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Vivian
Cinnabar
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
022
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
November
24,
2009
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 022
Interviewee: Vivian Cinnabar
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: November 24, 2009
VC:
That’s how they were. They were enemies. All of them enemies with Paiutes, and all the
different tribes. They were enemies. And so, but these Shoshones around this area
worked together, and then so, they—
NC:
So do you remember what band of Shoshones your family came from?
VC:
In this area, we were Western Shoshones. Uh-huh. And then, but my dad was part
Bannock. It must have been a big pokkombe [1:35] when they got together. What was the
question you asked me? I don’t know where they came from. Knew it was from that
people around there. They just roamed around down in this area. Because those other
people were the enemy, you know. And then, so, so most of them, they were settled in
Ruby Valley. And all the people out here didn’t mind Shoshones. And so when the
government made the treaty, and then they talked to the people, the head mans, you
know? Do you know that that was, that was the same thing that’s going on. They was,
they were fighting with the white people—like ranchers that had lands, and everything.
They used to have all kinds of businesses. They were fighting with them, and stealing
their cattle, and killing the cattle and horses, and families. So that’s the reason why—it
wasn’t only that way here. It was all over. And then so they negotiate. They say they
came, and decided to make a treaty, and talk to the people, so that won’t be going on.
And then, so they had this meeting at Ruby Valley. And some people felt, well, it’s good.
Government was going to help them. Because lot of people were poor, and they were
having hard time. They’re just roaming, living off of the land. This is what I’m saying.
And they were having hard time, so government told them that they were going to help
them if they signed that treaty, and made reservations for them. And some people didn’t
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like it. They didn’t want to go under the government. And some people want it. They
said, “Well, good. They’re going to help us,” live someplace where the government will
give them reservation. And so lot of people didn’t want to go under government. But my,
it would be my great-great-grandpa, Buck. His name was Buck. He was there. And then
some of the other men, too, they talked it over. They said, well, it’s good idea to make
that treaty, this agreement. So that way we won’t be killing each other, and stuff like that.
And so, so then, Buck… So then, Buck, my dad’s—it would be his uncle, I guess. He
agreed about the reservation, because his people were just roaming here, and they were
going to die at the time. So Buck made—and the others, uncle he agreed to sign on it.
And they saw the other man come in the area, you know, Shoshones. And then they
decided they wanted help, too. Some of the people didn’t want to go under the
government, so. The people that want to go, they had joined with Buck. With the Western
Shoshones. And this was the, they want to go that way. Go under the government. Lot of
people in this area didn’t want to go under government, so they stayed here. Stayed in the
towns, and, like, lived along the tracks, here. So the government gave them land over
there, west of Carlin. Over here at Carlin, down here? On the other side of the tunnels,
that’s where. On, that would be east of the tunnels there. Someplace in the mountains
back there. Kind of desert country they said, they went. They couldn’t make any living
off of that land. What they want the mens to do? And so the men got together, and they
say, “No, we didn’t, we want a place where we could live off of the land.” And you
know. “This place is poor. No water, no green grasses,” stuff like that for their cattle and
horses. And so they talked. They talked at length. When they roamed, they know the
area. So they sent to that, like where they—it wasn’t called Duck Valley at that time. But
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anyway, they knew that place, one of the places where they roamed. And they went back
and talked to the government. So the government agreed, because they were having hard
time out here in Carlin, trying to make a living. So then they got together, so the
government agreed to give them that place there, which is Duck Valley now. Because it
had all wild animals, and all kinds of game to eat, and fowl, sage hens, and all them kind
of… And Owyhee River had lot of fish in it. Salmon, fish coming up from the Snake
River. And the mountains. They had lot of trouts and stuff like that. And so they went up
to that place, if they could have it. So the government agreed with them. So then, they—
that’s when they moved to Duck Valley, the people.
NC:
So did they move—how many Shoshones were there?
VC:
I don’t know. Quite a few. Because there are all different kind of Shoshones here. But the
whole thing was they called themselves Western Shoshones—but with Buck.
NC:
So did they round up all the Shoshone bands in this area and move them up to Owyhee?
VC:
Lot of the people didn’t want to go with Buck. So that’s how it got started in Owyhee.
That’s how it got, then they moved. Lot of people moved to go to Owyhee and have a
good living there. But the others stayed around here. What else?
NC:
So is that, is Buck, is he the same person they used to call Captain Buck?
VC:
At that time they signed the treaty, they went there, but just headmen in the tribe. But his
name wasn’t Buck. But later on, when they went under the government, they had to work
with the government. And so, different men worked under the government as scouts.
Scouts. Found them all over there in Owyhee. Yeah, the scouts that went with the
government. And that’s when they changed his name to Captain Buck. If you go to the
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cemetery, you’ll find lot of the mens there, lot of the men’s names, “Captain.” Like
Captain Charles and all those guys. So he was one of those headmen over there.
NC:
Did you want to go ahead and read what you have written down?
VC:
That’s about all I have it wrote down… Oh, yes! Another thing that these people around
here, when we used to go to the Shoshone meetings, they kept blaming—it says now,
“Why did they get these men to sign on the treaty, when they don’t even know how to
write?” [Laughter] Nobody was educated at that time, they didn’t like that, these people
around here. Because nobody knew how to do it. And the people, the men that sign the,
name, Indian names, they were long Indian names. [__inaudible at 12:54__]. So they
thumb print, they had to make thumb prints, that’s how they sign on it. These are on
somebody, fixed it. But Earl Crum and Beverly, they have those names. They know how
to pronounce a lot of them. I don’t even know how to pronounce it, put that name. That’s
long Indian names and stuff. I thought they wrote down what their names, was thumb
prints. And the man, the government mans in Washington, they signed on the treaty, too.
Because they’re all there.
NC:
Do you remember what the treaty said, or what the agreements were?
VC:
I don’t know. I can’t remember. But it says, what do they call that…? Peace—what’s the
other one?
NC:
Peace and Friendship Treaty?
VC:
Yeah. Peace and Friendship, because they get together now. Then they won’t be fighting
anymore. So the Indians agreed with the white guys that they could go ahead and be free
to do whatever they want, like mining, and live in towns and whatever. So, and then
there’s—they don’t make happen. They having trouble. They agreed on that one. So
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they call it “Friendship.” It made peace. Peace among each other. And then, so later on,
yeah, the government did help them with their food, and living too. Yeah. Yeah, they, I
don’t know why they brought the supplies in, but the supplies come out, to come here,
and different men from Owyhee, they had army wagons. They gave them army wagons to
come on, and they come after the supplies. Pick up the supplies, food supplies, and took it
back to Owyhee to distribute among the Indians. It took three days. Three days to get
here from there. My dad was one of them, with some other guys. I think the men took
turns going after supplies here. And out to Mountain Home too. But I don’t know where
the supplies come from. But that’s what they used to do. And then, different men,
different people said how their grandparent tell them that if they were going to go off the
reservation, they had to get permission. At that time, if they want to go to Mountain
Home, they had to get permission from the agency, or wherever they want to go—go off
the reservation, they had to get permission. Because they were under government. That’s
when they got those scouts. They called them “scouts.”
NC:
So the scouts worked with the Indian people there in Duck Valley? The scouts worked
with them in helping them get permission if they wanted to go someplace?
VC:
Yes. That’s what the scout does. Scouts, you know, they were kind of protecting the
people from enemies, too. Mmhm.
NC:
So, do you remember what year that was, when Duck Valley or the Owyhee reservation
was set up?
VC:
No. No, no. I don’t remember then. Mm-mm.
NC:
So was the reservation first set up for just the Western Shoshone?
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VC:
Mmhm. There were a lot of Shoshones, but that’s what the Western Shoshones… Long
time ago, they used to go to Shoshone meetings here and there. And the people,
committee, or whatever they are, they decided to call our area “Western Shoshone.” But
later on, it spread to here. So when people in this area, they have different dialects,
Shoshones, they’re all Shoshones, but that changed. Some of the words, different
pronunciation, some of the people that don’t hear it don’t understand that. Different
words that they don’t use. Yeah.
NC:
So did your family just speak Shoshone in your household when you were small, growing
up?
VC:
Yeah. We used Shoshone. Well, they had a Presbyterian church there in Owyhee for a
long time. And that’s only one church, the Presbyterian church, which is still there. And
they helped the people. Just, like, going to school, teaching, teaching them people who go
to church. There’s quite a few people there from Owyhee that go to church, and they
taught them, taught the children, how to talk English and all that stuff. Educate them.
Then, that’s long time ago, they had schools. They call it boarding schools, where the
kids, children went to school, up there where the Mormon church is sitting now. That was
where the children went to boarding school, there. They’d go home summertime, you
know just like the regular schools. Had vacations. My mother was the cook up there.
[Laughter] Yeah, and the children, that’s where they went. That’s where they learned
their school. They didn’t have the, like, Beginners, Head Start, and all that stuff. You just
went to school. First grader. You know, went to first grade. Because they had teachers,
teachers coming and teaching them. Some of these children that live in Owyhee, they go
home. They get to go home weekends, too. Vacation times.
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NC:
But they stayed at the school? Is that why they called it a boarding school?
VC:
Yes. And that’s where they stay…
NC:
Did you stay at the school?
VC:
Long time ago. [Laughter]
NC:
So did you learn English at the school, or did you already know how to speak English?
VC:
Yeah, I did. You know, like I said, Presbyterian church. That’s where we went. We
almost lived there! [Laughter] Almost living there.
NC:
So did a lot of Indian children go to school, at the boarding school? Or, just some of
them?
VC:
No, they’re all there.
NC:
And how far up did they go to school there? How long did they go to school? Was there,
like, a high school?
VC:
Just like, no, they went, there was no high school. I think they went to sixth grade. They
had day schools, they called it. After there was no more boarding schools, they go to,
they called it day school. They had schools in different areas. Like, in our area, they went
to school, our school was Number 2. We went, we had to walk to school. Rain or shine,
wintertime. We had to go and walk to school. Go around the school, like this. And then
the people around the Boney Lane now, they call it, that area, they went to, theirs was
Number 1 school. And they walked to school, too, right there. That school was where
Nathan Bacon’s house is. In that area. And where the Thomases live. The Toms, they
call it Thomases now. And Number 1 was built down there at Miller Creek. That’s where
they went, the Paiutes. Yeah. That’s how they did it after they closed the other thing. But
it only went to fifth grade there. First to fifth grade. You had to walk, walk to school. And
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then later on, I don’t know, maybe 19—early 1920s, I think—somewhere in there, they
build a public school, they called it, and it was built over there where the main office is. I
mean, it used to be, because they built that tribal building down there. That’s where the
public school. Then some of the employees’ children went to the school there. And then
some of the other people, like Elaine Ethan—I know where it is, it was way down where
George Rocher’s house is. Down in there, it’s close to the—that’s where she came to
school. Sometimes she walked to school, sometimes she rode on horse to school. And
then, on our side is, I guess the Premos was the ones last. Like Laura, and all her family.
Tom Premo’s children. They went just to public schools. Because I guess maybe their
parents thought that that was a better school than the day schools. And then they used to
walk to school—they walked to town. That’s where the, where is that, now? That big
building across the road from—it used to be the courthouse. That big building there.
That’s where they go to public school. That’s where they went. Some of them.
NC:
So did the public school have a high school?
VC:
I think, I don’t know, maybe to the eighth grade. Yes. Because several of the children
were sent to Stewart Indian School in Carson City, and some to Sherman Institute in
Riverside, California. And some went to—what did they call it?—[the] Indian school in
Phoenix, Arizona. That’s where they went. And so, I guess maybe the day school went as
far as the sixth grade. But when they took the day schools away, and people were going
into town where the old school was, right there by that tribal gym—by the old tribal gym,
in that building. Right in there is where the school was. That’s where we got transferred
to, after they closed the day schools. And first, when it started, when we went over there,
we went to the eighth grade. And we didn’t have any transportation to go over there to go
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to school. And we rode on trucks. [Laughter] We rode, went to school on trucks! Until
they finally got us buses. And then, we went with them. So we all went there. It was like
a T, that building. From first to eighth grade, it went. And then in eighth grade,
[__inaudible at 29:08__] school. Lot of us, lot of the children went. Most of them went to
Stewart, at Carson City. But I went to Sherman Institute, in Riverside, California. Few of
us did. Me, and Marie, and Pietra. We finished eighth grade, and so we went to Sherman
Institute to go to school. Until we graduated in twelfth grade down there.
NC:
What was that experience like going to Riverside or to Sherman Institute, moving from
the reservation to a larger place?
VC:
[__inaudible at 30:03__] the government. That was in California, and most of the
children went there from California. And others, other people, other tribes. Not too many.
Like Navajo, and Hopi, and lot of northern tribes went there. Few Paiutes, some
Shoshones from Owyhee and Fort Hall. We went there. And then, and there was a college
in Riverside, in the town. City of Riverside. A lot of them people that got through and
graduated from 12th, they went there to go to college. Yeah, lot of the Indians. Most were
California children, went there to college.
NC:
Can you describe what the school was like at Riverside? At the school? What was it like?
I mean, can you tell us of your personal experience?
VC:
Well, it was good. I liked it. Went there four years.
NC:
Did you have to wear uniforms, or…?
VC:
No. They used to, at first they did. They used wear uniforms. But later on, they quit that.
They didn’t put them in the uniforms anymore. But, this was Sherman Institute. After the
second World War, the Navajo veterans got together and they wanted good things to be
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done for their children. So they asked for Sherman Institute. They want that school for
Navajos only. So that’s what happened, later. And then they tried—that’s what they used
that, instead of using Sherman Institute, they call it “Indian School” now. Some people
go there yet, but mostly they’re Navajos and Hopis, those people from the south, down
south, go there now. Not like what it used to be. Lot of the people from other places, they
have to find someplace else to go to school. When the veterans did that, they took the
school only for the Navajos.
NC:
So what did you do after you graduated from Riverside?
VC:
We just stayed home, mostly. Once in a while, I got some kind of a day work job, like
washing, and helping them in the kitchen, where they feed the kids. And other things later
on. Then, I got a job at Portland, Oregon. [Laughter] I went to work there as a
housekeeper. That’s what they had employees doing, was that kind of working. Yeah, I
spent few years in Portland, and then came back to Owyhee. Owyhee was the best!
[Laughter] Then, later on, I didn’t do too much in Owyhee. I done little. Then, when they
built the hospital—which is closed down now—during second World War, it’s where I
worked. Down in the basement as engineer. Because they were taking the boys out, and
they couldn’t find any more boys to work down there. Taking care of boilers; they didn’t
have electricity then. They had that under the hospital, they had boiler room, running the
boilers, and all that stuff. And, it was a man’s job. We had to go out, mow the lawn every
day, shovel snow, and all that stuff. [Laughter] That’s when I worked there for five years.
Until I got sick. I got sick, and had to go to sanitarium to get well. I had tuberculosis. And
they had to break somebody else in, and there was a man, two men come out of Salt Lake
City to check on us that were working down there in the basement, in the boiler room.
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And they said that I was doing a good job. So they said, they want to move me up. They
want me to get higher pay, and they want me to go to Salt Lake to work. [Laughter] And
I told them, “No, I don’t want to go, because I live here and I have a little girl to take care
of.” So I didn’t want to go away from there. [Laughter] So, I turned their job down.
That’s before I got sick, this is. Yeah, I liked that. During the Second World War, they
were strict on payments. We couldn’t go on annual leave, just like they did before. We
just had twenty-day leave. And that’s including sick leave and all that stuff. And so, we
just had twenty days. And then we had to buy war bonds every month. That taken out of
our checks during Second World War. And other things that, whatever the president
requested, that we had to do that because we were under the government. And then, when
I got sick, all these vacation things going, and no raise, and stuff like that. They
considered all that, and paid me for my vacation time that I missed, and sick leave, and
all that stuff. They counted all that, too. Five months after I got sick, after I was in the
sanatarium, they paid me for what I missed out on.
NC:
So after you got well, did you return back to work, or…?
VC:
No. No, I didn’t. Not steady job like one I had at the hospital. And we had to, there was
no electricity. No telephone. Just only two telephones there in Owyhee when I was
working at the hospital. And there was the one at the—that would be three—at the
agency. And at the one at the hospital. Sometimes, we had to answer the telephone, if a
nurse wasn’t there. And then one, there was one down at Miller Creek. At Jessie Little’s
house. That’s in case of emergencies, that they could have you telephone. At Jessie
Little’s, Eleanor Little’s mother. At her house, they had that. And they just had this one
sedan to use, and we deliver messages, or go up and pick up sick people, and stuff. That’s
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when they build the airport out there. And sometimes at nighttime, we had to go deliver
messages out there, when they were building that airport. You couldn’t see anything. Just
dust, real thick. When they—they even worked nighttime. Oh, the dirt! And groundwork
that they were doing disturbed lot of dust. So we went out together, deliver messages to
their boss down there. I don’t know where their people were from who were building that
airport. Sometimes we was kind of scared to go out during the nighttime, so we asked,
let’s pick this place around his—what’s his name? Earl Crum’s dad.
NC:
Jim Crum?
VC:
Yeah, Jim Crum! We got him to take us out when we had to deliver messages or
something like that. And those were the men’s jobs back then.
NC:
What kind of lighting did they use in the hospital at that time? Was it kerosene lamps?
Gas lamps? What type of lighting did they have?
VC:
Oh, you mean like office work?
NC:
No, for lamps. Like, at night. What type of light did they have? Or was it just completely
dark?
VC:
I guess just doctor and the nurses, and did their usual work.
NC:
Uh-huh. But no, what kind of lighting did they have? Did they have candles, or did they
have lamps?
VC:
Oh, lighting? No, they had electricity then. That’s when the power plant came in. Plant
was right across from the old tribal office there. Right next to where they have a, I think
maybe—I haven’t been there for quite a bit of a while. But, that’s where the men were
working until they were under the government, too. We had to run them electricity. And
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that’s why we, we had to [__inaudible at 43:41__] we mow the lawn. I went there to get
my gas, and the oil, and all that stuff. And lawnmower. [Laughter]
NC:
So in terms of doctors, where were the doctors from? Were they government doctors, or
where did they come in from?
VC:
I don’t know where they’re from. I don’t know. But all that area in there is where the
doctors lived. Doctors and their families, and nurses. Nurses’ quarters. Some lived over
there, where they tore that building down, back out there. That’s a gymnasium now,
where some of them lived. And a few of the Indian men. Nurses lived at home. But,
maybe they was under the government, too. I don’t know.
NC:
So what were you saying—?
VC:
And they called it the Western Shoshone Indian Reservation, when they opened that
reservation for the Shoshones. And then, I don’t know how many years after that—I
wasn’t here then, I was in school in Sherman—but, they had councilmen. They had three
councilmen. My brother Roger was one of the councilmen, and Evan Harney, and
[__inaudible at 45:40__], was other councilman. And then, the one worker from up
north… I couldn’t remember the name of the reservation up there… Wasson. His name’s
Tommy Wasson. He was their secretary that worked at the agency there. He was their
secretary. And they decided that, somebody brought it up that they should include the
Paiutes someplace in there, because everything was Western Shoshone. And they didn’t
like that they wanted to be included, I guess, those Paiutes. So when those people were
councilmen—I don’t know if they were elected, or how they were, but anyway, that’s
what happened. And everyone, well, they said, “Well, there’s so many Paiutes here on
the reservation, being born here, and coming here, and getting enrolled, and we should
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change the name from “Western Shoshone” to “Shoshone-Paiute Reservation.” And then,
and so, that’s how it was. But later on, they were coming from someplace in Idaho,
coming into Mountain Home, Raymond and I, and on the, you know, those signs on the
sides of the roads—about the towns, different towns? And had “Duck Valley Indian
Reservation” on there. That’s the first time I saw that change. They changed it from
Western Shoshone. So now—and then some people call that Duck Valley Indian
Reservation, some people call it—hardly anybody uses the Western Shoshone Indian
Reservation anymore. But at the beginning, when they had the reservation going already,
some of the Paiutes were coming in from Pyramid Lake, all over, from over there, they
coming in. Because they had the relatives and friends here in Owyhee. And the
Shoshones tried tell them, “No, you can’t stay here. You’re a Paiute. This reservation is
for the Shoshones. That’s the Paiutes coming in!” [Laughter] Because they said, “There’s
lot of intermarriages.” Of intermarriages. And other tribes, too. Like some Bannocks
from Fort Hall come. But there not as many Bannocks. There’s definitely a few of them,
but it’s mostly Paiutes. And so… That’s how many times it changed its name. So now, I
see on lot of the papers, say “Duck Valley Indian Reservation.” It was only for Western
Shoshone. Got rid of that, gone. I guess those [__inaudible at 49:30__] women at that
time, were Shoshones, I guess they like the Paiute woman! [Laughter] They like ‘em
better, mmhm. Yeah, that’s how come the tribes are all mixed up now.
NC:
So, can you tell us a little more about your brothers and your family up in Owyhee? Who
your brothers were, and—you mentioned one of your brothers.
VC:
Yeah, he was a councilman. He went to school in Riverside, too. Sherman Institute.
There is—how many of us are there, Don? Twelve? Eleven or twelve, but most of them
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died when they were young. The tuberculosis. Lot of people had tuberculosis. That’s
what—I don’t know why, I get to thinking about it sometime. Why did they get
tuberculosis? And I read in different places where cows had tuberculosis. And we always
had milk cow. We drank milk and everything. My dad always had big garden. I still
would like that, too. I don’t know. I guess that, when I went to school down in Sherman
Institute, I got the tuberculosis there. That’s what I think. And my mother and dad were,
were both, had their turns as tribal judges for several years. I don’t know how many years
my dad was a tribal judge. And then he lost his hearing, and then he got the phone—it
runs with battery—hearing aid. He used to hear with it, and he couldn’t hear good in
certain buildings. Something in the building, his battery wouldn’t work good. He was a
judge there for several years. And when he lost his hearing, then my mother took over.
And she was a tribal judge there for, I don’t know how many years, too. Yeah, so finally,
my dad retired. Later on, my mother did too. Other man took over.
NC:
But you didn’t take over, huh?
VC:
[Laughter] No! I’m too dumb! They asked me. They asked me, the council at that time. I
said, “No. I’m forgetful! I will forget things.” So, I didn’t try it.
NC:
Well, I think you would have done pretty good.
VC:
[Laughter]
NC:
So, you mentioned your dad was Bannock, or from Fort Hall. Do you remember what his
name was, your grandpa? You mentioned one of your family members was from Fort
Hall, or a Bannock?
VC:
Oh, that was, would have been my grandpa. Great-grandpa. Yeah. My greatgrandfather’d be, um… His name was, first name was… Papitsi Sambo. Papatsi means
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“older brother.” I didn’t know how to spell it, so… The way I spell it was B-A-B-A-S-CH. That means older brother. That’s among his own people in [__inaudible at 54:23__], I
guess they called him that. That’s what his Indian name was. Papatsi Sambo. But, later
on, these younger people, but I don’t know why, they changed it—they call it, I can’t say
it, Pavittsi. Instead of Papatsi. “Pavitsi.” They spell it with a “p” now. I think that’s what
they use now. Yeah older brother, that meant then. They changed that. And Buck was his
brother. Yeah. That’s who, Captain Buck was his brother. But Captain Buck didn’t go
back to Fort Hall. He stayed in Owyhee. But that was what they named—they use Duck
Valley quite a bit, because there was, on the—they had lots of ducks long time ago.
That’s why they knew that there was food there, and all the edibles, that they could get at
all. So that was what I think it—that’s why they call it Duck Valley.
NC:
So, do you have family in Fort Hall, then? Relatives living in Fort Hall?
VC:
What?
NC:
Do you have relatives in Fort Hall?
VC:
Yes. Now there’s a few of us living.
NC:
What’s their names? Do you know their family names?
VC:
Most of them are cousins, or… My cousin, she went to Sherman Institute. She was in my
same grade. She used to use Papitsi Sambo for her dad’s name. But later on, when the
other people changed it to pavitsi, that’s what they there for the pronunciation. I don’t
know why they changed it, like that. She had several children. Some of them are still
living. And her daughter and her brother, I knew them personally, but those other people,
I don’t know them too well. But they’re still living. And she told me, she told me that
they used to go up there for the festivals. And she told me that, when they were younger,
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and the children were small, her and her husband, they used to drink quite a bit. She said,
“We used to drink all the time and get drunk.” Of course, get their children, everything.
And see, that’s when they took their children away from the welfare. Took her children
away from her. So it’s just that some of them hold that against her, for leaving them. Or
separating. Whatever. But several of them came to her brother’s funeral, and they were
up there. Yeah. But younger people, I don’t know.
[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
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Norm Cavanaugh
Interviewee
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Vivian Cinnabar
Location
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Elko, NV (Highland Village)
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DVD and VOB
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00:58:42
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http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/556
Dublin Core
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Title
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Vivian Cinnabar - Oral history (11/24/2009)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Vivian Cinnabar, Western Shoshone from Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee, NV), on 11/24/2009
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Vivian Cinnabar is a Western Shoshone who resided at Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee, NV) the majority of her life. She starts her narrative by speaking about contact and conflict between the Western Shoshone and the emigrants who were coming into the area who started up ranches. She also tells about the formation of the Ruby Valley Treaty of 1863, the Duck Valley reservation and how it was originally set up to be completely Western Shoshone, and Carlin Farms. She also gives an account of her relative Captain Buck. The conversation then turns towards her time attending school. She first started at Owyhee and eventually ended up in Sherman Institute in Riverside, CA. She also describes how many of the people in Owyhee ended up attending Stewart Indian School. Vivian describes her time working as an engineer at the old hospital in Owyhee, and how she contract Tuberculosis (TB).</p>
Video Pending <br /> <a title="Vivian Cinnabar Oral History Transcript" href="/omeka/files/original/bd247cf121495632c0ea8fa76c2674cb.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Vivian Cinnabar Oral History Transcript [pdf file]</a>
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 022
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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11/24/2009 [24 November 2009]; 2009 November 24
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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/369
Language
A language of the resource
English
Captain Buck
Carlin Farms
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley Reservation
GBIA
Owyhee
Ruby Valley Treaty 1863
Sherman Institute
Shoshone
Stewart Indian School
Story
TB
Tuberculosis
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/38875e47eec013bb915c89af64d2ac43.jpg
ccf5944e8fbc8dacfceb57f4ce19c56a
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/aa3766f4fe58fc6783ed1d03f4f8f30c.pdf
8b3b21beaba03f290c899ea862ca8b0f
PDF Text
Text
Naomi
Mason
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
034
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
April
23,
2014
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 034
Interviewee: Naomi Mason
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: April 23, 2014
M:
I’m Naomi Mason. I’m 84 years old, and I would like to start by talking about my mom
and dad. My dad’s name was Tom Premo, and his mother, on that side of the family,
came from the Jarbridge area. So his mom came from there, and his dad came from the
Elko area, as part of the—people called themselves Tosawihi [White Knife]. So, they
were, that’s my dad’s side. Then my mom came from, she was actually born—she’s
listed as being born in J.D. Ranch. And that’s in the Roberts Mountains area. And her
mother died after she was about two, and her uncle raised her. And they moved to Ruby
Valley. So she grew up in Ruby Valley. But, you know, she was born in 1890. And those
were very difficult years. And my dad was born—according to the Census—1855 or
1853. So it’s just matter of two year difference. So, my mom and dad—all I can say is in
the 1800s, it was really a bad time for all the Indians in Nevada. In every little valley,
every little canyon. It was very difficult times. So, my mom grew up there. While she was
growing up, my dad somehow—when he was small, he was back and forth. His family
apparently moved back and forth to Owyhee. I think most Indians did that, because there
was not a reservation at that time. So, he… Well, one moment. Did I have—well, they
moved back and forth. And not too many people were on the reservation. And early on,
they did have a school here. And the earliest time my dad appears in the Census is 1855,
he was four months old. And he’s listed there with a dad. And my grandpa had two
wives, which was not uncommon then. And I don’t know what happened with the wives,
but he had two listed. So my dad was four months when he first appeared on the Census.
And I followed him through the different Censuses, and the next significant thing that
happened to him was, he was—maybe he said he was 14, when he went to Carlisle.
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Maybe he was a little older. He was never clear on that. And I guess I always wondered,
how’d he get picked to go to Carlisle? And the really interesting thing is that, we had a
doctor here in 19—oh, let’s see, what time did that man come through? A doctor named
Dr. Montezuma. He was here for two years in Owyhee. And he wrote to Washington,
D.C., and said we were in a very deplorable state healthwise, and wrote letters to D.C.
asking for hospital. And Montezuma happened to know the man that ran Carlisle, which
is really the very first Indian school. And so, I think that’s how about six people went
from Owyhee to Carlisle. So my dad went in 1905, or 1904, and it was kind of like an
industrial school. And he came home in 1909, I think is what it says, because we’ve got
papers from Carlisle and that’s what we figured out it was. So, that’s what happened to
my dad in 1905. He—it seems to, he came home to recruit students for Carlisle when he
was home. But my mother was always irritated with him, because she said she wanted to
go to Carlisle, but according to her, she was tricked by my dad, and so instead they got
married. So, she didn’t ever get to Carlisle. But then my dad and mom, they lived in the
Elko area, and in 1913, after they had my oldest sister, Laura, and they had my oldest
brother Thomas, they moved to Owyhee. Because by then, Owyhee was offering 40 acres
of land that you could cultivate and live off of it. So, that’s why they moved here. But
remember, my dad as a child had already been back and forth with his family, as many
other families. So that’s when they moved here. And the rest of us were born here after
they moved here. And my mother, you know, she never did—she never adjusted to
Owyhee. She always wanted to be back in Ruby Valley. That’s where her heart was. She
loved it there. And her aunt was still there, that raised her. So, I became very attached to
Ruby Valley just from hearing the stories about it. I thought it must be a magnificent
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place. And it is, because since then I’ve been there many times. And so—I’ve lost my
train of thought. One moment there. So, in—the Treaty was signed in 1863, but actually
it didn’t become a reservation here in Owyhee until 1877, when President Hayes signed
the papers to make this Duck Valley. And temporarily, they were at the Carlin Farms. All
the people, that’s where they had been moved. The movement from all the areas, that’s
how my grandmother—my dad’s mom—that’s how they ended up in the Elko area. They
were kind of all living on the Carlin Farms. But many of them already were coming back
and forth to Owyhee because, you know, it was to avoid the military people. The military
people really was very abusive to a lot of Indians. A lot of, you know, tragedies happened
with the military, everywhere. And so people were back and forth to Owyhee. And so in
1877, after it was made a reservation, some people trickled here and were already living
here. So then, shortly after that, they begin to have the people, kind of like a forced move
to Owyhee. As many people as they could. Because this was the Western Shoshone
reservation. But not everybody wanted to come here. Many wanted to stay where they
were, where they were employed as cowboys, or they worked in the mines, and many
worked on the railroads. So sometimes, people came to Owyhee, and tried to farm, and
maybe they were not farmers. They had nothing to start with. And so, a lot of the people
went back, you know, wherever. To Austin. To Ely. Everywhere. They just… life was
very difficult, here. There was really nothing. No employment. No housing. Sometimes
the water was scarce. It was just the events of the weather, and the environment. Some
years were good, other years was very dry. Just as it is today. So there were actually years
even the game was down, and they couldn’t find enough food to put on their plates, I
guess you would say. So then, life here in Owyhee was really very, very hard. And then,
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in—my mom and dad worked away, and originally my dad was, you know, addicted to
alcohol while they were still in Elko. But my mother temporarily left him, and he really
did sober up. So when he came to Owyhee, he and my mom, they became Christians, I
would say. They became very attached to the Presbyterian Church, and at that time we
were getting a lot of Nez Perce missionaries—native Nez Perce missionaries—that were
coming here to share their religion, or the Protestant religion, with whoever would listen.
And my mom and dad really did become devout Christians from there on. So, you know,
all the children, our lives became divided between what they knew from the olden times,
and the church. The church rules. So I guess we kind of grew up kind of a split
personality, I always think of it. But he became, they both became—he became an elder,
for his lifetime, with the Presbyterian Church, and my mother taught Sunday school, in
Shoshone, and she just devoted a lot of time to the Presbyterian Church. And then in
1910, that’s when my sister was born, my eldest sister. And when they moved here, in
1912 or [19]13, they were still giving out commodities to people that were good. If you
left the reservation, or if you were bad in the ideas of the Indian agents, you were denied
commodities or any kind of help. It was very restrictive living, and probably painful for
those people that had a lot of freedom before they came here. So, but, you know, my
mom and dad worked very hard. And their 40 acres, they cleared it together by using
picks and shovels until the 40 acres had no sagebrush. But that particular 40 acres burned,
and then they had to move to a different spot, and then they had to do the same thing
there. But you have to remember, all their peers were doing the same thing. Or I should
say, most of them. They were working very hard to clear the fields so they could plant.
And that is exactly what they did. So my dad was always busy planting, and I always
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look at my life in periods like the dates. Like in 1924, before I was born, you know that’s
when the natives became U.S. citizens. And that was very significant, because my
mother, especially, was really geared into all kinds of history, and she would always
bring that up. That, you know, we were lucky to be citizens. And so during World War I,
of course, we were not citizens, but some of the Indians participated in that. That World
War I. I was born in 1929, during the Crash, which was worldwide. And I, maybe
because of that, and because it was still very difficult to live here, it seemed—everyone
was poor. Even the non-Indians. That’s when they had a lot of hobos, a lot of riding of
the rails, and it was a very hard time for many many people. And the Dustbowl.
Historically, it was just a very hard time. But it affected Indians on reservations, because
the rations were even shorter, and if you were not a planter, I don’t know what you ate
besides beans and bread. You know, fry bread is not a traditional Indian food. That’s a
later food. We didn’t fry. So, we had—there was a lot of beans. Good thing, that’s a very
nutritious food. So we had beans, and my parents always planted—originally, without
Wild Horse Dam, most of the people had to go to the springs along the mountainsides,
where they planted. So it really involved all day to go up there to take care of your
garden, and then come back, and water it from the spring. Many people did that. Almost
every spring here in Owyhee, there were garden spots. And the remarkable part then is
everybody was so honest, and so hard-working, that no one ever pulled any of your plants
up. It was always the honor system. I can’t believe the integrity those old people had. We
didn’t have to worry, and everyone was helpful with each other. So that’s what was
happening in 1929, and I was the next to the last in a family of 10. The third one died at
four months. It was a flu. And my family’s kind of divided in half: the older half and the
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younger half. That’s because the older half, they were already going to school in
government schools when we were younger—the younger half. And also, the older ones
experienced a very stern dad and mom, and when we came along, I would say that, you
know, they had mellowed. And we had very mellow parents compared to the older ones.
That’s what I remember. Of course, then they were also very active in church. So, you
know, we were very geared to all day Sunday for church, and all day Wednesday for
prayer services. And that’s just the way I grew up. And always, we had the tone of the
importance of education. Always, always. But, you know, it was not that easy to become
educated, other than to go away to boarding schools, which all of my brothers and sisters
went to Sherman Institute in Riverside, California. And I even went for one year, but
that’s all I attended Sherman for. And let me see… Then, and Owyhee, only had grades
up to eight when I was growing up. And after that, you had to either go away, or not go to
school anymore. So that’s why many of the students, my peers, went to either Stewart
Indian School or Chemawa. Apparently, they had a choice. I went to Sherman because all
my siblings went there. And so, life, you know, continued on like that. It was
everything—you had to work hard so things could get better. There was no other thought
in your head. Everything you did is so it could get better. And so, I think that’s why
everybody really did work hard. And I don’t ever remember having—I only remember
two alcoholics on the reservation when I was growing up. Never saw an empty liquor
bottle or empty beer cans. Just except for those two people that were obviously, now in
retrospect, they were alcoholics. So, I guess in so many ways, my life was just kind of
ideal. We were very, very poor. We didn’t go too many places. We went to the mountains
a lot to get wood, and also fish, and hunt. So time was spent between the mountains and
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home. And so then comes along 1931, and the school became a high school, but it was
not enough time to accommodate my need for high school. Just my brother only went.
My youngest brother went to high school here in Owyhee. Because by then, unless you
were a social service case, you didn’t need to go to a boarding school anymore. So, in
about 1931, I think the Elko school system, I don’t know if they embraced us that year,
but we became part of the Elko school district. And the big change happened in about
1934, when they started talking about the Reorganization Act, where all the tribes were
offered to adapt by-laws and develop rules and laws to govern people on the reservation.
So, that’s when my father became active in the politics. And from then on forward, he
was always involved with the politics in Owyhee. Very involved. And I think maybe the
training he had in Carlisle helped him. Because I remember once he told me one of the
things that they did at Carlisle that he really enjoyed was, they actually got to go to D.C.
and sit in on the Senate hearings. So, he enjoyed that, and I think he always remembered
that. So actually, he was a pretty decent politician, and he was very honest. So, you know,
from there on, from 1934 on, well, he was always very political. And I guess because of
that, the rest of the people in his family, his children, had a lot of politics at home.
Discussions and what was going on. So, that was at—[19]36 is when we really adopted
the by-laws, Constitutional by-laws, which was kind of based on the U.S. government bylaws and Constitution. And it was completely different concept. And then in 1938, the
Wild Horse Dam was built so that we could have water to irrigate our lands. And that was
very good for us, because we had years that we actually were flooded or really droughtridden. So—let me correct myself. It was 1946 that the high school was added by the
Elko County School District. And so then, kids could go here and didn’t have to go away.
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I was just going to talk a little about families, because it happens to pop into my head.
You know, my mother grew up in Ruby Valley, but she explained that most people kind
of lived in little groups, like mini-communes. And she said that she grew up with Ralph
Jim and Isaac Jim. That was in her little commune. She and her uncle, Honteko [19:08]
was his Indian name. And I can’t remember the third family. So she always knew them.
She thought she was related to Ralph Jim, and Ralph Jim always called her aunt,
paha’me. And so, I guess over the years, my mom and dad moved here and kind of lost
track of him, but finally, when Ralph’s dad’s wife died, he moved here to Owyhee. And
by then, he was an older man, and he was living with that old man Crow’s sister. You
know, the Crows. You know the—I can’t remember his old name, just a blank. Well
anyway, that’s who he was living with. And I think she passed away. And my dad
became very close with him also. And they said he became so depressed that he actually
hung himself. And my dad officiated at his funeral. And he was so full of remorse and so
unhappy, that Earl remembers that he was actually crying while he was trying to conduct
the service. And that’s just the one family that I really learned about. And it was a sad
thing. And as with my uncle that raised my mom, well, my mom left Ruby when she was
with my dad, and her aunt remarried. And so, that left her uncle. He moved here to
Owyhee because my mom was living here. And Mildred remembers that really well. She
said he arrived on a little tiny buggy with a horse tied in back, and about six dogs behind
him. And then he moved into, she said he built a little tent in the back. And that’s where
he lived. But he was very much a part of their life. This is before I was born. And so, she
said every morning—in the evenings—Owyhee was different. The land had not been
subjugated. So in front of our house was like a slough. And she said every night, he had a
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fish trap. And she says in the evenings they’d set that fish trap in that slough, and dam it
on each side, and in the morning they would go out and pick out the fish, and she said
that fish would be what they would have for breakfast. That was Honteko [21:34], my
uncle, as it turned out. Well, actually, my grandpa. Excuse me. So, but he moved here,
and I guess he had already been ill. And he, my mother kind of took care of him, but that
was the early years before they knew how to take care of tuberculosis. And when he was
diagnosed with tuberculosis, and we didn’t have a hospital here, she thought they shipped
him to either Fort Bidwell or to Schurz. And he died there. And she, they didn’t have the
money to go after his body. So to this day, I really don’t know where he’s buried.
Possibly in Fort Bidwell, or maybe in Schurz. But that was a sadness for my mother. And
she did follow her aunt, her Aunt Sally—Tup’a pitnawina nanaihen, e newe naniha
[22:25-22:28]. And she died, and her burial site is in Elko, and we still continue to
decorate her grave, because that was my mom’s aunt that raised her, and she was very
close to her. So that was… And I guess, when they picked up my mom, it sounds like it
was in the Roberts Mountains. Because if you look at the map, and look at Steward’s
maps of all the Indian camps, there are all kinds of Indian camps along at the foothills of
the Roberts Mountains. And in that area is where she—actually, her mom died, and when
the group moved to come toward the Elko area—because remember, they were like
nomads. They went from place to place looking for whatever food was available. You
know, whatever it might be—rabbits, antelope, whatever. And so, she was kind of
abandoned. Because the old grandfather said the mom was dead, and they didn’t want her
as an extra burden. An extra mouth to feed. So I guess they made, set up camp and left
her, and the uncle heard her crying, and picked her up, and that’s how he raised her. She
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was an abandoned person, poor thing. That’s my, that’s another little incident. I
remember that. Because I was thinking of her uncle, Honteko. And that’s, that’s just a
little family incident right there.
C:
So were they from—so, did they roam through the Rubies, mainly?
M:
Yeah, it—it really is puzzling. They even talked about wandering all the way down to
Lund. I think, people don’t appreciate the fact that they wandered everywhere. And a lot
of people, they say they stayed in one spot, but I challenge that, because the stories show
that they wandered. Then on my dad’s side—because he came from the Jarbridge area, he
knew. He knew all the names of places, like the mountains going toward Salt Lake, and
he said his mother and his grandmother from that side, they actually made fishing trips up
there by Twin Falls. There was an existing falls there where the people fished for salmon.
And one of the dams, of course, obliterated it. But he said they migrated up there just to
fish. And that was my dad’s mom’s side. Her name was Hainne [25:04], that was her
Indian name. But we’ve had a really hard time trying to trace her, because there was no
written documentation of her family. But, you know, some of them have faded away.
Taibo pekkaipe’na [25:18]. And so, there were a number of people in our family, but
they just sort of disappeared from the face of the earth. Some of them, you know, became
very dilute. One of them, Strickland is one family portion. [Laughter] It’s on dad’s side of
the family! Yeah. So that’s just another little family story that I know of. Yeah. So my
mom was born in the Tubattsi Tewatekka [25:46]. She was what you would call a Pine
Nut-Eater. And, because her grandpa—who was not very kind, apparently, people talk
about how mean he was—and so, during his lifetime, he had six or seven wives. Not all
at once, but some died in childbirth. Some, you know, just died. Death rate was huge.
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And so, I can almost say that I’m probably related to everybody over in that Te-Moak
area. Because of that! [Laughter] But unfortunately, you know, we grew up here, and we
were growing up—we didn’t travel a lot, because mainly finances and crops. And
animals. So we didn’t, we were disciplined. That was our first responsibility. And I used
to wonder, how do all these people that come to visit my mom, how did they do it?
Because they were just as poor as we were, but yet they would appear Fourth of July or
any old time. Some of them worked on the railroad, and I could see that they could afford
it. But, we just, we never, we were responsible for our place. You know, we all had our
duties, and we just didn’t go any places. But it was very interesting. But mother would
always tell all the stories. And so we kind of knew who we were related to. And if we
went to town, she always visited them. Fourth of July, when they came—because during
my lifetime, the encampment was almost an entire circle. You know, that’s early on, in
the 19—maybe, early [19]30s, they were still doing that. And so, the encampment was
entire circle. And one end would be where the people came from the Elko area, Austin.
They would all be encamped on one end. So I would go with my mom, and we would
visit one relative here. We move to the next encampment. A whole, it seemed the south
side is where most of the people from the Tubatekkate niikwai sikka naakkan [27:46]
the Pine Nut Eaters, they seemed to gather around there, and they had their homes there.
And on the other side, [27:54 in Shoshone]. Fort Hall, lot of people came from Fort Hall.
So there were a lot. And then they were still, when I was young, they were still on Fourth
of July day. The parade began at the rodeo grounds. So these people on horses. And we
still had these people in, especially for Fort Hall, they came with their headdresses on,
and with their leggings on. To’pararak [28:33] that little front apron that the men wear.
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On bareback horses, painted horses. So I got to see that in my lifetime, that you see in
pictures. And I think that was the tail end of it, because after that, it just kind of stopped.
And then, that’s when the young people were in boarding schools, and all those young
people, they used to even put down a huge floor that they, in the evening, you could
either go to the waltzing and the jitterbugging, or after that—seemed to only last a certain
length of time—and then there would begin the round dancing, which went on all night
until morning. And what I remember most about it is that different men sang during the
night. Somebody from Goshute, somebody from Ely, somebody from Duckwater. All
those amazing voices. It’s too bad no one recorded them. I remember that so well.
Soonde hupiakande [29:20; (Had many songs)].You know, it was—I didn’t realize that I
really experienced a good treat. But gradually, that faded away until everything just had
to stop, I guess. One of the things, it depended a lot on the superintendent, too. Because
Fourth of July is when you start harvesting your crop. And many of those people, you
know, it used to last a whole week. People’d be camped there for a whole week. And
their crops would be drying. So then he had to put his foot down, because remember, they
kind of ruled us then. And people had to cut it short to, like, two or three days, instead of
the full week. Sometimes two weeks. [Laughter] So, it gradually changed. But my dad
said the way it really started, was when they first got on the reservation, to tell the
Indians, like a newspaper, they had a crier. A town crier. He said what would happen is,
the Indian agent would be on a horse, and the people would be gathered, and he’d circle
around them to tell them what is happening. These are the new rules, this is what you
have to do. And he’d just—like a town crier. He said that’s what Fourth of July started
from. It started as an informational gathering. Then, well, Indians love to celebrate. So
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from that, it grew into Fourth of July that we started celebrating. But it came as a
practical method for informing people what changes the Big Father was making. That’s
what it started as. [Laughter] But, it’s turned into a big, big celebration after that. And so,
then they had better means for trans—for giving information to you, you know. They, by
then, I think they must have had an office, or an agent had an office. So, he didn’t have to
be a town crier like he used to be. [Laughter] I always love that. So that was one thing
they did, that happened Fourth of July. Yeah.
C:
So what type activities did they do during the Fourth of July?
M:
Well, when I look at it now, they loved activity. Now, let me tell you, I don’t think there
was a fat person around there! They loved to race, they loved to bet. They loved anything
that seemed as competitive. I remember that so well. They would have races. And I have
a sister that’s one year older than I—two years older—than I am, and she always won.
Beverly. She was like an antelope. She could beat everybody. So, she always raced.
[Laughter] And we, we couldn’t, we weren’t allowed to camp there, because we had to
come from home daily. And I think we only got to go twice. Unless my mother won the
argument, then we’d go three days in a row. But we would come early in the morning,
stay all day, and then leave when it got dark. Or sometimes, special occasions, stay up all
night to hear the singing. But that was, you know, that was very special to do that. But I
think they—everything they did was very competitive. And then, I remember they danced
also. Until daylight. You know, the singing went on ‘til daylight. Then, in the early
mornings, they had all those little competitive races, and tug-of-war. Anything that was
competitive, they did. And it was very exciting. I think the Indian just was meant to be
active. And they were. I remember growing up, everything was activity. Nothing was
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sitting down except handgames. And that was very active also. It was like a sideshow:
you know, those people that were holding the bones; they just would fly. They have their
arm and then their draped blanket or whatever, wherever they were hiding their bones.
[Laughter] And all the motions they would go to. It was wonderful! And all his
teammates would encourage him. Even that was so active. Now—then I didn’t see any
handgames for years, about 20 years. So I finally went to see a handgame in Fort Hall.
And lo and behold, they were sitting on rocking chairs, on stools… [Laughter] Not even
on the ground! That was a real shock to me. Because they always sat on the ground with
a log in front. So that’s evolution. [Laughter] That was, I really enjoyed that. That was
good, too. Yeah. That’s what I remember of some of the activities. Then of course, at the
rodeo grounds, they had a lot of competitive racing. Because we used to have a race track
down there. And everybody who thought they had a good horse to beat everybody else’s,
they entered and they raced around the race track. And sometimes they had no saddle.
Many of them had saddles, and they would race with a saddle on, saddlehorse. They
didn’t have the regulations and rules that they do today. So they were—everything was
competitive. Everything they did. And I think that was a good thing. Yeah, I think that
was very good. Yeah. It was really good. So, that’s what I remember about that activity.
Let me see what else… Oh, and then school, of course. That was also—at the end of
school day, we always had a barbecue the last day. And they had a racing again. And
three legged race, and tug of war. And all kinds of games that they had last day of school.
And of course, my sister Beverly would always win. But I could win at one thing, and
that was three-legged race, because I happen to be coordinated. I could win that. But I
couldn’t win anything else! [Laughter] So that was fun. And they would have a barbecue
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for—everybody came to that. All the school children, because that was the last day of
school. And that was where I was, it became already Swayne School by that time. So it
was Swayne School, so that was at Elko School District we were part of. So by then, we
had teachers, and every class had a teacher. They didn’t have a one-room schoolhouse
anymore. We had our own teacher, I had a third grade teacher. You know, every class
had their own teacher. And that’s where that Glenn Nutting that you remember, the dad,
he was our principal when I was here. Yeah. Before I left Owyhee, he was still principal.
Mmhm, Yeah.
C:
When you left Owyhee, I mean, where did you go to pursue your education and—?
M:
Well, first I went to Riverside. Because remember, it only went to the eighth grade. And I
went to Riverside, Sherman Institute, when I was in the ninth grade. And you know, I
wasn’t really happy there. I don’t know why. I just felt like a misfit. Although I enjoyed
every minute of it. Then when I came back that summer, you know, because every
summer I worked. I can’t remember where I worked that summer. Maybe in that ranch,
101 Ranch, that big white house? I think I worked there. It seems we all worked there.
And then I just felt like there was more to Riverside—more in life than Riverside. You
know? I just didn’t want to go there. So then, my poor mom and dad, they didn’t know
what to do with me, because of course, I wasn’t the kind that ran around or did anything
that was out of order. It’s just that I just wasn’t going to go back to Sherman. So they
didn’t have a solution, but at that time Rush Juney was the minister. And his wife was
named Arta. And she had been our minister before he came. Then they got married, and
Rush Juney was very forward-looking, and he was always talking about education. And
he actually came from Berkeley, and the Bay Area. So once he spoke of people living
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with families, and working your way through school. So I went to them, and I asked them
if that could happen to me. So, I think within a week, they found me a place in Berkeley
with a family from a part of the Presbyterian chain. So I went to Berkeley, and I stayed
with that family, and I was a babysitter, their bottle dishwasher, and whatever they
needed, and I got to go to school. So I graduated from Berkeley. And then from there,
you know, I just went, I worked a whole year, and then I went into a nursing program.
Then I got halfway through my nursing program, and then I just fell in love and married
somebody and never finished. Didn’t do that until later, then I went back to school and
finished nursing program. But that’s how I got there. I think that, in that time, you had to
be innovative if you really want to do something. You know? It was out there. And that
was always my mom’s attitude, is that if you really wanted something, it’s possible. She
was a great one for that. Like, she’d just—at least, she didn’t think anything was
impossible. But she knew better, because during her time there was a lot of prejudice.
And you know, she was very intelligent. It was frightening, she was so smart. I think she
taught herself how to read. And during the World War II, when my brothers were in the
service, she kept up with all the campaigns that Willis was in. She had maps that people
would give her, because she was so different that people gave a lot of literature to her. So
she kept up with all the campaigns worldwide, what was going on where, in Japan and—
it was just amazing. So, I guess that kind of made us all aware of history, and aware that
there was a world outside of Owyhee, outside of the United States. I think that’s what she
did for us. But it was her personal interest. She just had so many interests. She was just
amazing. You know. So, I think that’s how I got interested in the world outside of
Owyhee, and outside of Sherman. So that’s what happened. You know? And I think there
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were others that did that, too, that went through the church, the help of the church. So
that’s how I got there, and that’s how I went to school. Thanks to my mom and dad and
all their interests. They had a lot of interests. Yeah.
C:
So where’d you finish your nursing school, and then where did you go during your career
as a nurse and that—?
M:
Well, I worked in Redding, because my kids grew up in Redding. My children were all
born in San Fransisco. Because that’s where my husband worked. Then from there, when
we realized that it wasn’t such a hot place for our children, we moved to Redding,
California. Because he was working for Ward’s and then they transferred him.
Montgomery Ward’s? So, that’s where the children grew up the rest of the time. And
that’s where I went to school, and I worked in the—and a T.B. sanitarium was next door
to us, it wasn’t very far. So I worked there nights, because that was most convenient. You
know, that’s what I did. And when I was in San Fransisco, I worked nights, too, like that.
Because I couldn’t work—you know, we had to work it so somebody was home with the
children. So that’s what happened. And then I finished in ISU up there in Pocatello.
Yeah, I went back to school, finished there.
C:
What degree did you get when you finished, or what—?
M:
Bachelor of Nursing, science, in nursing. That’s what I did. Then I started working on my
master’s program, but I just had too much to do to be over. I was overwhelmed, because
then my children were growing, and they had their needs, and it seemed that was where
my money went, was to help this one, and then help this one, and then help this one. It
was unending. And you know—and no one can tell me about child rearing, or how hard it
is to raise them when they go crazy. I told them I have been to Hell seven times and back.
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So. [Laughter] There’s nothing you can tell me! The tragedies that happen in families.
But you know, I’m, they have been very good. They have moved along themselves with
encouragement. They’ve done well. I’m very proud of them.
C:
So you have seven children?
M:
Yeah, I have seven children. Yeah. I have four boys and three girls. So you know. So
that’s just what happened. [Laughter] Yeah.
C:
So I understand you worked for Indian Health Service for quite some time. Can you
share—?
M:
I did. When I came back, that was like a second career for me. I went into the Indian
Health Service, and I actually worked at this hospital for a year, I think. And from there, I
moved on to the satellite clinic in Elko, and from there I was their public health nurse,
and covered all the little reservations. And I really loved that job. That was my favorite
job of all the things I ever did. And it was really—for me, I felt like I was being useful
and helpful. And they were all Shoshone-speakers, so I could speak Shoshone. And that
was an advantage. And I guess I could see their needs, and I felt like I was being useful.
So I think that was the most exciting work period I had. You know, because it was—it
was a little of everything when you do public health nursing. Just a lot.
C:
So what were kind of the needs during that time? It wasn’t T.B. anymore, was it?
M:
No. No, it wasn’t T.B., but as a public health nurse, it really is kind of exciting because,
you know, you still are with the diseases. And if something breaks out, and one person
gets something, you do all the investigating and follow-up. And I guess the most
exciting—it’s not exciting, but it was very… I guess it was. It was, because it was
challenging—was a case of syphilis. Because you know, as they say, you could even
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trace syphilis back to God. Because, you know, it’s traceable. So that case, I think I even
worked with Canada, people out of Canada. Trying to solve that case. Which eventually,
we did. We did solve that case and found out who was the person that contacted
everybody else that ended up with syphilis. So that’s what I liked about public health
nursing. You know, the investigation, and how to figure it out. The analytical part of that.
I really like that. That’s part I like the best. I worked in Intensive Care, too—neonatal,
when it was first creating, and I thought that was fascinating—but I really loved public
health nursing the most. That, to me, was a—people with people. Trying figure out their
problems, trying to plug them into—crippled childrens and whatever. Yeah. I really liked
that.
C:
So what type of diseases did you—did the patients have then?
M:
By then, I think we were already beginning to see diabetes. Diabetes was quickly and
rapidly becoming out of control. You know? It just was already out of control. It just…
And diabetes, it’s very hard to teach people about self-care and diabetes, because for
years you can have it and feel okay. You just maybe feel lousy sometimes. And you’re
not real sick, you know. Over time, you get sicker. So they’re not going to listen to you.
They’re not going to listen to, “You need to eat differently. You need to exercise.”
They’re not going to listen to that. Because they don’t feel that bad. And over time, of
course, they get sicker. And soon, they’re so sick, they have to be admitted to a hospital.
And then they find out they’re a diabetic, and their kidney’s already in failure, they’re
losing their vision… Because over time, it’s very destructive, diabetes is. And I think
that’s how come we have so many diabetics. Because it’s just unteachable at the
beginning. Or I would say the people are unteachable. They won’t listen. Because they
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feel okay. They’re not real sick. Until, you know, the little vessels have been destroyed in
their heart, and you’re going blind, and you’re in renal failure. So… that part is the really
hard part. That’s the first thing I saw here. Then I came in on the tail end of alcoholism
that I had never faced before, out in the white society. All the World War II veterans
were kind of on the tail end by then. Including my own brothers. And the hospital was
where they would end up, after going on about. And they, we would have to treat them
for immediate care, because by then, they just, they just were coming off of a big drunk.
They had to have care. And it was really kind of sad to see that. Because by then, it was
all the people—all the young men that I knew as I was growing up, my own brothers—
and it got to the point where you knew all of them. Well, what they, they would go into
DTs, after they’ve been off to somewhere, after two days they would go into DTs. And
when they were in a full-blown DTs, lot of times we would have to cuff their hands and
their legs, and then you used what you call a leather straps. They don’t do that any more.
It’s not treated that way, thank Heaven. But at that time, that was the mode of treatment.
And I think I really—because, remember, when I was growing up, they only had two
alcoholics that everybody was aware of. So then, when I come home, all these—by then,
they’re not young anymore—they’re in their thirties and late twenties. And here they
were. You know, in full-blown alcoholism. And I think that’s when Owyhee started
initiating the large workshops on alcoholism. That’s when they started doing that. And
then, AIDS was kind of like that. AIDS came in the same way. Those were the things that
they were worrying about at that time. You know. And then, I noticed something when I
was out in the field: that’s when the young girls—and it was gradual, I think that they—I
noticed that young girls that I was following, that just had children, babies, they didn’t
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know how to care for the baby. And they didn’t know how to clean house, let alone
washing dishes. And it seems to, they were not taught at home, I don’t know whether it’s
because they came from alcoholic parents, but I noticed that trend, which I think has
gotten worse. They, I don’t know what caused it, because of course we were taught at
home. My daughters were taught at home. So, I don’t know what happened to make that
change, but I noticed that the girls were not—and if they didn’t know what they were
doing, how could they take care of their little babies, you know? It was, it was really a
concern. And I did share it with a few people when I worked with the different, you
know, Duckwater and Ely, and stuff like that. And they did have programs to help them.
But somehow, I think we may have caught some, but probably a lot fell through the
cracks. And I think it was just, everything was so free. You know, everything. Everybody
was open for having a good time. Drugs, you know, it’s just a whole new life. Not one I
grew up with. So. But you know, you can adjust to it, and try to figure out how to, what
to do. Somewhat. Yeah.
M:
I just want to talk a little bit about my dad, when he was growing up, and how he got his
name. Well, we never really decided where he was born. Probably in the Elko area. Or
some say he was born in Owyhee. But I, all I know is that, where his life changed was,
they were coming from Elko on a wagon, because that’s the way they traveled. And his
dad was on horseback. And his sister-in-law was driving. And the grandma was there.
My dad’s mom was there. And they were coming to Owyhee, and it sounded like it was
falltime, and it was very cold. And originally, they didn’t want to come, but the sister-inlaw, her name was Paakkappeh [50:32]. That means ice. She insisted—they said she was
kind of like a man, and could handle any team. And so she was driving. So she came, and
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then when they got to Wilson Mountain—that’s by Tuscarora, by, you know, how else
can I identify that? Well, the Indian name is… [speaks Shoshone at 51:00] Well wait,
I’ll think of it in a minute. Senior moment. So, they waited there. Because he went on to
hunt. Because they said right there, at the bottom of Wilson Mountain, used to be a
spring, and that’s where Indians stopped on their way to Owyhee. And they would camp
there. So they decide to stay there, because they were waiting for him. He was hunting.
His name was Elko Jack. Areko Jack, ne nanihan [51:28]. That was my grandpa. Well,
he never came back. And they waited and waited, and it felt like it was going to snow. So
they finally had to leave. And they left. And my dad was a little baby. And they left and
came on to Elko, because my grandpa, Areko Jack, never came back. And he never did
ever return. When they got to Owyhee, they waited for him there, but he never came
back. And so, they just kind of thought maybe he just ran off and left them. But
apparently, somebody had, in the springtime—his horse returned with the saddle. But he
was not on it. And it was too late. By then it snowed, and they couldn’t find him. But in
the spring time, they went looking for him, and they did find his skeleton, or whatever
was remained. And he had a bullet hole in the skull. So during that time, you only had a
few reasons you received a bullet hole. I mean, you were somebody’s enemy, or you
were in a fight, or else you were a kind that was a womanizer, and they said that’s what
he was, a womanizer. And they felt like the gentleman of the lady he was womanizing is
the one that shot him. That was what they surmised, but we don’t know. But what that
did, was it created, my grandmother went to work in Tuscarora. She worked there when
my dad was little. And then also, my, Elko Jack’s brother, who was a MacIntosh, stepped
in and took over the family, because that’s what they used to do. So he raised my dad,
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and also they had three children. But according to the Census, they all died. The three
died. It was very difficult times; diet, and the flu. And they all died. That’s all I can see
according to the Census. And so, my dad kind of grew up when he was little in
Tuscarora, and they worked for a family, Antone Primeaux, and it’s spelled the French
way, P-R-I-M-E-A-U-X. And his dad let them work there, and he’s the one that gave my
dad the name “Premo.” Over time, they shortened it to P-R-E-M-O, but it’s really P-R-IM-E-A-U-X. And those two boys played together, and the little Primeaux boy learned
how to speak Shoshone. Of course, my dad learned how to speak English, too. So that’s
how my dad grew up part of the time in Tuscarora. So, that’s how we got our name. And
we never knew who killed my grandfather, it just, that was it. But that’s how he died.
Oon Natsippata [54:26, (Spread Out Lava Rock Hill)]. It comes to me, [Shoshone at
54:27] nanihade Wilson Mountain. Oon Natsipatta. That means a sliding lava rock, flow
of lava rock. That’s what that is. That’s where they waited, that’s where the Indians used
to camp. Yeah, that’s it. So, my dad became very good friends with the Primeauxs. And
when he was ill in the hospital, before he died, they came to visit him. And I have some
letters from them, when he passed away. And I went to the son’s funeral when he died in
Elko, and you know, they were just very good friends with my dad forever. Yeah.
[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
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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
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
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
The person(s) being interviewed
Naomi Mason
Location
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Owyhee, NV [residence of Naomi Mason]
Transcription
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<a href="/omeka/files/original/aa3766f4fe58fc6783ed1d03f4f8f30c.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">English transcript with some Shoshone transcriptions available as pdf file</a>
Original Format
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DVD, AVI, and MP4 Format
Duration
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00:55:27
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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Oral History - Naomi Mason (04/23/2014)
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Naomi Mason, Western Shoshone from Owyhee, NV, on 04/23/2014
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Naomi Mason was born in 1929 and is currently a member of the Duck Valley Reservation. Naomi begins her oral history by speaking of her mother and father’s lives, and how they belong to the Dosa Wihi (White Knife) clan. She speaks of the Carlin Farm reservation, Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee), and how the Shoshone would ranch these areas or be employed as cowboys. Naomi also speaks of the Native Agents during the 1910s in Owyhee. She also tells us of her fellow peers going to Stewart Indian School or Chemawa as well as the Reorganization Act of 1934. She also speaks of her schooling from Berkley and ISU, as well as her career as a public nurse. She draws attention to the culture and history of the Shoshone people within the Nevada area.</p>
<p>Interviewed by Norm Cavanaugh, 23 April 2014, in Owyhee, NV</p>
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<p><a title="View Naomi Mason Oral History" href="http://www.kaltura.com/tiny/bvggn" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View Oral History [streaming video]</a></p>
<p><a href="/omeka/files/original/aa3766f4fe58fc6783ed1d03f4f8f30c.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View Transcript [pdf file]</a></p>
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 034
Publisher
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Great Basin Indian Archives
Date
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04/23/2014 [23 April 2014]; 2014 April 23
Contributor
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; Scott A. Gavorsky [GBC Virtual Humanities Center]; 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/328
Language
A language of the resource
English; Western Shoshone
Carlin Farms
Carlisle Indian School
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley
GBIA
Nursing
Owyhee
ranching
Reorganization Act
Shoshone
Stewart Indian School
Story