Indian Traders

In the old days, maybe 1925 or 1930, the traders to the Navajo and the traders to the other Indians set up business in remote areas. The names were strange for people who had gone to Stanford or Yale. Names like Chinle (Chin Lee), Wide Ruins, Acoma, Zuni, Dinnehotso, Lukachukai, Teec-nos-pas. These places were connected to civilization by excellent dirt roads. That is, they were excellent where they had not been washed out by a flash flood or if it was not raining, or if it was not winter or if the ruts were not too deep.  One of these places was Kayenta. There the traders were a wonderful family including four brothers named Wetherill. All the traders had places which had facilities which were very flexible. If a party of two arrived at 6:00 P.M. with no warning, they would get supper, conversation and a place to sleep.

THE RUG SELLER

One year, perhaps the early nineteen thirties, we were in Santa Fe, and staying at the La Fonda. One day, a trader whose name I have mislaid, called and asked if he could show Mom and Pop a few exceptional rugs he had for sale. He was invited to the room and when he arrived we were all there.

He had four or five rugs with him. How he accomplished the task of getting them into the room I do not remember. He showed them to us, talking a blue streak. For those who are younger than I, that means he never stopped. I remember one rug in particular. It was an elderly, very finely woven Navajo. He told us how wonderful it was, that it could hold water, etc. Then he held it up for us to see. We could see right through it. It was full of holes.

The man continued to tell us how fine the rugs were and how honest he was. He was not, he told us, like that kike Seligman on the plaza. The second he said the word "kike" Pop's face changed. He immediately invited the man to leave, and amidst a deafening silence, the man folded his blankets and left.

THE KACHINA

Peter Nuvamsa lived in Shungopovi on Second Mesa in the Hopi Reservation in Arizona. He was extremely intelligent, amazingly handsome and a gentleman.

One time, in the late 1930s, Peter was in San Francisco, and came to our house to dinner. After dinner, we all went upstairs to the library. There was a little porch just off the library and on the porch was a small bookcase. Visible from the library, in a nook in the bookcase was a kachina.

We all went in the library, Pop sat on the couch and the rest of us sat around the room. Peter remained standing, looking out into the porch. Finally he said "Charlie, can I look at that kachina there?" Pop told him he certainly could. Peter went over, picked it up and examined it closely for a long time. Then he came back into the library with it and said, "Where did you get this?"

Katchinas are made for a number of reasons. They are made as dolls, to be played with by the children, they are made for tourists and they are made as representations of the various gods to be guardians of the niece or nephew of the uncle who carves them.

Therefore, Pop said, "I really don't remember, Peter, -- some trader down there." Whereupon Peter said, "I made this for my niece and gave it to her." Well, we all knew what that meant -- either the girl or her parents had sold it, and that was very, very bad.

In those days, I took pictures. So I asked Peter if I could take a picture of him with the kachina. He said yes and I went to work. I got out my big lights and my tripod. The whole picture-taking episode must have taken forty minutes or more. Then I spent a good part of the rest of the night developing and printing the picture. By the time I finished, the house was dark -- the party was over. Next day I delivered the picture to Peter.

He remained Pop's friend and certainly my friend, and the kachina was never mentioned again.

 
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