For most his life, local elder and traditional healer Paul Gregory roamed the tundra, gathering medicinal plants, subsisting, and mushing. Wednesday, after a funeral service at the Bethel Moravian Church, Gregory’s family and friends laid his body to rest in that tundra. Gregory died Saturday at the age of 85. KYUK went to the funeral and has this remembrance:
The Bethel Moravian Church is filled down the length of the sanctuary to the back row. Those who can’t find a seat sit in folding chairs located along the back of the room, and down the aisle next to each pew. At the front, Gregory lies in an open, wooden casket. It’s lined in blue satin and surrounded with flowered wreaths. Behind him, two Christmas trees shine with white lights; Stars of Bethlehem glow on top.
As the crowd settles in, Moravian Pastor Will Updegrove seeks to draw a picture of the Paul Gregory they all knew.
"I came to the conclusion that I know what Paul’s first word was when he stepped into the presence of God in Heaven. I think he had one word, and I bet you all know what it is: Amazing," Updegrove said as the crowd laughed. "Amazing."
Many of those filling the room recognized that word. Gregory’s youngest daughter, Bonnie Gregory, says that it was her father’s favorite. It’s how he saw the world.
"I’ve learned integrity from him, and to be respectful no matter what kind of people are on any economic status," she said.
A few days before he passed, Gregory had a final message for his family.
"Be nice to each other, don’t make trouble, and love each other," Bonnie repeated.
And Bonnie says, with her father’s example and with the life he lived, they’ll know how to do that.
Gregory was born in the old village of Tuntutuliak, where most of his family died during the tuberculosis epidemic of the 1930s. It left just him and his mom alive, but his mom soon passed away and Gregory was taken in by a foster family in Bethel where he met his wife, Mary, while in his early 20s.
"She was playing the organ in the Moravian Church," Bonnie said, "and Dad walked in, and that was it. They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, and they fell in love."
Gregory and Mary were married 61 years. They had six children and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Together they ran a small business teaching groups, schools, and agencies like Fish and Wildlife about tundra medicinal plants.
Gregory had learned this knowledge from his foster grandparents and used this skill as a traditional healer.
"He had healing hands, and his hands burned with heat. He actually would go to the hospital, and the nurse who was taking care of our dad witnessed, when he was healthier, that someone had a health issue, and he went up there and touched his body, and he was healed," Bonnie said.
For 30 years, Gregory worked with the Indian Health Service. He started as a laundromat worker, but as his leadership abilities emerged over time, he became an administrator.
"He had the ability to naturally lead," Bonnie said. "He was always very quiet, and he’d scan the situation, and he had a lot of wisdom before he spoke."
Gregory also worked as a tribal judge for the ONC Native Council. He served on the KYUK board, and he helped found the Kuskokwim 300 Sled Dog Race.
"And back then it was fun, because we used to have dog mushing for all ages, snow machine races on the river, a carnival, Eskimo dancing, and eating together. It was very communal back then," Bonnie remembered.
After retiring from IHS, Gregory taught Yup’ik culture in schools and visited the hospital as a healer.
"He could just touch you, and he had that gift to sense where you’re hurting," Bonnie said, "to sense where you needed improvement, to sense mentality where you were."
But the gift couldn’t last. About five years ago, Gregory was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.
"So he’d have pockets of reality, and then he would get lost again. So it was very hard to see him deteriorate after all these years of knowing such an intelligent man."
On Saturday, December 3, Paul Gregory died. His wife Mary was with him.
At his funeral Wednesday, a long line stretched down the center aisle of the Moravian Church. One by one, people approached the open casket to pay their respects and say goodbye. Some looked on with silent intent. Some held his hand or just laid their hand on the casket.
The line moved slowly; hundreds shuffled by.
Bonnie says that for years, when people have found out she was the daughter of this man, their reaction has been the same:
"They’ll shake my hand. They’ll be jubilant. They’ll hug me, and that’s a form of respect my dad had. It has nothing to do with me, and it’s still happening today. They say, ‘This is Paul Gregory’s daughter. Una Cingliam pania,’ and I get that honor because of his name, because of who he was."
