A Drumstick's Story - Part 2 of 4
by Joe Liles
The identities in these stories are occasionally fictitious.
The memories are real. With special thanks to Richard Crowe.

I told you last time how the old Cherokee man, Mr. Richard Crowe, made me from a dogwood sapling. I told you how strange coincidences carried me from Rattlesnake Mountain in North Carolina to Tennessee, Maryland, Connecticut, and then on to Oklahoma. 1 told you of the many things I learned while paying attention to the life that was happening around me. Well, it turns out, my learning and my life were just beginning. In Oklahoma, my new owner, Gene, took me many places.

I went to some powwows similar to the competition powwows of my past. But now I also experienced different kinds of powwows. I went with Gene to powwows held in honor of young people who were graduating from high school. I went to one that was held to recognize a young man who was going overseas to serve in the armed forces. I went to memorial powwows held to remember the life of a loved one who had passed away. I learned from these Oklahoma people that powwows are held for many, many different reasons. I learned how gratitude, honor, sadness, and celebration can all be combined in this unique kind of gathering. Then I heard Gene talking about going to a powwow called Red Earth.

His drum group had been invited to sing there In a big time drum competition. There was going to be competition in all the dance categories too. Indians from throughout North America would be coming to the Myriad Convention Center in Oklahoma City for Red Earth. Singers and dancers would be coming !n hopes of winning first place in their category. To tell the truth, many of them would be happy enough just to place. Well actually, most would be happy just to be there. I will never forget that Saturday night when I was at Red Earth. A special exhibition dance was held. Six dancers were picked from each category: Women's Shawl, Men's Fancy, Southern Straight, and more.

The MC told the history of each dance style. Then, the lights went down, a drum started a song, and a lone spotlight followed each dancer, one by one. It was so beautiful! After the Saturday night program was over, Gene took me to what the Indian people called a "49". It was held out at a place called Lake Thunderbird. This was like a party with a heaping helping of past tradition thrown in. Gene joined a bunch of other singers in a gravel parking lot on the edge of the lake. The singers stood in a circle and held a drum in the center.

They started singing by hitting the drum in kind of a roll. It sounded like thunder! This was the way they started the War Expedition Songs. I learned that, back in the old days, these were the songs that groups of warriors would sing to their loved, ones as they made their way around the village to say goodbye. Long ago, these songs related feelings of devotion, happiness, sadness, and all that comes when it is necessary to (cave the people you care about. I was surprised that night in the parking lot to hear English words in some of the songs. Songs like: "When the dance is over sweetheart, I will take you home in my one-eyed Ford!" These were the love songs of long ago. These are the love songs of today! Many of the people in the parking lot made circles and danced around the singers and the drum. They wrapped themselves in blankets. There was a lot of hand holding going on. I liked that feeling of romance, of love in the air! But I wasn't totally comfortable with one thing. There was a good bit of drinking going on. As time went on, the crowd got louder and louder. It was not long before a new guy pushed his way up to the drum. He made me very nervous. He must have thought he was a great singer, because he sure sang loud! Gene said that he needed a break. As he was leaving, the loud guy said: "Hey buddy, let me use that stick while you are gone!" I cannot believe that Gene did it, but he let that guy take me. Loud Guy beat the drum so hard with me. Too hard. The fibers of my being were bending almost to the breaking point. The singing and dancing continued for a while, but then things started to get a little sloppy. The drumbeat just wasn't the same. The feeling wasn't the same. I kept waiting for Gene to come back for me. "Gene! Gene! Where are you?!" I tried calling out. I was numb with fear as Loud Guy took me to the edge of the parking lot. He climbed into the backseat of a car. It was a Ford. It might have been a one-eyed Ford, for all I know. The next thing I knew, I was hanging from a nail on a wall in Loud Guy's apartment. I think I was still in Oklahoma City. I just hung there. Man, I hung around for a long time. I saw a lot of things, but everything was upside& down. I noticed one day that there were upside down people moving the upside-down furniture. "What's going on?!" I shouted, but nobody paid any attention to me. Before I knew it, Loud Guy was gone.

I didn't really blame Gracie. She didn't know any better. She just didn't understand. I started thinking about those simple days with Mr. Crowe. I started thinking about the fresh air on Rattlesnake Mountain. One day, Grade took me off the wall and didn't beat a rug. She stuffed me into a shopping bag with a bunch of other things and took me outside. She took me to a place called a pawn shop. The man behind the counter looked at each of the things in the bag. He gave Grade five dollars for a brass candlestick. I shouted: "Whoa! What's going on here?!" Are you selling me? Wait! I belong to Mr. Crowe. You can't do this! I belong to Mr. Crowe!"

But no one could hear me. Pawn Man gave Gracie three dollars for me. He put a tag on me and put me on a shelf in a glass case. I felt so degraded. Three dollars! I was worth a whole lot more than three dollars! I lay on that shelf for a long time. It wasn't so bad. I wasn't upside down. And thank goodness, I wasn't beating rugs. Pawn Man put me with all the Indian stuff.

There was a concho belt, some nice beaded rosettes, and a pair of fully beaded moccasins. I watched the world go by in that glass case. People came and people went. I heard a lot of hard luck stories. Most of the people were desperate for money. Some gave up their dearest possessions to Pawn Man, all for a little bit of cash. They only got a fraction of what their things were worth. But it did not seem to matter. It was true that they could always come back and pay some money and reclaim their possessions. But I never saw anybody come back. I was beginning to let the place get to me. I was starting to feel a little depressed.

But one day, I noticed a guy with long braids looking into the case. He mentioned something to Pawn Man about going to a place called Gathering of Nations. Long Braids asked Pawn Man: "How much for the drum stick?" "Thirty dollars." Pawn Man replied. Before I knew it, money was changing hands. Pawn Man took me out of the case, removed my tag, and handed me to Long Braids. I could tell he was a singer by the way he moved, by the way he held me. I did not know what lay ahead in my life, but for a while, a wave of happiness swept over me.

My story continues...