Path Chosen: Mi Lakota Yelo

By Delane Quiver Boyer

This is my story of my memories, thoughts, and interpretations that I made from my experiences starting at the beginning of my age of awareness. I grew up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota where I faced living in two different cultures to the time I joined the U.S. Army. My story is not about the accumulation of wealth or being famous or being some savior. It is about a simple dream.
My story starts from the time I remember reaching the age of awareness to the present. I do not claim to be a writer, so my story may not be a well-planned or polished literary work that meets all the high standards of writing.
The story is about being on a path out of poverty. I was raised by my grandparents from a baby to the time I joined the U.S. Army. For some reason my mother left me to be raised by her parents. They were poor people, seasonal laborers, who lived with a strong belief in their God. We lived in a two-room shack with tarpaper siding that had not inside toilet, running water or electricity. That was our home. They were always short of money to buy necessities and usually faced hunger. However they were a good couple and had a faith to believe in God.
However I was fortunate to get a good education and had the opportunity to join the army for a career. I experienced new horizons that exposed me to new learnings that tempered my attitude. I wish to share my experiences and thoughts from traveling along a path chosen with especially the Lakota youth and the non-Lakota youth what have written in this book.
PilamayaThank you

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483671369

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Copyright © 2013 by Delane Quiver Boyer.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2013913418

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4836-7135-2

Softcover      978-1-4836-7134-5

eBook      978-1-4836-7136-9

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Rev. date: 04/02/2014

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Preface

Chapter 1: In the Beginning: Mi Lakota Yelo

Chapter 2: Beginning School

Chapter 3: Happy Summer Days with Leksi Webster

Chapter 4: My Mother, Stella

Chapter 5: Transition to the Wasicu World, the White Man’s World

Chapter 6: My High School Education—Kadoka High School

Chapter 7: The Path to College

Chapter 8: SDSC or Bust

Chapter 9: In the Army Now

Chapter 10: Fort Benning GA

Chapter 11: Austria Is That Australia?

Chapter 12: Austria First Active Duty Assignment

Chapter 13: Italy September 1955—November 1958

Chapter 14: 8th Infantry Battle Group, 4th Infantry Division

Chapter 15: I Corps Korea to Special Forces

Chapter 16: Fort Bragg 5th Special Forces Group 1962

Chapter 17: Deployed To Vietnam 1963

Chapter 18: 5th Special Forces Group Headquarters

Chapter 19: 8th Special Forces Group Canal Zone Panama

Chapter 20: Vietnam Deployment II to Vietnam

Chapter 21: ROTC Instructor at NCSU

Chapter 22: 7th Psychological Operations (PSYOP) Group, Okinawa

Chapter 23: Military Life to Civilian Life

Epilogue

References

DEDICATION

A memorial dedication to our soldier Anthony Delane Boyer, second born, who was our soldier in the famous 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment 82nd Airborne Division who gave his life as a result of war in Iraq in serving his country

To our oldest son, Andre’ Chino Boyer, a systems engineer, who has a loving patience for his mother and father and an admirable notion to take care of them when they no longer are able to take care of themselves

To Alex Francis Boyer, our youngest son, a medical doctor, who is a blessing to his mother and father and gave his parents, with his wife Emily, two gifts of God, Julian and Gabriel

To my dear wife, Maddalena G. Mathis-Boyer, who loved her children dearly and always stood by her man and kept the family together during long absences of her soldier husband

To my grandmother, Esther Standing Bear-Quiver, who chose the path for me to follow

And to all those people who befriended me, gave me work, and who were my guideposts as I traveled along my chosen path

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to express my gratitude to the people who played roles that provided me with insights during my encounters with them, and with whom I had some situations that I used in writing this book.

I wish to remember my grandmother, Esther Standing Bear-Quiver, for her wise decision to put me on the path of being educated. I am more than grateful to Alfred Pettyjohn and his family, for agreeing to honor the request of my grandmother Esther to take me in their home for four years to get a high school education. This paved the way for me to attain advanced degrees in higher education and also to acquire a military commission for a military career.

I wish to thank my wife, Maddalena, for recognizing parts of my manuscript that needed editing and rewriting to convey a more effective meaning on what I wrote. Also, I wish to acknowledge and commend my wife’s role in raising our three military brats—Andre, Anthony, and Alex—and for their disciplined behavior to cope with the demands of a military family. This had a positive impact on promoting their father’s military career.

Also, I must mention two other individuals who assisted me with their guidance, comments, and information that were of great value to me in writing the book: Attorney Mario Gonzalez, a distant relative of mine who provided background information on his genealogical research on the Standing Bear and Quiver families; and to Dr. Al Corum, my good friend, my kola, former Dean of Learning Resources at Appalachian State University in Boone, North Carolina, who made comments and suggestions during our many discussions while I was writing the manuscript.

There were others who I met along the way, whose experiences and relationships I had with them I used to describe my thoughts in this book. I am grateful to them for their interest in my Lakota culture.

Thank you, pilamaya

PREFACE

This is my story of my memories, thoughts, and interpretations that I made from my experiences starting at the beginning of my age of awareness. I grew up on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota where I faced living in two different cultures to the time I joined the U.S. Army. My story is not about the accumulation of wealth or being famous or being some savior. It is about a simple dream.

My story starts from the time I remember reaching the age of awareness to the present. I do not claim to be a writer, so my story may not be a well-planned or polished literary work that meets all the high standards of writing.

The story is about being on a path out of poverty. I was raised by my grandparents from a baby to the time I joined the U.S. Army. For some reason my mother left me to be raised by her parents. They were poor people, seasonal laborers, who lived with a strong belief in their God. We lived in a two-room shack with tarpaper siding that had no inside toilet, running water or electricity. That was our home. They were always short of money to buy necessities and usually faced hunger. However they were a good couple and had a faith to believe in God.

However I was fortunate to get a good education and had the opportunity to join the army for a career. I experienced new horizons that exposed me to new learning’s that tempered my attitude. I wish to share my experiences and thoughts from traveling along a path chosen with especially the Lakota youth and the non-Lakota youth what have written in this book.

Pilamaya—Thank you

CHAPTER 1

In the Beginning: Mi Lakota Yelo

Little did I know that I was to be on a path of adventure. I was to be well educated, to travel beyond horizons to see many great places, to meet many great people, to be motivated and inspired by some whom I encountered. Toward the end of my path, I was to live a life that was good to me personally. Also, in my travels, I came across my path some ruts that at times jolted me. All these forces I believe shaped me into who and what I am. I believe that in all my encounters taken together, good and bad, motivated and inspired me to strive to live a good life. What I have written in these chapters are my personal experiences and encounters and how I interpreted them. I formed my own judgments and my thoughts from the way I saw, heard, and understood them.

It is written from the beginning that I am a Lakota of the Oglala Tribe born on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, South Dakota, on January 14, 1931. My Lakota mother was Stella Quiver, the daughter of my Lakota grandparents Thomas A. Quiver and Esther Quiver nee Standing Bear. I was told that on my grandmother’s side of the family, we come from the Worm family. Worm had a sister named Big Woman, and Crazy Horse who also came from that family. Big Woman had two daughters. George Standing Bear married the two daughters. From one of the daughters, Willard Standing Bear was born, who is my Grandmother Esther’s father. Willard married a woman named Lezzy Moran. On my grandfather’s family side, his father was Robert Quiver who married Rattling Hawk. Robert was a Lower Brule Sioux. I am told Robert fought in the Battle of the Little Big Horn of 1876 against the Custer’s Seventh Cavalry and other battles during that time. He lost his father and one brother in one of those battles. I must say I come from a distinguished family, and I am proud of it.

I was told that I was born in a log house that had a sod roof, which belonged to my grandfather’s sister Fannie Poor Bear. I was also told that a mid-wife Julia Wild Horse delivered me. She was the wife of my grandfather’s brother, Harry Quiver. Julia delivered many babies in accordance with the Lakota custom in the community. I remember as a young child, my mother baked a birthday cake and invited Julia and the rest of the family for a birthday dinner at the place where I was born. It was built out of cedar logs with a sod roof and two rooms. There was no indoor water or toilet. That log house has since been torn down. The log house was located near what was called Seven Mile Corner, the intersection of state highway 73 and the Wanblee road. My place of birth is listed as in Washabaugh County South Dakota. I was born during the cold winter when there were usually freezing temperatures, north winds and snow on the ground.

My given name is Delane. My name should have been Delane Quiver. My mother left me as an infant to be raised by her parents. My biological father abandoned my mother so she left me with her parents to be raised. At my toddler age, I was given the name in Lakota Hoksila Waste, Good Boy. Later in my teenage, I was named Tesunka Awakita, Horse Whisper, after my grandfather who apparently was very good in handling horses. Sometime later, my mother married Alex Boyer from the Rosebud Indian Reservation, SD. He adopted me and had my last name changed to Boyer and had me baptized in the Catholic Church in Mission, SD. Prior to that time I was baptized as an Episcopalian. My mother and Alex later divorced when I was about thirteen. My mother died on July 12, 1959, before reaching the age of forty-seven. She is buried alongside of my grandparents at the Episcopal Cemetery in Wanblee, SD.

In the beginning when I reached the age of awareness, I sensed an uncertainty that I had no place to belong. I did have my grandparents who took care of me from the time I was a baby to the time when I joined the army. On rare occasions my mother came to get me to live with her and my stepfather for a brief period. I remember my grandparents moved around to several places. One place we lived was in a log house near Long Valley, SD. I think that must have been the place where my grandparents lived when I was an infant. My grandfather told me later in life among other happenings. He thought I was very sick and crying in pain one night or may be hungry, so he went in the middle of the night to Long Valley store and woke up the owner Dan Holcomb to buy Eagle Brand can milk to feed me. After drinking the condensed milk I stopped crying. He probably bought the cans of milk on credit against his lease money. My grandparents told me I would just about cry my head off when there was no eagle Brand can milk to feed me. My grandparents had little money during the time they were raising me.

There was no outbuilding or any kind of structures around the log house. The house was just a bare building setting out in the open prairie. The house was near a small dry creek bed. My grandparents had a vegetable garden on that creek bottom during the spring and summer near the log house. I remember some of the vegetables were potatoes, carrots, turnips, squash and radishes that were grown in abundance. I was alone with no one to play and no toys so most of the time I spent at the garden watching and waiting to see the plants come out growing of the ground. I liked living there because of the garden. I felt there was something good was to happen. After we moved away we retuned there several times usually after Memorial Day to plant potatoes and other vegetables. I always looked forward going there where I was alone to see and feel the joy of watching the plants growing.

I remember we moved to Rapid City where my grandfather worked in a sawmill one summer. We lived in a tent, a U.S. Army issue type of white canvass. I stayed close to my grandmother during the day while my grandfather was working at the sawmill. I was never in Rapid City before, so I felt uncomfortable being there. I was apprehensive and afraid to see so many white people that seemed they were everywhere swarming around. I played around by myself near our campsite. I did enjoy going to the sawmill company store with my grandmother where she bought groceries and some luxury sweets, which was an adventure for me. Grandmother charged whatever she bought to my grandfather’s account, which the store clerk deducted from my grandfather’s paycheck. I was happy to leave there when my grandfather quit working at the end of the summer.

I remember another place where we lived that was located south of Belvidere for short time during one summer. The place was across the White River on the south side. Where my grandfather was working for a farmer named Brownworth during wheat harvest. We lived in a large house about the size of a three-bedroom house. This house was located about a good mile west from the Brownworth’s farmhouse. The house had a porch across the front of the house. In the back was a red painted barn where I played. Also the house had an attic where I also played. I don’t know who owned that house but I liked the house. It was the best house we lived in during that time.

I also liked that house because I had my own bedroom. I could look out my window and see a big wheat field where the men were harvesting the wheat grain.

The hot sun glistening on the wheat field and the wind blowing made waves shine a golden color. When the wind blew it made what looked like waves of gold running across the wheat field. The waves would run back and forth at the whim of the wind. When the wind subsided then when it started to blow again the waves would start again. When the waves reached the end of the field another wave followed. It was a beautiful sight to see. From the house I could see men working in the field cutting wheat, shocking grain was what they called it then. Then the workers would tie the wheat in bundles and stack the bundles with the wheat grain pointing up. Then workers then would load the stacks on to a horse drawn hayrack. They would haul the bundled wheat to a thrashing machine to harvest the wheat. My grandpa worked there during a summer harvest. At that time I remember my grandmother took me to Belvidere in a horse-drawn wagon. We crossed the White River getting to Belvidere town. The town about four or five miles away as the crow flies. The town had a bank, a hardware store, a drug store, a grocery and probably a post office. Also, a railroad came through town with a stop at the train depot. There were very few people living there then.

Grandma would take me to the drugstore that had a soda fountain with an ice cream parlor that had white top little round tables and black cast-iron chairs. The counter looked like it was made from dark gray marble with high cast-iron stools at the counter. Behind the counter I saw handles that were used to serve ice cream sodas. I had vanilla ice cream served in a white cone-shaped paper cut that fitted into a black cone plastic cup. I was so hungry for the ice cream I ate it so fast that it made my headache above my eyes. I used to look forward going there with my grandma. When we were living there my grandma took me to a gravesite. I think it was west of the house at the end of a small ridge. It was a lonely site out in the prairie but yet a beautiful, serene place where the wind blew with a nice gentle breeze. As I understood it was her mother Lezzy’s grave. The grave was a dirt clay mound with weeds and grass growing around it. I saw a wooden weathered cross leaning to one side of the grave with some faded crape paper flowers with ribbons fluttering with the wind. Later in life I thought it would made a wonderful picture depicting a grandmother with her grandson looking down on the grave with the wind wiping around them. I think from what I can now gather, her family home was near that area. I often thought about that and what my grandma felt; she never told me anything about her mother.

When the wheat harvest was over we moved from that place by wagon toward the next place where we were to settle near Quiver Hill close to the place where I was born.

We traveled by wagon cross-country through Red Stone Basin into Wild Horse Basin in the eastern end of Bad Lands. I rode our saddle horse following the wagon. When I got tired riding, I tied the horse to the back of the wagon and jumped into the wagon. My grandmother placed some blankets on the bed of the wagon where I laid trying to sleep. The wagon wheels rolled and bounced over every rock or rut in the ground and jarred the wagon. I rolled and tossed around but I would close my eyes and tried to sleep anyway. We arrived at Jake Yellow Hawk’s place near the Pettyjohn Frying Pan Ranch where we pitched our tent for the night. The next morning we headed for the place where we were going to live. We traveled on to State Highway 73 then a gravel road toward Quiver Hill going out of the south side of the Bad Lands. Quiver Hill was named after my great-grandfather, Robert Quiver’s family who lived near the top of the hill on the south side of the Bad Lands. Alfred Pettyjohn’s children told me that their grandfather Cap Pettyjohn built the road through the badlands. The daughter of Alfred Pettyjohn told me her father was ten or eleven years old helping his father Cap build the road.

We arrived at a place about a mile west off the road. The place had a one-room shack with one no door. There was only a piece of ragged cloth hanging over the one entrance. The shack had tarpaper siding and roof. My grandparents must have pitched our tent along side the shack for us to sleep and cook. To say the least I was shocked to know that this was to be our home. After some time I assumed that this place would be where I would live. Finally, I accepted that this would be the place where I would belong to call my home. This was my home where I lived with my grandparents until I left for the army in 1954.

One day a truck delivered some building lumber and other building supplies. My grandfather and my stepfather Alex Boyer built a one-room addition to the existing shack with doors and windows that had tarpaper siding and roof. Inside the shack house the walls were unfinished with the studs exposed without any type of interior or exterior finishing. One room was the bedroom and the other was our kitchen and living room. I hung what little clothes I had on nails driven into the exposed studs along the wall. I put the rest of my clothes in boxes under my bed. We had a pot belly wood stove located between my bed and my grandparent’s bed. We had a cast iron stove with oven and a water-heating well on one end of the stove.

The stove was a beauty it had glass white marble doorknobs. The stove had a warming compartment at the top. We drew our water from a spring near the house. My grandparents bought kerosene stove to keep us warm during the winter. We had a bucket of water on top of the stove to have hot water to wash ourselves. During the winter when it snowed, fine snow would sift through the windowsills. Heavy frost formed prism formations over the window glass above my bed. In the mornings I could barely see through the glass that glistened like crystals, cold but a beautiful sight. I slept under several quits that my grandmother made for me out of pieces of discarded clothing. We had an outside toilet, so I learned to do my toilet before dark during the winters; otherwise I would have to sweep the sifted snow and frost away from the seat to sit down. If I waited during a subzero night to do my toilet, my rear end could have stuck to the frozen toilet seat.

During those early days after moving to this last location, we were short of food at times during cold winter bitter days when the temperature was in the sub-zeros. Grandma sent me several times on horseback to unci Fannie to borrow some flour, lard, baking powder, coffee and sugar. From it grandma made biscuits and stove top flour-gravy that we would eat for several days. It sure tasted good with hot coffee. I suppose when one is hungry anything tastes good.

During the hot summers, I slept on the ground in a tent outside with sides of the tent rolled up to allow some cool breeze to pass through. I liked sleeping out in the tent during those summer days. I could hear the rustle of the cottonwood leaves coming from the three tall beautiful cottonwood trees that were below the house in the dry creek bottom. At times the sounds would be soft then vigorous along with the rush of the breeze. The cottonwood beetles that were nesting in the trees came in tune chirping in unison with rustling of the leaves. Later in life I thought about the sound of the rustling of the leaves was just like music from a classical orchestra with the beetles chiming in like a chorus slowly rising to a crescendo for an opening act of a grand performance. The cottonwood trees seemed to be majestic reaching up toward heaven that served as the backdrop on a stage for a grand performance with a choir singing with soothing voices. The sound was tranquil and peaceful. At times when I shout out at the beetles, they would abruptly stop their chiming, then after a few moments, they would slowly chime back in like a chorus rising again to a crescendo. Looking back in time, those summers of gentle breezes, rustling of cottonwood tree leaves, and the chirping of beetles, I like to think a grandeur performance was conducted just for me. Look and listen to the elements of God’s nature. It is telling you something that is healing.

One summer, a truck came to take us to somewhere in Nebraska to pick potatoes. I must have been in the second grade then. My grandparents loaded up our tent, cooking utensils, and some of our clothing in the back of the truck. I had no idea where we were going. It seemed like we were riding forever in back of that truck. Finally we came to a place where the truck stopped at the end of a huge potato field. I don’t remember seeing any trees, any source of water, or any type of shelter. My grandparents set up the tent and unloaded our things. I could see rows and rows of plowed-up potatoes in the field.

I was told that we were to pick up the potatoes and put them in bushel-size gunnysack. Gunnysacks were placed at intervals along the rows of plowed up potatoes. We drug the gunnysacks between our legs and when we got about a bushel then stacked them along the rows. I picked potatoes along side of my grandfather and grandmother. It was hot backbreaking work pulling along those gunnysacks with potatoes in a sandy soil with a hot sun bearing down on us. When we stopped for the day, grandfather would work loading the gunnysacks of potatoes onto a flat truck where the potatoes were hauled to the farmer’s storage bins.

At the end of the day, we would go back to the tent for the evening. I felt so sorry for my grandmother. She must have been very tired because she was out there in the hot sun sandy field picking potatoes with us. She did not complain in spite of working all day. She immediately would start cooking and preparing food for us to eat. She must have used kerosene stove to cook. I don’t remember where or how we got water to cook with or wash ourselves. We were paid by the number of rows of potatoes we picked. I think I made about twenty dollars during that summer picking potatoes. I gave some of my earning to grandma, and I saved the rest to buy me school clothes. I was so happy just to leave that dusty hot place to go home.

Although I did not have any brothers or sisters or a mother that was always at my side, I experienced the strong extended families ties of the Lakota culture. I was taught to call my grandfather in Lakota, tunkasila and my grandmother unci. But in our traditional Lakota extended family, tiwahe, I also called all my grandfather’s brother tunkasila and all his sister’s unci. And outside of our immediate family, we call elderly men tunkasila and elderly women unci for respect. So my grandfather’s brother and sisters were also my grandparents. And likewise their children are all my uncles and aunts, and their children are all my cousins and nieces and nephews and so on. The tiwahe family ties gave me a sense of comfort.

My grandfather’s name was Thomas Albert Quiver. He was the youngest of five children of Robert Quiver and Anna Rattling Hawk. He had one older brother, Harry, and two older sisters, Jenny Quiver-Bad Wound and Fannie Quiver-Poor Bear. I knew them well because we lived within walking distance of them, except for Jenny who lived near the village of Allen on the Pine Ridge Reservation. We called Jenny by her Lakota name Anpetu. Her name translated into English was Day. I knew her and her family well because my grandparents would take me with them when they visited her.

We called Harry Quiver boss when he did not hear us. I think he was called that because he bossed the whole family around. But in Lakota we called him Kaka, slang for grandfather. He had a grandson named Floyd Wilcox who was called Shalo. I don’t know why he was called that. Harry and his wife, Agnes, were raising Shalo. I used to walk to their place to play with him and at times spend the night there. He was about my age.

I spent a lot of time during my toddler years and during elementary school at my grandfather’s sister unci Fannie’s place. When I graduated from high school unci Fannie bought me a gold Boliva watch. She also willed me eighty acres of her land to me, which I regret to this today for selling that land. I spent some very good times with her youngest son Webster. He was one of my uncles, leksi who I called Web. He made a lot of toys for me such a bean shooters, wire horse heads that I could tie to my belt to ride like a horse. He also collected for me cow and horse ankle bones from weathered carcass. From these bones I made miniature horses and cows. At times he could catch a bunny cottontail rabbit for me to play with as a pet. Her older son, my uncle, leksi, Enos, was always generous to me. I remember he bought me a little red wagon and filled it with candy.

Leksi Enos was gone a lot when I was growing up. He played semiprofessional baseball and later joined the army during WWII. Later in life he always praised me in public for my accomplishments. He introduced me to the Lakota Tribal Council during a meeting when he was the president of the council. Also, leksi Enos presented me a War Bonnet of Eagle Feathers, to honor me as a warrior during a festival, wacipi, in Wanblee. When he announced to the public that he was honoring me, Burgess Red Kittle, a U.S. Army Ranger during WWII came forward to shake my hand and danced to honor me. I was deeply touched and very proud to receive that honor.

When I was staying with unci Fannie, at times, a neighbor, Silas Breast, used to come by on horseback. Silas was about the same age as my grandfather. He lived in the next quarter section of land within walking distance from Fannie’s place. I remember he had a large very visible pink birthmark on the left side of his face. When he came by when I was playing outside, the first thing he would say to me, in Lakota, Susula. This word is a Lakota slang word that I took as being disrespectful to me. I used to hate him when he would say that to me. I don’t think none of the grown-ups were around to hear him calling me that. I never did really understand why he called me that. Later in life, I thought, since I was at a young age, I might have been staring at him because of his pink-colored birthmarks on his face and hands. Then at other times he said in Lakota with other words, wicasa miya sni, meaning something like inferring that I did not think of him as a man. I did not really understand why he was saying or what he meant. To this day I still remember what he said to me. I did not tell anyone what he said, apparently because I did not think to do so.

When I was in the elementary school, I remember my grandparents took me along during a weekend to Pine Ridge where my grandmother was involved in some type of tribal council meeting. She was the representative from the Eagle Nest District. The council meeting was to carry over to the following Monday. So my grandfather asked Silas Breast, who was also present at the meeting with his son Joe who was leaving that Sunday to give me a ride back home so I could go to school on Monday. Silas with his son driving were going by our house off the Wanblee road to their house nearby. I remember grandfather gave Silas five dollars to pay for gas. At that time, it seemed like a long ride from Pine Ridge to home, maybe almost two hours. They had a nice car. It was clean, immaculate inside. I was setting in the backseat.

As we rode along, I became tired, so I started to lay down with my head on the seat. Silas would look back over his left shoulder at me and say, Hecunsni yo. In Lakota, it means, don’t do that, and then he would say, wanazin yo, meaning sit up. So I would sit up, and after a while, I would get tired and started to fall asleep bending to my side. Silas would turn around again looking at me telling me not to do that and to sit up. I was getting nauseated and carsick. When we finally arrived close to the house, Joe stopped the car on the road and Silas told me to get out. I jumped out of the car and ran to the house. I was so glad to get out of that car. I never told my grandparents about this episode. Thinking back later in life about this episode, I wondered what would Silas have done to me if I had vomited all over the backseat of his nice clean car. To this day when I remember about that ride I chuckled thinking I should have vomited and thrown up all over the backseat of his immaculate clean car.

At the house, my dog Duce was waiting and so happy to see me, as I was glad to see him. That evening, the only thing in the house to eat was some baking powder biscuits and raisins. So Duce and I had our dinner, and we went to sleep. The next morning I got up and caught the school bus to go to school in Wanblee. I left Duce in the house when I left for school. When I returned from school, my grandparents had returned home and found that Duce crapped in the house.

I do remember one incident about my great-grandfather Robert Quiver. I must have been about six years old then. My great-grandfather used to loan out his workhorses to whoever wanted to borrow them. One day, a white farmer named Kukal, who lived nearby, came to borrow a team of horses. I was interpreting English to Lakota for my great-grandfather that Mr. Kukal wanted to borrow a team of horses. I told Mr. Kukal he could take the team. Later my great-grandfather told the family that he was going to Wanblee for some business, but he couldn’t go because his great-grandson loaned out his team. He used to tease me at times with a big laugh about the time when I loaned out his team. Then he used to say in Lakota, "Before I go to do business, I better check to see if my great-grandson loaned out my team. At that time I had not learned to speak English well. Everyone at home spoke only Lakota. My mother did speak English to me. My great-grandfather, Robert Quiver, and his wife, Rattling Hawk, only speak Lakota. They did not speak English. My entire grandparent’s families only spoke Lakota to me. However my grandparents would speak English to me on occasion.

I do remember walking out to the prairie with my great-grandmother Rattling Hawk to pick wild plants that she used for medicine. She must of have been in her late nineties so she walked slowly with a cane stooping over. Also she had diminished eyesight. As we walked along she would point out certain plants for me to pick. She also would point out wild turnips for me to dig. She had me use a crow bar to pop out the wild turnips out of the ground. I picked for her green plants that had yellow flowers that were about a couple of inches high growing in clusters. These wild plants grew quickly in abundance especially after a good rain. She used these flowers to treat sore throat and goiter by having the patient chew the flowers. She also pointed out a certain plants that had broad leaves about ankle high. She boiled the leaves in water after they were dried to use for the patient to drink like tea to treat upset stomach and other stomach troubles. After we returned to the house she would lay out the plants in the sun to dry. She peeled the skin of the wild turnips and braided them into long strings. She would also dry the turnips in the sun for later use for food.

One summer, when I was going to a Rosebud fair with some kinfolks, when I was ready to leave, all of a sudden I got sick with a severe stomach ache with cramps that I could barely stand up. My great-grandmother treated me with a brewed leaf tea concoction. She made me a brew out of those flower leaves I picked for her. After drinking it by that afternoon I was cured of my stomach cramps. Leksi (uncle) Webster let me ride one of his good saddles horses to ride to the fair.

My great-grandmother smoked using a long stem Lakota style pipe. She used the scrapping from the branches of a red willow. She would send me to get some red willow branches growing down in the creeks. She would have me scrap the main bark off with a