I didn’t hear about it until the following year, but I did go and see the principal, a woman, and I told her what had happened. She said, “Mrs. Dover, she didn’t start teaching until she was in her thirties. She was from a poverty-stricken family, so you will just have to be understanding.” And have my boy humiliated by her? I kept telling myself, don’t get mad. I was liable to get thrown out of the building or get arrested. The principal said she was not cut out to be a teacher. I thought, there is only one thing I want to do to her and that is—kill her. I would gladly slit the woman’s throat. It clouded all of his school years, her belittling him and making fun of him.
When Wayne started school, we looked all around Whidbey Island, where I lived. Wayne went across on the ferryboat to the school in Mukilteo. He was awfully small when he was six years old. It seemed it was easier to get to on the ferryboat because otherwise he would have had to walk half a mile along the road on the island to where the school bus would pick him up. Then he would have to go five, six miles to Langley. So every morning he went on the ferryboat to school in Mukilteo and every afternoon he came home on the ferryboat. Some years Mukilteo had marvelous teachers. He had Doris Gibbs at the Rosehill School. She was just wonderful. I stayed there when I brought him. She had a big area, with twenty-six or twenty-seven children. She played a beanbag game with them. She threw the beanbag and talked to each one. When they came up to her desk, she put her arm around their little shoulders and said, “Tell me your name,” and she wrote down their names and pinned it on their clothes. They went in a big circle, and she would call out their names and throw the beanbag to them and say, “You are Wayne,” or “Kevin” or “Kera.” She learned their names, and she had them take off those names and put them on their desk. Then they would play another game or do something else. She would have them in a circle again, and she would throw the beanbag and call their names. Some of them would laugh and say, “That is not my name!”
She was such a grand teacher. Wayne went along swimmingly. He learned easily. But William struggled through, even though he had a good teacher after that first dumbbell. In later grades, the teachers said at the end of the year, “William is very kind. He is always taking care of somebody who needs help or sympathy.”
William played linebacker on the Marysville High School football team. He could really run for short distances such as thirty or forty yards, and he was strong. We watched him play on the regular team. When he turned out for the team, they put him on as a running back. I was surprised he could run so fast. At home he moved like molasses in January, but he was really moving when he played football. He played three quarters. At one of the games I heard people just behind us talking about number 43. They said, “My, he looks small, but he’s good.” They were looking on the program to see who he was. So here we were, sitting there thinking, “Oh, that’s my baby.” But you don’t say anything.
William never played the following weeks. He lined up and kicked off; then they took him out. He never played again. I am sorry I didn’t say something to the principal or the coach. I knew a mother who lived in the area. She’s not Indian. She went right up to the coach out on the field. She said, “I want my boy to play!” She even went to the superintendent, and her boy used to play. Afterwards, I thought, “Why didn’t I go make a fuss too?” William noticed and it also bothered him. A lot of Indian boys turn out for sports, and they never get to play.
He told me three or four years ago he met two classmates in a café in Marysville. They told him, “We’ve always been sorry that we participated in putting you off from playing football. We had a meeting in the coach’s office, and two or three of the white boys said, “We don’t want him to play—absolutely not.” I guess the coach said, “All right, I don’t want him to play, either.” And so William used to turn out; they would let him suit up. If you get to suit up, you are sort of progressing. I think that was absolutely a bit of racism.
I was telling myself, I’m going to go up there someday and I’m going to talk to the superintendent of schools; the principal is still there who allowed that to happen. Of course, now the superintendent is somebody different. I would certainly let him know that I am not upset about him, but I am upset about those that went before, and I know they will say, “Why didn’t you say something?” Why didn’t I say something? I guess I didn’t think it would do any good.
I think hardly any of the Indian boys turn out for football, and I think a lot of them like football and basketball. I heard some of the Indian parents talking about it three years ago. They said that the Indians absolutely don’t have a chance. I imagine in some places they might let the Indian boys and girls participate.
Employment Programs
Lyndon Johnson, a Democratic president, made medical aid and hospitalization available for Indians on the reservations, then when Reagan, a Republican, got in, those funds were cut. We had young people—fifteen, sixteen, up to maybe twenty-three years old—who had no jobs, and they were not in school. The Democrats under Lyndon Johnson had programs for that age group for a while. They built up my little porches.
I didn’t have porches on my house. I just had boxes that you could fall down on. Some of the girls washed the windows and cooked meals for the elderly people who were helpless, crippled, and blind. They worked for months and months, and they earned their money. The government took part of the money and put it in a bank under the child’s name, so, when the programs ended, they had a couple of hundred dollars.
The Democratic programs went on for months. The Indian families were able to get food, things like shoes for children and the whole family; and for Indians in western Washington, they could get high rubber boots that fishermen use or can be used in rain or water, because they are an important part of the clothing and gear that Indians in western Washington need. When Reagan and the Republicans got in, all of those programs were cut off, and a lot of the young Indians who had been working had no income. After a month or so they were all up in Everett applying at the welfare office. It really breaks me up when things like that happen. I really ought to be thankful though because I am going to get glasses that are supplied by Indian Health or Public Health. I don’t know if that is strictly all for Indians or because I am in my late seventies and now I finally get something. Bless Uncle Sam’s heart; I am going to have glasses that I can read with, because I can’t really see with these. I have to use a magnifying glass if I want to read the newspaper.
I have a growth under my arm. I have had them before when I was in the Indian boarding school, and I was saying the Indian children died from that. I think I heard on the radio from Public Health that some doctors were saying there is a surprising number of cases of people who have cancer of the lymphatic system. I talked to Neti today, the nurse at the doctor’s office, and I already talked to Dr. Hammond, and he said, “Oh, that is nothing but fat.” Well, the nurse said she could see the swelling and it isn’t excess fat or growth of fatty tissue. She was looking for the doctor to refer me to in Everett. He would probably call up Dr. Hammond and he will say, “Oh, she is just a crazy old woman.” I am going to go down to the Seattle P.I. building and look for Hilda Bryant. I met her somewhere. I want a big write up. If you are going to write about the Vietnamese, those poor people, then I want equal space. I am being kicked around, and I am an American citizen. Really, I am an American citizen.
Before we became American citizens in 1928, we were worse than being an outsider. A lot of people were really fine and kind and then there were others who wanted the Indians sent somewhere.
Now I am running up a dead-end street, you might say. I was wondering if I would I ever get down there, do you think? I am sure of what I need, well, what I had way back all of those years when I had a large swelling on my neck. It was a doctor in Everett who used some kind of light; it was really strong, but it didn’t have any heat, but they covered my head and my shoulders with a thick piece of rubber. My father took me there every week for a year and a half. It
finally went away. Whatever it was because when I came home I had kind of a fever, what they called a low-grade fever. I didn’t feel like eating. If I went down to the public health hospital they will probably tell me I have to have a referral and papers from a certain doctor.
The Republicans under Eisenhower had a different training program that was called “Relocation,” which was supposed to be helping the Indians. They took the young people from here, especially the young marrieds, all of the way down to California, to San Diego and San Francisco. I asked the agent one time, “Why do they have to take them so far away?1 Can’t they get training in Seattle? I said, “There are some Indians working at Boeing.” And I think another steel company in Seattle employs Indians. There were a few other places where they could work. But they took the young Indians who signed up for the Relocation Program all of the way down there, and then for some reason the young people got stranded.
Clyde Hatch, for example, signed up for the Relocation Program. He and his wife and their baby had their way paid to San Francisco for job training. They were furnished with an apartment. They bought food with money his parents gave them. Bu they couldn’t sleep at night because the place was full of cockroaches. They didn’t know what they were, since they had never seen such bugs before. The cockroaches came out at night, out of the walls, even crawled on their bed and blankets. So they would stand up all night on the bed, holding their baby.
Every morning Clyde went to an office, where he was told by his supervisor to be before eight o’clock. He sat there all day. There was a girl typing, but she never told him anything. They had told him to be sure and be there. He was there about a month. They were hungry, and their rent was going, so they sent a telegram to their folks. I just happened to be visiting them. They were worried about their children. They cabled them some money to come home.
What happened at that time was that Clyde was there at the office every morning, and the girl was typing through the day. He asked her about so-and-so. “He is not in.” Later, they found out that he went on a thirty-day vacation to Hawaii, and here were these Indians who were hungry, worried, and lost. This was supposed to be a project to help Indians. In nearly all cases, the Indians came back home, and their parents paid their way back. There wasn’t any more money to pay for their rent, and they got hungry and worried—so back they came.
From long ago, in fact, some of us Indians, such as Wayne and I, talk about the pressures that were put on the Indians. The last time it was pretty bad; it was President Eisenhower, a Republican administration. The pressures came down to us, and it was really just like I remember when I was very small. The Indians were pressured from all sides. The Indian agent had a lot of power, shall I say, and it seems as though the priest when he came had a lot of power. It was just pressures all around. Save your soul. Confess your sins. Go to school. You have to be in the Indian boarding school—every boy and girl. Learn to read and write. Learn the English language. Learn to live like the white man. Those things I remember from when I was real small, because I would hear my parents talking about them with other Indians coming to our house every Sunday. My mother would cook big meals on Sunday. And those Indians would stay, and they would talk just about all afternoon with my father, and they would tell about things that were happening to them. The Indians were separated onto their allotments by several miles and roads were practically nonexistent, and so the Indians walked over those muddy trails or narrow muddy roads, or some who had horses would go on horseback. Some had wagons, like a farm wagon, but to go on a farm wagon was really something because the roads were in bad condition. They would have to go over stumps and logs.
It seemed during all of my growing up life there was pressure all around. The Indians were a hungry, hungry group. They really didn’t have money. Their incomes came from, as I said, picking hops—they were migratory field workers and that was not a living—or they worked in the logging camps. It was second nature to them to chop down or saw down trees. In the old days, Indians didn’t cut down trees like that. They might cut down one tree to make a canoe or some of the smaller canoes that we called st(d)əXwił. (It isn’t really a canoe; it doesn’t have a head on it like a canoe.)
I think, generally speaking, the average white people are also busy trying to establish themselves, since they came here from other states. They have their own problems. I hope people notice I am being big hearted in noticing that the white people also had problems. I always disliked white people ever since I could remember. I have never really changed my mind about that except there are many white people who are just absolutely marvelous friends. They would help anybody. There are some Indians who would help, too.
The beginning of the sixties was the end of Eisenhower as president. They were Republicans, and the lot of American Indians was not good. Republicans couldn’t care less about Indians. If you have business—big business or any business—they are sure the country moves along and everyone can work. John Kennedy was elected—a very Democratic president—and, of course, I feel he was certainly an outstanding leader. He had, I think, above all things, charm, although a lot of people say he was a spoiled rich young man. I read his speeches before Congress. I am positive he had a very deep feeling for all people—Black, Indian, Chicano.
I don’t think the Chicanos received that much attention in the years past. I think white people tended to feel Chicanos or Mexicans were foreigners. They are not foreigners any more than white Americans are. They are mixed with Indian and Spanish. They were not all immigrants into the United States; their families in some cases had been there for hundreds of years in California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. Those states once belonged to Mexico, and the United States moved in and took them over. Living in all of these states were these Mexican Americans and Mexicans. I think they were treated cruelly by the white people, and Indians and blacks have been shot and cheated too.
Martin Luther King Jr. became very well known through his efforts in the 1960s as a speaker for the black people’s troubles and problems—their rights. I always admired him. I saw him on the news when they walked several hundred miles in the Freedom Walk. I remember seeing him on the news, speaking in Washington, D.C., and what he said: “I have a dream. I have a dream, and I see the shining mountain.” I thought—well, perhaps he has found his dream and probably has found the shining mountain, but it will be a long time before the people have complete freedom.
As I mentioned before, when I was looking for work, a woman personnel officer said, “We hire only Americans.” She said, “I mean real Americans.” But, I thought, that is the way a lot of white Americans feel: they are Americans, and the rest of us are something else on the face of the earth that they would rather not see. People in Marysville, and places like the town of Marysville, tend to be prejudiced because they have seen Indians drunk much of the time.
As I was saying, the sixties were a real change. It was a change for the better, because Kennedy initiated a lot of programs: the Job Corps, which was a kind of carryover from President Roosevelt, and the Peace Corps, where young people were trained to go overseas to different nations and people. The new Republican administration will phase that out too.
There are going to be thousands of people without a penny of income again. Teenagers here in the CETA [Comprehensive Employment Training Act] program used to go in the months of June and July and cut the tall grass around my house. Of course, the girls and boys would argue. I used to watch them. I would stand it for so long, and then I’d say, “You are just standing around.” Some nice looking boy would say, “Who? Me? You are talking to me?” A girl was talking to him. She has a grass cutter or something, and she was trying to give it to him. He was saying, “I can’t hold anything!” They would be hollering all day long. I used to open up the door and tell them to come in if they want to have a 7-Up. Most of them never ever took the 7-Up, but they did drink a lot of water. They were fun.
I haven’t seen young people since William has been gone, for
three or four years. I miss all that yelling over nothing. Arguments used to go on and on, and they never settled anything. But the youngsters who worked for CETA had spending money. The supervisor gave them 20 dollars a week, and the other 20 dollars were put in the bank. It was pretty good money. The bigger boys put the roof on my house.
One morning I was reading in bed. It was eight or nine o’clock and pretty soon I heard hammering. I thought, who could that be here so early in the morning? A lot of Indians say, “Don’t call Harriette before two o’clock or she’ll be mad.” Here it was 9:30 A.M. I got up and took a shower and got dressed. I could hear voices, and so I finally walked outside and here was someone working around in my driveway. I looked up and they said, “We are fixing your roof.” I had a car then, so I drove to town, had breakfast in town, and then I went to visit somebody. So I was gone most of the day. When I came back, it was about four o’clock. They were leaving. They worked fast, and they were fun.
Young people used to argue like that when I was young. We had big dinners. Indians are always having big dinners. Young people did the dishes and cleaned the tables, wiped the dishes. Way back then, there were no paper plates. We got into arguments about who was going to wash the dishes. There was always one boy who would do the dishes, and so we would wipe the dishes. Sometimes we started by putting the dish towels or the wet rag on each other’s shoulders, saying, “Now you do the dishes.” They would try to put it back on us. Just arguments. Sometimes one of our aunts or an older lady would say, “Oh, stop it now and get to work.” And then we’d say, “See now? She said for you to go to work.” I think the young people still do that today.
Tulalip, From My Heart Page 33