Wally hadn’t been seen since they’d connected the houses an’ we all naturally assumed that the final preparations for bringing the world to White Dog were taking up all his time. Frankie wasn’t saying anything and told us all to be patient and be sitting by the speakers when “this damn place blasts off into the twentieth century!”
At six o’clock nothing happened. By six-twenty nothing was coming over and by six-thirty people were starting to get a little shifty-butted in their chairs. Even Ma, who’s the most patient person I ever met, was starting to think a little less kindly of Wally.
“Coulda used that five bucks for beads or somethin’ insteada sittin’ aroun’ waitin’ for that Wally. Boy, when I see him I’m gonna—” Ma’s ramble was cut short by a sudden blurt from the speaker.
It wasn’t much at first. Sounded like someone shuffling papers, moving the microphone around, sniffling and cussing at the same time. Then there was a long silence. Finally the sound of a scratchy record playing that old fiddle tune “Maple Sugar.” Them old fiddle tunes are big favorites around here and whenever my uncle Joe pulls out his fiddle and starts playing on his porch people appear from everywhere for dancing and clapping along.
Well, Ma broke into a great big smile and started tapping her toes along to the music and even I had to agree that even though the record was scratchy it was a lot better sound than anything we’d heard in a long time. Except for Ma’s old tape player we used for the blues and stuff. Anyway, when I listened out the front door I could hear the Copenaces next door hootin’ and hollering and I could see shadows dancing by the windows. Next door is like a quarter mile out here but the sounds of clappin’ and hootin’ and hollerin’ were plain as day. Seemed like Wally’s big dream was off to a rip-roaring start.
Then the music stopped. The final strains of the song died down and I think everyone was just like me, kinda leaning in towards the speaker eager to hear what came next.
“You’re listenin’ to the White Dog One Radio Network and this is your host and special musical guest Wally Red Sky sayin’ hello and welcome to White Dog’s own radio station!”
Wild cheering could be heard all over.
“Yes indeed, the Red Sky One Radio Network … where we play the tunes you wanna croon. The only radio station that plays music … by reservation only! And the only place where you can hear the vocal talents of that gifted Ojibway singer, yours truly, Wally Red Sky, between each and every record we play!”
Well, the groans could be heard from all over too. Me, I just laughed and headed on over to Keeper’s to finish listening to this big night in radio history just as Wally launched into his version of “Lovesick Blues.”
But I wasn’t the only one out and about. People were scrambling from their houses in herds and headed in the direction of the White Dog One studios at top speed. There was Indians pouring outta the bushes faster’n you see in them corny Westerns, and for people with a language that doesn’t have any cuss words they were doing pretty well with the English ones that night.
By the time I reached Wally’s there was a huge crowd all piled into his room and Wally was pressed up against the wall with a microphone in his hand begging someone out there in radioland to call 911. There was a big smear of Brylcreem across the wall where he’d slid along and people were slipping and sliding around on the drops that had fell to the floor in their frenzy at wanting to get ahold of Wally.
It was Keeper who finally saved him.
Somehow the old guy managed to get heard over top of all the pushing, shoving and shouting around.
“Quiet!” he yelled. “Quiiiiii-et!”
The noise died down to the level of one big mass grumble.
“Means no hockey, I guess,” said Wilbert Fish.
“An’ no big-money bingo either,” said Velma Crow.
“An’ no special request lines,” moaned Cameron Keewatin.
“An’ no way to turn off Wally once he launches into those tunes of his!” said Wally Senior, looking more than a bit disgusted.
“The boy tried,” Keeper said. “Maybe not so good as you all think it could be, but us we gotta look at what’s not here insteada what is.
“Lotta them old records you like and no one’s sayin’ you can’t get a bingo started, Velma. And think how easy it’s gonna be to get hold of someone clear across the reserve now that we’re all connected up. An’ me, I think even Wally’s gonna get tired of singin’ for four hours ev’ry night and maybe we can all pitch in to get him more records to play.
“Who knows, maybe even we can get a real radio station in here once the government sees how much we done on our own.”
The room was suddenly full of nodding heads and hopeful grins. “Hey, I can set up a bingo real easy. Maybe make some money for the kids’ sports aroun’ here,” Wilbert Fish said, although everyone kinda knew there’d be a gambling side of this to be sorted out later.
“An’ maybe I can get on for a few minutes ev’ry night kinda let you all know what’s goin’ on with reserve business,” Chief Isaac said to a few more groans around the room.
“Be easy hookin’ a ride to town now too,” said my uncle Buddy with a little gleam in his eye thinking about his bootlegger pal Al in Minaki.
Well, people calmed down pretty soon and started talking about plans for improving the White Dog One Network and Wally was allowed to slide off the wall and relax in his chair beside the record player. I had to admit it was a slick-looking little operation. Wally had all his dad’s old records piled up on a shelf above a table that held a pair of old turntables. The record players and Wally’s guitar and microphone were all plugged into his old tube amplifier, which in turn fed the main line out onto the reserve. Clever.
People started heading home and Wally popped an old Patsy Cline record on and slumped down in the chair in relief.
And that’s how radio came to White Dog. After a while it got to be a big part of the community and even though we changed a lotta things in these last five years lotsa people still use Wally’s old set-up to communicate.
Velma Crow started a weekly bingo with proceeds going to kids’ programs, my ma started a babysitting bulletin board for folks going to town. Chief Isaac talked about politics, known affectionately around here as the White Dog Siesta Show, and people started telling each other where the fish were sitting and whenever there was a good sale somewhere in town. The White Dog One Radio Network turned out to be a big success and even Wally was starting to sound better with all the practice.
Like Keeper said, people kinda found a balance with it all. Started using it as a tool for the community and it really didn’t change things all that fast. The slow methodical Ojibway method worked real good with the radio.
Me I started looking at things different soon after. Kinda started to slow down in the head and feel better about being here. I even go on there even now and play some blues and old R&B late at night, more for myself than anyone else but folks seem to like it.
But I slowed down. This balance thing Keeper was talking about worked real good when you thought about it. For me that outside world was always moving a bit too fast for me to keep up with. Too much to do too quick and when you spend as much time as I used to worrying about falling behind and looking stupid, well, there’s a lotta stress there. I started to see that around here you could still live large. Only here it works out to be big family, big country, big dreams and lotsa big laughs. Lotsa big laughs. I’m telling you that on accounta that radio was the start of one of the funniest things ever seen around here, and if I didn’t tell you about that I wouldn’t be much of a storyteller.
Heh, heh, heh. Sure was fun that night. Gotta admit I was lookin’ forward to seein’ what was comin’. Me I known Wally since he was born an’ seen a lotta big ideas of his but nothin’ as big as this. In his own way I suppose Wally did kinda bring the world to White Dog. Not all flashy like he wanted but he brung it in anyway. Was time I guess to. Us we bin sittin’ out here on the edges for a l
ong time just kinda watchin’ what was goin’ on out there and protecting what we got. Comes a time though when people just gotta join up to it. Both for themselves and for them that ain’t born yet.
Don’t needta bring all the world in though. But enough. The parts that’ll help us without drownin’ us. See, that’s always been the thing. Us Indyuns we seen big changes goin’ on all around. Seen the land change from bein’ free and open to bein’ all closed off an’ cut up. Seen our people go the same way. Never learned about being in balance with everythin’. Lots figured they had to be one way or the other and lots just walked away and disappeared. Hmmpfh. No one ever just disappears. Change real big inside but never disappear. Old man used to say, soon’s you get somewhere there you are. Never really made sense to me until I sobered up but now it’s big parta the way I think. Soon’s you get somewhere, there you are. Means you can’t disappear. Always gonna take yourself with you so you might as well get used to it. Find balance with things. Yourself. The world. Everything, on accounta change is the biggest law of nature. Fight change you fight yourself. Even these rocks around here are changin’. Hands of the wind are invisible hands but they’re workin’ on the face of them rocks right now. Changin’ them, shapin’ them. They look the same to use every day on accounta that change is happening slow, but it’s there. Hmmpfh. Good man, that Harold Raven.
But when you got no simple faith workin’ in your circles, well, change is a scary thing. Always be thinkin’ you’re gonna lose what you got. Always thinkin’ you’re gonna lose yourself. Gonna lose ev’rythin’. So you get real protective. Don’t let nothin’ near. Nothin’ different, new or strange. Kinda start losin’ your own sense of adventure too. Stop your own growin’ on accounta you’re usin’ all your strength to fight something you can’t see. Them invisible hands. Always gonna be there them. How do those young ones put it when they’re tryin’ out their romantic moves on each other? Don’t fight it, baby, it’s bigger than both of us? Heh, heh, heh.
But us Indyuns, well, history kinda taught us to be afraida change. So we are. Afraid of losin’ ourselves. Indyuns got a lotta pride and always wanna be walkin’ around bein’ Indyun. Don’t wanna think they’re walkin’ around bein’ anything else. So lotta times they only do what they think are Indyun things. Hang around with only other Indyuns, only go where other Indyuns go, only do things other Indyuns do. Watch sometime you see it good. It’s okay on accounta you get kinda strong that way, but’s weakening us too lotta the time. Get all closed in on yourself. It’s like a private club like the white people got out there. The only difference is, you always gotta be payin’ to join. Ev’ry day you gotta pay to join. Gotta pay up in all kindsa lost opportunity and last chances. Tryin’ to stay one way means you’re robbing yourself of things might even make you stronger. Me I seen lotsa Indyuns thinkin’ that way and all the time robbing themselves and their kids of big things that will help ’em live forever as Indyuns.
It’s like the boy’s brother says all the time. Comes down to stealin’ horses again. Stealin’ horses was a thing to he honored on accounta a couple things. First, when you took a man’s horse you took away his movin’ around. Made him less of a threat. Couldn’t fight the good fight when he couldn’t move around. Second, when you took a horse you gave yourself the power to move faster’n better. Could fight better yourself. Stay alive longer. Hunt better, keep your family strong. So stealin’ horses was a good thing and us we were good at it. Well, not so much us Anishanabe on accounta us we’re bush Indyuns that never had no horses, but it’s true for them prairie Indyuns. Me I’m only borrowin’ the story to make a point.
But Stanley says we gotta be stealin’ horses nowadays too. Gotta look at the kinda horses them outsiders ride nowadays. Need them now to fight the good fight, stay alive, keep our families strong. We gotta steal them horses and use them to get us movin’ again. Can’t be hidin’ behind our Indyun ways all the time now. Gotta find balance between two worlds to survive. And that’s what this radio thing’s taught the boy and ev’ryone around. About that balance.
Me I see lotsa young people tryin’ to live like traditional Indyuns. Got braids and going around to ceremonies, drummin’ an’ singin’ and callin’ themselves traditional on accounta that. But they’re foolin’ themselves. See, traditional people are the ones who know all the prayer songs. The songs you sing when you tie together the ribs of the sweat lodge. Songs you sing when you gather sweetgrass or cedar for smudgin’. Songs you sing for each part of the preparation for big ceremony like rain dance or sun dance like them prairie Indyuns do every year. Real traditional people know all about the why of things, insteada just the how. Until you know all that, can’t really call yourself a traditional Indyun.
The truth is that most of us are movin’ between Indyuns. Movin’ between our jobs and the sweat lodge. Movin’ between school and pow-wow. Movin’ between English and Anishanabe. Movin’ between both worlds. Movin’ between 1990 and 1490. Most of us are that kinda Indyun.
It’s not a bad thing even though some figure you’re not so much of an Indyun when you’re tryin’ to find that balance. Them that think that way are ignorin’ them two truths I was talking about. See, the old man told me one time he said, us we only think of our culture as bein’ the old way. Old-style Indyun way. But it’s not true, he said. Culture’s what you find yourself doin’ day in and day out, he said. Culture’s the way of livin’ and us we gotta admit that these days our culture’s made up of sweat lodge, TV, radio, huntin’, school, fishin’, sweetgrass, cedar, work and all sortsa things. Whatever we find ourselves doin’ day in and day out. That’s our culture now and that’s why most of us are the movin’-between kinda Indyuns. Movin’ between the pickup truck and the sweat lodge, movin’ between the office and the wigwam, movin’ between school and the traditional teachin’s.
But we can always get more and more traditional by learnin’ them teachin’s and puttin’ them into our lives. Or we can get less and less traditional by ignorin’ them teachin’s. That’s why balance is such a big thing. We need a balance between worlds today. Guess in a way the boy got more traditional than most right away on accounta he kept on askin’ about things and learnin’ them and puttin’ them into his livin’ day in and day out. That’s what’s important. Do what the world asks you to do but do it with the spirit of the teachin’s. You’ll never get lost that way. Never. You can go and be whatever. DJ, hockey player, businessman, lawyer, anything as long as you carry them traditional teachin’s with you wherever you go. That’s balance. Us we learned that good with that radio. Made it part of our lives. Used it like a tool. Another horse we learned to ride.
White Dog was hosting their annual pow-wow and as usual had invited every reserve in the area to come and dance and celebrate the powers of nature. By the time of the opening Grand Entry—that’s where all the dancers line up and dance in together for an opening prayer by elders—there was about two hundred people here from other places. That’s an awful lot of folks for a tiny place like this and people were bunked in with relatives and friends or else camped out in tents and trailers all around the pow-wow grounds, which was really the ball diamond. It’s a big thing and White Dog folks take a lotta pride in giving their guests their best hospitality. Lotsa fresh moose meat, warm blankets given away, stories swapped and all kindsa things that are seen as being special.
This year was different and things were going really well up until the very last night of dancing. There’s another part of pow-wow that’s not really an official part but part and parcel of every pow-wow in Indian country anyway. It’s called snaggin’ and it means that the young people are all around on the lookout for that special someone to snuggle up with. Another word for it is “teepee creepin’.” You’re considered snagged if you’re seen in the company of a young man or young woman holding hands, smooching or making them big wet goo-goo eyes at each other. Next to hockey it’s the biggest sport in Indian country. Come to think of it, it’s ironic that we have our p
ow-wow on the baseball diamond since mosta the young people are all trying to get past first base and score.
Anyway, dancers save their best moves for the benefit of the person they’re interested in. The snaggee I guess you’d call them. And singers all sing their best when their target is near, et cetera.
Well, Wally Red Sky had his eye on this young jingle-dress dancer from the Rat Portage reserve, and I have to admit that old Wally had a pretty good eye. Not being a dancer or a pow-wow singer meant Wally was a little low on the totem pole when it came to attracting any attention to himself so he was forced to be creative. They were sitting right in front of me on the bleachers that night when Wally made his big move.
“Sure dance good,” he said. “Come here often?”
I winced.
“No,” she said with a little grin and a wiggle that sent a shiver down the jingles or her dress and a real big one down Wally’s spine.
“Betcha don’t know that I’m the chief radio executive here on White Dog, eh?” Wally said, slowly skulking in for the big snag.
“No,” she said, and turned her head real coy-like and looked away at the men’s fancy dance competition going on below.
“Yep.” Wally said, getting all puffy in the chest like a male partridge going into his mating ritual. “I’m the one brought the world to White Dog. Hooked us up to the twentieth century. An’ I’m also the special musical guest ev’ry night too. Gonna be a big country singin’ star real soon. Headin’ for Nashville really.”
He leaned in a little closer while he told her this so she could get a good whiff of his Brylcreem and Old Spice.
“Really,” she said.
“Really,” said Wally.
“Bet you’re really good,” she said with a little bat of her big brown eyes and a roll of the shoulders.
“Betcha,” Wally said with a fairly good sized gulp.
“Wanna show me your set-up?” she asked.
“Well,” Wally said, getting all puffy again, “only a very privileged few ever get to see somethin’ as big an’ important as that. The radio station, I mean. I don’t let just anybody in on it.”
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