I
S pilyay T ymoo
J
March 1,1985
Page 3
)
The W aylt Is. ..
Story depicts life on reservation
In the last segment, Harold
arrived in Warm Springs where
he met his grandfather for the
first time. Harold learned that
Warm Springs and his grand
father were not at all like he had
heard they might be or envisi
oned them. Following is the
second installment of The Way
I t Is by Frederick Bobb.
Arriving at his grandfather’s
house, Harold looked quietly
around at the surroundings.
They did seefri somewhat un
cared for and the weeds needed
clearing. Then he saw the house
in-which he would be staying
for the next six years. It, too,
was old. It looked similar to the
school/ church building on The
Little House On The Praire.
with pure white paint that should
have becom e dull with the
sum m et’s blowing dust. The
house sat in a field of wheat
looking grass that was turning
yellow from the burning sun.
Hills rolled in the background
like gigantic waves of soil and
seemed to be feeding the dying
grass with humidity.
The sky gave an appearance
th at it was clear, but when
Harold looked upward, he saw
that the sky was heavily blotted
with fluffy, white clouds—clouds
that were making their way east.
That’s where Harold wished he
was now. East in New York
City. That was where he be
longed. Yet the peace which had
rolled along with the hills had
told, hirn to at least give it a
week. Then, if he didn’t like it,
he could go.
Turning around, Harold no
ticed something he had never
seen before. Houses. It’S not
that Harold had never before
seen houses, it was that he had
never seen houses sitting out in
the middle of nowhere without
even a convenience store nearby.
There was not a 7-11, not even a
Plaid Pantry. How do these
people live out here, he thought.
How in the world could people
live without being able to get a
Pepsi or 7-Up a day when they
wanted it? Or fresh popcorn
that burned in the red-and yel- .
low machine^? His thoughts be
gan to flow once again. I mean,
he thought, when you need a
Pepsi, you need it, now!
He turned to his grandfather
and asked, “Where’s the nearest
store?”
“Well,” Fred replied. “That
would be W alter’s Corner. Un-X
less you’d want to go all the way
back to Warm Springs to the
m ain store. T hat would be
Macy’s.”
“How far’s Walter’s Corner?”
“Too far to walk. Besides,
you’ve got things to do before
you can go playing with any of
your friends,” Fred said in a
sarcastic and insulting voice.
Together, they walked toward
the place Harold would come to
know as “The Old House.”
A figure caught the corner of
H arold’s eyes, and he turned to
see an old woman standing on
the cool, shaded cement of her
front porch in her bare feet. She
yelled something in Indian to
Fred, and Fred smiled at her.
“W hat did she say?” Harold
asked.
“She said I should be very
proud to have such a tall grand
son.”
Harold smiled at the com
pliment and turned to wave at
the woman. The woman turned
to her front door without re
turning the gesture, and entered
her house. Harold could now
feel the loneliness for his mother.
The loneliness for his friends
and his school. His desire to
return to the city was very strong.
That was where he belonged,
not way out in the middle of
nowhere. What a place. Nowhere
City, population 30, What a life
this is going to be, H arold
thought.
As soon as the two had entered
the house, an aroma caught his
nose. It smelled of a meat that,
if it were sold in a supermarket,
would cost at least six dollars a
pound. But, of course, meat o f
this kind would be too good to
have everyday.
Harold noticed that the room
wasn’t like any he had ever seen
before. It was bathed in a dim
light, making it too dark to see
very clearly. The air was very
humid, as if someone had been
boiling water for the past two
days. There was no carpeting
op the flqor, but it was covered
by a thin, clashing linoleum that
didn’t seem to go to well with
the house. There' were several
chairs that looked to be very
comfortable and layered with
hand-made blankets. The walls
were made not of plaster, but of
a board-type covering th a t
looked to be the inside of a
cabin. On the walls hung pic
tures, that, from where Harold
was standing, seemed to be only
silhouettes. Upon closer inspec
tion, each picture had a face
that Rooked very honorable and
strict. Faces that seemed to be
asking Harold: “Why are yOu
here, boy?”
There was no television, radio
or stereo iti the. living room.
Instead, an entire Wall wàs filled
with classic books and westerns
by Louis L’Armôur. By reading
them, he would find a world
where he had never gone before.
A world without T.V., radio or
stereo. This, his first thought,
would be terrible.
Harold spent the next 15 mi
nutes ignoring the calls o f his
grandfather while looking over
several of the pictures. Harold
saw one of a young bPy about
his age and looked on the bot
tom of the frame to see the
name Frederick Bobb. Harold
stared in dismay at the picture,
until the nPw ragged calls of his
grandfather bellowed again.
Harold found his way to a
rooiji which looked a little bet
ter than thè first room he had
seeh. There were four bright
light bulbs that lit the room
with a satisfying glow. There
was only one bed in the small
room which occupied a small
Corner just beside the window
that also gave off some light.
The small bed looked like a bot
tom part of a bunk bed. It was
covered with blankets that looked
similar to those in the living
room. There was à small dresser
with drawers pulled open to
shpw that it was empty. Harold
came to the conclusion that this
would be his very own room for
all the time he’d stay in Warm
Springs.
“This is your room,” Fred
told him in a low voice, “You
can put your things away then
go out back and chop, some
wood. Then it’ll be time to eat.”
Fred walked out of the room
without giving his grandson a
glance. His form was tall com
pared to any man of 64 Harqld
had seen before ...Usually *a man
would begin to lose his height
after a certain number of years.
But this man didn’t seem to
know the meaning of the word
old. He was constantly busy
and alwàys had to have some
thing to do. If dot, the did man
would sit reading one of the
many westerns or classics. This
was the strange things Harold
had first noticed. The man al
ways had a novel in his hand.
(Harold would dìscòver later
that his grandfather even read
while he ate.)
Harold put his clothes away
neatly in the chest that was just
barely big enough to accomo
date his wardrobe. Then he
turned in fear, and thought of
his next job. He had been asked
to chop the wood for the small
woodstove he had seen in the
living room earlier.
Harold had never had to chop
wood in his entire life. He wasn’t
sure if he knew how. Oh, yes, he
had seen people chopping wood
in the moviesi But, when you’ve
lived in New York City all your
life, the closest thing to chop
ping wood is turning up the
thermostat. How would he do
jt? Maybe he could- ask the old
man how io chop the wood,
then he could do the rest. No.
He wanted to prove to his grand
father that he was not the “softy”
his grandfather probably thought
him to be. He would chop the
wood on his own. Then, maybe
his grandfather would take
Harold’s hand and shake it. He
didn’t think so, but he’d at least
like to think so.
He walked out the back door
of the old house and the door
slammed behind him with a
hard “whack! ” He looked around
and saw an ax and several pie
ces of wood lying by a large,
slump—like block of wood.
, “Piece of cake,” Harold mut
tered as he casually strolled to
the work place.
It was not a piece of cake. In
fact, it took him more than 15
minutes to chop just one block
of wood. He turned, sweating
and his mouth dropped open in
an awe-like expression. There,
right next to the door of tjie
house, lay an enormous heap of
wood. It almost seemed to grin
at Harold in an “got ya’ now,
Harold old boy,” manner.
“Jesus!” Harold yelled. He
proceeded to chop the wood.
Three hours later, he com
pleted the task of chopping the
entire pile of wood. It was a task
of which to be proud. Why
didn’t I just answer the old man
back, Harold thought. What
could he do, whip me? Harold
shrieked out a shrill laugh that
cut through the summer day.
He was very proud of what he
had just done. His first wood
cutting experience. What a day
to brag aobut to the guys back
in New York, he thought.
Tiredly, Harold entered the
house.
The heat he already felt on
his body from the hot summer
sun increased when he felt, the
extreme heat inside the house.
He would have taken a shower
before eating, but his stomach
growled, telling him it couldn’t
wait any longer. He hadn’t eaten
since around six o ’clock that
morning and it was about 4:30
in the afternoon. He could sure
use a good meal now.
Slowly, Harold looked all
around the house looking for
his boss, G randfather Fred.
Harold finally found his grand
father lying'in the back room
with a novelin his hands, entitled
The Way It Is. With a fact that
was fully concentrated, Fred
looked up at Harold.
“I’m finished,” were the only
words Harold could mutter.
“Good,” said Fred. “Now you
can haul it in.” He turned back
to his book.
Harold’s face dropped in dis
appointment. He didn’t know
he was supposed to haul all that
wood in here. Where would he
put it? No questions, Harold,
just do it, his mind argued.
Harold turned, not blaming
his grandfather, but himself,
and left the room. As he walked
down the hall, he thought of his
next goal for that day.
End of the second installment.
Future editions of Spilyay will
carry subsequent installments.
Law enforcement career offers opportunity for Scott
by Pat Leno-Baker
“One thing about working as
a police special officer, at least I
always know what l am going
to wear to work each morning,”
stated Florene Scott. Scott went
to work as a part-time police
offifcer in January when she
transferred to the police de
partment from Allied Health.
A special officer works on an
on-call basis, working when
needed. During her first week
she was scheduled to take train
ing from training officer Cor
poral Robert Beatty. Her on-
the-job training was short-lived
and within two days, she was
assigned to work as the paper
server. The paper server is res
ponsible for serving court pap
ers to the public. The officer
who previously worked in this
capacity had to take emergency
sick, leave. Since that time, Scott
has been on the job full time.
Working for the police de
partment is not totally new to
her as she worked as a dis
patcher from 1966 to 1968. At
that time, she worked as a dis-
latcher as well as a matron,
cook and jailer. She said that in
the beginning, she had only
planned to work for a couple
days to assist her friend, Lola
Sohappy, who was also a dis
patcher at that time. The two
days turned out to be over two
years. According to Scott there
have been some changes in the
department since she last worked
there; there is now at teletype,
the use of military time (1300
for 1 p.m.), a jailer and a ,dis
patcher on each shift, more offi
cers and cars and the radio code
has been expanded.
There have been mixed reac
tions in the community on her
working as a uniformed officer,
according to Scott. Some peo
ple openly show dismay and she
isn’t quite sure why but for the
most part people have shown
they are glad to see an Indian
working in uniform. People have
told her “to hang in there,” “glad
to see you working in the police
department,” and “don’t give
up.” But most important, her
family has been very supportive
of her new job. Her husband,
Harvey Scott, has been most
.........WW
supportive and understanding.'
Her ten year-old son Jay thinks
it is great to have his mom wear
ing a uniform and driving a
police car.
Scott looks at her present
position as a beginning of a ne w
and interesting career. She likes
what Sheds doing and plans to
apply if arid when a full-time
slot .opens in the departments
Working allows her to be in the
cotnm,unity where she is able tq
see people:
On her first day of work, she
walked into the police station
and she said, “you could have
heard a pin drop, everyone be
came quiet.” But she didn’t have
time to mull jt over as.she was
immediately assigned her train
ing officer and they went o utto
begin her training. When she
returned to the station she was
greeted by officer Chris Still
who welcomed her back to the
department and shortly after
officer Bill Howland stepped up
and said, “welcoriie to the de
partment, Florene”—that was
all it took to “break the ice.”
She likes the people she works
&
with and puts her trust in them.
“They are there if needed and
that is what counts,” stated Scott.
Three of the officers Chief of
Police Ray Calica, Captain Ray
Shike and officer Gene Scott
and Scott worked together in
the 60*s.
W hen asked ab o u t Scott
working as a special officer,
Chief of Police Ray Calica said
that, he will offer an opportune,
ity fo r “any perspn who meets
the qualifications to expldre a
career in law enforcement.”
Upper photo— -Delbert “Boo
Boo” Blodgett (left)’ is served
court papers by police special
officer Florene Scott. Bottom
photo— The Warm Springs p o
lice department in1967at which
time Scott worked as a dispat
cher. Pictured (front row, left to
right) pre; Leroy Smith, Faye
Dick, Lola Sohappy, Florene
Scott, Gene Scott and Jeff San
ders; (back row, left to right)
George Clements, R a y Scott,
Dale Miller, Don Sohappy, Cap
tain John Moss, R ay Scott,
Danny Scott and Roscoe Smith.
f.