The Town That Grew Out of Fire: The Inferno on Lake Coeur d'Alene
by Estar Holmes
Word Count 2800
Harrison, Idaho, on the southeast bank of Lake Coeur d'Alene, was a mushrooming mill town with bright prospects when the fire of 1917 wiped out 26 years of progress in 90 minutes.
"There is no town in Kootenai county that has fairer prospects than has Harrison. Her citizens are public spirited and aggressive; they will allow no opportunity to pass unimproved to advance their best interests as a community. The spirit of progress pervades the business circles. Unity of sentiment and action on the part of town officials and citizens is a characteristic to which is attributable much of the prosperity of the past and it is certain to accomplish much more in the future. Harrison is one of the coming cities of northern Idaho." Coeur d'Alene Press
Like many western frontier towns of the day, Harrison was a city built out of wood and its bustling industrial area relied on steam engines for power, so flying sparks were a daily occurrence. The people's ears were constantly tuned to the fire whistles, and they quickly mobilized to douse any flames with whatever means available. They had battled many fires successfully until the big one that got away. The Eureka Shingle Mill burned in 1899, followed by the Cameron Lumber Mill in 1902. That blaze spread to the roofs of residences around the city, and it was only by a united and concerted effort that a conflagration was averted. The Empire Mill caught fire the following year, and Springston Mill went up in flames in 1907. The Avery Shingle Mill burned in 1915, and then there were smaller household fires that caused occasional inconvenience. Each time, the optimistic citizenry cleaned up the mess, licked their wounds, and carried on.
That's how it was until the wind fanned a spark at the Grant Lumber Co. mill on a gusty day in July. The blaze started about 6:30 a.m. in the dry shed and quickly devoured thousands of dollars worth of lumber in the yard. The flames easily jumped the railroad tracks and blew uphill from the lakeshore into the business district, where sparks landed on cloth awnings, wooden sidewalks, and timber frame buildings.
by Estar Holmes
Word Count 2800
Harrison, Idaho, on the southeast bank of Lake Coeur d'Alene, was a mushrooming mill town with bright prospects when the fire of 1917 wiped out 26 years of progress in 90 minutes.
"There is no town in Kootenai county that has fairer prospects than has Harrison. Her citizens are public spirited and aggressive; they will allow no opportunity to pass unimproved to advance their best interests as a community. The spirit of progress pervades the business circles. Unity of sentiment and action on the part of town officials and citizens is a characteristic to which is attributable much of the prosperity of the past and it is certain to accomplish much more in the future. Harrison is one of the coming cities of northern Idaho." Coeur d'Alene Press
Like many western frontier towns of the day, Harrison was a city built out of wood and its bustling industrial area relied on steam engines for power, so flying sparks were a daily occurrence. The people's ears were constantly tuned to the fire whistles, and they quickly mobilized to douse any flames with whatever means available. They had battled many fires successfully until the big one that got away. The Eureka Shingle Mill burned in 1899, followed by the Cameron Lumber Mill in 1902. That blaze spread to the roofs of residences around the city, and it was only by a united and concerted effort that a conflagration was averted. The Empire Mill caught fire the following year, and Springston Mill went up in flames in 1907. The Avery Shingle Mill burned in 1915, and then there were smaller household fires that caused occasional inconvenience. Each time, the optimistic citizenry cleaned up the mess, licked their wounds, and carried on.
That's how it was until the wind fanned a spark at the Grant Lumber Co. mill on a gusty day in July. The blaze started about 6:30 a.m. in the dry shed and quickly devoured thousands of dollars worth of lumber in the yard. The flames easily jumped the railroad tracks and blew uphill from the lakeshore into the business district, where sparks landed on cloth awnings, wooden sidewalks, and timber frame buildings.
The progressive little city had an efficient water system with a flowing spring high up on the mountain, which supplied about ten thousand gallons per day. A pumping plant brought water from the lake as well, and it was all stored in two 50,000 gallon tanks up on the hill. Pipes from these tanks connected with mains in the business district below. The entire system had received upgrades during the previous year, including repairs to the underground pipes, and the town leaders considered the pressure at the hydrants to be sufficient. Fire carts and hoses were always ready in the fire company building, along with a brand new fire engine and pump.
Nevertheless, the 1917 fire was too intense for all these preparations. It dried up Harrison's water system, swallowed up most of the town in flames, and changed its appearance and dynamics forever. The water pressure was inexplicably low that morning (sabotage was suspected by some) and the blaze was so hot that the water slowed to a drizzle and the hoses burned up.
The people tried to slow the flames by ripping up the plank sidewalks, but their efforts were hampered by thousands of rounds of ammunition exploding in the hardware stores. Despite everyone's heroic efforts, the entire downtown became engulfed in a conflagration that took Mr. Brown's store, the post office, dentist's office, tailor, drugstores, four churches, Masonic temple, opera house, city hall, blacksmith shop, and more. The Spokane Daily Chronicle described the resulting scene as a burning and seething hell.
The area where the City Park offers shady relaxation today once contained ten businesses in simple frame structures, including The Mint saloon, restaurants, confectionery, barber shop, a cobbler, newsstand, meat market, and boarding houses. Those all burned and were never rebuilt. Mr. Marler and Mr. Brass of the meat market managed to pack a delivery vehicle with meat and drove it up the hill out of danger, only to have it all stolen the next day.
(You can see a complete list of the businesses that existed in Harrison the day before the fire here).
After blazing through the business district, the fire burned one third of the homes on the north end of town. The residents rushed their precious possessions out to the street. One family hauled its furniture outside as the flames approached, just to have the furnishings burn and the house spared. The amateur orchestra was put out of business when the instruments, stored at the home of J.A. Pinkerton, the Grant Mill's bookkeeper, went up in flames. But he managed to grab two violins before he ran out the door. A baby's clothes caught fire as it sat in the yard amidst flying cinders, and a neighbor jumped to the rescue to extinguish the flames.
After blazing through the business district, the fire burned a third of the homes on the north end of town. The Spokane Daily Chronicle described the resulting scene as a burning and seething hell.
Miss Belle Robinson, chief operator of the telephone company, and Yvonne Lavigne, performed their jobs heroically. They remained at the switchboard until it actually caught fire, then after the office burned, a phone was installed in the street, using a stove top for a table. Miss Robinson sat at her post amidst the swirling embers while she continued to send out calls for help. Nobody died in the fire, but several people were burned.
Nevertheless, the 1917 fire was too intense for all these preparations. It dried up Harrison's water system, swallowed up most of the town in flames, and changed its appearance and dynamics forever. The water pressure was inexplicably low that morning (sabotage was suspected by some) and the blaze was so hot that the water slowed to a drizzle and the hoses burned up.
The people tried to slow the flames by ripping up the plank sidewalks, but their efforts were hampered by thousands of rounds of ammunition exploding in the hardware stores. Despite everyone's heroic efforts, the entire downtown became engulfed in a conflagration that took Mr. Brown's store, the post office, dentist's office, tailor, drugstores, four churches, Masonic temple, opera house, city hall, blacksmith shop, and more. The Spokane Daily Chronicle described the resulting scene as a burning and seething hell.
The area where the City Park offers shady relaxation today once contained ten businesses in simple frame structures, including The Mint saloon, restaurants, confectionery, barber shop, a cobbler, newsstand, meat market, and boarding houses. Those all burned and were never rebuilt. Mr. Marler and Mr. Brass of the meat market managed to pack a delivery vehicle with meat and drove it up the hill out of danger, only to have it all stolen the next day.
(You can see a complete list of the businesses that existed in Harrison the day before the fire here).
After blazing through the business district, the fire burned one third of the homes on the north end of town. The residents rushed their precious possessions out to the street. One family hauled its furniture outside as the flames approached, just to have the furnishings burn and the house spared. The amateur orchestra was put out of business when the instruments, stored at the home of J.A. Pinkerton, the Grant Mill's bookkeeper, went up in flames. But he managed to grab two violins before he ran out the door. A baby's clothes caught fire as it sat in the yard amidst flying cinders, and a neighbor jumped to the rescue to extinguish the flames.
After blazing through the business district, the fire burned a third of the homes on the north end of town. The Spokane Daily Chronicle described the resulting scene as a burning and seething hell.
Miss Belle Robinson, chief operator of the telephone company, and Yvonne Lavigne, performed their jobs heroically. They remained at the switchboard until it actually caught fire, then after the office burned, a phone was installed in the street, using a stove top for a table. Miss Robinson sat at her post amidst the swirling embers while she continued to send out calls for help. Nobody died in the fire, but several people were burned.
Afterwards, the townspeople stood exhausted among the ashes; twenty-six years of hard work and a bustling city destroyed in ninety minutes. It was eighteen years to the day from Harrison's incorporation on July 21, 1899. Half the residents were homeless, their gardens and orchards were charred, and their food stores were burned to a crisp. The back end of the bank was seared off, but the safe and office were not touched. The train depot, hospital and hotel were spared, along with some warehouses along the water.
Neighbors took in the homeless in whatever houses remained. Others sought emergency shelter at the school and YMCA. Donations poured in from Spokane, Washington, to Wallace, Idaho. Relief boats from Coeur d'Alene started to arrive by mid-afternoon and special supply trains were dispatched from the mining district. A train arrived from Spokane later in the afternoon with bedding and tents for the homeless.
"The supplies were a welcome sight to our citizens, as men who had worked all day without food were glad to see these supplies coming into the city, knowing that without them they would go hungry during the night." The Harrison Searchlight
Neighbors took in the homeless in whatever houses remained. Others sought emergency shelter at the school and YMCA. Donations poured in from Spokane, Washington, to Wallace, Idaho. Relief boats from Coeur d'Alene started to arrive by mid-afternoon and special supply trains were dispatched from the mining district. A train arrived from Spokane later in the afternoon with bedding and tents for the homeless.
"The supplies were a welcome sight to our citizens, as men who had worked all day without food were glad to see these supplies coming into the city, knowing that without them they would go hungry during the night." The Harrison Searchlight
Several acres of slabwood embers and mill debris smoldered for days along the lakeshore with a menacing red glow, and citizens were concerned the wind would turn and cause what was left of the town to catch fire. The O.W.R.&N. kept an engine under steam at Tekoa, Washington, ready at a moment's notice to rush to Harrison with hose and fire fighting apparatus, if needed.
|
Governor Moses Alexander had arrived a few hours after the fire started to try to determine its cause. He concluded that a switch engine locomotive threw a spark under the drying shed. Then he declared martial law and quickly left town.
Frank Smith, the first man on the scene, had a different opinion of how the fire started. He said it began inside the drying shed in a corner farthest from the switch engine, and that the train had gone by more than an hour before the blaze was discovered. Due to the observations of Mr. Smith and others, suspicion spread among Harrison's citizens that the fire had been intentionally set by union protesters.
1917 was the height of union unrest in the lumber mills and logging camps of northern Idaho, and the woods were swamped with members of the International Workers of the World (I.W.W.). The Wobblies, as they were known, were agitating for better working conditions in the camps. They wanted an eight-hour work day with Sundays and holidays off, a minimum wage of $60 per month and free board, with meals served in porcelain dishes. They demanded large well-lit bunk houses with spring beds and mattresses and good clean bedding instead of lice-infested straw beds. They wanted tables and reading matter, laundry facilities and a dry room, shower baths convenient to sleeping quarters, and free hospital service. All these things were to be furnished by the logging companies free of charge.
The lumber company representatives were frustrated. They said many of the camps had already started paying up to $3.50 per day, bed springs and mattresses had been furnished, and every effort was being made to provide good board; yet the men still wouldn't work!
"When they pretend to work they stall on the job and nothing is accomplished. Under the conditions existing before the strike the cost of logging was almost prohibitive and it is simply impossible to meet the demands of the I.W.W. organization," they said.
A big strike had been called in June and nearly eighty percent of the men working in the woods walked off their jobs. Those who had no grievances, like those at Hopkins' camp up on Harrison Flats, kept working for several weeks, but when word started to spread in Spokane that they were all "scabs," they decided to quit until things cooled off.
Tempers were running high up the St. Joe river in St. Maries, where Wobblies were clashing with anti-union vigilantes. Anyone caught picketing, organizing, circulating literature, or simply possessing a union card was arrested and thrown in jail. The result was that the jail in St. Maries was overflowing and men were being transferred to Moscow, where that city had built a stockade. But the influx became too overwhelming for Moscow too, and by the end of August, St. Maries erected its own prison camp at the fair grounds on property owned by the Farmers' Union.
On July 20, the day before the Harrison Fire, county commissioners in northern Idaho had received letters from lumber company owners saying they would hold the counties financially responsible for any damages caused by the marauding Wobblies, who were threatening to spike trees and burn the woods down. The letters said workers were being intimidated with threats of violence and death.
"Open threats have been made that our works, our logs and our timbers will be burned. Sabotage is publicly preached in the meetings and...the organization above referred to and its members have openly and repeatedly asserted that they will burn the logs in the woods and burn the forests of this company and other timber holders in your county before they will permit logging operations to continue," they wrote.
Grant Lumber company owner, Ernie Grant, said he had spotted I.W.W. in Harrison the morning of the fire. Then, one to four men -- depending on various reports -- were seen hurrying from the scene without blowing the whistle or helping to fight the fire. Later in the day, two Wobblies were arrested in the area.
"We may never know the cause but most of our citizens think we know and the thoughts are not of the peaceful kind when we pause to reflect. What have our citizens done to cause this loss to fall upon us, and if it was purposely done, then who is safe among us?" The Harrison Searchlight.
Theories about the fire being set by torchmen were further fueled when Federal Labor Agent B.A. Hunter announced that a dozen forest fires of mysterious origin had started in northern Idaho within 24 hours of the Harrison fire. One of these was at Grant's logging camp a few miles south of town at O'Gara, and it began simultaneously with the mill fire. Harrison and the entire panhandle of Idaho were under a pall of smoke.
An article in the St. Maries Gazette, however, played down the arson rumor. Townspeople told the newspaper's reporter that the cause was inconclusive, but they felt it started accidentally by a spark from the engine that had been running up and down the track for several hours early that morning.
Either way, the city was placed under martial law by the governor. Thirty-six armed guards with flashlights guarded the food-laden relief boat at the docks and patrolled the town constantly through the night under the direction of Fred Crane, who had come down from Coeur d'Alene to help. Red Cross volunteers from Harrison and Coeur d'Alene continued to feed everybody coffee and sandwiches until midnight.
The next morning, businessmen could be seen through the smoky haze, setting up tents from which to run their shops. Others were bargaining for temporary space in the few remaining buildings. Sightseers and souvenir hunters began to arrive on the morning steamers and they amused themselves all day, digging through the charred remains. Several found chunks of pennies and dimes welded together in a solid mass. Harrison's citizens pushed for a system of registration in the city so they could identify people who wanted to work, while weeding out loafers attracted by the relics and free relief supplies.
The damage amounted to $500,000 with about half covered by insurance. The first reports were that Harrison's citizens were undaunted and they all planned to rebuild. But in reality, the economic blow was too much for many of them. Those who committed to rebuilding said they would do so only if the city council mandated strict fire codes and the use of fireproof brick. Within a year, five new brick buildings housed six businesses, a movie theater, post office, and lodge hall. A sixth brick building, the Masonic Temple, was completed the following year. These are the center of the historic downtown district today.
Frank Smith, the first man on the scene, had a different opinion of how the fire started. He said it began inside the drying shed in a corner farthest from the switch engine, and that the train had gone by more than an hour before the blaze was discovered. Due to the observations of Mr. Smith and others, suspicion spread among Harrison's citizens that the fire had been intentionally set by union protesters.
1917 was the height of union unrest in the lumber mills and logging camps of northern Idaho, and the woods were swamped with members of the International Workers of the World (I.W.W.). The Wobblies, as they were known, were agitating for better working conditions in the camps. They wanted an eight-hour work day with Sundays and holidays off, a minimum wage of $60 per month and free board, with meals served in porcelain dishes. They demanded large well-lit bunk houses with spring beds and mattresses and good clean bedding instead of lice-infested straw beds. They wanted tables and reading matter, laundry facilities and a dry room, shower baths convenient to sleeping quarters, and free hospital service. All these things were to be furnished by the logging companies free of charge.
The lumber company representatives were frustrated. They said many of the camps had already started paying up to $3.50 per day, bed springs and mattresses had been furnished, and every effort was being made to provide good board; yet the men still wouldn't work!
"When they pretend to work they stall on the job and nothing is accomplished. Under the conditions existing before the strike the cost of logging was almost prohibitive and it is simply impossible to meet the demands of the I.W.W. organization," they said.
A big strike had been called in June and nearly eighty percent of the men working in the woods walked off their jobs. Those who had no grievances, like those at Hopkins' camp up on Harrison Flats, kept working for several weeks, but when word started to spread in Spokane that they were all "scabs," they decided to quit until things cooled off.
Tempers were running high up the St. Joe river in St. Maries, where Wobblies were clashing with anti-union vigilantes. Anyone caught picketing, organizing, circulating literature, or simply possessing a union card was arrested and thrown in jail. The result was that the jail in St. Maries was overflowing and men were being transferred to Moscow, where that city had built a stockade. But the influx became too overwhelming for Moscow too, and by the end of August, St. Maries erected its own prison camp at the fair grounds on property owned by the Farmers' Union.
On July 20, the day before the Harrison Fire, county commissioners in northern Idaho had received letters from lumber company owners saying they would hold the counties financially responsible for any damages caused by the marauding Wobblies, who were threatening to spike trees and burn the woods down. The letters said workers were being intimidated with threats of violence and death.
"Open threats have been made that our works, our logs and our timbers will be burned. Sabotage is publicly preached in the meetings and...the organization above referred to and its members have openly and repeatedly asserted that they will burn the logs in the woods and burn the forests of this company and other timber holders in your county before they will permit logging operations to continue," they wrote.
Grant Lumber company owner, Ernie Grant, said he had spotted I.W.W. in Harrison the morning of the fire. Then, one to four men -- depending on various reports -- were seen hurrying from the scene without blowing the whistle or helping to fight the fire. Later in the day, two Wobblies were arrested in the area.
"We may never know the cause but most of our citizens think we know and the thoughts are not of the peaceful kind when we pause to reflect. What have our citizens done to cause this loss to fall upon us, and if it was purposely done, then who is safe among us?" The Harrison Searchlight.
Theories about the fire being set by torchmen were further fueled when Federal Labor Agent B.A. Hunter announced that a dozen forest fires of mysterious origin had started in northern Idaho within 24 hours of the Harrison fire. One of these was at Grant's logging camp a few miles south of town at O'Gara, and it began simultaneously with the mill fire. Harrison and the entire panhandle of Idaho were under a pall of smoke.
An article in the St. Maries Gazette, however, played down the arson rumor. Townspeople told the newspaper's reporter that the cause was inconclusive, but they felt it started accidentally by a spark from the engine that had been running up and down the track for several hours early that morning.
Either way, the city was placed under martial law by the governor. Thirty-six armed guards with flashlights guarded the food-laden relief boat at the docks and patrolled the town constantly through the night under the direction of Fred Crane, who had come down from Coeur d'Alene to help. Red Cross volunteers from Harrison and Coeur d'Alene continued to feed everybody coffee and sandwiches until midnight.
The next morning, businessmen could be seen through the smoky haze, setting up tents from which to run their shops. Others were bargaining for temporary space in the few remaining buildings. Sightseers and souvenir hunters began to arrive on the morning steamers and they amused themselves all day, digging through the charred remains. Several found chunks of pennies and dimes welded together in a solid mass. Harrison's citizens pushed for a system of registration in the city so they could identify people who wanted to work, while weeding out loafers attracted by the relics and free relief supplies.
The damage amounted to $500,000 with about half covered by insurance. The first reports were that Harrison's citizens were undaunted and they all planned to rebuild. But in reality, the economic blow was too much for many of them. Those who committed to rebuilding said they would do so only if the city council mandated strict fire codes and the use of fireproof brick. Within a year, five new brick buildings housed six businesses, a movie theater, post office, and lodge hall. A sixth brick building, the Masonic Temple, was completed the following year. These are the center of the historic downtown district today.
By January of 1918 Mother Nature turned the tables on Harrison when the city was inundated with water. The Export mill was flooded, the railroad tracks were submerged, and the bridge up the Coeur d'Alene River at Lane had swept downstream and was lodged at the Harrison trestle with a log jam behind it. To make matters worse, an influenza epidemic was sweeping through and many died. On the global scale, America had entered WWI in April of 1917 and Harrison, always generous and patriotic, had contributed more soldiers than any other city of comparable size, according to an inquiry sent out nationwide via Collier's magazine. In addition, the magazine noted, "Although practically destroyed by fire last summer, the town has oversubscribed its Red Cross and Y.M.C.A. allotments and both Liberty Loans."
Then the Depression of 1921 pressed in on the rural community causing tough economic times and the resourceful people sustained themselves with their skills and wits. Meanwhile, Harrison's tenacious business leaders continued to reconstruct the city. Wooden sidewalks once again snaked from downtown to the edges of the residential areas, the theater was showing silent movies every Saturday night, and people were attending dances at the Masonic Hall. A new ferry service began hauling automobiles across the lake from O'Gara to Conkling Park. Jim's Confectionery and Pete's Cafe were operating at the docks where trains and steamboats still converged. Children gathered there to hawk bouquets of wild flowers to the passengers, hoping to earn a few nickels to spend at the candy store.
The optimism of the townspeople persisted, and their resourcefulness and faith pulled them through all the ups and downs of flood, fire, epidemic, political upheaval and economic collapse. Despite the hardships, memoirs of the locals exude an amazing spirit of calm confidence, enduring optimism, and a deep gratitude for having been blessed to have spent time in such a unique and beautiful corner of the world. As somebody recently commented on Facebook. "I would move into a tepee rather than leave Harrison."
The waterfront has been the main source of attraction to Harrison for decades. Boaters flock to the busy marina in summer and anglers start coming in April for fishing tournaments. Over the last decade, tourists have also discovered Harrison as a cyclists' haven, with many riders using it as a base from which to explore the Trail of the Coeur d'Alene's. The popular 72-mile paved rail-trail across the Idaho Panhandle has brought a breath of economic activity not seen here since the early 1900s.
The new tourist economy has made it possible for family-owned businesses to invest in Harrison and renovate historical spaces that languished during two world wars and tough economic times. Over the last decade renovations and improvements have occurred at the I.O.O.F building, which includes One Shot Charlie's bar and cafe, The Gallery at Harrison, O'Susana's Design Studio, and Tin Cup Coffee Shop; the Grant building, which contains storage units, a laundry mat, the Company Store and Bird's Nest shops; The Cycle Haus (formerly Pedal Pushers), The Landing restaurant, Harrison Creamery and Fudge Factory, Corskie House lodgings, Lakeview Lodge motel, Osprey Inn B&B, Sheppard Fruit Wines tasting room, Harrison Trading Post grocery store, The Gateway Marina, and Harrison Grange #422.
Then the Depression of 1921 pressed in on the rural community causing tough economic times and the resourceful people sustained themselves with their skills and wits. Meanwhile, Harrison's tenacious business leaders continued to reconstruct the city. Wooden sidewalks once again snaked from downtown to the edges of the residential areas, the theater was showing silent movies every Saturday night, and people were attending dances at the Masonic Hall. A new ferry service began hauling automobiles across the lake from O'Gara to Conkling Park. Jim's Confectionery and Pete's Cafe were operating at the docks where trains and steamboats still converged. Children gathered there to hawk bouquets of wild flowers to the passengers, hoping to earn a few nickels to spend at the candy store.
The optimism of the townspeople persisted, and their resourcefulness and faith pulled them through all the ups and downs of flood, fire, epidemic, political upheaval and economic collapse. Despite the hardships, memoirs of the locals exude an amazing spirit of calm confidence, enduring optimism, and a deep gratitude for having been blessed to have spent time in such a unique and beautiful corner of the world. As somebody recently commented on Facebook. "I would move into a tepee rather than leave Harrison."
The waterfront has been the main source of attraction to Harrison for decades. Boaters flock to the busy marina in summer and anglers start coming in April for fishing tournaments. Over the last decade, tourists have also discovered Harrison as a cyclists' haven, with many riders using it as a base from which to explore the Trail of the Coeur d'Alene's. The popular 72-mile paved rail-trail across the Idaho Panhandle has brought a breath of economic activity not seen here since the early 1900s.
The new tourist economy has made it possible for family-owned businesses to invest in Harrison and renovate historical spaces that languished during two world wars and tough economic times. Over the last decade renovations and improvements have occurred at the I.O.O.F building, which includes One Shot Charlie's bar and cafe, The Gallery at Harrison, O'Susana's Design Studio, and Tin Cup Coffee Shop; the Grant building, which contains storage units, a laundry mat, the Company Store and Bird's Nest shops; The Cycle Haus (formerly Pedal Pushers), The Landing restaurant, Harrison Creamery and Fudge Factory, Corskie House lodgings, Lakeview Lodge motel, Osprey Inn B&B, Sheppard Fruit Wines tasting room, Harrison Trading Post grocery store, The Gateway Marina, and Harrison Grange #422.
Young cyclists line up outside the former Pedal Pushers cycle shop (now The Cycle Haus) preparing to ride the Trail of the Coeur d'Alenes. The blue building on the right is one of Harrison's historic structures. It served as a church, then a Freemason's hall. Today it is the private art studio of George Carlson.