which was unoccupied. He lived out in the country from Albany, and I walked to see him—did not have enough money to ride—and asked him for the use of that upper story.
“I haven’t any money,” I told him, “but I will pay you as soon as I have.” Parish allowed him the use of the building and he had his machinery moved in.
“When I had paid the drayage costs, I was absolutely broke,” Mr. Steel said. “The first issue of the paper came out on the Thursday morning of October 3, without a single subscriber and with out an inch of advertising. I refused to accept subscriptions until the paper was a reality, but on the Friday I brought in 83 subscriptions at $2.50 each, and enough advertising to run the publication for a while.”
This happened just before the elections of 1880. Never, in the history of the state, said Mr. Steel, had Linn county carried (illegible text) but straight Democratic. The (illegible text) had never been (illegible text) polls.
“Well, we made a red-hot (illegible text) for the good old Republican ticket,” said Steel, “and without money or friends to back me. At least, anyone that was behind me was so far behind that I couldn’t see him,” he laughed.
INTENSIVE WORK DONE
“We organized that county as it had never been organized before. Perry H. Raymond was named president of the county committee and I was chairman of the organization work. Before elections I had a fairly good idea of how every man in that county was going to vote on every single candidate. ” This was done, Mr. Steel said, by means of precinct representatives. The day before the elections two prominent politicians threatened to shoot Mr. Steel if he attempted to go to the polls the following day. “I was there at six a.m. ,” laughed the pioneer newspaperman, “and by my side was that splendid sportsman, Charlie Barnes, with a six-shooter in each pocket. He followed me throughout the day, ready to shoot to kill if any trouble maker approached me. We cleaned the county that day—a thing never done be fore in the history of politics in the state. and the vote from Linn county carried the Republican ticket through out the state. The state headquarters in Portland refused to believe their ears when they heard that Linn had gone for the grand old party,” Mr. Steel continued.
“Charlie Barnes won ten thousand dollars on that election, and the two politicians who had made the threats went clean’ broke and left town. And they didn’t shoot me, either.” At the close of his fight through t-he newspaper. Mr. Steel was named county printer, and was literally “in clover,” as he put it. Partnership troubles, however. were experienced, and Mr. Steel tumed the paper over to his two associates, on con dition that they assume all the debts. "hid then,” mused Mr. Steel, “I left tr-.1-.. It was in June, then, and the that had started without any sub < .ptions, had at that time, 1 ,500 bona i.Je subscribers, and a splendid future. I had had my thrill though, and I was ready to go back to my mountains. I had fought the biggest fight I ever hope to fight, I had gained prestige through out the state, and I was content.”
Mr. Steel continued in the newspaper game for some time after his experience in Albany, writing syndicate articles for ten Sunday papers throughout the country, including the Portland Oregonian, the Brooklyn Eagle, the Chicago Inter Ocean, the Pittsburgh Dispatch, and others.
"It shows what one can do with little or nothing,” he concluded, “especially in these more modern days when it costs from five to ten thousand dollars to start a paper in the same sized town as Albany. But that was the best fight I have ever fought and I’m glad I fought.”
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