Native Bostonian Steve Coronella reveals how two Oregon cities he's never visited mapped out the direction his later life would take.

I’M a big fan of historical coincidences, the more outlandish or unpublicised the better. 

For instance, there’s the curious alignment of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson – political colleagues, then bitter rivals, and finally friends –  who died on the same day, July 4th, 1826, the 50th anniversary of American independence.

Or take the strange case of Edwin Booth and Robert Lincoln.

On the busy platform at a New Jersey train station, Booth reached out and pulled Lincoln to safety before he could stumble onto the tracks and into the path of an oncoming railway car. 

Sadly, it was a temporary mercy.

A short time later, in April 1865, Booth’s estranged younger brother, John Wilkes Booth, shot and killed Robert’s father, President Abraham Lincoln, in a Washington DC theatre.

Interesting occurrences, I think you'll agree.

But I have my own coincidental tale to tell, one you’ve definitely not heard before (and with a happier outcome), involving two cities in southwestern Oregon I’ve never visited.

And yet their names map out the direction my life would eventually take. 

Intrigued? 

Rather than solve this mystery straight away, let me give you some helpful background information. 

Despite my relocation to Ireland in 1992, I’m a born and bred Medford, Massachusetts lad, as rooted in the locality as the Mystic River, the Isaac Royall House, and Tufts University. 

My connections to Cork are also undeniable.

My maternal grandparents sailed from Cobh to Boston around 1930, coming to rest in Cambridge, among an active Irish immigrant community, and never leaving.

My grandmother Madge (Hanlon) Reardon was one of nine siblings, all of whom, bar a younger brother Timmy, survived into adulthood. 

Three sisters – Mary, Nora, and Betty – and a brother Jack remained in Cork, and two sisters, Polly and Julie, emigrated to England.

Another sibling, my grandmother’s sister Kay, also came to live and raise a family in Cambridge.

These strong family links to the Rebel County go some way to explaining how I ended up in Ireland – first as a wandering backpacker in the 1980s, then as a minority Yank in a houseful of J1 Irish students on Cape Cod, and finally as a citizen and family man in Dublin – because my wife also hails from Cork. 

When I give you the name of her home place, the penny might drop. 

The big reveal: My wife Breda is from Bandon.

Nothing?

Well, in the lower left corner of any decent map of Oregon, you’ll see that the 33rd US state is home to two communities named Medford and Bandon, each founded by gentlemen with some familiarity of the original namesake settlements.

Medford’s West Coast reimagining came about through the efforts of David Loring, a civil engineer and right-of-way agent for the Oregon and California Railway, who was tasked with finding the best route through the Rogue River Valley.  

In 1883 Loring chose the name Medford for his railway-inspired outpost, after the original Bay State town – soon to be incorporated as a city – near his historic birthplace of Concord, site of the shot heard ‘round the world in the American Revolution. 

Bank of Bandon c. 1935

As Medford booster Loring continued to plot out a new community on behalf of his railway bosses, Bandon, Oregon was already up and running, established in 1873 by Irish peer George Bennett and named after – you guessed it – Lord Bennett’s birthplace in Cork. (Bennett was perhaps lured to America’s unspoiled Pacific Northwest by Henry Baldwin, also from Cork, who was shipwrecked along the Oregon coast in 1852. This might also explain why Bennett originally envisioned a community called Bandon Beach.)

Before long, Bennett saw the development potential of his new settlement, as it was close to the Pacific Ocean and thus important trade routes.

Also, a commercially-viable river flowed nearby, and vast stands of timber in the vicinity supplied both building material and a valuable trading commodity. 

Soon a post office was established. Then a sawmill, a schoolhouse, and a Catholic church were built, bolstering the fledgling community.  

Despite his economic vision, Bennett is remembered less fondly for introducing gorse to Oregon’s South Coast.

This highly-flammable import soon grew wild and helped fuel a catastrophic 1936 fire that destroyed Bandon’s entire commercial district. 

Bank of Bandon after the 1936 fire

In a warm introduction of a different sort: Two decades ago my brother-in-law Michael Mehigan, an Irish Bandonian to his core, was on an extended Pacific Coast road trip with buddies and in mid-September found himself in Bandon, Oregon. 

Naturally enough, Mike ended up as the guest of honour in the city’s Cranberry Festival Parade, riding in a flatbed truck draped with the banner ‘From Bandon to Bandon’ and waving to onlookers while flanked by the high school gridiron team and marching band.

So, there you have it. Two Oregon cities, established a century and a half ago, that would, in a way Rod Serling might appreciate, foretell so much to come in my life. 

Boston native Steve Coronella has lived in Ireland since 1992. He is the author of Designing Dev, a comic novel about an Irish-American lad from Boston who's recruited to run for the Irish presidency. His latest paperback publications are Entering Medford – And Other Destinations and Looking Homeward - Essays & Humor from a Misplaced American.