StoryCorps 514: His First and Greatest Teacher

Michael Garofalo (MG): Thompson Williams is the father of two. He successfully raised both a son and a daughter, but becoming a parent wasn’t something that he ever felt ready for.

Thompson Williams (TW): When I was young, when I as first married, I had a temper. I didn’t want to have kids because I was afraid of how I might treat them. I looked at my daughter’s birth as something to fear.

MG: Parenthood is indeed the hardest job you can get. It’s completely daunting. You look at this baby, this new human being that you love with this cosmic love that’s greater than anything you ever thought possible. You’re their first teacher. You show them the ways of the world. And you can’t help but ask yourself, like Thompson did, how do I do this without screwing up this kid forever?

Luckily, for Thompson, he didn’t have to look too far afield to find a mentor.

TW: My dad was as tough as nails and as gentle as rain.

MG: In this episode of the StoryCorps from NPR, we’ll hear about Thompson’s father, Melford Williams, and we will find out despite all the ”dos” and ”don’ts,” all the trends and fads in parenting that seem to change as often as hemlines, we’ll find out if maybe it’s not too much of a reduction to boil it all down to something like courage.

I’m Michael Garofalo. More after this short break.

[MUSIC IN]

MG: Welcome back. In this episode, we are going to hear from Thompson Williams. He grew up in Oklahoma during the 1950s and 1960s, and he was one of eight kids. His father was a towering figure in his childhood. He was a tribal leader of the Caddo Nation, a veteran of the Second World War and the most important person in Thompson’s life. He died of a heart attack in 1978, before Thompson’s own children had a chance to meet him.

And when a man of Melford’s stature dies, he leaves an enormous hole in the lives of the people he mattered to. Thompson’s own son, Kiamichi-tet, could sense that about the relationship between his father and his grandfather. And when he sat down with Thompson at StoryCorps, he wanted to know more.

Kiamichi-tet Williams (KW): I actually never met your dad, my grandfather. What was he like?

TW: He wasn’t the biggest guy but people reacted to him like he was giant. He could swear with the best of them—it sounded like music—but he never used it to be angry with somebody. I remember my mom would tell me, ”Your dad tried to spank you once, and he cried instead.” He had a kind heart. And I remember in grade school there was a little kid; he was mentally retarded. One day, um, there was a bunch of us and we started throwing bottle caps at him. I picked one up and threw it—it smacked him in the head. I turned around and my dad was standing there. And I thought, ”Oops I’m really in trouble now.” But he looked at me, tears in his eyes, and he said, “Maybe I didn’t teach you how to look after others. That’s my fault.” You know, he could’ve stabbed me in the heart and it wouldn’t have hurt as much. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I became a special ed teacher. He had a lot of lessons that I hold onto to this day.

When I was young, I came home one day and I said, ”Dad, I was told men don’t cry.” He looked at me and he said, “Son, that’s a lie. If you don’t cry, you don’t get rid of that poison that’s in your body, that hurt, that pain. That’s the only way you can truly be strong.” That was one of the most powerful things that I’ve learned from him. And that’s how I’ll always remember him, the way I’d want to be remembered—as a good man.

[MUSIC IN]

MG: Thompson Williams telling his son, Kiamichi-tet Williams, about his own father, Melford.

Kiamichi-tet was 23 years old when they recorded this interview, and he learned a lot about some of the things that shaped who his father was. Some of them he never heard before. Like this story of his grandfather’s death.

TW: He died in my arms when I was 22 years old.

KW: You never really talked about that, not to us.

TW: He got up into the morning, and he said he had a cramp in his leg. Let me try to walk it out he said. So I started following him. And then all of sudden, he just fell, his eyes rolled back in his head. So I jumped on top and tried to revive him. For the longest time, about 30 years, I had convinced myself that if I had just continued the chest compressions, he had been OK. I kept that in the back of my head that somehow I killed him.

It wasn’t until I listened to an EMT guy. He said, ”You know, you did everything you could. It was just impossible to revive him.” it was like a burden was pulled off my shoulders. For the first time I really, really felt good about that memory.

MG: There is plenty that Thompson’s own father never told him either.

Thompson’s dad was a World War Two veteran. He fought on Iwo Jima. And it wasn’t until after his death that Thompson learned anything about his time at war.

TW: I never associated the war with him, until after he passed away when a gentleman came up to me and shook my hand and said, ”You’re Milford’s son.” And I said, ”Yes.” And he said, ”He saved our butts a lot of times. At one time he ended up killing the enemy with his bare hands.” It was really surprising to me because he never spoke of that—What he had gone through, what he had seen. For me, that was so contrary to anything I could see in my father.

MG: Thompson’s dad was also a part of a generation of Native Americans who were taken away from their communities and sent to boarding schools where they were supposed to ”unlearn how to be Indian,” so they could become part of white society. This was a government-sponsored program that dates back to the Civil War. Native kids were captured and sent off to these military-style academies. And the army lieutenant who founded this practice, Richard Henry Pratt, he infamously said, ”Kill the Indian. Save the child.” Melford when to a place called the Riverside Indian School. But that re-education campaign failed with him, and he ended up reconnecting with his people, the Cado, and becoming a tribal leader. And, as it turned out, even though he didn’t realize it at first, as a kid, Thompson had a huge role in his father’s connection to their history.

TW: My older brother was all-conference football player. He told me one time, he said, ”Yeah, dad used to come by and sit in the bleachers while I practice and go to all the games and watch me play.” But when I played football, dad would drop me off, show up afterward and pick me up. He was never at the game. And that as kind of hurtful. But one day we went to a powwow. I was in a dance contest. We were right in the middle of it, and it started raining. And all the spectators took off, and I was still dancing, and I looked up. And in the rain, it was my dad. He was the only guy at the arena that was watching us. After the contest. I told him, I said, ”You got all wet.” He goes, ”Well, yeah, it’s no big deal.” I said, ”But when I played football, you never saw any of my games.” He said, ”Son, your brother, his world is football. Your world is going to be with our traditions and our culture.” He said that’s what he’s most proud of. That’s why I stick with it so much.

MG: Today Thompson leads powwows designed for dads, native and nonnative alike to help strengthen family ties and distill a sense of family pride. And, as he mentioned earlier, Thompson is an educator, a teacher. And we’ve learned so much about what he’s learned from his dad, but Kiamichi-tet didn’t let the interview end without telling Thompson what he’s learned from him.

KW: Everything you told me about how it’s not bad showing emotion to the people you care about or your family sticks with me. I kind of feel out of place in the world I live in. What most people say is a cut-through society, I can’t see it the way most people do. I want to be that person that people can go to for help because I learned that from you. You needed help at times and people weren’t there for you, but you never turned someone down.

TW: We don’t know who is watching us. That’s why you have to be a role model all your life. That’s why being a parent is probably the toughest job in the world because you can’t be selfish.

Back in the olden days, I was working as a teacher’s assistant. Mom didn’t have a job at that time but made money by painting ornaments and things. That year we had so many bills we started got get behind. We used all our money just before Christmas. I’d been offered a job that paid me a lot more money but I wouldn’t be home. I had convinced myself that this was the best thing to do because my kids needed Christmas so I took you and AuNane in the front room, sat down with you guys, and you were real quiet and AuNane looked at me and she said, ”dad, we need you more than we need presents.” and you and AuNane both hugged me. That was a time when I as so proud because my kids knew what sacrifice was. And a week later people started buying your moms ornaments and we had plenty of money to buy you guys presents. It felt good that Christmas. It made me proud.

KW: Thank you for teaching me so much throughout life. I still have a lot to learn.

TW: Just make sure your life you go into it with strength, go into it with courage, you’ll come out OK.

[MUSIC IN]

MG:  Go into it with strength, with courage, and you’ll come out OK. These words of wisdom from a man who was afraid to become a parent. Sounds like he took his own advice. And it served him well.

That’s it for this episode of the StoryCorps podcast. These stories were produced by Jud Esty-Kendall, and this podcast was produced by Lizzie Jacobs and me. As always, you can find out more about the music on this episode on our website. Rate or review us on Apple Podcasts or wherever you download the show. If you want to leave a message for one of the StoryCorps participants you hear on this program, you can call our listener voicemail line. The phone number is 301-744-TALK. Leave a message, we will pass it along to them and maybe play it here on the show.

For the StoryCorps podcast, I’m Michael Garofalo. Until next time, thanks for listening.

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