Siletz news letter., June 01, 1990, Page 4, Image 4

PAGE 4 - SILETZ; OREGON
June 1990
.
WHEN SÍVIÓKE GETS «Ñ YOUR
EYES
BY: Jonathan Nicholas
Night stalks like a tiger, unseen yet
unforgiving. Darkness pads through the forest,
creeping ever closer until the last lingering
shadows are devoured.
Silence settles on the cedars.
A single high-pitched whistle.
A solitary beat from the elkhide drum.
From deep inside the firepit, hiding
place of history, some flame of memory begins
to flicker. And the great planked walls of the
potlatch house soften and grey and glow. The
firelight forces open the doors of perception,
and, without pause or invitation, the past soars
in through the smoke.
Suddenly he appears, this immense
figure- at least 350 pounds - garbed in his
enormous button blanket, his massive head
serving as plinth for a huge cedar headress.
His hands are the size of canoes, and into them
he sweeps us, carrying us off on the tide of his
imagination.
Chief Lelooska has committed himself to
a singular pursuit - to making the unseen world
palpable, to escorting us to a time and place
where everything in nature has life and power.
The tools of his trade are the masks of
the cedar and salmon people, the Indians who
lived along the 1,000-mile, rainsoaked stretch
of coastline that ribboned north from the mouth
of the Columbia River.
The curator of the big-time Back East
museum was feeling pretty proud of himself.
Here, at last, was the old Indian chief, touring
his prized collection.
Surely, he thought, the visitor would
gaze in awe at the magnificent masks, each
ensconced in its own temperature-controlled
case, preserved for all eternity.
But in the chief's eyes, where the
curator expected to see admiration, all he saw
were tears. "A mask," says Lelooska, "means
nothing to us when it is empty. It has no song,
no story, no smoke."
The Indians of the Northwest Coast had
no written traditions, the entire history and
mythology and folklore of the tribes was
preserved by the masked dancers, who handed
their secrets down through the generations.
And no Indian wore a mask, used a song
or dance, w ithout earning the right-by
marriage, by heredity, even by war.
So powerful was this tradition that in
the 1920's the Canadian government, seeking to
solidify its hold on Northwest tribes,- outlawed
potlatches, and the showing of masks and
dances. Masks by the truckload were hauled off
to museums. Masked dancing remained illegal
until the 1950's.
Illegal, but alive.
Masks retained their power because
they never were seen outside the ritual, never
glimpsed other than through alder smoke and
firelight's shadow, where drum and chant and
passion gave them life as Raven and Wolf and
Bear.
To the child reared on teen-age mutant
Ninja turtles, Angry Bear might seem like
pretty tame stuff. But Lelooska finds in the
business of impressing fourth-graders, a little
woodsmoke goes a long way.
Lelooska, born Don Smith, is a
Cherokee, who came West to become the leading
expert,on the folkcraft -of the Northwest Coast
Indians. In recognition of his skill and passion,
he was adopted by James Sewid, hereditary
chief of the Kwakiutl people, and given the title
of "Chief of Chiefs".
His carvings of masks and headresses,
house posts and totem poles, are highly coveted
by collectors. But he dedicates one third of his
time to telling stories, especially to children.
Each year as many as 15,000
youngsters come to the Lelooska family
compound at Ariel, Wash., there to sit around
the fire and step into the past.
Lelooska, aided by his cast of family
dancers, lures his audience back to a place
"where the world of the imagination is just an
arm's reach away."
The performance may be ragged around
the edges, some of the dancers seeming to have
one foot in the future rather than on the beat.
Lelooska knows. And smiles. "Even when the
dancer is wearing Nikes," he says, "the masks
still come to life."
Bringing them to life, he says, is the
challenge. The reward is building bridges to the
young before they get their prejudices, before
they come to think of Indians as lazy and stupid
and drunk, or worse, as dead and gone.
One day, likely not too distant, these
dances will be on display in Disneyland-with
simulated firelight and spray-on cedar scent.
But for now, in the woods of Southwest
Washington, it still is possible to peek at the
real thing, thus peering clear through into the
past. Especially when the smoke fills your
eyes.
graves from' unnecessary disturbances.
W alter Echo-Hawk,
the Tribes'
attorney, expressed the three Tribes'
appreciation by stating, 'I hope that the rest of
the country will; be as sensitive as the people of
Kansas in helping Indian people to rebury their
dead relatives that are presently warehoused in
museums, federal agencies and universities.
TAKEN IN ENTIRETY FROM THE OREGONIAN. :
REBURIAL CEREMONY HELD
The deceased ancestors of the three
Indian tribes who have been on public display
over the last 50 years have finally been put to
rest in a tribal reburial ceremony conducted by
the Pawnee Tribe of Oklahoma.
The reburial ceremony for the 146
ancestors of the Pawnee, Arikara and Wichita
Tribes was held on Saturday April 14,1990.
Because of the sensitive nature of the
ceremony, the event was closed to the general
public. However, over 50 invited guests from
Kansas who are representatives of the public
(including the Governor, Attorney General,
Lawmakers and County Commissioners )were
invited to attend the ceremony.
The tribal reburial ceremony marks the
end of a three-year struggle to close the so-
called "Salina Burial Pit" that offered tourists
for $3.50 fee a view of the bodies contained in
the burial ground that was opened to the public
in 1935. The bodies are estimated to be around
600 years old. Strong tribal opposition and
public outcry led to the pit's eventual closing in
1989.
The reburial effort, spearheaded by the
Native American Rights Fund as legal counsel to
the three Tribes, ended in the signing of the
"Treaty of Smokey Hill" which provided for the
reburial of the bodies and compensation for the
owners of the land. The Kansas Legislature
passed necessary enabling legislation for the
Treaty last Spring. The Legislature also enacted
a state bill that bans unregulated public displays
of human remains and protects unmarked
DEPOE BAY CHAMBER
HONORS CHIEF DEPOE
Chief William Depoe, well
known as a "good will" ambassador of
the Siletz Tribe, was awarded an
honorary membership in the Depoe Bay
Chamber of Commerce at their monthly
luncheon this March.
Jn recognition
appreciation o f
O w ts -ta n d in g C o m m u n ity S e rv ic e ,
C t r s z f 'T 'Ü ítfía tn 'D & p o e
is Hereby n a m e d an
’s K c m & ra T i} M e m b e r
o f tb e
(Depoe T>ag Cbamber o f Com m erce
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