where the salmon run - Washington Secretary of State

introduction 7
the gesture when he approaches you, and it’s also his gesture for the
world.”
With Billy, the analogies never end. He’s like a mammoth cedar
tree with roots that spread far and wide. He’s like the Pacific salmon,
because he survives, returning, without fail, to the river that has
marked his life.
Real life handed Billy jail sentences for exercising his treaty rights,
but no monumental chip weighs him down. He could have retreated
behind the walls of his Indian tribe, but he spoke out. He could have
brooded in an 8 x 10 jail cell, but he found humor instead. Behind
bars so often he earned a promotion to jail barber, Billy quipped: “I
don’t know if I’m getting better or worse [at cutting hair] but I don’t
think I’ll run out of customers.”
Billy is the youngest child of a vigilant mother who taught him to
respect women. He is the son of a Nisqually elder who taught him the
story of his people.
Should you talk salmon or treaty rights, warns Charles Wilkinson,
a long-time friend, don’t underestimate the hard edge of Billy Frank.
“You can’t understand Billy by just thinking of him as a hail fellow
well met that everybody loves. He also can be one tough son of a bitch
when salmon are involved and Indian rights are involved. And that’s
part of his greatness.”
Billy is also famous for his salty tongue. “I don’t know if you
remember where you were on your 75th birthday, do you?” Christine
Gregoire, governor of Washington, eyes Billy before a thundering
crowd. “I do. You were in my office, pestering me about something,
complaining about something. I actually don’t remember what that
was, because it’s not all that infrequent. But you were in rare form
that day. I’m told that on the way out of the office someone—who
will remain nameless—had two comments. He said, ‘That was an
amazing meeting. I think you may actually have changed her mind.’
Billy smiled and said, ‘You win one every once in a while.’ Then the