As a Native American warrior chant and rhythmic drumbeats echo throughout the campground, a Tigua tribe member and Vietnam veteran puts on the finishing touches of his Gourd Society regalia and greets his fellow veterans at the annual pow wow.
For Ted Tenorio, the Native American Veterans Association president, the annual Veterans Appreciation and Heritage Day Pow Wow gives him a chance to celebrate his heritage and honor his time in service. His annual goal is to give recognition to Native American veterans from World War II to Operation Iraqi Freedom and to link them up with community services. He also hopes to spread community awareness at the two-day free event.
“We offer services and referrals to veteran’s benefits, housing services, counseling, employment, wellness programs and more,” he said. “We serve the Native American veterans, their families and communities throughout Southern California all the way throughout the state.”
During the pow wow, Tenorio holds a Veteran Roll Call, during which veterans enter a blessed ceremonial circle and are given a microphone to say what branch and war they served in.
“We want to make sure they are personally welcomed back home or given the respect to say thank you for their service to our country and thank you for serving,” Tenorio said.
Vietnam Veterans
Receiving that praise is important and long overdue for Greg Simon, an Army Vietnam veteran and member of the Osage and Cherokee tribes who was adopted by the Blood Reserve, Blackfoot.
“I remember getting spit at when I came home, and I had anger,” said Simon, a Los Angeles native and head man dancer. “They wrote down that I had battle fatigue, shrapnel metal, concussions from explosions but I never thought about it. It had affected me more than I realized. When I started coming to these pow wows, I was accepted. It was something I could be proud of.
“In Native American culture, if you’re a warrior, it’s the highest honor you can have,” Simon said. “At the pow wows, we accept all veterans, whether they are Native American or not, because we are all warriors. And being thanked for our service is extremely therapeutic. We don’t need gifts. We just like being recognized in a positive way. Ted introduced me to the Gourd Society and gave me my first scale beads. He started me out, and I’m grateful.”
Tenorio’s journey began when his family moved to Los Angeles. He said many American Indians were relocated from the southwest to California, including his family. His father worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad. He said he did not know his father had served in the military until he joined the Army.
“When I entered into the military, I came home to my mother,” Tenorio said. “She knew I was going to be shipped off to war. She didn’t say a word. All she did was go into the closet, pull out a shoebox I had never seen in my life. It was my father’s DD-214, his Purple Heart, his Bronze Stars, all his ribbons he had earned.
“After sitting there for 30 minutes and reading his DD-214, I put everything away and looked at my mother,” he continued. “She looked at me straight in the eye, did not give me a hug, did not give me a kiss. She points her finger to my face and said, ‘Don’t let your father down.’ I’m thinking, ‘How many veterans across America, millions going to war, and their mothers are probably crying and trying to be strong, and I have a mother who hands me a shoebox and tells me that?’ Whew, can’t let him down, can’t let him down.”
Service and Patriotism
Tenorio said he joined the military because of the inspirational words of President John F. Kennedy. His mission was to set up communications systems in forward base camps and set up antennas. Because he set up communications for light mobile air and rangers at Fort Stewart in Georgia, he was mistakenly deployed with the 2-14 Rangers Division in Vietnam. He said he was the only Native American with the unit.
“This sergeant looks at my uniform and saw that I didn’t have a Ranger tab and said, ‘You’re not a Ranger,’” he said. “I told him I was stationed with them, setting up support command but he said, ‘Well, I’ve lost a lot of guys; welcome home.’”
Tenorio said most of the soldiers accepted him but he did face some prejudice in the beginning. Growing up near Chinatown in Los Angeles, he said he grew up knowing mixed martial arts and was into Golden Glove boxing. This earned him respect with his fellow soldiers.
“I defended myself a few times, and the guys said, ‘Don’t touch this guy’ and ‘You’ve got to show me some of those moves,’” he said. “We all became good buddies.”
He said when he got hit by a mortar attack, he was treated like one of the guys.
“I felt something hit me with like a baseball bat in my chest, and I go flying back,” Tenorio said. “I could hear like bacon burning, and it was me. I could hear my heart beating, and blood coming into my face. I realized I had gotten hit. I scrambled back and went head-first down into the trench where my men were. I could just look at their faces and the distress they had at me being wounded. Everybody’s like frozen. One of the other infantry guys jumped in, grabbed a beef chips bag from the C rations and stuck it in my chest to stop the bleeding. Then the medic hit me with the morphine but I could feel the metal in my chest.”
He said they took the metal out, gave him three weeks to recover and then he was back to setting up communications in Vietnam. He said the hardest part was not getting hit by shrapnel; it was listening to the communications while he was recovering for three weeks, not able to do anything.
“When you’re communications, you’re listening to all the roving patrols, even ambush patrols, so of course you hear the situation reports such as if people see the enemy and it’s clear,” Tenorio said. “You’re hearing battles over and over, every day for weeks, sometimes hearing screaming and battle engagements. You’ve got to just sit there and keep your head going to make sure all the communications equipment is working.”
Once Tenorio recovered, he said his sergeant came back to him. He said, ‘I’ve lost even more men. How do you feel about getting back out there?’
Tenorio said he looked at him and said, “Let’s go,” because he didn’t want to let his father down.
“I wanted to be courageous, and I didn’t want to let my company down,” he said. “Back then, our war cry was, ‘Ours is not to reason why but to do and die.’ My goal was not to let anyone down, stay my position, achieve my objective, period.”
Brothers-in-Arms
Tenorio said throughout his military career, it didn’t matter what ethnicity people were because everyone wore the uniform.
“During Operation Barking Sands, I was activated into infantry. As we went out, we got hit one time, and I saw this African-American fall. As I was rushing to him, I got hit myself, and as we’re both lying there, he looked at where we’re bleeding and said, ‘Our blood’s the same,’” said Tenorio. “I looked at him, put my hand on his belly wound and said, ‘Yeah, look at that, we’re part of the human race.’ They were superficial wounds. When you’re in battle and your members are falling, you will rally to help them, no matter what race they are. Everybody knew that you had to watch each other’s backs. We were a team.”
Tenorio traded his military uniform for California Gourd Society regalia. He still wears his two Purple Hearts occasionally. He guest lectures at California State University at Northridge on Native American heritage and veterans issues.
As the sun sets and the drumbeats fade, the veterans shake hands and say their farewells until next year.