by Tim White
I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the attention from all the boys. But Mama Elicia watched after Belén and me like the protective mother she was. It was the wild 1960s, and I tried drinking alcohol, smoking grass, even mescaline at parties, but each time, Mama Elicia would show up and pull Belén and me out of the party.
Of course, I admired Ulee. Almost everyone did. But I was not attracted to him. As I said, there was warpath in his eyes—he was not a ladies’ man and could hardly talk to girls. He was as full of machismo as a young man could ever be. And he was not the type of person anyone felt close to, except maybe his sports friends and coaches.
Ulee had been kicked out of school for a very serious fight. The principal asked him not to return. The coaches protested, saving Ulee from expulsion. But Ulee’s temper could turn violent, especially when a family member was threatened. One time a Pasco football player was picking a fight with Hector Whitebird (Whitey) at Zips hamburger stand on a Friday night. When Ulee looked up and saw the senior kicking his little brother while he was on the ground, he lost control and flew into the fight, which was so intense that the police were called. Ulee was sent to the juvenile delinquent jail.
After Ulee’s release, the principal tried to kick him out of school. He called Ulee’s dad in and told them that Ulee was going to end up spending his life in prison. Ulee’s dad stood up and got in the principal’s face, telling him that Ulee was a good kid, that God had a plan for his life and he would not allow anyone to prophesize differently about him.
He said, “You should be ashamed of yourself. I passed kids doing drugs in their cars in your parking lot. Ulee has paid his debt to society and learned the consequences of fighting.” Pastor Sundown gave that principal a sermon he would never forget. Ulee was allowed back in school just in time for football season.
During this growing up time in the Tri-Cities, there were protests and race riots. Many of the football games ended up with whites fighting blacks, and the police would come and haul blacks to jail. If you were a teen or an adult and you had dark skin, after the tear gas cleared, you were going to get arrested. The Tri-Cities was not Detroit, but at times racial tensions were just as intense, and there was amazing conflict over the Vietnam War. Many of the cowboys and farmers, which made up the Cathedral of Joy, Reverend Caleb Sundown’s church, never thought anything but duty, honor, and country during the war. At the same time, the baby boom generation that didn’t trust anyone over thirty had a majority protesting a war that nobody fully understood.
Oddly, the turmoil of the 1960s also pushed a lot of young people toward religion. Many people started to envision Christianity as lived by Jesus Christ. Their slogan was “Christ is the answer.” It was called the Jesus People movement.
There was an older man named Ken Johnson who contracted cancer and was being treated at Kennewick General Hospital where Elizabeth Saunders Sundown worked on the night shift. This group of nurses had so much fun working together that race or economics didn’t bother them at all. They were all best friends for years. Liz, as her friends called her, quickly called her husband to come down and visit this nice, hard-working man who wanted to have a certainty that he was going to go to heaven. Caleb traveled down to the hospital to meet Mr. Johnson and begin a conversation about how this man from a holiness background could have a certainty of salvation. After many conversations, Mr. Johnson prayed with Caleb and had a new sense of faith in Christ in his life. Mr. Johnson called his son Joshua in to talk to him in the hospital.
He said, “Son, I am going to die, and I want you to promise me that you will give your life to Christ so I can see you in heaven someday.”
Joshua couldn’t make that promise to his dad, but he said, “I’ll try, Dad.” Six months after his dad died, Joshua visited Pastor Caleb regularly in his office to ask questions about God and what it would be like to follow Christ. Finally, one morning, as he was shaving, he looked in the mirror and said, “I can think this thing to death. Am I going to live for God or not?” And right there he gave his life to Jesus Christ.
The next day, he came into Caleb’s office to tell him. He was shy about it. He fumbled with his baseball hat and finally blurted out that he had given his life to Christ and that he would have Caleb’s back for the rest of his life as they tried to spread the gospel.
Joshua was a hard-working carpenter—a handsome man who was a part of the fire department underwater rescue team. He was put in the position of being the youth pastor at the Cathedral of Joy. He would preach with his Bible rolled up in his hands like a hammer and share the good news with kids in such a way that they knew that he would be there for them. The group began to grow exponentially until one of my friends invited me to come. I sat there and listened every week. I would feel guilty about everything that had taken place in the past.
During this time, I had been modeling and a cheerleader. My grades were good and I wanted to be a physician, but being a beauty queen felt superficial. Every word that Joshua preached struck me in the heart: about forgiveness, living guilt free, healthy relationships, and Jesus. One night, as I lay in my bed, something woke me. It was someone’s voice whispering my name. It sounded like my birth mother and father. I wasn’t scared—I got up and saw the moonlight streaming into my room. Then I heard Maria Jose’s voice in my dreams. I remembered so clearly her singing Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus in Spanish, so sweetly and courageously, as she faced Hernando Cortez.
“Penny, go to your Bible.”
Then I heard what I believe was the voice of Jesus. He said, “Read it.” His voice was so kind. I opened my Bible, and it fell open to the gospel of John 3:16, and I fell on my knees and gave my heart to Jesus Christ. The moonlight streamed in the window, and I knew I was a Christ follower. The next morning, I told Mama Elisa and Belén. They both went to church with me the next week.
I told Joshua that I had become a Christian and Pastor Caleb baptized me in the worship service. When Ulee saw me sitting with my boyfriend and getting up to be baptized, he could not believe it.
When I tried to go to Bible study, so many of the girls were such gossips that they and their moms began to tear me apart behind my back about my past. They called me Mexican, greaser, and I even heard myself referred to as a spic and a slut. The Jesus who Joshua Johnson talked about just didn’t seem to be at church. I did get to see Ulee walk the aisle to commit his life to Christ during one of his dad’s messages. I was very proud of him. Maybe this would help him to find peace.
I am not going to lie; beyond my misgivings, going to high school as a sophomore in my cheerleading outfit was fun. Football in these parts was so festive. Kennewick was rated the top team in the state in the highest division. The stands were full during our games, almost as many spectators as small colleges. High school varsity football was the focus of the entire town. Many people said the culture in the cowboy communities of Eastern Washington reminded them of football in Texas. There were all-city pep rallies and dances after each game. It was all a very big deal. Being a star on the team meant status and recognition. Ulee craved both.
Ulee was only a sophomore and named the second team varsity quarterback. He was still a bit small compared to a lot of the seniors who had lived in the weight room and used steroids. The starting quarterback was a tough guy with a full beard and already balding as a senior in high school. The team ran the ball most plays, which was the style of the Vince Lombardi days.
For the opening season inter-squad scrimmage, the stadium was full. It was a benefit for the Shriners, and it brought a lot of attention and local news coverage. Kennewick football was divided in two for the game. The black jersey team was the varsity first string. The orange jersey team was the second team. When Ulee walked on the field, the coach of the second team told him to run the ball and not to pass. Ulee had other ideas.
“Go deep,” he told his pass receivers. “Everyone else block.” The wide out was a crazy senior named Frank Wolf that had never gotten to play because he was suspended half th
e time for drugs and alcohol. Ulee barked out the signals, and his voice was so high that all the men on the opposing team started to laugh. These senior players were not only taking testosterone shots but they used speed just before games to play at a level that was just brutal. My brother Pedro called them Neanderthals.
Ulee dropped back, gliding as if he had done this a thousand times. He pumped the ball to the left side of the field. Then he snapped back and hit crazy Frank Wolf on a deep banana shaped pattern. He was covered by two defenders but the tight spiral came in where only Crazy Frank Wolf could catch it. The defenders bounced off, almost in disbelief. Crazy Frank waltzed into the end zone. The coach of the second team was irate despite the touchdown. He called the plays, not Ulee.
“You’re out Indian,” he screamed at Ulee.
Ulee was the official punt returner, so once they had stopped the first team the coach put him back in to take the punt return. The punter really got a hold of it, and it flew over Ulee’s head as Ulee ran full speed into the end zone to retrieve it.
The coach yelled at Ulee to let the ball roll into the end zone.
“No Ulee—no let it go.”
Ulee caught it over his shoulder and, with his blazing speed, ran the ball to mid-field. He broke several tackles on the way back, looking like an athlete that outclassed his competition. At half time, the coaches tore into Ulee, telling him that this was not sandlot football; they were trying to learn the wishbone running offense. This was not a passing team. Ulee acted contrite, winning back his coach’s confidence.
In the second half, Ulee got to start. And again, he ignored the coach’s game plan to run the ball. Four passes later, Ulee’s team scored. The crowd was impressed—the student body was amazed, and half the coaching staff was wondering why they weren’t going to work with this young quarterback. They put Ulee back in. This time he ran the wishbone triple option as directed, but he came out so fast he missed the hand-off to the fullback and scrambled, carrying the ball himself. Ulee raced eighty yards and scored. After the scrimmage, the coaches wanted to talk to him. The kid had talent, but he was hardheaded and a wildcard. They couldn’t trust him on the field as quarterback.
“You can stay on varsity and return kicks, punts, play special teams and sub in as a receiver and a defensive back. But you’re no longer going to play quarterback.”
When Ulee walked into the locker room after the game he was met with taunts from some of the older kids on the team, most notably the starting quarterback whom he had just shown up.
“We don’t need any savages on our team,” The senior quarterback said.
Ulee tried to step around him, and a defensive end, who was the friend of the quarterback, kneeled behind him while the senior quarterback pushed him over. Ulee fell hard, hitting his head on the concrete. Before he could get up, the quarterback was on top of him, punching him repeatedly in the face. Ulee was half unconscious before he knew what was happening. There was no one on the varsity team that was going to step up for him. None of his brothers or friends were on varsity at this point. The coaches closed their door and acted like they didn’t hear anything. It was all over in a couple of minutes, and then everyone went back to their former business, acting like nothing had taken place. Ulee got up, walked to his locker, and dressed without showering.
As he walked home, I drove by with my senior boyfriend in his brand new red Dodge Charger. When I saw Ulee’s face, I told my boyfriend, who was a senior wrestling star, to drop me off. I ran over to Ulee and asked if I could walk him home.
Ulee laughed. “Isn’t the man supposed to walk the lady home?”
I coyly replied, “Not when a girl is as tough as I am.”
Ulee thought that the last thing he needed now was a romantic relationship. I was not really interested in boys that way either—not after my nightmare childhood. But there was a friendship between the two of us that had been slowly developing for some time. Maybe it was that his brother had died and I had lost my sister and stepdad. We both felt close even though we did not know each other very well, and it was based on deep respect that was more profound than either of us realized in our crazy lives.
“Why do you get in so many fights?” I asked. “I think you lose more than you win.”
Ulee tried to laugh, but it made his face hurt. He said, “No one understands me, including myself.”
I said, “I thought you played magnificently today.”
“What part?” asked Ulee.
“I don’t understand football; it bores me. I heard your name on the loudspeaker quite a bit. You made a home run didn’t you?”
Ulee pushed me playfully. “There are no home runs in football!”
We both laughed.
When we got to his house, since he didn’t have his driver’s license, it was a fifteen-mile ride home on the basket of an old bicycle. I started out pedaling as all his brothers laughed, with Ulee in the basket. We were both worn out about half the way there, and then Ulee pulled over at a pasture of a friend of his and grabbed an Appaloosa there. Bareback, the Nez Perce boy gave me, a peasant Honduran girl, a ride home on the beautiful Appaloosa.
When he helped me off the horse he said, “Thanks for being a friend.”
The next day, our family started to get phone calls, and then when Mama Elicia would answer the phone the caller would hang up. There must have been at least seven. Finally, I answered the phone; it was Ulee asking me if I would go out with him on a date and go swimming to the Kennewick Lagoon. I said I was busy and had to babysit, so sadly he hung up. The next week he tried again, and once again I had to work. He called me a couple of days later and I told him I had to babysit.
He said, “I will pay you fifty cents an hour to go on a date with me.”
I was insulted. “I am not for sale.”
He said, “I am sorry, I just want to go swimming with you.”
So I said, “Okay, tomorrow after school.”
After school, he came up and asked me if I was ready to go.
I said, “No—I wasn’t feeling well.”
He was crushed. I did not want to be seen in a bikini—I could not stand the way men looked at me—so I made up the story of being sick. We both knew I was lying. My friends scolded me as he walked away. They all had a crush on him. I told them I had a boyfriend and I had no business going out with him.
They advised me to break up with my boyfriend. I told them I wasn’t that kind of girl. That night, my boyfriend and I decided that he was leaving for college next spring and that he wanted to date college girls, so we broke up. Ulee called me again soon after. He was a man who did not give up. This time he asked me out to a movie and dinner. We were both so shy the whole evening we didn’t talk except to say hi and goodbye. He did hold my hand on the way out of the theatre. I thought we would never go out again. He was sweating he was so nervous. And during the movie he did not watch the movie, he just watched me. The next time, he asked me out to go bowling and play miniature golf. I asked him why he stared at me the whole time during the movie.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t hardly breathe when you are in the room—you are more beautiful than Helen of Troy or Roxanne, whom Alexander the Great had to conquer the world to meet. You are Guinevere of Camelot or Dulcinea of Don Quixote Del La Mancha. You are Penelope, and I am Odysseus, and I would slay an ogre to win your favor.”
I giggled; he was so over the top. Then I looked at him sternly and said, “Don’t objectify me!”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
I told him to look it up.
On our second date, he gave me a Bible and asked if we could pray to start the date. His prayer was so sincere it was obvious that he did not objectify me—he really cared for me.
When we bowled, I was so bad I dropped the ball backwards, and we both laughed so hard. When we played miniature golf, I kicked off my shoes to play—moccasins were in style then. He said he loved my feet—we both laughed the whole time. He was so funny—I
never relaxed that much with anyone in all my life. When he walked me home, I asked him if he was going to be a pro athlete.
“I would like to, but I gave my life to Jesus, and I want most of all to be a pastor and serve people like Jesus.” That was when I loved him. His words were so inspiring. He was John Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr. all rolled up into this silly native boy who had hero written all over him.
When we got home, I knew he was going to kiss me. I just didn’t know he had never had a girlfriend or kissed before. He closed his eyes and puckered up—way up. Then he kissed and missed me by about four inches. I turned and giggled and ran into the house to tell Mama Elicia and Belén. We laughed so hard we could not breathe, especially because Pedro heard him walking home singing. “Zipadee do dah zipadee day, my oh my what a wonderful day.”
We were young and in love. I made him a blueberry pie in the shape of a heart. His brothers were always spying on us. We both had part-time jobs, in addition to trying hard at school, so our dates were once a week, and we sat next to each other in church. He gave his testimony at church, and I was inspired to hear him speak; he was such an idealistic Christian. I really didn’t care for his sporting events. He played summer basketball, and everyone said he was amazing, but I didn’t know. He was genuinely a nice guy. He would see a game going with little kids, and we would pull over and I would watch him out there playing with the kids in his undersized church suit. He was a horrible dresser with no sense of style.
Ulee taught Sunday school and visited the elderly at the old folk’s home, holding a worship service for them. He visited the insane asylum and played football with a boy named Danny who was blind and would play like he was a sports announcer while they played. We had Greek mythology together, and the teacher always started class by telling the class of the weekly athletic exploits of Ulee, who he called “golden arm.”