September - Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe

FSST SEPTEMBER 2013 NEWSLETTER
Tribal Elder Sid Byrd shares Boarding School Experience
This little Indian boy was a
student at Carlisle Indian
School in Pennsylvania. He
is attired in a military uniform
that all boys were
requi8red to wear on campus.
I was reared by loving
grandparents whose desire
for me was an education to
prepare me for life’s challenges
in a white man’s
world. That is how I was
sent away at a tender age to
attend Genoa Indian School
in east central Nebraska.
Our people call that place,
“Scili Owayawa” or Pawnee
School. It was a Federal
Government boarding
school. I spent my entire
grade school years on that
campus until it was permanently
closed in the spring of
1934. When I arrived at that
school I had many problems.
I was not only the smallest
and youngest boy on campus,
but my worst problem
was I could not speak a
word of English! That was
followed by another shocking
experience. We were
severely punished for speaking
in our own tribal languages!
How was I going to
communicate? Perhaps by
sign language? The loneliness,
despair and heartache
were almost too difficult to
bear. Bedtime was the most
heartbreaking time for most
of us. There was no parental
love, only four empty walls
and the sound of little children
whimpering for the love
of parents to kiss them good
night and to tuck them in.
One little boy called out,
“mamma.” That started a
chorus of weeping little boys
in their loneliness for home
and loved ones. I simply
covered my head with my
pillow to blot out the sounds.
When I was finally permitted
to return home I was given a
train ticket and some money
to buy my lunch. When I arrived
at Gordon, Nebraska, I
looked out the window and
saw my grandparents waiting
for me. I practically leaped
from the train and ran to
greet them. My dear grandmother
with tears streaming
down her cheeks embraced
me as if she would never let
me go. Then she began tenderly
speaking words of endearment.
That’s when I
made a shocking discovery –
I could no longer communicate
with the people I loved
and for whom I waited so
long to be reunited. I cried
and made a solemn vow that
20
I would relearn my native
language. At this late date I
am able to announce I have
recaptured a precious gift
that had been beaten out of
me. I can now proudly
speak, read and write in the
language of my ancestors,
but alas, it may be too late.
Most of my tribal members
now speak only in the English
language.
Submitted by: Sid Byrd
IMAGINE…
Imagine a lonely seven-year-old
Lakota boy
Hundreds of miles away
From a home he left two-years ago,
Trying desperately to remember
His grandmother’s smile
And his grandfather’s wisdom……..
Imagine the confusion, the excitement,
the horror of
Twenty different Nations blended
Together in one small school on the
prairie…
Imagine a new language, a new way
of life….
Some ways good, some ways not…
The sounds of five hundred children
Working, learning, playing, drilling…..
Imagine the broken hearts and the
broken spirits
That will take years to mend…….
Some will never heal.
Imagine not knowing when you see
Grandfather again, you will
Not know his words… his stories,
passed down for generations,
Will be lost to you…
You will only understand his tears and
he, yours….
Close your eyes and listen…
It all happened here
Jerry W. Carlson
Genoa U.S. Indian School (1884-
1934)
Genoa, Nebraska 6/2007