Carl Elias Sletten
Carl Elias Sletten
The ashes of Carl Elias Sletten will be interred at Log Town Cemetery in Jacksonville, Oregon, on June 2, 2006, where the remains of his brothers, Ted Melford and David John are also buried. A Christian Science service will be conducted by his sister, Jeanne Marie Peters, who has served as First Reader for Medford and Ashland Christian Science churchesin the faith of Carl's childhood years.
Carl was born on October 16, 1928 in Sacramento, California. He passed on at Royal Oaks Convalescent Hospital on March 21, 2006, in Galt, California--the town where his parents, John Elias and Anna Leila Sletten are buried. A private chapel service was held there at Ben Salas Funeral Home, with his nephew, Don Cory, and his niece, Cathe Odom, officiating.
Surviving him on the maternal side are his two sisters, Mary Anne Cory of San Jose, California, and Jeanne Marie Peters of Ashland, Oregon, as well as six nieces, eight nephews, 23 grandnieces and nephews, and two great grandnephews and nieces.
Carl served as an M.P. in the U.S. Army in the late 1940's and was stationed in Japan. As a young man he worked as a concierge at the Medford Hotel; from his earnings there he paid for his Mother Anna's education at the Medford Business College. After her graduation she worked as a classified secretary at McClellen Air Force base in Sacramento, California until her retirement.
For many years Carl and his two brothers, Ted and David, were bakers at Beck's Bakery in Medford. Their paternal grandfather, Harold Sletten, owned a bakery in Oslo, Norway. Two deceased uncles, Hjalmer and Conrad Sletten, lived out their lives in South Dakota, and many descendents yet live there.
His maternal grandfather, Fred Mansfield Law, is also buried at Log Town, along with Carl's great aunts Emma and Elva, whose parents were Catherine McKee and Alfred Law. Carl's grandfather always came visiting with glad and golden tales to spin and Carl adopted his wry humor.
In Ruch, Oregon, Fred Mansfield Law was known as The Mining Poet, and many a delightful offering about those early days flowed from his sometimes prickly pen, and were published in the Medford Mail Tribune's Ye Poet's Corner. A letter from Jerry Latham of MMT on June 27, 1935, approved a poem about two miners who tried to blow up a boulder with dynamite. An excerpt: They lit 100 feet of fuse, And down the canyon went four shoes. For two long days stayed out of sight, For it rained boulders day and night. My! What a noise that shot did make; It caused the earth and hills to shake. The moon looked down with a silly grin, When a boulder struck it in the chin. The boulder went so far, so far, They lost the gold and blew up the bar.
When Fred's daughter (Carl's Mother), Anna, was 4, he penned the locally well known poem, The Log Town Rose, which was published in the Medford Mail Tribune on April 27, 1940 (a parody on this poem by other authors was recently published by MMT, Our Valley's Would You Believe? ).
As a fitting memorial to Mr. Law's grandsons--dearly loved Carl, Ted, and David Sletten--their sisters offer this original poem, which symbolically leaves immortality in the hands of kindness: The Log Town Rose by Fred Mansfield Law
To the old and young and the One who knows, Let me tell you the story of the Log Town Rose; It's an emblem of beauty that does display, The old pioneer of an early day. It was back in the year of '63, When to Forest Creek came John McKee. And then his friends that gathered round, Cut logs for his home in old Log Town. When his home was built, it was snug and warm: It protected his children through winter storm. Aunt Mirum spun yarn to make socks and hose, Once in spare time planted a yellow rose. It was a tiny slip she placed in the ground; Then its roots spread out and slips gathered round. And as the years came, and as the years go, Its friends would die while the rose would grow. It was a beautiful flower of yellowish hue, And over 50 years it weathered through. To live as it did you would never suppose, But it really did: the Log Town Rose. Now the nails that they used have turned to rust. And the logs that once stood have turned to dust. But remaining there as winter wind blows, On an historic spot stands the Log Town Rose. Protect it friends as you pass by, Give it a drink, don't let it die. In the earth so dry from the sun so hot, Please let the rose live on this sacred spot. Place some strong posts deep in the ground, And spike strong boards all around. Protect it from those who may pass by, That would trample it down and let it die. It's a friend of the family of John McKee, And also a friend to that old oak tree. But too far away from the shade it gives, Through the summer heat so it may live. So take care of it friends, and do it soon. And in a very short time for you it'll bloom. You see my friends it cannot cry; It can only bloom and say goodbye. Its breath is sweet, its heart is gold. Now this is the story, as I've been told. And long may it wave in sweet repose, And bloom for you allthe Log Town Rose.