Let’s Dig Up the Skull of Geronimo

We was sittin’ in a booth at Denny’s on account of David George getting us kicked out of Lindsey’s Tavern. Lindsey didn’t think that David George was funny anymore; he’d covered the toilets (in both the men’s and the ladies’ restrooms) with clear plastic-wrap and waited for the splashing and the screaming.

“It was a joke!” David George pleaded.

“How old are you? 13?” Lindsey asked before he kicked us out. We used to go to Lindsey’s after our shift at Alvin’s Speedy Lube and Parts, but we didn’t work there anymore either.

“You know what we should do?” David George asked me.

“What?” I asked around a mouthful of hash-browns and scrambled eggs.

“Somethin’ big. Somethin’….” He trailed off, his eyes far away, looking at something a hundred miles away at the back of his imagination. I knew that look. He got that look whenever he had an idea. And he always had an idea.

“I dunno’, David George. Maybe we should go back to the Lube and Parts. Maybe we could get our jobs back.”

But David George had an idea. A big one. “We should find Geronimo’s head,” he declared abruptly. Loudly. I spit coffee across the table. Other folks in the restaurant turned to stare at us.

“No, David George. You remember what happened when we tried to dig up the body of President Lincoln…” That was an adventure I wished David George hadn’t gotten us into. “No. We can’t be doin’ these kind of things. Grave-robbing’s nasty work. Let’s go back to the Lube and Parts. Or to Lindsey’s. Maybe he’ll let us in if you…”

“No. This is different,” he said. “I recognize that our attempt to disinter the body of the 16th president of the United States was misguided, but this isn’t grave robbing. It’s… it’s… it’s historical preservation is what it is. It’s cultural restoration. It’s important. And besides, Geronimo’s skull has already been dug up and stolen. We’d just be finding it and returning it. And if it should bring us some cash in the process, well, that’s good too.”

David George told me how he heard the story when he was a boy at summer camp in Enid, Oklahoma, how the famed Indian warrior had died at Fort Sill in Oklahoma and was buried there in an unmarked grave. Then during World War I, as the rest of the world was being buried in blood and bullets and mud and muck, six members of the Yale secret society – the Skull and Bones were at Fort Sill as U.S. Army volunteers. These Bonesmen - including Prescott Bush, future father of President George H. W. Bush, and grandfather of President George W. Bush – dug up the corpse of the famous Apache and stole the skull, along with some of his other bones.

“The Skull and bones took it, right! The freakin’ Skull and Bones, dude. Prescott and his pals found the unmarked grave and dug it up in the middle of the night.”

“Then what?”

“Well, presumably Prescott Bush held the relics for the group and passed them, along with their totemic power, to his son and grandson.”

“You’re serious?” I asked as I stabbed what remained of my eggs. I’d lost my appetite.

“How else would you explain the election of W. in 2,000?”

I put down my fork and picked up the ceramic coffee mug that held the cold remains of my coffee; it’d had been a long time since our waitress had come by. “This sounds dangerous, David George. Won’t you wake up a poltergeist or some other trope?”

“No. no.” he laughed. “In fact this is the reverse of the movie. The Skull and Bones left the cemetery and took the headstone… Well… the head, anyway.

I put the coffee cup down; it was empty anyway. “I still say it’s a bad idea, David George.  I mean it’s not like you could fence the skull. What are we going to do with it afterwards?  We’d be stuck with it. It’d be like stealing the Mona Lisa.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Holt. But it’s already been done.”

I yawned. Like Geronimo, I yawned. The famed Apache hero could, it was said, anticipate future events. He went to the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, sold picture postcards and rode the Ferris wheel and repented that he’d ever surrendered. He should have fought until he was the last man alive. I yawned, but I couldn’t feel my teeth. Whether the future would be better or worse, I don’t know. David George is not able tell me. And I wouldn’t trust him if he did.

Background Images for Everyone - 2017 - Week 13

It's a bit later than usual, but I hope that I can be forgiven as I am on vacation with my family. Here is this week's free background image. Use it wisely, share it freely.

And for those of you who like to know - this photograph was taken at the National Museum of American Indians - the coolest of the Smithsonian buildings.

Enshrined Forever

The Carter family (at least my small branch of it) is on vacation this week in Washington D.C. This morning we visited the Air and Space Museum. After lunch we went to the National Museum of the American Indian. (I was very impressed by the exhibit of photographs by Horace Poolaw: For a Love of His People. 

In the late afternoon we stopped by the Lincoln Memorial.

Out to the Badlands

I have returned from a trip out to the far end of South Dakota with my good friend, J. It's a mighty long drive, and I've got my "driving arm sunburn," but we had a great time, saw (some of - there's just too much to do and see in one trip) the sights and learned a bit too. (You can't go on trips with me and not go to at least one edumacational place...)

Along the way we stopped at a couple of those "cheesy" tourist spots. They're not much, but they break up the hours of driving. The first was the Jolly Green Giant statue in Blue Earth, Minnesota. J. thought he'd be jollier. A few hours later we stopped in Mitchell, South Dakota for dinner, and to see the "world famous" Corn Palace. It's not actually either, but it's a neat place. We happened to visit during a street party and had the opportunity to listen to a local rock band playing "The Letter", to watch a toothless old man dancing in the street, and little kids laughing in a bicycle race.

Our campground is situated near Rapid City, South Dakota, right along Rapid Creek, and is a beautiful place in the shadow of steep granite cliffs. We slept in tents next to the rippling creek, listening to the wind in the pine trees.

At Mount Rushmore, under the shadow of George Washington's cavernous nostril, we listened to Park Ranger D. Redcloud tell stories of  how Gutzon Borglum, the artist responsible for the Rushmore carvings, helped the starving native people living near the monument. "We always had good relations with him," our ranger said. But I wondered if this was bit of National Monument whitewashing. Other sources that I've read suggest that Borglum was a "nativist" and sympathetic to the Ku Klux Klan - and his work on the monument to Confederate leaders at Stone Mountain, Georgia would seem to give support to those claims.  This isn't to say that the stories D. Redcloud told us weren't true (several of them involved his grandfather), but those stories may not represent the entire truth.

Redcloud from jeff carter on Vimeo.

We visited Wind Cave National Park - which has over 145 miles of explored caves (and many times that still unexplored), located next to Custer State Park, and learned about Boxwork formations within the cave, as well as the Lakota emergence story. Park Ranger Shena told us the story. Afterwards J. and I discussed the places of similarity between the Lakota story of Iktomi (the spider), Anog-Ite (the double faced woman), the Creator and the first people and the biblical story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. It may be tricky to make cross cultural comparisons like that, but there is some overlap in the stories.

At the Crazy Horse Monument we watched a group of young Pueblo Hoop Dancers. We missed the opportunity to actually walk out along Crazy Horse's arm by a few hours - an opportunity that only happens a couple of times a year.

I purchased a book in the gift shop - Crazy Horse: The Strange Man of the Oglalas by Mari Sandoz. I chose this one over the other available book about Crazy Horse because of the introduction written by Vine Deloria Jr., whose book, Custer Died for Your Sins: An Indian Manifesto, I'd purchased on a previous trip to the Black Hills and have enjoyed reading.

On our way home we drove through the Badlands loop - a little out of the way, but worth it for the incredible landscape. We might have stayed longer, but we were hungry, and there was still so much driving to do to get home.

What I’m Reading – The Last of the Mohicans

The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper is a difficult novel to assess. It has been both hailed as a great American classic, and derided as overwrought and verbose. It is set within the confines of history–particularly in the Seven Year War (French and Indian War) and the events surrounding the Ft. William Henry Massacre, but it veers off from history into the realm of the imaginative romance (in the classical sense – a tale of love and adventure) that becomes increasingly ridiculous, before returning to something like reality in its final chapters.

Of particular interest to me as I read the novel was Cooper’s treatment of racial relations. And here, too, the novel is difficult to judge. On the one hand Cooper uses what may be described as clichés and stereotypes to define his characters. Uncas and Chingachgook are the “noble savage,” brave and stoic, wise and proud; Magua, the villain, is cruel, without loyalty and is one of those drunken Indians addicted to the white man’s “fire water.” But are these two dimensional characters intended to slur all Native Americans or is this the result of a genre where everything is heightened and exaggerated – where the heroes are pure and virtuous and the villains are barbaric and despicable? Are Uncas and Chingachgook at one end, and Magua at the other end of a spectrum of human characteristics–encompassing all rather than reducing all?

The character Natty Bumppo, known as Hawkeye, also presents an interesting dilemma. He is a white man who lives at the fringes of society, more at home with the native tribes than whites, but freely moving between both. He sometimes lauds his whiteness as a measure of his superiority, and sometimes praises his native brothers as the better men. 

It should probably be remembered, also, that The Last of the Mohicans was first published in 1826-at a time when American attitudes toward the Native Americans were generally less than favorable (to put it kindly.) Native American tribes were regarded by white leaders as mere savages, uncivilized. White leaders said that the Indians prized “theft, arson, rape and murder” and raised their children “to regard killing as the highest virtue.” Indian men, according to these powerful American leaders, were indolent and lazy, leaving all the hard work for their women. They were barbarous, and savage, and superstitious heathen” (Nichols 175 - 6). Not many years after Cooper’s book was published the Native American Removal Act of 1830 was passed by Congress, which paved the way for the forced expulsion of tens of thousands of Native Americans along the “Trail of Tears.”

But in the Cooper’s novel, Native Americans are heroic and brave, noble and praiseworthy. And in one of the frequent footnotes Cooper included, the Quaker William Penn and his descendants are praised for having done no wrong “to the original owners of the soil” (356).  It is difficult to read the story as ‘racist’ against this background. 

We might also consider the character of Cora Munro – who is of mixed race, a “mulatto.”  She is never disparaged in the book because of her mixed ancestry, though she acknowledges the second class status she and her black ancestors are given in society. 

And speaking of Cora, the issue of sexism is sometimes raised in criticism of the novel. The female characters Cora and Alice Munro (half-sisters with different mothers) are repeatedly referred to as the “gentle ones.” They are delicate and need male protection and rescue. That said, however, the novel does pass the Bechdal Test–if only just. The treatment of Cora and Alice may be considered sexist and chauvinist by today’s standards, but it represents the norm of that time–and it should be noted that Cora and Alice are just as brave and courageous as any of the male characters. 

The Last of the Mohicans is a divisive book; many love it, many loathe it. It has inspired multiple adaptions for film, television and radio. It has even been adapted for the stage as an opera.  But I’m not particularly fond of Cooper’s overwrought style.  His endless descriptions are tiring.  His dialogue is stilted.  And the prose is pretentious. 

He swung for the fences, writing as if for an epic in the style of Homer and Virgil, but Cooper let his novel drift into the realm ridiculous and could not sustain the epic majesty he wanted to achieve with his prose.  The novel begins in the grounded events of history at Ft. William Henry but towards the end it is reduced to a series of costumed hijinks:  Hawkeye disguises himself as a bear and prowls through an enemy camp; Chingachgook disguises himself as a beaver to fool their pursuers. It’s silly. I can accept Patroclus disguising himself in the armor of Achilles to lead the Greeks into battle; I can only laugh at Cooper’s characters parading around in animal costumes.

  

Cooper, James Fenimore.  The Last of the Mohicans, USA. Readers Digest, 1984.

Nichols, David A. Lincoln and the Indians: Civil War Policy and Politics, St. Paul, MN. Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2012.

Northwest Coast Totem Pole

This example of a Northwest Coast Native American totem pole is on display at the Field Museum in Chicago, Illinois.

Enslaved by Fear - A Sermon on Exodus 1: 8 - 2: 10

It is a truth, though not universally acknowledged (for to acknowledge it would be to allow a measure of doubt to creep into our practiced certainty that everything is just as it should be) that those in possession of power fear the powerless, just as the rich fear the poor and the master fears the slave.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Always. (Shakespeare)

A new king came to power in Egypt land – one that could not (or would not) remember Joseph or all that son of Israel had done for Egypt.  He was a mighty king, a powerful king.  He led the navy to repulse attacks from sea-pirates, he maintained (and expanded) the borders of Egypt.  He built cities, and palaces, and monuments – Lord, how many monuments.  In every city, on every corner, there was a statue or an inscription to mark his presence and to memorialize his achievements.  In the 30^th year of his rule, he was transformed into a living god in the Egyptian “Sed Festival” and thereafter, every third year, another Sed Festival was held in his honor.  He had 45 sons and 40 daughters with his many multiplied wives. (Wente, 618 - 620)  He ruled for 67 years, bringing peace, and power, and prosperity to the nation of Egypt. 

And the inscription beneath the colossal statue erected in his honor read:
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings,
Look on my works, ye mighty and despair.  (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Ozymandias, (in Greek) or Ramses II “the Great” was powerful beyond most human imagination. 

But those in power never rest easy.

This new king in Egypt – who could not (or would not) remember what the son of Israel had done for Egypt - looked upon the Israelites with fear.

“Look… the Israelites have become too many and too mighty for us.”

The mighty Pharaoh Ramses II, the great and powerful Ozymandias feared the Hebrew people who, though they had continued to multiply during the years between Joseph and Ramses II, were still a minority people in the land of Egypt.  They held no political power (not since the days of long forgotten Joseph) they held no numerical advantage.  They were a minority in Egypt.

But the minority is always feared by the powerful, just as the rich fear the poor, and the master fears the slave. The oppressor fears those that he/she oppresses.

This is not an ancient pattern, now eliminated in our modern society.  We have not yet outgrown these things.  In our own nation’s history we have seen this fear.

The Native American tribes were regarded by White leaders in the 1860s as savages. They were uncivilized. White leaders said that the Indians prized “theft, arson, rape and murder” and raised their children “to regard killing as the highest virtue.”  Indian men, according to these powerful American leaders, were indolent and lazy, leaving all the hard work for their women.   They were barbarous, and savage, and superstitious heathen.  (Nichols, 175 - 6)

In 1736, Colonel William Byrd – a wealthy Virginian slave owner (considered to be the founder of Richmond, Virginia) wrote, “We have already at least 10,000 men of these descendants of Ham fit to bear arms, and their numbers increase every day as well by birth as importation.  And in case there should arise a man of desperate courage among us, exasperated by a desperate fortune, he might with more advantage than Cataline kindle a servile war.  Such a man might be dreadfully mischievous before any opposition could be formed against him and tinge our rivers, as wide as they are, with blood.” (Zinn, 35) also here

The Africans being brought to this country as slaves were feared by their masters. If they could not be kept under control, they would, as Colonel Byrd feared, rise up in revolt, and kill their masters, rape the white women, burn the plantations, and bring economic ruin upon the white ruling class. 

Even after slavery was abolished on these shores, the “darkies” were feared by those in power.  Blacks were described alternately as "lazy, thriftless, intemperate, insolent, dishonest, and without the most rudimentary elements of morality" or as violent beasts, “a hyena in a cage,” “wild beast” ready to rape and murder.  (Zinn, 208)

They were feared and had to be kept in check.  The Indians were slaughtered, and those that survived were herded onto crowded reservations (and often moved again, further afield, when those lands were coveted by whites.)  Blacks were harassed and lynched. Segregated into separate and entirely unequal stations within society. 

Fear turns the “other” into something other than human.  They become sub-human animals, brutes.  Fear makes them seem inferior, greedy, conniving, ugly, lazy, diseased, filthy…

 Said the new king, “Look… the Israelites have become too many and to mighty for us.  Let us deal shrewdly with them or they will take our jobs and take our women.  They’ll flood our hospitals with their diseases and our schools with their dirty children.  They’re violent.  They’re drug users and they bring illegal drugs across our borders.  They don’t worship the way we do.  They don’t even speak our language properly. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and take over the land.”

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Ramses II, the great and powerful Ozmandias with legions of armed men and servants at his command, with wealth and power incalculable was afraid of the Israelites. He perceived them to be a threat – for those in power always perceive the poor and the oppressed as a threat – and he began a systematic program to reduce the Hebrew danger. 

He put them to work, made their lives bitter with rigor and toil.  He oppressed them with forced labor; he compelled them to build store-cities for him – which further increased his wealth and power, while at the same time reducing the Hebrew strength and power.  The Egyptians used them ruthlessly.  They exploited their labor, and stole the sweat from their brows. But the Pharaoh’s plan was flawed.  The more he oppressed them, the more they multiplied and spread.  The more he tightened his grip, the more they slipped through his fingers. 

So the Egyptians came to fear the Israelites. The Egyptians came to dread the Israelites.

Next Pharaoh ordered that the midwives of Egypt murder the Hebrew boys at birth.  But the midwives feared God and refused to be a part of this vile plan. So Pharaoh expanded the scope of his plan; he ordered all of the people of Egypt to throw Israelite boy children into the Nile.  Not just the midwives. Not just the soldiers. Every good and law abiding citizen of Egypt was instructed to hurl Israelite baby boys into the waters of the Nile.

Because they were afraid. 

The great and the powerful are never so strong that they do not fear those whom they oppress.  The rich and wealthy are never able to purchase an escape from their fear of the poor.  The master can never sleep easily with slaves at hand. 

We tell the story of the Exodus as the escape of the Israelites from the slavery of Egypt.  But we must see that the Egyptians were enslaved too, held in chains of their own forging.  Chains of fear and dread and loathing. The powerful fear the powerless. The rich fear the poor. The oppressor fears the oppressed. The master fears the slave.  Pharaoh feared the Israelites. Herod feared the newborn Jesus.

The Israelites were enslaved to the people of Egypt – a physical slavery of rigorous labor and bitter tears. But the Egyptians were enslaved as well – enslaved to fear and loathing.  And every powerful and prosperous people since has faced the same slavery. 

While we view people as something other – something less than human.  When we see them as thugs and criminals, when we think of them as lazy and freeloaders we are binding our own chains even tighter.  We enact harsher punishments for criminal acts – but we fail to reform the legal system that incarcerates a disproportionate number of minorities.  We equip our police with more powerful weapons and armor – but that only serves to tighten the chains of fear.

Fear can only be undone by love.  Courageous, radical love.

A courageous radical love that says – if you are hungry I will feed you, if you are naked I will clothe you without regard for anything except the fact that you are a child of God, created in his image.  What we need is a courageous radical love that says – if you are low I will lift you up, if you are weak I will support you.

Love does not oppress.
Love does not crush.
Love does no harm
Love does not fear
because perfect love drives out all fear.

(A disclaimer:  there is no universal agreement about which of the Pharaohs was in power during the oppression and during the exodus – if it was an actual historical event…  Ramesses II is the favored choice of many, but not all, historians.)

Nichols, David A. Lincoln and the Indians: Civil War Policy and Politics, Minnesota Historical Society Press, St. Paul MN, 2012.
Shakespeare, William, Henry the IV Part II
Shelly, Percy Bysshe Ozymandias
Wente, Edward F. “Ramesses II” in The Anchor Bible Dictionary Vol. V, Doubleday, New York, NY, 1992.
Zinn, Howard, A People’s History of the United States: 1492 – Present, Haper Collins New York, NY, 2003.