ROOM FOR THE INDIANS
by
Dr. Robert Haldane Jr.
Copyright 1999
Guy Dull Knife, Jr. had a dream. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream about freedom and equality for his people. Guy Dull Knife, Jr.'s dream was for his people. It was rooted in a quote from Crazy Horse; "A people without a history is like wind on the buffalo grass." Not wanting the history of his people, long passed down from father to son in verbal detail, to blow away in these changing times "like wind on the buffalo grass," Guy turned to his innate artistic nature. As a boy, he had practiced drawing - sketching his neighbor, Beard. He was good at that kind of art. Now his dream was to tell the story of his Sioux people in concrete, visible forms.
First, in the tiny trailer they called home, and eventually into the front yard, Guy taught himself to sculpt. He began with half a dozen paintings. Before each was a clay figure - detailed, elaborate, colorful. Each had required seventy-five to a hundred hours to complete. He worked the figures again and again. He said that this was the first time in his life he had found something he "really, really loved." He lost himself in the statues. He would tell the history of his people in the dances that related to their stories. His first thought was to create eighteen dancers, cast in three sets of six each.
He had saved a block of alabaster for such time as he gained sufficient confidence in his skill to attack the heavy white stone. From it broke forth under his drill, a white buffalo emerging from a snow bank. The exact dimensions Guy, Jr. took from Dances with Wolves, stopping the VCR tape on the chase scene.13
The white buffalo now adorns the living room of a Des Moines art collector. I can only imagine its beauty. (Bob, "Thou shalt not covet!")
Not until the fall of 1992 did the first of the clay models, begun in the kitchen of their trailer, emerge from the Loveland Sculpture Works as a sixteen-inch, fifteen-pound bronze statue. The series was begun. Each piece was dedicated to a person or persons significant to the history of the people or to the dance or story depicted.
The first, "To The Great Spirit," was dedicated to the Lakota medicine men and elders; the second, "Traditional Dancer," to Amos Love Hill, an elder who lived according to the old ways; the third, "Hoop Dancer," to Vernon Sitting Bear, one of the originators of that dance; the fourth, "Eagle Dance," to Frank White Buffalo Man, one of the last Lakota who knew how to do that dance; "Fancy Dancer," to Byron De Sersa, a tribal attorney killed by the "Goon Squad" in 1976; and "War Dancer," to Dewey Beard.
When I read about the sculpture dedicated to the man I thought of as my childhood hero, I experienced an excitement beyond reason and exuded a hope, unfounded but fervent, that I might somehow get at least a replica of this tribute to Dewey Beard for my own home.
"War Dancer"
Starita writes,
"The War Dancer displayed the intricate details of a warrior's life. Guy, Jr. sculpted eight eagle feathers, awarded for bravery and acts of kindness, atop a wolfskin headdress, symbolic of the animal's cunning and loyalty and its fierce fighting skill. He used red paint on the warrior's face to reflect a bloody battle and black paint for the mourning of dead and wounded. Five white dots, clustered between the red and black, represent close friends and relatives killed or wounded. In the right hand is a raised coup stick used to strike an enemy in battle, the ultimate act of bravery.14 In his left hand, two scalps hang from a war shield painted with the warrior's (Wasu Maza's) personal battle symbol, rain and hail. On his breechcloth and moccasins, a beaded tipi design tells the number of successful raids he has made on Crow and Pawnee camps. The dancer wears a gunbelt and jacket taken off a seventh cavalry lieutenant from F Troop."15
When I visited my son, John, in Mesa, Arizona in September 1996, I asked him if an internet search might be in order. The computer is not my realm, but it is very much his. He began researching Dull Knife. He came up with a great deal of historical data, references to histories, encyclopedias and scholarly works, but no current addresses, - businesses or otherwise. When we were about to give up, the screen revealed something about Guy Dull Knife, Sr., which we did not know. It seems he was so "taken" with a country western singer, Michael Martin Murphey, that he "adopted" him.
Michael Martin Murphey
In the Fall 1995 issue of The Trail Blazer Gazette, Michael Martin Murphey is quoted:
"The last few months have brought about major changes in my life. First of all, and most important, I became the adopted son of a Lakota Sioux medicine man named Guy Dull Knife. Guy was an old friend of 20 years. Many of you may recall that his picture appeared on the Blue Sky -- Night Thunder album. He inspired the song Medicine Man, Blue Sky Riding Song, and Night Thunder. Guy passed away in August [at age 96] but before he died he asked Guy Dull Knife, Jr. to contact me to ask me to come to the funeral to receive his sacred feather and become his adopted son. My full name is now Michael Martin Murphey Dull Knife, but I will still use my original name as an entertainer, etc. There is a great book about the Dull Knife family available through Putnam Publishers called The Dull Knives (sic) of Pine Ridge written by Joe Starita. That's the best way to find out about my new adopted family. What an inspiring and courageous family."
A viable lead had been found!
Because Michael Martin Murphey is a world-class performer, his itinerary was there on the internet. From that, I learned that he was scheduled to appear in New Port Richey, Forida on October 5, 1996. That was good news. Here was the first glimmer of reasonable hope I had in the quest to find "War Dancer."
I must be loved. I was due to arrive back home in Zephyrhills on October third. I live only some forty miles from New Port Richey, so the first thing I did upon reaching home was call the New Port Richey Chamber of Commerce and ask where Michael Martin Murphey was scheduled to appear. It took the girl a few minutes to look it up and then she said, "He is doing a benefit for the Children's Hospital. It will be at the Knights of Columbus Hall and the price in $75.00." I thanked her.
On the fourth, I drove to New Port Richey to locate the K of C Hall. It was a good thing I did. It took considerable driving around and visits to two such halls before I zeroed in on my destination. I thought about buying a ticket for the next day. Then I reasoned it out. (Did I ever mention my Scottish background?) If I spent $75.00 to attend that wonderful concert, I would find myself in a very large crowd, far from Michael Martin Murphey, and would probably never get near him. So, on October 5, I got up in the morning, put on my western dungarees, my cowboy shirt, my boots, my "End of the Trail" bolo tie, and my Stetson and headed west to New Port Richey. About 1:00 or 1:30 p.m., I pulled up at the K of C Hall. Sure enough, the doors were all open! Trucks with New Mexico license plates were parked in the lot. Men in cowboy gear were carrying equipment into the hall.
I left the car and strode over to one of the workers. "I need to talk to Michael," I said. "Oh, sure," he replied. "He's right through that door on the stage at the right." "Thanks," I muttered as I headed for the open door he indicated.
The star of this show was on his knees, helping the hands set up the sound equipment! I was bold enough to approach and ask, "Michael Martin Murphey?" He looked up and affirmed my supposition. He looked at me curiously as I pulled out a manilla envelope, saying, "You don't know me, but I have something here that might interest you." (A man of that prominence must face many a "con-artist." I'll bet he wondered what this guy was up to.)
He stood and let me show him the picture. Of course it was Dewey Beard with Betty and me. I asked him if he recognized the man in the middle. He said, "Don't know as I do." I said, "His Lakota name is Wasu Maza. We know him as Dewey Beard. He was a neighbor of the Dull Knifes." I could see the eyes light up as Michael heard the Dull Knife name. I told him about how Dewey Beard had changed my perception of America and Native Americans. He told me that Guy Dull Knife, Sr. had changed his life. We had something very special in common.
I told him that I had read about the sculpture that Guy, Jr. had made and that I was on a very serious quest to find at least a replica of "War Dancer." He said, "I don't know if I can help you. Guy, Sr. died this past year. Guy, Jr. has moved into his little place in the middle of Pine Ridge reservation. There is no telephone. I really don't know how to reach him; he's miles from any regular contact." He also told me of Guy's problems, economic and others, that have discouraged him. I was about to make a vanquished exit when Michael called me back. "Wait," he said. "I have one thing I can do for you." Divine intervention? We all have a God whose earth is His and we are custodians by grace!
The wonderful thing Michael Martin Murphey did for me was to give me the telephone number of his No. 1 gal back in Taos, New Mexico and instructions to tell Susan Lightening Bow to give me the telephone number of Barbara Dull Knife. He said, "In the Dull Knife family, as in most of ours, it's the women who have it all together. Barbara is a social worker. She is responsible and if anyone can help you in your quest, she is the one." I said, "Thank you. That is what I came for." As I walked out of the K of C Hall I glanced over my shoulder. Michael was watching me with interest.
As I drove east on State Road 54 my heart was bouncing! Would it be possible to actually get in touch with the Dull Knifes? I may have pushed the old `87 Buick faster than most "snowbirds" ever do! Once home in Zephyrhills, I hurried to call Susan Lightening Bow. She answered, "Wildfire Productions. May I help you?" I said, "I need to speak to Susan Lightening Bow." She responded, "I am she."
I told her that I had just come from speaking with Michael. I told her the long story of who I am, of the 1941 encounter with Dewey Beard, of my search for the Dull Knifes leading me to her boss, and of my gratifying visit with him. I excitedly reported, "He told me to tell you to give me Barbara Dull Knife's telephone number." Graciously, Susan expressed interest in my story. She assured me that she would give me an appropriate number. "However," she said, "Barbara lives on the Reservation in Oglala, and she doesn't have a telephone at home. What I will do is give you her telephone number at work. She is a social worker with the Department of Indian Affairs. You need to call during business hours in the Mountain Time Zone and ask for her." It was too late for today.
I could hardly wait for office hours the next day, remembering that they were two hours later than my Eastern time! At the appropriate hour I called the Department of Indian Affairs. I asked, "May I please speak with Barbara Dull Knife?" Click, click - and I heard a most pleasant voice say, "Barbara here. May I help you?" I suspect I almost burst into a tirade. I effervesced: who I was, my quest for Dewey Beard history, for Dull Knife contact, my enthusiasm for the Starita book, and my desire to reach Guy, Jr. and find out about "War Dancer."
I liked Barbara at once. She listened. She understood, but she said, "I don't know if I can help you. Guy, Jr. is my cousin. He lives on his father's place way out in the Pine Ridge reservation and I haven't seen him in months. I don't really know how to contact him." My heart sank. All this time, all these leads - and now, even after having reached a Dull Knife family member, could my search go no further? My voice surely betrayed my deepest feeling. "Have you no idea about even a replica of "War Dancer?"
Suddenly, as if a new light had been switched on, Barbara said, "Wait a minute. I do have one possibility for you. I don't get in touch with Guy, but I know someone who does: the girl who arranges for his art to be shown in museums, etc.! She has to work out the contract for all of that and she has to be in touch with him because he has to sign the contracts. Let me get her number for you. All of Guy's contracts are carried through Wicahpi Visions in Chadron, NE."
"I don't have the number here in my office," Barbara continued, "but I'll get it at home tonight. You call me here tomorrow and I'll have it for you." My heart returned to an acceptable beat as I quieted myself for the long night's wait and for my new acquaintance to set me on the next step of the "War Dancer" quest.
Nine a.m. in South Dakota is eleven in Zephyrhills! But I waited. When my call went through I heard that pleasant voice say, "This is Barb. What can I do for you?" I said, "It's Bob Haldane again. You told me I could call for the Wicahpi Visions telephone number." A moment of silence. I could hear the embarrassed regret in her voice as Barbara said, "I'm sorry! I had company last night and got so busy I just forgot!" Once again my heart sank. Something told me I should have expected to get a "run around." But Barbara was sincere. "I really will call you with the number!"
If I had thought the past twenty-four hours went slowly, the next twenty-four made those look short! I busied myself with multiple routine tasks and tried to forget the nagging uneasiness in my gut.
Sometime before noon, as I was seriously considering the placing of another call to the Pine Ridge reservation Indian Affairs office, my phone rang. It was Barbara Dull Knife with the number for Wicahpi Visions in Chadron. Relief - anticipation - gratitude - the mystical wonder of unbelief breaking forth into reality - all bobbed like rubber balls on the sea of my emotions!
Barbara's calming voice brought me to reality. She asked, "Do you have `our' book right there?" "Why, yes, it's right here on the table," I answered. "Well, look at the picture on page 171," urged Barbara. "See the man, two women, and a baby?" "Yes, I see them," I answered. "Well, I'm that baby!" Barbara told me. "The other woman is my mother, Bessie Dull Knife." While it was only a baby picture, I felt as though it made another bond with my new friend.
The next focus of my attention and energy was the call to Chadron, Nebraska. It rang . . . and rang . . . and rang. Impatiently I waited an hour. It rang repeatedly again. Another hour; same result. The day was spent. I had to park my overanxious drive to be dialing.
The day after, I called Barbara back. "I can't get through to Wicahpi Visions," I complained. "Oh, I know," Barbara replied. "I'm sorry. I did talk to Lorretta last night. I told her all about you. She said that at this time of year [October], the business is not open on a regular basis. However, on hearing your story, she said for me to give you her home telephone number." "Her name," Barbara continued, "is Lorretta Cook, but she likes to be referred to with her maiden name inserted because she wants people to know she's Lakota. So ask for Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook."
I could hardly wait to make this next contact. When I called, I asked for Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook and I identified myself as the person Barbara Dull Knife had referred. I repeated the story of my encounter with Dewey Beard at Cedar Pass in 1941. I explained how my search had progressed to her and my hope to find "War Dancer" or a replica. Lorretta said, "Yes, Barbara has told me about you. But I don't know if I can help you."
"Here we go again," I thought! Lorretta explained that there had been only five of the "War Dancer" figures cast. Three were left simply as bronze statues. Two were hand-painted by the artist. "One of the hand-painted pieces was sold to an art collector early on," she explained, "and I think the three plain pieces were also sold." She continued, "I don't know if I can help you at all in your wish to get one."
My heart sank once more and I suspect my voice betrayed the sadness that this news evoked in my very soul. Anyhow, Lorretta went on to tell me that "they" (Guy and his associate) are very particular about where these sculptures go. "But," she said, "you are the sort of person we really want to have one - especially "War Dancer." You knew the man to whom it is dedicated. You understand the history. You appreciate the art. We'd like to have it go to you." I was afraid that was a consolation statement. Then my hope began to revive with her next thought. "You know," she said, "I think that last piece is in a museum in Des Moines, and unless I miss my guess, our contract with them is about up. Maybe I can recall it." Lorretta cautioned me not to count too heavily on such a possibility, while still assuring me that she would look into it and see if there might be a way to obtain the sculpture for me.
"It's expensive, you know." Lorretta warned. "I gathered as much," I replied. "Well, just give me a week or so to find out the possibilities," she said.
I hung up thinking, "I've done everything I could possibly do. I've left no stone unturned. All I can do now is wait." My mind was at rest and I waited!
About five days later, my phone rang early in the morning. I couldn't imagine who was calling at that hour, and I was not prepared for the excited voice I heard. "This is Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook. I have located your "War Dancer!" It's in the museum, as I told you, in Des Moines. The contract is up. They are packing it for shipment and it will go directly to you!"
Christmas morning! Easter sunrise! The Sun Dance concluded! The fireworks after the Olympics! More! I gave her my Visa number, and after gleeful thanks, I began preparation to place what would be my piece de resistance in my Indian Room.
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