Summer 1882Marion D. Woods
Commercial Fisherman
Seattle, Washington
I had the misfortune to be born into a good Christian family—if there is such a thing. It was all my grandfather’s fault. He started out well enough—a full-blooded Crow and a heathen savage. But then some Bible beater got a head-lock on him and convinced him that he was doomed to the fires of hell because Adam and Eve ate an apple back at the beginning of time.
Grandfather started wearing white men’s clothes and living indoors. He converted to Christianity and was baptized Joseph White. His Indian friends renamed him, too—White Man Runs His Life, they called him. Worse, still, he joined the Indian Police and, after arresting and persecuting a sufficient number of his brethren, was advanced to the rank of corporal.
He
