Paul G

Posted by lostwolfcrockett

When I go to powwows, I dance in memory of Digger. My
dancing is prayer for him. I dance to say thank you. I
dance to say I'm sorry. I dance with him. This is the
story of what happened.
I remember when my dad's friend was coming over, we
were excited. Dad was looking forward to seeing his
buddy who had been stationed with him in Okinawa and
was coming to Cherry Point, North Carolina. As we ran
around playing tag with the other children, we must
have heard our Moms talking. Somehow, from Mom's talk
with Donny junior's mom, Shirley, we heard that dad's
friend was "part-colored" and we wondered what that
looks like? So my brother and I were standing on the
couch, watching the door as he walked in, and we sang
out: "Nigga's here! Nigga's here!" and whispered to
each other "He's the same brownish-reddish color as
Daddy! He's not colored!" Of course we were shushed,
and someone came and talked to us. Then it was
smoothed over: the children misheard and mispronounced
"Digger" a nickname, like "Crickett" etc. So his
nickname became "Digger." His name was Denver Odell,
which I forgot over the years. We heard that Daddy &
Digger were "blood brothers" through a secret ceremony
that people don't do anymore, but that was 45 years
ago, before AIDS and all the diseases we have in our
world now. So sometimes my brother & I called him
"Uncle Digger."
Digger said one of his grandparents was Irish. He said
one of his grandparents was a child of a child who had
escaped slavery. And he said he was a grandchild of an
Indian. Digger said, "What's black and white and red
all over? A sunburned zebra? a newspaper? ME!"
I remember Digger & Daddy playing guitar and singing
in the living room. They sang many songs, I remember
loving "You Are My Sunshine" because they sang melody
& harmony and it was interesting the way it came
together with different voices. When my kids were
little, I'd sing it to them at bedtime, and had a deep
lonely sad feeling that I was missing or forgetting
something, somebody, important.
I remember I used to have temper tantrums, and I
must've been close to four and a half years old. I'd
throw myself down on the floor & even bang my head.
Digger told my parents to leave me alone and let me do
it & wait til I stop myself. They watched from the
kitchen, but it was hard for them. When I finally
stopped & cried myself out, he came over and asked if
I was ready to talk. He asked if I wanted help. I said
yes. I thought he was like a medicine man who could
get rid of the "ghosts" who were hurting me. He asked
who banged my head. I answered that "I did" and he
asked whose head was being hurt and I answered, "Mine"
and he asked who did it and I answered "Me" so he said
"So 'I' banged 'Mine' head and 'Me' did it?" "No! Not
you Uncle Digger! When I say I, Me, Mine, I mean
Brenda! When you say I, Me, Mine, you mean Digger!"
"Thank you for explaining that, Brenda" he said. Then
he looked me in the eyes, real quiet, I saw my own
reflection in his eyes. Finally he said, "I don't know
how to solve your problem. There are no ghosts for me
to chase away. But I think I can tell you something,
if you want to hear it." I said that I did, and then
he explained to me "Brenda is the one doing it. Brenda
is the one getting hurt. Brenda is the one who can
decide to stop." I sat and thought about that many
days, it was a conversation that grew like a tree
inside of me throughout my life.

I remember Digger bringing a buffalo skin to show
Daddy and it was set across the couch back while the
adults were somewhere else talking. I was alone in the
livingroom. At first I was afraid of the buffalo's
face, I felt like he was alive, but knew he wasn't. I
looked at him for awhile and felt less scared. I felt
sad because the hair was matted and clumpy. I thought
someone should love buffalo and fix his hair. So I
untangled the hair on his face with my fingers,
running my fingers through it until there were
straight rows, going along a triangle -along the
forehead and down to the nose and back up to the
forehead. I fell asleep with my head against the
buffalo's face. When the adults came in the room, my
mom freaked! Daddy took me to wash my hands in the
bathroom and put me to bed, while Mommy screamed about
the "filthy beast!"

The place we lived must have been Marines' family
housing, because our neighbors' dad's all worked
together in the Marines. There were some with rhyming
names, like Dawn & Tammie's parents, Lonnie & Sheila,
kinda rhymed with Junior's parents, Donny & Shirley;
and there was a Marine called Jesse. I heard him say
to my Mom, "What am I supposed to do? You don't like
me because my parents named me Jesus (Haysoos)? Lot's
of people in my culture name their sons Jesus because
it is love and respect for Jesus....." His wife was
Francie, he said it was an Indian word for "beauty"
and he said this when he heard us kids making fun of
her because she had dark eyebrows. He said he wasn't
looking to marry a tv star or magazine model, he loved
his wife and she was beautiful to him. I began to see
that it was true, she was beautiful and I was sorry
for joining the children's taunts. Francie saved my
life, when I was in the field making flower chains and
the tractor was coming. They had a nephew, who was
also named Jesus, but they called him by his middle
name which I don't remember, so I'm calling him "Al."
When Al came to visit, first we had to talk about how
he looks like a man but has long hair like a girl. We
learned that an Indian warrior has long hair, which he
cuts when something bad happens, like his parents die.
Then we found out he wasn't yet a "man" although he
was taller than Jesse & our Daddy! He was going to be
13 and they were going to have a ceremony to make him
a man. It must have been fall, 1961, because I talked
with Al about how I was four-and-three-quarters and he
was 9 years older than me, and every year there would
be 9 years difference, I'd never catch up and I had a
real math lesson to think about for awhile.
So then, Digger comes to the door, and has the
Buffalo, and politely said it was cleaned and where
could he put it? Well Mom screamed "Get that beast out
of my house!" and the men all went out the back door.
I was watching cartoons on tv, sitting on the floor,
while Mom stood by the wall phone and talked to her
friend, Shirley. After awhile, I heard her plead into
the phone, "Promise they won't hurt my husband!"
Then there was a loud band at the back door, and
Daffy, Jesse, and Al, came running in and they started
washing Indian paint off their faces in the kitchen,
and Mom screamed "My clean towels! I spent all day
doing laundry!" There was banging at the back door,
which mom held closed & locked, and Daddy yelled, Let
Digger in! And she yelled "I won't have that beast in
my house!" and I was hearing words that I can't write
here, when my brother came and said "Brenda, come see
the ghosts!" "there's no such thing as ghosts." "Yes,
there is, come see!"
So I followed my brother to our room and we stood on
the bed and watched out the window. There were ghosts!
Men wearing sheets were "ghosts" to us at that age. I
saw the ghosts had ropes, lariated around the buffalo!
I ran and interrupted my parents screaming at each
other. "Daddy! The ghosts are catching Digger! You
have to save him!" Like I thought Daddy was Superman
or something. Daddy said, "There's no such thing as
ghosts, go to your room." Al realised what was going
on, and came to our room and closed the window shades.
He looked for something to divert our attention. My
brother's diaper was soggy. He unpinned it and I put
it in the diaper pail. I went to the diaper shelf but
it was empty. The laundry was on Mommy's bed waiting
to be folded, and I wasn't allowed to go in there.
Then for some reason we crawled under the bed to hide.
I put my head on Al's arm for a pillow and felt safe
although we were really scared. He said good things to
me and got my mind off what was happening out there,
and I even forgot for a moment. I know that because it
was like suddenly being awoken and the whole world
turned upside down, when someone told us to come out
from under the bed.
There were police in our doorway. Outside the door
were hundreds of ghosts (men in sheets). Inside our
doorway, was Donnie, wearing sheets with the hood off,
across his arm. He had fancy designs on his sheets and
said he was the dragon. We thought, wow, a dragon!
Shirley or someone, took me aside and asked what we
were doing in the room, under the bed. I explained.
She said,"You are not in trouble, if you tell the nice
policeman that Jesse molested you." So I went out and
said the words. Which Jesse? someone asked, and I
pointed to Al. Then they grabbed & hogtied him and I
screamed, "Why are you doing that! He's good!" and
someone asked, What does molested mean? I said, I
thought it meant what we did under the bed. What did
you do under the bed? We were hiding from ghosts! Then
Mom screams, "He told my kids scarey ghost stories so
he could molest them!" And my brother comes along
without any diaper on, you know how that looked.

There was a lady with a recording machine. She asked
alot of questions and I refused to say anything bad
about Al,like she tried to get me to say. Then she
started a story for me to finish, without any names.
She wanted a story about a man who did inappropriate
things with a girl, and made it clear what kind pof
story it was supposed to be. I said, Oh! I know that
story. I told her about my 2 uncles in Maine. Then
when I was done, she asked my mom who the second uncle
could be. Mom said, it would be Jesse, Al's uncle. I
heard words I didn't understand so I asked. When they
talked about revenge, I asked, "What does revenge
mean?" and was sent to my room. So I went to bed
repeating the words I didn't understand and wanted to
find out later: "revenge, reasonable doubt." It had
something to do with Francie. One day I wandered over
and knocked on her door, but couldn't remember what I
wanted to ask her. I felt it was important to tell her
something but didn't know what to say and how to say
it.

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Paul G

There's more. Somehow Digger got away and they lynched
the buffalo without him. He ended up in Maine. We came
home for the holidays, and there was ahobo, wrapped
in blankets, who chopped some wood nad Grampa gave him
a plate of food, saying a hobo could be an angel from
God. One day it was a blizzard, and when grampa &
Grammy were away, Uncle Roger let the hobo go into
Grammy's room to sleep. But Grammy came home and went
right in there to take a nap. Screaming! He ran out
and looked into my face, he was scared, he was
familiar, I knew him like my own self. Grammy said she
had started to unbutton her own dress and was
surprised to find a strange man on her couch, and he'd
been startled awake and ran out. Roger tried to calm
everyone down, explained the story of the hobo
including the phrase "black and white and red all
over" then my brother and I run around singing,
"Digger's here!" and someone called the police. They
locked the door and there was loud banging out there.
I don't know what else happened.
Almost 40 years later, (1998?) I saw Digger as I was
visiting Maine. I was with my mom, and began talking
to this man. I said I felt I knew him. Mom said, "Of
course you do. That's Digger." I told him I was glad
he was alive. I asked what happened to the
Indian-Under-the-Bed, he said something to my Mom and
she started swearing & making racist slurs that
embarrassed me. I wanted to follow Digger and talk to
him more, but I was just visiting Maine for my
brother's wedding and hadn't seen my mother in 20
years. I thought I'd see him again.
I came back to maine in 2000, for a couple weeks. My
grandmother, in a nursing home, told me her secret,
her grandfather was a Penobscott Indian,that she'd
mourned the darker skinned family that she'd lost
contact with as she tried to pass for white, and
that's why she always stayed indoors, not agoraphobia
like we thought. aShe said that I would look more like
an Indian as I grow older and my mental self image
changed from funny looking white girl to beautiful
metis on the spot...I thank my grandmother for that
gift. She also asked me to give a friend a message.
The friend was Denver Odell, and he had another name
which I don't remember. I wrote down the name and
promised to remember the message. Visiting my sister
out in the country, we went to a little store and I
was standing there and saw him. I didn't know with my
mind, but I did know with my heart, because I picked
up my baby and sang "You are my sunshine" and the man
remarked on the song. I said, "My dad and his friend
used to sing it." He said, "I remember." I hugged him,
told him he'd made a difference in my life, and I
wanted him to help me teach this baby boy the Native
Ways. I said I had a message from my grandmother and
needed to sit and talk with him, and remember exactly
what she said. I called him "Grandfather" with respect
and love. My son's dad was standing over there with my
sister, watching us while they whispered to each
other, all over each other. Digger mentioned that
problem, and I responded that I know they are both
attention-needy flirts and they would have to decide
if they were willing to cheat on me, I wasn't going to
be manipulated into acting like a jealous crazy lady.
He said they were a problem for him, and sure enough,
my man came over, acting all macho, "What you doing
hugging my woman?" and some strange accusations that
included the words "rapist! . . . child-molester. . .
!" Digger ran out of there before I could straighten
this out. I told my man that was wrong, and my sister,
why are you telling my man things like that? He never
molested me and if anyone did I should be the one
telling my man! I ran outside to find him but he was
long gone.
So I'm doing the dishes at my sister's trailer,
watching news on tv, while they try to figure out
what's wrong with her car. There was something on the
news, about Digger, he was looking to visit my
grandmother in the nursing home but was chased away as
a result of being accused of rape & stalking. I needed
to call the police and straighten this out, but
there's no phone for miles, we were out in the woods.
I went out to find my sister and see where I could go
to use a phone. It was dark and I couldn't find either
my sister or my man. I called out. No one.
Later, my man walked in the door, "You think I'm
having sex with your sister? You are jealous?"

I don't know how I know this, but here's what I heard
happened:
Digger climbed a tree and was shot in the leg by
police. He was being treated in the same hospital
where my grandmother was living. They say she's nuts
and put her on meds right away so she couldn't think
straight and talk clearly to explain anything. Digger
was healing, but somehow got the wrong meds and died
in the hospital. Some one called to tell me, but I
didn't remember the name: Denver Odell. His name was
stolen from him in 1961. That's why I keep his name
alive now, in my life. The man who called just said he
was from the Penobscot tribe, but if I call them they
don't know what I'm talking about. Call the Penobscot
tribe. Ask any question. The response will be: "We
aren't looking for people." I don't mean any
disrespect. Once our grandmother's lose their relations, it is hard to get them back. We must cherish our family and friends who are here with us, while we can. I hadn't seen my brothers and sister, mother and many aunts, uncles, cousins, for decades. So
I moved back to Maine. Too late to help Digger. I
don't know where they buried him, or who his friends
and family are. I go to powwows and think of him as I
dance. At the Togus Veterans Weekend powwow, last
year, I felt like he was there, dancing with me, and
all the elders were watching me and seemed to feel his
presence also.

When I go to powwows, I dance in memory of Uncle
Digger, Denver Odell. My dancing is prayer for him. I
dance to say thank you. I dance to say I'm sorry. I
dance with him. This is the story of what happened.

__________________
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