Pardon Me While I Wax Nostalgic

Russell Means died today.

 

Means was an actor. But he was also known as an activist, and leader of the American Indian Movement.  If you’re wondering how I have nostalgia regarding one of the most controversial Native Americans ever to live… well, it’s a long story. I’ll try to trim it up a little bit.

The year was 1973. The AIM had taken over Wounded Knee in an uprising, demanding the United States do a better job of sticking to the treaties it had made with the Indian nations.  Some of you might be old enough to remember the horrid conditions forced upon our Native American brothers and sisters who lived on the reservations. There was no getting off “the rez” back then.

I turned 12 in 1973. My grandmother had told me I had a Native American heritage (albeit watered down), though my mother had always kept that information to herself. You see, in the 60s, no one wanted to admit to being a “half-breed”, if they could keep it secret.

I’m not entirely sure why, but I spent a lot of time with my grandparents that summer. I had kids to play with back then who lived next door to my grandparents. There was a boy just a year older than me named Bobby, and his kid sister, Kimmy. Bobby and Kimmy were also part Native American. Their heritage was more prominent than mine. Grandma used to call us her “little Indians”.

As amazing as it might seem, for our ages, Bobby and I knew an awful lot about current events. We were very concerned about our Native American brothers and sisters at Wounded Knee and wanted to do something to help them. However, being 12 and 13, we were still children and had children’s ideas. First, of course, there was the blood pact… all good Indians had to become blood brothers (and sisters). I still refer to Bob as my big brother today. Now you all know why.

Next, we concocted in our imaginations how we would build a hot-air balloon and fly to Wounded Knee. We gathered up all the rubber raincoats we could find and were going to sew them together to make this balloon. Of course, it never got off the ground – but in our young minds, we had it all figured out. This is where my admiration for hot air balloons began. I don’t think we ever really figured out what we were going to do once we got there, but we spent most of our summer working on the balloon that never flew. It’s a memory I’ve carried with me all of my life.

 

Rest In Peace, Russell Means.