Ulysses Dream

by Tim White

  There was a long jump, standing broad jump, high jump, softball throw, 50-yard dash, 100-yard dash, 440, and the 880. Yes, they called us goat ropers because we lived and worked on farms. We had a large Hispanic population who lived there and worked on the vineyards, orchards, beer hops, cornfields, etc. I had a boyfriend who was three years older than me. My teacher seemed to get a kick out of making sure I always had a boyfriend. My boyfriend was white, and his dad was a rich farmer, so Mama Elicia seemed happy that even though I was in the sixth grade, I was already going steady. His name was Kevin, and his friend, Brad, was going steady with my best friend, Julie. She was also from Central America, but she was from El Salvador. Kevin constantly gave me flowers; he had me over to his house for dinner with his family. The four of us, Julie and her boyfriend, Brad, and Kevin and I would go hang out at the pool hall. We also went to a Willie Nelson concert at the fair and rodeo. He was always really polite to me, but I did not feel good about the expensive presents that he kept getting for me. One day he bought me a diamond necklace, and when Mama Elicia saw it, she was really angry.

  “In Finley, the girls get pregnant and sometimes married before they are fifteen,” she warned.

  Kevin did not want me to go to the all-boy city track meet. But I had no trouble telling him we were not married and that I was only in the sixth grade. We had sixteen kids on our team from Finley, each with our red Finley T-shirt. No one really believed that we had a chance against the big schools from Kennewick. We brought alternates in case our first team track person could not perform. Kevin was an alternate, so he rode on the bus with us. I was the only girl at the meet, and my one event was the half-mile. A lot of people were staring at me. I guess I was getting used to it. But just as I could see people pointing and whispering, I noticed the attention shifted as the team for Washington Grade School, one of the biggest elementary schools in Kennewick, showed up in their bus.

  Washington Grade School only had one kid on the bus. It was Ulysses Looking Glass Sundown. He was such a dominant athlete that he won every event at his school and the other kids did not want to come even as an alternate. Everyone said he would be a professional athlete. At school he was actually banned from playing football on the playground because he was just too good. And in dodgeball he hit a teacher in the head who was participating, and so he was banned from that sport. He was the talk of his grade school. He stood there with his pupils dilated as if all these white people were his enemies. At the same time, he looked white. His Caucasian hair often was dressed with a feather, but in his eyes there was the wild, the native, the untamed soul that he had become famous for even in the sixth grade. His skin was light, and his eyes were brown. “Ulee,” as he was called, wore an Indian choke collar. His parents were not there. His brothers, who were mostly brown with long, black, braided hair, yelled his name as they sat in the stands.

  Ulee’s mom was a nurse and seemed to always work to support her family. His dad was a pastor and was always on an emergency. So when it came to family, it was usually just his brothers. His coach, Mr. Snyder, was also the high school sophomore basketball coach. He acted like he had a secret weapon. Other coaches and teachers came over to talk to him about why he only had one kid on his track team. They kept mentioning Jim Thorpe, a famous Indian boy who had been good at all events; he was the whole track team, and he went on to play pro football and pro baseball. He won medals at the Olympics, but they were taken back because he was deemed a professional.

  The track meet began with the 50-yard dash. Everyone was nervous for this first event. One boy threw up before getting into his starting stance. Each runner was given a trowel to dig starting blocks in the cinder track. Ulee just stuck his trowel in the ground like he was throwing a knife. Each of the boys running this event knew each other. They all knew they were fast, but no one knew who was the fastest. On one side was a big black kid named Marquis Lincoln; he was amazing in his speed in the 100-yard dash. People were already talking about how he was going to be a world-class runner. Next to Ulee was the city record holder in the 50. His name was Sean Dunn. This Irishman was the smallest of the boys but was quick. On the other side was another boy from East Pasco, Ulee’s friend, Tyler Sherman. Again, he was the only one who could challenge Marquis Lincoln in the 100-yard dash. Everyone was Tyler’s friend, and he laughed when he ran. He and his family were just plain fast. His younger sister would become a world-class sprinter in the Olympics. Most of the city turned out for the race, including judges, coaches, business leaders, and the mayor; the grandstands were full. All the boys seemed nervous, except Ulee, who was whistling a Christian hymn. Ulee had athleticism in his blood as his great grandfather was the legendary Jackson Sundown. Jackson was the nephew of Chief Joseph who as a boy was put in charge of the horses during the Nez Perce retreat from Wallowa to Canada. He had been one of the few who had escaped and made it to join Sitting Bull in Canada and later he came back to the states and became the world rodeo champion after the age of fifty. He was a legend for his athleticism.

  Ulee kept whistling as the boys took their starting stances. The fifty-yard dash is all about the start, and Ulee had ten yards on everyone. He didn’t need to dig his starting blocks in the cinder. His whistling and cocky confidence had distracted the others. Some of the other boys’ dads were yelling at the starter that the Indian boy was cheating. Some of the other boys wanted to fight, but Ulee’s six brothers were all around him at the finish line. They walked to the middle of the field, where he was given a blue ribbon.

  The rest of the track meet was an amazing performance. Ulee won the 50, 100, 440, high jump, standing broad jump, running broad jump, and softball throw: seven blue ribbons in all. People just shook their heads and said, “We have another Jim Thorpe here.”

  The final event was the half-mile. I dreaded that I had agreed to go to the all-city meet. We walked over to start, and Ulee looked me in the eyes and said, “Hi, Penny.” I didn’t know that he knew my name, and he spoke to me in Spanish. “Hola Penelope. ¿Cómo estás? Es bueno verte en esta carrera de atletismo. Que Dios los bendiga ya que se corre el major.” (Hello Penelope . How are you? It’s good to see you in this track meet. May God bless you as have your best run.)

  I didn’t speak back; he seemed so proud. I wanted to beat him so bad.

  I came out running as fast as I could. I needed to be in the lead, even if just for a while. Every girl depended on me. All my anger, all my fear, all my insecurities made me run. And after 100 yards I was in first with Ulee running right behind me. As another boy tried to pass me, Ulee blocked his route and moved to my side. I looked to the side, and his stride was so natural that it seemed like he wasn’t trying. He spoke again to me in Spanish.

  “You are doing good Penny. I think you can win this one. “Keep it up.”

  I ran faster; he was making me mad. It looked like he was going to let me win. That really did it. I pushed even harder out in front of him. That created a space that three boys used to push by both of us. He said in Spanish, “I am sorry, I should not have let them through.”

  And then he took off like we had been standing still. He caught the boys, who had a pretty good lead, and then beat them all to the finish line. I followed him on his sprint and had never ran so fast in all my life. As he approached the finish line, he turned around surprised to see me come up on his side.

  I smiled at him and said, “I think you have a crush on me, Ulee.” He blushed and I passed him to win first place; the only race he lost. I was sure he had not let me win—I had outsmarted him. It was such a victory for my family, my school, and for girls. But the first one to congratulate me was Ulee. “Usted es un ganador Penny.” (You are the winner, Penny.)

  Ulee had won every event at the all-city track meet except the 880, which I won. An AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) coach was talking to him, as was the high school football coach. Afterwards, his brothers ran over and tackled him and had a dogpile on him. They looked like such a fun family. Belén, my sister, ga
ve me a hug and said, “You really were amazing, Penny.” All the females at the track meet waited to congratulate me. I can’t tell you how proud I was when I was the only one other than Ulee to win a first place. Mama Elicia cried as she hugged me and whispered in my ear, “You are a very special girl; God has a wonderful, wonderful plan for your life.”

  I lived with my mother, Elicia, my brother, Pedro, his wife, Rosi, and my sister, Belén. We lived in the trailer my dad had earned, and Pedro worked at my dad’s job for the Truman family, running their orchards. Mama Elicia had always been extremely bright. While in Honduras, she had gotten a bachelor of arts in political science from the top-rated university in Honduras, Central American Technology University, in Tegus. While in the US, she continued to read everything she could get her hands on. She went on to get her master’s degree in history through Washington State University. Her intellect helped her become a citizen of the US. She had friends on both sides of the border.

  Elicia became a leader in the Hispanic community and was a person the white society knew they could trust. She kept her radical ideas and admiration for Caesar Chavez to herself. She realized that most of the white community were not ready to hear her ideas. She had an amazing sense of history, of how things stood and where they were going. As you can tell, I am very proud of Mama Elicia. She taught me to make up for being objectified by being the top student in my class. She wanted me to be a doctor, just as she had her missing daughter, Maria Jose, and I didn’t want to disappoint her. At physical education, I could beat the boys in running. Even though I always worked several jobs, life still seemed like a game in those days. Our lives were still painted with sadness and grief: the loss of our sister, Maria Jose, and then the kidnapping of our dad, Cruz. Pedro never talked about it, but he did his best to be the man of our family, and the farmers trusted his work smarts, his people skills, and his faithful integrity.

  The Sundown family found a home when their parents moved from the reservation to the Tri-Cities. They were there to be pastors at a little independent evangelical church called the Cathedral of Joy, an all-nation’s church. Caleb and Elizabeth were poor enough that they qualified to live in the government projects. It was government housing for the poor called Sunny Slope Homes.

  In reality, it was hard for the Sundown family to live in the Tri-Cities. Ulee had to fight from the beginning. The first day of school as he walked to kindergarten, a big boy punched him in the face, bloodying his nose and saying, “Welcome to the neighborhood, mother.” Fights were arranged by neighbor kids. Ulee lost more fights than he won and usually had to fight more than one kid. He worked in the fields with the Latinos, and most of his friends came after a fistfight to get to know each other. Because his skin was light and his hair was blondish brown, he had to prove himself more than his brothers. And he had to fight for his younger brothers. Sometimes they all fought together. Fighting was their main preoccupation—that and a family love of reading.

  One day, Ulee came home from school in the third grade, and several older boys in high school had beaten him up. They had picked him up and thrown him against a wall, which broke his nose. He deserved it because he used to mouth-off to the big kids and then he would dodge them, running circles so that a half a dozen could not catch him.

  His mom had become a licensed practical nurse, and after taking him to the hospital, his dad talked to a fellow Korean vet who taught Jiu Jitsu. Ulee had his black belt by the time he was in the fifth grade and enrolled with a friend in Taekwondo (Korean kicking and striking fighting), and he had his black belt by the time he was in the ninth grade. If any of his four brothers got into trouble—Ulee was there in a furious way to protect them. It was the spirit of the bear. After age thirteen he would never forget watching his brother Joey give his life fighting a grizzly to save the lives of his brothers.

  The rule was, that if you picked a fight with one of the Sundown brothers, you picked a fight with all of them. And even when they were in grade school, more than one high school kid learned that seven tough little Nez Perce warriors all fighting together were a foe they did not want to mess with. People referred to them as a pack of wolves. And with their dog, Argos, the meanest sort of man would steer clear. Another time, the Sundown boys snuck out as they liked to do during the summer, and they caught about twenty teenage boys breaking into their dad’s church and stealing the sound system. The seven of them, Joey, Ulee, Patty, Jacky, Stick, Heath, and Whitey, all stood in the doorway and the twenty big boys had to retreat. (This was before Joey was 15 and lost his life fighting the grizzly.) The neighborhood gang made a dash at them, and the Sundown boys let out war cries as they took down big boy after big boy. When the police finally arrived, they were holding down ten boys. Ulee had one in a scissor lock with his legs and two with neck locks with his arms. The police had a good laugh as they arrested the big boys who were taken down by a pack of Nez Perce little boys.

  When we were in the ninth grade. I was at Kennewick High School for cheerleading tryouts. Like all girls, I was wearing a miniskirt, which was quite fashionable at that time. My senior boyfriend was walking me to his car across the field. Ulee was at a track trying the pole vault for the first time. “If you make the qualifying height, you can get our team a third,” the track coach told Ulee.

  Ulee was uncharacteristically nervous. He knew rivals wanted him to fail, even some kids on his own team. He got at the back of the runway with butterflies going in his stomach. He then sang a song out loud, as if he was a knight getting ready to charge. He then turned and looked at me, calling out “You are a beautiful princess, and I dedicate my every victory to you.” I blushed; my boyfriend got mad. And Ulee charged down the runway. It was amazing for his first pole vault. He gave his full weight to the fiberglass pole as he planted it. He kicked his legs high in the air and vaulted way above the qualifying height. But he overshot the foam pit and landed outside on the hard ground. Everyone looked away. I could hear people say, “That has got to hurt,” and they were laughing at this ninth-grade boy and the declaration of his love like a fool from Cervantes’ novel. It may have been one of the most romantic moments of my life. I can’t say I fell in love with Ulee that day, but I was blushing while everyone—except my boyfriend—laughed.

  Chapter Four

  Sundowns

  AS I TELL my story I try to be mindful of young ears. It’s important they understand hardship, but that they not be frightened or intimidated. I don’t want them to fear romance, or sex or love. Yet, I also refrain from being too graphic. I don’t want to make ugly what can be beautiful. It is through truth that my family will become strong. I continue.

  The Sundowns were the only family I felt entirely comfortable around—except for my own. There were so many warriors with such virtue in that family. Grandfather Ephraim and Grandmother Quanah seemed so in love even in their frail age. The whole community loved them. Pastor Caleb was one of a kind and was considered to be a pillar of the community. His wife, Elizabeth, was a favorite nurse in the Tri-Cities and was so popular with just about everyone in Kennewick. And then there were the boys.

  Every spare second, Ulee’s family would either work the fields together for money to get by or glean fields to can for the winter. They would hunt, fish, and gather mushrooms and asparagus. There were plenty of ducks, pheasants, quail, wild turkey, and even a wild hog now and then. The big mule deer were winter meat for their family and friends. All the boys had recurve bows. They shared an Ithaca twelve-gauge shotgun and they had a British 303, their grandfather’s gun; a Winchester 45-70, which was a bear gun; and a Remington 700 that was loaned to their dad by a rich person in their church. The boys made money from bounty for the pelts of coyotes, ground squirrels, and mountain lions. They stayed summers at the cabin in the Wallowas with their grandparents and also made the four-hour trip to Lake Wallowa every chance they could get. When the boys were not hunting, fishing, or backpacking, they were playing sports. They used to walk around the Tri-Cities looking for a s
andlot game of football or to get into a community center to play basketball. They each would do an intense workout because they all wanted to be pro athletes. They did thousands of pushups and pull-ups. Their dad bought them some free weights, and they loved to work out.

  Ulee threw a football through an old tire 200 times a day because that is was what Sunny Sixkiller said to do. When Ulee was in the ninth grade, he was kicked off the basketball team for fighting, and he switched to wrestling, where he won the conference championship for his weight class. When he entered junior high, he was discovered at a boxing match after school by Spankee (a Cuban boxer who attended Ulee’s dad’s church) who enrolled him in his gym, which was a part of the Golden Glove boxing program. Ulee never went to any tournaments because of all his other commitments to work and sports, but he knocked a few champions out while he was sparring. Their dad, Caleb, wanted all his boys to be pro basketball players

  There were other large families in Eastern Washington. Some African-American, some Hispanic, but all were viewed as gangs. They fought one another as teams, almost like it was the thing to do—no hard feelings intended. Most got involved in crime, and all of them were involved in sports. The neighborhood the Sundown boys grew up in was tough. Lots of kids ended up in prison eventually.

  As we got ready to go into high school, Mama Elicia decided that I should go to the big Kennewick High School. It was one of the biggest high schools in the state of Washington. I was getting far too much attention from the boys for my looks at Finley School where many of the girls would get pregnant while in high school. In my sophomore year at Kennewick I was selected as a varsity cheerleader, and one of the cute senior boys, who was a state wrestling star, asked me to go steady with him. I think the thing that saved me was that I had three jobs. I cleaned houses, I worked for the Bon Marche on their fashion board as a model, and I worked as a cashier for Tri-City Pools. I also babysat with my extra time. My nose was always in a book because I was determined to become a doctor, not a teenaged pregnant bride.