With this tribute I don't mean to dredge up the past or re-open old wounds. I'm merely presenting a different viewpoint of an individual who has made such an impact on his community and his times, a fuller picture of a man who was more than a successful businessman and civic leader. In the nearly three years since his death, I have buried nine family and friends, so I apologize for the timing of this reminiscence.
Christmas morning 1955 was clear and cold as a bunch of us played on the Carson River's frozen surface which lay below the bench where the Dresslerville community is located. As the ice was humped and fissured, we crossed to the other side where the river had formed a large pond. From the pile of metal lying on the bank we pulled enough rusting baling wire to twist into a rope and were soon pulling each other around on our friend's shiny new sled.
Shortly after we started a Chevy pickup pulled up to the edge of the bank and the neighboring rancher's teenage son got out with a pair of black high-top skates slung over his shoulder. We watched as he gracefully glided over the ice for a few minutes then he asked if we'd like him to pull us around on our sled. My turn was last since I was the youngest and smallest and as he made a sharp, fast turn the sled went one way and I went another, sliding toward the open water at the inside edge of the pond. I hit the water with a big splash, the momentum shooting me under the ice. I remember looking up through the ice and seeing my friends looking down at me before I was jerked backward by my foot. The young man carried me out onto the bank and after checking to see that I was OK, quickly jumped into his truck and took off while we, just as quickly, headed back across the river, my wet clothes crackling as they froze in the frigid air. "Don't tell anyone!" the older boys said. "Anybody asks, he fell into the river on his own."
Such was my introduction to Arnold Arthur Settelmeyer.
When I was about 10 years old I started hanging out at the Settelmeyer ranch where I was tolerated since a couple of my older cousins were part of the haying crew and because Arnold's father, Arthur, and my father were friends. Arnold took me under his wing, introducing me to this fascinating new world where, two years later, I started getting paid for my time. I worked six summers for A&L Settelmeyer Ranches and once again, for over a year when I got out of the service.
In an over-used cliche, Arnold was one of the last of the breed of independent, self-sufficient farmer/ranchers. During his time, he was a part of the agricultural industry's progress from horse-drawn implements to the computer age. Like his predecessors, he had to have the skills and knowledge of both farmer and rancher, the former to provide food for the cattle and the latter to ensure their longevity. Since cash money was always in short supply he needed to develop a working knowledge of the skills of a veterinarian, welder, electrician, carpenter, mechanic, and heavy equipment operator. Then, in the evenings, he put on his clerical/accountant/bookkeeper hats. Jet engine mechanic was added to this resume, after a four-year stint in the Air Force.
In school, he was an athlete and also active in the student government when Harold Wyatt, an extraordinary young man by anyone's standards, was elected student body president, the first and only Washoe to be accorded that honor. Harold also worked for the Settelmeyers during the day in haying season and ran the projector at the Sage Theater in Gardnerville as his night job all while raising his six orphaned brothers and sisters.
When Arnold's forebearers arrived in this valley it was literally covered in sagebrush, willow and cottonwood trees which were plowed under to create the Valley as it is today. To help with this gargantuan task they employed the local labor pool of Washoe Indians, as did his relatives who settled near Genoa, Frank Settelmeyer's family. During my time there, A&L Settelmeyer Ranches employed two Washoes full-time, George Dutchy and a housekeeper at Lawrence's place. In the summers they were augmented by eight or nine young men for haying season. Harnessing two Belgian draft horses to a mechanical mower, one of George's duties was to cut the alfalfa growing on the ditch banks, then pitch it into the fields where it was baled up by the haying crew.
The Settelmeyers, along with contemporaries like the Dresslers, Johnsons, Stodiecks, and in town, the Wilckes; judged a man by the content of his character, rather than the color of his skin a hundred years before Rev. King's famous speech. Today, Frederick Dressler and Margie Johnson Springmeyer near the end of long, productive lives while Ron and Don Wilckes enjoy their retirement years. In Minden, Karen Settelmeyer White and her daughter Rene continue, through thick and thin, to uphold their family's values.
Like his father, Arnold was an innovator, his natural inquisitiveness enhanced by schooling at CalPoly in San Luis Obispo, Calif., one of the premier agricultural learning institutions in the nation. Also like his father he encountered resistance introducing new ways to the established order. In 1970 an opportunity arose to acquire a used Haro-Bed that Arthur was steadfastly opposed to, due to cost. But once Arnold prevailed and demonstrated that the three of us could put up the hay crop in a third of the time it used to take, he couldn't get over the capabilities of the machine, particularly in the time and labor savings. As we fed the cows that winter Arnold laughed when he recounted the resistance his grandfather put up when, as a young man, Arthur proposed the ranch switch from horses to mechanical tractors when they were the next best thing. Thirty years later, I had to remind him of the Haro-Bed when he thought his son James was wasting his time putting the ranch operations on a computer.
Returning to the Carson Valley after my enlistment in the Marines was up, I worked for over a year for Arnold, during which time we set in place the operations which sustain the ranch to this day. But, more importantly for me, it turned out to be the right environment to decompress after three years of service, 16 months of which was served in Vietnam. Many times, as we worked the hay and particularly during the long, slow hours riding through the herd looking for sick or downed animals, we shared our experiences which, for me, was very cathartic. I have Arnold to thank for why I'm more emotionally stable today than some of my contemporaries who were simply yanked out of Vietnam and were, several days later, back home walking the block.
Along with the everyday assistance he offered as our ranching neighbor, the Washoe Tribe benefited greatly from Arnold's knowledge and expertise when he served on the Board of Directors of WDE, the economic development arm of the Tribe. His contributions, along with his friends Spec Rahbeck and Dal Byington, as well as myself for four years, resulted in the Tribe acquiring its Chevron station, the storage units, plus management of Meeks Bay Resort. We gained valuable insight into not only ranching but also wholesale and retail business and even parliamentary procedures. Their efforts are greatly appreciated by many of us.
Like all of his contemporaries the job, his livelihood, was a 24/7 proposition rain, snow or shine, which puts additional strain on relationships and leaving little, if any time for other pursuits. If one makes it to old age, in reasonable health, without burning out along the way he will have earned his retirement, in spades. It's a pity that Arnold never got that chance, for if anyone deserved to enjoy the fruits of his labor, he did. With his death, on the lands west of 395 between Stephanie Way and Genoa Lanes, there is a void in the fabric of life that will take a long time to heal, if ever.
As I understand it, traditional Washoe belief holds that a man who did his best at whatever he did, who provided for himself and those he was responsible for, and being an asset to his society, was respected and admired as a good man. Being respectful, friendly, courteous, and helpful are considered pluses.
In my opinion, Arnold Arthur Settelmeyer was a good man.
Carnegie Smokey Jr. is a Washoe Tribal member.
