The Great Plains Influence:
L. Frank Baum and Arne John Nixon, A Reflection
Maurice J. Eash
February 2007
I
L. Frank Baum and Arne John Nixon never met. Baum had been deceased (1917) for
almost a decade before Nixon was born in 1927. Although they lived out their lives in separate
areas, they shared a common heritage of American political history: Populism. This “share the
wealth more equitably philosophy” predominated in the Great Plains states and defined their
political hero, i.e., William Jennings Bryan. Believing that their economic destiny was
controlled by Eastern bankers who purposely relegated the agrarian West to poverty, Populism
advocated free coinage of silver and gold; low interest rates on loans; and most extreme, a
graduated income tax. The political thrust now appears to be archaic as much of the Populist
platform has disappeared under the impact of Keynesian economics and the banking reforms of
the New Deal, inaugurated of necessity by the Great Depression of the 1930s. A Populist
political philosophy that was as ephemeral as the popular song “Somewhere over the Rainbow”
in its practical consequences binds the lives of Baum and Nixon and gives new meaning to the
author of The Wizard of Oz and a professor renowned as a practitioner of storytelling. This essay
identifies and examines this shared framework that informed their lives and work: one as a
writer, the other as a literary critic and storyteller.
In the larger sense the ecosystem shaping their world stance is lodged in the history of the
movement from a predominately rural population bound to agriculture, to the growth of mass
urbanization of America. Both Baum and Nixon were greatly marked by their experience in the
rural Great Plains of the United States, which is reflected in their respective interpretations:
fictional characters and setting in Baum’s world; and critical, world interpretation of children’s
literature in Nixon’s world.
1
Arne John Nixon first saw life in 1927 and spent his formative years on a farm –ranch in
South Dakota; Lyman Frank Baum was born in a small town in Upstate New York, Chittenango,
on May 15, 1856. While his father was well off by the socio-economic standards of the day, he
essentially was raised in a rural environment where he did not attend formal school until he was
12 and then erratically. Eventually, after adjusting poorly to a rigid private military academy, his
family relented and allowed him to continue schooling with a private tutor. As a young man
searching for a career, he moved with his wife and small children to South Dakota where he
served as a journalist on a small local newspaper. Baum and Nixon, however, as young adults
gravitated to California and spent the majority of their adult years there. Baum published his
first book in 1880 and the work he is most known for, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, in 1900.
This early life on the Great Plains of South Dakota impacted both men’s lives and was expressed
in Baum’s major novel and underlay Nixon’s critical interpretations in storytelling.
Nixon left no written records and this account draws heavily upon my memory of our
many hours of discussion of Baum’s and others’ work during our friendship of forty-one years.
He drew heavily on his Finnish-American background and always carried with him his
experiential understanding of the effect of the hard scrabble life of his ranch family eking out a
living in the Great Plains. Nixon told the story of being at a large gathering of FinnishAmericans and of being listed on the program for a session of story-telling. As he recounted, the
program had hit a low spot with audience restlessness setting in from too many Finnish choirs
singing too similar, chiefly J. S. Bach, numbers. In desperation, the MC grabbed Nixon behind
the stage curtain. “For God’s sake, get out there and do something or we are going to have an
audience revolt!” And with that admonition, he pushed Arne past the center fold of the curtain
out to face the glare of flood lights and an edgy audience. Arne told me, “I spoke to them in my
2
native Finnish and what was noise retreated into a quiet rustle. Then I said, ‘You don’t
understand; this was my first language, the one we spoke in the isolation of South Dakota.’ I
could not discern faces, but the audience lapsed into complete silence. I launched into my
prepared program of storytelling—in English. Nixon concluded: “It was not my first experience
of chiding a Finnish-American audience on the loss of their culture.”
Baum chose to locate the family of Dorothy, the heroine in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,
in Kansas that lies in the heart of the Great Plains. Nixon, it is safe to say, as a student of
children’s literature, was not a member of the L. Frank Baum fan club and opined on numerous
occasions that most of Baum’s literary production outside of his one major work (The Wonderful
Wizard of Oz) had limited literary value. This one work, however, he considered to be Baum’s
magnum opus, a masterpiece of subtlety using symbolism in setting an exquisite fairytale. In our
forty-one-year friendship, Arne and I spent many pleasant hours discussing L. Frank Baum’s
modern fairytale about a utopian land called Oz. It was only after Arne’s death in 1997 that I
realized the impact of Baum and the degree of proximity of real and fictitious events in these two
lives, lived in different eras, but sharing the age of political Populism and the special influence of
the Great Plains of the United States. My reflections are largely drawn from the memories of our
conversations. In reflection they examine some of the seminal events in the intersection of the
lives of two contributors, one the author of the greatest of modern fairytales, the other as
storyteller and interpreter children’s literature. Though separated by several decades, Baum and
Nixon shared some similarities, one being that they were both left-handed and consequently
wrote in that cramped wrist backward slant characteristic of the unreformed who failed to
capitulate to the Palmer method of handwriting.
3
II
The influence of living in the Great Plains was pronounced in both lives. Baum sets his
story in the depth of the Great Plains. He spares no effort in his depiction of the harshness of the
region and the toll it exacts on those who try to wrest a living by farming this implacable land. A
region of bitterly cold winters and hot summers, it holds farmers and ranchers hostage to its
unpredictable climate. Thinly populated, with constantly shifting settlements, this plain of
1,250,000 square miles covers parts of six states (Kansas, Texas, Oklahoma, Nebraska, North
Dakota, and South Dakota) and contains many remains, often only foundations, of the homes of
the disappointed and failed homesteaders. Despite vast population growth in the United State—
it went from roughly 100 million to 300 million over Nixon’s lifetime—these Great Plains
remain one of the most under-populated sections of the United States, at slightly more than five
inhabitants per square mile.
Arne often recounted the hardship that this harsh land imposed on his family through a
succession of crop failures. Too little rain brought damaging, prolonged drought; too much rain
and a planting season denied frequently ruined a wheat crop; crop disease could be stimulated by
climatic extremes; grasshoppers not infrequently appeared in apocalyptic hordes and ate
everything from grain to hay crops. It was, he said, as if everything natural conspired against
these transplanted Finns as they settled in this new land. It exacted a heavy cost on the
immigrants. More than once I heard Arne opine that the land should never have been ploughed
and the native herds of antelope and bison displaced. In some unpublished remarks Arne made
at the dedication of a Finnish Lutheran church as a historical landmark, he portrayed the settlers
who are easily recognizable as Baum’s Dorothy’s Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.
They came into this place of sanctuary, men on the right, women
on the left, bodies bent from the burdens of heavy toil and care and
4
hardship. Their services were not marked with open expressions
of happiness as they were embattled with the physical and spiritual
elements, not infrequently in quiet desperation. In this house of
worship they sought succor and guidance from their spiritual
leaders. It was not lives that knew much ease until they gained the
ranks of the community that composed the cemetery that frames
this church. (Nixon, unpublished remarks, n.d.)
There is an unmistakable resemblance to Nixon’s South Dakota Finns when Baum
depicts Aunt Em and Uncle Henry as struggling to extract a living from the Great Plains in
Kansas.
When Aunt Em came to live in Kansas she was a pretty wife. The
sun and wind had changed her. They had taken the sparkle from
her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from
her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and
almost never smiled. (Hearn, p. 92.)
. . . Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning to
night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his
long beard to his rough boots, and he evoked stern and solemn, and
rarely spoke. (Hearn, p. 93.)
Their personages were marked as they became part of a culture heavily shaped by its
environment.
The isolation of wide open space, a sense of freedom, and extremes in temperature still
leave their mark on the modern day residents of the Great Plains. A recent federal survey
reported in The New York Times that the youth of this region drink to excess, and have more
serious auto accidents than the national average. They also engage in more violent behavior than
similar youth in large urban settings.
It was not fortuitous that Baum featured a cyclone as the event to transition Dorothy from
the plains of Kansas to the Land of Oz. In the past, critics have faulted Baum for meteorological
inaccuracy in referring to a tornado as a cyclone. Nixon would have understood and stood with
Baum who refused to change his terminology in subsequent editions. To change his storm
5
nomenclature would have rejected the common terminology for these violent storms in 19th
century rural America. Once, as graduate students at Columbia University, Arne and I stood on
Morningside Heights and watched the approach of a violent storm moving across the Hudson
River from the Palisades of New Jersey. Arne spoke appreciatively of a childhood when these
“cyclones” were not uncommon occurrences and that storm cellars were part of most prairie
homes. He relished having first-hand experience with Baum’s cyclonic disturbance that served
the purpose of Lewis Carroll’s metaphorical rabbit hole to transpose Dorothy’s life into an
unseen underworld and to frame his modern fairytale.
III
In another modern context, Baum’s Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are pure American
Gothic, famously portrayed in that most notable regional rural painting by the Iowa painter Grant
Wood. As Wood portrayed Dorothy’s adopted aunt and uncle, it spoke directly to Nixon’s
experience in rural life, as dictated by the geography of the Great Plains. Some years ago, the
Worcester (Massachusetts) Art Museum hosted an exhibit of Grant Wood’s paintings and at my
insistence Arne came from California to spend some time visiting the exhibit. From past
experience I was well aware that it required a very strong pull to draw him away from his
storytelling schedule and lecturing duties. We spent a glorious half day viewing the Wood
exhibit and reminiscing about our agrarian youths. Wood, in his regional painting, captures a
time that we both knew first-hand, particularly the activities surrounding the communal work of
the threshing ring. Farmers cooperated, moving from farm to farm, to use the large machinery
called a separator that separates grain from straw in threshing. Arne and I had both had personal
experience working in a threshing ring, helping bring shocks of grain to the separator or handling
6
the grain produced. When too young to directly hold down a job entailing the heavier work with
the grain, we carried water to the farm hands.
Wood, in a 1934 painting, caught the central feature of the harvest dinner (now the
educated would call it lunch) where the working farmers of the threshing ring sat down together
for a large noon meal. Woods’ famous painting “Dinner for Threshers” is considered to be autobiographical. And it was for Arne and me. We could associate with the washing up in cold
water, followed by a dinner serving mounds of fried chicken and mountains of mashed potatoes.
It was a symbolic event not unrelated in the artistic organization of Leonardo’s painting of the
Last Supper. Wanda M. Corn, in her critique of the Wood painting, sees the artist “. . . calling
upon the traditions of Christian painting to sanctify the farmers’ repast” (Corn, p. 104). The
painting is balanced in thirds (like a triptych), with the left end featuring the washing up of the
sunburned men; the central focus depicts the crowded noon table; and the right end portrays
women in the kitchen preparing food. A scene once familiar and treasured but now lost due to
technological advancement is preserved only in the memories of those seventy and above. Uncle
Henry and Aunt Em could have stepped directly into their roles in Grant Wood’s painting.
Nixon and Baum experienced this agrarian culture shaping the residual Populist mind which
produced a William Jennings Bryan. Bryan was a better showman than what he delivered, for he
was repeatedly unsuccessful (three times a candidate) in gaining the presidency of the United
States. He was, however, undoubtedly the choice of those around the threshers’ dinner table.
Nevertheless, his call for lower rates on loans to farmers hit often by crop failures was not to be
realized until the advent of the New Deal in the 1930s.
7
IV
Baum sketches a series of utopias in Dorothy’s travels in the Land of Oz. These would
not be completely foreign to the Finnish-American ranchers Nixon knew in coming of age in his
rural South Dakota community. The promise of a utopia to these hard-pressed settlers beguiled
some of them to forsake their tormented lives in the Great Plains for a utopia that was remaking
the political and economic landscape of Russia. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the
Finnish community in the United States was approached by representatives of the newly
established communist regime in the Soviet Union. If they would agree to come to the Soviet
Union with their household goods, they were promised farmland and/or jobs. This wonderful,
persuasive verbal picture of a utopia where joblessness was unknown, and a communist
organization guaranteed security in basic needs of food and shelter as well as productive work
fell on some receptive ears.
One must remember these were, as Nixon knew, largely uneducated rancher-farmers with
little knowledge of worlds outside their Great Plains communities. Radios and newspapers were
largely unknown. There was little communication with Finland and even other sections of the
United States. As a consequence, with the spiel from the representatives, some Finns signed on
for resettlement, a new start in an unknown land. Many disappeared never to be heard from
again; a few made their way back to the United States. Those who returned brought tales of
savage mistreatment, their possessions seized upon arrival and themselves victimized by unfilled
promises. The populist utopia was unmasked as a vicious authoritarian state bearing no
resemblance to the original description. Arne attributed their being drawn into this web of
utopian belief to an uninformed folk culture and anti-intellectualism that fueled the belief system
of these largely illiterate settlers. They were taken in by the symbolism of a utopia, a perfect
8
society, that was resistant to a voracious capitalism that snared their lives with debt that could
never be paid off and then confiscated their hard-won land. Baum came from a more affluent
family and did not completely share these Populist sentiments. Arne always felt Baum’s
depiction of folk culture in Oz signaled an endorsement of authoritarianism as the favored
political organization in that each of Dorothy’s traveling companions inherited a kingdom and a
kingship at the end of their adventure. The final images of Oz have only some characteristics of
Populism, e.g., the governance structure is sensitive to needs of citizens, but is authoritarian in
function—in brief, there is an inherent conviction of the wisdom of a monarch. Was Baum taken
in by his knowledge of the royalty of Europe, especially Queen Victoria (reigned 1837 to 1901),
a formidable presence in the world scene during his lifetime?
V
The Great Plains were the last great hunting ground of Native Americans. It is estimated
that in the 18th century Indians west of the Mississippi River numbered 400,000. By the time
Baum and Nixon had any experience with Native Americans, they were confined to reservations
and ruled by the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Baum was much closer to the Indian Wars of the
1860s to 1880s. Arne did not have direct experience with Native Americans until he accepted a
teaching post in the Makah Indian Reservation on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state.
He had applied through the mail and was accepted in a teaching post in 1949. Perhaps because
of the context of their experience with Native Americans, Baum and Nixon held diametrically
opposite viewpoints of Native American peoples and their culture. As an editor of a small town
newspaper in Aberdeen, South Dakota, Baum wrote some scathing editorials on Native
Americans in South Dakota which championed their repression and advocated their expulsion.
These sentiments were later repudiated by Baum, but they were strong propaganda in the public
9
marketplace of opinion when published. The editorials, published in 1890, may have reflected a
fear of Indians by settlers on the frontier for the Indian Wars were less than two decades in the
past. The Battle of The Little Bighorn, where General Custer lost his life, and a heavy
percentage of a company of the 7th Cavalry lost their lives, was a recent memory, having taken
place in 1874. Moreover, the specter of attack by marauding Indians was foremost in the minds
of he early settlers. Early frontier artists played upon those fears in paintings of Native
American massacres.
Near the time Baum authored his anti-Indian editorials, there had arisen a phenomenon
among the Native Americans, recently relegated to reservations, the Ghost Dance (1889).
Though it included transmogrification rituals, at its core it was a belief that a leader would be
resurrected along with his dead warriors and he would lead them to freedom from their dreary
reservation plight. A ritual employing a dance to call up dead warriors spread rapidly among the
tribes. As the Ghost Dance spread, the Bureau of Indian Affairs fostered further angst in settlers
by issuing warnings of the dangers of the Ghost Dance religion and forbidding its practice on
reservations. In retrospect, it appears to have been of little threat to the civil or military
government. And it appears that Baum’s editorials reflected the unease of the authorities. Later,
his apology recognized that he had been less than accurate in his characterization of Native
Americans.
Nixon had much closer contact with a Native American tribe as he spent two years on the
Nehah reservation on Neah Bay, Washington, where he taught teenage Native Americans. He
made many friends and in the following years he undertook annual trips to visit his former
students and their families. He enjoyed recounting an incident in which one of his former
students, now a tribal judge, playfully threatened him with a court order if he did not prolong his
10
stay by two nights in order to participate in a salmon bake in his honor. As a teacher he was
active in the community and was additionally assigned the honor of driving the bus transporting
the athletic team. Over the years he retained his attachment to these students and often remarked
about his sadness over the short lifespan of this cultural group. Nixon’s great capacity for
relating to many different cultures, he felt, was shaped in large measure by his early teaching
experience in Neah Bay. He was later to expand this side of his life in Africa, Asia, and Europe,
when he lectured on and studied children’s literature. He didn’t fantasize about culture as Baum
had in his masterpiece, but as a constructive literary critic he built upon his experience to find
positive acceptance of a common humanity widely dispersed among nations. Baum, though
widely traveled for a citizen of his time, did not incorporate any recognizable reality of those
lands in his most famous tale in which Dorothy and her three companions traversed a variety of
realms. Though exposed to a similar cultural heritage of Populism, Baum and Nixon drew on
experiences that were vastly different in interpreting their world and portraying it as literature or
dramatizing it in storytelling. In life experiences with a similar stimulus it is most vividly
expressed in their contrasting views of Native Americans.
VI
Upon reflection, these two lives, though they were lived in different times, were exposed
to and influenced by the geography of the place, the Great Plains. In their formative years, they
felt the wind of a major political movement, Populism, that was active in this geographic region.
It is helpful in clarifying the kaleidoscope view that confronts the examiner weighing the
influences in these lives to consider three propositions: a) geography and political context do not
matter; b) they do too matter; and c) geography and political context are all that matter. Too
frequently starting from the first proposition in trying to identify the influential variables that
11
shape the life of a person, the examiner slips into the absolutism of the third proposition. While
this paper reflects on the influence of geography and the political significance of Populism in the
lives of L. Frank Baum and Arne John Nixon, it recognizes that the personal resources each
brought to his life played a major role in determining his stance as author and literary criticstoryteller, respectively. The old issue of whether nature or nurture, treated as absolutes,
determines the life outcome (i.e., would Adolph Hitler have become the Fuehrer with all its
dreadful consequences if he had not flunked his entrance exam to art school?) is an approach that
starts from proposition three and emerges in an interesting but overly emphatic view of the
inherent nature of the subject. Using the limited data available for comparative purposes of these
two lives, narrower parameters are deliberately circumscribed in a final summing up.
Baum was born and spent his boyhood in rural Upstate New York where he experienced
life as an upper class Yankee. The family was well off and indulged him in his childhood. His
proclivity for fantasy over reality emerged early and continued throughout his adult life. He
interposed elements of reality from the Great Plains in his major fairytale through his description
of Dorothy, her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. Dorothy’s companions, the Scarecrow, the Tin
Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion were drawn from Baum’s fantasy and their symbolism seems
cut from the whole cloth of his imagination. He was not, as a storyteller, above using a Horatio
Alger, Jr., technique of accidental outside intervention to resolve conflicting ends and seemingly
inscrutable dilemmas. When Dorothy and her companions are faced with an impossible
problematic situation, Baum brings in flying monkeys to rescue the impossible situation that
threatens his story line. Dorothy merited this intervention because she was, as were Alger’s
central characters in his dime novels, virtuous. Baum seems to have had an arm’s-length
relationship with religion and his fairytale largely escapes the moralizing emphasis that
12
influenced most children’s literature of his time. Nixon, too, was familiar with the
fundamentalist religious views, having been raised in a family that attended a Finnish Lutheran
Apostolic church. While these prevailed during his boyhood, he, as did Baum, refused to
embrace the rigid moral strictures of these prairie churches which recoiled from complexity and
held anti-intellectual views of science and literature. Nixon held a social philosophy that was
free of the cant of the frontier and Horatio Alger, Jr., tales. Both men objected to the major
religious thrusts of the day that interfered with the need for children to be free to think and
explore without restriction. Baum never joined a formal church and Nixon gave up any pretense
of religious affiliation during his early college years. He was fond of quoting from a line by H.
L. Mencken, “When Satan thumbs my dossier, he will find I was once a member of the YMCA.”
In his early college years he was secretary to the college chapter. By joining the movement to
California, Baum and Nixon may be seen as turning their backs on the moral as well as the
physical climate of the Great Plains. While each man resented the strait-jacketing of human
intellect by the folk culture where birth had landed them, Nixon represented a more progressive
political stance than Baum, who seemed to have little interest in politics. Nixon often remarked,
“We learn what we live.” For him the social context in which we conduct education was a high
priority. Storytelling with children was, for both men, to open an extended world of joy and
wonderment.
Nixon left no written records of his point of view or thoughts on his approach to
storytelling and literary criticism of children’s literature. As I knew him over the forty plus
years, covering his career as a professor teaching children’s literature and engaging in
storytelling, some facts from our hours of discussion stand out. For many years Arne refused to
discuss any conceptual structure of storytelling, especially as he practiced the art. Was it that he
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didn’t want to give the game away and place what for him was almost a sacred trust in the
cauldron of public argument? For we did from time to time argue and heatedly debate positions
on issues. In his later years he did evolve and express his viewpoints on storytelling and the uses
of children’s literature. Some of his preferences and views can be traced back to his mentor in
children’s literature at Teachers College, Columbia University, Professor Leland B. Jacobs,
himself a masterful teacher and a recognized authority in storytelling. One admonition I recall
Arne quoting Professor Jacobs on performing as a storyteller was, “Never in a program follow a
trained dog act or small children.” In a more serious vein, Arne often expounded a strongly held
belief inherited from his relationship to Professor Jacobs: “The development of character in the
story line is more important than the plot.” Both student and mentor had distinctive dramatic
voices that they used to great advantage. Arne readily admitted that he was an admirer of the
British actor Charles Laughton (1899-1962) and had learned from his recordings of dramatic
readings. In examining the labels of Laughton’s recordings, now out of print, one is struck by
the similarity with Arne’s preferences in literature. Both loved those authors who prized good
stories with unforgettable characters: Twain, Dickens, Shaw, and Wells. They both had a very
wide acquaintance with literature and Arne lived his last years deeply disappointed with the
ignorance that classroom teachers manifest of literature, a falling-away that he believed was
profound and increasing with the lack of reading on the part of teachers.
Later in his career Arne developed a utilitarian view of the use of children’s literature. In
clearing his office after his death (1997), extensive files on theme-related courses designed
specifically for classroom teachers were in evidence: “A Lively Fossil That Will Not Die:
Folktales”; “The Oldest and Best Literature for Children”; “Fantasy Stories, Tales of Wonder
and Magic”; “Contemporary and Historical Realistic Fiction for Children”; Sharing Literature
14
Through Storytelling”; Books That Deal with Many Historical Themes”; Stories and Poetry for
the Holidays”; “Using Readers Theatre and Choral Speaking.” In looking at the few examples of
written pieces that he composed, one is impressed by the quality of his writing. Why he and his
mentor, Professor Jacobs, were reluctant to put their thoughts to paper must remain a mystery.
Arne and I spent a last wonderful afternoon with Professor Jacobs in 1990. He died in 1992.
Both mentor and student had dedicated much of their lives to the propagation of storytelling as a
legitimate classroom experience and promoted the use of children’s literature by classroom
teachers.
There has been much good clean fun with Baum’s famous fairytale as an allegory of
Populist politics in the late 1880s. Critics, only semi-seriously, analyzed it as a bundle of
cleverly concealed symbolism that expressed in a thinly disguised fairytale the repression of
agrarian America by bankers and moneyed financiers of the East in the latter part of the 19th
century (e.g., the Wicked Witches represent bankers). This interpretation and others have largely
been discounted as not creditable nor accurately reflecting Baum’s intentions. Still, the
symbolism that enriches Baum’s masterpiece as a first-class fairytale and keeps it fresh in the
cultural imagination lives. Recently, a soldier who had just returned from a tour of duty in Iraq
referred to this country as Oz. In his follow-up remarks, he labeled the Green Zone, the tightly
defended section of Baghdad that houses the government and military headquarters as “The
Emerald City.” Both Baum and Nixon would have appreciated the irony of this imaginative G.I.
15
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Brown, David S. (2006). Richard Hofstadter: An intellectual biography. Chicago:
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Callow, Susan. (1988). Charles Laughton: A difficult actor. New York: Grove Press.
Carpenter, Angelica S., & Shirley, Jean. (1992). L. Frank Baum: Royal historian.
Minneapolis: Lerner Publishing Group.
Corn, Wanda. (1983). Grant woos the regionalist vision. New Haven: Yale University
Press.
Hearn, Michael P. (1973). The annotated Wizard of Oz. New York: Clarkson N. Potter,
Inc.
Nixon, Arne John. (n.d.). Unpublished remarks at the dedication of the Finnish Lutheran
Church, Frederick, S.D. From document fragments found by the author after Nixon’s death,
upon clearing out Nixon’s office at California State University, Fresno, California.
Utely, Robert M., & Wilcomb E. Washburn. (1992). The Indian Wars. New York:
American Heritage Publishing.
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