MARCH 1, 2000
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By Brent Merrill
f rand Ronde tribal Elder Orville Leno spent
I I ----most of his years in the woods as a logger. He
VLi saw some of the world while in the military
and remembers his days of growing up in Grand Ronde
fondly.
His memories of playing baseball in his youth are
shared with excitement and enthusiasm.
Baseball was the only game that mattered. Every
body in the community Indian and non-Indian
came to play. Respect was earned and life-long leg
ends were born.
Leno remembers playing kids from Siletz on a regu
lar' basis. He said the two teams would play, then
fight, then makeup and play again.
"Like Siletz," said Leno. "We used to go down there
and we would give them a go, and man they were hos
tile. We had to play ball and then we knew we were in
for a fight that's all there was to it. They were all
good guys though.
The next time we came there it was all a big joke,
you know," said Leno. "Or they would come here."
"They would want to know who was pitching that
day and we would tell them Moose (Andy "Moose"
Riggs). Then, we would let Moose warm up and scare
the hell out of them. Moose was wild."
Leno said the boys from Siletz were intimidated by
Riggs' shear size and pitching velocity. Riggs threw
wild and many times wasn't even close to the plate.
Many players were ducking rather than swinging the
bat.
"I never did bat against him, but I didn't have to.
Even to play with him you could tell how scary he
was. But, we had a lot of fun you would just be
playing around with him and he was just so big and
powerful. Of course, he didn't even know it."
After leaving school following the 1 1th grade, Leno
made a name for himself as a logger. Then, he went
into the service. He still keeps in touch with some of
his service buddies from New York, New Jersey, Texas
and Michigan.
"Some of the guys that I was in the service with,
there is not many of us left," said Leno, "they still
write every Christmas. They still keep track. Every
once in a while they send pictures. When I was in the
service I used to tell them I lived in a teepee. Yeah, I
used to kid them a lot just because I was the only
Indian. They all respected that though. Some of the
guys and I were together two and a half years. You
get to know each other. I joined up with them when
we were in Savannah, Georgia. I took infantry train
ing in Arkansas.
"They (the Army) wanted me to be a Teletype opera
tor," said Leno. "I was doing communications for dif
ferent outfits. Wherever they needed communications
they'd set us up. We went from Casablanca clear up
to Rome.
"I got to see a lot of it (the world)," said Leno. "A lot
of it I didn't like, but it's like I said we were survi
vors." Leno survived many battles and earned several com
mendations and honor medals. Leno took part in the
Angio Landing near the time of the Normandy Landing.
"I think I've got six or seven battle stars," he said.
"Some of them were good and others were just not what
you want to see."
He said the pictures of war have stayed in his mind,
but it is not something he chooses to talk about often.
"It (the war) was not very good," said Leno. "I didn't
mind. The hard part was the killing of somebody that
you didn't even know for no (apparent) reason. In war
nobody gains anything you both lose. No matter if
you win you lose. You lose ground. You lose people.
No matter which side you're on."
Leno said he has tried to forget some things.
"Oh, I think about them (memories of war), but I
try not to," said Leno. "When Reyn (Orville's son and
current Tribal Council member) went to Vietnam and
came back I decided it was a good time for us to get rid
of that (shared memories of battle). We talked and I
explained that we don't have to talk about this experi
ence yours or mine. We don't want to, so we don't."
His memories of growing up in the woods and spend
ing most of his life as a logger in the Northwest are more
pleasant. Leno said it was tough work, at times nearly
impossible, but he learned and he has no regrets.
For the first 80 years of the twentieth century, log
ging was the only way of life for most of the men in
Grand Ronde. Growing up in Grand Ronde meant
logging was what your grandfather did for a living
and your father and uncles and brothers and cousins.
Everybody worked in the woods or depended on some
one who did.
Leno remembers the days when his father logged
with a team of horses and saw the first motorized saws
come in to use.
He also remembers when he got started in the busi
ness. "There were so many good loggers around here that
I had to go someplace else to get myself situated," re
membered Leno of his beginning into logging and that
of his contemporaries.
"I went down around the other side of Tillamook to
that burn," said Leno. "That (working the Tillamook
Burn) was the big thing then. I was down there for 12
years. It is steep ground, rough rock bluffs. A lot of
places they used ropes to get back and forth, like moun
tain climbers. Everybody was young in those days
and we didn't care."
The veteran loggers put the rookie timberjacks
through a traditional routine of hazing while teaching
them the art of logging.
Just like in baseball, the veterans wanted to see how
much the young rookies could do.
"A little harder," they would say to Leno. "If you
can stand 'er."
The memory made him smile.
"Or they would make fun of you," said Leno. "They
thought it was fun."
Leno said the veterans made him a better logger by
prodding him to do better.
"They (loggers in Grand Ronde) were noted for being
the best loggers," said Leno. "I went down and worked
on the Redwoods for a little bit. I found out I didn't
want that. That was too big of timber. I tried climb
ing around on top of those logs, hell they were bigger
than this ceiling (10 feet or more across).
The fact that his inherited profession was by far the
most dangerous career possible at that time hardly
M
fazed him.
"Well, we didn't look at it like it was dangerous,"
said Leno. "More or less you wanted to get it done so
there was a lot of pride in your work," said Leno. "Big
ger, faster, quicker. The harder you worked, the bet
ter you were and then finally you could get a name
and go any place and go to work."
Leno remembered being asked to take on more of a
workload than others did because he was younger.
"They would give you something extra to do if you
were good at your job," said Leno.
Each logger had a job to do and they did it for the
most part without asking questions. They were a team
the yarder, whistle punk, the riggers and the
chokersetters.
He learned from the hard core loggers of the past.
They didn't stop for bad weather and they didn't slow
down for the new guys.
"No. It wasn't fun for me," said Leno. "But, it was
helping. Sometimes it was ever so cold. The weather
didn't matter. You went to work everyday."
He remembers logging in the deep snow and laying
behind logs to get shelter.
"Weather had nothing to do with whether you went
to work," said Leno. "Storm. Wind blowing. You
would lay down behind logs until the rigging got back
to you. That wind would blow 60 and 70 miles an
hour. We couldn't even wear our tin hats. We just
put a little skull cap on. We made just our living.
Never got rich. I don't think anybody had the intent
of getting rich. I went to work first in Murphy's Mill.
I went to work for 52 cents an hour. It was the wage."
He said the whole lifestyle of working in the woods
is dying out.
"Well, for this logging business it is," said Leno. "We
were just about lucky enough to get through it and
that is when it shut down. There used to be 10 or 12
mills right here."
Leno said he has seen a lot in his years and is proud
of the Tribe and all the things that have come to mem
bers since Restoration. He said he is glad tribal youth
will have an opportunity to succeed right after high
school when their trust funds mature.
Leno wishes young people could have known the woods
like he did, but now an education should come first.
"Find out what you want to do for yourself," said
Leno. "I'm not saying that logging wasn't the thing.
It was in our time."
Times have changed.
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Orville Leno (pictured here with members of his family) is one of six children born to David and Emma
Leno (Tom). He married Ramona McKnight November 20, 1947. Ramona passed away in 1994.
Pictured, sitting: daughters Barbara Steere and Darlene Aaron. Standing, from left: Margaret Peters,
sister; Merle Leno, brother; Orville; Russ Leno, brother; Marty Leno, son; Lonnie Leno, son; and Reyn
Leno, son. Photo by Tracy Dugan