One Little Indian (Native American) Boy

Growing up in North Dakota where we were, everyone was pink.  I recall a lot of prejudice against anyone whose skin tone was different.  Even joining a union was very difficult if you were black or brown.  I never became acquainted with any black people in North Dakota and Montana but I did work with a few Indians.

Recently I was in the hospital for a few days with pneumonia.  Of course a hospital comes stocked with a lot of young, pretty nurses.  I admire nurses, old or young, because they have a difficult job.  Rarely do you find one that complains.  To be friendly and get acquainted with them, I ask their name, nationality and how long they have been nurses.

One of the nurses had an unusual name.  I asked her what nationality she was.  She said; “Native American.”  That makes sense!  They truly are the natives of this land.  Just because Columbus was lost, didn’t know where he was or how far from India he had landed, shouldn’t be a reason to pin an incorrect name on an entire people.  The name “Indian” has been widely, and wrongly, spread.

Now for the point of this story.

When I was younger we had a little ditty, a nursery type rhyme as it were, that we would sing.  It went; “One little, two little, three little Indians”.  (Er, … Native Americans.)  You would sing the numbers up to ten and then back down to one little Indian (Native American) boy.  One day I was sent to do some wiring in an apartment house where a number of Native American families were living.

In the yard outside there were two little boys driving stone cars in the dirt.  It reminded me of my childhood when we did exactly the same thing.  One little boy was driving real fast.  He was running on his feet, bending over and pushing his stone car in the dirt.

Suddenly he tripped and did a somersault, landing on his knees.  He looked a little disoriented.  Looking around he spied a white chicken feather, grabbed it, and stuck it in his hair.  Then he started dancing around and clapping his hand to his mouth while yelling; “woo, woo.”

I asked him; “What are you doing?”

He said in a monotone; “I’m a Injun.”

“What’s a Injun?”

He hesitated a second and then said; “They ride horshes.”

“O.K.”

I think it’s time we learn to call them by their proper designation!

You Go To College for That?

One time the guy I was working for took me along to look at a job.  The job was located on a radar site.  There were a large number of steel poles set up.  They must have been 60 feet tall.  The poles were used to send signals into space and receive other signals back and transfer them into the building.

There must have been 10 to 15 poles all in a cluster on the grounds of the site.  We were walking among the poles, looking over the job.  The boss said to the man in charge of the whole project; “When these leaf out it should be nice and cool down here.”

Being warm in the winter and cool in the summer is a major concern in North Dakota and Montana.

The boss had a good sense of humor.  His wife related a story to me of one of the stunts he pulled.

The two of them had gone down to visit their son in college.  As they approached the front entrance to the main office building of the college, they could see some workmen on the roof working on something behind one of the parapets.

Of a sudden the boss broke into a run towards the building, waving his arms frantically and yelling; “Don’t jump!  Don’t jump!”  His wife was thoroughly embarrassed, as there was no one attempting to jump.  There was only the work going on behind the parapet.

Apparently, it didn’t get back to anyone in authority to come and see who needed to be rescued.

The company was located in a small town with a local college.  A motel had decided to turn some of their rooms into apartments to rent to the students.  As we entered a room to assess the job, the kids inhabiting the room were in various stages of undress.

It was a room full of boys and girls, lying about on the beds and couch.  There was no way to misunderstand what was going on in the room.  Additionally, the room’s occupants did not seem the least bit concerned that they were under observation by complete strangers.  They practically ignored us.

As we were leaving, walking the one block back to the shop I noted; “I didn’t know you had to go to college to learn how to do that.”

The reaction was not what I expected.  His neck stiffened.  His walk altered.  I could tell that he didn’t like my comment.

It was only later that I learned that his only son was in college at the time.

The Forty Foot Ladder

Sometimes I can’t remember if I came up with the joke first, or if I got the idea from someone else.  Whenever I would come home from work, my wife would ask about me day; “How was your day?  Did you have any trouble?  Did you get hurt?”  (Why would she ask that?)

One day I planned to reply; “It was O.K.  I just fell off of a forty foot ladder.”

After an appropriate amount of screaming and concern I planned to say; “It’s O.K.  I was standing on the bottom rung.”

However that day one of my wife’s old friends was visiting.  When she visits with an old friend everything else is forgotten.  I knew that she wouldn’t be concentrating on what I said, thus she wouldn’t say the words in the right way and the joke would probably fall flat.  But I am persistent.  So I walked in and just blurted out; “I just fell off a forty foot ladder today.”

My wife’s friend said in a very dry way; “Did you bounce?”

I never tried pulling her leg again.

Another person I would never mess with was an old painter.  He was very particular about his work.  He wouldn’t stand for anyone messing it up.  When he finished a hardwood floor he would holler; “Take off your shoes.”

My boss at the time wasn’t as particular.  He wore those rubber overshoes with the buckles, and he would leave the buckles unfastened.  He would walk through mud, snow, rain, heat, whatever, and charge right into a building without a second thought.

One time as he was about to enter a room with a floor the old painter had finished, the painter called out to him; “Are your feet clean?”

The boss retorted; “They should be, I washed them this morning.”

I was headed out the back door to get something out of my pick up and heard a sound up front.  I went to investigate and saw my boss rapidly exiting the building, … with the old painter holding/directing him by the scruff of the neck.

I quickly snuck around the back of the building so that no one would know I had observed the whole event.

When I got back to the shop I told the boss; “I didn’t think to tell you that the painter is rather touchy about his floors.”

The boss said; “He is kind of fussy isn’t he.”