By Joe Nayquonabe Sr. / Transcribed by James Clark
Editor’s note: Orignally published in in the Mille Lacs Band of Ojibwe Inaajimowin newspaper.
This month I would like to talk about my uncle Johnson Nayquonabe. I met him very early in my life when I was staying with my grandparents. In the summer months, we’d go up by Pequot Lakes and hang baskets. We were living in a wigwam during that time, and we’d tend to visit at Johnson’s house up there a lot since we were such a close family. That was my first interaction I could remember with him.
After the summer season, my grandparents and I would come back to Mille Lacs and we wouldn’t see him again till the following summer season. Eventually when my father passed away, something happened between Johnson and his wife. The wife took the kids and went to LCO. Johnson stayed in Mille Lacs and eventually became my stepfather. He and my mom had several children together. The memories around that time are of him singing around the ceremonial drum. Eventually, he became a drum chief, only because the man who was supposed to be in that spot was not attending. Later, they also put me in that spot.
Later on, I noticed that Johnson would drink a lot. As I got older, I remembered he was a WWII veteran, and he’d seen the horrors of the war. After Vietnam, I suffered from PTSD. I still believe to this day that Johnson suffered from that as well but it was not as known or talked about.
In my day, there were meds and things to assist with PTSD but Johnson didn’t have that, so what did he turn to? Alcohol. I did not understand at the time, but I gained more and more respect for him for all the hardships he had to face during and after the war. Sometimes he and I would share some war stories and you wouldn’t believe the things that man had come back from.
After he and my mom separated, he lived alone. I remember him working at the lumber yard in Garrison. But as a drum keeper we have a lot of responsibilities like making the blankets for the bundles and the food for the day. Yet, season after season, he fulfilled his duties, only with the help from about five ladies that he was able to complete his role as drum keeper. I think a lot of that is just how much they loved and respected him.
And some of the things that I talk about today is what I remember him talking about long time ago. Especially about those that were helping him were being seen by the manidoog [the spirits, in Ojibwe] differently. So, he always made sure to thank them for all the help they gave him.
He never really did completely sober up; it always seemed like he was a very social drinker when people would come and visit. If they were to bring booze, then he’d indulge. I believe that is because of his position on the drum. It seems to reflect my life of getting sober from alcohol, because of those drums. This month marked 44 years of being sober for me.
As the years went by, I gained more and more respect for him. A lot of the leadership skills that he radiated still stick with me to this day. I think more and more people had respect for him than I initially thought. When I hear people talking about him, they understood everything he had been though, for those who don’t, have you ever seen the movie “Saving Private Ryan”? Remember the opening scene when they storm the beach? He was a part of that, and lived to tell the tale to fellow vets. Even today when I put my asemaa out, I put it out for those veterans knowing what they’ve been though.
The other thing that I remember about him is that he had a really good sense of humor. And when I talk about his leadership at the dances, he never was talking there a whole lot or directing people, yet everything got done every dance. They saw stable and strong leadership in him that didn’t need to be communicated through words.
One day we were going to a dance at Lake Lena. I drove Johnson and myself there. While I was there, he told me “I should also be in East Lake, I belong on that drum, too.” Then he told me that he gave someone a blanket and asemaa [tobacco, in Ojibwe] that he wasn’t going to be able to make it due to being on another drum. Following that I asked him, “how many drums do you belong on?” To which he replied, “almost all of them.” There were a lot of people who helped him. The ladies and other people would bring gifts for him for more food to have at the dances. To me, that is respect.
Again, his closing prayer before the dance would end would consist of making sure that everyone got home and all those relatives are safe, and for those that didn’t sit on the drum who came to help the manidoog looked over them. That tells me a lot about what people thought about him; he was just a common man. He wasn’t well off or given abilities by the manidoog, just a man who knew his duties to the drums, the community, and the future of the Anishinaabe people.
I always try and follow the things that he used to do, especially when it comes to putting someone on the drum. He’d call all the members and talk with them about who should be put in that position — he always wanted everyone’s input. “We’ll have another meeting and decide on the candidate,” he’d say. In short, he never picked the person, the members did. After the members did, then he’d go and offer that person asemaa.
There was one time, however, he told us, “Also make a second choice just in case they don’t accept.” Sure enough, the first guy didn’t accept — he must’ve known something we didn’t.
I took him all over to dances that he was a part of and other drums. Every time I took him somewhere, I could see the love and respect the Anishinaabe had for him there. They’d always acknowledge and thank him for coming. When he’d go, he’d talk for the dishes, the talks, and anything that needed to be done in the dancehall.
And besides that, he also did funerals, with that I especially noticed he’d wear sunglasses. I can only assume that he was hiding the tears. I believe he really felt heavily for the people he was helping in their time of need. The one thing I wasn’t a fan of was that he was often taken advantage of. Someone in particular used to bring Johnson gifts from his travels. People would often say, “That’s a nice _____” and every time, he’d give it away. The faults of a good man, I suppose.
All in all, I hope to continue his legacy of silent but strong leadership. Miigwech mii iw.
