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.
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