Justin T.
Yelp
At nearly the same latitude as TR's home base of Sagamore Hill, Oyster Bay, Long Island, there sits another island on the opposite coast. Just as Oyster Bay was shaped by one American titan, Roche Harbor and San Juan Island were molded by another, this one a captain of industry, a man who could command grains of sand, turning them into a kind of stone upon which our civilization was constructed.
John S. McMillin was a concrete magnate who was fond of telling people how he and his millions (not his workers) rebuilt San Francisco after the great quake of 1906. He paid his employees in company scrip and stripped the island of most of its trees. Black and white photos throughout the resort show the still-standing resort buildings against a barren, rocky island backdrop almost totally void of trees. The trees were needed to keep the lime kilns going to make cement. In 1906, McMillin's friend Theodore Roosevelt came for a visit to Roche Harbor. McMillin showed off for him by throwing a fancy ball and feeding him many large, dead fishes in his honor. The Colonel upstaged him however, by bringing not just his demiurge aura, but also a U.S. Navy battleship. Oh, to be a fly on the wall at THAT party!
TR left an echo of his presence by signing the Roche Harbor guestbook. Another signature was stolen in the 70's, so what remains is under glass but still viewable to guests checking in. His friend the Lord of Concrete left an echo of his presence in the form of a sepulcher modeled on his vision of Greco-Roman temple design and sporting masonic symbolism. In the middle of the large columns there sits a giant round table and several chair. Under each chair lies the remains of McMillin, his children and their nanny. One has no trouble imagining pagan ritual sacrifice happening here along with teenage drinking. If a sandal-clad, white-robed oracle stepped out from under here, that wouldn't seem far-fetched either.
Now the trees have grown back. From the deck of our rental, we watched a pileated woodpecker and a great blue heron frolic. We also saw something else TR might have approved of: the nightly Roche Harbor striking of the colors at sunset, where the Canadian flag, the Stars and Stripes and the British Union Flag (...which is only called the "Union Jack" when it flies at sea) all to snippets of their respective national anthems blasting through a PA system, accompanied by marching and drilling on a parade ground. After the American flag is folded, the ceremony is concluded with a live canon salute.
When we viewed the ceremony up close, the canon failed to ignite and the color guards were warned to "keep your faces away from the bore!" As the crowd dispersed like fragments of shadow in the descending twilight, a resounding explosion echoed across the still waters. After a pregnant pause, laughter and applause followed, not screams and sirens, so we assumed everyone went home that night with heads still affixed to shoulders.
It is said that TR's ghost roams freely here, seen especially on warm, breezy summer nights, or whenever there is an outdoor buffet. It is said that he is looking for the last piece of salmon, but that if you leave a mint julep out (or "The Return of TR" a fancy drink sold at the resort), his shade will be satisfied, and return to sea on the deck of a triumphant, spectral USS Maine, risen again from the depths once again, to patrol the lonely seas beside Roche Harbor.
As for McMillin, he sits at his designated chair at the family table of his temple, his shadow visible beneath the visage of the full moon... They say his ghost frantically tries to repair the cracks in his concrete temple, but although he was adept in using masonic symbols, he was not as good with their tools, and so one often sees hard-cover, well-worn copies of Time Life's DIY Sepulcher Repair series laying open wherever McMillin's shade has been toodling about.
