MARCH 1, 2002
Smoke Signals 3
He's A Vetenan, A Loggen And An Antist Neven Realized
Tribal Elder Russ Leno grew up in Grand Ronde, takes care of the cemetery.
By Chris Mercier
Silent types always tend to be enigmatic,
quite often because they've much to say,
but need all the prodding in the world to
tell. Grand Ronde Tribal Elder Russ Leno is a
perfect example.
You've seen him. He's the quiet man who
works in the Tribal cemetery, the one who feels
at ease with the solitude and serenity of the fi
nal resting grounds. Sitting there in his office, I
can relate. A silent satisfaction permeates this
piece of earth, a sense of sanctuary and finality.
We chat, mere feet away from buried souls, some
at peace and some not, many of them having
submitted their stories to other ears, others lit
erally having taken theirs to the grave. There,
Russ tells me his.
Some questions elicit a simple 'yes' or 'no.'
Other questions send him into ruminations I can
barely keep up with, frantically scribbling away.
Russ was born June 11, 1927 in this area.
Whether Grand Ronde or Dallas is his birth
place, he never really knew. In his childhood,
as now, it didn't truly matter. Either way, Russ
grew up in Grand Ronde, at a time when the
Reservation extended up to Highway 18 and
paved roads hadn't quite made their way over.
He had eight siblings seven brothers and one
sister. His father Dave was a carpenter and log
ger, his mother Emma Tom a housewife skilled
in farming and canning.
He still lives in the ancestral Leno home; the
rustic blue house built in 1940 located on the
curve along Grand Ronde Road just after the
elementary school. The same curve, in fact,
where Russ once almost met an untimely demise.
While walking home one night as a kid, he
was run over. A car barreled around the curve,
losing control and hit Russ straight on. He clung
to the radiator in front, while the car bulled
through a fence. Both his wrists were sprained,
but he laughs about the whole thing. Those were
the days.
The decade of his childhood, the 1930's, was
indeed not fruitful for any great segment of the
country's population and the Leno's were no dif
ferent. Few around here escaped the tendrils of
the Great Depression.
"Times weren't so bad back then," he told me
reflecting on his experience. "But compared to
now, they were."
The prosperity that came with World War II
also meant enlistment for many young men and
once again the Leno's were no different. Russ
enlisted in the United States Air Force during
L a S
i
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f .' fa
Kicked Back Tribal Elder Russ Leno spends his days taking care of the Tribal
Cemetery and telling tales of his younger days.
1945, following four of his brothers, and after
Germany had succumbed to the allied resur
gence and while Japan still hung on by a thread
for the sake of pride.
He was promptly stationed on Honshu, in To
kyo, working as a personnel clerk. In three years
he achieved the rank of Private First Class,
though his military career seems to have affected
him less than what he saw and experienced in
war-ravaged Japan. Of those he speaks freely.
"I got to see Hiroshima and Nagasaki after
they were bombed," he recollected. "Everything
was melted down to the ground. Not broken.
"I took some photos, but they got confiscated,"
he added. "I guess they didn't want people to
see what had happened."
Lots happened and not just in Hiroshima or
Nagasaki. For starters, Russ' military records
got lost, meaning that he went 11 months with
out getting paid for his services, forcing him to
borrow money and sell rations to destitute Japa
nese families in exchange for yen. But the up
shot to the bureaucratic miscue was that with
out records he was able to drift between bases,
hoping they were undermanned and needing a
few more hands to work with.
"When we'd get tired of work we'd pack up and
move to another base," he said.
Mechanic, clerk, engineer Russ worked all
manners of jobs before finding stability handling
records.
"In the office you'd get a lot of guys," he said.
"They'd been fighting, so they weren't very
happy people."
The environment probably didn't help either.
Away from the ruin, Russ told me, the Japanese
countryside could be quite striking, opening into
rice fields and tiny wooden huts. But near the
war zone it "looked like the end of the world."
And felt like it too, he explained to me. The
first "office" he worked in was a bombed out fac
tory. The windows had long been broken and
blown away and workers toiled away some days
in two or three pairs of clothing, the Japanese
winters maintaining a fierce reputation.
Russ made friends along the way though, get
ting to know many Japanese even if U.S. mili
tary regulations forbid interaction between sol
diers and residents. Surprisingly, being Indian
was not the source of any discrimination in those
pre-civil rights days.
"Oh yeah, the blacks sure had problems,
though," he said. "But the Indians, no. You know,
sometimes I think the other soldiers, they were
scared of Indians.
Must have been
they still thought we
were savages or
something."
Nothing pre
vented Russ from
having the time of
his life. His stories
are numerous, par
ticularly one he told
me about a GI beach
party. He and one
of his buddies met
two ladies, and
thought what a
great idea it would
be to take some
beers and hit up one
of the rafts. Well,
they knew nothing
of Japan's notorious
riptide and being a
little inebriated to
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RUSS AS A Young Man - Leno grew up in
Grand Ronde and had 7 brothers and 1 sister. He still
lives in his families' ancestral home on Grand Ronde
Road. Leno enlisted in the United States Air Force in
1945.
begin with, noticed little as the raft and occupants
quickly floated out to the high sea. While the
other couple opted to wait out a rescue, Russ and
his date elected to swim back. Or at least try and
swim back, not taking into account how draining
and tiring the ocean could be. The pair was liter
ally washed up on shore, exhausted to the point
of near-unconsciousness.
"I've never swam in the ocean since then," he
admitted.
His desire to ride in an airplane was also ful
filled, though not the way he dreamed of.
"I rode in a C-47 once," he said, referring to the
enormous transport planes of old. "The wings bat
ted up and down, and you couldn't hear a thing."
Which made him nervous of course.
"Yeah, you bet."
When Russ returned to America in 1947, he
began what would be a long career in the tim
ber industry, one that kept him in the region for
the rest of his life. He would live 20 years in
Tillamook, and even pass a year logging in Forks,
Washington.
A chance at another career arose once, one that
he still thinks of. Russ was a talented artist and
a newspaper in Sweet Home offered him work
as their cartoonist. But not thinking his skills
were especially unique, he declined. He hasn't
drawn in years.
Russ did start a family, though, marrying one
Helen Hegney and fathering five children in his
life Randy, Jackie, Ron, Rhonda, and Rusty.
It was through Randy, in fact, that Russ had
one of the most memorable adventures of his life
time. While serving in the Navy, Randy invited
his parents to make a three-day visitors' trip from
Seattle to Alameda, California aboard the U.S.S.
Enterprise, one of the largest and prized ships
in the U.S. Naval Fleet.
Russ retired from logging in 1980 and has held
a number of jobs since then. He has been at the
cemetery for nearly thirteen years now, prefer
ring to work instead of languishing at home,
even at the age of 75.
"I gotta be doing something," he said. "When
it's time to retire, I'll know."
Will he ever make it back to Japan?
"Probably not," he said. "But God, I'd do any
thing to see it now." H