Thoughts on Indian gaming

I view Indian gaming as a historical accident. In our case, we were “poor as the day is long,” and in retrospect that’s probably an understatement.

There were a few circumstances that fell into place to make it easier for gaming to come to our reservation. In the early 1990s, the State of Kansas built a new $55 million dollar four lane highway that went right by our reservation. This made it only a 15-minute drive from Topeka, Kansas with a population base of 150,000 people and a 1.5 -hour drive from Kansas City, which has a population of over a million people.

In 1995, the State of Kansas approved a Tribal/State Compact but only after years of litigation that was costly to both sides. Fortunately for us, it passed without a sunset provision. The good thing is that we don’t have to renegotiate the terms every few years and give the state a cut of the action, as is the case with many tribes.

The tribe started a small casino shortly after this compact was approved and now we have a top of the line casino –1,043- machine facility - capable of creating significant wealth for the tribe to use in righting the wrongs of the past. We went through a couple of expansions to our facility and are debt-free. We all know gaming may be only a short window of opportunity and we have taken full advantage of this economic windfall. I’ve been around for a long time and have seen the poverty on our reservation, so the transformation is gratifying to witness.

To give a few examples of this transformation consider these improvements: We have concentrated on improving our infrastructure. We have poured millions of dollars into our people with jobs and services, buildings, roads, housing and park development. Today, we have a new government center, clinic, a new senior citizen center, Boys and Girls Club, Police Station, water treatment plant, a new Fire Station and state of the art equipment. In addition, we funded a new addition to our Childcare center. Gaming money has made it possible for more tribal members to attend the college of their choice. It’s an investment that will pay dividends in the future.

Once we had horrendous roads where we would literally get stuck in the middle of the main- road during rainstorms, but today we have many miles of blacktop road. In addition we have built many houses, 16 apartments, and duplexes for our people –both young and old. This will improve the living conditions of our tribal members. The last homes built on the reservation were with HUD development money in 1977 and 1985. A recent article said the only way tribes can make lasting change on reservations is to provide housing for its people and how can you not agree with that statement.

I’m a student of history and have seen many federal programs come to our reservation and nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, has had the impact on our reservation as gaming has done. I don’t mean to paint a perfect picture because we have had dissent on our reservation, just like all reservations, and we will have it in the future because people’s opinions and individual priorities can vary. We can live with arguments about money rather than one about having none to help our people.

I think how a tribal member who hasn’t been here for years would be amazed at the total transformation of the reservation and it is a direct result of the gaming revenues we have coming in today. We know it won’t last forever but we can show positive change to what once was a poverty-stricken area. My closing advice is for all tribes to tell their economic success stories because no one else can convey the true positive impact gaming has had in Indian Country.

Eli

Many years have passed since the Vietnam conflict, but the passage of time doesn’t diminish the memories for many veterans.

As a young man, Eli Wabnum wanted to join the army to participate in the Korean War. His mother, Edna, discouraged the idea of her son going to war. Eventually despite his mother’s protests, Eli joined the army. He completed two tours in Germany and one tour in Korea, before serving as a sergeant to 33 men in the Vietnam conflict. Before leaving for Vietnam, he told his mother he would still serve in wartime.

Experiencing the horrors of war are part of the inner workings of a veteran and unimaginable for the rest of us. But listening to Eli describe his harrowing past paints a clear picture of the pain and hardship of war.

Eli tells of an event he remembers from the Vietnam Conflict - he stepped on a land mine. “The only thing I remember is a flash of white as I got blown into the air. When I came to, I looked and saw another man lying nearby. I crawled to him to see what I could do to help. My men said, ‘Eli, you’re bleeding.’ Blood was coming out from the bottom of my shirt. They tore off my flak jacket and saw that I was hit in several spots with fragments from the mine.”

Eli was flown out in serious condition and underwent surgery. Post surgery, the Doctor told Eli he was going back to the United States. Eli had another agenda. He wanted to go back to his first responsibility - his men. After he recovered he was allowed to return to the battlefield. Looking back he proudly states, “Of the 33 men I led as a sergeant, 30 returned to the United States alive.

Even so, his accomplishments on the battlefield will never be fully told. Eli for the most part remained a private man who kept so much inside. But if you ask him about his musical background, he’s quick to share. He played the steel guitar while attending Haskell Institute and later while stationed in Germany. Eli smiled and said, “The girls hollered for me before they hollered for Elvis!” He was a descriptive story-teller.

Eli remained a respected member of the Potawatomi reservation until his death May 31, 2007. The war will no longer torment this old veteran.

Time to visit

I used to sit in my mother’s living room and we would have long talks. She would sit in her chair, by the lamp I bought for her one Christmas, on the west side of the living room and I would sit on the couch. Of course we would talk about everything under the sun and every once in awhile she would teach me Indian words. She said in Indian on one of those visits “how we didn’t have time to visit each other, mostly because everybody is so busy.” She was right and it’s still that way. I sometimes get caught up in my work and then I go home and stay home and watch the tube. Or in the summer time I work in my yard till dark. That usually translates into not seeing many people other than my family.

Well yesterday I had to take my grandson Pat ko shuk to the clinic (For the record, I took leave and filled out the appropriate paperwork), because he was sick and as a walk-in we had to wait for awhile. This is understandable. We couldn’t make an appointment because it’s fairly hard to know when your kids are going to get sick. But the point of this that it allowed me to visit some people I never get to see much.

They talked about where they are living now and the long commute to visit the clinic. Some talked about religion, and cultural things. Others talked about their birthdays, and how old they were getting and of course their health or current state of health. It was all good listening and drinking the strong coffee they had that day.

And last week we went to Bartlesvile, Oklahoma where Royal Valley dancers contested with other youth dancers. They took first place. Again it was an opportunity to visit some of my relatives and friends.

I think at times we forget the value of taking time to visit each other. It seems like facebook or email is taking away that face to face interaction and in some cases that might not be all that bad but I know I enjoyed those short visits. I need to do that at least once a year.

Larry, Gary and Eddie Mitchell

Me and Larry came into this world on February 8 of 1951 and Eddie in May of 52.

We grew up in that old four room house with no electricity. We had old kerosene lamps, which translated into going to bed early. We got electricity in 1959. We had no running water. Our water supply came from a near-by well and we carried the water into the house in buckets. This was for cooking and to wash ourselves in a basin. I guess you would call that a sponge bath. We had a wood-burning stove and that kept us warm, during those cold winter months and we had no in- door plumbing, but we had an out-house, something people only read about now.

Our Mother was an amazing woman. Besides being a good Mother and a fluent speaker of our language, she could cook up a meal in no time. I always thought her trademark was her biscuits. I could eat just those with butter. We were poor, but always had food on the table.

When school started, Larry and I went to the first grade at the little town of Delia. It was a white school near the south-west corner of the reservation. We sure didn’t fit in there and was out of place, but it only got worse because the next year, we went to boarding school in Nebraska. This included Eddie who started the first grade. It was a traumatic experience to leave home for the first time. We rode there in a transport vehicle - an old grain truck with a tarp over the top. We rode like that for 250 miles to Winnebago, Nebraska. We missed our mom real bad. We three became close because we relied on each other during this time. It took quite a few years before I got over the being lonesome for home thing. We were young, alone and honestly didn’t think anyone cared for us. It would have been a lot harder if Larry and Eddie weren’t there. I formed a deep attachment to those two. Later in life, I realized how poor we were at home and boarding school was the only option for us, but we didn’t know it then.

The first thing that happened on arriving at the school was that we got all our hair cut off. They must have been afraid we had bugs or something. We were given clothes and shoes and later winter clothes. At least our mother didn’t have to pay for those. She was poor enough.

The boarding school experience, which lasted for six years, was good in the sense that we learned how to work and to pray. Boarding school seemed like constant praying. We prayed when we woke up, at Mass, at breakfast, at dinner, at supper, at Bendiction and before we went to bed. We did learn how to do chores –f ixing our beds, scrubbing floors, washed dishes, pots and pans, ironing, laundry and outside work. Boarding school life fostered a work ethic in me that lasted a lifetime. Prayer, too, but I did go through a time of total withdrawal from any form of prayer.

Why? I suppose it had to do with the delivery from the Jesuits, which can be mildly described as harsh. Both the priests and nuns dealt out punishment on a regular basis, and I really think they enjoyed beating Indian kids - all in the name of the Lord. I don’t know how many times I was beaten but it was a bunch of times. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way we were treated. Maybe punishment like this was suppose to teach us something, but to this day I can’t figure what. Some kids would run away from the school, but they were always caught and they paid for their runaway adventure dearly. I was too afraid to run away.

We learned how to fight there. It was always something. We might be of another tribe or whatever, but fighting was an accepted way. The older kids always had to pick on the younger ones. The fighting was done out of the sight of the priests and nuns or there would have been hell to pay, so to speak. I think I lashed out because of frustration and anger from being away from home, but who knows, maybe I just liked to fight, but we took care of each this way.

Larry was held back in the second grade so they could separate us. We stayed at that boarding school for nine months and then we got to come home. It was hard to describe the feeling we had when we got to see our Mother again. We played outside about all summer long, swimming in the creek south of the house and a pond north of the house. We would run in a pasture south of the house, without shoes of course. The summers seem to go fast and just like that, it was time to go back to school. We never went to town, least-ways I never remember going there. We also rarely went to other houses on the reservation. Maybe we were too bad.

When we went to boarding school we were issued clothes, so my mother didn’t have to pay for that extra expense. One time I remember getting a pair of new shoes for school, and I was sure proud of them. During the summer we never wore shoes at all. We had tough feet and still do. I graduated from there in the mid-1960s.

From there I went to a local high school in Mayetta, well in fact, it was the only high school in Mayetta. Our football team at Mayetta was pretty good and went undefeated. We were 8-0 that first year. I played a lot, lettered, and enjoyed the game immensely. It was the most enjoyable part of school and I looked forward to the start of every school year because of that.

Larry and Eddie joined me the next year. They eventually started. I hurt my knee real bad between my sophomore and junior years. Before I hurt my knee, everything was so easy – the running, the hitting, tackling, blocking, but that changed gradually. I had to tape my right knee from mid-thigh to below the knee and had to wear a brace over that. We had a record of 7-1 in my sophomore year; 6-1-1 in my Junior year and 8-0 again in my last year. During my senior year, my knee was so bad that I couldn’t get through a game without it going out on me. It was discouraging. I still hung in there and played anyway, but the game was no longer easy. We did well in those four years, only losing two games. The crazy thing about football was that after every game we had to walk home, about eight miles because we didn’t have a car. Sometimes we caught rides, other times not.

But the most important thing was the brothers were together again, played football together, baseball, partied and spent a lot of time with our Mother. Good memories. Eventually I graduated from high school. Larry joined the army and didn’t finish high school. I guess you could say he went on his senior trip to a place called Vietnam. Eddie later joined the Air Force and I tried to join the Marines but the knee thing was too much and I got a medical discharge. I got married and stayed on this reservation and it is here that I will die.

We three brothers parted ways for a few years after that, but we were always in contact. Larry had a rough time in the military, spending a year in Vietnam and getting wounded. His life after the military was equally rough because I think he couldn’t forget what he had gone through.

Katie said "Larry had nightmares every night. Sometimes I would wake up with scratches and bruises on my legs. Thank goodness he wasn't too violent. He said in his nightmares he was frozen stiff and really couldn't move - like he was trying to run fast in water."

Somewhere along the line after years of hard living all of us pretty much straightened up, which made our Mother happy. We raised families and that was a full-time job. We would always get together at our Mother’s house for the thanksgiving bird and Christmas. Larry moved away to Minneapolis but we would drive our Mother to see him or he would get back home occasionally. It was like that for years then our lives unraveled.

Larry survived boarding school atrocities, racism when he worked for the postal system, Vietnam but he couldn’t fight off physical problems. He died November 16, 2007 of complications from a ruptured aneurysm in his brain. When they took him off the life-support system, me and Eddie stood by his bed holding his hand. He started to jump and I held his head down and he died in front of us, only eight minutes after they took him off the support system. It was a sad and horrible time and boy, it sure did hurt inside. I know Katie and her boys along with the rest of my family was in that room too, but it seemed like it was just me, Larry and Eddie again just like when we were put that farm truck and rode 250 miles to that boarding school a long time ago. We stood by each other then. We stood by each other in life - good times and bad and now we stood by when one of our own died. I closed his eyes for him. My brother was gone. I thought about what he said when he got to Vietnam and that guy who was coming home said, "It's all over but the crying."

In the weeks after, it was like I was in a daze. I would sit in the carport, and smoke and just stare at the wall - talk about damn depression. And Voncile had a case made for his flag and it now hangs in my basement office or office corner, along with all my pictures. Dumps took a picture of Larry when they went up to Minneapolis for a basketball tournament, he looked happy- that too hangs in my corner.

Sometimes people leave before we’re ready to say goodbye. He was only 56 years old. We were no strangers to death before this. My brother Bubs died in 1984. Mom died in 2001. Mike died in 2003. Plus we lost my stepdad, Boze Wamego and my nephew Clint. All of it was hard, but at least my Mother didn't have to see two other sons die.

I guess we take too much for granted. I figured Larry, Eddie and me would live to be old guys. It didn’t work out that way. Next month, I will have another birthday without Larry. I still miss him. Me and Eddie will always miss him.

One Potawatomis look at 2009

The Year of 2009 had it's ups and downs but isn't that true on most Indian reservations?

In a semi-political sense, I was reelected to another four year term on our gaming commission. Elective positions are what an old guy called "here today, gone tomorrow jobs." I think those are wise words because you never know. On the positive side, I enjoy working in the regulatory field, I'm near home, my religion and my family which is a gigantic plus. At the end of this term I will be eligible to retire. Maybe I will do that or maybe it's best to keep your options open. If I retire I can work in my yard and garden and I might be like the Godfather - be working and suddenly keel over. Oh well, I could think of worse ways to die, right?


My granddaughter married a U.S. Marine and moved to San Diego. Tara has been with us since she was a baby so her moving is a big change for all of us. But, we have four other grandchildren to keep us occupied. The beat goes on and there is no time to get lonely.

Our tribe started building a 18-hole golf course this year and I watched them work on it every day on my way to work. It will be a tough course. We toured the course in a golf cart and there are several holes where the creek meanders through, so it will be decision time - lay up or go for it. Most hard-heads thinking they are Tiger Wood clones will go for it, but there is only one guy like that and he sure doesn't live around here. Oh, the chronic cheaters will come up with their transgressions and have consistent low-scores, but for most it's going to be tough. I guess everybody can't be honorable like Tiger Woods on the golf course.

I'm a political animal and political events watcher and every financial initiative is worked over pretty good around here. In one meeting it can be voted in and the next voted out. The clinic comes to mind but for some reason the golf course escaped that fate. Without all that drama, the course moved along nicely and it will be a great addition to the Potawatomi landscape.

Allow me to take a hard right on memory lane for a second. When my brother Larry died suddenly a couple of years ago, I pretty much gave up the game. Before that we enjoyed playing the game and our times together even if it turned into a competitive thing. We both looked forward to playing 18 holes of golf and we got to play some damn good courses and some damn bad ones. Those days will always remain on the positive side of the old memory bank. I'm sure he's working hard on his game for our rematch.

Now with the new course coming on-line and my grandchildren nagging me to get back out there, I will probably give in and get back out there. But I'm sure the yard and garden work won't be allowed to go by the way-side though. Plus I have to get out there with Jim Potts, B.J. Darnell and Frank Shopteese. Frank is a transplanted Texan who saved our team many a time with his great game.

2009 had it's low side though. We lost some really good people. Mike Jackson died in July of cancer as his sister did in the early part of the year. Janell Cadue died in October of cancer. Albert Pahmahmie died in November of cancer and Henry Pahmahmie died of health complications in December. All of them were really good people and were my friends for a good number of years.

Who knows what will happen in 2010, but it's to our benefit to get up ever day and enjoy the ride while we can. When you get older, it's all you can do. Happy New Year!

The Pictures on the Wall

Our casino has added some old pictures from an era long since past of tribal members. They are attached to the pillars in the gaming area. I think it’s great and the casino people should be commended for this positive action. With the pictures on the front entrance and now these on the inside of the casino this puts our casino up there with the best. Prior to this, I thought Soaring Eagle Casino in Michigan and the Meskwaki Casino in Iowa had done the best job of showing and displaying some of their traditional values.

We have to recognize and remember the old people who stayed here on the reservation through thick and thin. It wasn’t always great here. It is now late December of 2009 and we are bracing for more bad weather with ice and snow in the immediate forecast, but we have more resources to fall back on now. This was not true for some of these people in these pictures. We can make a fast trip into town to get our supplies whereas a long time ago bad weather made that doubly hard. My Aunt Jane said back then, they had to stock up on items when they did get to town, in case an emergency came up or bad weather. If our electricity goes off, we can go to the hotel or some of the tribal buildings that are now equipped with generators, but in the old days they had to have a pile of wood to keep warm. Today we have suitable housing and jobs close to home. The people in these pictures had to travel many miles to work or move away entirely.

Some of the pictures show our traditional dress style and it is great and the beadwork is also tremendous. Some of the pictures came from private collections of tribal members who saw the value of sharing. The Potawatomi would go dance at rodeos, pow-wows and at our old fairgrounds. Somebody understood the value of preserving a great moment in time.

During the Depression and War years, traders passed through the reservation and the old people being poor as the day was long would sell some of their prized possessions, such as beaded vests and dresses, to get by or to purchase needed supplies. I’m sure some were victims of exploitation too. That’s why a person can see some of these items in museums and in personal collections. Those are lost, but it is a chance to copy the beadwork patterns by looking at these pictures and duplicate them. So all is not lost!

HP

The other night, Henry Pahmahmie died at his home. He turned 59 in August. He’s been sick for awhile with a heart problem and I guess he refused to go to the doctor. So many of us are bull-headed like that!

We’ve known each other for close to 46 years starting back in Pony League days. Larry and I played for a Hoyt baseball team and we won our league and thought we were pretty good. One time we played Delia, in an inter-league game, the team Henry played on and he threw a no-hitter at us. Boy, that guy could throw that ball.

In high school we played football together for three years, he was one grade up from me and our teams did well. During the four years I was there we had a lot of Indians start and we only lost 2 games in that time. One of the losses was to Denison 14-7. I played defensive end and Henry played the other end. They would run a sweep at me but I made the tackle every time so they went Henry’s way and wiped him out and scored. After the game I told him “well, at least they didn’t score around my end.” He was mad at me for a long time after that, but got over it. I always wanted to win. He made all-league four years in football and scored about 20 points a game in basketball.

On one of our baseball teams, he pitched us into the state tournament. We beat a Lonnie Kruger-led Silver Lake team in the regional finals 3-1, but it was because of Henry’s pitching that we did that. It sure wasn’t because of the rest of us. He had the size and the arm to really do something but he didn’t have the drive, but he remains the best pitcher I ever saw in these parts – then and now. I didn’t go out for baseball my senior year because I told the rest they wouldn’t be worth a damn without Henry and I was right.

After school, he joined the army and went to Vietnam but never talked about those days whatsoever. Later on we played softball on different teams and eventually got us a team of local Indians. We were pretty damn good winning 88 trophies over the years. Henry pitched and threw a knuckleball. Man, I could never hit that damn thing either. I don’t want to give you the impression I couldn’t hit because I could, but some guys just had my number.

Our team started to fall apart in 1984 when my brother Bubs died. It took the wind out of me and I eventually gave up the game entirely. Henry named his boy after my brother – Andrew. I watched his kids grow up. They are good kids. His daughter Josie could hit the ball a mile and I used to tell Henry "damn she can hit it further than you."

I guess you could tell that we gave each other a rough time, but that’s the way it was. In an earlier life, when we partied together the football, baseball and softball stories were told every time and they weren’t lies. The others would say “oh not again,” but in time the stories stopped until now. He had his faults, I had mine but we were friends.

It’s a rough go seeing so many of my family and friends dying off. All of us should appreciate life, no matter how it’s served up to us.