Johnston Murray

 

                                                        Johnston Murray

When I was 8 or 9, I went on a field trip with my class to the state capitol, in Oklahoma City. As we were walking down a hall – I believe it was outside the senate chambers – a man walked up to my mother and said, “Hi Jim, how have you been doing?”-  At that time everyone called her “Jim” instead of Wenonah. They talked for a while and then the man walked on.

I asked, “Who was that?”

She replied, “That was the governor, Johnston Murray.” While I stood there with my mouth open, she explained that her brother Homer “Snip” Paul had been a senator, and that she knew a lot of people at the state capitol. There were pictures on the walls of each of the state legislatures, and we found Snip in several of them.

 Snip decided to run for the state legislature in 1926 and he won, much to everyone’s surprise – he was only 20 years old at the time of the election - becoming the youngest person ever elected to the Oklahoma House of Representatives. He was reelected to the House twice after that, and in 1932, ran for the senate and won, becoming the youngest person at that time ever to be elected to the Oklahoma State Senate. 

“Alfalfa” Bill Murray was in his second year as governor in 1932, Snip's first term as a senator, and his son, Johnston, recently divorced from Marion, my violin teacher, was working as a service man for Consolidated Gas Utilities Company in Tonkawa, Oklahoma. By the end of his father’s term as governor he had worked his way up to plant manager.[i]

Wenonah was in school at OU at the time, living with her other brother Haskell, who had a job at the state capitol as head attorney for the School Land Department, a job that Snip got him. Patronage was frowned upon, even then when there were no laws against it, but in the middle of the Depression, politicians practiced it openly. My mother said it was the only way her family survived. 

She didn’t have a very high opinion of “Alfalfa” Bill. She said he was an “uncouth old reprobate.” One day, as she was walking down a street she saw him sitting on the curb, chewing tobacco and spitting into the street. My mother had no patience for people who were slovenly or uncouth. I asked her why Johnston was so different from his father, and she said, “because his mother raised him. Bill had nothing to do with it.” 

Wenonah's brothers, Snip and Haskell, had a different opinion of Bill Murray. Snip had supported his candidacy for governor and later, some of his proposals in the legislature. Haskell told me that one day Murray had called him into his office and asked him to be lenient with the farmers who were delinquent on their loans from the School Land Department. 

I don’t know when Wenonah would have met Johnston Murray, but it was probably around the time his father was governor. She was in school at OU during that time, often at the state capital visiting her brothers. She even dated one of the senators. 

In 1942, the year I was born, Johnston Murray, decided to go to law school, and in 1946 he got his degree and passed the bar. He rose quickly in the party ranks, and in 1950 ran for governor. He didn’t always agree with his eccentric father on issues, but “Alfalfa” Bill supported him anyway. He said that he’d vote for his son “even if he were not related to me,” and that he, “if elected … will be as diplomatic and careful as his mother’s uncle …Otherwise, he is a Murray. ‘A chip off the same block.’” [ii] Johnston’s mother’s uncle was, of course, the dignified Chickasaw Governor, Douglas H. Johnston.  

Murray’s campaign was almost cut short by some dirty politics by his opponent, Bill Coe, who claimed that he had deserted his first wife, Marion, and left her and his son, Johnston Jr. without any support, but she put an end to his claim with this letter, printed in the Daily Oklahoman newspaper, just before the election. 

Dear Son:

            You and I have too long been in the news as a result of half-truths and outright falsehoods for me to remain silent any longer.

            It is absurd for anyone at any time to say that your father, my former husband, Johnston Murray, ever deserted or failed to provide for you. He just doesn’t do that sort of thing. Particularly, it is absolutely false for anyone in public or private life to say that he ever deserted his family.

            I am so sorry that you and I have been so wrongfully brought into the news by Mr. Coe. We both can stand it, and certainly Johnston Murray can stand it too.

                                                                                   Affectionately,

                                                                                  Your mother, Marion[iii] 

Johnston Murray won the election and became the first Oklahoma governor of Native American descent. Murray’s plans to cut government spending were thwarted by the state legislature, and then his second wife, Willie, decided to run for governor, since Oklahoma law prohibits governors from succeeding themselves. 

Willie was kind of interesting in her own right. She had been a concert pianist- Johnston seemed to have a thing for musicians – and while living at the governor’s mansion, hosted weekly open houses, often providing the entertainment. Johnston supported her candidacy, but their relationship went down hill after she was defeated. After a bitter divorce, Johnston was ruined financially - he should have stayed with Marion. But she was probably better off without him. She married again, this time to a violinist named Thede, and they played together in the Oklahoma City Symphony. 

Johnston married again too, to Helen Shutt – I don’t think she was a musician, and they moved to Ft. Worth. He was driving a limousine there when he ran into an old friend from the Oklahoma State legislature, Gene Stipe, who convinced him to return to Oklahoma and practice law, which he did.[iv]

---

[i] “Johnston Murray,” Oklahoma City (Oklahoma) Daily Oklahoman, 8 October 1950. 

[ii] James R Scales, Danney Goble, Oklahoma Politics: a History,(Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1982) 268.

[iii] “Resenting the Distorted Statements Made by Bill Coe, Mrs. Unger Recently Wired Her Son…,” Oklahoma City (Oklahoma) Daily Oklahoman, 23 July 1950.

[iv] Erin Dowell, “Johnston Murray,” Encyclopedia of Oklahoma History Culture,      https://www.okhistory.org.

  

 

Thoughts on Native American Culture

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?

Memorial Day

When I was little we always went to the cemetery on Memorial Day. There were a lot of deaths in our family, at least on my mother's side of the family. We'd take freshly cut flowers, and sometimes we planted flowers too. There were two cemeteries in Pauls Valley: Mt. Olivet, on a hill a little ways out of town, and the "Old Cemetery," in town right next to Rush Creek. It took a while to make the rounds. We went out there a lot of other times during the year too.

I think people used to value cemeteries more back then. It makes sense. Cemeteries hold the actual remains of our loved ones and ancestors. I've been back to Mt. Olivet and to the Old Cemetery a few times, and it makes me feel closer to my aunts, uncles, and grandparents as I stand out there next to the Paul plot. The Chickasaws felt strongly about the remains of their loved ones too, back in the old country. They used to bury a person right under his or her doorstep. That's the reason they hated so much to leave their homeland in Mississippi and migrate to present day Oklahoma. They were abandoning the bones of their ancestors.  

My grandmother felt that way too. My mother told me that when her oldest daughter died, Grandmother went to the cemetery so much that my grandfather almost built a house for her across the street. Grandmother outlived five of her children, and I think it helped her deal with her grief to visit and to care for their graves. Makes sense to me. 

I have a picture somewhere of Grandmother standing next to my Uncle Willie's grave. He had an especially tragic death. The plants around his grave come up above her waist. She even tore out the fence around her front yard to put around the Paul plot at the Old Cemetery to protect her oldest son's grave. "Little Samuel," as he was always known, died in 1899 before his first birthday. He was buried out there alongside the old settlers. I couldn't find the picture of Grandmother standing next to Willie's grave, but here she is alongside Uncle Haskell at the ceremony beginning the renovation of the Old Cemetery, which she spearheaded:

                         Haskell Paul and Victoria May Paul, Old Cemetery, 1953

Going to the cemetery was no comfort to my mother though. After Grandmother was gone she went out to there for a few more years and then stopped. It just brought back bad memories for her. She had herself cremated, my father too - he would have gone along with anything she wanted. I'm a little ambivalent about it though. I think I'd kind of like to have a grave to visit. I tried to visit my parents "graves" on Memorial Day several years ago at the columbarium - I think that's what you call it, and it was all locked up. You can't get in without a key. You can't plant a garden in there either.

Things are different in Pauls Valley too. They've pulled up my grandmother's garden. They even replaced her oldest daughter's tombstone with a flat one so they could mow over it with the lawn mower. My grandparents had that stone imported from Italy. 

Of course times are different now. Just because you don't go to someone's grave doesn't mean you didn't care about them. I spent Memorial Day this year hiking and listening to the tape of a phone conversation I had with my mother years ago. It's enough I suppose.

There is something to preserving and honoring the remains of your loved ones. though. We used to get together as a family on Memorial Day. Now people just go shopping.  I think it's important to the family, and important to society. You have to be moved when you see Arlington  National Cemetery, the Vietnam Memorial, or the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The military understands that. That's why they try so hard to return the bodies of servicemen to their families.

I did have a nice experience that Memorial Day when I tried unsuccessfully to get into the columbarium where my parents' ashes are located. My wife and I also drove out to the cemetery where her mother is buried. My wife is a woman of color, and the cemetery is in a predominantly black neighborhood. Anyway, it was packed with people, families together, some having picnics at the gravesites, little kids playing, people laughing and talking, reminiscing. It made me feel good, and I think it would have made Grandmother feel good too.