Death of a Patriarch

The following narrative requires a few introductory comments on the role of storytelling in Chipewyan culture. First, the Chipewyan, an Athapaskan (or Dene) speaking people who live in northern Canada, are fond of telling stories with "hooks" that sneak up on the listener. Understanding the full meaning of a story requires some degree of reflection. In fact sometimes, in the case of the stories elders tell children, the full meaning of the story might not become clear until adulthood is attained. A story can seem incomplete until the individual has had sufficient life experience to give it context. Regardless of the specific intent, the Chipewyan dislike explaining the meaning of a story; they would rather that you figure it out for yourself, no matter how long it takes. Only then can the listener really attain the full benefit, that is, the power, of a story. What Thomas Buckley says of the Yurok of northwestern California is true of the Chipewyan as well: "To explain too much is to steal a person's opportunity to learn, and stealing is against the Law" (Buckley 1979:31). "Law" means the ineffable sacred principle against which all behavior—good or bad, successful or unsuccessful—is measured (p. 30). Thus, I forewarn the reader about the ending of the story I call "Death of a Patriarch." In doing so I violate a rule of Chipewyan storytelling, detracting from the full benefit to be derived from the story. From the Yurok perspective, I'm also in violation of the Law. Second, the telling of stories, whether factual and historic or timeless mythic narratives, is a holy undertaking. Stories not only have practical and/or moral implications. The very sounds of the words are, in ways inscrutable to people raised in cultures where literary values dominate and where the stories of the elders are no longer central to the enculturation of children, full of power (see Smith 1985:77 and especially Walter Ong's magnificent work, The Presence of the Word, 1967). For the traditional Chipewyan, the elders' stories are essential. Merely thinking about a story can improve success in hunting or bring a better state of health (Smith 1985:75). The life of any individual is a story in which almost every incident has an ultimately sacred purpose and meaning, from which others may benefit when that story is told (see Cruikshank 1990; Smith 1993). Without the stories of the elders the people must eventually perish, for they do not receive the vitalizing power of the words, nor can they benefit from their practical and moral wisdom. This is why Frank, in the narrative below, was so concerned with saving the elders' stories. He quite literally believed that the survival of his people was at stake. Finally, I learned very early on that when the Chipewyan elders tell stories (as Samuel does in my narrative) they are to be regarded as gifts. The old‐timers do not tell stories to any Tom, Dick, or Harry. A story is a life‐enhancing present and a gesture of respect and love. Giving and receiving stories is a part of the broader theme of reciprocity unifying humans with humans, and humans with other‐than‐human beings (see Hallowell 1960).