GROWING UP INDIAN: AN EMIC PERSPECTIVE 
By 
GEORGE BUNDY WASSON, JR. 
A DISSERTATION 
Presented to the Department of Anthropology 
and the Graduate School of the University of Oregon 
in partial fulfillment of the requirements 
for the degree of 
Doctor of Philosophy 
june 2001 
"Growing Up Indian: An Ernie Perspective," a dissertation prepared 
by George B. Wasson, Jr. in partial fulfillment of the requirements 
for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of 
Anthropology. This dissertation is approved and accepted by: 
Committee in charge: 
Accepted by: 
Dr. jon M. Erlandson, Chair 
Dr. C. Melvin Aikens 
Dr. Madonna L. Moss 
Dr. Rennard Strickland (outside member) 
Dr. Barre Toelken 
------------------------------�------------------
Dean of the Graduate School 
ii 
iii 
Copyright 2001 George B. Wasson, Jr. 
An Abstract of the Dissertation of 
George Bundy Wasson, Jr. for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy 
iv 
in the Department of Anthropology to be taken June 2 001 
Title: GROWING UP INDIAN: AN EMIC PERSPECTN E 
Approved: 
My dissertation, GROWING UP INDIAN: AN EMIC PERSPECTN E 
describes the historical and contemporary experiences of the 
Coquille Indian Tribe and their close neighbors (as manifested in my 
own family) ,  in relation to their shared cultures, languages, and 
spiritual practices. I relate various tribal reactions to the tragedy of 
cultural genocide as experienced by those indigenous groups within 
the "Black Hole" of Southwest Oregon. 
My desire is to provide an "inside" (ernie) perspective on the 
history and cultural changes of Southwest Oregon. I explain Native 
responses to living primarily in a non-Indian world, after the nearly 
total loss of aboriginal Coquelle culture and tribal identity through 
decimation by disease, warfare, extermination, and cultural 
genocide through the educational policies of the Bureau of Indian 
Affairs, U.S. Government, and over zealous Euro-Americans. 
After removal from their homelands, there was little 
opportunity for the remaining survivors to continue living in their 
traditional ways. Hence the adoption of living primarily by White 
man's standards and practices became standard for the Indians of 
southwest Oregon and their descendants. 
My resources have been, in part, the Southwest Oregon 
Research Project (SWORP) archives housed in Special Collections of 
the UO Knight Library, along with works of Harrington, Chase, 
Waterman, Frachtenberg, Jacobs, and others. Additional sources 
include some personal papers on the Coastal Land Claims work by 
my father, George B. Wasson Sr. ( 1 9 1 6  to 1 947) ,  my childhood 
relationships with older relatives and tribal elders, and my own 
experience navigating both Native American and White worlds in 
the 20th century. 
This dissertation includes both my previously published and 
co-authored materials, as well as previously unpublished essays. 
v 
CURRICULUM VITA 
NAME OF AUTHOR: George Bundy Wasson, Jr. 
PLACE OF BIRTH: Coquille, Oregon 
DATE OF BIRTH: january 14, 1 93 5  
TRIBAL AFFILIATION: Coquille Indian Tribe 
NATNE BLOODLINES: Miluk/Coos, Coquelle, Cherokee 
GRADUATE AND UNDERGRADUATE SCHOOLS ATTENDED: 
University of Oregon 
Southern Oregon State College 
DEGREES AWARDED: 
Master of Science, Anthropology, 1 994, University of Oregon 
Master of Science in Counseling, 1 9 7 1 ,  University of Oregon 
Bachelor of Music, 1 969, University of Oregon 
SPECIAL AREAS OF INTEREST: 
Oral Traditions and History 
Story Telling and Folklore 
Culture Contact and Change 
Traditional Technologies 
Heritage Resource Management 
PROFESSIONAL EXPERIENCE: 
vi 
Consulting Anthropologist: The Portico Group, Review of Shell 
Midden for Washington Park Zoo Exhibit, March, 1 998; 
Endangered Sacred Sites, Washington Park Zoo Exhibit, 
narrative and photo of Big Stump on beach by Waldport, 
jan. 2000; Oregon Historical Markers Committee, 1 998 to 
present. 
Founding Director, Southwest Oregon Research Project; 
University of Oregon, Smithsonian Institution, and Coquille 
Indian Tribe. 
Visiting Faculty for The Fife Conference, Utah State 
University, Logan, june, 1 993 
Counselor, Office of Academic Advising & Student 
Services; University of Oregon, Eugene, 1976- 1990 
Assistant Dean of Students, Office of Student Services; 
University of Oregon, 1 969-1 975.  
AWARDS: 
ttLaurel Award"; University of Oregon Graduate 
School, 1 999-01 ,  1992-98. 
GRANTS AND FELLOWSHIPS: 
Grant: Native American Program, Smithsonian 
Institution, University of Oregon, and Coquille Indian Tribe, 
Southwest Oregon Research Project, 1 995. 
"Indian Fellowship Program," U.S. Department of Education; 
funding for Ph.D. study in Cultural Anthropology, 1992.  
American Indian Cultural Resources Training Grant, 
Anthropological Archives, National Museum of Natural 
History, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C. , 1975-76. 
vii 
viii 
PUBLICATIONS 
Wasson, George B. 
200 1 "Concentration Camps in Oregon" (an excerpt from 
"The Coquille Indians and the Cultural Black Hole 
of the Southern Oregon Coast.") Oregon Quarterly 
80 (3 ):8-10. University of Oregon. 
2000 "The Coquelle Indians and the Cultural 'Black Hole' 
of the Southern Oregon Coast." Worldview and the 
American West: The Life of the Place Itself, edited 
by Polly Stewart, Steve Siporin, C. W. Sullivan III, 
and Suzi Jones, pp. 1 91-2 10. Logan: University of 
Utah Press. 
1 999 "Oral Traditions of the Earliest Humans on the 
Oregon Coast: A Comparison of Ethnohistorical and 
Archaeological Records." In Changing Landscapes 
on the Oregon Coast, edited by R. Losey, pp. 1 9-3 2. 
North Bend: Coquille Indian Tribe. 
1 996 "Two Oregon Tales: 'Coyote Taboo,' 'Woot'lat and 
the Bad-Luck Canoe'." In: Chin Hills to Chiloquin: 
Papers Honoring the Versatile Career of Theodore 
Stern, edited by Don Dumond. University of 
Oregon Anthropological Papers 52:69-74. 
1 994 Three stories in: The Stories We Tell: An An tho logy 
of Oregon Folk Literature, edited by jerold Ramsey 
and Suzi Jones, pp. 43, 100-101, 1 25-1 30. Oregon 
Literature Series, Corvallis: OSU Press. 
1 992 "Coquille" in Native America in the Twentieth 
Century: An Encyclopedia, edited by Mary B. Davis, 
pp. 169- 1 73.  New York City: Garland. 
1 99 1  "The Memory of a People: The Coquilles of the 
Southwest Coast" Chapter 1 2, The First 
Oregonians, edited by C. M. Buan & R. Lewis, pp. 
83-87. Portland: Oregon Council for the 
Humanities. 
Erlandson, Jon M., Mark A. Tveskov, Madonna L. Moss, and 
George B. Wasson 
ix 
1 999 "Riverine Erosion and Oregon Coast Archaeology: A 
Pistol River Case Study." In Changing Landscapes 
on the Oregon Coast, edited by R. Losey, pp. 3-18. 
North Bend: Coquille Indian Tribe. 
Erlandson, Jon, Jason Younker, and George Wasson 
1 998 "Revival of the Coquille Giveaway." Anthropology 
Newsletter 39(7) :  1 7-18. Arlington, Virginia: 
American Anthropological Association. 
Moss, Madonna L. and George B. Wasson, Jr. 
1 998 "Intimate Relations with the Past: The Story of an 
Athapaskan Village on the Southern Northwest 
Coast of North America/' World Archaeology 
2 9:3 1 7-33 2. 
Wasson, George B. and Barre Toelken 
1 999 "Coyote and the Strawberries: Cultural Drama and 
Intercultural Collaboration," Oral Tradition 1 3 ( 1 ) : 
1 76-1 99. 
X 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS and DEDICATION 
I'm grateful to my older brother Dr. Wilfred C. Wasson. He 
inspired me to contemplate life now and long ago. His death in 1 990 
left me feeling I would never again share the thoughts and 
memories of Old Man Coyote, family anecdotes, myths, legends, or 
traditional stories. Now, I find strength and support in remembering 
how he would have responded to my questions and ideas. 
The memory of my father, George B. Wasson, and my mother, 
Bess Wasson Hockema, inspired me to go back to college and write 
the " true" history of the Coquille Indian Tribe. I'm honored they 
think I could do it. I'm humbled by the experience. I often think of 
Richard Chaney who readily shared esoteric cultural perspectives 
with me. 
I appreciate the support, of the Department of Anthropology 
faculty. Clarice Jeppesen kept my records in good order. Ted Stern 
talked long hours with me. Steadman Upham was very supportive of 
my academic endeavors. Mel Aikens, and Ann Simonds served on 
my committees, giving me good advice and strong encouragement. 
Madonna Moss served on my committee and provided extensive 
xi 
editing and advice. Carol Silverman, Harty Wolcott, Aletta 
Biersack, Theresa O'Neil, John Lukacs, Bill Ayres, Phil Young, and 
Don Dumond gave me encouragement. I'm indebted to Ron Crook 
and Loren Bommelyn for accurate details on tribal history, culture, 
language, and good friendship. Rennard Strickland, Law School 
Dean, prodded me to write. My long time friend, Barre Toelken gave 
me insights into my own Indianess and has been a stimulating critic 
of my academic products. Toby Deemer provided financial support 
and scholastic encouragement over many years. 
My dissertation committee chairman, jon Erlandson, deserves 
great thanks for his "blind faith" in me, his prolonged patience, 
superior advice, obsidian sharp editing, and continued support of 
my academic endeavors. 
I appreciate my fellow graduate students who (naively) 
believed me to be younger than I am: Mark Shekoyan, Rene 
Vellanoweth, jerry Jacka, Rob Losey, Torben Rick, Mel Brewster, 
Charlie Hodges, Pat Haynal, Tia Hallberg, Chris Descantes, Nancy 
Harrington, David Liberty, jerry Marr, joan Wozniak, Bill Stephens, 
and numerous others. 
Gray Whaley talked history and culture at length with me, 
providing good references to some works. Geoff Hamilton inspired 
me to continue thinking and writing my personal cultural analysis. 
xii 
I'm grateful to joAllyn Archambault ( Smithsonian) and the 
SWORP teams: Denni (Mitchell) Hockema, jason and Shirod Younker, 
jeff Wiedemann, Dennis Griffin, Mark Tveskov, David Lewis, Patty 
Whereat, Robert Kentta, Scott Byram, Kitzn and Amanda Mitchell, for 
bringing a dream of mine to fruition. 
My personal trainer, Paul Steenkolk, kept me fit and active 
enough to feel like writing. My best friend, Bill Snyder, applauded 
me regularly. judy Rocha skillfully managed education funds for me 
through the Coquille Indian Tribe. Cousins, Don Ivy, Annette 
Sandberg, Lynn Sandberg, Michele Burnette, my nieces Cathy 
Oelheim and Libby Bass, and my sisters, Susan Wolgamott, and Bette 
Hockema, deserve thanks for continued support, love, and 
encouragement. 
I dedicate this work to my sisters and brothers, and to my 
nieces, nephews, cousins, other relatives, and coastal tribal members 
who will read and hopefully benefit from my work. Thank You. 
I. 
I.Ule 
INTRODUCTION: 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
xiii 
The Academic Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 
Growing up Indian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .. . . . . ... . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  8 
"Pre-NAGPRA" and the Modoc Skulls. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... 27 
Spherical Memory of Indian Time.. . ... . . . ... . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  3 8 
II. ESSAYS ON COASTAL CULTURE AND HISTORY 
Oral Traditions and the Earliest Humans on the 
Oregon Coast . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  ,.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..... . . . . . . . . .  43 
Chinook jargon: The Lingua Franca of the 
Pacific Northwest. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . .  80 
The Coquille Indians and the Cultural "Black Hole" 
of the Southern Oregon Coast . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  97 
The Legend of Old Man Coyote and the Fish Dam.. . . . .  1 19 
Miluk Tales of Jedediah Smith at Coos Bay .. . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . .  139  
''Chetleshin" History . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  149 
The True Story of Battle Rock . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 76 
III. WASSON FAMILY HISTORIES AND STORIES 
An Historical Overview by George B. Wasson, Sr ... . . .. .  186 
A Scout to Rogue River in 1 85 6  . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .  1 89 
Rogue River Red with Blood . . . . . . . .. . . ...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .... 203 
The Tragic Saga of Longhorn Swan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  205 
Gishgiu (T'cicgi'yu) and Kitzn-jin-jn . . . . . . . . . . . . ... ... .. . . . . . . . .  2 1 5  
Gishgiu's Flight from Yachats . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . . . .... . . . . . . . . . . . .  2 1 7  
Refuge Island at Sunset Bay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .... . . . . .  2 20 
The Sugar Thief . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  2 24 
Kalla Alia Alta 44The Hollering Asshole" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . ... 226 
The Ocean Cave by Humbug Mountain . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . .  230 
The Hairy Giant at Coos Bay . . . . . . .. . . ... . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. . 232 
N. ESSAYS ON CULTURAL CONCEPTS AND EXPERIENCES 
xiv 
My First Sun Dance ... . . .. . .. .. . ...... . . . . . . . .... ........ . . . . . ...... . . ... . .. . 2 34 
Sweat wdge Medicine. . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . .  2 3 7 
''Coyote Taboo''.. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . .. . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242 
Loki: Native Intuition and Premonitions .... . . . . . . . . .... . . ... .  252 
Woot>lat ............................................................................. 271 
The Bad Luck Canoe .. . .. . . . . . . . ... . . . .. ... .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . .  2 7 4 
Desmet Indian School and IHS . .. .... . . . . .......... ..... ... . ..... . ... 279 
Coyote and the Strawberries: Cultural 
Drama and Collaboration . . ...... ...... .. . . . . . ... . ....... .. . . .... . ... .  291 
V. CONCLUSIONS 
The Drama of Contact and Change .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... . . . . .  33 7 
Twilight Conversations . . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . .... . ... . . ....... . . .... . . . . . . . . ... 340 
An Emotional Process of Discovery . . .. . .. .......... . . . . . ... . . . . . .  346 
The Hidden Pathos of Southwest Oregon ... ..... . .. . . .. . . . . . .  350 
Bi-cultural Symbiosis . . . ... ... . .. .. .. .... .. . ... . .. .. . . . . . . .. ... . . . .... . . . . .. 353 
Closing Comments and Observations . . . . . . .. .. ... ..... .... . ... .  375 
APPENDIX (Additional photographs) . . ..... ..... ....... . . . . . . . . ... .... . ... 377 
REFERENCES CITED AND RESOURCES CONSULTED ... .. . ... .... . .  385 
LIST OF FIGURES 
(Photographs and Maps) 
XV 
1 .  George Bundy Wasson, Sr. 1 93 7  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 0  
2 .  Carlisle Indian Band . . . . . . .... . . . .  .. . . . . . .  .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . .  . . . . . .  . . . . . .  . .  . . 1 6  
3 .  George and Daisy Wasson at Carlisle . ........... ..... ............ 1 7  
4. George B. Wasson, Sr. , and 
large Port Orford Cedar tree.. ... . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  2 1  
5 .  Hand Drawn Map of Siuslaw Villages ... .. .... . . ........ . ...... .. 6 1  
6. Susan Adulsah (with a basket) ... . . . . ..................... . .. . . ... . 1 1 2  
7 .  George R. Wasson (Frontiersman, 1 856) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  1 90 
8. Grandpa Wasson Logging with Bull Teams ......... . . . . . ... 209 
9 .  Tom Yellowtail, Crow Sun Dance Medicine Man . . . ... . . 239 
1 0. George B. Wasson, Jr. standing by the Big Stump ...... 276 
1 1 . Close up of George B. Wasson, Jr. 
standing by the Big Stump . . ....... . . .. ..... . . . . .................. .. 277 
1 2. Map of Coos Bay area, Coos County, Oregon . ..... . ...... .. 300 
1 3 . Automobile wreck on Pony Slough bridge, 1 91 4  . . . . . . . .  343 
1 4. The Wasson Daughters ................ .... ... ................. ......... .  359  
15 .  Daisy and Laura ("Lolly" ) .... ... . . . . ... .... ..... . ..... ..... . . . ....... . . 362 
1 6. Winchester and Wasson . . . . . . ...... . . . ..... . . .. . ............. .. ... ...... 3 63 
1 7. Lolly and Nell .................................................................. 36 7 
1 8. Grandma Wasson, "Old Libby," and Two Boys ........ . . .  3 69 
1 9. Cranberry Pickers 1906 . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . . . . . . . . . .  . . 3 7 4 
PHOTOS IN APPENDIX 
20. The Five Wasson Children, Salem, Oregon, 1937 .. . . . . . .  378 
2 1 .  The Five Wasson Children, Empire, Oregon, 1975 . . . . . .  379  
2 2 .  Grandpa Wasson (older) ......... . ..... ... . . . ............ .... ..... .. ..... 3 80 
23 .  George B. Wasson, Sr. with "Beaver Stick" ....... . . .......... 3 8 1  
24. Grandma Wasson .... . ............. .. ........ . ............ ................... 3 8 2  
25 .  George B .  Wasson, Sr. Washington, D.C., 1918  . . . . . . . . . . .  3 83 
2 6. Bess Finley (Wasson/Hockema) ,  
Coquille, Oregon, 1 9 1 8  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  384 
I. INTRODUCTION 
The Academic Perspective 
1 
This dissertation is a compilation of published articles (a few are co­
authored as noted) ,  and essays (many of which were previously 
unpublished) .  The whole is constructed from several analytical 
perspectives, ranging from "standard" anthropological study, 
library and archival research, to professional conversation with 
other colleagues, to field research, to personal observation based on 
a lifetime of being a Coquelle Indian. Each of these perspectives 
lends something to the overall project. For instance: 
a) . by researching and reading the limited number of collected 
myths and legends from the southern coast of Oregon, I have been 
able to glimpse something of the "official" versions of the cultural 
personalities of my ancestors and relatives. 
2 
b) .  by studying sea coast archaeology, I have been enlightened 
on the dramatic and repetitive environmental changes from the 
most recent ice ages to the present, thereby connecting elements of 
the oral traditions with the geological and archaeological evidence. 
c ) .  by taking my own experiences as a Native seriously, I have 
been able to analyze and utilize inherited cultural attitudes, 
customs, and narrative texts that unite me with older generations no 
longer available for us to interview. 
In his essay "Out of the Ordinary: Folklore and the 
Supernatural," David Hufford ( 1995:20) comments on belief, 
culture, and experience: "Belief is a fundamental and profoundly 
powerful part of culture. Culture refers to the entire human heritage 
apart from biological inheritance." 
Hufford differentiates between "official" beliefs arising from 
socially or politically sanctioned scientific research and the 
"unofficial" folk beliefs which arise from not only inherited 
information, but also from experience-centered observations. It can 
therefore be deduced that . . .  "the crucial elements of official 
culture tend to rest on experiences and interpretations that are not 
possible for ordinary people" (Hufford 1 995:24).  The corollary for 
my unofficial information is: personal experience in culture 
provides insight no.t available in official sources. 
3 
Moreover, my personal experiences have provided me with a 
distinctive lens --granted, not entirely objective-through which to 
view the world of anthropological and archaeological study, the 
formal observations of chiefly non-Native historians, and the day-to .. 
day assumptions and prejudices of those who now claim ownership 
of the land once inhabited by my tribe. 
One of the more difficult aspects of defending the rationale for 
an "experience centered" project, essay, or dissertation such as this, 
hinges upon the motlvation(s) of the "participant-observer" in 
honestly and fairly observing, analyzing, and explaining the 
collected information therein. 
In this case, I have always been a participant; now, as an 
anthropologist, I am adding the observer mode by reconsidering 
and using the participant "data" collected over my lifetime. Of 
course it's colored by my own opinions and my own particular 
responses to elements in my own life; it would be strange were that 
no.t the case. However, my "recollections" are not only my own, but 
encompass materials, texts, attitudes, customs, etc., from my father 
and other Native relatives. 
4 
The empirical experience (eyewitness, personal observation of 
events) ,  unmediated and unrationalized by official conventions, is 
not necessarily more "accurate" than any other version of the 
subject, but it does represent a rich source of information and 
perspective not normally found in official sources. Such 
information, analysis, and opinion must not be underestimated or 
ignored when trying to amass the greatest range of "valid" 
information about human thought, culture, or existence. 
Spirituality and belief in spirits is the least understood and 
least considered element of traditional Native cultures, not 
necessarily because the observers are afraid of it, but primarily 
because they least understand it from a rational perspective. My 
own experiences allow glimpses into the traditional spirituality and 
beliefs of my ancestors. 
The aforementioned cultural elements are not readily 
available to us in unmediated form, i.e. , one can read about the 
5 
Coos, Coquelle, or Rogue River Indians in several publications, but 
we can read only what the author wants to say about them, llQl: what 
he/she has experienced and heard through traditional lines of 
transmission. 
I feel especially supported by comments from David J. Hufford 
and Barre Toelken: 
Life experience must coexist and share authority with 
technical expertise in order for a society to develop and 
maintain a rich and human view of itself and the world in 
which it lives . . . .  We have the capacity to enrich our lives 
without rejecting the benefits that have come with scientific 
and technical progress (Hufford 1995:40).  
An experience-centered discussion then, is not simply an 
exercise in self-indulgent validation of the participant­
observer method [scholarship] . . . (Toelken 2001 :198) .  
It  seems to me that one advantage of . . .  "experience­
centered" scholarship . . .  is that we can help to foster the idea 
that cultural diversity in thinking is neither a virtuous 
political exercise nor a threat to science but a rich and 
underestimated source of insight for humankind in general 
(Toelken 2001:207).  
The inclusion of my own experience-centered data will provide 
a depth and richness to this dissertation that is not going to come 
from a stack of books or 20 years of field research among strangers 
by strangers. 
In reviewing the kinds of stories passed on by my immediate 
ancestors to my family and me, I find several categories worth 
mentioning, myths, legends, folktales, and family memorate. Myths 
are stories of a sacred nature; legends are usually told in third 
person about other people and events; folktales include the 
humorous and interesting stories about early life events; memorate 
are stories told in the first person. 
6 
Among the myths included here are such ones as, Owalaci 
describing the creation of the world, along with other creation myths 
mentioned in "Oral Traditions and the Earliest Humans on the 
Oregon Coast" (Wasson 1 999).  Legends include "The Legend of Old 
Man Coyote and the Fish Dam" (Wasson 1 991 ), plus "Coyote and the 
Strawberries" (Wasson and Toelken 1 999) [other legends are briefly 
mentioned in that article as well] . Stories like those in section III are 
mostly folktales from family and tribal history; and section IV is 
primarily family and personal stories told in the first person. 
Interestingly, those strict categories work best for non-Indian 
academics. Indians tend to mix them all together. 
It should be noted that I use two different spellings for the 
name of my Indian tribe: Coquelle and Coquille. "Coquille" is also 
used for the name of the Coquille River and the Coos County seat, 
Coquille, Oregon. Old time Indians always said "ko-kwel" and that 
pronunciation stuck for many years after White settlement of the 
area, even after the spelling "Coquille" was placed officially on the 
maps. 
7 
The original spelling, "Coquelle," was used by tribal members 
and even non-Indian residents of the Coos Bay /Coquille area. 
However, sometime in the 1920s, a few non-Indian residents felt a 
need to "upgrade" the pronunciation of the name and campaigned 
for such, by advertising the "Kokeel Korn Karnival" (personal 
information from my mother, Bess Wasson Hockema) .  About the 
same time, a local businessman established his "Kokeel Auto Kourt" 
in town. The latter spelling, "Coquille" is still the "official" spelling 
of the name ''Coquille Indian Tribe." However, shortly after 
restoration in 1 989, the tribal council agreed to revive the old 
pronunciation of "Ko-Kwel." I like to use the Coquelle spelling when 
referring to the people, as opposed to the town or river. 
Growing up Indian 
I can't recall when I first learned that I am an Indian. It seems that I 
always knew that. But I do recall having some doubts about what it 
really meant and whether I was actually an Indian, just like the 
"real" ones I saw in movies. Those Indians were brave and strong 
wearing eagle-feather war bonnets, riding fast beautiful horses, and 
shooting bows and arrows. They were "stoic" and spoke in broken 
English, saying things like, "Me want heap big gun like White man," 
or, "White man speak with forked tongue." 
8 
I knew my father and other relatives were Indians, but they 
didn't talk like that. In fact, I never heard them talk Indian at all, or 
at least I didn't think they did. Once I recall asking my Dad if he 
really was an Indian. He smiled to himself and said yes, he really 
was. I asked a few more questions such as, "could you track 
animals?" He said, yes he could. "Could you get right down on the 
ground and follow their trail where they had walked?" He said yes. 
Now I was really puzzled. I could imagine him with his nose to the 
ground and smelling deer scent just like a bloodhound. I looked at 
him in total wonder and amazement. 
I wondered then if I really was an Indian too, or had I been 
adopted like a cousin of mine. He assured me that I was not 
adopted. I wanted to believe him and hoped he wasn't just being 
nice to me so as not to hurt my feelings. I knew I couldn't do those 
things. Maybe it was like some kind of instinct that just develops. I 
decided I'd just have to wait and see if those "natural" skills 
developed when I grew older. 
However, my earliest recollections of my father, George B. 
9 
Wasson, Sr. ,  are from when I was about two or three years old. He 
seemed to be a grand and important man in a suit and tie with a 
briefcase, perhaps wearing an overcoat and often wearing a very 
dapper hat - a Fedora I believe. We lived in Salem, Oregon, but he 
worked in Washington, D.C. (see Fig. 1 ). We received numerous 
hand-colored picture post-cards, often of the beautiful fountains at 
night and the stately Capitol building or grand statues. Short letters 
and telegrams arrived for my mother, to just say "hello." 
Figure 1. George Bundy Wasson, Sr. 1 937 
1 0  
1 1  
Once we saw him in a newsreel at a movie theater, riding in 
some president's inaugural parade, wearing a borrowed war bonnet 
and riding in a grand touring car. When he came home occasionally 
it was always with some "cigar-smoking-lawyer-like" men. He 
seemed very business-like and sincere, talking and reading legal 
papers with them. 
Next I recall being with him in the woods when I was about 
five or six. He took me with him to cruise timber somewhere south 
of Camas Valley. As I couldn't walk at his pace, he put me down in a 
small opening among the old growth Douglas fir trees and 
instructed me to walt for him to come back. He would walk on to 
look at a section of timber and return to pick me up later. I stayed 
in the area he had pointed out to me, amusing myself with looking 
around and just being there. As it gradually became dark, I decided 
to make myself a bed. Crawling back under some huckleberry 
bushes in the sword ferns, I made a cozy nest and was soon fast 
asleep. I awoke to the startlingly loud thud of heavy footsteps 
jarring the ground and coming right up to my place of hiding. I 
didn't have any idea what was out there in the evening dusk and I 
1 2  
stopped breathing so as not to be discovered by whatever giant it 
was. Suddenly a loud voice boomed out "WOO HOO." "Daddy," I 
yelled in relief as I jumped up right at his feet and startled him in 
return. He must have been worried a little that maybe something 
had carried me off or I'd wandered away. He was so pleased that I 
had taken care of myself and had been "right at home" in that little 
opening in the dense timber. He praised me effusively and I was a 
little surprised at how pleased he was with me. 
Since that earliest memory of being in the deep woods, I've 
never been afraid or lonely out there. It has always seemed 
comforting to me and I still love to snuggle down into a cozy nest to 
sleep in an old growth forest. 
I recall another time when he pointed out a place to me where 
he said the Indians had gathered for a great meeting to sign a 
treaty. I had no idea why they would have gone so far out into the 
mountains to do that. It was way up Elk River in Curry County, and 
seemed like an impossible place to want to gather. There used to be 
a large wooden sign there naming the U.S. Army camp and the date 
of the treaty talks. But the sign is now stolen and I don't know the 
year. 
1 3  
Also, my dad used to pick me up after school when we lived at 
Coquille, and take me with him to Empire when he'd go over to the 
Indian Hall. There were always discussions going on about 
something or another with the government. People always seemed 
so serious, often angry and sometimes plain outraged. They were 
usually nice to me patting me on the head saying, "Oh Georgie, 
someday you're going to be just like your father." I had no idea 
what that meant. 
I recall my Dad saying that when he was a little boy, his 
grandmother, Gishgiu (T'cicgi'yu) ,  took him up on the hill above 
South Slough (about where the wildlife sanctuary headquarters are 
now) and gesturing broadly with her outstretched arm told him, "All 
this land belongs your hiyas papas. Someday "Chawtch" you get it 
back." 
His life's work was set for him. He went away in 1 898 to the 
Carlisle Indian School and studied law, and played clarinet in the 
14 
Carlisle Indian Band with John Philip Sousa as guest conductor (see 
Fig. 2).  His sister Daisy also attended school at Carlisle (see Fig. 3 ) . 
However, he spent the next 50 plus years trying to organize all 
the western Oregon Indians into a concerted effort to obtain 
payments for the land. He wanted to get their land back or obtain 
compensation for those who had their land taken with no ratified 
treaty or reservation. I'm sure he would like to have practiced 
private law and made a halfway decent income to support his wife 
and five children, but that was not his preordained destiny. 
In 1916 he began the daunting task of trying to unite the 
Indians of western Oregon into a concerted effort to battle the U.S. 
government and obtain either the compensation due according to 
the ratified treaties, or obtain land payments for those whose 
treaties were never ratified by Congress. It was a losing battle from 
the beginning, but he could not stop working on it. It must have 
been as though his grandmother was standing alongside him urging 
him to "get it back." 
1 5  
Figure 2 .  The Carlisle Indian Band, circa 1 900. John Philip Sousa 
was often a guest conductor. A picture of Col. Pratt (founder) is in 
upper right corner. My dad, George B. Wasson, Sr. 
is in the front row, clarinet, fourth from left. 
1 6  
Figure 3. George and Daisy Wasson, at Carlisle Indian Training 
School, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 1 898. 
17 
18 
His job was truly impossible. There were delays in Congress, 
committee meetings and hearings, lawyers, senators, and 
representatives to consult for the best time to present, documents 
and testimonies to locate and gather. Some Indians were negligent 
in turning in their pledged support funds for the enormous effort in 
Washington, D.C. 
Some tribal members back in Oregon became restless, claiming 
nothing was being done. The progress was too slow. They wanted 
their money now. Some small tribes even attempted to hire their 
own lawyers, hoping to present their own separate cases to 
Congress. Frustration and divisiveness among the western Oregon 
tribes were as detrimental to the united cause as was the 
sluggishness of the federal government. 
To make his case, Dad interviewed the oldest Indians alive, 
who could tell him the history of the people, who was related, where 
they were born, the old customary fishing places and much more. 
The feds considered it all hearsay. Those old Indians couldn't even 
speak English. Hearsay! My dad hadn't been there when those things 
19 
happened. He just heard about them from his elders. It was all just 
declared hearsay, time after time in the court records. 
He didn't have access to records of the Hudson's Bay 
expeditions to the Coos Bay area in the early 1800s. Those might 
have been convincing enough, but he couldn't get to them. Hence 
the loss of the land claims case for the Coos, Lower Umpqua, and 
Siuslaw. The affidavits of those old Indians were considered only 
hearsay. 
But somewhere along in the 1940s a strange man named john 
Peabody Harrington, who worked for the Bureau of American 
Ethnology, visited western Oregon and interviewed a few remaining 
old Coquelle Indians, who now had a land claims attached to the 
Alsea land Claims bill. Harrington was impressed with their 
information and remarked something like, "there is no doubt that 
these are the true descendants of the aboriginal occupants of their 
land" (Wasson 1916). That's all it took for the Court of Claims to be 
convinced, the simple words of an idiosyncratic and White 
linguist/ethnologist named john P. Harrington. The Coquelles were 
granted their land claims, but the Coos had been denied before this 
strange man just happened to utter a simple opinion. We've all 
suffered from the hard feelings due to that lack of information, 
doubt, and frustration with the federal processes. 
20 
My Dad assessed timber (see Fig. 4) and minerals of Coos 
County. In August of 1 94 7, I was about 1 2  and a half years old when 
he was working with a Professor Smith, a geologist from the 
University of Oregon. They were far out on Cape Blanco, examining 
mineral deposits for establishing resource values of the land claims. 
I recall clearly how my sister Bette answered the phone that 
afternoon. She was a bit quiet at first, asked what they were talking 
about and then softly said something like "thank you." The county 
coroner had called to ask the family what we wanted done with our 
father's body. He had to explain to us that "Daddy" had suddenly 
dropped dead from a heart attack out on Cape Blanco. We were 
stunned! I hadn't really known loss until then, even though other 
close relatives had died within a few years previously. I had only 
begun to get to know him and he was gone. My time with him was 
short, but always instructive. 
21 
Figure 4. George B. Wasson, Sr., and large Port Orford Cedar tree 
(George on right of photo with unidentified man on left) 
2 2  
Growing up Indian in one part of one's consciousness, and 
being educated by non-Indians with predominantly Euro/ American 
cultural perspectives, can be most confusing during childhood 
development. 
Our young people of today and their children will one day be 
the only people after we elders have passed on. They need to know 
who they are, who their ancestors were, and learn to understand the 
ancient formulas for how to live and how to react to life. just as 
young oysters or other shellfish "seedlings" in their early stages of 
maturation seek a secure place to attach themselves and grow, so do 
young people when developing personality in adolescence. If we 
don't provide that for them now, they will surely find something 
else to fill that cultural and spiritual void. They can easily find a 
gang to give them a feeling of togetherness in mutual distrust and 
rejection of their parents and social authority. Gruesome episodes of 
mass suicides by devoted cult followers, or mass shootings by 
distraught youth could and will happen again for those who are 
searching for a sense of belonging and their places in life. 
23 
We can't change the course of history, but we have imminent 
power to change our reactions to it. We can't undo the atrocities of 
the bloody "holocaust," but we can honor the memory of our 
ancestors and become better people today than ever before. We may 
never regain the daily use of our old languages, but we can learn 
much about our heritage by studying them. 
Knowing our tribal and cultural histories, learning about our 
ancestral languages and spiritual practices is not enough to ensure 
that our tribal sovereignty and integrity remains intact. Right now, 
at the beginning of a new century, many American Indian tribes are 
enjoying the newly found freedom and independence of self­
governance and self-sufficiency. Gambling casinos are too often the 
primary source of funding that self-sufficiency, yet the Coquelles 
and many other tribes are wise enough to engage in other 
enterprises too. But future generations (if not during the current 
presidential administration) will experience attacks on tribal 
sovereignty not experienced since removal in the 1850s and 
termination in the 1950s. "Corporate America" cannot and will not 
abide the success, power and independence of Native Americans 
24 
unless they benefit substantially in those Native enterprises. The 
uncertainty of working with Native American sovereign nations is 
too risky for most to consider, and the prejudice against Native 
American sovereignty is too much for them to just ignore. The 
attack has already begun and most Indians will be caught with their 
blankets and elk robes over their heads. 
In 1995, I led a team in the Southwest Oregon Research 
Project (SWORP), designed to recapture the heritage of the Coquelles 
and their neighbors. In two trips sponsored by the University of 
Oregon, the Smithsonian, and the Coquille Indian Tribe, the SWORP 
team has brought back over 100,000 pages of historical documents 
now housed at the University of Oregon Knight Library and tribal 
archives in western Oregon and northwest California. The SWORP 
archive contains materials of obscure, lost or hidden information on 
our cultures, languages, history, and lifeways that have been 
separated from many of us. We need to renew those aspects of 
ourselves for the sake of the people who are to come later on. 
Regaining knowledge of our traditional culture, spirituality, 
and history is not enough to save ourselves. just as the "feds" 
25 
disallowed the testimonies of the oldest Indians as proof of land 
claims, so will it happen again. Scientific evidence and proof of who 
we are and where we came from is the next weapon needed to 
combat the impending attacks on us. Another john P. Harrington 
might not show up again to lend credence to our aboriginal rights 
and claims. The legal battling over Kennewick Man, "The Old One," 
is just an example of those beginnings. 
If we as modern day Indians do not take full advantage of the 
scientific research and detailed information possible in cooperation 
with our anthropology, archaeology, and history colleagues, we will 
be shooting ourselves in the foot and succumbing to the onslaught 
of our sovereign enemies. We must utilize all the scientific 
information on our ancestors available to us, and be prepared to use 
that same information for our defense to combat the attempts to use 
our lack of that information against us. 
The bones of our ancestors must never be put on display for 
public curiosity! But, we must at least know that those remains are 
indeed our ancestors, and scientific examination is how we must 
determine such. just as we now rely on medical science to examine, 
2 6  
operate, and treat our bodies for better health reasons, so must we 
medically treat and examine ancestral remains without substantial 
desecration or mistreatment. DNA and Carbon 14 analyses are 
expensive but quite simple and relatively non-intrusive. It is 
imperative that we support and fund that vital research. 
Gishgiu hoped young "Chawtch" could get the land back for 
her descendants and neighbors. Maybe she didn't mean just the 
land. As she swept her arm broadly across the mountains up and 
down the coast, maybe she desired the unity of her people again. 
She was proud that her grandson was receiving a modern education. 
Surely she wanted him to learn and utilize all the education that the 
white schools had to offer. Today, we must follow those same 
admonitions and take full advantage of our current education and 
scientific opportunities. We must also look to our ancestors for help. 
If we don't know who and what they were, we can't prove who and 
what we are today. 
The current tribal members of the Confederated Coos, Lower 
Umpqua, and Siuslaw and the Coquelles are primarily descendants 
of the women who bravely stayed behind, married to White men 
27 
remaining in their homeland while their friends and families were 
removed to the Oregon Coast "Reservation." Even though isolated 
and surrounded by foreigners, they kept the threads of their culture 
alive as best they could. Their struggle to maintain something of our 
memories obviously worked. We are here, and proud of who we are. 
"Pre-NAGPRA" and the Modoc Skulls 
In 1975, I was invited to participate in the American Indian Cultural 
Resources Training Grant program at the Smithsonian Institution, in 
the Anthropological Archives of the Museum of Natural History. It 
was truly an overwhelming experience for me during the first part 
of that first training session. 
In my own naive way, I had no idea of the vast amount of 
information stored in those collections. I had no idea of the even 
more vast amount of cultural items, artifacts, ceremonial objects, 
and even human (Native) skeletal remains which had been collected 
over the past couple of centuries, and stored away for either 
"scientific" study, or just cultural curiosity. At last I began to get a 
mental picture of the enormous material culture which had been 
swept away before the "dying races" of America became extinct. 
28 
It was as though the collectors felt they couldn't do anything 
about the extinction of the people, but at least those unique and 
exotic artifacts could be preserved for posterity, and perhaps even 
scientific knowledge. 
There was also a desperate rush by the Bureau of American 
Ethnology to send out trained linguists and ethnologists to capture 
the languages, myths, legends, and oral histories/traditions from the 
last of those primitive peoples while museums rushed to collect 
artifacts of "cultural and physical patrimony" (Cole 1985:286). 
Manifest Destiny was more of a scientific fact to them than merely a 
sociopolitical process and rationale for the U.S. policies of 
aggression, expansionism, and genocide practiced against the 
American Indians. 
I virtually had no idea where to begin looking for information 
to read or study. It was all too much. I did look at some of the 
records from the Carlisle Indian Industrial School. I was stunned by 
the materials which explained how the students had lost their old 
ways and become educated and refined citizens. 
29 
"Before and After, photos of family groups of Native children 
showed how "decent" and "respectable" those young "savages" 
looked after their braids were cut. The girls were clothed in 
Victorian dresses while the boys were wearing military type 
uniforms standing tall and proud. For the "after" photos, the groups 
were arranged in the same place as for the "before" photo taken 
when they first arrived. 
They looked different in the new clothes, but the one feature 
the "new look" couldn't change, was the fear and hatred so clearly 
expressed in their eyes. I had to tum my attention to something 
else. It was more than I could bear to try to think about what it must 
have been like for my father and the others. 
Eventually I delved into the ocean of notes on the Oregon 
Coast Indians collected by john Peabody Harrington. He collected 
notes on languages and ethnography of American Indians for about 
fifty years. He was determined to gather all he could in his lifetime, 
before the dying races of "Noble Savages" were actually all gone. 
30 
It's estimated that he collected between 1.5 and 2 million 
pages of information (personal communication by Smithsonian 
archivists); more than all other linguists and ethnographers 
combined up to now. Eventually I began to find information on my 
own people, the Coos-Coquelles and neighboring groups of 
southwest Oregon. Much of this information has never been 
published or shared with tribal descendants today. It was a gold 
mine. At last I could find some of those lost secrets which had not 
been passed on to the rest of us. 
The peoples of southwest Oregon had experienced a terrible 
Holocaust in the 1850s, the likes of which would not be duplicated 
or surpassed until the Nazis studied the Indian extermination 
examples of America and applied 20th century technology for the 
same purpose on the jews. 
While I was at the Smithsonian, I had one of the most shocking 
and later most gratifying surprises of my life. Back at the University 
of Oregon I had known some of the students from Klamath Falls who 
were descendants of the Modocs who were executed by the U. S. 
Army after the Modoc Wars. Lynn Schonchin (a Klamath tribal 
3 1  
member and UO student), I think, had related how some of them 
had tried to persuade the Smithsonian to return the skulls of 
Captain Jack, Schonchin john, Scar Face Charley, and Shagnasty Jim. 
The skulls had been delivered to the Army Surgeon General, boiled, 
scraped, and bleached clean for scientific study. 
Reportedly, someone at the Smithsonian (where the skulls 
were now being stored) had denied a request for return so they 
might be properly buried with the rest of the remains. Although I've 
never had that story verified, the written response reportedly was, 
"We find no evidence that the Klamaths or Modocs had any religious 
beliefs, which require the skulls of the deceased to be buried with 
the rest of the remains." 
I mentioned that story to Herman Viola, Director of the 
Anthropological Archives, saying that I thought the Smithsonian had 
a responsibility to honor the wishes of the known descendants and 
return the skulls if they indeed possessed them. Within a few hours, 
I was invited to visit with a man named Larry Angel, a physical 
anthropologist, upstairs in the forensics lab. 
32 
After he asked me who I was, and why I knew so much about 
the Modoc skulls, he agreed to talk with me about them. He shared 
with me that many people had claimed to be the true descendants, 
and others had offered compromise solutions to settle the problem. 
One museum in the Klamath Falls area had suggested turning the 
skulls over to them, to be placed in a special viewing area for all to 
see. They even promised to put up special curtains to close off the 
area for the families to be alone with them for their own peace and 
comfort when needed. I was horrified at such suggestions. 
Eventually I asked if the skulls were indeed in his possession. 
He told me, "yes, they are right up there behind you." I hadn't 
spotted them among the other bones he had for analysis, but there 
they were with large numbers stamped on the frontal bones and 
their names were written in India ink on the temporal plates. I could 
hardly speak in response. After some discussions on how the skulls 
came to be there, and what scientific value they had, I posed the 
suggestion that replicas be produced and the real ones be returned 
to the families for proper re-interment. 
33 
I further agreed that I would not make a public issue of the 
situation, if he would work with Dr. Ted Stern at the Department of 
Anthropology, University of Oregon, to identify the rightful 
descendants and follow through with the promise of repatriation. 
This was many years prior to the congressional enactment of the 
Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) 
in 1 990. I kept my word and remained quiet about the issue. When I 
returned in 1976 for a second visit to work on the Harrington notes, 
I saw the replicas in the lab, exactly like the originals, so the process 
continued behind the scenes as it were. Recently, I was reassured by 
both Dr. Stern and Dr. Pat Haynal, that the return had indeed been 
accomplished, and that re-interment was completed in a location 
known only to the appropriate people. 
After I spoke of this at the Environmental Law Conference at 
the University of Oregon in 1995, a woman from the Klamath Falls 
area came up to me and explained that indeed she had gone to 
Washington D.C. and recovered the skulls as reported. Their final 
disposal has been left unrevealed. 
34 
It feels good to know that a landmark event took place without 
causing further turmoil and endless bureaucratic disputes, which 
ultimately must have helped pave the way for grander schemes to 
mitigate other such atrocities through the repatriation of Native 
human remains and artifacts. 
There are many Native people who are justifiably angered 
about such atrocities as happened to Captain Jack and his fellow 
leaders. It's equally horrifying to think of the 19 Tututnis who were 
chained together for the march from Gold Beach to Port Orford. 
They were all shot by vigilantes and left to rot, in retribution for the 
killing of some of the Geisel family, during the Rogue War in 1856 
(Beckham 1971: 189). 
No one should overlook the pain and anguish of the holocaust 
of southwestern Oregon and the terrible years of concentration 
camps and virtual "death camp" reservations. My great 
grandmother ran away from Yachats and swam around the ocean 
bluffs to return to South Slough on Coos Bay. She lived for a while in 
a hollow log, before her son-in-law, George R. Wasson, discovered 
her presence and took her into the house. 
35 
Descendants inherit the painful memories and emotions of 
those hateful experiences today, we who have learned of them from 
family elders who found the courage and strength to talk about such 
things. That pain is as real to us today as the pain of any other 
group who has suffered repression through cultural genocide and 
racial extermination. 
Let me point out that the injustice of cultural genocide comes 
not only from the physical torture, pain, suffering, and slaughter of 
the people (who were to be our mentors and teachers). There is also 
the injustice of the frustration, desperation, and lack of Indianness 
felt by the later generations, who have been cut off from their 
cultural roots, and spirituality. It is the frustrations and shame 
experienced by the young people in longing to know more of the 
history, language, and traditions which they so passionately feel but 
can't quite obtain. 
I also believe those volatile emotions of passion and 
desperation, often cloud the thinking abilities of otherwise sensible 
and intelligent people. That's understandable, but the hurling of 
irrational accusations at otherwise helpful and responsible 
36 
institutions, through unruly "mob" attempts at some form of 
cultural retribution, serve only to further frustrate the participants, 
widen the gap of misunderstanding, and decrease any desires for 
mutual cooperation and respect on both sides. (This comment was 
initially directed at the demonstrators who marched on the 
University of Oregon's Museum of Natural History during the 
Environmental Law Conference in 1995). 
I therefore urge non-natives (i.e., museum directors and other 
government officials) who are involved in NAGPRA and other 
culturally sensitive issues to have understanding and patience in 
dealing with the frustrations of concerned Indians, both federally 
recognized and the disenfranchised groups alike. I strongly applaud 
those who already show such sensitivity and concern. I also strongly 
urge other Native Americans to think carefully about what their 
goals in this life really are. 
In the doctrines of established religions, the church leaders, 
who accept or assume the responsibility and authority to define 
Sacred, define "Sacred." In federally recognized tribes the same 
assumption of authority is often practiced by those elected tribal 
37 
officials who believe that they have the right and responsibility to 
dictate or interpret cultural and sacred values in behalf of all tribal 
members. 
Spirituality is a personal experience and awareness. 
Sacredness is also determined by the individual or collective 
concepts of the people. Sacredness is not determined and dictated 
by the politically elected officials of any governing body. 
I suggest that we all take a lesson from Yeshe Norbu, His 
Holiness the 1 4th Dalal Lama, the spiritual and temporal leader of 
the Tibetan people. In spite of the intense, on-going pain and 
suffering He experiences through His people, He steadfastly 
maintains concern and compassion for not only Tibetans, but also, 
just as sincerely, for those aggressors who still inflict pain, suffering 
and cultural annihilation on them. 
There are historical parallels throughout American Indian and 
Tibetan sufferings, and both peoples have fought back against the 
unbeatable oppressors, sometimes in demonstrations of irrational 
violence. It does seem that sometimes it just can't be held back. 
38 
Yet, I have never heard of these uncontrollable acts of 
aggression or violence leading to any of the participants even being 
considered for such a worldwide honor as He has, for his stance on 
non-violence. In 1989, His Holiness, the 14th Dalai Lama was 
awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace. Herein lie lessons to be learned, 
but we must each take responsibility for learning them. 
Spherical Memory of Indian Time 
All my life I've heard people remark, "Indians never forget." 
"They're always bringing up things from the past." I used to wonder 
about that and as a child, I felt a little ashamed that it was probably 
true. Then again, I knew that much of the past should not be 
forgotten, but remembered carefully, and told over and over so as 
not to be forgotten. 
Sometimes I noticed that some old people talked as though 
they were still living in the "olden days" and couldn't tell the 
difference between hundreds of years ago and now. I listened to 
stories of Talapus (Old Man Coyote) and grew to understand that his 
39 
magical powers (tamanawis) were something of a fantasy or at least 
useful imagination to make the events of his escapades work for 
both good and bad results. 
There were other times, though, when I'd hear stories or 
remarks about current happenings that were tied in with older 
events as though they were all wrapped up in things right now. It's 
taken me forty or fifty years of experiences and reflections to begin 
to understand that for traditional minded Indians, the past is still 
with us; it doesn't go away, the past is what makes us who, how, and 
what we are today. 
My first identifiable lesson on this took place at Empire one 
day in about 194 7 when I was visiting my Aunt Daisy. She was 
having some kind of disagreement with people down on South 
Slough and was raving about their eternal stupidity or something 
like that. As I reflect on it now, I made the "fortunate" mistake of 
asking her just what she meant. 
Aunt Daisy exclaimed something like, "They don't even know 
how to cook beans or make coffee. They just boil the coffee beans 
and pour off the water, and then they throw flour on each other's 
40 
faces and yell, "Look, now we're Whitemen." I asked a couple of 
other questions about who and what flour and she blurted 
impatiently about those soldiers camped out there, gave it to them. 
I didn't know there were any soldiers down at Charleston, but 
I knew that World War II had ended not too long ago and wondered 
whether some of them had stayed hidden down there. To say the 
very least, I was puzzled, half startled, and knew when not to ask 
Aunt Daisy for further explanations. 
It wasn't until about twenty-five years later that I read about 
the Jedediah Smith Expedition coming up the Oregon Coast in 1828 
and camping on Battle Flat at Charleston. My great grandfather 
Kitzn-Jin-Jn, Galada-Lui, was head-man of the Miluks and had taken 
a delegation of 300 men to greet the Smith party out at Cape Arago. 
The Miluk Coos had treated them well, assisting their crossing 
of both South Slough and Coos Bay when they headed on north. 
Great grandfather had also seen to providing fresh meat and 
prepared a lavish feast for them. His village was at Tar Heel Point a 
few miles away from their camp on South Slough. 
41 
As the Hudson's Bay Company's McCloud Expedition had not 
camped there, it was probably the Smith party who introduced the 
Miluks to dried beans and how to cook them. Whoever it was, by 
1851 when the Captain Lincoln wrecked on the North Spit, and the 
Coos helped the White men salvage their stores from the 
floundering ship, they had the knowledge of boiling dried beans to 
get them tender enough to eat. 
So it was when the soldiers gave them coffee beans, the South 
Slough residents promptly put them into pots of water and dumped 
in hot stones to cook them. To their dismay, only dark foul water 
resulted, which they carefully poured off and started over again. 
While this process was being repeated, someone opened a sack of 
salvaged wheat flour which was totally strange to them, and as it 
turned their hands and arms white, they began covering their faces, 
shouting and laughing, "Look, now we're just like Whitemen." 
Then it came clear to me. Time did not pass away to be 
diminished and forgotten. The antics of those Sough Slough 
relatives were still alive and as vibrant in memory today as when 
they happened. The relatives down there were still guilty in 194 7 of 
the foolishness that took place there in 1851.  Aunt Daisy was 
responding just as she had learned from her mother and 
grandmother. The present is only a compilation of all memory of 
events that ever happened. 
42 
Time is an expansion of experience. Time is spherical. Time is 
a record of the memory of expenditure of energy. All that has ever 
happened is memorized and becomes compacted around us just as 
sound waves emanate from a source and float out all around. Some 
events are so dynamic in their meaning and effect that they don't 
dissipate as quickly as other happenings. They might hang nearby 
as a cloud or fog waiting to be reactivated in the present where 
those memories are as current as what's happening right now. If it's 
worth saying once, it's worth saying over and over. It must be 
repeated again and again. 
Time is a spherical record of the memory of the expenditure of 
energy. My description in chapter II of the development of the 
"Black Hole" argues that its current effect on today's social and 
cultural concerns is just as it has always been for the people of the 
southern Oregon Coast. Our past is our present. 
II. ESSAYS ON COASTAL CULTURE AND HISTORY 
Oral Traditions of the Earliest Humans on the Oregon Coast A 
Comparison of Ethnohistorical and Archaeological Records 
Prologue 
43 
The May sunshine warmed a group of spellbound students lounging 
on the freshly scythed grass on the east side of Zahnie and Dollie 
Crocket's ranch house at Pistol River. We had been visiting with 
them to learn of the olden days, when they grew up right where 
they were born, second generation settlers in southwestern Oregon. 
Dollie was born just across the river from where we were gathered 
that afternoon, and had never moved farther than a mile or two 
away. Her husband Zahnie was born and raised on Rogue River 
where he had known the last of the full bloods of that area. "They 
were the best people on the river" he'd claimed, " . . .  They knew a 
lot we didn't understand . . . .  " "Where'd the Indians come from?" 
Dollie suddenly asked me. Zahnie and all the students turned, 
44 
gazing intently toward me as though waiting for the final word on 
that age-old question. I proceeded to explain some of the theories on 
migration via the "Bering Land Bridge," the Phoenicians, and the 
''Lost Tribe of Israel." I also mentioned that many Native Americans 
had their own origin myths, stories of floods and great fires from 
the west, creation of the world when animals and people talked 
openly together. I emphasized that some tribes relate how they 
came out of the ground after a long sleep, how some claim to have 
come from the North, and how others say they were created right in 
their eternal homeland. 
Dollie and Zahnie listened earnestly while the students 
remained silent and spellbound. "They might have walked across a 
bridge," Dollie interjected at last, "Some folks believe in the Bible 
and . . .  , but I don't go for all that. I think they [the Indians] knew 
what they were talking about and were here all along." Thus ensued 
one of the most popular discussion topics of the last five centuries, 
concerning the origin of the peoples in the New World, prehistory, 
as it's called in the academic forum. Hence the topic of this paper on 
the validity of Native American oral traditions which relate their 
45 
knowledge of origins, creation of the world, and major cataclysmic 
events of the natural world "since the beginning of time." 
Introduction 
In this paper, I will note the more prominent theories of human 
immigration into the New World from Asia via the Bering Land 
Bridge (and through an ice-free corridor) as well as theories of a sea 
coast route. I'll also mention significant archaeological evidence, 
which has been popularly cited as proof of migrations throughout 
the Holocene. 
However, my main objective here will be to discuss the myths 
and legends of the Oregon coastal tribes, which tell of their ancient 
knowledge of world creation, human origins, natural environmental 
changes, and show how they relate to those archaeological theories 
and evidence. I will explain the reliability of the clues in those 
myths and legends, which might indicate an earlier existence on the 
Oregon Coast than is currently evident in the archaeological record. 
46 
Cultural Patterns on the Southern Oregon Coast 
The Tututnis and Chetcos of southern Oregon settled along the 
coastal coves and up the streams. The term "Rancherias" (obviously 
of Spanish origin) was used by early explorers and settlers, referring 
to the village groupings of cedar plank houses (Beckham 1977). The 
age-old subsistence practices of the Indian people along the south 
coast of Oregon are similar in the utilization of both fresh and 
saltwater fish and shellfish (mussels, clams, etc.) and sea mammals 
(e.g., seals, sea lions, and whales) (Wasson 1994). 
Hunting and Fishing Practices: Salmon Fishing 
In all of southern Oregon, the people hunted elk, deer and other 
small mammals, but the major and most significant food source was 
salmon for all of the groups. Fishing for salmon, was done by the 
building of salmon weirs and traps, and using spears and dip nets. 
Some of the weirs were located in tidal zones, which trapped fish in 
the estuaries. Along the upper stream portions, fish weirs, or "dams" 
were built entirely across a stream. Salmon then were either 
trapped, speared, or dipped by hand nets (Zenk 1990:572).  But, the 
47 
most prominent method of fishing on the coast was with triangular 
dip nets in the surf for "herring, smelt, or other small fish" (Chase 
1873:40-41). 
Yariations on Roles of Men and Women 
Women ran the households where they lived and worked with the 
young children and unmarried daughters. They gathered, preserved 
and stored food supplies; they collected, prepared and wove plant 
materials into baskets, mats, and clothing. In the main houses, 
women and girls prepared and served daily meals to the men and 
boys who lived and slept in the communal sweathouses. 
The uniqueness of men's sweat houses along the southern 
Northwest Coast, as male living quarters (Drucker 1965:272, 279), 
has been often overlooked by archaeologists as possible 
explanations for why there are some dwellings with substantial fire­
cracked rock in the midden, but no shell or bone. Those elements 
would be found at the sites of women's quarters where the cooking 
and eating were done. 
48 
Discussion 
One of the primary quests in New World archaeology is the search 
for the first "Americans." Traditionally, the Ice-Free Corridor 
hypothesis has been the most widely accepted scenario for the 
arrival of humans in the New World (Fagan 1995; Haynes 1982). 
Once in the New World, humans supposedly followed the large 
animals (megafauna) down a corridor between the Cordilleran and 
Laurentide ice sheets. 
Although the idea of an Ice-Free Corridor (acting as a "super 
highway" for the migration of humans into the New World) , is an 
attractive scenario, some scholars argue instead, for a coastal route 
along the eastern Pacific shore as the original pathway (Easton 
1992; Erlandson 1994; Fladmark 1979; Laughlin 1988; Mauger and 
Wessen 1983 ). Some of these authors claim on the basis of 
botanical and geological evidence, that interior Beringia was a sterile 
and inhospitable landscape (Laughlin 1988). The coast, in contrast, 
offered a more hospitable habitat to support hunter-gatherers 
migrating into Oregon. As southern Oregon was not covered by 
continental glaciers, it may in fact have been a refugium in which 
humans could thrive. 
49 
At the height of the last glaciation, ice sheets extended south 
to the area of Seattle and across the northern half of Idaho. just as 
the "Ice-Free Corridor" has been suggested to be a sterile and 
inhospitable landscape, so might have been the portion of 
Washington and Oregon closest to the glaciers. In the southwest 
quarter of Oregon, and extending into northern California, the 
Siskiyous ("Klamath Mountains") ,  the Trinity Alps, and Marble 
Mountains contain rare and unique plant species known to have 
survived the last ice ages that are not found in any other location in 
the world. Of the numerous rare species found in this area (e.g., 
Myrtlewood [Umbellularia californica] , Brewer or "Weeping" Spruce 
[Picea breweriana, S. Watson], etc.) , perhaps the most unique are a 
"Pleistocene" azalea (Kalmiopsis leacheana) and Port Orford Cedar 
( Chamaecyparis lawsoniana). I suggest that the survival of those 
rare plants in southwestern Oregon, indicates a warmer climate in 
that area (which provided a refugium) as compared with the 
remainder of Oregon and southern Washington during the last ice 
so 
age. As that warmer haven supported those now rare plants, so too 
might it have provided the most northerly place of suitable long­
term habitation for early humans migrating from north to south 
along a coastal route into the "New World." 
History ys. "Prehistory" 
"To the victor belongs the spoils," Napoleon. 
"Truth is an Agreement, " G. B. Wasson. 
Western thinkers, scholars, and scientists have historically operated 
on an assumption that the only reliable record is the written record. 
No history existed until the Europeans came along to write it down 
on paper, and orally transmitted information was considered (false) 
myth or hearsay at best. Folklore, myths and legends were therefore 
deemed completely unreliable as repositories of evidence on human 
origins except possibly for biblical references which of course were 
"divinely inspired" and directed, according to the Christians. The 
dominant cultures were therefore free to determine "truths" as they 
saw fit, and since their written records were the beginning of 
"reliable" historical records, oral traditions were merely Prehistory, 
the scientific term for the era of non-written records. In America 
this term refers to the period of time before the coming of the 
Europeans to the New World. Many historians accept that only the 
written record contains reliable evidence of human observations 
and events in their life experiences. Because of personal cultural 
prejudices of non-Indians toward non-written history by Native 
people, it is usually assumed that oral traditions are primarily 
"make believe" and subject to change and alteration of facts at the 
whims of multiple storytellers. Surely, a common notion comes to 
mind of how the meaning of a simple statement can change 
completely by whispering it from one person to the next as in the 
early American parlor game called "Post Office." However, the 
dynamic variations in some of the old stories do not invalidate the 
information contained therein (Toelken 1979:34-39). 
51  
Native American legends and myths of origins or catastrophic 
events were not frivolous pastimes for aboriginal peoples. Language 
(and the "spoken word") was far too sacred and powerful for casual 
"frivolity" among traditional peoples. 
5 2  
The nature of myths and legends and the traditional method 
of oral transmission show how accuracy and integrity of such tales 
were maintained through spiritual and cultural attitudes. Recent 
archaeological and geological discoveries strongly support the 
statements and inferences obtained from close examination of the 
ancient oral traditions of the Oregon Coast peoples. 
Changes in Cultures and the Coastal Environments 
The changing environmental conditions across the Pleistocene­
Holocene transition had direct impacts on the nature and timing of 
the earliest human occupation on the Oregon Coast. The first 
people in the Pacific Northwest were faced with an environment that 
was much different from today. During the height of the glaciation, 
the sea levels worldwide were about 400 feet lower than present. 
People may have lived on the coast during this Pleistocene time 
period, but post-glacial sea-level rise has probably destroyed much 
of this evidence (Erlandson and Moss 1 996 ). Possible early 
occu patton evidence has been discovered on the inland extremity of 
the Oregon Coast. A Clovis type point found near Camas Valley was 
53 
made from local chert material, which could date human occupation 
in that location as early as 11,000 before present (B.P.) (Wallmann 
1994). 
Assuming their presence on the Oregon Coast, early Holocene 
maritime hunter-gatherers would have been faced with a relatively 
rapid rise in sea levels caused by glacial melting at the end of the 
Pleistocene. Both marine and terrestrial biological communities 
were drastically affected by this rise in ocean waters. It has been 
hypothesized that early coastal inhabitants were being either 
pushed closer to the shore, or being absorbed and adapted into new 
cultural patterns by groups such as those Athabascans who made 
their way from inland toward the coast (Connolly 1986, 1991). 
With the melting of glaciers, huge pluvial lakes formed in 
various parts of the Northwest (e.g., in the Great Basin and 
Montana). About 15,000 years ago, rupture of the ice dam, which 
formed Lake Missoula, caused one of the largest pluvial floods in 
geologic history (Parfit 1995 ). The climate then began to warm up 
considerably, culminating in "the post-glacial climatic optimum" 
between about 7,000 and 4,000 B.P. These warmer-than-present 
5 4  
climatic conditions would have dramatically affected people living 
in Oregon. 
Lack of Archaeological Evidence 
In part, the relative lack of attention to Paleo-Indian maritime 
tradition reflects the paucity of coastal archaeological data. The rise 
of sea levels during the Holocene is a major problem in evaluating 
the coastal migration theory. The coastline changed dramatically 
during the Holocene, which completely destroyed some sites and 
buried others. Many of the earliest sites on the coast and offshore 
islands were undoubtedly destroyed or buried under tons of 
sediments (Meltzer and Dillehay 1991). Evidence does exist, 
however, for humans living on the present coast about 9,000 years 
ago (Moss and Erlandson 1998a). 
Even though they agree that earlier occupations (and coastal 
migrations) might have been possible, Moss and Erlandson 
( 1995: 10-1 1) emphasize that such evidence is only circumstantial. 
A major unresolved issue is whether the earliest settlers 
of the Pacific Coast came by land, by sea, or both. The 
dominant paradigm for the peopling of the Americas 
continues to be that big-game hunters walked into the 
New World over the Bering land bridge. Recent 
discoveries in greater Australia and Japan have pushed 
back the antiquity of Pacific seafaring peoples to 
between 30,000 and 5 5,000 years, however, giving new 
life to the coastal migration theory . . .  Erlandson ( 1994, 
pp. 268-269) noted that these discoveries may support 
the ability of late Pleistocene peoples to move around 
the North Pacific coast, but that the evidence for such a 
journey remains entirely circumstantial. Until coastal 
sites are found that predate the oldest sites of the 
interior, it seems unlikely that the orthodox view of an 
interior "ice-free corridor" route for the peopling of the 
Americas will be replaced . . .  It seems likely that Paleo­
Indian peoples were living close to if not on the coast by 
at least 1 1 ,000 B.P., but evidence for Paleo-Indian coastal 
adaptations has yet to be firmly established. 
What might also be emphasized here is that archaeological 
5 5  
evidence alone does not prove a migration theory either. It can only 
show possible occupation at that early date, not how or when the 
occupants arrived there. 
Loss of Native Information 
In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, European explorers sailed 
along the Pacific Coast of North America and established contact 
with the local Native inhabitants (Dodge 1969). Few descriptions 
and collections of their personal histories were recorded until early 
in the 20th century, after fur traders, miners and settlers had 
trampled upon and decimated the Native peoples. 
Indications of the extensive variety of lost languages, myths, 
tales, and cultural traditions in the Pacific Northwest (and most 
particularly in southwestern Oregon) ,  can be noted in the writings 
of Melville jacobs: 
. . .  Northwest states, before 1 7  so, had sixty to seventy 
Indian languages, two to three thousand bands, hamlets, 
or villages, and something under, around, or over two 
hundred thousand people. This hunting-fishing­
gathering population could once have yielded a million 
or more versions of myths, smaller numbers of tales, and 
no one can estimate how much of other oral genres . . . .  
Myths of most variable merit that have been collected 
over the region total less than a thousand, and will never 
exceed that number. Tales amount to a few hundred, 
forever so. The bleak harvest is . . .  maybe one percent of 
what could have been obtained if the culture-bound, 
condescending, and racist invaders had had the slightest 
capacity to perceive merit in the heritages of non­
Europeans. 
By the time anyone with such capacity went to 
work, native humiliation and extinction had erased 
almost everything. Folklore-oriented linguists, and they 
were the earllest recorders of myths and tales, arrived 
too late after the pioneers had trampled upon and 
destroyed the Indians (Jacobs 1 972: 10)  
By that time, most of the aboriginal myths and legends had 
been lost with the extreme decimation of the Native peoples. 
56 
57 
However, among the meager collections of myths and stories from 
the people of the southern Oregon Coast, there are especially 
interesting ones which relate the earliest human knowledge of 
creation of their world and other geologic and environmental events 
(Hall 1984). Descriptions of floods, fires, earthquakes and tsunamis 
are reported in specific geographic locations. 
Oral Traditions 
Chinook jargon, legend: "Wake tlaite wawa" 
English translation: "Undoubtedly true talk" 
No American Natives used a written language (except for the 
Eastern Cherokees after Sequoia devised an alphabet for their 
language early in the 19th century). There was an almost universal 
practice of painting on walls and chipping or carving on rocks, 
known as pictographs and petroglyphs (popularly called "rock art"). 
These have been interpreted to represent stories, historic events, 
sign posts, instructions, indicating ideas, often by representing 
various hand positions and movements of a sign language 
(Martineau 1976). 
58 
However, this was not a written language using specific words 
with an alphabet. The spoken word was therefore highly important 
to the cultural memories of all people (Wasson 1 99 1 ) . 
The Nature and Value of 1\iyths and Legends 
"The People are coming, The People are coming. " 
(Old Man Coyote) 
A comparison of details in certain legends, with information 
obtained from the geological and archaeological record, might serve 
to ascertain the earliest possible indication of human occupation 
along the southern Oregon Coast. Climatic geological history might 
be noted by the words of the Native people who obviously witnessed 
some dramatic earth-changing events and recorded them "for the 
people who were to come later." 
Native Education and Oral Veracit¥ 
The spoken word was considered sacred. Its efficacy depended on 
collective memories to be complete and repetition to be accurate. 
Oratory was a natural part of everyday life, but it was not taken 
lightly. The reality of life existed In the spoken word. A person of 
honor, respect, and responsibility would speak only the truth 
(Thompson 1 916) .  If words were spoken four times in some tribes, 
they became as sacred. Therefore, language, oral communication 
and its accuracy, completeness and dependability required 
memorization through repetition. Lengthy spiritual ceremonies, 
songs, ancient history, other languages, customs, techniques, food 
and medicine plants, roots, cultural rules, obligations and taboos 
were all memorized. 
59 
Education was by strict rote memorization. just as we now 
learn in school the locations of all the states and their capital cities 
(even though we might never have been there), a good Native 
student in a coastal tribe would learn and could recite, the names of 
the villages up the coastal rivers of their neighboring tribes. 
I once asked a Yurok friend of mine if he could name all the 
villages along the Klamath River from the mouth up to Weitchepec. 
With an air of indignation, he at once recited a long list of names in 
a kind of "sing-song" form. It was obviously a sequential pattern of 
names in their order of location up the river. 
60 
While researching at the Anthropological Archives in the 
Museum of Natural History of the Smithsonian Institution, I came 
across the notes of an old Siuslaw informant (see Fig. 5 ) ,  collected 
by J. 0. Dorsey and reviewed by john P. Harrington. The old woman 
had identified about fifty villages and place names from the mouth 
of the Siuslaw River to its headwaters at Spencer's Butte by Eugene, 
possibly without having actually visited them all herself. It was 
obvious that either Dorsey or Harrington had not quite understood 
which side of the river she started on, or perhaps she had forgotten 
herself. I suspect the former, as the numbered sequences were 
crossed out for part of the list and transferred to the other side of 
the river on their hand-drawn map (Dorsey 1 889, 1 890). 
Other means of learning and remembering traditional values 
or customs were through the complex and often humorous story 
lines of myths and legends as told by the elders. Young people 
listened carefully to the instructions and admonitions of their older 
relatives who recited sagas and rituals (usually in the presence of 
other knowledgeable raconteurs) which sometimes took up to nine 
days to complete. 
6 1  
Figure 5 .  Hand-drawn map of Siuslaw Indian villages along the 
Siuslaw River from the coast to the headwaters at Spencer's Butte, 
by Eugene, Oregon. This map was drawn by an 
old Siuslaw woman for J. 0. Dorsey. 1 889. 
62 
63 
Accuracy in memorization was highly important to Native 
peoples and closely guarded (George B. Wasson, Sr. 1 9 1 6).  Melville 
jacobs ( 1 940: 1 30) relates the explanations of Annie Minor Peterson 
on oral traditions quite well: 
In the pre-Yachats period, when the Coos were still living 
in their native area and villages, myths and possibly also 
narratives were told only in the wintertime, according to 
Mrs. Peterson; it was expected that the child auditors, if 
not older people, repeat in unison each phrase or 
sentence verbatim after the raconteur. "They kept on 
telling it until the children got it right. They wanted 
them to have it right. They did not want them to get it 
mixed up and 'lie' when they told it." When folk tales 
were told to an audience composed only of adults, that is 
of persons past puberty, just one of the auditors 
repeated each sentence verbatim following the 
raconteur. But this repeating of what the other person 
said is only an aspect of conversational etiquette in 
general: the person spoken to usually if not always 
repeated verbatim what was said to him. 
Did People Arrive Here Before Salmon? 
Some archaeologists have hypothesized that the earliest coastal 
inhabitants must not have eaten salmon, because there were very 
few salmon bones found in certain occupation sites (e.g. , Tahkenitch 
landing site on the central Oregon Coast (Minor and Toepel 1 986) ). 
It has been suggested that perhaps the people who first lived there 
came from a big game hunting tradition and had to learn to eat 
seafood. 
64 
There seems to be a general acceptance among some 
archaeologists that all people will act universally in the same 
"primitive'' manner as observed at any other cultural site or even as 
observed among present day people in an aboriginal-type setting or 
set of circumstances. It seems as though there might be an unspoken 
acceptance of a Freudian or jungian attitude toward all peoples at 
any space and time to naturally act the same way anywhere. The 
thought would be, after cooking and eating food people would 
naturally throw the bones and scraps on the ground, i.e., on the 
midden with any other refuse. For people who have strict taboos on 
their social eating habits this might be so. For instance, some coastal 
traditions strictly forbid the discarding of certain animal bones in 
an "unsacred" manner. 
For those people who have First Salmon ceremonies, there are 
general rules that the salmon bones of the ceremonial fish will be 
kept fully intact and returned with prayers of thanks and praise to 
the river up which the salmon are hoped to continue spawning. The 
65 
head of the intact skeleton is always pointed up stream as the bones 
are carefully returned to the water, while blessings are sought and 
thanks to the salmon people are sincerely offered. In some villages, 
the people would never think of throwing any salmon bones onto 
the common garbage heap or midden. Careful excavation of such a 
site might naturally lead an uninformed investigator to believe that 
salmon just weren't eaten if they did not know of the strict customs 
of the local inhabitants who had lived there. Salmon bones, found in 
other ( later) sites might have been left there by people who didn't 
observe, or lost (forgot) such taboos. 
Another option for explaining why no salmon were found in 
an old coastal village site could be that people were cooking and 
eating there before the salmon started running in that location. 
Perhaps the salmon were running in rivers farther to the south, and 
gradually moved their way north as the glaciers retreated and 
opened the major spawning streams in the northwest. This 
hypothesis is supported by Jim Lichatowich in his book, Salmon 
Without Rivers. He states, "While the rivers of Puget Sound, British 
Columbia, and southeast Alaska were frozen, the salmon took refuge 
66 
in watersheds to the south . . .  including the Sacramento, Columbia, 
and Chehalis, as well as in the streams of Beringia . . .  " (Lichatowich 
1 999: 1 6) .  The next myth offers a clue to other explanations that 
upon arrival to the Oregon Coast, the first tribal people did not find 
salmon running up the main streams. 
Wapato and Skunk Cabbage 
Among the legends of the early coastal tribes, perhaps Wapato and 
Skunk Cabbage hold the honor of being mentioned as the oldest 
known foods. Leslie Haskin mentions both of them in his book, 
Flowers of the Pacific Coast. At the beginning he writes: 
Long before the white man visited this coast it was one of 
the most important plant foods of the natives, especially 
of the Chinooks of the Lower Columbia, and was an 
article of well-organized commerce between them and 
the surrounding tribes. The name Wappato (sic) is of 
Indian origin, and the plant is woven into their age-old 
stories as being an article of food in the mythical times 
"Before the salmon came to the Columbia" (Haskin 
1 95 9:3 ) .  
The Kathlamet Indians have an interesting myth 
concerning the skunk cabbage. In the ancient days, they 
say, there was no salmon. The Indians had nothing to eat 
save roots and leaves. Principally among these was the 
skunk cabbage. Finally the spring salmon came for the 
first time. As they passed up the river, a person stood 
upon the shore and shouted: "Here come our relatives 
whose bodies are full of eggs! If it had not been for me 
all the people would have starved.' 
"Who speaks to us?" asked the salmon. 
"Your Uncle, Skunk Cabbage," was the reply. 
Then the salmon went ashore to see him, and as a 
reward for having fed the people he was given an elk­
skin blanket and a war-club, and was set in the rich, soft 
soil near the river. There he stands to this day, wrapped 
in his elk-skin blanket and holding aloft his war-club 
(Haskin 1 959:7) .  
Discussion 
67 
If one takes seriously the meaning or origin of an idea behind such 
legends, it would cause one to think that possibly the Indians were 
reporting that they arrived on the scene much earlier than has been 
indicated in the archaeological record. 
During the late Pleistocene the ice sheets covered most of the 
land area in the upper Columbia River drainage. Ice and snow froze 
the rivers and streams solid so that no anadromous fish could 
migrate up them to spawn. However, Jim Lichatowitch suspects that 
salmon were in the lower Columbia and survived the great Missoula 
Flood by retreating up smaller side streams. With the warming of 
the climate and melting of the lee (beginning about 1 5 ,000 years 
68 
ago), streams once again flowed free and salmon could migrate in 
them (Lichatowich 1 999:1 8-19  ) .  
An obvious inference from this story could be that the people 
who originally told it were present and living in the area before or 
at the time of the recovery of the salmon runs, perhaps 1 2,000 to 
1 5 ,000 years ago. 
Origin tvlytbs and Legends of Floods and Earthquakes 
"How the World Was Created" 
(A story from the people at the mouth of Rogue River). 
In the beginning there was no land. There was nothing 
but the sky, some fog, and water. The water was still; 
there were no breakers. A sweathouse stood on the 
water, and in it there lived two men--Owalaci and his 
Companion. Owalaci's Companion had tobacco. He 
usually stayed outside watching, while Owalaci remained 
in the sweathouse. 
One day it seemed to the watcher as if daylight 
were coming. He went inside and told Owalaci that he 
saw something strange coming. Soon there appeared 
something that looked like land, and on it two trees were 
growing. The man kept on looking and was soon able to 
distinguish that the object was white land. 
Then the ocean began to move, bringing the land 
nearer. The distant side of the land was dark. The land 
kept on moving until it struck the sweathouse where it 
stopped. The land was white like snow. There was no 
grass on it. As the men watched the land began to 
expand like the waves of the ocean. Then the fog lifted 
and the Companion could look far away. 
When the Companion came into the sweathouse, 
Owalaci asked: 'Is the land solid?' 'Not quite,' the 
Companion replied. Then Owalaci took some tobacco 
and began to smoke. He blew the smoke on the land and 
the land became motionless. 
Only two trees were growing at that time, redwood 
to the south and ash to the north. Five times Owalaci 
smoked while discussing with his Companion various 
means of creating the world and the people. Then night 
came. After that daylight appeared again. Four days 
Owalaci worked. The trees began to bud and fell like 
drops of water upon the ground. Grass came up and 
leaves appeared on the trees. Owalaci walked around the 
piece of land that had stopped near his sweathouse and 
commanded the ocean to withdraw and to be calm. 
Owalaci made five cakes of mud. He threw three 
cakes of mud into the water and the land rose under the 
water until his Companion shouted: 'It looks as if 
breakers are coming!' Owalaci was glad because he knew 
now that the land was coming up from the bottom of the 
ocean. After the sixth wave receded, Owalaci scattered 
tobacco all over. Sand appeared. Thus the land and the 
world were created. When Owalaci stepped on the new 
land it  became hard. 
Looking at the sand, Owalaci saw a mants tracks. 
They came across the land and disappeared into the 
water. Owalaci wondered what this could mean and was 
very worried. Five times he ordered the water to rise up 
and overflow the new land which he had created out of 
the cakes of mud, but each time when he looked at the 
sand he saw human footprints. At last Owalaci became 
discouraged and said: "This is going to make trouble in 
the future!" And since then there has always been 
trouble in the world (Beckham 1977:2-4 ) . 
69 
70 
This creation myth is one of the most difficult to interpret into 
meaningful connections with geologic history. Perhaps the 
translation into English from the original Athabascan has distorted 
or trivialized some of the most relevant details of the story. 
However, the existing elements of the story indicate a possible 
ancient relationship with the geographical location of the mouth of 
Rogue River on the southern Oregon Coast. A potential 
interpretation might be as follows: The sequence of events describes 
a possible sea voyage by (two or more?) people drifting toward a 
land of snow and/ or ice. The land was periodically inundated by 
flood waters. Mudflats or estuaries were first encountered. Solid 
ground was soon located. These events took place in an area just 
north of the redwood vegetation zone. All of those conditions 
existed on the southern Oregon Coast prior to 1 5 ,000 years ago. The 
story also indicates that other humans (or hominids) were in the 
land before the narrator of the story. 
"Creation of the World" 
(A story from the people at Coos Bay) 
The earth is flat and floating on water which is 
underneath and on all sides. Every so often the earth 
rocks up and down and tips a little, and this is the cause 
of the tides. When the creator made the earth, the water 
came all over the earth at every high tide. To make land 
appear the Creator obtained 'Blue earth' and laid down a 
layer of it (Harrington 1 943) .  
7 1  
Some old people believe it came from the blue clay at a place 
now called "Cook's Chasm" just north of the Sea Lion Caves. 
But it was not enough because the water still 
covered it all over. The Creator placed a second layer of 
'blue earth down, so that the water went over most of it 
though it was no longer completely covered. When he 
put down a third layer, it was all right; it worked well. 
Still each time the earth tipped, the water ran too far 
inland. Then the people placed strips of basketry along 
the whole length of the ocean shore. The water ran 
through the basketry and back out and it came no 
farther inland than where the basketry was placed. The 
basketry is now the sand along the beaches. The blue 
earth can still be seen under the ocean water. The people 
did not say what made the land tip (Harrington 1 943 ).  
That highly important role of basketry (the use of basketry to 
stop shoreline erosion) in the successful creation of the world 
implies that basketry is older than humans, who were obviously 
created later (see also, "Arrow Young Men" in Frachtenberg 1 9 1 3:5-
1 2 ) .  These stories also indicate that the people who told them 
believed themselves to have existed in that geographical area since 
the beginning of the "creation" of the world as they knew it. 
72 
l\1yths and Human Actions 
Various myths relate how incorrect human actions in relation to 
food (e.g., salmon) can result in catastrophes. One such story tells of 
some boys placing a salmon in bed with their sleeping companion, 
hoping he might think it was his wife and have sex with it. This of 
course was inappropriate. The next year, when the spring salmon 
returned, there was a rush of water coming behind them carrying a 
baby in its cradle. When the people rushed out to see it, they were 
nearly all drowned by the tsunami (Jacobs 1 939:52 ). 
Possible indications of the earliest human occupation on the 
Oregon Coast might be inferred from the flood myths. Some tell that 
the water came up rather fast and the people had to hurry to escape 
from it in their canoes. 
Many tell that the water stayed up high over night and 
receded slowly. One unpublished story from up Rogue River relates 
how the water rose slowly enough for the observer to run to the 
river to check it out and determine that it was actually rising. A 
story from Coos Bay is similar, telling which mountain tops were 
protruding above the surface, and where the people tied their 
canoes to keep from drifting away. As the water receded in the 
darkness, some people were sleeping and as their canoes were tied 
with short ropes, they tipped over and were drowned. Others cut 
themselves loose and just drifted away (Frachtenberg 1 9 13:45 ) .  
73 
The most striking element of these two stories is that the water 
rose slowly enough (much more slowly than an ocean inundation 
from a tsunami and much, much faster than a post-glacial sea level 
rise) for the people to notice and take action to escape in their 
canoes. As I read the description of the Missoula Flood waters rising 
in the valleys about two or three feet per minute (Parfit 1995 ), it 
reminded me of the water rising up Rogue River and Coos Bay as 
described in the myths. 
In the Willamette Valley, the water reached all the way to 
Eugene, and the base of Spencer's Butte. In that case, it must have 
gone right on around the low places and reached the present towns 
of Creswell and Cottage Grove, where it would have spilled on down 
the Umpqua, and possibly backed up toward Roseburg. Even if the 
Missoula Flood waters did not go over to Rogue River, it seems that a 
similar event occurred there also from similar ice dams high in the 
74 
Cascades. Quite possibly, it was happening at the same geologic time 
period as the Missoula Flood. 
Owalaci said that the floodwaters came up five times and 
covered the new land before the waves and erosion were brought 
under control by spreading split baskets on the shores. The 
recording of such flood descriptions in the local oral tradition might 
indicate that people were on hand and observing those events at 
least 1 5 ,000 years B.P. 
More recently than the Missoula Floods was the eruption of 
Mount Mazama some 7,000 years ago. In comparison with the 
eruption of Mt. St. Helens in 1980, Mt. Mazama was many times 
larger and must have sent enormous mud-flows rushing down the 
Rogue and Umpqua rivers. Some myths were poorly translated and 
therefore have not been readily connected with depicting mud-flows 
from Mt. Mazama. However, the next myth does relate to the 
blocking out of the sun's rays on the southern Oregon Coast, 
perhaps by the enormous plume of ash and smoke from the blast of 
the volcano. 
One of the most puzzling stories tells of the sun changing its 
directions. 
The Long Night 
Once in the summer it got evening and day never came. 
And they all awoke as if it had been day time. However, 
it continued to be dark like that. They did not know it 
when evening came. Now they would get sleepy and go 
to bed again. And when evening (would come),  they 
would chop wood by ( the reflection of) a light. Hunger 
almost killed all of them. They could not hunt anywhere, 
and they could not spear fish, (on account of) the 
darkness. 
For ten days ( it was) very dark. It seemed as if the 
sun had gone south; that was the reason they could not 
see it. (To their) surprise, they again saw the sun come 
out right there. The sun rose from the south. Now the 
sun had returned. Right above them the sun stopped, 
just as during mid-day. 
(For) one (whole) day the sun was caused to be 
there. She did not go anywhere, and evening did not 
come. Then she took a start. Very slowly she traveled, 
and disappeared again where she always goes out of 
sight. The next day she came out from the east, the sun. 
She always comes out from there. So afterwards 
everybody was glad. All kinds of food living in the water 
came ashore. So they picked up the food and divided it 
around. Now they were thinking thus: "Some one must 
have given us this food" (Frachtenberg 1 91 3: 1 35 ). 
There seems to be no readily identifiable connection with 
75 
early geologic historical events and the changing of directions of the 
sun. I could allow this particular story to wait until a later time 
when someone discovers that indeed, the earth actually changed 
directions for a short time, but it must have been long before 
humans were around. 
76 
However, there was a major environmental catastrophe in the 
Cascade Mountain Range about 7,000 years ago that has already 
given positive time identification to the existence of people in south 
central Oregon at that time. 
The eruption of Mount Mazama occurred in the late summer 
or early fall and sent an enormous plume of ash and smoke so many 
miles up into the atmosphere that the sun would have been totally 
blocked out for many days. 
Even though the ash fallout probably did not cover the coast, 
due to the prevailing southwesterly winds at that time of year, the 
sunlight could not penetrate the dense cloud. It would not have 
been visible west of the mountains until the southern extension 
dissipated sufficiently to allow it to be seen in the south. Perhaps 
the dense cloud extended so far out over the Pacific Ocean that not 
even a sunset would have been seen from the southern Oregon 
Coast for several days (personal comment by Bill Orr, retired, 
University of Oregon volcanologist). 
77 
Why the legend says the sun stood still overhead seems 
beyond deciphering at this time. We do know that the explosion of 
Mount Mazama was one of the largest such volcanic events 
discernible in the geologic record (larger than the explosion of 
Krakatau or Krakatoa, in 1 883)  and would have plunged much of 
the world into a virtual winter. No other explanation for the origin 
of that legend seems more plausible to me. 
Summary and Conclusions on Early Coastal Inhabitation 
As for early migration routes into the New World, I would further 
suggest that a coastal route would be most likely for early 
immigration (even during the late Pleistocene) because of the ready 
abundance of food on tidal flats and fish in relatively shallow 
coastal waters. Low tide (falling 1 5  to 20 feet twice a day) on the 
shores of "Beringia" would likely provide the greatest extent of 
exposed tidal flats on the North American continent. Movement over 
long distances would have been much easier for people to 
78 
accomplish in rapid traveling water-craft, rather than moving slowly 
on foot after the megafauna (bison, camels, mastodons and 
mammoths) in the inhospitably frozen tundra of the "Ice-Free 
Corridor." 
Native oral traditions, myths and legends, often contain 
explicit details of natural, geologic, and meteorological events, 
which could only have been described by people who personally 
observed and experienced them. Often, due to the geographic 
locations noted in the stories, the geological date can be established 
as reliably as any archaeological evidence with lithic points and 
charcoal remains. 
Final Discussion 
"The People are coming, The People are coming!" 
This was one of the most common traditional attitudes of the 
persons or characters contained in the stories and the tellers of 
those stories. It seemed to be common knowledge that more people 
were coming later on. Perhaps that attitude and understanding was 
a carry-over from very early migration experiences when people 
were aware of leaving their family and friends behind, while 
traveling ahead to "scout out" new areas, and perhaps prepare a 
place for those who promised to follow later. 
79 
Perhaps there were inhabitants of the New World long before 
the first migrations came from Asia. The oldest creation myths 
mention that when the world was created and the shorelines were 
stabilized, footprints were soon found on the sand before people 
had even been created here. In fact, it was from the scattered body 
parts of one of the medicine persons (who made the tracks and was 
promptly dismembered for being on that beach), that coastal people 
were created ( Frach ten berg 1 9 1 3 :9-10) .  
Whatever the explanation, Native people along the coast have 
always understood that someone (perhaps Old Man Coyote) arrived 
in their homelands first, and that more people were to come later. 
Their stories (while few in number and poorly understood), offer 
unique insights into the questions of origins, antiquity of coastal 
occupation, and routes of arrival into the New World (if indeed the 
people came here from somewhere else). Native American myths 
and legends deserve close attention to answer questions about the 
80 
past (so frequently called prehistory), which might be answered by 
no other means (if indeed the answers must be known). 
(Previously published, see Wasson 1999). 
Chinook !argon: The Lingua Franca 
of the Padfic Northwest. 
Chinook Jargon is the centuries-old trade language, the lingua 
franca of the Indians of the Pacific Northwest. Many people 
(including linguists, historians, and other self-appointed scholars) 
have asked is it old or new? Numerous ones have collected word lists 
and compiled dictionaries of Jargon, and some have attempted to 
establish the origin of the language. Because of its widespread use 
among trappers, missionaries, settlers, and Indians, it has been 
assumed by some that the trade language arose out of the need for 
Indians and Whites to converse with each other through a simplified 
version of traditional languages. 
Others have shown proof that the Natives of the Pacific 
Northwest were interacting long before the coming of the Whites, 
and for their own purposes of trade, were using "Jargon." 
In Chinook Rudiments, Rev. ]. M. Le jeune said: 
Chinook, for a century the international language of the 
Pacific Coast, from Northern California to Alaska, from 
the Pacific Ocean to the Rocky Mountains, gradually took 
shape between 1 790 and 1 8 1 0, becoming the necessacy 
means of intercourse between natives of twenty-seven 
different tribes speaking as many different languages, as 
well as between natives, Whites and Orientals (Lejeune 
1 924: 1 ) .  
Le Jeune evidently based his assumptions on the preface of 
Chinook Dictionary, in which Dr. George Gibbs stated: 
The origin of this Jargon, a conventional Language, 
similar to the Lingua Franca of the Mediterranean, the 
Negro-English-Dutch of Surinam, the Pigeon-English of 
China and several other mixed tongues, dates back to the 
fur droguers ( sic) of the last century. Those mariners, 
whose enterprise in the fifteen years preceding 1 800 
explored the intricacies of the north-west coast of 
America, picked up at their general rendezvous, Nootka 
Sound, various native words useful in barter, and thence 
transplanted them, with additions from the English, to 
the shores of Oregon. 
Even before their day, the coasting trade and 
warlike expeditions of the northern tribes, themselves a 
seafaring race, had opened up a partial understanding of 
each other's speech, for when, in 1 792, Vancouver's 
officers visited Gray's Harbour, they found that the 
8 1  
natives, though speaking a different language, 
understood many words of the Nootka (Lejeune 1924:3 ) .  
The earliest American accounts of encountering the trade 
language are by Lewis and Clark in 1 806. Gibbs continues: 
On the arrival of Lewis and Clarke at the mouth of the 
Columbia, in 1 806, the new language, from the sentences 
given by them had evidently attained some form. It was 
with the arrival of Astor's party, however, that the 
jargon received its principal impulse. Many more words 
of English were then brought in, and for the first time, 
the French, or rather the Canadian and Missouri parties 
of the French, was introduced . . . .  A considerable 
number was taken from the Chehalis, who immediately 
bordered that tribe [Chinook] on the north, each owning 
a portion of Shoal-water Bay (Lejeune 1924:3 ) .  
82  
Gibbs assumed that Chinook jargon further developed because 
of the Indians' need to communicate with White traders and settlers: 
Grammatical forms were reduced to their simplest 
expressions and variations in mood and tense conveyed 
only by adverbs or by the context. The language 
continued to receive additions, and assumed a more 
distinct and settled meaning under the North-west and 
Hudson Bay Companies, who succeeded Astor's party, as 
well as through the American settlers in Oregon (Lejeune 
1924:3 ) .  
Next he assumes that once the "new trade language" proved 
useful around the mouth of the Columbia, it then spread to other 
tribes nearby: 
Its advantage was soon perceived by the Indians, and the 
jargon became to some extent, a means of 
communication between natives of different speech, as 
well as between them and the Whites. It was even used as 
such between Americans and Canadians. It was at first 
most in vogue upon the Lower Columbia and the 
Willamette, whence it spread to Puget Sound, and with 
the extension of trade, found its way up the coast, as 
well as the Columbia and Fraser rivers . . . (Lejeune 
1 924:3-4) .  
Gibbs claimed that jargon had no form or structure, but 
83 
admits that its flexibility is of great importance to those who speak 
it regularly. 
Its prevalence and easy acquisition, while of vast 
convenience to traders and settlers, now tended greatly 
to hinder the acquirement of the original Indian 
languages . . . .  Notwithstanding its apparent poverty in 
number of words and the absence of grammatical forms, 
it possesses much more flexibility and power of 
expression than might be imagined, and really serves 
almost every purpose of ordinary intercourse (Lejeune 
1 924:4).  
There seems to have been a fluctuation in the number of 
words used at any specific geographic or cultural area. Gibbs stated: 
The number of words constituting the jargon proper has 
been variously stated. Many formerly employed have 
become in great measure obsolete, while others have 
been locally introduced. Thus, at the Dalles of the 
Columbia, various terms are common which would not 
be intelligible at Astoria or Puget Sound (Lejeune 
1924:4).  
84 
Various other Jargon dictionary authors have stated their 
opinions on the origin of Chinook jargon also. While attempting to 
describe the unique nature of the language and its widespread use 
in the Pacific Northwest, W. S. Phillips, "El Comancho," ( 19 1 3 ) , 
assumes his own authority on the topic (due to his "nearly 30  years" 
of speaking Jargon) and denounces other opinions on jargon origin: 
Chinook [jargon], is a reflection of limited conditions 
under which a primitive people lived. Further, these 
people were brought into contact with the highly 
superior races of white people, each with a fixed 
language of his own and with certain ideals and 
surroundings of his own . . . the necessity arose for a 
common language which was the spontaneous growth, 
now called the 'Chinook' jargon . . .  Contrary to common 
belief, the Chinook jargon is not a product of the Hudson 
Bay Company, but is a spontaneous growth that started 
first among the old fur traders of Nootka when the 
Spanish first made a fur port of Nootka, on the west 
coast of Vancouver Island, many years before the 
Hudson Bay Company existed. The jargon grew slowly 
until the Hudson Bay Company began to use it as a trade 
medium . . .  (W. S. Phillips 1 9 1 3 :2-3 ) .  
It appears however, that "El Comanche's" opinion is heavily 
influenced by national pride, and he refuses to allow credit for such 
a unique language to go to the British and therefore assigns credit to 
the Americans. 
85 
It apparently didn't occur to him that the Natives themselves 
could be responsible for developing their own trade language: 
This company enlarged it and used it but it was the 
Astor fur people at Astoria who finally developed it into 
the present excellent terse medium of transferring 
intelligence . . .  (W. S. Phillips 1 9 13 :3) .  
Phillips gives a generally accurate description of jargon, but 
his opinion of it's purpose, perhaps highlights his own 
ethnocentricity by the way in which he thanks the Indians for using 
jargon. 
The Chinook jargon is not a language in the ordinary 
accepted sense, but is a verbal symbolism created by a 
spontaneous combination of words from widely different 
languages, made by necessity and common usage into a 
trade jargon which is at once graphic, expressive, and 
exceedingly elastic (W. S. Phillips 1 9 1 3 :3) .  
He dedicates his dictionary, The Chinook Book, to the Seattle 
Press Club et al. " . . .  and to all the 'HYAS AHNCUTTIE TILACUMS' 
(Ancient People) of the Pacific Coast who have used this queer 
speech in pioneer work for the American people" (Phillips 1 9 1 3 :5) .  
The antiquity of Chinook jargon is  as well established as the 
long existence of the Northwest tribes. In his introduction to 
Chinook: A History and Dictionary, Edward H. Thomas ( 1970:vii) 
wrote: 
It is now more than a hundred years since the first 
attempt was made to compile a dictionary of the 
Chinook Jargon, the early trade language of the Pacific 
Northwest. This jargon was in use among the natives of 
the region when the first explorers and maritime traders 
arrived. 
Captain John Meares used a jargon word when he 
related in his journal, in 1788, that the exclamation of 
Nootkan Chief Callicum on tasting blood, was cloosh. 
Cloosh is equivalent to the jargon word Kloshe, meaning 
"good." 
john Rodgers jewitt, in his account of his captivity 
among the Nootkans, 1803-05, as personal slave of Chief 
Maq uinna, gave what purported to be a Nootkan 
vocabulary of some eighty words. In it are ten, which are 
found in the Chinook jargon. 
Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark were 
spoken to in the Jargon by Chinook Chief Concomly, 
when they were camped on the north side of the 
Columbia in the fall of 1805. 
These three widely separated circumstances furnish the first 
records of the existence of the as-yet-unsuspected Jargon. The 
flexibility of Chinook Jargon, and its usefulness to a wide diversity 
of cultural and social groups, indicates the nature and expressive 
personality of Jargon. 
Around 1875, fully one hundred thousand persons 
spoke the Jargon. Among all the generations since 181 1, 
or thereabouts, it has been used by upwards of a quarter 
86 
million persons, to many of whom it was an everyday 
necessity. The jargon was so widely used because-though 
short on beauty and refinement of detail, it was able to 
communicate successfully between persons of different 
tribes, nationalities, and races. It was practical and 
unpretentious. It absorbed what was useful and 
discarded the useless (Thomas 1 970:ix) . 
Most of the language is composed of Native contributions to 
the Jargon plus selected words of the Whites. Because of the 
necessity for trade communications with the Whites, words from 
French and English were eventually adopted into regular Jargon 
usage. -Four families of tribes account for most of the dialect words 
8 7  
in the jargon, notably the Chinooks, the Salish, the Nootka, and the 
Kwakiutl. The Chinook family (from whom the jargon derives its 
name),  divided into many tribes with somewhat differing dialects, 
lived in the valley of the Columbia River from the Pacific Ocean up 
to the country of the Klickitats, while the others are located up 
along the Northwest Coast ( see map, Suttles 1 990: 1 1 ). These tribes 
contributed the largest number of words to the jargon. 
The words adopted from the several languages were, naturally 
enough, those most easily uttered by all the Indians, except of 
course, that objects new to the natives found their names in French 
or English, and such modifications were made in pronunciation as 
suited tongues accustomed to different sounds. Thus the gutturals 
of the Indians were softened, or dropped, and the 'f and 'r' of the 
English or French, to the Indians unpronounceable, were modified 
into 'p' and '1'. Many writers have agonized over the spelling and 
pronunciation of Chinook jargon words. 
88 
Spelling was of a particular concern to the early authors of 
Chinook dictionaries, such as Gibbs. Because of the flexible nature of 
jargon, Natives in different localities had different pronunciations, 
which was one of the most unique and useful characteristics of the 
language flexibility. Missionary Myron Eells ( 1 89 3 )  mentions that 
spelling (as a result of variations in pronunciation) is a curiosity in 
the way some words are spelled, and simply shows what educated 
men will do in this line when they have no standard authority. Very 
seldom is any word, even the simplest and easy one, spelled in the 
same way, if it is found in several dictionaries, while some of them 
are spelled in very many different ways. 
For example, the word for "Bird," "Fowl," or "winged insect,'' 
according to Thomas is kalak' ala. Other ways of spelling kalakala: 
89 
culacula, kallakala, kalahkalah, kilakila, kulakula, kullukala, 
cullaculla, cullerculler, cullacullah, kullakullie, kullukulli, kulakulla. 
An examination of many dictionaries will show, among other 
words: -konas, spelled ten different ways; -ahnkuttie and keekwulee, 
each in twelve; -klootchman and kliminawhit, each in fifteen; ­
klatawa, seeowist and memaloose, each in sixteen; -tahtlum, kloshe, 
and klllapi each in eighteen. 
Even words that are derived from English have different 
spelling: 
-Glease from grease becomes gleese, gleece, glis, and klis; 
-Bed is also spelled pet; -moon is also mun; -nose is also nos; 
-Stone is also ston; -pepah (paper) is also papeh, paper, paypa, 
papah, pepah, pepa and peppah. Shot, skin, man and a few others 
have for almost a wonder found no other way of being spelled. 
The Onomatopoeia of an Elastic and Poetic Language. 
Another common characteristic-that of onomatopoeia gives 
Jargon a poetic quality. Many of the words resemble in 
sounds, the objects they represent. For example, a wagon in 
Chinook is chick-chick; a clock is ding-ding; a crow is kaw-kaw; 
a duck, quack-quack; a laugh, tee-hee; the heart is tum-tum 
and a talk or a speech or sermon, wah-wah. '' It is not true of 
course, that most words are of this nature, but there are 
indeed many such examples. There was a general transition of 
words and pronunciation from their original sources. 
As the French-Canadian and English and American 
traders invaded Indian country, the natives were 
introduced to an impressive number of new objects, 
which required names; and new sounds, which they 
attempted to imitate. However, their imitation often fell 
far short of the original - which bothered the users of the 
Jargon not at all (Thomas 1 970:x) . 
90 
Jargon words, which came from French, often retained little or 
no resemblance to the original word. An interesting example is the 
French word for mother-mere-which like other French words clung 
to its article la ( the) ,  when taken over by the Indians. In the jargon, 
la mere lost the r sound because of the difficulty they had 
pronouncing it; so, we find the word mother written Jamal, 
lummeih lummie, etc. The same thing is true for the masculine 
form le, (the) ,  e.g., le pan (bread) , le sak (sack or bag) ,  or le seezo 
( scissors).  
9 1  
Occasionally a word in jargon developed from more than one 
language. The English word 'tgrog" means a drink made of rum and 
water. The Chinook Jargon word is "lumpechuck. " Broken down into 
its origins, lum came from rum; pe (and) from puis ("then" in 
French, but "and" in the jargon) ;  and chuck (water) from the 
Nootkan chauk. Such is the derivation of Lumpechuck, that famous 
concoction of rum and water, better known in the Queen's Navy as 
"grog" or "diluted spirits." 
Some of the more famous words left over today from Chinook 
Jargon are words such as: tyee (chief) from the Nootkan; Siwash 
( Indian) from the French word sauvage; skookum (big, strong, 
good) from the Salish word of the same meaning. Others include: 
sitkum, cultus, mowitch, kotsuk, lapush, salt-chuck, sixes, moo-lak, 
siskiyou, etc. ,  many of which are common place names in the Pacific 
Northwest today. 
Discussion 
To me it seems likely that Chinook jargon began as long ago as the 
Northwest Coast tribes needed communication among themselves 
92 
for trading. The extent of the Jargon use area reached from Alaska 
to Northern California and up the Columbia River as far as Montana. 
Two examples of Jargon from the areas are: 
1 .  The use of the term chee chako (newcomer) , is used even 
today in Alaska. 
2 .  An old village headman signed his Chinook Jargon name, Halo 
Gleese, (No Fat or Thin Man) on the Port Orford Treaty of 1 85 1 .  
james G. Swan reported in The Northwest Coast ( 1 85 7:308-309) 
that: 
Indians are very quick to detect any difference in the 
intonation or method of pronunciation of the whites, 
and sometimes think we speak different languages. An 
Indian asked me one day (while pointing to a cow) what 
was the name we called that animal. I told him cow. He 
said that he had just asked another white man, and he 
called it a caow. 
It appears that sometimes Jargon words must have been 
learned by some non-Indians, from other non-Indians, who had 
different pronunciation than the original, then remolded again by 
the third speaker. For instance, Swan reports a variation of the word 
camas as being spelled, lackamas, lackamus (Swan 1 85 7:90-308).  
93 
After hearing the pronunciation of, caow for cow, one can 
imagine that a Frenchman, upon hearing a southerner say kiamous 
for camas, simply added the usual French article la, resulting in 
lakiamus, or luckiamus, and leading the Indians to believe that's the 
way the White men say it in that part of the Willamette Valley. That 
name can be found on maps, just southwest of Portland. In his book, 
Oregon Geographic Names, Lewis A. McArthur states: 
The name Luckiamute is an old one, and has nothing to 
do with a deaf mute who is said to have operated a ferry 
on the stream [Luckiamute River] . . . .  This is an Indian 
tribal name, the meaning of which is unknown 
( McArthur 1 982:461 ). 
If McArthur was more familiar with Chinook jargon, and had 
read Swan, he might have discovered this same clue of a convoluted 
derivation also. 
Another example of misunderstanding Chinook jargon word 
usage was identified by my own father, and is documented in his 
papers on Oregon Indian land claims (Wasson 1 91 6) .  
There was no such language as the Molalla language, 
there were no Molel Indians. Molallas in the Chinook 
language means 'berries'�-Huckle berries or Sabbath 
berries . . . .  [Some writers use "Olallie" as a generic term 
for berries.] . . . These Indians were known as Molallas 
or Huckle Berry Indians by the tribe of Indians who 
spoke the Chinook Jargon language. These same bands 
of Indians were known among their own people, the 
Klamath, as Chuck-Sum-Kanay, or Sabbath Berry bands, 
the people who lived where the Sabbath Berries grow. 
It seems that in 1 856, when General joel Palmer rounded up 
Indians in the Willamette Valley, the "Huckle Berry" band of 
Klamaths were camping in the valley picking berries, and were 
taken away with the Calapooias to Grand Ronde, where they were 
just called "Mollalas," (or Huckle Berries) as usual. 
Russjan Word(s) in Jargon? 
94 
I think perhaps there were other languages introduced into common 
Northwest usage, which have gone undetected by Chinook Jargon 
dictionary compilers and translators. Recently, as I was reading 
through a word list compiled by Frederick J. Long ( 1909) ,  I ran 
across a word that completely surprised me. 
It's well known that Russians ventured into the Pacific 
Northwest trading, hunting, and establishing settlements. But for 
some reason, no one has mentioned Russian language influences in 
Chinook Jargon, which surely had to happen with so much contact 
95 
and intercourse, both economic and social. Since my Aunt Pauline, 
"Sosipatra Suvaroff," was half-Russian and half-Aleut, I guess one 
could say the contact and intercourse was indeed most intimately 
social. 
As I scanned the word list I noticed a word definition of, "a 
fence; a corral; enclosure." To my surprise, I saw the Jargon word 
was Kul-lagh' (Long 1 909:33 ) .  It sounded so very familiar, but, not 
as an English or French word. By reversing 'k' to 'g' it became 
startlingly clear that the origin must have been the Russian word 
gulag, which means camp, prison, or enclosure (see also "corral,"  
Long 1 909: 1 0; "fence," Long 1 909: 1 3 ) . 
An Ultimate Example of Jargon Flexibility 
Finally, the flexibility of Jargon is evident in its adoption of new 
concepts. When White men first introduced forks as eating utensils 
to the Northwest Indians, it was observed that they were always in 
the company of a knife ( opitsah) .  Therefore, a fork was called, 
opitsah six, "Friend of the Knife", (knife = opitsah, and friend = six). 
96 
When the Indians encountered the concept of "sweetheart,"  
they had no word for it. There were plenty of words for females, 
e.g., wife, mother, sister, daughter, grandmother, mother-in-law, 
etc. , but no word for the fiancee or lover. So, as it was noted that 
this "sweetheart" always accompanied the man, just as the fork with 
the knife, they conveniently adopted the same concept as "friend of 
the knife," and a "sweetheart" also became known as opitsah six. 
And so, in honor of all you lovers out there, I want to say, 
"Wake kopet kumtux, kull woof'lats halo tumtum, kwonesum 
mamook halo kliminiwhit tikegh, kopa mesika opitsah six. 
Translated it says: "Never forget, a hard (or stiff) penis doesn't 
think. Always make no false love with your sweetheart." 
Mahsie Tlahoya! 
Prologue 
97 
The Coquelle Indians and the Cultural 
"Black Hole" of the Southern Oregon Coast 
The Coquelle people have lived so many generations in 
their homeland environmen t and traditional 
h un ting·gathering territories, 
the years have become 
too many to count. 
As is true with other southern Oregon coastal people, 
the oldest stories of the Coquelle (the original name) 
tell about the creation of the world and its 
rearrangement to suit the needs of the 
People who were to come later. 
Mythical beings such as Talapus (Old Man Coyote) told 
how the land was built from blue clay scooped from 
under the water and how that land was 
protected from wave action by lining 
the shores with woven 
mats and basketry. 
The old stories relate first-hand accounts of the grea t 
floods and fires tha t  repeatedly swept over the land 
from the west, often changing the geography 
significan tly while scattering people and 
other animals far and wide 
(Wasson 1 991). 
Introduction 
Because of the short time span from the beginning of everyday 
White contact among the Native peoples of the southern Oregon 
Coast, until the demise of their cultural, spiritual, and physical 
integrity, very little knowledge through scientific research was 
collected and preserved for posterity. In 193 1 T. T. Waterman 
wrote: "A number of ethnologists worked in this region [Southern 
Oregon Coast] , prior to the writer's advent . . .  but relatively little 
concerning these groups has found its way into print" (Waterman 
1 93 1:6) .  
Due to the thorough destruction of the villages, the people 
and their life-ways, only bits and pieces of their culture and 
languages survived after what might be understood as the "Oregon 
Holocaust." From this perspective, I have adopted the concept of a 
cultural or ethnological "BLACK HOLE" as a descriptive term for 
Southwestern Oregon, where the surviving descendants have 
retained only a few relics of their indigenous culture (see Barnett 
1 954). 
98 
99 
My approach to rediscovering and understanding the cultural 
contents of that "Black Hole" is to examine those characteristics of 
neighboring tribes for whom there is fairly adequate information 
and draw parallel inferences about the lost information. 
The Coquelles are a group from that "Black Hole," and I 
propose to look at the "bits and pieces" of surviving knowledge 
about them in an effort to reconstruct (as adequately as feasible) 
their lost and forgotten cultural heritage. 
Coquelle Cultural Geography 
For purposes of sociocultural identification, Coquelle Indian tribal 
members are directly descended from people of the following 
geographical locations: villages at South Slough and Coos Bay, 
villages along the Coquille River, and coastal villages as far south as 
the Sixes River. Due to inter-tribal marriages, many members are 
also related to Umpqua, Coos, Siuslaw, Tututni, Shasta Costa, Chetco, 
Tolowa, or other American Indian tribes. In the late 1 9th and early 
20th centuries, the common spelling was Coquelle (Zenk 1990: 5 79) ,  
pronounced Ko-Kwel' as in tribal use today. 
1 00 
When land claims hearings were conducted in the 1 930s and 
1 940s, the Coos (including many Coquelles) ,  Lower Umpqua, and 
Siuslaw appealed as a confederated group. The Court of Claims 
denied their appeal due to "lack of evidence." The land claims for 
the "Coos" had been based on the testimonies of the oldest Indians 
alive at that time. My father, George Bundy Wasson, Sr. thought 
there could be no better evidence of aboriginal sovereignty and 
territorial occupation than the words of the old people themselves. 
The federal government declared their testimony to be merely 
hearsay. 
However, after collecting ethnographic information from the 
old Indians of that area, John P. Harrington stated that the 
Coquelles were undoubtedly the true descendants of the aboriginal 
occupants of their land, hence the land claims settlement for the 
Coquelles. This decision caused a split between the Coos and 
Coquelles, which ultimately resulted in separate federally 
recognized tribes. 
For land claims payment purposes, the Coquelle tribal area 
was defined in the 1 940s as bounded along the Oregon Coast from 
101  
approximately Floras Creek on the south to a point of  rocks by 
Whiskey Run Creek north of the mouth of the Coquille River. From 
each of these coastal points, the north and south boundaries 
extended easterly to join the north and south ends of an eastern 
boundary line which ran along the crest of the Coast Range of 
mountains. 
This territory encompasses all of the land, soil, plant, and 
animal types available in western Oregon. There are high prairies 
and coastal mountain meadows containing lush grasses for 
sustaining large populations of Roosevelt elk and black-tailed deer. 
Valleys were loaded with roots and bulbs for annual harvests, while 
the rivers and streams extending to the ocean produced abundant 
fish, eels, shellfish and sea mammals. Their forests provided the rare 
Port Orford Cedar for carving canoes and Western Red Cedar for 
plank houses. It also yielded the widest variety of basketry materials 
available anywhere along the west coast. 
The antiquity of occupation in the Coquelle territory, has been 
established by archaeological investigations, and amateur 
discoveries at Camas Valley, on the Upper Coquille River drainage. 
102 
The discovery of a Clovis-type point in Camas Valley (Wallmann 
1 994; Erlandson and Moss 1 996) ,  made from chert indigenous to 
that specific area, dates human occupation of the Upper Coquelle 
territory to as much as 1 1 ,500 years before present (B.P. ). 
Archaeological research on the Southern Oregon Coast has revealed 
occupation dates as early as 8,200 years B.P. at the " Indian Sands" 
site in Curry County, just south of the Coquelles (Erlandson and 
Moss 1 996; Moss and Erlandson 1 998a). At the Standley site in 
Camas Valley, obsidian hydration evidence indicates that 
occupation may have begun between 4,500 and 5 ,000 years ago. 
Additionally, fragments of clay figurines discovered there, have 
been known to date between 1 , 100-400 years ago (Connolly 
1 99 1 : 1 ) . 
Early White Contact 
In 1 792,  Captain George Vancouver, while exploring along the 
Northwest Coast, anchored his ship somewhere between Cape Blanco 
and Port Orford. According to Beckham ( 1977: 1 02 ): 
The fine handwriting of Dr. Archibald Menzies, now 
hidden away in a large journal in the British Museum in 
London, tells about one of those encounters [between 
early sailors and Indians] . . .  In the spring of 1 792, 
Captain George Vancouver brought his expedition to 
Cape Blanco on the southern Oregon coast. Menzies, the 
surgeon and botanist, became very interested in the 
Indians who paddled out in their canoes. He wrote: 
('they were of a middling size with mild pleasing 
features & nowise sullen or distrustful in their 
behaviour, they were of a copper colour but 
cleanly, as we observed no vestige of greasy paint 
or ochre about their faces or among their hair. " 
Twenty-five years later, the fur trader Peter Corney sailed 
1 03 
along this same section of the coast Observing many villages along 
the shore, he sailed in close and also met some of the Tututunne 
Indians. He noted: 
About noon, several canoes came off within hail of 
the ship; we waved to them to come closer, which they 
did, displaying green boughs and bunches of white 
feathers; they stopped paddling, and one man, whom we 
took to be the chief, stood up, and made a long speech, 
which we did not understand. We then waved a white 
flag, and they immediately pulled for the ship singing all 
the way . . . .  They also brought some berries, fish, and 
handsome baskets for sale. These men were tall and well 
formed, their garment made of dressed deerskins, with a 
small round hat, in the shape of a basin, that fitted close 
round the head; none of the women made their 
appearance (Beckham 1 977: 1 03 ) .  
Early in the nineteenth century, white explorers, trappers, and 
missionaries came to the Pacific Northwest, and especially to the 
1 04 
places now called Oregon. By the mid-1 800s, most of the West Coast 
was well populated with white miners and settlers. However, that 
central portion of the Oregon Coast that was nearly inaccessible by 
overland routes because of the rugged Coast Range Mountains, and 
also relatively obscure from the ocean, was not much affected by 
the white influx until the 1 850s. 
Diseases of European origin (gonorrhea, syphilis, measles, and 
smallpox) had drastically reduced the populations along the 
Northwest Coast since the late 1 700s and early 1 800s (Drucker 
1 965 ) .  Between 1 829 and 1 832 ,  "the fevers" had swept along the 
Columbia River, up the Willamette Valley, and on over to the Rogue 
River Valley, and had jumped across to the Sacramento Valley, 
killing up to 90% of the village inhabitants in some places (Beckham 
1 9  7 1 ) . Archaeological and ethnohistorical information indicate that 
the people of the Southern Oregon Coast were not spared from 
those devastations, and an equally high percentage of their 
populations were wiped out in the same manner about the same 
time. It is interesting to note that an early explorer traveling up the 
Coquille River reported seeing hundreds of Indians working on the 
lOS 
fish weirs (Chase 1 873;  Tveskov 2000) , while a few years later, the 
same area was described as having only a few workers in those 
locations. 
Historian Orvil Dodge provided a sample of early attitudes 
toward the local Indians in his 1 898 book, Pioneer History of Coos & 
Curry Counties, Oregon. 
No wonder this favoured spot, where food and even 
luxuries abounded so plentiful, was inhabited with a 
class of swarthy, indolent Indians who had but little 
ambition or energy. They were square built and of 
medium height and those in the northern part of the 
county, who inhabited Coos bay and its tributaries and 
the various branches of the Coquille river, were 
naturally peaceable and friendly to the pioneers, in fact 
they never became hostile, and it is a fact that is not 
questioned, that in the early settlement north of Port 
Orford there were no massacres so common in the early 
settlements of the great West, and there were no more 
tragedies than is common among the Anglo-Saxon or 
white citizens of this country ( Dodge 1 969:7).  
In fact, the Native people were quite industrious, as indicated 
by Chase in his observation of hundreds of Indians working on the 
fish weirs along the Coquille River. Dodge also ignored well-
documented evidence for massacres perpetrated by Whites against 
the Coquelles and their neighbors. The final impact came forcefully 
1 06 
and swiftly, leaving many tribes and villages totally obliterated. The 
survivors were herded off to temporary concentration camps or 
dumped onto the reservations of other inland tribes, except for the 
families of the Indian women who were fortunately married to White 
men. 
"A Most Horrid Massacre" 
Early on the morning of January 2 8, 1 854, the Nasomah village of 
the Lower Coquille was brutally attacked and destroyed by a mob of 
40 miners from the nearby diggings at Randolph. Two of the main 
instigators were named Packwood and Soapy. A week later, special 
agent Smith wrote the following report: 
A most horrid massacre, or rather an out-and-out 
barbarous mass murder, was perpetrated upon a portion 
of the Nasomah Band residing at the mouth of the 
Coquille River on the morning of january 28th by a 
party of 40 miners. The reason assigned by the miners, 
by their own statements, seem trivial. However, on the 
afternoon preceding the murders, the miners requested 
the chief to come in for a talk. This he refused to do. 
1 07 
The report went on to say that a meeting was held and a 
courier was dispatched to obtain the assistance of 20 more miners 
from nearby Randolph. Smith further reported: 
At dawn the following day, led by one Abbott, the ferry 
party and the 20 miners, about 40 in all, formed three 
detachments, marched upon the Indian ranches and 
'consummated a most inhuman slaughter,' which the 
attackers termed a fight. The Indians were aroused from 
sleep to meet their deaths with but a feeble show of 
resistance; shot down as they were attempting to escape 
from their houses. Fifteen men and one Squaw were 
killed, two Squaws badly wounded. On the part of the 
white men, not even the slightest wound was received. 
The houses of the Indians, with but one exception, were 
fired and destroyed. Thus was committed a massacre too 
inhuman to be readily believed ( Peterson and Powers 
1 952:89) .  
Within less than two years, the people were gone, except for 
those few women who had taken White men for their husbands. The 
effect on the culture of the Coquelles and their close neighbors was 
devastating. Yet, through all the years of languishing in seemingly 
total deprivation, bits and pieces of tradition and cultural spirit 
remained alive among the tribal survivors, or were placed on record 
for scientific posterity. A few anthropologists and historians 
recognized this unprecedented obliteration, and worked with tribal 
1 08 
elders to save or write something of the cultures, however small a 
segment it was. 
languages and Culture 
The dominant language of the lower Coquelles (along the coast from 
South Slough on Coos Bay and upriver to the present town of 
Coquille) was definitely Miluk, originally identified as a division of 
Kusan. The Upper Coquelles spoke an Athabascan dialect. However, 
because of intertribal marriage practices, as well as social and 
commercial interchange, most tribal members also spoke the 
languages of their relatives and neighbors (Hall 1 984:20, 1 40- 1 41 ) .  
Among the Coquelles, village and family life was patrilocal 
(upon marriage, women moved to the homes of their husbands. ) It 
was therefore incumbent upon the women to know or learn the 
"new" language of their husband's village if it was different from 
that of their father's. It also seems probable that each young girl 
had already learned the several languages, which her mother spoke, 
assuming that women in general, had to learn more than one 
language. Indications of this hypothesis regarding the special 
multilinguality of women can be noted in the number of 
multilingual female informants for the several linguists and 
ethnographers who collected language information from the 
Coos/Coquelle area. Susan Adulsah Wasson and her mother, 
Gishgiu, each spoke several languages and dialects fluently 
(personal communication from George B. Wasson, Sr. and Daisy 
Wasson Codding) .  
1 09 
Along with Miluk and Athabascan languages, Chinook Jargon, 
the lingua franca of the Pacific Northwest, was used regularly by the 
. Coquelles and their southern neighbors as far south as the Tolowas 
and Yuroks in northern California. 
Shamanism (doctoring) was practiced by both men and 
women, yet, all people were free to seek personal spiritual power 
from fasting, praying, and vision quest. 
Social and political leadership among villages and extended­
family bands was acknowledged through group deference to 
dominant wealthy headmen or shamans with especially prominent 
heallng powers. Slavery was not unknown to the Coquelles, but was 
1 10 
less common among them than the more northern tribes of the 
Northwest Coast. 
Thus, Coquelle culture included elements from the Northwest 
Coast (e.g., wealth accumulation and a form of potlatch, or "give-
away") .  Their dance forms, ceremonial clothing, and spirituality 
(including reverence for flicker feathers and redheaded woodpecker 
scalps)  were related to their southern neighbors-- the Tututnis, 
Chetcos, Tolowas, and Yuroks. 
Wbite Cedar Canoes 
Coquelle canoes were basically of shovel-nose design, preferably 
carved from Port Orford Cedar. Special canoes with high prows were 
designed for ocean going: 
The Coos canoe was made preferably of white cedar, but 
sometimes of red cedar. There was a Coos Indian canoe 
that a few years ago broke away and got crushed in a log 
jam. But there is still one Coos canoe in existence, made 
by a man some 40 years ago for fishing on a small lake 
near his home, but made in true Coos style, though with 
modern tools. The maker has died but his son is there 
and uses the canoe (G. B. Wasson, Sr. cited in 
Harrington 1 943: 24:85  7) .  
George Wasson knows exactly how a Coos canoe is 
made. It has high bow and stem, and beveled gunwales, 
and no seats, only sometimes they tied a board across. 
The Indians sat in their canoes and old canoe Indians 
were bowlegged as one who rides horseback all the time 
(Harrington 1 943:24:857) .  
Legends tell that one such canoe carried a whole village of 
1 1 1  
people across the Pacific Ocean to escape inevitable annihilation by 
a revengeful village from the southern Tututunne. Many years later, 
people were found in Japan who could still speak the "Coquelle" 
Miluk language (Hall 1 984: 3 5 ). 
Basketry: Materials and Production 
The manufacture of baskets, nets, twine and other woven materials 
was among the traditional industries of all Oregon coastal peoples 
(see Fig. 6) .  The Coquelle Indians and their close neighbors lived in 
the center of the most abundant resources for those weaving 
materials. Due to the untimely decimation of the people and their 
traditional cultural practices, the knowledge of the art and craft of 
gathering, preparation and weaving has been almost lost. 
Figure 6 .  Susan Adulsah (with a basket) .  
1 1 2 
1 1 3 
However, a few weavers in southern Oregon and northern 
California have carefully maintained traditional knowledge and 
practices as learned from the old people. They have kept alive those 
nearly forgotten secrets and skills which once made Coquelle 
ancestors some of the most proficient and prolific of west coast 
basket makers. 
In 1 8 1 7, Peter Corney specifically commented on the baskets 
of the southern coastal people, regarding them as "handsome" 
(Beckham 1 977: 1 03 ) . 
It's also interesting to note that although only men were in the 
canoes to greet the sailors, Corney's description of the hats they 
were wearing sounds exactly like the basket hats worn only by 
women in present day customs of the Yuroks. Such hats are 
reported as being customary for the Coos and Coquelles, as well. 
The importance of basketry and woven materials (e.g., twine, 
rope, mats, and "wicker work") in the cultures of the coastal people 
is strongly indicated by mention of them in the coastal creation 
myths. For instance, mats and baskets were used by two mythical 
beings in creating the world. Baskets were split open, and laid out 
1 14 
flat, to protect the newly forming land mass from erosion by ocean 
wave action (Frachtenberg 1 9 1 3:5 ;  Jacobs 1 940:239-240).  That 
highly important role implies that basketry is older than humans, 
who were obviously created later. 
On the Coquille River, at the " Osprey Site" near Bullards State 
Park, open-work woven structures of both willow and split cedar, 
(which are presumed to be "fish traps" )  have been discovered 
buried in the mud and silt along with numerous fish weir stakes. 
These have been radiocarbon dated to between 600 and 1 , 100 years 
old (Byram and Erlandson 1 996; Moss and Erlandson 1 998b). 
Several years earlier, a traditionally woven basket was also 
recovered from the silt just upriver at the "Philpott Site," but 
treatment with linseed oil has destroyed the integrity of the original 
materials, and rendered it undateable by the radiocarbon method. 
Annual Burning Practices 
Certain basketry materials such as bear grass and hazel required 
burning off a year prior to collecting and preparing for weaving. 
Each fall, people would go to the mountains and set fires in the 
1 1 5 
areas where the best "grass" and "sticks" were growing. When they 
returned the following summer, the bear grass would have grown 
into fresh clumps ready for harvesting. However, the hazel needed 
to grow for another season after burning and was harvested the 
following spring when the sap started flowing again (Thompson 
1 9 16:3 1 ) . 
This same burning technique was applied in other locations to 
control certain weeds and to produce new shoots, which enhanced 
various berry production. Peter Boag ( 1 992)  writes about the 
Willamette Valley being seasonally burned by the Kalapuyas for the 
collection of tatweed seeds ( lemolo sapolil, "wild grain" in Chinook 
jargon) .  By this practice, the valley was virtually developed into a 
garden like park-land. 
Burning along the Oregon Coast was such a regular and 
obvious practice that early sailors often referred to the area as "fire 
land." Smoke shrouded the coastal mountains and fires could be 
seen burning the entire length of the coast. This regular burning, 
which prevented the growth of brush and cleared out the 
understory of the old growth forests, also produced extensive grassy 
1 1 6  
prairies on the ridges and southwestern slopes of the coastal 
mountains. On these ridges, people dug their deep pits, staggered in 
series along a ridge-line where the immense elk herds could be 
driven and some would inevitably fall in. 
Elk Dogs from K'ammabss-Dunn Rancheria 
The following story, was related to John P. Harrington by Coquel 
Thompson, sometime in the early 1 940s. The location of the village 
mentioned here is at Bullard's Beach State Park (35-CS-3 ) on the 
Coquille River, just north of the town of Bandon, Oregon. 
My father bought 2 Indian male elk-dogs from 
K'ammahss-dunn rancheria at the mouth of the Coquille 
River. The Indians there raised these pure-breed of dogs 
known as "elk dogs." These dogs grab bed the elks by the 
hind legs and every time the elk started to run the dog 
would hold his hind legs . . .  they told the dog to go after 
the elks: "dushleet-ch'uh"' or "dushle-cheh'. " Then you 
would hear the dog bark when he arrived where the elks 
were. You could tell the arrival by the kind of bark. 
The elk kept wheeling around with the dog biting 
high on his thighs and my father thus overtook the elk -­
- 8 shot arrows into him. As soon as the elk fell, the dogs 
bit him in the throat and killed him. 
My father paid Indian money ( dentalia) the length 
of my arm worth maybe $ 1 00.00 for those 2 dogs. They 
were young, my father would not buy old ones. They 
were big dogs, with black and white color in spots. Those 
dogs were just like people, knew their names, they would 
sit down. 
Once Thompson was offering meat to one of those 
dogs sitting in the Indian house door ( two or three feet 
high) "and one of those dogs snapped at it and bit the 
tip of my left-hand forefinger off, and the Indians talked 
of killing the dog, but another Indian said the dog did 
not hurt the dog." The dogs were big. They never 
bothered with deers, only with elks. They never barked-­
---except when they reached an elk. 
Two men would go out elk hunting and the two 
dogs would keep behind the two men. Only when the 
men saw an elk track, did one of the Indians say to the 
dogs "Duss-leechuh!" The dogs would pick up the scent 
of the track and would come upon the elks sleeping or 
feeding. Sometimes near sometimes far-the men would 
climb a little hill to better hear, and when they heard the 
right bark the men went running to the spot. 
Those dogs would sit down in the Indian house just 
like persons and when the Indians ate they would throw 
bones to the dogs who were expert at catching them in 
their mouths. 
The dogs slept just outside the cook house door, 
which door was 2 feet high. Each night the Indian men 
would leave for sleeping in the sweathouse and those 2 
dogs would without being told, go to lie, climbing up a 
little notched ladder beside the cook house door, ready 
to jump at any intruder, in a place provided for them, 
some 3 feet high. 
[Thompson] would call elk, Dahsht choh-lee' ch'ah' 
or literally, "elk dog." One of the dogs was named 
K'uhlyo alias "K'uhl yoh ch'oh," and the other was 
named Wun uh sht' gee," meaning White neck. And he 
looked at you when you mentioned one name, and when 
you call his name he come (Harrington 1 943:26:35 1 ) . 
1 1 7 
1 1 8 
Salmon: A Sacred Food from the Ocean 
Surely there never existed a more spiritual and ritualized 
relationship between humans and fish than has flourished among 
the cultural groups of the Northwest Coast and their beloved 
salmon. So special was salmon to the Coquelles, as with other coastal 
people, that a highly sacred ceremony was performed upon the 
arrival of the first salmon. There was an obvious intent to pay honor 
and tribute to the salmon for returning again to the streams where 
the people could obtain them for food. A common and primary 
element of those rituals required that the bones of the honored fish 
be maintained intact. The flesh was cooked and shared with many 
people and eaten ritually with great reverence. The whole skeleton 
was then placed in the water, usually with the head pointed 
upstream to insure that the salmon would continue to multiply and 
return the next season. 
Salmon fishing was done primarily in the streams, where weirs 
or "fish dams" were constructed to either catch them in basket-like 
traps or contain them in areas where they could be readily speared 
or dipped out by hand nets. 
1 19 
The Legend of Old Man Coyote and the Fish Dam 
One of the most intriguing stories of "Old Man Coyote," was 
collected by John P. Harrington, from an Upper Coquelle informant, 
Coquel Thompson. It told of a notable ''fish dam" on the Coquille 
River and how the place came to be called "Thet-Suh-wuh-let-Sluh­
dunn'' (a  place where two large round stones are located on either 
side of the water) .  This place, where there was a riffle, lies on the 
Upper Coquille River somewhere around Myrtle Point at a broad 
stretch of gravel bar. There, the Upper Coquelles built a fish weir 
and a salmon trap in July or August, to catch the salmon that came 
in September. This was a notable dam made of willow stakes driven 
straight down into the gravel bottom, whose immensity spanned the 
full width of the river. The construction of this dam was obviously a 
great undertaking and required an extensive communal effort to 
cut, sharpen, and pound the great stakes into place and weave 
smaller branches between them to form the secure barricade fence. 
Such an enormous salmon weir always seemed to be of special 
Importance to all the people along that river. Each coastal stream 
with a salmon run, had reason to have such a structure, and those 
1 20 
people who were dedicated and accomplished enough to build one . 
that reached from shore to shore had reason to be proud. The larger 
the dam, the more prestige it bestowed on the builders. 
No one seems to know where Coyote was coming from on the 
occasion recounted in this story, or just why, but he was poling his 
way upstream in his canoe--along with his current wife, the former 
Mrs. Fish Duck--when his progress was halted by the enormous 
salmon weir. Coyote tried to push his way through, but the structure 
was too sturdy. Of course, true to form, he became angry and vowed 
to smash through. So he went back down stream and loaded two 
large round boulders into the bow of his canoe and placed his wife 
at the stern. Even though he was pushing against the current, 
Coyote was determined to break through the barricade, but his first 
attempts were too feeble and he failed. Finally in a fit of rage, he 
poled as fast and hard as he could and broke through. But just as he 
got to the up stream side, his pole slipped, he lost his balance, and 
the current threw his canoe back against the weir, flipped it up on 
end, catapulted the boulders out onto either shore, and dumped 
Coyote and his wife into the water. Using Tamanawis, the magical 
1 2 1  
powers of his mind, Coyote brought the canoe up from under the 
swift current and quietly took his wife back downstream. That's why 
the place was called "Thet'' ( stones) " suh-wuh-let" (spherical) "sluh­
dunn" (on opposite sides of the water-place) (Wasson 1 99 1 :86).  
Treaties and Land Claims 
Coquelle headmen signed the treaty of 1 855  with the U. S. 
Government (the unratified Port Orford treaty of 1 85 1  also 
identified several signatories as Coquelle Indians) ,  which would 
have ceded tribal land to the United States in return for a 
reservation and various tribal rights. Although the treaty was never 
ratified by Congress, the survivors of the Rogue River Wars of 1 856 
(and of earlier village massacres by White miners and U.S. Army 
retaliations) were marched overland or shipped up the coast by 
steamers to concentration camps at Reedsport and Yachats. Some 
were moved later to the Siletz Reservation, while many others died 
or ran away. 
In 1 9 1 6  George Bundy Wasson began investigating Indian land 
claims based primarily on broken or unratified treaties and "began 
1 2 2  
a 30-year campaign for claims settlements in western Oregon" 
(Beckham 1 990: 1 86 ) .  For eleven years he lobbied Congress and 
finally won permission to go to court in 1 929. Stephen Dow 
Beckham portrays "Bundy's" quest to right the wrongs against the 
Tribes as follows: 
The concern about injustice, legal rights, and land claims 
was voiced most clearly by the Coos, Lower Umpqua, and 
Siuslaw. These. three tribes--operating as one unit since 
their treaty agreement with joel Palmer in 1 855-­
pioneered in using the "system."  Their efforts, which set 
a pattern for other Indian groups throughout the Pacific 
Northwest, began in 1 9 1 6. In the summer of that year, 
George Bundy Wasson, a graduate of Chemawa and 
Carlisle, went to Washington D.C. to investigate the 
Indian land claim. Wasson had grown up on his mother's 
allotment on South Slough on Coos Bay. That trip began 
eleven lonely and frustrating years of lobbying by these 
Indians. Like other American Indians, they were 
prohibited by law from suing the United States 
government. To bring a suit for their land claims, the 
Coos, Lower Umpqua, and Siuslaw had to gain a special 
act of Congress. Not until 1 929 did Congress pass the 
measure which permitted them to go to court. 
Case K-345 ,  the lawsuit of the Coos, Lower 
Umpqua, and Siuslaw for settlement for land claims, took 
nine years to get a judgment in the Court of Claims. 
During all of the time between 1 9 1 7  and 1 93 8  these 
Indians had to pay for their own legal expenses . . .  Each 
family that could gave $5.00 a month to help pay for 
George Wasson's trips to Washington D.C., and to pay for 
the work of the attorneys (Beckham 1 977:3 7 ) .  
1 2 3  
I n  1 93 1 ,  George Bundy Wasson called upon the most 
knowledgeable members of the Coos and Coquelle tribes to provide 
evidence for aboriginal land claims. Historian Stephen Dow Beckham 
reports participation in those hearings as follows: 
In 1 93 1  Court-appointed clerks took Indian testimony In 
North Bend, Oregon. Seventeen members of the tribes 
spoke, several of them in their native languages. The 
aged james Buchanan was one who remembered much of 
what had happened . . . .  In 1 875 he had spoken at the 
Yachats Conference and protested against the closing of 
the Alsea reservation. Now in 1 93 1  he spoke again for 
his people and their land claim. Lottie Evanoff named 
the villages and fishing places. George, Maggie Sacchi, 
Annie Peterson, Laura Metcalf, Frances Elliot, and Mrs. 
William Waters spoke (Beckham 1977:1 80-1 8 1 ) . 
The federal Court of Claims decided favorably for the land 
claims of the Coquelles (and other coastal groups) on April 2 ,  1 945. 
The United States Supreme Court overruled an appeal by the justice 
Department on November 2 5 ,  1 946. The case was finally closed in 
1 95 0, awarding $ 1 .20 per acre for 722,530 acres. Coquelle 
descendants were awarded an inheritance of $3 ,128 ,000.00, and 
after numerous federal deductions, the remainder equaled 
approximately $2 ,000.00 per person. Unfortunately, final settlement 
1 24 
was made in "per-capita" payments, in which the total was divided 
equally among the eligible tribal enrollees. 
Perhaps the tribal members were glad to at last get something 
for all they had lost by not having a treaty and giving up all of their 
land. It seems as though they believed that the end of their status as 
a legitimate Indian tribe was at hand. It surely seemed impossible to 
fight the federal government's efforts to destroy their "Indianness" 
and render them personae non grata, as had already been done to 
the Coos, Lower Umpqua, and Siuslaw. 
Termination, Restoration, and Political Turmoil 
The Coos and Coquelles were among those terminated and among 
those whose cultural losses became most evident after federal 
restoration was accomplished. Along with restoration as federally 
recognized tribes, there came a whole new set of problems to 
compound the cultural turmoil. Restoration required the 
establishment of a tribal council and adoption of a tribal 
constitution (upon approval of the Bureau of Indian Affairs and 
1 2 5  
Department of Interior) as well as accepting federal dollars in the 
form of new tribes funding. 
On August 1 3 ,  1 945 , along with 42 other Western Oregon 
Indian Tribes, the Coquelles were effectively terminated by 
President Dwight D. Eisenhower's signature of Public law 5 88, 
making termination effective on August 1 3 ,  1 95 6. Termination was 
not a satisfactory solution to problems of American Indians and did 
not fulfill the obligations of the federal government to Indian 
people. 
Tribal members continued to communicate through a home­
printed "news letter." Meanwhile, tribal leaders, led by Wilfred 
Wasson, worked with Native American Program Oregon Legal 
Services (NAPOLS) attorneys, Rod Clark and Michael Mason, to 
reverse termination as had happened for other Indian tribes. 
The Coquille Indian Tribe was finally restored to federal 
recognition by an Act of Congress on june 28,  1 989, by passing the 
"Coquille Indian Restoration Act" ( 103 Stat. 9 1 ) .  
1 26 
Contemporary Views of CQquelle and Oregon History 
The "History" taught in Oregon schools is only the "official" version 
of Oregon history. That is only one tttruth." There are other truths. 
For instance, it is true that the settlers didn't have to fight off the 
Kalapuyas, Mollalas, Luckiamutes or any others of the beautiful 
Willamette Valley to obtain control and possession of that splendid 
park land. The Natives of this verdant valley practiced controlled 
burning to inhibit certain vegetation and encourage growth of other 
food producing plants and grasses which provided forage for the 
abundant deer and elk herds. 
Early American settlers did not have to fight for the 
Willamette Valley. Those Native peoples had been so severely 
decimated by the "fevers" of 1 829- 1 83 2  that their villages had 
become virtual "ghost towns" with scattered survivors stunned into 
permanent shock, as though a massive Viet Nam War had just 
mowed them down. And to the good fortune of those settlers, the 
remaining Indians had been gathered up by the missionary jason 
Lee and his helpers in what Stephen Dow Beckham ( personal 
communication 1 97 4) referred to as "a virtual Indian death camp," 
even though the residents were there as recipients of Christian 
charity. 
1 2 7  
It was quite different on the coast in subsequent years, when 
the southern Oregon Indians were herded to the concentration 
camp at Yachats. There was no Christian charity, only the 
government agents. Yachats was nothing more than an 
extermination camp, and many of those people were the survivors 
of village massacres, just like the villagers who were slaughtered in 
My Lai during the Viet Nam War. 
Merely 260 people were accounted for, by the signatures on 
the 1 85 5  treaties, in southwestern Oregon. The other 2 ,000 were 
just dumped in with them, and the provisions guaranteed them by 
the treaties seldom arrived (or were too few to effectively divide 
among all who were starving) .  Fifty percent of them died in the first 
decade (Beckham 1 977:1 62 )  from starvation or even drowning on 
the ocean rocks while attempting to obtain mussels for food. 
Most of those concentration camp secrets have never been told 
publicly, but several accounts of the wretched social and cultural 
clashes have been documented by some of the more assiduous 
1 2 8  
ethnologists. With the loss of family and group integrity necessary 
for appropriate spiritual and social guidance, decadence and moral 
decay claimed many victims. This was especially the plight of the 
younger women who learned from experiences with the soldiers, 
and miners, the basic skills of survival by doling out sexual favors. 
One ghastly account tells of a jealous woman punishing an 
outsider (a woman from another tribal area) who was an 
"unpurchased wife" of her husband. "To be respectable a woman 
had to be purchased in marriage" (Miller and Seaburg 1 990:585) .  
She was pounced upon, beaten, and dragged to the fire where her 
undergarments were ripped off and she was sexually humiliated. In 
a second and similar incident, the offending woman was ultimately 
chastised with a burning fire-brand (Jacobs 1 939: 1 1 6, 1 1 7) .  
Another seldom-told story is about a young Miluk woman 
brutally murdered by a drunken miner who was attempting to rape 
her. She managed to escape temporarily and ran down the beach to 
hide, but he caught up with her and was Infuriated with her 
attempts to thwart his desires. He found her desperately stuffing 
sand into her vagina, so he killed her (Hall 1 984: 105 ) .  
1 29 
Acculturation as Federal Policy 
Since the coming of the White men, many generations of Indian 
children have been taken from their home environment, as part of 
an insidious U.S. Government program to kill the Indian and 
educate the man. In the process of doing so, Colonel Richard Henry 
Pratt announced his plans after the Indian Wars to establish a school 
for civilizing young Indians (as much as could be expected) and 
replace their "savage" ways with the "superior" life-style of the 
White man. Pratt was deeply engrossed in religious symbology and 
advocated "total immersion" (in White culture) for young Indians: 
"In Indian civilization I am a Baptist because I believe in immersing 
the Indians in our civilization and when we get them under holding 
them there until they are thoroughly soaked" (Pratt 1 964:33 5 ). This 
became the impetus for establishing the military-style Indian school 
at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 
In 1 898, my father was one of those earliest enrollees at 
Carlisle, and it changed his life forever. His first choice for a course 
of study was Law, which was acceptable to the school officials, but 
they made certain that he became proficient in a trade also, because 
130  
it was well understood that Indians could never be successful at 
professions, which required a college degree. As was the case for all 
students there and at other Indian schools, he was required to 
choose a trade to learn so that he might have a realistic chance at 
success later on. He ended up becoming a tailor, and quite a good 
one. His practice of law, however, was more beneficial to all the 
Indians back home, but it never brought any income from his 
constituents other than meager amounts to cover his living and 
travel expenses between Coos Bay and Washington, D.C. 
In 1 85 3 ,  my grandfather, George R. Wasson, built the first log 
cabin in Empire on Coos Bay. By 1 856,  nearly all of the older 
Indians had been either killed off or taken away to reservations. My 
father was born in 1 8 80, the first generation after the coming of the 
White man. His mother didn't want to hold him back by hindering 
him socially with the use of her Native languages, so she insisted 
that he learn English and become educated in the best possible 
schools. Carlisle was free to Indians, so that's where he went. He had 
also attended school at Chemawa. He was doomed to spend the rest 
of his adult life between the two worlds of Indian and White men, 
battling to explain each to the other, and never having an 
opportunity to just be himself in either place. 
1 3 1  
That was a common story for many capable and intelligent 
young Indians just after the turn of the century. The land, hunting 
and fishing rights, culture, and traditions, were all considered gone 
with the unratified treaties of 1 85 5. Language was of little use, 
except for talking with old people or occasionally to keep nosy 
Whites from understanding personal conversations. However, for 
most young people, the stigma of being Indians (or half-breeds) ,  was 
a major obstacle to overcome, and talking "Indian" was not one of 
the better qualities to show off in public. 
Speaking in Native languages was discouraged and punishable 
in the government schools, as the primary intent of education was 
to make better people out of the "savages." Naturally, many young 
Indians all over the country grew up with little or no use of their 
Native languages. Along with that loss of language was the 
deplorable prohibition and loss of cultural and spiritual traditions 
and tribal identity. Equally deplorable, was the anxiety and 
frustration experienced by those young Indians, who knew major 
1 3 2  
concepts of their ancestral culture, knew the difference as compared 
to the dominant culture (which spoke English) ,  and yet were not 
given the freedom, and pleasure of expressing themselves in the 
languages so vital to their ancestral heritage. 
It was rare for some families to maintain a steadfast interest 
and determined effort to keep ideas and traditions alive, if not 
always in practice, then often just in family memories. So it was with 
my Dad and my family. We cared about history and traditions and 
never hesitated to let it be known we were Indians. Without our 
language though, it was often difficult to defend our cultural 
heritage and pride against the derision of others, who mocked 
Indians in general. 
Among my siblings, it was my brother Wilfred and I who 
continued on to college and who shared in exchanging information 
on our tribe's culture and history. There were many times, however, 
that I realized how limited my knowledge was compared to the vast 
amount of culture that was lost or systematically destroyed and 
obliterated. The ultimate product was a truly devastating "cultural 
black hole." There was also the fact that we had not grown up on a 
reservation like "real Indians,, and we weren't even able to prove 
our tribal background. At that time, we weren't from a federally 
recognized tribe. 
1 3 3  
At college, I became really embarrassed when I couldn't bring 
myself to confess that I didn't even know the names and locations of 
the major popular tribes in the United States. I didn't know the 
histories of U.S./Indian relationships. I didn't know the full histories 
of our treaty, our language, or culture. As I met more Indians, I felt 
more inadequate. 
I finally completed an undergraduate degree, and immediately 
entered into a master's program in counseling. At the same time, I 
was offered (and accepted) a position as an Assistant Dean of 
Students at the University of Oregon. 
Because I proudly claimed my " Indianness," it seemed I was 
expected by other administrators to be able to answer any questions 
concerning all Indians, and to relate in a "culturally correct 
manner" to any other Indian on campus, whatever tribe they came 
from, and whatever problem they had for the University to solve. 
I was expected to know how to deal with other Indians and their 
problems equally well. 
1 3 4  
I could understand my own problem of not knowing my own 
tribe's culture and history, but not knowing much about other 
Indians as well compounded the situation enormously. One solution 
was to read and study all I could about all Indians in America. That 
was a monumental task, which would lead me into years of study 
and research. It seemed to take more years and skills than I ever 
hoped to have. It sometimes seemed hopeless. 
Through the 1 970s and 1 980s, there was a major surge in the 
search for self-awareness for concerned Indians all across the 
country. However, there was no grand plan, no road maps or 
formulae for young Indians to follow in finding themselves in the 
big picture of the American Indian cultural-historical milieu. Each 
tribe or nation was in a different situation, in a different boat (or 
canoe as it were) adrift without adequate knowledge of navigation 
or with no obvious means of propulsion. 
It seemed as though the ancient Flood Myth of the Coos Bay 
area was being lived out again, wherein the people who had rushed 
1 3 5  
to their canoes in advance of the rising waters were set adrift, except 
for those who had prepared by stashing long ropes in their canoes. 
They could tie-up to the tops of the tall Douglas fir trees protruding 
from the mountaintops, and gradually let themselves back down as 
the water receded. While those with shorter ropes either capsized or 
were forced to cut loose, others with no ropes at all were swept far 
away into another land. 
Perhaps that old story equates to the people today who 
maintained cultural integrity through the years of acculturation, 
and those who ignored their cultural background and drifted into 
the mainstream or "melting pot" of the dominant societies. Of 
course, it must be remembered that some tribal people were 
removed from their home areas, relocated into urban settings and 
offered education and retraining opportunities at government 
expense. They were not forewarned that they would be left in those 
urban areas with their newly acculturated skills and training to fend 
for themselves. Not all Indians experienced such a desperate loss of 
self-identity, but such was the case for nearly all of those tribal 
1 3 6  
members and descendants from the federally terminated tribes of 
the 1 950s, especially in southwest Oregon. 
Conclusions 
Many tragic tales could be told about the conflicts and atrocities 
suffered by Oregon Indians, such as the horrible slaughter or 
outright mass murder at the Nasomah Village instigated by 
Packwood and his sidekick Soapy. The effect on the tribes of 
southern Oregon was an American holocaust just as suffered by the 
Jews during World War II in Germany. Just as the holocaust in 
Germany must be taught and remembered, so must the holocaust in 
Oregon be taught in our schools so Oregonians and other Americans 
will know our collective history. That knowledge might better insure 
that such a holocaust never happens again. 
Indications of the extensive variety of lost languages, myths, 
tales and cultural traditions in the Pacific Northwest (and most 
particularly in southwestern Oregon) ,  can be noted in the comments 
of Melville Jacobs ( 1 972: 1 1 ) , which bear repeating: 
Northwest states, before 1 750, had sixty to seventy 
Indian languages, two to three thousand bands, hamlets, 
or villages, and something under, around, or over two 
hundred thousand people. This hunting-fishing­
gathering population could once have yielded a million 
or more versions of myths, smaller numbers of tales, and 
no one can estimate how much of other oral genres . . . .  
Myths of most variable merit that have been collected 
over the region total less than a thousand and will never 
exceed that number. Tales amount to a few hundred, 
forever so. The bleak harvest is . . .  maybe one percent of 
what could have been obtained if the culture-bound, 
condescending, and racist invaders had had the slightest 
capacity to perceive merit in the heritages of non­
Europeans. By the time anyone with such capacity went 
to work, native humiliation and extinction had erased 
almost everything. Folklore ... oriented linguists, . . .  
arrived too late after the pioneers had trampled upon 
and destroyed the Indians. 
By that time, most of the aboriginal myths and legends had 
been lost with the extreme decimation of the Native peoples. 
1 3 7  
However, among the meager collections of myths and stories from 
the people of the Southern Oregon Coast, there are especially 
interesting ones which relate the earliest human knowledge of 
creation of their world and other geologic and environmental 
events. Descriptions of floods, fires, earthquakes and tsunamis are 
reported in specific geographic locations. 
1 3 8  
Even after the massacres, disease epidemics, removal, and 
reservations, federal policies of acculturation thoroughly decimated 
the cultural integrity of small Oregon tribes, including the 
Coquelles. The struggle for self-awareness and self-sufficiency has 
produced extensive social and political schisms among Coquelle 
tribal members and between the Tribe and outside public agencies. 
Many young tribal members are desperate to understand the overall 
processes of cultural change and acculturation of the older 
generations. 
In pondering the analogy of the cultural "black hole" of the 
Southern Oregon Coast, it should be noted that black holes of outer 
space are thought to absorb and condense all available matter 
within reach, but then are no longer visible or identifiable to the 
outside observer. Only research from an insider perspective will 
reveal the lost information so vital to the "reculturation" of the 
Coquelles and their neighbors. 
1 39 
Miluk Tales of Iedediah Smith at Coos Bay 
This collection of tales relating the visit of the Jedediah Smith 
expedition to South Slough on Coos Bay in 1828 contains my own 
first rendition of that event as I recalled hearing it from my father, 
George B. Wasson, Sr., and my older brother, Wilfred C. Wasson. 
After having written my own story, Version #1 (Wasson 1 991 ) ,  
I found hidden among my father's personal papers, several other 
versions [Versions #2, #3, and #5] which he collected from old time 
Indians in the Sough Slough area. Version #4, was collected by 
Harrington from an interview with my father. 
Unfortunately many pages of my father's notes have been lost, 
stolen, and/or burned by vandals. Consequently there remain only 
fragments of some versions [Versions #2 and #3 are partly burned] . 
Version #1. "Strange People With Hairy Faces" (Wasson 1 99 1 ). 
Early in the nineteenth century, white explorers, 
trappers, and missionaries began to come to the Pacific 
Northwest. An expedition of one early explorer, Jedediah 
Smith, was attacked in 1 82 8  by angry Lower Umpqua 
Indians. That attack was provoked by an incident at Coos 
Bay before he met the Umpquas, and the story is still a 
part of Coquelle oral tradition. 
In the summer of 1 828, when the Jedediah Smith 
expedition made its historic trek up the coast of Oregon, 
word of its strange light-skinned people with hair on 
their faces and large four-legged animals that were 
neither deer nor elk spread rapidly up the coast. Those 
animals, it was said, also had curved flat blades of 
Chicamin--Iron, in Chinook Jargon-- fastened to the 
bottoms of their single rounded hooves to make them 
tougher and to help them endure the rough terrain. The 
hairy-faced men also carried "rock-throwing sticks," 
which they didn't have to swing, but merely pointed at a 
target, causing fire and smoke to explode as the stick 
threw a metal stone harder, faster, and farther than any 
of the Indians had imagined possible. 
News of the slow and laborious progress of this 
awesome caravan had been carried up the coast to every 
village headman. One group, the Nasomahs, had sent 
word up to their Mlluk relatives on the South Slough of 
Coos Bay. Those living at the mouth of the Coquille River 
were relatively few in number, and as the expedition 
finally approached the main village, most of the people 
had gone across the river to the north-side village. 
Smith must have posed a formidable specter to the 
last of the fleeing villagers, for they paddled furiously to 
the other shore, smashed their highly prized 
" thlahkhoosa" (canoes) to pieces and hid among the 
trees to watch in awe as the white men tore up the 
Indians' plank houses to make a raft on which to cross 
the tidewater. 
What Smith and his men did next must have truly 
puzzled the Indians. Instead of following the well­
established trail that led directly to South Slough, Smith 
took his weary group through the sand hills along the 
coast and led them into the worst terrain they had yet 
encountered in their long journey. At this, the Nasomah 
people rushed to tell Kitzenjinjn Galah-dah Luee, the 
prominent Miluk headman at Sough Slough, who was so 
140 
tall and robust his name meant "elk skin robe would not 
meet all the way around the middle." 
When told of the strangers in their midst, 
Kitzenjinjn responded with great military pomp and 
diplomacy, taking 300 armed men dressed in their finest 
skins and feathers out onto the coastal headlands near 
Cape Arago and ceremoniously welcomed the astonished 
whites. The Indians escorted Smith and his men, along 
with their several hundred head of horses and mules, to 
South Slough, where they were duly ferried across to the 
village site and guided to a suitable place of 
encampment nearby. 
141 
Recently, family relatives have told me that Smith camped on 
the west side of South Slough at "Battle Flat," a part of Charleston. 
During the next few days, Smith and his party 
rested and enjoyed the abundant hospitality of the local 
people. The Indians provided much food and extensive 
trading took place. Also, they were introduced to the 
white method of boiling and eating dried beans - food 
that both fascinated and puzzled them and was to lead 
to a humorous situation years later, when they tried to 
prepare and eat coffee beans in the same way. 
However, during this otherwise amiable interlude, 
some difficulties were to arise. For one thing, Smith was 
greatly annoyed by some of the more curious and 
meddlesome tribesmen, who shot arrows into some of 
his pack animals, wounding and killing a few. One other 
incident that seemed unimportant at the time was to 
have a disastrous result. 
It seems that a man from the Lower Umpqua River 
who was visiting at Coos Bay could not contain his 
curiosity about the strange habits of the White men. As 
was the common practice among European descendants, 
a cook in the Smith party had hung an elk carcass in a 
tree to "ripen" until it was suitable for consumption. The 
Umpqua visitor, however, apparently felt that the meat 
was turning to a state that decent palates would not find 
edible and stuck his knife into the flesh to determine its 
degree of putrefaction. 
Unfortunately, the Indian was discovered by the 
cook, who thought he was trying to steal the meat and 
rushed at him with his butcher knife, cutting off an ear 
and part of his nose. Thus marked, the Indian was 
disgraced beyond social acceptability, for to his people 
the severing of an ear or -worse yet-a nose, was 
punishment meted out only to a runaway slave or for 
adultery (Jacobs 1939:71 ). 
When the Lower Umpqua man rushed to 
Kitzenjinjn demanding that the Indians attack the White 
men in retaliation for his humiliation, his complaint was 
rejected. The wise headman responded that the man had 
trespassed on the territory and possessions of those who 
were guests of the local people, and that those guests 
had "diplomatic immunity" in their own camp. The 
Umpqua visitor, he said, would have to suffer the 
consequences of his bold intrusion. 
This response made the wounded man furious and 
he stormed away from Coos Bay, raving about the hairy­
faced intruders and vowing that he would have revenge. 
When he reached his own people, he related his tale of 
mistreatment, which seemed to offer proof that the 
Smith party was not to be trusted and deserved 
punishment. Thus, the mood was set among the Lower 
Umpquas for the arrival of jedediah Smith and his 
expedition. 
History clearly details the events that followed and 
ended with nearly total destruction of those explorers 
(see Beckham 1 97 1 :28; Douthit 1 986:46,66,68-
70,72,78, 1 1 7 ,1 1 8).  
1 42 
version #2. (a fragment) 
Washington D.C. january 7 ,  1 9 1 8. 
The Coos Bay Indians first came in contact with the 
White people in the year of 1828, when a party of the 
American Fur and Trading Company passed through 
their territory en route from California to Vancouver. 
This party of fur traders camped on the west side of 
South Slough, in Coos vicinity. An old Indian came into 
their camp and was admiring an elk that was hanging in 
camp. The old Indian was saying to himself in his own 
language "these must be powerful people; I would like to 
look at the man that carried that fat elk into camp and 
hung it upon that tree." 
just then the cook came up, and seeing the old 
fellow near the camp, stepped up and gave the old 
Indian a shove that set him over backwards. The old man 
was very indignant and after addressing the White man 
severely, went in his canoe to the village of the head 
chief of the Coos Bay tribe. [He] asked that a party of 
braves be called together and an attack be made on the 
camp of the White men; murder them all and throw their 
bodies into the ocean from the top of the bluff at Coos 
Head. 
The chief whose name was Galadelua, [Kitzenjinjn] 
called a council of his headmen and after listening 
carefully to the statement of the old Indian, the old man 
was reprimanded and was reminded that he had broken 
a breach of etiquette. It had long been the custom of the 
Coos Indians, when entering the camp of strangers, to 
seat themselves in a conspicuous place at a safe distance 
from camp, thus denoting their peaceful intentions. [end 
of notes] (Wasson 1916) .  
143 
Yersion #3. (source unknown} 
It was on the fourth of July, 1 828,  that a company of 
trappers and fur-traders came upon the shores of the 
Pacific Ocean in northern California. They had crossed 
the Trinity Mountains from the Sacramento Valley and 
some of the men gazed on the waters of Pacific for the 
first time. 
Their leader seemed to be in a hurry, for it was 
only a fey days later they were working their way up the 
Oregon Coast, which is northern Curry Coast, and on the 
9th day of July they crossed the Coquille River, and 
encamped at what is now known as Whiskey Runn (sic) .  
Breaking camp early on the 1 8th of July they made the 
Sunset Bay by mid afternoon where they were met by the 
Chief of the Coos Bay tribe with an escort of more than 
300 warriors. 
Mr. ]edediah Smith, being familiar with the 
Chinook ]argon was able to converse with these Indians. 
The chief informed Mr. Smith that he was within 10 days 
march from . . .  [missing pages] -presence- How careless 
he thought the younger generation was to allow 
strangers to establish themselves in their country 
without being noticed. The chief should be there. So 
according to the customs of many years, the old Indian 
landed his canoe and seated himself on a conspicuous 
sand dune and waited to be invited into the strangers' 
camp - for it was long the custom of the Coos Indians 
never to enter a strangers' camp uninvited. 
After waiting some time and not being invited in 
the old fellow became tired and according to custom, he 
should have moved on. But, after considering that these 
were strange people from afar and not being used to 
their customs, it might be proper to enter their camp 
and make him self known. So the old fellow cautiously 
approached the tents. Seeing a large elk hanging in a 
tree the Indian stopped to admire the . . .  [end of 
fragment, remainder charred] (Wasson 1 916).  
144 
Version #4. (an interview with George B. Wasson, Sr. 
by John P. Harrington) 
I know from old Indians the history of Jedediah Smith, 
the first whites, who came up the coast of Oregon. My 
father told me about it. The Indians kept the trails open 
for him, if they had not, it would take 2 years to go just a 
few miles because of the heavy underbrush. When a 
redwood fell  on the trail, they set fire and burned a path 
through it. 
Jedediah Smith came and put [up] his tents [at 
South Slough] , and an old Indian went over there and 
saw an elk hanging up and stuck his knife into him to 
see what condition the meat was, not to steal the meat, 
when Mr. Turner the cook came out and kicked the old 
man out of the camp. The old man went to the Coos 
chief but they told him he had no business in the camp 
without being invited. 
Then Smith moved his camp, he was on his way 
north, he put Indian canoes under logs and the horses 
kept falling in the river. He went up to Umpqua country 
and the old man Indian followed him and he told the 
Umpqua Indians how he had been treated. They also 
said he was at fault. But just then some Indian boys came 
into the camp with their legs bleeding from where the 
cook had whipt ( sic) them with a horse whip. Then they 
all got their bows and arrows and massacred all the 
Smith party, except Turner who dove in the river and 
got away. Smith was out scouting at the time of the 
attack and lost no time in leaving the country, one man 
with him. Thus 3 survived (Harrington 1 943: reel 24, 
frame 858) .  
1 45 
Yersion #5. (told to George B. Wasson, Sr. b}r a Coos Bay woman} 
More than a hundred years ago, an old decrepit Indian 
of the Coos Bay tribe was paddling down South Slough 
when he noticed some white tents pitched in the little 
cove [currently] just south of the west end of the South 
Slough bridge. The old fellow was very curious to know 
what manner of people were camped in such odd 
looking teepees. He landed his canoe on the sand beach 
and ambled up to a sand dune, seated himself in a 
conspicuous place and waited to be invited into camp. 
Not being invited in and getting tired of waiting, 
the old man concluded that these were strange people 
and not used to the c ustoms of the Coos Bay Indians. He 
thought it might be proper If he ventured in closer. 
On approaching the camp he obsenred a large elk 
hanging in a tree. He stopped to admire the elk and took 
out his elk horn knife and opened the flank of the elk to 
note the condition. The old fellow mumbled to himself, 
"These must be powerful people to carry in a whole elk 
and hang it in a tree." 
just about that time someone seized him by the 
nape of the neck and kicked him out of camp. The old 
man was very indignant, and proceeded at once to 
Tarheel Point [contemporary name] where the Chief had 
his headquarters, and requested a hearing. So all the 
headmen of all the bands bordering on Coos Bay were 
called together and listened to the old man's story. 
After careful deliberation, the Chief and the 
headmen informed the old man that he had committed a 
breach of etiquette by entering the strangers' camp 
uninvited. Therefore, they could not grant his request to 
murder these people and throw them in the ocean off 
from Coos Head. The old Indian was notified that the 
Coos Bay tribes were trading with these people and had 
promised to furnish them with canoes to carry their 
146 
goods across South Slough and help them on their way 
through the country. 
The old Indian was not satisfied. He induced some 
of the younger and more venturesome members of the 
tribe to shoot arrows into the strangers' horses in an 
endeavor to provoke a war. However, the Indians were so 
numerous that the strangers dared not resent these 
attacks. 
The Indians gathered their canoes just south of 
[present] Empire. The strange people cut poles and 
attempted to build pontoons with the canoes for the 
purpose of ferrying the horses across the bay. But when 
the attempt was made to board the horses on the 
pontoons, the canoes would roll out from under the 
poles. The Indians got a big kick out of this and said 
these strange people did not have much sense, so the 
Indians took the horses separately and swam them 
across the bay behind the canoes that ferried the goods 
across the bay. A guide was furnished the strangers and 
they departed for the Umpqua. 
The old Indian, not being satisfied, followed them 
up through the sand hills and made his way to the 
Umpqua. The Umpqua Chief gave the old man a hearing 
and was just about to turn him down as did the chief 
and head men of the Coos Bay tribe, when a half dozen 
little boys ranging between six and ten years, came 
running into camp with their legs bleeding. They were 
curious about the pots and kettles and were looking 
around the camp when the same cook that bounced the 
old man out, lashed the boys with a black snake whip 
until their legs bled. 
The old Indian pointed to the bleeding legs of the 
boys and said, "see what they did, they are bad people 
and ought to be killed." The Indians grabbed their war 
clubs and attacked the party of strangers and massacred 
them all except two, who jumped into the river and 
managed to make their escape. The Indians held their 
1 47 
possessions and horses until someone from the Hudson's 
Bay Company came down and claimed them. 
NOTE: 
This story was told by an old woman of the Coos 
Bay tribe who could not read or speak a word of English, 
and had not heard of Jedediah Smith or the North 
American Fur Trading Company. It was about the 10th of 
July, in 1 828,  that Smith's party reached Sunset Bay, 
where they were met by about one hundred Coos Bay 
Indians who talked to them in the Chinook language 
[Chinook Jargon] , and told them that they were within 
ten days march from the McLoughlin camp, from the 
Columbia River. These were the first Indians Smith had 
met with whom he could carry on a conversation. 
-----------------------------
George B. Wasson [senior] 
Final Comments 
1 48 
There is another obscure detail of historical relationships between 
the Hudson's Bay Company, the Oregon Indians, and the Euro-
Americans, which seldom is discussed or noted. The rivalry between 
the British Hudson's Bay Company, and the Americans took on some 
vicious proportions as the Americans moved west and competed for 
the land and its resources. The Native tribes were often told by 
Hudson's Bay Company personnel, that the Americans were "bad" 
and the British were "good." James G. Swan commented on that 
bitterness as follows: 
I have remarked on the hostile feeling evinced toward 
Americans by the former employees of the Hudson Bay 
Company, and here was a circumstance to corroborate 
my assertion. Captain Scarborough was known to keep 
quite a sum of money in his house at all times. He 
charged an old Indian servant-woman, who lived with 
him, in case of his death, on no account to tell a Boston 
man (American) where his money was, but to deliver it 
either to the Hudson bay Company's agent at Chenook 
or some of their people up the river, alleging that the 
Bostons were very bad people, but the King George 
people were honest and good (Swan 1 85 7:302 ) .  
1 4 9  
I t  seems probable that the Umpquas were already ill disposed 
toward the American expedition of Jedediah Smith and were easily 
aroused to attack his party. 
"Chetleshin" History 
A personal account of the discovery, repeated destruction, and amateur 
excavations of the old Native village, Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn, at the mouth 
of Pistol River {see also Moss and Wasson 1998). 
by George B. Wasson, Jr. 
The early morning coastal dew dampened our quilts and blankets as 
we stirred awake with the first light of dawn on a lovely September 
morning at Pistol River. Ron Crook and I had slept overnight at the 
1 50 
old village site to protect our excavations and precious artifacts 
from being destroyed or looted by the over zealous hordes of "pot­
hunters" who descended on "Chetleshin" each weekend. 
The gentle roar of the summer surf from just a few hundred 
yards away had been a soothing sedative to our tired bodies and 
minds. Our dreams were often extensions of daily musing on what 
life must have been for the Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-Dunne, before 
the terrible onslaught of the White gold miners and settlers. What 
was it like the day the village was attacked and burned? We never 
could talk out our imaginations of the gruesome scenarios, which 
flooded our compassion and left us bewildered at such ruthless 
destruction of innocent Native people and their ancient life-ways. 
Little did we know that others before us had camped and tried 
to sleep at that burned village site. Coquelle Thompson reported to 
john P. Harrington the disturbing night he and others experienced 
there, stating: "Once [he and some other Indians] . . .  camped at that 
standing rock, and sleeping we heard dead people talk" (curiously, 
he added,)  "lots of gold there under that Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn" 
(Harrington 1 943 ) .  
1 5 1  
It sometimes became pure madness as some argued with the 
University of Oregon archaeologists that the people of Oregon had a 
right to dig up the old Indian villages for the arrow-heads and other 
artifacts to be found there. It all belonged to the people, not just the 
professional archaeologists who took everything for themselves and 
just hoarded it away in some drawer or on a dusty shelf for no one 
to see. "Come on folks," the woman yelled to those curious ones who 
gawked from the highway above, "this is for everybody, dig any 
place you want. They can't stop us." She waved her garden shovel 
and shook it in the face of archaeologist Dave Cole as she 
encouraged the others to crash in on the excavations underway. 
Not all of the local residents agreed with our excavations 
however. One mother adamantly refused to allow her sons to help 
or even go near the work site. She declared that the old house-pits 
were full of disease which we could all contract and start an 
epidemic in the Pistol River community. She was right about the 
epidemic, but it was a disease caused by greed for Indian artifacts, 
much more insidious than diphtheria or smallpox. 
1 5 2  
Highway 101 Relocation 
In 1 960, some of us in Pistol River first learned the exact location of 
the village called "Chetlessington" or "Chetleshin" by the local 
pioneer descendants. Little had ever been mentioned of it, except to 
note that so-and-so's ancestors fought the Indians there during the 
Rogue River Wars in 1 85 6. 
Ron Crook first was informed of the exact site location when 
Art Walker, a pioneer descendant, told him that the new highway 
access was going to go right through the village site. Many people 
seemed interested in watching, to see what "treasures" might be 
turned up by the bulldozers as work would begin. Others of us were 
stunned to think of the destruction of an important village site and 
loss of the potential knowledge contained in it. At first, not many 
people showed much interest other than to stop and look 
occasionally. 
We had always known that the "old" village site (35-CU-62,  
also know as the Meyer's Creek site) was just down the bluff from 
Raymond's Lodge, located alongside "old" Highway 101 ,  about half 
a mile north of 3 5-CU-61 ,  Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn. Mrs. Raymond 
1 5 3  
had a small collection of ''arrowheads" which had been picked up 
there over the years. 
As we worked on the excavations, we each kept a casual eye on 
the other earth-moving activities of Peter Kiewit & Sons 
Construction Company, which was building that section of the new 
Highway 101 .  As there was no indication that the construction 
would touch very close to the "old" village, we paid little attention 
until one Monday morning, I discovered that a bulldozer had been 
taken down through the site, pushing the old midden right down to 
the beach level. I was totally aghast. My brother Wilfred and I began 
to search through the rubble, finding broken and scattered human 
bones. 
Saddened and heart-broken, I was crouched on the edge of the 
ruins when a company pick-up truck stopped on the roadway above. 
A man leaned out and yelled to me, ''find anything interesting?" My 
response was only that some damned fool took a cat through there 
and destroyed one of the oldest village sites on the coast. He 
grimaced at me and drove off without another word. I was later 
informed by one of the construction foremen the man I spoke 
1 54 
harshly to was the company superintendent, Guy Scott. He had 
taken his wife out there on Sunday, started up a big D-8 Caterpillar 
tractor and dozed off the old shell midden so she could see whether 
there was anything inside it. 
Necessity Produces New Preservation Techniques 
We began to dig under the expert direction of my older brother, 
Wilfred Wasson. He had a master's degree in Anthropology and we 
followed his direction implicitly. There came several problems for us 
with little or no experience in preserving bone artifacts and 
eventually, burial remains of the people themselves. 
New ideas and techniques for preservation were tried. 
Spraying the bone and antler artifacts with "Plasolux" a plastic 
spray, was very expensive and not very efficient. Then Wilfred came 
up with a brilliant solution. He mixed Elmer's Glue and Ivory Liquid 
dish detergent, diluted with water to stabilize the bone and antler. 
The detergent saturated the material, carrying the glue into the 
artifacts. It worked beautifully for us. We even carved pedestals of 
soil under the skeletal remains to maintain their fetal or flexed 
155  
position, and lifted them out of their burial places intact. 
What to do With the Removed Skeletons 
Our only option for a storage area was in a set of abandoned 
garages now in disuse at the old Raymond's Lodge. We all 
anticipated that someday soon the skeletons would be transferred to 
the University of Oregon. No one seemed to fear that any would be 
removed or misplaced. We each assumed that all of the burials 
would go to the State Museum at the University of Oregon for 
examination and study. That was certainly better than allowing 
them to be bulldozed away by the new Highway 101  project. 
Pistol River History in a Nut Shell 
Local attitudes around Pistol River ranged from curiosity to 
contempt for the village site and its violent history. Ron and Bill are 
descendants of Theron Crook, one of the vigilante group who 
rushed up the coast to fight the Indians, but instead were pinned 
down in a makeshift breastwork of driftwood on the south spit, until 
the regular army arrived from Crescent City to rescue them. 
1 56 
Theron Crook was locally hailed as a crack shot for having 
killed an Indian with one shot at very long range. He spotted the 
"chief' ( shaman?) atop a small knoll, which jutted up above the 
river on the north bank, upstream from the beach about a quarter 
of a mile. Sneaking along the south bank, he had come within a long 
distance range of a few hundred yards where with one shot, he 
killed the man instantly. The spot became known as Crook Knob, 
and can be identified as the steep point rising precipitously above 
the old Pistol River Grade School. 
Some local residents were as fascinated with local Indian 
history and lore as any American. They wanted to know more about 
their lifestyles, and find more of their arrowheads, stone mauls, 
pestles and mortars. Yet it seemed the tragedy of the Chet-Less­
Chunn-Dunn-Dunne was too far in the past for most to think about, 
or that it was a simply and inevitable result of "war and peace". 
Again, Harrington elicited more curious anecdotes from his 
informants while searching for the accurate pronunciation and 
translation of the name. An informant identified merely as "Johnny" 
quipped: 
The fellow that led the Indians at the battle at Pistol 
River, was a half-breed Frenchman named "I'nis." A lot 
of the Indians in that battle were drunk from the 
whiskey they got in burning the stores down at Gold 
Beach (Harrington 1 943 ) .  
Military Accounts of the Battle of Pistol River 
This is not the first time written history notes the presence of a 
1 5 7  
tthalf-breed" Indian named ttEnos" leading or instigating resistance 
among the tribes of the southern Oregon Coast. Beckham 
( 1 97 1 : 1 73 )  mentions Enos as: 
A Canadian Indian who was guiding the Murdered 
miners" [probably a misprint, intended to read "the 
murder of the miners"] . . .  in january 1 856,  about forty 
miles up Rogue River from the mouth . . .  
In February, the people of Gold Beach who survived the initial 
attack and burning of their town, were still confined to the ttMiner's 
Fort" on the north bank of the mouth of Rogue River. 
Beckham ( 1 97 1 : 1 76) reported that: 
Enos, proudly mounted on a white stallion, rode back 
and forth on the hills to the east of the fort, haranguing 
his warriors to storm the position. In spite of his 
encouragement the Indians remained mostly out of 
range and limited their offensive to showering the 
enclosure with volleys of arrows, killing livestock, and 
burning the rest of the settlements. 
1 5 8  
By March 1 5 th, General Wool had dispatched a company of 
regular soldiers from Crescent City [now California] to march north 
and rescue the inhabitants of the fort. Along their way they were 
greeted by the burned cabin remains and bodies of several settlers 
who had received their just rewards for their inhuman treatment of 
the Native people: 
At the Chetco River the soldiers found the ruins of the 
cabin built by the 'exterminator' Miller. His bloody 
treachery had not been forgotten. [Early one morning 
while the inhabitants were yet asleep, Miller had blocked 
the doors to the Chetco plank houses with driftwood, set 
them afire, and shot those who attempted to escape 
through the burning roof.] . . .  Arrogant and careless, 
the volunteers from Crescent City rushed ahead of the 
regular troops so that they might be the first to come to 
the relief of the people at Fort Miner. Their leader was 
George H. Abbot, the murderer of the Coquelles in 1 854. 
On March 1 8  his force walked into an ambush in the 
sand dunes on the southern shore of Pistol River. Had 
these men traveled with the main body of troops, 
bloodshed might have been averted, but being anxious 
to "punish" the Rogues, they stumbled into a day-long 
battle. The volunteers were caught in the open and only 
avoided a complete rout by hiding in the driftwood until 
the regular troops came to their rescue. They lost one 
man in the conflict (Beckham 1 97 1 : 1 79) .  
1 59 
Wbere Are The Descendents Of Chet-Less-Chun-Dunn? 
Many people treasured the stories of the last Natives who managed 
to escape from the concentration type reservation camps and 
returned to hide out in the their ancestral homelands. Many people 
had hurried through the hills and turned south to join their 
neighbors in northern California. One village at Smith River had 
been coerced by the military into giving up or killing the Pistol River 
Indians who sought asylum and their protection. The Smith River 
Tolowas had to give in to the White demands and executed them 
(Chase 1 873:53-54) . Only women who hid away or married into 
White families survived. 
Ben Gardner grew up on a ranch just up the mountain from 
the upriver village, known as "Twin Rocks," on Pistol River. He tells 
of his grandmother befriending the Indian women who lived at that 
old village site. It seems that the neighboring mountain settlers 
didn't want to turn them in to be taken away to the "reservation."  
They remained quite unnoticed by the outside world. 
1 60 
A Descendent Identifies Herself as a Pistol River Indian 
Another old-timer, Ed Lawrence, whose parents had been one of the 
first families to arrive just after the Battle of Pistol River, tells of 
another type of relationship with the local Indians. He once told me 
that �tBrownie," his wife's brother, was seldom mentioned in the 
Brown family, as he had "taken up and run off with those Indian 
women from upriver" and was a disgrace to them all. 
I often thought about him with those "upriver Indian women" 
and wondered how and where they lived. It wasn't until many years 
later that I heard of the "upriver women friends" of Ben Gardner's 
grandmother, and that I met an elderly woman in Crescent City at 
the celebration of a new museum and library. When she learned I 
was a Coos and Coquelle Indian who had grown up in Pistol River, 
she asked to speak to me privately. Rather secretly she told me that 
her name was Brown, and that her ancestors came from the Pistol 
River Tribe (the Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-Dunne) .  Time was hurried 
at that moment and we couldn't talk at length so we agreed to get in 
contact with each other again. I have not yet done so and hope that 
she is still around to take up where we left off. I do hope so. 
1 6 1  
Finding Accurate Names and Meanings 
Pistol River colloquial terms refer to the main village in various 
spellings and pronunciations, e.g. , "Chetleshin," ''Chet-Less-en-Ton," 
"Chetle-Lessington." It seemed nearly impossible to ever find the 
true name until at last I became introduced to the massive 
collections of john Peabody Harrington's unpublished field-notes in 
the National Anthropological Archives of the Smithsonian Institution 
in Washington, D.C. 
I was one of the first researchers to peruse the hidden 
"cryptics" of his collection, and was surprised and delighted to 
discover that one of his most reliable informants, from southwest 
Oregon was a distant relative of mine, Coquelle "Kokel'' Thompson. 
As a boy, he had grown up on the upper Coquille River and had 
been educated in the traditional Native manner of learning the 
villages and place-names along all of the neighboring rivers, 
streams, and coastline. 
Thompson spoke a related Athabascan language and gave 
direct translations with each village name he recited. Therefore, we 
now have the accurate name of ''Ch'et-Less-Ch'unn-Dunn." The 
162  
translation was a little difficult for Thompson and his friend Lucy, 
as the language was not identical to their own. However they agreed 
that the name referred to a "standing up rock." Thompson later 
added "right by a creek there." Looking at the map one sees that 
indeed a creek flowed Into the Pistol River just opposite of the Big 
Rock standing at the mouth (see Erlandson et al. 2000).  Dunn, 
means, "place" or "there." 
As I pondered the full meaning and discussed It with Loren 
Bommelyn, a speaker of Tolowa (an Athabascan language identical 
to that of Pistol River) he responded that in his language it sounded 
like, "place of a big rock standing up by roiling water." Loren had 
never heard of Coquelle Thompson, nor the Harrington notes. But 
his aural understanding of the sounds fit perfectly to the big rock 
( "Eagle Rock") across from a little creek, where the mouth of Pistol 
River churned around it and emptied Into the Pacific Ocean, about 
100 years ago. 
Unknown Caller Wants to Rebury Indians at Pistol River 
In 1 994, a pioneer descendant and local cemetery director of Pistol 
163 
River, received a phone call from an unidentified woman who 
requested that the "Indians' bones" which were dug up at Pistol 
River be re-interred in the Pistol River cemetery. She had asked 
something like, "What are you going to do with all of these bones?" 
Virginia Fendrick was startled that someone should suggest 
such a thing, and flatly refused to even consider her request, saying 
it was for Pistol River pioneer families and local residents only. She 
later realized that the "bones" were probably part of those lost or 
misplaced after her cousins Ron and Bill Crook had excavated at the 
"Chetleshin" village. She hadn't even bothered to ask the name and 
phone number of the unknown caller. 
How Did the Burials Come to be as They Were? 
It was most puzzling to find people buried in strange positions, all 
scrunched up like babies in their earthly wombs. Some graves were 
located within the walls and partly under the clay floors of the old 
houses. Some were outside the house walls, and one was partly in 
and out of a house. How could this happen; could this be some 
unknown internal house interment practice? Many assume just that. 
1 64 
In his 197 1 book, Requiem for a People, Stephen D. Beckham 
mentioned the experiences of a woman adventurer in 1 853 .  Ida 
Pfeifer an, "inquisitive round-the-world-traveler," had stopped off in 
some of the coastal villages, perhaps Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn, and 
managed to spend the night sleeping in the women's quarters. 
Beckham ( 197 1 : 1 2 )  remarks about Ms. Ida Pfeifer's uncomfortable 
sleeping arrangements: 
This visitor's rest might have been even more fitful had 
she known that she was probably sleeping only a few feet 
above the ancestors of the women with whom she spent 
the night. The Rogues customarily buried their dead 
within the village, and as years passed, new houses were 
frequently constructed over former cemeteries. 
It Ain't Necessarily So 
We, who excavated the house pits, and burials, continue to be 
puzzled over the locations, and positions of the human remains (see 
Erlandson et al. 1 997).  Some were inside, partly above the clay 
floors, and some outside the house walls. All of the house pit 
excavations produced burned timbers, but not one burial showed 
any sign of being burned. Who buried them? 
One important aspect of all the burials was that the heads 
1 65 
were all pointing in a northwesterly direction. This would surely 
indicate the burials were placed by the Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-
Dunne themselves. If so, why were the burials here so different from 
those of their neighbors and close relatives in the village at the 
mouth of the Chetco River? It has been well established that the 
language of the Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-Dunne was the same as that 
of the Chetcos and Tolowas. Old "Lucy" told Harrington: 
Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-Dunne [means the people, and] 
the rock standing up on the Pistol River beach and from 
that standing rock all Pistol River as a river is named. 
That is the divide between Rogue River and Chetco. The 
name refers to that rock (Harrington 1 943 ) .  
Twenty years after Ida Pfeifer stayed overnight, A. W. Chase 
( 1 873 ) ,  working for the Bureau of American Ethnology, described in 
detail the burial methods of the Chetco people. All were laid out flat 
with head and foot -stones and broad hewn cedar boards above and 
below the remains. This style of burial practice is nearly identical to 
that of the Smith River Tolowas and their Yurok neighbors just to 
the south (personal observations) . 
It could seem to some investigators that the burials, found in 
the northern part of the excavated village site, must have 
1 66 
constituted a cemetery. Perhaps so, by default, as there were a 
number of individuals buried there, with their heads all pointing to 
the northwest. But that is not consistent with the cemeteries 
elsewhere in that cultural region. 
Several speculations might explain the mystery for now, and 
not one is more reliably authentic than another. However, given the 
population decimation by disease among other coastal communities 
in the early 1 800s, e.g. , the Fort Ross outbreak 1 8 3 7-1 838,  and 
possibly earlier such outbreaks due to late 1 8th and early 1 9th 
century contacts, e.g., Vancouver at Port Orford, 1 792, and Corney 
at Port Orford 1 8 1 7  (Beckham 197 1 : 24; Erlandson et al. 1 997:2 3 5 ) ,  
disease epidemics could have spread quickly along the southern 
Oregon Coast, with no notice by the outside world, and no record of 
such in the oral traditions. Only the curious burials in the village 
sites tell a story. 
When one imagines the possible explanations it seems only 
reasonable to expect that these people would "normally" practice 
their customary burials in their customary cemeteries. Those were 
always located somewhere near their houses, but not inside where 
1 67 
people were living. Then why this strange burial arrangement? 
We know that there were two parts to Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn, 
one part on either side of the creek, which bisected it, flowing onto 
the beach from the east. Most of the burials were uncovered on the 
north side, which was nearly completely excavated before highway 
construction destroyed it. The south side was only partly excavated, 
and part of it remains intact now. Erlandson et al. ( 1 997)  dated one 
of these houses to approximately AD 1 680, but the precise age of 
the burials - although clearly younger than the house - remains 
unknown. Were we able to accurately date the burials, Ron Crook 
and I believe that the following evidence would result. 
There were likely repeated outbreaks of disease, which killed a 
number of people at Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn. In some of the earliest, 
the victims could have been buried in the customary manner, 
perhaps in the traditional village cemetery. Probably, their houses 
were burned, as was the custom of many in southern Oregon. The 
Indian Agent at the Siletz "reservation" had difficulty preventing the 
burning of the new government-built houses each time the head of a 
family died there: 
This practice of immediately burning the house or hut 
after a death has occurred therein evidently has its rise 
in some rude idea of sanitary measures. Mr. Simpson, 
the Indian agent at the Siletz Reservation, informed me 
in 1 868 that he had the greatest difficulty in preventing 
the really substantial log houses erected under his 
supervision by the Indians from being burnt whenever a 
death occurred in them (Chase 1873:3 8 ) . 
However, as the epidemics continued, it must have become 
more difficult for the surviving villagers to follow their burial 
customs. Possibly the depressions where the now burned houses 
1 68 
once stood, became a substitute grave-site, requiring less digging for 
interment. One burial of a juvenile on the north side, was not in a 
house-pit, but was less than six inches under the surface. In the 
1 960s, a woman from Pistol River thrust her spade into the ground 
and took off the top of the skull in her first small shovel full of soil. 
It just doesn't seem reasonable that the Chet-Less-Chunn-
Dunne buried their deceased inside their homes where they 
continued living. The burials were not completely below the hard 
packed clay floors. The burial that was partly inside and outside of a 
house must have been placed there after the house was destroyed. 
The flexed positions for all of them would have required less digging 
for the survivors, perhaps weakened by illness themselves. Yet, the 
1 69 
northwest cranial alignment implies that the people themselves did 
the burying, following a prescribed custom albeit limited in their 
usual practices. 
What then of the main cemetery? Where would that have been 
located? A major southeastern slice of the southern portion of the 
village remains intact. Ron Crook was just beginning a fresh 
excavation in that area, and just beginning to find some exquisite 
artifacts such as elk horn purses, (possibly funerary items) when 
Eugene Heflin informed him that the slope for the new highway was 
completed and would not affect any more of that location. Ron 
ceased digging, looking at the remaining flat ground to the east of 
him, glad that it was going to remain untouched. 
Later, we both stared knowingly. Experience and intuition told 
us that was the perfect traditional place for their cemetery. It hadn't 
been found elsewhere and that spot hadn't been touched. It must be 
right there. 
There is another remote possibility for another answer. 
Sometime in the 1970s or early 1 980s, a local BLM archaeologist 
mentioned to me that he had dug a test hole on top of "Eagle Rock" 
1 70 
out in front of the village site that rises abruptly from the beach. It 
is flat on top with about a half acre of rich loam soil, in places about 
two or three feet deep. He claimed that his cursory excavation had 
uncovered a "fire-charred funerary pit." I was somewhat astounded, 
as I'd never heard of such practices along the southern Oregon 
Coast. Perhaps it was so. Only future and more "expert" scientific 
analysis than we have offered as amateur yet concerned researchers 
might provide more convincing information. Perhaps we don't need 
to know. Perhaps the Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn-Dunne, have given all 
they can or are willing to give to the "people, who were to come 
later." We now must give them back to Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn. 
Now Where Did They Go? 
As questions continued to plague all, who looked at fragmented 
reports on the Pistol River excavations ( see Heflin 1 966, 198 1 ) ,  It 
seemed that perhaps some of us had misunderstood what had 
happened to all those remains. Maybe they were turned over to the 
museum after all. Alas, not so, only a few of those burials have been 
identified. Somewhere out there, perhaps hidden in the back of 
someone's garage, are several complete sets of skeletal remains 
waiting to be found and returned to their rightful resting place. 
1 7 1  
Curiously, horse remains were found buried in one of the 
house pits. Ron Crook and I learned that a local rancher, "Babe" 
Henry who once owned that piece of land, plowed up part of the 
rich soil (probably in the 1 930s) in the village site to plant a garden. 
We believe that section was completely moved away by the new 
highway access road through the middle of the village. Apparently 
one of his horses died nearby and a house depression was more 
convenient for a grave than digging a new hole to bury a horse. 
Hence the probable reason for horse bones in the middle of the 
village. 
Another Chapter for Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn Today 
The northwest wind blows steadily nearly all summer on the 
southern Oregon Coast. Pistol River is one of those special places 
where it can be counted on to blow incessantly, so much so that 
recognition of the strong winds have gone far beyond what anyone 
of the original inhabitants might have imagined in their dreams. 
1 7 2  
Early explorers, settlers, miners, and military personnel have 
written pathetic notes about their troubles and pains caused by the 
insufferable northwest summer wind. A common complaint noted in 
personal letters and diaries, told of the pain of enduring the "face 
ache" or ((ague." Curiously, there are no stories or tales of the 
indigenous people experiencing problems with the wind. In some 
legends, as with the Nehalem, South Wind (a  winter-time wind) was 
of a trickster nature and by extending part of his sexual anatomy, 
caused the development of the Nehalem sand spit which extends 
across the mouth of the river from the south shore. 
However, today there is a completely new set of newcomers to 
the southern Oregon Coast. With the consistency of the strong 
northwest winds, have come the adrenaline-pumping, thrill-seeking 
wind-sailors from around the world. Pistol River (Chet-Less-Chunn­
Dunn) has become world famous as the place where the summer 
winds blow steadily and the ocean waves are big enough, to 
challenge the world's best wind sailors. 
As I stood on the bluff above the old village site and watched 
the multitude of colorful sails skimming and leaping the waves 
1 73 
beyond the big rock, I couldn't help wondering what the "old ones" 
were thinking. How could it be that life has changed so 
dramatically? The Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunne surely had no idea that 
such exotic beings would one day sport about in front of their 
beloved village "where the water roils at the base of the big rock." 
How would they have interpreted such strange behavior? 
I suspect, however, none of those newcomers who arrive each 
summer from as far away as New Zealand, Brazil, Italy, and England 
to compete in ocean wave acrobatics, have the slightest idea of the 
beautiful and tragic past that yet hovers around the ancient village 
site of Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn. 
The river no longer roils at the base of that rock, as the 
introduction of European beach grass encouraged the development 
of "stationary" sand dunes extending south, a mile or more from 
Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn. The mouth now opens straight out to sea, 
after years of migrating farther south, and washing away the sand 
dunes, which contained numerous old shell middens (see Erlandson 
et al. 2000) .  Surely that dramatic change would have signaled other 
equally dire changes impending for their beloved homeland. We too 
1 74 
should wonder. In the late 1 990s, the mouth of Pistol River began a 
migration back north, and has removed more than a mile of the 
dunes with heavy beach grass. Perhaps Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunn will 
again have water roiling at the rock. 
Elma Ismert (now deceased) an older relative of the Crook 
brothers, wrote this poem sometime after assisting with the 
amateur excavations in the 1 960s and presented it to Ron Crook 
who provided me a copy, specifically for this publication. 
Findings at Chetl-Essentan Village 
All along old Curry's shores, 
In the sand dunes, on the moors, 
There we found reminders 
of the days of long ago. 
In old shell mounds deep and wide, 
by the seething ocean's side, 
we went digging for the artifacts 
we knew we'd find below. 
As we dug and searched the sand, 
Near the ocean's glistening strand, 
we found ornaments and arrow points 
and implements of bone. 
Arrow points so finely notched, 
(They discarded those they botched) 
Charms and needles, pins and rings, 
and tools made of stone. 
Ancient ivory carved so fine, 
Beauty in its every line. 
He who did this knew the joy 
of skillful work well done. 
We who find these things admire 
Him, who sat beside his fire, 
Chipping points and carving ivory 
beneath the western sun. 
Thus we dug right carefully, 
bit by bit, so patiently, 
So we'd not disturb the occupants, 
if sepulchres were found. 
Oh! We found them very soon, 
At those diggings on the dune, 
Where they were placed so surely 
in their happy hunting ground. 
Yes, we bared them carefully, 
Moved them oh! So tenderly, 
For the occupants of these rude graves 
were humans just as we. 
They had followed tribal rule, 
Taught them in Nature's school, 
Made obeisance to the Father, 
lived the good life proud and free. 
These bones once moved smoothly in 
Long, strong muscles, glowing skin. 
Yes, these bones were people then, 
Women, children, brave strong men, 
And they went about food gathering 
and building of a home. 
1 75 
Chetl-Essentan is no more, 
Blackened-burned-every door. 
There's nothing now but these 
remains to tell the tale. 
But the arrow point (for war) 
and the ornaments (far more!) ,  
Tell of real people 
Who have passed beyond the veil. 
Elma Metzgus Ismert 
The True Story of Battle Rock 
1 76 
(This essay was written in response to a request by the chairman of the 
Oregon Historical Markers Committee, to provide the Native version of the 
"Battle of Battle Rock" incident at Port Orford in 1 85 1 ) . 
It is not surprising that some of the current local residents of Port 
Orford, along with some descendants of Captain William Tichenor, 
are objecting to any alteration of the story as has been published 
and popularized by the non-Native dominant society. 
For more than 1 00 years, the Native Americans of southern 
Oregon have endured the disgrace and embarrassment of having 
gross misinformation printed and flaunted as the "true" history by 
the white aggressors. Those were the miners, trappers, explorers, 
1 77 
and colonists who slaughtered, raped, and brutally exterminated 
most of the Native inhabitants before the Indian agents could 
remove the survivors to the relative safety of the concentration 
camps and later to reservations (see Wasson 1 994). Unfortunately, 
some of the same vigilantes, army volunteers, and self-styled Indian 
hunters were the very guards and attendants who where hired to 
oversee the Native survivors at the camps and reservations to which 
the people were removed up the Oregon Coast. 
For more than 1 00 years, the written histories of southern 
Oregon have been a composite of misunderstandings, outright lies, 
half truths, and blatant omissions of factual information, by the 
many and varied historians who have rushed to write their own 
versions (for personal gain, notoriety, or perhaps just vicariously) of 
the exotic, dramatic, tragic, and bizarre episodes of human conflict 
in the "black hole" of the southern Oregon Coast. 
The outcry against the so-called "histories" should have 
started more than 1 00 years ago when they were written. They 
altered the facts from the beginning. Sadly, such alteration 
continues in the 1 990s. In fact, there were several non-Indians, such 
1 78 
as Indian Agent S. M. Smith, who attempted to bring out the truth to 
the public and federal officials. But each of them was soundly 
criticized and their lives threatened to the point of their removal 
from office. Some had to flee the country for personal safety (see 
O'Donnell 1 99 1 : 1 65 ). 
Those misleading and false narratives now deserve to be 
corrected by the new generations of Oregon Native and non-Native 
researchers who are ferreting out the gruesome and enlightening 
details of history which have been hidden, lost, or covered-up for 
far too long. It's now time for the Native peoples to tell their own 
stories. 
There could be understandable embarrassment among the 
Tichenor descendants today, were these other facts of history to 
come to light at last, specifically focused on William Tichenor. 
However, none of the here-to-fore suppressed information makes 
any claims directly against the Captain himself. The reputation of 
Captain William Tichenor rests on the history of his legal 
entanglements with the federal government and his subsequent 
incarceration at Alcatraz. That history speaks for itself. 
1 79 
J. M. Kirkpatrick, the self-acclaimed leader of the landing 
party, was obviously intent on getting his version of the "Battle of 
Battle Rock" into print as quickly as possible. There is a tendency 
among western, literary thinkers to place truth and high value only 
on information, printed in "black on white." Having the long-range 
tenure of being the only printed and widely published version of 
the Battle Rock story, Kirkpatrick accomplished what he intended. 
However, there has persisted in southern Oregon among numerous 
local Native (and some non-Natives also) descendants the knowledge 
that the published version was not all truth. 
It should be noted that Superintendent of Indian Affairs, 
Anson Dart, was informed in June 1 85 1 ,  soon after the alleged 
event, of an "Indian massacre of an entire white settlement" at Port 
Orford. He soon went there, talked with a group of those Natives 
who were involved, and received their personal version of the 
events. First, Dart learned that the massacre of white settlers by 
Indians was wholly false. He next learned that Kirkpatrick's story 
( blasting the gathering of Indians for self-protection) was also false. 
1 80 
Even before sailing from Portland to Port Orford on the Sea 
Gull with Captain Tichenor, Kirkpatrick anticipated fighting with the 
Indians. He purchased a U.S. rifle to compliment "a six shooting 
rifle, three old flint lock muskets, one old sword, one fine shooting 
revolver 3 8  caliber, one pair of derringers, five pounds of rifle 
powder, and ten pounds of bar lead." Upon arriving at Port Orford, 
Kirkpatrick talked Captain Tichenor out of his ship's cannon. He 
planned to place the cannon in a strategic location, where he could 
fire most effectively in the faces of the Indians, who would gather on 
the narrow approach to the rock where the landing party would be 
camped. Captain Tichenor had the cannon hauled ashore and left it 
with Kirkpatrick. 
After he left, we lost no time in making our camp on 
what was to be called Battle Rock as long as Oregon has a 
history. We hauled the old cannon to the top of the rock 
and placed it so as to command the narrow ridge where 
the Indians would have to crowd together before they 
could get to the top of the rock where we were camped 
(Dodge 1 969:35 ) .  
Nobody questions whether a cannon was placed on the rock, 
or whether it was loaded and aimed onto the approach of the rock, 
1 8 1  
prior to any signs of aggression by the Indians, and subsequently 
discharged into a tightly collected group of them. 
Where Kirkpatrick's story first falls apart is in his claim that 
the Indians charged the rock en masse, as though they were a group 
of Scots Rebels charging the English lines. That action would have 
been totally uncharacteristic of the local Natives for several reasons. 
First, group hand-to-hand-combat was not a form of warfare 
practiced in southwest Oregon, or by related groups in northern 
California. The more common approach to battle was to first run 
and draw the enemy onto a more advantageous battleground (see 
Gualtieri 1 996: 1 7-23,  3 1-39).  
Second, the Natives knew what guns and cannons were, and 
they knew the group of whites had at least one cannon from 
Tichenor on the rock. 
Third, there are various accounts of a non-local Native (some 
say a Russian) involved in leading the local Natives' gatherings on 
shore after the initial blast from the heavily loaded cannon (Dodge 
1 969:38) .  That "outsider" would surely have known the destructive 
potential of such a weapon and would not have advocated an all-out 
assault as Kirkpatrick claims the Indians made, and which forced 
him to discharge the cannon in "self-defense." 
1 82 
Among several generations of Native descendants in southern 
Oregon, there is similar version of the Battle Rock event of 1 85 1 ,  
which has been told regularly to keep the true story alive. Some of 
the details are a little obscure, but the main point again is that the 
published version as told by Kirkpatrick's landing party is false. 
In the 1 940s, linguist/ethnologist John P. Harrington from the 
Bureau of American Ethnology collected and recorded comments 
from southern Oregon Native descendants. One informant he named 
as "Johnny" (John Waters?) stated, ''The fellow who led the Indians 
at Battle Rock was Russian. The story was all lies as told by 
Kirkpatrick." (Harrington 1 943:Reel #26 ,  frame 383) .  Lucy 
Thompson and Wolverton Orten made similar comments 
(Harrington 1 943:Reel #26, frame 385) .  
Through my own family, I learned of the misinformation 
recorded in the history books and displayed on the highway marker 
at Port Orford. My father, George B. Wasson, and his sister, Daisy 
Wasson Codding, related the information as passed on to them from 
183  
their mother, Susan Adulsah Wasson, and her mother, Glshgiu, of 
Miluk Coos and Upper Coquelle ancestry respectively. In the early 
1 900s, Dad also heard from the oldest Native survivors of the Rogue 
Wars, their version of the Battle Rock story. 
My Scottish grandfather, George R. Wasson, was in the upper 
Rogue River country at the time of the Battle Rock incident in 1 85 1. 
He moved to Coos Bay in 1 853 ,  and was a common visitor to the 
Port Orford, Gold Beach ( then Ellensburg) ,  and Rogue River areas 
through the end of the Rogue River War in 1 856. He knew many of 
those early settlers and military men personally. Many of them told 
concurring stories about the true events at Battle Rock, which 
primarily agree with the version related by Anson Dart. 
They all said that the landing party from Captain Tichenor's 
ship insisted on having the cannon with them when they moved 
their belongings "ashore" onto the rock. They also emphasized that 
Kirkpatrick's landing party was anticipating a battle with the local 
Indians and intended to get the first strike with their cannon. In 
preparation for their devastating blow, they loaded the cannon with 
chopped-up bar lead and plenty of horse-shoe nails, plus any other 
1 84 
small pieces of scrap metal they could find, heavily primed it and 
used someone's old flannel shirt for wadding. They placed the 
cannon up on the rock, aiming it down the narrow slope where its 
blast would most effectively rake the group of Indians to be 
gathered there and on the narrow bench leading to it. 
The Whites then requested the Indians to come forward on the 
approach to the rock for a "parlay." It seems the Natives were all 
expecting gifts. Dart claims they were instructed to gather there to 
receive pay for their work in unloading the ship. When gathered in 
the right formation, the whites fired their cannon into the faces of 
the Indians, with the makeshift "shrapnel" ripping and tearing them 
apart. I recall clearly the disgust and horror with which my father, 
Aunt Daisy, and others told of the lies and false information as 
reported by the landing party at Port Orford in 1 8 5 1 .  At last, I am 
grateful to have a viable opportunity to pass on their true version of 
that story, which, they all feared would never find the proper venue 
for its revelation. 
The name "Battle Rock" now seems a misnomer. Perhaps it 
should be more correctly called "Massacre Rock." Better still, why 
1 85 
not use its neutral Native name, "Ma'-na'-xhay-Thet," which means, 
"ply canoe back and forth-rock" when gathering mussels there, 
(Harrington 1 943:Reel 26, frames 3 84-385) .  
Port Orford was called ((Soldgis sxa Dunn"(a combination of 
Chinook jargon and Athabascan);  "Soldgis (soldiers),  sxa (stay) , 
Dunn (place) or "the soldiers' fort." (Harrington 1943: Reel 26,  
frames, 380-3 85 ) .  
III. WASSON FAMILY HISTORY AND STORIES 
An Historical Overview by George B. Wasson, Sr. 
1 86 
After the death of my mother in 1 995,  I removed boxes and trunks 
of old papers and memorabilia from a storage area in her ranch 
home at Pistol River. Stored in one of the trunks were the remains of 
my father's papers she and I had salvaged in 1 950, after an intruder 
had ransacked our house in Coquille, opened that trunk, piled and 
burned much of its contents. 
It has been difficult to sort out and match pages to obtain 
complete documents on various topics and issues. However, an 
occasional essay or letter remains intact and tells a brief story of its 
own. I was amazed to learn how my father had written on the same 
topics which interest me today, and told a story much as I am doing 
now. 
The following is two of those, in its complete form, just as he 
wrote them in 1 9 1 6: 
BIRTH AND ANCESTRY 
Born at Coos Bay within the original Coos Indian 
country, April 2 9, 1 880. 
Father's name: George Robinson Wasson, a 
Canadian who came to Coos Bay in 1853 .  
Mother's name: Susan Adolsa [sic] a full blood Coos 
Indian of the Millukes [sic] . Her mother's name was 
Ghetche Ghaewe ["Gishgiu" or t'cicgl'yu, according to 
jacobs] . Mother lived her whole live time at Coos bay 
and died in 1 9 1 7. Mother was married in 1 863 and bore 
ten children, all of whom were reared at Coos Bay. 
Grandmother lived as a member of mother's family until 
her death in 1 894. Mother and Grandmother spoke the 
Coos language at home. I learned to understand the Coos 
Language but the children were not encouraged to speak 
it. 
My grandmother was the "bahsic" of the Coos tribe 
or what the Whiteman would call the historian or the 
legend keeper of the tribe. In my childhood, I have 
listened by the hour to her as she narrated the history of 
the Coos Indians, which was interpreted by my mother. 
She was especially fond of talking to the younger 
members of the tribe about the losses that her people 
had suffered and the injustice inflicted upon them by 
the whites when the Coos Indians were driven away from 
their homes and their lands taken away from them. 
In talking to us children she frequently urged that 
when the time came it would be my duty to work for the 
restoration of the Indians' property. I was the fourth son 
and according to the legends of the Coos Indians, I was 
the member of the family supposed to have the best 
qualifications for the work she wanted me to do. 
187  
THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN 
Four score and eleven years ago there was born in 
this state a new civilization; Speaking on language, 
serving one flag and teaching the citizenship of one 
nation. When the Vanguard of this civilization first 
entered this country, they found living here a peace 
loving people. Without considering any rights the 
people (living and occupying this country from time 
immemorial) had to the lands, the Congress of the 
United States passed the Donation land Claim Act which 
gave to the settler, title to the Indians' land. The Indians 
not only surrendered this title in peace, but he helped 
the bona fide settler in the selection thereof. 
In 1 848 gold was discovered in California; the 
hardest boiled element of the American emigrant that 
ever sailed the high seas or forked a bronko (sic) on the 
plains, rushed into California. 
In the year 1 85 2  gold was discovered on the 
beaches of Southern Oregon and this hard boiled 
prospector followed the strike. When the gold played out 
on the beaches of Whiskey Run new diggings was 
discovered in the Waldo hills and around Yreka. 
These hardboiled prospectors took unlawful 
possession of the Indians lands, ravished their women, 
and when the Indians resented these unlawful and 
immoral acts the miners adopted a policy of 
extermination. 
When the Indians did organize to protect their 
homes and families, the United States Government 
moved in their overwhelming army and whipped these 
Indians into submission. [The government then] 
marched them at the point of a bayonet onto 
reservations created by executive order, where treaties 
were negotiated for the purpose of giving the taking of 
the lands, a legal aspect (Wasson 1916) .  
1 88 
1 89 
A Scout to Rogue Rlyer in 1 856 
My Aunt Daisy often told me of my grandfather's (George R. 
Wasson's) attempts to mediate the conflicts in southern Oregon 
during the Rogue River War of 1856 (see Fig. 7) .  He was greatly 
disturbed by the atrocities of the infamous volunteers who primarily 
fought for extermination of the local Native peoples by continually 
harassing and taunting them into battles. At the same time, 
grandfather was concerned about the welfare of the White settlers 
who were being attacked by the local tribes, as part of the White 
encroachment upon Native territory. 
When the war moved from upriver down to the coast, the town 
of Ellensburg (now known as Gold Beach) was attacked and burned. 
But, as most people there had been alerted by the first attack at 
Bagnell's Ferry (upriver a few miles) , they had hurriedly retreated to 
the newly erected Miner's Fort just north of the mouth of Rogue 
River. 
My grandfather had first arrived in Jacksonville, Oregon, in late 
1 850 or early 1 8 5 1 (see Fig. 7) .  He had engaged in various mining 
ventures around southern Oregon and knew the area well. 
Figure 7. George R. Wasson, Frontiersman, 1 856. 
1 90 
191  
Having heard rumors of the gold-bearing black sands (and the 
fertile bay area lands) ,  he ventured over the Coast Range, from 
Camas Valley, down Coos River to Coos Bay in the spring of 1 85 3 ,  
where he built the first log house in Empire (now part of Coos Bay) . 
Grandfather and his fellow explorers were the first Whitemen 
to travel down the Coos River (which they did by raft) from its 
headwater to the mouth at the bay. It's always been a humorous 
anecdote in our family to tell how they were fooled by the change of 
tide, just as the small rafting party arrived at the confluence of Coos 
River and Catching Inlet. Not realizing the tide had begun to come 
back in, the raft began to increase in speed as the flow pushed them 
back up the inlet, thinking they were still headed toward the mouth 
of the bay. Gradually they became aware of their mistake in 
judgment as the inlet narrowed and they had to stop and wait for 
the next ebb tide to continue their journey to the mouth. 
After finishing his log house at Empire, grandfather explored 
the southern coast from Coos Bay down to northern California. His 
mining experiences also prompted him to delve into related 
entrepreneurial ventures and he built the first water-powered 
192 
sawmill (with an undershot water wheel) at the present site of the 
Faye Ranch just north of Bullard's Beach State Park. That sawmill 
replaced the labor intensive whipsaw pits and provided most of the 
lumber for the miners at Whiskey Run and other nearby mining 
sites. 
However, in the spring of 1856,  George R. Wasson was at Port 
Orford when word of the attack on Ellensburg arrived by one of the 
escapees from the first attack on the whites at Bagnell's Ferry, also 
the site of the main upriver village of the Tututunnes. 
Aunt Daisy showed me the article, "A Scout to Rogue River in 
1 85 6," written by Jeremiah Huntley of Gold Beach and published in 
the Centennial History of Oregon 1 81 1 -1 91 2, edited by joseph 
Gaston ( 1 91 2) .  just before her death, Aunt Daisy handed me her 
personal copy of that history book, asking me to share that story 
and tell of the heroic deeds of my grandfather. Huntley's story, of 
which my family was so proud, is presented below, interspersed 
with my own comments and recollections. 
The following article, entitled, "A Scout to Rogue River in 
1 856," was written by jeremiah Huntley of Gold Beach. 
The first news of the Indian outbreak at the mouth 
of Rogue River was brought to Port Orford by Charley 
Foster, whose company of home guards, of volunteers, 
were attacked and routed by the Indians at their camp 
on the north bank of Rogue River at a point since known 
as Bagnell's Ferry, on the early morning of February 23,  
1 856. 
Several men of the company were killed and 
wounded at the first volley; the others fled to the timber 
and brush nearby and hid the best they could. A few 
were discovered by the Indians during the day and 
killed. 
Foster succeeded in eluding the Indians and when 
it became dark started for Port Orford, thirty miles 
distant, where he arrived the second day, almost 
famished and gave the alarm. Foster did not know the 
fate of the people at the mouth of the river but reported 
that he believed that all the whites in that vicinity had 
been killed. 
From his hiding place in the jungle he saw many 
strange Indians passing during the day, from which he 
judged that the hostiles from up the river had come 
down and, joining with the coast Indians, had killed all 
the whites they could find. 
At that period Port Orford was a thriving little 
town of about two hundred people, mostly miners and 
packers, though a few families had recently been added 
to the town. The Indians in that vicinity were not very 
numerous or warlike, and the few who lived thereabouts 
gave the people no concern. 
Several days passed after Foster's arrival, but 
nothing more was heard from Rogue River, so one 
jerroe, a storekeeper, in company with four or five 
others, whose names have been forgotten, manned a 
whaleboat, loaded it with provisions, guns and 
1 93 
ammunition, and pulled out for Rogue River to assist the 
people there, should they find any alive. 
It was known that a small fort or earthwork had 
been partially built a short time previous about one mile 
north of the mouth of the river by some miners who 
feared an outbreak, and thither the men in a boat 
directed their course. The boat was spied and hailed by 
the people in the fort, and in an attempt to make a 
landing all the occupants of the boat, save one, were 
drowned in the surf. 
The little fort was besieged by hundreds of Indians 
who kept at a safe distance, however, as the occupants 
had good rifles and knew how to use them. With plenty 
of provisions, a good log fort carefully constructed with 
loopholes and protected by a wide ditch on the outside, 
the miners had no fears of their ability to repel any 
assaults of the Indians. But they needed every man 
present, so had not tried to send for assistance. 
Several days passed, and as no word was received 
from Rogue River or the occupants of the whaleboat, W. 
S. Winsor and George Wasson, two miners, but 
experienced Indian fighters, volunteered to go to Rogue 
River and locate the white people, if any were alive, or 
learn their fate (Gaston 1 91 2: 1 026).  
My family has never been pleased with Huntley's "literary 
1 94 
license" in referring to George R. Wasson as an "experienced Indian 
fighter." It is possible that Grandfather found himself in dire 
situations during his travels around northern California and 
southern Oregon and had to fight some Indians out of self-defense, 
but no stories like that have been passed on in family oral history. 
His record of striving to protect Native groups from abuse and 
1 95 
slaughter by such vigilantes as the "Exterminators" of jacksonville 
(Beckham 1971 :78 ,  1 1 5- 1 1 6, 122 )  Oregon, and the "Fire eaters" 
from Crescent City, California (Beckham 1971 : 1 7 2 ), speaks loudly 
for itself. 
Winsor and Wasson secured the best horses they 
could find, and at dark on the evening of March 3 ,  1 856, 
were ready to undertake the perilous journey. Armed 
with good rifles and revolvers, and with four days' 
rations tied on their saddles, the two men shook hands 
with the friends who had assembled at the only store in 
town to see them off, mounted, and soon disappeared in 
the darkness down the beach. Both had traveled that 
trail many times, and as the night was not very dark 
they made good time. 
No one resided on or near the trail, so it was pretty 
certain that the only human beings they were apt to 
encounter would be Indians. As the scouts hurried along 
that lonely trail they were frequently startled by wild 
animals scampering off through the forest, through 
brush and over logs, making considerable noise. 
The clink of the shoes on their horses against the 
many stones in the trail made more noise than was 
pleasant to hear, as such noise might be heard by some 
lurking warrior picketing the trail. But such noises could 
not be avoided, and our scouts went forward as fast as it 
was prudent in the darkness. 
The scouts approached Mussel Creek, fifteen miles 
south of Port Orford, about eleven o'clock, where they 
knew that several Indian families lived close to the trail. 
In fact all Indian huts were located on the side of the 
trails in early days (Gaston 1 91 2: 1026).  
1 96 
In 1 856, the trail along the coast made a circuitous detour 
around Humbug Mountain and rocks known as "The Sisters," just 
south of there. Present day U.S. Highway 101  has considerably 
shortened the distance from Port Orford to Mussel Creek, now the 
location of Prehistoric Gardens and Arizona Beach, (named after 
"Arizona Inn", a stagecoach stop located there in the late 1 800s) .  
Nonetheless, as I have driven Highway 101 hundreds of times over 
the years, I have visualized the journey of my grandfather and 
endeavored to place myself in the same "mental/ emotional mind 
set" he must have experienced on that trip back in 1 856. 
Several fires were burning in the village and 
Indians were seen moving about, all of which indicated 
to the scouts that something unusual was doing, as it was 
well known that all Indians usually retired early in the 
evening. 
On nearing the village the scouts paused to 
determine what was best to do to pass the camp in 
safety. A rocky beach to the right and an impenetrable 
jungle to their left, above the village, made it almost 
impossible to pass the village without riding through it. 
Wasson suggested that Winsor hold his horse while 
he advanced on foot to reconnoiter, but the latter 
objected to such a move, saying: 'George, there is no use 
of monkeying round that camp, for we must either ride 
through or go back; and as we have no time to lose, let's 
get a move on. What do you say?' The only reply Wasson 
made was, ''Go ahead." 
Wasson was one of those fearless, cautious 
mountaineers of the early days who never hesitated to 
do things when brought face to face with danger. In fact, 
he was chosen by Winsor as one, upon whom he could 
rely on the perilous journey. 
The scouts dismounted, tightened their saddles, 
mounted again and, with drawn revolvers, moved 
forward, forged the creek and, putting spurs to their 
horses, quickly passed through the village, uttering war 
whoops, and reached the timber on the hillside before 
the astonished Indians knew what had happened. As the 
scouts passed through the village they did not see many 
Indians, and those whom they saw had no arms and 
wore no war paint. 
When clear of the village the scouts Increased their 
pace, satisfied that they had left no hostile Indians 
behind them--a fact which might prove of inestimable 
value should they suddenly encounter a war party and 
be compelled to retreat (Gaston 1 9 1 2: 1027) .  
197 
The next Indian village was located at  Euchre Creek, about five 
miles below the village they had just passed, and as the tide was 
nearly high they must cross that creek at the village. The scouts 
feared that some of the "hostiles" from Rogue River might be 
encountered, but they were determined to get through If possible. 
The village was built on sand, which enabled the 
scouts to approach it without making the usual noise on 
horseback. When within a short distance of the huts the 
scouts paused to 'size up the outfit,' as Wasson put it. 
There was little life or bustle in the village save the 
beating of a drum in a hut near the trail, and as few 
Indians were astir, the scouts breathed easier (Gaston 
1 9 1 2: 1027) .  
198 
In the late 1950s, Fred Starkweather leveled the top of the 
large midden located at that "Yuquachee" village at the mouth of 
Euchre Creek, and built a house there. It's still occupied today. 
But the scouts did not hesitate long and, putting 
spurs to their horses and bending low in their saddles, 
quickly passed through the village, forded the creek just 
beyond and disappeared in the darkness down the 
beach. 
If they were seen by the Indians the latter made no 
outcry or gave them a parting shot. Afterward the scouts 
learned that there was a band of about one hundred 
warriors from the camp at Rogue River asleep as they 
passed through the village. 
Below the village the trail led along the beach and, 
though the tide was in and the beach heavy, the scouts 
made good time till they left the beach. They were now 
approaching the danger zone and must advance with 
greater caution than they had thought necessary during 
their ride. 
They turned into the timber and brush to the left 
and climbed the mountain, searching for a place where 
they could get a view of the country beyond, to pass the 
coming day in security. Fortunately they found some 
grassy glades near the open ground and here they 
unsaddled, picketed their horses and prepared to pass 
the day (Gaston 1 9 1 2:1027) .  
The trail left the beach at present day Nesika Beach ( "Our" 
Beach in Chinook Jargon).  I have often wondered, just where the 
"two scouts" found their hiding place with a view as described by 
Jeremiah Huntley. One day while exploring in that area, I drove up 
1 99 
to a hilltop where a Coos/Curry electric sub-station is now located. 
Lo and behold, there was the view site for both upriver and toward 
the mouth of Rogue River, looking east and southwest around the 
northern end of the "bald, flat-topped mountain" Huntley had 
described. 
The long, weary ride had sharpened the appetite of 
the scouts and they did ample justice to their lunch, 
after which they enjoyed their first smoke since leaving 
Port Orford. 
A faint glimmer in the east proclaimed the 
approach of another day and, to the delight of the weary 
men, not a cloud was visible, though it was yet the rainy 
season. When it was light enough to see, the scouts 
sought an open space at the edge of the timber and 
fortunately were enabled to get a good view of the 
country to the south. And when it grew lighter the keen 
eyes of scouts saw the outlines of the little fort on the 
bluff near the ocean, about five miles distant. 
The old flag was floating over the fort, which was 
proof positive to the scouts that the miners were there in 
force, defiant and full of fight. The mountain on which 
the scouts were standing sloped gently to the south to a 
small valley, through which coursed a creek which 
emptied into Rogue River, about five miles beyond 
(Gaston 1 9 1 2: 1 02 7) .  
Edson Creek flows east through that small valley and empties 
into the Rogue River near present-day "Rogue River Park," where a 
trailer park and store are now located. That long "bald, flat-topped 
mountain" is the northern part of Wedderburn Ranch. 
Beyond the valley, about three miles distant, a 
bald, flat mountain rose about six hundred feet. To the 
right the mountain sloped off to the westward, forming a 
high bluff on the shore of the ocean. The trail to Rogue 
River was plainly visible where it crossed the hill on the 
west. 
Soon after sunrise several straggling bands of 
Indians, warriors no doubt, came in view from the east, 
presumably the river, going towards the fort, some 
riding, but mostly men on foot, and disappeared over 
the mountain in the direction of the fort. 
The scouts estimated the war party, for such it 
evidently was, to be fully three hundred. No doubt there 
was a force equally as large occupying the country 
between the fort and the river, but that part of the field 
was shut out of view by intervening mountains. 
The distance was too great to hear the report of 
firearms or see the smoke of battle, if one was in 
progress. Several small bands of Indians, mostly squaws, 
passed up and down the little valley during the day but 
at nightfall returned towards the river, which indicated 
that the main camp of the hostiles was on the river to 
their left. 
The day passed slowly to the scouts, who were 
anxious to get to the fort and learn the extent of the 
massacre of the whites. About sundown the warriors, 
who went over in the morning, or about the same 
number, returned and disappeared over the mountain, 
whence they came in the morning. 
During the day the scouts took careful note of the 
country beyond and picked out their route to the fort. 
They believed that the fort was not closely picketed by 
the Indians during the night and that the quickest and 
perhaps the safest move on their part was to ride 
directly to the fort, keeping a close lookout, of course, 
for Indians. 
As the shades of evening fell over hill and valley 
the scouts saddled their horses and rode down to the 
200 
little valley below, then to the trail, along which they 
advanced with more caution till the little fort was visible 
on the bluff near the ocean beach. As they were apt to 
encounter the Indian pickets, if any were on duty on the 
hillside, the scouts dismounted and, leading their horses, 
moved forward with caution. 
They frequently paused and anxiously peered into 
the darkness to catch the least sound of an enemy, if 
present, but no sound except the occasional bark of a 
dog in the fort broke the awful stillness. 
After a long halt the scouts believed that no pickets 
were on guard on that part of the field at least, so they 
tied their horses in a thicket near by, crawled to a 
friendly knoll about three hundred yards from the little 
fort and, in a low tone at first, hailed the people in the 
fort. 
Receiving no answer, they hailed again in a louder 
voice, which was soon after answered by some one in the 
fort. After hurriedly telling the people in the fort who 
they were, the scouts were directed to come forward 
slowly. 
The scouts were now in extreme peril, for should 
there be lurking pickets in that vicinity to fire upon 
them, the people in the fort might think it a night attack 
and fire a volley In the face of the scouts. 
The scouts, sensible of their peril, lost no time in 
reaching the fort, where they were met with many guns 
pointed at them as they crossed the plank laid across the 
ditch to admit them. The scouts were greeted with many 
handshakes and were glad that their perilous journey 
was at an end. Accompanied by men from the fort, they 
returned and led their horses into the fort (Gaston 
1 912: 1027-1 028) .  
201 
Present day aerial photos clearly show the outline of that 
"ditch" (moat) as the rich nutrients turned up from below still 
nourish the spring growth into a deep dark green. 
The scouts found about eighty people, mustering 
about seventy guns. They had plenty of ammunition and 
provisions, were full of fight and did not appear to be 
greatly disturbed by their surroundings. The hostile 
Indians appeared upon the hillside above the fort the 
next day but kept at a safe distance. 
In about a week after the scouts reached the little 
fort, the siege was raised by the arrival of several 
companies of regular soldiers from the south. The 
Indians then withdrew up the river and the war was 
practically ended. 
james Brooking and james McVay, of Smith River, 
California, E. H. Meservy of Agness, and W. S. Winsor of 
Gold Beach, Oregon, are the only occupants of that little 
fort known to be alive. And men of their mettle made the 
Oregon country (Jeremiah Huntley, cited in Gaston 
1 9 1 2: 10 26-1028).  
202 
Even though Huntley's story is filled with racist remarks and 
prejudiced terms in reference to the Indians, it is enlightening and 
valuable in showing the general attitudes of the White American 
settlers and explorers of that day. I have purposely retained all 
those comments and terms such as "hostiles" and term "squaw" (as 
abominable as it is today) because it was the way people spoke then 
with little thought of their derogatory implications. 
203 
It is gratifying to note, however, that the State of Oregon 
recently adopted a law (SB 488 May 25 ,  200 1 )  forbidding the use of 
the term "squaw" on all state owned property, deleting it from place 
names and signs for geographic locations in Oregon. 
Huntley's ultimate comment "And men of their mettle made 
the Oregon country," is an obvious example of the "Manifest 
Destiny" attitude of most White settlers of 1 856. Little did he 
suspect that the descendants of many Native men and women would 
have a major positive impact on the development of more 
appropriate industries, and recovery of the damaged environment 
of Oregon and the Pacific Northwest, after more than a century of 
raping the land by White entrepreneurs of his century. They too 
have "made the Oregon country." 
Rogue Rjyer Red with Blood 
After the heroic journey of Grandfather and Captain Windsor, the 
two men stayed at the Miners' Fort until regular army troops arrived 
from California. After the troops arrived at the mouth of Rogue 
River, and gave protection to the people holed up in the Miners' 
204 
Fort, stragglers of a civilian group known as the "fire eaters," from 
Crescent City, California, followed the army troops into the area, 
after being rescued by them down the coast at Pistol River. 
Upon learning of the Tututunne attack on Ellensburg, a party 
of 34 armed civilians led by vigilante George H. Abbott, a comrade 
of Packwood in the slaughter at Nasomah village in 1853 ,  had raced 
northward along the coast in advance of Army troops, intent on 
assisting the survivors of Ellensburg in the Miners' Fort. 
The local Chet-Less-Chunn-Dunne met the party with armed 
resistance near their village at the mouth of Pistol River, and held 
them at bay behind driftwood for several days until the regular 
troops appeared. The conflict led to the tracking and killing of those 
Natives who participated in the battle. 
Following the arrival of the regular troops from California, 
talks and peace negotiations were arranged whereby the upriver 
Native peoples were to come down to the coast and meet with the 
Whites. Upon receiving word of these peace talks, canoe loads of 
people started down-river. 
205 
Most of the same disgruntled vigilantes who were disgraced at 
Pistol River heard of this plan also, and reconfirmed their resolve to 
carry out their work toward extermination. They scurried up to the 
mouth of Lobster Creek, which flowed into Rogue River between two 
large flat-topped rocks, upriver a few miles from Bagnell's Ferry. 
Their intent was to ambush the canoes full of Tututunnes as they 
came by, unaware of the danger. 
Grandfather got word of this murderous plan and rushed on 
horseback to stop them. But, alas, he could not arrive in time to 
prevent the slaughter. He knew it had taken place already when he 
got to just above Bagnell's Ferry. The river was running red with the 
blood of the ambushed Tututunnes and he could only pause in tears 
as he realized the horror of the dastardly massacre inflicted upon 
those innocent people. 
The Tragic Saga of Longhorn Swan 
In the late 1 880s, summer and fall on the southern Oregon Coast 
were warm and pleasant for several consecutive years. The 
206 
occasional summer rain had nourished the berries along the 
hillsides and grass in the creek bottoms had grown belly high on the 
cattle and horses. Life seemed good and harvests were bountiful for 
the new pioneer I settlers around Coos Bay and along the rest of the 
southern coast. 
George R. Wasson had built a fine house up South Slough for 
his Coos wife, Susan Adulsah and their children. It was a grand two­
story home, with an attic and windows high above to view out 
around the country and especially down the slough. In later years, 
that grand home was fondly known by our family as "the red 
house." 
My father and his sisters often told of the fine times they had 
there as children. Grandfather would hire musicians to come and 
play for a dance, which would begin in the evening just after dark, 
pause at midnight for supper, and resume with the finer lighter 
dances until dawn. The older daughters, along with their brothers, 
were allowed to stay up to dance and join in the festivities while the 
younger children were scuttled off to bed down in the haymow. 
Scary and intriguing stories were told and retold by the Wasson 
children of their early life in that remote and beautiful area. 
207 
Once, while the young ones were snuggled up with quilts in 
the hay, they were awakened suddenly by a loud crashing thud on 
the roof above. Something large had leaped up onto the barn roof 
and was obviously curious about the occupants inside the barn loft. 
They all seemed to know almost instinctively that it was a cougar or 
"mountain lion," as they heard the soft padding sound of its foot 
steps, walking back and forth on the shake roof close above them. 
Daylight couldn't come soon enough for those young ones after such 
a sleepless night. 
On one of those long summers and late falls, Grandfather had 
been logging up the slough with his prize team of oxen. He had 
recognized the great value of Port Orford ( "white") Cedar, the 
favorite wood of the Indians along the southern Oregon Coast. He 
was the first person to commercially log that timber and his ox team 
was his greatest asset in that pioneering venture (see Fig. 8 ) .  
208 
Figure 8. Grandpa Wasson logging with bull teams (oxen) .  
209 
2 1 0  
Understandably, his greatest pride was vested in his lead ox, 
((Longhorn Swan." He was a magnificent animal, strong, healthy, 
steady, and reliable in response to every voice command of his 
master. The whole family loved Longhorn Swan and treated him with 
the utmost respect. 
It was beautiful warm late summer weather that year, and it 
seemed that winter had maybe forgotten to come around. But the 
change was inevitable as the fall rains were due anytime and things 
would then change dramatically. Grandfather had his oxen pastured 
up the "Winchester" or west fork of South Slough when the rains first 
started. A warm south wind had begun to blow the day before, and it 
seemed that a sprinkle or two was soon to begin, but the wind didn't 
slacken any and by morning it had become of full ((sou'wester," 
blowing down trees and torrents of rain gushing horizontally from 
the sky. It didn't let up and on the second and third days of heavy 
rain, it was obvious that the bottom lands would soon be flooded by 
the constant deluge. 
Grandfather had not thought much about the welfare of his 
oxen as they could always fend for themselves. Under the leadership 
2 1 1  
of Longhorn Swan, they would come into the barn for protection 
from the elements when it became more than was comfortable for 
them. By the third day, he became a bit curious about just how they 
were faring in the storm, so he donned his sou'wester rain hat and 
wool coat to go see for himself. 
He had left the house early in the morning and didn't think 
he'd be gone too long, so by evening Grandma (Susan Adulsah) 
became curious and somewhat concerned about his welfare. 
Darkness descended on the big house in the small valley and still no 
Grandfather returning home for supper. Grandma had cooked a big 
meal and was keeping it warm on the kitchen wood range, which 
filled the house with warm and steamy aromas. 
All the children were gathered at the front parlor window, 
peering through the steamy panes, out into the rainy darkness, 
seeking some sign of their father. It seemed like an eternity to the 
eager young ones, when one of them exclaimed that he could see a 
faint glimmer of light, a fire gleaming through the trees far up the 
slough. Sure enough, the light was a fire from a torch their father 
had fashioned from a solid pitchy spruce knot. He had chopped the 
2 1 2  
end into a feathery fray, set it afire and it burned furiously giving 
light to make his way home again. He came into the house and sat 
heavily by the warm kitchen stove, gradually removing his rain· 
soaked clothing. His demeanor was sullen, and the whole family 
knew he had a story of tragedy to share with them. All were quiet 
with apprehension as he explained that their beloved Longhorn Swan 
had become mired in the mud far up the slough, just about the head 
of tidewater in Winchester Creek. He had been mired there for more 
than a day and his struggles to get free had worn him completely 
out. His master recognized the imminent danger to his great friend 
as the heavy rains had begun to raise the creek level and an extra 
high tide was expected that evening. 
George's skills at erecting derricks, slings, booms, and general 
seaman's knowledge of ropes had been acquired at a young age, 
growing up in the "Maritimes" of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. 
He knew well the fury of a winter storm there, commonly known as 
a "nor'easter," and so the companion winter storm of southern 
Oregon were similarly known as a "sou'wester," both receiving 
colloquial names from their direction of origin. 
2 1 3  
But this storm had come as a bit of a surprise in the strength 
of its fury and torrential rains. The water was rising quickly, and 
Grandfather had no time to lose. He chopped trees, or long poles, 
and fashioned an A-frame over the creek, above Longhorn Swan, 
attempting to hoist him out to solid ground. But alas, the water was 
already too high, the lead ox was too weakened to help himself 
anymore, and the high tide rose relentlessly above his head, slowly 
covering his long magnificent horns and drowning him while 
Grandfather looked on helplessly. It was a sad household that night, 
and for many days to come. The pride of the family, a great friend to 
them all was gone and could never be replaced by another. 
The next morning, the rain had ceased and Grandfather went 
back out to survey the scene of tragedy. He soon returned home 
with an expression of surprise and intrigue as he announced his 
surprise upon examining the carcass of Longhorn Swan. It seems a 
big black bear had wandered down there and started feasting on his 
exposed hind quarters. 
Grandfather promptly returned home and fetched a large bear 
trap which he set on the creek bank next to where the bear had 
2 14 
started eating on the ox. He fastened it securely with a long chain 
and returned home to wait for the culprit to be caught. At least, the 
family would be rewarded by some fresh meat and bear grease to 
last for a year or more. 
But to his surprise the next morning, there was no bear in that 
big trap. He had indeed returned to feast on the carcass of Longhorn 
Swan, stepped Into the trap and had been caught by one hind foot. 
In his rage to free himself, the bear had chewed off that foot and 
leaving it in the trap, he scrambled off through the brush. As the 
bear had left a trail of blood, Grandfather could easily follow his 
trail and did so with his trusty 44 Winchester Rifle. With great 
caution he tracked the wounded bear far into the woods of South 
Slough where he had finally bedded down to rest. After shooting 
him, grandfather dressed out the meat, separating out the fat and 
started packing it all back home to the delight of everyone. 
And so the saga of Longhorn Swan was often told and retold to 
our family, as one of the tragic dramas of early life on South Slough. 
2 1 5  
Gishgiu ( T,cicgi:vu) and Kitzn-jin-jn 
My great grandmother was a remarkable woman from 1 9th century 
Western Oregon, who spoke numerous languages and dialects of the 
Southern Oregon tribes. She had been married to the most 
prominent chief ( headman, tribal leader) in all of Southwestern 
Oregon. Gishgiu was an upper Coquelle woman and her marriage to 
Kitzn-Jin-Jin, the chief from South Slough, united the Coos and 
Coquelle in a bond of friendship and strong social relations. 
In 1 8 5 1 ,  Kitzn-Jin-Jn attended the treaty talks at Port Orford 
and was a signatory (under the name "Kitchen") to Anson Dart's 
treaty. Sometime before Grandfather arrived at Coos Bay in 1 8 5 3 ,  
Kitzn-jin-jn was invited to participate in an elk hunt with some 
visiting Lower Umpquas. They all met about halfway between Coos 
Bay and Reedsport (just north of present day Hauser) to join forces 
in the big hunt. 
Kitzn-Jin-Jin was requested to lead the party out after the elk, 
but when his back was toward the others, they all attacked him and 
shot arrows in his back, killing him. It is rumored that some of his 
own tribal members joined the Umpquas in the assassination 
(Wasson 1 9 1 6) .  
2 16 
After the coming of the Whites to Coos Bay and the Coquille 
River valley, life for Gishgiu and her people was quickly snuffed out; 
they were either killed or herded off to concentration camps, 
scattered far away from their ancestral homes. 
She too had gone with the soldiers, first to the detention camp 
at Reedsport and then on to Yachats. Finally she had enough of the 
death and misery heaped upon her people in those places and ran 
away, returning to find her daughter, Susan Adulsah, married to my 
grandfather, George R. Wasson, and living on South Slough. "Gekka" 
(as she was fondly called by her grandchildren) ,  first hid from the 
soldiers, by living in a hollow log in the forest not far from her 
daughter's home. After her son-in-law discovered her presence 
there, she was moved into the family home to live in peace as an 
honored family member. 
Even though she was now blind, her presence in the home 
added immeasurably to keeping up a large house and raising a big 
family. There have been many stories and anecdotes about Gishgiu, 
2 1 7  
which the family all told in remembering the feisty little woman who 
defied the U.S. Government and outwitted the soldiers who sought 
to capture and return her to the concentration camp at Yachats. 
Most of them have been lost and forgotten, but some are well 
imbedded in family memory. 
Gisbgiu's Flight from Yachats 
My great-grandmother, Gishgiu, went with the American soldiers in 
good faith, first to the concentration camp at Reedsport and then on 
to Yachats, because she believed that the treaty, which had been 
signed by her husband, Kitzn-Jin-Jn, would eventually be honored. 
Unfortunately, conditions at Yachats were so bad that she finally 
lost faith in the word of the American government and ran away. 
Along with my father, Aunt Lolly, Aunt Daisy, and Aunt Mary often 
told me the story of ''Gekka" running away, and coming back to 
South Slough. 
Diving into the ocean, she swam around the major headlands 
such as Cape Perpetua and the Sea Lion Caves, to avoid the soldiers 
on the trail above. After hiding in the bushes during the daytime, 
2 1 8 
she walked the long beaches at night, arriving at Coos Bay through 
the sand dunes. At the turn of high tide, Gishgiu entered the water 
and swam with the ebb flow until it carried her across and down to 
South Slough. There she walked up the slough near her daughter's 
home, and made herself a comfortable den in a hollow log not far 
away. At night, "Gekka" made contact with her daughter, Susan 
Adulsah, who gave her food. They both were very frightened that 
soldiers might be sent to get her, as she was now a "runaway" 
Indian, hiding from the U.S. Military, and so they met secretly that 
way to hide Gishgiu until they could come up with a better plan. 
Grandfather became suspicious of his wife talking to someone 
in her Indian language late at night. He usually thought nothing of 
Grandmother getting up and doing things in the middle of the 
night. This was more secretive, but when he discovered that his 
mother-in-law was living not far away in a hollow log, he became 
indignant and insisted that she move into the house with them 
where she belonged. However, the soldiers from Fort Yamhill, had 
orders to round-up those runaway Indians and a detachment was 
sent out to scour the country where they might be hiding. 
2 19 
One day when Grandfather was out in the logging-woods with 
his bull-team, word came to the house that soldiers were headed 
there to take "Gekka" back to Yachats. Quickly, the women emptied 
the storage space behind the living-room staircase and tiny Gishgiu 
crawled back under the bottom step. Then all the boxes and trunks 
were shoved into place as though nothing more could possibly be 
under there. 
While the soldiers were ransacking the house looking for 
Gishgiu, some of the younger kids, caught up in the excitement of a 
fun game with real soldiers, were running around pointing to the 
bottom step of the stairs saying "Gekka, Gekka." Fortunately, those 
soldiers had no idea what the kids were saying, and just pushed 
them out of their way as they hurried with their search, nervously 
pounding the floor with their rifle butts, looking for loose boards 
under which the old woman could be hidden. 
Swiftly, one of the older children raced through the woods to 
summon Grandpa for help. Now they say that Grandpa Wasson was 
a big man, and no two soldiers could possibly stand up to his fury. 
He marched into his house, grabbed the soldiers both by the back of 
their necks, and threw them out into the yard, (some say that he 
threw them through the parlor room window). He told them to 
never come back and, needless to say, they didn't. 
220 
Gishgiu lived out the remainder of her days with the family, 
mending clothes which she could do even though she was blind by 
then, yet doing all the things an old grandmother would need to do 
while sitting in the dark. 
Refuge Island at Sunset Bay 
As conditions were intolerable in the concentrations camps for the 
Southern Oregon people, many fled and sought refuge back in their 
home areas. Large groups simply migrated down the coast to nearby 
estuaries such as the mouth of the Siuslaw River, rather than going 
all the way farther south where their homes were now occupied by 
White settlers. 
It was fortunate for Gishgiu that her daughter Susan Adulsah 
was married to a White man and living in a big house on South 
Slough, her ancestral home area. There she found refuge and the 
protection of her son-in-law, George R. Wasson. 
2 2 1  
However, for some other women there was no such help when 
they fled back to their home places. Soldiers from Fort Yamhill were 
constantly roaming the Coos Bay area rounding them up and 
returning them to the reservation sites up north. 
Everyone of Native blood (and some sympathetic Whites) in 
the Coos Bay area knew there were "runaways" hiding out around 
there, either with a family or living in makeshift shacks on their 
own. 
It became a routine process of warning the "hide-outs" when 
soldiers showed up to round them up again. People would spread 
the word, running from one area to another to sound the alarm. 
When taken by surprise, the people would often run into the woods 
as the soldiers chased them on foot and tracked them down again. 
This was especially difficult for the mothers with small babies, 
as the rushing madly about would frighten them and cause them to 
cry. Soldiers found several of those mothers who couldn't muffle the 
screams of their children when hiding out. My Aunt Daisy told me 
of a hiding place for those mothers with small babies, but at my 
young age, I couldn't fully understand. 
222  
We were on a picnic at  Sunset Bay one time when she was 
looking wistfully out at the small island with trees and brush on top, 
just out from the mouth of the bay. The island rises some 50 to 100 
feet high, with soil and trees on top, and is about 60 by 100 feet in 
surface dimensions. It is surrounded by water except at low tide 
when access can be made on foot across the narrow pebbled beach 
and seaweed covered rocks. 
I asked her about that island, as I knew she had stories for 
most places around there. I expected there would be a tale of some 
magical being having lived there. However, that was not the case at 
all this time. 
She said there are still holes or pits, which were dug in the top 
of that island, where the women used to hide. I was shocked by that, 
and asked more. "Why would they go up there," I asked in 
amazement. Aunt Daisy replied a bit impatiently, "Because they had 
small babies and couldn't keep them from crying when the soldiers 
were chasing them. The sound of the surf would drown out the cries 
of their babies and they wouldn't be easily detected." 
223 
As Aunt Daisy gazed out there deep in thought, she seemed to 
cry out in pain to unseen people, as though they were still out there, 
waiting to hear a message from someone on shore. Her voice 
sounded mournful with a wailing sort of tremolo " '  OH-hoh-hoh­
hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh," gradually descending in tone and trailing 
off to nothingness. 
Once again, I knew when to stop asking questions. I could not 
imagine why soldiers would be chasing women with babies. But 
more astoundingly, I could not imagine mothers with small babies 
climbing up the rugged and steep cliffs of that island, digging holes, 
and actually living in them for days at a time. 
Such stories were far too painful for the older people to tell 
often. I learned to listen carefully the first time, as soon as I knew a 
story was coming. I find now that it is equally painful for me to 
remember and recall in detail, the experience of listening to the 
mournful outburst of those old people as they shared the anguish of 
my ancestors and relatives. 
224 
The Sugar Thief 
There has always been one particular story about "Gekka," which 
seems to be a classic example of how she fit right in and served the 
family well. My Dad and Aunt Daisy told it something like this: 
Grandmother (Susan Adulsah) had begun to notice that things 
seemed to be missing from the store room, which was a small log 
out-building just to one side of the main house, with loosely fitted 
log rails barring the entrance. Anyone could crawl through if they 
wanted inside. The items, which seemed to be rapidly disappearing 
were sugar, syrup, and dried apples, which were stored in large 
wooden barrels, just as they came off the ship from San Francisco. 
It seemed that the only possible explanation was that a 
runaway Indian was sneaking in there and stealing the food, as no 
other White families lived nearby at that time. Grandfather said that 
something had to be done, "they are always fair when treated right." 
It was decided that someone who could speak all of the languages in 
Southern Oregon, should wait in hiding for the thief (or thieves} to 
show up and talk to them in words they could understand. It would 
probably be best to try to catch them at night, when the stealing 
2 2 5  
seemed to occur. So Gishgiu was elected to wait up in there all night 
since she could speak more languages than anyone else. Also, she 
was blind and the dark wouldn't even bother her at all. 
The next night, with a bed made for her up in the far corner, 
"Gekka" crawled in there to wait for the thief to show up. Sure 
enough, along in the night, she heard someone climbing through an 
opening in the logs. She thought, "I don't want to frighten them, I'll 
just let them get good and started, then I'll talk to them just a little."  
There was a scratching noise, as if  they were trying to light matches, 
and they were probably damp. Soon Gekka heard them in the sugar 
barrel and decided, "now is the time." She had waited until they 
were way down inside scraping near the bottom when she spoke to 
them, at first in her own language. She said clearly, "Listen to me, 
whoever you are, you don't have to steal from my son-in-law. He is a 
good and generous man, and would never refuse you anything." 
There was no response, the digging in the barrel stopped for just a 
moment, as though the thief (or thieves)  paused to listen yet there 
was no answer to her words. When they went back to scraping again, 
she tried another language saying her son-in-law would help them if 
226 
they would only answer her and identify themselves. Again there 
was no response; they just went back to scraping sugar. Gishgiu 
tried all the languages she knew, finally scolding them in Chinook 
jargon, "Why don't you talk, why don't you answer me?" Still they 
made no response. "Well," she said to herself, "they just deserve to 
be punished. I'll call my son-in-law." She yelled loudly for 
Grandfather to "Come quickly, they are stealing the sugar and pay 
no heed to me." Grandfather came rushing in with a lantern in one 
hand and his faithful Winchester in the other. There, digging into 
the sugar barrel, was a big black bear. Grandfather was a good shot, 
so there was short work of the sugar thief. 
Kalla Alla Alta, "The Hollering Asshole" 
(as told by Aunt Mary) 
Long ago, in the early days before the arrival of Euro-Americans, 
there were various strange beasts and beings living in the same area 
as the Miluk Coos around South Slough. One of those beasts roamed 
through the jungle-like forest nearby and was well known for its bad 
2 2 7  
temper and often bellowed out in anger. It was said to have one 
sharp horn on the tip of its nose and was known to charge 
menacingly in furious attacks on the people. It was feared greatly by 
everyone, and therefore great caution was used in venturing alone 
into the deep forest of its domain. 
However, there was a man who undertook the carving of a 
large cedar canoe, which had to be worked right where the largest 
cedar trees were growing, back in the forest from the village. He had 
been working alone as was the custom for men who were the 
traditional canoe builders. 
When he was about half way into the task, he had the 
hollowed out canoe turned upside down and was chopping with his 
adze on the bow and stern to finish out the form. As he was deeply 
concentrating on his work (and probably singing appropriate songs 
for the occasion) ,  he was unaware of how much noise he was 
making. He was also unaware that he had attracted the attention of 
Kalla Alia Alta. 
Suddenly the huge one horned beast bellowed angrily and 
charged him from behind. The man just had time to dive under his 
228 
overturned canoe to hide. But the angty beast was not daunted by 
his cover, and rammed his horn through the canoe, tossing it into 
the air and attacking it repeatedly. With this distraction the man 
had a chance to escape and ran back to the village in great alarm. 
All the men in the village gathered and planned a method of 
capturing this menace to rid themselves of his great danger. Others 
had tried to attack and kill him, but their arrows and spears merely 
bounced off his thick armor plated hide. They all knew there was 
only one place of vulnerability on this huge demon and they needed 
only to find access to it. 
After that episode had quieted down, they all went back out 
into the forest and commenced digging a wide, deep hole, being 
cautious not to attract further attention of the beast. After placing 
small poles and sticks across the open pit, they covered it with tree 
branches and moss, in disguise to look just like the surrounding 
ground surface. 
A close watch was kept in that area, in hopes that the demon 
beast would return. Finally he was detected roaming nearby and the 
men all gathered ready to finish their plan of execution. 
229 
The canoe carver made himself obvious on the far side of the 
hidden pit, and began making loud noises that would attract 
attention. It worked; the beast became angry and charged him, 
crashing through the thin cover, falling inextricably head first, into 
the deep pit. 
A lethal weapon of dispatch had been prepared by sharpening 
a spruce pole to a fine point and hardening it by roasting it in a fire. 
Now the only vulnerable place on his body was exposed and the 
men rammed the sharp weapon deep inside Kalla Alia Alta through 
his anus. 
They of course wanted to rid themselves completely of this 
demon beast and merely killing him was not completing the job. 
They gathered huge amounts of wood and built a fire over his 
carcass to burn him finally out of existence. 
My Aunt Mary often mentioned this story to me, saying that as 
young kids, she and her siblings often warned each other to be quiet 
out in the woods as they might attract the attention of Kalla Alia 
Alta, the "hollering asshole." It seemed the way of young people to 
remember and delight in the old stories of tribal history. 
230 
The Ocean Cave by Humbug Mountain 
My father once told a story to my younger brother and me about a 
cave in the solid rock, somewhere on or around Humbug Mountain. 
It was accessible only from the ocean, by canoe or small boat, only 
during low tide. 
The Tututunnes told that one time many years ago, some 
White men in a sailing ship landed on their shores. The White men 
spotted the cave and examined it carefully by inducing one of the 
Native men to take them inside the mouth so they could look 
around. After seeming satisfied with it, they had the man take them 
back inside with his canoe, carrying a chest or box. They then dug a 
deep hole in the back of the cave and buried the box. 
As intrigued young boys, we imagined that the box (trunk, or 
chest) was of course full of golden treasure. We asked whether they 
had killed the man after he took them in there, as that seemed the 
way "pirates" would have done it. I don't now recall his answer, but 
he did seem amused with our question. 
For many years, I have thought of that story when driving 
along the Southern Oregon Coast past Humbug Mountain, 
wondering j ust where that cave might be. 
23 1 
In the summer of 1 982, I drove down to Frank Port (just a few 
miles south of Humbug Mountain) to examine the remains of the 
ship which had been burned there after some marijuana smugglers 
had run aground after their failed smuggling fiasco. 
The Oregon State Highway Department had been blasting and 
taking out rock from an area on the north side of that area, working 
their way into the back side of the farthest pinnacle of rock. As I 
looked at the work area, I noticed a dark hole about fifty feet up 
from the sea level and climbed up to explore where the blasting 
work had ended. There the workers had broken into the back end of 
a cave, open only to the ocean and obviously accessible through the 
mouth only at low tide. 
I wonder whether that old story is true. The cave is not 
actually located on Humbug Mountain itself, but it is indeed a cave 
very nearby, and few people have known about it, or at least, never 
mentioned it. Nonetheless, it is a delightful and intriguing story. 
232  
The Hairy Giant at Coos Bay 
Near the south jetty of the Coos Bay bar, there is another cave, 
which used to have a large boulder blocking the entrance. As a 
child, I often heard some of the old people talk about that cave, and 
condemn the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for destroying that 
boulder which once blocked the entrance. It had been blasted apart 
to be used as rip-rap in building the Coos Bay jetties. The old people 
were angry because that was the Giant's Cave and he was an 
important creature in the traditional folklore of the local people. 
The legend says that once a large hairy giant lived in that 
cave. All the people were afraid of him, and they tried to avoid him. 
But often, he would go out on the beach on a sunny day and spread 
a large bearskin robe out on the sand. When he crawled around on 
it, he would very carefully pick at the fur, and ask the curious 
children around if they would like to help him "work" that hide. It 
was a favorite task for young children to hunt and pick fleas from 
the fur of large hides which had collected there over the winter. 
When several of the children got near the center of the hide, the 
233  
hairy giant would suddenly grab the sides and scoop them up in a 
bundle so he could carry them back to his cave. 
The people were very concerned about this constant threat to 
their children, so they got together and planned a way to rid 
themselves of this giant child stealer. They collected a great amount 
of food and prepared a large feast on the beach in front of the 
giant's cave. When all the food was ready, the giant came out and 
helped himself, eating all he could hold. That was just what the 
people had planned. Then, full from the huge feast, the giant went 
back into his cave to sleep. 
When they were all sure he was sound asleep, they pushed the 
huge boulder right up to the cave entrance, blocking it so he 
couldn't get out. Then they went up on top to his air vent 
( breathing hole) for fresh air into the cave and built a large fire of 
pitchy wood. The smoke suffocated the giant and they were rid of 
his danger to children forever. I often wondered in my child-like 
dreams whether he would have been wise enough to catch me. I felt 
sad that the Army Corps of Engineers lacked concern for the special 
places with such dramatic stories attached to them. 
III. ESSAYS ON CULTURAL CONCEPTS AND EXPERIENCES 
My First Sun Dance 
234 
In the spring of 1 979, I began my dedication to an initial series of 
four Sun Dance ceremonies. I had just returned from Kathmandu, 
Nepal, in the Himalayas where I'd experienced Tibetan people in 
exile. It was stunning to meet people who dedicated themselves to 
spirituality and prayer to solve world problems. Their escape into 
exile, crossing the Kyichu River and losing most of their beloved 
yaks in the swift spring run-off, had reminded me of Alvin Josephy's 
description of the Wallowa Nez Perce losing their horse herds in the 
spring run-off when crossing the Snake River into exile from their 
homeland. 
I had traveled to Nepal to experience social and cultural 
surroundings without the all-pervasive Anglo-European-Judeo­
Christian influences and guidelines, which dictate and command our 
235 
daily lives in America. My next adventure was to be back home in 
the Northwest, Oregon, Idaho, and Montana. 
As I began to meet other Indians in that spring of 1 979, I 
learned of a Sun Dance ceremony over on the Crow Reservation in 
Montana. joseph Epes Brown (scholar on Native Americans, in the 
Department of Religion, at the University of Montana in Missoula) 
had told me how to get there, and to ask for the Tom Yellowtail 
family. They would take care of me. I sat outside the Sun Dance 
arbor each day during the ceremony seeking what little shade I 
could find, and taking in all I could of the sacrifices by the 
participants inside. 
At the end, I was called by a young boy, to come over, to visit 
his father's camp. It was actually a fancy Winnebago where some of 
the dancers were indulging decadently in strawberry daiquiris for 
their first rewards after completing the four day fast. 
I was offered a seat by a shriveled old man who had been 
introduced as the oldest living Crow Indian. I'd said I wanted to talk 
to old people and they were giving me that opportunity, saying 
"Here's the oldest Crow alive." 
2 3 6  
Robert Yellowtail started telling me his life's story, how he 
managed the Klamath Indian Reservation and other battles with the 
federal government, when a grandson interrupted, "Grandpa, 
George here is from Coos Bay." The old man halted immediately. 
"Coos Bay, why my best friend was from Coos Bay. His name was 
George Wasson. We went to Carlisle together. We shared battles with 
the federal government and fought Senator Walsh to a standstill! 
Did you say your name was George Wasson?" 
I could only nod my head "yes" through the tears of utter 
disbelief. You know that feeling when you're dreaming that you 
need to run but your legs won't move? You want to say something, 
or yell but your voice is gone. There's a kind of "deja vu"; you 
faintly recognize what's happening only you can't quite believe it 
There I was listening to my father's best friend from their school 
days in 1 898 at Carlisle Indian School in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 
They had been some of the earliest young Indians to endure the 
benevolent dictate of Colonel Pratt to "kill the Indian and educate 
the man." 
2 3 7  
Robert Yellowtail suddenly became SO years younger. The 
color in his face turned brilliant. He glowed with an angelic aura of 
delight at remembering his best friend, George Wasson. I remained 
speechless for several eternities before I could or would even 
attempt to respond verbally. Somehow, I got back over to the camp 
of his brother, Tom, the premier medicine man of the Crow Sun 
Dance. 
Word spread quickly by the moccasin telegraph. I was invited 
to stay a week or two with Tom Yellowtail and his wife, Susie. Events 
led me to drive some of their grandsons down to Fort Washakie, 
where I too was duly Inserted into my first Sun Dance. 
During the next five years I fulfilled my commitment to the 
Sun Dance ceremony. It was there that I began to find my long 
awaited means of helping my father accomplish his lifelong goals. 
That process had begun. 
Sweat Lodge Medicine 
I received the right to build a sweat lodge and the 
responsibility to use sweat lodge medicine from Tom Yellowtail on 
238 
August 3 ,  1 983.  Tom stated that he received his first sweat lodge 
medicine from Hank Old Coyote before he obtained his Sun Dance 
medicine from John Truhero. 
Before writing down this information and presenting it here, I 
thought carefully about the possibility of disclosing privileged 
information that should not be mentioned outside the traditional 
Native community. 
Tom Yellowtail (see Fig. 9 )  shared this with me to use, with no 
restrictions on it. It should be noted that this contains no personal 
medicine information such as his own medicine song. I would 
admonish anyone who follows these instructions for building a 
sweat lodge and performing a sweat that they are welcome to do so. 
However, it would be a grave breach of spirituality to assume or 
pretend that an actual medicine, cleansing, or healing ceremony is 
being performed without first receiving the right and responsibility 
to do so. 
2 3 9  
Figure 9. Tom Yellowtail, Crow Sun Dance Medicine Man. 
240 
That right comes from either a personal vision quest (under a 
medicine man's supervision) ,  or by having the medicine 
ceremonially conferred upon one's self by a medicine man. 
Instructions from Tom: 
• Use 1 2  poles of red birch, red willow, cherry, or plain willow. 
• Offer a prayer before construction when the materials are 
stacked up together. 
• Plant the poles into the ground in a circle, leaving a 
"door"opening to the east. 
• Dig a hole inside and a little to the north side of the entrance. 
• Build a fire layered with rocks at the end of a short pathway, 
east from the sweat lodge opening. 
• Make small bundles of willow switches to take inside and 
switch your bodies to bring out the sweat. 
• Carry the glowing hot rocks without ashes, into the pit. 
• All men entering should strip down naked and if preferred, 
wet down their bodies before entering. 
241 
• The person conducting the Sweat should first sprinkle "April 
Showers" over the rocks with one of the switches. 
• The first quarter uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  4 dippers. 
• The second quarter uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 dippers. 
• The third quarter uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  10 dippers. 
• The fourth quarter uses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  "No Count," "Million." 
(as many dippers as the group wishes. ) 
I had taken a blanket and three other gifts to Tom, asking if it 
would be alright if I learned the correct way to build a sweat. Tom 
looked at me very thoughtfully, collected a buffalo skull, his small 
pipe, some tobacco and sage, and then said we should go down to 
his sweat lodge by the river (Little Big Hom River) . He next 
positioned me facing east in front of the sweat lodge opening while 
he stood behind me. His prayers were all in Crow, so I couldn't 
understand what he said until he paused and spoke the name of 
Hank Old Coyote. I had also recognized the sacred name of Ahk-
bahd-aht'-dea. When finished, Tom said, "There now, I have given 
you half of my sweat lodge medicine." I was totally surprised and 
asked why he had done that. He said that he thought it would be 
242 
good if I could take some of it back to Oregon. "The people are in 
great need of it over there." I believe he might have been referring 
to my own tribe as well as other Oregon Indians. 
I asked him why he had mentioned the name of Hank Old 
Coyote in his prayers. Tom told me that in conferring the medicine, 
he mentioned the source of the medicine to him from the creator, 
"Grandfather," "The Old Man." That path of transfer of "medicine­
power" passed to him through Hank Old Coyote, and just at that 
moment when he was praying, he couldn't quite remember Hank's 
Crow name so he had to say it in English. Tom said it would work 
anyway, because the Creator understood English as well as Crow. 
Coyote Taboo 
My friend Barre Toelken is a well-known American folklorist with a 
fair amount of personal experience and accumulated knowledge of 
American Indian cultures and traditions. I think somewhere way 
back in his own family tree there was a little mixing up of blood 
lines and he is now a little tainted with Seneca blood himself, even 
243 
though he might deny that gives him any right to claim "Native 
American Indianness." Suffice it to say, he has lived with and 
around traditional Navajos, (he has a grown Navajo daughter from a 
previous marriage, and several grandchildren through her) and 
other Northwest Indian people over the past 3 0  some years. Barre's 
personal contact with various Indians has rendered him well 
grounded in the generics and specifics of traditional and 
contemporary Indian thought patterns. He has a good feeling for 
" thinking like an Indian" while functioning successfully in the world 
of academia and known internationally as an American folklorist 
and expert scholar on American Indians. One of his favorite 
subjects, (one which I often share with him), is that ubiquitous 
character, " Old Man Coyote." 
I've grown up with the "collective cultural memory" of Old 
Man Coyote, ( "Talapus," the old people called him down around 
Coos Bay), always lurking somewhere in the shadows, behind a tree, 
around the next corner, virtually everywhere. Nearly all of my 
Father's family and relatives talked about him, and that made him 
as real to me, at ages 5-1 2 ,  as Jesus and Santa Claus. Even though I 
244 
felt a little puzzled in the process, I readily learned that you could 
talk about Jesus and Santa Claus at anytime, any place, and to 
anybody, but not so with Old Man Coyote! 
Only my Indian relatives would acknowledge "Coyote" and 
then not all of them would even bother. I think some of them were 
too preoccupied with trying to better themselves and rise above 
their "mud-flat Indian" ancestry, and refused to admit they even 
knew such stories, at least not in public or in front of decent folks. 
My Dad would sometimes talk quite freely about tradition and 
culture, the old ways, yet at other times he seemed to get lost in 
thought. He'd grow quiet in the middle of a story, almost as though 
he forgot what to say. Sometimes it seemed like he just ran out of 
energy. I remember being afraid once that he was going to cry when 
his voice got soft and he spoke carefully, then it might sort of trail 
off, unfinished. Those were special moments and they hang out 
there in memory now like a cloud or a curtain waiting to be lifted a 
little for a closer look inside. 
He was a half-blood, born in 1 880, the youngest of his family, 
the fourth son of a fourth son. My older brother, Wilfred, pointed 
245 
this out to me (before his death in March, 1 990) , adding that I was 
named George ( the IIIrd) and that I was my father's fourth child, 
and a son. He seemed to imply some significance on my having been 
born in that numerical sequence. Perhaps he was warning me that I 
would be destined to follow in our father's path of trials and 
tribulations. 
Dad was educated at the Carlisle Indian School in 
Pennsylvania. Both his mother and grandmother had hopes and 
dreams that he would do something to make a difference for his 
own people. His grandmother, Gishgiu ( T'cicgi'yu) ,  had admonished 
him early on about getting back the land taken over by the White 
settlers. 
His task and assignment in life was formidable! He had to live 
in two worlds; he had to be as good at both lifestyles, and as 
knowledgeable as anyone in either place, Indian or White man. By 
that very fact of being bicultural, he also knew that he would never 
again have a resting place in either world. My Dad had no choice, no 
options in his destiny - he involuntarily became as a " twosided 
coin," a "double-edged sword," useful to both sides, Indian and 
246 
White, but at any moment, easily rejected by either, if things didn't 
quite go well for one or the other. 
Some people have said that my Grandmother, Susan Adulsah, 
spoke ten languages. Maybe that was five languages and five 
dialects, I don't know for sure. It is well documented that she was 
considered in her time the ultimate resource and authority in the 
Coos Bay area on tribal history, family trees and relations, culture, 
and traditions. On several occasions she was summoned by the Coos 
County Court to explain details of family ties and land ownership or 
residence for both Indians and Whites, during the period of 
unwritten records before, during, and just after the earliest White 
contact or settlements. 
Grandmother had an obvious plan for her son George and she 
did not want to hamper or hold him back by teaching him the 
Indian languages. It was her determination that he should get the 
best education White men could give him, then he could have the 
best chance to compete with and even beat them at their own gamef 
However, his Grandmother, who was not married to a White 
man, but was adored, and protected by her son-in-law, after she ran 
247 
away from the Yachats concentration camp, could not help but fill 
him full of the old ways, including all she had time to tell him about 
" Old Man Coyote." 
My Aunt Daisy, Dad's older sister, went to Carlisle also, and 
completed registered nurse's training at West Chester, Pennsylvania. 
She too had learned much of the old ways and stories, but when she 
told me about " Coyote,"  they were cleaned-up a little so as not to be 
too dirty, just a little "off color." However, it was my Aunt Mary to 
whom I shall ever be grateful for not being hampered by an eastern 
education to dilute the richness of her storytelling to me. And yet, 
there was one other person who didn't tell as many stories but 
talked to me a lot as a young boy, and imparted to me a flavor and 
attitude about tradition, culture, and Indianness, that only an old 
full-blood with adequate skills of cross-cultural survival could do. 
Eddy Ned was the last surviving Coquelle full blood, and he 
used to work for my Dad cruising timber, sometimes staying at our 
house for months at a time, in-between jobs. Often, he could be very 
direct and would not hesitate to tell me that I was acting, talking, or 
thinking incorrectly. He would privately tell me that a certain thing 
248 
was the White man's way; another was the Indian's  way. This 
sometimes caused a little confusion and personal conflict for me, 
but intuitively, I understood that one could not always talk about or 
say what he knew just any time or to just anyone. Some things you 
learn and then just keep quiet about them. When the time is right, 
you 'II know how to act, or what to say if anything. And so it was 
with Eddy Ned in talking about Tala pus, "Old Man Coyote." He gave 
me a traditional lesson on learning the Coquelle taboo of not talking 
about "Coyote" out of season. At first my young mind and emotions 
made me feel he suddenly didn't like me any more. I didn't see what 
I'd done wrong when he wouldn't talk to me, or tried to get me to be 
quiet, and he'd change the subject. 
It wasn't until one winter, about 1 945 , when he became very 
ill with the flu or maybe a bad chest cold and laid in bed for several 
days, that he felt like telling a thing or two, which I hadn't quite 
understood. I remember clearly that he was staying in a little house 
over by my maternal Grandmother's. She would make soup and 
broth for him. Sometimes I'd get to take it over there, and stay for 
awhile. Eddy was eating raw, large, white onions. He'd cut off big 
249 
slices with his hunting knife up on his chest as he lay in bed, and 
told me that old Indians believed that eating lots of raw onions 
would help cure a bad cold. 
Now as I think again about those things which he said to me 
that winter, I suspect he might have even been concerned that his 
illness might be fatal. In a way that surprised, and especially 
delighted me, he abruptly started talking about something I'd tried 
to talk about during the summer, a few months earlier. He wanted to 
explain to me that you talk about " Coyote" only in the winter and I 
heard that message, but it didn't fully register. 
I was enraptured by the surprise of his resuming that 
conversation which he'd cut off abruptly the previous summer, and 
now continued as I'd wanted then, and wasn't mad at me like I'd 
thought. He actually liked me after all. Then suddenly, he told me it 
was time for me to go home. He was ill and I shouldn't be that close 
to him anyway. Thus, my lessons about taboos and traditions were 
sometimes short, often sporadic, and yet always profound. 
It was these kinds of lessons I had to sort through one spring, when 
my good friend Barre Toelken, asked my opinion on, or "permission 
250 
for,n his intention to discuss " Coyote" stories at a conference on 
mythology, and storytelling, to be held at Carroll College in Helena, 
Montana. He knew the associated taboos among most western tribes 
about when to tell trickster stories, the same as I knew. But he's 
worked through a detailed analysis of " Coyote" and had a brilliant 
dissertation he was pleased with and wanted to share with some 
like-minded fellow scholars. It would require not only talking about 
structure and analysis, but also actually relating the story (or maybe 
parts of several stories) in full. It was for scholarly and academic 
purposes, you know. Did that make a difference? We both knew it 
didn't, and he was hoping against all hope that I would take the 
responsibility to give him some special dispensation, in light of this 
scholarly cause, to break the taboo with impunity. I could not and 
did not, but I had a suggestion for him which was actually my own 
way of delighting in "passing the buck" to someone of much higher 
status and prestige than myself, and whose response I would dearly 
have loved to hear. 
I had learned that Crow medicine man (my Sun Dance 
mentor) , Tom Yellowtail, and his wife, Suzi, would be attending the 
2 5 1  
same conference. I suggested to Barre that he introduce himself to 
Tom, present his dilemma, and ask for an opinion, if Tom would 
care to respond. 
As the conference date drew near, Toelken became more 
concerned about the issue and quite flustered about his decision to 
follow through with it all. Little things began to happen to him; as 
he prepared to leave for the airport he rushed to retrieve something 
from a closet. He tripped and fell headfirst into the closet corner, 
receiving a gash in his chin with his head right at a poster of a 
coyote for which he'd been frantically searching. He rushed on to 
the airport, flew to Montana where friends tended to his wound, and 
then he met Tom and Suzi Yellowtail. 
Barre and I have discussed this notion of breaking a taboo and 
what the consequences might be of dealing with " Coyote" out of 
season. I have only been taught, "don't do it," not about what the 
consequences might be, so I've never had an answer for myself. 
Barre introduced himself to Tom and Suzi and proceeded to give a 
detailed explanation of his intended topic and his concern for 
maintaining respect for cultural tradition, etc. I believe he might 
252  
also have made a point of  showing that he'd been experiencing a 
few odd happenings like splitting his chin open and maybe that was 
payment to him for having the audacity to discuss "Coyote" in the 
springtime. I think he wanted Tom Yellowtail to say oh yes, indeed, 
you have prepaid the consequences, now you are free to talk as you 
choose. However, Tom said almost nothing. Barre, a little anxiously, 
prodded him to respond, when Suzi Yellowtail burst out laughing, 
"Oh go ahead and tell it," she said. "We could use the rain." 
Lol<i: Native Intuition and Premonition 
(ro' k-e) n. Myth. 
A Norse god who created discord, esp. among other gods. 
The old uncle of Ohiyesa gave the following advice, based on 
observation of the wolrs habits: 
You ought to follow the example of shunk-tokecha. Even 
when he is surprised and runs for his life, he will pause 
to take one more look at you before he enters his final 
retreat. So you must take a second look at everything 
you see (Brown 1 992: 3 5 ) . 
253 
I sat at a table in the northwest corner of the Portland airport 
lounge. I'd temporarily forgotten that I was with Barre Toelken, 
when suddenly I jumped up yelling, "LOKI, STOP! COME BACK!" I 
stood there suddenly aware that no one had heard me. I was 
completely embarrassed. I hadn't actually yelled out, but it seemed 
as though I had. I sat back down and waited for Barre to return from 
making his phone call. I decided not to tell him that I thought I had 
made a fool of myself. He already knew that I was still in somewhat 
of a shock from our week of experiences in Montana. 
That was sometime in the early 1 970s, when I was an Assistant 
Dean of Students at the University of Oregon. As I think back on all 
the events affecting my life then, I can't recount all that happened 
but I remember the highlights: Viet Nam, Wounded Knee, unrest on 
the University of Oregon campus (including several fires and 
bombings) , Kent State, etc. It was truly a most remarkable time for 
me. I am yet overwhelmed at some of those spectacular events. I 
mention this, because the story I'm about to tell is remarkable 
enough by itself, even if no other excitement had taken place that 
254 
year. In light of those other occurrences, my first visit to the joseph 
Epes Brown household becomes even more dramatic. 
My friend, Barre Toelken, ( then Head of the University of 
Oregon Folklore Program) had arranged for me to accompany him 
to Missoula where he was participating in a conference sponsored 
by joseph Epes Brown. I had been invited to tell Coyote stories. 
Naturally, I was excited about flying up there in the middle of 
winter and staying at the Brown residence. Barre had given them a 
fine build-up for me and they seemed like a most interesting family. 
They raised Arabian horses and buffaloes on a small ranch nestled 
at the foot of the eastern slope of the Bitterroot Mountains. joseph 
had built a large Swiss chalet style barn for their prized Arabians, 
with rustic living quarters in one section, where the family stayed 
while constructing the main house. It became a three-storied, hogan­
shaped mansion, made of local stone columns and wood beams. 
They lived a cross-cultural life style, in an exotic setting, to put it 
rather simply. I had grown up on horseback, and I secretly hoped 
that I would be offered a chance to go for a ride while visiting there. 
As the day for our early morning departure arrived, I was "all 
255 
packed up and ready to go" (that was the English translation of one 
of my Miluk ancestor's name). I had been thinking about ancestors 
when I started looking for my Grandmother's string of dentalium 
shells. I always wore it around my neck, hidden under my shirt, 
when flying or doing something important. Suddenly I became 
panicked when I realized that it was not in its usual place. It never 
got lost, not even temporarily. I could always find It - but not this 
time. It seemed as though a message of warning was coming to me. I 
was stunned. Voices seemed to be telling me something horrible, 
fearful, or dangerous was soon to take place. A warning about an 
impending death was the main topic I understood from all of the 
chaotic messages coming to me from that unknown source. I rushed 
through the rooms in my house and looked fruitlessly for the 
dentalium. That I could not find it, seemed a certain omen. 
Barre's wife, Miiko, drove up to my front door to pick me up 
and drive us to the airport. I was in distress. I told her that I wasn't  
ready, and she should go get Barre at his office first. My mind raced 
through all the possibilities I could think up for an explanation of 
the dire warnings. I knew Barre had flown many hours over the past 
256 
year without an accident. Could it be that the time had come for 
that fatal one? I felt that I should cancel the trip and prevent us 
from going. And then, just as suddenly as it all began, another 
message came through to me clearly. Go. The danger is not for 
either of you, bu t you will be influenced by the dramatic event. . . .  
There was a break in the information, just as it had been for me in 
remembering what happened that day in high school, when I got 
knocked-out-cold playing basketball. The memory picture just faded 
out and became blank space. I was now quite calm, but seriously 
impressed by the experience. 
Barre drove up in his van, and I rushed out the door with my 
bags. Naturally, he was disturbed that I had not been ready the first 
time. As we drove to the airport, I explained that I had nearly tried 
to abort the trip for us. I explained, as best I could, about the 
stunning premonitions, which I had j ust experienced, and from 
which I was barely recovered. There was hardly a word from Barre, 
except that he seemed struck by my stubborn seriousness. I think he 
wanted to respect my emotions, but in light of the imminent 
departure time of our flight, he found it a little difficult. 
257  
Nonetheless, upon arrival in Missoula, he related the incident to 
Joseph and let it be known that I was yet concerned. We all stated 
that there should be concern and alertness during our visit Prayers 
should be offered to seek help and protection from any dangers. 
Once again, I knew that the danger was not for anyone in the group, 
Barre, me or Joseph and his immediate family. Yet . . .  there was no 
further clarification available. 
The conference went quite well. I went to an evening session 
and told Coyote stories, particularly the one about Old Man Coyote 
and the Strawberries. It was loved by all, but I didn't feel quite right 
somehow. I wished I had done better. As there were several more 
days of the conference in which Barre and Joseph would be working, 
I stayed back at the Browns. Joseph had indeed offered me a chance 
to go riding. He had a fine gray gelding that was well acquainted 
with mountain travel and would be ideal to ride up into the 
wilderness for a winter jaunt. The three dogs (a grown German 
Shepherd named Loki and two half-grown pups) were to be our 
companions. Elenita had prepared a lunch, which I placed carefully 
in the saddlebags, and we all started off in the crisp cold air toward 
258  
the canyon trail. We followed the roads around some sheep pastures 
toward the foothills and the trailhead. There the timber began, and 
the trail wound through the open lodgepole pine toward a 
narrowing gorge where icicles hung from the rocks in the rushing 
little chasm. The trail was close to the edge in some places, and 
sure-footed mounts are a real blessing there. Blue Smoke was such a 
sure-footed guy, and a pleasure to ride in those conditions. 
As we made our way upward, the pups hung back behind the 
horse, trotting along and peeking around in expectation of some 
possible excitement. Loki, however, was being obnoxious as he 
charged off into the woods, barking at this and that unseen quarry 
or as though warning off potential intruders. When he returned to 
the trail, he refused to trot along behind Blue Smoke. Loki was the 
"alpha dog, "  and he would settle for nothing less than the lead and 
boss of all within his self proclaimed "domain. " He wouldn't run 
around to take the lead on the trail. No, he preferred to nip at Blue 
Smoke's heels, bite his tail and annoy the horse into moving over to 
let him pass. My own male ego would not tolerate that kind of 
attitude, and I would not let him around. Occasionally I whirled 
259 
around and shouted at  that obnoxious ass and told him to grow up 
and stay in place where he belonged. Again Loki was dashing off the 
trail, trying to lead the pups away from behind Blue Smoke and me. 
We arrived at the wilderness boundary some time past noon 
and finally stopped to rest and have a bite of lunch. Loki continued 
his antics, dashing out into the woods, barking a warning, and when 
the pups rushed to join him, he would wrestle them down in the 
snow and generally bully them around. They grew tired of that and 
stayed closer by where I was sitting on a log with my sandwiches 
spread out. Off he went again, but this time I waited until his back 
was turned and let out a loud threatening bark of my own. There 
was no doubt it was convincing as Loki stopped in his tracks, 
whirled around and looked stunned as he wondered what was about 
to attack him. Quickly, he darted several directions, giving short 
bursts of clipped staccato barking. He'd pause abruptly, listening for 
another challenge which had been so loud and so near. I couldn't 
hold it any longer. I grabbed a snowball, threw it at his hind end, 
and I fell over laughing at having embarrassed the "king, "  the " big 
guy. " It then all became true slapstick chaos as the pups leaped on 
2 60 
me licking my face and rolling me around in the snow, my feet up in 
the air and on the log yet. Blue Smoke would not be left out either, 
and he reached down and munched on the lettuce out of my 
sandwich. The pups ate the remainder of the meat, and finally, Loki 
came wagging his tail into the fray. He accepted the bread scraps as 
though he had forgiven me for shaming him. It was truly a "once-in­
a-lifetime" experience, one of those "peak experiences" which so 
many people like to talk about, but so few have convincingly had. 
I'm convinced that the real peak experiences don't get talked about, 
and those who expound on them are actually in doubt about it, and 
are really trying to convince themselves more than anyone. I felt 
that way too and couldn't talk about that experience for a long time. 
It's strange to me to think that some people call themselves 
animal lovers or dog lovers. They have "pet11 dogs, lead them 
around on a leash or string, sometimes tying a bandanna around 
their necks to look hip or for some other novel notion. In town, dogs 
can be found tied up to parking meters, lamp posts, hand railings, 
and bicycle racks, as though they are temporarily "on hold11 until 
their owners are ready to take them up as toys or pets again. I can't 
2 6 1  
do that. It's painful to me to see such animals trapped in those 
conditions of dire social poverty. Therefore, I don't have a "pet dog" 
in my life. Stupidly, and mostly out of naivete, it's assumed by some 
around me that I don't like dogs because I don't have one, and I am 
critical of those in the city who do. How far from the truth that is, 
they will never know. Perhaps most could never know, even if all 
was explained to them. 
In my fondest memories I recall "Queen,11 an intelligent and 
superbly trained border collie who belonged to my neighbor, Rose 
Walker. Rose would loan her out to work at rounding up sheep for 
other ranchers, but in the evening she had to be taken back home 
for supper. She would work, but refused to eat for strangers. I 
always felt highly complimented and special, because Queen would 
eat when she stayed all night and worked for me. Perhaps she was 
always grateful that I deigned to sleep in the barn to assure and 
comfort her all night while breeding with Bob, my stepfather's dog. 
From then on, it was as though Queen and I had a happy secret, 
which always made her happy to see me. She was also the only dog 
I'd ever heard of who would squat over a saucer and urinate on 
262 
command so her owner could collect " scent" for coyote traps. 
I sometimes think of my short acquaintance with "Blondie," 
the cute little part- border collie, part Australian shepherd, part­
coyote, who stole my heart at the Peterson Place on the South Fork 
of Pistol River. I was caretaking for Mose Miller while he went out to 
visit his family. Mose had told Blondie that I was to stay at the ranch 
and that she was to stay with me and eat what I gave her. She 
understood very well. We gradually became acquainted on long 
hikes through the hills and woods, where I taught her to dig through 
the wood rat nests to roust them out. Those nests in the hills of 
Curry County are enormous piles (up to 1 0  or 12 ft. high) of leaves, 
sticks, cow chips, and any other debris from the forest floor. As I 
poked a long stick into the first one, Blondie had a hard time paying 
any attention, until the rats began coming out. Then she went crazy 
barking and chasing them around the base. It took only a short 
while for her to learn that they escaped up into the trees by means 
of long branches hanging down into the pile. At last I gave up and 
moved on, but Blondie would not and continued barking and 
jumping at the heap, demanding to chase at least one more rat. I 
263 
moved on up the wooded ridgeline, looking for and causally 
enjoying the happiness she had experienced. Eventually I became 
aware that her barking had temporarily stopped, and now changed 
direction. She came trotting hurriedly along, hot on my trail with 
her nose to the ground. When at last she saw me, she stopped and 
growled threateningly at me. Then, she barked a warning call. I 
spoke to her softly and started moving on up the trail. Blondie 
rushed at me again, with the same threatening growl and bark. I 
turned toward her with out stretched-hand, but she quickly wagged 
her tail and started off in her own direction. Again as I turned back 
up the hill, she repeated the same attack and retreat pattern of 
communication, as though she desperately needed me to follow her. 
I understood her clearly then and followed her off the trail and back 
down into the woods. I j ust knew that she was leading me back to 
that old wood rat nest where we'd had so much fun. No way! She led 
me to her own newly discovered wood rat heap and j umped around 
in ecstasy as she squealed and barked for me to start jabbing at the 
ubiquitous wood rats inside. I fell down in the leaves rolling and 
laughing at the brilliance of that little mixed breed dog. She was one 
264 
of the most delightful companions imaginable. I anticipated hiking 
through the woods with her again the next fall when Mose went on 
his annual trip, but it was never to be again. Mose sadly told me that 
a neighboring rancher mistook her for a coyote about to chase his 
sheep, and shot her up on the edge of her own territory. The loss 
was painful, but the delightful memories are indelible. 
I hardly thought of those other dog relationships, as I 
frolicked with these newly found companions. It seemed like such a 
short time that we'd been out riding and competing for macho alpha 
position in the woods when I realized it was getting late and that our 
fun had to be directed back toward home. 
I collected myself, brushed the snow off and re-tightened the 
cinch. Swinging up into the saddle, I let out a yowl-howl which was 
immediately taken up by all of the other " guys," Loki and pups 
alike. Blue Smoke was pumped too, and we took off like a pack of 
horny young warriors out to count coup on the nearest intruders, or 
bring down the biggest damned elk in the Bitterroots. Testosterone 
felt tame to our exhilarated tempers and mid-winter excitement. We 
fairly loped through the woods and slowed just enough for safety's 
265 
sake along the icy rock ledges where the trail overhung the frozen 
cascades of the adjacent mountain stream. We howled 
intermittently, while Loki charged off here and there, back to trail 
behind, and Blue Smoke cantered to one side allowing him the lead 
again. Loki proudly held his tall up in dominant position. It was a 
moment of pleasure at having reconciled the relationship between 
us. We seemed to know who had what position and who was in 
control; Loki assumed the lead wherever I chose to go on Blue 
Smoke, and the pups brought up the rear in deference to our shared 
authority. We'd made peace all around. 
We galloped through the open woods, jumping the downed 
pines, and soon came to within sight of the trailhead. I thought we'd 
slow down and regroup before we all left the timber and started 
back down the dirt road toward home. As I looked around and 
counted heads, I realized that Loki was not around. It seemed that 
maybe he'd just charged off to one side and would be right back, 
but not so. As we slowed to an easy canter down the dirt road, I 
could look off to my left across the adjacent pasture. Out of the 
corner of my eye, I noticed a flock of sheep running off over the 
266 
crest of a low rise. Then I saw what I most dreaded to believe. My 
premonition was immediately back in focus. It turned on with such 
intensity that I could hardly believe I was alive, in the same world, 
or even the same person. I was transported out of myself and 
somewhere above the whole scene, while at the same time right 
there astride Blue Smoke who then seemed a miracle horse, or 
maybe part of my own being, an extension of myself, on loan to do 
the impending impossible. All thoughts were present at once and 
actions were both decided and observed simultaneously. We 
charged down the lane as I called to Loki to STOP! COME BACK! . . .  
LOKI, STOP! COME BACK! He couldn't hear or even begin to obey my 
pleading commands. It was all beyond his control. Loki was a victim 
of his own male condition. He was an addict to the glories of male 
superior hunting and fighting talents, which are seemingly inherent 
in all testosterone-producing males. I don't know exactly how it 
works, but I do know how it feels and how overpowering the urges 
can be. Unwittingly, having been in "combat" with that macho dog 
over his inherent alpha position, I had unleashed his primal urges 
and natural responses to pursue and dominate with the expertise of 
267 
the stud that he was. 
I heard bullets zinging through the tree limbs just above our 
heads. By then we had charged on down the road to where we could 
command a better view of the field of action. The sheep rancher was 
far up to our left, shooting about 200 to 300 yards at Loki with his 
2 2  Special. It was a small caliber rifle as far as wounding and making 
big holes, but accidentally well placed hits can be deadly even with 
such small slugs. Blue Smoke was going wild with my yelling at Loki 
and the rancher, warning him that we were coming into the line of 
fire as Loki limped his way back across to our comer of the field. 
The flock of sheep had all moved back up to the other side, and was 
now out of sight. As Loki retreated and attempted to make his way 
out of there, the bullets continued to fly all around. As I watched in 
helpless horror, the red faced rancher ran blunderingly down the 
hill shooting intermittently into the air, hitting Loki a few times, and 
sometimes missing into the trees around Blue Smoke, the pups and 
me. 
By the time Loki dragged himself into the fence corner 
alongside our place on the road, the enraged and incoherent 
268 
rancher stumbled through some trees just across from us. I 
commanded him to lower his rifle unless he intended to shoot me 
also. It was as though he couldn't even think about what he was 
doing. He yelled, "I  won't shoot you, I won't shoot you." But the gun 
was still pointing at Blue Smoke and me. I expected that bullet to hit 
one of us anytime. Again, I spoke authoritatively and told him to 
lower the gun. At last he did; he lowered the rifle and j ust stared at 
me with his neck veins pulsing and out of breath. l next told him, 
"Finish Loki off!" He was so badly inj ured that he would never 
recover to himself again. How did I know? Loki was telling me. His 
back legs were paralyzed and he whimpered as he tried to drag 
himself under the fence. The man was still nearly insensible. Again, I 
instructed him to put a bullet through Loki's head and stop his pain 
and misery. " Show him mercy. Do it now!" I commanded. 
The incoherent man j ust aimed his rifle and proceeded to jack 
the bullets out of the chamber, not firing one shot. Loki managed to 
squeeze under the fence and drag himself onto the road behind the 
confused and disoriented pups. They were scared of Loki and 
whimpered at me for guidance and protection. The left rein on Blue 
269 
Smoke's bridle broke off at the bit, and he felt out of control, not 
knowing what I was doing. Finally, I dismounted and walked over to 
the fence, picking up an unspent cartridge as I got there. I handed it 
to the man and told him what he must do. After re-attaching the 
loose rein, I remounted and got Blue under control again. I 
explained that I would dash to one side, leading the pups away from 
Loki and that he was to finish him off with one quick well placed 
shot between the right ear and eye. Miraculously, the shaking man 
took a quick steady aim and completed the merciful task. Loki was 
looking directly at me with a steady eye, and he'd stopped the low 
whine just before he went silent. 
I dismounted once more and asked the man to take me out 
into the field to survey the damage Loki had done to his sheep. The 
man seemed to think I was most honorable, or valiant, or something 
like that, and continued to say so as we searched the area. All we 
found was a couple of tufts of wool where he had managed to grab a 
mouthful or two and pull them out. I saw no evidence of blood 
drawn except where the bullets had struck Loki. I told the man I was 
sorry for the inconvenience we had caused him, and that I must now 
270 
go back to the Brown family and take care of Loki's body. Back down 
the road I hugged the pups and we cried as I removed his choke 
chain and carefully laid him to one side of the road where we could 
retrieve him later. 
I shall always remember the comforting words of joseph Epes 
Brown as we placed Loki to rest in the orchard, just east of the 
teepee site. joseph, Sasha, and I said prayers and offered tobacco 
after carefully caressing his limp form and saying good-bye. 
"It seems as though you [George] were sent to prevent such a 
death to anyone of the family members, as that man has made 
threats against us in the past. If one of us had been there instead of 
you, it might have been our death also.�� 
Late into the night joseph and Elenita drummed and sang the 
mournful prayers of Lakota traditional songs while I sat in tearful 
contemplation. The young people of the family retired to their 
bedrooms to privately mourn in silence. 
I've never been one to believe much in premonitions, or in 
predicting the future. I tend to doubt the veracity of those who 
claim to have such abilities, and who profess special powers of 
2 7 1  
clairvoyance or the like. Yet when one has undeniably impressive 
experiences such as I've related, one tends to open up to other 
possibilities. Loki will always be one of my heroes; he taught me 
humility and acceptance of other leaders with grace and 
compassion. I learned there's always room for a good leader to share 
his glory at the top of the pack, with another hero. 
Thank you, Joseph, for sharing such wisdom with me through 
Loki. I'll follow the example of shunk-tokecha and, "pause to take 
one more look at you" before entering my "final retreat. "  In fact, I'll 
never forget to take a second look at everything I see. 
Woot'lat 
"Woot'lat" is possibly one of the least known words of Chinook 
Jargon and seldom used today. I doubt that anyone actually uses 
the word regularly in speaking, but I suspect numerous people who 
know Jargon, also know the meaning. 
The following definition is offered in " Chinook, a History and 
Dictionary," by Edward Harper Thomas ( 1 970) ; WOOT'IAT 
2 7 2  
(a Chinook word): a phallus (often represented i n  carved pestles. ) 
Natural pillars and towers of basalt were sometimes call "woot'lat," 
and venerated. Rooster Rock, along the Columbia River, just 
upstream from Multnomah Falls, was a notable Woot'lat. 
Other such pinnacles of rock or even outstanding tree stumps 
were often revered similarly. But not all were of the same size, and 
Chinook Jargon being flexible in nature and usage, adapted itself 
quite well to such variations. 
In pronunciation, a smaller object might be merely called a 
woatlat, but for the enormity of Rooster Rock, the pronunciation 
was stretched out, and the word became much more meaningful as 
"WOOOOTLAT." 
In the early 1 900s, official names of places across the country 
were being formalized and printed on maps. There was special 
concern by governmental bureaucrats that only names of suitable 
nature could be used so as not to insult or embarrass the genteel 
public with anything off-color or vulgar. Chinook Jargon was 
essentially an honest, straightforward language composed of the 
most useful or appropriate words from among the many languages 
273 
and dialects of the wide variety of Indian tribes who spoke it. Even 
though many White men used Jargon and also contributed both 
French and English words to it for common usage, it was hardly the 
language of the genteel folk of the Northwest by the time maps were 
being published. 
The early explorers, trappers, mountain men, and even some 
of the early miners and settlers understood the ways of thinking 
among the Native peoples and easily fell into using their concepts of 
respect toward a tall pillar of rock proudly thrusting itself up from 
the land without hesitation or apologies. Who couldn't help but 
notice the symbolism and even smile a little respectfully? 
Traveling along the Columbia by canoe or raft and on foot or 
horseback along the canyon or desert trails, was always slow 
progress. There was no speeding by like today, with only a glimpse 
or quick glance from the freeway; a traveler back then would see the 
Woot'lat of Rooster Rock for many miles along the river. It could be 
seen for several hours or a whole day and in sight of several 
camping places nearby. So it should be well understood that the 
White men thereabouts might be inclined to use a catchy or 
274 
colorfully direct translation of the jargon to English whereby 
"Woot'lat" (phallus or penis) would readily be called "Cock Rock." It 
was so; it was called that and therefore when the sensitive censors of 
our governmental bureaucracies determined to "clean up" that 
name, they chose to sidestep the obvious male anatomical inference 
of the name "Cock Rock" and shifted it over to "Rooster Rock." 
Ironically, the local " bad boys" today, delight in re­
interpreting the official name from " Rooster" back to "Cock" (with 
every intention of identifying with the unofficial public nude beach 
nearby) , while not one of the name users having the slightest idea 
that they have brought the name concept full circle to the original 
meaning of the Native term, "Woot'lat. " 
The Bad Luck Canoe 
There is another such previously venerated phallus on the Oregon 
Coast, but of a much more unique and special nature. For many 
generations, perhaps hundreds of years, the "Big Stump" has been 
projecting from the sand (even visible at high tide) out on the beach 
275 
just south of the mouth of the Alsea River at Waldport, Oregon. This 
special Woot'lat was the broken off butt of an enormous redwood 
tree. No one yet knows how it got there, but I've heard conjectures 
from some old people that it grew there many, many years ago (see 
Figs. 1 0  and 1 1 ) .  
Not far away, several other redwood trees lay eroded and 
worn away by wave-action, or human chopping and cutting. When 
occasional winter storms wash away much of the sand, there lie 
exposed root systems which extend 25 or 30 feet in either direction 
from the root-wads, giving the distinct appearance of having just 
blown over right where they were growing. 
However, the Big Stump, which has been sticking up out of the 
sand and waves since long before the coming of the White men, was 
well known among all of the coastal people from the Columbia River 
to the Coquille River and southern Oregon. It was known to be a 
redwood and therefore highly respected for its "Tahmahnawis," a 
Chinook jargon word meaning magic or big "medicine. "  Any traveler 
along that part of the coast would have to walk or paddle right by it, 
as the travel route was along the beach at low tide. 
276 
Fig. 1 0. George B. Wasson, Jr. standing by the Big Stump. 
On the beach south of Waldport, Oregon. January 1 7, 2000. 
Photo by John Bauguess. 
Fig. 1 1 . Close up of George B. Wasson, Jr. standing by 
the Big Stump. January 17 ,  2000. 
Photo by John Bauguess. 
277 
278 
It  was therefore most propitious for the wary traveler to carry 
a handful of white stones, small rounded white beach pebbles, to 
toss up into and around the Big Stump as offerings and gifts to its 
spirit. Such travelers would prepare in advance of reaching that 
location by picking up stones along their way, having all thoughts 
and offerings ready upon arrival, not as just a casual afterthought 
or token gesture. 
Redwood was held in such high regard among coastal peoples 
that one time when someone carved a large canoe out of such an 
honored driftwood log, all the people around South Slough on Coos 
Bay considered it dangerous and extremely bad luck to touch or 
even look at it. 
Sometime about the turn of the century, my Grandfather, 
George R. Wasson, evidently didn't take the taboos of the local 
people very seriously and quite matter-of-factly took the canoe out 
fishing. He caught a large amount of salmon (some say he had the 
canoe full) and took them home to my Grandmother, Susan 
Adulsah, for her to clean and smoke or dry for the winter. 
2 79 
He learned his lesson well about taking Indian traditions and 
taboos seriously, when my small but strong-willed Grandmother 
adamantly refused to even touch or look at them, leaving the whole 
catch of salmon to spoil right where he left them, contaminated in 
the " bad luck" canoe. 
DeSmet Indian School and IHS (Indian Health Senrice) 
One spring, about 1 989, I attended an Indian Health Service (IHS) 
meeting in Spokane, Washington. While there, a group of us also 
visited the DeSmet Indian School in nearby Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, 
now a National Historic Landmark. It was an awesome three-story 
brick structure of mid 19th century architectural style. There was a 
full basement and three stories above. The ceilings were very high; 
the floors were of wood, and there was narrow tongue and groove 
wainscoting part way up the walls. The old cast iron steam radiators 
were quite tall and had ornate Victorian designs embossed on them, 
which sometimes were barely discernible through the many coats of 
enamel paint. 
280 
The building was a most imposing structure, almost 
formidable looking, as it rose atop a little knoll in the northern 
Idaho rolling hills country. just west of the school on an adjacent 
hill about one fourth mile away, lay the cemetery with its 
tombstones and white crosses all lined up in orderly rows. 
There was no doubt that this was solidly Roman Catholic 
country as there boldly stood on the south end of the cemetery a 
twenty foot tall cross at the base of which was a life-sized replica of 
Michaelangelo's, Pieta, all done in everlasting white painted 
fiberglass and plastic resin. 
Across the north end of the second floor in the old school 
building, I walked into the now abandoned chapel. Some of the pews 
had been removed along with nearly all of the statues and the 
stations-of-the-cross. But there was the barren altar and one statue 
of the Madonna standing guard off to one side. I stood there in 
wonderment at the effort it had taken to build this whole structure. 
I could easily envision that entire chapel in its entire original 
splendor and glory. 
I had already seen the guardian angels in the new sanctuary 
2 8 1  
recently built nearby, and I could not imagine how they had been 
physically removed from their pedestals, carried down three flights 
of stairs and over to their new locations. What was even more 
astounding to me was thinking about the Indian converts who had 
helped place them upstairs originally. Those angels were nearly life­
sized, in complete detail of physical characteristics, with 
outstretched wings five feet high! What must they have imagined? 
What must they have felt, those traditional migrant buffalo hunters 
of the northern Great Plains? 
Father DeSmet was one of the earliest "Black Robes" (Jesuit 
priests) to bring Christianity to the Northwest tribes. He settled 
among the Spokanes and Coeur d'Alenes of eastern Washington and 
northern Idaho, where he dazzled the already devoutly religious 
and spiritually oriented Native peoples with the highly ornate 
vestments, detailed and mystical rituals, and enchanting ceremonies 
of the Catholic Church. Perhaps he recognized in those potential 
converts their zeal for spiritual power, their dedication to self­
control, self-denial, and chastisement to attain "medicine." It was 
surely encouraging to the determined priest in long black robes to 
282 
observe the awe with which the savages responded to his swinging 
pot of incense, the intermittent ringing of his crisp, clear sounding 
silver bell wafting through the cool, clean mountain air. One might 
imagine that he, too, responded more emotionally to the 
incantations in Latin, with the haunting "melismas" of Gregorian 
Chant which had become almost common place to European 
worshippers and his clerical brethren back home. 
From personal experience, I know that Indians generally did 
not take such things lightly. Religious and spiritual matters were 
after all, the "real world" or a representation of the real world and 
dedication to such was what life was all about. Surely, never before 
had a missionary encountered a more receptive and grateful flock of 
willing converts. 
It was the dawning of a new age for the tribes. Old men had 
long before dreamed and foretold of these strange white-skinned 
people. Horses had been introduced much earlier and all the people 
knew how that had enhanced their lifestyles. They had heard of 
other stranger predictions of large flying birds and enormous fire 
breathing iron horses with humans inside them. Obviously, such 
283 
people must have extremely powerful spiritual medicine to bring 
about such fantastic wonders, and those spiritual "savages" wanted 
access to their religious secrets too. 
There were conversions by the hundreds, thousands perhaps, 
and the "new age" was well underway. However, the ministry of the 
Catholics in conjunction with the Hudson's Bay Company of the 
British Empire, was not to be the only influence on the Northwest 
tribes for very long. The Americans noted this foothold gained by 
their foreign competitors and took decisive actions to establish and 
ensure their own control and possession of the Northwest 
Territories. Subduing the Native populations was of utmost 
importance in accomplishing this goal, so the anti-Catholic 
Americans encouraged and supported their own Protestant 
missionaries to move into the Northwest and take the word of God, 
the Bible, and the Ten Commandments to those religion-starved 
heathens. Thus, they were to be converted to the White man's way 
of life, settled down on farms, or removed to reservations, to make 
way for the "people more worthy of this beautiful and fertile 
country," as Jason Lee's companion, Gustavus Hines, so eloquently 
284 
stated their general attitude in 1 840 (Beckham 1971 :35-36).  
The inevitable clash between Christian zealots with 
denominational differences became insidious, deceitful, and brutal 
while the Native people were aghast in disbelief that these self­
proclaimed holy men were bitterly arguing about the same God and 
savior. Yet, the Catholic influence, on these Native flocks, remained 
firmly implanted. 
Attending the same meeting was a young woman from my 
tribe, who was really new to Indian country. She had never been 
exposed to much American Indian culture, history, or tradition, yet 
she was intelligent, educable and now employed by our tribe in our 
new Department of Health Services. 
Upon first arriving, she and I were guided through the original 
school building. We toured the deserted upper floors with the 
guidance of a local volunteer, a young woman from the Coeur 
d'Alene tribe. The first floor was mainly offices; the second floor 
contained classrooms and a chapel. But the third floor was where 
the living/ sleeping quarters had been located. Across the whole 
south end was the section for the boys. In the middle on the west 
285 
and across from the staitwell was the girls' dorm, while all across 
the north end, directly above the chapel had been the domiciliary 
cubicles of the resident school nuns. Even their claw-footed, cast 
iron/ enamel bathtub seemed cloistered in its own protective wall, 
which jutted out into the foyer of their main hallway. It was 
obviously a modern convenience or afterthought placed there in 
later years with a high wainscoting screen put around it to create 
privacy. 
As we walked through the boys' dorm at the opposite end, we 
paused and stood in silence, each lost in thought. Presently we were 
brought back alert by an eerie sound of "breathiness," as though 
someone was heaving a deep sigh and slowly blowing out air 
through pursed lips. 
We all looked at each other from our separate places about the 
vast empty room. " Must be old spirits," I said. Erin rushed over 
wide-eyed. " Don't talk like that," she said. " It really makes me 
spooky, and I get scared in places like this." I spoke reassuringly 
saying never to be afraid of spirits, that after all they were living in 
the real world and we could be honored to encounter them and 
286 
learn much from them. Our guide had been quiet for awhile and 
then spoke as a true Native convert. "Yes, you should not be afraid. 
They say those are only the old people who died long ago (before 
Christianity came) .  They are just coming around asking us to pray 
for their souls so they can go to heaven too." 
Over at the new chapel, some workmen who were out front 
painting and doing minor repairs, let us inside to look around. The 
wood floors creaked and popped as we walked around, almost as 
though they were talking with each footstep. It was an exotic 
mixture of 1 8th and 19th century religious statuary in a 20th 
century semi-modern environment. There stood the alabaster angels 
as if hovering before the flock of worshipers. 
I was momentarily transported in memory back to the rebuilt 
churches of post-World War II in Augsburg, Germany. In many 
instances, the elaborate and rare works of religious art from the 
medieval, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque masters had been 
stored in deep underground vaults for safe keeping during the war 
which demolished many churches. Later when new structures were 
completed and some old ones refurbished, it was quite common to 
287 
see these exquisitely detailed iconic works of art placed in strikingly 
modern settings, which only increased one's awareness of their 
painstakingly crafted completeness. 
There was a strange feeling of wonderment in my response to 
those hallowed houses of worship in Germany. It seemed so 
appropriate there. After all, those people had been steeped in the 
Christian religion for hundreds of years; the Lutheran Church, St. 
Anna Kirche was over 1 , 100 years old. Now, I was looking at the 
same kind of religious trappings and feeling as though these 
worshippers here in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, might be descendants of 
some pre-Lutheran Catholics just like all over Europe. 
That feeling of wonderment was not lost with my return to 
11 the here and now." It was most obvious that these local converts 
had not lost contact with their past several hundred years either, 
and that Christianity had its price to pay for intrusion into this 
ancient way of life. 
A blonde-haired Virgin Mary with porcelain white skin stood 
demurely in her sky blue cloak and mantle to the left front of the 
altar platform. Someone had placed a finely beaded medicine bag 
over her slightly extended left hand, just as a child might have 
awkwardly placed a Christmas tree ornament in a precarious 
location. 
288 
On the right side of the platform was another statue with 
raven black braids, creamy olive-toned skin, and dressed in a 
handsomely decorated and fringed buckskin dress. This "Indian 
Princess" had strong dark eyes, her posture was straight and her 
gaze was directly ahead as though out on a walk through the woods. 
Over her heart was a wooden crucifix bound together by leather 
thongs and held in place by her right hand. In her left hand she 
held a black Holy Bible, the same style as those the Gideons leave in 
hotel and motel dresser drawers. My feeling of wonderment 
continued as I looked up at the faint smile on her face and realized 
that she was slightly extending her left arm as if offering the Bible to 
anyone who might want to look at it. 
As the business after lunch meeting did not involve either of 
us, I took the opportunity to borrow a car and invited Erin to drive 
around and look over the area with me. I had been explaining to her 
something of the variations in Native attitudes, cultures, and 
289 
traditions from the coastal areas, inland to the mountains. I was 
looking for those cultural remnants of the aboriginal people, which 
not even the Roman Catholic Church could wipe out and obliterate. 
I suspected there might be some other such indication of 
enduring tradition over in that cemetery, even though one could see 
from a distance the non-traditionally straight rows of the evenly 
spaced burial plots. Sure enough, there it was. Each grave was a 
personalized tribute to the life and soul of the one interred there. I 
had explained how love gifts and favorite personal belongings had 
been customarily buried with the remains, and that now, many such 
gifts and mementos for the loved one are placed on top of the 
graves. 
Erin had become engrossed in reading names in one section 
where there were a number of graves all with the same Victorian 
style marble crosses with elaborate inscriptions of religious 
symbolism. Suddenly she called out to me with an air of shocking 
disbelief, to come and look at that whole section. There must have 
been a major epidemic with which the early Indian Health Service 
was unable to cope. All the graves in this early period were clearly 
290 
patients lost under poor health care. I rushed over to look, and sure 
enough, each of those old crosses had IHS embossed in Gothic script 
at the top. 
After my initial stunned silence, I broke into hearty laughter 
and after explaining the religious significance of the three letters (a 
kind of Greek shorthand, for jesus) ,  she laughed too. We looked at 
various collections of colorful items from toys on children's graves, 
basketballs, and athletic equipment, to plastic flowers and framed 
photographs. A corral fence with ropes enclosed the grave plot of a 
lifelong horseman and packer; packsaddles, harnesses, and other 
tack hung around on it. One man had obviously been well known 
for his tobacco chewing habit; engraved on his headstone was the 
nickname "Snoose. "  
Needless to day, the evidence showed clearly that some 
cultural attitudes and traditions are infinitely more powerful 
medicine than lessons of the hickory switch, or "Bell, Book or 
Candle" of Catholicism, and shall endure well beyond the grave, 
remaining steadfast in their own integrity. 
Coyote and the Strawberries: Cultural Drama 
and Cultural Collaboration 
George Wasson and Barre Toelken 
291  
BT. The collaboration in this essay is of a different-though 
parallel-variety from that illustrated by the other chapters in this 
collection [See Oral Tradition, 13/1  ( 1 998)] , for here the text is 
articulated in English, the original language of the Coquelles having 
been demolished in the last century. As has been the case with 
many small tribes, however, the culture did not entirely disappear 
with the eclipse of the language that carried it. Indeed, one could 
argue that in their retention of certain foods, basket designs, and 
stories, many of the smaller Northwest coastal tribes actually 
intensified parts of their endangered culture by adapting 
them-translating them, if you will-to contemporary contexts and 
social needs. 
In any case, it is clear from George Wasson's recollections, that 
the stories were told in relatively recent times by old-timers in his 
tribe, who were bilingual. That is, original translations (or 
292 
renderings) ,  were articulated by intellectually capable people who 
felt some need to continue the performance of these dramatic 
narratives. Among other considerations, then is the question: why? 
What was there in a story like this one that was so important that it 
needed to be retained in a world that was falling apart? Other 
stories no doubt dropped out of use, but not this one. Others were 
maintained as well, and those that illustrate the breaking of sexual 
taboos (for example) might be seen provisionally as representing 
tribal views of sexual conduct that were under attack by settlers, 
missionaries, and teachers. But what about sleeping in a hollow 
tree, eating too many strawberries, escaping from a whale, and 
exchanging eyes? How do these represent timely concerns, or tribal 
values too important to lay aside in the confusion of traumatic 
events? 
We could, of course, take the know-nothing stance and simply 
claim that this is an engaging story, that its actions are funny and 
entertaining, that Indians just seem to enjoy Coyote stories in the 
same way Anglos seem to like travelling salesman jokes: it's just 
what they do, and we don't need to encumber the merely 
293 
entertaining dimension of their discourse with our scholarly agenda. 
But it is perfectly evident in performance that George Wasson enjoys 
many aspects of this story that are not manifest in the c'text" itself. 
The utterance is only a part of the total meaning-which is of course 
the case with most traditional narratives. Wasson not only savors 
the story and enjoys telling it, but he also has his own personal 
memories of growing up in the very area where the story takes 
place. He recollects family and tribal value systems that inform the 
meaning of coyote actions in the story-an important matter on 
which we have been well-instructed by Clifford Geertz, among 
others. Wasson also visibly registers the physical and emotional 
sensation of having sounds and gestures coming from his own vocal 
cords and hands that unite him with his father and his aunts, from 
whom he first heard the story. These and other factors emerge not 
from the fossil of the ''text," which is, after all only visualized 
skeleton of a live, interactive performance, but from a sense of the 
cultural matrix out of which the story has grown and to which it 
refers. 
294 
Our job in this essay, then, is not to cope with the difficulties 
of translating Coquelle into English, for this step has already been 
achieved by earlier Coquelle intellectuals, living tribal repositories 
and articulators whose expertise far outreaches ours. Here,  it is a 
network, a constellation of cultural beliefs and assumptions, which 
is to be approached and understood. The primary basis for this 
understanding must come, of course, from the narrator's own 
culture and experience. But, since we know it is especially difficult 
to examine consciously and rationally, the assumptions in one's own 
culture, assumptions that seldom come up for critical review, we 
also need to recognize that there are a number of 
questions-perhaps even impertinent ones-that can come only 
from the questing outsider who, presumably alert and respectful of 
the possibilities of meaning, has not internalized or rationalized the 
cultural norms and "obvious" assumptions, and thus may pose 
questions that the insider might never need to consider. 
This story, narrated on tape by George Wasson for friends, 
and the discussion that follows it represent an ongoing interaction 
between the essay's authors. The comments of each author will be 
295 
preceded by his initials, but each segment has been reviewed and 
revised several times collaboratlvely. The story text is broken up 
into numbered segments for clarity in the explanatory notes, but 
since we do not subject the narrative to a performance study (which 
would have included intonation, pacing, audience response and so 
on) these segments are provisionally dictated by their principal 
themes or images. 
Narrator's Introduction 
G� This story, "Coyote and the Strawberries, " has been a 
Wasson family favorite for many years. I've heard it told time after 
time by various family elders, mainly my dad (George B. Wasson, 
Sr. ) ,  Aunt Daisy, Aunt Mary, and Aunt Lolly (Laura) . Various 
cousins have been told the story also, but it seems that few of them 
carried it so personally in their memories as did my late brother Dr. 
Wilfred C. Wasson and I. In fact, most Coos/Coquelle tribal 
members did not bother to practice telling such stories, and so for 
many the chain of direct aboriginal contact with our ancestors has 
been broken. I learned the story by listening to people who had 
296 
listened to the last generation of traditional full-bloods before the 
coming of the Whites. My learning of the stocy in English was from 
native-speaking ancestors who selected their own form of 
translation from the original Miluk renditions (Miluk is a division of 
the Kusan language, a member of the Athabascan family. The Coos 
and Coquelle [later spelled "Coquille" by whites] are closely related 
tribes who often intermarried) .  Whatever interpretation took place, 
was done by the Coquelle themselves, as they coped with the 
problems of maintaining meanings in the new language-not by 
outsiders who had not grown up in the aboriginal cultural context. 
Variations on some of the themes in this sto:ty can be found in a tale 
called "The Trickster Person Who Made the Country" (Jacobs 
1 940: 1 84) .  
I've told "Coyote and the Strawberries" to many different 
groups of people-some Native, some who are totally unaware of the 
genre, and some who know it so well they couldn't wait to be 
titillated by the retelling in a good comfortable setting. The story 
must be told, only when the storyteller has complete control of the 
audience. The occasion must be one of suitable respect for the 
297 
topic, for although the story contains humor and elicits laughter, 
there is no room for ridicule, disrespect or derision in response to 
its content. I try to limit the number of times I tell the story each 
winter, and to select the most auspicious occasions to present it. 
This story has held fond memories for me as brother ''Will" 
and I often listened to one another telling it and each offered 
corrections or additions when the other forgot an important point 
or aspect. Will often deferred to my telling of it since my rendition 
included more of the old gestures and vocal inflections of our older 
relatives as we remember how they told the story to us. I'll always 
remember my first telling of "Strawberries" after his death. He and 
I shared that story so many times and so personally that I can recall 
the places in the narration where he might "correct" me, or remind 
me of the next episode, should I appear to falter in my presentation. 
I was just starting to tell it to a group of 200 listeners in a nicely 
darkened arena room late one evening during a men's symposium 
in Eugene, Oregon. As I began telling the story, retreating into my 
own world of memory, experiences, and emotions, I heard Will make 
an ever so slight comment of approval-something like "Ah, yes, 
298 
that's a good one to tell now." I was startled, and actually glanced 
to one side of the room where it seem to me he was sitting back 
contentedly in a chair. Realizing what was happening to me, I held 
the state of suspension for myself and absorbed the emotional glow 
of his presence. His death had not been a full year prior to that 
event, and my mourning for his passing continued to be painful and 
humorous simultaneously. At length, I had to explain to the 
listeners why I'd stopped talking and stood crying in front of them. 
After a lengthy pause I resumed the story; it was a good experience 
for me, and I knew that particular reincarnation of it was especially 
poignant and enlightening for the listeners as well. 
In keeping with the taboo against telling Coyote stories out of 
season (winter being the Coyote story telling time) , I have seldom 
allowed anyone to record my telling of it. However, this particular 
rendition was recorded at my home in the winter of 1 993,  in the 
company of a few non-Native friends including Carson Bowler, an 
attorney. The recording was for Suzi Jones and was included in The 
Stories We Tell: An Anthology of Oregon Folk Literature (Jones and 
Ramsey 1 994: 1 25-30).  [See also Susan Wolgamott's Coquelle story, 
299 
"The Girl Who Married a Sea Otter" (Jones and Ramsey 1 994: 262-
2 63 )] .  Even so, I request that each reader respect the cultural 
dictates of my Coos/Coquelle ancestors and read aloud or discuss 
this story, ''Coyote and the Strawberries" only during the winter. 
If readers do not heed such warnings, I am not responsible for 
any dire consequences that might befall them, their loved ones, or 
anyone who knowingly listens to it "out of season" (see Fig. 1 2 ) . 
"Coyote and Strawberries" 
as told by 
George Wasson 
( 1 )  Coyote was going down South Slough off Coos 
Bay, and he was going along when a hail storm came up. 
( 2 )  Big hailstones came down and started hitting 
him, pelting his body, and he was jumping around, 
saying, "Oh, that hurts! Oh! Oh!" And he had to get out 
of the hail storm, so over on the side of the trail there he 
found this big tree. I think it was a Cedar tree. 
( 3 )  It had been burned, maybe even hit by 
lightning (which would make it a taboo tree to mess 
with) , but anyway this big Cedar that had a hole down in 
the bottom, a cavity that had been burned to the bottom 
and partly hollow down there. So he rushed over, and 
he got down inside there, and he huddled up to get out 
of the hail storm. But it didn't quite protect him, so he 
used his magical powers, his tamanawis, and he 
commanded the tree to grow shut around him. 
300 
Figure 1 2. Map of Coos Bay area, Coos County, Oregon. Locations 
mentioned in the story are: South Slough, Coos Head, 
Bastendorf Beach, Sunset Bay, and Big Creek. 
Created by Mark Tveskov, 1 998. 
(4) So he said, "Tree, grow shut. Grow shut around 
me." And the tree did that. He left a little hole he could 
see through, little hole he could look through, and he 
was looking through the hole and he could see outside, 
and he felt really proud of himself, saying how smart he 
was, how good he was. He had commanded the tree to 
grow shut. 
( 5 )  Well the hail storm passed by, and Coyote was 
sitting in there, and he decided "Well I guess it's time to 
get out of here now," so he used his powers, his 
tamanawis, and he said, "Grow open." 
( 6) Nothing happened. 
( 7 )  Then Coyote says again, "GROW OPEN!" 
( 8 )  Still nothing happened. He thought, "Well, I'm 
not doing something right there," so he commanded the 
tree, "Grow open." And nothing happened, and on the 
fourth time, he still said, "Grow open." Nothing 
happened at all, and there was Coyote stuck inside of the 
tree. He must have been too proud of himself because 
his powers wouldn't work, the tree wouldn't grow open. 
(9 )  So he was looking out that little hole, and 
pretty soon he saw one of the Woodpecker Girls flying 
by, and looked through the hole, and he called out 
through the hole, "Oh Miss Woodpecker!" 
( 10) She looked around and she said, "Where's that 
coming from?" 
( 1 1 )  And he says, "come over here, over here to 
this hole." And she flies over the tree and she looks in 
there. And he says, "Yes, in here. Peck this hole bigger 
so I can get out." 
( 1 2 )  Well, she starts working away. She starts 
pecking on the hole and she pecks on it and pecks on it, 
and it gets bigger and bigger. 
( 13 )  As the hole gets bigger, Coyote can see a little 
more of her, and he looks out and says, "She's pretty 
nice looking." 
( 14) He reaches out there, and he thinks. "I'm just 
going to stroke her on the tail feathers." And he reaches 
301 
out and just starts to touch her on the tail feathers, and 
he grabs her, and she j umps back and says. "What are 
you doing" He says, "Oh, oh, I didn't mean to do 
anything." He'd grabbed her by the tall feathers, 
grabbed her by the tail." Oh, oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean 
to do anything. I won't do that." And she starts work 
and says, "Okay. I'll work some more." 
( 1 5 )  She started to fly away, and he said, "Oh, I 
won't do that again." And so she starts working away, 
pecking away, and the hole gets bigger, and she's inside 
pecking away, getting it bigger, working away. 
( 16)  And he looks up. By that time he can see the 
front of her, and he says, "She has nice beautiful round 
breasts." He said, "Oh, she's got her head up in the air, 
she won't even notice me. I just reach up and j ust kind 
of, I'll j ust kind of stroke and just touch them a little 
bit." 
( 1 7)  And he gets so excited, he grabs her, and she 
jumps back and flies away, says, "No more. I'm not going 
to help you." 
{ 1 8 )  Well, you might know, there's a little 
Woodpecker down the coast that has two marks on it" 
white marks across its tail and across it's breast also. 
That's probably where they came from, Old Coyote 
messing with her when she was trying to peck the hole 
bigger. 
( 19)  So anyway, she flew away and left Coyote 
inside the tree, the hollow tree, and he's trying to figure 
out what he's going to do to get out. 
( 20) Then he has a bright idea: "Aha." So he 
reaches up behind his braid, behind his ear, in his braid, 
and he pulls out his clamshell knife, and he takes his 
clamshell knife, and he starts cutting himself in little 
pieces. 
( 2 1 )  He reaches down to his foot, and he cuts out a 
piece and he pokes that out through the hole. Then he 
cuts off another piece and he pokes that out through the 
hole, and he just goes like mad. He starts cutting himself 
302 
a little piece, poke, cut off a piece, poke it through the 
hole, cut off another piece, poke it through the hole. 
Working up his legs, all the way up his body, he cuts 
himself all up in little pieces, pokes 'em out through the 
hole, and then he's going to put himself together when 
he gets outside. 
( 2 2 )  But while he's doing this, he's cutting out his 
intestines, his guts, and he throws 'em out through the 
hole, but while he's doing this, here come Bluejay flying 
along. Bluejay flies along and looks down and say, 
"What's all that?" Looking around, down the bottom of 
that tree, all that interesting stuff, coming out that hole 
over there, falling on the ground. Nobody's around any 
place. 
( 2 3 )  Bluejay swoops down and grabs a string of 
intestines and flies away. 
( 24) Well Coyote gets all finished, gets all poked 
out through the hole, gets outside, puts himself all back 
together [narrator pats hands against various parts of his 
body as if assembling himself]-back here, back there, 
everything back into place. He doesn't notice that 
Bluejay has flown away with part of his intestines. And 
he just thinks he's just fine, so he's all put back together, 
and he goes on his way. 
( 2 5 )  Walking on down, and he goes on down South 
Slough and comes upon where Coos Head is now, he gets 
up on there, and here are Strawberries all over. And 
Coyote says, "Oooh. Oh look at that, nice Strawberries." 
Well, you can tell this is an unusual year because here's 
a hail storm when the Strawberries are ripe out on the 
bluff out there, so unusual things are happening. )  And 
here's Coyote, "Oh, I love Strawberries!" And he reaches 
down and starts picking Strawberries. And he picks a 
Strawberry and eats it, and picks another one and eats it 
and says, "Oh, these are so good." He just keeps eating 
Strawberries, picking and eating, picking and eating. 
(Well, you know right away, he's doing something wrong 
here because you're not supposed to pick Strawberries 
3 03 
and eat them yourself. You're supposed to take them 
back home to share with other people. So here's Coyote 
doing the wrong thing again. Picking and eating, picking 
and eating. ) 
( 26 )  But he just can't get full. He just can't-he 
tries eating faster. So he picks faster and eats faster, 
picks faster, pick and pick, and he just goes as fast as he 
can. But he can't get full at all. 
( 2 7 )  When eventually he looks around behind him, 
he sees a whole string of strawberries laying on the 
ground, and they come right up to his rectum because 
that's when he discovers that Bluejay flew away with the 
lower end of his intestines and flew away with his 
rectum. And he just got a straight line right through, 
and the strawberries just go right in one end and out the 
other. 
( 2 8 )  And Coyote's looking and he says, "I've got to 
stop that." So he got an idea. He said, "I'm going to 
have to plug it up." (Aunt Mary always says his 
"bunghole," "Plug up his bunghole.")  And so Coyote 
figured what's he going to do. 
( 2 9 )  So he looks around there and says, "This'll 
do." And he walks over and there's this old rotten log, 
and he kicks on one of the knots sticking out of this old 
rotten log, knots sticking up, everything's rotted away. 
The knots are out there and he kicks one off, and he 
grabs that and he says, "Oh, I'll take that." And he takes 
it, and he shoved it up his bunghole and jumps-"Ouch!" 
And he throws it down, "Oh that hurts! That's rough, 
that hurts." And he says, "That won't do. I want 
something that's more smooth." 
( 30) And he looks over, and here's a rock down 
there. He says, "Well, I'll try that." So he picks up his 
rock, and he takes it, and he starts to shove it up, and , 
"oh, that's cold." And it's too big and it falls right back 
out "No, that won't do it. I've got to have some way to 
plug it up so I can keep strawberries inside of me." 
304 
( 3 1 )  So he's thinking about it, and he looks down 
the trail there, and here's a wild carrot, a wild carrot 
growing down there. And he says, "Ah, that's just the 
right thing." You know it's just about so long, and it's 
tapered, and it's nice and soft and pliable, and that's just 
what he wants so he reaches down and picks it and very 
carefully turns it and pulls it out of the ground. Yes, 
that's just right. 
(32 )  He breaks off the stem and throws it away. 
But he's thinking, "You know, I ought to have something 
to make sure it stays in better." And right over on the 
side a little ways there is a great big fir tree that's been 
hit by lightning, and it's dripping pitch, pitch falling 
from down there. So he takes this carrot-(Well, you 
know that something's wrong here also, 'cause he 
shouldn't mess around with a tree that's been hit by 
lightning) .  But here's this tree hit by lightning, and 
Coyote goes over and takes this carrot and rolls it 
around and around in the pitch, gets it all pitched up 
and the takes it and very carefully slides it up into his 
bunghole and pushes it up and takes some more pitch 
and packs it in place. 
( 3 3 )  Oh, he gets it all nice and glued up there and 
pats it real tight, and it's all sealed up. And he's really 
happy with himself. 
( 34) So then he goes back to eating strawberries, 
and he's eating with both hands just as fast as he can go, 
eating and eating, more and more and more and 
more-eating strawberries until he gets so full he can 
hardly walk. His belly's just puffed way out and by this 
time he's worked himself way down to the edge of the 
bluff. 
( 3 5 )  And he looks over there, and he can see a fire 
out there. He's worked out toward Bastendorf Beach. 
And he gets off out there, and he looks way out there, 
and he goes closer and closer, and he gets up on the 
edge of the dunes, and he looks out, and there are 
305 
people there with this fire on the beach. And he's 
thinking, "Oh, someone's cooking something." 
(36)  Well, you know, Coyote's such a glutton he's 
always ready to eat something more. And he calls out, 
"Hallooo." And the people look up. 
(37)  And it's the Seagull Boys out there, and they 
say, "Oh, hello mother's brother," and he says, "What are 
you doing?" And they say, "We're playing 'Jump over the 
fire."' He says, ''oh, well I'm very good at that." "Well, 
come over and show us." 
( 3 8) So Coyote goes over there, and he goes along 
and he runs over by the fire. He's disappointed it's not 
food, but he comes down there, going to show off, and 
he runs up-here his belly's so big he can hardly 
walk-runs up there and he takes a little jump over the 
fire. 
(39)  And they say, "Oh, well that was very good, 
but you really ought to jump over here where the flames 
are. There's where the contest is. jump over the fire." 
(40)  "Oh, well, I can do that too." So Coyote circles 
back around and he goes over, he makes another run at 
it. He takes a run, and he jumps over, and he just barely 
gets over the fire, and he drags his tail right through the 
flames, and his tail suddenly explodes into fire. 
( 4 1 )  And he looks back there, and oh, his tail is 
burning, and flames shooting up. And he starts batting 
at the flames, batting at this tail, and he's running in 
circles, and it gets too hot, and suddenly, the pitch 
melts, and POP! - out goes the carrot. 
(42) And Coyote's running in circles. Strawberries 
start spewing out. He's running in circles, batting at his 
tail, strawberries spewing out, and they're flying all over 
the Seagull Boys, just spewing out, covering everybody, 
strawberries everywhere. And the Seagull Boys are mad. 
They grab rocks and they start throwing rocks and sticks 
at Coyote. 
( 43 ) And he runs and heads for the ocean as hard 
as he can go, runs and jumps out into the ocean, going 
306 
to put his tail out. And he jumps out there, and what 
happens, but he jumps right out into the waves and out 
in the waves is a big Whale. And he jumps-right as the 
Whale is coming up, he jumps right into the Whale's 
mouth, and the Whale swallows him. 
( 44) He goes clear down inside the Whale's 
stomach. And everything's all quiet down in there. 
Coyote's down inside the Whale's stomach. The tail is 
not burning any more; it's gone out. 
(45) Coyote's feeling his way around: "How's this 
happen? Where am I?'' And he's wandering around in 
there and BUMP, suddenly he hits his head on 
something. He reaches up and there's the Whale's heart, 
and Coyote bumps right into it And he says, "Aha." 
And he has an idea, so he takes his clamshell knife again 
and he says, "I'll get out of here." 
(46) So he takes his clamshell knife and reaches up 
and cuts off the Whale's heart And the Whale dies. 
(47) There's Coyote, inside the Whale, out in the 
ocean. The Whale dies, and it floats up to the surface, 
and there's Coyote, standing up inside the Whale, with 
his arms out, holding on. He can tell they're out in the 
big swells because the whale is going back and forth, real 
slow-like with the great big swells there. Back and forth, 
back and forth. 
( 48) And pretty soon it gets a little rougher. 
They're going a little faster, and he can tell they're 
coming into the breakers on shore, and it gets faster and 
rolls some more, and the breakers are tossing him 
around, and he gets tossed around. 
(49) Pretty soon there's a bump, and rolls over, 
and then everything's still. Aha, he knows then that 
they've washed up on the beach because the Whale came 
ashore and washed up on the beach, and so Coyote is 
going to get out of there. 
(50)  Once again he takes his clamshell knife, and 
he starts cutting between the ribs, through about this 
much blubber, and a foot thick or more of blubber. 
307 
Coyote starts cutting, and he starts cutting, and cutting 
between the Whale's ribs, trying to get a place to get out 
of there. 
( 5 1 )  Well, that Whale washed ashore right on 
Sunset Bay. (and that's a very famous place where 
Whales come ashore because there's another old story 
about a woman who went out in the ocean and married 
the sea otters, and she had them send a Whale ashore 
every year [as a present to her people.] So Whales are 
very important to the people.) And they had been 
watching it. Now, they didn't know Coyote was inside it. 
The Whale comes ashore and washes in at Sunset Bay, 
and all the people are watching. They've all come down 
to Sunset Bay, and the Whale is on shore. And they're all 
waiting for the ceremonious occasion to cut up the 
Whale and share it with everybody. 
(52 )  And just as they all arrive, here comes Coyote. 
He cuts his way, finally cuts through between the ribs, 
and he's just covered with oil and Whale blubber, j ust 
covered like Crisco all over him, just really tight. His 
hair all matted down, and he's really shiny, sliding out, 
and his tail's all burned off. Coyote's just squeezing his 
way out between the ribs, and everybody's mad. 
(53 )  Well, the Seagull Boys are there too, and they 
haven't forgotten the strawberries yet at all. 
(54) All the people are mad because Coyote's 
contaminated the whole thing, this great gift from the 
ocean for all the people. Coyote's contaminated it. 
(55 )  Everybody starts throwing rocks. Seagull Boys 
throwing rocks. Everybody throwing rocks at Coyote. 
(56) He can't see anything because of all this 
blubber in his eyes, and it's all blurry. But he can hear. 
Down south he knows where Big Creek is; he can hear it 
running in down there, and he takes off running as hard 
as he can down the beach. 
(57)  And all the people throwing rocks at him, and 
he runs and runs and goes way down the beach. And he 
goes way up to Big Creek, and he starts running up Big 
308 
Creek, and he hears the Salmon Girls going up Big Creek, 
and they're paddling, paddling in the water. And he gets 
ahead of the people real fast, and he runs up and says, 
"Oh Salmon Girls, oh come over here." 
( 5 8 )  All the people are still trying to catch up with 
him. He says, "Oh you're so pretty. Come here, and let 
me scratch your sides." And he reaches down and he's 
scratching their sides for them. He says, "Oh you're so 
lovely. I could scratch better if you get up here in my 
lap." And so they let him. They get up in his lap, and 
Coyote's taking both hands and scratching both sides. 
( 59)  Well, he's probably got other things in his 
mind, too, but he hears the people coming too soon. 
They're right on his tail. 
( 60) And he's scratching, both sides so casually, 
rubbing their sides, and he gets right up to their heads, 
and he grabs their eyes, pulls their eyes out of their 
heads. 
( 6 1 )  He takes his own eyes, out, which were all 
blurry and greasy, and he sticks them in the salmon's 
head. 
(62)  Because at that time Salmon had bright shiny 
eyes, and Coyote had greasy eyes, and now he traded 
with them, so salmon now always have greasy eyes and 
Coyote's got the bright shiny eyes. 
( 63 )  And that's the end of that part of the story, as 
they told it. 
Narrator's Notes 
Section 1 :  The South Slough estuary is now a federal 
sanctuary. It was the central area of the Miluk (a  division of the 
Kusan language) speaking Coos people on Coos Bay. My paternal 
309 
3 10 
grandmother, Susan Adulsah Wasson was the daughter of the 
principal headman Kitzen-jin-Jin at the main village on South 
Slough, when the Jedediah Smith Expedition camped there in 1 828. 
The area still holds strong family significance because the Wasson 
family cemetery, located on the original allotment land of Grandma 
Wasson, is now protected within the sanctuary boundaries. 
Section 2 :  Port Orford "white" Cedar was a special tree to the 
coastal people of Southwest Oregon. Its straight grain, pungent 
aroma, and superb durability made it especially desirable for 
carving special high prow canoes (The information here is from 
George B. Wasson, Sr. my father, as told to John P. Harrington in 
1 943 ) .  Along with being a white Cedar tree, this tree had been 
struck by lightning and thus had special qualities of spiritual honor 
and sacred power. This particular tree is not to be "trifled with". 
When striking a tree, lightning often splits out a long strip of bark 
and sap wood as it usually runs vertically with the grain along the 
cambium layer. In the process, that narrow strip or sliver of wood 
becomes endowed with the power of the lightning and is considered 
highly special for medicine power and healing purposes. Therefore, 
3 1 1  
both the tree and the split out strip of wood must be treated with 
great respect. 
Sections 3-5: Tamanawis is a word from Chinook Jargon (the 
lingua franca of the Pacific Northwest Indians that was later adopted 
by the early white traders, trappers, missionaries, and settlers) .  It 
means magical power, "supernatural" power, in non-Coquelle 
concepts. However, such powers of magical or mystical abilities 
were considered common and natural to Native people. 
Section 4: In learning this story, I don't recall any special 
number of times required for Coyote to command the tree to "grow 
shut." However, when his power seems to have failed him, he 
employed the undeniably sacred repetition of four times. When 
there is no response to his commands, he somewhat nonchalantly 
begins another approach as though he doesn't even care about his 
abusive attitude (feeling proud of himself) toward his spirit power. 
Section 9 ff.: Redheaded woodpecker scalps are highly 
honored and prized as "wealth" and medicine power items. 
Woodpeckers are likewise granted respect for their spirit power 
potential contained in their red scalps. It would have been 
3 1 2  
considered disrespectful for anyone to tease or taunt a being of such 
high spiritual status. As unmarried women are protected from 
casual male interaction, it is quite forward of Coyote even to call to 
the Woodpecker Girl for assistance. His attempt at molesting her is 
even farther out of bounds in the acceptable social rules of the 
Coos/ Coq uelles. 
Sections 20 ff.: Only the memory of clamshell knives has been 
retained through stories such as this. I don't know of anyone who 
has actually seen one, but there are examples of clamshell cutting 
tools among various coastal archaeological collections. 
Unfortunately, clamshell does not survive well in the coastal 
middens. It usually decomposes quite rapidly, breaking into many 
small fragments within a few decades. 
Sections 2 2-24: Bluejay is commonly a mischievous character 
in the tales of coastal peoples. Perhaps the noisy nature and 
curiosity (or plain thievery) of Bluejay establishes an air of caution 
or expectation when the name comes up in a story. The act of 
stealing some intestines is therefore fitting for the character of 
Bluejay. 
3 1 3  
Section 25:  Coos Head is located on the south side of Coos Bay, 
just between the mouth of South Slough and the south jetty, or 
Bastendorf Beach. It's only a few miles from the head of South 
Slough to its confluence with the main bay and the ocean beach. 
Section 29: Knots from old rotten logs held no special sacred 
significance to the people but were gathered for burning in a 
cooking or heating fire, as they contained highly concentrated 
resins and burned hot. However spruce knots were prized for their 
superior burning qualities. The pitch content in spruce knots 
allowed them to burn a long time, and, therefore, spruce knots 
could be used for torches to light one's way in the dark. Family 
stories relate the time when George R. Wasson, "Grandpa Wasson," 
used a spruce knot to light his way home in a rain storm one dark 
night, after failing to save his lead ox, "Longhorn Swan," [see pp. 
206-2 1 4] from drowning in the rising flood. 
It's interesting to note that Aunt Mary used an old New 
England term for rectum, "bunghole' (the hole in a wooden barrel or 
keg through which the contents are emptied by means of inserting a 
wooden spigot). Mary's father, George R. Wasson, came from a rich 
maritime tradition in New Brunswick, having relatives in New 
England, and therefore taught many Euro-American terms to his 
half-Indian family. 
3 1 4 
Sections 29-3 3:  Insertion of objects into the rectum or any 
other means of bodily insertion or ingestion for the purpose of 
"plugging up" one's excremental functions borders on a form of 
insanity or perhaps even witchcraft. Berdaches (who performed an 
intermediate, alternative gender role) were often the shamans or 
doctors; indeed, such male-females were known to function among 
the southern coastal tribes of Oregon---e.g. , "Old Doctor" of the 
Tolowas (Williams 1 986:60)---as wives of other men. In some tribes, 
however, pregnancy and childbirth among berdaches were often 
faked for emotional reasons by ingestion of certain herbal 
concoctions to induce constipation, and then "stillbirth" delivery 
was claimed by the "mother," after a painful excretion of the rectal 
plug (Devereaux 1 96 1 : 1 60) .  Undoubtedly, such practices were 
known to the Coos and Coquelles, and such references to plugging 
up the rectum as in this story would elicit responses of humor, 
surprise, or even shock among the listeners. 
3 1 5 
Sections 3 1-32:  The "wild carrot" was possibly Daucus carota 
(Walters 1 982: 1 08) .  However, the blossoms, used for burning or 
smudging medicines to cure migraine headaches, were the 
important part of this plant, and the relationship might be in name 
only. Most likely the plant called "wild carrot" in this story was one 
known by several different names, yampah, or year-pah, Carum 
gaidneri, or Carum oreganum, Wats. ( Haskin 1 959:237) .  
Section 35 :  Nowadays, Bastendorf Beach is about a mile or so 
from Coos Head. In olden days, before the building of the jetties, it 
was a little closer, but due to the sand buildup on the south side of 
the sough jetty, the beach is now farther away. 
Section 3 7: When the Seagull Boys refer to Coyote as "Mother's 
Brother," they are using an honorific term generally applied to the 
person in one's extended family who is most respected as a teacher 
and disciplinarian in place of one's own biological father. In many 
matrilineal societies, the husband, or the biological father of the 
children, has no responsibility or control over their discipline and 
education. That duty falls to the mother's brother, perhaps as an 
assurance that a male with the mother's genes will control and 
3 16 
shape the development of offspring. Because the Seagull Boys are 
playing a game and have invited Coyote to join, there is the 
suggestion that they are deferring to his superior magical powers 
and are willing to enjoy the entertainment he provides. 
Section 37 :  One can expect that Coyote is going to have 
problems with his attempts to participate in the game "Jump over 
the Fire," since he just bragged about himself as being "very good at 
that." Bragging about one's prowess is not a socially acceptable trait. 
Section 5 1  ff.: Sunset Bay, where this scene takes place, is just 
a couple of miles south of Bastendorf Beach. The gift of whales being 
sent ashore by the underwater people is told in "The Woman Who 
Married a Merman" (Frachtenberg 1 9 1 3 : 1 5 7 )  [see also "The Woman 
Who Married a Merman" in St. Clair 1 909:27�32] and represents an 
important cultural backdrop to this story. A chief's daughter who is 
dedicated to taking care of her widowed father and his family is 
secretly courted by a sea otter. Eventually he persuades her to join 
him under the sea. Later, when she becomes homesick, the two try 
to visit her family but are driven off by a hunter shooting arrows at 
them. They turn themselves into a handsome young couple, visit her 
3 1 7  
family, and work out a family agreement in which the Sea Otter 
sends a Whale to his in-laws every now and then, and they in turn 
leave a bundle of arrows in the sea for her children to play with. 
The story dramatizes the special meaning of a beached whale and 
accounts for why the Coos and Coquelle would not hunt sea otters. 
Section 5 9: I've heard reference to another story in which 
Coyote seduces the Salmon Girls by scratching their sides and 
enticing them onto his lap where he proceeds to copulate with them. 
The resulting pregnancies are a puzzlement to them and all the 
people as well, but I don't know the details of the outcome. 
Analytical Comment 
BT: It is tempting, in trying to comment on and analyze a tale 
like this, to employ a standard folkloristic approach and look for 
other "variants" characterized by the same or similar motifs, 
themes, and plot structures and then compare all the variations and 
constancies to see where the basic story lies. For example, in a 
Nehalem Tillamook tale, South Wind gets himself imprisoned in a 
tower of rocks and asks Woodpecker and Yellowhammer to peck him 
3 1 8  
loose. (They break their bills and get angry when he tries to touch 
their legs. ) He gets out by cutting himself to pieces and throwing the 
body parts out a hole, when Raven and Seagull eat his eyes; he gets 
new eyes by trading with Eagle. In a Chinook story, Coyote is caught 
inside an immense cedar tree: (see "Coyote in the Cedar Tree" 
Uudson 1 9 10:74-76] ) the birds try to peck a hole for him, but to no 
avail; he cuts himself up and throws the parts out through a 
Yellowhammer hole; Raven steals his eyes; he swindles a woman out 
of her eyes by claiming that the rose petals he has inserted in his 
sockets allow his Tamanawis rays to work better. In a Cheyenne 
story, a character called White Man throws his eyes up into the air 
and, after doing it too many times, loses them; he catches a mouse 
and steals one of his eyes, meets a buffalo and begs one from him; 
now one tiny eye rolls around back in its socket, while the other 
hangs out over half his face. A Columbia River story describes how 
Coyote creates a rock fortress around him so he can perform fellatio 
on himself without being seen; but then he requires the birds to 
help him escape, and the deed becomes known. A Navajo story has 
Ma'ii (Coyote) beg the birds to teach him how to throw his eyes up 
3 1 9  
into the air so that he can see great distances. They pry his eyeballs 
out and later replace them with pitch (which accounts for the yellow 
eyes of coyotes today) . Afterwards he gets too close to the fire and 
the pitch melts (which accounts for the brown streak seen under 
coyotes' eyes) .  A Nez Perce tale describes how Coyote gets swallowed 
by a huge monster who has consumed all the local animals (see 
"Coyote and the Swallowing Monster" in Phinney [1934:26-29] and 
reprinted in Ramsey [1 977:9- 1 2] ) .  Coyote kills him by cutting his 
heart off with a knife and leading all the animals out through the 
monster's anus. In many Eskimo stories, the removable eyes of the 
loon are related to the seeing powers of shamans. And one could go 
on, ad infinitum, for this particular group of motifs is really quite 
extensive. 
The problem with this "comparative" approach, however, is 
that it skims along the surface of a hypothetically conceived story, 
focusing on clearly identifiable motifs-that is, noun concepts (in 
this case, confinement, hollow trees, berries, plugs in the anus, eyes, 
and so on)-and conveniently overlooks the more complex issues of 
relationships, ritual and social obligations, moral behaviors and 
320 
responsibilities, issues that are usually the crux of Native American 
stories and that vary considerably in their organization and 
meaning from tribe to tribe. Thus, while a survey of "eye juggler" 
( see, for example, the Cheyenne story "The Eye juggler" in 
Feldmann [1971 : 1 5 1-5 2] ; the Paiute story "Coyote the Eye-Juggler" 
in jones and Ramsey [1994: 1 2 1-2 2] ; and the Nehalem Tillamook 
story "South Wind Loses his Eyes and Gets New Ones" in Jones and 
Ramsey [1994: 1 23-24] ) or "swallowing monster" stories will 
demonstrate that the images were indeed used by a number of 
tribes in the Northwest and West, this fact itself does not help us 
very much in determining what the motifs "mean" to the Coquelle 
who told-and still tell-the story. 
For me, one of the most telling illustrations of this principle 
came when I took George Wasson with me to visit my friend, 
Yellowman, in Blanding, Utah, one winter. After we listened to 
Yellowman telling Ma'ii stories to his family for a couple of hours, I 
asked the Navajo family if they would like to hear some of the Old 
Man Coyote stories from George's Coquelle background. Yellowman 
was clearly interested, but as George's stories went on (and the 
3 2 1  
included the one we discuss here) , I could sense a kind of 
impatience growing in Yellowman's demeanor. Finally, he asked me, 
"Where did he learn such things-from a missionary?" I explained 
that these were the Coyote stories from George's tribe. "But they're 
not Coyote stories," said Yellowman. "They even describe Coyote 
eating fish!" he whispered. I told him that the Coquelle themselves 
eat fish, and so naturally Old Man Coyote would also eat fish. He 
shuddered and changed the subject. I had thought that especially 
the eye exchange motif would sound familiar to him, but as far as 
Yellowman was concerned, other culturally unsavory actions ( like 
eating fish) far outweighed such insignificant details. Clearly, 
although Coyote seems to be the personage who can do whatever he 
wants (acting as what I have elsewhere called the "exponent of all 
possibilities") ,  he is limited in some ways, for if his actions fall too 
far outside the realm of cultural allowability, he becomes unreal. Of 
course, here we are speaking not of what a character like Coyote can 
or cannot do, but about those culturally constructed concepts in 
which people will or will not think. 
322 
Motifs and story structures are among the easiest of factors to 
deal with because we can "see" them, and think them, but for that 
reason they tell us very little about the unstated, relatively invisible, 
assumptions on the basis of which a certain pattern of motifs may 
be said to achieve a cultural meaning beyond simple entertainment. 
Yet, especially in a case like this Coquelle story, the text may be the 
bulk of what we have available to work with, since we may not have 
access to enough people who know and can articulate the 
particulars of their culture's values and logical assumptions. If motif 
and tale-type ( the standard tools of European-based narrative 
scholarship) are not totally satisfactory for our purposes, then, what 
recourses do we have in our attempt to speculate on the meaning of 
"Coyote and the Strawberries"? For one thing, of course, we have the 
performance, and the continuing performances, of George Wasson 
and his family; we have the intonations, smiles, and nuances of the 
narrator, plus his recollections and explanations (as provided in his 
notes to this essay) ; and, combining these resources, we have a 
greater possibility of judging the "logic" of actions in the story by 
their own cultural context rather than by our own. Thus the text 
323  
becomes a potentially richer document for us to work with than it 
would otherwise be, and we can ask better questions of it than "I 
wonder how many tribes believe one can exchange eyes with 
others?" or "Do Indians really believe that's why Coyote has yellow 
eyes?" We are not as "thick" into the story or culture as Clifford 
Geertz might wish us to be, but we're further in than we were. 
Another temptation in dealing with this story is to jump to the 
assumption that there is actually a universal macro-tradition of 
"The Trickster," a concept that has become not only a handy 
carrying bag for anthropologists, but a passionately faddish focal 
point for Jungian analysts, literary critics, and New Age gurus. 
Although the term is widely used as if it represents an actual, 
consistent, self-sustaining archetype floating in the cultural air or 
inherited through our psychological DNA, the fact is that the 
conventional figure of the Trickster is so amorphous as to be useless 
for critical purposes: for one thing, if we look at him cross­
culturally, including all the details from all cultures who seem to 
relish his adventures we note that in most traditions he seldom play 
tricks on anyone (though he is not above cheating and lying to gain 
324 
his ends) .  More than a tricky personage, he is a sacred creator, a 
buffoon, a clown, a selfish egomaniac, and an oversexed opportunist 
( usually at one and the same time).  When we look at him in each 
specific instance, however, we see that his character is constructed 
somewhat differently in every tribal tradition. Far from representing 
the random childish urges of an unsocialized personality, the 
Coyote ( in some tribes he is a spider, a rabbit, or a raven) usually is 
depicted as doing things that humans cannot achieve because we 
lack the power (ordering the world, killing monsters, inventing 
death) or custom. Thus, Coyote stories usually show us not tricks 
but colorful dramas that create vicarious experience in specific 
matters which are important to us but in which we normally cannot, 
or should not, have personal experience. 
To the western mind this odd combination of sacred and 
secular, wise and foolish, in one character is perhaps a "tricky'' idea, 
but in fact it makes palpable a fairly common concept among Native 
American tribes: good and evil, sacred and secular, smart and 
dumb, are not mutually exclusive qualities, but are overlapping, 
interdependent aspects of each other. This is a much more 
325 
complicated idea than trickery would account for, and, in its 
avoidance of contrastive values (like Good versus Evil, which is 
common construction in Euro-American worldview) ,  it represents a 
set of assumptions far more rare in western thought than Trickster 
fans are likely to appreciate. Rather than a binary computer, in 
which [a] and [not -a] are mutually exclusive, the coyote character 
is more like an analog computer in which [a] can also be [not-a] . 
This is by no means an easy abstraction to deal with, especially in 
western culture; but it may be the reason why a dramatization of 
the concept works better than an explanation---in anyone's culture. 
For critical purposes, we can use this knowledge to help 
phrase some of the questions we wish to pursue in regard to the 
possible meanings and functions of any Coyote story, including the 
one under examination here. ( 1 )  If Coyote is usually a combination 
of value-charged elements important to moral or cultural survival, 
how do his actions function to foreground or articulate some of 
these values in this particular story? ( 2 )  If Coyote's actions are 
possibly sacred as well as secular, what do his actions here mean in 
cultural terms? ( 3 )  If Coyote usually is observed to be breaking 
326  
significant rules or challenging meaningful taboos, what do his 
actions in this story suggest about rules and taboos among the 
Coquelles? ( 4) If we accept the proposition that Coyote represents 
the dramatic embodiment of cultural values, then what exactly is it 
that is being dramatized in this story? The following comments and 
observations apply questions like these to the principal scenes of 
the story narrated by George Wasson: 
Scene 1 :  Coyote in and out of the hollow tree: Coyote gets into 
the tree for his own comfort and convenience, in spite of the 
suggestion that the lightning-struck tree is taboo; can we not read it 
as a culturally moral consequence that he cannot get back out 
without dismembering himself and losing an important part of 
himself in the process? Selfish disregard for taboo, propriety, and 
behavior is self-destructive, if we understand this scene as a 
dramatic enactment of cultural value. 
Scene 2 :  Coyote and the strawberries: berries and other 
gathered food were normally brought home and shared with others. 
In this vivid tableau scene, because of his self-destructive behavior 
in scene one, Coyote is shown stuffing himself endlessly, a 
3 2 7  
hyperbolic enactment of selfishness, since it does not nourish him, 
and indeed leads to even more anti-self (and culturally 
questionable) behavior. 
Scene 3 :  Coyote and the Seagull Boys: where in scene one, 
Coyote is in a tree and cannot get out without trauma; now, 
strawberries (and the wild carrot) are in Coyote, and cannot get out 
without an equally traumatic explosion. That this release of 
selfishly-consumed-and-contained food has a negative impact on 
respectful relatives seems to me to be no accident. Dramatically, it 
says that selfishness, self-destructive behavior, disregard of taboo, 
and (with the fire-jump game) bragging, are like defecating on your 
relatives. 
Scene 4: Coyote in and out of the whale: just as he has entered 
a powerful tree without regard for propriety and taboo, now Coyote 
has entered a whale, a sacramental, familial gift from the ocean (see 
Wasson's explanation, and the synopsis of the Sea Otter story).  just 
as he cannot get out of the tree without cutting himself up, he 
cannot get out of the whale without killing it and tainting its sacred 
flesh by digging through it like a maggot. Because the error here is 
3 2 8  
intrusion into a ritual process (once again, to save his neck) and is 
not connected to selfish diversion of food, as it was in Scene 1 ,  the 
consequence is not constipation but a kind of blindness. 
Scene 5 :  Coyote and the Salmon Girls: partially blinded by the 
blubber, Coyote can still hear what's going on and locates the 
Salmon Girls, whose eyes he needs; in order to escape his current 
predicament, he requires clear eyes, as do we all. In another story 
common along the southern Oregon Coast, Coyote wipes his penis 
off on his grandchildren's eyes as they awaken so that they will not 
see clearly that he has spent the night copulating with their mother, 
his daughter-in-law. Today, when we clean the white mucus from 
our eyes in the morning, we are reminded to avoid incest and not to 
trust what we see until we can see clearly. 
Overall, we have Coyote in and out of a storm, in and out of a 
tree, in and out of a strawberry patch; then a knot, a stone, a wild 
carrot, and strawberries are in and out of Coyote; Coyote is in and 
out of the fire; Coyote is in and out of the whale; Coyote is in and 
out of trouble. Strangely enough, he is not shown as sexually in and 
out of the Salmon Girls, which would have been a typical possibility, 
329 
given his tastes. (Clearly, the story here focuses on other modes of 
selfishness. ) But his eyes are in them, and theirs in him. The story 
dramatizes several Coquelle concepts of behavior with respect to 
lightning, sacred or powerful trees, sharing of food, self-destructive 
action, misuse of natural objects or disrupting of natural processes 
(knot, stone, and wild carrot in anus) ,  bragging, respect for 
relatives, disruption of ritual processes (tainting the whale offering, 
which also entails disrespect for the familial rituals embodied by the 
whale) ,  and cheating others of their ability to see clearly. Indeed, 
no one in the story sees very clearly in the figurative sense: in 
addition to Coyote, it is clear that Woodpecker Girl does not 
anticipate Coyote's immoral action. Blue jay cannot see who owns 
all those nice tidbits on the ground, the Seagull Boys do not 
anticipate getting showered with half-digested strawberries, the 
whale opens it's mouth without seeing that Coyote is going to jump 
in, the people gather on the beach without knowing that their whale 
is inhabited by Coyote, and the Salmon Girls get up on Coyote's lap 
without sensing that they are about to lose their dear eyesight. The 
action is very much like a Greek play, in which characters act their 
330 
normal parts without seeing what the aggregate consequences will 
be, while we as audience members, armed with the shared 
perspectives and values of culture, obtain vicarious experience and 
depth of meaning (including irony) as we witness the dramatization 
of abstract ideas. 
It seems to me that these are only the most obvious 
possibilities in the story, and in fact the narrative may contain many 
others, which are "there" by nuance only, to be registered most 
richly by those for whom the cultural matrix is familiar. But even at 
this, I think it is striking to note first of all how many cultural issues 
are dramatized in the story, and secondly how differently these 
familiar "motifs" structure a particularly Coquelle, not pan-Indian, 
constellation. 
GW. Some people have remarked to me that this is just a 
funny story, created with improbable situations that we know 
couldn't happen in real life. It seems obvious that no one could 
actually cut himself into small pieces, poke them through a hole, 
and then reassemble the parts in the manner so matter-of-factly 
3 3 1  
demonstrated here by Coyote. I'd suggest that there might be a 
subliminal message in that event, either explaining or dictating the 
limits of Native medical practice, which were of course almost 
entirely herbal and spiritual, with almost no use of surgery on the 
human body. 
Contemporary listeners also seem to assume that the story, 
while "cute," is somewhat odd or illogical: Coyote jumps into the 
mouth of a Whale. Yet many judea-Christians are familiar with a 
similar concept in the story of Jonah and the Whale and often read 
or hear it as a narrative with serious philosophical implications--­
whether or not they believe it actually happened. 
There is still another aspect of the story that I've never heard 
anyone accept as historical fact: Coyote picking ripe strawberries 
just after a severe hail storm just doesn't seem to depict a probable 
situation. Today, hailstorms hit the Oregon Coast in February and 
March, and strawberries don't ripen until about june. However, in 
the past 20-30 years, scientists (and west coast dwellers) have been 
observing a phenomenon of nature known affectionately by the 
Spanish term "El Nifto," (The Christ Child) .  Due to the constant 
332 
blowing of winds far out on the Pacific, a layer of water builds up, 
raising the sea level in the South Pacific to the point at which it 
dissipates in a great surge or wave. As this surge moves toward 
South America, the ocean currents are strongly affected, welling up 
water from far below, dramatically changing the food supply of 
plankton and moving currents of warm water northward along the 
west coast of North America. These dramatic changes result in 
severe weather pattern changes, which in 1 995 produced more 
rainfall in southern California than previously recorded in written 
history. The weather pattern also brought a heavy snowfall of up to 
four Inches in southern Oregon. At Coos Bay and South Slough, 
snow fell as late as the first week of April. Although the evidence is 
circumstantial, it could very well be that this story carries forward--­
along with all its cultural meanings---a record of remarkable 
weather changes in earlier times that were taken to have some 
connection with human and animal behavior. 
BT: Consistent with the metaphorical aspects of "seeing. "  
Characters spend a lot o f  time i n  this story looking: Coyote looks out 
3 3 3  
the hole i n  the tree, looks out and sees Woodpecker Girl, looks at 
her while she's working on enlarging the hole; Bluejay comes along 
and looks over the pile of body parts lying all around; Coyote looks 
at the strawberries; he looks around for something to stop up his 
anus; he looks out on Bastendorf Beach and sees the Seagull Boys; he 
looks at his burning tail. But when he is Inside the whale, where it's 
dark ( perhaps reflecting his spiritual blindness at this point) , he 
doesn't look; he feels and hears. As he comes out of the whale, he 
can't see, but only hears and runs until he gets the clear eyes of the 
Salmon Girls and makes his escape. Does he regain his vision 
through the mediation of the Salmon, whom the Coos and Coquelle 
still reverence with a salmon bake every year? Does his return to 
normalcy come about through his acknowledgement that the salmon 
provide the basis for life? After all, he does not take them or eat 
them, or desecrate them: he gains clear vision from them. Perhaps 
so do we, according to this drama. 
In any case, it is clear to me (with the new eyes provided by 
this exercise) that no single answer will suffice, for the living 
contexts in which the story reaches articulation each time are 
3 34 
changing constantly, and the text changes continually according to 
the audience, the occasion, and the feeling of the narrator; and we 
can probably assume (or at least allow for the possiblllty) that this 
dynamism has been a part of the picture, and thus the meanings, 
down through time. This was no better illustrated for me than by 
George's response to my editorial suggestion that we take out all the 
parenthetical asides in the story text and place them among the 
explanatory notes, leaving the story itself clear of contemporary 
commentary. ''First of all, it's not accurate," he insisted, "because 
those words were actually there when I told the story that time. And 
besides, in that case the story was being told to some people who 
were non-Coquelles, and the explanations were a necessary part of 
the story, j ust as on some other occasion, maybe with my family, 
some of those things need not to be said, while others might be said 
anyhow, just so we could share the recollection of 'Yes, that's how it 
was,' or 'Yes, that's where it happened, all right.' " 
GW. The reason for retaining comments is that the story itself 
is alive, and so, of course, it changes from one telling to the next, 
335  
depending on the situation, context, or audience. Those "incidental 
comments" are part of the story itself and are always there. They 
vary depending on when, why, and where the story is being 
presented. Separating those explanatory parts included at that 
particular telling from the rest of the text would give the impression 
that they resulted from later analysis and could mislead the reader 
as to how the telling actually took place. 
BT: Omitting explanatory comments would also add to the 
impressions, harbored far too long by most scholars of folklore and 
literature, that the text of a story has a single, discrete form and 
content, that a story can exist without its context, that a narrative 
can mean something without reference to information about the 
real physical and cultural world in which it operates, that the 
actions of a story character are understandable without reference to 
the culture that constructed the story. 
GVV: Coyote stories are truly like Coyote himself: each time a 
story is told, it experiences a new birth, a re-generation, or a fresh 
336 
reincarnation. Each telling is  in a different setting or location, with a 
different audience, with a different reason for telling it. Therefore, 
each telling requires a new set of explanatory remarks for the 
benefit of the new audience. Some know more than others about the 
content and the meaning of the story elements, but-since 
repetition is a standard aspect of traditional oratory---there is never 
a need to apologize for telling or explaining something that some, or 
even most, of the listeners might already know. The present story, 
along with our discussion of it is no exception. 
*[Special thanks to Mark Tveskov for the map of the Coos Bay area 
in Coos County, Oregon.] 
IV. CONCLUSIONS 
The Drama of Contact and Change 
What must life have been like for Susan Adulsah? She was 
born the daughter of a prominent headman of the Mlluks on 
337  
Coos Bay. Her mother was the daughter of  a chief from the upper 
Coquille River area. The marriage of her parents took place at what 
has become known as Laverne Park on the North Fork of the 
Coquille River. That union was said to have united the Coos and 
Coq uelles in lasting friendship. 
During the romantic era of Indian "adoration," the trend to 
say "Lo, the poor Red Man," and to wax philosophical on the natural 
beauty of the Natives, people often spoke of the daughter of a 
"chief," as being an "Indian Princess." This was often said about 
Grandmother. In 1 909, a local Coos County author, Agnes Ruth 
Sengstacken wrote "The Legend of the Coos" (Peterson and Powers 
1 95 2:259) ,  saying that the young woman in the story was probably 
3 3 8  
Susan Adulsah. It was common for some Wasson family members to 
even say they were descended from an "Indian Princess." I think 
awareness of that false concept of "Indian princess" has now become 
commonplace. 
Susan Adulsah was educated by her mother to speak all the 
local and neighboring languages fluently. Some say she spoke 10 
languages. She also knew the history of all Coos Bay, and was often 
considered the ultimate resource on tribal, village, and newcomer 
relationships. Her knowledge of and attention to details often 
surprised some people and caused a bit of merriment if not 
embarrassment when she was called up to be a witness in a court of 
law. 
It was often told in the family that a certain pompous White 
attorney in Coos Bay was cross-examining Grandmother and asking 
whether she knew him in person. Grandmother answered in the 
affirmative, adding something like, "yes, I 've known you since you 
were a little boy. The first time I saw you, your mother had you out 
on the back steps, combing nits ( lice eggs) out of your hair." That 
attorney lost his punch in hoping to discredit the word of Susan 
Adulsah. 
3 3 9  
I often wonder how Grandmother (and her mother as well) 
adjusted to the sudden and dramatic change in social and cultural 
lifestyles after the arrival of the Euro-Americans. These ancestors 
were born and raised in the "Stone Age." They first knew only 
clothing of cedar bark, woven grass skirts and capes, and deer skin 
clothing. They used broken rocks as tools, and cooked in baskets 
with heated stones, or in pits of heated sand, rocks, and covered 
their food with seaweed and plant leaves. 
They lived through some of the most dramatic changes made 
by human beings on earth. They survived and adjusted to the 
developments from the Stone Age, through the Industrial Revolution 
and into the age of telephones, electricity, steam engines, 
automobiles, and airplanes. I marvel at the endurance and cultural 
fortitude of my ancestors. I am proud to know what they were like, 
and to tell about them. Yet, I mourn the loss of their collective 
knowledge. 
340 
The greater portions of their traditional cultural knowledge -
their languages, stories, myths, and legends - have been lost for all 
time. The curious linguists and ethnographers arrived too late to 
gather that great wealth from the ultimate sources. 
The great Library at Alexandria has "burned" more than once. 
Twilight Conversations 
Twilight, in the late summer or early fall along the southern Oregon 
Coast spreads a lovely golden rich buttery glow across the 
landscape. As dusk settles gently around the small valleys and 
meadows, there seems to be a presence of home, comfort, and 
companionship with everything and everyone, friends, family, and 
loved ones. When the persistent northwest wind of summer has 
ceased its constant blowing along the open coast, the soft hush of 
the ocean waves breaking onshore carries gently over the coastal 
hills and into those small valleys or along the river-bottom lands. All 
of nature seems pleasantly at rest and humans along with their 
341 
animal companions seem to follow along into the lull of peace and 
reverie. 
Susan Adulsah sat apparently alone in the front parlor of her 
home on her Indian allotment up South Slough. There was no glow 
from a kerosene lamp nor had the fire been started in the fireplace 
as the warm summer evening comforted her and an unseen 
companion in the darkened room. She spoke somewhat softly, 
carrying her part of a gentle conversation in one of her own Native 
languages. 
Susan was much alone now as the last of her youngest 
children had grown up, married and moved on to raise families of 
their own. Her husband George had preceded her in death several 
years earlier as had a couple of her children. But I suspect that 
somehow, she did not feel completely alone or even lonely. Always 
busy working, gathering roots and berries, cooking and making 
baskets, or just enjoying the company of her best friends, "Old 
Libby" or Susan Ned from down by Bandon. 
But this evening, she sat alone in the room and others in the 
kitchen gradually realized she was talking with someone in Indian. 
342 
Not having heard anyone else enter the house, one of Susan's 
granddaughters-in-law burst into the room to see who could be 
there, but the old woman appeared to be all alone. "Grandma," she 
blurted out, "who are you talking to?" Susan Adulsah sat quietly for 
a moment, collecting herself and sighing with a bit of exasperation, 
replied, "I was just talking with my son, Jim." Jim was killed in an 
auto accident on Pony Slough Bridge in 1914  (see Fig. 1 3 ). 
Grandma Wasson was not an easy person to deride or scoff at, 
or dismiss for her old Indian ways and beliefs. Yet some of the non­
Indian in-laws who had little or no concept of (or perhaps no 
respect for) her traditional culture, implied that the old woman was 
getting senile, "just a little bit crazy" and would laugh at her, mostly 
behind her back. 
As a young girl, my cousin, Elizabeth Codding Burnette, knew 
Grandma well, and often sat in rapt attention listening to her. 
Elizabeth grew up to become a registered nurse. She often took care 
of old people and knew the true symptoms of senility. That last 
summer of her life, Elizabeth was terminally ill with cancer and had 
come to stay with my mother at Pistol River for a week. 
343 
Figure 1 3 .  Automobile wreck on Pony Slough bridge, 1914. 
Five people were killed including Jim Wasson. 
George Wasson was the only suiVivor. 
344 
345 
I stayed there for that week also, and we visited several times 
each day, in the early morning when she first awoke for breakfast, 
and again, when she awoke from her afternoon nap. "Georgie" she 
said to me, "Grandma was not 'crazy' or senile at all. I've seen lots of 
old people, and she was perfectly sane with all her faculties!" She 
spoke to me emphatically, "Don't listen to those people (non-Indian 
in-laws) ,  they don't know what they're talking about!" 
Grandma Wasson was devoted to her traditions and spiritual 
practices. She sat and talked with her dead son Jim, when she had 
the opportunity to be alone without other distractions. She 
understood the spirit world and had no fear of communicating with 
friends and relatives who had passed on before her. 
I recall clearly how Aunt Daisy (Elizabeth's mother) had told of 
Grandma admonishing someone for attempting to kill a small lizard 
which had crawled through a crack in the outside wall, along side 
the fireplace. It ran up onto the fireplace mantel and sat looking 
around the room, bobbing up and down as lizards do. As someone 
grabbed the poker to smash the unexpected visitor, Grandma 
jumped up quickly, grabbed them by the arm and scolded, "never 
346 
kill small animals, especially small gray lizards, that might be one of 
your dead relatives coming back to visit us." 
I asked if she thought Grandma Wasson believed in 
reincarnation. "No!" she had responded, "That lizard wasn't Uncle 
Jim (reincarnated in another life form) , she just knew that the spirit 
of a dead person could come back to visit us in the body of a living 
animal." 
I've often wondered whether Grandmother has tried to visit 
and communicate with me in the same manner. At times I feel so, 
but I know I am not as receptive to spiritual communications as she 
was. I hope that someday I might be more aware of such 
opportunity to learn from her and understand her lessons. 
An Emotional Process of Discovery 
In the spring of 1 995,  our small group of students gathered around 
the tables in the research room of the Anthropological Archives, in 
the Museum of Natural History, at the Smithsonian Institution, in 
Washington D.C. just the name of the place alone, was enough to 
347 
intimidate anyone who wanted to look, and see what was in there. 
Several boxes of notes and papers concerning western Oregon had 
been selected for us to examine. 
It was fun at first, and then became a little tiresome just 
looking through so many pages of notes, lists of words, letters and 
reports. Occasionally, someone would speak up and mention that 
there was information on Coos Bay Indians or something close to 
home. That was always interesting, and we'd say, just mark it to be 
copied, we'll read it later. Work continued in that busy manner most 
of the time. But then, there were moments everyone would realize 
that someone was suddenly very quiet, j ust staring at a page and 
reading intensely. We each had those moments of discovery when 
the page just jumped out at us and was so interesting we couldn't 
stop reading, but this moment was something different. 
The reader seemed almost stunned and with tears welling up, 
slowly closed the pages, then made some short notes on a tablet. 
This time lt was a letter written by one of the soldiers who had 
escorted the people from southern Oregon up the coast on foot to 
the concentration camps. The soldier obviously had compassion for 
348 
the fellow humans who were being herded away like animals to 
another pasture or into corrals. He told of the painful progress of an 
old woman named Amanda, who had no shoes or moccasins and 
had to walk barefooted over the rough trail on the high rock bluffs. 
He was concerned for her and had tried to help by giving her some 
rags to bind around her feet. But Old Amanda's feet were bleeding, 
and he always knew when she was somewhere ahead of him as he 
could detect her bloody footprints along the trail. 
Much earlier in 1 975,  I had been exploring in the National 
Archives, looking to see what I might find of interest to me and my 
fellow tribal members back home. I knew that my Dad and others 
had attended Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania just at the turn 
of the last century. 
I had selected a box of records on Coos Bay Indians, and found 
the personal files for my father, George Wasson, his sister Daisy 
Wasson, and Sosipatra Suvoroff ( later to become my Aunt Pauline, 
married to my dad's brother, Tom Wasson) .  Here were short letters 
and post cards from them to the school director, Colonel Pratt, 
telling him of their successes in life after returning to their homes 
3 49 
on Coos Bay. They sometimes mentioned how they "missed the old 
place" ( Carlisle) and wished they could return for a visit sometime 
before they died. A short newspaper clipping told that George B. 
Wasson had a tailor shop in Marshfield, and had hand made all of 
the new uniforms for the "nattily dressed bell boys" of the newly 
opened Chandler Hotel, rushing to meet the deadline for the grand 
opening. 
Poignant moments such as these made all of us realize that 
hidden in those boxes of musty papers were bits and pieces of 
historical information which provided a personal glimpse into the 
reality of daily life for our ancestors. 
What else lies waiting for discovery is yet to be known, but 
young researchers will continue to uncover and learn more of these 
bits and pieces as the Southwest Oregon Research Project (SWORP) 
materials unfold some of their mysteries in the future. We owe it to 
our young tribal members to allow them to discover and explain the 
details of our lost, hidden, or forgotten history, and culture, which 
many in the older generations have often longed to know. 
350 
The Hidden Pathos of Southwest Oregon 
Southwest Oregon still echoes and reverberates with excruciatingly 
painful memories of the horrible slaughter and spiritual, emotional 
devastation of both the local aboriginal inhabitants and many of the 
non-Native newcomers who intruded onto them with a demonic 
passion of greed, lust, scorn, and brutal indifference for less 
possessive souls. Not one square mile of Coos, Curry, josephine, 
jackson or Douglas counties has been spared the awful impact of 
murder, human torture, desperation, and anguish spilled out of the 
people who experienced the vulgar onslaught of the mid-nineteenth 
century. 
More than a hundred years of annual pounding rains and 
hurricane force winds have effected little to nothing in the way of 
clearing out, washing up, or erasing the eternal vibrations of such 
brutal genocide. The coastal bluffs, strands of beaches, river 
boulders, and creek gravels (along with the jagged and craggy peaks 
of the Siskiyou, Klamath, and Coast Range mountains) ,  all have been 
indelibly imprinted with the horror of hate and desperation with 
which the people were slashed and ripped from their beloved 
homelands. 
3 5 1  
Those same mountains, crags, and gravel-bars still exude those 
painful messages today. Their impact is inescapable, even to the 
unwary newcomers, but the curious historians and culture 
researchers who insist on sifting through the aboriginal residue are 
doomed to receive more than they asked for. 
Forewarned is not necessarily forearmed. There are no 
inoculations against the fevers of guilt and disgust, which inevitably 
saturate intelligent and compassionate researchers upon ferreting 
out the secrets of human extermination in the late nineteenth 
century landscape of southwest Oregon. 
Time is only an ever-expanding capsule of energy exchanges. 
Human experiences are energy expenditures of emotion, 
compassion, pain, suffering, wondering, love, and spiritual devotion. 
Those experiences do not dissipate into a distant past as presumed 
by western linear thinkers. Those experiences of the "past" are all 
that make up the present. Our human emotions and memories are 
3 5 2  
all that exist in life now, as the future depends on what we are doing 
now and what we will do next. It then becomes the present. 
As memory is all we have to create reality, the "past" is always 
current in the present. Those life experiences fade or remain alive as 
determined by the intensity of the emotional energy expenditure on 
their unfolding evolution. Those more intense experiences remain 
hovering in the reality memories of the people who witnessed them, 
and the geographic places within a beloved homeland, where such 
events unfolded, resound interminably with the haunting echoes of 
their dramatic appeal. 
just as a photographer imprints an image on film, or a sound 
technician records sounds on metal or vinyl, so too does the human 
psyche in compassionate oneness with its aboriginal environment, 
record and imprint those emotional images into the immediate 
surroundings of the dramatic events. It's all there and waiting for 
the unwary inquisitor. 
Anyone who insists on probing into the hidden dimensions of 
any aboriginal history, and particularly that hidden history of 
353  
southwest Oregon, must be ready to endure a gruesome and tragic 
entanglement of cultural perspectives. 
Be careful what you wish for. Whether it be political or sexual 
power, economic or social enlightenment, spiritual or academic 
credentials, be careful! You just might get what you seek. 
Bi-Cultural Symbiosis 
Susan Adulsah and her husband George were an excellent 
combination of different cultures, Indian and Euro-American. It 
seems that their unbounded respect for each other provided 
strength and fortitude for survival, achievement, and success in an 
ever-changing frontier world. Their combination of Indian 
traditional knowledge in Native survival, hunting and gathering, 
and New England knowledge and expertise in the maritime trade 
and logging/lumbering abilities, provided the perfect union and 
melding of cultures in the "frontiers" of Oregon. 
George was a Canadian citizen living in the Oregon Territory. 
Susan Adulsah was a Native Oregonian, but not considered an 
American citizen in her own homeland, by the U.S. Government. 
When Oregon became a state of the union on February 14, 1 859,  
both George and Susan became foreigners together. 
354 
I've often wondered how they felt about that and how it 
affected them socially around Coos Bay and Coos County. I know 
that Grandfather "legalized" his marriage to Grandmother through a 
Justice of the Peace sometime after they had been married in the 
Indian customs for several years. 
Grandmother had no real concern about the legitimacy of 
their marriage, as Grandfather had actually purchased her from 
Gishgiu, by ceremoniously presenting her with an ancient set of jet 
beads, strung on buckskin, thereby sanctifying their marriage 
according to Native tradition. George R. Wasson, the Scottish 
immigrant from New Brunswick, had great respect for the Native 
traditions of his wife and mother-in-law. 
It is ironic that both George and Susan were suddenly 
foreigners in Oregon at the same time. Grandfather was obviously 
aware of that, and concerned about his citizenship. So, on August 
1st, 1 859,  barely six months after Oregon became a state, George R. 
3 5 5  
Wasson applied for naturalization as a U.S. Citizen and was duly 
granted it (George B. Wasson, Sr. ,  1916 ) .  The irony of it all, is that 
his wife, Susan Adulsah, a Native in her own homeland, became a 
citizen at that same time, she being now legally married to an 
American citizen. 
Grandfather was fiercely proud of Grandmother. She adapted 
herself to the White man's way of life, raising their children to be 
proud of their Indian heritage, even though she did not try to teach 
them to be fluent in the Native languages. She knew that their 
success in life would be dependent on their education and skills in 
the dominant society. 
Grandmother never denied, nor turned her back on her own 
Native traditions. But she knew quite skillfully when and where to 
practice her personal spirituality and traditional medicine without 
confrontation or insult to others. 
I sometimes ponder the tragedy of the loss of the vast 
knowledge combined in Gishgiu and her daughter Adulsah. They 
were both trained from childhood to memorize and know all the 
history, languages, traditions, stories, medicines, and family 
356  
relationships of their Native heritage. They both knew they were the 
last of the "Bahsics" [tribal "historians"] (George B. Wasson, Sr. , 
1 91 6 ) ,  and that their dual knowledge was coming to an end, no 
longer needed in the rapidly disappearing traditional world. In the 
face of such tragedy, they endured, survived, and succeeded beyond 
all possible odds. George R. Wasson was indeed proud of his wife 
and his mother-in-law. 
He had left his home and family in New Brunswick in 1 849, 
bent on seeking his fortune in the gold fields of California. He had 
originally planned on joining a wagon train headed from St. Louis 
onto the Oregon Trail. At the last moment, an acquaintance of his 
could not follow up on his passage aboard a sailing ship, headed 
from Halifax, Nova Scotia, around Cape Horn to San Diego. George 
jumped at the chance to sail and left immediately after trading 
places with his friend. Some years later, word of tragedy having 
struck the wagon train reached the Wasson family back in New 
Brunswick, and it was assumed that George was dead. 
It was many years later, about 1 875 ,  that George R. Wasson 
met up with a long time family friend (and cousin) from New 
3 5 7  
Brunswick, David F .  Young. News from back home was exchanged, 
and George learned of his family's events and life changes. At last, 
he made contact, and reconnected with one of his beloved sisters, 
who had been cast out of home by their father when she bore a 
child out of wedlock years earlier. It was that cruel act of 
disenfranchisement that separated George from his father, so in 
protest, he left home for a new life in the west. Among the family 
keepsakes, I found a letter edged in black, informing the Wasson 
family in Oregon of the death of George's father in New Brunswick. I 
don't know if he ever forgave his father for that act of cruelty. 
George could have afforded to travel back east to visit again 
and reacquaint himself with his loved ones there. But he knew that 
due to their snobbery, it would be difficult for many of his eastern 
kin to accept his beloved wife,  Susan Adulsah, and he would not 
subject her to such indignity. 
Cultural reciprocation was the process by which the Wasson 
family endured and survived on South Slough. George took Adulsah 
for his wife after her first husband (a partner of George's named 
Hodgkiss) died at sea from an appendicitis attack onboard a ship 
3 5 8  
headed to San Francisco. George had rowed out across the Coos Bay 
bar in a long boat, hailed a passing ship and went on to San 
Francisco to verify the death of his partner. Upon return, he gave 
the string of jet beads to Gishgiu, thereby legitimizing and 
sanctifying his marriage to her daughter. 
Their marriage saved Susan Adulsah from being taken away by 
the soldiers to the concentration camps up north in 1 85 6, and their 
marriage also made her a U.S. citizen later on. George's skills at 
seamanship, logging, and farming all placed them in a fine position 
to succeed in the booming economy of the Coos Bay area. It was 
indeed a symbiotic relationship. In a "culturally chaotic" frontier, 
the combining of their best cultural strengths into a powerful 
synergy produced one of the most respected families in the Coos 
Bay region, despite being half-Indian and half-White. 
From hearing the family stories, and looking at the 
photographs, one can see that the Wasson children were well­
dressed, well-bred, educated, and proud citizens. They all 
functioned well in the local Coos Bay society, and several of them 
traveled across the country for an eastern education (see fig. 14) .  
359 
Figure 14. The Wasson Daughters, left to right: 
Laura, Nell, Daisy, and Mary 
360 
Several converted to Christianity, which tended to denounce 
their Native heritage and traditions. At times, some children and 
grandchildren even denied or covered up being Coos Indians. Yet all 
of them remembered stories and retained some traditional habits. 
They all knew the story of Old Man Coyote and the Strawberries. 
They all loved Native foods and enjoyed fishing, digging clams, 
picking berries, catching eels, and other traditional food. A couple 
of native plants seem to have held a special place in their childhood 
memories and carried on into adulthood for them. It seems that 
everyone relished picking and eating the new salmonberry shoots in 
spring. My guess is that it was easy for children to find, pick, peel 
and eat them when playing outside, or walking to and from school. 
My father and his sisters all showed us children how to do that, and 
it has been a special memory for me and my sister Bette, munching 
on salmonberry shoots with Aunt Mary and Aunt Daisy. My father 
once warned us not to eat too many of them though. He said a 
young boy was found dead, or died of appendicitis perhaps. An 
autopsy was performed and a large ball of salmonberry shoots was 
found inside his stomach. We were always cautious after that 
361 
One item of tradition which I have kept alive for regular use I 
learned very early. Indian tea or "yerba buena" (Saturegla douglasll) 
is a vining mint that was used by the Indians of the west coast for 
making their favorite tea. Aunt Lolly (see Fig. 1 5 )  was very fond of 
it, and every time we went to visit her, my father warned me ahead 
of time to pick her some to present when we arrived. I'll always 
remember the delight with which she would express thanks for the 
"Indian Tea." It was her favorite beverage. 
Grandfather was an intelligent, hardworking, benevolent 
entrepreneur in the frontier of southern Oregon. He mined for gold, 
made plenty of money at it, and assisted the local community by 
helping set up new industries. He was known to row out over the 
Coos Bay bar to catch a passing ship, go to San Francisco and 
purchase new equipment for setting up a sawmill and a railroad 
operation. He built the first sawmill on Coos Bay, powered by an 
undershot water wheel. Earlier, he had built a water-powered 
sawmill at Randolph (the first in Coos County) to cut lumber for the 
mining camps (see Fig. 1 6) .  
Figure 15 .  Daisy and Laura ( "Lolly" ) .  left to right: 
Aunt Daisy, and Aunt Lolly, Charleston, Oregon. 
1 940s. 
362 
363 
Figure 1 6. Winchester and Wasson, Good friends and neighbors on 
South Slough, Coos Bay, Oregon. 
3 64 
To educate his children, he hired a schoolteacher to come and 
live at his home and invited neighboring children to attend school 
there too. He was a most principled man as demonstrated when he 
left home in protest against his father. He had a soft place in his 
heart for less fortunate people, particularly the Natives, and yet 
maintained a strong air of flamboyance and sophistication of his 
own. 
George R. Wasson was great friends with various notable 
figures of the day, but shunned notoriety for himself. One family 
story tells that when some U.S. Army personnel passed through the 
country, a young Coos girl was kidnapped and taken with them. The 
distraught family called up Grandfather to intercede, which he did 
most readily. He rode his horse back out into the Willamette Valley 
and caught up with General Sheridan. The girl was promptly 
released and returned to her home and family. 
Esoteric personalities have also been part of Grandfather's 
group of friends and acquaintances. From an early age, I knew of 
the name, joaquin Miller. I had no idea who he was, perhaps 
someone who lived down the coast or somewhere, but his name was 
3 65 
common place in my family. We were told often that anytime 
joaquin Miller was passing through the country, he would stop off 
and visit the Wasson household, always staying over for a day or so 
and talking at great length with his good friend George Wasson. It 
wasn't until many years later that I learned of Joaquin Miller, the 
flamboyant "Poet of the Sierras." Then I knew why his name was 
mentioned so proudly in family circles. 
Grandfather had great love and compassion for his 
stepdaughter, laura (my Aunt "Lolly") .  She was born before he 
married Susan Adulsah, but he treated her as one of his own and 
protected her from any mistreatment In subsequent years, Aunt 
Lolly's first-born son was readily accepted by her husband, Ira 
Metcalf, and raised as his own too. 
It seems that one of the other Wasson daughters felt a bit 
above Lolly who stayed at home before she married, instead of 
seeking work outside the family. Aunt Nell had a job in the town of 
Marshfield and was becoming a worldly young woman, moving 
comfortably in the upper social circles of the day. Upon returning 
home to Sough Slough from the city, Nell promptly displayed new 
366 
dresses (bolts of cloth to be sewn into dresses) she had purchased 
for herself (and possibly a couple of her other sisters) .  Grandfather 
was reading a newspaper, and casually looked up, asking, "Where's 
a new dress for Lolly?" Nell had not purchased one for her. 
Without saying anything more, he quite methodically got out 
of his chair, collected his coat and hat and left the house. 
When he returned a day later, he presented Laura with three 
new dresses. He had taken his row boat and gone all the way from 
upper Sough Slough up the Coos Bay and around to Marshfield, 
purchased three bolts of cloth for dresses and rowed back home on 
the next morning tide. When he presented the dresses he stated, 
"Don't you ever buy a new dress for yourself and not one for Lolly 
too." She didn't ( see Fig. 1 7) .  
As I remember and analyze the nature of the stories and 
anecdotes from my Wasson ancestors, I note that acceptance, 
tolerance, and forbearance stand out clearly in family attitudes. 
Outsiders were welcome in the household, and many old Indian 
friends came and stayed with Grandmother over the years. 
Figure 1 7. Lolly and Nell. Aunt "Lolly" (Laura) , 
( seated) and Aunt Nell, ( standing) 
3 67 
368 
There was a wide range of differing personalities just as the 
difference between my grandparents. It seems that such 
individuality actually drew them together and bonded them tightly. 
In his book, Stigma, Irving Goffman ( 1963: 1 3 2 )  states, " . . .  it is very 
difficult to understand how individuals who sustain a sudden 
transformation of their life from that of normal to that of 
stigmatized person can survive the change psychologically; yet very 
often they do." He describes the community of friends and 
associates who recognize their own individual differences as being 
an attraction to band together. Because of the differences in each, 
they are similar as opposed to the common mainstream of society. 
Awareness and acceptance of one's own differences, tends to 
make a person more accepting of others with "differences," thereby 
giving a viable sense of community, belonging, and strength as a 
group (see Fig. 1 8) .  However, the Wasson household was very much 
an established family led by a prosperous and generous father, 
George R. Wasson, and held together by an ambitious and energetic 
mother, Susan Adulsah. 
Figure 1 8. Grandma Wasson, "Old Libby," and Two Boys. 
From left to right: "Old Libby," and Jim Wasson, 
George B. Wasson, and Grandma Wasson. 
369 
3 70 
Their uniqueness is the lack of prejudice, their unbiased 
nature and acceptance of others into their household, and the 
generosity with which they treated visitors, neighbors, and friends. 
Quite tragically though, that constant generosity and philanthropic 
community building did not sustain the Wasson family in the time 
of great crisis and economic downfall. 
Grandfather was the first person to commercially log the 
fabulous Port Orford Cedar. He knew well the value of that beautiful 
timber and its superior quality of long, straight-grained, aromatic 
wood. He had invested in building a railroad up South Slough. The 
train had concave wheels, ran on log rails, and carried the timber 
from inland where it had been pulled by oxen to the train track. He 
had made great booms (rafts) of the logs and secured them in the 
slough, to be towed up the bay, and either milled there or loaded 
onboard ships to be sold in San Francisco. He had everything 
invested in this brilliant and ambitious venture. Had the luck of 
nature been with him, he might have stood taller, more proudly, 
and richer than those who came later on, such as Simpson and 
Weyerhaeuser. 
3 7 1  
But alas, tragedy and devastation loomed large. The major 
storm and "one hundred year flood" around 1 893 hit with demonic 
ferocity, dumping enormous torrents of water over the land and 
flooding beyond all anticipation. The �'sou'wester" blew furiously, 
pushing the high tides to an all time high level, flooding the land, 
ripping apart the log booms, and carrying Grandfather's precious 
timber out to sea. He was totally devastated! All was lost. 
The entire family found it difficult to talk about that in later 
years. It was a subject that was hard to bear and went mostly 
unspoken. But some seemed to feel it had to be told and known 
among the later generations, so they gradually told the story. 
The bank officers who held the mortgage loan to finance the 
logging venture, came in with a vengeance and took everything he 
owned. Aunt Daisy said that on the day they arrived at the house, 
Grandfather was up the slough a ways, and was just returning home, 
carrying only a double-bitted axe. When he saw the bank officers 
emptying out his house, he merely tossed the axe into the bushes 
alongside the driveway. It was the only thing they didn't take from 
him that day. Even though all was lost, he was not a defeated man. 
372  
Grandmother had her allotment just up Wasson Creek. They could 
not take that away from her. 
So, with his only remaining possession, the double-bitted axe, 
George R. and Susan Adulsah Wasson began creating a new home 
for themselves. George built a house and filled it with furniture, 
which he created himself with his axe. The synergy of their 
combined resourcefulness carried them through again (see Fig. 19 ) .  
George and Adulsah lived out their days in that house, and 
when they each passed on, were buried in the Wasson family 
cemetery, just across the creek from their house on Grandma 
Wasson's Indian allotment up Wasson Creek. 
3 7 3  
Figure 1 9. Cranberry pickers at Fraser's Marsh, North Slough, Coos 
Bay, Oregon. Standing in second row, third from right is 
George R. Wasson; fifth from right is 
Susan Adulsah Wasson, next to 
her friend Susan Ned. 
- 1 906 -
3 74 
375 
Closing Comments and Observations 
There are many observations to be made from sorting through the 
complex cultural details of oral traditions, oral and written histories, 
and experiences of Indians and non-Indians from the last two 
centuries in southwest Oregon. 
In the process of growing up inside the 2Qth century 
"remnants" of the 1 9th century "culturally chaotic frontier" in which 
my father was born, I have many memories and observations, which 
only now can be analyzed and explained in a con text meaningful to 
other tribal descendants today. 
I hope that my comments, admonitions, and suggestions will 
be helpful to other descendants of the '{systematic acculturalization" 
of our ancestors. I hope that some of my insights will help explain 
various curiosities about tribal traditions and family history, as I 
perceive them from what I learned growing up and have uncovered 
through years of research. I hope that perhaps an "educational 
guide" or "formula" for how to live and respond to life as tribal 
descendants can be realized here, for the younger generations, 
which are yet to come. It's just as confusing for young tribal 
376 
children today, as i t  was for their ancestors yesterday, growing up 
Indian, living in two worlds, and being loyal to both. 
My final thoughts are to state that I'm grateful for the 
symbiotic relationship of my grandparents, Susan Adulsah and 
George R. Wasson. I'm proud of both my Coos/Coquelle and Scottish 
ancestries. Had it not been for their marriage, the Wasson/lndian 
descendants would not have survived in the Coos Bay area today. 
377 
APPENDIX (Additional photographs) 
378 
Figure 20. The Five Wasson Children, Salem, Oregon, 1 937.  From 
left to right: Susan, George, Wilfred, john, and Bette. 
379 
Figure 21 .  The Five Wasson Children, Empire, Oregon, 1975.  From 
left to right: Susan, Bette, john, Wilfred, and George. 
Figure 22 .  Grandpa Wasson, older, ( see photo of 
Cranberry Pickers, p. 3 74).  
380 
Figure 23 .  George B .  Wasson, Sr. with "beaver stick," 1 947 
3 8 1  
Figure 24. Grandma Wasson 
(With two unidentified men) 
382 
Figure 25.  George B. Wasson, Sr. Washington D.C., 1 9 1 8  
383 
3 84 
Figure 26. Bess Finley (Wasson/Hockema) , Coquille, Oregon, 1 9 1 8  
References Cited and Resources Consulted 
Barnett, Homer G. 
1954 "Learning About Culture, Reconstruction, 
Participation. Administration 1 934- 1 954." 
Observers Observed, Essays on Ethnographic 
Fieldwork. George W. Stocking, Jr. ed. Madison: 
University of Wisconsin Press. 
Beckham, Stephen D. 
3 8 5  
1971  Requiem for a People: The Rogue Indians and the 
Frontiersmen. Norman: University Of Oklahoma. 
1 977 
1 990 
Boag, Peter. 
1 992 
The Indians of Western Oregon: This Land Was 
Theirs. Coos Bay: Arago Books. 
"History of Western Oregon Since 1 846," Handbook 
of North American Indians. Vol. 7 ,  edited. by 
W. Suttles pp. 1 80-1 96,  Smithsonian Institution. 
"The Valley of Long Grasses," Old Oregon, 72 ( 2 ): 1 8. 
Brown, joseph Epes 
1 992 Animals of the Soul. Rockport, MA.: Element. 
Buchanan, C. 
1 900 Elementary Lessons in the Chinook ]argon as Used 
by the Indians of Puget Sound. Mss. , Tulalip, 
Washington: University of Oregon, Knight Library, 
Eugene. 
Byram, R. Scott and jon Erlandson 
1 996 Fishing Technologies at a Coquille River Site: The 
1 994-95 Osprey Site Archaeological Project. 
Department of Anthropology, University of Oregon. 
Chase, A. W. 
1 873 
Cole, Douglas 
1 985 
3 86 
Shell Mounds: Coast of Oregon and Notes on Native 
Tribes. Washington DC: Bureau of American 
Ethnology Archives, Smithsonian Institution, No. 
3 230. 
Captured Heritage: The Scramble for Northwest 
Coast Artifacts. Norman: University of Oklahoma 
Press. 
Connolly, Thomas J. 
1 986 Cultural Stability and Change in the Prehistory of 
Southwest Oregon and Northern California. 
Ph.D. dissertation, Department of Anthropology, 
University of Oregon, Eugene. 
1 99 1  "The Standley Site ( 3 5D01 82) :  Investigations into 
the Prehistory of Camas Valley, Southwest Oregon. " 
University of Oregon Anthropological Papers No. 
43 . Department of Anthropology and Oregon State 
Museum of Anthropology. 
Devereaux, George 
1 96 1  Mojave Ethnopsychiatry. Washington, D .  C.:  
Dodge, Orvil 
1 969 
Dorsey, james 0. 
Smithsonian Institution. 
Pioneer History of Coos and Curry Coun ties, Or. 
"Heroic Deeds and Thrilling Adventures of the 
Early Settlers." 2nd. ed. Bandon: Western World. 
1 889 ((Indians of Siletz Reservation, Oregon." American 
Anthropologist 2 (  19) :55-60. 
1 890 The Gentile System of the Siletz Tribes. journal of 
American Folk-Lore 3 ( 10) :227-237.  
387 
Douthit, Nathan 
1 986 A Guide to Oregon South Coast History. Coos Bay: 
Drucker, Philip 
1 965 
1 943 
River West Books. 
Cultures of the North Pacific Coast, Scranton: 
Chandler Publishing Co. 
"The Tolowa and Their Southwest Oregon Kin." 
University of California Publications in American 
Archaeology and Ethnology 3 6:22 1-300. 
Easton, N. Alexander 
1 992 Mal de Mer above Terra Incognita or, "What Ails 
Eells, Myron 
1 893 
Erlandson, J. M. 
1 994 
the Coastal Migration Theory?" Arctic 
Anthropology 29(2 ) :28-42. 
Man uscript Dictionary of the Chinook ]argon. 
Vol. 5 of 5 folio, University of Oregon Knight 
Library, Eugene. 
Early Hunter-Gatherers of the California Coast. 
New York: Plenum. 
Erlandson, jon and Madonna Moss 
1 996 "The Pleistocene-Holocene Transition Along the 
Pacific Coast of North America." Humans at the End 
of the Ice Age: The Archaeology of the Pleistocene­
Holocene Transition, edited by L. G. Straus, B. V. 
Eriksen, J. Erlandson, and D. Yesner, pp. 277-302. 
New York: Plenum. 
Erlandson, jon M. , Mark A. Tveskov, and 
Madonna L. Moss 
3 8 8  
1 997 "Return to Chetlessenton: The Antiquity and 
Architecture of an Athapaskan Village on the 
Southern Northwest Coast." journal of California 
and Great Basin anthropology 1 9( 2 ):226-240. 
Erlandson, jon, jason Younker, and George Wasson 
1 998 "Revival of the Coquille Giveaway. "  Anthropology 
Newsletter 39(7) : 1 7- 1 8. Arlington, VA. American 
Anthropological Association. 
Erlandson, jon M., Mark A. Tveskov, Madonna L. Moss, 
and George B. Wasson 
2000 "Riverine Erosion and Oregon Coast Archaeology: A 
Pistol River Case Study." In Changing Landscapes 
on the Oregon Coast, edited by R. Losey. pp. 3-1 8. 
North Bend: Coquille Indian Tribe. 
Fagan, Brian M. 
1 995 The Great journey: The Peopling of Ancient 
America. London: Thames and Hudson. 
Feldmann, Susan, ed. 
1 97 1  The Storytelling Stone: Myths and Tales of the 
American Indians. New York: Dell. 
Fladmark, Knut R. 
1 979 "Routes: Alternate Migration Corridors for Early 
Man in North America." American Antiquity 
44:55-69. 
Frachtenberg, Leo j. 
1 9 1 3  Coos Texts, Vol. I. New York: Columbia University. 
Gaston, joseph 
1 9 1 2  The Centennial History of Oregon 1 81 1 -1 91 2, Vol. 
N. Chicago: S. j. Clarke Publishing Company. 
Gibbs, George 
1 863 
Goffman, Irving 
1 963 
Chinook Dictionary. Washington, D.C.: 
Smithsonian Institution. 
Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled 
Identity. Englewood Cliff, NJ: Prentice-Hall. 
3 89 
Gualtieri, Michael 
1 996 "The Achumawi Northern Piaute Alliance: Praxis 
and the Joint Development of an Indigenous 
Military Style." Master's paper, Department of 
Anthropology, University of Oregon, Eugene. 
Hall, Roberta L. 
1 984 The Coquille Indians: Yesterday, Today and 
Tomorrow. Lake Oswego: Smith, Smith, and Smith. 
Harrington, John P. 
1 943 "Unpublished Notes of Interviews With Some 
Coquille People at Siletz in 1 943." Anthropological 
Archives, Smithsonian. University of Oregon, 
Knight Library microfilm, E/78/.P2/H38/1981 .  
Haskin, Leslie L. 
1 95 9  Wild Flowers of the Pacific Coast. Portland: 
Binfords and Mort. 
Haynes, C. Vance 
1 982 "Were Clovis Progenitors in Beringia?" In 
Heflin, Eugene 
1 966 
Paleoecology of Beringia, edited by D. M. Hopkins, 
J. B. Matthews, Jr., C. E. Schweger, and S. B. Young, 
pp. 3 83-398. New York: Academic Press. 
"The Pistol River Site of Southwest Oregon." 
Berkeley: Reports of the University of California 
Archaeological Survey 6 7 .  
390 
1981 "The Bone Work of the Chetlessenton Indians of 
the South Coast of Oregon." Central Sta tes 
Archaeological ]ournal 28(2) :66-7 1 .  
Hufford, David j. 
1995 "Beings Without Bodies: An Experience·Centered 
Theory of the Belief in Spirits," In Out of the 
Ordinary Folklore and the Supernatural, edited by 
Barbara Walker, pp. 1 1-45. Logan: Utah State 
University Press. 
Huntley, jeremiah 
1 9 1 2  "A Scout to Rogue River in 1 856." The Cen tennial 
jacobs, Melville 
1 939 
1 940 
1972 
History of Oregon 1 8 1 1- 1 9 1 2 ,  edited by joseph 
Gaston, vol. IV, pp. 1026-102 8. Chicago: S. j. Clarke 
Publishing Company. 
Coos Narrative and Ethnologic Texts. University of 
Washington Publications in Anthropology 8 ( 1 ): 1-
1 26, Seattle. 
Coos Myth Texts. University of Washington 
Publications in Anthropology 8 ( 2 ):1 27-260, Seattle. 
"Areal Spread of Indian Oral Genre Features in the 
Northwest States," journal of the Folklore Institute 
9: 10-17. 
jones, Suzi and jarold Ramsey 
1 994 The Stories We Tell: An Anthology of Oregon Folk 
Literature. The Oregon Literature Series, Vol. 5 ,  
Corvallis: Oregon State University Press. 
judson, Katherine Berry 
1910 Myths and Legends of the Pacific Northwest. 
Chicago: A. C. McClurg. 
laughlin, W. S. 
1988 "Continental Crossing." The Sciences 28:44-49. 
3 9 1  
Le jeune, J .  M. 
1 924 Chinook Rudiments, Kamloops, B.C.: University of 
Oregon, Knight Library, Eugene. 
Lichatowich, Jim 
1 999 Salmon Without Rivers: A History of the Pacific 
Salmon Crisis. Washington, D.C.: Island Press. 
Long, Fredrick J. 
1 909 Dictionary of the Chinook ]argon. Seattle: Lowman 
& Hanford Co. 
Martineau, LaVan 
1 97 6  The Rocks Begin to Speak. las Vegas: KC 
Publications. 
Mauger, J. E. and G. Wessen 
1 983 Submerged Archaeological Resources on the 
Continental Shelf of Northwestern North America. 
In Proceedings of the Alaskan Marine Archaeology 
Workshop, edited by S. langdon, pp. 25 .. 41 .  
Anchorage: University of Alaska. 
McArthur, Lewis A. 
1 982 Oregon Geographic Names. Portland: The Press of 
the Oregon Historical Society. 
Meltzer, David J. and Tom D. Dillehay, editors. 
1 99 1  The First Americans: Search and Research, Boca 
Raton, FL.: CRC Press. 
392 
Miller, jay and William R. Seaburg 
1 990 "Athapaskans of Southwestern Oregon," Handbook 
of North American Indian, edited by W. Suttles, 
7:580-58 8, Washington D.C.: Smithsonian 
Institution. 
Minor, R. and K. A. Toepel 
1 986 The Archaeology of the Tahkenitch Landing Site: 
Early Prehistoric Occupation on the Oregon Coast. 
Hertitage Research Associates Report no. 46. 
Eugene. 
Moss, Madonna and jon Erlandson 
1 994 An Evaluation, Survey, and Dating Program for 
Archaeological Sites on State Lands of the Southern 
Oregon Coast. Department of Anthropology, 
University of Oregon. 
1 995 
1 998a 
1 998b 
"Reflections on North American Pacific Coast 
Prehistory." journal of World Prehistory 9 ( 1 ) : 1-45 . 
"Early Holocene Adaptations on the Southern 
Northwest Coast." journal of California and Great 
Basin Anthropology 20( 1 ) : 1 3-25.  
"A Comparative Chronology of Northwest Coast 
Fishing Features." In Hidden Dimensions: The 
Cultural Significance of Wetland Archaeology, 
edited by Kathryn Bernick, pp. 1 80-1 98. 
Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. 
Moss, Madonna L. and George B. Wasson, Jr. 
1 998 "Intimate relations with the past: the story of an 
Athapaskan village on the southern Northwest 
coast of North America." World Archaeology 
29:3 1 7-3 3 2 .  
393 
O'Donnell, Terence 
1991 An Arrow in the Earth: General joel Palmer and the 
Indians of Oregon. Portland: Oregon Historical 
Society Press 
Parflt, Michael 
1 995 "The Floods That Carved The West." Smithsonian 
Magazine 26( 1 ) :32-34. 
Peterson, Emil R. and Alfred Powers 
1952 A Century Of Coos and Curry. Caldwell, ID: Caxton 
Printers, Ltd. 
Phillips, W. S. 
1 9 1 3  
Pilling, J. C. 
1 893 
Phinney, Archie 
1 934 
The Chinook Book Seattle: R. L. Davis Printing Co. 
Bibliography of the Chinookan Languages. 
(including Chinook jargon). Washington D. C.: 
Government Printing Office. 
Nez Perce Texts. Columbia University Contributions 
to Anthropology 25.  New York: Columbia 
University Press. 
Pratt, Richard Henry 
1 964 Battlefield and Classroom: Four Decades with the 
American Indian, 1 86 7-1 904, edited by Robert M. 
Utley, New Haven, Conn: Yale University Press. 
Ramsey, Jarold 
1 977 Coyote Was Going There: Indian Literature of the 
Oregon Country. Seattle: University of Washington 
Press. 
St. Clair, Harry 
1 909 
Suttles, Wayne 
1 990 
Swan, james G. 
1 857 
Thomas, E.  H. 
1 970 
3 94 
"Traditions of the Coos Indians of Oregon." journal 
of American Folklore 2 2:25-41 . 
"Northwest Coast." Handbook of North American 
Indians, vol. 7.  Washington D.C.: Smithsonian. 
The Northwest Coast or, Three Years' Residence in 
Washington Territory, 5th edition. Seattle and 
London: University of Washington Press. 
Chinook: A History and Dictionary of the 
Northwest Coast Trade jargon. Portland, OR: 
Binfords & Mort. 
Thompson, Lucy 
1 9 1 6  To the American Indian: Reminiscences of a Yurok 
Woman. Berkeley: Heyday Books. 
Toelken, J. Barre 
2001 "The Hozho Factor: The Logic of Navajo Healing." 
In Healing Logics: Culture and Medicine in Modern 
Health Belief Systems, edited by Erika Brady, pp. 
1 97-208. Logan: Utah State University Press. 
1 979 The Dynamics of Folklore. Boston: Houghton 
Mifflin Company. 
Tveskov, Mark A. 
2000 The Coos and Coquille Indians: A Historical 
Anthropology of the Northwest Coast. Ph.D. 
Dissertation, Department of Anthropology, 
University of Oregon. Ann Arbor: University 
Microfilms. 
Wallmann, Steve 
1 994 "Camas Valley Clovis Projectile Fragment." 
Screenings 43(4):2.  
Walters, Anthony B. 
1 982 "A Reconstructed Ethnobotany of the Coquilles, 
Emphasizing Microbes and Cryptogams." M. A. 
paper, Corvallis: Oregon State University. 
Wasson, George B. ,  Jr. 
395 
1991  "The Memory of a People: The Coquilles of the 
Southwest Coast." In The First Oregonians, edited 
by C. M. Buan & R. Lewis, pp. 83-88. Portland: 
Oregon Council for the Humanities. 
1 99 2  "Coquille" Native America in the Twentieth 
Century: An Encyclopedia, edited by Mary B. Davis, 
pp. 1 69-173 .  New York City: Garland. 
1994 Three stories in The Stories We Tell: An Anthology 
of Oregon Folk Literature, " edited by J. Ramsey and 
S. jones, pp. 43 , 1 00- 1 0 1 ,  1 25-1 30. 0regon 
Literature Series, Corvallis: Oregon State 
University. 
1 994 The Coquille Indians and the Cultural "Black Hole" 
of the Sou thern Oregon Coast. Master's paper, 
Department of Anthropology, University of Oregon. 
1 996 "Two Oregon Tales: 'Coyote Taboo,' 'Woot'lat and 
the Bad- Luck Canoe'." In: Chin Hills to Chiloquin: 
Papers Honoring the Versatile Career of Theodore 
Stern, edited by Don Dumond. University of 
Oregon Anthropological Papers 5 2:69-7 4. 
396 
1 999 "Oral Traditions of the Earliest Humans on the 
Oregon Coast: A Comparison of Ethnohistorical and 
Archaeological Records." In Changing Landscapes 
on the Oregon Coast, edited by R. Losey, pp. 1 9-32.  
North Bend: Coquille Indian Tribe. 
2000 The Coquille Indians and the Cultural uBlack Hole" 
of the Southwest Oregon Coast. In Worldviews and 
the American West: The Life of the Place Itself, 
edited by Polly Stewart, Steve Siporin, C. W. 
Sullivan III, and Suzi Jones, pp. 1 9 1 -2 10. Logan: 
Utah State University Press. 
Wasson, George B. and Barre Toelken 
1 999 "Coyote and the Strawberries: Cultural Drama and 
Intercultural Collaboration," Oral Tradition 1 3 ( 1 ) : 
1 76-1 99. 
Wasson, George B. ,  Sr. 
1 9 1 6  Personal unpublished papers on Oregon Indians' 
Waterman, T. T. 
1 92 5  
1 93 1 
land claims, 1 9 1 6- 1 94 7. 
"The Village Sites in Tolowa and Neighboring 
Areas in Northwestern California." American 
Anthropologist 27(4) :528-543 . 
The Athapascan Indians of Southwestern Oregon 
and Northwestern California. Archives of the 
Bureau of American Ethnology, Smithsonian 
Institution. No. 3 1 83 ,  "unpublished field notes." 
Williams, Walter L. 
1 986 The Spirit and the Flesh: Sexual Diversity in 
American Indian Culture. Boston: Beacon Press. 
Zenk, Henry B. 
1 990 
397 
"Siuslawans and Coosans," Handbook of North 
American Indians, Vol. 7 ,  edited by W. Suttles, pp. 
572-579. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian 
Institution.