A tribute by Keil ti’ McKenna Hunt – Grandaughter of Byron Mallott

Our Grandfather, Our Uncle, Our Brother, Our Neighbor, Our Friend – Byron Mallott

Where does one even begin with the loss of a life? Do you count the accomplishments? The awards given? The plaques engraved? I suppose we could. I suppose we could rudimentarily begin to list everything that Byron Mallott did in his life; from becoming the mayor of Yakutat at the young age of 22, to holding one of the highest forms of public office as lieutenant governor of Alaska. Yet, I don’t believe the titles are what beg to be recognized. 

It’s the breadth of the lives touched. It is the heart and the vigor of what Byron Mallott, Dux̱ da neiḵ, K’oo del ta’, did with every ounce of his being to better the lives of Alaska Natives. It is the profound sense of resilience he instilled in our people. It is about the legacy he left.

It is about the human. 

It is about the soul.

It is about the man.

This — is what begs to be remembered of Byron Mallott.

Standing in at around 6 feet, Byron carried himself with equal balance, grace and strength. His stern stoicism profound, while his boisterous laugh incessant. Riding through his hometown of Yakutat in his old jalopy was where he felt most at home. His salt and pepper hair swaying in the breeze, taking his grandchildren here and there, stopping to speak with an old friend at the general store, and never failing to spread joy with his genuine grin. People were easily drawn to Dux̱ da neiḵ, K’oo del ta’ by his infectious aura and caring nature — a neighbor to some, a coworker to others, but a friend to all.

Dux̱ da neiḵ, K’oo del ta’ was the clan leader of the Kwaashk’i Kwáan of the Lingít Raven, Humpback Salmon people in Yakutat, where he was born in 1943. It was a time of novel hardship for Alaska Natives, as boarding schools began to take their numbered place in the history of atrocities committed against indigenous peoples. Byron was among many young Alaska Natives who were sent away to be wiped of their culture and identity, though his spirit was never silenced, only amplified. 

With a voice that we can still hear to this day, he spoke of justice and equality, of public safety, of resilience, responsibility and obligation. From being expelled from boarding school for taking a stand against abuse, to abruptly leaving university to take his father’s place as mayor of Yakutat upon his death, to committing his entire existence to ensuring Alaska Natives sovereign prosperity through business and government, he led by his actions. He stood for what was right and what was true, and instilled it in his children to do the same.

Dux̱ da neiḵ, K’oo del ta’ was an impeccable public speaker. When he spoke, you listened. Not out of fear or compulsion, but out of awe and inspiration. He stood stoic and strong with a look of pensive humility; always taking care in the words he spoke. His words eloquently flowed through a space, weighed carefully and respectfully. Intentional and authentic — almost as if our ancestors were speaking through him.

He cared and connected deeply with the land, tirelessly advocating for Alaska Native land claims, and vehemently working with other influential Native leaders to convince the federal government to pass the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act in 1971. He always had the prosperity of Alaska Native people and culture in mind. 

Even when Byron was inducted into the Alaska Business Hall of Fame in 2013, he knew that his accomplishments were more about the work ethic than the recognition.

“To me, this means nothing more than we worked hard to do the best job possible. To try to keep our Native corporations Native, in a way that allowed us to be good business people but also better Native people.”

That is the thing about Byron Mallott. It was never about the titles held or the offices appointed to. It was about the people — always the people. How can I help my people?

Longtime friend or first acquaintance, it didn’t matter who you were, when meeting Byron you were always met with an unmatched warmth and attentiveness. He listened to you, he laughed with you, he mourned with you, and he uniquely saw You. Wherever he roamed, he planted seeds that had a profound effect on people and their communities, building genuine relationships that withstood the tests of time.

He taught his children to stand tall in their Alaska Native heritage, to live and lead their lives with grace, to work hard, to be resilient, and to simply believe that they could. He loved his grandchildren with a might too big for the spoken word. Always joking, always playing, and always there when they needed him, whether it was for a serious conversation or to mend a scraped knee. 

These are the things that we will remember. We will remember the man who loved more than anything to be out on his boat, who would take to the skies in his plane whenever given the chance, who would joke with his grandchildren until he was rolling on the floor laughing, and who loved listening to 50s rock n’ roll and traveling across the country with his beloved wife Antoinette and dog Tannis in their RV. 

So, as we honor Byron, as a leader, as an advocate, as a mentor, and as a friend, and we pay tribute to the legacy of his life, we hold close the small moments and the big moments. The strength of his presence, the comfort of his words, the depth of his ambition, and the immeasurable devotion that he had for Alaska and its people. 

Byron’s Eyak name, K’oo del ta,’ means “a person who would lead us into the future,” and lead us into the future he did. 

Though he may not be with us in body, he is with us in spirit, holding space in our hearts and in our minds, as we feel the north winds of Yakutat upon our cheeks, hear the cawing raven in the sky, and watch the soft crash of the waves, Dux̱ da neiḵ, K’oo del ta’ is telling us that we are enough, and we will succeed.