Echo of Distant Water: The 1958 Disappearance of Portland's Martin Family

By J B Fisher

In December 1958, Ken Martin, his wife Barbara, and their three young daughters left their home in Northeast Portland to search for Christmas greens in the Columbia River Gorge—and never returned. The Martins' disappearance spurred the largest missing persons search in Oregon history and the mystery has remained perplexingly unsolved to this day. For the past six years, JB Fisher (Portland on the Take) has pored over the case after finding in his garage a stack of old Oregon Journal newspaper articles about the story. Through a series of serendipitous encounters, Fisher obtained a wealth of first-hand and never-before publicized information about the case including police reports from several agencies, materials and photos belonging to the Martin family, and the personal notebooks and papers of Multnomah County Sheriff's Detective Walter E. Graven, who was always convinced that the case was a homicide rather than an accident and worked tirelessly to prove it. Graven, however, faced real resistance from his superiors to bring his findings to light. Used as a trail left behind after his 1988 death to guide future researchers, Graven's personal documents provide fascinating insight into the question of what happened to the Martins—a path leading to abduction and murder, an intimate family secret, and civic corruption going all the way to the Kennedys in Washington, DC.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trine Day
• Release date: Aug 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781634242417

J B Fisher

John B. Fisher (J.B.) is a former teacher and coach at a Prep school on Oahu : Kamehameha School at Kapalama. He currently lives on the Big Island of Hawaii. author email address: [e-mail]

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Echo of Distant Water: The 1958 Disappearance of Portland’s Martin Family

Copyright ©2019 J.B. FISHER. All Rights Reserved.

Published by:

Trine Day LLC

PO Box 577

Walterville, OR 97489

1-800-556-2012

www.TrineDay.com

[e-mail]

Library of Congress Control Number:2019943255

Fisher, J.B.

Echo of Distant Water– 1st ed.

p. cm.

Epub (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-241-7

Kindle (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-242-4

Print (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-240-0

1.Martin family disappearance December 7, 1958. 2.Murder -- Oregon -- Portland -- Case studies. 3.TRUE CRIME / Murder / General. 4.Political corruption -- Oregon -- Portland -- History. 5.HISTORY / United States / State and Local / Pacific Northwest (OR, WA). I. Title

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the USA

Distribution to the Trade by:

Independent Publishers Group (IPG)

814 North Franklin Street

Chicago, Illinois 60610

312.337.0747

www.ipgbook.com

In memory of the Martins

Table of Contents

cover

Title Page

copyright page

Dedication

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ABOUT THE TITLE

Map

Prologue: Dusk Falls

Part One: Then

1) Sunday at Martin Manor

2) Gone

3) Into the Gorge

4) Seeing the Martins

5) The River Reveals

6) Graven’s Trail

7) Stranded in Time

Photographs & Documents

Part Two: Now

8) Scant Presence

9) Reverberations

10) The Big Fix

11) Silent Water

12) The Bridge of the Gods

13) Fugitive

14) Watery Moonlight

Epilogue: Riverview

Acknowledgements

Timeline

Author Information

Index

Contents

Landmarks

AUTHOR’S NOTE: What follows represents six years of dedicated research into the Martin family disappearance. The author does not purport to solve the case and some questions remain unanswered. However, a plausible trail is presented through careful research of police reports, newspaper coverage, the personal notebooks and papers of several detectives and reporters, interviews with friends and family members, and the examination of archival documents and materials. Some scenes and conversations are dramatized, while others are presented directly from the archives. Where dramatizations occur, these are based on specific research findings. No conclusions have been made about parties responsible, although the historical record invites further scrutiny of this question.

ABOUT THE TITLE: The phrase Echo of Distant Water alludes to the word Wyam which in several native languages of the Pacific Northwest means echo of falling water (also water falling over rocks). Wyam was the name that native peoples gave to Celilo Falls, an important ceremonial salmon fishing ground on the Columbia River east of the city of The Dalles, Oregon.¹ With the opening of The Dalles Dam in 1956, water levels behind the dam rose significantly and the falls were inundated. Two years later, the drama of the Martin family disappearance would play out in the shadow of The Dalles Dam. The flooded waters of Wyam could only be a silent witness.

I think one should work into a story the idea of not being sure of all things—because that is the way reality is.

– Jorge Luis Borges

---

¹ The Dalles, the largest city in Wasco County, Oregon, was an important trading center for Native American tribes for at least 10,000 years. According to Lewis McArthur in Oregon Geographic Names (3rd Edition), the name "is derived from the French word dalle, meaning flag-stone, and was applied to the narrows above the present city of The Dalles, by French-Canadian employees of the fur companies. Among other things, dalle meant a stone used to flag gutters, and the peculiar basalt formation along the narrows doubtless suggested gutters. The word dalles signified, to the voyageurs,

Prologue

Dusk Falls

¹

Ken Martin and his 1954 Ford Station wagon, date and location unknown. (Collection of Sarah Martin.)

Amoment earlier, the 1954 cream and red Ford station wagon had backed out of the Paradise Snack Bar ²parking lot and onto Oak Street just as dusk was falling in Hood River. The father raised his foot off the clutch and shifted the heavy vehicle into gear, instinctively checking the mirrors as he merged into the westbound lane toward the highway back to Portland. Through the rearview, he saw his three daughters belted securely into after-market seatbelts on the middle bench seat. Behind them, where the rear row seats had been removed for the trip, he quickly eyed the bulky heap of a charcoal grey Pendleton camp blanket. Funny, he thought fleetingly, that blanket seems larger than it did before.

Adjusting his view back out toward the road, he gently accelerated the vehicle and prepared to turn left onto the highway. Now he checked the rearview mirror again and as he did so, movement flashed from the back of the car. For the briefest second, he thought that one of the girls was pulling the grey blanket over the seat. At the end of that brief second, he realized that all three girls were still facing forward and that the blanket kept rising upward. Stopped in the turning lane, the father shifted his weight and looked behind him. Almost reflexively, his wife sitting next to him in the passenger seat cried out quizzically Barbie Gina Sue? as she turned her head to see what her husband was looking at.

There was a man emerging from the blanket and now he was making his way stealthily over the bench seat. A sinewy, tattooed arm pushed one of the girls aside roughly and as he clambered over the middle row, he knocked a small paper bag sending a half-dozen oranges spilling across the vehicle’s floor.

Before anyone could protest, he forced himself in between the husband and wife and almost immediately the driver felt something cold and hard and metal being pressed into his fleshy side.

Drive the damned car! the man ordered through clenched teeth and a panicked foot sent the station wagon lunging forward into the left turn and onto the approach ramp.

A crushing silence filled the vehicle as the father squeezed the steering wheel, his leaden foot straining unceasingly on the accelerator.

The girls sat frozen, the youngest pressed tightly against the oldest and the middle sister wedged against the sharp edge of the door handle.

Darkness was approaching now and the father cautiously reached for the headlight switch. As he did so, he felt the gun dig deeper into his rib.

How fast can this hunk of trash go? the man growled, and the father watched the needle inching toward 80.

The mother kept her eyes forward. She saw only a blur of roadway and trees and oncoming headlights because that was all that she could do to stay calm, to keep from blurting out or trying to grab him in a sudden burst. She knew this would not be a good idea because she had noticed the gun when he jumped over the seat. So she kept still and looked out the window.

A few minutes later, another command broke the silence. Pull over here—at the turnout! he ordered.

The father slowed and carefully brought the car to a stop at the turnout. He noticed a pair of headlights in the rearview and another vehicle came to a stop behind him, its white hood glowing red from the station wagon’s taillights.

If you so much as move this car an inch, you’re dead the man said as he expertly slipped back over the bench seat, reached for the door handle, and jumped out.

The mother and father moved closer together in the front seat. One of the girls made slight whimpering noises but no one dared to speak.

Just then, another car zipped by heading west on the highway and soon the red taillights vanished into the black distance.

Several moments passed and the armed man returned to the station wagon. Alright, move over. Lester’s gonna drive now, he said as he opened the driver side door. Both men pushed their way in roughly and the husband again felt the gun biting against his side.

Lester cranked the ignition, spun the wheel, and the car heaved back onto the highway.

Soon the needle was pushing past 80 and the father noticed that both men were wearing black motorcycle jackets. They were in their twenties and they looked tired. The driver, Lester, had wispy blonde hair and a high forehead. The first man, who answered to the name Roy, had bushy light-brown hair and flared nostrils.

Where we s’posed to meet at? Lester muttered finally.

Like I said before, under the bridge. There’s a turnout. Roy said dryly.

A few more minutes passed and at one point, Roy deftly maneuvered the vehicle to pass around a slower car that had been in their way. Finally, the station wagon slowed just slightly as they entered the town of Cascade Locks.

Now there were homes and businesses lining the roadway and the father noticed the bright neon sign for Dean’s Chevron Service Station as they rolled by. For a very brief moment, he thought about the many times they had stopped there to fuel on happy excursions into the Columbia Gorge.

Moments later, the station wagon cut off the road and came to a halt on the gravel turnout below The Bridge of the Gods. A third man stood awaiting their arrival.

Roy and Lester jumped out of the car and greeted this other man tersely. The three spoke briefly.

These are them, right? one of the men asked.

If there are five in there then you got the right ones was the reply.

What are we gonna do next?

Lemme talk to them.

The third man approached the vehicle. About the same age as the other two, this one lacked the tough appearance and the clothes to match. Instead of a leather jacket and denim pants, he wore casual tan slacks and a navy blue sport shirt. And unlike the others, this man was known to all five of the vehicle’s occupants.

He opened the driver side door, slid his way in, and turned to address the frightened couple still pressed close together in the passenger seat.

Ken, Barbara, he said with a slight sneer on his face. I’m glad we’re meeting after all.

This was not the plan and you know it! Ken shot back angrily.

Oh you’re the one who always told me plans change, remember Ken? Isn’t that why you sent Don away?

There was no response and the man shifted his attention to the back where the girls were still silent on the bench seat. All three looked very tired.

Hey there Gina. Hi Sue! he said in a chipper voice. Oh and we can’t forget about Barbie the troublemaker, can we? Isn’t that why we’re all here, Barbie?

Barbie shifted forward in her seat, her hands gripping the vinyl tightly. You said you’d fix this. You promised! she cried out, her voice wavering.

Oh we’ll fix it alright. Don’t you worry about that, the man exclaimed confidently. Just wait and see what we’re gonna do.

In the dim light, Barbie couldn’t tell if the expression on the man’s face was a cold smirk or an endearing smile.

---

¹ This chapter is a dramatization based on the witness report of Washington tourists Kelsey and Doris Knutson to the FBI dated December 29, 1958. Subsequent chapters will reference this report further.

² The building that housed the Paradise Snack Bar at 1313 Oak Street in Hood River became Pancake Corner in the 1960s and as of this writing is home to the Egg River Cafe. While there have been renovations to the building, it remains much the same as it did in 1958

Part One: Then

Martin family home, Portland, 1958 (Archive of Walter E. Graven).

Chapter 1

Sunday at Martin Manor

In the early morning hours of that same Sunday December 7th, 1958, all was quiet at the Martin family home. ¹Draped over a wingback armchair by the fireplace in the living room was a large red and white Santa Claus suit and next to it, a woman’s pioneer costume in drab brown complete with a cream-colored bonnet and matching apron. ² On the table in the adjoining dining room was a small wicker basket filled with Christmas candies wrapped in green, red, and gold paper, filberts and walnuts in their shells, and about a half-dozen small oranges. Amber-colored cellophane covered the basket, which was tied at the top with a dark green velveteen bow. ³

Around 8:00 a.m., a small girl with blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a light complexion carefully opened the door of the bunk room that she shared with one of her sisters. She tiptoed down the back hall so as not to wake her parents sleeping in the next bedroom, crossed the living room silently, and stopped directly in front of the basket on the dining room table. She began to wriggle her small hand carefully under the cellophane, which crackled loudly in response.

Suzie, what are you doing? she heard from behind her.

Mother said we are to wait until the Evans come and we’ll open it then, Gina (pronounced Jenna) said matter-of-factly.

Suzie raised her shoulders slightly but didn’t turn around. Well, mother does not need to know.

Her sister Gina was just a couple of inches taller than Suzie and two years older at twelve. She wore brown bangs, dark framed glasses, and had a medium complexion.

Come on Suzie, let’s read until everyone is up. Mother is returning the books on Wednesday and you still haven’t finished that Ramona and whatever her name is book you’re reading.

Beezus, Suzie corrected it for her. "Beezus and Ramona."⁴

She was walking through the archway joining the dining room to the living room and she paused briefly by the front door to retrieve a library book from a wooden apple crate overflowing with books.⁵ Then she crossed the small living room in several short strides and plopped herself onto a striped grey davenport against the wall perpendicular to the fireplace.

Gina followed behind her, having picked a book of her own out of the box. She joined Suzie on the davenport, her foot nudging the costume-draped chair ever so slightly toward the fireplace so that she could have a little more legroom. She picked up her book, which was called The Secret of the Andes,⁶ and began to read when Suzie interrupted her.

Haven’t you already read that one? Suzie inquired.

I like it was Gina’s curt reply.

Suzie persisted: It seems with so many books out there you might read something new.

Just then, Mrs. Martin came into the room. Heavy-set and matronly, she wore a dark grey bathrobe and small spectacles. An outside observer might have mistaken her for the girls’ grandmother.

Good morning girls, she said.

Good morning mother, they both chimed, not quite in unison.

Girls, the Evans will arrive with their children around 10:30 and we’ll go look for Christmas greens after that.

Suzie and Gina put their books down.

Can we go to Larch Mountain? Gina asked eagerly. Joyce hasn’t been there and I’d like to show her. Joyce Womack lived down the street. She would be coming over shortly and planned to join the family on their afternoon excursion.

Your father and I haven’t settled on a plan yet, girls. But we will discuss it when everyone is together in the kitchen in a little while. First, though, your father and I will be having a talk with Barbie, so you girls just carry on reading until we’ve finished. And sorry to say, Gina, Joyce’s mother phoned that Joyce has caught a cold and won’t be coming along.

Well that’s just too bad. Gina raised her book slightly to conceal the disappointment on her face. She thought about the game that she and Joyce were fond of playing on car rides. They would carefully tally up which houses had a television antenna and which did not and marvel each time at the increasing number of sets popping up all over town. Gina couldn’t wait for her mother to win one in a sweepstakes contest someday soon.

Just then, Barbie appeared in the room, having descended the narrow staircase from her small quarters on the second floor. She was fourteen with blonde hair in a ponytail, blue eyes, and like her middle sister, a medium complexion.

Barbie, your father and I would like to speak with you in the kitchen just as soon as he comes out. Mrs. Martin began.

And good morning to you, mother. Barbie responded a little coldly.

Yes, dear, was the reply and Mrs. Martin reached to adjust her daughter’s ponytail with some degree of affection.

Barbie, today’s the day we get to hunt for Christmas decorations! Suzie reminded her.

That’ll be fun, Suzie. Barbie said. While she sounded genuinely enthusiastic, all of them could tell that she wasn’t quite.

Barbie, you go into the kitchen and wait for your father and I. Barbara Martin said sternly.

Yes, mother.

Mrs. Martin walked back down the hall to her bedroom and Barbie made her way over to the kitchen. She paused briefly in the dining room and her sisters could hear the sound of rustling cellophane for a brief moment. They looked at each other, smiled quick smiles, and shrugged.

A little while after that, Mr. Martin came into the living room.

Girls, how about we go find us some Christmas greenery today? I’m betting we can make Martin Manor more festive than ever this year. What do you say? This was of course old news, but Suzie and Gina lit up anyway.

Let’s go to Larch Mountain, Gina suggested.

We’ll see about that. I’m going to get the paper and have a cup of coffee and then we can discuss it. How’s that?

Yes, father.

Mr. Martin, still in his checked flannel robe and suede slippers crossed the room, opened the door, and stepped onto the front porch. At 5’ 10" and over two hundred pounds, he was considered portly in his time, but by 21st century standards he would be quite typical. Near the door nailed to

Reviews for Echo of Distant Water

[Cindy Hawk · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I loved this, so elegantly written. What a mystery as to what happened to the family and what was the original reason for the car trip in the guise of getting Christmas greenery. I hope one day the other family members can be recovered.