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Washington Women’s Heritage Project records, 1900-2000 
University of Washington Libraries Special Collections 
Lindsay Buxton 
April 21, 1996 
Cassette 2, Side 1 
 
 
Debbie Guerrero  00:02 
This is tape two. Sunday, April 21, 1996. Lindsay Buxton.  
 
Lindsay Buxton  00:09 
The stories about my grandfather is that being a leader in the village, were fighting for their 
independence against the Russians. This is all that family has told me, is that I-- very proud of 
my grandparents because they were leaders. My older sister, Dorothy, had heard that my 
grandfather was beheaded, and that relatives had told her that my mother saw this beheading. I 
don't know if this is true or not. I'm inclined to believe that it is, because whenever I try to get my 
mother to go to Angoon, you know, like for convention or to, you know, see family, you know, 
in there, my mother is terrified. She will go anywhere in Alaska, but Angoon, and that's her 
birthplace. That's where her mother is from. This is where-- as her-- I don't understand, but I do 
know that something very tragic happened to my mother in Angoon. Is she alright? She'll talk, 
you know, to our family there, and our largest population of our family lives in Angoon. [Clears 
throat] Excuse me. We have one picture of my grandfather. He looks like a tall, muscular, 
Mexican bandit. [Laughs] You know, mustache, I mean, I was struck by his stature. He's very 
tall and muscular. My grandmother... I think Alaska may, at one time, have practiced memorial 
haircuts because her hair was like a Dutch haircut. A lower 48 tribal people had told me that that 
was typical of-- you know, shortly after a close member of the family that passes, they just cut 
your hair, and they put the braid or the hair to be cremated, you know, with the deceased, and the 
hair is supposed to be the strength and the power. And when you cut your hair, that gives the 
deceased person more power to go to Mother, you know, Father Sky, and anyway. That's all I 
know of my grandfather. My grandmother. I think I have a tendency to romanticize her, because 
I was named after her. And many times-- I believe-- I believe in the reincarnation. I believe a lot 
of times, my grandmother's spirit is in me. A lot of times I'll take on projects, I'm even surprised 
at myself. I would get up at meetings, and I would say things, and then I would realize, Wow, 
where did that come from? [Laughs]. I'm basically shy. I was-- in fact, I was painfully shy. So 
when I was into my 20s, my middle 20s, I surprised myself of getting up and speaking, and 
doing. And words of wisdom would come from my mouth that I know had to be my 
grandmother. Now, she'd been very kind to me, and sometimes I think she's gotten very tired 
[laughs]. What I hear of my grandmother is that she knew herbal medicine. She helped people 
overcome their physical ailments, discomfort. She prayed. She stayed with them, and devoted 
wife and mother, I miss not physically knowing her. Yeah, but she's very real to me. Every day. 
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Debbie Guerrero  05:05 
Even to this day? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  05:07 
Yeah, yeah. We only have one pictures of them. They're not very complimentary pictures. I 
study their faces, and there's such strength and character there. They make me very proud.  
 
Debbie Guerrero  05:22 
Well sure.  
 
Lindsay Buxton  05:23 
Yeah, okay. Mother lived in a house-- It was very strange. In Angoon, I had-- my geography of 
Alaska has not been really that good. And one summer, about 10 years ago, I went on a private 
mission. I was wondering what I should do with my life, because I was getting old, and I wanted 
to see older Indian women. I was looking for a model, I think, and I went to Juneau. That was the 
year that they laid off 1200 state employees, it's been 10 years ago. My first six weeks in Juneau 
was just gloomy. Rained and rained and rained. After that, I thought I'd never, ever complain 
about Seattle's rain again. And I was telling Mother, I said, Well, I'd only been able to work for a 
couple of attorneys, you know, word processing. Jobs were very bleak. I said, I think I will come 
home now. She said, Don't come home until after you've gone to Angoon. I said, Mother, my 
money is just really very low right now. And says, Well, you're there now, you might as well do 
it, you know, go see your aunties, your uncles, your cousins. And so I went. Took a ferry there, 
and I stayed at a lodge there, and I contacted, you know, family, and a couple of days later, my 
cousins came to the house and got me out of bed, and said, Come on! We got things to do. Okay? 
So I went to the shower, and cousin said, What are you going to wear today? I said, I don't know. 
How about these black pants? Okay. How about this green sweater? Okay, God. Well, when I 
got out, they had packed all my things except for the things that I said I was gonna wear. I said, 
What's going on? He said, Mama said-- my aunt said it was an insult to have a family member 
stay, you know, in the lodge, when we had so much family there, and I didn't know these people. 
I mean, I know they're family, but I didn't know them. I told them I can. I didn't want to be 
opposing, or intrude, or ask any special favors, you know? And actually, I had very little money, 
and I didn't want anybody to know that I was so poor. And I had figured, well, this is really a 
good experience if I go hungry. I can always stand to lose some weight. I know-- I-- it was more 
than a noble gesture. It was-- I felt privileged to be there. Something about when I arrived at-- 
the ground hummed. I felt good spirits there. Well, anyway, so they-- in some respects, I was 
somewhat relieved too, that they had taken that initiative, because I wouldn't. I would have only 
been able to spend another night there. My money was so [?low?], I just had my fare back to 
Seattle. Anyway, every time we walked-- Angoon is very small, and right around the corner, 
there was this kind of blue-green house. I would walk by there, and it was-- the house talked to 
me. Sounds very strange, but it was like deja vu. I had been here before, but I knew I hadn't. I 
was mistaken. But I could not understand. Everytime I passed that house, whether I'd be talking 
or rushing, the house called to me, and I would always stop, and like I would expect something 
to come. Why is this house calling me, you know? And one day, my uncle Charlie, Charlie 
Joseph, was walking with us, and I said, Oh dear, here comes the house again. So they were 
walking ahead, and I have to stop, and I figure, Well, one of these times, it'll dawn on me what's 
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happening with me and this house. Anyway, my uncle turned around and said to his daughter, 
What's matter with your cousin? He says, Oh, she doesn't know. But every time she comes by 
this house, it talks to her, she says. So. Shrugs her shoulders, you know. And he came over and-- 
great big smile and a laugh. He said, So this house is talking to you, huh? I said, Uncle, it's the 
darndest thing. It's like it's calling me. I don't know why or what. He said, See this house? Yes, 
Uncle. He said, Your grandfather built this for your grandmother many years ago, and this house 
is where your mother and your father brought you when you were a little baby. That's the house-- 
 
Debbie Guerrero  11:29 
No wonder. 
 
Lindsay Buxton  11:29 
--that I saw my kid-- my kid brother died in.  
 
Debbie Guerrero  11:34 
Wow, no wonder. 
 
Lindsay Buxton  11:35 
Yeah, I had my camera. I walked around like a tourist in Angoon, taking pictures of trees, 
droppings on the ground [laughs]. I said, take a picture of me and this house. When I came back 
home and had the pictures developed, my mother just-- she broke down and cried. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  12:03 
Did she? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  12:04 
Yeah, the house... 
 
Debbie Guerrero  12:06 
Brought back all those-- 
 
Lindsay Buxton  12:07 
Yeah, that was the closest Mom had been to Angoon since she left. Our people used to live in, 
you know, long houses, you know. And then the population just got so, and then they moved 
from, you know, single family dwelling houses. But they would always have family gatherings, 
you know, the clan gatherings, and, oh, when someone died. Let's say it was an Eagle, and all the 
Ravens would come in and help, you know, the Eagles. That is still very much still going on. 
And what shocked me about Angoon was a lot of our people are still actually living off of 
subsistence. They rely on the land and the sea.  
 
Debbie Guerrero  12:56 
Without penalty? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  13:02 
Then, yes.  
 
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Debbie Guerrero  13:03 
Then. 
 
Lindsay Buxton  13:03 
Then. Yeah. I did hear a lot of our family laugh, you know. Yeah, here we are. We've always 
lived in this country and, you know, we have to have a license to fish, to hunt. It seemed like 
such a slap in the face. I don't know why I'm so warrior-like, but the more that I was in Angoon-- 
our people are fairly happy, just living off the land and the water. The berries, [whistles] they got 
big blackberries there. You know? 
 
Debbie Guerrero  13:47 
Well, it's such a natural existence, you know?  
 
Lindsay Buxton  13:51 
Yes, yes, it is a natural existence. The only time that we'd go to the store is like when we needed 
sugar or flour. Every Native house is fairly well-stocked. Their pantries-- I've never been able to 
walk into a room and see so much groceries. It was a store in itself, you know. And [coughs] I 
loved-- I love being back home. Yeah, we need to bring some of that native stuff back to the 
urban areas. My mother and I grew up-- I mean, my mother raised me. Well, Mom was growing 
up too. [Laughs] We grew up in Chinatown. We lived in the-- it's called the Douglas Hotel in 
Chinatown. It was about to--  nearly three blocks south of Jackson Street. It's no longer there, but 
it was owned and operated by a Filipino family, Gloria and Albert [?Lindero?]. They're a very 
loving and caring Filipino family. Mrs. [?Lindero?] was not able to have children, and since I 
was in and out of foster homes, juvenile center, they had wanted to adopt me. They had a very 
large apartment downstairs, and often their apartment was kind of a office setting where I used to 
play. I used to pretend I was the innkeeper with my little play cashier box. That-- all the rooms 
upstairs were one bedroom, light housekeeping, [?little?] gas stove, and our refrigerator 
consisted of a [?orange plate?] nailed outside. [Laughs] Very simple. We had always had 
problems with roaches, and since I grew up with those pest, I didn't really pay them much mind. 
I mean, they were just a fact of life. I had invited a couple of my classmates to come and spend 
the night, you know. Slumber parties. One was brave enough to. I didn't understand why my 
non-native friend was appalled that she really spread the word around that I was very poor, and a 
couple of my non-native friends had taken me to their houses when I began to realize we are 
poor. Gosh, they had carpeting, no roaches. I deliberately looked for those pests. I felt kind of 
sorry for Mom, to have a sink in your own room, you know, we didn't-- the bathroom was 
communal. Washing the dishes was communal. Dormitory type, you know? I began to really 
appreciate my mother's hardship going to the non-native homes. I kind of resented it. I resented 
the discrepancy. My mother worked just was hard, if not even harder than the non-native woman. 
Non-native women had a yard for your gardens and stuff. Mom had to be satisfied with a pot, 
growing orange and grapefruit seeds.  
 
Debbie Guerrero  18:32 
On the windowsill or in the house? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  18:36 
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In the house and the windowsill. We did have running water. Yeah, communal outside, you 
know, outside of our rooms. And there was another Indian family. Oh yeah, they had a larger 
apartment, that's right, they had a living room. But still the bath and the washing of the dishes, 
and the toilets, you know, were out in the hall, but this Indian family, they were from Lummi 
Nation. They were kind. They were very kind and loving to my mother, and I. I was so happy 
that I had playmates that were my age and older. We used to-- they'd like to go to the theaters 
too. And so we would set up mock stages and put a clothesline and the sheet over, and we would 
introduce, you know, one another, and we would be on stage, and we entertained, you know, our 
family and friends... And it was a great rehearsal for our amateur hour, you know? My 
classmates are pretty much Chinese. I befriended several, and I noticed when they got out of 
school, they would-- I lived a block away from the Chinese Cultural Center, and this is where the 
Chinese Drill Team... 
 
Debbie Guerrero  20:27 
Practiced? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  20:27 
Practiced. I had asked my classmates, What do you do? Because every day after school, regular 
school, they would spend two hours every day at the Chinese Cultural Center. They said that 
they learned their language, they played games, they learned their history, and they practice, you 
know, musical instruments, and the drills. I remember asking, like, How come we-- don't we-- 
how come Indians don't have a cultural center? [?Woo?] you ask so many questions. And she 
said, Because we're poor. I think then I made up my mind that, when I grew up, we would have 
an Indian Cultural Center. It's a dream, it's a unspoken dream, which came into reality some 
years later, but right now we're talking about family relationships. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  21:41 
That's very insightful though, you know, for your age. To-- 
 
Lindsay Buxton  21:46 
Oh yes-- 
 
Debbie Guerrero  21:47 
To have that dawn on you at that age, you know? Because you weren't raised in your culture-- 
 
Lindsay Buxton  21:52 
Yeah-- 
 
Debbie Guerrero  21:52 
You know, necessarily. 
 
Lindsay Buxton  21:53 
It made me appreciate it all that much more. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  21:56 
Exactly.  
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Lindsay Buxton  21:56 
And as I said earlier, my grandmother's spirit is in me. And a lot of things-- [tape stops]. On 
family holidays, one of  my earliest recollections was, I was in the third grade attending Baby 
Dancer, you know, in Chinatown. And we had Filipinos, Hawaiians, and Chinese, and Japanese 
living, you know, in our facility. And we all had a potluck Thanksgiving, which included, like 
sushi, and tangerines, and rice, and adobo, fishhead stew, and pancit, and lumpia. I mean, it was 
a wonderful cultural event celebrating Thanksgiving. Well, on Monday, our English instructor 
had asked us to name what we all had for Thanksgiving, or using the word "and" only three 
times. Most of my classmates said turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, you know, and 
gravy, you know, salad. And this went along. I said, Oh, we didn't have any of that. Well, no 
turkey. I don't even know what turkey is, you know, outside of pictures. When it came time to 
me-- well, I had a hard time saying-- well, I was-- during recess, I said, Well, I don't know what 
I'm going to say, to my classmate. Why? I said, Well, we didn't have turkey and mashed 
potatoes. She says, What'd you have? I said, Well, we had fishhead stew and seaweed soup. And 
she said, Ew. I said, Aww, that's not good to them. So when I came-- after recess, and I came 
back, and we finished that assignment, and I was called on, and then I said, Turkey, mashed 
potatoes, cranberry, [crosstalk]-- yes I did [laughs]. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  24:18 
Just to fit in, huh? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  24:21 
When I went home, I felt uncomfortable about that lie. I said, Well, how come we didn't have 
turkey, and mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce, gravy for Thanksgiving? She said, Oh, that's 
white men's celebration. I said, Oh yeah, we're different. So I had hoped that next year, they 
would ask me, and I would be truthful. Well, we didn't have the assignment in the fourth grade 
[laughs]. But that always left a mark on me. I didn't really celebrate many of the American 
holidays, though, like Christmas, I dreaded Christmas. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  25:14 
Even as a child? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  25:15 
Yes, it meant a hardship on my mother, you know, and seeing my non-native friends homes, they 
would have a Christmas tree, and you know, gifts, and mothers were baking cookies, and... 
[clears throat] I'm hiding beer bottles, trying to fake out the caseworkers, pretending my mom's 
still around. But around Christmas time, Mom would get very nostalgic, and she would try to be 
Mother. Yep. It always posed a hardship on my mother and so I dreaded Christmas. One of my 
foster families was Japanese. They took in children of color. And... 
 
Debbie Guerrero  26:07 
Do you remember their names? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  26:09 
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Nakamura. They were killed tragically in an automobile accident, so we were all placed back in a 
juvenile center. But I remember a caseworker telling me that they had a very nice Japanese 
family that had children of other, you know, colors. And would I like that? I said, Yes, I love it. 
You know, because most of the other foster families that I lived with were non-native and non-
native children, and they were very different, and I felt very comfortable with a mixture of 
cultures, and-- especially of color. But I remember the caseworker telling the Nakamuras that I 
was baptized as a Catholic, and would they make sure that I went to Catholic school church? 
They said yes. And I thought that was very strange, because I never remember going to Catholic 
Church, and all of a sudden I realized, Oh, I'm Catholic. What does that mean? But the 
Nakamuras were Buddhist. To me, they were more Christian than the Christians that I had 
known, and they would-- I would ask about their altar, and they shied away, because part of their 
contract was that they would not influence any of the children to their Buddhist practice. They 
were very good about it, which just made us that much more interesting and more intrigued, you 
know, with their practice. 
 
Debbie Guerrero  28:05 
Were curious? 
 
Lindsay Buxton  28:06 
They were-- yeah, curious, very beautiful people. They could not have children themselves. I 
loved the way that they opened their house up, and they would have different ethnic food you 
know, at the table to please every one of us. They were just a fantastically loving family. Their 
spirit and their memory, lives with me to this day. My father was an atheist. My mother [clears 
throat], excuse me, was-- first, she was a Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Protestant and 
Catholic. I don't really remember how Mother came to being a Catholic, but I was baptized as a 
Catholic as my two older sisters were. My godfather, I don't remember his name-- died when I 
was very young, was a small Filipino woman-- no, man married to a taller, hefty, beautiful, 
Black woman, very robust and buxom-y. My fondest memory of them was that when they would 
get happy, my godmother would pick my godfather up and just nestle him in his-- her bosom, 
and they would just laugh. And I just remember what a loving couple they were. They were so in 
love. They could not have any children, so they took great delight in me. This was in Alaska, and 
then, for-- we were in California, my mother was away with the-- [tape cuts off]. 