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The way to Means

Richard K. Williams

    In the nineteen nineties the US was having a love affair with Native Americans. If not love then temporary fascination. Inspired by the movies Dances with Wolves, Smoke Signals, Skins, Powwow Highway, Thunder heart and a remake of Last of the Mohicans. Powwows began springing up all over. My friends and I took up the mantel of fascination as well, we saw all the movies, and went to a lot of pow wows. We didn’t just attend the powwows, we immersed ourselves in the culture.
Read countless books, researched the various dance styles, and talked with dancers and singers who taught us powwow etiquette. We went to powwows nearly every weekend. We made the appropriate outfits and danced in the style the clothes represented. We made traditional, grass, and fancy dance clothes. Our wives and girlfriends also made outfits, fancy shawl, traditional, and jingle dress. We even went so far as to learn Lakota songs and formed a drum. So, not only did we dance, we sang so others could dance. We traveled up and down the east coast from Maine to Florida. We also traveled west to Illinois, South Dakota, New Mexico, and Montana. We were having the time of our lives. We met a lot of great people and met some really great singers and dancers, people who were considered famous and stars of the powwow circuit.
    The biggest powwow on the east coast was hosted by the Mashantucket Pequot people, sponsored by the Foxwoods Casino called Schemitzun, or Festival of the Green Corn. In the early days it was held in the Hartford Civic Center in Connecticut. We went every year. We didn’t participate, just enjoyed watching the best singers and dancers come together from all over the country to compete for large cash prizes in the various dance styles. They also had drum contests which paid enormous sums to the winning singers. This particular year a group of us were planning on going but I had to work that Saturday, which was not an issue because we lived in New Jersey, only an hour and a half drive to Hartford. The powwow started in the afternoon and continued into the early morning hours to fit in all the dance styles and contests. I had plenty of time to make it there and enjoy the dance.
We were planning to stay overnight anyway, returning on Sunday to watch the finals. So, my friends went up on Saturday afternoon and I would meet up with them after I got out of work.

After I finished up my day, a quick shower and clothes change, then I threw together an overnight bag and hit the road to Hartford. I arrived at about seven at night and upon entering the civic center realized we hadn’t set up a meeting place. The powwow was spread out on every level of the center. The dancing and contests took place in the arena level which held seating for sixteen thousand, there were other areas that were full of traders, and food sellers. Their booths wedged side by side covering the whole place. With no other option I began wandering around hoping to eventually run into one of my friends. After an hour of walking around checking out the traders and going in the arena area to check out the drums and dancers I heard someone calling my name. It was my friend Mike, he was wearing an Oglala Lakota College tee shirt smiling from ear to ear and perhaps the most excited I’d seen him in a while. He came up to me saying, “You’ll never guess who’s here!” “Who?” I asked. “Russell Means!”
He said. Mike then waved a CD at me saying “He’s got a booth upstairs he’s selling his book and CDs; I already have his book, so I bought his CD and he signed it for me!”
“That’s great Mike, did you speak to him at all?” “I didn’t know what to say.” He answered. “Come on.” I said, “I know what to say.” I was excited to meet Russell Means, I had read so much about him and his activism, fighting for the rights and freedoms of Native Americans. His joining AIM (American Indian Movement) in 1970, he became a leader soon after. His participation in taking over the BIA offices in Washington DC, the siege at Wounded Knee, his trial afterwards, his addressing congress, Andy Warhol painted his portrait, then he became a movie star. The Washington Post called him “One of the biggest, baddest, meanest, angriest, most famous American Indian Activists of the late twentieth century. “He led a tumultuous life, and I was going to meet him. I had already read his book “Where White Men Fear to Tread.” Mike had loaned it to me. We walked around the arena to the hallway on the level where Mr. Means had his booth. As we maneuvered among the crowds of people, we could hear the steady beat of the drums and singers high pitched voices echoing from the arena floor, accented by the rhythmic jingling of the dancers’ bells. The crowd sound, mingling with the smell of smoldering cedar and white sage adding to the thrill of meeting the man who had dedicated his life to Native rights. We made our way around the arena and came to his booth.
    Of course, there was a line of people waiting to meet Russell Means, we took our place at the end and waited. The line kept moving if slowly, people chatted briefly with Mr. Means as he signed copies of his books and CDs. He didn’t appear to be enjoying himself. I assumed because he had been there meeting people all day and he was probably exhausted as well as tired of hearing the same clichés people kept repeating to him. As we moved closer to the merchandise table that held his book and CDs I picked up a copy of his book, paid for it and moved closer to him. When I finally got in front of him, I smiled and introduced myself. He stared at me with that hard look he used on the various opponents he has faced over the decades. I handed him his book and said. “I already read your book, but I wanted a copy that you signed if that’s OK. He thanked me, quickly signing the book and as he was handing it back to me, I said. “Mr. Means would it be alright if I asked you a question?” He looked at me flatly and said “Sure, go ahead.” “Like I said, I read your book already, but I would like to know if the price has gone up?” He got a puzzled look on his face and glanced at the book I was holding, then looked back at me. “Pardon me?” he asked. I said.
“In an early chapter of the book you explained that as a little boy you were in the reservation hospital to get a circumcision.
You were charging the girls on the ward a comic book to see your operation. Has the price gone up?” He stared at me steely eyed for a good five seconds, the longest five seconds of my life. Then He burst into peals of laughter. He stood up still laughing and stuck out his hand. I grasped it and we shook hands vigorously. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day, you really did read the book!” he exclaimed. I asked if my friend Mike and I could get a picture with him. “Of course!” He said.
I gave my camera to one of the men working his booth and he took the picture.
Mr. Means chatted with us as we were getting ready to take the picture he was animated and joking with us.
He was still laughing a little as we thanked him and shook hands again. I got my camera back and as we were walking away, I heard him call out. “Hey son, come over here, you gotta hear what this guy just asked me!”

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