Well, I'm back home now. I've been to the Chickasaw Nation.
My son in law, Kevin, got a job working for the Chickasaws, and I went down with him, Therese my daughter, and their five kids to help with the transition from Spokane, Washington to Indian country. It was exciting for them and for me. In this economy, it's hard to get anything more exciting than a job, and they'll get the secondary benefit of becoming more familiar with their Chickasaw heritage.
I took them to the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City, and my grandson, Anthony decided right away that he wanted to become a cowboy. I went to the store to buy him a cowboy toy: a cowboy hat, a lariat rope, a pair of chaps, spurs, anything, without luck. I guess kids don't play cowboys and Indians anymore. When I was a child every little boy had a complete cowboy outfit, complete with six guns, that really popped when you pulled the trigger. I was about his age when I decided that I would rather be an Indian, but I'll give him a little time.
It was nice to see signs on the road saying: "You Are Now Entering the Chickasaw Nation," "The Kickapoo Nation," "the Seminole Nation," etc. To see buildings labeled Chickasaw Nation Health Service, Hospital, Library, Housing Service. The kids are living in Stonewall, Oklahoma, near Ada, the current headquarters for the Chickasaw government offices. They are staying in Chickasaw housing: a nice house with a big yard. The neighborhood has a play ground, and no through streets. The brand new Chickasaw hospital is right across the road.
After Therese and Kevin got settled, I couldn't resist going to Tishomingo, the old Chickasaw Capital. "Tish," as it is called, is only 40 miles south of Ada. The old capital building was built of native stone back in 1898, the year my grandparents were married. Ironically it was also the same year that Congress voted to dissolve the Governments of the Five Civilized Tribes. The tribe sold the building to Johnson County in 1910 for $7500. The county charged the Chickasaws $575,000 to buy it back in 1992, over 76 times what they paid for it. "Highway robbery" is a term that comes to mind.
Anyway, the Chickasaws have converted it into a museum and a park. There are commemorative bricks laid out in front with the names of people who contributed to the renovation. My parents, my uncle Haskell and his wife Carrie, and my grandmother are all included. The building is beautiful. I'll include a picture:
Outside the building is the original bell that was rung to call the legislature into session, and also upon the death of anyone in the community. The site of the old well is marked as well as the jail. The Chickasaws had no jail until late in their history. There was no need because no one would dishonor himself or his family by failing to appear for his punishment, no matter how severe. The main punishment was whipping, and in the museum one of the old whipping posts is preserved.
There is a museum in the capital building, but the main museum is in the old Council House next door. There is a re-creation of a Council room inside, Stick ball sticks, a Choctaw Bible and hymnal (the Chickasaws for many years didn't want their language written down), a large rock that originally marked the boundary of the Nation, arrow heads and bows, authentic clothing, and cases with pictures of outstanding Chickasaw citizens, with their stories.
The main reason for my trip however was to look at the material donated to the museum by my mother and by my Uncle Haskell. I spent the better part of one day there, going through the pictures and documents and artifacts. Most of what they have, I had seen before, because my mother kept copies. They also have Grandmother's wedding ring and her shotgun - I didn't realize it was so old - 1897. I wish they had her side saddle. Haskell donated an old Indian bow made of bois d' arc - I saw it when he got it - during the 60's, I think. Engraved on the inside of Grandmother's ring is Vic and Bill, 1898.
I guess the most exciting find for me was an Oklahoma History book, written by Luther B Hill in 1920. It is a two volume set and they are engraved on the covers with William H. Paul, my grandfather. What I was after was an article about my grandfather. My mother told me it was there, and sure enough, I found it. It occupies about a half a page. Amazingly, he's the only Paul who is profiled. I was hoping that it would mention something about him serving in the Chickasaw legislature, but it doesn't. It does give some specifics about his education. I copied several pages out of the book. It profiles Sam Garvin - I didn't know that he died in 1910. Peter Maytubby is profiled, and it mentions his mother, Kaliteyo, my great great aunt. I would like to spend a few days with it, looking up other family members and seeing the author's description of historical events. It should give me an idea of the opinions current in 1920.
The other thing my mother donated was a lot of newspaper clippings, and some of the articles I hadn't read before. One story in particular that was told by my uncle Haskell about a Mr. J. F. Trimmer. It was published in the Pauls Valley County Advocate in 1990 by Adrienne Grimmett, the president of the Pauls Valley Historical Society. My mother had also told me a story about the Trimmer family. Their house was by Rush Creek, which flooded annually, and she and her brothers stayed there once when the Creek was too high to cross, but back to Uncle Haskell's story.
Mr. Trimmer was the first Treasurer of Garvin County, and a highly respected man. Haskell described him:
Mr. Trimmer was a "fleshy" man; and when we saw him drive by our house in his one seated buggy he always sat right in the middle and the springs showed they were carrying some weight; if Mrs. Trimmer, or one of the boys was with him, then the side Mr. Trimmer was on would be pushed down so low that it made the buggy appear as if it had a strong spring on one side and a broken spring on the other.
In addition to his court house duties, Mr. Trimmer kept a good large number of hogs on the then vacant half block at the rear of his house. He also kept a green Mexican Parrot in a cage on the back porch. And this parrot was profane! It learned its profanity from Mr. Trimmer. It happened this way: When Mr. Trimmer would go into the feed shed to get feed ready for the hogs, the hogs would start squealing which is a manner hogs have of telling that they are hungry. Every time a feed bucket was banged, or any sound whatever that came from the feed room, the pigs would squeal all the louder, and the longer they had to wait the more insistent they became.
Usually, before Mr. Trimmer could get his hogs fed, they had set up an incessant din -- and for anyone at all with nerves it was enough to bring a loud vocal response from the feeder; and it helps more if some profanity is mixed in with good plain English. This is the way Mr. Trimmer responded to the greedy noisy shouts. He not only mixed profanity with plain simple English, but sometimes it sounded the other way around. He mixed plain English with the profanity.
The Mexican green head could see and hear all these "goings on" from his perch on the back porch-- and he thus learned the good art of purposeful profanity. He (or she) could do it just about as well as Mr. Trimmer. The only thing was the parrot would not cuss unless the pigs squealed first.
It was real funny to me and my brother Homer. As soon as Mr. Trimmer came into view, the hogs would start coming from all directions toward the feed troughs near the shed. Then as soon as the first bucket was banged, the squealing started-- then in a few moments when the crescendo reached a certain pitch, the "cussin" started on the part of both Mr. Trimmer and the Green Headed parrot.
Some mischievous boys in our neighborhood learned that the parrot would swear if the pigs would squeal; and that all they needed to start the chain reaction of squealing and "cussin" was to knock two of Mr. Trimmer's feed buckets together. When this happened the pigs would squeal and the parrot would "cuss" -- and it would last for 10 or 15 minutes -- especially if it was late afternoon.
Once Mr. Trimmer was real bad sick and the minister was there to visit. My mother was there too. Before the minister left, he of course said a prayer for Mr. Trimmer's speedy recovery. About the time the preacher was well into his prayer someone outside hit a feed bucket. It was close to feeding time in late afternoon. The squealing started and the parrot started in dead earnest. The prayer was brought to rather an abrupt close. The visitation was ended too. My mother said it was "distracting" to have to listen to that vile, cursing parrot with the pigs squealing while the minister was trying to pray -- and especially realizing how sick Mr. Trimmer was.
As you can tell, I had a great time in "Tish." I hope I can go back again soon and look into more history.
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