Whiteclay part 13

A place just outside of town offered Buffalo feeds for five dollars. I've seen buffalo before,I waited twenty minutes for a herd of them to cross U.S. 385 near Hot Springs when I was a teenager. There's more buffalo out there than you think, (The American bison, the American Indian, and Mark Twain all have something in common) and they're really not that impressive, to tell the truth. Domestic cattle fill the same biological niche today, and they're every bit as mystical. And don't you feel just a little bit dirty, guy whoever runs the place, catering to what the Wasicus expect?

This is also the home of what are clearly the cheapest political campaigns in the Western world. Splintered wood on the side of the road with slogans like "Tom Conroy, law and order" or "Vote Brenda District 7" If you spend more than a hundred dollars trying to get on the tribal council, you're a filthy plutocrat.

Halfway between Pine Ridge and Oglala sits Red Cloud Indian school, a Catholic academy.If you know anything about the history of Christian acadamies offering their services to Native children, this might make you a bit uneasy. Rest assured though that Red Cloud is a throughly modern school that respects Lakota tradition. (The place is certainly in much better condition than any of the public schools on the rez.) The experience of going there is no different from what any Catholic school kid has to go through, which should be more than enough to make you uneasy; poor bastards. The man who runs the place, until just recently at any rate, is one Fr. Klink. Any kid who breaks the rules at Red Cloud has this face to deal with.


Imagine if you will this Pennywise the clown face glaring at you in anger. I find it hard to believe that having your native tongue beaten out of you could be any worse.

It is also around here, just off U.S. 18, where the shootout at Jumping Bull ranch occurred. FBI agents Ronald Williams and Jack Color met their deaths here in 1975. One Leonard Peltier sits in prison for their murders today. His guilt is disputed. The incident happened at a time when the reservation was in a state of general havoc and I'm sure you've heard a thing or two about it. I may or may not give my own thoughts on the matter in the future. A neutral source of information on the matter would be appreciated though I know it's also damned unlikely. As for now our journey drags.

The village of Oglala is home to a few more than 1200 people, or so the Census Bureau tells me, I have my doubts. The place is even more ragged and disorganized than the Ridge. Even the smallest Midwestern villages create the feeling of being enclosed on their central blocks. Oglala is shacks and trailers flung out in every direction on the prairie and one never really feels like being inside anything at all.

The post office here is nice, at least from the outside, at least compared to the private homes. A man slept on the front step. When we drove back through the other way he was sleeping on the back step.

"Women are Sacred" said the signs, as indeed they are in Lakota tradition. Of course, the purpose of the signs is to discourage wife-beating, as embarrassing in their way as the "Never Ever Shake a Baby" signs that our own Health and Human Services department puts out.

"Why Die?" say the signs where somebody did, sometimes next to the more traditional white cross and teddy bear. How many of these wreck victims were drunk? Certainly not all of them; law of averages you know.

Speaking of gambler's fallacies, we had some trouble finding the casino. We're from the city you know. Patience is for the serfs. After driving west from Oglala for about five minutes we got bored with the tan and determined that there couldn't possibly be anything out here. So we turned back and drove all the way to Pine Ridge.

We decided to ask for directions at Big Bat's before giving up completely. The existence of the casino was nothing but a rumor to the townies. This didn't look good. Finally one of the clerks said to just keep driving past Oglala until we reached it. "Are we just stupid" Dan asked? "That may well be." I said.

Prairie Wind Casino sits on the opposite end of the reservation from town, some thirty miles. We had driven for forty minutes longer than necessary, biblical punishment for our lack of faith. Its location is meant to catch traffic bound for the Black Hills and Rapid City. So here it sits twelve miles from the nearest settlement, it's parking lot covered in a fine layer of eroding sandhill.

I had been to casinos before, and found them all to be hilariously stupid. I never had been to a reservegas though, and had no idea what to expect.

Outside the wind was nearly deafening, and we could barely here Tupaq's
"Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z." from the car stereo twenty feet away.