Shushanna Junction received its name because it was the jumping-off point for the Shushanna gold rush of 1913. Shushanna became Chisana, but Shushanna Junction remained the spelling for the terminal at CRNW mile 189. The last great Alaskan gold rush went nowhere, but the huge influx of prospectors resulted in a depletion of the game to such an extent that the Ahtnas abandoned the area for the duration of the operation of the railroad. The Ahtnas became a vanishing minority in their own land, displaced by a host of prospectors, speculators, homesteaders, and con-artists, as well as large and small mining concerns and other business interests. All of these were by their nature hostile to the old Ahtna way of life and, in varying degrees, even to the Ahtna people themselves. In 1924, Alaska’s Last Great Gold Rush had been over eight years. The game had slowly filtered back in. But the Indians who had lived and hunted in the upper Wrangells stayed out. Indians no longer walked the old trails of the Nizina valley and the upper reaches of the Chitina in search of game. That area was totally dominated by white miners, prospectors, and trappers. Even the old Nicolai camp at Dan Creek had disappeared under mine tailings--a victim of a large hydraulic placer operation begun by Stephen and Howard Birch. In an ironic and mocking twist, someone re-named the operation Nicolai Camp. The two grandsons of the great deceased chief watched from the station platform as the ultimate symbol of change pulled in. The huge Mikado steam engine chugged its way into Shushanna Junction towing forty-three cars loaded with mine workers and enough material to build a completely new power plant at Kennecott. “In they come with another large piece of the mine. Out they will go with another load of our copper.” “Just as they’ve been doing for thirteen years, Cap. Now we’re a part of it. We’ll be in one of those cars going to work with all those other men.” The stationmaster stepped outside through the baggage double-doors to talk with the two Indians. “You guys have a good time in town?” “It was good while the money lasted. You ever go to the Row?” The young, red-haired stationmaster smiled at the question. “No. I can’t afford it on my meager railroad salary. You must be miners. I came here to work the line and now I’ve got one of these depot jobs. Not bad, but it’s expensive to live here. What about you guys? I’ve never seen Indians heading up the tracks to work at Kennecott before. You’re probably the first ever. I hope it works out for you.” “Thanks. It wasn’t easy getting a job there, but the power plant fire seems to have caused a need for extra men.” “I’ll say. All those men on board are mainly extra carpenters and others needed to re-build it. You’ve probably figured out where all the material is going.” “Have they been out of power all this time?” “Oh, no. The Kennecott mechanics came down two days after the fire and took out the two generators and turbines in the old Mother Lode plant. That was handy for them. A real stroke of luck, actually that Kennecott happened to own the old power plant. They’d have been down for weeks without that equipment. The generators are temporary, though. Too small. The new ones haven’t arrived yet, but they’ll be coming along. Meanwhile, the camp seems to be back to normal. I hear they’re having power supply problems, however.”
“Better than no power at all, I suppose.” “The mines superintendent couldn’t be more pleased. He has a production schedule to meet. He intends to keep it. He’s the real boss around here, you know.” “By the way, who are you?” “I’m Mike Sherman. And you?” “My name’s Johnny Gadanski. My silent partner here is Cap Goodlataw.” “Nice to meet you two. I’m from Seattle. We have Indians down there, but you’re the first I’ve met face-to-face in this territory.” “Well, Mike, we’re not much different from you.” Cap scowled. “Except we live in the home of our ancestors. This is our country.” “Some of us younger guys understand that. Like I said, I hope it works out for you up there. How on earth did you do it?” “My dad works there and I know one of the engineers.” “You mean the name on the telegraph--Frank . . .” “Buckner. I don’t know him that well, but he offered to help get us in, and it looks like he’s keeping his word. He’s about the same age as you--or us.” “I’m twenty-three.” “We’re both twenty-five. We’re cousins. Call each other sla’cheen. There’s no word for that in English.” “Your father works at Kennecott?” “Emil Gadanski is my white father. He’s the head-painter.” “So you’re a half-breed?” “That’s me. My mother is a sister to Cap’s father, Chief Goodlataw.” “Chief?” “Where there’s Indians, there’s chiefs, Mike. You should have figured that one out.” “You two cousins must have worked together a long time. You two seem to fit well together somehow. Were you railroad workers?” “We were. We still are. We’ve worked off and on as a team since 1916 when we started out at Cascade Station. We’ve worked on the Indian crews out of Chitina and Strelna.” “Ah, yes. The indispensable Native crews.” “Indispensable?” “We stationmasters have to keep track of the line crews as well as all the trains. It’s common knowledge that it would be impossible to keep our tight railroad schedule without the Indian crews, but I doubt if anyone ever told you that.” “No. We suspected as much, though. It’s good to know we’re so important.” “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. The railroad could never muster enough manpower every season if not for you Indians at Chitina.” “The train will be ready soon, but in the meantime, I have some coffee on the stove. Care for some?”
“You’re a good man, Mike . . .” “Sherman. It’s Mike Sherman. I’ll be right back. Two cups?” Cap nodded. Mike Sherman was back outside in a few minutes. “It’s still good. A little strong maybe. I just made it before the train arrived.” Mike sat down on the platform next to Johnny. The feet of the three men dangled toward the ground. “I’m pleased to talk with young people like me who have lived here all their lives. This must be a big change from when you grew up.” “You mean this railroad? We were both nine when the ket-chee-ten-eh arrived.” “Ket-chee-ten-eh? Train?” Johnny nodded. “You just gave me my first Native word.”
“You can call us Natives or Indians, but we’re Ahtnas. Whatever you do, don’t call us Eskimos. Ahtnas are Athabascan Indians. We Athabascans share some of the same words as the Apache and the Navaho.” Mike’s eyes widened. He sipped a cup of coffee and looked around. Then he focused on Cap. “Really? You’re not just an isolated group of Indians then?” “Not at all,” Johnny answered. Cap nodded in agreement. “We’re just part of a much greater people. Our elders tell us we came here from somewhere way south. Something bad happened over a thousand years ago. We don’t know when. It could have been much farther back then that. But whatever it was that happened way down there, it drove our ancestors into the land of the ice and the snow.”
“But I thought that your ancestors crossed over here from Siberia?” “Us? Not us. That was the Eskimos. The Yupiks and the Inupiat crossed. We’re Indian hillbillies.” “What do you mean by that?” “Grandfather told us that in times long forgotten we were part of a great civilization in the south. When things went very bad and our ancestors fled north, we lost our old refined ways because the land here is so primitive and cold. Long ago this land was a frontier for us, just like it was for the prospectors who came here a few years ago. We may be cruder than our southern cousins, but we survived here a long time. We made it. No one else can make that claim. Only the toughest and the smartest of us survived. That’s Cap and me. We’re the smart and the tough ones. There are others just like us. You couldn’t ever drive us out of here. You’d have to kill every one of us. Every one.” “Not us. We know we have to live with you guys. I just never gave much thought to any of you Indians before.” “Happens all the time. We’re here, but we’re invisible to you whites.” “Sorry. You’re right.” “Was it very wild where you grew up before the railroad, the ket-chee-ten-eh arrived?” “That’s good, Mike. Ket-chee-ten-eh means train. Ket-chee-ten-eh thloo-da-kee means railroad. And yes, it was wild. But I can always remember white men there at Chittyna. They’ve been there at least since I was born.” Chit-tee-nah?” “That’s what they called it until someone changed it so it sounded more white. I still prefer the old -sounding name.” “You grew up in the old Indian way?” Johnny and Cap both nodded. A single blast from the train whistle interrupted the conversation. The young stationmaster pointed south toward the main part of town and continued. “Ordinarily the engineer would back this train down this siding toward town. Not this time. Sal Reed will be pulling the consist north in a few minutes. That was the first warning signal. Sal’s almost ready. Everything and everyone on board is going to Kennecott.” “We need to load up now?” “Not yet. I’ll let you know. I’ll be giving the conductor the all-clear soon. Then they’ll pull forward to that siding past the repair barn. Then the crew will hook up our pusher.” “Pusher?” | |||||||||||||
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CRNW conductor --Cordova Museum Continue |
15 December 2010
Ch 26, Pt 1: "Arrival at Kennecott
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