"Preservation of Kiowa culture and history. Documentation of historic sites relevant to the historic nomadic Kiowa prior to 1900."
Carnegie, OK, USA
male, age 67
divorced, 3 children
Joined Aug 25, 2006
My Page Billboard
LESLIE DAE TSONETOKOY
April 24, 1968 -- June 3, 2006
The Sacred Walk
will you walk in the fog with me,
will you traverse the ancient pathways,
will you seek the cool waters on hot summer days,
and with mincing steps, through sacred corridors,
stand before the Creator,
will you hold my hand,
will belay my fears,
will you tread with me through divine fields of gold,
purge my heart with holy words and sacred songs,
keeping me humble into Thee,
i have embraced you in my heart,
i have given you council, anointed with tears,
i have walked with you in sacred manner and deed,
embraced you in moments of comfort, and rejoiced,
grant me sacred knowledge as i depart
(The following account took place on October 5, 2014 in Valentine, NE. It becomes necessary for the writer to utilize his "writer's license" to circumvent certain conditions which are not important to the essense of the story. Rather, the subject of human compassion, consciousness, and the indomitable spirit of empathy for the needs of a total stranger is more the issue for the writer and hopefully the reader.)
My Birthday In Nebraska
by Dewey Tsonetokoy Sr.
I struck out onto the highway from Valentine around 6:00am. It was still dark. The pre-dawn temperature was around 55 degrees but my brisk pace and my OU hoodie soon had my body in a moderate state of persperation. I remember thinking at this pace I could make it to the turn-off five or six miles south before the sun comes up.
My backpack full of anticipated essentials was strapped to my back and the roll bag hanging under my right arm was filled with clothes and various sundries attached to a strap slung over my neck. Maybe the load was a little heavy but for the moment my initial adrenalin rush and my determination made it somewhat of a collateral concern. I needed to make distance between where I was and where I needed to go.
Eventhough it was still dark a few trucks and vehicles passed by illuminating the pavement of the highway and the miles before me. I would turn and stick my thumb into the air just in case but no luck. I continued on down the highway grateful that I was wearing a good pair of hikers. They were the only good pair of shoes that I had because I had worn out all the others. My Mexican brother bought these hikers for me six month previously when I was visiting in El Paso. I remembered just after I was discharged from the U.S. Army in 1972 I could step off three miles in one hour encumbered with a full field pack. Still, after the first two miles my pace had fallen off slight, it was still dark.
The highway twisted into a creek coming up on a low hill on the other side. I looked to the east and could see the florescent light of the early morning beginning to shine behind the partly cloudy sky. Another mile, a little more light, and I could see my turn-off as more trucks passed by turning south onto the Highway 83 Junction while Highway 20--the highway that I was on--seemed to continue on toward the southeast.
When I arrived at the junction I cut across the piles of Class A gravel and asphalt as I hiked south down Highway 83. After walking a quarter of a mile I stood beside the highway thunbing for a ride. The sun was up but I couldn't see its face because it was obscured by the clouds. However, the magnificance of a sunrise still strikes a chord deep inside me. Whatever the circumstances, when you are all alone out in the wilderness you cannot help but think of your loved ones and the special people in your life. Today had a special meaning for me. It was my birthday.
Looking at the magnificent sunrise a Kiowa church song came to mind. It was my late mother's favorite song. I remembered too what a fellow Kiowa veteran had once said. He was recounting the morning when he was sitting in his foxhole in Viet Nam. The sun was coming up and he said he was thinking of this very song. Standing there at the 83 Junction looking toward the east I began to sing it. You give thanks to "Daw-Khee"(God) for all things because it is He who gives you a new day.(These are not the words of the song.)
Several trucks and cars later I was still standing there on Highway 83. Across the highway from me was a graveled driveway curving off to the right. It was lined with cedar trees on both sides. I couldn't see it but I could hear a dog barking. I thought "Oh great, now I'm going to be harrassed by a dog--probably a pit bull". I decided to move my plight down the road. The temperature had risen to approximately 65 degrees.
I was in Nebraska hiking down Highway 83 toward North Platte. I didn't know it at the time but the distance between Valentine, NE where I began and North Platte, NE is 120 miles. This is also a somewhat desolate stretch of road. In previous years I had driven this route nearly a dozen times to participate in consultations with various agencies of the government such as the National Park Service, the National Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management, etc. while I was working for my Tribe, the Kiowa Tribe of Oklahoma. It never occurred to me that I would one day be hiking down this very highway trying to get home.
The historic Kiowa have a scattered history in the state known as Nebraska. During the 1600s a group of Kiowa, mounted on horses, were said to have come down the Niobrara River to the Missouri scaring the heck out of the Osage and Ponca who had never before seen horses. In 1814, after being driven out the Black Hills by the Sioux and Cheyenne, the Kiowa attempted to make peace, to no avail, with their antagonists at a historic site that became known as Scotts Bluff. It was an attempt to remain within sight of their sacred Black Hills. Also, near Alma, NE there is a geoglyphic image along a ridge atop a low hill suspected to represent the Kiowa leader Satanta(White Bear). I remembered my Tribe's history as I hiked down Highway 83.
As I walked down the highway I had adopted the traveling thumb mode. You are moving while thumbing. I thought if a motorist could earnestly see that I was going in their direction that possibly they still might stop to offer me a ride. It was around 10:00am when I stopped to have a bite to eat. I began to regret that I neglected to pack a bottle of water. I had to contract my parched throat muscles as hard as I could trying to get my brunch to go down. A little further down the road I found a wooden dowl approximately 4 feet long lying on the side of the road. I used it to steady my gate as my feet and legs were beginning to feel the effects of my--up to this point--12 mile hike.
I had gone another mile when I came to a small bridge over a concret irrigation ditch. The bridges' heavy railing curved off onto an access road running west along the north side of the ditch. I sat here for a time thumbing at passers-by with no luck. It was near 11:00am and I could feel droplets of rain striking my hands and face. Surveying the sky I realized that I may have to seek shelter somewhere. The problem with shelter was that there wasn't any. There were no abandoned houses, animal or hay sheds, or derelict farm vehicles. I began to look at the small bridge as my only sanctuary.
As I ponder my predicament I looked toward a low hill about a mile down the highway. I began to speculate that possibly there might be some type of shelter further down the road and that once I got to the top of that hill I could best see what my options were. I once again began my trek. When I got to the top of the hill there was another hill also about a mile away. When I got to the top of that hill there was nothing--a lot of low hills and a lot of desolation. I couldn't go back to my little bridge so I just stood there beside the highway and thumbed.
After about an hour I noticed a pick-up truck approaching from the north and it seemed to be slowing down. The pick-up pulled up along side me and the driver asked if I needed a ride. I said yes and began to put my bags and walking stick in the bed of the truck. As I was doing this the wind picked up blowing my cap over to the other side of the highway. I had to wait for motorist to pass by so I could retrieve my cap. I came back to the pick-up and climbed in grateful that I now had the opportunity to rest my feet.
The driver was a man in his fifties and he had two of his grandkids with him--a boy and a girl. The boy was about 8 years old and as I learned later had an asthmatic condition. The girl was a gorgeous 11 year old blond, a future heartbreaker.
Once on the road the driver asked me where I was headed and I said, "I'm headed for Oklahoma". He then mirthfully told me that when I was coming back to the pick-up after retrieving my cap that his granddaughter said, "Look grandpa. He's wearing an OU sweater!" Only then did it occur to me that I was an Oklahoman stranded on a desolate highway in the middle of Nebraska. Maybe it was a small wonder that I wasn't roadkill by then.
The Nebraskan Good Samaritan's name was Darrell who lived west of Valentine. He was bringing his grandkids back to their mother in
Thedford, NE. During the ride Darrell and I talked about our personal experiences. He was a veteran and he didn't feel that America should have got involved in the Afganistan conflict feeling that it was politically motivated. I agreed with him completely.
Thedford is located between Valentine and North Platte on the junction of Highway 2 & Highway 83. A motorist traveling on Highway 83 north or south, particularly at night, who may be unfamilar with the area wouldn't know that Thedford lies a mile to the west of the junction. In past years coming south up Highway 83 I would arrived at a stop sign after passing over a set of railroad tracks. Today, north bound motorist would have to drive up a ramp which passes over the railroad tracks then circle counter-clockwise to re-enter Highway 83.
In the old times when a motorist passed through the juction there was a motel seemingly sitting in the middle of nowhere. One person once referred to it as the "Bates Motel". The motel is still there but the stop sign is gone.
My benefactor and his grandkids met their mother at a park at the junction. As he pulled in behind their Suburban I could see that there were other kids. Darrell introduced me and asked her if she could take me on to North Platte and she said she would. I realized that we were at a park and as they and the kids visited I looked around for a water faucet. Seeing one about 40 yards away I made a beeline for it. The water faucet worked and I drank my fill of water. My entire body felt like one huge sponge so the water certainly didn't go to waste and I didn't need to go to the restroom until several hours later.
I was handed off to Angela who now had all four of her kids back with her after two of them had spent the weekend with grandpa Darrell. As near as I could perceive Angela lived in Thedford with her kids but was doing me a favor by taking me on to North Patte sixty miles away. I can say that it was quite a ride with the sisters and brothers getting re-acquinted. As with Darrell, my new benefactor, Angela, also told me parts of her life and because of the sensitivity of the subject I am reluctant to give an account of them. Suffice it to say that no parent who loves their children--or grandparent for that matter--should have to put up with the claptrap that today's social system puts them through.
Finally arriving in North Platte Angela made numerous calls on her cell phone on my behalf in the attempt to contact members of my family back in Oklahoma. The phone numbers I had listed in my little book were no longer in service and the one that worked turned out to be a number to a printer for e-mails.
I asked a local store clerk if there was a homeless shelter in North Platte and she gave me directions to it. After driving around a bit more I had to ask another person for directions who told me exactly where we could find it.
We finally arrived at "The Connection" located downtown at 414 E. 6th Street. With Angela and her kids waiting in the parking lot I hobbled into The Connection. I met a man name John at the desk and told him that I was stranded and needed a place to stay. John asked me to come into the office and sit down and immediately began processing my case. Ten minutes later Angela's girls came up to the desk asking for me. I excused myself and went outside to retrieve my bags from their Suburban.
How do you thank a person(s) for rescuing you from a pitiful state? Inadequately! I said thanks to Angela as best as I could and gave my best advice to her kids. I handed her an old business card and told her to send me an e-mail sometime to let me know how things were progressing with her and then I hobbled back into The Connection with my bags.
I have to confess that staying in a homeless shelter was something that I never expected or wanted to do. I was a bit apprehensive. I remember something my late father--people called him "Buster"--once told me when I first left home to attend a technical school in Inglewood, CA in 1967. Dad told me that if I could help it don't stay at the YMCA. A lot of weird people stay there.
The attitude of the intake officer, John, immediately set my anxieties aside. John asked me if I preferred to sleep on a bunk or a couch. I chose the couch because I felt I was only going to be there a few days but the couch is also my bed back home. After processing me John led me through the facility telling me where everything that I would need was located. Supper was a couple hours away and I was dying for water. I finally sat down on a couch in the dayroom. It felt good to finally get off of my feet because it felt as if my blisters had blisters. It felt as if my legs joints were collectively sighing with relief.
My initial reluctance was belayed by John. The feeling that I had first coming to "The Connection" was of caring arms encircling me and embracing me. Here I was in unfamiliar territory, it was October 5, 2014, I was stranded in Nebraska 800 miles away from home, and did I mention it? Today was my birthday.
The Lincoln Connection is a non-profit organization established in 2000 by Ron Snell, writer and doer of good deeds. The shelter offered refuge to the homeless in and around Lincoln County, NE. Approximatelly eight years later the facility was removed to its present location on East 6th Street. Commenting on the new facility Ron Snell stated, "It makes a huge difference for us, and it's exciting because there's light at the end of the tunnel."
The current facility has 16,000 sq. ft. of living space. The Connection is funded by $650,000 in grants from the Peter Kiewit Foundation, the Community Redevelopment Authority, and the Federal Home Loan Bank. Approximately, an additional $680,000 is accured through donations and fund raising activities. A children's playground is located in the backyard and was donated by the local Kiwanis Club.
The Connection Homeless Shelter, Inc. is a homeless shelter serving homeless people in North Platte, NE. The Connection offers both Emergency Housing and Transitional Housing to approximately 300-400 clients a year. Emergency Housing is offered to anyone who is 18 years and older, not under the influence of alcohol or drugs for extended periods, and not suffering from severe mental illness. The criteria for Transitional Housing is more involved but is offered to those who can maintain gainful employment and a steady lifestyle for two years.
All clients who are allowed to check in are screened with a Nebraska State Patrol NCIC search. They are entered into a statewide Homeless Management Information System, provided with a place to sleep, a place to stash their belongings, at least two meals a day, and immediate informal evaluation to detect potential problems.
Clients staying longer then one week are required to sit down with the Case Manager who evaluates their perdicament and works out a customized solution for each situation.
There is a full list of rules and criteria that clients who stay longer then a week have to abide by and fullfil. The staff of The Connection make every effort to answer questions, provide introductions, referrals, and consultations. There is a computer room which provides available networking to help clients find solutions and take advantage of opportunities on-line. There is a men's dormatory, a women's dormatory, and private "pods" for up to eleven singles. In addition, there are six apartments for displaced families with dependent children and two exterior isolated rooms for those who are under the influence of drugs or alcohol. One of the apartments is downstairs saving handicap clients from having to climb up and down the staircase.
The kitchen and dining room serves breakfast and supper and is open to all clients as well as all people within the community who need a good meal. Clients are assigned daily chores but are also asked to participate in "spot jobs" around the facility and within the city of North Platte. Clients have the option to not participate in spot jobs.
Mostly by reputation, many North Platte residents who need day laborers for a one-time job have come to know that they can rely on The Connection to provide assistance and many requests do come in.
I would now like to take this opportunity to thank The Connection and its staff: Beth, the Director and Mike, the Case Manager. Case Workers: David, Cindy, and Mark, and, especially John. Too, if it wasn't for the compassion of Nebraskans Darrell, Angela, and the staff of The Connection an old Oklahoma boy might still be huddled underneath a small bridge 12 miles south of Valentine. I recommend to anyone who becomes stranded in Nebraska that they should try to make their way to North Platte and to the good people of The Connection.
In the words of former Director Ron Snell thank you for being, "the light at the end of the tunnel".
(Printed in the Anadarko Daily News, October 2014.)
(Dedicated to the memory of the late Sherman Chaddlesone and family.)
TWO HUNDRED YEARS IN INFAMY
During the 17th Century, and even before that period, the historic Kiowa had lived on the Great Plains of North America. This has been documented by the Smithsonian ethnologist James Mooney and recorded in his book "Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians". After Mooney's careful documentation of the Kiowa, gathered from personal interviews of the Kiowa themselves in and around Anadarko, OK during the early 1890s, his study of the Kiowa's residence on the northern Great Plains was later published in the "Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology" and printed by the Washington D.C. Government Printing Office copywrited in 1898. (1)
As shown by James Mooney, there was an historic Kiowa. Therefore, if there was an historic Kiowa then there certainly was an archaic Kiowa, and certainly a paleo-Kiowa. What is known about the history of the Kiowa is aptly documented in Mooney's study which places the Kiowa in the northern Rocky Mountains in what is known as the "Kootenai Region" of the Idaho panhandle. This residence was prior to their stay in the "Three Rivers" region of Montana. But, even before this period Kiowa oral tradition may have placed them throughout the southern Great Plains, the Four Corners Region, the Great Basin Region, and all throughout the northern Great Plains which for a supposed horseless culture must have seemed vast and endless.
"The leading facts in the traditional history of the Kiowa are those of their early residence at the extreme head of the Missouri and their subsequent removal to the east and alliance with the Crows. It is impossible to assign any definite date to this early migration from the mountain country, but it was probably about or before 1700." - Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians
Suffice it to say that the historic and archiac Kiowa had always lived on or near the Great Plains; had been engaged in a vast migration from the Great Plains of Canada, through the Mississippi Valley, into the Great Plains of the continental United States; and according to oral tradition had undertaken an epic expedition traveling from the North Pole to the South Pole venturing through Central and South America in the fullfillment of their destiny. But as the saying goes, I'm getting a little behind myself. (O.T.)
Oral tradition was the primary means of documenting and communicating past tribal events for nearly all the tribal groups prior to the advent of the methods used by the white culture to communicate, principally reading and writing. Eventually, native people were indoctrinated into these methods by the dominant society by way of governmental decree through government and mission school systems. However, before the Kiowa were exposed to the dominant culture's assimilation process they used a different means of communication during their life on the Great Plains.
Aside from oral tradition the Kiowa used pictographic writing or what anthropologist have termed "Pictographic Winter Counts". For the historic Kiowa these documents told of significant tribal events as they migrated from one encampment site to the next while recording important social and political events that occurred within the tribe or to the tribe.
The question might be asked, "Why does an ancient society or a contemporary society want to document their past?" Isn't it enough to just live your life and to just take care of your own little corner of the world?
Leaving historical records began eons ago with the Sumerian culture in hieroglyphic writings left on clay tablets and ancient walls. The first four chapters of the Holy Bible are called "The Gospel" and were originally written on papyrus. However, the influence of The Gospel spread throughout the entire world. All ancient writings were meant to document man's communication with his creator and the Creator's "original instructions". Today, we have daily periodicals which detail every facet of the society in which we live. We all know that communication is vital. Therefore, in regards to native pictographic writing, it can literally be said that a picture is worth a thousand words.
The only other plains tribal group which used so-called winter counts were the Sioux (The term Sioux being the catch-all word for the Lakota, Dakota, and Nakota people). The Sioux were essentially new arrivals onto the Northern Plains during the last part of the 18th Century and it is debatable whether they came by the practice of using winter counts until after their arrival on the Plains. By way of their own tribal pictographic winter counts the Sioux recorded the "discovery" of the Black Hills to not have occurred for the Tribe until 1775. The most notable of these artifacts being the "American Horse" winter count. (2)
Also, the question arises which tribe's use of winter counts and chronology of events is older and more accurate? The following is Mooney's comment on the Kiowa vs. the Sioux pictographic winter counts:
"In all these Dakota calendars there is only a single picture for each year, with nothing to mark the division of summer and winter. As they call a year a "winter", and as your year begins in the middle of winter, it is consequently impossible, without some tally date from our own records, to know in which of two consecutive years any event occurred, i.e., whether before or after New Year. In this respect the Kiowa calendars, here published, are much superior to those of the Dakota." - James Mooney, Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians
Mooney makes a fine point. In the Kiowa Little Bear Pictographic Calendar summer and winter are designated with a figure of the "Ka-do" (Sundance Lodge) for the summer months while the winter months were designated with a vertical bar. The format used by Little Bear to suggest yearly passage of time suggests a "profound association" with the Kiowa Sundance which permeated their daily lives--an association which can be thought of as being deeply traditional. In fact, it can be said that the Kiowa were so culturally, sociologically, and spiritually devoted to the practice of their faith and religion that their identity as Kiowa is derived from the practice of their beliefs.
Furthermore, it is the belief of the writer that the Sundance of the Plains, which was usually held around the summer solstice, was born out of the culture of the historic Kiowa who brought their religion with them when they migrated up from the Four Corners area and then introduced the Sundance onto the Northern Plains.
If the Sioux, who were authors of dozens and dozens of pictographic winter counts, were the originators of the Sundance why did they not use a significant tribal event, such as the Sundance, to represent summer in their calendars? Some of the Sioux pictographic winter count keepers were "American Horse", "Rosebud", "Swift Bear", "Battiste Good", "Iron Shell", "Wounded Bear", just to name a few. Even so, of the numerous Sioux calendars not one of its keepers thought to use this format to represent the passage of time.
Historically and culturally, the Black Hills was an ancient landmark which seemed to resonant thoroughly and completely with the spirit and identity of the historic Kiowa. It was a "sacred landmark" (traditional cultural property in today's terms) which was held in reverence and respected by its original stewards. It was an ancient land invested with their stories of creation. It was a holy place, the ground of which was anointed with their tears, their prayers, their offerings, and the remains of their people. The Kiowa called it "Saudle-Khoye-Kxope". (3)
During the 1790s the Kiowa were driven out of this sacred land through warfare and eventually came to the North Platt River. Here, they took an inventory of their situation. Shown no mercy by the Sioux, a band of their people who chose to make a stand, rather than leave the land of their ancestors, had fought valiantly but were overrun and wiped out. The Sioux far out-numbered any one tribe. The Kiowa had been part of a six nation confederacy which included the Crow, Hidatsa, Mandan, Arikara, Kiowa-Apache, and themselves. Even with all these tribal groups combined the Sioux easily out-numbered them 2 to 1.
This was the era of the so-called "Cold Kiowa" [T'o-kyahu'] and the "Warm Kiowa" [Tsadlek'ihu or Guhale]. (4) A group led by the Kiowa "Gui-Kau" [Wolf Lying Down] (5) came onto the Southern Plains settling around the headwaters of the Arkansas River and encountered the Comanche, Mescalero, and Jicarilla.
After several years of conflict the Southern Kiowa finally made peace with the Comanche near present day Las Vegas, NM in 1807 through treaty negotiations supported by Spanish Governor Joequin del Real Alencaster and facilitated by interpreter Juan Lucero. This Southern Kiowa group, therefore, became known as the Guhale (Goo-ha-lee) band.
The Northern Kiowa continued to stay on the North Platt River preferring to remain near the Black Hills. They continued their cultural association with the Crow exchanging children who would be returned to their respective parents the following year. (6) It was here where the Kiowa were camped when the Lewis and Clark expedition and the Corp of Discovery traveled up the Missouri River eventually encountering the Sioux in 1804.
Congratulations, we have reached the topic of this discourse.
In numerous Sioux pictographic winter counts an incident is recorded and determined to have taken place in 1814 near a landmark known as Scotts Bluff in western Nebraska. It is an historical event which the Sioux have entitled "Wita Pahantu wan kahuhu gape" [Kiowa. They clubbed him.] (7) It has also been called "Crushed a Witapanhatu's [Kiowa's] head". (8)
In 1814 a group of Kiowa met with the Sioux near Scotts Bluff to ask for peace. The purpose for the peace treaty with the Sioux was for the Kiowa to remain near the sacred Black Hills. A leader of the Kiowa was addressing the leaders of the Sioux. According to the various pictographs commemorating the incident the treaty did not have the desired results which the Kiowa wanted. In several of the Sioux winter counts the incident shows the image of a man being struck on the top of his head from behind by a club or a hatchet.
There isn't much else known about what occurred seconds after the infamous act but one can imagine that all hell must have broke loose. (Excuse the phrasing.)
However, one thing is known about the Kiowa leader who was assaulted. He was not killed. He actually survived the attack. His name was "Tdo-hau" who was the father of the renowned Kiowa leader "Dohason". (9)
This act of treachery by the Sioux convinced the Northern Kiowa that there could be no peace. The Kiowa moved to the South Platt River for a time before finally joining the Southern Kiowa along the Arkansas River. (5)
It is an interesting cultural and historical footnote that the Sioux referred to the Kiowa as "Wita Pahantu". Wita Pahantu means "Island People" or "Black Hills People". From several miles away, on the plains of South Dakota, the Sioux had described the Black Hills as appearing like an "Island" on the rolling plains. (10)
During the infamous Cut-Throat Mountain Massacre of 1833 in the Wichita Mountains of southwest Oklahoma--where the Osage killed and decapitated several Kiowa women, children, and old people--the principal Kiowa leader of the time was said to have fled from the enemy and was later deposed for his cowardness. The great Dohason was selected to replace him. This man who fled from the enemy was called "Au-jau-je" or "Island Man". (11)
The Kiowa are not the only tribal group displaced from their homeland. The Delaware, the Cherokee, the Fort Sill Apache, the Kickapoo were all torn from their mother's womb as aborted fetus'. Yet, there is one undeniable truth. The spirit of our ancestors still reside in these ancient homelands and in the sacred sites of our people. We may not have the legal right to walk these lands but our inherent rights cannot and are not extinguished. They live on as long as we know who we are as a people, understanding the ways of our ancestors, and why they viewed their association with the earth as sacred. The Kiowa have had an old saying. "Behold, I stand in good relation with all things". (O.T.)
In closing, "...for the sacred finally transcends definition. The mind does not comprehend it; it is at last to be recognized and acknowledged in the heart and soul. Those who seek to study or understand the sacred in academic terms are misled. The sacred is not a discipline. It is a dimension beyond the ordinary and beyond the mechanics of analysis. For those who come to the sacred, to sacred ground, it is a kind of mystical experience, a deep and singular encounter." - N. Scott Momaday
Even after 200 years the Saudle-Khoye-Kxope Kxai-Khoam-Baw (3) [Black Hills People] have not forgotten.
1. Calendar History of the Kiowa Indians - James Mooney
2. The Sioux: Life and Customs of a Warrior Society - Royal B. Hasserick
3. Thaum Khoiye Tdoen Gyah: Beginning Kiowa Language - Alecia Keahbone Gonzales
4. Kintadl, informant - Jane Richardson, recorder for the Weston La Barre Manuscript
5. Atwater Onco
6. Lavern Satepeahtaw
7. The Wounded Bear Winter Count - Stephen E. Feraca
8. Inconstant Companions: Archaeology & North American Indian Oral Traditions - Ronald J. Mason
9. Modine Toppah Waters
10. Elaine Quiver
11. Parker McKenzieO.T. - Oral Tradition
(Dedicated to the memory of Grace Lone Bear Tsonetokoy, Linda Tsonetokoy, and Leona "Babe" Tahlo Geimahsaddle.)
Printed in the Anadarko Daily News. August 6. 2014.
||Aug 25, 2006
||Meeting Friends, Support a Cause
|Group Host of
(Un)Known Lithuania, Archaeology: Study of the Past, Café du Monde!
||Carnegie-- the Kiowa Capital of the World
Oct 05, 1948
||An observer and a critic I guess. I very rarely become involved unless the situation affects me or my brood directly. I depend on people possessing the intelligence to always do the right thing. Most of the time I'm disappointed but no matter what happens it doesn't prevent me from keeping the faith.
NOT SYMPATHETIC TOWARD THE HOMOSEXUAL LIFESTYLE.
||Introduce yourself to Dewey
No personal pets
Christian - Methodist
Meat and Potatoes
|Wild Fact About Me
||That I'm not going to be everyone's "cup of tea". I've been called a purist, a stinker, a historian, a SOB, a medicineman, a wanker, a renaissance man, a jackass, a tower of strength, a vagabond, a prince, a martyr, Sheherezad, a rock star, and even Jesus. I am none of these.
||My late father had a favorite saying which I have adopted: "Tell it like it is." I have also adopted other adages such as, "If you talk the talk you had better walk the walk", also, "Credit must be put where credit is due". All other wisdoms proceed from these.
|What Gives Me Hope
||That one day I won't have to live in such a corrupt world.
|If I were Mayor, I'd make the world a better place by
||This question asked if I was President.--Send all the non-native people in America back to their lands of origins then erect a thousand foot high wall around the country's perimeter. Or, make it possible for space travel so that all non-natives can leave to settle other planets and leave this world to its native people--All I really want is to just take care of my own little acre of the world.
|What/who changed my life and why
||Event: Attending the National Indian Youth Council in 1969 & receiving my traditional Kiowa name in 1972. Book: "The Holy Bible". Movie: "Flap" with Anthony Quinn. Person(s): My Auntie & Uncle. Because: Each helped me to define who I was and the world in which I had to live.
|What Bugs Me
Non-Indians posing as urban-medicinemen,
That in '06 America still doesn't get it,
Sport teams that use Indian mascots,
Being called "chief",
Geico's Caveman ad.It's based on Indians,
Non-Kiowa plagerzing our culture/history
Trips to Wyoming and Montana,
Trips to Hueco Tanks,
Texas iceberg Pepsi or Coke,
Skillet popped popcorm w/ real butter,
Black Cow sucker,
Napping near a windy window,
Winning free spins on my favorite slot,
Cherry spots on wooden stove
Seeing dedication embodied in people,
Seeing the Creator working in my life,
Natural landmarks and natural events,
Elder saying that they want to go home
|What Scares Me
That one day all my elders will be gone,
Being here for the end of the world,
Violence of the so-called rap culture,
Stupidity of America to perpetuate rap,
The arrogance of the Euro-American
People standing up for their people,
People preserving their unique cultures,
People who live their lives tradittional,
People who know themselves,
accept themselves for who they are
||"More Trees--Less Bush"
Indian Givers-Jack Weatherford,
Remember We Are Kiowas-Tocakut,
When The Legends Die-Hal Borland,
In The Spirit Of Crazy Horse-Matthiesson,
The Vanishing Whiteman-Stan Steiner,
Nobody Loves A Drunken Indian-C.Huffaker
Stevie Ray Vaughn,
Tlhe 13th Warrior,
The Ramien Girl,
Defending Your Life,
The Station Agent,
Last of the Mohicans,
Last of the Dogmen
Beans w. hamhocks,
Fried Pork Chops,
Club Steaks-well done.,
Black Walnut Ice Cream,
Any site or place that draws my spirit
|Can't Live Without
||Introduce yourself to Dewey
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