Postscript

Eddie Evan died in 2012. While living in the Pike Place Public Market of Seattle, he had learned photography and owned a fine Nikon camera that he used to take portraits of people on the street.

20. Later…

I was homeless in the winter of 1986/87. Operation Nightwatch was my assurance that I did not have to sleep in the doorways. For weeks I showed up at Operation Nightwatch to be referred to the Union Gospel Mission, Salvation Army, Morrison Hotel, or the lobby of City Hall for a mattress and a blanket. They were cold, rainy nights. Sometimes I waited two or three hours in the weather for a referral. Then, on December 3rd, I was referred to St. Martin de Porres Shelter. Shortly after midnight I arrived at what we called "The Hilton." They offered me coffee and a sandwich and I felt very lucky. I took a hot shower. I was given recognition and respect which were absent in my life. I felt like a real person. I slept on mattress #168 for four months. I finally had my own place. The days were cold, dreary, and desolate but I had mattress #168 every night. I responded to the caring staff at St. Martin's. My low self image began to rise. God heard me and spoke to me through the staff. He gave me His grace. I returned to the Church and the Sacraments for the first time in over 25 years. I am feeling what God's grace is. I would like to share what being homeless was to me. Many of the men at the shelter were in their 60's and 70's. Some of them, like myself, were in the final stages of alcoholism. They came in all stages of infirmity; one with one leg, one with one arm, another with one eye. Only a few were a picture of health. They coughed a wheezed all night and, since the mattresses were only six inches apart, I felt I should soon cough all night, too. We had an outbreak of tuberculosis. Everyone had X-rays and the infected men were treated. To me, being homeless was more than not having a home. I was considered the bottom of society. Society had no need for me, no. plans for me, no place for me. They would just as soon forget me. I didn't exist.- I was a loner among the homeless. The lack of food was debilitating - I spent my whole day thinking of food. The most difficult part to accept was spiritual. I felt a sense of abandonment from the community. In a throwaway society I was the human throw away. I was the dregs of society and was becoming too old to defend myself. Sometimes I felt the State should have a Voluntary Killing Station where those of us who could not take it anymore could find a quick end. These despairing thoughts filled me during the darkest of times. It will take a while to recover. The Gospels tell of God becoming man. He preached hope and love. He comforted and cured the afflicted. He mingled with the prostitutes and tax collectors. We are all homeless until we let God's love into our hearts - until we let His Power be manifest through our willingness to love our neighbor. Last winter I was hungry and you fed me. I was cold and you clothed me. I was homeless and you gave me shelter. These words of the Gospel came true for me. You can make them come true for others. Love God. Love yourselves. Love your neighbor. You can make a difference.

19. Drinking

I became fond of Samovar vodka. I could start drinking it before I left for the bars and saloons in Sitka. Soon, I was a frequent resident at the oily jail. Police Chief Doucette had long admonishments about my drinking and I wasn't interested in what he said. He begged, cajoled, and threatened me about my drinking and I didn't pay attention. One Saturday morning the mattress in my cell became a smoldering inferno due to my carelessness with a cigarette. I had no access to water so the jail was soon filled with smoke. I feared for my life because there was no air to breathe. The fire department was right above the jail and I was literally going down in smoke and flames because nobody was detecting the fire. Finally I was overcome and was kept alive by sucking the air under the crack of the door. When I gained consciousness they had taken me out into the street. The doctor came and immediately stuck a long needle right through my clothes and into my heart. I recovered several days in the hospital unable to learn any lessons about life in my close shave with death. Years later I would recall this incident and wish that I had died. I held on to my job as dental tech but kept ending up in jail for being drunk in public. Three months after my 21st birthday the police had enough of me. They brought me in front of the U.S. Commissioner. They said I was ending in jail too many times and was becoming a threat to myself and others. The U.S. Commissioner asked me what I had to say for myself. I weakly said, "I'm guilty." The Commissioner then sentenced me to six months plus a day in prison. I spent a few days at the Sitka jail waiting for a plane to take me to prison. Now I was a federal prisoner so the police gave me my choice of eating places. But everywhere I went I was hand-cuffed to the officer. I ate well, frequently choosing the Bayview Cafe for my meals. Since the officer ate with me he was pleased with my taste. I asked him why the Commissioner had sentenced me to six months. PLUS A DAY. So I would have to serve six months plus that day, meaning no time off for good behavior. Did they have confidence in my good behavior? Or did they? Next, I was flown to a prison in Juneau. I stayed there about two weeks. About thirty of us were locked up in a large room that looked like a large dormitory room except that it was enclosed by bars. Guards patrolled around the barred-in room constantly. At one end of the room was a long table where we could play cards. A Thlingit man named Alexander asked me if I could play chess. I taught him how to play and he was thoroughly fascinated by the game. He couldn't think of anything else. We played chess all our waking hours for days on end. It became more and more difficult for me to checkmate him. The only time we broke away from chess was to eat and even then he hurried me. I went to bed thinking about chess and woke up thinking about it. "Alexander, you know I'm going to beat you all day today. You can't be enjoying this." He didn't answer except to motion me to the table. Then the one-sided chess games would begin. I shouted at him. "Don't move your finger!" He had the unnerving habit of moving his forefinger in a semicircle when he wanted to move his knight. Alexander had a huge bronze face. His thick eye brows fill in the area between his high, wide cheek bones. He had thick lips and talked in a deep voice. When he talked. At first I enjoyed beating him easily. My enjoyment turned to disdain because he would accept defeat after defeat without being perturbed. Then I was filled with consternation and apprehension when he became competitive with me. Then one day he quietly said, "Checkmate!" without gloating. Indeed, he had checkmated me. My pride was hurt. Quietly, he asked for another game and beat me again. Then he dominated our chess matches. When I would try to beg off his answer was. "You taunted me when you beat me. Now you got to pay the price." Our roles as the victor and the vanquished had become reversed. My early disdain turned to respect. Now every game began and ended with a handshake. I learned that superiority was a fleeting thing, that I had little, if any, over anyone. My constant chess playing with Alexander was put to an end when I was told that I would be transferred to the prison camp at Anchorage. Alexander had learned to love chess and became adroit with the fork and the pin. Teaching me lessons. "Never forget the dumb Eskimo who taught you chess. In fact, maybe you should dedicate your first victory to me." I became the Roman General of the Tenth Lesion transferring his command. The Federal Prison Camp at Anchorage was within the Elmendorf Air Force Base. There were no barbed wire fences. The only manned security was at the entrance gate. A group of Quonset huts provided quarters for the prisoners. The prison guards seemed affable. if not downright friendly. I feared coming to the Camp. My idea of Federal inmates was, that of a bunch of desperate cut throats. Many of the prisoners were Alaskan Indians and Eskimos who really had a gentle nature. I could not see the criminal in them. Like myself, their crime was attributed to alcohol abuse. How could they belong in a Federal Prison Camp? The U.S. Marshalls, who are law enforcement in territorial lands, must have sent these Indians and Eskimos in front of a U.S. Commissioner who sentenced them to the Camp because they were drunks like myself. If my father had refused the B.I.A. Agent's order to stop hunting and fishing he would have been sentenced to the Camp. The laws of the white man, and his power to carry them out, now had me a hapless and helpless its prisoner in their Prison Camp. My bitter sense of gall at the white man and his power soon left. Winter was coming and I was assured of a warm place to sleep and three meals a day. My instinct for survival was assuaged. The Camp was laid out simply. Five Quonset huts side by side were in front of a two story building. In back of the huts was a basketball court which was flooded into an ice rink in winter. Four of the huts were sleeping quarters and the fifth was the supply building. The two story building was administration as well as kitchen, dining room and recreation. The huts were warm and the food even better than at Mt. Edgecumbe. The guards who supervised everything, were friendly if not paternal. Lt. Robbins, who wore a gold stripe around his uniform cap, was Warden. He had a cherubic face with white hair and was quietly friendly to guards and prisoners. When I was walking in the yard he introduced himself to me and asked where I was from. He also told me I could talk to him any time I wanted. I trusted him immediately. It was easy to do since I could trust all the authority figures since very early childhood except my own father who was the only Eskimo among them. My first job was digging a ditch. About ten of us were on that detail. It was early September and the ground was already getting hard, The work was not hard and we dug that ditch about eight hours a day. But I was ready for any other type of work. I was in luck. The stock room clerk was sent to the hole in downtown Anchorage. They found a bottle of vanilla under his pillow. I proved I could type so I got that job. My new friend Johnny Pinook from Barrow told me that the rumor was going around that I had planted that vanilla to get the clerk‘s job. I did nothing to correct that rumor so I could get a reputation totally different to me. I gained easy acceptance because the man I replaced was a feared white man. Tough Eddie. What a joke I thought. I One of my duties was to shorten inseams of guard uniforms. These were the same type of uniforms that our guards wore. Since I was kept quite busy shortening inseams. I assumed that there were other prison camps in Alaska. Were Indians and Eskimos being imprisoned en masse? I only wondered. The man I worked with, the man who taught me how to sew, identified himself as a Bohemian gypsy from Seattle. He was a heavy, darkly complexioned man with thick lips. Other inmates told me to be wary of him, that he was a homosexual. I didn't really know the meaning of homosexual. "Why don't you come to Seattle with me? Be my companion and I’ll make sure that you're taken care of, that you don't have to work." I didn't like him at all. I warned him that if he so much as touched me I would make sure that he was sent to the hole.The bluff worked because thereafter he called me sir and did what I told him to do. I became his boss. Mr. Fife then consulted me on all work orders having to do with sewing. Mr. Fife was the guard in charge of the stock room building. He was a man in his early sixties and liked me immediately. "I like the man who comes in and takes charge," he said referring to the change of roles of me and the gypsy. Mr. Fife contemptuously called Manny a queer but I was never bothered by Manny. When new Eskimos came into camp I warned Manny to stay the hell away from them. I had never seen television before. I looked forward to watching the test pattern and accompanying music, which was always the same, on late afternoons. It was fun. The Ed Sullivan Show had the biggest audience, followed closely by The Lawrence Welk Show. I dropped ping pong and pinochle to watch the latter. Pinochle seemed to be the most popular type of relaxation. So many played it that a tournament was set up by the Guards. By this time Johnny Pinook and I were unbeatable because we cheated. No one ever saw our toe to toe connection. If I had hearts my right foot would tap his left foot once, if diamonds twice, if clubs thrice, if spades four times. If his hand agreed with my strong suit then he lifted his left foot. The better his suit the more emphatic the lift. If I had no strong suit it was I up to him to tap my foot. Pinook and I beat all ouropponents with lopsided scores and split the first prize which was five cartons of Pall Malls. Pinook felt guilty so he gave most of his cigarettes away. Not me. The White man had built/ created this den of imaginary thieves and put me in it. Among them, I had no honor. George Schultz stood out like a sore thumb. He was white, blonds and blue eyed. When I asked him What he was doing here, his answer was, "All I did was act like a drunken Eskimo." To this I asked, “Did you get violent?" "Yes!" "Did you stagger a lot?" "Yes!" Were you angry?" "Hell Yes!" ‘"Were you confused?" "You mean like a dumb Eskimo?” “Hell Not" "Then, you weren't a drunken Eskimo." When he asked me why there were so many drunken Eskimos I told him that we might be trying to drink ourselves out of existence. After a long silence he asked me if I could play pins pong. I enjoyed watching Schultz play ping pong. He was all show. He confused everyone with different spins and when serving he would spin the ball on the paddle rather than hit it. After each victory he would shout. "I must be the greatest!" After a series of victories he I would flex his fists in the air and proclaim, "I AM THE GREATEST!!!!" I could hardly wait for the ping pong tournament. I practiced a lot with Pinook who was a fair player. The first prize was ten cartons of Pall Malls. The more, I thought, to reward Schultz for his expected mastery over everyone. I had to beat Pinook before I could play Schultz who had easily reached the finals. I beat him by two points in each of the games I won. This was on Wednesday but I had to wait till Friday nite to play Schultz. In the meantime the Guards were actually placing money bets on Schultz to win. I tried to borrow money among the Eskimos and Indians to bet on myself with no avail. Finally Placido, a Filipino, lent me $100. I had a hundred but no takers. We agreed on one game, winner take all. Finale. I almost skunked him. even with his illegal serve. Before I picked up the prize I handed Schultz a piece of paper to read. He shouted, "I am no longer the greatest, greatest!" He never played me again, even for fun. The Catholic Chaplain from Fort Richardson came to say Mass every Sunday. He was always in a rush so I never got to talk to him. By this time I was beginning to search myself on how best to my countrymen who were in their own alcoholic wilderness, a place help so bleak and hopeless that there seemed to be no answer. Before my release I was told that the Federal government would pay my way to anywhere in the States or Territories. I chose Sitka because I knew more people there. It felt good to be back at Sitka. This time I wanted to climb Arrowhead Mountain which loomed majestically behind Sitka. I got a job washing dishes at the Pioneer Bar and Grill. It was easy work and I rented a room at the Bayview Hotel. For the first time I appreciated the great beauty of the area. I wanted more. Soon I hired on as cook on a small Mission boat that was going to Juneau. The first meal I cooked was fried herring and it was the highlight of the trip as far as eating was concerned. I had bought a bucket of herring for fifty cents and cooked it the way that Chester had taught me. We travelled the Inside waters and the scenery was beyond description. The narrow passages between mountains were silvery. For finding deer feeding on kelp my trained eyes were better than binoculars. The people who owned the boat were Presbyterian missionaries. I was flattered very much when they asked me to join them permanently. I had other ideas. At Juneau I was hired as mail clerk for the Bureau of Indian Affairs Area Office. I bought white shirts and ties to make a good e impression. They even had a Verifax copying machine. The process was wet and messy but it copied documents instantly. Sisters Mary Joanne and Mary Rose who taught me at Hole Cross Mission were working at the Church. II was glad that they a little bit of civilization to work in. The first time I went to Mass I ran into Jimmy Withrow. He and I had been boys together at Holy Cross. Our idea of fun was to camp out together and live off rabbits and trout near a lake behind Mt. Roberts. My drinking pattern was too much, Jimmy lost patience with me and I turned to the bars and saloons for all my good times. I met Chester's brother George in Juneau and we became friends. George also worked at the BIA office. I paid him $40 a month to eat all my meals with his family. Another man I befriended was Peter Three Stars. He was an Indian from the Lower 48 and was a lot of fun to drink with. He also worked at the BIA. George, his wife Kathryn, Peter, his wife Paula, and I did a lot of drinking together. We all had regular jobs and it I seemed that drinking and getting drunk was all there was to do.

18. Dental Technician

By this time I was employed as dental technician by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. My former teacher, Mr. Benson, told me that since I was now working for the government I shouldn’t ever have to worry about getting another job, that I if I to I was hired for life. I completely ignored his sage advice. My former teacher was now my boss, Mr. Thomas Cameron insisted that everyone call him "Tom." Tom was a genial from the start. He deserved my respect because he was also Company Commander in my Guard unit. Company "B" which annually won the Eisenhower Trophy for being the best in the Guard. My fellow worker, Art Gambell, was also in the Guard. One day he started calling me “Short Round" and the name stuck. When a short round is inserted into the magazine clip of the M-1 rifle it jams and the clip must be replaced. I didn’t mind being called Short Round. Edgar Monignok was called "Cowboy" because of the cowboy hat and shirts he favored. My former fellow student and now my fellow worker, Frank Elam was called "Dyastema" because he had a space between his front teeth. I was the stone and plaster rat. Or I polished finished dentures to a high gloss. I was amazed at how proficient Art had become. He could place teeth and make the wax models necessary for making ticonium bridges. I was even his student. One day Tom Cameron left town and never returned. Art said something that he was opening up his own lab in Seattle. Then Buster Brown became boss. Buster was student body president when I was freshman. He was back from the service and had married a woman from the Midwest. He was a dashing man and had even built his own two seat plane and got a pilot's license. Buster liked me because I did my job and never created waves. I looked forward to having garlic toast at his home. since I didn‘t know what garlic was. When I tried it I gassed and he thought it was one of the funniest things he ever saw. He was an easy supervisor. On paydays he would organize 4-5-6 dice games for quarters. We all would spend Friday afternoon paydays playing dice and drinking coffee. We always had the radio on in the lab. I got to listen to Arthur Godfrey in the mornings. Julius Larossa and the Maguire Sisters were the entertainers. I especially enjoyed "Art Linkletter's Houseparty" where young children provided their innocent knowledge of the world. Then Carnation Milk would sponsor "The Tennessee Ernie Ford Show" who later had a hit, "Sixteen Tons." But my favorite radio show was "The Romance of Helen Trent" starring Mercedes McCambridge. Could a woman who had let life pass by find romance after forty? My answer, then, was, sure, if she was good looking… One Friday Patrick Hollywood invited to his house for dinner. Pat was a big man with a sunny disposition. He had just married his high school sweetheart and the world seemed to be rosy for him. After dinner he solemnly said. "Now; Short Round, I'm going to teach you how to play cribbage." I was willing to learn even on the condition that we would be playing for two dollars a game, double for skunk. No time for me to learn the game before we started playing for money. I saw no reason to refuse since, if I lost too much. I still had three meals a day that went with my job. "Oh- yes, Short Round, we have beer in the refrigerator." How could I refuse such a friendly offer? So we played cribbage all nite. I lost my paycheck. But under such nice conditions. It was easy but I learned a valuable lesson.

17. Majority

On June 28, 1957 I decided to celebrate my 21st birthday. When I walked into the Pioneer Bar and asked for a beer the bar— tender immediately asked for my birth card. He thought I was a twelve year old boy coming in to deliver a message to someone. When I showed him the card I tried to look worldly, like I belonged in these bars. I also tried to look arrogant and offended. After all, I was now the age of manhood in the white man's society. When he read the card the bartender smiled broadly and turned to the other men sitting in the bar and said, "This guy is really 21!" I had my beer alone away from the other men and ordered two more. The effects of this alcohol were fantastic and I felt that I had really come of age in Western Civilization. When I ordered the third beer I told the bartender. "My mother told me not to drink, but I can drink because I'm 21. Besides, she's far, far away from here." Then I decided to look for Swede Nelson. It was late afternoon and I knew I could find him at Ernie‘s Bar. During my seventh and eighth graded he was Scout Master and I wanted to drink with him and impress him with my new manhood. I found him sitting at Ernie's Bar and proudly sat next to him. "Hey. Swede, let me shake your hand. The man at Pioneer Bar told me I can drink." Then he became the first man to ever buy me a drink. I was really enjoying myself. The juke box with its deep bass was playing loud and Jacob Snowball was dancing in the aisle. Then I decided to go to the fancy night club outside the city limits.’ It had an Indian sounding name, the Kiksahoudie Club, I believe. The place was ornate and plush with even padded elbow rests. Like wow. The white man really treats me with dignity and opulence when I feel like drinking. I must belong here. Then I wake up in jail. What happened to the happy crowd I was just with? And the music? And the steak I was eating? The steak was the most wonderful thing I had ever eaten. How did I get behind these metal bars? These questions confused me no end but I was sure I didn‘t belong in jail because I was incapable of hurting anyone. I was let out of jail but Police Chief Doucette warned me not to be drunk in public again. He was a kindly older man and I thanked him for letting me out of jail. I decided to forget this incident like it was never going to happen again.

16. Southeastern Alaska

First Sergeant Guitterez, Company B.208th Infantry Battalion (Sep) Alaska National Guard, U.S. Army, was administrator of our Guard unit. I admired him as a tough, sharp First Sergeant who beat our unit into shape. I was broke after graduating high school and he let me sleep in the Armory for a while. My friends wouldn't let me go hungry, though, and I found odd jobs around Sitka. Then I met Chester Myasoto. He was trained at Mt. Edgecumbe as a carpenter and stayed with his sister while looking for work. I He decided we could tough it out and live off the land. He accepted me as his partner even though he knew I was not a hunter. I helped him build a 21' flat bottom open boat. The ribs were 2 by 2’s and the sides and bottom were marine plywood. I admired how he could put the whole thing together without plans. He drew a template on the floor to angle the ribs correctly. The plywood was difficult to curve into shape but we managed it. The boat floated almost like a cork. He borrowed his father's 25 hp Johnson outboard and had a .25 caliber rifle. Our provisions were light: mostly coffee, rice, lard, and salt. We had smoke-blackened coffee pot and pan. He assured me that there were lots of deer and fish out there. The inside waters and forests of Southeastern Alaska beckoning to us and we were off. Chester had a chart to travel by and he knew where we were going. It was not like we were going anywhere the boat pointed to. I had begged ignorance in all hunting matters but he didn't seem to be worried. Chester was built short and very solid and strong. His manner was gruff and he had self confidence. Sometimes he talked disparagingly of the white man's world and ways but was eager to go to work as a carpenter. One morning I suggested that the coffee was boiling too long and he used that occasion to let me know who was boss. I never complained again. We had no tent so we slept under very tall trees with a tarpaulin over us. He knew how to make a fire under seemingly impossible wet situations. He was an expert deer caller. After gutting and beheading the deer he showed how to make a back pack out of it with the leg tendons and bones. A freshly killed deer meant broiling the ribs next to a fire and I loved it, especially if it was a fatty deer. While the ribs were getting done we sat next to the fire drinking coffee and talking about life in general. When he asked me what I would like to become I answered maybe I should become a Catholic priest. He dismissed it as being too unlikely suggesting instead that I work my way up the Bureau of Indian Affairs. He told me I could do it with the brains I had. I was flattered. We would go to Sitka about twice a month to buy gas, oil, and other necessities. I felt I needed a bath or shower at least once a month. One time we went to Sitka when the tide was lower than usual. To avoid hitting rocks Chester expertly kept the boat on the crest of a large swell. It was hilarious riding the swell all the way in. like riding right over an occasional rock. Chester knew what he was doing while I laughed at the danger below us. One time we ran out of gas. Chester tore a couple of floor boards out and we paddled all night in a driving rain to a cabin he knew about. It was the most strenuous effort of my life. Just before dawn we reached the cabin. Tired and hungry and cold we had coffee and crackers and spent a day and night; We had a freshly killed deer so we had no worries about food. We waited for a boat to go by so we could borrow gas. About the tenth day we could hear a boat and it was nearing us. It was a large cabin cruiser and we felt in luck. We went to the beach as it went by us and waved our coats in a distress signal. It steamed by and out of sight. We wondered if we were going to be delivered from our predicament. With streams nearby and on a large island we were confident we could survive there indefinitely. There were deer. A few days I later we heard the whine of an outboard motor and it seemed to be coming towards us. Unbelievably it rounded the corner and came straight towards us. It was a man on a small speed boat, rather, it was a racing hull. Without a word the man gave us a gallon of gas. While we were telling he would be repaid in Sitka the man sped off in a different direction without telling us his name. We had never seen him before. Back in Sitka we described the man and his racing hull. No. No one had ever seen him or his strange boat. Chester and I talked about the incident at length and I told him an angel had been sent to deliver us. He had no argument. We left Sitka vowing to never run out of gas again. And we didn't. In this part of the world the mountains went right down to the sea. The virgin beauty of it all filled me with a quiet, deep joy. The deer and fish were plentiful. Sleeping in the forests, eating by an open fire, breathing the incredibly fresh air, and absorbing the raw beauty of nature made the hard work of living off the land worthwhile. The amenities of living in Sitka paled in comparison to true outdoor life. Chester and I were lucky. One day as we were cruising along, as usual with no real destination, we came upon a clam bonanza. The tide was low and on the muddy flat of a small inlet tiny geysers of water were spraying all over the place. While Chester shoveled with haste I carried these clams to the boat. These beauties were about seven inches across. We filled the boat to within inches of swamping it. Then we started the slow, careful trip to Sitka. While Chester expertly guided our laden boat between swells I started shucking. After sweating it out for a day and a half we finally reached Sitka safely. After shucking for hours we filled six five-gallon cans. The Mt. Edgecumbe Hospital/Sanatorium A gladly paid $180 for the clams. We had grubstake money. One of the great natural sights I’ve experienced occurred during the herring spawning season. It seems that herring will spawn on anything solid. One of the spawning areas was Redoubt Bay - about five miles long. In the height of spawning activity the whole bay trans milky white. I just couldn't believe it. Herring eggs are a delicacy. Just cook them briefly in boiling water and enjoy the taste of a lifetime! Chester and I would place spruce branches in the water over night and the next morning the branches would be covered with herring eggs at least two inches thick. Chester would sell them. I don't know what the price was but we made good money. Late one morning we arrived in Sitka at the same time a plane was tying up at the dock. We tied up next to it just in time as the tourists were walking by. They asked what we had on those branches. Chester said herring eggs. They wanted to know how the eggs got on the branches. With a straight face Chester explained at length how the herring jumped out of the water and spawned on trees at night. The tourists walked away believing. The evidence was there. Before the tourists could get out of hearing range Chester and I laughed and slapped each other. They came back expressing disbelief. Chester offered to take them to the spawning forests at night. The only thing was, Chester explained, they would be covered head to foot with eggs. They might suffocate. If they survived they would smell of herring eggs for weeks. With that, the tourists left for good leaving Chester and I almost falling down from laughter. The incident was always good for a laugh when things got too grim. For the better part of a year Chester Myasoto and I lived outside the perimeters of society. There were no laws to abide by, no social functions to attend. Nature generously provided all the food we needed. We gave respect to the sea and to the forests and thanked the tall trees for sheltering us from the rains.

15. Senior Year

To my disappointment the season ended and I was taken back to Sitka. I looked like a Woodsman with my long hair. I paraded up and down Main Street with a rifle in my hand then cashed my checks, paid Sitka Cold Storage Co., and got a haircut. Now I was ready for my Senior year. Students went through high school at Mt. Edgecumbe totally oblivious to the future. Sitka provided the only real evidence to the world. It had amenities necessary for city life. It was an Incorporated City and that sounded important. Sitka, Nome, Anchorage, and Fairbanks were cities, too. But the 48 States south of us had cities with millions or citizens in them. Unbelievable farm lands and ranches keep them fed. My only clue as to how they functioned were the movies of the 1940's. Lawyers, doctors, crime fighters were a fact of life. Their repeated exposure on film suggested cities on the brink of mob control and the citizenry obsessed with health care. Vast plains were protected by the US Cavalry who were exterminating warrior Indians. To the victors went the land. Though I knew these movies to be fictitious I wondered how far from the truth really they were. But my fantasies were fueled. I would star as a physician/statesman in a movie called "Marcus Aurelius M.D." I would eradicate cancer through a great research institution and as the peoples tribune I would replace the President, abolish Congress and the Supreme Court and return all the lands to the Indians and their Chiefs. In the final scene I would join the five Sullivan brothers in their space walk to heaven. I would be the one to shout. "Hey. Fellas. Wait for me!" As preparation for living in the white man's world the movies would not be a very good guide but it seemed possible that I could make it with a very good imagination. And power. And money. The Senior year was drawing to a close. I hadn't ordered a class ring. The year book "TAHETA 1956" was being sold for $5.00. The name stood for the six native tribes of Alaska: Thlingit, Athabascan, Haida, Eskimo, Tshimpsian, and Aleut. I felt a proud kinship with my native brothers and sisters. Under my round, smiling face capped with mortar and tassel were the I words, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know." Someone who knew me well put those words there and in later years I would quote them as my motto. Commencement exercises came on a warm, sunny June day. We put on our black cap and gowns and I felt like a priest. I thought I looked as wise as a tree full of owls. Before going into the gym we all milled around the cannon and flagpole which were in front of the administration building. Someone said prophetically. "Hey. This might be the last time we'll all be together." Someone else suggested that we have a reunion at Anchorage in 1960. It was a good idea but I had my doubts because I had seen the destruction that alcohol done to recent graduates. Some of my basketball heroes were already drinking themselves to death. Could we be far behind? The time came for our procession into the gym and our seats. Since I was shortest I would be first. Anxiety fill me because I didn't like being in the public eye. The girl I was paired with shifted uneasily on her first high heels. We walked in slowly as the band played "Pomp and Circumstance." The girl next to me wobbled precariously and halfway up the aisle she fell and almost knocked me off my feet. I wasn't graduating with dignity. I sat a waited for the speeches. The longer, the better. The valedictorian, Walter Baldwin, gave a great speech. I was amazed that he gave the whole thing from memory. He had come a long way from being a Holy Cross Mission urchin and I was proud of him. Then the great, wise white man spoke. In stentorian tones, sometimes gazing into the distance, he told us that this Commencement was the beginning of our lives. Life, he said, was fraught with danger and we should face it with courage and circumspection. Not to worry, sir, I could live in the boys' dormitory the rest of my life. I was as much prepared. I made my way up the stage received my diploma and sat down. Then it struck me that I was the first of my family tree to graduate high school. Since far before the pyramids were built in Egypt my ancestors lived and survived in the Arctic never learning a written language. Could someone have written a great epic like “The Odyssey?" I don't think there was an Alexander the Great to write about since imperialism is not in our nature. Philosophy for the ages could not be written for the exigencies ‘of survival of life itself left precious little time for the invention of a written language. So here I was, over nineteen centuries after the death of Christ, conversant and literate in the English language. Graduating with me were about a hundred Alaska natives, many of whom were experiencing an original accomplishment in their family histories. Their ancestors no doubt had epics that were never written. The Commencement signaled a necessary departure from our ancestral cultures and beginning of life in a great democratic society. Our elders had stepped into the twentieth century and were not present to voice their feelings or wish us luck. For our peoples these were changing times.