Lillis-Albina Park expedition

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Today's adventure takes us to North Portland's Lillis-Albina Park, which is sort of your basic neighborhood park: Baseball fields, playground equipment, and picnic benches. I usually don't bother with places like this, but this one offers an excuse to dive into the Oregonian archives and read up on the guy the park's named for, and this turns out to be a fairly interesting topic.

The city parks website describes the place thusly:

Until 1947, this was known as Albina Park, since it is in what was once the City of Albina. In 1941, some residents requested that the park be renamed Mike Lillis Park. Michael Edward Lillis was a police officer on the Albina Park beat who was well-liked in that neighborhood. He had been a strong advocate for the park and the children in that area. Other neighbors felt that the park should keep its original name. In 1947, there was a compromise and since then the park has been named Lillis-Albina Park.

The more I read about Officer Lillis, the more he sounds like a stock character from a corny old black and white movie: The kindly Irish policeman who looked after the neighborhood's juvenile delinquents, like something right out of "The Little Rascals". His obituary in the October 10, 1941 Oregonian sang his praises:

Lillis, who was born in Portland on Christmas day, 1880, moved against Albina's high rate of juvenile delinquency by joining with business men in organizing the Central East Side Portland Community club, which now has more than 500 members among the district's youngsters.

He was the principal force behind the successful drive for a community house, where the children of the district could be entertained, and was working by day and dreaming by night at the time of his death for a park, complete with all the facilities for amusing his young pals.

His greatest day was graduation day at Elliott school, when he signed all the diplomas with gold ink.

Lillis seldom, if ever, took a delinquent boy to court, preferring to sit down with the young accused and straighten the matter out "man to man". Parents often sent their children to him for advice, which always flowed freely and wisely from the "blue knight".

Halloween, once a night of terror in Albina, was turned into an evening of fun and frolic by the smiling Irish patrolman, who got all the youngsters together in the community house, where he served cider and cookies.

"Mike Lillis was my idea of a good policeman," Mayor Earl Riley said. "By courtesy and cooperation with the people on his beat he commanded respect and support of all. While he was the law in Albina, he was at the same time a part of the community, a leader and a worker for general and individual improvement. He will be missed not only by the district but by the police department."

Christmas day found the officer busily engaged in providing for the district's needy, but it wasn't only on Christmas that he treated the youngsters. He was always "good" for a piece of candy or some ice cream.

The next day's Oregonian continued the kind words, with an editorial and a cartoon in his memory.

In later years several reader testimonials about Officer Lillis appeared in the Oregonian's pages:

A letter published December 26th, 1949:

It was with real satisfaction that I read that the city council has named the recreational area at N. Russell and Flint, "Lillis Albina" park.

Every time I traverse Vancouver avenue at the Eliot school crossing I conjure up the memory of that smiling burly Irish "cop" as he escorted the youngsters across that safety lane with solicitude and many a kindly word.

It is only a few paces from there that on many occasions we held court in a small office down an alley way and many are the lads who were saved from going to court by an informal hearing and admonition.

If he were living today he would rejoice over the advent of Micky Pease and the Pal club to that section. Your cartoon of October 11, 1941, drawn by Ralph Lee entitled "There'll always be Mike LIllis" is one of the treasured items in my scrap book.

John G. Kilpack

Another letter, dated June 19th, 1981:

I read with a great deal of interest your articles on the Portland Police Bureau, especially about problems in the Albina district. I wonder if the bureau might be smart to do a little research into its past.

I came to Portland in the mid-1920s, and Albina had problems then -- the Poles, the Finns, the Danes, the Germans -- never a dull moment. There was one difference -- Police Officer Mike LIllis.

In his many years in that district, the courts routinely paroled many people to Lillis, and it's hard to say how many he helped on his own.

He was a soft-spoken, compassionate man. His friends were many, and he was held in high regard by all. There's a park named in his honor (LIllis Albina Park, North Russell Street and Flint Avenue).

In these two-fisted opossum-throwing times maybe the bureau would do well to read its own history. What it is doing is not working.

Harold Luebke

So, I'm an incorrigible cynic, and I when I run across a story this sappy and old-fashioned-sounding, I immediately wonder what the rest of the story is. You can't have a police career that's just nothing but juvenile social work, right? I figured there's bound to be a more complex story here somewhere. But if there was, it went unreported by the local paper of record; the Oregonian basically shows a long unblemished career of tireless do-gooding. Some examples:

• 9/10/1908: Arrested the first mate of a visiting steamship, for test firing the ship's cannon while in port. The 16 pound projectile flew a mile and crashed into the Albina railyards, narrowly missing three workmen.
  
  
• 2/3/1909: Rescued a destitute young woman, recently abandoned by her husband, who collapsed of exhaustion while desperately looking for work.
  
  
• 4/23/1910: Rescued a cat and her kittens from a burning historic cabin in Council Crest Park, at considerable risk to himself.
  
  
• 2/1/1912: Stopped gravestone thefts at some forgotten, abandoned pioneer cemeteries in Terwilliger Park. The article says Lillis "was led into a maze of antiquarian research" in the course of his investigation, which to me sounds like something out of the DaVinci Code or maybe Lovecraft. This is also the first I've ever heard of lost cemeteries up in the West Hills. I wonder if there's anything left of the three (Chinese, Jewish, and "general") today?
  
  
• 4/6/1912: Accused the Southern Pacific Railroad of violating speed limits on the downtown Fourth Avenue rail line, thereby endangering neighborhood kids playing in the street.
  
  
• 12/3/1912: Busted a "disorderly" tavern at Front & Jefferson. From the article:

  Patrolman Lillis, standing at Front and Columbia, heard the raucous noise and pricked up his ears. For several days, in company with Patrolmen Wellbrook and Collins, he had been watching the place, on reports that it was conducted in a disorderly manner. With his fellows, he edged closer, and, the chorus dying down, a much inebriated fiddler tore off a big chunk of the "Irish Washerwoman", while the other patrons hoed down, and even the bartender did a turkey trot among his bottles and glasses. The jig was up, however, when the police patrol backed up to the door and Wintermood [the proprietor] with six of his customers were invited to step in.

  
  
  
• 4/9/1915: Made an arrest in an ugly domestic violence case, although a judge soon dismissed the charges. The article had a very dismissive tone, arguing there's little thanks to be had by intervening in domestic disputes. It's a tragedy that it would take another 70 years or so before the legal system started to take domestic violence seriously.
  
  
• Came to the defense of a German immigrant barber who was being harassed and accused of being a spy, this being the eve of US entry into World War I. Given the nationalistic frenzy of those times, this was a fairly courageous stand for Lillis -- as well as the Oregonian -- to take.
  
  
• 11/30/1917: Investigated the theft of two Thanksgiving dinners -- a sirloin steak and a roast chicken -- cooling in the windows of neighboring houses. Lillis soon located the accused perp, a small fox terrier with a big appetite.
  
  
• 2/13/1937: The one and only incident that made me go "hmm" and wonder if the guy was quite as saintly as the paper led us to believe.. A legal complaint by striking textile workers at the Oregon Worsted Company alleged a cozy relationship between the police and company management. Literally cozy in one case, as the company paid to install a heater in a patrolman's car. Recently several non-striking employees had discovered explosives planted in their cars in the company parking lot. The company blamed the strikers, while the strikers denied it and claimed a setup by management, since there was no way someone from the outside could access the secured parking lot during business hours. Lillis was the first officer on the scene, and he testified that another, unsupervised gate wasn't secured and someone could have snuck in through it from outside. I honestly don't know what to think about this one, but historically the Portland police have generally not been a friend to organized labor, despite having a union of their own.
  
  
• 10/8/1938: On a cheerier note, an article about Tom McCarthy, an unemployed longshoreman who decided to build a freelance playground at what's now Lillis-Albina Park, using various odds and ends he managed to scare up. Lillis came up with five tons of sand for the play boxes and horseshoe pits.
  
  
• 4/9/1939: A glowing full page article about Lillis's efforts with neighborhood kids.