REPATRIATION SOLILOQUY
for Hunter Bear, Micmac Man
 
 
The moment I saw you in that eye-popping oil painting—
forty inches wide by forty-six inches tall,
fiery red background framing your cowboy hat,
brim drawn down, further shading sun-glassed eyes,
pipe clenched in the corner of bear-jaws,
denim jacket drawn open across the relaxed expanse
of your white-shirted torso, elbows jutted outside
the portrait’s border, open book balanced
in your right hand and
in the center of all this unnerving masculinity
sat two cups of your favorite drink, coffee—
that moment I knew I’d have to be the painting’s caretaker.
 
My husband’s lips tightened, face went ashen
as I paid the artist—your brother—his asking price.
Back home, the portrait, named Micmac Man,
got relegated to our basement den
 
where many nights I retreated,
beating my brains for understanding about why your image
should hold such sway upon my soul
like a Marlboro Cowboy gone amok,
sniffing the spoils of an unraveling animal—
easy hog-tying points.  Then
 
I remembered your classroom style and teachings—
a great oak, unperturbed by winds,
always fighting for grass roots people—
miners, migrants, Native Americans,
Black citizens caught up
 in the Jackson, Mississippi lunch counter boycotts.
Your family life bespoke a discipleship
of which I was incapable. 
Thank God your detachment
from academic indoctrination
 
led me to ancient stories of Migoum’agi—
land of the Micmac—
how Kesoulk made Glous’gap, who, in turn taught the People
to thrive in a new creation.       
Faintly I began to hear the sweet notes of a flute’s song
nudging me towards that same country—beckoning me to
another beginning.  One day I left
the material comforts of my home, your portrait in tow.
 
For nearly a decade your image hung central in my homes
from Rock Island to Washington, DC and back to Chicago.
I called you a “marriage spoiler,”
for in your exalted position over my couch,
male visitors seemed to squirm, uneasy with
my MITH—man in the house,  
quintessential Indian Cowboy,
favorite professor,
clear-sighted justice worker—
all rolled into my inner MYTH of masculine psychology.
 
One man—Alec Azure—wasn’t fazed.
He knew you as a compassionate friend,  
was one of many who accompanied you on visits
to Fort Madison Penitentiary’s Indian prisoners.
 
After we wed, he mildly suggested
the dominant red of your portrait’s fine image
could brighten the interior of NAES College’s
 fire-renovated white-drabness.
 Opting for domestic harmony,
I donated you away to the college—
hung Micmac Man high in the central stairwell
where all of us who worked there daily passed
under your confident, laid-back calm.
 
After Alec passed to spirit—after I left the college’s employ, 
your portrait was removed down to the archives,
where you stayed until a decade later
when the time of your repatriation at last  arrived.
 
It wasn’t easy getting you out of that place
with me then living in southeastern Connecticut.
My Chicago friends—mostly women—said they’d help.
In the dark of night,
your portrait strangely astir,
they carried you out of NAES,
detached the canvass from its frame
staple by rusted staple,
rolled you up in bubble wrap
and sent you on your way
over interstate roads from Chicago to Pocatello.
 
Maybe it was a multiplier effect
of good medicine unleashed
by a web-based tribute from your friends—
students, colleagues, comrades-in-arms, family and the rest,
hundreds banded together—
that led to your release from that dark storage, from
the near lethal grip of Systemic Lupus.       
 
On the other hand, as you once suggested,
your own Bear Medicine unrolled its Power,
returned you and Micmac Man to where you belong,
front and center in that place you now sit—
will always sit—
among family and friends, enjoying camaraderie
and those cups of early morning coffee.
 


 
Alice M. Azure
Maryville, IL 62062


 

 

VERY SPECIAL TRIBUTE PAGE FOR HUNTER BEAR -- FROM MANY,  MANY FRIENDS   [MARCH/APRIL 2004 into 2007].  MUCH SOCIAL JUSTICE MATERIAL. THIS IS A LONG PAGE AND MAY VERY BRIEFLY STOP AT A POINT OR TWO.  IF SO, IT WILL QUICKLY RESUME.  IN RARE CASES, YOU MAY NEED TO BACK UP SLIGHTLY AND THEN MOVE AGAIN.  THE LAST ITEM IN THE  TRIBUTE ARE THOSE ACTUAL PAGES CONTAINING THE PERSONAL AND RELATED DATA FROM HUNTER'S OWN ANCIENT I.W.W. RED MEMBERSHIP BOOK.

[Frequently Up-Dated] [Latest Up-Date  June 16, 2008]

 

As a boy, I shot my huge Coming of Age Bear -- deep in the vast Sycamore Canyon wilderness area in Northern Arizona.  At that point, I then became a man. The fiery spirit of the Bear and its abundantly
fine qualities -- intelligence, courage, stamina, instinct -- are with me always and have served me very well and faithfully on my swift and rocky River of No Return.  I plan to do much more in my life -- much more indeed -- before the eventual trip into the Fog and Deep Canyon, up over the High Mountains, and Far Beyond to the Shining Sun in the Turquoise Sky that glows forever down on the Headwaters of Life. And when that Journey finally comes the great Bear will accompany me.    Hunter Gray [Hunter Bear]  Fall 2005

SEE ALSO SOLIDARITY MESSAGES, 2008:   http://hunterbear.org/birthday_solidarity_messages.htm

 

From Sam Friedman: "It is an amazing outpouring of love and respect.  Not just for today, but as something we can show our grandchildren and they can show their grandchildren to say, "This is what you can aspire to."

From Lois Chaffee:  "It is a great tribute - I'm very glad that you can see the impact your life has had on so many other lives and so many significant events.  Best to you all." 

From Heather Booth:  "Hunter, You have captured our hearts and spirits.  I am so glad you like the web site and know some of the impact you have had not only on those who have been with you in common struggle, but also those of us who are moved by your example."

 

From Bennie G. Thompson -- Mississippi Congressman -- in Tribute Remarks before United States House of Representatives:

PLACED IN THE UNITED STATES CONGRESSIONAL RECORD 

TRIBUTE REMARKS HONORING JOHN HUNTER GRAY -- BENNIE G. THOMPSON
(February 10, 2004)

- BENNIE G. THOMPSON
OF MISSISSIPPI
IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

Mr. THOMPSON of Mississippi. Mr. Speaker, I would like to recognize Hunter
Gray, a civil rights activist involved in the southern movement from the
summer of 1961 to the summer of 1967.

Hunter Gray, formerly John Salter, took the name of his Native American
family some years ago and has been one of the Nation's most ardent advocates on behalf of Native rights. He was recently diagnosed with a severe and possibly fatal case of lupus that has also brought on a bad case of diabetes.

John Salter was very active with the Jackson, Mississippi, NAACP and boycott [1963]. He was in the trenches with Medgar Evers and others during the civil rights movement from 1961 until Evers was assassinated.  He also wrote a book titled, Jackson, Mississippi: An American Chronicle of Struggle and Schism (1979).

Hunter Gray's commitment to civil rights has continued throughout the years. He and his wife Eldri, who has been a partner in the struggle for equality for 40 years, now live in Idaho. He has been hospitalized several times over the past few months , and his medication and hospitalization costs are very expensive. Many of his friends are organizing a testimonial and fund-raiser to let him know how grateful we are to him for his many sacrifices and contributions to civil rights, Native American and labor causes.

For further information on Hunter Gray, I refer you to his widely read Web
site at www.hunterbear.org
.
Hunter Gray has left a formative mark on the shape of Mississippi history.
I thank him for his service to civil rights and to Mississippi. I ask that
you keep him in your prayers and meditations.

BENNIE G. THOMPSON, MISSISSIPPI

U.S. HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES

 

HONORED BY THE 2005 ELDER RECOGNITION AWARD

I am honored -- humbled -- by the 2005 Elder Recognition Award of Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers. This is one of several
awards voted by the Caucus [board] of this organization of writers,
storytellers, film makers, and journalists. I was nominated by
Alice Hatfield Azure [Mi'kmaq] -- an honor in its own right.  As are
other fine expressions of appreciation, this is extremely  meaningful to
me and our family. And to all of those with whom I have worked and
for whom I have written -- and from whom I have always learned much
indeed -- this is for them a tribute as well.

I am in very good company.  Among the honorees is Alice's other nominee,
Catherine A. Martin for Film-Direction in The Spirit of Annie Mae.  And
Emory Dean Keoke, with Kay Marie Porterfield, received the award for
research with respect to their American Indian Contributions to the
World [5 volume set]. [Emory is an old friend and former student.]

[The previous recipient of the Wordcraft Elder Recognition Award was Maurice Kenny, Mohawk, teacher and playwright and poet, who received it in 2000.]
 

 http://www.hunterbear.org/elder_recognition_award_for_2005.htm   Regularly updated.

The foregoing Elder Recognition Award page contains a large number of fine comments.


HUNTER GRAY  [HUNTER BEAR/JOHN R SALTER JR]   Mi'kmaq /St. Francis
 Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
 www.hunterbear.org
 Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
 and Ohkwari'
 

 

 

Hunter Gray Tribute and Fund

 

Visit Hunter's Invaluable Website: www.HunterBear.org

 

 

 

 

All material on this website
Copyright © 2004
by John Salter
unless otherwise copyrighted.


Protected by
Na´shdo´i´ba´i´ and
Ohkwari'


Send New Material

This website is updated periodically as new material is sent in.
 
Please submit additional written materials brief or long - articles, poems, messages, short well wishings, etc. to: Stephen Harvey swh10@shaw.ca
 
or to Maria H. Salter  maria226d@hotmail.com
 

MESSAGES:

1. Jim Loewen, Washington, DC

2. John Henry Sime  Readstown, WI
3. Charles Bracey Chicago, IL
4. Heather Booth, Washington,DC
5. Dale Jacobson Grand Forks, ND
6. Stephen Harvey, Courtenay, B.C.,Canada
7. Joyce Ladner, Sarasota, Florida
8. Roy T. Wortman, Gambier, Ohio
9. David Ranney, Washington Island, Wisconsin.
10. Steve Rossignol, Blanco County, Texas
11. David Finkel and Dianne Feeley Detroit, MI
12. Reber Boult Albuquerque, NM
13. Clyde Appleton, Tucson, AZ
14.) Joan Mulholland (Arlington, Virginia)
15.) Tim McGowan (Rochester,NY)
16.) Steven F. McNichols (San Francisco,CA)
17.) William Borden (Royse City, TX and Bemidji, MN)
18.) Kass Fleisher (Normal, Illinois)
19.) John Salter (Glyndon, Minn.)
20.) Duane Campbell (Sacramento, CA)
21.) Stephen Zunes (Santa Cruz,CA)
22.) John Lacny (Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.)
23.) Joan C. Browning (Lewisburg,WV)
24.) Edward Pickersgill (Guelph, Ont., Canada)
25.) David MCReynolds New York, NY
26.) Jerry L. Severson (Grand Forks, ND)
27.) William Mandel (Oakland, CA)
28.) Ed Nakawatase (Philadelphia, PA)
29.) Theresa Alt (Ithaca, NY)
30.) Vivian E. Berg (Mandan, ND)
31.) Louis Proyect (New York,NY)
32.) Michael Hirsch (New York, NY)
33.) Rev. Edwin King (University of Mississippi Medical Center) Jackson
34. Sheila B. Michaels, St. Louis, Missouri
35. Macdonald John Enoch Stainsby, Vancouver, BC, Canada
36. Dan Hittner, Brooklyn,NY
37. Quinn Brisben Chicago, IL
38. Barry Cohen New York, NY
39. Steven F. McNichols San Francisco, CA

40.  Steve Rutledge  Charleston, W Virginia

41. Matthew McDaniel Maesai, Chiangrai, Thailand

42. Elliott and Muriel Ricehill  Black River Falls, WI

43. Sandra Thompson St. Cloud, Florida

44. Peter Gray Salter [Mack] Lincoln, NE

45. Alta Bruce  Belcourt,  ND

46. Alice Hatfield Azure  Mystic, Conn.

47. Zonnie Gorman  Navajo Nation and Gallup, NM

48. Dorothy Lockhart  Skokie [Greater Chicago]  IL

49. Susan Kelly Power  Chicago, Il. and Standing Rock Sioux Reservation, ND.

50. Johnothan Buffalo Tama, Iowa

51. Willa Cofield [Willa Johnson]  Enfield, North Carolina and Plainfield, New Jersey

52.  Robert Carr,  Navajo Nation and Winslow, Arizona

53.  Tougaloo College Class of 1964

Robert Calhoun
 

Lavern Johnson Holly
 

Annie Belle Calhoun ('65)
 

Carrie Lapsky Davis
 

Doris Browne
 

Memphis A. Norman
 

Shirley Barnes Laird
 

Jerrodean Davis Ashby
 

Rita Huddleston Parker
 

James C. McQuirter
 

Sylvia Davis Thompson
 

Deloris G. Daniels
 

Albert E. Lassiter
 

Gwendolyn R. Ross
 

Emma J. Campbell
 

Charles E. Quinn
 

Norma Jean Lathan
 

D. Camille (Wilburn) McKey
 

Ruth M.(Moody) Byrdsong
 

Norweida (Rayford) Roberts
 

Joan (Trumpauer) Mulholland
 

Bennie Cohran
 

Shirley (Wells) Green
 

Joyce Ladner

 

Steve Rutledge

 

54.  Celine Nally, Stanley, New Mexico

55. Jason Schulman Brooklyn, New York

56.  Honorable Benny Thompson, US Congress, Mississippi

57.  Karin Kunstler, New York City

58.  Andrew Braunberger,  Mandan ND and Minneapolis, MN

59.  Sally Hunsaker Webb, Arizona
 

60.  Philip Damon, BLM, Pocatello, Idaho

61.  John Beecher [1904-1980]  Birmingham, Alabama

62.  James Anderson Dombrowski [d. 1983] New Orleans, La.

63.  James S. Richardson, Flint, Michigan

64.  Carl L. Hime, Navajo Nation and New Mexico

65. William F. Winter, former Governor, Jackson, Mississippi

66. James Wesley Silver [d. 1988] Mississippi

67. Burl Good Soldier [Burl McCaslin],  Spirit Lake Sioux Nation

68.  Susan Mary Power, Twin Cities and Standing Rock Sioux Reservation.

69.  Gordon H. Henry, North Dakota

70.  Arthur Hillman [1910-1985], Chicago.

71.  Alex Gaby, Rochester, New York

72. Thomas Armstrong, former Tougaloo student

73. LaDonna Brave Bull, Standing Rock Sioux  Res

74. Dawn [Donis] Lough, Iowa City, Iowa and Meskwaki Settlement

75. C.B.  Scott Jones

76.  Mary Ann Hall Winters,  Chicago [and Mississippi]

77. Eric Meinhardt  [Grand Forks, ND -- and the World]

78.  Chuck Levenstein, Massachusetts

79.  Carol Held,  Utah

80.  Mato Ska, Albuquerque, N.M.

81.  Colia Liddell Lafayette Clark,  New York

82.  David Nolan, St. Augustine, Florida

83.  Roma Law / Roma LaVoie, North Dakota and Arizona

84.  Scott Winter and Adam Nossiter, Nebraska and New York City, respectively

85. Darren Eisenzimmer, Champin,  MN.

86. Alex Westad, White Bear Lake, MN.

87. Bret [Quick Bear] Salter, Glyndon, MN.

88.  Bette Ann Poole Marsh, Tougaloo and Chicago


POEMS

1. Hunter by Sam Friedman  New Jersey [and New York, NY]

2. For Hunter Gray by Dale Jacobson  Grand Forks, ND
3. Horicon I & II by Alice Hatfield Azure, Mystic, CT
4. His Courage is a Beacon (For Hunter) by Norla M. Antinoro, Tucson, AZ
5. Restless Bear by Robert Whalen Gately Phoenix AZ
6. The Bear by Samantha Salter, granddaughter  Pocatello, ID
7. Ecological Musings by an AIDS Researcher, 2/11/04
by Sam Friedman, New Jersey [and New York, NY]

ARTICLES

1. The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom

August 28, 1963
by Martha E. Ture, NAV Feature Writer [Fairfax, Marin Co., CA]

ART

1. Painting of Hunter by his brother, Richard Salter, 1978.   [Wisconsin and GTO Mexico]

2.  Painting of Hunter's father -- John Salter, Sr./Frank Gray -- by Richard Salter, 1978. [Wisconsin and GTO, Mexico]

__________________

ESSAY

GHOSTS [HUNTER BEAR]

_________________

SHORT STORY

THE DESTROYERS [HUNTER BEAR]


 

An Open Invitation To Participate
In This Tribute To Hunter

We have put together
this web site,
to recognize Hunter Bear's remarkable life and commitment to justice at a time when he has been stricken with Lupus.

We're asking everyone to send in articles, stories, well wishings,thoughts & comments, humor, insights ... that you would like included (memories, hopes, prayers, appreciations), to Stephen Harvey at swh10@shaw.ca or to Maria H. Salter maria226d@hotmail.com

Submissions are most welcome and will be periodically added to this work in progress webpage.

We welcome other suggestions and offers of assistance in this recognition of an inspiring fighter for justice.

We hope you'll volunteer in the spirit of solidarity and common struggle.

Your participation will add to this wonderful tribute.

Please submit written materials brief or long - articles, poems, messages, short well wishings, etc. to: Stephen Harvey swh10@shaw.ca

or to Maria Salter maria226d@hotmail.com
 


GHOSTS   [HUNTER GRAY / HUNTER BEAR DECEMBER 22  2003]

Note by Hunter Bear:  In just several days, this particular post has drawn a flood of  continuing praise.  Here are just a few of many indeed:

"This near-death experience by an authentic American hero--who was deeply involved in the Mississippi civil rights movement among many other principled stands--is so moving that I have to share it with you."

Steven F. McNichols [Civil Rights and Civil Liberties Attorney]
San Francisco, CA 94104-3503  12/21/03

great writing. xo Kass Fleisher  Author of forthcoming THE BEAR RIVER MASSACRE  [Spring 2004]    12/22/03

 I have forwarded this to my sons, calling it a wonderful read by a wonderful man who has led a wonderful life.  The whole thing belongs in your autobiography, including your present illness, because that will tell readers about your character.  And I urge you once again to get it written pronto, making arrangements for your writer and editor sons and whoever else to finish the job if you don't.

Bill [William Mandel]  Activist and author of many books -- including SAYING NO TO POWER  12/21/03

Oh, John!  This is wonderful.  Even with your terrible illness, your strength shines -- blazes, really.  My warmest gratitude to you and Eldri.  Paz.  Clyde    Clyde Appleton, Tucson, a close radical activist friend from the '50s.  December 27, 2003

Having been a subscriber for less than a year, I have very much regretted not having the opportunity to meet this man.  Knowing what I've learned of him through these pages inspires me to let him know that I very much appreciate his contributions and will miss him when he is no longer with us.  My wishes are for his impact to influence my thought world and that of others for many seasons and for his continued strength to continue to be with us for as long as he needs to be.

Marie Jackson, SNCC discussion list, January 6, 2004

ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING!  Dale Jacobson  Poet and Scholar  January 23  2004

From Tiffany: 2/21/05

Wow!  All that I can say is that I'm amazed.  i know you've probably heard
this so much that it's old, but your writing ability is incredible!  I'm
totally blind, lost my sight at two months old, have never been to Arizona,
and yet I saw the places to which you were referring.  I felt that I was
with you as you made that journey.  Then again, what else should i expect
from such an admirable figure as yourself?  [Tiffany]


 

GHOSTS
 

I was suddenly but gently aware that I was standing at the edge of a large
stand of tall, slim jackpine timber.  I was in a very strange half-light
that I had never before experienced.

I dream little -- at least in any recollective sense --  at any time.

But this was no dream of any kind. I had gone to sleep that night in our
'way far up home on the far western edge of Pocatello, Idaho.

I knew precisely where I now was:  several yards from our old and quite
isolated and remote -- and almost roadless -- family hunting  camp on the
very edge of the vast and beautiful Sycamore Canyon Wilderness Area
southwest of my hometown of Flagstaff, Arizona. Through eternity, the always
flowing Sycamore Creek continues  to cut at glacial pace -- deeper and
deeper.

I was looking from the Canyon's east rim directly west: down at the western
slope which then rose sharply to its rim -- in contrast to our eastern area
which had some substantial sloping regions in its upper setting. Then I
looked across that western rim and the widespread cedar plains that
dominated that side.

I looked southwest -- looking over a dozen mountain ranges that stretched
very far off toward the Colorado River -- and the California border.

And then  I was looking south: many, many miles down the Great Canyon into
Sycamore Basin and  its vast, and cedar-sprinkled open reaches -- bounded by
small mountains and high ridges.

And then beyond, directly south into the Verde Valley with its sprinkling of
tiny towns and scattered, often downright hardscrabble folk.

And then up above the Valley -- up the slopes of Mingus Mountain -- where a
handful of lights signaled the tenacious existence of the once fabulous
copper mining town of Jerome.  It had been a ghost town since the early
1950s -- and it was still legend.

Now the Great Canyon pulled suggestively -- and it pulled south.

And then, suddenly, I knew I was in Borders -- a complex of them.  And I was
also at Choices.

I had to go south -- directly down into the innards of Sycamore and then
southward 'way, 'way through the Canyon -- into the Verde Valley.

I had done that before -- a long time ago.

I was extremely ill with a sudden-striking and mysterious illness called
Systemic Lupus -- and the very worst and  deadly form of that particular
version of the oft lethal disease.  It had struck only a very few months ago:
widespread rashes, fever, extreme weakness, body pain, swelling -- all sorts
of deep disorders. It has no cure.

And the  destructive variant  with which we are dealing -- what my doctors
call
"a very serious case" -- attacks and threatens lungs, liver, blood vessels,
kidneys, and a number of other critical organs with a bloody passion.

In less than four months, I've been in the Pocatello mountain hospital three
times -- and  have come extremely close to dying at each  beginning point in
those week long stays.

This Lupus could  and will attack literally Anytime -- with virtually no
warning.

Early on, even before Lupus had been specifically diagnosed, our immediate
family gathered to do my Will in my hospital room: Eldri [my spouse of 43
years], myself, Maria [school staff] and her two children -- Samantha [13]
and  our grandson/son Thomas [21], Josie [just graduated from Idaho State in
Social Work].  Our two oldest sons, Beba [John ] a writer; and Peter, a
newspaper editor; each worn to the  bone from travel exertion arrived on
schedule:    Beba had come from Fargo to Lincoln, picked up Peter, and they
had driven a thousand miles to Idaho,

It's the Will of a Native family: solidarity, consensus, communalism.  While
a surprised -- and in some instances discomfited hospital staff  watched and
listened surreptitiously -- we took it point by point.  The family was the
executor committee and could choose its spokesperson when the time came; our
home -- very new, relatively large, big yard area, best view in Pocatello ,
rapidly climbing value -- would remain in the full hands of the family with
Maria authorized to use it throughout her life and the others able to use it
at will;  our big historical and contemporary Native arts and crafts
collection would remain forever in the group and nothing could be taken nor

sold. [Beba subsequently drew up an intricate codicil which provides for
very careful loans to reputable exhibits and institutions; same basically
for my quite large collection of Western American and Western Canadian
radical labor material.]  There is more, of course -- but mostly on a share
and share alike basis.

Once Eldri and I are both gone, and the Will then locks in with total
finality, no changes can be made in any  dimension of it save by bona fide
family consensus.  But it's a very close and tight outfit indeed.

Back home, I typed it up, and all signed via notary plus witnesses.

And Eldri and I did  a Living Will which provides for moderate efforts to
resuscitate.

After that there were more very close brushes with Death, twelve physicians,
twenty pills a day.

But before we ended that meeting, Beba raised a final point: looking at me,
he asked, "What do we do with you?"

"Cremation," I said slowly.

"And the ashes?" he continued.

"In the end there's only one place," I said. Heads nodded.

And that  -- our historic and long ago hunting camp, to which as a  Teen  we
had brought the huge
 Black coming-of -age bear which I had a lifelong mandate to kill and did --
is where I now stood.

Now I began walking slowly --- still in half-light -- down the trail into
the Great Canyon.  And there I hoped  to travel all the way down the Canyon
and into and through the Basin to the Verde Valley.

And Jerome glittered on Mingus Mountain.

--------------------

Jerome, Arizona. July 10, 1917.

Two hundred thugs armed with Winchester 44/40s, pickaxe handles,  and
baseball bats designated themselves a "Loyalty League" with the blessing of
United Verde Copper Company.  The great IWW-led copper strike, [Industrial
Workers of the World] -- from Butte to the Mexican border -- necessitated by
wartime inflation and static wages, had just begun.  The so-called
vigilantes rounded up 75 key  Jerome strikers in the early morning hours of
that terrible day, beat them badly, placed them in United Verde boxcars, and
took them far westward to Kingman, Arizona on the California border.  When
many tried to return, they were jailed at the Yavapai County seat of
Prescott.

Two days later, on the Mexican border at Cochise County, 1200 strikers and
sympathizers were rounded up by hundreds of Loyalty League vigilantes with
the full backing of the Phelps Dodge Copper corporation and local lawmen --
and taken by boxcars to Columbus, New Mexico where they were dumped in the
desert with neither food nor water.

In the early morning of August 1, 1917 at Butte,  Montana, a major IWW
leader, organizer, and copper strike coordinator -- the Cherokee, Frank H.
Little -- was hideously murdered by gunmen employed by massive Anaconda
Copper.

Blood dark clouds gathered in the Western copper country where memories are
very long indeed.  They are still there -- now, to this very day,

There was much, much more  anti-labor and anti-radical brutality across the
West -- and eventually the country itself. No one was ever punished for
these atrocities.  And then the Federal government itself rounded up 150
leaders of the IWW, quickly convicting them [along with Gene Debs, the
socialist], of the completely spurious charges of "Espionage" and
"Sedition."

That was long before my time, of course,  But the historic, always
remembered Jerome Deportation was -- along with the racist brutality and
economic exploitation of Flagstaff and many regional environs -- a key
factor in my own eventual radicalization at  barely 21.

--------------------

The half-light didn't change -- but I had no difficulty seeing and
navigating. The Canyon was forty miles long, north to south, and I was
taking the lower 30 all the way to the end.  But for me now time and distance
were meaningless.

For a few moments, I studied myself.  I was big, very muscular, much hair.
I wore my traditional J.C. Penney wide-brimmed hat, Levis, worn blue Western
shirt,  heavy and steel toed logging boots cut slightly  long ago by a
mis-aimed double-bitted axe blow.  I carried my old 30/30 Winchester lever
action, with its curved butt plate and long octagon barrel.  On my left hip,
I packed a large hunting knife.

And I had energy! -- energy I had not had since the hideous disease had
struck many weeks before.

Almost 50 years earlier, in May 1955, I had taken this very route over a
major junket of several leisurely days. [I know of no contemporary person in
those days -- and maybe even to this day -- who ever made that trip.] I was
a basically healthy kid -- but there were problems.  The Army, in which I
had just served a full stretch --  very honorably by its standards -- had
left marks. I had a brand-new IWW  card.  This was fine by my parents, but
they still hoped [and Mother pushed ] for a "respectable" career to which I
was resistant. That far off trip through Sycamore  -- coming home to my very
special setting -- was in large part to organize my own thinking.

In the course of that Great Trek , I explored some vasty side canyons coming
down off the western rim. I saw ancient Indian ruins in cliff settings --
the location of which I would never reveal.   The entire journey featured
all sorts of wild game -- much of it not afraid of me at all -- and I saw
hundreds of elk antlers, seasonally shed  in winter grazing areas.   At one
point, I saw huge bear tracks -- very fresh -- under Sycamore trees which
had been clawed eight feet or so up.  This was grizzly sign -- even though
no grizzlies were supposed to exist anywhere in Arizona by that time.  At
another point, resting on a knoll above Sycamore Creek,  I heard a noisy
crashing sound coming in toward me through the brush.  I waited.  Suddenly,
a huge jet black long-horn bull emerged nosily, limping from an old wound on
one back thigh evidenced by old lion or bear claw scars.  He drank from the
creek.  When he had finished, I asked him quietly, "How are you doing
today?"  He jerked his head up -- had never, I'm sure, seen a human creature
before -- and looked directly at me.  Then   he turned and plunged back into
the brush.  He was a direct descendant of many generations of purely wild
cattle, stemming from Spanish gold mining operations in the latter 1700s.

Eventually, when the geology had shifted into the Great Verde Fault, I found
rose quartz -- gold-bearing quartz -- but I would never reveal the location
of that, ever.

In due course, at the lower end of the Great Canyon, I emerged into the land
of our two old hermit friends -- Joe Dickson, a  retired hard-rock miner and
Jerry Greaves, a former merchant seaman.  They lived in the Old Packard
Ranch and I spent a day with them, telling what I'd seen.  They were a bit
disappointed that I had not cut the sign of the Lost Spanish Mine, somewhere
in the vastnesses of Sycamore, guarded -- according to legend --  by the
ghost of a black-robed Spanish priest.

And when I soon "came out" in the comparatively "civilized" Verde Valley, I
was  very much together.  Not long thereafter, I went with my family to
Mexico where Dad painted and lectured -- and I spent the month studying that
fascinating nation's radicalism and union movements.  And then to sociology
at the University of Arizona and eventually to Arizona State University --
fine enough.  But almost immediately I  fortunately connected with  radical
and democratic  -- and consistently embattled --  industrial unionism. My
organizing career all over the country in Native rights, labor, civil rights
and liberties, social justice in general,  has been -- no false modesty --
successful.  I still keep going.

Now I was at the bottom of the Canyon, turning south, downward.  Sycamore
Creek's familiar running and rippling and splashing noises were old and
friendly music. And so was everything else I experienced-- almost all of
which I remembered with the most intricate clarity -- as I walked, slowly
but strangely down, down Sycamore, mile after mile after mile. Again, time
and distance meant nothing for me here,  I was extremely happy and I liked
my thinking.

And then I was suddenly  awake -- in my bed on the far western frontier of
Pocatello. It was dawn and the half light was gone. I was weak, utterly weak
and felt generally like Hell.  My one-half Bobcat, Cloudy, nuzzled me.
Eldri was cooking breakfast and my daughter, Maria, handed me a huge cup of
super strong black coffee.

My head, as always was very clear.

"If you had to choose," my newspaper son Peter asked a few days ago,
"between physical health  on the one hand and your thinking and writing
ability on the other, which would you take?"

"My mind always," I replied.


And what I do know is that it's critical to keep fighting -- and to always
remember that if one lives with grace he/she should be prepared to die with
grace.

How much time do I have?  Maybe lots, maybe not much.

But I'd like, too,  within the now somewhat narrowed borders of my
canyon-of-life, to help others do some good things as well. Let me know.

In the mountains of southeastern Idaho.

Nialetch/Onen

Hunter Gray  [Hunterbear] Micmac / St Francis Abenaki/ St Regis Mohawk
Late December, 2003
www.hunterbear.org
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
and Ohkwari'


In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings.  Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunter Bear]

_

THE STORMY ADOPTION OF AN INDIAN CHILD -- MY FATHER

[HUNTER GRAY/HUNTER BEAR/JOHN R SALTER, JR] JUNE 11 2004 WITH JULY 6  AND JULY 9 2004 ADDENDA

 

Dear Hunter,  [July 8 2004]

Thanks so very much for sharing the details of your father's adoption that you experienced.

It is a valuable addition to those who are interested in William Mackintire Salter.  Oh that we had his voice telling us the story. 

I shall be sharing this bit of history with the archivist of the American Ethical Union and a few others that have been interested in you and your ancestors' lives.

Life is busy here and I never get everything I wanted to do done in the day.  I'm sure you have the same problem.  We are all grateful for your writings.

Most Cordially,
Dorothy Lockhart
Ethical Humanist Society of Chicago

 

Hunter: The more we learn about you and the remarkable connection of
various individuals in your family to important circumstances, events,
and movements in this country's history, the more urgent it seems to me
that you assemble it all into an autobiography. In my own case, I
started with my grandparents, but they did not represent the kind of
diversity, in every sense of the word, that yours and their forebears
do. Your book would SELL, and in my view a hell of a lot better than
mine has, among other reasons because you write very well.
                                William (Bill) Mandel  7/9/2004


Hi to all,

So glad to hear from you, hope all is well with you!!

Love & Prayers

Alta M. Bruce
Indian Health Service
Injury Control Specialist

Belcourt, ND 58316   [8/4/2004]



NOTE BY HUNTER BEAR:

This is hard to write about.  Initially [7/9/04], I posted this only on Bear Without Borders. As of the end of this July, however, I have expanded it somewhat and am sending it out much more widely.

This is not an argument against sensible and committed cross racial
adoptions.

This page, now on our Lair of Hunterbear website,  deals with
my Native father's adoption by a well-known liberal activist family, William
Mackintire Salter and Mary Gibbens Salter.  Their brother-in-law, Professor
William James of Harvard, initially opposed the adoption -- not because Dad
was an Indian but because of the limitations of the Salters.

"I can't help from expressing the feelings which have been besetting me
throughout the day, and growing hourly stronger, about the Salters' project
of adopting a child. The plan seems to me fraught with terrible risks for
the remoter future and with a present inconvenience which I should think
would be fairly disastrous. If they were younger, securer in health, and if
they dwelt in the country or in a rural town it would be different. And it
would be different if, being as they are, they were richer. It would be
different also morally if they were now leading merely selfish lives and not
devoting themselves to arduous public ideals."   William James, to his
mother-in-law, Eliza Putnam Webb Gibbens, June 20, 1900.

Among his several liberal affiliations, William M Salter was active in the
almost all-white Indian Rights Association -- which, during this era, was
mistakenly pushing the cultural assimilation of Native people.  The IRA
was encouraging its members to adopt Indian children.

Dad was essentially a full blood.  His mother, Mamie E Gray
[Wabanaki and Mohawk] and his father, Thomas Taylor [Micmac
and Maliseet] were Northern Maine Indians.  [A portion of Thomas Taylor's family became closely involved with the Penobscot Nation,  near Old Town, Maine.]

When the adoption did occur, William James and his family got
vigorously behind it.  William M Salter, however, soured badly on it
 -- although  Mary Gibbens Salter remained a kind and loving person.

The shadow of this adoption hung -- and in a very real sense still hangs --
over our family. I -- a consistent supporter of my father always -- have had
a very tough time coming to terms with it.  Yet I can see how, in the
strange way in which the cards often fall out, Dad benefited from
the travail.

In 1978, the Indian Child Welfare Act was enacted -- providing considerable
protection for Native children and working actively to keep them within
their extended family, or the tribe itself, or in the Indian community.

_____________________
 

Amy Kittelstrom, has been doing a PhD
dissertation on William James [with substantial mention of W. M. Salter and some
mention of Dad]. She interviewed me almost two years ago. Her
work is now finished, will be published as a book, and here are a few very
salient excerpts. Our assumption has always been that Louise
Annance died quite young at Greenville, Me. [She is my great grandmother and
grandmother Mamie's mother.] But, as per these recently opened James letters, she worked for the James family at Cambridge-- as several other Annances did. The Massachusetts state agency to which Dad wrote for more of his background details in 1950, providing bureaucratic confirmation of the essence of which we already knew, referred to his mother, "Mamie E. Gray" [born in Maine], and to Mamie's
parents, "Louise A. Gray" and "John E. Gray." John E. Gray is not to be confused with our other direct ancestor, John Gray [Ignace Hatchiorauquasha], Mohawk fur hunter in the Far West. 

[John E.  Gray was a violent and abusive person.  Louise's relationship with him was short lived and centered almost completely in the Moosehead Lake region.]

We don't know when Louise died but it was still very probably at a relatively young age. Ms. Kittelstrom found this material on Louise -- a bit of which we have not known before today.  

--------------------------------------------------------

FROM THE DISSERTATION – Democracy Upon Its Trial: Pluralism and Categories of Difference

"Not until the Shaw oration did James use language that advocated mixture.
Until that point he expressed distinct squeamishness about social mixing
across categories of difference. In 1880 he wanted to design his home's hall
to avoid "the disagreeableness of servants going through to the door when
there are guests," thinking aristocratically-for he wrote up his new plan
while in England-of a way to separate the household by "a lower kitchen." In
1881 James was pleased enough that his wife was retaining two Wabanaki
servants, although "with every allowance made for natives on sentimental
grounds, how poor a pick of them there seems to be." Yet he could not see
how his wife could keep Louise Annance, the Wabanaki female, as well as "one
white [female] servant." He seemed to fear the possible dissatisfaction of
his white servant, were her race not in the majority, over the Wabanaki's
desire for employment. . ."

* * *

"When William Salter and his wife, a decade after the death of their only
child from measles, moved to adopt a ward of the state, the two-year-old
grandson of James's Wabanaki servant Louise Annance, the character of the
adoption is unclear. Were they taking the young Frank Gray to be their son,just as though he were flesh of their flesh? The legal formality of the
adoption and the changing of his name to John Randall Salter would seem to
suggest so. So does the fact that he played with William James's kids-the
children of his adoptive mother's sister, and therefore his cousins-on terms
of equality, eventually receiving a wedding present "from your cousin Alice
and me," that is, from William James, Jr., and his wife. But he often did
not live with the Salters in Chicago, mostly staying back east in Chocorua
near where the rest of his extended family ranged. The Salters did not make
sure he attended school every year, extending such little oversight that he
never attended any high school at all. If they viewed him as their own son,
wouldn't they have taken him along when they spent a year in Europe? Instead
they placed him with a family in Evanston, Illinois. But John Dewey and his
wife also left their sons behind when they traveled in Europe, with
heartbreaking consequences: two of their three sons died while the Deweys
were away.

It could be that the Salters wanted John to remain near his extended family
to cultivate his Indian culture. William Salter was apparently open to
talking about John's background, although he made no effort to help him
retain the language or the Catholic religion to which his ancestors had long
since converted. But Salter mostly seemed quite distant from his adopted
son. Acrimony increased between them until 1913, when John was fifteen, and
Salter dragged him to an Army recruiter to try to sign him up and be rid of
him. The recruiter chastised Salter, saying John was "far too young." The
rift, by that point irreparable, led John to escape as a cabin boy on a ship
out of Boston. Salter cut him out of his will. Mary Gibbens Salter set up a
small trust fund for him at the State Street Bank in Boston, and eventually
the James estate paid for John Randall Salter's education at the Art
Institute of Chicago.

Of his years with the Salters, John Randall Salter would remember Mary
Salter's warmth and lovingness, William Salter's emotional reserve, and
sylvan times in Chocorua with the James family. "There was nothing ever even
slightly remote about William James," John would teach his own son. John
remembered sitting by Lake Chocorua with James discussing the possibility of
frogs having souls. He never forgot visiting James's deathbed in Chocorua
with Salter, a day or so before James passed. He also remembered the
contrast between James's children's camaraderie with him and Salter's
brother Sumner's children, who taunted him, calling him "Sitting Bull," and
once accused him of stealing a watch from them. And of John's years with the
Salters, what would William Salter remember? He never wrote of it, left no
record of the meaning of it for him. He would remain a member of the IRA
until 1916, three years after John ran away, by which point he would have
reached the age of majority and Salter could have felt his responsibility
fully absolved."

* * *
 

Note by Hunter Bear:

In early May, 2003, Eldri and I drove to Chicago where I delivered a major Founder's Day talk to the Ethical Humanist Society of Greater Chicago.  This had been founded by William M. Salter. 

"In my speech at Chicago -- a packed house with a number of non-Society
members present, I spoke of the enduring influence on our family of my
ggg/grandfather, John Gray [Ignace Hatchiorauquasha], fiery and committed
leader of the Mohawk fur hunters in the Columbia and Snake River country in
their disputes with the Anglo fur bosses. I spoke, too, of a maternal great
grandfather, Michael Senn -- Swiss immigrant to Kansas Territory in the
early 1850s, Abolitionist, Civil War veteran, founder of the Knights of
Labor in Kansas, major leader of the Populist Party and a Populist state
senator, denouncer of atrocities against the Indian people, cousin of Chris
Hoffman ["Millionaire Socialist of Kansas" who died of a heart attack while
addressing an IWW rally at Kansas City.] Michael Senn became a Socialist
himself.

But now, for the first time publicly, I also spoke of the very positive
influence of William Mackintire Salter for our family:  his great commitment
to the Haymarket victims and their families, his opposition to American
imperialism, his many endeavours on behalf of Indian and Black people, his
staunch support for civil liberties which never wavered in the several
nefarious periods of spontaneous and concocted fear and hysteria through
which he lived and worked. . .

In the end, however oft-turbulent Dad's adoption, he got the best of both
worlds -- Native and Anglo social activist -- and my parents passed all of
that along to me."

KASS FLEISHER WRITES AN EXCELLENT POST ON JULY 9 AND I RESPOND:

Kass writes:

"hunter, this is painful indeed.  i knew there was strain betw your
father and his adoptive father but didn't know that w.s. had broken
with him entirely.  do you have a sense of the reason?  or should we
conclude the obvious, that racism was eating at him?  anyway.  you
have come a long way, a long walk.  what a miracle you are."  k

_____________________
 

I very much appreciate your kind words, Kass.  This is the first anniversary
of our realization that something was seriously wrong with me, medically.
We had gone to ISU to pick up Josie who had just finished her last exam
prior to graduation.  She had no vehicle then but is now a working LSW
Social Worker and she and Cameron [IBEW] have a fine new Jeep Liberty.  The
world seems a bit more distant to me each day!

On William M Salter:  It was an almost total break all the way around --
though there were occasional points of contact, at least with Mary Salter.
Although Mother met both William and Mary, it was only briefly and they died
not long before I was born. They may have been a little frightened by her:
Western horse ranching and Idaho and Washington state mining engineering
antecedents on one side of her family and rambunctious Populism on the
other. Obviously, the reservations expressed [however delicately] by William
James vis-a-vis the Salters are points very well taken indeed.  In addition
to that, Salter's high idealism which had traveled and survived so many
rough trails  apparently could not -- in the instance of a lively child --
avoid the rocks and rapids of the River of No Return.

I definitely don't believe he was a racist -- at least not a conscious one.
With his close colleague, Jane Addams and several dozen others, he signed
the Call to Organization of the NAACP in 1909.  As I've noted, he was, for
better or worse, involved in the Indian Rights Association. He was
consistently opposed to American imperialism. His courage in defending the
Haymarket victims and their families and his advocacy on their behalf with
Governor Atgeld was tremendous. But Salter was old -- well beyond his years
as it turned out -- and brittle.

He took voluminous notes -- his books are full of them -- and, if no written
record of his feelings on the adoption were found, there is at least the
possibility that he destroyed them.  After both William and Mary Salter
died, my parents, visiting their large home [the Hilltop] in the
Chocorua/Silver Lake NH setting, went into their large barn.  There,
partially concealed at least, was a box with two dozen photos of Dad at
various points and some adoption documents.  We speculate that Mary Salter
put them there to avoid their destruction by William.  All of these have
been in my possession for many years.

All best, Kass.  Humans were made to survive and, as I was told when I was
near death from Scarlet Fever at the age of five or six, "Only the good die
young."

H

Kass, I should add, is the author of the excellent,  The Bear River Massacre and the Making of History, [Albany:  State University of New York Press, 2004.] The mass murder of almost 300 Shoshone people -- men, women, children -- by Union affiliated troops in Southern Idaho, January, 1863 and the wide-ranging chronological and geographical and cultural implications and ramifications.  H
 

HUNTER GRAY  [HUNTER BEAR]   Micmac /St. Francis Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
www.hunterbear.org
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
and Ohkwari'

 

In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings. Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunter Bear]

_________________
SPEAKING AT ETHICAL CULTURE -- AND A GREAT TRIP OF 3700 MILES IN NINE STATES OVER ELEVEN DAYS [HUNTER GRAY  MAY 10, 2003]
 
This is in very large part about a journey that began around one hundred
years ago -- when William and Mary Salter adopted a small Native American
boy who became my father.


We returned -- myself, Eldri, and the Jeep early yesterday [Friday
morn] -- from a junket that carried us 3700 miles through nine states over
eleven days.  [I did all the driving since Eldri does not do stick shift or
4WD.]  The trip and my various speeches and workshops went very well indeed
and the Jeep used not one drop of oil.

From the Shoshone waitress in the local cafe at rather drab Kemmerer,
Wyoming [pronounced Kemmer] -- just after we had traveled through snowy
Idaho mountains and bright blue lake country -- and who presented us with
the hugest western omelets we had ever seen [and consumed], to virtually
everyone else we encountered, all folks were genuinely friendly.  I had on
my worn Levi jacket an ancient -- but incendiary -- Mine, Mill and Smelter
Workers patch with blood red trimmings and the Jeep's exterior featured
various contemporary identity proclamations [ e.g.,"Organize" and "UAW."]

I don't see, however cunning and militant the proponents of "wistful
fascism," any real likelihood that that can ever be imposed on a country as
diverse and large and essentially individualistic as that which we call the
United States.  But, given the broadening and deepening economic
deprivation -- saw lots of that in Anglo and reservation and ghetto/barrio
quarters -- and the oft corollary dimensions of racism and other anti-people
isms --  compelling and critical work stands higher than the Rockies for all
of us many indeed who try to serve the human community rather than serve
themselves.

My various social justice speeches went very well in all settings. I do not
use notes and my thoughts and formulations flowed smoothly and effectively.
I attacked the Bushies and much else as well. And, of course, I had solid
words for socialism. Attendance was good and questions were excellent.  Two
of my workshops [one at Chicago on Indian concerns] saw me on my feet
steadily for going on four hours each time -- and my major humanist speech
[also at Chicago] went swiftly and appreciatively well into its second hour.
[I wore my Lowa Trekker Extra Size 15 boots which have now, in addition to
500 rough trail miles since mid-December, traveled in all sorts of new and
interesting places [e.g., ghettoes, barrios.]

My Chicago speech was extremely personal and complex.  With the workshop on
Native concerns, it was under the aegis of the very fine Ethical Humanist
Society of Greater Chicago -- a component of the Ethical Culture Society
[American Ethical Union.]  The first Ethical Society was founded in 1876 by
Felix Adler -- who came out of a Reform Judaism tradition -- in New York
City.  He was quickly joined in his life-long endeavour by William
Mackintire Salter [whose basic homes were at Cambridge, Mass. and Silver
Lake, N.H.] who had been a Congregationalist minister and whose father, the
first William Salter, had been the pioneer Congregationalist circuit rider
in Iowa, a founder of the University of Iowa, and biographer of Governor
J.W. Grimes.  William Mackintire Salter then played a key role in founding
the Ethical Society at Philadelphia and then, directly, the one at Chicago
under whose auspices I have just spoken.

William Mackintire Salter [brother-in-law of William James -- they each
married a Gibbens sister] was, in addition to his leadership of the Ethical
Movement, a major and courageous defender of the Haymarket anarchists over
that many years struggle; an activist in the almost all-White Indian Rights
Association; founder of Henry Booth Settlement House in Chicago [a sister
program to Hull House and the Chicago Commons Association]; a signer of the
Call to Organization of the NAACP in 1909; one of the early spark-plugs of
what became ACLU-- and author of several books on philosophy and related
matters, social justice, and a critical and enduring major classic on
Nietzsche.  He died in 1930 and Mary Salter passed away a couple of years
later.  Funds that she left Dad via a Boston trust company encouraged my
parents to conceive me and I appeared noisily in '34.

The adoption of my father, John Randall Salter -- a full-blooded Native
originally named Frank Gray -- was stormy and sometimes bitter.  It was
tempered in a most positive way by the presence of Professor William James
who took a strong interest in Dad and his obvious ability as an artist.
W.J. died in 1910 and my father left the Salters, occasionally returning
over the years.  He was fortunate that he was always aware of his specific
Native people [some of whom worked for the Salter and James families] and
his tribal affiliations.  Dad, who had never finished grade school,
eventually took his B.A. from the Chicago Art Institute and later his M.A.
and M.F.A. from the University of Iowa.  He was the first Indian hired on
the faculty of Arizona State College, Flagstaff -- which eventually became
Northern Arizona University.  Consistently active in social justice
concerns, our family has always been deeply involved with the Navajo and
Laguna Indian nations -- and to some extent with the Hopi and Apache.

When I spoke on Humanism at Chicago, it was Founder's Day for the Ethical
Humanist Society of Greater Chicago -- and W.M. Salter was indeed its
founder.  Our presence was very important to the Chicago membership -- but
our appearance was extremely so to myself and our family.  As I indicated
several times in my presentation, our family's historic view of William
Salter was "uneven."

But, in time, for me that changed -- however slowly -- onto the side of the
Sun.

In my speech at Chicago -- a packed house with a number of non-Society
members present, I spoke of the enduring influence on our family of my
ggg/grandfather, John Gray [Ignace Hatchiorauquasha], fiery and committed
leader of the Mohawk fur hunters in the Columbia and Snake River country in
their disputes with the Anglo fur bosses. I spoke, too, of a maternal great
grandfather, Michael Senn -- Swiss immigrant to Kansas Territory in the
early 1850s, Abolitionist, Civil War veteran, founder of the Knights of
Labor in Kansas, major leader of the Populist Party and a Populist state
senator, denouncer of atrocities against the Indian people, cousin of Chris
Hoffman ["Millionaire Socialist of Kansas" who died of a heart attack while
addressing an IWW rally at Kansas City.] Michael Senn became a Socialist
himself.

But now, for the first time publicly, I also spoke of the very positive
influence of William Mackintire Salter for our family:  his great commitment
to the Haymarket victims and their families, his opposition to American
imperialism, his many endeavours on behalf of Indian and Black people, his
staunch support for civil liberties which never wavered in the several
nefarious periods of spontaneous and concocted fear and hysteria through
which he lived and worked.

For my interracial parents and myself and my two younger brothers, in a
small and isolated town in Northern Arizona, the many Salter books in our
family library -- and those by William James, his father [Henry], and his
brother [Henry] which were initially given to the Salters -- were, I have
come to realize, far far more important and enduring than I had once
grasped.  Salter's great courage and commitment played a key role -- along
with our other activist forebears -- in stimulating my parent's social
justice endeavours in Flagstaff [a town with considerable racial segregation
including "No Indians or Dogs Allowed" signs on many restaurant doors].

And all of it helped much to shape me and my brothers and that which we've
endeavoured to do.

I concluded the formal piece of my Humanist talk by analogizing three rivers
coming down from our high Idaho country immediately above our house:  John
Gray, Michael Senn, and William M. Salter -- all of which flow together
congenially and effectively.

In the end, however oft-turbulent Dad's adoption, he got the best of both
worlds -- Native and Anglo social activist -- and my parents passed all of
that along to me.

And the Ethical Humanist Society of Greater Chicago sees us as Family
Members -- and for us it's certainly mutual.

So it was a great trip:  planned speeches, ad hoc things.  Food was truly
sumptuous -- and there were gifts:  an unused copy of Darkness at Noon --
rescued from a Salvation Army base; a fine top-line Ruger Single [action]
Six .22 Magnum revolver with excellent holster; various socialist magazines;
and much more.  For our part, we brought copies of my book -- Jackson,
Mississippi -- and some other things as gifts and Eldri took birthday and
First Communion presents to various grandchildren.

On the way back, I drove 21 hours straight, from Fargo -- climaxing in a midnight-era
short-cut junket through 150 miles of torturous and narrow and lonely roads
in the Montana and Idaho mountains.  Eventually we reached the Upper Snake
River country where Idaho snow plows were very reasonably being activated.
Then, after successfully navigating all sorts of circuitous roads and road
maps -- to say nothing of Chicago! -- we became lost in Idaho Falls
[population 70,000 at the very most] for about twenty minutes.  But I saw,
reaching to the dark and cloudy skies, the impressive Mormon temple which
guided me into the central area where my aboriginal intuition kicked in and
we were soon on our way along the 50 miles to Pocatello where snow and very
happy home creatures of various kinds greeted us.

As Ever -

Hunter Gray  [Hunterbear]
www.hunterbear.org
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
and Ohkwari'

In our Gray Hole, the ghosts often dance in the junipers and sage, on the
game trails, in the tributary canyons with the thick red maples, and on the
high windy ridges -- and they dance from within the very essence of our own
inner being. They do this especially when the bright night moon shines down
on the clean white snow that covers the valley and its surroundings.  Then
it is as bright as day -- but in an always soft and mysterious and
remembering way. [Hunter Bear]

 

 

 

TRIBUTES AND GOOD THOUGHTS
FOR AND ABOUT
HUNTER BEAR

Hunter Gray [Hunter Bear]

Mi'kmaq/St Francis Abenaki/St Regis Mohawk

[Early Fall 2004]

It's critical to always keep fighting -- and to always remember that, if one lives with grace, he/she should be prepared to die with grace.

I'm an organizer -- a working social justice agitator. I've been one since the mid-1950s and I'll always be one. In many respects, it's one of the toughest trails anyone could ever blaze.

An effective organizer seeks to get grassroots people together -- and does; develops on-going and democratic local leadership; deals effectively with grievances and individual/family concerns; works with the people to achieve basic organizational goals and develop new ones; and builds a sense of the New World To Come Over The Mountains Yonder -- and how all of that relates to the shorter term steps.

An effective organizer has to be a person of integrity, courage, commitment.

And a person of solidarity and sacrifice.

The satisfactions are enormous.

Member, United Auto Workers, Local 1981 [AFL-CIO]

[More]


MESSAGES:

 

1.  JAMES W. LOEWEN

John (for that is how we have known each other), you were a positive influence on me when I visited Tougaloo for one week (!) as a student in 1963.

Your book is splendid.

I suspect your work for Native American rights and education has been splendid too.

I want you to get well for a selfish reason: because you will want to read my book about racism, SUNDOWN TOWNS, which comes out this September.

Please know that you have been a model for many, including me. - Jim Loewen

James W. Loewen, best email address: jloewen@zoo.uvm.edu


 

2.  JOHN H. SIME

Here is a link to what connected me to Hunter. This type of thing is controversial, I realize, but it is important and a side of him that academic and political people might not know about:

http://www.ufowisconsin.com/wfiles/files/absalter.htm

I'll spread the word about this place in the UFO community.

jhs John Henry Sime jhsufo@yahoo.com


FROM HUNTER AND HIS  UNIVERSITY OF NORTH DAKOTA PAGE ON HIS VERY LARGE LAIR OF HUNTERBEAR WEBSITE -- PLUS UPDATES:

I have always been either a full-time organizer and a part-time professor -- or a full-time professor and a full-time organizer. 
 
The student body at Tougaloo College, civil rights activist to the core, awarded me -- through Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity -- its Faculty Citizen of the Year Award in 1963.

 In 1969, at Coe College,  following our successful union organization of maids and janitors [via my Social Conflict Seminar], I was given the annual Outstanding Faculty Award by the student body.   

I was a professor in the Graduate Program in Urban & Regional Planning at University of Iowa -- and also the University's recruiter and counselor of Native students.  At our well attended Indian Days pow wow in '75, I was presented with a beautiful Pendleton blanket which Eldri made into a fine coat which I still have.  When we left UI at the very end of '76, Native students organized a large dinner with may fine gifts.

Students/faculty, staff/administration presented me with an extraordinarily fine turquoise and silver Navajo bolo tie and other gifts at Navajo Community College [now Dine' College] when I left there for the University of North Dakota's Indian Studies Department in 1981  On the same occasion, Harry Walters, well known Navajo artist, presented me with a fine painting, "Navajo Woman."
 

In 1988, I was honored with the annual UND Outstanding Faculty Advisor Award -- given by Student Government.
 
In 1989, North Dakota Governor George A. Sinner and the State King Commission, presented me with the Annual Martin Luther King, Jr. Award for my historical and on-going social justice activities.
 

Again, in 1989, the North Dakota State Department of Public Instruction (Indian Education/Equity Programs) awarded me its Annual Civil Rights and Social Justice in Education Award.
 

The Commanding General and officers of Grand Forks Air Force Base presented me in 1989 with an excellent plaque and dinner on behalf of my historical and contemporary human rights work.

Native students at UND and Indian community members presented me with two very special Pow-Wow honoring ceremonies and gifts [1988 and 1994].  And I was given many other fine gifts upon my formal retirement from UND in 1994.

 

I was honored by Wordcraft Circle of Native Writers and Storytellers with the 2005  Elder Recognition Award.  This is one of several
awards voted by the Caucus [board] of this organization of writers,
storytellers, film makers, and journalists. I was nominated by
Alice Hatfield Azure [Mi'kmaq] -- an honor in its own right.  As are
other fine expressions of appreciation, this is extremely  meaningful to
me and our family. And to all of those with whom I have worked and
for whom I have written -- and from whom I have always learned much
indeed -- this is for them a tribute as well.  [The previous recipient of the Wordcraft Elder Recognition Award was Maurice Kenny, Mohawk, teacher and playwright and poet, who received it in 2000.]

 

________________________________

 

3.  CHARLES BRACEY

I am Charles Bracey, Tougaloo class of '65. Mr. Salter and Medgar Evers arranged a sit-on at Jackson's Woolworth on Capitol Street. Joyce's sister, Dorie (hope I spelled her name correctly) and I were the participants. We got arrested as expected. This happened in 1961 or 1962. A central purpose of this protest was to bring media attention to the segregated "Colored" and " White" eating counters at Woolworth.

To insure this, Mr. Evers and Mr. Salter notified TV, Radio, and Print media ahead of time to insure both the attention, and to provide Dorie and myself some assurance that we would hopefully not be exposed to potential police brutality.

The interesting thing to me happened several years later, when I happened to unexpectedly meet Mr. Salter on the streets in Chicago. He told me he had something from the above mentioned protest that I might like to have. He had received and kept a 35mm tape of our brief march and arrest in front of Woolworth!

This tape was provided to Mr. Salter by an employee of a Jackson TV Station who was a friend of the Movement. It is about 5 minutes in duration and shows us arriving at Woolworth, being stopped by the police, and being placed in a squad car. So I own a small video of us from the past doing what we could for the cause. Thanks twice to Mr. Salter: first for his helping Mr. Evers plan the protest; and secondly for his obtaining and eventually providing me a tangible record of the event. I converted the 35mm to VCR format and can show my kids what that dad did "during the day".


40.  STEVE RUTLEDGE

Dear Hunter Bear,
As one who was politically baptized under fire by your side in 1963 in Jackson, Mississippi, and as I wrote to you privately a couple of months ago and now repeat for your tribute, I always remember and have continuously applied for more than 40 years, the lessons of our Jackson Credo, "WE WILL WIN!" 
I send to you my solidarity, my heartfelt greetings to you, Eldri and your family and also my encouragement to keep mixing in your "piss and vinegar" with all the medicines and that's what will give you the fighting chance that has gotten you this far.  Venceremos, amigo.  Steve Rutledge, West Virginia

__________________________________

 

4.  HEATHER BOOTH

I have never met Hunter Bear and don't think I knew about him until the last couple of years through the SNCC ListServ. Then why am I so drawn to him, grateful to him and inspired by his deeds, words and spirit?

In part it is the life of commitment that Hunter has led and continues to lead. From civil rights to Native American activism, to religious social justice to labor and Mine, Mill and Smelter workers; from training to organizing to teaching to using the law; from working and mentoring others; from all these works, he brings his love for justice to everything he does.

But it is not just to abstract ideas of justice that he conveys and believes in. He tells stories about real people, about struggles for justice and the impact on the people involved. Some times in the movement people can love "the people," but not individual people. He shows his flesh and blood caring. Some times in the movement people can embrace a particular struggle, but not see the connection of all the struggles. For all the breadth of his interests and strong views, he promotes non-sectarianism to avoid needless division while standing on principle.

In so many ways he is larger than life and still involved in the details of life.

His wife and children; his wolf/companion, the mountains and valleys. The past and present; the world of the earth and the world of the spirit. So many parts of his world he has shared with us.

In each communication on the List he sends a spirit of some true higher calling, commitment to a vision greater than ourselves and not wrapped up in promoting himself. It is ironic because now that he is battling Lupus, he might dwell on his own struggles. Instead he educates us (to Lupus or Tribal issues or recent conflicts for justice) and still raises our thoughts to the struggles of others.

From his letters I learn history and culture. From his words I so appreciate his values, his human decency, his courage and moral strength. For all these reasons and more, I celebrate HunterBear and thank him for what he has shared and for the life he is living and has lived.

I feel I am one part of his legacy, trying to carry on with shared values, adapted to other situations. I am certainly one of many who want to celebrate his life in the struggle. I am one of the many who thank him for all he does and for who he is.

He reminds me of a song by a friend, Si Kahn.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU

 Old fighter, you sure took it on the chin
Where'd you ever get the strength to stand