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.

14. Summer Job

Then after my junior year I got a great job. I went to Sitka and applied for stream guard at the federal Bureau of Fisheries. I was hired over older men. The explanation was given that I could survive in a wilderness situation with the inference that these other white applicants couldn't. I almost haughtily agreed with Mr. Alex Brogle. Wasn't I an Eskimo. And weren't we survivors? Mr. Brogle told me that my duties were twofold. First I would keep a field diary on spawning activities at the streams and rivers near my station. Second I would enforce the fishery laws. Mostly I would prevent seiners from fishing within 500 yards of a spawning stream and no commercial fishing from 6 PM Fridays till 6 AM Mondays. Mr. Brogle warned me of the St. Nicholas which was a notorious stream robber; this boat was well muffled and liked to rob a stream in the dead of night. To rob a stream was to set seine near the mouth of a stream and catch the salmon while they were lingering. They needed a short time to change from being salt water fish to fresh water. Okay, Mr. Brogle, I think I understand what my job is. Then I went to the Sitka Cold Storage Co. and told them I needed grubstake for the summer and a rifle for bear protection(?). My word was good for credit and I bought mostly staples: coffee, sugar, flour, rice, salt, pepper, and lard. I also bought some canned fruit and vegetables. I intended to eat a lot of fish and clams and didn't tell Mr. Brogle I intended to (gasp!) poach a deer too. I also bought a 500 Savage with a box of 240 grain bullets. I would be provided with a 9' by 9' tent, tarpaulin, Coleman stove, sleeping bag with canvass cot, and a small fiberglass boat with a 15 horsepower outboard motor. With the latter would come a drum (52 gallons) of gasoline and a case of oil. I was eager to go! We loaded my provisions aboard the Skipjack, a 40’ cabin cruiser, which would be my occasional contact and set off with my little fiberglass boat in tow. On the third morning after we left Sitka we arrived to where I would spend the summer. It was located on the outside waters of Chichagof Island. Sisters Lake was a U shaped salt water inlet about 1O miles long. The narrow entrance was at the bottom of the U and I was warned that it was treacherous traveling this narrow entrance when the tide was running. I would learn that later. The nearest land was about 2 miles across the entrance. It was there where we decided I would set up camp. My tent and provisions were loaded on the beach and they helped me roll the drum of gasoline above the tide line. Then they quickly left me with everything on the beach. I was aghast. A quick goodbye and good luck and without even offering to help me set up camp. These guys weren't civilized. I was alone so I'd better get to work. Fast. Before I set up the tent my first priority was drinking water. Fortunately there was a waterfalls just across the lake. To my surprise there was a log cabin near the falls. Even more surprisingly, an elderly man who introduced himself a Cap Hansen was inside. I told him who I was. what I was doing there and left quickly. I only had the rest of the day to set up. There was a small rise with a little clearing. I could see the entrance of the lake through the tree. I cut three small trees to set up the tent. I anchored the three sides of the tent with sod to keep them from flapping in the wind. Then I cut some more small trees so I could cover the whole tent with the tarpaulin. It took most of the day but I was pleased. Luckily it wasn't raining. My foodstuffs and cot took up most of the tent but I made it as comfortable as possible. I made coffee and had a couple Sailor Boy crackers and thought about supper. Fresh trout and rice sounded like a good way to cap my first day. I made a fishing pole with a hook at the end of a ten foot line. Using a small piece of cheese I took off in my little boat in search of a stream. I found a stream at one end of the inlet and guessed that this would be a spawning stream. I got my trout and returned to camp. The aluminum cooking ware that was provided would be adequate. The fried trout and rice really hit the spot for I was hungry. I made another pot of coffee and sat down to think of the summer. It was beautiful. A cup of coffee at the edge of a pristine lake. Not a sound except the distant waterfalls. I was pleased with the day. Soon darkness came. I finished my coffee on the beach and realized how happy I was. .Then I lit the gas lamp and got ready for bed. I was tired. A mouse got caught in the Coleman stove and kept me awake most of the night. In the morning I found that mice had chewed through anything that was edible. I quickly made all my food mouse proof. Then I dealt with the mouse that was caught in the Coleman stove. I tied its tail with a string and hung it on a branch. Then I took my rifle and blew it out of existence. Only the tail was left. Overkill, I fixed the stove so it couldn't trap another mouse. I didn't want to go through life as an efficient killer of mice. I found there were only two streams in my area where salmon spawned. I kept a log. At the peak of their activity I estimated each stream had 300,000 spawning salmon. I must have been the first human that some of the brown bears had ever seen. Neither the bears nor I ever felt threatened of each other. I always sang songs or whistled so as not to surprise them. I could walk up the middle of a stream with bears on each side without fear. We were good neighbors. Only one time did I go visit Cap Hansen. I didn't ask him why he was living there. Acceptance of his presence on the lake was good enough for me. Besides that, he loved his solitude. I was beginning to love mine. One night I was awakened by the sound of a muffled engine. Stream robber! I thought. I dressed and went to my little boat, rifle in hand. With a 15HP kicker the little boat could zip along at about 25 knots. Maybe 30. In the black night I sped out to where I thought the boat might be. Then I saw the hulk of the boat by starlight, raced around it once, and returned to my campsite which I found by flashlight. I wondered what to do next. I heard stories of stream guards who disappeared without a trace. Then the fishing boat turned on all its lights and steamed out of the lake. Whew! I felt like I dodged a bullet. Other than that incident the summer flew by peacefully, almost idyllically. I made a calendar by hand and the days went by too fast. Some days I sat on an occasional sunlit beach and drank coffee all day. I tried panning for gold not knowing where to best try it. The streams would do. Three times the Skipjack came around to see how I was doing. I reordered staples. Potatoes. When I ordered popcorn seeds they asked if it was all I was going to do. I showed my field log to prove how busy I was. Was I living off deer? No. I lied. It was good to share a meal with other people. I demanded a big pay raise which I never got. On the government payroll I was only a GS-3. But I did look forward to money in my pocket when the Senior year started. One time I escorted Mr. Brogle up my streams. We almost walked on salmon. I wanted to show him the bears I had come to recognize but they stayed out of sight. Two human beings were too much. I thought. Mr. Brogle carried a .44 Magnum on his hip as bear protection. He showed me he was real good using it. I was glad the bear had stayed out of sight.

13. PRAYER FROM THE ARCTIC

It all had started
One afternoon.

As I was hunting
Time flew too soon.

The sun set quickly
And darkness came.

I wondered why
I killed no game.

The wind was sharp
And the stars shone bright

As I stood on a hill
That winter night.

How long I stood there
I do not know.

But I did not heed
The wind or snow.

I tried to remember
Again and again

Which direction I came
But all in vain.

I scowled as I knew
I was lost somewhere.

My heart beat harder
And my nerves grew bare.

I thought of something
I should have known.

My heart stop'd pounding
My thoughts calmed down.

I should have known
That prayer might save me;

I whispered, Lord spare me,
As I went on my knee.

My knee grew cold
As I knelt in the snow.

How long I knelt
I do not know.

The Lord must have heard me
For I could hear,

A mingle of sounds
Which brought me cheer,

A man and his team
Were trav'ling by night.

My voice split the air
As I shouted with might,

It wasn't too long
Before the man came,

His team numbered nine
And he called them by name.

I walked to the sled
As if in a daze,

And thanked the dear Lord
For his kind ways,

The good man covered me
In blankets deep,

And I slipped into
A restful sleep.

Mrs. Abel beamed after she read my poem and gave me an A plus. My assignment wasn‘t over. I was to stand up and read it to the class. I did it with what must have been a look of horror because I had real fear of facing a lot of people. I never wrote the short Eskimo epic I had been wanting to do.
The high school summers were spent at Mt. Edgecumbe. I never thought of asking the Principal if the government could send me home for the summer. I spent them loafing, swimming, playing. One summer I spent painting the dormitory for the maintenance department. Mostly I painted windows and enjoyed it. 

12. Academics

My senior year came and I was painfully aware that the best student was chosen valedictorian who had to stand up at the commencement ceremony and make a speech. I was afraid of such a thing. I knew I was in the running and slipped my grades enough so that I knew I wasn't considered. Walter Baldwin, who I had known since Holy Cross, was chosen and I let a student who was inferior to me get the glory. It was okay with me.

Every year the Advisor of the Senior class was Mrs. Ripley. She knew how to get the yearbook done, the rings ordered, and all the other things that happen in the course of a class graduating. She was a good Adviser to have, to get advice from. Mrs. Ripley was a very effective History and Civics teacher. She was the most respected teacher. I liked the unusually large amount of homework that she expected and got. Halfway through the first semester she shocked us by telling us that the U.S. History book would be done by the end of the semester. It was a thick book and I could not realistically see how we could do it. I said to myself, okay, I'm going to do her one better. I worked on it nights, weekends, study hours, all my spare time. No dances, no movies, no basketball, no Ships Service, nothing but the history book. I answered all the questions and drew all the maps in the book. Then in early December I came to class and sat with my arms crossed looking out the window casually. Mrs. Ripley stood up and stared at me with her sternest look. "Eddie! We have work to do!" "Mrs., Ripley I'm done with the homework." "Then do the next chapter. You can't sit there and do nothing!" As nonchalantly as I could I picked my sheaf of home work papers and handed it to her. "Mrs. Ripley, I'm done with the whole book." I was too cocky. I sat down and never got the well done, good work, words I expected. I was the only one in the room who impressed myself. I learned a lesson.  

English was not a difficult subject in high school. I give all the credit to the Sisters of St. Ann at Holy Cross Mission. I'm grateful that the basics of the English language were taught so well. Even with such fine teachers noticed the problems that other students had, especially if English was the second language they were learning. A common occurrence was the use of double negatives in the same sentence. I once heard a boy tell ask his friend. "How come you always never come to see me once in a while?" For many high school students who spoke a broken English, their English was a final hesitation before they entered the white man's world. Our teacher was Mrs. June Abel who was as sweet as her husband was rigid. She appreciated my efforts with an Eskimo smile of approval. She once gave us an assignment to write a poem during our lunch hour. I skipped lunch and here is what I wrote: 

[see  PRAYER FROM THE ARCTIC]

11. Crafts

One of the classes I took was Arts and Crafts. It was designed o to encourage our working knowledge of our Native arts. They even provided ivory. We had some gifted students. One was Wilbur Walluck who was adept at ivory etchings and ink painting. Others were good ivory carvers. A Thlingit student explained to me how to recognize Thlingit totem poles by eye and mouth shapes. I couldn't carve ivory. To m surprise it took more than just being an Eskimo to be a carver. Skills learned from father to son and an Eskimo aura were needed. Rather than seeing me gaze out the window with a piece of ivory in my hand the instructor gave me some paper and told me to stand drawing - anything. So I took the paper and started drawing army tanks. The question of my Eskimo identity was reaching alarming proportions. Could I perhaps become a brown skinned white man in Western Gi¥ilatéen2 Civilization?

Every spring the students were treated to an all day picnic at Halibut Point which was about five miles from Sitka. Though there was a road going out there we were ferried there by boat. I boasted I could beat them and to prove my point I rented a bicycle and was waiting for them at Halibut Point. Each class had their own picnic day and a measure of success was proved by how many girls got pregnant. This competition was started conceived and relished by the students themselves and I watched silently as Permissiveness became a part of growing up for Eskimos and Indians — a wrenching of parental control by the Bureau of Indian Affairs and a harbinger of how things can be in a white man's world. The surge birth and surge of rock and roll music was easy to blame.

A fun place to go was called Ships Service. It got its name or continued it from when it was a Naval Base. Ships Service was combination store and fountain service. I was introduced to ice cream and Coca Cola there. The juke box was beautiful and played 78 RPM records at a nickel a play. I enjoyed drinking shakes in the booth and watching the dance called jitter bug. I was too timid to try myself.

Saturday nites were dance nites at the girls’ gym. We had a student band which belted out big band music quite well. I was always the wall flower. Sometimes I could dance the slow ones. Then one night before the dance I decided to join the boys who were drinking wine. It made me feel, good. Suddenly my shyness disappeared and I found I could do the jitterbug and better yet I could dance with the pretty girls. Before too long all the girls were turning me down. My personality change was intimidating. Worse yet I was reeking with wine. But I had found the magic elixir that empowered me to approach pretty women. I never had to be shy again.

Shop classes were great. In woodworking only hand tools were used at first. Then came the table saw and the woodworking lathe. I think I would have made a good cabinet maker. In the metal shop we learned arc welding and the metal lathe. The final test was to make a 10" ball peen hammer with two pieces of metal which I did quite well. .

In my junior and senior years I spent half days learning a trade which I never used much. I worked in the dental laboratory. Dentists from all over Alaska sent their prosthetic work there and I learned from actual experience. Full and partial dentures were made. I learned the names of all the teeth and even their surface names. In later years I would surprise dentists by telling them where I had cavities. 

10. School Again

High school studies presented no great challenges to me. I joined the gym-rats who were responsible for keeping hangar 2 clean. In it was the basketball court where all the home games were played. I spent a lot of time playing basketball with the other gym-rats. We controlled the use of the hangar and became close-knit. For a real short guy I became a pretty good player given to fast breaks the length of the court. We dominated use of the court and were careful in who we allowed to become gym-rats.

A man who sought to influence us was the Advisor to the boys' dormitory. Wendall E. Abel had the realization that because of our cultural backgrounds we would have difficulty in adjusting to the white man's world. Every week he gave all the boys a lecture in how to become a better man. He emphasized an open mind, fair play, and high self esteem among other things. I always looked forward to his talks to learn how a boy achieved manhood 3 in the white man's world. Would I have to become a major league baseball player? A Senator? A learned man with reputation? No, these were things achieved after manhood. Was there a prescribed course of actions to reach manhood? What were they and did they have a religious ceremony or public acknowledgement to mark a boy's manhood? The answer to the manhood question seemed vague to me. The public recognition of when a boy became a man seemed like an issue which was never given to serious consideration. Abel's Orientation classes have influenced my sense of values and indeed made me a better man. His fairness to the boys was a trait I always emulated. His demeanor was rigidly correct and dignified. l could actually see him arguing questions of state in the United States Senate. I would trust his decisions. 

9. National Guard

So the school years went by uneventfully. I was aware that the Korean War was being fought. I hoped it wouldn't escalate into another World War when I might be asked to join the Army. It was during this time I joined the Alaska National Guard. All the guys were joining so I followed the crowd. All activity as Guardsmen was were confined to the school year. Every Sunday we went to the Armory at Sitka to learn about the Army. There was even a firing range in Sitka. I fired the M1 rifle with difficulty because the stock was almost too long for my arms. Nevertheless, I qualified as Marksman.

Once a year we went to Camp. Usually it was in January at Fort Richardson. There we learned soldiering. Living in the trenches, long marches, field kitchens, and tent living were our lot for two weeks. We had a beer bust on the final night L before returning to Mt. Edgecumbe and the civilian-student life.

 One year we spent our two week Camp at Fort Lewis. Towards the end of our encampment we were to have mock war with elements of the Ninth Infantry. We knew where they might be. On the day before the games were to start we marched all night. While they were having breakfast we captured them and the war game was over before it started.

It was at the Fort Lewis PX that I was introduced’ to alcohol. One of my buddies and I went to the PX to have a few beers. The price of a Budweiser was 19 cents and we had a few. Before the afternoon was gone I was in a state of unbelievable euphoria. I never thought anything so good could come so cheap.

Near the end of the encampment I caught pneumonia. I was rushed to Madigan Army Hospital. Several of us came down with it and as Alaska natives we became the object of curiosity to the rest of the patients in the hospital. I thought I might he marked for the rest of my life. A beautiful blonde was a Red Cross volunteer in charge of the game room in the convalescent ward. She was a whore with a $20 fee but I never asked for her services. I couldn't accept such corruption. After a month at the hospital we were flown back to Mt. Edgecumbe. I was glad to be a student again. 

8. High School

Grades seventh through high school were taught by Bureau of Indian Affairs teachers to over six hundred students who were perhaps taken away from home for the first time. This unnatural gathering up of Alaska Natives was only the latest effort by the American government to civilize and educate the American native aborigines. The founders of Dartmouth would envy the sheer wealth involved.

The first reaction at Mt. Edgecumbe was the population explosion in my life. In a week I saw more people in a week than in my life. It was frightening. I developed xenophobic tendencies that still affect me.

The only work required of me was that I clean my room every Saturday, I couldn't believe how easy life had become. Discipline by the teachers was a thing of the past. Rigorous religious training was replaced by a secular invitation to personal wealth. A Bureau of Indian Affairs had become a teacher for life.

The numbers of students moving from class to class made me feel like I was in the opening scene of the movie, "Snake Pit". In the first student assembly I heard my first band music. I thought the music was great but could be greater if they eliminated all those drums. They were an ear sore. A student named Albert Frank sang a beautiful solo rendition of "Trees".

A great school spirit was ingrained in by the teachers. We learned to cheer wildly for the basketball team, we even voted for school colors and nickname. We settled for red and gold and "Braves". The Notre Dame fight song became our school song. Watching the Braves win basketball games became the most exciting part of my life. Then a giant player was introduced by Sitka High School l" ending perhaps for all time domination by the Braves.~ Mr. Osbakken was 6'6" tall and meant superiority for the "Wolves" whose colors were blue and white. The third high school in Sitka was Sheldon Jackson High School whose colors were blue and gold and whose team was called the "Warriors". With all those high schools in one town my intense school spirit became sated and I wondered if there than basketball, was anything more exciting in life. Saturday nights meant community singing where the student body sang such classics as, "A Spanish Cavalier", "Swannee", "Onward Christian Soldiers" and others. An annual entertainment put on by the faculty was the Minstrel Show where their faces were blackened, called each other such names as "Rastus", and tried talking with an almost unintelligible accent.

After finishing eighth grade I was invited to skip ninth grade which I turned down. My grades were very high through high school, the exception being Basic Electronics which I flunked. I felt sorry for those who came to Mt. Edgecumbe still speaking a broken English whose fault was not all theirs. They were thinking in Eskimo while trying to speak English. We were not given an introduction to the amenities of modern life. Many of us had never seen a toilet or urinal. It seemed we had come into a world of incredible opulence. Life was never better.

After finishing eighth grade several of us Catholics were sent to St. Pious X High School in Skagway to spend the summer. No reason was given. Perhaps they thought it would be easier for us to spend the summer in a Catholic environment. It was fine for me because by this time I was beginning to like change. Every Saturday night I would go to a Skagway establishment where the "Shooting of Dangerous Dan McGrew” was colorfully reenacted. I also went to Dyea where the fabled trail to the Klondike started. Living during that time was the legendary Soapy Smith. He got his name by auctioning bars of soap which had money in them.

After a summer at Skagway it was time to return to Mt. Edgecumbe. I turned down a chance to go to high school at Pious X.

My favorite teacher was the lovely Miss Pollard whom I had written home about. One afternoon she directed me to the office of the school Chaplain, the Reverend Mr. Day. There were tears in her eyes. Everything seemed strange.

Mr. Day told me that my brothers Lawrence, Stanley, and Henry had perished in the Bering Sea. I didn't hear a thing. He told me it was alright to cry which I couldn't. He sent me back to the dormitory where I laid in bed. The love I had for my brothers made it easier for me to accept their death because I would rather mourn them than they me. And yet, I never mourned them. The loss is too much for me to express, the pain great to define. The great camaraderie is gone. The bond and love we had for each other will echo through out eternity. The deaths that shook me are only an entrance into the meaning of life.

I placed the deaths of my brothers in the back of my mind. We had done and seen things that our ancestors had never even dreamed of. We became the first in our family to learn a written language. We were educated by a foreign race. We accepted Christianity without questioning it, with no resistance. Yet we never knew the shamanistic religion of our ancestors. We had traveled in airplanes and seen the coming of snowmobiles. Together we had stepped into the twentieth century unwittingly. Now it was left for me to go on alone. They left me - alone in Western Civilization.

So I was caught in a high school far from home. Knowing there was nothing I could do about it I decided to enjoy it and try my best. 

7. Mt. Edgecumbe

After we finished seventh grade Mr. Collins decided that Henry and I would go to Mt. Edgecumbe for eighth grade and high school.

The X-rays taken in the North Star showed that Henry had TB. He would not go to Mt. Edgecumbe with me. He was very disconsolate. We would be separated for the first time.

I was to travel on the North Star all the way to Mt. Edgecumbe. Henry and I bid each other a very hard farewell, never to see each other again.

The trip to Mt. Edgecumbe turned out to be a 24-day boat ride which I really enjoyed. I was going where I would be without the comfort of the Mission Church and without my brothers. I knew it would be a very lonely journey and I felt I was going into Western Civilization alone.

I had already accepted my existence in Western Civilization. It happened sometime in my years at Holy Cross. My earliest recollections and awarenesses had imbued on my soul the only thing I knew. My immediate family was an Eskimo world. The food, the language, the special bond, and the air itself was Eskimo. A sacred joy was there. Then at Pilgrim Springs and Holy Cross I saw a different people with white faces and a different language I began to learn the English language. It could even be written. The color, panoply, and power of the Catholic Church was arrayed in the visitations of the Bishop. Then one day I was thinking I was no longer in the Eskimo world. The people, the language, the fastness, the airplanes, and the Church were something else and I was learning to become a part of it. Then it occurred to me that I was part of another culture. King Arthur and The Round Table were more real to me than the Oomiak. I became filled with guilt and asked God's forgiveness for what I had become. I had become an unwilling and unwitting co-perpetrator to all the murders that been done in the name of the king, to the crimes that had been done for the good of the state, to all the wars. The serenity of life and the struggles for existence that are Eskimo were now gone from my life and left to my grandfather who lived only a hundred am years ago. In the (sudden) knowledge of all this, I was overwhelmed.

When I disembarked at Mt. Edgecumbe I staggered and veered on the dock almost falling down. I had developed sea legs during the violent storm that the North Star had encountered in the Gulf of Alaska where movement of the vessel was estimated at four knots in seven hours.

We picked up ten other students at Gambell and Savoonga on St. Lawrence Island. The eleven of us were to become fast in the maelstrom that was Mt. Edgecumbe High School.

During the War a Naval Base was built directly across Sitka and in 1947 was converted into a boarding high school for Alaska 1‘ Natives: Thlingits, Aleuts, Haidas, Eskimos, Tshimpsians and Athabaskans from Pt. Barrow to Ketchikan were shipped and flown in every fall and in the spring the exodus was as dramatic. 

6. Summer

In the summer we set up camp up the river to fish. We took our dogs with us. We had the manpower of two families to beach seine for salmon. After the day's catch was made the fish was divided and I would help by hanging the cut salmon to dry. We improvised a canvass topped shelter to keep the fish out of the rain. The dried fish was stored for the winter when it would become staple for us and food for the dogs.

In late summer large areas of the tundra was grown over with salmon, blue, red, and black berries. Great amounts were picked and stored in seal pokes. Sometimes seal oil was added. The pokes were then placed over frozen permafrost and covered over to be stored until winter. Herbs and roots were also picked and stored. In early spring tender shoots of willows were picked, mixed with seal oil and stored. This was called "surra" and considered gourmet to be eaten with dry fish in winter. I became very fond of "arctic-tea". It was a pine needle like growth that had a bit of orange under its folded stem. It tasted just like orange pekoe and pekoe.

I didn't participate in - I didn't even get to watch - the whale hunt. The beluga whale was hunted which isn't a very large whale but I guess you hunt whatever is available. Muktuck are the outer layers of the whale and was what we ate in winter. During that time fish and seal meat were the staples of the season. Living wholly on subsistence hunting doesn't provide a variety of food. Seal blubber is rendered into oil and the oil is eaten with every meal. I became very fond of seal oil.

It was the year at Shaktoolik that Henry grew fast into early manhood. He got over being a bully to his peers. He was lucky and effective in his hunting endeavors. Though I think he » was about three years older than me I watched him grow beyond his years. Before too long he would be an eligible bachelor. Henry and I became very close brothers. At Holy Cross Lawrence, Stanley, Henry and I developed a wonderful love for each other.

5. Shaktoolik

While we were at the Mission Dad had remarried and was living at Shaktoolik. We arrived in Shaktoolik just in time to start seventh grade. Although Henry was about two years older than me we were always in the same grade.

The grade school at Shaktoolik was a single room affair and the teacher was a Bureau of Indian Affairs agent. I immediately felt a big let down in the quality of teaching. How could one man, no matter how gifted, effectively teach eight grades? There was almost no homework and the things I was learning for seventh grade I had learned two years before.

The teacher, Mr. Collins, was the only white man in the village. He was obviously not expected to exist by subsistence hunting. Instead, the North Star arrived in summer and about nine tons of foodstuffs were lightered to see Mr. Collins through the year.

While the North Star was there everyone went aboard to get X-rays. It was then that it was learned that Henry had TB.

The year at Shaktoolik introduced me to the Welfare system that was overwhelming the people. Dad had TB and the teacher forbade him from all hunting. If he tried hunting the teacher would call in the United States Marshall and send Dad to jail. But not to worry. Dad would get a Welfare check every month. The incredible wealth of Western Civilization would assure us that we would never have to hunt again.

Every night about 6 we would tune in to the short wave network that the teachers had to discuss medical problems with the doctor in Kotzebue. After everyone had a chance to talk to the doctor they would have a chat session over the airwaves. They talked to each other as peers and about the difficulties that arose from living in the far north. One of Mr. Collin's big ambitions was to get enough muskrats for his Eskimo wife Nellie to make him a coat. His signoff word was always, “Oogruk!”

My seventh grade at Shaktoolik would turn out to be the only year that I would ever live in a village. I never got the years long training it took to become an Eskimo hunter. I was in a very uncomfortable situation - never knowing what to do when hunting and fishing situations arose. Stanley, Henry and I were in a circumstance where we helped the best we could but our biggest contribution would be in acquiring fire wood. Lawrence, the oldest one, was still at Holy Cross where he eventually hoped to build his own cabin.

4. One winter

The school house was two stories with four big class rooms. It was wood heated with no running water. ‘While I was there they installed fluorescent lights. One room was for kindergarten and first grade, another room for grades 2, 5, and Q, another for grades 5, and 6, and one for grades 7, and 8.

Sister Mary Joann taught kindergarten and first grade. She was a very sweet person who always had a smile and encouragement for all of us. When I first started I wondered exactly why we were there, what we were supposed to learn in that closed in room. It was while we were learning ABC's that I caught on. It ' occurred to me that Sister Mary Joann was going to try to teach us how to write, that we were going to communicate by making marks. Suddenly, overwhelmed by the task ahead of us, I stood up next to my desk and shouted, "It can't be done!"

Gladys Stockman, and later Winnie Rarks, taught grades 2, 3, and 4. They were Alaska Native and very pretty. I had boyish crushes on both of them.

Sister Mary Rose taught grades 5 and 6. She was strict. I learned the meaning of school discipline and did my home work even with a flourish. When I made mistakes, Sister Mary Rose was harder on me than anyone else. Years later I met Sister Mary Rose in Juneau.

As the grades got higher, discipline got harder. Sister Mary Angela taught grades 7 and 6. She knew how to shout in righteous anger over the mistakes of her pupils. Her voice was shrill and her eyes piercing. She was feared but I left Holy Cross before I had the chance to challenge or experience her method. I had actually looked forward to her. My love of learning was healthy.

In the boys residence were monkey bars that hung from the ceiling and a pool table. On the monkey bars we would curl our elbows around a bar and, using our legs, try to force the other to the floor. As I look back I wonder why there wasn't any serious injuries on those bars. Nobody really ever got good playing on the pool table and it was largely ignored.

Fighting was frequent among the boys but it never amounted to anything. Occasionally, we had fight nights. A ring was set up and all the girls came over to watch us box with 16 ounce gloves. Once I was involved in a blindfolded match but I could see through a tiny slit. I pummeled my opponent and for good measure hit Peggy Allain flush in the face to prove that I loved her. She smiled after I hit her.

From the earliest I accepted Catholic Dogma without question. I had no reason to challenge it. I was baptized when I was about seven years old and was confirmed a year later. All the Holy Days of Obligation were holidays. We even had a holiday when the Mother General of the nuns came for a visit.

Growing up under such strict discipline got to everybody. We all wondered when we were going back home. Henry and I finally got our chance to leave the Mission after Stanley had worked a season in the cannery. Henry and I never felt so happy. 

3. Holy Cross Mission

My father, or the authorities, or both, decided to send us to Holy Cross Mission which is on the Yukon River, It was a very long flight on a small plane. I remember being shocked by seeing endless expanses of trees. The fire from these woods could keep one warm for a long period of time.

When we arrived at Holy Cross Mission they separated me from my brothers. I cried long and hard. Finally I was given a piece of bread and I quit crying.

Right away I realized that these nuns were different than the ones at Pilgrim Springs. They wore a different habit and they were strict. They got my attention and owned it.

I spent my formative years at Holy Cross. The teaching nuns were very strict and I eluded their disciplinary wrath by being a bright pupil. I finished every year at the top of my class.

There were endless chores. Since the buildings were heated with wood, there was always wood to be cut, chopped, and delivered. In summer enormous amounts of salmon were caught by the fish wheels and had to be cut and hung up. There were two large potato fields that had to be planted and harvested. The soil was black and rich. A mile away was a meadow where the grass was cut and stored for the few cows. All the chores were physical. It was not an easy life. The chore I liked most was working in the bakery. It was in the basement of the priests’ and brothers’ residence. My job was to make sure there was enough wood to keep the ovens hot. When the dough was removed from the mixer I garnered the left over dough and baked my own bread, The Mission also had about thirty sled dogs that had to be fed and watered. My favorite dogs were Spoon and Andrew Marshall. He was named after the oldest resident in the Mission, a man in his thirties who was never weaned from the Mission. Maybe he had no family to go back to (easily conceivable) or he just liked living there enjoying a special status because of his age.

After attending Low Mass at 6 and High Mass at 9, we had the rest of Sunday for recreation. Henry became expert at playing marbles. The rules were complex and the next game was prescribed by the first one out. A fat game meant you could be eliminated if someone hit your shooter; if changes were allowed you could replace your shooter with a tiny ball bearing, but perhaps you could make only one change in the game. If that were the case you futilely tried to shoot marbles out of the pot with your ball bearing. Better quit than appear stupid. If the pot was shaped like a large football then you couldn't get eliminated by leaving your shooter in the pot. If it was a high game you could raise your shooter as high as you want and shoot from there. It was the ultimate game of skill. And so on.

Another fun game was team hide and seek. It was simple. All the boys broke into two teams. One team hid from the other and there were no boundaries. Sometimes the same team stayed hid for two or three weekends. A priest or brother was always the referee. You didn't mind huddling in a gully in the rain if you knew it meant adding hours to the other team's search.

A game that the priests and brothers never knew about was called war. It was played against the village boys. It was played on a wooded sandbar with .22 rifles. The fear of getting shot was so great that after the game started movement was almost nil. Shots were exchanged but nobody ever got hit. We got use of the rifles by telling them we were going rabbit hunting. We were never too ashamed to admit we got skunked. '

In the winter we had coed skating. In late summer it was considered festive for everyone to be put in a river boat and be taken to St. Joseph's Mountain where we picked great amounts of berries. For both the boys and girls the prize for picking the most berries was a pair of brand new shoes.

Sunday nights after Benediction usually meant movies and the villagers were always invited. There was only one projector and most of the movies were silent films. The scariest movie was "Henry Aldrich Haunts a House" and the most exciting was "The Virginian" The most popular were the Shirley Temple movies. 

2. Pilgrim Springs Mission

When I was about two years old, my mother Rose died of complications while giving birth to twin boys. The authorities of Western Civilization took these boys away from my father and it wasn't until 1970 that I met one of them, Alfred, in Seattle.

Perhaps by coercion or intimidation my father sent my three older brothers and me to a Catholic Mission at Pilgrim Springs. Since I was about three, my memories of Pilgrim Springs are vague. I was frightened by the habits of the Nuns. They taught me how to put my right hand on my stomach, my left hand on the small of my back and bow gracefully and regally in saying "GOOD AFTERNOON…MOTHER!" There was a pool of hot springs where we bathed. It got so hot that they would put large chunks of ice to cool it down.

At one time the Bishop came and I remember everyone getting excited. I decided not to get excited like everyone else; I got a chance to put everything into my three year old perspective at Mass. Up on the altar the Bishop was being assisted with his fabulous robes. I shouted, “Can't the Bishop dress himself?".

I remember being envious that my three older brothers Lawrence, Stanley, and Henry were allowed to go to school and I wasn't, I was more scared that they were being taken away from there were me, There seemed to be priests, brothers, and nuns in black robes everywhere.

Then the Mission closed down. We had to walk a long way it over the tundra. I was carried. We finally reached our destination which was actually a railroad train in the middle of nowhere. It took us to Nome.

Lawrence, Stanley, Henry and I then spent a short time in Golovin with relatives. We slept in the attic under a tin roof that was noisy when it rained. 

1. Birth of an Eskimo

Like my ancestors of thousands of years, my birthday was unrecorded, Driven by a high school teacher to get a birth certificate, I wrote to the Bureau of Statistics in Juneau. I would need three written affidavits before they would issue one. I was unable to get a single one and yet the Territory of Alaska persisted in their need for these affidavits. At my end, I wrote as angry a letter as I could which resulted in a delayed birth certificate. It became official that I was born at Teller, Alaska on June 28, 1956. Now I belonged to Western Civilization.