Friday, February 8, 2019
As a child, my cousin Lahoma was known as “Little L.” My mother Wenonah said that she was always generous, sweet and cheerful. “Nobody could stay in a bad mood when Little L was around.”
It must have been hard for Little L to stay cheerful, because she had a tough childhood. She grew up during the depression and during WWII, raised by a single mother, my aunt Kaliteyo, who during most of her childhood, eked out a living as a seamstress.
Kaliteyo quit school in 1931 to marry a young man from the nearby town of Paoli, Oklahoma. She stayed with him for four years in spite of the fact that he spent most of his weekends out drinking, usually with other women. Kaliteyo got a divorce in 1936, but that didn’t end her troubles. The next year she and Little L were overwhelmed by fumes in a garage apartment where they were living. It was a wonder they survived.
After their close call, Kaliteyo and Little L moved in with Grandmother in Pauls Valley, while Kaliteyo looked for a job. Grandmother was happy to have a granddaughter to spoil, and she also had a playmate for her, her cousin Tom, the son of my uncle Haskell, who was also recently divorced. As soon as Kaliteyo recovered from carbon monoxide poisoning, she enrolled in a secretarial school in Oklahoma City, staying with Wenonah, who had a job with the state highway department, and leaving Little L in Pauls Valley with Grandmother.
This was too much for Little L. She thought Wenonah had taken her mother away. One weekend when Kaliteyo and Wenonah came home for a visit, Little L kicked Wenonah in the shin So Kaliteyo quit school and moved back to Pauls Valley. Eventually she got a job there working for the new welfare department created under President Roosevelt’s New Deal.
Little L and Kaliteyo
The next problem came when Little L started to school. Her teacher said that she paid attention in class, but just couldn’t seem to understand the lessons. She wasn’t learning to read and she couldn’t understand math. The whole family worried about her. Finally her teacher noticed that Little L couldn’t see the blackboard. Wenonah, who still had a job, went out and bought her some glasses. She never had trouble in school again.
The next year Kaliteyo was transferred to Purcell, Oklahoma, and that gave her an opportunity to send Little L to St. Elizabeth’s Academy, where she had gone to school during her high school years. Lahoma loved it, just like her mother. Wenonah told me about visiting her once during an open house. Little L was excited that Wenonah had come, and she proudly showed her around and introduced her to her teachers. There was one nun at the school whom she particularly liked and she kept looking for her. Finally she cried, “There she is,” and ran to where one of the nuns was standing. When the nun turned around, Little L said, “Oh, it’s the wrong one.” The nun just laughed and said, “We do look alike in our habits.”
Aunt Kaliteyo tried to give Little L a good childhood, but she always had trouble making ends meet. She eventually lost her job in Purcell and moved to Oklahoma City, where she tried to make a living as a seamstress. Wenonah worried about them. She said that one time she went by to visit and all they had in the refrigerator was a stick of butter.
Little L always found a way to be cheerful. As soon as she was old enough she got a job at a flower shop to help out. She always made sure her mother had flowers in their apartment. In spite of their poverty Kaliteyo managed to give Little L dancing lessons, starting in grade school, and she was really talented. She danced in recitals, and at school programs, and once for the Indian-Okla Club that Wenonah belonged to. Yvonne Chouteau, who would become a famous ballerina, was about the same age as Little L, and she danced on the same program.
Little L , 1939
When my parents were married in June of 1941, they moved into an apartment just a block down the street from Kaliteyo and Little L. On November 7 of that year, called by President Roosevelt “the date that will live in infamy,” the US naval fleet in Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese. The nation was in shock, but especially my parents, because my dad’s brother Everett was assigned to the USS Oklahoma, one of the ships that was sunk.
After the attack, Little L came by to visit Wenonah every day after school. "Lahoma was always cheerful," Wenonah told me. "She tried to give us hope that Everett had survived." Christmas was coming, but as the days went by, and there was still no word from Everett, celebrating the holiday was the last thing on my parents’ minds. One day Little L came in and said, “You need some Christmas decorations,” and she proceeded to hang some tinsel and ornaments she had bought with her meager savings.
It was January before Everett was able to get word to the family that he was okay. My parents thanked God that he was alive, and they thanked Lahoma for helping them get through the weeks of worry. Wenonah told me that my dad carried Little L’s picture in his wallet for years.
After about a year my mother thought of another way to show her thanks. At the time there was an annual Indian Exposition in Anadarko, Oklahoma, attended by Indians from all over the United States. The family had been going to the “Indian Fair” ever since it began in 1935, and she noticed that some of the tribes selected a “Princess” to represent them, so she called our cousin, Floyd Maytubby, then the Chickasaw Governor, and asked him if he would consider appointing Lahoma. He did, and she was crowned Chickasaw Princess in 1943. She was twelve.
Little L with other tribal princesses, 1943
In 1948, when Little L was just 15, her dancing teacher, Molly Day, decided to start a professional dancing troupe, and she invited her to join. But she needed $500 from each girl for startup money. I don’t know what Lahoma thought. I guess the idea seemed exciting and glamorous. The surprising thing was that her mother supported her. She still regretted not being able to follow her own dreams.
When the family found out what Little L was planning, they were horrified. They tried to talk Kaliteyo out of allowing her to go. Then they refused to give her the money. We were living in Wichita, Kansas at the time, but grandmother kept Wenonah in the loop. Finally Kaliteyo got the money from her boyfriend, and so Little L, just out of junior high school, headed for Texas and later Mexico, performing with a dancing troupe.
To be continued.
Sunday, January 27, 2019
This month my wife and I celebrated her birthday in Las Vegas. We go every year, not to gamble, but just to walk around, explore the new hotels, see the shows we haven’t seen, and watch the people. We saw a Cirque du Soliel show based on Beatles’ songs at the Mirage, a comedy show a Planet Hollywood, and a variety show at the Rio. We wandered through the Venetian, watched the gondolas, took our pictures with celebrities at Madame Tussaud’s wax museum, and of course I had to visit the Burlesque Hall of Fame, where my cousin Lahoma is featured.
It was six of seven years ago when I found out about the Burlesque Hall of Fame. A young woman e-mailed me from New York City where she was working as a nanny. She had read an article I posted here on my blog about Lahoma and wanted to know more about her. Her hobby was collecting pictures about burlesque stars from the past. She had a web site where she had collected hundreds of pictures and newspaper articles about burlesque. She shared what she already had about Lahoma, and she told me about the Hall of Fame in Las Vegas, which she was helping with her research. We corresponded for several weeks sharing information and eventually we collaborated in writing a little article about Lahoma for the museum.
I haven’t heard from my friend for a couple of years but I hope she compiled her work into a book. She certainly did an admirable job with her research.
Just visited her facebook page. She still has our article about Lahoma posted. She’s selling burlesque memorabilia on EBAY to raise money to pay vet bills for her aging dog, so check it out. http://www.burlyqnell.com
Visiting the Hall of Fame reminds me of what wonderful memories I have of my cousin Lahoma, and makes me think that I ought to record more about her life than just her time dancing.
During the late ‘40’s and early ‘50’s, when Lahoma was dancing, I was in elementary school, and I was madly in love with her. She was beautiful, glamorous, and she sent me stuff. The walls of my room were covered with pennants from all over the United States. I wrote her letters. I used to have a copy of one. On it I had drawn a picture of “Elfie,” the hero of my mother Wenonah’s bedtime stories.
When Lahoma recycled her costumes, she gave them to me. I remember an Indian head dress made of purple ostrich feathers. It had a long train, or at least it was a train for me. On Lahoma, who was almost six feet tall, it probably barely reached the floor. I can’t imagine what our neighbors thought, seeing me run around wearing it. My cousin Steve says that he had one of her ostrich feather head dresses too that was white. It’s probably the one she’s wearing in the picture I put at the beginning of this article.
Lahoma’s mother, my Aunt Kaliteyo, lived in Oklahoma City. She wasn’t married, and she spent a lot of time at our house. She ate my mother’s corn bread and had milk and cookies with me when I got home from school. We kept up with Lahoma through Aunt Kaliteyo.
Every once in a while, Lahoma would come home for a visit. It was always an exciting time. She would show us pictures of the places she danced, and tell us about the famous people she knew. She dated a popular song writer of the day, Johnny Cola, who had written a new song, Vienni Su, that we were all hoping would be a success, for her sake.
Once she took me to a major production down at the Municipal Auditorium, just the two of us. It starred Victor Borga. There was singing and dancing, and of course he played the piano. Lahoma was very critical of the dancers. During the performance she pointed out all the things they were doing wrong. It impressed me that although she was a burlesque queen, she was still a serious dancer.
I’ll finish with a picture of me in one on Lahoma’s more traditional head dresses. I wore it on 89er’s Day at our school’s annual reenactment of the 1889 land run into Indian Territory by early settlers. Even at an early age I knew that not everyone was happy about taking away the Indians’ land.
Indian Brave at ‘89er’s Day Reenactment at Sequoyah Grade School in about 1949
That’s a tomahawk in my right hand.
To be continued.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
Whipping Tree, Chickasaw Council House Museum
My Uncle Haskell was an attorney and judge in Pauls Valley, Oklahoma, and a charter member of the Chickasaw Historical Society Board. He explained to me once that for the Indians, especially the full bloods, the concept of land ownership was totally foreign.
He said that to them, land was like water or air, to be used by each person as needed. Before the white man came, they used land for hunting and for farming, and when game was scarce or during droughts, they moved on. There were boundaries between tribes, which changed with time depending on the size and needs of each tribe, but there was no such thing as land ownership.
After tribal boundaries were imposed by the US government, the Indians set up constitutions which reflected their tribal custom, designating land as common to all. Tribal members could use what they needed, but after their death, the land was returned to the tribe. This caused trouble within the tribe as some took advantage of the law to profit by subletting land to white men. The real tragedy though came in 1903, when tribal governments were dissolved and individuals were issued allotments.
Many Indians were so opposed to the allotment process, that they refused to be included on the tribal rolls compiled by the government, thereby eliminating themselves and their families from receiving allotments, and also future benefits of tribal membership.
It was mainly full bloods, who held onto their traditions more strongly, those who deserved the benefits most, who were left out, and even for those who signed the rolls, the concept of land ownership was so difficult for them that they often signed over title to their allotments for a night on the town. As Uncle Haskell told me, “They didn’t think land was worth anything.” So it wasn’t just that the Indians were opposed to private land ownership of land, they couldn’t even understand the concept.
The tragedy that befell the Indians during the allotment process is described in detail by Angie Debo in her book, “And Still the Waters Run.”
I include this story as an illustration of the tremendous power of culture and tradition to mold the thinking of the members of a group.
The Indians also had no concept of wealth. Often the chief was the poorest person in the tribe because he shared what he had with others. Possessions were shared. Poor or disabled members were taken care of. Even now the Chickasaw have what they call “giveaways.” People take household appliances, clothes, linens, furniture, whatever they don’t need, and give it away to whomever needs it more.
Gifts were even exchanged between enemies as a symbol of good faith. The Europeans didn’t understand this. There is an example in the Roanoke Colony story. During the first exploratory mission the explorers noticed that a cup was missing after a meeting with the Indians, and they retaliated by attacking the village and burning the Indians’ food stores. We have no explanation from the natives’ point of view, but I imagine that they would have expected the Europeans to share what they had.
Another difference in Indian culture I learned from my mother. She told me about the honesty and honor among the Chickasaw. In fact they did not even have jails, or at least not until quite late in their history. When a crime was committed, a date was set for the punishment and the guilty party was told to appear at a certain time and place for his or her punishment, usually lashes, and the guilty one always came to submit to his punishment, even if it was execution. The Chickasaws’ whipping tree has been preserved at their museum in Tishomingo, Oklahoma.
My mother explained that for the Indian the worst punishment wasn’t execution, but banishment from the tribe. An individual’s identity, his or her very existence depended on membership in the tribe.
In tribal society, the very concept of identity was dependent on tribal membership. A warrior’s name was given based on a characteristic or achievement, for instance “Running-deer” or “Ten-killer.” Also tribal members’ names might change from time to time depending on their position or rank. In an article recently published in the Chickasaw history journal, there is a discussion about whether or not the chief Tishominko was in attendance. In the article they say that “Tishumustubbee” is listed, and that in future documents listing Tishominko, Tishumustubbee is not mentioned.
Minko means chief.
Chickasaw society was, is matrilineal, which makes sense in a culture where the men are away much of the time hunting or at war, at risk of losing their lives. Lineage made a difference, and clan (family) membership was important. There were certain clans from which leaders were taken. Clans were thought to have characteristics, such as bravery, wisdom, or hunting ability.
At the same time tribal identity appears to have trumped lineage, or even race! The Chickasaws experienced intermarriage from an early time, especially with Scotch traders and missionaries and these men were adopted by the tribe. For this reason the Chickasaws were better able to negotiate with the government in their treaties. The mixed blood members understood English, and also they understood the the white man’s way of thinking, for instance on the issue of land ownership.
Early in Chickasaw history the Natchez Indian Tribe was decimated by the Spanish and the remnants were adopted by the Chickasaws.
Slavery was commonly practiced by many Indian tribes including the Chickasaws. Captives from raids on other tribes or survivors of battles were often made slaves, or servants, but with time many became members of the tribe. This applied not just to Native Americans though. Black runaway slaves were adopted by the Seminoles in Florida. In fact, there were some tribes that were predominantly black.
In the west, the Plains tribes frequently raided white settlements, taking hostages for slaves or ransom, but often adopting them into the tribe, and it was not uncommon for these hostages to refuse to return to their families when they were discovered. In other words, the Indians determined tribal membership not by family membership, but by performance and loyalty.
Thinking about my last article about the Lumbee tribe, I think that the Indians would have accepted the Lumbee as just another tribe, in spite of their genetic heterogeneity.
The tribal culture, the Indians’ concepts of ownership, and tribal identity, served them well possibly for millennia, but they are totally foreign to our way of thinking. I make two conclusions from these observations. First, the tribal culture works. There’s plenty of room for compassion, loyalty, generosity. The members of the group each have a place, they produce what they need, and they have security and support from their community.
The second, and perhaps the more interesting conclusion to me is that, not only is the tribal system efficient, it requires a totally different way of thinking. Its members are not just convinced. They are conditioned to think in a way that supports their system, and their conditioning is so strong that they have difficulty surviving in a different culture.
It makes you wonder, how are we conditioned by our culture? Does this conditioning prevent us from understanding or judging other cultures? Can we see the flaws in our own culture? Would our conditioning prevent us from adapting to another culture?