No More Rain-in-the-Face

For 2 1/2 years, the fatherly Bureau of Indian Affairs had been trying to coax Oregon's Celilo Indians into abandoning their evil-smelling fishing village, perched on the cliffs above the Columbia River, 95 miles east of Portland. If they would move out, the Government promised, new quarters would be provided across the road, with concrete decks where visiting fishermen could pitch their wigwams, honest-to-Manitou houses for the permanent residents, and inside plumbing for all.

The Celilos took a suspicious view of the white man's benevolence. Rheumatic, 86-year-old Chief Tommy Thompson protested that it would be bad medicine to move; others grumbled that the wind wouldn't blow right for drying their fish. As for sanitary conditions, Red Cloud Towner grumped: "They are not so bad when we observe your city streets . . . littered with popcorn, gum, all sorts of papers . . . The country, with all the tin cans, refuse, offal in general and potent spirit bottles are a sore eye to us, too. We never complain about our white brothers' backyards; why should he take offense at our meager mode of life?"

But the Government persisted. Last week, after a look at the first few houses in the project, the Celilos decided that the move might not be such a bad idea after all. Admitted Chief Thompson, who had already spent a night in his: "It didn't rain on me at all."

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