Potawatomi Family Reunion

by Donna Schoenkopf

It’s Saturday, June 25, 2011. It’s really sweltering outside and there’s a wind blowing hot and strong, sucking the moisture out of everything. I am wondering how I will survive the heat because I will be going, for the first time, to the annual Citizen Potawatomi Nation Family Reunion Festival in Shawnee, Oklahoma.

I have been hired by the Citizen Potawatomi Nation to write a piece on what used to be called a Pow Wow and is now called a Family Reunion. Not only has the name of this annual event changed, but the function has, too. It’s all about the celebration of the Potawatomi family. As I heard Rocky say one time, “Tribe is just another name for family.”

As I’m driving this hot morning, I think of what the Potawatomis have accomplished since I last lived here, over 45 years ago. An old high school friend, Rocky Barrett, has been Chairman of the Potawatomis for decades now and has, with help from talented members of the tribe, turned the Potawatomis into a financial powerhouse and an environmental example for all of us. Rocky’s put geothermal in all their casinos, tribal housing, clinics, wellness centers, and on and on.

The Citizen Potawatomi Nation is the largest employer in Pottawatomie County. They employ any Potawatomi who wants a job, educate any Potawatomi who wants an education, supply free medical care, take care of the aged, and have a great Family Reunion once a year. They have been studied around the world for being at the top of successful Indian tribes. They are an example of doing well by doing good.

As I walk to the grounds, I see tree-shaded grassy lawns with colorful pop-up tents dotting the grass. I see frisky little electric carts carrying passengers to and from their vehicles. I see hundreds of RVs and trailers parked. There are all kinds of roofed open-air structures. No one will pass out under the blazing sun here!

I get to a bridge that crosses over a sweet creek. I stop to look down at the water. The cottonwood trees along the creek are huge and old and the creek has washed away the soil from the roots. They are gnarled and twisted and beautiful.

As I walk across the bridge I meet some people, two men and two women, coming toward me, and decide to conduct my first interviews.

Kim Anderson meets me with a smile. She is eating a bratwurst. A big one—free—because everyone here is part of the Potawatomi family. “The best thing today?” she says. “ My son ... I got to see my son for the first time in several months.” They exchange smiles.

There is another woman with her, Debbie Stiles. She’s eating a hot dog. “The best thing? I’m blessed to have my family with me. We buried a family member yesterday, so today we’re happy we’re here with each other.” The two women are cousins. They look like twins.

I think about all the events during the day and realize that if I hurry I might just make it to the archery contest. On the way I meet some young men who are going to their truck to cool off. Storm, one of the three, tells me they’ve just won the basketball tournament, without Kane, the second, who is tall and athletic and a 2006 Shawnee High School football player. The third, Caleb, is striking with his red mohawk, dagger earring in one earlobe and blue one in the other, red beard, eyelashes tipped blond, sparkling blue eyes. He is headed to Iraq, as an Army infantry man.

A little further on I see the arena in the distance. It’s big. It’s where the Grand Entry and Pow Wow Dance will be starting at 8:00 pm. The covering over the arena, wide strips of a dark green canvas type of material held by steel cables, is softly billowing with the breeze. The design a fine thing to see. There’s a large hole in the “ceiling” through which hot air rises out, and on the ground a huge circle of deep, velvety grass.

It is beautiful. It is quiet. There is a lovely light over the place. It feels like a sanctuary or a church. The blue sky through the hole in the top, the oaks around the perimeter, the almost empty bleachers, the golden stripes of sunlight on the grass, all make for an almost heavenly feeling. I stop and watch the canvas floating in the wind. I’ve the archery contest. I stand inside that spacious, cool, green space, just savoring it.

I walk back outside. There are people everywhere, relaxed and strolling. It is like a big family at a really big reunion. I am feeling easy and at home. Nobody’s fighting. No children crying. Nobody’s hot or cranky. There is shade everywhere. Just a gentle, sweet day.

I enter a huge eating area. Large fans overhead move the air. Lots of people drinking and eating. The names of honored families adorn large banners. I guess each year families are picked to share their histories and be honored. I barely know what my family lineage is. I imagine most people in this day and age are in the same boat. But not here. Here everybody is connected by long stories of family exploits, successes, suffering, adventure.

Outside, I see smoke. I smell food. I follow my nose to a huge outdoor grill, industrial, on cinder blocks. Hot dogs and brats sizzle. They don’t know how many they’ve cooked, but tell me that last year they made 4500 bratwursts and 9000 hot dogs. People can just walk up and get them, free. It’s a family, after all.

I walk over to where the fry bread is being kneaded and shaped. A tall, quiet, dark-haired woman (early twenties?) flours her hands, deftly pulls a hunk of dough off the mass, drops it onto a large, floured baking sheet, kneads it while keeping her hands and dough floured so it doesn’t stick. She is surprised by me watching her and describing her every move into a microphone. But only for a second. She doesn’t miss a beat in her lovely hand dance. And bingo! There’s another beautiful, round, thick, white floured fry bread.

Her name is Andrea Mitchell. (I wonder if she knows there’s a famous Andrea Mitchell who is a political reporter on MSNBC.) I stroll over to the three deep fryers and come to where they do the fry bread. Two people frying. They take one of the circles of dough and lay it carefully in the deep oil. It floats. They gradually turn a perfect golden brown, light and puffy.

“Gotten any burns doing this?” I ask Lauren, a young woman who doesn’t take her eyes off her work.

“Just the tips of my fingers,” she replies. And smiles.

After meeting and talking to all kinds of people (all of whom talk about their families and their heritage) I wander back to the arena. It’s cool and shady and peaceful. I feel the air rising up and out through the hole above me. I realize that I haven’t been uncomfortable at all today. Everything is shaded, by man-made constructions or by nature. The design has been beautifully thought through. I am sure Rocky had a huge hand in it. It’s his forte.

Drum practice is starting. I sit down in the bleachers next to Dan, whose great grandmother was a full-blooded Potawatomi. He is married to a woman who had three children, he had his own three children, and now they have three children together. “Nine little Potawatomis!” his wife laughs.

A few people, then many, practice dancing with the drumming. The dance is like a slow trot. The ball of the foot is put down first, then the foot is lifted, then put down flat. Same thing on the other foot. At least some folks are doing it that way.

Evening.

I walk toward the arena. I hear drumming and singing. The arena is filled, the bleachers nearly so. The drummers are in the center. The excitement is electric.

Seven dancers with long red albs come in and begin the dance. One is a small boy, maybe seven years old. He has a mohawk. He’s very cool. Five women on the edge of the grass wear traditional dress. I see Chairman Barrett near the drummers. He’s wearing a white cowboy hat. He looks happy.

Drumming and singing/chanting fill the arena. The people in the bleachers feel both. After a bit Chairman Barrett begins to walk the perimeter with a bowl of smoking sage and a hawk wing. He smudges the people gathered there. As he approaches our area, people are whispering to each other, “There he is! There’s Rocky!” He’s their hero, their star. They love and revere him.

I look at the people around me. Men and women with colorful ribbons sewn flat onto shirts and skirts in geometrical patterns. Men in official Citizen Potawatomi Nation vests with a feather hanging from the back of each of their ball caps. A woman in traditional dress with dozens of silver cones sewn to her skirt. They rattle as she walks and the light dances off them.

The honored families of the year have gathered outside the arena, along with Rocky and the tribe’s representatives and council members. The drumming/chanting has become more and more powerful.

The Grand Entry begins. Veterans lead the way, carrying the flags of the United States and the Citizen Potawatomi Nation. There is a tall man, in full military dress with ribbons and medals on his chest and a Potawatomi headdress of fur and feathers, a blue and white cummerbund, and ribbons tied around his upper arms. He is the epitome of his two cultures. Slowly the people walk-dance in tighter and tighter circles until all the participants are in the arena. It’s thrilling and beautiful.

The announcer calls out the names of the honored families. There are 227 women in the Grand Entry, says the announcer, more than at any other time. He tells us the tribe has given out 1300 scholarships this year and that 5126 people have come to the Family Reunion from all over the United States.

The dance competitions begin. First the under-six-year-olds, toddlers mostly. Nothing is cuter. Their mothers and fathers and big brothers and sisters accompany them around the circle. Some children have pretty good steps. Then the children and parents are called up to hear who has won. Surprise! EVERYBODY wins! All the children walk away with a crisp $5 bill.

Next it’s ladies’ choice. Partners stroll onto the grass and dance their slow stepping dance. Some ladies have chosen their small sons, there are grammas and grampas, there are young marrieds. Sweet.

The ladies dance competition now. The women are gorgeous in their traditional dress. One woman is in deep blue and white and her long shawl swirls as she dances. There are women with more silver cones sparkling on their skirts. Each is beautiful.

Men’s turn. Strong and handsome, they move with grace and power, enough to make a girl ... never mind.

The end of the evening draws near. I am tired. I am filled with the music, the food, the art, the dance, the families, the closeness of the Potawatomis. I’ll be walking back to my car soon, feeling family all around me.

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