INDIAN BOARDING SCHOOLS--FOR INDIANS ONLY--PART 1 by Cheryl Pierson

It’s interesting to me to read the different viewpoints on old Indian boarding schools and orphanages—and even hospitals—that were in operation to accommodate Indians, and assimilate them into white society. Living here in Oklahoma, we have a few of the now-defunct facilities scattered around our state—one, Concho Indian School, not more than about an hour’s drive from my house. Let’s take a look at the beginnings of these schools and how they came into existence.

Richard Henry Pratt was the man who came up with the idea of boarding schools for Indian children. These schools would remove children from the reservations when they were very young, send them to a place run by whites, and immerse them in white culture. This would obliterate their “Indian-ness” and encourage them to cope with and join into the world as it had become—white.



Mr. Pratt founded Carlisle Indian Industrial School in1879 in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and compared to genocide—which was a much-discussed option—seemed to be the only “reasonable” alternative in those days to annihilation of the Indians that remained after the Indian wars were over.

Some Indian parents willingly sent their children, but many (I would venture to say most) were threatened with imprisonment and loss of their food rations. Eventually, they understood there was no choice, and said tearful goodbyes to their children as they were shipped off. The boarding schools at that time were hundreds of miles away—Carlisle being the flagship school, located in Pennsylvania. One of Oklahoma’s most celebrated Indian athletes, Olympian Jim Thorpe of the Sac and Fox Nation, was sent there.

Once the children arrived, everything was taken from them. Their clothing was burned, in many cases, and they were provided uniforms. Their hair was cut short. Even their names were changed. And, they were forbidden to speak their native tongue—for most of them, the only language they knew.



In many boarding schools, everything was done by bells. No talking was allowed among the children—even among brothers and sisters. Punishment for doing so was beating or confinement.

By 1902, twenty-five federally funded boarding schools in fifteen states and territories had been built, with more being planned. Over 6,000 students were enrolled in these institutions. But only seven years later the system was coming under fire. Though graduates had been trained for factory or farm work, neither could be found on the reservations they returned to. No jobs for these young adults waited once their schooling was finished, and so returning to the reservations meant dependence on the U.S. Indian Agency rather than taking jobs that allowed them to provide for themselves.

Boarding schools were there to stay, though, and remained open for over 100 years, into the 1980’s.
The Concho Indian School I mentioned earlier, opened in Darlington, Indian Territory, in 1887. It was replaced in 1932, and again in 1969, until its doors were closed for good in 1981due to budget cuts and defunding.



According to many, it was a horrible place—and it wasn’t the only one. Stories of abuse of all kinds—physical, sexual, and emotional—run rampant. In fact, there is a psychological condition called CSDT or Constructionist Self Development Theory that has been identified for survivors of these schools, wherein they develop their own theories as to why this kind of upbringing was “good” for them—it made them stronger; it made them a “fighter”, and so on.

Survivors’ descendants tell of some of the horrifying experiences their relatives endured, and the abandoned Concho Indian School building is said to be haunted by the spirits of some of the young victims, hoping for justice after all these years.

One woman writes: I’m an Indian and my grandmother told me bad stories of this place…many children from my tribe were taken and some were never heard from again. I hate the thought of this place.”

This post barely scratches the surface, and I will continue next month with more about orphanages and hospitals “for Indians only.”

In my novel, GABRIEL’S LAW, Brandon Gabriel and Allison Taylor first meet in an orphanage run by a ruthless headmaster. Though it was not a place strictly for Indians, the unhappy circumstances Brandon and Allie are faced with here forges the beginnings of trust, with love to come in the future.


I will be giving away an e-copy of GABRIEL’S LAW today to one lucky commenter!


Here’s the blurb:
When Brandon Gabriel is hired by the citizens of Spring Branch to hunt down the notorious Clayton Gang, he doesn't suspect a double-cross. When Allison Taylor rides into town for supplies, she doesn't expect to be sickened by the sight of a man being beaten to death by a mob. When Spring Branch's upstanding citizens gather round to see a murder, nobody expects to hear the click of a gun in the hands of an angel bent on justice. Life is full of surprises.

Brandon and Allie reconnect instantly, though it's been ten years since their last encounter. She's protected him before. As Brandon recovers at Allie's ranch, the memories flood back, and his heart is lost to her. He also knows staying with her will ruin everything. She's made a life for herself and her son. She's respectable. She has plans * plans that don't include him. But could they?

Trouble is never far away, and someone else wants Allison Taylor and her ranch. Danger looms large when a fire is set and a friend is abducted. Allie and Brandon discover they are battling someone they never suspected; someone who will stop at nothing to destroy anyone who stands in his way. As Brandon faces down the man who threatens to steal everything from him, he realizes he is desperately in love with Allie and this new life they are making for themselves. Has Brandon finally found everything he's ever wanted only to lose it all? Can Brandon and Allie confront the past, face down their demons, and forge their dreams into a future?


If you just can’t wait to see if you won, here’s the Amazon link!
http://www.amazon.com/Gabriels-Law-Cheryl-Pierson-ebook/dp/B00K2I2JRM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421794538&sr=8-1&keywords=Gabriel%27s+Law+by+Cheryl+Pierson

PIONEER LIFE - MOVING TO INDIAN TERRITORY 1899

Those who know me have learned that I love genealogy and draw on family stories and names for my writing. Here is an excerpt of a family story about a the Garton's, lateral family, moving from Hill County, Texas to Oklahoma in 1899. The entire account is too long, so this is a portion taken from when the family had reached what would later become Harmon County, Oklahoma.

We camped at Mr. Brim’s because he had water. There was an empty dugout nearby. We moved into it because it was so cold in the tent. We had a sheet-iron stove, but there wasn’t any wood. Willy had pneumonia. The gyp dust of the dugout turned out to be worse on him than the cold, and so we had to move back into the tent. [Note: Dugouts were painted inside with gypsum solution, but also there was a lot of gypsum in the ground in this area.]

Dugout in Indian Territory
Oklahoma Historical Society

            It didn’t take long for us to get initiated to the hazards of living on the prairie. Rain was our chief concern. Everyday we searched the skies for rain clouds. When we saw a rain cloud approaching, we always remembered what a settler’s wife had told Papa when we camped out on Turkey Creek. He had gone to try to buy food for the animals. He asked if it ever rained in Greer County. In a long drawn out tone she replied, “It don’t never rain in Greer County, but when it does, it don’t never stop.”

            

Prairie Sandstorm

       About two or three weeks after we arrived in Martin, we experienced our first sandstorm. Murray and Papa were digging the dugout, and the rest of us were working around the tent. We had spread all the bedclothes outside on the grass so they could air the damp out. We saw the black cloud coming from the north. We thought it was a bad rain cloud. It hit with all the fury of a spring rainstorm, but it was only wind and dust. Mama struggled to get the bedclothes off the grass while we kids fought to keep the tent from falling. Even Willy, who still had pneumonia, was trying to help. But the tent collapsed in spite of all our efforts. After it was over, Papa and Murray came running to us. Papa said that he had never been so frightened—he had thought the world was coming to an end! Later we found our pillows a half-mile away hanging on a barbed wire fence.

            After that experience, we watched the skies for rain, those ominous black clouds, and another cloud of a different color. This was a gray cloud that meant an approaching prairie fire. All of the settlers feared these fires. Everyone plowed his fields to make a fire guard; but if the wind was strong, nothing could stop the fires. We were never burned out, but we lived in fear that we might be.

            Murray and Papa finally finished the dugout. There we were—seven kids and Mama and Papa—and we didn’t own one dollar in cash. Mr. Brim helped Papa get groceries “on account” in Quanah. He had a fenced garden spot that he said we could use. Mr. Payne let us milk two of his cows. Then we started breaking land with our horses and that old mule. We didn’t make any crop that first year, but we did get all of the land broken. The second year we planted maize and cotton. Papa would dig the holes and I would place the seeds in the holes. The maize was the old goose-necked variety that grew as high as a man’s head and then curved back toward the ground. We had to cut each head separately with a knife. It was difficult for us to reach. Our hands would get cut by the sharp blades of the leaves and, once in a while, by the knife.

Red River, courtesy Chisholm Trail Assn.

            We had to go to Quanah, Texas for everything. It had the closest railroad. Four or five families would sometimes get together and go over there because we had to ford the Red River. If the river was up, all of the horses would be hitched together in order to pull the wagons across one by one. We had to tie everything down in the wagons or we might see our supplies floating down the river. We would never know whether or not the river would be high. There might have been thunderstorms further west we knew nothing about.

            It seemed like we were always in debt to that man at Quanah. I remember one of the first years when we made a good crop. Papa went to Quanah to pay off our bills. When he came home, he said, “Well, Susan, I didn’t tell you, but now I’ve paid it off I guess it can’t hurt to tell you. I mortgaged the mule last spring.” Mama was shocked. She fretted the remainder of the day. She said over and over, “Just think, if we hadn’t made this crop, we’d lost that mule, and then how would we have broken the land for next year’s crop?”

            We made pretty good crops when we first came to Martin. The land was fresh and would grow anything if we could just get enough rain. Our biggest problem was getting water. We had to haul it from Quanah or catch it in rain barrels. When it rained, we filled every available container with water.

Plowing with a mule

            The year after Papa mortgaged the mule, he traded it for the price of digging a well. The man had to dig 115 feet before he hit water. We had to draw all our water—even for the stock. Whose job do you think that was? Talk about “the good old days!” If I didn’t think Mama or Papa were watching, I would drive the cattle away—they would drink too much.

            Our next biggest worry was the damage caused by the open range policy. Before the Herd Law was passed, the cattle would eat our maize crop and trample our cotton. There weren’t any trees around for fence posts. All the lumber had to be freighted in from Quanah. Besides that, barbed wire cost money, and we were always short of money. Willy got a job in Texas. That $10 a month he made sure helped us. One of most vivid memories relating to that open range policy was the day two bulls got into a fight on the top of our flat topped dugout. We were afraid to go outside because they might attack us, and we were afraid to stay inside because it sounded as if any second they could come crashing through the roof. Finally, they gave up and went away.

            I was just nine years old when we moved from Texas. Oh, how homesick I would get for all those beautiful trees I used to climb (I was the tomboy of the family) and the creeks I used to wade in. I missed our big house too. Everything got so dirty in the dugout. My brother-in-law Ed, who had said this country wouldn’t sprout black-eyed peas, brought my sister Attie to see us. They decided to homestead north of us. We were all together then, and I knew there wasn’t much hope of going back.  

            All of us children had to work in the fields planting and harvesting. In the winter we went to school. I loved school and secretly dreamed of going back to Texas to high school. My aunt offered to take my older sister Lucinda and send her to high school so that she could become a teacher. When my sister refused, I asked Mama if I could take her place, but she shrugged it off by saying that I was too young and should stay at home.

Dean, Johnson, other families

            Sunday was a big day for us. Everyone in the community gathered at church. After the services, all of the relatives would go to one relative’s home for dinner and visiting. Sometimes we would have a church picnic and singing after church. All of us looked forward to those particular Sundays.

            Thanks for stopping by!

RAIN SLICKERS AND GUM BLANKETS - STAYING DRY IN THE OLD WEST

LOST HEARTS- Blurb

The Lawman—Haunted by flashbacks he can’t remember, from a war he wants desperately to forget, U.S. Deputy Marshal Richard Bennick arrives in Indian Territory carrying warrants for the notorious outlaw Peirpont Bodine and his feisty, irreverent son, Johnny.

The Outlaw—Trapped in a life of violence and abuse, Johnny Bodine lives in fear of men. Disguising her femininity, she retreats into her imagination and dreams of a family who loves her.

Together—Forced to trust each other as they journey through the dangerous Choctaw Nation, a unique bond of love forms between outlaw and lawman that can only be broken by Richard’s oath to uphold the law and the justice of the hangman’s noose.

Excerpt-Steady rain woke everyone well before sunrise. Rain ponchos of India rubber were thrown on and plates of cold beans passed around for breakfast.
Miserable without rain gear of her own, Johnny stood at the end of the chuck wagon, beneath an
open-sided, water proofed canvas tent, washing the breakfast dishes while the cook packed up the camp. The tension that had twisted her stomach muscles into a knot when the one-armed deputy rode out last night, eased when she saw him ride up alongside the wagon.
Beyond the circle of lantern light, he was nothing more than a black silhouette against a backdrop of dark gray sky. He dismounted, leaving his horse ground tied, then grabbed one of the lanterns hanging from a pole and strode past her on his way to the front of the wagon. It tipped to the left when he climbed inside.

A moment later, the large, burly man who’d been hired to drive the prison wagon, brushed by. "Don’t I get a gun?" he asked from outside the wagon.

"I thought you drove a prison wagon before," the deputy snapped as his silhouette bent and shifted behind the canvas.
"Sure, I rode a few posses an’ such, but I always had me a weapon."
There was a slam, hollow and solid, like the lid on a wooden box. The wagon lurched again. The deputy swung his legs over the seat and jumped to the ground. "The driver for the prison wagon never carries. It’s too dangerous."
The glow from the lanterns reflected off his black poncho and rain dripped from the brim of his dark hat. The low light deepened the circles which underscored his red rimmed eyes. She doubted the man’s surly mood would improve during the day.

"Come on, Deputy, can’t I even have me a little pig sticker tucked in my boot for comfort?"

"No. You were told no weapons. That’s the rule."
"Can’t ya bend the rules? That Bodine’s a dangerous man."
"Look, Hobbs, is it? I don’t bend rules for anyone. Ever. And because Bodine is dangerous is precisely the reason you are not to carry a weapon."
"I guarantee the only way Bodine will get it is to kill me first."
"Then he’ll still have it won’t he?"
"But—"
"No weapons. You don’t like it, get your gear and get the hell out of here." The deputy swung around and slammed into Johnny. "What do you want?" His broad hand clamped onto her shoulder, then he spun her around, and shoved her toward the back of the prison wagon where Brady had the other prisoners lined up.

Author Kathy Otten at book signing event

Thanks to Kathy Otten for being in our guest spot today. You can find out more about Kathy at http://www.kathyotten.com/

 

When I wrote my novel Lost Hearts, I knew there would be a scene where the deputy marshals had to ford a swollen river. For this to happen I needed it to rain, but I didn’t like the idea of my deputy wearing a mustard-yellow rain slicker. So I researched this indispensable item tied behind every cowboy’s saddle.

The Fish

Developed in November of 1881 by Abner J. Tower, the Fish Brand Pommel Slicker cost about 3.50 and yes, it came in a more hero worthy black color. However, the black slickers were unpopular because they became stiff in cold weather from the paint added to the linseed oil. Many westerners also found that black slickers spooked the horses easier than the yellow.

The Fish, as they were commonly called, came down to the ankles and had a long, wide skirt with a slit and gores in the back to also cover the horse and saddle. It closed with a fly-front and big metal buttons with the word, "Tower" on them. The collar was lined with red flannel. The early slickers had no pockets. Later, two side-pockets were added with slit openings inside so the cowboy could reach his pants.

To keep them wind and waterproof, cowboys painted them with linseed oil. Slickers became, "stiff as rawhide," in winter and got very sticky in hot weather. They had to withstand much abuse and on occasion they were used to beat out grass fires.

Cowboy Wearing The Fish Pommel Slicker

When not being worn they were rolled inside out and tied behind the cantle of the saddle. However the Fish became so popular most cowboys didn’t own coats. With a couple of wool shirts and a vest underneath, a rider could stay warm in most weather. But if it was damp a man could freeze to death at a higher temperature in a slicker than wearing any other garment.

The Fish was so popular the design has hardly changed over the past one hundred and thirty years.

I was very happy with this information and gave my hero a black slicker, knowing his horse was too smart to be afraid of it.

LOST HEARTS made it to the first round of edits when my editor questioned whether my color choice was accurate. Because I’m always worried about making an error I can’t change, I went back to double check my facts.

Confederate Prisoners at Gettysberg

1863, each with gum blanket roll

Yes, black was an original color, but Abner J. Tower didn’t invent his Fish Brand Pommel Slicker until 1881 and my story took place in 1877. Doggone it, how could I have missed that? But I did miss it and had to go back and change all my slicker references to the black Civil War gum blanket.

The gum blanket was made of 100% cotton canvas with a vulcanized black rubber coating, a process patented by Charles Goodyear in 1844.

Gum Blanket

The gum blanket was used as a ground cloth to protect the soldier from the dew while sleeping and with brass grommets around the edge, it could also be used as a make shift pup tent. It was used for protection from the cold and when used to for protection from the rain, it would keep the soldier dry from about the knee up.

While foot soldiers were issued a gum blanket, cavalry troops received a poncho, which was the same thing except with a neck opening and a stand-up collar. They were both call a Gum or Gum Blanket.