Indian lives her life so
as not to be a burden
By ERIC JONES
News Staff Writer
She's a full-blooded American Indian with
the emphasis on American.
In fact, tribal birth records indicate that
Esther LaBonte, 87, is the oldest living full
blooded Grand Ronde Indian. But some of her
most vivid memories come from the time of the
World War II, long after she had left the Polk
County reservation to settle in Douglas County.
During the war, Esther spent many a night
watching planes fly over Glide, She never
spotted any enemy aircraft but she did pass
along word that a German agent had entered
Oregon.
She picked berries to buy Liberty Bonds.
Four of her daughters worked as welders lii
Portland and her oldest son, Bob, died in combat
on a lonely island in the South Pacific.
Her favorite day of the year is Decoration
Day.
"When Bob died, it really brought the war
home to the people in Glide," she remembers,
her failing eyes closed against the late af
ternoon sun as she relaxes in her bed at
Springfield's McKenzie-Willamette Hospital.
Esther says the touch of flu that brought her to
the hospital is almost gone and that she'll soon
be returning to her small apartment on Main
Street.
"I can still thread a needle in the sunlight,"
she says, a smile dimpling her face. "I read ...
mostly detective stories ... and watch wrestling
on the television. I sit by my window and watch
the people go by."
Life hasn't always been so easy for Esther
Mary Jones LaBonte. '
Her mother, a full-blooded Klikitat Indian,
died in childbirth when Esther was 2 years old.
Thereafter, Esther lived in a Catholic school on
the Grand Ronde Reservation.
The Grand Ronde Tribe is a confederation of
many Indian tribes. Termimated in 1954, the
confederation is in the process of getting back its
recognized status from the federal government,
a status that tribal manager Marvin Kinisey
says will lead to many benefits for members.
Esther encountered prejudice in her early
days at the Indian school. But her recollections
aren't tainted by the bitterness one might ex
pect. "Some of the white people didn't like Indians,"
she says simply. "This one German boy wrote a
note about me and gave it to another Indian girl.
I found out and knocked him right onto the
teacher's desk," she nods, making a fist and
putting it on her jutting jaw.
She received a $200 settlement from the U.S.
Government when she turned 18 and left the
reservation, but the money didn't last long and
she was soon hard at work, splitting timber and
taking care of her mountainside property near
Roseburg.