Dorcas Neakok

Reindeer herding kept the family on the move. This provided Dorcas with childhood memories of traveling with reindeer herds to a variety of villages such as Selawik, Buckland, Kotzebue, Kivalina, Point Hope and finally Point Lay at the age of eleven. It is in Point Lay that Dorcas began regular school attendance and lived with the schoolteachers while her parents continued working as reindeer herders. From the age of eleven until marriage, Dorcas stayed with her large family only in the summer on a part-time basis.

Responsibilites as a mother came too quickly when, at the age of eighteen, Dorcas became the second wife of Allen Upicksoun, a thirty-nine year old widower with many children. Allen and Dorcas had four more children of their own. Suddenly, at the age of twenty-eight, Dorcas became a widow with eight children to raise. Those were tough days at the “Old Village” across the lagoon when Allen died. Work was hard to come by and there were many widows with large families.

Warren Neakok was taking care of his mother and younger siblings at the time. His father had died when he was fourteen, forcing him to quit school to hunt and trap for the family. He continued those responsibilities as an adult and then helped take care of Dorcas and her children after the death of her husband.

Warren and Dorcas were married in 1947 and had six more children of their own. Through hard work and resourcefulness they survived difficult times. The worst, described by Dorcas, as the forced departure of the village children to distant schools for their education after the closing of the Point Lay school.

Lonely years best describe life for Dorcas as she and Warren became the only residents of Point Lay through the ‘60’s until it’s resettling in the early 1970’s. Relief from that loneliness came with the children’s summer visits and time outdoors fishing, hunting and camping. When asked if she likes how the village has grown, Dorcas answered with a smile, “I always knew they would come back. That’s what we were getting ready for all those years. We’re all family here. All related.”

Dorcas was interviewed by Yvonne Yarber at her home in Point Lay in May 1988 and 1989. Transcripts of those English tape recordings were edited by the interviewer to reflect Dorcas’ speaking style. Grammatical changes were made to clarify intent. This manuscript was read to Dorcas for corrections and approval in May and July 1989.

It should be noted that Dorcas’ first language is lñupiaq. Whenever lñupiaq words appear in italics they have been translated into the current orthography by James Nageak who listened to tape excerpts. Refer to Appendix A for the pronunciation guide to the lñupiaq personal names that are not italicized. Brackets indicate notes from the editor or lñupiaq definitions by James Nageak (J.N.).

WAKING UP IN KIANA

When I first remembered people it was as though I was just waking up. Before that was like there were no people, nothing. I was about five years old when I first remembered things. That was in Kiana where I had lots of playmates, cousins — the Jacksons, Hopes, and Bob Mulukson. Some of them have died.

There weren’t too many people. Just two little villages close together — the Eskimo village in the old place and another village by the school house with stores and some White people married to Eskimos. Uke Clara Rotman. Clara’s daddy named Lee, had a little store in Kiana. Later Clara married Rotman and had a store in Kotzebue. She’s still alive but getting old, in her eighties. And the Fosters in Kiana had an Eskimo mamma. Those were my playmates, but I don’t remember some of them.

My daddy had four sisters in Kiana. That’s the reason I remember Kiana when I was small. I guess my daddy took me from Point Hope to Kiana by dog team but I don’t remember. He moved there to see his sisters. When they were children they lost their parents in the Kiana area. Their daddy died and then one week later their mamma died too.

Six children were left behind, five girls and some of them were babies — the youngest was just born. That was too many children so the people just divided them up by whoever wanted them. The five girls went to people around Kiana but one of them died. My daddy was next to the oldest and he ended up in Point Hope, his name was Christopher Willie Tingook — they called him Willie Tingook. Daddy and his sisters were all orphans. I never even saw pictures of his parents.

I know I went to school in Kiana but I don’t know how many years. I don’t remember much. I know they called me Dora in Kiana, even now. That’s what the teacher had on my birth certificate. I turned into Dorcas when I came to Point Lay.

The schoolhouse was just one room with benches. They made them out of trees, long benches and short benches. They must have had lots of trees. But I don’t really know how they made them. I didn’t care about those kinds of things.
 
I don’t even remember my teacher. He was a single man. I remember my first school Christmas there, I sang a song in English all alone. Even when I was through with school I used to sing it for my children. They didn’t understand what I was singing. I must have been poor in English when I learned it. I’ve forgotten that song now and couldn’t sing it. Anyway, we had Christmas day there. Christmas was about like anywhere else, I guess. But it was the first time I’d seen decorations like that.

Even with school going on, I went out with my parents hunting. They just took me in and out of school. Before the river would breakup we went on what you call a muskrat hunt. They took us out of town to where there were little ponds.

I remember rabbits and fish, things like that. An old lady, Miiyyuuraq was one of the Barres, she was related to Susie Barre. I remember her fishing under the ice with a fishnet. When we got out of school we used to run to her and pull her sled. She fed us fish eggs with fresh snow. I liked those eggs. It was just like ice cream, cold.

I followed my daddy rabbit hunting. The whole town went by dogteam to an island where two rivers forked. People would line up and walk between the willows from one end of the island chasing the rabbits ahead. When they reached a clear place, people waiting at the other end shot the rabbits with shotguns or .22’s. That’s how they hunted them. Rabbits were killed by sled loads. I remember picking up rabbits till I couldn’t drag them anymore. Then the people divided them up. Everybody got the same amount even if they didn’t use a gun and just helped drive the rabbits by making noises to scare them.

They did the same thing in Kiana with fishing — all the people got together. They made a big net, like a trap. It was a big hoop with a net the shape of a big sleeping bag closed at one end. They put the fish trap in a big hole in the ice and built like a willow fence on both sides under the water so the fish would go in that trap. When it filled up, the people pulled it out and put all the fish on top of the ice. Then they divided it all up just like with the rabbits.

Then I don’t remember much else except one summer when we were staying in tents among the trees. There were tents for three families — three tents. That was with my uncle Aayuuksaq and his wife; Avirpjaq and his family; Qargigruaq and his family whose only daughter Martha is living in Kiana. I don’t even know her father’s English name, just Qargi~ruaq. That time, I didn’t know anybody’s English name.

We went out there with dogsleds before breakup and traveled upriver so we could drift down. They cut up logs out there and made a raft. After the ice went out, we drifted down with the raft in the Kobuk River — the one that goes to Kiana, Ambler and Shungnak. We put sleds and dogs on the raft, even set up the tent on the raft. I took care of my little sisters. To make sure they didn't fall off, I kept them inside the tents. If we went out of the tent we had to sit down. I got scared once in a while.

Lots of people went out because that was the only way to get a dollar — muskrats. It must have been early spring because whatever they hunted they made into paniqtaq - dried meat or fish. When they got back to the village they sold those rafts to the store for wood. I must have been five or six because when I was seven we left Kiana.

Different Places

Those whaling ships and trading ships in the early 1900’s used to get Eskimo laborers to work on them. It was a lot of heavy work. And those White whaling ships worked them really hard. They had to make seal oil pokes for the whale oil they melted down. That’s a lot of hard work to do the flippers in the poke — all the bones have to come out, otherwise they rot. And that ship work took them far away from home. My daddy did lots of that work, especially before I was born or could remember.

I know Papa met Greenlanders when he was working for Captain Pederson who had a ship with all kinds of food and supplies, just like a store. That ship used to go up to Hershel Island as soon as the ice broke up. Daddy was staying at Point Hope then. Pederson hired Eskimos to help him like Atarjauraq, Lane, Miliq, and Papa. (I used to call my father Papa all the time. It took me a long time to learn what’s "dad" and "father” — not until I started learning to read.) They were all about the same age. They never reached Greenland but some Greenlanders would be there close to Hershel Island. That’s how they got to know each other.

They could understand each other’s language. They spoke the same Eskimo dialect, only really slow. I can understand them way before they finish their words. My brother went to Greenland to be in the Army or Air Force there. He said he could understand them but he had to really slow himself down so they could understand him. He told me when he wrote letters to me. He was the youngest boy and close to me. He used to write me wherever he was. I wrote him too.

Most of the time Papa made a living hunting and trapping because there was no place to work for money except longshoring in Kotzebue. I know we went to Kotzebue every summer when I was about seven and eight. He was longshoring on those store barges with scows that brought in all the everyday things like coffee, tea, flour, groceries, ammunition and crackers. That time I never saw Sailor Boy crackers, only Skookum. Daddy worked longshoring for Tom Barriman and Archie Ferguson who had a store before Rotman got there. Rotman took over Barriman’s house and repaired it.

While my daddy was longshoring, my mamma sewed. She was a good sewer. Some Point Hopers would always bring her ugruk skins to make waterproof mukiuks out of seal skin. Sewing was just automatic for her, like twisting her sinew. I used to help her split the sinew. She’d tell me whether they were smooth or not and whether to make them soft by hammering. Mamma chewed the ugruk to make the bottoms. She made so many of those mukluks. sometimes she would hardly sleep. She sold them or traded for meat or fish or anything to eat because Daddy wasn’t making much longshoring on the beach.

I saw what was supposed to be the first plane to go to Kotzebue. I heard Mrs. Barriman paid how many dollars to just fly around for a ride and land again. She was so fat they had to push her in the door. I know I watched that because I wanted to take a ride too. I was between seven and eight years old, maybe. I saw Bishop Rowe the first time he went to Kotzebue too, but that was later.

Our family never stayed in just one place. We moved to different places. I remember Papa taking me to Selawik with reindeer and a sled. I’d stay in the sled and my daddy would drive. I don’t know how he got the reindeer. He must have been helping with reindeer herding. I liked to travel with my daddy. He took me along because I was the oldest and he had no son until later.

I remember seeing Laps at Buckland . They had reindeer herds in Buckland. I traveled with them too, with my father. I saw those Lap people had log houses up in the air. The houses were made of logs up in the air. But now that I think about what I’ve seen, maybe I’ve fooled myself. People wouldn’t make houses like that. But I remember climbing up and down; and seeing people going in and out.

We were driving reindeer. They used good reindeer to pull the sleds — reindeer trained to never run away or go around the sled. I know one time I liked - the sled was too full so for fun my daddy took a dry reindeer skin and put it on the ground, hair side down. It was just like a sled and he put me on top of it.

Then he tied the neck of the reindeer skin to a rope he hooked on to our dog — what they called a sheepdog. I don’t know if he was really a sheepdog, but that’s what they called him. He was the kind of dog the reindeer herders trained really good to obey. Daddy made sure I wouldn’t drop out of the sled by leaving extra rope where he tied it to the reindeer skin neck. That was for me to hold so even if I tipped over I could still hang on, stop the dog and climb back in the skin sled. It was fun.

I just don’t know where we were going from there. We were driving reindeer. I know we stopped and maybe after I ate I went to sleep for how many years until I remembered again.

Sometimes when we traveled, we stayed in tents, but not always. Mamma had to do all the cooking because often lots of other reindeer herders traveled with us. Sometimes she had to sew patches for whoever wore a hole in their boot bottoms. When we traveled with the herders in the winter, Papa always cut square blocks of snow with a saw or long knife.

He built a snow house about the size of a tent — big enough for everybody. Papa put snow blocks all the way around for walls, except the doorway. On the top he put a canvas tent or skins — whatever we had. We didn’t have money for a good tent all the time. Making the snow house was pretty fast and I helped fill the joints with fresh snow to block the wind from going in.

All my life was outdoors — because we came from Kotzebue and Kiana by dogteam, all the way from Kivalina to Point Hope and then here. When we came to Point Lay, that’s where I stopped. When my parents went back to Point Hope I was already married with children. I said I wouldn’t go back because I was tired of traveling.

Kali

When we first came to Point Lay it was 1930. I was born May 15, 1919 so I was still a young girl, eleven years old. The first school was half built. And there were three houses; one on top of that Kali and two in Point Lay, up by the flat part going toward Utukok. The hump is Kali where the graves are and the ice cellars. Everything right there they call Kalimiut. Where Point Lay is now, this little hill up to DEW-line is Kayuqtualuk.

Kali means somebody dragging. The story we heard all the time was about an old lady that lived down there with her grandson. Her grandson wanted to eat the green leaves he knew were on this side, those round sweet leaves called ippiqsan, and the bittersweet ones called qurjulliq. He wanted to eat all the good ones - ippiq large long sweet leaf, qurjuiiq sorrel leaf, oxyria digyna , quagaq sourdock,wild spinach, edible willow leaf, rurnex articus , suraq willow leaf. Those are the little bitter green leaves that live in the willows close to the ground in little wind. People still pick those in Nome and put them in seal oil. That is what he wanted to eat.
 
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The boy’s grandma said to him, “You stay inside tommorrow and I’ll go across to get some. If you look out through the door I’ll be stuck and won’t get you anything. So, no matter how long I stay away, don’t peek out.”

The next day his grandma got up early and got out her big ulu. I don’t know how long it was. Maybe It was jade. I don’t know for sure. They called it a big ulu anyway. Well the grandma went out and stayed away all day. She started to get tired. All this time the little boy wanted to look out. He waited but at last, he peeked out.

His grandma was dragging a big piece of ground with all the green leaves, back to the boy. It was cut like a big piece of cake and she was pulling it home. That ground was cut from the low spot over by the DEW-line. You can see the low spot there today. She was trying to pull that ground over to their house on the sandspit. When the ground stopped, she yelled, “Aasraa!” an exclamation meaning “Oh, no! Too much.” She knew what the little boy had done. Well, that piece of ground is Kali. I don’t know if it’s true or not. It really looks like it’s true.

Way before we moved to Kali or the “Old Village”, Susook and Tugin had cabins right here on this side where we are today But it was too much trouble living on this side so they went across to Kali. That same time, Neakok lived south at the place on the map named Neakok Warehouse. Summertime, they all got together to go shopping at Icy Cape for their one year supply. Later Pederson came here with his big ship so it was easier to get supplies.

When we moved to Point Lay, Tugin and his wife Samarun Johnson and Rachel Toweena in English were living on top of Kali. They lost all their kids and were living there alone. Down below there was Upicksoun and his wife. Then next door was Charlie Susook and his wife Tunuallak. Toweena and Susook lived here for how many years. I think they came around 1914 from Point Hope when the price of baleen dropped. That was when the White whaling ships were around. Agnasagaq lived around here too. That’s Amos Agnasagga’s grandparents on his mamma’s side. That was all — the only people here.

When we first came other people —like my auntie Agnes and her husband Towksjhea, Swans, Stones, Macheena, and Tingook —lived down at the end of the mountains at Kuutchiaq where the big coal mine is operating right now. You see, there wasn’t really a town in Point Lay yet, and they just started building the school that made Point Lay. After it was built all those people came and put their kids in school. And the Icy Cape people, Taksrutkut plural for name Taksruk the ones they call Tukrook, came here to Point Lay, what we call the Old Site, Old Town or Old Village. There were three Point Lays - the Old Village at Kali; the New Site over by the river, we call that River Site too; and this place now close to DEW-line is the Second or Main Site.

People were taking care of reindeer before we moved to the old town, Kali. The Point Lay herders at the time were Tommy Neakok, Dan Susook, Samuel Agnasagga in Wainwright now, Steven Koenig, his older brothers from Kivalina, and my daddy. Whole families were with the herders.

I helped my daddy with the reindeers when I was a teenager - ran after them during corralling time. There was a wire fence corral over by the water lake. That road going from DEW-line is by the water lake. There’s a narrow spot there where we had the corral.

The whole town, and people from other places, helped with corralling. There were over a hundred and fifty people. Most of them were from the south of Point Lay. All the way from Point Hope. Icy Cape people came, people like Tuurragruaq, Tuurraq, Taksruk, Sagluaq, and Agnasagaq.

It was fun work. The hard part was when we chased them into the corral. Every person had a long burlap sack they held together in a big line. Then we tried to push the reindeer towards the big corral. We had to run until we were almost out of breath. Some of the people had to drop out.

And the reindeer would try to jump over us. If we were too far apart, they would jump in between us, over the burlap. Some of the reindeer were wild or mean. People had to protect themselves from kicking. They had to stay away from the hind legs or hold them down and tie them like cowboys do.

There were three corrals connected together. We pushed them into the biggest one first. Then they let some into the medium size. And the last one was like a little room where the reindeer went out one at a time to be counted according to the kind of mark on their ear. Each place, like Barrow and Wainwrlght, had their own special mark. If a reindeer had a mark from some other place they just let them alone. Each place had to report how many reindeer they had in their village herd. If there were some from Wainwright or Barrow they reported how many had followed our Point Lay reindeer.

Any reindeer without marks were given Point Lay marks, no matter where they came from. In that last room they cut the ear in a special way to give them the Point Lay mark. All the new fawns were cut that way. I never was part of the cutting so I don’t know what they looked like.

In those days, people in the village had their own reindeer in the herd. After counting, they butchered some for meat and gave other ones time to grow. The workers were paid with reindeer too.

I know this village wasn’t like Point Hope. In Point Hope, reindeer were shipped on the North Star and sold someplace. I’ve seen them do that. Around here, some of the reindeer were sold to the teachers to get a little money to buy tea or kerosene, whatever. And later there were just like barter stores with the government but I don’t really know how it worked. All the old reindeer reports were here when the school was left behind. People picked them up. I should have too.

Then we lost all the reindeer. At first there were no caribou but slowly they started to come in. They blamed the wild caribou that mixed in with the herd. It was easy to see them because they were real tall compared to the reindeer. When the herders saw one they had to kill it real quick or it would teach the reindeer to run away. Still, when the men tried to gather the reindeer there were fewer and fewer and finally nothing was left.
 
Point Lay School

My daddy was the chief reindeer herder. He traveled, camping by the coal mine and moved the reindeer around to eat better. The herders had to stay away in the wintertime so the food could build up around here. Then in the spring they were up by the TJtukok. The family would travel back and forth between the end of the mountains near Utukok over toward the mountains in the direction of Point Hope and then they stayed up by the coal mine at Kuukpowruk because they didn’t know much about the coal mine at Kuutchiaq. The herders had houses there at Kuukpowruk so they didn’t have to haul the coal. That’s what they heated with. In the summertime they brought the reindeer closer to the coast.

The school opened about the time we moved to Point Lay. When the one at Icy Cape was torn down, they brought the wood here and stored it in a qanichat. The BIA built the school but it took several years because they had no materials. They worked on it l929, 1930 and 1931.

Some of the Icy Cape people moved here around then. The school at Icy Cape closed maybe because it was so close to Wainwright and lots of families were moving there. When it closed some of the people moved south to here. Then there were quite a few people here at Point Lay and another bunch nearby at the end of the mountain at Kuutchiaq. That’s why they built the school at Kali, Old Town of Point Lay.

Some of those Icy Cape people talked about their old place. It was a point like Point Hope but it’s washing away. The old people said were lots of animals. They used to go whaling there.

Mr. Moyer was the first teacher here. His wife was Mary, an Eskimo from Point Hope. Mary Moyer’s older sister is Reggie Joule’s grandma. You know Reggie Joule from Kotzebue? Maybe you’ve read about him, he’s part German. His grandfather Tony was a school teacher here too.

The Moyers took me from my parents when we first came here. They put me with their children and I babysat. I played hard with them, that’s all. I never really did anything. The Moyers kept me in school.

Summertime, I stayed with my parents — parttime anyway. They had lots of kids. Since I was oldest, I followed them around to make sure the small ones didn’t go into the lagoon or the ocean. My sisters and brothers were all close in age. Next to me was my sister Marilyn. She’s at Golovin. My sister Rose died a few years ago. Irma Oktolllk and my brother John Tingook are in Point Hope. Carl Tingook died In the Army. And my sister Grace Ekak is at Anaktuvuk. Then me, here In Point Lay.

Mostly, my mamma did the babysitting. I helped Papa in the summer with fishing or whatever he did. Lots of times he was away from home herding reindeer, hunting or trapping. I did chores like keeping the stove going. Mostly I gathered wood for the stove —driftwood or cut willows — anything that burned. We didn’t knovv anything about coal until I came to Point Lay.

I had to be strong to cut the willows. I’d shovel all winter to get to the bottom. Then I cut the willows and pulled them out. Willows aren’t good for burning. They finish quick. I like those thick driftwood logs. They stay longer. All summer you would gather wood and pile them in one place for use in the winter.

Most of the winter I stayed with the Moyers and went to school. I tell my grandkids lots of stories about my schoolhouse days. The older ones saw the old schoolhouse before it burned down. They even used It for a school when all the people came before we got this new school here on this side of the lagoon. When I was going to school it was smaller than later. There was no storage room on the side. It was two stories but the the upstairs teacher’s quarters didn’t have inside walls yet.

It was a good school. Mary Moyer was the translator, she helped her husband teach. When we started school we only knew Eskimo. So she taught us the Whiteman words for what we already knew in Eskimo. That’s when we learned to say “yes” or “no”. Mary Moyer translated for us so we knew what we were reading.

All the different grades were together in one room listening to one teacher. But we learned to do our own work before we started listening to the teacher talking to the other grades. If we listened too much, we couldn’t finish our work. That’s why we had to finish first and then listen. I learned a lot by listening to the higher grades. That way I found out what I would be doing next. I learned fast and forgot fast.

We worked in school but we had fun sometimes too. We played akkuagauraq with partners which was like football where we kicked the ball and tried to take It away from each other. Whoever caught the most won. We played during our fifteen minute recess and ran as fast as we could. Sometimes old ladies in the village would be close by where we played. They would go after the ball when we were chasing It and keep kicking it too. Even if they had no partners, they would kick it. They made us mad. I guess they were just having fun with us.

Another game was nuliqsitauraq where partners had the ball instead of trying to take it away from each other. And then in mana mannaa we had two groups that fought, like in basketball. We kept the same two groups all the time we grew up. We marked two big circles in the snow that were the little jail rooms. Each side would chase the other and whoever was tagged was put in jail on your side. Then the partners would try to get them back with getting tagged too. It was lots of fun. The only Eskimo game I see the kids play today is nuliqsitauraq.

While I was a teenager and still in school, we got an Eskimo man for a teacher. That was Tony Joule who was married, to Mary Moyer’s sister Annie. After Annie died he came to teach us here and married May Upicksoun. He’s the one that tried to fix peoples Eskimo names. That’s when some people didn’t have Whiteman names, just Eskimo. And then when they got last names like Whiteman names, lots of that came from the White whalers. It got all mixed up. Tony Joule tried to fix it so people would use their daddy’s Eskimo name for their last name.

Like these three brothers: Michael Kayutak, Patrick Tukrook and Samuel Agnasagga - their father was Agnasagga. Those brothers’ last names were supposed to be Agnasagga. Amos’ dad, Samuel, is the only one that knew better. Tukrook was stubborn about it and used his own Eskimo name for a last name.

My first husband just had the name Upicksoun and no last name. He started to use the name Allen for a Whiteman last name, from his brother-in-law, Jim Allen. Upicksoun Allen sounded funny to Tony Joule, I guess. He told me he switched the name on the papers to Allen Uplcksoun.

Puala was the same way. He used his daddy’s name Tazruk. His older brother Henry was supposed to use Tazruk, but he used Peetook. And the Neakoks changed their names too.

My second husband’s grandfather was Neakok Niaquq which means ‘head’ In Eskimo. His wife KimmIk means ‘heel’ in our language. Somehow the whalers gave Neakok the last name Knox. That’s how he got to be Neakok Knox. The place they lived, Neakok Warehouse, is on the Alaska map. They had a big warehouse that held their groceries for the whole winter. Warren’s daddy was called Tommy Knox. And then my second husband was Warren Knox. but he fixed that to be Warren Harding Neakok.

Whaling at Point Lay

People don’t hunt whales at Point Lay. But Tony Joule put a whaling crew out when I was a teenager here. Amos Agnasagga’s uncle Alvy was adopted to Shaglook so his name is Alvy Shaglook. He lives in Kotzebue now. Well this uncle had two skin boats here. Tony Joule got a crew together for each of those boats.

The open lead was way out so they had to travel far. I don’t know how many miles out they had to go. You couldn’t see land from out there — only the mountains way to the south. Maybe twenty-five miles? They each got a whale but it was tough work. They cut the whales in pieces in the water because there were not enough people here to pull them out. There were over a hundred people but that wasn’t enough for those big whales. Everybody went out to help except a few woman taking care of the babies back at the village. We had to cut fast so the whales wouldn’t get smelly. They didn’t have to cut every little thing. Just what they could take home.

All the students helped too. We did the cooking for the whalers and whatever had to be done. That was part of our schooling. Tony Joule wanted us to learn outdoor things too. When the weather was bad — even on weekends — we had school to make up the days we missed in the classroom. We added up days fast that way. And when the weather was good, we went outdoors.

All the dogteams were working hard. Every family had their own dogteam because that was the only transportation. That’s how I got tired out — hauling meat back and forth. Some of us took turns. The dogs would get so tired they couldn’t move anymore. We would stop and let them sleep. Then we’d start again. There must have been ten to twenty teams.

That was the first time I saw much of a whale. When I was in Point Hope I never saw any whales. When they killed one I didn’t go out to look. I just ate the meat. So when I went out to the whales that first time at Point Lay, I wasn’t used to it. I guess 1 ate some. When we were through cutting it up and hauling meat we went home. I couldn’t eat for three days. I threw up. I had looked at that raw meat and smelled it so much that I couldn’t eat. Maybe it happened because I was so tired.

Lots of people were tired because while the men were first out — before the crews got the whales — all the ladies went thirty miles away to get coal at Kuukpowruk. If the men were home they would have hauled the coal. But the woman had to get the supply before the rivers started to flow.

Whichever women had dogteams went in a group to get loads of coal from the mountain. The coal was in a bluff and hard to get. But it was good hard coal. Some of it was pretty hard to pick. That is how they got it out, with a pick.

There were two old ladies who went with the other women. One was Mrs. Macheena from Point Hope. The other one was Kignak. They were both way over sixty years old. With old people, it was hard to tell how old they were. They were lively. Well, one of them had two dogs in her team and the other had three.

Coming back from getting coal, they were the last ones. It turned really foggy. They knew when they crossed the lagoon and hit ground again. They knew they were close but somehow they passed the village. They passed each other in the fog and went to each end of the spit. They went the wrong way but knew they were close so they just stopped on the beach, you know that sand spit in the lagoon. That’s where they camped overnight. When the fog lifted the next day, they could see the village in between them, right in the middle. Those old ladies laughed about it — they didn’t know how they did that.

All that hard work hauling coal and then hauling those two whales is what tired us out. Still, after we got the whales, we did everything just right. Our store manager Fred Forslund, went to Icy Cape and got a whale. So we had Nalukataq that spring, just like anybody else. This teacher Tony Joule came from Point Hope so he let us do it Point Hope style. We made mikigaq for the feast, just like I’m making now with the whale meat Amos Agnasagga brought back from Wainwright for me.

Mikigaq is made out of whale meat, tongue and maktaq. You put It all together in strips and keep It about a week until the juice gets thick. It kind of preserves It, just like it was cooked. But there’s no salt in it. It depends on how old the whale is whether it turns out good. Some whale meat doesn’t turn out right. Maybe when the whale is too big the meat is too coarse and there’s not enough juice. It seems like the small ones they call irjutuq round bowhead whale is good for that. They’re the small round ones.

For Nalukataq we cut those flippers Point Hope style by slicing the whole thing In about half-inch slabs. When there are lots of people at the Point Hope Naiukataq then they cut the slabs in half. Barrow and Wainwright cuts it up in little pieces a little at a time and dishes it out during the feast instead of letting people go and get it.

People here liked getting whales because most of them came from places that always hunted. But that time with Tony Joule was like a test to see if they could get whales. They could, but it’s so far out. We needed more people to do all the work but the village started getting smaller. People started moving away. They got married to Point Hopers and things like that.

Taking Care Of Babies

The school at Kali just went to the sixth grade. Then the kids would be sent off to school somewhere else if they wanted to. They sent my sister out. But I had to stay behind. I finished school when I was eighteen. It was in April, one month before I turned nineteen.

I got married to Allen Upicksoun. That’s why I quit school. He was thirty-nine, way older than me. I was a babysitter for his children because his first wife died. His older children were on their own. They didn’t want to babysit and they kind of forced me to marry their daddy. Martha was oldest and married to Leo Attungowruk. Next was Arthur, and May was the teacher, Tony Joule’s wife. Martha and Arthur died but now I laugh and tell the other ones, “I’m not going to do anything for you. You were lazy to babysit your sisters.”

When I got married I just started babysitting. It was just like I never went anyplace. There were four of his children with him, Molly, Joe, Alma and Rachel. The youngest ones were sickly like their mother before she gave up. The mother had stomach cancer for quite a long while. The kids had a lot of food alright but were just sickly. They were well-to-do people because the daddy hustled for everything. Maybe she worked too hard, she was so clean.

It was rough for me. I just got out of school and started to be tied down. But I made It anyway. I had to teach myself how to sew for all those kids. I copied my husband’s first wile’s patterns and her sewing. I used cardboard to copy his mukluks. When I got stuck, I went to my stepdaughter Martha who was older than me. She willingly told me anything. She’d do anything for me when I got stuck. I hardly slept when I first learned to sew. I would only sleep when the kids took a nap. That was the only way I got rest. In the middle of the night, I sewed when the kids were really sleeping.

My husband worked as a mail carrier with his dogteam. He did whatever he could to make some money. He went to Kotzebue to make a house for Sig Wien. I don’t know if he ever made money. But he kept us going. Summertime he stayed home and hunted. He put all the food in the Ice cellar.

In the wintertime, he never stayed home. He was always working. I would walk across from Kali to this area where the village is now for ptarmigan. This was way before DEW-line came in. I used a shotgun or .22 and put lots of winter ptarmigan in a sack In the ice cellar. We’d eat those In the springtime because they don’t store away long like ducks. Summer and falltime we’d hunt new fresh ptarmigan.

We had four more children after getting married, Jack, Gordon, Eleanor and Allen. Jack and Eleanor died but Gordon is in Barrow and Allen is in Oklahoma going to school.

My kids went to elemetary school at my same old school. But the village was getting small again. When the reindeer started running off, all those herders moved slowly away. They went back to the people they came from. And then the other people started leaving, like Kate Peterson with her first husband Susook. Lots of the old people were dying along the way. Some people were still here — Agnasagga, Tukrook, Toorak, Shaglook and Neakoks.

Pretty soon we were all widows here with lots of kids. My husband Allen died when I was twenty-eight years old. He was forty-nine. He worked on starting an Inboard motor when his intestines moved around and got tied. His intestines closed. That’s what his doctors explained. It was painful — he couldn’t swallow anything anymore. It happened at the Old Village.

Tunuallak
Other women raised lots of kids here too. Like Amos’ grandma, Tunuallak, her husband’s name was Susook. Tunuatlak Ada Susook — she raised lots of kids. Gee, she was a fun old lady. Her son Tony Susook is In the old people’s home in Anchorage. And her son Dan Susook is gone. He was married to Kate, they have children here, Jack Susook and lone Eastwood the health aide.

Lots of the people from back then are gone now. The two old ones still living are really old. Alvy Shaglook is a dancer in Kotzebue entertaining the tourists. And Ruth Susook married Samuel Agnasagga, they’re living in Wainrlght. Alvy and Ruth are both making theIr own living even though they’re older than me.

That little old lady Tunuallak made her own home. Her husband died while we were corralling reindeer. He got so tired, we took him home. Then he went into a coma for a few days and died. He was kind of old when It happened, so he wasn’t chasing the reindeer. You know, everybody had their own job. Certain people sharpened the knives, others did the skinning, some cut the meat. one person rustled the reindeer and others pushed them towards the corral. Everybody had a job. But they didn’t push the old people at that time. The old people told us young ones what to do. The young ones did the work.

Tunuallak lived with her grown children when her husband died. But her children were moving away so she wanted to live by herself. She had a warehouse on top of Kali. It was up in the air but then they put it on the ground and covered it with sod. She stayed in it for several years. Then her son moved away with his wife Kate and her father Samarualook. They went to be with Kate’s brother, Johnny Evak in Kotzebue. Samarualook was my first husband’s older brother. Johnny Evak was that brother’s adopted son from Taalak in Barrow. When Samarualook moved to Kotzebue ,he gave Tunuallak their little sod house that was right next to mine.

I kept watch over her to see what she was doing. When she was doing heavy work, like dumping her honeybucket, one of us went to help. She couldn’t sit still. In the summer she walked on the beach picking edible shells — imaniq clam — and worms with gold whiskers at one end. She picked greens, the big leaves with long stems and little round seedlike flowers. Kotzebue gathers those, quagaq sour dock, rumey articus . Tunualuk would cut them up, cook them and put It in a barrel with sugar and some kind of berries.

Most of the time she picked dry wood and put it in a pile —like little beavers, piling up wood. But she went at her own pace, trying not to get too tired. When she was too tired to walk, she had places to visit. She never laid down In her house in the daytime —she didn’t nap like me. She’d visit with someone and when she was ready to go, she left.

Tunualuk knew when It was time to eat, she’d come over and enjoy. But when she didn’t want to, she’d look through our window and wave her hands to say she wouldn’t come. That old grandma made me real happy, especially when all my kids had to go away to school.

Springtime, after the Ice would breakup, her son-in-law, Samuel Agnasagga would bring her across the lagoon to this side or wherever she wanted to be to hunt squirrels. That was before this new village was here. They did that as soon as a boat could come over. Sometimes they came even earlier with a dog team. Her daughter Ruth and Samuel would put up a round bent willow frame tent with canvas tied on top, a qaluugvik. It wasn’t a wall tent — those blow away in the wind. That old lady wanted to be close to the river so she could get squirrel skins to make a parka for herself or someone else. Squirrels stay close to the river banks and that was where she could get willows for her little stove for cooking.

That old lady told me about Point Lay when she was young and still packing babies. She had lots of sons. Her husband was still living. They would go up this river Utukok or Kokolik when the water got high. But not until they had the spring season hunt to fill up the ice cellar in Kali with ducks and ugruk. And not until the big ships came with all their groceries for winter. All the Point Lay people, like Susook and Neakok, had big warehouses to store all the food and supplies. They put padlocks on and then went away for part of the summer hunting caribou, squirrels and fishing. They stayed away from the ice cellar so they wouldn’t use it up.
 
They packed up their dogs and kids and everything in a boat to go away for part of the summer. They let the dogs pull the boat from the bank with the people inside. Someone would be steering and someone else was in the front pushing on the bank with a pole so it wouldn’t run into the ground. Like anybody who traveled rivers, they knew what to do. When it was a good trail, the dogs pulled the boat fast enough.

Lots of times there was a big load so some of the people had to walk. People didn’t have rubber boots. They used waterproof mukluks with ugruk bottoms. While they traveled, Tunualuk kept sewing mukluks. That’s because she had a big family. Everybody used mukluks. Eskimos didn’t use shoes. People walked lots In those days. After awhile the mukluk bottoms got holes. And there was still snow. You can’t walk around with a big hole under your foot. Yet some of them had to for a little ways. They couldn’t help it, somebody had to patch it.

Some bottoms were tender and could wear out In one day on rough ground. Some ugruk bottoms were tough and hard to put holes into. They knew this too. The beluga skin under the maktak is the stronger one. That’s the kind they used for walking on the rocks up on the mountains when they could get them. People needed more than one pair of mukiuks. Some people’s didn’t look good but they covered their feet.

That is why Tunualuk sewed mukluks while they traveled, She was a good sewer. But when her husband and boys were walking all day she had to keep sewing because they kept getting holes. She was either patching bottoms or making new ones.

These rivers here have some really big bends where the river almost meets again. When she got to those kinds of bends she would get out of the boat on the side where the river comes back around. Then she walked over to the other side and sat down to keep sewing while they took the boat all the way around the bend. Sometimes she had enough time to sew the bottom to the top and finish her one mukluk. She had no time to rest with her husband and so many boys. Big families are like that. Especially when the women don’t have anyone to help them.
  
Mothers Club

In the older days, there weren’t many accidents besides sprains and cuts. There were no gun accidents like we have now. Because they only had one or two guns, maybe a rifle and a shotgun. The younger ones didn’t own anything unless they were big enough. They couldn’t afford to give guns to the young ones at that time. One gun passed from daddy to son and by the time it got to the grandson, it was old. They didn’t use them to play with. Just to kill what they ate. They didn’t shoot anything they didn’t want.

The Eskimos knew how to take care of themselves long ago. I talked to Eunice and Mickey Toorak about how the old people took care of a big cut. They said they tied it above the cut. And they knew how to sew them too, with somebody’s long hair for thread. I wonder what kind of needles they used, maybe bone.

I’ve seen the old people put broken bones back in place. They gave them lots of water and made hot pads with heated sand put in a bag. That’s a good one. And I’ve seen the dried up ugruk gut they used for enemas when they couldn’t anaq defecate. My parents used that. They made the end for the enema out of a willow carved smooth with a hole in the middle. The hole was made the same way they hollowed out pipes. My papa used a long wire made hot in the stove to burn a hole in the core of the wood. They tied the carved willow end to the dried ugruk gut that was wet first so it would stretch. Then someone would help pour the water in the ugruk gut for the enema.

What else did the old people do? They used plants, the leaves and little flowers. They put it with water and drank the plants for colds or sore throats. I never really got to see that kind. The first time I tried any of those plants was yesterday. Somebody gave me a certain kind of leaf artemesia, stinkweed for my swollen knee. It’s been hurting and I couldn’t even bend it.

Last night I wrapped those leaves on top and went to sleep. Now today I can bend it. It sure helped. I don’t feel my knee hurting. It’s like those leaves sucked it out. They told me I can even pick the leaves in the wintertime when they’re dried up. I never believed much in those myself — till I tried it now. I’m going to start collecting them. I know they grow by my sister’s house in Kotzebue.

When the teachers came to Point Lay they were like health aides. We had midwives when I was growing up — what we called Mothers Club. The nurses would come through to teach us all. The Mothers Club was the health aides. In those days you didn’t get paid. They were glad to get a little box of bandages, scissors and string or whatever to tie the cord when a baby was born. Each one got a little box like that.

When I got to be fifteen, I started helpIng midwiving. The teacher usually was the midwife and I was with her all the time. That’s why I helped around. And she knew I got around fast for cleanup or whatever. I was midwife for my sisters when nobody was here. I told them to go to the hospital, but they didn’t want to.

I remember one time when Jim Macheena’s wife Elizabeth broke her back. She went up the Kukpowruk River with Pualu’s wife when the water was high to fill the boat with sacks of coal, forty sacks or something. She was on the side of the mountain when a big block slid down and half buried her. It broke her back and hips so she couldn’t walk too far. I don’t know why they had to go way up on the mountain.

She lived only about ten more years. She was young too. None of her children lived except an adopted one. When Jim Macheena died, she remarried Nukapigaq. It was a good thing a boat came that was going south. It picked her up and took her to the hospital in Kotzebue. That’s where she healed up.

You know I was talking about those people Macheena who came down below us at Kuutchiaq. That’s where the coal mine is open now close to the ocean. Those people were living there using coal instead of always looking for driftwood. Wintertime it’s often too cold to look for wood. Maybe that’s why I stopped getting wood around here and started using coal.

I never learned to use that blubber for heat. It gets all over me. Point Hopers are the ones that used seal oil but not anymore.
 
Long time ago around here, the people from Point Hope used blubber but the people from the north mostly used wood. They didn’t like the smell of blubber. It gets on your clothes and makes you smelly all over. Point Hopers knew how to keep their hands away from their clothes because they were born with that.

Relatives

Tunuallak husband Charlie Susook was from somewhere around here. Aanguyuk was the little mamma that raised Charlie Susook, Neakok Knox and Johnson Toweeña. Susook was the other two’s half-brother, or adopted or something. This little mamma came here with her husband long ago when they were working for the White whalers sometime in the 1800’s.

Lots of the people in this village are related to that one little lady Aanguyuk. She’s over in the graveyard to the south with a fence around her small grave. Her legs were bent when she died, that’s why it’s small. Her son, Neakok Knox married Kimmik, whose brother Amos Agnasagga had those three boys: Samuel Agnasagga, Patrick Tukrook and Michael Kayutak. Kimmik’s younger sister Louise Kanikyuk had a daughter Eunice who married Mickey Toorak. And Kimmik and Neakok Knox had two children: first was Tommy Knox (Frederick Thomas Neakok) who married Eva Paplglook and had Billy, Benny, my husband Warren, Eugene, Donald and Ida; second was a daughter Annie who married Towksjhea. So you see, all those third generation names are cousins: Tukrook, Agnasagga, Neakok, Toorak.

Then on my family’s side is the Stalkers. Their grandma was my daddy Christopher Tingook’s sister. So Stalker’s mamma was my first cousin. Now her children are right here in Point Lay.

My first husband Allen Upicksoun was Kate Peterson’s uncle, so those two families’ grandchildren are all related. Kate has Jack Susook and lone Eastwood. And then Allen’s daughter Martha married Leo Ahtungowruk, so that name is in here.

Benny Neakok married Pualu’s daughter Alice and stayed here. Then when Alice lost her mom, her sister Ruth who married Danny Pikok came to Point Lay. They needed to make a living.

That’s how Pualu and his family moved back here from Barrow. That filled up Point Lay!

When you get down to it, they’re all related here. The main thing I try to tell the kids that want to get married, is if they’re close cousins, I tell them not to do that. Sometimes they didn’t know. I tell them they have to go some place, to another town to get a mate. It’s not right to marry your real close relatives.

Warren

After my first husband died, Warren Neakok wanted to help me with my kids. He was taking care of two families then. Warren was fourteen when his daddy died. He was the oldest one of four boys, so he stopped going to school and started traveling, trapping. He took care of his mom, brothers and sisters. He was a grown man when we got married in 1947. But we made it. I got help from here and there. My parents were here too, but my brother John a little too young. Anyway, when you share with people, you make It. Now we take it easy.

Warren knew how to live off the land all right. His grandparents and parents were good trappers and hunters. Just like the Indians that talk about their traplines, each person had their own ground to trap. Sometimes they might have partners if somebody else wanted to trap with them. That’s why Warren knew how to do it.

We worked the hell out of ourselves. I cooked and took care of the pooh-pooh babies. I had six more children with Warren —Nancy, Lilly, Marie, Juanita, Alma, and Harding. That was ten children altogether with the four from Allen. We had no baby bottles so the little one would nurse right there and go to sleep. Warren did the hunting.

The other kids took care of themselves. When the older ones are trained to take care of the younger ones, they do it. And they do it happily too. It was good for them. They never asked for twenty-five cents. The kids right now want five dollars for maybe two hours of babysitting. I never left my kids at night. I stayed with them.
 
Most of our living was off the land from Warren’s trapping. Fur prices weren’t much in those days. Fox were fifteen to thirty bucks depending on how clean they were. Polar bear was pretty good, five to ten dollars a square foot. There was quite a bit of polar bear, but not as many as right now. Sometimes they travel eight in a bunch now. It looks like the whole family with young ones and old ones.

I did the sewing for Wien’s pilots, the teachers that came, and sometimes for BIA people. The travelers came to me for mukluks, skin socks, mittens, whatever. Those long reindeer legging boots with ugruk bottoms and skin socks inside were twelve dollars. I made lots of those. And now they cost around two hundred dollars. I never make them anymore!

Warren’s first job was in the late 40’s, maybe 1949, for the Geodetic Survey, mapping the coast up to the Demarcation Point. He was the first one hired because they knew he was a good worker. In between hunting, trapping and getting coal, he worked in the school for the teachers as a janitor. He never stopped, except sometimes on Sunday.

There was an Episcopal church here and sometimes Point Hopers came for the services, like Antoni Weber, Herbert Koonak. Patrick Attungana and Donald Oktollik, who were layreaders or helpers, used to bring the archdeacon here for confirmation or to marry people. Sometimes the came without the archdeacon to help us before we got our own lay readers like Samuel and his brother. Bishop Harris came from Fairbanks every June. I don’t remember the preacher’s name that came through one spring long ago and traveled up to Barrow. And in 1919, I was baptized by a preacher that was killed — Dr. Hoar — he gave me a bath on my head. He signed my birth certificate. Anyway, sometimes Warren stayed home for church, and if the weather was good, he’d go back to work on his dog team Sunday night.

Warren just started working with the Geodetic Survey when the whooping cough hit the kids here. My daughter Lilly got it. I had it too. It was a bad spring with almost starvation in the village. Our stove was broken and we had no salt, no coffee, tea or any kind of Whiteman food. Just meat to eat. The kids were really sick, especially Walter Toorak and Frederick Tagarook. Those two and Jack Simon barely made It. Frederick was about one year old and Walter maybe two, they got it bad.

Work gave Warren four cans of milk every Saturday. I kept two for my kids who weren’t that sick and sent the other two cans over for the other Point Lay kids who might not make it. We had to share with all the sick people. That was a bad one, but all the kids made It. Later that spring we had a Coast Guard cutter bring in Darigold dried milk and oatmeal.

Warren worked with the Geodetic Survey every year until they finished. Each spring he traveled with them to Barter Island and further. I stayed here at the Old Village while he worked. The school was still going and there were quite a few people yet.

We started getting new teachers every year from Outside. They were people who had never been to Alaska and I had to teach them over and over. There was no bread in the store and they didn’t know how to make It. They didn’t even know how to make bannock.

This one new teacher couple from New York came over one day and said’ “What are you baking in your stove?”

“A big pan cake,” I told them. “Just like bread.” It was sourdough I made slowly. I mixed it with soda, salt and grease to make a real thick sourdough. I put it in my thick iron skillet and cooked it real slow on top of my wood stove. “I make this so the kids will have something good to eat. And when one side of it’s already done, I turn It over. It slowly cooks.”

“When is that pan cake done?” the teacher asked me. I asked him, “Why?” He said he hadn’t eaten bread and has been missing it a long time. Again I asked him why.

They told me, “Because we don’t know how. We have lots of flour.”

I thought, “Now I know how to catch them.” So, I said, “Bring ten pounds of your flour over here and I’ll show you how to make bread. After I make dough. I give you half of it.” That’s how I cheat them a little bit too you know. I told them to bring yeast, lard and salt. After I got all of the bread stuff I made a big batch of dough. I baked some of it and made donuts with the rest. They sure were happy.

But after awhile they realized I was taking too much of their flour. That’s when they learned to make their own bread. Then they didn’t lose too much. Those teachers were learning themselves too, how to be out in the bush. People that come from New York really don’t know how to make a living here. Everytime there were new teachers, I helped them learn.

But one lady I didn’t care to help. She was an Eskimo woman from Wainwright. The first time I ever met her she told me how she knows how to make mukiuks, how to cut them. I didn’t say, yeah good.

Falltime came around and she came over and asked me to cut mukluks for her to sew. I said, “No way. First time I say hello to you, you introduce yourself you know how to sew. So you’re going to do it yourself. I won’t help you.” Boy, she got mad all right. But that’s the way it is. You shouldn’t boast when you first see somebody and say, “I’m a good housekeeper, you know. I’m a good cook.”

A lot of people have done that to me because I’m from an isolated place. They think that I don’t know anything. Even White people do that, like when that DEW-line started and Warren worked for them. Some people from there acted as though they didn’t like me when we first met. So 1 never cared about them. But, after awhile, they come around and ask for help. They say, “Hi, could I come in?” To some of them I said no.