1
10
6
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/50ee1cd740c9d01073173b68b6e4d09c.mp4
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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
The Poe & Pints project
Subject
The topic of the resource
Collection of short dramatized version of works by Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic authors mashed up with a craft beer tasting.
Description
An account of the resource
The Poe & Pints project.
Beginning in 2015 and up to the present day, the Poe & Pints project is a coupling of a craft beer tasting and performances of dramatized versions of the works of Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic writers.
Frank L. Sawyer first conceived of the project in 2014. Said Sawyer, “I wanted to create an unique event for the community. I have always been a Poe fan, so the idea of combining craft beers with Poe’s work, sounded right.” Working with DLC Managing Partner Jennifer Anderson, and local artists John Wright, Derek Burwell, and Erika Patrick, the team fleshed the project out. It’s just not October without what the Elko Daily Free Press called, “an evening of refreshingly original entertainment."
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015 - present
Relation
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The Poe & Pints project website: www.poeandpints.org
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- .JPG
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English
Video
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none at this time
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video
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1 minute and 2 seconds (01:02)
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MP4 compression
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Frank L. Sawyer
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Title
A name given to the resource
Poe & Pints 2016: Promotional Video
Description
An account of the resource
Poe & Pints 2016: Promotional video for the third installment of the Poe & Pints project directed by Frank L. Sawyer.
Frank L. Sawyer first conceived of the project in 2014. Said Sawyer, “I wanted to create an unique event for the community. I have always been a Poe fan, so the idea of combining craft beers with Poe’s work, sounded right.” Working with DLC Managing Partner Jennifer Anderson, and local artists John Wright, Derek Burwell, and Erika Patrick, the team fleshed the project out. It’s just not October without what the Elko Daily Free Press called, “an evening of refreshingly original entertainment."
Produced by Ghost Light Productions and performed at the Duncan LittleCreek Gallery.
Format
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.MP4 video format
Language
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English
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
education
entertainment
live
performance
Poe
theatre
volunteerism
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/3238152c778e4228fad9cfa3fc7ae0f2.jpg
004f393c7e4ed7ebb38454a8585244aa
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
The Poe & Pints project
Subject
The topic of the resource
Collection of short dramatized version of works by Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic authors mashed up with a craft beer tasting.
Description
An account of the resource
The Poe & Pints project.
Beginning in 2015 and up to the present day, the Poe & Pints project is a coupling of a craft beer tasting and performances of dramatized versions of the works of Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic writers.
Frank L. Sawyer first conceived of the project in 2014. Said Sawyer, “I wanted to create an unique event for the community. I have always been a Poe fan, so the idea of combining craft beers with Poe’s work, sounded right.” Working with DLC Managing Partner Jennifer Anderson, and local artists John Wright, Derek Burwell, and Erika Patrick, the team fleshed the project out. It’s just not October without what the Elko Daily Free Press called, “an evening of refreshingly original entertainment."
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015 - present
Relation
A related resource
The Poe & Pints project website: www.poeandpints.org
Format
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The following file formats are included in the collection:
- .JPG
Language
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English
Still Image
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Original Format
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poe2018_fls.jpg
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
Poe & Pints 2018: Directed by Frank L. Sawyer
Subject
The topic of the resource
Collection of short dramatized version of works by Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic authors coupled with a 4-flight craft beer tasting.
Description
An account of the resource
Poe & Pints 2018: Director Frank L. Sawyer welcomes guests to the fifth annual Poe & Pints performance at the Duncan LittleCreek Gallery.
Frank L. Sawyer first conceived of the project in 2014. Said Sawyer, “I wanted to create an unique event for the community. I have always been a Poe fan, so the idea of combining craft beers with Poe’s work, sounded right.” Working with DLC Managing Partner Jennifer Anderson, and local artists John Wright, Derek Burwell, and Erika Patrick, the team fleshed the project out. It’s just not October without what the Elko Daily Free Press called, “an evening of refreshingly original entertainment."
Produced by Ghost Light Productions and performed at the Duncan LittleCreek Gallery.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Great Basin College
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
10/4/2018
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Frank L. Sawyer
Relation
A related resource
Web site of the Poe & Pints Project. http://www.poeandpints.org/
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
.JPG image format
Language
A language of the resource
English
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Collection of short dramatized version of works by Edgar Allan Poe and other Gothic authors.
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Art, theatre, Edgar Allan Poe, performance, live, educational, poetry
education
entertainment
live
performance
Poe
theatre
volunteerism
-
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PDF Text
Text
Theresa Sam
Great Basin Indian Archive
GBIA 054
Oral History Interview by
Norm Cavanaugh
March 18, 2016
Duckwater, NV
Great Basin College • Great Basin Indian Archives
1500 College Parkway
Elko, Nevada 89801
http://www.gbcnv.edu/gbia/
775.738.8493
Produced in partnership with
Barrick Gold of North America
�GBIA 054
Interviewee: Theresa Sam
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: March 18, 2016
S:
[Shoshone at 0:45] Blackeye Ranch and place [Shoshone at 0:57] O soten Tuupui
nateppiniahan. Will Blackeye nateppiniahan. [Shoshone at 2:13] Allison, Minnie
Allison, Noonie Blackeye. Agnes Penoli.
C:
So, how did you guys get that family name, “Blackeye?”
S:
My grandpa. Grandpa was born with one black eye. His eye was black on one side. So, it
never went away. So that’s why they called him “Chief Blackeye” when he got older.
C:
So you began school here in Duckwater?
S:
Mmhm. Yeah. Went to school here.
C:
Was it elementary school?
S:
Mmhm. Yeah.
C:
How many grades did you—
S:
I think it was seven. Because we went to—the bus came in from Stewart. That bus came
and picked us up, all of the kids. To a high school—high school ones, and the grade—our
bunch. That’s how we went to Stewart.
C:
So, about how many students were in a classroom?
S:
That was when they first—the reservation first came. There was lot of us, from
kindergarten on up, I think. First grade on up.
C:
So, when you went to Stewart, how old were you?
S:
I can’t remember. Fifteen. Fifteen, sixteen; something around there.
C:
So, it was for high school?
S:
Mmhm. We was down in the—I guess it was not high school, but… We was all in a big
building. That’s where we started. Then, they moved us up. The next year, we went up to
�GBIA
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the other building where the high school kids were. That’s where we stayed and went to
school. And then, we—they put us to work later on. We helped in the kitchen area
washing dishes. And then we’d, they transferred us—the next year, they transferred us to
the laundry. We did all of the laundry; folding and—. And from there, I guess they try to
teach us from that to the bakery. So, I worked in the bread factory, making bread, and
doughnuts, whatever they have there. And we used to deliver to the hospital. I didn’t
graduate from Stewart. My mom got sick, and they needed help here, so I didn’t get to
go. Yeah, we’d go to school in the mornings, and about eleven or something like that,
they took us out, and put us to work. Then when we got done, we went back to the school
again. Yeah, that school bus used to stop in—after it leaves from here, used to stop in
Austin. Pick up kids from there. And then, on the way to Stewart, I think we picked up I
don’t know how many kids. But from Fallon, I think—Stillwater, or something. And on
the way to Stewart. That was a long ride, but we made it. I don’t know where they came
from, but they were Indian ladies that was teaching us. And at the same thing, at the
hospital, there was a Navajo lady? I think she was the head of it. Can’t remember.
Anyway, she was from Arizona someplace. She was a nice, nice lady. We didn’t speak
our language. We had to use English. But when we get together, in the evenings, the
Mike girls, and the one that came from here—the older girls—we all get together and we
talk. Speak our own language. But the same way with the Paiute and the Washoes. We
roomed with some of them. Some of the Paiute and Washoe. They try to teach us, and we
try to teach them our language. But we never did—couldn’t learn. [Laughter]
C:
So, how many people you think lived in Duckwater back then? Was there quite a few
families that lived here?
�GBIA
054;
Sam;
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S:
Yeah, there was lot of people that came from Smoky Valley. Reese River, I guess. That
was in [19]42, they all got here. The Charles and my uncle, they came from Cherry Creek
down below. That’s south, south of here. They were down there, and they brought their
family. And there was quite a bit that landed here. That was in [19]42. That’s when the
people came. This was a Florio ranch. My grandpa was working for him. When I
remembered my grandpa and some other people that used to live up here, across, they
used to work for this guy. He’s the one that sold it. I think Raymond Graham and
Brownie Sam, they were the ones that started it. Worked on buying this place I guess, or
something. Anyway, that’s how it started, the reservation. That was way back, I
remember. We used to live down there, down below, at the ranch where Janie is now.
Janie’s got that after my dad passed away. And stayed around, worked at the ranch down
below; white people. Clean house and whatever. And then, a guy came from Phoenix. He
was talking to us while there was—some boys and some girls talked to us about sending
us back east to find jobs. You know, put us in working, so we could work to make a
living. So, I signed up on that. There was three of us, three girls. There was six of us, but
only three, three of us, we went back east. And the boys backed down. There was five
boys that signed up, but they didn’t want to go back. So they stayed. Just the three of us
went back east.
[Break in recording]
It was scary when we first got there. And then, they showed us—this lady, our supervisor
I guess it was, always with us. Going to our jobs, showing us where to go, what bus to
take. We went up to Chicago. We went from Arizona, they put us on a train. We went all
the way up. I don’t know which way we went, but we got up there. There was
�GBIA
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Sam;
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Madeline—her married name is Kammassee, from Ely. And from here, it was Louise
Mike. And myself. The three of us. They put us folding clothes for Montgomery Ward.
We worked there, then this lady says, “We’ll change you guys for another one,” so after
so many month—I think it was three month we was there working at Mongomery Ward,
folding clothes, bagging it—and then, they put two of us in a, where money order, where
they ordered pencils, papers, school supplies and whatever. Then we end up there,
gathering all of our orders. And then put it in a great, big cart we was pushing all day
long. And then in the evening, I got so tired being on my feet all day. And I asked that
lady if I could switch, see if I could get off of my feet. And then, she says, “Yeah. I could
do that.” So I end up at the hospital, working at Illinois Masonic Hospital. I stayed there.
Went to school in the evening for Nurses. After work, used to go there. Go to school ‘til
eleven at night, then come home. That was scary. Because you have to be so—look out
for whatever. There’s always a lady that used to get on the bus with me. Then we’ll get
off where I had to go, and then get off of there and go home. And the next morning, I do
the same thing: go to work. You don’t go anyplace. You just have to go with somebody.
Our friend got robbed. Before Christmas, I think it was. And she was going to go home
for Christmas, and she got robbed. Took all of her money. So, all of the girls got together
and collected some money, and sent her on her way to South Dakota. This Indian girl.
[Break in recording]
My friend, the two girls, one stayed folding clothes at Montgomery Ward, and the other
one went to the packing where we were. Where they put us. She stayed there. She says, “I
could handle that.” So, that’s where she stayed. But the rest of the girls, they went to
different jobs, whatever. They try to tell us about this computer they were just then
�GBIA
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starting. And that was little bit too much for me, so I didn’t take that. That year we was
there, whatshisname—that soldier. That guy, I can’t remember now. The one that helped
put the flag up?
C:
Oh, Ira Hayes?
S:
Yeah. He died when we was there. We heard about that. That’s when we was there. Still
there. And two years later, I came home. My dad died. Had to come home and help my
mom. And then, end up at the cleaning again, for people down here, down below,
Currant. That’s when I started working there. Well, we—funny thing happened. Mrs.
Thompson—Perline Thompson and them—they were talking, because the white school
was giving our kids trouble. They didn’t like them, and was getting after them, and
wasn’t even helping them. So, they went talking I guess, and they got committee
together. I didn’t know they did that, until she came to the house and told me. “You want
to join us?” she says. “I’m the only woman that’s going to be on there; can you join me?
We could talk for the kids. See what’s going on.” So—and then, I said, “Oh, okay. I
could do that, I guess, if you’re the only one.” There was the one that has the car, he had
girls. He was down in Railroad Valley. He came up. Always coming up. His kids were in
school, and he didn’t like what was going on. And then, I guess they got together, there
was him, and Paul—they got Paul, Doug, Allen Lenbeck. Paul Walker. There was
Perline. And myself. And there was our Vista, little girl that used to go with us all over.
She was a Vista worker for the school. Anyway, we traveled. I had lot of traveling on
that, to open the school back up for ourselves. And they told us they were going to put us
all in jail, the kids and the families. We all got together when that was going on. We
didn’t send our kids to school, so, kept them home. And they tried to get the Tonopah
�
GBIA
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Sam;
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cops to come up and pick us all up. We end up at Allen Lenbeck’s, in their house, with all
our kids, all of the families that had kids. We was all there. The cops drove up, looked at
us—there was lot of us then. [Laughter] Lot of kids and grown-ups. They didn’t pick us
up! They got scared of us, I guess, or something. They couldn’t do it. We was all there.
We laughed when they took off. And then, that’s when that little Vista girl was here.
There was Vista workers here, to help us get the kids in school. And then, we started
traveling. We went to Tonopah, to the school meeting, and then got bawling out. And one
of the school members were—she know everybody that was from here. And she give us
the bull: “Oh, there she goes again! We’re going to get her boots this time,” they says.
So, she abused that kind of word, when she was cussing us out. But we stayed with it.
And then, we end up getting two lawyers: Mike Deezy and the other one. And they
traveled with us. And then we went to Lake Tahoe, on the lower part of Lake Tahoe.
Went to the meeting. The same thing: why were we doing that, taking our kids and
things. Then they explained why we were doing that: because the teachers were treating
our kids bad. Always pulling on their ears, they don’t listen. So we—from there, then we
went to—we came home. And then, we went to Reno, I think it was. I can’t remember. It
was quite a long time. Anyway, Reno, to the meeting. I think we travel all the time. And
then, we end up in Colorado. Denver. We went to a meeting there. And then, Phoenix,
where there was whole bunch of people, all different kinds, all different tribes. Had a
meeting when we was down there. They were all there for some kind of meeting they had
going on, and we was with the school. We did all of that to open our school up. Until
finally, we had to get our school going. And it’s still going. They were giving us a bad
�GBIA
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time, but we got—we made it through. We didn’t—we all got together and didn’t back
down. With our kids.
[Break in recording]
U1:
I come here for the day. And visit her.
C:
And how old are you?
U1:
Nine.
C:
And do you go to school?
U1:
Yes.
C:
And what grade are you?
U1:
Fourth.
C:
And what do you learn at school?
U1:
I learn math.
C:
And who’s your teacher?
U1:
Um…
S:
[Whispers] Ms. Nettle.
U1:
Ms. Nettle.
C:
And how many students are there with you at school?
U1:
Five.
C:
And so, you go to the Duckwater school?
U1:
Yeah.
C:
And so, when do you guys learn about the Shoshone language?
U1:
Only on the Tuesday and Thursdays.
�GBIA
054;
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C:
And so, can you talk to us in Shoshone, or tell us a story in Shoshone, or just talk in
Shoshone for a little bit?
U1:
I’ll talk in Shoshone for a little bit.
C:
Okay. Tell us about your grandma, in Shoshone. Ne kaku…
U1:
Ne kaku…
C:
…tsaa…
U1:
…tsaa…
C:
…taipuhanni.
U1:
…taipuhanni.
S:
I always tell him to listen to me, but he talks English to me all the time. But most of the
time, he tries. Tries to learning. Like he says—he’ll count his numbers.
C:
So, can you count for us in Shoshone?
U1:
Semme, watte, paitthe, watsa, watsewaith, manikeh, naphain—
S:
Taatsowain.
U1:
Taatsowain.
S:
Woosewi.
U1:
Woosewif.
S:
What’s the last one?
U1:
Simma—
S:
Suomihankan.
U1:
Suwaihamanaihaka…
S:
What’s eleven? Semmen toihinkan.
U1:
Semme hawetoi.
�GBIA
054;
Sam;
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S:
-toihinkan.
C:
So, you just counted for us one through eleven? Oh, good job!
[Break in recording]
S:
My grandkids, they understand little bit. Not much. They always say we sound funny
when we try to teach them. But every time I see them, I try to talk to them in Shoshone.
And then—but the one in Utah and Arizona, my grandkids, they don’t—they speak a
little bit of it. Not much.
C:
Well, I’d like to thank you and your grandson for sharing your stories with me today.
And that concludes our recording for the Great Basin Indian Archives.
[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
Theresa Sam
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:27:56
Location
The location of the interview
Duckwater Reservation (Sam residence)
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/559
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
DVD, MP4, and AVI format
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
Theresa Sam - Oral history (03/18/2016)
Description
An account of the resource
<p><img style="float: left; margin-right: 10px; height: 50px; width: 50px;" title="Shoshone Language Marker indicating Shoshone content" src="https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/79de1f8d7d9a264c3fb9973a5346a076.jpg" alt="Shoshone Language Marker" />Oral History Interview with Theresa Sam, Western Shoshone from Duckwater Reservation, NV on 03/18/2016<br />This oral history contains significant Shoshone language conversation, and is recommended for usage by community language teachers.</p>
<p>Theresa Sam is a Western Shoshone from the Duckwater Reservation, NV and is part of the Blackeye family. She begins her narrative by telling us how, when she was a teenager, she started going to school at Stewart. She then goes on to explain how the Duckwater Reservation started in 1942 and how people from Smoky Valley, Reese River, and Cherry Creek (where her family came from) came to the reservation. She then explains how she took part in the 1956 Relocation Act which landed her in Chicago and eventually became a nurse at Illinois Masonic Hospital. Theresa then speaks about the issues that occurred with the children of Duckwater and the local schools. Her and other members of the Duckwater community took action which resulted in the creation of the school at Duckwater Reservation.</p>
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/bxPAEh8whE8" frameborder="0"></iframe>
<p>Interviewed by Norm Cavanaugh</p>
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 054
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
03/18/2016 [18 March 2016]; 2016 March 18
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; Scott A. Gavorsky [VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
Rights
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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/347
Language
A language of the resource
English; Shoshoni
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Theresa Sam, Western Shoshone from Duckwater Reservation, NV on 03/18/2016
Community
Crossroads
Duckwater
Duckwater Reservation
education
GBIA
Relocation Act
reservation period
school
Shoshone
Stewart Indian School
Story
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acf3ebf1741eebf4f208b2b4401c65f0
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/e909acc73cf3a841b726e1021ee722e2.pdf
89bcf0eb6ae8f04fc574d8aa2ad4b1f7
PDF Text
Text
Keith
Honaker
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
056
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
March
9,
2016
Duckwater,
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 056
Interviewee: Keith Honaker
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: March 9, 2016
H:
I’m from Duckwater, Nevada. My family is the Blackeye family here on my
grandmother’s side, and on my grandfather’s side are from the Sams from Smoky, over
towards Round Mountain area. I was born in Schurz, Nevada, at the Schurz Indian
hospital in 1960. And I grew up mostly here on the reservation, and I say “mostly”
because I grew up all over the United States; I’m an Army brat. My father, my stepfather
was an Army-enlisted man. And we moved quite a bit. But I spent most of my childhood
here on the reservation, as well as places like Ohio, Missouri, Maryland, New Jersey. So,
I went to school in a lot of different places. And my first language has always been
Shoshone. When I was younger, I spoke really, really good Shoshone. I spoke old
Shoshone, which I’ve lost over time being other places and not speaking as much as I
would have been able to if I’d have just stayed here on the reservation, more than likely.
But I’m bilingual. I’m still fluent in the language. It’s important because it’s a part of
who I am, my identity. Growing up here, when we went to school—at the public
school—we were punished for speaking our language, like a lot of places were. Because
the idea back then was that if you were—the teachers’ idea, the theory was, that if you
spoke to languages, to move somebody that spoke a different language into speaking
English very quickly, you had to remove that other language. And so, that’s why we were
punished. And they tried to promote the English language. And it didn’t work too well,
because we were pretty tough! [Laughter] And you couldn’t beat the language out of us,
or our cultural identity out of us, because that’s who we were. And unfortunately, I think
today that we lose a lot of that, because our children don’t have that same identity that I
had the privilege of growing up with. Because, that was my way of thinking. Because I
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grew up Shoshone, and that’s how we thought. That was all we knew; that’s who we
were. Now, most tribes, and the government putting—we’re living on reservations and
everything else like that. One of the things that happens is that we started identifying
ourselves according to how much Shoshone we were, with our blood quantums. And
that’s when I—I used to, when I was growing up, I just thought of myself as being
Shoshone, and it wasn’t until the blood quantum started coming into play that I
discovered that I’m not full Shoshone. And that was rather disturbing to me.
For me, growing up, when I was younger, with my grandmother and my family as it was,
we weren’t—we didn’t hear a lot of the old stories when we were growing up. I heard a
lot of the older stories as you grew up and got older. We didn’t hear any of the legends,
so to speak, although my grandmother probably knew them. And it was a little bit of that
influence, I think, of not only the religion that—the Christian religion that was heavily
influencing our community, but as well, the school system and stuff like that. And they
were trying to look out for us. So, we weren’t getting a lot of the old stories. But over
time, we heard those stories and whatnot. So, for me, the culture, when I talk about
culture, I’m actually talking about language, and the activities, the things that we do as
Shoshone people. When I grew up, we didn’t have running water or electricity in our
homes. It was wood stoves, and it was outhouses, it was going out into the mountains
certain time of the year to harvest the pinenuts, and to hunt, and to get deer, and to—I
mean, we had to supplement everything that we had in terms of buying and going to the
grocery store, and getting groceries with, also supplementing that with fresh meats. Like,
we used to go rabbit hunting all the time. That was part of what we did. It was just the
course of what we had to do to survive out here. And going and getting wood for the
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wood stove so you could eat, as not only as a heating source, but also for, that’s what we
used to cook our food on, was the wood stove. And then, all the things that go along with
going out and harvesting the pine nuts, you know? The first time I ever noticed, or took
notice, is when I was a young man—you know, a teenager, a young man—and we went
pinenut picking with my tsootsia, Awiitsoo. Agnes Penoli. And I remember watching her.
And she was standing out there, and she was saying her prayers to whomever she was
praying to. And that was something that was new to me, because I’d never really paid
attention to what went on, you know? [Laughter] You’re young! And so, you don’t pay
attention to certain things. And so, the language was really important to us, and we all
grew up speaking nothing but Shoshone, but some of the rituals, or the things that may
have happened in the past, weren’t happening anymore. They were changing, because we
were Mormons. We were baptized as Mormons, and that’s—in the religion, that’s what
we were growing up as. Now, that’s changed since that time. But we go back, and I used
to go listen to people like Danny Millett, and people that had those old stories. You
know, the winter stories that you’re not supposed to tell—[Laughter] or else you might
be bringing trouble, and—you know, it was that kind of stuff. But listening to those
stories, and then, it kind of teaches you more about who you are and where you’re
coming from, because those are important as well as those things that we think are
important today. So, those things from the past that’s handed to us, that’s part of who we
are, our identity. I’ve moved all around the United States, because my stepfather, like I
said, was in the military. And we lived in places. But his family was from Cleveland,
Ohio, and he met my mom in the days, in the 1960s, when the government was trying to
lure Indian kids off the reservation to get them into urban areas so that they could
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assimilate into the population. It was one of the ways to, I guess, answer the Indian
Question, or the Indian Problem, was to get them off the reservations and have them
assimilate. It didn’t work out too well, but that was one of the attempts. But that meant
that I moved around a lot. And I lived in a lot of different areas. And like I said earlier, I
spoke really, really good Shoshone when I was a young kid, because I had the Shoshone
mind. Everything was in Shoshone. The way I thought—everything. It was like thinking
in a way that I can’t think anymore, sometimes, unless I’m around family and we’re just
speaking Shoshone continuously all the time. And then, my mind will revert to that
Shoshone mind where I think in Shoshone continuously, and the language just starts to
flow, and it gets more fluent when I’m thinking that way. But it was real difficult,
because when I would leave the reservation and come back, some of that, something
would be lost initially when I would return. But because I was young and I was playing
with the other kids, when I’d get back, it didn’t seem to take very long to get back into
the swing of speaking the language again. And so, I was back every couple years. I think
that’s the reason why I was able to keep the language. But then, the last time that I left
was when I was about, around when I was thirteen years old. And we moved to Missouri.
And then, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, I was in Maryland, and I didn’t return until I was
seventeen years old back to—I didn’t come back to Duckwater, I was in Ely. So there
was really, the only person I would ever speak Shoshone to was my mom. And—you
know, you get lazy sometimes, and so what you end up doing is you speak what’s easiest.
And in the house with my dad and everything else, it was just easier speaking English.
And everybody around you is speaking English. So, that’s basically what ended up
happening. But one of the things that happened during that time is that I returned to the
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reservation when I was about sixteen, seventeen—seventeen years old, and I was trying
to speak the language. And wherever I went, I spoke Shoshone, because that’s what I had
always done when I was here. So, I was doing that, and I was speaking to Danny Millett
down here at the ball diamond, because we played a lot of baseball back in those days.
And the Duckwater team was pretty doggone good, and we used to travel to places like
Wendover, and down to near Vegas—Moapa—and play them in baseball. And down to
Tonopah, we’d play baseball. And Danny was an old-time baseball player, and I
remember standing there talking to him, and his wife, that I didn’t know for the longest
time was taipo, was sitting there. But she had lived with us so long, and she spoke such
good, fluent Shoshone, that I never knew she was taipo. And so, I was standing there
talking to Danny, and Danny’s sitting there speaking to me in English, and I’m
[Shoshone at 10:00] Ne ma naiko niwiiyaken. Ne semme ma newe taikwakante. I was
speaking to him in Shoshone every time he asked me a question, and he just didn’t even
notice! [Laughter] He kept talking English, because he was so used to talking to young
people in English because that’s what we do! We speak to our young people in English
instead of speaking Shoshone to them. And he didn’t realize it at first, and then until his
wife said, [Shoshone at 10:22] “E hakenee, mawai taipo taikwaken? Sote emmi newe
taikwane mai ma niikwen.” “Why are you speaking English to him when he’s speaking
Shoshone to you?” And then, finally, it dawned on Danny that I was speaking Shoshone
to him. So, it was really kind of funny. But a bad thing also happened during that time—
because that was encouraging. And because, you know, here you are, you sound funny
because you haven’t spoken the language in such a long time. And I remember being
over at the, where the hepittsos were playing the hepittso game, the five-card. And I had
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gone in to see my grandmother, and I went in and I was speaking Shoshone to her, and I
forgot how to say something in Shoshone. I can’t even—it wasn’t important, because I
can’t remember now what I was trying to say to her. But there was another lady there that
was really highly critical. And she said [11:11] “Aishe tipitsi newe taipo muihante. Ehe
naappeh newe.” And she said, you know, “Look at you! You can’t even speak Shoshone!
Why you even trying?” And I remember thinking to myself, “How dare you?” And I told
her in Shoshone—and I’d never been disrespectful to an elder before in my life, but I
kind of got angry, so I was a little bit disrespectful. [Laughter] But I kind of knew it was
okay, because I looked out sideways at my grandmother, and she had this smile on her
face after I said what I said. I said, [11:40] “Newehe, newe taikwan. Emmi tutuapeh?” I
said, “I’m trying—I’m speaking Shoshone. What about your children?” None of them,
none of the younger ones that were my age—they didn’t speak Shoshone. They spoke
nothing but English to their kids, because they wanted their kids to do well—I understand
the motivation, they wanted their kids to do well in school. So they felt, and they had
been told all their lives, that by speaking Shoshone to their kids, that their kids were
falling behind in school. And so they were stopping speaking Shoshone. But yet, she was
going to be critical of me speaking Shoshone to my grandmother, and telling me that I
shouldn’t speak Shoshone, because I was basically butchering the language. And I still
see that today, when I’m talking to little kids. Because I’ve been a school teacher for
twenty-five-plus years. And one of the things that we’ve done is we’ve set up the
Shoshone language program in our school, and I still have that same issue when I see
adults—especially some of our elders—that will basically dress down a child for
speaking the wrong dialect, or saying something the wrong way. And instead of
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encouraging them, and modeling the way things should be said, or the way that the
dialect is—very softly and gently telling them, you know, “Oh, I see that that’s Such-andsuch’s dialect,” because we could identify ourselves out here in Duckwater by our
families. Because there were those Shoshones that were already here before it was turned
into a reservation, and then there were those Shoshones that came afterwards. And they
came from a lot of different places besides just over at Smoky Valley. I mean, lot of them
came from there. But there was a different—that dialectual difference. And so, our elders
will speak to one another and never tell each other, “You’re saying it the wrong way,”
even though they’re speaking from different dialects. Why they would think that’s okay
to tell a child, that is beyond me. And that’s one of the issues that we need to work with
in our programs, in our language programs, is we need to encourage everybody. To
encourage our young people and our young adults to speak the language, and not worry
about dialectual differences, or [Shoshone at 13:55]. They sound like they’re speaking—
they’re “taipo newe” speaking the language. And so, we need to get away from that.
[Break in recording]
You know, it was never overtly taught, in terms of, you know, you need to do this, or you
need to do that. Although there was probably a little bit of that going on. It was more
along the lines of when the old ladies used to get together, and you’re a small child, you
sat and you listened. You didn’t speak up, you didn’t put your two cents in, because that
was just the norm—out here for us it was, anyway. It was the normal way of doing
things. And you didn’t interrupt their conversations; you listened. And you learned that
the older people were important. And they were important for a number of reasons. Their
knowledge. The way they thought about things. They were the ones that showed us how
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to behave with one another. Back in those days, we might’ve gotten into arguments, you
know, those petty bickering and stuff like that, but because you’re doing it in Shoshone,
and there’s no cursing in Shoshone, there’s no inappropriate way to use the language—
it’s all just the language, just the way we communicate with one another—there was a
little bit of softness to it, even though we’re pretty tough and resilient, and we persevere.
There was a softness to it because we know that by speaking to us—and it’s still true
today—and if you have people that are bickering with one another? I’ve discovered, and
my mom’s discovered this during tribal council, that if you switch over into Shoshone,
and start speaking Shoshone, people start to calm down a little bit, and they’re less likely
to scream and holler at each other. Doesn’t mean that the problem goes away; it makes it
easier to talk with one another, I think. But back to the old folks, it was just a way of—
they were the keepers of who we were. They’re important. One of the things I noticed
was, as I was becoming—I became a teenager and as a young adult, is that one of the
biggest complaints we were getting from our elders when we would try to get them to be
a part of our language programs and our cultural programs at the school, was that their
biggest complaint was the kids are disrespectful. And I think it had more to do with an
influence from the outside than it did with anything changing on the inside, because out
here at Duckwater, we didn’t get power and that kind of stuff until probably about 1973.
And then, TV came shortly after that. And a lot of houses—our house here, this is my
grandmother’s house. We didn’t have a TV in this house until the 1980s. [Laughter] My
grandmother just saw no point in it, and then we got a TV for her one year; and the next
thing you know, she was watching soap operas all the time! So. But, I think the influence
of the outside, or the dominant culture, has probably created a little of that, what they
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thought was disrespect. But I was always raised by my grandmother and my mother and
the rest of our family, and my tsootsis, that you’re supposed to respect and take care of
your elders.
[Break in recording]
My grandmother passed away this—is it two years ago already? It seems like just
yesterday. But, we took care of her. Because that’s what we needed to do. We had to take
care of her up until, all the way through her life. We didn’t put her in a care home or
anything else like that. My Aunt Adeline took care of her the last several years of her life.
And my wife and I moved back here to be with her while she was still living here in the
house, because that’s just the way we were raised by her. We take care of our elders, and
we stay with them until we pass on. And of course, after she passed, [Shoshone at
17:40]. And, just in that old way of sitting and being with one another when one of our
elders or one of our loved ones passes on. You know, that’s just the way that we were out
here. That’s what we were always taught, is we take care of them, and when they pass on,
I’m sure that there’s other family traditions that also take—I mean, back in the old days,
they would have their yakai tito’ihoyen, and basically, taking all the possessions, and
making sure there was nothing tethering them back here to—once they passed on into the
spirit world—nothing holding them here. Otherwise, that could make you sick and things
like that. Like, their possessions. And so, they would get rid of all that. But we don’t
necessarily follow those any longer. We give away a lot of the stuff and whatnot. And
you’re supposed to burn the pictures, but we just—it’s not something that we did in our
family, anyway. We keep those as remembrances. And we haven’t had any problems, and
haven’t gotten sick of any of those other things. [Laughter] So we’ve kind of, things have
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changed a little bit from the olden days. But we still follow certain things. Just minor
things. As life changes, so does our culture changes a little bit with it.
[Break in recording]
[19:09] Well, sunni yekwithehanneh, they cry. They laugh. Share stories. You know,
that’s what the feed’s about too, I think. The feed’s about closure. Because when I had a
friend die, and I didn’t go to the funeral, there was no closure for me. There wasn’t that
component in dealing with, you know, this is moving on now. You don’t get that closure.
But when we have our funerals here at the Rez, you basically, you get that closure,
because we get that feed together, and people meet up afterward, and it’s like that final
release that things have come all the way around and it’s overwith as well. It’s part of
what we do, nowadays. I don’t know if it’s consistent with what they used to do in the old
days, but it’s definitely what we’ve been doing here for a long, long time in Duckwater.
So.
[Break in recording]
I always thought of it as a spiritual journey of being on a different plane than us. So in
other words, they’re on a different plane, but they’re here with us. Because I think they
help us by guiding us along in making certain life decisions and things like that. And I
don’t think they’re supposed to interact with us so much as anything else, but we can’t
see them unless they manifest themselves in some way. I mean, [20:32] osu tso’ap.
[Laughter] You know? Where would they be coming from if that wasn’t part of the truth,
or the way that we think about things? So, I think the spirit world is just that. It’s on a
different plane, and we’re just making that next step to be where we’re supposed to be.
And so, [Shoshone at 20:50]! [Laughter] You know? Some day, we’ll be going to our
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ancestors. All of us. So, it’ll be a good thing. It’s not anything to really be afraid of, I
don’t think. I think that they’re around us all the time. They help us. They guide us.
[Break in recording]
Well, Duckwater has always been a unique community. Because, like I said, a good
portion of the population down here came from elsewhere. And a small portion of the
population was already here. A lot of families were. And we can trace our lineages
back—most people today, we’ve gotten to the point where we’re related to pretty much
one another. But we can all trace our lineages back and whatnot. But, back in the
nineteen—I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it was in the 1960s—my mom, as
a part of the Relocation Act, decided that she wanted to go to business secretarial school.
Well, people that were going in that vein from reservations, because it was free schooling
and you got relocated to a major urban area; Cleveland just happened to be the area that
she was sent to, because that’s what she chose. My Aunt Joyce, she went down to
Bellflower, or somewhere in the LA area, because she wanted to be a keypunch operator.
If you know anything about computers, those were the ways that you input information
back in those days, is you had to do it with cards. And as a keypunch operator, she was
punching those cards out that would be fed into those building-sized computers back in
those days. So, that’s what she did for—and she worked for banks doing that for quite a
while. My Aunt Adeline ended up in Oakland, California. But that was a different
program that she was on. My Uncle Richard ended up in Cleveland to go to welding
school. And he finished the school there. So my family, and a lot of the families out here
in Duckwater, their kids all went to get some type of a training at some point, all
underneath that act. And what they were trying to do, like I said earlier, is they were
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trying to entice young Native Americans—and it did work to a certain extent. If you go to
Cleveland today—and my mom worked for the Cleveland Indian Center for a number of
years after that—these centers basically have a lot of, a rather large Indian population.
But what’s going on is, they might not be a Shoshone, or a Navajo, or a whatever; it’s a
mixture. The Indians congregated with one another! [Laughter] When they got to these
places, and they created small communities of, where, you know, like, you might have a
Cheyenne that married a Hopi, or whatever. And then you’ve got mixed children that’re
growing up in urban areas. And then, we saw at the end of the 1970s, some of these tribal
people were going back to the reservations where their parents were from. And they had
no inkling of what the culture, their language or anything else, or they were in search of
their identity. I think you saw that with things like the AIM organization grew up out
of—actually, I personally met Russell Means and Dennis Banks when I was a child, up in
Cleveland Indian Center when I was a kid. Because that’s where they were at. And these
guys returned back to their home reservations in search of who they were. And that was a
part of what was being attempted, was assimilating them into the culture. It’s a little bit
difficult. It always sounds funny to me as somebody that came after that, because
assimilation doesn’t happen through enticing people to be with one another. And we saw
it with the Chinese. The Chinese came over to this country as railroad workers. And what
did they do? They grouped together, and they stayed together. And there was no
assimilation that happened there. We saw African Americans that grew—the populations
grew out of the South, because of slavery, moved to northern industrial areas; they
formed their own communities, because they were excluded from the other communities.
So, assimilation doesn’t happen unless the people that are the dominant culture invite you
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in to their culture. We were never invited! [Laughter] They brought us to the urban areas
in hopes of basically getting rid of the Indian people by having them assimilating and
marrying outside of their groups; that didn’t take place. Because they married other
Indians, and they created—I have a cousin that’s Cheyenne-Arapaho-Shoshone.
[Laughter] You know, how do you get all of those tribes together? Well, you send them
to urban areas. But their identity is still Indian. They may not have the culture or the
language any longer, but that’s who they became. Some of your midwest tribes I think
had rather large populations that were just near the urban area, and then you have whole
groups like, in Minneapolis/St. Paul area, I think, what is it up there? The—oh, I had a
friend from up there, and I can’t think of the tribe now. That’s what happens when you
get old!
U1:
Chippewa.
H:
The Chippewas, yeah. He was a Chippewa. And they have a whole urban area up there,
it’s almost like a colony, like we have colonies on the small towns around here? They
have like a—they’re a major population there in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. But that’s
not the same as the Relocation Act Indians, because I think they were trying to get us all
off the reservation so they could have the solution to the so-called “Indian problem”
they’d been having in this country for such a long time. Not a problem to us, but to them
obviously, so.
[Break in recording]
I stayed here in Duckwater until 1972, and then I moved to Missouri like I said. And then
I was bouncing around schools, and finally returned back here when I was seventeen
years old, and graduated high school in Ely, Nevada, at White Pine High School. And I
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was kind of bouncing around, doing a whole bunch of different types of things. I was a
range rider for the tribe for a number of years. I was a cowboy. Can you believe that?
[Laughter] I also worked a lot of things. I did a lot of odd jobs. And then, when I was
about twenty-one—1980s, early 1980s—but I turned twenty-one, and I was looking for a
job, and I really didn’t have anything after—I went to college for a bit, and came back. I
didn’t have any direction. Didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do with my life. I was
one of those people that basically didn’t—I didn’t know what I was going to do. And so,
I came back here, and I noticed that there was an opening for a bus driver, for the local
kids from here going to Eureka to go to high school. And they wanted a bus driver to
drive them up every day. So, I decided to go over to the school and apply for that job.
And I went over to the school, and I applied for the job, and the person that was the
principal of the school at the time took a look at me, said, “You’d be better suited to be a
teacher’s aide.” And that was far above what I wanted, you know? So, I just looked her
and said, you know, “I was hoping to just get the bus driver’s job!” And she talked to me,
she said, “No. Try it. I’ll make you a deal: if you’ll be the teacher’s aide, and come to
work in the school as the teacher’s aide, and if you don’t like it, I’ll give you the bus
driver’s job. But first, you’re going to work here.” So, I said, “Okay.” And so, I showed
up to work, and I started doing the teacher’s aide position at the Shoshone Elementary
School here. And I worked at it for four years, and I enjoyed it. I found that I was really
good at teaching. And so, it was something that I was really interested in. And you know
how on the reservation how politics sometimes takes over. So, I had to kind of leave for a
while, because politics took over at the school, and I didn’t want to be there any longer,
because of certain things that were going on. And so, I bailed, and I went elsewhere, and
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I did some of my other jobs. And then there was a teacher’s aide position, and things had
kind of settled down, and so I returned to Duckwater, and I applied for the teacher’s aide
position, and this time the principal of the school was an old classmate of mine. And he
had just gotten out of graduating from college, and he had his degrees and everything else
and came back, and was—had his degree for being the principal and whatnot. And I
hadn’t really gone to college yet. And so, I was a teacher’s aide, and after that year, he
says, “You need to stop messing around, and you need to do what it is that you’re
supposed to do.” And I said, “What’s that?” And he said, “You need to go to school, and
you need to get your teaching certification so that you can teach. You got to stop.” And
so, I did. It was just like, things fell together. I had a friend come back from Haskell
Indian Nations University—before it was the Indian Nations University, it was still just
Haskell Junior College—and he came back, and he said it was, he was like, “I didn’t
learn anything there. All I did was party the whole time. What do you say let’s go to
Reno and go to school at UNR?” I said, “Oh, okay.” So I applied. They accepted me,
accepted him, and then we took off and went to Reno. And I started school there, and I
discovered I loved going to college! [Laughter] And if it wouldn’t have been because of
student loans, and the fact that you could only get a Pell Grant for so many credits, I
would probably still be there today. [Laughter] But I had to graduate, so I graduated in
1991, and I came back here and I did my student teaching up in Eureka for two
semesters, because I graduated with a dual certification in Elementary Ed and Special
Education. And so I had to do two units of student teaching, and I did them both up in
Eureka, and then I came back to Duckwater, they hired me as a teacher because they
needed a teacher down here. And this is where I started teaching at. And I came back, and
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I worked here for five years, and at the end of the five years—I promised them five years
because the Tribe helped me out with school and everything else. So, I promised them
five years, and then after that five years, I was going to go see what was in the rest of the
world because that’s just the way I grew up. I never really stayed any one place for a
really, really long time. And five years was the longest I’d stayed anywhere, and that was
living here at Duckwater during that stretch of time without going elsewhere. So I met
my future wife, and we decided to move to New York, and I taught Special Education in
New York for eight years. I taught the hard-to-handle kids for eight years in New York.
[Laughter] And it really improved my skillset as a teacher, I think. It was very
challenging to teach the emotionally disturbed and the behavior-disordered kids, because
they were a challenge. But like I said, it really improved the way that I looked at kids.
And then I was—we were sitting at home, and I got a call one night, and it was the
chairperson of this school committee. And she said “We’ve got a job opening down here
for the principal job, and we understand that you’re finishing up your master’s degree.” I
said, “Yes.” And they said, “We’d like to offer you the job as being principal over at the
school.” My wife says, “Take it!” So, we move all the way back down here from New
York, and we stayed here for six years. And then, things have changed. I’m still a
teacher, but I don’t teach in school anymore. I teach in other ways. I work as a Dialogue
facilitator for the Western Shoshone-Barrick Dialogues. Also, Barrick contracts me to do
certain other activities. Like, I worked with the Te-Moak Tribe on their Comprehensive
Plan. I worked with the committee that was rewriting the requirements for the Western
Shoshone Legacy Fund. So, I’m a business owner in the sense that I’m a private
contractor. I own my business, Honaker Consulting, who contracts with Barrick. I also
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own a shop—since we’ve moved back to New York, we own a small shop that deals in
Native American arts and crafts, leather and silverwork. And we also have home crafts.
We do quilting and embroidery work, professional embroidery work for companies—
marinas mostly, because that’s where we’re at. We’re located on the St. Lawrence River,
and we do business there during the season. It’s a seasonal thing because the winters are
really harsh there where we live at, so we usually end up back here down in Duckwater
for the winters. I really am blessed because I get to come home, and spend the summers
in a place that’s absolutely beautiful with tons of water, and then I come back to the
desert and we live out here, and I get to visit with family and do my job out here. So, I’m
really lucky in that. So, I’m still a teacher in a lot of ways. And this last couple of years,
I’ve also been working with the British Council, which is the arm of the British
Consulate, which is the ambassadors that go around the world for the British government.
British Council basically works with a lot of nations, and I help to teach this program
called Active Citizens to other Western Shoshones. That’s what we’ve been doing, is
delivering that training. And we’re going to continue doing that this year. So, hopefully
we’ll be doing a lot more of the training for the other Native American—I mean, not
Native American, other Western Shoshone communities: Ely, Duckwater, Yomba, those
more specifically, because we’ve been delivering that product to the Te-Moak Tribes and
the Bands there. So, I keep really busy. Working for yourself, you’re constantly busy. I
was amazed at how much work I have to do now that I work for myself. In several
different areas, my consulting business obviously, and being a trainer for the British
Council, as well as being a shop owner, and partnering with my wife, and doing these
things—I don’t have any time for rest or vacation, it doesn’t seem like, anymore!
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[Laughter] So, but it’s challenging, and it’s a lot of fun. And I’m still getting to teach all
the time. So. It’s just not in the classroom setting anymore.
[Break in recording]
In 1973, the parents, after a comment made by one of the teachers in the Tonopah paper,
the parents that were in the Duckwater area and down in Railroad Valley that took
offense to the comment, pulled their kids from the public school which is down the road
from here, about five miles. They decided to—they pulled the kids because they decided
to do it in protest because of what was said. But the school district, the Nye County
School District, threatened to put the parents in jail if they didn’t have them in school by
a certain date. And because of their statement that they were going to put the parents in
jail for not having their kids in school, the parents decided to form a school board, and
start their own school. And this is the product of that, that they got together, they started
looking for funds to start their own school, hiring teachers which were VISTA volunteers
the first couple years. But they were able to get it done to where their kids were in school,
and they started here. This used to be a church. It was built in 1964—[19]65. It was built
by the local community and the Mormon Church. But, the tenants had dwindled at that
point in time, so the church was open to selling it to the Tribe, and they sold it to the
Tribe. And the Tribe bought it from them, and they turned it into a school, and the
school’s been in operation, been tribally owned and operated, since 1973. It basically
stays open through grants and funds coming through the Bureau of Indian Education
now, in this era. It used to be that it was open because it was done through grants through
the Office of Indian Education, which is a part of the Department of Education, and the
Office of Indian Education under the Bureau of Indian Affairs. But they’ve separated out,
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and now it’s wholly supported by the Bureau of Indian Education. It doesn’t belong to the
Bureau of Indian Education or the BIA, it belongs to the Duckwater community. And it’s
the only school of its kind in the state of Nevada. There is another Indian-owned and operated school, which is Pyramid Lake, but they came after. And both this school and
Pyramid Lake used to be under the Sacramento office of Bureau of Indian Education. So.
And now they’ve switched, and they’re both under, I believe—Pyramid Lake is still
underneath the California schools, and Duckwater is now underneath the Office of Indian
Education, or the Bureau of Indian Education, in Arizona.
[Break in recording]
This was my first classroom. I had fourth through eighth grade, and next door they had K
through three. And it’s a multi-classroom setting, there’s a real challenge, but it was very
rewarding as well. It’s changed a lot. I did put these whiteboards on the wall because I
hated chalk dust. So, I changed that. [Laughter] And now they’ve got Smartboards, so.
[Break in recording]
I miss the classroom, and I miss the kids. I miss the kids because it was rewarding. It was
very needs-fulfilling to watch a lightbulb go off in a kid’s head, or to watch them make
something and take pride in what they were doing and their accomplishments. And you—
it’s really, it’s very addicting to see that. So if there’s one thing that I miss, that’s really
the thing that I miss, is watching kids attain knowledge and have those “ah-hah!”
moments where it just dawns on them. I don’t miss the politics of school. I don’t miss the
government becoming involved in the day-to-day operation of schools and in the
classroom, and what should be taught and what can’t be taught, and all this other stuff. I
think that they need to leave that to the professionals. But they’ve taken us out of the
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arguments and the debates, so as teachers we don’t have that say anymore. And it’s being
left up to other individuals to define what’s going to be taught and how it’s going to be
taught. It’s no longer an art form. It’s no longer a way of reaching kids and developing
those relationships that actually mean something. It’s more about, “Well, here’s the
information. Now, let’s test you to find out whether you kept it or not.” I don’t think
that’s education.
[Break in recording]
I think I was lucky. I was lucky in that moving around, as an Army brat like I said, it
afforded me the opportunities to basically go outside my comfort zone and make friends
very quickly. Not be fearful of something new. And basically, sometimes having to put
yourself out there. Because I know that’s a really scary thing for us. I mean, I’ve—when I
was a child, I always kind of tended to sit and melt into the woodwork, so to speak, so
that I was unnoticed. Because in our culture, sometimes, you know, we’re not supposed
to be putting ourselves out there in that manner. We’re supposed to be quiet and trying to
learn about what things are. And so, what’s valued in that major culture out there is a
little bit different than us. And even though we might not speak the language, and we
don’t know all the traditions and all the stories of the old, there’s, it still had an effect on
us as we’ve grown in our Native communities. And so, what ends up happening is we
don’t know how the roadmap to success in that other community works. And some of
those values they have in that other culture, like being independent, and if you’re quiet
and whatnot people will just gloss right over the top of you and you’ll never be noticed.
You have to kind of stand up and—it’s contrary to what we believe as a people, but
sometimes necessary to have to put yourself out there and put yourself forth. So, the big
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things that I’ve learned is that—in watching our kids—is that one of the things that we
really, really get away from is being fearful of what we don’t know. Because I think that
fear sometimes holds us in the place where we’re at. And I’ve seen a lot of people, and I
know that I’ve seen a lot of talented people, smart people, hold themselves back because
they’re afraid to put themselves out there. They’re afraid to leave what they know, to go
reach out for what it is that they want. I’ve heard the stories of numerous young adults
when I was growing up. When I leave this place—and it’s the “I’m always leaving this
place” story that you’ve heard if you grew up on a reservation or in a Colony or
whatever, we always hear that story. “I’m leaving this place as soon as I get done with
school! I’m going to go away, and I’m going to do this, and I’m going to do that.” And
then you, you know, you turn around, you’re twenty years down the road, and they’re
still there in the same place, and they really haven’t gone anywhere, and you have to
wonder why. And you come to the realization that oftentimes it’s because that fear held
us. That fear held us in the place. And then we start to resent the place that we now have
found ourselves in because we didn’t take that first step and make a move. So, even if it’s
not consulting, even if college is not what you’re looking for, but you want to do
something, you got to take that first step. You can’t let fear hold you back. It’s just that
plain and simple: you’ve got to do it. You know, I mean, I was the first—[Laughter]
here’s the kicker of the story: I am the first Western Shoshone Newe person from
Duckwater to graduate from college.
C:
Wow. That’s amazing.
H:
Here. You know? And if it wouldn’t’ve been for my mom, my grandmother, and those
people just instilling that “You’ve got to go do this,” it wouldn’t have happened. I mean,
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my first attempt, I failed at miserably! [Laughter] As a matter of fact, they were about
this close to asking me to leave the college that I was at, and you know, that would’ve
done me in. So, I left voluntarily. But, when I returned, I was motivated. And I enjoyed
what I was doing. I was focused, I was motivated, I knew what I wanted, and I didn’t let
those things that tend to get in our way get in our way. I know it’s hard, because when we
leave what we know and we find ourselves in a place where we’re not speaking
Shoshone, we’re not being who we are, it could be rather disheartening. You get lonely.
But, like I said, I got lucky, because I was able to—because of moving everywhere, it
was easy for me to make friends that weren’t Shoshone. And I’ve been doing it my whole
life. Because there’re not many—amazingly enough, there’s not a whole bunch of
Shoshones in our crazy world. Especially back East, you know? You’re oftentimes the
only Indian. And you become an anomaly, and a curiosity, and people ask you stupid
questions, and you toy with them and tell them, “Yes, we still live in tipis and hunt
buffalo,” because their ignorance is kind of funny to us. [Laughter] And playing around.
But you always, you have to be able to strike those friendships, and make yourself fit in
to where you’re at right now, so that overall, when it comes to the end, you’re getting
closer to what it is that you’re seeking in life and what you want. Because you can always
return home. It’s always here. We are lucky. Because we have someplace to go back to. If
you take a look at the majority population, ask yourself the question, “Where do those
taipos have to go back to?” They live in their little nuclear families with the mother,
father, and their children, and they may have a little bit of extended family, but not like us
Shoshone. We Shoshones have the greatest luck in the world, because we’ve got this
huge extended family that we call our tribe. And we’ve always got a place to go home to,
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no matter what. That’s our safety net. So, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Walk out there
and just go do it. Because you can always return home whenever.
[Break in recording]
When I was a teacher’s aide, and I was teaching the Shoshone classes over at the
Duckwater Shoshone Elementary School, I was teaching a lesson one afternoon, and—
this is before I went to Teacher Education and became a teacher, certified teacher, I was a
teacher’s aide—so, I didn’t understand a lot about teaching, but I was teaching a lesson in
the language, and I was—we were talking about Shoshone kinship and relationships and
stuff like that, and so we were talking about these things, and I was speaking Shoshone,
modeling and doing that kind of stuff. But I had one of the students, and she had to’ve
been about seventh or eighth grade. And we were talking, and she was—you could just
tell that she was not happy with the lesson, she wasn’t happy with what was going on.
And I finally asked her, I said, “Well, what’s wrong?” She goes, “Why do we have to
learn this stuff? It’s not going to help me get anywhere. It’s not going to mean anything.
Why do we have to learn how to speak Shoshone? Why are we even doing this?” I said—
I looked at her, and it just never dawned on me why we needed to do this. Why we need
to learn our language, and our culture, and those type of things. What’s so necessary
about this? And I’d never been hit with that before. And so, it was just like an eyeopener. But, my response at that time was, “Well, because this is who we are. We’re
Shoshone.” And I remember her response to this day, was, “I don’t want to be
Shoshone.” I said—of course, that opened the door to the next thing, “Well, who do you
want to be?” Like we can change who we are. And my perspective is, we can’t change
who we are! You’re born who you are, and that’s who you are. And her response was,
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“Well, I don’t want to be Shoshone, I’d rather be white or something else.” And I’m
looking at her going, “How much hatred do you have to have towards yourself and who
you are to want to be something totally different?” And I remember just being totally
flabbergasted. I had no answer for her, because—and to this day, I still don’t have an
answer for her. And I see her now, and she’s an adult, and she has children. And she’s
definitely Shoshone and whatnot, but she still doesn’t speak the language. But you can
tell that she’s identified as—because you can’t, no matter what you do, it doesn’t come
off, and you are who you are. I think one of the things in the majority culture out there is
that people oftentimes define you by what you do. And we in turn start to do that. So, if
you ask me who I am, I might respond with, “Oh, well, I’m a teacher.” But that’s not who
I am. What we do isn’t who we are. Who we are is our language, our culture, who we are
as a people. Who we come from. Where we come from. That’s who we are. And that’s
important. So, if I had to speak to a younger generation of Shoshone children, I would
say to them: do what it takes to learn the language and your culture, because that’s your
identity. That’s who you are. That’s how you define yourself. And if you have a good
definition of who you are, then you can go out and learn what it is that you want to do.
That’s not your identity. If you’re saying, “I’m a doctor”: that’s not your identity, that’s
what you do. Be passionate about the things that you do. Don’t let fear hold you back.
But know who you are before you do, because you’ll get lost if you don’t. And that’s one
of the things that I would like to point out to younger people, or educators that are
teaching our young people. Don’t let people—don’t let that go away. Be who you—be.
Because we’re tamme Newene. That’s who we’ll always be. And if you know who you
are, and you’ve got your mindset, and you’re comfortable with that, and not hating
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yourself because you were born the wrong color, or the wrong gender, or the wrong
whatever, but once you identify and you get good and comfortable with who you are in
the world, that presence will carry over to other people. And they’ll know that you’re
okay with who you are. And so, no matter what anybody says to you, that has no effect
because you’re being the best person that you are and who you’re going to be. And that,
in turn, will help you find your roadmap to being successful in the world. Because, you
know, one of the things that was scary about going to college is that, like I had
mentioned, I was the first person in Duckwater to graduate with a bachelor’s degree from
a four-year university. There were a lot of graduates from other programs—like AET,
Adult Educational Training programs and those type of things, or even Associate degrees.
But never from a four-year major university with the bachelor of science degree. And I
was the first to get that. Also, then upon after that, getting a master’s degree. And that
was a necessity—that was out of necessity. But, if you want to be successful in life and
what you choose to do, you need to have that road map for success. Because if you don’t
have a way of navigating to get to where you need to be, you’re going to get lost along
the way. So, I think what I’d like to have for the future, for our Indian kids, is somebody
that can serve as a guide to doing that. People. You need to go search them out. If you’ve
never been to college, and you don’t know what it is that you need to do to get there, and
you want to go to the four-year university or whatever it is that you want to do, go look
out people that can help support you in that journey. Because you need the guides to help
you to navigate that system. Because, quite honestly, when you get to the college level,
nobody cares. Nobody’s going to push you along. Nobody’s going to say to you, “This is
what you need to do.” You have to do it for yourself. You have to want it. Because if you
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don’t, it’s not going to happen. You need to seek out people. I was lucky at UNR when I
was out there to meet a lady at the Minority Student Affairs Office. Her name was Elaine
Steiner. And obviously, she’s probably not there any longer, because that was a number
of years ago. But if it wouldn’t have been partially for Elaine basically helping navigate
the university system, I may not have made it through college. And it wouldn’t have been
because I wasn’t bright enough, or book smart enough, or whatever it was that you think
you need to get through these things. It would’ve been because I didn’t understand or
know how to navigate the system. And so, if you are living in a community where you
have college graduates, and that’s what you want to do, you need to seek those people out
and talk to them. And if you’re one of those people that’s going to serve as a guide for
our young people, you need to be kind. You need to be generous. Because that’s the way
we should be. We should be kind and generous to one another; not stingy, and secretive,
and abusive to one another. That’s somebody else’s culture. That’s not the culture I was
growing up in. You need to give of yourself to your community. You need to help people
out. And if that’s in speaking the language, if that’s in navigating the system that they
don’t know and understand but you do, you need to be generous in that in giving it to the
other people. And if you’re non-Native and you want to help our kids along, you need to
start to understand their culture and who they are. Whether they totally understand their
culture or not. Because those little things that have happened in the past—those little
seeds, those little things that have happened to our forefathers—they’re coming up, and
they affect us today. And they’re still affecting us. So, understanding that culture. And
understanding that there’s a different way of viewing the world, rather than the majority
culture’s way of viewing the world and operating. If you want to help a Native student
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along, you need to understand a little bit about their—and stop focusing totally on what
the dominant culture wants out of us. You need to understand where this kid is coming
from. Because it’s not the same situation that those other kids, those non-Native students,
are coming from. It’s coming from—your culture is fine and dandy, and we need to live
in it. I always look at it as living in two worlds. I have a foot in both worlds. I can live in
the white world if I choose to, and I definitely can’t give up my Indian world, my Newe
world, because basically, I am Newe. That’s who I am. But I have to live in this world. If
I need to learn technologies, that doesn’t do anything to diminish my Newe-ness, or me
being Newe. It just is. It’s a part of what I have to do. And it’s like, for, I guess in a sense,
being a Newe in the twenty-first century means you have to have a lot of skills. Go
develop those skills to do what it is you need to do. But always understand where you
come from.
[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
Keith Honaker
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:55:43
Location
The location of the interview
Duckwater Reservation, NV (Honaker residence)
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/561
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
DVD, MP4, and AVI format
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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Keith Honaker - Oral history (03/09/2016)
Description
An account of the resource
<p>Keith Honaker was born at the Indian hospital in Schurz, NV in 1960. His grandmother’s family is part of the Blackeye family, and his grandfather’s family is part of the Sam family. He speaks about his experience as an Army brat, and how that contributed to his success later in life. He also tells of his childhood speaking mostly Shoshoni, how he would listen to elder’s storytelling, and how difficult or unique it was growing up on the Duckwater Reservation. He graduated from White Pine high school in Ely, NV, University of Nevada – Reno, NV with his Bachelor’s degree in teaching, and how he obtained his Master’s degree “out of necessity”. Keith also speaks about his time teaching at the reservation as well as in New York. Moreover, he tells his audience about the Relocation Act (1956) and the consequential creation of the American Indian Movement (AIM).</p>
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HpNGMp7YtMo" frameborder="0"></iframe>
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 056
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
03/09/2016 [09 March 2016]; 2016 March 09
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; Scott A. Gavorsky [VHC]; University of Utah SYLAP [streaming video]; Great Basin College; BARRICK Gold of North America
Rights
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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/349
Language
A language of the resource
English; some Shoshoni
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral history interview with Keith Honaker, Western Shoshone from Duckwater Reservation, NV on 03/09/2016
Community
Crossroads
Duckwater
education
GBIA
heritage
language
Relocation Act
school
Shoshone
Story
-
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/21dff70f9edf539712c23a4b07df317e.jpg
73de93b0efdc20fc4699628243d5108f
https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/1c9e564a2b7769eb7f0b10151bf12dc1.pdf
eacee8159030513fd10db47f4eedb0cf
PDF Text
Text
Antoine'e
Cavanaugh
Great
Basin
Indian
Archive
GBIA
055
Oral
History
Interview
by
Norm
Cavanaugh
June
14,
2016
Owyhee,
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 055
Interviewee: Antoinette Cavanaugh
Interviewer: Norm Cavanaugh
Date: June 14, 2016
AC:
Hi. My name is Antoinette Cavanaugh. My maiden name was Antoinette Harney, and
this is Duck Valley. Owyhee is the town where I was born and raised for majority of my
childhood. The Owyhee Hospital is the place where I was born, and that’s—we’re sitting
in front of the hospital here. I was born in 1960. Seems like a long time ago. But, have a
lot of fond memories here. My mother, Adrianna Harney, was born here as well, and my
grandfather’s name is Bert Harney and Lucille Osborne Pryor. The Owyhee Hospital, I
have no idea what year it was built, but this is where I was born. And my mom actually
worked here as a nurse. I have several aunts and an uncle that worked in this hospital in
my childhood. And I just remember that this was the go-to place for a lot of things, for
people in the community. And a lot of people worked here from the community, and it
was run by the Indian Health Service until the Tribe decided to compact services,
healthcare services, for the members of the Tribe. As you can see, it’s all boarded up
now. It doesn’t have any use; no one uses this building. I’m not sure if there are any
planned services or uses for it in the future. But it is an icon of Duck Valley. It sits here
on the hill overlooking the valley. The new hospital was built, I believe, in the 1970s. It
opened in the 1970s, and it now provides—it is run by the Shoshone-Paiute Tribes, and it
provides outpatient services for the members of the community, and EMT services for the
community, and I believe they have a dentist. They provide dental services, medical
services, and social—I guess it would be psychological services for the community. So, I
was born here in 1960. I lived on the reservation here until I was about in third grade. It
was after my third grade year that I moved away. My mother divorced, and my younger
sister and I moved with my mother off of the reservation. We lived in Elko for a while,
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and we moved to a lot of different places in Northeastern Nevada. She married a ranch
hand, and as a result we moved to a lot of different ranches as time went on. I returned to
Owyhee my freshman year in high school, in 1974. And I think that was the longest
period of time that I stayed in one place. And we’ll talk about that a little bit later. But
Owyhee has always been my home. My children were raised here in their earlier years.
And I lived here with my husband, Norman Cavanaugh, until 1997—or, 1993, I’m sorry,
when we moved to Spring Creek. So, Owyhee has been, it’s where my family is from. A
lot of my family relations still live here. I have a lot of fond memories of running this
valley. There are a lot of places to run on the dirt roads, and it has always been a pastime
of mine to engage in physical fitness activities. So, we’ll talk a little bit later about my
education. I did graduate from Owyhee High School in 1978, and we’ll talk about that
later.
[Break in recording]
So, this is the famous Dog Street of Duck Valley. This is where a lot of older people
lived, and it has been known as one of the poorest places on the reservation. But, now
they have some new homes here. They’ve taken down a lot of the older homes. Some of
the old hepittsos lived here, like Noonie, Kitty Wells—oh, man! They were some tough
ladies to live around. They were very—they were always busy working. And us kids, my
cousins lived across the way, and we always got together and played, and had fun. And
look: we have a resident dog right here in the middle of the street. The dogs here in dog
street rule the roost. So, the reason it was called Dog Street is because a long time ago,
people would come to this water spigot. There was a public watering hole here—I don’t
know if it was a public watering hole, but it was the only community water source that
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was not attached to a house or a residence. Check out this hail. This is typical May
weather for Duck Valley. Never know if it’s going to rain, snow, hail. But, people would
come to fill up their milk containers, those metal milk containers, and they would drop
off their puppies if they had extra puppies that they didn’t want to keep. And other people
that would come by to fill up their water containers would pick up puppies. So, that’s
why it was called Dog Street. So, this is Dog Street. Check ‘em out. I don’t know whose
dogs these are, they’re not mine, but that’s Dog Street. They still are here. Anyway, this
is the house I was raised in until shortly before we left the reservation. As I said, this road
here wasn’t paved. It was a dirt road. And over to my far left was where Tuukaa’ lived.
And he was a—he was in a wheelchair. But he was always doing things like leatherwork
and rawhide work. He was always very industrious and creative. And next to him in this
house, which is a little different than when I lived here, was Lucy and Leon Harney, who
were my relations. And then, coming back to my house, if you look at the structure of it,
it almost looks like a tent. And that’s because it actually was a tent—not when I lived in
it, but before I lived here, they had a tent top. The sides were made of lumber. Initially,
there was a dirt floor, and then later on they put in some plank flooring, and then they
covered it with tar paper. And this is actually a poignant part in my life, because I was
nine years old, and there’s a little corner over here that you can—I don’t know if you can
see it from the camera, but it was a cold winter’s day and I was sent outside to play, and I
was facing the sun. And I was letting it warm my body, and I was thinking, “I never, ever
want to live this way.” Where there was no electricity, we had no running water. We had
a kerosene lantern, that’s what we could see by. And then later on, after we lived here for
a while, they did bring in the electricity, and then we had a lightbulb that hung from a
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wire, and in each compartment of this house there was a kitchen area, an eating area, and
then in the back was where the bedroom was. And then, eventually, with my mom
working, we had a TV, and that was really something. It was unreal. And that was right
before we moved away. But I want to take you over this way a bit. Right here was where
Kitty Wells lived—or, that’s what we called her. I’m not sure what her real name was.
But, she—it was in front of her house, in front of her gate, that was the community water
spigot. And that’s where we would get our drinking water. We had no plumbing in the
house. And then, next to her, next to Kitty Wells’s house, this little tar paper shack here.
You’ll see the other tar paper shack there. And that was probably the biggest house on
Dog Street at the time, on this side of the street. And that was where Lighty Peakanum
lived. And Ralph Cavanaugh. And Merla Cavanaugh. And Norm Cavanaugh lived there
as well, who actually is now my husband! But I didn’t know who he was. It was before,
you know, I played with boys. Got to know him later on, and eventually married him. But
my cousins lived across the street where all these trees are. And that was where my Aunt
Clara Jones lived, and Uncle Leslie. And they had a lot of kids. And I can’t remember
everybody else. There was Noonie, who lived down at the very end of the street. She was
always nice, and would make baked goods for us. Always invite us in for pies and stuff.
And my first cousin Nuffie, or Jeannette Jones, and I used to play with mud pies and do
all kinds of fun things out here on Dog Street. So, a lot of good memories of playing with
my cousins, and my younger brothers, my two younger brothers—of course, they were
infants, young children and my older brother. So, while we were living in poverty—I
mean, you don’t know that when you’re a child until you start to realize that things are
tough, and sometimes you don’t have all the things that you could probably use. We had
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a library that we used to use that was over on the main street that the Tribe had, and I
remember that Beverly Crum ran the library, and I used to go. And she would say, “Yeah,
take some books!” And I’d bring those home and read them by the light of the kerosene
lamp. So, that’s my life here on Dog Street. There was one place I lived when I was an
infant, and that was out at Carl Dick’s place out the valley. There was a cabin behind
their main house, and we lived there for a short time before we moved here to Dog Street.
And I was probably about, I’d say about three and a half. That’s my earliest recollection
of living here. And I lived here until I was about—well, like I said, right before we left
and lived in Labor Camp for a short period of time.
[Break in recording]
This is Owyhee High School, located on the Duck Valley Indian Reservation in Owyhee,
Nevada. It is a public school. I attended school here in 1974 and graduated in 1978. I’d
have to say that it was here at the school where I grew the most as an individual. In fact, I
remember standing in this very spot my senior year taking pictures with my classmates,
and also the student government organization. I ran track, was involved in the Future
Business Leaders of America. The Future Homemakers of America, or also known as
FCCLA today. Those organizations helped develop me as an individual, and allowed me
many opportunities to engage in public speaking, organizing activities and events, and
most of all, allowed me to develop as a runner. If I could give anyone any advice about
school, and high school, or even junior high, I would say: get involved in your school.
Make it yours; it is your school. So, take advantage of the opportunities that are available
to you. And also, take advantage of your classes to learn all that you can learn. And
challenge your teachers to teach you the most that they can. Because it’s free. It was here
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that I was able to make some decisions about what I wanted to be when I grew up. And I
had ideas that I wanted to become a legal secretary, so I took all of these business classes,
traveled all over the nation to different state and national conferences, and participated at
the national level. I became the State Officer for Nevada for Future Business Leaders of
America, and had a lot of opportunities afforded me because I was active and involved.
Keep in mind that it was during this time that I was also raising and taking care of my
two younger brothers and sister. I also worked at a little business across the street. So, I
had a full schedule. I also attended school in the building that is located across the street.
I attended fourth grade there right before we left Duck Valley. Between my third grade
year and my fourth grade year, I went to summer school. And through summer school, if
we attended there, we had to go to school every day. And if we did attend school every
day, we got to go on a summer trip. And it was usually about five days long. I remember
one of the trips we took, we got to go to Yellowstone. Got to go fishing. Another trip, we
went to Canada—Victoria, Canada. It was amazing. Especially for someone who had
rarely ventured off of the reservation. So, I worked at the Arrowhead—used to be called
the Arrowhead Across the Way, that old building. I worked there as a—I mean,
everything: as a cashier, I flipped hamburgers, and made fries, and worked for Gwen
Thacker, who was the owner at the time, Gwen and Bill Thacker, made ice cream—
homemade ice cream—in that little shop. And it helped me pay the bills to raise our little
family.
[Break in recording]
My great-grandfather’s name was Race Harney. My grandfather’s father, who lived in
Brook Valley at the time that the reservation here was being established. And he used to
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run messages from Ruby Valley to Lee, where other Shoshone people lived, by way of
the mountains. And then, later on, he used to run the mail from Elko all the way here to
Duck Valley, and on into Riddle, Idaho. I grew up with all of those stories. And I guess
that’s why I always had a passion for running. And so, I started running when I was about
in sixth grade. And I used to have these awful, awful asthma attacks, and I think it was
brought on by the running. My grandfather used to tell me, “Well, keep running! Don’t
quit! You can do whatever you want if you keep on running. You’ll be able to do it,
achieve any goal.” We didn’t have organized sports in 1974. We had what was called the
Girls’ Athletic Association. And the girls couldn’t even earn letters until that first year in
1974. I just turned 56, and I ran a marathon, my fastest marathon in my older years.
Almost qualified for the Boston, so I guess my new goal for this year is to try to qualify
for the Boston Marathon. So, running has helped me to be strong mentally, spiritually,
and physically. So, if you have the capacity to do it: run.
[Break in recording]
After graduating from college in 1983, I taught at Owyhee Combined Schools from 1983
until 1993, a period of almost ten years. And in the spring of 1993, I had a challenge to
live up to, and that was to look for a job off of the reservation. I applied to Spring Creek
High School. At that time, it was called Spring Creek Junior/Senior High School. And it
was a school that was going to be conformed as a growing high school. So it started at
seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth, and then with each consecutive year, an additional grade
had been added to comprise a junior/senior high school. This was my first experience,
aside from my teaching internship, to teach at a high school of this magnitude. Spring
Creek was a brand new school. We planned it, we designed it, and we developed our
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teacher teams to be the first school that featured technology and computers in every
classroom, where attendance was going to be taken by computers, and it was on a token
ring network, so that information could be shared throughout the school. This school
boasted—at the time that was a full junior/senior high, it boasted over seven hundred
students, and we were running double sessions. I learned so much at this school about
curriculum development, developing schedules, and I owe a great amount of gratitude
and honor to Joe DeBraga, who saw to it that I should be hired as a vice-principal here; to
the administration at Elko County School District central office, who gave me the
opportunity to move from Owyhee into this position here. I was the principal of vice, was
in charge of all of the discipline, I was in charge of helping to develop curriculum, and I
also did things along the lines of school improvement and accreditation. This job was
intense. And I was no longer in my comfort zone; it was the first job I had that was off of
the reservation. And I had to learn new families, I had to learn new contacts, and I’m
forever grateful for having had the opportunity to work in this environment.
[Break in recording]
We knew that there was a middle school that was going to be on the horizon, where the
middle school would break away from the high school and become its own school. I also
knew that if I wanted to work in that middle school, and work with students that I really
enjoyed working with—because middle school kids are kind of their own little character.
They’re not quite adults yet, they haven’t transitioned into that adolescent phase, they’re
still little kids; they’re kind of in mid-stream. So, I knew there were people that had the
skills and the training to do that job probably better than I did. So, I decided after
working at Spring Creek High School for about two and a half years that it was time to go
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back to school and work on my PhD. And to work in the middle school setting. So, I
went back to school at University of Nevada, Reno, where I had gotten my master’s
degree. And it was here at Spring Creek Middle School that I had the first opportunity to
really spend time learning about the infrastructure of schools; learning how to read
blueprints; designing, again, curriculum and schedules. But there was one piece that for
me was an amazing opportunity. You see, middle schools and junior high schools are
structured differently. And all of Elko County School District junior highs were junior
highs. They were miniature high schools. And middle schools are designed to give kids
more opportunities to explore things that they’re interested in. So, while working on my
PhD, I was given an opportunity to work as an intern at Swope Middle School. Swope
was one of those middle schools in Reno that featured a true concept of middle school
programs, where teachers were podded, teachers worked together to align their
curriculum so kids were learning concepts across curriculums. It was an opportunity for
me to really make a difference in how kids learned and what they learned. So, here at
Spring Creek Middle School, I needed to make sure—if I wanted to be the principal of
Spring Creek Middle School, I needed to go get more education. The master’s level
wasn’t enough. And sure enough, the school board of trustees decided they were going to
try and make this a middle school. And I got hired for the job. It was at this school where
I think my children, after moving to Spring Creek from Owyhee, had a lot of
opportunities. Trust me: when we first moved off of the reservation, our oldest daughter
was not happy. We were taking her out of her comfort zone, she was moving away from
all of her friends. She had to go to Spring Creek High School, and she was going to have
to make new friends. But given that they had a challenge, it was also an opportunity for
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them to grow. And I am really very thankful that I’ve had opportunities here to learn, and
structure schools that were just a little bit different than what had already been in place in
the school district. Rarely does an educational professional have an opportunity to start
schools from the ground up, and build them, and establish a culture of excellence, and
establish a tradition of excellence. And I believe that’s what has happened here.
Moreover, little did I know that all of the things that I learned about school construction,
building schedules, working with curriculum, design from the ground up, working with
teacher teams, and working with technology as a foundation for delivery of student
instruction; little did I know that all of that was going to lead to bigger and better things.
All my children, except—all my children: Joe, Casey, Dustin, and Tanner went to school
at the Spring Creek schools. They took those opportunities to be involved in schools and
do a lot of different things. Of course, I don’t know that they had a choice to not do
anything. [Laughter] But they were all very active in soccer, they played basketball, they
played volleyball, and they were involved in all of the different high school activities and
junior high school activities that were available. Many, many opportunities are out there.
And like I said earlier, if you have an opportunity to be involved, take those opportunities
to at least learn something and develop your skills. We’re going to take a walk up over
the hill to Elko. Spring Creek is over the Elko Summit. From Elko, it’s about fifteen to
twenty miles from Elko. When we moved off of the reservation in 1993, we really knew
nothing about purchasing property; we didn’t know anything about building equity in a
home; we didn’t know how all of that worked. Because on the reservation, it doesn’t
work that way. And so, for my husband Norm Cavanaugh and I, we had a lot of learning
to do to make that transition from the reservation to living off of the reservation, and
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learning all about those things. So, moving our children away from the reservation had its
challenges, and it has also had the rewards.
[Break in recording]
At the beginning of 2001, a job opportunity came open for me to apply for a job at central
office. And it was going to be a pretty rigorous job that required someone with a lot of
skills that are important to ensuring that children have appropriate education. So I’m
going to go back a little bit: when I went to college for my PhD studies, I was hired as a
research grad assistant. And a lot of times, higher education will offer grad assistantships
to those individuals that they want to have work in their department. And the gentleman
that, the professor that I was hired to work with, was a special services law professor. So,
I had the opportunity to research special education law cases at the judicial college. Now,
understand: I had no desire to study law. I had no desire to spend a lot of time learning
about law. But I needed the money to pay the bills while I was at school. So, I worked for
Dr. Dan Klein, who was an expert in special education law. And I spent hours—and this
is before WestEd was open on computers for all students. So I actually had to go in the
old way to find these cases that had come up, do the research on those cases, read the
case law, and write case briefs for my professor. When the job opened at Elko County for
the special education director, I had no idea how much all of that information and
research was going to come in handy. It has served me well. All of the research I did, all
of the classes I took, everything—all of the conversations we had about case law
regarding special education—came into play. I was hired as a Special Services Director
for Elko County School District in 2001, and performed that responsibility for two years.
One year of that overlapped while I was doing the job of the superintendent. So, I did the
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special education federal programs director for one year by myself. That included Indian
education; Title III, which is English as a Second Language; it included Title I, At-Risk
Schools; and that’s just about the time that No Child Left Behind legislation came to
fruition in the early—the turn of the century. So, a lot of change was happening in the
school district, and I was expected to be the go-to person on quality schools, and
facilitating change of instruction to ensure that children received appropriate instructional
services. During that time, we did some construction again on developing an educational
resource for children who are highly impacted with handicapping conditions over at Elko
High School. That was the first time I had ever done that. And I learned a lot from that
project, as well. So, this was the central office. There’s the window to my office. And
that office was the superintendent’s office, and I became the superintendent. I was hired
as the Superintendent of Schools in 2002. So, I was the Special Services Director in 2001
through 2003, and then we did some rearrangement the first year that I was the
superintendent, and I split those special service responsibilities away from me in 2003.
We hired a special services director who was specifically responsible for special
education. And then we put all of the other federal programs into either elementary
education and secondary education, where the directors in those schools could do the job.
I worked as the superintendent of Elko County School District for almost eight years. I
think I was shy one month of hitting the eight-year mark. I retired from the school district
in January of 2010. We were the first school district in the state of Nevada to have
Smartboards in every classroom. Where students could do online instruction as well, we
provided distance education to students from Elko High School and Spring Creek High
School, out to Carlin, Owyhee, Wendover, and Jackpot. I think we were one of the first
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schools to offer that for high school credit. And the purpose of that was, we wanted to
make sure that kids in the outlying rural areas had equal opportunity. This school district
is the fifth-largest school district in the contiguous United States. It spans 17,172 square
miles. There are seven different communities supported or served by the Elko County
School District, and there are a number of rural, one-room schoolhouses, where kids who
live on ranches and in very rural areas receive instruction. I think it is one of the most
diverse school districts in the nation, spanning almost the whole northeastern quarter of
Nevada. It has been my pleasure to be the first Native American in the history of Nevada
to be a superintendent. And I wear that banner proudly, and I realize that in that role, it’s
my responsibility to make sure that I set a good example, and pay honor to many
educators who really spend a lot of quality time with kids, and make sure that kids have
an opportunity to learn. The superintendent job is not an easy one. There are many, many
issues that come up, and it’s really important that in order to be true to the children that
you serve, that you consider how things are going to affect students, how those programs
are going to promote students to higher levels of success. And success isn’t always how
well they’re going to perform on a test. Has everything to do with whether or not you’re
giving opportunities for those students to develop their character, their knowledge base,
their experiential base, and learning how to take care of each other as well. There were so
many challenges in this job, and some of them were personal because I had to grow, and
that was frightening; some of it was learning how to work diplomatically with unions,
work diplomatically with people in the public; making sure that the public understood
that we were stewards for taxpayer dollars—good stewards for taxpayer dollars—and that
we were making gains in developing schools that met the needs of kids. During the years
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that I served as a superintendent of schools, we built Adobe Middle School, we
completed the construction of Spring Creek Elementary School. Adobe Middle School is
a twenty-one million dollar project. And that, all of the knowledge I gained from working
out at Spring Creek, and working with the construction crews, and our building and sites
people, all of that served me well in laying out the Adobe Middle School, planning that
out. And also, redesigning the Flag View Intermediate School which was going to be
serving fifth and sixth grade students. We also had an earthquake that caused some
problems for us in Wells, and we had to look at scheduling and how we were going to get
those students through the year so that they could finish out the school year, and allow us
to go in and repair the damage that was done to a historic school. The earthquake there
did a lot of damage to the infrastructure of buildings throughout the town of Wells. And
we were fortunate enough to be able to get the work done quickly, so that our kids could
be back in school and resume their education. So, a superintendent position has
everything to do with everything. It’s all-encompassing. I mean, from school lunches, to
bus drivers, to the weather—getting kids to and from school safely, making sure that
buildings are constructed safely, that repairs are done. You have to either know it all—
which is impossible—or you have to surround yourself with people who have the
capacity to make good judgment, and have sound knowledge upon which you move
forward in making good decisions. So, it’s been my honor to serve as a superintendent of
Elko County School District.
[Break in recording]
So, when someone retires, that doesn’t necessarily mean that you stop working. After a
year of retirement, where I got to do my beading, my running, my sewing, I was offered a
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job to do some work for grantwriting, and then my dream job came along. And it came
by way of a phonecall from Barrick of North America. In 2013, Tim Buchanan called me,
and he asked me if I would be interested in working as a consultant for Barrick to mentor,
encourage, and help Native American students—Western Shoshone students in
particular—prepare for and pursue post-high school education. That was my dream job.
In fact, when I was a junior in high school, I remember thinking—when there was a loss
of one of my classmates due to a car accident—I began to think, “We really do need to
make a difference and go forward with our education, so that we can be competitive, and
live better lives.” And that kind of fed into my earlier years of thinking I needed to
change my life. So all of a sudden, here’s my dream job to help Native American
students. And for the last three years, it’s been my privilege to visit schools in Owyhee,
Duckwater, Elko, Ely, Wells, Yomba, Battle Mountain, and Elko, just to help the kids
look at their GPAs, understand how grades work, develop strategies on how to improve
their performance academically, how to get involved in activities in schools, take them to
colleges and visit Boise State, University of Utah, Great Basin College. It’s been a
phenomenal opportunity. And we are now starting to see a higher number of students go
to college and graduate. One of the individuals I have the opportunity to work with,
Bryan Mason, said to me—when I first interviewed with them and told them that I might
be interested in doing this work, he said, “This is a job that you’ve been training for for
the past thirty years.” And you know what? He was right. I love what I do; I don’t even
see it as a job. It’s a very rewarding opportunity to see our Native American students
move forward with their lives, and have the capacity to engage in a life that they’re
interested in by completing their studies at the college level. It’s been phenomenal. So, if
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I have one word to tell you, or one phrase to tell you, I would say this: when you have the
opportunity to learn something new, you can either approach it by being fearful of it and
feeding that fear, or you can move forward and see it as an adventure. I challenge you to
take new opportunities and move forward with them, and challenge yourself, and take the
opportunity to feed the adventure, rather than the fear.
[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
Antoinette Cavanaugh
Location
The location of the interview
Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee, NV)
Transcription
Any written text transcribed from a sound
http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/files/show/560
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
DVD, MP4, and AVI format
Duration
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00:43:13
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
Antoinette Cavanaugh - Oral history (06/14/2016)
Description
An account of the resource
<p>"Educational Perspectives"</p>
<p>Antoinette Cavanaugh was born in the old Owyhee hospital in 1960 to Adriana Harney. In fact she speaks about how her mother was a nurse at that same hospital. Antoinette lived on the Duck Valley reservation on Dog Street until her 3<sup>rd</sup> grade year when she moved to Elko. From Elko she moved back to Owyhee her freshman year and graduated there in 1978. She advises the younger audience members that they should become involved in any activity that is available or afforded to them. After Antoinette graduated high school she attended college and became an educator in 1983 and started teaching at Owyhee combined school. From there she tells us of her experience moving about the district eventually becoming the superintendent of Elko County School District and obtaining her master’s degree from University of Nevada, Reno. She then goes on to speak of retirement, or lack thereof, and working with BARRICK of North America in promoting, encouraging and advancing education among the Native Americans within the Elko county area.<br /> <br />Interviewed by Norm Cavanaugh</p>
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/E0dABtv1okI" frameborder="0"></iframe> <a title="Antoinette Cavanaugh oral history video in separate page" href="https://youtu.be/E0dABtv1okI" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View Antoinette Cavanaugh oral history in separate page if above embedded video is not working</a>
<p><a title="Antoinette Cavanaugh transcript pdf file" href="/omeka/files/original/1c9e564a2b7769eb7f0b10151bf12dc1.pdf" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Read Transcript [pdf file]</a></p>
Creator
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Great Basin Indian Archives
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Norm Cavanaugh [interviewer]; James Hedrick [GBIA/VHC]; Mark Koppe [GBIA], Marissa Weaselboy [GBIA]; Scott A. Gavorsky [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.
Consent form on file (administrator access only): http://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/admin/items/show/348
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MP4
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English
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<a title="Great Basin Indian Archives @ VHC online exhibit" href="/omeka/exhibits/show/gbia" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Great Basin Indian Archives @ VHC</a> [online exhibit]
Subject
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Oral history interview with Antoinette Cavanaugh, Western Shoshone from Duck Valley Reservation (Owyhee, NV) on 06/14/2016
Source
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Great Basin Indian Archives - GBIA 055
Community
Crossroads
Duck Valley Reservation
education
Elko County School District
GBIA
Owyhee
Shoshone
Story
Title 3
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https://humanities.gbcnv.edu/omeka/files/original/4ef313f848d0216feea6e2624a793bf8.pdf
1cc2fec27294165b7c4d58d9a4c256ec
PDF Text
Text
ACE
&
“I have learned so much
from their culture,” says
Sweetwater “to be happy!”
�
Dublin Core
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Title
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ACE Events 2013-2016
Subject
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Recordings of selected ACE events for the 2013-2014, 2014-2015, and 2015-2016 academic years.
Description
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Selected events sponsored by ACE (Arts and Cultural Enrichment) Committee at Great Basin College. Included is the 2015 Cowboy Poetry Speakers Series (Teresa Jordan and Gary Nabhan).
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GBC / ACE (Arts and Cultural Enrichment); individual artists and speakers.
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GBC
Date
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2013-2014; 2014-2015; 2015-2016
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Scott A. Gavorsky
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Great Basin College / Virtual Humanities Center
Language
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English
Identifier
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ACE 2013-2015
Video
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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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Deepa Willingham - Eradicating Extreme Poverty through Girls' Education
Subject
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Rotary International Humanities Speaker Deepa Willingham discusses a project to eradicate local extreme poverty in Piyali, India through the girls' school (the Piyali Learning Center).
Description
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<p><a href="http://gbcnv.mediasite.com/mediasite/Play/679a4ac7a46a427bbd62c85a2d4828841d" target="_blank" rel="noopener">View MediaSite of Event</a></p>
<p>Deepa is the founder of Promise and Assurance of Children Everywhere (PACE) Universal, a non-profit organization leading a program to prevent child trafficking and eradicate extreme poverty through education of girls and women, vocational training, and holistic village rehabilitation.</p>
<p>Deepa is an active Rotarian originally from India. She studied under the stewardship of Mother Teresa and has spent much of her career working with children.</p>
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Deepa Willingham
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Rotary International, Great Basin College, and the Arts and Cultural Enrichment (ACE) Committee
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19 November 2015
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Anita Franzoia [moderator]; Radhika Bahkta [dance]; GBC IAV Department [connection facilitation and MediaStreaming];
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Virtual Humanities Center Digital College Deposit and Reproduction Agreement on file
[admin access only]
ACE
Action
Community
Design 2015-2017
education
girls
India
poverty
Rotary International
Symphony