definitely Dale's kids, so you can imagine we caused her some grief," he told me once with a chuckle. He said he was stunned there was now interest in his father's death, and I assured him we were going to make sure his dad would finally receive the honors which were long overdue.

In October 2005, we held a ceremony to honor Marshal Dale Perry at Columbia View Park in St. Helens. George was unable to attend due to his failing health, but Robert, his wife, and most of Dale's grandchildren and their families attended. The OSP Honor Guard rendered honors to Dale, and, if I live to be 100, I will never forget the sight of tears streaming down Robert's face as Chief Salle' handed him a folded flag for his father that was over 80 years overdue. In May 2006, Marshal Dale Perry's name was added to the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial and the Oregon Fallen Law Enforcement Memorial.

George passed away in 2006, and Robert passed away in 2007. In our many conversations with them before they passed, Randy and I promised George and Robert their father would not be forgotten again.

I maintained contact with Robert until about the last year of his life, and through our conversations I could see Dale's influence shining through. Even as he faced mounting health problems, he gave off an inner strength and confidence tempered with impeccable humility that I have rarely seen in another human being. I am lucky to have known him. The Perry boys were the true embodiment of "The Greatest Generation".

Today marks 95 years since Dale Perry's life ended tragically in the line of duty. He was my brother and I am proud to say we once patroled the same streets, even though we served a lifetime apart. Like every other one of the more than 21,000 names etched on our National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial, I owe him a duty to never forget his service and sacrifice.

I also owe George and Robert Perry a duty to ensure their father will never be forgotten again. They gave Randy and me an amazing gift: a first-hand glimpse into the world of an amazing man named Dale Perry. Robert gave me purpose by showing me the impact of a line-of-duty death can and will continue to affect the survivors of a fallen officer even 80 years after the incident. Randy and I saw it every time we brought up Dale to them; these two men in their eighties were amazing athletes, war heroes, commanders of bombers, leaders of men, educators, highly regarded coaches, and pillars of their communities who had done more living than any of us could hope to do in two lifetimes, yet when their dad was brought up they were five and two again. And they missed their dad so much.

As we approach Thanksgiving, please remember those who face an empty chair at the dinner table, just as Betty Perry was forced to do for the first time with two young sons 95 Thanksgivings ago. As I am every year, I am thankful for my family and friends who love and support me, and I am thankful for my brothers and sisters with whom I stand watch on that thin blue line.

I am also thankful for two old men named George and Robert who allowed Randy and me to see their ongoing pain first-hand at losing a father so young. I am thankful for the legacy of a life cut short that lived on every day through them for 83 more years. I am thankful for the mark they, especially Robert, left on me. I am thankful for their openness and the promise we made them.

We won't ever forget your dad again, George and Robert. Rest in peace, Marshal Perry. You will never be forgotten.