ARTICLE FOUND IN “The Journal” pamphlet “Reflections about 1998.
At Richardson – a sleepy collection of homes, pastures, pier and fuel docks on the south end of Lopez Island – Clark Lovejoy gestures away from his waterfront property. He points to the bay where hundreds of fishing boats once bobbed, and then points upland to former locations of canneries, a hotel, bakery, slaughterhouse, barbershop, pool hall and the fire-razed Richardson General Store. The 77-year-old, from his childhood memories and ancestors’ stories, knows a much less-snoozy hamlet.
Clark’s grandfather N.P. Hodgson contributed considerably to the centuries-old tribal fishing camp’s growth. Hodgson arrived at the bay seven years after the port’s namesake, George S. Richardson, founded the community in 1874. Hodgson started a salmon saltery, buying fish from Indians working the nearby reefs. Hodgson established a store upland of Richardson’s main wharf in the late 1800s. A 1901 supplement to the San Juan Islander described Hodgson’s venture: “The progress of the various parts of this country is evidenced by the trading posts therein. A mercantile establishment than which there is no more comprehensive in this county, is operated by Mr. N. P. Hodgson at Richardson.”
Hodgson supplied farmers with provisions but capitalized considerably on the fish trap operators and commercial fishermen who began frequenting the area. More than 1 million fish were caught in 1901. Hodgson, who partnered with William Graham, salted 600 barrels, but without enough salt and barrels, thousands of fish were tossed back into the bay.
To net more profits from the tremendous catch, the two entrepreneurs built the Salmon Bank cannery on a point on the pass between Lopez and Charles Islands.
Competition followed in the Hidden Inlet Packing Co. cannery, constructed directly opposite Hodgson’s store.
“My granddad went to Ballard and talked to the fishermen. He promised Seattle prices on all the supplies,” Clark explains.
While the men toiled on fishing and farming, the women operated the store, taking orders, stocking merchandise and even baking bread for the fishers. “My mother grew up in the store,” Clark says of Gertrude (Hodgson) Lovejoy.
Her son recalls his mother’s stories of frustration with co-workers, including her sister Rita, who flirted with the fishermen instead of working. “She was very much business,” Clark says.
His mother also remembers dealing with “drummers” salesmen and many Indians who would purchase only one item at a time.
Gertrude married Lowell Lovejoy, a machinist. “He was working in the cannery and married the boss’ daughter,” the younger Lovejoy recounts.
The canneries, which were crewed with Chinese, sought sockeye salmon. Which they bought for 10 cents, but also had to take pinks off the fishermen. Cannery tenders paid two cents for the low quality salmon, but often dumped them overboard. “This bay was full of dead humpies,” Clark says.
Once in awhile a red would be inadvertently tossed with the pinks. “They would pay my Uncle (Norman Hodgson Jr.) to swim though and get the sockeye,” Clark explains.
Richardson’s fish commerce peaked in the early teens, the same period Mackaye Harbor served as the base for fish trap operations. Piles, which were pulled each season, and nets were stored on shore there.
The store, cannery and other Hodgson enterprises were sold to Ira D. Lundy, a Seattle councilman who also cultivated a large loganberry patch at Richardson. The sale in 1916 proved wise for the Hodgsons – a much-anticipated massive run of sockeye never appeared because the Hell’s Gate slide on the Fraser River in 1913 disrupted the salmon cycle. The fish drought caused many canning operations to go belly-up in the San Juans.
N.P. Hodgson bought the bald-headed schooner Azalea and packed fish near Kodiak Island. “I can remember seeing her go by under town,” Clark says of the ship. The 156-foot, three masted schooner was originally built for hauling lumber. Azalea came to its end in 1946 in Sausalito. Lowell Lovejoy, who had been working as a meat cutter at Port Ludlow’s lumber operation, ran the family’s farm while his father in-law processed fish in Alaska.
Richardson, with the store moved closer to the water, continued as a vital hub, though, where steamers unloaded supplies and took on produce, livestock and passengers. The Rosalie, skippered by Capt. Sam Barlow and crewed by many islanders, made most of these stops.
“He was kind of a legend,” Clark says of Barlow. In navigating Richardson’s treacherous currents, “all he had was his whistle and his instincts.”
Salmon Bank, which also often lacked adequate water, labor and equipment, was razed by fire in 1921. Hidden Inlet ceased operations soon after.
“That was the lifeblood of Richardson – salmon,” Clark declares.
Freight boats, including the steam Rosalie, ceased making scheduled stops at Richardson in 1925. Rail and roads linking the fertile Skagit Valley to major mainland cities added to the hub’s demise and contributed to a drop in demand for fresh agricultural products from all the islands.
Cream became the Lovejoys endeavor. “Dairy was the big thing,” Clark confirms.
“There was a local creamery … I can remember, as a little kid, there was a big wooden churn.” Later, members of the San Juan Dairymen’s Association --- supplied cream to the creamery on Spring Street in Friday Harbor.
“Three times a week we’d ship cream in 10-gallon cans on flatbed truck,” he says.
More stable crops replaced fresh produce. “Seed peas. That was the big crop here,” Clark explains.
Sheep also grazed on many farms. “A lot of wool went off in those days, but I think there are more sheep on the islands now,” Clark says.
Farmers later switched from milking cows to the less labor intensive beef cattle, but fishing continued. “My uncle Norman traded two heifers for an interest in a reef net at Iceberg Point,” Clark says with a chuckle.
Camping reservations weren’t required for the Lovejoys’ outings. Clark remembers spending several days floating around Lopez in a rowboat and camping in blankets on shore at night. “The hay was all in the barn and dad got somebody to milk the cows,” Clark says. One evening a farmer came down, possibly mistaking the campers for indigents, offered food and shelter.
“In those days you could pull up to the beach. Today you’d end up in somebody’s front yard,” Clark comments.
N.P. Hodgson bought part of hidden Inlet’s property for back taxes and Clark recalls playing in the building.
“We had skating parties. Every once in awhile somebody comes up and mentions, “I roller skated in your cannery.”
The Lovejoys went between living at Richardson and Lopez in the late 1920s and ‘30s. Clark consistently returned to Richardson store, which Oliver Lundy took over from his father.
“Mrs. Craig ran the store for Oliver. He ran the oil truck.”
Clark remembers signing charge slips, neatly tucked in the wooden register (now on display in the Lopez Historical Museum), and pulling bananas from a hook, and other childhood delights. “It was unique,” he says.
Clark graduated from Friday Harbor High School and worked for the Civilian Conservation Corps, including on Moran State Park on Orcas Island. As conflicts in Europe and the Pacific intensified, he went to work in a shipyard in Long Beach, Calif. “I started in the Coast Guard a day after Pearl Harbor was attacked.”
While on leave, he met Phyllis Vogt, who was visiting relatives. The two became more acquainted on the ferry ride back to mainland and corresponded during the war. Settling in Seattle, Clark married his sweetest pen pal.
Clark became a ship wright for the Washington State Ferries Eagle Harbor maintenance yard. They had three children: Steve, Dan, and John – who all became involved in fishing in some way.
Clark’s mother, who attended Bellingham Normal (now Western Washington University) and taught one year at Roche Harbor, retiring in 1965 from the Renton School District. Gertrude returned to her Richardson land, and substituted at Lopez School for quite a few years.
Gertrude gave her three children Al, Mary and Clark property. Clark and Phyllis built a home close to the location where the Salmon Banks cannery stood. They watched the number of fish boats stopping at Richardson decline as the number of tourists increased. Clark notes Richardson Store owner Ken Shaw would “sell potatoes by the piece,” fish, hot dogs and ice cream from the quaint store by the sea.
“I watched a seaplane tie up one day and talked to Shaw about it. He said they got three ice creams,” Clark recalls.
Richardson Store, named to the National Registry of Historic Places in 1985, burned to the ground on the windy evening of Oct. 27, 1990. Clark remembers seeing clouds of fire drift away from the fuel storage tanks as they vented vapor.
Without the store, few fishermen and locals visit the area. “Now all you see is pleasure boats,” Clark states. “When I was a kid you’d rarely see a pleasure boat.”
The salmon runs that brought his ancestors to Richardson’s shore have all but disappeared, and the store that helped sustain the area is gone. Clark doesn’t mind living at his childhood homestead. “I don’t miss being in Seattle at all,” he concludes.