Code Talker (33 page)

After the gold medal presentation, I was in even greater demand as a speaker. I traveled all over for interviews, wearing my official code talkers' uniform. A red peaked cap represented the Marines. A gold shirt, with a 3d Division patch on the arm, stood for corn pollen. Navajo jewelry showed respect for the Navajo people, the
Diné.
Light-colored pants recalled the earth and all of its inhabitants.

Among the places I visited were Washington, D.C., Boston, New York City, Dallas, Georgia, and California. My son Mike accompanied me. In addition to speaking engagements, I appeared on
Larry King Weekend
on June 8, 2002, with another code talker, Roy Hawthorne. I also appeared on the television show
60 Minutes
and was interviewed by Hoda Kotb for the
Today
show.
National Geographic
magazine interviewed me twice. In 2004, the Boston Red Sox—who had suffered from the “Curse of the Bambino” since the Red Sox sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees—asked me to bless their team. Major David Flores, who had arranged several speaking tours for me in the Boston area, and his son rode with Mike, Rita, and me in the car approaching Fenway Park. A police motorcycle escort accompanied us, sirens blaring and lights flashing. We navigated the Boston traffic, and I arrived in time to give the team a Navajo blessing and toss out the game ball. It was April, and for the first time since 1918, eighty-six years, the Red Sox won the World Series.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Celebration

Sunday dawned cloudy, with the promise of wind and rain. I woke early. My family—son Mike, daughter-in-law Rita, grandson Michael, and great-grandson Emery—dressed in party clothes, and helped me to dress in the red cap, gold shirt, and tan pants of my code talker uniform.

I had been honored by the U.S. Congress, but on this day my extended family was hosting a celebration in my honor. It was a big deal, something for which they'd planned and done fund-raising. It was to be held in
Chichiltah,
the Checkerboard Area where I had grown up. I wanted to get there early so I could socialize with my relatives before the other guests arrived.

Outside the truck window, en route to the reservation, were sweeping vistas of mesas and distant mountains, all colored in a thousand shades of red and purple and tan. The sun, slanting through heavy cloud cover, transformed familiar landmarks into burnished jewels. As we approached
Chichiltah,
the piñon pines grew taller and more abundant, occasionally interspersed with regal ponderosa pines. Rock outcroppings emerged from hills like fabulous sculptures.

We spied the blue-and-white-striped tent from the main road. It sat on the side of a hill, and we approached it on a dirt track through sparse grass. Scattered around were small houses and outbuildings of indeterminate purpose. A lone outhouse, its door lying on the ground, sat near the top of the hill.

I was eighty-eight years old, with my left leg amputated at midcalf. Mike helped me move from the truck into the wheelchair that had become my transport back in March of that year. The two nephews who had arranged the gathering, Raymond and Johnny Gray, greeted us. Inside, chairs and tables filled the circus-sized tent. American flag pennants graced the dais in front, and the U.S. flag popped up everywhere—on people's clothing, decorating the tables laden with food, arranged in patriotic “bouquets,” and splashed across the napkin ties.

People arrived, singly and in small groups. Older women were dressed in the traditional velvets with squash-blossom necklaces; younger men and women wore jeans and bright shirts; children dressed in jeans and T-shirts.

Four Navajo military men wearing camouflage marched in, carrying the U.S. flag, the New Mexico flag, the Navajo Nation flag, and the black POW/MIA flag. Everyone jumped up from their chairs. I stood, trying not to waver, on my one whole leg, my right arm raised in a salute, while Miss Navajo Nation, Yolanda Jane Charley, sang the “Star-Spangled Banner” in Navajo.

I looked out at the more than one hundred attendees.
They arranged this all for me.
Sometimes my own celebrity surprised me. People lined up and filed past, shaking my hand and thanking me for my military service.

Various men and women joined me and Mike on the dais. Zonnie Gorman, daughter of deceased code talker Carl Gorman and a fine historian, spoke about our World War II mission. Although Zonnie used English, most who followed her spoke in Navajo, a language I often spoke with my daughter-in-law Rita. My own children were not fluent.

A small army of women and girls served up a sumptuous home-cooked dinner, complete with fry bread, corn pudding, and mutton stew. The more than one hundred guests ate, and each plate was heavily laden. After the meal, mints were passed out in tiny packets adorned with American flags.

Families posed with me for photos, with everyone looking proud. People brought colorful gifts, including a plaque of thanks from Navajo tribal chairman Joe Shirley.

A live band struck up country-western songs outside the tent's wide entrance. Sudden thunder, a quick shower, and winds that shook the tent dampened no spirits. As the sun reappeared, a small herd of sheep and goats calmly climbed the hill.

Everywhere people laughed and joked. The famous Navajo sense of humor was evident in the frequent laughter and the good-hearted ribbing.

Sitting at the center of the dais, I felt tired but much too excited to think about sleep. I glanced around the room and smiling faces turned toward me.

Someone asked whether I was ready to leave.

I shook my head. “I'd like to stay awhile longer.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Legacy

Recalling the gold medal ceremony and the recognition following it, I can't help but become reflective.

When I was a little boy growing up, I didn't know a word of English, and that was one thing I hungered to learn. I wanted to get a good education, have a good job, raise a family.

Life has been better than I could ever have expected. It has been one hundred percent. If I'd stayed on the reservation, that probably wouldn't have happened. It would have been maybe thirty, forty percent.

I think about how, in my life, cultures have collided—the quiet of Navajo land giving way to military training, the strict order of military training exploding into the chaos of battle. Then a marriage, children dying, the marriage ending.

Somehow I weathered all the challenges, all the transformations of my life, managing to survive, trying to live the Right Way.

But there's one thing that's especially good. My fellow code talkers and I have become part of a new oral and written tradition, a Navajo victory, with our culture contributing to our country's defeat of a wily foe. The story of the code talkers has been told on the Checkerboard and the reservation and recorded in the pages of history books forever. Our story is not one of sorrow, like the Long Walk and the Great Livestock Massacre, but one of triumph.

My adult son Ray died in May of 2008, and my sister Dora died during the Christmas holidays that same year. Sons Mike and Tyah are the sole survivors of my six children.

A second celebration was held in
Chichiltah
on Fathers' Day, June 20, 2010. Three of us code talkers—Thomas Begay, Robert Walley, and myself—were honored. (Robert Walley was the same Robert Walley who'd been my friend at Fort Defiance boarding school.) Navajo tribal chairman Joe Shirley attended. He awarded a plaque and a chief's blanket to us men. I was the only one of the “original twenty-nine” code talkers attending.

Recently I gave a talk to some kindergartners. I tried to make the little kids understand why we used the Navajo language for our code. They listened really carefully. I hope they got something out of it that they will remember. Maybe they will tell their own children someday.

Now, in 2011, my memoir is being published. I hope my words will help to keep the memory of the code talkers alive.

Despite the midcalf amputation of my left leg in March 2009, and of my right leg in April 2010, both due to complications from diabetes, I continue to do book signings, attend award ceremonies, and give speeches.

I still travel with my medicine bag in my pocket.

It's been a good life—so far.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks:

 

Chester wishes to thank his son Mike, who drove him to all of our interviews, his daughter-in-law Rita, who speaks Navajo and helps him keep his language alive, and granddaughter Shawnia, grandsons Michael and Latham, and great-grandson Emery, Shawnia's son. He hopes that his son Tyah, who lives in Boise, Idaho, will enjoy this book. And many thanks to retired Marine major David Samuel Flores from Berwick, Maine, who helped spread word of the code talkers and who booked several speaking tours for Chester in New England.

Both Chester and I thank Melody and Myke Groves, who cheered us on, especially in the final stretch. I thank Beverly and Lloyd Hoover, who edited an earlier version of this memoir. Unhappily, Beverly will never get to see the finished product. Donn A. Byrnes and Patricia Sutton first told me about Chester. Many, many thanks. I am grateful to fellow writers Lynn Paskind, Phil Jackson, Dr. Sue Brown, Dale Atkinson, Carla Danahey, Bruno Hannemann, Lila Anastas, Keith Pyeatt, and Sherri Burr for their constant friendship, their suggestions and encouragement. Thank you, Dennis Winter, for sending all those great books on Native Americans. My brother, Gary Schiess, and sister, Dr. Nancy Schiess, read
Code Talker
and gave cogent, kind input. My mother, Angela Garrett Schiess, read and reread this manuscript without complaint, always giving wise counsel. My dad, Charles Schiess, a World War II veteran himself, especially enjoyed Chester's story. Thanks, Dad. For constant moral support, my thanks go out to my daughter, Krystal Avila Cacicia, and my brothers, Peter Schiess and Ed McLaughlin. And many thanks to SouthWest Writers, a fine organization in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

I send heartfelt thanks to my late husband, Andrew James Avila, who never doubted that my writing efforts would lead to publication. I hope you know that this is happening, Jimmy. You're my angel, now.

Thanks, too, to our agent, Scott Miller, who sold
Code Talker
four days after agreeing to represent us. And many thanks to Natalee Rosenstein, our editor at Berkley, who saw the potential in Chester's story.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The Navajo Language and Customs

When Navajo words are used in this book, the
Navajo-English Dictionary
by Leon Wall and William Morgan and
Navajo Made Easier: A Course in Conversational Navajo
by Irvy W. Goossen have provided the spelling.

Some of the names of Chester's acquaintances are spelled phonetically. There are isolated cases where he wasn't sure of some names, but we tried to make a stab at them. I apologize for any inaccuracies.

This is the memoir of one man who, in numerous ways, represents many. It is a book about determination, courage, and knowledge. However, although Chester and I have taken great pains to report his experiences accurately, this book does not purport to be the definitive reference for Navajo customs and ceremonials.

That is another book. Surely a Navajo will write it.

 

 

APPENDIX

The Navajo Code Talkers' Dictionary

This is the final form of the dictionary, revised June 15, 1945, per the Department of the Navy. The Navajo words are spelled phonetically. Courtesy of Naval History and Heritage Command.

 

 

The thirty-two alternate phonetic Navajo spellings listed below are from
Our Fathers, Our Grandfathers, Our Heroes,
Circle of Light Navajo Educational Project, pp. 38–55.

I corrected some problems with the month names.

Numerals were transmitted in Navajo, using the Navajo word for each numeral.