Lelooska: The Life of a Northwest Coast Artist

10. New Foes, Old Friends

10 / New Foes, Old Friends T he last three years of Don’s life were filled with uncertainty. His mortal illness, despite the fact that neither he, those in his family , nor his friends wanted to confront it, stared him in the face. The uneasiness that the Indian Arts and Crafts Act of 1990 had injected into his life waned in comparison to the diagnosis of colon cancer midway through 1993, his various treatments and surgery later that year, and recurrent health problems for most of the next year. By 1995, it seemed that Don was back in full swing, carving, going to shows, and enjoying his time in the back room with family. He was quieter, less energetic, and more reflective than I had known him to be, but he had gone through no small trauma. It seemed to most of us that Don had recovered from the surgery, that his cancer was in remission. We held our collective breath, hoping that if it came back, it would not be for years. As for Don, he could hardly speak of his colon cancer, almost always referring to it as “this” or “this thing,” and to his medication as “those little pills.” All of us, I believe, were in denial, not wanting to see that Don was really in decline, refusing to recognize the little signs that would add up to large problems— the chronic “bad cold,” sleepless nights, and increased pain. Each came in such small increments that they seemed easy to explain away at the time. I visited Don on New Year’s Day in 1996 to give him a copy of the tran214 scripts of the interviews we had done to that point. He seemed pleased to get the transcripts and to talk a bit more. He had been having problems with a persistent ailment, something akin to bronchitis, most of the fall and into the holiday season. In spite of that, he was still carving madly, happy to be back at it. During our conversation, I let the tape recorder run while Don told me of his hospital stay and some of the visions he had there. We laughed about some of the visions and marveled at others. I cannot help but think that the bloody grizzly-bear vision Don had was of himself. It seemed as if Don was looking in a mirror. After all, the combination of cancer, medications , and surgery had altered his body dramatically. Don had lost much weight, though he was still a large man. His face showed a gauntness and a pallor new to him. I kept thinking, as he described the vision to me, of the name Grandfather Hinkle had given to Don as a child—Yana, “Bear.” Don was particularly touched by how wonderful people had been to him. He was astonished at the outpouring of sympathy and good wishes from many people who had been to the shows at Ariel. He always knew how impressionable children were, how much they looked up to him. However, the extent of his influence did not dawn on him until his illness made him slow down and consider it and his audiences began to recognize his mortality. Both of us were surprised at how deeply their sentiments touched Don. While the tape captured our laughter during the session, it did not record the hard swallows and welling tears that came to both of us now and then. In what would be the final year of his life, Don’s focus had narrowed almost entirely to his art and family. For more than a half-century, he had carved and worked with his hands on a daily basis. If nothing else, that habit kept him going. It also kept him vital, for he continued to think and dream about what he might do. Don thought much, too, about those pebbles that his grandfather and granduncle had placed in his hand so many years ago. As much as health and stamina allowed, he spent time with his family, especially the youngest generation. Don’s grandniece Jamie, niece Lottie, and grandnephew Dustin could often be found in the back room with him watching TV or scooting around the obstacles of the work area during the day. Just being around them, oblivious as they may have been to Don’s conNew Foes, Old Friends • 215 dition, made Don happy. He tried to tell Patty, Smitty, Jay, Lee Ann, and Mariah all those things...