Lincoln East Chapter of the National Honor Society

Greg Dittman

I didn’t want to go. Not one bit. It was Saturday and I just had a long week. I remember my dad telling me earlier about an Indian Reservation called Walt Hill a couple hours north of Omaha, Nebraska. They were once the powerful ‘Omaha Tribe’. They were forced to move from their land and were given a reservation. Many of the natives were unable to adjust from their previous hunter and gatherer lifestyle to the new agricultural-orientated jobs distributed to them. Some of them sold their land to white folks who greedily took advantage of their little knowledge of American currency and pricing. The Walt Hill Reservation dwindled upon itself gradually getting smaller and smaller. To prevent such poverty, the government built a car production plant on the reservation. Unexpectedly, the factory went out of business because the natives never learned skills to successfully work in a company. Now, poverty runs thickly through the families in Walt Hill, Nebraska.

The more I thought about it, I realized I had to help a needy family out. My dad and I traveled to Lowes and picked up a large refrigerator and stove-topped oven. We placed it into the back of the Ford F-150, which our friends so generously lent us. We left soon afterwards and headed to Walt Hill, Nebraska. The drive gave me a lot of time to think as I peered out the window onto endless acres of corn and wheat. I wondered what my friends were doing right now and how the Huskers were doing against Michigan in basketball. I had fallen asleep when my dad woke me up exclaiming that we were entering the reservation. My tired eyes gazed at Walt Hill. The road upon which we traveled converged upon a narrow, beaten and cracked concrete road lined with small buildings. As we slowly drove through ‘downtown’ Walt, Hill I noticed that almost every building was run down and empty. The only one not devoured by weeds was a small casino. I remember my dad telling me that this casino has ruined so many native’s lives and families. We continued up the hill and detoured through a neighborhood. Small houses which resembled shacks more than buildings clustered close to the gravel road. Children without coats played soccer in the chilling cold. We finally reached our destination, a house that was shelter to families that needed a place to stay. A small native woman greeted us as we parked in the grassy driveway. Her face showed joy beyond words of description. As my dad and I unloaded the heavy fridge and stove from the truck, we carried it into the house. The kind native woman told us about a fire that happened in the house only hours before we arrived. Her stove caught on fire burning much of the kitchen and damaging the nearby appliances. She prayed to God to help her repair the kitchen. I believe God answered her prayer and sent us to give her the appliances necessary for her and her family’s survival. She thanked us beyond measure and wished us well as we left.

On the way back I couldn’t help but smile as I realized the impact my dad and I just had in Walt Hill, Nebraska. By giving something so basic to someone so needy, I learned how blessed I am and how truly thankful I ought to be. I can’t help to think about what more I can do to help someone less fortunate then myself. A new passion burned inside of me like a fire leaping to escape. I hope to help as many people as I can in my life and make a positive impact on people around me.

As we drove down the deserted trail back to Lincoln, my home, I peered outside of our window. The beautiful setting sun streamed majestically across the cornfields around us. What a great state I live in.