You Did Say Have Another Sausage

by John Meadows

  “It’s certainly warm today,” I remarked with a touch of understatement.

  “Warm? Man, it’s hotter than a rattlesnake’s ass in a wagon rut.”

  It was a description so apt, concise and erudite that it should rank up there alongside the ubiquitous ‘bull in a china shop’ and ‘needle in a haystack’! His smile widened to a broad grin as we all laughed. I was looking for a few artefacts for our art department, and Janette and the girls were helping each other to choose various garments as if they were on a shopping trip along Oxford Street. There were cowboy hats, belts, boots, necklaces, and bracelets, as modelled by the owner. There was a vast array of carvings, moccasins, dream-catchers and hand-made jewellery. Janette chose a necklace for herself and a bracelet as a present for her mum. We went over to a section with rails of tunics, shirts and ponchos; and the predominant colours were ochres, umbers, and all the warm, reddish earth tones. Indeed, the pigments were a reflection of the surrounding landscape. A sign informed us that they were all stone-washed textiles designed, dyed and printed by the local Navajo Native Americans. Janette chose something she liked and, remembering my textile background, asked my opinion.

  “I’m not sure how permanent the dyes are, but you could ask ‘Buffalo Bill’ over there before you buy,” I advised.

  We took our purchases over to the pay-point and Janette put a bracelet on the counter.

  “I’ve got this for my mother,” she told him.

  “Mmm... That seems a good swap,” the owner drawled in a slow, deep tone. His face cracked into an open smile when we laughed.

  Janette then placed the tunic on the counter and said, “Could I just ask about the dyes which have been used?”

  “Sure, how can I help?”

  “I was wondering about how permanent the colours are to detergents. After I wash it, will it be patchy?”

  “No ma’am... it will still be Navajo.”

  He had a droll sense of humour, as dry as the Arizona desert. I think he must have had some Navajo blood, because, interestingly, the Navajo are noted for having a sense of humour. They have a belief that the point at which a baby progresses from infanthood to becoming an ‘individual person’ is its first spontaneous laugh. ‘First laughter’ was an occasion for celebration and a time for ‘naming-ceremonies’. A curious custom is that a Navajo is not allowed to look at his mother-in-law, nor she at him. This is to maintain family harmony and avoid sexual tension amongst extended families that were living under one tepee (the atmosphere really was in tents). Many mothers-in-law wore little warning bells on their clothing to warn her son-in-law so that their eyes wouldn’t meet inadvertently (I kid you not). Even an accidental violation of this taboo would require a healer to perform an elaborate night-chant to dispel unhealthy spirits.

  A kindred spirit of the Navajo must be Britain, a country which has a tradition of ‘mother-in-law’ jokes. A theory as to the origin of these is that they date from the post-war period of the late 1940s. There was a rapid increase in the number of marriages, followed by a baby boom. At the same time, there was a chronic shortage of housing which meant that families were forced to live in ‘lodgings’, sometimes with strangers but often with parents, including the dreaded mother-in-law. I spent the first four years of my life living in lodgings, but I can’t remember my maternal grandmother walking around the house with warning bells on her clothes. I would love to think that somewhere there is a Navajo stand-up comedian who has a name something like Les Dawson-Creek and an inexhaustible repertoire of ‘mother-in-law’ jokes. Or perhaps we have just met him in the gift shop.

  Gunfight at the OK Corral

  I think I had better do some more time-travelling, back to the 20th Century. I can’t leave Richard any longer sitting all alone at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I will set my timer for a split second before that noisy helicopter flew over.

  Before heading east, Richard and I decided to make a brief detour to Tombstone in Arizona so that I could keep my promise of a postcard home from the OK Corral. However, it proved to be another example of reality shattering our rose-coloured imagery of childhood heroes. The most famous lawman of the west was Wyatt Earp, but his reputation is based on over-hyped stories. A writer called Stuart Lake sold a story to a newspaper eulogizing over the ‘lawman’, and the myth and legend was born. He was the fabled Marshall of Dodge City and Tombstone, but research has cast doubt about the historical accuracy of this. Only briefly was he a lawman, as Marshall of Lamar, Missouri. Wyatt Earp associated with two ‘drinking companions’, a County Sheriff named Bat Masterson and ‘Doc’ Holliday, a dentist who pulled a gun more often than he pulled teeth. Holliday was a sickly, dangerously unstable character who would kill without hesitation at the slightest provocation. This unsavoury trio hid behind a façade of professional respectability as upholders of the law. In 1881 the Tombstone stagecoach was held up, and rumour had it that Earp, Holliday and Masterson had masterminded the robbery with the Clanton gang, who actually perpetrated the crime. It was Earp and his brothers and Masterson who led the posse, presumably to ‘Head ’em off at the pass’... and surprise, surprise, didn’t catch them. Later that year at the famous gunfight at the OK Corral, Earp made sure that nobody was left to ‘put the finger on him’.

  We headed east through Arizona and New Mexico towards Amarillo, hoping that this is the way. Indian crafts and culture were ubiquitous as we watched the world go by. I turned to Richard with a joke, “Did you hear the one about the little Native American boy who went to see his village chief?”

  “How can I help you child?” asked the Chief benevolently, as he held court wearing ceremonial garments and a full head-dress of multi-coloured feathers and beads.

  “Everyone I know is called something like ‘Running Bear’, ‘Crazy Horse’, ‘Sitting Bull’ or ‘Bald Eagle’. How did they get their names?”

  “Well my son, when a child is born it is held aloft to give thanks to the great spirits in the sky, and a name is chosen from its first sight of the world.”

  “Oh, now I understand,” answered the young boy gratefully.

  “Why, what is your name?”

  “Two Buffalos Shagging.”

  The most famous Western character from New Mexico was the quiet, softly-spoken William Bonney, better known as Billy the Kid. He started out on his life of crime by seeking out and killing two men who had murdered his friend and mentor. Although he began as an avenger, he ended up killing over twenty men until, eventually, he was lured into a trap and killed by Pat Garrett, a one-time friend.

  Richard and I stopped in Amarillo just long enough to have a wash at the Greyhound bus station and get something to eat. Even though we were only twenty-four hours from Tulsa, we decided to head south towards San Antonio. We passed through Lubbock in Texas, which also has a connection with music and western movies. In 1957, a young man named Charles Hardin Holley went to a cinema in his home-town of Lubbock to see a Western movie called ‘The Searchers’. John Wayne starred as a character named Ethan Edwards, who had a catch-phrase which inspired Charles to write a song. We know him as Buddy Holly and the song became the world-wide smash hit ‘That’ll Be the Day’.

  John Wayne was one of the reasons why we were on our way to San Antonio: to see ‘The Alamo’. It seemed an appropriate destination, since Richard and I were ‘Midnight Cowboys’. Incidentally, in the opening sequence of that film, which was directed by John Schlesinger, John Voight’s Joe Buck character walks past a cinema on his way to catch the Greyhound to New York. What movie was showing? ‘The Alamo’. That totally useless piece of trivia has been taking up valuable space somewhere in the recesses of my brain all these years. I am glad I finally found a use for it.

  The Only Law West of the Pecos

  As we crossed a bridge, I noticed a sign which informed us that it was the Pecos River. This reminded me of the movie ‘The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bea
n’, starring Paul Newman as the eponymous judge. He advertised himself as ‘the only law west of the Pecos’ and he is another Western character who would probably be lost in the mist of obscurity but for a Hollywood movie. ‘Poacher turned gamekeeper’ or ‘set a thief to catch a thief’ are figures of speech which succinctly encapsulates the character of the judge. In his time he was, amongst other things, a gambler, a smuggler, and a saloon-keeper. He had a self-taught rudimentary knowledge of the law, and amazingly he somehow became a judge in Vinegaroon, Texas. Mr. Bean, sorry, Judge Bean made up his own laws and imposed an arbitrary system of fines, most of which he pocketed. Occasionally he would also act as a coroner, but he felt that the pay was insufficient so he would dream up ways of supplementing his income. He was known to fine a corpse for some imaginary crime, such as carrying an unlicensed gun or being drunk and disorderly before being killed. By amazing coincidence, the level of the fine always matched exactly the amount of money the corpse happened to have in his pockets at the time.

  The Green Leaves of Summer

  San Antonio in Texas was named by Spanish explorers after Saint Anthony because it happened to be his feast day when they arrived there. It was an essential, if brief, stop-over for Richard and me just to see the Alamo Mission; it was immortalized in the classic western starring John Wayne as Davy Crockett (When I was child growing-up in the 1950s a Davy Crockett hat was a must-have accessory).

  During the war, when Texas was fighting for independence from Mexico in 1836, for almost two weeks volunteers held off vastly superior numbers of Mexican troops, led by Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna. The story and level of bravery and heroism could, I suppose, be compared with the battle of Rorke’s Drift against the Zulus in South Africa (Just replace John Wayne with Michael Caine). The Mexican victory was short-lived, because they were defeated a month later at the Battle of San Jacinto by Texan troops led by Sam Houston. Now here is a point to ponder: of all the famous names that we came across in America, from George Washington to Abraham Lincoln, Buffalo Bill to Walt Disney, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley or Muhammad Ali, whose name is most likely to be remembered world-wide as long as the human race survives? I would suggest Sam Houston. Not because of the city of Houston, which he founded. His was the first name, indeed the first word, spoken when humans first landed on the moon in 1969: “Houston, the Eagle has landed.” World leaders, conquerors, monarchs, sports and film stars all come and go, but when your name is the first word spoken on the moon, how famous is that? I am tempted to get out my flux capacitor and go back to 1836 to point at the moon and tell Sam the good news about his immortality. But then again, perhaps I had better not. I don’t want to risk being shot as a raving lunatic howling at the moon.

  Way Down Yonder...

  Nouvelle Orleans was founded in 1718 by Sieur De Bienville on the Mississippi. The French and Spanish alternated control for almost a century, until it was bought by the USA in the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. This history has forged a distinct Creole Culture, incorporating food, dance and music. The roots of Creole are complex, but in Louisiana it generally refers to French-speaking descendants of French or Spanish colonialists. The city has its own unique character. Roger Moore made his debut as James Bond in ‘Live and Let Die’, and the cinematography of the movie beautifully highlights the city of New Orleans and distinctive surrounding countryside. The opening sequence features a funeral procession, accompanied by a jazz band, along the famous balconied streets. These intricate iron balconies, fences, window grilles and gates have become a signature of the city, particularly in the French Quarter and Garden District. There are wrought-iron balconies, which are fashioned by hand, and those of cast-iron, which are made by pouring molten iron into moulds to create a more fluid design. Having worked in an iron foundry as a student in St. Helens, I felt as though I must be something of a connoisseur of the subject. I started to point out the different styles of balcony to Richard, until I realized that his eyes were starting to glaze over. He gave me a woeful look as if to say ‘You must be confusing me with somebody who gives a toss’. I took the hint, and removed my metaphorical anorak and ditched the train-spotter persona. It’s funny really, but I have yet to meet anyone who shares my passion for wrought-iron railings (Not even when I lived in Sydney, where the balconies of Paddington were an aesthetic treat. Well, at least they were for me).

  When I stopped looking up at balconies and lowered my gaze down to New Orleans street level, I realized that I was walking past far more interesting attractions: peep shows, strippers and scantily clad ladies in doorways attempting to entice potential customers into dimly-lit bars and clubs. We didn’t need too much persuading. The stiffening I had been feeling in my neck from looking up at balconies seemed to mysteriously shift its emphasis to a different part of my anatomy.

  The New Orleans Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) has its centuries-old roots in French and Spanish Catholicism combined with some African and Native American traditions. Jackson Square is reminiscent in many ways to the Montmartre district of Paris. It has a lively ambience where artists display their work and street musicians entertain a café society. The square is named in honour of General Andrew Jackson who defeated the British at the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 (At least we beat Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in the same year. You can’t win ‘em all).

  More than anything else, Jazz is the exemplification of New Orleans. This evolved from a number of sources: musical, cultural, geographical and economical. The music played in 19th Century New Orleans included that of African slaves, gospel, and spiritual, as well as European and American folk. Bourbon Street was (and still is) the most famous entertainment centre. Named after the French Royal Family, it was probably not far removed from the revelry of Louis XIV at Versailles in the 17th Century. The red-light district from 1897 to 1917 was known as Storyville, and many early jazz musicians found employment entertaining at the bordellos. When Storyville was closed down many of the musicians formed jazz bands on the Mississippi river boats, and some migrated to the northern cities, Chicago in particular. The most famous was Louis Armstrong, who moved to Chicago in the early 1920s. The brilliant comedy movie ‘Some like It Hot’, starring Jack Lemon, Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe, begins in Chicago when two jazz musicians witness the St. Valentine’s Day massacre. They escape the mob by disguising themselves as women and joining an all-female jazz band. The title of the movie actually refers to the different styles and personal preferences of jazz music: ‘Some like it hot’.

  Trail of Tears

  From New Orleans we headed east along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico on our way to Florida, through Alabama and Georgia. The area now known as Georgia was home to the Cherokee nation, and we learned a sad story. The Indians were unable to conform to the white-mans’ notion of productive agriculture and President Jefferson gave them a stark choice: civilisation or removal. The Cherokees in Georgia declared independence to create a ‘state within a state’, but the final nail in the coffin was the discovery of gold in 1828 on Cherokee land. An area west of the Mississippi was set aside, where Indian tribes could be self-governing with minimal control from Washington. Tribes resisted, but inevitably they succumbed to the pressure. In 1838, the surviving Cherokee set out on a six-month march under military escort. Thirteen thousand started out, but three and a half thousand died on the way. The Cherokees called it the ‘Trail of Tears’. They settled in the ‘free’ land of Oklahoma, which means ‘red people’. However, a mere fifty years later they were evicted yet again as the government opened up a ‘land rush’. Fifty thousand riders and wagons would race across the prairies to claim land by placing wooden stakes in the ground, literally ‘staking a claim’. Throughout the country, all of the Indian nations had gradually been defeated, dispossessed, up-rooted and generally ground down.

  In 1890, Indian resistance was finally extinguished at the massacre of Wounded Knee, when the Sioux were gunned down by US soldiers in the snows of South Dakota.

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