where the salmon run - Washington Secretary of State

Chapter 1
Spirit of the Father
Gramps found himself on the witness stand and he must have
been 103 years old. He wore his trademark Native vest and no shoes.
Thick socks covered his feet. Willie Frank Sr.’s hair, snow white and
somewhat askew, topped a slender frame. Deep lines etched across
his face revealed a lifetime on the river. His mouth curved inward.
His brows furrowed. His intense eyes held stories and secrets. Any
Indian worth his salt knew Gramps. Many people called him the last
full-blooded Nisqually alive.
“If this Nisqually elder can’t go to the court, the court will go to
him!” Stephen Grossman was insistent. The administrative law judge
presided over court that day to hear Gramps’s words himself. It
meant abandoning the formal courtroom and traveling south to
Gramps’s home, a legendary place known as Frank’s Landing. Court
came to order as the Nisqually River rushed below the foothills of
Mount Rainier, cutting a jagged line for eighty-one miles before
pouring into Puget Sound. The temperature crept upward. It was a
warm August day in 1982. “This hearing is being held at Frank’s
Landing in the home of Mr. Willie Frank Sr. to accommodate the
witness, the reason for which will become obvious on the record,”
Grossman announced.
The elder sat on the de facto witness stand—a favorite wooden
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