Smoke signals., July 01, 2006, Page 8 And 9, Image 15

8 JULY 1,2006
Smoke Signals 9
Smoke Signals july i, 2006
A Family Love Sttoiry Wrapped! Dm A Maiircutt, A Square Da race And Eiiglhitteeiru Holes offGolltf
HUDSON continued
from front page
somewhere for an appointment.
He's always visiting Elders or
Tribal members in the hospital, at
rest homes or wherever."
Herman K. Hudson is the son of
Herman A. and Ella Hudson. To
some, he will always be Junior,
but "most still call me Herman," he
said. He was born in Grand Ronde,
but "I grew up, you might say, at
Chemawa (the Indian School in
Salem)." He lived there for many
years while his dad worked there
"as a bus driver, a truck driver,
everything for them" - but children
of employees were not eligible to
attend the school. So he went to
school in Keizer and Salem until his
junior year at Salem's North High
School, when he joined the Navy.
"It was during the war, you know,
and that was what you did, I guess,"
he said. "My uncles that I was
closest to went into the service, so
I did, too."
But he remembers his time at
Chemawa with the most fondness.
"I knew lots of people and you don't
have time for all the things I'd get
in trouble for."
"When I was small, going to the
hop yards was fun. It was a big
thing for the Indians of Grand
Ronde. You'd pick hops, play and
get in trouble."
"My grandpa, Tribal Elder Abe
Hudson, since passed on, was al
ways the field boss, and he used
me for an example. He'd tell me
i
I V
a.
. If
IS
V
- Vf
He Makes It Look Easy Tribal Elder Herman K.
Hudson enjoys a good golf game. Here at the Cross Creek Golf
Club on Highway 22, he shows his great form at age 81 .
to put the bags down and pick the
leaves out. He said I was 'a dirty
picker'."
The kids stayed in tents during
the picking season, and from the
time we quit picking until bedtime
was "time to fool around." But
come bedtime, his sisters were the
bosses of the tents because the
parents didn't stay there. And he
wasn't crazy about their bossing
techniques.
And then there were the visits
to Grand Ronde from Chemawa.
"Up until I went in the service," he
said, "we'd come back and forth to
Grand Ronde (visiting relatives).
It was a major thing. Sometimes
it took half a day. Sometimes, we
wouldn't even get here. Maybe
we'd have a couple flats. Maybe
the radiator would boil over."
"I remember little things at
home," said his younger sister,
Tribal Elder Gloria Hudson, "like
the Sunday meals and community
hall meetings and we'd have dances
and all the little children around.
Just that we were family-wise and
everything was really neat.
"I remember eating dinner and
my dad went to take abite of
chicken, and there was a bee on it,
and it stung him on the lips, and
his lips swole up. We still laugh
about that."
The Navy took her brother to the
South Pacific, 1942-45, where he
said he was on "the deck force." He
scrubbed decks.
In the service, he also learned to
cut hair. The ship's regular bar
ber was shipping out, so he taught
Hudson to cut hair and the Navy
was a good proving ground. "Out
in the South Pacific," he said, "they
didn't care much about how their
hair looked."
"Pretty soon," he said, "I got to
be a pretty good
barber."
At the time,
his ship was es
corting fleet oil
ers. "We'd tie up
. alongside that
oiler, and I took
my (hair cutting)
box out and put
a can out if they
wanted to throw
something in."
"The thing
that I most re
member when
we lived at Che
mawa," said his
younger sister,
Gloria, "he was
in the Navy. I
remember when
he came home,
it was wonderful
for me because
when he went
in I was in first
grade or so. I
remember how
proud and happy
I was when I had
my picture taken
with him in his sailor suit."
For many of the years since,
Hudson made a living at cutting
hair, and he did it in many places,
from Colorado to Coos Bay and
Yoncalla in Oregon to Puyallup,
Washington.
i V-J v Ml.
1 ' , v
Generations Tribal Elder Herman K. holds his oldest son, Tim and on the right is
Tribal Elder Abe Hudson, and Herman's dad, Herman A. Hudson, both passed on.
After the service, his dad, who
has walked on, was logging in Yon
calla and Drain, not too far off the
Umpqua River, "and that's where I
went," Hudson said.
He worked in the woods, he worked
at sawmills, "wherever I could get a
job," he said. "I worked out in the
brush on a rigging crew. A lot of the
time I was chasing landing, unhook
ing chokers, bucking logs. I was
never on a cutting crew, but I prob
ably cut as much in the woods."
"Logging was good money," he
said, "but you were always broke
down, or there was a shortage of
box cars. You were always laid off
for something."
That's also where he met his wife,
Joyce Miller. "She was going to
school with my sister."
"He married my best friend," said
sister Gloria. "I thought that was so
neat that my brother was going with
Joyce, but then I didn't think it was
so great because she didn't want to
spend time with me anymore."
When Joyce was very young,
four or five, said Hudson, she was
adopted by a Depression-era family
that left her with severe malnutri
tion. "It was tough times in the
early 30s for her and her brother.
She had a couple strikes against
her before she got into a good fam
ily," said Hudson.
In 1950, Oregon Veterans got a
bonus, and Hudson told his wife that
he wanted to use the money to go to
barber school, "and that's what I did.
Her folks and my dad helped me
when they could and in six months,
I was a barber. That's when I went
to Coos Bay. I worked in one chair
for ten years," he said.
The couple was in Coos Bay in
1954 when Termination came.
But after Termination, there
was not much to hang on to in
Oregon, and the Hudsons headed
to Colorado where Joyce's family
lived, and stayed for "more than
20 years, off and on."
"I took off from hair cutting and
went to work for three years help
ing drill the Ruedi Reservoir." It
sits along the Frying Pan River. "It
was a good job and good money."
With some money in his pocket, he
built his own barber shop in a little
Colorado town called Carbondale.
"The funniest memory I have of
my dad is when we went to Grand
Junction (Colorado) and went into
a store," said son Tim Hudson. "My
dad saw this lady carrying two bags
of groceries in her arms. He ran up
to her and said, 'Let me help you.'
He went for the door, didn't realize
it was open already, and he kept
going out into the parking lot."
It was 1980 before he returned to
the Northwest, this time to Puyal
lup, Washington. It was five hours
from Joyce's mom in Yoncalla,
in southern Oregon. It also was
nearby the Hudsons' daughter,
Kathryn, who lived in Puyallup.
In time, the Hudsons bought a bar
bershop there and ended up staying
for 17 years.
Joyce worked at the post office
nearby to make sure the family had
benefits and kept at it for all the
time they were in Puyallup. She
finally had to take early retirement
because of her health. And she did
not have an easy time of it.
"I know she found her peace with
God," said son Steve, "because I
found her Bible in the RV (after she
died), and her bookmark was in the
Book of Jobe."
But with Joyce's health failing, "we
bought a motor home and went on
the road," said Hudson. "She worked
hard all her life and only had a few
years of retirement. Damn it."
After two years traveling, Joyce
passed on and Hudson counted the
months on his fingers. "Four more
months and we would have had 50
years together."
Hudson lost his wife in 1998. And
then came back to Grand Ronde.
His children remember emphati
cally how their dad took care of
their mom in her last years.
"I think the thing I find to be
the true proof of what Dad is
made of is when Mom started get
ting sick," wrote Kathryn. "For
the many years that her health
was deteriorating, he was noth
ing but nurturing, attentive and
completely devoted to her care. I
am sure there were many hours
of frustration for him, but I know
he never showed it to her or to us.
He was always there for her no
matter what. Mom and Dad were
never much for organized religion
but I think they both, especially
Dad during that time and since
her death, are the true examples
of giving and caring and what a
true Christian spirit is about. Dad
is always there to help someone.
I have seen his gentle soul have
a calming ettect on cnu
dren, animals and adults.
I can only hope that if I
ever become as ill as my
mother was for as many
year as she struggled that
I will have someone at my
side that is as devoted as
he was to her."
"The main thing that
sticks out in my head
about my dad is the way
he took care of my mom,"
said Tim. "He took the
best care of her and
showed me the true mean
ing of love and caring that
will stick with me the rest
of my life."
"I admire him more
1 V
From left, Tribal Elders Abe
Hudson (grandfather), John
Warren (great grandfather)
and Herman A. Hudson
(father) in the hops fields.
than anybody in my life because of
the way he took care of her when
she was sick," said Tribal member
Steve Hudson, the Hudsons' young
est child.
"We used to say, 'If big hearts and
true love get you into heaven, then
they'll be together again.'"
Hudson continues to make the
most of that motor home and the
memories it holds. He takes it each
winter to Yuma, Arizona, where
spends his time playing golf and
square dancing, exactly what he
does up here the rest of the year.
"Every time he sees you, Her
man makes you feel like you're
the most special person," said his
cousin, Eleanor Anders of Eugene.
"He's got that ability to make you
feel very very special. He just
loves life to the fullest. He's a
good good man.
"As my grandfather Abraham
Hudson, used to say, he had 'a
sterling character.'"
Steve had a special lesson from
his father:
"He followed my music career,"
said Steve. "He was probably the
biggest supporter of my music. He
would always be reading the paper
to see what bands were doing, and
one day he told me, 'Son you've got
to find out who these guys' agents
are. This one band, Ka-roki, is
playing everywhere.' That's how
he pronounced it: Ka-roki."
"Through all my problems, self
induced and otherwise (see Smoke
Signals, 4102 issue), he was al
ways supportive of me. He loved
me when I didn't love myself."
"As in all families," wrote Kath
ryn by email, "there were rocky
times and good times, but I some
how always felt that Mom and Dad
were doing the best they could at all
times and no matter what we did or
what circumstances were surround
ing us, there was never one moment
of doubt that we were completely
loved and cared for."
"He also taught me that it's ok to
show some affection," said Steve,
"and it's ok to hug. He's the most
hugginist Indian I ever knew.
When he would come in the room,
(Tribal Elder) Val Grout would
stand up and say, T may as well get
this (hug) over with.'"
In the last week in February,
Hudson heads for Sun City in the
Phoenix area to watch the Se
attle Mariners and the San Diego
Padres warm up for the coming
baseball season.
"I like that hot weather," he
said.
Now back in Grand Ronde, Hud
son plays golf with any number of
friends, but frequently with Tribal
Elder Leonard Langley. Langley
tells the story: "It was at Battle
Creek (golf course), on the third
hole, where there's a big tree with
a hole in it on the right side of the
fairway. I told Herman, 'Go ahead
and hit, just aim for that big tree,
you won't hit it.' And he hit it and
it went right in that hole."
T
jT T r. i
I J- t . J - J ,
Herman K. and his beloved wife, Joyce
"When he messes up (on the
course), he says, 'I don't know why I
play this game.' Then he does good
and he's happy again."
For many years, Herman and
Joyce were a long way from family
and friends in Grand Ronde. To
day, he is back.
"His dad coached my dad in base
ball," said Langley, "but I didn't
even know Herman until he came
to the Elder's place. He's a wonder
ful guy. Never a mean thing to say
about anybody."
Today, Herman is living in Elder
Housing, a few houses down from
his sister, Gloria, who lived much of
her life in La Grande, Oregon.
"We go to lunch together most
of the time," she said. "We do a
lot together. We're going to the
rodeo together. We started out
together," and it was with mostly
joy and maybe a little sorrow that
she added, "and now we're going to
end our lives together."
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Herman K. as a boy with his father, Herman A. Hudson.
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