Oregon, indeed the entire Northwest, has reached the age where centennial celebrations are commonplace.
So the fact that little Brightwood, just off the beaten path to and from Mount Hood, threw itself a centennial celebration May 6 might seem of little interest to outsiders. But several factors set Brightwood's party apart.
To begin with, it was not unincorporated Brightwood's first centennial celebration. In 1991 the community feted the 100th anniversary of its post office, which first opened April 2, 1891. However, the community wasn't Brightwood at the time, but Salmon.
The Salmon Post Office lasted until May 6, 1910, when U.S. postal officials approved the name change to Brightwood -- hence the impetus for a second centennial.
"Oregon Geographic Names" says the name was suggested by Billy Alcorn, "a property owner, because of the pleasing effect of the sun shining on the cottonwood trees in the spring."
The community traces its history to 1883, when John Thomas and Winifred "Winnie" McIntyre settled near the confluence of the Salmon and Sandy rivers. Their place was hard by the historic Barlow Road across the southern flank of Mount Hood.
"By 1891, there was enough traffic and commerce from Portland to Welches and Government Camp to entice (the McIntyres) to establish the Salmon River Post Office and an eleven-room hotel ... ," says Brightwood historian Bill White.
It was "the most important stopping place between Sandy and Government Camp ... ," says "Sandy Pioneers, Early Settlers and Barlow Road Days" by Elizabeth Hartman and Marie Schwartz. "... as the road improved, campers and their teams stayed for days at a time. The ... hotel (was) soon insufficient to house the crowds."
White says it was the first place on the mountain to cater to tourists.
John McIntyre sold the hotel to follow the Alaskan gold sirens, but by 1899 he was back in Salmon. He and Winnie opened a general store and livery stable and ran the post office. When automobiles began laboring up the mountain, the McIntyres served as a necessary pit stop.
Grandson Leonard McIntyre, 91, of Sandy grew up in Brightwood and remembers the store and post office as the focal point of community life. He also remembers the day in the early 1920s when he was "maybe 5 or 6" and went into the store to find his grandmother negotiating to sell the place.
"Grandma was talking to this man," he said, "and she explained to me what they were doing, and that there would be no more free ice cream."
The state realigned U.S. 26 to bypass Brightwood in the 1950s. Some thought it might spell the end for the community. Others saw it as a blessing.
The highway stayed put in Rhododendron, Welches and Zigzag, stripping those hamlets of much of their rustic character and tangling traffic. Brightwood remained blissfully bucolic, and its residents ever mindful of their unique spot for the most part unsullied by "progress."
"We really do have a Norman Rockwell community," says White. "The gathering last Thursday was just a picture right out of the Saturday Evening Post."
Abut a hundred folks gathered to witness Michael McGuire, district manager for the U.S. Postal Service, swear in Aaron Campbell as Brightwood's 13th postmaster. The Postal Service rarely bothers with such a ceremony any more, but Brightwood's spirit brought them out.
"I love the idea of having Brightwood," says Sue Allen, an architect turned artist who fled first New York and then Portland to settle in the hamlet nearly three decades ago. "And it was just a delight to have the actual swearing in of the new postmaster."
An event held several years in the 1980s may typify the Brightwood attitude. According to an account by The Oregonian's Don Hamilton, it was a real slugfest -- no, not the kind with fisticuffs -- real slugs.
According to Hamilton, about 40 slug aficionados gathered one bright September Saturday around the course on a big board outside the Brightwood Tavern.
Slug handlers positioned their entries. "Tavern owner Bob Swarts took his microphone and yelled, 'They're off!' and the crowed roared.
"Nothing happened."
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, Special to The Oregonian