I want to tell you about John Smith.

John Smith didn't accept to be a chief,⁽¹⁾ but he knew lots. He was a good advisor, and that's all he wanted because he was getting too old. He didn't want to be responsible for anything.

Old John Grandpa Smith stayed with us many-a times at Leech and Mississippi Forks. They say Old John Smith, "Grandpa John," became a hundred and thirty eight years old.⁽²⁾ They say he was over a hundred and thirty years old anyway when he died. I know he was in the ages of around ninety years old when I was a kid. He was eighty or ninety years old then, when we were still searching for a living around Leech River, Leech Lake, and Bena.⁽³⁾ And he was a hundred, anyway, when he'd stop by our place at the Leech and Mississippi Forks.

We called Old John Smith "Grandpa" -- mI-su-mIss. We always called him "Grandpa." In my times they didn't call him John Smith. There were a lot of John Smith's those days. We knew two of them, the son and the father. We live right with them. Kah-be-nag-wi-a-rus, that was Old John Smith. They called Old John Smith Gah-bi-nag-wii-wIss in Indian.

In English they always called him "Wrinkle Meat." Gah-bi-nag-wii-i-wIss . . . "Wrinkled Meat" . . . "Wrinkled Face" . . . "Wrinkle Face" . . ."Wrinkle. . . . "⁽⁴⁾ Anyway, they put that "Wrinkle Meat" on his picture and that's what they called him in English. Ya, that's "Wrinkle Meat" in English.

There's no other person with that Indian name still alive. Just only him has that name. He was an old, respected Indian, and they all like to say that they knew him. A lot of them would like to take that name. But no, you have to respect him. Unless he gives you that name, you can't have it.⁽⁵⁾ But when he gives you a name, as your namesake, then you're entitled to the name that he gives you. It depends on how much respect he had for you, and it's how much respect you had for him.

Old John lived on the Division Point of Cass Lake. In the olden days of the railroad company, the Great Northern Railroad Company had a line which ran through by Cass Lake and created Division Point. A division point is where the train had a turntable. She goes back from there. That point is a division of the Great Northern. The big Division Point now -- I think -- has all the trains turn around there. They have a turning table there. The trainmen push that big bar to turn the train around. That's on wheels, on a circle track, and they use that bar to push the engine around. It moves wherever they want it to go. So when the train is turned around she just runs off of this turntable. The turntable is where they turn the engine around. And that's at Division Point.

It's called Division Point because that's all the farther the trainman is allowed to go. That's all the farther that the railroad company tells him to go, because he's got enough to pick up on the way back. He picks up and delivers, and by the time he's at Division Point he's got enough to put in his eight hours, or ten hours.

And John Smith lived there by Division Point, in later years.

John Smith's original home was where Tom Smith lives in Cass Lake. That was his grandson, and that's where John originally lived.⁽⁶⁾

At Leech and Mississippi Forks we had a headquarters where Grandpa Smith stopped.⁽⁷⁾ He made his headquarters at our place a lot of times, and he stayed with us. He used to stay with us lots. My folks used to wash his clothes. He used to have a change of clothes in his little pack, in the little bundle that he carried. We all loved Grandpa, old Grandpa John. His head was just as white as snow.

There were many-a-times that John Smith had come to our place. He would stay with us three or four days. About a week is all he could stand. He said he had to keep a-moving, that he had to keep active. He said, "The time is getting short. So I gotta cover lot of country."

Geeze!

He meant he's getting old. Old John, he was always great!

Everybody knew him around there. I remember that a lot of White people respected him. He got on the first "passengers," the first passenger trains, and he got on the steamboats, and automatically he had a passport. That was just the way he lived. He didn't have to pay. It didn't cost him anything on the train. It didn't cost him anything on boats. It didn't cost him anything on wagons, trail wagons. It didn't cost him anything.

We'd get up early in the morning and hear, "Well folks, I'm leaving you." At one time he had horses, but no car. Earlier on, he'd canoe when the ice was off the waters. The only way they traveled was by rivers, by canoes on the great Mississippi.⁽⁸⁾ But by the time we knew him, at the Leech-Mississippi Forks, Grandpa John generally walked -- unless, of course, he was ridin' the train, which he could do for nothing.

But he loved travelling the hard way. He loved walking. He walked many steps on this earth. He walked for a long time on this earth. How many steps could you count? Gee. Yes.

John, my grandpa John. Oh, he was respected. They didn't charge him on the railroad train. He just got on the train wherever he wanted to. They didn't charge him on any train. That's how good the railroad company was to him. How good to him they were! They thought a lot of him. They respected him. They liked to talk to him and ask him questions. He was interesting, an interesting old man. Old John Smith was about a hundred thirty years old. He knew the conductors, he knew the brakeman, he knew the engineer. And those passengers got to hear very wonderful stories from Old John Smith.

John used to have a lot of pictures and he'd get on the "passengertrain" with them. He'd get on anywhere, Bemdji, Grand Rapids. They'd let 'im ride free. He'd get on the train, sit down, and dig in his pack. They took his picture, and they gave him a whole bunch of pictures for his extra pennies or nickels. He'd get up and walk down the isle of the train and holler, "Wolf. Tickets. Tickets." 'Course all he had was his picture.

Everybody looked at them and asked him, "Well, how much John?"

"Five cents. Five cents." He'd collect a lot of five centses. A quarter those days was big money. When we got off he'd had a pocketful of change. Everybody would buy his pictures. He had pictures all over the states. That's how he got by.

And they'd laugh at him, even when they just thought of him. They didn't really laugh at him; they thought he was all right. He was too. If he wanted to pay his way, they'd say, "Uh uhh, John. You help us."

"What?"

"When you ride the train everybody wants to ride, John."

"I sell more pictures on train."

He used to make it to Duluth by train. John used to like to take a ride down to Duluth. He'd stay there for awhile, and then he'd go back. He would come and sleep in Duluth, in the best hotels they had. He would go to the hotels and stay. He went to different hotels and they would give him the best room in the hotel. They'd put him up for nothing. He'd get everything free because he was a well-known old man. They'd give him the best room they could get, one with a big wide bed so that he could have a rest.

One time they said to him, "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight," he said.

They shut the door and let him rest. When they went to wake him up in the morning for breakfast, the bed was still made. They'd give him a bed, the best bed they had, but no, he wouldn't sleep on a bed. He'd sleep on the floor. He'd put his blanket on the floor. He always carried a blanket, and took his sack for a pillow. He'd put his blanket right on the floor, and then there he'd set. He'd never sleep on the bed. He'd only sleep on the floor, with just a blanket. He'd rather sleep on the floor. He'd set on the floor for awhile and then he'd roll up and have a good sleep. That's the way he was brought up. He'd sleep out in the woods that way.

When he was sleeping on the floor in a hotel, the bed was still made. "Why didn't you sleep on the bed?" they'd ask. "No," he said, "too soft. Can't sleep on soft bed. Might roll, fall down. On floor you won't fall down."

He probably liked to roll.

Naturally you'll sleep on the floor if you're used to the floor, or if you're used to a hard bed. Maybe that did him good. They say it's good. And this is more healthy. And then again, he was used to it. I don't suppose a man could sleep on the soft bed after he slept on a hard bed. That change makes you breathe unusual.

Oh, John! He had the right idea. He was great.

That was an important guy, that John Smith. He was important in this area anyhow. He was well known. They still have pictures of him all over. He was a nice old man. I can't forget Grandpa, old Grandpa John.

He'd go along and come to a lumber camp, "Hello, John. Hello." The cooks are usually busy in the camps.

"Pretty tired John?"

"Ya."

"How about a cup of coffee, John?"

"No. No."

"How about a cup of tea?"

"Good."

They put the cup of tea on. They were going to give him a cup of tea. The cooks were busy. Maybe they were slow about putting the tea on, but they finally put the cup of tea on there.

"I got no wigwam."

"Too bad John. Ain't you got no cook?"

"I got no squaw."

"Too bad John."

"I got no spoon."

"Here's a spoon, John."

"I got no doughnuts. My wigwam got no doughnuts."

"We'll give you some donuts. Take two. You ain't got no pie neither."

"No pie."

Pretty soon he had whatever he wanted. "I got no bread. I got no butter."

They'd feed him. He'd get a good meal and he'd quit. He had no squaw. No wigwam. So they fed him in the lumber camp.

"Goodbye."

They'd say, "Sit down. Smoke, John."

"No. Afterwhile I come back."

He was smart hey?

"No, afterwhile I come back."

He always did too. After he ate, he'd be gone on his journey. He was a good old man.

He talk to them lumber men and railroad workers in English. Where does he pick up the English? He spoke kind-a broken, but he knows how. I said, "John, how did you learn to talk English?"

"Camps. White men. I meet White men."

That's where he picked it up. There were some men and women in a marriage, and he studied with them. He'd ask. Then he would go. He'd go on a long journey. And wherever he'd go he'd talk to anybody. That's how he learned. He wasn't . . . he wasn't dumb. He was a good man.

And he'd travel anytime. If it would get too dark somewhere, he just put up his mosquito bar, or something, over his head, and have a good sleep right out in the woods.

Oh, gee!

He was a great John. He was brave. He was a brave old guy. He said, "there's nothing'll hurt me; I've lived a long life. And when you've lived a long life you know that Somebody's with you." Hm. . . . He was a good old man.

Oh we used him good,⁽⁹⁾ but you couldn't hold him in one place. He kept moving all the time. He'd stay in a place a month, if he stayed long. Then he'd go to the next group of Indians. Then he'd go back to Bena. He'd walk -- from Bena to Ball Club, and then down to Grand Rapids.

Talk about him hike! How he hiked! Boy he could travel, walk with his pack, for a long time. Early on, he had a canoe too. Boy, he used to paddle that old canoe. And then, when it rained, or if a storm was coming, he'd park it on the point somewhere, tip the canoe over, make a good bed under the canoe and have a good sleeping in that shelter. Christ, Old John led a great life. I don't know why he didn't have a canoe later on. He probably was afraid to tip over in it. If you get caught in a storm with it, or something, you might get excited and tip over.

But he was sure-footed on land. He was sure of himself on land. Just how he crossed those creeks I can't understand. He must have crossed at a certain place. He must have crossed on a pole. There were no bridges at that time. Well, he knew a shallow spot to cross, and he'd walk or wade across. Oh, he knew the country.

He hiked to Federal Dam and then back to Bena. Sometimes he'd hike to Cass Lake, then back to Ball Club or Deer River. Then he'd camp with us over there at the Leech Mississippi Forks for maybe a week or two. Then he'd move on. He keep moving to where the Indians live now. He'd visit a while and then move on again. He was a great old man!

"Where you going, John?" we'd ask him.

"Across the country."

He had no gun, just a walking cane. He was rugged. He was a hiker. Joe Barnes⁽¹⁰⁾ will tell you that. And he'll tell you stories about how the Indians went by in canoes in our early days. My neighbor, Joe Barnes, will tell you the same thing I'm telling you. He used to see Old John walking, the same as we did.

Old John always liked the woods. He was always walking along in the woods. He said, "There are animals I see. They look at me. I look at them. Those animals are wild. So I go along with my cane. I stopped one time to see m^k-wah, a bear, on my trail. He stood up on his hind legs and he looked at me. I had to stop. There are times these bears are rough. They see something moving. They're hungry. I talked to that bear, I said, 'I'm going by there, but you go your way.'"

"And, he let me by. Just the same as a good answer⁽¹¹⁾ the bear dropped down on all four and he walked away. But I was a little shaky when I went by the place where he stood. And when I got even with the place where he was standing, I started to run -- and talk about me running! My little pack sack was just a-bouncing on my back. And I looked back and I tripped and I rolled over and I jumped up and I thought the bear was behind me. Then I thought to myself, 'what's the use of running? If he's going to get me, I couldn't run away from him anyway!' So I started to walk."

Just think what Old John Smith had to go through.

He'd tell us about those things, and then he'd laugh. There are lots of jokes like that that we have to go through.

Old John, he was interesting to hear. Oh, we enjoyed ourselves with his company. He was very good company. He told us the history of his life. He was a good adviser. He told us about the old histories. He told us about game⁽¹²⁾ and everything. He was interesting. Very well, hey? Old John Smith.

"Hmm," he'd start off. Then he'd say, "There were many times when there was a lot of different noises in the dark, when it was wild. The animals made noises."

"One time I was camped in another place and I didn't have a match, so I just laid down by an old tree somewheres. About midnight I heard a racket. Oh, it must-a been a hundred feet from me. Somebody was tearing up a log. I jumped up and hollered and all at once they quit."

"The next morning I went there and saw big bear tracks around there. The way he tore that big old pine log! He was digging for ants. If I'd a known it was a bear, I'd a-got up and walked out-a there. But I just kept laying there after it was all over."

So somebody woke 'em up in the middle of the night. Well, he got scared. Then you could hear them owls, "Hoo-hoo-hoo." Maybe you're sleeping and those coyotes are howling, a-u-u-u-u, and they're hungry. "Boy they're creeps," John would say. "I'm all alone."

Just think what he went through.

So Old John'd go from one place to another, to the neighbor, and maybe to Bena. We'd hear from one neighbor to the other that he was in Bena visiting some of our relatives or folks. And we'd always look forward for him to return.

And just about the time my mother would know that he was going to come, she would bake a lot of bread, which Old John liked to eat. He'd eat pretty good too. And we had cows, bii-ji-kiid. He liked milk, do-do-sah-bo. You see, he liked that vitamin in milk. And we had weeds out of the garden that we made spinach out of. It took the place of spinach, and we cooked that up. It was ko-ko-sI-b^g-gon, "pigweed" -- it's good, but you have to catch it before it gets too old. He'd say, "Oh boy, that's good!" And they were good. We had stuff like that and we'd throw a little salt-pork in there with it, and add a little salt and a little flour, and mix. That's how we lived. Oh boy that was good to eat!

The old man always came 'cause my mom was a good cook. My step dad, Jack Nason,⁽¹³⁾ may-sko-gwan-nay-as, "Red-Feather-Waving," did logging. And so did my grandfather on my father's side, May-kwan, "Like-a-Big-Spoon," Fred Crow of Bena. I mean he wasn't my grandfather, but he was my grandfather.⁽¹⁴⁾ We called all the old people "grandpa" in those days, and they were related to me as a grandpa. Anyway, Fred Crow ran a hotel and restaurant in Bena, and my mother cooked in that hotel, the Verle Hotel in Bena.⁽¹⁵⁾ She helped with the cooking.

When she was young she learned cooking and she got so good at cooking she got to cooking out to the camps, the logging camps, where my step-dad started logging.⁽¹⁶⁾ They cooked for as high as seven or eight there. The loggers were piece cutting then.⁽¹⁷⁾ She was a very good cook, and they all liked her cooking. They had all the cooking, all they wanted to eat, in those days. So my mother cooked pretty good.

The old man would probably get hungry hiking around and he'd get back, "Where's that tea?" He used to say, "Son," -- he called me "Son" -- "go get cup of tea." He liked tea. We all liked tea. In those days we were tea drinkers rather than coffee drinkers. We all drank tea those days. For us tea was better then. We make coffee now, but those days they drank nothing but tea. They made up their tea, you know, they dried it. Gee, we'd run in and get a big cup of green tea. We had big tin cups, or porcel-een bowls when they first came out. We had bowls. I'd get a cup, one of those cups with a handle, and I'd hand it to him.

"Is that a good drink John, Grandpa?"

He'd take that cup and put it up to his mouth, and his nose was so long it would be sticking right in there. He'd be drinking and his nose was right in that tea. His nose was long. He could kill a fly with his nose. Oh, sure. He just snapped 'em. Ya, he sure had a nose. It was running all the time. And when he wiped his nose you could hear it slap across his face. You ought-a see his picture. We got it enlarged up in the Vet's Club in Deer River. It's a perfect picture. And you could see his nose all together.

We were great on tea, a-ni-oiis, {ni-bish??} in the old days. We weren't much for coffee. We called coffee "black medicine-tasting liquid," mah-ka-day wah-bo, because it tasted like medicine. We were on tea leaves. We were on more for tea. Now it's all coffee and smoke cigarettes, but mostly those days were tea and snuff.

But in the old days we had smoking tobacco too, for pipes. I would sit and watch the old people smoke. Once in a while we'd get to goofing around when we were kids, and we didn't want the old folks to see us smoke. We'd get some leaves and we'd probably get the old man's pipe and fill it. Then one of them would light it, then we'd smoke, and oh, we'd try it. Maybe we'd get caught.

The folks would say, "You don't want to try that pipe. If you do try that pipe, if you want to smoke it, tell us. Wait 'till you're able to make a dollar and buy your own smokin'."

And boy we were always willing to go to work then! So that's why I started off early supporting myself, trying to support myself. I earned my smoking. Then I was let smoking. Before that they never let us smoke. This is a teaching lesson.

Old John always had his pipe. He'd set and light his pipe and tell us stories. The way I feel now it was just like watching TV. And by the time he'd have a smoke or two they'd have tea and something fixed up for him to eat. They'd bring it over and set it by him. They'd make a cloth, on the ground. We'd set there, and we'd get him to tell stories. We thought a lot of the old man.

One time when I was little he was telling me a story, telling us about his experience. "There was one time, not very long ago, I left your place here. The mother here, your mother here, fixed a lunch for me. She handed me a cloth bag tied up in a bundle. It was not too big. It was just light enough to carry. I put that in my sack. I had other stuff in there in little bags, like tobacco, and tea, and sugar. I always have a tea kettle which I use wherever I stop, and I stop anywhere I want to stop, paddling my canoe or walking the trails."

"There was an old Indian campground where I wanted to stop, just to spend the night where the old timers, the Indians who were here years ago, used to camp."

He was usually going through along the edge of the woods. There were deer trails along the edge of the meadows that he followed along naturally. We had a Mud Lake here and you used to go by an Island on that lake to get to our house. Every once in a while he'd stop and camp by that place. During that time that Old John was on a journey he stopped to rest. So he stopped there. When he stopped to rest he was going to camp for the night, but he had to have a lunch first. He had a piece of old hard bread, and tea. He was kind-a shaky going through this place because there were times that there was something that one had to be afraid of -- old graves.

In those days John believed he heard somebody talking in there, but there was nobody around. John wasn't very much for imagining things, and he believe in things he hears. He believes in what he hears and what he sees.⁽¹⁸⁾ So he heard a sound on that Island. And those days you had to be careful of the big animals which we had. They're not here anymore, but what may be there were big snakes -- in herds. The big animals were in herds. He tells about what animals he knew, back a hundred years ago.

"It was getting dark." Then he said, "Well, I might as well camp here. I have no light, no nothing."

It was getting too dark.

"It's late now. I'll have to camp by where I'm always afraid of this," he thought to himself.

"It was getting late, so I hurried up and built a fire."

It was dark and he built a little fire. He didn't want to build a big fire because he was afraid something would walk up there. So he had a little pack and a lunch. He bundled his lunch. He was hungry.

He thought to himself, "If I go dip that wata down there, it'll be all right."

He dipped water with the little pail that he carried and put it upon a little stick by his fire.

"Oh boy, the mosquitoes were coming from all sides, so I hurried up and built a fire. I put the tea kettle on and it started boiling. It was getting dark, and I was tired, and I wanted to go to sleep. I was talking to the Great and to the people that were here years ago, just as if I was with them. Still, I was in kind of in a hurry. 'I'm going to hurry up, have my lunch, my 'nose bag,' I thought. 'I'll hurry up and make tea. I have a little maple sugar, and a piece of hard bread which my people left bundled for lunch on my journeys.'"

He said, "I was in a hurry."

We were sitting there listening.

"I had my tobacco here, kinkinik. I had my kinikinik here. I had wild rice over here, and I had tea in my bundle."

Finally he got nervous. And he was up too long waiting for that tea.

"It was my little camping ground with John Smith setting there."

"I have to hurry up. That wata's boiling. I have to make my tea. I got a hold of my maple sugar and I flung it in there. I want to drink out of the little pail. Now I take my tea."

He had three bags and he untied the bags. They felt like tea in every bag. He had, mazaan, fine rice for quick cooking, and he had maple sugar, and he had the kinnickinik. Kinnicknik and Indian tea, or tea, felt just about the same. So he took a handful of that, not a handful, but little pinches of that, and put it in that little kettle he carried with him.

So he took the herbs and put them in the little kettle.

"I got a handful of tea and put it in. Oh, I put in about two of them to make it strength enough. I put a handful of tea in that tea kettle, just the right amount to make it pretty strong."

He liked it pretty strong because he had poor taste, because he was old.⁽¹⁹⁾ He let it boil awhile and then he put out his lunch next to a little fire.

"Hmm!"

Whatever he'd eat there he took a nip of it.

"Oh it was good."

He was tired.

"After I get through eating it I'm going to lay right down with a blanket, roll up, and go to sleep. It'll be daylight quick and I'm tired," John was thinking.

I was setting there listening to his story. He was interesting to tell it.

"Did the mosquitoes bother you?" I asked.

"All night. All night," John said. "The mosquitoes were biting me. Oh! They were terrible out. I was setting there by the fire and I was trying to get the smudge out and lit to blow the mosquitoes away. They were terrible."

During the meantime, while he was doing that, it turned warm. And the heat was coming, a wave was coming, in the dark. An electric heat was coming over. And pretty soon overhead he heard the rumble.

"Thunder. Now I have to hurry and put up my little mosquito bar."

He carried a mosquito bar with a canvas over it when he travelled.

So he said, "I was in a hurry. So I had my lunch. I was so hungry. I took my teapot," he said, "and when it cooled off I took a big whiff of that."

"Ah!!"

"Here it was my kinikinik tobacco," he said. "When I went to drink it, here it was my tobacco and kinnikinik that I made tea out of! So, I went to bed without tea. I boiled my tobacco, so I just gave up eating, and I laid right down and went to sleep. I went hungry and I was dried.⁽²⁰⁾ I spit up my tobacco, kinikinik."

So he got in a hurry, and made his tea. But instead of putting tea, Indian tea, in there, he took his kinnikinik and made tea out of that.

"Oh, now I can't finish a lunch. It's going to rain." So, he said, "I hope the Great Manido may help me."

And BANG!!! The lightning flashed, and he could see far and near in the woods. So he put up the tent. It had a hood over it just big enough for him to set in there.

That was all he could carry in his little roll-away⁽²¹⁾ bag -- "pack sack," he called it. And then it lightninged again. Bang!! And he crawled into there.

"I'm out of supper now. I'm tired, so I might as well go to sleep."

And the next morning he woke up. Here he put kinickinik with tobacco in that kettle of tea, instead of that Indian tea he used. It felt just alike. He was out of luck that day. He went to bed without anything to drink or to eat.

"I was just going to have a good cup of tea anyhow, and a bite of that bread that I had. I bit that bread sandwich, and I was going to drink a good cup of tea and go to bed for the night."

"Nobody asked me anything. There was nobody to talk to about it. Still, I made a fool of myself. Next day I kept on my journey. Funny things happen like that. 'Course I couldn't see very well neither because it was getting dark, but I blame my own self."

It didn't rain very hard on him because he was under a big white pine. So that sheltered him. The wind blew and broke up the clouds. He was out there alone as an Indian. He prayed to the Great, "Help. I need help. I'm hungry."

It wasn't long before he went to sleep, and when he woke up the sun was shining warm. When he woke up in the morning the sun shined. Then the next morning he fixed up a good meal. He had bread and a little tallow. He always had a little lunch and tallow which he carried if he got hungry. If he got too hungry, and didn't have time to cook, he would bite on that tallow. Just one swallow of that tallow carries you a long ways. He bit that little tallow, and ate that bread. That would carry him. He had four miles to go yet, through a meadow. He had to cross pole-bridges. That's why he didn't want to keep on the journey the night before.

So the next morning he packed up his little bundle, put it on his back, and started walking on these trails through the meadows. He knew where the bridges were. He walked over a couple pole-bridges anyhow.

He got to his destination, where his son lived. He told about that. "Yes, Grandpa," they said, "we were wondering where you were. We thought that you would know that a storm was coming. We thought you would know a rain was coming by the heat wave, but you went against that. You should feel it when it's coming. You're old enough now. Are you going back to childhood days, Grandpa?" they asked him.

An then he laughed, "Maybe I am, but I'm happy." He always had an answer, you know.

But there they had given him a full meal, with a lot of stew made from vegetables and deer meat. They put up a nice stew, not too hot. They gave him nice luke-warm soup. And they gave him good tea and maple sugar.

Oh gee, that's a poor Old John. That could happen with anybody. Then we laughed. Funny stories I'll tell you about John. Oh, how we laughed about this. I laughed at him and he laughed too. What stories that he had!

And we talked to John, Old John Smith. He was an old man. He was a good adviser, great trapper, and great hunter. Ohhh, he used to tell us lots of stories! He loved his children. We loved to talk to him and he loved us. John used to talk to us truthfully. We all gathered around Grandpa John -- brothers and sisters, and my folks. And we asked him questions . . . well . . . the old folks generally asked him the questions. Asking the old-people questions was our pass-time.

I listened to a lot of words from Old John. I remember the old man, and it's just like I could hear him now. He brought out very good points when he was talking to the old and young both. We'd all set and listen to him, and he'd be settin' there smoking. Somebody'd asked him a question. He'd answer it.

When he was talking to young kids, he let the young kids ask him questions all right, but it was up to the old people to put them questions to him. When he talked to us on our own we asked him questions direct. But when he was talking to the old people, they told us not to ask questions. Then the old people were the ones that would ask him a question. We weren't supposed to ask Old John a question when the young and the old were both listening to him. The old people were supposed to ask him questions. He could answer the question clearly if the old people asked it, because he knew what they were asking him about. He didn't want two subjects together.

The kids asked questions once in a while. Sure! They did, but they didn't tie it up in their minds very well. And then Old John would tell them, "Wait 'till your folks get here." And the children would set around and listen when Old John talked. He didn't want to tell them anything wrong, because some of the old folks might accuse him of telling something to the children that they weren't supposed to hear. Then they'd tell the folks that's where they got it. They told them they heard him there. The folks would say, "Where did you learn that, from John?" He didn't want that. He was a pretty smart man, because he selected who wants to hear him and who could ask him questions.

I knew enough to ask him questions, because I was with him lots. I was with him from when I was a boy and we were still living out-a Bena. But when I was asking him questions in public, you might as well say, I was seventeen. Generally you had to be eighteen to ask a question in the group.

You could ask him question if you were about twelve -- if you have more sense-itive⁽²²⁾ to your person. If you got sense you could ask a question when you were twelve -- or even eleven. But if you were eight -- I don't know. He might not answer too many of their questions, because the answer wouldn't stay long, because at eight they forget easy. Eight forgets easy. See? You could ask him a question if you were eight, but he would tell you, "But what does it do if you don't tie it up in your head?" They forget at that age. They forget at eight. That's why he didn't want to do it. They can be ten, anyhow to ask. Ok?

So that's why we would just listen when we were listenin' in with the group. But when he was just talking to the younger class, then it was up to us to ask questions. . . . But then he didn't always care about answering. He was getting old, you know. He couldn't understand our points sometimes. But the old points he could understand. And, the old class could understand his points, and they showed it by answering his questions.

Great man!

Gee, that was something.

I asked a lot of questions when I was small, when I lived in the family, in my folk's family. I asked my father and mother, and my grandfolks, "Why all this"? They'd tell me. I just got in the habit of asking questions, and today I still wish they were living. I'd ask more questions with them because I know they wouldn't tell me wrong, or they wouldn't give me a sassy or smart answer. I know they'd just tell me for the best. They were glad to have me ask them questions about what I'm puzzled about. Huh. I think I used them ok.

And I asked Old John Smith a lot of questions. He was happy when he was a hundred. Gee he was a happy guy. Yea, he really had it. He felt good. I said, "What makes you feel good all the time, John?"

"Hoh," he said, "hoh. Look at the timber. Look at the trees. Look at the river. Look at the game, lots of game. Everything's there for me, for you. It's a great world we go through! We all gotta go through that. They give us that big picture and they feed us well here. There's plenty to eat. If you go get it, if you work for it, you get it. You gotta sweat for it."

"I talked to lots of wealthy guys. You ask them, 'How'd you get such a nice car? How'd you get this big farm?'"

"'It ain't easy,' they say, 'it took half of my life. I worked hard.'"

"Sure, they work hard. They didn't get it easy. They laid awake at night planning."

We⁽²³⁾ asked Old John Smith questions, as he was experienced in life. We asked him what he saw, what he heard, and about what we know now. He used to sit in the house; he would sit on the floor and talk. He'd say, "Ask me anything. If I can answer, I will."

"Grandpa," we'd ask him, the folks'ed ask him, "What was this Mississippi like in your time? Was this Mississippi a wild river?"

In those days we were talking Indian.⁽²⁴⁾

"At times," he says. "It all depends on the snow. Most of the time it was a river that was slow, and the river stream was nice and clear. But when the waters got wild from the streams of the snow, it was really wild. And the fish were all over the woods. They would come from these little creeks. You'd find them anywhere, in any little puddle. It was great to see that stuff. But the water was pure. There was a lot-a game too. There was a lot of things that multiply in the world. Beautiful birds. When you'd look into the water you can see the fish all over."

"We still can do that in our time," we'd⁽²⁵⁾ say.

"Ya, but it was better in my days, when I was a boy. But we were always careful. We didn't know what we were going to run into. We were learning. We had caution."

"What did you caution about?" we'd ask.

"There were animals bigger at the days before me. My folks used to tell me about animals that were big along the Mississippi. And these animals, they looked like dragons. They were big. They called them, kaa-dI-gI-naayd-big -- "he-has-arms-and-crawls."

"Well how did they get up there?" I asked.

"They get up here from the south. They try to get north through the Mississippi. They follow channels, the deep places, clean out from the Mississippi to Pokegama."⁽²⁶⁾

They saw something out to Stone Island on Mille Lacs Lake⁽²⁷⁾ that was unusual. They saw something on it. An unusual animal. That was unusual. Then that big storm hit that Stone Island too."

And I heard a news about that later from my brother-in-law, Jim Mitchell⁽²⁸⁾ who saw it too, when they were along the river. We were talking about Old John Smith with my brother-in-law. I got in with my brother-in-law from Mille Lacs and we were talking about those things that were the wild animals Old John talked about.

"Geez, that's very interesting," he said.

Yes, it was very interesting.

"On a nice day you could hear them," Old John would tell us. "They sound like a cow. On a clear day you could hear them big-armed-crawlers. You could hear them big dragon animals. That's when they'd mate. When they'd sound, there was a storm coming. That's unusual," he says. "It's an unusual sound."

"Really, John?"

Oh, we believed it!

"They saw them in places. They saw them in their head."

"How did they see that?"

"Well, maybe in the water. The water was deeper then."

My mother saw one, and that one was about three-and-a-half feet high. She saw a "he-has-arms-and-crawls." It was a young one that got lost. Maybe he left, or maybe he was left here. But he drifted back.⁽²⁹⁾ The lumberjacks kicked the grass from the river bottoms when they were driving timber down the stream.⁽³⁰⁾ The logs and everything cut the bottom and the banks. And the banks caved in and filled the bottom of the river, and the fish were moving. The armed crawlers probably left at that time too. Logging and the Whites changed nature. It changed the nature of life. The human being has to blame himself too.

Hm. That is interesting. That's from an Old John Smith. That's the very words he told me. He told me lots of things; he predicted this experience of life. He told the history about the Mississippi: "You know those great big animals? There's tunnels in the rivers, and in the Mississippi, from those big animals. You can see them tunnels yet."

You see a dip of the ground just like a snake. That goes way back, way back, you know. A big snake came out of there. John said that years ago you heard about those. They had a name for them. Ya. Ne-a-way. They had a big name for that. A hundred years ago they saw that. All that ground caved in and there was a hole there. That caved down.

"What were those snakes? What kind of snakes were they?"

"Well, might be a dragon. Or long-big animals."

"How did you know they were there?"

John said, "They camped down by the forks of the river and the Indians heard them. On a clear day, when it was nice as quiet, about nine o'clock in the morning -- about when the sun got about so high⁽³¹⁾ -- everybody got limbered up, and that's when they crawl out. They sound like a cow. You could hear them for miles. There were no cows here at that time, but they sound like "mii-u-u-u." And when they howl like that it means sickness is coming.⁽³²⁾ It's a warning that sickness is coming.

That's what they believe. It's a bad warning. They'd say, "Maybe a big storm is coming. Maybe a storm is coming. Maybe somethin' is coming."

Sure enough. After they hear that Ne-a-way howl the biggest storm goes through. There was lightning. And the lightning drives those snakes down. The nature drives them down deep. That is what the lightning is for. Bang! . . . Bang! . . . Bang! . . . The snakes draw the lightning, see. So that's what keeps them down, at least that's what they believed in years ago. Nature does that.

The old Indian learned from nature. And they paid attention to unusual signs. I can tell you lots of stories about the Indians of the olden days. They had power to change themselves when they came into the world.⁽³³⁾ The Great proves it to them.

Old John Smith told me a lot of stories. Old John Smith was telling us stories one time, and I asked him, one time, no, not me, but my mother asked him a question. We were all setting there listening. My mother got to be eighty-four years old. But in my younger days and in her younger days, when I was a little boy, I liked to hear John tell stories of his days. They were telling stories when Old John Smith was a hundred and thirty years old.⁽³⁴⁾ My mother spoke up one time, "John." She was busy working, and John was setting on the floor, lighting his pipe. "John," she said, "I'm going to ask you another question. Do you remember at any time that there was something wrong with the earth in your times, in the last hundred years?"

"Yes," he said. "I was a little boy when the stars fell."⁽³⁵⁾

"Stars fell?"

"What did they look like Grandpa?"

"They fell. The stars fell that night."

He was telling us about way back in years. I guess it was about 1870 or 1871, or eighteen something anyway; I really don't know. Anyway it was when he was younger.

This was in John Smith's boyhood days, and that was quite a while ago. He was a hundred and thirty years old when he died so that must-a been about a hundred years ago then. What I'm talking about, what he used to tell about, what he used to tell us about, happened about a hundred years ago -- from when he was telling about it. Well, Old John probably died about thirty, forty years ago, didn't he? [1922] Anyhow, it was ninety -- eighty or ninety years ago -- about 1820-1830⁽³⁶⁾ [1833] that he was telling about.

He would tell my father and mother. We were all setting and listening to him.

My mother asked him, "John, do you remember when the stars fell?"

"Tell us about when the stars fell."

"Ya," he said. "I was a little boy then."

Then he'd pause and we looked at him.

"Yes, I was a little boy once."

Nobody asked a question, so I said, "John, please tell us about that. You said you were here when the stars fell?"

"Yea. That was a great night." And John said, "Oh, when the stars fell I was about nine or ten years old. Children were sleeping and the coyotes were howling. Before long we all heard about these warnings and signals. That's how we knew about the falling stars. Then the stars fell, and when they fell that night was just like snow flakes. They kept me inside, but I wanted to see them. The first thing in the morning everybody went out to see them. They shriveled up like buckskin leaves. They curled up and vanished. Around noon they shriveled up and vanished."

"That's a change of stars," that's what we thought. Yes, we thought, "That's a change of stars."

"What did those stars look like?" the Indian, the old Indians asked, my mother asked. "What did they look like? What do the stars look like when they fall? Do they fall on the ground?"

"Yes, they fell on the ground."

"What did they look like when they fell on the ground?"

"They looked like buckskin. They look like buckskin laying on the ground. The stars fell. And when they fell to the ground they looked like dried buckskin."

"Well, what happened to them?"

"What happened to them?"

"Well, what happened to the stars when they fell? Did they stay there or what?"

"No. They were just like wet buckskin, but around about noon they folded right up. They folded right up. They crumbled up, and they went to nothing. They just curl right up and they vanished. So they called that, the Indian called that, ah-n^3-gog gi-pang-gIsh-i-nog -- "the-stars-fell-down, and for some reason this star had changed."

"We didn't dare touch 'em because they're here. Maybe they have something to do with fertilizing the ground. And about noon they curled up. They disappeared."

"John, could that be purifying or fertilizing or something?"

"Could that help, or could it be for the great animals' might or something?"

"Some say so. We can't tell. We never studied that. What we believe in is the great Manitou,⁽³⁷⁾ the great God of the world. We believed that it was to show us something, so we never forgot that. That's the Great who shows us. The Great will show us anything in the past."

"John, does it mean storms, snow, and everything?"

"It may mean something. It may mean every two thousand years -- every thousand years -- every thousand years, every two thousand years -- anything could happen in this old world. Maybe every thousand years something changes above. Maybe every hundred years they might fall. You may see something too. You may see something too, if you live long enough. If you lived a hundred years you may see something, my boy. There are some changes like that. It changes, changes, changes all the time."

"So it's for better."

"But these stars vanished," he said. "You didn't see no more of 'em after. They just turned like dry leaves, you know."

"Thank you."

"John," I said, "how old were you?"

"I was about seven or eight years old."

That was over a hundred years ago. He said he was about seven or eight years old when the stars fell. But sometimes he said he was nine or ten years old when that happened. Other times he said he was eight or nine.⁽³⁸⁾ Anyway, he saw the stars fall when he was a young boy -- a few years before he was coming into his manhood, a few years before he was old enough to ask questions of the old folks. But he listened. And remembered.

I think he believes that it's a change, a change of the earth or something that took friction up against the stars and just skimmed the surface up around the stars somehow. That's what they believe. But the stars seem to be very big, many miles up. And there are meteors in different parts of the world and maybe in different worlds. Who knows what remains to be seen? When the great God tells you to go,⁽³⁹⁾ you'll see a lot of things. Boy!

"The Great will show us anything before," Grandpa John would tell us. "And there are a lot of things He's going to show us if we don't believe in Him."

"Oh, did you believe in Him?" my mom would ask.

"Yes, I believe. It's my way of life. And I'm a hundred and thirty years old."

I was thinking all the time. That's one big point that my Grandfather Old John Smith told me, when the stars fell. I remember. "I'll always remember that," Old John Smith told me, about when he saw the day the stars fell. John Smith was about eight or nine years old when the stars fell. That was a long time ago.

How they used to think! Oh it was very interesting. John Smith was interesting. I got to talk to him many many a-time. That's why I say that's what makes me think of a lot of this stuff. Old John, Grandpa John, become a hundred and thirty-eight. Wah! We got this picture of him, a large picture. He was bright and very sharp in mind. He was a good old man. I'm the one of my age that talked to him. I'm the one that asked him questions. Many, many times, I think of questions he answered to my people, to my old folks, to the people he set in groups with. They talked to him about the history before, as it was left to him by his father and mother. It was something interesting. It was just like a TV to us, these days, you know. We didn't have any TVs, but we asked the older class questions. They were very interesting when they would tell about things. Times are changing all the time, and they're gonna change more.

We'd set and talk. Grandpa John was quite an old man when I was a young fella. We'd set and talk lots. Oh, I must-a been, fourteen years old at that time that I'm talking about, when we began talking at the Leech-Mississippi Forks. What I liked about John was that he always liked to trap. Maybe he'd set a trap just to catch and then eat the meat. That's the only means he had of making a living. He'd trade with the trading post people. He believed in trapping. That's the only means he had in those days.

And he believed in eating fish. They were dried and cured. You know why he dried them? That's the only refrigerator he had. Then we'd take a cloth or something and wrap them.

Then when we struck off on a journey, when we'd get hungry, all we needed was good clean water. All we needed was a spring. We knew where all these springs were. Then we get a good cup of water. If we had tea, like wintergreen, we made tea. We had maple sugar. With that fish we had maple sugar. Maple sugar went with everything. That's the way we eat.

We like the taste of smoked dry meat from the timbers, from the coals. We cured it. It was cooked and dried and sun-cured in the weather. Everything was well-cured. That's the way we live. If it wasn't well-cured, we had a way to cure it. We had sticks, forked sticks, and we'd stand those forked sticks by the heat, by the fire. We just kept turning them, turning them enough so they'll dry.

That was a great lunch bag as we travelled. We had maple sugar, or maple syrup maybe. We had maple sugar most generally, and sugar cakes. And we had peppermint, an-day-go-bahng-goss. Wherever there is peppermint there are crows. We had that with tea. And we had this wintergreen. We had great tea, wi-sah-gay a-ni-bish, "nature mixed in there."

And we had Labrador weeds. We had what we call "Labrador weeds." We called that brush 'Labrador weeds' because leaves were long. That was good tea. Swamp brush was great tea too wah-bass-ki-ki a-ni-bi-s, swamp tea."

When we ate that stuff we felt just as good as ever. There was nothing out of cans. There's nothing artificial. Everything is wholesome. There was nothing put in, nothing taken out. That's why John believed in that stuff. It was a good life. Everything was boiled. We believed in that.

Old John ate well and that's why he had good healthy. Old John had good eyes too. He was telling that to me. I'd ask him, "at a hundred years old can you see good John?"

"Yes I can see good."

He did. Oh, it makes you wonder lot of times. Everything that we eat was boiled, and those herbs and tea was tonic. There was no "cumulation" inside you. That excess slime in you is supposed to be there. It's supposed to be changed every so many hours. By eating these natural fish you change that. We eat fish and that's lime. And when you eat enough, it'll make you drink. We'd drink good. If we can get good water, we'll drink it. We found lots of good springs. We made tea. We boiled it. We had all of these herb teas. Then we'd drink that. We got along good.

When that corn came in to the area we ground some of it right up with rocks, or hammered them down. Then we ate that. That natural corn gave you strength. The nourishment was there, and it doesn't take much either. You'd boil that too.

And we were little boys at that time. Oh, I wasn't a very small boy, I was around fourteen or sixteen years old. I was quite interested with Old John, and I used to ask him questions like how he lived so long. And I used to ask him questions about what did he see in his times, and he'd tell me. He told me many stories about things which the Indians had learned. He told me things they knew about in those days when he was young. He'd tell stories and then lay there in the shade in the hot weather out in the grass by the Leech and Mississippi Fork, at our land claim there. Under the old oak tree he'd lay. "I'm tired out," he said. "I took that walk from way up the river. I walked through those meadows. So I'm tired out. Let me sleep."

So we'd sit there and let the old man sleep. We'd watch so nothing would disturb him while he'd sleep. And there were flies that would fly around, mosquitos or something, and we'd brush the mosquito off. Then we'd look at Old John laying there. Then he'd twinker his eyes open and he'd look at us, "Oh. You're still here."

"Ya. We're watching you, John."

"Okay."

mI-su-mIss, "Grandpa," we'd call him. We watched him, Grandpa.

Then he'd say, "Well as long as you're here now my children," he said, "I didn't shave."

And there'd be one whisker here and there, a gray one. I said, "I'll get the old man's razor. I'll tell the old man to shave you."

Source: Carl A. Zapffe, Kahbe nagwi wens: The man who lived in 3 Centuries (Brainerd, MN: Historic Heartland Association, 1975, p. 2.)

"I don't shave," John said.

So he loaned me an old jackknife. He says, "you put that knife there with your thumb and pull them whiskers out. If you got a tweezers or something like a tweezers, anything to pinch them, that'll work too. Pull 'em out."

So I used to be handy with my fingers and I used to pull out his whiskers. Instead of shaving, "Pull 'em out," he said.

You think he'd make a move when you'd pull them all. He looked just like he never had it.

"Does that hurt? Does that hurt, Grandpa? Does that hurt, John?"

"No, I don't even feel it."

Here his skin would stretch out about inch and a half, two inches. He would still be blowing, snoring, "cuu, cuu, cuu." Then we used to set and look at him. We respected him, you know. We were always over there watching him. Then he'd wake up and "WOOH!" he'd go.

One time my other friend, George No-kay, {xxxsp??} and I were hunting rabbits in the fall of the year. George was a little older than I was. He was from Ball Club, across the river. He was my neighbor's boy. I had four rabbits already.

Old John had kicked off his stags {xxx??} and there he laid -- right across from Barnes's cut-banks, the high-bank, down there where the bridge is now. John Smith's foot was sticking out of the grass. He was shaking it back and forth. He had white woolen socks on. So when George No-kay saw that white sock, he went to raise his gun. And he pointed a gun at grandpa. As he pointed a gun at him, Grandpa John's foot shook back and forth. That guy was trigger-happy, pointing a gun at him.

"Whoa," I said, "that's grandpa. Maybe it's grandpa. He travels through here."

And George No-kay looked at me. He said, "That's Old John. He's got white socks on."

He put his hammer down.^(39b)

We went through that fire weed, through that tall grass. He thought there was a rabbit in there. But when we got there here was grandpa laying on his back with his legs crossed. He had a pair of white wool stockings on and he was waving one foot while he was laying on the bank of the river down there across from Barnes' old place.

We walked up to him and sat beside him. "Grandpa," that boy said, "I pretty near shot your foot. I thought it was a rabbit."

"Oh-h-h- no. You can't shoot me," he said.

When we told John Smith he shouldn't lay down on the grass with his sock up he said, "That doesn't make any difference. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. . . . You can't . . . oh, that's all right for you to shoot that foot. 'Cause it'll fire back on you."

That's one of the great boys that passed the word amongst the Indians. He carried them right along. That great John will never be forgotten. Then I said to John, "Mother's home. Dad is home, John."

Old John was a happy man. He was an old man. And I talked to Old John and I would listen to every word that Old John told me, my great Grandpa John Smith. I would sit alongside of him.

"Grandpa," I says. "Grandpa how is it that you can walk these meadows on a long ways?"

We talked in Indian.

"I'm happy. I like to be alone. And it's nice weather. I'm taken care of."

"As old as you are John, how can you walk so far?"

"It don't bother me. When I get tired I should stop. That's why we lay down and rest. Your heart and spirit tell you what to do. Hmm hm. When you get tired, stop. Hmm. I like a life like that, and I always felt good," John said. "I consider that other people are livin' as well as I do. Animals, everything, has life. I'm not livin' alone. I'm happy to know that. I feel good at all times, I'm glad to say."

"Well, how come, John, you feel good all the time when you walk?"

"I met lots of people," he said, "all, all kinds of 'em. And wherever I meet people I sit and visit. We sit together visiting, and in two, three days, I go." And, he says, "I always felt good because I have good visit."

When I was eighteen to twenty he would tell me about how things were a hundred years ago. When I was eighteen to twenty I used to talk to him lots. And I used to ask, "Great Grampa. . . ," and, "Grandpa this. . . ," and "Grandpa that. . . ." He had a good mind on him. He could remember.

I used to set alongside of him all the time about, '18 or '19, yea. I even slept along with him. They slept outside. They didn't want to sleep inside in the summer. Old John slept on the floor in a house in the fall and winter. He didn't want to sleep on the bed. And I did just what John Smith did. And when he slept on the floor, I slept on the floor.

That's probably where I get some of my strength and stuff from. That way I was charging up, and there's my strength. See, I loved John. That's my power.⁽⁴⁰⁾ He gave some of that power to me with his own spiritual mind.

"My son," he says -- we were grandpa and son -- he said, "Thank God for everything you receive, migwitch. And believe in Him true. Be careful what you say. Love the word of God, the Great Spirit who gave you the earth. It's yours. And it'll prepare for you when you are coming. I prove myself, because the way I lived with the people I felt good.⁽⁴¹⁾ I didn't have any trouble with any of the people I met," he said.

"And I felt good about it. And I was always welcome wherever I went because I was a friend to everybody. And I'm glad to say I'm brave to be old. It's nice to be old when you lived a good life."

"I figured that I had little faults," he'd continue, "but those faults, I don't think, they'll bother me. I feel good. It's a fault maybe when I took a drink, but I shouldn't drink.⁽⁴²⁾ That may not bother me 'cause to live in this world I live happy. I used to work when I was a young man. I'd go out into snow and hunt for something to eat. And I'm glad to say that I was always lucky to get something to eat with my bow and arrow."

Oh, he was wonderful, interesting to talk to, you know. I really liked John. I believe in John's way -- my great grandpa, one of the great people, great grandpa. "Son," he said, "I want you to understand that when you live amongst the stars and the sun and the moon, the air you breath and the birds that sings, the trees that grow, grass, everything that's nature for your country, is for you. So you have to appreciate who gave you that. The food we eat, and your clothes, come from the earth. We shall believe in that. There's a Great Master to this, and He's with us. We feel good, we believe in Him."

Wow!

Boy! . . . he was a hundred years old.

Great man!

I'll tell you one story about Old John Smith. He claimed he was around 120 years old. At least he used to tell us he was around a hundred and twenty, at least over a hundred years old. For years Old John used to stay at our place, at my folk's place at the Leech and Mississippi Forks. I asked him a lot of questions of the olden days.

"John," we'd ask him about doctoring now, "we have some Indian doctors. How do they learn to be a doctor?"

He says, "Practice. Study. Thinking of what that tree is. Or what that medicine's supposed to do."

"How do they study that medicine?"

"They 'annual-ize'⁽⁴³⁾ that. What it will do on your hand, that's what it'll do into you. They put that on their hand and they watch that, in the olden days. If it's good, good. It'll smooth out. But if it starts burning, it'll do that inside you too. So if it penetrates and doesn't burn you, it may do you good for what you want. But sometime you can get medicine too mild or weak, and sometimes you get too strong. That's what they were studying."

So I said, "John, I want to ask you, how did they know, how did the Indian know about medicine?"

"One thing . . . , I'll tell you one thing about that. They watch one another, they watch the animals, and they watch everything as they would go in life."

"One time a man in the tribe, in the group, got sick -- very sick. Nobody knew what was wrong with him, so he condemned his life, he condemn himself from the group. He was not worth⁽⁴⁴⁾ to be in the group because he had an ailment. Maybe he didn't know what was wrong, and the doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong. He was weakening, weakening, weakening. So this man said, 'I'm going to leave you people, because of the way my health's going with me. I have to leave you people, and don't cry when I leave. And if I'm lucky, I'll see you again some day. Maybe we'll learn something from this."

"Well, they thought that he was going to pass away, the way things were going with him."

"'We want to know where you're going!' they asked him."

"I don't tell anybody where I'm going."

"So he bid us good-bye," John said; "he bid everybody good-bye."

"This is true," he said.

"This guy left. When he left he figured he'd live on wild game. He cooked all the wild game. He roasted it on fires. He even roasted cat. He lived on good water, made herbs, and took tonic -- which his body wanted. He was hungry, and whatever he hungered for he'd eat only very little of. But when he'd eat a little of that he knew it was doing good."

"How was he going to get an appetite when he was so weak?"

"So he went to some medicine doctor and he ate that which was given him for his appetite. He ate that what was benefitting him and taking the poison out of his system, and it was doing well. He commenced to brighten up. His mind come normal, and his health was getting better."

"He started walking faster through woods and rivers, and he went out into the wild alone, this Indian. Sooner or later he found a good group of Indians. He walked up to them. They kind of suspected him. Maybe they didn't know who he was. In those days, you know, you didn't usually meet anybody," John said. "And they looked at him; they fed him. He ate a little bit."

"And afterwards they set down and visited. He talked to them. It took time to get him settled, you know, but in a day or so, they commenced to ask him questions. They asked him the same story. When you go to a different group from your group, they ask you, 'Why did you leave? Why did you leave your group of Indians?'"

"So this man said, 'I was a sick man and I was afraid they'd all get sick if I stayed. I thought as long's I was in the condition I was in -- I gave up myself -- I might as well go out into the woods and let the birds or animals eat me after I'm passed away. That's the way I felt. But I began to study. I found I'm lack of something. Maybe even trees. As I went along, I was hungry. Hmm. Maybe I have to eat those herbs, and fruit, wild fruit.'"

"The chief of the new group accepted his answer."

"A little later on there was a big powwow within that tribe, a big powwow. The first group heard about the powwow one day on the river. They join that new group. It was a big powwow. They invited everybody. It wasn't for him, but he happened to be there. At the powwow that group he left way far back said, 'He's that man, the one that left us four or five years ago. Look at him. That looks like him.'"

"'It can be. He was a great big fellow.'"

"So the chief of the old group said, 'Aren't you that name?'"

"'Ya.'"

"'Aren't you the one that left our group, our tribe?'"

"'Yes.'"

"'What did you do when you gave yourself up? What did you do for your health? You look wonderful, solid.'"

"He said, 'That tree there gave me life. It took the poison out of me. I'm a well man.'"

"That's how we learn our medicine. It comes natural. What you're hungry for, what you want, is what you need. When you go into that and study that, it's going to do you good. Well that's wonderful!"

"'That one certain tree, that's what did the whole works. It's a great medicine.'"

"That's how they learned to be a doctor. After a while he told the chief, the leaders about the medicine. He told them about medicine and about the remedies. 'That's what I went through.'"

"'Yes we know that, but we just don't practice hard enough.'"

"We have to practice hard to learn. We have to know what's good for people to help one another. And that's a big thing: Study. Figure. Use it. Polish it."

"He was supposed to go and die. But there he was, a great man, one of the leaders with that other group. They elected him, because they knew he came through hardship, timber, and thicket to find this group. They were proud of him."

"'I left my people because I was sick. I got away from them. Now I'm not sick,' he told them."

"'Now you're not sick.'"

"So they all got in a group, and he got himself a nice woman and started a family. He was a great guy. That's the way they learned."

Wonderful hey?

"It's true, you see," John said. "That's true. That's the hard way," he said. "And by doing it the hard way you're satisfied and you learn something."

John was a great-great man. He didn't take for lies, because it was time for him to tell us the truth. He often told us that. And truth maybe will help us. He was great man, John. He passed the dish⁽⁴⁵⁾ on to us.

And John would talk about the sun.

"John," I said, "what is the sun made of?"

"We don't know."

"We aren't supposed to know. It's heat anyhow."

"John, what makes it hit hot when it's cold up in the air?"

"The reflections from the earth, gravity. You hold the light; you feel the light when it hits you. That's something. That's the same way with the sun. And when the light shines against a wall that part's going to be warm. The other part's cold, but it's circle."

"John, who made the North Pole, South Pole? Who circled that?"

"You aren't supposed to know. We're searching for that, and they think they know. And when they find out, maybe something'll happen. Wow! We're supposed to know what we see here. We're supposed to know what's here. We're supposed to walk, and we're supposed to know that water's for drinking."

Boy he was great, and he never said too much. "We go by here on this earth, you might as well say, for just a few minutes. Then there's always someone else to else to come. But when the time comes, when they stop this world,⁽⁴⁶⁾ they'll become something else maybe. This world's one-fourth land, three fourth's water."

"I read about that iceberg," I asked John one time, "is it true that there's a big ice north?"

He said while he was setting there, "Ya. That's way down in the water."

"How did you know it, John?"

"Well," he says, "it comes natural. On that side of the north it's cold. Forms ice. On this side it's hot, and it's hot. That's why the Black race is south. But there's a Master for everything, and we don't have to worry. And that Master we have to respect. There's a Master who cares."

Oh the women like to talk to him too, but they had to be careful with him and not ask him too many questions. He'd come right out with any word. He didn't fool around. He'd never smile much neither, but when he smiled, it was a joke. Boy, was he a sharp old fella! Hm. He was a great, great old man.

Old John was married several times. A couple times I heard him talk about his marriage. But he wasn't married very long, I guess. He wasn't much on women. I think that after he lost his first wife he couldn't find one that he liked. That's what I heard him say. He said he couldn't find one that he liked. It probably was true love with that one he lost in time.

We asked him a lot of questions, but I don't know if he had two or three other wives. I wouldn't know.

But I know he was bound to be married when he was in his younger time of life, ya, he was bound to have a wife in his canoe days. There'd have to be two paddling. Those days he was able to support a wife. After he got old he just provided for himself, and he thought he was doing well providing for himself. And then he was unsettled too. He liked to travel, gee he liked to travel. He liked to make places. John Smith was bound to have a wife in his canoe days. But the canoe days ended about nineteen-eighteen.

But once he had a women that never would go in the canoe. He went to the wigwam to see what he could see. That was all he did. All he had with the women was a sociable visit. He respected women.

He'd always tell that he had seven wives.⁽⁴⁷⁾ He'd tell the school teachers, or crew of White people that asked him, that he had seven wives. They'd ask him, "How many wives did you have?" or "How many times were you married?"

"Seven," he'd say.

"Oh, my-my-my, dear John," they'd say.

"No F--- deer. Run too fast."

Then one time we asked grandpa, "John, were you ever married, John?"

"Ya."

"How many wives did you have when you were married, John. Did you only have one wife, just like the law now?"

"Huh. Seven wives I had."

"Seven wives? Boy, that's a lot. How do you handle seven wives? What did you do with seven wives? Did you have different places for your seven wives?"

"One wigwam," he said.

"Oh my, John. Oh geez, John. One wigwam, seven women? Must-a been a big wigwam."

"Ya."

"What happened? What happened to your seven wives? How did they get along?"

"They didn't get along."

"Did you get along with them?"

"No."

"How come? How did you get along with them? What'd they do?"

"They went away."

"What they do? Did they leave you?"

"Hmm. No, they tore down the wigwam." They got in the battle and tore down the wigwam, and they left. "Then I left. Stay single." They were together in battle, you know. "Tore down the wigwam."

Oh, he always had an answer. There are all kinds of stories about him.

Ho!

Well, in the early days we were pretty close to the Canadian line here. Earlier in my days I asked John, "How did you get along with the Whites?"

"Well we trap, hunt, and everything. We fish. They bought fur from us. We sold 'em furs. They bought whiskey, they bring whiskey, and when we drink whiskey, we have good friends. They were good men."

"He's got whiskey. He's a good White man," they'd say. From that time on, when they had good whiskey we respect them. We were friends to White people."

"The logging days come in. We got a job. We work with the White people. We went to powwows with the White people."

"We got along. They never fight amongst one another. The younger class Indians fought amongst one another, but we never had trouble with the White man."

You feel that now too around here. When they're fighting or arguing you see that. That's natural to them. They never go after a White man to bother him. They always fight amongst themselves. We know that White men'll tell us what's right. That's how we get along.

If you want to chew snuff, if you want tobacco, the White man always has it. That's why we like the White man. They gave us more than we ever gave them, we feel. We work with them. They give us jobs. We were friends and we live with them, and they live with us as Americans. They live the American way of life.

Old John was learning from the Whites. And we learned how to build homes, a house. We learned how to cut lumber, and we learn through their work. They learned us. They had good tools, axes. They showed us that, which we broke dry sticks with. We use good axes. We made a living on the axes and saws we got from the White people. They gave us hammers and everything to work with -- hoes, garden hoes, garden rakes. We had horses. We got harness for them. They made them. They helped us. Everything that was there was made for the people that live in that area.