American Folklike Center, Library of Congress Chicago Ethnic Arts Project (AFC 1981/004) afc1981004_13_221 Reports and Products - Manuscripts - Native-AmericanNative-American Artists of Chicago Roberta FiskeNative-American Artists of Chicago Identification of the urban Native American has been one of the central problems surrounding governmental policy-making regarding Native Americans in the past fifteen years. In the mid-fifties an era of relocation began. Bureau of Indian Affairs officers on each reservation were instructed to "sell" the idea of city living to likely candidates. Individuals, and sometimes families, were given a one-way ticket to the chosen city, where housing and employment awaited, all arranged by the BIA. Subsistence money was guaranteed for six weeks, after which they were on their own to sink or swim. "But Indians don't sink or swim," says Sol Tax of the University of Chicago, "they float." Most Indians that arrived in the city on relocation left as soon as they got a good look at their new way of life. The transition to city dwelling was for most impossible. The BIA did not recognize their "failures," but continued to relocate as many Indians as possible. There is a story of one Navajo who was relocated to Chicago in the early fifties. He had been assigned to work in the steel mills on the eastern side of the city and was given an apartment on the North Side. He was an excellent worker and his employer was satisfied. After one month the man did not show up for work, and no one could find him. When he appeared on his reservation, the BIA official asked him what had gone wrong. Nothing was wrong––the work was good––"but," the Indian said, "it was too far away." No one had explained public transportation to him; he had been walking 12 miles to work each day, and 12 miles back. He refused to return to Chicago.–336– Most Indians presently living in Chicago did not come on relocation but migrated independently, usually looking for employment, and settled near relatives or friends from the reservation. Many are permanent residents, and an equal number are transient––relocating within the city, going from city to city, or spending part of the year in Chicago and part on the reservation. There is no known "typical" pattern of migration; tribes, families, and individuals differ according to their needs. A family may live in the city during the winter so the children can stay in school, then leave for the reservation in the summer. Construction workers are often busy in Chicago during the warm months and leave in the winter. The pow–wow season and harvests also draw many urban Indians back to the reservation. John White has remarked in The Hidden People, "The fact that so many Indian people rely on trips back home for emotional and psychological renewal, I feel is an indicator of the essentially superficial way in which they have adjusted to the city." Day labor camps are probably the largest employers of Chicago Indians, who prefer working day to day to giving up their independence by taking a steady job. Constant movement within the city characterizes the Uptown population, where most of the city's Indians are clustered. A map is presently being made at the University of Chicago, in cooperation with the American Indian Center and the American Indian Health Service, indicating the approximate location, size, and tribe of Indian households, as reported in data from mid– 1976 to mid–1977. Thus far, approximately 55 major tribes have been identified, and the estimated population is 20,000. Eight to ten percent of the population is professional, forty to forty–five percent is unemployed. Uptown is changing rapidly. The new Harry S. Truman College, located near the Indian–337– Center, has created a tremendous hike in rents, and many apartment buildings are being renovated for a higher income group. With these changes in the Uptown area, the Chicago Indian population is moving north. Aside from larger population shifts, individuals and families have tremendous mobility. It is not uncommon for an Indian Uptown resident to move several times a year. Sometimes a person moves to another apartment in the same building or across the street, but friends and neighbors will swear that he has gone back to the reservation. White says, "The ease with which an individual can fade out of sight serves a practical use in protecting members of the Indian community from unwanted bill collectors." Multiple names and different surnames within the family are often used as a "disguise." The Uptown Indian's attempts to remain unidentified affect out survey of the urban Indian artist. The director of the American Indian Health Service of Chicago illustrated the problem with a story. One young man had been playing baseball and had been hit hard by the bat. When she took him to the emergency room, he removed all his turquoise beads, gave them to a friend to keep for him, and stuffed his long braids inside the baseball cap. "Now the receptionist will think I'm a Mexican." His friend said they frequently try to pass as Mexicans so as to be treated better. "We're Forgetting Our Culture Because We're Too Busy Surviving."––Alford Waters The Relocation Act was not meant to end the special legal relationship the American Indian has with the U. S. government, but in fact most of the services that were provided on the reservations are not available in the city. There are reports of Indians being told at some Illinois State Welfare offices that they are not eligible for assistance because "Indians-338- are taken care of by the government." From a sample of 2,174 individuals that received emergency relief from the American Indian Center from 1976 to 1977, only half were receiving public aid, although their reported income was less than $4,000 per year. Until very recently, there was no long-term operation in Chicago that worked toward delivering services to urban Indians. In the past few months a nine-member consortium was founded in Chicago, including all but two of the major Indian agencies. One of its members, the American Indian Business Association, has since been defunded. Why does the Indian wish to remain unidentified in the city, even when it means not being able to receive special services? Faith Smith of the Native American Educational Services of Chicago stated that many times the Indian does not admit to himself or to others that he is now an urban resident, always maintaining that he can leave for home at any time and will do so soon. Many Indians prefer to be counted on the reservation, because they believe their added registration there helps the reservation receive more money. Of equal importance is the Indian's ties with the land. "Indian people understood instinctively what most program administrators did not: the legal status of a tribal member could not be changed by moving him from his home. Thus, the reservation has become the place where the urban people replenish their spirits, as well as their legal status. (Indian Task Force Commission Report). One 70-year-old Chippewa has been in Chicago for about 30 years, yet when he receives his census form he throws it away. He is an allottee, and proudly brings forth the document with President Hoover's signature allotting him land in Wisconsin. That is his status.-339- How to define Indian-ness legally remains a problem and a major concern of urban Indians. The Indian Affairs Coordinator of the Housing and Urban Development Regional Office, George Bennett, an Ottowa, related an anecdote to me. Recently he received a phone call from a construction foreman who wanted to know exactly what an Indian was. Mr. Bennett read him a legal definition but was stopped by the foreman. "That's not going to help me. I've got a guy here who says he's Indian, but I don't think he is. If he is, then he's eligible for some benefits. What do I do?" Mr. Bennett asked him to contact the Labor Department's Office of Contract Compliance and ask for Mr. Jenkins, a Mohawk. Mr. Jenkins could not help either, for it is still unanswered by law. The recent Indian Task Force Commission Report states that an Indian is anyone who identifies himself as one. the recent Indian Health Improvement states, "Anyone that is a member of a federally recognized tribe, or a descendant, or an active member in the Indian community, is recognized as an Indian." This broad definition has created much consternation in the Chicago Indian community, for the moneys and services will be divided so many times as to be of little use. The reservations have their own rules (such as blood quantum or birthplace) for including an individual in the tribal rolls. What can urban Indians do? Should a committee be set up in the city with its sole task being to determine, case by case, who is Indian? What is certain is that although most Indians retain a tribal identity, the urban Indian's situation requires new rules, special considerations, and programs designed for an by Indians. The recently established consortium of Indian agencies in Chicago has already begun responding by sharing resources and expertise. One of the largest and most impressive programs is the Indian Training and Employment Program, directed by Mr. Lyman Pierce. It is presently -340- providing training and placement for a wide range of jobs throughout Illinois, including training staff for Indian agencies. A less pleasant account is that of the American Indian Center of Chicago. Started in response to the urgent needs of the relocated Indians of the fifties, it became the core agency of the Indian community. Today it is hard pressed for funds. On one of my last visits, the telephones had been pulled out and the gas company was threatening to shut off services. Alford Waters, the cultural director, and his wife were manning the front desk; everyone else has been laid off. In the interview with Alford, he pointed out that many Indians would rather be “back home,” if there were work there. The old ways are not being learned by the children in the city, for there is no place to learn them, and the parents are too worn and downhearted to explain what they know. Traditional art forms, for example, are inextricably woven into an Indian's daily living--into work, play, meals, and religion. How can they be taught in the alien environment of the city? I worked for a time with one young Indian girl sent from a Montana reservation to Chicago to study health delivery systems. Her response to the city was, "I can't hear the spirits talking to me, or the wind, the trees, the birds . . . I can't live here." Following are excerpts from a meeting at the Center for the Study of Democratic Institutions, held October 25, 1976. Among these present were heads of local Indian agencies, many of whom are also craftspeople, Dr. Sox Tax of the University of Chicago, and Dr. Tumin of Princeton University. Unidentified speakers: "Down here in the city we really get forgotten. When we want to talk to somebody, we spend most of our budget making long-distance calls." "When white society says 'we need Indians,' then we'll have our stature back. Till then we're wasting our time . . . What government would-341- take away everything and then put you in a government school to boot? We need to become part of the society, but we have ties to the land." "I don't want to make a lot of money. I'm not happy doing it. I'm too Indian, I guess." "There are 32 different languages taught in Illinois--none are Indian languages." "Once the customs are dissolved here, we are avenged." During interviews: "I've heard that when you lose your language, you lose your culture."--Lyman Pierce, Seneca. "Indians nowadays don't idolize too many people...they're non-hero-worshippers. They've seen their culture taken away."--Loniel Poco, Comanche. "Much of the traditional, religious feeling is lost...or rather, misplaced. It's sad that it hasn't been brought out more."-- Sharon Skolnick, Apache/Sioux. "When I returned from Vietnam, I was walking down the street on crutches in a town in Georgia. I wanted to see a movie, but there was a sign that said NEGROES ONLY, so I thought instead I'd get something to eat. I was thrown out--WHITES ONLY, and then I was sad when I remembered how I'd cheered for the cavalry..."--John Buffalo, Mandan. In November 1976, I attended the Indian Center's annual pow-wow at the Chicago Armory--one of the most important events of the year for the community. Artists and craftspeople from all over the country gather to sell their work. Among the many activities, there is a fancy dress dance contest-342- that lasts the entire weekend. "The procession began, they entered with the the American flag. Everyone strutted around looking very proud, dancing until I thought their legs would fall off. . . Towards the end of the dancing, an unannounced group from Mexico asked the m.c. if they could dance for a few minutes; it was agreed. I've never seen such large feathers in my life. How could they have transported such head-dresses? The crowd went wild, for these were clearly professional show-dancers. Everyone was happy, showing off as much as possible, (especially the men), and all the tribes, from as far away as Mississippi, were sharing something. The panel of judges for the dance competition consisted of representatives from all the different factions. . . One table of bumper-stickers read: I'M INDIAN AND PROUD OF IT; I'M WINNEBAGO; I'M CHIPPEWA; THIS IS SIOUX COUNTRY. . . I have heard it said that a pow-wow is "the one time when we Indians can feel as one people, forgetting our differences." No one was defensive about his or her Indian-ness there. I have assumed the contrast seemed so evident because ordinarily the times I have been in contact with Indians have been in a political setting. At those times it seems there is no time to enjoy one's heritage, or even to think about it, except in terms of a fight, to keep what they have and gain back what was lost, if possible. I called one Indian woman who is renowned for her beautiful crafts, and for her traditional story-telling. Unfortunately, the call was made the same day her agency was being defunded. Her response to me was, “And how much are you paying for my time? No, it's just another way for the government to con Indian people. They'll publish something, make a lot of money, and what do the Indian people ever get? Nothing. The Crafts Fair, April 29-31, attracted as many people as the pow-wow, but this was business. Following is a list of the tribes represented and types-343- of work displayed in the show, taken from the program entitled “Second Annual America Indian Fine Art, Craft, and Trade Show, Chicago”: Santee-Sioux Indian art shawls, moccasins, Indian wares Kiowa-Oneida beadwork Santo Domingo Pueblo turquoise and silver, heshi Iroquois bone carving, Iroquois crafts, silver and jewelry Tuscarora stone carving, leather, jewelry Mesquakis beadwork Southern Cheyenne silversmith and jewelry Oneida turquoise, beadwork Chippewa jewelry and baskets Oneida circular beadwork Oneida-Mandan arts and crafts Oneida loom beadwork Choctaw food Winnebago beadwork Mesquakis beadwork Tuscarora beadwork, leather goods, quilts, and jewelry Navajo jewelry, sand painting, pipestone crafts, kachina dolls, wild rice, pottery, baskets, birchbark handicrafts.-344- Profiles Willard LaMere Willard LaMere is executive director of the American Indian Business Association. He said there was a great need for the Indian to have guidance and support while competing in the white world. Willard's father was Oliver LaMere, an informant for early anthropologists studying the Winnebagos. Alford Waters Mr. Alford Waters is the cultural director of the American Indian Center. He is responsible not only for organizing cultural activities within the Center, but for speaking to groups throughout the city about the American Indian. He visits different schools each week to give speeches. Alford is probably in his late 60s, was brought up in Oklahoma, and came to Chicago in 1962. He is a Ponca. Mr. Waters encourages people to read Dee Brown's book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. "We're not being heard . . . We've been forced to accept a society that we don't understand . . . during the process of survival we've been losing our culture." Concerning the plans for cultural activities at the Center, Alford spoke in the past. "We were asking for $10,000 . . . for that we got a stack of papers." The Center had planned to get sponsors for each Indian child that wished to make an Indian costume. Each costume would cost about $400, including feathers, bead-work, and moccasins. The Center had also planned activities for different nights of the week, including a music class, a dance class, and a visitor's night, where older Indians could explain different customs. Another plan was to sponsor a "Mini Pow-wow" for performers under 15 years of age. -345- Loniel Poco "Lonnie Poco was born into the Quahada or Antelope band of the Comanche tribe in 1938, at the Kiowa Indian Hospital at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. His father worked as a farmer and owned a small shoe shop . . . Lonnie Poco is the grandson of Lemuel Pebeahsy Nadahyka, a peyote man in the Comanche peyote cult. His grandfather's grandfather was Wild Horse, war chief of the Comanches and cousin to Quanah Parker . . ." "When he was eight or nine, Lonnie Poco was suffering from emotional problems . . . He was treated by the tribe's medicine man, who brought him peyote tea to drink and watched over him until he got well." (Chicago Reader, Dec. 17, 1976, DeClue, D., "Drawing on the Past") From 1943-1952 Lonnie marched to classes every morning during the school year, secretly getting together with other boys to speak Comanche -- "just to see if we remembered" -- and then returned home in the summer to learn from his grandfather. In 1958 he joined the Navy and travelled for four years all over Asia. In 1962 he arrived in Chicago where he attended the Institute of Lettering and Design for two years. Lonnie was one of nine Native Americans to found the Chicago Indian Artists Guild in 1973. Its formation stemmed from the Four Arts Festival at Hull House. There were many Indian artists in Chicago at that time, most of whom had arrived on relocation. During its first year, the Guild had some successful fairs from its Workshop Gallery, and the artists found it beneficial working as a group. Their problems stemmed from the choice of location -- the American Indian Center -- for it was necessary to maintain a distance from the agency's political battles. At that time, Lonnie applied to the Illinois Arts Council for a grant but was turned down. As an artist, Lonnie says he has tried "a little bit of everything,"-346- but the cartoon has always been his first love. He sold his first cartoon at age 14, to the Saturday Evening Post. He worked full-time at cartoons during the 50s and created approximately twenty characters but all the while, his work was rejected. "I wanted to deliver some kind of a message, and a lot of the humor that I tried to project at the time wasn't funny. . .like racial, political satire. . ." He spoke of the revolution in art in the 50s and especially of the censorship of cartoons. "Comic-book ethics" were created in order to wipe out the ever-increasing number of horror comics." "My heroes got crumbled." Lonnie said he began drawing as a child. When he was a very little boy, he was in the kitchen with his mother. She was cooking, and told him to play with a cardboard box that she had set up for trash. He found a pencil and suddenly something forced his hand to draw at top speed. "When my hand stopped, there was a picture of a miniature elephant, with every detail. You could see every hair. At the time, I thought I had done it, but now I know that I couldn't have." He explained that it was simply too good, too perfect for a little boy to do and "besides, I'd never seen an elephant." He tried to show it to people but no one would look at it. Lonnie learned how to use traditional Indian symbols from his grandfather and from attending powwows. He talked of the white man's commercial use of religous symbols, such as Thunderbird wine, the National Guard's Thunderbird shoulder patch, and the swastika's use in Europe. The Guild's new gallery will be called the Thunderbird--"trying to relive the symbol of the Thunderbird, give it something more of respect. . ." After art school Lonnie returned to his hometown to work. He had been promised jobs, but found doors closed to him because he was an Indian in the commercial art field. Because of this discrimination, he returned to Chicago "determined to-347- open doors for other Indians." Indians already in white-collar jobs he describes as "front-line soldiers." He especially wants to promote Indian art and to encourage as many Indians as possible in the fine arts. Lonnie says, "Indians nowadays don't idolize too many people. They've seen their culture taken away." He says the highest paying jobs in commercial art, such as in television, are virtually closed to Indians. In the magazine industry, Indians are hired as graphic artists and not as illustrators. He left the commercial art field because he was unemployed and took the position of Community Health Representative for the American Indian Health Service of Chicago. In January 1977, he became director of the American Indian Center. In describing his own art, Lonnie uses the words: some tradition, some experimentation, line-type drawings, circular, straight, space, universe, lines of travel and speed, depth, perspective, flight, direction, movements, projection of thought, beyond the solar system. He also says his work is “natural designs of Indian art without European influence." Lonnie would like the Guild to start a class of Southwestern pottery. Comparing “art feeling" of urban Indians with reservation Indians he sees "a remarkable similarity," but he says that young urban Indians have something unique to project. Lonnie says Indian artists don't have enough confidence, they don't compete, and are exploited. "Pretty soon there aren't going to be any Indians left, due to loss of language and customs. We don't know who's Indian. . . that's one of the reasons I'm trying to promote Indian art. . . to restore some of the dignity. . . . There's so much untapped talent. . . they can be a great asset to the American economy." Lonnie wants to see a renaissance of Indian art.-348- Sharon Skolnick Sharon Skolnick is coordinator for the Indian Foster Care Program and is one of the co-founders for the Chicago Indian Artists' Guild. "We think that an important circle is formed when even two Indians join hands to sustain each other in a quest for an Indian vision of life. In September 1973 a number of Indian artists did join in such a quest . . . our small circle continues to paint, to meet, to criticize, and prod ourselves to new discoveries, to exhibit, and explain ourselves to the community at large." Sharon was born in San Francisco and raised in Oklahoma "as a country girl." She was adopted at age 9. Sharon attended a vocational high school and originally intended to be an architect. She attended two years of university in New Mexico and two years of art school at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe. Her family was opposed to her career switch, but she continued and took courses in dance, drama, speech, theater, and painting under a grant from BIA. There she "picked up a lot of things about being Indian." One of her main interests had always been drama. She won an award in New Mexico and worked with a professional theater group in New York. Recently the San Quentin Drama Workshop expressed their interest in starting an Indian theater. (This is a white group that uses the large theater on the second floor of the Indian Center.) But Sharon became well known for her paintings which focus on horses. Her major theme is "Courage is like a wild horse--freedom, strength, dignity." Her paintings are not realistic, but rather dream-like. She attempted to learn traditional techniques such as beading and basket-weaving, but had no interest or patience with it. "I like doing things fast," she says. She works with acrylics and paints with her hands. While at the Institute in Santa Fe, Sharon learned the old way of mixing colors and the use of traditional-349- symbols. She says much of the traditional religious feeling is lost or misplaced. She thinks it is sad that these feelings hadn't been brought out more. Sharon is about 30 years old and has been in Chicago for seven years. She looks forward to having the Chicago Indian Artists' Guild as a permanent, central gallery and workshop, with possible involvement with the theater group. I am optimistic about the Guild's endurance and I strongly recommend it for any funding available to arts groups. Lyman F. Pierce Mr. Lyman Pierce is Director of the Indian Training and Employment Program. He is an Iroquois and grew up on the Allegheny Reservation in New York. The reservation was 40 miles long and one mile wide until 1960 when the government built a dam, which used a quarter of the land. Since construction of the dam, houses have been relocated in two new settlements. The first schools on the reservation were Quaker schools, then four elementary schools were built. Children had to travel to town for secondary education. After high school, Lyman attended the university and received a B.S. in theology and psychology. He served in the Army as a chaplain for three years, spending one year in the U.S. and two years in Germany. Upon returning to the U.S. he attended seminary in Missouri and received a Master of Divinity degree. He earned a Master's degree in philosophy two years later at the University of Kansas. He was a parole officer in Ohio until his cousin, who was President of the Seneca Nation, encouraged him to apply for a job developing Indian Youth Councils in New York. He got the job, and after one year went to Washington, D.C. where he-350- worked for a year in the Office of Education. He then went to Buffalo, New York and earned an M.A. in education. After different jobs in Tennessee and Milwaukee, Wisconsin, he moved to Chicago where he became Director of the Illinois Indian Employment and Training Program. The program is doing well, and is operating largely on CETA funds. The program is responsible for forming the consortium of nine Chicago Indian agencies.-351- Native American Organizations American Indian Center National 1714 West Division Chicago, Ill. 60622 American Indian Center Alfred Waters 1630 West Wilson Avenue Chicago, Ill. 60622 American Indian Business Association Willard La Mers Lyman F. Pierce 1124 West Granville Chicago, Ill. 60660 American Indian Health Service 3957 North Clarendon Avenue Chicago, Ill. 60618