Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Smoke signals. (Grand Ronde, Or.) 19??-current | View Entire Issue (Feb. 1, 2002)
FEBRUARY 1, 2002 Smoke Signals 5 Ila Dowd: A Legacy Of Love Is Left Behind Continued from page 4 necessity of remaining calm. And perhaps that's why for some people, she had such a profound effect. Dan Ham, one of her grandsons (the other being Alan Ham), could relate. "She was everything you would want a grandmother to be," he said, reflecting. "Whenever you visited she would always entertain you. You were her project." For Dan, visiting his grand mother was a welcome respite from the anxiety of growing up in Port land. A different world, he called it, and in 19S5 moved to Grand Ronde to escape a troubled personal life. Ila's presence made his transi tion soothing. "She helped me, she really did," he said. "She had such a stabiliz ing influence, especially when things were going real bad for me." Her piety impressed most, he said. Though she took him to church, and taught him the Bible. Ror Dan, Ila always set an example. Or bet ter yet, she was an example. "She was very Catholic," he said. "Very spiritual she spent every morning reading the Bible." She always wanted to get along with everybody, he explained, and that's probably what stuck with him above all. "She would have guilt if she thought something bad about any body," he said. "Really she almost never said anything bad about any one. But sometimes she would say something that wasn't really bad, but it wasn't nice, and she would be mad at herself." Dan and Ila had a rapport on many levels, one of them being humor. Their senses of humors were so simi lar that jokes were an ongoing affair, anytime, anywhere, and enough to draw reactions from onlookers. "We kidded around so much," he said. "People who didn't know us would think we hated each other because we were always making fun of one another. They'd say we were mean." Even her piousness wasn't off lim its, jokewise. Dan remembered one day Ila was made fun of because she claimed to have never imbibed alco hol in any form during her life. She was prodded to the point she grabbed Joseph's beer and took a swig. "She did, honestly," he said, laugh ing. "She took a drink and slammed it down and said 'There! Are you happy now? I've had alcohol.'" That wasn't the only time. As Joyce remembered just around last Christmas, while in church, Ila and her drank a small cup, a tablespoon at the most of red wine, for Com munion. "She was smiling," Joyce said. "I asked her what, and she said 'That's the first time I've ever had wine!'" As a matter of fact, Joyce ex plained to me, Ila avoided anything remotely unhealthy; she didn't drink, smoke and was a prodigious walker. That probably explains why the woman was in such star tlingly good health, even at the age of 92. Though she did struggle with glaucoma the last two years, no other affliction touched her. Only last year did Ila even experi ence arthritis for the first time. "I don't even think I ever remem ber her having a headache," Joyce said. "And I can remember her having her first cold, because she kept asking us what it was sup posed to feel like. She'd never had it before." Clean living, moderation, and kindness were calling cards for Ila Dowd, and it should come as no surprise that other family members came to emulate her. Tribal Elder Darrel Mercier, who grew up in the area, took after her immediately. "She seemed like a mother, re ally," he said. "All of the Hudson sisters made you feel at home." As a nephew Mercier was fortu nate to have spent nearly his whole life around Ila, a happy circum stance that had immense effect on his own questions about spiritual ity. Over time he came to admire her resolve, especially the ability to go years on end without missing church. "I admired her honesty and her modesty," he said. "But most of all I liked her relationship with the church. "A lot of her rubbed off on me," he added. "If I can, I never miss church." Ila had a knack for spreading her spirituality, or at the very least liv ing her faith to such a degree that she liked and respected what seems like most people. No wonder then that she'd made so many lifelong friends. For Tribal Elder Verna Larsen, Ila was much more than a friend, but almost like a lifelong compan ion, and for all purposes, family. Their friendship spanned more than 80 years. "We'd been friends since I was born," Larsen said. "If you hung around her long enough, she con sidered you family." Evidently, because although Verna left Grand Ronde numerous times during her life, returning and resum ing the friendship was automatic. Like no time had passed at all. "She was always so much fun to be around," Larsen said. "She al ways just laughed everything off." Some of the most fun times they'd had, she told me, had come recently. The two of them had gotten into the habit of making an annual pilgrim age to the Oregon State Fair, tak ing in acts like Willie Nelson and the Oak Ridge Boys, occasionally partaking in rides. On one recent occasion they both elected to try out the skyride, that pseudo-skilift that runs over the fair grounds. For some reason the operator didn't stop the lift as passengers were getting off, and Ila and Verna, thinking it was easy, hopped off the bench, only to stumble to the ground, slightly embarrassed. "I can remember Ila just laugh ing," Larsen said. "She looked at me and said We can't hop anymore.'" They shared many hobbies to gether, like walking ("I could never keep up with her."), crocheting ("She tried to teach me but I never learned."), and sometimes just go ing out for ice cream ("She always said 'My treat'.") Ila often caught a ride with Verna into McMinnville to shop, often stopping by the Dairy c - : y - v vv,rr ; .; . ' 1 ' ": ' . , . -. i J , 1 f , A' . i ) , i: y ' '1mmm y m Family Gathering Grandson Alan Ham pins a corsage on the lapel of Tribal Elder Ila Dowd at her granddaughter Francine's wedding to Dan Peterson. The wedding took place in July of 2000 at Spirit Mountain Casino. Queen to get hot fudge sundaes. Verna admired many things about Ila, obviously, among them the woman's vitality. She remem bered how Ila still brought dishes to the potlucks at St. Michael's, and helped serve food even into her 80's. It's an image supported by Joyce as well, who said her mother still insisted on cooking and prepar ing cakes or pies for the various Elders' functions, even though it wasn't really expected of her. "I'd tell her 'Mom, you don't have to bring anything,'" she said. "And she'd say she wasn't going to bring anything. But then when the time had come to go she'd have a Jell-0 salad made." I must point out, as did Francine and Verna, that Ila never learned to drive. And she never set foot in an airplane, even after an invita tion to celebrate Verna's 75th birth day in Hawaii. I write this not to paint her as old-fashioned, though some would definitely contend she was, but to emphasize just what a principled lady Ila Dowd was. "If she made you a promise," Larsen said. "She kept it. If she said she was going to do something, she did it." It was her steadfastness, really that makes many of us indebted to her. Were she not so devoted to her beliefs, and possessing of such a vivid and frighteningly clear memory, the revival of Chinuk jargon might have experienced some serious dol drums, for Ila was one of the last living fluent speakers the Tribe had, and undoubtedly one of the best. "Ha was very devoted to the Chinuk resurgence around here," said Lan guage Specialist Jackie Whisler. "She didn't want to see it go." Like Dan Ham, like Darrel Mer cier, Whisler was one of the lucky few who spent their childhoods around Ila, meaning that picking up the occasional tidbit of jargon was practically involuntary. "If they were gossiping and they didn't want us kids to understand it, they spoke Chinuk," said Dan, repeating almost verbatim the same experiences Whisler lived as a child. Dan was able to pick up a few words, mostly naughty ones, but he never really learned the tongue. But Whisler picked up words, and then some, in later years hosting classes in her home which Ila would show up to teach. Whisler can remember one in stance as a child when she snuck into the kitchen to get first crack at licking the cake batter from one of the bowls. Ila and Eula followed, which sent the young Whisler hid ing under the kitchen table. Over hearing the gossip, she snickered, and the two women, noticing, im mediately shifted their conversation into Chinuk. Over the years, Whisler said, Ila would ask her if she understood their conversations. "To me that was a sign of respect," Whisler said. "I thought 'Gradua tion!'" Ila needed little reason to start up a friendship, but either way her proficiency in Chinuk was a bridge to many more lifelong relation ships. Her mentoring was priceless, just ask Language Specialist Tony Johnson. And the occasions in which Ila was summoned to provide the Lord's Prayer in Chinuk are countless. She was a celebrity, really, a true local legend, and a living testament to the importance of personality and character. The Elder's meal site hasn't been the same without her. "There was something with Ila," said Tribal Elder Kathryn Harrison over lunch, while Mabel Gaston nodded in agreement. "It shone from the outside. You know how they say some people light up a room when they walk in? Well, that was Ila. "She was such a delight." An anecdote by Joyce perhaps best summed up Ila Dowd. One day long ago the Dowd family went to Rose Lodge to collect eels (lam preys). While Joseph tossed the snake-like fish onto the shore, Ila and Joyce calmly collected them. "That was just like her, you know," Joyce said. "Because she really hated them. She would can them, and cook them, but never eat them. She just hated them. But she never complained." Or like Dan pointed out. "Ila had her hard times, believe me," he said, alluding to some un told stories. "She lived a hard life. But she never let you know." B
