GRACE HERRING INTERVIEW

   

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   [preliminary voice check not transcribed]

   

   This is Karen Underhill with Northern Arizona

University.  We're here with Grace Herring.  It's

Wednesday, February 11, [1998], about 1:15 p.m.  In the

room we have Brad Cole, who's from NAU; Elijah Blair;

and Lew Steiger is operating the camera;

   

   Underhill:  Grace, we'd like to start at the

beginning with your life.  Where and when were you

born?


   Herring:  I was born at Shiprock, August 4, 1910.

Shortly after that, my father was working for the

government service, and they sent him to Toadlena to

build a school there.  And he went out that first

summer and I think it was 1910 or '11.  I have

documents to back this up in storage.  I think it was

1910 or '11 that the flood came down from up above and

took Shiprock and everything away.  And Mother had gone

to stay with Dad at the [school]--he was building it

then.  And he was out there building it, and when they

were out there that summer, the flood came down through

Shiprock and just took everything out of her house--

everything she had went down the river.  So she never

did go back to Shiprock.  She picked up a few things

and went back and then…  I've got the documents here

that show when.

   

   Underhill:  Who were your parents?


   Herring:  George and Lucy Bloomfield.  (pause while

shuffling documents)  I feel like I'd like to have had

this in better order.  I think this is the first one.

This is when Merritt Smith and Bob Smith had the

trading post.  I have the story in some of this

material they got, where Dad tells about Mr. Shelton,

who was the superintendent at Shiprock.  They went and

applied to put a post at Toadlena, and Mr. Shelton said

he would come out and help them pick the spot where

they could put it.  So he did, he went out to the

trading post and he showed them where they could put

it, and that's where it is right today.  And Dad was

with 'em at the time.  Then after the Smiths had been

there for a while, they weren't satisfied with staying

there, so they sold the post to Dad, and that is in

this paper here, and I'm going to give you this, 'cause

I've made a copy.  It tells a lot of _____ trading post

was commenced and finished, following that time, which

was 1910.  "Mr. Bloomfield commenced operations of the

trading post under permit from Mr. Shelton, district

supervisor," and that was one-and-one-half years after

they started it in 1910, so it was 1911, in the summer

when Dad took it over.  And this is the contract with

the Smiths.

   

   Underhill:  What are your early memories of that

trading post?

   

   Herring:  Best place in the world.  I wouldn't pick

a better place if I had children to bring up.  It's

quiet, peaceful.  Some of the younger children said

they were bored--I never was, there was always

something to do.  Mother always had something pleasant

for us to do.  I was never bored, I loved it.

   

   Underhill:  Were you the oldest child?

   

   Herring:  Oh, no!  Oh, no.  There was my sister,

Fern, and then Vernon, who still lives here, a sister,

Genevieve, who died when she was twelve, and then I

came along.  And then Mother waited five years and then

she had another group of four.  She had Monk [Marilene

Blair pronounced his name Mott (Tr.)] and Ruthie and

Marilene and Paula, so there were eight of us.  And

Mother would more often tend the store and Dad was out

doing other business.  And Mother tended the store,

took care of eight kids--I don't know how she did it,

no water in the house, no electricity, no conveniences

like we have 'em today, but we loved it.  It was

beautiful.  When you read my story, it tells it much

better than I tell it now.  But the canyon was close

by, there were always things to do that were fun.  I

remember especially that Mother just let us kinda do

what we wanted to do.  The one thing that she would say

when we left the house was, "Don't go on the right side

of the canyon, 'cause it's dangerous.  And watch out

for rattlesnakes."  And we did, because, oh, there were

lots of 'em there at that time.  One of the stories

that I was reading yesterday tells about one of the

brothers come tearing into the house one day to get

Mother or Dad because Billie [Genevieve's nickname?

(Tr.)], the sister over me, had stepped on one.  And

she stepped on it so close to its head that he couldn't

bite her, but they went out and killed it.  (laughter)

There's lots of good stories in this material I've got

that I won't take time to tell you now, but you would

enjoy reading them, I know.

   

   Underhill:  Well, and if there's any one story that

stands out for you, growing up, we'd love to hear it.

   

   Herring:  They were all so wonderful.  We just

really had a good life.  The missionary who lived just

across the road from us was the Christian Reformed

Church.  There was no Mormon Church there at that time.

I remember as a child that Mr. Brink, who was a saint

if ever lived one, he would gather up all the kids, and

we would walk a half a mile over where he held church,

and he would tell us stories and sing songs all the

time we went, and when we come back home, we did the

same thing, see, he would bring us all home.  Now

later, of course, the Mormon people did establish a

church there, and Mother and Dad were called to be the

missionaries there to begin with, and worked there for

several years.  I also worked as a missionary there for

a good many years after that, after I had filled a

mission.  I'm sure that this is in the story.

   Of course Charles, I met him down here at a carnival

one day, and he wanted to bring me home, and I wouldn't

let him.  (laughter)  At last I told him, "Well, you

can take me up to the end of the street if you want to,

but at the end of the street, I won't let you go the

rest of the way, because Mr. Davies is very strict, and

he won't like that."  Charles came right up to the door

and delivered me to Mr. Davies.  After that, why, he

said he was a good guy, he could come to see me.  Then

after that, Charles and I were engaged to be married.

Mother was sick, and I had to put that off for a while.

And there was some of the missionaries came out from

Southwest Indian Mission, and Uncle Illick [phonetic

spelling] was concerned, too, because I was going to

marry somebody outside the Church.  So Elder Orrin

[phonetic spelling] came in here to see the [present

stalworthy?] and in less than a month I had a call to

go on a mission.  So I wrote Charles and I said,

"Charles, I don't know how you feel about it, but I'm

going to go.  I'll send your ring back, I'll do

whatever you want."  And he said, "You go ahead and go,

I'll wait till Hell freezes over."  (laughter)  He did!

   

   Underhill:  And where was your mission?

   

   Herring:  I served mostly in Illinois and in

Chicago.  I worked in the office there more than

anyplace else.  And while I was there, he contacted the

missionaries and joined the Church.  So he did become a

member.

   

   Underhill:  When you were smaller, before you met

your husband, Charles, did you work in the store with

your mother?

   

   Herring:  No, Dad would not let his girls work in

the store, that was a no-no.  As we were growing up, he

would not let the girls work in the store.  The boys

worked there, and Mott [?] and Vernon are very fluent

in the language, [as] a result of it.  I didn't work in

it until after we bought the store and I had to learn

because Charles was gone someplace and I had to run the

store.  Now, I'm not fluent by a long ways yet, but I

can talk a little.

   

   Underhill:  What were conditions like for your

Navajo customers in the teens and twenties as you were

growing up?

   

   Herring:  The customers were very wonderful people.

We never ever had any trouble with them, they were good

friends, they were good neighbors, they depended on

Mother and Dad for everything.  I don't know what

happened, why, they'd come for advice--to get the

advice they needed--in family matters or anything else.

   I remember one time--whether you want to take time

for this or not, I don't know--but there was a very

good-looking man, and he had a very good-looking wife.

And I remember one night she came tearing into the

front room and said, "Hide me, quick, because Archie's

gonna kill me, he's mad at me!"  So Dad took her

downstairs under the store and put her into the

basement, and put her to sleep.  Wasn't very long till

here come Archie, drunk as a hoot owl and bent on

getting to his wife.  And Dad said, "Now, Archie, just

calm down.  I think you'd better rest for a while."

And he took him out to the corn house, which is in that

little picture of that house, and he locked him in the

corn house, and he left him there all night.  The next

morning, he took 'em into the front room, sat 'em down

and talked to 'em, and they went off just fine the next

morning.  It was things like that.  If anybody died,

they came for us.  If anybody was sick, they came for

us.  Twice I went with Mother to help with births of

people in their homes.  There was nothing we didn't do.

   

   Underhill:  Did you feel that you were accepted by

the Navajo people growing up?

   

   Herring:  Oh, yes.  They were our people.

   

   Underhill:  Who were your friends when you were

small?

   

   Herring:  Indian people!  (laughs)  That's all we

had--and the minister's children.  Of course, they were

right next door with the Indian people.  They were

really my good friends.

   

   Underhill:  How would you describe the way trading

worked then, when your parents were running the store?

   

   Herring:  Very different than it is now.  If an

Indian told you he would do something, you could pretty

much tie to it that he was gonna do it.  They were very

honest, they didn't try to take advantage of you--you

had to be a little smarter than they were sometimes,

but if you were on your toes, you were fine.  And very

few of 'em would take advantage of you.  They ran the

trading post on a business that they had their cattle

and their sheep and their wool, and they would come in

and get credit for against what it would come, and when

they would sell their wool and their cattle and their

sheep, and then they'd clear up their accounts.

   They did a lot of pawning.  And in the pawn work,

they didn't let their pawns go dead very often.  They

usually took care of 'em.  They thought a lot of their

jewelry and stuff.  When we were there, later I think

they did a lot of pawning of shawls and stuff like

that.  I don't remember that as a youngster--it was

more their jewelry and things that was more valuable to

them.

   

   Underhill:  What were the popular items that the

Navajo would want to buy, or trade for?

   

   Herring:  You mean when they came to the trading

post?

   

   Underhill:  Uh-huh.

   

   Herring:  Oh, they liked pretty cloth and they liked

tomatoes and Wheaties and pork-and-beans.  (chuckles)

Shawls.  And jewelry.  They were good people.  I

remember Dad had a man who took his team with a four-

horse team on it, and took--Dad would give him his

money and the grocery list to go to Gallup to Kirk's

and other places.  The man would take the money and

everything and go with and get everything and bring it

back by team wagon.  You never had to worry about it,

everything was taken care of the way it should be.

   

   Underhill:  And how would you get the livestock that

you took in as trade, to market?

   

   Herring:  Well, they brought 'em to the trading post

and they'd buy 'em there.  Isn't that the way we'd do

it, Lij?  They'd bring 'em to the big corrals at the

trading post.

   

   Underhill:  And the buyer, someone would come into

the post to buy?

   

   Herring:  No, Dad would buy 'em and then he'd sell

'em later to whoever wanted 'em.  With the sheep, the

sheep season was in the fall, and that was a busy time

because they'd bring all their sheep, and then you had

to herd 'em out every day to get 'em out to pasture.

When you got all the sheep out, then they had to be

taken to town or someplace to ship, and that was a big

thing to do.  In those days they herded them across.

Later, they [started] taking 'em in trucks.  As a child

I can remember they�d just treek [trek] across the

Reservation, either to Gallup or Farmington, and ship

'em.

   

   Underhill:  And how long would that take?

   

   Herring:  Oh, a long time, two or three weeks.  You

didn't do that in a hurry.  If you went too fast, the

sheep lost all their weight and they weren't…  Now,

as far as the cows were concerned, I don't think they

ever shipped 'em that way.  They just came in and

somebody would come and truck 'em from the trading

post.

   

   Underhill:  Were your parents still running that

post during the Depression, the 1930's?

   

   Herring:  Yes, they were, because that was about the

1929's and '30 and '32's.  And that was when I went on

my mission, and Mother and Dad ran the trading post.

And because it was the Depression, they ran…  What

would you call it?  They helped put the line in for the

gas people from here to Albuquerque.  And they had a

commissary that they run so that they could make enough

money to keep me on my mission.  Don and Vernon run the

trading post while they were on that treek [trek] and

that was in 1931 and 1932.

   

   Underhill:  How did the Depression impact the

trading post?

   

   Herring:  Well, everybody was just poor, they didn't

have much to go on.  Dad had a rough time for a while.

He got real smart and was going to buy all the sheep up

and sell 'em and somethin' went haywire.  He lost

$16,000, and that was a lot of money in those days.

That was a lot to lose.  So he was under debt a lot of

the time after that.  And until Charles and I bought

the store in 1943, he struggled with that debt all that

time, to try to get out from under it.

   

   Underhill:  Do you remember much about the livestock

reduction in the thirties?

   

   Herring:  Oh, yes!

   

   Underhill:  Can you tell us about that?

   

   Herring:  Well, I wish Charles were here to tell you

about that.  Who was the guy, Lij, that everybody hates

because he reduced…

   

   Blair and Underhill:  John Collier.  (laughter)

   

   Herring:  That's right.  And they call him that

right now.  They don't like him.  Why, he just wrecked

it as far as the livestock is concerned.  They aren't

like they used to be.  There used to be herds and herds

and herds out there--they're not there anymore.  He

really put a damper on that--no good.

   

   Underhill:  What was your husband Charles'

background?  Was he also born here in the Southwest?

   

   Herring:  No, he came from Texas, and his folks

moved into New Mexico when he was quite young, and he

went to school in Fort Sumner.  And then after he was

there, he came up here to help build the road between

Gallup and Shiprock, and the one here and on up to the

Colorado border.  And that's when I met him, was when

he was working on the road between here and Gallup.

   

   Underhill:  And what did he hope to do as far as a

career goes?

   

   Herring:  He never even thought about that.  He was

working for the biological survey when we got married,

and we moved to southern New Mexico, and he worked

with…  Well, now they think that little prairie dogs

and coyotes are real nice--in that time they paid him

to go out and take care of 'em and kill 'em.  And when

we first got married, we moved down to there, and I

lived in a big army tent, and we moved every two weeks,

because he had to move to a new location.  And the

first summer and year that we were married, I was down

there with him.  Then he came up and he worked on the

Reservation with the same kind of a program for a

while.  It was while he was working with them, then,

Dad sold him the store.  But what happened--and

Marilene will tell you this--it was during the war, and

Raymond was--well, he wasn't in the Army, but he was in

the Reserves, and evidently--Marilene will tell you

this better than I do--but he was working over at Fort

Wingate or someplace over there, but he was doing

something that would have kept him out of the Army

because it was vital, but somebody persuaded him to let

that go and come back over to the trading post, and he

hadn't been at the trading post three months but what

they drafted him.  That left Marilene alone at Mancos

Creek to run the trading post; took Raymond to the

Army.  And so Dad, that's one reason Dad sold the store

to us, so he could go over and help Marilene with the

trading post.  And that's when he and Mother moved from

Toadlena to Mancos Creek.

   

   Underhill:  And how did you feel about buying the

store?

   

   Herring:  I was real happy to have it.  It was still

the best place, except it's not that way now.  I

wouldn't go back there and live now for anything.  It

isn't the same.

   

   Underhill:  And what were the war years like for

traders?, the World War II years.  You bought in 1943,

and what was the trading post like then?

   

   Herring:  We did a lot of work with the people in

the Army.  Charles wanted to enlist, they wouldn't let

him.  He said, "You're doing more here with the Navajo

people to help them than if we would put you in the

Army.�  He says, �You stay right here."  So he did.  I

can remember we did all kinds of projects.  I can

remember one time that all of the Indian women wanted

to learn to knit for the Army, and golly, we made

sweaters and socks and everything.  I can remember my

front room and bedroom and other bedroom being full of

Indian people learning to knit.  And by golly, those

Indian women could learn to knit quicker than I could!

They'd come in with those things quicker than I could

even think of doin' 'em.  They really worked hard--good

people.  And Charles and Mother both spent a lot of

time writing between families and the boys that were in

the Army.  They kept the correspondence up with them,

which was a good thing to be doing.  Charles did that,

too.  In fact, just recently we sent some things to the

Nez�s [phonetic spelling] family that they had given to

Charles--some money that this boy had got over when he

was in Japan and Korea.  I sent and gave that to them

just recently, that they had given to Charles.

   

   Underhill:  And when did you learn to speak Navajo?

   

   Herring:  After I had to run the trading post.

'Cause after Charles bought the trading post, he was

out doing all kinds of things.  The Indian people loved

Charles, and they treated him just like one of

themselves.  He was just with them.  Quite often they

would come and get him to go with them to do their sand

paintings and their ceremonies and things of that kind,

which they don't do with everybody.  And very often I'd

have to stay at the trading post while he went to do

those things.  I remember one particular time that

there was a big to-do up back of the store on the

mountain a ways, and they wanted him to come.  He had

four different days to help make this sand painting for

them, and I ran the trading post.  The last day that

they were doing it, I was in the trading post, and all

of sudden I looked--well, the trading post is way up on

a hill, and you look down about a half a mile.  On the

way down, here came about twenty horses with Indians on

'em, dressed in their--not their clothes, [but]

feathers and paint and everything, and they tore up to

the front door, didn't even knock, come into the front

room.  They poured pollen all over everything, and went

through a lot of ceremony and out the door they went

and on up to the sand painting!  (laughs)  So that was

something that was interesting.  Then Charles came

back.

   

   Underhill:  When did Charles learn to speak Navajo?

   

   Herring:  He just had to learn it when he went into

the trading post.  I think he learned some when he was

working with them, with the eradicating of the coyotes

and the prairie dogs and all that stuff.  He learned it

after he went to the trading post.

   

   Underhill:  And how did you communicate while you

were learning?

   

   Herring:  (gestures with her hands, everyone laughs)

Charles, even yet, Lij, he could not talk without using

his hands.  He simply had to use his hands to talk.

   

   Blair:  Me either.

   

   Herring:  They use their hands, and he did.  Quite

often when he was sitting here so sick, he'd try to

talk, and I'd say, "Honey, quit trying to talk with

your hands.  I don't understand it."  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  How frequently did you see tourists in

those early years in the forties?

   

   Herring:  Tourists…  The trading post never had

its doors closed.  Even when Mother and Dad were there,

there were people who loved to come out to the trading

post, 'cause it was different.  And I can remember

Mother got sick once, and Dad would just invite anybody

that came in, "Come in and have some dinner.  Come in

and stay with us."  And Mother was ill one day, and a

car drove out back of the corn house, and I remember my

sister and I running out there to tell them that Mother

was sick, so they wouldn't come in.  (chuckles)  And my

dad would have killed us if he'd have known it.  We

didn't let 'em come in that time.  But people would

come, and they'd stay two or three weeks with us.  It

was just a fun place to come and see and do things.

They went bear hunting, they had picnicking, they had

all kinds of things, it was a fun place to go.  And

Mother and Dad were always ready to do things with 'em.

Bear hunting--didn't like that.

   

   Underhill:  And where did they stay?, in your house?

   

   Herring:  Oh, right in the house, oh yes.  In those

days, the trading posts were not built like they are

now.  There was a bar around here.  Here was the place

the Indians stood.  The trading post was this way,

behind the bar, behind the counter.  And they didn't go

behind the counter unless you asked 'em to.  So quite

often, you'd have to be careful that you didn't let

somebody in that you didn't want behind there--you got

into trouble.  (Steiger adjusts microphone; there is

some discussion about a distracting sound.)  Now then,

what else can I tell you?

   

   Underhill:  Oh, you're doing wonderfully.  So we

were talking about tourists.

   

   Herring:  Well, they'd come and stay two or three

weeks.  Oh, you said where did we put 'em.  Well, the

trading post had those counters around like that, but

you always have a lot of extra quilts and shawls up

behind.  And when all this company would come, they had

to be put someplace, so Mother would give them our bed

in the bedrooms, and we'd take the quilts from the

store and put 'em on the counter and sleep on the

counter.  And I can remember many times sleeping on the

counter and sneaking over and getting some cheese and

crackers and tomatoes (chuckles) and eating 'em.  That

was fun.  Those quilts in the store smelled like no

others.  You just don't get the smell out of any of 'em

anymore.  The salesmen used to come and stay.  They

wouldn't come just one day, they'd stay two or three

days 'cause it was fun--enjoyed it.

   

   Underhill:  Who were your salesmen?

   

   Herring:  Oh, everybody.  They came to sell suit

materials, cloth--you name it.  I think you [Elijah]

ran into a lot of that, too, before you got through.

   

   Blair:  Of what?

   

   Herring:  That little quilt that you've got there,

right under your hands, Lij, the salesman would come

out with a bunch of samples, those suit samples, and

you could order your suit from him.  Mother took that

and made the quilt out of the samples that they left

her.

   

   Underhill:  That's wonderful.

   

   Herring:  The community there was nice.  The Indian

school was a nice place to be.  They worked as a group

of people together.  We had picnics, we had fun, we had

something going all the time.  If it wasn't at the

boarding school, it was the missionary--if it wasn't

that, it was Mother.  There was something interesting

always going.

   

   Underhill:  What differences, if any, were there

between missionaries and traders and teachers and Anglo

people who came?

   

   Herring:  We never fussed at each other, we just got

along.  A little bit later in time, why, there was

another missionary came who didn't like us so well, but

we never did fight with him.  We liked him, he was a

good man, but he wasn't like Mr. Brink.  Mr. Brink just

gathered the whole community in as a family.  His wife

was a little bit different, but Mr. Brink just loved

everybody.  And Mother and him together, they just

mothered and fathered the whole community.

   

   Underhill:  And were there Navajo folks who were

going to the mission church as well?

   

   Herring:  Oh, yes!  Oh, yes.  The little

schoolhouse--the missionary put up the school building.

And as I remember, when they first started the school,

Mother had the first classes in her front room.  And I

can still remember sitting in there on the chairs, and

her bawling me out 'cause I didn't do something right.

Later, he moved us over into the basement of his house,

and then he built a little church there next to the

mission, and that was the schoolhouse for a good many

years.  And that's where we went to school with all of

the white kids and all of the Indian kids that were in

the community that could go to the school that wanted

to.  And it was a grade school, it had from primary

through the eighth grade.  It was a good many kids that

went there.  Now, I taught there myself, several years,

later.

   

   Underhill:  And where did you go to high school

then?

   

   Herring:  Well, that was during the Depression, that

was a hard time.  The first year, I couldn't go, so I

studied at home.  And then the last month I came into

Farmington and took all the tests, and they passed me--

I don't how, but they passed me.  The next year, I did

come to Farmington and boarded, the second year.  The

third year, the Depression hit worse than ever, and I

couldn't go anyplace, so I found a place in Gallup that

needed--a family who needed somebody to take care of

their children, and I couldn't go until November.  I

went in November, and the superintendent there let me

take a test from September through November, so that I

could place.  Thank goodness Heavenly Father was good

enough, he let me pass, and I went ahead and finished

my high school in Gallup.  Then I never did get to go

anymore.  Went on a mission, got married, and had kids.

   Now later, you said how did we feel about the Indian

people?  Mother loved 'em just like they were her own

people.  If there ever was a stray child or somebody

that needed help, she gathered 'em in and took care of

'em.  I don't know how many children she counted as her

own adopted children, because she just loved 'em.  And

she took a little [Tewa?] boy, and later he died.  And

she took a little Hopi girl and raised her.  Even after

she moved in here, the Indian people would come in and

leave their children with her to take care of �em,

because she was good with 'em.  She just loved

everybody.  They loved her, too.

   

   Underhill:  What do you think that Anglo people need

to know about the Navajo? Maybe people who don't live

with them…

   

   Herring:  Well, they need to know that they're just

the same as anybody else.  I like the older Navajo

people better than I do the more modern ones.  I'll be

perfectly frank with you on that.  I think they're

taking their place.  I think they're eventually getting

where they need to be to get the education so that they

can take their place in the world.  But back then, it

was a little bit different.

   Now, Mother had the three girls at home, and they

went to Shiprock to get their tonsils taken out.  While

they were there, the nurse brought in this little baby

girl to amuse them.  And Mother wanted her right away,

because her mother had died at birth, and her little

brother, who was a twin, had died about four months

after they were born.  So they brought this baby in to

amuse Marilene and Paula and Ruthie, and when they were

there, why, Mother wanted the baby right away.  We knew

their parents, and Mother said, "Grace, you're looking

for children, because you can't have any of your own.

Why don't you take this little baby until I get to

feeling better, and then I'll take her back again."  So

Charles said all right, we'd do that.  So we took Jill

and took her home.  Do you think Charles would give her

up after he had her for three weeks?  (laughs)  That

was the end of that!  So she was ours from then on.

And Jill has turned out to be a very good daughter.

She went to the "Y" [Brigham Young University], and

she's taught all over the Reservation, even in Alaska

and everywhere, and retired from the BIA.

   And [Derry?], of course I had Jill and she was about

eleven months old, and then I had had my application in

for another child--had for quite a while--and they

called me from Mesa and said they had one.  So we went

and got Derry.  So I had two that were in diapers and

on bottles and everything, for a while.  (Underhill:

Of course.)  And that was enough.

   

   Underhill:  And this was in the 1940's?

   

   Herring:  That was in 1935 and '37.

   

   Underhill:  So they were, of course, with you.  Did

they speak Navajo when they were small?

   

   Herring:  Jill would never learn to speak Navajo!

She wouldn't even try.  Derry did.  Derry would try

every time, and he still does.  He still works with the

Navajo people.  Jill didn't feel inferior to her people

at all--she just wouldn't learn.  She just didn't want

to do anything.  Later, when she was in the BIA, they

offered to send her to some big university in the East

to train, and she could have come back and worked with

all of the handicapped children on the reservation.

But she couldn't do it 'cause she couldn't talk Indian.

So she had to just give it up.  She's turned out to be

a very good efficient young woman.  We love her.

   

   Underhill:  When you bought the [trading post from

your parents] in 1943, was there any kind of lease

attached to that at that time?

   

   Herring:  Well, surely we had to have a lease.  We

had to have something to have it, didn't we?  What was

it, Lij?

   

   Blair:  One year.

   

   Herring:  And you had to renew it every year.  You

know more about that than I do.

   

   Blair:  The way I understood it, Grace--and I don't

know it all, because I wasn't … you know, at that

time.  But I think the BIA issued an annual lease, and

you renewed it every year.

   

   Herring:  I think you had to renew it every year.

   

   Blair:  Yeah, that's the way I understood it.

   

   Herring:  I think that's the way it was, too.

Charles never had any trouble getting it.  The Indian

people liked him.  Now, when we took Jill, the man at

Fort Defiance, the superintendent, said, "Don't adopt

her.  Get a guardianship for her.  Because if you adopt

her, it'll take all of her Indian rights away from

her."  So we didn't, we just got a guardianship for

her.  And it has helped her over the years, her and her

family, a lot.  Derry was a little German boy, and he's

just Derry, that's all.

   

   Underhill:  And when did your family start to carry

[woven Navajo] rugs?  Did you parents have that early

on?

   

   Herring:  Well, it started back when Dad first moved

to the trading post.  He was immediately interested in

the rugs.  As I told you before, he never bought a rug

in the store.  He would take it to the front room--and

poor Mother, the mud that she put up with--he put the

rug down on the front room floor.  I've seen him on his

hands and knees many times, showing them how they could

make them better, how they could make them finer, and

to use the patterns from the potsherds into the

patterns of their rugs.  Now, he and Mr. Davies did

that together.  They worked very close together.  He

had the trading post at Crozier, which is actually Two

Grey Hills now, but it was called Crozier then.  They

were very good friends, and they worked close together.

Now, when they first went there, the rugs were very

rough.  Well, they weren't like this--they were heavy.

And they immediately started to try to tell them to

make them finer and better and to keep them definitely

within the range they did.  Now, they did used to use

some blue and red there, but Mr. Davies and Dad told

them to keep it Two Grey Hills, which was the natural

colors.  And Dad and Mr. Davies are the ones who

started to show them to not put any color into their

rugs.  Later, I think Bob Leighton did let them put

some red and turquoise in--it spoiled them.  It wasn't

a Two Grey Hill rug at all, it just took it out of

another class.  So after Mr. Davies and Dad--and that's

written up in Mr. [Frank (Tr.)] McNitt's book--did so

much work with them; then after Charles took over the

trading post, he became very interested in the weaving.

He was especially interested in Daisy Tauglechee.  I

wish Charles could tell this story, 'cause he could

tell it so much better than I did, but he wanted some

way to get Daisy to get her weaving to be finer and

finer.  And I can still see him sitting down with a

ruler and saying, "Now, Daisy, don't you think you

could make it much finer than you have made it now?"

And so he marked off in grids here how many strings

going this way, and how many this way.  He said, "Do

you think, Daisy, that you could make it fine enough

that you could put this many in an inch?"  She said, "I

believe I can."  And sure enough, she did.  And that's

where the tapestry weaving started to come in, was

because Charles worked with her so hard.  He has never

been given credit for that--not that he wants credit,

but he was the one that got 'em to get finer.  Now

there's so many of the weavers that have gone into

this.  There's one weaver here in Farmington, Les

Wilson [phonetic spelling], brought some of her balls

of yarn up to show Charles and I just recently.  That

thread is just like a number eight [No. 8] thread now.

Now, I have some little balls of yarn that Daisy made

that is just like about, well, between an eight and

something, that she wove this tapestry stuff.  Now,

this Mr. Whitter [phonetic spelling], says that he got

so many of Daisy's rugs.  I don't believe it.  He may

have Daisy-type rugs--he doesn't have that many

Daisies, 'cause she didn't make that many.  It took her

a long time to make one rug.  Even when she got to the

little ones like this, it took her a long time.  Now, I

have two of the little ones left, and one goes to each

one of my children.  There was another weaver who was

almost as good, and that was Bessie Black Sheep.  Her

work was…  I could look at a rug and say, "This is

Bessie's rug," or "this is Daisy's rug," because

they're so different in what they did and what they put

into the rugs.  Now, I do have Bessie Black Sheep, and

I have the Two Grey Hills.  I have another one out

there that I think [Wanda?] Mildred did.  It's quite

fine, but it's not in Daisy's class.  See this?  Daisy

was just the best of ever.

   

   Underhill:  And what was Daisy like?

   

   Herring:  She was a nice girl, nice woman, very

pleasant to be around, very pleasant to talk to.  She

really was a good weaver, and she won a lot of prizes,

I guess, all over.  There's other weavers coming up now

that are, I think, matching her, 'cause they're really

getting--this woman here in town is really doing

beautiful work.  Les said he would bring up the rug

when she finishes it so I could see it.

   Now, this particular rug is one that Daisy made that

we had for a good many years, and then we sold that to

Eddie Foutz.  Now, you can have this if you want it--I

have several of those.

   

   Underhill:  Where did Daisy get her wool?

   

   Herring:  Well, that's another story.  Dad and

Mr. Davies started right away to try to improve the

kind of wool that they had.  And I know Dad bought many

rams and sold them to the Navajo so it'd improve the

wool, and Charles continued that all the time he was

there, too, to improve the wool quality.

   

   Underhill:  And did she card her own wool?

   

   Herring:  Oh yes, carded and spun it.  It was none

of this commercial stuff.  She'd have nothin' to do

with that.  I wish more of 'em wouldn't.  It puts their

rugs in a different class, they're just not the same.

Now, I think they come out with some beautiful rugs,

but they're not on a par with these.

   

   Underhill:  What other crafts or art did you carry?

   

   Herring:  At our trading post, we didn't do much

with silver.  Charles did do a little bit of the silver

work with several smiths, but not anything a great

deal.  We didn't go…  Now, my brother-in-law, Don

Smouse [phonetic spelling] at Borrego Pass really went

in for the silver work and had a lot of silversmiths

working for him.  They did beautiful work over there,

but we never did go for that too much.  Charles had

several things made then, and I have several pieces

that I really treasure, because they're special.

   Now, what else can I tell you?

   

   Underhill:  When did Charles--your trading post--

join the United Indian Traders Association?

   

   Herring:  I don't know!  (laughter)  He was one of

the first ones in the outfield.  You said he had a

number.  I don't know that he ever had a number, Lij.

I know he was one of the first ones that helped with

whoever the man was in Gallup that ran so much of it.

   

   Blair:  ________ together.  He was one of the

charter members (Herring:  And Woodard.) and started

it.

   

   Herring:  Uh-huh.  They might have something, data

on that.  I never did keep that, I don't know.

   

   Underhill:  What do you remember him telling you

about the Association, or what do you remember from the

annual meetings?

   

   Herring:  We used to go to big parties at the

Association.  (laughs)  Sometimes I thought they did a

lot of talking that didn't do any good (laughs) but had

a good time.

   

   Underhill:  And what was a typical meeting like?

   

   Herring:  Oh, they'd discuss all that they were

gonna do.  At one of the meetings they took up buying

the silver that went through Woodard, and that's what

helped make a lot of the funds that you have, so I

understand.  I didn't know too much about that, Lij.  I

did know that through that silver buying and selling,

that they made quite a bit.  Did you know about that at

all?  I didn't.

   

   Blair:  That's where they sold the silver and how

the nest egg actually started--they started the funds,

is the way that I understand it--and then they invested

it in this AT&T stock.  (Herring:  And that's what

helped 'em.)  ________ Grace, I'm not sure, but we're

gonna dig this out.  There!

   

   Herring:  Well, they did all right, anyway.

   

   Blair: They did.

   

   Underhill:  And what were the big issues for traders

as you went through your…

   

   Herring:  Well, it wasn't to get rich, because we

didn't do that.  It was just to keep our families

together and raise 'em the way they should be, and give

'em the right aims and qualities in life.  I don't

think Dad or Charles, neither one, wanted to get rich.

I had one of my nephews this week call me and he said,

"Aunt Grace, I'm going to call you every week, because

you're alone now.  I was so amazed that the family that

were there at Uncle Charles' funeral.�  He said, �I

didn't realize we had such a big wonderful family.  The

one thing that impressed me most was that [some

people]�, he said, "[A certain type] always was out to

make all the money he could and get all the money he

could get in.  Uncle Charles collected friends and

people instead."  Now that is the kind of person that

Charles was.  Money was not the main issue in his life.

He wanted to help the people, he loved them, and they

loved him, too.  Since he moved in here, I never, never

have gone to town with Charles but what we meet some of

the old people who just are so glad to see him and

shake his hand and pat him and love him.  The same with

me.  Now, that's the older people.  Now, I don't know

the younger people that well anymore.  I'm getting too

old.

   

   Underhill:  What did the Navajo people expect the

trader to do for them?

   

   Herring:  In those days, they didn't expect you to

do anything.  They were pretty independent themselves,

and they were pretty trustworthy.  There were very few

of them that tried to take advantage of you, Lij.  They

were good people.  Their standards were good, their

aims in life were good.  Nowadays I don't know, some of

these younger people (chuckles) got screwy ideas.  I�m

sorry…  But they're all good people.

   The thing that bothers me most, and it's a sad

thing, when we first went to the trading post, they had

that big boarding school there, and they would bring

all these little kids in, three and four hundred of

them.  They wouldn't let them talk one word of Navajo

after they hit the school.  Now, there's a lot of these

youngsters who don't know how to talk Navajo, and it's

a shame.  It's a detriment to 'em, they need to know

how to talk in their own language.  I think they're

changing.  Derry says down where he's teaching now that

they're pushing learning their own language, and I'm

glad.  Now, with Jill, she was just stubborn--she just

didn't want to learn.

   

   Underhill:  How has trading changed over the years,

even while you still owned the trading post?

   

   Herring:  Not too much.  Not by the time I moved in

here and brought the children to school.  After the

kids got through the eighth grade, I couldn't see

sending 'em away to school.  That didn't seem right, so

that's the reason I moved in here.  I had the post

office at Toadlena, and so I moved in here with the

children.  Charles stayed there.  We got 'em through

high school, I got 'em through college, and then when I

got 'em through college, he was still out there, and I

said one day, "Charles, either I move in or you move

out!  I'm tired of livin' this way."  So that's when he

sold the trading post and moved in.

   

   Underhill:  And what year was that?

   

   Herring:  1959.  That's here someplace.

   

   Underhill: Oh, that�s fine.

   

   Herring:  It�s in all o� this.  (looks at papers in

her lap) Then we sold the store to Freddie Carson.

   

   Underhill:  How did you come to have the post

office?

   

   Herring:  Well, that's a story, too.  Marilene

called me this week and said, "Grace, I found a letter

here to Dad that was sent to Crozier, New Mexico.

Where was that?!"  I said, "Crozier was at Two Grey

Hills, and that was the first post office that was

there."  I think the reason they moved it to Toadlena

was that they established the government school there,

and that's where all the people were.  Crozier was just

the trading post.  So they changed it to Toadlena, and

Mother got the post office.  Now, Mother run the post

office for, I think it was twenty-seven years.  And

then when she moved to Mancos Creek, I took it over,

and I kept it for about ten or twelve years.  And then

when I moved in here with the kids, Charles took it

over.  I understand recently that they moved it from

Toadlena down to that trading post on the highway.

   

   Underhill:  Why was the post office associated with

the trading post?

   

   Herring:  Why was it at the trading post?  I guess

'cause Mother applied for it, I don't know.  (laughter)

But the people at the school were here and gone and

here and gone, and she was permanent.  That may have

been a reason.  I know some of the postal inspectors

came and visited Mother there.  I can remember one of

�em came, and there was a complaint from the school at

that time, and he came in and investigated the whole

thing.  And when he got through, why, he told Mother

he'd write 'em a letter.  And he wrote a letter to

whoever had made the complaint to straighten it out.

After he left, why, Mother invited him to stay the

night, and when they came in…  Dad always had prayer

in the morning.  He never would start the day without

kneeling down and having prayer.  So that morning he

knelt down and had prayer before he had breakfast.  And

I guess that really opened that inspector's eyes that

Dad was a good person, 'cause later he wrote Mother a

letter and he said that he'd never been in a family

that he felt like that with before.  That's in these

stories, too.  When I get that to you, you'll have the

whole story on that.  But he wrote a very beautiful

letter to Mother and said how much he had enjoyed

meeting her… [comment about another trader�s trouble

w railroad retirement checks]…

   

   Underhill:  How [did it] work, with… railroad

retirement checks, or Social Security?

   

   Herring:  They were Social Security and railroad

checks they would get each time.  I don't think there

was so much while we were there of this welfare that

they're…  I don't think there was a lot of that

then.  It was mostly railroad retirement.  I don't know

when Social Security started.  I really don't know.

   

   Underhill:  Did your father or Charles round up

people to go to work on the railroad?

   

   Herring:  Oh, you bet!

   

   Underhill:  Tell us about that.

   

   Herring:  Well, I can't tell you very much about it,

except every so often they'd recruit a bunch of 'em,

take 'em into Gallup and turn 'em over to the railroad.

And they depended a lot on the railroad help for 'em.

It was a good means of supporting their families

better.  Lij knows more about that than I do.  I didn't

have much to do with that part of it.

   

   Underhill:  How did your trading post change,

itself?  Did you get different kinds of goods over

time?

   

   Herring:  I don't remember it changing much, except

we had milk and butter and cheese and things like that

which we didn't have when we were younger, or when we

first went in there.  I remember Mother said at one

time when she first moved there they bought a case of

laundry soap and it lasted I don't know how many

months.  "But before she left," she said, "we were

selling cases and cases."  In that same length of time

they had learned to be more clean and take care of

things.  And the Church helped a lot, too.  Now, I know

that a lot of the trading posts are wound up with the

Mormon Church, because it just works that way.  So we

taught a lot of the Indian women how to sew, how to

can, how to keep house--all of those things we taught

'em in classes what to do with it, and it helped 'em.

It give 'em a better way of life.  In fact, once a week

we'd hold a meeting where we'd either make quilts or

can or something so that they learned how to do things.

And that was under the Relief Society program.  Mother

was really active in that.

   

   Underhill:  What differences, if any, were there

between a trading family that came from the LDS Church

or a non-LDS family?

   

   Herring:  No difference.  No difference, we loved

'em all.  Some of my best friends are not members of

the Church--even yet.  They belong to the Christian

Reform Church, or they belong to the Catholic Church.

They're all my people.  I think I'm half Navajo!

(laughter)

   

   Underhill:  What do you feel like you learned or

gained from living with the Navajo?  You talked a

little about helping folks learn to sew and can.

   

   Herring:  I learned to be patient, I learned to love

families, because they are so close-knitted as

families.  I think the more important things in life is

what they hang to.  They don't count being rich or

famous or any of those things as important.  That isn't

the important thing.  To be the right kind of

people…  And if I knew them, they were that kind of

people.  I don't know the younger people, I can't speak

for them now, I don't know.  I meet lots of wonderful

young people now, and they're very intelligent and very

versed.  They amaze me that they know so much, but I'm

not that close with 'em anymore.  I'm too old.

(laughter)

   

   Underhill:  What are some of your favorite memories

about your post and people?

   

   Herring:  The way the people loved us and depended

on us.  The times when the missionary and the school

and everybody would get together and we'd have a big

outing on the mountain and everybody would go and enjoy

themselves and play games and be just like one big

community.  The work in the missionary work, of course,

became a lot to me, because after I went on a mission,

then I did a lot of that kind of work with the people.

And then when they established the churches on the

Reservation, Charles had a lot to do with that.  First,

they wouldn't let us build a church, and yet he went

with Ralph Evans and got the permission from Window

Rock to start building different chapels, and that

helped.  And Charles worked a lot with that kind of

work.  For the church at Toadlena, he went with the

chapter officer head and they picked a spot and

everything that should have been--and what do you do

when you put lines out?--surveyed it, and decided where

it was to be.  So Charles really worked a lot with the

Indian people and with Window Rock.  He got along real

well with Window Rock.

   Some way, he had something to do, Lij, with that tax

that they were trying to impose on the traders.  Now, I

can't tell you about that, 'cause I don't know about

it, but I know we went to Santa Fe one night, and it

was an awful trip, and I remember he got 'em to rescind

it some way, but I don't know the story on that.  Do

you?  Some way there had to be a tax that they had to

pay, and he got it so they didn't…

   

   Blair:  (at same time as narrator) This is the

Arizona State tax versus the Warren  Trading Post,

which the Traders Association won.  This store was in

New Mexico, so then all they did [was say], "Hey, you

know, we've already won it in Arizona."  So Charles,

I'm sure, went to Santa Fe and said, "Hey, you can't do

this," and they did rescind it.

   

   Herring:  I wish Charles were here.  He can tell

this so much better than I do.  You were just a month

late.

   

   Underhill:  (expressing sympathy)  Oh.

   

   Herring:  What else do we need?

   

   Underhill:  How did transportation change the nature

of your trading post?

   

   Herring:  (laughs)  Transportation!  Well, I'll tell

you, when we first went out there, the roads were all

mud, the wind blew, the rains came, and you didn't go.

If it rained, you just didn't go, because the washes

get so full you didn't dare to.  The roads were so

terrible you couldn't ride on 'em.  I can remember

Mother at one time saying that she went to Gallup and

it took her two days with the buggy to get to Gallup

because it was so slow.  You didn't travel fast in

those days.  The roads were not there.  Later, the

roads got a little bit better and a little bit better.

I can remember when I got in the trading post, I did a

lot of driving back and forth between Farmington and

Gallup and I even did a lot of the trucking of the

sheep and the cows.  I couldn't do that anymore!  I

remember (chuckles) one time I took a big bunch of

sheep to Gallup in a truck, and the darn things would

keep falling down on me and smothering.  Oh! that was

awful!  I had an Indian boy with me, he'd get out and

punch 'em up.  I wouldn't dare drive a big truck like

that anymore, I couldn't do it.  In those days, you had

to.  You did lots of things you had to do.

   

   Underhill:  When did your family get its first

truck?

   

   Herring:  Durned if I know!  (laughter)  I don't

know.  After Charles went in the trading post, I know

he was quite ill, the two children were quite ill, and

we had a little car and we turned it to Dad, so he paid

us for it, so we paid the hospital bill with it.  So it

had to be about 1935 or '40 before we got the truck.

Charles did a lot of trucking after…  He was on the

road.  That's the reason I had the trading post to take

care of, he was out doing other things--taking the cows

and taking the sheep and taking the wool, those big ol'

bags of wool.  Did you ever do that? those immense bags

of wool that we pounded down in there?  Derry was

tellin' me a story about that.  He said in the back

wareroom they piled big sacks of wool like this, so

that they were just a big stack of 'em.  He said it was

such fun to get back there on those wool sacks and jump

down to the bottom.  It was just like a nice slide.  He

said they went out there one day and really was havin'

a good time, and when they got through, why, Charles

came out and caught 'em at the bottom end of a case of

bananas.  They'd smashed 'em flat!  (laughter)  Oh,

dear.

   Another thing really interesting happened.  Paula

was the baby and she was spoiled--that I will admit.

And Dad was a kind, gentle man.  He never scolded us

that I remember of.  They will say about us that "it's

the Bloomfields showing out."  I'm sorry, Lij, if the

Bloomfield shows out, that's not true.  Dad was a kind,

gentle man.  Mother was the firebrand.  And she would

really smack--all she had to do was look at us, and we

would behave.  But one time Paula went with one of her

little friends.  Have you been at the trading post?

The warehouse is here, and there's the steps going down

into the cellar?  Well, they used to put Cracker Jack

out in big boxes like this.  I don't know how many of

those little Cracker Jack boxes were in those cases,

but they had good prizes in there at that time, things

that were worth having.  They were fun.  So one day

Paula and her friend went out and they got at the top

part of these steps, and they opened a whole case of

Cracker Jack, dumped the Cracker Jack down and put the

little prizes up on the top step.  And Dad caught 'em.

And that's the only time I ever heard him bawl Paula

out, and he really gave her fits.  Then after, he was

so sorry, because he'd lost his temper, he took her in

and cut a watermelon and gave it to her.  (laughter)

   Now what else could I tell you that's fun?

   (Pause to change video tape; begins mid-

conversation.)

   

   Blair:  Not every morning!  I said, "Gosh, Grace,

George just won't admit two."  I thought, "That's a

piece of cake!  I can milk two cows anytime!"  (laughs)

   

   Herring:  Oh, shoot!  But we really had some

wonderful experiences at the trading post.

   

   Blair:  Loved it!

   

   Herring:  Really did.  I can remember after Charles

and the kids had been so sick, we had to make money

some way, so he went into the chicken business.

(chuckles)  I remember one time he would clean and pick

the chickens and take 'em to Gallup to sell 'em.  One

time he made me pick a hundred of the things.  And I

never wanted to pick another chicken ever in my life.

But then he built a great big shed, and he must have

had 500 hens in there.  And he went out one night to

check to see if the mites had got in there, and he

painted all over with creosote and stuff under the

roosts, and he lit a match to see if they were--and,

fssttt!, he burned all of his hands up, and the brooder

house--it burned everything up.  (laughter)  Oh, shoot!

Quite a life.

   

   Underhill:  This is Tape 2 of two, with Grace

Herring, and it's Wednesday, February 11, 1998, and

it's about 2:30.  We're talking about the trading post.

   Grace, when did you have people who worked with you?

   Herring:  How?  Doing what?  At the trading post?

   

   Underhill:  Yes.  And how early on, and what did

people do, and who were they?

   

   Herring:  Well, Charles was out seein' about the

outside work, and seeing about lambs and the cows and

going to Gallup and getting the freight and all of

that.  So I had the trading post.  I had an old Indian

by the name of Joe.  He was a prince.  He was right

there for me all the time.  I remember one time we had

one lady who was a stinker.  That's the only name you

can call her.  She would come in and she would make

trouble every time she came into the trading post.  One

day I was there by myself and she came in and she threw

one of her tantrums and I tried to handle it the best I

could, but I went back into the wareroom and I went

back there and I was crying.  And this man came back in

and put his arm around me, he said, "Don't pay any

attention to her.  She's just no good."  (laughter)  So

people were good to us.  The Indian people, as a rule,

were good.  We never had any trouble with them at all.

She was just a firebrand.  She was one of the ones…

And yet, she's our good friend--her children are our

good friends right now.

   

   Underhill:  Now, I know Elijah worked for you for

about seven months.  (Herring:  Uh-huh.)  What was that

like?

   

   Herring:  That was nice to have somebody to take the

sweepin' (laughs) off of my hands, so I didn't have to

do it.  (laughter)  And the milking!

   The story about the milking--and that's one reason

you got to do it.  Vernon was a stinker sometimes.  He

had to milk the cows, so one day he said, "Grace, I'll

bet you can't milk."  I said, "I'll bet you I can!"  He

said, "I'll bet you a dime you can't milk those cows."

So I went out and I milked the cows.  And you know who

milked the cows from then on--I did it!, he didn't.

(laughter)  So Lij took over for me.  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  And who else worked for you?

   

   Herring:  Who else worked with us?  (Underhill:  Uh-

huh.)  Oh, we had different people at different times.

Some of the Jacks worked with us at times, some men

from Shiprock worked a fall.  I can't remember all of

'em.

   

   Underhill:  How many people did you usually have at

any one time?

   

   Herring:  Not more than one family--except the

Indian people that we would have help us.  And this one

Indian man was especially good, he was a special

person.  Old Jumbo [phonetic spelling] was a good guy,

and he was always there to help us.  Old Jumbo, that

was another story.  You've seen my little house at

Toadlena, where Mother built a little tent house first,

because she couldn't stand the kids in the main part of

the house, they were making too much noise and she

couldn't get any rest.  So she had Dad build this

little tent house, and she would go out there so she

could rest.  After Charles and I went to the trading

post, we took that tent house, converted it into a

kitchen, and built a porch.  And we took the chicken

house behind it and that was our front room.  And then

we built other bedrooms behind.  And one night--we

never locked our doors then.  You never locked your

doors.  You never, ever would think of locking your

doors.  And one night in the middle of the night

something hit that front porch, came through the

kitchen, through the front room and into the bedroom,

and the first thing I knew, they were shaking Charles

and said, "Charlie, wake up! wake up! come and help

me!"  Charles said, "What in the world's the matter

with you?"  He said, "My daughter's havin' a baby, and

she's havin' a hard time, I gotta have some help."

Well, Charles got up and got his clothes on and went

way up the hill to where the daughter was havin' the

baby.  They made a big thing on some poles and a

blanket and brought her down, got her to Shiprock, she

had the baby all right.  So it was always something

that they would--they would come to you with

everything, wanted the help.  And anybody was sick,

they'd ask Charles to come.  Very often I've known him

to be called to somebody that was ill, because they

wanted him to talk to them.  He keeps telling a story

about some man, and since he got so sick himself, he

said "I could take my own advice now," but this man had

just given up.  He wouldn't get up, he wouldn't even

try.  And Charles said he went up and talked to him, he

said, "Now, look, if you'll get up every day a little

while, and stay up, pretty soon you'll be all right."

And he kept checking on him, and made him get up, and

after a while, the man did get okay, because he kept

trying.  And quite often, if they had somebody sick,

they wanted Charles to come down and say a prayer with

'em.  Now, that was before Charles was too active in

the Church, but they wanted to have him bless them for

some reason.  They depended on you for everything.

   I remember one time Mrs. Jumbo had a baby, and she

came and got Mother and I to go over and help her.  And

if you think primitive ways are primitive, you should

see that!  But that was when she had the little baby

that they called Charlie--and they called him after

Charles after that.  Then there's people out there

named for me and for Charles and for Dad.  If they

liked people, they gave 'em their names.  You'll find

'em all over out there.  They liked us.  I think they

felt like we were one of 'em.  And I feel like they're

one of us, they're my people.

   

   Underhill:  Do you have a nickname?

   

   Herring:  Oh, yes!  (laughs)

   

   Underhill:  What is it?

   

   Herring:  When I was growing up, it was Tsii�gaii,

which meant "white hair," 'cause my hair was just snow

white.  After I got in the store, they called me

�Asdz�n� Hashk� (laughs) 'cause they said I was always

cross with 'em, I wouldn't let 'em get away with

anything, I'd bawl 'em out.  So they called me "the

cranky woman."

   

   Underhill:  And what was Charles' nickname?

   

   Herring:  ______________.  And they called him

Hastiin Dl�� Y�zh�, which meant "little prairie dog,"

because he worked with the prairie dogs.

   

   Underhill:  And what about your kids?

   

   Herring:  I never remembered them giving the kids

particular names.  I don't remember that.  Derry might

be able to tell you, because he probably did, because

he worked with the little ones.  I don't know.

   

   Underhill:  Did your parents have nicknames, too?

   

   Herring:  Just W�shk�alii and W�shk�alii Be�esdz��.

W�shk�alii meant "teeth out."  Dad never had any teeth,

and it was just W�shk�alii for him and W�shk�alii

Be�esdz��, which meant his wife.  Vernon was W�shk�alii

Biye�, and we were W�shk�alii…  What is "daughter"?

   

   Blair:  Bitsi�.

   

   Herring:  Bitsi�.  That's what they usually called

us.  But it was after I got to trading with them they

called me the "angry woman."  And I guess I deserved

it, 'cause they pulled some big ones, and I wouldn't

let 'em do it.

   

   Underhill:  What kinds of things did they pull?

   

   Herring:  Oh, they just tried to boss me around and

tell me how to do their work, and I wouldn't do it.

(An aside about buzzing noise)  All those stories I've

got that I know you're gonna want:  the ones that

Mother wrote, the ones that Dad wrote, the ones that I

wrote, the one that Charles wrote.  All I can do is get

copies of those for you.

   

   Underhill:  That's perfect.

   

   Herring:  Now, some of 'em are quite thick.

   

   Underhill:  That is perfect.

   

   Cole:  Did you keep any old correspondence or

letters?

   

   Herring:  No.  I got a lot of love letters--you

can't have those!  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  Not even copies, huh?  (laughs)

   

   Herring:  Not even copies.

   

   Underhill:  Is that stationery?

   

   Herring:  That's the stationery that [Pearl?] had.

   

   Underhill:  Now, your dealings, you mentioned that

you accepted pawn.  How long would you keep pawn?

   

   Herring:  Usually about six months, wasn't it, Lij?

One season to the next, so that you expected to take

'em out either at wool season or lamb season.

   

   Underhill:  Would you let people borrow pawn for

ceremonies?

   

   Herring:  (laughs)  You bet they did!  (laughs)

   

   Underhill:  How did that go?

   

   Herring:  You'd just add it to the price on it, that

you had on the pawn.  You had to be careful sometimes,

they'd get a little bit too much for it, and then not

take it out.  But we never had too much trouble with

our pawn, they usually came and got it.

   

   Blair:  _________________ (same time as narrator)

   

   Underhill:  When someone was having a ceremony

(Herring:  Oh, you bet.) could they borrow it?

   

   Herring:  Sometimes they'd come and finagle you to

let 'em have it so they could bury the people with 'em.

And quite often Charles would let them have it, and

make some other arrangements so they could pay for it,

'cause they buried a lot of their stuff with their

people.

   

   Underhill:  How often was Charles involved in the

burials?

   

   Herring:  (chuckles) About every time they had one.

I tended the store a lot of times so he could go out

and do the things they wanted him to do.  They just

thought of him as one of them.  In fact, they still

did.  So many of 'em, since he's been ill, have come in

to see him, or called him, or something, since he's

been feeling badly.  And he loved 'em, he really loved

the Indian people.

   

   Underhill:  And they loved him.

   

   Herring:  They loved him, too.  (pause)  Better than

I am--some of 'em aggravate me.

   

   Underhill:  How often did you go to a Navajo

ceremony?

   

   Herring:  Every time there was a chance!  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  And what were they like?

   

   Herring:  Oh, in the early days, you really saw some

beautiful things.  Now, the fire dances, they used to

have 'em, you just can't understand what they are.

They are not the same now.  I remember one fire dance

we went to, that I never saw such magnificent

performances.  They had every hour on the hour, the

dancers would change, and they would always--always

when you went to a ceremony, you didn't go empty-

handed.  You either took a sack of flour or sugar or

lard or something to give them.  But they would give us

a seat right up close so that we could see.  I remember

this particular fire dance went on for I don't know how

many days they had it--ten or eleven, wasn't it?  It

was a long time that it took to finish 'em.

   

   Blair:  Nine days, Grace.

   

   Herring:  This particular lady who had the fire

dance for, actually got better afterwards.  Mother said

they do have a prayer channel up there some way, 'cause

she got better.  But that was fun.  I remember taking

Charles' mother to a ceremony one night, and they'll

give us a seat right up at the front.  Another time I

went with Charles to a ceremony up above the trading

post, and they gave us a seat right down in front where

the medicine men were working.  And I swear I don't

know how they did it, Lij, but I watched this as

closely as I could, and they actually made the feathers

dance.  You could see 'em out here on the basket,

dancing.  Now, I don't know how they did it.  Charles

said he thought they had strings attached to 'em, maybe

they did, I don't know.

   

   Blair:  I saw the identical thing.  They put the

feather in the basket, the basket is on the floor, and

the feathers are (Herring:  On the top of the basket.)

and the feathers actually seem--the feathers stand up,

and there's no strings.

   

   Herring:  They actually dance on the basket.  Well,

I've always told Charles there was no strings, 'cause I

looked real close.

   

   Blair:  No strings.

   

   Herring:  Now, Dad tells of going up on top of the

mountain one time, and going to a ceremony, and he said

that they planted the corn in the ground and he said

they actually saw the corn grow and get ears on it

before it quit.  I don't know how they did it.  I don't

know how.  They have a knowledge that we don't know of

a lot of things.  They know things we don't know.  And

as far as their medicine is concerned, I wish we had

all the knowledge that those old medicine men have.  I

wish they'd give it to us, because they help a lot of

their people.  I don't know why they won't let go of

it.  And the old medicine men are getting (phone rings,

tape turned off and on, discussion regarding copying of

documents)  Now then, what else can I tell you that'll

help you?

   

   Underhill:  How did you get your news about the rest

of the world, when you were out at the trading post?

   

   Herring:  Well, we had a telephone, and we had

radio.  I don't know when those came into being.  Other

than that, we didn't need it.  We had enough to take

care of with our own little lives.  You had to carry

all your water, you had to do the washing this way

(demonstrates using scrub board).  Life was not easy in

those days.  I can remember when Mother got her first

washing machine, and it was one that you went this way

(demonstrates) with.  You washed there.  Other than

that, we got up at four o'clock in the morning and did

it on the washboard.  And every Monday morning was wash

day.  Tuesday morning was ironing day.  Wednesday

morning was something else.  The week was divided up.

We had duties each day of the week and Mother saw we

did it.  She couldn't have survived without it.

   

   Underhill:  And how long was the average day for

you?

   

   Herring:  We had lots more time in those days than

we have now.  We'd get up early in the morning and do

our work.  In the afternoon, I can remember whole

afternoons we had nothing to do but quilt and do what

we wanted to do.  I don't know where the times changed.

The gears of the whole world have gone too fast.  I

don't like this world, it's too hectic.  I'll go back

to the old days.

   

   Underhill:  When did you start painting?

   

   Herring:  I always liked to paint.  I had a teacher

who was interested enough that she helped me.  I guess

I was about twelve or thirteen when I started in oil.

Other than that, it was just drawing.  But I've always

liked to paint.  It's fun, something I can do.  I like

to quilt.  I like to sew.  Mother always had a quilt

on.  I can remember as we grew up that on the big

porch--and they destroyed a lot of that, Lij.  They

built a bedroom here and a bathroom here.  The porch

that used to be clear along it, is gone.  Mother would

put a quilt out there and I can remember playing under

the quilt, because it was such a fun place to be as a

child.  She had ropes to the ceiling, and she just put

it up and down so that she could quilt when she wanted

to.  She always had a quilt on.

   

   Blair:  What happened to mine and Claudia's

honeymoon cottage?, the little duplex that was up on

the hill, that we lived in.  It wasn't out there when I

left.

   

   Herring:  Oh, it burned.  It caught fire and burned.

We were in Salt Lake.

   

   Blair:  It wasn't there when I was out there this

summer, so I just wondered.

   

   Herring:  No, that's what happened, it burned down.

   

   Underhill:  Were there other fires?

   

   Herring:  We had lots of fires.

   

   Underhill:  Other than the chicken coop, yeah!

(laughs)

   

   Herring:  That burned.  One time they got a fire in

the ceiling of our little house, and I went up through

the attic and we got it put out.  Another time, there

was a fire in the bottom of the trading post where we

kept the power plant for the electricity.  So we moved

it down below the store in another shed, after that

fire.  We had quite a few fires.  And then the fire,

when it burnt the barn and all his chickens up.

Charles still tells about those chickens.  He said he

got three of 'em to get out.  He tried to chase 'em

out, and he couldn't get 'em out.  So he said as those

chickens burned, he could hear 'em pop, because they'd

get so hot they'd just burst.  And all that brooder

house and all those little tiny cute chickens in there,

it burnt.  We had an old pig that was in the pen right

next to the chicken house, and the Indian people tried

to make him get out, and they beat him and beat him.

He was the biggest pig I think I ever saw, and they

beat him till the time when that fire was over.  He was

just down to nothin' but skin and bones.  And after

that, he wasn't a very good pig after that.  He was

kind of ornery.  And this is a long story.  Whether you

want to listen to it I don't know.

   

   Underhill:  Yes, please.

   

   Herring:  It'll be in some of this material yet.

But Charles went out one morning to feed them, and he

went to the barn and he had a lot of squash in there.

He opened the doors to the squash to get the squash

out, and fed it out to this old pig.  And the pig hit

him in the back and caught him in the back of his legs

and almost knocked him down.  So Charles was cross with

him and he got out and he chased the pig, and the pig

chased him down into the lot a ways, and the pig hit

him again.  So he had a big hole in both legs of his

back [big holes in the back of both pant legs? (Tr.)].

And he got up on an old platform of a truck that was

down there, and the pig got over him like this, and he

couldn't get up.  And he kept pushing the darned pig

away from him, and he had big long tusks, and at last

he yelled at his dogs to come and help him, and old

Tinker came and he kept biting on the pig at the bottom

end, so Charles could get relief enough, and he pushed

him off.  And after he got him off, why then Tinker ran

him off down the lot, and Charles came in the store.

That's the only time--that's what Jill said, "[Until]

this time, I never heard Dad swear, until that."  He

came in and he was swearing.  He said, "Damn it to

hell!"  And Jill said, "What in the world's the

matter?"  And he said, "That D-A-M-N pig almost got

me!"  So Dad said, "What you gonna do about it?"  And

Charles said, "I'm gonna kill him."  So he went and got

a gun and they went out and they did shoot the pig.

This is something I shouldn't tell, but the pig

weighed, dressed out, 900 and some pounds.  �Cause he'd

got back to normal after the fire.  And so I said,

"What you gonna do with him?"  Charles said, "I'm gonna

drag him off in the ditch."  I said, "You're not

either.  You're gonna dress him out."  So he dressed

him out, and he dressed out over 900 pounds.  And we

put the meat in the store.  That was the best meat I

ever ate, as far as pork was concerned, it was really

good.  So we sold quite a bit of it.  The Indians found

out what we had done, and no more would they have it.

They said, "We eat any more of that meat, we'll be bad

just like the pig was."  (laughter)  So here was all

that salt side, so I took the whole thing and salted it

down, Lij, and put it away for three months, and later

I sold it for salt side.  Was no harm to anybody.

   

   Underhill:  They didn't get meaner, huh?

   

   Herring:  No, they didn't get any meaner.

(laughter)  But that'll be in that story of his, too.

You'll have all the details on that.

   Now, what else?  So many things happened.  I

remember one time he had an old bull that hated me, and

I didn't even have to walk out by the gate where that

bull was.  He'd just drop on his knees and just bellow

and rip this up and throw dirt all over.  Ornery old

stinker!  I didn't go out there very much, but one day

he went out and he got mad and he took the wheelbarrow

and he just tipped it clear over his head.  Later, the

darned thing, they put it in a truck to take him off,

and he killed one of the cows before they got him into

Gallup.  He was just ornery.  That's not anything to do

with this story, but it was all…

   Another thing that happened that was interesting is

that we raised a lot of pigs.  This one old pig had

nine little ones.  They were the cutest little stinkers

you ever saw!  A little pig is really cute.  I went out

to see about 'em, and the mother had stepped on the

stomach of one of those little pigs and cut it clear

through to his insides.  His little insides were all

dragging on the ground, and I said, "I can't stand

that!"  So I picked the little stinker up and took him

into the house, and the doctor in Gallup had given me

some soap and diazine, and I took and washed that all

out, and pushed his insides back inside of his stomach,

and took some nylon thread and sewed the inside

stomach, and then I sewed the outside stomach, and put

him in a little bed by the coal stove.  And that little

stinker yelled all night long!  And as I got up in the

morning, I said, "Charles, I cannot stand this.  He's

going back with his mother."  So I took him out and I

put him in the pen with his mother, he went right over

and went to nursing, and he grew to be a great big pig.

(laughter)  All kind of experiences you had that were

fun, it was good for you.

   I could also undo any darned sewer that went and got

stopped up, too.  (laughter)  You learn all those kind

of things.  That wasn't the fun part.

   

   Cole:  Did you have any kind of garden?

   

   Herring:  Oh, yes!  When we first moved there, the

wash was just a little ways below the store, and the

water came down over a big waterfall for a whole half a

mile, and there was lots of water in the wash then.

Dad had a huge garden, he had all kinds of vegetables,

he had every kind of fruit that grew.  Dad was a person

who loved plants.  All over the trading post he had a

huge rose garden, all of his flowers and everything.

We had lawn and everything around the place at that

time.  That's all gone now, there's none of that left.

Dad was a person who loved to grow things.  I can

remember he had all kinds of pears and plums and

peaches and cherries and every vegetable that grew.

But after that, the government sidetracked our water

for a while, from up above the falls, and took it over

to the school.  And that cut down the flow here, and

that really cut down what we could grow, because below

the trading post they used to have huge alfalfa fields.

I don't even known whether they're there anymore.  I

haven't gone out for so long I don't know what's there.

But Marilene says that there is water coming down the

wash now.

   

   Blair:  I found that there was water coming off the

same place when I was out there, and there is still--

still below the store there.

   

   Underhill:  Is there a lot of it coming down?

   

   Blair:  Very little.

   

   Herring:  Well, there used to be a pretty good

stream there, because we could dam it up and even have

swimming pools down in the wash, because there was so

much water.  And it was beautiful, clear water.

   

   Blair:  Oh, it was clear, it was a nice stream

coming down the side there.

   

   Herring: And what fun we had, goin� up the canyon.

Now, that's all in my story, too, telling about the

canyon, what a wonderful place it was.  I'll get you a

copy of all that--tell it better than I'm telling you

now.

   

   Underhill:  What would you do with the produce, the

garden products?  Did you use all that yourself, or was

it in the post also?

   

   Herring: The garden stuff?  We ate it, or else Dad

gave it to people.  He was always giving people away

stuff [i.e., giving stuff away to people (Tr.)], Indian

people.  I think I inherited that, I love to give

people things, and Dad loved to give people things,

too.

   

   Blair: Grace, tell them what they called him,

besides W�shk�alii.

   

   Herring:  W�shk�alii.

   

   Blair:  Yeah, but they called him Hastiin

A�k��sdis�.

   

   Herring:  I don't know that.

   

   Blair:  He gave all the kids candy, so at Mancos

Creek, they called him Hastiin A�k��sdis�, "Mr. Candy."

   Herring:  Oh, he always gave 'em that.  At his

funeral, one of the girls--she wasn't scheduled to

speak at Dad's funeral, but she came up and asked

Mother, could she please speak?  So they gave her time

at the funeral, and she got up and told how Dad always

gave 'em candy and took care of 'em.  He was good to

'em.  He loved the little kids.  He loved all the

people, and that.  In fact, Dad and Mother really loved

the Indian people--so do we.

   

   Underhill:  And why did you stay in the trading

business?

   

   Herring:  'Cause I liked it!  (laughter)  I'd have

went back if Charles had went back and stayed there,

but he wouldn't.  And I had the kids to take care of,

too.  They came first.  After I got in here and got

workin' for the post office, I kinda stayed put.  Then

he decided he wasn't gonna stay out there anymore, why,

he just had to come and live with me.  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  What do you think the future of business

with Native Americans will be?

   

   Herring:  I don't know, I don't know.  Ask Lij, he

knows more about the trends than I do now.  I've been

away too long.  I can't say.  I think the Indian people

are gonna gradually take their place in the world.  I

hope they do.  I hope they get over this idea like,

this Hale [Albert Hale, a former president of the

Navajo Nation] bit of closing the Reservation off, and

all that stuff.  I think that's a bunch of garbage!  I

think he's being stupid!  They're gonna grow up.  I

wish they would turn the Reservation just into part of

the United States, and let 'em be one, but they'll

never do that.  The Indian people will never allow

that, I don't think.  I wish they would.  They should

be just like this with us.  We're just all American.

Like somebody said, they call themselves (chuckles)

Native Americans, and she said, "Well, I was born here,

too.  I'm a native American, too."

   

   Underhill:  We work with someone who says that, too.

(laughs)

   

   Herring:  Oh, shoot, I don't know.  I've told you so

many stories today, and they'll be repeated in stuff

that I'm going to give you.

   

   Underhill:  What else would you like to add that we

should know?

   

   Herring:  Nothin'.  I just love the Indian people, I

think they have a wonderful heritage, if they'll just

handle it right, if they'll go about it in the right

way and not get sidetracked by some of these crazy

ideas that are coming along with our government.  If

they'll just keep their heads about 'em, I think

they'll take their place.  I think they're a lot of

smart people.  And there's a lot of 'em growing up that

are smart and not prejudiced and pig-headed like some

of 'em.  Is that a nasty word?  (laughter)  But they're

good people.  They're my friends.  I don't want any

better ones.  They're better than a lot of the white

people, as far as friends are concerned.  That's true.

We never felt any prejudice.  And I don't think Jill

ever felt any difference, being a Navajo.  Even in

school here, she never felt like she was different than

the rest of 'em.  They accepted her very well.  And her

husband was very good to Jill.  He made her proud of

what she was, and I'm grateful to him for that, because

he could have put her down, but he didn't.  He's a pain

in the neck (laughter), but he's a pretty good guy.

   

   Underhill:  Is he a Navajo?

   

   Herring:  Oh, no, he's an Irishman.  They're a good

bunch of kids.  And right now, the latest thing is that

Derry's youngest son--did you hear about him?

   

   Blair:  No.

   

   Herring:  He adopted three triplet Negro babies.

(Blair:  Oh, really?)  They were just a week old.  I

think he's nuts!  (laughter)  So Derry has three

children.  Each one of them have three children.  Jill

had two children, and there's nine or ten grandchildren

on that side.

   

   Underhill:  If you could change anything about your

life, would you change something?

   

   Herring:  I'd go back to the Reservation like it

used to be.  But it's not that way anymore.  You don't

find it like that anymore, it's not the same.  If I

could do anything for children that would be good for

'em, it would be put 'em into the atmosphere that I had

growing up.  Now, Paula and Marilene said they were

bored at Toadlena.  I was never bored there.  There was

always something fun to do or something to see--either

picnic to the falls or the Two Grey Hills or arrow

hunting or potsherd hunting.  There was always

something fun to do, and Mother always saw that we had

plenty to do.  It was a good life.  I wouldn't trade

it, I'm glad I had it.  I never felt deprivileged

because I was out there.  If you wanted to do

something, you could do it.  Mama always said, "If you

want something, go after it.  If you work for it,

you'll get it."  It's that way.  Now, Paula was

spoiled.  I'm sorry, Paula was spoiled.  She came later

in life, when life wasn't so hard for Dad and Mother

too.  She was a good person, too.  Paula was special.

   Now, what else can I do?

   

   Underhill:  Well, Grace, I think we've worn

ourselves out.  (laughs)  I don't know about you.  It's

been wonderful, thank you, very much.

   

   Herring:  I don't know whether that would be

anything that you want a copy of or not.  This tells

about the area history and how Bloomfield got its name.

It was from my grandfather.  He came out from Raymond

to show 'em how to put in that ditch over there, and

when he got through, they wanted him to move over here

and they'd give him land.  And he said no, so they

named Bloomfield for him instead.

   Now, this is the agreement between Freddie Carson

and his wife…  Now, I called her up and tried to get

some information from her, Lij.  She didn't know

anything.  So I went to look through all my old files,

and I found where we had sold the store to them.  And

there's a copy of everything on that, and over on that.

Here is the agreement, I think, between Dad and I and

Charles, for the trading post.  So that might be…

Here's the sales contract.  Now, this was between Dad

and I, too.  That goes along.  And then this other, you

will find a lot of good information in here, Lij.  So

I've saved this book, and give it to you…

   [END OF INTERVIEW]