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Thursday, May 12, 2016

An Indian Boy

As I mentioned in the previous post, some terms have changed over the years. Also, I distinctly remember this particular event, and Mom’s timing is a little off. I was nine years old when “Clancy” came to live with us. She refers to having three children under the age of 5, but that was not the case. Our memories get morphed over time …

While living in Montana, we were called by the chaplain at the Boys Reform School [in Wolf Point, Montana] asking us to take an Assiniboin Indian to raise. We told him we already had 3 children under 5 years of age, but he insisted this boy needed a home, not a reform school.

His father had been crushed between two freight train cars and his mother had run away. The boy took a bike to find her, but could not. No one would take him, so they put him in the Reform School for stealing the bike.

We said we would try. We had fixed up a bedroom in the basement of our house, only he wanted to be upstairs with the rest of the family.

Because he only had the clothes he came in, the church [First Christian Church of Conrad, where my dad was the minister] gave us a clothes shower. That really helped a lot and he liked all his new clothes. He had previously gotten clothes from the thrift store or a grab bag.

He was 14, but in the 6th grade. We tried putting him in that grade in school, but it didn’t work. We moved him to the 7th grade where he could play on the basketball team. That was the right place for him. He played really well and got along nicely.

[Rhonda’s insertion: I recall that Clancy HATED taking baths! He would sit in the bathroom and run the water. Then a little while later would drain all the water and come out claiming to have bathed. Didn’t happen. He loved to wrestle with us kids. And my recollection was that he got sent back to the reform school from our house because he stole a bike. Coincidence? Or was Mom remembering something else?]

When he grew up, he became a carpenter and lived on the Wolf Point Indian Reservation. One day, when we lived in Hillsboro, I answered a knock on the door and there was a huge Indian man. It was Ralph. What a surprise! I hadn’t seen him in years. We had been living in Germany.

He stayed with us for a week and we caught up on his life [he had been an alcoholic, his wife intervened and got him help, had become a Christian, and wanted Mom and Dad to know that.], his marriage, and his new daughter.