Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Moving to Montana as a freshman at the University of Montana
1971 (And in the Interim from Pine Ridge to California)
We visited the Missoula campus the summer of 1970 and also the University of Idaho campus at Moscow. The most memorable event of that trip was staying at Eddy’s Motel in Butte. I thought to myself this town is really depressed. I learned later the Anaconda Company was on strike that year, besides there was an abandoned WPA housing project across the street from Eddy’s Motel and a mountain of slag left over from copper processing surrounding the area around the motel. Eddy’s is still there today, still operating and just as depressing. There was a recent death in the motel due to a drug overdose. It was still a cute mop and pop motel in 1970 however. The 4 B’s restaurant used to be located in front of Eddy’s motel until the new facility was built on Dewey Boulevard, near the Town Pump complex. It was also the summer of 1970 my dad interviewed with the bishop of San Joaquin in anticipation of being able to move there after my high school graduation the following summer. I remember being struck when the bishop ordered a beer for lunch and bought one for my dad also. The bishop in SD had been married to an alcoholic and strongly disapproved of all drinking, especially among the clergy as it set a poor example among the Indians who struggled with rampant alcoholism. I was also impressed with the availability of alcohol all over California. Beer, wine and hard liquor were openly sold in all grocery stores. In South Dakota you went to a liquor store to buy wine or spirits or beer with alcohol content above 3.2%.
Anyway, back to 1971. My family moved to Reedley, CA after I graduated high school. I was bucking bales and they waved at me as they drove off. My dad said it was the saddest day of his life. I stayed behind in SD and worked for various ranchers and farmers. My grandfather died in early August, the day after his wedding anniversary and two days after his birthday. I had to get a ride to Rapid City and fly to Fresno. I had a 23 hour layover at the old Denver/Stapleton airport and met a dude that turned me on to a joint there to ease my despair. After the funeral in Berkeley, we went back to Reedley. I couldn’t stand that place. It was over a hundred degrees every day and nobody went outside during the day. I told my mom the next morning I was leaving for Pine Ridge. She said if I waited until lunch she would ask my dad if they could get me a bus ticket. I didn’t want to wait and didn’t really mind hitchhiking. Mom drove me 14 miles west to the freeway, which really was just California 99, part freeway and part restricted access. There were still numerous fruit stands along the highway in those days. I especially remember the huts made to look like an orange that sold orangeade and lemonade. There were signs at each exit on the freeway part that said "no hitchhiking beyond this point", so you had to stand on the exit to get a ride. Somewhere up near Sacramento, I was standing on the ramp and an HP came up and gave me a ticket. He said I was standing on the restricted part of the ramp. I later saw the sign that was obscured by the oleander bush. I never paid the ticket although I did receive several notices increasing the fine to $600. I guess it isn’t on the books any longer. I made it to Pine Ridge traveling parts of 3 days. The case of beer that Chauncey and I had stashed in the back of my 1948 Chevy wasn’t there any longer. I think Chauncey had probably been persuaded by his brothers to retrieve it. We had been driving around drinking that before I left the res and the tribal police stopped up. Chauncey was driving, but didn’t have a license. We both got out and they asked who was driving. I said I was and they said to follow them down to the police station. They took off for the station and we went the other direction.
The plan for college was that I would drive the 1948 Chevy to California before the end of the summer and my dad would drive me back up to Montana. When my family moved to California in June they had two cars, a 1968 Chevy and a 1963 Buick Special my grandfather gave up a couple of years earlier when doctor’s advised him, he should no longer drive. I used it to drive to school during my senior year. The Buick gave up the ghost over Wolf Creek Pass in southern Colorado during the family move to California and was towed to Durango. My assignment that fall was to drive through Durango on the way to California, salvage everything of value in the Buick and transport it my folk’s new home in Reedley. The trip took me 3 and one half days of 16 hour days. I didn’t want to drive the old Chevy any faster than 45 miles an hour because it was really old and I didn’t want to throw a rod. I had never registered the car in South Dakota as the HP didn’t have authority on the reservation due to tribal sovereignty, but if I was going to be traveling cross country I figured I might need to exercise more caution. I kept my eye open for abandoned or wrecked cars with current plates on them. Sure enough, a week or so before I left for California a car wrecked between Pine Ridge and White Clay with current plates. I stealthily removed the plates and placed them on my Chevy. I think they were 2 dash plates, meaning they were from Rapid City in Pennington Co. I was only stopped once on the trip to CA, north of Denver for a bad tail light. The officer gave me a warning ticket and told me to get it fixed. I guess they didn’t check the plates! My folks had sent me a credit card to pay for the gas, but I didn’t have much cash. A friend’s mother gave me a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter before I left PR. I had a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers. I pretty much survived on PB sandwiches and smoking “roll me owns”. I was able to buy a candy bar on the credit card in Colorado. I took it easy on the Chevy when I came to the desert in CA and AZ because I remember reading about the Joads, the Okies and Arkies and their Fords quitting in the desert during the dirty ‘30’s. I tried to drive at night as much as possible when it was a little cooler. I made it just north of Bakersfield and a fan belt broke. I was able to find one in a junk yard and used the only $2 I had left to pay for it. My folks and brothers were glad to see me arrive safely in Reedley. I was glad I had survived the trip and wasn’t too worried about the upcoming move to Missoula.
A couple of weeks later we left for Missoula. We made it to Twin Falls, Idaho the first night around midnight and found an old motel on US Highway 30. The next day we drove up to Dillon and had lunch a little place called Skeet’s Café. Later that morning we passed Nissler junction just west of Butte where US 91 met the twenty two mile piece of freeway between Butte and Anaconda that would later become I 90. I remember my first sighting of the Great Stack in Anaconda. It still had smoke pouring from it in 1971. My father told me it was the tallest smokestack in the world. The Washington Monument could fit inside that smokestack. The freeway ended at the Anaconda turnoff and we were back on US 10. The highway entered Deer Lodge and the first great structure you saw was the old state penitentiary. It truly looked like a structure from a different century. It was still very functional then. In fact, men were still men incarcerated there in 1978 when we moved to Deer Lodge. The new prison was built in 1977 and the transition between the two facilities was gradual. It was a cloudy fall day when we entered the Deer Lodge valley and first saw the smelter stack, as we approached Deer Lodge it began to snow. I wondered in the back of my mind what kind of parallel universe I had just entered. Little did I know then how much influence the communities and individuals of Deer Lodge, Anaconda and Butte would have upon me in later life.
We arrived in Missoula in the early evening and got a room at the Palace Hotel. My dad found a phone to call my mom and tell her we had arrived safely. We had dinner. The next morning we went to the University where my dad helped me find my dorm room in Duniway Hall. He left quickly as he wanted to make a good distance the first night on the trip back to CA which he would have to drive solo after leaving his oldest son to start his college career. I located one of my two classmates from Rushville High, also attending the U of M. Rick Orr was also planning to study forestry at the U. We both had to be there early for the forestry freshman orientation camp in the Lubrecht Forest. That night a few of us got together in Rick’s room, someone bought a case of beer and I passed out in Rick’s room.
1971 (And in the Interim from Pine Ridge to California)
We visited the Missoula campus the summer of 1970 and also the University of Idaho campus at Moscow. The most memorable event of that trip was staying at Eddy’s Motel in Butte. I thought to myself this town is really depressed. I learned later the Anaconda Company was on strike that year, besides there was an abandoned WPA housing project across the street from Eddy’s Motel and a mountain of slag left over from copper processing surrounding the area around the motel. Eddy’s is still there today, still operating and just as depressing. There was a recent death in the motel due to a drug overdose. It was still a cute mop and pop motel in 1970 however. The 4 B’s restaurant used to be located in front of Eddy’s motel until the new facility was built on Dewey Boulevard, near the Town Pump complex. It was also the summer of 1970 my dad interviewed with the bishop of San Joaquin in anticipation of being able to move there after my high school graduation the following summer. I remember being struck when the bishop ordered a beer for lunch and bought one for my dad also. The bishop in SD had been married to an alcoholic and strongly disapproved of all drinking, especially among the clergy as it set a poor example among the Indians who struggled with rampant alcoholism. I was also impressed with the availability of alcohol all over California. Beer, wine and hard liquor were openly sold in all grocery stores. In South Dakota you went to a liquor store to buy wine or spirits or beer with alcohol content above 3.2%.
Anyway, back to 1971. My family moved to Reedley, CA after I graduated high school. I was bucking bales and they waved at me as they drove off. My dad said it was the saddest day of his life. I stayed behind in SD and worked for various ranchers and farmers. My grandfather died in early August, the day after his wedding anniversary and two days after his birthday. I had to get a ride to Rapid City and fly to Fresno. I had a 23 hour layover at the old Denver/Stapleton airport and met a dude that turned me on to a joint there to ease my despair. After the funeral in Berkeley, we went back to Reedley. I couldn’t stand that place. It was over a hundred degrees every day and nobody went outside during the day. I told my mom the next morning I was leaving for Pine Ridge. She said if I waited until lunch she would ask my dad if they could get me a bus ticket. I didn’t want to wait and didn’t really mind hitchhiking. Mom drove me 14 miles west to the freeway, which really was just California 99, part freeway and part restricted access. There were still numerous fruit stands along the highway in those days. I especially remember the huts made to look like an orange that sold orangeade and lemonade. There were signs at each exit on the freeway part that said "no hitchhiking beyond this point", so you had to stand on the exit to get a ride. Somewhere up near Sacramento, I was standing on the ramp and an HP came up and gave me a ticket. He said I was standing on the restricted part of the ramp. I later saw the sign that was obscured by the oleander bush. I never paid the ticket although I did receive several notices increasing the fine to $600. I guess it isn’t on the books any longer. I made it to Pine Ridge traveling parts of 3 days. The case of beer that Chauncey and I had stashed in the back of my 1948 Chevy wasn’t there any longer. I think Chauncey had probably been persuaded by his brothers to retrieve it. We had been driving around drinking that before I left the res and the tribal police stopped up. Chauncey was driving, but didn’t have a license. We both got out and they asked who was driving. I said I was and they said to follow them down to the police station. They took off for the station and we went the other direction.
The plan for college was that I would drive the 1948 Chevy to California before the end of the summer and my dad would drive me back up to Montana. When my family moved to California in June they had two cars, a 1968 Chevy and a 1963 Buick Special my grandfather gave up a couple of years earlier when doctor’s advised him, he should no longer drive. I used it to drive to school during my senior year. The Buick gave up the ghost over Wolf Creek Pass in southern Colorado during the family move to California and was towed to Durango. My assignment that fall was to drive through Durango on the way to California, salvage everything of value in the Buick and transport it my folk’s new home in Reedley. The trip took me 3 and one half days of 16 hour days. I didn’t want to drive the old Chevy any faster than 45 miles an hour because it was really old and I didn’t want to throw a rod. I had never registered the car in South Dakota as the HP didn’t have authority on the reservation due to tribal sovereignty, but if I was going to be traveling cross country I figured I might need to exercise more caution. I kept my eye open for abandoned or wrecked cars with current plates on them. Sure enough, a week or so before I left for California a car wrecked between Pine Ridge and White Clay with current plates. I stealthily removed the plates and placed them on my Chevy. I think they were 2 dash plates, meaning they were from Rapid City in Pennington Co. I was only stopped once on the trip to CA, north of Denver for a bad tail light. The officer gave me a warning ticket and told me to get it fixed. I guess they didn’t check the plates! My folks had sent me a credit card to pay for the gas, but I didn’t have much cash. A friend’s mother gave me a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter before I left PR. I had a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers. I pretty much survived on PB sandwiches and smoking “roll me owns”. I was able to buy a candy bar on the credit card in Colorado. I took it easy on the Chevy when I came to the desert in CA and AZ because I remember reading about the Joads, the Okies and Arkies and their Fords quitting in the desert during the dirty ‘30’s. I tried to drive at night as much as possible when it was a little cooler. I made it just north of Bakersfield and a fan belt broke. I was able to find one in a junk yard and used the only $2 I had left to pay for it. My folks and brothers were glad to see me arrive safely in Reedley. I was glad I had survived the trip and wasn’t too worried about the upcoming move to Missoula.
A couple of weeks later we left for Missoula. We made it to Twin Falls, Idaho the first night around midnight and found an old motel on US Highway 30. The next day we drove up to Dillon and had lunch a little place called Skeet’s Café. Later that morning we passed Nissler junction just west of Butte where US 91 met the twenty two mile piece of freeway between Butte and Anaconda that would later become I 90. I remember my first sighting of the Great Stack in Anaconda. It still had smoke pouring from it in 1971. My father told me it was the tallest smokestack in the world. The Washington Monument could fit inside that smokestack. The freeway ended at the Anaconda turnoff and we were back on US 10. The highway entered Deer Lodge and the first great structure you saw was the old state penitentiary. It truly looked like a structure from a different century. It was still very functional then. In fact, men were still men incarcerated there in 1978 when we moved to Deer Lodge. The new prison was built in 1977 and the transition between the two facilities was gradual. It was a cloudy fall day when we entered the Deer Lodge valley and first saw the smelter stack, as we approached Deer Lodge it began to snow. I wondered in the back of my mind what kind of parallel universe I had just entered. Little did I know then how much influence the communities and individuals of Deer Lodge, Anaconda and Butte would have upon me in later life.
We arrived in Missoula in the early evening and got a room at the Palace Hotel. My dad found a phone to call my mom and tell her we had arrived safely. We had dinner. The next morning we went to the University where my dad helped me find my dorm room in Duniway Hall. He left quickly as he wanted to make a good distance the first night on the trip back to CA which he would have to drive solo after leaving his oldest son to start his college career. I located one of my two classmates from Rushville High, also attending the U of M. Rick Orr was also planning to study forestry at the U. We both had to be there early for the forestry freshman orientation camp in the Lubrecht Forest. That night a few of us got together in Rick’s room, someone bought a case of beer and I passed out in Rick’s room.
