Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Street roots. (Portland, OR) 1998-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 31, 2014)
13 Street roots Jan. 31, 2014 R em em bering ‘Willie Boy’ BY CHARLES HUDSON C O N T R IB U T IN G W R IT E R "VT THlliamson Bearstail was always well l / l / dressed. Even in his adult years, as ▼ V he combed the streets of Northeast Portland looking for cans and bottles to redeem, I’d see him in a buttondown shirt and nicely fitted jacket. I knew Williamson for over 40 years before I got word of his death in a Montana nursing home last week. I was a timid, skinny, half-Indian, half-white kid on the Fort Berthold Indian reservation in 1972 when Williamson and I found ourselves in gym shorts and t-shirts on the brown hills south of Parshall, N.D., (population 800). I was an 8 th grader running for our seven- man high school cross-country team. Williamson and I were the only Native Americans among a small handful of sons of Norwegian farm kids. Williamson was four years older, but unlike the other upperclassmen, he made time for me, and in his own subtle way, looked out for me, letting the others know I could not be picked on due to my age or heritage. A subtle segregation permfeated my little reservation town, split down the middle between third generation Scandinavian homesteaders and the Indigenous Hidatsa people. Suffice to say Williamson belonged to no clique. During our lonely, cold practices on the hills south of town, Williamson ran alone. He ran hard. He ran with nobody cheering for him. Native youth in Parshall would congregate each night in the front room of Bob’s §teak House. Bob’s had a jukebox, and in it a 45 of the song “Little Willy” by the rock band Sweet. Cos little Willy, Witty won’t go home B u t you can t push Willy round W illy won’t go, try tillin’ everybody but, oh no Little Willy, Witty won’t go home Without his approval, our cluster of Indian kids made it Williamson’s theme song. It went well with Williamson’s nickname, ‘Willie Boy’ which was on his silks he wore into the amateur boxing ring. Williamson “Willie ‘Boy” Bearstail still holds Transitions by J. McCurdy the record for delivering the fastest knockout m North Dakota boxing history. The first time Williamson and I lost track of each other was 1975. The song was prophetic; Williamson had left and would never go home again. I was not to see him again until 1999. - Just as he had on the prairie race courses, Williamson beat me to Oregon. He spent the '80s and '90s on the Portland streets after serving time in the Eastern Oregon Correctional Insitution in Pendleton for assaulting a police officer. I was surprised when I saw him, the strong, compact frame, and the unmistakable Hidatsa features that even years of hard living couldn’t tamp down. Our relationship had changed. It is difficult to describe and I’m not proud of the circumstances. Williamson and I were, after all, both members of the same clan, the Prairie Chicken Clan, the most nuclear of tribal associations. J lived comfortably and prospered in Portland’s well-heeled Irvington neighborhood. Irvington was also Williamson’s urban turf where he gleaned cans and bottles from recycling bins. Occasionally I saw him with other Natives, usually a Plains Indian. We Plains Indians are nomadic but we tend to find each other no m atter how far away from home. I avoided direct contact with Williamson, I’m ashamed to say. I was afraid of what I blight get myself into if I let him too close to my life. In any case, I don’t think I had his back in the way he had mine 40 years ago. So, instead, I communicâted with him through surrogates. Friends and neighbors who would slip him $20 or relay information like the time I had to let him know his older Sister Marliss had passed away. He replied, I was told, “That’s too bad. I should probably go home,” That was the last surrogate contact we had. I heard through channels back home that he stalled in Montana attempting to get back to our Rez. He died in a Lewistown, Mont, nursing home on Jan, 14 at thé age of 57. In his obituary, S sister Beverly wrote, “The life Williamson chose w asa tough one.” : She spoke softly, soothingly to the frightened child . I’d allowed myself to become Of the places We “get to” go Before We begin again Places of wave and wind Of sea and sand I asked her through my tears “Why” She said because There freedom wraps her wings 'Round my back Inches up my spine To let my spirit sing Haiku by Ian Civil Above the tree line M t Hood appears to hover Suspended in air Untitled I by W illiam Holmes awareness for knives break bread with confidence,'men eat fast, die hungry Follow Street Roots on Facebook ... to the health care you know and trust. Working in partnership with providers;-.’ , Mite jgjj community health cènters and social servjce aqencies to serve people on the Oregon , , , u Together we are , j ì Health Plan,- Health Share is building a more and Twitter! throughout the Tri County area. 3 503-416-8090 I www.healthshareoregon.org . 7 ; Q The new Chinook Book is here! Chinook Book I Get yours today and help the sustainable economy grow S ilÊ Ï 'j health accèssi We a'nd-co ardi n at éd c a ré systè m M B 11 Featuring poetry from ourArt Partner, StreetFoots - - Health Share of Oregon
