ROOM FOR THE INDIANS
by
Dr. Robert Haldane Jr.
Copyright 1999
The Indian Room with "End of the Trail," a southwestern peace pipe, a macramé wall hanging and photos
When UPS delivered the package for which I had been watching like a youngster on Christmas Eve, I actually trembled as I carefully opened it. Lorretta had told me that she knew I would be breathless. I was moved beyond that. I was like the Estes Park dealer when he first saw the drawings of the statues. "He couldn't speak for a while."16 Neither could I. Then, although I was home alone, I squealed with delight, jumped up and down, and clapped my hands!
My wife, Marian, had died in March 1995. She had made a beautiful white macramé hanging table and an earth-shade macramé sunburst for the wall. I had the sunburst, sporting four dream catchers and a Faith feather, on the wall in my evolving Indian Room. The hanging table with a mirror surface was just the spot for `War Dancer." One can see his painted face reflected in the mirror and the exquisite detail - feathers that appear to move and the string of bells on each leg that cause the ear to attune - all enhanced as viewed from every angle. On the wall behind the hanging table is a framed enlargement of the Starita description quoted and footnoted in chapter IV, and an enlarged picture of Bets and me with Dewey Beard.
"War Dancer" at home in Robert Haldane, Jr.'s Indian Room
I had already collected a variety of artifacts and appropriate items for my Indian Room. My son, Mark and his wife, Vickie, had bought me a 20" by 18" bronze statue of "End of the Trail." Son, John and his wife, Laura, had added a southwestern Peace Pipe. I had Indian rugs from South Dakota and from Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico. Yet, somehow, I was not quite satisfied. I wanted the room to reflect something of the living Dull Knife family members and perhaps others of Pine Ridge. Besides, I wanted to be able to personally thank the people who had helped me.
I called Wildfire Productions in Taos. Michael Martin Murphey was not in, but I spoke with Susan Lightening Bow. I enthused over the successful acquisition and asked her to share my gratitude with Michael. I told her I was planning a summer trip West and that I wanted to take her and Michael out to eat, as a small token of my appreciation. I told her I would send my itinerary as soon as I could firm it up, but I'd be in Taos around the third week in September. She said Michael should be back from a scheduled tour by then and she felt he would be happy to accept my dinner invitation.
I called Barbara, who was pleased with the news and enthusiastic about a dinner date. I called Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook, who expressed flattering impressions she had of me from our telephone contacts. She even agreed to go with me into the Pine Ridge Reservation to find Guy Dull Knife, Jr.!
Anticipation mounted as I set about planning the details of a summer itinerary. At such a time, AAA membership is more than handy! I had every map I needed for planning and a Trip-Tic to come. But my preparation included more than maps and routes and friends to visit on the way. I read more than I had since Bangor Seminary days! I got books from the Pasco County Library - many of which they obtained on an interlibrary loan arrangement. Several of these I later purchased. The Bibliography for this account will give you a good idea. I wanted to know more about Lakota religion and music and history. I also wanted a broader base of knowledge about my latest hobby, Native American lore.
In the early part of my "Summer of '97," I went to New England. On a shelf complementing a framed legend, "Buffalo and Eagle Wing,"17 I have a Lefton China bald eagle given to me by stepsister, Theda, and a Stone Critters white buffalo from my sister, Betty, who also gave me a carved wood loon with chick on her back. The latter is under the framed Indian legend, "The Loon Story."18 While in Maine, I also visited the Penobscot reservation on Indian Island, Old Town. Thus, my summer began appropriately with Wabanaki, Sockalexis, and Penobscot roots.
In Massachusetts, Massassoit (the South Shore) and Masconomo (the North Shore) country, I found a friend from Bangor Seminary days, whom I hadn't seen for forty years. It almost derailed my one-track itinerary. This is a story in itself, so I will only mention parts pertaining to this narrative. We went to dinner the night before I headed for Michigan on my Western trip. I called her from Erie, Pennsylvania and correspondence was on.
My itinerary took me to Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. In Canada, I picked up another appealing little loon and chick for the "Room." After the swing north, I returned to Jackson, Michigan, a place of deep roots and home of my son, Robert III and family. I called back to Malden, Massachusetts to my friend, Delphine Gray. It was clear that we were on the edge of a "meaningful relationship." I left Jackson, drove to Malden (just outside Boston) and we became engaged! My westward itinerary now included many (daily) calls across the country. Without "Ma Bell" I probably would not have completed the itinerary herein described!
On September first, I headed west from Michigan. After a stop with friends in Iowa, I was soon in Wall Drug, South Dakota.19 From there, I adjusted my itinerary. A letter, mailed to my Florida address, had caught up with me. It was from Barbara Dull Knife. She had received my travel plans, but wanted me to know she no longer worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs. She had transferred to a U.S. attorney's office in Rapid City. She gave me a home telephone number in Oglala as well as her new work number. How reassuring it was to learn that Barbara really cared about meeting me!
I arrived in Rapid City about mid-afternoon, September 5. I stopped at a restaurant just off the highway. From the pay phone, I called the number Barbara had given me. She was out, but a co-worker said she'd be back in
an hour or so. I used the time to get a room at a motel next door. When I called back, Barbara was there. She planned to stay in Rapid City that night at her mother's house to take her to a doctor's appointment in the morning, so she was glad to join me for dinner at the restaurant that was only a few blocks from her mother's home. She would be able to come in an hour or so.
The wait seemed longer than it really was. I began to watch every customer who entered the establishment. Would I be able to identify Barbara when she came in? All I had seen was that baby picture. Maybe she would look more like her grandmother or her mother. My imagination created a wide variety of images; it helped to pass the time and contain my excited impatience. I was finally about to meet a Dull Knife in person!
The waitress was very understanding. I told her I needn't tie up one of her tables during a long wait. She thanked me for the thought but since the restaurant was not busy, she encouraged me to keep the table near the door - and she kept my water glass full!
Robert Haldane, Jr. and Barbara Dull Knife
When Barbara came in, I knew in a flash it was her. She likewise sensed that I was the one awaiting her arrival. We greeted, not like old friends, but with a confidence and eagerness born of longstanding familiarizing. We visited while we ate. She signed the Starita book by "the" picture, with a note. I collected autographs for Betty, too. She told me that Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook was in New York City on Wicahpi Visions business. She would be gone all week. "But," Barbara assured me, "I will go with you tomorrow to find Guy, Jr.'s house." She gave me her mother's phone number, asking that I call around 11a.m. when she anticipated being back from her mother's medical appointment.
She was there. "But there's a problem," she said hesitantly. "I have to take Mother back for a checkup on a test the doctor began this morning. He needs to see her at three o'clock. Since Guy lives over a hundred miles into the center of Pine Ridge reservation, there's no way I can go today." My heart did another nose dive. How could I be so close, and yet so far away? Barbara was reassuring. "Come on over to my mother's house. I'll draw you a map. It really isn't hard; you can find Guy, yourself." She gave me directions to find her mother's house.
Bessie Dull Knife lives in what appeared to be an all-Lakota subdivision in Rapid City. I arrived soon after lunch. I was glad to meet another member of the Dull Knife family. She signed my book, wondering aloud why I wanted her autograph! Barbara told me about Dewey Beard's granddaughter. I didn't know about her and the fact that Beard and his wife, Alice, had raised Celane Marie as their own. Barbara explained that it was because Celane's mother was young and they felt she should be free to go back to her people and begin life anew. Barbara phoned Celane Not Help Him in Pine Ridge, a small town inside the reservation. She told her about me, that I was going to look for Guy that afternoon and would like to stop in and meet her. So another stop was happily added to my itinerary!
I asked Barbara to pose for a snapshot or two. I wanted one of us together, so I approached a couple of young neighbors (whom Barbara didn't know) and asked them to come snap us with my camera. They were happy to oblige and I'm grateful for this added touch - to my Indian Room, of course!
Barbara explained to me that I would not find road signs or street numbers on the Reservation, but she would put landmarks on the map. The map she drew for Guy's place, which sets back with a long driveway ("just a set of ruts, some so deep you don't want to let a wheel drop into them," Barbara warned), had a unique landmark. There was a mail box marked "Dull Knife" at the usual height and a long extension, about 10 feet above it, with another mail box marked "Air Mail." I love Guy's sense of humor! Besides, it was an unmistakably helpful landmark.
My '87 Buick had been up to my favorite fishing area where the Sunday River in Maine is only a brook cascading over boulders and ledges. After that, this Dull Knife drive was a piece of cake. Where Guy, Sr.'s cabin had stood, was a small trailer. The old house had been lost to a fire. In the yard, under the shade of several trees, parents sat watching several small children at play. I drove up beside a pickup, shut off my car, and strode a few steps in their direction. Unlike meeting Barbara, I had not had contact with Guy, although I presume Lorretta had told him about me.
"Guy Dull Knife, Jr.?" I asked. He stood acknowledging my obvious assumption. "I'm Bob Haldane. I have your `War Dancer,' and I am honored to meet the artist," I said, smiling broadly. Guy smiled back and offered me his hand. I felt something akin to what I assume Stanley felt on meeting Livingstone. "And I presume this is Cora?" I turned toward the attractive mother who responded with a shy smile. "Yes," Guy said, "and these are our children." I showed Guy the picture of Dewey Beard and us at Cedar Pass. He pointed to the area a few hundred yards away where the Beard dugout had been. We chatted about many details. I showed him a Polaroid of "War Dancer" in my Indian Room. He said, "Oh, you have a painted one!" I expressed my delight in the intricate detail right down to the buckle on the cavalry gunbelt. He smiled and told me how he had played with that jacket at Beard's house. That prompted him to put it on "War Dancer."
Guy Dull Knife, Jr. and Guy Dull Knife III
Suddenly it was school bus time. Cora rounded up the small ones, put them in the back seat of an old car and hurriedly drove off. Guy Dull Knife, III showed up about then. I had been so busy visiting with his dad that I failed to see him coming. He looks a lot like his father, a husky, athletic-looking, shy young man. I asked the two of them to let me take their picture. Then I asked Guy III to take one of his dad and me. Cora returned with the children. She seemed too busy for posing, and I became so involved in conversation, I forgot about the camera. I asked about the sculptures Guy had planned. He told me he is no longer working on them. I expressed dismay. "You are so wonderfully talented," I protested, "and your dedication to make the history of your people visible and tangible so it won't be like the `wind on the buffalo grass' - what of that?" Cora looked at me with a big smile and a glint in her eyes that said, "He needs to hear that." But Guy insisted that he could do no more as there were no available funds. He told me that the last statue cast was not sold by Wicahpi Visions. He tried to sell it himself and finally accepted an offer $500 less than it cost him. He gave a discouraged shrug. I told him, "I can't say anything about the fiscal realities, but I know God doesn't want your talent wasted or lost. I urge you to find a way."
On my way to the car, Guy stepped over to the cab of the pickup. He rummaged around a minute, then turned to me with a magazine, Arts of the American West.
He opened it to page 68 which has a color picture of "War Dancer." He said, "This should be with the statue," and handed it to me. I was really moved. Then he showed me his First Edition copy of The Dull Knifes of Pine Ridge, autographed by his father, by Joe Starita, and by all the characters in the book still living. He indicated a willingness to sell it but I had neither sufficient cash nor the conscience to take it.
The trip from Kyle to Pine Ridge was laid out on Barbara's map, including the street plan of Pine Ridge that would take me to Celane Not Help Him's home. On the way I tuned in to the Kyle station on Porcupine Butte, broadcasting native music, powwow dates, songs dedicated to loved ones (birthdays, anniversaries, bereavements), and interviews. Much of the music was familiar to me; I had the tapes! Even the Lakota language sounded familiar!
En route I stopped at Wounded Knee. Frankly, I was a bit disappointed to find only a few souvenir hawkers, with not much more than dream catchers to offer. Maybe I was too late in the afternoon. Anyway, I prayerfully remembered Dewey Beard's ordeal and loss, and prayed that such a thing never happen again (the Holocaust prayer)!
When I arrived in Pine Ridge, I was hungry. I stopped at a little general store advertising Tacos. I was dressed in my western garb - a straw Stetson with added feathers, a western shirt, bolo tie, jeans, belt from Tijuana and boots. No one so much as glanced at me as I entered the store. I ordered a Taco and stood there eating, as were some others. I don't know what anyone thought about this "white eyes" but I felt as comfortable as any place I belong! Someone had told me, "Whites are not usually welcome on Reservations." Maybe it's people with attitudes who are not welcome!
I went down the road, over the river (short bridge), and into the next left, as Barbara's map indicated. From there I had trouble. I went around twice. I stopped and asked for Celane Not Help Him. The first person I asked may have thought me to be an unwelcome intruder. I got a very confusing set of directions that led me out of the area. Back I went and asked again. This time I was careful to explain that "my friend" was expecting me. I got quite good directions and arrived at her side yard. How careless I can be! I neglected to get the first name of Mr. Not Help Him. But Celane was there. I asked for her and was ushered inside (he was in the yard, conversing with friends.)
What can I say about the moment of stepping into the presence of Dewey Beard"s granddaughter? Somehow she reminded me of Mrs. Sock. I had to remind myself of the traditional Indian reticence and reserve. Be friendly in word and appearance but don't presume to move out beyond invitation! Celane invited me to sit in their plain but cozy living room. I showed her the Dewey Beard Cedar Pass picture. She showed me an enlargement of a Dewey Beard portrait that I found breathtaking. I asked for permission to take her picture. She inhaled and sat silent for what seemed ages to me. I said, "I've carried the picture of your grandfather for all these years. I need your picture to go with it." More silence. Then, as if a dam had burst, she said, "All right." I kneeled as she sat, and took two or three shots with my camera. How great for my Indian Room!
Celane told me her memories of her grandfather's story of the night he escaped from the ravine at Wounded Knee. She told how badly wounded he was - arm, chest and leg. He had lost much blood. He was so weak he could hardly walk. It was twilight - about dark. He saw three riders silhouetted on the horizon at the top of the hill. He could not tell who they were. He thought, "If they are soldiers, I am dead." They called out, "Who are you?" He answered, "I am Sioux." They rode down and helped him onto a horse. They, too, were Sioux. They took him to the Little Episcopal Chapel. He was recognized. All the people knew Dewey Beard. He was nurtured back to sufficient strength to return home. One knew this was a story Celane had heard many times! You will notice that this story differs in some details from the story as I told it earlier. That story came from Joe Starita's book where he reports it as it came from Dewey Beard, years later through an interpreter, and summarized by that interpreter. I refrained from questioning Celane about those discrepancies.
She also volunteered an account of the night he died. She said it was a very cold night - way below zero. Her grandfather had three horses out in the area. He was worried about them with the temperature falling. He bundled up and went out to round them up. He finally got them all inside the corral by the house, where there was shelter and some warmth. He came in complaining that he could not breathe well. His lung, left collapsed by the bullet at Wounded Knee, caused strenuous overwork for the remaining lung. He lay down on the floor. Alice went to make him a bowl of hot soup. He rolled over, facing the wall, and when Alice came with the soup, he was gone. The Great Spirit had opened His arms for a great man!
Celane asked me to drive her to her daughter's house to meet her. I was glad for the chance. We drove a few blocks to a bit better section, but her daughter had gone to some meeting. "Come again and meet her," she requested, as a proud mother would. "I'd really like to," I answered.
It was dark by the time I reached Chadron, Nebraska. I think it is still on the Reservation, though in the next state. At least it's on the edge. I found a motel. What a day it had been!
I called Lorretta Afraid of Bear Cook's home. She was not there. Yes, she was still in New York. In the morning, I headed for Denver.
After visiting dear friends in Denver and then the daughter (and family) of my best friend from High School days, in Santa Fe, I went down to Taos, where I was planning to meet and dine with Michael Martin Murphey and Susan Lightening Bow. I called Wildfire Productions for directions. I was just across the road! Susan was busy. The lady at the desk told me that she had been promoted to "Head Honcho" or some such phrase for being in charge. She reported my presence and came back with word that unfortunately, Michael Martin Murphey was out of state on a business trip. She, Susan, would be busy for a while, but if I could wait, she would really like to meet me. I waited. It seemed like a long time, though the receptionist made appropriate conversation. Finally, Susan came out, a tall, beautiful lady. Not exactly what I had pictured, but a happy experience! She expressed the regret she expected Michael would feel at missing my visit. She visited with me for quite some time about my experience - from the Dull Knife Book to the trip. She was interested in hearing about Guy. Then she asked me if I had Michael's latest CD or tape releases. I had one, but not the second. She said he'd want me to have it. She went back into the inner office and came out with the recording. One more to play in my car, and listen to at home while sitting in my Indian Room!
So I drove to my daughter, Karyn's in Los Angeles, to my son, John's in Mesa, Arizona, and in three more days to Zephyrhills. Then, on Oct.15, I flew to Malden, Massachusetts to prepare for a February 12th wedding.
Epilogue, Bibliography, Footnotes
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