It’s always alright-a in Oneida.

By Bill Cornelius

When I was asked if I would like to write for this blog, I immediately thought of a number of stories. Hilarious stories. Embarrassing stories. It seems that every day in Oneida, or on any Reservation, there is a great story to tell. How could I pick just one story?

How about that time in college when I was on break and had no money or food, so I visited family for the week to get fed?

Or the time I was listening to my kids explain to other kids how they were cousins and they were mostly right?

Or how it takes four hours to run errands that should only take an hour because you keep running in to friends and family?

Or that time at the 4^th of July pow-wow when William Cornelius was the name called that won the raffle and six William Cornelius’ showed up and we had to actually pull out our raffle ticket to see which William Cornelius won? It was me by the way, the #1 William Cornelius.

Or having a childhood friend or cousin who is a tribal police officer? I probably shouldn’t tell that story.

Or how when you are out walking for exercise and people always stop to ask if you need a ride?

Or how when that girl that wasn’t my cousin thought I was cute at the pow-wow and wanted to go out but I didn’t have any money because I was in college? To make sure I could go out, my boys all chipped in a few dollars and a clean shirt so I could take her out. I smelled like fry bread from working our family stand. I’m still not sure if that hurt or helped.

Or when I stopped by the gym to watch the basketball tournament and get an Indian taco? I ended up running in to a friend who I used to play with and we were talking about plays in games that we played in like they were yesterday, not the 20 years that has passed. The older I get, the better I was.

Or when I went turkey hunting with my good friend this spring?

"The aftermath."

It’s always nice to catch up with him because we are both busy with life and kids. This particular morning, I was fortunate to get a turkey. I am a terrible caller and would never have been able to call one in. It was still early after I shot my turkey so we decided to drive around and see if we could find any more. While driving around, we decided to take this muddy right-of-way back to a field where we usually see turkeys.

It was a wet spring in Oneida and the road was muddy and soft. A little way down the right-of-way we got his truck stuck. The nice thing about living in Oneida is that someone will always stop and help. Thankfully, someone stopped to help us. Not long after trying to help us, he got his truck stuck. Too embarrassed to call my dad, I decided to call my cousin who lives just a few miles away. My cousin comes out and he ended up getting his truck stuck too. Here we are, a bunch of big Indians with three trucks stuck in the mud. Thankfully, with the power of three old man backs, we were able to get my cousin’s truck out. Then we were able to maneuver my cousin’s truck to get the second truck out and eventually my friend’s truck. When we get back in the truck and look at each other we realized that both of our faces were covered in mud. We both started cracking up laughing. We went from being crabby about being stuck to laughing at each other’s muddy faces. And now we will always have that story. Like so many other stories I have with friends and family from here. In fifty years when we are at the elderly center eating, I’ll say, “Remember that time we got your truck stuck?” and we will both laugh and be brought back to that muddy dirt road.

"My grandfather, WW II veteran,

Hudson Doxtator, and

his namesake, my son"

And that’s what I love about living in Oneida. There is always a great story everywhere. At weddings. At funerals. At graduation parties. Everywhere if you just listen. Inevitably, someone will ask who your family is, and have a story to tell. Sometimes I don’t have to say who my family is because they know I’m a Cornelius by the way I look.

This is my grandmother.

"She looks like she'd skip school"

I heard a story about my great grandfather speaking Japanese to a tour group from Japan while their interpreter was away. In addition to being a code talker, he learned Japanese in WW II. I heard an elderly lady tell me about how my grandmother used to give her a ride to school when they were in high school and how they would skip school sometimes. I heard a hunting story about my grandfather who after he shot a deer it jumped up and ran off with my grandfather holding on to the deer’s antlers. As my kids get older and have kids of their own, they will hear funny stories about me from a long time ago from someone they don’t know. They will hear stories about me after I’m gone. I know they will laugh and that makes me happy.

Bill Cornelius grew up in Rockford, IL and Madison, WI. Both of my parents were born and raised on the Oneida reservation. I have two brothers and one sister. As children, we spent a lot of time during school vacations visiting my parent’s families. My father is the oldest of ten children and my mother is the oldest of five children. Today, I’m thankful to be able to live in Oneida and raise my kids around their cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles, grandparents and great grandparents.