The medicine man, O-Ti-Cot-i, changed his name to Peter Otahgary (or Ottogary) and begat Willie. And Willie begat Chester. Chester begat Clyde. Clyde begat Diane. And Diane begat William and Shane'a — mother and father of future generations.
That, anyway, is the short version of the Clyde Ottogary family line.
The long version, however, is filled with enough tales to keep the Sundance Film Festival in movies for years. The family history includes writers, horse trainers, LDS Church elders, soldiers and sun dancers — many embodied in a single person.
Among the Northwestern Band of Shoshones, the Ottogary name is held high.
It is a clan with a colorful history.
Today, at age 72, Clyde Ottogary of Pocatello stands at the crossroads of that history. He is the family patriarch. Stretching before him he sees the future of his grandchildren. Stretching behind, he sees a legacy of impressive ancestors.
"I have seen a lot of things," Clyde said.
And these days he sees a lot of interest in his grandfather Willie, the frontier journalist. Willie Ottogary is speaking from the grave in ways he couldn't have imagined.
Last fall, Utah State University Press published the collected writings of Grandfather Willie. As a young man in the Utah village of Washakie near the Idaho border, he filed hundreds of newspaper dispatches for the regional newspapers. "The Washakie Letters of Willie Ottogary: Northwestern Shoshone Journalist and Leader, 1906-1929," was compiled by Matthew E. Kreitzer, Utah educator and scholar. And it is both a wonderful source of life and lore among turn-of-the-century Shoshones and a family history that the Ottogarys will honor — and be honored for — as time goes by.
Folklore scholar Barre Toelken talks of Willie's "unique idiom" and calls his "down-to-earth comments" a "delight."
Indeed, it is that "unique idiom" that makes the writing a delight. As with the famous line of Chief Joseph — "I will fight no more forever" — Ottogary's language is honest and fresh. "We expect get some land from our Big White Pop in future time," he writes at one point. And though his newspaper pieces don't form a story, they do form a landscape — a portrait — of the Shoshone world.
The book is the latest feather in the cap of a family that has many feathers.
"Yes, I'm proud of my family," said Diane Ottogary, who works with the Head Start Program in Fort Hall, Idaho. "But I think we're really quite normal. Very typical. At least these days we are."
Recently the family gathered for a "typical evening" and invited a Deseret News reporter to join them. Granddaughter Shane'a quietly played solitaire on a computer while Clyde carefully made dolls — small Indian figures the family sells to trading posts. Diane sat between her mother and her daughter — listening to the former and helping the latter.
The conversation this evening soon turned to the sun dance, a three-day ceremonial "cleansing" ritual for the spiritual and physical health of the tribe. It is a rigorous rite, where dancers fast, chant and often see visions over three days.
And if Clyde's father, Chester, was the family soldier and Grandfather Willie was the journalist, then Clyde will be remembered as the sun dancer. For more than 50 years he served as a Shoshone sun dance chief. He has danced more than 100 dances.
He shared the story, once again, of how he began.
"When I started dancing I was 14 years old," he said. "I was told the sun dance was hard, but I wasn't scared of anything. I wanted to do it. I just went in. Back then, the singers never stopped and the dancers never stopped for three days and nights. That was the old-timers' way. The old-timers would never give you a rest. You had to prove yourself."
"Proving yourself" has been an Ottogary watchword.
"You fast for three days," Clyde said, "but sometimes after the sun dance you wouldn't feel like eating. You feel good. You feel you can run for miles and miles."
When Clyde's health began to fail, Diane stepped in as a "sub chief."
"Young people are always looking for their center," she said. "My center is with the sun dance."
But dancing wasn't the only topic on the table. The conversation also turned to horses, grandparents and history. Eventually the new book was mentioned. The volume has created some unexpected interest. A few weeks earlier, the family traveled to Garland, Box Elder County, for a special book-signing. Others interested in history undoubtedly will soon seek them out.
They help in any way they can.
"I was born the same year that Willie died," Clyde said. "So, I never met him."
Added Diane, "I think it would be something to be able to meet him. I like the way he puts things."
They tease each other about the book, about who has been hoarding it.
Still, as important as the writings of Willie Ottogary are, Diane knows the Ottogary legacy must also stretch into the future. She dwells on the kind of lives her children will lead. She named her son William — like "Willie" — perhaps in hopes some of the Ottogary magic will rub off.
During the Bear River Massacre, when Indians clashed with Fort Douglas-based soldiers in the mid-1800s, medicine man Peter wrapped himself in a buffalo robe and, it is said, the bullets simply bounced off him.
Grandfather Chester survived World War II.
Diane sees young William as good soldier material.
As for Shane'a, the young girl has inherited Clyde's love of animals.
Diane hopes her children inherit the curiosity of writer Willie and wisdom of medicine man Peter, as well.
She hopes they end up with their grandpa's love of Shoshone tradition and her own appreciation for education.
In short, she hopes they inherit the best the Ottogary legacy has to offer.
The family laughs and chats. Outside, the dogs have curled up on the porch for the night.
The country road is quiet and serene.
The spirits of "Ottogarys gone by" hover near.
E-mail: jerjohn@desnews.com