{"id":417,"date":"2018-08-04T19:31:45","date_gmt":"2018-08-05T02:31:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/?page_id=417"},"modified":"2025-07-20T17:43:00","modified_gmt":"2025-07-21T00:43:00","slug":"a-scare-in-myrtle-creek-1975","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/a-scare-in-myrtle-creek-1975\/","title":{"rendered":"A Scare in Myrtle Creek (1975)"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My first goal in journalism was to be a travel writer. I set about recalling adventures and getting them down on paper. The few pieces I submitted to publications were rejected. This is an account of a day in June 1970 on a road trip in southern Oregon, selling encyclopedias. I began writing it up in 1973, after I had graduated from college, and finished the first draft in 1975. A version of it was printed in the Bellevue Journal-American, November 22, 1976. This version has been cross-checked with my 1973 journal (which recalls the story from two years earlier) and revised. The dialog and names are invented, but the gist of it is correct.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My tension rose as we turned off Interstate 5 onto the long bridge that leads to Myrtle Creek. Arrival in town meant a psychological battle \u2014 with prospective customers and with myself. Battison, my boss, radiated enthusiasm, which was part of his job. On this road trip he got a cut off of any sales I was able to make.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0This was my second road trip for Collier\u2019s Encyclopedia. Four of us had left Everett, Wash.: Chuck, 18, tall, athletic and pumped-up with attitude; Mel, 17, pimply-faced, earnest and fumbling; and myself, 18, a \u201cveteran\u201d because I had sold a set of encyclopedias. Battison was a worldly 24, able to go into bars, pick up women, take them home and bed them. In Anderson, California, he came back to the hotel in the morning, sporting love scratches on his back. I was in awe.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I had almost not made it to Myrtle Creek. Earlier in the trip, I was working some tract housing in Reno when people started asking for my solicitor\u2019s badge. I didn\u2019t have one. The first time, I shrugged it off and went back to knocking on doors. The second time, they said I faced a $200 fine. I spent the rest of the evening sitting in a park, trying to visualize the coming scene with Battison.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I had visualized it about right. Battison was pissed. \u201cDidn\u2019t I tell you the company would pay any fines?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYeah, but I didn\u2019t want to risk\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou let me judge the risks. Your job is to sell books, not worry about fines.\u201d I didn\u2019t like his cavalier attitude about me getting arrested, but I said nothing. His eyes bored into my skull. Then he softened. \u201cI would\u2019ve got us licenses, but today\u2019s Sunday and city hall\u2019s closed. We\u2019ll get \u2019em tomorrow morning. Now don\u2019t say anything about this to Chuck or Mel.\u201d He nodded toward the car and the two wooden figures inside.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0That evening Battison confined the three of us to our cheap motel because we hadn\u2019t written any orders. He went out to the casino \u2014 and when he was gone, I told Chuck and Mel about the $200 fine hanging over us. They knew about it. Mel had been arrested and taken in to the Sparks, Nev., jail \u2014and Battison had ordered him not to discuss it with Chuck or me.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The next morning Battison was pumping us up \u2014 \u201cIt\u2019s easy to sell these books\u2013\u201d and Chuck contradicted him. \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s easy,\u201d he said. He had never made a sale, and his enthusiasm had run out.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Battison fired him right there. Battison made a phone call to the boss in Everett, and in a few minutes Chuck was walking down the street with his bag. Just like that.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0One day later Battison took Mel aside for a man-to-man talk. Mel was too young, not ready for this kind of work. He had to go home. When Mel protested that he didn\u2019t have enough money for a bus ticket, Battison said it wasn\u2019t the company\u2019s responsibility to pay the expenses of former employees who\u2019d been terminated, but that he\u2019d stretch the rules and give him five bucks.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mel picked up his bag and was gone. Later I heard that he ran from Reno to the California border, puffing along Interstate 80 in his business suit. He hitchhiked back to Lynnwood, Wash., in four days. His parents were furious at Collier\u2019s for taking their under-aged son out of state without their permission.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The night after Mel was fired, Battison took me out to casinos, where I sneaked a few games on the slots, and to cocktail lounges. I was more than two years underage, and was kicked out of every establishment. For me it was an ordeal: I didn\u2019t want to go into any of those places and face the embarrassment of being ejected. Battison felt no embarrassment. He was playing the odds, like the salesman who braved 20 people saying \u201cno\u201d just to reach the one who said \u201cyes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Battison thought I might be able to start making some real money. I had sold a set of books on the way down, at Shasta, Calif., and with luck might do it again. But by the time we rolled into Myrtle Creek, I hadn\u2019t written any business for five days, so I had to go with Battison as an observer. This relieved some of my stress because the rejection would be directed at him.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0As Battison\u2019s car crossed the bridge into Myrtle Creek, I saw the little blue sign:\u00a0Green River ordinance.\u00a0<\/i>No soliciting without a city license. Neither of us said a word about it. Beyond it were the tired brick buildings and run-down shops of a town that had been bypassed by the freeway years before. We ate hamburgers in a cafe, then headed to the new part of town, a tract of cheap, one-story houses.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We started knocking on doors about 3 p.m. It was usually women who answered. \u201cHi,\u201d we\u2019d say (and this is exactly what we said, word-for word), \u201cWe\u2019re in the neighborhood finishing up a series of special student interviews. We\u2019d like to talk to you and your husband together. Is he home?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In the afternoon he usually wasn\u2019t. We\u2019d make an appointment to come back in the evening, promising that we\u2019d explain everything. We didn\u2019t say a word about encyclopedias. We made some appointments in this way, canvassing the one-story boxes on the edge of town.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Sometimes we\u2019d catch both husband and wife at home. It was usually teachers on summer vacation, or some guy who worked the graveyard shift. When that happened, we\u2019d go in and begin the small talk. \u201cBe friendly,\u201d Battison said. \u201cGet \u2019em to like you. Butter the bastards up.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We\u2019d ask them where they were from, how long they\u2019d lived there, and what their occupation was \u2014 always with the thought, Can these people afford a $500 set of books? We\u2019d look to see if they had a phone, because anybody who wouldn\u2019t pay a phone bill probably wouldn\u2019t make payments on books.<\/span><\/p>

If the people didn\u2019t measure up, we\u2019d wrinkle our foreheads and ask, \u201cBy the way, did the company give you a call informing you of our visit?\u201d The company never made such calls. \u201cOh. Well, I\u2019m very sorry, but I\u2019m only supposed to talk with people who\u2019ve received a phone call.\u201d Then we\u2019d get the hell out of there.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0If they did measure up, we\u2019d begin the sales pitch, 45 minutes memorized word-for-word. I can still hear the guy at the training session: \u201cAll you gotta do is repeat it just like it is here\u2014enthusiastically\u2014and you\u2019ll sell \u2019em.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We only pitched one couple that afternoon. Battison did his damndest, but the people wouldn\u2019t buy. We drove back into town for another greasy burger, and returned for our evening appointments.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Disaster struck on the first place we hit. A wiry man about 40 opened the door. We sat down and small-talked him while his wife was finishing up in the kitchen.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His name was Jim Ellinger. \u201cWhat sort of work do you do?\u201d Battison asked.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI\u2019m a policeman.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

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\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I stiffened up. Battison scooted to the edge of his seat. \u201cDid the company give you a call that we were coming? Oh, well, I\u2019m sorry, but we can only talk to people who\u2019ve received a call.\u201d He stood up, glancing in my direction. I rose jerkily to my feet.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cJust a minute, fellas. What are you selling?\u201d He shifted his glance to me, than back to Battison, who had sunk halfway into his chair.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cLike I said, we\u2019re conducting a series of student interviews. Now, if you\u2019ll excuse us\u2014\u201d He stood up again, and moved toward the door. I was frozen in my seat.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cSit down. Now I want a straight answer.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cLike I said, we\u2019re just a couple of university students.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u201cWhat\u2019cha got in that briefcase?\u201d<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWait a minute.\u201d Battison was waving his arms, doing his damndest to keep the cop\u2019s mind away from the briefcase. \u201cOfficer Ellinger, have we done anything illegal? Are we under arrest? If you\u2019re not arresting us, by what authority are you holding us?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cI\u2019m trying to find out if you\u2019ve done anything illegal. We have a Green River ordinance here. Soliciting for any purpose is illegal. Didn\u2019t you see the sign coming into town?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cSign? I didn\u2019t see any sign. Did you see any sign?\u201d Battison looked at me.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0No, I hadn\u2019t seen any sign.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The cop was disgusted. \u201cElaine,\u201d he yelled, and his wife appeared. \u201cCall the station and have them send Murdock over. Looks like we\u2019ve got ourselves a coupla salesmen.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The cop sat back in his chair. \u201cDo you fellas want to tell me what you\u2019re doin\u2019, or do you want to wait until officer Murdock gets here?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Battison lit a cigarette, drawing out the pause between question and answer. \u201cI\u2019ve got nothin\u2019 more to say.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Murdock came in the door. He was a big cop, in full uniform. When he saw me, he said, \u201cBoy, you look like you\u2019re ready to spend a night in jail.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I couldn\u2019t say a word.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Murdock ordered us to open the briefcase. Battison\u2019s bullshitting hadn\u2019t worked. He either had to open it or be arrested and have it forced open. He opened it, and the cops inspected the four-color sales displays, the sample volume, and a handful of unused order blanks.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cHave you showed this to anyone in town?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cNo sir.\u201d It was a lie, and the cop\u2019s face said he knew it. But he couldn\u2019t nail us until he could prove it. He made a motion and he and his partner left the room. Battison\u2019s eyes followed them out.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He turned to me.\u00a0\u201cCalm down, for Christ\u2019s sake,\u201d\u00a0<\/i>he said. \u201cYou look guilty as hell. Relax. Here, have a cigarette.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I lit up, and the cops came back.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cCan we go now, officer?\u201d said Battison.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cNo, you cannot go,\u201d boomed Murdock. God, I thought, this cop sure loves his work. \u201cYou guys are gonna stay here until we find out who you tried to sell books to.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not\u00a0if<\/i>, but\u00a0who<\/i>. Nice. At least we hadn\u2019t made a sale, or there\u2019d be the customer\u2019s name, address and phone number right in the briefcase.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou might as well relax,\u201d said the other one. \u201cElaine\u2019s phoning around. It\u2019ll take awhile.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I sunk into the couch, inhaled smoke, and stared straight ahead. The cops, ignoring us, relaxed.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWe woulda had ol\u2019 Kirby again, only the new guy on graveyard \u2014 what\u2019s\u00a0\u00a0his name, Miller? \u2014 he screwed up the breathalyzer. We had to let him go…\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201c…An\u2019 Lane Hansen\u2019s kids, too\u2014they\u2019re on pills now, I hear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201c…You know the Marshall boy, with the souped-up Chev? He was up in Canyonville riding down the railroad tracks\u2014damn-fool kid must have been high on sumpn\u2019, and he ripped out the bottom of his car right there on the tracks…\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I was on my fifth or sixth cigarette, and my eyes burned. I hated this sales job. I had written only one order on the whole trip, a 23-year-old car mechanic and his wife in Shasta. This couple had bought the books for their three-year-old. What use would a three-year-old have for a set of Collier\u2019s Encyclopedia? It would be outdated by the time the kid could read it. I had manipulated their love for their child, and for that service would earn $85 from Collier\u2019s. Of course, the company was paying none of my expenses; the hamburgers and motels on this trip had eaten up $200 of my own money. So far, I have been better off not working at all.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At least work was over for tonight. Maybe a night in jail wouldn\u2019t be so bad, if I could keep my parents from finding out about it.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Battison didn\u2019t care, but I sure did. God, I thought, if that woman is calling everybody in town, it\u2019s only time before she calls \u2014 no, maybe those people went out to a show. Aw, there probably isn\u2019t a show in this crappy town. Maybe the people went out to a friend\u2019s. But what if that woman calls the friend? I\u2019ll still spend a night in jail.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The cops got up and went into the kitchen. After a few minutes they returned.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou guys get the hell out of town and don\u2019t come back. If we see you back here we\u2019ll run you in.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Huh? They didn\u2019t\u2014wow!<\/i><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWhat company did you say you worked for?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cCollier\u2019s.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou tell the people at Collier\u2019s that we don\u2019t want any book peddlers in Myrtle Creek, Oregon. All right, you can go. Don\u2019t monkey around. Straight out of town. And don\u2019t go to Roseburg, either. We told Roseburg to keep an eye out for you guys.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0In an instant, we were outside. It was dark and cool.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Battison\u2019s voice was savage:\u00a0\u201cWhat were you so nervous for?<\/i>Jesus Christ, you had guilt all over your face! I could\u2019ve bluffed our way out of there if you hadn\u2019t acted so damn guilty.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cBut they could\u2019ve called those people we pitched\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cThose people didn\u2019t have a phone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cDidn\u2019t have a phone? How the hell was I supposed to know they didn\u2019t have a phone? In fact you never asked them if they had a phone. We\u2019re not supposed to pitch people who don\u2019t have phones.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Finally I had talked back to him. It felt good.<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWell, I asked them when you were in the john.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cGreat.\u201d And I thought:\u00a0You broke the rules.<\/i><\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cOh, shut up and get in the car. I don\u2019t want to waste any more time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cWhere to?\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cRoseburg. I figure we can get in an hour\u2019s work if we get moving.\u201d<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0<\/p>

\u00a9 1976 Bruce Ramsey<\/span><\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0I got home two days later. The couple in Shasta, Calif., to which I\u2019d sold a set of encyclopedias had canceled their order. My revenue on the trip was zero, and all my expenses were a dead loss: about $250. I called the boss in Everett and quit. I never saw him or Battison again.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My first goal in journalism was to be a travel writer. I set about recalling adventures and getting them down on paper. The few pieces I submitted to publications were rejected. This is an account of a day in June 1970 on a road trip in southern Oregon, selling encyclopedias. I began […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-417","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/417","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=417"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/417\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1581,"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/417\/revisions\/1581"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bruceramsey.net\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=417"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}