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
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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