Stormy, Darkened Lighthouse Ruminations on Tomb Sweeping Day

It is a blustery day outside the window of my study, this 10 April morning. Sitting here at my desktop (yes, I’m one of those oddballs who still insists on a full-capability desktop as my primary communication device) gazing at the tiny little squirrel (for some inexplicable reason wifie and I refer to them as ‘Nutzis’) who is breakfasting at the feeder situated in our front tree, my normally tender stomach is feeling a bit more unsettled than usual.

Was it the quotidian bowl of ‘Cinnamon Harvest’ Kashi cereal I just ate, or the glass of cheap but adequate 'high protein-powder-and-almond-milk' I just finished? Or perhaps the 12-ounce mug of high-octane Hawai’ian Blend coffee I had had, earlier? Or something far more sublimated, more psychically triggered than my conscious mind wants to acknowledge? While my gut digests its early AM fuel, my reawakening mind mulls over the displeasing mood that seems to be associated with the above and that has descended upon me. Given all the research that has recently surfaced on the purported 'gut/mind connection', it's more than likely that they've been carrying on a private conversation while I sleep.

I have spent the prior hour-and-a-half as usual, reading...in today’s instance, several descriptive narratives dealing with the fascinating history of the Tillamook Rock Lighthouse (known to its keepers over the years as ‘Terrible Tilly’) that clings tenaciously to a precarious, 90-foot-high pinnacle of Pacific Ocean rock that juts abruptly out of the ocean, just a mile and a quarter off perilous Tillamook Head, on the Oregon Coast (immediately south of the Columbia River’s infamous and notoriously treacherous oceanic bar crossing). It is an absolutely captivating subject, that lighthouse, built over 142 years ago to warn ships off the perilous waters of Tillamook Head where countless old sailing ships and early steam-schooners previously went aground, floundered and sank with considerable loss of life.

The sheer difficulties encountered in constructing that lighthouse, back in 1880, are stupefying and dumbfounding enough, given the ever restless and stormy waters and currents that surround the Tillamook Rock, but the human aspect of it…the keeping and maintaining of the rock’s First Order Fresnel light, from 1880 until the light was finally abandoned in 1957, is a story almost unparalleled in the annals of coastal lighthouse history. Those were exceedingly hardy, brave men who existed on that solitary rock for such long periods of time. Men whom I doubt we would easily find among ourselves these days, given the physical and spiritual lassitude, and cynically jaded, ‘entitled’ materialistic laxity that so sadly characterises modern America’s younger generations.

As somewhat of an autodidact in history (and plagued as I am by ADD that persisted well into adulthood), I tend to become easily distracted and captivated by the odd, the curious, the arcane and esoteric in life. Such is the case with coastal lighthouses along the east and western seaboards whose vital task it was, long before the days of geo-positioning global satellite aids were ever conceived, to warn ships off from dangerous coastal shoals, sea-reefs and unnavigable shallows.

By happenstance, I came upon a reference in a book on maritime history that listed some of the most dangerous, hazardous and isolated lighthouses of the world. Instant connect! Among them, in a list of the three such most remote, extreme hardship light stations of the continental United States (Tillamook Rock, Saint George Reef, and Minots (sic) Shelf) that were considered exceptionally challenging duty, the first two are off the Pacific coast and the last off Massachusetts.

This latest mind-snag occurred after happening to catch an internet streamed movie titled ‘The Lighthouse’ (2019) while searching for another film of the same title (made earlier in 2014). As it turns out, the remotelessness and psychologically challenging isolation of such light stations has become somewhat of a popular theme for dark, brooding, Gothic tales and the two films cited above are no exception! [Both of them, it turns out, were inspired in part by an infamous incident occurring in the Smalls Light Station, positioned some 20+ miles off the Welsh Coast, back in the mid-1800s.]

It takes a special kind of person to co-exist among such physically and psychologically challenging circumstances, as you might well imagine. In the case of Tillamook Rock Lighthouse, the almost-square station building itself, measuring a scant 48 x 45 feet, is situated on top of a ‘decapitated’ (leveled-off so as to consist of about 2600 Ft Sq. of flat area) rock that juts up a mere 90 feet (after decapitation) above the mean high-tide level. A smaller 32 x 28 foot building was also built on the rock's west side, conjoined to the residence under the same roof at its rear, to house the twin, steam-powered fog horms.

Although its walls were formidably constructed of dense, sturdy rock (which withstood over 142 years of unbelievable battering by waves that at time actually submerged the entire lighthouse, albeit briefly), the feeling communicated by those who manned the light was that at any time during the frequent, raging Pacific storms that smashed into it the whole thing could have been dashed to smithereens and swept entirely off the rock, altogether.

It is worth noting that although the highest part of the light itself (the top of the light housing) stood almost 136 feet above the water, there are at least three well-documented instances in which waves smashed down on top of the light, both breaking panes of its surrounding protective glass and dislodging prisms from the costly First Order Fresnel Lens rotating signal light. Specimens are still displayed in several Oregon maritime museums (one in particular located in Astoria, OR) of rocks in excess of 100 pounds that smashed through the top of the lighthouse after being tossed in the air by these massive waves, such was the almost unimaginable power of some of the not infrequent severe winter storms that are notorious for lashing the Oregon coast.

So extreme is the inaccessibility and verticality of Tillamook Light that it was virtually impossible to land anywhere on the rock it is perched upon to unload either passengers or cargo. The only practical and reliable means ever devised to do so consisted of an elaborate log boom assembly that would lower a miniscule platform down to the always seething ocean’s surface, where a small boat waiting just off-shore could offload cargo and supplies for the lighthouse (typically consisting of provisions, coal for the twin fog-horn powering, locomotive-type boilers, and/or construction/maintenance materials). Individuals could similarly be safely transferred on or off the station only by means of a breeches-buoy (a glorified, larger-than-average-sized life-ring with ‘legs’), although it could also be a hair-raising experience. Aside from that, and given that the surrounding seas were rarely what one could describe as ‘moderate’ (rarer yet, ‘fair’), the isolation of the station and its four assigned keepers was virtually complete throughout much of the typical year.

The fascinating history of this ‘most challenging’ light station among all of the US Light House Service (USLHS) duty sites on both coasts is well documented, fortunately, in several excellent books (see references listed at the end of this blog), but regardless of how much you may or may not know about the factual history of this light, suffice it to say that despite the macabre and semi-factual ‘horror story’ inspiration that the Welsh Smalls Lighthouse incident provided (as found in both films named ‘The Lighthouse’, 2019 and 2014), it is a testament to the Tillamook keepers that none ever succumbed to the sort of dementia and/or psychosis that afflicted Smalls so catastrophically.

When the USLHS stood down and was absorbed into the US Coast Guard in the late 1930s, the station periodically received Coast Guard disciplinary ‘problem-children’ who were assigned to work several months with the keepers as punishment for minor infractions. Although the USCGS regarded Tillamook Rock Lighthouse duty as a punishment or hardship station (given its extreme isolation and conditions), many of the old-time USLHS keepers actually came to regard it as a positive, personally fulfiling experience. There were no recorded instances (other than the below reference) there of any of the rock’s USLHS personnel who ever went ‘stir-crazy on ‘TR’, as it was referred to by intimates.

[Note: The one possible exception here is recorded in James Gibbs' 1953 book (see list of book at the end of this blog), 'Tillamook Lighthouse', although it may well be apochryphal (since Gibbs' book is 'fiction based on factual events and experiences at Tillamook, while stationed there'). In Gibbs' book, he tells us that one of the assistant Tillamook keepers (there were always four stationed there at all times) actually did go off the deep-end at one time and threatened to kill the Chief Keeper if he lit the light station's beacon. According to Gibbs' account, he was successfully subdued and taken off the rock in a strait-jacket.]

Finally, in 1957, the station was officially stood down and physically abandoned, emerging a short time later on the Federal Surplus Property list, where it was eventually sold to a small group of mysterious investors from Nevada, who purchased it for only a few thousand dollars! Since the rock had no ‘public utilities’ (even the freshwater was all rainfall-collected and stored in a 13,000 gallon cistern on the light’s north side) and sewage from the two toilets (one indoors, next to the fog-horn room and the other a rude one-holer that opened below into a cavernous abyss) dropped straight into the ocean, these constraints ruled out any possibility that the rock and its station could be used to construct a wealthy man’s vacation home (albeit obviously for someone who didn’t mind being briefly submerged in monster, 100-foot-plus high waves, from time to time).

This initial band of private owners are purported to have visited the rock one time only, never to return and the rock again went on the auction block to the highest bidder. After several new ‘owners’ had bought and lost interest in the rock’s possibilities (such as they were), an idealistic female Oregon real estate broker cobbled together a small group of investors who collectively purchased the Tillamook Rock Lighthouse for about $50,000.

Given the rock's almost non-existent development potential, this real estate broker hit upon the idea of using the old station as a repository for the cremated remains of decedent people on the mainland (so-called ‘Cremains’)…a repository that they named ‘Eternity at Sea Columbarium’.

About thirty cremated remains in urns were eventually deposited in the remodeled station (finished in 1980 at a cost of about $150K), but due to a mis-managed Oregon State licensing permit renewal, the project ran into a snag that remains largely unresolved to this day (there are plans to eventually renew the license and install special titanium niches to hold urns, for which it is estimated there would be room for several hundred thousand, but that remains merely an unrealized and somewhat far-fetched dream at this point).

Although the last-mentioned owners still ‘own’ the rock, it is now listed as a Federally protected seabird and wildlife sanctuary, so even they cannot set foot on the island during certain times of the year (i.e. mating and hatching seasons). Besides, the only means of actually getting to the island is by helicopter, which is an expensive means of traveling to and from it! Boats occasionally take sightseers out from nearby ports to circle the island when the weather permits, given its historic notoriety, but it effectively remains as a most intriguing Pacific Coast anomaly that although no longer fit for human habitation still stands against the worst Mother Nature can hurl at it, almost a hundred and fifty years since the date it was constructed.

If you’re asking yourself by this time, “Why all the backstory?”, I share all the foregoing with you here because it perfectly matches my mood at the present moment…a mood I can best describe as ‘darkened lighthouse ruminations’…a not altogether happy frame of mind, but let me explain.

Two days ago, my Chinese wife informed me that it was once again time to observe the twice-a-year ‘Qingming Day’ ritual (also known as ‘Ching Ming’), at which time back in certain parts of Han China, respect for ancestors, departed family and loved ones is demonstrated by gathering at their gravesites to conduct certain traditional ceremonies (varying, depending upon the locale and the people involved, from a simple cleaning of the grave, its headstone and placement of flowers, to an elaborate, several-hour gathering complete with a shared meal in front of the grave, burning incense, ‘kowtowing’ and other rituals of traditional regard and respect).

Since there are several close family members interred at three separate cemeteries in this area, this twice-a-year activity for us involves buying floral arrangements for each grave and then car-pooling out to all three cemeteries, starting early in the AM (earlier is more auspicious, so I am told). Once at each grave, wifie and her three locally residing sisters go about cleaning the headstone and cutting weeds, etc., etc. There are usually none of the more elaborate rituals on these trips, unlike some of the other Chinese families there who do light incense, bow to the departed, and pray to the ancestors’ spirits; some even share a special meal at the grave and leave bowls of rice and fruit for the spirits (not us, however).

This all usually winds up just before noon, so afterwards we usually head for a local Chinese restaurant (in this recent instance, for Dim Sum, which is always delightful).

On this particular occasion, I decided to take some pictures with my cell phone camera of the gravesite activity with the initial intent of sharing them with two immediate relatives of wifie’s family who do not live locally, thinking this would be appreciated, since they could not be present and participate directly. Little did I know! [As we've all heard, ‘No good deed ever goes unpunished,’ after all.]

The next morning, I sent the images out as intended, as email attachments but I also included CC copies to three of my immediate relatives (all first cousins) with the idea of sharing the custom and rituals with them, since they’re all well-educated individuals who have lived and worked all over the globe. One is even a retired, former VP for all Honeywell engineering operations in Japan…like I said, all well-versed in other cultures and therefore able to appreciate cultural traditions like ‘Ching Ming’ Day.

However, after doing so (and immediately ruing my decision to not send BCC instead of CC), I received a brief and insultingly scornful email message from one of wifie’s sisters (she’s the second eldest, after wifie, who is the eldest). I was so incensed by the archly presumptive arrogance of it, given my comfortable familiarity with Chinese culture, civilization and history…both experiential and academic…that I feel the need to quote it explicitly here.

“By choosing to share, without permission, a private moment with those who are wholly unconnected to the family [NOTE: MY maternal first cousins...unconnected?], you have shown a total disrespect to both the living and the deceased. You have made a mockery of a culture you know nothing about. I send no complements or regards, X.”

This from a sister-in-law who has often displayed an overblown self-regard for herself, as the personal acolyte (she’s an echocardigraph tech by training, fer crissakes!) of one of the leading cardiologists in the University of Southern California's Medical Center and who married a horrifically boring Brit (a Yorkshireman, actually) who is not only a total twit but one who is always reminding everyone that he attended Oxford University (how VERY nice for him…).

I can attribute this air of presumed superiority only to the fact that this particular sister-in-law apparently is overawed by the British, upper-class influence redolent in colonial Hong Kong (from whence the family immigrated, about 40 years ago)…so much so, that she affects the ‘King’s English’, complete with a very much-forced fake accent, etc., etc., instead of ‘American English’ (despite having been in this country since she was 18).

Upon receiving this absolutely insulting virtual slap in the face, merely because I had been altruistically trying to ‘share’ wifie’s culture with a couple of my closest relatives, and had acted out of a feeling that sharing our Ching Ming activity with wifie’s absent relatives was doing everyone a kind, well-intended favor, I was absolutely livid with rage.

As some of you may know, half of me is Irish, from County Meath (near Dublin) and I HIGHLY resent being treated like an ignorant, unschooled ignoramus by a pretentious ‘sister-in-law’ who had the poor taste to merry an equally pretentious British know-it-all (her way of basking in the past-glow of the former ‘Empire’, I can’t help but think?). Furthermore, class pretentions absolutely nauseate me, anyway!

My first impulse was to fire a well-deserved volley of vebal grapeshot back at her, reminding her not only of my living and working experience in China, but of the fact that I had studied Chinese civilization and cultural studies as an undergrad, back in Berkeley, and was hardly '...ignorant of a culture you know nothing about!'

However, self-restraint (a rare enough quality in most Irishmen, it seems…even among the ‘half-Irish’ like myself) exerted itself and I successfully restrained my ire for the sake of preserving family harmony (whatever that seems to be); after all, no sense pouring accelerant on a fire, eh?

Instead, I did the gentlemanly thing of responding simply: “Well, I’m sorry you seem to be upset. It would appear that apologies may be in order…” Note, I did not apologise for anything, not even for violating her precious little sense of family propriety, and I said instead, “...apologies…MAY be in order.”

What really hurts me (as my gut seems to be telling my brain just now) is the fact that, thinking I was doing a generous thing by sharing these pictures, I got gobsmacked, out of the blue like a common, culturally ignorant twit! We Irish have a VERY thin skin when it comes to such totally undeserved personal affronts, having suffered unduly over the last 150 years from English condescensions and American class discrimination, and I’m no exception.

I guess my point here, if there is one (no matter how well-prepared for a marriage out of your own root-culture you feel you may be), is that 1) cross-cultural marriages are literally often hazardous minefields, filled with nasty little unexploded culture-related thingies that catch you up when you least expect it, despite all of your assumed familiarity with the culture of the person you married, and 2) relatives-by-marriage can turn out to be one of the most fiendishly bedeviling aspects of whatever love you have expressed for the woman who became your wife! There’s an old, old saying, remember, that goes: “You aren’t just marrying a future wife, you’re marrying her entire family, good, bad or otherwise!”

I’m sure also that most cultures around the world have a similar aphoristic caveat concerning marital relationships.

Given all of the foregoing, my mood is still as black as my Irish family name, which translates quite literally out of the Gaelic to ‘darkly-shaded one’, when I think about all this. As noble as I pride myself in being above most things of this nature, this petty rebuke has most regrettably resulted in my no longer wishing to participate in any similar ‘family’ gatherings, in future.

As Popeye the Sailor-man so perfectly put it, in Max Fleischer’s wonderful late 30s cartoons of the same name, “That’s all I can stans, ‘cause I can’t stans no more!”

My sweet and long-suffering wife has put up with her raging Irishman for 34 years now, to her everlasting credit, and surely she’s one of a kind to tolerate all that I am, warts, pimples, blemishes, defects and all; I’m well aware of that. But there comes a line beyond which even a normally mild-mannered, properly raised gentleman like me refuses to let be crossed unchallenged, and this example in reference seems to be one of them.

I am reminded that back in my undergrad days, as part of our studies of Japanese culture, I read several excellent sociological works that concerned themselves with so-called Japanese ‘war-brides’ and the long and short-term consequences of simple American soldiers, airmen and sailors having romantic relationships with traditional Japanese women immediately after the Allied occupation began in 1945 (thereafter marrying them and bringing them back to the United States). Inevitably, such relationships soon went on the rocks, given the complexities of such a transfusive admixture of radically divergent cultures. These books were an excellent indicator of that minefield I mentioned above that can take any innocent soul out in a heartbeat, over some hidden but powerful cultural taboo or transgression. But given that few of us are perfect, no matter how experienced or well-versed we may be in anything, when one marries outside of one’s culture one had better be willing to stay the full course and run whatever gamut lies between romance and the achievement of ultimate, compatible domestic bliss into old age! QED!

For the record, and after conducting some personal, extensive additional investigations after this little incident occurred, I have found no credible evidence that my alleged breech of family privacy is considered a censorable display of disrespect and dishonor to one’s departed Chinese ancestors by any authority. Furthermore, if that is claimed to be the case, then such things as public television productions graphically filming and displaying Chinese rituals and traditional customs would also have to fall into this category and also be openly condemned!

As a finishing remedial step, I am still awaiting a reply from a respected Feng Shui Master whose acquaintance I made many years ago in Taiwan as to his opinion on all of this. I’m not holding my breath, however…

昨天我在某人的汽车保险杠上看到一个牌子，上面写着：“孔子说：我从来没有说过那些狗屁话 !” 这就是我的故事，我会坚持下去！

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BOOKS ON 'TERRIBLE TILLY'

1) Tillamook Light, James A. Gibbs, Binford & Mort, 1953 (out of print)

2) "Terrible Tilly", Bert & Margie Webber, Webb Research Book Publishers, 1992

3) Terrible Tilly: History and tales of Terrible Tilly, Brian D. Ratty, Sunset Lake Publishing, 2018

NOTES:

1) Qingming (Ching Ming), Wikipedia reference

2) Qingming (Grave Sweeping Day), Chinese Histoica and Cultural Project

3) Qingming, Smithsonian National Museum of Asian Art

4) Qingming, Dignity Memorial

5) Qingming, Sunset Memorial Gardens

6) Qingming, Ching Ming Traditions in Hawai'i, The US Library of CongressAmerican Folklore Center