We buy their fine buffalo, we hire them, we are friends with them, and we are related to them. Though it is impossible to put yourself into the shoes of a minority group, we understand how hard and complicated Native Americans lives are and we know about the difficulties of working with them. It is indisputable that, on reservations, time moves at a different pace, promises are not always kept, and alcohol can be a devastating obstacle to conscientious work. The reasons for these problems are well known and not something that I want to rehash in this monthly musing. I will not argue that it is racism to point these shortcomings out when they apply to Native Americans. I want to argue that it is racism when we fail to level the same criticism at ourselves.
Here is what has me riled up: After a tragic house fire in September, we contracted to have a house built and moved onto the old site. Daughter Jilian and her fiancé, Colton, had been living in the house when it burned down. They moved in with us but we were determined to battle heaven or hell to get them back into their own space. We did our best to keep a positive attitude but nothing about this transition has been easy. The loss of the old house and all the property inside – including two of the best dogs that ever lived – was traumatic. Though the new house that we chose is modest in the extreme, the financing was still difficult and entailed very real sacrifice. The timing too was difficult because, in addition to both being full time students, Jilian, who is an anchor in the Wild Idea office, and Colton, who helps me on the ranch, are planning to get married next June. They needed a home and they needed it quickly.
Had there been time, we would have chosen to build the house ourselves – something we have always wanted to do. But there was no time, so we went to a builder of pre-built homes and made a down payment on a home that we were promised would be ready for habitation in a month. Of course we were not so naive to think that the kids would actually be living in their house in four weeks. I’ve learned that building contractors are a little like horse traders – a certain level of exaggeration is to be expected. But we pinned the builder down to habitation by Thanksgiving. Jilian, who had been fighting off gloom and depression since the fire, was uplifted and just seeing her smile made me smile too.
Well, of course that didn’t happen. The guy that we dealt with left the company under a very stressful set of circumstances. The company had over sold houses in the North Dakota oil boom and ours got “pushed back a little.” Then they lost the list of appliances that Jilian and Jill had pick out and, for a while, the carpet was “unavailable.” They couldn’t figure out how to get the bathtub upstairs. Even though the house was being built in the warm, windless confines of a huge building, weather somehow delayed them. Just before Christmas, Jilian and I met with the production boss and the owner of the company. The boss was a pleasant, Scandinavian-looking, young man from Minnesota. The owner was an old, white guy from the west coast who didn’t say much but obviously held the purse strings. They were very apologetic and very nice. With only a small amount of effort we extracted renewed promises of completion. Jilian, whose sprits had been sinking, brightened up and suddenly a merry Christmas seemed possible.
But delay struck again in the form of an inability to find a concrete contractor who could put in a simple foundation for the house that we were assured was “just about ready to roll out.” Now South Dakota has not been hit by the recession as hard as some places but our house had been on the docket for three months by then. Surely there was a concrete contractor looking for work. The general contractor sent one of his guys out to trench in a couple hundred feet of electrical line – which turned out to be the wrong size and had be torn out and replaced with larger wire. While he was there with the backhoe he leveled out the house site and a concrete contractor finally showed up. They started off by having an argument about whether or not the pad was level.
The concrete contractor was a sickly, older man who sat in his truck and ordered his grown kids around from the driver’s side window. He shook a bottle of pills and laughed that they were the only thing that keep him getting up in the morning. When he wasn’t arguing with his kids, he was telling me how terrible his life had been: how he’d been cheated on almost every job he ever did. He pointed at the younger boy and said that he had probably made the mistake of not beating him enough when he was small.
Three days later I checked in on the foundation progress and found that none of the boys had shown up. The old guy was out of the truck picking up a few tools. “It’s almost Christmas”, he said as if that explained everything. “They’re all drunk and that little one,” he shook his head. “Little son-of-a-bitch stole my pain pills. I fired his ass.”
I was worried about what was going on up at the site and I sent a text message to the builder but I never got an answer. I finally got a hold of him by phone on the day before New Year’s Eve and he assured me that the house would be there on the next Friday. The crane that would hoist it onto the foundation would be there at 7:30 Saturday morning.
My family felt like celebrating so we went out on New Years Eve. Jilian, Colton, Jill and I were joined by Jill’s older boy, Lucas. We had a great dinner at a wonderful restaurant in Rapid City (the Silver Spoon) where a discriminating diner can get Wild Idea buffalo meat. We went dancing and hit a couple bars before the old folks had to go to bed in their room at the Radisson. We had wisely decided that 42 miles was too far to drive on New Year’s Eve. Jill and I did not stay up late enough to see the New Year come in, but we were still up when our party ran into the youngest son of the concrete contractor. He was just leaving the Oasis Bar. It has always been known as an “Indian Bar” and, in our younger days, it was a favorite of Jill’s and mine. The kid hung on the wall of the Oasis. His eyes were not focusing and I don’t think he recognized any of us, though he spoke directly to me. “Don’t go in there” he slurred. “Full of fuckin’ Indians.” He was the drunkest ambulatory man any of us had ever seen. We tried to call him a cab but he broke away from us and somehow disappeared down a nearly vacant street.
The house – in three parts – did indeed show up on that next Friday and everyone was excited. Jilian was up long before 7:30 the next morning, ready to watch her home be resurrected. We all stood clad in coveralls and stocking caps in the cold South Dakota dawn to watch the miracle of the western can-do sprit come to fruition. At the edge of our vision was the reservation where almost nothing works. But there on the White side of the river we were about to watch a modern home actually decent to earth from above. The wonders of western industry were all in place. The huge crane swung its boom over the largest portion of the house and the workmen made the straps secure. In an instant the house was air borne; dangling over the foundation and it looked like the dream might indeed be true. But when the house was lowered, it was painfully clear that it was a foot too small for the foundation. Upon careful examination, the crew found that the three parts of the house did not fit together. People stood, dumbstruck in the cold, still air. No one could speak and I thought that Jilian might burst into tears.
There is a way to fix things. There always is. But dreams do not always die dramatic deaths – they can wear away through constant, tiny insults that can be inflicted by any of us. Of the dozen or so people who are directly responsible for the tragic comedy of errors that has been our house raising, none are Native American. Many of those same people would make a cruel joke out of such a debacle if it had happened on the other side of the Cheyenne River. But what has happened to us will never be a joke. Excuses will be made. The buck will be passed. Deals will be struck. Judgments may come down. But somehow the White people will get a pass for their incompetence and dysfunction. The protective mythology will live on, and the truth avoided once again.
Comments 18
Wow, All those involved ought to be shot. I was a contractor for 40 years, always stayed out of homebuilding, instead industrial and commercial was my liking. It proves again what a bunch of bums homebuilders tend to be. The few that are good get into the C & I, because they don’t conduct business this way. I’m sorry for your experience.
Dan … remember the old fashioned barn raisings that are in history books and old movies? I guess those were the good old days. Sigh … makes me embarrassed to be a retired Architect.
Hi Guys and Girls – I am so sorry that your new house has been such a nightmare experience. Here’s hoping that it all comes out OK in the long run. Hang in there Jillian, you are a living doll! I love all that you folks aore doing, and may you all have “God’s blessings in all that you do. I put you all in my golden heart, and in the arms of the Sugmad, the Eck, and the Mahanta. May the blessings be. Love, Don
There’s nothing else for it… This just plain blows!
Hi Dan,
It’s been a while–Patti and I are still on our farm in northern MN. Racism is alive and well everywhere. About a week ago, at our intersection onto the main highway, a young Native American man sat in his wheelchair, one leg obviously missing. I asked if he needed help. “Push me across the divided highway,” he said. He was hitchhiking into Bemidji. I loaded him into my truck and tucked his chair in back. During the drive, I learned that he lived north of me and had rolled himself almost five miles. He didn’t say a word about the many people that had driven past him.
I hope the new home is coming together.
Take Care, Wendell Affield
I couldn’t agree more. We live in a border town here in SD. We moved here from NY State 2 years ago by choice. We have lives in both Native and White communities and find the differences are at times a real challenge. The racism was not a surprise. What struck us is how deep the racism is and how little the White community is even aware they are racist. We strive to live in such a way as to maybe change that a tiny bit.
Dan and all: If you are in our neighborhod, we offer our strawbale guest house for a few nights. Doubt if anyone up there uses strawbales. It would take longer to build but the technique is very forgiving and there are many positives in such a building.
Hi Dan, happy new year as well as for the rest of the “familly”.
Hope Jilian s house problems will see an end.
I could have come and do the plumbing 😉
A bientot.
Nicolas
Dan, WASHTE! I have a deep love and compassion for my Native American friends. Through all the problems on the Rez. – the alcohol and drugs (which we need to not point fingers about) the Lakota culture is rich in tradition and spirituality. I find it amazing that most of the Lakota folks I know have such a great sense of humor, any culture that can laugh and share what little most of them have is a pretty good example for all of us! Thank you for taking a stand on this subject – Your friend and “rugged rockpicker of the plains”, Jim Peacock
PS: please give Erney my regards, can’t wait until I get to come out to see you folks again!
My heart goes out to you over your home building fiasco. My guess is that you got a rummy of a general contractor who cannot hire good subs (does he pay well and timely?).
When building our home 8 years ago, I had the good fortune to work with one of the finest builders I ever hope to meet. He was so flexible and patient, and all of his sub crews performed flawlessly. The house is a gem and the timing was exactly as planned. On the other hand, I have also worked with a couple of contractors that I would not recommend to anyone for anything.
In short, it seems like a lot of what is called racism is just data-based good decision making about safety. Introduce me to a good decent honest man of any race or ethnicity, and we will be friends. I’ll stay away from the others, thank you, and you can call it what you want.
That said, my family and I are sure looking forward to buying more of your fine buffalo meet this coming summer. I’m glad knowing that any support we provide you will also be shared with your Native American neighbors. And I hope by then that your daughter will be living in a new home made right to her wishes. Best of success with your ranching, family and friends. May God bless you all.
Your telling of a delicate subject was very well done. I know it needs to be fixed but what will fix it? I don’t know and I do not think anybody else knows how. God will be the one to lead us I am sure, because there is hope but all to often it is hard to grasp. Thanks for your writings.
Please do everyone a favor and publish these names and businesses on Angie’s list. Thank you!
Greetings and commiserations from Eugene, Oregon. I can just feel the frustration you must have endured. Our experience (not nearly as devastating as yours) was when we were building a house in Central Oregon. When it came time for hunting season, the entire building crew just left — and left a note saying they would return after hunting season. Local drinkin’, gamblin’, gun-lovin’ white builders, like yours.
Welcome to my world Dan! Its well known in the Real Estate industry the “delays” in new construction, and yes we all are primed for it but never able to deal w/reality of all the hassles. They get a rep and out of business on the impatient East Coast quickly tho. See what , if any, recourse you have for maybe some price breaks or upgrades are in the contract. Always have an agent go over it for you as the contracts are all, of course in the builders favor and provide nothing for the buyers, a tough negotiator could have maybe got some small $ati$faction for the kids and ya’ll! Hope they have much happiness and good life in the New Place, may want to have someone come over from the “other side” to do sage n cedar for them, just saying!
p/s don’t you feel better having “exposed” your feelings? Make sure a copy gets to say the builders and online!
Sorry about the house, but I don’t see how this needed to be turned into a white guilt exercise.
Hi Dan. Sorry you have been a victim of building incompetence… it does happen everywhere. I agree with Clark, abive, about a strawbale house…. flexible (will fit any existing foundation), long-lasting, Insulation starts at R-54 and can be installed with some directions and mostly common sense…books available. We once picked up a young Navajo couple as we left Canyon de Chelles on a back road north to CO. They were out of gas and it was dusk w/ temps. dropping fast in early spring. We had to have them ride in the pick-up bed as we had all our travel/camping gear in our rear seat, but gave them bottles of water, a couple cigarettes and blankets. When they got out at a town 40 miles up the road, they were VERY thankful, polite and we didn’t think a thing of it, really. But the last thing the young man said was, “I never woulda’ ‘magined that some white tourists would stop for us…thanks again!” We discussed that for another 50 miles until we got to a motel. I guess we were totally ignorant about the way things are and we were glad we weren’t “typical” white bigots…..
Racism can work in interesting and “untypical ways”! The comments noted here are one example of this to my view! For years I delt with the “white culture” in construction of homes, boats, and otherthings as a mixed breed indian. Then in more recent years my wife and I operated as our own owher-contractor and purposevely hired primarily native-american labor. This was met by considerable “pushback” from the “locals” who for awhile refused to sell me needed supplies and who came on my property making threats to me, my wife, and fellow workers. This only “died down” after pushback on my part by writing about it in some local newspapers and legal action as well as support from local tribal organizations. Have you considered working with your local tribal connections on this? If you already are why not write about it on these pages?
Hello Dan,
Now in May I hope a good house is in place for these young people. What
a debacle.
I applaud again and again your calling out of the awful racism against
Native Americans in this country. My grandmother lived in great fear
100 + yrs. ago of letting folks know about her heritage. It took me yrs. to
discover my Dakota & Ojibwa heritage. I stand proud now in my 70th
yr. to tell anyone about how I cherish my roots and raise Navajo-Churro
sheep with my husband as restorative justice. We could not have managed buffalo.
Your book BUFFALO FOR THE BROKEN HEART is truly fine and is
the only book other than N.Scott Momaday’s HOUSE MADE OF DAWN that I have read twice. Blessings on you, your family and all the buffalo. Julie Kenefick, River Falls, Wisconsin