Ghost Dancer’s Fight for Native American Religious Freedom
As told by Ghost, family members, and other primary sources
Compiled, arranged and edited by Edna P. Dixon
Published April 2022 – Updated May 2026
Introduction
Most of the content of All For The Right To Pray is the collaboration between Ghost Dancer, aka James Keith Johnson, and Edna Peirce Dixon. His personal memories were gathered through daily correnspondence between 2013 and 2023 during his incarceration and shortly after his compassionate release. It has been my honor to do all I can to help tell his vitally important story by asking questions and recording answers edited from many emails pecked out on a prison computer. I have added supporting information from family members and my own research. epd
From earliest childhood Ghost Dancer felt the spirit of his Mvskoke and Ani-yun-wiya ancestors calling to him. Heeding the call he would find himself upon a path that would lead to lifelong struggles, forever “out of time, out of place.” From the day he was born – a happy, loving, gifted child – he endured heartbreaking sorrows, betrayals and exploitations. Through it all, Ghost fought a system determined to destroy him by any means as he struggled to remain true to his calling. Ghost Dancer’s story is both a revelation of deep flaws in the state and federal justice system as well as testament to the power of love and trust in Spirit to guide, protect, and triumph over unspeakable evil.
Part One: Walking in Two Worlds begins in the courtroom where once again Ghost stands defeated yet eloquent in the undeniable truth he speaks to power before receiving the harshest sentence possible after a mere two-day trial. From there Ghost begins to share in depth his story from the beginning – his early life, those who influenced him and the God-given gifts and talents that were both a blessing and a curse.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 1 – Ghost Speaks to the Court
On September 1, 1995 after a mere two-day trial in the Federal Court, Northern District of Florida and on the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence, a Native American man known as Thunder Eagle Ghost Dancer was found guilty of robbing two banks. He was sentenced to 35 years in federal prison.
From trial transcripts – At sentencing Ghost Dancer delivered this speech to the court:
Your Honor, I have to state that I am not guilty. I don’t know why this man here repeatedly attacked my witnesses as being liars when the record shows there was no lies ever proved…
Since my release from prison I have spent and dedicated my life to my people. And there’s many letters that you received that can verify that fact. I don’t live for your money. I don’t care about your money. To me, my freedom and helping my people means everything to me. And for this man to sit here and call my witnesses liars hurts, because I know those people are spiritual people as well.
My past, I did my time. I think I did rough time. I was sentenced to some of the most maximum security prisons this country has… Why? Because I fought for Native American rights, Native American religions in your Federal courts in Birmingham, Alabama; Montgomery, Alabama; Mobile, Alabama. Eleventh Circuit my name is known. Why? Because somebody had to make a stand. This is what I’ve dedicated my life to, to use your laws the right way. I used [to belong] to AIM, American Indian Movement. I’m still proud of my people that fought for all the executions that took place at Pine Ridge. They had no other choice, Your Honor.
Knowledge and education was a great goal to me, to get the education I needed to help my people. Inside of those prison cells I fought for Native American religious rights. Sometimes doing 90 days with no food because they wanted to try to break that. The whole time I kept litigating, litigating and it proved a point. In a court of law, I could get justice…. You sit in the judgment of me today. That is your right. But listen to the true evidence. There is none. None whatsoever. A child could listen to the evidence that was presented here to this courtroom and understand something is desperately wrong here. Desperately wrong.
It’s my understanding in law…there has to be a burden of proof on these people to prove beyond a reasonable doubt. There isn’t no way that there is not doubts…Mr. Lonnie Cox, the FBI agent from Mississippi testified he had no evidence whatsoever. But now that’s not what this man let that man over there say to all those people inside there [Grand Jury]. Misled to get an indictment. Misled the jury like here. Always misleading them. One day he’s going to have to answer for that. And I hope God has mercy on you for what you’ve done. I don’t hate you, Mr. Knight. I feel sorry for you…
I know you have a job to do. I have a job to do. I have a job to stand up for the Spirit, listen to the God All Mighty, Great Spirit, or whatever name that people use for Him. I walk a spiritual path and where he leads me I shall go.
There’s been some victims in this incident here, and I feel sorry for those at the bank that had to go through that. But there’s more than those victims. There’s the victims of my family, my wife, my people. It’s a victim of the American public having things such as what Mr. Knight [Federal prosecutor] and Mr. Tierney [FBI Special Agent] pulled be allowed in this country. They’re supposed to symbolize to everybody justice and freedom. People who have totally disregarded their oath of office, abused and done illegal acts using authority of the government. It is sickening. It is sickening.
Just for the record, it may not mean nothing to you, it may not mean nothing to him, but this fight is not over. I will fight for truth and justice no matter where it’s at, whether it’s for myself, whether it’s for another Native American somewhere, whatever. And if they think for some reason they can just put me away just because I’m an activist who stands by the law and order – and I do go by the laws of this land and the laws of God and the laws of my Nation. Putting me away inside of a prison cell didn’t stop me before to get things done. And they can go on with their little games as they have done since the beginning of history – of taking away the leaders or those who stand up strong and thinking that you cast them out of sight, your problem is over with. But this problem is just going to be like a sore toe. Every time he turns around it’s going to be bumping him back, because I trust in Him. I cannot trust in man because man is known to deviate. I was a man of flesh. In the past I did illegal things. But not no more. I thank you for this time you have given me to say what I had to say.
~~~
On June 17 and 18, 1996, Ghost Dancer was tried in Federal Court, Northern District of Mississippi on a charge of money laundering. His crime? A little more than two weeks after the bank robberies in Florida, Ghost Dancer walked into a Mississippi casino. An imposing figure standing a good 6’ 6” inches in his boots and dressed in Native regalia replete with jewelry Ghost quickly caught the eye of the casino staff. Moving confidently toward a Haywire slot machine Ghost had just one thing on his mind – to test a theory he had worked out in his mind to beat the machine. With casino staff standing around Ghost began playing and within a couple hours, sure enough he won a $1600 jackpot. Overjoyed by his success, Ghost happily submitted his correct name and address for the IRS. The next day marked bills from one of the Florida bank robberies turned up in numerous machines in the casino. A few small bills were also found in the machine Ghost played. Casino management called the FBI and Ghost’s jackpot win turned into a twisted railroading nightmare of monumental proportions.
At sentencing, the court gave Ghost the option to plead guilty. In return his 5-year sentence would be set to run concurrent to his Florida sentence. Ghost scoffed at that offer telling the court he would not tell a lie about something he did not do.
From Trial Transcripts:
The Court: So, Mr. Johnson, basically you had an offer from the government to recommend a concurrent sentence, which the Court told you it would accept, and you refused it…you refused the plea bargain…You took up three or four days which cost the government a lot of money.
Ghost: Would the Court rather have me lie?
The Court: No, I’m not suggesting that you should lie at all.
Ghost: That is basically what it comes down to, whether a man is supposed to get up and lie to you, lie to the court and plead to something he didn’t do, or sit there and fight the case for justice. One or the other… I think history speaks for itself…I am a man that speaks the truth.
The Court: The jury believed that you were lying and I believe that you are lying…Are you telling me that you would rob a bank, but you wouldn’t lie?
Ghost: If I had robbed a bank, I would have told them…The Court has made up its opinion; that is the Court’s opinion. Everybody has opinions. I live by principles, and that is what matters to me.
The Court: I’m sure you do.
~~~
So in turn Ghost’s 5-year sentence was set to run consecutive, making his total sentence 40 years. Since the federal government does not provide an opportunity for parole, Ghost was in essence given a life sentence for crimes he did not commit.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 2 – Invitation to My Nene Cate
The story I bring to you, dear reader, is about my personal journey and some of the wisdom and insights I have been given over a lifetime. Hopefully my story will resonate with something inside of you and you will understand what it means to be a Southeastern-born, mixed-blood Native American who walks in two worlds. When our inner spirit belongs to our Native heritage, how can we become whole when the ancient traditions have been lost for generations and even our personal appearance does not fit the stereotype.
Now let me properly introduce myself. My name is Ghost, as I am called, or Ghost Dancer. I’m a simple person, or at least, I see myself as that way. I am one who does not like arguments or conflicts, but despite this, my life has been filled with so many conflicts, I can’t even begin to count them.
My parents divorced when I was four years old. They both remarried. I lived most of my early years with my mother, stepfather, and siblings in Ocala, Florida. My dad and his new wife lived in Alabama where both my parents’ extended families had lived for generations and had deep roots in the hidden story of our Southeastern Native ancestry. Living back and forth between these two families during my most impressionable years gave me a broad variety of experiences and influences. I treasure them all and honor the memory of each of my family and friends who touched my life.
From my earliest years, more than any of my four siblings, I identified strongly with my Native ancestors and longed to know them and live as they had lived. When we walk two paths this way, we feel we will never belong, and a big part of who we are is so missing in our lives. We may have tried to fill this emptiness, going through the motions, but so much inner wisdom of our Native ancestors has been lost and replaced by other traditions that no one knows what to tell you or how to teach you to truly connect.
You have a Native heart or Native spirit inside, just begging to come out and to be accepted, freeing you to enjoy your true self. You may have read a stack of books, some written by people who may be full bloods and enrolled in a federally recognized tribe and yet the words don’t feel right, and they may even put down people like you – half-breeds or others with less “blood quantum,” especially those who don’t “look” Native and cannot prove their heritage. Where do you turn?
See, being Native means being true to who you are as you learn the many different layers of life that you truly have within you. We are all special beings, and we all have many special gifts. All we must do is accept who we truly are and begin living it – not just on one day or for a few hours, but every moment of every single day.
Fortunately for me, at every stage of life, I was given the opportunity to meet and learn from many wise elders and participate in experiences that helped me find my way. I was born to be one with nature. This has always been and still is my world. The world of nature is where so much knowledge is learned and taught. Every part of nature, every creation, is simply being the natural self. There are no false faces, no hidden agendas, no lies or deceit, no greed or judgment of others. This is where my heart has always been, no matter the circumstances or where I am.
Like many families here in the Southeast, my relatives and families had lost their knowledge of the old ways: language, songs and ceremonies. I made a pledge to my ancestors and to my family that I would seek and find these and bring them back to us. I prayed and asked Spirit to please help me in this, and I would make sure the knowledge would be shared with my Native relatives, my family, and all people.
Even as a youngster, I was very emotional. I never could stand to see anyone trying to bully or hurt someone smaller, weaker, or handicapped. I had more than my share of fights defending the helpless ones against abusers, but I was always large for my age and very strong, so most of the time this gained me a certain respect. Inside, I always knew my spirit was telling me it was my duty to protect all living beings who couldn’t protect themselves.
As I grew and met different people who influenced and helped me on my path, I was so thankful. My prayers were answered. More than anything, I wanted to know who I was, to learn and to keep alive the old ways of my ancestors. So, I made a promise to Spirit that if I was given those who would teach and guide me, I would use all this knowledge and share it with those who truly want to learn and appreciate the opportunity as much as I did.
I have lived my whole life as Native. This is who I am from my very core even though I may not look like anyone’s idea of what Natives are supposed to look like. Now, to those who are ignorant of the true Native beliefs, this may be a problem, but those who truly walk the nene-cate, the red path, know it is not appearance or degree of blood that matters, but the truth revealed through a person’s own heart and spirit.
This path has not always been easy and there have been many times I felt I would never get to fulfill my promise. In my early teens, I got involved with the American Indian Movement. The experiences I had were a tremendous help to my understanding of who I am as a Native and a human being but would also lead to much trouble for me and my family, and ultimately, decades in prison for me. For many years, living a miserable prison existence, I did not understand my true path in life. I could not figure out why I had to go through all the ordeals, and I often wondered what the lesson was that I must learn. But learn I did.
To find balance on my path and life I learned that I had to let my spiritual walk be in control no matter how difficult my struggle. Spirit did not abandon me. Spirit provided the teachers and helpers I needed through my darkest hours. For this I will be forever grateful; most of all for the love of my precious wife, Cat Dancing, my soul mate, my War Woman. Without her abiding love and tireless sacrifice fighting alongside me, I would not have even survived, much less triumphed over the forces of evil determined to destroy me.
So when I say I walk in two worlds, actually there are three – the Native world and that of our present dominant white culture – are obvious, and everyone who feels this must reconcile where they fit in. But Spirit has guided me through every hardship, every lesson I needed to learn, and for me, walking in the third world – the spiritual world as my Native ancestors experienced it – is where I find peace and love and happiness.
Being put in prison for decades when you are truly innocent is not a life anyone would ever want to go through. Yet I came to understand this too was an opportunity to learn and experience so much more. I have met so many brothers from many different tribes and nations, and I learned from them all. By participating together in all ceremonies and activities, we all shared our own knowledge and learned the ways and songs of different peoples.
Then there were the spiritual leaders who came to visit the prisons, remarkable people such Grandfather Ken Pallis, Grandmother Deloris Tabia Santha, and Black Eagle. Everyone knows “the rock man,” the only man ever arrested for bringing rocks to a prison for the brothers to have for a sweat lodge. I will be forever grateful for the elders from all over who came and spent time with us, to mentor us and teach us both inside the sweat lodge and outside.
In telling my story, I want to share with you my memories of some of the truly great mentors and teachers I have met and learned from during my lifetime. For me to experience all this, and over time, gradually being schooled and prepared by all these elders, I knew they were guiding me and teaching me to pass on to others what I have made my own. This means a person takes what is taught to them and finds their own way of understanding through spiritual searching and stepping into the spirit world and seeking answers to the deeper questions.
As I learned from a wise elder many years ago, there is a difference in understanding something and in knowing something. I began teaching on the outside to those who were searching and seeking respectfully and sincerely. I have continued this in prison by counseling brothers, teaching as much as I can about cultural and religious traditions, and by passing on my knowledge of crafts and physical conditioning. In this way, I’m doing my best to fulfill my promise to Spirit and to my ancestors.
Over the years, I have become known and recognized as a spiritual leader and teacher of Native culture, both in the free world and in prisons, by those spiritual and religious leaders and teachers who are already well known and recognized across the Native nations and worlds. This recognition did not come easily. It had to be earned by living the walk; learning and practicing the old ways of teaching and guiding others.
This is my journey and now that I have been granted a compassionate release so that I might find healing for my own ruined health from years of abuse and neglect within the prison system, I would like to share the full story of my life and much that has happened along the way. I believe it’s important that people truly understand the struggles Native people have had in our prisons and realize that government oppression is just as real now as it has been throughout history. Only by educating ourselves can we hope to create a better world.
I have a dream of one day having a place where all those who have a true desire and loving heart can come to learn and experience the sacred old ways for walking in balance and becoming one with all that is, a place where beauty and love is everywhere. I pray you will walk with me now and I will tell you my story.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 3 – Growing Up in Florida
My mother, born Mary Joyce Beavers, was always a happy-go-lucky person who loved life and loved having fun. She was always a buffer to the world around me and all of her children. We all got our humor, our pranks, and our love of adventure from her. Not everybody has a mom that would ride a motorcycle, go out dancing with you, and put up with someone like me, never knowing what I was going to do next.
Mom was a natural-born singer and musician as are most of her family. Mom taught me how to play the guitar and even how to sew. She was more than a mom to me; she was also a friend I could talk to.
A hard worker, Mom was always dedicated to her family. She was the kind of happy person you wanted to be around. Mom taught us all that love is what matters the most. Even though Mom knew my way of life was different, she backed me, and loved me just the same. To describe my mom is to call her a woman of beauty and love. After her divorce from my father when I was four years old, she married my step father, Roger Weil, and our family lived in Ocala, Florida.
As a child I was always curious and eager to learn. I paid close attention to everyone and everything around me. I was blessed with a very good memory and absorbed everything I saw or heard. When I went to school, learning was all too easy for me. Mom knew I was bored and disruptive in class. They just kept giving me more and more advanced books to study and work to do, mostly sitting in the hall or in the principal’s office. When I learned to read, I devoured anything and everything that interested me.
At the same time, I became keenly aware that often I did not fit in with others of my age very well. I was living in a society that I did not belong in and I felt this even as a child. I knew deep inside that I was Native long before I was even told by my mother or my father. I knew I was different even from my sisters and brother. The blood of my ancestors ran in my body, and it had been calling to me from my earliest awareness.
Note: When Ghost was granted a compassionate release in 2021 the reunion with his family was joyful. He enjoyed many special moments with his mother and sister, Judy as they all made frequent trips back and forth. After Ghost’s surprise arrest in late 2024 on false charges and extended incarceration with no trial, his mother’s health began to fail. When the family notified the BOP of her impending death, their request to allow him to speak to his Mom one last time was denied. epd
~~~
The story of my early life would not be complete without paying tribute to my stepdad, Roger Weil. Here was a man who married my mother, who already had three kids, and took us all in as a package deal. Not many men would do that, especially back then when money was tight. But he did, and he treated us no different than his own kids. He was my Dad in every sense of the word. There were five of us children all together: my sisters, Judy and Jackie and me, and then along came Greg and Teresa.
Roger was the best mechanic I have ever known. When I was very young, he began teaching me all he could about making things instead of buying them. If we needed a tool or machine to do something, he figured it out, and we made something that was just as good, and most times better than what he could have ordered. Dad taught me how to do mechanic work on just about anything from diesel engines to lawn mowers, motorcycles, and boat motors. We fixed transmissions, and he could build a car from scratch from a junk yard. And in fact, we did that quite often. We built our own airboat, ski boat, go carts, mini-bikes, motorcycles, cars, and trucks. We even built our own homes and barns. Every one of us learned about working and doing our part; not just my brother and me, but the girls too.
We all worked, but Dad made sure we had time to have fun. Some of my best memories are the long summers we spent at Half Moon Lake. Dad also took us traveling to far-away places, like the Great Lakes, Smoky Mountains, Chicago Museum, the Smithsonian, the Grand Canyon, and every beach you can imagine.
My stepdad took his journey a few years ago. We all surely miss him, and we will always have so many memories of the good times and laughter. These are what we hang on to – the good things always. I was not there for Dad when he needed me the most, and it hurt me something terrible because he was always there for me. Over the years, no matter what prison they sent me to, he always brought Mom and came to see me. I was not his son by blood, but I was by his heart. He was proud of me, just as I was proud of him. We worked well together. Dad loved animals and he loved freedom. It hurt him so much to see me caged. He hated them for doing this to me.
~~~
Mom’s sister, my Aunt Hazel has always been very cool and supportive of me. As a child she always spoke up for me when this wolf pup got himself in trouble, which for some reason happened quite often. I remember going to visit Aunt Hazel and my cousins, Ronald and Gary, in Alabama. Boy, did they have a lot of cotton fields. I learned real quick I didn’t like picking no cotton. There was a creek and a pond not far from the cotton fields and you can bet you know where I kept slipping off to. I loved swimming. The big difference was the water was muddy and the soil was red. In Florida, the water was either crystal clear spring water, or dark water you can see in. This water had dirt and mud in it, but it was water, so in it I would go, either naked or with clothes, like a young otter ready to play and explore. When Mom got exasperated and started to get on to me, there was Aunt Hazel telling her no, “He is just being natural.”
Aunt Hazel was like Mom and Grandma, they all could sing and play music along with their brother, my uncle David, and they did this all the time. This was our entertainment. We all loved music and playing music. Both her sons, Gary and Ronald, played very good too. Granny played an accordion, organ, piano, and guitar. Uncle David played the guitar and banjo. Aunt Hazel and Mom both could play guitar, organ, and piano. Of course, they all could sing amazing too. Uncle David was the oldest, then Aunt Hazel, Mom and Aunt Kit.
It didn’t make a difference if we were visiting them in Alabama, or they were visiting us in Florida, music and family were important in our lives, and having fun as well. We always worked together, and having that many people at one place, well that takes skills in organizing and being receptive to suggestions. Having my cousins around was like having older brothers, always showing me things they knew. It seemed to me that all the mothers looked after us all as their own kids. That is Native tradition even if they didn’t realize it at the time.
I grew up fast, and I always had an eye for the ladies. Aunt Hazel was always there to counsel me in many matters of life. When she heard Mom scolding me about all my romantic affairs, Aunt Hazel stepped in to school me in making sure I was eating right and taking enough vitamins. Mom was taken aback, but Aunt Hazel insisted, “Well he surely isn’t going to turn all these ladies away, so my eagle needs to take care of himself!” Mom laughed and said. “Ha-ZZZel!” That is Aunt Hazel, always seeing the good in everyone and everything.
Aunt Hazel has always been proud of her Native blood and heritage and has supported me always in my goals and battles for Native religion and culture. Until my recent release from prison, I had not seen Aunt Hazel since 1995, but we are still very close, and have so much love for each other. One thing everyone, especially family, should know is that Aunt Hazel is dependable always, and family is everything to her. We all love her and always will.
~~~
Grandpa Edgar Beavers was a full-blood Cherokee. He was blind and had been since before I was born. He was still kind of wild even then and I came to know him well when he visited my family in Florida and when we visited my Aunt Hazel in Alabama. Grandpa Beavers was a tall man, and I so wanted to grow up to be big like him.
Grandpa was also a wake up for me to know who I was and what I should be doing. Grandpa loved being up late at night. I guess because he was blind, he didn’t mind the darkness of the night and I stayed up with him. It wasn’t always easy, especially in the swamps where we lived at that time. When the mosquitoes were biting me, Grandpa said, “When you want that to stop, I’ll tell you the plant you need.” I told him I wanted to know now. He laughed and told me I had to look for a wax myrtle. I asked what that was, so he described it to me so I would know what I would be looking for in the morning.
Grandpa would talk late in the night, telling me stories of the Cherokee, stories of Selu, the Corn Mother, and so much more. Always, Grandpa said I must never forget my Cherokee history, my blood, and my clan. He instilled in me the knowledge that I had a destiny and a duty, to step up and do what I needed to do. He talked to me as if I were a grown person; he valued my ideas, questions, and opinions. He told me little ones like me all have rights from our people, that we are people too, and many times see things others don’t. Everyone learns from everyone, he said, and when people stop listening to others, knowledge is lost.
Grandpa gave me my first crystal. It was a beautiful power wand crystal, and he taught me how to use it. He spent time teaching me other things too, like the reading of the hands, and how to understand these things, I must practice more and more. He told me about my great grandmother who had these gifts and read tea leaves. Sometimes Grandpa got out his corn cob pipe, and while he smoked he told me about the stars and how the Ani-yun-wiya, or Cherokees, know where they came from. On one clear night, he told me to look for a cluster of stars to the south. I did and he asked if I had found them. When I said, Yes! he told me they were the seven sisters and are called the Pleiades, and we all came from there. Then he told me to close my eyes and feel myself travelling up to them.
Like others had told me, Grandpa talked about how rough it is being a Native when we have to hide who we are. He said people are scared of us; they don’t like to see us because of what they did and they are ashamed. So, they hate us for living and reminding them of what they took from us. Grandpa felt that the majority are influenced by those who have this in their heart but assured me not all are like this. There are many, he said, who have beautiful hearts and I should never forget that.
Grandpa also told me that he could see how different I was than his other grand kids. He said I had a spirit in me that was as wild as a wolf, independent as an eagle, and yet, alone. He sensed my spirit and knew that I was seeing and hearing things that others did not and would never understand. He warned that I must be quiet about these things; that people will fear me and think bad of me, because their own beliefs make them blind to the goodness in my heart. He told me how important it was that I learn how to use my gifts.
So late at night, my grandpa taught me what he knew and how to use what gifts I had been blessed with. He taught me about spirit traveling, which I truly loved. Learning how to walk in the spirit world was a truly powerful experience, and necessary for me to learn these ways. Grandpa might have been blind using normal eyesight, but not using his mind’s eye or letting his spirit free. His senses were attuned even to the air. His nose was like a wolf’s, smelling everything, taking in information. His ears were as sharp as any deer’s. I still remember his words. Grandpa taught me that in life, we can be chained or crippled only if we allow ourselves to be. But we are so specially blessed that if we are lacking in one area, all our other senses and talents kick in over drive and make up for it if we allow them to. He said, “Never say you can’t do something. If you say that, you are crippling yourself from doing anything before you even try.”
Grandpa was a true inspiration. Our time together kept me always wanting to be back in the old days, living wild and free, living as one and in balance with everything. He taught me how to open my heart to the heartbeat of our Mother Earth and to feel the heartbeat of the forest and the swamp. These were special times. With his fingers, Grandpa read the lines in my hands, and yet I knew that was not all he was doing. He said, “You have a powerful gift with your mind; learn all you can and never stop learning.” These words he spoke and the insights he taught, have stayed with me all my life. I was proud of him, and I still am. He knew without saying that I would not be a “Native in the cupboard,” that my spirit would lead me to stand out and broadcast that we are still here. We live and we will continue to live and survive. In those days, I had a tree house way up in an old oak tree. I would lay up there at night watching the stars and talking to all my relatives who were certainly watching all of us.
I’m not saying that I was taught to challenge society. No, I was just to let people know there are thousands who did not go on the trail of tears from the civilized tribes in the south. We lived and survived despite all that was done to us and despite being hunted. Many of our relatives in Oklahoma don’t even recognize us because we didn’t go. But that doesn’t make us any less Native.
My Grandpa Beavers was truly sad because so much had been lost to the people: religion, ceremonies, languages, history, and culture. But this was by design as he told me because it was and still is, the belief of the government, that to take away a people’s language and religion and culture is to annihilate them. These words stayed with me, so I made it my responsibility to learn every aspect of our Native culture, beliefs, ceremonies, songs, crafts, language, and ways of life that I could, and I’m still learning and trying to protect these things for all our people.
Ruby Tiger Osceola
I was a free spirit and very adventurous. Not long after my first experiences with Grandpa Beavers, we went to Silver Springs, which was not far from our Ocala, Florida home. There was a Seminole Village at Silver Springs, and me being me, I was not shy about going to talk to the young boys there. I didn’t understand that the part of the village I went to was private, not a part that the tourists could come to, and my first encounter was awkward because the boys just looked at me like I didn’t have any business there.
An elder woman sitting under one of the chickees watched our little standoff. She motioned for me to come over to her. She looked at me for the longest and then motioned for me to sit down near her. I asked her if she lived there. She said no, she didn’t, but that she visits. She said to me, “Many don’t understand what you are, but I do.” This kind woman said I could call her Grandmother Ruby.
Grandmother Ruby called me a Star Child that day. I asked her what she meant, and she told me a story about the blue-eyed Native children. She said we would be different because our own Native people would look at us strangely and so would other races, but all of us are star children. She explained that we are meant to learn as much as we can and remember everything.
“One day,” she said, “You must pass all this on to others.” She told me life would not be easy, but it would make me strong and help in what I would become. “When others say things that hurt you,” she said, “It only hurts if you let it. Just be you and don’t let anyone stop you from being who you are.” Then she said, “I see you as you truly are – a beautiful heart and spirit. Now go have fun with the others.”
I realized she saw me like no other ever had. This was my first experience with Grandmother Ruby, and her acceptance of me broke the barrier with the kids of the village. I began spending more and more time with them. Much later I came to know who this woman was, and how revered Ruby Tiger Osceola was among the Seminole people.
Even though Grandmother Ruby didn’t live there, her understanding of me opened the door for my acceptance. The village became like my second home and Silver Springs was our playground. During these times I knew I ‘fit in’ and my time playing with the Creek and Seminole boys at Silver springs are among my happiest memories. It was always a big occasion when Grandmother Ruby came to the village. I loved hearing her talk and the stories she told made me feel like I was right there, experiencing it all. I could feel her heart glowing with love for all the people and she had a profound effect on my life.
Grandmother Ruby’s words touched me so much as she looked at me; they vibrated throughout my body. I wanted nothing more than to make this Grandmother proud and love me. Her smile could do that to you. I know I will always do my best to honor Grandmother Ruby and her words to me.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 4 – Growing Up in Alabama
My father, James Johnson, lost his own father when he was fourteen years old. One of a large farm family, he had to work to help his family survive so he never had much opportunity for a formal education. Dad was a hustler though and a worker. He was an astute trader and always had a good sense of business, not trying to get rich, but to do better. As I was growing up, my dad and I didn’t always see eye to eye. We had our conflicts, but it didn’t stop us from having our good times and learning together.
When I was young and went to stay with my dad in Alabama, all my dad’s family wanted me to learn my heritage from his side, and of course, this was intriguing to me. Dad was proud of his Muscogee Creek heritage, and always tried to help me understand the importance of who I was. He told me some about his father, but I wanted to learn much more, so he made sure I had the chance to meet my great aunts, great uncles as well as my Grandmother, of course. I loved learning what they had to tell me, walking on the old lands, going to places that most people have never even heard of.
My Grandma Mary Clemence Doty Johnson was a big part of my life. She was a very tall, large woman for back then. She was considerably younger than my Grandfather, Elish Hedley Johnson, and was still a young woman when he crossed over, leaving her with young children to raise on the family homeplace.
Grandma Johnson was always ready to talk with me, and I loved when she told about my Grandpa. She wanted me to know my Creek heritage on his side of the family and the stories of my people. She told me how a family had taken in his grandpa and adopted him as one of their own and hid him from the militias from Georgia and Alabama. My dad and his sisters, Inez and Mary always told me these stories about my great-great grandfather too, so I would never forget. Grandma and my aunt, Inez could write all the names in the old language. I remember Grandma telling my dad how important it was for him to take me to see all my relatives and all these places.
What I most want to relay about my grandma is that she was all about us all knowing our Native blood, history, and our family ties. She was doing exactly what a clan mother would do in the old days. She made sure I knew my Grandpa Johnson and who all his family were and her side of the family as well. She reminded us all that we are Native and our roots are here in the land. Our ancestors and their blood are still deeply centered right here in Alabama. Grandma instilled in me the honor and respect we must keep flowing throughout each generation.
I vowed to her as I vowed to my Grandpa Beavers that never would I forget; never would I stop learning, so I could bring all these old ways back to our people and all my family as well. Why she picked me out of all her grandkids I have no clue. All my cousins and everyone else were just as capable as me, but maybe she also saw what my Grandpa Beavers did, someone who truly was mule-headed enough not to quit no matter what. I always rebelled when someone told me I couldn’t do something. I don’t know why, I’m just that way. I love to learn and I love pushing myself to always do better. Been a wolf all my life. Love my freedom, more at home in a wilderness than in any home. Would rather sleep on the ground than any bed and I can adjust to any environment. My grandparents both told me that is what our people do – adjust and survive, make use of what is available.
I was in prison when my grandmother passed in 1978. My family members all gave the law their word that I would not be a problem if they brought me to the funeral and I gave my word too. They had me chained head to toe; surrounded by police with guns. I came dressed in a black denim shirt and pants, boots, hair long, and all those shiny chains everywhere. I thanked the police for all the jewelry. When I asked them about taking the chains off – I had given my word – they said no way. Some of the new kids didn’t know who I was, but they were told. Everyone hugged me at the funeral. That was the last time I saw so many of them. Most are gone now. That night, I saw Grandma in my dream walks and we had a long talk.
Dad took me to see my Grandma Johnson’s sister, Great Aunt Leathee, Lethia Emley Doty Horton. Boy, what a joy this was for me. Here was another tall, large woman who lived the old way and knew so many stories and history of our family and our people. She was always loving and took time to make sure that I remembered our history as it was passed down to her. She lived with her husband, Oscar Horton, near Sugar Creek in Blount Co. Alabama. Aunt Leathee, my dad and Uncle Oscar took me to my grandparent’s old homestead.
The chimney and fireplace, and a few other stone walls were still standing. The peaches, plums, pears, and apple trees were all still growing. From the homestead we walked down the mountain side to the Mulberry River, walking through all the corn fields and then down through the cane thicket. As cane cutter rabbits took off in front of us, my dad and Great Aunt told me all the stories they knew of this area. We spent the day fishing while I learned all about my Grandfather and our people’s history. As we walked back, Great Aunt Leathee thanked my dad for bringing me and said she wanted him to leave me there for a couple of weeks because we had lots to talk about, and he did.
Great Uncle Oscar was short and slender, but a strong man. My great aunt was twice his size in height and bone structure, but they were a pair. Up before 4:00 AM every morning, there was work to be done, teaching me different things, such as how to catch those cane-cutter rabbits which she loved cooking. She made gravy and biscuits to go with it. Aunt Leathee also wanted me to meet others of my family, so Uncle Oscar took us around introducing me. Many were very distant related, but to us, as Aunt Leathee said, family is family no matter how distant.
Like my dad and many of my family, Aunt Leathee strongly cautioned me that I must hide what I was. The fear and prejudice was still strong as it had been in the southern states since the removal. Laws were still on the books that made it illegal for a Native American to own land, have a job or anything else. She warned me that it would be really easy to wind up dead because of who I was; practicing Native religion or just being Native at all, was putting a target on my back since there were still laws that make it legal to kill an Indian in some places. My problem was, and still is, I don’t like bullies and I refuse to let them scare me.
Great Uncle Warren Doty was a peach farmer. He lived on a beautiful farm and grew some mighty tasty peaches. He had a garden in the back of the house and huge orchards spread out all around. He loved for my dad and me to come and we all hunted together. He sure loved to rabbit hunt. I asked him once why so much rabbit hunting. He said because they are so much harder to see and hit. Then he laughed. That laugh was a joy to hear. Like several of my great uncles, he loved to whittle and he had a favorite spot up under a big oak tree near the barn. Uncle Warren didn’t talk a whole lot; he expected you to watch him if you wanted to learn something. He said the only true way to learn something was to jump right in and do it. I asked, what if I make a mistake or did something bad wrong? He answered, “Well you learned from that didn’t you? And I know you won’t make that mistake again.”
Uncle Warren had a way of looking at you to let you know that you weren’t thinking straight. One day he asked me if I had ever sneaked up on a deer and touched it before it knew I was there. I told him I knew how to kill one with a knife. He looked at me sideways then; said he had never seen or known how to do that. I said, well we are even, because I haven’t been able yet to pet the deer before it knew I was there. I had come close, but not actually touched the deer while it was standing there. I had touched one while it was sleeping, but that doesn’t count.
Then I explained to Uncle Warren: See if you pet a deer while it is feeding, it will be so surprised it will jump straight up in the air, and like the road runner, when its hooves hit the ground it is gone. The only reason I don’t tell you how to kill the deer with a knife is that I don’t want people trying this without knowing exactly what they are doing. Deer can tear you up pretty bad if you don’t do this right. But this is the old way young warriors proved their skill and patience at hunting. This was the deer whose heart and a choice piece of meat would be offered to the fire for a good hunting season and bring honor to the deer people. During certain moons, the whole deer would be offered.
Uncle warren asked who had taught me those old ways. I looked down because I didn’t know if he would understand that I had been shown these things in my spirit traveling. He reached out and smiled saying, “I know, don’t worry, it is okay. Some may not understand this about us and many of our own family do not have these gifts, only because it is buried too deep inside of them. They have taken on new beliefs. Never be ashamed of your gifts and how you believe.”
Uncle went on to tell me that I honor all the family by being myself. He said that even though he didn’t live or believe as I did, he respected that in me. He said my dad had talked to him and explained how headstrong I was. Then he asked me to listen to him and gave me the same warning, that there are many who would hurt or even kill me if I openly say things about my beliefs or the abilities I had – up here in the mountains, or in this whole state. His advice was for me to do what I believe, follow my path, but don’t broadcast this out to others. He told me that many of our family still practice the old ways, but none of their neighbors would ever even know it. We keep these things private. He looked at me and asked if I understood why. I told him, yes, I knew why. Then he said he thought it is wonderful to be so proud and loving all our ancestral ways, and he encouraged me to always do so. And I always have. Uncle Warren’s words were wise and I have tried to do just that.
Maw-Maw Jaybird
I have been blessed with many people who have helped shape and guide my life. None as much as Alma Jacobs, known to everyone as Maw-Maw Jaybird. When I first met her, she was already ancient – at least in my young eyes – and yet so full of life still. I have no clue as to her age, but she was blind and had been for years. She was a widow and lived in the mountains of northern Alabama. Two of her daughters were still living at home with her, but some of her children were married and gone.
One of her daughters, Jewel, was my stepmother. She had married my dad and they spent a lot of time at her family home place, so this mountain-top farm became my second Alabama home when I was with my dad. I will always remember the first time my dad took me to Maw-Maw’s old homestead. There was no road so to speak; we drove there in a pickup and it was still rough getting there. When I first saw Maw-Maw, I couldn’t believe it. Here was a woman I was told was already old and blind, but she was out working in the gardens and I could see no sign that she could not see. She was working and pulling weeds with her hands faster than the two ladies also working in the garden.
When I got out of the back of the pickup, they waved at me. I waved back and they all started coming up the hill towards us. I didn’t know what to expect, but I surely wasn’t ready for what I saw. Here was a woman still limber, and walking like a panther – fluid, effortlessly – and without help where she was going. She was a very small woman; no more than maybe 4′ 8” or so. I was a boy and was already taller than she was. Her hair was braided and wrapped around her waist several times.
Maw-Maw Jay Bird walked up to me and said, “Let me see you child!” She reached out her hands to touch my face. She saw me through her touch. She felt across my shoulders, chest, back and arms. She held my hands and she just glowed in my eyes. When she finished, she introduced me to her daughters, and this began a learning time, a truly amazing life and meaningful experience for me.
Maw-Maw loved having me there. She taught me all kinds of things, and I was all eyes and ears. The garden was made in tiers around one side of the mountain; the other side was all planted in corn. At the top, the homestead was all flat. She had guineas, pheasants, peacocks, and all kinds of chickens on her property. She had a mule, hogs, a milk cow, and some beef cows. Working with animals and birds came natural to me and all of them knew it too, because I loved them all.
The chickens roamed free and ate a lot of bugs. They served as our pest control in the gardens around both sides of the mountain. We raised them for the eggs and for more chicks. My dad also raised gamecocks, fighting roosters, for selling or trading.
There were all kinds of wildlife too: deer, turkey, mink, raccoons, and groundhogs all over that mountain. Poke salad grew everywhere, and we had apple trees, muscodines, peaches, plums and pear trees.
Maw-Maw had the meanest, biggest dog I have ever seen in my life. That dog guarded the chicken house and the smoke house, and never left that area unless she called him. No one could go near that dog but her and it was bigger than the black bears that roamed around the area. Every animal and bird knew her. She loved them all and they all loved her too.
We had no electricity, no plumbing, no modern anything. Everything was like in the old days – a wood stove, outhouse and water well. We climbed down in the well to place our butter and such to stay cool beside the spring water. There was a crank with a rope to bring water up from the well. Our clothes were cooked and scrubbed clean in a big iron kettle in the yard. Then they were rinsed in a wash tub and run through a wringer that we turned by hand.
We had a wagon, corn crib, tack shed, and plenty of hard work to go around. Protecting the garden became my responsibility. My job was to make sure the rabbits, deer, bears, or anything else didn’t eat the garden up. There was good fishing in a creek and a small spring-fed lake on the backside of the mountain, so we had everything we needed to live. It wasn’t just the work or responsibilities or knowledge about these things that was so special.
What I loved most were the stories and all the things Maw-Maw taught me about the old ways. I learned about all the different plants she made poultices and medicines from, how to prepare them and when to gather them. Her nose was like a radar; she could smell plants and roots. She would test me, asking what I could see and had me describe them to her. Then she would tell me what each was good for. She also taught me about the moons and how they affect all things. With the help of her daughters, Maw-Maw was a college of knowledge for me to learn from.
Going to town in the wagon was a journey, and I learned to never think that because she was blind she didn’t know everything around her. The only time I knew she was nervous was if a bunch of people were around and she had to move through them. I asked her about it and she said, “I don’t have a problem moving through, I know where I’m going; problem is they don’t know where they are going!” I laughed till I cried.
Night time was story-telling time when Maw-Maw and her daughters schooled me in the old stories and ways. In bad weather, we stayed in and did things that needed being done, and my schooling continued. They loved me as if I were their own.
Even when I was grown up, they still lived that same way. I will cherish their love, teaching, and all the knowledge they gave me. I pray I can always live up to what they believed in me and all that was given for me to do.
Jewel
Like all her family, my stepmother, Jewel was very much a country girl. She loved all the animals and birds on the farm, and I loved her. I remember she would go fishing with Dad and me, walking all day long down in the creeks and rivers fishing, and cat-fishing at night and her having a thrill of excitement every time she caught a fish.
Jewel always made me laugh, never intentionally, it was just her way. She was Doris Day and Lucy combined. Jewel was always very watchful over me; trying to keep me tamed down and civilized. Yes, she tried. I remember one evening about midnight, I was outside the house in town, talking with three young ladies. Now, I admit we weren’t talking about any school work, but Jewel didn’t even ask. She came out with a broom and went to chasing those girls around calling them young hussies. Then she grabbed me by the ear saying, you are way too young to be seeing those type of “young ladies.” I didn’t think so, but my ear needed saving, so I followed where she led me; back inside the house.
Jewel loved to cook, and we always had plenty to eat from the farm and vegetables from our big garden. Jewel loved all of us as if we were her own. My mom loved Jewel too. She knew Jewel would do all she could to look after us.
Later, when I was in jail, each week, no matter what kind of weather, Jewel used to walk to come see me on visiting day. Like her mother, Maw-Maw Jaybird, and so many others, Jewel was a big part of my life. Her laughter, her innocence, and her incredible will power made a big difference in teaching me about life. No matter what, Jewel was always willing to believe in me. She never let what the government or police said ever sway her. I remember, she always said, “I believe in you because I know you and your heart.”
~ ~ ~
My dad most loved raising hunting dogs which he kept at Maw Maw’s homeplace. We had all types, and we worked together to train them to be their best. Mostly he had 18-inch and 24-inch beagles, but also, he had blue tick, redbone, walker and feist. Now, the beagles we trained for rabbit, squirrel, and deer. The blue tick and walker we trained for deer and raccoons. The redbone and feist, mostly for squirrels. I never helped him train dogs for hunting birds, though. When I was very small I had a dream about the birds who were led by the eagle. In my dream I was told they would always be my helpers; they would protect and teach me, but I must never hurt a bird or eat any of its flesh. As long as I listened to them and honored them, they would always be my helpers. To this day I have kept that covenant.
Mostly we trained the hunting dogs during the spring, starting them as pups, and then later during the hunting season. When training dogs, it is important to always make sure you get the pups to understand what you want then to do or what to hunt for. Usually we used an older dog to help them along when we worked them.
When Dad had a serious buyer for some of his young dogs, he would usually take them along on a hunt to see how they performed. I remember one time when I was about ten, we had some young coon dogs my dad was selling to some people out of state. We took the dogs out at night to show the buyers what they could do. My uncles, Ellie and Curly came with us to hunt coon on my Great Uncle Oscar’s and Great Aunt Leathee’s place in Blount county. Uncle Oscar went with us too. We hadn’t turned the dogs loose more than five minutes when Blue, our old lead dog, caught a scent and bawled out and we sent the other young dogs to him. After a good run and hunt, the old boar coon had made it to the river and was in a tree out over the river. The dogs were in a frenzy, and the buyers were very happy.
My uncle Ellie told me, “Go up that there tree and shake that coon out.” I looked at my dad and he nodded for me to do just that. So up that tree I went like a squirrel. The coon just kept getting farther and farther out over the river on that limb. I started shaking the limb and then stomping on it with my feet. That old boar got tired of that and he came at me like a true warrior. He jumped straight at me and we went to fighting. Out of the tree I fell with coon biting and clawing me right into the river and the dogs just going crazy. The dogs jumped in the water and started biting my clothes and pulling me in all directions while the coon sat on my head hissing at the dogs and scratching my head with his claws. I went under to get the coon and the dogs to let go. The coon did and swam away, but the dogs didn’t. They had me stretched out in every direction.
I could hear my uncles encouraging, calling the dogs to hang on and my dad hollering, “Don’t let the coon get away!” The buyers were all laughing, and I was just trying to keep from hurting any of the dogs and not get them drowned. Finally, I pulled all the dogs under with me and went to the bottom. Most of the dogs let go except old Blue. He had his teeth locked into my shirt, so I surfaced and pulled him to shore with me.
Soon as the dogs spotted me, here they came again. I had had enough of this, so I let out a real loud panther scream. That stopped them dead in their tracks and they went to whimpering. Most folks don’t know this anymore, but a panther’s scream is quite awesome, and will send chills up grown folk’s spines even.
Old Blue went limp. So, I had to help him. Everybody was busy gathering the dogs up and all laughing, not even knowing poor old Blue was half drowned. I blew my breath slowly into his nose and began pushing on his stomach to get the water out. Kept this up for a minute or two till he puked up all the water he had swallowed. He laid there all tuckered out for a few minutes, getting his breath back before he got up and began walking around. My dad came over and asked me was I okay. Told him I’m alright, just these clothes are pretty tore up and soaked. He laughed and said, “Hey it was a good fight; I knew you could take him, I just didn’t think the dogs would take his side and jump on you too.” He was laughing and so were my uncles. The buyers bought all the dogs except old Blue. He wasn’t for sale.
Dad always made sure I learned as much as I could about living off the land. He taught me how to hunt; how to use a rifle, shotgun, and pistol; how to respect these weapons; to carry and handle them carefully. He also taught me about fishing, farming, preparing meats, preserving meats and vegetables and many other skills. He loved baseball and understood the intrigues of the game and from the time I very young he was teaching me to pitch like a pro. We listened to games at night on the radio and the play-by=play descriptions given by the announcer. My dad really wanted me to become a professional player, but that was never my goal.
My dad was proud that he was Native, but kept it hidden from anyone outside of family. Like all my relatives, he told me we were not supposed to still be alive and living here; that it was illegal for a Native to work or own property, so they all kept it quiet. As I got older and more vocal, he tried very hard to keep me quiet. He was frightened and always told me what they would do to me, but I was hardheaded and determined to make it known who and what I was. I would surely be tested for this and would pay dearly. I wish I could hug my dad and tell him I love him.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 5 – Athletic Skills & Training
My dad first started playing ball with me as soon as I could walk pretty good and from then on I was in for lots of learning. Even after my parents were divorced, my training continued whenever I was with my dad. First he taught me how to catch the ball, then fielding the ball, and then throwing the ball. He always had lots of patience with me and I enjoyed the challenge of learning. From an early age Dad taught me many finer points such as using my body if necessary to block the ball from getting around me, how to position my body to go in any direction at the crack of the bat, and to throw the ball from any angle and position with accuracy. He taught me how to hold and swing the bat for the best results, to watch the ball leave the pitcher’s hand and to time the ball for the perfect swing.
Now I had a huge advantage over most kids my age. Not only did my dad live and breathe baseball and all sports generally, but I was always taller and stronger than my peers and my dad made sure I practiced at least two hours every day. He provided me with lots of equipment and always made time to practice with me. He even bought a special piece of training equipment that had very tight webbing with a strike zone designed in it. Even when I was alone, this allowed me to practice throwing the ball everyday all by myself and get more accuracy using either hand. The net would send the ball back flying to you. or it could even send the ball flying high up in the air to help you practice catching fly balls and learning to judge distances, trajectory and angles. No matter what position anyone plays one thing you have to develop is an instinct for understanding a person’s stance, bat speed, and the type pitch and location so you can always anticipate where the ball will come from. As a pitcher I could manipulate where the batter has to hit the ball – if he was able to hit it!
I spent time every day practicing year around, training my body in strength, hand speed and coordination. Balance is key. Not only was I training for baseball, but for all sports. I played basketball, football, track and field including long-distance cross country running, shot put, discus and javelin. I also trained in yoga and martial arts – judo, karate, aikido, budo, and kick boxing. I worked hard doing all types of manual labor which helped tone and define my muscles and body. Swimming was another favorite of mine and when I was sitting around at night I would constantly be squeezing a hand gripper to strengthen my hands even isolating each finger to strengthen them much more than other folks would consider doing.
My dad not only helped shape my athletic life but supported it in every way. From Pee Wee up through Pony League, Dad even had my team mates come to ball fields and helped us practice as a team. He helped all of them develop their skills at their positions and in batting too. He bought equipment for all of us and we kept it at our house. This way we could fully equip a practice game anytime we wanted to.
During the times I was back in Florida with my mom I would continue to practice. Living in Ocala, I even had the opportunity learn from all the pro baseball players who were there for spring training. These guys were awesome and they always took time to speak and help any kid who wanted to learn or talk to them. Yeah, I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to do these things. My step-dad owned a garage and several of these professional baseball players were his customers so I really was lucky to get to meet them one-on-one. When I went to the spring practice fields they would invite me in to meet their team players and here I was actually learning from some of baseball’s greatest hall of fame players.
I could go on and on about who they were but what is important is that these men had hearts of gold to teach kids like me to really become something special like they were. Just so you know, my skills and abilities did not go unnoticed. Even while I was in junior high school, I was highly sought after by colleges and pro team recruiters. Once I was playing at high school level and still performing beyond their understanding or expectations of someone my age, the recruiters really were wanting me to commit to each of them and what they wanted. My dad was my buffer. I would just tell them they needed to talk to him not me.
Now most folks don’t push themselves to truly train but I understood even then that it really takes a strong will, dedication and discipline to work out and train to become the best you can be. So with that in mind remember that I dedicated my life to being a true warrior and athlete to be the best I could be. Training and working out came easy to me. I was born athletic and my body responded naturally to all these things. Genetics and being from a big, strong-bodied people with a strong commitment to compete in almost anything helped a whole lot. I was so fortunate to have had people in my life’s walk that helped shape, guide and influence me.
After I quit school in the tenth grade and set out on my own I worked a regular job but also had a side handy man business for folks who needed something repaired, built, painted, and doing all types of cleanup, landscaping and lawn care. Once I was doing a job for a man whose brother was the assistant defensive coordinator coach for the New Orleans Saints football team. This man was at his brother’s house and they kept watching me work. Finally the two of them came over and he asked if I had ever played football. I told him yes, I played football in junior high and high school. He said he had been watching me and could see that I was very strong, I moved fast and had good balance. As it turned out, his brother had seen me play in school games and called him about me. That was why he was there.
Now at that age I was already 6′ 6” and weighed about 205 lbs., all lean hard muscle. He asked me if I would be interested in going to try out for the New Orleans Saints? What could I say? Yes I would love to do that. He never even asked me my age and yeah, I was under aged, but most folks would never know that. Anyway I went to training camp and actually made the team; they were very excited about having me playing defense for them. Then they called me into the office to talk business and asked if I had an agent and would I sign a contract. But there was a caveat; they said there would be conditions. I would have to cut my hair and I must lose the Native American persona. I always wore my Native regalia – jewelry, and buckskin clothing and moccasins or beaded Native designed shirts. They said that the NFL rules did not allow these things. (Boy, funny how the league has changed over the years isn’t it LOL!) So, I told them thank you but I could not agree or do any of that. I walked out the door and never looked back or contacted them again. Basically the same thing was said and done in baseball as well.
Later on I did play against many NFL All-Stars and Hall of Fame players. This was in the 70s in what was called the “Pig Bowl” in Alabama – the Cops versus the Cons. This was back when I was first incarcerated in the State of Alabama. Every year our Cons team always beat the Cops. They couldn’t have us continuously embarrassing them; it tarnished their image and hurt their propaganda reflections of all prisoners. So they found a way to get around the problem. They would have college and pro football players come in during the off season and for $25 they could become auxiliary police officers. This allowed them to be eligible to play in the game. Didn’t matter, we still beat the pro players.
This game was actually played in Hamilton, Alabama and as far as I know it is still being played every year for charity. I remember one game being filmed and broadcast by ESPN from Las Vegas in the 80’s. Yeah there was lots of gambling involved on this game. You might remember Burt Reynolds in “The Longest Yard.” That movie was based on the Pig Bowl in Alabama though the movie was actually filmed in Reidsville, Ga. at a prison there.
Throughout my 42 years in prison, playing and coaching sports would always be a big part of my life.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 6 – Intellectual & Spiritual Gifts
I do not remember when it was actually that folks started noticing that I had exceptional memory and learning abilities but I was very young. My Grandpa Beavers made sure that I understood how important it was for me to remember everything I saw, heard, felt , and sensed each and every day. He impressed on me how important it was for me to learn and try to keep learning everything I possibly could for one day he said I would need to be sharing all these things so they won’t be forgotten.
My mom started me way ahead of school so when I started 1st grade I could already read, write, do arithmetic and such. Yeah we ate lots of fish in our diet back then too so that surely helped my mental abilities. We kids didn’t go to kindergarten. I’m not even sure if they had things like that back then. I do know none of the other kids in my grade could do the things I could. By 5th grade, I was already doing advanced class work. They gave me an IQ test and were shocked that I scored 147. I was tested again in the 8th grade and my score was 185. By then I was doing 11th and 12th grade high school and higher work. With a photographic memory, I had nearly 100% retention of everything I read, or observed.
I loved to learn and I loved all the sciences, mathematics, history, and such. I stayed in a classrooms up till the 8th grade my classes were all with seniors and I was already doing college courses. When I went to high school they decided I was too much of a distraction and just assigned me to the principal’s office where the vice principal provided me with higher college level course materials to study.
When I finished the 10th grade I had already taken all of the college courses available to me. The principal said they really didn’t have anything else to teach me. I asked him then to go ahead and let me graduate; I was certainly ready to move on. Looking back, I still can’t believe that he actually said no, that I needed to stay in school and play sports because the school needed me.
So I quit school and wound up getting married. It was a shotgun wedding because a girl’s father accused me of taking advantage of his daughter. In those days forced marriage was the only way to deal with such accusations. Since I was under age my dad took me to Iuka, MS and told them I was older, that my license had been taken by the court, so at age 15 I ended up married. While I was working the all-athletic coach for the high school pleaded with me to come back to school and play sports. He said they would help me make money to support my family. I declined. I was still upset that the principal would not allow me to graduate. See I had a stubborn streak in me back then and felt it was wrong and I would show them for not giving me the credit I felt was due to me or even cared about my academic potential. As for my own dreams, I had seriously thought I would like to become a scientist or a medical doctor, but here I was and this was certainly not a good start for a promising scholar.
After I went to prison, my quest to learn and to share my knowledge did not end. I would love to tell you about some of the people who really helped me. I remember Law Professor Hand who came into the prison to teach law classes. This man expected 100% from you or you got a zero because in law you either win or you lose; there is no in between. He pushed me to really learn to understand the law and how to apply it. Thanks to Professor Hand I was able to file and win so many things in courts. I kept up with him after the classes and thank him for being so tough on me.
Another man who was very helpful in my higher education was Dr. Peter Astrabuck [sp] who was the U.N. Ambassador from Austria in the 80’s. He opened doors for me to many college professors, colleges and universities in Europe and through them so much buried information became available to me. I was fortunate enough to meet people from France, Austria, Scotland, England, Belgium, Netherlands, East & West Germany, Portugal, Spain, Poland, Italy, Rome, Russia, Czechoslovakia, Egypt, Turkey, Israel, Jordan, Iraq, Rhodesia, Nigeria, Japan, China, India, and Hong Kong. My mind was so very hungry to learn many different things from Ancient history, medicine, sciences, engineering, architecture, and all the world religions and cultures. All these people helped feed my hunger for knowledge.
I also want to speak about Terry C. Johnston, who researched and documented so much history of the American west as a historical fiction writer. Terry was instrumental in getting me to start writing things down. He became my friend first as we both loved history. He loved picking my brain on traditional native ceremonies, thought processes, regalia, histories, religions, and culture when portraying Native people in his books. He always sent me a personally autographed first printing of each book he wrote. He also had his writer friends send me their books and communicate with me too.
Terry always encouraged me to write about what I know and what was happening in our legal struggles with the prison system. Terry personally helped by paying for airplane tickets and motel rooms for many of my expert witnesses for court in our struggles for our right to pray and practice our religion in prison. Others such as Joseph Bruchac https://josephbruchac.com/ who wrote many books on Native culture, became my friend and helped by providing me more books and encouraging me to write for numerous native newsletters and newspapers. I began writing for Eagle Wing press, Bejouwin, Oh-Ta-Kin, Four Winds, and many more.
Over the years as my body of knowledge grew, I had the opportunity to work with Native American college professors, museums, archaeologists, and historians, helping them learn more about ancient pictographs, belief systems, customs, artifacts, languages, etc. I loved teaching and still do. Just a few years ago I was asked to work with April Gardner who writes romance novels. She was working on a series set in the 19th century south and wanted guidance on making her portrayals of Creek and Seminole people culturally authentic and in a true light as human beings. April’s stories opened up her readers up to a whole new view of Native peoples, culture, beliefs, ceremonies, etc. I’m so very proud of all her hard work. Thank you, April for your dedication, friendship, and help. I truly appreciate all her books and she has sent me copies of each one. I was always taught to share the knowledge and teachings with all who wanted to learn so these things will never be forgotten or lost.
Now one thing I need to mention is the fact that I was born with certain other gifts that are much harder for people to understand. Though this came natural to me, I had to learn to accept it myself and surely needed to keep quiet about. Grandpa Beavers and my elders understood my abilities to know and see things most people cannot see. They always warned me to be quiet about these things for ignorant folks would fear me and claim I was possessed or did the work of the devil. See I lived in the south where churches with a variety of narrow beliefs controlled every community. Their prejudices about what I could do could literally get me killed. I guess those folks didn’t read their bibles very much. There is so much written about ones in the bible who could do what I do and yeah their own people killed them too. So yeah I had to keep these things quiet from others.
Now I have a gift of connecting with all types of animals and the ability to “read” people, seeing things others do not see. I also have the ability to travel to the spirit world which has helped me in so many more ways than most folks would accept or even understand. Most everyone has heard of people with unexplainable special gifts such as Edgar Cayce. Some people who have near-death experiences speak of leaving their body and being able to look down and watch medical teams working to bring them back to life. Spirit travel is like that, only with the ability to let the spirit leave the body and travel through time, distances, to see and learn things directly from the past, old ways and wisdoms that have been lost through the events of time. Among traditional Native cultures, individuals with these gifts are honored. In Muscogee Creek culture, such people are respectfully recognized as Keethlas or Knowers.
Doing these things does come with responsibilities, rules and a cost. It takes a toll on your body and your life; it changes you from most folks and requires a high level of self-discipline. People with this gift must learn to put up self-protective shields and to quiet the mind so as to tell the difference between the spirit world and the physical world and which dimension or plane of existence you are actually dealing with. This all comes with practice, practice and more practice.
My elders on my dad’s side of the family accepted this as did my mom and Grandpa Beavers. My sisters and brother accepted this about me and even some of my cousins. Others, well I tried my best to be careful to not let them know. Later in life I openly practiced this ability doing psychic shows and fairs all across the country. I even worked for some Hollywood and music celebrities doing readings for their programs and was once invited to the Edgar Cayce Institute in Virginia Beach VA.
I understand why most people scoff at things such as this that they simply do not understand. Too many today, just as many I have met in my life, are just fakes and frauds. These are people with no morals, discipline, training, or experience yet they take advantage of the gullible and people desperate to find solutions to very real problems. People believe they can read a book and actually be a reader of people or tell someone’s future by a casting of the cards or such. Truly gifted people know that much more is required and you must practice to develop your gifts.
There are also rules placed on you by Spirit and all spirit helpers you may use or contact; this takes a toll on you and your life. I still help others if they ask. My gift is strong, better than it ever has been. I’ve had the experience of a lifetime, and I still practice and learn even more every day. I haven’t done a show in years, but most surely these sacred gifts have helped me in numerous ways to endure the tribulations of prison and to help other inmates along the way.
Part One – Walking in Two Worlds
Chapter 7 – Sanctuary in the Wilderness
I have never been an indoor person and no matter where I have been or lived, being in the swamps, woods or mountains is where I truly find my inner peace and re-energize my whole being. In wild places I can truly connect to all things, open myself up to feel all the life forces, energies, spirits of all life beings and everything. In these places where everything is real, true to what it is, is where I can truly become One with our Creator, and all that exists.
Nature allows you to truly be in the presence of Spirit. Because Spirit only comes and truly works and speaks with you in the most sacred of places, and truly sacred places are made by Spirit, not by man, and have not been polluted, contaminated, corrupted, or manipulated. These sanctuaries help provide the one-on-one experiences we each need to cleanse ourselves of all the negative energies, problems, and outside influences that so distract us.
In nature what you see is what you get. Now in saying that you must realize that beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. Many see the wilderness as a terrible place with no conveniences anywhere, just hardship, danger, harshness etc. What folks don’t understand they fear and when they fear something they stay away from it or they want to destroy. It is all on each of us to be able to see real beauty and love what is there.
All my being is always connected to these places no matter where I am. I feel so alive there, so at peace and connected to all my relations. Yes, I said relations for the One who created all of these things created all of us too. So we are all related. We are not above or below any other being. Unlike many folks, I understand that no matter what, this is where all spiritual awakenings truly come to life with higher enlightenment. Every true religious teacher throughout history first went to the wilderness to gain the enlightenment, knowledge and gifts to bring back with them. Likewise, in Native traditions, this is required of us all because it truly is the way.
Since my earliest childhood growing up, my relationships with most people have been a paradox. I have always been assertive and a doer, a hard worker, often taking on burdens that were not mine to carry. I cared about people and wanted to help others and somehow held the belief that I had the duty and responsibility to save the world. On the other hand, I was also naïve and easily duped, not realizing I was leaving myself open to people who cared nothing about me but would use me and take advantage of me. Very often I felt overwhelmed, and seeking refuge from my hurt, I would retreat to the wilderness.
Nature is simple in just being itself. There are no fakes, no deceit, jealousy, hatred, lies, prejudices or insanity. In nature my spirit was healed; my inner peace came alive. Be it on a mountain, at a beach by the ocean, river, lake, creek or springs, even a desert, these magical places always provided all I needed to calm my mind and spirit, allowing me to refocus, re-energize, and reconnect to everything.
I have always known that I am different from everyone else; that I did not fit in, that I think differently, act differently, live differently than they do. I see things differently than most folks. I really didn’t have much of a childhood. My days were filled with lots of responsibilities and I never fit in with most other kids. The one big exception was all the Seminole / Creek kids I grew up with at Silver Springs. We had so much in common and the adventures we had together playing in the swamps, swimming in the spring waters and playing tricks on all the tourists stand out as some of my fondest memories. This is where I came to realize that my heart and spirit knew I must be with my people. Here I was truly happy and fit in. Here I did not have to hide who I was. I could just be me.
Throughout my adult life, I still have never fit in with society or most civilized things. I’m still just as wild as I always have been. I cannot put on a false face or pretend to like someone, or act like I’m better than anyone or any other form of life. I can’t hate someone just because they are different. In fact I don’t hate anyone. Even those who have used me, tortured me, tried to kill me, ridiculed me, lied about me or falsely imprisoned me. No I don’t hate them. Some say I’m violent. Have I ever used violence? Yes, but only to protect myself, loved ones, family, or others who couldn’t protect themselves and then only enough to stop or prevent more harm to me or others.
Have I gotten upset or mad. Yes I have, but I cannot stay mad. I have a forgiving heart. Just can’t help that and yes, I have sometimes had a bad temper but I’m like a volcano, when it gets upset it just blows up, then calms right down. When I know I’ve been wronged, I may forgive someone but that does not mean I want them around me.
What life and my years in prison have taught me, people generally do what they are taught, and children pick up the same hatreds, prejudices, bad habits, bad ways of life from others. What is sad is most don’t think anything is wrong with the way they act or think or believe. They have never made growth changes in their life so they are stuck on that same cycle as if they were chained to it. How can anyone progress if they don’t step out of their old self and old habits and move forward to evolve? How can anyone grow mentally, physically, emotionally, and most importantly, spiritually, if they don’t step off that road they have been on and make a new way?
We all have choices in life. If we stay still, we become stagnant, polluted, and infectious just as water that sits still does. We must move; we must seek to be better than we are always. Be a better person, more loving, kind, compassionate, giving, generous, forgiving, patient and understanding.
Only those who do the work ever find the true happiness and love they have always been seeking. Only those who seek to know their true selves will ever find themselves. Only those who truly seek to know Spirit will find Spirit. Everyone can do these things but no one else can do it for you. If you truly want something you must reach for it, act for it, ask for it.
When I was a kid my family never worried about me when I disappeared in the swamps, woods, mountains or anywhere. They knew I had the skills to take care of myself. I grew up going into wild dangerous places. We had alligators, quick sand, deadly snakes, spiders, scorpions and insects as well as bears and panthers all around. I was and still am at home in these places. I fit right in. Swimming in shark infested waters or with alligators made no difference. Many animal species will attack when they sense your fear, even your own pets react to any fears you have. They sense it and respond accordingly. I hug trees, and stone peoples. I speak to them just as I would you. I do this with all plants, animals, birds, all life, even insects because they all have life energy and they have feelings too. Just most people don’t see it that way.
I have always had a gift with all of nature. Animals, birds, reptiles, trees, stones, you name it, I connect with it. I understand them. People are the ones I just can’t understand. In my experience, though many wonderful people have touched my life, in general I learned that people are treacherous; they will say one thing but actually mean just the opposite; they will smile to your face but it is a false smile. Some of the happiest and the most painful experiences of my youth had to do with two big-hearted horses that I loved dearly and the treachery of heartless people determined to destroy them and me. These experiences set me firmly on my path as a warrior.
My constant prayer for Ghost Dancer: I pray for Spirit to touch the hearts of all who hear your name, for yours is a story that deserves to be heard. May Spirit touch the hearts and minds of all who speak to you, about you, and for you, in every way, in every situation that impacts your life, for wherever love resides there also peace and justice live. epd April, 2017
Part Two: The Making of a Warrior brings to light the real life struggles of the loving and gifted young man trying to make sense of a world where he felt “out of place, out of time.” Astute readers will understand that the stories of Misty and Sachem are more than just childhood horse stories; they are the very foundation of a warrior’s journey into discovering himself and his destiny in a cruel and hostile world.
Part Two – The Making of a Warrior
Chapter 8 – The Horseman – Misty
The year I turned 13, my stepdad sold our home in Ocala and we bought a small ranch in West Anthony, which is known as horse country. We had plenty of room for pastures, so all the kids could have ponies and pets. Judy and I were the oldest; Jackie, Greg and Teresa were several years younger. Greg and I helped Dad to add a bedroom, bathroom and laundry room to the house. We also remodeled the storage shed into a bunk house for Greg and me and built a large barn that would be Dad’s work garage at home.
We were far from rich compared to some of the ranchers around us who bred and raised very expensive race horses. We grew lots of vegetables, fished and hunted, so we were never hungry, and we never did without. We all loved each other and had fun all the time. Sure, there were tough times, work times, and arguments between us, but we always looked after each other. That is very rich in my eyes. There were times when we may not have liked doing all this work, heck, what kid does. We may not have liked the strict way we were disciplined, but life is not always perfect, and the work made us appreciate life so much more when everything was fun and happy.
I felt a strong responsibility to protect my younger siblings and it was my job to make sure they would be safe around the ponies and horses. I worked with them to teach them to be tough and to protect themselves. They didn’t have my size or build, so it was important that they understood the world was not all nice. Jackie was the most soft-hearted one of all. Never wanted to hurt anything.
Greg, Jackie and Teresa all had pet ducks, our two dogs were both mixed breed strays who needed a home. Then came the ponies and horses we all loved. They became part of our family.
Comanche was an Appaloosa that dad bought at a bargain because the owners were moving. He was a very smart horse and had a good time in the pasture with Star and Snowball, our two Shetland ponies, and Patches, a free spirited pinto mustang. Snowball was a former trick horse at a fair or circus. He was up in his years and had slowed down, so they wanted him gone and we took him in. He was maybe 11 years old. I made nice soft hackamores for all the ponies, so the young ones could lead them. Our pasture had shade trees in the front and lots of open space for them to play.
Then there was Misty
Misty was a beautiful free-spirited mare my dad bought and added to our family of horses. She was Welsh by breed; black in color and had tiny feet. She was fast as lightening and could turn on a dime. Her gait was so smooth I could lay down on her back as she ran and never fall off. I loved all the horses, but I quickly learned that Misty would be special.
From the very beginning, Misty never wore a halter, bridle or saddle. I would not put any of that on her. In all her training, and all the adventures we would have together, our communication was based on signals and pressure from the legs. She never wore iron shoes. I learned to trim her hooves and when her feet needed protection, or we wanted to hide our tracks, I would make leather shoes which tied up high like a boot.
When Misty first came into my life, she was maybe four years old and it was apparent she had been abused. She didn’t trust anyone and would even charge at you trying to stomp and bite. Her side kick was the worst. Having already been working with our Shetlands, I had learned my lessons in dealing with all the dirty tricks. No animal is meaner or sneakier, than an ornery Shetland pony. They may be small in size, but they make it up in heart and energy. My brother and sisters used to watch me work with Star. Half the time they cheered for the pony, laughing at me sitting on my behind. Other times they cheered for me. It was my responsibility to make sure these ponies were trained so they could be handled and ridden, and no one would get hurt.
With Misty, it was love she need the most. I saw the scars on her body. These weren’t scars made by another horse. These were scars inflicted by so-called humans. Now my first task was to get her to understand that I would never hurt her. I knew it would take time for her to even begin trusting me. I remembered seeing in one of my dreams, how an ancestor had gained the trust of a horse. I went out in her pasture, but not near her, and just laid down. I never moved; just laid there. More than two hours in the hot sun, I laid there with my brother, Greg throwing small stones at me trying to get my attention. I ignored him. Curious, Misty began slowly circling, trying to figure out what this two-legged was doing. What was wrong with this two-legged? She kept getting closer and closer. I knew that eventually her curiosity would win. And it did.
Finally, Misty came right up and sniffed me; using her nose, trying to figure out what was wrong. She did just what my dreams had shown me; she used her nose and pushed on me, blowing her breath all over me. I gently blew my breath back at her. This is typical introductions between all animals.
She began pawing the ground showing her frustration in not knowing what was going on. This is when I began sending my love outward towards her and softly spoke, telling her how pretty she was and that I would never hurt her. At first, she jumped back like a cat, but I never moved. She reared up like she was going to stomp me; still I didn’t move. She did land near me, but not too close. I just kept talking, keeping my voice nice and soft. Eventually, she came back over and nosed me again. She looked into my eyes and I kept talking softly.
Slowly I moved my hand closest to her and then reached a little towards her. I could see she was trembling and knew she was as scared as she was curious. For the longest time, I just kept talking to her and ever so slowly, moving my hand towards her. Finally, I gently petted her lower jaw and kept speaking quietly, telling her my intentions of being her best friend; that I would never hurt her, only be here for her.
With my fingers, I began scratching gently under her chin. She closed her eyes letting her head hang lower and I just continued scratching, slowly moving my hand further up her jaw until I could scratch her lower ear. Her body continued to tremble, and I kept right on talking to her. After a while, I slowly raised my other hand and began scratching the other side of her jaw. I raised up a little, letting her nose rest on my chest. I knew if I moved too soon, she might go crazy. I wouldn’t blame her from the looks of her scars. Who could do such a thing?
I spent a long time just sitting up, all the while, talking to her and petting her. When I began scratching her forehead, she loved it, so I continued scratching and talking while I slowly got to my knees. Later, after I had gotten to my feet, I began stroking her neck and back. She began to relax, and I could tell she was enjoying the attention. Barely moving her feet, she would move just enough to get me to scratch where she wanted. I stepped around to her side, slid my hand along her back, and scratched her rump; still talking to her. She tensed a little, watching me very closely, so I moved back to the front, keeping my hands on her. I blew my breath at her softly and told her I would see her later, then slowly walked away.
I wondered if the spell between us would be broken. How would she react? My heart was full of love and I knew if Misty charged at me, it would not be hate for me, but the memory of those who had hurt her. I kept walking towards the gate and could hear her moving behind me. I glanced around and sure enough, she was quietly following. When I got close to the fence, I asked Greg to get a watermelon from the garden. It was time for a treat for doing good. I busted the melon open, then walked toward her holding out a piece, speaking quietly, letting her get a good smell. Cautiously, Misty moved forward, stretched her neck, sniffed and took a bite, all the while, keeping her eyes on me. I laid the rest on the ground, gave her a pat, and then left her alone to enjoy her treat.
The next morning, I brought some carrots with me. Glancing into the pasture, I saw Misty watching me from about 200 yards away. She just stood there while I opened the gate and went into the barn for a curry brush and a salt block. She watched as I filled the water trough and placed the salt block about 30 yards away. Then I held out one of the carrots and softly called her. Her ears were alert, but still she hesitated for the longest time. Then slowly, she started moving towards me, still cautious, but willing to give me a chance. When she got within ten feet she stopped and shook her head, letting me know she was uncomfortable.
I just stood there with a carrot in one hand and brush in the other, talking softly, letting her know she was safe and I was there to give her a very much-needed treat. I let her smell the carrot first; she took it and began eating. I let her smell the brush with the familiar odor of horse. Talking softly, I moved closer to her and began petting and rubbing her. Then came the scratching I knew she enjoyed. Letting her see and smell the curry brush again, I began slowly brushing her neck, then shoulder, then her back. Oh, to say she loved it is nowhere near how well she responded. That brush did its magic wonder and soon I was working her all over; she even allowed me to get near her feet for the first time.
After she was all relaxed, I led her over to the water hose, so I could bathe her properly and shampoo her if she would let me. I was a little amazed when she stood quietly while I gathered my shampoo, conditioners, soaps, and brushes, as though we had done this a thousand times before. I even got out my tools to clean her hooves. This would be done last.
Oh, she loved the cool spring water gently flowing over her as I soaped her up and scrubbed her clean. Working on her tail was spooky at first, but she let me wash it and get the tangles out. She stood patiently while I cleaned the tangles and burrs out of her mane too. Then for a rinse and conditioner working its magic on her mane, tail and the fluffs on her feet. They had all been neglected for so long. I could tell somewhere in her past, someone had brushed her and bathed her. She was remembering and loving it so much. It was good to know these pleasant memories could overshadow her more recent memories of abuse and neglect.
Once Misty was all clean and rinsed, I got out my tools to clean and inspect her hooves. They needed some trimming and she let me do it all. When I was done and started putting everything away, she stood there looking like, is that it? Can’t I get some attention? So, I came back, gave her another carrot, then with a towel, dried and fluffed her mane and tail. Then one more all over brush while I told her how pretty she was and how proud and happy I was for her to come live with us.
After that she followed me around the pasture as I walked and inspected the fences between us and another ranch that had cows and horses. This place was huge and ran for miles down the road behind and our little spread and beyond like a huge box. This rancher really didn’t like our small ranch bordering his at all. Most of the ranches around us were very large with luxurious barns, while ours was just a small place, large enough for a few horses, the house, barn, garage, front yard, back yard and a garden.
Every day I continued to work on building the trust and love between Misty and me. I had not even tried to ride her yet. Greg and my sisters were anxious to ride her, but I knew she was not ready. She had to want to be friends and feel at home with all of them before they could ride her. With each passing day she was becoming more and more friendly and playful, like a young filly, just wanting to have fun, nipping me when I wasn’t looking or doing something just to get attention. She would pick up something I laid down, and when I turned around, she would be running away with it.
Everyone had the chance to help bathe and brush our Misty. She loved looking pretty and clean and we all treated her like a little princess. She loved carrots more than apples, or other treats. She would eat a few pecans, but only because we were. She amused herself, and us, playing with the ducks and the dog. Many a night I would lay down with my head resting on her and pull a blanket over the both of us. I fixed the barn door so she could go in or out whenever she wanted to and taught her how to open the gate to the pastures, so she could go from pasture to pasture on her own.
After months of building total trust, it was finally time to ride her. At first, I rubbed her back, then set little Teresa up on her and walked her around. Later we did the same with Jackie, and then Greg. Finally, I put Jackie and Greg both on her to see how she would handle them double as I walked her around. That went well, so I had her trot with them as I ran beside talking to her. She was a perfect lady, behaving so gracefully. Now the real test would be having me get on her. I talked to her and let her know it was still me as I grabbed a handful of mane and leaned my weight on her back, and then swung myself all the way on. She stood there a moment, getting used to my weight. Then I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go,” while touching my heels lightly to her ribs.
She began a soft lope, not fast, just a gentle half gallop. I tried signaling her with pressure from my legs to see how she would respond. At first she didn’t understand, but we continued to practice until she caught on. This pasture had trees about halfway down in it. Using just my knees, I asked her to weave in and out of the trees. I let go of her mane and just kept talking to her. She was having fun and so was I.
Finally, I told her, “Go beautiful lady, run like the wind,” and Misty took off like a rocket. I had never been on a horse that could run so fast. Her gait was smooth and in perfect rhythm; her small feet barely touched the ground and the wind in my face made my eyes water. Wow! This was magic. I leaned forward, patted her neck and told her, “Slow down girl, catch your breath.” She began pacing herself, slowing until she settled into an easy lope, and finally a walk. I let her cool down some, wiped away the sweat and then instructed Jackie to walk her around for a while, letting her cool down completely before letting her drink water.
This girl could run with any of them. I knew the best couldn’t touch her. Now my next step was to see how much she was willing to learn to condition her. I found a big conveyor thing at a junk yard. Dad and I brought it home and he helped me set up a makeshift exerciser. We also needed two good single trees, a yoke and some diesel inner tubes cut into strips. I hooked a big oxen yoke around a large oak tree, connected the single trees to the yoke and hooked the inner tube strips to the single trees. Next I got a horse collar that fit around Misty’s neck and chest.
When everything was ready, I called misty to come and look over this new contraption. I led her up on the conveyor and took her to the end. Then I eased the horse collar on her and let her get the feel of it. All the time I kept reassuring her that it was all okay. Greg and Jackie helped me stretch the inner tube strips from the singletree to the sides of her collar. She had to struggle to keep from being pulled backward.
Then while I stood at her head, Greg started the conveyor. Misty spooked a bit when the conveyor started pulling her one way while the inner tubes were pulling her the other, and I was telling her to walk towards me. She struggled at first, but soon figured it out. This would build up her strength and was great cardio exercise. I stayed in front of her for about 10 minutes, making sure she understood that she needed to keep walking. I sat down to watch her work and she kept at this the first time for 45 minutes. As she got stronger, I would increase the time and the amount of resistance by adding inner tubes and increasing the speed of the conveyor. Later I would ride her to a place to swim.
Misty’s training had begun. It is one thing to train a horse to run, or to walk a certain way, or even to step high like a walker, or to trot, but when you find an athletic horse that really wants to learn, you help it, just as you would a child or young person. Misty was one of those really rare horses that wanted to learn and I knew this. It was very important to me to keep challenging her to learn more things. I hooked up a bell for her to learn to ring when she needed something. I taught her to unlock her own gate and to close it too.
Now she had to learn to hide herself. When working with any being it is important to familiarize them to specific commands. When they hear that command, they know exactly what you want them to do. Being consistent and giving rewards when they do good, encourages them. A reward can be a head scratching, an apple, or a special treat they don’t normally get. Even something as simple as praise and a hug will make them want to do better and better. I taught her to get real low, then get down and hide.
Everything I did was meant to train Misty as a war horse in the old ways where we worked together. See, traditionally, the horses we trained were part of our force; they hunted, fought and protected us as we did them. I wanted Misty to be part of me and me to be part of her. She could signal me so no one would know and I could do the same for her. This takes time and true trust. We worked on this every day. Many a night I laid down with my head on her neck and talked to her as we looked at the stars. And if it was cold I covered us in a blanket. Misty knew all my thoughts and I believe I knew all of hers. She was a gift from Spirit to be in my life and I wanted her to have the best life possible.
I used to ride her everywhere and sometimes let her loose for her speed runs. Seems we were being watched long distances. We first ran into a problem with the rancher who owned the huge tract of land behind us. He was a cattle rancher, but had plenty of race horses too. One day while Misty and I were out for a run, this man’s son was also out exercising one of their prize race horses. When he saw us across the fence he rode over and challenged me to a race. Misty was all for it. His horse was a lot bigger in height and length, but also in weight. Misty was built for pure speed and her training was already paying off. We took off and raced all out for a mile, leaving them in our dust. After we slowed to a walk and Misty was cooling off, he came riding up cussing and claiming our win was an accident; that his horse had a stone in his hoof. I offered to help, but he just told me to get out of there and went into a rage saying horrible things I will not repeat about Misty and me.
This did not set well with me. I stood up on Misty’s back, launched myself over the fence and snatched him off his horse. Even though he was bigger and older than me, he was no match for this bundle of fury. I had punched his face so many times before he even realized he had a wild man on him. Misty is the one that brought me to my senses. She jumped the fence, pushed me off him, and stood there trembling. I checked my temper, swung back up on Misty and told him to never speak to us again and if he can’t stand to lose, don’t race. Then Misty collected herself, jumped back across the fence, and we were gone.
Two days later the father and some his people showed up and told Mom that I was running the fat off his cows; that I had been seen riding in his pastures. Mom told him no, that I don’t ride in his or anyone’s pastures. He never mentioned my beating his older son up or about the race. Mom told him to leave and they did. Dad wasn’t there so I was the man of the house and what he didn’t know was that Greg and I were both armed with our bows and arrows, ready to defend our mom if these men tried anything.
The next week I was riding Misty down a dirt road, miles away from the house, when someone in a pickup truck tried to hit us. We had gotten completely off the road, yet the truck veered off the road, still trying to hit us. Misty swayed back, and we hit the woods, veering in and out of trees. I did not recognize the truck. Most trucks around there had their ranch logos on them.
After that, nothing else happened for a month or so. Misty and I continued to train every day and just enjoying our lives together. Here was a horse that didn’t think she was a horse. She thought she was one of us. She played with us all and it always seemed as though she enjoyed making everyone laugh. It tickled her if she could pull a joke on someone and she would just dance and kick up her heels and even lay on the ground and roll over and over laughing. We never knew what she would do next, playing with the dog, playing with all the kids and even the ducks and the other horses.
MISTY
Misty, oh Misty, why did you die?
We loved each other so much, I still cry.
I remember the times we shared, all the love and care,
Riding in the wind, running wild and free.
Misty, oh, Misty, please come back to me.
Why, Misty, did you leave me alone?
Without you, I can’t go on.
They say dogs are man’s best friend.
But Misty, oh Misty, they are so wrong.
You are my true love and my best friend.
Now you’re gone, Misty oh Misty,
I’ll be coming to you soon.
You were such a beautiful lady, a delight to see.
Running fast and wild with me.
We shared our hearts, secrets and dreams,
And you never made fun of me.
With those beautiful brown eyes, you would look into mine.
Then you were always there when I couldn’t turn to another soul.
Why, Misty, did you leave me alone?
Without you, I can’t go on.
They say dogs are man’s best friend.
But Misty, oh Misty, they are so wrong.
You are my true love and my best friend.
Now you’re gone, Misty oh Misty,
I’ll be coming to you soon.
Misty, you were horse as everyone knew, but to me you were so much more.
You gave me things I’ll always adore.
The precious memories that we share, the love, understanding, and the care.
Misty, oh Misty, I miss you so.
People won’t understand, but now I must go,
To once again ride with you, feeling the wind in our hair.
Together we will stay, a man and his lady, and we’ll win the race.
Misty, oh Misty, I can’t wait.
Ghost Dancer Lyric ©1986
In Solitary, Holman Prison, Atmore, AL
Part Two – The Making of a Warrior
Chapter 9 – The Horseman – Sachem and Me
After Misty was killed, I went to stay with my dad in Alabama for a while to get a grip on my emotions, then returned to my family in Florida. One day, a man came to my stepdad and wanted to make a deal with him for my services. This man was a horse breeder and owned huge tracts of land in the area. The man claimed that some of his land was still so wild that no one had been in there for centuries. He said there were wild horses on his property and the lead stallion was giving him fits by busting out some of his pure-bred mares and taking them off into the wild.
The deal he proposed was that he wanted me to capture two young studs, maybe 2-year-olds, and train them for him. If I could also capture the lead stallion that was causing the problems, I could have him as payment. The trick was I had to train the two colts to be trotters and to pull a cart behind. Now it isn’t that easy teaching a horse not to run or gallop which is natural, or to pull a cart, but I agreed. My dad made the deal and I fully expected the man to honor it.
So, I went to work on capturing these horses. Now in Florida there are thickets that are just as deep as any jungle in Central or South America, and these horses knew their territory. My first task was to learn their habits, where they went regularly, where they had their drinking holes or pools. Every being has habits and once you know them, then you can make a plan or trap. I spotted the two colts the rancher wanted me to train. They were easily picked out and the lead stallion, well, he was awesome. His character was a lot like mine: fiercely independent, wild, and he held no fear.
Separating the two young studs from the herd wouldn’t be a problem. They stayed together mostly and because of that, I knew I could get them from above. Not once did they look up. I noticed the stallion and lead mare both kept their eyes on the trees. This showed me they had experienced danger from above before, but these two youngsters had not. I got my brother, Greg and my dad to help because it would be a handful to get both of them by myself.
So, we climbed up in a tree in a spot we had identified as a favorite hang-out. Once I had the ropes secured and tied off, all Greg and I had to do was wait until they came close enough to drop the loops over their heads and pull. This is where patience comes in. Greg was young, but he was tough and could get the job done. As any older brother would, I had toughened him up over the years.
When the horses moved beneath us, we were ready. Greg watched for my signal, and when I nodded, we both looped the nooses over the horses’ heads before they even knew it. Now these two youngsters sure threw a fit. The ropes were tied off to oak trees, so we just waited and let them wear themselves out. The herd had taken off, but I saw the stallion still taking this all in and he was not happy. He would never have made the mistake of walking under the trees without looking up from a safe distance. When the colts finally wore down, I took my time walking the rope down to each one, one at a time, and slipped horsehair hackamores on their heads. Then I put hobbles on their legs and we led them away.
Catching the stallion would be a challenge. He would definitely be playing hard-to-get, so I figured on using what is sure to catch every man – a female. I asked the rancher if he had a mare in season and he did. While he went to get the mare, Greg, Dad and I went about forming a natural corral out of brush and rotten trees with a single opening. We fixed a gate which could be closed when the time was right. The rancher brought the female in season; she would be bait for the stallion. I asked everyone to leave except Greg.
First, I showed Greg how to rub pine needles all over his body to cover his scent, then gave him instructions to hide himself and be ready to shut the gate when I signaled him. I tied the mare securely to a large oak tree inside the corral. I gave her a pat to let her know I appreciated her help. Then I gathered my equipment: strong rope, good gloves, and a couple of bolas I had made. Bolas are long strips of connected rope or leather with balls on the end used to entangle the legs of running animals. Then I scrambled up the tree. I took bark from the tree to rub all over myself, covering my scent. I stuck small branches in my hair as camouflage.
Then we settled down to wait for the stallion to pick up the mare’s scent on the wind. We waited and waited. It must have been close to dusk when he finally approached very cautiously. He had the herd with him about 75 yards behind. The lead female clearly didn’t like the looks of this place. She kept stomping her feet and stopping to size up the situation. Greg was watching and knew that when I signaled, he would shake the rattle, like a rattlesnake, to frighten off the lead mare, at the same time he closed the gate.
Our bait female did her part by calling out to the stallion and I could see him becoming more and more fidgety. This response showed she was attracted to this tall beautiful stranger who radiated pure wild power and she was letting him know it. He was letting his guard down, but patience would still be needed. Timing would be important and I had to make sure the mare would not be hurt. She was a very expensive animal and the rancher would have my head if anything happened to her.
Once the stallion came inside the corral and had been smelling the mare up close, he became totally distracted in his excitement. This is when I struck; my noose dropped over his head before he even knew what had happened. Immediately, I jumped out of the tree and rolled. This was the signal for Greg to start rattling the rattle and close the gate at the same time. The lead female spooked, as we knew she would, and led the herd away.
Meanwhile, I had a cyclone on my rope and I knew I had to get control of him quickly. He charged at me; he could easily stomp me to death. I grabbed a bola and threw it at his front legs. The weighted leather strips wrapped up his front legs, adding to his confused anger. I reached for the other bola and kept moving around him as he tried to figure out what I was doing. He couldn’t use his front legs the way he wanted, so he turned his back to kick me. After he kicked, I threw the bola; it missed, catching only one leg. This made him even more infuriated. I didn’t have another bola, so holding the rope, I began running around him; tightening my circle. Then I jerked the rope and it tightened up around the horse’s back legs.
I kept running and winding the rope around his legs; trapping his front legs and back legs. Tension on the rope caused his head to be continuously pulled down. He had put up a fight, but finally, he just stood there trembling. I walked toward him slowly, speaking softly, letting him know I was not trying to hurt him. I signaled Greg to toss me the hobbles and put them on his front and back legs. Then I slipped a halter on his head and ran a rope from the halter to his back-leg hobbles. If he fought, the motion of his own legs would pull his head down.
After the stallion was restrained securely, I signaled for the rancher to come for the mare. He loaded her, then went ahead and left. Greg went to tell Dad to bring the horse trailer. This would be the hard part, getting the horse safely in the trailer. I kept talking softly to him the whole time, letting him get used to the sound of my voice.
It took the rest of the evening to get him in the trailer. He didn’t like my covering his eyes, but he was stressed enough, and the sight of the truck and trailer would be too much for now. He didn’t have much fight left in him when we finally got him loaded, and hopefully the familiar horse smells in the trailer would be enough to keep him calm during the ride home. Getting him off the trailer was not as bad. He didn’t know where he was, and he trembled the whole time, but he backed right out. Slowly I took the hobbles off, leaving just the halter and the blindfold that covered his eyes. When I took the blindfold off, the only thing holding him was the halter and a long rope connected to a 6-feet-long metal stake driven into the ground. I kept talking to him, letting him know that I was there while I made sure his trough had plenty of fresh water and some feed was within his reach. The other two horses had been brought earlier in the same way and were safe in another pasture. Greg and I had a bunk house that allowed us to be near all the animals and to hear them if there were problems. Tonight, I would sleep outside on the roof, so I could watch them all. The stallion would not like being captured and I didn’t want him to hurt himself. I would free him before I let that happen.
Watching the stallion now in the moonlight, I thought about how much we were the same. Two beings out of time, with no place in this modern world. He loved his freedom, being wild, and living by his wits and strength. I saw in him the same way I felt. I was trapped in a world that would never allow me to be who I truly was. My people were no longer allowed to follow the old ways, to believe as our ancestors believed, or to practice those beliefs. They survived in a world that had used diseases as biological weapons, lies and deceit to steal away our lives, lands, culture, language, history and religion. Through mass murder, rapes, and war, my people were driven out.
Only those who had escaped, hid, and ran away during the trail of tears still remained in these areas, and for generations, they had to live in fear least they be found out and hunted until they lost everything. This wild stallion was just the same. He was hunted because he was living free. He was just being what he was born to be. No, I would never hurt him, never break him. I would call him Sachem; he was my brother and I would protect him with my life. He just didn’t know it yet, but he would – one day he would, and we would have good times then. As though he sensed my thoughts, Sachem looked up at me on the roof. Yes, he was watching me too. We were two of a kind, that is what we were. Soon as I got done with the two youngsters, we would begin our journey.
As was agreed, I began working in earnest to train the two young horses. I started with the routine to help them get used to me and my family, and to following directions. Each day after our lessons, I also spent time with Sachem, bringing him carrots, cantaloupes, watermelons, and apples, letting him adjust to this place and to know I was not going to hurt him. I noticed him watching as I worked with the other horses.
Greg and Jackie always worked with the two in training, brushing and handling them. Greg named one of the colts, Rusty. He looked like he was rusting all over when he first came to us. He had cakes of clotted mud and matted hair in his mane and tail. After lots of baths, brushing and grooming, his coat shone liked burnt copper against a jet-black mane and tail. Jackie named the other horse. She noticed when he first came, that he watched everyone like a hawk and his color was red like a dark sun, so he became Sun Hawk.
Rusty and Sun Hawk adapted easily and soon we had them relaxed enough to ride. It took about 4 months to get to two youngsters ready to hook up to the two-wheeled cart, called a sulky, used in harness racing. I worked with them on a long rein to make sure they learned how to move faster and faster at a trot without breaking into a gallop. I didn’t use a whip, but rather a light willow stick to tap them gently, letting them know what I wanted them to do. After every successful workout, I gave them treats and lots of praise.
The rancher would come over frequently to see how they were doing. When they began trotting better and better, and I had gotten them used to pulling a travois, he had the cart brought over. I had never seen one hooked up to harness, so his hired hand explained it to me. He wanted to do it himself, but I told him no, because they were not used to him. Just hooking up the cart would make them nervous enough and they would trust me. So, I asked him to step out and let me work.
I called the one named Rusty to come. I scratched his head, petted him and gave him an apple for a treat. Then I introduced him to this new thing. When he relaxed, I got him to back up and began the process of hooking him up. This went okay and after everything was secure, I kept talking while I led him around to get used to the feel of the two-wheel cart behind him. I led him with a lead rope and then backed off and began giving him verbal commands. He picked up his pace and began his trot faster and faster around the pasture. When I told him to slow down and then stop, he did just as he was supposed to do. The rancher nodded. I let Rusty know how proud I was and gave him another treat to enjoy while I unhitched the cart. Yeah, he loved his apples.
Next, I called Sun Hawk and he came trotting over looking for his treat. His personality was a little different than Rusty and he was more reluctant to adapt to new things. I explained to the rancher that Sun Hawk didn’t like to be pushed, but he would work fine once he felt comfortable. It would just take a little more time to build trust with his handlers. I asked the helper to introduce himself to the horse, and could tell he was not used to taking the time to know each horse and respect their ways. I explained the horse was strong willed and temperamental and this is to be respected or our next step would not be easy. I got the man to keep talking to the horse while I introduced him to the cart. I knew he had been watching his buddy, so he already knew he wasn’t going to be hurt. Now I had the helper hook him up slowly and work with him. Some people don’t like to be told what to do. The handler was like that and I could feel his dislike for me. I said, “Listen, these animals can feel what you are thinking, even your inside feelings. So be careful how you think. Your feelings will affect him.” I noticed Sun Hawk’s tension as he wildly eye-balled the handler. I stepped up and hugged the man in front of Sun Hawk, catching the handler off guard. I told him that he may not like me, but if the horse feels that he is liable to attack.
Sun Hawk performed his tasks beautifully, but I could tell he did not like the handler. He was still tense, and his eyes never left the handler. When he was finished he came to me for his treat. I gave it to him; scratched his head and told him I was so proud of him. He perked up and put his head on my shoulder. I patted and hugged him. He loved my hugs and he could feel my heart. The helper said, “Well, we won’t be doing all that.” I responded, “Listen, don’t you like to be appreciated for doing a good job? He said, “Right,” and eyeballed his employer. I told him maybe he was working for the wrong person.
The rancher said he wanted the horses loaded now. I told him I needed another week of getting them used to other people. He said, no, that these were his horses and he was taking them now. “Load them up!” They were his horses. There was nothing I could do, so I loaded them myself and gave each another apple and hugged them. I knew this wasn’t going to work, but it was what the rancher wanted. After I said my good byes to the horses, I went to speak with the rancher. I reminded him that our agreement had been completed, and he said, “Yes.” I pointed at Sachem and said, “He is now mine.” The rancher said “Yes.” I expected we might conclude our bargain like honorable men, but he would not shake my hand. I guessed he thought I was beneath him. So, they left, and I turned my thoughts to more important things. I walked over to the other pasture, looked at Sachem and I said, “Now big boy, our time begins. Soon you will know that I am your brother and best friend.”
Like me, Sachem was born out of time, out of place, and was trying his best to remain true to his own spirit in a world that would not allow that. He did not know that truly the only reason I captured him was so that the rancher would not have him hunted, shot and killed. Nor did he know that being with me, he could remain free. I would teach him how to live in both worlds as I had to. My goal was to teach him what he needed to know about people, how to avoid problems, and how to truly escape.
My first task would be to win his trust and respect; something he would never give easily. It would have to be earned. This took a lot of time and I worked with him every day, letting him see that I would never hurt him, no matter what he did too me. We had plenty of skirmishes. On one memorable occasion, I wanted him to come in from the pasture so I could work with him. My sister’s Shetland pony, Star, had just come into season, so I got the bright idea of using her as bait to get Sachem into the barn. Well beautiful Star did her job; Sachem was excited, but leery of the barn. I had climbed on the roof to watch him and as soon as I saw him step into the barn, I dropped down to shut the double barn doors. When I had them about half closed, Sachem and Star both kicked out with their hind legs. When the hooves hit, the doors came flying back at me like a powerful wave, hitting me square in the face and sending me flying backwards through the air. Jackie and Greg had been watching from outside the fence and they both let out howls of laughter, hollering that Star and Sachem had outsmarted me and planned this together. Here I am, laying there with all the air knocked out of me, and they are falling on the ground laughing. To put the icing on the cake, both Star and Sachem came out and I know they were laughing as they went prancing off together.
Now here I am, the real smart one who thinks he knows all about animals and horses, and I’m laid straight out, nose busted, mouth busted, and pride surely injured. Mom opens the gate and comes in to see how badly I’m hurt. I tell her I’m okay while Greg and Jackie stand there play-acting flying backwards, laid out and poking their tongues out like they are unconscious. Me, I was determined to catch Sachem now and get my honor back. So I got a lasso and went to work.
If you knew my family you would know they love entertainment. They all found somewhere to park themselves to watch what was about to unfold. It took about a half hour to get him cornered enough to get a noose over his neck. Now, at this point, Sachem had never been ridden at all. This big boy had been born wild and he was the boss in his world. He fought, he tried to charge me, he tried to stomp me, all to no avail. I just kept talking to him, slowly wearing him down; always gentle, not rough or heavy handed.
After about an hour he was spent. I edged my way closer, keeping hold of the lasso and talking to him calmly until I was right beside him. He was shaking so I just stood there letting him get used to the closeness. Then I slowly brushed my hand against his neck; I felt him quiver throughout his whole body. Still I kept telling him how strong he was and how proud I was of him; that I was his friend, not his enemy. I told him I was trying to protect him from being hunted and killed; that I was not his owner, I was his friend; that we are equal. His ears and eyes relaxed as he listened to the drone of my voice. I knew he understood my intentions and he knew I was telling him the truth. I kept rubbing him gently and then scratched his head. Slowly, he was beginning to accept me. He loved the head scratching and kept moving his head to where he wanted it scratched.
Meanwhile, Greg and Jackie kept hollering, “When are you going to ride him?” So, why not? I started leaning on him and letting him feel the weight of my body, being extra careful not to spook him. He accepted my leaning across his back and scratching his side and hind quarters, so I took hold of his mane and swung up onto his back. I kept talking to him the whole time trying to let him know it was alright. Well, he didn’t know what had happened, but he sure didn’t like it. I leaned forward down to his neck and whispered in his ear that I was still right here and I was his friend. I don’t think he believed me.
The next instant, he went to sun fishing and bucking like a cyclone. I kept trying to talk to him, but he wasn’t in a talking mood. So around and around we went. He even tried to smash me by rearing up and falling straight on his back. I already knew what he was fixing to do, so I bailed off to the side and let him hit his own back on the ground. Then when he started to get back to his feet, I swung right back on. Finally, he just tried running as fast as he could, and boy, could he fly. Everyone was clapping, and I felt so proud of myself. Sachem must have sensed this or felt me relax some and he ran even faster – straight towards Mom, Greg, Jackie, Teresa – and the fence. I leaned backwards, fearing the worst, and just when he got to the fence, he stopped on a dime, digging his feet in. There I went, flying straight over his head, over the fence and into the front yard. Sachem just stood there, curling his lips up and shaking his ahead.
Yeah, he won that round. Even the other horses joined in laughing at me. The great bronc rider and trainer got handed his rear end. Sachem won this round, but it wasn’t going to be over. I did my best to laugh with him and let him know that it was okay. I had that coming. Should have taken my time with him instead of letting my ego get in the way. It was good medicine.
After a while the trust and friendship began to come. I taught him how to hide on his belly, hide using the trees and forest, how to unlock the gates, even to jump high fences rather than trying to stomp or kick them down. Dad had guns, so I taught him to fear them; the smell of one meant for him to get out of there. I made sure he understood the different sounds of a gun. I taught him how to dodge a lasso and not to be trapped. He loved learning and he began to understand what the world was like when I took him out riding through the country side, around the different ranches. I even rode him down roads with lots of traffic and noise, so he would understand to avoid these or how to cross but avoid being hit.
Never did Sachem have a saddle or bridle put on him. I let him smell them and see what they were by putting them on the other horses. He smelled these strange things and tried to take them off the other horses; didn’t like them on his people. Now, Sachem was still a free spirit, and even though he was my brother and friend, he still had his true wild ways. If he smelled a mare in season, don’t worry, he would not be trapped again. He never made the same mistake twice, but there was no stopping him when he smelled a beautiful one calling for his attention. I tried. I knew these ranchers would want him dead if he was caught messing with their prized mares. I could battle him all I wanted, and he would still get away.
One day we were out riding, and he must have caught a scent, for he suddenly began acting strange. I knew he was up to something, but still didn’t know what. I thought he was just being mischievous, so cut it out. He just looked at me and snorted. Then he started galloping and I just went with the flow, thinking he wanted to burn off some energy. Boy was I wrong. We were riding beside a paved road and he was flying all out. I noticed we were getting closer and closer to a telephone pole guide wire, so I nudged him with my knees to get him to pull away some. He ignored me, and we kept getting closer and closer. I bent down on his neck figuring I would get as low as I could and avoid the wire. But, oh no, too late and too fast, he veered closer in to the wire. The metal wire barely scraped his neck all the way down. I had nowhere to go. The wire cut me from my throat down to the top of my hip, flinging me backwards off his back. I don’t remember what happened next, but I woke up to see him standing there as though he was making sure I was okay and alive. Then he took off, jumped a fence, and I heard him calling out to the female. I should have known what this was about. He knew I would not let him go to her, so he got rid of me.
A man who happened to be a butcher, pulled over. He helped me into his car and took me home. Mom had a fit when she saw all the blood on the man’s work apron, thinking it was mine. Later Sachem came back home and came to me. Yeah, I was bandaged up and I knew he smelled the blood. When he placed his head on my chest, I knew he was sorry and that he didn’t mean to really hurt me. I told him, “Hey buddy, one day you will get in trouble behind your girls.” I hugged him and told him I was okay. He nodded his head and wanted to play. I told him he needed a bath, so I pointed to where I always bathed him, and he went over. Yeah, it hurt me. I had a few bruised ribs but working the stiffness out would help. This was how good our relationship was. He knew he was safe here.
Sachem never let anyone ride him except me, but he would allow other members of my family to touch him and brush him and clean his feet. But that was that. Late that spring, I told him I would be gone for a few months, so he had to behave. I don’t think he really understood what “gone” meant, but I knew my dad would be coming to get me soon. When the day came, I really had a tough time leaving him, but I knew he would remember what I had taught him and would be cared for. I went to Alabama, spent a few weeks with my dad, then took my motorcycle and went to South Dakota.
When I got back to my dad’s, I knew or felt that I should get back to Florida as soon as possible. I asked Dad to take me and he agreed. We left the next morning before dawn. When I got back to Mom’s, I could barely see Sachem hiding in the woods. I jumped the fence and whistled; at first, he just stood there looking towards me. I whistled again and here he came; a blur flying towards me, so excited I thought he was going to run me over. He smelled me all over, making sure it was me. I was as happy as he was. Then he butted me with his head, wanting a head scratching. I hugged him and told him I had missed him too. My dad walked over to the fence and I introduced them. Sachem was so happy he started jumping up and down and bucking playfully around the pasture. Dad said he was beautiful. I told Sachem I had to go see Mom and everyone and that I would be back later.
When dad left to go back to Alabama, my sister, Judy went with him to live for the first time. Afterward, we talked for a few hours, then when everyone went to bed, I went out and spent time with Sachem. He laid on the ground and I laid my head on his belly. We talked most of the night and fell asleep that way. The sun was already up when I woke. I went to bathe and then bathed him too. Then we went to the garden, picked us some cantaloupes. I busted his open for him and began eating mine. When he was finished, I swung up on his back and we walked out of the garden and headed down the road toward our favorite place to swim, the old rock quarry where the water was crystal clear. Yeah, Sachem loved it too. We had been apart for a long time, so we had fun; just him and me all day. I wanted him to know that I was truly back, for a while anyway. We walked side by side and I talked to him about my journey and what I had learned in South Dakota. I told him how his people and my people were experiencing the same things; that I knew I could not be silent any more about things. I must be what I was. He understood and pushed me with his shoulder. Yeah, brothers we truly were, Sachem and me.
For some time, a couple of months or so, everything was good, then trouble began. The rancher who had made the deal with me, drove by our place one day while I was working with Sachem, teaching him to stand up and paw in the air and twirl himself. The rancher stopped and sat there glaring at us. I told Sachem to run now and he did. He went and hid in the woods. I walked toward the fence, but the man just drove off. I knew something was up. I could feel it, just didn’t know what. At this time, I was going to school and then to the garage to help Dad until he closed at 5:00 pm. Sometimes I had to drive a car or truck back to the house for him to work on, or he would need me to help him do something. Anyway, after work we headed home. When we got there, three sheriff’s cars and animal control was there. I flew out of the car and so did Dad.
Mom was there crying and arguing with them. The rancher was there as well. He had told the law Sachem was his horse and he wanted him back. He said I was just supposed to train him. The animal control people were shooting Sachem with tranquilizers. I flew into them, knocking them down and the deputies grabbed me. Dad called the rancher a liar. Greg, Jackie and Teresa were all crying and hollering at them too. The cops said that unless we could prove the horse belonged to me they were taking it. Our agreement had been verbal and the rancher never gave us any paper. It was our word against his.
The ranch owner who lived across the road from us heard the commotion and came over. He told the sheriff that the horse had to be mine; that I had been training that horse since it was wild. The rancher who was lying told the sheriff that yes, I was only training the horse for him. He said that I had trained two others for him too. Dad told the sheriff that the rancher was lying, that I had trained the two other horses, and as payment, this horse would be mine.
By this time, they had shot sachem with about 4 tranquilizers. I could see the darts sticking out of him. He was still fighting but was becoming weaker. I was beyond outraged. Every fiber of my being wanted to smash these people. Mom kept urging me to just be calm. Dad came over, “Son, there isn’t anything we can do. We didn’t get papers from him.”
Finally, I calmed down and said quietly, “Okay. Let go of me. You don’t need to hurt him.” They let go and I walked over to where Sachem stood trembling and led him to the horse trailer. Before I loaded Sachem, I glared at the rancher and he backed away. I spoke to Sachem the whole time, telling him to just remember what we learned together. Okay? Live to fight another day. He looked at me all hurt and that tore me up inside. Memories of what they had done to Misty haunted me. I swore that would never happen again and I meant it. I stood and watched the rancher shake the sheriff’s hand. I saw the smile on his face as they left.
The neighbor across the road had numerous expensive horses and a big beautiful ranch himself, but he was kind and decent to us. He called me “son,” and told us he knew we were telling the truth, but the man was very wealthy and a powerful man who got what he wanted. He said we should have gotten papers to prove our arrangement; that is what the law will go by. Before he left, he looked at me and said how sorry he was this happened. Dad and Mom came and hugged me telling me it would be alright this time, just wait and see. But I knew better. I knew the greed and jealousy I saw in the rancher’s eyes. He would rather kill Sachem than to ever let him be free. Greg, Jackie and Teresa were all crying. They came and hugged me. They knew this was wrong and the injustice hurt them too. We all ate quietly that night and Greg went out to look after the other horses. They were missing Sachem as well. Horses are sensitive just as all animals are and they pick up on your emotions.
I laid in bed for hours, just thinking about what to do. Later that night I got up and climbed up on the bunkhouse roof. I began my prayers asking for help for my brother. I could feel the stars looking down on me. They were smiling, and I fell asleep right there. Towards dawn I heard something moving around, but a thick fog had rolled in and I couldn’t see much. Feeling the dampness, I climbed down and went in the house to take a shower. I put coffee on and started making breakfast as was routine for me, the early riser.
Everyone had school or work to go to. I went out to our bunkhouse and woke Greg first. He always slept hard and didn’t want to get up. He hated school anyway. Then I woke the girls and last the grownups. After breakfast everyone went either to a bus stop or to work. I went with Dad to work. I would walk to school from work and then back to work after school. When Dad and I got home that evening, once again, the deputies were there. They were looking for Sachem. Seems someone had helped him get loose and run off, they said. They walked out to our pastures and began looking around. Sachem was not in the first pasture, but yep, there he was in the other one, hiding in the trees.
The deputies immediately accused me of getting him. I said nothing. I had not, but it seemed best to just let them think what they wanted to. They called the rancher and he came back, all puffed up and threatening me with jail for horse stealing. They were going to tranquilize Sachem, but I stopped them. I whistled and he came to me. I walked him back to the horse trailer and put him in. Then I told Sachem I would see him tonight. I hugged him and he head butted me. “Remember brother, I will see you.”
After they left, Mom asked me if I had done it. I told her I had not but reminded her that I had taught him how to open locks, so he could get out when he wants to. “They will never keep him locked up,” I said, “But I tell you and Dad this: Tonight, I will. I’m taking him back to where he belongs, with his people and free. This will never stop until we are all in trouble, otherwise.” They never said a word.
After supper, Dad came outside and asked me to be careful. “He thinks you did this last night. They will be looking for you tonight.” I smiled at him and said, “It won’t be the boy they know; it will be the real me.”
Around 9:00 that night, I slipped away on Comanche. I put him in a smooth gallop, not all out but a pace that ate up the miles until we got within a mile of the rancher’s spread. I left Comanche in a dark field and told him to stay there. Then scouted ahead on foot to check it all out. Florida has a dark side at night. Panthers bears, gators and snakes come out, and then there is the swamp thing or skunk monkey that frightens people. There are shadows everywhere and I became a shadow. Knowing the rancher, I knew he would have Sachem locked up tight somewhere, under guard probably. Made no difference. Guards all have weaknesses too.
I whistled like a killdeer and heard a snort from a horse in the one building under the flood lights. Well, this meant I would just have to be more careful, I guess. I took my time circling the whole area trying to see where the guard was posted. The small houses where the workers lived all still had dim lights on and I could hear people moving and talking in them. I checked the other buildings and found Rusty and Sun Hawk in one of them. Both were excited to see me. Hey! why not? He wouldn’t have them if it were not for me. I might as well get them too. I had leather gloves on, so I knew there would be no prints. I had moccasin boots on, so I knew I would leave no tracks. One at a time, I got them out of their stalls and gave them each a hug to renew our bond. They remembered me and wanted to be loved. I got them outside and told them to stay nearby. They did, and I felt sure they remembered their lessons. Now it was time to free Sachem.
I snuck up to the building with all the flood lights. This is where Sachem had to be and there had to be a way in they wouldn’t expect. I studied the area until I found a drainage ditch, where barn waste was washed down and away from the building. I never hesitated. In I went in and yeah, it smelled bad, but it gave me cover so I could get inside. Right away, I spotted Sachem looking towards me, and knowing he would be as excited as a puppy, signaled to him to be quiet. The guard was sitting in an office and appeared to be sleeping. He didn’t move, and his breathing was slow and even. I kept an eye on him as I moved cautiously towards Sachem.
Releasing the bolt lock and bar lock, I opened the stall door and slipped inside. Sachem was strapped by his halter to a cinch ring bolted in the stall. I undid all this and removed his halter. Thanks to Sachem’s unshod feet, we moved soundlessly, easing our way out if the building through a side door. Once we were safely away from the lights, I reckoned the time to be about 1:30 AM by the stars. I swung up on his back and through the dark, guided him to where I had left Rusty and Sun Hawk. They came when I called and together we all headed away. Moving randomly, as if we were not sure where we were going, first one way then abruptly heading at a different angle, we made our way toward Comanche and freedom.
For the next couple of hours or more, we travelled deep into the swamps and forest where Sachem used to run and live. Finally, I heard a nicker. Sachem and the others answered. This would be where I stopped. I swung off Sachem’s back and hugged him close. I loved my brother and Rusty and Sun Hawk. I hugged them all and then ordered them to go and hide. Sachem just stood looking at me. I told him he had to go; it was the only way he could ever be free. He took a few steps and then came back to me for one last head scratching; he laid his head on my shoulder. I hugged him and said, “Now go brother. Stay free for us both!”
I swung up on Comanche and we turned for home at a gallop. Dawn would not be far off; I had to get back as fast as I could. We got home near 6:00 AM. I still needed to get Comanche cooled down, so I had him do walking laps in the pasture. I got a blanket and brush, wiped him down and brushed his coat. I went in, took a shower and started coffee. Greg was up already; he never said a word, just got dressed like nothing had happened. I noticed Jackie and Teresa peeking out their door when I went to wake them and Dad and Mom. Seems everyone was already up. We all ate breakfast in silence, then left for school or work.
Later that day the sheriff showed up. They searched our place, but found no other horses than the ones we were supposed to have. For several weeks after, they kept coming back frequently to check. Then one night, Dad told me I should go with Mom to Alabama. Her dad, my Grandpa Beavers was sick, and she needed to get up there. We left, and I never went back to Florida until years later. Soon after Dad and Mom sold their place in Ocala and moved the family to Alabama. They bought some land and I helped my dad build their new home.
I never heard anything ever again about Sachem. I can only pray that he lived a long life and his people lived long too and some remain wild and free. Walking away and not just staying wild with him was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Mom and Dad never asked what happened or what I did, but they knew I followed my heart.
That summer when I went back to South Dakota, I rode the mustangs they had up there. None were like Sachem; they didn’t have his independent spirit. I have never ridden or trained a horse since. I view all the wild animals, bears, panthers, wolves, foxes, deer, elk, and horses as my people.
I see what they did to us, the Native people, and I see they wish to do the same to them. Yes, they even used to hunt Native people, human beings, for sport; even groups led by scouts went out to shoot us. Bounties were offered for our hair. Usually the target prey were Natives living at peace who would not fight back. To this day I feel it is everyone’s duty and responsibility to protect all life on land and in the seas, even the trees.
Today, people don’t even protect one another, or the weak ones, or the elders, much less the young ones any more. Where do people have the right to destroy all this life, just because they can? We didn’t create it. Spirit did. Just as Spirit created us. True warriors have almost gone.
Part Two – The Making of a Warrior
Chapter 10 – South Dakota Summers – Intro to AIM
By the time I reached my early teens, I had been working all kinds of jobs for years and always saved my money so was able to buy a good motorcycle. None of my family knew this at the time, but I learned from news reports on TV or radio about events going on at the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota. I quickly decided on a goal to go up to South Dakota during the summer of 1972 after my 14th birthday to be with my brothers and sisters in the American Indian Movement. My parents would never have understood this, and had they known my intention, they would have thrown a fit, so I decided to sneak away and that is exactly what I did.
Starting out on a 1,300-mile journey alone on a motorcycle didn’t bother me at all. I had money in my pocket and skills in map-reading and route-plotting from taking trips with my family and working for my dad who had a taxi cab company. The trip took me three days. I camped the first night in Missouri, the second in Nebraska and the third in South Dakota. I left home with a back pack of beef jerky, biscuits, apple fritters, smoked sausage, and dried corn. Along the way, I would find places to camp in the forest, so no one would see. Then I would build a fire and make a soup by adding water to some dried corn and cut up sausage and let it slowly cook. Eventually I made it to the Pine Ridge Reservation.
I didn’t stand out too much. I had dark hair and was tanned from working outside on the farm and doing construction, but trust did not come easy. At first people were nervous about who I was, but I offered to help every chance I had, and soon found acceptance. I met several people who would play a significant role in my life.
My Muskogee Mentors, Phillip Deere and Billy Proctor
My brother, my uncle, my friend, my spiritual teacher – Phillip Deere was all these and more. I only got to meet with him a handful of times there at Pine Ridge, but those times were special for here was a Creek spiritual teacher who was special. There were times when he spoke to a large group of us from various backgrounds, teaching and shaping us, and those were the best of opportunities.
But the times when Uncle spoke to me alone were the most awesome, for in these times he gave me Creek spiritual teachings and then had me figure out the understanding of these things. From Uncle I learned that knowing a teaching is one thing; truly understanding the meaning and purpose of it is what makes it powerful. He asked the questions, “How can you teach what you truly don’t understand and how can you live it if you don’t understand the deeper and true teaching that is there?”
Learning these things from one of my true own people who was highly respected as a spiritual teacher, was truly important to me. Here was a teacher from whom I wanted to learn as much as I could. Phillip Deere also helped me understand that I must learn not to fight my own self. He knew the struggle I was fighting was my own illusion. Being a mixed breed always bothered me because I thought others judged me by how I looked. He laughed at that and said, “See! This is what I’m talking about. People who are true to our ways will truly see the real you. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone but yourself.”
In my mind, I can still hear Phillip Deere’s words: “Just like this thing we are all doing. (AIM) Most see us as radical and the media and the government portray us as evil and trouble. But we are only a spiritual awakening that is now arousing the spirits of the people to step forth and claim their spirits back; to hold their heads up in honor and respect.
“See, they fear us because they do not want this. They can control a broken person, they cannot control a spiritual person. We are here only to protect those who have asked us to come and help them. We follow this spiritual path in a sacred way every time.
“So, you see, this is how you must see everything. Sure, there will be many who doubt you, many who even attack you, but they only win if you let them. Remember a warrior is judged by the strength and power of his enemy. When you are doing right, you will always be attacked that much more. If you were wrong and foolish, people would sit back and laugh and say nothing because your words and actions have no power. All who walk this path have battles, have those who attack and say all kinds of things about us. It makes no difference if you are full blood or mixed blood. Even members of our own tribe attack us because we teach or walk a different path than they do. They have forgotten the old ways. They have forgotten that we are to accept each person’s own path and what Spirit reveals to them. We are not to attack them for it.”
“It seems they are witch hunting again.” Uncle said, “Just stay to who you are and you will always have those who step forth to help and guide you. For they will see your true spirit; your true heart.” These words spoken to me by Phillip Deere have always followed and guided me. I still live by what he taught me all those years ago.
Phillip Deere, helped open doors for me to have access to many well-known spiritual people and elders. He was also Muskogee and loved that I was there, not only to learn our people’s sacred ways from him, but to learn other people’s ways as well by being there with A.I.M. members and elders from the many tribes and nations that were represented.
Billy Proctor was another Creek who touched my life there at Pine Ridge. He was a member of the tribe in Oklahoma and Phillip Deere introduced me to him, saying, “Billy, here is one of your family members from Alabama.” Billy wanted to know who my people were, so I told him the names of all my great aunts and uncles on my father’s side. He was familiar with their names and told me there had been marriages that would make us related through the Wind Clan and Bird Clan town people. Billy’s family had moved to Blount County, AL from southeastern Georgia generations before and his grandparents and great grandparents had all lived there.
We all did ceremonies together, but Billy Proctor was more than a friend, or Uncle. He was someone I could talk to about anything; my dreams, my life, my problems, just anything. He would sit there and listen and then light his corn cob pipe and smoke it for a while before speaking. He always did this. Sometimes at first, I thought he was falling asleep or already asleep. But he was thinking and dreaming on his answers. When I asked him about this, he told me we should never rush an answer, ever. Even if you know the answer to a question, wait because a better one may come to you that will work so much better. He said he always wants to either ask his spirit helpers or dream of what the question was, then see it and see the answer as best would work for that person. We are all different, he would say, and we each may have the same question, but the answer for each may be, and generally is, different because we all have different paths to walk.
Many of Billy’s ancestors, family and relatives, were considered medicine people and did many different things. Billy didn’t consider himself to be a medicine man or holy man. He said he was just a man who tries to walk the path that is his. He just accepted the gifts that he had and would help and teach you if you asked. As he told me, “A closed mouth don’t get fed.” So I learned if you want to know something you must ask. If you need help you must ask. He taught me too, that before you do something for anyone else, they must ask first. Never use any gift you have on anyone or for anyone unless they ask first. We live by our own sacred laws. This you must always follow. Ever since, I have always followed these laws.
Billy was a man who lived the old ways; he didn’t like the modern world. He would not even allow anyone to take his picture and would have fainted seeing today’s world. He loved his sa-bias (crystals) and worked with them all the time. He never accepted or even went to get anything from the tribal offices. He lived strictly off the land and his connection to it.
Through my Muskogee mentors, I met several Lakota elders, and these were the ones who truly taught me many of the Lakota ceremonies and songs. Sun Dance Chief Swallow and Grandfather Ghost were both wicasa wakans or holy men. These were very good men who took the time to teach all the young people there. They both had gentle hearts and I could literally see and feel their spirits!
Leonard Crow Dog was the spiritual leader (wicasa wakan) who was so instrumental in developing the AIM movement. There were others as well, such as Art Solomon, teacher of the Prophecy of the Seven Fires. He was one of the spiritual leaders who led the Caravan of Broken Treaties across America. Art was an Ojibwa from Canada, around Ontario, I think.
I love learning and while in South Dakota I met many elders and teachers who taught me some of my most valued lessons. My attentiveness and willingness to listen and learn caught the attention of the teachers, Swallow and Ghost. They took time and worked with me in learning the seven rites of the Lakota and the meanings of all the songs. Many don’t understand how very important it is to know what the words to the songs mean. To know the meaning and believe what you are saying, gives the song power; you can see and feel the power coming into being.
One of the highest honors of my life came when Grandfather Ghost did a Hunka Ceremony for me. This is an old-time adoption ceremony of the Lakota. In the old days, if a young person had no status or was orphaned, he could be adopted by someone who had lots of status or honor. This provided the young person with a new family and helped him to have a better life and a chance to be elevated in rank.
I would return the following summer and again the next. During the course of these three summers, the world of the Lakota was my world completely. I learned so much more in many Lakota ceremonies, from elders such as Kenton Fast Horse, Old Man Blue Horse, Grandfather Charging Hawk, Eagle Thunder, and so many more.
I still remember every word, every song and every ceremony I learned during those long-ago summers. I have a natural gift for learning things that are important to me because I put my whole self into the experience. During those summers in South Dakota I wasn’t taught from books. The elders taught me by being there, doing the ceremonies and I learned by paying attention and asking questions about things I didn’t understand, always wanting to know more. I found all the elders to be very patient and openly willing to teach me so long as I was respectful and sincere.
“Leonard [Crow Dog] always thought that the dancers of 1890 had misunderstood Wovoka and his message. They should not have expected to bring the dead back to life, but to bring back their ancient beliefs by practicing Indian religion…dancing in a circle holding hands was bringing back the sacred hoop…He also thought that reviving the Ghost Dance would be making a link to our past, to the grandfathers and grandmothers of long ago.” – Mary Crow Dog
It was here at Pine Ridge, in 1972 and 1973 that I did my Hanblaca (vision quest). I participated in the Sun Dance and the Ghost Dance, all of which led to my Hunka Ceremony and my rightful name, Thunder Eagle Ghost Dancer.
During this time, we were all learning from each other and standing together as one; healing the sacred hoop which in turn, would heal us. Most members of AIM were mixed bloods and came from the cities to return to the reservation. Most of the families there had been relocated under the government’s relocation act and many had lost touch with their relatives during those years. The catalyst for coming back to the reservation was a renewed spirit of wanting Native rights and freedom. Many of the elders and women there were crying out for help and protection, and AIM was there for them. Many in the government and the press called this an uprising. But that was not true. The movement at that time was a Spiritual Awakening; and awakening the spirit within all of us.
Because of mounting tensions and open conflict at Wounded Knee in 1973, when I returned to South Dakota that year, I brought several guns with me in my car. Much later, when all the AIM guns were confiscated, and authorities ran checks on them, it turned out several of these guns had been stolen. Eventually, charges were brought against me for buying and receiving stolen property, grand larceny and burglary. For that I went to prison in Alabama. Art Solomon stayed in touch with me while I was in prison and was a witness for me in federal court in my Native American religious freedom case.
Over time, I brought home many treasured photos taken on these journeys: photos of many of the elders with me and even photos from the siege of Wounded Knee. Years later, after my release from prison in 1994, my wife Cat and I looked forward to building a life together. My mom suggested that I let go of the past and begin anew. So Mom, Cat, and I dug a hole and burned the photos and everything I had from back then. Mom has always understood that I had to live my life and walk my path, so she just advised me the best she could. This time I listened to her wise counsel.
Still, these people, elders and teachers I met during those South Dakota summers, changed my path forever. Never again would I be silent or sit back. I would be vocal about our rights and freedom; our right to be who we are. We aren’t extinct, but very much alive and keeping our cultures, languages, and religious beliefs alive and going forward.
Chief Leonard Crow Dog was born in 1942 on the Rosebud Indian Reservation in South Dakota. He was a descendant of a prestigious traditional Sicanju Lakota family of medicine men and leaders. Crow Dog was dedicated to keeping Lakota traditions alive and was a significant spiritual leader in the American Indian Movement where he conducted traditional healing ceremonies and led the Sun Dance and the Ghost Dance.
Years later, this great man would stand strong in support of Ghost Dancer when he most needed help in his battle against religious persecution in the State of Alabama prison system.
Part Three: The Legacy of Wounded Knee first introduces the reader to the truth about yet another historical event in which the “facts” of an encounter between Native Americans and the government have been twisted over time, once again justifying violence and suppression against traditional Native Americans, a group of people crying out for their civil and religious rights. Herein the die is cast for Ghost Dancer’s entire life as a marked man. Thus the scene is set to learn the whole truth of Ghost Dancer’s amazing courage and unshakeable resolve to stay true to his principles and stand up for the rights of all Native Americans. epd
Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee
Chapter 11 – Spiritual Reawakening of the People
Today, if you asked most people what they know about the American Indian Movement or AIM, you would most likely get a blank look.
For those who have heard about AIM, their impression would most likely reflect the characterization of federal authorities as militant radicals, even terrorists.
Only the most informed would recognize AIM as activists fighting for survival in a world that had been determined to annihilate them for hundreds of years.
AIM members, Laura Waterman Wittstock and Elaine J. Salinas, in their 2003, Brief History of the American Indian Movement give a clear picture:
“In the 30 years of its formal history, the American Indian Movement (AIM) has given witness to a great many changes. We say formal history because the movement existed for 500 years without a name. The leaders and members of today’s AIM never fail to remember all of those who have traveled on before, having given their talent and their lives for the survival of the people… The movement was founded to turn the attention of Indian people toward a renewal of spirituality which would impart the strength of resolve needed to reverse the ruinous policies of the United States, Canada, and other colonialist governments of Central and South America. At the heart of AIM is deep spirituality and a belief in the connectedness of all Indian people.”
What is not generally known is that the seed of the American Indian Movement was planted in Stillwater Prison in Minnesota in the late 1960ies by the two primary founders, Clyde Bellecourt (Nee-gon-we-way-we-dun “Thunder Before the Storm”) and Dennis Banks. The purpose was to re-awaken the traditional spiritual practices, languages, culture, and honor back to all the people. To revive all the old ways and instill this in all members to help all Native peoples.
Back in the day the government came up with many ways to kill the spirit of Native American people. Separating children from their families and sending them to boarding schools is very well known. Another was the Indian Relocation Act of 1956 which was designed to encourage Native people to assimilate. As a result, many Native families were sent into the inner cities where they lost connection to their extended families, elders, tribe, culture, language, and especially to their traditional religious beliefs and customs. This continued for years and many Natives wound up in prisons. A major problem in the prison system was that the Native population was such a minority that many were being victimized by the other races and gangs.
As prisoners themselves, Dennis Banks and Clyde Bellecourt decided that this had to end. They called all the Native brothers to become united and to protect each other no matter what tribe they were from. They also put forth that all members must strive to learn their own tribe’s history, language, culture, and specifically, the traditional religious beliefs. United, they all would become spiritual warriors and walk a sacred path. This was the very beginning of what would grow to be the revival and spiritual awakening for all Natives nationwide.
This spiritual movement spilled over from inside the Stillwater Prison to the outside world, to the reservations, to other prisons. This was the motivation that all Natives needed to lift their spirits up and give them something positive to focus on. Being inside a prison, with little hope of any better life on the outside, most Natives didn’t care. But with this new spiritual awakening they all had something to look forward to and to be a part of something that could help so many of their own tribal members and all Natives. The movement began to grow rapidly, bringing back respect and honor to all the spiritual teachers, elders, and pushing for better education and better health care for our people.
Clyde Bellecourt speaks to the heart of the American Indian Movement:
“This generation of little children is the 7th Generation. Not just Indian children but white, black, yellow and red. Our grandfathers said the 7th generation would provide new spiritual leaders, medicine people, doctors, teachers and our great chiefs. There is a spiritual rebirth going on.”
The deeper motivation of A.I.M. was to lift the people out of poverty and to restore the pride of heritage and traditional way of life. Most people today do not know about the Red Earth Survival School in Minneapolis, MN, or what it was put there for. Many Natives were dropping out of school so early that the lack of education was hurting our people. These schools and programs were, and still are, vital to helping Natives get their education and to stay connected to their cultural traditions as well.
Drug and alcohol addiction ran rampant. Members of AIM formed the PIPES Programs (People in Prison Entering Sobriety) which has been extremely successful by introducing Natives in prison to the spiritual ways and responsibilities of their traditional ancestors.
AIM was formed in the 1960’s and what most folks fail to give recognition and respect to is that if AIM had not come along, none of the following would have been accomplished or addressed or won for Native people:
- The first AIM patrol was created in 1968 to address the brutality by police to Natives in Minneapolis, MN.
- In 1969, when AIM activists reclaimed and occupied Alcatraz Island for 19 months, they symbolically reclaimed federal land in behalf of all Native nations. The very first Indian radio broadcasts – Radio Free Alcatraz – was heard in San Francisco and the Bay Area.
- In 1970 AIM founded the Legal Rights Center, giving Native people legal representation for all our legal issues.
- In 1971 AIM took over property on the Naval Air Station, drawing attention to Indian education, which led to getting grants for Indian education.
- The first takeover of the BIA (Bureau of Indian Affairs) office in Washington, DC., the citizen’s arrest of old John Crow: 24 members of AIM were arrested for trespassing and later were released. The BIA commissioner became a member of AIM.
- The occupation takeover of the Northern States Power Plant Dam in Wisconsin in which AIM gave support and assistance in helping the Lac Courte Orieles Ojibwa. This dam flooded much of their reservation. This takeover drew attention from the media and government alike and eventuality led to the return of over 25,000 acres of the tribe’s land back to them, also giving them settlement monies and job opportunities and business opportunities.
- In 1972 the Heart of the Earth Survival School, K-12 opened to teach educational and cultural programs as well. This school serves as model for other schools to come.
- Red School House was the second Heart of the Earth Survival School to open, offering K-12 education and cultural based programs.
- The Trail of Broken Treaties March on Washington DC, a caravan of Native nations was led by AIM and ended with the occupation of the BIA Headquarters from November 2 to November 8, 1972.
At this time, AIM put forth the following 20-Point Resolution Paper to President Nixon
1. Restoration of treaty making (ended by congress in 1871)
2. Establishment of a treaty commission to make new treaties (with sovereign Native nations)
3. Indian leaders to address congress
4. Review of treaty commitments and violations
5. Unratified treaties to go before the senate
6. All Indians to be governed by treaty relations
7. Relief for Native nations for treaty right violations
8. Recognition of the right of Indians to interpret treaties
9. Joint congressional committee to be formed on reconstruction of Indian relations
10. Restoration of 110 million acres of land taken away from native nations by the U.S.
11. Restoration of terminated rights
12. Repeal of state jurisdiction on Native nations.
13. Federal protection for offenses against Indians
14. Abolishment of the Bureau of Indian Affairs
15. Creation of a new Office of Federal Indian Relations
16. New office to remedy breakdown in the constitutionally prescribed relationships between the U.S. and Native nations.
17. Native nations to be immune to commerce regulations, taxes, trade restrictions of states.
18. Indian religious freedom and cultural integrity protected.
19. Establishment of a national Indian voting with local options: free national Indian organizations from government controls
20. Reclaim and affirm health, housing, employment, economic development and education for all Indian peoples
The Legacy of Wounded Knee
Traditional elders and religious leaders from Pine Ridge, S.D. contacted AIM and asked for help because of overwhelming brutality and killings on the reservation against any who resisted the totally corrupt tribal chairman, tribal council, and the BIA which supported them. These entities had formed a group called the “Goons” which was provided support and weapons by the U.S. government.
This is what led to the second Wounded Knee, as it came to be called, a siege that lasted 71 days. Civil rights activists from AIM battled the armed forces from the U.S. government, as well as local law enforcement and outside glory hunters who were racially prejudiced.
In the words of Dennis Banks:
“What we did in the 1960s and early 1970s was raise the consciousness of white America that this government has a responsibility to Indian people. That there are treaties; that textbooks in every school in America have a responsibility to tell the truth. An awareness reached across America that if Native American people had to resort to arms at Wounded Knee, there must really be something wrong. And Americans realized that native people are still here, that they have a moral standing, a legal standing. From that, our own people began to sense the pride.”
In 1974, the Wounded Knee trials began in Minneapolis, MN, home of the AIM movement and the principals involved in the 71-day siege. To this day, I believe this was the longest federal court trial in U.S. history. So many issues of government misconduct were presented and revealed in this trial that the federal judge dismissed all charges against AIM. The judge stated that the whole case was polluted by the government’s own misconduct.
Following the resolution of the Wounded Knee incident, AIM continued its activism for the civil rights of Native peoples:
This is just a small list of documented facts about the mission, goals and accomplishments of AIM. But there are so many more successes that AIM is directly responsible for. Throughout the 1970’s, AIM’s message was being delivered and taught in prisons. For the first time, Native prisoners began educating themselves and organized to stand up for their cultural and religious rights. A handful of prisoners from across this country filed suit in federal court.
The first was Bear Ribs, who filed in California from Lompoc Federal Prison. In 1977 he won the right to practice his religion as did others across this country. These cases expanded and brought more attention to the discrimination towards Native peoples. On august 11,1978, the president of the United States signed into law the Native American Religious Freedom act.
Later more cases were fought and won, including, the Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons act of 2000, the Native American Languages Act of 1990, the Indian Arts and Crafts Act of 1990, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990, Recognition of Native American Sacred Sites, and even the return of artifacts and bodies which had illegally been taken by museums, schools, etc.
None of this would have ever come about if not for AIM!
The message and spiritual awakening that AIM brought has inspired Native peoples everywhere and proven that they can make a change, they can win, and they can find justice.
AIM has awakened the hearts of all Native women, allowing them to pick their hearts up from the ground and bring back our sacred hoops for our people. In Native cultures, the women are the key to bringing in the seventh generations. Just as the messengers were female: Redbird, Daughter of the Sun (ani-yun-wiya) Cherokee, Apache Fire Princess, Snake Woman, Hopi Corn Maiden, Dineh (Navajo) Corn Maiden, Anishinaabe Corn Woman, Lakota White Buffalo Calf Woman, Rainbow Serpent Woman (Coweta, Cusseta, Hitchiti, Iste, Biloxi), and so on and on. Women are the guardians of the heart. Heart of the Mother Earth, and heart of all life.
I was young when the standoff at Wounded Knee was going on and not at all important, but I was an avid learner and I well remember how special it was to everyone when a young woman, Mary Crow Dog, gave birth to a baby amid the turmoil. Warriors all know that the love of a woman will give them strength beyond anything else except Spirit. The AIM song was given to them by the wicasa wakan (the holy men). It is a song for the morning sun, and in its original form as it was sung, we are thanking Grandmother Sun for sharing her love with us and her daughter Mother Earth. As we all know Grandfather Moon is always chasing one of them. He loves them both and whenever he is closer to one than the other, we all feel it too. If you listen to the vibration of the song you will truly understand the meaning of love in your heart.
The Spiritual Awakening was the opening and rebirth of our people!
Now when I speak of the Rainbow People or Rainbow Children or Nation, I’m referring to the prophecy that was made and given hundreds of years ago and has been the repeated message of all the special awakened holy ones. The prophecy is referring to all the different children or peoples of all nations who come together because Spirit has touched their hearts to come back home to the sacred circle of life. They come to heal their hearts, and the hearts of all and Mother Earth too. It is through this awakening that true understanding of love and beauty can come forth.
So many of the people have been mixed in different races, that it is like a rainbow. Yet all these people know in their hearts that what they have been living, what they have learned, or even been experiencing in their spiritual life even, isn’t working for them. They feel this yearning inside to be connected; wanting something more; to understand why the stars, forests, oceans, mountains, animals, and birds all are calling to them.
Rainbow people don’t understand why they have dreams about things they don’t understand. They don’t fit in with what other’s lives or society say it should be. They feel that society has lost its honor, respect, truth, generosity, compassion, humbleness, loyalty, and love. To them the beauty of life means the beauty of family, the beauty of friends, the beauty of helping those in need, the elders, handicapped, sick, or injured. They see the beauty of children and the importance of protecting them and helping them in every way, especially in providing them lots of love and support.
Being a Rainbow person means caring for all nature: trees, plants, rivers, creeks, lakes, oceans, animals, birds, mammals, reptiles, forests, mountains, deserts, swamps, grasslands, and prairie. It means caring about breathing fresh air, drinking clean fresh water, and about being able to see the stars at night. If your heart feels a longing a connection to any of these or to anything that is connected to the Native American way of life, then you are a Rainbow Child.
Somewhere in the past, no matter how long ago, an ancestor was a guardian of our Mother Earth and a Native person. The vibration in your body, your spirit, is different than those others who are content with the chaos and destruction of love from all around. Are you emotional? Can you hear a song and it will bring tears? Can you watch a movie and find yourself tearing up? Even though you know it is just a movie or just a song, still, you feel it touching your heart.
You watch the news and are sickened by all the violence, chaos, greed, lies, and destruction all over. Tears flow again, and you feel this in your heart. Politicians and leaders, even religious leaders, prove to be so caught up in the lust for power and money that your heart turns away from them. You feel so alone, yet you have no clue what to do. What is wrong with you? Your heart is telling you to wake up! Your life isn’t supposed to be like this. It is not living when you just go through the motions and are miserable most of the time; filled with worry, insecurity, doubts, fears, and surrounded by overwhelming negative energy.
This is the way I felt all those years ago. I so wanted to change; to hold my head up and begin living. I wanted to feel loved and appreciated and respected in every way. I was so ready to open my heart to the heart beat of Mother and my ancestors’ spirit; to come back to the Sacred Spirit and begin walking the sacred red road.
Clyde Bellecourt and Dennis Banks paved the way for me and everyone to come to the circle. Leaders like Russell Means, Crow Dog, and so many others, all were messengers passing on the flame of the awakening of our inner spirit. When I first heard the message and saw these individuals, I knew, I felt this was what I had been looking for all my life. Learning the sacred traditions touched my heart then and still touch my heart today. I felt the true power and meaning of their words as they pierced my heart. I knew then I would walk this path forever.
No matter what people thought about me, or what society said, never again would I be silent. Never again would I stand by while atrocities were done or those who need protection would have to worry. I knew also that I needed to learn more, understand more about all the different practices of Native religion and customs, for every act, every song, every item, every prayer requires an understanding of a higher meaning. Just as I am made of billions of cells connected, so too, is all life connected and to learn all the universe, I would first need to learn myself; who I was, what I was, and what am I to become. Because I am part of everything in the universe, to know myself was the answer to knowing the universe.
In my years of traveling to reservations, I saw how our people had given up hope, living just in mere existence, but not really caring what happened to them, or if they live or die. All around, there was so much alcohol addiction and domestic abuse. What happened to our people?
After four trips to Oklahoma, I didn’t want to go back; it hurt too much seeing the spirit dead in everyone’s eyes. Until AIM came into our lives, we were silent, wallowing in what could have beens and what ifs. My own family had been scared to even let outsiders know they were Native Americans. They always told folks we were Black Irish, or such. Especially for the ones with darker complexions. The notion had been so beaten into all the Southeastern Native people that if they found you, they would hang you, kill you or worse. So for generations, we all lived by a code of secrecy.
Now days almost everyone you meet from the south will tell you they have Native blood from their ancestors. They can say that now because of AIM It was the leadership and determination of the warriors in the American Indian Movement that made Natives proud to be Natives again. This is what I’m saying about awakening our spirit.
How many people feel the urge to connect to their Native heritage at the deepest level; to truly feel life has purpose; that you have a destiny, a real life, beautiful, rewarding, and fulfilling. How many long for a life that you know you belong in and you fit in; where you aren’t judged by how you look, but how you are inside. What you do does matter. Your heart is the key. AIM opened the door for us all. We just need to step inside, let our true spirits come to life and take control.
Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee
Chapter 12 – When Life Came Undone
When I was 16 years old my dad signed for me to enlist in the U.S. Navy. A big part of this decision was to get away from the woman I had been forced to marry at age 15. The marriage was a farce, we shared no love or children, so I saw this as the only way for me to get on with my life. I thought I might be able to use my natural skills and knowledge and gain even more. This would be a fateful decision with a far-reaching impact.
While I was in the Navy something very bad happened to me; some kind of terrible accident. I have no memory of the incident, only that I woke up in the naval hospital with a terrible headache and a busted head. I had serious neck and back injuries and loss of hearing as well. Though I had no conscious memory, I did have recurring bad images flashing before my eyes. After a stay in the hospital going through their treatments, I was given an honorable discharge for medical reasons.
To this day I have no memory of what happened before or after that incident. All I truly know is I was not the same person afterward. I have walked in the Spirit World all my life, thru ancient times, distances, dimensions, and I’ve seen many things. But what I was experiencing after the accident in the Navy was something totally beyond that. I could not determine what was real and what wasn’t.
Later I was diagnosed with PTSD which I had never heard of before. When I came home I kept having seizures or blacking out with no memory of what happened or where I had been. During these time I would literally go berserk, lashing out and even fighting walls, buildings, cars, or whatever. Afterward, I never even knew what happened or remembered anything. Each time I had one of these blackouts that caused a big scene, I was taken to a mental hospital. This happened 4 different times. While in the mental hospitals I was never told what they were subjecting me to with their tests and psychiatric drugs but I was declared to have a mental disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, that I was delusional and extremely dangerous. Each time I left the hospitals against medical advice.
Not too long after, I found a job working in a dogfood plant. Only a few days on the job, I suffered yet another serious head injury when a sledge hammer accidentally fell on me. That sent me back to the hospital. After being treated for the head wound I continued to have the blackouts. They kept transferring me to different hospitals until I was placed again in a mental hospital where they deemed me insane and kept me sedated. My mother got a lawyer and got me released. Slowly I recovered and went on with my life though I was left with occasional seizures. I worked all week and spent most weekends setting up at local flea markets where I loved trading, buying and selling all sorts of things including guns just like I had grown up doing with my dad.
Late in the winter of 1976, I was on my way to visit my sister, Jackie, who was living in a trailer park. I made a mistake and went to another trailer that looked exactly like my sister’s place and knocked on the door. I was dressed in my usual fringed leather jacket and boots. I guess the woman panicked and thought she was being attacked by “injuns.” She shot me right through her door. My sister rushed me to the hospital ER where they treated the gunshot wounds in my arm and dismissed me. The doctors reported this to the local sheriff. In the end, neither of us were charged in this incident but I was locked up anyway.
The sheriff’s deputies arrested me at my sister’s in-law’s home and told my mother that it was over stolen guns. When my mom and stepdad came to visit me in the county jail, they were appalled by the conditions. The cell they put me in had no bed or mattress and no access to a shower. I was still wearing my Indian jacket and boots and sitting on the floor. I even had to eat sitting on the floor. Worst of all they had not taken me to a hospital for my gunshot wound that was already getting infected. My mom raised sand to the sheriff about this. He acted like he hated me and nothing was ever done. My wounds festered and every day the deputies would take me out driving around telling me they would take me to the hospital but first they wanted to know who I got the guns from they found in my car. I wouldn’t cooperate because I felt it was my responsibility not to tell so they denied me medical care.
During this time a man named Larry T. Lucky, who identified himself as a federal agent came to see me. He said if I would tell what I knew about the people at AIM he could make all my troubles go away. There had been a connection made between the stolen guns confiscated at Wounded Knee and a gun-theft ring in my area. They all knew I was not the thief but were pressuring me to give up information. I refused.
Finally, after I had become seriously ill, a couple of deputies took me to the hospital. My mom and stepdad came to see me. Mom remembers that I was very sick, delirious and talking out of my head. The doctors there told her I had blood poisoning and possible gangrene in my arm. It took awhile but I finally recovered and when I was returned to jail they put me back in the same bare cell. Never at any time was I read my rights nor did an attorney ever come to see me. Eventually charges were made against me for the stolen guns.
While sitting in jail awaiting trial, I was plagued by headaches, anxieties and seizures. The Court sent me to Bryce Mental Hospital where I was given electric shock and powerful drugs which literally put me in a medical straight jacket. Eventually they deemed I was ready to stand trial and sent me back to jail with a standing prescription for Thorazine, Mellaril and Valium. According to records these were administered in large doses by the jail staff every day right up to the very day of the trial. Witnesses have testified that I was like a “slobbering zombie” in the courtroom.
~~~
In the world of psychiatry, many things that were done in the 1970’s are no longer considered safe, appropriate or acceptable. But most certainly the law was very clear about the mental state or drugged state of a person pleading guilty to a crime. To put the situation in perspective, here is some relevant information:
Mellaril, Thorazine and Valium – their side effects, interactions with other drugs, and their contraindications.
Chlorpromazine, more commonly known by its proprietary name Thorazine®, developed in the 1950s was the first of the antipsychotic drugs and is described by some as a chemical straight jacket.
“The blunting of conscious motivation, and the inability to solve problems under the influence of chlorpromazine (Thorazine) resembles nothing so much as the effects of frontal lobotomy. . .
– Peter Sterling, neuroanatomist, article Psychiatry’s Drug Addiction, New Republic magazine (March 3, 1979)”
From https://www.drugs.com/mtm/mellaril.html:
Mellaril (thiordazine) side effects: tremor (uncontrolled shaking), drooling, trouble swallowing, problems with balance or walking; headache with chest pain and severe dizziness, fainting, fast or pounding heartbeats; confusion, slurred speech; seizure.
Major (serious) Interactions: Thorazine (chlorpromazine) and Mellaril (thioridazine)
Using chlorpromazine together with thioridazine is not recommended. This can increase the effects of either medication: extreme drowsiness, confusion, agitation, vomiting, blurred vision, feeling hot or cold, sweating, muscle stiffness, fainting, seizure or coma.
Contraindications: Mellaril is contraindicated for anyone who has suffered a head injury.
In the words of renowned psychiatrist, Dr. Thomas S. Szasz, author of The Myth of Mental Illness: “Mental Illness is a myth whose function is to disguise and thus render more palatable the bitter pill of moral conflicts in human relations…The young and the old are defenseless against…psychiatrists whose livelihood depends on defining them as mentally ill.”
So I sat in court wearing a “chemical straitjacket” and pleaded guilty to crimes I never committed and everyone knew I never committed. I was sentenced to 8 years in the State of Alabama prison system. I was 18 years old.
While awaiting sentence I was not allowed to have prayers or any religious practice or ceremony. After sentencing, I was taken directly to Kilby State Prison mental hospital. On my very first day, I tried to tell them that I was an American Indian and it was against my religious beliefs to cut my hair. When I refused to cut my hair, they said, “No, you are a convict and you don’t have any religious rights.” Then they sent the goon squad in with pepper spray. After they maced me, they used clubs and boots to beat me down until I lay face down, naked, and handcuffed. While one guard sat on my back, holding my head up with a night club under my throat, and two more sat on my shackled legs, they shaved my hair off. Then they beat me unconscious. I woke up in the hole, naked, eyes swollen almost shut, my body bruised and battered all over. This was my introduction to prison and the way my life was going to be for many years to come.
Life has not been easy for me since I first started walking the Sacred Red Road. I was still in my teens when I was first sent to prison. The FBI investigated me, but they wanted the state to prosecute me for the stolen guns I had purchased and taken to Pine Ridge. That way their hands would be clean, and the state could give me more time than the federal court would have.
This legacy stuck, and corruption, both inside and outside, engulfed me like a web from which there seemed to be no escape. I would be in and out of prison for years to come. I quickly learned that being put in prison in the south would be a huge challenge. Back then, only two races were recognized. You were either white or black, and in prison when they did their counts, you would be counted as white or black. I’ve been listed as both and counted as both. I’ve been housed in all-black dorms, units, or cell blocks, and in all-white cell blocks, but one thing to remember, here in the south there was no freedom of religion for any minority. I guess Spirit really was going to test my vows and promise.
Big Tree
Big Tree was a special person Spirit placed in my path. He was a Lenape tribal chief. At the time, his tribe didn’t have a reservation, so he and others lived on other reservations. When I first met him, he was living on the Poarch Creek Reservation. He had lived a hard life. His face looked like a road map of wars. Yet it was gentle, and you could see his heart through his eyes. He helped me learn many things. One is to choose my fights carefully. He told me he could see in me that I was one who has the urge to protect and stand up for our people. Then he warned me that I cannot save the world. He said, “Do what you can for those around you, otherwise you will be spread so thin you will fade away.” He warned me, “People will let you help them because you offer, rather than help themselves. Use your energy and time for the best for all.”
Even when I wasn’t around Big Tree, he sent me letters telling me his thoughts, and answering any questions I might have written to ask. He stood beside me and spoke up for me always. He helped open doors to other elders and spiritual teachers that I needed to guide and shape me. What was amazing to me was that no matter when or what was happening in his life, he always took the time to teach and counsel me.
I was so happy when Big Tree’s people got their own reservation. He was so full of life and went to work on all the things they had planned on all those years waiting to get a place of their own.
When I was thrown in prison and being beaten for standing up for my religious rights and the jailer’s fear of all Natives, he was there counseling me. He told me to never let them see you hurt, never let them see that they are getting to you, this will give them fuel to do it even more. “Silence, silence your cries of pain, swallow them, go deep inside and let your spirit stay free.” He said to remember they must defeat your spirit to win, not your body. Our bodies are weak, our spirit is awesomely powerful. Walk in your spirit and they will never defeat you, no matter what torture or pain they do to you. These words I still carry with me every day. I live to always honor Big Tree’s teachings to me.
Note: There were actually three courts involved in this conviction because there had been guns stolen from three counties. In 2020, using the Alabama Rule 32, I challenged the legitimacy of each of these convictions. In each case, the state could not deny the wrongdoing; the courts simply ruled them to have been time barred.
Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee
Chapter 13 – Power in the Law
Only twice have I ever been allowed to represent a case in court during a trial. Both times I won. The first was on my right to pray, wear long hair, have a pipe ceremony, and my general rights to freedom of religion. This first case was started when I was 18 years old and being held in a mental hospital. They would not give me an ink pen, so I wrote my pro se motion to the court on a piece of plain paper with a stubby little pencil.
I explained to the judge why I was having to do it this way and he understood. By filing a pro se motion I did not have to be exact in my style and the court has to allow me lee way and must not apply usual court formats. In addition, the court must be very lenient in interpreting my claims. I remembered this from my high school days when I was studying business law, civil law and international law. Since this law suit was under civil law, then I knew I could do this. In civil law you don’t have to have as much evidence to prove a case.
I filed this first in 1976 against the mental hospital for denying my religious rights. Later when I was placed in a mental hospital again, this case was already moving along and when I was transferred back to jail, I amended the case to include the Cullman County jail and the Alabama Department of corrections. The fact of the matter is, at that time prisoners in federal and state prisons had no rights to traditional religious practices or ceremonies. At first the court was not going to allow this but I argued that since I was already convicted I was in all senses a state prisoner and was just waiting to be transferred to prison.
My inspiration and guidance to proceed with my lawsuit came through people I had come to know during my summers with AIM. At that time the publication, Indian Country Today, was deeply involved in helping incarcerated Natives across the country stay connected providing subscription information for numerous regional newsletters and articles with coded information embedded in them regarding specific abuses. There was also Arrows, Native American Radio out of Oklahoma that targeted state and federal prisoners. Their live broadcasts facilitated direct communication between inmates and their families. Of those involved in the fight for religious freedom I was the only one from the deep Southeast which was considered to be the most dangerous place of all.
There were five of us in all: Terry Bear Ribs, Lakota, Standing Rock Reservation filed in Lompoc, CA. Then there was me in Alabama; Eric Wildcat Hall, Cherokee, out of Qualla Boundary, NC and Allan Morrisette, Cree, from Ft. Belknap, MT and another man, Sean King, Apache joined us at the end.
Some AIM members such as my friend, Barbara Owl actually travelled the country visiting the different activists to personally collect and deliver communications. For instance she may visit me in Alabama and then take off driving to Oklahoma to visit another participant, then hop a plane to California.
Many people from across the world reached out to me with letters of support and encouragement for what we were doing. Support groups were formed and they provided all types of information by going to museums and getting them to provide me with copies of documents most people in America had never even heard of . Even students at universities around the world became my friends and sent me letters, photos, and information I was seeking.
For each of our cases, Big Tree, Nan-ta-shay, Lenny Foster, Jake Snake, and Art Solomon all filed Amicus Curiae, friends of the court, third party support. We also had Archie Fire Lame Dear, a spiritual leader and AIM activist from South Dakota to give expert testimony on Native American religions.
1978 Holman Prison
The federal courts across the country consolidated all our similar cases. We received support from the Native American Rights fund and legal assistance from attorneys, John and Walter Echo-Hawk out of the Law Center in Washington, DC. The combined case was filed in federal court, Lompoc CA in 1977 & won. Our win for freedom of religion was not only for incarcerated Natives, but for all Natives on the outside as well. The Native American Freedom of Religion Act was passed by congress and signed into law by President Carter on August 11, 1978. Archie Fire Lame Deer Built the first prison sweat lodge at Lompoc in 1977.
American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978 The American Indian Religious Freedom Act (AIRFA) Became law on August 11, 1978 to “Protect and preserve for American Indians their inherent right of freedom to believe, express, and exercise the traditional religions of the American Indian, Eskimo, Aleut, and Native Hawaiians, including but not limited to access to sites, use and possession of sacred objects, and the freedom to worship through ceremonials and traditional rites.”
Of course the prison officials were not happy about the legal action I was taking and the guards consistently gave me a hard time over it. But after winning in federal court, all my disciplinaries for disobeying a direct order, failing to obey prison rules, assault on correctional officers, creating health, safety, and security violations were all expunged by Alabama Prison Commissioner, Morris Thigpen. All my good time was restored and I was transferred to a work release center where I was assigned to work at the Hamilton, AL State Trooper’s office as a mechanic, gas attendant and clean-up person. Things were going along well until one day I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apparently there was someone with a grudge against law enforcement and while I was on the job, a sniper opened fire on the compound. I was hit in both eyes with shrapnel. The officers rushed me to the Helen Keller Eye Clinic for treatment. I stayed there for some time and recovered my eyesight, but to this day still have scars around my eyes.
After that I was given a job at a window factory. I was an expediter and helped my whole line work faster and more efficiently. When I went to prison my ex-wife divorced me and kept everything I had including all my personal things: clothes, fishing equipment, religious items, and all my tools and equipment. We also never had a child, so basically I had nothing except what I had in prison and no obligations to anyone. Knowing my sentence would be over soon I worked hard and saved my money. Each week I bought clothes I would need and put more money in savings so I could get on with my life.
What happened next makes it very clear to what extremes the Feds went to make sure my life would continue to be controlled. One day, out of the blue, I was ordered back to the work release prison and called into the office of the warden and assistant warden. With them was an FBI agent. Now I’m told I have two options because I have truly messed up. I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about because all I did was work and come back to the facility at the end of the work day. I said to them that I don’t speak or mess with anyone. “You all know I’m a loner and the only time I interact with the other inmates is when we are training for the football game.”
The warden indicated the FBI agent standing there, said the man was his childhood friend and they were very close. Then he tells me the man says that I have dishonored his family and his sister. I had no clue what he was talking about. Then came the real shocker; he went on to say I must marry his sister or be sent back to prison with a new charge and more time. This could not be! What was happening here?
I told the warden this was not true and he knew it couldn’t be, pointing out that I was never allowed any time alone at work and the prison provided all my transportation back and forth to work. On weekends I was supervised at all times unless I got out on a pass to spend time with my family. So everyone knew this could not be so.
The warden asked me if I knew that not only was the woman’s brother an FBI agent but her grandfather was a judge there. “So what do you think will happen to you? You will marry this woman or you will pay dearly for this.”
All I could say was, “I’m not going back to prison!”
Nothing happened for awhile. Then two weeks later I get a letter from the prison commissioner stating that I had been granted a release into the custody of my mother. No I was not on parole, I was released as a way of making more room at the work release for more prisoners. At least that is what I thought and was later told. Later I found out that strings had been pulled by the judge and FBI agent and the warden. I thought I had dodged a bullet and now was free from them trying to force me to marry someone I had never even met. Boy was I wrong!
Mom came and picked me up and took me home with her. Finally the wolf pup was free again. I ran into the woods, and up and down the mountain and into the river and creeks. I was free at last. Even though there was an invisible chain still hooked up to me, seeing my family and being with them meant everything. Now one of the requirements was that I had to have a job, so I went to work the very next day at a garage in Hartselle as a mechanic.
I saved my money and for $90 bought a box of parts and pieces in a junk yard and build me a triumph 650 Bonneville motorcycle chopper. I built it from scratch and painted it, chromed it out and painted Yosemite Sam on it with his pistols drawn saying you better back off. I later traded this motorcycle for a Chevy Vega and seven hundred dollars to boot. Yep that youngster wanted my bike real bad. He paid me the boot and drove away on my chopper and left the Vega with me. I went and bought a dodge in a junk yard. Dad and I worked on it at night and fixed it up. I was doing good and helping dad around the shop at the house where he worked.
Later my Step-dad and I went to get a job together at the Chevy dealership in Hartselle. We worked good as a team there and everything was going great. A few months went by then one Saturday while I’m at the house working with Dad on a transmission for a customer, a strange car pulls up. Out gets an older woman maybe in her 60’s followed by a middle-aged woman looking to be in her late 30’s or early 40’s and a little girl about 5 years old. I’m thinking maybe this is someone looking to get their car worked on so I ignored them and kept on working in the garage while Dad went to see what they needed.
When Dad came back he was not happy and told me they were there to see me. Long before I had told Mom and Dad what happened with the warden and FBI agent and what they said I had to do. We all thought this was over when I got out and was living with them. Oh how wrong we were. I went on in the house where they were talking with Mom and I could tell she was upset too.
The woman’s name was Sandy and I guess her FBI agent brother or the warden had told her where I would be living. Now Mom’s house was not easy at all to find back then. They lived on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woods and more mountains. So someone surely had to do some digging to find me. Also my mom’s last name was different than mine and I got no mail there.
After that encounter, I left and went to work in another county. At first I lived in the woods and worked at a furniture plant. There I met a pretty young lady named Robin and we started seeing each other after work. After a couple weeks I found a place to rent and started fixing it up. About a month later, thinking I had gotten away from the situation with Sandy, she and her mother show up at the furniture plant. The plant manager came to get me from my work station and escorted me to where they were waiting. The mother tells me this “running bit” is over; said she had talked to the parole officer and they would be sending me back to prison unless I married her daughter by the next week! By this time I had gotten off of release status in Mom’s custody to being on parole. My parole office was in Morgan county and I’m living in Winston county where I worked.
I drove home and told Mom and Dad what had happened. Dad said he would go with me to the parole office in Decatur and we would get this straightened out. He did not believe either that they could force me into a marriage with a woman I didn’t even know. Well it turned out I still had only two choices – marry her or go back to prison. Dad whispered that I could always leave her once I was off parole, so that was my plan and I made the impossible choice. Later the woman and her family showed up at Mom’s. The woman’s mother told Mom that I would marry her daughter and if I ever tried to leave her or do her wrong I would be put in prison forever. This was in late May 1981. I had just turned 23 and here I was married to this strange woman who was 17 years older than me. Still I was optimistic. My parole would be up soon, I would leave her and this nightmare would be over.
The same day we were married I was required to move to Hamilton, AL where her family lived. I was to finish my parole there with a parole officer who was a family friend. On the way there I threw the wedding ring she had given me out the window into a river as I was driving over a bridge and told her just exactly what I felt. There would be nothing between us ever. Not ever. She had forced this to happen, she lied and her family lied and I meant every word. The day my parole was over and I got my papers that evening from the parole officer, we packed the new Monte Carlo I had just bought with all the mechanic tools my Dad had given me and more I had bought so I would have tools to work with and we headed to Florida where her children were living with their father.
Turned out he had custody of all three children; the Florida court had ruled she was an unfit mother during the divorce her ex-husband had filed. In addition to the little one I had first seen with her, she also had two teenaged children. Little did this woman know that my intention was to leave her the next day after I got her to her aunt and uncle’s home.
Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee
Chapter 14 – Treachery in High Places
On the day of my arrest, August 5, 1981, I had just dropped my so-called wife off at her aunt’s house in Pensacola with a rental trailer loaded with her belongings. I had never been to this aunt’s place before, so she showed me how to get there. Only then did I tell Sandy I was leaving her. I drove away with a plan to go on to Ocala, Florida. Back on the highway, I stopped to gas up, then parked so I could stretch a bit to relieve my leg cramps before continuing on the long trip.
This is what I was doing when the police pulled up. The cop asked me for my identification, and I gave it to him. He asked me if I had I ever been in trouble with the law before. I told him the truth; that I had just been released from parole in Alabama the day before and was headed to Ocala where I grew up.
He then ordered me to turn around and he handcuffed me. I asked him what he was he doing. He told me I was under arrest for robbery. I couldn’t believe this. I am in shorts and a t-shirt and I have no shoes on. I have nothing on me but my wallet and car keys. Needless to say I was not a happy individual. I had no idea what was going on so had to wonder if it was the fact that I told him I had just gotten off parole from Alabama? I told him then that I had just dropped my wife off and she could verify where I had been. I told him I didn’t know the name of the street, but it was no more than a mile or so away and I could show him the way. He refused to even try to check this out. Instead he made me stand there barefoot and sweating for a long time in the summer sun on hot pavement.
Eventually they brought a woman in a sheriff’s car and asked her if this was the man. Now I’m the only one there handcuffed and the only person she is being shown. She said she was not sure. At this point I thought, okay they will take the handcuffs off and I will be on my way. They kept asking her to take another look at me. She walked up close and looked me over from every angle. She could clearly see that I had short, brown, naturally curly hair and a dark, heavy mustache. She said she didn’t remember the guy having a mustache. The cops kept talking to her for a while and pointing at me.
Finally they led her to a car, and she left. I figured I was going to be let go, but the cop put me in his car and said I was going to jail. I asked, for what? He said you will be charged with strong-arm robbery for snatching that woman’s purse. I said to him then that was not right, the woman said it wasn’t me and you still are arresting me? So, I stayed in jail until I could get the money from my bank account in Alabama because the bail bondsman would not take a check, nor would he accept a credit card.
This bail cost me a lot of money but I paid it. While I was on parole in Alabama I had been working as a mechanic and made good money. I had recently purchased a new Chevrolet Monte Carlo. I had money, a credit card and a bank account. Does it make sense to think I’m in this situation and I’m going to snatch some woman’s purse?
Once I was out on bond I got a job at Alterman’s Truck Lines as a diesel mechanic. My bondsman had no problem with me leaving the state to go to my mom’s in Alabama or anywhere else during this time. I made good money as a diesel mechanic. Now, while I was on bond, the prosecutor kept coming to me offering a misdemeanor charge to plea and only six (6 ) months to serve if I would accept it. I turned his offers down every time because I was not guilty of anything and I thought that would be shown in court.
Then months later when I finally went to trial, the same woman who had seen me standing there in handcuffs and indicated she was not sure, testified it was me who robbed her. There was no other direct evidence, no physical evidence linking me to anything or to having ever been anywhere near her. I did not testify because my lawyer said the prosecutor would bring up the fact that I had been in prison before and that I had just gotten off parole. He said this would prejudice the jury against me, so I did not testify for that reason only. The jury simply took her word for it and found me guilty. I could not believe this was happening, but there it was and there was nothing I could do about it.
On December 30, 1981 I was convicted of strong-arm robbery in Escambia County, Florida. I did not know until the day of the trial that Sandy and the victim of the purse snatching were close friends. There they were together all smiles in the courtroom. I went to jail. Sandy got my new Monte Carlo loaded with all my tools, my credit card, all my savings, clothes – everything I owned – even the settlement from a work-related accidental injury before we were married.
Another coincidence, my wife’s brother, the FBI agent who first made a complaint about me having “dishonored his family” — his direct superior was the very FBI agent who would manage the investigation of federal charges against me in 1995. This man, Joseph Tierney, was well known for his perseverance in going after Native Americans.
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After I was found guilty at that crazy trial the judge ordered that I be placed in custody and taken to the Escambia County jail to remain until sentencing. This even shocked the bail bondsman who was at my trial and not happy at what happened. Even the bonding company knew this was all wrong. The bondsman knew the judge very well and wrote him a letter recommending probation while I was in jail. He stated he knew that I had not committed any crime and that was why he allowed me to travel while on bond to any place I chose to go. He visited me in jail and urged that I should be staying out of trouble, that I would be granted probation pretty soon and I could get back to working. My lawyer also came and told me that he filed an appeal. He said I would win this appeal, but I would be getting probation more than likely, so I would be free soon and my conviction would be overturned while I was out on probation. So I surely wasn’t looking for any trouble.
The county had been building a new jail at this time and I was one of the first to be moved over to it. Only problem was, the work was not complete and hardly anything was working there at all. It was winter and there was absolutely no heat in the jail or at least not in the cell blocks. It was so cold in the blocks that people were getting sick. Now in jail we didn’t get to have any clothes except what they gave you to put on, which wasn’t very much. After weeks of nothing being done, food being ice cold, late or told they couldn’t give us that meal, with no change of clean clothes and still no heat, the guys in the cell blocks were very upset.
So finally one day after most of everyone was sick with fevers, coughing and still being ice cold things came to a head. The air conditioner worked very well and it was on full blast in the cell blocks and units. They claimed they couldn’t get it to turn off. The guys in all the units bucked and refused to go to their cells. See they only let us out of the cells to eat or shower, but there was no hot water in the showers so most weren’t bathing either. I still bathed even though it is ice water. This new jail had all kinds of faulty problems and should not have been opened till they got all the problems fixed.
Anyway I did not buck or refuse to go to my cell. I was the only one who did not; I did not want any trouble. I had my blanket, so thin and way too small to cover much of me, wrapped around my shoulders trying to keep my upper body warm. Apparently to the guards this was a violation and I was told to remove the blanket. I told them I was cold and needed the blanket to keep warm and asked to speak with the Lieutenant or jail supervisor. They came back later and told me to come on.
No one else had even obeyed them at all and refused to go to their cells. I was asked to come to the sally port; I did and they told me to drop the blanket. Once again I told them I needed it to keep warm. I got down on my knees as they requested with my back to them at the doors made with steel bars; they reached thru and placed leg shackles on me. Then they put a waist chain on me, cuffed me and secured it to the waist chain. I was told to stand up which I did and they opened the sally port for me to step inside.
They closed that door behind me and then opened the cell block door for me to step thru. Two officers held me by my arms on each side. They led me outside the door and turned the corner, then a ball bat smashed into my face. Another guard struck me in the stomach with a night stick, point first. While the two guards were holding my arms and keeping me upright, more and more guards began to beat me. I fought back.
Using my body I smashed the guard on my left into the wall forcing him to let go of my arm. Then I head butted the guard on my right to get them both to let go giving me a better chance to protect myself. I kept telling them I was not wanting any trouble but they just kept trying to beat me with their sticks, ball bat and fists. Finally I got mad, really mad and I broke free from my cuffs. Yes, sometimes something will give you extraordinary strength and this was one of those times. Now I was fighting for my life.
Now more and more officers were coming at me with mace, pepper spray, and even a fire extinguisher to spray me and using their shields and sticks, the numbers were just too many. They got me down and began beating me till I passed out. They kicked in my face repeatedly with their boots, breaking my jaws; leaving their boot prints all over my face. They broke my ribs on both sides and damaged my kidneys so much I was bleeding inside. I was dragged down the stairs and thrown into the drunk tank where I lay bleeding on the floor till the next day when another supervisor came thru and had me taken to a hospital. At the hospital the doctor and staff were told by the guards that inmates had done this to me.
When the doctor got close to me I reached for his arm and pulled his paper from his hand motioning that I wanted to write. He handed me his pen and I wrote the truth – guards did this to me. He looked at what I wrote then looked closely at me and nodded his head. The doctor stepped away and was gone for some time; then returned with two hospital security officers and a camera. He took photos of me, my face and chest, ribs, wrists, hands, back and legs. He was talking the whole time describing into a microphone everything he saw and had the officers he brought in with him to witness all this too.
He spoke to the guards and told them there was no way inmates could have done these things. First it was clear with all the boot prints embedded in my face; no inmates had any shoes on their feet. He said he had worked there for years and inmates only wear tiny flip flops or a soft slip-on cotton loafer. Second, his exam clearly shows that I had been beaten with round objects striking me all over and whatever that was smashed my nose and broke it and my cheek bone. The guards tried to play it off and say they were only repeating what they were told. Again they were lying; they were there that day. I didn’t forget their faces. My eyes were almost swollen shut and gashed open but I could see them.
After all this was documented and I was given only what treatment they were allowed to give me, I was taken to the courthouse and officially charged with assaulting police officers. I pleaded not guilty and was returned back to the jail and thrown into solitary. A little later on I was taken to my sentencing hearing where I was supposed to be given probation while I was waiting on my appeal. But now the judge denied my probation and sentenced me to three years in prison based on the fact that I was now charged with assaulting numerous police officers. The judge said he could not allow this and my actions showed him that I had no respect for the law or his court.
I was returned to the jail where I remained waiting for my trial on the charges of assaulting police officers. I went to trial and was found not guilty and the truth of who assaulted whom was proven. Yes I testified in my own trial and told exactly what was done to me. I was returned to the jail where the word spread by the news of me winning in court. No charges were ever made against the six officers who assaulted me. I filed a lawsuit against the officers and the jail while sitting in the jail. I won this lawsuit and was awarded $6000.
A couple weeks later I was attacked again by the lieutenant officer. I was just sitting at a table bothering no one and he just walked up to me and hit me in the face with his handful of big steel jail door keys on a steel ring. Yeah it cut my face, but this time he really messed up. My hands were already free and I was not chained anywhere, so he got body-slammed on top of a steel table. Then other officers joined in and there was total chaos. Other inmates joined in then until there was a standoff between me and the other inmates against all the cops. The Sheriff came up and asked what happened. Others told him what they saw and what happened. His staff denied any wrong doing naturally. He asked everyone to just remain calm and he would go check into it. He went and reviewed the cameras and saw what we said was true and came back and said as much to us.
He asked me to please allow them to handcuff me. I told him no way was I going to fall for that again. So he allowed me to walk unrestrained back down the stairs to my cell block and go to my cell where they locked me in. Then they brought down the rest of the prisoners and they went to their cells. No charges were made against any of us. I began washing all the blood off my face from cuts made by the keys when he struck me. A medical staff person brought some ice and I was allowed to wrap it in a washcloth to put on my face. I later filed another lawsuit against these officers as well.
I was then sent off to a Florida State prison with big bold letters on my jacket: LOVES TO ASSAULT OFFICERS. Now you can imagine what effect that had on the prison guards and staff when I arrived. While doing my time I received a letter from the appeals court that my appeal had been denied. I had never even seen or heard when my lawyer filed the appeal. I never heard a peep from him.
After I had served most of my time and had not received a single disciplinary write up, I was transferred to the Pensacola Work Release Center on S street at the Salvation Army Satellite Center. I was given a job and recruited by Charles Land, a former U.S. Marshal and retired magistrate to serve as his personal body guard in 1983. I stayed at his house. Charles Land felt like he owned me and treated me as such.
I did not like working for Charles Land so I told him I was quitting. He said I could not do that. He threatened me and even told my mom that he “owned me!” I told him no one owns me so I left his house and I never went back. I went back to the work release and told them I quit working for him and began going out to look for another job. A few days later I was told I could not quit that job and I had to return to working for him and staying with him. Charles Land clearly wielded a lot of clout.
I left and Cat took me to my mom’s where I explained everything to her and my family. My brother took me to a phone where I called the F.B.I. office in Huntsville, AL and told them my situation. They said there was nothing they could do. I went to see my dad and let him know what all was going on. He said he would talk to the police there. My dad was a fireman and worked at city hall right next to the police department so he knew them all and would see what he could do. In the meantime I needed to go back to the work release center and try to get them to do the right thing so Cat took me back to Pensacola. When I called they said no I could not come back there and that they were going to arrest me. I asked why and they said I was supposed to be staying with Charles Land and since I wasn’t, they considered it an escape. Once again I was arrested and placed in jail.
Despite all the treachery, abuse and heartache, there was one shining moment during this short time of relative freedom. Spirit answered my prayer for someone to love who would love me in return. The moment I saw her, this beautiful, tall, shy girl with the long blonde hair, I knew I had met the love of my life. She became my Cat Dancing, the woman who stood by me through all the hard times to come.
While in jail I called my mom and my dad. My dad said I should call him back the next day. I did and he said he had talked to some of his friends at the police dept and that they would help get me out of Florida but I would have to play along with them and do as they said. He said not to worry they would release me once they brought me back up there.
When the police from Alabama came they told me what they had planned and discussed with my dad; they would be charging me for crimes in Alabama and I would have to confess to these crimes. Once I did they could get Florida to release me to them and they could take me back. They would drop everything once I got back and I would be free. I knew one of the detectives, Freddie Day, personally. I had known him for years and played on the same ball team with him so I felt I could trust him and I knew he was a friend of my dad’s.
So I did as he said, only Florida refused to release me as they said they would and they kept me for almost five more months before allowing Alabama to come get me. When they did I soon found out I had been lied to. I never saw the detective who first came to see me again.
In November 1983 I was taken before a Florida judge and was told all charges of assaulting an officer of the law in Florida were dropped against me and I was being extradited now to Alabama. I was then taken back to Alabama by Chief Roy Woods, and his brother, Lynn Woods, both of whom I knew. I arrived at the Cullman City Jail and later my dad was allowed to see me. I do not remember too much after that other than the fact that I was taken to a mental hospital for evaluation.
The people at the hospital started drugging me and asking me if I wanted to stay there forever or did I want to go to court. I couldn’t understand what I was even doing in this place and just wanted out of there. I don’t remember much of what happened after getting back to the jail either, other than I kept telling my lawyers to talk to Freddie Day and get him to tell the truth. They had promised me the charges against me would be dropped when we got back to Alabama.
But here I was and they kept me chained and in the cell with two other prisoners and they weren’t chained. They made the two prisoners sign waivers that they knew I was dangerous, so they could not sue the jail if I killed them or hurt them. Neither of the other prisoners was afraid of me or wanted to be moved. Yes, I was agitated and anxious about what was happening and had terrible headaches but there was no reason for them to believe I was going to hurt anyone. These men could see that.
Now these cops here all knew me and knew about my athletic/martial arts skills and training. No doubt they had also been informed of the altercations I had with prison staff while in the Escambia County jail – but of course not the part about who assaulted whom or the fact that I had sued in federal court and won. So for sure they felt they had reason to be afraid of me and perhaps justification for the illegal management of my case by all involved in the justice system.
This is the real reason why they kept drugging me with Thorazine up to the maximum 1600 mg as well as Mellaril and Valium the same drugs they had used to keep me in a chemical straight jacket back in the 70ies. (See Chapter 14) Even when I said no, they forced the drugs on me anyway.
I remember my lawyers saying I would be out soon; that everyone knew this and if I would just sign a piece of paper I would be sentenced for no less than 2 years but no more than 20 years. They said that since I was cooperating they would see that I got about half of that. I refused it! I wanted to go to trial and kept arguing with them! Later they had me taken to a room. I remember my dad and my Aunt Mary sitting there and they had a piece of paper they wanted me to sign. I refused. I don’t know what they said to my dad and aunt, but I kept saying no! I just remember being taken back to a cell and they kept forcing drugs into me. I was chained to the max and could not resist much.
Again, sometime later, I don’t know how long, I remember sitting in front of my dad and he was saying, “Sign this, please sign this.” All I could remember was my attorney telling my dad, “See, the judge has signed this, the D.A. has signed this, we have signed this, and if he signs this we will send him to a hospital for medical help and this will happen today.” I don’t even remember signing it.
The piece of paper they kept asking me to sign was actually two plea bargains for the two attempted robbery charges against me. The first should have been federal jurisdiction, but the FBI declined to intervene. They knew the maximum federal sentence was 25 years; the sentence in Alabama was life in prison, so the feds didn’t even bother. They had me where they wanted me. In both cases the plea bargain assured me of no less than two and no more than 20 years in prison.
I have a vague memory of sitting in a room with the judge whom I knew, and my attorneys, all the cops, and the D.A. They were saying I would see my family soon and then go to a hospital as best I can remember. Then I was taken down stairs, and out to a car. My mom and family were there. I remember they were crying. I was placed in a car and taken to Kilby prison. When I got there they placed me in a mental ward, put me in a straight jacket and said the judge ordered me to be there.
Only then was I informed that I had been sentenced to life in prison. All in the same day I was drugged and coerced into signing the plea bargains and given a hopeless sentence with no jury trial ever! I later learned that Sandy was there and prepared to testify against me if there was a trial. I guess her mother really meant it when she told my Mom I would spend the rest of my life in prison if I ever left her daughter. Sandy got a divorce after I went to prison. By then she had already taken everything I had worked for.
Not long after, I was transferred to Holman Prison where I was kept on tranquilizer drugs for years. If I did not show up to take them, the guards would come get me and lock me up in the hole again! I steadily fought to get off the drugs. It took me awhile but I was finally able to just refuse them all together.
Footnote:
It would take more than 30 years with many attempts by my mom and other outside friends to ever get copies of the actual records in this case. Time after time they were told there were no such records. Finally, in 2015 a court clerk suddenly remembered where the old records were stored. One of my friends was able to secure copies of old jail records to prove that I was being drugged as well as the two plea bargain agreements listing my crimes as attempted robbery and the promise of 2 to 20 years in prison. With the help of my friends I was able to file a Rule 32 Petition against the two illegal cases in which I received two life sentences for these “attempted robberies.” In 2015 both of these cases and the life sentences were vacated by the state court in Cullman County Alabama.
Nearly 40 years after my 1981 conviction for “purse snatching” in Florida I found out about changes in the Florida law that would allow me to retroactively seek post-conviction relief for the original wrongful conviction. After learning this, I again asked my friends to help me get the right forms and records and filed for what is right and just. Since I did not do this crime but was badly harmed by the conviction and the prejudice the record still carries, I would argue that it should be vacated even though I had already served every day of the sentence.
On February 18, 2020 I filed a Motion for Postconviction Relief pursuant to Florida Rule of Criminal procedure 3.850 asking the court to grant me the justice I deserve in this case – to have it vacated and expunged from my record. After the court had made no ruling in nearly two years, I filed a Motion to Compel the court to make a ruling in January 2022. *To date the court has made no ruling.
Part Four: The Spiritual Warrior Awakens as Ghost faces the greatest challenge of his life. He finds strength and courage from all those who stand with him and for him – family, old friends from AIM, strangers, and most of all the love of his beautiful Cat Dancing, his War Woman whose courageous spirit stood as strong as his own.
Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens
Chapter 15 – Eleven Years in Hell
After my return to the Alabama Department of Corrections in 1984, they tried to use loop holes in the Religious Freedom Act to deny me my religious rights once again. I wasn’t asking for much – the right to wear my hair long, certain restrictions on my diet, and the right to pray in my own way. When I insisted on my rights, the solitary confinement, beatings and torture began again.
Once when I was allowed out of solitary in order to work, while out on the yard, I did my own traditional Spirt Run. The whole time, I ran around and around the track praying for all those I loved. Simply for this I was sent back to solitary for practicing my religion.
Another time, again out on the yard, I sat down on the ground, drew a circle around myself and began to sing and pray. As I sang, flocks of birds came and sat down all around me. Everyone was amazed and the personnel were so frightened they sent me back to solitary. There were many similar instances all because of my activism, insisting on recognition of the religious rights of Native Americans.
Despite this, by 1989 after a long process involving the help of many on the inside and outside, I took this issue back into court again. I filed a case in federal court against the State of Alabama for discrimination and not allowing Native American religious beliefs, practices and ceremonies in the prisons. This time I meant to make sure the court ruled on specific issues of my traditional religious beliefs and practices that had never before been addressed.
It is important to understand that Native American religions are diverse just as Native Peoples in general are diverse. We are separated by geography, tribal nation, cultural history and numerous languages. Each is different in our spiritual beliefs and practices just as our dress, foods, tools, weapons, and housing are different.
Under the American Indian Religious Freedom Act of 1978, the law was vague on these differences and the court’s interpretations were left open to biased opinions which of course infringes upon our freedom to follow our individual beliefs and spiritual guidelines. For instance, all Natives must seek their individual medicine which is found through fasting and seeking our spiritual helpers. This is where we are shown and told what we need for our medicine, what it consists of, and how we must follow it. No two people have the same exact medicine or guidelines they must live by.
During this time prison staff did everything possible to prevent me from pursuing this in court even to the point of beating me half to death, placing me in the house of pain, denying me access to law books, paper or writing materials. At one time I sent a letter motion to the judge written in blood with my fingers on toilet paper to let him know what was happening. I was given back writing materials.
Later when it was going bad for them they sent the chaplain in; he told me if I did not sign the paper he slid under solitary cell door he would not be responsible for what would happen to me. I refused to sign a paper stating that I was changing my religion to Christian and dropping all my cases in courts and the claims I had against all of them.
After that the warden and assistant warden ordered the goon squad to attack me. I fought back for a long time but eventually with all their numbers and equipment they beat me down in that tiny solitary cell. They began tearing up all my law papers, records, law books, court papers and documents that I had in the cell and began torturing me once again. This went on for months and months each day with no stopping in sight.
Then I was placed naked in an even tinier cell, in darkness with no bed, no toilet, no light, no nothing, just me, a concrete floor and steel bars. They tried to cover up what they did by charging me with assault on numerous officers, disobeying a direct order, creating a security hazard, and disrupting the orderly operations of the prison. It doesn’t take a whole lot of common sense to figure out who was totally restrained, who opened the cell door and who attacked whom.
Being kept in solitary with no lights, no toilet, no clothes, no bed, and no food for any extended amount of time will truly test your spiritual strength. From time to time, the warden would come to my outside cell door and tell me that if would sign a paper saying I had changed my religious beliefs, they would release me. I refused.
Of course the authorities knew Cat had been gathering letters, information and typing up all my court motions. For this she too was made to suffer by federal officers and prison staff but Cat was very brave and determined to stand up to them. Prison officials came and told me that if I did not sign papers changing my religious beliefs and drop the court cases, something bad would happen to Cat. Yes, they even threatened her life! They said they knew she was helping me and she was always driving down lonely isolated roads and things could easily happen to her.
We had a visit coming up and when she arrived the warden pulled her into his office and tried to persuade her to stop helping me. I told Cat what they said and what they would do. She told me what they said to her and how she felt. She sat there looking at me like the true war woman she is and without even thinking about it, said, “You keep doing what you need to do. I will stay and help you no matter what.” Cat told me not to let these people stop me if this is what I wanted to do. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, “I will be very careful and I will let them know I’m not scared of them.”
That day it was getting dark when Cat left Holman prison on her way back to Florida driving on the back roads. It wasn’t long before a man wearing black and driving a black car pulled out and got on her bumper. He followed her on her bumper so she slowed down, allowing him to pass, but he would not pass. So she hurried on to the little town of Atmore, Alabama and pulled over in the Hardee’s parking lot. Cat drove slowly around Hardee’s and sat there for a while. When she pulled around she saw him across the road waiting for her. So she took off again travelling on down the road and sure enough, he came right behind her and got back up on her bumper.
Knowing she would soon be on an isolated highway Cat decided to pull into Barnes Store and just stay there. She was not going to go down that lonely road with him behind her. For the longest time Cat just stood there looking across the road at him. Finally he gave up and drove off in the opposite direction. Cat waited until he was out of sight, then jumped in her car like a good race car driver and got away.
Yes Cat has been through hell with me and was just as important as any other who fought and struggled for our religious freedoms. They called me “Renegade” and Cat was a true War Woman! She paid a high price for this and few people will thank her or give her the respect she deserves.
Many people might think prisoners deserve to be punished severely when they deliberately upset the “orderly operation of a prison” by fighting for their legal rights under the law. Just so there is no mistake of what I mean by the word torture, though I do not like to think of it, I will give just a few examples of what was actually done to me by the State of Alabama for my activism – all for the right to pray!
Totally naked, leg shackled, chained with a waist chain, and handcuffed they hung me upside down from a fence. Prison guards used electric cattle prods on my body and a captain and chaplain, took a pocket knife and literally scalped me, saying they wanted an Indian’s scalp. They left me hanging like this in the winter for 3 days beating me every day. Still I would not sign any papers to change my religious beliefs or drop cases in court.
While I was in the solitary dungeon, naked, no bed, no lights, no windows, in total darkness, no sink, no toilet, just me and the concrete and steel. It was winter time with snow and frigid temps, and no heat. The guards used fire hoses to spray me with ice cold water so powerful it slammed me around with violent force. They left me half drowned and laying in water.
All the while I was starved so I wouldn’t have the strength to fight or resist them. My existence was a small piece of corn bread and small cup of water each day.
I was put in 3’x 5’ cell, so small I couldn’t even lay down or stretch out – day after day, month after month in total darkness.
I have been set on fire, had my testicles and penis beaten with a ball-peen hammer and squeezed with pliers trying to force me to sign papers that I would change my religion and drop my lawsuits in court against them.
They put me in the big yellow electric chair at Holman prison and hit me with 10,000 volts trying to get me to change my religion and drop my law suit.
They put me in a wooden chair, butt naked and chained, leg shackled, body chains and handcuffed to the chains and chained to the chair. Then they put alligator clamps on my tongue, eye lids, nipples, penis and testicles and had electric wires run to old wind up telephones hooked to batteries or electrical outlets and they repeatedly sent shocking electricity into me to break me and try to get me to sign documents to drop the cases in court and change my religion.
A bunch of goons dragged me naked and shackled out of my cell in the middle of the night, put me in a van and drove me out on an isolated road. I knew what they intended to do, so I fought for my very life by wedging my body in the van so tight they never could not get me out. If they had, I would have been shot on the spot and they could claim I had escaped thus justifying my death.
Cat Dancing, my poor sweet wife, heard and knew what was happening. My mom and family all knew this too. There was little they could do, but just knowing they stood with me gave me strength. How did they know? Other prisoners wrote to them, telling of the beatings and medieval torture they were doing to me. See, in those days there was a certain code of honor among prisoners in maximum security prisons, especially those on death row or held in solitary. We had many ways of communicating, like some of the ingenious things you might see in a movie like Shawshank Redemption are indeed based on real life. And all those around me knew who I was and what was happening to me.
I wish to say that I owe a lot of thanks to all the different prisoners who passed on my messages to my family, to Cat, all the Native resistance newspapers, Native organizations that I wrote for and sent updates to. They even sent information out to the courts for me when I was unable to. This includes all the guys on death row who risked themselves and their property and little exercise time or jobs to help get my info out or messages to the court or family or to my beloved Cat. For without them I would never have been able to work to get these laws passed and in courts.
These men helped me communicate when I was working with senators and congress people to get laws passed, even to communicate with foreign countries and United Nations personnel who were making our cause known before the United Nations. I was involved with organizations all around the world bringing forth our cause to them to gather support from their ambassadors to the United Nations Councils. The world needed to see the truth about our plight and how the justice system really was run here in this country. People in numerous countries held rallies and events to gather support for our cause.
So yes, it is because of the guys in lock up and death row who stepped up and helped get these messages out and even back to me. Many times it took hours and even days to successfully get a message down to where it needed to get to, but what is time when time doesn’t exist in this world.
These are things everyone needs to know. I have always had helpers. Spirit has always put people in my path who have helped me achieve what I was seeking and trying to do or learn. All thanks to Spirit for each one throughout my life.
Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens
Chapter 16 – When Love Stepped In
What the prison officials didn’t understand was that by keeping me in this utter isolation, they were truly allowing me to tap into my inner spirit to find the strength and power available to me. When these tactics didn’t work, they eventually tried others. They placed me in a cell block. I noticed how everyone kept staring at me when I came in and went to my bed. I watched from the corner of my eyes as guards called certain prisoners to the cell block gate and talked to them. I felt them all looking at me. The guards opened the gate and passed in a box to these guys. They immediately left and went to their bunks. More and more prisoners gathered around them and I saw them turning their heads to look at me, all grinning and laughing. I saw liquor bottles come out of the box the guards passed to them and the prisoners all drinking and smoking. I was not stupid; I sensed what was to come.
While they drank, I casually prepared myself, softly singing my prayer songs and eventually my death song. If this was to be, it would be a good day to die. I would die as all my ancestors had died, as a warrior. After the lights were cut off for the night, I could hear them getting louder and drunker, building up their courage with the alcohol. I would be on my own which gave me the advantage that I could strike without worry of hitting any friends or allies. I made my body armor, prison style, from magazines and books in my personal property, using Ace bandages to hold them in place around my body and both my arms. I filled three pairs of socks with radio batteries, so basically, I had a pair of very powerful weapons. I took my shoes off; bare feet are more comfortable and would help keep my balance. They would attack in groups. I could not afford to lose my balance or get knocked down. It would be over if I did. Neither could I let any to get behind me. So, in the dark, I studied everything, planned my strategy, and kept my prayers going. Why these guys would sell their honor to do dirty work for the guards I did not know, but it would cost them dearly.
My religious beliefs do not call for me to just lay there and be stabbed or beaten to death. When they came, I was ready. Out of the bed I rolled and charged them, swinging those socks full of batteries, and knocking heads and faces in. I never stopped; just kept going after all of them, screaming out war whoops, then singing a good day to die song. I kept swinging and beating until none were left anywhere around and screams filled the cell block. I was splattered in blood, but I didn’t think any of it was mine.
I found the two leaders laying there all messed up. I grabbed them by the hair and lifted their faces to look into my eyes. I told them they had sold out their souls for nothing and to be thankful I was sparing their lives. I told them to let everyone know that if they come for me, they better come prepared to die, because I was already ready for death. I slammed their heads back into the concrete floor and was standing there when the guards came and began trying to beat me down, so I fought them too. I woke up naked and back in the hole again. I knew my jaw and nose were broken. My ribs felt like they were broken too; I felt like I had been kicked and beaten from head to toe. I gave thanks to Spirit for protecting me and for my spirit helpers for giving me their courage and strength to battle.
This would begin yet another pattern of force the prison used against me. They started passing the word out to prisoners telling them I was a devil worshipper and all kinds of stuff to rile them up against me. They would beat me terribly and refuse to feed me, then when I was so weakened, they put me in cell blocks where they had made deals with prisoners to try to take me out. I came to look at it as a routine. I knew I would not have much energy or strength, so whatever I had to do, I did quickly to make my point very clear. When these tactics didn’t work, and prisoners began refusing to follow the guard’s orders towards me, back to solitary I went. While I had been out in population I had begun teaching what I had been taught and learned about traditional Native American religion. Guys out there were beginning to see for themselves that my religion was not something evil or anything like what they had been told or had seen on tv or movies.
Many other inmates began respecting what I was doing, standing up for my people and our religion. I began doing ceremonies in my solitary cell, singing the songs, visualizing doing the pipe ceremony. I prayed for everyone, even the guards and others who had been beating me, and for those who were ordering these things done to me. This isolation and starvation gave me plenty of time to focus on my spirit quest, to find my inner spirit. This allowed me to become more and more connected to all my spirit helpers, by seeking visions and seeking deeper and higher understanding of myself and how everything is connected to us all, as being one with everything.
I reached out for outside help in every way I could and was so blessed to find many wonderful people who came to my aid and touched my life in one way or another.
Bo Lozoff
I heard about Bo Lozoff and the Human Kindness Foundation, so I wrote to him. Bo sent free copies of his books and put me on the list for the HKF newsletter. Here was a person who for more than 30 years, shared his experiences, knowledge, and friendship with thousands of prisoners around the world. Bo was a practicing Buddhist and he shared with all of us the story of his life journey as he walked and learned his path, from his successes to his failures. His heart was pure and good and full of life.
Many times, I would be down and so hurting from the beatings or so starved I was thinking of eating my own fingers or toes. I would pick up one of his books and read another teaching. Many times, people can read something and still not see the teaching or understanding what is truly there. For this you must open yourself up to receive it and discover profound lessons. This is what Bo Lozoff’s books did for me.
Bo Lozoff and his wife, Sita, started the Prison-Ashram Project with Ram Dass in 1973. Bo’s first book, We’re All Doing Time, is to this day widely referred to as the convicts’ bible and has been named as one of the ten books everyone in the world should read. I would encourage everyone to read it with the understanding that in some way or other, we all are bound by chains, even if you are not surrounded by walls, guards, fences, razor wire, gun towers, or bars. You are locked up just the same unless you free your own mind and set your true spirit free.
Bo came to see me once, even though I didn’t know it at the time. A guard later told me some Buddhist monk had come to see me, but they wouldn’t let him in, so he stood outside in the parking lot and chanted for me. I was not able to hear him since I was on the other side of the prison, but it meant the world to me to know he had come.
Bo’s books have touched the hearts and spirits of millions of prisoners around the world through the individual stories of people he has worked with. Bo had a gift of getting right down to street level and conversing with even the most hardened hearts in language they could understand. So many prisoners believe they are the only one suffering or experiencing these same thoughts and feelings, and think there is just no hope of things changing. When you read the words of so many others who are going through what you are, you realize you are not alone, that you aren’t the first or even the last who will feel this way. You still have power and Bo helped people see that what you do, how you think, how you see things, will be up to you. Each one has to decide what changes you can make in your own world, your own mind, your own spirit, your own heart. Bo’s words of encouragement to all of us, meant so much.
Bo died in 2012 in a motorcycle accident. His wife, Sita, carried on their life’s work through the Human Kindness Foundation, now the largest interfaith ministry of its kind in the world. Bo’s spirit is still spread across the universe to help us all. I encourage everyone to support the work of the Human Kindness Foundation.
Michio Kushi
Another beloved mentor was Michio Kushi, a man I had only heard of. Professor Kushi was a Japanese scholar who introduced the concept of Macrobiotics in the USA in the 1950s. He and his wife, Aveline, founded The Kushi Institute in the early 1980s and he served as a director of the East West Foundation for Macrobiotics.
In response to my letter, Sensei (Elder or Teacher) Michio Kushi sent numerous books to help me in my time of need. One was called Budō. I began studying Budō, which is one of the martial arts, while in solitary. He also sent numerous books and instructions on other forms of martial arts and wrote letters of encouragement that helped to lift me. Even while I was being beaten, I could hear his words and block out all the pain and abuse.
Professor Kushi also put me in contact with other people who sent helpful books and wrote to me. None of these people judged me or ever asked any questions about my past or why I was in prison. They only talked to me about the present and the future and what I was going to do. They inquired about my interests and were all willing to provide materials to keep my mind occupied with studies. I devoured everything they sent. Some people may not understand how important this was to me, but let me tell you, when you are kept naked and alone 24 hours a day, seven days a week, week after week, month after month, year after year, in a filthy tiny cell with nothing to do but wait for the times they come to abuse you, this kind of support is life-saving.
These are the people who helped keep my mind busy and active. People placed in solitary who do not have mental stimulation literally go insane, suffer permanent psychological and mental problems, or attempt to commit suicide. My study of martial arts as a kid helped me understand the principles of all the different teachings that Michio Kushi shared with me. Even until this very day, I still practice and use these teachings that helped me so much.
There is no way I could ever thank Sensei Michio Kushi enough for all the help he gave so generously. He didn’t have to do any of this, but his heart was true to be a spiritual person and a real teacher. I recently learned that Michio Kushi passed in 2014, so all I can do is honor and share what he did for me and strive to live as he taught me.
Abused Boys
Sometimes society seems to think boys, teenage boys or even young men should be tough and don’t need that care, that love, that healing.
Often boys will strike out in some way because of the pain, sometimes even long afterward, at things or those around them though they do not mean to hurt those they love and those who love them. Many turn to alcohol, drugs, or become something they are driven to. These are pure cries for help. But no one sees that, no one hears the cry of the boy who suffers this way. Sometimes this leads to more problems, such as rebelling against their parents or society, doing things that could be dangerous, or just wrong. Why? Because they are hurting inside. You can never change a person unless the person wants to be changed . You can never help anyone unless they want help. It is like leading a mule to water but you can’t make them drink.
I knew a boy once who was a promising young mind. Gifted with almost total photographic memory, very talented, hard-working and strong as could be, an amazing athlete who loved to compete. When he was a young boy, he could have grown up to be almost anything he wanted to be. But circumstances and bad things happening, he fell into the habit of holding all his feelings about everything inside himself, becoming confused and injured in the head. Life changed so fast and he found himself cast into a world of concrete, steel and chains. Never again would that boy be the same.
That innocent young man, ripped from his family and life is just one of thousands in this world. He was a boy who lived in four worlds all simultaneously. Oh, but how could that be? Well the boy lived with his mom in one world. He lived with his dad in a different world. He lived in the harmony of nature with all the natural things. And he lived in the spirit world, in which none knew he traveled so easily. He knew things he should not have been able to know. He was given gifts that people would frown upon or point fingers at him if they had only known.
He was hit in the head with a sledgehammer and his worlds all went black. He began blending and mixing up worlds all at the same time and in this confusion someone he trusted came to him and asked for help. The boy who believed in honor, and family could not deny that request. He knew it was wrong – oh yes! he surely did – and it broke his heart to do it, but he did. And he did it again and again. He dreamed something was going to happen and it surely did. He knew it would be bad, but never could imagine so much as this. How do I know? I know because I was that young boy, a boy who became a man, and suddenly faced life and death every single day.
That young boy was literally beaten, torn and thrown away by society. He was tortured because of his unwillingness to deny his beliefs, beaten and left to starve, naked, in darkness, having to stand in his own human waste. Still, this young boy would not break his faith. Driven by a promise he made when he was just a boy of 9 years old, to bring back to his family the things that were stolen from their lives: their history, heritage and ways of life. Subjected to every means of torture human evilness could dream, those inside the dark place were the only ones who could hear the terrifying screams. He screamed inside of himself, not letting those who were doing this to him win by seeing his pain. Never did a sound leave his lips so they could rejoice or proclaim they won.
The young boy’s mind let go; his body numbed to pain. The tears he let flow, no human would see. BUT SPIRIT SAW AND REACHED DOWN AND WIPED HIS FACE CLEAN. NO OTHER MAY KNOW WHAT WAS FELT ALL THOSE YEARS, BUT SPIRIT KNEW, AND THE BOY’S HEART WAS HEALED.
I share this with you all so maybe one day you will truly understand that all people in here are crying if you just listen and open your heart. In the lodge where it is totally dark, men, who are really little boys inside, can release their pain without fear of anyone seeing them or seeing their tears. We cry always for those in the world that no one hears. I empty my heart each and every time to the One who can heal always, every time. LOVE IS THE ONLY CURE I KNOW THAT WILL HEAL THE MOST BROKEN OF HEARTS AND SOULS.
I cannot speak for all the children who have been abused or done wrong. I can only speak from where I have come, what I have experienced, and what I have grown to be. From out of all that pain came a man who knows only love, who only wants beauty and harmony. In this world we all have hidden places inside ourselves, a place we retreat to and say, if only this could be, or if I had of done this or not done that. But let’s face the truth, we are part of all these things – the good, the bad, the future, the past.
We only have to feel love deeply to move on past all the painful memories and tortures within ourselves, to truly come to be more than we can imagine we ever could be! I know, I have done this each and every day for all these years, and so can everyone! Ghost
Part Four – The Spiritual Warrior Awakens
Chapter 17 – Finally, My Day in Court
In 1989, after years of mental and physical abuse in the Alabama prison system, I filed suit in federal court in the Northern District of Alabama against the State of Alabama for the right to practice my religion. Now it truly made my day when the judge allowed me to represent the case in court myself, because unlike any lawyer, I would not be nice to any of the government’s witnesses or defendants. I would be prepared to question them like they never ever had been. The judge ordered only law enforcement or government officials would be allowed in the courtroom other than my family. Guess he wanted to keep it quiet from the public. But the state had numerous attorneys, plus the attorney general, the Department of Corrections attorneys and all the wardens, prison officials and numerous staff who were all involved.
They brought their so-called experts who were chaplains, a high school history teacher and a college professor. I had Cat and all my family there. My dad and mom both came and testified for the first time of their true nationality and our family history. This was the first time ever that either one of them had admitted this publicly. Remember by law in Alabama and other southern states it was illegal for Native people to be living or working or owning any property in the state. Even today, this is still in the law books of some southern states and still in the law books that it’s legal to kill any Native.
Yet here was my dad and mom both testifying in federal court in Birmingham Alabama about who and what they were and how I was raised and believed. And even though my maternal grandmother was not physically there she had done all she could. She had sworn an affidavit in front of the Morgan County probate judge and had it notarized to the effect of her marriage to my grandfather, Edgar Beavers who was a full blooded Native American and she knew my dad’s family as well that he was full blooded Native American. My mom had brought her Holy Bible with the recorded marriages and dates and who they were going back to the early 1800s.
My dad and mom both also testified as to me being different and living traditionally and practicing my traditional beliefs and religion all my life. They told how much it meant to me even as to how my medicine forbids me to eat any bird flesh or harm any type of bird. I presented all my disciplinaries and complaints that I had as evidence about my religious beliefs and practices. I also submitted to the court and before the court read all the documents I had received from various wardens from numerous other prisons. I took the stand myself and testified about all the abuses that I had received and had to endure because of my religious beliefs and race.
I read all the amicus curiaes that had come to me from all the expert highly recognized traditional spiritual leaders from various tribal nations and had submitted to the court as friends of the court. Numerous times the defense tried to cross examine me, trying to make me mad or say something wrong but that didn’t happen.
When I was done I rested my case. Then the defense put on their witnesses. After each one testified I was allowed to cross examine them. When I asked them what tribal nation they belonged to or was descended from, they would only say that they were citizens of the United states. Then I asked them what qualifies them to testify as having any knowledge of Native American religion. They could only say that they were qualified because they worked in prison and knew how prisons are.
As for the chaplains, they spoke about all their religious training. When I asked them where they went to get their license to be a chaplain, they were only given that job title by the prisons! I asked them what religion they practice and had they ever practiced or participated for any length of time in any Native American religion. They said they practiced the Christian religion. So I asked what made them think they had any expert knowledge or personal knowledge on Native American religion? All they could say was they didn’t understand what I was asking and their attorneys objected to my questions. The court overruled them and ordered them to answer. They said as chaplains they were testifying as to what is allowed to be practiced by the prisons. “So in other words,” I asked, “You can’t speak on anything you have no knowledge of so you have wasted this court’s time and mine too.
Then they put the college professor on and talked about all the degrees he had and how many years of experience he had. When he finished testifying, I got my turn. My questions followed the same line as before.
“What tribal nation do you belong to?”
“None.”
“What tribe are you descended from?”
“None.”
“Okay, what tribal nation recognizes you as an expert on their traditional beliefs and practices?”
“None.”
“Do you practice any type of Native American religion?”
“No.”
“Have you ever practiced or participated in any type of traditional Native American religious ceremony?”
“No.”
“So, on whose authority are you testifying today as an expert on Native American religion?”
He said he had a degree in Native American history.
“Is history a religion?”
“No.”
“Well, do you think it is fair to say that as far as being an expert on Native American religion you have no knowledge at all.
“Yes, that would be fair to say.”
I let him step down. Next they put the wardens and prison officials on the stand and presented them as experts in security and prison operations. When each was done I got to cross examine them. My questions were simple.
“Since you say that my religion is a security threat because of my long hair, or my ceremonial items such as a sacred pipe, cedar, sage, drum, rattles, tobacco, or snake root, and of course, a sweat lodge…do you have any experience at a prison where this was allowed?”
“No.”
“Okay, then do you have any proof of these things being a security threat or documents proving any incident where they have been a security threat or has helped anyone escape or threatened the safety of anyone?”
They could only answer “No.”
I asked each one if it is policy that every single inmate must cut their hair. They all testified to the question with an affirmative, “Yes.”
Repeatedly I asked them why this is the policy? Each time they said it was for security reasons. Then I questioned what facts, incidents or documents from anywhere that long hair is a security threat. They had none.
“You only say long hair is a security threat, yet you can’t prove it in anyway. And just because you say it is doesn’t mean it is.”
And then I asked them each again, “Are you absolutely sure you are telling the truth that all prisoners must cut their hair?”
“Yes!” they were telling the truth.
Next they put the prison commissioner on the stand. Finally someone I had been really waiting for. He testified as to all his credentials and how long he had been in the criminal justice system, prison services. They questioned him about how violent all prisoners are and especially me. He testified about how I had attacked all his staff in the prison system and how I was causing chaos in his prisons. He said that every part of my religion was a security threat just as I was. That I had attacked and hurt so many of his officials, guards and I would not obey any of their rules or orders. He concluded that I could not be allowed to practice this religion.
Then it was my turn. I asked him all the same questions I asked them all. And then I asked him to answer this as his position gave him the authority to answer. “Okay you said that all prisoners must cut their hair correct?
“Yes.”
“Do you and your staff and all the other government witnesses know what perjury is?”
He got pissed and said he knew exactly what it meant.
I said, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you all, including you, get on this stand and commit perjury?”
He said, “I didn’t and they didn’t.”
I asked again, “Are you sure all prisoners must cut their hair?”
“Yes.”
I then asked the court to please accept exhibits of affidavits and photos from the women prisoners at the women’s prison. The court accepted them into evidence. I handed a copy of the women’s grooming policy to the prison commissioner and asked him to please read the highlighted text.
“Women can wear their hair long or in any style they chose.”
“But you just testified as did all your coworkers and co-witnesses that all prisoners must cut their hair.”
“Well that doesn’t include women.
“Why not, aren’t they are prisoners too?”
“Because they are women, and the Bible says they should not cut their hair.
“Now you admit that you are discriminating against me because of my sex?”
“NO!”
“Well then you are discriminating against me because of my religion. In fact you and all your staff and officials are discriminating against me because of my race, religion and sex.”
“No! It’s because of security threat.”
“Well long hair apparently isn’t a security threat with the women.
“Women aren’t as violent as men.”
I said I would like to submit some documents to the court. The court reviewed them and accepted them. I then asked the witness to please read the documents I put in his hand. He did and said they were from the U.S. Justice Department Bureau of Statistics.
“Now read the actual report on violence in prisons and say who are the most violent prisoners.”
He did and said, “Women”… that more women are in prison for violent acts of murder, attempted murder, aggravated assault, manslaughter etc. than men.
I asked him where the document said these figures came from. He read them and it said the figures were reported by each state.
“So every one of you knew or should have known these basic facts yet you each got up here on the stand and committed perjury in this court.”
I asked the court to charge each one of these witnesses and to exclude and disregard all of their testimonies. I asked the court for a direct verdict.
The defense objected and asked for a break.
When we came back the judge said he was making a ruling. As for a direct verdict, he granted my Motion for Direct Verdict saying that he only recognized one expert on Native American religion and that it was me, the plaintiff. All other testimony is only hearsay and the witnesses have no knowledge as they admitted. And it was evident to the court that I am entitled to practice my traditional religion and to be free from any and all retaliations against me because of my religion. He said he also recognized the state’s dilemma about what to do with me since this would cause a possible disruption or chaos in the prisons where I was housed. Never-the-less, my religious diet was ordered, my hair was not to be cut, and my freedom to pray according to my religion was won.
I was so proud of my family and my loyal wife, Cat, for all showing up. Even my dad took the stand before many people he had known for decades and shocked them by testifying that he was a Native American Indian and that I was his son. Now this was so uplifting to me. For all these years and decades most of my family had tried to hide who they were. Now on federal records and in public, they all testified on my behalf about me and about my practice of traditional Native American religion. Because of this, along with the letters from Native American spiritual leaders, such as Art Solomon, Lenny Foster, Big tree, Jake Strong, and so many others, the judge ruled in my favor.
Preparing for this case was no small task. I wrote numerous letters to organizations, publications and political leaders to help gather information. Among those who offered their knowledge and insights were Iron Shirt, a detective in California and a Catholic nun, Sister Connie DeNault, as well as the Red Bird Society for whom I served as a spiritual advisor.
Now all along, Cat and I had been working to gather important evidence for court. We legally founded a non-profit organization we called The Buffalo and Turtle Clan Medicine Society Inc. Through this organization we quietly began gathering materials we would need. I would write letters and Cat would spend hours typing them up and mailing them out. All these materials would be sent back to a Post Office address for the organization.
We gathered statistics from the U.S. Department of Justice for prisons all across this country and we sent letters of inquiry to wardens requesting copies of their institutions hair/dress code policies, religious groups, and activities provided for all prisoners asking for any and all photos, pamphlets rules etc. We sent out letters to women prisoners in many different prisons asking for their help by writing up affidavits and providing copies of their institution’s hair and dress codes, and religious scheduling at their prisons along with any photos they wished to share.
We wrote letters asking different prison commissioners to address any issues they had concerning safety and security pertaining to prisoners with long hair and asked for any studies, surveys, and documented evidence pertaining to any such security threats or safety issues.
We also gathered help from spiritual leaders throughout the Native American tribal Nations and they wrote up amicus curiae affidavits or letters to the court as experts in Native spiritual concerns and explaining the needs for meeting our different religious practices and ceremonies. These were offered as friends to the court with expertise in all these matters.
If it weren’t for Cat’s dedicated support my efforts to present my case in court could not have happened. Though she worked quietly behind the scenes, Cat’s contribution was just as important as anyone elses in our struggle for religious freedoms. There was lots of copy work to be done as well and we didn’t have much money. Cat found someone who had their own business and told him what was going on. This man listened and offered her the use his office equipment as much as she needed. He wanted us to win. We still cannot thank this man enough for his help.
Winning my case in federal court was a huge step forward, but the prison officials were not done fighting. “Officially” they allowed Native American religion in the prison population, but in retaliation, they placed me back in solitary confinement, claiming that I was a threat to security, the well-being and safety of all prisoners, staff and the prisons themselves. This did not discourage me. Spirit had given me strength to overcome all this and pave the way here in the south.
In 1992 I filed an appeal to the Eleventh Circuit against State of Alabama for abuses. Again I submitted the amicus curiae from Big Tree, Nan-ta-shay, Lenny Foster, Jake Snake, and Art Solomon along with my affidavit with exhibits.
By this time I was working almost alone, few other prisoners were willing to commit to the risks inherent in standing up for the rights of Native People. I continued my activist work, writing for many Native publications across the U.S. as well as Toronto and Alberta, Canada. Some that I remember may no longer exist under the same title include, Native Sovereignty out of Washington State, Eagle Wing Press, out of Connecticut, and Indian Country, out of South Dakota, before it was sold to the Iroquois or Mohawk in New York. I also wrote for publications aimed at Native prison populations: Prison Solidarity out of Utah, Coalition of Prisoners’ Rights, out of Arizona, Spirits Behind the Walls, a publication of the University of Wisconsin, working to help anyone seeking the freedom to practice their religious ceremonies. My goal was to help others learn about the Federal Civil Rights Laws and how to file a case in court and to understand the importance of always having a paper trail to show that they had tried to resolve the issue with the prison officials.
I had also been in touch with Senator Daniel Inouye and Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell for years about prison issues. They both sent me inquiries about the loop holes that prison officials were using in courts. I had also been receiving help from the Native American Rights Fund in Boulder, Colorado. John and Walter Echo Hawk had helped me so much over the years. I sent all these people reports that the prison officials and courts were using their own interpretations of what the law meant or was referring to.
To counter this, I suggested the importance of including clear definitions as to the intended meanings of the laws and began by writing a list of definitions of what it means to be an American Indian so as not to leave anything to interpretation by judges and prison administrators. These changes were included in the Native American Free Exercise of Religion Act of 1983 (NAFERA) sponsored by Senator Daniel Inouye and Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell.
NAFERA would eventually be passed in congress as The American Indian Religious Freedom Act Amendments of 1994 on October 6, 1994 and was signed into law by President Clinton.
“Listen or your tongue will keep you deaf” – Native American Proverb
Part Five: Sweet Freedom like the gift of happiness, however fleeting, proved that Spirit still touches hearts and miracles can happen.
Part Five – Sweet Freedom
Chapter 18 – Miracles, Cleansing, Healing
Unheard of parole granted on February 9, 1994
When my parole hearing came up in February 1994, I was already fighting my convictions in the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals in Atlanta. Then a miracle happened. I will share that miracle in Cat’s own words as well as my own:
Cat Dancing:
Ghost’s mom and sister, attended the parole hearing along with me and my mom. Ghost put me in charge of speaking for him, though by nature I am not at all comfortable with such situations. Until this day I still wonder who that girl was who got up and boldly made her case before the board. I had waited 11 years for this man I loved so much; for 11 years, we had written letters to one another. I came with positive thoughts and determination that he was coming home. To help bolster my self-confidence, I wore the most sophisticated dress I had and carried a brief case filled with everything I had prepared.
The 5-member parole board sat behind a high desk which I could barely see over as I stood to present my prepared statement and show photos of Ghost’s artwork and the property where we planned to build our home. So I walked around the desk to the person on the end and showed him all the pictures and talked about our plans for how we were going to live and make a living. I just spoke from my heart. I told them he was sorry for what he had done, but I never mentioned the pure hell he was going through, so I was a little surprised when I looked up to see they were all wiping tears from their eyes.
When I had finished, one of the board members came to us and asked, “If I can pull some strings, can you go pick James Johnson up today?” Now we all broke into tears of joy! Yes! Yes! We can do that today! We drove from Montgomery straight to Holman Prison. We had been instructed to wait in the parking lot in our cars and watch for Ghost to walk thru the gate. What a beautiful sight to see! We all hugged him with tears of joy.
We decided to go to a restaurant to eat and visit a bit before his mom and sister headed back home and Ghost came with my mom and me back to Pace, Florida. I didn’t realize at that moment how very hard it was for him being around people when he had just been in solitary confinement for so long. Ghost came out with white hairs all through his black hair. He looked so thin and pale, and a little scary even. That’s what solitary will do to you. I think I colored his hair brownish black the next day. Wow! He was so handsome again!
Ghost Dancer:
At first, when they told me I was getting out, I thought they were lying to me and just getting ready to attack me some more. I’m sure Warden Charlie Jones was furious. When Cat and my family came to the prison to get me and I walked outside, I thought I was hallucinating, but it was a good hallucination! I wanted to go kiss the ground, and hug some trees, but I couldn’t see; my eyes had been in total darkness for a long time. I didn’t want to go around people, everything was happening too fast. It was a shock to go from being in a tiny cell all alone to having people around me all trying to talk to me at the same time. Shock would be a better word than scared. Disbelief, doubts of my own sanity were driving me nuts. I was scared to even touch anyone least they just disappear, and I’d wake back up in my torture chamber.
When we stopped to eat, I was petrified. I knew I looked terrible and I could feel eyes on me everywhere. This was not real and any minute they would come and try to put me back in solitary. I just wanted to get out of there. I had gone so long without food it meant nothing to me! I was even scared of Cat! Yeah imagine that, scared that I would do something, say something, and she would run away from me. I was scared of people and what I could feel them thinking about me! I loved Cat so much and I had dreamed of her all those years in solitary, and when they tortured me I focused on what it would be like to have her in my arms again, to hold her. We had planned on this day and now it was here, and I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to be alone with my Cat, so I could adjust and get my head on straight.
This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be, things like this just didn’t happen, ever. But they did! Thanks to Cat and her fighting for me, talking to the parole people, walking around their desk even, to show them where we would live, and showing them my art work, she got me released. Her spirit is what got me released! We went home to begin a new life. Spirit had opened the door for me. Now I must carry this walk and message to the outside again.
Finally free! After all these years, the world had changed a lot by the time my dear wife Cat, along with my mom and sister, Judy, all came and got me that fateful February day in 1994. I was just out on parole and the threat of being sent back for the slightest infraction still hung over my head, so there were many obstacles still to face. How does any human being pick up the pieces and begin to live after years of merely surviving in hell?
It is a documented fact that most prisoners suffer from shock when released from prison: cultural shock and emotional shock. People re-enter the world so mentally traumatized by their experience that most don’t even recognize that their inability to adjust is designed by the very prison system that is supposed to rehabilitate and prepare them to live responsible lives. The system takes away a person’s right to think for themselves or speak for themselves. Prisoners are told when they can get up, when they have to go to bed, when they must work, when they must eat, when they can visit with loved ones. Taking away all responsibility and constantly degrading the prisoner verbally is a pervasive form of abuse that programs the prisoner into believing that no matter what they say or do, it is wrong, or a lie and they will never amount to anything. When this self-defeating message is programmed into a person each and every day of their incarnation, little wonder so many fail on the outside.
When a person goes through solitary, the abuse is a thousand times more severe. I have seen strong men break down and go insane or commit suicide in a short time. It is a proven scientific fact that solitary confinement is, by design, a tool to destroy a person’s mind, body and spirit. Being tortured as I was, starved, kept naked and so much worse, goes beyond any decent person’s idea of how a civilized society treats its prisoners.
No one truly understands the problems such a person faces once they are released. I do! The key I learned, just to survive, was to keep a strong spirit and mind while you are still in. See beauty and love in all around you no matter how dark it is. This would be my focus on the outside as well. Yes, there were doubts, yes, there were fears even. The world changes while you are away, and so have you.
I had to adjust to being around people and things moving around me. I had been in solitary for so many years. I felt I looked like something from a horror movie. This is why a traditional Native Clean-up Ceremony was so important. But having loved ones around who understand that you have to adjust is so important. Encouragement, love, and understanding goes a long way.
I was truly blessed and protected by Spirit; they could not kill me, even when fire bombed, poisoned, shocked with electrical shock devices, scalped, and beaten so badly that no one could recognize my face because I was a renegade who refused to sign a piece of paper saying I was a Christian. Few people have any clue what it is like to be tortured and abused for years just because of who you are and your religious beliefs. It is a mind crushing experience and I had things within myself that I had to deal with. A clean-up ceremony had to be done. Most tribes have distinct types of clean-up ceremonies especially for warriors returning from war or battle.
My war, my battle, had been in prison, but just the same it was a war, and I had things that must be released and cleansed from me. The traditional way to do a clean-up begins with a fast and purging with the black drink. During my years in prison and after my release I continued to visualize the old ceremony; a pit being dug, longer than me and 4 feet deep. The bottom is lined in clay and my naked body is also covered with clay. I lay down in the pit and a helper places wet palm leaves on top of me. A long section of bamboo is placed in my mouth as a breathing tube, and then dirt is piled on top of me. Last, fire wood is placed on the dirt and lit. The fire will be kept burning for four days. This simulates being back in my mother’s womb. While I pray continuously, the clay will be absorbing all the impurities from my body and the fire will burn up all the bad memories and pain that were trapped inside from my experience. My prayers were for complete healing: spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. After four days the pit is dug open. The clean-up ceremony I did physically was simpler, but helpful. I did the fast and the purging. Then with Cat’s help, using an eagle feather, my whole body was smudged. I went to a spring, dove in and stayed submerged at the bottom, letting Mother take away my pain and help release the bad memories.
The emotional and mental release of all the inner pain, is always necessary. It is not natural for a human being to be violent, to take a life or hurt others. No, it is not natural, but sometimes it is necessary. Subconsciously these things are buried inside of us; things we see, or do, or have done to us, cause trauma deep within. So before we can go back amongst our loved ones and live right, these things must be released; we must be cleansed and healed of this pain. Otherwise our family and friends will all have this brought into their lives, not knowing or understanding what is wrong, what you are suffering, and they feel so helpless. You cannot do this alone. Only Spirit can help you release this pain or damage from within.
My loved ones all knew what was done to me too; family members, friends, children, and even neighbors. It was so important to me to spend time with all my family and those who stood by me and suffered with me. It was important to have alone time with Cat, so we could both heal! My Cat helped me to heal and gather my strength back. She needed healing too. The truth is, when a person goes to prison, they are not the only ones being punished. Every person connected to them suffers, especially when they know what their loved one is going through inside of prison. When they come to visit, they can see the cuts, bruises, and bandages. Receiving letters from other prisoners about what is going on keeps your loved ones anxious; never at peace.
Taking time to heal and adjust was not easy. By parole requirements and just to live, I had to go to work immediately. Cat and I started out with nothing; we worked hard just to get on our feet, but we always made time to spend in the woods with nature. This is where we truly came alive.
Part Five – Sweet Freedom
Chapter 19 – Beautiful New Life
During these early days two wolves came into our lives. It was a true blessing that they chose to stay with us and share their lives.
One day after I came home from laying brick for 15 hours, Cat told me that a friend of ours had called to let us know about a wolf that was needing a home. We immediately went to go see him. He had a troubled past and needed help health wise and emotionally too. I was warned that he would attack, but when the big boy saw me he literally jumped up into my arms. Wolves can sense your thoughts and intentions and instinctively, he knew I was a friend and would not harm him. He came home with cat and me that same night.
He needed cleaning up; wolves don’t like to be dirty. They always clean themselves, but he had been sick and if people don’t truly know them, they can be a handful. I know wolves as I know most who live in our world. I have to, because we are all related and they all have so many things to teach us. All we have to do is pay attention. He sure didn’t like getting in a shower that was for sure. He clawed me up pretty good, but I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Taking a shower was just something different to him. Something he never had experienced. It was late at night when we got home, and he really needed cleaning up. If I could, I would have taken him to a river or creek to bathe him.
That night, I prayed and asked his spirit to speak with me and help me to understand him, so I would be able to help. I began calling him Shungamanitou Wakan Tanka (Big Wolf). He liked me calling him that and let me know it. I had to watch him closely because at this time, just after I got out of prison, we were living in an apartment in town until we found something else out in the country. This was no place for a wolf and a Native to be living, for sure. The town was small and had woods, swamps and places where he and I could run wild and free, so that became our practice. At night we ran for hours letting him have his fun. Yeah, he really kept me in shape. The key thing to remember is that Shunga was a free person. We didn’t own him because we didn’t create him. He chose to live with us. We took him to the mountains and forests, and if he wanted to take off he could. Yes, he would run wild and have a ball, but he always came back wanting attention. He loved living in both worlds. I could understand him. I lived in three worlds.
Later, Cat and I were told about a female wolf that was being abused and the people wanted to sell her. We immediately started hunting these people. Legally I couldn’t just take the wolf, so we went to see how much they wanted for her. I was sickened in my heart by what I saw. They were trying to force her to obey by starving and beating her. Cat grabbed my arm and said we should try to get the money. We went to friends and borrowed the money to buy her, but I made sure these people knew what I thought of them and if I ever heard of them abusing or selling a wolf person again, I would not be a nice person. This scared little girl was shaking and wary of me as I gently talked to her and led her to my truck where big wolf waited. I told him to be easy and take care of her, that she has been abused. He stared at the people and I could feel his anger. She joined our family and we called her Montaseetha (Morning Star) for the beautiful white star on her forehead. It took a lot of time, care and love to heal the damage, but eventually she chose to stay with us and fell in love with the big wolf.
Cat was a real sweet heart. She immediately began gently working with her. Wolves have rules they live by. Even dogs have some remainder of some of the wolf’s instinctive rules. Montaseetha had a loving heart and just wanted to have fun and belong to a pack. We became her pack. When we would all go walking at night, we all had a good time. I had trouble adjusting to sleeping on a bed, so once Cat went to sleep, I would lay in the floor with the wolves. Later, when we went mining or camping, I also slept outside with the wolves. In the morning, I always snuck back in bed and just watched Cat as she slept and let her snuggle until she woke up.
When we found a place out in country, the wolves had freedom to come and go as they pleased. They learned how to open and close the door. They sometimes lived inside when we were working or sleeping inside. Cat even had them eating at the table. I had never seen such, she even had the big guy spoiled, letting him eat watermelon, corn, and even ice cream. Running in and out of the house playing, they knew Cat would give them a scolding, but just like kids, they would take off back outside and forget about it. When Cat felt they needed a bath, she would tell them it was bath time and they knew they were in for a treat. She would take her time and give them a good grooming. Wolves love attention. It is in their social order to reaffirm their affections all the time.
At the time, I was working as a brick mason, building houses. I got paid by how many bricks I laid, not by the hour, so often I worked around the clock by putting up huge lights using 400-watt bulbs. Sometimes Cat would bring the wolves to stay with me at night while I worked. Sometimes she stayed too and helped me, especially when I needed sleep. To really make good money, the faster I could get a job done, the more money I would make. If it took me longer than two days to finish a 60,000-brick home, then I would be ashamed of myself. While I worked, the wolves would run free and check out everything, but all I had to do was howl and they would come back to me.
Sometimes Cat would work while I curled up in the sand and slept with the wolves. When it rained or was bad weather and I could not work, we stayed home and made Native arts and crafts to sell. When we were at home the wolves ran the woods and played in the spring and rivers. When we were on the road, wherever we stopped, they ripped and romped exploring. Big wolf claimed shotgun seat in the truck. That was his seat and no one else’s unless he wanted to ride in the back. Montaseetha always sat in my lap and wanted attention. When she got in the back of the truck, she had her spot on top of the tool box. If it was very, very cold and bad weather, Cat dressed them in hoodies with socks for their feet. Hey, riding in the back of a truck when it’s 30 below zero is not fun, even for a wolf.
Cat and I loved to play and had fun wrestling. The wolves were not going to be left out of this play time. They always helped Cat and would attack together, nipping and then grasping an arm or leg in their jaws and pulling me in opposite directions. It just wasn’t ever fair. And when Montaseetha had her pups, boy was I in trouble. I became a chew toy for all of them. Cat is strong and fast and when she and both the adult wolves and 9 pups were all attacking me, it sounded like a real war going on.
When wolves are puppies the females are more curious and assert themselves. As they get older the males take over that role and the females become sneak attackers. They would run full speed and try to knock the back of your knees out from under you, practicing their hunting techniques as they would hamstring a deer or elk. The pups would be battling, asserting themselves to determine their rank and order. Yes, they do that from the time they are born. It may sound like they are killing one another, but they aren’t. They all love to be loved and want reassurances every day; this is the wolf way.
Cat had her hands full with all these pups running around, so we made a fenced in enclosure so we didn’t have to worry about eagles, hawks or owls, dive bombing and snatching up one of them. This way they would be safe. We used chicken wire to go across the top. The house was open to them too, but they had to go by Cat’s rules.
The pups were 4 weeks old when we took them for their first visit to the vets to get dewormed and all their shots, the vet was honored to have them. The vet said we needed to wait until the pups were 6 weeks old to get their shots because wolves are different than dogs and tend to have more distemper and rabies. So after their deworming and physical we brought them all home. I had powdered and killed all the worms on the grounds, making sure this would help the pups as well and the adults.
When Cat and I had somewhere to go during this time, we left the wolves at home. We didn’t worry, the pups had very good parents and even if we were going to be gone for a weekend, we had a friend who came over every morning to check in on them. They knew he was a friend and allowed him to go to the house to get their food and run their fresh water twice a day. Al was his name and he always loved coming over and drinking coffee and visiting. Al had a bad cancer. He was retired; had been a Navy police officer for more than thirty years.
Al lived down the road and when he needed some help around his place or on his vehicles, I would always go over and help him, just the way I believe and was brought up. Elders need help, you help them. You don’t charge them or anything, you just do it from your heart. It was sad that no one had been helping Al before we met him. Al lived all by himself and he loved Cat’s cooking. We were happy for him to come over and eat with us.
He also helped the cattle rancher who lived next to us by watching his cattle and watering them and such when the cattle rancher was gone. The rancher was leery about the wolves until we proved that they would not kill his cattle. Wolves are very protective of their territory and patrol it regularly. I just had to introduce the cattle as part of our pack, our territory and the wolves would now protect them. Needless to say, the coyote problem ceased in that area and he never had any more problems with hunters driving into the back woods and shooting at his cattle either. For the president of the Cattlemen’s Association in that area to be happy to have wolves around, sent a message to others. We made friends with our neighbors all around. That was an accomplishment.
Wolves are protective of little ones too. It is their nature to protect. If a baby was alone in the woods and the wolves found it, they would protect it. Not harm it. You can’t even scold a baby or child around them, they don’t like you doing that and will let you know it very quickly. When we took them to a school to visit autistic children, the interactions we saw that day were nothing short of remarkable. These wolves were our family and went everywhere with us. They had fun always and loved making us laugh as they loved attention. This is where we reenergized and healed ourselves.
These first months were very lean times, but together we made it. We worked together and would take any kind of job we could find. Some were odd jobs, but mostly I worked at construction and historic restoration sites. Beyond this, we worked on developing a business working the circuits and selling our Native crafts at flea markets and powwows.
Though we were always busy, I still did my prayers and was always willing to talk to others about Native American religion. I had been warned that where we lived, many people were not open to people with different religious beliefs. They did not want any other religions other than their brand of Christian and I would have trouble if I said otherwise. I had just come from living in a dungeon, being punished for being who I was and standing up for my peoples’ traditional beliefs. I sure as heck wasn’t going to stop now just because I was out of prison. I would not bow down to the demands and attitudes of small-minded people who hated me for what I believed in. There were many Creek Indian heritage people living in this area of Northwest, Florida and we were open to serve and teach them or any others who seriously wanted to learn Native culture, religion and even crafts.
Working as a team, Cat and I reached out to young people through the schools. Working with all ages of students, we taught them the history and culture of our People and of other Native peoples as well. Many young people came to us to learn. They wanted what had been denied them by others: knowledge, traditional practices, crafts, and culture. I believed that the young must be taught so that these things continue and are not lost.
During this time, I returned to my art which I had started teaching myself years before. Working primarily in pastels, my paintings were a significant part of our business. We participated in a weekly meditation group, working with others who wished to progress in their spiritual lives. All the work we did was a real blessing for us and for the people whose lives we touched, and we both looked forward to it. Most people knew that Cat and I would come if we were asked or needed to be anywhere. We trusted Spirit to help us in these things.
We worked with the handicapped, disabled, and elderly, and frequently visited hospitals and nursing homes. Cat and I both loved our private lives and time to just commune with nature and Spirit, but whenever we were asked, we would go to the hospitals, nursing homes or any place to work with the ones we had been called to help. Some Sacred Heart Hospital staff were intrigued by the natural medicines we used to help the patients and the doctors there were opened-minded about our work with terminally ill patients. Even folks who were not Native began requesting help from us.
I am also a reader of people; a psychic, as some call it. I love people and consider this intuitive ability to be a gift from Spirit. Everywhere we went, people would come to me asking for help with their problems. I’m a simple man; nothing special, but I could and did work hard to earn a good name and an honest living. My spiritual calling required me to follow Spirit, and to do so, many times it took the money from our crafts and jobs to pay for the travel and expenses to do what I’m asked to do or led to do by Spirit. We always made money as we traveled by doing readings, odd jobs, or by selling our crafts, gem stones or crystals. This way everything was as it should be.
I received permission from my parole officer to travel which we took full advantage of. We made frequent trips to work the crystal mines in Arkansas for beautiful crystals to sell. Mining is hard physical work, but working as a team, Cat and I found it to be well worth the effort. While I dug in the mine, Cat would sort and clean the crystals I brought out.
In addition to selling the crystals, I could trade or barter for other things we needed. Often, I traded for stones, some precious, some semi-precious, to make jewelry, or to inlay in wood or leather. Often, I gave away these treasures as gifts to the elders and holy ones when we started making trips to visit the reservations.
Our travels to visit the reservations took us through many states: Oklahoma, Arizona, Missouri, Illinois, Wisconsin, Oregon, Montana, Washington, Idaho, Nevada and more. We even travelled up through British Columbia, Yukon Territory, and Northwest Territory to Alaska.
Everywhere we went, we always spoke to people and educated them on our Native American struggles and the history that is not taught in schools or colleges. We met with tribal leaders, spiritual leaders and members of tribes and traded with them. They shared ceremonies with us and we shared ceremonies with them. I was always taught it is proper to always bring gifts of tobacco and other items when going to someone’s home, lands, or meeting any respected person, or when asking for help. I still practice that and teach the youngsters this way of giving others their earned respect.
On our visits to meet with respected leaders, we always brought gifts of sabias (natural crystals), and handmade items such as obsidian knives, beaded crafts, and such that I felt they had no access to or they might need. We also brought fresh tobacco leaves, packs of cigarettes, shark teeth, alligator teeth or claws, water bird feathers, or shells as gifts from the heart. When Cat and I set up our crafts to sell, we made sure we educated people on what each item was for, what each color represented, and each symbol meant, because traditionally, there is a story in everything we made. Everything has a spirit, and when making these we were creating with love and beauty always.
Life was not without its problems with authorities. My first parole officer tried to extort jewelry and money from me, with reminders of how easily she could violate me. This woman was reported by someone who witnessed what she was doing, and I was appointed another parole officer. Local deputies were an ongoing annoyance, checking on my every move, showing up at my place of work. Several times I was approached by federal agents and told to shut up and quit talking about all the Native issues and illegal activities involving the government. Several times they sent in people to try to set me up, trying to sell me illegal weapons or other things. I would tell these people to get away from me and I had no interest. While speaking in St. Louis, MO about Native issues and our struggles, I was approached again by federal agents and told I would be very sorry if I didn’t shut up and mind my own business.
Cat and I, along with elder Ria Wolf made a trip to deliver a beautiful all natural sabia or crystal buffalo as a gift to a real life white buffalo calf, named Miracle, that had just been born in Janesville, Wisconsin. The ranchers where she was born gave us special permission to do a ceremony there and to even video tape Miracle. The Harpers opened their home to us and provided us with hot coffee and friendship. They told us that many wicasa wakan had told them we would be coming, and they had been expecting us. We told them that we had taken the stone buffalo to many different tribes first for all their blessing and prayers to be done and it took us longer to get there with all the snow. After we completed the ceremony I was allowed to introduce myself to Miracle who had been watching me the whole time. I introduced her to the stone buffalo and sang a Lakota buffalo song for her. We placed the stone buffalo at her fence. The mother was very protective but knew I would do neither of them any harm.
While I was doing this, elder Ria Wolf was doing blessing ceremonies and protection ceremonies for the whole place and for the buffalo people there. Cat made a video of the blessing of Miracle to share with all the tribes. What we didn’t know was that we were being blessed too. The two wolves that lived with us were there as well. Shungamanitou Wakan Tanka (Big Wolf), the male, and Montaseetha (Morning Star), the female, were dancing. Her dance was coming into season. The two mated, and months later, blessed us with the first wolf pup we named, Pejuta, which means, medicine. He was born all by himself and a day later, eight more pups were born. All were so beautiful and so full of love. The mother pushed the pups out of her den and the father let us meet each one before he pushed them all back inside.
During those months of freedom, I was happy as could be! I had my beautiful wife, and we had a beautiful wolf family living with us sharing their beauty and love. My family was so supportive and loving, and when Cat and I set up near my mom’s home selling native arts and crafts, my entire family was there helping; even my grandmother helped. We were living the beauty of our traditions, teaching and sharing with all.
Part Five – Sweet Freedom
Chapter 20 – Fateful Journey
In early 1995 word got to me that many of the Sun Dance chiefs, elders and teachers in Canada had been murdered by the authorities in Canada. They had planted explosives on the Sun Dance grounds and sacred ceremonial grounds so that when the Native peoples came to do ceremonies they would set off the explosives. I had friends that lived up there and word came to me that they needed someone to help teach the ancient ceremonies and traditional Sun Dance ceremonies including singing the songs. I was asked to come as soon as I could. My parole officer said I could go, so I went. It was a journey that was a destiny as well. We left Florida on April 5th or sixth and I was arrested on May 11th, 1995 so our trip was a little more than a month.
Cat and I took a round-about route to get there. We needed to make money to help pay for the trip. As was usual with us, we always found ways to sell things along the way. Plus I could always make extra money reading people and trying to give them the best advice to help them in their paths. First we traveled to my mom’s then on to Arkansas where we stayed and mined for crystals, and I read several people each day. This was making money to pay for travel expenses.
As anyone knows driving an RV, they don’t get good gas mileage especially if you are pulling another vehicle behind it. After we left Arkansas we traveled to Oklahoma to the different rezs where I have relatives, friends, spiritual leaders and elders. I talked to them about what I was fixing to go do. The elders thanked me for doing this but also cautioned that forces would not be happy about it. Some in government and corporation money people had other plans and I would be going against that.
Spiritual people are harder to defeat than those that don’t have the faith and spiritual strength to withstand persecution, hardships etc. My mentors told me that I must follow my calling and do what is right. But it would come with a cost. We left Oklahoma and went on to Arizona where I met with other spiritual leaders and friends. They advised me basically the same way.
We traveled with three of the wolves having left the pups with my brother Greg, my sister Teresa and some of our friends. We kept the adults and Pejuta, the white one who was born two days before any of the others. In Lakota, Pejuta means medicine. These were all the pups that had been conceived during our day at the Harper ranch in November, 1994 while we were delivering the sacred buffalo stone crystal to Miracle, the sacred white buffalo calf. During the ceremony Montaseetha (Morning star) came into season and Shungamanitou wakan (wolf) bred her. Pejuta was a lot bigger than the other wolf pups and he would become even bigger than his parents before he was even 6 months old.
Anyway these are the ones that stayed with us and traveled with us. We made our way to the Yakama rez in Washington state then on to Idaho and the rez at Coeur d’Elene, just outside the town of the same name and spent some time there. Each place we stopped we bartered, sold and traded. Trading goods is always fun and helps all parties get things they want or have need of. It also opens up doors to new friendships and ventures in learning more.
From Idaho we drove on into British Columbia crossing the border at a place called East Port on May 1st 1995. I remember this because they said, “Happy birthday tomorrow.” We entered Canada legally; naturally we were screened and they ran a check on us. We were cleared with no problems and allowed to enter with travel permits for 6 months. I was instructed by the border agents, roughly the equivalent of the FBI in the U.S. to stay out of the tribal politics.
We first set up in Cranbrook and stayed there for several days fishing and letting the wolves enjoy the freedom of the Moiye rivers – the big Moiye and the little Moiye – where herds of elk walked everywhere and had no fear of us. We then moved further north to Radium Springs. This was a beautiful place and we camped out there for about three days to enjoy all the wonders of the wilderness and the hot springs also, then continued on with our journey northward.
When we arrived at Hazelton, we stopped at the restaurant just on this side of the river, with the rez being just on the other side. This was a tribal restaurant with members working there. I had a good conversation with a couple of the young men and women and they started making phone calls. Cat and I then drove over the small bridge to enter the rez and went to the tribal office as proper protocol of tradition requires and introduced us as coming in response to being asked. While I was inside the tribal office, Cat stayed outside at the RV with the wolves. Tribal members came over checking out the RV and the wolves and Cat too. The people were curious; they had never met anyone from Florida much less Natives from the Southeast. And yeah they were really interested in the wolves too.
The tribal chairman was not there that day. He was in a meeting with other leaders from the other rezs about what was going on. We were given a place to park and set up. Everyone was excited because I would be teaching the Sun Dance ceremony and songs and Inipi ceremony and songs. I had brought with me copies of the songs and their translations so that they could read and study them. While Cat set up the campsite and gave the wolves some much needed play time, I went with others to the sacred grounds.
We first checked the ground to make sure no charges had been set and no cameras were setup anywhere for surveillance of us doing anything. I was told that no more explosions had happened since the call had gone out to me. They had lost all of their spiritual leaders so they figured the government wasn’t worrying about them now but I wanted to be sure that nothing like this happened again. So I asked them to gather volunteers for patrol duties to watch the grounds and watch for anyone who does not belong here.
We began teaching that night, working with all these people to help bring back the teachings and songs and ceremonies which were taken from them by those who were in power and eliminating all the ones who knew how to teach and conduct these things. I was always taught to share knowledge and not hold it to myself. This allows others to step up and begin teaching as well but many in the old customs didn’t share their knowledge and teachings. They believed this gave them power. I don’t believe in doing it that way. Knowledge is power but sharing power helps share Beauty and Love and helps others spread these teachings so it is never in danger of being lost again. So many ancient teachings have been lost due to governments destroying, yes, murdering the spiritual teachers, leaders, and elders.
So it is important to pass and share all you can to others. This is what Spirit instructed me to do and so did a few of my spiritual teachers who shared their knowledge with me. We spent every day teaching and sharing knowledge with all who wanted to come and learn. When we left to move on we were asked to stay and live there but we graciously declined and thanked them for the offer.
We traveled further north thru the Canadian Rockies, Yukon territory and into Whitehorse where we stayed a few days resting. Several times on this journey we ran out of gas due to no gas stations, nope these weren’t roads as you would know them. These were mostly logging trails for log trucks or skidders. Each time I would have to leave, taking plastic cans on a stick walking in deep snow and it 20-30 below zero in these extremely high altitudes to find somewhere to get some gas. Several times it was provided by loggers or log truck drivers to help us out.
While in Whitehorse I kept feeling suspicious of folks like the cops were watching me. This was not being paranoid. I have learned to trust my instincts and intuitions. Later I learned that I was suspected as being John Doe # 3 of the Oklahoma City Bombing. This didn’t even make sense, we were never in Oklahoma City! But I know from experience that there are those in power who will say and do anything to get what they want.
Since we were so close to the border we decided to go check out Alaska and visit some tribes there. When we got to the border crossing all heck broke loose! Men with guns came from everywhere pointing guns at us both. Cat was ordered to gather the wolves and leash them and to exit the RV. I was to remain motionless with all guns on me. I was told not to even twitch or I would be shot immediately. I knew we had done nothing wrong so I just remained calm but did not let my guard down either. Eventually they ordered me to stand up and exit the RV and get down on my knees in the snow. I did as told and asked what they were doing this for. They pushed me down on the snow, handcuffed and leg shackled me. Then I was told I was being arrested for the warrant of being a suspect in the Oklahoma City bombing. At no time then or even the next few days was there ever any mention of any warrants for any bank robberies or money laundering.
I was taken From Alcano, Alaska to Tok, Alaska first. Then suddenly they transferred me to Delta, Alaska. They detained Cat at the border, they said until I was placed in a jail cell in Tok. But they lied to her. They told Cat she could visit me there. But in fact they took me all the way to Fairbanks, more than 200 miles and for a while she didn’t know where I was.
Part Five – Sweet Freedom
Chapter 21 – Arrested With No Charges
On May 11, 1995, after a little more than a month of leisurely travels in our motorhome with our wolves and towing Cat’s car, I was arrested at the border as we attempted to cross into Alaska.
Once I arrived in Fairbanks, I was provided a Native American lawyer. This is required under Alaska laws so that Native Americans get someone who truly understands and does their best to protect them and their rights. Also under Alaskan laws, tribal elders and leaders are allowed to come visit every day. This happened for me immediately and the elders made sure I had everything I needed or was allowed to have. I was kept in isolation until the elders and tribal leaders demanded that I be placed in population with the other native prisoners.
My lawyer, Retta Ray Randle, was very good and represented me well when I had my hearing in federal court. The U.S. Attorney stated that there was a warrant out for me as John Doe #3 suspect in the Oklahoma City bombing. The judge or magistrate threw out the warrant and told the U.S. attorney that it was no good, that there is no way I could possibly even remotely have been able to be in that area much less involved because he already knew how I was arrested, where and the reports on my travels.
The U.S. Attorney told the judge that Washington, D.C. would be issuing a new warrant and that U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno would be issuing a mandatory emergency transfer to bring me back state side. The judge told him they had better do a better job of charging me with something that is plausible because this charge is ridiculous.
I was taken back to jail and Cat was allowed to visit me. They had me chained by one leg and one hand to the floor and ceiling and we visited thru plexiglass talking on a telephone. The next day they took DNA samples from me, used infrared lights and black lights checking for explosives residue. Everything came back negative. Cat was allowed to visit me every day for a few days before I was transferred.
Now since Janet Reno issued the mandated transfer under the power of the Attorney General’s office I would be leaving soon. The judge had me brought back to court and explained that it was now out of his hands but he wished me the best and made a court order stating: It is hereby ordered that no one is allowed to question this man without the presence of his attorney. No one should even attempt to question while he is being transported or held in any detention. This is to ensure that his rights are protected and that no claim of any statement can be made by any over-zealous agent or officer. He then wished me the best of luck in being cleared of all this nonsense.
The next day I was taken to the airport and made to wait on the runway in snow and ice with a Windchill far below zero. I stood there for more than an hour wearing only a t-shirt, slippers and a thin pair of khaki pants with planes coming and going blowing the snow and ice all over me. Legged shackled, belly chained, cuffed and black boxed, I was loaded into the cargo hold of a small Cessna airplane. The Cessna did not have a pressurized cargo hold with oxygen. The agents had oxygen but not me so I surely would be tested flying like this with no oxygen.
This was a very rough journey with heavy wind turbulence and air pockets. I was tossed and beaten up by all the bouncing and ups and downs. My nose began bleeding profusely from the altitude and lack of oxygen. My ears felt like thy were bursting and my body went thru pure contortions. Finally the plane landed at Cook’s Inlet and I was taken to the jail in Anchorage. I stayed there for a few days and then was flown to Seattle, Washington with stops in several Alaskan ports to refuel. There I was taken to a federal facility called Sea Tech. Later I was flown to Florence, Colorado and placed in solitary confinement at the maximum security prison there while waiting to be transferred on to Oklahoma.
Finally I arrived in Oklahoma and was taken before agents there who showed me to several different people to determine if they could identify me. Again my DNA and the swab test for explosives residue all came back negative and my finger prints did not match. I was taken to the federal courthouse where a public defender and two U.S. attorneys were waiting to speak with me. They had the public defender talk to me first and he said they are aware that nothing adds up to me being involved in anyway whatsoever, but they would like to ask me questions. I asked why and he said there were questions that I may be involved in other crimes that involved supplying weapons to militia groups in Montana and Arizona. They put me on video so people in Montana and Arizona could look at me for possible identification. That possible charge was also dropped that day.
I asked to be released but they said there was a call from Washington, D.C. that I be held now on a fugitive warrant. I asked on what charge and was told I was under suspicion of a crime. I asked what the crime was but never given an answer. I was then taken to Texas, and people viewed me there. Still no one said that I was the wanted person and no evidence matched me. Then I was taken next to Tallahassee, Florida. Once again there was no warrant and I was not charged with any crime. At the federal court in Tallahassee, I asked to be released once again and was told now I was being held until another person came. Once again I was viewed but was not identified.
It was now late in the day, and low and behold who walks in the detention area but an old acquaintance from the past, someone who truly hated me. Someone whose passion was going after and persecuting Native Americans, most especially members of A.I.M. (American Indian Movement). His name was Joseph Tierney. He was an FBI Special Agent and a man known far and wide as a person who would do anything and get others to say anything as long as it got a Native placed in prison. He didn’t care what laws he broke or who he threatened or even if you were innocent. If you were Native American and associated in anyway with A.I.M. then he would do whatever he had to do to get rid of you.
As a point of reference, understand this: Joseph Tierney had been working directly with Agent Larry T. Lucky, an ATF agent who came to see me in 1975 when I was first arrested and jailed in Cullman, Alabama. (Ch 14). Tierney was also behind another FBI agent, Larry Gerard, who was supposedly the brother of Sandy, the woman I was forced to marry. (Ch 15) Gerard was dark complected and worked undercover, using the aliases A-rab or Indian Boy. Gerard attempted to infiltrate the A.I.M. gathering at Pine Ridge but was never allowed among the spiritual leaders and never knew who I was. Tierney was also there in an official capacity as an FBI agent investigating the corruption on the reservation. He tried to butter up the people by telling them he was Native but they never trusted him. All three of these federal agents were personally responsible for putting me in prison every time, both in Alabama and in Florida. All along, Joseph Tierney had been the superior officer ordering these others to do what needed to be done.
When he walked in, I saw Tierney looking heavily and hard at me. He talked to the U.S. Marshals and in a short time I was once again being chained up and this time placed in an SUV with blackened out windows and security bars and screen. Not one word was said about where they were taking me even when I asked them. They never spoke to me. They took secondary roads for about an hour or more. When I asked them again where they were taking me this time they said I’d find out when I got there. Finally we pulled into a jail sally port. I found out later that I was in Panama City, Florida. Here I was placed in a tiny room and later three men entered. One was Joseph Tierney. He was just as sadistic looking as always.
One of the other men said that he needed me to allow them to take DNA samples from me. I reminded them that I was under a federal court order not to speak to any of them until and unless my attorney was present. They ignored me. I refused to let them take DNA. Others had already done this two times since I was first arrested so this time I told them to get a federal court order. They kept trying to question me about all kinds of things. Repeatedly I invoked my rights to have an attorney present and my right to remain silent. Finally Tierney told them they didn’t need anything, that they already have my DNA from other places and they could request it be sent to them.
Then Tierney looked at me and the words he spoke have been forever branded in my memory: Well, Ghost you do know that I'm sick of putting you away and they keep letting you back out. So you know what? This time I will make sure you never ever get free again. You know me, I can do anything I want. No one is going to believe you or anyone connected to you. You are a convicted felon and you are nothing but a headache to a lot of people. We are tired of you and tired of you causing problems. It is over this time. I will find those who will help me do this and say whatever I tell them to say. You are finished being an aggravation to all of us. When are you going to get it in your head that we already defeated you people? You shouldn't be alive and I would never have believed you could still have lived after we sent you to prison in Alabama. Those good old boys promised me you would never get out and here you are again. Don't worry, this time you will never get free. You will die in prison this time. I guarantee it.
The next day, June 7, 1995 I was taken to federal court and before a U.S. magistrate. The magistrate asked Tierney why there was no indictment or anything on me. Tierney told the magistrate that he had been busy but he would be getting on it. The Assistant U.S. Attorney told the judge it would take at least a week before he could get a grand jury to sit for a hearing. So the judge gave them two weeks to come up with an indictment. I asked for a bond. The government objected claiming I was a flight risk and considered to be a very violent man. The judge denied my request.
Two more weeks would pass before the grand jury convened and I was officially charged. Joseph Tierney had no qualms about lying to the grand jury and the U.S. Attorney did nothing to stop him.
People might not remember this now but in late April and early May 1995 all the newspapers and TV news reports were filled with stories about the Oklahoma City bombing. During this time there were both print and network TV reports about the search for John Doe #3 as one of the suspects. Even though these news reports did not mention me by name they gave very specific details about this “person of interest.” He was said to have been a Native American who was former military, lived in Florida, had recently made numerous trips to Oklahoma and was currently in Canada. Later on, news reports after my trial included mention that I had been a suspect in the Oklahoma City bombing.
FBI Agent Joseph Tierney knew from my parole records that I had traveled several times to Oklahoma to visit friends, family, spiritual leaders and tribal leaders. He also knew that I had permission to travel to Canada and that I was an honorably/medically discharged veteran. His biased hatred towards me and any member of A.I.M. or association with A.I.M. drove him to become obsessed with doing anything or saying anything to get what he wanted done. Despite the fact that I had absolutely nothing to do with the Oklahoma City bombing or any of the other incidents, the damage to my character and credibility was done. Even the label “terrorist” would remain on my record.
See, those in positions of power in all levels of government use propaganda, a process as ancient as the human urge for power and control, to turn friends, acquaintances, and the public against anyone who goes against the system, the desires of those in power, wealth, majority, authority. By making statements like this they can successfully cause anyone who calls you friend, family or acquaintance to deny you, stay away from you, or turn against you lest they be persecuted by everyone too.
In the United States the government has used this false media reporting technique for centuries to turn the public against anyone they wish to get rid of or to discredit them from anyone listening to what they have to say. To destroy a person’s reputation is a key factor in destroying the person’s character. This is the main battle. After that they can do whatever they want and nobody will care whatsoever. People will believe what lies have been told and it becomes all too easy to convict this person and throw away any chance for true justice.
Ever since my parole, Cat and I had been busy building up our reputations and our character. We had made lots of friends in all walks of life. Everywhere we went. people truly liked us, respected and loved us. This is why they did this to me for without destroying our names and causing people to turn away it would have made it a lot harder for them to ever get a conviction.
The propaganda did in fact work on many people, some of whom were our friends and even a few family members. Anyone who spoke up for us became a target to be ridiculed, put down and viciously attacked. Some till this day still believe the lies and will have nothing to do with us, even blame us for their own problems.
Such character assassination effectively destroys everything any reformer or activist says or tries to get done. I wanted to explain all this so you can stop and think about everything you have read to date about my past history and even today, how easily someone gets labeled and ridiculed as being crazy, insane, violent, a monster, a terrorist, an enemy.
Part Five – Sweet Freedom
Chapter 22 – Bittersweet Memories
2015 Conversations – Cat Dancing, Ghost Dancer, EPDixon
EPD: Now I know that at some point Ghost got word that he was about to be arrested and that may be when you went to Canada… Neither of you has mentioned that.
CAT: I’m having trouble finding the words to express myself. Yes, it’s an awesome story there too.
EPD: I don’t really know any details except that they took him away and you had to find your way back home with the wolves.
CAT: That is another story, yes!
EPD: Yep, thought so… we’ll save that one for later….
CAT: I have to tell you on my way back I broke down in the middle of nowhere in Alaska.
EPD: ALASKA? Were you two in Alaska when Ghost was arrested?
CAT: Yes, near Alaska. [at the border] They took him to Fairbanks. After they arrested him I went on into Alaska alone.
EPD: OH MY GOSH…. I know this isn’t funny, but you know that TRUTH is far more interesting than FICTION! And this is a whopper.
CAT: I stayed in the parking lot of Alaskaland, a theme park in Fairbanks. A nice security guard helped me; let me hang out with him in his security booth and let me shower in the showers next to the stage where people perform and sing. Anyway that’s another story.
EPD: Indeed it is…
CAT: I had told him what happened and he felt so bad for us.
EPD: And you drove all the way back to Florida in that old truck all by yourself?
CAT: I drove back by myself with the wolves. Took me 6 days.
EPD: ONLY 6 days?
CAT: It normally takes 10 days. I drove straight thru; stopped where the truckers were on the side of the road and slept an hour and went on again.
EPD: Just driving clear across the continental US like that is amazing all by itself.
CAT: I wish I had kept a diary. It was very emotional; I cried off and on all the way home but was strong too.
EPD: YOU absolutely AMAZE me!
CAT: I never got lost. I hung out there in Alaska so I could visit Ghost there in jail. It’s quite a story. It was an adventure!
EPD: Through some of the most isolated rugged country …
CAT: Not as bad as you think.
EPD: I’m falling out of my chair in amazement.
CAT: On the way back I was in the Snowy Mountains. I wondered if I needed snow chains on my tires, but I got thru it just fine. Then when I got down to the bottom of the mountain there was no snow. A different world! Something told me I’m gonna wish I wrote a diary on my way back.
EPD: Don’t even try to tell it now… just think about it and let the memories come back to you…
CAT: I had to stop in the middle of nowhere in the world to sleep. So the safest place was I would find a couple truckers on the side of the road and I would sleep there then go again.
EPD: Did the wolves ride in the cab with you? And did you have trouble managing them?
CAT: They got car sick after a while. I did fine with them they kept me company.
EPD: What did you feed them?
CAT: Canned dog food. I fed them with a spoon like a human.
EPD: I remember that story about teaching them table manners. LOL
CAT: Yep they were very good eating from a spoon. I didn’t have a doggy bowl.
EPD: And what did you eat on this trip?
CAT: I don’t know what I ate. Good question.
EPD: And did you ever run out of gas?
CAT: No, I made sure I had gas.
EPD: Just looked up the distance between Fairbanks and Pensacola – 4,300 miles!
You have blown my mind girl…
CAT: I blew my friend’s minds; they were amazed I never got lost. I cried off and on all the way back home. The only thing that helped me thru and cheered me up is when Shunka made funny faces in the wind.
EPD: I would never, ever have the courage and gumption for survival that you had!
CAT: When you are alone you have to do what you have to do. I never got lost one time I can’t believe it. I followed the map, kept glued to it.
EPD: Do you remember about when you two left to go up there and how long before Ghost was arrested.
CAT: No, I will have to meditate. See this is the first time I have talked about it in years. I tried not to think about any of it cause it was so tragic losing Ghost the way I did. I went into a horrible depression. I tried to forget everything; the memories so I could pull myself out of depression. I blocked most everything out. It was so hard.
This is when Ghost and I decided to let each other go. I prayed about it, asking if I should let Ghost go. See I was a very loyal type woman. I kept him in my life how can I desert him after what happened to him.
Anyway, after I ended my prayer I heard a voice and looked around. No one was there; the voice said let him go. I felt a weight lift off me; I felt relief. It was a voice of the Great Spirit. Never had I experienced this before. The spirit wanted me to let him go, but it was because I was dying inside. I can’t explain it.
EPD: The future looked so hopeless then… a normal reaction… And it was all so unfair…
CAT: I was young and knew he was going to be in there the rest of his life. They were not going to leave him alone.
EPD: What you were suffering was just as much PTSD as what he suffered. We have a name for it now.
CAT: Where you have flash backs?
EPD: And you are now working through the process of healing…
CAT: Yes, it’s been very painful to talk about even with you.
EPD: All people who suffer traumatic experiences go through all this…
CAT: At first it was painful, but I’m feeling a little better.
EPD: Soldiers in war, people who are tortured or raped, people who experience all that you experienced… working so hard for so long and then have the rug ripped from under your feet…
CAT: Yes!
EPD: You are healing that pain little by little…
CAT: Ghost and I always said Ghost was RIPPED from me!
EPD: And I am SO PROUD OF YOU. BOTH OF YOU…
CAT: Ripped from a life together we dreamed of for 11 years I waited for him.
EPD: Yes! But Spirit is not finished with this story yet…
CAT: Thank you.
EPD: Spirit needs you to be proud of all you have endured… never feel shame… and work to help finish this story as one of the triumph of LOVE and justice. YOU must OWN your story!
CAT: Ghost wanted to let me go because he saw what it was doing to me. I would not let him go. I could not. Then it took its toll on me; that’s when I prayed about it.
EPD: Tragic though it may be, it is your life story and it has not all been in vain.
LOVE TRIUMPHS OVER ALL ADVERSITY!
CAT: Amazing the people who crossed my path along the way. An old man let me stay at his place. He used to be the Chief of a tribe. I met him at the flea market. He was an amazing carver/artist; best I’ve ever seen…Just amazing the people who were put in my path.
EPD: Yes, that is enough for today… Will you start gathering your memories of all this?
CAT: When Ghost and I were together at a psychic show he was doing, this man gave me one sample reading. I never forgot it. He said, I see a pen; you will be writing a book someday. Well books are hard; I don’t think I can do that. Perhaps if Ghost got out we could do that.
EPD TO GHOST: Well another day gone, and Cat really outdid herself relating her memories… She got off on talking about your adventures in BC and Alaska… Now, as she said, that is another whole story, but she told me enough to make my jaw hit the ground. I asked her to think about what actress she wanted to play her in this amazing movie of your lives. True life is always better than fiction. She said when you get out, she wants the two of you to write a book together about your amazing story. I know of a “ghost” writer/editor who works for hugs. LOL
GHOST: Thank you for sharing this with me… Talked to our girl this morning. Just wanted to hear her voice and give her strength. But in truth she always has been my strength. No matter what has been done to me, she has always been my strength to endure, to survive, to push on, and to win. I know I can’t say these things out for others to hear or read but it is the truth… I’m working on my legal stuff this week preparing things to attack soon.
EPD: I’m so glad you are moving forward with your legal preparations. [Note: Legal challenge of two illegal life sentences in Alabama 1983]
GHOST: Did she tell you that we had an old motor home that kept breaking down in the most remote places and that we had to fix it in the rain or in snow? Or that when we were in the Canadian Rockies it was snowing terribly and there was no road and no gas station anywhere and we were pulling her car, so we had to take the car off. She tried following me and I slung mud all over her and buried her and the car in mud and snow!! LOL And she and I tried off-roading in a motor home LOL and ran out of gas and I had to walk in the snow for hours; left her and the wolves to find gas!
EPD: Now, I’m laughing out loud! Oh Lord! Cat deserves a gold medal for patience with you! No, she didn’t mention the motor home at all or what the heck you were doing up there in the first place. She mostly told of driving back 4,300 miles alone with the wolves! There is definitely a huge story yet to be told… You two have amazing daring do!
GHOST: Hey Cat crawled up under the motor home with me in the mud and helped change the spark plugs! Oh, and don’t forget to ask her about the fox that was a mommy and came to us needing food. She was beautiful. This was in the rez just north of Hazelton, B.C. And ask her about all the wild horses, sheep, elk and all we saw camping out in the wilderness, in such remote places that none of the animals were scared or leery of us. Yeah it was a journey. Be sure to ask her about the beautiful lakes, mountains we saw.
EPD: Yes, I see it all through your eyes… and I know Spirit led you there, no matter what. This was something you desperately needed to do and I’m so glad you can carry these beautiful memories always.
GHOST: I got wind that I was wanted for something later after I had already begun my journey. Remember this, no warrant was issued until In May 1995. An APB (All Points Bulletin) and a BOLO (Be on the look out) were issued in May. I was warned in Idaho by a deputy sheriff and the sheriff that the Feds were trying to say I was involved in the Oklahoma City bombing. Yes, they even put this in the newspapers in Florida. They listed me as John Doe #3.
It was an elaborate way to get everyone to turn against me. It back fired on them though. But yes, I knew before hand they would try something. I told others they would; the spirits told me they would put me away for a long time till no one would even know me any more! I asked those I thought would be my friends to look out for Cat and help her when this happened. None actually believed this would happen, but the ones I thought would be my friends turned out not to be. They wanted Cat out of the picture; they had motives of their own. Figured they could make a lot off of me. Boy, were they wrong.
EPD: Now in hindsight I am just glad you had a chance to make that trip and enjoy true wilderness freedom for a little while. I remember reading in some of your legal papers that Cat owned the motor home, but she didn’t mention how she acquired it or driving it back home. So what became of it? Did she have to leave it in Fairbanks?
GHOST: Cat bought the motor home from the money I won from the casinos. Before I won the jackpot that had to be reported to the IRS, I had won more than $15,000 in one day as we came back from the mine. Then we also made a good profit at a flea market down below mom’s each day for 2 days selling crafts and crystals. We had put out lots of flyers and had to have Mom, Greg, Aunt Hazel, my step dad, nieces and nephews help us at the flea market that weekend. So we made a lot of money that weekend.
As soon as we got back to Florida, I spotted the motor home at the dealership and made the deal for it. It was a small Winnebago, about 17 years old. Cat paid cash for it. It needed a lot of work and my step dad helped me with that. We planned to use it for our business travels around the country to pow wows and psychic shows.
EPD: Was your plan to return to the little house in the country that Cat spoke about as being a happy place for you all?
GHOST: I had planned on building Cat and me a home after we made enough so I could buy some land for us so that we could live in peace and I planned to build the medicine wheel and inipi areas.
EPD: What became of the truck you loved?
GHOST: The green wolf truck blew the engine in it. I was planning to fix it after we got back home, but I was arrested. Cat had to sell it to survive. She had to sell the motor home in Alaska; that man beat her out the money and she did not get near what he said he would pay. Eventually she couldn’t make the payments on her car so she let it go and bought another old truck and later a van to continue selling crafts at pow wows and such to survive!
EPD: I do not believe Spirit is finished with your stories yet. Cat told me that at one of your gatherings for psychics, she received a free reading and the person told her she would write a book in her future. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but long ago I went to see the psychic, Bobby Drinnon. He told me there would be two Indians in my future. I finished my mission with one, but a lot remains to be seen with the second. I’m keeping my eye on the Red Stick even though I really have no clue what I can do.
GHOST: Just know that Spirit does everything for a reason. Spirit truly blessed me when he put both you and Jack in my path and life. Thank you for being you!
~~~
EPD TO CAT: Forgot to mention, Ghost said to ask you about the time he saved you from the Grizzly bear… did you get upset because you thought he was trying to kill it for its claws or something?
CAT: Well, he thinks he saved me from the bear, guess he thought I was gonna go run up and give the bear a hug. lol! I just wanted to toss him a banana. The bear ran away when I tossed it to him…wonder if he ever came back for it. Do bears even like bananas? lol Oh, Ghost wouldn’t hurt that bear, he won’t even hurt a bug.
I remember a little about the problem they were having in British Columbia. We visited that tribal place. Ghost visited with them; me being shy I wondered off walking around enjoying the nature checking things out watching little Canadian Indian kids play…thought what it would be like to have a little Ghost Dancer running around someday. I was fascinated with Canada. It was awesome when we traveled the nature dirt road route. The stores were like little old cabin stores run by the Canadian Indians. Didn’t have a lot in the stores. They looked poor but happy. This was out in the middle of nowhere. You would hope to make it to the next gas station. Good to take an extra can of gas.
In Canada I was amazed how tame the wild moose and deer were there. Oh I saw lots of wild moose on the side of the road. Ghost would say look they are not scared and the Moose know… lol! They were protected in that area and were not allowed to be hunted is what Ghost told me. Ghost went and laid down in the tall grass one night and came back told me how a deer came up to him. He lay there very still. It was a magical time traveling thru Canada. Even though we ran out of gas and I ended up with a busted windshield taking the nature route. I liked it in Canada; I thought the people were so nice there.
Ghost and I stopped at a store in town. I was needing help so I yelled out “Mam, Mam” could you help me find something? She gave me and Ghost a funny look and I didn’t know what I had said wrong. She knew I didn’t know, she said “Did you know you called me “lady of the night?” That’s what “Mam” means. I said I was sorry, but she knew we were not from there. I was amazed cause back home we say mam and sir all the time. I never forgot that.
The water there was the color of turquoise. I stopped there and parked in the road on my way back thru (without Ghost) in the middle of nowhere; got out walked the wolves… that should tell you there was no traffic. I was out there all alone in this wilderness with the wolves. I remembered my friends asked me to bring them back souvenirs I thought about them even though I was still devastated that Ghost was arrested. I picked up some pretty rocks size of a golf ball. I cried some while picking them up feeling lost without Ghost. I was bringing them a piece of Canada for souvenirs. Oh and they did let me thru the border with the rocks.
~~~
Feb 3, 2015
GHOST: I feel Cat’s pain, it isn’t just for me it is for her too. No one seems to hear her or sees her as she tries to express how she feels. She feels the world is blocking her because of all the badness that is everywhere. The strands of the web have her entrapped in the gloom of the future which she is uncertain of.
~
There was absolutely no proof ever given that I was guilty and plenty to show my innocence. Even the FBI forensic expert would be a witness in my behalf, and the key witness who identified me from a photo at the scene of the crime, was none other than the same parole officer who tried to blackmail me. But the lack of proof did not matter. If the government wants you gone, they get you gone, and that is exactly what happened.
All my family, my loving wife, Cat, and even the wolves’ lives were turned upside down and destroyed again. Why? Why did this keep happening? I had not hurt anyone. I had committed no crimes. I had made sure I had witnesses and kept records of all my movements. Then I realized that I had been warned by the feds to stop speaking out about injustices. Well, just as I told the judge, he could put me away, but I will not be silenced. I will only get louder in speaking out against injustice. I just wish all those I loved and cared about did not have to suffer as well. After I was sentenced, I told my sweet loving wife that she deserved a better life than with me. I told her to leave me, that she did not deserve this, and being with me would only cause her to suffer. So, I told this dear lady to go find someone to love and enjoy life. I have another battle to fight, but I will always love you.
Though plagued by heartbreak and depression, Cat would continue the business she and Ghost started together. For the next seventeen years, Cat worked the circuit of powwow’s and festivals as a vendor selling handcrafts she designed and made.
~~~
Part Six: Speaks of the power of people in high places, even within the very halls of the American justice system, to brazenly commit crimes against citizens and destroy lives with absolute impunity.
Part Six – They Want You Gone, You Get Gone
Chapter 23 – Railroaded
Before I begin to clearly explain and document facts about how I was railroaded, I would like to say that I do not hold any bad feelings or anger for what was done to me. Now this may surprise you but I have forgiven them for what they did. No, I surely have not forgotten about it but I don’t live in the past and I don’t live on hate. I live on Love and Beauty. I awaken each day as it being a new day. I cannot change one thing that happened in the past; I can only change what I do today and what I will do tomorrow. I live to enjoy life each and every day to the best of my ability.
I speak on these things not to relive them but hopefully to cause real changes in the criminal justice system so that anything like this can never happen again. It is my hope and prayer that with what all my family, friends and I are sharing with our stories, facts, documents, records, and photos, that people’s eyes will become open and they will cry out to their federal and state senators, congress people, legislators and the media and demand changes in how things are done. It is for this reason that the world needs to see the real American justice system, not the one of fairy tales and political propaganda!
It is only a small voice I have with a true story, a history and life experience of how corrupt the system truly is. Please I encourage you to read all of the story and, review the documents, records and make up your own mind. I trust the truth shall touch your hearts, spirits and you will want justice and change to come. Only when you voice, your heart’s true cry for justice, will changes begin to happen. There must be a large number of people and the number must grow if enough pressure is to be made to force change in the old established corrupt system which is based on the desires of money hungry vultures! So please add your voices to cry out for meaningful reforms in the criminal justice system. You can freely use my cases and my name to draw attention to the facts of truth.
First I would like to say that most of the public is unaware of how the justice system actually works. Most surely the system does not go by the accused being “Innocent until proven guilty.” That idea is nothing more than a propaganda lie and is, in actuality, totally the opposite of the way things work. There is also no such thing as a trial by your peers. If you research how the law defines others as your peers you would see that. From Black’s Law Dictionary:
What are PEERS
In feudal law. The vassals of a lord who sat in his court as judges of their co-vassals, and were called “peers,” as being each other’s equals, or of the same condition. The nobility of Great Britain, being the lords temporal having seats in parliament, and including dukes, marquises, earls, viscounts, and barons. Equals; those who are a man’s equals in rank and station; this being the meaning in the phrase “trial by a jury of his peers.” In the United States, this equality is not so much political as civil.
Also there is no impartial grand jury hearing. This hearing is totally one sided with a prosecutor who is able to manipulate any story he so chooses. Now by the rules of the court he is not allowed to do these things but it is common practice for prosecutors to put witnesses on the stand to testify before the grand jury and allow them to lie or give testimony to things they have no personal knowledge of. All of this is in violation of the rules of the court rules of evidence but is totally ignored and in practice an everyday occurrence.
Not one judge will say anything and allows all this to go on. They will claim they had no idea or it is not their job to protect a defendant’s rights. This is the duty of the Public Pretender! Yes you heard me correctly, I said “Public Pretender.” These people who work in the public defender’s offices, are themselves officers of the court and get paid by the court. Too many just want to get as many cases as they can and they push plea bargaining in nearly every case. It makes no difference if the defendant is actually innocent. They don’t believe you anyway if you tell them you are innocent and this is part of the travesty. It is just so much easier for them to get a plea deal than to do the work to prove your innocence. With the plea deal they have so very little to do and get paid to sign away your rights. Once the accused signs away his/her rights they have no rights to appeal to a higher court for justice.
At no time during the grand jury is a lawyer there to cross examine any of the prosecution’s witnesses or refute any testimony to the grand jury. This HUGE FLAW is why so many are indicted and because these unscrupulous prosecutors will do anything and everything to get the indictments even if what they are doing is illegal and immoral. Too many don’t care about getting to the truth; they just want to win. How do they get away with this? Under our current system, prosecutors act with impunity; they have absolute or at least qualified immunity in anything they do meaning they cannot be held accountable and liable for their acts.
Putting teeth in the law making prosecutors accountable for their actions would put a big dent in the miscarriage of justice and would successfully reduce any and all wrongful convictions. When someone talks of criminal justice reform, this must be at the top of the list along with changing how the jury selection is processed. As I have said at every opportunity, the fact is most jurors now days are selected repeatedly for jury duty. Why? Because they get people convicted which is what the prosecution and the system loves doing.
Prisons and the criminal justice system are both components of a huge business worth billions of dollars just in putting people away. They are in actuality destroying the defendant’s life forever. Once someone is convicted of felony he loses his rights as a citizen forever and the crime will be held against him forever so much so that you will be looked down upon and mainstream society will hold it against you in every way!
It is not uncommon for the same professional jurors to be selected and called for jury selection duty again and again each and every year. So no, these are not random computer selected jurors. These are individuals that have proven to be reliable in doing exactly what the prosecution wants. In seeking criminal justice reform this must be stopped completely. A person should only be eligible for jury duty once every (7) seven years and should only be chosen to actually sit on a jury once every (10) ten years.
Now let’s get back to the Public Pretenders. See, for anyone to face a criminal charge is very serious and under the law and rules of the court, a lawyer is required for the sole purpose of protecting the client’s rights. But unless the defendant has the personal means to hire a top-notch private attorney, that is far from what is done in actuality in a criminal proceeding. I would venture that 99.99 % of the time the public defender is good friends with the prosecution, the law officers and even the judge. They all work together and they don’t have any problem sending someone to prison and destroying their life and all of the defendant’s family and friends lives too.
Under the law and rules of the court the public defender’s job is to ensure that your rights and grounds are protected. If this is not done at the pretrial and trial stages then it cannot be brought up later in a higher court. The appeals court isn’t there to see or rule on your innocence, only to make sure that no rules were violated in convicting you! And if your public defender does not make the required objections and raise these issues, well you have no hope of ever getting the conviction(s) overturned.
My so-called lawyer (public pretender) was a classic example of all of the above. Not only would he not investigate any of the government witnesses and question them before trial, or even investigate any of the evidence, but he also refused to call all the witnesses who were actually present during the crimes. He refused to challenge any of the evidence and how it was presented and handled. For example, one of the government witnesses admitted that he had spliced together select parts of a film and destroyed all the original films but my public pretender said nothing. Why when the originals would clearly prove my innocence? He did not like me because of my race, religious beliefs and my history.
Now the defense attorney is not allowed to let any witness lie on the stand. Yet he knowingly allowed this time after time when the key government witnesses were doing the lying. He knew this for a fact yet when I tried to get him to object and motion the court to invoke the perjury of the testimony, he refused. Yes, I even have in writing that he would not “throw dirt on law enforcement.”
Identification
The defense attorney is not supposed to let an illegal identification go unchallenged. But this he also allowed and did not challenge this as being part of the fruits of the poisonous tree clause. This is recorded in the transcripts of the conference at the judge’s bench when he told the judge, “I did not know this.”
Not one of the three main witnesses whose identification secured my conviction actually placed me at the scene of the crime
First: Sgt. H. S. of the Santa Rosa County sheriff’s office. Now according to the documented grand jury transcripts records, Special Agent Joseph Tierney testified that Sgt. H.S. knew me very well. He had met and talked with me on many occasions, and he could identify me because of knowing me all these times. This witness was never at the scene of the crimes that I was convicted of based on his eye witness identification. He wasn’t even in the same county, yet this man got on the witness stand and stated that he could identify me because he was scared to death when he had to confront me about the wolves on May 25, 1995 and that is the only time he had ever met me.
Now the Assistant U.S. attorney knew this man just lied and he tried to help him out by trying to guide him to saying maybe he was mistaken about the date. Why? Because the prosecutor knew I had been locked up since my arrest in Alaska on May 11th and there is no possible way he could have seen me in Florida at that time. Nor could he have seen me anytime at that particular flea market since the last time I had been there was October of 1994 and I had never ever seen or spoken to this man in my life. I tried to get my so-called lawyer to object and impeach this witness’s testimony which he is required to do but he refused. This man was a law enforcement officer and his testimony most surely has an impact on a jury.
In addition, although this witness had never ever met me or had a confrontation with me, the first thing he said was that I was a member of AIM (American Indian Movement) and how dangerous that meant I was. Now there is no way that this cop could have possibly known anything about AIM unless he was told by someone such as Joseph Tierney. Nevertheless, he testified that he could positively identify me as being the bank robber because of his false claim of having a confrontation with me on May 25th.
***Remember this: H.S. is saying he can identify me by having looked at a photograph of the bank robber suspect. Yet according to the Assistant U.S. attorney the bank robber is in disguise. Now isn’t that kind of a very difficult identification? If the suspect is in disguise then there is no way he could identify me. And if the suspect isn’t in disguise then he still can’t identify me because I didn’t look anything like the suspect.
I point this all out because my convictions are based on this witness’s identification of me as the suspect. What my so-called lawyer was required to do was to challenge this witness and ask the court to impeach his testimony. This my lawyer refused to do. Now since he didn’t object and raise this issue before this court and put it in the records he successfully barred me from raising this ground on appeal.
Now it is important that we speak on legal identification. According to proper and correct procedure in doing a legal identification, law enforcement is required to make sure that no rules are broken, or biased procedures used. Now since this was done with photographs, it is required that the arresting officer not be allowed to even be present during this time. The photo ID must be conducted by an unbiased person and include many similar looking people in different photographs so that no photograph stands out or even be subliminally suggestive.
Now it is documented in court transcripts that Special Agent Joseph Tierney did in fact take a copy of my driver’s license and a copy of a bank photo and go around showing people these and trying to get them to identify me as the bank robber which is totally illegal. Yet once again my so-called lawyer (the public pretender) did not object to these illegal violations of evidence and since he did not, then once again I could not raise this on direct appeal.
Now in court transcripts at the judge’s bench, it is clearly stated that Special Agent Joseph Tierney did in fact leave a copy of my driver’s license and a copy of a bank photo with government witness C. P. for more than two weeks and told her he really needed to get her to identify me. Now this is a clear violation of the rules of identification. The prosecutor, Assistant U.S. Attorney E. K. knew this for a fact, public pretender C. P. and surely the judge knew this was against the rules of the court and all three should have impeached her testimony at that time right there and instructed the jury to disregard any and all of her testimony. But none of that was done.
Instead, C. P.’s testimony was allowed to be used against me. Now this witness was a former parole officer who had repeatedly threatened me and tried blackmailing me to get free jewelry, native arts and crafts each week. Repeatedly she had suggested that if I did not give her what she wanted she could send me back to prison just on her word. I wouldn’t have to commit a crime, she could do this by saying she had complaints or whatever. After several months of this, complaints were made about her behavior, and she was removed from being my parole officer in October 1994.
At trial C.P. testified to knowing me very well, knew everything about me, had been to my home on many occasions and had last seen me in February suggesting an intimate relationship. Now the truth is that she never ever saw me alone, always someone was present. She only came to our home on two occasions, my wife was there, and she stayed for no more than 5 minutes. Now she had only been my parole officer for a short time, and I had not seen her since October of ’94, so no, she did not know me, and she surely was not happy with me for getting her off my case.
My parole officer assigned after her was also approached by Special Agent Joseph Tierney to identify me using the two photos (one of my driver’s license and the photo from the bank) but he said the suspect was not me and refused to do as Tierney wanted. Tierney then began showing it to others in the parole office and none of them identified me. Finally he turned to C. P. and left the two photos with her. These are the two main witnesses the government used to identify and convict me. Both are proven and documented as lying in court and in conspiring with special agent Joseph Tierney and Assistant U.S. Attorney Edwin Knight to falsely imprison and convict me for crimes that I never committed.
Back in prison, this time in Federal Prison, where there was no possibility of parole and no “good time.” I still had the parole violation for two life sentences from the State hanging over me as well. Now I was sentenced to forty years, which basically amounts to the rest of my life.
Make no mistake, I resolved to fight this every way I could, but one thing everyone knows is that the state and federal courts will cover their butts when they railroad someone. No matter what, you will not get justice, for one thing the government will never do is admit they are wrong, that they made a mistake.
It did not matter how many people protested my conviction, nor did the twenty seven boxes of letters demanding that I be given a new trial. It did not matter that the Government knew the witnesses they put on the stand were lying. It did not matter that there was an abundance of evidence never introduced at trial that would prove my innocence. Most importantly, it did not matter that under the law of the United States of America, an accused person is assumed innocent until proven guilty. The fact remains, the government wanted me gone and that is all that mattered.
Anyone who studies how the government manipulates the law will see the pattern. The first is to sway public opinion. Using false propaganda and lies they turn people against you. They will create fear in ways that are subtle, and some not so subtle, by going to your friends and family and even your witnesses to threaten and intimidate them with veiled warnings of what will happen if they testify. Even though this is supposed to be illegal, you will not find one judge or prosecutor who will stop this, much less have charges brought against them. The public wants to believe the law is protecting them, but the fact is, these things were done to me, but not just to me; this is standard operating procedure.
In my case, no matter what they did, people from all over, from all walks of life, stood by me, spoke up for me. But for ones so powerful, people speaking out about injustice are merely an irritant. This is why the government conviction rate is so extremely high, beyond reason, beyond any chance of fairness or justice.
If a lawyer fights for you, that lawyer gets threatened and if that doesn’t work, that lawyer may suddenly be under investigation. Despite what we are told, there is also no random selection of jurors. The same people are called to sit on juries on a regular basis. This leaves nothing to chance. Since all agents of the government have absolute immunity, no matter how illegal their actions, they can’t be punished for it. In the absence of accountability, these federal agents have the power to do whatever they need to do to win the case against you. It would be a grave mistake for anyone to think they will get a fair trial in federal court. That will never happen.
Part Seven – Twenty Six Years in Federal Prison
Chapter 24 – Still I Walk the Red Road
pastel by Ghost Dancer
With nothing more to lose, I put my trust in Spirit and just went right on doing what I had always known I was meant to do: teaching and speaking out about injustice and about traditional Native religions. I stepped right back into the sacred circles in every prison I was sent to. Since then and for years to come, my life has been spent learning from different brothers, teaching other brothers and learning from spiritual leaders who came in to visit and conduct ceremonies with us.
Many in prison will never be given the opportunity to get out. The prison system is their home. No matter how much they change, no matter how much they have helped others, people on the outside do not see their true heart, do not see that they would never return to that old life. When an outside visitor comes, the feeling of appreciation is beyond measure, especially a spiritual leader or someone who does not judge them or look down up them but comes and lets them know that someone out there cares and loves them.
My life has been touched by some remarkable people to whom I owe much:
Ellen Papenouise
Ellen was a member of the Fox/Sac tribe and a member of A.I.M. She was the radio DJ of the Arrow’s Radio program in Kansas City and spent more than 30 years of her life helping the Native American communities. One of her special radio projects was to take calls from family members of prisoners or from the prisons to give shout outs and play songs back and forth for prisoners and their loved ones on the outside. Imagine what this truly meant when so few people would ever reach out and publicly broadcast this on the media air waves.
Ellen was very active in going to prisons and visiting Native prisoners as well. I first met Ellen in 2000 at the federal prison in Greenville, Illinois. She came at my request with several other A.I.M. members. I didn’t know who would be coming but was sure happy to see her after hearing her voice for years and all the Native news and songs she passed on to us. But even more important, I got to know her strong spirit. Here was a woman who had been battling lupus all these years. Her smile, her encouraging message, uplifted everyone who knew her. She would return two or three time each year for several years until one day, very abruptly, Ellen lost her battle with lupus and took her journey. Ellen’s dedication to what she believed touched us all. It sure did me. So, when she came and brought other guests, I made them the best food and gifts I could and sang my heart out for them all.
The Unknown Anishinaabe
One elder who was placed in my path to meet and learn from came to visit when I was in a federal prison in Indiana. He lived on an Anishinaabe reservation in Michigan and I can still hear his beautiful name in my mind, but I do not know how to spell it, so I apologize for not sharing that memory. I remember that he had been given a kidney by his brother so that he could live, and he loved to laugh and hear the singing and dancing with the drum.
This beloved elder still practiced the old ways and I will be forever grateful for what he shared with me. He had Bear Medicine, which means he worked with the spirit of the bear and used his knowledge of plants for healing. I was happy for the opportunity to gain more plant knowledge, but more than that he taught me the use of Bear Medicine for the sweat lodge as well. He taught me how to do clean-up ceremonies for those who have done bad and veterans returning from service.
This good man encouraged me in my journey and related his understanding that we all have paths to walk and there are many, many paths. He urged me to never quit learning and gathering knowledge as we walk our path, because we never know when we will find uses for this knowledge. Many times, we may not understand why we must learn something, but Spirit always has a purpose and will always put those in your path that you need. He said to always pray about this and know that in life, people will be coming from all directions so “Become like the hawk gliding in the winds. Do not fight it, just find the easiest way to avoid the force against you. This is what you must do.” I’m thankful every day that this wise man walked into my path. In gratitude, Ghost
Dave Plunkett (Makwa)
Makwa (Bear) was another beautiful-hearted Anishinaabe spiritual leader. I met Dave in 2011 when I was sent to the penitentiary in Victorville, California and was immediately drawn to his sincere heart. For many years, Dave and his wife were actively involved in the Native American community in southern California, participating in powwows and ceremonies. Dave had been the Sun Dance chief in California for years. His teacher was a nephew of Wovoka, the Paiute prophet, a true Ghost Dancer and Sun Dancer.
As Sun Dance Chief, Dave would always help the dancers who were having problems breaking the bone skewers free through their pierced skin. He would take pity on them and pull the tether to help release the dancer and his pain. It is always up to the Sun Dance Chief in these matters and some do things in a harsher way. It is good that Makwa has such a loving heart. I knew Dave as a spiritual leader who took the time to visit Native men and women in prisons, bringing assurance that someone cares and loves them, when most feel forgotten. It made everyone’s day just for Makwa to come. Many prisoners never get a visit from families who live too far away. For them, getting to see him was like seeing family; like having your grandpa, uncle or brother come to see you.
All Native people are connected to everything. We all know this and feel this. When Dave came, he always had stories to share and brought much needed materials for our ceremonies. By sharing his time, knowledge and songs so freely and always listening to us, Makwa brought hope to so many, helping to guide and change lives, to begin walking the red road. Dave had done all this for many, many years. And those of us who have been blessed to know this man all strive to live and walk the red road as he has shown us. To be so giving to those in prisons, as well as those on the outside, so many are grateful to Makwa for his gifts of time, love, knowledge and especially of his loving spirit.
As most folks know, the bear (Makwa), represents a healer medicine. Now what most folks don’t know is that those who have healer’s gifts cannot use their gifts on themselves. True healers help so many but taking on the sickness and problems of others drains them. This requires constant cleansing and reenergizing to stay healthy. For years, Dave had ongoing struggles with serious health issues. It is always important that others remember to do all they can to help the healers who touch their lives. It is my understanding that Makwa has now taken the walk, but his legacy lives on. We all thank you, brother, and will always be so grateful for all that you and your wife have done for the Native community, both in the prisons and on the outside.
Lynda Means
For years this amazing woman sacrificed her time, heart and spirit in helping me and so many others in any way she could. Lynda taught Native American studies for 22 years at a private university in Missouri. She was also very much involved with many Native American circles within the Bureau of Prisons system and was instrumental in meeting many needs. From donations of teaching materials, to filing complaints and working with chaplains and staff, Lynda worked tirelessly to help others gain a better appreciation of traditional beliefs and practices.
With patience and dedication Lynda helped in bringing in outside guests, organizing powwows, teaching traditional dances, and conducting ceremonies for the ladies at the women’s prisons, and so much more in so many ways to help thousands of Native Americans. Lynda’s dedication to teaching inside a class room or anywhere else, including her own home, helped so many have a better understanding and learn about the old traditions. Everything Lynda did came from her heart. That is the beauty of her spirit that changed hearts and minds. So many of us owe Lynda a great deal of thanks. May she always walk in beauty and love, secure in the knowledge that she is a true blessing to all of us.
Greenville, IL Spring Equinox, April 2004
Grandpa Ken Paulis
Now here was a true spiritual warrior. Grandpa Paulis, as we all learned to call him, had a real heart of beauty and love. He was Iroquois and after serving in WWII he brought the very first Native drum into prison at U.S.P. Leavenworth in 1944. He would continue going into the prisons until 2004 when the BOP officials stopped him because they were worried about his health. By then he was an old man and they knew they could not stop him from dancing. Yes, he was our elder brother, uncle and grandpa. He loved to dance and he really loved stomp dancing. Grandpa Paulis was a true inspiration to many thousands of brothers he came to meet over the decades and he never grew too old to out-dance most younger folks.
Grandpa Paulis’ teachings and guidance had a big effect on me. He always advised me to take time to teach as much as I could to the youngsters who did not know the old ways or their own history. He was a true veteran and he honored me by calling me his brother. That made me want to always honor him in every way by doing as he asked of me. He loved coming to the prison powwows. He enjoyed talking with all the brothers and he loved sharing his stories and knowledge. I will carry his teachings and advice with me always.
Grandmother Santha
A most beautiful and true inspiration in my life was an amazing spiritual elder named Delores Tabia Santha. She was a wonderful Comanche/Iroquois lady who loved all of us. Grandmother Santha came inside to be with all of us and bring us lots of love and the wisdom of all her years of experience. Her loving heart brought happy laughter and her generous spirit touched everyone. Grandmother Santha held many prestigious positions in the Native American communities as well as the outside world and her storytelling was known around the world. To be personally guided, advised and touched by the teachings of this amazing woman helped make me the man I am today.
The Choice to Live in Beauty and Love
In my personal journey, I had to accept the life I was placed in and not let it drag me down, but to think positive and live each day as it was meant to be – in beauty and love – and try to treat everyone in a loving manner. Yes, there are ups and downs. At times there will be problems, but we have to understand that the way we deal with situations beyond our control, depends on how we look at them. I had to see this as a chance to make something positive out of something negative; to find purpose in being placed here.
Forever grateful for wise counselors, over the years I have kept pushing for all the brothers to seek more knowledge of their own histories, religion, languages and cultures and to educate themselves in legal matters pertaining to their Native American rights. I have encouraged them to do the work to earn their G.E.D. so they can apply for higher education assistance through their tribes. Most, I find, don’t even know all the benefits they are entitled to or how to go about getting them. So many have not learned these basics on their reservations and even many of their parents or elders don’t know what or how to get things they are entitled to. So it was, and still is, important they learn all this too.
Many of my Native brothers have drug or alcohol problems so it is vitally important to make sure we have P.I.P.E.S. (People in Prison Entering Sobriety) or a White Buffalo Program, a Native drug and alcohol preventive program. Fundamental to every educational or treatment program, is getting the men involved in the traditional religious practices of their own tribe and learning to grow spiritually with honor and respect for the ancient ways of their ancestors.
Another important aspect is getting everyone into taking care of their health. I have always worked to keep the brothers exercising by learning yoga, stretching, doing cardio, working out, and playing sports together as a team. All this helps keep them busy, focused, and helping to heal themselves no matter what is going on around them.
In working with the Native brothers, I believe they also need to learn their own history and skills in their own artforms. I began by teaching pre-Columbus Native American history and the history of invasions by the Europeans and colonization up to the present. In Native American arts, I have taught beading and drum making. By having drumming circles, the brothers can practice drumming, but also learn both ceremonial and powwow songs as well.
As a part of our sweat lodge experiences, the brothers also learn the symbology of the lodge which represents our mother’s womb. They learn the meanings of every part of the lodge, what each pole, each cross section means, its purpose, its gifts, and how every part is part of us. In our ceremonies, each layer of our mother’s womb creates a deeper understanding of ourselves. Taking turns, each member shares his tribe’s history, ceremonies, stories and customs. Getting to know everyone around you and about tribes you may never have heard of, deepens your sense of who you are. Every tribe, every spiritual leader or teacher teaches their own way, what they have been shown by Spirit, by experience or through visions.
Even though spiritual leaders or teachers might be from the same tribe or nation, they will have differences, so the important lesson is to never get so wrapped up in what you have been taught, to think it must be that way or it’s wrong. There are many roads or paths to spiritual truth. In our wheel of life there are many spokes. None is better than any other; all are equal. It is the same with us.
Working with the brothers, I understood that at times it hurts that we have family members or a loved one that needs our help, physically, financially or emotionally, and we aren’t there for them. We feel so useless and helpless, so what can we do? We pray, we go to the sweat lodge for Inipi ceremonies to help us. After the first door of purification, we pray and ask help for those who need it. We ask our brothers to pray for them also. We ask our spirit helpers to help them, and we believe in what we are doing. We believe in our prayers. As we pray with the cannupa, the sacred pipe, we send our prayers in smoke up to our Creator asking for help for those we have prayed for.
I have been across this country in different federal prisons. I have met, many different Native peoples, young and old, from almost every different tribe in the U.S., even from Central and South America. Many people don’t understand the rules we live by in prison. There is a code; it is rough, and it does not bend. These are the guidelines that were set down by the wicasa wakans when the very first sweat lodge was built at Lompoc Prison in California. For people to think that a person can come into the prisons and not be real, or true, well, that won’t ever happen. If you are not who you say you are, or not what you say you are, you won’t last a day.
You may tell someone else a lie about who you are or where you are from, but you better not lie to a brother about that. The Native circle is sacred. It is a very closed group that is not open to just anybody. So, for those who think that, think again. Do you think all Natives look alike? What does a Native American look like? Does being enrolled in a federally recognized tribe make you look a specific way? Let me say this, you will see a sacred circle consisting of every color, shape, size, and age, so don’t let Hollywood program your mind to what a Native American looks like.
As Buffalo Calf Woman taught, don’t let what you see on the outside of a person cause you to judge. The old ones used to say that many times we are tested by Spirit to see if we are true to the spiritual teachings. Looks can be deceiving and being enrolled or not does not decide or determine if you are a Native American or not. I know numerous full-blooded Native Americans who are not federally or tribally enrolled. Because of the tribe’s laws or for whatever reason, their ancestors may not have submitted to enrollment, or may not have surrendered or maybe they went and hid during the round ups to be taken to the reservations, these Natives are not recognized.
Usually at a prison you have more Natives than can possibly fit in the lodge. Years ago, they used to give us two days a week to do the ceremonies, but not anymore, which makes for a Natives-first rule. We could not deny a Native brother who has the right to be part of the ceremony, just to make room for someone who just wants to come as a guest. Usually there is a policy in place that specifies a day for guests to come. When outside volunteer guests or spiritual leaders come they get first preference, even in conducting the ceremony. It is also the duty and responsibility of those who know how to conduct different ceremonies, to teach others. We are never to hoard anything, knowledge included. We have a duty to teach these guys so they all can conduct the ceremonies themselves.
Most of these guys will be going back home and they will need to be able to build a lodge and conduct ceremonies at their homes for their families. They will also need to reach out to their friends and encourage them to change their lives as they did in prison. In our Native circle, it is our duty and responsibility to help our brothers and sisters to return back home to their families and communities, a better person and an asset to all of them.
Continuing to walk the sacred Red Road on the outside is always the challenge when anyone gets out. Each one must remain true to their spiritual self and not give in or allow themselves to be pressured by friends, family members or outside influences to get back into their old ways which may have been negative or put them in positions to have problems. I speak from my own experiences and working with thousands of brothers from all across this country and different reservations. We all have choices to make. Each choice in every moment has effects.
Now here is a rule we all have to follow: Think before you act! This is why the old ones say to stop and think on something before you make a decision, and we must be careful what we ask for; we just might get it! In prison there is nowhere to run or hide from yourself. Your decisions will either make you or break you. It is the same in the lodge; we cannot hide from Spirit. We cannot hide from the truth, and we cannot hide from our ancestors. We face our own true selves and must decide what we need, what we must change, and what we must let go of and release. We must face the fact that we are not strong, we are not powerful like Spirit; we must be humble and ask for help. Spirit will know if we are speaking from our hearts, tested in fire by the breath of Spirit and reborn as a new being each day to walk in beauty and love. It is our decision to choose this path.
Inequities in the Law
Almost every Native American locked up, and I stress, almost every one of us, is locked up behind a drug or alcohol-related offense. What many do not know, however, is that Native Americans are automatically considered violent because of our race and will be sentenced under different guidelines than others. Natives always get longer sentences, even for the first offense, and few Native Americans ever get the chance to go to a halfway house reentry program. Because of this, in 2001, I filed a discrimination claim against the Bureau of Prisons (BOP) so the brothers could get these programs as well.
According to BOP policy, Native Americans are not recognized as a people. We do not exist except as a religion or as a gang. That is how they view us, and we may or may not be listed as Native American. I once filed a claim against the BOP for not providing educational programs for Native Americans under the Native American Education Act. Incredibly, their response was that Native Americans do not exist. Our battles are never over. Even though we have federal laws in place to protect our religion, we have to fight to actually receive rights that we have already won by law. For Natives in prison, if you don’t know your rights under the law – and most do not – you most certainly will not get anything you are entitled to receive.
Native Americans are the smallest minority of all races and all religions, so the battle is always uphill, especially in prisons where the local Native population is small and the prison is not located near a strong tribe. In the southern states, the battle is even worse because religious prejudice is so pervasive. Even chaplains, charged with meeting the needs of every religious group, constantly hassle and harass Natives over their religious practices. Traditional Natives are the only religion required to get a clearance from medical in some prisons and the only ones who must prove our religion in many prisons. A lot depends on the chaplains at each prison.
I find it strange that no Native American has ever been hired as a chaplain by the BOP. Years ago, I took a look at my situation with all this time I had to do and came to the realization that everything happens for a reason and something good can come out of things that are bad. I have spent every day trying to learn more and more. I dedicated my life to learning, practicing, teaching and helping all brothers and our causes in every way I can. I have truly been blessed to have spent time with so many great, truly spiritual brothers, outside spiritual leaders, tribal leaders, and outside guests who have touched the lives of so many.
Tapping Into the Creative Spirit
Throughout my years in prison, my creative gifts helped sustain me with a sense of purpose. Teaching others and coming up with new ideas challenged my mind. My hands were kept busy and my days filled through the art of designing and creating beautiful hand-beaded leather regalia and unique beaded jewelry, even beaded caps for men and other gifts for visitors and powwow giveaways.
I also made drums, rattles and other ceremonial items for the spiritual groups wherever I was sent. My creative spirit also turned its hand to pastel painting and writing out some of the experiences, knowledge and skills I have gained over my lifetime so that others might learn more about the old traditions, life ways and struggles of all Native Americans.
Heirloom Beadwork
For many years my beadwork has been made with love as gifts for friends and family to use for their personal enjoyment, to sell, or to share.
To this day, I still enjoy creating beautiful things and putting my thoughts in writing so that others might learn and better appreciate what it truly means to be a traditional, spiritual Native American.
In 2014 these pieces with descriptions of their deep historical meaning were made expressly for the Heritage Gathering Exhibit in Georgia.
Finding Peace in Prison
I have found peace in the midst of chaos by disciplining my body, mind and spirit to be one with everything, to see beauty and love all around me each and every day. I awaken each day as a new born baby, excited to experience and enjoy what Spirit has given me to see, feel, smell, taste, hear, and bless me. As is required, I make sure to do the four-day fasts when I seek higher understandings and need special prayers answered. Fasting as purification is an important part of my life. I fast in respect to the solstices, equinoxes, green corn, and many tragic days of history when our people were massacred. I fast whenever I’m making or putting together any ceremonial item we may need for the sweat lodge, or when we rebuild the sweat lodge, or when we have our spirit runs.
We all need purification. Surrounded by such negativity as in our prison environment – BOP staff and other prisoners – it is crucial that we purify our bodies, spirits and hearts as often as we can. It has been proven that a prison that allows Native Americans more traditional religious programs and activities, has fewer problems with Native prisoners, and any prison that has a strong Native American support system from outside people coming in, is even less likely to have problems.
Spiritual Group build at Yazoo, MS
Native American prisoners have very little in common with other prisoners. Many have little experience in being around other races and seldom, if ever, have left their rez to travel to cities or such, so there is very little common ground. This makes it even more important that young Native people in prison have activities and programs that keep them from being bored or just idle, feeling isolated, sitting around with nothing to do. Who, but the elders at that prison can best motivate the Native prisoners to play sports, exercise, learn the drum, participate in the lodge, and take classes together, especially subjects that interest them.
This is why I have always made sure to promote the Native history classes, P.I.P.E.S. programs, beading and craft programs, basketball, softball, and workout classes, and I participate with them. A good leader always leads by example. This is what elders have always taught me, plus the youngsters always love trying to beat you. For years I sought donations of Native American books, videos, CD’s and all types of craft items to give the brothers. These were the tools needed to learn not only songs, dances, languages, and ceremonies, but histories of their own tribes. With the supplies, the brothers can learn to make traditional items and even send them home to their kids or family. They are also encouraged to make give-away items for all outside guests who come in for the pow wows.
Throughout my years, the old activist in me has always found a call as well. I’ve never been one to keep silent when I knew laws were being broken in some way. Usually those in authority could be persuaded, sometime corrections required some pressure, and sometimes, when my pressing for Native rights became too much of a thorn in the side of a bigoted warden, repercussions could be harsh and swift. I cannot count the times and all the ways I have been severely punished for pushing back against prejudice and illegal actions on the part of prison staff. One huge example is when I was abruptly transferred to USP Victorville, California in retaliation for filing BP 9 complaints against the warden at FCI Yazoo, Mississippi. Stated BOP policy is to house prisoners within 500 miles of their family in order to facilitate visits, considered an essential part of rehabilitation. But this is often not the case and to deliberately send a person to the far opposite end of the country can only be seen as retaliatory punishment.
Health Decline
USP Victorville 2011
The years took its toll on my health as well. Early on I had some serious burns from boiling water in a kitchen accident at USP Terre Haute. This would lead to numerous bouts with cellulitis, sometimes life threatening. Then came the heart disease from years of a high fat, high carb diet nearly devoid of fresh fruits and vegetables, the cancers, the kidney disease, the worsening osteoarthritis and many other issues from serious injuries dating back to my youth and living a physically active life.
By the time I arrived at Victorville, I was already having significant pain in my knees and shoulder. Despite this, I stayed physically active until the damages were serious enough to warrant surgery. This would be my introduction to the very worst the federal prison system has to offer in the way of medical abuse and neglect. Several botched surgeries on my knee, shoulder and elbows rendered me crippled and wheelchair bound for years to come.
Fearing for my very life, my family showered Alabama Governor, Robert Bentley with petitions for help to get me transferred out of California and closer to home. He responded and in the summer of 2013 I was finally relocated to FCI Talladega, AL. My situation was greatly relieved, but right off I had another battle on my hands. Talladega had no proper wheelchair accessible cells so I had to school the warden on the laws protecting the rights of people with handicaps.
Otherwise I was soon back working with the Native brothers there to build a strong spiritual community as best we could with the few resources we had available. I would also continue my personal legal battles for justice on many fronts.
My story would not be complete without a few words about my buddy, Walks On The Grass. When he came to Talladega in 2019 he had already heard stories about me from Yazoo. Walks is a true brother with knowledge of the old songs and we loved singing together in the lodge. We had some fun and good times as well until the pandemic struck. Walks is going home soon and our paths will take different directions, but the bond we made will live on.
Beyond this, I will say no more about those twenty-six years. I pray they served a purpose but there is nothing that can make up for my wrongful conviction and all the dreams of home and family my beloved Cat and I shared that were lost forever.
Part Eight: The Warrior Comes Home
Part Eight – The Warrior Comes Home
Chapter 25 – What Price Compassion
The Covid-19 pandemic hit all the prisons hard early in 2020. By April 1st all normal activities had ceased at Talladega and we found ourselves on total lockdown with no relief for months. There was no fast-track out for the most vulnerable people but we were urged to start the cumbersome process to apply for a compassionate release. I applied for help through a program set up by FAMM, an activist organization, to match applicants with attorneys willing to represent them pro bono.
My case was not taken, so I decided to go ahead with a pro se motion. Since I had been convicted in two separate federal courts, I would need to submit motions to both courts. With the help of friends and family writing letters of support, we had all the necessary documentation ready to file in September 2020.
The federal judge in Florida who presided over my primary case wasted no time in responding, and with very thoughtful reasoning, granted my release. When authorities at the prison learned of this, they like everyone else, began to prepare thinking the court in Mississippi would follow suit shortly. This was not to happen however. It would take another full year before the judge reluctantly granted my release only after repeated emergency notifications of multiple episodes of cardiac arrest putting my very life in imminent danger.
Finally after more than 26 years, with my health now in shambles from the continued physical and mental stress of total isolation the sudden ruling caught the prison authorities off-guard. Much of the earlier paperwork had been discarded and chaos set in as the staff scrambled to prepare for my immediate release.
I was told different stories about how I would be transported home after being cleared to travel by medical due to my poor health and handicaps. First I was told that U.S. Marshals would drive me home to Florida in a handicap van. Then later while I was still waiting for them to complete the release process I was given another story that a special handicap equipped bus would take me to Florida. I had little time to even contact my family before my communications were cut off so I was never able to give anyone a clear idea of when, where or how I would arrive.
In actuality, neither of these things happened. Instead, I was literally kicked out the door. Fully chained, shackled and black-boxed as tightly as possible, I was driven in a prison van by guards to the bus station in Birmingham, Alabama. To make matters worse, the guards made a production of unloading me in my wheelchair and removing the shackles right in front of crowds of people. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, one of the guards told a cop standing there to keep a sharp eye on me, that I was a dangerous terrorist and should never have been released from prison. Where, I wondered, did that come from?
So everyone in the bus station heard this and yeah, it was obvious they all were staring at me. It would be hard to explain any other way what this man’s words and actions did to me and the fear he put into everyone around. Think about a wild wolf, I mean a really wild wolf, that was captured and placed into a tiny cage and kept there for decades. Then suddenly the door is opened wide. For a moment the wolf doesn’t even know he is free and can step outside. This was me; I kept looking to see where they were hiding, just waiting to come snatch me back or outright shoot me.
So I sat. I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I didn’t have enough money to really eat anything or even buy more than a bottle of water. They gave me a few dollars that was supposed to provide for two meals but the price of food in the vending machines for anything to eat was so expensive that I didn’t buy anything. I don’t know how or where they expected me to purchase anything to call a meal. My bus was not due for hours so I waited, fully aware of the stares. I could feel the people’s energies of distaste, hate, and anger towards me. I just smiled and listened to beautiful Native music on my MP3 player. Hour after hour I sat there waiting.
At one point, several young thugs began aggravating a middle-aged woman, poking at her and trying to pressure her to go over in the bathroom with them. I watched them grabbing her in the private areas, while the cops all stood around ignoring her pleas. The cops just looked at the guys then turned and went outside. This only made them more aggressive.
Finally, I could not let this go on anymore. My duty as a spiritual warrior and as a man could not stand by and let this happen. So I wheeled my wheelchair over to them and stood up. I told them to back off and leave this woman alone. She had said, “No” so I asked them what part of that didn’t they understand. Now these young men were there when I was released from the prison van so they knew and heard what the guards had said. I was nowhere near physically able to fight all of them, but I would have if necessary. Yes, I realized I was risking my freedom, but my morals made it mandatory that I do something. Luckily they backed off not liking it and spitting all kinds of bad words at me but that didn’t matter. I have thick skin and I just ignored them.
I told the woman she could sit by me if she wanted to and I would make sure no one bothered her. She thanked me and she did sit right there with me the whole time. We were both headed to Mobile so we were waiting for the same bus. When we finally boarded, she sat in the seat next to mine all night to Mobile. The bus made several stops along the way and each time she offered to get me something to eat or drink. I declined; didn’t want her to think she owed me anything. I just did what any decent person would have done.
It was 5:00 am and dark when we got Mobile, Alabama. The place looked mighty rough; the bus station was literally closed, there was no security and there were thugs and drug addicts hanging out all around. There I was left to sit there amid all this until the next bus arrived. One person even overdosed; an ambulance finally came and took him away. He didn’t look too good.
So a few stressful events took place on the way to Pensacola. I managed to avoid any physical altercations luckily but had to stand up and confront different ones at times. I can look mean when I have to and standing to my full height can be seen as ready and willing to defend myself. Bullies only pick on easy prey or what they believe to be easy prey. Sometimes the prey can be pretty intimidating when provoked.
Finally the bus came and I got to Pensacola early in the morning just as the work-day was getting started. I knew Cat didn’t know when or how I would arrive and I was anxious to get there and contact her to come and get me. Everything had changed so much and I had no clue where I was actually. The bus station was closed and there were no pay phones any more. I had been given money for a taxi to Cat’s house but there was no taxi in sight.
I saw a person nearby talking on a cell phone and when he finished I asked him if he could call someone for me. He handed me his phone and said, “Here, call them yourself.” When I explained I did not know how to use one, he looked at me and said, “No way! You’re joking me right?” I told him I had never even seen a cell phone and sure had no clue how to use one. So I gave him Cat’s number and he dialed it for me. I waited anxiously to hear her voice but all I got was her answering machine. Her voice said I could leave a message so I did and told her what I could see because there was no road or street signs anywhere. I told her I would be waiting here for her or try to get a taxi.
I waited about 20 minutes and not knowing if she was even awake yet or heard my message, I decided I must take action. I was not happy when I couldn’t find anything. Now I could not wheel my chair forward with my arms. I normally had to use my feet to go forward or backward. So I pushed myself backwards in my wheel chair, down the road, around a curve and into the entrance to a McDonalds with the idea that someone there would call a cab for me or call Cat again.
I got inside, waited in line and asked the lady at the register if she would call me a taxi. She said she would when she got the time. Then she asked if I wanted to order something? So I figured maybe if I bought something she would make the call for me faster so I ordered a coffee and waited. I watched and waited and kept on waiting for more than 30 minutes. She didn’t appear to be doing anything so I asked her again if she would please call me a taxi. Again she said she would when she wasn’t busy. She just looked at me so I guess standing there waiting for a customer to come in was being busy.
Finally I got tired of waiting so I wheeled myself backwards back to the street, around the curve and up the hill. The traffic kept flying by not even paying attention to me in a wheel chair trying to make it up the side of the road. Some people got mad, blowing their horns and hollering at me but how else was I to get up the hill? There was no sidewalk and I could not push myself backwards in a wheel chair up hill in the grass.
Several times I had to stop for rest; by now I was exhausted. Finally I made it up the hill almost into the bus station parking lot when I saw a vehicle flying toward me with its loud horn just a-blowing. The car pulled into the parking lot, the door flew open and there was Cat running towards me crying. She didn’t care how rough I looked, all sweaty and exhausted, she just hugged me.
Like a wave, the words in her heart rolled over me, “I can’t believe it’s you; you are exactly here! I never thought this day would come. Am I dreaming?”
I laughed and said, “I think I am.”
a Sonic milkshake!
Cat said we had better get out of the road and get in the car. So we did, then on the drive home, she explained how she had hurried off to the grocery store not thinking I would be there so early. When she got home she saw the phone flashing; hearing the message, she took off immediately to come get me.
Now it had been decades since Cat and I had been together. We had each been thru so much in all those years and it would take time for us to adjust to one other. We could not know what the future would hold or the huge changes we would both need to make to find the peace and happiness we had known so long ago.
We knew all about my health issues but at that point had no idea what to do other than using herbs and other natural remedies and a nutritious diet to heal my body. We had no idea that so quickly my life would require non-stop appointments as my supervised release officer and my resource officer put me in contact with the Veteran’s Administration, Social Security, and the United Way Veterans to arrange for all the medical care I so desperately needed for my cancers, kidney and heart issues, eye and dental needs not to mention the orthopedic surgeries I would need for my crippled legs and arms. To date I have had three major surgeries and more are pending.
Besides all this there were other needs to be met. All I owned were the clothes on my back, I would need an ID and a driver’s license, something to wear, and so much more. Just trying to adjust to being free and experiencing how much the world had changed was a mind blowing experience. In truth I was in total shock and soon Cat would be as well. It would take all the faith, strength and courage we both could muster to get through the next nine months.
Note: Only after my release did I discover that to this day I’m still listed by the FBI as a terrorist stemming from my small involvement with AIM as a teenager in the 1970ies.
Part Eight – The Warrior Comes Home
Chapter 26 – Alive Again!
Letting Go of Prison
Now I must tell everyone there is a huge dramatic adjustment anyone getting out of prison must make, especially if this has been the only life you’ve known for a long period of time. There are a few things I had to learn – and learn quick.
First is to slow down! Reset the way you think and react. In prison you are in an environment where you must be on constant alert. Any sudden movements, anything that isn’t normal, draws you to be “on point” as we say in prison. Learning to just relax and calm your mind is key for everyone who is getting out.
Yes, the world outside moves at a fast pace, but in their thinking, folks out here are very slow. If you think slow in prison you either don’t make it or you pay a heavy price. Stop and think, on the outside you don’t have to jump when anyone tells you to do something. You don’t have a specific amount of time to act or be punished for not reacting fast enough. Out here no one is ordering you when to go to bed, when to eat, go to the restroom, get up, telling you how fast you have to eat or do without, or how fast that you have to get out a door or miss out on going to recreation, or going anywhere.
People who have been in for long amounts of time have it harder than those who were only in for a short periods of time. Out here anyone who has been in a long time will automatically be considered a violent offender so he needs to conduct himself with sincere humbleness and a thankful attitude. When you are interacting with other people, say when seeking any kind of services you need, a smile, polite manner and gratitude will go a long way toward disarming any tense situations or bad attitudes and help you get the help you need.
Too many people come out of prison with a bad attitude, they act tough and want people to fear them. I say that is a big mistake. If people are afraid of you they will do things to get rid of you. If you have a bad attitude people will not want you around and if you try acting tough, well guess what, someone will call you out on that. So keeping a good attitude, staying humble and appreciative of other’s help are a must for anyone adjusting to being free.
The prison mentality with all its rules and egos must be left inside of prison if you want to stay free, become a success and change your life for the better. No matter how rough you have it out here it is still a 100,000 times better than anything you had in prison. You may have to develop a thick skin and learn to ignore insults or judgments made against you because you have been in prison. People will be people and some are going to be judgmental. Their attitudes towards you will not change no matter what you do so just don’t worry about them. Your own actions of doing good will help you become successful and living a real life will be your reward.
Blessings of a Patient Wife
I could not have made it this far without the help of so many people. I had to hit the ground running to work with my supervised release officer and resource officer who is still helping me through the process of getting myself back into the world and finding the ways and means to get the medical help I desperately needed.
This has meant nearly daily trips, often across town, to all kinds of appointments. In the beginning Cat did all the driving so she had little time for anything she needed to do for herself. Already I’ve had three major surgeries and Cat has nursed me through all of them. There will be several more in the coming months.
My Cat, my loving wife, is the one who has been right here standing by me every step of the way and she has borne the brunt of my mistakes and frustration as well. Cat has helped me through all the adjustments and guided me as I try to figure out all the changes and so many new things I need to know.
Every single thing has changed while I’ve been away. From computers, email and phones to traffic laws, and even the businesses, communities, cities and people I once knew; all have changed. Yes I’m like Fred Flintstone waking up in George Jetson’s spaceship world and Cat’s job has not been easy! See, in prison you don’t ask for help. You just do what you can and try to figure things out yourself. I tried to hide all my frustrations from not knowing anything and feeling so vulnerable in a world I knew nothing about.
I wanted to help Cat; I wanted to do my part and I tried. I would think I was helping but in fact my “help” was doing more harm than good and it made her work so much harder straightening out all my blunders and mistakes. Sometimes I would get upset and vent my frustrations. Maybe someday, maybe ten years from now we will be able to laugh at some of the things I did, but at the time, they were not very funny.
Here are a few examples of the things I did:
Tried to help by running the dishwasher. Put in way too much soap and the wrong kind. Flooded the kitchen with soap bubbles. My sister Judy helped me scoop up bubbles all morning trying to clean this up.
Tried to help do laundry. Didn’t separate my brand new blue shirt and dyed all Cat’s white clothes blue.
Ruined Cat’s electric skillet trying to surprise her by fixing her some breakfast. Used a metal spatula and scratched up the non-stick surface. We won’t even mention some of the other messes I made in the kitchen.
Learning to drive and not paying attention to what Cat tried to tell me. Crazy drivers these days and I was one of them. I had Cat hanging on her seat and scared half to death I would wreck, and me getting upset because those fools just don’t care how they drive.
Thought I would help by mopping the floor. Oh I was so proud but come to find out I didn’t use floor cleaner, I used floor wax instead. I could not figure how Cat got her feet so black when she walked on the floor.
Not being careful when I got up from the dining table. I fell and crashed into Cat’s china-shelf breaking almost all the beautiful pieces she treasured that had belonged to her mother. Yeah I totally destroyed it all and it cannot be replaced.
When I tried learning the computer, I thought I could figure it all out but ended up getting totally frustrated and calling Cat to the rescue. I crashed her computer so many times and wiped out a lot of her stuff.
Yeah, I’m a mess and I caused this beautiful amazing woman so much stress that she was hospitalized three times in one month with her heart. Yeah imagine that! And knowing that it was me that caused her all this stress made it that much more important for me to get my own self fixed.
When she felt she could take no more, my patient Cat told me frankly that I needed to change and change fast. She told me that instead of constantly moving, talking non-stop fast as I could, I needed to slow down, listen, pay attention and be conscious of what I was doing. I needed to learn to ask for help!
By nature I am one who keeps my thoughts, doubts and problems bottled up inside. In the violent world of prison I was able to cope by not letting others see or know how inadequate or helpless I felt. That mindset came home with me. The result is when I wanted to try to impress Cat, my actions were disrespectful of her.
Letting prison go became a major priority for me in other ways too. It was bad enough being in prison all these times when I was actually innocent, but to be sent back now for violating the rules of my release such as doing something that would frighten someone or reacting to any threats or any words by others, would be totally self-defeating. I still have goals and dreams I wish to accomplish in this life. Unlike many that have been in my shoes, I will not, must not allow myself to fail at anything I truly want to do. So I must make the changes necessary to fit in this world, to protect the woman I love and to free her from stresses caused by my own habits, routine, and programmed prison mentality.
Reconnecting with Family
I have a wonderful family that loves me so much. As soon as my mom found out I was free, she was jumping up and down wanting to come and it was not long before my sister, Judy brought her to Florida. That reunion was such a wonderful day! They too witnessed the pressure of my adjusting to this world and helped me so much. They didn’t criticize me, just offered encouragement and lots of love.
A few months later, Cat and I were able to go for a visit with many more of my family. Judy and her husband, Scott welcomed us to their home and took us around to see everyone. Of course Mom was with us every minute possible. We got to see my brother, Greg, his wife Becky, my sister Teresa and meet all my new nephews, nieces that I had never seen before. Getting to see my sister, Jackie after more than 27 years was a special treat. Those were such joyful reunions.
Visiting my dear Aunt Hazel was a true miracle; she has been kind to me all my years and now she is so very frail. It was so good to see my cousins Gary and Ronald after so long and meet all their kids, grand kids and families. So I have been truly blessed in getting to know them all and I will make sure to spend as much time with them as I can. Having a loving family to welcome you home, to help support and encourage you to succeed is vital to anyone being released from prison and I am so grateful.
When people are locked up, every part of the whole system works against them. They brain wash you each and every moment with messages that you are nothing, you are worthless, you will never succeed. “You will be back,” they say, “No one loves you, you are no good and we will save your cell and bunk for you.” Why? Because to all of the system you are nothing more than their cash crop, job security. If taxpayers only knew of the corruption and waste of their hard-earned dollars they would be demanding reform. So reconnecting with a loving family is an essential part of washing away the incessant message of worthlessness everyone hears in prison.
Counting my Blessings
Now I am enjoying the pleasures of real food, meeting people who truly mean what they say, who talk nice to you and treat you with respect because they want to. To feel this again is a wonderful experience and I know it is my responsibility to speak and act toward others with humble respect as well. Having real doctors, P.A.’s, nurses and staff in medical practices and hospitals who truly want to help you and care about you is so wonderful! I have been blessed with all kinds of good experiences, I’ve made numerous real friends, and been helped by so many good people – medical people, business people, musicians, veterans, federal marshals, supervised release officers, Step Program resource officer, neighbors, native peoples, artists, and so many friends from the past. Yes I am truly blessed and so thankful for everyone.
I would like to say “thank you” especially to Edna Dixon and all her family who have stood by my me for so very long and have helped me in so many ways beyond just believing in me. I warned Edna when she reached out to me that people would not understand. Some would judge her because I was in prison. She followed her heart and did it anyway. All of my family and I have truly been blessed by her dedication and help in every way to make all this happen. I would probably still be in prison if it wasn’t for her.
I want to thank all of you who joined the Facebook support groups, Ghost Dancer & Friends and Ghost’s Thoughts and wisdom, for all of your interest, friendships, help, and support in every way. Believe it or not each time any of you have taken a moment to read or comment, It has helped beyond measure. When you’ve gone a step further to help in writing letters complaining about the lack of treatment or other times I was being denied something I needed while I was in prison, you all helped get changes made.
Since my release, I appreciate all of you who bought jewelry or sent money to help keep me afloat and surviving. Thank You! Thank You all for all that you have done to make my days easier, help me and help my family! I still have a lot to overcome, but I will succeed.
Finding a Place in the Wider World
By the time 6 months had passed the pace of our lives had begun to level out a little. I was in between surgeries and the time was right for a little new adventure. Mom and Judy came to join us for a three-day weekend in April at Musical Echoes Native American Flute Festival in Fort Walton Beach, FL. Here I was able to participate; I made many new friends and got acquainted with all the performers. The festival planners were gracious enough to let me have some stage time to sing and play my drum and do a little story telling. This was a wonderful affirmation for me. I was well accepted by everyone I met and invited to return next year as a scheduled performer.
When Spirit Leads
I am blessed, truly blessed by Spirit and will continue walking my spiritual path. Wherever Spirit leads me I will follow and I will do whatever I’m asked to do.
Since I got home, I have been talking to everyone I meet associated with the VA and the veterans I see around home about an idea I have been thinking of for years that will benefit all veterans and first responders. My idea has always been received with enthusiasm and I have been assured there is a real need for the plan I propose.
During that beautiful weekend at Musical Echoes I took the opportunity to talk to the musicians gathered there about my idea and enlist all the support I could. Once again my idea was warmly accepted and several assured me they would be happy to participate.
The Spirit Run
Crying, Cleansing, Releasing & Healing Ceremonies
For Veterans and First Responders with PTSD
The Spirit Run is a time-honored tradition among the indigenous people of North America. It is not a competition but rather an opportunity for people of all ages and abilities, from the strongest to the weakest, to strive as one, united in prayer, toward a common goal for the honor and benefit of all. In the old days, acting as one, the strongest might have physically carried an elder or disabled person. In modern times, the stronger ones might push the weak unable to walk in the same spirit.
Historically, the sweat lodge (Inipi, meaning Breath of Spirit) in which the associated healing ceremonies are held began as a tradition of the plains tribes of North America. In recent years the custom of sweating ceremonies has spread across the country and beyond with many variations reflecting the needs and values of the local community.
Both the Spirit Run and the Sweat Lodge Ceremonies are sacred practices that help each participant learn the lessons of prayer, sacrifice, humbleness, and cleansing and build a stronger community of more balanced individuals supporting one another.
I have dreamed of this Spirit Run for all disabled, wounded, retired veterans, their families, first responders and their families who are in need, for all the different communities, cities, states, and I hope to see it spread all across this country.
In Native tradition it is our responsibility to help, provide, and look after all of these. It is also my and others responsibility to teach and educate others about these ancient traditional ways of healing and providing in all these matters.
In September 2022, I was invited to attend a barbeque following a United Way-sponsored Suicide Awareness Walk at Pensacola State College. The United Way Veteran’s Group invited me to come and play my drum and sing and then lay out my idea for the annual Spirit Run/Healing Sweat Lodge.
The day was very successful. I did some singing and drumming and everyone enjoyed it. I got to talk with lot of important people from the community and veteran’s groups about my vision. Everyone loved the idea and I believe it is going to be a great success. We’re going to have lots of backing; I will be meeting with city and county officials and other organizations that can help and hopefully a date will be set sometime in the near future, probably Spring of 2023.
Closing the Sacred Circle
You may not know this, but I try to live each day as if it is my last. And I must give of myself to walk with Spirit in everything. I wake up in constant prayer, I pray all day long and go to sleep praying. Truly I give thanks for all that has been given to me, helped me, and for all those in my life and those who will come into my life. I trust in Spirit to put those I need in my path.
Each morning I wake up hours before daylight and go outside to begin my prayers. I pray out loud till after the wonderful sun has risen and blessed each of us with love and life. As I sit and listen to Spirit and watch all of my relations come to life and begin their day I am so grateful, for this is a true blessing that has been denied to me for so many decades. I truly enjoy just being able to step outside to pray again and no matter the weather – rain, storms, sleet, snow or heat – nothing will stop me from greeting each day in this way.
Many believed that I would die in prison and gave up on me. But here I am. I am home, I am free at last, and I have a dream to carry me into the future. Truly I am blessed by all who love me, believe in me, support me, and help me each and every day. I thank each of you as I thank Spirit for making this happen.
The War Veteran Comes Home
By EPDixon
When Ghost returned to Pensacola after his compassionate release from prison, he was very quickly identified by the Veterans’ Administration as being eligible for full medical benefits. Soon after, as he began to meet more and more veterans he would talk about his vision for a spirit run and healing lodge for the benefit of veterans and first responders still suffering from the trauma of war and all types of disasters. Discovering that many of the vets he met were also American Indians, his acceptance into the veterans community grew even stronger. Word of Ghost’s history spread quickly and amazing things started to happen.
One day when he reported to the VA hospital for an appointment, Ghost was totally surprised to discover that the staff and residents had covertly planned to honor him. Ghost could not hold back the tears as he was wheeled around the halls receiving salutes and honors from everyone. The honor was overwhelming and Ghost was touched to the heart.
The next day when Ghost reported to another VA facility for an appointment he was greeted by an honor guard of Native Americans. These men introduced themselves and welcomed him home with gifts of Navy gear, hats and shirts etc. They invited him to join their organization and Ghost said he would be honored and to just tell him how he could help.
A week later, on Tuesday, August 23, 2022 when Ghost reported to the VA for physical therapy, he was once again greeted by the same gentlemen from the Thunderbird Honor Guard.
Among the most distinguished of Vietnam veterans, Ghost was once again honored by Lt. Colonel George Dodge, U. S. Marines, Special Forces and Silver Star recipient. (Cheyenne) and Master Sergeant Donny Kimmel, U.S. Marines, Special Forces, recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor, Silver Star and Purple Heart. (Cherokee)
A Grateful Nation Thanks and Honors You!
These American Indian heroes conferred the highest honor to a brother veteran of the Vietnam war with the presentation of this beautiful lapel pin that Ghost will treasure forever. In return, from his personal walking stick, Ghost removed two spotted eagle feathers and presented them in honor of these men’s services. These feathers were from the left and right wings of the same eagle and will be attached to staffs he will make for them. Ghost will replace the feathers on his own staff from other feathers from the same bird symbolically forming a connection to remember their brotherhood.
As a spiritual leader and the newest member of the Thunderbird Honor Guard, Ghost’s role will include ceremonial services for other Vietnam Vets who take the walk. The Guard will also play an active role in the Spirit Runs planned for the future.
Welcome Home, Sir! Thank you for your service!
Part Nine – Insights into Ghost Dancer’s Activism
Chapter 27 – Connecting the Dots
As you have been reading to this point, I’d say most likely you have wondered why this Ghost person seems to be dragged from one bizarre situation to another. Why would government authorities single out this one individual? It’s not as though he is someone important or anything! Bear with me and I’ll try to explain so everyone can understand why I’ve been labeled as a violent criminal, a terrorist even, literally wearing a target on my back all these years.
Connecting The Dots
Now if you have been following this story of my life, think about these important points from the chapters:
1. Who influenced me as I grew up.
2. My education and how I learned
3. My religious beliefs and practices and the significance of these traditions to all Native Peoples.
4. Who mentored me in standing up for all our rights.
5. When did the abuses start?
From my earliest years I grew up knowing who and what I was.
Throughout my school years I truly did not fit into the standard learning structure. Rather I was given materials from many fields and disciplines to study. Most important for my life’s work, I studied business law, civil law, and international law.
As a youth, I was drawn to and mentored by those who started the American Indian Movement. My teachers were all prominent highly recognized spiritual leaders and I was inspired by all these amazing people to stand up for our human rights.
Government agents saw me and photographed me with all these leaders I was learning from during the times I spent at Pine Ridge Reservation. I also witnessed the atrocities committed by government agents and their hired mercenary cronies on the innocent Native Peoples and I had visited the rez and seen the deplorable living conditions. This made a huge impression on me as a teenager.
I came to fully understand how Native Peoples were the only group in America whose sacred traditions, languages, and ways of life had literally been made illegal to practice by the federal government. Why? Because it was always the goal of government to force Native People to assimilate by destroying their entire culture. Finally, in 1977 we won these rights in federal court from inside of prison and the Native American Religious Freedom Act was passed into federal law on Aug 11, 1978.
Once the government agents had identified me as the youth photographed with the spiritual elders at Pine Ridge they would be intent on getting me to answer their questions about everything I knew. From the time I was first arrested, I was beaten, tortured, drugged and convicted of crimes for refusing to give up information on A.I.M. members. This only made my commitment to stand up for my people stronger. The more they did to me, the more I would speak out.
AIM was considered a threat by the government and corporations that exploited and used Native lands for their own profit. Why? Because the spiritual and political goals of AIM was to bring back the strength and values of Native heritage and teaching all who listened to the truth about standing up for what is written in the laws and treaties, and what changes we must fight for to get made into law to protect our traditions and our natural rights.
Understand this: A person who knows what their rights are, who knows the laws and how to use and invoke them, becomes a danger to all who live by suppressing your knowledge, rights, and everything you are entitled to.
Being drugged and beaten and sent to mental hospitals and jails only made me that much more determined to speak out. Yeah it made me mad, willing and ready to do whatever it took it get things changed. Our ancestors died fighting to protect our ways of life, traditions, languages, religious practices and history. It was only fitting that the younger generations stand up to fight for these things too.
AIM was the catalyst that brought back these values to all of us and inspired us to wake up. It was a great spiritual awakening to our sacred circle being formed and healed once again. I will always be so thankful for all those who were the founders, leaders and spiritual teachers of A.I.M. who brought us all back to life and awakened us and shared their knowledge with us and inspired us to use what knowledge, skills and experience we had learned in life already. So even though it was hard for my family and loved ones to understand, the more they did to me made me that much more determined to win and speak out.
When in prison I taught these rights, laws, and how to use them to all who wished to hear and learn. Not only did we change the laws on Native Americans rights, but for prisoner rights as well. I was always active in pushing for changes in how prisoners are treated and even became a writer for prisoners’ religious rights, medical rights, living conditions and all.
I was active in getting people on the outside involved in writing letters to senators, congress people, even the United Nations, and others in foreign countries to support and rally for us. So the more people I got to raise their voices the more changes that would come into being. Naturally this challenge to the status quo singled me out to all the prison authorities and even to those in government, politics, and corporations. Just because they had me locked up did not silence my voice.
Look back to the beginning of this book and see what you read in Chapter 1 when I was speaking to the court at my sentencing about not silencing my voice. At that time I had many contacts, not only in the U.S. but in every country in the world speaking out and pushing for changes. Family members, loved ones and friends were contacting senators, congress people, directors and yes, even the courts.
If you checked the federal court records in Florida, Alabama, and Georgia, you would find so many cases that I filed. Every single prison I was ever locked up at, I filed against them to make changes. In the records of the Justice Department you will find records that I have filed complaint after complaint for all types of issues.
That determination did not change when I got out of prison. Every time I was free I never stopped teaching others to stand up and speak out for their rights, and how to learn the laws and their rights. Every time I saw or heard about an injustice I would begin standing up and organizing others to do the same thing.
During our fifteen months of sweet freedom, every time we traveled to reservations or to psychic shows or local festivals, flea markets, powwows, even schools, I would speak to others about their rights and how to invoke them. Cat and I were always searching, investigating, and looking for truth and justice in all our communities.
For instance we were concerned about the polluted waters caused by Monsanto Corporation illegally dumping into the waters of the gulf, rivers and creeks so we took water and soil samples to college professors for testing. Another incident involved a Native sister who had been illegally arrested and by invoking the Native American Free Exercise Act, we were able to get the charges against her dropped. We even took on Walmart directly for violations against the Indian Arts and Crafts Law of 1990. Once they became aware of the law, they immediately complied without a fight.
Another incident occurred at Florida Town State Park that highlights the overreach of government authority. We were there to meet with a college professor to give him soil and water samples and discuss issues of historically sacred sites being violated by corporations and federal, state, county and city governments. Cat was with the wolves while I was speaking with the college professor. Sheriff’s deputies and animal control personnel came and caused a scene trying to take the wolves into custody and charging Cat with violations. Cat hollered for me to come and I stood up to the deputies telling them they had no authority to act and neither did their animal control officers.
We had to go to court in Milton behind this. At first the court refused to allow me in the court room but Cat refused to proceed with the hearing unless I was allowed to be there and present the case. Sheriff’s deputies had me surrounded outside blocking me. Finally the Judge gave in and allowed me to come into the court room. Speaking to the court, I invoked our rights and even the rights of the wolves by presenting the laws that applied to us and to the wolves.
The county prosecutor had a fit but I simply handed him and the judge copies of the laws. First, the Native American Free Exercise of Religion Act of 1993 as it pertains to ceremonials and what is specified as being a spiritual leader doing sacred ceremonies. This established my authority to speak and give my point of view as a Native American. I also used the Florida State law pertaining to wild animals in state parks. A wolf is a wild animal therefore it cannot be considered a domesticated animal that would fall under the leash laws of the state. We argued that our wolves were not owned by anybody; they were not pets they were people who chose to stay with us. Since we did not own them and they were made by the Creator, then the wolves had access rights to the park just as the squirrels and birds and every other wild animal in the park.
Now picture this in your mind: the court room is packed with other people waiting for their cases to be heard and here is a man and woman who clearly are not lawyers and not dressed as any of them, fighting their case in court against the system and standing up for what is right. And we won! The judge had no choice but to rule in our favor and dismiss all charges and complaints against Cat and the wolves as well.
Now one thing these kinds of people don’t like is someone who is not intimidated or afraid of them. They use their positions of authority and think they have the right to treat you any which way. If you do not comply to their every whim they use threats of violence with their numbers and weapons. The very worst thing anyone can do to get me riled up is the act of trying to threaten me or someone I love or care about.
Pulling a weapon on me or you is not legal. Understand your rights: No one, especially law officers, has any legal authority to threaten you with violence! Read your Constitutional rights. We were not under arrest, we had not committed any act of violence nor were we threatening them or anyone else, so they did not have the right to threaten us with anything. Now here I was at this sacred Native site making a big incident there in the park. People gathered around listening to what I was saying and Cat was saying and then the college professor. This got the crowd all involved and they knew the truth when they heard it.
This incidence shows how important it is to make sure people understand how the Native point of view can come in conflict with conventional ideas but still they must be honored and taken into account in every situation. People must understand how we think, especially how I think because I have always used the law. I learned to use the law because this is what was stressed by my mentors; we had to work within the laws and if there wasn’t a law for it then we must push to get a law passed that would give us the protections we need.
Native people have learned through history that we could not win by force or standing up and fighting physically. But there are many ways to fight so I took all that I was taught and all that I was shown and guided to do and that’s what it has come down to; this is my way of fighting now. My spirit totems are the Eagle and the Wolf. Both live inside of me and are so much a part of me. They live by these laws and so do I.
Here is where the legal knowledge I learned in my youth came into play. Having learned and studied the laws that protect us all under the constitution and how to use it, teaching others how to apply these laws to secure our rights became and still is a high priority. Throughout my times of freedom and when imprisoned, I have never stopped pushing for my own and all of our human rights. My voice will never be silenced no matter what they do to me. JUSTICE MUST BE JUST AND DEMANDED EQUALLY FOR ALL.
Reflection…
Now with all this in mind please stop and think. If you could do something that would make real changes to help your people and yourself would you do it? Even if you knew that you would suffer? Even if it meant that your family, loved ones and all your friends would suffer too? What if Spirit spoke to you and showed you terrible things that would be done to you if you went down this path, would you do it? And if Spirit told you that this is your path but you must chose to walk it or not? Well, I did choose to follow this path. I never thought it would be such nonstop suffering but it was worth it. Why? Because the actions I took DID change the way all Native Peoples were being denied basic human rights and their inherited traditional ways of life and it made things better for all peoples and all life.
I never did any of this alone. Many, so very many, others chose this path too. Our ancestors walked with us and inspired us and we always walked with Spirit. The more people choose to learn their rights and gain knowledge of how to use the laws and stand up for their rights, the easier it becomes. It is easy to silence a single voice; it is lot harder to silence many, and more and more. I am only as a small grain in an avalanche; a mountain of sand, all the people who stood up and pushed for changes and still do.
I’m nobody special, just a person who was guided by my heart and Spirit to stand up and do what needed to be done. All credit should be given to Spirit and the leaders that Spirit inspired, all the spiritual leaders. A.I.M. leaders and all those voices lifted up together to demand changes. We were taught in life that knowledge shared is always best. I learned real quick that most folks have no clue about what their real true rights even are and if people don’t know what they are entitled to, they wouldn’t complain or want anything more. Even now after all I have been thru here I am sharing with all who will read the story of my life, still sharing the truth of the criminal justice system, about all the lies, corruption, deceit and illegal acts that are a part of the way they get rid of people like me to silence them.
“But Ghost,” some say, “Aren’t you afraid speaking up will get you in trouble again?” Yes I’m risking my freedom, my life once again just in exposing all of this to you. But I refuse to live in fear and most surely I’m still compelled to follow my heart and follow the path that Spirit has given me to live. I only want the truth out there and to help you all learn your rights as well as the true history, ways of life, religious practices, and culture of all Native Peoples, especially those of Southeastern Native heritage.
Observation and Challenge…
Even in today’s society the majority of the people have no clue about what their rights really are much less how to use the law to secure them. For example, most folks do not know the true meaning of freedom. How does the dictionary even define the word? Now read your First Amendment thru Fourteenth Amendment rights. Once you know the full meaning of these rights stop and ask if this applies to you and empowers you. It should! You should stop and think of ways to show how it effects and applies to you in every way of everyday of your life.
Knowledge is power. The majority of the government, politicians, corporations, and those in power because of their fortunes and positions of influence all have one great fear. That fear is for you to know your rights and how to stand up for them. And when you go out and teach others this and speak on these things you now become a terrible threat to them, their power, control and corruption over you and others.
What almost everyone, especially those in law enforcement, justice system, politics, and government forget is this that they work for you! They are there to protect you, your property, your rights and the laws. They are employed by you and serve you. They do not have the right to threaten, disrespect, intimidate, or violate any of your rights or break any laws, policies, code of ethics, behavior or anything. And even though it seems the majority of society has forgotten, this is still true and the same laws and rights protect you now.
Remember this, the Constitution First Amendment forbids and clearly states that no law or policy can be made which would violate your rights. So no authority can be given to anyone, law enforcement personnel, politician, judge, court, or anyone that takes these rights from you. Yet each and every day these individuals all violate the laws and no one is standing up and demanding they stop doing these criminal acts of violating every citizen’s rights. There is no “interpretation” of the constitution or it’s amendments. That is only a farce to misled you from the truth of your rights and they can only do it if you let them.
What I’m saying about knowing your rights and invoking them really applies to everybody. The majority of the population doesn’t understand exactly what their rights are. Most folks don’t even care that their rights are being violated and they are not getting all they are entitled to. Why? Because they don’t want any trouble and they don’t want to have to do anything. They are too busy just trying to survive.
People walk around blindly ignoring oppression happening to others as well. They just don’t want to get involved or they are too scared of what would happen to them. I will go so far as to give my opinion that today, in this present time, people live here in the U.S. under the same mentality and behaviors that were the norm during the Dark Ages and the Inquisition when people were living in fear of their lords, aristocrats, emperors or kings. Today people live in ignorance and blind obedience to whatever is fed to them by those in authority that they must live by.
I say you are a human being. You were born free and you have rights to live in freedom. You have the right to believe however you want. You have the right to choose what you want to do in life so long as you do not infringe on the rights of others. And you have the right not to be dictated to by anyone else, especially the government or politicians or corporations or such.
In today’s society people have allowed themselves to be manipulated for too long and have gotten used to subtle changes being made by courts, judges, law enforcement, politicians and government. No one has spoken up so it has become common place for ever more protections within the constitution and amendments to be broken and rights given away without a fight. This is done slowly and too often intentionally by those you have entrusted to protect these rights for you!
Words of humility and love…
Remember, you must know who you are, what you are, and what are you to become before you can truly find your power and worth. We are all created by the same Creator no matter what name you use to identify our Creator. We are all related and connected no matter if you realize or understand this concept or not. The Laws of our Creator are very simple and very easy to live by if you truly choose to do so. Yes we are all tested by our faiths, commitments, discipline and even by our own minds, hearts, and things around us. It is these very tests that make us or breaks us.
I would never want to stand before our Creator and have to explain why I failed to act, speak up or use my knowledge and gifts to stand up for what is right, what is just, what is the truth to help all my relations (all of life) and follow where Spirit has led me.
This makes me think back in history to all those who have gone thru the same persecutions, inquisitions, torments, sufferings, imprisonments, and yes, even deaths for speaking up for what is right, yet the majority of society has learned nothing from history. Too many still live in darkness, blinded by their own ignorance. As I learned a long time ago, all pain and suffering comes from ignorance.
Every single person who has believed in me and what I have done, who has helped me and others, who have been there for us in any way, all have been persecuted in some way, not only by those of their own families and friends, but by society. I wish to thank each and every one who has stood by us, loved us, befriended us, helped us. I know you all have suffered because of following your hearts and listening to Spirit that has guided you also. Is anyone of us perfect? No! We all make mistakes and even wish we could do most things over again. Don’t worry you’ll get that chance in another life. So be careful what you wish for.
I pray these insights into the struggles of Native American political activism and my personal reflections help to connect the dots and explain why Special Agent Tierney felt compelled to say in 1995: “Well, Ghost you do know that I’m sick of putting you away and they keep letting you back out. So you know what? This time I will make sure you never ever get free again.” Ghost Dancer, May 2022
Epilogue
In the months and years since completing All For The Right To Pray in the Spring of 2022, shortly after his compassionate release, Ghost and Cat decided to put the past behind them. Their primary goal was to restore Ghost’s mental and physical health. With the help of the VA, Ghost underwent numerous surgical procedures to repair damages incurred during his years in prison as well as recurring skin cancers and other medical issues. Even as he was recovering from major procedures to replace a 10-year-old misaligned knee replacement and a total inverse shoulder replacement in an attempt to restore some measure of mobility, Ghost found his place in the community. His dreams of working with vets and first responders with PTSD led to active involvement with local veteran’s organizations and he was proud to walk, however haltingly, with the Thunderbird Honor Guard (Native American Veterans).
As a spiritual leader, Ghost visited a local tribal facility to inquire about volunteering and ended up being invited to serve as the chief of the floundering organization. He accepted the invitation and soon became involved with two local Chambers of Commerce. On a broader scale, he reached out to various tribal organizations both in Florida and at the national level. Once again, Ghost became a doer and an activist, making many friends along the way as well as a few enemies.
On November 1, 2024, Ghost arrived early at Sacred Heart hospital in Pensacola for his pre-surgery work-up for spinal surgery scheduled for the following week. Afterward he checked in with his probation officer to turn in his monthly report. Ghost had been given two dyes for his imaging procedures that morning which made him feel ill. Nevertheless, feeling that it was his duty, he proceeded on to the Thunderbird Intertribal Powwow about an hour away in Niceville, FL where he was scheduled to serve with the Thunderbird Honor Guard in ceremonies later that evening.
Early the next morning, November 2, 2024, Ghost was arrested at his home in Pensacola accused of robbing a bank the day before. Soon he would be taken into federal custody. As of this writing, May 17, 2026, Ghost’s health continues to decline. He is still in federal custody and still awaiting trial. EPDixon
References and Additional Commentary
Journeys of the Spirit 