True Alaskans

Remembering Rodney

The face looked a little familiar. But the name was a slam-dunk giveaway. You may have seen Rodney’s face, as he made it on the front page of the Anchorage Daily News. The accompanying story, about alcohol was sad, as I remember Rodney when he was just a youngster. Rodney’s dad was a guy named Mike, originally from the east coast. I knew Mike’s son, from the first marriage. Mike passed away not to long ago, but his memory lives on. When I helped his son move north, it was Mike that gave me a helping handout. He was a keeper friend with that first handshake. Maybe that was what Alaska was all about – helping out and friendships. That friendship allowed indoctrination into a culture that to this day I hold an utmost respect upon, the Native Alaskan culture. Sure there was the wilderness, the pipeline, the drugs and continued partying that followed the construction of that controversial project, but there were more important things in the “Last Frontier”. What Mike and his family introduced me too was the opportunity to experience something that most transplants to Alaska only hear or read about. I am talking this Alaskan Native culture - 10,000 years old - something that seems lost in the big cities of Anchorage and Fairbanks, or well kept under lock and key. For myself, it was like going abroad on a work-study program wherein you live with a host family, to learn their ways and means. When I first arrived to Fairbanks back in 76, it was Mike that gave me and 2-other “freeloaders” a handout. It was more then a handout. He gave us a place to stay. It meant a warm bed and he kept our bellies full. None of us had jobs at the time, and pipeline construction was gearing down, so the out of work lines at the union halls were miles long and growing each and everyday. Basically, jobs were few and far between. And winter was coming on fast and strong. Mike had a second family, married to a woman named “Babe”. She was a beautiful lady, Native Alaskan from somewhere down the Yukon River. Always smiling and not at all intimidated that her home was under attack by newcomers – white men at that, from the East Coast. Guys with weird accents! But Babe took us all in. Like hospitality was a normal preferential treatment to visitors. Maybe that is what made Alaska great in the early days. So with work becoming scarcer so, Mike would find things for us to do – chores around his place on Farmer’s Loop Road. It meant a bed and food. Besides cooking for her own family, which included 7 total, Babe also put out for the extras, with no fuss whatsoever. It would be sometimes near midnight when she would finally finish up the chores. There were three boys in the family. They looked more native then white. It must have been Babe’s genes that made it so. Michael was the oldest, followed by Rodney and then “Little” eddy as he was called. Then there was Robin and the jewel of the family, baby Crystal. I would get to know the boys pretty well over time. Michael was like his dad, stubborn and shrewd. Rodney, well I thought he would one day be a politician, maybe a senator, he had that thing about him. Quiet, sincere and always holding a neutral position, to defend his big brother when trouble made its way into the scene, at the same time respecting the elders - his parents. Eddy, was always smiling. Robin was Mike and Babe’s daughter and Crystal was just a fun loving baby girl that consumed everybody’s attention. Michael would loose his life along the Yukon River. Sad it was. Now Mike not only gave us a place to stay for free, he was instrumental at getting us jobs up at the University of Fairbanks. Mike was a well respected man about the campus, the supervisor of the grounds crew. So he made plans for us. First it meant part-time work, snow shoveling the sidewalks when ice and snow made it difficult for students to get around. Now as others frowned at the thought of snow, we cheered it on. It paid pretty damn good! The cold was something else, but Mike warned us that only a fool would get cold with this kind of job. It meant a lot of coffee time! But this was good, as when others were going without work, at least there was something to make us feel like this was our new home with potential. It had too work, as with winter it was not an option to drive back down the Alcan Highway. That is when it was still a somewhat wilderness road. When gas had to be carried for the long haul. When if snow or rain hit the road, Mudhole Smith’s dream came true. And Mike never wanted any money in return for helping us out. He told us to save, as there would be time for payback, he would say with a laugh, during brief intermissions when his cigar was not keeping him entertained. Mike had a sidekick named Dilly, what a character! Anyway, living with this family taught me about the Native Alaskan culture, so cherished to this day that I have authored several novels wherein I try to interweave that culture upon a “white man’s” life predicaments. There is the “Alaskan Company Man”, wherein a spiritual shaman named Kahootek makes his rounds around the oil derricks on the North Slope. There is another story about a white-man from NYC that gets involved in an Eskimo whale hunt. And the another about a young athlete that befriends an entire village of Athabaskan natives out at Eklutna Lake. These novels and others are available at www:storylineonline.com. It is yet a reader-free site! I have even involved myself in learning the native Athabaskan language, talk about tough! But so interesting. So while work allowed us to save for our own place, the time with Mike and his family would leave a lasting impression of a unique family. Now even though I felt like we were intruding, I also cherished that opportunity, again to learn this Native Alaskan culture. It seemed there was always house company, Babe’s friends and relatives coming in from the villages. Like a stop-over place. It was interesting, as this is where one could sit down and listen to stories about village life, to what it meant being an Athabaskan living along the Tananna or Yukon rivers. Where one could hear the trials and tribulations of a subsistence lifestyle, on the rivers just downstream from Fairbanks. This was not some fantasy make-believe remake over old ways of life, but reality life! And smoked fish and pilot bread crackers were always the table fare for the story telling times, along with tea. And the friends and relatives in from the villages came for varying reasons. From medical to bringing in native crafts for sale. One day, a guy pulled up with some Yukon River kings. Babe was right out there showing us how to prepare the fish, and laughing at what we thought we knew. Hey, I fished all my life, but how to handle a 50-pound fish, it was a challenge. And talk about good eating. This was the prized fish, especially when it was smoked. So some of the visitors to Mike and Babe’s place were in-laws coming to town to sell things - like dried fish or mukluks. Weekends were reserved for partying. Hey, Fairbanks was a party hardy town. And when Mike introduced you to an acquaintance, that new found associate would also become a friend. So it was like a friendship tree, getting bigger and bigger. And those that Mike associated with were true Alaskans, so these were the individuals you relied upon for answers in efforts to carve out a reason to stay in Alaska. In fact I was lucky to land a job up at the university power plant, where I would become dear friends with an older Athabaskan named Fred. This guy would teach me how to navigate the Minto Flats all the way to the Yukon River and back up the Tananna. Over time, I would loose touch with Mike’s family. But the memories persist. One memorable trip we all went on was my first trip to Anchorage, the “big city”. It was planned for the weekend of the Fur Rendezvous. We landed on 4th Avenue and that is where the vehicles would remain for the next three days. It was one party after another. And like before, we didn’t need to book a hotel, as there came plenty of places to stay, mostly friends of Babe, native Alaskans. With the same hospitality as we had been accustomed too in Fairbanks. So maybe things didn’t turn out so well for Rodney’s brother Michael or himself, but I can say this about that. I learned something very special from Rodney’s family, still cherished this day. Michael was part of that learning experience. Rodney was also part of that learning experience. And maybe Rodney remembers the time I went winter camping with the three boys out on Harding Lake. We survived! Now I thought I knew something about survival, east coast type survival. It was a little different when the temperatures were hovering close to minus 20, during the daytime sun time! But the boys knew what to do, from getting a fire burning to a good shelter. Even though a few boots went missing, what’s that smell? True Athabaskan boys in my book. True Alaskans they are. First impressions are so valuable in my book. And when we were introduced to Mike and his family, it instilled such a lasting impression that I have made a career here in Alaska, for the past 30-years thanks to true Alaskan’s, some very true!

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