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 long 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 step dad 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 when 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)”
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.
Geez Louise, will somebody please give me some Ibuprofen. I got muscles where I didn’t know they still were, however, I do in fact now know they are there, not only because they are killin’ me but also because I did it to myself. See we all know I’m on the way to getting out, and over the years since 1999 I have gained a good amount of weight. So a month ago I decided, “Hey Walks, let’s start an exercise plan to get a little fitness back in the old bod!” (it gets worse)
So I decide to start riding the recumbent bike, where you sit in the seat, legs in front pedaling forward, the machine has a cool screen and all these programs (designed to kill you) that let you ride courses, like “cross country” or “hill climb” or “basic program” where it’s pretty much just resistance with levels 1-10. So my first time out a month ago I get on this thing and what do you think I did? Yeah, hill climb level 8. WRONG!
Bonehead move Walks, it’s a 20-minute program at that level and while I did finish it, I will never, ever, do that to myself again. The next morning I woke up, sat up on the bed and threw my legs over the side and went to stand. Again, WRONG! I felt like someone had beat me with a bat, fed me to a pack of coyotes who proceeded to poop me over a cliff.
See, I hadn’t really done anything in a few years since 2018 when I last played softball, and unlike Tom Brady, I did in fact finish the career with the first place “Kansas City Royals” softball team in Yazoo Mississippi Correctional Center and then I came here. Not long after that I underwent surgery on my back. That’s when all hell broke loose and my athletic days were abruptly ended by unrepairable nerve damage to my spinal cord, so the first bike ride was the last at that moment.
But no… me being me, I wasn’t gonna let myself be left as a pile of coyote poop at the bottom of the cliff, so I decide to give it another shot…a realistic “doable” shot, where in I decided to start over, on the bike of course cuz as everyone knows, criminals always return to the scene of the crime. I devise a scheme and a program where I ride for 5 minutes on level 5 and will do that for 2 weeks then go to 7 minutes on level 6. My thinking was that certainly I would be ready for a little ole 2 minute, 1-level graduation after 2 weeks. Again, (yea, you guessed it) WRONG!
Remember that thing with the coyotes? Yeah, that, well it struck again this morning, but this time I’m not gonna fold up like a cheap suit, I’m gonna take my round self back out there tonight for another ride. Yep, 7 minutes level 6. OK, maybe I’ll drop back to 5 for the last 2 minutes like “Sings Many Songs” suggested.
But the point is this, all my life till I injured the rotator cuff in my left shoulder in 1999 doing a negative bench press workout, I have been pretty well built, with the washboard stomach, and a lot of muscle. Then that happened, and I was out of commission for almost 11 months dealing with the injury and slowly, pound by pound and month by month I gained weight…a lot of weight. I went from the 6-pack abs I used to have, to the pony keg stomach I now have, and while I am in shape (hey, round is a shape) I’m not in as good a shape as I could be. I wanna get a little more strength and a little more stamina before I get out, so I had to do something cuz I just can’t accept me as a fluffy/cuddly/round shaped guy.
So I’m on this self-betterment mission to coincide with the spiritual/ emotional/ intellectual remodeling I have been undergoing since a couple decades ago. So, let me tell ya, while the coyotes are still very much hungry and just waitin on me, I will not be deterred in at least trying to keep from the trip thru their digestive system and then over the cliff. I’m gonna ride that dang bike for 2 more weeks and then who knows maybe level 7 for 8 minutes… but let’s not make that call at this moment, cuz as I found out the first attempt, sensible will get it completed, jumping in will make me jump out. And since I wanna do this I’ll just take it in 2-week increments. After all, I ain’t in a race, it’s for me and no one else, so I can stay where I’m at level wise and time wise if I want. No one is gonna get on me for trying to do better by my own health and maybe, just maybe, those coyotes will starve to death waitin’ on me to get in a hurry and bite off more than I can chew…
Chapter 13 – The Spiritual Reawakening of the People
By Ghost Dancer
Thunder Eagle Ghost Dancer
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.
Dennis Banks, Russell Means, Clyde Bellecourt
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.
For every problem, every situation, every need there is a ceremony for that. Just most people have no clue anymore; so much has been lost to all the people. By destroying the elders, holy people – which was the goal of the government – and outlawing the very practice of our traditional beliefs and practices, even those that seek have lost the true meanings and understandings of these ways. Many traditions I have been taught by elders. But most of the ancient, ancient things I have been shown have come by fasting and vision quests – spirit walking or dream walking into the spirit world – and asking for guidance and help to learn so much more and help bring back what has been lost, not only the ways of my people but of all native peoples. I also go there to learn the ancient languages and songs as they are actually done.
I will always be seeking to learn more and bring back more for each and every tribe. This could be done by so many, but most don’t want to push themselves through the sacrifice of no food or water and staying in constant prayer. There are no short cuts to learning these ancient lost ways, but the effort is all worth it, and each ceremony, song, or language is so special and so important.
If more people would adopt someone, there would be no child or person left behind. There would be no elder left without someone being there for them. There would be no lonely adolescents or young adults, and there wouldn’t be middle-aged folks who don’t have someone to listen and counsel them as before and now as well.
Many times we lose those who have guided us, or we have needed in our lives to help us each day, or we choose to stray away from them. We all need to feel the love of belonging and having those we can turn to for anything. If we need help in cleaning up something, repairing something, learning something or just to sit and listen. The Hunka ceremony helps in all these areas from the oldest to the youngest. We each help the other or others. We all have something to offer that someone may need or does need. Our love, our time, our knowledge or skills, or just our acceptance.
As any parent who truly sees the child knows, children have a habit of having their own minds and desires, and some will rebel on you if you push them. I’m speaking from a personal perspective. I was born to rebel! Ask my mom, she will tell you that quickly. So was she a born rebel! No one likes to be forced into something or told that what they want is not possible. No one, especially a child, likes to be told you don’t have the time or that you have more important things to do. When saying these things, you hurt the child’s or adolescent’s heart. We all need that special attention that helps us become more than we thought possible. This was the ancestors’ thought and purpose behind the Hunka ceremony, and every tribe has this type of ceremony.
Now I ask, how many of you can help someone? How many of you need help? Your knowledge, skills, love, and time can help make a difference in someone’s life. It is up to you to do what is right by your heart and conscience.
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
Phillip Deere
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 aHunka 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, his 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.
~~~
Next: Part Three – The Legacy of Wounded Knee– Chapter 13 The Spiritual Reawakening of the PeopleHere
If we all were to be reasonable about the math, we’d agree, the average federal correctional officer makes a whopping 50k annually. Now it’s amazing to see this when the primary job description is basically babysitting a bunch of wayward adults.
Let me tell you about my week thus far… So a few weeks ago the warden posts a memo to all inmate population in regards to “excess inmate personal property.” He says we have a month to mail home all items we want to keep that do not exceed the limits that are set forth in his memo. Wish I had a way to include it all, but it’s got such notable things like we are allowed to have 1 cup, 1 bowl, 5 books (of any kind), 4 pair of underwear, 4 pair socks, 2 sweatshirts, 2 sweatpants. The list is exhaustive and ignorant in its conception, but hey we are in a system that pays 50k annually for 10 cops to stand around and talk for hours to each other while keeping a sharp eye out to confiscate an apple someone is trying to take out from the chow hall, or an extra milk. They will pile up on both sides of the sidewalk like it’s some kind of gauntlet and act as hateful and despicable as they can figure out how to be, talking crazy to people who, all in all, just don’t want to go to bed hungry, so they chose to take the apple or banana or a couple slices of bread back with them to eat later. See it’s a long time between supper, if you can call it that, and breakfast which is even more meager than supper.
So with this edict hanging over our heads, I want to tell you a bit about the reality of this prison. There are more drugs and contraband cellphones here than you would ever believe, as much dope as in the free world per capita, and the same with tobacco. Cigarettes can be purchased for $150.00 to $200.00 per pack and are available all over this compound. Drugs like cyboxin, a synthetic heroin replacement drug, weed, methamphetamine, ice, or the worst of the bunch, K-2 which is bug spray on paper that these idiots smoke and then flip out or vomit all over or freeze up like zombies and then become combative, truly the most dangerous due to its unexpected effects on the users is all right here. Now let me be specific here, you can get this stuff anywhere, and lest we forget the cellphones, touch screens, flip phones, thumb-sized phones designed to be easily hidden.
Now I’m just saying, like the Covid infections that got in here, guess who brought THAT in? And guess who brings all these other dangerous narcotics and devices in? That’s right, it ain’t jumpin’ over the fence into this place, and it ain’t comin’ thru the visiting room, not when you can get these things in the quantity that they are readily available for the right prices. It’s sickening to me in that these sleazy people want to punish me for other peoples’ behaviors, all the while the cops are the ones facilitating the very things they are turning around and busting (or not busting.) Simply put, this facility is the most corrupt and hypocritical place I’ve ever seen, you walk into the units and smell smoke, tobacco, skunk weed, or the burnt chemical smell of the k-2.
Its pitiful, so here I am waiting for the goon squads to come thru and rifle thru the things we have. I have thrown away or given away a ton of stuff, things I don’t need, extra clothes, especially winter clothes since I won’t be here for another winter. I’ve got my books down to 5, everything of a commissary nature is in my locker, it wasn’t hard to do since I don’t have any store to speak of; just went and spent my last $8.00, needed coffee and soap, now I got ‘em. when everyone started piling their excess books in the commons area, I even bagged them up and took them to the library, knowing full well all these guards would do was throw them in the garbage. Saying these things may rub some people the wrong way, but it’s the truth, I no longer care and I’m tired of being bullied by an administration that is corrupt and out of control.
See, at this point it’s not about sound principles in penology, but abuse, oppression, humiliation and vice. They want to have their cake and eat it too, see to treat people like this is just wrong and there is a word for people who enjoy, no, go out of their way to see and relish the suffering of others. In fact there are several words for this type of jerks, but I’m not gonna deviate from my path to get into name calling. I’ll just say this and leave it at that, today at lunch I watched over a half million dollars of the taxpayers money, all hanging out doing nothing more than trying to catch a man with a banana and you wonder why this government is trillions in debt? You wonder that men come out of prison, not rehabilitated, but bitter and resentful at having been victimized by these people for years, sometimes decades? If there is one thing I have had said about me that was asked of me is this, “How did you ever make it thru that without losing your mind?” My answer is the same today as it was 20 years ago: the Creator, my faith and the fact that I never want to be as corrupt as my so-called keepers. Amazing, astounding, baffling, and definitely irritating, but absolutely the truth.
Then the hammer fell. . .
Thursday April 14, 2022
YOU CAN’T PROVE IT! This is what I was told when I went to see the lieutenant about my broken radio (that I can’t replace) and the coffee cup that had been taken and the brand new book that one of my friends had spent her money on to send me, a Conn Iggulden novel that is really good! I managed to get the book back by pushing the dust cover thru the crack in the door and running it up and down like a flag to get the attention of one of the staff that was having so much fun acting like thugs and bullies, taking property from people just because they can.
All this stems from that assertion by the new warden that “we have too much personal property” when the simple truth is that we have barely what we need to get by. The warden instructed staff to come in and take things like books and bowls and clothes and personal papers and radios, almost anything that is kept out in sight they took. Some people got “confiscation notices;” most didn’t and when you complain the line is this “you can’t prove we took it/broke it.”
Here’s how it went down for me. At around 1pm yesterday afternoon, I made a cup of coffee, went into my cell, put my radio on with headphones, got my book off the bed, opened a pack of peanut butter crackers to snack on, and sat at the desk reading, quietly minding my own business. Suddenly, in thru the door comes a correctional officer who says something to me. Now I can see thru the open cell door now that there are at least 20 cops out there. I pull my headphones off and say, “Excuse me?”
He says, “Personal property shakedown.”
I said, “OK, the locker is open.”
“NO!!! You need to step out.”
So I toss the radio on the bed, turn the book over on the desk, take a sip of the coffee and step out where I am herded to the sports TV room and told to get inside. Lovely.
So 15 minutes or so go by and they open the door and call out “cell 1-1,” That’s me.
“Step out, OK get in the cell.”
“Wait officer, that is my book there on the ground, that is a brand new book that I am reading and I was reading it when you came in. Can I please have it back?”
“NO! Get in the cell.”
So in the cell I go. I quickly discover my coffee is not there. I see that it had been poured into the sink, but the whole cup was gone. Now this particular cup I have had for 17 years. It was a thermal cup and I had stuffed it full of feathers. Most guys put pictures inside or stickers or whatever, I filled mine with feathers, not only for spiritual reasons, but practical as well since feathers are excellent insulators. So I’m all warped out about my book and the fact that these cops had done this at the instigation of the warden.
This warden is new here and in my earnest opinion is way too much into punishment and not enough into prevention. This is readily observable in the fact that there are so many drugs and cell phones and tobacco here in this prison that are brought in unchecked by the cops themselves. When the warden is more concerned that I have an extra book or a banana from the chow hall than he is about his own corrupt staff and the threat they pose to his institution, then there’s a problem.
I would love to name names, but I know they would retaliate and I am not looking for more trouble, just a little peace of mind. Anyway, I still had the dust cover off the book they took and I put it thru the crack in the door running it up and down the door until I got one of the cops to come over. I told him what happened, that the book was mine and I was reading it when I was rousted out of my cell. At least he was humane enough to pick it up and set it on the seat of my walker, so there was a smidgeon of civility.
After they left I discovered that the alarm clock I kept sitting on my desk was gone and they even took an elastic band they issued me in medical to exercise with. Then I found my radio. It was on the floor behind the bed and sure enough, it’s now broken! After we went to dinner I went to see the lieutenant about the situation. He suggested I go see the warden about it. So this morning I saw one of the lieutenants that was actually here when all this went on and he told me…and I quote: “You can’t prove it happened or that my officers did it.” Isn’t that nice?
Now I have no clock, and no radio/head phones to watch television or listen to the late night talk shows on. Fortunately, Big John, one of the truly good men I know in here gave me a coffee cup so I can drink my coffee now, but the radio thing is really upsetting me. These things are expensive and here I am trying to save what little money I have for when I’m released.
But here’s the thing… See, I refuse to ever again be the monster that I once was and I refuse to let these people have the satisfaction of pushing me to become mean and nasty. I refuse to go on a tangent and lash out because they have mentally or emotionally brutalized me and or deprived me of my personal property just because they can.
The whole herd of them, from the dumbest, cruelest sadistic “correctional officer” to the most disturbed executive staff member decides to be cruel and inhumane and to torture the prisoners by taking what we have and value or that we can’t replace for whatever reason. This is just what they do. But nope, I refuse to be what they create. Rather I will be what The Creator has allowed me to become. That doesn’t mean I gotta like it, just that I gotta do it and with strength and personal fortitude, morals and integrity, I’ll keep pushing on.
And one more thing… it won’t stop me from telling you…
And one more thing… the very next day was the beginning of the long Easter weekend. I had a short email early in the morning saying they were going on lockdown. Didn’t know why… Bet I can guess… Sings
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.
Next in Part Two – The Making of a Warrior – Chapter 12, South Dakota Summers
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.”
This Welsh beauty shows the same spirit and intelligence as I remember loving about my Misty – stock photo
At that time, I was in the 7th grade. One day I went to school and caught the son of another rancher down the road and two other bullies picking on a young girl with disabilities and making fun of her. One of the bullies was the son the biggest rancher in the area, well known for his prized race horses and stud farm. I have never been able to stand anyone abusing any other being and the sight of these three bullying this special needs child put me on the war path. So I stepped in front of her and told her not to worry, that she was a special little princess and the world needed more people with a beautiful heart like she had. I turned around and told the three guys they needed to know what it feels like to be picked on, then I went to work on them. Needless to say, I was kicked out of school.
It really made no difference to me. I was in advanced studies and had already turned in all the required work for the year. Mom had to come and get me. She was upset until I explained but said I would have to tell Dad because sure as there was sky above, some parents would be calling and coming over to see us. Mom took me to the garage where Dad was working, and she went on to work. I went in and asked Dad if he needed anything done. He asked me why I wasn’t at school, so I told him what happened and why I did it. He listened and then asked how bad I hurt them. I told him not too bad, mostly just their egos and reputations and a few busted noses, mouths, blackened eyes and lots of bruises. He asked if I broke any of their bones. I said no. So he said, basically they aren’t seriously hurt. I said, “No sir,” and explained I made sure I didn’t let it get that far. They were basically just bullies picking on a scared little girl, and I just couldn’t let that go on. He said, “Okay. Don’t worry, we will handle this.” Then he went back to working on the big diesel truck and I helped him.
Sure enough, that evening there were lots of vehicles at the house when we got home. Mom was working late, so Judy had fixed dinner and was in charge of the house. The parents of the boys were there. Dad didn’t even invite them in. He stood outside and told me to go to the house. I told him I wanted to stay. He said I could, but told me to keep quiet. So I did. Dad was a short man, but he was very strong, and he had a temper. I knew he would not put up with any of these guys trying to bully him or us. So they told him they wanted me punished and kept away from their sons, that I would never be allowed back at the school. Dad stood there and listened until they were through. Then he asked them who they thought they were, when their sons were abusing and bullying a little special needs girl. What kind of parents raise their kids to act like that? Then he assured them that their boys were lucky that his son had taken it easy on them because he could have really whipped them a whole lot worse. He told them what he thought of their spoiled kids and demanded, “Get in your cars and truck and get off my land and I mean right now.” And he truly meant it. They may have been a lot bigger than Dad, but my money was on Dad. Besides, I would have been fighting right beside him. I had already grown to more than 6 feet tall at that time and layered in muscle from hard work. Well, they left, but said we hadn’t heard the last of it. And we surely hadn’t.
THE RACE
One of the neighbors had a daughter who was a lot older than me, but apparently, she didn’t realize that. She worked and trained her horses with their handlers and trainers. I had seen them several times and I had seen her riding by watching me as I trained and worked with our horses. I had always respected her and nodded when she waved or said hello but stayed away from any conversations. A few weeks after the incident with the parents, I was out riding Misty before dawn. We were headed to our swimming hole, an abandoned old quarry where the water was crystal clear and ice cold. We had high places to jump from and Misty loved playing in the water. Swimming was a great exercise for her and pulling me around in the water as I hung on to her tail added greater resistance to her workout.
As we headed down a path, we both heard someone coming from behind. Always being cautious, we pulled off the path and watched. It was the neighbor girl and she was riding their prized quarter horse. He was said to be very fast. I had seen him from a distance and he looked built for speed, and very temperamental.
I waited to see what was up. She had him in an easy lope, but was looking straight towards us. When she pulled up and stopped, she asked where I was going. I didn’t want to tell her about our secret water hole, so I just told her I was riding to exercise my horse. I knew her name was Melody and I did not trust her, especially the flirty way she acted towards me. She asked if I really wanted to run and exercise my horse, why didn’t I ever take her to the community track? I told her we didn’t belong there, and she responded that the track is open to any and all to train their horses and added that we definitely belonged there. She said my horse looks like she can really run and that her horse, Red, needed someone to compete against in his training.
I really didn’t want to have her follow me to our secret swimming place, so there was no way I was going to continue. Reluctantly, I said okay and told her we would try to keep up with her. She turned and led us back towards the community track. We didn’t talk much on the way. I didn’t want to get too close to her or her horse. As we rode, I watched her and her horse, analyzing his movements and gait. He was heavy for sure and his long legs would eat up the ground when he got his rhythm going. He wore heavy iron shoes while Misty wore no shoes. Misty was much smaller, but she was strong, light and agile. We would definitely need to get him at the start.
When we got to the track, she explained how this would work; she would get us up to a certain pole and when we were set she would say go. The first one all the way around the track and back to the pole wins. We got to the pole. She looked at me and said, “Go!” I touched Misty’s sides and she was off like a rocket taking us way out front. Misty used short steps when she started and then later stretched her rhythm out. A quarter of the way around the track, I looked back. They were way behind. We kept running and I didn’t look back again.
I rode low on Misty’s neck, with legs wrapping her sides and holding her mane with one hand. I was tall and lean muscled but didn’t weigh a whole lot. At three quarters I touched my heels again. Misty caught her fast gear and off we went. She was low to the ground when we rounded the corner on the home stretch. Misty loved to run, and I could tell she did not want to lose. I didn’t want her to lose either, so I let out a war whoop and she really turned it on. When we passed the starting pole, I asked her to start slowing down and looked behind us. Our competition had just passed the 3/4 turn. I was so proud of Misty and told her how good she had done. She shook her head, letting me know she was having a ball.
I didn’t know it, but we had attracted an audience at the stables and pens up on the hills next to the track. Even the horses were watching, and it seemed to me nobody liked us much. We were not in their class. When the girl rode up, I could see the amazement in her face over Misty’s run. She asked what breed Misty was. I said she was a Welsh and she exclaimed, “A pony?” I responded, “Yeah, but a unique one.” She couldn’t believe her horse had been outrun by a pony and asked me what I was feeding her. I told her, lots of carrots, apples, cabbage, and spinach to go with her feed. Then she got down to examine Misty more closely. She asked if all Welsh’s had such a powerful chest. I told her no and explained that she had been doing a resistance workout that built up the strength in her chest and legs.
She didn’t understand what I meant by resistance workout, so while we walked to cool down our horses, I explained that while her horse had natural strength, he didn’t have the explosive take-off power or digging in power because his legs were small from the knees down and his chest muscles were not fully developed. Resistance training would require him to use his chest and lower leg muscles more, so they would become more powerful. She seemed to appreciate my advice and said she would tell her trainers to start doing that.
While we were talking, I noticed others coming down leading their horses and I didn’t like the look of it. Misty sensed my concerns and tensed her body. With her training, I knew she would be ready for a challenge, but I did not want this. The girl remarked that it looked like we had attracted a lot of admirers. I said, “Yeah, either that or trouble.” She looked at me kind of funny, like she didn’t understand the trouble part.
When they all pulled up in front of us, one of them asked the girl if that race had been for real or if she was just playing with me. She told them it was for real, but for some reason they acted like they didn’t believe her. While they were all looking at Misty and me, down the hill came the highly spirited stud that everyone claimed was the threat to the triple crown. His trainer was sitting on him, but he was being led by the owner and one of his sons, and still they were having a hard time controlling him. When they walked up, the horse tried to kick another horse. The owner didn’t seem to care.
He looked straight at me and said, “It seems like you have a fast miniature horse here.” I didn’t say anything. Then he said, “Why don’t you try racing a real race horse.” The girl standing with me started to say something; the man just held his palm up at her and immediately, she shut up. Wow, is she scared to even speak her mind? Others suggested we all race. I told them I really didn’t want to race, that I was just helping the girl. The big-time breeder huffed at that and said he figured I was just scared and haughtily remarked, “People like you are always scared of facing the truth.” His clear implication that I was just scared, and we were worthless in his eyes, struck a chord in me.
I responded that we had just gotten done racing and my horse needed to rest; maybe another day. We started to leave and they all started laughing when he started making sounds like a chicken. This got to me. I knew Misty was easily in shape to race again and could hold her own. I spun her around and said, “You want a race, well you got it.” They went to hollering and began to get ready. I let them take whatever positions and preparations they wanted.
I would not let this man, or his horse get near Misty. I lined her up well off to the far outside and leaning forward, whispered that they were making fun of us. I told her they would try to pin her in and hurt her and that I wanted her to get out ahead and stay ahead. I reassured Misty that I knew she could do this, telling her she was better than she even knew and with a hug told her to just to do her best. The agreement was that when the big rancher dropped his hat down, this would be the signal to start. The girl didn’t run again. There were seven horses running against Misty and they all wanted to race.
By the time we were all lined up, a crowd had gathered to watch. The rancher called out, “Ready, set, go!” and dropped his hat. Before the start, I did a little trick we had practiced many times to help Misty gather herself even more. I swung off her right side and to their blind before she started, then, taking a quick step, swung back up as she moved forward. Misty shot out like a flash and in an instant, we were gone. I let her keep her pace for the first half mile and then began coaxing her to step it up. I did not want to look back. Right before we made the 3/4 mark, I let out a war whoop and she hit her full speed rhythm. I could feel the pounding hooves behind us. I let out my best panther scream and even Misty hit a super speed.
Before I knew it, we had crossed the line. Misty had run so fast my eyes were watering from the sheer wind. I began easing her back, letting her cool down as we continued around the track. The thought occurred to me that it would probably be best if we just kept right on going. When we got back around to the place we had come in, I directed her to head up the hill and away. We were almost up the hill when I heard someone calling. It was the girl riding after me. She said, “Yeah, let’s go. He is really pissed. Let’s get you out of here.” We left at a good trot and transitioned into a slow lope for a few miles, before slowing to a walk.
She apologized for what had happened saying she just wanted to test and work her big boy out. She appreciated the lesson saying she had lots of work to do, and admitted that it sure had been fun watching the two of us beat all the “know-it-alls.” She formally introduced herself and I told her my name. She said she knew my name and asked if I did anything but work and train horses. I said, “Nope, that’s enough,” and laughing, added, “Other than going fishing or hunting. Yeah, at first, I didn’t catch what she was really asking. She just shook her head and I blushed. Hey, I wasn’t even 14 yet, but I knew trouble when I saw it, and she sure would be trouble.
She asked if I would help her train her horse sometime. I told her I was pretty busy, and I had to help my dad at the garage. She accepted that, but still, I wished she had never followed me that morning. All I wanted was for Misty and me to go swimming and have fun.
~~~
After I was expelled from school for fighting, Dad used the garage address, which was in a different town, and got me enrolled in a different school. I went to work with him in the morning, then walked to school. After school I helped him at the garage until time to go home. Just as before, I was placed in “advanced studies” since I had already tested out of the grade. These people didn’t know what to do with me either, so they let me study on my own. They had no courses for me to take, so they got books from higher schools and colleges for me to read and assignments to turn it in, which I did in the principal’s office. Learning had always come easy and I had the ability and determination to focus my mind, so that I could remember everything I read. Answering questions on the papers they gave me was simple, but unfulfilling, with no human teachers or mentors to challenge and stimulate my natural interests. By the time I was 13 and near the end of 7th grade, going to school had become senseless to me.
I always had plenty to do at home, working at the garage, taking care of the horses and the garden or whatever needed to be done around the house. There was always something so I had many opportunities to use my natural ingenuity and creativity. Judy took care of the house and helped Mom by doing the dinner, and helping with the laundry. She looked after Teresa and Greg, and Jackie helped her. Greg had his own chores to do, then always wanted to help me with mine. We all had work to do and tried to get everything done so we could do whatever we wanted. We spent most of our free time outside; there was always something to explore, something to learn, something to build or fix. We were never bored. Getting to sit for maybe an hour to watch tv was a gift we didn’t usually have time for unless the weather was really bad.
Just like I remember our playful Misty stock photo
Misty did her part too. She loved to play and amused us all by playing with the ducks and the dogs. It was the craziest thing I had ever seen, but she seemed to think it was her job. Misty had a ball playing with the kids too. I’m not sure which one taught her or if they all did, but they got her to play hide and seek. Just picture a horse hiding behind a pine tree. Hiding her head, anyway, and the kids all acting like they’re hunting for her. Misty laughs because they are looking everywhere she is not. Then suddenly they find her, and it is their turn to go hide. Misty always found them too.
One time, Greg and I were in the pasture, training our dog, Brownie, to sneak up and crawl on his belly to get under the fences. We were trying to get him to stretch out his belly and use his front legs to pull himself forward and keep his head down. Greg tapped me and said to look. I turned around to see Misty on her belly, stretched out trying to do what Brownie was doing. Greg cracked up. He said Misty was sneaking up on us! Misty was more than just a horse. She was part of our whole family. Dad, Mom, and everyone loved Misty, and she loved every one of us.
There was one time when Misty and I went to our secret swimming hole that I will never forget. She went in the water to swim and train. While she was at it, I climbed up the cliff side planning to dive from the top. I had seen the cliff divers in Mexico on TV and wanted to try some fancy dives like they did. It was a little scary and it did enter my mind that if I messed up, there would be no one to help me. I stepped back, building up my confidence. When my fear was soothed, I stepped up. Just as I launched myself off the cliff to do my somersault, I thought I saw Misty up on the cliff. I lost my concentration and didn’t hit the water exactly right, but I was okay. When I surfaced, I looked all around for Misty. I looked up just in time to see her jump off the cliff and fall straight down.
I could not control the tears as real fear flooded over me. I knew this was going to hurt her and she didn’t understand. Down she fell, hitting the water feet first. The impact made a huge splash. I waited, expecting the worst. Finally, she surfaced and started swimming towards me looking like she had had the time of her life and wondering if I approved. I was so relieved and happy that I couldn’t scold her. Guess she thought my tears were happy ones. I got her to get out of the water and checked her out all over; she was okay. I know she was proud of herself, but I almost had a heart attack. Guess if Mom had seen me, she would have felt the same way, so I couldn’t be mad; I just hugged her. Misty was my best friend, the one I could talk to about anything. She understood my struggles and not fitting in with others. I was so much more comfortable with four-legged beings than the two-legged kind and Misty was my everything.
This is how important Misty was to me and to our family. I still feel the same way to this day. Here was a young, beautiful spirit who only wanted to have fun and be happy. She didn’t race because she loved to run, she did this because she wanted to please. It made her so happy to know she did something right for me or for any of us. Misty was so full of love that it radiated from her.
Months had passed since the incident of the race when I told Dad and Mom about it. They said what I already knew; that I should not have gone over there. It was good that Misty won, but it wouldn’t have hurt if she lost either and those people surely didn’t like that she beat their horses. Everything had been going on like usual. As was our routine, I went to work with Dad, walked to the new school, then came back to the garage after to help until closing time.
Then one day, when we came home, there were two sheriff’s cars and a vehicle from the County Health Department and several of the ranchers parked at our house. Mom was still there when she would usually have left for work. When I saw all these people out in Misty’s pasture, I jumped out of the car before it even stopped. Mom was crying and ran to catch me before I got to the fence. She grabbed me and held on for dear life. The sheriff and deputies all had their shotguns trained on me and I heard a voice saying, “Now son, this is going to be done. You cannot stop it.”
I saw Misty laying on the ground and screamed, “What are you doing to her?” I screamed. They had her tranquilized and Mom was trying to tell me what they claimed, but I couldn’t hear. They were hurting her, she was down, and she needed me. I saw some guy in a white jacket inject her in the neck with something. I broke away and went over that fence like it wasn’t even there, running at him. The deputies grabbed me. What were they doing? Why? I kept hearing them say she has to be put down. I wanted to strangle the guy in the white coat. Never had I ever wanted to hurt people like this. I could only see red in my eyes.
Mom, Dad, and all the children were crying and screaming. The cops held me, and mom was trying to hold me. They kept telling me she had a disease and to protect all the horses around our ranch, they had to put her down. As they were leaving, I saw the face of the man who had injected her. “I know you,” I shouted. He owned a large ranch several miles down the road and Misty had beaten his horse in the race. “I know why you are doing this, I know why all of you are doing this, you stinking cowards.”
I heard Misty whinny and jerked myself lose. I ran to sit beside her and held her head. Looking into her eyes, through sobs of unspeakable pain, I told her how much I loved her and how sorry I was that I was not there to protect her. Never, never should this have happened. If only I had been there I could have fought and ordered her to run as I fought them. I would not care what happened to me. She deserved a beautiful happy life. Not this! I wanted her to have a family and watch her little ones grow up being taught by her.
They had done what they came to do. I saw them all shaking each other’s hands; the ranchers and the sheriff and the deputies and the guy and in the white coat and the county health people. They said they would have to come back and take her body. I told them to get the hell away from her. They talked to Mom and Dad a few minutes then they all left. Dad, Mom and all the family came to Misty and spoke to her. They all were crying as they hugged and spoke to her.
After they all left, I sat there holding her, feeling so miserable, feeling so helpless. Here I was in my heart and soul, her protector, and I had not saved her. A little while later, Misty passed. I held her all night. Sometime during the night, Mom came and placed a blanket over the both of us. When dawn came, my world was not the same and never would be again.
I said my final good byes, then went to clean up. Needing to clear my mind, I got Comanche and went for a ride. I stayed gone all day. When I came home Misty was gone. They had come and taken her body away. I knew this was all lies about some kind of disease. Misty was not sick. I knew what to check for and checked her every day. This was all about her beating their so-called fine race horses. For that they murdered her.
All that night, I stayed alone, working myself up to what needed to be done. In the morning, I went in the little bunkhouse I shared with Greg. He was sitting up and asked if was I okay. I didn’t say anything. He climbed down from his bunk and hugged me. Then he said, “If you want to get them, let me help you.” I looked down at him. He was serious. He would fight with me against them. I loved my brother. I loved his heart. See, Greg was only 9 years old. He and I are a lot alike. We both hold our emotions in and we don’t like trouble, but when it comes, we explode. We hate bullies or anyone abusing anyone or anything. We may get so upset that we cry, and when that happens, look out, someone has a whooping coming. I could not let this happen. I told him it was okay, “Let me go fix you breakfast, now get ready for school.”
I went in the house and started making breakfast. Mom came out and asked if I was alright. I nodded but didn’t want to talk. I just kept to my work, putting coffee on for her and Dad. Mom worked late at night and I knew she works hard so we all help out. Mom persisted, “You know sometimes it helps to talk about it.” I knew she was trying to help, but she didn’t understand that I felt responsible. Misty’s death was all behind a stupid race that meant nothing.
I woke Jackie and Teresa and hollered for Judy. I knew she was already up. I had heard her moving around when I came by her door. Mom and I finished fixing breakfast. I took my cup of coffee and went back outside. Went to check on all the other horses. They felt Misty’s absence too; kept looking over in her pasture. Even the ducks were unusually quiet and wanting attention. Brownie and Blackie leaned against my legs, just sitting there, respecting my silence. Jackie came outside, wanting to know what I was going to do. I told her, “Go back and eat your breakfast, Euebee.” This is the name Greg called her. When he was little and couldn’t say, Jackie, he called her Euebee and it stuck to her. When Jackie was little, she couldn’t say words with any r’s and so Greg was in trouble too.
Finally, I went back inside even though I didn’t want to. I knew Mom would not quit until I talked to her. Dad would talk to me later, as he preferred. While Dad was eating, Mom called me into the hallway and said, “Talk to me, son.” It was then I told her about the race and all that had happened. I told her I knew this was all my fault. She said, “No, they did this. Not you! Misty knows we all love her. We didn’t do this.” Then she went on to the burden on her mind. “But son, you listen and listen good. You do not do anything back to them! Do you hear me? I knew she meant it. She wanted my word that I would just let it go. She insisted I give my word that I would not do anything to retaliate. She kept pushing me, wanting my word. I gave it to her.
Later, I called my dad in Alabama and asked him to come get me. I had to leave. If I stayed, I was afraid I would break my word to my mom. Dad was there the next day and I left with him to prevent anything more from happening.
Well, once again I am my own worst enemy. Seems I just can’t help but get caught up in these traps of my own creation. It’s like this, I was on here a while ago reading an email that “Sings Many Songs” sent me from another Native brother so after I read it and responded (I answer all emails…usually), I go out of that section and into the dang institutional bulletin board where I see that “Re-entry” has posted a bulletin titled “Health care when you are released.” I know, right? No! don’t do it Walks…too late!
I click on it and I’m hit with a 14-page memo about insurance and Medicaid and Medicare and whosits care and whatsitscare and I don’t care…but actually I do, cuz I’m a good one for stress. See I will think of a speedbump and before it’s over I (in my mind) have hit it and torn the frame out from under me and am sittin on the side of the road. In other words, I will worry an issue like a gator on a bait line, tossin’ turnin’ spinnin’ and freakin’ the %$#& out, thinking of all the possible scenarios and what nots and driving myself crazy with it till inevitably I resign myself to just saying, aww to hell with it, ill burn that bridge when I get to it.
The problem is, it seems like this is gonna be a big deal; seems everyone I have talked to about the insurance, the Medicaid or Medicare, the Social Security disability, all the things I’ve gotta have within months of my release, I know nothing about. It’s not as though I haven’t worked all my life…it isn’t my fault that the prison system treats us like slave labor and doesn’t even pay into SS retirement benefits for Unicor workers.
So my remedy is like this, once I get to the halfway house I will get into the yellow pages (if there is still such a thing) and look up the lawyers that handle social security issues and start making appointments, at least seeing who could or would help me. I know they are out there like flies on a chicken bone, but I will just have to wait till I get there. Then there is the fact that I’ve got to do all this in the first 90 days and also get my driver’s license, get enrolled in college, figure out how I’m gonna get back and forth to these places. College is too far to walk or ride a bicycle to, and I’ll have to figure out how to get a car, then there is insurance and fuel for that as well, gggggggggggrrrrrrrrrr……
All these headaches, and all these things I know I’m gonna have to have, do or figure out, so…. here’s what I’m gonna do as well. Now is the time, if anybody’s reading my scribbles, I’m reaching out to you. I’ve got the need to know anything you can share with me on these type of things, and how to get them or make it less of a hassle to get them. If you know of any shortcuts that work or ways of by-passing any red tape, anything that may help me in this, any organizations that could or would help me in my needs. I already know to try to find an attorney that handles the social security things but there are other things that I don’t know about so if you have any experience with any of the things you think I may need please by all means reply to this here however you do it, (I’m not even sure how this works) but if you can get the info back to this site for me, I am sure that “Sings” can copy and paste it to me on this Trulinks thing, and there it is.
I’m so stubborn about a lot of things, I hate asking for help but I have to humble myself, so I am doing so now. It’s not too late.. stand up! Make the move.. help save “Walks On The Grass” from his own worry wart self. I sure would appreciate any and all info or input you can get me… Till next week, I’ll wait here… lol.
Journeys of the Spirit 