LONGEST WALK
1
i joined the Walk in pueblo, colorado in the month of
march only a few weeks after completing a 13 day
walk by myself. a pilgrimage of sorts to the birthplace
of abraham lincoln from the circle in downtown
indianapolis to hodgesville, ky.
i didn’t own a car. didn’t wanna own a car. didn’t
wanna hafta make that much money to own and run a
car. in making this decision I took it upon myself to
Walk everywhere i had to go and never ask for a ride.
it was an exercise in ethical behavior.
as a result i was accustomed to Walking many miles
some days. Walking was like alot of other things,
when you first start out you are aware of every step
you take and it seems laboriously slow. but once you
hit your stride it becomes automatic. you forget you
are Walking and you cruise through the environment
with some momentum.
i started the lincoln Walk on february 12. Walked
through snow, sleet, and rain with a full backpack.
People i met along the way thought i was crazy. it
made me question my sanity too, but i perservered by
convincing myself that i was playing the fool...maybe
with a capital "f".
i perservered and felt a real sense of accomplishment
as i hobbled into hodgesville. on the bus ride back to
indianapolis the idea struck me to Walk from my
birthplace to indianapolis.
i returned to albuquerque and within a week saw a
flyer on a bulletin board "the Longest Walk" passing
through colorado. It was fate. i took a bus to pueblo.
they were camped out at a fairgrounds outside of
town. it was a blustery cool cloudy grey day as i
snuck up on the Walk. as i approached i got a little
scared and hid behind a tree to watch these people
first. These were not Hollywood indians. i watched
one big mean looking gnarly long haired man in a
circle of people leaning up against rickety old
vehicles. i heard one of them call him "meanman".
i had long hair and a full beard carrying an aluminum
framed brown nylon pack with an army surplus
mummy bag rolled at the base. i was a hippie. i was
not a wannabe indian, although i thought at the time i
"might" have some indian blood. the flier said "all
races welcome". i had come this far and the
coincidence of it all...i stepped out from behind the
tree, threw my fate to the wind, and Walked onto the
Walk.
2
nobody seem to notice me Walk in amongst the
Walkers and vehicles. i was sorta looking for, i don't
know, like at least a card table with some brochures.
vehicles were parked around an enclosed
shelterhouse i ambled toward. there were kids
running around and some folks with grey hair, alot of
blue jeans, some cowboy boots.
the Walk camped in the fairgrounds when they
arrived. they were to stay here for a week before
moving on east. they were about a month into the
Walk and had run the pipe over donner's pass in two
feet of snow. they were 45 Walkers strong into
pueblo. they were raising money in the bay area and
along the way with powwows and passing the blanket.
pueblo was the first major stop that allowed People to
travel hundreds of miles to visit, support, and join the
Longest Walk. pueblo People, apache, navajo, ute,
comanche, even hopi. never in all the generations
had these Peoples gathered to pray, smoke, and
sweat together.
i didn't know what to do with myself. i was looking for
somewhere to sign up, but there wasn't anywhere like
that. i just leaned up against the shelterhouse with
the backpack and slid down a little to take the weight
off.
maybe i'd found the place of my invisibility.
3
i don't know what i was expecting, but i wasn't
expecting this. so i squatted there still strapped with
backpack and was able to relax and watch the People
relate to each other. i felt okay like a fly on the wall.
that was the way i liked to be anyway so i felt at
home.
after awhile a woman broke from a group walking by
to come over and speak to me.
"you here to Walk?"
"uh..i dunno..maybe." i stammered suddenly feeling
my alienness.
"you need to check in with security out at camp." she
thrust her head sideways to point to a white pickup
with meanman leaning, arms crossed over his chest,
on the drivers side door. she turned and walked
away.
suddenly i wasn't at home anymore. i got to my feet
and walked over to the truck.
meanman made eye contact and nodded as i
approached.
"i'm sposed to go out to camp and check in with
security." i said feeling horribly verbose.
meanman nodded again and gestured with his head
to climb in the open bed of the truck. what is it with
this head gesturing bit?
it was a blustery late afternoon under overcast skies
as we sped out of town down a two lane highway
looking far in every direction in south central colorado.
there were four People in the cab and six of us in the
open bed the wind tearing our hair out.
i thought only half jokingly what's the worse thing that
can happen? i could die, but that probably wasn't
gonna happen. when i was young i courted death in a
way. i found myself in situations where i thought i
might not make it through this alive. And every time
that i proved to be immortal served only to resign me
more to this life.
we pulled off the highway onto gravel up on a mesa,
through a gate in a barbed wire fence and stopped at
the first tent we came to. i glanced through the back
window of the truck at the rear view mirror and saw
meanman make eye contact motioning me out of the
truck. i jumped out pulling my backpack over the rail.
the truck moved on into camp as i approached three
People around a campfire. near them was a sign
propped against an upside down five gallon bucket. it
read "no firearms, no alcohol, no drugs". okay.
"you here to Walk?" then he turned to one of the
others "how about here, you like it here?" he had a
stick through the handle of a coffee pot that he lifted
and cradled to a different spot on the fire.
"yeah, i guess, see how it goes" didn't seem like they
heard me they were so intent on making a pot of
coffee
"no drugs, djyou see the sign?" they all found this
stereotyping of me slightly amusing and i was amused
that they were amused so we were even.
"where you from?"
"came up from albuquerque"
"i know some People in albuquerque, do you know
rita?"
"uh..rita who?"
"rita lottabooks" they all broke out in laughter. so did
i, while frowning inwardly unable to quite wrap my
head around this welcome to the Walk.
"go on in" he pointed with his chin down the gravel
road. i got up, pulled on my backpack and walked
down the gravel road. camp was spread out on top of
a mesa on private land. there was the smell of
burning pinon and cedar from the camp fires.
4
i didn't carry a tent. i had a small tarp i used as a
ground cloth i could wrap up in if it rained. there
looked to be 10 to fifteen campsites, then all manner
of tents, a couple rvs, with pickup trucks and indian
cars, and one old white bus. definitely not the Walk i
was envisioning,
as i approached the white bus a braided woman
stepped out of it followed by a couple of kids that
stopped and jumped down. she looked at me and
waved like she'd been expecting me. just then a
pickup pulled up infront of me, the teen age
passenger said,
"leave your pack at rita's, get in back, we're goin to
get fire wood" he grinned with stuccatoed speech.
"okay" i didn't hesitate. i didn't know what to do with
myself anyway. Any activity was welcome. rita told
me to slide the backpack under the bus and i climbed
into another open bed of a pickup and bounced down
a gravel road across a barren scrub oak plain looking
for firewood.
down an arroyo we found where a flash flood had
piled up a bunch of old dead pinon limbs. we jumped
out and threw them in back, climbed back in on top of
them, lumbered back to camp. when we got back we
took wood to a couple camps and most back to the
white bus fire, where the orphans hung out.
people were carring up going into town for the
meeting. they have these meetings periodically
where everyone and anyone was given opportunity to
address the community. that's it. no voting, no formal
conclusions, nothing gets nailed down. this is the
government.
the meeting started when enough People had
gathered and quieted down to where someone could
speak. there was a chief who spoke first and loosely
presided over the meeting and there was the pipe
carrier who was also a titled person, and there were
the advance People who traveled ahead of the Walk
finding places for the People to stay. these were the
leaders of the Walk on the Walk. then there were the
founders, one of whom could not leave california
which had granted him political asylum.
there were rumors the advance people were staying
in hotels, eating at restaurants, while the rest of the
Walk slept out in the weather and ate bologna
sandwiches. the Walk operated on a shoestring.
the three advance people stood together in front of
the meeting to explain they camp when the can, but
alota times they have to look their best to represent
the Walk. and that was pretty much that for that and
the next speaker spoke to another issue.
and so it went for the next 13 hours, through the night
into the next morning the meeting went on. it was
fascinating at first, but after 5 hours i crawled off and
curled up in a corner to sleep for awhile. when i
awoke there was still someone speaking and People
there to hear them.
5
that next day everyone moved out to the camp on the
mesa. there was an enthusiasm in the air at the
uniting of the two camps. the camp on the mesa was
busy with the traffic of maybe a hundred or more
campers, many finding new spots. i went on several
forays for firewood.
i didn't know where to camp by myself and felt selfconscious camping by myself amid all the familied
fires. i found a wide ledge just over the edge of the
mesa top and made a little fire there and enjoyed
being alone. it was a full moon or near one, i could
see clearly over my little fire out across the plains of
southeast colorado. the moon was reflecting sunlight
on the land with a surreal beauty that i had to get up
and take a leak on a couple of times.
i let the fire burn down to coals and with a stick
spread them out over the ground. then i covered
them with a layer of dirt, a couple layers of tarp, the
mummy bag and slid in. i slept toasty warm.
the next morning was cool breezy sunshine after a
couple of grey days. spirits were high, the camp was
settled in, the smell of burning pinon.
ate the last of my trail mix for breakfast sitting on a hill
overlooking most of the camp. there were three
domes made of scraps of carpeting. they were built
yesterday i helped gather firewood for the big fire in
the middle of the three sweat lodges. river rock was
gathered into a pile beside the fire that had flames as
tall as a person. the heat rippling my vision of the
land beyond the fire.
People began to gather around that fire that looked
puny in the bright sunlight. stones were shoveled into
the fire. a pipe carrier arrived cradling a pipe. People
gathered around the man with the pipe, then they took
turns sneaking off into the little woods, returning
wearing only a towel. when enough People did this
the pipe carrier led them into a sweat lodge. they had
to scrunch down to get through the flap of a door.
when the lodge was settled and the last person in, a
fireman shovelled a few stones into the lodge and a
water bucket with ladel, they closed the flap, adjusted
the material outside to eliminate even the tiniest
glimmer of light inside. after a few minutes i heard
indian singing coming from a dome. a lodge would go
through three, sometimes four "openings" where the
flap was opened belching steam, the fireman would
bring more stones into the lodge.
i watched as the three lodges got up and running.
People going off into the woods changing. gleaming
sweat drenched shoulders glistening in the sun. i
didn't care what they had in that pipe, i had no desire
to participate in this. in the first place, i hardly ever
got naked, i slept in my clothes. and secondly, i was
sorta claustrophobic, and thirdly touching strangers
even casually, knee to knee made me flinch. no, i
had no desire to sweat. i was just here to Walk.
6
"you gonna sweat?" basil walkin up the hill by me
said with a grin.
"nah, just watchin" basil stopped and looked at me
with this big grin on his face. i didn't know why he
was doing this, then he said,
"rita has towels" he grinned and walked on by.
i was new here. i didn't feel unwelcome, but i was
definitely an outsider. so i took basil's visit as
challenging me to sweat. an opportunity to prove
myself. i had read some castenada books about this
sorta thing. i wanted to prove myself worthy.
i watched as this white guy, there were a few in camp,
crawled out of a lodge, the flap slapping closed
behind him alone in the sunlight gasping for air. then
again i was here just to Walk.
"you still here? thought you was gonna sweat?" basil
walked up behind me.
"come on i'll get you a towel." he said playfully
without breaking stride.
what's the worst that could happen? i could die. but
that wasn't gonna happen. so i stood out of my squat
and followed basil down hill to the white bus. i got a
towel off a makeshift clothes line.
it wasn't much of a woods where i shed my clothes
and wrapped the towel around my waste. the sun
was warm but the winds gusted cool on bare skin. we
stood around the bonfire waiting for a pipe carrier and
an open lodge. i was waiting for some way to get out
of doing this. except most of the People standing
around the fire waiting seemed at ease.
a short stocky man walked up to the bonfire cradling a
pipe from his hand to his elbow just as a lodge
opened with a billow of steam, gleaming bodies
crawled out into the sun.
"i can take nine people." the pipe carrier announced.
there were eight of us around the fire, we waited and
shortly the ninth emerged from the woods. The pipe
carrier looked at me real hard.
"when we enter the lodge we will sit in a circle. this is
a sacred circle that must not be broken." again he
looked hard at me and i remembered the white guy
earlier this morning broke out of a lodge. did he have
to remind me about that? i was very close to bolting
back into the woods. but that would draw attention to
myself and my overriding desire was to be invisible.
So i followed the person infront of me as we ducked
into the darkness.
the floor was warm mud from the steam and bodies.
there was a shaft of light from the open flap as we
scooted ourselves around an empty pit in the middle.
the pipe carrier was the last to enter ordering five
stones that were shovelled into the pit. the flap
slapped shut.
it got dark, but the pipe carrier instructed the
firemen outside to adjust the scraps of carpet until
there was absolutely no light.
"o tekonshola, wakontonka look down upon me i am
pitiful and weak. grandfather hear our prayers..." in
the darkness his voice was everything.
i sat in fetal position trying to be as small as possible
so i didn't touch the people on either side of me. i let
my forehead rest on my knees.
the pipe carrier ladled some water from a 5 gallon
bucket onto the red glowing stones, my shins prickled
with the hot splash and my shoulders stung from the
steam heat that rose to the top of the dome. This was
followed by another ladle, another, another. the
steam filled the air, it was hard to breathe. i took
quick short breaths as the pipe carrier continued to
pray for wisdom and understanding, thanking the
grandfather for the strength to carry the Walk forward.
then he asked us one at a time to say our names and
where we were from.
there was an apache, a couple utes, a navajo, a
couple dakota, chippewa, pueblo, comanche and me,
a hippie of the honky nation. Some of these nations
were traditional enemies, going back thousands of
years before the whiteman came and here we were.
the flap was opened sending a shaft of light across
the bare muddy feet around the pit. more stones
were shovelled in and the flap closed.
more prayers, the pipe lit and passed in clockwise
fashion from person to person each uttering a
personal prayer and passing it on.
i was trying to be invisible and doing pretty well there
in the dark, but now to have to make up a prayer and
say it out loud to nine people...i was feeling cornered.
i remember now what i prayed that day.
its a long story beginning with a short story by
j.d.salinger. i don't remember what story he mentions
"the jesus prayer" and a book called "the way of the
pilgrim". where a christian pilgrim walking to
constantinople attaches to his stride the prayer, "lord
jesus christ have mercy on me". the goal being to
instill this mantra ongoing in the subconscious. i took
to this romance and had tied it to my stride from
indianapolis to lincoln's birthplace in kentucky.
so when the pipe came round to me i said, "lord jesus
christ have mercy on me." took a long toke, rotated
the pipe once clockwise and passed it on. what a
white man i was. still everyone in that darkness
respected my prayer and i was glad that was over.
most lodges have three openings of the flap to take in
more glowing stones, our pipe carrier took us to a
fourth opening. it was grueling. what's the worse
thing that could happen? i could die...but that
probably wasn't gonna happen. i persevered and
eventually got to crawl out of there without breaking
the sacred circle.
7
wallace black elk was visiting the Walk. he was the
son of black elk, who was a much revered oglala
dakota holy man. black elk was a contemporary of
crazy horse. some guy named neihardt wrote a book
about black elk.
wallace appeared cradling a pipe next to the bonfire
and a buzz went through the camps. People started
to gather around wallace. he was maybe in his late
sixties, handsome grey braids. i seem to remember
he was in a couple of hollywood movies. he looked
quintessentially stereotypically noble the way he
moved.
i moved down the hill to get a closer look and listen. i
had read parts of "black elk speaks" by neihardt.
black elk had a series of dreams about the future and
something like five generations after him would come
a generation that would rise up and restore native
americans to their rightful place among the nations of
the world.
wallace said that some of the kids running around this
camp were of that generation. he said the wasichu
bases his culture on gold that is rare, where the indian
bases his on the earth that is common. for this
reason the native american way will survive after the
white culture has fallen.
8
the next day dawned clear and cool we pulled up
camp and assembled behind the pipe out on a two
lane highway at the very spot where the pipe had
stopped. max bear was the official pipe carrier of the
Walk whose duties were to actually lead the Walk and
make decisions on a daily basis concerning the actual
walking. bear was a man of few words, broad
chested and proud.
we were to walk two abreast on as much of shoulder
as the two lane had, which wasn't much in places. so
we had an escort of two state troopers, one out front
of the pipe a ways, the other at the very end behind
the caravan of vehicles. first behind the Walkers was
the white bus that gave weary Walkers a break, then
a rented u-haul box truck that carried food and
supplies, then maybe eight or ten indian cars,
followed by the state cruiser some distance behind.
i was surprized to see the police. when the Walk
entered the state of colorado these escorts introduced
themselves to assure the safety of the Walkers. there
was a general distrust of law enforcement among
many of the Walkers.
but the Walk had accepted the police escort and they
became part of the parade. also part of the parade
were a half dozen monks and nuns from a nicheren
buddhist sect in japan. they wore long saffron colored
robes and chanted "nam myo ho renge kyo" while
beating on pingpong paddle, single skin drums with
homemade sticks.
i had run into a group that had the same mantra out in
california once.
they chanted for stuff, like a color tv on the premise
that the faster you run through your material desires
the sooner you move on. which i can sorta see. but
that outfit was ridiculous as far as i was concerned.
when we started Walking these folks started their
drums and wailed their mantra their saffron robes
flapping in the wind. it was mildly irritating. i thought
they would stop after we got through town, but they
didn't. they never stopped as long as we were
walking. it was like they were the center of this show.
why would the indians put up with this?
we moved along at a good clip. with my backpack
stowed in the u-haul i could haul ass and got into the
brisk pace.
we stopped midmorning for a snack. stopped at noon
for a bologna sandwich and again midafternoon. we
could cover twenty plus miles a day.
there were those that never Walked and those that
Walked every step of the way, and all those in
between. mostly indians, the japanese, a few white
people, one black guy and we were about a hundred
Walkers strong striding for the colorado/kansas
border.
9
the massacre at sand creek november 29, 1864
wasn't in any of my history books growing up. i
foolishly thought i'd find the site of the massacre of as
many as 130 native americans in our road atlas. it's
not there.
a colonel chivington led as many as 700 troops of the
1st and 3rd colorado cavalries out of fort lyon in a raid
on a village of a couple hundred women, children, and
elderly cheyenne and arapaho People. the able
bodied men were away hunting. their camp flew an
american flag to signal they were not hostile.
eye witness accounts of what ensued write of scalps
being taken by chivington's men, mutilation of bodies,
fetuses, male and female genitalia taken as trophies.
no that wouldn't be on the map. what is on the map is
the fort lyon cemetery and a little town named
chivington.
in real life there was a small brass plaque secured to
a large granite boulder on a bluff overlooking a bend
in sand creek. i don't remember what it says.
but it briefly acknowledged that there had been a
massacre down by that creek bend and that's where
we camped for three days.
i had been with the Walk for maybe a week. i Walked
all day everyday and was among maybe a dozen
others who were going the full distance. it didn't really
matter just so the pipe was carried every step of the
way. i kept to myself for the most part. i talked to the
few white People and the one black guy, and a few of
the indians. And i enjoyed talking to the japanese
monks and nuns, who, their chanting show aside,
seemed like regular People. i was getting
comfortable with the People, while still camping alone.
i liked it that way just fine.
we camped literally on the site of the massacre. our
leaders planted their staffs into the earth there and
placed a buffalo skull at their bases. the leaders
talked to the Walkers about what had happened here
when gold was discovered in these mountains waves
of white People followed. some speeches got fiery
while others waxed somber when they spoke of the
massacre. the atmosphere was heavy producing a
cold steady rain. i felt a little sick inside.
i helped gather firewood and kept lookin for ways to
help out.
i felt bad being a white person, ashamed of my race.
three sweat lodges were being built and the first
teepee i had seen on the Walk. i helped cut the
willow sapplings. i was shown what ones to cut and
returned to camp with some.
"wasichu!" an indian i had never seen screamed
when he saw me. i froze inside. he wore sunglasses
and he came at me like a pent up doberman.
"get out! get out!" he yelled.
i dropped the sapplings and ran back into the woods.
now i felt really bad and i stayed by myself in the
woods until nightfall afraid to show my face in camp.
How incredibly insensitive to have the audacity to
participate in a sacred activity
once darkness set in i snuck up on the u-haul,
grabbed my backpack.
there was a peyote ceremony in the teepee that night.
there was drumming and songs long into the night. i
rolled out my bed under the bed of the u-haul, thinking
if it rained i'd be okay.
it rained. i got soaked with the run-off under the uhaul. didn't see that coming. spent the night with
backpack beneath poncho sitting up against a front
tire of the u-haul. maybe i don't belong here.
next morning rita waved me over to the fire by the
white bus. i usually got something to eat with them.
we ate whatever got donated or what the kitchen
could afford. alot of canned beans. once in awhile a
real treat, a bologna sandwich, also referred to as aim
(american indian movement) steak. now that was
some good eatin. i had a little money, this was before
plastic, maybe enough to get me somewhere if i ever
left the Walk.
once in awhile i'd buy me some food.
owns-the-sabre was an urban indian from san
francisco. he wore eyeglasses and had long bushy
hair. he was always drawing pictures, sketching
scenes from his imagination and from real life. In
daylight or in firelight he was scribbling in a notebook.
he was a regular at the white bus campfire and said to
me that morning.
"nobody ever saw that indian before, that indian that
yelled at you." i wasn't aware that he saw this.
"some People think he was fbi."
the national guard donated a big tank of drinking
water on wheels to the camp. the tank was old and
rusty on the outside, we couldn't see what the inside
looked like. i drank the water because it was the only
water we had, but it didn't taste good.
we were here three days, alot of People got stomach
sickness here. it was cold and rainy the whole time. i
decided to stay on. the indian that yelled at me
disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, and
my relations with the rest of the Walk were good.
we packed up camp in grey rain light one morning. i
was walkin to the bus, when all of a sudden from
deep inside of me the food i'd just eaten was expelled
from my mouth. i curled over and wretched in my
tracks. an indian walked by,
"you okay?"
it might've been the water, the spirits, or the blood.
10
on february 27 1973 the american indian movement,
aim, took over the town of wounded knee, south
dakota. they were protesting the oglala tribal
government set up by the united states bureau of
indian affairs, bia. they demanded the impeachment
of their governor. furthermore they pointed out by
international law these "reservations" were actually
soverign nations. As soverign nations they not only
could but it was their responsibily to set up their own
government.
the fbi quickly cordoned off the town surrounding it
and for 71 days exchanged gun fire with the indians
while negotiating a settlement. an fbi agent lost his
life along with a couple indians and one civil rights
worker that disappeared. this information i get from
wikipedia.
the united states of america prevailed. peter
matthewson wrote a book, "in the spirit of crazy
horse" its perspective of the events and subsequent
trials and incarceration of People involved tells of a
government ruthlessly imposing its will on these
People. regardless of international law.
in 1890 wounded knee was the site of a massacre of
over 130 indian men, women, and children. i won't go
into details, and the numbers vary, but the drift of it is
always the same.
it takes away my sense of patriotism to the united
states of america. i recognize its power, but i have
lost any sense of pride in being a citizen of this
country.
11
we were a rag tag group trudging down the two lane
highway. led by someone cradling a long stemmed
pipe, followed by Walkers carrying feathered staffs
decorated with colored strips of cloth. we carried no
sign to proclaim our cause. to motorists passing we
must've appeared a curious parade with police car
escort and the buddhists pounding on their drums
singing out their mantra.
even so the People of colorado and west kansas that
passed us on the highway, or that came out of their
shops and homes to watch us pass by mostly seemed
to empathize with our cause. People waved with wry
smiles on their faces.
we slept in parks, fairgrounds, sometimes churches
would invite us to potluck suppers. our advance
People had to find places every twenty to thirty miles.
they had to alert the towns of our arrival and also
politic our cause.
out in west kansas the towns are few and far between
sometimes a pipe carrier would run the pipe without
the Walkers. or sometimes a pipe carrier would take
off running while leading the Walk and all the Walkers
would look at ourselves, shrug our shoulders and take
off running after the pipe carrier. some of these pipe
carriers ran the pipe over donner's pass in three feet
of snow. they were runners. across the plains of
kansas they could get into stride and run for a couple
hours. as Walkers we would do our best to keep up.
accordianed out according to stamina.
we camped at a city park in dodge city, kansas, a
brand new shelterhouse, fresh laid sod. it was nice.
and we were invited to a potluck by a church to be
held in the gymnasium at an elementary school. it
was a feast. alot of People sent food and didn't show
up. after the pastors grace, as we were lining up the
light from the high windows in the gym turned eerie.
"that's a tornado sky" we said glancing over our
shoulders as we were dishing up our food.
shortly the sirens started and we were herded into the
halls as the power went out. shortly the all-clear
sounded, power still off, we began our exodus to the
city park. it rained off and on all night. most of our
camps were on the newly sodded lawn.
this church and the school were so generous to us,
this whole community so welcoming and we
helplessly tore up the grass in their park as we left.
ASIDE
my weebly hit graph shows a steady decline in
readership. maybe its too late to appeal to my
readers to stay with me. i know the prose is mediocre
at best. everything i do is like that. can i implore you,
regardless/irregardless of my mediocrity?
some of this may be hard to swallow, it was for me
going through it. but i think if you stay tuned i will get
around to your perspective.
again with the regardless/irregardless i am duty
bound to continue my diatribe in hopes that i will, in
the end, win you over.
ever your servant,
the author
12
each morning we gathered along a two-lane highway
shoulder, strung ourselves out in some kind of order
behind the pipe carrier...and police escort, usually
remaining in their cruiser some distance ahead and
behind our parade. some pipe carriers liked to make
a little speech, some just waited silently for what was
probably two hundred indians, and assorted breeds of
People to assemble.
the Walk was growing almost at every stop. People
were joining as word spread. back in the bay area of
california People were having powwows and benefits
in support of the Walk. we were flying by the seat of
our pants.
many People didn't think if would get this far, let alone
be this many people.
the advance People had their work cut out for them,
lining up places to camp this many People.
one morning max bear started us out carrying the
pipe. max was a man of few words. he waited
silently and when he felt the time was right, turned
and started striding down the highway. shortly he
took off running. although not built like a distance
runner, he possessed a fierce determination that
helped him run the pipe over donner's pass in
february.
our parade took off after him that morning as he ran
us down the wrong highway. at the end of the day we
had no place to stay. i don't remember where we
stayed that night. i do remember the meeting that
night and for several nights after.
there was bad blood between factions that governed
the Walk.
max bear was with a big camp. the advance People
spoke. the a.i.m. people were getting more involved.
there was tension in the camps.
there was talk of f.b.i. trying to disrupt the Walk.
my first take on this f.b.i business was..these People
are crazy, the f.b.i. has bigger fish to fry than to be
concerned about our motley crew harmlessly Walking
across the country.
fear has a way of escalating. first i thought the
indians were paranoid. then when i learned about
wounded knee 1973 i realized the f.b.i. could be
paraniod just as easily.
it was not unusual for an indian to speak in favor of
taking up arms, but the Walk was strict about no
weapons. it had to be, and it was to my knowledge.
but i can see the f.b.i. thinking, if this group ever
decided to take up arms there'd be trouble. so sure
they might be trying to disrupt this event.
i was a Walker. there was this core group who
actually Walked every step of the way. we were from
different camps but we knew who we were and felt
this bond sometimes one of us would speak at
meetings. but mostly we just listened to the speakers
and hoped we'd keep Walking.
13
we pushed on to wichita, spent three nights near the
city, had a big powwow at the civic center downtown.
the Walk was growing faster than its funds.
government issue 5 gallon tins of peanut butter on
white bread was our staple. at powwows we would
pass the blanket through the crowd to collect
donations.
People were coming down from the dakotas and up
oklahoma. word spread through native American
communities. They came from all over curious about
this Walk.
the Walk had out grown the two lane highways. as
we were set to leave wichita it was decided that we
would Walk the interstate highway. we were doing
this without consulting our police escorts. maybe we
tried and they said we couldn't, i don't remember. we
were doing this for the safety of the Walkers.
the lead police escort drove far enough ahead of the
Walk to drive past the ramp we took onto the
interstate. there was excitement in the air as we
didn't know what we were in for with the authorities.
we just kept Walking onto the interstate highway
itself. shortly the lead cruiser cruised by the Walk and
took its place infront again.
from then on we Walked the interstates with the wide
shoulders. it was safer and easier Walking. it was a
graduation of sorts, now it was official, the Walk was
on the big stage. it was in the fast lane now. we were
heading to topeka, the capital of kansas.
as we approached topeka a tv station graphic-ed van
pulled along side the Walk, a cameraman in the
passenger seat filming as they passed us. we joked
around about being on tv. shortly the cameraman
joined the Walk with a photogenic reporter
brandishing a microphone asking quick questions,
getting quick answers. we passed their parked van
and left them behind, just like that. that meant we
were for real...being on tv.
we circled up at a campground near perry lake
between topeka and lawrence. we thrust our staffs
into the earth here next to the buffaloe skull in
an open field. we would be here a week, there was
another powwow, and a benefit concert by michael
martin murphy and buffy st. marie. michael martin
murphy was an embarassment to watch prancing
around on stage. then buffy ste. marie, premier
native american folk singer, does a very bizarre set
with this replica of an alien spacecraft landed on
earth. her songs reflected this theme. makes me
wonder what was her thinking?
dennis banks, the fugitive granted asylum in california
from prosecution in south dakota for his role in
wounded knee '73, was the widely acknowledged
leader of this Walk. He sent word through bill
wahpepah to speak to the Walk. wahpepah was
stout, older, braided, and a good speaker. he had a
set of lungs and he was articulate and he was from
california.
wahpepah said dennis banks was aligned with the
advance People and max bear was asked to leave
the Walk. this was huge. max appealed to the
Walkers, but found little support beyond
his sizeable camp. someone had brought horses to
camp and in a dramatic flourish max mounted a
restless steed and declared he was taking his People
and leaving. and so they did.
maybe fifty People followed max and left.
some people thought maybe the f.b.i. got to max and
he was trying to tear us apart. some of the Walkers
thought he spoke for them. overall there was a sense
of relief that he was gone, right or wrong.
14
ernie peters was appointed chief of the Walk here. he
was a good chief, just wanted People to get along.
bare-chested, braided, man of girth, who rarely wore
a shirt. he could smile and that was saying
something. many native americans seem
expressionless. its like a deep reserve when dealing
with others. ernie was not so much that way.
the means brothers, john thomas, greg zephier of the
dakota, clyde bellecourt, a chippewa from minnesota,
all were camping with us here. wahpepah from
california was in camp. our meetings were long with
some very good orators and many not so good ones.
i remember this one hippie joined maybe in wichita.
he was a good speaker and spoke at meetings. no
white person had ever spoken at a meeting before
that i knew of. He was asked to leave the Walk.
i had been maybe a month on the Walk at this time. i
had seen white people come and go from the Walk for
whatever reasons. there is a kind of arrogance that
many white people harbor quite blindly. this
arrogance was obvious even in some very well
meaning white people that joined the Walk.
it was this arrogance that prevented them from
staying on the Walk.
this was a big camp, maybe six or seven hundred
People. there was alot of paranoia in this camp, alot
of passions. there was talk of splitting up the Walk.
there was talk of max bear returning with his People
armed to take over.
there are traditions of fasting in many of the native
american cultures and among the buddhists whose
camp had grown with the Walk. i participated in a two
day fast at perry lake camp in soldarity with other
Walkers that we bind up our wounds and move on.
15
the japanese buddhist camp had now 6 or 8 saffron
robed, shiny headed monks, 3 or 4 nuns, and a
handful of civilian followers. many were skilled in
shiatzu, a form of acupressure. these folks were in
demand after a long day of Walking. many of them
Walked everyday and then would give shiatzu
treatments at the end of those days. shenge would
Walk all day and give these excruciating shiatzu
treatments into the evenings. his thumbs were
misshaped by years of administering shiatzu. he
would put you through some pain, but the next day
you would feel better, better.
i was around them alot. they were an energetic upbeat group who were here to Walk. Walking was a
part of their religious practice. they Walked, beat their
drums and chanted their mantra for world peace.
they did not proselytize. they were for the most
part friendly . i had fun relating to them.
they would fast fairly frequently sometimes without
food or water. i tried that once and broke the fast
short of 24 hours. some of the monks and one of the
nuns had burn scars on their upper arms from
ceremonies where they burn incense on their skin as
they drum and chant. one monk had burn scars on
both upper and forearms and he told me on both
thighs. he was well respected.
there was a sundance held at this camp. not in the
camp, but at a camp set up for the ceremony.
sundance is a plains indian ceremony. participants
prepare by fasting 4 days prior to the ceremony where
hooks pierce the skin of their chests and they hang
from these hooks until the hooks tear through their
flesh. again the more scars on the man the more
respect.
the episcopal church never went here. i found myself
respecting these individuals that put themselves
through this abnegation of the flesh.
we had pipe ceremonies where a pipe carrier would
take a small divot of flesh from an upper arm with a
razorblade to consenting individuals.
all of this sort of bloodletting among buddhists and
native americans, it was always purely voluntary. it
wasn't for everyone, that was a common
understanding that was respected. the only pressure
to participate in these ceremonies would have to
come from me, and i was fine with fasting for now,
thank you very much.
16
when we first Walked into topeka we were invited to
do some singing ,dancing, and speaking in the
downtown during a weekday noon hour. i wandered
off from this occasion in search of something to drink.
i don't remember any restaurants or stores in
downtown topeka, it was all office buildings. that's
curious. i asked a passer-by where i might quench
my thirst and was directed to the fifth floor cafeteria of
the building we were infront of. as i was getting this
information a kid from the Walk came up to listen.
he was hungry and wanted to come with me to this
cafeteria. i felt a little funny Walking into an office
building reeking of campfire, not having bathed for
days. but the kid didn't give this a thought, he just
wanted something to eat. we took the elevator up to
the fifth floor. it was crowded, lunch hour, and i felt
very conspicuous around all these suits and ties.
we stood in line. he devoured some fried chicken and
i got an iced tea. no one hassled us, for the most part
People tried to ignore us and we preferred that.
when we got back on the street to return to the Walk.
what was a crowded plaza was empty. The Walk
had taken off. the kid and i looked at each other in
amazement. we weren't gone that long, but I guess
we were. we didn't even know what direction the
Walk took.
i asked passers-by if they had seen People Walking.
we got raised arm finger pointing. "they went thatta
way" and we trotted off in that direction eventually up
a ramp onto the interstate. a van screeched to a halt
in front of us. an indian i'd never seen before climbed
out of the passenger side and hollered to us.
"you with the Walk?"
"yeah" i responded heaving breath from our jogging
"jump in, we're goin out there" he said sliding the
back side door open for us. we trotted up, stopping in
our tracks. the back of the van was piled with slabs of
freshly slaughtered meat.
"its buffalo, we're taking it out to camp." we climbed
in around it so we each sat on a wheel well. the kid
was smiling as we fell backward with the forward lurch
of the van accelerating into traffic. the windows were
all rolled down. shortly we passed the Walk and
watched them disappear out the back windows. we
rode the buffalo into camp that day.
17
we were a week at lake perry. we added alot of
People at this camp, while going through a crisis of
leadership. we liked to camp around a clearing now
that we were in wooded country and have our
meetings out in the open.
there would be pipe ceremonies where we made a
large circle, three hundred People around. say three
pipe carriers in the center. they might be lighting
bundles of cedar and washing with the smoke. one
might begin to address the circle in offering up a
prayer to the four directions. then Walk to a person in
the circle, light the pipe that gets passed person to
person around the entire circle.
the smoking mixture is called kinik kinik. i don't know
how to spell that, it looks funny in print. a mixture of
barks and grasses that altered my consciousness
hardly at all, if at all. you could be in the circle and
not smoke the pipe, that was perfectly alright. each
pipe carrier had their own ceremony their own way of
doing this.
a recurring theme in the prayers of many pipe carriers
was how "pitiful and weak" we are. appeals for
strength. appeals for wisdom. they asked
grandfather, tekonshala, wokontonkah to help them.
there was a humility to the prayers. a sense of
smallness in the grand scheme of things. a sense of
the equality of all species.
18
we moved on from lake perry. i don't remember going
through kansas city, except on the east side of the
megalopolis that swallowed independence, missouri.
where we were given a potluck dinner on the grounds
of the headquarters of a branch of the mormon
church. these were the mormons who chose not to
follow brigham young to utah.
i just wikipediaed mormons...this is a north american
spawned religion. a joseph smith wrote the book of
the mormon, claiming to have gotten the text from
buried golden tablets that talked about native
americans being the lost tribe of israel. and jesus had
appeared to them centuries before his birth in the
middle east.
i'm sorry, this is useless information to me. first off its
sorta unbelievable and secondly it is not relevant to
my life. meaning no disrespect to People who profess
to be mormons.
in the 1830's smith had established a church that
moved west to find somewhere they could live in
peace with their beliefs. they stopped in ohio but
were asked to move on and went to missouri, then
back to illinois where smith was killed by a mob. this
becomes persecution that adds to the sales pitch, but
why couldn't they get along with others?
the mormons in independence gave several hundred
of us a very fine homecooked meal. chief ernie
peters spoke along with other speakers after the
meal. these People seemed genuinely respectful with
this undercurrent of hoping to convert us...maybe
that's part of the reason they couldn't get along with
others.
19
it was fun to talk to these Japanese People about
buddhist thought, but almost always you'd get to a
point in the conversation where they would sorta
smile and respond, "...just chant, that's all you need to
do." i was like, well, okay, but i'm not there yet, i have
other things to do. and they seemed perfectly fine
with my response.
but i didn't sleep in their tents. i would leave their
camp to sleep, wherever and however. it was early
april in west missouri and it rained every day for a
week, sort of a cool early spring rain. i was soaking
wet most of the time and so was my sleeping bag. i
let my energy drop that led to this endless coughing.
one night we were housed in a gymnasium out of the
weather, alot of us were getting sick. i was coughing
through the night. it echoed through the gym for
several hundred People to slightly wake to. i couldn't
sleep and thought i was keeping everyone on this
Walk awake that night.
so i rolled up my damp sleeping bag and lashed it to
my backpack. quietly i snuck out of the gym, slung on
the backpack, coughing as i did in the rain, and
headed for the nearest highway home.
i left the Walk. what a whiteman i was.
20
my folks lived in a 2000 sq. ft, three bedroom home
on the northeast side of indianapolis, Indiana. i was
almost 30 years old and had lived most of my adult
life away from home. though in recent years i had
been returning to my folk's home for the winter.
i wasn't finding my place in the world. my dad had
been the same way. he tried on different hats and
never really found one that he liked. so my folks were
sympathetic to my plight. they charged me rent
nominally and i slept out on the back porch, or in the
camper. i worked for manpower and saved money so
i could take off in the spring, go out west.
i was into writing and would fill 18x24 tablets of
newsprint with longhand dissertations on whatever.
every few years i would have a ritual burning of the
tablets. this enabled me to write freely knowing no
one would read it.
sometimes it hurt to burn some of the things i liked,
but that was part of the ritual.
my folks, amazingly, somehow, where able to respect
my perspective and provide me temporary shelter
from the storm.
i had no sense of a future. i liked doing manual labor.
i liked the physical challenge of it. it was a workout
and i felt good and physically tired at the end of the
day. i got like a runners high from working hard.
i spent a couple weeks on the back porch getting well,
preparing to return to the Walk. i shaved my beard
off. i wasn't comfortable anymore in the "white" world.
i was seeing the blindness in our culture and how
easy it is to get swept up into it. i wanted no part in it,
or of it. i shared these views with my folks during my
stay. i think they appreciated my idealism, but
questioned my reality and were kind enough to let me
be.
21
Took a bus to terre haute to meet the Walk as it
entered indiana. i was excited and scared to rejoin. i
squatted in the long grass beside the interstate and
waited on the border between illinois and indiana.
i saw and heard the Walk come over a rise along side
the interstate. the sun was shining behind them,
staffs and ribbons, silhouetted,drums and chanting.
the Walk ended at the state line for the day, it was
bigger than i remembered.
People were being shuttled off to the camp. i crossed
paths with a pick-up truck driven by a grey braided
indian i had never seen before. we made eye contact
and i said off the top of my head, "welcome to
indiana"
he looked at me kinda hard this time and spun gravel
peeling out onto the highway. my heart sunk like a
stone. was i being flippant? i didn't mean it like that.
why did i say THAT?
i had thoughts of leaving when a big yellow bus went
by, windows down, some of the japanese People on
the bus hollered and waved at me as they sped by.
they saw me.
Walked over to the kmart parking lot, checked in with
security. Robert was head of security and he
remembered me.
"jump in" he said. he was going out to camp. and
just like that... i was assimilated.
22
in the 1950's members of the united states congress
began an era of terminating indian reservations. they
dressed this in terms of freeing the native americans,
liberating them to assimilate into the culture. they
would do away with the b.i.a, which has a long history
of corruption, and with it all the aid and programs tax
dollars went to to prop up these islands of despair.
free these People into the great melting pot.
little thought had been given to how indian People
might react. no indian People were consulted about
this legislation. senator arthur watkins of utah was
the chief proponent of terminating the reservation
system. he didn't care about treaties with indian
People and was not opposed to bending rules and
misrepresenting positions to push through these
terminations.
he may have genuinely believed termination was best
for native americans, but his methods showed no
respect.
turtle mountain reservation in north dakota was one of
the first reservations the government thought
termination would work. a series of meetings were
set up to inform the People of turtle mountain that
their whole way of life was about to change...again.
23
leonard peltier's parents divorced when he was five
years old. he and his younger sister went to live with
relatives on turtle mountain reservation in northern
north dakota. at age nine he was sent to b.i.a.
boarding school in wahpeton, north dakota on the
southern border of the state.
these b.i.a. boarding schools were set up to teach the
ways of white People. kids were forbidden to speak
their native language. they were given anglo haircuts
and clothes and names. these were harsh
environments for kids far from their families. leonard
graduated from this school and went on to another
school, before dropping out in ninth grade and
returning to turtle mountain reservation to live with his
dad.
leonard peltier, aged 14, went with his dad to one of
these meetings, where indian People were saying this
land belongs to them by treaty. one older indian
woman, a cousin, spoke at this meeting asking where
are warriors of her People, because the united states
was breaking more treaties, and taking what little land
they had left. Peltier decided then and there to be a
warrior for his People.
the Walk had stopped in marion, illinois, site of a
maximum security federal prison where peltier was
incarcerated. peltier is serving two consecutive life
sentences for killing two f.b.i agents at wounded knee
in 1975. peltier was there, but has staunchly
maintained his innocence. amnesty international has
thoroughly reviewed this case deciding peltier was
wrongly convicted. the only eye witness, on which the
government fabricated their case, has recanted years
ago.
24
that first evening in indiana there was called a
meeting of the white People. this was new to me,
never had em out west. but this had become a
regular thing. susan christian sort of conducted the
meeting, as she was a white person that had been on
the Walk from the beginning. susan and i were
friends who had shared the concerns of being a white
person on the Walk before i left.
there were alot of white People now. susan told the
white People that this evening we would have an
indian talk to us. his name was greg zephier, he was
yankton dakota and had been at wounded knee in '75.
i was stunned to see the same person i'd greeted so
flippantly, "welcome to indiana".
before he started to speak he stood in silence looking
over our group and he looked me smack dab in the
eye. he was intense. i was shaking in my boots.
he started speaking reasonably about the plight of the
indian. he was smart and well spoken, educating us.
then he started talking about the b.i.a goon squads in
pine ridge killing off anyone who opposed them and
an anger rose up in him. this was the reason for
wounded knee '75. so this Walk is not a picnic for
white People from the suburbs.
25
a soft warm rain was falling the afternoon the Walk
approached indianapolis. here comes the wrtv van
and out jumps clyde lee, the anchor for the local
evening news. we had gotten used to tv news vans
and anchors. my folks watched the news every night
and this was their anchor, so to speak. so seeing
clyde lee was like seeing a fantastic member of the
family. they didn't interview me, i never got
interviewed, ever. i was fine with that. it was fun
watching clyde striding along side us.
we camped in eagle creek state park surrounded by
suburban indianapolis. a nice wooded campsite
where we would spend a few days, set up sweats,
probably had a powwow somewhere. i can't
remember.
the japanese People wanted to have a vehicle for
their guru's visit to the Walk. this would be a big deal.
alot of preparation, running around getting flowers
and whatnot. i didn't own a vehicle in those days, i
Walk. but my folks had a volkswagen van i felt
compelled to possibly offer. big of me.
so jun-chan and i left camp and went to spend the
night at my folk's place to see if they would loan us
the van.
as mom was fixing dinner, jun-chan, my dad, and i
were watching the evening news. wrtv. they teased
us going into a break with some footage of the Walk.
we perked up and called mom in during the
commercial.
clyde came on with the story. native americans
Walking across the unite..bla, bla, bla and to finish the
story he said we had killed a deer in the park which
was against regulations.
what!? we never killed a deer. we didn't have
anything with which to kill a deer. we just came from
camp. this was totally bogus information. i was
shocked. my whole world shaken. the evening news
was our bible, for godsake. totally bogus information
meant to discredit the Walk.
26
the Walk's reception as it crossed the continent was
overwhelmingly supportive. we had good relations
with the communities we passed through. alot of
people were genuinely sympathetic to our cause.
there was a disconnect between the will of the
People and the actions of the government.
west of the mississippi we stayed at city parks, or
fairgrounds. here in the east we stayed in state
parks. you could feel the density of population, even
out in the country. the Walk continued to grow little by
little.
we were camped outside columbus ohio in a state
park campground with toilets and showers in a big
central building, even with a couple coin operated
washers. this was deluxe. we stayed here a couple
of days, set sweats and had a powwow. on our last
day, alarm went through our camp. an emergency
meeting was called. rumors were flying...there was
gunfire at our gate? i never heard that. at the
meeting we were informed that armed park rangers
wanted to come into camp and take the money out of
the washing machines.
our security said no weapons were allowed. the
rangers left vowing to return with the national guard.
this was ohio national guard that killed four students
who were protesting the war in vietnam. they were
rumored to be surrounding our camp. we were
instructed to just sit on the ground in silent protest.
many reservation indians are used to dealing with
police as soon as they set foot off the reservation. the
Walk had an a.i.m. presence to it, some People who
took up arms against the united states at wounded
knee.
we didn't know what was gonna happen.
it was overcast, we sat in a big circle, 500 people
around, on the ground in silence, while our security
negotiated with the rangers. there was very real
tension in the air.
the rangers agreed to retrieve the cash, unarmed.
27
jun-chan and i left the Walk to bus back to
indianapolis to pick up my folks van and my chauffer's
cap. i still can't believe my folks let me take the van.
they had another vehicle and they were both teachers
on summer vacation.
but still to let me drive off to join a protest march in
their van...you gotta love my folks.
we rejoined the Walk in wheeling, w.v. we would stay
camped here for a few days. the japanese buddhists'
guru was flying in to visit the Walk. about sixteen
monks, nuns, and devotees were with the Walk at this
time. they were excited about their guru's visit.
their guru was 95 years old at the time. as a
youngster he had traveled to india and spent time with
mahatma gandhi. since then he's devoted himself to
world peace. near as i could tell he was a pretty big
deal, probly had alot of followers. they had built
maybe five peace stupas in countries outside of
japan, and had alot of "temples" in alot of different
countries.
we took the van and scavenged a cot from army
surplus for their guru to sleep on, because he was so
old. we found a large canvas tent. we set up their
camp around this big tent. their camp was abuzz.
it was a bright breezy day when i first laid eyes on
their guru. being wheeled in a wheel chair over the
rugged turf. he was a frail old man. i was expecting
somehow more. when his entourage had wheeled
him to the center of the field. People from all the
camps came over to see this guru.
so he gave a little speech through a translator,
gesturing softly, bushy white eyebrows, and a little
twinkle in his eye. he was likeable enough, but really
sort of a let down.
28
i related to many of the japanese and only a few were
sorta fluent in english. these relations were based on
gestures and eye contact largely. i could tell these
People wanted me to be impressed with their guru
and i wanted to be impressed with him for their sake
and my own.
so when i wasn't impressed i felt like i was letting
these People down. i did my best to go along.
that evening the japanese camp hosted a dinner
inviting the who's who who were on the Walk at that
stop. some in the japanese camp seeing this as east
meeting west. elevating the event.
i was running around helping them tend to the
dignitaries in the big tent, when this nun came to fetch
me. she didn't speak much english she just kept
pushing me into the big tent. i crawled in and was
greeted with frantic gesturing at my feet. i forgot to
take my boots off. sheepishly i crawled back and
debooted. People were motioning me up to a seat up
front beside the guru. as a way of saying thank you to
me for getting the van and helping out i was getting a
chance to sit beside the guru, have tea, and ask him
whatever.
i was totally blown away and horribly self conscious. i
didn't know what to say. they encouraged me to ask
him a question through the translator. i came up with
something that i don't remember now. i just
remember feeling very awkward. i didn't want to be
disrespectful, but i wasn't getting any kind of fireworks
off this guy at all.
i remember crawling out of that tent so glad that was
over. i didn't want to offend anyone.
29
the Walk moved on into pennsylvania. we went from
two lane highways out west, to interstates in the
midwest, and now we were getting into toll roads.
we held a four day camp outside harrisburg. more
white People wanted to join the Walk as it moved east
and many did.
we were beginning to get 6 nations People visiting.
the remnants of the mohawk, seneca, cayuga,
onondaga, oneida, and tuscarora Peoples. and also
a few from the iroquois People.
muhammad ali visited the Walk, i think it was here.
now talk about fireworks, he is special. just that he
was there. he spoke only very briefly. his
parkinson's was just setting in, maybe. he had
People moving him around.
stephen gaskin of "the farm" visited here too. gaskin
was a college professer in the late 60's in san
francisco, who lead a caravan of school bussed
hippies across the country looking for somewhere to
set up their own community. they did so in rural
southeastern tennessee. they prospered and grew to
a thousand or more in a communal lifestyle in the
70's. many women went to "the farm" to have their
babies, because the farm was outspoken about
midwifery and offered this service. Gaskin gave a
brief speech that was, dare i say it?...right on and
brought fresh vegetables to donate.
the Walk was growing to maybe 700 to 800 People on
the road. our camps were more like 1000 People.
our meetings and ceremonies required some
acreage now. the character of the Walk was
changing as our numbers swelled moving east.
morphing constantly. getting more media attention.
journalists from europe joining for a few days to write
a story.
30
one night i couldn't sleep. i slipped out of the tent to
relieve myself and to taste the night air. it was hot
and humid with heat lightning flashing silently all over
the sky. the camps were silent embers.
i looked out over the large clearing in the trees, a
grassy knoll now. i could barely make out silhouettes
in the heat lightning. they were standing near the
staffs and buffalo skull. made me curious on an eerie
night, so i walked out into the clearing approaching
cautiously a figure orating.
it was this teen ager who spoke at the meeting that
day. he pledged to hold an all night vigil. i was
impressed with his speaking at the meeting. not alot
of teen agers spoke at the meetings. he didn't speak
like a teen ager at all. he spoke like he was a
hundred years old.
i got up close enough so i could hear what he was
saying while staying as far away as possible and
dropping into a squat in the darkness with a few other
silhouettes to listen.
"there once was a time long before the wasichu came
when we could will ourselves to become a tree. we
could will ourselves to be an eagle. but long before
the wasichu came we began to lose this power..."
31
We were in eastern pennsylvania making a big circle,
maybe 600 People around, to have a pipe ceremony.
the wind was picking up and gusting like zephyrs
willy nilly through the glen.
the iroquois and the six nation People that came on
the Walk that last week impressed me. these are
People who published acquisassne notes. i'm not
spelling that right. supposedly our constitution has
elements borrowed from iroquois government. these
People have dealt with the european invasion the
longest. they seemed the most at peace with
themselves as native americans in an alien culture.
a short very round man oddly waddled, pipe on
forearm, among the pipe carriers in the middle of the
circle. the little round man wore a wreath of green
leaves on his head. he had a funny way of moving
that made me wanna chuckle.
i'd never seen him before but word round the circle
was he was an iroquois medicine man. he was funny.
pipe carriers taking turns offering up prayers. heavier
clouds were moving in, distant thunder. the pipe
moves from person to person around the circle. this
many people it takes awhile.
the funny iroquois begins his prayers by throwing his
head back and addressing the thunder. you couldn't
help but smile at this spectacle.
when he fell silent after talking to the thunder, you
could hear the thunder in the distance grumble like it
was answering back. the wind gusted.
when the thunder fell silent the little round man with
the wreathe on his head looked up and started
dialoguing with the thunder some more.
this went on for some time long after the passing of
the pipe. the circle held.
we were all amazed by this odd little human talking
with the thunder and it wasn't until we were all back at
our camps that it finally rained.
32
these last two incidents happened some weeks apart.
i guess i remembered them together because they
are similarly far out. i mean "far out", not in slang, but
literally. but maybe that's where "far out", the slang,
came from.
what i'm trying to say is the last two episodes, the
reader might find these accounts somewhat
unbelievable. we pick and chose what to believe all
the time. its an ongoing sorting of information thing
we all do sometimes without thinking.
so while i've got you weighing your belief in what i'm
saying i'll tell you one more story that happened
maybe ten years after the Walk.
i was living in chicago and had made friends with an
older dakota indian. he worked in apartment
maintenance in buildings where i was part of a crew
that rehabbed apartments. his name was bob
patenoude. he had a wife and 12 kids, 13 with one
adoption.
on weekends i helped bob drink beer..that was not
how we saw it then. in those days we collected junk
by cruising the alleys. we'd stash the junk in bob's
garage, then spend our weekends going through the
junk, and loading it into a couple of vehicles.
bob's wife bernice would fix us tacos saturday night
before we'd head down to maxwell street to get our
spot so we could sell come sunrise sunday morning.
it wasn't regular, but often we'd start drinking beer first
thing saturday morning and keep drinking through the
weekend.
if we sold well bob always liked to stop at an irish bar
on the original skid row on our way home. bob was
fascinated with the irish. he liked to remind me that
the irish killed more indians than anyone. that's why
he liked being around irish People, to find out what
made them tick. how come they were such good
indian killers.
this is a digression, i realize now. but one i'm
committed to following now that ive ventured this far.
i'll check the charts for a few days. if activity picks up
i may continue.
33
maxwell street was started by jews during the
depression. People could sell whatever on maxwell
street on sundays. the open air market quickly grew
and became established. when bob and i sold there
in the 1980's it was held in vacant lots near maxwell
street on the near southside of chicago. it was near
the "projects".
these vacant lots came alive at daybreak. People
setting up and buyers walking briskly through the
bustle. the market covered as many as four to six
square blocks with a carnival like atmosphere.
sometimes magicians would do tricks and pass the
hat, or there was the three cups and the pea slight of
hand games to bet on. Busking. it was all races and
ethnicities, different languages were spoken all in this
gritty urban exchange of goods. it was great fun and
fellini-esque in my memory.
But in the wee hours when bob and i would pull into
our spots. "cuba" usually was already there camped
out. there was a lone liquor store nearby. this liquor
store consisted of two bullet proof glass windows
where you ordered your alcohol.
one night i went in got some beer and on my way out i
got surrounded by gangsters. i immediately gave
them all the money i had in my pockets and probably
the beer and kept moving. they let me go.
i remember another time in broad daylight we had
collected some sports equipment and a couple
gangsters came by, saw the baseball bat, grabbed it,
stepped aggressively into bob's face with bat on
shoulder ready to swing.
"how much for da bat, mo' fu"
bob just sat there, calmly taking his time surveying the
situation then he persed his lips and with an abrupt
thrust of his chin effectively saying take the bat and
get out of here.
34
bob and bernice were both full blood dakota from the
siseton/wahpeton reservation in the northeast corner
of south dakota. they grew up there, got married and
bob shipped off with the u.s.navy to serve in the
korean war.
he was proud of his years in the navy. he liked the
idea of being a warrior.
he was built like a tank, short and sturdy.
bob pretty much accepted the culture that overtook
his own. he was assimilated. bernice maybe less so,
but she was so busy with kids it didn't matter. they
raised their kids in chicago. they wanted them to
grow up in the new culture. this would give them an
advantage. and yet they were very proud to be native
american.
bob did drink beer, sort of a binge drinker. he was
generally sober during the work week and would take
to drink on the weekends. he was an amazingly
amiable and lucky drunk for the most part. He liked to
listen to big band music on the radio.
he liked my stories about the longest Walk. they
made him smile, but he'd just shake his head and say
“the ind-un is a goner, the ind-un is a goner.”
35
i spent a couple years as bob's sidekick. traveling the
alleys of the north side of chicago developing a keen
eye for trash. i got to know bernice, though she rarely
spoke, she expressed herself through her actions.
and got to know some of the kids. on weekends i
lived over there.
during the week i lived by myself in the basement flat
of a three flat house. i was okay living by myself. it's
like i recharge when i'm alone. but i think bob and
bernice thought i needed company.
lyle had just gone through a divorce when i agreed to
share my place with him. he was full blood dakota a
little older than i was. he liked to drink and had a
taste for vodka that i wasn't aware of until some time
after he had settled in.
lyle moved with his wife from the reservation in south
dakota to a suburb of chicago. they had three sons
they were devoted to. he was a union construction
worker who worked on big construction sites. Made
good money. she stayed home with the kids. he was
a hard worker. his work came first. he was there six
o'clock in the morning no matter what.
he couldn't figure out why his wife divorced him, just
because he was having sex with other women. he
told her when he did. he thought she should be
impressed with his prowess. he really did. why would
she want to divorce such a man as he was.
the divorce really hurt him and turned his world upside
down. and not being able to spend time with his
sons. his drinking increased. his neice and nephew,
twilla and jim showed up one day from the rez
wanting to crash. they were younger but low key and
agreeable.
then an uncle of lyle's shows up elderly and kindly.
he was well dressed and walked with a cane,
because of a bad hip. after we'd gone through some
drink he pulls out a small pistol and puts it on the
kitchen table.
i remember the shock wave the sight of that gun had
in that room. the uncle wanted to sell it to lyle so he
could take a bus home to the rez. bob was there.
bob looked at me, i looked at bob. no good is gonna
come out of this. lyle bought the gun, so his uncle
could go home.
several months later in the dead of winter, bleak
streets of black snow, lyle shot himself in the chest
with that gun. it missed his heart, where he was
aiming, and went through a lung, that was removed in
surgery. he lived a sullen, lifeless life after that.
36
bob and bernice invited me to go back to the
reservation with them. they go back every year or so.
take the youngest kids in bob's van we use for
maxwell street. we cleaned it out real good. it had
blue shag carpeting throughout. tinted windows,
tricked out. bob was proud of the deal he got on this
van, and proud to drive it.
bob and bernice sat up front. one captain's chair in
back, the rest was open with duffle bags and what not
to sit or sleep on. even the inside of the back doors
had the blue shag. three youngest kids came along.
we were quite comfortable.
i had traveled through reservations in new mexico
with old adobe structures and maybe a fry bread
stand for the tourists. there's a degree of mutual
respect between the races. but bob kept talking
about keeping a low profile in the communities near
the reservation. there's alot of prejudiced white
People. especially the police. they like to pull indian
People over for no reason.
the calendar of events for the community of sissetonwahpeton is dominated by food distribution events
that happen several times a week and the meetings of
3 different drug/alcohol rehab groups that meet on a
weekly basis.
they have a big 4th of july celebration, alot of
american flags, saluting those serving in the military
and a dance where many show up in native costume,
ribbon shirts, some with a full feathered headdress,
fringe, beadwork, and bells that jangle in rhythm with
the drums. we weren't there for that though.
once on the reservation we breathe a sigh of relief.
like running a gauntlet, we made it. the
sisseton/wahpetah reservation wasn't so picturesque
like the pueblo reservations of new mexico. the
houses looked like cheap suburban houses that
should've had fake shutters but didn't. five gallon tins
of government issued peanut butter in every home.
what's the point of doing anything when everything is
gone and they give you just enough to live on and
nothing to live for.
37
One time just bob and i got in the van. he wanted me
to meet gilbert. we drove on a highway for awhile,
then off on a gravel road for a ways. bob said gilbert
was a medicine man. i was sorta surprised because
bob never showed any interest in that kind of stuff.
we pulled up to a two story house in a wooded area.
white lap siding in mild disrepair. a man with longish
hair, black horned rim glasses answered the door and
bid us come in.
there was no furniture. it looked like there had never
been furniture in these rooms and there never would
be.
"would you like a chair?"
"yes, thank you." Bob grunted. it was too far to the
floor and back up for a heavy-set man in his late 50's.
i just sat down on the floor. gilbert brought folding
chairs for bob and himself.
gilbert seemed interested in the longest Walk. he
asked me questions, but other than that didn't say
much. he seemed pretty ordinary to me, aside from
living without furniture.
this is what started this whole digression. that night i
laid down to go to sleep in the camper in the drive
way. i was not long horizontal when i suddenly felt
this great weight rest upon my entire body. i started
to panic, but was powerless to move a muscle. i
could barely breathe the weight was crushing me so
much. my mind racing. i couldn't get air into my
lungs. i panicked. suddenly the weight left me. my
lungs filled with air as i flipped around on the mattress
straining to see in dark. nothing. there was nothing
there.
the next day as we were on the road to leave the
reservation i saw gilbert walking along side the
highway as we sped by. i was the only one that saw
him. then it hit me.
38
we Walked into baltimore, maybe a thousand People
strong. strong is probably not the right word. our
population explosion made meetings unwieldly, a
growing fringe element. alot more egocentric white
People. egocentric white People...
on the day we Walked into washington d.c. we were
one of over six hundred groups to protest in front of
the capital that year. ted kennedy spoke to us on the
steps of the capital. stevie wonder gave a benefit
concert. marlon brando spoke.
the camp was divided, the only time since pueblo. so
the white People were given a campground in a
valley, while all other People were in a campground
on top of a hill. it rained and rained almost the whole
four days we were there. the campground in the
valley turned into this quagmire. or so i heard. i was
the driver for the japanese, so i got to camp on the
hill. i felt funny about this.
particularly when i went to visit some white People
who had been on the Walk for some time. this
campground was dante's inferno in mud. the white
People were out of control. there was partying.
rumors of guns meetings called. poor attendence.
i felt sorry for some of my white friends who had been
on the Walk since west of the mississippi. they were
exhausted and maybe a little flumoxed about this
ending. they had learned to put up with racist
attitudes by the few to be a part of this political
statement. to finish the Walk in this foul
circumstance. there was no reward at the end for
these folks. still they couldn't blame the indians for
the rain...or could they..
EPIBLOGUE
indian termination policy begun in the 1950's ended in
1975. but institutionalized injustices toward indian
People persist to this day.
the Walk brought together native american nations
that hadn't joined hands for thousands of years. the
different bloods mixing in the modern world.
it directly impacted those that participated in it and
those who hosted us across the nation. maybe some
kids will always remember waving at the indians
walking by.
there were speeches and rumors of continuing the
Walk. a Walk from alaska to tierra del fuego. but we
were done. we had Walked across a continent to
deliver a message.
i was lost after the Walk. i did not want to rejoin the
dominant culture. before the Walk i was alone. on
the Walk i was a part of something greater than
myself.
when i was an adolescent i wanted freedom most of
all. freedom from the tyranny of my parents and of
the state.
after awhile i matured, it took me longer than most, to
willingly sacrifice my freedom to take responsibility for
a family. which has given my life a depth like I would
never have known.
our adolescent nation, all about freedom and
individuality. we'll grow up eventually. learn to live
responsibly. but we gotta hurry up.