Harry and Logan have met over breakfast, where Harry wants to know what Logan knows about a question he’s had for several years. After reading a newspaper article he contacted the interior department and he got the old fashioned two-step that did nothing to answer the questions he still had. The fact Logan was half Native American meant he might know the answer from inside the question.
“I can tell you what I read and heard while I was at Wounded Knee. It was an education for me, because the Seneca were out of the fight to hold their land by the Revolution’s end,” Logan said.
“The Six Nation Confederation and my grandmother’s Seneca people were neutralized even before the Revolution. She told me stories she’d been told about how it all came about,” Logan said.
“As Europeans moved west, they began threatening the land of the Plains Indian. The east was conquered. The Six Nations were forced to make peace or perish. By that time the Europeans were everywhere and they were heavily armed to meet any threat. “The Iroquois fought for the British but even the British were in a war of attrition. The biggest war power in the world understood, sooner or later, they would lose the battle for their colonies. Once the Brits left, the battle was with the Indians over land. The westward move began by the 1800s,” Logan remembered.
“Indians knew they were fighting a losing battle. Even the battle at the Little Big Horn was a hollow victory. They usually didn’t go at the white people head on. They picked away hoping the price was too high for white people to pay, but the cry was for Manifest Destiny and they took the land no matter who was on it.” “At Wounded Knee the fight to hold onto their way of life and ancestral lands ended. The Indian Wars lasted from a few dozen years after the Europeans started arriving until 1890. It took a little more than two hundred and fifty years to control the land from sea to shining sea, including huge chunks of Old Mexico.”
“So attrition killed the Indian,” Harry said, wanting to move on.
“The Europeans were like locusts. They kept coming until they devoured everything and everyone in their path. Warriors fought to the death. They were outmanned and outgunned. The small amount of support Indians had in Washington disappeared after they got Custer. After he guided his troops down across the river into an encampment of thousands of Indians. By Wounded Knee all the Indians were on reservations. When those Lakota made their run for Canada, they were tired, hungry, and defeated. The 7th Calvary surrounded them, taking the high ground. The Indians knew it was over. That was their last chance to escape the white man. They died where the 7th Calvary caught up with them and that was that.”
“You tell it a little differently than I learned it in history class, but the outcome is always the same,” Harry said. “It isn’t a pretty history, but history rarely is.”
“I learned what you learned until I went to live with Free Dove.”
“They’d lived on that land for thousands of years without seriously destroying the land. How could they starve?” Harry asked.
“The buffalo were slaughtered along with the Indians. The plains depended on the buffalo. It was a natural food source. The plains were once filled with buffalo. As the Europeans moved west, instead of using the buffalo as a food source, they killed buffalo by the thousand. Buffalo hunters were sent out to shoot them. At the time of Lewis and Clark there were tens of millions of buffalo on the plains. By the 1880s a few thousand were left. Senseless slaughter meant to starve the people who lived on the land. Not pretty at all,” Logan said.
“Indian agents who were in charge of the reservations, sold off the food the government sent to feed the Indians. They replaced it with rotting meat and vermin infested food. The Lakota at Wounded Knee were starving. No one cared. They were only Indians.”
“Indeed they did. You know that’s so much ancient history. The way you tell it is disturbing, I admit, Logan. No one cares about what happened a hundred years ago. It was a different world. It’s a different time. Let’s cut to the chase. What did Mr. Flat Foot have to say about unmarked Indian graves at Indian boarding schools? That’s the history I want to know about.” “Are you sure you want to hear it, Senator? I think it amounts to more ancient history. I know you don’t like that much history.”
Harry had to slow himself down and take a deep breath.
To Harry history was cut and dried. He had a rich man’s education and a white man’s view of history. He’d never put the Indian Wars into any kind of perspective. They happened. He knew about Custer and he’d heard of Wounded Knee. There was little else he knew about the people who were here when the Europeans came to take the empty land.
The Indians roamed free throughout the Americas for thousands of years. European settlers kept coming for two hundred and fifty years. The indigenous people were subdued and virtually helpless after that. The offer of free land was the only incentive required.
The Europeans were quite efficient that way. No matter how many the Indians killed, they kept coming. The offer of free land was all the incentive they needed. When they needed more land and more freedom, they took what they knew west. Europeans were civilized. They brought civilization to the New World. The savages lived on the land and roamed free for thousands of years. Now, they didn’t roam free or bother white folks. Harry realized Logan thought it was this ability to take whatever you wanted, if you were powerful enough to pull it off, that created the world of war we lived in. It did sound familiar.
Harry wasn’t at all sure he disagreed with Logan’s view, but it was so much ancient history and the world was the way it was, no matter how unfair it was to most people who abhorred violence and the belief that allowed you to take what you want from weaker folk.
Harry regrouped. Logan was giving him the facts he’d learned. He backed up a few sentences and started over. He wanted any information Logan had and confrontation wasn’t the way to get it.
“This is the question I have, and it involves Indian children. What can you tell me about the Indian boarding schools? Was there any talk about that at Wounded Knee, while you were there?”
“Be a bit more specific. I heard things you might not want to hear,” Logan said. “I’ve already said too much.”
“I’ve tried to find out why the Canadians were excavating graves at one of the Indian schools. It was no longer open. Schools are full of children. Which brings me back to the Canadians excavating graves there. In your travels, did you hear anything about unmarked graves at Indian boarding schools?” Harry asked without the emotion he felt.
“Flat Foot knew about the graves before the Canadians found them. Another boy took him and showed him a freshly dug grave. He told Flat Foot about the code. If a boy disappeared, it was usually an incorrigible. You’ve got to remember, most of these boys would have been warriors in another time. The incorrigibles were the most defiant. When one of them was gone, the word spread, ‘Oh, he went home,’” Logan said with a finality in his voice that was unmistakable.
“Senator, no one here is interested in looking for the graves of long-dead Indian children. The Indian boarding schools served a purpose. Why would anyone dig up evidence of the brutality of our government concerning indigenous people? There will be no excavation at Indian schools in this country. If graves at Indian schools were found, there would be thousands--no, tens of thousands.”
Harry’s coffee cup tipped in his hand as Logan’s words pierced his ears. He had coffee on his sleeve and on his slacks. He tried to salvage his ruined suit by brushing away the growing coffee stain. Harry disregarded the suit. He’d need to change.
“You don’t know that. See why nothing is done about this?”
“Get real, Senator. The schools date back to the early 1800s. Indian children were forced to go to them up until the 1960s. By the time they stopped the practice, there were hundreds of schools,” Logan declared. “I can add, Senator. Canadians uncovered the tip of a very nasty secret buried at those schools. I’ve seen no evidence that the Canadians are more brutal than Americans. America never owns up to the terrible deeds it’s done. Ancient history or not, doing evil things is wrong, no matter how powerful you are.”
“America does a lot of good in the world,” Harry defended.
“You’re evading the truth, Senator. On one hand, we do wonderful things when help is needed around the world. We’ve done terrible things to people of color around the world, and you know it as well as I do. I know you know, no matter how ancient the history. My personal opinion is that until we atone, we’re damned.”
Logan left no wiggle room in his words.
Harry got up to get the pot to fill both cups. He needed a break from the rhetoric. He’d never been directly confronted with the sins of his country before, and he was being confronted by someone who looked as white as he was, but who considered himself a man of color.
He was a politician accustomed to diatribes from true believers.
Logan’s words were hard to swallow. Harry hadn’t expected to get a history lesson on the Indian Wars, but he didn’t doubt Logan was telling him what he’d learned at Wounded Knee and from his grandmother before that.
“I know you believe what you’re telling me, Logan. I can feel your passion. How could anyone conceal hundreds of dead kids? Why wasn’t something said by the Indians? If my kids disappeared from school, I’d want to know what the hell was going on.”
“I’m sorry if I strained my credibility by telling you these things. If you think I meant the American government is going to find the thousands of indigenous children’s bodies at those Indian schools, they won’t find those graves. They won’t find them because they won’t look, Senator. You’ve got to realize the point of the schools was to solve the Indian problem,” Logan said.
“Whether those children assimilated or died, it was the same result. The more who died, the fewer Indians there were to cause trouble by demanding equality and a decent place to live,” Logan said. “These schools opened in the early 1800s. Who would Indians complain to? The US Government? Or some bureaucrat in the interior department who wouldn’t know an Indian from a Chinaman?” he said with a laugh.
“The Indians didn’t complain about missing children because no one cared, Senator,” Logan said with certainty in the words.
“This isn’t a country given to a lot of soul-searching. Especially when the search is about how many Indian children died after being taken from their families and forced into Indian schools.”
“Logan, it is getting late and now I’ve got to change again. We’ll talk about this later on if there’s time,” Harry said modestly.
“As you wish, Harry. If I’ve upset you, I’m sorry,” Logan said.
Harry excused himself and went up to his room.
He’d shower before he’d change into another suit. He’d showered after Algie called him earlier that morning, but he felt dirty. He wasn’t as invested in being a US Senator as most senators were. Harry had begun thinking about his exit from government work. He was a whole lot less invested in his office after his meeting with Logan Warren.
He knew about the things Logan said. He’d just never had anyone put it to him the way Logan had. The truth at times was difficult to digest.
Few men could upset his applecart the way Logan had.
*****
At fifteen to eight Harry told Algie to bring the car around. Once he went downstairs, he went out and he sat beside Algie in the front seat. He hadn’t said anything by the time Algie reached the highway.
“Awful quiet this morning, Harry,” the driver said.
“Algie, do I treat you like an employee?” Harry asked in earnest. “You know you’re my friend, don’t you? I know you’re paid, but you earn every dime I pay you. You make my life easier. You know that?”
“You’re letting that Indian talk get to you, Harry. You can’t let what was done a hundred years ago do that. Lots of bad goings on a hundred years ago. Man like me could get himself hung for looking a white man in the eye in parts of the South a hundred years ago.”
Harry looked at his friend and driver. He knew about lynching. He never thought about it. That was a long time ago. Ancient history. His black employees were intensely loyal. Wasn’t it a direct result of slavery? Their ancestors were loyal to their owner. Weren’t they trained to serve white men? Hundreds of years later, they remained loyal to a rich white man. Harry knew that wasn’t the way they saw it, but Logan Warren had Harry thinking differently about discrimination.
Somehow Algie’s words did nothing to relieve the guilt Logan left Harry with. Black people were as abused as--even more abused than--Indians. Hell, the Chinese Exclusion Act from the 1880s forbade Chinese from entering America. They were fine doing laundry and building the western leg of the continental railroad but Chinese people couldn’t immigrate to America for years by law.
It was where immigration restrictions started.
America’s melting pot often melted in restricted directions. Why did Americans have so much difficulty accepting other people as equals? They certainly didn’t take to the differences that made the US the most dynamic economic engine in the world. People who were the most discriminated against did much of America’s heavy lifting.
Senator Harry McCallister would ordinarily sit in the backseat and go over the comments he intended to make to some of his biggest campaign donors. As important as that was for him to do, it wasn’t what was on his mind.
As the car moved toward Orlando, Harry had bigger fish to fry.
*****
Harry stood in the Dive Shop and looked out the window at the cove. It was beautiful thanks to Ivan. Harry had been contemplative since dinner Thursday night. His campaign trip to meet with big donors went well. He’d started the day early and didn’t get to bed until after midnight on Friday.
“You going to go with us to lunch at JK’s?” Ivan asked.
“No, I just came to make sure Clay knew where I stood on tomorrow’s meeting. I keep thinking I’m leaving something out.”
“Harry, we went over it Saturday and again yesterday. I don’t know what else you can say to make it any clearer. You’re worried because you think we might get negative publicity if we do things the way you’ve told us to do them. With Bill there, we have the cover we need. He’ll bring a dignity to our brash display,” Clay said. “Besides, I’m the one you’re going to take to task. Your behind is covered.”
“Thank heavens for small favors. Logan and I talked Friday morning before I left. He wanted to know about you, Ivan. I told him a little about your Southeast Asia exploits.”
“He’s quite a determined young man. At first I didn’t know how seriously to take him. Guys meet a senator and they see inroads to all kinds of things to enhance their careers. I thought that about Logan at first. His approach is a little unrefined.”
“I know the feeling, Harry. I felt he wasn’t serious about the environment. I was reluctant to allow Dylan to spend a lot of time alone with him. When he saw that porpoise in trouble, though, he didn’t hesitate. He thought he could save it. That showed me something,” Clay said. “He not only taught Dylan about filmmaking. He taught him how to play the guitar. Logan spoke Dylan’s language.”
“Logan seemed fine to me,” Ivan said. “I’d just as soon put that Southeast Asia dog to rest, Harry. We agree I was brash and went off halfcocked. I know better now and I’m happy being where I am, doing what I’m doing.” “He noticed your eyes,” Harry said. “He’s a sharp cookie. He put a burr under my saddle. Do you think I’m too set in my ways? Could I be doing more than I’m doing for people who are different?”
“I can tell you for certain, I know nothing about Native Americans and nothing was ever said that gave me any insights into what it’s like for them. I don’t know Logan is the man I’d go to if I suddenly wanted to know about Indians,” Ivan said.
“Harry, you’re trying to save the earth from pollution and degradation. That’s a pretty big job. How much can you bite off at one time? The American Indians’ day has come and gone,” Clay said.
“Yes, it has but Logan sees hope in the new civil rights era,” Harry said. “Well, time for me to get moving. I just wanted to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. See you in DC, Clayton.” Harry was still pensive when he left the shop.
“You sure you don’t want to go, Ivan? I can wedge you in between Logan and Dylan in the backseat,” Clay offered.
“No, Babe, I didn’t lose a thing in DC. When Tag comes in, we can go to eat. If things are slow, I’ll ride over with you to get the kid,” Ivan said. “I never like seeing you two go off to do what it is you do. You don’t know how lonely I was without you this summer.”
*****
Ivan stood beside the Buick after driving Clay’s entourage to the airfield behind Harry’s house. Clay let the Apache’s engines warm up for a few minutes before he was ready to take off.
As he lifted up out toward the Gulf, Ivan waved. He always felt a little empty when his men went away. It was only for two days this time, but the feelings were always the same. They’d be back late Tuesday night so Dylan could be in school Wednesday.
He missed English on Mondays and he’d miss it Tuesday. His English teacher laughed at Dylan when he was reading Plato’s Republic in English class the first week of ninth grade. She called him a pretentious snob and told him if she caught him reading anything but an English text book in English class again, she’d fail him.
Dylan was worried he’d fail English, even if he was smarter than Mrs. Fielding. His Aunt Lucy offered to go have a chat with his English teacher. She’d explain her influence on Dylan’s reading. Dylan said, “That’s all I need. My congresswoman aunt going to school to browbeat my cantankerous English teacher.”
Ivan chuckled to himself about Dylan’s travails.
Clay wanted to go along with the program. It was Mrs. Fielding’s class, and after Clay went to speak to her, he saw the futility of trying to reason with the unreasonable. He’d save Aunt Lucy as a last resort.
Ivan was in favor of going with Clay and informing the English teacher that Dylan could teach her class better than she could, because his son was an intelligent human being and not some cranky old maid. Clay forbade him from getting near the school.
Ivan laughed to himself again as he drove back to the shop.
It was late October and half the campers returned home on Sunday so the kiddies would be in school Monday. The other half stayed on. By eight that morning the campground had filled with new campers who had reservations for the first campsite that came open. October was one of the most fantastic months at the cove. The temperatures never got much above the 80s. The nights were cool and the humidity was tolerable. The people who stayed at the cove during the week were more relaxed and mellow. They were content to walk the beach, chat with their neighbors, and visit the Dive Shop to see if the world was still at peace with itself. In his wildest dreams, Ivan never imagined having the success he’d had with the Cove Campground. Sometimes someone had the right idea at the perfect time, and it took off like the Cove Campground took off. It was a pleasant, inexpensive experience for vacationers.
*****
“Ladies and gentlemen, since there are so many of you that don’t belong to this committee, I’ll introduce the people sitting at the table across from the committee this afternoon. You all know Clay Olson and Bill Payne. They’ve appeared in front of you dozens of times. The young handsome marine biologist, my man in the Gulf, Clay is seated on the end. The old grizzled professor, Bill Payne, is on the other end. We have two special additions to our marine biologists. Both are filmmakers, and we’ll be seeing their films. The youngest of the two is Clay’s son Dylan, and Logan Warren is a well known documentary filmmaker who filmed Bill’s summer of research.”
Each of the four nodded as they were introduced.
All the seats in the room were filled and another two dozen people stood around the walls of the good sized meeting room.
Bill was the first one to speak. He told a story about his summer in the Pacific. Bill introduced Logan as his filmmaker. The film started to run as quickly as the lights went down. The Tangle rescue came right after they passed through the storm and everyone was glued to his seat as Logan’s production unfolded. It was a little after one on Tuesday and Logan’s film ran until after two. When asked to speak about his film, Logan stood and faced Harry.
“I was aware of Bill Payne’s work long before he invited me to film last summer’s research trip. I’d never spent the summer on a vessel in the middle of an ocean before. I’ve got to say I recommend it if you can have shipmates like Clay Olson, Bill Payne, and Clay’s son Dylan. They made a great voyage more enjoyable.
“I filmed them at work and I filmed the ship that saw us safely through all kinds of weather. There was never a dull moment. As you could see by the credits, Dylan Aleksa-Olson had a hand in many of the scenes I shot. I was told I was going to teach him what I knew about filmmaking. In retrospect, I found myself learning from him. We saw things from a different perspective and by listening to how he saw things, I was able to open up my narrow vision to accept that I didn’t know everything about filmmaking,” Logan said.
“I am an environmentalist. The things Bill taught me and drew my attention to were informative as well as breathtaking. I was paid by the university to film this summer’s research. I’d have paid them for the experience. What I learned this summer was priceless. This is where I am supposed to introduce Dylan. You’ll see the film he made about his adventures in the Gulf of Mexico,” Logan said.
“Logan taught me a lot this summer while we were in the Pacific. I film my father in the Gulf of Mexico. You know him as Clay Olson. I try to put on film the things my father does in and out of the water. My father wants to help keep the waters of the world safe and clean. I do my best to film him at work. There is a five-minute film clip you will now see. This is a sample of what we encounter. You’ll see the significance of this film clip while you watch. Thank you.”
“Show the second film clip,” Harry ordered.
The comings and goings of the Sea Lab set the tone. Then there was the scene of Clay with tears running down his cheeks. The rest were pictures of the dead fish that surrounded Sea Lab. The two minutes spent filming the devastation made the room go silent.
When the lights went up, Clay was standing in front of the table.
“I work to prevent what you’ve just seen from happening,” Clay said. “The fish kill was the result of benzine being pumped into the water. I’m told that it most likely came from a passing ship washing out its empty tanks that once held benzine. The benzine being present it the Gulf waters meant any fish were immediately poisoned.
I’ve seen fish kills before but never one as extensive as this one. When your life is spent trying to convince people not to dump garbage and chemicals into the water, a scene like you just saw is disheartening. I know you can’t possibly relate to what I feel. I’m going to show you.”
Clay slid the plastic container out from under the table. Removing the top, he dumped the dead fish in the middle of the floor in front of the committee, who were stupefied.
Everyone in the room gasped in horror.
“Mr. Olson, you’re out of order,” Harry yelled as flashbulbs flashed. Clay stood among the smelly thawing dead fish at his feet.
When he heard the gasp, he smiled. He didn’t know what the reaction might be. A gasp was good. “No, Senator, the Gulf of Mexico is out of order. These fish are out of order. If you aren’t capable of doing something to stop the polluting of the world’s waterways, the entire planet will soon be as dead as these fish,” Clay railed.
Cameras clicked and flashbulbs flashed as Clay stood fast.
“Someone clean that mess up,” Harry barked.
“People need to see this, Senator,” Clay said, as Dylan and Logan put the dead fish into the container. “One day, and the day is coming faster than you think, you’ll go to the market and you’ll find a sign that says, ‘No fish today’. This is why.
“I’m tired of coming upon the messes other men make. I’m a marine biologist and I can tell you what needs to be done. Professor Bill Payne can tell you what needs to be done. Unless the government is willing to undertake an effort to stop pollutants from being pumped into our waterways, we’ll all be as dead as those fish one day. We can’t continue to kill the planet we live on,” Clay said.
He went around the table to sit down.
“Excuse my outburst. Now you know how I feel.”
The buzz continued long after the fish were out of sight.
Harry choreographed the outburst. He knew how effective it would be. He spread the word that there would be fireworks at his committee meeting on Tuesday, which assured plenty of media. He intended the story to be the lead on every news broadcast Tuesday evening. He expected Clay’s picture to be on the front page of the Washington Post the next day. What he had Clay do was outrageous and it violated every norm of decorum at the Capitol.
Harry had everyone’s attention. No one left the committee meeting room for fear of missing the next outrageous stunt. Senator Harry McCallister was a wave-maker and the surf was up.
“There’s another issue I hadn’t planned to talk about. A conversation this weekend has me contemplating the proper action to take. If I don’t say something, nothing is going to be said. Silence is never the answer to a problem.
“Before I excuse those of you that have testified here today, I want to make a comment about the environment concerning some invisible people in this country. Several years ago, I came across an article that spoke about an excavation of unmarked graves taking place at an Indian boarding school,” Harry said thoughtfully.
“You may not know this, because I didn’t until recently, but for over a century, our government removed Native American children from their parents and put them into what were called Indian boarding schools. The idea was to assimilate them to white culture. Make them useful citizens. This might sound innocuous to you. It did to me.”
“Apparently the article I read was about an excavation at a Canadian site. It seems the Canadians had these schools too. What had them excavating unmarked graves, I can’t say. There was a number given in the 70s of bodies they’d found. I went to a boarding school for six years. There was no cemetery, because no one died at school, and if someone did die, he’d have gone home to be buried,” Harry reasoned.
“This brings me back to unmarked graves being excavated at an Indian boarding school. Unmarked indicates to me they were secret. The name of the child in an unmarked grave was anonymous. A child taken from his parents to be trained to become a productive member of white society died at school. How did he die and who was he?
“You can see why the article about an excavation of unmarked graves at a Canadian boarding school troubles me. Are the Canadians as dumbfounded by the discovery of such graves as I am? If you sent your child to school, and he never came home--and the children in those unmarked graves obviously didn’t go home--wouldn’t you inquire, ‘Hey, what did you do with my kid?’” Harry surmised.
“I didn’t know about these schools. I didn’t know it was policy to take indigenous children away from their parents to put them in boarding schools. I don’t think I was supposed to know. I never heard of such a thing. Being the son of a rich guy, I went to boarding school. I never gave a thought to anyone dying there,” Harry said.
“We had hundreds of Indian boarding schools in this country. I keep wondering what secrets might be buried at our boarding schools. If I were someone who took it upon himself to investigate suspicious goings on, I think this is an investigation it’s time to have. No one, no matter who they are, should need to wonder what happened to the kid the government took away from them. No one should take that to the grave with them. I’m afraid many Indian parents did just that.”
Harry stopped, picked up his gavel, and said, “This session is adjourned. Thank you for coming.”
The gavel struck twice. This session of Harry’s committee ended.
Reporters knew better than to make a dash for the door. Up until the gavel sounded, you could slip out quietly. After the session was gaveled to a close, guests left first, followed by senators, then everyone else got to head for the nearest phones to call in their story.
Harry took his guests for a late lunch and his car left to take Clay’s contingent to Hyde Field for the flight home just before five. It took fifty minutes to make the twenty minute trip during rush hour.
Clay flew the Apache into the evening sky a little after six.
The tailwind meant he’d be landing behind Harry’s house at a few minutes after ten.