Family lore has it that my grandfather, the seventh child of Michael and Isabelle Wanless Bottler, was born at sunrise on March 2, 1879. As Michael waited for the conclusion of the blessed event, he searched his mind for yet another name. Pioneer fathers usually left the house when a baby was coming; the women could handle things very well, thank you, without the men being underfoot. Banished to the porch with a mug of coffee and a dog or two, Michael gazed over the dark Willamette River, perhaps seeing the smoke from the Indian encampment on the eastside of the river. I like to think of him raising his eyes to the black forested foothills, and then to the peaks of the Cascade Mountain Range. In a moment of inspiration, as the sun turned Oregon’s highest peak a dazzling crimson and gold, Michael chose the name for his new son: Mount Hood Bottler. And thus began my line of native Oregonians.

My grandfather Mount Hood became a boxer. Whether this began in self-defense because of his name, we’ll never know, but the yellow newspaper clippings note “Mount Hood Bottler was well known as an athlete in his youth. Boxing under Multnomah Amateur Athletic Club colors, he won lightweight and welterweight championships.