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Edith
&
Adele
Fisk
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
028
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
March
27,
2012
BaFle
Mountain,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hCp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 028
Interviewee: Edith and Adele Fisk
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: March 27, 2012
EF:
My name is Edith Louise Revere Fisk. I was born in Battle Mountain, Nevada, and I was
raised in Battle Mountain, Nevada. And haven’t been back for a lot of years! [Laughter]
AF:
My name is Adele Ina Crum Jooste Fisk, and I was also born in Battle Mountain,
Nevada, in 1925. And I came a long way since then, I’m going on my eighty-seventh
year, and I spent until I was nineteen years old, I left Battle Mountain for good; I only
went back there to visit my mother in later years. And for some reason, the Battle
Mountain, after I once left, it was never home any more. After Grandma passed away,
and all my relation all left, it wasn’t like it was going home anymore. But I, the few trips
that I did go back, I enjoyed myself, and like I say, everyone is gone now.
EF:
Now, the only time we go back to Battle Mountain is Memorial Day. We still have all of
our old, old graves there. And we need to find the old, old cemetery, because we have
family buried there, and it’s over by the airport someplace, but I can’t remember where
it’s at, and Adele can’t either. We need to find someone who knows where that’s at,
because we do have family there, and we’re the only ones who goes to the graves in our
family, anymore. When—and I don’t know about Adele, but I was born in Grandma’s
house—our Grandma, Emma—at her house, and she delivered me. And Grandpa was
hoping for a boy, and I was a girl, and when she said—“Oh,” she said, “Oh, we’ve got a
girl!” And Grandma went, “Aw, heck!” [Laughter] She didn’t want a girl! But Grandma
was neat. And you know, there were a lot more Native people there when I was little.
And we—and Grandma was also a midwife, you know. She delivered quite a few babies
in Battle Mountain. And then in later years, the town expanded, and they moved her to
the Colony. When I was little, she lived at the edge of, let’s see—it would be the south
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edge of Battle Mountain. She had a little house, there. I guess that’s where the Indians
lived before. I’m not sure. Adele, do you know?
AF:
Mm-mm.
EF:
But then, when she moved to the Colony—bless her heart—she lived by Minnie Leach
and Minnie Tybo. And those three ladies would go shopping, walk to town—about a mile
from the Colony to town—and do their shopping. And they’d sit in front of the Lemaire
Store and rest before they took the long walk with their groceries back home. And I never
learned the language, because my father was a white man. However, he spoke better
Shoshone than I do. [Laughter] But you know, we didn’t talk it in our home. And Mother
used to tell me, “Now, Grandma and Minnie and Minnie are over there, sitting in front of
Lemaire’s store. Now, you be polite, and go over and say hello to them. And be sure and
say hello and talk to them in Shoshone!” Which I tried. And I did. [Laughter] You got
anything?
AF:
Yeah, it’s a little, talking about where Grandma lived. That belonged to the Altenbergs,
that was their property. And when Grandma went to work at the washhouse for them,
they told her she could live there as long as she lived. Which she had planned on living
there. Then when Mrs. Altenberg passed away, her heirs asked Grandma to move. They
told her she didn’t have a deed to the property, and she had to move. So that’s when she
moved to the Colony. And the old cemetery you’re talking about, I don’t know where it’s
at, either. Charles Lemaire was going to take me there, but we never got around to
finding it. He knew where it was at. But my great-grandpa is buried, my great-great
grandfather’s buried there, and also my father Jim’s brother. He was killed by a white
man when he was a young man, going across to the bridge at the river there. He was
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going on a horseback, apparently on a stolen horse, and he was shot there and killed.
Well, he’s buried at the old cemetery. And I attended the little one-room Indian school.
At the time I was growing up, we still had prejudice, and we weren’t allowed to go play
with the white children. We weren’t allowed to associate with them. And I had a white
stepfather, so that the Indian children ignored me, and then the white children wouldn’t
play with me on account of my Indian mother. So I was sort of in betwixt and between,
and I grew up more a loner. I learned how to read, and I spent all my time with my nose
in a book, which I still do today. I still read a lot. And, so we, I didn’t, I always was
alone. And yes, Grandma was a midwife, and she was the last child—Louise’s last child,
she delivered. And she said, “This is the last time I’m going to deliver. I’m not delivering
any more! From now on, you’ll have to go to the white hospital, have someone else
deliver your children.” And then, she never delivered any more children. Louise was the
last one. And they asked her to. [Laughter] Because Grandma, she could take care of her
animals, see if they need taking care of. Why, she used to doctor people’s animals, and
she doctored the people along with it. So she was quite learned in a lot of things. She
knew a lot. And I was always so fascinated with all the things, and I was a nosy kid. I
asked everything! Always want to know this and that. “Tell me this!” “Tell me that!”
And Grandma said to me, “When you come to my house, you speak Shoshone! You
don’t speak English!” I’d go home, my stepfather said, “Now, we’re you’re in the house,
you’re not going to be little Indian. You’re going to talk English!” So I’d have to sink or
swim. I’d have to learn how to speak both—and do it properly, too! [Laughter]
EF:
When I was in grammar school in the [19]40s, there was still prejudice. Even though we
were in the white school—the Indian school had been closed before. But the restrooms,
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they had one stall that was marked “Indian.” And that’s what the Indian kids had to use.
And so… But we were treated pretty good, by the white kids, by the time we were in
grade school. Not like when they were in the Indian school, you know. They were
isolated from the white people. But…
C:
How big was the school there?
EF:
Oh, gosh! We probably had, maybe, ten or twelve kids in each class, and it was first
grade through eighth. Uh-huh.
AF:
Yeah, Everett Buford was the only one in the eighth grade, and we started out in the first
grade. And Mrs. Estes taught all the grades. Everything. We learned everything.
EF:
She cooked, and—
AF:
She taught us to sing, she taught us our math, she really—and she could handle them, too,
where a lot of the substitute teachers come in, they couldn’t handle the Indian kids. But
Mrs. Estes made us study! Now, I mean, she had the ruler, too, and she used it!
[Laughter]
EF:
And she fixed lunch, too.
AF:
Yes, she also prepared our lunch. And Everett would be our teacher, he’s at the teacher’s
desk while she’s preparing lunch. And someone was chose to go and put paper towels on
the desks, and pour our drinks, and we all had to line up and wash up before we’re
allowed to eat. And she was, she taught us a lot of hygiene, too. We had to—and she did
everything for us. And then, when the doctor came to give us our shots, she made sure we
were held down so we wouldn’t move! [Laughter] That way, the doctor give us our shot
in our arms. And then, also, we had to go to Winnemucca, to the dentist. And all the
Indian children had to go there. I couldn’t remember who took us. I guess it was the
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health nurse, we had a county health nurse. And she would go out into the different
Indian homes and visit, and if they had new babies, she’d make sure they had a birth
certificate.
EF:
That was Miss Kelso. Was that Miss Kelso?
AF:
Yeah, that was Mrs. Kelso. And she made sure that the children had their birth
certificates, and she weighed them and took all the vitals down. And she was really,
really good. She was good with everyone. And she would tell the mothers how to carry
themselves after childbirth. I remember, like I said, I was a nosy little kid, and I’d hide
and listen to everything that was going on. [Laughter] And I’m not nosy like that
anymore, but I still like to know what’s going on. But Grandma, I’d say, “Grandma, tell
me this, tell me that! Oh, tell me what happened years ago!” But she’d get started
sometimes, and she’d get sidetracked and forget all about me. But she was good about
telling me things. And she never got impatient. Very seldom got impatient with me. But,
and Grandmom had given birth—Myrtle was her stepchild, when Myrtle’s mother died in
childbirth.
EF:
Now say, tell who Myrtle was. Say who was Myrtle. Norm’s—
AF:
Myrtle Dick Cavanaugh. She was Grandpa’s oldest daughter. He was married to a
Shoshone girl, and she was quite young, and she died in childbirth when she gave birth to
Myrtle. And Grandma was living with Grandpa’s two sisters, Suzie and Annie. I
remember them very well. And Annie married Kuttsaahwene [11:24]. They called him
Frying Pan Johnny, but his real name was Johnny Jones. And the other sister married
Piasappeh [11:31]. Bill Cheeney was his name. And neither sister had any children,
because as young girls they were raped by white men, which left them sterile. Well
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anyway, Grandma lived with them. She was an orphan. And after Myrtle’s mother died—
I don’t know her name, if she, whatever her name was, I don’t remember. If they did tell
her name, I don’t remember. But after, when she was still a baby, Grandpa married my
Grandma, and she took Myrtle and raised her as her own, and then she and Grandpa had
ten children. And of the ten children, only three survived to adulthood and had children.
Jimmy—I remember him, he was her youngest child, I think he was born in 1918. And he
died in Stewart of appendicitis attack. And he was her last child. I believe he was born in
1918 or 1916. I have a picture of your mother holding him in her arms when he was a
baby. And, all of her children died young. And all the names are written down, what they
died of. But they didn’t survive very long. But the oldest daughter next to Myrtle was
Lizzie. She was the one that married Charlie McKee. And that’s where the McKees and
the Charles came in, on that side. And then, Charlie and Lizzie had five daughters. All
they had was five daughters. And that’s where the daughters come, Virginia Jones, that’s
where all the descendants of them. And then, the other sister was Ina, she had four
children. She had three daughters and a son. And Mom had three sons and a daughter
with my father, and then Louise with her second husband. And then Louise was born ten
years after me. So there’s that much difference in our age, though. But she was a baby,
and I remember her real well and how spoiled she was as a child.
EF:
Who, me? [Laughter]
AF:
Just real spoiled. [Laughter]
EF:
Yeah, those were good years. I remember, like she said, Frying Pan Johnny, and Susie,
and Kuttsaahwene [13:58], and… Annie and Susie used to make baskets, and where we
lived in Battle Mountain, there was an artesian well, and lots of willows grew back there.
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So they didn’t have to go to the river to gather willows. And they used to stop by when
they were cutting willows for their baskets and stuff. And they were little, tiny women.
They were so tiny, really short. When I was just a child, I was as tall as they were. They
were really tiny. I remember that of them, that they were so short and small.
AF:
Yeah, they were. Uh-huh. And Susie was a laundress for what’s-her-name, the King is—
what’s her first name? Anyway, the Kings, she was doing laundry for them, and at that
time they had those old clotheslines that were twined, you know? Those old-time
clotheslines? And she was hanging clothes one day, and the clothesline broke and hit the
ground, hit her in the eye, and blinded her in one eye. And several years later, she became
blind in the other eye. So she remained blind until her death. And, after her husband
passed away—someone murdered him. He had a rope tied from her cabin to the
outhouse, so she could throw on the rope and find her way. And after her husband passed
away, one February, someone cut her rope and she couldn’t find her way. She got lost out
in the sagebrush, and they found her frozen to death the next day. That happened
probably in the [19]40s. And then, Annie, the other sister, she passed away at home, at
the home of her stepdaughter who was—what was her name, now? Alma Joaquin. Alma
Joaquin was her stepdaughter. Like I say, they never had children. And she, they found
her dead one morning. She had died in her sleep. And that’s how both sisters left. And
then, Grandpa—I think Grandma said he died of pneumonia. Grandma said he went out
to work, and he came home ill, and they couldn’t save him. That was Grandpa Dick. And
then she married John Hanks, who was from here. And he passed away sometime in the
[19]40s, the middle [19]40s.
EF:
He’s buried in Elko here.
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AF:
Yeah, he’s in Elko here. And Grandma lived on and on until they figured she was a
hundred and two. But I remember when she passed away in Elko, when we went to see
her, your grandma was sitting there at the head of her casket. She was rubbing her head.
And I said to Mother, I said, “Who’s that lady sitting there rubbing Grandma’s head?”
She said, “That’s my sister Myrt.” I said, “Oh!” Then it kind of all fell into place, and
then I realized how the relationship was at that time. And then, Lida, your mother used to
write to me all the time. I used to—I had whole pile of letters from her. I guess they got
lost somewhere. But she used to write me the most interesting letters! [Laughter] Yeah,
and we were quite close, because we used to play together as children when we were
small. She was younger than me. We used to play. We we came to Battle Mountain to
visit, but we always [17:18]—
EF:
They split our families up when they moved so many of them to Owyhee. So most of our
relation went to the reservation then. And so, I didn’t know a lot of them when I was real
little. And when I got older, my mother and I used to come to Elko and catch the stage.
That first stage was like an Army truck with the canvas on the back. And we’d drive that
to Mountain City. And then, there was another stage that took us from Mountain City to
Owyhee—or sometimes relatives would come and pick us up. Forrest Shaw would come
and pick us up. And, when Grandma got real old, and needed care, our mother was
working—she was alone then. She and my father were divorced, and she was supporting
herself and me, because I was little, still. And so, Edith Shaw and Forrest came and got
Grandma. And they took care of her in Owyhee for the rest of her life. Yeah. And see, I
never knew my brothers, because her dad took the boys, and they moved to Owyhee—
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AF:
I didn’t either! I didn’t know I had brothers! Anyway, they had grown up into young
men. And they went into the service. And Earl was the first one that Aunt Jessie, who
was my father’s sister, took him aside and says, “You have a mother. She lives in Battle
Mountain. She’s very much alive.” Because their father always told the boys their mother
was deceased. So anyway, “So you go and see her.” So, our mother said one day, she saw
this young Marine coming across, and she said, “I wonder who that young man is. He
must be lost.” He come knocking on her door, and she still didn’t know who he was. And
he said, “Are you my mother?” And she said, “Well, who are you?” “I’m Earl.” So I
guess there was an emotional reunion then. And then, Charles was the next one to come
and see her. And Charles was just a little bit upset with his father about not telling him
about Mom. And for a while there, he didn’t have much to do with his father. And he
spent all his time with Mother, learning all the things that he missed out on when he was
growing up. But I do remember Ray. Ray was the oldest one. I remember when I was
small, he used to come from the Colony. He’d come over and pick me up and carry me
home. I just, I must have been about—I was only about three years old. He’d carry me
home, and I’d play all day there at my Grandma Annie’s place. And then when it was
getting dark, toward evening, he’d carry me home. And that went on until they moved to
Owyhee, and then I never saw them again! And then, I never met my father until I was
already married and had a family. And so, I went to Owyhee to visit. And I thought, “I
wonder how things are going to be.” And it was just a wonderful reunion! He came right
over, and he shook hands with mother, and he was giving the kids presents, and giving
them arrowheads, and digging out things that he had, and he gave them. And he gave me
a diamond ring. And he was just digging out all kinds of treasures. [Laughter] And
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anyway, that was my first reunion. And before I got to know him, he passed away. Before
I really got to know him. So we were kind of split-up, mixed-up family. But I had a good
stepfather.
C:
So what was your father’s name?
AF:
He was good to me.
EF:
Tell him your father’s name.
AF:
Oh, Jim Crum. Jim Crum was my father’s name. And he had a brother by the name of
Jim Crum. They called him “Big Jim.” He was the one that was killed by the white man
when he was a young man.
EF:
I was kind of split between two worlds, because Mother was Native and my father was
white. And, it’s really funny, but the white kids treated me better than the Indian kids did.
Of course, I can see why. Because we lived in town, and we had, probably had more than
the kids on the Colony. And I never knew—Mother would say, “What happened to you at
school today?” And I’d say, “Well, So-and-so and I had a fight.” And she’d say, “You’re
not supposed to fight with her, she’s your relative!” And I’d say, “I didn’t know she was
my relative!” [Laughter] And, yeah. And I found out that we were related to a lot of
people. Nearly everybody on the Colony, there was some kind of tie. And then of course,
like I said, when I was about eight years old, that’s when I met a lot of relatives from
Owyhee. That’s when I found out that her father lived there, and he was a policeman
then. And that I had brothers, but I’d never seen them. And Edith and Forrest, that’s
usually where we stayed. Because they had more room. Then, I didn’t known Cinnabar
was my cousin, Raymond Cinnabar was my cousin, and then you guys are relatives, and
Dan—what’s his name?
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AF:
Blossom.
EF:
Dan Blossom was—because he and the McDades, one of their boys. He used to play with
their boys. And they just lived down the road from us, because they had a white father,
too. Gracie and Clarence and them. And anyway, Dan and Gracie’s oldest brother, they
were kind of close to my age. So we kind of played together when we were kids. Because
we all played out in the sagebrush in those days! [Laughter] And that’s about the extent
of it, I guess.
AF:
Now, I found out that my daughter-in-law, her grandma’s name was Rosie Winnop. And
they were Paiute. And there’s a relationship between the Cinnabars and the Winnops.
Which made my daughter-in-law and my son distant relation. [Laughter] So, that was
interesting! So, we were doing our genealogy, and she said, “Frank! Are you related to
me?” And we looked around and, “Oh, yeah! There’s a relationship.” And then, when
Vivian did the genealogy for me on her part, we found where the relationship came in.
And that was interesting. Yeah! And from that time on, she thought, “There’s no one like
Anita.” And Anita hasn’t written her lately, so she wanted to try to get down and see her.
But that was interesting. And then, her grandfather, they call him Indian Ike. He was
murdered by the whites for his gold. He found a gold mine out of Imlay. And as the white
people, the white men, they followed him, and they found where his gold was, and they
killed him. And so anyway, Louise and I, we looked up the newspapers and found out
about what happened to him. But they didn’t refer to him by name. They referred to him
as “the Indian.” “The Indian did this,” “the Indian did that.” “The Indian” was blamed.
But he was shot in the back, though! So anyway, it was really interesting to me, because I
was so interested in family history. And like on the other side, I did their family history
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clear back to where they started from in England. And I think possibly they went back to
Scandinavia. I think that was where they originated, was in a Scandinavian country. And
then, I did my Indian side, I found out through my husband, that his mother was almost
half Choctaw. And I have a picture of her, and she shows it very much. And then, this
writer of the Cherokee alphabet, there’s a relationship there through marriage. Through
the Fisk side. So, that was interesting. So, and I started with my Indian side, then I let
Alan take over because of his, that little bit—I didn’t have time for the research, or else I
was too lazy to do it anymore. But took me thirty years to do the other side! And all that’s
genealogy. All of that is genealogy. And there’s more that I’ve collected over the years.
C:
So, what do you remember about Raymond Cinnabar’s dad and his family?
AF:
I don’t remember much about Raymond except for what little bit he told me. Now, see,
like I say, I didn’t meet my family until years later. And when I went to Owyhee, then all
this relationship fell in. But I do have all that Vivian gave me on the relationship there. I
do have all that written down. I have it all in my little filing cabinet. I have the Indian
thing separate from the other. And I do have all that. There is relationship, and there is a
grave in Winnemucca under a tree. And that would be the relationship on Anita’s side,
and on Raymond’s side. I think he said that was—was that his mother, did he say? I can’t
remember. Well, anyway, and that was also related to Anita. And so, it was through the
Winnops. They were Winnops. And I do have all that written down, was when Vivian
was—oh, this has been twenty years ago or more that she wrote all this down for me.
And I still have it. And then we have the family group she’s made up where they all came
together on my side, and on their side. So, it’s really interesting. Then I have, starting out
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with the Dicks on down on that side, then I have the other side where the Winnops and
on down on their side; where they all meet together.
EF:
Where they connect, yeah.
AF:
Well, that’s quite interesting history.
C:
So did you both graduate from Battle Mountain, then, or was there a high school there,
or—?
EF:
Yeah, there was a high school there. I went to high school there. Uh-huh.
AF:
Did you grad—where’d you graduate?
EF:
Oh, I got a C.E.D.
AF:
Oh, you did, huh? Uh-huh.
EF:
Yeah, because I got married, and then—but they still, I’m still in that class, you know.
When they have reunions.
AF:
I completed the eleventh grade, but I never finished. I could have got a G.E.D., because
my daughter-in-law was a high school teacher. Kept saying, “Grandma, get your
G.E.D.!” “Oh, I will, I will!” She went and mailed the books, and I studied it for a while.
Said, “You can do it! You’ll graduate with your granddaughter.” I thought, “Well, I don’t
want to graduate with my”—hepitsoo up there on the stage with all those young kids! I
wouldn’t do it! [Laughter]
EF:
Everybody does it now.
AF:
Up there in a cap and a gown there in my old age! Because I was in my sixties then, I
went back to school. And she was my teacher. So I took up Spanish, and I took up
literature. I took up genealogy, and what else did I take? Nevada history. I took
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something else. And I enjoyed it, I had lots of fun! But I never went on. Oh, I took piano
lessons, too. [Laughter] I learned to read music, I never learned to play the piano!
EF:
Well, back what—
AF:
Oh, I can play a little bit, or on the organ, but I never—I lost interest. There’s just too
many things I wanted to do, and I couldn’t do them all!
EF:
See, back when we left school, back in the [19]50s, we could go to—like, I went to
business college. And we could go on even without a diploma, because it was different
then. But then, later on, when I went and got my…
C:
So, where did you go to business college?
EF:
I went to Henager’s, in Utah. In Ogden, Utah. Because we lived in Utah. I was married
before, and my first husband worked for the railroad. He worked in there, and his family
was in Utah. And so, I just went and signed up, and went to school! [Laughter]
AF:
It was so strange. I was getting ready to go to school. This old man came over to visit my
husband at the time. And he said, “Where are you barging off to?” I said, “I’m on my
way to school.” He said, “What are you learning?” I said, “I’m learning English.” He
said, “Well, you seem to speak English pretty well.” So I left it go at that, and went on to
school. [Laughter] It was fun. I enjoyed school second time around. It was too bad I
didn’t go ahead and go a little further. But then, I’m busy with the kids and grandkids and
everything, so I just didn’t. Yeah, I just thought that I didn’t lose interest. I enjoyed it.
Because like I say, I do a lot of reading, and lot of studying on books and stuff, and I’ve
always got my dictionary handy. And then, I still like to read, and I still like to play with
my dictionary. And I still like to do word games.
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EF:
Well, you know, I did a lot of other things, too. When we lived in Wendover, my
husband, Walt, was in the fire department. And at that time, the EMTs, they were starting
to get EMTs to go on the ambulance. Well, they had all these firemen signed up, and paid
them money, and two of them didn’t go on the day they were supposed to go. So, another
fireman’s wife and myself, we went and took that course. So, I was an EMT for, like, 18
years. I worked in Wendover and in Wells. And so, I got a lot of, you know—I’ve done a
lot of things without a good education!
AF:
I did too. I took a home nursing and care of the sick. I took that and got a certificate in
that. But I never took care of the sick unless I took anyone home or something, but I
never pursued that either. Oh, and I also worked in a shipyard. I went to welding school,
and did some welding. That was fun. And I enjoyed that. I worked in the marine
shipyards over in California. And I went to join the boilermakers’ union. Welding way is
cool, finally I got enough burns on my chest I got mad and quit! [Laughter]
EF:
Well, those things happen! Yep.
C:
So, when you guys were with your—is it Grandma Emma?
EF:
Yeah.
C:
What—did she share any of our Shoshone cultural stories, or anything along our customs
and ways of lifestyle, I guess?
EF:
Not really. She worked all the time when I was growing up. She did when you was little,
too.
AF:
Yeah, she did when I was growing up. But I used to ask her things, and she would tell
me. She’d sit down and tell me. And, it was mostly about her own family, and some of
the things that she did, and how she was afraid of the white people. And she was telling
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me one time, she was doing laundry for this person, or these people, rather, and she said
they put a tub of water on to heat for the wash water. And she said their child, who was
about two or three years old, ran and tripped and fell in that tub of boiling water.
Grandma said she just knew that she was going to go to jail. So she said she ran and hid.
So she hid for two days. And they searched for her, and searched for her, and they finally
found her. So the mother of the child said, “Emma, it was not your fault. It was an
accident. You didn’t do it.” So Grandma said she quit her job. And she had to—she said
she had nightmares over it that worried her. And I know she was always deathly afraid of
that, having her water boil outside, but she always did, because it was the only way she
had to heat water. She always made sure I didn’t go near that tub of water. Because,
being nosy, I had to go poke it with a stick to see how hot it was! [Laughter] And then, I
know she used to tell me, and we used to go getting ‘zips’ [tsippi], you know, and pour
the water in there, and Grandma would hit ‘em in the head. I never cared to eat them,
though. But I remember her cooking the rabbits. And making her bread. She used to
make the best bread in the ashes, without any pan she would make them! And it had to be
a certain kind of ash that she used. And that ash would burn down, and she’d take her
dough and throw it right on the ashes, cover it up. And when it was done, she’d take her
apron, she’d clean all the ashes off, and break it in pieces. Oh, it was delicious! And the
ashes didn’t penetrate the bread. It was just on the outside. But she said it had to be a
certain ash. I don’t know what. Then we used to dig yuteka. And they were little roots
about this long.
EF:
Yes, I remember that.
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AF:
And we had to dig and dig and dig, and they had a brown bark on them. They would peel
that bark off, they’d eat them. They had kind of a sweet taste to it. They were good. But
remember? We used to dig yuteka, too. What else we used to dig?
EF:
We don’t know where it grows, now. We’ve never found it for years.
AF:
No, we’ve never found it!
C:
Oh, man!
AF:
I knew it had a flat leaf, and it grew about this long. [Indicates 4-5 inches.] And I was
wondering if that’s what they call yampa, if that’s the same thing.
EF:
I don’t know!
AF:
I don’t either. But I do remember they called it yuteka, and we used to dig them all the
time. I remember we’d dig quite deep. And of course, the wild onions. And we used to go
fishing all the time. We used to gather all our gear.
EF:
Oh, Grandma was a great fisherman!
AF:
[Laughter] And we’d go a long way! Seemed like we were miaking and miaking for ages!
Then we’d finally get to the river. And Susie was blind at that time, but she always
filtered that river water. She always dug a little hole there just about so far from the river.
And the water would seep in there, and that was drinking water. And then she would boil
it until we had drinking water. But, I remember little blind Susie doing all those things.
She used to make bread and stuff like that. But if it wasn’t for Kuttsaahwene, she
wouldn’t have got by. Because he watched her, and took her to town, until he passed
away and there was no one to look after her. Grandma did. Grandma check on her every
day. And Minnie Leach, also. Until, like I say, someone cut her rope, and she froze to
death.
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C:
So, who were some of the families, the old families in Battle Mountain, besides the
Leach?
AF:
Let’s see. There was Kuttsaahwene, who was Jones. And that Leach was his sister.
Minnie Leach was his sister. And then there was—now, let’s see. I don’t know who.
Frying Pan Johnny was from, what’s this place out here? Palisade. He was from Palisade.
I don’t know how the two met, but he had family in Palisade, she said. But I’ve never met
them. And then, Grandma of course. She had her family, and her granddaughters married
men in Owyhee. That’s how they all settled in Owyhee. And Dad never married until he
was an old man, and he married this, I don’t know who she was. But I met her once. And
he married her in his old age. And to this day, I don’t know who she was. And Charles,
my brother, had married, but he never had a family. Of course, Earl married Beverly.
What’s her last name? Beverly, Beverly.
EF:
Premo.
AF:
Premo. And on the Shaws. And let’s see. Edith married Forrest Shaw. And her mother, of
course, was Grandma’s oldest daughter, Lizzie’s daughter. Like I say, they had the five
daughters. And they were all people in Owyhee. Of course, I have lots of relations there,
that I don’t know who they are. When we had our family reunion, I didn’t know any of
them!
EF:
I didn’t know half of them.
AF:
Gosh, there were a lot of people there! And I didn’t—I just knew those immediate ones,
like my brother’s family. But the rest of them—but there were, oh, a lot of people there.
And they were all related. And I’ve got pictures of mine, not too long ago, one of my—
let’s see, he would be my cousin’s son. He came over and identified a lot of them for me.
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I didn’t know who they were, so he wrote the names all down for me. And they were all
on—they were the Shaw side. And, but I had all the pictures taken at this reunion, and I
didn’t know them!
EF:
Yeah, we didn’t know a lot of people.
AF:
Just our immediate family, we knew. And in Battle Mountain, we really didn’t—
EF:
Ina was our only family.
AF:
We had a lot of relation there, but we didn’t really know how close they were. And then
after they were all gone, Mother said, “Well, that was So-and-so, that was my so-and-so,”
you know, and everybody had it written down because didn’t know who they were, you
know?
EF:
I think one reason why was because Mother married a white man. And a lot of them were
kind of afraid of him. They didn’t come around.
AF:
Uh-huh, yeah. And Grandmother’s always busy working, she didn’t have time. The only
time she had time to visit was when they came to the washhouse to visit with her. And I
do have a lot of pictures that my dad gave me. There’s a few I can’t identify, but most of
them have been identified. And then, there’s the Cerlene Mosh who lives across the
street. Now, she is related to me through my grandma Annie Crum. Her brother—
EF:
—there was a Paradise.
AF:
See, their daughter married a Paradise. That’s where all the Paradises come in. And I
have most of their names written down, but anything else, I don’t know them. And then, I
used to hear from the one that lived in McDermitt, what was his name? He was related to
you. He was… I guess he was, to you he would be your uncle?
C:
Art.
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EF:
Art.
AF:
And he wrote stories, and… What was his name?
C:
Art.
AF:
Yeah, Art. He used to write to me, too. Yeah. He wanted to know if I’d share some of
Mother’s tapes with him, but then we never did get together, and then he passed away
before we ever got the things together that we were wanting to get together. And we
never did that.
EF:
Yeah, Mother was the storyteller.
AF:
Yeah, she was a storyteller. And then we had, I had a shoebox full of tapes. I gave them
to Alan. That was when they were, a lot of them were so brittle because I had them for
years and years. And then Earl had a bunch made up. So anyway, Earl was the one to get
all these stories out of Mother. Like I say, sometimes she told us when she felt like. And
we were children when she told us the little story that we liked, our favorite stories. She
told us. And I, in turn, told them to my grandchildren. And then I wrote some down for
them, and they were delighted with them! [Laughter] And in fact, my grandson, not too
long ago, said, “Oh, Grandma! I want you to write me the story about the Porcupine and
the Coyote. Oh, that’s my most favorite story!” “Okay!” So I wrote him the story and
sent it to him. [Laughter] And the other one, her favorite was the Deer and the Bear, her
favorite story. And the Tsoappittseh.
EF:
Oh, of course Tsoappittseh. Itsappe. Yeah, my dad worked nights. And Mother used to
tell me—because I was the only one. She and I were alone when my dad was at work.
And she’d tell me stories at night, you know. Of course, a lot of them she had to tell in
English because I’m not very fluent in Shoshone. [Laughter]
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AF:
Well, I know when we listened to stories at Grandma’s house, they were always—we had
to repeat it. She’d tell us such-and-such thing happened, and then—and pretty soon,
there’d be no more repeating because we’d all be asleep! [Laughter] Oh, that was fun.
But Grandma was a good storyteller, Grandma was.
C:
Well, that shoebox that you talk about—you know, we were able to convert them over to
CDs. Yeah. So, now they’re preserved. And, is there anything you guys would like to—
have you had a chance to listen to some of those at this point?
AF:
Yeah, see, I’m hearing impaired. Both ears. So, I put those ear things in my ear. It’s the
only way I can hear them. So I listened to them, I listened to songs. And I just turned
them back to her. And those that Mother sent me—when I was living in Kansas, she’d
send me a tape instead of a letter. And then I’d send her a tape instead of a letter in
answer. So that’s how we kept in touch. So then, I had some of her tapes, and then I said,
“Oh no, Momma didn’t have something good to say about people! I don’t want So-andso to hear this!” [Laughter] And Mother’d get carried away on her tapes sometimes and
she’d tell me things. But the ones that I sent to her in Shoshone, I don’t know what
happened to them.
EF:
Hm. Maybe she threw them away.
AF:
Or maybe she, they accidentally got thrown away or something.
EF:
Yeah, I’m so grateful that we got those, and that you were able to help us get those on
CDs. Because they would have just been lost. And you know, out of all my
grandchildren, Wally and Alan especially I think, they’re the ones that really are
interested in it. Yeah. That’s one thing that I’ve said about Alan’s wife: she’s really good
about our—
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C:
Culture.
AF:
Mmhm.
EF:
Yeah.
C:
So, with those CDs that we’ve transferred over from cassette, are you guys okay with us
sharing those?
AF:
Oh, yeah!
EF:
The storage, that’s fine.
AF:
That’s fine, yeah. Except for the personal letters—those are, well, know—
EF:
No, he didn’t do those. He did, yeah—
AF:
Oh, those were two separate ones, yeah. Oh, those are fine. But I noticed there were a
couple of them, they were very dim. Of course, it could have been it’s my hearing, too,
but the rest of them came loud and clear. But there were a couple of them that were hard
for me to hear.
C:
Yeah, there were some of them that were hard to—
AF:
Yeah, they were pretty brittle, I would imagine.
C:
Yeah, they were very brittle. Yeah, we had to be very careful with them.
AF:
Oh, well, they were done in the early [19]80s, you know. And being in the sun, and…
EF:
Oh, yeah. And yeah, we do want to share them, because not everybody has these stories
now, probably.
C:
No, they don’t.
AF:
Yeah. Well, there’s a story goes that when your grandmother was born, like I say, her
mother died in childbirth. She was this new baby, and there’s nothing they could do with
her. And one of the sisters says, “We can’t raise this child, because we have no milk, we
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have nothng to feed her. She’s going to die.” So then, anyway, they said, “[Shoshone at
45:23].” So, they got the baby all prepared—this was your grandma—to put her in the
grave with her mother. And so, Grandpa Louis said no. So, he grabbed this child, and he
ran. And he ran over to his sister’s house, and he said, “I want you to take care of her and
save her.” So Annie, Annie fashioned a buckskin—made a nipple out of buckskin. And
she did with flour and water, and she fed the baby that for the first meal, to be able to find
milk for her. And the girls raised her. And then, when Grandma married him, then she
took over raising the baby. And then, that was a story about Myrt Cavanaugh.
C:
Huh.
AF:
Yeah. I remember there were times when Myrt and Grandma were really close, and Myrt
would hug her, and say, “Oh, my Momma!” And then there were times when they
weren’t as close.
EF:
Oh, that’s not—[Laughter] That’s normal!
AF:
But when Grandma died, I remember your Grandma sitting there rubbing her head. And I
didn’t know who she was, until Mother told me she was “my sister, Myrt.” Then it all fell
into place! And then I started asking more questions. And then I get all my answers there.
And then I did ask Momma how her brothers and sisters died, the little ones. And she told
me what happened to them. And one was kicked by a horse. And couple of them died that
had that flu epidemic. And one was stuck by pin, got an infection when he was just a tiny
baby. And all these things that happened over there happened to them. I have all that
written down. And Jim Beak, he was—I remember him real well. I was going to Stewart
at the time he went to Stewart. And he was already, I think it was his last year of school
when he died. He had appendicitis attack in Stewart, and it took his life there.
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EF:
A lot of our family died from appendicitis.
AF:
Yeah, that was one of our afflictions, it seem like.
EF:
Yeah. Our mother nearly died, too, from that.
AF:
Yeah, we almost lost her.
EF:
But they were able to bring her to Elko and operate and save her.
AF:
Yeah, that happened when you were about two years old, I think, when she had that bad
bed.
EF:
A lot of her brothers and sisters, she said, died from appendicitis.
C:
So in closing—we have about five minutes left—what would you guys like to say, or
would you like to, I guess—in closing, what would you like to say to anybody that’s
going to be watching this recording? Some things that you may recommend, or some
things that you want to leave people with. What’s important in our culture, and so forth.
AF:
My grandmother always said when I was a child, she said, “Always respect your elders.
Always talk nice to them, because you’re going to go down that same path some day.”
How true! I’m walking down that same path that she walked down.
EF:
Well, I’m so grateful that Mother made these tapes, and that we can share them with
other people of our culture, you know. Because we’re a dying breed. Because of the
white people, we’re just being watered down every generation, you might say, and we
need this to hang onto to keep our heritage, so that we know where we came from, and
what it was like, and what kind of stories they told. Just like the white people wrote
books. And ours went from mouth to mouth. Now, if we put them on tapes, then we’ll be
able to preserve those old stories, too.
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AF:
Well, I have written down where some of these atrocities that were committed against our
people by the white soldiers. And that’s why Tono Jake, our great-great-grandfather,
that’s why he hid his family up in Lewis Canyon. Because he was told that the Indians
were being slaughtered, and he said, “Hide your family, because they’re going to kill
them.” So he hid. Grandma said he would not come down off the mountain until almost
the 1920s. He stayed up there hidden. And he hid his family really well, and they only
would come down to where Argenta is, and Dunphy and that area, and they would fish
and get their willows, and go back to the mountains and hide. And she used to tell us
about what they did to the Indians. The mean things—they were mean! And you just
can’t believe the things that they did! You know? Grandma said that they would rape
babies, little girls! And that just doesn’t seem like a thing that a person would do that. But
I guess they did. They were trying to wipe us out!
EF:
That’s right!
AF:
They didn’t succeed. But I mean, all of this horrible thing that she told me, I wrote them
all down, and I hate to have anybody read them. It’s too awful to print, and to have
people read those. But then, they’re true! And then, I have a couple that Carrie Dann had
written down, what happened to her people. And I thought, “Oh, gosh! I guess we
weren’t alone. They did that to all of us!” You know, things that were atrocities.
EF:
From the time they came over here, they did to all of the Tribes. All of us.
[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
The person(s) performing the interview
Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
The person(s) being interviewed
Edith and Adele Fisk
Location
The location of the interview
Elko, NV (Adele Fisk residence)
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
DVD and VOB format
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:51:30
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/574
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Edith & Adele Fisk - Oral history (03/27/2012)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Edith & Adele Fisk, Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, NV, on 03/27/2012
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Edith and Adele Fisk are Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, NV and are currently residing in Elko, NV. Edith and Adele speak about the history of Battle Mountain while they were growing up. They speak about their families and what it was like growing up in a segregated town. For instance, they spoke about how trivial it was speaking a different language at home versus at school. Although, they do speak about how their teacher watched over them like a parent. They also recall their parents’ and grandparents’ stories which referred to contact between the Western Shoshone, emigrants, and U.S. Calvary soldiers as well as the traditional Shoshone tales. They also speak about their genealogy as well as how contact has contributed to the degradation of the Western Shoshonean culture and how doing oral histories and recording stories will help younger generations keep up the Shoshonean culture.</p>
Video pending <br /> <a title="Edith and Adele Fisk Oral History Transcript" href="/omeka/files/original/ea429a097a90f70f17d16b9fbeb057a7.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Edith and Adele Fisk Oral History Transcript [pdf file]</a>
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Basin Indian Archives
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 028
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
03/27/2012 [27 March 2012]; 2012 March 27
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
Consent form on file (administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/items/show/378
Language
A language of the resource
English; some Shoshoni
Battle Mountain
Community
contact
Crossroads
GBIA
heritage
language
school
Shoshone
Story
U.S. Cavalry
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/fbdde5d06106bed95680c6201ee2ee30.jpg
0c32fa88d3ad86cb236ab25e06e69845
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/42e8cfd518657ccafcf2585ac27ed966.pdf
4b6a6c0876d2c97152d0e4a09144ce62
PDF Text
Text
Illaine
Premo
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
024
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
November
30,
2009
Owyhee,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hDp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 024
Interviewee: Illaine Premo
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: November 30, 2009
P:
My name is Ilaine Tybo Premo. My mother’s name was Ada Cortez Johnson, and her
mother’s name was Ida Cortez. And Ida’s dad’s name was Cortez Charlie. They’re from
the Cortez area, and then they moved down to Beowawe, and then from Beowawe, they
moved down to Battle Mountain. And from Battle Mountain, they moved to Elko, and
from Elko to South Fork, to Lee. And that’s my mother’s side. My huttsi, my grandma,
she was born and raised in Austin area. Austin area, and from there she moved on to
Battle Mountain, where she lived. And my grandpa Jim Tybo is from around Big
Smoky—I guess that’s what it’s called, Big Smoky. That Smoky Valley, I guess, where
Felix is from. That’s where my grandpa is from. And my dad’s from Austin area, also.
C:
What kind of work, or what did your family do, prior to moving? Or did they move to
find jobs?
P:
I think they just migrated from Austin down to Beowawe, probably looking for work on
the ranches. Because my dad was a, worked as a sheepherder, I heard, as a young man.
He herded sheeps for some big sheep ranchers. And my grandma, my huttsi, she went and
worked in the same ranch families raising their children. Raising their children, I guess,
the owners’ children. Raising the Marvos from Battle Mountain, Tom Marvo and his
family. She raised those boys, all of them. And they looked up to my grandma as their
mother, that she raised them. And my mom, she worked in Battle Mountain in the
restaurants. I don’t know, probably washing dishes and so on. Grandmas just stayed
home. And that’s just about all I know. That’s from, in Battle Mountain. Then from
Battle Mountain, we migrated. From Battle Mountain—now, we were real little—no, I’m
getting ahead of myself. [Laughter] That’s before we were born. And then my mom and
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dad met each other, and then they got married in Battle Mountain, I believe. And then,
they were—then four of us girls were born. We were still little when we were in Battle
Mountain. We hardly remember the story. But then, after that, my dad got a ranch in
Lee—Lee, Nevada—and he moved up there. Moved my mother and us guys up there. We
were little tiny girls then. And then, left my grandmas behind in Battle Mountain. And
then, along the way, my mom and dad divorced when we were still little. He was in the
army. He came out and found somebody else, and he divorced my mom at a young age.
And then, we moved back to Elko with my grandma, Lucy Cortez. We lived with her.
And my mom. We lived there for a while. We were still little then, and then my mom
died from sickness, and then a year after that, my grandma Lucy died from loneliness
because my mom died. She, it was loneliness that killed her. So, we went back to Lee
with my dad. We were little yet. And then back and forth, we went to my huttsi’s place in
Battle Mountain on the Greyhound. When we’re little, we get shipped back to Battle
Mountain, back to Lee, back to Lee. And that’s where I knew about my grandma Minnie.
She was a medicine lady. And she delivered most all the kids around the Colony. She had
delivered them, and then she was—every night was her ritual. Every night, she would
bless us with her eagle feather, because she was a medicine lady and all. She blessed us
with her eagle feather so we will not get sick, all four of us girls. We never got sick. And
then she had sagebrushes in a little glass of water that she has by her bed day and night,
day and night. And she dipped the sagebrush, and, “Mei mapuisi,” [5:08] she blessed us
with it every morning, early in the morning and at night. And she prays all the time,
morning and night, morning and night. And we never got sick as little girls. Hakapi e ha
napan’ni [Shoshone at 5:20] I don’t want to forget.
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C:
So you guys used to ride back and forth on a Greyhound, from Lee to Battle Mountain.
P:
Uh-huh, yeah. We were little then. We were just put on the Greyhound, and we would
travel all by ourself over there. And Huttsi would meet us over there in Battle Mountain,
and that’s how we traveled, back and forth. I guess we were—I don’t know why. Well
anyway, Huttsi was very interesting, because she was real traditional. Very traditional
Indian. And we drank all those Indian medicines—sagebrush, really. Antapittseh kwana. I
don’t know what the taipo name is for antapittseh kwana. But we’d, we grew up on that,
and sagebrush. Drinking sagebrush liquid, all the time. And we hardly ever got sick—
especially me. I never got sick. Huttsi said I was tough like her! [Laughter] Ah, but,
um—and then, we lived on jackrabbits a lot. Because everybody’s poor in the Colony,
and not everybody had jobs. And there was a lot of jackrabbits around in the desert, I
guess, behind Battle Mountain. They hunted a lot, and then occasionally deer. But
mostly, we were raised on weyempi [wi’ompi], you know, that buckberries. That
Grandma used to go down on the Marvo ranch and get. We’d have buckberries, and
that’s what I grew up, and I really love it, buckberries. She’d make pudding, and put—
make Indian bread, and just break the Indian crumbs into that, that would, sometimes
we’d have it three times a day, because there was nothing to eat. And, Usen kia [7:02],
let me see, my huttsi… So in Austin area, my dad’s side, and my mom’s Cortez,
nemmesen Tosawihi, now, White Band. White Band Shoshones. White Knife, White
Knife band. [Shoshone at 7:16] Cortez [Shoshone at 7:18] Beowawe, and Battle
Mountain’s also considered White Knife nemiya. Carlin, that area. [7:27] Nemme setai
kimmate. So, then we go back to Lee. Back to where I grew up, were going to school
over there in Lee, from first grade to eighth grade, and then I was shipped off to Stewart,
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where I stayed for four years. But in Lee, it was—oh, it was a good life over there, too.
My dad ranched back there, and we lived the furthest from the school, a real long ways.
Way down there. Just mananku. And we’d go to school on horseback all the time. Winter,
we’d have a barn back there where we’d tie a horse. And we’d run, and race up the hill.
Race up the hill [8:12] nemna’ punkukate tea. You know, all three of us, that’s Lilly and
me, and Joanne–but mostly me and Joanne, because Lillian’s older than us. Irene Diggs,
she, my huttsi raised her in Battle Mountain. And so, I remember the incident, you know,
when we used to come down the hill toward where Raymond Yowell lives now. That’s,
his grandparents used to live over there, Muumpittseh and his wife, Muumpittseh
Hepittso. Muumpittseh Hepittso [Shoshone at 8:39]. We’d come down that hill, and
there’s a gate right by her house. [Shoshone at 8:46], the bareback through her house.
And then, and I guess we leave her gate open, I don’t know! We get [Shoshone at 8:55]
with her apron. I always remember her. She’d come on her porch, waving her fist at us.
She said, “[Shoshone at 9:02]!” “I’m going to tell Burt on you!” But we laugh and just
race through there without shutting her gate! That is awful! [Laughter] But we grew up
like that on horseback. And then, at Lee, we had good teachers. One of them was Norman
Thompson, and his wife—hate nanihante? Norman’s—Ellen. Ellen Bea Roth. And they
were teaching us over there, for quite a while. And then, we all talked Shoshone over
there. Hardly any English. Mostly Shoshone over there. And those taipo kids that went to
school with us, like the Kanes, Marilyn Kane, Bob and Bill Kane, the brothers, two
twins. Twins. And Charles and Linda Dran were our neighbors back there. And Elbert
Berrenega, he’s a Basque from under the mountains. [Shoshone at 9:52], they know
how to talk Shoshone. Because we all talked Shoshone, and then Marilyn Kane and them
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rode horseback with us going home. [Shoshone at 10:01] every night, we race, you
know, up the road. Race real fast, and we leave her behind, Marilyn-ha. Then she’d cry,
said, “Don’t nukki! Don’t nukki! Don’t nukki!” [Laughter] “Don’t run! Don’t run!”
[Shoshone at 10:12]! [Laughter] It was—oh, we had fun up there! [Shoshone at 10:20].
C:
So who were your sisters?
P:
Oh, my sisters. My oldest sister is Lillian Garcia now, still lives in Lee where we used to
live. And Joanne Manning, and Irene Cota. And my half-brother’s Milton Tybo. And
that’s us.
C:
So at one time, did your Grandma Minnie tell you stories of what she recalled, or
anything about what her childhood was like?
P:
Yeah. Well, she told us real stories, because my huttsi was a real good storyteller. Every
night, we hear stories. But I’ll probably just tell you one of them. But we heard a lot
about tsoo’apittseh in the hills, and of course Itsappe—Ish. And the water babies,
pa’ohaane. And—because they lived around that river in Battle Mountain. Paohaane.
And then, she told a story about Toya Tuineppe, the Mountain Boy. That’s where I come
from, the Mountain Boy, I was one of the descendants. Mountain Boy. Himpa—Huttsi
used to tell us that when they used to go from pinenut hills to pinenut hills long time ago,
because they didn’t have anyplace to live, they just migrate from hill to hill, and they live
in camps. Probably, I don’t think it was tipi, it was just those willow huts, I guess, or
something. She never really went into it. But they moved from area to area, pinenut hill
to pinenut hill. And she said that Toya Tuineppe was always around, tepitsi atsatsi
[11:53], he was a real naughty boy, she says, a real mischievious, very naughty. And he’d
come down the hill, akka toyama [12:02], but he’d slide down the hill, down the hill, and
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he’d holler and laugh. You can’t see him. They never see him, but they know that he’s a
little boy because it’s got the voice of a little one. They’d see him coming down the hill,
making dust down the hill, and they’d say, “Oh, there’s Toya Tuineppe again!” Toya
Tuineppe, Little Mountain Boy. Then, when they’d camp and go to the pinenut hills to
get pinenuts, they’d come back, their camp would be all destroyed. That Toya Tuineppe,
Little Mountain Boy would kick all their food all around, ashes all over from the
campfire. They know it was him, because he’s mischievious. And they hear him laughing
in the trees, Huttsi said. You know, he’s always doing some kind of tricks to them. And
sometimes, he’s good, too. You know, he blesses people. He blesses people, even though
he’s kind of bad. And that’s what I remember about Mountain Boy, because he’s my
descendant. One time, after I married Willis and moved to Duck Valley, I got really,
really sick. And Judy Jackson, my aunt, was still living here, so she said, “Alec
Cleveland’s going to be here tonight.” [Shoshone at 13:09], because I was sick. I don’t
know the for—probably stress, or, I don’t know. And then, I went over the [Shoshone at
13:18] Alex, [Shoshone at 13:22]. And I’m one of those persons who grew up kind of
funny, [Shoshone at 13:27]. That’s what got me sick. You know? I’m always scared at
nights, I don’t know why. Even though I was little and grew up and got married, I was
still scared, because my husband used to wake me up, Willis used to wake me up, and I
was talking, talking, and crying, and wake me up from that. But I always knew it was my
mother. Somehow, I knew it was my mother, doing that to me. [Shoshone at 13:52]
Neweh nohimpai. Then it got me sick, because I was always worried in my house, you
know, looking for her, looking for—over here, at my house. And so I got sick, and Judy
said, [14:03] “Attik tai puhane to come on over tonight,” so I went over there, and Attik
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said, [14:08] “Tsatta em pii. Your mother’s bothering you all the time.” Because you
know—I probably was her favorite, because she used to take me to Starr Valley or Ruby
Valley for work, you know, on ranches? And she’d take me all the time, I don’t know
why. But I was little, she always took me with her. And Attik said, “She wants you,
that’s why she’s bothering you. [Shohone at 14:29],” he said, “You have to get after
her!” In the olden days, old people cuss them out, you know, spirits. [Shoshone at
14:37]. Tell them to go away and leave you alone. Said “That’s the only way you can get
rid of her, is just tell her to leave you alone! Cuss her out! Be mean to her! She’s trying to
get you. She’s going to get you if you don’t get after her! [Shoshone at 14:58]. That’s
why you’re sick,” he told me. And I always remember, because Attik doesn’t know me.
You know, he’s from here, I’m from the other area. And he said,
“Always remember that [Shoshone at 15:10],” you know, “You’re a descendant of Toya
Tuineppe. So every morning when you get up, drink a glass of water three times, face the
mountain, and pray”—[Shoshone at 15:24]. Pray and bless yourself, every
morning.[Shoshone at 15:29], and you’ll get over that sickness, over your mother. And
so I said, “Oh, that was all that was wrong with me, I guess! Her haunting me all the
time.” And I was really sick. So I came back, and she was still haunting me. [Laughter]
And the latest was, she was haunting me, and I heard her downstairs in my basement, and
I got up, and I done what Alec told me. I went down there, and I cussed her out in
Shoshone, and told her not to bother me, and told her leave my kids alone, because my
kids were down there. My girls were down there. And not to bother them, because some
are bothered by her, too, some of them. And so, I said, “Don’t bother me anymore!” in
Shoshone, and I threw down whatever I can get. Shoes, clothes, I just threw it down there
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real mean like that, where I couldn’t see her, but I knew it was her. After that, she went
away for good. Never bothered me up to this day. She never bother me again. But that
was one, I guess you can call “superstition” or something, I don’t know what it is, that
happened to me. So that’s how I grew up. Was in Lee. I don’t know what—hinna tease?
C:
When you guys lived in Battle Mountain, was there a lot of pinenuts?
P:
Up in Austin area. From Battle Mountain, we go up to Austin on wagons. We go up there
and get pinenuts. Or else some other relative will bring it down to us, because it’s too far.
But when my huttsi was growing up, they lived up there in the Austin—on the pinenut
hills. So that’s where they got their pinenuts, they lived on pinenuts, all the time. And so
did my mom and them in that Cortez area. They live on pinenuts, too. And they walked.
They never used cars or wagons, because they’d—before, when my mother was growing
up, they didn’t have any horses or wagons. They usually walked long ways for food and
roots, hunting, and getting pinenuts. That’s what they done. You know, when we went to
Cortez last week—whole bunch of us from Duck Valley went. Gerry Brady and us guys
went, and she said, “Just think, our old people used to walk these hills for many miles—
and look at us getting tired already!” [Laughter] You know, we’re climbing the hill,
we’re real tired and breathing real hard. We got to sit down every once in a while! And
they used to roam these hills walking. [Shoshone at 17:59]. But that’s what they done, I
think, that Old People.
C:
So is there still pinenuts left there in Cortez?
P:
Lots. That’s a pinenut hills. Pinenut hills. But the mine, the new mine’s going up. That’s
how come they invited us, because they said most of the descendants from Cortez is
Duck Valley White Knifes. So that’s why we were invited over there. And there’s lot of
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pinenuts. But there’s a new mine going up there in that Cortez mine. Great, big giant one.
We went to visit that one. Plus, there are old mines. And the new mine’s going to be so
huge. I don’t know. And that pinenuts, some of the pinenut hills they’re going to destroy.
They’re going to cut them down. But they’re going to save some of the young ones, I
think, that’s what they were saying. The younger pinenut trees. So, the mine is really
expanding.
C:
So what kind of mineral are they mining for?
P:
Gold.
C:
Gold?
P:
Mmhm. I don’t know, but that’s where my mom is from. And they said that used to be a
real big Shoshone settlement at one time. Rehabi Whitney was telling us that, at one
time—or was it Felix Ike? That was the biggest Shoshone settlement in that valley, Grass
Valley—over the hill is Grass Valley. That’s another valley Huttsi used to talk about
[Shoshone at 19:32]. She used to say “Grass Valley”—but you know, in Shoshone—
“Grass Valley,” “Grass Valley.” And we never paid attention to her. It’s over the hill
from Cortez. Big Shoshone area. From there, they migrated different areas, like Duck
Valley, Fort Hall, Ruby Valley, other areas. But I really grew up in reservation, in
reservation life. And a little bit in Elko, not too long. Because we were just little girls
when we moved to Lee. So we grew up on a ranch.
C:
So, do you remember any of the stories that your Grandma told you, many about the
Tso’apittseh?
P:
Oh yeah, Tso’apittseh. [Laughter] Tso’apittseh. Yeah, she told lot of stories of what her
mother and them told. I don’t think it was when she was young, I don’t think, because I
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think tso’apittseh was way back there. And she said they didn’t—they were still
wandering around the pinenut hills, living here and there in the hills, and they used to sit
in the, by the campfire, and tell stories that, you know, Newene, the Indians would sit
around the campfire telling stories. All they do every night is tell stories. And then they
hear from way back, Huttsi said—because she was going to scare us, now, because we
were little girls, they always thought we were naughty, and she tells us scary stories so
we can go to sleep and be quiet, I guess! [Laughter] And then, she said, well, they were
sitting, talking, they would hear Tso’apittseh away just miles and miles away. [Shoshone
at 21:05], he’d be crying a lot, coming to the camp, and everybody’s getting scared now,
trying to hide their kids. And—[Shoshone at 21:13]—he was singing that song,
“[Shoshone at 21:17],” was getting closer and closer. Finally, he just squatted down that
campfire. And every time he leaves—I don’t know whether this is true, or it’s just to
scare us—she said he takes off with a kid in his [Shoshone at 21:31]. You know, that
little—a little basket behind his back. He’s supposed to be a rock man. Rock, I think,
made out of rocks. But he’s got a basket in the back that was coated with pinenut sap.
[Shoshone at 21:47]. Big enough for an adult to go into, [Shoshone at 21:51], he’d take
one of the kid and take off with it. And he’d go crying away, [Shoshone at 21:59]. After
he steal that kid, and everybody was so scared of him because he’ll always find them
wherever they’re at. Even if they move or run away, he’ll find them. So they just stay put,
because that Tso’apittseh was around. And then, one time, she said he came again. They
were sitting down, they heard him crying, and he was coming again, and this time he sat
down and talk Shoshone to them, and asked how they were doing and all that stuff.
Talking and eating with them, whatever. And finally, he kept looking at this one young
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man, she said. A young man, not a baby or a little boy. He was a young man, I don’t
know how old he is. He kept looking at that young man. Finally, he got up and grabbed
that young man, and threw it behind his big basket and took off. Took off, and that young
man was old enough to know what was happening. So when the Tso’apittseh was running
along under the pine trees, he thought real fast, and then he—when he was running along,
crying along, that Tso’apittseh, he grab a limb up there, and he climb up on that limb and
Tso’apittseh didn’t know it. Kept on crying down the hill until he got where he was
going, probably to his den. And he found out that young man was missing. So he turn
around crying real loud, coming back again to the camp, looking for that young man.
Young man was up there waiting for him, she said, with—he made fire out of rocks or
something, I don’t know. He made a little fire. When Tso’apittseh was right underneath
him, he threw that fire into that basket, that sap, and that burnt real bad, and Tso’apittseh
ran away crying. [Shoshone at 23:42] down that hill, he was just crying and panicked,
you know? And it burned him up. It burned him up, because he never bothered the
Indians again. That’s her story about Tso’apittseh. He never bothered them again. I guess
he burnt to death, or something happened. His big basket burned up. [Laughter]
C:
So what did he do with those kids? Did he eat them, or what did he do with them?
P:
That’s—according to her, [Shoshone at 24:08]. He tears the head off, I guess he eats the
head. That’s what she said. But maybe different people have different stories about
Tso’apittseh. But he does kill them, the kids. So… There was another story about—
Huttsi, she told us so many stories about the Cottontail. Of course, that’s simple
Cottontail. There was another story about a big bird, and I believe she called it Ish. Ish,
that bird. But Ise was supposed to be the Itsappe, Ish. But she called this big bird Ish, too.
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[Shoshone at 24:44] Pia ______ kwina. Like an eagle, but it wasn’t an eagle. It was a
real big bird. On the island, ka nakkan, some island, middle of the water. He live over
there, and he come every now and then, fly to the Indian camp again, take people and
take it over there to eat, I guess to the island. Back where he live in a great, big nest.
[Shoshone at 25:05]. And, I guess long time ago, he stole a lady. And that lady grew up
to be a old lady. And she slaved for him. Cooked for him. He demanded this and that,
demanded she cook his food. Whatever he brought home, she cook it for him. Mostly
humans. She cooked that food for him, and over the many many years, just getting real
old, just getting tired of that big bird doing that to her. And there’s no way to get to that
place except—wasn’t no way to get there. It’s the middle of a big river, open ocean, or
something. And so the old lady was getting tired, and was getting mad at the big bird. So
she finally thought, “Well, I am going to get rid of him.” In Shoshone said she’s going to
get rid of him. “[Shoshone at 25:55].” And so, she got some kind of flint. Uten obsidian?
That black flint? She chipped it real fine, chipped it real fine, and so he came back with
whatever he had. And—oh no, it was a young man he brought back again, a young man.
So she got really upset, the old lady. She wasn’t going to have him kill the young man.
So she got some flint, and chipped it, and put it in a bowl for him with soup [26:23],
before he killed that young man. She made him some kind of soup because he was so
demanding. And then soup, she put it in front of him. And he started drinking the soup.
But every time he was drinking the soup, he would put his big [Shoshone intermittently
after 26:38] in the air like [26:39]. And he’d kind of like gurgling sound in his throat,
kind of choking because that thing was already working on him, that flint. Gurgling,
gurgling. And she watched, she sat there and watch him. The bird wasn’t saying
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anything, he was just eating and doing that gurgling and choking and so on. Her and that
young man watched that bird. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got up, and he
flew away. He yetseko [27:04]. And he flew away up the middle of the water, and
[27:08] behind, say they never saw him again. That was another story she told.
[Laughter] I believe she called him Ish. And I always say, “Why did she call him Ise
when Ise is supposed to be Itsappe’s brother?” So, that’s one story she told.
C:
What about the water babies?
P:
Oh, water babies! Yeah, Battle Mountain [Shoshone at 27:30] water babies. Everybody’s
scared of them, because they hear them crying, you know? Babiesne. [Shoshone at
27:36] used to always tell that all the time. My uncle Willie Johnson, he used to tell about
water babies all the time. And he also took babies away from mothers that was fishing on
the banks—you know, with their baby, and their—[Shoshone at 27:53]. And he just
snatch them off of them and take the baby underwater [Shoshone at 27:58]. The baby’s
lost for good. But one time, he done that to another young man—[Shoshone at 28:05],
and that somehow, that young man—I don’t know this story too good. But somehow, the
young man killed that water baby, and came back again. But all the Indians know about
water babies. They say they’re still alive—I mean, you can still hear them. And you know
what that—I forgot to tell you about this. Mountain Boy, Toya Tuineppe, they say you
hear him in any mountain. He lives in any mountain, high mountain. And sometimes, you
can hear him whistling at you, whistling. Sometimes, you think it’s a bird, you know. But
it’s Toya Tuineppe. And a lot of times, I go hunting with Willis way up in the mountains,
way back there [Shoshone at 28:48]. And I’d be sitting there waiting, because he walked
a long ways. I’d sit there, wait for him. [Shoshone at 28:53], whistling, [Shoshone at
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28:55]. Then, I thought it was, you know, a bird. And then I remembered what Attik said
to me: “If you go in the mountains and hear some whistling, that’s Toya Tuineppe. He’s
whistling at you.” So that’s—he said it happens with anybody. Any Shoshone. You go up
to the mountains and hear him whistling at you. So if you ever go hunting and hear
somebody whistling? It might be him and not a bird. [Laughter] Huttsi was telling me
some, another good story… Oh, I forgot! What was it about, now? Wait, ask me another
question.
C:
Do you know anything about [29:41] Toyanatsi’ that live out there in Ruby Valley? That
you could talk about?
P:
Osen kwai, yes. [29:46] Suteen Toya Tuineppe naa. What did they say about Toya
nukutsi?
C:
They take care of the wild horses there, and the wild sheep?
P:
Oh.
C:
Yeah. [__inaudible at 29:57__]
P:
Oh, that’s probably their story from that area. Oh! Hm. That’s interesting.
[Break in recording]
P:
When he died [Shoshone at 30:08], we go up to [Shoshone at 30:11]. And we’d, we
meet our ancestors up there. [30:16] Tammen naa supai akka nupuwiiha. Milky Way
[Shoshone at 30:19] you know, Shoshones souls have the dance in the Milky Way.
That’s why when you see the Milky Way, it’s all dusty-looking? That dust, when they’re
kicking up their heels, kicking up their feet, and all that dust, dancing, because that’s
what they do. That was their routine up long time ago, to the Shoshones, was Round
Dance. They sing in their old language, and so they’d sing a Shoshone song, telling
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stories and their music. And the Milky Way is where we go to to dance when we die.
That was a Shoshone belief. So when my daughter died, I always look at the Milky Way.
[Shoshone at 30:55], she’s dancing up in the Milky Way now, with her grandmas, and
her aunts and uncles, her dad. Because I believe they came after her when she died that
night. They all came, picked her up, and took her away, and now she’s up in the Milky
Way. Osen tammen belief, you know, we’re dancing up there. That’s one of the Shoshone
belief that I grew up on. So, hinna tease?
C:
So, in the dancing of the Milky Way, are they going someplace? Is there a belief that the
people are going—are they traveling, or are they just dancing?
P:
No, I think they just dancing. They go up there to be happy up there. You know, they’re
free. Free of all kinds of worries and stuff. And so, they just go up there to Heaven to
dance. Dance up there. So when we look at them, we see them up there, we’re supposed
to see them up there dancing. Sometimes it’s so pretty, you know, up there. The Milky
Way. Another belief that I was told long time ago is, take a star for your loved one that
died. A star. And I always look at the star and pray to God for that star to take care of
your loved ones. So I picked a star for my daughter Francine. The Evening Star. [32:13]
Sokka nabuite, and then I always nanisuntehai, I pray. Because, you know, I really miss
her. And so, that’s one of the beliefs. So everybody’s dancing up there. And I believe—
that’s my belief, I don’t know whether anybody else believe like that, but I believe we all
go to Heaven. Everybody, good or bad. Everybody goes to Heaven! [Laughter]
C:
Well, that’s a Shoshone belief. There’s—everybody goes to the Spirit World.
P:
Mmhm. Yeah. So, that’s one of the stories.
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C:
Were there very many medicine—or healers in your family? You mentioned your
Grandma was a healer.
P:
Yeah, her stepfather was a real powerful medicine man. [33:00] Himpaise ma nanihante
Sam Wilson. Sam Wilson, nekka. Is it Sam? I believe from the Austin area. A old man
that was like a hermit. And he was married to my huttsi’s mother, Katie. Katie Wilson. I
don’t know what their maiden names were—because a long time ago, they only had
Indian names, and when they worked with a white man, they change all their names. So,
Katie Wilson and so on. Indian names. Like, my [Shoshone at 33:30]’s name was
Paampokompi. Like, “water currant.” Paampokompi. And from there, they were changed
to Lucy Cortez. And so, anyhow, [33:45] himpai nani_____?
C:
Oh, healers.
P:
Oh, that Sam Wilson! He’s a powerful healer, Shoshone healer, up in Austin area. Was so
powerful that he had, that Katie Wilson, his wife, had two daughters: my huttsi, and
Davis Gonzalez and their grandma. Their grandmother, Nellie Woods. Nellie Woods. So
Katie had two daughters. Katie Wilson’s really Sam Wilson’s daughter. Sam and Katie’s
daughter. My huttsi is a half-breed; her dad’s half white. But somehow, Sam Wilson
chose her—my huttsi’s more Indian because she’s got more Indian belief, even though
she’s half white. She’s real traditional. But keep her with him as assistant. You know,
assisting him with preparing things when he’s going to doctor somebody? [34:44]
[Shoshone at 34:44], it was for a young girl, that was just job for the girls—that’s
what my huttsi told me, that I used to [Shoshone at 34:51] kumaitte mia. I go with them
to help them prepare their roots and the medicine. And she listened to him. All the songs
and stuff, she listened to him, and it got into her. So she became a medicine lady. Not as
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great as Sam, but she still know what she was doing. And then Huttsi used to tell me,
when she used to come visit me at my house when I had all my kids, she’d say—well,
nowadays, nobody took after Sam, you know, that powerful medicine man. But some day
[35:24] there’s going to im himpa, emerge a medicine man from one of your family.
Our family—you know, the Tybos, I guess—our family’s going to emerge some day. A
powerful medicine man. It might be your kids. If not your kids, your grandkids or your
great-grandchild. “Some day,” he said, “himpa tipitsi Newe wepekanai [35:46]. It’s going
to come.” I don’t know when that’s going to be! [Laughter] But that’s what she always
tells me. Because of Sam Wilson. That’s the only one I know. The other medicine lady
that I know is Satii Nap from Ruby Valley. Her name’s Sally Brigham, I think. She’s the
one that raised Anna Premo. Sally Brigham, and I knew—we call her Satii Nap.
Nowadays, she’s dead. Satii, she used to come down to our Colony in Elko, to our
little—and doctor my mother, because my mother’s really sick. Doctor her all the time.
Was a very powerful medicine lady. I remember her. She’s real tall and skinny, had long
gray hair. [Shoshone (?) at 36:29] and every night at midnight, she opened the door, and
then she’d pray to God, I guess. [Shoshone (?) at 36:34] up to the Heavens. Then she’d
come around and doctor my mother again. But my mother didn’t get healed, because it
was tuberculosis that killed her. It wasn’t other kind of disease, sickness. And so, those
two I remember really good. Satii Nap and Sam Wilson. And of course, Atikko here in
Duck Valley. That’s all I know.
C:
So these people that were healers, they were blessed with the power? Or, I mean, they
didn’t go to school for it.
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P:
No, it was blessed by power. They had it from the ancestors, from way back. I guess it
just came to them from way back. And—no, they didn’t. They weren’t taught. It was just
in them to heal people. And they really did heal people, you know, in the old days.
Nowadays, we have this young modern medicine—claim to be medicine men. I think
they’re just out here for the money! [Laughter] Money, you know, they’re not really
healing people like the old people. They’re all dead now.
C:
What kind of medicine did they use? Were they all different, or—?
P:
They’re all different. Like, sagebrush was the main one from that area, Battle Mountain,
Cortez, [37:56] kwaiya. It was pohovi. Pohovi and totsa—totsa’s a lot, too. Antapittseh
kwana. Those three I know.
C:
Is there anybody that still uses those kind of—
P:
Medicine? I do. We do. I taught all my kids that, you know, my girls and my son? We
harvest totsa up in Scott Creek back in the mountains every fall. And that heals anything.
You drink it—but it’s real greasy. Like, greasy? I really don’t like it. But some other lady
told me to make it kind of mild, put more water in it, and strain it, and then you can drink
it. But it’s supposed to heal your insides. Any sickness that’s inside of you. Stomach
problems. Some people even says cancer and other kind of dreadful sickness. It cures that
if you’re very faithful to drink it every day. Like, Huttsi used to drink, like, a half a cup a
day. So I guess… But I don’t do that. I use mine for sores, when you get cut. Like, for
animals too. Like my dogs get run over and cut or something, like, I boil that totsa and
make it real mushy—you know, that real mushy—and then I mash it with my hands. And
I cool it, and I take that pulp, and I just put it in the dog’s wound, and it heals it
immediately. Or anything. Horses, anything. And humans also. And you can smoke it,
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too. You can smoke the totsa. Just pound it up to a little tobacco, and roll it up, and
smoke it. My huttsi—again, Grandma Minnie over at Battle Mountain—she used to roll
up totsa, and she’d smoke it every wintertime. She’s sitting by her stove, smoking totsa.
And she’d always make me wrap her totsa—you know, her tobacco, in the little paper. So
I wrap it for her, and then she would give me one, just for so I won’t get sick. Because
it’s totsa. And that’s where I started smoking little bit, because of her! [Laughter] And I
used to remember that. I was the only one that smoke among my sisters. I had fun with
my huttsi, although she was really strict, too. Really strict with us. So… We were taught
how to get up early in the morning to do our chores. Every morning, my dad done that to
us when we were growing up. We got up, she made five in the morning. I still now, to
this day I get up at that time. And that was good teaching. We done all our chores early in
the morning. And we didn’t have no electricity. We had to haul our water from a well, or
from the river. And a lot of hardships, you know, when we grew up, and nothing—
outside toilets, no water. Had to wash your clothes out by the river. Or in a tub with
washboards. That’s how I grew up. Nowadays, we have it easy.
C:
What about the antapittseh kwana? What’s that used for?
P:
Antapittseh kwana is a real powerful healer, too. More powerful than all of the other
medicine, according to Huttsi. And it grows up here around Cleveland Trail, back here.
Cleveland Trail? Because she used to tell George Blackett to get it for her every fall. He
goes over there, [Shoshone at 41:34], he’s still walking way off from where the plants
are growing, and he’d be singing. [Shoshone at 41:40]. In order to get it, he has to sing
and pray to it. So he’d go over there and get whole bunch of it for Huttsi. Some long, tall
plants. And then she’d boil it, I guess, and then drink it. Again, drink it. And then it’s also
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good for healing, like the totsa. You know, you’ll get it pulpy, boil and get it pulpy, and
put it on sores or whatever. Cuts. And that’s supposed to be real powerful. But it’s hardly
any totsa around. I mean, hardly any antapittseh kwana around. I’ve heard that they’re
gone, now. And they don’t grow anywhere, just rare places. But I rely on the totsa now.
And mostly pohovi, I love pohovi yet. And I walk along, and I break a piece of pohovi,
young pohovi, young one along outside my house. I just have it, smell it, and feel it, and
inhale all the good medicine inside of you. I love pohovi. And [__inaudible at 42:47__],
that’s, I was raised with pohovi and totsa.
C:
How about cedar? Did you use cedar much?
P:
Not the Battle Mountain area. I never heard of them burning cedar. Did you?
C:
Well, I hear people talk about it.
P:
Yeah, some, I guess. But I never heard my Grandma talk about cedar. Only when I got
over here. So I burn the cedar now all the time. It’s good to bless your house with.
C:
Uh-huh. Okay, we’ve got about ten minutes now. Is there anything you want to wind up
with, or tell at the end here, about things that maybe your grandchildren, or if you were to
tell them what’s important in life, and what’s important in terms of tradition, what would
you think of would be the best thing it is to say to them?
P:
My grandchildren. Well, I would tell them to get up early in the morning, because
nowadays, those young people stay in bed, stay in bed ‘til ten, eleven. And that’s not
good. Because I notice some of my grandkids are like that. And I try to make them get up
early, but they’re spoiled, I guess, in the modern world. Because I didn’t raise them, their
mother raised them. Their mothers raised them. If I raised them, it would be different. It
would be different. Because I raised one granddaughter—that’s Nammi up at the
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hospital—I raised her. I made her get up early in the morning, do chores. So she works all
the time. She gets up early. She does her work. But the other grandchildren, I don’t know.
Well anyway, so I tell them to get up early in the morning, work, and make a living, and
be honest and giving to people. Talk to all the elders. Respect elders, and respect all
people, animals, everything. And to—and not get involved in alcohol and drugs, because
that’s killing people nowadays. And that’s what I want to pass on to them. That tradition
is—keep up the medicine. Keep up the medicine, the totsa and the sagebrush. And just
pray. Mostly pray. Pray, in the Indian way. Most of my grandkids and my kids doesn’t
talk Shoshone. They understand it, my kids understand, but they don’t talk it. And
grandkids are even worse. So—but they hear me talk all the time. So I just tell them what
I know about living a good life. That’s what I want them to do is live a good life, free of
drugs and alcohol. And that’s what I want to pass on to them.
[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
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GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
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2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
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Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
The person(s) being interviewed
Illaine Premo
Location
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Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee, NV)
Original Format
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DVD and VOB format
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00:45:58
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http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/566
Dublin Core
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Title
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Illaine Premo - Oral history (11/30/2009)
Subject
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Oral history interview with Illaine Premo, Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, NV on 11/30/2009
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Illain Tybo Premo was born to Ada Cortez Johnson and Cortez Charlie who were from the Beowawe/Cortez area. Her ancestors came from Smoky Valley and the Austin area. During her childhood she speaks about moving all around Western Shoshone territory to places such as Elko, Battle Mountain, and South Fork. She speaks about living in both Battle Mountain and South Fork reservation. She also speaks about her grandmother Minnie, who was a medicine woman, who lived in Battle Mountain and taught Illain traditional lifeways of the Shoshone. She was taught traditions such as picking nuts and berries, hunting deer and rabbit, using traditional medicines, and getting up early and doing chores. She also speaks about attending Stewart Indian School after 8th grade. She also tells us a few Shoshone stories including the Toya Deanapa (Mountain boy), Tso’ovich (stone man), and ba’a wa’a (water-babies). She ends her narrative by cautioning the younger generations about using alcohol and drugs.</p>
Video pending <br /> <a title="Illaine Premo Oral History Transcription" href="/omeka/files/original/42e8cfd518657ccafcf2585ac27ed966.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Illaine Premo Oral History Transcription [pdf file]</a>
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 024
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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11/30/2009 [30 November 2009]; 2009 November 30
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Norm Cavanaugh (interviewer); James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
Consent form on file (administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/items/show/373
Language
A language of the resource
English; some Shoshoni
Battle Mountain
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley Reservation
folktale
GBIA
medicine woman
Shoshone
Stewart Indian School
Story
traditional foods
traditional medicines
traditions
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/82e608e6e4d0c6b24fbc3b064675aca8.jpg
595aedfe98fb48f41fd399d4124ea587
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/90464b5a0a4119cfb22d242bdcdb1531.pdf
94d5d870c85ea5361685d4b29499fb23
PDF Text
Text
Elizabeth
Brady
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
013
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
November
29,
2006
Elko,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hCp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 013
Interviewee: Elizabeth Brady
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: November 29, 2006
C:
Hello? Today we’re going to be doing an oral history interview with one of the elders
from the Elko Colony. Her name is Elizabeth Brady, and this is part of the Great Basin
Indian Archives program, which is sponsored by the Great Basin College here in Elko,
Nevada. And my name is Norm Cavanaugh. I’m the director of the Great Basin Indian
Archives program. So, welcome to the first series of the oral histories that will be
conducted as this program continues for this year. Thank you.
[Some brief interchange about setting up the recording]
C:
Okay, we’ll go ahead and start this.
EB:
All right.
C:
Okay. Welcome to the Great Basin Indian Archives oral history recordings, the first
series of oral histories that we’re going to be beginning here for the college. Our guest
here today is Elizabeth Brady, and her daughter, Leah. And Liz will be sharing with us
what her recollections are of growing up as a child, and how things used to be, and of
what her grandmothers and elders shared with her, and told her about how things used to
be in this area before the changes have come about that are in existence today. So, she
will share with us what tribe she’s from, and what band she’s from, and a little bit about
her family to begin with. And then, from there, she’ll tell us what she recalls as she grew
up as a child, and her memory recollections. Okay, Liz. Go ahead.
LB:
You can start now.
EB:
Is he running it? My name is Elizabeth Brady, and I’m a Western Shoshone from Elk
Mountain. The Tekatekka [3:17] clan. And my parents are from Austin; my dad is from
Austin. My grandparents on my dad’s side’s from Austin. And my mother is from
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Beowawe. And she belonged to the Tosawihi band. It’s where my mother was raised.
And as we were small, we moved up in Antelope Valley. And I remember, I was around
four or five years old, when I was still standing in a cradle, and my tsoo, my greatgrandmother, she was babysitting me. We lived there. I don’t think we had a house. I
think it was like a shed that we lived in. But Grandma would take care of me there, while
dad and them would run mustangs. My mother rode horses. My Aunt Ida and Uncle
Harlan, and a couple of my uncles, Walter Jackson, their names, they were from Austin
area. They run horses—mustangs there. And we had lot of horses. That was in the
evening, when the corral was full of horses, when they’d bring them in. One day, a man
came over there, a white man came over there, and we—you know, Gram and I—we
didn’t know what he was talking about. My grandmother was mad. And she was bawling
him out, in her language. I guess he was telling us that we didn’t belong there, that we
would have to move. We were on his land. That’s why Grandmother’s mad. That’s when
we found out that that place where we stayed wasn’t ours. And so we moved to town,
which is Battle Mountain. None of us know how to talk English. There was a family
name, Jim Horton, that had a store there. And they took my grandmother away from
me—my great-grandmother away from us. And she went to work for them. She never
had a name. So they gave her name, Evelyn. Years, she worked there for them. And I
remember my parents going from one ranch to another. Then my grandfather, they asked
him what his name was, and he said, “My name is Something-Something.” And the guy
said that, “You can’t have two names. We’re going to give you a name.” So they gave my
grandfather a name. Something Jackson. Then I remember we went from place to place.
We didn’t know. We thought maybe we were just helping the people, but I guess that’s
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what they were doing was helping the ranchers. So, my dad joined—well, as we were
growing up, he joined the CC. And that’s why we were going to school here and there,
we never stayed in one place. But we had hardship, too, we had to go through.
NC:
Can you remember what CC stood for?
LB:
Conservation Corps.
EB:
And that’s all I can remember about my dad. We started go through Utah—later on, I
found out we were in Utah and Idaho. I know that when we got to Idaho, that they put us
in a boarding school. But we didn’t stay at the boarding school too long. Because my
brother told my folks that we were hungry, and they got us out of there. And then, my
dad went wherever they were sent. And so, I don’t know how, whether we came back to
Battle Mountain, but, I went to live in Beowawe with my grandparents. And Grandpa
died in 1931. He died. I never knew what death was. I was younger, and my grandma was
crying. She tried to explain to me what death was. I didn’t know. But then, after that, my
parents took me and we went to Owyhee. That’s where we lived, in Owyhee, until I went
to Stewart. Went to Grandma and them, they told us that they weren’t hungry, there was
always plenty out there for them to eat. Good food. I guess it’s by seasons that they
would be in there, getting food. And I think mainly, pinenuts was their main food. But we
ate. But I could remember that, it was [skip in recording] Grandma told me. When the
first white men first came, she said how scared they were. They didn’t know where they
were. And her father went down to the river—that’s the Humboldt River—and told his
family, “If I don’t come back, you know they killed me.” So they seen their father
running off at moonlight, until they couldn’t see him anymore. And all night, they waited
and waited. It was a clear moon that night, and they heard footsteps, and it was their
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father. He said, after he got them out of the cave, he told them, “They were friendly. I
don’t think they going to hurt us. But they look like us, only they”—he picked up a white
rock, and he said, “That’s the color of their skin. That’s how their duku look,” he said,
“like that rock, white rock.” And he was telling the family what he had seen. “The men
had funny—they had hair on their face!” [Laughter] The Indians never seen the hair. And
they didn’t know what cooking pots were, and they interpreted it as something black
hanging out above their fire. Then the wagon, they went on I guess. He said that the
black snake started in a straight line. He explained to them, that was the only way he
could explain to them that it was a wagon. And, “They had a foot just like us, with a hole
at the back.” That was their wooden heel. And he said that they were making “funny
noises.” That they were pounding on something—I guess that’s their music instrument.
He said, “They won’t hurt us.” We had—Grandma had never seen them. When she said
that, she was already a young woman, that’s when the Mormons were trapping along the
Humboldt, I guess. I don’t know what year that is. But seems like they were out there,
she said, “We had plenty to eat, we didn’t know what sickness was. If we slipped on
something, we would put pitch on it so to heal it up.” She said, “We lived a wonderful
life. Soon as the white man comes,” she says, “they change our way of living.” That’s
only one that Grandma that ever told me about. About living up in the caves. I said,
“Grandma, how do you keep warm?” “Well, during the day, my dad would build fire, and
heat up the rocks. And then at night, he’d put it in like a trench, like they’d fix for them to
lay in, and he’d put branches on it. We never had no blankets. Lucky if we had a skin to
cover our bodies.” So you see, it’s, that’s—I don’t know what year that’d be. I don’t
know the year. But she said, “If we had a deer skin, we had something. But we used
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rabbit skins, mostly, to cover ourself up with.” She had rabbit blankets made of rabbit
skin. I don’t know whatever happened to them.
LB:
Did she show you how to make them?
EB:
Yeah. I remember Uncle Herman trapping the coyotes, selling them for dollar a hide.
You imagine how much money they made with that. At that time, it was a lot of money!
But we lived there. We call them tsewakkate [13:05], that’s the name of the place where
we lived. We had artesian well there. Well, it was just real nice. That’s where we lived,
until that white man told us to move off of his land.
LB:
Was that wagon Beowawe?
EB:
No, no.
LB:
Where at?
EB:
Antelope Valley.
LB:
Oh, in Antelope.
EB:
In Antelope Valley there. That’s where Grandma—on my dad’s side, that’s where they
lived.
LB:
Mary Horton. She was like 120 when she died?
EB:
Hundred and fifteen. We figured a hundred and fifteen. Battle Mountain. Figured from
the time that the Hortons picked her up, and went to work for them.
C:
And were the Hortons—
EB:
Even your granddad, your grandfathers was there, too. They lived in Battle Mountain. I
remember them. Grandfathers were really a good group. Then we went to Juniper
Basin and my grandfather was still strong. He’d get up two o’clock in the morning, have
his coffee. He would be having his coffee at two in the morning. And my dad said, “Does
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he ever sleep?” But he’d go to bed early, when he’d get through. I never knew him. I
mean, I never did know the color of people, either. We were all just kids. Because we
were raised in Battle Mountain. We played with everybody. We didn’t say, “You’re
Indian!” “You’re Mexican!” We didn’t use those words. No. There were things Grandma
told us about. She said, “The Paiute—“ My huttsi tell me that the Paiute people were the
meanest. They tortured some of our people. But I don’t want to go into that, I think it’s
just too sad. That they couldn’t get along.
C:
How big were the bands? The group of people together?
EB:
That’s all I know, is that our family was—well, we were quite large. But, there were
others, I guess. Later on, the people started coming to Battle Mountain. That’s when—
when I noticed there’s people there. But we went up in that mountains, and I don’t think
there was anybody out there but us. Probably in Austin and that area. But none in
Antelope Valley. There was just us. And it was so pretty looking over the valley. When
you get up in the morning, and you look over the valley. And here we thought it was our
land! [Laughter] And it was a white man’s land, and he told us to move off of there. My
God, Harlan was so mad, he said, “I’m going to fill up that well with rocks!” I don’t
know if he ever did or not. It was a wanakanu [16:15], just dug out like that. Like an
artesian well. It was an artesian well. But, natural. That’s what I remember. I was about
four or five years old when we moved away from there. And then we come to town. But
we weren’t treated very good, either. Our people went to work for the white man. They
feed you like dogs, outside. That’s all I could remember about it. Out there, sitting. And
we were scared. We didn’t run out and talk to a white man if they came to our house. We
went and hid. But nowadays, the kids will be the first one at the door.
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C:
When you say you moved to town, was town right here where the colony is today, or
where was it?
EB:
No colony. We just lived at the edge of town. Grandpa build a home. Like a longhouses.
Two or three families living in it. And then other people start to come. I think Willie
Joaquin and Johnny Lawson, they build their home. They had nice surrounding. Rest
of them, they build, you know, little rooms. And Jim Crum had, he had a house, and he
had a barn, and horses. That’s when we we were going to learn to fly. We got on top of
that, his barn. Because Grandma told us, “Soon, they’re going to be flying.” So Clara and
I, and a bunch of us, we said, “Let’s get on top of Jim Crum’s barn and fly.” We put our
arms out like this, and we were going to fly. And we got whipping for that, because we
didn’t mind.
LB:
That’s your cousin, Clara Woodson.
EB:
Mmhm. Clara just told me last week—last week? Couple weeks ago. She said, “Do you
remember that?” [Laughter] I said no. She said, “Do you remember that lady that flew in
here, and landed there, and we wouldn’t go to her?” I barely remembered it. But I do
remember her offering us candy. It was that Amelia Earhart? She was flying, and she
stopped in Battle Mountain. [Laughter] And she went and give us candy. After she read
about it in the book, and we were the little Indian kids that were watching her. But when
she showed us the candy, we ran to her. And Clara said, “Do you remember that?” I said,
“I barely remember it.”
LB:
Where were you born?
EB:
Here in Elko. Right where the old Senior’s Center was, the taibo center up here? Right
across from our smoke shop. That used to be an Indian colony there. First it started on
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Steniger Hill. Then they keep moving them back, moving them back. Until they got on
Walnut Street, where you live now. And then, through there. But that’s where the old
Indian camp was, up on that hill. But I don’t know—I know that Louie Tom and there
that, I remember them. I don’t know who all was up there, but we’d go and visit, and play
on that hill. There was also, back in there there was some Chinamens, too, lived there, my
dad said. Because at that time, the Chinamens did the work around here, in the mines.
C:
What kind of mines did they have back then?
EB:
Silver.
C:
Silver.
EB:
Yeah. Quicksilver, my dad used to—quicksilver in the one in Tuscarora. The other was
Midas. Midas, I think is the other one. Tuscarora and Midas. Of course, they were little
mines. Not like the big mines now. I know Dad worked in one. I guess my dad worked in
almost everything.
C:
So was there any businesses in this area at that time?
EB:
Yeah. Well, we don’t know because we’re small. But I do remember Reinhart. Reinhart
was the oldest store here. And Mayer. Mayer Hotel.
C:
And what did Reinhart’s sell?
EB:
Clothing.
C:
Clothing store?
EB:
Yeah. Yeah, Reinhart sold clothing. And who else? There was Stevens. There was
another store called Stevens. And then the Kenosha Hotel wasn’t there. Just the Mayer. I
remember the Mayer Hotel, which is now Stockman. That’s all I remember, that one big
hotel. And there was small ones, like the Overland. Overland was right across by the
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Kenosha. Right behind Henderson Bank. That used to be a hotel there. I think Henderson
Bank is the one where they always used to… But there was hardly any. Pioneer.
Pioneer’s were there a long time. I had a pictures where Pioneer has got trees all around
it.
C:
So was Pioneer always a bar, or was it a café, or a restaurant?
EB:
It was a—well, it was a café. And then later on, they put a bar to it. But it was run by a
Chinaman. Old Tom. His name was Tom, the cook. They start making it bigger and
bigger. Then Capriola’s. He’s been there a long time, too. And there was Hessen.
Hessen’s store. And it was right across from, let’s see… it’s on the same street as
Capriola’s. That next street there, at the theater. Yeah, that Hessen, it was called Hessen’s
store.
LB:
It was a hardware store.
EB:
Hardware store. Used to be a hardware store. That was all there, that I remember. And we
had old laundry, which was run by a Mexican couple. I forget the name of that. It was
right by, right alongside of Puccinelli’s, at their store here. And then the laundry was in
the back. That was there a long time, too. Puccinellis had their store a long time. But rest
of them—maybe Sam. Sam had a hotel. That was later on, though. Sam Heron. He had
that. He’s a tuutaibo guy that had a restaurant. Taxi driver. And he had that.
C:
Did the railroad run through here then?
EB:
Uh-huh. Used to run right through there.
LB:
You ride on the railroad?
EB:
[Laughter] Oh, when we’d ride in the railroad, can’t even sit in the coach side. We ride
free on the railroad. I remember from Battle Mountain to Beowawe, I go home with
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Grandma, and the conductor say, “Come on, Annie, here’s your seat!” I remember he was
calling her Annie. That’s when I found out my grandma’s name was Annie! [Laughter]
But we couldn’t sit in the coach. We had to sit with them off of the, train, what do you
call it, the…
LB:
Locomotive?
C:
The engine?
EB:
No. It’s before that, my dad said. The Indians used to sit out on the back, on the flat bed
of the train. They’d just load up on there. They didn’t have to pay anything, they just get
on and go. But Grandma rode kind of classy, like when they had trains with cabs on it.
But we’d get off, and she didn’t have to pay anything. But she always had that seat. Says,
“Annie, here’s your seat.”
C:
How old was your grandma then?
EB:
Oh, she must be in her—Grandma died when she was 88. Mom was 81. And her sister
was 11 years older.
LB:
How old were you when she died?
EB:
Who, Grandma?
LB:
No, how old were you?
EB:
Grandma died 50 years ago, when you was born. Grandma Annie.
LB:
Oh, same time as Mary? Her and Mary died the same year?
EB:
Maybe. Yeah. Yeah, you were young the year that Grandma died. You were a newborn.
LB:
Must have been in 1955.
C:
What did she die from? Old age, or…?
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EB:
No, she had pneumonia. Pneumonia, and she was transferring from Owyhee to Schurz.
That’s where they were sending the people, to Schurz. And she died in Schurz.
C:
What type of diseases were affecting Indian people back then?
EB:
Well, most of the people say the TB. But none of our people had TB. No one in Battle
Mountain. I think the only one that I know of was Frank Piffero, Jr. they sent away to a
sanatorium. But, that’s all I know. When we went to school, that was first thing. We had
to get tested for TB, and drink cod liver oil. Give to all the kids. Take us from everybody.
C:
What was the cod liver oil, what was that for? What was it supposed to do?
EB:
Vitamins, I guess. I don’t know.We just did what the white man tell us to do! [Laughter]
But we did. We’d have to drink one tablespoon. We all lined up, they would give us
tablespoon. Some would throw up, but they’d make them drink some more.
LB:
Was there smallpox?
EB:
No, I don’t think so. That’s before my time.
C:
How about polio? Was pol—
EB:
No.
C:
Not polio?
EB:
There’s hardly anybody that I know of that from Battle Mountain had polio. I don’t think
so. Of course, maybe they had it, but I don’t know. But I don’t think so. I think mostly
that… Pneumonia, I think is—the TB and pneumonia.
C:
What type of wild animals were there? Was it plenty of wild animals out here then? Like,
deer, and rabbit, and—
EB:
Oh, we had deer, rabbit… Battle Mountain had wild pigs.
C:
Really?
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EB:
They were out on 25 Ranch, out in there. We only, once in a while you see them, but
there was lot of wild pigs there. Where they come from, I don’t know. But they had wild
pigs.
C:
Did the people eat the wild pigs, or…?
EB:
Well, I think it’s a pigs that turn wild. I don’t think it’s a pigs, you know, like, way back.
But 25 Ranch had lot of wild pigs. Either they were left out there and just, got more and
more… I never seen no deer. Just rabbits. Squirrels. Well, not the kind of squirrel we
have in Owyhee. It’s called ku’umpe. I don’t know what they’d call it. What they call
that? It’s not squirrels that you see in Owyhee. They’re smaller. They’re more like a
rodent, I think.
LB:
Is it the chipmunk?
EB:
They look like chipmunk, but they’re not.
LB:
Did they have that stripe on them?
EB:
Gee, I don’t know.
LB:
They’ve got little short tail?
EB:
Yeah. Yeah, like around Battle Mountain, they’ve got a lot of those. That’s what people
catch.
LB:
That’s what Melissa says.
EB:
And they weren’t fat like the squirrels. But they were longer. But Battle Mountain had a
lot of pokottsi—you know what pokottsi is. Lizard. They had lot of lizard, Battle
Mountain. But I never did see no rattlesnakes or anything, just lizard.
LB:
What’d they eat then?
EB:
I don’t know. Mice, I guess.
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LB:
Did they really live there in Battle Mountain, or is that just where they ended up at?
EB:
Who?
LB:
The people.
EB:
I think they came there.
LB:
Because of the town?
EB:
Yeah, they come to town. I think mostly, was in Austin, I believe the people that lived in
Austin when the mines closed up, I think they came to Battle Mountain. Because that’s—
I know all the old people that’s in Battle Mountain, there’s nothing but new people now.
LB:
And they all came from the Austin area.
EB:
Yeah, Austin area and Yomba.
LB:
And it’s like Beowawe.
EB:
To Beowawe. But I think most of them have just all died off. Did that for Lois and
Murphy. But Beowawe didn’t have as many people as Battle Mountain did. And then
later on, people start to move away from Battle Mountain. Guess the only ones that’s left
is Ida and them. And their kids is still there.
C:
What type of businesses was there in Battle Mountain at that time? Or—
EB:
Mining.
C:
Mining?
EB:
Mining. Yeah, the O’Neil was the biggest. And small mines. And of course there’s
ranchers. And then the mines. Mines close down. Now Battle Mountain’s gotten big. I
don’t know nobody there no more. The oldest one died here last year, that’s hundred.
Eleanor Lemaire. She was our schoolteacher. And she was hundred.
C:
She was a school teacher in Battle Mountain?
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EB:
Mmhm.
LB:
Where’d you go to school in Battle Mountain?
EB:
Next door to the white ones. We had a school of our own. We couldn’t mix up with the
white kids. We had boundary line, like this. Like this. ‘Round this side, and all our kids
on that side.
LB:
So you had Indian school?
EB:
No. They had a public school, it was a public school, but that’s how they had restricting.
We couldn’t go to school with the other kids.
C:
Were you in the same classroom, or different buildings?
EB:
Just one big whole classroom. [Laughter] Then I remember, I was eating the rice and
milk. Every day, we eat that. Nothing else but rice and milk for lunch.
C:
What did the teachers teach?
EB:
Arithmetic it was, mostly. But we couldn’t talk Indian, when the teachers talk English.
And that Marianne Glaser, Marianne Wells, she used to deliver milk from Lincoln Ranch
every morning. She’d come on horseback with a little jug hanging. Brought some milk
for our rice. She remembers that!
C:
How many students was in the classroom?
EB:
Oh, there was lot of kids. There was, oh, Bessie and Charlie Hall’s kids, and the Woods
family, and the Williams, and the Holleys. It was a big family. I don’t know when they
start going to school with the white kids. I guess after we left. But yeah, we had a
boundary line that we couldn’t step outside. If they catch us on this side, we’d be
punished.
C:
What kind of punishment did you receive?
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EB:
Stand in the corner. [Laughter] That’s the punishment. Stand in the corner with our back
towards—facing the wall, stand there. We couldn’t sit down.
C:
How long was the class day? Or, how long was each day to go to school?
EB:
Well, we just like—we go in the morning, and play in afternoon, and go back to class,
and then come home. And later on, I remember we used to run clear down to the Indian
camp, which is a mile, to go to eat lunch. That’s when it was getting better. But before
that, that’s what they used to eat: rice and milk. With little cinnamon on it. That was the
biggest meal.
C:
When you ran to the Indian camp, what did you guys go eat?
EB:
Whatever our parents got us, we would just go eat. Bread. Just, whatever’s left over. And
we didn’t say, “We don’t want to eat it.” “I don’t like this,” we didn’t say. But we were
lucky, because my dad worked at the ranch, and he always brought home some meat for
us.
LB:
What ranch did he work at?
EB:
25. 25 Ranch, it belongs to that E. R. Marvel. And my whole family worked for them,
until my Uncle Harlan retired from sheepherding.
C:
So what kind of transportation was used back then? Was it wagons? Horses? Was there
any cars?
EB:
You know, that I can’t say, because my dad had little Model T, and Uncle Harlan had one
too. I don’t remember us riding on wagons and stuff. I don’t remember that far—but I do
remember, when we got to Owyhee, we were riding a wagon. But my dad had a car, and
Guy Manning had a car. Was the only car in Owyhee, in the old quadrant. Uncle
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Ralph’s uncle, what they call him—Tuuttsupainte [37:26]. Yeah. He had a car. My
Uncle Tracy did nothing there but go and ride it.
C:
So was there gas stations for these cars, or where did they get gas? What did they use to
run on?
EB:
Gee, I think maybe Sherman Store, they owned a store that’s there yet, still sitting
there—she might’ve had some gas. I don’t remember. But I know my dad had this Model
T, or Model A, whatever it is. But Uncle Harlan had a little better one. I think he had a
kind of closed-in one.
C:
So did you guys travel from Battle Mountain to Owyhee on the car, on the Model T?
EB:
Uh-huh.
C:
How long did it take?
EB:
[Laughter] All day! My dad took all day. It takes all day from Owyhee to Elko. And
Mom used to say, “[Shoshone at 38:38]” I don’t know how you can seem this slow!
David used to run alongside of dad’s truck! But I… I lived in Owyhee until Owyhee
changed. Now, you don’t know no one.
C:
What was in Owyhee at that time? Did they have a store, or…?
EB:
You know, I remember, when we first got there, we lived up there by Jim Anay, you
know where Jim Anay used to live. Right across from that place there, on that hill.
C:
Roshtrand.
EB:
Jack Sims, and Charles lived there, Charlie McKinney. And then he even had a little
store there. The Rowan. Pete Rowan had a store there. But, I remember when we got
there, we went to a commissary, and they were giving out ration. That old commissary
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that used to sit there in Owyhee—I don’t think you remember it either. That was before
your time, I think. But they had a little commissary.
LB:
Where was it at?
EB:
You know, up here at the agency.
LB:
In that agency area?
EB:
Yeah, in that area, uh-huh. The people all gathered there to get their ration. Wasn’t much;
give you flour, sugar. That’s what they were getting. I never knew what death was, either.
When our people pass away there. I got scared, when I see them cooking groundhog, ate
it! [Laughter] I didn’t think it was that good!
C:
That commissary, was it run by the Indian agency?
EB:
Uh-huh. That’s to give them that ration. Yep.
C:
What type of food did they give out for ration?
EB:
Mostly flour, and beans. And nothing fancy. But to them, it was, you know, good. No
meat or anything, it was just—I remember Edith saying that “Have a little beans,” you
know, and like that. She’d get some beans. Nowadays, people don’t realize what the other
people have gone through to live.
C:
Do you remember from when the war started, when America went to war in World War
I?
EB:
No.
C:
Or, World War II?
EB:
Yeah, II. Yeah, II. Now, Dad went to World War I. But they just boarded the train when
the war ended. So he never got to fight. But he was drafted. Yeah, I remember World
War II. Because it was [19]62? [19]63, huh? [19]63? Yeah. I was pregnant with Maggie
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during World War II. I was in Battle Mountain, I was that sly kind of girl, I used to have
a taipo girlfriend. She always, “Come on Liz, we’ll just go to show.” I’m always getting
bigger and bigger, and she say, “Oh, I’ll help you if something happens to you!” And we
were sitting there, and she come running out of the house. “Elizabeth, we can’t go to
show! Pearl Harbor’s been attacked!” “Where’s Pearl Harbor?” I said. [Laughter] “Oh,
you dummy!” she said. And she told us then. She said, “My brothers are going to join.”
And that’s when they start shooting on that little tsappanni, Tom Tomocho.
LB:
Oh, that lived in Battle Mountain?
EB:
Yeah. Uh-huh. They were shooting up his laundry.
LB:
He was a Japanese man.
EB:
Jackie Woods’s father.
LB:
She knows a lot of the really bad stories. [Laughter]
EB:
But that was his father. Tom Tomocho, his name. His name supposed to be Jackie
Tomocho. But anyway, they shot up his place, and poor thing, his boys went to service.
And they took him to a concentration camp someplace. And he moved, I think. That’s the
last I seen of old Tom. He was a nice old man. All the Indian ladies worked for him, in
his laundry. And he’d go, “You want to eat some lice?” [Laughter] I would see him in
Battle Mountain, and come up, and I’d see him, but a lot of the people that was there is
gone. I hope to see a little longer. Try to hit 85. But I have seen lot.
C:
How old are you now, Liz?
EB:
82.
C:
82. When is your birthday?
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EB:
October 3rd. 1923, I was born. There was twelve of us in the family, six boys and six
girls. My oldest brother was killed in a snowslide in J.P. Jones. That’s when I found out
what death was. Out of the twelve, there’s only five of us left.
C:
How old are the ones that are left? Are they older than you, or younger than you?
EB:
Younger. Alfred is same age as Maggie, 63. And how old is Geraldine?
LB:
She’s younger, isn’t she? Two years? So she’s got to be 61?
EB:
And Dolores.
LB:
I think Dolores is 61.
EB:
Leonard. I don’t know.
LB:
Leonard’s the same age as Jackie [__inaudible at 45:25__].
EB:
All of us, we’re almost the same age as Charlie Hall’s kids. My brother Leo is same age
as me. And—no. No, Ivy. And then me and Martha are day apart. I was on the 3rd, and
then she was on the 4th. I don’t know how many of them are left now. I don’t know,
maybe two girls? There were three, with Lawrence. Lawrence still alive, huh? There’s
Lawrence, and Angie, and Marjorie, and Eva Neal. I think there, yeah, there three of
them left. That was a big family.
LB:
Mom’s brothers and sisters are all two years apart. Starting from 1921, so [__inaudible at
46:31__].
C:
So, how did you learn to speak English? Or how, do you remember—
EB:
[Laughter] I went to Stewart! I went to Stewart. That matron had a stick. If she hear us
talking, wham on my head! Only thing we know how to say was “Yes,” “No,” “Yes,”
“No.”
LB:
How old were you?
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EB:
I don’t know, thirteen? Twelve, thirteen.
C:
Did you know the students that went to Stewart, or was there many—many of the
students you knew, were they Shoshone, or were they from other tribes?
EB:
There were just only two tribes—three. Washoes, Paiute, and Shoshone. Then later on, I
guess, different tribe came in. But we didn’t get along with the Paiutes. And we fought
with the Washoes.
LB:
[Laughter] You didn’t get along with anybody, it sounds like!
EB:
You see? Nowadays, nobody gets along! That’s right. And I first got with Webb. She
says, “Is this your boyfriend? Do you know this fellow?” I went to school with kids in
Stewart. That’s how I know them all. I know everybody in Nixon. I said, they were my
classmate, and we used to teach each other about Stubb Frank, who is from Schurz.
Stanton Frank was his name, but somebody called him Stubb Frank. They had all crazy
names! [Laughter]
LB:
Everybody had nicknames.
EB:
Yeah.
C:
Did they have sports back then in Stewart? Did they play football? What type of sports
did they have?
EB:
They had football. And all the Jackson boys and Murphy boys were top stars over there.
Stewart was at one time hard to beat. I remember growing up, being there, going to
University of Nevada. And you could hear plenty about what those boys were playing.
And Frank Murphy was drinking when he was playing ball. He couldn’t play unless he
drank—that’s what he says. But anyway, they were tied, they went overtime. And few
seconds left, and Frank Murphy was on one end of the—the floor? Made a basket, and
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you should hear the people roar, when he made that basket! And it was ticking. That’s
Reno. Reno always wanted to beat Stewart, but it could never beat Stewart.
LB:
What did you play when you were a little girl?
EB:
Hockey and basketball. Grass hockey, we played.
LB:
What was that like?
EB:
Hurt if you get hit with it. You get hit on the leg. I got scarred up from hockey, when
those disk would hit you. You couldn’t go on ice! [Laughter] It was grass. Sherman
played the grass hockey.
C:
Was there any other games you played?
EB:
Yeah, basketball game. Baseball. Well, everything, I guess.
LB:
How about the Indian kids? Did they play different games?
EB:
No, they didn’t have no Indian games. It was already whiteman games that they know.
But back in Oklahoma, they still play Indian games, huh? We seen that when we went to
the reunion. So, they played.
LB:
You never played shinny?
EB:
Mm-mm.
LB:
You never saw them play shinny?
EB:
Mm-mm.
LB:
How about the men? Did they play any games?
EB:
I don’t know.
LB:
You don’t recall seeing any of them?
EB:
Mm-mm.
LB:
When the people got together, what did they do? Because you guys lived by yourselves.
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EB:
We never went anywhere. Our parents went, and we stayed home.
LB:
Oh. Where did they go?
EB:
To a Fandango.
LB:
Where?
EB:
Around different places in Nevada.
LB:
Was it always the same places?
EB:
Mm-mm.
LB:
Different places?
EB:
They’d have one at Ruby Valley… In fact, my dad used to say that they would ride miles
to go to Fandango, on horseback. But we never got to see that.
C:
What was the Fandango about? What did they do at the Fandangos?
EB:
They eat and dance. I don’t know why—why is it called “Fandango?”
LB:
Why is it called Fandango? It was a nayada.
EB:
They did their handgame, at night they dance.
LB:
What was the nayada?
C:
Nayaha? Nayahuu?
EB:
Naaiyawi?
C:
Naaiyawi is hand games.
EB:
Naaiyawi is hand game.
LB:
No, it’s not hand game—
EB:
Nataya’a.
LB:
Nataya’a.
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EB:
Oh, the nataya’a dances. We did that a lot, where somebody would start that—if they
want to start a dance, they would get up and start the dance. Nataya’a, they’d call it,
when everybody gets into a circle. And dances nataya’a.
LB:
And why did they do that?
EB:
Just to start dancing.
LB:
Just to start dancing? That’s why they have the dances?
EB:
Mm-hm. But just anyone could go, and—I seen them doing the Bear Dance. And… that’s
about all I guess I’ve seen, is the Bear Dance. But we never got to go to big doings.
That’s all I could remember.
C:
Okay, Liz. We have about four or five minutes left. If you were to tell your
grandchildren—your grandchildren that maybe are here, or still to come—what would
you say to them about yourself? What would you want them to remember about you?
EB:
I have tapes. [Laughter] I have tapes that my grandchildren have. Got stories. And we
sing a lot, too. We sing.
C:
What kind of songs do you sing?
EB:
Round dance songs. And night songs, and nursery rhymes.
LB:
How did you learn to sing?
C:
I hear it from my dad, and my grandfather. I could hear somebody singing, and I could
pick up that song—as long as you know what they’re singing about, you could pick it up.
But if you don’t know, like, the language—if you don’t know what they’re saying,
because they hi-yi-yi-ya. [Laughter] But Shoshones, they’ve got words. So you know. I
used to even sing in Paiute when I was going to school down in Stewart. I learned that
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Paiute songs. We used to challenge the Paiute kids to sing. We’d out-sing them, Theresa
and I.
LB:
Theresa who?
EB:
Theresa Jackson. Theresa Thomas.
LB:
Theresa Thomas?
EB:
That’s part of his foot clan. That was your mother’s sister’s daughter, huh?
C:
Yeah, Theresa.
EB:
Patsy and their mother.
LB:
I just wanted you to tell the tape that.
EB:
Oh, yeah. Her and I were the best friends. We would be in trouble in school together.
We’d run away together. That part, I don’t want to tell! [Laughter] Just, get our matrons
mad. We’d leave the building, stand around the corner, and peek at her. See which
direction she’s going to look for us. [Laughter] Harriet Packer was our matron. Yeah.
C:
Was this in Stewart?
EB:
Yeah.
C:
How did you guys get to Stewart? Did you ride on the train, or what was…?
EB:
No, big bus came and pick us up. And I forged my dad’s name on my application, and I
went. [Laughter] My dad didn’t want me to go to Stewart, because he said, “That’s no
place to go at.” He had gone there, and he ran away from there. And Theresa and I went
to Stewart. Yeah, wasn’t bad, I guess, after you get to thinking about it, like. We just, just
like daredevils, we always would cause something.
C:
Was Reno close by to Stewart then?
EB:
Huh?
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C:
How big was Reno at that time?
EB:
Oh, the university was open already. University of Nevada. Because that’s where we used
to go and play. But they used to, all different schools used to come to Stewart and play.
The boys would go out and play schools. But I didn’t go there when Earl Dunn and them
were going to school there. That’s when your dad was there. He was a top player.
C:
Okay, we got about a minute left. If there’s anything that, Leah, you would like to add to
the interview for today…
LB:
I don’t know. [Laughter] I was just going to say that, she sings a lot of songs. And she
learned because her dad would have them sing every night. And they all had to sing a
song before they could leave the table.
EB:
Oh, yeah. If we’re good, Dad would give us candy. And we’d do the dishes early, and
then we’d all get to bed while he sing. Half of us would be asleep, and my dad would still
be singing. And I’m listening, so I want to learn his songs. And I got to learn his songs.
The boys didn’t care to learn the songs.
LB:
But we’ve been recording a lot of what she’s been doing, I guess. She’s been spending
time with me, and my job, which is a lot of traveling. So she goes with me, and stays with
me on the road. And so as we’re going along, I’m having her taped, and singing. I’ve
learned that she has so many songs that I haven’t even heard them all. She’d come up
with a new one that I have no clue. And I just learned it from her. I’m a visual person,
I’ve got to see it or write it before I can learn it. Whereas, she can hear something. And
she can pick it up real easy. And she does that with other people’s songs.
EB:
I even know how explore [__inaudible at 59:00__]. I know those, but we can’t record
those.
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C:
Yeah.
LB:
So she knows a lot, and she can identify whose song something is. Just like when I keep
entering what I keep entering, when he’s singing, she knows—
EB:
You heard him singing?
C:
Uh-huh. Yeah.
EB:
I had to correct him. I have to correct him sometimes. And he’s pretty good. Sometimes,
he get on the phone. He’s singing over the phone. [Laughter]
LB:
But she’s got a lot of songs, and so I’ve been helping her record on tape. You know, at
home. I have a tape recorder. Just telling stories about things, because she’s told you very
little today. She’s got so much more to share. And so I told her if she gets it down on
tape, that we’ll always have that memory that’s she’s had. She’s got a lot of stories that
she tells. She looks at pictures, and she could tell you all about a person—who their
family is, where they came from, where they were living when she was younger. And
she’s got all that information just stored up there. So, my mother is here now. Because
sometimes when people—because she’s on enrollment, too. So she has to go through,
and, we can sit there with the Census, and she’ll look at the Census and I’ll tell her, I’ll
read it because now her eyesight’s getting worse. But she’ll be able to tell me all about
their family, who they are.
EB:
Well, I know their Indian names, too. Because a lot of them in Owyhee, they got Indian
names. I know it once I hear that name. But I couldn’t spell it out. [Laughter] I couldn’t
spell it out. But I know them.
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LB:
So that’s what we’ve been doing to help. And hopefully, we’ll keep track of all these
tapes that she’s got, because she has a bad habit of putting stuff in places we can’t find it,
so…
EB:
[Laughter] Yeah, we’re going to head for Phoenix tomorrow. So we’ll probably sing all
the way.
C:
Well, our tape’s out, so we’re out, so… Okay. Well, we probably wore you out.
LB:
Today’s her good day.
EB:
Huh?
LB:
Today’s our good day.
C:
Yeah, [Shoshone at 1:01:18]. Send one down here.
LB:
I wish we could have done the old people long time ago.
C:
Oh, I know! There was nobody doing it. We were all saying that we were going to do it.
When I was in high school, I wanted to do it, and I didn’t. And now, the old people are
gone.
LB:
I know, and that’s what’s real sad. Because we’ve lost so many, just in the last twenty
years. I just… there were people we’ve lost that had so much knowledge. And we’ve
been doing a lot of writing down, and documenting, and stuff. Trying to keep record of
everything.
C:
Yep. That’s what’s—
EB:
I never thought I’d live to see my great-great-grandmother, Meredith Adam, you know,
writing anything that she told us. But my tsoo’s mother, I seen her. She was in her second
childhood. Old Maggie used to put diapers on her. Little old lady. And when Tsoo got
sick, she told me, “[Shoshone at 1:02:35]”—
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[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
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Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
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GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
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2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
The person(s) performing the interview
Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
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Elizabeth "Liz" Brady
Location
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Elko, NV (GBC - TV Station)
Original Format
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DVD and VOB format
Duration
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01:02:40
Transcription
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http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/536
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Elizabeth "Liz" Brady - Oral history (11/29/2006)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Elizabeth "Liz" Brady, Western Shoshone from Elko, NV on 11/29/2006
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Elizabeth “Liz” Brady was born in Elko, NV between the Elko Smoke Shop and I-80 where the old Elko Senior Citizens Center was located. Her father’s name was Sontag Jackson whose grandparents were from the Austin area and were part of the Dubba Diccada. Her mother was Mary Horton who belonged to the Dosa Wihi near Battle Mountain, NV. Liz talks about how she grew up around ranches while her father ran mustangs. She speaks about her experience going to Battle Mountain for grammar school, and her experience at Stewart Indian School where she was punished for speaking her language. She also speaks about how her grandfather partook in contact with the emigrants and their wagons. She also speaks about growing up in tzsogogotti (Antelope Valley) and how her family was ran out of the area. She also tells the audience about the history of Elko including the start-up of a lot of the old businesses including who ran them. She also speaks about living on the outskirts of Battle Mountain and the diseases impacting the Shoshone there.</p>
Video pending <br /> <a title="Elizabeth 'Liz' Brady Oral History Transcript" href="/omeka/files/original/90464b5a0a4119cfb22d242bdcdb1531.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Elizabeth 'Liz' Brady Oral History Transcript [pdf file]</a>
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 013
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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11/29/2006 [29 November 2006]; 2006 November 29
Contributor
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
Consent form on file (administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/items/show/356
Language
A language of the resource
English
Battle Mountain
Community
Conservation Corps
contact
Crossroads
Elko
Fandango
GBIA
mining
Owyhee
ranching
Shoshone
Stewart Indian School
Story
traditions
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/68b1e6bc52ad8e733de76925b8c54a26.jpg
1ce882b9f8510f5a121e94c10ee155c7
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/9efa92ba00f6da9497be61fe35430e01.pdf
7faee4f774f2c0406aa22d413c288d22
PDF Text
Text
Clara
Woodson
&
Gracie
Begay
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
005
Oral
History
Interview
by
Joe
Duce=e
March
16,
2006
Elko,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hBp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 005
Interviewee: Clara Woodson and Gracie Begay
Interviewer: Joe Ducette
Date: June 20, 2006
W:
Well, I was born in Battle Mountain, Nevada, June 20th, 1920. I lived with all my
grandparents. And my grandfather was alive, too, at that time. And he was the only male
in the family. The rest were all widows, or divorcee, or whatever you call it! [Laughter]
And, but I lived with all of them. And I lived with my great-great grandmother for 12
years, because I was 12 when she passed on. But I lived with the rest. After she passed
on, I lived with my great-grandmother, Mary Horton, that you see in the picture. She goes
to work every day for the Horton family in Battle Mountain. And where she got that
name of “Horton,” she worked for a Jim Horton that had the grocery store, dry goods
store, right there in Battle Mountain where the Owl Café is, and casino. That used to be
his store. So, my great-grandmother Mary worked for them for all these years. But I
didn’t see this part of it, I just heard this one. They told me that Mr. Horton told her that
she’s been in his family for so long, that he was going to give his name to her. So that’s
how she became Mary Horton. Whether there had been any papers drawn, or anything
like that, I don’t know. That part I don’t know. So, she became Mary Horton. So, she was
Mary Horton until the day she passed on. And she worked for these people all these
years. She was already in her hundreds, when she used to go to work, about a mile and a
half each way. And she was active. And never stopped for anything. When she gets
started, she just walks until she gets there, and walks until she gets back. And she worked
there for many, many years—until I grew up, and then when I grew up, I took over her
job, because she got to the point where she couldn’t work anymore. So I worked there for
quite a few years, too, after that.
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I’m from Shoshone, in Battle Mountain. And at that time, our chief in Battle Mountain
and Austin area was Tutuwa. And he was the chief on that side, whereas Te-Moak was on
this side. And so he’s been a chief for all those years, and he, that was his responsibility,
was the area on that side.
D:
And then, did you have a nickname as a child, or…?
W:
Waiyu. Wai-yu. I don’t know what it means. Do you? [Laughter] Yeah. Waiyu.
D:
What was life like growing up?
W:
Wonderful. We didn’t know what hardship was, because we were just having too much
fun! [Laughter] We lived in the hills for many years, and we didn’t know what it was to
struggle because my grandfather was a good provider.
D:
What was your house like?
W:
We lived in tents. And sometimes, we lived in—
B:
Wikiups.
W:
Huh? What they call it? Wikiup, yeah. So, wherever we wanted to go, that’s where was
our home.
D:
Can you describe what a wikiup is like?
W:
It’s sagebrush. Just all built together. Together, and packed together somehow, I don’t
know. But that’s how it was. And then the tent was a regular tent that you buy from any
store. So we lived in that for years and years. And we had, my grandfather had plenty of
horses, and he had plenty of wagons, and we lived between Battle Mountain and Austin,
up in there, in King Creek area. And my grandfather was given some land up in that area.
I guess it’s registered in Austin, because Austin at that time was county seat. So, he was
given that strip of land back in there. So that’s where we lived for many years. So, twice,
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maybe three times a year, he makes a trip into Austin, or he makes a trip into Battle
Mountain, gets all his supplies. The rest, he grew. And he’d hunt. So we always had
plenty to eat. So, we were—and we were never sick. We never had to go to a doctor that I
would even remember. We never had taken any medicine, except an herb for a sore throat
once in a while. But we were never sick. And we were just happy as a lark! [Laughter]
D:
When—as children, what did you do for fun?
W:
Anything you wanted to do. You can go for walks, you can climb trees, you can go
wading, whatever. It’s there.
B:
Picking pinenuts.
W:
Yeah. Pinenuts, and berries.
B:
Berries.
W:
Everything, was just right there. So, whatever you want to do.
D:
Did you have any games that you played?
W:
Mmhm, yeah. Different kind of games that they taught us how to play. So, like, whatever.
D:
What kind, or don’t you remember?
W:
Well, one was kick the—what they call kick, they made a ball out of a rag, like a ball.
And then you kick it. No! You don’t kick it, you take a stick, you hit it with a stick.
Remember?
B:
Unnnhh, I don’t remember that part! [Laughter]
W:
Yeah, you hit it with a stick, and that was it. So… But, at least, whatever you wanted to
play, it was there. So. But, everybody was happy. Nobody, there was no fighting, no
nothing. There was no booze, so there was nothing like that. So everybody was happy.
When people stopped by, they know that my grandfather always had plenty of food, so
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whoever’s going through always stopped by for two or three days, and visit, and he gives
them enough food to go wherever they’re going to go.
D:
What kind of food did you have as kids?
W:
Whatever you—
B:
Whatever.
W:
Everything. Everything was there. We had wild potatoes, we had onions, we had carrots.
B:
Wild carrots.
W:
Wild berries, and...
B:
Pinenuts.
W:
Pinenuts.
B:
Jackrabbits.
W:
Berries. Jackrabbits, squirrels. You name it, it was there. Deer. Want to go fishing,
there’s fish. You name it, it’s there. And it was free. And you didn’t have to ask anybody,
or worry about anybody telling you you can’t hunt here or you can’t hunt there. And he
made, my grandfather made ropes for the ranchers. He made cowhide ropes, and
whatever the horses, they call it. What they, they’re on their heads. Conchos?
B:
Mmhm.
W:
Yeah, he made all of that. And made all kinds of stuff for horse. And lot of smaller ropes,
and bigger ropes for bigger wagons and stuff like that. But he did all of that. He took care
of all the horses for all those ranchers. So he worked several ranches down there. And
then, when his sons got older, they followed his footsteps, and so they did the same thing,
too. The grandparents—the grandmothers, every night is storytime. And like I said, we’re
up there in the open, in the tents, and there’s two, three kids all out there, and they all go
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to bed at the same time. So, that’s when the storytime comes. And what you do when
they tell you a story, you repeat what they say. And, so, she tells the story, and pretty
soon she only hears maybe five voices. And then she knows one’s down. And then she
keeps on telling, and then there’s three, and then there’s two, and then pretty soon there’s
no more. And that’s the end of the story. But you’ve got to remember where it ended,
because the next night it’s going to continue from there. So, every night, we have to have
stories before we went to bed.
D:
Do you remember any of the stories?
W:
God, it’s been so long, I don’t even remember! [Laughter] There’s a lot of those stories,
most of them was stories that they say how the world was made, and you know, about
God, and things like that. And how things originated, where they came from, and it’s
stuff like that.
B:
I was born in Austin, Nevada, in 1935. Have both my parents, the pictures. When I was
growing up, my—well, in the earlier days, my mom, when they first went to school, she
said that the superintendent came and they were all hiding in the sagebrush. They didn’t
want to go to school. And so they finally caught them, and some of them got sent to
Stewart, but my mom said she was glad that she went to school to the eighth grade. And
she was thankful for that, because she knew how to read and write. And she knew how to
count money. She was smart at math and all this kind of stuff. And so she was always
thankful that she went to school. But my aunt and them never went to school, and all she
had learned was how to write her name. That was Adele. And my mom used to work for
the Hiskys, when she was a young girl, like her grandma did. And she said she used to
save the soaps, you know, from when she was cleaning house, and from the bathtubs and
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stuff. She used to save all the soap. Then she’d take it home and make soap out of it to
wash her school clothes with. And she’d heat her own water and stuff. She told me all
about that, you know. And so, when she got—I’m getting way ahead of myself. My
grandma said that when they were, when she was a young girl, she remembered the
soldiers coming, she said. I don’t know where that was, by Reese River someplace. By
Austin. She said lots of soldiers came during the big flood, and she says they took them
in wagons. I guess that’s when they moved them to Austin. And she was, she said they
was giving them blankets and food and stuff. But she said lot of the people got sick from
those blankets and stuff. And she said, “They promised us money,” and she said, “We no
see no money.” That’s what she was telling us, you remember. “We no see no money.”
So…
W:
We still don’t. [Laughter]
B:
Yeah! [Laughter] Still haven’t seen it! So then she moved, we moved to Battle Mountain.
And in the, must have been the 19—I must have been six years—no, about three years
old. Maybe 1935. Or was it 1937? And there was a little school down here in Beowawe,
in Dunphy. Dunphy, Nevada, where my dad was working for the Hilltop Mine. And so
we moved to Dunphy, Nevada, in Ricksie’s, they used to call it. You know where I’m
talking about down here? There was a little school there. There was a store, run by Mrs.
Wallace, and there was a school there, and they had cabins. I think there was ten cabins.
That’s where I went to school in kindergarten. And my sister must have been in the first
grade, and my older brother Edward, I think he was probably in the third grade or
something like that. But we went to school in Dunphy. And I remember my teacher’s
name was Christine Cox, and she was, we went to school there. That’s the time the kids
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used to first make those rubber guns, you know, with the—wooden rubber guns? And I
remember one of the boys, young boys, got his eye put out with that rubber gun, because
it slipped, hit him in the eye. That’s when we were in Dunphy. Then we moved to Battle
Mountain, and I went to first grade there. And I grew up in Battle Mountain. My dad built
his own house, and he built—we had a well that he dug by his self, and he used to buy
watermelons, and bacons, and hams, food, and put them down in the well. And they used
to be nice and cool. We never had refrigeration, and we never had electricity. And, so he
made his own well, and he made his own—we used to have to go out and get the ice from
the railroad. Because he worked for the railroad, and they used to dump these big chunks
of ice from the ice cars. And we had, us kids had to go over there every morning and pick
up the ice with a wheelbarrow and wheel it back home. That’s what my mom used for her
iced tea, and they had a, like a swamp cooler, made out of gunnysacks and screen. Sets
up high like this on the—and that was our refrigeration. With the ice that we picked from
the railroad.
D:
What did you do for fun?
B:
Well, there wasn’t much fun in those days, because we didn’t live—we were in public
schools, and we didn’t live up on the Colonies. We didn’t live on the reservation,
colonies. We always lived downtown, and away from friends, really. And so we just went
to school, and learned discipline early. Not like it is today. We had to learn to be, get
home a certain time and all this, or there was the willow tree. And boy, you got willowed
if you didn’t mind! You know. Now, I remember Battle Mountain, too, and Clara’s, her
great-grandma. Mary Horton and Aggie and them. They used to make rabbit blankets, out
of the rabbit fur. Jackrabbit fur. And I can remember them sewing those blankets
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together. And they always had those rabbit blankets, remember they called them? Used to
put them down on the floor, and they used to sleep on them.
W:
Oh, there’s nothing like a rabbit blankets.
B:
Yeah! [Laughter]
W:
And that’s all you need, is one blanket. [Laughter]
B:
And I remember her doing that. So in my time, generation, I’ve known five generations
of people that lived past their hundreds. And I’m proud of that, because I can still
remember them.
D:
Who are they?
B:
Well, we had… I wrote down their, let’s start with Mary Horton—and her name was
Kangaroo, her nickname. And I didn’t know ‘til now where she got her name, the Mary
Horton, until I just heard it from her just now. And she was born in 1859, she died in
1974. And she was the mother of Aggie Jackson. No, wait a minute, I’ve got that wrong.
Mary Horton was born 1825, and she died in 1956. Mary Horton. Aggie Jackson was
born 1859, and then she died in 1974. Ida Blossom Long, a daughter of Aggie Jackson,
was born October 5, 1907, and she died July 5, 1988. Glenda Blossom Johnson was the
daughter of Ida Johnson, but I don’t have her death listed down. Harlan Jackson, son of
Aggie Jackson, died age 101 in Battle Mountain. Then you had Millie Cavanaugh,
daughter of Aggie Jackson, which is Clara’s mom. Then Jerry Jackson, son of Aggie
Jackson. And I’ve got Clara Blossom Woodson, daughter of Millie Cavanaugh. Then I
got Dan Blossom Cavanaugh down here, the son of Millie and Louie Cavanaugh. That’s
the generations. Then on my mom’s side of the family, I remember that Joe Gilbert—and
I didn’t write those down, I didn’t have time, really—but my grandma, and her great-
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great grandma was the same as my mom’s. Said she used to call it, little, oh, what was
her name?
W:
Josie.
B:
Yeah. You said it. What was her name? Jenny—not Jenny, um… You said that was
buried in Battle Mountain, at 117? That was Ton ti?
W:
Tii Tsosie.
B:
Uh-huh.
W:
Yeah. That’s little Peggy.
B:
Yeah! Little Peggy. Peggy, they called her. And, then my grandma died at 104 years old.
And she had sisters, they all lived into the hundreds. And I’ve known, from my
generation, the five generations, I remember them. Annie Dusain. She was a hundred and
something, and she was—used to walk with a cane. She used to walk real fast. They
always had apples when we used to go over to their house, and she used to say, “Oh, oh
oh! Little Grace! Oh, oh, oh!” She used to call me. She little old lady, who stood about
this high. But she grew to a little old age. And so that’s something to be proud of,
knowing in my lifetime, the generations. Don’t really—I don’t really know what they
wanted to have. But, I’m just going to try my best from the time that my grandma told us.
D:
Do you remember any stories from when you were young that your grandmother told
you?
B:
Well, she used to tell us about the—and which we don’t practice today—she used to
drink her Indian Tea every day. They used to call it, what, Indian Tea? And every day,
she drank a fourth of a cup of that. Every day without fail. She was not sick. She died of
old age. She only had little bit of arthritis in her neck. But that’s all.
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D:
And do you know what the Indian tea was made of?
B:
Pardon?
D:
Do you know what the Indian tea was made of?
W:
Tea. The Indian Tea. Mormon Tea [Shoshone at 20:29].
B:
Yeah.
W:
Mormon Tea, they call it Mormon Tea.
B:
They call it Mormon Tea. But it was the sage tea.
D:
So made from sagebrush.
W:
It’s made just like a sage—it grows like a sagebrush.
B:
Grows in the wild.
W:
It grow wild up in the mountains. Like, in Eureka. That whole mountain will just be
covered in the spring with that. You can see it right from the road.
B:
Purple flowers.
W:
Yeah. Just go out there, and—
B:
In those days, there was no diabetes.
W:
No.
B:
In those days, there was no heart disease. And they smoked cigarettes, and they smoked,
just—
W:
Indian—
B:
Indian tobacco. Indian sage. They got pinenuts. I remember, we used to have sacks of
pinenuts, sitting, you know, in the rooms. You don’t see that anymore today. You have to
go out and buy them because we can’t, just can’t get out and do it anymore!
W:
It’s so many pounds. You’re allowed so many pounds, anyhow.
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B:
Arthritis and everything else, we can’t, not active like our elders were. And we used to go
down to Twenty-Five Ranch and get the buckberries. Remember the weyem?
W:
Yeah.
B:
And that’s all closed off now. You know, to the freeway and stuff. So. We used to get
tubs of it.
W:
Everything is closed or locked up.
B:
Yeah, everything is closed, now. Everything.
W:
Gates are locked.
B:
Berries.
W:
Can’t go anyplace. Mm-mm.
B:
And that’s what I remember about growing up. And then, of course I went to school in
Battle Mountain, and all through my high school years. And my mom had nine children.
Two girls and seven boys. And we all grew up in Battle Mountain. But when we moved
to the South Fork reservation in 1952, there was no high school there. And I was a junior
in high school. So I never got to finish my high school. I never got to graduate. Because
we moved, and there was no high school where I went. And my brothers, same thing.
They had to—my parents had to board them out so they can go to school, because we
didn’t have no school in South Fork. Up to the eighth grade.
D:
Any Shoshone traditions that you can, want to pass on, or you can remember…?
B:
Oh… That’s what my kids always say. “Mom, where’s your traditions?” And I really
don’t know of any traditions. She probably knows more about that than I do, because my
dad was a Irishman. He was white, and my mom was Shoshone. She never talked to us
about things like that. But Clara grew up with all that stuff. I didn’t.
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W:
I do remember that Aggie—which is in that five generation deal—she told me ever since
I was a little girl, she told me, she says that she worked for an Indian agent here in Elko,
when she was a young woman. And she said that she did domestic work at the house. I
don’t know how long she’s worked for this man. And she says, one day, she says, he
came in, and she was doing some dusting in the living room, and—he had a office right
off of the living room. So he said to her, he said, “Aggie?” And she says, “Yeah.” He
said, “You see that great big trunk sitting by the window there?” She says, “Yeah.” [He]
says, “That trunk is full of things that you Indian people can have. It belongs to you.
Everything in there is about the Indian people. You people have so much money! If you
were to get this money, you would never have to work for anybody else. And you would
never have to sell your land to anybody else. If you can get your people together, we’ll
open this trunk, and I’ll give you all the papers.” And he says, “You can take that, and tell
the government you want this money. And when you ask for this money, after you get
together, what you call this money is, it’s called ‘Ancestor Money.’ Nothing else. When
you’re referring to this, you call it Ancestor Money, because that’s what the white settlers
put on it when they put that aside for destruction of your land, and what they have done
to your land, and how they ruined everything as they went through. Here they were good
enough to show them where to hunt, where to get their clean water. And when they left,
they put some stuff in it so that the Indian people can die from it.” And which a lot of
them did. And he says, “All this money was set aside in this great big pot. And this is
supposed to be your money, the rest of your life. They have to pay you for everything
that they have done on this earth, as they went through. It is your money, so it’s called the
Ancestor Money. It is yours. And there is a lot of it.” So all the time, when I was growing
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up, Aggie would tell me about this money. And she’d tell me and tell me. And she said,
“When you grow up, I want you to look into it. And I want you to get with your people,
and the young people, your generation, and see if you can get that money. Be sure you
call it the Ancestor Money.” So, anyway, this went on and on. All through the years. And
then, when they start having meetings about this land sale and all this, she would go to
that, and she would try to tell these young people that’s sitting behind a desk here, about
what this Indian agent told her. And all they do is brush her aside. They’d say, “Oh,
you’re old, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” That’s all they ever told her. So
she got to the point where she don’t say it any more. And the last meeting was, when they
had this Broken Treaty. She told them then. She said, “Get the Ancestor Money. You
don’t have to sell your land, just get the Ancestor Money.” And then, the day that she
died, that’s the last thing she said. “Please get your family and everybody together and
get this Ancestor Money.” But nobody ever listened to her. So that was her only worries,
is that nobody will ever get it. And so, today, they’re still fighting it, and they’re still
throwing that land deal in! Did you notice in the paper?
B:
Yeah.
W:
Always throwing that land deal. And he told her, “This has nothing to do with your land.
This is your money set aside for you.”
B:
Which we never got. Which we’re still waiting for.
W:
Well, it’s just like you told that lady: “Do you have the money, or not?” [Laughter]
D:
Any other traditions you remember?
B:
So, that was—mostly, a lot of that. Mostly, what she would tell us is the right—wrong
and right, in this world. How to live. What you do. What you shouldn’t do. How you
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raise your family. And just little things that, to give you an idea, you shouldn’t do this
and you shouldn’t do that. Mostly, for your own good, taught to raise your family. How
you treat your family. And mostly, to survive.
D:
Any stories like, with the, Mr. Coyote, or anything like that?
B:
Yeah—
W:
Yeah, lot of those stories, yeah.
B:
Itsappe.
W:
Yeah, Itsappe, Itsappe. Lot of those stories.
B:
They call—
D:
Got one you can tell us?
B:
Are we still talking, then? Should I—
D:
Yeah.
B:
Okay. They used to say, when somebody’s making a joke or something, they say, “Oh,
that’s the Itsappe. That’s Coyote, they’re acting funny.” They always use that itsappe
word, in Shoshone for coyote. The itsappe. “Oh, you’re being itsappe, they used to say, if
they thought you weren’t telling the truth, or joking, or something. But there are a lot of
stories about that, about the Coyote, if we really had the time now to—
W:
Well, there was two brothers. The older brother was the honest one. He did right by
everything. And his younger brother, he was all mischief. He’s always doing things, he
never does anything right. No matter what his older brother tells him, he says, “Yeah,
yeah, I’ll do it.” So, that’s why, now, when the Indian people refer to somebody here that
never tells the truth, they always say, “Ehh, Itsappe.”
B:
Yeah.
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W:
The young brother. [Laughter] But lot of that is kind of… not good to tell. [Laughter]
B:
Yeah!
W:
How it’s originated—yeah, you don’t want to hear that.
B:
But then, in them days, they used to have pinenuts and everything there. It’s not seen
anymore, because we don’t teach our young generations right way to go out and—
because they used to go out and hunt, and pick pinenuts, and put them up, and dig holes,
and put the cones in to roast, and they’d pack them up on their back, and go to another
camp, and pack some more. All winter long, they had the sacks of pinenuts in the house.
We’re always eating pinenuts, all winter long. Pinenut gravy, and the house always
smelled of pinenuts. We’re still trying to get our younger generation to try to find out,
and try to learn them how to go out and, do get the pinenuts, and show them that they
have to put an offering down.
W:
Oh, you never pick anything without an offering.
B:
Yeah, you always offer.
W:
Always offer. Always pray for whatever you—
B:
A nickel, penny, anything, that offering to the Mother Earth, for plentiful food. And you
always have food every year. Fruit off the trees and things. Until they started destroying
the trees. And I guess you’ve seen the Broken Treaty at Battle Mountain, which was very
sad. Makes you cry, when you see that. Every time I see that film, it makes me cry.
W:
[Shoshone at 31:30] Itsappe __
B:
Oh, the funny thing I could tell them about—
W:
California. California [Shoshone at 31:34].
B:
Do you mean tell about when they tell a lie? Call them Itsappe? I already said that.
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C:
Well, maybe some of the ones like, the handgame story? Itsappe [__inaudible at
31:46__].
B:
Oh, when they playing hand games?
C:
Playing hand games, yeah. He was ready to bet his mukua, [Shoshone at 31:54]. Maybe
you could tell that.
B:
Oh, I didn’t know about that.
W:
Well, he bet everything else.
C:
Yeah, he bet everything else.
W:
He bet everything else, he bet a lie, and to tell the truth, and all of that. And then when it
came to death, he said to his brother, he says, “I’m going to bet on death.” And his
brother says, “What are you going to bet?” He said, “Well, I’m going to bet, and I’m
going to say, ‘I think it feels good if we just die one time.’” You heard that one? Yeah.
And his brother says, “You’re going to be sorry! You’re going to get hurt one of these
days, and you’re going to be sorry.” And his brother said, the younger, mischievous one
said, “Nah, I ain’t going to be sorry.” And then right after that, his brother’s son got
killed. And then he came back to his brother. He says, “What did you say about wanting
to just die one time?” He start discussing that with his brother. And his brother was so
disgusted with him, he says, “I don’t want to talk about it. You said it’d feel good if we
died just one time.” He says, “No, I really didn’t mean that. I think dying twice would be
better.” And his brother says, “No. It’s already done. You lost it.” So he lost his son, and
his son didn’t come back. That was one of them.
C:
So before that, when people died twice, how long did it take before they used to come
back to life the second time?
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W:
Well, your—when the person—well, that’s only just a few years back. They only, if a
person dies, they keep you five days. They don’t bury you before five days. Because
there’s couple of times in Austin, I don’t remember which one it was, one of our relatives
died, and I think on the fourth day or something like that, they took him to the cemetery,
and they always have a last showing at the cemetery. And so, when he was, they open the
coffin and everything else, everybody praying and everything else, and he sat up in the
coffin. And he looked around, and everybody’s at the cemetery, and everybody is crying
and all that. He looked around, and he said, “What did I tell you? You wait five days for a
person, to declare them dead.” He says, “You never bury them before the fifth day.”
B:
I’ll be darned.
W:
Yeah.
B:
See, I never knew that.
W:
But he came to. And he says, “Let this be a lesson to you. You always leave the body for
five days. And you don’t bury before.”
C:
So that’s why the traditional Shoshones believed in not getting embalmed, right?
W:
Yeah. Mmhm.
C:
They kept the body, without getting the embalmment.
W:
And you kept it five days.
C:
And so after the second time they come to life, how long do they usually live?
W:
I don’t know about that part. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one. Of how long they
lived. But, there’s some strange stuff, too, that—like, Maggie, that she turns to a wolf.
B:
Oh! See, she knows things that I don’t. That’s why—
W:
Yeah. Maggie, you know, whatshername? Jean Joe’s sister?
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B:
Oh, Giannetti.
W:
Giannetti. Well, it was their grandmother.
B:
Elsie.
W:
No, Maggie.
B:
Oh, Maggie. Yeah.
W:
They say that there’s times that she turns to a wolf. And how they knew that was, they
lived in Letley, right out of Austin, just a few miles out of Austin. There is a place called
Letley, and that’s the territory that Tutuwa, that was his area. And so they were all living
down there. And I guess her husband beat up on her. So, she start running out, outside.
And the snow was so deep. So, her husband figures, “Oh, she ain’t going to go very far.”
Snow’s so deep, you know. So he waited. And then, after a while, he poked his head out,
see if he could see her, because all flat ground. And he don’t see her anyplace. And he
just kept looking and looking. Never saw her. So he was getting kind of worried. So he
went down to his buddy’s place there, and he told his buddy. He says, “Well, I did
something bad this morning. I beat up on my wife, and she took off. She hasn’t been
back, and you can’t see her. I’ve looked and looked, can’t see her anyplace.” He says,
“Well, let’s saddle up and follow her.” So, they start to follow her. Going towards Austin,
they saw her tracks, going to Austin. So they followed it and followed it, all the way. And
just a little ways out of Austin, it was the track of a wolf. He says, “Well, this is a wolf
track!” He says, “Are you sure?” He says, “Yeah! Get down here and look at it!” So they
looked at it, and they kept going and going and going, all the way into Austin. It was a
wolf track. And there used to be a Chinese guy there that had a laundry. And he was
married to one of our kinfolks.
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B:
Yeah.
W:
Yeah. Motti. Remember Motti? Yeah. She went to Motti’s house. And all the tracks went
clear down there, except to, pretty close to the laundry. Then was her footprints to the
laundry. So him and her husband knock on the door, and he says, “Is so-and-so here?”
“Yeah, yeah, she’s in here having coffee. Come on in.” [Laughter] But they say that’s
what she used to do.
B:
Fact of the matter is, the house that I was born in is supposed to still be standing. That’s
what Mary McCloud told me.
D:
You mean in Austin?
B:
Mmhm. And also, there’s a white rock, over there to the, Chauncey used to talk about.
She said there’s a writing on there in white chalk, on a rock. And me and Ida, we were
supposed to go find it, and we never did. Remember?
W:
Mmhm.
B:
We were going to take a trip to Austin and see if we could find that rock, but she said
that’s where the treaty was signed. The Tututwa treaty. We never followed up on it.
Whether it’s still there or not—I imagine it is, probably, but it’d take a researchers unit to
go up there. Maybe with the EPA people, we can go there.
W:
Oh, I know Vert Avery said it was in the courthouse. The original was in the courthouse.
And Tutuwa was given a copy. See?
B:
Oh.
C:
Well, in terms of other stories, do you guys know the pine nut story? Where the animals
got together and went after the pinenut? And that Itsappe was involved again? Can you
tell that one?
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W:
Yeah, the Itsappe is the one that in the Owyhee area, they were having that handgame.
He started betting all the food.
B:
Yeah, that’s what—the food.
W:
Yeah, he start betting on the food. He lost that.
C:
Can you go ahead and tell that story?
W:
Yeah. But I don’t remember just—
B:
She probably knows.
W:
What he was doing is, he was betting everything. And he was losing it. Was losing just
about everything. And they said something about the pinenuts. He says, “I’m going to bet
the pinenuts.” And he says, “No, you better not do that.” He says, “Yeah, I am.” And it
was something I can’t remember now, because—which bird has an extended tongue?
C:
The woodpecker?
W:
The woodpecker? Is that they say has another extension on the tongue?
B:
Oh, I guess.
W:
Yeah. And they said that they made him be the carrier of the pinenuts.
B:
Oh, I remember!
W:
Because they said that everybody tried to get that pinenut, and they said they couldn’t
reach it. They couldn’t get to the pinenut to take it away so that they could take it out of
Owyhee and come towards Beowawe, someplace in there. So they were going to bring it
this way. And so, they says, “Well, this one bird has that extension on his tongue.” So the
bird, they called him, ask him, if he can reach the pinenut that’s over here because they
already lost it in the handgame. So he says, “You can get it. Make your tongue go as far
as you can. You can get it, and then you can take the pinenut and go towards Beowawe
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area and through there. And so the bird went over there, and he says he put his tongue out
there, and he kept going way out there, and he finally got it, and he reached the pinenut.
And that’s how he took the pinenut out of Owyhee area, and brought it into Eureka. And
that’s why there’s lot of pinenuts in that area. Eureka.
B:
Oh, really? There is a lot.
W:
Austin and all that. And that’s where he planted it.
B:
And there is lot of pinenuts out there, too, really.
W:
Austin area and all back in through there is lot of pinenuts. Going towards Ely. And
going towards—
C:
So what type of food, or what type of dishes did Shoshone people make with pinenuts,
long time ago?
B:
Pinenut gravy.
W:
You mean the dishes?
C:
Like, the type of foods they prepared.
W:
With the pinenuts?
C:
With the pinenut, uh-huh.
W:
Well, I don’t know—what do you call it, willow?
B:
I don’t know, I think they put char—
W:
I think it’s involved with willow. It’s weaved in the willow. I know they used the jug for,
with the willow jugs. And it’s best drinking water, too. And make this great big
container, and they coat it with pitch.
B:
Pine pitch.
W:
Yeah. And it seals it all off.
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B:
They make their pinenut gravy in that.
W:
So, that’s how they keep the water.
[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
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Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
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GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archive
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2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
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Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
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Clara Woodson and Gracie Begay
Location
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Elko (GBC Campus)
Transcription
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Transcript available: http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/429
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00:43:06
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Clara Woodson and Gracie Begay Oral History (03/16/2006)
Subject
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Oral History interview with Clara Woodson and Gracie Begay, Western Shoshone from Elko and Wells, NV on 16 March 2006.
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Oral History interview with Clara Woodson and Gracie Begay, Western Shoshone from Elko and Wells, NV on 16 March 2006.</p>
<p>Clara Woodson was born in Battle Mountain. She tells us about her family and who they worked for, how they lived, and what traditions that they had. She describes the sociopolitical setup of the Great Basin region in relation to Chief Te-Moak and Tutuwa. She illustrates how her grandfather still used wagons and horses to get his supplies. She also explains what type of traditional food that they hunted and gathered. Gracie Begay was born in Austin where her family lived. She tells us of her families experience with school, and when the soldiers came into the area. They both tell us about where and how they lived in Battle Mountain. They also speak of some of the traditional Shoshone stories such as Coyote and the Hand game.</p>
<p>Interviewed by Joe Doucette for the Great Basin Indian Archive</p>
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 005
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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03/16/2006 [16 March 2006]; 2006-03-16
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America.
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2016.
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streaming video
Language
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English
Battle Mountain
Chief Te-Moak
Chief Tutuwa
claims
Community
Crossroads
folktale
GBIA
Shoshone
Story
traditional food
-
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PDF Text
Text
Earl
and
Beverly
Crum
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
004
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
February
1,
2006
Elko,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hCp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 004
Interviewee: Earl and Beverly Crum
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: February 1, 2006
BC:
The songs, the Newe hupia, that Earl and I share with people, are those songs that have
been handed down through the oral tradition. It means you learn it from somebody older
than yourself. The somebody who is older than yourself has learned it from somebody
older than themselves. And so that’s the way it makes its way down, that’s the way oral
tradition continues. But then, one day, if you stop doing that—
EC:
What I learned for my own personal self is that, I learned it from my—my mother
recorded some songs for me. And she put it on tape. That’s how I learned most of them.
But the ones we have, we are singing, were something that I had heard at different round
dances. We call it Fandango. And possibly from older people that I’ve contacted in my
lifetime, you know, as a child, or otherwise as I was growing up. I grew up with this
stuff. So round dances is an old tradition with the Shoshone people. It goes way, way,
way back. It’s—it has to do with the closeness of the people. And the main thing is, the
songs that goes with the dance. If you listen to the words, you interpret it. Lot of them,
many songs can be interpreted in different ways. So if the people are dancing, one might
interpret it one way, and another one might interpret it in a different way. But, I mean,
generally, you had one central, main meaning. There are many, many round dance songs.
Many more than handgame or bear dance. And I’m talking about with the few handgame
songs, especially those that have words in it. And I kind of have a leaning toward that.
But, most all round dances have words. And there’s a story to tell. Where in hand game,
it’s just fun on it. And the bear dance has lots of words, but it’s something that has been
going on for years and years. They don’t do that anymore, I don’t think. When they talk
about the Ute bear dance, well, that’s different altogether. That’s their culture. But we
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have that culture, too. And all of our bear dance song have words. And then, all bear
dances don’t have—they’re not singing about a bear. Some of them has to do with
people, or other animals, like birds, or… That’s what those are about. So, like I say, both
kinds, but...
BC:
Well, we try to pick songs that are—like you told us last fall, for example. You said,
“This is going to be about water. The issue of water.” [Shoshone at 4:41] You told us
already what the topic was. So, we just looked down into our songs, and those things that,
songs that were about water in particular. Some things that had to do with the issue of
water. No matter our closeness to it or whatever. And we picked those out. So that, you
know, it would be, go along with you, what you needed.
Poetry songs was not used—the poetry itself, the words, was not used in isolation. It was
a unified whole. The music, and the poetry, and the singing, they were a unified whole.
You never pulled them apart and, you know. And so, this is what we’re attempting by
doing an oral presentation where we’re reading just the poetry. See what I mean?
Because you’ll keep repeating the same thing. That same thing over and over. And it’s,
one of the, some linguist who was looking, reviewed some paper I was having published.
He says, “Why do the Shoshones keep repeating certain things? Why do they have that
need?” I says, “You dummy! That’s because they were dancing to the stuff.” And they
were dancing to it, and they were singing it. It wasn’t just poetry. It wasn’t just—you
know, “Tiger, tiger, burning bright / In the forest of the night.” You know, like taibo
poetry. It was more like, like this one song— [Begins singing]
Tamme yampa sateettsii
Okwai manti puiwennekkinna
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Yampa taai, yampa taai, yampa taai
Yampa taai, yampa taai, yampa taai1
See, you’re singing it and you’re dancing. And the poetry is all at once. But in the, but
when you come to, when you get to isolating the oral presentation, the poetry part all by
itself, you can say “Carries them away, carries them away, carries them away.”
[Laughter] You see what I mean? That it has this—like, Earl, one of his songs will be that
[Shoshone at 7:00] It starts out by a—
EC:
I’ll sing it. [Begins drumming at 7:05, singing in Shoshone from 7:08-7:50]
BC:
Okay, thank you, Earl. Thank you.
EC:
See, you can put it in poetry now.
BC:
So, like, if I had to—when we translate it, it goes, “Hunter, hunter, hunter”—that’s three.
“Hunter, hunter, hunter. Hunter, hunter, hunter.” So, you know, that makes it awkward
reading. If it was just going to be, just the oral presentation. So, what I had to do was just
say, pick out only, use that word “hunter” only once, after, you know, for the English
translation. Then it made it a nice reading for just the oral presentation, understandable to
the group. You’re kind of lost in your hunter, hunter—how many “hunters” are go there?
Is there one hunter? One, two, three, you know? You get to sing—but it’s the same
hunter, but it’s… You understand? So that part, is the ones that we have diff[iculty] going
from one culture to the other. That is kind of a neat little understandable problem once
you get it under control. [Laughter] How about the one we just got through with? How
about Pia Isam Peentsi?
EC:
Oh, okay.
1
See
Beverly
Crum,
Earl
Crum,
and
Jon
P.
Dayley,
2001,
Newe
Hupia:
Shoshone
Poetry
Songs,
pp.
152-‐53.
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BC:
Go ahead with that one, you can sing it.
EC:
[Begins drumming and singing at 9:10]
Pia Isam peentsi
Pennan kwasin katsunka
U piyaatehki
Piyaatehki,
Piyaatehki,
Piyaattua noote.
Pia Isam peentsi
Pennan kwasin katsunka
U piyaatehki
Piyaatehki,
Piyaatehki,
Piyaattua noote,
Pia Isam peentsi
Pennan kwasin katsunka
U piyaatehki
Piyaatehki,
Piyaatehki,
Piyaattua noote.2
[Concludes at 9:52]
Haiyawainna.
2
See
Crum,
Crum,
and
Dayley,
Newe
Hupia,
pp.
86-‐87.
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BC:
Okay, thank you, Earl. There, I could see—the writing system, I think the writing system
is going to change the speaking part of it. Because, noote. Piyaattua noote. But, there
would be, the sound, the “noo-teN,” the “nnn,” wouldn’t show up until there was
something following it. Remember? One of the rules? One of the rules! [Laughter] Well,
it’s the silent “n.” The silent “n.” So that, you really do need to have, like yourself,
teaching a class, who is a Shoshone speaker. And the [Shoshone at 10:44] newe
taikwaken, the newe taikwa, tamme _________________. That’s language. Not the
written part. That’s just symbols representing language. So that, you know, I’m really
happy that you’re teaching. That’s all I could say for that. But that was about, Pia isan
peentsi, furry wolf. Pia isan peentsi. Furry wolf, [sings the song back to herself quietly]
he carries him away, carries him away, carries him away—there’s one of those
repetitions again. Carries him away, on his tail he carries the child away. [Shoshone at
11:26] Upi naah kwasipi ____. When the—now, I’m 79, and back then a lot of the
parents were still telling their kids that “Ukka kai”—if you don’t mind, a misbehaving
kid, [11:43] “Ukka kai en tenankanku, Itsappe en kwasi pinnookkwanto’i!” “If you don’t
behave yourself, Coyote’s going to carry you off on his tail.” So, it’s just more—the song
has to do with more of that part of our culture, not so much talking about Wolf. Not—or,
Itsappe, either one. It’s not talking about either of them. It’s talking about that short
saying. Every language in the world has sayings. Well, Shoshone’s no different.
To children, how to keep them in line. [Laughter]
NC:
So the stories had a way of, having a moral to the story, of letting children—
BC:
Yeah! Yeah, without being preachy. A song is one of the good, really nice ways, yeah.
Well, the saying, though, is hitting it pretty well over the head: if you don’t behave
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yourself, Coyote’s going to carry—who wants to be carried off by Coyote? I don’t know
whether the kids would still be afraid of Coyote this day and age, I don’t. Or anything
else, for that matter. Anymore, what is their bogeyman? [Shoshone at 12:54] You don’t
know? It’d be a nice research. [Laughter]
EC:
But, first I’m going to start with a handgame song. It’s about snow coming down. Well,
[__inaudible at 13:15__].
[Begins singing in Shoshone at 13:16]
[Concludes at 13:44]
That’s Doc Blossom’s handgame song. [Laughter] Anyway, maybe it’s not his, but that’s
what he learned from somebody else.
NC:
Okay, can you tell—or Beverly, can you elaborate, on the handgame? And maybe tell a
little bit about what is a handgame song. How is it played?
BC:
It’s changed, over time. Remember how they do it in Fort Hall? Do you remember? How
did they do? Do they use sticks anymore?
NC:
Not hardly.
BC:
Really? It’s more the drum?
NC:
The drum…
BC:
Remember when it was all stick? They used the stick, completely. [Shoshone at 14:27]
Oh, that was exciting to me, it was exciting! [In the background, tapping of a drum stick
on the side of a drum, imitating the sound of two sticks clicking.] Like that. Oh, yeah! It’s
changed. I remember, as a child, the women had their own group, and the men had their
own. And the women had a nice, slower—I was too young to really know what they were
saying, but to me, the guys were really into it, pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum-pum,
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they were much more, what do you call them? Not pum-pum, but, the stick. It was much
more peppy than, whatever.
EC:
They put a log in the front, long one, front of the players. And they beat on that log. Like
if they sit the log, then you’d hear [taps on object in room]. You’d hear it like that. And in
unison. And they sure sound good!
BC:
Yeah. They lost something by stopping that, I think.
EC:
They got four—two sets of bones, who hands them out. They say, well, this is the white
bone. The one’s got a black marker on it. And you supposed to guess that unmarked one.
But the players put it in their hand, the marked one and the unmarked one. The unmarked
one is the main one. And so, they psych the other people out. They sing, and it goes:
[Sings a handgame song at 16:05] See, it’s got no words, they just sing that. Anyway,
then you’re going to have to try to guess me, which one’s got the unmarked bones. And if
you guess wrong, well, you know. They got ten sticks over there. Well, yours, and ten
sticks on this side. Then if you can’t guess it, you’ve got to give up one stick for the
people on this side. And if you can’t get guess at all, it’s ten times wrong, you lose all
your sticks. You lose that game. And you start all over again. And—
NC:
Can you tell about what they played for? What’s at stake?
EC:
Well, nowadays they play for money. They bet any amount of money they want. Twenty
dollars, 10 dollars. One dollar. Even the audience can get into it, offer money, you know.
Then they put the money in a pot, in the middle, you know. And there’s a judge over here
that’s, they’re keeping track of everything that’s going on. And that’s what they’re, what
they bet on. They bet on, whoever wins get that pot. Then they divide it among each
other. You bet all your money that way. You bet 100 dollars, you win 200 dollars.
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[Laughter] So, you win your own back and, you know. That’s the way it’s played. One
dollar, you get, you double it. [Laughter] That’s gambling! Anything else?
NC:
So, prior to the way they play it now, what did they used to play for? What did they used
to bet?
EC:
Oh, a long time ago?
NC:
A long time ago.
EC:
They bet, they said they bet, you know, something of value. Maybe a deer hide, a badger
hide, or… any kind of a skin. If it has value, then they bet that. But when [__inaudible at
18:28__] come, then it goes back [__inaudible at 18:34__]. Coyote was gambling,
playing handgame, and he lost everything that he had. The only thing he had left was his
mukua. You know what mukua is? That’s your soul. And he bet that soul, and if he lost
his soul, they say there would be no more Shoshone people.
BC:
[Laughter] [Shoshone at 19:08]. He’s sitting there crying for fear that—
EC:
He got lucky; you know, they get luck come in. He got lucky, they said that he won back
his soul. But not only that, won that soul back, but he won all the stuff he lost. He had it,
he won all that back, and then some from other people, the opposing players. He won
their tradition, too. [Laughter]
BC:
There’s the bad luck—the one story he has, he not only won his soul back, his mukua
back, but he won, they mention all the illnesses. All the human illnesses. He won all that
besides! [Laughter] So, you know, the stories are really unbelievable, you know. Well
made. They’re second to none, in storytelling. Oh, just so good!
EC:
That’s where the handgame come in. You know, they were talking about.
BC:
The earlier handgaming.
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EC:
The earlier, yeah. But see how it’s changed. And now it’s all money, you know.
NC:
Okay, Earl. If you could talk about the Bear Dance. And maybe have you sing a song for
us, and then I’ll have one of you explain what the Bear Dance is. About it, and how
people danced the Bear Dance, and why it was called the Bear Dance.
EC:
Well, long time ago, when I was a boy growing up in Battle Mountain, the Indians used
to do the Bear Dance. They took a washtub, an old-fashioned washtub, and they turn it
upside-down. And they get the stick, they get the stick, and then they rasp it. They call it
“rasping” that, so [uses drum stick to make rasping noise on drum]. It makes that kind of
sound. And then, they have the men and women, they’re standing in a row here. Like, the
men on this side, and then over there, the women will stand over there. They face each
other. Then, they get to singing. At first, they choose partners. So women choose. The
women would pick out any man they would choose, she’s interested in dancing with. So
she pick that man out. And the men are, there’s a circle of people here, like in this area
here. Then there’s an outer circle. Those people are spectators. But the inner circle are the
people who’s going to perform the dance. And the women, it’s their choice, they could
pick a man out, and the man can’t refuse. If he refuse, he’s got give her money. So, she
has, then she’ll go pick out someone else. But, if it’s okay with her man, then those two
pair off, and then other women will go and do the same thing. And they pick their
partners. Now, for this dance you have a whole bunch of dancers. Say there’s a partner in
a row, and the other partner over there. And the singers will start to, they warm up, you
know. [Rasps with the stick.] Start singing their songs then. Then when they dance, they
stand facing each other. Like we’re facing each other now. When the music start, they
come toward each other. And they intertwine hands, like this. Then they go around like
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this, and then go back around, their original position. They go together. This is one, that’s
one way. Other, they start dancing. They dance with each other, and they go back and
forth, back and forth, like this. And that’s the way it was done.
BC:
I’ve heard it referred to as [Shoshone at 23:52], you know, the Hugging Dance? Or else
[Shoshone at 23:55]. The rasping dance. It wasn’t called “Bear Dance.” Don’t know
where that came from.
EC:
Anyway, I’ll sing that song for you. This is, not all Bear Dances is about Bear. There’s
lot of them, but this one’s about the bird. This is what I learned from our old folks.
[Sings in Shoshone from 24:33-25:31]
They say that the song is about a bird. The flicker. You know what a flicker is? It’s like a
kind of woodpecker? Anyway, the bird, it’s real—it’s got a certain style of flying, like
this. [Makes rhythmic motions with arms.] If you ever observe it, that’s the way he flies.
And [__inaudible at 25:55__], that’s the name of the bird, some people call it that.
[__inaudible at 26:00__]. Because of the sound that it’s making, the noise from the
throat. It’s got its own special cry. And then their [__inaudible at 26:15__] are red, you
know. Like this. [Taps.] That’s a rope. They write it in that song, [Shoshone at 26:22], it
needs to [Shoshone at 26:29]. We use that word now, but, [Shoshone at 26:33], the old
people use that word. He’s pecking at the wood. [Taps to imitate pecking sound.]
[Shoshone at 26:42]. Because that’s, that mean. [Sings in Shoshone from 26:50-26:55].
That’s, that’s the flying motion that it makes. That’s what that song is about.
NC:
So the Bear Dance was like the mating dance for native songs? Where people got
together at the—
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BC:
Not mating, but more… social. Not so much—mating songs are more, animals.
[Laughter]
EC:
It might. It might lead to marriage, but you know, it’s fun. Supposed to be, anyway.
Anyways, there’s something about Bear.
[Sings in Shoshone from 27:39-28:41]
[Sings second song in Shoshone from 28:44-29:50]
BC:
Haiyowainna. [Laughter]
NC:
And what was that song about, there?
EC:
[Repeats lyrics in Shoshone at 29:57]. It’s, over there, other side of us, there’s a
mountain that’s covered with evergreen forest. The bear is over there, scratching on trees.
He’s marking his territory. [Laughter] That’s what that song is about.
NC:
Well, in the time we’ve got left, could you both share just a little bit about yourselves and
your childhood? Where you grew up, and how things were when you were growing up?
Maybe Earl, you could go ahead and start it, and then we’ll finish with Beverly.
EC:
Okay. When I was growing up, lived in Battle Mountain, during that time of the Great
Depression, what they call the Great Depression. Hundreds of men used to ride the
freight cars. They’d go back and forth on the Union Pacific, probably between
Sacramento and Ogden, Utah, or wherever, you know. It was a time of unemployment.
People were looking for jobs, and they can’t find any. So all these men were idle. They
go back and forth, back and forth. And we used to listen to them—when we were kids,
we used to listen to them. And they talk about Ogden or Reno, you know. And they
always warn each other about the bull. Back then I couldn’t understand, I thought it was
real bull, you know. [Laughter] They’re referring to cops. You know, the railroad
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policemen? They’re talking about it. They taught each other how to avoid ‘the bull.’
[Laughter] Anyway, that’s some of my experience then. Occasionally, one or a few of
them used to come to our house. Used to live at the west end of Battle Mountain. That’s
where all Indians live, in one place. And occasionally, couple of them have come over,
and they would beg for food. And we had bunch of old dried-out bread. So, they say
ranching life was hard, you know. So, Gram make a big pot of coffee. Probably can’t sip
it that high. And when they come over, she’d give them coffee and the hard bread. Then
they dip that hard bread in the coffee, and they eat it.
BC:
Sounds good.
EC:
And then, in appreciation, you know what they did? In appreciation, they steal a sack of
coal from the coal trains. And they bring it over to the house. That’s what we used to
burn. That’s the only one thing I remember, when [__inaudible at 33:24__].
NC:
How big was the Indian Colony there in Battle Mountain at that time?
EC:
I imagine there was about, anywhere from 150 to 200 people. Counting everybody, men
and children. And women. You know. My grandfather, he was the shaman, the Indian
doctor. And different old men would come over, and they did bloodletting. They made a,
go out there and make a little [__inaudible at 34:03__], with a sharp, pointed end. And
they would place that on the side of the podium, maybe on this side, and then take a
large, like a weight, and hit it like that. And a pool of blood would pour out down there.
That’s what they call bloodletting. I don’t know whether it’s, that was to prevent stroke,
or… But anyways, it was for my doctoring people. That I remember as I was growing up.
NC:
What was his name? What was your grandpa’s name?
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EC:
They call him Shoshone, [34:48] Natapaibui. “The one who sees the sun.” Or, some of
them call him “sharp arrow.” Mutsipaka [34:58]. Others would call him, [35:04]
Puyapekken, “duck down.” He had all the names. Those are two main ones that he used.
But his English name was Dick Crum. And he got that name from, he’s a Shoshone, he’s
a white associates. Somewhere, he got along good with the white people. Mainly, his
peer group, his own age group. So one of the ranchers close by—my grandfather had a
land there, and when the homesteading came in, the white rancher came and claimed that
land and homesteaded there. Telling my grandfather, he said, “Dick,” he told him, “you
were here before we were. This land is really your land.” So, the old man believed him.
And he lived on that ranch where they claimed, and they claimed that was the—actually,
it was a part of the Homesteading Act. And the old man, that old Crum died. That’s why
he has the name Crum. From the white man. And he died, and his son took the ranch.
And one day, he had a confrontation with my grandfather. And that young Crum told my
grandfather, “Get off my land!” You know. So, Grandfather moved to the town of Battle
Mountain, just on the west side of that—which later became the Indian colony. Then dad
had a—in them days, he used to live like a white man. So he bought two lots in town.
And he built three little houses, made it with two-room houses. And Grandpa and
Grandma living alone. He live in the other one. Us and the kids live in one. Third one
was for my mother’s moon house. And I guess Frances was up in the house. That’s how
we lived. Anyway, about early part of 1930, an Indian activist came through Battle
Mountain—I’ll never say the name. I know who it is, though. He even told my dad. He
said, “You know, Jim”—my dad’s name was Jim—“You know, Jim, Indians aren’t
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supposed to pay taxes.” My dad was paying taxes on our land. My dad quit paying taxes.
And the county foreclosed his land.
BC:
So much for doing it like a white man, huh?
EC:
That’s when he moved to Owyhee. [Laughter] That’s the way—yeah, so that’s a true
story.
NC:
So that’s how you guys, that’s how you ended up in Owyhee?
EC:
Yeah.
BC:
Had no more land. [Laughter] I think one of the joys of my childhood was when my dad
and mom would go up to the mountains in the falltime of the year, because, you know,
you had to have burning wood? Everybody went after wood, up to the mountains. So
we’d do that. While we were up there, it was the time of the year we could pick
chokecherries, see, because mom and dad had a lot of us kids where we was spending a
lot of time picking chokecherries. And so when my mom gets home, she could make
patties out of them and dry them for the winter. That I remember really well. The times
when I’d be there at home.
NC:
So most of your childhood, you grew up in Owyhee?
BC:
Not most of my—some of our childhood. Because of my health, I had to be sent off to a
TB sanatorium in Idaho.
NC:
In regards to your family, that’s where you learned a lot of your stories, as well? The
Indian stories and the legends?
BC:
Yeah. My mom was a storyteller. But my dad worked with Julian Steward and those
early anthropologists. Then he’d come home at night, and he’d tell us about what those
old people told Julian Steward. That was in the 1930s. Some of the really old people were
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still living, who were probably… I doubt it’s when the reservation started, was the 1930s.
They were very old already. And so he just said, “You could spend days with one
particular old people, because [Shoshone at 40:33(?)].” They were just full of stories to
share, and were fun to work with. And others, he said, really had—they were not able to
do that well. I tend to the conclusion some people must be storytellers, and so are maybe
able to retain more or something. So…
NC:
Okay. Is there anything else you want to add, Earl, or Beverly, before we complete the
program?
BC:
Well, I would say that the passing out—the reason we wrote the Newe [Hupia]—the
songs, Shoshone Poetry songs, is that we could pass it on to other people. Because the
language is quickly—if we’re not careful, we don’t have too many more years for it to
continue, right? Less and less children are speaking it. And a lot of the old people, either
aren’t willing, or whatever the reason, is not passing it on. I keep telling them, “When
you die, it’s going to go with you. When you die, it’s going to go with you.” So for that
reason, it was important for Earl and I to do something like this. It took us a lot of soulsearching. Honestly, it’s like we’re giving something away to taibo—but that’s not the
purpose. We had no choice. We had the opportunity to do something, to save something.
Desperate measures, as it were. You really do.
NC:
Okay, well, that’s hitting hard, there, Beverly, what you two have done in regards to
putting the songs—
BC:
And the grammar. The grammar, all this was a spirit of love. But we never got any grants
to do either that, no money, no grants, zero. The same way with the grammar. I’d already
gotten a lot of it translated before Jon Dayley, the linguist, joined me. I had really done it
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for four years, working, and—the thing he did was expertise. Realistic expertise about the
sound system. But Wick had already put the grammar together, so we already had
something to work with. The orthography was already done. It was not never intended for
Owyhee, it was intended for Goshute. But it’s applicable to all of Shoshone—because
we’re the same sound system. Little tiny of changes, like someone would say, [43:16]
tso’o. Tso’o, with a distinct “ts.” Others say tho’o. Tho’o. But then you could still spell it
the same way. And still know that they could still say it that way: [Shoshone at 43:30].
So there’s stuff like that. And I’m saying, no big deal if we have such a big stake at hand,
us losing it completely, with nothing left. And it could happen to little small tribes like
the Shoshone—because we are a tiny little tribe when you think in terms of the world
globe. It’s really small.
[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
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2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
The person(s) performing the interview
Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
The person(s) being interviewed
Earl Crum and Beverly Crum
Location
The location of the interview
Elko - GBC (Campus Studio)
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
Transcript is available: http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/426
Original Format
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DVD, VOB format
Duration
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00:46:00
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Earl and Beverly Crum - Oral History (02/01/2006)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Earl and Beverly Crum, Western Shoshone from Duck Valley Reservation, Owyhee, NV on 02/01/2006.
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Earl and Beverly Crum speak about the different types of traditional Shoshone songs sung during different ceremonies and events. They speak about how songs are more than just a melody but include a story and sometimes a moral. They also talk about how the language is put together and how it is culturally significant. Earl and Beverly also tell about the customs of the Shoshone Bear dance and hand games as well as provide a tale explaining the hand game: Coyote and the hand game. They play an array of traditional Shoshone songs. Earl describes his childhood in Battle Mountain, Nevada during the Great Depression.</p>
Video pending <br /> <a title="Read Earl and Beverly Crum Oral History Transcript" href="/omeka/files/original/7fd3c0dc61c03af54cc104e7396bb57b.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Earl and Beverly Crum Oral History Transcript [pdf file]</a>
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 004
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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02/01/2006 [01 February 2006]; 2006-02-01
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America.
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2016.
(Administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/427
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streaming video
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English; Shoshoni
Battle Mountain
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley
folktale
GBIA
language
Shoshone
Story
Swayne school
traditional songs
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Text
Ronnie
Dixon
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
043
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
November
5,
2014
BaBle
Mountain,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hDp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 043
Interviewee: Ronnie Dixon
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: November 5, 2014
D:
My name is Ronnie Dixon. I’m of the Western Shoshone tribe, of the Battle Mountain
Band, and I was born and raised in Battle Mountain, Nevada. And I always say I was
original inhabitant there, because I was born right on the Indian Colony in the little moon
house, and delivered by my grandma. And my parents are George Dixon and Elizabeth
Dixon. I was raised by my grandmother Annie and Jack Muncy, and the story of me
being raised by them—but I don’t know if it’s fact, but—my mother had twins, and she
wasn’t feeling too good. So, my grandma offered to watch me until she got feeling better.
We lived next door, and when it was time to take me back to my mother, my grandma
just decided that she was going to keep me, so she kept me and raised me. But, she was
quite the lady. And people said I was pretty spoiled kind of a guy. And I went to a Native
gathering called GONA this summer, and some of the elders were talking about some of
the history of Battle Mountain. And a lot of people there. And I was feeling pretty proud,
you know, being included in the discussion, and one of the elders told a story about how,
as a pretty-good sized kid—I must have been—she said, “Yeah, I remember you used to
run around in big old cloth diaper! You must’ve been pretty big, because, man, you ran
and played with all the kids!” [Laughter] You know, I had to laugh at that, but that was—
I said, “Well, that’s because my grandma loved me a lot.” You know, she wanted to make
sure I was okay. But, I remember some of the old elders there that lived around the circle,
and the original building of Battle Mountain, I believe, was, like, the early 1900s there,
and there was a circle. And my mother told me about where they used to live, and I
believe that they lived and were raised right around Golconda area. And I believe about
the time the Owyhee reservation was established, our family was supposed to go to
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Owyhee, but didn’t. Chose to stay there around Golconda area and Battle Mountain area.
And where they used to live was where there was, like, water available. Because in those
days, they had the artesian wells that ran all the time. So, if somebody would let them live
on their land, that’s where they lived. And they wintered out in tents. And they said that
when little babies got sick in the wintertime, they usually didn’t make it. But then, she
tells about when the Battle Mountain Colony was put up. She said a bunch of, that the
Indians from Stewart Indian School came and put those houses up. And they felt pretty
good moving into the new housing. But I remember as a young boy, being in there, and it
seemed a long ways to Battle Mountain—to town to Battle Mountain—because there was
nothing in there, in between there, but now there’s a lot of buildings and businesses there,
because it’s grown. But I went to school there in Battle Mountain, and it was told that my
grandma took me to school first day of kindergarten. Because we all walked to school,
and took me to school. And I kind of remember—when he left, I ran away and ran home!
[Laughter] And then, he took me back the next day, and he and the teacher marched me
into the schoolroom, and she shut the door so I wouldn’t run away. I was kind of like a
wild animal, I guess; not used to being around taipos I guess! [Laughter] But, I went to
school in Battle Mountain, and I remember, you know, it seems like it snowed more in
those days. And I remember going to school through the deep snow, and my sisters
would make tracks, and all us little guys would walk behind like little rabbits or
something. But, I attended grammar school in Battle Mountain, elementary school. I
remember some of the old teachers that were there. And years later, I worked in old
folks’ home in Elko, and the old principal was there. And I reminded her of the times that
she used to take us in her office and lift up our shirts. And man, she had a leather strap
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she’d whip us with. And I told her that—I didn’t mean to, but when I told her that, she
started crying, you know? She felt bad about it. But those days, school could get pretty
rough. And of course, us Indian kids, we’d get roughed up pretty good, too: get our ears
pulled, and our hair pulled. But I started high school there in Battle Mountain, and in that
small town, the high school was the Battle Mountain Longhorns, and, man, it’s like little
kids wanted to be a Longhorn, you know? That was the goal. And played football for
Battle Mountain, and really liked it. Really liked sports, sports kind of kept me in school,
because I wasn’t too keen on staying indoors, because I was always looking out the
window, and always wanted to leave. But it was pretty good experience. And my family
was, there were like nine of us, and my oldest sister passed away, and then my other
siblings passed away, and there’s like four of us left. And I remember later wondering
how my mother healed up, with losing all her children. And I realize she had a good faith,
and she had a good spirit. My grandma always says that she was like a mother sage hen,
where when her little kids were in danger, she’d lift up her wings and all her little kids
would run in under it. And my dad, he worked on the ranches. And he was gone. He
would go for months at a time, because in those days you expected to stay out there. And
we’d see him, and when he’d come to town, and he’d be happy coming to town, but he
had a drinking problem, too, so—you know, he’d go on a binge, and then they’d take him
back to ranch, and we didn’t see him too often. But I didn’t finish high school. I dropped
out my senior year, and didn’t connect it to drinking, but it was connected to drinking,
because on our school break, I was drinking with some older guys. I went back, and tried
again, and I wasn’t interested anymore. But after high school, worked on the ranches for
a while, and then I was drafted into the Army, and had some eye-opening experiences
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there, because, I mean, it was like I just come out of the brush. You know, small-town
boy. And we got our draft notices and caught a Greyhound bus up to Salt Lake. Whole
bunch of Nevada guys would get on that bus, and they eventually was inducted into the
Army. And I didn’t know what was going on, and these drill sergeants was shouting at
us, and, man! I was wondering, “What’s the matter with these guys? Why’re they mad at
us?” [Laughter] Because, you know, I hadn’t experienced that before. So, we stayed there
Salt Lake overnight, and caught a plane from Salt Lake to San Fransisco, California.
Never been on a plane in my life. And that was just quite an experience. And then, so, we
landed in San Fransisco airport. And that was towards the end of the [19]60s, and I got to
San Fransisco airport, and that was first time I ever saw hippies. And man, there was a lot
of hippies at the San Fransisco airport! So, I looked at them, and I just started laughing,
you know? I couldn’t help it, because they’re strange-looking people! And here I was,
with the big belt buckle on, and my tight jeans, and shirt, and they started looking at me
and pointing at me, and they started laughing at me! So we just kind of laughed back and
forth, back and forth, and then we caught a bus to Fort Ord where we’re going to do our
basic training. And man, we pulled up on a bus at one in the morning, and all these big
drill sergeants come charging at us! And they had those Smokey Bear hats, and they was
screaming at us, and cussing us, and it was culture shock, you know? God, I’d never been
treated that way in my life! But it was quite a shock. And the first thing, the next day, I
was just thinking, “God, I miss my mother, my poor old mother!” [Laughter] You know?
But I went to Basic Training, and then went to Advanced Training, and then spent a year
in Vietnam. And that was another culture shock, and experiences that were so different
from what I went through. And I had a drinking problem in Vietnam, too. I drank a lot,
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because a lot of things were allowed. So, returned to the States, and still had some time to
do, like six months, so I finished it up in North Carolina. My MOS in Vietnam was in an
ordinance unit, working an Ammunition Depot. And at that time, it was long bed, and it
was the largest ordnance storage depot in the world at that time. And so, I finished up in
North Carolina, and came back to Battle Mountain and started—well, at first I hired on at
the mines, because I had a good record with the military, and they hired me. And of
course, I started partying at the mines, and I didn’t last at the mines, so I started working
on the ranches again as a buckaroo. And a good experience was, that’s the most time I
had with my dad when he was sober. Because I worked on the same ranch he did, and I
got a different view and different feelings from him. Because people told me he was
pretty smart guy, talented guy, and I was able to see that because I worked a number of
years with him. So, I got to appreciate that. And at the time I started, there was still a lot
of the old-timers there. I mean, these guys were, man, seventy, seventy-five, eighty, and
still riding! And I remember not thinking of them as old men, because they were so
active. But I did that lifestyle for a whole bunch of years.
C:
Do you remember the names of some of those old-timers?
D:
Yeah, there was my dad, George Dixon. In fact, there’s Benner Wines from Owyhee,
and there was Jess Lazarica, and Ferguson Johnny from Fallon, and Tony Ormachea
from Fallon, cattlemen. And in those days, they—I remember leaving the main ranch in
March, and we didn’t come back ‘til July. We stayed out and we camped in the
mountains. But there was a lot of good teaching there, you know? Values. I remember my
dad would—that desert country, that was a different kind of riding than when I went up
north. Because went a long ways, and not much water, and I remember my dad telling me
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that wherever we camped, that was our home. And I remember, we’d be under brush, and
by a little water hole. Man, he’d tell us, “This is our home. We got to keep it clean. We
got to keep it good, and we got to treat it with respect.” And then, when I first started, it
was pretty good, pretty new, and then that’s all I wanted to do at that time. And I kept
doing it, and later I went to work for a place where I did a lot of living alone. I’d stay in
little cabins, and I wouldn’t see people for, like, two weeks at a time. Then I kind of got
so I didn’t socialize much with people. I wouldn’t talk very much. And I remember when
I came to town and started partying, that’s when I really talked and socialized, but they
didn’t like me around, because I didn’t really—I kind of forgot it, strange as it sounds.
But then, again, what I experienced out there was a good spirit. Good spirit, being out in
the open, you know? And felt a good freedom of movement. And the way those guys
treated the land and Mother Earth with respect and kindness, and they knew how to live
those ways. And a lot of traveling by horseback, too. But during those days is when I
went through a period of drinking, too. But I didn’t realize it, though, that I was picking
up some spirituality, and from the animals, that would come later in life, you know?
Come together. And then, so, those guys—unknowing people would say, “Well, if you
got married, you’ll settle down.” So, I did get married to a young lady who was really a
beautiful, good person. And we had three children. But it didn’t help me settle down,
because I kept doing my old behaviors and my old ways. And that went on for many
years, until she realized that she had to leave with the children. But one of the things my
mother told us was, regardless of what’s happened, we take care of our own, and we take
care of our own people. We stayed together for a while, and then left, and then— So, I
still would keep the part-time jobs, and work for a little while, and just kind of moving
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around, moving around the country. But, it was in 1988, after really having some
problems with alcohol, and I was a binge drinker, is where she had worked in a treatment
center, and then she used to tell me about the recovery. And I had reached my bottom at
that time, and it was like I had a lot of near-physical deaths, you know? And not just in a
lump time, but I’ve had, like, three airplane rides—life flights—and two helicopter rides,
and eight or nine ambulance rides, because I just, I guess I was accident-prone, and just
kind of do—even now, kind of doing some reckless kind of things. But I ended up in a
treatment center, and realized that what I was missing was the spirit. And what I was
really missing was the Native American—even the Native American spirit, and the
Native ways, our tribal ways, and our family ways. And I had drifted away from that,
basically, by drinking the alcohol. So it’s funny how in the treatment center, those
feelings started coming back to me. And the pride of being a Shoshone started coming
back to me, and one of the things that, in the treatment centers and the recovery circles, is
they really appreciate and like to hear the Shoshone stories, and the Shoshone ways, and
the Shoshone spirit ways. And the blessings of being the first peoples in this country.
And what a blessing, because I was able to come back to the sweat lodges, and now listen
to the Native teachings, and even, nowadays, I regret that there was so many years away,
in, like, I don’t know, a strange soul place, you know? But nowadays, it’s like—it’s a
wanting. Wanting to be around my people, and appreciation to being around my people.
Because presently, I’m employed here in Owyhee in the Behavior Health Department as
Substance Abuse counselor. But coming back to this country, and being around my
people, has been such a blessing, and spiritually uplifting. I’ve been here before, and it
just feels so good to be in the mountains. And I just recently moved from a little mining
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town, of Battle Mountain, and to be up here, and the air is pure—and like I say, I can feel
the spirits, you know? Feel the goodness up here. I can even see the water flowing, and
listen to the water. And a lot of my relatives are up here, and a lot of my friends are here.
But one of the things that happened to me during my sobriety—and it’s been over
twenty-six years now that I have had sobriety and the spirit, and a good soul feeling, and
closer to the teachings of the Shoshone people. And I’ve just experienced the closeness,
the closeness of the people. And getting at that, being an elder now, and listening to the
elders speak, and listening to them talk, they talk in a special way, in a good way, in a
quiet way, and can throw a lot of humor in there, and if you haven’t been around them,
you don’t know that they’re doing some humor. And they may not be smiling, but they’re
sure smiling aside to watch how you react. And nowadays, the storytelling is so
important. And I just think about, going back to my grandma, when I was a little boy, and
it was nighttime because we didn’t have any electricity, either. And then, so nighttime,
people went to bed pretty early. And I remember every night, she’d tell me a story.
Creation stories, when the little animals used to talk to each other. And in fact, I just
remembered, I had a dream last night or night before last. And I dreamed—this connects
with right here tonight—I had a dream that there was, like, a noise in the air. And I
looked up in the sky at night, but I could see this big, colored snake going across the sky.
A big, huge snake. And that’s one of the stories she used to tell me about when the
Shoshones were way out in the hills and the mountains. And she said it was different
those days, when there wasn’t any roads, and there wasn’t any white men around. When
you was out there alone, you were really out there alone. And there was a hunter out there
in a canyon, and heard a terrible racket up in the sky. And he looked up in the sky, and
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what he saw up in the sky was two big snakes with wings on, and they were fighting. And
it was a terrible sound. And finally, one of them fell to the earth. And the hunter went
there, and it was a big, long snake with wings. And they had been fighting. But she’d tell
me all kinds of stories. That, and how every little animal talked, and every little animal—
and everybody, they all got along. They all got along. And I called her Kakutsi, she’s my
kakutsi. So every evening, I’d say, “Kakutsi, tell me a story.” Because I got a story every
night. And every evening, she’d tell me a story. And I’d say, “Kakutsi, tell me a story.”
And she’d bawl me out every time. She’d say, “They’re not stories. They’re real! They’re
not stories.” And I’d listen to all the stories, you know? But every once in a while, that
feeling, that good spirit of the old folks will come back to me. And where I was living in
Battle Mountain, I was living in her old house. And man, the spirit felt good! Spirit felt
good in there, and you could feel the prayers of the elders and my old grandpa. And I just
remember some of his teachings. And he’d say it over and over. He’d say, “Boy, when
you work, work when you work, and when you go to school, go to school when you go to
school. When you play—play when you play.” And I didn’t get his meaning at the time,
and I’d say, “Oh, Grandpa, you always say that!” But I understand what he was saying,
you know? [Laughter] Focus on what you’re doing, and do the best at what you’re doing
now. And to go on about my old grandpa and grandma, in those days, nobody—hardly
anybody had vehicles, cars, you know? So my old grandfather, they’d just invite
themselves and go stay with somebody. Wherever—Elko, Winnemucca, wherever. And
he had bedroll, like the old buckaroos, canvas bedroll? And I remember it, we’d leave
early in the morning, catch a bus, and he’d throw his bedroll on his shoulder. We’d go to
catch the Greyhound bus, and we’d go up—uninvited, we’d knock on their friends’ door,
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and they’d let us in, and roll our bedroll on the floor. We’d—they’d stay there a week!
[Laughter] You know? Because that’s the way it was in those days. You didn’t have to be
invited to go in somebody’s house and just stay there. But there was some good times
being with old folks, and that was a blessing in those days. And now, I’m Grandpa, and I
have two grandchildren, you know? The blessing is, is I can—I do spend time with them,
and I’m able to teach them the good spirit ways. The good, kind ways, with the feeling of
being connected to the good spirit, and to Mother Earth, and to our Father. Our Father
above. And teach the eagle feathers, and teach the prayers—and feel the prayers more
than just the talk and chanting someplace. I just heard somebody talking the other day,
and they said, “Boy, when something gets hard—you got a task, you got a hard
experience—do it as a prayer. Do it in a spiritual way.” Which kind of takes me back to
when I did sober up, and was just really feeling that spiritual experience, and the miracle
that people talk about; the change. And I came from a mean, angry background. But felt
the softening of the heart, and the change within, the change of personality. And I started
listening to other people. And at that time, I was prejudiced. And I blamed the white man
for everything, you know? For just intruding on our people. And then, so, when I got into
the recovery for alcohol, I was told by an old Native American Indian elder, and he said,
“Alcohol and drugs haven’t been in our country very long, because the European hasn’t
been here very long. But they brought over that stuff. And they used it back there for
centuries and centuries, and they know how to use it, they know how to drink it. But
when it’s brought to our Native people, we’re just not made for it, and we just have a
hard time with it. We don’t quite understand it; even our medicine men, even our healers,
we don’t know how to work with the strange disease, as it’s called.” And he said, “Where
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you need to learn about it is, you need to sit among the white man. You need to sit at a
meeting, because they’re the expert on it, and they know about it. And what will happen
is, you’ll get to be a better-feeling person, and also you’ll get to be a better Shoshone.”
And sure enough, without it, it sure helps me keep in touch with my people and my spirit.
And one of the things I do, is I love sharing with my Shoshone people. In the recovery,
and in the spirit, and whenever I’m able to. But it seems like that’s when the real spiritual
experiences started happening, is when I got rid of that soul poisoning, and that spirit
poisoning. And so, as far as the good spiritual things that happened to me is, I learned
that it takes for me a spiritual way to stay in the recovery. You know, they call it, the
recovery program, “a power greater than myself, more than me,” something. Because I
tried so hard by myself, and other people tried to help me, but it didn’t work, until—there
was something within, and some people say we have that good medicine within ourselves
anyway. We have a good medicine, and when we start using that good medicine within
ourselves, good things start to happen. And good things did start to happen. And one of
the happenings in my recovery is, I went to working with horses, and I returned kind of to
the—well, I wouldn’t say I “returned,” because when I used to cowboy in my drinking
days, and meanness and my mean spirit, I used to treat livestock rough. I mean, I used to
fight them, you know? Fight a horse. But with the change in spirit and what I call the
good medicine is, I was able to now start to treat an animal, and everything around me,
and people included, in a good way. Because I was starting to treat myself in a good way,
too. And so, today, I believe in the horse spirit, and I believe in all the spirits that
surround us. Grandfather and the ways, and the sacredness, I believe is all around us. It’s
not just in a certain spot, or we don’t have to go to a certain spot, or I don’t have to go to
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a certain spot, anyway. But with my recovery and the spirit of animals, that’s what I do,
and that’s what I started, and that’s what I do now. But it’s just, I spend most of, a good
deal of my time working with horses. And I feel the good spirit, and I even—well, one of
the things that somebody told me, when you get ahold of yourself, and you know where
you’re at, you know what you’re doing, you have a balance with the world, and balance
with Creator, is, what happens during troubled times is a person loses traditions. And I
was told now, as we’re moving along, we give all up our traditions. We can develop or
hook onto our own traditions as we go along. And I notice that now, is traditions, every
once in a while, I hear somebody say, Norm or somebody, “That’s what they do! They do
this, and they do that. They go there and they do that.” Well, to me, that’s a tradition that
that person as an individual is practicing. Even when somebody says “Boy, that guy tells
jokes, and he smiles, and he tells stories, good stories,” to me that’s tradition, and that’s
being the blessing to be able to stand for something and live that lifestyle. But so many
things come from working animals. I even—my corrals are all built round, you know?
[Laughter] People ask, “How come your corrals are all round?” And I’m not saying that’s
the way it is, but to me, I like the circle, the healing circles. So I—because I use a lot of, I
use portable corrals, so I can put them around. So all my corrals are round. And I just
believe that our life is in a good roundness and in a good, spiritual, round way. Where are
day is in a circle. It’s not linear and a dropping-off place, it just keeps the good moving as
life’s cycle, it is in a good movement. So, I call my corrals my good spiritual circle. And I
say—and I tell myself and other people, we don’t go in there when we’re in a bad way,
we’re in a bad mood, or we’ve been doing something against our principles and what we
build on. But even careful to let somebody in there with what I call bad medicine. I know
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they’ve got something not right, not going too well in their lives, same as in our homes
and in our lives and in our spirit. I think when we have that good spirit, we’re aware of
protecting ourselves and our families and our friends, and those people around us, and to
me, it’s the warrior way. And a warrior to me means both a man and a woman. Because
there’s certain people out there that I know that they feel strong in a spiritual way, and
they feel good in a spiritual way. And I’m really attracted to them. And then there’s other
people that are talking like they’re in a good way, but I don’t quite have that feeling being
around them. But some of the blessings that I see these days is, I see our younger people
striving and going for an education, and higher education. And just from what I observe
is, with that higher education, they’re able to strive for their goals, and they’re able to
think, and they’re able to accomplish what they want to, and some of them are breaking
out of families that have never gone on to school. But, to me, their thinking also clears
their way to thinking, or return, or to become stronger in their Native culture. Because
they can think, and the kids can see that the way to—or the way to return. Because some
of the younger people that I am around, they are like my mentors, you know? And I may
not be real close to them, but I hear and see what they’re doing. And I can pick up some
good movement, and some good spiritual movement there. And what’s so good these
days is, the culture that’s coming back, and the language that’s coming back. There are
people here in Owyhee that I knew years ago that was starting to teach the language class
to ladies. And they speak pretty darn good now, you know? Because they kept at it, and
they kept at it, and they kept at it. And I think—where I can understand it perfectly, but
then when I go to speak it—which I don’t very often, I’m not around hardly anybody that
speaks it. I will to myself when I’m doing my prayer, and it’s kind of funny, I’ll be in the
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shower and I’ll be singing about, “Ne appe, ne pii.” [40:17] [Laughter] My relatives, and
I don’t have much words, but I kind of say those things over and over. It’s funny. I can
feel it, you know? I can feel the good feeling inside. Speaking it out, I had my old aunt
Jessie Lee, she—my mother passed away at ninety-three, and my aunt passed away at
ninety-six. And I remember those two old ladies, they’d visit my—and they’d visit all
day. And they’d talk in Shoshone all day long. And telling stories, and gossiping, and I
mean, it lasted for a good seven hours, seven-eight hours. But they had so much inside,
that good Shoshone spirit coming out. And I used to love to listen to them, and they’d
forget that I could understand them, and they’d be talking about something, and I’d
correct them: “No, that’s not the way it goes!” But it’s just, being around the Shoshone
people and being here is just so—such a good feeling. Such a good heart feeling. I told
somebody in Battle Mountain the other day that, I said, “Man, it feels so good up here.
The mountains are so pretty and so beautiful, and the air is clean, and boy, and I just feel
the good spirit of my people in a good way.” But the things that are happening nowadays,
I see more and more, they’re—great-grandfather, Creator’s way. Just learn to accept
things that are meant to be. Even coming back to here was meant to me, I had some
experiences connected with Owyhee that—I used to kind of blame Owyhee for some
tragedy, you know? I had—my brother committed suicide up here years ago. And that
was something that I never could handle. And it was kind of sad, because at the time that
they had his funeral, I was drinking, and during the funeral I was up here. And I just
thought of my mother, my poor mother; she must have really been worried about two
suicidal sons. And then, later, I was up here, and I was in the Miner’s Club, and I was
shot there. And nearly died there. Went through crazy, crazy experiences. But those were
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some of the things that I thought was, you know, “Man, that Owyhee’s a bad place for
me!” And then, so I had been working up in a treatment center in Salt Lake, Native
American treatment center, and by golly, got a call from Owyhee. And they needed a
counselor from up here. And I thought of that. I thought, “Man, should I go up there?” I
had years’ sobriety. And I kind of debated it. But I thought, “Well, I might as well go up
there.” And I came up here, and you know—and again, it was a blessing, and a spiritual
blessing to be here. Really started an inner healing process that, for whatever reason, our
Grandfather, our Creator, directed me to come here to Owyhee, Nevada. And really did
some healing, and realized that not only Owyhee, but wherever place that I blamed for
my own wasn’t—it wasn’t the problem, the problem was me. So, what’s neat about the
problem being ourselves and we identify it is, by golly, with the spiritual help and a
spiritual awakening, we can change that problem. Because we have the blessing to, like I
said, pull that medicine out from ourselves. But again, what is so important is the spirit,
and the spirit ways. And I talk to some of my friends, and we might be having some
problem with the dominant society and getting upset about this, but I always say,
“Remember, we are Shoshone.” We are what I call a natural people. That’s not to cut
everybody else down, but is, we have our place, and our place is in these mountains, and
besides these waters, and all this open country of northeastern Nevada, you know? The
Shoshone people were a movement people. And I think we learned to live the land, and
we learned to live the ways, and we had great respect for Creator’s blessing, and for
ourselves. And I just think that what’s some sadness is when the people were moved onto
the Colonies, the little Colonies, you know. On the reservation there’s more space, but
being raised in Colony, and even nowadays in my little hometown Colony, there’s lot of
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problems. There is problems with alcohol and drugs. But I still think, with the younger
generation that are coming up, and with the educational opportunity, man, there are some
good opportunities, and employment opportunities. Which gives the Shoshone people a
good chance to do some movement there. But I think it’s going to take what it’s going to
take now, with what’s happening right now. And me sitting here and being given the
opportunity to share some of my experiences and some of my feelings. But I think it
takes people like the program, Great Basin College, and Norm’s effort to reach out to
people. To reach out to people because I think within the Shoshone people, we have a lot
of talent there, we have a lot of spirit there, we have a lot of teachings. And sometimes,
we can be kind of a quiet people, and we don’t volunteer to speak, but when somebody
asks us to, we can talk pretty good. [Laughter] But, I appreciate being given this
opportunity, and of course there’s some things that I was intending to say, but I probably
will remember later when this is over. But again, I appreciate it, and to share my talk
from the heart. And bless all of the people, and respect all of the people, and you know,
for the young people, after you make your circle and do what you’re going to do out there
to return to the Shoshone way, and strive to keep our language, and strive to keep our
tradition and our spirit and our feelings. And respect each other, and talk to each other,
and smile at each other. Say hi to each other. And with that good feeling, because we are
really a good-feeling people. When you get a bunch of Shoshones together, there’s
laughter, and there’s good times, and there’s kidding, you know? Because we’re so
happy when we get together, and all our families. I’m related to a lot of people here in
Owyhee and Elko area. And one of the things I need to do and intend to do is take time to
visit. Go visit somebody, talk to somebody. Smile. Smile with somebody. And since I’ve
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been here in Owyhee, I’ve been eating a lot—because man, there’s a lot of food offered
in Owyhee! But this is a good place to be, and it’s a good day to walk this Mother Earth,
and the blessings of the Creator, and all the opportunities we have, I believe that’s a good
time. And that’s about all I have to share today, and thank you.
[End of recording]
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Dublin Core
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Title
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Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
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Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
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GBIA Oral History Collections
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Great Basin Indian Archive
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2006-2015
Oral History
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Interviewer
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Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
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Ronnie Dixon
Location
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Battle Mountain, NV [Battle Mountain Colony]; Owyhee [Duck Valley Reservation]
Transcription
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http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/505
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00:50:35
Dublin Core
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Oral History - Ronnie Dixon (11/05/2014)
Subject
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Oral History interview with Ronnie Dixon, Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, NV, on 11/05/2014
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Ronnie Dixon is a Western Shoshone from the Battle Mountain Band, born and delivered by his grandmother on the Battle Mountain Colony, and was raised in Battle Mountain. He was also raised by his grandmother and grandfather. He tells us about the history of his grandparents, and how he went to school with his sisters and friends. Ronnie then goes on to tell about his times drinking, being a cowboy with his father, and how he was drafted into the Army during Vietnam. He tells us about his time in the Military. And then goes on to tell of his job in Owyhee as a Substance Abuse counselor, and his philosophy around spirituality and drinking.</p>
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 043
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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11/05/2014 [11 November 2014]; 2014 November 11
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; Andrew Moore [GBIA]; Scott A. Gavorsky [VHC]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
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mp4
Language
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English
Battle Mountain
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley Reservation
GBIA
Owhyee
ranching
Shoshone
Story
Substance Abuse
traditions
veteran
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/8f5978408997c6162861fa20919d20d6.jpg
557ed2fe50738af4325b41900d8e704c
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/76daf31ab0c6397b2f4782684882a7bd.pdf
65e5eaa13bb8472b4e0a0f4f75f82c53
PDF Text
Text
Georgianna
Price
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
044
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
December
19,
2014
BaCle
Mountain,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hCp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 044
Interviewee: Georgianna Price
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: December 19, 2014
P:
My name is Georgianna Price. I’m part of the Battle Mountain Band, which is now the
Te-Moak Band. I have lived in Battle Mountain all my life. I remember us living like,
very poorly when we were young. We had no electricity, and we had no—we did have
outside running water. But we had no restrooms, and lived in small houses that were
originally built as summer homes, and they were kind of chilly inside of it all the time
because the government, I guess, was going to eventually build a regular home. These
houses were supposed to be temporary homes until the new ones were built. And they
have never—they didn’t do that. So, later years, I don’t know under what program it was,
they came and put that foam insulation into our homes. And originally, there’s only a few
of those homes sitting in the old colony now at this present time. I think there’s one,
two—actually, I think about two homes, plus two private homes that’s been there for
years, which are, one was owned by my dad’s niece, Maryjane Blossom. And that house
is still sitting there, and it is built out of tie. And then the Saggie Williams home was next
to ours, and our home eventually burned down. Me and my sister burned it down!
[Laughter] We were cooking french fries, and we set the house on fire, so we lost our
original home. And my grandmother lived next door, thank goodness, because she helped
us out. My grandma’s name was Annie Muncy. Annie and Jack Muncy. Jack was my
step-grandfather. And my grandfather would have been Dewey Jim from Owyhee. I have
never met the man, but I remember his brother Sam Jim that used to come and see us all
the time. That was my mother’s father, this Dewey Jim. And Mom had, I think, two halfbrothers from this Sam Jim. And at the time that—well, when we were little, they always
told us that if a family member dies, mainly a woman, then the widowed man would
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marry the next sister down. And that’s how my grandmother did at that time. And I think
my grandfather—my step-grandfather—ended up coming from Austin area. And he had a
daughter, and named Jessie Leach. Well, Jessie Muncy, it would be. And she had—her
mother had passed away when she was little, so she never knew her mother. But, after the
mother died, Jack, my step-grandpa, married her sister Annie. And that’s how we come
about with all these half-uncles, half-whatever, cousins and whatever. You know. But
that was a tradition of passing on the family member, whoever died, the other marries the
next sister down. And that’s what happened in our family. So, my mother and my aunt
were half-sisters. Step-sisters, and they were also cousins, is the way it turn out. Well,
Jessie was always our real aunt, you know? And they grew up as two sisters. The Indians,
in the olden days, used to camp outside the town of Battle Mountain. And there was a
white house with a spring there on this end of town, on the west end of town, where my
Aunt Jessie says they used to go and get their water. They would carry the water in
buckets. And they kind of just built a lean-to shack, is what they lived in. And the thing
was, if some member of the family passed away, they would burn down the house and
then build another little place to live in, see? That’s the way they used to do it. And I
don’t know what year it was, but there was a spring out here where the old colony is now,
that had nice running water. And that’s where, I believe it’s the government that moved
Indians over to this area, this old colony there. And that’s where we had—they did pipe
our running water in to the front of each home. And us kids used to go around in that,
where the spring was, and play over there all the time. Wade in the water, you know. And
there was just one big pipe that stuck up, and we’d go into the water like a shower.
[Laughter] We’d just go run around in that water over there. But the tribal building was
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always there. I don’t know what year that came, either. But we used to go over there
every once in a while, and there was a laundry room. They had, looked like steel tubs, or
I don’t know what kind of tubs they were, against one wall. And they had stoves in there.
But they were wood stoves, you know. Cooking stove, couple of them. They had dishes
of all types, and I don’t know whatever became of all those things that are in there. But
they had cupboards in there with all these dishes, and heavy dishes at that, you know.
And they slowly disappeared. [Laughter] Kids probably broke them up, or whatever. But
I know we used to go in there every once in a while, that was your laundry room. They
built, like the modern-day laundromat, I guess, you know? They probably had machines
in there at one time, gas machines or something. And, so that’s where I grew up. And like
I say, we didn’t have no running water inside the house. We didn’t have no inside
bathrooms. And we had no electricity. We had to use kerosene lamps, and us girls, as
we’re teenagers, we got them little curling irons. And you could stick that curling iron in
the chimney of the lamp and heat it up, wipe it with a cloth, then you curl your hair with
it. That’s how we did it. It was just kind of crazy, now that I think about it—I guess that’s
the hot curling iron, now! [Laughter] And, but we grew up very poorly. Like I tell my
grandchildren, I said, “We didn’t have everything you kids had. Things came hard.” And,
so then we moved to South Fork for a little bit when they put up that reservation over
there. But we didn’t stay there too long, because my mother started getting sick, so Dad
just moved us back to Battle Mountain. And when we moved back to Battle Mountain,
we lived in a tent. But we stayed in that tent all winter. But it was nice and cozy. Dad put
up a wood stove in there, and put plyboard around the bottom of the tent, and it was nice
and cozy home. We survived in there, but we ate with my grandparents, until those
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people left and then we move into the house. My grandparents lived next door, and they
really helped us a lot. We had an aunt who worked around town, she was dishwasher for
some people who owned a restaurant. To us, when we lived in South Fork, being very
poor we didn’t get too much of anything. But Christmas was our big day. And Dad had a
pickup—he always had a pickup. And he’d load us kids up in the back of that pickup in
the middle of winter, in December, and we’d come all the way to Battle Mountain. We’d
sit under quilts. And we’d see the airport and we’d get so happy because we’re coming to
Grandma’s. And our biggest thing for Christmas was color crayon and books! [Laughter]
That was—my aunt gave us that every year. We didn’t have too much of anything, you
know? And that’s how we were raised. There was nine of us at one time, in my
immediate family. And then, my aunt only had one daughter. And then, I had, my
uncle—I had two uncles. One was killed in Germany, I think, during Second World War.
And my other uncle lived here. They both was in the Service, but he came back. And I
think I was three years old when my uncle was killed in Germany. For some reason, I
remember the policeman coming to the door with a piece of paper—kinda odd, how that
stuck in my mind—and told my grandmother what happened. I know Mom had lost a
couple children, but there was Delores Conklin—now Delores—she passed away a
number of years ago. And then, I had my brother, then myself—no, then I had sister
Louise, who passed away from heart problem in Phoenix. And then I was the next one.
Then my brother George who passed away with, he had diabetes, pretty serious diabetes,
and we lost him. And then we had Rosalie, who lives in Salt Lake at this time. And then
Ronnie. We also lost two twins, a boy and a girl. She died of a thyroid problem in
Owyhee—no, in Boise—and then, her brother couldn’t stand it because he was so close
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to her. He went and committed suicide when he was living with the Atkinses, Ed Atkins’
family in Owyhee. So we lost our twins that way. Then we had our youngest sister Anna
Sue, who now lives here at the same colony I live in here. And she works at the hospital
for the long-term care, is what she works on now.
C:
So you had a big family.
P:
We had a big family, plus we had about two others that’s buried at the cemetery as
babies. It’s kind of like our private cemetery. There’s an old cemetery right along the
freeway, on the right side of the freeway. And I was told that it didn’t start out as our
cemetery. An old man, which my aunt and mother didn’t know the names anymore at that
time, but they said he was hit by a train in north Battle Mountain. And said, put him on a
little handcart and brought him this far. And they got tired. Rather than go any further,
they buried that old man in that cemetery. Buried him on that spot. And then my family
eventually, I guess, started burying their people, their old people, over there at that
cemetery. After the time my dad was alive, they was all—they all worked at ranches.
They didn’t get much pay, but they made a living enough to get by with, you know. And
then we’d go with my family. My older sister didn’t go, she was already working here in
Battle Mountain. Delores. But the rest of us would pack up, and we’d go to that Rancho
Grande ranch toward Owyhee, where Dad and they would hay all summer. Or we’d go to
the Buffalo Ranch, which is down south of Battle Mountain, and we’d camp there all
summer, too, while they were haying, see? And that’s what we did every summer, every
summer, is what we used to do. And then, Dad used to tell us spook stories. He was good
at that, always telling us stories about different things. And he was telling us about, I
guess now we call it “the rock man,” I don’t know what they call it in Indian. But one
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night, he was telling us stories about the rock man, how he built a—like a helmet, like,
out of pitch and pine. Pine pitch, and made a hat. And he says that’s how he killed the
people, was by putting it over the head and circling that off, or something! And he was
telling us a wild story about that one night, and we were sleeping in a tent. And—like a,
more like a bunkhouse, all our bedrolls in a row, and he was telling us that story, and the
wind was blowing. And all of—he says, he said, “Wooo!” The wind knock our tent
down! You should have seen us jump all over him! [Laughter] But he’d tell us stories
about, like, he used to tell us the pinenuts supposed to be bigger than what they are. And
he always talk about the Coyote being the bad guy. And he was sent, the Coyote was
sent, to deliver some of this pinenut so that they can—I guess pine seed is what they
are—to deliver to them a different area. And they told them, “Don’t mess with it. Just
take it straight on over there.” Well, Coyote got hungry halfway, and he bit off some of
the pinenut in half, took one piece off, and he said, “Oh, they won’t notice.” And that’s
why we ended up with half a pinenut, instead of a point on each end and being big. It was
only half a pinenut is what we get now, see? And, he got over there, and he had eaten half
of the pinenuts, so we ended up with half a pinenut now. See, there’s only one point to it,
one end. There should be a point on each end, see? But we don’t have that, you know.
And that’s what, he told us about that. And then Water Babies. I don’t know how many
people know about Water Babies. And Humboldt River’s not too far, walking distance
from here, and I was telling my nephew, Shawn Conklin, and my kids, about the Water
Babies. Because they’re always going to the river and swimming over there when they
were kind of little, and I didn’t like that too well. So Dad had told us about Water Babies.
And he said they lived along the river here, and he said they take a form of the baby. The
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Indian woman used to wash at the river, and put the babies in their basket. This Water
Baby would get in and suck up the baby, and take the form of the baby, and get inside
this basket. So when the mother nurses the baby, he would suck up the mother and kill it!
Is what we used to be told. And they say, they play with—when the guys are riding
horses, they chase them, and they say they kind of go glug-glug-glug, sound like water as
they’re running. And they jump on back of the horse, jump off, just teasing the riders all
the time. And they said they’re pretty swift when they run. You know. I don’t know
whatever became of Water Babies, but I scared my grandkids—my children and my
nephews. So they never went to river for a long time. And that’s the only time I ever hear
of Water Babies. I don’t know. And they say you can hear them at the river when it’s
quiet, you can hear them crying, these Water Babies. Of course, I’ve never gone to river
in the evening, so I wouldn’t know! [Laughter] That was one of those stories. And then,
they told us about, he told us about, we’re supposed to not die once, and we’re supposed
to come back alive. But again, Coyote did this bad thing to us. He said there was—
Coyote and Rabbit lived in a hole. And this bad Coyote, he’s always doing something
bad anyway. So the Rabbit said that the army was coming—I guess that would be
considered something like a cavalry. And he told, he had to go do something, or
somewhere, and they were in that hole, and he told the Coyote, he says, “Don’t look out!
No matter what happens, I’m going to go”—do whatever errand he was going to go on.
And these—it wasn’t actually calvaries that started out. They said, it was a certain
people, he said they went to bathroom on top of the hill then, you know, and their
whatever you call it rolls down the hill, and they turn into army. That’s what happened!
[Laughter] And he told the Coyote, he says, “Don’t look out while I’m gone. You stay in
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that hole. Because if you look out, we’re going to die just once and we’re gone.” Well,
Coyote didn’t listen. But he heard those cavalry coming, or whatever kind of soldiers that
were coming. So he peeks out the hole. And that was it, see? And it killed him. That was
end of Coyote. But I never did hear whatever became of the Rabbit—if he came and
found him or what. [Laughter] But that’s why we die only once. They say we’re
supposed to die at least twice anyway, and come back alive. But Coyote did that to us, so
we only die once now.
I knew of an old man, Rice, that lived in—I think Ely? I think he was in Ely, or Wells.
When my sister and brother were getting sick, the twins, one would get sick, and the
other would be nice and chubby. It was an opposite. They were going back and forth.
One would get skinny, and one would gain weight, you know? This went on for quite
some time when they were babies. And we got this old man Rice. He probably had an
Indian name, but he was a real tiny little guy that came. So Dad and they went and got
him. He was ready when they got there. They said he was packed and ready to come,
because somebody was coming after him. But I can’t remember if it was—I think it was
Ely, is where he was. And so they invite him back, and they doctored them for I think
two nights, the two babies. And broke them apart from each other so this wouldn’t
happen. And then, he told them—the babies used to sleep, they were twins, and they
would sleep on one little cot, opposite directions, feet to feet. And he told them, “Don’t
do that to them. That’s not good for the babies.” And my sister had already passed away,
my older—next to me, older than I am—and so that was her babies, she used to play with
them a lot. She was older than us. And as I said, because she’s out there, outside by the
side the house there. She’s waiting for them, she says. “So separate the two, and break
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them apart.” And so that’s what they did. That’s the way they—so they got over their
sickness. They didn’t get sick no more after that. This old man did that to them. And I
enjoyed that, because at midnight, they’d have refreshment. They’d have cake and coffee,
or whatever. And then, they pass a cigarette around, everybody take a puff of cigarette.
That was a big event for us kids, and we’d make sure that we were up there, up and at it,
when they’re doing their cake thing, you know? [Laughter] But, and he—that’s the only
one I really knew as a real Indian doctor, that man. He was a real tiny little guy, but I
never knew his real name. They just called him “Rice.” Little tiny guy. So, besides my
aunt Josie. Yeah, she was a—she’d pray with us, and pray for us, all the time. And then, I
think there’s a book in the museum in Elko that mentions her, because some of the
doctors go, and go to her when they not feeling good or whatever, and she’d pray with
them or whatever. The old-time doctors would go over there. So.
C:
So, the doctors from Elko recognized her as a healer?
P:
Yes, uh-huh. Yeah, the old-time doctors. But there’s an article in the museum about her.
C:
What can you tell us about, how was Battle Mountain named “Battle Mountain?” Was
there a battle here, or how did that come about?
P:
There’s about three different versions, and I see that in the museum. And there’s
supposed to have been a fight between the Shoshone Indians and the Paiutes. See, Paiutes
are in Winnemucca area, and Shoshones on this side. That’s one version, and then there
was another one where the Indians attacked at the wagon train that was going through by
the river, is the way it was told. And there’s another version, I can’t remember what it
was. But who knows what actually happened to make it Battle Mountain? Yeah, there’s
about three different versions of how it came about. So who knows what really happened.
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I believe the wagon train probably was attacked. I don’t know why I feel that way, but,
you know, then it became Battle Mountain. And Battle Mountain actually isn’t, shouldn’t
have been Battle Mountain right here where it’s sitting. Battle Mountain should have
been in Argenta. You see that little Argenta, that hill you kind of go by just when you
leave town? Other side the airport there, and then you kind of make that little swing? But,
the railroad moved—I don’t know if you call it “railroad,” or cars, I guess, there’d be
railroads. They come from Austin to Battle Mountain. So rather than having to come
along the mountain edge, they came straight, decided to come straight and build a
railroad directly to where Battle Mountain is now, is how they come about. See, we
should’ve been sitting by the hillside over there, you know. [Laughter] And then, if you
happen to be in a higher area, you can see where the old railroad came from Austin to
Battle Mountain. In fact, back of town here, you can still see this little high spot where
the railroad ran through, railroad tracks were on. But you can still find places along in the
Austin Canyon there where the railroad was built. Was kind of built high like a highway.
We didn’t have too many people living here at the time at the old colony. But my mother
and my aunt went to school at a old Indian school. They didn’t go to school in the white
school. And the courthouse now used to be the white kids’ school, and there was a gray
building next to it that was wooden building, good-sized building. And that’s where the
Indian children went to school. They didn’t go to school at the beginning with the white
children. I don’t know what year they finally let them go to school in the main building.
But by time I went to school, we went to what is now the courthouse. That was our
school, up to the eighth grade. And we used the old Indian building as a gym in the front
part. It was good-sized building. And then, the back part was a little, they made into a
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band room for the band students. So, but we had no problem going to school. There was
only, I think in about our class, there was people coming and going, little mining people,
whatever—I’d say about eleven to twelve children from Battle Mountain that went to
school there. But rest of them come and go, come and go, all the time. And they, but
more people started coming in, so they moved us—I think I was in eighth grade at the
time—they moved us into the high school. Seventh and eighth grade they moved to the
high school, because high school was a bigger building. And the bigger kids didn’t like
us. [Laughter] They’d pick on the seventh and eighth graders; the high school kids
resented us being there with them, you know? Because for a long time they were like
that, and they finally accepted it. “Hey, this is where they’re going to stay.” So that’s
where I went to school, at the high school—which is now the site where the hospital is
sitting. The old trees are still there, but they tore down the newer building. Why they kept
this old courthouse I don’t know, because that’s a lot older than what the other building
was. So, I don’t know what year they moved them. Then they built the newer schools,
and that’s when they moved them over to the high school over there, and then the
hospital; county, I guess, took the building over as hospital, and they tore it down, and
build a new hospital there now. And around Battle Mountain, that hospital is sit on the
end of where it’s sitting now, and there was an airport and sagebrush on the other side.
There was not all these buildings that they got now, you know. You didn’t go too far.
And the rest was just all sagebrush, sagebrush country. Now there’s buildings, and there’s
trailer courts, and high school’s sitting where the sagebrush used to be in the back, and
things have grown quite a bit. Now, it seem like there’s lot of people here. Copper,
Copper Canyon was one of the mines, and Natomas. Copper Canyon, Copper Placer,
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Natomas: they were small mines at the time. Copper mines and gold mines, and
whatever. And the people would come and go. They’re just miners. And then, when they
really found that Duval mine came in. They found a lot more gold, I guess! And then, it
started booming. So, we were living at the T.S. Ranch, and we and my husband, they
didn’t like the way the BLM was doing it. The BLM was fencing everything. And they
said, oh, they had quit. They were not going to work here no more. They were going to—
he was a buckaroo boss at T.S. Ranch. So we moved to town. And then we went to work
for Duval. We couldn’t find a house in town! We lived—it was horrible! We moved into
town, and there was an old bar across the tracks here, and he had a couple old tin shacks.
That’s all we can find, so here we move into one of them old tin shacks, and it was
horrible! [Laughter] The kids were embarrassed, they didn’t want to go to school. They
said we were living in the ghettos. We couldn’t find nothing! And you hear the mice. And
so, we cleaned it out and everything, but you can hear the mice in the walls. Oh, it was
horrible! I don’t like mice. [Laughter] And then, so then, we eventually found a trailer
down the street for sale, so we bought that. But the six of us that lived in that little, teeny,
two-bedroom trailer. We managed! Then we moved across the tracks. But I kind of grew
up with the Marvel family. When our house burned down, she asked me to come live
with her. I lived with her for three years. Freshman to junior high school, is where I lived;
I lived in luxury. [Laughter] And, because they owned all the ranches around here. And I
lived with her for a long time.
[Break in recording at 28:41]
P:
I had a good life. In the summertime, I’d go with the Tom Marvel family, and we’d go—
I’d babysit for them, and they went on the buckaroo wagon. So, we’d go on the buckaroo
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wagon. They’d help with the kids all the time. So, I kind of—as I got into teenage area, I
kind of just got away from the Colony, you know? Didn’t stay too much, have to spend
too much time here at the Colony. Because my sister worked for the Tom Marvel family,
my oldest sister Doris. So she was helping raise the Tom Marvel’s children here, as a
teenager. And then, later on, after she and Earl Conklin got married, they stayed at the 25
Ranch and worked for them. And we all stayed with the Marvel family until they sold
out. And that’s when we moved with the T.S. family—I mean, family, T.S. Ranch. And
then we moved to town after that. We enjoy—I was a buckaroo cook. I moved with the
wagon. Me, and my kids were little then, and I used to—as soon as it start warming up,
it’s time to move out. Spring, you know. So, I would put the kids on the bus at seven in
the morning, school bus at the crossing over there at the ranch, and then I’d go on—the
guys would cook breakfast for themselves. They’d start out from other side of Argenta,
and move up into the hills all the way to north of Carlin, about—I guess you would say
northeast of Carlin, up in the hills. Coyote Ranch, that’s as far as we would go. But when
we’d move camp, they had an old cookhouse, sheepherder cookhouse. That was our
kitchen, you know. Then they’d load up big old tables, and chairs, and benches, and
whatever; we would look like a bunch of gypsies. And we moved to different places. We
moved one, two, three, about four different places, and then we get to—well, three, and
then we get to Coyote Ranch. And that was our main camp, see? And we stayed there all
summer. From there, we come directly back to T.S. Ranch. And then the—what’s so
good about that, it’s time for the kids to start school. So, it turned out good for us. And
one thing, we never had no TV. We had nothing up there, just no electricity, nothing.
And the kids liked it. We had to wash and give them a bath in the creek. [Laughter] You
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know? It’s the way we lived! And that’s where they got their love of reading. They love
to read, because that’s all they had was books. And we joined that Elko book club at the
library, and we’d get books from them. They sent us different books. We’d send in a list,
and then they’d send us some books, because we were out in the sticks. Living out in
sagebrush. Some places, no trees! Couple of places, there was no trees whatsoever. You
know? But we enjoyed it. It was good to live like that. So, there was no problem. And
that’s the way I like to camp: just load up and go. Heck with these travel trailers they
carry around. [Laughter] That’s not camp! Yeah, that was our life. And we enjoyed living
like that for a long time. Twelve years. Twelve years. And then, if I wasn’t cooking on
the buckaroo wagon, in the winter months, I cooked at the cookhouse when the cooks
quit. And it seems like every time I’d get in there, they’d look for a cook, and I’m stuck
there for quite a while before they would find a cook. But it was a good life, to live like
that. I don’t remember what my pay was at that—they paid pretty good, though. But I
can’t remember what it was. Because I got paid, my husband got his pay, and the two
older boys got their pay. And they were only in the eight and tenth grade, but they paid a
man’s wages on weekends when they worked there, because the boss from California
said, “Well, they’re doing man’s work; they may as well get paid like a man.” So. And
the boys been working ever since! [Laughter]
C:
So, what kind of work did they do on the ranch?
P:
They did, they buckarooed. They buckarooed, they watched cattle, and worked with
cattle a lot, is what our part was. And the ranch part was more irrigating and working on
machinery and repairing things. So, they had the ranch crew, and then they had the
buckaroo crew. I used to cook for about, originally started out with cooking for about
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fifteen people, three times a day. And that wasn’t—I couldn’t do it now. I don’t think I
could do it now, because you get up, and cooking breakfast, and have it ready by six
o’clock, and then you got to fix lunch. And do the last, their supper. Three times a day,
have two different types of dessert every meal. Next day, you had leftover desserts.
[Laughter] And, because you got to make sure—but we had the meat, we had the big
commissary, whatever you needed, it was all right there, so that wasn’t bad at all. And
they paid us to do it. And we ate over there with my four kids. So we were doing pretty
good. We lived in a ranch house. They furnished the ranch homes to us, and the utilities
and all, so we didn’t pay for anything as far as ranch renting part. So, that was an easy
life, really. I’d like to go back to that now—without the cooking part! [Laughter]
[Break in recording at 34:12]
P:
With our youth here in, around this area, I would strongly recommend that they finish
their high school education, and get some kind of training. There’s lot of idle children
around here that’s not doing anything. I mean, older people that’s gone—should have
finished school, but they’re not. Nobody’s encouraging them too much to finish school.
Get that high school diploma if nothing else. And they don’t seem to be too interested in
the education. And at least go on and further your education. Get off of the reservation
right here, because there’s nothing here. There’s nothing to offer. No type of job training
or nothing here on our reservation. And the only thing we got around here is mining. And
then, for mining even, you have to have some kind of training. But our children, they do
need some kind of training in our area. I don’t know about other places. They need to be
encouraged to go on into it there. Regular, further their education. I’m sure there’s funds
for financial help with things like that if they want it. But nobody’s looking into that or
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anything. Yeah. And even parents. Like, when I was growing up, our parents were
uneducated. They didn’t really push us to study or whatever. So when my kids were
growing, made sure that they studied! [Laughter] You know? And then I try to join
different things for them, to help them along. Like, I watched how to write with the
homeroom, when they were small. Then we went into Brownie scouts with my daughter.
And I was always into the homeroom, helping there. And then, when they got older—
well, I worked for the school for a while, until they’re—Title IV run out of money. And
then I get a job at the smoke shop. Yeah, they close that program off. I was teacher’s aide
for two years over there. And, so then, I just kind of encouraged my children to do the
best they can in everything. And they had no problems as far as school and getting along
with other students or whatever. We went in from Brownies. Like I say, from Brownie
scouts. And homeroom teachers, and then I worked as teacher’s aide, so I was connected
to all the little Indian children. You know, number of them. Now they’re children with
kids getting out of high school, almost! [Laughter] And there’s not, we never did have
too many Indian students. Just, our population’s kind of small here. Then I went in to
Little League. I was a Little League coach for one team, baseball. Went to baseball, and I
made—then my niece, my sister Rosalie’s daughter, too, was in there, so they were in
sports, and we made two trips to Denver for the All-Little League, with our Little League
team. And then I took up umpiring. Started umpire the boys’ baseball—well, I didn’t
intend to go into boys’ baseball, little boys’ baseball. Took umpire training, and I ended
up with the little boys. And I had no little boys! But that’s who, I umpired their games.
And then, from there, Patricia went on into high school, and she went on into volleyball.
So I ended up refereeing volleyball games. I was a state volleyball referee. We had to
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take tests to be that, and there was number of us here in town that did that for a long time.
Then she graduated, and I was there for two years, and I thought, “What am I doing here?
She’s gone!” [Laughter] You know, and I’m still umpiring volleyball games! So, I finally
dropped that, and that was the end of my career. So, we’ve been pretty active in our
home, doing things. I see parents don’t encourage their kids in sports or nothing anymore,
either. And I think if they did, maybe they’d make better grades and try harder, you
know, if they were given that chance. But it’s not working out that way, seems like. And
my sister Delores and her group, one time, when the kids were younger, they tried
teaching the Shoshone language to the kids. But the kids weren’t interested! Few of them
went once in a while, and then the teachers finally—Glenda Johnson and my sister
Delores tried with them. They finally gave up on them. Because if they weren’t showing
up—just once in a while, their kids pop in. So, that didn’t go over very well. And now, I
don’t think we have too many people here on the reservation that do speak Shoshone. I
don’t know who would. I can’t even think of anybody that talks Shoshone. No, I’m just
saying that I hope the parents would encourage their children to further their education.
And living on small reservation like ours, I prefer that they will go out and go elsewhere.
[End of recording]
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Dublin Core
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Title
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Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
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Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
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GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
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2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
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Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
The person(s) being interviewed
Georgianna Price
Location
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Battle Mountain, NV [residence of Georgianna Price]
Transcription
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http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/510
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00:39:54
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Oral History - Georgianna Price (12/19/2014)
Subject
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Oral History interview with Georgianna Price, Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, NV, on 12/19/2014
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Georgianna Price is a Western Shoshone from Battle Mountain, part of the Te-Moak Tribe. Georgianna begins her oral history by highlighting her time growing up and going to school in Battle Mountain. She speaks about the Battle Mountain camp, and how it came to be. She then goes into her family lineage describing traditions among Western Shoshones and history of Battle Mountain. Price then goes on to tell the audience about some Shoshone tales told to her. She ends her discussion by giving details of raising her kids while she was cooking for the buckaroos around Battle Mountain, and she also addresses younger audiences encouraging them to go to school.</p>
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 044
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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12/19/2014 [19 December 2014]; 2014 December 19
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; Andrew Moore [GBIA]; Scott A. Gavorsky [VHC]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; University of Utah [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
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Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
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Format
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mp4
Language
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English
Battle Mountain
Community
Crossroads
family
folktale
GBIA
ranching
Shoshone
South Fork
Story
T.S. Ranch
traditions
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/38c883d7582a8de9827680290829c6c4.jpg
3af2b9987333d3451bec78c708761e7f
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/6bd983c4325683f97a06eaa1cd371fca.pdf
57bf4dad534633b7f9d5535c65516dc5
PDF Text
Text
Gracie
Begay
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
040
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
June
27,
2014
Wells,
NV
Great
Basin
College
•
Great
Basin
Indian
Archives
1500
College
Parkway
Elko,
Nevada
89801
hCp://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced
in
partnership
with
Barrick
Gold
of
North
America
�GBIA 040
Interviewee: Gracie Begay
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: June 27, 2014
B:
My name is Gracie Begay. I’m a Western Shoshone Te-Moak member, and I’m from
Wells, Nevada. I am now seventy-eight years old. Great-great grandfather was named
Captain Joe Gilbert, and was given the name by the soldiers when the soldiers removed
our descendants from the great flood, which I presume was the great Reese River flood. I
do not know the date. The tribe was then moved to Austin, Nevada, where they made
their home. Up until we were all moved to Battle Mountain, Nevada, when I was about
three years old, I had one brother and one sister. My brother and one sister, that was part
of families, were also born in Austin. There was four cousin sisters that was part of the
family of Joe Gilbert. This was told to me by Dan Blossom. The families were moved to
the land where the new cemetery now stands in Battle Mountain, and they were moved
from the Battle Mountain cemetery to the Battle Mountain Indian Colony in 1937, where
it is today. I do not know the date. In my lifetime, I knew four Indian ladies that were into
their hundred years old. They were Mary Horton, Annie Dusang, Aggie Jackson, and my
great-grandma, Edie Gilbert. We all grew up together in Battle Mountain with Dan
Blossom and cousin Clara Woodson, who is now deceased. The video that you did on me
and Clara some time ago should tell some of the rest of the story that I can’t. I want to
thank you for all your work you’ve done, Norman. We need somebody like you. This is a
picture of the great-great-grandfather, Captain Joe Gilbert. It was taken in Austin,
Nevada. And the clothes that he’s wearing was given to him by the soldiers when they
loaded up our ancestors in wagons and moved them to Austin, Nevada. He was at that
time twenty-nine years old, and the soldiers named him Captain Joe Gilbert. And he had
a goiter on his neck. He wore a bandanna. And my mom says that’s what killed him, was
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he choked to death, because they didn’t have no doctors that time. But he was twentynine years old when this was taken. I’ve had this picture in my closet for years, and I
thought I’d take it out for you to see, so maybe if you can, maybe put it in the museum—
if we ever get our museum. Or the Elko one. And let our descendants know that I have it.
I grew up in Battle Mountain. We moved there, I think I must have been three years old.
And my dad worked at the Hilltop Mine, so they moved us to little Ricksie station, over
there in Argenta. They had seven cabins there, and they had a schoolhouse. We went to
school there in that little cabin, when I was about maybe four, and Margie was maybe
seven, and Ed—Edward, my oldest brother, must’ve been about ten. We went to school
there, and then the Ricksie station, there used to be a station there, a gas station, right on
the top of Emigrant Pass. That was run by Roy Premaux. It’s spelled P-R-E-M-A-U-X.
Okay, at that time, there was several Indian families living there. There was my greatuncle Alec Gilbert, his daughter Agnes Gilbert and her two daughters; and there was my
great-aunt, Inez Leach and Jimmy Leach were there, living there; and then there was Tom
and Annie Premo, P-R-E-M-O. They were also there. So I remember stopping there to
visit them when we was on our way to Elko, and I was told at one time that that was
Indian land there. However, I don’t have the proof of that. But there were Indian people
living there. Our ancestors were living right there at the Premaux station. And so, that’s
my earliest childhood. And then at that time, the Bradys were moved from Austin of
course this way, they were in Beowawe. That was Gladys Brady and all them. I went to
school with Piffero—what’s his name, plays the piano? Lita’s husband. Lita Stone’s
husband. He played the piano that time. Then there was Leonard Johnny Jr., and they
went to school with us also at Ricksie’s from Beowawe, where they originated from. I’ve
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got pictures in there that I will dig up later on. But there’s lot of white kids were at school
there, too, with us. Now, there’s nothing there but the mining things that they have, that
that was all where the schools used to be. Then the Premaux station burnt down. Burnt to
the ground, and that’s when the Premos moved to Elko. But I was going to say that Billy
Joaquin from Battle Mountain and Tom Premo were the ones that took the 1940 Census
of us in Battle Mountain. And they were—I remember that. Then I was seven years old
when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in 1942. I was in bed with the mumps, and my
dad came in with a package of my first low shoes and my first anklets, to go to school.
And I remember that they announced on the radio that the Japanese bombed Pearl
Harbor. So that’s when they rationed the sugar, the flour, the tires, the gasoline. I don’t
know what else—oh, shoes. Leather. And then we had the, had to be on food stamps.
They had little stamps that we had to go by for rationing. They rationed all our stuff at
that time. So then, from there on, we lived in Battle Mountain, went to high school there,
and we moved to South Fork in 1951. And I never got to finish high school. I went to my
junior year and we moved, so I didn’t get to graduate. My brothers went to school in
South Fork, but then they had to move into town to finish their grade school, because
they didn’t have high school in South Fork. So I lived there until I was twenty-one years
old, and then my dad and I, we moved to Elko. And from there, I worked at the Elko
hospital for thirteen years in the laundry. I knew a lot of people there. Then I met my
husband John. We got married in 1960, and we had our children. Now we have our—I
lost three, and I’ve got four left. And there’re about ten grandchildren, about thirteen or
fourteen great-grandchildren that’s living today. And which I’m very proud of, because I
can grow up with them—they can grow up and know me, and I’m going to try to do a
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history for them, for the kids. They’ve been after me for a long time to do that. But I’m
going to continue on doing that at this time, and when I learn to computer better.
[Laughter] And that’s about all. I’ve been on several councils, as you know, through the
years. And now these people, lot of them are gone now, that we worked with, when we
went to Washington, D.C. on a caravan. There’s only few of us left that went there to
Washington, D.C. with the Danns, at the federal court building in Washington, D.C. on
their land claims. And we made two trips to Washington, D.C. with the Danns. We got
there in Washington, D.C. at night, and the people put us up in one of these old churches,
basements. And so we were in there, and Virginia Sanchez’s family was with us: Joe, and
what’s her name? Irene? Her mother’s name? Anyway, they started cleaning the place
and the cockroaches started jumping up out of the toasters and everything, you know?
And boy, by the time the elders got that place cleaned up, there was no sign of any
cockroaches! So we all slept there, and the next day, we went out to the federal
courthouse. We were all standing outside, got our pictures taken and everything. And we
went into the courthouse, and we’re all sitting down in there—everybody said prayers
outside first. There’s Eunice Silva, and Mae Hicks and all them were praying outside.
We went into the courtroom, and the seven Supreme Court judges were sitting up there.
So then, our attorney, who was Tom Luebben, got up and told about our history. And the
briefs were about that thick that he had in his hand, and he had given one to each of the
Supreme Court judges. They hadn’t even looked at it. All they said, well then—they
talked and took our testimony, and then we went for lunch, and then we came back in
again. We weren’t there very long. The justices came back in, and told us, told—John
O’Connell. Said “John O’Connell,” he said, “Mr. O’Connell, we can’t do nothing for you
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here, because you Indians took your money, and you have been paid your claims money.
Case closed.” And they got up and walked out! That was the end of our, the Dann story
for the Supreme Court. And then we traveled back. We had a good time with our elders,
and sang, and did everything, you know. I mean, it was just a happy occasion from what
it is today, our people. You know, I can’t believe that people are so hateful. Our own
people, our own nanewes. Young man standing behind, he’s part of us. You, too! And
Dan Blossom. Dan is really good about this history. He’s the one that told me about the
four cousin-sisters, which all, we are all descendants from. That were scattered, you
know? But I would like to know, and have the people, our ancestors, know what’s going
on. My grandma has two surviving nieces that lives in Elko, it’s Theresa Lespade and
Ethel Gallardo. That’s the only two that’s left. The two nieces that she had in Fort Hall
was Edna Hernandez and Lyda Kniffen. So, there’s relatives up there, too, in Fort Hall,
that’s part of us here. Also, Jay Joe and Jeanette Joe. Their mother, Elsie Joe, was part of
our family, too. So there’s relations, just scattered. But I want them to know where we
came from. And this is only way I can do it, is starting from this photograph here. And I
can keep it, or I was going to ask you—if we ever get our museum, or if you could put it
in your archives—
[Break in recording at 14:07]
C:
Can you elaborate on your sisters and brothers?
B:
Oh, yeah. My brother Edward is still living in South Fork, he’s eighty-three years old.
His name is Edward G. McDade. And my sister Marjorie Harney was married to Corbin
Harney for forty-four years when she passed away. And she, a lot of them remember her
in Owyhee. At her funeral, Bill what’s-his-name? Thacker. Told how Margie’s garden
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was so beautiful, that she was self-educated. She had the best strawberries you ever
wanted to see! He said that she used to call us when we were riding by on our horses,
“Come have some strawberries,” she’d say, “you guys!” And they’d get off their horses
and go test the strawberries. They said she had a green thumb. She had a beautiful
garden. They lived in Owyhee for quite some time, and then they moved to Battle
Mountain. From there, the history of Corbin as we know him, as our spiritual leader,
went on through the years. And she stood beside him, and never interfered with what he’s
doing. She just did the cooking, set up the camps and stuff, and was quiet. And so, that
was her. And my grandma, of course, died at a hundred and four years old.
C:
Who was your grandma?
B:
Edie Gilbert. And she’s from Battle Mountain. And my mom was Kristi McDade, and
she passed away also, 1974. And the rest of the relatives are all my nieces and nephews,
my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren, and my four brothers. Joe McDade, who is
the superintendent of the BIA at Elko; Ernie McDade, he drives the cattle trucks from
Gooding, Idaho; and Marv, Marv McDade, he’s still driving the school bus in Elko
County. So he hasn’t retired from—and that’s about, that’s all of our family. Immediate
family.
[Break in recording at 16:37]
B:
When the Elko Colony, old Elko Colony was built, I think in 1932, there was a white
building there that’s still standing by the Peace Park. It used to house the Superintendent
of Indian Affairs agency, and the public health nurse. It belonged to the Elko Colony.
That’s where we used to go for our health needs. From there on, we had the doctors come
from Owyhee and held clinics over where is now the Diabetes Center, where they used to
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hold clinics there for coming from Owyhee. At that time, I was a CHR, a Community
Health Representative, and I was hired from the Inter-Tribal Council of Nevada at that
time. I started transporting patients, and I worked from here and Wells. And I, after the
ITCN program went out, Te-Moak took it over. Te-Moak Tribe. And then, Larry Piffero,
he was my boss. And I worked for the tribe for thirteen years here in Wells. We had a
health board at one time that was run by Don Davis and them from Phoenix. And there
was Lillian Garcia, and she was a CHR. She was head of the health board. There was
Delores Conklin, she was a CHR with me. And then there was Angie McDade. She was a
CHR also. And Whiterock from Owyhee—Alberta Whiterock from Owyhee. We all four
CHRed together for years. And so, I asked Davis several times, I said, “Where’s our
health board that we had?” He never answers my question, but we need to have this
health board back, because there’s a lot of problems that’s going on with that Indian
Health Service clinic up there. Lot of people are complaining, but yet they don’t want to
say nothing. But if we could establish that again, another health board, we could help our
people more. And the health department for thirteen years, I went through a lot of
problems here with people that didn’t want me, or people that were neglecting me, people
didn’t want me to help them. They threw papers in my face, they wouldn’t open their
doors for us, they told stories about us, about me and everything. But I been doing it for
thirteen years. And now, I’m still involved with politics and Indian Health Service and
everything else. I can’t seem to get it out of my system. My kids tell me, “Don’t you ever
get tired of the politics?” I said, “No, it runs in my blood. I have to keep going with it.”
And I keep on being involved with things, with programs and stuff. Like, down here at
our administration building and stuff, I’m the vice-chairman for the Wells Band Council
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here. And we’ve got a nice administration building there. And I asked Marla, if you have
time, when you get done here, if she could give you a tour of our facilities. Because I
don’t think you’ve ever seen it. And you’ll be surprised of what we have accomplished
here for Wells. And so, you can also maybe get some information down from her. She
knows a lot. She’s from Ely, and she’s an old-timer, too. [Laughter] And we talk a lot
together. She tells me a lot of things, you know, from Ely, and stuff like that. And some
things I know that she knows. The people. The people almost bound together. Even our
relatives is, some of them in Duckwater. My daughter was telling me, she says, “How are
we related to the Milletts?” Kristi. I had to tell her how my grandma told us how we were
related to the Milletts. And over in Duckwater. So, our relatives are all over the place.
Now, I mean, there’s like a tie, or a chain, that if you put it all through in a line, it would
encompass the state of Nevada. Because that’s what they said. If the Long Walkers that
time, the Sioux? They said if we stretched the line from where they were, clear across the
United States, it would encompass all that land over there. All of it. If that was to be the,
you know. So there’s a lot a lot of history that we don’t know about. And it’s too bad that
we lost a lot of it, but then, there’s still enough of it to get along. Said, like me and Clara
now, with that video, one of these days I’d like to have a memorial done for her, and
share this video of us, and the plaque. I didn’t get to attend her funeral, but Kristi still has
the plaque you gave us with her name and my name on it. I’d like to present that to
Clara’s family. And I’m going to talk to Crystal Love and see if she can set something up
for us. Then we’ll let you know when we have that memorial. Because there’s a lot of
things Clara knew that she couldn’t tell—I mean, she didn’t have time to tell on the
video. Lot of things. It’s too bad that we had to be, had a certain time to tell it, but she
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knew a lot. And I think these, her grandchildren, her ancestors have to know all that.
About like him. I’m glad he’s with you, because he can pick up a lot of this stuff. And
he’s a good kid. He’s always friendly, and with—just like Amelita and Dan. Churchkin.
Churchkin’s what we called him. And he’s grew up with us in Battle Mountain and
stuff, and we all knew a lot about things. So. About all, you know. I talked about the
health board. It would be nice, like I said, if we could have the health board back again. I
used to—when I was in Winnemucca, I used to be contacted by Stewart to take care of
the Indian people in Winnemucca. The Winnemucca Indian Colony? I used to set up
clinics and stuff. So my CHRing started way before I moved here. The early [19]70s
when we were in Winnemucca. And they used to contact me, and I used to set up the
clinics for them and everything. But I got taken with the Indian Health Board to Tacoma,
Washington. And we had, they had a big ceremony for us over there. And that’s where I
met Lillian Garcia. She came as the head of the health board for Te-Moak. And she’s
riding in a nice, fancy car, you know, she got to rent it. And I said, “How do you rate a
fancy car? We have to walk!” Urban Indians had to walk, and she had a nice big car she
was riding in. “Well,” she says, “I’m head of the Indian Health Board in Te-Moak.” So
they were getting in the elevator, and I said, “Why can’t I come and listen in?” She was
calling the Te-Moaks together to have a meeting. And I see them get in the elevator, and I
said, “Well, why can’t I come, too? I’d like to listen. I’m from Elko, too. I’m a TeMoak.” “Well,” she says, “you know, you don’t live there anymore. You live over on this
side, so you can’t come here.” [Laughter] But that was my first airplane ride I took with
the urban group I started, I would say, around the [19]70s. And I was always consulted
for health things, you know, setting up programs and things like that. So I’m still also
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involved in those things. And I guess that’s about all I can say ahout the health board.
That, we would like to have it back, of local people. And Phoenix. If Don Davis is still
available; if not, whoever’s his place. We need to have that brought back in. We have our
summer youth program down here. My granddaughter’s part of it, but she’s taken off
today. But they’ll be laying sods down there, and they’re working for Barrick. And
there’s a lot of—we have the Shoshone class, which Marla is in charge of, but we don’t
have that many young people coming in. They’re all adults who comes. She’s in charge
of that, for the youth to go down to Salt Lake City, isn’t it? Or have they already gone?
For the Shoshone class. She’s in charge of that. And Alicia Aguilera down there, she’s
got the alcohol and drug program for the Wells Band, and she’s working with the kids, a
lot of the kids there, on alcohol and drug programs and stuff like that. She has movies and
things. I’m glad these videos are being made, because I’m going to have them show it
down there. And a lot of these kids are never grown up with that. Like May Holley’s
kids? They never knew their ancestors. They’re going to have a family reunion here this
coming July. And May Holley had a lot of history, too, because they used to live in
Palisade Canyon. That’s where the Indians used to camp, there. They had a big camp
there, and that’s where they lived with their families before they moved to Battle
Mountain. And she said that Palisade, some of the buildings are still standing there. But
see, her grandkids and her great-grandkids, they don’t know these things, because we
never had these things when she was alive. And just what we talked about when we sat
together, and that’s about it. They would like to know that if we can get maybe Delbert—
you know, Delbert Holley, that might know something. And Delbert’s only one that’s
alive right now. Plus, Phyllis is in Twin Falls. But Delbert is the one that would know a
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lot about that, too, on May Holley’s side of the family. So, it would be nice for the kids to
see.
[Break in recording at 28:32]
B:
Just glad that my family’s here with me. My son Albert, he stays and takes care of me.
And my other son, Buzz, he’s starting a business here. And my daughter Kristi’s working
with Barrick. And my granddaughter here is working with the summer youth program for
Barrick; she’s taking a day off today. And all the rest of my grandkids, my brothers and
everybody, I’d like to have them see this video. That’s about it, all I have to say.
[Laughter]
[End of recording]
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Western Shoshone Oral Histories
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral histories of Western Shoshone elders collected by the Great Basin Indian Archive.
Description
An account of the resource
Oral histories compiled
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Basin Indian Archive, in partnership with Barrick Gold of North America
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
GBIA Oral History Collections
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin Indian Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
2006-2015
Oral History
A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge.
Interviewer
The person(s) performing the interview
Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
The person(s) being interviewed
Gracie Begay
Location
The location of the interview
Wells, NV [Begay residence; Wells Colony]
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/501
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
DVD, MP4, and AVI format
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:29:32
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Gracie Begay - Oral history (06/27/2014)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Gracie Begay, Western Shoshone from Wells, NV, on 06/27/2014
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Gracie Begay is a member of the Western Shoshone Te-Moak tribe in Wells, Nevada. She was seventy-eight when this video was recorded. Gracie speaks of her great-great-grandfather Captain Joe Gilbert and the people from Austin and Reese River (Yomba) who were moved by the Union Soldiers to the Battle Mountain colony in 1937. She also tells of the camp that was at the Ricksie station near Beowawe, and how she and her relatives went to school there. Gracie also goes on to tell about her involvement with the Danns, and how she went with them to the Supreme Court in Washington D.C. She goes on to tell of the history of her family, and how she was involved with Indian Health Service and the Health Board for the Western Shoshone. She ends by summarizing the importance of recording Shoshone history, and how it is a tool for future generations.</p>
<br />
<p>
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Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Basin Indian Archives
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 040
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
06/27/2014 [27 June 2014]; 2014 June 27
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Norm Cavanaugh and James Hedrick [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; Andrew Moore [GBIA]; Scott A. Gavorsky [VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
Non-commercial scholarly and educational use only. Not to be reproduced or published without express permission. All rights reserved. Great Basin Indian Archives © 2017.
Consent form on file (administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/485
Format
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mp4
Language
A language of the resource
English; a little Shoshone
Battle Mountain
Community
Crossroads
Elko Colony
family
GBIA
Indian Health Service
Land claims
Shoshone
Story
U.S. Calvary
Wells