(Sport in The Global Society) C. Richard King - Native Americans and Sport in North America - Other People's Games-Routledge (2007)

Native Americans and Sport in North America
Taking examples from the United States and Canada, this comprehensive text offers
compassionate and critical accounts of the Native American sporting experience. It
challenges popular images of indigenous athletes and athletics; it explores Native
American participation in and appropriation of EuroAmerican sports; and it
unpacks social categories, particularly gender, race and heritage and their
implications for understanding Native Americans and sport in North America.
Contributors discuss the interplay of power and possibility, difference and identity,
representation and remembrance that have shaped the means and meanings of
American Indians playing sport. Included in this book are discussions on:
continuity and change, the place of sport in the survival and adaptation of
indigenous beliefs and behaviours,
the play of power and the power of play within indigenous communities,
intercultural spaces and American popular culture,
the contradictions and conditions of possibilities sport has offered American

Indians,
the politics and poetics of identity,
the axes of difference structuring the indigenous sporting experience,

particularly, gender, race, and nationalism, and
representations and stagings of Indianness in the context of sport.
This book was previously published as a special issue of The International Journal of
the History of Sport.
C. Richard King, associate professor of comparative ethnic studies at Washington

State University, has written extensively on the changing position of Native
Americans in post-Civil Rights America, the colonial legacies and postcolonial
predicaments of American culture, and the racial politics of sport. He is also the
author/editor of four books, including Team Spirits: The Native American Mascot
Controversy (a CHOICE 2001 Outstanding Academic Title), Postcolonial America,
and The Encyclopedia of Native Americans and Sport.
Sport in the Global Society
General Editors: J.A. Mangan and Boria Majumdar
Native Americans and Sport in North America

Other People’s Games
General Editors: J.A. Mangan and Boria Majumdar
The interest in sports studies around the world is growing and will continue to do so.
This unique series combines aspects of the expanding study of Sport in the Global
Society, providing comprehensiveness and comparison under one editorial umbrella.
It is particularly timely, with studies in the aesthetic elements of sport proliferating in
institutions of higher education.
Eric Hobsbawm once called sport one of the most significant practices of the late
nineteenth century. Its significance was even more marked in the late twentieth
century and will continue to grow in importance into the new millennium as the world
develops into a ‘global village’ sharing the English language, technology and sport.
Other Titles in the Series
America’s Game(s) The Cultural Bond

A Critical Anthropology of Sport Sport, Empire, Society
Edited by Benjamin Eastman, Sean Brown Edited by J.A. Mangan
and Michael Ralph
Lost Histories of Indian Cricket
Sport and American Society Battles Off the Pitch
Insularity, Exceptionalism and ‘Imperialism’ Boria Majumdar
Edited by Mark Dyreson and J.A. Mangan
A Social History of Indian Cricket
From Fair Sex to Feminism 22 Yards to Freedom
Sport and the Socialization of Women in the Boria Majumdar
Industrial and Post-Industrial Eras
Edited by J.A. Mangan and Roberta J. Park Sport and Memory in North America
Edited by Steven Wieting
Ethnicity, Sport, Identity
Struggles for Status The Commercialisation of Sport
Edited by Andrew Ritchie and J.A. Mangan Edited by Trevor Slack
Soccer, Women, Sexual Liberation Muscular Christianity and the Colonial and
Kicking off a New Era Post-Colonial World
Edited by Fan Hong and J.A. Mangan Edited by John J. MacAloon
Pleasure, Profit, Proselytism The Global Politics of Sport

British Culture and Sport at Home and The Role of Global Institutions in Sport
Abroad 1700–1914 Edited by Lincoln Allison
Edited by J.A. Mangan
Playing on the Periphery
Sport, Media, Culture Sport, Identity and Memory
Global and Local Dimensions Tara Brabazon
Edited by Alina Bernstein and Neil Blain
Sport, Civil Liberties and Human Rights
Sport and International Relations Edited by Richard Giulianotti and
An Emerging Relationship David McArdle
Edited by Adrian Budd and Roger Levermore
Sporting Nationalisms
This Great Symbol Identity, Ethnicity, Immigration and
Pierre de Coubertin and the Origins of the Assimilation
Modern Olympic Games Edited by Mike Cronin and David Mayall
John J. MacAloon
The Games Ethic and Imperialism Sport in Latin American Society
Aspects of the Diffusion of an Ideal Past and Present
J.A. Mangan Edited by J.A. Mangan and
Lamartine DaCosta
Doping in Sport
Global Ethical Issues Athleticism in the Victorian and Edwardian
Edited by Angela Schneider and Fan Hong Public School
The Emergence and Consolidation of an
Tribal Identities Educational Ideology
Nationalism, Europe, Sport J.A. Mangan
J.A. Mangan
Native Americans and Sport in
North America
Other People’s Games
Edited by C. Richard King
R Routledge
Taylor &. Francis Croup
LONDON AND NEW YORK
First published 2008 by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

by Routledge
270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
Transferred to Digital Printing 2009
Ó 2008 C. Richard King
Typeset in Minion by KnowledgeWorks Global Limited, Southampton, Hampshire, UK
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any
form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

A catalog record has been requested
ISBN10: 0-415-36677-1 (hbk)

ISBN10: 0-415-49492-3 (pbk)
ISBN13: 978-0-415-36677-9 (hbk)

ISBN13: 978-0-415-49492-2 (pbk)
Contents
Series Editors’ Foreword ix
Introduction: Other People’s Games: Indigenous Peoples and Sport in

North America
C. Richard King xi
1 ‘Nature’s Most Beautiful Models’: George Catlin’s Choctaw Ball-

Play Paintings and the Politics of Indian Removal
Frank H. Goodyear, III 1
2 The Legend of the Tarahumara: Tourism, Overcivilization and the

White Man’s Indian
Darcy C. Plymire 17
3 The Mythical Jim Thorpe: Re/presenting the Twentieth Century

American Indian
Mark Rubinfeld 30
4 Getting Beyond Imagery: The Challenges of Reading Narratives

About American Indian Athletes
Ellen J. Staurowsky 53
5 The St Francis Mission Indians and the National Interscholastic

Catholic Basketball Tournament, 1924–1941
Wade Davies and Rich Clow 76
6 Diamonds, Ovals, and Rings: Northwestern Shoshone Sports at the

Washakie Colony of Northern Utah, 1903–1929
Matthew E. Kreitzer 95
7 Using the Master’s Tools: Resisting Colonization through Colonial

Sports
Eric D. Anderson 110
8 Historical Interpretations of First Nations Masculinity and its

Influence on Canada’s Sport Heritage
Michael A. Robidoux 130
9 Interactions Between the Mississippi Choctaw and European

Americans Through the Sport of Toli
John Richard Stepp 148
10 ‘Native to Native . . . We’ll Recapture Our Spirits’: The World
Indigenous Nations Games and North American Indigenous Games as
Cultural Resistance
Janice Forsyth and Kevin B. Wamsley 157
11 On Being a Warrior: Race, Gender and American Indian Imagery in

Sport
C. Richard King 178
Index 195
Series Editors’ Foreword
SPORT IN THE GLOBAL SOCIETY was launched in the late nineties. It now has over
one hundred volumes. Until recently an odd myopia characterised academia with
regard to sport. The global groves of academe remained essentially Cartesian in
inclination. They favoured a mind/body dichotomy: thus the study of ideas was
acceptable; the study of sport was not. All that has now changed. Sport is now
incorporated, intelligently, within debate about inter alia ideologies, power,
stratification, mobility and inequality. The reason is simple. In the modern world
sport is everywhere: it is as ubiquitous as war. E.J. Hobsbawm, the Marxist historian,
once called it the one of the most significant of the new manifestations of late
nineteenth century Europe. Today it is one of the most significant manifestations of
the twenty-first century world. Such is its power, politically, culturally, economically,
spiritually and aesthetically, that sport beckons the academic more persuasively than
ever to borrow, and refocus, an expression of the radical historian Peter Gay ‘to
explore its familiar terrain and to wrest new interpretations from its inexhaustible
materials’. As a subject for inquiry, it is replete, as he remarked of history, with
profound ‘questions unanswered and for that matter questions unasked’.
Sport seduces the teeming ‘global village’; it is the new opiate of the masses; it is
one of the great modern experiences; its attraction astonishes only the recluse; its
appeal spans the globe. Without exaggeration, sport is a mirror in which nations,
communities, men and women now see themselves. That reflection is sometimes
bright, sometimes dark, sometimes distorted, sometimes magnified. This metapho-
rical mirror is a source of mass exhilaration and depression, security and insecurity,
pride and humiliation, bonding and alienation. Sport, for many, has replaced religion
as a source of emotional catharsis and spiritual passion, and for many, since it is
among the earliest of memorable childhood experiences, it infiltrates memory, shapes
enthusiasms, serves fantasies. To co-opt Gay again: it blends memory and desire.
Sport, in addition, can be a lens through which to scrutinise major themes in the
political and social sciences: democracy and despotism and the great associated
movements of socialism, fascism, communism and capitalism as well as political
cohesion and confrontation, social reform and social stability.
The story of modern sport is the story of the modern world—in microcosm; a
modern global tapestry permanently being woven. Furthermore, nationalist and
x Foreword
imperialist, philosopher and politician, radical and conservative have all sought in
sport a manifestation of national identity, status and superiority.
Finally, for countless millions sport is the personal pursuit of ambition, assertion,
well-being and enjoyment.
For all the above reasons, sport demands the attention of the academic. Sport in the
Global Society is a response.
J.A. Mangan
Boria Majumdar
Series Editors
Introduction: Other Peoples’ Games:
Indigenous Peoples and Sport
in North America
C. Richard King
A quarter of a century ago, Ward Churchill, Norbert S. Hill and Mary Jo Barlow
observed, ‘Although it is attempted often enough, it is impossible to consider athletics
in North America without addressing the impact of Native American athletes and
athletics’. [1] Sadly, at the start of the twenty-first century, this statement continues to
ring true. Indeed, even though indigenous peoples have played a fundamental role in
North American athletics, they remain marginal, unrecognized within most accounts
of sport and underappreciated by the public. American Indians have contributed
popular games and contests, excelled as players and distinguished themselves as
coaches. As a social domain, sports have not only encouraged the assimilation of
native individuals but facilitated the preservation of cultural traditions and the
reformulation of cultural identities as well. Unfortunately, today, most sports fans are
more likely to think of Indians as mascots than as athletes. And while academics and
activists have rightly questioned the centrality of Indian imagery in American sport,
[2] with few exceptions, they have devoted much less attention to the history and
significance of indigenous athletes and athletics in North America. This special issue of
The International Journal of the History of Sport seeks to redress this pattern of neglect.
Taking examples from both the United States and Canada, the essays collected here
describe indigenous sports heritage, examining the play of traditional sports in
historic and contemporary contexts; they explore Native American participation in
and appropriation of Euro-American sports; and they unpack social categories,
particularly gender and race, and their implications for understanding indigenous
peoples and sport in North America. Throughout, the contributors interrogate
sociocultural contexts, detailing the articulations of power and possibility, difference
and identity, representation and remembrance which have shaped the means and
meanings of American Indians playing sport in (Native) North America. Together,
the collected essays offer a broad sociohistorical understanding, documenting sport
xii C. Richard King
in a range of cultural contexts from the early nineteenth century through to the late
twentieth century.
This special issue does not endeavour to offer an encyclopedic survey. [3] Instead,
it collects compassionate, grounded and critical readings of representative images,
experiences and events to address particular problems and broader themes, including
heritage, cultural change, gender, racism, sovereignty and identity. Specifically, it
affords rich discussions of five overlapping themes: (1) heritage, that is, the play of
traditional sports historically and efforts to revive them in the present; (2) continuity
and change, the place of sport in the survival and adaptation of indigenous beliefs
and behaviours; (3) the play of power and the power of play within indigenous
communities, intercultural spaces (such as boarding schools) and American popular
culture; (4) the contradictions and conditions of possibilities sport has offered
American Indians; and (5) the politics and poetics of identity, especially as emergent
in association with representations and stagings of Indianness in the context of sport.
Despite public interest and intermittent scholarly examination, Native Americans
and sport have not received the attention they merit within sports studies, Native
American studies or cultural studies. The tendencies of Euro-Americans to ignore
indigenous cultures in general and indigenous sporting practices in particular
have colluded with the academic propensity to devalue and neglect the social
significance of sport to render invisible the rich history and continuing vitality of
sport in Native America. And worse, for scholars, students and citizens who do
recognize its import, much of the best writing about indigenous athletes and
athleticism remains scattered in diverse, often dated, sources. This special issue of The
International Journal of the History of Sport challenges these tendencies, unravelling
their significance for players, spectators and Native Americans more generally in both
traditional and contemporary contexts and, finally, revealing their complicated
relevance within and beyond Native American communities.
Of course, it would be misleading to suggest that the study of Native Americans and
North American sports is a novel undertaking. The play, role and meaning of sport in
indigenous communities have attracted much attention. And while biographical
appreciations of great players and narrative fiction are noteworthy, [4] they often fail
to speak about self and society, culture and history, symbols and power in critical,
contextualized or meaningful ways. More encouraging and satisfying has been
scholarship within anthropology, sociology, history, and Native American studies. [5]
Particularly noteworthy have been a number of outstanding monographs devoted to
the history and significance of Native American athletics. [6] These texts share in
common a commitment to culturally sensitive or historically grounded accounts.
Importantly, they either offer broad cultural and historical summaries of sport in
Native America or concentrate on a single sport, culture or historical process.
On the one hand, Culin and Oxendine provide foundational surveys. [7] Culin
conducts an encyclopedic ethnological study, impressive for its detail. The two-
volume work is, however, quite dated and does not attend to issues now understood
to be key to Native Americans and sport, including federal Indian policy,
Native Americans and Sport in North America xiii
appropriation, race relations, identity and the Native American experience in Euro-
American sports. Oxendine does engage with many of these latter themes, but not
with the care one might desire, while reviewing the place of sport in traditional
indigenous societies. In many ways Oxendine updates Culin, extending, humanizing
and contextualizing the findings of the earlier classic study. Both of these works share
in common a failure to incorporate theory and remain largely descriptive works.
They do not have the space or often take the time (let alone have the material needed)
to flesh out the many and varied forces and processes shaping Native American
engagements with North American athletics or the complex and contradictory
consequences of these engagements. Given the novelty of these works, this is not a
surprise (and may have significance only in retrospect). While the scope of these
studies ensures that they occupy an important place in the literature, their
approaches limit their relevance to broader scholarly discussions no less than their
pedagogic utility. In toto, this special issue of The International Journal of the History
of Sport makes important contributions, stressing the centrality and complexity of
culture while offering grounded, detailed and critical interpretations of historical
processes and social practices from a number of times and places.
On the other hand, Nabokov, Blanchard, Fisher, Vennum, Powers-Beck and
Bloom offer sensitive ethnohistorical accounts focused around a single theme or
sport. [8] Vennum, Fisher, and Blanchard take up ball games, lacrosse and stick ball
respectively; Nabokov concentrates on running; Powers-Beck studies baseball; and
Bloom concerns himself with boarding schools. These ethnographies and histories
offer wonderfully (com)passionate interpretations, animated by indigenous practices
and perspectives and informed by nuanced conceptual frameworks. For all of this,
they remain overly narrow, too microscopic. They speak about one fragment in the
Native American sporting experience, but often only hint at its entirety and diversity.
In contrast, this special issue offers a comprehensive account, emphasizing multiple
sports (traditional, modern and revived), played in diverse cultural and historical
contexts, through a range of voices and approaches.
In its efforts to offer a fuller interpretation of indigenous peoples and sport in
North America, this special issue embraces the ideals of these recent studies, building
upon their strengths to present close readings of play and games within specific
sociohistorical contexts structured by power and meaning and marked by struggles
over and stagings of self and society. [9] Together, they emphasize signs and
signification, practice and process, culture and identity, power and resistance. The
concerns and commitments of these works energize this issue of The International
Journal of the History of Sport but do not delimit its discussion of the indigenous
sporting experience in North America.
The eleven essays that follow map the Native American sporting experience.
Understanding sporting worlds to be contact zones, they unpack athletic heritage,
imagery and identity, adaptation and appropriation, racism and revival.
The opening essay offers an important reminder: indigenous peoples in North
America invented and enjoyed athletic endeavours, which captivated European and
xiv C. Richard King
Euro-American observers. Frank Goodyear studies George Catlin’s renderings of
lacrosse. He concerns himself with neither the aesthetic nor ethnographic nature of
the artist’s work, opting instead to unravel the broader issues then confronting Native
Americans. Goodyear argues that these paintings of Choctaws engaged in a
traditional sport blunted public outrage at the treatment of native nations as they
romanticized indigenous forms of recreation. Against this background, Darcy
Plymire offers a more recent history of another indigenous sport, running, among the
Tarahumara of northern Mexico, which has long fascinated Western commentators
interested in the problems of civilization. She finds that (sport) journalist coverage
transforms indigenous athletes into props to work through outside preoccupations.
More specifically, media accounts presented the Tarahumara as noble savages who
promised runners in the United States useful solutions to the problems of
civilization, while encouraging the development of a lucrative tourism industry.
Media representations centre the discussion of the next two essays. Mark Rubinfeld
directs attention to the great Jim Thorpe, seeking to understand the significance of
popular images of him. Reading journalistic coverage and cinematic narratives, he
outlines the ways in which such imagery has perpetuated systems of power and
privilege in the United States. Thorpe and media representations of indigenous
athletes more generally interest Ellen Staurowsky as well. Looking at the more recent
history of popular imagings of Indians in sport, she reveals that sport stories not only
reflect deeper anti-Indian sentiments but have always been a crucial vehicle through
which to distort and demean Native Americans.
Having established the ways that race and representation have structured sporting
worlds, the subsequent essays explore the ways in which indigenous peoples have
responded to, and even resisted, policies and forms of play intended to assimilate
Native Americans. Wade Davies and Richmond Clow next document the
participation of an American Indian team from St Francis Mission in the National
Interscholastic Catholic Basketball Tournament in Chicago during the 1920s and
1930s. They not only concern themselves with the drama on the court but also attend
to the differing motives and meanings of participating for Jesuit organizers and native
players, observable in the political contests and cultural contacts off the court. In a
similar vein, Matthew Kreitzer describes the significance of sport in Indian country
through the writings of Shoshone journalist Willie Ottogary. He finds not simply a
chronicle of wins and losses but a series of statements celebrating native culture, while
reflecting on intercultural interactions during the early reservation era.
Sport has proven flexible and adaptable, encouraging, as the following pair of
essays demonstrate, Native Americans and Euro-Americans to take and remake alien
cultural forms. Indeed, according to Eric Anderson, even as sport was meant to
‘civilize’ indigenous peoples, it has become something altogether different. It
provides the Navajo with recreation and entertainment; but more significantly
affords opportunities to compete directly against Euro-Americans in an ostensibly
equal arena. By occasionally beating white teams at their own game, his research
shows that colonial sports are actually used as a form of resistance against colonial
Native Americans and Sport in North America xv
culture. Michael Robidoux examines appropriation from the other sideline,

recording the increasing importance that athletic endeavours pitting French settlers
against their indigenous peoples, including canoeing, snowshoeing, tobogganing and
lacrosse served as a means to create a new identity. Native sport, he argues, proved
essential to the formulation of Canadian nationalism.
Most recently, as the next two essays reveal, sporting worlds as contact zones have
fostered revivals and survivals of indigenous sport and society. J.R. Stepp documents
the recent history of toli, or stickball, matches between a Choctaw team and team
from the University of Georgia. His case study suggests that the shared experience of
playing toli acts as a catalyst for integration across gendered and cultural boundaries.
In a history more attentive to the asymmetries of lingering colonialism in Canada,
Janice Forsythe and Kevin Wamsley trace the ways that sport has been utilized as a
civilizing agent to assimilate Aboriginal peoples and clarify how Aboriginal leaders
inverted this process to achieve self-determination through an account of the North
American Indigenous Games and the World Indigenous Games.
In the final essay, C. Richard King examines the history of the development of and
debate over Native American sport mascots, detailing the intersections of racism and
sexism in the creation and contestation of such athletic imagery. He connects a crisis
in hegemonic masculinity that fostered the creation of such sport symbols with a
more recent neo-conservative backlash in which racial and gender difference become
central to the defence of Native American sport mascots.
This special issue of The International Journal of the History of Sport hopes to
contribute to unfolding discussions in Native American studies, sports studies and
cultural studies. The varied contributions seek to re-energize interest in indigenous
athletes and athletics in North America and beyond. It is hoped that it directs
scholarly attention to marginalized peoples, cultural practices and historical processes
too often forgotten, marking the beginning of rewarding dialogues about the history
and future of sport and society in a global context.
Notes
[1] Churchill, Hill and Barlow, ‘An Historical Overview of 20th Century Native American
Athletics’, 24. See also Ballem, ‘Missing from the Canadian Sport Scene’; King, Native Athletes
in Sport and Society; Nabokov, Indian Running; Oxendine, American Indian Sport Heritage;
Paraschak, ‘Native Sport History’.
[2] See Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’; King and Springwood, Team
Spirits; Pewewardy, ‘Native American Mascots and Imagery’; Staurowsky, ‘An Act of Honor or
Exploitation?’.
[3] King, Encyclopedia of Native American Athletes and Athletics.
[4] See for example, Gilbert, ‘Big Hawk Chief, a Pawnee Runner’; Nichols, ‘Super Chief, Humble
Man’; Ritter, ‘Chief Meyers’. Book-length studies include Fuller, 60 Feet, 6 Inches, and Other
Distances from Home; Kidd, Tom Longboat; and Wheeler, Jim Thorpe.
[5] Classic studies include Blanchard, The Mississippi Choctaws at Play; Cheska, ‘Gender Variations
in Game Attraction Factors of Native American Youth’; Culin, Games of the North American
xvi C. Richard King
Indian; Fox, ‘Pueblo Baseball’; Mooney, ‘Cherokee Ball Play’; Opler, ‘The Jicarilla Apache
Ceremonial Relay Race’; Oxendine, American Indian Sport Heritage.
[6] Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do; Deloria, ‘‘‘I am of the Body’’’; Fisher, Lacrosse; King,
Native Athletes in Sport and Society; Nabokov, Indian Running; Paraschak, ‘Variations in Race
Relations’; Powers-Beck, The American Indian Integration of Baseball; Vennum, Native
American Lacrosse.
[7] Culin, Games of the North American Indian; Oxendine, American Indian Sport Heritage.
[8] Blanchard, The Mississippi Choctaws at Play; Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do; Fisher,
Lacrosse; Nabokov, Indian Running; Powers-Beck, Chief ; Vennum, Native American Lacrosse.
[9] Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do; Deloria, ‘‘‘I am of the Body’’’; Gems, ‘The
Construction, Negotiation, and Transformation of Racial Identity in American Football’; King
and Springwood, ‘Playing Indian, Power, and Racial Identity in American Sport’; Paraschak,
‘Variations in race Relations’.
References
Adams, David Wallace. Education for Extinction: American Indians and the Boarding School
Experience, 1875–1928. Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1995.
Ballem, Charles. ‘Missing from the Canadian Sport Scene: Native Athletes’. Canadian Journal of
History of Sport 14, 2 (1983): 33–43.
Blanchard, Kendall. The Mississippi Choctaws at Play. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1981.
Bloom, John. To Show What an Indian Can Do: Sports at Native American Boarding Schools.
Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2000.
Cheska, Alyce Taylor. ‘Gender Variations in Game Attraction Factors of Native American Youth’.
In Studies in the Sociology of Sport, edited by Aidan O. Dunleavy, Andrew W. Miracle and C.
Roger Rees. Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian University Press, 1982.
Churchill, Ward, Norbert Hill and Mary Jo Barlow. ‘An Historical Overview of 20th Century Native
American Athletics’. The Indian Historian 12, 4 (1979): 22–32.
Culin, Stewart. Games of the North American Indian, 2 vols. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska
Press, 1992/1907.
Davis, Laurel. ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots: A Challenge to Traditional,
American Identity’. Journal of Sport and Social Issues 17 (1993): 9–22.
Deloria, Philip. ‘‘‘I am of the Body’’: Thoughts on My Grandfather, Culture, and Sports’. South
Atlantic Quarterly 95 (1996): 321–38.
Fisher, Donald M. Lacrosse: A History of the Game. Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press,
2002.
Fox, J.R. ‘Pueblo Baseball: A New Use for Old Witchcraft’. American Journal of Folklore 74 (1961):
9–16.
Fuller, M. Todd. 60 Feet, 6 Inches, and Other Distances from Home: The (Baseball) life of Mose
YellowHorse. Duluth, MN: Holy Cow Press, 2002.
Gems, Gerald R. ‘The Construction, Negotiation, and Transformation of Racial Identity in
American Football: A Study of Native and African Americans’. American Indian Culture and
Research Journal 22, 2 (1998).
Gilbert, Bil. ‘Big Hawk Chief, a Pawnee Runner’. American West 21, 4 (1984): 36–8.
Kidd, Bruce. Tom Longboat. Ontario: Fitzhenry and Whiteside, 1980.
King, C. Richard, ed. Native Athletes in Sport and Society. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press,
2005.
——. Encyclopedia of Native American Athletes and Athletics. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe.
—— and Charles F. Springwood, eds. Team Spirits: The Native American Mascot Controversy.
Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2001.
Native Americans and Sport in North America xvii
—— and Charles F. Springwood, ‘Playing Indian, Power, and Racial Identity in American Sport:
Gerald R. Gems’ ‘‘The Construction, Negotiation, and Transformation of Racial Identity in
American Football’’’. American Indian Culture and Research Journal 23, 2 (1999): 127–32.
Mooney, James. ‘Cherokee Ball Play’. American Anthropologist 3, 2 (1890): 105–32.
Nabokov, Peter. Indian Running: Native American History and Tradition. Santa Fe, NM: Ancient
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Nichols, Max J. ‘Super Chief, Humble Man: The Life of Allie P. Reynolds’. Chronicles of Oklahoma
73, 1 (1995): 4–31.
Opler, Morris Edward. ‘The Jicarilla Apache Ceremonial Relay Race’. American Anthropologist 46
(1944): 75–97.
Oxendine, Joseph B. American Indian Sport Heritage. 2nd ed. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska
Press, 1995/1998.
Paraschak, Victoria. ‘Variations in Race Relations: Sporting Events for Native Peoples in Canada’.
Sociology of Sport Journal 14 (1997): 1–21.
——. ‘Native Sport History: Pitfalls and Promise’. Canadian Journal of History of Sport 20, 1 (1989):
57–68.
Pewewardy, Cornel D. ‘Native American Mascots and Imagery: The Struggle of Unlearning Indian
Stereotypes’. Journal of Navaho Education 9 (1991): 19–23.
Powers-Beck, Jeffrey. The American Indian Integration of Baseball. Lincoln: University of Nebraska
Press, 2004.
Ritter, Lawrence S. ‘Chief Meyers’. In The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of
Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It. New enlarged ed. New York: William Morrow and
Co, 1984.
Staurowsky, Ellen J. ‘An Act of Honor or Exploitation? The Cleveland Indians’ Use of the Louis
Francis Sockalexis Story’. Sociology of Sport Journal 15 (1998): 299–316.
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Institution Press, 1994.
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Press, 1979.
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‘Nature’s Most Beautiful Models’:
George Catlin’s Choctaw Ball-Play
Paintings and the Politics of Indian
Removal
Frank H. Goodyear, III
This essay analyses and contextualizes a group of paintings by George Catlin (1796–
1872) that depict Choctaw tribe members involved in the sport of ball-play or lacrosse.
Whereas previous scholars have used these works to emphasize the ethnographic nature of
the artist’s work, it contends that the series speaks to contemporary issues that the
Choctaws were confronting at the time. Completed in 1834–35, Catlin’s series of ball-
play scenes represents a powerful statement regarding the removal of the Choctaws from
their homelands in Mississippi to the newly-designated Indian Territory. His paintings
create the impression that Native American habits and play had not been adversely
impacted by the increasing presence of Euro-American settlers in the West. Thus, they
had the ultimate effect of forestalling potential moral outrage against those responsible
for degradations against Native American culture. Situated in this historical context,
images of Native American ball-play should be seen less as romanticized records of
tribal life and more as highly polemical statements about contemporary interactions
between native peoples and the dominant culture. Not only did ball-play provide Catlin
with an ideal subject to engage with the public’s simultaneous fascination and repulsion
with ‘primitive’ tribal cultures, but it also acted as a perfect metaphor for cultural
conflict.
Shortly after his 1834 expedition across the southern Plains, George Catlin completed
five paintings that pictured the sport of ball-play among the Choctaw of present-day
Oklahoma. Three of these paintings featured various aspects of the game itself, and
two were portraits of the most celebrated ball-play athlete of his day, Drinks the Juice
of the Stone – Tullock-chish-ko, to his own people. Together with Catlin’s
2 F. H. Goodyear
accompanying written commentary about the sport, these paintings provide a rare
opportunity to investigate Euro-American perceptions of Native American ball-play
during the first half of the nineteenth century. Though he admitted that this ‘most
beautiful’ sport could ‘never be appreciated by those who [were] not happy enough
to see it’, his paintings and writings attempted to provide non-native audiences with
an accurate rendering of ‘this wonderful game’. Having ‘made it a uniform rule,
whilst in the Indian country, to attend every ball-play I could hear of ’, Catlin devoted
great energy to this subject. [1] So enthralled was he by the sport that his ball-play
paintings outnumber all of his other paintings among the Choctaw.
Catlin’s interest in Choctaw ball-play grew out of a larger, lifelong project in
recording the native peoples of North America. During the decade of the 1830s – the
period of his most intensive artistic activity – Catlin completed more than 450
paintings of Native American life. [2] Though he hoped to work amid every North
American tribe, his travels were concentrated almost exclusively on the Great Plains.
To supplement what became his travelling Indian Gallery, he published in 1841 a
two-volume book, Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the
North American Indians, which spoke at length about the individuals and traditions
represented in these paintings. Hailed as one of the most important artistic and
ethnographic projects concerning Native Americans of the nineteenth century,
Catlin’s Indian Gallery and, by extension, his paintings of Choctaw ball-play have
largely been understood as an enterprise untouched by political debates concerning
tribal nations at this time.
Writers in his own lifetime and after have repeatedly portrayed Catlin during the
seven-year period when he worked on the Great Plains as a passionate romantic
travelling freely amid the ‘primitive’ tribes of the frontier. [3] This iconic image, one that
Catlin himself was largely responsible for nurturing in his Letters and Notes and in public
lectures, has had the effect of isolating him from discussions concerning the historic
period of which he was a part. As such, it has distorted the larger cultural significance of
his work and has rendered unproblematic his encounter with the native peoples among
whom he travelled. More recent treatments of Catlin’s career do acknowledge how
contested the status of native peoples were in the United States during this period. [4]
Nevertheless, these studies have for the most part skirted these issues. In fairness, it must
be noted that the attempt to connect Catlin with the politics of his day is not easy, as he
rarely addressed the subject directly in his writings or his paintings.
Because of his travels, Catlin was acutely aware of the consequences that
government policies towards Native Americans had on these communities. His
response to what he observed, though, was to retreat from the present into an
idealized past. This is not to say that he was unconcerned about Native American
nations. Catlin recognized many of the challenges they faced and knew about some of
the injustices they had endured, but chose ultimately to represent them in a manner
that would appeal to his audience and to his own fantasies. Looking at this series of
ball-play paintings – the first ever by a non-native artist – allows one the opportunity
to interrogate further Catlin’s larger project and the complicated nature of
Native Americans and Sport in North America 3
ethnographic study. Though these paintings comprise only a small handful of his
total output, they reveal in microcosm his deep-seated ambivalence about native
peoples in 1830s America – a decade in which Native American affairs took centre
stage in state and national politics.
To Catlin, ball-play was representative of both the greatness and the ‘primitive’
nature of the Indian. Given his stated ambition to paint native tribes in their ‘wild
and unsophisticated state,’ it is not surprising that Catlin was attracted to the sport of
ball-play. [5] Complete with ritualistic ceremony and dramatic action, this grand
sport – a forerunner of modern lacrosse – was distinctly different than anything he
had ever observed in Euro-American society. Born in eastern Pennsylvania, Catlin
first learned about Native American culture through the work of various enlight-
enment and romantic authors, particularly James Fenimore Cooper, most of whom
wrote about the Indian as a ‘noble savage’. [6] Catlin’s enthusiasm for ball-play is
apparent in his introductory comments about the sport in Letters and Notes:
I pronounce such a scene, with its hundreds of Nature’s most beautiful models,
denuded, and painted of various colours, running and leaping into the air, in all the
most extravagant and varied forms, in the desperate struggles for the ball, a school
for the painter or sculptor, equal to any of those which ever inspired the hand of
the artist in the Olympian games or the Roman forum. [7]
Locating that which was wholly unique in tribal communities was central in Catlin’s
choice of subjects. Only then did he believe he had captured native peoples in their
‘natural’ condition.
Though it is unclear where he first witnessed the sport of ball-play, he chose to
complete this series of paintings after observing several matches featuring members of
the Choctaw tribe in 1834. An unsuccessful portrait painter who struggled for ten
years to carve out an artistic career in several eastern cities, Catlin had by this time
refocused his ambition to being the painter of the American Indian. Scholars have
had difficulty pinpointing his motivations for pursuing this subject; however, as
historian William Truettner has argued, this shift may have represented as much a
retreat from the competitive portrait trade in the East as it did a fascination with
Native American culture. [8] In 1832, Catlin had spent six productive months
painting among the tribes of the Upper Missouri. Buoyed by this success on the
northern Plains and desirous of assembling a comprehensive collection of portraits,
genre scenes and landscapes that might record the story of the American Indian, he
decided to focus his energy on the southern Plains during the summer of 1834.
Though Catlin’s choice was made in part to complement his work on the northern
Plains, it also reflected a keen political awareness and an ambitious personal agenda.
At the time, the South-west was receiving much national attention on account of,
among other things, the federal government’s 1830 decision to relocate tribes from
east of the Mississippi River to this region and the much-publicized 1832 expedition
onto the southern Plains of famed writer Washington Irving. Hoping to create a
‘Gallery unique, for the use and instruction of future ages’, Catlin surely understood
4 F. H. Goodyear
the potential acclaim he could receive by returning east with a collection of paintings
that showed off that region’s land and native peoples. [9]
It was on this 1834 expedition that Catlin first encountered the Choctaw. However,
his entrée into this and other tribal communities on the remote south-west frontier
was more complicated than his paintings or writings suggest. Though his
representations of native life recall a Garden of Eden-like existence, his time there
was made possible because of the presence of the United States military. With the
opening up of the so-called Indian Territory in present-day Oklahoma to displaced
tribes from the East and the accelerating westward advancement of Euro-American
society onto the Plains, the South-west at this time was marked by heightened
tensions which often spilled over into violence. While Catlin downplayed the army’s
importance in Letters and Notes, he travelled and worked under the auspices of
General Matthew Arbuckle and the Seventh Infantry, then stationed at Fort Gibson,
the region’s primary military outpost and the site of numerous treaty negotiations
with local tribes. When he travelled beyond Fort Gibson, as he did for two months to
record the Comanche, Wichita and Kiowa, he did so as part of a government-
sponsored expedition meant to formalize relations with these famously antagonistic
tribes. Given the risks involved, Catlin had to receive permission from US Secretary
of War Lewis Cass to join this party. Without the protection of 450 mounted
dragoons and a collection of allied Native American guides, he would not have had
access to these native nations. [10]
In the two months between the time when he first arrived at Fort Gibson and the
time when he left on the dragoon campaign, Catlin was busy visiting and painting
those tribes who lived in the vicinity of Fort Gibson. He completed nearly three
dozen portraits of important leaders from the Choctaw, Cherokee, Creek and Osage
nations and executed sketches for the ball-play paintings he would complete the
following winter. In these works, Catlin exhibits a predilection to figure in striking
colours those aspects of their culture that he perceived as distinct: namely, their
ornate material culture and their often elaborate public rituals. He made little effort
in his paintings or his writings to represent anything that might be perceived as
mundane, such as common domestic activities and farming practices. The result is a
record that conveys only a partial glimpse into these tribes’ culture and leaves
unchallenged existing stereotypes regarding native peoples. While he did note to
some degree individual and tribal differences, the assembled collection leaves the
viewer with the impression that all Indians of the South-west were alike.
Catlin’s search for the exotic was grounded not simply in a desire to record the most
sensational aspects of Native American culture. Though paintings of certain subjects
which he saw as outlandish did take on greater prominence in later years, as he sought
to make a livelihood through proceeds from visitors to his Indian Gallery, Catlin was
most drawn to scenes such as the sport of ball-play because he perceived the hand of
‘civilization’ had not touched them. In Letters and Notes, he emphasized that he was
not interested in recording ‘the miserable living victims and dupes of white man’s
cupidity’ but rather ‘the remaining number . . . yet unroused and unenticed from
their wild haunts or their primitive modes’. [11] Often in his written descriptions of
tribal life, he compared the Native Americans among whom he had worked with
figures from ancient Greece or Rome. In ball-play, Catlin believed he was watching an
Olympic-like sport from another millennium. Prevailing scientific theories about the
evolutionary history of mankind supported this type of comparison. Understood to be
residing in a state of arrested development untouched by the different revolutions
experienced in Europe and later the colonial settlements in the Americas, Native
Americans were thought to be an important link to that past. [12]
Longing to witness and represent those he perceived to be truly primeval, Catlin –
like countless other artists, writers, and tourists both before and after him –
harboured a certain disdain for the influence of Euro-American society on native
communities. [13] This negativity towards ‘civilization’ was based in part on a
genuine concern for the future well-being of native peoples. Yet, as Catlin saw their
extinction as inevitable, his unkind observations about the increasing presence of
government agents, settlers and traders in the trans-Mississippian West were also
rooted in his concern for preserving at least in the short term those ‘authentic’ aspects
of their culture. To privileged travellers such as Catlin, ‘authenticity’ meant much, for
it allowed them not only to record tribal life in a supposedly unadulterated state but
also to imagine themselves in a world wholly apart from their own. Reaching out
across time and space, Catlin hoped to become through his art a vicarious participant
in what he understood to be a near-utopian, albeit rapidly vanishing, existence.
‘Civilization’ threatened achieving that goal.
During a period when he faced a host of problems at home – including disparaging
comments by leading art critics, the inability to establish a sustainable career and
tepid support for his new work from his family – Catlin understood the Great Plains
landscape as much as a playground as a work space. There he could continue his
painting career outside the boundaries of the competitive art market in the East.
There, if only for a time, he could liberate himself from his past. In Letters and Notes,
he wrote about his yearning to escape the pressures of his life in the East:
I shall hail the day with pleasure, when I can again reach the free land of the lawless
savage; for far more agreeable to my ear is the Indian yell and war-whoop, than the
civilized groans and murmurs about ‘pressure,’ ‘deposites,’ ‘banks,’ ‘boundary
questions,’ &c.; and I vanish from the country with the sincere hope that these
tedious words may become obsolete before I return. [14]
By immersing himself in this new environment, Catlin experienced a profound

personal transformation. Though his feelings for his subjects remained the same, his
outlook towards himself and his work underwent a marked reorientation. In the
West, he rediscovered his confidence as an artist and his thirst for adventure.
Anticipating his encounter with the tribes of the South-west, he exclaimed in a letter
published in a New York City newspaper: ‘I am strongly inclined to think that the
scene will not be less wild and spirited [as his arrival among the Mandans two years
previously], and I ardently wish it; for I have become so much Indian of late, that my
6 F. H. Goodyear
pencil has lost all appetite for subjects that savour of tameness.’ [15] ‘Becoming
Indian’ satisfied this desire to live both within and apart from Euro-American society,
a world that simultaneously protected and occasionally offended him.
In travelling among the tribes of the South-west, Catlin longed to encounter only
those who matched his preconceived ideals. His choice of Choctaw ball-play as a
subject and his manner of representing it are consistent with this desire to see Native
culture as truly primeval. In ball-play, Catlin found a form of combat that he
imagined was comparable to the storied battles of ancient Greece or Rome. Wishing
to heighten the romance of this sport, he took liberties in composing these paintings.
First, and most obviously, he removed all signs of ‘civilization.’ Though he was
interested in conveying useful information about the sport itself, he restricted himself
to painting a world occupied only by native people. Non-natives – including many of
the estimated 500 black slaves owned by Choctaw families – had regularly attended
such matches for generations; yet their presence is entirely absent in these paintings.
Likewise, as betting was an important aspect of the sport, the competing teams often
wagered goods produced within Euro-American society. Again, Catlin chose not to
include these materials. In search of the ‘primitive’, he refused to acknowledge any
aspect of this long-standing cultural exchange. At the same time, though, he was not
opposed to exaggerating other aspects of the sport. In Letters and Notes, for example,
he claimed that upwards of a thousand young men regularly participated, and that
games were often played to 100 goals. [16] Such inflated claims suggest his objective
of transforming ball-play into a larger-than-life conflict.
Though the Choctaw did compete with great enthusiasm, ball-play was not what
Catlin imagined it to be during this period. Legendary stories – several of which
Catlin may have been familiar with – recount how ball-play was once more than
simply a game to the Choctaw and other neighbouring tribes. During an earlier
period, territorial disputes and other controversies between different nations were
indeed settled based on the outcome of a ball-play match. However, because of the
influence of Euro-American culture, ball-play had become increasingly domesticated.
Some Choctaw even considered it a symbol of their people’s backwardness and
endorsed its abolishment. As a result, ball-play no longer possessed the cultural
significance that it once had. [17] Horatio B. Cushman, who grew up at a Christian
mission that served a Choctaw community at a time prior to Catlin’s arrival,
reminisced about the sport in his history of the tribe later in the century:
The Choctaws have long since lost that interest in the ball-play that they formerly
cherished in their old homes east of the Mississippi River. ’Tis true, now and then,
even at the present day, they indulge in the time honoured game, but the game of
the present day is a Lilliputian – a veritable pygmy – in comparison with the grand
old game of three quarters of a century ago. [18]
Nevertheless, Catlin remained enamoured of the mythic aspects of ball-play. A

close examination of the individual paintings reveals how he shaped the canvases to
meet his desired ends. In ‘Ball-Play Dance, Choctaw’ (Figure 1), for example, he
Figure 1 Ball-Play Dance, Choctaw. 1834–35. Source: Smithsonian American Art

Museum, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.
stripped the scene down to a simple narrative being performed as if on a stage.

Composed in such a way that one is encouraged to read the action from left to right,
the painting reveals only that which Catlin thought was essential to understanding
this specific ceremony: a drum group performs; the two teams dance with
outstretched arms, each in their own tight circle; the women of each team form
two lines and dance in uniform step; four medicine men, who act as the game’s
referees, sit together at mid-field; and a group resides on the sidelines watching over
the distinctly native objects being wagered. As Catlin observed in Letters and Notes,
‘this dance was one of the most picturesque scenes imaginable’. [9] Here, as in so
many other paintings by Catlin, the virtue of ‘primitive’ life is ultimately equated
with the absence of Euro-American society.
Despite his romantic bent, Catlin went to great lengths both in his paintings and
his writings to present himself as an authority on Native American culture. Though
he favoured an artistic style in which fine details were often absent – the same could
also be said of his writing style – he was always positioning himself as a privileged
observer. The contrast between his methodical study of this sport and the chaotic
action unfolding on the field of play, especially evident in ‘Ball-Play of the Choctaw –
Ball Up’ (Figure 2) and ‘Ball-Play of the Choctaw – Ball Down’ (Figure 3), represents
another way in which he called attention to the ‘primitive’ nature of his subjects. The
elevated perspective that he adopted in composing these two paintings is indicative of
how he perceived his relationship with the Choctaw. It also hints at his desire to
contain as much of the scene as possible within the canvas, so as to give the viewer a
complete picture of the sport. Similarly, the fact that he incorporated an almost
identical background in all three of these game scenes suggests the centrality of the
8 F. H. Goodyear
Figure 2 Ball-Play of the Choctaw – Ball Up. 1834–35. Source: Smithsonian American Art
Museum, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.
Figure 3 Ball-Play of the Choctaw – Ball Down. 1834–35. Source: Smithsonian American
Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.
sport to Catlin. It is the cinematic movement and ever-changing drama of ball-play

itself that he studies, not the larger setting.
In contrast to Catlin’s inquisitive eye, his subject, the Choctaw ball-players, run
about this wide plain like wild animals. It appears that anything goes and that rules
are either non-existent or not observed. Fights break out constantly, and no foul
seems too great. Indeed, Catlin represented ball-play as a sport befitting a race
believed by scientists to be of an earlier stage in the human evolutionary chain. In
Letters and Notes, he described the action thus: ‘In these struggles, every mode is used
that can be devised, to oppose the progress of the foremost, who is likely to get the
ball; and these obstructions often meet desperate individual resistance, which
terminates in a violent scuffle, and sometimes in fisticuffs’. [20] Enthralled by the
sport’s supposed anarchy, Catlin failed to recognize its underlying rules or larger
cultural significance. As the wrestling match in the foreground of ‘Ball-Play of the
Choctaw – Ball Up,’ or the vicious tripping incident in the foreground of ‘Ball-Play of
the Choctaw – Ball Down’ suggest, Catlin was enamoured of ball-play’s violence.
Though purporting to present a transparent window on Choctaw culture, he has
ultimately only recycled well-established stereotypes about the Plains Indian.
In his two portraits of the celebrated Choctaw ball-player, Drinks the Juice of the
Stone (Figures 4 and 5), Catlin departs from his earlier focus on the drama of the
sport. These paintings act to give ball-play a human face. Yet, both in Letters and
Notes and in these two paintings, one learns very little about this actual man. Drinks
the Juice of the Stone instead acts principally as a model on which the exotic material
culture associated with the sport can be displayed. In both paintings, Catlin took
great care in rendering such items as his dyed horsehair ‘mane’, the beaded belt that
supports his breech-cloth, the two ball sticks in his hand and the painted markings
that decorate his body. In ‘Drinks the Juice of the Stone, in Ball-Player’s Dress’
(Figure 5), Catlin captured his subject in profile in order to call special attention to
the white horsehair ‘tail’ that players typically wore during matches. This perspective
also gave him the opportunity to accentuate the distinctly Roman character of his
nose. Striding amid a cloud-filled background, Drinks the Juice of the Stone is made
to appear like a legendary Roman gladiator. Throughout this series of ball-play
paintings, Catlin wanted his viewers to think that they were indeed witnessing a sport
from another time and place altogether.
In revelling in the ‘primitive’ nature of this sport, Catlin was at the same time
undermining the capacity of these paintings to speak to more immediate issues of
the day. While he might have professed an affinity for the Choctaw and an
interest in recording something of their culture, he declined to address in either
his writings or his paintings the central historic fact of the moment: the federal
government having displaced the Choctaw from their homelands in Mississippi,
his subjects had only just arrived in the so-called Indian Territory. In fact, the last
group of Choctaw families to emigrate had been there less than four months by
the time Catlin arrived. Though he was aware of this situation, he chose instead
to see only that which interested him. As he wrote in Letters and Notes regarding
the forced relocation of the Cherokees:
It is not for me to decide, nor in this place to reason, as to the justice or injustice of
the treatment of these peoples at the hands of the Government or individuals; or of
10 F. H. Goodyear
Figure 4 Drinks the Juice of the Stone. 1834. Source: Smithsonian American Art Museum,
Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.
the wisdom of the policy which is to place them in a new, though vast and fertile
country, 1000 miles from the land of their birth. [21]
Indeed, the drama of the athletic field held greater appeal to him than the more
difficult task – both artistically and psychologically – of representing the first steps of
the Choctaw’s recovery in this new land.
For more than 30 years prior to Catlin’s arrival, government officials and Euro-
American landowners had applied various forms of pressure upon the Choctaw and
other tribes of the South-east in an effort to move them to lands west of the
Mississippi River. By 1830, the Choctaw had already ceded more than 13 million
acres. When President Andrew Jackson signed the Indian Removal Act into law in
June 1830, many Choctaw seemed to understand that their hope of staying in
Mississippi had ended. Three months later, influenced by bribes and threatened by
intimidation, a deeply-divided Choctaw delegation signed away the remaining ten
Figure 5 Drinks the Juice of the Stone, in Ball-Player’s Dress. 1834. Source: Smithsonian
American Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Joseph Harrison, Jr.
million acres in exchange for new lands in present-day Oklahoma. As one leader
wrote two years later, ‘we were hedged in by two evils, and we chose that which we
thought the least . . . We as Choctaws rather chose to suffer and be free, than live
under the degrading influence of laws, when our voice could not be heard in their
formation.’ [22] Under the terms of the Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek, the tribe
agreed to complete this 400-mile journey in three stages over the next three years. It
was not until December 1833, that the last group crossed the Mississippi River.
Approximately 2,000 of the 20,000 who left their homes died en route of famine and
illness. [23]
James Culberson, whose father endured this relocation as a 12-year old boy, later
passed on his story. In describing the many trials that he and others endured,
Culberson highlighted the sense of betrayal the Choctaw felt towards President
Jackson in particular, a man whom many Choctaw had fought beside during both the
Creek War and the Battle of New Orleans. He concluded his father’s story by relating
12 F. H. Goodyear
the following observations about the Choctaw’s arrival and subsequent adjustment to
their new home:
Some of those who went at this time met friends of former days and settled in
various parts of the Indian Territory. In their homes the sad experiences of the
journey to this promised land haunted them and was never to be forgotten. Baha
[his father’s travelling companion] having conducted them safely into Indian
Territory, returned at once for provisions to the sick camp. Conditions had become
worse and some had died during his absence and so many were sick that a near
panic had taken place. Some claimed that the evil spirit had followed them all along
this hard journey and now intended to unite them before they had a chance to
enjoy the happiness and pleasures of a home in the new land . . . No greater
humiliation can be placed upon a free people than to be ordered from their homes
by a stranger. No greater forbearance can any people show than to give up these
homes to be desecrated and destroyed by a stranger. Yet this is just what happened
to these semi-civilized peoples, and all because their head chiefs had asked them to
do thus. [24]
In Letters and Notes, Catlin alluded only obliquely to ‘their troubles’. Though he
was familiar with the Choctaw’s travails, he stopped short at describing their
situation at this moment, concluding that ‘these people seem . . . to be happy; and
have, like the other remnants of tribes, preserved with great tenacity their different
games, which it would seem they are everlastingly practising for want of other
occupations or amusements in life’. [25] For Catlin to have sidestepped this history
bespeaks the larger aims of his project. While he might take issue with certain aspects
of ‘civilization,’ these Choctaw ball-play paintings and the larger Indian Gallery of
which they were a part were in fact memorials to what he perceived as a disappearing
race. In Catlin’s estimation, the Choctaws clung desperately to ball-play as the last
‘authentic’ expression of their culture. Throughout his travels on the Great Plains,
Catlin repeatedly sought out similar scenes. This sense of doom explains both the
increasingly melancholy tone of his remarks in Letters and Notes and the stridency of
his criticism towards those he felt were responsible for this degradation – most
especially, traders who introduced them to alcohol and corrupt government agents
who stole money and goods owed to them by treaty.
Not until late in his life, however, did he ever question the national policy that lay
at the foundation of these changes. An ardent Unionist during the Civil War, Catlin
came to understand Jackson’s Indian Removal Act as part of the South’s ‘conspiracy’.
By removing native tribes from their homelands, Southerners could thereby extend
the institution of slavery throughout this entire region. Frustrated repeatedly in his
attempts to sell the Indian Gallery to the federal government, Catlin developed an
even greater disdain for government authorities during the end of his life. This
cynicism contributed to the directness of his later criticism concerning the nation’s
Indian policy. [26]
Yet, during the period in which he interacted with the Choctaw, Catlin endorsed in
principle Jackson’s Indian Removal Act. Though pessimistic about the willingness of
‘civilization’ to ensure their safety, he hoped that removal to the ‘vast and vacant
wilds’ west of the Mississippi River would create the conditions whereby tribes could
reconstitute themselves. As Thomas Jefferson had envisioned at the time of the
Louisiana Purchase, the West could provide native peoples with the space necessary
to begin the process of acculturation. [27] While Catlin endorsed the activities of
missionaries and thought that the Plains might afford ‘one of the richest and most
desirable countries for agricultural pursuits’, he also wished that tribal nations might
simply be left alone once resettled in the West. [28] His proposal to establish a
‘magnificent park, where the world could see for ages to come, the native Indian in his
classic attire, galloping his wild horse, with sinewy bow, and shield and lance, amid
the fleeting herds of elks and buffaloes’ reflects this deep-seated longing to keep out
the corrupting influences of Euro-American society. [29] To Catlin, the Choctaw’s
best hope lay in these new lands. Only in removing them from the East would they
have a chance to escape the vices of ‘civilization’.
Paintings such as Catlin’s ball-play series left the impression that Native American
habits and play had not been adversely impacted by Jackson’s removal policy. They
indicated that the Choctaw were at peace and harboured no ill will towards the
dominant culture. Furthermore, they suggested that the Great Plains seemed to be an
ideal place for them. Thus they had the ultimate effect of forestalling potential moral
outrage against those responsible for the ‘troubles’ to which Catlin alluded in Letters
and Notes. Reviews of Catlin’s Indian Gallery support the idea that the public was
largely hoodwinked about the actual conditions of dislocated tribal communities.
During the spring of 1835, Catlin exhibited his paintings in several Southern cities.
Having spent the previous winter in Pensacola, Florida, with his brother James, a
local banker, he decided to show off his latest work first in the South before taking it
back east. Almost unanimously, audiences praised Catlin and his Indian Gallery,
calling special attention to the truthfulness of the images and the savagery of his
subjects. It was as though the viewer ‘actually were among them’, exclaimed one critic
in New Orleans. [30] Similarly, another reviewer in Mobile, Alabama, celebrated
Catlin’s ability to blend ‘amusement and instruction in so seductive a form that even
a shrimp dinner is forgotten in the enchantment’. [31] Newspaper reports even
suggested that three Creek chiefs visited the Indian Gallery at this time and ‘were
highly delighted when they recognized amongst his portraits some of their
companions who had removed to the far west’. [32] In the South, where authorities
had displaced the Choctaw and other native nations, the public seemed all-too-
willing to believe in this romantic ‘enchantment’.
In the years after his 1834 expedition into the South-west, Catlin continued to find
ball-play a resonant subject. Turning again to the northern Plains the following year,
he completed two portraits of Sioux men dressed in ball-play costume, and a group
scene in which Sioux women are engaged in the sport. Once again, Catlin followed a
similar formula in composing these scenes. When he travelled abroad with his Indian
Gallery beginning in 1839, sports such as ball-play were deemed especially thrilling.
On several occasions, Catlin even recruited native groups to perform these games for
14 F. H. Goodyear
audiences. In 1845, 14 Iowas accompanied Catlin to Europe. At Lord’s Cricket
Ground in London, they replicated a ball-play match – in addition to an archery
contest and a variety of dances. The same performances were held again in Paris for
King Louis-Philippe. Having travelled through the United States as a youth, during
which time he witnessed a ball-play match between the Cherokee and the Choctaw,
Louis-Philippe was pleased by Catlin’s Indian Gallery and commissioned him to
paint a copy of ‘Ball-Play of the Choctaw – Ball Up’. [33]
Wherever the Indian Gallery travelled, non-native audiences proclaimed Catlin the
great Indian saviour. As a critic in Philadelphia suggested, ‘The Indian is truly
fortunate in having so faithful and industrious a champion, historian, and painter, as
Mr Catlin, who will no doubt rescue their name from the mass of trading libellers
that have so long corrupted and then slandered them’. [34] Though Catlin was
dedicated to drawing attention to Native American culture, his Indian Gallery had
the ultimate effect of validating the opinions of each person who looked upon it. His
paintings were widely admired throughout America and Europe not simply because
of the spectacle they created, but also because they seemed to reaffirm the idea that
colonialism was enlarging the dominant culture’s understanding of the world. With
native populations believed to be on the verge of extinction, Catlin’s Indian Gallery
purported to rescue them so that ‘phoenix-like, they may rise from the ‘‘stain on a
painter’s palette,’’ and live again upon canvas, and stand forth for centuries yet to
come the living monuments of a noble race’. [35]
As historian Susan Scheckel has argued, Native Americans during the first half of
the nineteenth century posed primarily a moral, not a military, threat to a young
nation that sought political legitimacy. [36] Catlin’s Choctaw ball-play series and the
larger collection of which it was a part helped him and others to reconcile actions
such as Jackson’s Indian Removal Act. By choosing to represent the Choctaw at play,
Catlin furthered the naı̈ve hope that Euro-Americans still harboured about the
decision to remove them from their homelands. At the same time, seeing the
Choctaw almost exclusively through the sport of ball-play contributed to their further
marginalization as a vital community in the eyes of Euro-American society. By
their association with such a ‘primitive’ sport, the Choctaw became little more
than the most basic hunting and gathering people, rather than active agents
attempting to reconstruct their lives in the wake of great tragedy. For Catlin, scenes
such as ball-play also helped him to resolve the demands of being an artist in
America. They allowed him to ‘become Indian’ and to carve out that career he had
always longed to have.
Notes
[1] Catlin, Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the North American
Indians, Vol. 2, 123.
[2] Truettner, The Natural Man Observed, 41.
[3] Haberly, Pursuit of the Horizon; Ewers, George Catlin; McCracken, George Catlin and the Old
Frontier.
[4] Truettner, The Natural Man Observed; Dippie, Catlin and His Contemporaries; Gurney and
Heyman, George Catlin and His Indian Gallery. For an essay that foregrounds Catlin in the
context of the Indian removal policies of the 1830s, see Hight, ‘‘‘Doomed to Perish’’ ’.
[5] Catlin, Letters and Notes, Vol. 1, 10.
[6] Truettner, The Natural Man Observed, 71–3.
[8] Truettner, The Natural Man Observed, 14–15.
[10] A student of Native American cultures, Lewis Cass was interested in Catlin’s project and,
despite the opposition of some military leaders, approved his request to accompany this
expedition. Dippie, Catlin and His Contemporaries, 32. In addition to Catlin’s observations in
Letters and Notes, two soldiers published journals about the 1834 expedition: Hildreth,
Dragoon Campaigns to the Rocky Mountains; and Wheelock, A Journal of the Campaign of the
Regiment of Dragoons.
[12] Dippie, The Vanishing American, 98–106.
[13] Berkhofer, The White Man’s Indian.
[15] Catlin, ‘From Our Correspondent’, New York Commercial Advertiser, 23 July 1834.
[16] Catlin, Letters and Notes, Vol. 2, 123, 126.
[17] Written accounts of Choctaw ball-play by Euro-American authors date back to the middle of
the eighteenth century. For a wide-ranging history of ball-play, or lacrosse, among Native
American peoples, see Vennum, American Indian Lacrosse. For a more focused study of
Choctaw ball-play, see K. Blanchard, The Mississippi Choctaws at Play.
[18] Cushman, History of the Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Natchez Indians, 130.
[20] Ibid., 126.
[21] Ibid., 121.
[22] Harkins, ‘The Choctaw’s Farewell’, 480.
[23] For the most thorough account of this historic period, see DeRosier, The Removal of the
Choctaw Indian; White, The Roots of Dependency.
[24] Culberson, ‘Two Thousand Choctaws Died During Their Removal’, 11. Also of note, French
travel writer Alexis de Toqueville was in Memphis, Tennessee, in the winter of 1831 and
witnessed the horrible sight of a large Choctaw group crossing the Mississippi River. His
description parallels in many respects Culberson’s account: Tocqueville, Democracy in
America, 324.
[26] Dippie, The Vanishing American, 361–2.
[27] Wallace, Jefferson and the Indians.
[28] Catlin, Letters and Notes, Vol. 2, 46, 155.
[29] Catlin, Letters and Notes, Vol. 1, 294–295.
[30] ‘Mr Catlin’s Paintings’, The Louisiana Courier, 2 April 1835, 1.
[31] ‘Letter to the Editor’, Mobile Daily Commercial Register and Patriot, 14 (30 April 1835), 2.
[32] ‘Catlin’s Exhibition’, The Louisiana Courier, 11 April 1835, 1.
[33] Catlin, Catlin’s Notes of Eight Years’ Travel and Residence in Europe, 78, 285, 291.
[34] Catlin, Opinions of the English and United States Press, 16.
[36] Scheckel, The Insistence of the Indian.
16 F. H. Goodyear
References
Berkhofer, Robert. The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the
Present. New York: Knopf, 1978.
Blanchard, Kendall. The Mississippi Choctaws at Play: The Serious Side of Leisure. Urbana, IL:
University of Illinois Press, 1981.
Catlin, George. Letters and Notes on Manners, Customs, and Conditions of the North American
Indians. London: Published by the author, 1841.
____, ed. Opinions of the English and United States Press on Catlin’s North American Indian
Museum. London: C. Adlard, 1841.
____. Catlin’s Notes of Eight Years’ Travel and Residence in Europe, with His North American Indian
Collections. New York: Burgess, Stringer & Company, 1848.
Culberson, James. ‘Two Thousand Choctaws Died During Their Removal’. The American Indian, 3
(December 1928): 11.
Cushman, Horatio. History of the Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Natchez Indians. New York: Russell &
Russell, 1962.
DeRosier, Arthur. The Removal of the Choctaw Indian. Knoxville, TN: University of Tennessee Press,
1970.
Dippie, Brian. The Vanishing American: White Attitudes and US Indian Policy. Lawrence, KS:
University Press of Kansas, 1982.
____. Catlin and His Contemporaries: The Politics of Patronage. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska
Press, 1990.
Ewers, John. George Catlin, Painter of Indians and the West. Washington, DC: Smithsonian
Gurney, George and Therese Thau Heyman, eds. George Catlin and His Indian Gallery. New York:
W. W. Norton & Company, 2002.
Haberly, Loyd. Pursuit of the Horizon: A Life of George Catlin, Painter and Recorder of the American
Indian. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1948.
Harkins, George. ‘The Choctaw’s Farewell’. Niles Weekly Register, 41 (25 Feb. 1832): 480.
Hight, Kathryn. ‘ ‘‘Doomed to Perish’’: George Catlin’s Depictions of the Mandan’. Art Journal, 49
(Summer 1990): 30–45.
Hildreth, John. Dragoon Campaigns to the Rocky Mountains. New York: Wiley & Long, 1836.
McCracken, Harold. George Catlin and the Old Frontier. New York: Dial Press, 1959.
Scheckel, Susan. The Insistence of the Indian: Race and Nationalism in Nineteenth-Century America.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1998.
Tocqueville, Alexis de. Democracy in America. New York: Harper & Row, 1966.
Truettner, William. The Natural Man Observed: A Study of Catlin’s Indian Gallery. Washington,
DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1979.
Vennum, Thomas. American Indian Lacrosse: Little Brother of War. Washington, DC: Smithsonian
Wallace, Anthony. Jefferson and the Indians: The Tragic Fate of the First Americans. Cambridge, MA:
Harvard University Press, 1999.
Wheelock, Thompson. A Journal of the Campaign of the Regiment of Dragoons. Washington, DC:
Duff Green, 1834.
White, Richard. The Roots of Dependency: Subsistence, Environment, and Social Change among the
Choctaws, Pawnees, and Navajos. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press. 1983.
The Legend of the Tarahumara:
Tourism, Overcivilization and
the White Man’s Indian
Darcy C. Plymire
Reading articles about the Tarahumara Indians of Northern Mexico that have appeared
in popular US magazines, I identify four interlocking themes that constitute the
Tarahumaras as a ‘white man’s Indian’: a) the Tarahumaras are primitive hunters;
b) they eat a simple and healthy diet; c) they complete superhuman feats of endurance;
and d) they lack the sense of time/work discipline that would make them successful
athletes in Western-style endurance events. These themes constitute the Tarahumaras as
noble savages whose supposedly primitive lifestyle offers US runners a solution for the
diseases of overcivilization. They also serve the needs of a burgeoning sport/tourism
industry that sells stereotypical images of ‘Indians’ to US runners and tourists.
In March of 1993 a group of US citizens joined forces to distribute food to the

Tarahumara Indians who live in the Copper Canyon, a drought-plagued region in
Mexico’s Sierra Tarahumara Mountains. Lynne Reinecke and Doug Stewart, two tour
guides living and working in the area, had organized a food collection drive. Peter
Severance, editor-in-chief of Running Wild magazine, Rick Fisher, a photographer
and guide from Arizona, and Kitty Williams, Fisher’s partner, joined the other two
guides in Mexico to help with the distribution of food. The latter three participants in
the venture were long-distance runners, and Severance’s magazine was devoted to
coverage of ultra running – running races over a marathon in length, usually over
mountain trails and difficult terrain. Like most US runners, all members of the party
were familiar with legends of the Tarahumaras’ ability to run prodigious distances
over the rugged terrain of their homeland. [1]
In a Runner’s World magazine article, Severance asserted, ‘centuries of a rigorous life
and an age-old predilection for running games have created a unique people’. However,
he claimed the uniqueness of the Tarahumaras was threatened as ‘increased road
18 D. C. Plymire
building and logging have forced the Tarahumaras deeper into the canyons and
fragmented their daily lives’. In the wake of these changes, the people run less, and
according to Severance’s expert anthropological sources, ‘if running were removed from
Tarahumara life, the total cultural imbalance resulting would be greater than if some
sporting activity were dropped from our own complex culture’. Thus the humanitarian
goal of food distribution was linked to another, primary goal – to convince the
Tarahumaras to stage a series of rarajipa – their traditional running races. [2]
Despite the severity of the drought and the resulting famine, the American
contingent felt guilty simply giving the food away. The Americans reasoned that if
they made the donation of food conditional on the Tarahumaras staging rarajipa, ‘we
would not just be feeding the people. We would be encouraging their running
tradition and helping to maintain their culture as well.’ With that in mind, the
Americans were determined to withhold the food until long-distance races were
organized and run. However, logistical problems prohibited the planned races. The
Americans finally agreed to donate the food, anyway, if the Tarahumaras ran a
single ‘short’ 12-mile race. According to Severance, ‘the run itself was unremarkable’.
Yet, he was baffled by the behaviour of the runners. He mused that they ‘seemed to
have no sense of how to pace a short, fast race – at least not judging by the leisurely
manner in which they consumed corn and beans at the midrace ‘‘aid station’’’. [3] In
his mind, the point of the race was to compete, and according to the standards of
American athletic competition, an aid station was a place to refuel quickly to ensure
maximum performance, not a place to enjoy food and beverage. That the Indians
might have thought that the point of the race was to eat, not to compete, seems not
to have crossed Severance’s mind. Instead he attributed their actions to a lack of time/
work discipline – a necessary ingredient in American-style athletic competitions.
The athletic performances of the Tarahumaras disappointed Severance, but he was
convinced, nonetheless, that he had come face to face with what he termed ‘the legend
of the Tarahumara’ and was satisfied that while ‘mythology doesn’t often come to life.
This time it did.’ His conclusion is strange, in the light of the fact that in his version
of the legend, the Tarahumaras reputedly have run ‘70 miles a day, day after day; or
170 miles without stopping; or 500 miles a week while carrying 40 pounds of mail on
their backs’. [4] The 12-mile race organized by Severance and his cronies pales in
contrast to those alleged feats, and hardly lives up to the distances suggested by the
phenomenal legend – and by his own admission, Severance witnessed no other
running by the Tarahumaras. Thus, Severance’s reaffirmation of the legend, and his
determination to compel the Tarahumaras to run, suggest that the legend of the
Tarahumara plays an important role in the lives of many American runners. In this
case, one may reasonably ask what is at stake in perpetuating the legend?
I will argue that runners and authors from the United States have constructed the
Tarahumaras as a version of what Robert F. Berkhofer calls ‘the White man’s Indian’.
[5] My argument is based on a reading the legend of the Tarahumara, as it has
appeared in popular magazines over the past decades, focusing particularly on
Severance’s article. In the following sections, I will outline four interlocking themes:
a) the Tarahumaras are primitive hunters; b) they eat a simple and healthy diet;
c) they complete superhuman feats of endurance; and d) they lack the sense of time/
work discipline that would make them successful athletes in Western-style endurance
events. These themes constitute the Tarahumaras as noble savages whose supposedly
primitive lifestyle offers US runners a solution for the diseases of overcivilization. [6]
I will conclude with a discussion of how the images of the noble savage serve the
purposes of Severance’s relief party, all of whom have ties to the international tourist
industry.
The Noble Savage

According to Berkhofer, the project of creating the white man’s Indian began when
Columbus, confused about what continent he had reached, called the indigenous
people of the Caribbean Indians. Ensuing generations of Europeans and European
Americans used that term to describe all the indigenous peoples of the Americas, even
though those people were comprised of some 2,000 distinct social and ethnic groups.
What united all the peoples of the Americas, in the European mind, was that Indians
were not European, and therefore by definition neither Christian nor civilized. They
were heathens, because they lacked the Christian faith, and savages. The word savage
derived from the French, and described the ancient idea of the wild man, the child of
nature, a being half-way between man and animal, physically strong, but without
knowledge or discipline. Many real-life Indian groups defied these stereotypes. The
Cherokee, for example, had a well-developed agriculture and created a written
syllabary; built cities, such as New Echota in northern Georgia; and wrote their own
constitution, modelled on that of the United States. [7] Yet, despite the evidence,
Europeans insisted that all Indians were primitive savages.
Savages came in three types. First, the bloodthirsty savage recalled Hobbes’s
understanding of nature as inherently inhospitable and undesirable. The second, the
noble savage, Locke’s vision of nature as a state of grace, man in harmony with his
world. The third, the ‘degraded . . . Indian’ represented the savage who had been
corrupted rather than ennobled by exposure to civilization. ‘Living as neither an
assimilated white nor an Indian of the classic image’, the degraded savage ‘exhibited
the vices of both societies . . . [and] the worst qualities of Indian character’. [8]
These stereotypes of Indians have the character of myth. They are fictive
constructions that make sense of the world, rather than records of empirical reality,
though they often have posed as the latter. Western social science has done little to
dislodge these stereotypes. Indeed, Berkhofer insists that the ideology and practice of
anthropology has perhaps buttressed and extended their power. In the early twenty-
first century, white civilization, values and morals and those of Indians are still
defined as eternal opposites, even if many whites now profess a positive valuation of
traditional Indian cultures. And since civilization is seen as dynamic and changing,
Indian cultures are seen as existing out of time and place – according to white
mythology, Indians have culture but not history.
20 D. C. Plymire
The dynamics of the white man’s Indian can be identified easily in the legend of
the Tarahumara. As David Roberts, writing for Smithsonian magazine stated, ‘the
history of attempts by Westerners to come to grips with the [Tarahumaras] reads in
part as a triumph of a priori notions over direct observation’. Whereas Roberts
attributes the survival of the Tarahumaras to their ability to ‘[hybridize] invaders’
culture with their own’, most popular literature looks at the Tarahumaras in a very
different light. The four themes that constitute the legend of the Tarahumara
construct the people as noble savages, who have avoided cultural hybridization, but
who are in danger of becoming degraded savages as civilization encroaches. [9]
Though the people writing about the Tarahumaras appear to value Tarahumara
culture, they seemingly cannot escape the assumption that the Indians’ culture is the
opposite of the white ‘civilization’ and their efforts to help the Tarahumaras are
constrained by their desire to keep the Indians frozen in a mythical past.
The Diseases of Overcivilization

Berkhofer notes that among white US citizens, interest in Indians waxes and wanes
periodically. One such period of interest coincided with the running boom of the
1970s in the United States. This widespread interest in running was fuelled and
supported by a philosophical construction of running that appeared in numerous
running books and magazines. [10]
Joe Henderson, author and editor of Runner’s World, the most popular running
magazine of the 1970s, called his daily run ‘going primitive’. He believed running was
a primitive activity and therefore had the potential to cure modern man of what he
called the diseases of overcivilization – heart disease, obesity and mental illness.
Henderson theorized that the brain had evolved quickly, enabling man to create
numerous labour-saving devices and technological advances. These devices had
reduced the amount of physical labour performed by man while increasing food
production and revolutionizing transportation. According to the quasi-scientific
theories of Thaddeus Kostrubala, another runner and a psychiatrist from San Diego,
prior to the rise of agriculture, ‘mobile [man] . . . walked, hunted, gathered, migrated,
and probably ran, both in . . . hunting and at times in fear’. Agriculture allowed man to
settle down into a ‘sedentary, fixed, urban way of life’, but Kostrubala was convinced
that modern man still carried ‘vestiges of an earlier biological past’ – the genetic
programming of the hunter-gatherer who needed to run for his mental and spiritual
health. [11] Because bodies remained primitive, even as minds developed, humanity
faced an existential crisis. Not only were modern people physically weak and corrupt,
they were unhappy too. Because the mind was part of the body, the mind needed
physical labour in order to thrive. In the absence of such labour, people needed to
substitute athletic exercise. The most appropriate exercise to solve this existential crisis
was running. Other forms of exercise were too civilized and therefore did not tap into
mankind’s genetic programming in the same way as running. In Kostrubala’s
professional opinion, the repetition and rhythm of long-distance running tired out the
rational mind and allowed the Jungian collective unconscious to take over. In the
collective unconscious lay ‘[all] the symbolic memories of all our ancestors. . . . The
internal representation of a free-running, myth-making, roving, hunter-killer ape.’
[12] Unlocking those memories brought man peace and happiness.
To the runners of the 1970s, the noble Tarahumaras seemed to be model
primitives, noble savages at one with nature, whose lifestyle offered a solution to the
problems of modern living. Traces of this understanding of the Tarahumaras can be
found in virtually every popular account of their culture and running prowess,
including Severance’s.
Man the Hunter

Though the Tarahumaras have practised agriculture since before first contact with the
Spanish in the seventeenth century, runners’ stories depict the people as primitive
hunters, always on the move in pursuit of elusive game. According to one story, ‘in
the old days, Tarahumaras hunted deer by pursuing them on foot . . . [until] the prey
finally toppled over in exhaustion’. [13]
The story conjures up a vision of the Tarahumaras outrunning their animal quarry
through pure physical prowess. However, that image of the Tarahumara hunter is a
myth. The story may have originated in the anthropological literature, such as
Bennett and Zingg’s (1935) account. However, Bennett and Zingg’s report of the
hunt paints a very different picture of the hunters than those found in popular
magazines. Bennett and Zingg insist that in addition to ‘wonderful endurance’ the
Tarahumaras demonstrate ‘great ability to follow game trails. . . . The Tarahumara,
who knows his animal adversaries well, respects their intelligence.’ Using his skills,
the Tarahumara hunter does indeed chase a deer for two days, but ‘only occasionally
does he get a glimpse of his quarry’. He catches the animal not through physical
prowess but by following the deer ‘unerringly through his own uncanny ability to
read the tracks’. [14] One can only assume that the myth endures because US runners
need the figure of the primitive hunter to satisfy their desire to find in the
Tarahumaras a cure for the diseases of overcivilization. However, the image of the
hunter is not the only facet of the noble savage that intrigues US runners.
A Healthy Diet
Paradoxically, given the legend of the ancient Tarahumara as hunter, contemporary
Tarahumaras are admired by runners for their diet high in complex carbohydrates
and low in animal protein and fat. Ironically, during the years of famine, the
Tarahumaras’ diet of corn and beans, with little animal fat or protein, was the object
of study that appeared in the New England Journal of Medicine. [15] Researchers fed a
group of Tarahumaras a typical ‘western holiday-style feast’ of turkey with all the
high-fat trimmings. Not surprisingly, the subjects’ cholesterol levels rose rapidly in
response to the high-fat, high-calorie regime. The researchers’ suggestion to their
22 D. C. Plymire
Western audience – ‘[don’t] sell the condo and go to the Sierra Madre Occidental
mountains and spend Christmas munching on a corn tortilla’, just add some
primitive, unrefined foods and fibre to your diet, and eat, drink and ‘fill up’ – was
advice the hungry Tarahumaras might be happy to take.
Though the Tarahumaras, as a group, are relatively free of heart disease and
obesity, their so-called healthy diet is periodically insufficient. Even in times when
famine per se is not a problem, infant mortality is high and related to complications
of chronic malnutrition, and the average life span of the Tarahumaras is far shorter
than that of the average white American. Yet the image of the Tarahumaras thriving
on this diet persists, as does the notion that Tarahumaras cannot tolerate the diet of
the typical Westerner. One writer noted: ‘When [a Tarahumara athlete] comes to an
Olympic training camp, he is given beefsteaks to eat and his gaunt gut is filled with
eggs and milk and other strange foods. His metabolism begins to run crazy.’ [16]
Thus Tarahumara hunger is erased, rhetorically. According to this myth, food of the
type and quantity that satisfies middle-class US runners is too much for the Indian,
and his hunger is thus a positive state.
Superhuman Feats of Endurance

The legend of Tarahumara running contributes to the construction of the people as
primitive, uncivilized, and more like animals than (white) human beings. The
Tarahumaras have performed admirably in Western-style athletic competitions. Two
Tarahumaras, José Torres and Aurelio Terraza, ran the marathon as members of the
1928 Mexican Olympic team in Amsterdam. However, those accomplishments are
not the focus of the legends. Indeed, Shrake of Sports Illustrated reported, ‘the Indians
have never done well when brought down from their high country and made to
behave like athletes’. [17] Jenkinson, writing for Natural History, added that ‘when
taken out of their natural environment, performance pales’. Severance reiterated that
assessment in 1993. The reasons offered for these failures always focus on the Indians’
supposed inability to adapt to the civilized world. For instance, according to
Jenkinson, ‘a Tarahumara’s feet are splayed out’ because he wears sandals made of
old tires, or no shoes at all. Thus he cannot put his feet into the ‘confining leather
shoes . . . [with] cleats like hard shiny cactus spines on the soles’. [18] Norman,
writing for National Geographic, likewise insists that ‘although a Tarahumara often
runs or trots from place to place, time means nothing to him’, echoing Severance’s
assumption that Tarahuamras fail to become Western-style athletes because they lack
time/work discipline. [19]
The legend of the Tarahumara also emphasizes that the Tarahumaras accomplish
their feats of endurance in ‘this wild infinitude of gorges, buttes, and mesas’ over
‘rough . . . goat paths that traverse harrowing ledges and thorny slopes’. [20] In every
case, the difficulty of the terrain seems to offer no problem to the primitive
Tarahumaras who ‘stride easily’ over the treacherous ground without fatigue or
misstep. [21] An account from anthropologist John G. Kennedy contrasts with these
fabulous tales; during a game of rarajipa, he observed Tarahumaras running from

three to 20 miles, with most running about ten miles. Furthermore, he insists that the
gentiles – Tarahumaras who have rejected Christian religion and refused, as much as
possible, to assimilate into Western culture – run less often than do their relatives
who have adopted more European cultural forms such as agricultural technologies.
The races take organization as well as time and energy. Gentiles do not live in villages
and work with more physically demanding and less efficient technologies. Thus they
may be less likely to spend time and energy organizing races as do the village
Tarahumaras. Furthermore, the race Kennedy witnessed was not held on the narrow
trails of the canyons but on a course circling a relatively flat plateau. [22] Bennett and
Zingg, who wrote about the Tarahumaras in an earlier era, confirm that participants
in the rarajipa typically ran from two to 20 miles. In contrast to the reports of these
ethnographers, Jenkinson claims, ‘on occasion, short races of fifty miles or so have
been staged for anthropologists or other visitors’. [23]
The belief that the Tarahumaras’ running ability is caused by their primitive nature
is fundamental to runners’ constructions of the disease of overcivilization and its
primitive cure. European and American observers who claim to have witnessed the
Tarahumaras dancing lightly over the treacherous earth without visible effort report
that they, in contrast to the carefree Indians, suffer pain and exhaustion climbing the
rugged trails of the Sierra Tarahumara. This contrast is offered as proof that the
Tarahumaras suffer none of the degrading effects of civilization that weigh down the
poor, weak white man.
Time, Work and Discipline

The apparent ability of the Tarahumaras to run long distances on short rations and
with little suffering may have contributed to Severance’s confusion about the
reasons why the Indians stopped to eat during their road race. Perhaps he did not
believe that primitive men could feel the pain of hunger or that a hungry man
might find a long-distance run difficult or oppressive. However, he was clearly
convinced that the Indians lacked time/work discipline, and he had an odd
interpretation of what that lack implied. In the Sierra Tarahumara, Severance spent
a day with a Catholic priest who had lived and worked as director of a local
hospital for over 20 years and was respected as an expert on Tarahumara life and
culture. The priest worried that industrialization, in the form of pulp and paper
mills and modernized lumber mills, threatened the people’s traditional way of life.
The padre pointed out to Severance that small Tarahumara villages had been
transformed by the encroachment of industry. Where once had been a ‘traditional
Tarahumara village with everyone still running’, now there was visible ‘a cluster of
houses sprawled on a barren hillside above a lumber mill . . . part of a government
assistance program for the Tarahumara. Inside the mill, a small group of
Tarahumara men, all wearing pants [instead of their traditional canvas loincloths],
worked at their hourly [waged] jobs.’ [24]
24 D. C. Plymire
Severance assumes (with some justification) that something of human freedom is
lost when men are constrained to industrial labour. However, wage labour in an
industrial economy seems more confining, if one assumes that the Tarahumaras
recently lived free from the constraints of wage labour – if one assumes, as does
Severance, that 20 years ago the Tarahumara were living an idyllic existence in their
small agricultural villages far from the demands of modern, Western industry. That is
clearly not the case. The concept of the village itself is a Spanish innovation. When
the Spanish arrived in the area in the seventeenth century, the population of
Tarahumaras was widely dispersed. To organize and rationalize Indian labour, the
Spanish campaigned to centralize the population into villages. The village that
Severance so easily romanticizes as traditional is in fact part of that legacy of
colonization. Beginning in the early seventeenth century, miners and other European
entrepreneurs have pressed the Indians into service. Sometimes the labour of the
Tarahumaras has been compensated, but other times the people have laboured as
slaves in such occupations as mining and lumbering.
Norman’s 1976 National Geographic article illustrates the problem with Severance’s
perspective. Norman was hiking in a canyon; when he paused to catch his breath,
with ‘legs [that] felt like they had been stretched on a medieval torture rack’; he
spotted ‘two Tarahumaras, stripped to their loincloths . . . running barefoot down the
trail. Each carried a ten-foot wooden beam on his shoulder.’ Norman learned from
the men that they were carrying the heavy beams down the steep and rugged trail to a
gold mine, where the beams would be used as support. For their labours the men
each earned about 80 cents a day. He asked the men why they ran with the beams,
and they replied: ‘To go there.’ Norman decided that ‘the reasons may be more
complex’, that the Tarahumaras ‘developed this ability because of the deer chases’.
Also their neighbours, the Yaquis, were noted runners; so were other North American
Indians such as the Apaches, Navajos and Pimas. Thus running was part of their
Indian heritage; part of what defined them as Indians. Unlike their America Indian
brethren, however, the hard-working Tarahumaras, Norman felt, had remained free
and noble savages rather than degraded Indians because they had the physical
strength to carry heavy logs, and because they were willing to work hard for low
wages. The author concluded happily that despite their ‘modest lumbering business’
the two Tarahumaras ‘did not seem about to become slaves to civilization’. [25]
One might argue that men who carry heavy logs many miles at a run, all for 80 cents
a day, have already become slaves, by any reasonable measure. However, Norman
clearly imagines that the Tarahumaras remain free and primitive, as long as they
remain runners. That their labours may represent not free and primitive behaviour but
a problematic role in a money economy seems not to have occurred to him.
Clearly, Severance likewise infers that hourly wages have replaced running, and
that in trading their running for wages and by donning pants instead of their
traditional garb the Indians have lost their indigenous culture only to replace it
with the worst of white culture. However, he can only reach this conclusion by
leaving out the intervening steps between the original Tarahumara culture, as
practised pre-1607, and the industrial and capitalist realities of 1993. Like so many
other Westerners before him, he seems to believe that the Tarahumaras are only just
now threatened by the encroachment of European culture. Severance must ignore, or
remain ignorant of, almost 400 years of history to believe what he does. In doing so
he reduces the Tarahumaras to a stereotype and fails to engage with them as real
living human beings. Like others before him, he neither asks nor seems to care what
the Tarahumaras themselves think about such issues as wage labour, food production
or the place of running in their contemporary lives. Like other Europeans and
European-Americans who have encountered Indians over the centuries, he presumes
to know what is best for the people – how best to manage their affairs and to mediate
between them and the Western world. Thus he is committed to the project of
protecting and preserving the Tarahumaras. However, though in his mind the
objective of preserving and protecting the Tarahumaras is a noble goal, from another
perspective it is a project that buttresses colonial exploitation and domination.
Tourism and the Tarahumaras

The legend of the Tarahumaras, as constructed in running literature is a myth, in the
Barthesian sense – not a complete falsehood but a partial truth that appeals to deep-
seated emotions and organizes people’s understanding of the world. Myths perform a
useful social function, but they are never innocent and may have negative
consequences, as they marginalize other versions of social reality and obscure social
power relations. Myths ‘are forms of speech that derive from specific sites and power
relations, but are passed off as natural and eternal verities’. [26] This is clearly the
case with the legend of the Tarahumara. The legend of the Tarahumara, which insists
that the Tarahumaras live as they have since time immemorial, obscures power
relations between the Indians and their would-be benefactors. The members of
Severance’s relief party are more than just humanitarians. Severance and the other
members of his party all have ties to the running and tourism industries. Directly or
indirectly, they entice runners and others to visit the Copper Canyon and its
surrounding environs and to see the Tarahumaras. Lynne Reinecke and Doug Stewart
are tour guides. Rick Fisher is a photographer. Severance is a magazine editor. An
examination of his magazine, Running Wild, demonstrates the value of the primitive
image of the Tarahumaras to the tourist industry in the Sierra Tarahumara.
Severance’s magazine offers a vision of ultra-running as free running in an unspoiled
wilderness. The magazine creates the illusion that there exist places where American
runners/readers can escape the bounds of their mundane existence and run free.
Peppering the pages of the magazine are advertisements for adventure running
vacations. Each of these vacations offers the American runner a chance to leave
urban/suburban America for a remote location where scenery, terrain and
topography will heighten the experience of running. The combination of advertising
and editorial copy encourages the reader to become a tourist, as well as a runner, and
to consume the vacations and adventures on offer. However, the magazine implicitly
26 D. C. Plymire
promises that the runner who travels to the region will not be reduced merely to a
tourist. The magazine implies that the runner on vacation, rather than consuming a
pre-packaged product, will be a real adventurer encountering true wilderness and
authentic primitives.
Keith Hollinshead calls tourism ‘the quintessential business of ‘‘difference
projection’’ and the interpretive vehicle of ‘‘othering’’ par excellence’ and argues
tourism ‘tend[s] to . . . think only in terms of pristine, intact and well-bounded
cultures which distinctively attract visitors or which singularly celebrate themselves’.
[27] The magazine articles reviewed above have done the work of othering the
Tarahumaras admirably.
In order to project the image of the Tarahumaras and their homeland as primitive,
pristine and therefore desirable, Severance must ignore the history of the people and
the region. And he must ignore connections between the colonial exploitation of the
Indians and his economic and professional interests. The Tarahumaras, like other
peoples in Mexico and throughout the Third World, provide the labour that fuels
American agriculture and industry. The two men carrying the heavy logs were as
caught on the wheel of Western industry as were those wearing blue jeans and
working for wages in a factory. Their labour enables the sedentary lifestyles that
American runners disdain. To emulate the Tarahumaras’ diet and exercise patterns
does nothing to alter the relations of power that keep the Tarahumaras and others
like them living in primitive conditions. Nor does it protect or shield them from the
advances of civilization. They are pressed into the service of the capitalist economy
both because their labour creates leisure for American runners and because they feed
a tourist economy with a taste for wilderness.
Pictures and descriptions are important to this process of representing the tourist
destination as a pure and untrammelled wilderness. Ironically, as tourism in the
Tarahumara region has increased, descriptions of the area have changed dramatically.
Previously, writers had called the region a desolate and forbidding wilderness. After
years of logging and road building, Severance depicts the region as an area of pristine
beauty. Such rhetoric produces and promotes the area, as do the correct descriptions
of the Tarahumaras themselves. To appear authentic, and therefore to appeal to the
American runners/tourist, the Tarahumaras must conform to stock images of
authentic Indians. Thus Indians wearing loincloths and red bandannas across their
brows are more appealing than those in Western garb, like blue jeans and cowboy
hats. This, as much as an economic analysis or an analysis of power relations, may
explain Severance’s dismay at the changes in Tarahumara life that lead the Indians to
wear jeans and work in factories. Westernized Indians are less desirable as a consumer
product than Indians who portray the image of the noble savage.
Despite the very real problems with the images produced in Severance’s article, we
must, in good faith, take Severance and his companions at their word – they desire to
help the Indians. Yet, even if they mean no harm, still the actions of the US
contingent represent a vexing problem. People who defend the use of Native
American symbols and images in American team sports often argue that they mean
no harm. They intend those images to honour Indians by showing respect for their
positive attributes. However, Davis argues that these stereotypic images focus on a
mythical past. In doing so, they encourage Americans to associate Indians with the
past while ‘obscuring the lives of contemporary Native Americans’. [28] By viewing
Native Americans as suspended in a mythical past, Americans may ignore the history
of Western and European contact with native cultures and their own complicity with
that history. As Davis points out, Native American mascots became a fixture on the
US sporting scene soon after the US government subdued and controlled native
populations. Thus the use of such images represents the putative attributes of a
people who have been either obliterated or made ineffectual. To remain noble savages
Indians must remain ineffectual, living in the past and not engaged in the political
and economic struggles of the present. Indians who participate actively in the
contemporary social world may be regarded degraded (displaying the worst attributes
of European and Indian cultures) but also as threatening. The Indian who is not a
threatened primitive may emerge as a threat to the interests of the descendants of the
Western European conquerors. When Indians reach for economic power and
demand sovereignty over their land and politics, they come into direct conflict with a
dominant culture and economic system that has an insatiable appetite for land,
money and power. Thus if the Tarahumaras were to be other than primitives, they
might be a threat to Severance and other American runners.
The construction of the Tarahumaras suggests that they are timeless people –
people with culture and no history – who have not been polluted by contact with the
Euro-American world. They are noble simply because they have not been
Westernized. In reality, of course, the present-day Tarahumaras are not timeless.
They have a past that is far from being a pure primitive existence. Since first contact
with the Spanish in the fifteenth century, they have a violent and vexing history. To
ignore this is to ignore the fact that the Tarahumaras are real contemporary people
rather than models of a primitive ideal. This inevitably does injustice to the
Tarahumaras. Severance, for example, understands that the Tarahumaras have needs,
but the only solutions he can muster are to offer them a small charity while
attempting to freeze them in a mythical past. However, that mythical past can neither
feed them in perpetuity, nor provide them with the tools to stake out an autonomous
or sovereign social and political existence. At best it can offer to protect them as if
they were a wild and endangered animal species – a species to be managed and
controlled by the very culture that threatens their sovereignty – by perpetuating the
image of the colonization of the Indians.
Notes
[1] McClellan, ‘The World’s Toughest Runners’; Nabokov, Indian Running; Norman, ‘The
Tarahumaras’, Severance, ‘The Legend of the Tarahumara’; Shrake, ‘A Lonely Tribe of
Long-Distance Runners’.
[2] Severance, ‘The Legend of the Tarahumara’, 75–6.
[3] Ibid., 78.
28 D. C. Plymire
[4] Ibid., 74.
[5] Berkhofer, The White Man’s Indian.
[6] Henderson, The Long Run Solution.
[7] Arnold and Plymire, ‘The Cherokee Indians and the Internet’.
[8] Berkhofer, The White Man’s Indian, 30.
[9] Roberts, ‘In the Land of the Long-Distance Runners’.
[10] Plymire, ‘Running, Heart Disease and the Ironic Death of Jim Fixx’.
[11] Kostrubala, The Joy of Running.
[12] Ibid., 107.
[13] Norman, ‘The Tarahumaras’, 703.
[14] Bennett and Zingg, The Tarahumara.
[15] The quotes are from a report in the New England Journal of Medicine study that appeared in
‘Healthfront’, Prevention, December 1992, 8–9.
[16] Jenkinson, ‘The Glory of the Long-Distance Runner’.
[17] Shrake, ‘A Lonely Tribe’, 60.
[18] Jenkinson, ‘The Glory of the Long-Distance Runner’, 61–2.
[20] Ibid., 703.
[21] Jenkinson, ‘The Glory of the Long-Distance Runner’, 57.
[22] Kennedy, The Tarahumara of the Sierra Madre.
[23] Jenkinson, ‘The Glory of the Long-Distance Runner’, 62.
[24] Severance, ‘The Legend of the Tarahumara’, 77–8.
[26] Rowe et al., ‘Come Together’; Barthes, Mythologies.
[27] Hollinshead, ‘Tourism, Hybridity, and Ambiguity’, 121.
[28] Davis, ‘The Problems with Native American Mascots’. See also Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use
of Native American Mascots’.
References
Arnold, Ellen L., and Darcy C. Plymire. ‘The Cherokee Indians and the Internet’. In Web.Studies:
Rewiring Media Studies for the Digital Age, edited by David Gauntlett. New York: Oxford
University Press, 2000.
Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. London: Paladin, 1973.
Berkhofer, Robert. F. The White Man’s Indian: Images of the American Indian from Columbus to the
Present. New York: Vintage Books, 1973.
Bennett, William. C. and Robert M. Zingg. The Tarahumara: An Indian Tribe of Northern Mexico.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1935.
Davis, Laurel. R. ‘The problems with Native American mascots’. Paper presented at the annual
meeting of the North American Society for Sociology of Sport, Cleveland, OH, November
1999.
——. ‘Protest Against the use of Native American Mascots: A Challenge to Traditional American
Identity’. Journal of Sport and Social Issues 17 (1993): 9–22.
Hollinshead, Keith. ‘Tourism, Hybridity, and Ambiguity: The Relevance of Bhaba’s ‘‘Third Space’’
Cultures’. Journal of Leisure Research 30 (1998): 121–56.
‘Healthfront’. Prevention, Dec. 1992: 8–9.
Henderson, Joe. The Long Run Solution. Mountain View, CA: World Publications, 1976.
Jenkinson, Michael. ‘The Glory of the Long-Distance Runner’. Natural History, Jan. 1972: 55–65.
Kennedy, John G. The Tarahumara of the Sierra Madre: Beer, Ecology, and Social Organization.
Arlington Heights, IL: AHM Publishing Corporation, 1978.
Kostrubala, Thaddeus. The Joy of Running. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1976.

McClellan, Bill. ‘The World’s Toughest Runners’. Runner’s World, Oct. 1979: 82–4.
City Press, 1987.
Norman, James. ‘The Tarahumaras: Mexico’s long Distance Runners’. National Geographic, May
1976: 702–19.
Plymire, Darcy C. ‘Running, Heart Disease, and the Ironic Death of Jim Fixx’. Research Quarterly
for Exercise and Sport 73 (2002): 38–46.
Roberts, David. ‘In the land of the Long-Distance Runners’. Smithsonian, May 1998: 42–52.
Rowe, David, Jim McKay and Toby Miller. ‘Come Together: Sport, Nationalism, and the Media
Image’. In MediaSport, edited by L.A. Wenner. New York: Routledge, 1998.
Severance, Peter. ‘The Legend of the Tarahumara’. Runner’s World, Dec. 1993: 74–80.
Shrake, Edwin. ‘A Lonely Tribe of Long-Distance Runners’. Sports Illustrated, 9 Jan. 1969: 56–67.
The Mythical Jim Thorpe:
Re/presenting the Twentieth Century
American Indian
Mark Rubinfeld
This article examines the social significance of Jim Thorpe as a pivotal figure in
twentieth-century American history, exploring representations of Thorpe in the context of
his life and times, the entities that produced these representations, and the social
consequences of their productions. In a century in which attitudes about, definitions of
and policies towards Native Americans were dramatically reshaped, Thorpe’s life story
had tremendous popular appeal and symbolic significance for both Native Americans
and non-Native Americans. A closer look at how this story was framed, by whom and for
what purposes, offers critical insights into the role that representations played – and
continue to play – in producing, legitimating and occasionally challenging systems of
power and privilege in the United States.
Jim Thorpe is, arguably, the most recognizable Native American name of the
twentieth century. For tens of millions of non-Native Americans, he may very well be
the only Native American of the twentieth century who they can list by name. With
the Native American population representing just one per cent of the total United
States population, and with that one per cent heavily concentrated in just a handful
of states, most non-Native Americans have never met a Native American. In the
absence of direct interactions, what little they know about Native Americans mostly
comes from media representations of Native Americans that were – and still are –
primarily produced by non-Native Americans.
This makes Jim Thorpe’s life story all the more significant. For although his
prominent place in American sports history, as well as in American folklore, is well-
documented, there has been little examination of the cultural meanings and social
implications of his life story and, more important, representations of that story. To
fully understand how – and why – Thorpe’s life story was framed in the way that it
was, this article employs textual analysis informed by critical theory to examine, first,
contemporaneous print representations of Thorpe’s athletic triumphs and personal
troubles during the first half of the twentieth century; second, the widely
disseminated Hollywood movie Jim Thorpe – All American, produced in the middle
of the twentieth century; and third, the posthumous honours bestowed on Thorpe
that, throughout the latter half of the twentieth century, cemented his legacy.
Thorpe’s Life and Accomplishments

Over the years the name Jim Thorpe has achieved legendary status, so much so that,
at times, it’s difficult to separate the man from the myth. Thorpe’s life story has been
the subject of scores of books for children and adults, one major Hollywood motion
picture, a musical production, and numerous television specials. [1] Born in the
Oklahoma Indian Territory in 1888 to a half-Irish father and one-quarter-French
mother, Thorpe always identified himself as an Indian or, to be more precise, a Sac
and Fox. [2] His racial heritage contributed to his legend in at least three significant
ways: first, as a source of pride for Native Americans in the success of ‘one of their
own’; second, as a source of vindication for white Americans in the success of their
country’s ability to accept, embrace and assimilate an ‘other’ into ‘one of their own’;
and third, symbolically, as a source of information about what was changing, and not
changing, in twentieth-century racial representations and relationships.
Although Thorpe’s legendary status may have served competing ideological ends,
his athletic accomplishments needed no embellishment. A full accounting of those
accomplishments is beyond the scope of this article, but most compilations,
including the following edited excerpts from a United States Senate resolution
posthumously honouring Thorpe as the ‘Athlete of the Century’, note the following
highlights:
1. Excelling as both an amateur and professional in track and field, football, and
baseball, Jim Thorpe was the first American to win the Olympic gold medal in
the decathlon, and the only athlete, from any country, to win the Olympic gold
medal in both the pentathlon and decathlon.
2. A two-time first team All-American halfback starring at four different positions
for the Carlisle Indians, Jim Thorpe was the first college football player to
achieve national recognition; later, as a professional football player, he led his
team, the Canton Bulldogs, to three world championships, as well as served as
the first president of the American Professional Football Association, now
known as the National Football League.
3. Playing professional baseball for the New York Giants, Cincinnati Reds, and
Boston Braves, Jim Thorpe batted .327 in his final season.
4. Named the ‘Greatest Football Player and All-around Male Athlete of the First
Half of the Twentieth Century’ by a 1950 Associated Press poll of sportswriters,
and the ‘Greatest All-time American Football Player’ by a 1977 Sports Magazine
32 M. Rubinfeld
national poll, Jim Thorpe is a member of the National Track and Field Hall of
Fame, the College Football Hall of Fame, the Professional Football Hall of Fame,
and the National Indian Hall of Fame. [3]
Of course, these highlights, like all highlights, omit many nuances. By all accounts,
Jim Thorpe was a figurehead president of the American Professional Football
Association, appointed more for his name recognition than his management abilities.
And despite a box score appearance in the 1917 World Series for the New York
Giants, Thorpe enjoyed, at best, a competent, though certainly not exceptional,
professional baseball career. On the other hand, when it came to track and field and
especially football, Thorpe’s exploits were truly exceptional. As such, the highlights
fail to fully capture the excitement surrounding his athletic feats. Nor do they capture
the international acclaim Thorpe achieved for the United States through his Olympic
performance, as well as the pride he engendered in both Native Americans and non-
Native Americans. Nor do they note that Thorpe founded in 1922 the first and, to
this day, only all-Native American professional football team, the Oorang Indians; or
that he is the only athlete in the United States ever to have an entire town named after
him: Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania.
Along with these athletic triumphs, however, Jim Thorpe’s life was also marked by
a series of personal tragedies: the death of his twin brother at eight, his mother when
he was 12 and his father when he was 16. Later, he suffered the loss of his firstborn
child; two divorces; and, after playing his last professional football game, years of
unsteady work, financial hardship and problems with alcohol. It was this mix of
personal triumph and failure, stoked by an international scandal and laced, under the
surface, with all sorts of symbolic messages about what kind of nation the United
States is – and is not – that made Thorpe’s life story so economically and ideologically
marketable. All of this, of course, was marquee material and given who controls the
major cultural production processes in the United States, it is not surprising that
representations of Thorpe’s life story ultimately played to the detriment of Thorpe
and, by extension, Native Americans.
Contemporaneous Representations of Jim Thorpe

Because the United States never was – nor currently is – a colour-blind society,
any examination of representations of Jim Thorpe must take into account his race.
While notions of race were once ‘scientifically fixed’, most social scientists now
view race as ‘a socially constructed concept whose meaning has evolved over time’.
[4] Throughout history, racial perceptions have shaped and been shaped by racial
representations. But as twentieth- and twenty-first-century technological advances
have increased the speed and scope of mass communication, the issue of racial
representations has become even more significant. After all, attitudes about a
particular group of people can, and often do, produce actions towards a particular
group of people.
Throughout the twentieth century, most racial representations of Native

Americans focused on figures of the past – replaying over and over the ‘Great
Indian Wars’ of the nineteenth century. As such, the dominant images associated
with those wars – half-naked men in feathered headdresses pounding on drums,
tossing tomahawks, smoking peace pipes and shouting war whoops – became fixed in
the American imagination. Depicted in literature, cinema and later television as
either wild savages or noble warriors, the emerging portrait was that of a fiercely
proud, often brutal, and ultimately humiliated race of people. Throughout the first
half of the twentieth century, the only living Native American to command national
attention was Jim Thorpe. As such, it was perhaps inevitable that representations of
Thorpe’s personal triumphs and failures would contribute, for better and worse, to
national perceptions of ‘modern’ Native Americans.
Although Jim Thorpe’s life and legacy spanned more than a century of American
history, nearly all of his athletic accomplishments occurred before the advent of
broadcast media. As such, contemporaneous representations of Thorpe’s athletic
years were primarily limited to newspaper accounts. While there were a few brief
references to Thorpe’s football accomplishments in the sports pages of the New York
Times as early as 1908, it was not until his breakout year at Carlisle in 1911 that
Thorpe’s name began receiving headline exposure. No doubt, a large part of that
exposure was due to Thorpe’s heritage as much as his accomplishments. As a Native
American playing on a team completely made up of Native Americans, he was both a
novelty and a curiosity. Even before Thorpe’s arrival in 1904, the Carlisle athletic
programme was already renowned in the North-east for its talented Indian athletes
and, more significantly, its famous white coach, Pop Warner. But in elevating Thorpe
to superstar status, the newspapers painted a ‘human face’ on the fledgling sport of
college football. At the same time, they provided an effective medium for reliving the
military dramas of the nation’s past while reaffirming the political policies – as they
related to the government-run boarding schools – of the nation’s present.
Metaphors were plentiful. With its band of Indian athletes invading – and then
picking off – one prestigious North-east college after another, it was inevitable that
newspaper accounts of the Carlisle Indians, headed by Jim Thorpe, would often
include, evoke and transpose images of the earlier frontier conflicts. After beating
Harvard in 1911, for example, the Boston Sunday Post described the Thorpe-led
Carlisle Indians as unstoppable. ‘Through a bending crumbling line of Crimson
forwards,’ the Post reported, ‘around the baffled, disconcerted ends, over the battered
forms of crushed and helpless defenders, a relentless band from Carlisle tore its
savage way. . . . In an unequal conflict between the white man’s brawn and the red
man’s cunning, the wiles of the redskin prevailed.’ [5]
Of course, not all of the newspaper representations of Thorpe were anywhere near
this colourful. Nevertheless, nearly all of them were coloured by assumptions of ‘the
other’ – the notion that in a world in which 70 per cent of the population defines
itself, and is defined by others, as not white, ‘whiteness’ is somehow natural,
unnoticeable and unworthy of notation while, conversely, ‘non-whiteness’ is
34 M. Rubinfeld
different, deviant and demanding of demarcation. As a result, Jim Thorpe was never
allowed to be just Jim Thorpe. For amid the occasional references to Thorpe the
national hero and Thorpe the American, the underlying signification in all of the
newspaper representations was that of Thorpe the Indian.
Both representations of Jim Thorpe – that of the all-American athlete and that of
the young Indian prodigy – received international exposure in the summer of 1912
when, in Thorpe’s crowning achievement, he won both the pentathlon and decathlon
at the summer Olympic Games in Stockholm, Sweden. In boldfaced, capital letters,
the New York Times boasted: ‘THORPE IS WORLD’S GREATEST ATHLETE’.
Describing Thorpe as ‘the Carlisle Indian schoolboy’, the paper went on to rave that
the ‘figures he made in the various events at Stockholm Stadium attest that his like
has never been seen, and that probably no athlete who ever lived can boast of such
all-around excellence in track and field as well as in many other lines of physical
endeavour.’ [6]
The Atlanta Constitution reported that ‘James Thorp[e], of the Carlisle Indian
School, proved himself easily the greatest all-round athlete of the world’, adding: ‘The
Indian Thorp[e] was honoured with a huge bronze trophy so large that he could
hardly carry it away’ [7] On the other side of the country, the San Francisco Chronicle
injected a note of nationalism in its report by bragging how ‘the crowning victory of
James Thorpe, Carlisle Indian and American . . . reflected the versatile ability of the
great team of athletes from the United States’. Reiterating its point, it later added:
‘With the Indian, Thorpe, ringing down the curtain on the scene of international
rivalry, there is perhaps in this win by this great athlete a victory of significant nature
as pertains to the all-around ability of American athletes.’ [8] Meanwhile, the
Boston Daily Globe crowed how the ‘greatest athlete of the entire aggregation at
Stockholm was a true American – Jimmy Thorpe of the Carlisle Indian School of
Pennsylvania’. [9]
Conveniently omitted from all of the newspaper accounts, of course, was the fact
that Jim Thorpe, a true American, was legally not an American since Native
Americans were, at the time, not fully recognized citizens of the United States.
Literally and figuratively, Thorpe was a ward of the state. But in the last Olympics
before the First World War, the print representations of Thorpe’s accomplishments
in Stockholm propagated two useful myths: first, the physical supremacy of
Americans, and second, the racial inclusiveness of America. These myths were further
affirmed when Thorpe, ‘the Indian’, became the first American to be declared a
national hero by the president of the United States. ‘You have set a high standard of
physical development,’ President William Howard Taft wrote to Thorpe, ‘which is
only attained by right living and right thinking, and your victory will serve as an
incentive to all to improve those qualities which characterize the best type of
American citizen.’ [10] Taft’s words, penned in 1912, assume an even greater
significance in the light of one of the more contentious political issues of the times.
For even as Thorpe returned from Europe to a hero’s welcome in the United States,
political debates on American immigration policy were being guided by eugenics.
Against this backdrop, positive representations of Thorpe the American served to

highlight the nation’s physical prowess while positive representations of Thorpe the
Indian served to underscore the nation’s democratic promise.
Following up on the Olympic accolades, the national newspapers, after Stockholm,
could not find enough superlatives to describe Jim Thorpe. ‘The whole country is proud
of Thorpe,’ The Literary Digest boasted three months after his Olympic triumph,
because he, more than all our pugilists and Marathon runners, has enlarged our
spot on the athletic map of the world. . . . In winning these events [Thorpe] only
began to demonstrate the silent power at his command, for he is the greatest
football player in the world, a basketball wonder, a master at lacrosse, tennis,
hockey, a dead shot. At baseball, he is so proficient in every position that league
clubs just now are bombarding him with offers. [11]
A month later, reporting on Carlisle’s lopsided win over Army in a much-anticipated

match, the New York Times was, if anything, even more ebullient. Under a banner
headline declaring ‘Thorpe’s Indians Crush West Point’, the Times zeroed in on how,
throughout the contest, all eyes were on Thorpe:
Standing out resplendent in a galaxy of Indian stars was Jim Thorpe, recently
crowned the athletic marvel of the age. . . . At times, the game itself was almost
forgotten while the spectators gazed at Thorpe, the individual, to wonder at his
prowess. . . . He simply ran wild, while the Cadets tried in vain to stop his progress.
It was like trying to clutch a shadow. [12]
Of course, this was not just reporting. It was mythmaking. And as it related to the
mutual interests of the mass media and big-time sports – then, as now – it could
never be entirely divorced from the economic imperatives of corporate capitalism.
After all, heroes sell papers. And fallen heroes sell even more papers. As it turned out,
Jim Thorpe had but a few months to fret over his hero status. Two and a half weeks
after the Army game, the New York Times noted that Thorpe was quitting Carlisle due
to ‘an absolute dislike of notoriety and utter abhorrence of the public gaze which his
athletic prowess has brought him’. [13] And then just two months later, in mid-
January 1913, the Worcester Telegram broke a story that Thorpe – the internationally
acclaimed amateur athlete – had played professional minor league baseball in North
Carolina in the summers of 1909 and 1910.
After a few days of denial, Thorpe finally confessed to the ‘sins’ of professionalism.
‘I was not very wise in the ways of the world,’ he explained in an internationally
publicized letter to the Amateur Athletic Union,
and did not realize that this was wrong. . . . I hope I will be partly excused by the fact
that I was simply an Indian schoolboy and did not know all about such things. . . . I
have always liked sports and played or run races for the fun of the thing, and never
to earn money. . . . I did not care to make money from my athletic skill. I am very
sorry . . . to have it all spoiled this way, and I hope the Amateur Athletic Union and
the people will not be too hard in judging me. [14]
36 M. Rubinfeld
What followed next is, of course, also legendary. The AAU rescinded Jim Thorpe’s
amateur status. The International Olympic Committee expunged his Olympic
records. Thorpe lost his gold medals and was forced to return his trophies. In
retrospect, it certainly can be – and has been – argued that the Worcester Telegram
story that started it all was never really much of a ‘story’ since many people knew that
Thorpe had played summer baseball, which was at the time a common practice
among college athletes. By various accounts, Thorpe earned anywhere from $2 a
game to $35 a week for his efforts, barely enough to cover his living expenses. Instead
of using a pseudonym, Thorpe played under the name ‘Jim Thorpe’, supporting his
later statement that he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. Besides, as many of
Thorpe’s supporters subsequently pointed out, he did not compete in Stockholm in
baseball. He earned his gold medals in track and field, a sport in which he was,
unquestionably, never a professional. So if there ever really was a story, it was that
Thorpe was sold out for story. Nevertheless, the damage was done.
National reactions to Jim Thorpe’s confession ran the gamut from disappointment
with Thorpe to sympathy for Thorpe, to anger at the AAU’s treatment of Thorpe.
One of the harshest condemnations of Thorpe’s actions was delivered by the editorial
page writers of the New York Times:
Even those who are least impressed with either the importance or the value of
competitive athletics can understand that there is a decidedly serious side to the
discovery that the young Indian, THORPE, had once played baseball for
money. . . . By doing so, he revealed a personal consciencelessness which neither
his origin nor the brevity of his education goes far to mitigate. His own disgrace,
however, though lamentable enough, is a trivial matter in comparison with the
humiliation which he has brought upon his country – with the derision and
denunciation which all Americans will long have to bear from the foreign critics
who are sure to make the most of the chance given them for saying that with us
sport is a business and that we lack the instinct of fair play. [15]
But equally harsh criticisms from various quarters were levelled at the AAU. For
example, the St Louis Post-Dispatch observed that Thorpe’s disqualification ‘calls
attention to the fact while you may be white as snow athletically, scholastically, and
morally, if you recoup your finances by playing summer baseball, thereby helping to
pay for an education in the winter time, you are professionalized in every sport, no
matter how foreign to baseball’. Pointing out the inconsistency in the policy, the
Dispatch further noted how this ‘deprives many hustling young men of amateur
standing because they play professional baseball to earn their way through school, yet
it permits indigent young students to accept jobs as janitors, waiters, tutors, cigarette
salesmen, laundry agents, and what not, and still compete in all varieties of sport.’ [16]
The point in presenting these opposing viewpoints is not to re-open a nearly 100-
year-old debate on the semantics of ‘amateurism’. Indeed, Jim Thorpe eventually
did get his gold medals returned (albeit 70 years after performing in Stockholm and
30 years after his death) on a technicality that, ironically, was spelled out in
newspaper columns all over the world just three days after his public confession. [17]
Looking back, however, the socially significant question is not whether the AAU was
justified in its original decision to rescind Thorpe’s amateur status but what role, if
any, did Thorpe’s race played in that decision. And to what degree, if any, were
national reactions to – and representations of – that decision coloured by racism?
As to the first point, there is a general consensus that political expediency, not
racism, was the determinate factor. The United States was worried about its image
abroad; the AAU was concerned about its reputation in the United States. The news
of Thorpe’s two summers of ‘pro ball’ provided a perfect opportunity to make – or at
least pretend to make – a firm statement against professionalism in college athletics.
That Thorpe was hurt in the process was, to the men in charge, unfortunate but
incidental. In other words, Thorpe was an easy scapegoat. After all, who would
complain? Native Americans? They weren’t even citizens. So although racism may
not have been a primary motivation, Thorpe’s race was, nevertheless, not entirely
inconsequential.
As to the second point, the issue of race is even more complicated. For there is
absolutely no hint of racial animosity towards Thorpe in any of the press accounts of
the Olympic ‘scandal’. To the contrary, the overwhelming press reaction to Thorpe’s
public confession was one of sympathy, not anger. Even the New York Times, while
continuing to support the AAU’s actions, tempered its original condemnation of
Thorpe in a follow-up editorial suggesting that while the ‘law must be observed’,
Thorpe ‘need not be drawn and quartered’ nor ‘thrown into the outer darkness and
kept there forever’, since his indiscretion was not necessarily monumental. [18]
As for the public’s reaction, it was even more sympathetic. The fact of the matter is
that Americans genuinely liked Jim Thorpe – with or without his gold medals. And
the American press, if anything, liked Thorpe even more. One would be hard pressed
to find any signs of prejudice against Thorpe or, for that matter, Native Americans in
any of the national representations of Thorpe. Certainly, there were the unfortunate
descriptors, such as the frequent use of the word ‘redskin’. But that was due to the
vernacular of the times, not intentional animus. And certainly, there was a great deal
of lost opportunity in what the newspapers didn’t report about Native Americans in
their stories on Thorpe. That those stories could have been used to examine the real-
life conditions of Native Americans, to debate the pros and cons of the federal
government’s allotment and boarding-school policies, to explore the reasons for, and
the nation’s role in, the geographic, political and social isolation of America’s
indigenous peoples – and that they rarely touched on these issues – displayed a dearth
of interest and knowledge on the part of the nation’s major newspapers. But if the
newspapers showed little interest in the plight of Native Americans, they were
certainly interested in Thorpe. And their stories on Thorpe – filled with good
intentions and sympathetic representations – only ended up adding, paradoxically, to
the plight of Native Americans.
By all accounts, including Jim Thorpe’s, Stockholm was Thorpe’s highest moment.
A little over six months later, Thorpe’s letter of confession was certainly one of his
38 M. Rubinfeld
lowest. The public humiliation was bad enough. But the unfortunate choice of words,
such as ‘I was not very wise in the ways of the world’ and ‘I was simply an Indian
schoolboy’, only made a bad situation worse. For it fuelled perceptions that the most
famous Native American in the world was ‘as dim off the field as he was bright on the
field’. Of course, the phrase ‘dumb Indian’ was hardly ever used. But it was often
enough implied.
In one story, for example, praising Thorpe’s decision to sign a professional baseball
contract with the New York Giants, The Literary Digest observed how ‘the childlike
nature of Jim Thorpe, the great Indian athlete, may not have been exaggerated by his
friends following . . . the loss of his Olympic honours, but [his decision to join the
Giants] indicates that it would be a big mistake to regard him as a child intellectually’.
[19] Such stories, even when they attempted to counter perceptions of weak-
mindedness, only cemented them. Nor did it help matters that Thorpe’s decision to
sign with the New York Giants turned out, in the long run, not to be a ‘smart’ career
move.
Thorpe’s slow slide from a symbol of physical perfection to an object of personal
pity is well-known and, as such, will only be briefly addressed so as to provide a
context for the later media representations of his life. After he lost his gold medals,
Thorpe played professional sports for another 15 years. But following his triumph in
Stockholm and subsequent ‘disgrace’ in the United States, his name pretty much
faded from the national headlines. As a baseball player, everyone expected Thorpe to
be a giant among Giants. But with a bat, Thorpe was less than mythical. On the other
hand, he did have four phenomenal seasons leading the Canton Bulldogs to three
professional football championships from 1915 to 1919. But by then the national
press coverage was nowhere near as extensive or electrifying as it had been during his
Carlisle years.
Thorpe’s athletic skills began to ebb in the 1920s and by the end of the decade he
reluctantly retired. Afterwards, Thorpe drifted from city to city, job to job and bar to
bar. His first two wives sued him for divorce and his seven children (not counting the
firstborn son he lost in 1917) rarely saw him. Without sports, Thorpe barely eked out
a living, accepting work wherever he could find it. Hollywood ended up ‘using’
Thorpe in more than 40 films – mostly in uncredited bit parts that often required
him to prance around in demeaning Indian costumes. By 1933, the man who had
once smashed his way through the lines of Army, Harvard and Penn was appearing
all over the country as a trembling native in King Kong.
Through it all, Jim Thorpe rarely complained and never asked for pity. But as a
public figure, representations of his life were largely out of his control. At the height
of Thorpe’s athletic career, his amazing accomplishments could occasionally speak
for themselves. But later, as Thorpe struggled professionally and personally, it would
be primarily left up to white men – through the communication industries they
controlled – to ‘speak’ for him. That these men mostly spoke kindly of Thorpe did
not mitigate the fact that what they spoke was nevertheless filtered through their
particular experiences and needs. Meanwhile, because there were so few national
representations of contemporary Native Americans, and because the years of removal

and relocation had so isolated Native Americans from the day-to-day existence of
most non-Native Americans, the numerous news accounts of Thorpe’s ‘simple
nature’, financial difficulties and troubles with alcohol became synonymous in many
people’s minds with the ‘natural state’ of Native Americans. Of course, this wasn’t
fair to Thorpe or Native Americans. But fair or not, it helped revive the old canard
that Native Americans required the ‘benevolence’ of whites to save them from
themselves.
Hollywood’s Jim Thorpe

National representations of Native Americans would be both reinforced and
challenged in the late summer of 1951 when the most widely disseminated and
culturally influential representation of Jim Thorpe opened to packed movie houses all
over the United States. The idea for a film about Thorpe’s life had been kicking
around Hollywood for decades. In the early 1930s, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer bought
the rights to Thorpe’s life story, which it later sold to Warner Brothers. Production
on the film began in 1949 with two immediate coups: the hiring of the Hungarian-
born director Michael Curtiz who, during the 1940s, achieved critical fame in the
United States directing such classics as Yankee Doodle Dandy, Casablanca and Mildred
Pierce; and the signing of an up-and-coming young star named Burt Lancaster to play
Thorpe. Lending further credibility to the project, Warner Brothers hired Thorpe
himself as a ‘technical advisor.’ The movie premiered on 24 August 1951 and, by the
end of the year, was still drawing large crowds. After its theatrical run, tens of millions
more Americans – along with their children and, later, their children’s children –
would get to see the film on television where, more than 50 years later, it still plays.
Normally, a single movie is not all that culturally significant. After all, hundreds of
movies are produced every year and thousands more appear, yearly, on television.
But for large numbers of non-Native Americans, much of what they know about Jim
Thorpe and, by extension, Native Americans comes from the movie Jim Thorpe – All
American. Because representations of Native Americans were, and continue to be, so
rare in American society, and because the limited number of such representations
have all too often included misrepresentations, the movie stands out as an important
cultural document in both American and Native American history.
This is not to suggest that the movie is the only representation of Native
Americans. After all, as Diane MacIntyre points out: ‘From the beginning of
filmmaking, the image of the Native American has been prevalent. . . . Some Native
American rituals and dances were recorded by Thomas A. Edison as early as
1894. . . . As early as 1909, [D.W. Griffith] made films depicting their trials and
tribulations.’ [20] And as Wilcomb E. Washburn also observes: ‘The image of the
American Indian, more than any other ethnic group, has been shaped by films.’ [21]
But the films that Washburn is referring to are primarily Westerns and, as a result,
the predominant twentieth-century image of the American Indian was that of
40 M. Rubinfeld
the nineteenth-century American Indian. For tens of millions of non-Native
Americans born after 1900 and raised in the absence of twentieth-century
representations of twentieth-century Native Americans, it would take Jim Thorpe
and, later, a movie about Jim Thorpe to help remind them that the ‘Indian race’ did
not end at Wounded Knee.
Like all Hollywood productions, Jim Thorpe – All American combines narrative
and spectacle to convey a story. And like all stories, there’s more than just one
story in that story. On one level, the production is exactly what it appears to be – a
traditional sports biography chronicling the key moments in Thorpe’s life.
Of course, there are some dramatic liberties: the movie telescopes Thorpe’s three
marriages into a single love story, and it bypasses seven of Thorpe’s children to
focus exclusively on Thorpe’s relationship with his firstborn son. But with Thorpe
serving as technical advisor, most of the significant events in his life are faithfully
portrayed: his father sending him away to boarding school; his collegiate
accomplishments at Carlisle; his love affair with his first wife; his triumphant
performance in Stockholm; his public humiliation following Stockholm; his
championship years with the Canton Bulldogs; his troubled stint with the New
York Giants; his excessive drinking – and psychological breakdown – following the
death of his son; and finally, at the end of his life, his ultimate attainment of
personal redemption.
But on another level, there is also a lot more to Jim Thorpe – All American than
what meets the eye. Read between the lines – peek behind the pictures – and one
discovers a story that is much less about Jim Thorpe and far more about the
relationship between Native Americans and whites in the United States, and about
the federal government’s role – or lack of role – in that relationship. From the clever
play on words in the title to the choice, so typical of the times, of casting a white actor
in the Native American lead; to the narrative device of using the character of Pop
Warner to tell the story of Jim Thorpe rather than using Thorpe himself; to the
closing affirmation that, in America, all things are possible – the movie is, to use a
mixed metaphor, an open book. Flip through its scenes and one finds many of the
omissions, misrepresentations and absences of recrimination that characterize more
than 500 years of Native American–Euro-American relations.
Reading Between the Lines

All of this is to say that, like all cultural texts, Jim Thorpe – All American can be
critically read to uncover its structural compositions, symbolic meanings and social
implications. Like all cultural texts, the movie is an embodiment of its times and
therefore it should come as no surprise that Hollywood’s sole representation of
America’s most celebrated Native American prominently features a white man, Pop
Warner, as its most significant character. He serves as narrator, sage and co-lead, and
all of the film’s major events are consistently framed through this white man’s eyes –
through his perspective.
As such, the movie opens not with Jim Thorpe, but with his legendary coach,
Pop Warner (Charles Bickford), introducing Thorpe’s life story to an audience that
is gathered in his honour. As Warner speaks, the camera cuts away to show
flashback images of Thorpe – years earlier – as a young boy living on the
reservation. He is racing through the woods, running away from school. ‘Running
with the wild grace of deer,’ Warner narrates in voice-over, ‘the boy headed home.’
Arriving home, Thorpe’s father, Hiram, tries to convey to his son the importance
of school. ‘You don’t see nothing but a boy’s world,’ Hiram lectures Thorpe.
‘That’s all you’ll ever see here on the reservation. They’ll give you a piece of land
and you can sit around wrapped in a blanket. Or else you can try to make
something of yourself, be something,’ Hiram continues. ‘You must change, Jim, for
your own good. Just let the white man teach you his ways. Before you know it,
you’ll be out in the world with your head full of learning, and you’ll make your
people proud of you.’
In terms of cultural inferences, there is so much to critically dissect in just this one
scene. On the one hand, with Jim Thorpe serving as the movie’s technical adviser, the
depictions in the scene – Thorpe’s running away from school in order to spend his
afternoon hunting, fishing and playing sports, and Thorpe’s father, in turn, sending
Thorpe back to school for ‘the boy’s own good’ – are autobiographical. Derived from
Thorpe’s personal memories, they are truthful depictions as opposed to fictional
accounts. On the other hand, these ‘truthful depictions’ are a twisted truth –
distorted, first, by Thorpe’s own limited perceptions of the world as shaped by the
times and environment he lived in; and second, by how even these ‘limited
perceptions’ are framed and changed in the journey from author to audience by the
equally limited, though different, perceptions of the movie’s two white writers and
white director. [22]
The pictures and words produced from this collaborative effort immediately set up
a Cartesian split between the natured world of the Indian (where young Native
American children fish, hunt and run with the wild grace of a deer), and the civilized
world of the white man (where white children go to the white man’s schools to fill
their heads with learning). Privileging the latter over the former, the movie frames
reservation life in the bleakest of terms (you can sit around wrapped in a blanket).
Bypassing the spiritual, social and familial dimensions of reservation life in favour of
an economic metaphor, the forlorn image of the ‘solitary Indian’ works to suggest
that the absence of material wealth equals, somehow, the absence of cultural
fruitfulness. At the same time, whitewashing centuries of white injustice, it directs all
blame inward – castigating the ‘reservation Indian’ for lacking the brains and
fortitude to shed his blanket and make something of his life. To be fair, there is a
passing reference in the scene to the federal government’s allotment policies (they’ll
give you a piece of land). But there is no exposition or condemnation of the legal
deceits that robbed so many Native Americans, in the name of land grants, of their
only material asset: their land. Meanwhile, there is a vindication – and celebration –
of the federal government’s boarding-school policies (just let the white man teach you
42 M. Rubinfeld
his ways) that stripped so many Native American children (for their own good) of their
cultural heritage.
With the tone set, all of these themes are reaffirmed, over and over, in the
succeeding scenes of the movie. For example, flash-forwarding a few years, the film
next pictures Jim Thorpe as a young man entering Carlisle. ‘Jim had promised his
father to finish his education,’ the voice of Pop Warner narrates over images of
Thorpe, along with hundreds of other young Native Americans, marching up to the
school. ‘So he found himself at Carlisle fulfilling that promise, but confused and
uncertain, a young man torn between the prospect of discipline and confinement and
the simple outdoor life he had loved.’ Critically dissected, even these simple words,
innocently delivered, are heavy in their ideological implications. For they establish,
yet again, the Cartesian split introduced earlier between the natured world of the
Indian (characterized by the simple outdoor life) and the civilized world of the white
man (characterized by discipline and confinement). And they privilege, yet again, the
latter over the former – metaphorically depicting the natured world of the Indian as
primitive (simple) and wild (undisciplined and unconfined).
Further affirming this split, the narrative quickly establishes the relationship
between Pop Warner and Jim Thorpe – coach and coached – in the paternalistic
mould of the federal government’s relationship with Native Americans. Along these
lines, Warner is continuously pictured as Thorpe’s surrogate father – always there at
critical moments to lend a guiding hand. When Thorpe arrives at Carlisle, for
example, he is immediately faced with a choice: to stay at school and adjust to the
‘white man’s ways’ or to go back to the reservation. Sensing that Thorpe is leaning
towards leaving, Warner quickly intercedes. ‘What is it [your people] do?’ he asks
Thorpe. ‘A little farming, a little fishing,’ Thorpe answers. ‘They sell blankets at the
railway station.’ ‘That’s why Carlisle was founded,’ Warner tells Thorpe. ‘So your
people can do more than sell blankets at the railway station. Trouble is that too many
Indian boys take the easy way out. They quit school and go back to the reservation.’
Warner’s words resonate. Thorpe chooses to stay. And that choice – so
‘benevolently’ extended – points to the narrative’s ingenious ability to ideologically
have it both ways: on the one hand, thematically maintaining that America is a
country that provides for everyone who needs provisions (that’s why Carlisle was
founded) and, on the other hand, thematically suggesting that all Americans who fail
(including large numbers of Native Americans) fail themselves (too many Indian boys
take the easy way out).
The Text in Historical Context

Of course, all of these thematic conveyances are Hollywood constructions, which, like
all textual constructions, occur within – and are shaped by – historical context. In the
case of Jim Thorpe – All American, that historical context included three significant
political occurrences, which, during the late 1940s and early 1950s, coincided with the
film’s production and presentation. The first of these was a significant shift in
the federal government’s policy towards Native Americans from the ‘Indian New
Deal’, which financially supported and culturally legitimated reservation life to
‘termination and relocation,’ which sought to end all financial support for, and
cultural legitimization of, reservation life. Initiated in the late 1940s, this new policy
was driven by three imperatives: first, getting the federal government to eliminate its
‘socialistic’ support of the reservations; second, encouraging Native Americans to
move to the cities; and third, convincing Native Americans to abandon their
‘communal way of life’ for the ‘virtues of capitalism’. [23] Not surprisingly, these
imperatives, in turn, directly fed into the second major political occurrence that
coincided with the film’s production and presentation: a wave of anti-Communist
hysteria that, washing over the United States in the late 1940s and early 1950s, came
crashing down on Hollywood.
To be sure, there is no evidence that Michael Curtiz, the film’s director, was an active
participant in this hysteria: his movies ran the ideological gamut and appeared to be
guided more by artistic and financial considerations than political imperatives. Nor is
there any evidence that Burt Lancaster, the film’s star, was a party to this hysteria; to the
contrary, Lancaster was a member of ‘The Committee for the First Amendment’, which,
in the late 1940s and early 1950s, actively – and bravely – condemned the federal
government’s political incursions into artistic freedoms. Nor, finally, is there any
evidence that Jim Thorpe, the film’s hero, was ever personally caught up in this hysteria.
Although intermittently active in Native American politics, Thorpe was completely ‘out
of the loop’ when it came to the issue of ‘Communism in Hollywood’. He was never
asked to testify on the subject, nor ever volunteered any testimony. Nevertheless, given
the symbiotic relationship between the federal government and the Hollywood motion-
picture industry during this particular time period, it is no accident that the production
of Jim Thorpe – All American coincided with a blizzard of anti-Communist movies
released in the late 1940s and early 1950s. [24] Nor is it an accident that the production
of all of these movies, in turn, coincided with two highly publicized Congressional
hearings on the ‘Communist influence in Hollywood’, the J. Parnell Thomas hearings
of 1947 and the Larry Parks hearings of 1951. [25]
Of course, correlation is not causation. At least, not until we get to the third major
political occurrence that coincided with the film’s production and presentation,
which had to do with the ‘problem’ of Paul Robeson. Like Jim Thorpe, Robeson was
a former all-American football player who, also like Thorpe, attracted national
attention as a ‘racial other’ in an athletic world dominated – at the time – by whites.
After the two men’s sports careers ended, however, their paths diverged. While
Thorpe struggled to scrape by as a Hollywood bit player, Robeson garnered
international fame as an accomplished actor, critically acclaimed singer and sought-
after political activist. By 1940, many considered Robeson to be the most
distinguished black man in the United States. But in the later 1940s, these honours
turned onerous as Robeson, more and more, condemned the United States for its
racism and commended the Soviet Union for its Communism. Then, in a move that
sparked a firestorm of national protest, a defiant Robeson, speaking at the World
44 M. Rubinfeld
Peace Conference in Paris in 1949, declared that American blacks should never
go to war against the Soviet Union on the behalf of a racially oppressive United
States.
In response, booking agents all over America cancelled his appearances. Rioters in
Peekskill, New York, ended one of his concerts by storming, and then smashing,
his stage. Leading members of the NAACP condemned his remarks. NBC banned
him from television. The State Department revoked his passport. And Hollywood,
in addition to blacklisting him, quickly turned to the world of sports to find
two prominent minority athletes who – even more internationally famous than
Robeson – could counter his declaration.
Hollywood’s first blast came in 1950 with the release of The Jackie Robinson Story.
And although the world of Jackie Robinson and the world of Jim Thorpe may seem,
at first glance, to have been worlds apart, Hollywood’s depiction of Robinson’s life
story simply shares too many structural and thematic similarities with Hollywood’s
depiction of Thorpe’s life story to be chalked up to coincidence. As in Jim Thorpe –
All American, all of the significant events in Robinson’s life are framed through the
lens of a white man, in this case, Branch Rickey who, also as in Jim Thorpe – All
American, serves as the hero’s benefactor and the film’s narrator. As in Jim Thorpe –
All American, the movie is a straightforward sports biography – with a few dramatic
liberties – highlighting Robinson’s major athletic accomplishments including, most
significantly, his breaking of baseball’s colour barrier in 1947. As in Jim Thorpe – All
American, the film serves as a moving testament to its hero’s talents and, in the light
of what he had to overcome, his courage. And finally, as in Jim Thorpe – All
American, the sports story in The Jackie Robinson Story is used to convey an
‘American story’ that, ripping into Paul Robeson, highlights America’s racial
inclusiveness.
Considering the politics of the times, The Jackie Robinson Story served – and still
serves – as a powerful symbolic statement picturing America’s most visible racial icon
of the late 1940s, Jackie Robinson (playing himself), closing out the ‘American story’
by testifying in the film’s final scene before a Congressional committee. ‘While I
cannot speak for my entire race,’ Robinson tells Congress in his characteristically
soft-spoken manner, ‘I want everyone to know that I live in a country that is worth
defending and that I, and other Americans of many races and faiths, have too much
invested in our country’s welfare to throw it away or let it be taken from us.’ As the
camera cuts away from the corridors of Congress, Robinson’s patriotic words provide
a much needed assurance to a nervous nation – a loyalty oath, if you will – that is
underscored, yet again, by Branch Rickey’s final voice-over narration over flashback
images of Robinson’s life:
Yes, this is the Jackie Robinson story, but it is not his story alone, not his victory
alone. It is one that each of us shares, a story – a victory – that can only happen in a
country that is truly free. A country in which every child has the opportunity to
become president – or play for the Brooklyn Dodgers.
In its civil rights implications, Branch Rickey’s closing narration represents

Hollywood at its ‘liberal best’. And a funny thing about Hollywood: critically dissect
it enough and one cannot help but notice that, even at its liberal best, Hollywood is a
most conservative institution. For in using Jackie Robinson (an American icon for
racial justice) to discredit Paul Robeson (an ‘un-American’ icon for class equality),
Hollywood did what it still does best: it provided a moving narrative that
ideologically challenged America’s race-based injustices while, at the same time,
ideologically upheld its class-based inequalities.
A year later, as if to underscore its point, Hollywood then did it again with its
presentation of Jim Thorpe – All American. To be sure, the blast at Paul Robeson was,
this time, more subtle. Overall, the movie plays more like a commercial endorsement
for the American government’s policy of ‘termination and relocation’ than a critical
condemnation of socialist sympathizers – both real and perceived – inside and
outside Hollywood. But by the end of its narrative – and by the end of its narrative –
Jim Thorpe – All American leaves little doubt that the two are tightly intertwined.
The Hollywood Ending

After picturing Jim Thorpe choosing to stay at Carlisle, Jim Thorpe – All American
focuses on Thorpe’s athletic triumphs and romantic tribulations culminating, soon
enough, in two gold medals, a storybook marriage and fatherhood. All of this then
leads to the film’s critical turning point when Thorpe, learning of the death of his
firstborn son, retreats into bitterness. Worried about his drifting and drinking,
Thorpe’s wife tries to comfort him. In the film’s darkest moment, Thorpe lashes out
at her, using his wife as a verbal punching bag to avenge the loss of his gold medals
and the death of his child.
‘They’d all like to see me back at the reservation,’ he rages in drunken words that,
dripping with disgust, rip at his roots:
Good old Jim Thorpe. Back in a blanket where he belongs. Sitting in front of a tipi
smoking a corncob pipe. Can’t get into any trouble. No money. No firewater.
Stupid, illiterate Indian boy. Make plenty of fine, handmade moccasins. Sprinkle
them with pretty beads. Sell them to tourists at the railway station. Make lots of fine
wampum for squaw. Raise lots of papoose. Teach them to beg. . . .
Cutting off his tirade, Jim Thorpe’s wife slaps his face and then, bursting into tears,
runs out of the room . . . and her marriage. In the film’s final segment, a dejected
Thorpe – detached from his family and his people – drowns himself in self-hatred
and alcohol. In the language of narrative theory, he is ‘a hero in crisis’. And as
narrative theory so aptly points out, the way that a narrative – any narrative –
resolves or fails to resolve its crises defines its thematic meanings and ideological
implications. Therefore, end the narrative at this point – with a washed-up Thorpe
drifting and drinking through his final years – and Jim Thorpe – All American serves
as a cautionary tale about what can happen when a nation strips a people of their
46 M. Rubinfeld
land and livelihood, their autonomy and sovereignty, their culture and identity.
Framed this way, the ‘American story’ in Jim Thorpe – All American is pictured as an
American tragedy. And framed this way, the social problems that hundreds of
thousands of Native Americans continue to face – poverty, unemployment,
alcoholism and depression – cannot be viewed solely in terms of individual
shortcomings and failures. Rather, they are in large part the tragic consequence of 500
years of discriminatory actions by one group of people against another group of
people that continue to demand collective responses and responsibility.
Of course, however, Jim Thorpe – All American does not end at this point. For to
end at this point would be to give credence to Paul Robeson and, for that matter, all
the other ‘unfriendly witnesses’ who, in the late 1940s and early 1950s, questioned the
myth of American meritocracy. So to set the record straight, Jim Thorpe – All
American brings back Pop Warner, casting him, again, in the role of the ‘benevolent
white father’. Just as Thorpe hits rock bottom, Warner re-emerges to offer him a
ticket to the 1932 Olympic Games in Los Angeles. An angry Thorpe rips up the ticket
and downs a drink. In response, Warner fires a parting shot that, metaphorically,
strikes right at the heart of America’s social welfare system. ‘Somewhere along the line
you went completely haywire,’ he tells off Thorpe:
Picked up the idea that the world owed you something. Well, it doesn’t owe you a
thing. So you’ve had some tough ones. You’ve been kicked around. They took your
medals away from you. So what! All I can say is that when the real battle started, the
great Jim Thorpe turned out to be a powder puff!
Once again, Pop Warner’s words resonate. Jim Thorpe tapes up the ticket and
attends the games. Sitting next to Warner, he watches the ‘parade of nations’ enter
the arena. He hears the voice of the stadium announcer introduce ‘Charles Curtis –
the Vice President of the United States’. He sees the crowd, roaring in applause,
giving the vice-president a standing ovation. He hears his former coach telling him, as
the cheers subside, that the announcer forgot to add just one thing. ‘What’s that?’
Thorpe asks. ‘Charles Curtis – Indian,’ Warner answers.
The ceremony ends. The crowd files out. But Thorpe – soaking it all in – stays.
Sitting alone in the now empty stadium, he flashes back to the words of his father
telling him to ‘make something of yourself’. He flashes back to the words of his
‘surrogate father’ warning about ‘too many Indian boys going back to the
reservation’. He flashes back to his victories in Stockholm and the hard times since
and, putting it all together, he realizes the error of his ways. Of his stupid pride and
arrogance. Of his misplaced bitterness. Of his failure to recognize – and take
advantage of – the wonder of America, a nation in which every child has the
opportunity to become president or, at the very least, vice-president; in which a
person’s race does not matter; and in which hard work and good values always result
in their own rewards.
As if to underscore all of these points, the film’s final scene pictures Jim Thorpe
pulling himself up by the proverbial bootstraps, joyously playing football with a
group of young boys. And the film’s final shots, returning to the movie’s opening
scene, picture Pop Warner talking to the audience that is gathered in Thorpe’s
honour.
‘And so Jim found himself,’ Warner assures the audience, finishing up Thorpe’s life
story, ‘and was again on the true path, the bright path, teaching and helping young
people everywhere. This was the greatest victory.’ Then as Thorpe prepares to make
his grand entrance, Warner closes out the narrative by proudly proclaiming: ‘Ladies
and gentleman, the man whose achievements and records will live forever in the
annals of sport, acclaimed by the American press as the greatest athlete in the past
half century: Jim Thorpe-All American!’
There you have it, then, the quintessential happy ending. And tacked on to a
narrative that was teetering on the edge of tragedy, the happy ending changes
everything. After all, why worry about the real-life conditions of Native Americans
in the United States when – look at Jim Thorpe – everything is fine? So with the
film’s final scene, what could have been a cautionary tale becomes, instead, an
assimilation tale with the term ‘all-American’ denoting, on the one hand, Thorpe’s
athletic honours and connoting, on the other hand, Thorpe’s full acceptance as an
American – by Americans – signifying America’s racial inclusiveness. What could
have been a cultural critique of America’s political system (highlighting its racial
injustices) and its economic system (highlighting its class inequalities) becomes,
instead, a cultural celebration of the ‘American system’, denying the existence of
racial injustice while, at the same time, justifying the existence of class inequality.
And finally, what could have been a telling biographical account of one of
America’s most honoured Native Americans becomes, instead, a parable on the
virtues of individual responsibility.
Of course, one can argue that all of this probably says a lot more about Hollywood
than America. And one can also argue that even with all of its shortcomings, Jim
Thorpe – All American can, and has, served as a tremendous source of pride for
countless Native Americans all over the world who can, and do, draw their own
inferences from the film – inferences that may or may not be aligned with its
dominant ideologies. But these two points, certainly well-taken, do not mean that the
movie’s meanings do not matter. After all, Hollywood is very much a part of
America, so what something says about Hollywood says something, too, about
America. And while it is certainly true that a text – any text – has multiple meanings
that can be interpreted many ways, some textual meanings are privileged far more
than other textual meanings; and these privileges, while not determining one’s
inferences, sure make some inferences a heck of a lot easier to draw than other
inferences.
Three months after Jim Thorpe – All American’s theatrical release, Arthur Daley ran
a two-part feature on Jim Thorpe in the sports pages of the New York Times. Thorpe
was penniless at the time while his movie, still running in theatres, was making
millions of dollars. Daley asked why. ‘Back in 1931,’ Thorpe explained, ‘I sold the
story of my life to MGM for $1,500. I never did read the contract, especially the fine
48 M. Rubinfeld
print. Although I’d been led to believe that I’d receive $20,000, I’ve received nothing.’
[26] Daley concluded his feature on Jim Thorpe by observing how ‘Hollywood
had made a movie of his life that couldn’t begin to do justice to him. For this,’
Daley noted, ‘he received $1,500 twenty years ago. Jim Thorpe saw the picture in
Oklahoma City. Ironically – and tragically – he paid 65 cents at the box office to see
it.’ [27]
A year and a half later, Jim Thorpe was dead of a heart attack. And then the honours
really starting pouring in. Memorials and testimonials. Awards and trophies in his
name. Busts and statues in his likeness. Books and television specials about his life.
International praise for his accomplishments and Congressional commendation for
his achievements. When the governor of Oklahoma vetoed a $25,000 legislative bill to
erect a memorial for Thorpe, his widow negotiated a deal with the small towns of
Mauch Chunk and East Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania. Consolidating themselves into a
single town, the new town promised to provide a mausoleum for Thorpe’s body, along
with a proper Catholic burial, in return for the rights to change the town’s name to
‘Jim Thorpe’. Some 50 years later, Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, is now a popular tourist
attraction in north-eastern Pennsylvania, 90 minutes north of Philadelphia, and
proudly promotes itself all over the world as ‘The Switzerland of America’.
Conclusion
Jim Thorpe’s life story was remarkable by anyone’s standards. But the Hollywood
version of that life story was not nearly as remarkable. As such, it can be added to
hundreds of other Hollywood productions that, throughout the twentieth century,
helped to recast Native Americans into Hollywood Indians. The term ‘Hollywood
Indian’ is itself a complicated term that includes a myriad of characterizations ranging
from savage to noble Indians. Taken together, these various Indian types have become
deeply embedded in the American popular imagination. [28] Since the cultural
production of these Indian types involved little to no input from Native Americans,
these types are, of course, tales. And critically dissected, these tales – like all tales –
have as much to tell us, if not more, about the people who are the tellers of the tales as
they do about the people who are, purportedly, the subjects of the tales.
Simply put, the tales about Native Americans told by non-Native Americans have
much to teach us about the systems of power and privilege in the United States. But
these lessons are mostly lost in a country that, generally, doesn’t teach its citizens how
to critically read between the lines. Go to almost any high school or college classroom
anywhere in the United States, for example, and ask the students to name ten Native
Americans, either living or dead. Ask the teachers, too. If they are not Native
Americans, chances are they will struggle to name even five. Names such as Sitting
Bull, Crazy Horse and Pocahontas may quickly come to mind, all of whom lived
prior to 1900. Inquire further, asking why these particular names stand out and most
are likely to point, first, to popular culture, and second, to the history books. Few are
likely to make any deep connections between popular culture and the history books
since contrary to most technologically advanced countries in the world today, critical
media literacy is neither highly stressed nor valued in the American education system.
For if it were, fewer non-Native Americans would so readily accept and disseminate
representations of American history as actual accounts of American history. And
more would ask why so much of the so little they know about Native Americans is so
distorted.
The life of Jim Thorpe, like the life of so many other Native Americans, was often
distorted by representations. As a national symbol, Thorpe was malleable. When it
suited the purposes of the newspapers in 1911 to highlight his Indian identity (partly, of
course, to sell more newspapers), Thorpe was the ‘Sac and Fox’, the ‘Redman’ or, more
simply, the ‘Indian.’ When Thorpe brought great honours to the United States through
his record-breaking performance at the Olympic Games in Stockholm in 1912, he was
suddenly the ‘American’ or, in some cases, the ‘true American’. When Thorpe, six
months later, ‘disgraced’ the United States by ‘confessing’ to the sins of professionalism,
he was just as suddenly, once again, the ‘Indian’. And when Paul Robeson spent most of
the 1940s publicly denouncing America’s racial and class inequalities, the life of Thorpe
was re-cast in 1951 as the quintessential ‘all-American’ success story.
Because Jim Thorpe was so malleable, he never posed a threat to America.
Consequently, he was warmly embraced by the American media and the American
people. Throughout the twentieth century, Thorpe was showered with contempora-
neous and posthumous honours for his athletic accomplishments precisely because
these accomplishments could be framed in representations of racial identity that did
not call attention to racial injustice. And in this sense Paul Robeson, ostracized as he
was, ironically accomplished far more for ‘his people’ in the long run than Thorpe
ever was able – or allowed – to do. For Robeson’s defiance paved the way for future
generations of equally defiant African American athletes and other celebrities – from
Muhammad Ali to Spike Lee to Chuck D – to structurally assimilate into American
society in ways that preserved their cultural identity. To be sure, these successes have
not yet translated into full equality for African Americans. But they have enabled
more African Americans than ever before – starting in sports and entertainment and,
more recently, expanding to mass media, politics, business and academia – the
opportunity to control their own representations.
The same, unfortunately, cannot be said for Native Americans. For despite some
gains in recent years, Native Americans remain the most geographically, politically
and economically marginalized group in the United States. On nearly every quality of
life indicator, from unemployment rates to poverty levels to life expectancy, Native
Americans continue to rank last or next to last. At the same time, Native Americans
remain the most underrepresented and misrepresented minority group in America.
Of course, it goes without saying that these under-representations and misrepre-
sentations are not directly responsible for these real-life social conditions.
By themselves, representations do not have the power to create such social
conditions or, for that matter, to reverse such social conditions. Nevertheless,
representations do matter. For although they may not create such social conditions,
50 M. Rubinfeld
depending upon their particular focus, they can direct attention towards – or deflect
attention from – fully addressing such social conditions.
On this note, sports have traditionally provided a means for individual members of
minority groups in America to economically advance themselves and, periodically,
focus national attention on the social needs of ‘their group’. And although Jim
Thorpe’s athletic triumphs did not bust open the doors for later Native Americans to
become, themselves, a dominating presence in the world of professional sports as
other racial and ethnic groups have become, sports have always been – and still are –
a significant part of Native American culture. [29] In assuming folkloric dimensions,
Thorpe’s athletic triumphs continue to be a source of great pride for Native
Americans. As late as January 2000, for example, Native Americans conducted a
spirited ‘get out the vote’ email campaign that helped to overwhelmingly elect Thorpe
‘Athlete of the Century’ in a widely publicized ABC Sports Internet poll. And two
years later, following a letter-writing campaign led by Thorpe’s family, friends and
admirers to pressure a reluctant General Mills to put Thorpe’s picture on the box
cover of Wheaties, Thorpe’s name was finally added to Wheaties’ long list of
champions.
In addition to promoting Jim Thorpe’s sports legacy, his supporters have also
worked just as tirelessly to protect his Indian legacy. As late as 2001, for example,
Thorpe’s three surviving sons launched their own campaign to have their father’s
body returned to Oklahoma for a proper Indian burial. While acknowledging the
admirable work that Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, was doing in honouring its
namesake, Thorpe’s sons concluded that it was a violation of Indian culture to
separate their father’s body from his family. [30] In response, the director of the Jim
Thorpe Sports Hall of Fame in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, pointed out that his town
has legal title to Thorpe’s remains and ‘there’s nothing Thorpe’s children can do’.
Needless to say, although the controversy is likely to continue, Thorpe’s body just as
likely will be staying in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania.
Of course, it should come as no surprise that in a society in which law trumps
tradition, Jim Thorpe’s body ‘will not be moved’. Nor should it come as a surprise
that the battle over Native American representations – once fuelled by ignorance and
bigotry – now seems to be driven, more and more, by appropriation and
commercialization. As to this final point, all one needs to do is consider the
following: Sitting Bull is currently a leather company in Nevada City, California,
which advertises over the Internet that it has ‘belts, buckles, and more buckles’. Crazy
Horse is currently the brand name of casual slacks that one can buy at J.C. Penney’s –
half price on holidays – for under $30. And Jim Thorpe, some 90 years after
Stockholm, has finally made it to the box cover of Wheaties, the ‘breakfast of
champions’, which one can order any day of the week in any bed and breakfast in Jim
Thorpe, Pennsylvania, the self-proclaimed Switzerland of America.
Against this backdrop, the tales that white Americans told – and continue to tell –
about Native Americans represent but one chapter in the seemingly endless struggle
between dominant and minority groups, everywhere, over land, resources and power.
But as it relates to the life, times and representations of Jim Thorpe, this tale, critically
read, can serve to remind us about the ever-increasing role that the mass media and
popular culture play in shaping – and potentially changing – how people see this
struggle and the sides they ultimately take, or fail to take, in it.
Notes
[1] See, for example, Coffey, Jim Thorpe; Newcombe, The Best of the Athletic Boys; Updike, Jim
Thorpe; Van Riper, Jim Thorpe.
[2] Most sources place Thorpe’s birth in 1888. Some sources, however, place it in 1887.
[3] US Senate, ‘The Sense of the Senate that Jim Thorpe Be Recognized as the Athlete of the
Century’.
[4] Croteau and Hoynes. Media/Society, 198.
[5] Shannon, Paul H. ‘Nothing Can Stop Indians’. Boston Sunday Post, 12 Nov. 1911, 14.
[6] ‘Thorpe is World’s Greatest Athlete’. New York Times, 12 July 1912, pt. 4, 4:6.
[7] ‘Curtain Falls on Olympic With the United States Well in Front of Field’. Atlanta Constitution,
16 July 1912, 9:2.
[8] ‘American Athletes Won Crowning Victory in Olympic Games’. San Francisco Chronicle, 17
July 1912, 9:1.
[9] ‘Our Athletes Lead the World’. Boston Daily Globe, 16 July 1912, A5:3.
[10] Cited in Wheeler, Jim Thorpe, 115.
[11] ‘Jim Thorpe at School’. The Literary Digest, 5 Oct. 1912, 593–6.
[12] ‘Thorpe’s Indians Crush West Point’. New York Times, 3 Nov. 1912, Sports Section, 1, 2.
[13] ‘Athlete Thorpe to Quit Indian School’. New York Times, 26 Nov. 1912, 13:3.
[14] ‘Jim Thorpe Admits He is a Professional’. San Francisco Chronicle, 28 Jan. 1913, 9:2.
[15] ‘Thorpe Case Discussed’. New York Times, 29 Jan. 1913, 10:4.
[16] ‘Wray’s Column’. St Louis Post-Dispatch, 29 Jan. 1913, 14:2.
[17] The Atlanta Constitution reported on 29 January 1913 how ‘leading authorities . . . express the
opinion that Thorpe is entitled to retain the prizes he won in the Pentathlon and Decathlon
events, as his status as an amateur has been raised too late’ (‘Swedes Comment’. Atlanta
Constitution, 29 Jan. 1913, 8:1). A similar wire account picked up by the New York Times a day
later noted how ‘all the men who took leading parts in the games think it impossible to take
back [Thorpe’s] prizes . . . as the rules . . . clearly prescribed that all protests . . . must be filed
within thirty days after the distribution of prizes’ (‘Cannot Recall Prizes’. New York Times,
30 Jan. 1913, 4:4). Seventy years later, finally recognizing this ‘missed deadline’, the
International Olympic Committee restored Thorpe’s medals and records.
[18] ‘Foreigners Treating Us Gently’. New York Times, 31 Jan. 1913, 10:5.
[19] ‘Thorpe in Baseball’. The Literary Digest, 15 Feb. 1913, 364, 363.
[20] MacIntyre, Diane. ‘A Golden Quiver of Noted Native Americans from the Silent Era’.
Available at http://www.silentsmajority.com/FeaturedStar/star14.htm.
[21] Washburn, ‘Foreword.’
[22] Everett Freeman and Douglas Morrow (writers); Michael Curtiz (director).
[23] Snipp, ‘The First Americans: American Indians’.
[24] Examples include, among others, The Iron Curtain (1948), The Red Menace (1949), I Married
a Communist (1949), Conspirator (1949), Project X (1949), Guilty of Treason (1950), The Whip
Hand (1951), Assignment Paris (1952), Invasion USA (1952), Big Jim McClain (1952), Pickup
on South Street (1953), and Security Risk (1954).
[25] For a firsthand account of the effects of hearings on Hollywood screenwriters, see Cole,
Hollywood Red.
52 M. Rubinfeld
[26] Daley, Arthur, ‘Sports of The Times: A Visit with Jim Thorpe’. New York Times, 20 Nov. 1951,
42:2.
[27] Daley, Arthur, ‘Sports of The Times: Continued Story’. New York Times, 21 Nov. 1951, 30:3.
[28] See Hilger, From Savage to Nobleman; Rollins and O’Connor, Hollywood Indian; Kilpatrick,
Celluloid Indians; Aleiss, Making the White Man’s Indian.
[29] See, for example, Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage; Simpson, ‘Sporting Dreams Die
on the ‘‘Rez’’’.
[30] In addition to published accounts of Thorpe’s supporters’ efforts, including those of his
surviving sons, to protect his Indian legacy, letters from and telephone interview with Jim
Thorpe’s daughter, Grace Thorpe, graciously provided a more personal perspective.
References
Aleiss, Angela. Making the White Man’s Indian: Native Americans and Hollywood Movies. Westport,
CT: Praeger, 2005.
Coffey, Wayne. Jim Thorpe. Woodbridge, CT: Blackbirch Press, 1993.
Cole, Lester. Hollywood Red: The Autobiography of Lester Cole. Palo Alto, CA: Ramparts Press, 1981.
Croteau, David and William Hoynes. Media/Society: Industries, Images, and Audiences, 7th ed.
Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press, 2000.
Hilger, Michael. From Savage to Nobleman: Images of Native Americans in Film. Lanham, MD:
Scarecrow Press, 1995.
Kilpatrick, Jacquelyn. Celluloid Indians: Native Americans and Film. Lincoln, NE: University of
Nebraska Press, 1999.
Newcombe, Jack. The Best of the Athletic Boys: The White Man’s Impact on Jim Thorpe. New York:
Doubleday, 1975.
Oxendine, Joseph B. American Indian Sports Heritage. Champagne, IL: Human Kinetics, 1988.
Rollins, Peter C. and John E. O’Connor, eds. Hollywood’s Indian: The Portrayal of the Native
American in Film. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998.
Simpson, K. ‘Sporting Dreams Die on the ‘‘Rez’’’. In Sport and Contemporary Society, edited by
D. Stanley Eitzen. New York: St Martin Press, 1996.
Snipp, Matthew C. ‘The First Americans: American Indians.’’ In Origins and Destinies: Immigration,
Race, and Ethnicity in America, edited by Silvia Pedraza and Rubén G. Rumbaut. Belmont,
CA: Wadsworth, 1996.
Thorpe, Grace. Letters to author. 9 and 27 July 2001; telephone interview, 23 Aug. 2001.
Updike, Rosemary K. Jim Thorpe, the Legend Remembered. Gretna, LA: Pelican Publishing
Company, 1997.
US Congress, Senate. ‘The Sense of the Senate that Jim Thorpe Should Be Recognized as the Athlete
of the Century’. US Senate Resolution S4607, 3 May 1999.
Van Riper, Guernsey, illustrated by Gray Morrow. Jim Thorpe: Olympic Champion. New York, NY:
Aladdin Paperbacks, 1986.
Washburn, Wilcomb E. ‘Foreword’. In Hollywood’s Indian: The Portrayal of the Native American in
Film, edited by Peter C. Rollins and John E. O’Connor. Lexington, KY: University Press of
Kentucky, 1998.
Warner Brothers. Jim Thorpe – All American. Produced by Everett Freeman. Directed by Michael
Curtiz, 1951.
Wheeler, Robert W. Jim Thorpe: World’s Greatest Athlete. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma
Press, 1979.
Getting Beyond Imagery: The
Challenges of Reading Narratives
About American Indian Athletes
Ellen J. Staurowsky
Since the late 1800s, members of mainstream sport media have constructed narratives
about American Indian athletes. Consistent with that history, American Indian athletes
were featured in stories on sports television and in sports publications between November
1999 and July 2001, a time period that straddled the ending of the twentieth and
beginning of the twenty-first centuries. This paper examines several of those stories,
including an ESPN special on Native Americans in sport; the representation of Jim
Thorpe in Athlete of the Century polls; the depiction of Ed ‘Wahoo’ McDaniel in Sports
Illustrated; and the book A Season on the Reservation: My Sojourn With the White
Mountain Apache by former Los Angeles Laker Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. The analysis
reveals that racial dynamics and stereotypes about American Indians that exist broadly
in US society are replicated and perpetuated in contemporary sport media narratives
about American Indian athletes.
The historical image of the Indian is pretty well set, we are the bad guys who
burned the wagon trains and images are the white man’s game.
(Vine Deloria)
Since the late 1800s, members of mainstream sport media have sought to construct
narratives about American Indian athletes. Consistent with that history, American
Indian athletes were featured in stories aired on sports television and printed in
sports publications during the months marking the transition between the twentieth
and twenty-first centuries. For example, the sports channel ESPN devoted an hour-
long programme in November 1999 to Native Americans in sport. Kareem Abdul-
Jabbar, former Los Angeles Laker turned writer and coach, co-authored a book,
released in the winter of 2000, that chronicled his experiences as an assistant coach of
the Alchesay High School boys’ basketball team on the White Mountain Apache
Indian Reservation. Similarly, the Navajo-San Felipe-Isleta professional golfer Notay
54 E. J. Staurowsky
Begay inspired an array of articles in such widely read publications as USA Today,
Sports Illustrated (SI), and ESPN – The Magazine.
Given the fact that these stories were surfacing at a critical moment, at the ending
of one century and the beginning of another, I wondered what an examination of
some of these stories would reveal about the racial dynamics that shape and inform
mainstream sport discourse, and by extension, US discourse about American Indians.
In light of the degree to which stereotypical representations of American Indians
permeate the fabric of sport in the form of mascots and team names, would these
portrayals provide evidence of a journalistic frame of reference that transcends that
imagery and succeeds in offering more nuanced and realistic representations of
American Indian athletes and American Indians in sport? Or would these frames of
reference simply conform to long-standing racial prejudices about American Indians?
General Background
In post-civil rights, postmodern America, American Indians continue to struggle to
be recognized and heard. However, due to the revitalization of American Indian
identity, economic structure and political status during the past three decades, the
mythology of the ‘vanishing Indian’ has been countered with a realization that the
term ‘Indians’ does not refer to a single, homogeneous group. Rather, the term
evokes the complexities of language, culture and history associated with 560 tribes in
the United States alone. [1] The movement within Indian country to affect the US
political, social, educational, religious and economic agenda is manifest in numerous
places within the American dialogue where Indian voices are asserted – for example,
land claims, treaty rights, sacred burial sites and repatriation, intellectual property,
education, issues of identity and culture, and sovereignty.
It is clear that sport has played a role in the process of revitalization within
American Indian communities as seen in a number of sport initiatives undertaken in
the 1980s and 1990s. As a symbol of a ‘new national unity’ and ‘traditional lifestyle’,
the Iroquois National Lacrosse Team was formed in 1983. Oren Lyons, a Faithkeeper
of the Onondaga, who was instrumental in the founding of the team, explained:
‘When you talk about lacrosse, you talk about the lifeblood of the Six Nations. . . .
The game is ingrained into our culture and our systems and our lives’. [2] Similarly,
the Native American Sports Council, which provides support to American Indian
Alaska Native (AIAN) youth who aspire to compete at world-class levels, offered as
its rationale for developing a sports-wellness leadership programme to be
implemented at the tribal level that ‘Historically, participation in sport and
dedication to athletic excellence and wellness have been driving forces in the
sustainability of Native American communities’. [3]
Whereas the Native American Sports Council is a member of the United States
Olympic Committee and participates in outreach with a variety of other national
sport governing bodies, the North American Indigenous Games (NAIG) have been
providing sport opportunities for aboriginal youth in the United States and Canada
since 1990. [4] The stated mission of the NAIG is to ‘improve the quality of life for
Indigenous Peoples by supporting self-determined sport and cultural activities, which
encourages equal access to participation in the cultural fabric of the community they
reside in and which respects Indigenous distinctiveness’. [5]
In some respects, these initiatives contain elements that mirror the early years of
the 1900s when American Indians again and again ‘created new Indian worlds, fusing
diverse cultures or fitting themselves into the interstices between a core native
tradition and new practices introduced from the American periphery’ and where an
‘intercultural world that took shape in the early twentieth century formed in response
to both Indian and non-Indian imperatives and constraints’. [6] But this is also a
century hence, a century that started with the General Allotment Act’s role in the
dispossession of Indians from the land already well under way, saw the
implementation of termination and relocation policies at the mid-point and ended
with the feuding over the sacred remains of Kennewick Man. [7] Notably, these time
periods coincide with the career of Jim Thorpe, who reached the pinnacle of his
athletic celebrity in 1912 after winning two gold medals in the Stockholm Olympics,
his naming as athlete of the half-century in 1950 followed by the airing of the movie
Jim Thorpe – All American in 1951 and by the rewriting of his history that occurred in
the year 2000 with the Athlete of the Century selection process. [8] Not only had
there been a diminution by mainstream sport editors of Thorpe’s achievements,
which would otherwise have qualified him as the greatest athlete to hail from the
landmass commonly thought to be owned by the United States, the status of
American Indian athletes within American culture had diminished appreciably
overall from the beginning to the end of the twentieth century. Whereas Thorpe is in
many respects the dominant Indian athlete of any age, he was not alone in the early
years of the 1900s. [9] As scholar Philip Deloria has pointed out,
When considering Indian athletes, it is easy to slide into the heroic mode focusing
on Jim Thorpe and perhaps a few other outstanding individuals – Chief Bender,
Hopi Olympic medalist Louis Tewanima, or William Lone Star Dietz, who head-
coached football teams at Purdue and Louisiana Tech as well as the NFL Boston
Redskins. But more obscure gridirons and dugouts all across America were also
peppered with Indian athletes and coaches. [10]
As a footnote to sports history, figures such as William Lone Star Dietz have
remained a part of sporting consciousness, clinging to the edges, not because he
played at the Carlisle School and became one of the first American Indians to coach
a major league football franchise, but because he serves as the supposed reason for
the Washington franchise to use a racial pejorative, the term ‘Redskins’, as its
name. By the year 2000, ‘invented Indians’ in the form of mascots had overtaken
the athletic landscape while present-day Indians struggle in mainstream American
sport. [11] Noticeably, the primary focal point in discussions about American
Indians in sport is American Indian mascots and their histories rather than stories
about athletes.
56 E. J. Staurowsky
Situated within the context of a century marked by the fluidity of the relationships
between white America and Native America with a power base still firmly rooted in
Euro-American ideals of Christianity, capitalism and conquest, the question of what
these narratives about American Indian athletes reveal as they appeared at the
juncture of a new millennium remains to be answered. As originally conceptualized,
the purpose of this project was to advance a thesis that with the start of the twenty-
first century narratives about American Indians in sport possess the capacity to
intrude on and to interrupt the entrenched stereotypes of American Indians (i.e.,
Cleveland’s ‘Chief Wahoo’, the Florida State ‘Seminoles’, the Washington ‘Redskins’)
that saturate the conjoined sport/culture/intellectual/material marketplace. [12] In a
simplistic sense, I theorized that these stories provide an important counterpoint to
the abstract, decontextualized, voiceless, ahistorical images of Indians represented in
sports team iconography. [13]
However, in critically reading these stories and others, stereotypical Indian
frameworks along with their deep attachments to the forces of American imperialism
structure the narratives themselves. As a result, reading stories about American
Indians in sport presents the challenge of how to get over, around and beyond the
imagery that lives on in the minds of the authors of the texts and their intended
audiences.
This process is revealed in an interview reported by Brenda Zeman with Bruce
Kidd about his work in examining the story of Tom Longboat, the legendary
Onondaga runner. Kidd spoke about the difficulties he found in revising the public
image of an Olympic star who had been reported to be a ‘victim of his own talents,
the rapaciousness of promoters, the short-lived worship of the public, and his
vulnerability to the corruptions of a white society’. Kidd remarked: ‘It took me quite
a while to get rid of the stereotype’. [14]
Within the context of the power relations that are integral to the way in which
sport is not only structured as a social practice but is represented to the masses
while also being interpreted for the masses by the media, ‘getting rid of the
stereotype’ is not an easy task. In her work on the sport experiences of native
athletes in Canada, scholar Vicky Paraschak has noted that power relations between
natives and non-natives circumscribe experiences of native athletes, determining
access to sport forms, what sports can be played, and on what terms. [15] When
translated into the arena of mediated representations of American Indian athletes,
we confront an array of questions with regard to how power relations become
enacted and re-enacted on the sports page, in sports broadcasting, in sport
narratives and, ultimately, in the minds of the audiences who encounter and
internalize those productions.
Theoretical Considerations and Methodology

Thus to critically read these texts is to engage in an exercise of identifying what Susan
Birrell and Mary McDonald refer to as ‘power lines’. [16] They have argued that
critical analyses of sporting events and personalities ‘offer unique points of access to
the constitutive meanings and power relations of the larger worlds we inhabit’. [17]
Critical theorists Aaron Baker and Todd Boyd note:
With the media having made sports such a fundamental part of American culture,
their significance as reification for the most essential of American ideals is
foregrounded. Sports, and the discourses that surround them, have become one of
the master narratives of twentieth-century culture. We can always count on
assessing the American character by using sports as our barometer. [18]
By understanding that these stories are not isolated stories about athletes but
stories that are the production and reproduction of a nexus of power, the multiple
layers of meaning contained within them become more easily accessible and the
power dynamics more readable. As reflections of disputed racial and ideological
spaces, these stories are at once oppositional to and at the same time replicative of the
stereotypical ways in which the dominant culture perceives American Indians and
requires them to be represented in service to a racial hierarchy that continues to
privilege Whites. [19]
At an intellectual level, part of the legacy of the white man’s game is what historian
Nancy Shoemaker refers to as an ‘emphasis on European image-making [that]
consigns American-Indians and other non-white peoples to a passive role in the
construction of knowledge. They exist only as the objects of white observation, and
the power to label or name resides with Europeans’. [20] Whereas there is merit in
avoiding the intellectual trap of considering the American Indian athletes in these
stories as mere objects not only of white observation but white constructionism,
nevertheless it is also the case, as anthropologist Richard Grounds points out, that
‘the deep-seated patterns of appropriating all things Native American continues into
the present and foreseeable future’. [21]
As a result, one of the central dilemmas in reading these stories is that multiple
realities exist, some more visible than others. American Indian athletes are subjects of
their own realities. When taken up within a dominant culture that is so accustomed
to routinely appropriating American Indian intellectual, cultural and physical
property, American Indians are cast in the role of the ‘other’, presented within
stereotypical frameworks that shape the narratives that become part of popular
culture and understanding.
In his 1998 work, Playing Indian, Philip Deloria connects these images to the birth
of the nation, demonstrating that European-American ambivalence about Indians
forged stereotypes of convenience that could be adopted to shore up nationalist
insecurities by either internalizing selected Indian qualities (bravery, fierceness) that
resonated with the goals of rebellion or externalizing Indians as savages who
warranted attack and extermination in the service of controlling the continent. [22]
When exposed in this light, these stereotypes illuminate a critical feature of American
identity, a feature manifest in US consumer culture and rendered visible in the sports
sections of newspapers, sport magazines and in sport broadcasts.
58 E. J. Staurowsky
A collection of scholarly works chronicles the fact that most Americans have
limited experience with ‘real’ Indians and engage Indianness in what Stedman refers
to as a ‘shadow’ land where ‘normative’ representations of Indians have been
constructed as one-dimensional and ahistorical. [23] When dealing with sport
figures, the shadow land becomes even more layered due to the symbiotic
relationship that developed over time between sport and media as entertainment
forms.
Early interest in newspapers and sports sections in particular were spurred by the
literary skills of the writers themselves who sought to promote rather than report
objectively on the games and the athletes who played. In inspiring a mass audience
and cultivating consumerism among their audiences, sportswriters employed
marketing and advertising techniques in fostering appreciation and taste that would
eventually distil into the sporting practices of the nation. [24] Even with the
evolution of sports coverage from ‘fantasy imagery’ to ‘journalism’, the demands of
competing media and information technologies affect editorial choices. Shaped by
the combined forces of an ever-shortening American attention span, a deepening of
appetites for the sensational, a widespread lack of education or miseducation of
Americans about American Indians and economic motivation to appeal to those
groups perceived to be the most economically viable, the creation of narratives within
a racialized framework leaves American Indians particularly vulnerable to stereo-
typical representations. [25]
The purpose of the critique to follow is to explore how entrenched, stereotypical
modes of thinking about American Indians affect the stories that are chosen by
mainstream sport media to tell and the angles pursued in the telling. Within the
limits of this critique, attention will be directed to the ways in which ‘Indianness’ is
misappropriated in sport, the rewriting of American Indian athletic history, and the
continuing fascination with Indians who ‘play Indian’, as they appear in
contemporary narratives about American Indian athletes.
Layers of Misappropriation
In some respects, sport media coverage of American Indian athletes begins the way
almost everything else begins in intersections between mainstream America and
Native America – with white misappropriation. Consider the programme aired by
ESPN in November 1999 entitled The Native American Sport Experience. [26] After a
montage of American Indian athletes interspersed with familiar signifiers such as
dancing Indians in feathers cross the screen, the opening segment begins by featuring
professional basketball coach Phil Jackson – a white man afforded the status of an
expert about Native American experience in sport, a basketball coach as ‘Indian
shaman’.
Jackson describes his ‘connection’ to Native Americans as something that he felt as
a child. When playing the game of cowboys and Indians, he mentions that he always
had the bow and arrow in his hand and a feeling of ‘you belong to us’. From all
indications, Jackson has earned a sense of belonging among the Sioux. After years of
teaching basketball on the Pine Ridge Reservation, Jackson has been given the name
‘Swift Eagle’. [27]
In his work with the Chicago Bulls, one of the most successful in NBA history,
Jackson cultivated team unity through the use of Native American spiritual practices.
The teams inner ‘sanctuary’ was a room that one player described as having ‘relics’ on
the walls, an arrow turned upward as a prayer symbol, a picture of the great Lakota
spiritual leader Crazy Horse, a head-dress and other ‘Indian’ artefacts. While burning
sage, Jackson encouraged the team to cleanse their spirits and souls and to think like a
Lakota warrior, envisioning the battle before it was enjoined. About Jackson’s
adoption of the religious traditions and philosophies of the Lakota Sioux, David
Plume, a high school principal at Pine Ridge remarks: ‘It is a big sense of pride to
know out of all the cultures in the world to follow, in his philosophy and his
teachings and his motivation that he chooses to model ours.’
Although Jackson does model Lakota philosophy and tradition, he does not follow
Sioux traditions ‘religiously’. Whereas Jackson depicts himself and has been
characterized by the press as a ‘student’ of religion and spirituality, he appears to
be less of a student and more of both a consumer and exploiter of the fascination that
surrounds non-Christian religious traditions. [28] As scholar Deborah Root notes, ‘If
people assume that spirituality is another commodity, it is also easy for them to
imagine they have the right to take whatever they please.’ [29]
In his 1995 co-authored book, Sacred Hoops: Spiritual Lessons of a Hardwood
Warrior, Jackson not only borrows liberally from Christian, Buddhist and Lakota
traditions but elevates the work of Tex Winter, the originator of the ‘triangle offence’,
to that of the spiritual as well. His approach to spirituality is something akin to
Forrest Gump’s approach to a Whitman sampler; you never know exactly what
you’re going to get. In point of fact, Jackson mentions in the book that he often uses a
made-for-TV movie entitled The Mystic Warrior, a story about a young Sioux warrior
who has a powerful vision (a story loosely based on Crazy Horse) to convey what he
represents as messages based on Lakota history and religious teachings, despite the
fact that ‘my friends at Pine Ridge dismissed the film, pointing out the inaccuracies’.
[30]
Jackson’s selectivity with regard to his ‘belief ’ in Lakota religion and tradition is
revealed at the end of the interview, after Mr Plume has validated Jackson’s authority
as a representative of Indian interests in the segment. When asked by the interviewer if
he will introduce his new team, the Los Angeles Lakers, to Native American religious
philosophy, Jackson expresses hesitation that he will use the Lakota Sioux ‘model’ as
his ‘theme’ in establishing a relationship with them. He notes that his references to
Indian culture and warrior traditions are part of ‘the ambience’ of the Chicago team,
something that is interchangeable with, say, an ‘inner city gang’ model.
To be more specific, he reflects that he might have to adjust his focus to something
more understandable in Los Angeles. Jackson elaborates: ‘This is the city of the Crips
and the Bloods. Gang behavior is the only way to survive on the streets. These guys
60 E. J. Staurowsky
[players] know about gang behavior.’ When considered within the context of King
and Springwood’s assertion that race not only imprints sport but the ‘idioms,
identities, and imaginaries animated by it’, Jackson’s statement is at once a
commentary about ‘whiteness, blackness and redness’. [31] Why would a white coach
seeking to motivate some of the best male basketball players in the world,
approximately 90–95 per cent of whom are black, believe that relationships based on
a gang model will create the kind of connection he seeks in their collective pursuit of
success? Further, within the logic Jackson articulated, gangs and tribes are
interchangeable at a racial and spiritual level. What common core of spirituality
can be found between these two groups? When a white Christian framework is
applied to this logic, the incongruities in these comparisons become even more
apparent. It is rare for a religious tradition to be represented as a ‘theme’, adopted for
the purpose of adding to the ‘ambience’ of an organization. Would a ‘Catholic’
model of religious tradition be as interchangeable as the religious tradition of the
Lakota Sioux? As comparable to the Crips?
This glimpse into the Jackson imaginary, constructed as it is around whiteness,
blackness and redness, reveals something about the complexity of entrenched,
racialized ways of thinking and the logics that sustain those patterns – how (un)easily
racially coded notions of criminality, race, spirituality and survival co-exist within
this frame. For Jackson, the issue is economic survival in a competitive business
where winning is the commodity that counts. These images become political tools in
his legitimization not only as an authority figure but a white man ‘managing’
physically powerful and apparently potentially dangerous black men who respond
best to ‘gang’ metaphors. In the absence of ‘real’ Indians on the team, ‘Indian’
spirituality becomes a resource to be used, and used up. It is then shown to be a
gimmick rather than a genuine philosophy, having become part of the commodity
which is Jackson’s saleable persona and off which he makes a living. When seen from
this perspective, it appears that Jackson also subscribes to the teachings of what Reyna
Green refers to as ‘the tribe called Wannabe’. [32]
Jim Thorpe and the Athlete of the Century Selection Process

On the way to the new millennium, something happened to the memory of Jim
Thorpe at the hands of sports writers, editors and producers. Despite his
documentable record as an athlete of singular achievement, he was demoted by
some sport media sources when comparisons were made between Thorpe and other
athletes of his age from the first half of the century – more details on this below. One
of the most powerful forces in sports media, Sports Illustrated, did not include Thorpe
in their 1999 ‘Gathering of Greats’ issue, a gathering of the greatest athletes of the
century that was put together by arguably some of the most knowledgeable and well-
respected sports journalists and editors in the country. [33]
From the outset, it should be noted that discussions about ‘who is the best’ in sport
are perilous territory from the get-go. As history, problems abound. Some significant
portion of sports writing is fiction; thus historical accounts are tainted. Further, sport
folk by admission are not objective but biased, having finely cultivated allegiances to
certain teams and players. Members of the sport media are not above tapping into
those allegiances.
About ESPN’s ‘Athlete of the Century’ discussion, sportswriter Tim Sullivan
observed: ‘Inherently, it’s a matter of opinion. Inevitably, it’s a source of argument’.
With the limitations of the process having been recognized, what happened to the
history of Jim Thorpe within the swirl of these discussions is worth exploring. [34]
For the purposes of illustration, consider ESPN’s identified top ten list of athletes
from the twentieth century, a pool that would eventually be ranked by a ‘panel of
experts’ charged ‘to evaluate the candidates out of context’, meaning the magnitude
of their athletic achievements were to be considered outside the social forces that
might have otherwise marked the significance of their playing days (i.e. Muhammad
Ali’s activism within the turbulence of the 1960s would be ignored while his athletic
achievements would be given total consideration). In a forecast of how the ten would
ultimately be ranked by ESPN’s panel of experts, using the criteria of ‘greatness at the
games people play’, Sullivan arrived at the conclusion that Jim Thorpe was the
‘athlete of the century’. His forecast was off by a wide margin. In the end, ESPN’s
panel of experts ranked the top ten athletes as in Table 1.
What is interesting in this comparison is not merely the fact that Thorpe is so
much farther down on the list than predicted, but the juxtaposition of Babe Ruth and
Jesse Owens in relationship to Thorpe in each ranking. In the ESPN poll, as well as in
Sports Illustrated’s ‘Gathering of Greats’, Thorpe’s relationship with athletes he had
been compared to in 1950 had changed dramatically. In the 1950 Associated Press
‘male athlete of the half-century’ poll, Thorpe received more first place votes (252)
from the 393 sportswriters participating than all of the other nominees combined.
[35] Among the athletes to whom Thorpe was compared in that poll and whom SI
sportswriters and editors would select for inclusion in their ‘Gathering of the Greats’
Table 1 Comparison of ESPN ‘Athlete of the Century’ Ranking and Sportswriter Tim
Sullivan’s Forecast
ESPN’s Final Top 10 Ranking Sullivan’s Forecasted Ranking
1. Michael Jordan 1. Jim Thorpe

2. Babe Ruth 2. Babe Ruth
3. Muhammad Ali 3. Jim Brown
4. Jim Brown 4. Michael Jordan
5. Wayne Gretzky 5. Babe Didrikson Zaharias
6. Jesse Owens 6. Muhammad Ali
7. Jim Thorpe 7. Wayne Gretzky
8. Willie Mays 8. Jesse Owens
9. Jack Nicklaus 9. Willie Mays
10. Babe Didrikson Zaharias 10. Jack Nicklaus
62 E. J. Staurowsky
in 1999 (while not including him) were Babe Ruth, Walter Johnson, Lou Gehrig,
Jackie Robinson, Red Grange, Joe Louis and Jesse Owens. [36]
What was it about Thorpe’s record that warranted such overpowering recognition
at the turn of the half-century? In brief, this is an overview of Jim Thorpe’s athletic
resume. In 1912 at the Stockholm Olympics, Thorpe became – and remains today –
the only Olympian to win gold medals in both the pentathlon and decathlon. In the
decathlon, an event in which he would distinguish himself by becoming the first
American to win the event, he did so in spectacular style, breaking the previous world
record by almost 100 points. During those same games, he also placed fourth in the
open broad jump, tied for seventh in the open high jump, and played on the US
baseball team in exhibition games. Although Thorpe would not be recognized as a
citizen of the United States until 1917 due to government policies pertaining to
American Indians, Thorpe’s accomplishments inspired widespread national pride.
Recognized by kings and royalty, and a figure of such excellence that the world took
notice, Thorpe’s contribution to the entire Olympic movement proved to be greater
than simply winning two gold medals. [37] As historian Allen Guttman points out,
the Stockholm Olympic Games represented only the fifth Olympics of the modern
age. As an enterprise that was just getting off the ground, the notoriety surrounding
Thorpe’s accomplishments helped to secure a place for the Olympics as a meaningful
and significant international event in the minds of people around the world. [38]
His status as a great college football player from the Carlisle Indian School was
solidified with Thorpe being named in 1911 and 1912 to Walter Camp’s First Team
All-American Football Team as a half-back. Beyond his prowess as a football player of
considerable renown, Thorpe also lettered in 11 different college sports including
boxing, wrestling, lacrosse, gymnastics, swimming, hockey, handball and basketball.
In addition to football, he received All-American recognition in track, lacrosse and
basketball. [39]
Following the trauma and indignity of being stripped of his medals and awards
after the 1912 Olympics by the USOC, the IOC and the Amateur Athletic Union,
organizations that accused Thorpe of violating the amateur code by participating in
‘professional’ sports, Thorpe signed with the New York Giants professional baseball
team. Although his performance in major league baseball has often been described as
disappointing and less than something to be expected of an athlete of his calibre,
historian Robert Reising argues persuasively that Thorpe evidenced all of the signs
not only of a baseball player who was capable but of a ballplayer who improved over
time. In a career that spanned six seasons, Thorpe played 289 games with the New
York Giants, the Cincinnati Reds and the Boston (now Atlanta) Braves. In his final
season with the Braves in 1919, Thorpe recorded a .327 batting average. [40]
His professional sports career was not limited to baseball, however. In point of fact,
the impact Thorpe had on the long-term prospects of the Olympic Games was seen in
professional football as well. Thorpe was there in the earliest years of professional
football, lending credibility to an enterprise struggling for survival. In modern terms,
he literally was ‘the franchise’, drawing crowds to games at a rate that far surpassed
any other player of his era. According to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Thorpe
signed with the Canton Bulldogs in 1915 and went on to play for the Cleveland
Indians, Oorang Indians, Rock Island Independents, New York Giants and Chicago
Cardinals. In 1920, Thorpe was elected president of the American Professional
Football Association, the predecessor to the National Football League. [41]
Thorpe was acknowledged throughout the first half of the century for his
accomplishments and contributions as a professional football player. In the same year
that he was named ‘male athlete of the half-century’ he was also honoured by the
Associated Press as the best football player for the years 1900–1950. In 1963, Thorpe
was selected as a charter enshrinee to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. In a national poll
conducted by Sport magazine in 1977, Thorpe was named greatest American football
player in history. In addition to his selection for the Pro Football Hall of Fame,
Thorpe is also enshrined in the Oklahoma Hall of Fame, the Pennsylvania Hall of
Fame, the National Indian Hall of Fame, the Helms Professional Football Hall of
Fame and the National Track and Field Hall of Fame.
Given his credentials, what had happened in the latter half of the twentieth century
that might explain the transformation that Thorpe underwent in this most recent
round of polling? Some have argued that with the passage of time, collective memory
fades, and that in Thorpe’s case he had been gone from the playing field too long.
That argument has limited validity when considered in reference to the results from
the CNN/USA Today Gallup poll conducted in December 1999, wherein Americans
were asked to respond to this question ‘What man or woman living any time this
century do you think was the greatest athlete of the century, in terms of their athletic
performance?’ [42] Michael Jordan was named by 23 per cent of the respondents,
Muhammad Ali was second (9 per cent), followed by Babe Ruth and Jim Thorpe
(4 per cent) and Jesse Owens (3 per cent). More contemporary athletes did receive
more votes, but out of all the athletes who might have been named, the memory of
Ruth, Thorpe and Owens, athletes whose careers occurred decades ago, linger enough
that they register in the list and surpass many other athletes of later decades. In this
sense, the argument withstands scrutiny only up to a point and sheds interesting light
on what the ‘experts’ did in this case.
In contrast to the respondents of the Gallup poll, who were average Americans,
‘sports experts’ were primarily responsible for creating the lists and rankings for SI’s
‘Gathering of Greats’, the ESPN ‘Sports Century’ and the Associated Press list.
Despite the mythologies woven by sportswriters and passed down from one
generation to the other, sport is not without its record books. In fact, one of
the primary reasons for the record books is to have a reliable mechanism in place to
make these kinds of discerning distinctions, to avoid this very problem. Is it really
possible that the ‘experts’ – the people who cover the Olympics and know about the
Thorpe family’s 70-year battle with the IOC to clear their father’s reputation and
retrieve his medals, the people who presumably cover the yearly classes of inductees
into the Pro Football Hall of Fame and whose eyes would immediately behold the
statue of Jim Thorpe symbolically located at its centre upon entering the hall, people
64 E. J. Staurowsky
who have research staffs to assist with this fact finding – forgot about, overlooked or
misread the magnitude of his accomplishments?
The revisionism that occurred in the placement of Thorpe behind Babe Ruth and
Jessie Owens suggests that Stedman’s notion of a ‘shadow land’ where Indians are
conceptualized as one-dimensional and ahistorical may in fact exist. It is notable that
Jack Thorpe, Jim Thorpe’s son, has observed, as have his other children as well, that
some portion of the history written and spoken about their father is inaccurate. [43]
The video biography about Thorpe aired in January of 2000 as part of the ESPN
‘Sports Century’ series demonstrates the problems associated with this. [44]
The segment begins with Thorpe’s life being situated in relationship to the Battle of
the Little Big Horn and is described as a ‘frontier fiction’. By the end, the ‘vanishing
Indian’ is evoked with the playing of the theme music from the movie The Last of the
Mohicans. Interspersed throughout the piece are interviews with Thorpe family
members, two Indian leaders and numerous white male historians, athletes and sport
journalists.
Although the ‘facts’ are presented, the case that is purportedly being made for why
Thorpe is one of the greatest athletes of the twentieth century is overshadowed by the
‘personal’ story being told. This is particularly worthy of attention from the
standpoint that only two months earlier, in November 1999, ESPN aired another
segment about Thorpe. In this one, the focus was wholly on his athletic
accomplishments. The tone was upbeat, the message clear, his accomplishments
stunning.
In contrast, the segment on Thorpe aired in January 2000, after the ranking was
completed and he was not only passed over as athlete of the century but placed well
behind Babe Ruth, assumes a totally different framework, one of tragedy and despair.
Sportscaster Dan Patrick, the host of the show, begins by recounting the story of Bill
Stern, a radio host, who in 1951 reported to his listening audience that Jim Thorpe,
the greatest male athlete of the first half century, was sick and penniless. This is a
curious way to begin a tribute to one of the greatest athletes the world has ever
known. The next four minutes of the show pursue a similar theme, depicting his early
years as having occurred in ‘more shadow, than light’. Patrick offers a summary of
events in his childhood that include the deaths of his brother and mother, his ‘sickly,
alcoholic’ father and a general ‘unpleasant’ existence of ‘unemployment, alcohol,
poverty and death’. The piece ends as it begins, with Thorpe being financially
destitute and homeless at the time of his death.
When Thorpe’s athleticism is discussed, differences in interpretation and
understanding between white and Indian commentators surface in the segment,
although they occur so infrequently and without acknowledgement that it is difficult
to know how much of an impact this leaves on the viewer. For example, several white
historians depict Thorpe’s athletic prowess within the constructs of ‘naturalness’, a
quality often ascribed to minority athletes, a racially encoded message meaning
that the success of non-white athletes is attributed to their perceived biological
superiority – in earlier days a reference to non-white athletes being closer to ‘animals’
than ‘humans’. [45] Track and field historian Frank Zarnowski described Thorpe as
an athlete who could just ‘watch and observe’ and then perform, while sportswriter
Blackie Sherrod of the Dallas Morning News explained that ‘Thorpe didn’t need
coaching’, that he ‘came off of the reservation and just ran everybody ragged’. In
noting that Thorpe had performed athletic feats not previously imagined, researcher
Robert Whitman observed: ‘I really believe Jim Thorpe was a physical mutation.’
Thorpe’s perceived ‘naturalness’ was linked to ‘laziness’. Stories from the 1912
Olympics often depicted Thorpe as an athlete who ‘never practised’. As Burt Sugar, a
writer, observed, ‘On the trip over to Stockholm, Thorpe just lay around in a
hammock’. It is notable that Billy Mills, the Lakota runner who won the 10,000
metres in the 1964 Olympics, is the only authority who discounts this, presenting an
entirely different interpretation of Thorpe’s behaviour. In Mills’s account, Thorpe
not only practised physically while on board ship, he also practised mentally,
engaging in a process referred to today as ‘mental imagery’.
Mills also attempts to place Thorpe’s life and accomplishments in context. About
the meaning of sport in Thorpe’s life, Mills offers the speculation that the reason why
Thorpe turned to sport was because, in a world that sought to strip him of his
identity, it allowed him to compete on ‘equal terms’ and to ‘learn to walk in two
worlds with one spirit’. About the impact of the United States Olympic Committee
(USOC) abandoning Thorpe following the 1912 games, Mills explains: ‘He was left
alone in a society that took his medals away in a sense and a society that continually
violated him. This didn’t cause bitterness in the man but it devastated him.’
These observations are critical to the overall construction of Jim Thorpe’s story
and yet this information is relatively new to the dialogue and is surrounded by the
voices of white ‘authorities’, who draw their information from media stories written
by white authors earlier in the century. This gap in perspective may account for why
there is more attention given to Thorpe as an ‘excessive drinker’, a ‘drifter’ and a
person who experiences ‘a long, humiliating slide into obscurity’ than to Thorpe’s
crucial role in the founding of the National Football League.
There were two locations in athlete of the century discussions where no such
revision of Jim Thorpe’s history occurred and where Thorpe was recognized as the
‘athlete of the century’. News From Indian Country conducted no rankings, merely
acknowledging Jim Thorpe as ‘athlete of the century’ and publishing a number of
feature articles about Thorpe’s accomplishments. [46] The ABC online sports poll
also produced a result that favoured Jim Thorpe and led to the announcement on
30 January 2000 during half-time of the Super Bowl. Interestingly enough, however,
ABC never formally notified members of the Thorpe family that the announcement
would be made, nor have they offered any kind of memento to the family marking
the event. [47]
In early January 2000, an invitation encouraging people to vote in the ABC poll for
Jim Thorpe was posted on a website called FreeRepublic.com, ‘a conservative news
forum’. [48] Among the many responses indicating that they would vote for Thorpe,
one included a question as to why the sender of the original message mentioned
66 E. J. Staurowsky
Thorpe’s race. This is an intriguing question. As the questioner observed, ‘The man
was GREAT!’ – period, end of discussion.
However, given what happened to Thorpe in these most recent renderings or
dismissals of his story, it appears that not enough attention has been directed towards
understanding the racial dynamics that influence our thinking in sport. As scholars
Richard King and Charles Springwood note, athletics are central to popular inter-
pretations of race and race relations, formulations of identity and difference and
efforts to create popular culture. [49] To abandon the question of how race played
out in the consideration of Jim Thorpe for athlete of the century recognition is to fail
to recognize that Jim Thorpe’s life and story was, and continues to be, enormously
affected by white misappropriators. Thorpe attended Carlisle because it was the
government’s choosing, not his own. Thorpe was stripped of his gold medals because
of an interpretation of amateurism by sport governing bodies wholly run by
white males, who imposed less stringent standards of amateurism on other high-
profile white male athletes of the day but held Thorpe to a debilitating standard. To
abandon the question of race is to abdicate responsibility not only for what happened
in the past to Indian athletes such as Jim Thorpe but to abdicate responsibility for
why even the ‘experts’ today failed to acknowledge that he is the greatest athlete this
country has yet seen.
Indians ‘Playing Indians’

Whereas Sports Illustrated did not find Jim Thorpe’s credentials to be compelling
enough to include him in its ‘Gathering of Greats’ in November 1999, it did devote a
four-page feature story to former professional football player and wrestler, Ed
‘Wahoo’ McDaniel in its summer 2001 special ‘Where Are They Now?’ edition.
Distributed during a ‘lull’ in sports summer programming, right after Wimbledon
and just before the Major League Baseball All-Star Game, the ‘specialness’ of the issue
emanates from its celebration of people who might be thought of as ‘exotics’.
The issue is devoted to an assemblage of novel and unusual sport figures, creating a
spectacle of difference against a backdrop of assumed white male privilege. [50]
Criteria for inclusion revolve around themes of the tame and the wild, the cartoonish
and the quirky, the smart and the not so smart and the hypermasculine/
hyperfeminine. In this retrospective, the process of ageing also becomes part of the
spectacle. McDaniel, who is featured in a full-page photo wearing only shorts, a
headdress, a breastplate and moccasins, has a place here amid the scantily clad 1972
Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, the 1977 ‘Sudanese Sultan of Swat’, otherwise known as
Manute Bol, a Dinka tribesman, and the former Detroit pitcher savant Mark Fidrych,
whose ‘odd’ behaviour earned him comparisons to the Sesame Street character
Big Bird.
Accompanying the photo of McDaniel in Indian regalia is a caption which reads:
‘In Fine Feather: Never reluctant to play up his Native American heritage, McDaniel
is still colourful at 63.’ [51] The value of the story for the producers of the magazine
resides in the opportunities it presents to manipulate ‘Indian’ imagery as a visual

point of interest for readers. McDaniel ‘looks like an Indian’ who ‘acts like an Indian’.
Within the confines of this script, certain aspects of McDaniel’s life and athletic
accomplishments emerge. At age 63, he awaits a kidney transplant. A man plagued by
five marital failures attributed to the demands of his athletic career, he is a devoted
father, genuinely concerned about the welfare of his 12-year-old son as he ponders
the uncertainty of his physical health.
Some hint of his reputation as an athlete is revealed in the way in which Shropshire
relates McDaniel’s ‘ultimate ambition’, which ‘as McDaniel says, is to lie beneath a
gravestone inscribed PROUD FATHER AND ROLE MODEL’. [52] The sincerity of
this becomes a fixture for the ‘entertaining’ observation on the part of the author that
‘his many fans will insist on other engravings. BIGFOOT WITH CLEATS is what
some will demand. Or PAUL BUNYAN IN A WAR BONNET, or perhaps the JIM
THORPE OF THE OIL PATCH’. This gap between how McDaniel wishes to be
memorialized versus how the author depicts his memorialization is significant for a
number of reasons. The author relies on imagery and a style of sports journalism that
is well over a hundred years old. In point of fact, the expression Paul Bunyan in a war
bonnet is almost an identical reference to ones made about Thorpe during his playing
days as well as numerous Indian athletes throughout the twentieth century moving
into the twenty-first century.
Further, the tradition being perpetuated in this story is equally as old. The
‘spectacle’ of Indians ‘playing Indians’ in athletics emanate from a related form of
entertainment – that being Wild West Shows. [53] The evolution of most
professional sport enterprises, from baseball to football to wrestling, have at their
core ‘Indians’ who aided in the creation of fan bases. Exhibiting ‘white out’ or an
erasure of racial memory, the vast majority of American sport fans have no inkling or
appreciation of the fact that the economic structure of popular male professional
sport was built, in part, on ‘Indian’ spectacle. [54] American Indian baseball players
in the late 1800s/early 1900s were often referred to in the press and by their teams as
Chief (pitcher Charlie Bender with the Philadelphia Athletics, catcher John Meyers
with the New York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers, outfielder Louis Francis Sockalexis
with the Cleveland Spiders and Moses Yellowhorse with the Pittsburgh Pirates as
examples). These references formed the basis of literary sport journalism forms that
freely spun stereotypical stories of ‘Indians on the warpath’, ‘stealthy Indians’ and,
when Indians failed or disappointed, ‘lazy Indians’ or ‘drunk Indians’. [55] Although
‘authentic Indians’ were most desirable, impostor Indians or even individuals with
remote connections to ‘Indianness’ became part of team promotional strategies as
well. As an item in The Sporting News from 1913 records,
Every up-to-date ball club must have an Indian now. The Cards are not behind.
One of their infield recruits, Jimmy Whalen, he’s one. Only by adoption perhaps
but what of that, Thorpe’s only a half-breed. . . . During his rovings he was a
member of Ira Bidwell’s famous team of Cheyenne Indians along with Hendrix of
68 E. J. Staurowsky
the Pirates and they say when he got his paint on and whooped it up, he was as wild
as any redskin that ever wore a blanket and scalped a paleface. [56]
In professional football, the Oorang Indians, the only professional team made up
exclusively of Indians, put on an ‘Indian’ half-time show. [57] The naming of the
Washington football franchise as the ‘redskins’ originally occurred in 1933 when the
team was located in Boston. [58] The name change coincided with the hiring of William
‘Lone Star’ Dietz, a coach who had played at the Carlisle Indian School along with two
other Indian players. In the media guide for that year, two photos of Dietz appeared side
by side, one of him in Sioux regalia and the other of him in top hat, the quintessential
contrast between the uncivilized and civilized, primitive and modern. [59]
McDaniel’s recollections about how he got started in professional wrestling
contains an allusion to the role Indians have traditionally played in professional
wrestling. He said: ‘Somebody approached me and said that a wrestling promoter in
Oklahoma City needed an Indian and wondered if I was interested’. [60] As a form of
mass entertainment that relies on the inventions of personas built around tensions
along racial, ethnic, nationalist, gender and class lines (e.g., Gorilla Monsoon, Andre
the Giant, Chyna, The Rock), ‘Indianness’ is a commodity, and within the wrestling
spectacular ‘Indians’ have occupied a central place as wrestlers. Thus Chief Jay
Strongbow, The Apache Kid (Ernest Neil Cutter), Billy White Wolf, Chief Joe
Lightfoot, Jay Youngblood, Billy Two Eagles, The Renegade Warriors (Mark and
Chris Youngblood), Tatanka and Apache Nations Tribal Warrior became, and have
become, role players in scripted confrontations in the ring, although there is
widespread speculation as to which of these characters are ‘actual Indians’ and which
are not. [61] It appears that out of this group, McDaniel, Cutter, and Chris ‘Tatanka’
Chavis are American Indian, reportedly Choctaw/Cherokee, Apache and Lumbee
respectively. [62]
About the appropriation of Indianness within the orchestrated script of
professional wrestling, one fan remembers:
One of the things I noticed to be repetitious in the WWF was the angle in which the
Indian wrestler was engaged in a heated feud and the Indian wrestler’s opponent or
enemy would trap the Indian wrestler in the ropes and then destroy the Indian’s
head-dress. The feathers were then forced down the throat of the Indian wrestler. In
my memory, this first occurred during the Spiro Arion-Jay Strongbow feud in the
1970s and then repeated with Tatanka in the 1990s. [63]
In addition to the symbolic destruction of Indians, ‘Indian’ wrestlers also have

patented or signature moves associated with their heritage, such as a ‘tomahawk
chop’ and ‘Indian deathlock’. [64] As professional wrestling writer and historian
Steven Slagle reports,
Wahoo was known as the master of the Indian Strap Match, and nearly all of his
many violent feuds were inevitably ended with a leather thong tied to the wrist of
his opponent. The great Native American was also known world-wide for his
blistering Tomahawk Chops, once a very unique and devastating move that has
now become commonplace. [65]
Described in The Ring Chronicles as one of the most popular wrestlers for the
majority of his 20-plus-year-long career, Wahoo ‘was also one of the most intense
and violent’. Part of McDaniel’s appeal and marketability stemmed from the
perception of him as a ‘savage Indian’. The ‘bloodthirsty Indian’ takes literal form in
the merchandising of a blood-spattered action figure called ‘Wahoo McDaniel
Bloody Figure’, which comes with ‘an Indian Head Dress’. [66]
From a historical perspective, the scripted battles between the fierce and
intimidating ‘Indian’ and an opponent are re-enactments; what Greg Dening refers
to as hallucinations that tend to represent ‘a past as merely the present in funny
dress’. [67] However, Moses’ suggestion that ‘in the very act of dressing up, the
participants signal a kinship with a ritualized cultural memory’ has some applicability
here as well. Both McDaniel and Chavis exhibit great personal commitment to an
Indian identity. McDaniel’s biography notes: ‘Although he didn’t have to,
throughout his entire career as a professional athlete, Wahoo always took his
position as a role model for Native Americans very seriously.’ [68]
Although the enactment of stereotypes constructed out of the white imaginary by
Indians may not be entirely about victimhood, nevertheless the existence of ‘Wahoo’
McDaniel and ‘Tatanka’ serve as reminders that just as ‘economic opportunities for
Indians rarely broadened and typically centred on their willingness to ‘‘play’’ Indian’
in the twentieth century, the twenty-first century begins with an economic structure
that has changed only slightly in this regard. [69] Further, the marketability of
Indians ‘playing Indians’ speaks to the complications of asserting an Indian identity
within a dominant culture conditioned to recognize and deal with Indians in certain
ways and the limitations the dominant culture imposes on how that identity will be
seen and represented. The fact that Thorpe is ignored as being unworthy of inclusion
as one of the greatest athletes of all time while McDaniel is recognized as ‘exotic’ in
Sports Illustrated testifies to this. In this respect, the spectacle of professional wrestling
is doing its job as an arm of an assimilationist culture, fostering comfort with Indian
impostors, a memory of ‘wild’ Indians and engagement with ‘fantasy’ Indians.
Conclusion
It is telling that the ‘Indian’ athlete who made his reputation in a form of
entertainment most reminiscent of the Wild West Show is the American Indian
athlete most discussed by Sports Illustrated during the past two years – the two years
marking the end of one century and the beginning of another. Within the same
edition, another Indian wrestler can be found. On page 35, in the section marked
‘Faces in the Crowd’, the achievements of Dan Skenandore, a 215-pound senior at
Oneida Nation High, appear. Skenandore finished the year with a record of 37–0 and
is the first student from that high school to win a state crown in any sport. Clearly,
70 E. J. Staurowsky
Skenandore is an athlete worth watching, but one wonders if Sports Illustrated will
take serious notice if Skenandore does not don a headdress in marketing himself.
In an unusual discussion about this shadow land, New York Times sportswriter
Selena Roberts pointedly outlined how the lives of American Indian athletes have
been affected by the stereotypical thinking of coaches. [70] She reports: ‘Some
coaches resort to stereotypes when talking anonymously about American Indian
athletes. Others are more open.’ The impact this has on the representation of
American Indians in sport can be quantified to some degree. Whereas American
Indians constitute between 1 to 2 per cent of the population within the United States,
‘they account for only four-tenths of a per cent of the scholarship athletes at the
major college level’. [71] Is this circumstance really all that surprising, though, from
the standpoint that 88 college and university programmes along with over 1,200
high school teams have Indian stereotypes as their mascots and the press has infused
the language of sport with this imagery for over a hundred years?
The paucity of narratives about American Indian athletes in mainstream sport
publications, and the ongoing tolerance for the perpetuation of American Indian
racial stereotypes are connected. In his analysis of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s A Season on
the Reservation: My Sojourn with the White Mountain Apache, former president of the
Native American Bar Association Lawrence Baca has remarked upon the lack of
criticism directed towards Jabbar in the face of rather blatant Indian stereotyping. [72]
Throughout the book, Jabbar ascribes the style and manner of play to the influence
of the players’ Apache ancestors. Jabbar writes: ‘The Falcons were carrying on a long
tradition of running from things that were chasing them or standing in their way.
There were legendary stories from the Apache past of their warriors being pursued by
enemies and simply riding their horses to death.’ [73] Similar remarks appear
throughout the book. About the physical appearance of the players, ‘they were all
remarkably the same size’. The imaginary of the Apache warrior comes through several
times, with the players being described as resembling Apache warriors of the past.
With regard to a player named Orlando, Jabbar observes: ‘Sometimes I would glance
his way and imagine him sitting astride a painted pony two hundred years earlier,
ready to ride off into the mountains and hunt.’ [74] And finally, Jabbar speculates that
were it not for basketball to direct the energies of these young ‘warriors’, they would be
travelling down to Mexico and ‘stealing cars’. Notably, apart from Lawrence Baca’s
challenge to these stereotypes, reviews of A Season on the Reservation have been
uniformly complimentary, particularly from members of the sport media.
Whereas sports are often thought of as the ‘fun and games’ section of newspapers
and television, it is also a deceptively effective tool in the perpetuation of
racialized ways of thinking. In our failure to critique this, we engage in the
veneration of American Indians as ‘objects’ and not ‘people’ while ‘masking over’ or
‘whiting out’ the tensions that remain at the core of unresolved matters between
European-Americans and Native Americans. [75] To hide behind the façade of sport
as a powerful force in fostering racial harmony by essentially engaging in the active
propagation of mythologies and stereotypes that mock, trivialize and ignore
American Indians is to engage in a most insidious form of racism. Getting beyond

imagery is the first step in becoming more responsible and humane in the
representation of American Indians in mainstream sport media.
Notes
[1] According to the United States Department of Interior Bureau of Indian Affairs, there are 562
federally recognized tribes. Information available at http://www.doi.gov/bureau-indian-
affairs.html.
[2] See Vennum, American Indian Lacrosse, 292.
[3] Information about this programme can be found at the Native American Sports Council
website, at http://www.ncasports.com/.
[4] Lusty, Terry. ‘Indigenous Games confirmed for Fargo’. Ravens Eye 2, 6 (1998), 8.
[5] Keith, ‘Native American Women in Sport’.
[6] Deloria, ‘I am the Body’, 325.
[7] Deloria and Lytle, American Indians, American Justice; Olson, Encyclopedia of American Indian
Civil Rights; Thomas, Skull Wars.
[8] Staurowsky, ‘A Great Talent Is Denied His Place in History’, 24; Buford, Burt Lancaster: An
American Life.
[9] Bloom, To Show What An Indian Can Do; Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[10] Deloria, ‘I am the Body’, 330.
[11] King and Springwood, Beyond the Cheers, 2–3. Recent research suggests that William Lone
Star Dietz was a fraud who appropriated the identity of James One Star. The complications of
this case can be found in a five part series published in Indian Country Today during the
summer of 2004 written by Linda M. Waggoner.
[12] A search of http://www.collegiatedirectories.com/ reveals that 88 colleges and 1,217 high
schools currently list an American Indian symbol as a mascot. In contrast, Jim Thorpe High
School is known as the ‘Olympians’ while athletic teams at Pine Ridge High School, on the
Pine Ridge Reservation, are known as ‘The Thorpes’.
[13] Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’; Deloria, Playing Indian; King
and Springwood, Team Spirits; Spindel, Dancing at Halftime; Stapleton, Redskins; Staurowsky,
‘An Act of Honor or Exploitation’. In August of 2005, the National Collegiate Athletic
Association (NCAA) adopted a policy to prohibit colleges and universities from displaying
‘‘hostile and abusive racial/ethnic/national origin’’ at any of the 88 championships sponsored
by the Association starting in February of 2006. See Bob Williams, ‘NCAA Executive Events’’,
August 5, 2005 which can be found at http://www2.ncaa.org/media_and_events/press_room/
2005/august/20050805_exec_comm_rls.html
[14] See Zeman, To Run With Longboat, 4.
[15] Paraschak, ‘Variations in Race Relations’.
[16] McDonald and Birrell, ‘Reading Sport Critically’.
[17] Ibid, 283.
[18] Baker and Boyd, Out of Bounds, ix.
[19] Lipsitz, The Possessive Investment of Whiteness.
[20] Shoemaker, ‘How Indians Got To Be Red’, 624.
[21] Grounds, ‘Tallahassee, Osceola, and the Hermeneutics of American Place-Names’.
[22] Deloria, Playing Indian.
[23] Coombe, ‘Embodied Trademarks’; Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American
Mascots’; Grounds, ‘Tallahassee, Osceola, and the Hermeneutics of American Place-Names’;
King and Springwood, Team Spirits; Richard Slotkin, Regeneration Through Violence;
Raymond Stedman, Shadows of the Indian.
72 E. J. Staurowsky
[24] Anderson, Contemporary Sports Reporting; Fisher, Sports Journalism at its Best; Fountain,
Sportswriter; Koppett, Sports Illusion – Sports Reality; Rader, In Its Own Image; Sperber,
Onward to Victory.
[25] Allen, Vulgarians at the Gate; Staurowsky, ‘American Indian Imagery and the Miseducation of
Americans’.
[26] Ley, Native American Experience in Sport.
[27] Jackson and Delehanty, Sacred Hoops.
[28] Ley, Native American Experience in Sport.
[29] Root, Cannibal Culture, 94.
[30] Jackson and Delehanty, Sacred Hoops, 111.
[31] King and Springwood, Beyond the Cheers, 8.
[32] Green, ‘The Tribe Called Wannabe’.
[33] ‘Gathering of the Greats’. Sports Illustrated, 24 Nov. 1999.
[34] Sullivan, Tim. ‘Athlete of the Century: Thanks, Jim’.’’ Cincinnati Enquirer, 10 Nov. 1999.
Available at http://enquirer.com/columns//...n/1999/11/10/ts_athlete_of_century5.html.
[35] Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage, 232; Wheeler, Jim Thorpe, 217–218.
[36] Staurowsky, ‘A Great Talent Is Denied His Place in History’.
[37] Gobrecht, Jim Thorpe; Newcombe, The Best of the Athletic Boys.
[38] Patrick, Jim Thorpe – Sports Century.
[39] Gobrecht, Jim Thorpe; Newcombe, The Best of the Athletic Boys; Schoor and Gilfond, The Jim
Thorpe Story; Wheeler, Jim Thorpe.
[40] Some portion of this history is reviewed in an article entitled ‘It’s Mister Umpire’ by Jim
Thorpe, as told to Irving Wallace, which appeared in The American Legion Magazine, April
1940 (Whole No. 166); also Staurowsky, personal field notes, Jim Thorpe: Athlete of the
Century Celebration in Jim Thorpe, PA, September 2000, and Jim Thorpe Honor Day in
Stroud, OK, 27 May 2001.
[41] Whitman, Jim Thorpe and the Oorang Indians.
[42] ‘Jordan Picked as Athlete of the Century’. Gallup News Service, 4 Jan. 2000. Available at
http://www.gallup.com/poll/releases/pr000104.asp.
[43] Staurowsky, personal field notes, Jim Thorpe Honor Day, Stroud, OK, May 2001.
[44] Patrick, Jim Thorpe – Sports Century.
[45] Eitzen and Sage, Sociology of North American Sport; Hoberman, Darwin’s Athletes; Staurowsky,
‘An Act of Honor or Exploitation’.
[46] ‘Decision Made Jim Thorpe Athlete of the Century’. News From Indian Country 24 (15 Jan.
2000), 1A. McKosato, Harlan. ‘Greatest Athlete’. News From Indian Country, late May 2000,
22B; Mills, Billy. ‘Billy Mills Talks About Jim Thorpe: Remarks Made at the Tribute to Jim
Thorpe, US Olympic Center, Colorado Springs, Colorado on Jan. 13, 2000’. News From Indian
Country, late May 2000, 23B.
[47] Staurowsky, personal conversation with Grace Thorpe, July 2000.
[48] This website is available at http://www.freerepublic.com/forum/a3874e45c4ffb.html. The
discussion was ‘Vote for Jim Thorpe’.
[49] King and Springwood, Beyond the Cheers.
[50] Root, Cannibal Culture.
[51] Shropshire, Mike. ‘Wahoo McDaniel’. Sports Illustrated, 2–9 July 2001, 90–92, 94.
[52] Ibid., 92.
[53] Moses, Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians.
[54] King and Springwood, Beyond the Cheers.
[55] Oxendine, American Indian Sport Heritage; Staurowsky, ‘An Act of Honor or Exploitation’;
Fuller, 60 Feet 6 Inches and Other Distances From Home.
[56] Applegarth, The Sporting News, n.d. Copy of article on file with author.
[57] Whitman, Jim Thorpe and the Oorang Indians.

[58] Harjo, ‘Fighting Name-Calling’; ‘Redskins Memory Lane’, 219; Stapleton, Redskin.
[59] Leiby, Richard. ‘Bury My Heart at JFK: How the Redskins Got Their Name, and Why Just
Maybe It Should Be Named’. Washington Post, 6 Nov. 1994, F1–F4.
[60] Shropshire, Mike. ‘Wahoo McDaniel’. Sports Illustrated, 2–9 July 2001, 94.
[61] Brass identifies Wavell Star as an Indian athlete who ‘has a big opportunity to hit it big’ in
professional wrestling as cited in ‘Indigenous Wrestler Wavell’s career a Shooting Star’, in
Saskatchewan Sage, 3, 9 (1999, June 30), p. 6; Steve Ketcher, ‘Final Round Takes Wrestler ‘‘the
Apache Kid’’ Home’. Indian Country Today 18, 15 (1998, October 12), B8; ‘Legends of
Professional Wrestling’, 2001, available at http://www.legendsofprofessionalwrestling.com/;
Slagle, Steve. ‘Wahoo McDaniel’. The Ring Chronicles, 2000, Professional Wrestling Online
Museum, available at http://www. wrestlingmuseum.com. The list of American Indian
professional wrestlers is not intended to be exhaustive but representative.
[62] Information regarding the Native American wrestler Tatanka can be found at http://
www.nativetatanka.com/index_1.htm.
[63] ‘Indian Wrestlers’. Professional Wrestling Online Museum.
[64] ‘Indian Deathlock’. Professional Wrestling Holds. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Professional_
wrestling_holds#Indian_deathlock.
[65] Slagle, Steve. ‘Wahoo McDaniel’. The Ring Chronicles, 2000, Professional Wrestling Online
Museum, available at http://www.wrestlingmuseum.com.
[66] Ibid.
[67] Moses, Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians, 277.
[68] Slagle, Steve. ‘Wahoo McDaniel’. The Ring Chronicles, 2000, Professional Wrestling Online
Museum, available at http://www.wrestlingmuseum.com.
[69] Moses, Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians, 277.
[70] Roberts, Selena.. ‘In the Shadows: A Special Report: Off-Field Hurdles Stymie Indian
Athletes’. New York Times, 17 June 2001: Section 1, 1.
[71] Ibid.
[72] Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Steven Singular, A Season on the Reservation: My Sojourn With the
White Mountain Apache (New York: William Morrow and Company, 2000); Baca, ‘A Critique
of A Season on the Reservation’.
[73] Abdul-Jabbar and Singular, A Season on the Reservation, 41.
[74] Ibid, 66.
[75] The expression ‘masking over’ comes from Richard Grounds, Tallahassee, Osceola, and the
Hermeneutics of American Place-Names. The expression ‘whiting out’ comes from King and
Springwood, Beyond the Cheers.
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The St Francis Mission Indians and
the National Interscholastic Catholic
Basketball Tournament, 1924–1941
Wade Davies and Rich Clow
Organizers of the National Interscholastic Catholic Basketball Tournament in Chicago

consistently extended bids to a tribal team from St Francis Mission during the 1920s and
1930s. The authors argue that they did so because putting a ‘real’ Indian team on the
court drew crowds that helped the tournament compete with a rival ‘anti-Catholic’
public school tourney at the University of Chicago. Jesuit educators at St Francis and the
tribal athletes agreed to take part for other reasons, the Jesuits hoping to advance their
mission goals and the players finding an opportunity to excel at a game they loved. The
team’s triumphs on the court thus involved them in political, interuniversity and cultural
battles being waged by others off the court.
When the Jesuits at Loyola University of Chicago began the National Catholic
Interscholastic Basketball Tournament (NCIBT) in 1924, they intended to do more
than bring together the finest Catholic high-school teams in the country. [1] They
wanted the tournament to raise Catholic athletics to national prominence, promote
its host university and trump the cross-town national high-school tourney held at the
University of Chicago. With more than half of Chicago’s population in the 1920s
Catholic, the tournament organizers had a great opportunity to draw the spectators
and national attention needed to achieve their aspirations, but they needed the right
teams. Because of their fine play and the Chicago public’s desire to see ‘real’ Indians
on the court, the NCIBT organizers extended invitations to St Francis Mission High
School, a Jesuit mission to the Lakota people on the Rosebud Reservation in south
central South Dakota. Tribal basketball players would help score a victory for the
Catholic tournament. [2]
The St Francis Jesuits and students had their own reasons for going to the
tournament. Jesuits from the Rosebud school had multiple purposes for sending their
team to Chicago. Although they had colleagues and superiors who believed that
athletics could be overemphasized to the detriment of academics, most of the Jesuits
at St Francis believed that basketball served the mission in many ways. With the right
competition, the sport would make money for the mission by drawing enthusiastic
South Dakota fans to games. More importantly, basketball promised to keep the
tribal students and their families personally invested in the mission school and that
served evangelical goals. Through the Chicago tournament in particular, basketball
offered their student athletes an exceptional opportunity to travel and to build their
character as young men through healthy competition. There was also a personal
reason for Jesuit interest in the sport and the tournament. Many shared their
students’ love of the sport and delighted in team victories. The St Francis Jesuits
further realized the unique opportunity the NCIBT provided to demonstrate the
fruits of their mission work on a national stage. Dispatched to Chicago for different
purposes by different groups of Jesuits, the St Francis players also had something to
gain from the NCIBT. For them, a trip to Chicago offered the opportunity to see the
country and play a game they loved at the highest level.
Basketball was still a young American sport when the NCIBT began, but many
regions of the country, including Native American communities, had adopted the
game that Dr James Naismith invented in 1891. While at the YMCA training school
in Springfield, Massachusetts, Naismith, an adherent of the idea of ‘muscular
Christianity’, designed basketball as a non-violent but vigorous indoor winter sport
that promoted good health, moral fibre and Christian ethics. Across the United
States, YMCA staff and both secular and sectarian educators soon adopted Naismith’s
vision of the game’s character-building potential and introduced it to their
institutions. [3]
Though Dr Naismith, a Presbyterian, invented the sport, American Catholics were
among the earliest converts to basketball. Naismith approved of Catholic admiration
for his game, making special note in his book Basketball: Its Origins and Development
of the pioneering role Catholics played in popularizing basketball. He credited the
Catholics with forming the first church leagues in New York City in 1904 and wrote
with satisfaction that ‘the Catholic institutions early took up basketball in the parish
houses’. He also applauded the NCIBT’s accomplishments, commenting on the
tourney’s great popularity in 1941, just as its tenure was ending. Basketball appealed
to Catholics for multiple reasons. As an amateur sport, basketball had special appeal
to groups who faced discrimination, including Catholics, Jews, African Americans
and Native Americans. It could be played indoors or outdoors, played in confined
areas, and was relatively inexpensive to play compared to other major sports, making
it appealing to both low-income rural and urban ethnic communities. [4]
Like many of his fellow Catholics, Revd Joseph F. Thorning, SJ, of Loyola
University, Chicago, developed an interest in basketball after the First World War. He
believed that Catholic teams were among the best in the nation and that Catholic
athletes were important sources of pride for the faithful. As a scholastic and director
of athletics at Loyola, Thorning wanted to promote athletic cooperation with other
78 W. Davies and R. Clow
Catholic schools through organized competition. [5] A large Catholic tournament,
however, would have been impossible to stage on the Loyola campus before the 1920s
because the school did not build a gymnasium suited to hosting a large basketball
event until 1923. [6] With a new facility, Thorning’s proposed competition was
intended to do more than foster Catholic athletics; it was an answer to Amos Alonzo
Stagg’s well-publicized National Interscholastic Basketball Tournament (NIBT) for
public institutions established at the University of Chicago in 1917, a tournament
which the Jesuits believed had an anti-Catholic bent.
Better known as the university’s football coach, Stagg had an interest in many
sports, including basketball. Also a Protestant, Stagg knew Naismith personally from
Springfield, and became a professor of physical education at the University of
Chicago. Under Stagg’s leadership, the university developed interscholastic meets in
track and field and basketball, initially with the intent of drawing potential high-
school recruits to their athletic programme. Just 23 high-school teams took part in
his first national basketball tournament, and most were from Illinois. Despite its
suspension during the First World War, 40 teams, representing 31 states, came to the
University of Chicago in 1923, 28 as state champions. The tournament organizers
claimed that the NIBT had the best prep players in the high-school game and argued
that their tournament played a central role in shaping high-school basketball
nationwide. [7]
Stagg, whose tournament was already an established success, paid less attention to
the Catholics than they did to him. Anti-Catholic sentiment was still common in the
United States in that era, and such attitudes coloured the views of many officials of
newly formed state high-school athletic associations, so it is not surprising that the
Jesuits would be sensitive to religious discrimination in athletics. Neither Stagg nor
other NIBT organizers, however, ever explicitly or officially singled out Catholic
schools for exclusion. In its early years, and its last, the NIBT in fact included some
Catholic teams. By the mid-1920s the NIBT excluded certain parochial schools, not
because of religious bigotry but because those schools were not members of the
growing state high-school athletic associations. The associations termed any teams
that were not members ‘outlaws’ and discouraged national tournaments from
offering them legitimacy. Stagg attempted to court the favour of these increasingly
influential state associations, so the NIBT preferred to extend bids to winners of
association-sanction state tournaments. [8]
The Jesuits at Loyola interpreted the NIBT’s exclusion of Catholic teams that were
not state association members as anti-Catholic discrimination. They claimed that
Stagg deliberately made an effort to ‘use every means to keep Catholic schools out of
his tournament’. [9] Consequently, their tournament at Loyola University was
ostensibly created, in part, as a tool for religious justice. Although the annual dates of
competition for the two national tournaments did not overlap, by 1925 they were
rivals. Without ever mentioning their counterpart tournament by name, representa-
tives of both made competing claims of pre-eminence in the high school basketball
world through press releases and their official programmes. A 1925 official NCIBT
tournament programme article revealed the prevailing Jesuit belief in their tourney’s
importance, emphasizing its value for young players, but also its role in presenting ‘a
spectacle of Catholic harmony and solidarity on a national scale that it [sic] has
been well said to combat bigotry . . . more efficiently than any propaganda yet
devised’. [10]
In addition to combating perceived NIBT prejudice, the Catholic basketball
tournament promised to build Loyola University’s athletic reputation. In 1926, the
university paper The Loyola News proclaimed the tournament had gained positive
publicity, proving that ‘Loyola has clearly assumed her rightful place as the
acknowledged leader of Catholic athletics throughout the United States’. In doing so,
Loyola was not only benefiting itself but Catholic athletics nationwide. ‘The
tournament has built up Catholic athletics to an unprecedented extent,’ The Loyola
News continued:
Catholic schools have long since been barred from state tournaments and in many
localities even from competition of any sort with the public high schools. But,
thanks to the tournament, while in many cases these latter restrictions have been
lately removed, yet no Catholic school is particularly worried about them any
more. They have their own rivalries. [11]
‘There is but one meet which is as national in its scope,’ The Loyola News added, in an
obvious reference to Stagg’s tourney. ‘That tournament, which claims to be universal,
has clearly narrowed itself during the past years by its unqualified exclusion of
Catholic schools, so it cannot claim to be wider in its scope than Loyola’s.’ [12]
To compete with Stagg’s tournament, Thorning’s NCIBT needed to unite the best
Catholic high-school teams from across the country. These teams also needed to draw
large crowds to the Loyola gym. That they would consider Native American teams
high on their list of potential invites is not extraordinary. From the 1893 Columbian
Exposition, where tribal material culture was placed on public display, to the Miller
Brothers 101 Ranch Real Wild West performances, tribesmen found Chicagoans a
receptive audience. Now in the 1920s Chicagoans delighted in reading press coverage
that presented Indian basketball players as attacking warriors, just as past Wild West
show images had presented them as menaces to the winning of the West.
Tournament coverage dealing with St Francis linked them to Sitting Bull and Crazy
Horse, and used terms in reference to them such as ‘warriors’ and ‘scalping’. [13]
Tribal basketball teams were more than novelties to the NCIBT and Chicago fans.
Just as they had shown in baseball, track and field and other sports, many tribal
athletes had already proven their skill on basketball courts by the 1920s. Soon after its
invention, basketball travelled swiftly to American Indian communities by many
routes and spread widely. In 1893, a colleague of Naismith’s from the YMCA, Dr
Henry F. Kallenberg, introduced the game to Dakotas at a summer conference in Big
Stone Lake, South Dakota. Kallenberg said that they were enthusiastic and proficient
players, but he was unsure whether the sport had grown permanent roots among
them. Further west, at the Fort Shaw boarding school in Montana, a Native American
girls’ team began playing basketball in 1902, and had advanced their skills sufficiently
to win an international tournament at the 1904 World’s Fair in St Louis. [14] The
sport spread through other Indian schools nationwide, including Carlisle in
Pennsylvania and Haskell in Lawrence, Kansas. By the 1920s, Native American
students were playing the sport across the country, including at most, if not all, of the
federal government boarding schools in South Dakota. [15]
In comparison to the government Indian boarding schools, St Francis Mission
High School was late to adopt basketball. The sport’s delayed introduction at St
Francis is interesting considering Catholic interest in the game and that Jesuits had a
history of using secular activities to achieve spiritual salvation. An example of secular
exploitation of Rosebud tribesmen took place in the summer of 1883, when Father
Francis Craft escorted a group of tribal teamsters from the Rosebud Reservation to
Valentine, Nebraska, where Craft purchased building materials for a new Jesuit
school. Contrary to federal assimilation policy, but in line with Jesuit practices, Craft
encouraged the Lakota to perform the Omaha Dance for the local Nebraskans while
he passed the hat collecting contributions for the Jesuit Rosebud facility. For his
actions, federal authorities asked him to leave Rosebud, postponing the construction
of the school, but not before he had illustrated how far some Jesuits would take
secular activities for their order and God. [16]
After Craft’s departure, the Jesuits who followed and laboured at Rosebud
tempered their secular activities to complement government policy and church
philosophy. When they were off the reservation, however, Craft’s successors were
willing to encourage public displays of tribal traditions to draw attention to their
mission, as they would demonstrate with their high-school basketball teams in
Chicago. In 1886, Father John Jutz established the St Francis Mission and that same
year, Father Florentine Digmann, SJ (Black Beard) arrived. [17] When Digmann
reached Rosebud, only two small wood structures comprised the entire St Francis
complex in south central Rosebud near the Nebraska border. Under Digmann’s
guidance, the St Francis school and mission church prospered for the next four
decades. During these years, the Jesuit order constructed modern school and church
buildings and by 1925, a year after basketball finally arrived there, St Francis was
described as ‘one of the largest mission schools in the United States’. [18]
After the game arrived, basketball became an important sport to St Francis and its
pupils. Father Digmann reported ‘three American born scholastics’ brought the game
to the school in 1923, but he did not say whether the students had previous contact
with the sport outside the mission. The St Francis students quickly became
enthusiastic and skilled basketball players. Their interest and talent impressed the
Jesuit teachers, who viewed the game as an asset to their mission effort. ‘The boys
are crazy for it,’ Digmann proudly wrote, adding that the sport had made a noticeable
difference reducing the number of runaways from the mission school, although the
number had not previously been great. Rosebud Superintendent James McGregor
agreed with Digmann, writing that the sport served the mission’s interests, that ‘the
advent of basketball, and other sports, is great’, that it decreased runaways and led
parents to take ‘greater interest in the school’. The mission fielded both boys’ and
girls’ teams, but the Jesuits placed considerably greater focus on the boys’ squad, and
took great pride in its growing regional fame. [19]
Once basketball entered St Francis, the boys’ basketball team became competitive
in South Dakota, a state known nationally in the 1920s for its high calibre of
basketball competition. St Francis and other Catholic schools in South Dakota were
not members of the South Dakota Athletic Association (established in 1905).
Nonetheless, Indian and non-Indian, parochial and public schools in South Dakota
commonly scheduled games with each other. [20] In an age when the various schools
handled their own scheduling and relied on gate receipts for team funding, most
school administrators, coaches and players sought strong competitors to draw large
crowds, regardless of race, religious affiliation or their relationship with the state
association. Soon after basketball’s introduction to the mission, the St Francis squad
was being asked to play many games and was well-known regionally for its speed,
shooting and dribbling prowess. [21]
It is unclear how much confidence Father Thorning had in the St Francis team’s
athletic ability in 1924 or why exactly he chose them as one of the teams to compete
in the first NCIBT. It was a new Catholic team, well matched against any others in the
nation, but not a powerhouse. The NCIBT most likely wanted St Francis for more
than the team’s athleticism. Tournament officials quickly recognized the potential
gate draw of a team of ‘plains warriors’. One might assume that the tournament also
wanted to make use of the team’s example to prove the effectiveness of Catholic
missions and education in assimilating Native Americans, but they made no such
public emphasis. Clearly federal Indian policy and missionary efforts to spread the
Christian message in Indian communities were at best secondary concerns to the
tournament’s desire to bring in the crowds.
In need of teams, Thorning’s fledgling tournament extended a bid to St Francis,
pairing the team against competition from Latin High of Cleveland. For reasons left
unexplained in mission and tournament records, the Rosebud team did not make it
to the tournament’s inaugural year, handing a forfeit to the Cleveland team. In 1925,
the NCIBT informed William Toomey, the school’s athletic director and basketball
coach, that his team would have a second chance to go to Chicago to compete for the
national Catholic championship. [22]
The St Francis team had to overcome a major obstacle to get to the Chicago
tournament. The NCIBT paid for team meals and rooms at the popular Edgewater
Beach Hotel in Chicago, a total cost averaging about $175.00 per squad, but Loyola
did not cover travel expenses. Many high-school basketball teams in the 1920s,
including St Francis, were largely self-funded and met travel expenses with pre-agreed
guarantees paid to them by opponents, often taken as a share of gate receipts. The
mission school could not put together enough games en-route to cover the team’s
train fare to a tournament so far away. [23]
Informed about the team’s fiscal predicament by the St Francis Jesuits, Thorning
helped them financially. The Knights of Columbus, a Catholic fraternal order, ran its
own basketball league in Chicago, and also supported Catholic participation in the
sport by paying travel expenses for one needy team to the Loyola tournament. They
had offered St Francis a $500 gift in 1924, and Thorning convinced them to extend
another donation to St Francis in 1925. This time, the team made it to the NCIBT.
[24] The Loyola News eagerly announced the team’s impending arrival, referring to
them as ‘five-full-blooded Dakota Sioux’ who were ‘descendants of the Sioux who
massacred the troops of General Custer in his last historic fight’ and were ‘expected to
add quite a little colour to the meet’. [25]
The St Francis Jesuits and the young cagers were also enthused about their trip to
the NCIBT. Although only Toomey accompanied the team in 1925, St Francis’s
Joseph Zimmerman, SJ, was excited for his pupils, later writing that the students were
so anxious that ‘they could hardly restrain their joy’. He wrote:
Can you recall your sensations when first you saw a train, or your first train ride?
Some of these lads had never seen or ridden on a train, and to all, the city was an
unknown quantity. When the great day came and the boys were on their way to
Chicago they were a happy lot of children. With eyes glued to the windows they sat
for hours watching the fields and houses and telephone poles whiz past in dizzy
procession. [26]
From cursory examination, it is difficult to separate fact from fiction when reading
accounts of the team’s trips to Chicago because of the hype surrounding them.
When they neared the city limits, the boys donned their traditional Lakota outfits.
Whether they did so out of a sense of pride, at the Jesuit’s prompting or on their own
initiative to impress Chicagoans, this act alone made the young athletes a sensation in
the city. ‘What a commotion they stirred up when they stepped off the train,’
wrote Zimmerman. ‘It was hard to tell who were the more surprised, the Indian
lads at the greatness of Chicago or the bystanders at the unexpected sight of real
Indians.’ [27]
Toomey and the team arrived at the Northwest Station in the afternoon of 17
March. Seven players made the trip in 1925: Paul Bear Shield, Jesse White Horse,
George Knocks-Off-Two, Francis White Shield, David Leading Fighter, Lloyd Boyd
and Trudell Little Battle. Two younger boys also travelled with the team, Joseph Blue
Horse and five-year-old Collins Jordan, the team mascot. A reception committee
composed of representatives from Loyola University and the Knights of Columbus
met the team at the train and drove them to Mayor William E. Dever’s office.
‘Passing through the loop they stopped traffic while pedestrians gazed in open eyed
astonishment at the young warriors,’ wrote Zimmerman, adding that Dever was
equally impressed:
The Mayor was most warm in his welcome and promised the lads he would surely
come to see them play. The next few days passed as a dream. They were carried all
over the city, not as strangers, but more as old friends whom their hosts had not
seen for years. Everywhere the lads drew large crowds of spectators who watched
them until the last feather disappeared in traffic. [28]
The St Francis athletes travelled to Chicago as both ballplayers and ambassadors

for the mission. Zimmerman was pleased with their success in both regards,
professing that ‘under the supervision of these kind friends [the Knights of
Columbus] the boys gave [basketball] exhibitions to more than 10,000, thereby
bringing before these people the results of work being done by Fathers, Brothers and
Sisters’. Just how their athletic exploits and the donning of their traditional clothes
demonstrated the mission’s success at nurturing the Catholic faith among the players,
Zimmerman did not say. [29]
The 1925 team did not live up to their off-court build-up on the hardwood. Two
nights after arriving in Chicago, they played St Xavier High School of Louisville,
Kentucky, and were soundly beaten. Regaining their composure after St Xavier ran
up 18 points against their eight in the first half, St Francis did manage, however, to
outscore their opponents 13 to ten in the second half, losing by a margin of seven
points. Zimmerman attributed the loss to their exhaustion from the previous two
days’ excitement, to the floor in the Loyola gym being larger than what they were
used to and to their being scared of the ‘6,000 rabid fans’ who ‘shouted themselves
hoarse for the Red Men’. The crowd dwarfed any that the young men had seen on the
South Dakota plains, and there were few familiar faces. [30]
St Francis’ early loss on the court did not end the public support. Responding to
the crowd’s cry of ‘We want the Indians’, the players took the floor at half-time
during the championship game between Marquette High School and St Mel’s of
Chicago. The announcer introduced young Collins Jordan as ‘the last of the Sioux’ as
he and the other St Francis students began a ‘war dance’ for the fans. The Indian
Sentinel commented that ‘Never before was such cheering heard in the Loyola gym’.
The St Francis team gained more public attention when radio stations at the Sears
Roebuck building and the Edgewater Beach Hotel conducted live broadcasts of their
prayers for regional victims of recent tornadoes. [31]
Despite their disappointing early elimination from the tournament, St Francis were
the crowd favourite and their first appearance in Chicago yielded benefits for all
concerned. Zimmerman and the Jesuits had advertised their mission work to the
Chicagoans and the Knights of Columbus were credited in Jesuit newspapers for their
charity to a team that became known as ‘the pets of the Knights of Columbus’. The St
Francis players had already accomplished something for themselves as athletes as
well. They made their mark on the tournament as basketball players, a Jesuit
accompanying one of the other teams commenting that theirs was the fastest team he
had ever seen. [32]
The NCIBT organizers asked St Francis to return in 1926. In addition to being a
recognized money-maker and crowd pleaser, the team had impressed the
tournament’s reception committee with their ‘gentlemanly conduct’ and they
showed signs of improvement on South Dakota ball courts. By 1926, there was little
doubt that the St Francis team deserved another invitation to Chicago based on their
athletic ability alone. William Birmingham, SJ, coached the 1926 team that included
Little Battle, Knocks-Off-Two, White Shield, Leading Fighter, Jordan and Jesse White
Horse from the 1925 line-up along with new members Joseph Twist, Steve Two-Two,
Narcisse White Horse and Clifford Bordeaux. By late February, when the NCIBT
began compiling a list of teams for tourney bids, St Francis had a 15–1 record against
South Dakota and Nebraska teams. [33]
The St Francis Jesuits were eager to take the team back to Chicago. The mission
athletic director George Warth wrote a series of letters to tournament executive
secretary Edward C. Krupka campaigning for his team. As before, the mission could
not afford to pay travel expenses and asked for extra help. Krupka immediately
turned to William Quan, president of the Knights of Columbus Basketball League,
asking the organization to renew its sponsorship of the South Dakota team. Krupka
made it clear to Quan that bringing St Francis to Chicago was a matter of great
importance to the tournament and would serve as a means ‘to meet the keen and
even jelous [sic] competition of other universities [the University of Chicago] who
are opposing us’. NCIBT organizers assured Quan that his organization would be
praised publicly for its charity. All parties agreed to this arrangement and in March
1926 St Francis returned to the shores of Lake Michigan. [34]
When they finally arrived in Chicago on 16 March, St Francis still had a respectable
20–13 record despite a run of late-season losses. Even though they had a season
record that was only average among the 32 Catholic teams entered in 1926, the
university newspaper again devoted special attention to the Indian team, and
specifically Jordan. ‘The drum [he] carried last year was as big as [Jordan] was,’ said
the Loyola News, ‘but reports say that the little redskin has put on a few pounds by
eating South Dakota beef.’ This time the Loyola newspaper expected a better showing
from St Francis in the tournament brackets: ‘The redskins have compiled a dangerous
record this year and are determined to give the palefaces something to think about to
make up for their defeat of last year which St Xavier of Louisville won by a goodly
margin.’ Clad in their blue and white uniforms, St Francis defeated Baraga High
School of Marquette 20 to 13, but St Xavier again dashed their hopes when the teams
met in the second round. In spite of Twist’s three consecutive field goals for St
Francis, St Xavier won by a score of 23 to 19 and eventually took the 1926
championship. [35]
Fuelled by talented teams, both the competing NIBT and NCIBT were
succeeding, earning national attention in the sport and claiming record crowds
during the last half of the 1920s. [36] The NCIBT claimed total ticket sales of
between 35,000 and 40,000 for the multi-day event in 1926 and the NIBT claimed
comparable numbers. The Loyola tournament organizers recognized the key role
the St Francis team played in their continuing success, but fate intervened to keep
the mission school home in 1927. There were no problems with the team’s
performance. To the contrary, St Francis was building a reputation as a South
Dakota prep basketball power, and its accomplishments did not go unrecognized in
either their home state or Chicago. During the 1926–27-season the mission team
compiled a 23–1 record, averaging 31-and-a-half points per game versus their
opponents’ 12. They easily earned a third straight invitation to the NCIBT in 1927,
but an epidemic of scarlet fever erupted on Rosebud resulting in a quarantine that

prohibited the team from travelling. [37]
Bartholomew J. Quinn, SJ, the new NCIBT director, was disappointed when he
learned that scarlet fever would keep the St Francis team home. With St Francis
out, the Catholic tournament organizers sought another tribal entry and invited a
team from Yakima, Washington, hoping that they would draw similar public
attention. Failing in the attempt, Quinn used the vacancy as an opportunity to
expand the tournament in another direction. He asked the Knights of Columbus to
redirect their charity with the goal of expanding the tournament’s horizons to more
distant regions. Quinn asked the organization to renew its charitable financial
commitment to a team from outside the Midwest, regardless of ethnicity,
suggesting instead needy teams from Delaware, New Mexico, Texas and California.
‘We are very anxious to have a team from the Pacific coast,’ he told Quan, ‘since it
would be the first time that a team from this section of the country would be
entered in a national basketball tournament.’ The NCIBT did not get its Pacific-
coast team that year, but teams did travel from New York, Colorado and
Mississippi. The push for regional expansion, however, did not signal an end to the
tournament’s interest in St Francis. [38]
In 1928, St Francis began another run for a Catholic national title bid, compiling a
20–2 record. The team earned a particularly impressive win against regional
competition in Chadron, Nebraska, at the Chadron State College ‘Tri-State
Tournament’ that included teams from Nebraska, Wyoming, Colorado and South
Dakota. Joe Twist, a guard and the team’s captain, forward Jesse White Horse and
centre Noah Kills Enemy at Night earned special tournament honours. Based on their
strong performance in Nebraska, coach Birmingham expected a fourth invitation to
the NCIBT and Krupka responded to St Francis’s application enthusiastically. The
old problem of funding dogged the team and this time the Knights of Columbus, for
unknown reasons, rebuffed Birmingham’s requested assistance. Zimmerman and
Birmingham turned instead to their Father Provincial to ask for financial aid, but
found instead a rift between them and their superiors when it came to athletics. The
Father Provincial denied their request, telling them that the mission overemphasized
athletics and could not afford such superfluous expenses. This rift between sports and
academics extended to all schools across the country during the 1920s as educators
and coaches were arguing over the need for reform in interscholastic sports. [39]
Quinn intervened on the mission’s behalf, asking the Father Provincial to
reconsider his opposition to St Francis’s trip to the NCIBT. Expecting little to come
from his advocacy, Quinn informed Birmingham that the Father Provincial was
‘pretty wooden’ and unlikely to change his mind. Still waiting for final word on St
Francis, the NCIBT extended a bid to another South Dakota high school, Cathedral
of Sioux Falls, to ensure that the state would be represented in Chicago. The
tournament director told Birmingham he was prepared to break the tradition of
inviting only one team per state (usually the state Catholic champions if appropriate
state tourneys were held) and ‘run you in as another Western attraction’. In the end,
Cathedral went to Chicago, but not St Francis. Birmingham vented his frustration
about the stubborn Father Provincial, writing to Quinn:
It does get me though for him to be so set in his idea that athletics have been over
emphasized. We played all of our games at home this year, save two games and
were home in our own beds after those games. . . . Besides basketball is a real money
maker for the Mission. I am again at least $400 to the good on my season. That’s
good business, not overstressing athletics! [40]
The Jesuit superiors again denied financial aid in 1929 and so funding woes
continued for St Francis. During their absence, other South Dakota Catholic high-
school teams played in the now well established national Catholic tournament,
including Immaculate Conception High School of Rapid City and Cathedral of Sioux
Falls, the latter making multiple appearances. During the intervening years, the St
Francis basketball programme gained strength, earning accolades in South Dakota
and becoming one of the most sought-after teams to play in the state. When St
Francis finally returned to Chicago in 1934, they were again a regionally respected
contender.
The Great Depression did not hinder the team’s development, nor basketball’s
growth in South Dakota. The relatively inexpensive sport proved resilient during
hard economic times, with barnstorming professional teams and high-school teams
making money playing against any opponents they could afford to reach by car. Abe
Saperstein’s Harlem Globetrotters, a Chicago product despite the commercially
motivated and misleading name, were among several pro basketball teams eking out a
living criss-crossing South Dakota every winter (there were actually multiple
‘Globetrotters’ squads barnstorming through the state and country, maximizing
profits and serving as a farm system for the unit Saperstein coached personally). By
the end of the decade, St Francis had sufficient athletic skill and gate potential to
entice a wide variety of opponents, including the Globetrotters. [41]
St Francis’s return to the NCIBT in 1934 began a run of eight straight years of
attending the Loyola tourney. The Scarlet Warriors, as the team now called itself, had
outscored their opponents by better than three to one during the 1933–34-season,
losing to only one high-school opponent and twice by close margins to Globetrotters
teams. The 18-year-old sophomore centre Leonard Quick Bear averaged as many as
15 field goals a game on good nights. [42]
At only five feet 11 inches, Quick Bear and the senior guards Emil Red Fish and
George Flammond were the tallest players on the team. In an era before towering
players dominated basketball, the St Francis players would not have been considered
small, but they certainly had no height advantage under the rim against their high-
school and professional opponents. Their shortest team member, Collins Jordan, the
former mascot, was now a five-foot-four-inch guard and one of their best known
players, in part because he was the only one on the team who had been part of the
1925 NCIBT contingent. [43] What they lacked in height, they more than com-
pensated for with their excellent outside shooting and speed. ‘You can’t appreciate
the copy about these basket-shooting marvels unless you’ve seen them perform,’
reported the Tourney Times, a tournament publication:
And if you have seen them play, you’ll claim they’re ‘just plain lucky’. One glance at
their score book will convince you however that these redskins have more than just
a prayer on that ball when they let it fly at the basket from a range of thirty feet or
more.
An unnamed Globetrotters player also complimented the St Francis players, claiming

that they were the fastest team, high school or professional, that they had met in the
1933–34 barnstorming season. [44]
Their basketball prowess aside, St Francis now had difficulty meeting new
tournament eligibility rules, as well as the interminable financial obstacles to
overcome, to get to Chicago in 1934. The NCIBT organizers wanted St Francis
regardless of these obstacles. Two of St Francis’s players exceeded the eligible age limit
of 19 (which two was left unstated by St Francis’s Martin Schiltz, SJ), both having
been born in 1913. As was the case for other American Indian schools, the mission
team consistently faced criticism from their high-school opponents for unfairly
benefiting from more mature players. Had St Francis been a member of South
Dakota’s state athletic association, age violations would have been an even more
serious concern. [45]
Increasingly prevalent state athletic association eligibility rules across the nation
had strict age limits, and the NCIBT followed suit. Schiltz informed the Catholic
tournament that St Francis’s age violations were not intentional, but rather that
Indian schools, including his mission school, normally had older students on average
than non-Indian high schools. The Reverend E.C. Holton, SJ, the newest tourney
director, proved a strong advocate for the St Francis team. He informed Schiltz
that the NCIBT would ignore the age violation because of St Francis’s ‘special
situation’. [46]
Holton also convinced the NCIBT organizers to donate 50 dollars to aid the team
with travel expenses. He privately justified the small but atypical expense to the other
organizers, arguing that St Francis was a tournament ‘sensation’ that helped increase
gate receipts. [47] Schiltz and the new St Francis coach Ben Clifford (Lakota) decided
to supplement the 50-dollar donation by driving to Chicago, permitting the team to
play games against high-school teams en route through Nebraska and Iowa, allaying
travel expenses. [48]
Playing with a ‘dead-eye for baskets’, as one NCIBT official noted, St Francis
advanced to the third round in 1934, winning two close games before losing to St
Mary’s of Stockton, California, 37 to 22. The Scarlet Warriors were once again crowd
favourites, leading the Associated Press to request information on them for national
release. ‘I’ve forsaken my Norwegian ancestry and become an Indian,’ wrote
Associated Press reporter Paul Mickelson. ‘Some team always pops up to give this big
basketball show a thrill, and the Red Skins from St Francis Mission did it.’ Quick
Bear gained special recognition, earning selection to the All Tournament team.
‘Don’t be surprised if Leonard Quick Bear runs for governor of South Dakota,’ said
the Tourney Times; ‘he got his build-up at this basketball show’. The press coverage in
South Dakota also applauded the team. One reporter for the Sioux Falls Argus Leader
commented that ‘no team in the eleven years of the tournament has excited the
gallery as much as the South Dakota redskins. . . . They play ‘old style’ basketball,
wide open and fast moving, with rifle passes that amaze even the sideline coaches.’
There were Chicagoans, on the other hand, who did not treat the team so well in
1934. Some of the team’s luggage was stolen in the city and Coach Clifford stumbled
into the middle of a downtown drug store robbery. [49]
St Francis captivated fans at the Loyola tournament for the next seven years, never
winning the national Catholic championship, but always playing well and in a
thrilling fashion. Between 1924 and 1936, they had been offered special invitations to
attend the NCIBT, but in 1937 St Francis won the first annual South Dakota state
Catholic tournament, and from then on earned a guaranteed bid to Chicago as the
state Catholic champion. Their initial reception in 1924 probably had more to do
with their ethnicity than their athleticism, but their popularity in the 1930s rested
more on their skill. In the last years of the tourney, opposing teams, the NCIBT,
Loyola University and Chicago fans took the St Francis cagers seriously as ball
players. They were a marvel on the floor, pleasing spectators with their speed, long-
distance shooting and sharp passes. They never seemed to match their high-scoring
season averages (e.g. 37 points per game in 1936, which was respectable in that era)
with high tallies in Chicago, but their scoring was rarely anaemic. Quick Bear and
Jordan were among the most recognized players to Chicago fans, and William ‘Slip’
Madigan was voted best coach of the NCIBT in 1935, his first year in charge of the
Scarlet Warriors. The St Francis cagers also cemented their reputation as skilled
players in other arenas, with perhaps their most notable accomplishments being rare
victories over a Globetrotters squad and the nationally renowned House of David
barnstorming team in 1938. The team had not yet peaked in 1938, nearly winning the
championship game in 1941, the tournament’s last year. [50]
Two St Francis players later recalled their glory days in Chicago, sharing the
opinion that ‘Slip’ Madigan had helped make them a true NCIBT contender. Collins
Jordan, who left the team in 1937, and Vince Brewer, who played on the 1941 NCIBT
squad, both fondly remembered their tournament appearances and Madigan. During
an age when the zone defence dominated, said Jordan, ‘this Madigan came in and
showed us how to play man to man, and how to roll off of screens’. Jordan added:
You had the men spread out, why? Against the man-to-man. And since we were
short and had a lot of speed, it was advantageous. We’d go and pass-off and roll-
off, just keep going like that and had the whole middle aisle open. So if the screen
works, you can drive in. And if somebody on the end of the key comes out to you,
you pass to him, so it was hard to stop. [51]
Jordan and Brewer also had explanations for why their respective squads failed to
take it all in Chicago, though both believed their teams had the necessary talent.
Jordan blamed their failures on problems with team chemistry, problems stemming
from reservation relations such as interpersonal jealousies. He observed:
Now on the team I played on we went to the third place. We could have won if
we’d stuck together. But it was the old sociological bugbear, half-breeds and full-
bloods. We started fighting among ourselves. . . . The reason was because I was only
five feet four-and-a-half when I was getting all the publicity. [52]
Over the years, the St Francis teams had never relied on set plays for their success.
Brewer remembered that St Francis only had one designed play in 1941, the year they
came closest to winning it all. That play
was a double screen from the two forwards to the guards and pass to the centre and
hand-off. . . . In the championship game, we had ten seconds to go, we were tied, we
pulled the same play, perfect. They faked it to me and handed it to the next guy,
and he blew it, landed under the basket. [53]
With man-to-man defence and their one set play, St Francis had earned the respect
of thousands of Chicagoans as athletes, but the team never escaped non-Indian
stereotypes of them as an ‘Indian’ team. Stereotypical and sensationalist references to
the team often appeared in tournament literature and media accounts during their
tenure. A 1940 Chicago Tribune headline announced their impending arrival in the
city with ‘A Smoke Signal Warns of Indians on Basket Warpath’. The St Francis
players’ off-court antics seemed particularly interesting to non-Indians. The Loyola
News and South Dakota newspapers reported the 1925 and 1926 squads joy-riding in
elevators all day after their exit from the tournament; the 1934 team performing a
‘war dance’ around a bonfire beneath the arena floor ‘to the consternation of
gymnasium fire officials;’ and of another year’s team setting a fire in their chilly hotel
room after a Chicago newspaperman told them that to do so was a normal act on
cold days. [54]
Some of these off-court accounts of the team were no doubt true, especially
considering that these were teams composed of enthusiastic young men from rural
America. Still, reporters particularly relished such stories about St Francis and were
no doubt prone to exaggeration. The 1934 team did indeed burn something
underneath the arena floor that brought the fire department to the Loyola gym, but it
seems unlikely that it was a ‘bonfire’. The NCIBT organizers did not express concern
about the St Francis teams causing any trouble, at least not when writing to their
colleagues. At the end of each tournament, the NCIBT’s reception committee wrote
reports on each team that were not intended for public consumption. These
confidential papers that committee chair John T. Dempsey and his successors
compiled spoke candidly about every visiting team, critiquing every aspect of their
behaviour, including how much they ate at meals, their coaches’ demeanours, and the
exact costs of any damage they did to their hotel rooms. [55]
Dempsey told the NCIBT director which coaches and teams cooperated with
officials and who complained too much; which teams played exciting ball and who
was flat; which players were polite and who were troublemakers. Dempsey
recommended the teams to be invited back and those who should not. The reports
also made special note of administrators and coaches who were important political
allies of the tournament. Dempsey was so meticulous that he even went so far as to
criticize one non-Indian team for having a pillow fight in one of their hotel rooms.
It seems unlikely that the reception committee would fail to mention any incident
of the St Francis team lighting a fire in their hotel room. In fact, the reports
consistently referred to the St Francis players’ conduct as ‘gentlemanly’ and
‘orderly’. If basketball was indeed a sport that could help build character, as both
Naismith and the Jesuits believed, Dempsey’s reports hold St Francis as a shining
positive example. [56]
St Francis was not the only Indian team ever invited to the NCIBT. St Stephen’s
mission from Wind River, Wyoming, a Shoshone/Arapaho reservation, and Holy
Rosary, a Pine Ridge Jesuit mission that only went to the tenth grade, both sent teams
to the NCIBT in the late 1930s and early 1940s. The St Stephens team gained some
tournament and public attention when they first entered the tournament in 1937, but
never attained St Francis’s popular status. St Stephens also shared St Francis’s chronic
funding problems, but found a very different fiscal solution. Whereas the St Francis
team just promoted their mission and the tournament, the St Stephens team served
directly as a promoter for the state of Wyoming. Mission administrator A.C.
Zuercher managed to get the local county to raise $259 to meet the team’s travel
expenses in exchange for his willingness to construct a booth at Loyola to display
Wyoming tourism brochures. He believed that sending the mission team, nicknamed
‘The Galloping Antelopes’, to the tournament would ‘bring no little prestige for our
Mission here in the State’. Tournament director Bernard Reddy was sufficiently
excited about the prospect of having another successful Indian team that he eagerly
consented to Zuercher’s tourism booth. [57]
As much as any championship team, St Francis had helped bring the crowds to the
NCIBT, which outlived Stagg’s cross-town tournament by a decade. Ironically,
the University of Chicago’s NIBT was a victim of its own success. For years Stagg
and the University of Chicago organizers had taken credit for encouraging the
development of state high-school athletic associations by refusing to admit teams to
the tourney that would not join their respective association. The NCIBT, meanwhile,
had encouraged the development of Catholic counterparts to those public-school
associations. By the early 1930s, the rift between the two tournaments was paralleled
by similar rifts between the public and parochial associations in each state. As these
associations grew in number, state public and Catholic tournaments became more
influential. The increasing power of public- and Catholic high-school athletic
associations and their state tournaments began to erode the influence of both
national tournaments in Chicago, but the University of Chicago faced strong
opposition earlier than did Loyola, and as a result ended its tournament in 1931.
After the NIBT ended, the Loyola tournament lasted for another decade as the
premier national high-school basketball championship, but it too was being
overshadowed by state tournaments, and the added pressure of America’s

involvement in the Second World War was too great to overcome. After the 1941
tournament, the NCIBT ended. St Francis was there until the end, having appeared in
over half of the NCIBT tournaments, not counting years the team had to turn down
invitations. The mission team and the tournament had, in fact, grown together, the
tournament selling more tickets by putting the popular team on the floor, and St
Francis gaining national exposure that contributed to their strong basketball
reputation in South Dakota. [58]
In the end, the St Francis Jesuits, the NCIBT and Loyola University all gained
something of value from their relationship in Chicago, and so too may have the St
Francis players. The team gained the chance to travel, to see the sights of Chicago, to
make their families and community proud and, most importantly, to play a game
they loved against some of the greatest high-school-level competition in the country.
Whether they fully recognized that, in doing so, they enabled non-Indians to exploit
their image for financial and institutional gain is difficult to say; but, after all, they
were basketball players. They, and other young Catholic men, were in Chicago to
compete, and the machinations of their mentors, the tournament planners and their
rivals across town were probably far from their minds. Through basketball, and this
tournament, these players were allowed opportunities to excel in a public arena that
were not easy to come by on the reservation.
Notes
[1] The authors want to thank David Beck and Kenneth Lockridge for reading this manuscript
and offering valuable comments and additions.
[2] Gosnell, Machine Politics, 104; Ducey, Sunday Morning, 132.
[3] Naismith, Basketball, 137–8; Radio interview, 15 Dec. 1932, file 1932, Naismith Morgue Files,
1888–1979, Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas (hereafter Naismith
Files). On Indian boarding school sports, see Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do.
[4] Naismith, Basketball, 132–3. Many Jews and African Americans took great interest in the
sport, gaining notoriety at the professional level by the 1930s.
[5] ‘Tournaments of Other Years’, Tourney Topics, National Catholic Interscholastic Basketball
Tournament, 1935, 10, folder 20, box 4, series 1, National Catholic Interscholastic Basketball
Tournament collection (NCIBT), University Archives, Loyola University of Chicago
(hereafter NCIBT).
[6] Garraghan, The Jesuits of the Middle United States. Volume III, 460.
[7] ‘Twelfth Annual National Interscholastic Basketball Tournament, 1930’. official programme,
folder 12, box 2, Amos Alonzo Stagg Papers, Special Collections Research Center, University
of Chicago Library (hereafter Stagg Papers). Stagg and various members of the NIBT
committee commonly wrote entries for the well-known Converse, Spalding, and Reach
basketball guides of that era, frequently pointing to the importance of the tournament in
helping to prompt the creation of state athletic associations, standardized rules and playing
styles in the sport.
[8] NIBT constitution and by-laws, folder 6, box 65 (1924), Stagg Papers.
[9] ‘Procedures for Planning National Catholic Basketball Tournament’, folder 1, box 1, series 1
(n.d.), NCIBT.
[10] Mark John Carnall, ‘A Great Opportunity’, in ‘National Catholic Tournament: The Catholic
Classic, 1925’, official programme, 4, NCIBT. In addition to official tournament programmes,
various authors connected to the tournaments wrote self-congratulatory, and usually
predictable, reports in the Reach, Spalding and Converse guides.
[11] ‘The Tournament ‘Nuf Said’. The Loyola News, 17 (March 1926), 1, 3–4.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Moses, Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians, 129–31, 178. Examples of
newspaper references to Indian teams using racial stereotypes include the Sioux Falls Argus
Leader, 24 March 1934, 3; 25 March 1934, 9; 21 March 1935, 11; and a Chicago Tribune article
reprinted in the 1940 NCIBT official tournament programme, 11, folder 19, box 6, series 1,
NCIBT.
[14] Radio interview, 15 Dec. 1932, file 1932, Naismith Files; Peavy and Smith. ‘World
Champions’.
[15] South Dakota Indian schools with basketball teams included, at least, Pipeston, Wahpeton,
Pierre, Rapid City, Holy Rosary and Flandreau as shown in the records of these schools:
see Subject Correspondence Files, RG75, NARA Central Plains, Kansas City, MO
(hereafter Central Plains). Evidence of basketball’s wide spread to government boarding
schools can be found in Bureau of Indian Affairs Annual Superintendent’s Narratives, RG75,
microfilm.
[16] Clow. The Rosebud Sioux, 145. For a more positive view of the episode, see Foley, Father
Francis M. Craft, 22–3. Foley claims the charges were overstated.
[17] Garraghan, The Jesuits of the Middle United States, 524.
[18] ‘Father Florentine Digmann, SJ. Fifty Years A Priest’.
[19] Digmann to Lusk, 21 Jan. 1924, frame 706, correspondence roll 118, series 1, R112/1923 and
R118/1924, Bureau of Catholic Indian Missions Records, microfilm, Special Collections and
Archives, Marquette University (hereafter BCIM); James H. McGregor to CIA, 11 March
1929, Frame 478–79, R157/1929, BCIM.
[20] ‘Reconciliation and Roundball’, film by the Dakota Indian Foundation, Cudahy Library,
Loyola University of Chicago. Regarding team scheduling, see Subject Correspondence Files
for South Dakota boarding schools, RG75, Central Plains.
[21] Subject Correspondence Files, RG 75, Central Plains; Joseph A. Zimmerman, SJ, account in
Indian Sentinel, 5 (Summer 1925), 102.
[22] McGrath, ‘The National Catholic High School Tournament’; Digmann to Hughes, 14 July
1924, Frames 809–810, Roll 118, Series 1, BCIM.
[23] Reception Committee reports, folder 4, box 2 series 1 (1925), NCIBT.
[24] Indian Sentinel, 5 (Summer 1925), 102; Digmann to Hughes, 14 July 1924, frames 809–810,
roll 118, series 1, BCIM.
[25] The Loyola News, 11 March 1925; Collins P. Jordan, interview with Mark G. Thiel, Kateri
Tekakwitha Oral History Project Records, 1994–95, KTP-25, Special Collections and Archives,
Marquette University.
[26] Indian Sentinel, 5 (Summer 1925), 103.
[27] Ibid. Even though the papers consistently referred to them as ‘full-blooded Sioux’, this was
not so. Jordan, for one, was Oglala and Sicangu, but also approximately a quarter Scottish-
Irish.
[28] Reception Committee reports, folder 4, box 2 series 1 (1925), NCIBT; Indian Sentinel, 5,
103.
[29] Reception Committee reports, folder 4, box 2 series 1 (1925), NCIBT; Indian Sentinel, 5, 103.
[30] Indian Sentinel, 5, 103.
[31] Ibid.; The Loyola News, 18 March and 25 March 1925.
[32] Indian Sentinel, 5, 103; The Loyola News, 25 March 1925.
[33] Reception Committee reports, folder 6, box 2, series 1 (1926), NCIBT.

[34] Warth to Krupka, 23 Feb. 1926, Krupka to Warth, 26 Feb. 1926; Krupka to Quan, 26 Feb.
1926, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT. Thorning had left the tournament and been replaced
by Revd D.F. Burns as tournament director, while executive secretary Krupka handled much
of the correspondence with teams. On promise to give the Knights publicity, see tournament
planning procedures memo, folder 1, box 1, series 1 (n.d.), NCIBT.
[35] Reception Committee reports, folder 6, box 2, series 1 (1926), NCIBT; The Loyola News, 17
March 1926; Hillenbrand, ‘Third Annual National Catholic Interscholastic Basketball
Tournament at Loyola University’.
[36] The Reach, Converse and Spaldings guides devoted considerable attention to both tournaments
throughout their tenures.
[37] ‘Basketball Record of the St Francis Mission Team ’26–’27,’ folder 13, box 15, series 3,
NCIBT.
[38] Publicity Director’s Scrapbook, 1927, 15D, Scrapbooks, NCIBT; Quinn to Quan, 4 March
1927, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT.
[39] Birmingham to Krupka, 7 Feb. 1928; Krupka to Birmingham, 13 Feb. 1928; Zimmerman to
Krupka, 25 Feb. 1928; Birmingham to Krupka, 27 Feb. 1928; Birmingham to Quinn, 3 March
1928, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT.
[40] Birmingham to Quinn, 3 March 1928; Quinn to Birmingham, 7 March 1928; Birmingham to
Quinn, 11 March 1928, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT.
[41] Regarding the Globetrotters’ organization, see Menville, The Harlem Globetrotters; Wiker, The
Harlem Globetrotters.
[42] Tourney Times, 25 March 1934, folder 9, box 4, series 1, NCIBT.
[43] 1935 official NCIBT programme, box 4, folder 20, series 1, NCIBT.
[44] Tourney Times, 25 March 1934, folder 9, box 4, series 1, NCIBT; ‘Hotel Report’, folder 7,
box 4, series 1 (1934), NCIBT; Schiltz to Holton, 26 Feb. 1934, folder 13, box 15, series 3,
NCIBT.
[45] Schiltz to Holton, 26 Feb. 1934, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT.
[46] Schiltz to Holton, 26 Feb. 1934, Holton to Schiltz, 28 Feb. 1934, and Schiltz to Holton, 13
March 1934, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT; Holton to Wilson, 3 April 1934, folder 7, box
1, series 1, NCIBT.
[47] Holton to Wilson, 3 April 1934, folder 7, box 1, series 1, NCIBT.
[48] Schiltz to Holton, 26 Feb. 1934, Holton to Schiltz, 28 Feb. 1934, and Schiltz to Holton, 13
March 1934, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT.
[49] ‘Hotel Report’ for St Francis, folder 7, box 4, series 1 (1934), NCIBT; Mickelson column in
Tourney Times, 25 March 1934, 4–6, folder 9, box 4, series 1, NCIBT; Argus Leader (Sioux
Falls, SD), 24 March 1934, 3.
[50] ‘Reconciliation and Roundball’; Alvin Bies to Loyola University Athletic Directory, 8 March
1937, folder 13, box 15, series 3, NCIBT. The NCIBT had encouraged South Dakota and other
states to establish their own high-school athletic associations and tournaments, standardizing
their invitation process by prioritizing bids for state tourney winners.
[51] ‘Reconciliation and Roundball.’
[52] Ibid.
[53] Ibid.
[54] The Loyola News, 6 March 1934, 1; 15 March 1935, 6–7; 1940 NCIBT official programme, 11,
folder 19, box 6, series 1, NCIBT, including excerpt from Chicago Tribune; Argus Leader(Sioux
Falls, SD), 21 March 1935, 11.
[55] Argus Leader, 21 March, 1935, 11.
[56] Dempsey comments in Reception Committee team reports, folder 4, box 2, series 1 (1925 and
1926), NCIBT.
[57] A.C. Zuercher to Reddy, 30 Nov. 1936, Zuercher to Reddy, 21 Jan. 1937, and Zuercher to
Reddy, 1 March 1937, folder 24, box 16, series 3, NCIBT.
[58] Spalding’s Official Basketball Guide, 1930–31, 119–20; ‘Excerpt from a letter written by A.A.
Stagg regarding the National Interscholastic Basketball Tournament’, folder 12, box 1, series 1,
NCIBT.
References
Clow, Richmond L. ‘The Rosebud Sioux: The Federal Government and the Reservation Years,
1878–1940’. Ph.D. diss., University of New Mexico, 1977.
Ducey, Michael H. Sunday Morning: Aspects of Urban Ritual. New York: Free Press, 1977.
‘Father Florentine Digmann, SJ. Fifty Years A Priest’. Indian Sentinel, 9 (Winter 1928–1929): 9–10.
Foley, Thomas W. Father Francis M. Craft: Missionary to the Sioux. Lincoln, NE: University of
Garraghan, Gilbert J. The Jesuits of the Middle United States. New York: American Press, 1938.
Gosnell, Harold F. Machine Politics: Chicago’s Model. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1937.
Hillenbrand, Harold. ‘Third Annual National Catholic Interscholastic Basketball Tournament at
Loyola University’. In Spalding’s Official Basketball Guide, 1925–1926. New York: American
Sports Publishing Company.
McGrath, James E. ‘The National Catholic High School Tournament’. In Converse Basketball
Yearbook, 1924. Chicago: Converse Rubber Shoe Co., 1924.
Menville, Chuck. The Harlem Globetrotters: Fifty Years of Fun and Games. New York: David McKay
Company, Inc., 1978.
Moses, L.G. Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians, 1883–1933. Albuquerque, NM:
University of New Mexico Press, 1996.
James Naismith, Basketball: Its Origins and Development. With introduction by William J. Baker.
Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1996 (first printing, New York: Association Press,
1941).
Peavy, Linda and Ursula Smith. ‘World Champions: The 1904 Girls’ Basketball Team from Fort
Shaw Indian Boarding School’. Montana (Winter 2001), 2–25.
Wiker, Josh. The Harlem Globetrotters. Philadelphia, PA: Chelsea House Publishers, 1977.
Diamonds, Ovals, and Rings:
Northwestern Shoshone Sports
at the Washakie Colony of
Northern Utah, 1903–1929
Matthew E. Kreitzer
During the first quarter of the twentieth century Northwestern Shoshone from the
Washakie Indian Colony of northern Utah competed with their white neighbours in
sporting contests. These events were recorded by white news reporters and, even more
conspicuously, by a Shoshone journalist named Willie Ottogary. For 23 years Ottogary
reported the daily highlights, struggles, successes and sporting events of his people. His
social column was published in several newspapers of northern Utah and southern Idaho.
Living descendants of the Washakie, Utah, group provide another key source of
information on sporting activities engaged in by the Northwestern Shoshone. These three
key sources are combined for the first time, in this essay, to bring to light the fascinating
stories of Shoshone athletics from 1903 to 1929.
George James’s Fish Medicine Was Strong

In 1903 a decisive baseball game between a white team from Morgan, Utah, and a
team of Northwestern Shoshone from the Washakie Indian Colony of Box Elder
County, Utah, was held on a baseball diamond near Morgan, Utah. Catch
Toyahdook, a Shoshone participant from Washakie remembered the game and
passed down the following story about it:
Before each ball game started the Indian players gathered together and offered a
prayer. This day a man by the name of George James was asked to say the prayer.
His prayer went something like this: ‘Creator of us all – we ask thee to confuse these
white men we are going to play against today. May the baseball be as slick as the
fish. May the ball slip out of the white men’s hands and may he become angry and
swear and take God’s name in vain. May he loose his temper and his head, so we
can win this game. Grant us this wish and we will be very grateful.
96 M. E. Kreitzer
After the unusual prayer the Indians gathered all their baseballs and mixed them
in a tub full of fish. Catch Toyahdook remembered rubbing the fish on the
baseballs. ‘Be slick as a fish,’ he kept telling the balls. ‘Jump out of the white men’s
hands,’ he repeated. The Indians played hard and won the game. Catch often said
the George James’s fish medicine was strong. [1]
Baseball represented a different kind of battleground for local whites and the
Shoshone of northern Utah in the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The
friendly competition that existed on the baseball diamond in 1903 symbolized
more sociable relations than those shared in 1863 when a military campaign of
extermination was waged on the Shoshone. On 29 January that year the
Northwestern Shoshone were nearly wiped out by Colonel Patrick E. Conner and
his California Volunteers in what history has recorded as the Bear River Massacre.
Upwards of 300 Shoshone were killed in the pre-dawn attack on their wintering
grounds near the confluence of Battle Creek and the Bear River, near what is now
Preston, Idaho. [2] The Native survivors eventually settled into an agrarian lifestyle
under the tutelage of missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints (hereafter LDS or Mormon). LDS leaders worked with the Indian missionaries
and local authorities in a combined effort to locate suitable acreage where the
Shoshone could flourish on their own. By 1880, land had been purchased in northern
Box Elder County for the Northwestern Shoshone, and major white population
centres were pacified that the Indian Colony, named in honour of Chief Washakie of
the Eastern Shoshone, was located in the furthest reaches of northern Box Elder
County, a few miles shy of the Idaho border. The decades following the Bear River
Massacre were important to the political, social, economic and cultural survival of the
Northwestern Shoshone.
It was a critical period when local indigenous groups were adjusting to the
predominantly white Utah-Mormon culture. The Shoshone accepted those aspects of
white society that suited their needs while at the same time they struggled to maintain
those key attributes that kept their traditional culture alive and unique. Sporting
events gave both groups the opportunity to bridge the cultural gap through the first
three decades of the twentieth century.
This essay presents the sports legacy of the Washakie Shoshone of northern Utah
from 1903 to 1929. This time period was especially significant because of the
awakening that occurred in American sports during those decades, particularly in the
1920s. This golden age was embodied in the immortal names of George Herman
‘Babe’ Ruth, Jim Thorpe and William Harrison ‘Jack’ Dempsey among others. Many
Shoshone followed sports coverage in regional newspapers and kept up on current
trends, events and athletes. These Shoshone had a unique advantage; they had a
Shoshone journalist on their team. His name was Willie Ottogary. Ottogary was the
son of a survivor of the Bear River Massacre. He was enrolled, along with others of
his generation, in a Mormon-run day school at Washakie where he learned the
rudiments of the English language. He also gained experience in the white man’s
sports. Ottogary, who was also a member of the baseball team (playing second base in
1909) headlined in the ‘fish medicine’ story, wrote a social column on the Washakie
community. For 23 years he reported the daily lives and activities of his kinsmen to
several newspapers of northern Utah and southern Idaho. Whites who read his
column saw it as entertaining, challenging – due to his vernacular style and unique
idiom – humorous and informative, but not really substantial. The collection, in its
entirety, elicits a deeper and broader contextual appreciation. Common themes such
as sports coverage ran the full length and breadth of his journalistic career, which
began in 1906 and ended with his death in 1929.
Few opportunities exist for scholars to study American Indian themes through
American Indian primary sources. This study is endowed with a rich store of primary
accounts, namely the Willie Ottogary letters, contemporary news coverage of these
same sporting events by white reporters, and the memories of living descendants of
the Shoshone who dwelt at Washakie. [3]
Ottogary’s letters provide a view of Indians involved in the sporting world of
northern Utah that has to this point been mostly buried in archives. While the
content of Ottogary’s letters deals with the everyday lives of his people, there are
considerable references to sports. Ottogary recorded a wide range of sporting
activities: baseball, boxing (a major theme covered by Ottogary, for his two sons,
Chester and Custer, both achieved celebrity status throughout the region as pugilists),
horse racing, hunting contests (and the culminating ‘rabbit-hunt dances’) and to a
lesser degree basketball, rodeo, ‘sham battles’ (performed during communal holidays
such as the 24 July commemoration of the arrival of the first Mormon pioneers in the
Salt Lake Valley), foot races, field events and even dogsled races. Comparing
Ottogary’s coverage of these events to coverage provided by white correspondents
provides a clearer picture of the role Shoshone athletes had on the sporting heritage
of northern Utah. This legacy was bequeathed to the current generation of Shoshone
through the writings of Willie Ottogary, other reporters and the accounts of surviving
descendants of the Shoshone of Washakie. [4]
Baseball
According to an article in the Salt Lake Tribune, baseball made its way into
northern Utah in April 1868. An easterner named Charles West conferred with
some locals about the game and, when further prodded, produced a rulebook of
the game. [5] Soon afterward, the ‘Eureka’ was organized, followed by other teams.
Early games were played for town pride, though wagering soon augmented the
original motive.
It is unclear when the Northwestern Shoshone first organized a baseball team, but
it was probably while attending the Washakie day school, with its combined
population of Shoshone and white students, that the two groups fielded teams and
played. Since the Washakie Shoshone had an established team with set positions by
1903, they likely had been playing unorganized ball much earlier. The first recorded
game between the Shoshone of Washakie and a white community was the Washakie
98 M. E. Kreitzer
vs. Morgan game referred to in the introduction of this chapter. This game, and those
that followed, were likely played according to accepted rules of the day.
Members of the Washakie baseball team of 1903 included: Seth Eagle [Pubigee],
Charley Perdash, and Moroni Timbimboo (pitchers) – the remaining positions were
played by Ketch [Catch] Toyahdook, Ammon Pubigee (Willie Ottogary’s brother-in-
law, married to Willie’s sister, Eliza), George James, George P. Sam, George Peyope,
Tymos [Timus] Perdash, Amos Moemberg, Charley Broom, Willie Ottogary, Henry
Hootchew and Jacob Peyope. [6] As earlier noted, the Washakie team – spurred on
by the ‘fish medicine’ of George James – won this game.
At another game, played in 1909, a slightly different team from Washakie took the
field in Logan against a team known as the ‘Boosters’. Logan was holding its semi-
centennial celebration, which included, among other activities, a parade and a
Shoshone encampment on the Logan Tabernacle grounds, booths, speakers and
baseball games. Washakie fielded a team consisting of [James?] Brown (pitcher), Gill
[?] (catcher), Moroni [Timbimboo] (first base), Will [Ottogary] (second base),
George [Peyope, or P. Sam, or James?] (third base), Frank [?] (shortstop), Thomas
[?] (left field) and Ren [Lorenzo] Hootchew (centre field). The Washakie team fared
poorly at the game, as The (Logan) Journal recorded:
The Ball Game . . . began about 4 o’clock. It resulted in a victory for the Boosters by
a score of 10 to 2. The Indians are not the most proficient baseball artists in the
world – in fact they know but very little about the great national game and as a
result the Boosters did not have to exert themselves at all in order to win. The red
men had one good ball player – their first baseman – but the rest of them were
pretty slow. They scored 2 runs in the first inning, but after that they never had a
look in. A big crowd – estimated at 3,500 – saw the game. Coach Teatzel of the AC
[Agricultural College] acted as umpire. [7]
The outcome of the Logan game was more indicative of the Washakie team’s
efforts against the more established teams from larger communities. The Washakie
group never fielded a powerhouse team in northern Utah. In fact, of the roughly
20 games Ottogary reported on, he noted only five that they had won. The
motivation to play baseball at Washakie, therefore, seemed centred around social
factors such as communal spirit and satisfaction as an outgrowth of regional
participation. The Shoshone enjoyed playing baseball whether they won or lost. It
gave them a chance to connect with their white neighbours in an appropriate and
valued way. The Washakie team was invited to play exhibition games at several of
the established national and regional celebrations like the end of school carnivals/
field days at Fort Hall, Idaho, as well as seasonal games during the summer. In
May 1924, an invitation was extended to the Washakie group from Fort Hall.
Ottogary reported:
Our agent is been here in our little town. He want our baseball team come up Fort
Hall to play some boys in school. He said he will give us a bed and some to eat and
also and pay some our expense too. This was on the 31 day of May. The Fort Hall
Indians School track meet on 31 at the school. I hope our boys going up there play
ball. . . . The boys been practicing ball now on the new baseball diamond. Some of
them are proud of it. This was for long time. We going have a baseball team this
summer. Well sir it is real nice to have a playground for our little town. [8]
Perhaps the boys gained sufficient practice, as they defeated the unwary Idaho
team in a close game. Regarding the game at Fort Hall, The Pocatello Tribune
recorded:
Oh, say, let’s chalk up another score for the Indian. No patriotic American but will
fervently uphold that our civilization has one wonderful product, one supreme
attainment – baseball, and that’s an easy guess. Well, the way the Indians walloped
the whites and didn’t half try, relegates the ‘superior race’ to the seats of the
backward peoples. In justice to one white, Jackson, the pitcher, it must be recorded
that his good work went for naught, for friends of the Pocatello high school boys
swear that bunch never did have such a day of muffs and boots and rattles and ball-
ups. Score 10 to 9. [9]
The following year, the Washakie team was again invited to participate in the
festivities of the closing of the Fort Hall School for the summer. This time, however,
the Washakie team met a more prepared team and suffered a humbling defeat –
losing by a score of 11 to 2. [10]
Aside from playing Fort Hall teams, the Washakie team had played games against
West Portage, Portage, Plymouth, Garland, Clarkston, Hooper, Ogden, Logan,
Layton (all of Utah), Malad and Holbrook (both of Idaho). An interesting aspect of
the Clarkston game was the coverage it received both by a local sportswriter and by
Ottogary. Both articles appeared in The Journal. The white reporter covered some of
the key facts of the game, but Ottogary delivered a more personal reaction.
Clarkston, May 31. – The Clarkston baseball team won its game Saturday from
the Washakie Indians by the score of 11 to 5. It was an interesting game and a
large crowd attended, there being sixty automobiles on the grounds. There were
two unfortunate accidents whereby one Indian was hit in the eye with the ball
and was forced to retire from the game. Another Indian hurt his foot while
running to first base and also retired. A Clarkston lad let his bat slip from his
hand while batting. The stick flew to the center of the diamond, routing both the
pitcher and umpire. [11]
Ottogary’s letter, aside from his usual Washakie happenings information, included
more personal detail:
Our baseball team went over to Clarkston, Utah, last Saturday played with league
team over there. We lose game to score of 10 to 6 [sic] in favour of Clarkston team.
This was a good game. I went over with the boys and I seen some acquainted,
Mr Thompson was my old acquaint. I and him used to play baseball together. . . .
Mr Willie Neaman hit with ball while playing over to Clarkston. The ball hit his
right eye and a small cut above his eyes and he improved nicely now. But he
unconvenienced a few minute. . . . Mr Mose Neaman and Jim Pabawena was went
over to watch the game ball over to Clarkston. [12]
100 M. E. Kreitzer
Not only did Ottogary mention the name of the injured player, but he also noted that
he had met an acquaintance from his own ball-playing days. He also listed some of
the Washakie residents who made the trip to Clarkston to watch the game.
Ottogary routinely covered the comings and goings of his kinsmen in his letters.
His detailed coverage marked baseball as an important part of Shoshone life at
Washakie. Baseball, and its early players, left an indelible impression on the physical
and cultural landscape of Washakie. This impression would remain in place until the
Second World War decimated the Washakie population and its sporting teams, as
many residents left to enter the service or to work in war-related occupations.
Horse Racing
The Shoshone had a long-standing tradition of racing horses. For hundreds of years
the Eastern and Northern Shoshone had been developing their horse herds and
through selective breeding had improved the overall quality of their mounts. The
Northwestern Shoshone of Washakie were also skilled horsemen. In 1885, a reporter
visited the Washakie colony and noted: ‘They already have 1,500 head of sheep of
their own, and herd 2,000 belonging to others, on shares. They also have quite a large
band of horses, which they are gradually grading up by crossing with French and
Morgan stallions, three of which they keep for that purpose.’ [13] Again in 1898, a
reporter from The Deseret News, identified only as ‘Salop’, recorded: ‘These Indians
have improved their horses from a small Indian pony to a good farm horse and in
many ways are ahead of their white brothers.’ [14] From these early references, it is
clear that the Washakie group had established themselves as expert horsemen.
Breeding; however, was merely the first step to developing a horse racing tradition.
The colts had to be gentled and within a couple of years they required breaking.
Several skilled trainers were located at Washakie, and since horse teams were still
doing most of the farm work, many of the Washakie farmers were adept at breaking
horses. Their ancestors had raced horses for pleasure as well as for purse by wagering
on outcomes, and the Washakie residents of the early twentieth century rekindled the
earlier flame by competing with their white neighbours at horse racing. The interest
was felt in other Shoshone areas as well – Owyhee, Nevada, Fort Washakie,
Wyoming, Fort Hall, Idaho, and Skull Valley, Utah, to name a few. Each of these
areas held horse races that coincided with other holiday celebrations such as the
Fourth of July and county fairs. These races were well organized, right down to the
monitoring of track sizes, specific distances to run and other regulations.
As the Washakie residents grew accustomed to the routine of white community-
run horse racing events, they invested more in their preparations. During the racing
season of 1924, they attended races in Elko, Nevada, Malad, Idaho, Logan, Utah, and
Brigham City, Utah. Ottogary mentioned that Elias Pubigee (the Pubigee boys, Elias,
Enos and Seth, were nephews of Ottogary) and Nephi Perdash both had horses
entered in races held at the American Falls, Idaho, rodeo. Several close relatives drove
up to give their support. [15] In the summer of 1925, Ottogary introduced one of the
most famous horses from Washakie ever to race the oval track in northern Utah:
Buckskin Nelly (or Nellie). Enos Pubigee owned this mare. Ottogary wrote: ‘She is
real race mare. She outrun anything around here. She was run against fast horse in
the state last fall over to Logan Fair. She going entered [this] fall too.’ [16] The fall
racing season of 1925 was not covered sufficiently by Ottogary, other than his
mentioning that some of the horses from Washakie had won. However, he did note
that his nephew Elias Pubigee was injured ‘‘on Roman [style] race down Tremonton
while they had a fair and he fall over two horses. He sprain one his foot.’ [17]
In 1926, however, the Washakie community took great strides in becoming a
centre for horse racing champions. Ottogary reported in May that after a communal
effort, a track had been constructed east of Washakie:
They are go try out their horse or training horses for coming fair day this year. We
have some good horses here now and going have a big race here some day. This
track is half mile around. It is good for our town. Well sir it is benefit for our little
town. [18]
A few weeks after the track was completed Ottogary noted that real horse training was
going on there and that the Washakie horses would be prepared to race against white-
owned horses.
Later in the fall, the Washakie group competed at the Peach Day races (Brigham
City, Utah). Not only did Enos Pubigee enter a horse but Nephi Perdash and
T. (Thomas?) Pabawena did also. Their horses bore names such as Indian Tom, Red
Cloud, Flirt, Strawberry and, of course, Buckskin Nelly. The Washakie horses placed
well and out of a total purse of $1,097.50 awarded for both days (22 races), the
Washakie group netted 21 per cent of the total. [19]
The Washakie group and their horses became standard features at the many horse
racing events of the region. Again, the Shoshone of Washakie earned the respect of
their white neighbours as they competed in often close races. The following year, at
the American Legion Post-sponsored races at Pioneer Park (Brigham City, Utah),
Enos Pubigee entered his horses to compete in the three-eighths mile (his horse,
Bobby, won second place), the half-mile (Buckskin Nellie won second place) and,
later in the day, another half-mile race that paired Mickey with Buckskin Nellie. The
race was called a tie and the purse split; yet the race was anything but ordinary: ‘This
race was one of the best put over during the afternoon and caused considerable
excitement.’ [20] Four months later the Washakie group was again at Brigham City,
this time for the Peach Day races. the Box Elder News reported:
The racing program staged at Pioneer Park on both days of the Peach Day
carnival . . . was pronounced the best seen here in years. The races included running
and harness races, with chariot and relay races sandwiched in. Most events were
hotly contested and there were many close finishes.
In the five races they participated in through the two-day race meet, the Washakie
teams won a first place, three second places and a third place. [21]
102 M. E. Kreitzer
The Washakie Shoshone developed a fine horse racing tradition. Their well-trained
horses and practised relay teams made a positive impact on the racing events of
numerous county fairs and communal events. They worked hard to maintain that
impact in the following years, but failed to match the peak achieved during the
golden age of the 1920s.
Boxing
The traditional Shoshone sporting heritage included wrestling among young men,
and though bare-knuckled fist-fighting was not recorded, there were occasions in
which groups of young men would engage each other in a sort of ‘gang-fight’
where kicking and hitting were used against their opponents. [22] This kind of
group fighting may have encouraged the acceptance of boxing among the
Northwestern Shoshone. To gain a better view of boxing in the Shoshone world
of the early 1900s, it is important to look at the sport in a national and regional
context.
The golden age of boxing in America began when John A. (Jack) Johnson, an
African American from Texas, defeated Tommy Burns for the world’s heavyweight
title in 1908. Many white Americans were unnerved that their champion had been
upstaged, and they began looking for a ‘Great White Hope’ to defeat Johnson. When
Johnson upheld his title in July of 1910 by defeating Jim Jeffries at Reno, Nevada, race
riots sprung up across the country. In 1915 Johnson was finally defeated by Jess
Willard, who then met William Harrison (Jack) Dempsey (‘The Manassa Mauler’) in
1919. It was through the grandstanding promotion of this fight by George Lewis
(Tex) Rickard and the fight itself, that American boxing stepped out of the darkness
of lowbrow entertainment and into the light of respectability and popularity. Boxing
became big business. In 1921 Dempsey fought George Carpentier in the first of many
million-dollar fights.
Dempsey’s impact on Utah boxing was especially significant. Born to a Mormon
family in Manassa, Colorado, Jack preferred Utah and had numerous fans in the
Beehive State. [23] Local fans followed his career and interest in the regulated sport of
boxing swelled throughout the state of Utah.
By the late 1800s the Marquess of Queensberry rules had been adopted by the
boxing community and accepted guidelines were in place. However, city
commissioners, mayors and law enforcement continued to struggle (with some
success) to keep boxing matches from turning into prize fights. And even though
newspapers expressed their disdain for both forms of entertainment, it seemed
virtually impossible to curb them because of their popularity with the masses.
Regional and local newspapers still carried anti-boxing editorials, but the sporting
headlines wielded a heavier punch and Shoshone and other readers followed the
careers of their favourite boxers through the pages and across the seasons. Some of
the Shoshone at Washakie took notice of boxing, but few Shoshone families took as
active an interest in boxing as the Ottogarys.
Willie Ottogary and his two sons, Chester and Custer, spent most of their time on
the family homestead acquired by Willie’s father, O-Ti-Cot-I. The homestead was
located about 18 miles south of the Washakie colony. While living there, the two boys
attended the mostly white elementary school at Elwood. According to Chester’s
grandson, Clyde Ottogary, Chester was picked on in the Elwood grade school by
some white kids, [24] and a neighbour recalled: ‘One time two or three fellas got
Chester and beat him up. The ring-leader was kind of an ass – conceited, [and] kind
of backward.’ [25] Chester reacted to these events by learning to fight. What he
gained, through rigorous training and persistent effort, was a talent that won him
status perhaps equal to that of a warrior, and a respectable living.
Chester Ottogary was the first Shoshone boxer to earn considerable regional fame.
In boxing circles he was celebrated as the fast and furious fighter known as ‘Kickapoo
Dan’ Ottogary. Following Chester into the ring was his younger brother Custer, who
took the boxing moniker ‘General Custer’. Other Shoshone boxers were Enos ‘Chief
Pabigee’ Pubigee (first cousin to the Ottogary boys), Henry ‘Chief O’Henry’
Woonsook and Ed Wagon. Unfortunately, the fighting weight divisions are unknown,
save that of Chester Ottogary, who boxed as a welterweight and lightweight.
The careers of these fighting Indians began in 1926 and some carried on until the
mid-1930s. From the earliest fights until his death in March 1929, Willie Ottogary
commented on the Washakie pugilists in his regular newspaper columns. In addition
to his coverage, the local papers of the region also covered boxing news.
Both sources will be drawn from after a discussion of the various locations where
the Washakie boxers performed. Information will also be provided regarding
sponsoring organizations. Within Box Elder County, fights were held at the Knudson
Building in Brigham City. The local American Legion Post usually sponsored these
fights. The Peach Day(s), and Poultry Day celebrations of Brigham City were also
occasions for boxing. In 1928, a new armoury was constructed in Brigham City, and
fights were held there as well. Other venues in northern Utah and Idaho where the
Washakie boxers fought were the Lyric Theatre in Logan, Utah; Richmond, Utah;
Lewiston, Utah; West Portage, Utah; Ogden, Utah; Wellsville, Utah; Malad, Idaho;
the Auditorium Theatre, Pocatello, Idaho; the Malad Moving Picture House, Malad,
Idaho; and Downey, Idaho.
Of special significance to the story of boxing in Salt Lake City were the Manhattan
Club bouts held weekly (Monday nights) in the Hippodrome Theatre (previously the
Grand Theatre) of Salt Lake City. Fight promoter Hardy K. Downing ably drew large
crowds to the Hippodrome with effective advertising and by including unique and
showy contests and fighters in his weekly line-ups. The typical night’s fare for the
Manhattan Club Bouts began with a curtain raiser fight (something unique to rouse
the audience); next were the feature preliminary fights (usually several up-and-
coming boxers took to the ring for these). A semi windup bout came next, which was
then followed by the headline or main event fight. Occasionally a special feature bout
concluded the night’s programme – for example, a ‘battle royal’ (a two-against-three,
or three-against-four kind of free-for-all – the winners being the ones still standing at
104 M. E. Kreitzer
the end). The Hippodrome Theatre burned down in the late 1920s [26] and,
according to Ottogary, the next Salt Lake City fight scheduled for Chester was held at
the McCullough arena. [27] It is beyond the scope of this study to present all the
published articles dealing with the fighting Shoshone of Washakie, but an attempt
will be made to cover some of the published highlights and weave a narrative history
from the existing records.
Chester’s first bout in Salt Lake City was reported by his father, Willie, who wrote
to The Journal:
We was down Salt Lake City last Monday. But my boy (Kickapoo Dan),
C.R. Ottogary was fight on Monday night with Young Loader from Bingham
Canyon and Kickapoo Dan knock out him out in second round. But came up to
Logan City last night and Kick Dan was going fight with Jimmy Ross at Logan, and
Chester R. Ottogary big thumb sprain pretty bad. But we bring his brother, Master
Custer Ottogary for substituted, or took, his place. Well he was pretty good. I expect
this boy was surprise the Logan people to boxing with clever boxer, Master Jimmy
Ross. Well sir this my boy never been ring before, this is first time he in ring. He
knock out Master Ross in second round. I expect he will box again here some time.
But he is only 16 year old boy. Some our boys kind disappointed they was going
see that fight. And the so stormy could not go. The road is impossible to travel
through. [28]
The elder Ottogary seemed pleased that Chester had done so well in his Salt Lake
fight, yet was equally pleased that when Chester was unable to perform for his Logan
match, his 16-year-old brother Custer stepped in and defeated a more experienced
boxer. As the fame of the Ottogary brothers spread, they were induced by promoter
Hardy K. Downing to come to Salt Lake City to combat three boxers in a battle-royal
at the Manhattan Club on 1 March 1926. The Deseret News reported:
Probably the big drawing card was the feature battle-royal between the Ottogary
brothers, a pair of Indian braves, and three darkie boys. . . . In the feature battle-
royal which followed the main event Chester Ottogary (Kickapoo Dan) and his
brother, General Custer Ottogary, knocked out three Negroes in four minutes of
fast and furious battling. Only two of the black boys were really kayoed, but
the other, seeing his confederates on the canvas, very sagaciously crept out of the
ring. [29]
The Battle Royal fight may seem like a barbaric form of entertainment – indeed, the
sport of boxing itself may appear as such – however, even though exhibitionism and
exploitation seem to go hand-in-hand with pugilism, it is important to note that the
fighters who succeeded in the ring were also making a good living. By June 1926,
Chester was able to purchase himself a new Ford car. [30] As the careers of his boxing
sons took off, Willie took over the role of manager. He even slipped promotional bits
into his usual column:
These two boys go match again in Salt Lake City next Monday night on the 8th
March, and the also a new boy coming in for the boxing contest. His names
Mr Enos Pubigee, and he never been in ring before. Well any body want see
this new boy while coming down Salt Lake City next Monday night. I am the
manager of these boys. If you read about them you wish you could see them.
These boys training at home, and they boxing every Saturday afternoon up to
Washakie. Master Chester Ottogary or Kickapoo Dan want at Brigham City
3 week again. These my boys made a pretty good [boxing] records so far,
etc. [31]
The Logan paper followed Ottogary’s lead in touting the amazing early career of the
Washakie boxers, when it published a follow-up article:
Utah’s famous family of fighting Redskins will take the center of the pugilistic stage
next Monday night at the regular Manhattan club bouts at the Hippodrome theater
for the Ottogary family, including two brothers, Chester, ‘‘Kickapoo Dan,’’ General
Custer Ottogary – and Chief Enos Pabigee, a cousin, will meet three of Salt Lake’s
toughest mitt slingers in what is expected to be the most exciting preliminaries ever
seen on a local program. . . . After the stirring victory of General Custer and
Kickapoo Dan in a mixed battle royal last Monday, in which they knocked out
three colored boxers, the Indians have become the talk of Salt Lake, and it was
decided to give them a chance in real matches. [32]
The Journal (Logan, Utah) covered the fights and reported:
The Indian fighters made a clean sweep in the feature preliminary bouts. Chester
Ottogary knocked out Bob Young, colored, in the third round after Young had
cautiously kept out of his way for two rounds. The winner’s mauling tactics wore
the colored boy out and the knockout blow was little more that a shove.
General Custer Ottogary took considerable punishment from Pete Nordoff, local
fighter, for over two minutes of milling, but he kept to his task and finally shot a
heavyright punch that landed flush upon Nordoff’s chin and the latter took to
count.
Chief Enos Pabigee didn’t show much boxing ability, but in the extra round he
let fly a swift right smash that caught Socker off his balance. He didn’t get up for
several minutes. [33]
Many of the fights engaged in by the Washakie boxers were written about in
newspapers of northern Utah and southern Idaho, but an accurate list remains to be
collected. The author has gathered many news-related articles regarding the fight
records for each boxer, though others surely exist. From the articles collected, profiles
for each of the Washakie fighters were compiled. They are as follows: Chester
Ottogary (35 fights from January 1926 to March 1929. Known results include: ten
wins by knockouts or decisions, eight losses, and nine draws). An undated news
clipping states: ‘Kickapoo Dan . . . boxed from 1925 to 1938. He was Utah lightweight
champion in 1928, and Intermountain champion in 1928. He was a well known
participant in many Intermountain arenas, particularly in the McCulloch arena in
Salt Lake City.’ [34]. Custer Ottogary (26 fights from February 1926 to March 1929.
Known results include: 11 wins by knockouts or decisions, two losses, and four
draws). Custer died in 1930. Enos Pubigee (six fights from 8 March to April 1927.
106 M. E. Kreitzer
Three wins by knockout or decisions, one loss, one draw, and one fight’s outcome
unknown). Henry Woonsook only two fights (March and April 1926), one win and
one loss. Ed Wagon also had only two fights (one in March 1926 and one in
November 1928), neither of whose outcome is known to the author.
For several years the fame of the great Shoshone boxers spread beyond northern
Utah. There were even boxers who inquired about training with the Ottogarys:
Mr Ernie Adams wrote letter to Kickapoo Dan to ask him about his fight business,
and he wrote back telling his condition. But he want to our place to stay all winter
long. Perhaps he been back East and doing some boxing. He wants know he come
to Utah and training with the boys here at our place, Elwood, Utah, and training
some boxing here. [35]
Perhaps the most significant references to the impact Chester Ottogary had on
regional sports were the Jack Dempsey reference and the Babe Ruth invitation.
Hardy K. Downing was always looking for an angle to fill the Hippodrome Theatre,
and in April 1926 he used one of his trump cards – a comparison between Kickapoo
Dan and Jack Dempsey:
Chester ‘‘Kickapoo Dan’’ Ottogary, the fighting Indian from Washakie, and ‘‘Wild
Bill’’ Farrell, of Salt Lake will meet in the feature bout of a triple-headline program
of Manhattan club bouts at the Hippodrome theater next Monday night according
to the announcement made this morning by Promoter Hardy K. Downing. The
bout will mark the peak of the career of the little Indian boy who has stirred local
fistic circles as no one has since Jack Dempsey left the Manhattan club behind and
sauntered forth in search of fistic fame. [36]
The above fight went the full six rounds and both fighters were so worn out that they
were barely able to stand to receive their draw decision. [37] Downing’s other trump,
the Babe Ruth Invitation, was played in January of 1927:
Promoter Hardy K. Downing is offering tonight Utah’s sultan of sock, when

he sends Ernie ‘‘Kid’’ Ross against Chester ‘‘Kickapoo Dan’’ Ottogary, in
the six round main event of the Manhattan club bouts at the Hippodrome
theater.
Downing has invited Babe Ruth, Sultan of Swat, to see the Sultan of Sock
in action, but it is very doubtful if he will be able to break away from the huge
crowds. . . .
Kickapoo’s bout last Monday night with Andrews showed him to be the
equal of any man in the local ring. [38]
As perhaps expected, Ruth was unable to attend the Manhattan club fights, probably
‘unable to break away from the huge crowds’, as the Deseret News writer suggested.
Notwithstanding, Ottogary and Ross battled for six rounds to a draw, enabling the
Indian fighter to maintain his status as a serious fighter. [39]
The fighting Ottogary brothers as well as the other Shoshone boxers of
Washakie established themselves as respectable fighters and gained a solid degree
of admiration from both Native Americans and whites. Moreover, the other
Shoshone of Washakie also revelled in the positive press earned by their fighting
kinsmen. The boxing legacy at Washakie was certainly the most profound and
long lived, yet the Northwestern Shoshone had significant impact on other
northern Utah sports as well. This impact may have gone unnoticed had it not
been for Willie Ottogary’s unparalleled news coverage of these events. In July
1927, with the Pioneer Day/24 July celebration recently concluding, Ottogary
penned a sort of ‘sports page’ wrap-up article featuring many of the sporting
activities of his people.
Some of our went over to Logan city and spent 24 July there. And some went
over to Holbrook, Idaho, spent Pioneer Day over there. Mr Enos Pubigee took
his race [horse] over to Holbrook. She was lose on the 3 1–8 [three-eighths mile]
race and Spark Plug win the race; and also having real good time over [there].
But our boys was play ball with Holbrook, and score was about 6 to 8 in favor
of our boys. And also some of our people went to Malad City 25 July. But we
was join Parade. We have a Ford truck hauled our warriors and have a head
gears [head-dresses] on. It was looking fine. The boss of this gang was Mr Seth
Eagle [Pubigee]. He took all charge of our business. Then our boys played [ball]
with Malad boys. It was a real good game. The game was start about 2:30 o’clock
on the 25 July, 1927. Then fight come about 5 o’clock at the Star Threata
[Theatre], Malad City. Master Chester O. Kickapoo Dan boxing with Mr Billy
Mark, Casper, Wyo. But he was a half breed Navajo Indian. Mr Kickapoo Dan
was out box him. He weight about 175 lbs. he over weight. Mr. Kickapoo Dan
but he was decision over him. Then Master Chief Custer Ottogary, his brother,
fight with Wyne [Wayne?] Huff, Union [Utah?], and he decision over him in 4
round bout. Mr. Huff only last three round. . . . The was a Tremonton ball club
come over to Washakie on last Sunday, try to get our boys to play ball with last
Monday. But they was all line up to Malad City so they didn’t go over. Then he
prospond [postponed] for next Sunday. Well I expect our boys will going over
to play with them. . . . Mr Moroni Timbimboo and family also his father and
mother with over to Holbrook and Malad City and having a splendid good time
both places. [40]
From Willie Ottogary’s published articles, early twentieth-century newspaper

accounts and the oral histories and scrapbooks of living descendants of the
Washakie colony, an exceptional history comes forth that illustrates the rich
sporting heritage of the Northwestern Shoshone during the glory days from 1903 to
1929. Throughout these years, they played a major role in every May Day
celebration, Fourth of July, 24 July, Peach Day celebration, rodeo and virtually
every county fair within a day’s journey of Washakie. The people of Washakie drew
closer together as they prepared for and participated in sporting events. And
eventually, many whites from nearby communities accepted the Shoshone as
coequals on the field of competition. Whether on the baseball diamond, the racing
oval, or in the boxing ring, sport was the catalyst for positive social interaction,
acceptance, and good will.
108 M. E. Kreitzer
Notes
[1] Mae T. Parry, personal correspondence, 1997.
[2] Madsen, The Shoshoni Frontier and the Bear River Massacre.
[3] Kreitzer, The Washakie Letters of Willie Ottogary.
[4] Most of the material used in this study comes from newspaper and informant sources. A
standardized format for addressing each sport has been employed wherein specific items will
be discussed: 1) The historical context (where sources are available), where was the sport
learned from, when was the sport learned; 2) How was the game/event played? (any unique
characteristics regarding play?); 3) Key participants and their positions if known;
4) Opponents (where known); 5) Where played or engaged in (range of venues); 6) Relative
‘success’ (how the Shoshone teams fared against their opponents); 7) Narrative accounts of
key games or events; 8) Significance/impact of this sport to the culture of the Shoshone
people – the legacy passed down.
[5] ‘Real Veterans Relate Stories of Origin of Game in State of Utah’. Salt Lake Tribune, 17 August
1930.
[6] Mae T. Parry, personal correspondence, 1997.
[7] ‘Logan’s Birthday Celebration’, The Journal (Logan, Utah) [hereafter LJ], 8 May 1909.
[8] Ottogary letter [hereafter OL], LJ, 24 May 1924.
[9] ‘Bannock Citizenry Gathers: Annual Meet Is Impressive’, The Pocatello Tribune (Pocatello,
Idaho) [hereafter POCT], 1 June 1924.
[10] ‘Interesting Ceremonies Mark End of Fort Hall School Year’, POCT, 7 June 1925.
[11] ‘Clarkston Team Takes Game from Washakie Lads’, LJ, 31 May 1926.
[12] OL, LJ, 5 June 1926.
[13] ‘The Indian Farm’, Deseret News (Salt Lake City, Utah) [hereafter DESN], 22 April 1885.
[14] ‘Prosperous Indian Settlement’, DESN, 26 May 1898.
[15] OL, LJ, 27 Sept. 1924.
[16] Ibid., 2 May 1925.
[17] OL, Box Elder Journal (Brigham City, Utah), 6 Oct. 1925.
[18] OL LJ, 22 May 1926.
[19] ‘Peach Day Horse Racing: New Racing Course at Pioneer Park Opened Friday Afternoon’, Box
Elder News (Brigham City, Utah) [hereafter BEN], 21 Sept. 1926.
[20] ‘Horse Racing Draws Crowd’, BEN, 31 May 1927.
[21] ‘Race Program The Best Ever’, BEN, 13 Sept. 1927.
[22] Steward, ‘Culture Element Distributions’, 278, 332.
[23] ‘Boxing Took Some Rough Hits in Utah’, DESN, 10 Oct. 1995.
[24] Clyde S. Ottogary, interview, 2001.
[25] Owen Rassmussen, interview, 1993.
[26] Powell, Utah History Encyclopedia, 552.
[27] OL, LJ, 11 Feb. 1928.
[28] Ibid., 17 Feb. 1926.
[29] ‘Manhattan Patrons Given Rare Treat in Main Event: Indians Beat Negroes in Battle Royal –
Peterson of Tremonton Makes Hit – Steele Victor’, DESN, 2 March 1926.
[30] OL, LJ, 19 June 1926.
[31] Ibid., 6 March 1926.
[32] ‘Indians Center of Attraction’, LJ, 5 March 1926.
[33] ‘Harvey Bateson and Indian all Make Showing’, LJ, 9 March 1926.
[34] Mae T. Parry, sport newsclipping and scrapbook items, 2001.
[35] OL, LJ, 11 Dec. 1926.
[36] ‘‘‘Kickapoo Dan’’ and Bill Farrell are Main Eventers: Indian Fighter Takes Big Stride In His
Profession’, DESN, 16 April 1926.
[37] ‘‘‘Kickapoo Dan’’ Gets Draw in Bout with ‘‘Wild Bill’’: Indian Fighter Surprises With Fine
Showing’, DESN, 20 April 1926.
[38] ‘Babe Ruth Invited to See Ross Battle Kickapoo Dan in Headline Event’, DESN, 31 Jan. 1927.
[39] ‘Indian Fighter Is Given Draw With ‘‘Kid’ Ross’’’, DESN, 1 Feb. 1927.
[40] OL, LJ, 30 July 1927.
References
Kreitzer, Matthew E. The Washakie Letters of Willie Ottogary, Northwestern Shoshone Journalist and
Leader, 1906–1929. Logan, UT: Utah State University Press, 2000.
Madsen, Brigham D. The Shoshoni Frontier and the Bear River Massacre. Salt Lake City, UT:
University of Utah Press, 1985.
Powell, Allan Kent, ed. Utah History Encyclopedia. Salt Lake City, UT: University of Utah Press,
1994.
Steward, Julian H. ‘Culture Element Distributions, XXIII: Northern and Gosiute Shoshoni’.
University of California Anthropological Records 8 (1943): 263–392.
Using the Master’s Tools: Resisting
Colonization through Colonial Sports
Eric D. Anderson
This ethnographic research analyses the relationship between colonial sports and
traditional Navajo culture. It finds that while the Navajo have fully ingrained colonial
sports into their culture, they have not necessarily adopted the colonial meanings of
individualism and dominance associated with those sports. Sports like basketball and
baseball are shown to provide the Navajo with recreation and entertainment; but most
significantly, they seem to provide the opportunity to compete directly against Euro-
Americans in an ostensibly equal arena. By occasionally beating white teams at their own
game, this research shows that colonial sports are actually used as a form of resistance
against colonial culture. Still, this research shows that standout athletes find themselves
caught between a sport that promotes superstardom and a culture that rejects it, a social
location that is difficult for these athletes to navigate.
It’s Friday night, three hours before tip-off. Basketball fans have been lined outside the
gymnasium for several hours to see a highly anticipated match between two women’s
basketball teams. As the gymnasium swells with spectators, conversations can be heard
in multiple languages. Although the arena holds thousands, the seats fill, and many
disappointed fans are turned away. When the competing teams are introduced, the
fans stand and cheer with an energy reminiscent of the opening of a NCAA
championship match. Yet this is not a collegiate or professional match. These fans
come from a rather remote region of the American Southwest in order to watch two
high-school teams compete. While they compete team to team, they also compete
nation to nation. This is a match between two cultures, each using basketball as a tool
to achieve their objectives. Both use the sport as a tool of solidarity, but there are some
very important differences in the way they use basketball and the meaning basketball
has to their cultures as well. It is these differences that this paper examines.
The Navajo are among the most studied cultures on the globe, as the ease of access
has drawn many anthropologists to explore most aspects of Navajo society. [1]
Highlighting the intensity of these investigations, between 1928 and 1966 one study
found 258 separate anthropological publications on the Navajo. [2] Yet despite this
accumulation of literature, there has been a dearth of investigations into the specific
relationship between the Navajo and European athletic culture, just as there has been
a shortage of investigations into athletic cultures among other native cultures in the
United States. [3] Furthermore, when Anglos have examined the relationship
between sport and native cultures there has been a tendency to universalize all native
cultures as one, similar to the manner in which Said has shown Euro-Americans have
lumped various Asian cultures together. [4] The lack of empirical investigation into
the relationship between the Navajo and colonial sports is a particularly glaring
omission in the literature, because it may contain rich information on the relation-
ship not only between the Navajo and sport but also between the Navajo and their
colonizers.
This research examines that relationship. It questions how the Navajo, who are
reported to maintain a collectivist orientation to social life, government and sports,
navigate the individualistic outcomes that are structured aspects of colonial team
sports. [5] In other words, it examines how the Navajo deal with sports that
necessarily single out one athlete as the highest point scorer, or a group of players as
starters. It shows how the Navajo use the in-group/out-group process of teams and
competition to raise solidarity among the Navajo, but suggests that this comes at a
cost, as traditional Navajo culture is opposed to the structure and embedded
meanings of much of the operation of colonial sports. Still, this research shows that
Navajo use colonial sports (primarily basketball and football) in attempt to beat
white culture at their own game, effectively assimilating to these sports while
simultaneously resisting them. Essentially, this research suggests that the Navajo use
the tools of the master as a form of resistance and maintenance against him. In some
aspects, basketball and football are played not because the Navajo have succumbed to
assimilationist efforts, but because it serves a covert tool to resist those efforts.
Background
While the fact that Navajo (and other native cultures) play basketball and football
may not seem odd today, the Navajo reverence for basketball and football is worthy
of investigation because these sports were imposed upon the Navajo as part of
assimilationist efforts into colonial culture. It is not so much the structure of these
sports that is of interest, rather the meanings of dominance embedded in the culture
of those sports and the individualism that is produced as a product of its structure
(i.e. someone is bound to score the most points on a team). Fundamental to this
research is the understanding that the Navajo, like many native cultures, are reported
to maintain a collectivist orientation to social life, government and sport. An
orientation that is opposed to the elevation of individuals over the whole. [6]
Assimilation of the Navajo became a long-range federal policy under the terms of
an 1868 treaty negotiation with the US government. [7] Ostensibly, the purpose was
112 E. D. Anderson
to assimilate the Navajo into the dominant Anglo-Protestant society, something
primarily accomplished through the socialization of Navajo youth into American
culture via public education. To accomplish this, Christian denominations were
encouraged to open schools on the reservation, and in many cases Navajo children
were often taken to boarding houses against their parents’ wills.
With these schools came the structure and culture of colonial sports. Sports such as
football, basketball, baseball and boxing were thought to produce qualities desirable
to the colonizers, in that they represent masculinized territorialization through
struggle and triumph against others. [8] Furthermore, the structure of these sports
produced a group of winners and a group of losers, something equated to masculine
worth embedded within the context of these struggles. [9] This masculinist and
hierarchical jockeying for individual and team supremacy is something associated
with Western sports, and was not found among most indigenous athletic events
which were predicated on bringing unity to all. [10]
Sport has a long history in Native American cultures. [11] But rather than
competing against one another, most indigenous games were structured in relation to
a traditionally based collectivist orientation towards social matters. The structure of
sports centred on the obtainment of parity of outcome, which symbolically equated
to victory for all. [12] Rather than sports being played in order to symbolize
territorial dominance and masculinist hierarchical achievement, sports such as the
traditional sports of running, archery, swimming and other non-commercialized
games were a way of seeking blessings from a higher spirit; while sports that more
closely resemble what we call team sports, like lacrosse, were played in order to unite
clans and tribes. These games were also used in reproducing native culture and tribe
identity as they transmitted religious and cultural understandings from one
generation to the next.
Conversely, colonial sports reflect capitalism, Western expansionism and conflict
among opposing groups. Clearly, then, colonial sports had both structural and
cultural differences in the use and understanding of sport, but native athletics today
are also said to value a collective orientation to task management, even in sports that
require starters and bench warmers. [13]
Because of these structural and cultural differences, one can assume that the
relationship between the Navajo and colonial sport was, at first, highly tenuous.
Navajo youth were forced to play a game that was used to not only divide group
against group, but also one whose structure necessarily produced individual
standouts. Still, there were many good (mostly political) reasons for native cultures
to adopt colonial sports. These reasons include the fact that they served a unifying
theme throughout the over 500 recognized tribes in North America; as baseball,
basketball and football were played the same way in all cultures. [14] In this aspect,
Bloom suggests that, ironically, where colonial sports were designed to erase Native
American memory, they may also have ‘ended up being a source of pride for students
and their children, a resource for pleasure, and an instrument through which they
creatively constituted and reformulated their identities’. [15] Some indigenous
athletes have even excelled in Euro-American sporting leagues or institutions, and

indigenous groups have also formed their own sporting venues that utilized colonial
sports since then. [16] In other words, Bloom suggests that native cultures may have
undermined the meanings associated with the structure of colonial sports, and by the
turn of the twentieth century, native cultures began widely adopting these Euro-
American games because they served some valued purpose. [17]
At one level, the wide adoption of colonial sports makes it seem that the
assimilationist effort of the colonists has worked, and to some degree this may be
true. For example, baseball, basketball and football can be found on every reservation,
and in many cases (as with the Navajo), basketball is the most popular sport played.
These sports do pit Navajo team against Navajo team. However, the issue is more
complex than it first appears. Just because the Navajo use the structure of basketball
does not necessarily mean that they have also adopted colonial meanings associated
with those sports. If, for example, the structure of colonial sports was adopted as a
way to organize and resist colonial assimilationist attempts, than the celebration of
and reverence for Jim Thorpe, for example, may be seen not only because he was an
outstanding athlete but also because he was an outstanding Native American beating
European-Americans at their own game. In other words, the celebration of colonial
sports among native athletes does not necessarily mean that they subscribe to the
colonial underpinnings of those sports.
Methods
This qualitative research analyses the relationship between Navajo culture and
colonial sports from an institutional and interactional perspective. I went into the
setting in order to analyse the relationship between dominant meanings associated
with colonial sports and the agency of human actors in the social construction of
both individual and cultural identities. [18] I first oriented myself to Navajo culture
through the reading of (mostly anthropological) literature and through informal
discussions with a Navajo friend who was raised on the reservation.
Jon had obtained a modest degree of what he describes as ‘respect’ as a Navajo
athlete, and had recently left the reservation in order to attend college. I used him
as a key informant for acquiring interviews with athletes, coaches and parents, and
for providing me with entrance into the athletic world during the ethnographic
portion of the research. He also served as a guide in the coding and interpretation
of the data.
I began this research with 18 in-depth telephone interviews of current high-school
athletes from two separate high schools located on the Navajo reservation. Nine of
these athletes represented players from women’s basketball teams and nine from
men’s. These (60–120 minute) interviews focused on: (1) how these athletes were
socialized into sports; (2) what their experience has been in sport; (3) how they
perceive their athletic athleticism and athletic accomplishments to be received by
their peers, family and community; (4) what their views were regarding individual
114 E. D. Anderson
versus a collective orientation towards playing these sports; and (5) what their
athletic and life aspirations were post high school.
After transcribing and coding these interviews in 2001, I focused on several
emergent themes to investigate in the ethnographic component of this research a
year later. Jon used his insider’s network to set up several daily interviews with
coaches, parents and school administrators for me, and served as a translator when
required. I conducted a total of 32 interviews in the field. In addition to these
interviews, I conducted participant observation on four selected high-school
basketball teams (two men’s and two women’s) from two separate schools, as well
as one (co-ed) cross-country team. These teams were solicited in advance through
my key informant; each agreed to allow me to participate in their practices and to
attend their matches, and many of the athletes invited me to associate with them
away from the team as well.
My acceptance into the athletes’ world was made possible because I was not only
presented ‘as a good friend’ of the key informant, but because I was also willing to
take part in their sport (sometimes doing OK at it too) and to socialize with the
athletes away from practice. Moreover, my experiences as a coach and knowledge of
kinesiology and sport psychology enabled me to speak much of their athletic
language and to help them with their athletic endeavours. It should also be noted that
there are a great many outsiders who visit the Navajo reservation, so my presence as a
white male was not out of place. I also relied on the informants for telephone
conversations after my visit, in order to clarify or discuss new issues with them. For
those who did not have a telephone, I used e-mail to communicate with them, as all
had access to the Internet at their schools.
The Only Show in Town

The infertile red soil of Navajo country is occasionally broken by the splattering of
striking red rock formations and small towns that are usually separated by more than
50 miles. These towns are not marked by tall buildings, impressive bridges or
highways. They are as rural as any American towns I have seen, and most are without
the luxuries of modern capitalist societies such as telephones, power or plumbing.
Jon and I entered his home town and I was struck by an unusual road sign. I asked ‘Is
that common?’ pointing to the sign. The sign was old, fairly faded, and looked home-
made. It read ‘Volleyball champions 1987’. Jon responded ‘Oh yeah’ as he smiled: ‘I
told you sports were a big deal here’. Along the road, another sign boasted of a
basketball championship team. Desiring to impress me with his town’s athletic
facilities, Jon drove me past the hard dirt lot of the baseball team, and the six-lane
rubber running track (a standard track has nine). He pointed, with pride: ‘And that’s
our gym’. Although there are no tennis courts or swimming pools, the existence of
this basketball stadium indicates the reverence this town maintains towards
basketball. To my urban sensibilities, the stadium lacked reason to boast. In
comparison to other buildings on the reservation however, it was second only to the
community college and select houses of Christian or Mormon worship. The pride it
brought to Jon was noteworthy.
Later that day, I examined The Navajo Nation newspaper. I was struck by the lack
of community events, arts and entertainment, and I was equally awed by the
reverence with which the paper discussed sports. Not sports the way the Los Angeles
or New York Times would cover sports. This paper’s sport section did not carry news
of the major leagues; the ink in this paper was devoted solely to high-school sports. ‘I
can’t believe how much space is devoted to high-school sports’, I observed to Jon.
‘Yeah, check this out’, Jon retrieved a scrapbook with clippings of his athletic career
on the reservation. ‘In case you couldn’t tell, there isn’t much happening around
here. Sports are really it. They are all we have around here. I mean we have our
annual pow-wow . . . but in terms of regular stuff, it’s all about sports’. I asked: ‘All
sports? I mean do they get a ton of people to say a cross-country meet?’ ‘No. Not
really,’ he responded. ‘It’s mostly basketball and football. I mean they will talk about
other sports, and the newspaper talks about them, but its basketball that everyone
goes to watch out here’.
It is not just sports in the general sense that draw the attention of the community;
it is specifically high-school sports. There are no professional sporting teams on the
27,000-square-mile reservation, and the only community college on the reservation
does not offer athletics (there would be no other teams against which to compete).
With no major leagues, minor leagues, community leagues or university or junior
college sports to watch, the fan base for athletics concentrates around one level – high
school – and there is no sport more popular on the Navajo reservation than
basketball.
A reverence for high-school basketball is not unusual in North American culture.
High school sports have been shown to serve a unifying purpose for small
communities throughout the United States, where attention usually centres on men’s
contact team sports. [19] But the towns I visited on the reservation are like no other
small American towns that I have been to, and the difference leads me to suspect that
sports carry extra significance to the Navajo. One of the most notable differences
between this and other American towns is that, on the Navajo reservation, poverty is
everywhere. There are no mega-shopping complexes, no music halls, museums or
concert halls, so there are few places for the community to gather, or reasons for a
gathering. There is a weekend swapmeet, but there seems to be little draw for
townsfolk to drive from the outskirts of their town (often 35 to 50 miles out) than
perhaps the Walmart 50 miles outside town (and off the reservation). It is clear that
sports serve as a reason for the community to gather.
Unlike other American towns, where people might just bump into each other on
the streets or in the stores, or where people gather for weekly church services, large
swap meets, concerts, performing arts or simply to recreate in lush parks, lakes or
beaches, the population of Jon’s town is sparse, and there just isn’t any of these things
to do or places to go. There is plenty of land to do things on (wild horses roam free),
but the land is relatively barren and people are spread out. In fact, the high school in
116 E. D. Anderson
Jon’s town only operates four days a week because some kids spend a lot of time
travelling to school. I talked to one athlete who wakes up at 5.00 a.m. so that he can
leave his home at 5.30 and walk an hour and a half to where the bus picks him up and
drives him an hour to school.
While driving to an athlete’s home, Jon pointed to a post alongside the road: it had
a number inscribed on it. ‘People are so spread out here’, he said, ‘and lots of people
don’t have neighbours, and most don’t have phones, so the numbers are for the
police to come by and check up on people’, he told me. ‘So do sports give people a
reason to gather? Are they a draw for the community to come together and socialize?’
I asked. Jon smiled: ‘Wait until tomorrow. You’ll see’.
When driving through the reservation, one notices that almost every house, hogan
or mobile home has a makeshift basketball hoop. Few of the hoops are of regulation
height, and none stand with concrete beneath (kids bounce the ball on dirt), but the
sheer number of basketball hoops on the reservation signifies the importance of this
sport in Navajo society. But one might wonder why a sport such as basketball has
become so immensely popular when other sports, such as running, historically have
deep spiritual meaning and cultural significance to the Navajo. [20] A track coach
told me that the community no longer esteemed running as it used to: ‘Nobody
wants to run anymore. Everybody wants to be a big basketball or football star.’ It
seems that the Navajo have shifted their emphasis away from certain sports (or
cultural activities) and centred them primarily on basketball and football. There are,
of course, both historical and structural reasons for the immense popularity of
basketball on the reservation, but more importantly, one might wonder if the valuing
of these sports has influenced their larger traditional Navajo values. Oswalt and Neely
have shown that while the Navajo have assimilated Christianity into their belief
system, it has not fundamentally altered their native religion, something consistent
with studies of other native cultures. [21] Thus, for the Navajo, who are reported to
be conservative in retaining their culture, devaluing sports such as running and
instead emphasizing colonial sports must certainly mean that they derive something
valuable from them.
I asked parents, athletes, coaches and administrators why they thought basketball
was such a big deal on the reservation. The answers varied from one athlete’s
response, ‘It’s just a fun game’, to a high school principal’s ‘Basketball offers an
indoor game in which not only are the participants and spectators sheltered from the
elements, but in which we can charge admission’. He added: ‘Basketball also offers a
good seat to just about everyone in the arena, and this, combined with the fast-paced
action, makes it a cash cow for us’. An athletic director said: ‘That’s a great question. I
never really stopped to ask why basketball and not running or lacrosse or something.
I don’t really know, but I will tell you that you’re right!’ He continued: ‘Basketball is
so popular that thousands of people regularly show up to watch. He explained: ‘We
start our basketball games at 3.00 in the afternoon and people begin lining up at 10.00
in the morning to get a seat . . . we once played in front of 18,000 people. I mean
that’s more than the Suns play in front of’.
The principal of another high school said:

Thousands and thousands of fans will travel to every basketball or football game we
play. It doesn’t matter whether it is 30 miles or 300 miles away, they will go. Sport
has always been important to these people, and they will travel as far as needed to
see their teams play. . . . Although basketball is the most popular sport in town,
football also attracts large audiences. We can put eight to nine thousand people in
our stands, and we fill them. A lot of people are driving a long distance to watch
these athletic contests.
To appreciate these numbers, one must realize that the high school he speaks of is in
a town of just 1,254 residents. When I asked him why high-school sports were so
popular, he answered: ‘Simple, it’s the only show in town, there’s nothing else to do
here’.
Thus when it comes to the question of whether colonial efforts to popularize
colonial sports among the Navajo have been successful or not, the answer is very
clearly yes. Colonial sports are as popular and as important (or more) to the Navajo
as they are in the broader US culture. Some of the reasons for this are obvious:
basketball is theatrical, requires few breaks and is high-scoring. Basketball is also
played indoors, providing spectators both shelter from the elements and a good seat.
And for a community lacking in public entertainment, there is no question that
basketball games become the gathering locale as they have the unique effect of uniting
the community to cheer for their team, town and people.
When it comes to the question of the meaning of these colonial sports, however,
and to what degree the Navajo have adopted colonial values of individual
competition, masculinization, territorialization and capitalism, things are not so
clear. It may have been possible for the Navajo to adopt the structure of colonial
sports without adopting the function of them. Allison and Lueschen note that there is
a difference between the structure of a game and the function of a game, and
highlight this in Navajo basketball:
First, the game contest is a highly variable but patterned phenomenon. The data
suggests that not only is there a wide degree of intercultural variability in the
content of a game but a high degree of intercultural variability as well. Basketball is
not a simple entirety. Rather, it is a complex aggregate of distinguishable units
which may be adopted in part or into to by a cultural group. [22]
However, Allison and Lueschen also suggested that there seemed to be a ‘stripping
away’ of cultural elaborations in the Navajo sporting culture, and that the culture of
the sport may take over and suppress the culture of the people. [23] Similarly, Garrity
highlights a discussion with an Anglo (from off the reservation) coach who said that
what it means to be a good Hopi contrasts with what it means to be a good football
player. [24] When the coach was asked how he handled the situation, he responded
that he did exactly what the missionaries tried to do – de-Indianize the Indians. This
is something that Kareem Abdul-Jabbar also tried to do in his basketball coaching
with the White Mountain Apache, and he (rightfully) ran into great resistance
118 E. D. Anderson
because of it. [25] In this aspect, Native American athletes are reported as often
having to negotiate their own cultural orientation with naı̈ve teachers and coaches
who encourage them to abandon their strategies and encourage them to adopt the
cultural ideology of the Anglo. [26]
In answering the question of what significance colonial sports maintain to the
Navajo, and how that significance might mirror colonial meanings, it is evidently
clear that the Navajo have certainly absorbed the ‘us versus them’ mentality of Euro-
American sports. All one needs to do is attend any meet, match or game and listen to
the cheering to understand this. Where high-school reservation basketball greatly
differs, however, is in the understanding that individuals derive from personal
success. Whereas individual efforts and superstardom are unquestionably celebrated
and valorized off the reservation, the relationship between Navajo high-school
standouts and their community is, at best, uneasy. Most interestingly, whereas high-
school athletes can be elevated to icons within communities off the reservation, they
are also elevated in Navajo culture. This, of course, is paradoxical to their culture,
which is predicated on the devaluing of individualism and the esteeming of
collectivism.
The Paradox of Superstardom

Jon and I walked into the school’s hallways between passing periods and students
greeted him enthusiastically: ‘Hey, it’s Jon!’ ‘What’s up Jon?’ another asked. ‘Scoring
high in college?’ (Jon didn’t make his collegiate team). Other students nodded in
recognition of the status he maintains, and a teacher in a hallway stopped to
greet him with a large, welcoming smile. ‘Seems you’re quite the star here?’ I asked.
‘I had friends’, he replied modestly, as we entered the principal’s office for his
interview.
The principal (raised off the reservation) seemed sure of his understanding of the
use of sport among the Navajo, ‘The kids play sports because of two reasons’, he said.
‘Either they like it and are good at it, or because it brings them recognition.
The younger kids look up to them . . . you know our kids probably sign as many
autographs as some pro-players do’. The principal then recounted his glory days of
coaching; easily recalling the names of the athletes that helped him achieve his
successes so many years ago. The interaction, of course, made me question whether
this was why he thought the Navajo played colonial sports, or whether this was why
he coached colonial sports. Later in the afternoon, I was sitting with a parent of a
Navajo runner having lunch. ‘See that guy over there?’ he asked. ‘He was part of the
district championship team in 1977’. ‘It seems to me that athletes on the reservation
rank second in name recognition only to the Chief’, I observed. He replied in jest:
‘Yeah, but they are liked better’.
None of this fanfare over superstars is unusual. After all, the nature of many sports
is that competition produces championship teams and individual standouts. For
example, only five can play on the court in basketball, so a hierarchy is developed
immediately depending on who plays and who sits on the bench. What makes this
interesting on the reservation however, is that the Navajo have historically been
opposed to individualism. They have been reported as rejecting the aggressive,
dictatorial postures that dominate Euro-American coaching. Blanchard, for example,
reports that the Navajo prefer a democratic style of coaching in which the team is
talked about, praised or punished, but the individual is not. [27]
The Navajo, like many native cultures, are described as placing strong emphasis on
unity and group consensus. Thus their leadership style is decentralized and they tend
to negotiate social issues by agreement and consent. The idea of celebrating an
individual goes against the collectivist cultural ideology found among many native
people. Yet, in addition to the structure of team sports lending to the praising and
chastising of whole teams, the point scoring and strategies of play also create athletes
who stand out among their peers. These standouts then become the subject of school,
community and media attention. Because of this social recognition, they find
themselves in a precarious social location, as this is an objectionable practice. It is, for
example, this same objection to dictatorship that Kareem Abdul-Jabbar encountered
when he temporarily coached high-school basketball among the White Mountain
Apache in Arizona. He wrote: ‘Apache prefer to blend in with one another rather
than stand out on their own’. [28] Allison and Lueschen have previously shown this
among the Navajo too:
In the Navajo basketball system the movement of an athlete toward a ‘star’ status
immediately sets off a chain of status levelling devices by team-mates and members
of the larger social milieu, such as ignoring or ostracizing the ‘star’. In two more
severe cases, witchcraft was said to have been practised by relatives on two athletes
because their behaviour violated the principle: to be highly skilled is one matter; to
flaunt that skill and expect public recognition is another. [29]
When I interviewed standout athletes about what it was like being in the centre of
attention, they upheld this precarious position by seeming uncomfortable with their
status. Recall how Jon would not say ‘Yeah I was popular’ after our trip through the
hallway. Rather, he responded with a more modest ‘I had friends’. Similarly, a
football quarterback told me that he enjoys some aspects of being well-recognized
(mentioning the attention he received from women) but that it was also ‘kind of
cheap in a way. I mean there are a lot of people who dislike you because they think
you’re better than they are. And I’m not any different, so I try not to talk about it
among my friends’. Another standout athlete told me: ‘I try not to make too much of
it, and sometimes it makes me real uncomfortable when people treat me as if I’m any
different than anybody else’. She added: ‘I’m just one of the team’.
Resistance to the star status of these athletes can also be found in athletes of lesser-
celebrated sports. Another star basketball player referred to a rift between basketball
players and minor sport athletes: ‘They don’t like us a whole lot’, he said. ‘They think
we’re too good for them’. Indeed, the wrestlers and runners I talked to resented the
attention given to basketball and football players. Even the elite wrestlers and runners
120 E. D. Anderson
reported that they receive very little attention from their school or community. This,
of course, is not necessarily different from the rift between popular and less popular
sports off the reservation, but the discord seemed elevated among the minor sport
athletes that I talked with. One distance runner said: ‘It’s not that he’s a basketball
player that bothers me, I have friends who are on the team. It’s just that he thinks he’s
the best, and that’s not right.’
Similar to the manner in which Allison and Lueschen found status levelling
through what they call ‘witchcraft’, I also found status levelling in operation through
the practice of a medicine man. I attended an annual check-up with a standout
athlete. The performing medicine man discussed the boy’s athletic success with his
mother (in Navajo) and, after using crystals to examine the boy’s body, found that, as
a reaction of the jealousy of others, small deer-bones had emerged within the body of
the young athlete (something Allison and Lueschen might call witchcraft). The bones
were said to be causing illness and needed removal. Using an arrowhead, the
medicine man surgically removed the three pea-sized bones buried beneath the boy’s
skin (which brought the boy to tears) and deposited them into a stone bowl where he
then performed ceremonial chants and practices over them. After the procedure, the
medicine man instructed him not to make too much of his accomplishments in the
future.
In this example, the ‘stripping away’ that Allison and Leuschen described 25 years
earlier has not been borne out. Coaching styles have also remained unchanged to the
collectivist manner in which Blanchard described in the 1970s and 1980s. [30] I asked
every athlete interviewed questions designed to elicit how the coach motivates or
punishes individuals, and all reported that it would be highly unusual for a coach to
single out the individual (although some suggested that they once had a white coach
who did just that). And when asked directly, all said that their coach rarely points a
kid out for praise or punishment – that the coach most always refers to the team as a
whole. This was also consistent with my observations. In this aspect, the Navajo have
clearly resisted some of the meanings of dominance that come with colonial sports,
even though this resistance places young athletes in a paradoxical situation.
Under this model, one might expect that the more attention an individual gains,
the more he or she might be resisted by the community. Matters were not this simple,
however. It seems that a mild degree of individual recognition is viewed with disdain,
but that if the athlete accrues a great deal of praise he or she is celebrated. For
example, one of the highest honours bestowed on an individual athlete is the offering
of an athletic scholarship. I saw no status levelling around this issue. Instead, I saw a
strong community-wide emphasis placed on the obtainment of such. It seems that if
Navajo athletes can gain positive attention outside the reservation, it is thought to
reflect well upon the Navajo in general. Thus a form of celebrity is upheld for those
who earn a college scholarship.
The individual’s earning of an athletic scholarship was widely esteemed by coaches,
teachers and administrators. At one high school several people (coaches,
administrators and students) told me with great excitement about the scholarship
that one athlete had earned. I spoke with that athlete in the presence of his friends:
‘I hear you got a full scholarship to play ball?’ ‘Yeah’, he said,
Well, not full anyhow. They keep writing me and they want me to play for them.
But the only thing is that they are saying I’d make the team, but they’d only give me
half a scholarship. I’d have to pay the other half. And that’s a lot of money for
[names school], you know.
Many of the school’s students, teachers and administrators knew about this young
man and his acceptance on a scholarship to this particular college. Several people had
told me that I should talk to him because of it. But later, in a private conversation, he
informed me that not only was he not offered scholarship money but also that he was
not admitted to the school at all. He was denied. He informed me that he was
planning to attend a community college off the reservation after graduating high
school. A rumour had begun that he was accepted to this four-year university, and
when I asked him why he had not told others the truth, he replied: ‘If they think I’ve
made it, it brings them pride. I’ll be off the reservation anyhow, so it isn’t that big a
deal’.
In this aspect, one can see how the community-wide emphasis on athletic
scholarships may be permitted despite the fact that it signals an individual’s
accomplishment. Because it is seen as credit or recognition from outside the
reservation, it serves a symbol of Navajo efficacy. In this aspect, individualism and
the praising of an individual seems to be viewed with disdain when it is limited to the
reservation, but when an individual gains attention from those outside the
reservation, it is viewed from an entirely different perspective: giving Navajo athletes
a complex social arena in which to navigate.
The situation seems a compromise between traditional Navajo values of consensus
and the utility of an individual for Navajo pride. But this compromise is made
because life outside the reservation may hold hope for a better life for the Navajo
individual, and there is hope that this individual may make life for the Navajo as a
whole better. There is lots of talk about ‘making it’ outside the reservation and then
‘returning’ to help the Navajo Nation. In this aspect, superstardom is viewed as a
positive vessel. Unfortunately, the obtainment of a college scholarship is perhaps
more difficult on the reservation than off.
Hoop Dreams
Sports have previously been criticized for providing kids with false hope of earning an
athletic scholarship. Eitzen says:
Typically, Americans believe that sport is a path to upward social mobility. This
belief is based on the obvious examples we see as poor boys and men (rarely girls
and women) from rural and urban areas, whether white or black, sometimes
skyrocket to fame and fortune through success in sports. Sometimes the financial
reward has been staggering. . . . But while the possibility of staggering wealth and
122 E. D. Anderson
status through sport is possible, the reality is that dramatic upward mobility
through sport is highly improbable. [31]
This overemphasis on sport reproduces the existing class structure in America, and I
argue it helps reproduce Navajo poverty as well. In neo-Marxist theory, sports, like
capitalism, give the illusion that all is fair, that the playing field is the great leveller – a
true meritocracy. However, not all is equal in sports, and sports are the farthest thing
from a meritocracy. Sports discriminate against biological phenotypes and there is
much institutional racism in sport. [32] But for the impoverished, sport often seems
to be one of the few vehicles out of poverty. And for those who are not as
academically inclined, or for those who have never applied the same rigour of sport
to their academics, athletics can seem the only way out.
The myth that sports are a meritocracy, that one can readily earn an athletic
scholarship if one works hard enough, appeals to these young Navajo athletes. In fact,
almost every high school athlete I talked with shared with me that he or she thought a
college scholarship was obtainable. The illusion of success is made by the fact that
some athletes have succeeded in obtaining a college scholarship. Coaches, teachers
and parents further this widespread belief. For example, I was talking with a freshman
basketball player, and I asked him what he planned on doing after high school. He
said: ‘I’d like to play ball for one of those big universities if I can earn a scholarship.
You know, I’d like to play for Duke or North Carolina, or somewhere like that’. He
then turned to his coach and said: ‘If I’m good enough to make it?’ His coach
responded: ‘Just keep working hard’. Although the coach is certainly correct in
asserting that hard work is part of the equation for the type of performance that will
be necessary to earn a college scholarship, height is another. The kid in question was
approximately five feet five inches.
It is ironic that the Navajo value football and basketball the most, because, unlike
wrestling or running, they are at a somatic disadvantage in these sports. Some
coaches recognize this: ‘The game of basketball has little need for a five-foot seven-
inch forward and football has little need for a 160-pound lineman,’ one Navajo coach
said. But others stressed to me how college scholarships are vital for their athletes:
‘These kids need these scholarships. They need to succeed off the reservation and then
return to help their community.’
Another disadvantage comes in the nature of Navajo facilities. Most of the kids play
on dirt lots before entering high school; conversely, children in the inner cities grow
up playing on blacktop, a surface closer to the paraffin courts found in high-school
gymnasiums. Paradoxically, another disadvantage relates to the abundance of hoops
available to them on the reservation. Navajo children can always find a (dirt) court to
play on, and while it is nice to have a hoop to practise on, the relative abundance might
also hurt them. Fewer courts (as is found in the inner cities) increases competition to
play on them, and that increases the intensity of the game.
Further increasing the difficulty of gaining an athletic scholarship is the fact that
universities are increasingly hesitant to give full scholarships. Athletic departments
often find they can make better use of their money by offering students partial
scholarships so that they might recruit twice the number of athletes. [33] There may
also be discrimination against Native American athletes on the part of college coaches,
who may believe that native athletes are more likely to drop out of school than white
athletes. ESPN highlights this in a special on native athletes, in which one college coach
says she did not give her native athlete a full scholarship because of the perceived
higher probability of her returning to the reservation. [34] Finally, gaining college
scholarships is made difficult by the lack of visibility that Navajo athletes maintain to
collegiate programmes. One reservation coach told me: ‘No. We don’t get a lot of
recruiters out here. Most of them would have no idea where the reservation was’.
These factors most certainly challenge the already dim chances a high-school ball
player has of earning a college scholarship. And there can be no doubt that the
coaches and athletes are aware of the extreme difficulty Navajo athletes face in terms
of earning a college scholarship as they have very few examples of those who have.
But despite these low numbers, athletes – and the community – retain the myth of a
plausible athletic scholarship. Therefore there must be something else the Navajo gain
from athletic success, something desirable enough to encourage athletes to pursue
athletic scholarships, despite the fact that the community resists other forms of
individualism, and despite the fact that the odds of earning such a scholarship are
overwhelmingly against them. I posit that such reason comes in the manner in which
success in colonial athletics serves as a form of resistance against assimilation, and
reproduces Navajo pride.
Structure and Agency

Societies employ ritual to transmit the symbolic codes of the dominant culture to
ensure the reproduction of that culture and to secure the position of the ruling class.
[35] Sport serves as a significant means by which a state can socialize its citizens into
common norms and values while boosting pride in the nation by providing citizens
with common displays of patriotism. Sport, then, becomes a site for rituals that are
reproduced from one generation to the next.
High school sports have been shown to bring pride to small towns or
impoverished communities throughout America. ‘When the school team wins, the
community feels good about itself, even if the economic or social conditions are
bleak’. [36] Miracle and Rees also report that small communities, in particular, can
cherish the dream of receiving recognition and prestige when the local high-school
team beats a larger, more powerful opponent. Coleman has suggested that most
communities seldom experience common goals to ‘engender a communal spirit and
make members feel close to one another by creating collective goals’. [37] I maintain
that the same occurs with Navajo athletics: that Navajo people take great pride in
beating white teams at their own game. Perhaps victory over colonial teams, in
colonial sports, is a way of producing Navajo pride because it is a way of saying ‘You
are beating me, but you are not dominating me’.
124 E. D. Anderson
This was made salient in discussions with Navajo athletes when asked of their
most memorable athletic moments. After being told details of the game I would
ask: ‘Was this a white school?’ Most of the respondents indicated that it was. One
smiled and said: ‘Oh. We definitely like to beat white schools’. Another athlete
described playing white teams as a unique situation because it is cause for all the
Navajo to cheer on their own. ‘Normally the crowd is split into cheering for two
Navajo teams. But, when we go somewhere else to play another team, it’s like all
the Navajo are cheering for us’. I then asked him if it was more exciting to beat
another Native American team (such as the Hopi) or a white team. ‘Oh, I like
to beat white teams the best,’ he responded. When I asked ‘How come?’ he replied:
‘I don’t know, it’s just more fun. They have all the money and stuff, but we beat
them’.
The coaches and athletes do not appear to verbalize their desires to beat white
schools specifically to their athletes, but they do express to their athletes the
importance of ‘representing’ the Navajo in order to gain respect for their people.
One athlete said: ‘When we are out there, we are representing the Navajo Nation
as a whole, not just our school. If we look bad, the whole nation looks bad’. The
athletes frequently spoke of this, sometimes talking about how if they misbehaved
it would make their people look bad, and sometimes about how doing well would
make their people proud. One athlete said: ‘Our coach keeps telling us how
proud our people will be of us, how proud he is of us, I don’t like to let him
down’.
In this manner, colonial sports, which were designed as a mechanism of cultural
assimilation, have also given the Navajo a forum to resist colonization. Competing
against white teams is of significance to the Navajo, as attendance at their games
suggests. Perhaps the ability to compete against their colonizers, and the possibility of
beating them at their own game, has enabled colonial sports to be adopted into
Navajo culture and values. This marriage, however, is not perfect; something evident
when examining the paradox standout athletes live in as they negotiate their way in a
sport that produces stardom in a culture that resists it.
Conclusion
Colonial sports such as football and basketball were imposed upon Navajo school
children as a larger part of efforts by missionaries to assimilate them into Euro-
American culture. This was partially an attempt to erase the history and memory of
native people and partially because it was believed that, if natives adopted the
structure of colonial sport, they would also adopt the meaning of those sports. To
this date, colonial sports have grown to be immensely popular on the Navajo
reservation. This research set out to examine the relationship between the Navajo and
those sports. Specifically, it examined the most popular sport among the Navajo,
basketball. It is noteworthy that this sport is also the most (or one of the most)
popular sports off the reservation.
Where one might be likely to view the identification with colonial sports as a sign
that the colonialists were successful in using sport as a way to replace Navajo values
with colonial values, it is also possible that the immense popularity of Native
American participation in colonial sports during the late twentieth and early twenty-
first centuries signals not assimilation but a form of resistance to assimilation. In
essence, I propose that, if natives uniformly adopted the structure of colonial sports
without their meanings, they might be able to use colonial sports as a unifying agent
among not only their own people, but among natives in general. Essentially, by
adopting the structure of colonial sports, but not their meaning, the Navajo might be
tricking the colonists into thinking they have prevailed.
Adopting the structure, but not the meaning, of colonial institutions fits a long
Navajo tradition. The Navajo are a people who have incorporated symbols and events
of other cultures into their own without jeopardizing their belief system. The
presence of Western churches and medicine alongside traditional beliefs serve this
example. Since their introduction, colonial sports have become important to the
Navajo, even though the ones they value the most (basketball and football) place the
Navajo at the greatest disadvantage. While the coordinated efforts among players
required for these sports may not seem to contradict traditional Navajo values, the
individual superstar status that they also produce does. Thus the question of what
these sports mean to the Navajo is made salient.
I show that the Navajo use these sports for many of the same practical reasons that
make them popular off the reservation; they are fast-paced team sports that also
provide a good seat for many, and that they raise money for schools. The Navajo
value these sports because they provide entertainment, give them a purpose to gather
and because they are the sports that colonists value the most.
Ostensibly, it would seem that this signals that the colonists have been fully
successful in their assimilationist efforts. However, this research shows that the
Navajo have used these sports as a way to unite the Navajo and provide them with the
opportunity to play games with other tribes. Perhaps most important, colonial sports
provide the Navajo an avenue to compete against the colonists. Success in these
sports sends the message ‘you are beating me, but you are not dominating me’, in
much the same way Richard Majors has shown that African American youth use
basketball to send a similar message. [38] In this respect, participation in and success
at basketball and football enable the Navajo to generate native pride and ultimately
serve as a form of covert resistance against colonialism by beating the white man at
his own game.
The marriage between colonial sports and the Navajo is, however, not perfect.
Navajo athletes report feeling caught between a culture that values collectivism and a
sport that promotes individualism. They appear to negotiate this difference by
maintaining a collective orientation to their coaching styles, and only valuing an
individual’s athletic accomplishments as long as he or she doesn’t make too much of
it. In this manner, the Navajo attempt to gain the most of their relationship with a
sport that does not represent their cultural values.
126 E. D. Anderson
Whereas the obtainment of individual fame on the reservation is met with
conflicting sentiment, the obtainment of fame off the reservation is seen as a source
of pride generation for the Navajo. Athletes who rise to the top find themselves as
individual representatives for the Navajo Nation, individuals in whom the people
take great pride. In this respect, and unlike athletes off the reservation, once top-
notch high school athletes do not seem to lose their fame as they age.
Earning a scholarship is taken as a sign of great pride because these scholarships are
given by the colonists themselves. As a vessel to escape the poverty of reservation life,
however, this strategy appears to be highly ineffectual. High school athletes face the
same overwhelming odds that inner-city youths face in obtaining an athletic college
scholarship, yet the Navajo have several other disadvantages as well. They do not have
the same height as members of other communities and there is an overabundance of
hoops on the reservation. Finally, their inaccessibility, the great distance that the
Navajo high schools maintain from metropolitan areas, makes it much more difficult
for college recruiters to travel to see them perform.
Thus sports appear to be a mixed bag for the Navajo. While their reverence among
the Navajo signals a successful assimilationist attempt on part of the colonists, the
meanings behind the sports, and the uses of these sports, also promote Navajo
solidarity and pride. While the structure of colonial sports necessarily produces
individual standouts that stress Navajo acceptability, if these standouts attract enough
fame outside the reservation, they stand as a symbol of Navajo capability and
community pride. This means that, ironically, athletes stand to gain a great deal of
cultural disdain until they make it far enough. This cultural location places Navajo
athletes in a difficult situation, ultimately, trapping young Navajo athletes into a false
consciousness in which they believe sport to be the ticket off the reservation, and
placing them in a culturally complicated arena in which to navigate. Ultimately, the
relationship between colonial sports and the Navajo is a complicated one, suggesting
colonial desires to rid the Navajo of their identity and belief system has not yet been
successful.
Notes
[1] Farella, The Main Stalk.
[2] Chandler, ‘Anthropological Perspectives on South-western Indians’.
[3] Allison and Lueschen, ‘A Comparative Analysis of Navajo Indian and Anglo Basketball Sport
Systems’; Blanchard, ‘Basketball and the Cultural-Change Process’; Cheska, ‘Sport as Ethnic
Boundary Maintenance’; Collins and Condon, ‘Blood on the Ice’.
[4] Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage; Said, Orientalism.
[5] Allison and Lueschen, ‘A Comparative Analysis’; Cheska, ‘Sport as Ethnic Boundary
Maintenance’; Farella, The Main Stalk; Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Oswalt and Neely, This Land Was Theirs.
[8] Dundes, ‘Into the Endzone for a Touchdown’.
[9] Anderson, In the Game.
[10] Dundes, ‘Into the Endzone for a Touchdown’; Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[11] Vennum, American Indian Lacrosse; Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage; Baldwin,
Games of the American Indian; Culin ‘Games of the North American Indian’; Beauchamp,
‘Iroquois Games’.
[12] Sage, Power and Ideology in American Sport.
[13] Allison and Lueschen, ‘A Comparative Analysis’; Cheska, ‘Sport as Ethnic Boundary
Maintenance’; Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[14] Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[15] Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do.
[16] Oxendine, American Indian Sports Heritage.
[17] Culin, ‘Games of the North American Indian’.
[18] Berger and Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality; Holstein and Miller, Reconsidering
Social Constructionism; Dilorio, ‘Feminism, Gender, and the Ethnographic Study of Sport’;
Frye, The Politics of Reality; Lorber, Paradoxes of Gender; Paraschack and Heine, ‘Space, Place
and Experience’’; West and Zimmerman, ‘Doing Gender’.
[19] Bissinger, Friday Night Lights: A Town, a Team, and a Dream; Mirracle and Rees, Lessons of the
Locker Room.
[20] Nabokov, Indian Running.
[21] Oswalt and Neely, This Land Was Theirs; Allison and Lueschen, ‘A Comparative Analysis’ 85.
[22] Allison and Lueschen, ibid.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Garrity, ‘A Clash of Cultures on the Hopi Reservation’.
[25] Abdul-Jabbar, A Season on the Reservation.
[26] Coakley, Sport in Society.
[27] Blanchard, ‘Play and Adaptation’.
[28] Abdul-Jabbar, A Season on the Reservation, 60.
[29] Allison and Lueschen, ‘A Comparative Analysis,’ 78.
[30] Blanchard, ‘Play and Adaptation’.
[31] Eitzen, Sport in Contemporary Society, 256.
[33] Eitzen, Sport in Contemporary Society.
[34] ESPN, ‘The Native American Sport Experience’.
[35] Sabo, ‘The Football Ritual and the Social Reproduction of Masculinity’; Sage, Power and
Ideology in American Sport.
[36] Miracle and Reese, Lessons of the Locker Room, 155.
[37] Coleman, The Adolescent Society, 46.
[38] Majors and Billson, Cool Pose.
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Historical Interpretations of
First Nations Masculinity and its
Influence on Canada’s Sport Heritage
Michael A. Robidoux
The influence of Aboriginal culture on European colonists in Canadian history has been
overshadowed by European influence and dominance. The French, in particular, were
influenced by First Nations culture and technology, to the extent that French men began
emulating First Nations traits, creating a distinct French subculture called les Canadiens.
These French men began measuring themselves against their First Nation counterparts
and competed with them in activities such as canoeing, snowshoeing and tobogganing, but
also in team sports such as lacrosse. By taking up these behaviours First Nations, and later
Canadien expressions of play provided a counter-discourse to sport as a breeding ground
for proper bourgeois gentlemen which came to fruition in Victorian Canada between 1850
and 1880. Thus it is my intention to explore how this emergent sport identity came to serve
as an expression not only of Canadian sport identity but of Canadian nationalism.
While conducting research of First Nations [1] ice hockey in Northern Ontario
during the winter of 2001 I became intrigued by two recurring themes: one was the
deep connection First Nations peoples in the region (Nishnawbe, Ojibway–Cree and
Cree) had with the game of hockey; the second was the play itself, and the emphasis
on what can be described as physical and mental stoicism. The former is of interest
because ice hockey in its modern form was not introduced to First Nations
populations until quite recently (early to mid twentieth century), primarily through
residential schools. [2] It was introduced as part of a larger assimilatory strategy to
incorporate First Nations youth into dominant Euro-Canadian culture. [3] Despite
this, ice hockey is often understood by First Nations people as their own, and part of
an indigenous cultural heritage. [4] My concern with the latter is more relevant to us
here as it speaks to the construct of masculinity within First Nations culture.
To begin, it needs stating that the ice hockey I studied was played exclusively by
adult men in First Nations communities. While hockey is becoming more popular for
First Nations females across Canada, in this region, hockey is still predominantly
played by males. Instead of hockey females more often participate in broomball.
Second, the players’ behaviour at first glance appeared to typify the male Euro-
Canadian hockey behaviour – highly competitive, aggressive and often violent – that I
had previously observed in other research contexts. [5] But after closer inspection
important differences became evident which I began noting in my field book:
The end of the game resulted in a brief fight, with one player trying to fight
another, but players came in, pushed each other away, and nothing happened. The
fact that so little happened needs to be qualified here however; the rough nature
of . . . the tournament . . . encourages rough behaviour. When the fight broke out,
people in [the] stands started yelling. Within this tournament framework, the way
they set up the style of games [full contact] this kind of outburst is almost
inevitable. What I am amazed by . . . is that more outbursts didn’t happen. [6]
It was clear from watching the play, and by speaking with the players, that
toughness and physical prowess were highly valued qualities for these men. In a
conversation I had with one player he explained that ‘these guys are strong’, grabbing
his chest, signifying more than physical strength. He continued by saying ‘these guys
give and take body breaking hits that would take down any man . . . these guys are
tough. Mike, they gotta be.’ [7] Yet what I found intriguing was that these
expressions of toughness manifested themselves quite differently from my previous
experiences researching and playing ice hockey. While bone-crushing checks and
aggressive use of the stick were frequent, it was the First Nations players’ responses to
these acts of aggression that appeared to have greater significance.
Throughout the games there were numerous incidents where players would receive
incredible physical blows, whether through body contact or through contact with the
stick, which in Euro-Canadian contexts typically leads to some kind of retaliatory gesture,
if not an actual physical fight. Retaliatory gestures in this First Nations research context,
however, were rare to non-existent. Instead players would often smile or even laugh after
receiving blows, which I recorded on several occasions in my field notes: ‘A player just
cross-checked the goalie in the head. Nothing [is done] in retaliation. Bump and push
does not seem to escalate into anything. Players often laugh when they are hit.’ [8]
My first response was to interpret this behaviour in terms of sportsmanship and
fair play, [9] quite similarly to early European responses to indigenous play
behaviours at the time of first contact. For example, one eighteenth century account
reads: ‘The Chippewas play with so much vehemence that they frequently wound
each other, and sometimes a bone is broken; but notwithstanding these accidents
there never appears to be any spite or wanton exertions of strength to affect them,
nor do any disputes ever happen between the parties.’ [10]
But this notion of fair play did not coincide with other aspects of the game,
especially the aggressive play and intimidation tactics that were common throughout
132 M. A. Robidoux
the entire tournament setting. The idea of ‘sportsmanship’ made sense only in terms
of the remarkable composure the men exuded after receiving serious and at times
even dirty blows, which I began struggling with early in my research. I wrote at one
point: ‘First Nations violence in hockey is received humorously by participants and
spectators.’ [11] I followed this by noting: ‘Violence communicates something
differently here . . . more needs to be known about what’s being said.’ [12] In
response, then, it is necessary to gain a deeper understanding of constructs of
masculinity within First Nations cultures, since these expressions of violence were
taking place in specifically male frameworks. To do so, I began researching historical
expressions of First Nations masculinity in hope of applying this knowledge to the
potential relationships between violence/aggression and gender. These discoveries
and applications, and how they intersect with larger Canadian constructs of gender
and sport, are the basis of this paper.
Interpreting Masculinity
There are certain challenges one encounters researching and defining masculinity
because it is multivalent, incapable of being reduced to a single idea or construct. These
challenges are magnified when attempting to address historical constructs of masculinity
in First Nations cultures in Canada because of the tremendous diversity that exists
between First Nations peoples across the country. The variation between First Nations
communities, which developed according to the ‘topography and fauna of the region in
which they lived and the consequent nature of their economy’ makes comments about
aboriginal qualities or traits not only difficult, but even dangerous. [13]
What I have attempted here does not overcome or even address these challenges.
Instead, I have chosen to work from these problematic perspectives by discussing
First Nations masculinity as understood and described by early European inhabitants
of northern North America. In doing so I intentionally avoid trying to provide some
definitive notion of what First Nations masculinity entails (as I have already alluded
to the difficulties of such an endeavour). What I do wish to provide are early colonial
perspectives on First Nations masculinity and illustrate how First Nations male
culture altered constructs of masculinity in Euro-Canadian history, subsequently
influencing a Canadian sport heritage.
What needs to be stressed here is that Indian-European relations in early North
America were mutually affective, in that initial contact between First Nations peoples
and Europeans produced significant changes for both groups. The ultimate
devastation and oppression brought about by imperialistic regimes and ideologies
should not overshadow the realities of initial contact. The gross dependence of early
European settlers on First Nations knowledge and technologies produced a context of
cultural exchange, not domination as some academic and popular discourse might
suggest. [14] It is from this period of exchange that early Europeans – primarily
French prior to 1700 – acquired not only the skills necessary to survive the
unforgiving conditions of Canada’s hinterland but the sensibilities that made
perseverance possible. These sensibilities have since been romanticized and

politicized as part of Canadian mythology, and not surprisingly built into the fabric
of mainstream consciousness, manifesting themselves in such cultural constructions
as masculinity and sport.
Struggling to Survive in New France

The first attempts to establish permanent settlements in what is now Canada were
largely unsuccessful, primarily because of formidable living conditions brought on by
a harsh climate and landscape, along with the – imagined and real – threat of First
Nations aggression. Samuel de Champlain provides a first hand account of one
disastrous attempt to settle at St. Croix Island in 1603:
During this winter our beverages all froze except the Spanish wine. . . . We were
obliged to make use of very bad water and to drink melted snow, since we had
neither springs nor brooks. . . . The labour with the hand-mill was very painful,
because most of us, having poor quarters and suffering from shortage of fuel which
we could not procure on account of the ice, had almost no strength; and, again,
we ate only salt meat and vegetables during the winter, which produced poor
blood. [15]
Of the 79 men that began the winter, only 35 survived, extending the pattern of
aborted settlement attempts that had preceded St. Croix. [16]
Champlain’s recognition of this failed settlement attempt is contrasted with his
observations of First Nations proficiency in the same wintry conditions:
When they go hunting they make use of certain racquets, twice as large as those
of our country, which they attach under their feet, and with these they travel over
the snow without sinking. . . . Having found these they follow them until they
catch sight of the beast, when they shoot at him with their bows, or else kill him
with thrusts from swords set in the end of a half-pike. This can be done very
easily, because these animals are unable to travel on the snow without sinking
in. . . . (In the month of March following, there arrived some Indians, who shared
with us their game, for which we gave them in exchange bread and other articles.
Such is the manner of life of these people in winter, and it seems to me very
wretched.) [17]
There is a certain ambivalence evident here that is typical of many first-hand

accounts describing First Nations methods of survival. The ability to survive in
conditions unbearable to the French was awe-inspiring, but similarly criticized
because of what was endured to achieve these ends. First-hand accounts from Jesuit
Fathers attempting to reside among First Nations tribes are most revealing in this
regard. In 1611 Father Pierre Biard writes:
they are so perverted by false ideas and by custom, that, as I have said, they really
worship the Devil. To obtain the necessaries of life they endure cold and hunger in
an extraordinary manner. During eight or ten days, if the necessity is imposed on
134 M. A. Robidoux
them, they will follow the chase in fasting, and they hunt with the greatest ardour
when the snow is deepest and the cold most severe. [18]
In 1633 Father Paul le Jeune describes a situation where a priest, who is too fatigued
to carry his belongings on a journey, is saved by a First Nations male who not only
carries the priest’s load, but carries the priest along with it. It is recorded that the
male said: ‘I will drag it for thee, and I will take this great sealskin to wrap thee up in,
and draw thee to thy house. If thou art sick, take courage, I will not abandon thee.’
[19] This is followed by le Jeune adding ‘we have to suffer in accompanying the
Savages in their wanderings, and what must necessarily be done if we wish to aid in
saving them’. [20]
The baseness of First Nations existence, which appalled the French, ironically saved
them from their own predicaments. Biard provides details of First Nations
resourcefulness by explaining that ‘in January they have the seal hunting’ which
provides them with meat. [21] They also ‘make of its fat an oil, which serves them as
sauce throughout the year; they fill several moose-bladders with it, which are two or
three times as large and strong as our pig bladders.’ [22] It is this ingenuity that saves
the French on numerous occasions but again descriptions are coupled with
ambivalence, as in Biard’s account:
to remain in this country . . . to live among the Savages in their way for a
whole year, looked to us like a long and miserable death. These good Savages,
having heard about our misfortune, came and offered to do their best for us,
promising to feed us during the winter, and showing a great deal of sympathy
for us. [23]
Early French settlers found First Nations existence deplorable, but their own situation
was even worse without the benefit of First Nations charity and assistance.
Understanding the relationship between early European settlers and the First
Nations is significant for two reasons. First, it illustrates an indigenous way of life that
required not only ingenuity but also profound physical and mental fortitude. Second,
it illustrates the need for French settlers to adopt First Nations technologies and
sensibilities to survive year-round in Canada. To survive in this northern
environment one could not hide from its conditions, but needed to engage in them
directly, which meant adopting a way of life emblematic of those people the French
were attempting to colonize.
The Coureurs de Bois and the Shaping of Canadian Masculinity

This adaptive lifestyle is no more apparent than with the coureurs de bois whose very
existence was made possible by First Nations men. The coureurs de bois were
European fur traders who lived alongside First Nations peoples travelling the myriad
trade routes. Bruce Trigger explains that the ‘French traders quickly adopted items of
native dress, accustomed themselves to use canoes and snowshoes, hunted alongside
Indian men, and joined them in their ritual steam baths’. [24] Their ability to adapt
to this unforgiving lifestyle made the coureurs de bois the source of romantic
narrative, celebrating their ordeals as part of the local folklore. One such account
comes from a Jesuit Father who claims that a ‘Frenchmen, who lived with them [First
Nations] last winter, told us that during two days he ate nothing but a small piece of
candle, that he had accidentally carried in his pocket’. [25] These tales of surviving
the Canadian wilderness, however bleak in reality, ‘stirred the imaginations of every
habitant and seignior in the colony’, [26] elevating the coureurs de bois to hero-like
figures. What was ironically being heroized, however, was the young Frenchman’s
ability to take on First Nations qualities, creating a persona that had tremendous
influence on the popular consciousness of the time.
It is impossible to relate the significance of the coureurs de bois without first
emphasizing the importance of the fur trade in early Canadian history. Put simply,
permanent settlement in Canada began for two reasons: one was for the Catholic
Church in France to expand its dominance to other parts of the world in response to
the Protestant Reformation; the second was the discovery of a seemingly endless
supply of furs that would fuel the burgeoning fashion industry in Europe. Most
lucrative was the beaver pelt, which was required to make hats for European
gentleman. Therefore unlike earlier European interest in North America, whose
industry was based solely on fish, the French needed to move inland and establish
settlements to establish relations with the indigenous populations for reasons of
conversion and for trade.
To achieve both tasks the French required close contact with the aboriginal
populations. The first for obvious reasons; but in terms of the fur trade, it would have
been impossible to access the furs without the First Nations permitting the French to
trap and trade within their territories, and to also provide knowledge of how to trap and
trade in the area. Miller states that the French were ‘dependant on Indian informants for
knowledge of what lay beyond the next hill or lake’ and ‘for a means to travel in the
interior’. [27] Moreover, they relied on First Nations technology to physically get them
there, whether it be a canoe or ‘other Indian tools, such as the ‘‘contraption they called a
toboggan and the gear they put on their feet to travel over snow during the long
winters’’’. [28] The ability of the coureurs de bois to adapt to this remarkable way of life
made them essential to New France’s economy and were afforded privileges that enabled
them to exist independent of church or government controls.
As a result the coureurs de bois were seen as invincible, able to overcome not only
the unforgiving conditions of the Canadian wilderness but also the oppressive regime
of the French authorities. They became the first of a long list of renegade heroes who
helped shape a larger masculinist tradition that ‘continued as a characteristic part of
sexual ideology in former colonies of settlement such as the United States, South
Africa and Australia’. [29] Like other frontier heroes, the coureurs de bois ‘lived
recklessly, heedless of what the future held in store for them. Danger was cheerfully
faced, and privation grimly accepted.’ [30] With this recklessness came a disdain for
authority; they were perceived as outlaws, thwarting laws that regulated trade with
First Nations populations, especially those prohibiting the use of alcohol as trade
136 M. A. Robidoux
goods. In The Jesuit Relations, Thwaites provides an editorial note that describes the
role of the coureurs de bois in Canadian history:
For many years – since at least 1660 – the fur trade had been illegally carried on by
wandering Canadian trappers and voyageurs, who were commonly termed
coureurs de bois, ‘wood-rangers’. Laws against this illicit traffic were enacted by
the French government, but they were seldom effective; and it was openly charged
that the Canadian governors and other officials were in collusion with the coureurs
de bois, and sharers in their profits. [31]
In reality the coureurs de bois were more often sharers in First Nations culture and
traditions, not the exploitative villains described as here. [32] However, qualities
associated with conquest had greater political value within a newly developing
capitalist economy that was dictating colonial interests and development throughout
French expansion. Therefore much of the heroic status grafted upon the coureurs de
bois was based on their perceived ability to conquer their environment and, second,
to conquer the indigenous population to produce even greater economic gain.
These qualities of conquest were translated into hegemonic masculine behaviours
that spoke to emergent capitalist ideologies that were fuelling the colonialist
imperative.
Defining Male Worth

It is necessary to acknowledge the source of these qualities of masculinity that
influenced constructs of male hegemony in Canada. I have stressed the important
role of the coureurs de bois in this relationship, but it would be incorrect to suggest, as
does Kevin B. Wamsley, that the coureurs de bois are the model on which this identity
is based. [33] This is only a half-truth, as the coureurs de bois were simply modelling
themselves after First Nations males who enabled French, and later Dutch and
English, traders access to the fur trade. In fact these early French males were
enamoured of their First Nations counterparts to the extent that First Nations men
served as measures by which French males could validate their own worth as men.
Miller writes that the ‘young voyageurs struggled to copy the Indians’ stoicism in the
face of adversity and their endurance when confronted with hardship, deprivation,
and pain’. [34] The operative word here is ‘struggled’, as they needed to emulate First
Nations males out of occupational necessity. Paul Kane provides us with an
indication of what the French might have endured by reporting in 1847 that First
Nations traders would often take off their moccasins while crossing the icy terrain.
He explains that
walking barefooted on the ice in such intense cold would seem dangerous to the
inexperienced, but, in fact, the feet of those who are accustomed to it suffer less in
this way than they do from the ice which always forms on the inside of
the moccasin . . . as the ice thus formed cracks into small pieces and cuts the
feet. [35]
Therefore without being able to assume certain modes of behaviour, and as Clark
suggests, a First Nations way of life, survival would not have been possible:
Many of these acquisitions, such as techniques of travel and manner of dressing,

were essential for survival under conditions faced by the traders. Even the adoption
of the attitude of mind of the native, of not worrying about the future, was
necessary as a means of avoiding the nervous strain of the trader’s precarious way
of life. [36]
Occupational-related behaviours eventually became part of the everyday lives of

French traders, especially in the shape of formal competitions where men could test
their new masculine identities. It is here that we see most clearly the value French
males placed on First Nations constructs of masculinity, as the competitions
involved performing tasks equal to or better than their First Nations counterparts.
Trigger explains that by ‘demonstrating their skills as hunters or generously
distributing European goods, they could also win personal popularity and prestige
among the Indians’. [37] In addition to displaying hunting skills, sporting activities
such as snowshoeing, canoeing and tobogganing were useful illustrations of the
French learning to adapt to an environment that had proved insurmountable in the
earliest years of their arrival. The activities themselves became important for
competition because success in them demonstrated physical proficiency in the
natural environment, but, perhaps more importantly, they symbolized what
life entailed for early Canadian settlers. It is not overstated, then, that a ‘large part
of the emerging Canadian identity . . . had its roots in the contact with Indian
society’. [38]
Interestingly this construct of masculinity ran counter to European developments
of masculinity that came to embody more refined and ‘gentlemanly’ qualities that
had little relevance in colonial life in Canada. [39] A more rugged bush masculinity
made more sense to early Canadian settlers for the same reasons the coureurs de bois
were attracted to First Nations males in the first place. Life was gruelling and required
a ruggedness and resourcefulness that ‘appeared distasteful to cultured observers
from overseas’, yet enabled pioneers ‘to surmount the difficulties they faced’. [40]
Thus the construct of masculinity was rooted deeply in the labour process and
athletic behaviours which were consistent with sensibilities introduced to rural and
centralized communities by Canadian fur traders. [41] It remained a masculinity
based in physical prowess, stoicism and courage and was affirmed through the daily
struggles for survival. In a more competitive framework men would publicly attest
these same qualities, while gaining greater proficiency in necessary life skills such as
tobogganing, canoeing and snowshoeing.
Mythologizing of a Canadian Identity

It is significant that this masculinity, based in labour and physically challenging
sporting activities, was not initially an identity shared or even condoned by the
138 M. A. Robidoux
colonial elite who were tied to European conventions and sensibilities. However, by
the turn of the nineteenth century, as ideas of a Canadian national identity were
beginning to shape, this rugged construct of masculinity entered into dominant
masculine relations, albeit at mythological level. In an effort to distance itself from its
European origins, and distinguish itself from its southern neighbours, a new
emergent business/professional class began constructing notions of a Canadian
consciousness linked to themes of survival and northern character. Motifs used to
articulate this Canadian identity were drawn specifically from the construct of the
frontiersman, the romanticized coureurs de bois whose identity was based in First
Nations masculinity.
This myth-making process is typical of other romantic nationalist agendas that
celebrate that which was considered disdainful and vulgar in earlier historical periods.
Hugh Trevor-Roper informs us of this within a Scottish context, where Highland
Scots were initially ‘despised as idle predatory barbarians’, only later to become a
symbol of Scottish identity and tradition. [42] In nineteenth-century Canada a
similar transformation occurred that saw life in the Canadian (winter) wilderness
being extolled as the essence of Canadian virtue and identity, not the unbearable
reality as it was initially described. Canadian winters, which had been the ruin of
settlement attempts, were now emblematic of a mythological northern character that
‘had become a convenient panacea, helping to account for and explain the oral, racial
and social purity of the Canadian people’. [43] For these nationalistic sentiments to
be successful it was important to stress how Canadians thrive in these conditions, not
suffer through them, which prompted a series of cultural productions – literary,
sporting, artistic – that were based in traditional First Nations knowledge and
activities that made Canadian settlement possible. The intention was to get
Canadians to participate in ‘typically Canadian’ behaviours such as snowshoeing,
tobogganing, canoeing and lacrosse, which would communicate to Canadians, and to
citizens around the world, that a Canadian identity did exist.
The only problem was that these behaviours, real to First Nations cultures, were
not part of the everyday lives of Canadians, except symbolically in the form of
vernacular sport and recreational pursuits, which were suddenly being touted as the
quintessential activities of the nation. Men of considerable influence began claiming
the virtues of Canadian sport in highly politicized terms in order to speak to the
hardiness of the Canadian people, but more importantly to distinguish Canada as a
distinct and identifiable entity. [44] One nineteenth-century narrative written by
Orton is typical of this romantic nationalistic discourse. He explains that ‘Canada lies
partly in the Arctic circle, where ice, frost, and snow hold their frozen reign for seven
or eight months’ which is ‘in every way preferable to such mongrel weather as afflicts
more southern latitudes.’ [45] Through such a ‘bracing climate’ the ‘average
Canadian’ develops a ‘bright eye and clear complexion’ and a ‘general appearance of
robust hardihood which is so envied by many of his southern brothers’. [46]
Chief among these promoters of Canadian identity was W. George Beers, who in
1877 discusses the merits of ‘Canadian Sports’ through a fictional narrative that
describes an American visitor discovering, first-hand, Canada’s favourite pastimes.

The first sport introduced to the ‘American cousin’ is lacrosse, which is fittingly
played against those who introduced the game to European settlers:
But now an enemy is upon you. You make a frantic plunge to pick up the ball, miss
it, lunge again, slip, and, at last, you’ve got it, and off you go for a run, when down
comes the whirling crosse of a red-skin whizzing past your ear like a stroke of death,
and possibly taking your knuckles on the way. [47].
Tobogganing, another activity introduced to Europeans by First Nations peoples, is

similarly described: ‘I had warned him to keep in his legs and fear the concussion; but
at once he thrust out his right leg, and got a compound fracture which laid him up
for twelve weeks. Toboganists are always bunting against something. It gets
monotonous without an occasional upset.’ [48] In the end Beers applauds his
American fictional character for participating in Canadian sport, despite his
‘plucky Cousin’ ending up with ‘sprained hand in sling and wrapper over blackened
eye’ and left at the bottom of ‘that Indian basswood’ disgusted with ‘Canadian’
sports. [49]
The intention here, as it is with the host of other narratives describing the rugged
character of Canadian sport, is to depict a sporting tradition that reflects the
hardships of Canadian existence, but that is enjoyed because of the hardiness of the
people. [50] The fictional American cannot appreciate these activities because he is
not Canadian and not a product of Canadian conditions and landscape. The irony
here is that the constructed Canadian identity is as much a fiction as the ‘American
cousin’ Beers concocts in ‘Canadian Sports’. The bourgeois benefactors of this new
Canadian mythology were as far removed from this imagined identity as were their
American neighbours. In order to construct an identity that was distinct from the
European heritage they shared with Americans, they turned to First Nations customs
and traditions which they then appropriated and claimed as their own. This is not to
say that Canadian nationalists aligned themselves with First Nations peoples, but
rather claimed mastery over these traditions which produced a uniquely Canadian
character.
In Orton’s discussion of Canadian winter pastimes he is quick to point out that
these pastimes are rooted in First Nations cultures. He claims that just ‘as the
Canadian national game of lacrosse, has been inherited from aboriginal inhabitants of
Canada, so too tobogganing . . . is also an old Indian sport’. [51] He then points out
that the ‘Canadian is indebted to the Indian, too, for snow-shoeing’. [52] James
C. Allen, also writing at the end of nineteenth century about ‘Snowshoeing in
Canuckia [Canada]’ points out that the ‘snowshoe enabled them [First Nations], in
former days, to traverse with ease, when in pursuit of game or on the warpath,
leagues of wilderness otherwise impassable in the winter season’. [53] The emphasis
on the past is important here in that there is a distancing of what is being touted as a
Canadian sport from the First Nations people who introduced it. This becomes more
evident in W. George Beers’s promotions of lacrosse as Canada’s national game,
140 M. A. Robidoux
which he identifies as being of First Nations ancestry but improved upon by Euro-
Canadians. He argues that the
Indian never can play as scientifically as the best white players, and it is a
lamentable fact, that Lacrosse, and the wind for running, which comes as natural to
the red-skin as his dialect, has to be gained on the part of the pale-face, by a gradual
course of practice and training. [54]
It is interesting, however, that when Beers introduces the game of lacrosse to his
‘American cousin’ it is a game played against a First Nations team, not Euro-
Canadians. Beers and other promoters of Canadian sport/nationalism claim
ownership of these activities through their modification of them, but at the same
time what makes the sports formidable and indicative of a Canadian character are
qualities that are associated with First Nations men. Therefore First Nations sports
are modified and made appropriate for a bourgeois sensibility, yet the games are
marketed and displayed as being an outgrowth of indigenous cultures which have
come to shape this mythological Canadian character.
Cultural Displays of Sport, Masculinity and Canadian Identity

By the time of Canadian confederation (1867) formal sport exhibitions were being
organized as a means of formally articulating a Canadian identity for international
and national audiences. It has been stated earlier that the majority of Canadians did
not share the patriotic sentiments of Canada’s business/professional class, and thus it
was equally important to display for Canadians a sense of national unity and identity
as it was for those abroad. Sport was important in this ‘imaginative’ process because
its popularity made it easy for public audiences to identify with, especially when
success in the activity is achieved. [55] Wamsley points out that the ‘victory of four
Canadian rowers over Europe’s best at the Paris Exposition of 1867 . . . received more
world press attention than Confederation’. [56] The attention sport commanded,
along with its endless potential of meanings, made it the perfect vehicle to
communicate a sense of self. To achieve this end cultural performances were staged
to communicate a national identity, which extended further the mythological
construct of the indomitable Canadian thriving in the formidable conditions of
northern life.
An example of such cultural displays were the winter carnivals of Montreal that
were designed to attract visitors to Canada so that they could experience first-
hand those conditions that were responsible for providing Canadians with their
unique and enviable dispositions. The fact that they took place in the middle of
winter when people could ‘sample packages of our dry, cold, clear and healthy
Winter’ is significant in that they illustrated ‘how Canadians not only look Jack
Frost in the face, but force him to become our companion in sport rather than
our master in misery’. [57] These comments that describe Canada as a wintry
paradise were instrumental in constructing images of Canadian life based in a
frozen landscape. [58] Through winter carnivals life in a frozen landscape could
be depicted as wondrous and invigorating by showcasing winter activities such as
tobogganing, skating and snowshoeing. The events became enormously popular
and the frozen cities of Montreal, Quebec City and Ottawa ‘were paraded to
fellow Canadians and foreigners alike as fashionable winter resorts where the true
spirit and character of the Canadian people could be witnessed, enjoyed and
imbibed’. [59]
This form of nationalistic expression was exported to various international
audiences as well, and although climate and landscape could not be displayed,
outdoor sporting activities were used to communicate themes of Canadian rigour
and hardiness. Likely the most celebrated of these cultural displays were the
lacrosse tours of 1876 organized by a Montreal promoter, who arranged for a First
Nations lacrosse team to travel overseas to play exhibition matches in England,
Scotland and Ireland against a Euro-Canadian team. Don Morrow explains that
the ‘natives were escorted to centre-field in their playing costumes, which
consisted of red-and-white striped ‘‘guernseys’’ (jerseys or tunics) and knickers,
with white hose; blue velvet caps overlaid with much ornamental bead work and
topped by two or three scarlet feathers’. [60] When the games were over the First
Nations players were encouraged to remain in costume and ‘hold snowshoe races
on the grass, to dance ‘‘war dances’’ or the ‘‘green corn dance’’, or to hold mock
‘‘pow-wows’’’. [61] The events were physical manifestations of the nationalistic
sentiments that were built on First Nations customs and traditions, but in a
manner that illustrated conquest and perfection over them. This is heard in one of
Beers’s many proclamations that lacrosse was the national game of Canada: ‘Just as
we claim as Canadian the rivers and lakes and land once owned exclusively by
Indians, so we now claim their field game as the national field game of our
dominion.’ [62]
The lacrosse exhibitions were to symbolize ‘the march of progress, rationality and a
new social order’ made evident by taming the indigenous population that
‘represented an earlier, more uncivilized era’. [63] But they also symbolized a way
of life that was not entirely removed from the era it had supposedly tamed, in that the
game of lacrosse was played aggressively and often violently, running counter to
gentlemanly traditions of sport that were in place. The appeal of lacrosse as a signifier
of Canadian identity was its dangerous and reckless reputation that Beers boasted was
‘originally played . . . midway between a sport and a deadly combat, because of its
serious results to limb and life’. [64] And while the game had been modified by
Canadian bourgeois sportsmen to become more suitable for the modern sport
framework adopted from England, promoters of the game took pride in the
ruggedness that remained. If the game had been modified to the point that it
resembled less physically aggressive pastimes such as cricket, or in a North American
context baseball, its effectiveness as a Canadian symbol would have been lost.
Therefore it was important for Beers to stress in his treatise on lacrosse that the sport
was based as much in skill and physical prowess as it was in violence. Beers claims
142 M. A. Robidoux
that ‘Only a savage people could, would, or should play the old game; only such
constitutions, such wind and endurance could stand its violence.’ [65] But it is only
the mythological Canadian character that is of sufficient body and mind, that is
capable of harnessing and playing the game in its appropriated form, ‘and thus was
Lacrosse gradually divested of its radical rudeness and brought to a more sober
sport – though to call the game in any measure a sober recreation may be bordering
on the sarcastic’. [66]
What we are seeing here through these displays of lacrosse, and expressions of
other ‘Canadian pastimes’, is the formulation of a Canadian identity grounded in
the emergent construct of masculinity in colonial Canada. The alternative sport
practices celebrated as part of this unique identity were effective in that they
communicated an alternative to ‘‘‘gentry masculinities’’ of British North America’
and promoted instead the physically dominant bush masculinity made popular by
the romanticized fur trader, but adopted from First Nations cultures. [67]
Nationalistic sentiment purporting that only a Canadian could appreciate the
raucous nature of Canadian pastimes was expressed in gender-specific terms, in
that one could only appreciate these pursuits if one were man enough to do so.
When Beers calls on his fictional American cousin to engage in Canadian sport he
asks: ‘May I ask the company of an American cousin in our Canadian sports . . . be
he neither too fearful nor too rash?’ [68] Unlike the overly civilized, and hence
emasculated, American male, the Canadian male is of another sort: ‘The miserable
gospel which wedded narrow-shoulders and spindle-shanks to mental grace and
genius have given way, if it ever had much hold in Canada, to the truer manliness
of sound thews and sinews upon which to build the sound mind and clear brain.’
[69] With this is a return to earlier notions shared by the coureurs de bois who
believed that their masculinity could be verified by successfully competing against
First Nations peoples in their traditional outdoor activities. To romantic
nationalists such as Beers, participating in Canadian sporting activities verified
one’s masculinity; interestingly, the required activities were the exact same as those
practised by the coureurs de bois 150 years earlier.
Conclusions
In discussing constructs of masculinity within Canadian culture, it is important to
acknowledge how First Nations cultures influenced this identity. In doing so,
however, one needs to be aware that the former is a symbolic representation of
physical prowess and stoicism, and the latter is a literal manifestation of these
principles and sensibilities. In other words, Euro-Canadian masculinity is a
mythological construct based on the real lived traditions and life-ways of First
Nations men. Therefore appropriated sporting behaviours made evident in games i.e.
lacrosse and ice hockey, do possess many of the same aggressive and violent aspects of
traditional First Nations physical activities, yet merely as a simulacrum of the real.
Within Euro-Canadian sport contexts, aggression and violence have been
decontextualized, and subsequently communicate meanings relevant to a specifically

Euro-Canadian audience.
Arguably, then, violence and aggression in a twentieth century context do
potentially communicate something different within First Nations sporting cultures,
as they would in other facets of First Nations life. Reminiscent of one seventeenth-
century account of a First Nations ‘prisoner who has beheld and endured stake,
knives and wounds with an unchanging countenance, who has not groaned; who
with laughter and song has ridiculed his tormentors, is praised’, contemporary
hardships – real or sporting – are similarly endured. [70] In sport as in life, players
bear physical or mental torment without appearing to succumb to the inflicting force.
To visibly show distress or even anger after receiving physical or mental abuse
communicates weakness and vulnerability to the elements. It is here that the
constructs of masculinity and the expressions of aggression and violence veer from
Euro-Canadian experience, which sets the stage for proper consideration of these
behaviours within First Nations contexts.
Although it would be premature to assign definitive readings of contemporary
male sporting practices from what has been presented here, insight into
contemporary aspects of First Nations sport have been gained. For example, many
of the struggles I had with First Nations players responses to violent acts on the
ice – by either dismissing the act, or acknowledging it through laughter – is
consistent with traditional male responses to pain and/or suffering. Displaying
anger or resentment after receiving injury communicates weakness and subsequent
capitulation to one’s opponent. Enduring injury communicates formidability; the
more severe the injury endured, the more formidable the participant. Similarly, if a
player responds by fighting, even if proven victorious, the initial incident remains
cogent, as it prompts the other player into action and anger. These observations
only begin to consider the expression of cultural and gender identities through First
Nations sport, but they are informed by historical constructions of First Nations
masculinity and how these relationships intertwine with hegemonic masculinity in
Canada.
First, specific sport and recreational pursuits, which had their origins in First
Nations cultures, gained tremendous prominence in Canada; second, sport as a
concept became a more legitimate and valued form of cultural expression,
eventually giving way to a Canadian sport heritage. It needs to be stressed that
this heritage owes itself not only to Canada’s First Nations peoples in terms of
specific sport activities. The mode of playing has also been modelled after the
brave but somewhat reckless mythological male figure based on interpretations of
First Nations masculinity. More than a hundred years after W. George Beers’s
ravings about the rugged Canadian sportsman, ideological sentiments remain
characterizing a uniquely Canadian sport character. The ‘Crazy Canucks’, for
example, were a Canadian men’s downhill ski team whose success in the
1970s and 1980s was credited as much to their determination and fearlessness
as to their skill. [71] The game of hockey illustrates further sentiments that
144 M. A. Robidoux
situate sport within this mythological sport heritage, as Martin Laba correctly
observes:
Hockey has served as a virtual creation tale . . . a romance that has regarded and
rendered the game as a natural outgrowth of the daunting challenges of Canadian
geography and climate, as organically rooted as snow, ice, forest, prairie, rock
shield and the myriad of the country’s other geographic and climatic facts. [72]
It is evident from these examples that sport and sport culture in Canada continue to
be depicted as nationally distinctive, and evidence of a Canadian character and
identity. As much as it is an imagined entity, the historical basis from which these
imaginings derive are real, and offers insight into the historical processes that have
shaped , and continue to shape, constructs of masculinity and sport in Canada.
Notes
[1] The term First Nations refers to Canada’s aboriginal population, which according to Section
35 of the Constitution Act of 1982 ‘states that ‘‘aboriginal peoples of Canada’’ include the
Indian, Inuit, and Metis peoples of Canada’ (from Hedican, Applied Anthropology in Canada,
5).
[2] See Zeman, To Run with Longboat; Jaine, Residential Schools; Muskeg Lake Cree Nation,
‘Hockey’.
[3] See Paraschak, ‘Variations in Race Relations’; Fournier and Crey, Stolen From Our Embrace.
[4] For example, at NativeHockey.com it is proclaimed that ‘Ice hockey was first observed by
Europeans being played by Micmac Indians in Nova Scotia in the late 1600s. It was called
ricket by the Natives’ (NativeHockey.com). The Canadian Federal Department of Indian and
Northern Affairs makes a similar claim by stating that ‘Team sports such as lacrosse and
hockey were invented by Aboriginal people!’
[5] See Robidoux, ‘Artificial Emasculation and the Maintenance of a Masculine Identity in
Professional Hockey’; Robidoux, Men at Play.
[6] Robidoux field notes, March 14, 2001.
[7] Personal interview, Northern Bands Hockey Tournament, Thunder Bay, ON, 17 March 2001.
[8] Robidoux field notes, 15 March 2001.
[9] I write in my field notes on the first day: ‘The play seems to be remarkably sportsmanlike, in
that whatever incidents occur [they] are taken in stride’, 14 March 2001.
[10] Carver, Travels through the Interior Parts of North America, 237.
[11] Field notes, 16 March 2001.
[12] Ibid.
[13] Miller, Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens, 15.
[14] Trigger, Native and Newcomers, 162–3.
[15] Champlain, The Works of Samuel de Champlain, Vol. I, 303–5.
[16] Salter, ‘L’Ordre de Bon Temps: A Functional Analysis,’, 111–12.
[17] Ibid, 308–9.
[18] Thwaites, The Jesuit Relations and Allied Documents, Vol. 2, 77.
[19] Ibid., Vol. 5, 167.
[20] Ibid., 169.
[21] Ibid., Vol. 3, 79.
[22] Ibid.
[23] Ibid., Vol. 4, 17.

[24] Trigger, Native and Newcomers, 195.
[26] Clark, The Developing Canadian Community, 25.
[28] Ibid., 37.
[29] Connell, ‘The Big Picture’, 612. Interestingly Connell does not acknowledge the coureurs de
bois in his list of ‘cults of frontier masculinity’, yet the coureurs de bois precede those cited by
Connell – ‘Daniel Boone, the cowboys, Paul Bunyan, the diggers, the shearers, the
Voortrekkers’ – in colonial histories.
[32] Schmalz, The Ojibwa of Southern Ontario, 36.
[33] Wamsley, ‘The Public Importance of Men’, 26.
[35] Kane, Wanderings of an Artist Among the Indians of North America, 244.
[37] Trigger, Native and Newcomers, 197.
[41] Wamsley, The Public Importance of Men’, 26; Clark, The Developing Canadian Community,
28.
[42] Trevor-Roper, ‘The Invention of Tradition’, 25–6.
[43] Brown, ‘The Northern Character Theme and Sport’, 47.
[44] Such people ranged from ‘Governor-Generals Dufferin and Lorne to ardent imperialists and
educator George Parkin, and from social scientists and medical practitioners to converted
Darwinian theorists’. Brown, ‘The Northern Character Theme and Sport’, 47.
[45] Orton, ‘Canadian Winter Pastimes’, 139, 141.
[46] Ibid., 144.
[47] Beers, ‘Canadian Sports’, 515.
[48] Ibid., 526.
[49] Ibid., p. 527.
[50] Other examples include Mather, ‘Winter Sports in Canada’; Becket, Montreal Snow Shoe Club,
258–60.
[51] Orton, ‘Canadian Winter Pastimes’, 142.
[52] Ibid.
[53] Allen, ‘Snowshoeing in Canuckia,’ 286.
[54] Beers, Lacrosse the National Game of Canada, vii.
[55] Anderson, Imagined Communities, 6
[56] Wamsley, ‘Nineteenth Century Sports Tours’, 76.
[57] Beers, Over the Snow, i.
[58] Brown, ‘The Northern Character Theme and Sport’, 50.
[59] Ibid.
[60] Morrow, ‘Lacrosse as the National Game’, 60.
[61] Ibid., 60.
[62] W. George Beers. ‘National Game’, Montreal Gazette, 8 Aug. 1867.
[63] Wamsley, ‘Nineteenth Century Sports Tours’, 84.
[64] Beers, Lacrosse the National Game of Canada, 7.
[65] Ibid., 32.
146 M. A. Robidoux
[66] Ibid.
[68] Beers, ‘Canadian Sports’, 507.
[69] Ibid, 506.
[71] The team was made up of Ken Read, Steve Podborski, Dave Irwin and Dave Murray.
[72] Laba, ‘Myths and Markets’, 343.
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Interactions Between the Mississippi
Choctaw and European Americans
Through the Sport of Toli
John Richard Stepp
Toli or stickball is a Native American sport with pre-Columbian roots that remains an
important sport for many Native American groups, especially the Mississippi Choctaw.
In 1989 a toli team was created at the University of Georgia, which subsequently
established regular matches with a Choctaw team. This paper offers an analysis of
matches staged in the late 1990s. Despite the ritualized violence, this study finds that the
shared experience of playing toli acts as a catalyst for integration. It is suggested,
moreover, that the sport serves an integrative function on several levels: cross-gender,
intra-group and cross-cultural. Exploring the nature of toli and ethnic identity, it makes
suggestions for increased interaction between Native Americans and non-Native
Americans through sport.
Toli, or stickball as it is more commonly known, is a Native American sport with

roots going back to pre-Columbian times. Toli remains an important sport for many
Native American groups, especially the Mississippi Choctaw. However, exposure of
the sport outside Native America is limited and it is rarely played on non-reservation
land except during Native American cultural festivals and pow-wows.
There are several variations of toli among different Native American tribes, and the
game of lacrosse is a direct descendant from traditional stickball. Today the game is
played by, among others, the Choctaw, Creek, Seminole and Cherokee. This essay
explores the variant played by the Mississippi Choctaw with a focus on a non-Native
American co-ed collegiate team at the University of Georgia and their interactions
with the Mississippi Choctaw.
In 1989 a toli team was created at the University of Georgia that was composed
almost entirely of European Americans. This team is the only non-Native American
team in existence and is also co-ed. An ethnographic study conducted between 1997
and 2000 looked at the University of Georgia toli team and its interactions with the
Mississippi Choctaw. Despite the ritualized violence that occurs during the game
itself, the shared experience of playing toli acts as a catalyst for integration between
the European American and Native American teams. It is suggested that the sport
serves as an integrative function on several levels: cross-gender, intra-group and
cross-cultural.
The annual pilgrimage by the University of Georgia toli team to the community of
Conehatta on the Choctaw reservation in Mississippi usually involves 15–20 players
caravanning across the Deep South with great anticipation and excitement. It is a
familiar trip for the majority of the team but each year new players make the trek. For
many of these new players it will be their first real interaction with Native Americans.
Genuinely interested in Choctaw culture, new players engage in long discussions with
the Choctaw players on a wide range of topics but almost invariably the topic of
Native American-European American relations comes up. One year a conversation
arose about the different types of non-Choctaw visitors to the reservation. With
careful words wrapped around a hint of contempt, one Choctaw player began to talk
about ‘nose-bleed’ Indians. Unfamiliar with this term, one of the new players asked
him to clarify. ‘Well, we get these people down here who claim that their great-great
grandmother or something was Indian. I ask them, you ever had a nosebleed? When
they answer yes, I tell them, then I guess you lost all your Indian blood!’ After a
hearty laugh he continued: ‘But you people are different, you don’t come here
claiming to be Indian, even though you play stickball. I think you respect us and
that’s why I like having you here.’
The present-day game is played with two handmade hickory rackets called kapucha
(alternatively spelled kapocha or kaboca) and a small ball known as a towa, which is
made out of a small rock wrapped in cloth with strips of leather encircling it. There is
not a set number of players on a team, the only stipulation being that the number
must be equal on both sides. Scoring consists of either throwing the ball and striking
a goal about 15 feet tall and 6 inches in diameter or touching the goal with the rackets
while the ball is clasped inside. The ball cannot be picked up or held in the hands.
Other than this there are very few explicit rules. Boundaries of the field are fluid and
play often goes into spectator areas, but the approximate size of the field is equivalent
to a football field. When a player has a ball almost anything can be done to make the
player either throw it or drop it, short of striking with the sticks or tripping.
Generally the players are divided into offence, centre or defence, although players
often shift in and out of these positions. Usually the larger players are defence while
the most accurate shooters play offence. The game is divided into four quarters of 15
minutes each. Owing to its historical nickname, ‘little brother of war’, there is a red
captain or ‘war leader’ on each team along with a white captain who is analogous to
an assistant coach. In addition to the players on the field, each team usually has a ball
witch. The ball witch performs rituals intended to disrupt the performance of the
opposing team. There is also a drummer who mimics the pace of the game through
his drumming, which increases in intensity when the ball is close to a goal.
150 J. R. Stepp
Toli and the Mississippi Choctaw

The earliest historical reference to Choctaw stickball comes from a Jesuit priest
around 1729, although it is almost certain that the game was played prior to this
time. [1] Stickball during these times served as a form of ritual warfare to settle
disputes. The game had few rules and could last for days with almost no boundary on
where it was played and teams could number in the hundreds.
Toli among the Choctaw in pre-Columbian times was described thus:
The rules of the game were minimal. . . . Defensive tactics were varied and often
brutal. Preventing the opponent from scoring often meant tripping, tackling,
or striking the head or body of a foe with the hand or an unyielding hickory
racket. As a result, injuries were frequent, and some games were actually terminated
before a winner was determined owing to casualties that decimated one or both
ranks. [2]
The game changed little after contact and up to present times. A toli game around the
turn of this century was considered to be
like a herd of stampeded buffaloes upon the western plains, they ran against and
over each other, or anything else, man or beast, that stood in their way, and thus in a
wild confusion and crazed excitement they scrambled and tumbled, each player
straining every nerve and muscle to its utmost tension, to get the ball or prevent
his opponent, who held it firmly grasped between the cups of his trusty kapucha
(racket), from making a successful throw . . . a scene of wild confusion was seen –
scuffling, pulling, pushing, butting – unsurpassed in any game engaged in by
man. [3]
As interactions between white settlers and Native Americans increased, so did the
visibility of and interest in toli. It became common during the late nineteenth
century for whites to place bets on the outcomes of toli matches. This led to
increasing violence in the game and there were often deaths associated with high-
stakes games. In 1898 the Mississippi legislature banned gambling at stickball
matches. This led to a decline in the popularity of the sport. With the introduction
of baseball into Choctaw communities around the same time, toli was rarely played
until 1949, when the first annual Choctaw Fair was held and it featured an
exhibition match of toli. The sport soon entered into a period of revitalization,
intricately linked with Choctaw identity. Today toli prominently figures in Choctaw
life and one indication of its importance is the inclusion of toli sticks on the seal
that appears on the Mississippi Choctaw tribal flag. Blanchard provides an excellent
anthropological study of toli and identity with the Mississippi Choctaw along with
a detailed historical account of Native American stickball. He notes that while toli
in its present form differs from that of old, it remains a uniquely Choctaw sport
and through the act of playing it the Choctaw define their ethnicity and derive a
great deal of cultural pride. [4]
Toli at the University of Georgia

In 1989, a toli team was created at the University of Georgia (UGA) by Greg Keyes, an
anthropology graduate student from Mississippi. Keyes had played with the Choctaw
at home and had developed an interest in the sport. He recruited other graduate and
undergraduate students to play and since then the team has played on a regular basis
and usually has between ten and 30 players, mostly European Americans, on its
roster. Keyes played a primary role in promoting the team and encouraging new
players. The promotion even led to an exhibition game being held during the 1996
Olympic events in Athens, Georgia, where a wide audience was exposed to a little-
known Native American sport. While the team has weekly practice sessions during
the school year, between once and three times a year they play the Mississippi
Choctaw from the community of Conehatta. These games take place either in
Conehatta or at the archaeological park at Moundville, Alabama, during an annual
Native American festival.
The University of Georgia team is the only non-Native American team and
collegiate team in existence. For this reason, team members often joke that it is the
number one ranked collegiate team. The truly unique aspect of the UGA toli team is
that it allows for the interaction of a mostly European American middle-class group to
have social interactions with a Native American group at a level that is deeper than
that which characterizes most other European American/Native American interac-
tions. The team is called the Flying Rat toli team after a Creek legend about a toli game
that takes place between four footed animals and birds. The ‘flying rat’ or bat saves the
day for the four-footed animals and gains a permanent spot on the animal team.
The birds challenged the four-footed animals to a great ball play. It was agreed that
all creatures which had teeth should be on one side and all those which had feathers
should go on the other side with the birds. . . .
When the animals came, all that had teeth went on one side and the birds on the
other. At last the flying rat (bat) came. He went with the animals having teeth, but
they said: ‘No, you have wings, you must go with the birds.’
He went to the birds and they said: ‘No, you have teeth, you must go with the
animals.’ So they drove him away, saying: ‘You are so little you could do no good.’
He went to the animals and begged that they would permit him to play with
them. They finally said: ‘You are too small to help us, but as you have teeth we will
let you remain on our side.’
The play began and it soon appeared that the birds were winning, as they could
catch the ball in the air. . . . The animals were in despair, as none of them could fly.
The little bat now flew into the air and caught the ball as the crane was flapping
slowly along. Again and again the bat caught the ball, and he won the game for the
four-footed animals.
They agreed that though he was so small he should always be classed with the
animals having teeth. [5]
This study of the University of Georgia toli team was undertaken intermittently
from 1997 to 2001. In addition to attending weekly practice sessions of approximately
152 J. R. Stepp
two-and-a-half hours each, I engaged in several off-field social gatherings of team
members and travelled with them to their annual games against the Choctaw in
Conehatta, Mississippi and Moundville, Alabama. This was participant observation
in that I was an actual member of the team and (hopefully) played with the same level
of commitment as the rest of team. It also allowed me to experience interactions with
the Choctaw at an up-close-and-personal level. Direct, reactive observation was also
used in instances of socializing during breaks in games and off-field situations. This
provided insight into degrees of familiarity between players and the opportunity to
evaluate all the levels of integration that were the focus of the study. The role of
violence in culture and society has long been the subject of heated debate among
anthropologists. A variety of theoretical frameworks, such as sociobiology and
cultural materialism have sought to explain both the role and prevalence of violence
in human societies. The question I wish to address is to what extent does violence,
when placed in a ritual sport context, serve an integrative function. I examined three
domains of integration: cross-gender, intra-group and cross-cultural. While this
research is only based on one type of sport, toli, and one team, it becomes apparent
that there are generalizations that can be extrapolated from this research into other
sports that have a high degree of ritualized violence.
Violence and Integration in the Sport of Toli

Sport occupies a nebulous domain between play and warfare. While there are definite
elements of conflict and violence present in sport, there are also strong elements of
both play and leisure. Sociological studies tend to neglect the warfare aspect while
accentuating the play and leisure side. [6] Anthropological studies looking at aspects
of violence in sport and warfare generally conclude that the two are closely linked. [7]
While its not the intent of this paper to refute cross-cultural studies that show
correlations between warfare and violent sport, I would like to suggest that, at least in
the context of this study, ritualized violence serves an integrative function.
Ritual settings of violent sport exist all over the world and are far from the
exception. The game of toli is but one example. Although there are very few rules
governing conduct during toli, in actuality there are definite boundaries on
acceptable violence. These are unstated boundaries, yet mechanisms exist to ensure
that they are not violated. In large part these boundaries exist through the
ritual aspects of the sport in that ritual exercises ‘a constraining effect on social
behaviour’. [8]
Before continuing, though, I would like to clarify the use of the term ‘violence’.
One problem encountered in this research was deciding on an operational definition
of violence. It became apparent to me after a survey of Mississippi Choctaw toli
players in which they unanimously stated that toli was not a violent sport that the
term ‘violence’ is culture-bound and what is considered violent in one society or even
context is not considered violent in another. Since the main subjects of the research
were European Americans I decided on defining violence within the context of North
American sports. Since football is widely regarded as a ‘violent’ sport, then toli must
also be considered as such, given that contact occurs just as frequently, there are even
fewer rules governing acceptable contact and no protection is afforded to the players
from impacts. Violence is thus defined as physical force in excess of cultural norms
for a given context. Closely linked to violence is aggression, a term for which I will
use Alderman’s definition: an intentional response a person makes to inflict pain or
harm on a person. [9] He also subdivides aggression into two types: hostile – the
delivery of violence as and end rather than as a means – and instrumental – delivery
of violence as a means to an end (i.e. goal-oriented). By and large most of the
aggression found in toli consists of instrumental. This is a direct result of the ritual
nature surrounding the violence.
Only rarely does hostile aggression come into play, usually as the result of a
perceived violation of the norms of the ritual violence. Hostile violence acts as a
check on players to maintain the ritual aspects of the violence in the sport and not to
stray from these invisible boundaries of acceptable violence. This occurs in situations
such as when there is either unnecessary roughness after a player has dropped the
ball; brutal and extended contact of a player that does not have the ball; intentional
hitting with the sticks and so on. Sometimes a direct vocal confrontation is made to
the offending player remanding them of their conduct, but usually their offence is
met with an even more brutal return a short while later, with no misunderstandings
about why such a excessive contact was made. This exists with the Choctaw as well.
During the UGA–Conehatta matches, I noticed several such return contacts made
after hits that fell into the grey area of acceptability. That there should be such
compatibility between the teams is not too surprising since the UGA team is in
deliberate emulation of the Choctaw variety of stickball.
Another related aspect of violence is found in the language used during play.
During the UGA practices it is common to hear remarks such as ‘hit ’em’ or ‘knock
’em down’. In addition, sometimes violent expressions are made that are obviously in
jest. For example, when players get close to the fence line it is quite common to hear
‘throw them into the fence’ which is then followed by players laughing. This same
type of humorous violent language is illustrated with the UGA toli team’s ‘rules’ that
are provided to new players. New players are admonished to try not to actually hit
other players with the sticks because sticks get broken that way and they are expensive
to replace. Interestingly enough, the use of such conflict language is similar to what
Blanchard found with the Choctaw. [10] Their use of borrowed English expressions
during toli such as ‘kill him’ or ‘throw him out’ had very different meanings than in
the traditional European American context. The expressions did not imply the same
degree of hostility and are often used in a playful manner.
When there is not a consensus between teams as to what the unstated boundaries
are, tempers flare and ritual elements quickly disappear into a flurry of choking and
fist fights. One example of this is when the UGA team infrequently plays the
Cherokee. The Cherokee have very different rules governing conduct in the sport.
The first time the UGA team played the Cherokee in the early 1990s there were
154 J. R. Stepp
injuries that required medical treatment and one UGA player was choked by a pair of
sticks. In 1997, the UGA team decided to again play the Cherokee at a Native
American pow-wow event in Albany, Georgia. Many players refused to go because
they had either been at, or heard stories of, the match a few years earlier. However,
some players did attend and afterwards none felt like playing the Cherokee again. As
an example of the different level of violence that the team was subjected to, one male
player was pushed to the ground by a Cherokee player, who proceeded to grab his
hair while shouting ‘Get up woman’. Thus disastrous consequences can occur when
expectations regarding the ritual aspects of the violence differ.
There is another ritual aspect of the game that serves an integrative function. This
ritual, known as the ‘gauntlet’ is undertaken when a new player scores for the first
time. Both teams line up and the player must run between them as quickly as possible
while everyone hits him with their sticks. The implications of this are obvious. While
recognizing the individuality of the player and ‘congratulating’ him on his
performance, it also shows the player that he is part of a larger team and subject
to their discipline.
Team associations continue off the field as well. There is a high degree of
socializing between team members. While some players know each other from other
contexts, such as being in the same academic department at the university, many
know each other only from playing toli, yet still spend time with each other outside
the sport. The team is highly integrated socially and I noticed very few interpersonal
conflicts during the times that I have interacted with them socially. I take this to be a
measure of the fact that conflicts are worked out on the field and due to the intensity
of the game, rarely carry over into off-field activities.
Another surprising aspect of integration is between genders on the team. While the
number varies, women usually constitute 20 to 30 per cent of the team. They are for
the most part treated as equals by men and afforded a high degree of respect. I never
heard any disparaging comments made about these women with regard to their
ability to play the sport, except in the same joking manner that men use with each
other. They play at the same level of intensity and physical contact as the males. One
woman had a rib broken but soon after it healed she continued to play on a regular
basis. Until a few years ago, the Choctaw teams were exclusively male and so it was
quite a surprise to them to hear of women playing alongside men on the UGA team.
Women players would accompany male players to the game with the Conehatta
Choctaw but did not play. In 1997, the Choctaw agreed to play against the entire
UGA team both male and female. The game proved to be quite an educational
experience for the male Choctaw and they were impressed with the playing abilities of
the UGA female team members. Since this time, four all-female Choctaw toli teams
have formed and participation by females is increasing.
The sport of toli provides an opportunity for cross-cultural interactions to take
place between two groups that under ordinary circumstances would never come into
contact with each other. The Conehatta Choctaw live in rural south Mississippi, an
area few UGA students have been to. Witnessing social interactions between the two
teams is quite amazing. Before the games there is often a high degree of apprehension
towards the Choctaws by new UGA players as numerous stories circulate about their
prowess and physical size. By the end of the game, though, familiarity began to set in.
The inevitable after-game party leads to increased interactions and by the end of the
party new UGA players and Choctaw converse with each other as if they are well
acquainted. For a group known to be somewhat guarded around non-Choctaw this is
indeed a remarkable occurrence, for which toli serves as a catalyst. For older UGA
players the matches with the Choctaw are like meeting old friends and there is
friendly conversation all around. UGA players who are new to the game spend much
of the time asking about Choctaw life and learning about Native American life in
Southern Mississippi. For many players this is the first time that they have had any
social interactions with Native Americans since, unlike the American South-west, the
Deep South has a relatively small Native American population. During these
interactions stereotypes are quickly banished and a deeper understanding of the
Choctaw is gained.
Conclusions
The violence involved in toli leads to a strong bonding experience among the players
and against their Native American opponents. This is contrary to studies that suggest
that violence in sports is counter-productive and tends to lead to more violence
outside the sports context. [11] This violence is integrative on several levels and leads
to a positive experience that is more than just cathartic but actually allows for greater
inter- and intra-personal development. It appears that this is in large part due to the
active emulation by the UGA team of how the Choctaw play. Blanchard made several
observations about the emic nature of Choctaw sport. [12] He found that the
Choctaws are less likely to consider a specific physical confrontation as ‘violence’ but
rather as part of the game. Also they are less likely to engage in individual
competition and tend to emphasis group cohesiveness. Ultimately they consider
playing the game more important than winning. These aspects of Choctaw sport
correspond closely to how the UGA players approach the game as well.
The game also provides a rare experience for college students to interact with a
Native American group on a familiar level. Although not much time is spent with the
Choctaw each year, because it is a recurring event the Choctaw are quite open and
friendly. The shared experience of toli helps to integrate the two teams. Participation
on the UGA toli team is also an educational experience. As a contrast to this, it is
useful to look at another violent sport at the University of Georgia: football. UGA
spends millions of dollars on football, yet one would be hard pressed to develop a
convincing argument for either its educational or integrative aspects. Intense rivalries
are created between towns even in the same state that have resulted in physical
assaults between fans and riot-like situations. The football players themselves are
given elite status and have little time or incentive to integrate with the general student
body. Because of the intense demand placed on players’ time, only a few manage to
156 J. R. Stepp
gain a quality education during their time in college. The university community
would do well to learn from sports such as toli that have an obvious spectator appeal
due to their violence but have few of the negative characteristics associated with
college football. More promotion of these types of sports should occur as they would
lead to more student participation in athletics and strengthen the community aspects
of the university through their integrative rituals. Ultimately a lot can be learned
from the Choctaw because the Choctaw and other Native American groups perceive
sport in a different manner than European Americans. Through the emulation and
interaction with Native American sport valuable lessons could be brought back to
European American sports that could lead to more positive social outcomes for all
involved.
Notes
[1] Swanton, ‘An Early Account of the Choctaw Indians’.
[2] Blanchard and Cheska, The Anthropology of Sport.
[3] Cushman, History of the Choctaw, Chickasaw and Natchez Indians.
[4] Blanchard, The Mississippi Choctaw At Play.
[5] Lankford, Native American Legends.
[7] Sipes, ‘War, Sports and Aggression’.
[8] Douglas, Natural Symbols.
[9] Alderman, Psychological Behavior in Sport.
[11] Philips, ‘The Impact of Mass Media Violence on US Homicides’.
References
Alderman, R.B. Psychological Behavior in Sport. Philadelphia, PA: W.B. Saunders, 1974.
Blanchard, Kendall. The Mississippi Choctaw At Play. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1981.
—— and A.T. Cheska. The Anthropology of Sport: An Introduction. South Hadley, MA: Bergin and
Garvey, 1985.
Coakley, Jay. Sport in Society: Issues and Controversies. St Louis, MO: Mosby, 1994.
Cushman, H. B. History of the Choctaw, Chickasaw and Natchez Indians. Norman, OK: University of
Oklahoma Press, 1899 (1992 reprinted edition).
Douglas, M. Natural Symbols. New York: Random House, 1970.
Lankford, G.E. Native American Legends: Southeastern Legends: Tales from the Natchez, Caddo,
Biloxi, Chickasaw, and Other Nations. Little Rock, AR: August House Publishers, 1998.
Philips, D.P. ‘The Impact of Mass Media Violence on US Homicides’. American Sociological Review
48 (1983): 560–8.
Sipes, R. ‘War, Sports and Aggression: An Empirical Test of Two Rival Theories’. American
Anthropologist 75 (1973): 64–86.
Swanton, J.R. ‘An Early Account of the Choctaw Indians’. Memoirs of the American Anthropological
Association 5, 2 (1918): 53–72.
‘Native to Native . . . We’ll Recapture
Our Spirits’: The World Indigenous
Nations Games and North American
Indigenous Games as Cultural
Resistance
Janice Forsyth and Kevin B. Wamsley
For centuries, colonizing governments have utilized cultural policies to eliminate

Aboriginal culture, to make ‘citizens’ out of Native peoples in part by forcing them to
relinquish language, cultural practices and traditions and have encouraged them to
embrace mainstream values and cultural practices. In the Canadian context, sport has
been utilized by the Canadian government as a civilizing agent to assimilate Aboriginal
peoples. This paper analyses the history of this process in Canada and explains how
Aboriginal leaders inverted this process to achieve self-determination through sport, in
particular through the North American Indigenous Games and the World Indigenous
Games. In this sense, we argue, sport has been historically contested terrain, wielded to
disempower and to empower Aboriginal peoples.
Recently, sport has proven to be one of the most salient mediums for recapturing
spirits in a slow process towards cultural self-determination for Aboriginal
Canadians. For the past 200 years, sports and leisure activities, as unique cultural
forms and social processes, have been deployed on a macro level by imperialist,
colonial and postcolonial governments in the structuring of human social
experiences; yet individuals who sought pleasure, identity and cultural alternatives
to the dominant physical practices of the day also enjoyed sport on more intimate
and personal levels. As a mode of social practice, sports have played a significant role
in the colonizing and empire-building processes, particularly in British North
America, where non-European traditional ways of life were believed to be eradicated
while new political and economic orders were ushered in to make sense out of
158 J. Forsyth and K. B. Wamsley
broader cultural changes that rapidly occurred during the emergence of an industrial
capitalist society. However, the dominance of these social forces notwithstanding,
sports and other cultural practices also marked the resistance of colonized peoples
who searched for grounded social values and meanings at times when their
immediate cultural surroundings were changing.
In the long history of Euro-Aboriginal relations in British North America, later
Canada, assimilative policies of successive governments had ruptured the fabric of
native cultural life. Ethnic herding, the reserve system, coercive law and education by
force are characteristic features of the history of cultural relations and political
practices aimed at ‘civilizing’ aboriginal peoples across the country. Yet in spite of the
bans on particular religious and cultural celebrations, the violence of the residential
schools, the constraints and pressures of Christianity and repressive government
programmes and policies, fundamental aspects of aboriginal culture resonate as focal
points in recent attempts by native leaders to secure input into government policy
and, furthermore, to work towards self-determination in social and economic
matters. [1] Indeed, sports and games have always been significant to aboriginal
groups in all parts of North America. Paradoxically, these cultural forms, which have
been wielded by state powers to disrupt traditional cultural practices and speed up
the process of cultural assimilation, have been significantly positioned to effect
measures of cultural self-determination by aboriginal peoples.
It is argued here that the initiation of the North American Indigenous Games
(NAIG), for the most part achieved through the efforts of J. Wilton Littlechild, in
many respects signals the beginning of aboriginal self-determination in matters of
culture. [2] Projects such as the NAIG inverted centuries-old coercive and
incorporative relationships to create opportunities for Native Canadians to
celebrate their cultural identities through mainstream sport. Moreover, these once
disempowering imperialist rituals of colonial progress and civilization were recast
in a highly visible milieu for the celebration of unique identities and self-
empowerment for aboriginal peoples. The success of the NAIG suggests that an
alternative cultural sub-form has emerged, set within an overbearing Euro-
Canadian modern sport complex.
Hegemony and Cultural Resistance

Given that cultural change was effected on Aboriginal Canadians through the use of
force and coercion, Antonio Gramsci’s theory of cultural hegemony does not
provide an adequate framework with which to examine aboriginal experiences in
Canada. [3] However, aboriginal struggles for citizenship and legitimacy, under
circumstances of imprisonment and repression, occurred within successive historic
blocs during the mid-eighteenth to the mid-nineteenth centuries through which
pre-capitalist and industrial capitalist hegemonic relations were established. [4] The
conquest of Native peoples, moreover, was but one component that legitimized the
economic and political expansion of the colonial state, marking imperial progress
and positioning the binary opposites of the ‘civilized’ and the ‘savage’. [5] Although
traditional native sports and games were celebrated by various aboriginal groups
across the country, Native Canadians for the most part were immersed and
socialized within the Euro-Canadian sporting culture. In spite of the explicit state
policies aimed at assimilating native peoples through sport, it was through physical
culture that many Native Canadians found common ground for unity, identity and
the invocation of traditional beliefs whenever possible. [6] After more than a
century of coercion and incorporative pressures to assimilate into mainstream
society, sport came to provide a pathway for resistance against pressures to
conform to Euro-Canadian culture.
Government Policy and Assimilation

Historically, North American indigenous tribes were independent societies, each with
their own long-standing forms of culture and social organization. In these traditional
settings, sports and games occupied a central role in indigenous cultural life. The
most popular activities included various forms of hand, stick and ball games, which
embodied a number of different meanings depending on their usage. Often they were
multi-purpose activities, utilized for their ability to facilitate the integration of
members into society, promote personal growth and community cohesion, transmit
historical knowledge and social mores and teach the necessary skills for survival in a
subsistence lifestyle and for warfare.
Native ways of life underwent radical change as successive government
administrations in Canada implemented strict policies and programmes designed
to bring indigenous beliefs and customs in line with mainstream values and practices.
Initially, Indian ‘management’ was carried out through a series of treaties. For
example, legislative acts of parliament, such as the British Royal Proclamation of
1763, provided a formal political mechanism for the appropriation of Aboriginal
Canadian lands to ensure ample space for white European immigrants while isolating
native peoples on reserves. [7] This was followed by the creation of the Constitution
Act of 1867, which placed native peoples under federal jurisdiction and legitimized
the role of the new dominion government in controlling all aspects of native life and
culture in Canada. [8] Soon afterwards, in 1880, the Department of Indian and
Northern Affairs (DIAND) was established to carry out federal measures that were
sanctioned by the Indian Act of 1876. For decades thereafter, strict government
control was exercised over all cultural traditions, social and political forms of
organization and economic practices. [9]
The reserve system played a central role in the civilizing process and was based
on four fundamental assumptions. First, government officials held the view that the
traditional economic systems of hunting and trapping were unsuitable practices in
a rapidly industrializing Canadian society. With the reserve system, the government
hoped to tie aboriginal values to the land through individual ownership rather
than communal sharing and to prepare them for enfranchisement. [10] Second,
the creation of the reserve system was fully supported by religious groups who
aimed to ‘civilize’ Indian souls through Christian teachings. Third, it was further
believed that education would help elevate the Indians from their ‘savage’ state.
Through a Western-style education, educators sought to achieve Indian assimilation
through measures designed to augment and eventually supplant traditional native
cultures. The education policy later became the cornerstone for the federal policy
on Indian assimilation. [11] However, by Confederation, it was clear to those in
government that the policy of Indian assimilation had failed to abolish traditional
aboriginal governments, which were considered impediments to the civilizing and
assimilating process. Government policy on assimilation was clear:
Our Indian legislation generally rests on the principle, that the aborigines are to
be kept in a condition of tutelage and treated as wards or children of the State.
. . . [T]he true interests of the aborigines and of the State alike require that every
effort should be made to aide the Red man in lifting himself out of his condition
of tutelage and dependence, and that is clearly our wisdom and our duty,
through education and every other means, to prepare him for a higher
civilization by encouraging him to assume the privileges and responsibilities of
full citizenship. [12]
In the new Dominion of Canada, aboriginal tribes were perceived as being incapable
of managing their own affairs, or of initiating any development meaningful to
western culture. DIAND attempted to get rid of traditional forms of political
organizing, and, instead, put government officials in place to control reserve affairs.
[13] It was assumed that under such controlled conditions, government could
implement specific policies so that aboriginal people would see the wisdom of leaving
the reserves and assimilate into the larger social system.
Assimilation and Physical Culture

During the period extending from the late 1880s to the early 1950s, the Indian Act
prohibited Native Canadian peoples from participating in their indigenous physical
cultural practices, including ceremonial dances and traditional gatherings. [14] The
sustained attack on traditional physical cultures began in the early 1880s with the
prohibition of the potlatch and the Tamanawas dance among the west-coast tribes.
The potlatch was a complex ceremony that involved giving away possessions, feasting
and dancing, all for social and political purposes. The Tamanawas dance was an
equally complex ceremony, involving supernatural forces and initiation rituals of
various kinds. The potlatch frustrated Indian policy-makers for two reasons. Not
only could the ceremony carry on for months, keeping the potlatch members from
pursuing more ‘industrious’ habits such as farming, but also, to ignorant observers,
the dispensing of personal property by the potlatchers ran counter to the values
of capital accumulation. The Tamanawas dance was particularly offensive to Indian
officials who either failed to grasp the religious significance of the ritualized
performance or ignored it altogether, arguing instead that the ceremony was a
form of torture. It was for this same reason, with regards to torture, that the
Blackfoot Sundance and the Cree and Saulteaux thirst dance were strictly prohibited
shortly thereafter. [15] In 1914, amendments to the Indian Act made it illegal for
western Indians to participate, without state permission, in traditional regalia in any
‘dance, show, exhibition, stampede or pageant’. [16] In the early 1930s, the ‘pool
room’ clause made it an offence for an owner of a pool room to allow an Indian to
enter the room so as to ensure that Indians would not waste their days on trivial
pursuits. [17]
Thus legislation governing leisure activities had always targeted public
‘nuisances’ such as drinking, fighting and gambling, while setting strict regulations
for hunting and fishing, Sabbath Day observance and public exhibitions. But
special legal clauses generally existed for natives, providing more severe restrictions
on activities such as alcohol consumption and making certain limited allowances
for sustenance activities such as hunting and fishing. [18] For Euro-Canadians, the
state supported what were considered to be more productive activities such as rifle
shooting, mechanics’ institutes, libraries and agricultural associations and fairs. [19]
These sorts of leisure pursuits were positioned to reinforce the ways of thinking
about personal gain, reward, and professional behaviour, consistent with the
emerging capitalist values of the late nineteenth century. Organized sports and
games for white middle-class men celebrated values of a rationalized manliness,
embodying the spirit of modern progress and positing a clear opposition between
activities that were civilized and those that were considered vulgar. [20] Alternative
games or activities were considered suspect and subject to police interference.
Traditional native games and pastimes such as lacrosse and snowshoeing
were appropriated by the middle-class sporting clubs of Montreal for competitions
and demonstrations, and natives were generally excluded by design unless a
team needed a ‘ringer’ or an event could benefit from a ‘sideshow’ of Indian
races. [21]
In order to recast the Indian in the image of the white man, federal officials
attempted to replace traditional physical practices with non-indigenous activities,
utilizing a number of different tactics to shape indigenous behavioural patterns. The
imposition of European values, ideals and practices had a profound and lasting effect
on indigenous cultures and cultural identity in Canada, in that the prohibitions,
entrenched in the Indian Act and demonstrated through the strict social control
programmes promoted through Indian education policy, signalled that indigenous
values and traditions were inappropriate forms of behaviour in civilized society.
What was needed were ‘reasonable amusements’. [22]
Worsening social and economic conditions on the reserves in the later nineteenth
century forced the issue of more direct and stringent assimilationist policies. The
church and state joined hands to deal with the ‘Indian problem’ by establishing
residential schools throughout the provinces and territories. It was expected that
Christian principles, the celebration of religious holidays and the inculcation of
mainstream social values would incorporate all aboriginal peoples into Canadian
citizenship. Between 1880 and 1969, as many as 80 residential schools operated
throughout Canada. [23]
As upper-class boys in Ontario learned the principles of muscular Christianity
through sport in the private schools, and people of all ages were encouraged to
identify with both amateur and professional sport champions in their communities,
aboriginal children were taken from their families to be re-socialized and to forget
their own sense of culture. [24] Traditional customs and beliefs were to be erased and
language and appearance were to be modified accordingly. Parents had little interest
in such education for their children unless some skills could be acquired to support
their communities. [25]
Just as sports and games were utilized to reproduce normative cultural values
in broader society, they were also used in the civilizing process in residential
school programmes. Sport and recreation activities were utilized as forms of reward,
where children were taught to follow specific rules and regulations regarding forms of
play. Educators replaced the ‘boisterous and unorganized games’ with well-organized
and well-regulated ‘modern’ activities. [26] At school, Indian children joined in glee
clubs, brass bands, boys’ cadet corps, callisthenics, football, cricket, softball and
hardball, basketball and hockey, which were thought to produce ‘prompt obedience
and discipline’ – two qualities needed to survive in civilized society. [27] Often,
administrators punished disobedient children through confinement during sports or
recreation time. [28] The systematic withholding of recreation privileges suggests that
sports and games were readily accepted and enjoyed by indigenous students. Indeed,
and as John Bloom has reported, skill and success in school sports elicited personal
identifications well beyond the boundaries of assimilation envisioned by state and
church officials. Sports provided opportunities for aboriginal children and
adolescents to beat back the oppression of forced education, to refashion Euro-
Canadian cultural values towards their own purposes and to celebrate athletic
achievements on their own terms. [29] Bloom’s analysis of Native Americans
demonstrates that the incorporative process, identified by Raymond Williams as
fundamental to sustaining the position of dominant groups in hegemonic blocs,
requires critical clarity in its application in this instance. [30] Sports, leisure and
school activities reproduced common values in broader society and were intended to
be employed for assimilative purposes on reserves; but physical culture provided
uniquely alternative, unintended, meanings for participants that ran counter to the
assimilative designs of the residential schools. Bloom cites the recollections of John
Fire/Lame Deer on stickball (baseball):
I was a good athlete. I busted a kitchen window once playing stickball. . . . I think in
the end I got the better of that school. I was more of an Indian when I left than
when I went in. My back had been tougher than the many straps they had worn out
on it. [31]
Physical empowerment through sport could be a valuable tool of resistance or even

self-survival.
Cultural Resistance and Self Determination Through Sport

By the mid-twentieth century, federal officials became increasingly aware that the
residential school policy had failed to achieve the original goal of Indian
assimilation. More significantly, it had created such severe problems related to the
destruction of indigenous communities and identity that the federal government
was forced to make a complete change in policy direction. [32] A new policy
of integration was a response to strong Native Canadian political demands, led
by the National Indian Brotherhood (NIB) which, in 1972, submitted a proposal
to the federal government outlining its vision for Indian education in Canada.
[33] The demands made by the NIB also marked the beginning of modern
Indian political organization that was aimed primarily at regaining control
over community affairs. Forced cultural assimilation had not worked, evident
in the ambiguity and dislocation caused by the coercion of native youth into
mainstream culture, religion, education and sports practices. However, more
recently, aboriginal leaders found some value in sport for the regeneration
of cultural identities and pride in local communities, if given opportunities for
self-determination. With little support from the Canadian federal government
for sport programmes, aboriginal leaders sought funding for local sports and
for the integration of all-native teams into high-level mainstream sport
competition.
Through the 1970s, aboriginal people expressed their right to self-determined
sport and recreation activities by establishing a successful all-native sport system
apart from the Euro-Canadian sport system. In this cultural context, aboriginal
leaders viewed sport as a vehicle for widespread social development. In particular,
aboriginal leaders viewed the all-native sport system as a way to demonstrate their
distinctiveness from mainstream Canadian society and to bolster aboriginal claims
for self-determination. From 1972 to 1981, the federal government largely
supported this aboriginal vision for sport by making funds available through the
national sport governing body, Fitness and Amateur Sport, for the establishment of
a Native Sport and Recreation Program, a five-year experimental project with the
aim to increase sport and recreation opportunities on and between reserves. [34]
During this era, the Alberta-based organization Indian Sports Olympics (INSPOL)
Sports Association emerged as one of the more active organizations involved in
sport and recreation, coordinating provincial championships and multi-sport
competitions at the provincial and inter-provincial level. Leaders of INSPOL hoped
that the government would recognize the all-native provincial championships as
legitimate forms of competition and, thereby, give all-native teams provincial
status. With provincial status, aboriginal teams and individuals could compete for
positions on provincial or national sport teams through the all-native system rather
than by competing for positions within the mainstream sport system. Ron Davis,
INSPOL director from 1970 to 1972, stated in his programme report to the
Indian Association of Alberta, dated September 1971, the idea for establishing
the all-native championships was to encourage the integration of native athletes
and teams into the mainstream sport system:
INSPOL is working towards building a caliber of Fastball among Native people. In

projection, by the year 1976, Fastball will probably be an Olympic event. Native
people will at that time be in a position to try out for the Canada Fastball team.
Native representation on a Canadian Olympic Fastball Team would then become a
reality rather than a possibility. [35]
From 1971 to 1981, INSPOL hosted a number of different sports competitions,

including provincial tournaments in basketball, boxing, fastball and baseball. As well,
INSPOL established a minor ice hockey league for boys, conducted coaching and
sport management workshops and founded the All-Native Summer Games and the
Western Canada Native Winter Games. INSPOL organizers were also instrumental in
trying to establish a national sport coordinating body for aboriginal sport in Canada,
noting the sense of pride derived from the inclusion of aboriginal participants in
mainstream sports competition:
There was an indication that the people from the north and south forgot about past
differences, geographical differences, and we feel that unity, understanding and
better relationships between the north and south were developed during these
Games. It is hoped that the All Native games will lead to participation by Native
athletes in events such as Canada Summer Games held on alternating years and the
Canada Olympics. [36]
During the life of the Native Sport and Recreation Program, federal officials had
assumed that aboriginal peoples would naturally aspire to compete in the mainstream
sport system against other Canadian athletes, and that aboriginal sport leaders would
naturally wish to assimilate their programs with Fitness and Amateur Sport. When
aboriginal leaders expressed their desire to remain distinct from the mainstream
sport system, a struggle for control over the native sport programmes ensued.
Aboriginal leaders persistently demanded more consent from Fitness and Amateur
Sport and more economic advantage from the federal treasury than government was
willing to allow. The government insisted that funding for aboriginal sport and
recreation programmes would be cut if the aboriginal sport leaders did not
amalgamate their programmes with Fitness and Amateur Sport. Here, as so often in
the past, federal officials attempted to further assimilate the Indians by marginalizing
all-native sport and recreation activities. When Fitness and Amateur Sport changed
its national policy on sport to focus on elite-level development, the federal
government withdrew its support for native sport, arguing that the native sport
programmes would not produce elite-level athletes. The 1978 meeting with Minister
of Sport Iona Campagnolo was a pivotal event for aboriginal sport in Canada. After
1978, benefits to aboriginal sport programmes dwindled, and by 1981 federal funding
for the Native Sport and Recreation Program had altogether ceased. With its demise,
most of the activities fostered during the programme’s existence terminated as well.
[37] The 1978 meeting was significant in another regard. Not only did it mark the
end of strict federal control over indigenous sport, but also Campagnolo’s ultimatum
inadvertently strengthened the resolve of aboriginal leaders to develop an all-native
sport system in Canada.
A New Vision for Aboriginal Sport: Proudly Native

The native sport and recreation system fostered during the 1970s disappeared in the
1980s due to a complete lack of funding for native sport projects. This did not
prevent aboriginal sport leaders from pursuing their vision for sport. On the
contrary, the demise of the Native Sport and Recreation Program inspired aboriginal
leaders to regenerate the all-native sport system. At the forefront of this movement
was J. Wilton Littlechild, a sport visionary and champion of indigenous rights.
Through the 1970s, Littlechild emerged from the INSPOL organization as a leader
among the aboriginal sport delegates in Canada, coordinating activities at the
provincial, national and international levels of sport. Littlechild’s vision for aboriginal
sport was evident early on:
We have been involved in numerous provincial championships in many sports. We

have been involved in Western Canadian Games and some have been fortunate to
be involved in international competitions with our red brothers in the United
States. It is our contention that we [INSPOL] are ready in some sports to expose
proudly our native athletes in National Championships. [38]
Although Littlechild had begun to develop his vision for sport in the 1970s, namely
that of the North American Indigenous Games (NAI) Games and the World
Indigenous Nations (WIN) Games, the demise of funding for the Native Sport and
Recreation Program was the catalyst for the development of these games. By 1981,
Littlechild had positioned himself as the principal leader of aboriginal sport in
Canada. His plans for developing the NAI Games and the WIN Games were
facilitated by growing international recognition of indigenous rights, and by linking
his vision for sport with Olympic ideals. Ironically, some of this inspiration stemmed
from Littlechild’s outrage at a ‘cultural’ event that was organized for the Montreal
Olympic Games of 1976.
In June 1976, prior to the beginning of the Olympic Games, the Canadian
Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) national office in Winnipeg requested Littlechild’s
attendance to do a show on ‘Indian athletes and the Olympics’. Littlechild discussed
the experiences of the great runner Tom Longboat, the focus of his MA thesis. [39]
The idea was to promote Canada’s multi-cultural image to the world. Littlechild did
not question CBC’s position, using the radio broadcast show as a means to increase
public awareness about one of Canada’s greatest athletes and to foster aboriginal
pride. [40] The CBC request also signified the growing ability of aboriginal peoples to
control their representation in public. However, at the 1976 Olympic Games in
Montreal, Littlechild was shocked by the cultural presentation organized for the
closing ceremonies. [41] Here, of the 500 participants performing an Indian dance,
approximately 250 performers were non-aboriginal peoples dressed and painted to
look like ‘Indians’. [42] Adorned with colourful beads and feathers, the ‘Indians’
paraded through the stadium, dancing to theatrical music entitled La Danse Sauvage
(‘The dance of the savage’). [43] To Littlechild, the cultural display at 1976 Olympic
Games was an affront to aboriginal peoples everywhere, in that it emphasized their
exclusion from positions of social, economic and political power, and vowed, from
that moment, aboriginals would have direct control over any and all sport and
cultural exhibitions concerning their people. [44]
After 1976, aboriginal leaders embarked on a more determined path to establish a
comprehensive system of sport for indigenous people throughout the world, through
the WIN Games and the NAI Games and through direct involvement in any major
international multi-sport event. Littlechild was at the forefront of efforts to carry out
these indigenous sport initiatives. At the World Council of Indigenous Peoples
meeting in Kiruna, Sweden, on 27 August 1977, the concept for both the WIN Games
and the NAI Games first surfaced. Here, Littlechild, representing INSPOL, placed a
motion before the council to request its support in the planning, organization and
execution of the concept of a World Olympic Games for Indigenous Peoples. [45]
The title ‘World Olympic Games’ was later changed to ‘World Indigenous Nations
Games’ (WIN Games) for fear of reprisal from the International Olympic Committee
(IOC). [46] The 1977 proposal to the World Council of Indigenous Peoples was the
first clear indication of Littlechild’s plans to develop an alternate route to the
Olympic Games for indigenous athletes. The motion was passed at the 1977
conference, although it was another 11 years before Littlechild again pursued the
development of the concept of the WIN Games. The conference was noteworthy in
another regard. Here, Littlechild articulated the concept for the NAI Games, a multi-
sport competition featuring Olympic-style events exclusively for the indigenous
people of Canada and the United States. The reason for this initiative was that native
athletes in both Canada and the United States were often overlooked to represent
their province or country at national and international competitions. To combat this
systematic discrimination in the mainstream sport systems of both Canada and the
United States, the NAI Games would serve as a stepping-stone to national and
international competitions such as the Canada Games, the Commonwealth Games
and, until such time as the WIN Games were established, the Olympic Games.
On 28 October 1985, at the Panee Agriplex in Hobemma, Alberta, a group of
aboriginal leaders from Alberta, led by Littlechild, John Fletcher and Charles Wood,
met to discuss the idea of re-establishing a provincial sports organization in Alberta
to replace the now defunct INSPOL Sports Association. Two factors were at work. At
this time, the aboriginal leaders had substantive concerns about aboriginal youth in
their province, including the lack of constructive leisure time to replace destructive
social habits. [47] Aboriginal leaders reasoned that sport and recreation activities
would be a positive contribution to individual and community development. In
addition, in 1984, Alwyn Morris, a Mohawk from the Kahnawake Reserve, won a
gold and bronze medal in pairs paddling at the Olympic Games in Los Angeles. His
success at the Olympic level renewed aboriginal pride in indigenous athletic
achievements and motivated the aboriginal sport leadership in Alberta to revitalize
their sport and recreation programmes. [48]
In a series of meetings held in late 1985, indigenous sport leaders in Alberta
discussed the establishment of a new provincial sport coordinating body for Alberta,
called the Western Indian Native Sports Association (WIN Sports). In his letter
requesting support from the chiefs of Alberta, Littlechild stressed the importance of
establishing an all-native system of sport. He stated:
A non-Indian community has a structure and system to assist and support its
youth’s talent. From this experience, one cannot relate to the hardships of young
Native athletes who show so much promise but never have the opportunity to
fulfill their potential. Whether this is the fault of the Native communities or the
selecting committees is not what we are trying to determine, but rather to develop a
method whereby young Native athletes’ skills can be developed and create an
awareness within the non-Indian community of the emergence of the Native
athlete. [49]
The business of the WIN Sports Association was conducted through Littlechild’s law
office in Hobbema, Alberta. As such, Littlechild maintained a careful watch over WIN
Sports activities.
One of the goals of WIN Sports was to develop a more direct affiliation with the
National Indian Activities Association (NIAA) in the United States. [50] The
association was established in 1973 to organize sport and recreation activities and
expand competitive opportunities for Native Americans at the state, regional and
national levels. Unlike the proposals to establish All-Native National Champion-
ships in Canada, where the process of selection involved provincial tournaments
only, the NIAA developed a process whereby athletes would first compete in state
championships and proceed to regional championships, where first- and second-
place teams advanced to the National Indian Activities Association National
Championships. [51]
North American Indigenous Games: Native to Native

In 1988, Littlechild, Fletcher and Wood began organizing the first NAI Games
featuring 17 sporting events. Cultural activities were incorporated into the games to
highlight the great diversity among North American indigenous peoples, to create a
sense of unity from this diversity and to promote the resurgence of indigenous
cultures and cultural identities in non-indigenous society. [52] In this cultural
context, the NAI Games clearly demonstrated that North America’s indigenous
peoples had largely resisted assimilation, that they never surrendered their cultures or
identities, although more than 200 years of close inter-cultural contact had changed
the context of their lives in profound ways. Thus through self-determined sport and
cultural activities, the ultimate purpose of the NAI Games, as framed in its mission
statement was: ‘To improve the quality of life for Indigenous peoples by supporting
self-determined sports and cultural activities which encourage equal access to
participation in the social and cultural fabric of the community they reside in and
which respects Indigenous distinctiveness’. [53]
To Littlechild, the key element in achieving this goal was to produce elite-level
athletes for competition in both the All-Indian system through the NAI Games and
the proposed WIN Games, and through the Olympic Games. To assist in this
development, Littlechild looked towards the Olympic Games for inspiration and
support.
At the same time that Littlechild actively pursued the IOC to endorse and support
his vision for the WIN Games, he also began developing a support structure for the
world games, namely through the establishment of the NAI Games, as he originally
articulated at the World Council of Indigenous Peoples in 1977. Thus, Littlechild and
the other aboriginal sport leaders from Alberta planned the NAIG as a pilot project to
test both indigenous and government support for all-native sport. If the NAI Games
were successful, then Littlechild would proceed with the development of the world
plans. The Alberta group of indigenous leaders began organizing the first NAI Games
planned for 1990. In 1989, Littlechild, Fletcher and Wood presented their ideas for
the games to federal and provincial politicians in a major proposal called ‘The Spirit –
Strong, Brave, and True’. [54] In the proposal, the indigenous leaders outlined the
structure for the games and included a preliminary list of the sport and cultural
events planned.
In an attempt to secure federal funding, the indigenous organizers stressed that one
of the long-term objectives of the NAI Games was to qualify talented indigenous
athletes for major national and international events, and stressed that international
rules, regulations and guidelines regarding the specifics of each sport would be
enforced. [55] However, when the call for indigenous athletes went out, it was clear
that the indigenous organizers did not intend to follow the international guidelines as
stated in their proposal. Instead, indigenous athletes would qualify simply by mailing
in a participation form and recognizing their membership to a tribe, band or
settlement – thereby including Inuit and Métis people in the games. [56] When the
games opened on 30 July 1990, the organizers were overwhelmed by the huge influx
of athletes who arrived only hours before the start of the games to register for various
competitive events. Approximately 1,500 athletes were officially registered; however,
the NAI Games committee estimated that an additional 1,000 athletes had arrived
unannounced to participate in events. In spite of the pre-event chaos, Chairman
Charles Wood promised that all indigenous athletes were welcome at the games and
refused to turn anyone away. [57] This relaxed structure for the games coincided with
the pattern observed at other indigenous sport festivals, notably the Northern Games,
where organizers encouraged ‘participation over excellence and an atmosphere of
camaraderie and self-testing rather than competitive equality’. [58]
Initially, both the provincial and federal governments were willing to provide
financial support. Yet in the years leading up to the games, indigenous organizers
continued to have their proposal tabled by the federal government, with the result
that in the weeks and months leading up to the games, funding became a critical issue
for the organizing committee. On 12 June 1990, only two weeks before the start of the
games, Littlechild, then a Member of Parliament, utilized his high political position
to enhance the profile of the NAI Games in government in an attempt to secure
funding. [59] Despite Littlechild’s initiative, it became increasingly clear to the
organizing committee that the federal money was not forthcoming. [60] Bill Adsit,
general manager of finance for the games, reported eight days before the start of the
games that all moneys pledged had to be honoured in order to break even. The list of
pledges included moneys promised by the federal government, the province of
Alberta and the city of Edmonton that totalled approximately Can$345,000. [61] In
the end, the federal government did not contribute towards for the first games in
Edmonton. [62] As a result, the 1990 organizing committee was forced to explore
other sources of funding, including public sector donations, to meet its proposed
budget. A last-minute financial boost from the City of Edmonton and several native
groups provided the organizing committee with the money it desperately needed to
host the games. [63]
It was in this manner that the first NAI Games began – events staged throughout
the city and surrounding area, overburdened by the influx of athletes and spectators,
and severely under-funded. [64] Even in the face of these obstacles, the indigenous
organizers declared the first NAI Games a tremendous success. [65] A lack of federal
responsibility for the games forced event organizers to postpone the second games for
one year, from 1992 to 1993. [66] When the federal government did finally agree to
make funds available for the games, DIAND, through its medical services branch,
contributed Can$200,000 to help organize the event. [67] By relegating federal
responsibility for the Indigenous Games to DIAND, a department that invariably
sponsored indigenous cultural events, government officials demonstrated their
perception that the NAI Games did not fit the government’s criteria for sport. The
1993 games resulted in a Can$30,000 deficit. [68]
The 1995 NAI Games were held in Blain, Minnesota. As with all major sporting
competitions, the host society was responsible for securing financial support for the
games, and funding was once again a primary concern. Since the 1995 games were
not held in Canada, the Government of Canada was not obligated to support the
event. Nevertheless, Sport Canada contributed Can$100,000 to the Aboriginal Sport
Circle for distribution, on a junior-level per capita basis, to provincial and territorial
organizations to help fund teams travelling to the event. [69] From 1993 to 1995, the
newly established Aboriginal Sport Circle operated under the umbrella organization
of the Alwyn Morris Foundation. In 1995 it was incorporated and, through the circle,
indigenous leaders hoped to secure ongoing federal financial support for the games.
The 1995 games were the largest yet, attracting approximately 8,100 athletes. [70]
Despite its growing popularity, in many ways the NAI Games was a fractional
movement, marked by the different aims and aspirations of the people involved, and
disputes over cultural allegiance at the 1995 games exemplified this dilemma. Here,
the indigenous athletes from Six Nations, Ontario, refused to participate in the
festival as part of Team Ontario. Instead, they preferred to participate as a Mohawk
Nation, and moved to form a united Mohawk team among other members of their
nation from Ontario, Quebec and New York State. The Mohawks refused to wear the
uniforms provided to them by their assigned team. Indigenous organizers were
willing to accommodate these singular displays of resistance; Kahnawake participated
in the 1997 games as a separate team, sending 96 athletes to the event. [71]
Developments at the 1997 games reflected a pattern that was both old and new.
Here, as with the second NAI Games, organizers moved to push the event back one
year, arguing that the two-year cycle was not enough time for the host committees
and participating areas to adequately prepare for the games. [72] The critical issue of
this request revolved around funding. [73] In order for the games to be recognized
and funded by government, it was paramount that the games be hosted on a regular
two-year cycle. For this reason, WIN Sports defeated an early attempt by the host
committee to push the games to 1998, and the organization of the 1997 games
resumed as planned.
The move to host the games in 1997, as originally planned, served aboriginal
interests well. A contribution of Can$1.9 million dollars to the games in Vancouver,
British Columbia, emerged from a funding partnership between different federal
departments, public-sector donations and the provincial government, with the lure of
13 million dollars in economic spin-offs to attract their attention. [74] Several funding
sources within the federal government were cited, including sizeable donations from
Canadian Heritage (Can$410,000, of which Can$300,000 was provided by Sport
Canada); Indian Affairs and Northern Affairs (Can$200,000); Human Resource
Development (Can$200,000); and Transport Canada (Can$40,000). As well, use of
office space valued at Can$100,000 was donated to the host society. [75] The sum of
Can$950,000 was donated by the BC provincial government. [76] In addition, various
regional offices of the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development
contributed approximately Can$250,000 to provincial and territorial groups to
organize teams to travel to the event. Private donations totalled more than
Can$100,000. [77]
The World Stage

The aims and aspirations that guided aboriginal sport through the 1970s became
more pronounced in the 1980s and 1990s, as aboriginal peoples in Canada
increasingly fought for recognition of their rights. This movement assisted Littlechild
in his pursuit to establish the NAI Games. On the one hand, Littlechild sought
support from international organizations to pressure the Canadian government into
recognizing aboriginal rights to self-determined sport activities. Although the
government did not support, in any substantial way, the 1990, 1993 and 1995 NAI
Games, by 1997 both federal and provincial governments had demonstrated their
willingness to support indigenous sport by making substantial funds available for the
Vancouver games. On the other hand, Littlechild drew ideological parallels between
indigenous sport and the Olympic ideal, thus linking aboriginal sport programmes to
the Olympic Games, in an concerted attempt to win the support and sanction of,
arguably, the most powerful sport organization in the world, the International
Olympic Committee (IOC). After three successful Games, Littlechild expanded his
efforts to establish the WIN Games, and again looked to international organizations
for support. In 1996, the Commission on Human Rights met to discuss the principles
of ‘The Olympic Ideal’. Delegates recognized that the principles of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights reaffirmed the valuable contribution of the Olympic
movement to the ‘promotion, protection and implementation of human rights and
to the creation of global friendship and the maintenance of world peace’, and thus
urged all states to encourage the ‘equal and full participation’ of all peoples in the
Olympic Games. [78] This connection between the Olympic ideals and indigenous
rights was not lost on Littlechild who, again, sought to establish a close relationship
with the IOC. In July 1997, Littlechild met with IOC president Juan Samaranch in
Lausanne, Switzerland, to solicit the IOC’s support and endorsement for the WIN
Games, and alluded to the development of a ‘future relationship’ between the IOC
and WIN Sports Association. [79]
However, achieving cultural self-determination in part did not ensure any
protection against powerful new incorporative pressures. Control over the
international arena of sport is hotly contested. The IOC, for example, has a long
history of incorporating alternative sports festivals towards its own aims and
advancement [80] and it is evident that both groups had something to offer one
another as part of a potential mutual relationship. Indeed, in April 1998, at a private
meeting in Calgary, Samaranch and Littlechild privately discussed how each could
benefit from the IOC–indigenous peoples relationship. [81] British journalist Andrew
Jennings claims that the IOC president had long coveted a Nobel Peace Prize
nomination for his contributions to world peace through leadership of the Olympic
movement. [82] Perhaps not coincidentally, after their meeting, Littlechild proposed,
in a letter, to nominate Samaranch for the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts to assist
indigenous world sport development. [83] In another document, it was reported that
Samaranch promised to nominate WIN Sports to be the official organizers of the
WIN Games, which would position the WIN Sports Association, with Littlechild at
the helm, as the ultimate world administrative authority in indigenous sport. [84]
The Politics of Self Determination

More often than not, the struggle for aboriginal self-determination has strained
relations between the federal government, aboriginal groups and the rest of Canadian
society. Part of the problem stems from the fact that aboriginal self-determination is
largely undefined. Instead, what exists is uncertainty and ambiguity about the place
and position aboriginal people occupy in contemporary Canadian society. As
pressures mount for government to find fair and equitable solutions to aboriginal
issues, it becomes increasingly difficult for aboriginal people to portray their cultures
and ways of life in a positive way. Images of aboriginal people in Canada often focus
on negative cultural representations such as the clash between the Mohawks and the
military at Oka in the summer of 1990. Between the confusion and distorted images,
sport provides one of the few ‘safe’ venues to demonstrate the positive aspects of
aboriginal cultures. In this ‘peaceful’ setting, aboriginal people can celebrate the
survival of their cultures and identities. As well, they can demonstrate their
distinctiveness from the Canadian society in a manner that is socially acceptable.
Littlechild, of course, was visionary. To Littlechild, elite-level sport competitions
provided aboriginal people with the unique opportunity to demonstrate, in a positive
way, their social, cultural and political distinctiveness from Canadian society. The
growing popularity of the NAI Games demonstrates that Littlechild’s vision of sport
was embraced by many aboriginal people in Canada and United States.
Littlechild created the NAI Games because he realized that there were few
opportunities for sport and recreation in aboriginal communities; that the
mainstream sport system discriminated against aboriginal athletes; and that
aboriginal entitlement included the right to a distinct sport programme that was
separate from the mainstream sport system. In this way, Littlechild created the NAI
Games to overcome the systematic discrimination Aboriginal athletes experienced
within mainstream sport by expanding aboriginal opportunities for sport within the
all-Indian sport system. As such, Littlechild designed his NAI Games as a pilot project
for his planned World Indigenous Nations Games. If the NAI Games flourished, then
Littlechild would increase his efforts to organize the larger world festival.
Littlechild’s NAI Games posed a serious challenge to federal officials to accept
aboriginal sport programmes as legitimate forms of national and international
competitions. The support and sanction of national and international indigenous and
non-indigenous organizations validates the all-Indian sport system. Still, the
boundaries Littlechild imagines for sport appear to be almost limitless, as
demonstrated by his vision for the WIN Games and his quest to have an indigenous
team participate in the official sports competition at the Olympic Games.
Still, the establishment of the NAI Games did not result in increased opportunities
for sport for all aboriginal people and all aboriginal communities. Littlechild
designed the NAI Games with the hope that the prestige of competing in an
international all-Indian event would motivate aboriginal leaders throughout Canada
and the United States to develop sport and recreation programmes for their people.
At a time when many aboriginal communities are struggling to provide such basic
needs as adequate housing and education and to combat substance abuse, many
aboriginal communities do not have the necessary resources to develop sport and
recreation programmes.
Sport has always been a site of cultural struggle in Canada. [85] The significance
of physical culture as a locus of dominant, resistant and emergent relationships is evident
throughout the historical relationships between aboriginals and non-aboriginals and,
particularly, with respect to Canadian government policies and programmes
directed at Native Canadians. Indeed, the Canadian government strategically and

forcefully attempted to eliminate traditional aboriginal cultural practices to solve
what became known over time as the ‘Indian problem’. Yet the failure of residential
schooling and other projects to assimilate aboriginals into mainstream society, and
more specifically the ineffective use of modern sport to ‘convert’ and ‘civilize’
Native Canadians, precipitated concerted efforts on the part of aboriginal leaders
and visionaries to utilize sport in the interests of native communities. As such, in
Canadian history, sport and physical culture have always been contested terrain –
on the one hand wielded for primacy, control and the re-education of once self-
sustaining peoples – but on the other hand mobilized in the service of self-
determination, survival and cultural renewal. Events such as the North American
Indigenous Games demonstrate how forms of culture, sport in particular, have
been empowering for marginalized groups, for some to recapture their spirits.
Notes
[1] The five volume Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP), published in
1996, is, to date, the most comprehensive study on the key issues affecting aboriginal peoples
in Canada. Led by a committee of First Nations, Métis and Inuit scholars, lawyers and political
leaders, the RCAP represents this movement towards aboriginal self-determination.
[2] Forsyth, ‘From Assimilation to Self Determination’.
[3] See Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio Gramsci, 132.
[4] Laclau and Mouffe, Hegemony and Socialist Strategy; Adamson, Hegemony and Revolution,
176–7; Mouffe, Gramsci and Marxist Theory, 192–5; Lears, ‘The Concept of Cultural
Hegemony: Problems and Possibilities’.
[5] The language utilized by colonizers to describe the native peoples they encountered helped to
legitimize the process of the colonization. See Stevenson, ‘Columbus and the War on
Indigenous Peoples’.
[6] Native people resisted cultural assimilation by incorporating their old-time practices into the
festivals associated with Euro-Canadian sports and games. For a detailed analysis of how
Euro-Canadian sport and games were implicated in the colonization process on the prairies,
see Pettipas, Severing the Ties that Bind.
[7] Cumming et al., Native Rights in Canada, 28–30, 86.
[8] We refer specifically to sub-section 91(24) of the Constitution Act. See Government of
Canada, Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (hereafter RCAP) Vol. 1, 268.
[9] Frideres, ‘Policies on Indian People in Canada’, 99.
[10] Miller, Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens.
[11] Milloy, ‘A National Crime’, 13. For a detailed assessment of residential schooling in Canada,
see, Miller, Shingwauk’s Vision.
[12] RCAP, 277. Originally cited in Department of the Interior, Annual Report for the Year ended
30th June, 1876, Dominion of Canada, Sessional Papers, No. 11, 1877, xiv.
[13] RCAP, 148.
[14] Paraschak, ‘Reasonable Amusements’.
[15] RCAP, 291.
[16] Ibid., 292.
[17] Ibid., 294.
[18] Wamsley, ‘Cultural Signification and National Ideologies’; Wamsley, ‘State Formation and
Institutionalized Racism’; Wamsley and Kossuth, ‘Fighting it Out in Nineteenth Century
Upper Canada/Canada West’.
[19] Wamsley, ‘Cultural Signification and National Ideologies’, 63–5.
[20] Morrow and Wamsley, Sport in Canada, 38–41.
[21] Morrow, ‘Knights of the Snowshoe’.
[22] Paraschak, ‘Reasonable Amusements’, 123.
[23] RCAP, 335.
[24] Brown, ‘Sport, Darwinism and Canadian Private Schooling to 1918’; Morrow and Wamsley,
Sport in Canada, 70–87.
[25] Native parents and community leaders sought education for their children. However, as
Miller argues in Shingwauk’s Vision (406–38), they did not seek to have their children
assimilated into Euro-Canadian culture.
[26] Milloy, ‘A National Crime’, 37.
[27] Ibid.
[28] Ibid, 44–5.
[29] Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do.
[30] Williams, Marxism and Literature.
[31] Bloom, To Show What an Indian Can Do, 98.
[32] The 1951 revisions to the Indian Act shifted federal priorities from assimilation to integration,
although there was little distinction between the two processes. A detailed assessment of this
shift in policy directions can be found in Weaver, Making Canadian Indian Policy.
[33] National Indian Brotherhood, Indian Control of Indian Education, Ottawa: NIB/AFN, 1972.
[34] Paraschak, ‘The Native Sport and Recreation Program, 1972–1981’, 1.
[35] Ron Davis (director of recreation, Indian Association of Alberta). ‘Recreation Development
Program’. Proposal presented to the Board and Executive of the Indian Association of Alberta,
September 1971, 4.
[36] Indian Sports Olympics. ‘INSPOL Program Evaluation: 1970–1971’. Submitted to the Indian
Association of Alberta, 1972, 8.
[37] Paraschak, ‘The Native Sport and Recreation Program, 1972–1981’, 12–3.
[38] Letter from J. Wilton Littlechild, INSPOL, to the National Indian Brotherhood, September
1971.
[39] J. Wilton Littlechild, ‘Tom Longboat’.
[40] J. Wilton Littlechild with host Bob Charlie on Our Native Land, CBC Radio, 8 Oct. 1977.
National Archives of Canada (NAC) C-014090.
[41] Personal Interview with J. Wilton Littlechild, Hobemma, Alberta, 1999.
[42] Official Report of Montreal 1976, Games of the XXI Olympiad, Volume 1, Ottawa: COJO,
1978, 312.
[43] Ibid., 307, 309.
[44] Interview with Littlechild, 1999.
[45] World Indigenous Nations Sports Incorporated. ‘Information Received from Non-govern-
ment Organizations’. Submitted to the Working Group on Indigenous Population, 16th
Session, Item 11, 1998. This document outlines the principal activities undertaken by WIN
Sport to establish the WIN Games.
[46] It was reported that another indigenous sport festival, unidentified in the interview, used the
term ‘Olympics’ in its title and was subsequently sued by the IOC. To avoid a similar suit,
Littlechild, through INSPOL, eliminated the word ‘Olympics’ from the title and decided on the
name of ‘World Indigenous Nations Games’ (WIN Games). Interview with Littlechild, 1999.
[48] Ibid.
[49] Letter from J. Wilton Littlechild, WIN Sports, to the Chiefs of Alberta, 17 Dec. 1985, 1.
[50] WIN Sports Association, Minutes of the Board of Directors Meeting, Calgary, Alberta, 3 Sept.
1987, 3.
[51] Information letter about the National Indian Activities Associatio, March 1974.
[52] Windspeaker (North American Indigenous Games newsletter), 30 June 1989, 1.
[53] NAIG Mission Statement, 1990.

[54] ‘Pocahontas Speaks Out’, North American Indigenous Games Newsletter, 1989, 3.
[55] Ibid.
[56] Volunteer/participation form, North American Indigenous Games Newsletter, 1989.
[57] ‘Rain Fails to Dampen Games’ spirit’, Windspeaker, 6 July 1990, 1.
[58] Paraschak, ‘Variations in Race Relations’, 13.
[59] Littlechild was elected MP for the constituency of Wetaskiwin, a riding in southern
Alberta that incorporated the Hobbema Reserve. Littlechild held this position from 1988 to
1993.
[60] ‘Lack of funds worry Indigenous Games officials,’ Windspeaker, 9 February 1990, 2.
[61] ‘Indigenous Games are in the Big Leagues’, Windspeaker, 22 June 1990, 27.
[62] Health Canada and Welfare Canada are reported to have considered donations totalling
Can$50,000. See ‘The Indigenous Games will go on – Ottawa offers crucial support,’
Windspeaker, 30 March 1990, 2. However, in the end, the federal government did not deliver
the financial support that the NAIG leaders requested. Personal correspondence with Rod
Windover, 11 Jan. 1999. Windover was one of the key personnel working on the major games
file at Sport Canada when the first NAIG were held in Edmonton, Alberta.
[63] ‘Rain Fails to Dampen Games’ Spirit’, 1.
[64] The first games in Edmonton ran a deficit of Can$35,000. House of Commons (Canada),
Commons Debates, 2nd Session, 34th Parliament, Vol. IX, 12 June 1990, 12691.
[65] Rain Fails to Dampen Games’ Spirit’, 1.
[67] Correspondence with Windover, 1999.
[68] Aboriginal Sport Circle, ‘Minutes of the meeting of the Aboriginal Sport Circle/Secretariat
Working Group’, 12.
[70] ‘Indigenous Games largest ever’, Windspeaker, 22 September 1995, 22.
[71] ‘Statistics Regarding the 1997 North American Indigenous Games Participation’.
[72] Letter from the 1997 North American Indigenous Games Committee to the North American
Indigenous Games Council, 27 July 1997.
[73] ‘Games Sign Corporate Sponsors’, Windspeaker, December 1996, 16.
[74] ‘Indigenous Games Get Full Federal Funding’, Windspeaker, January 1997, 25.
[76] ‘Games Government Funding in Place’, Windspeaker, March 1997, 24.
[77] Private donations included Can$75,000 from the Royal Bank of Canada, and an undeter-
mined amount from BC Telecom.
[78] Commission on Human Rights, ‘The Olympic Ideal’.
[79] Letter from J. Wilton Littlechild, WIN Sports Association to J.A. Samaranch, president of the
International Olympic Committee, 28 July 1997.
[80] Wamsley, ‘The Global Sport Monopoly’.
[81] Letter from Littlechild to Samaranch, 19 April 1998.
[82] Jennings, The New Lords of the Rings, 14.
[83] Letter from Littlechild to Samaranch, 19 April 1998.
[84] Working Group on Indigenous Populations, ‘Information received from non-government
organizations’, 16th Session, Item 11, 1998.
[85] Gruneau, Class, Sports, and Social Development.
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On Being a Warrior: Race, Gender and
American Indian Imagery in Sport
C. Richard King
This essay examines the ways in which racism and sexism have energized the use of
American Indian imagery in sport. Specifically, it concentrates on the development and
defence of Native American sports mascots, detailing the importance of crises within
hegemonic formulations of masculinity and their relationships with the valuation of
women, the reinscription of racial privilege and the maintenance of tradition. It begins
with a discussion of the history and significance of Native American sports mascots,
before considering the importance of gender to their emergence and elaboration. On this
foundation, it offers a critical reading of one strand of neo-conservative thought intent on
retaining stereotypical renderings of indigenous peoples in association with sports. In
particular, it interprets writings of Dave Shiflett, Richard Poe and David Yeagley as
emblematic of the uses of racial and gender differences in the unfolding mascot
controversy at the start of the twenty-first century. In conclusion, it outlines the
implications of placing gender and its articulation with race at discussion of American
Indian imagery in sport.
The playing fields of North America have become battlefields, as Native American
sports mascots, once celebrated symbols, increasingly foster intense conflicts over
history, culture and identity. Consequently, scholars and commentators have seized
upon these struggles to consider the changing articulations of race and power in
American culture. Importantly, an expansive literature has offered critical analyses of
Native American sports mascots, stressing that they can facilitate the creation of
identity, community and history. [1]
A concern for race, especially Indianness, has anchored these interpretations.
And while Eitzen and Zinn have rightly highlighted the implications of naming
and imaging sports team for women on and off the playing field, gender has
received little attention in accounts of Indian imagery in sports. [2] Indeed,
most studies of Native American sports mascots have foregrounded race at the
expense of gender. Native American political leader Dennis Banks has even
unequivocally rejected the significance of gender for efforts to understand and

undermine such icons. [3]
The neglect and dismissal of gender is most unfortunate because it has obscured a
full understanding of the complex meanings of Native American sports mascots.
More specifically, scholars to date have failed to build on Laurel Davis’s work. [4] She
argued that on the one hand the use of Indian imagery reinforced dominant notions
of masculinity, citizenship, sport and tradition, while on the other hand the
controversy over mascots derived in part from efforts to defend traditional
formulation of identity in the United States, especially its foundations in race
(whiteness), gender (masculinity), nation (Americanness) and history (the myth of
the frontier). Consequently, the intense attention to race in the absence of gender has
caused scholars to overlook the troubling discourses that sanction racialized team
spirits by marshalling dominant ideas about gender.
This essay seeks to redress this oversight through an examination of the place of
gender and racial differences in the development and the more recent defence of
Native American sports mascots. It focuses on the writings of three neo-conservative
commentators, Dave Shiflett, Richard Poe and David Yeagley, especially the ways in
which they explicitly and implicitly employ masculinity and femininity in their
assessments of cultural ideals, coding of ideological perspectives and evaluations of
race, nation and politics. To contextualize this analysis, the discussion begins with a
consideration of the changing uses and understandings of Indian imagery in athletics,
and then turns to the gendered meanings of Native American sports mascots. It ends
with a consideration of the importance of including gender in analyses of the history
and significance of American Indian imagery in sport.
A Brief History of Native American Sports Mascots

Native American sports mascots first began to appear as modern America
crystallized, notably coinciding with the rise of intercollegiate and professional
athletics. During this same period, a crisis in white masculinity that was itself
associated with the closing of the frontier, urbanization, industrialization and the
subjugation of Native America also occurred and contributed to the adoption of
such symbols. [5] They became a ubiquitous feature of American culture precisely
because of the pleasures, possibilities, and powers it has granted its performers. At the
end of the 20th century, the sports teams at more than 2,500 schools used Native
American names, imagery, or references, including more than 80 colleges and
universities. [6]
Native American sports mascots draw on clichéd images of Native Americans that
are rooted in the imperial imagination. [7] They play up or play off a set of cultural
features that are too often wrongly associated with the indigenous peoples of North
America: the feathered headdress, face paint, buckskin paints, warfare, dance and the
tomahawk (chop). They make use of these elements to create moving, meaningful
and entertaining icons that many people take to be authentic, appropriate, even
180 C. Richard King
reverent. The condensed versions of Indianness rendered through signs and
spectacles confine Native Americans within the past, typically within the popular
image of the Plains warrior. Whatever the precise image or reference (real or
imagined), mascots trap native nations within the many overlapping tropes of
savagery. At one extreme are romantic renditions of bellicose warriors, such as the
University of Illinois (Chief Illiniwek and the Fighting Illini), Florida State University
(the Seminoles with ‘their’ Chief Osceola) and the University of North Dakota
(Fighting Sioux). At the other extreme are perverse burlesque parodies of the physical
or cultural features, such as Runnin’ Joe at Arkansas State University or Willie
Wampum at Marquette University. [8]
Native American sports mascots derive from a long tradition of playing Indian.
[9] Euro-Americans have long known, invented and expressed themselves by
casting themselves as Indians, using the trappings, props and symbols they
associated with indigenous peoples to make powerful statements about themselves
that they might not be able to otherwise enunciate. Native American sports mascots
build on a long tradition dating back at least to the Boston Tea Party that persists
in popular culture, from the Y-Indian princesses and the Boy Scouts to the ongoing
appropriation of indigenous spirituality, dubbed ‘white shamanism’. Significantly,
Native American sports mascots are meaningful only in the context of American
imperialism, where Euro-Americans simultaneously sought to control and remake
Native America, feeling nostalgic for that which they had destroyed. Thus Euro-
Americans banned Indian dance and traditions while also appropriating them as
essential elements of their athletic events. [10] Moreover, with the rise of public
culture, the production of Indianness in spectacles, exhibitions and other sundry
entertainments proliferated, offering templates for elaborations in sporting contexts.
[11] Because of comments by fans or sportswriters, historic relationships between
institutions and indigenous peoples, and regional associations, Native American
sports mascots crystallized as institutionalized icons, encrusted with memories,
tradition, boosterism, administrative investment, financial rewards and collective
identity.
Over the past 35 years, Native American sports mascots increasingly have become
subject to debate. [12] Individuals and organizations have challenged Indian symbols
in sports, forcing broader discussions and change. Some institutions, such as
Stanford University, have retired their mascots while others, such as the University of
Utah, have opted to revise their imagery. At the same time, many school boards have
encouraged schools to change them. Meanwhile, religious groups and professional
organizations, including the United Methodist Church, the National Education
Association and the Modern Language Association, have denounced Indian symbols
in athletics. And in April 2001 the United States Commission on Civil Rights issued a
strongly word statement condemning such mascots.
Importantly, individuals and organizations have made a difference. The number of
mascots has declined over the past three decades. By one estimate, nearly 1,500
mascots have been changed, retired or reworked since 1970. [13]
Race, Gender and Sports Mascots

Native American sports mascots have much to teach about race at the same time that
they also offer valuable lessons about gender. First and foremost, they underscore that
sports, like public culture more generally, remain predominantly homosocial,
heteromasculine spaces, centring on men and their exploits and celebrating
masculinity, or those traits and ideals defining what it means to be a man in
American society, such as aggression, independence and competitiveness. [14] The
prevalence of teams named ‘Warriors’, ‘Braves’ and ‘Red Raiders’ conforms to this
pattern; so too does the previously discussed imagery used to represent such teams
and schools.
Significantly, Native American mascots do not simply reflect and reinforce
hegemonic masculinity but also have deep entanglements with struggles over what it
means to be a man. Laurel Davis has argued convincingly that the usage of such
symbols emerged in response to a crisis in white masculinity during the late
nineteenth century in association with efforts to reformulate what it meant to be in
man through (misleading) ideas about the American West – namely, the myth of the
Frontier. The idealized connection between masculinity and the West, often cast in
terms of Indianness, remained hegemonic for much of the twentieth century, until
challenged as part of broader social movements, including feminism and cultural and
political resurgence across Native America. Many Americans, whether consciously
and unconsciously, interpret the critique of Indian imagery in athletics as an assault
on American values, identities and traditions, including hegemonic forms of
masculinity. Consequently, Davis concludes, struggles over mascots are also struggles
to redefine what it means to be a man and, hence, are met with fierce opposition.
Clearly, as discussed in the next section, this is a central element of the conservative
response to mascots. [15]
Importantly, Native American sports mascots not only clear a space for the
perpetuation and performance of hegemonic masculinity. They also offer important
interpretations of femininity and gender relations as well, including the image of
women, roles open to women, the kind and quality of gender relations and inequities
and limitations imposed by the symbols, performances and narratives at the heart of
sport. In fact, the use of Indian symbols has resulted in the devaluation, oppression,
erasure, sexualization and empowerment of women.
Eitzen and Zinn suggest that the naming of sports teams is often a sexist practice.
They have identified six such practices: (1) taking a non-sexist male team name and
adding lady (Lady Indians); (2) double gender marking (Lady Chocs when the men
are Choctaws); (3) male name with female modifier (Lady Braves); (4) paired polarity
(Warriors/Squaws); (5) use of feminine suffix for women’s teams; and (6) the use of
physical markers emphasizing femininity. Clearly, these practices extend to teams
with Native American sports mascots. Such practices suggest that women are
secondary, supplemental, dependent, lesser. Men are the central actors: the norm.
They literally degrade women and, importantly, demarcate the kinds of roles to
182 C. Richard King
which they might aspire. The use of racialized words, most notably ‘squaw’, can
intensify the injuries associated with team names, precisely because they
simultaneously inscribe ethnic stereotypes and gender norms. [16]
Native American sports mascots also erase women. The University of Illinois has a
long history of ‘Playing Indian’ at half-time, centring around a figure known as Chief
Illiniwek, a white male student who performs in Indian regalia. Each performer has
had his name recorded for posterity. During the Second World War, an Indian
Princess replaced Chief Illiniwek. Dressed in a short skirt, a female student cheered
the teams to victory. After the war, when Chief Illiniwek made his triumphant return,
subsequent chiefs literally effaced the names of the young women who had performed
in their absence, scratching individual names from the ceremonial placard.
In addition to the manner in which they position women as supplemental,
marginal and invisible, Native American sports mascots allow for individuals and
institutions to fashion images of women as well. For several decades, the sports teams
of the Arkansas State University have represented themselves at home games not
through a solitary dancing Indian, but through an ensemble cast known as ‘the
family’. A chief, a maiden and a brave constitute the family, but this is more than a
domestic unit: while bellicosity characterizes the portrayal of the male figures,
sexuality (suggestive dress and flirtation) defines the maiden. [17]
Arkansas State University has not been alone in its usage of Native American
sexuality. Many secondary schools, colleges, universities and professional sports
teams use Indian imagery to clothe their cheerleaders as well as their athletes. The
Stanford University Dollies and the Washington Redskinettes are but two of many
examples that might be cited. Wherever they appear, young women in short skirts
and/or revealing tops, often reminiscent of indigenous regalia, sometimes with
feathers or face paint, jump about, dance and perform routines, using their
objectified bodies to delight, titillate and excite the crowd. More disturbing, perhaps
for their explicitness rather than their effect, are T-shirts worn by supporters of North
Dakota State University (home of the Bison), the in-state rivals of the University of
North Dakota Fighting Sioux. One bears the phrase ‘Buck the Bison’, accompanied
by an image of an obese Indian copulating with a buffalo from behind. Another
shows a Native American on his knees with mouth open, beneath a larger, fiercer
buffalo, the caption completing the message: ‘Blow us. We saw, they sucked, we
came.’ From the normalized display of the female body as an object for male pleasure
to more obscene visions of bestiality, sexualization is fundamental to what Indian
imagery means in sporting contexts and to what ends institutions and individual can
put it.
Oddly, Native American sports mascots have not simply reproduced gender
hierarchies; they have on occasion opened spaces within which Euro-American
women have laid claim to power and equality. When Saint Bonaventure University
became a coeducational institution in the 1960s, the new women’s teams needed a
symbol and mascot. To complement the Brown Indian, the Brown Squaw was
chosen. Many women at the time were pleased with the moniker. One commented:
‘We were so proud to be Squaws. . . . I’m ashamed of it now, but it was part of my
identity – it made us feel equal to the men.’ [18]
Indian imagery obviously has facilitated engagements with gender in changing
social worlds (from crises in masculinity to quests for equality for women) that have
accentuated, elaborated and occasionally interrogated the contours of masculinity
and femininity in American culture. Significantly, gender also centres how some talk
about Native American sports mascots, directing attention to the prominence of
sexual rhetoric in the controversy of such symbols.
The (Neo-Conservative) Return of the Native

In the wake of the Vietnam War, struggles for social justice and associated
governmental remedies, economic realignments, a rising tide of feminism and a
renaissance in Indian Country, a neo-conservative movement coalesced, intent on
challenging what it saw as an assault on American values, institutions and traditions.
In the subsequent culture wars of the 1980s and 1990s sparked by this backlash, neo-
conservatives sought to re-establish American identity, refusing negative critiques
that had linked white masculinity with exploitation and exclusion, while reframing
social problems, the role of government and the meaning of history. In the process,
they successfully shifted the discourse around gender, sexuality, race and class,
rehabilitating whiteness and masculinity through a coded language that referenced
issues of difference and domination without naming them explicitly, and hence
‘implicitly reproduce[d] and protect[ed] the practices, institutional arranges, and
social relations that enable the central and normative position of white masculinity to
be produced’. [19]
Native American mascots, created during an earlier crisis around white
masculinity, have proven central to neo-conservative efforts to resolve a more recent
crisis and defend America against multiculturalism and other assaults on traditional
identity and hegemonic white masculinity. Commonly, this has meant that
supporters of mascots turn attention away from questions of racism and
victimization, extolling instead the virtues of convention and the positive values
expressed through such imagery. [20] And increasingly, they weave together
reactionary understandings of race and gender to defend such team spirits and the
values, identities and relationships embodied by them. In one striking example, in
1999, the Chief Illiniwek Educational Foundation (CIEF), an organization dedicated
to the retention of said mascot at the University of Illinois, planned an essay contest
focused around the theme: ‘How does Chief Illiniwek best exemplify the spirit of the
University of Illinois?’ Significantly, CIEF sought not only to defend Chief Illiniwek,
but also to link its defence of an imagined Indian with the struggles of embodied
Native Americans in so far as it planned to donate the prize money to a Native
American organization that would support its cause. [21] To get at the shape and
significance of the broader discursive field anchoring and animating this failed
project and more general efforts to save ‘their Indians’, the remainder of this essay
184 C. Richard King
focuses on the writings of three neo-conservative commentators, Dave Shiflett,
Richard Poe and David Yeagley.
Dave Shiflett
In his short essay, ‘The Mascot Wars’, inWomen’s Quarterly, Dave Shiflett offers an
argument in support of the continued use of Indian symbols in athletics, noting ‘As a
certified relative of Pocahontas, the famed Indian Princess, I am not without a cock
in this fight’. Rarely does an authentic descendent of Pocahontas announce her/his
ancestry when s/he participates in a public debate, but such was the extraordinary
circumstance marking Shiflett’s entrance into the ongoing controversy – or, as he
might prefer, cockfight. In the face of opponents ‘on the warpath’, Shiflett doubtlessly
advances such a claim in his online article published by the Independent Women’s
Forum to legitimate his position. Believing it contributes to an argument that in the
words of the headline ‘scalps’ those protesting against Native American sports
mascots, Shiflett employs a discourse shared with many others who defend team
spirits like the Washington Redskins and the sociohistorical conditions that make
them possible, imagining that such symbols are ‘meant as a hat-tip to courage,
bravery, skill, and power’. In other words, mascots honour Native Americans,
precisely as they enshrine indigenous masculinity in the form most familiar to
Americans, the figure of the aggressive, proud, indomitable warrior. Critics of
mascots, in turn, he asserts, rely on emotion, projection and exaggeration – in short,
irrationality. Indeed, those opposed to mascots – dismissed here as activists – refuse
‘reasonable discussion’ and opt instead to use ‘hysteria’ as their ‘weapon of choice’.
[22]
Shiflett employs a complex and troubling sexual rhetoric to defend Native
American sports mascots. He makes three arguments. First, such symbols are good
because they celebrate idealized masculine qualities. Second, any reasonable – that is,
heteromasculine – interpretation will conclude that mascots are appropriate, even
honourable. Third, arguments against Native American sports mascots expose
themselves to be weak, pathological and feminized/feminist constructions.
Richard Poe
Like Shiflett, conservative columnist Richard Poe marshals gender to defend
racialized symbols and spectacles. In his essay ‘Why Aren’t Sports Teams ever Named
After Blacks?’ Poe responds to critics who have suggested that the names, symbols,
and practices associated with such mascots injure Native Americans. Moreover, he
claims that if other ethnic groups were subject to such stereotyping and racism such
mascots would surely be understood as offensive and quickly retired. In particular, he
challenges Denver Post columnist Reggie Rivers, who had argued: ‘If Colorado had a
high school team named the Niwot N-ggers [sic], with a big-lipped spearchucker as a
mascot, we all know that African-American groups would demand the school change
the name.’ Poe rejects Rivers’s thinking, arguing instead that it has much to do with
how Americans understand race and masculinity: ‘White Americans have not named
their sports teams after blacks because white Americans have not viewed blacks as
exemplars of the warrior spirit. Indians, on the other hand, are remembered in
popular legend as brave and worthy foes on the battlefield.’ Hence, there is the
honour of having sports teams named after them. [23]
Poe proceeds from these troubling, implicitly racist sentiments to assert that the
real problem with the warrior as mascots for ‘liberal commentators’ is that they
‘promote an ‘‘aggressive’’ image . . . [and by implication] are insulting’. Individuals
opposed to mascots, he continues, ‘have swallowed the line that aggression is evil . . .
popular among Ivy League feminists . . . [but] foreign to ordinary folks, who admire a
fierce and warlike spirit, on the battlefield or the football field’. Quite simply, African
Americans do not have teams named in their honour, he concludes, ‘because
Americans, in general, do not envision blacks as fighters . . . they imagine blacks in
pathetic roles, as slaves and descendents of slaves’. [24]
In the process of elaborating his argument, Poe shifts the ground of the discussion
from racism, discernible in the structures and symbols of American culture, to the
convoluted intersections of race and gender. Blacks, he implies, are not aggressive or
fierce or fighters (one might wonder, as an aside, about the forms of policing and
warfare directed at urban Black America advocated by neo-conservatives since
Reagan if this is really the case); by extension, they are not fully masculine, and thus
do not merit respect. Moreover, those who would speak out against mascots are not
championing an anti-racist project, but rather are weak agitators (that is, liberals
opposed to aggression) who have been brainwashed (having swallowed a line) by
elitists (Ivy League) or worse, feminists (that is, anti-male activists) working against
accepted norms and values (held by ordinary folks) or the common good. [25]
In sum, Poe genders Native American sports mascots in a number of subtle and
pronounced ways. First, he feminizes Blacks and critics of mascots for not being
aggressive or masculine and for not valuing aggression or masculinity respectively.
Second, he insists that the idealized traits associated with masculinity demand
celebration, not critique. And third, he rehabilitates Native American sports mascots
by connecting the supposed aggression and bellicosity of indigenous peoples with the
honour and respect accorded to them by such mascots. In essence, as he uses
masculinity to reject the insults and stereotyping commonly detected in such
mascots, he absolves them of charges of racism as well.
David Yeagley
The writings of Shiflett and Poe offer glimpses into an increasingly common defence
of Native American sports mascots, but it is in the work of David Yeagley, a
conservative Comanche commentator, that this discourse finds its fullest expression.
Yeagley has been a prolific and vocal defender of pseudo-Indian sports symbols,
authoring numerous opinion pieces for David Horowitz’s online forum, Frontpage
186 C. Richard King
Magazine, delivering dozens of lectures on college campuses and to community
groups, appearing on news-talk programmes and offering expert testimony in
newspaper articles. Along with Shiflett, Poe and many others, he not only believes
that Native American sports mascots honour indigenous peoples, particularly men,
but that attacks against them expose more fundamental ruptures within (Native)
American society as well. His views on society, gender and race provide an important
foundation for more fully understanding his interpretations of mascots.
For Yeagley, Native American men are best understood and appreciated as
warriors; for him, mascots reflect and respect the heritage and ideals of indigenous
communities, offering rare occasions to value Native American men and educate a
broader public. Sadly, according to the Comanche commentator, the native warrior
has fallen and the remaining imagery rightly celebrating has come under siege by
feminists and leftists. Even renowned leaders come under suspicion. He criticizes
Lakota Russell Means, a Native American political leader best known for his work
with the American Indian Movement, for, among other things, his rejection of the
ideals of the warrior, particularly aggression; he claims: ‘I cannot follow a man who
denies the warrior tradition of my Comanche people.’ [26] In this time of crisis, he
echoes fundamentalist groups such as the Promise Keepers, asserting that many of
the problems in Indian Country derive not from racism (which he reads as an
‘excuse’) or sociohistorical structures of power and oppression, but from the
weakness of men: ‘When men fail to be men, everyone suffers.’ [27] In turn, he
continues, change, betterment or salvation is attainable only through the actions of
men: ‘We Indian men must finally face our worst enemy: our own irresponsibility.’
[28] Yeagley not only accepts that (Native) American society rises and falls on the
actions and characters of men, for good and for ill, but (as discussed below) he
endorses a corollary position as well: images of men, namely the warrior mascot, hold
the promise of saving the nation in its time of need, as it fights wars on terror.
Native American women, in contrast, threaten tradition, society, and men. Yeagley
has grave concerns about the number of American Indian women marrying non-
Indians, which he sees both as a sign of the weaknesses of Native American men and
as an indication of Native American women’s dedication to their people. In fact, he
questions the Indianness, integrity and intention of Elise Meeks, member of the
United States Commission on Civil Rights and key proponent of their collective
statement against mascots, noting that she married a white man (something Yeagley’s
own mother did as well): ‘While she had every right to do, her choice does indicate a
less than passionate commitment to the preservation of Indian heritage and
bloodlines.’ [29] And while miscegenation troubles Yeagley, he writes: ‘Some [Native
American women] find other, more inventive, ways of humiliating, punishing,
emasculating, and otherwise rejecting Indian men.’ [30] Here, specifically, he seeks to
condemn the efforts of an all-female drumming group to participate in a pow-wow in
Minnesota, claiming it runs counter to tradition and works to dissolve one of the few
remaining sources of strengths and power for Native American men. In this context,
it is important to note that Yeagley understands the movement against mascots to be
‘the latest campaign to emasculate society’s last remaining symbols of strength, the
Indian warrior mascot’ and that often women, sometimes referred to as ‘socialist
women’, have taken a leading role in this destructive project. [31]
Whereas women trouble Yeagley, threatening his vision of the social order,
leftists alarm him, intent as they seem to be on dismantling what he sees as the
virtues of modern society and his beloved warrior imagery as well. He does not
view them as political rivals or adversaries but as enemies: Enemies of common
sense and decency, enemies of the American way, enemies of the state, enemies of
the warrior tradition. Repeatedly in his writings he castigates those with whom he
disagrees and those working against mascots as ‘Leftists’ (always capitalized). Most
commonly, he links those he labels as leftists with women generally, and specifically
with socialist women, liberal female and minority professors and feminists, In
effect, Yeagley feminizes the perspectives of individuals concerns about Indian
imagery and its effects. This rhetorical move is meant to delegitimate social
criticism through gender.
Yeagley’s thoughts about race are no less troubling. To date, he has spoken only
about whiteness, blackness and Indianness. His comments are revealing.
Not surprisingly, he has great praise for indigenous traditions, especially the
warrior heritage of the Comanche. He regularly defends conventions and the past in
the face of degradation that for him tend to come from leftists and feminists. In a
piece entitled ‘Leftist Rape Indian Barbie Doll’, he interprets Patricia A.
MacCormack’s critique of Native American Barbie as an example of leftists trying
to ‘humiliate Indians’. [32] Elsewhere, he asserts that leftists are ‘making Indian
images a crime’. [33] And he speaks of the struggle against Native American sports
mascots as ethnic cleansing. While defending Indianness, he also strategically deploys
his heritage to advance his position, regularly noting that he is Comanche. In essence,
his ethnicity legitimates his arguments. At the same time, he uses Indianness to
delegitimate the claims of other Native Americans. To offer but one example: ‘My
sources tell me that the Indian Students and faculty who oppose the mascot are
almost all Ojibwa and Arikara. Not Sioux.’ [34] While his Indianness grants him
legitimacy in broader discussions, particularly when the warrior (as image and ideal)
demands an advocate, other Native Americans do not have the same possibility or
privilege to speak for themselves or on behalf of other indigenous peoples.
If Native Americans are worthy and honourable yet under attack, African
Americans are pitiful at best. Yeagley describes them as contemptuous, pathetic and
weak. He finds that ‘Superior beauty is in the white race. . . . In the darker races,
everything is always the same, dark brown and black a beastly bore.’ [35] More than
this, though, he fears that Native Americans have begun to walk ‘the Black man’s
path’ – that is, ‘the familiar strategy of black civil rights leaders, who bait, belittle,
provoke, and bully white people, then run for cover, screaming ‘‘racist’’ when their
white victims react’. [36] Yeagley reads social justice movements as efforts to
transform once proud people into victims; victimization, to him, in turn suggests
weakness and a lack of dignity. By association, he imagines African Americans as
188 C. Richard King
weak undignified victims, the antithesis of the warrior. This is something he makes
clear in ‘It’s a Warrior Thing. You Wouldn’t Understand’, an essay in which he
chastises an African American who questioned his failure to recognize the irony of
mascots and the decimation of indigenous peoples during the colonization of the
North America. He claims that while the Euro-American ‘took [my land] like a
warrior fair and square . . . treated my people harshly . . . he never denied their
bravery, never besmirched their memory as warriors. You did.’ [37] Again, African
Americans are seen as weak, complainers. Their attention to race and racism strips
them of dignity; their claims of harm make them weak.
While Yeagley expresses contempt for African Americans, he celebrates Euro-
Americans. That is, he accords the white warrior great respect, implicitly legitimating
the conquest of Native America. In large part this derives from his sense that Euro-
Americans are like Native Americans: They are warriors. He admires them for
defeating the Comanche and for doing what the Comanche would have done to their
foes. [38] In fact, he believes that ‘The white man won the Indian warrior’s image
with his own blood’. [39] Thus, Euro-Americans won the right to use Indian imagery
by besting indigenous people on the battlefield. Might makes right. Yeagley regularly
expresses admiration for Euro-Americans. More implicitly, he accepts Euro-
Americans as superior aesthetically (as noted above), militaristically and perhaps
even culturally, precisely because of their triumphs and conquests.
Against this background, Yeagley’s take on mascots becomes clearer. Native
American sports mascots, for him, are all about race and gender: Indian imagery, he
asserts, honours Native Americans, particular their warrior ancestors. Speaking
specifically about the mascot controversy at the University of North Dakota, he
suggests that the Fighting Sioux moniker ‘shows admiration for the courage and
manliness of the Sioux warrior, who laid the so many whites in their graces just a few
generations ago’. [40] Those who want to change the school spirit betray and
disrespect Lakota warriors as they display their disinterest in masculine virtues and
the indigenous people who so boldly brought them to life. Not surprisingly, for
Yeagley, ‘Mascots provide an opportunity to re-educate America, as well as Indians,
on the virtues of being man’. [41] In fact, the warrior is not simply an antiquated
ideal, but the foundation for the future:
I’m looking to the future. It seems to me that modern American Indians have very
little imagery to deal with. We have pre-reservation imagery of the warrior, the
brave, the man that’s courageous, the man that lives for his people, the man that
will sacrifice his life for his people. This side of the war days our imagery is quite
different. We have the Indian alcoholic, the Indian suicidal [and so on]. [42]
Nostalgic, Yeagley continually joins race with gender to sanction the warrior. In
fact, during the recent debate in the Californian legislature over a bill intended to
remove Native American mascots from the state, he insisted the legislation was the
work of socialists and man-haters, suggesting it would ‘fell both the Indian and the
white man’ simultaneously. [43] For Yeagley, like many other conservatives, Native
American sports mascots honour indigenous peoples, precisely because they code
Indianness in terms of hegemonic masculinity.
Yeagley’s rhetoric quickened after the events of 11 September 2001. He let out a
war cry, inflected with race and gender. Not content with the administration’s
action, he called for a stronger response: ‘We’ve heard glorified condemnations
before. We’re tired of hackneyed adjectives, and effeminate, poetic dramatiza-
tions. . . . We want action.’ [44] He casts Bush as feminine, promoting a more
bellicose reaction to the attacks. Oddly, symbols centre Yeagley’s call to arms; in
particular, he sees the post-9/11 world as one primed for the proliferation of Native
American sports mascots:
Where are the warriors? Since February [2001], I’ve argued that the warrior images
of American Indian mascots should remain forever in American schools and
universities. If ever there was a time warriors were need, it’s now! . . . Keep every
mascot there is! Make more of them! Educate the country about warrior-hood. Let
the people know what the great Indian warrior did for their people. If Americans
really want to use Indian images on army badges, helicopters, police cars, and
sports teams, then let’s remind them all what Indians really can be. [45]
In sum, David Yeagley elaborates a multi-layered argument in favour of Native

American sports mascots, anchored in sexual and racial rhetoric. His uses and
understandings of gender allow him simultaneously to celebrate masculinity, the
warrior and mascots, at the same time questioning the fidelity of women; to dismiss
his opponents and to call for a renewal of masculinity, imagery and nation in the
wake of colossal tragedy. Connecting gender to race, in common with Poe and
Shiflett, he uses sexual rhetoric to devalue and feminize African Americans,
movements for social justice and critics of Indian imagery.
Conclusions
Clearly, gender has everything to do with Native American sports mascots and the
ongoing controversy over them. As a rhetorical toolkit, gender affords authors a set of
strategies to ground their perspectives, attack their opponents and craft a vision of
the world. The entanglements of race and gender make the use of sexual rhetoric to
defend Indian imagery all the more powerful.
Dave Shiflett, Richard Poe and David Yeagley reflect a more general trend in the
ongoing mascot controversy. On the one hand, they celebrate hegemonic
masculinity, particularly as embodied by Native American sports mascots, protecting
white male privilege as they defend antiquated, stereotypical renderings of indigenous
peoples. On the other hand, they feminize others (Blacks, critics, leftists, liberals) in
an effort to devalue them and dismiss their perspectives. Sexual rhetoric is so central
to this discourse precisely because what is at stake in the mascot controversy is not
just the names of sports teams or the imagery used at athletic events but the meanings
of gender and race in the contemporary United States as well. In fact, the defence of
190 C. Richard King
mascots, as the authors discussed in this essay reveal, is in many ways a defence of
masculinity, a response to a crisis in what it means to be a citizen, a subject, a man.
Recognizing the prominence of sexual rhetoric in debates over Indian imagery and
the sociohistorical conditions animating them should encourage scholars to rethink
the mascot controversy. Gender must be placed at the centre of future analyses to
gain the fullest appreciation of the history and significance of such symbols and
spectacles. At the same time, individuals working against mascots must commit
themselves to discerning the ways in which gender intersects with race. Such an
understanding entails understanding the gendered meanings of mascots no less than
the sexual rhetoric employed by supporters, in turn devising strategies to effectively
counter them.
Notes
[1] See for example, Connolly, ‘What in a name?’; Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native
American Mascots’; King, ‘Defensive Dialogues’; King, ‘Re/Claiming Indianness’; King and
Springwood, Beyond the Cheers; King and Springwood, Team Spirits; Pewewardy, ‘Native
American Mascots and Imagery’; Slowikowski, ‘Cultural Performances and Sports Mascots;’
Spindel, Dancing at Halftime; Staurowsky, ‘An Act of Honor or Exploitation?’.
[2] Eitzen and Zinn, ‘De-Athleticization of Women’; Eitzen and Zinn, ‘The Sexist Naming of
Collegiate Athletic Teams’. See Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’
for a noteworthy exception to this pattern.
[3] Banks, ‘Tribal Names and Mascots in Sports’.
[4] Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’.
[5] Churchill, ‘Let’s Spread the Fun Around’; Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American
Mascots’.
[6] Staurowsky, ‘American Indian Imagery and the Miseducation of America’; Rodriguez,
‘Plotting the Assassination of Little Red Sambo’.
[7] See for example, Bird, Dressing in Feathers.
[8] King, ‘Uneasy Indians’; Landreth, ‘Becoming the Indians’.
[9] Deloria, Playing Indian; Green, ‘The Tribe Called Wannabe’; Huhndorf, Going Native;
Mechling, ‘Playing Indian and the Search for Authenticity’.
[10] Springwood and King, ‘Race, Power, and Representation’.
[11] Moses, Wild West Shows and the Images of American Indians.
[12] King and Springwood, Team Spirits; Spindel, Dancing at Halftime.
[13] Suzan Shown Harjo, personal communication, 2 Dec. 2001.
[14] Davis, The Swimsuit Issue and Sport; McKay et al., Masculinities, Gender Relations, and Sport;
Messner and Sabo, Sport, Men, and the Gender Order; Scraton and Flintoff, Gender and Sport.
[15] Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’. See also Kimmel, ‘Baseball and
the Reconstitution of American Masculinity’; Messner, Power at Play.
[16] Eitzen and Zinn, ‘The De-Athleticization of Women’; Eitzen and Zinn, ‘The Sexist Naming of
Collegiate Athletic Teams’.
[17] Landreth, ‘Becoming the Indians.’
[18] Quoted in Staurowsky, ‘American Indian Imagery and the Miseducation of America’, 382.
[19] Kusz, ‘‘‘I want to be the Minority’’’, 397. See also Hodgson, More Equal than Others; Savran,
Taking it like a Man.
[20] Davis, ‘Protest Against the Use of Native American Mascots’; King, ‘Arguing over Images’.
[21] King, ‘Defensive Dialogues’. Carol Spindel (personal communication, June 2005) also
informed the author that gender and race proved central to the failure of the essay contest.
According to Spindel, a multi-racial coalition of women that had long worked against Chief
Illiniwek used the occasion to challenge racism and sexism, while alerting the proposed
recipients in Indian Country who quickly rejected the offer from CIEF.
[22] Shiflett, Dave. ‘The Mascot War’, The Women’s Quarterly (Spring 2002). Available online at
http://www.iwf.org/pubs/twq/spring2002f.shtml, accessed 28 May 2002.
[23] Poe, Richard. ‘Why Aren’t Sports Teams Ever Named After Blacks?’ 19 April 2002. Available
online at http://www.richardpoe.com/column.cgi?story¼94, accessed 31 July 2002. Rivers,
Reggie. ‘Odd Ways to show Respect’, Denver Post, 18 April 2002, B7.
[24] Poe, ‘Why Aren’t Sports Teams Ever Named After Blacks?’
[25] Ibid.
[26] Yeagley, David. ‘I’m More Indian Than Russell Means’, FrontpageMagazine.com, 11 Feb.
2002. Available online at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼275,
accessed 31 July 2002.
[27] Yeagley, David. ‘The Failure of Indian Men’, FrontpageMagazine.com, 20 Feb. 2002. Available
online at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼274, accessed 31 July
2002.
[28] Ibid.
[29] Yeagley, David. ‘Can a ‘‘Breed’’ Lead?’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 17 Dec 2001. Available online
at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼280, accessed 31 July 2002.
[30] Yeagley, ‘The Failure of Indian Men’.
[31] Yeagley, David. ‘Where Were the Fighting Whites?’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 1 May 2002.
Available online at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼265,
[32] Yeagley, David. ‘Leftists Rape Indian Barbie Doll’, FrontpageMagazine.com, 18 March 2002.
[33] Yeagley, David. ‘An Indian Mascot Wins Again’, Badeagle.com, 28 June 2001. Available online
at http://www.badeagle.com/html/indian_masot.html, accessed 31 July 2002.
[34] Yeagley, David. ‘Who is More Indian than Whom?’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 26 Dec 2001.
[35] Yeagley, David. ‘What’s up with Dark Men?’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 26 Feb 2002. Available
online at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼273, accessed 31 July
2002.
[36] Yeagley, David. ‘Don’t Walk the Black Man’s Path.’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 13 Feb 2001.
[37] Yeagley, David. ‘It’s a Warrior Thing. You Wouldn’t Understand’, FrontpageMagazine.com,
7 March 2001. Available online at http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.
asp?ID¼1950, accessed 31 July 2002.
[38] Ibid.
[39] Yeagley, David. ‘The New Indian Killer’, The American Enterprise Online, 20 May 2002. Available
online at http://www.theamericanenterprise.org/hotflash020523.htm, accessed 31 July 2002.
[40] Yeagley, ‘Don’t walk the Black man’s Path.’
[41] Yeagley, ‘Where Were the Fighting Whites?’.
[42] Yeagley, David. ‘David Yeagley vs. Russell Means’, FrontpageMagazine.com, 2 April 2001.
192 C. Richard King
[43] Yeagley, ‘The new Indian Killer.’
[44] Yeagley, David. ‘Comanche war Cry.’ FrontpageMagazine.com, 14 Sept. 2001. Available online at
http://www.frontpagemagazine.com/Articles/Printable.asp?ID¼1692, accessed 31 July 2002.
[45] Yeagley, David. ‘Make more Indian Warrior Images’, Peace Party, 1 December 2001. Available
online at http://www.geocities.com/americashauntedpast.htm, accessed 31 July 2002; Yeagley,
‘Comanche war Cry’.
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Index
Page numbers in bold represent figures.
ABC; online sports poll 65 athletic scholarship 121–2

Abdul-Jabbar, K.: Los Angeles Laker 53; athletic skills; Thorpe, J. 38
White Mountain Apache 117, 118 athleticism; Thorpe, J. 64
aboriginal leaders 166 athletics: Catholic 76; Navajo 123
aboriginal people 163; civilizing 158 Atlantic Constitution; Thorpe, J. 34
Adams, E.; Kickapoo Dan 106
Adsit, B. 169 Baker, A.; Boyd, T. 57
African Americans 185 ball-play: sport 3; wrestling match 9
aggression; violence 143 Ball-Play of the Choctow - Ball Down 7–8, 8
agriculture 20 Ball-Play of the Choctow - Ball Up 7–8, 8
Ali, M. 63 Ball-Play Dance, Choctow 6–7, 7
All-Native National Championship; Canada 167 ball-players; Choctow 8–9
Allen, C. 139 Banks, D. 178–9
Alwyn Forest Foundation 169 baseball: battleground 96; Canadian symbol 141;
amateurism 66 competition 96; game 95; players 67
American Alaska Native (AIAN); Native basketball 83, 114; American Catholics 77; boys
American Sports Council 54 teams 81; facilities 122–3; fans 110; football
American Indians xii 111, 122; high school 18; Jackson, P. 58, 59;
American Professional Football Association 32 Navajo 113; player 119, 122; reservation 118;
American story 44; Jim Thorpe - All American reservation team 116; St Francis Jesuits 77;
46 teams 81; tribal 79
Anderson, E. xiv Battle Royal 103, 104
Anglo 111; cultural ideology 118 Bear River Massacre 96
Anglo-Protestant society 112 Beers, G. W. 138–9, 141–2; lacrosse 139–40
anthropology; ideology 19 Begay, N. 53–4
anti-communist hysteria 43 behaviours; occupational-related 137
Apache Warrior 70 Biard, Father P. 133–4
Argus Leader; Sioux Falls 88 Bickford, C. 41
assimilation: cultural 163; culture 124; biography; sports 40
government policy 160; physical culture 160; Birmingham, W. 83, 84
resistance 125 Blacks; feminization 185
athlete; Tarahumaras Indians 22 Blanchard, K. 119
‘Athlete of the Century’: ESPN 61, 61; Bloom, J. 113, 162
Thorpe, J. 31 Bol, M.; ‘Sudanese Sultan of Swat’ 66
athletes 53, 57, 126; coaches 124; discrimination Box Elder News 101
123; high school 113, 126; indigenous groups boxers: Shoshone 106; Washakie 105
113; media coverage 58; Native American 118; boxing 102–8; anti-editorials 102; golden age
Navajo 123, 124, 125; reservation 120 102; Hippodrome Theatre 103–4; legacy 107
athletic field; drama 10 Boyd, T.; Baker, A. 57
athletic performance; Tarahumaras Indians 18 bracing climate; Canada 138
athletic prowess; Thorpe, J. 64 breeding; horse racing 100
196 Index
Brigham City 101, 103 colonial values; Navajo 117
British Royal Proclamation (1763) 159 colonialism 14
Buckskin Nelly; Pubigee, E. 101 Columbian Exposition 79
Buck the Bison 182 Commission on Human Rights; Olympic Deal
171
Canada 160; All-Native National Championship Communism: Hollywood 43; Soviet Union 43
167; bracing climate 138; colonial life 137; community-wide emphasis 121
cultural struggle 172–3; government 169; competition: baseball 96; championship teams 118
identity 139; male hegemony 136; national Conner, Colonel P. E. 96
identity 138; pastimes 142; rowers 140; Constitution 159
settlement 135; snowshoeing 139; sports constructions; Hollywood 42
nationalism 140; winters 138 Copper Canyon; Tarahumaras Indians 17
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) 165–6 Coreurs de Bois: heroic status 136; masculinity
Canadian identity; lacrosse 1 134–6
capitalism: colonial sports 112; corporate 35 corporate capitalism 35
capitalist societies; modern 114 Craft, Father F. 80
Carlisle Indian School; Thorpe, J. 62 Crazy Canucks 143
Carlisle Indians; Thorpe, J. 33 Crazy Horse 50
Cartesian split 41; Indian 42 Croix Island; St 133
Catholic priest; industrialization 23 Culberson, J. 11
Catlin, G.: as an authority on culture 7; Choctow cultural hegemony; Gramsci, A. 158
ball-play 2, 3, 6; Great Plains 5, 12; Indian cultural ideology; Anglo 118
Gallery 2, 13; personal transformation 5; culture 132; assimilation 124; Euro-Americans 6;
politics 2; primitive 6; travel 2 Euro-Canadian 131; European 25; First
centrality; Indian imagery xii Nation 138; masculinity 142; sport 111;
championship teams; competition 118 symbolic code 123; Western 23
Champlain, de S. 133 Curtiz, M. 43
chemistry; team 89 Cushman, H. B. 6
Chicago: Catholic men 91; population 76
Chicago Tribune 89 Davies, W.; and Clow, R. xiv
Chief Illinwek Educational Foundation (CIEF) Davis, L. 27, 179, 181
183 dead-eye for baskets 87
children: Indian 162; Native American 41–2 Deloria, P. 57; Thorpe, J. 55
Choctow 11; arrival to new home 12; ball-players Dempsey, J. 89, 90, 106; boxing 102
8–9; travails 12; violence 155 Denver Post; Rivers, R. 184
Choctow ball-play 3; Catlin, G. 2, 6 Department of Indian and Northern Affairs
Choctow Fair 150 (DIAND) 159, 169
Christian framework; white 60 Desert News 100, 104, 106
Church of Jesus Christ Latter Day Saints Dever, Mayor W. E. 82
(Mormon) 96 Digmann, Father F. 80
church leagues; New York City 77 discrimination; athletes 123
civilization 4, 13, 19–20 disqualification; Thorpe, J. 37
civilizing process; reserve system 159–60 Downing, H. K. 106
Clifford, B. 87 drama; athletic field 10
coaches: athletes 124; stereotypical thinking 70 Drinks the Juice of the Stone - Tullock-chish-ko
coaching: Euro-Americans 119; styles 120 1–2, 9, 10, 11
collectivist orientation 111, 112, 114, 125 drought; famine 18
colonial sports 113, 124, 126; capitalism 112;
identification 125; meaning of 117; Navajo economic power; Indians 27
120, 125; structure 126 education 160; policy 160
Index 197
email campaign; ‘get out the vote’ 50 Gramsci, A.; cultural hegemony 158
ESPN: ‘Athlete of the Century’ 61, 61; sports Great Depression 86
channel 52; top ten list of athletes 61 Great Indian Wars 33
ethnohistorical accounts; sport xiii Great Plains; Catlin, G. 5, 12
Eureka 97 green corn dance 141
Euro-Aboriginal; relations 158 Grounds, R. 57
Euro-Americans 14, 180; coaching 119; culture 6; Guttman, A. 62
perception 2; society 5
Euro-Canadian: culture 131; masculinity 142 Harlem Globetrotters: players 87; Saperstein, A.
Europe; Catlin, G. 14 86
European developments; masculinity 137 healthy diet; Tarahumaras Indians 21–2
exercise 20 heart disease; Tarahumaras Indians 22
heritage; racial 31
fair play; notion of 131–2 hero in crisis; native theory 45
famine; drought 18 high school 117, 120–1; athletes 113, 126;
Father Provincial; financial aid 85 basketball 18; sport 123
federal Indian policy 81 high-school; sports 115
federal policy; Navajo 111–12 Hippodrome Theatre 106; boxing 103–4
females; ice hockey 131 history racial perception 32
financial aid 86; Father Provincial 85, 86 Hollywood 47; constructions 42; Indians 48;
financial support 168 productions 48; Thorpe, J. 37, 38, 39–40
First Nations 134; cultures 132, 138; French Holton, Reverend E. C. 87
settlers 134; ice hockey 131; masculinity 132; homelands; tribes 12
research context 131; sports 140; technology hoops; reservation 122
135; traders 136; tribes 133; way of life 137 horse racing 100–2; breeding 100; events 100
fish medicine story 97 horse training 101
Fisher, R. 25 Howard, President W. 34
Fitness and Amateur Sport 164 human freedom; industrial labour 24
Flammond, G. 86 hunter; Tarahumaras Indians 21
Flying Rat; toli 151 hybridization; cultural 20
football: basketball 111, 122; players 155–6;
professional 63; violent sport 153 ice hockey 131; Canadian behaviour 131; females
formidability; injury 143 131; First Nations 131; toughness and physical
Fort Hall; Idaho 98, 99 prowess 131
French settlers; First Nations 134 identification; colonial sports 125
furs; fashion industry 135 identity; American 183
ideology: anthropology 19; sexual 135
‘Galloping Antelopes’ 90 image: Native American 39–40; stereotype 27;
gambling; legislature 150 symbols 26–7
games; sports 162 immigration policy; American 34–5
gang; behaviour 59–60 Indian: bloodthirsty 69; Cartesian split 42;
gang-fight 102 children 162; degraded 19; dynamics of white
gangs; tribes 60 man’s 20; economic power 27; Hollywood 48;
Garden of Eden-like existence; native life 4 identity 69; imagery 183; invented 55;
‘Gathering of Greats’; Sports Illustrated 60–1, 66 marketability 69; new worlds 55; noble savage
gender: dismissal 179; hierarchies 182 3; nose-bleed 149; primitive nature 3;
General Custer 103 problem 173; real 76; reservation 41; savage
gentiles 23 69; sexualization 182; stereotype 19, 56, 57,
Goodyear, F.; lacrosse xiv 67, 69, 70; Westernized 26; world of 42;
government policy 160; assimilation 160 wrestlers 68
198 Index
Indian Act 161 King, C. R. xv
Indian country; movement 54 Knights of Columbus 81–2
Indian Gallery: Catlin, G. 2, 13; Creek chiefs visit Kostrubala, T. 20
13 Kreitzer, M. xiv
Indian heritage; running 24 Krupka, E. 84
Indian imagery; centrality xii
Indian New Deal 43 La Danse Sauvage 166
Indian Removal Act; Jackson, President A. 10, Laba, M.; sport heritage 144
11, 12–13 labour 26; Tarahumaras Indians 24
Indian Sentinel 83 lacrosse 142; Canadian identity 1; Goodyear, F.
Indian symbols 181; schools 180–1 xiv; team 141
Indian-European relations 132 Lakota Sioux: model 59; Plume, D. 59; tradition
Indianness 58, 178; commodity 68 59
indigenous groups 96; athletes 113; social Lancaster, B. 43
isolation 37 legislature; gambling 150
indigenous peoples xii 19 leisure activities; legislation 161
indigenous sports; heritage xii Leonard Quick Bear 86, 87–8
indigenous tribes; popular activities 159 letters; Ottogary, W. 97
individualism 119 Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and
industrial labour; human freedom 24 Conditions of the North American Indians
industrialization; Catholic priest 23 (Catlin) 2, 5, 9
injury; formidability 143 life: primitive 7; Tarahumaras Indians 18
injustice; white 41 Littlechild, J. W. 167, 169, 170, 172
INSPOL (Indian Sports Olympics) 163, 164; Los Angeles; New York Times 115
organization 165; organizers 164 Los Angeles Laker; Abdul-Jabbar, K. 52
International Journal of the History of Sport xii; Loyola News 79, 82
xiii; xv Loyola tournament; NIBT 90
International Olympic Committee (IOC) 168 Loyola University of Chicago; Jesuits 76
Jackson, P.: basketball 58, 59; Swift Eagle 59; MacIntyre, D. 39

team unity 59 magnificent park 13
Jackson, President A.; Indian Removal Act 10, major league basketball; Thorpe, J. 62
11, 12–13 male: Canadian/American 142; French 136
James, G. 95–7 male hegemony; Canada 136
Jefferson, T. 13 Manhattan Club Bouts 103
Jesuit Relations 136 marketability; Indian 69
Jesuits 80; Father 135; priest 150; St Francis 91; mascots 27
teachers 80 masculinity: Coreuers de bois 134–6; culture 142;
Jeune, Father P. 134 Euro-Canadian 142; European developments
Jim Thorpe – All American 39, 40; historical 137; First Nation 132; hegemonic xv; labour
context 42, 42–3 137–40; white 179
Jordan, C. 83, 86, 88 media 56; critical literacy 49
Jordan, M. 63 methodology; theoretical considerations 56–8
Journal; Utah 105 Mills, B. 65; Thorpe, J. 65
journalism; literary sport 67 misappropriation; layers of 58–60
Jutz, Father J. 80 Mississippi Choctow 148
modern people 20
Kennedy, J. G. 22–3 Mohawk; Morris, A. 166–7
Keyes, G.; University of Georgia (UGA) 151 Montreal; winter carnivals 140
Kickapoo Dan 105; Adams, E. 106 Morris, A.; Mohawk 166–7
Index 199
Morrow, D. 141 NorthWestern Shoshone; baseball team 97–8

movies 39 nose-bleed; Indians 149
Mystic Warrior 59
mythmaking; Thorpe, J. 35 Olympic Deal; Commission on Human Rights
mythology: sportwriters 63; vanishing 171
Indian 54 Olympic Games 171; Stockholm (1912) 34;
myths 25 Thorpe, J. 34
online sports poll; ABC 65
Naismith, Doctor J. 77 Ontario; Six Nations 170
National Geographic; Norman,-. 22, 24 Oorang Indians 68
national hero; Thorpe, J. 34 organized sports; white middle-class men 161
national identity; Canada 138 organizers; NCIBT 89
National Indian Activities Association (NIAA) Ottogary, C. 103, 104, 105, 106
167 Ottogary, W. 96–7, 100, 107; coverage 97; letters
National Indian Brotherhood (NIB) 163 97; publishes articles 107; two sons 103
National Interscholastic Basketball Tournament Owens, J. 63
(NIBT) 78, 79
national representation; Native American 39 Pabwana, T. 101
national symbol; Thorpe, J. 49 parade of nations 46
Native American: image 39–40; national Patrick, D.; sportscaster 64
representation 39 Peach Day races 101
Native American Sports Council; American Pennsylvania 48
Alaska Native (AIAN) 54 personal transformation; Catlin, G. 5
Native American Sports Experience 58 physical appearance; players 70
native life; Garden of Eden-like existence 4 physical force; violence 153
native peoples 158–9 play of power xii
Native Sport and Recreation Program 164–5 players: Harlem Globetrotters 87; physical
native theory; hero in crisis 45 appearance 70; St Francis 86, 88; social
Natural History (Jenkinson) 22 interaction 155; white horse tail 9
Navajo 110; anthropological publications 111; Playing Indian 57
athletes 123, 124; basketball 113; basketball Plume, D.; Lakota Sioux 59
facilities 122–3; colonial sports 120; colonial Plymire, D. xiv
values 117; federal policy 111–12; poverty Poe, R. 184
122; representation 124; reservation 114, 115; policy-makers 160
sport 118; track coach 116; youth 112 politics; Catlin, G. 2
Navajo Nation 126; sports 115 popular activities; indigenous tribes 159
NCAA; championship match 110 population 70; Chicago 76
NCIBT 77, 84, 85; organizers 87, 89; Quinn, B. J. potlatch 160
85; tournament 91 poverty; Navajo 115
New France: economy 135; struggling to survive power: nexus 57; relations 56; systems 48
133–4 power lines 56–7
New York City; church leagues 77 primitive: Catlin, G. 6; life 7; sport 14
News From Indian Country 65 primitive activity; running 20
newspapers; Thorpe, J. 33–4 primitive men; Tarahumaras Indians 23
NIBT 84; Loyola tournament 90 primitive nature: Indians 3; sport 9
Nobel Peace Prize 171 Pro Football Hall of Fame 63–4
noble savages 19, 20; Indians 3; Tarahumaras production processes; cultural 32
Indians 19 professional football 63
North American Indigenous (NAI); Games 54–5, Pubigee, E. 105; Buckskin Nelly 101
158, 165, 169, 170 public culture 181
200 Index
quantitative research analyses 113 Salt Lake Tribune; baseball 97
Quinn, B. J.; NCIBT 85 San Francisco Chronicle; Thorpe, J. 34
savages: bloodthirsty 19; degraded 19; noble 19,
race: dynamics 66; gender 179; memory 67; 20; types of 19
power 178; scientifically fixed 32; sport 60; Scarlet Warriors 86, 87
Thorpe, J. 37 Scheckel, S. 14
racial heritage 31 scholarship 121, 126
racialization; sport 70 schools: Indian children 162; Indian symbols
racism; sport 1225 180–1; reservation 112
radical change 159 self-determination; aboriginal 171
recreation; withholding 162 settlers; French xv
recreational pursuits; sport 143 Severance, P. 25, 26; 12 mile race 18; magazine
redskins 84, 87; Washington Sports Franchise 68 25; relief party 25
Reinecke, L. 25 sexualization; Indians 182
relations: Euro-Aboriginal 158; Indian-European shadow lands 58, 64
132; power 56 Shiflett, D. 184
relief party; Severance, P. 25 Shoshone 96, 100; boxers 106
relocation; tribes 3 Sioux; portraits of men 13
reservation 116; athletes 120; basketball 118; Sioux Falls; Argus Leader 88
basketball team 116; hoops 122; Indian 41; Sitting Bull 50
individual fame 126; Navajo 114, 115; small Skenandore, D. 69–70
towns 115 Slagle, S. 68–9
reservation; social and economic conditions 161 slaves 24
reserve system; civilizing process 159–60 small towns: Navajo 114; reservation 115
revitalization; role in the process 54 snowshoeing; Canada 139
Rickey, B. 45 social isolation; indigenous groups 37
Rickey, R. 44 society: American 186; Euro-Americans 5
rights; post-civil 54 South-west 3
Ring Chronicles 69 Soviet Union; Communism 43
ritual aspect; toli 154 spirituality 59
Rivers, R.; Denver Post 184 sport: aboriginal 165; ball-play 3; Canada 140;
Robeson, J. 49 colonial 113; culture 111; ethnohistorical
Robeson, P. 43–4 accounts xiii; experience xiii; First Nations
Robinson, J. 44–5 140; games 162; high-school 115; native
Rosebud Reservation 76 culture 110; Navajo 118; organized 161;
runners: American 17, 18; behaviours 18; primitive 9, 14; promotion 156; racism 1225;
Tarahumaras Indians 17–18; vacation 26; recreational pursuits 143; salient medium
wrestlers 119–20; Yaquis Indians 24 157; as tool of solidarity 110
Runners World; magazine 17 sport heritage; Laba, M. 144
running: ability 23; Indian heritage 24; primitive sport system; Euro-Canadian 163
activity 20 sporting culture; stripping away 117
sporting events 96
Sacred Hoops: Spiritual Lessons of A Hardwood Sporting Views 67–8
Warrior (Jackson) 59 sports: social practice 157–8; team 119;
St Croix Island; settlement 133 university community 156
St Francis 83; players 86, 88 sports heritage 143
St Francis Jesuits 91; basketball 77; students 76–7 sports history; footnote 55
St Francis Mission High School; Jesuit mission Sports Illustrated: ‘Gathering of Greats’ 60, 60–1,
76 66
Salt Lake City 103 sportsmanship; behaviour 131
Index 201
sports mascots 179, 180, 181–3, 183; warriors toli: after game party 155; Deer, J. 162–3;
186; women 182 experience 155; Flying Rat 151; gender
sports nationalism; Canada 140 integration 154; new players 153; present day
sportscaster; Patrick, D. 64 game 149, 149–50; ritual aspect 154; rules of
sportwriters; mythology 63 game 150; stickball 148; turn of the century
Stagg, A. A. 78 150; University of Georgia (UGA) 151;
stereotype: images 27; Indian 56, 57, variations 148; violence 149
69, 70 Toomey, W. 81, 82
Stewart, D. 25 top ten list of athletes; ESPN 61
stickball; toli 148 tourism: Hollinshead, K. 26; Tarahumaras
Stockholm (1912); Olympic Games 34 Indians 25–7
stripping away 120; sporting culture 117 tournaments; Catholic 90
students; St Francis Jesuits 76–7 Tourney Times 87
‘Sudanese Sultan of Swat’; Bol, M. 66 Toyahdook, C. 96
supremacy; team 112 track coach; Navajo 116
Swift Eagle; Jackson, P. 59 traders; First Nations 136
symbols; images 26–7 tradition 67
travel; Catlin, G. 2
Tarahumaras Indians: athlete 22; athletic Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek 11
performance 18; contemporary 21–2; Copper tribal nations 13
Canyon 17; healthy diet 21–2; heart disease tribes: First Nations 133; gangs 60; homelands
22; hunter 21; labour 24; life 18; life span 22; 12; relocation 3
noble savages 19; primitive men 23; runners Trigger, B. 134–5, 137
17–18; running ability 23; tourism 25–7; Truettner, W. 3
understanding 21; uniqueness 17–18 Twist, J. 85
team: Catholic 84; chemistry 89; lacrosse 141; St
Francis 89; sports 119; supremacy 112 United States of America (USA): class structure
team unity; Jackson, P. 59 122; Native Americans 40; whites 40
technology; First Nations 135 University of Chicago 90
theoretical considerations; methodology 56–8 university community; sports 156
theoretical framework; violence 152 University of Georgia 148–9; Keyes, G. 151; toli
Thorning, Reverend J. F. 77–8, 81 151
Thorpe, J. 37, 45, 113; ‘Athlete of the Century’ University of Illinois 182
31; athletic honours 47; athletic prowess 64; Upper Missouri; tribes 3
athletic skills 38; athleticism 64; Atlantic Utah; Journal 105
Constitution 34; Boston Daily Globe 34;
Carlisle Indian School 62; Carlisle Indians 33; vacation; runners 26
death 48; Deloria, P. 55; disqualification 37; vanishing Indian; mythology 54
exploits 32; Hollywood 37, 38, 39–40; life and Vietnam War 183
accomplishments 31–2; life story 30–1; list of village; Spanish innovation 24
achievements 31–2; major league basketball violence: aggression 143; definition 153; during
62; Mills, B. 65; mythmaking 35; national play 153; hostile acts 153; physical force 153;
hero 34; national symbol 49; newspapers 33– ritual settings 152; term 152–3; theoretical
4; Olympic Games 34; penniless 47–8; framework 152; toli 149
personal tragedy 32; portrayal of life story 40; voyagers; young 136
race 37; relationship with athletes 61; San
Francisco Chronicle 34; sins of Wamsley, K. B. 136
professionalism 35; sports career 62; the war dances 83, 141
Indian 34; and Warner, P. 42 Warner, P. 46; and Thorpe, J. 42
tobogganing 139 warriors; sports mascots 186
202 Index
Washakie: baseball team 98, 99; boxers 105; Wood, C. 168
group 101; Shoshone 101, 102 Woonsook, H. 106
Washburn, W. E. 39 Worcester Telegram 35
Washington Sports Franchise; redskins 68 World Council for Indigenous Peoples 166
white: Americans 50, 185; Christian framework World Indigenous Nations (WIN); Games 165,
60; injustice 41; masculinity 179; settlers 150 167–70
white horse tail; players 9 World Peace In Paris (1949) 44
white men; Indian in image of 161 wrestlers: Indian 68; runners 119–20
White Mountain Apache: Abdul-Jabbar, K. 117, wrestling 68
118; Arizona 119 wrestling match; ball-play 9
whites 97
Whitman, R. 65 Yaquis Indians; runners 24
Wild West Show 69 Yeagley, D. 185–6
wilderness; Canadian 135
winter carnivals; Montreal 140, 141 Zarnowski, F.; Thorpe, J. 65
winters; Canada 138 Zimmerman, J. 82, 85

(Sport in The Global Society) C. Richard King - Native Americans and Sport in North America - Other People's Games-Routledge (2007)

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Native Americans and Sport in North America

the contradictions and conditions of possibilities sport has oﬀered American

the politics and poetics of identity,

the axes of diﬀerence structuring the indigenous sporting experience,

representations and stagings of Indianness in the context of sport.

C. Richard King, associate professor of comparative ethnic studies at Washington

Native Americans and Sport in North America

Other Titles in the Series

America’s Game(s) The Cultural Bond

Pleasure, Profit, Proselytism The Global Politics of Sport

Edited by C. Richard King

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Transferred to Digital Printing 2009

Ó 2008 C. Richard King

Typeset in Minion by KnowledgeWorks Global Limited, Southampton, Hampshire, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

ISBN10: 0-415-36677-1 (hbk)

ISBN13: 978-0-415-36677-9 (hbk)

Series Editors’ Foreword ix

Introduction: Other People’s Games: Indigenous Peoples and Sport in

1 ‘Nature’s Most Beautiful Models’: George Catlin’s Choctaw Ball-

2 The Legend of the Tarahumara: Tourism, Overcivilization and the

3 The Mythical Jim Thorpe: Re/presenting the Twentieth Century

4 Getting Beyond Imagery: The Challenges of Reading Narratives

5 The St Francis Mission Indians and the National Interscholastic

6 Diamonds, Ovals, and Rings: Northwestern Shoshone Sports at the

7 Using the Master’s Tools: Resisting Colonization through Colonial

8 Historical Interpretations of First Nations Masculinity and its

9 Interactions Between the Mississippi Choctaw and European

11 On Being a Warrior: Race, Gender and American Indian Imagery in

culture. Michael Robidoux examines appropriation from the other sideline,

By immersing himself in this new environment, Catlin experienced a profound

Nevertheless, Catlin remained enamoured of the mythic aspects of ball-play. A

Figure 1 Ball-Play Dance, Choctaw. 1834–35. Source: Smithsonian American Art

stripped the scene down to a simple narrative being performed as if on a stage.

sport to Catlin. It is the cinematic movement and ever-changing drama of ball-play

In March of 1993 a group of US citizens joined forces to distribute food to the

The Noble Savage

The Diseases of Overcivilization

Man the Hunter

Superhuman Feats of Endurance

fabulous tales; during a game of rarajipa, he observed Tarahumaras running from

Time, Work and Discipline

Tourism and the Tarahumaras

Kostrubala, Thaddeus. The Joy of Running. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott, 1976.

Thorpe’s Life and Accomplishments

Contemporaneous Representations of Jim Thorpe

Throughout the twentieth century, most racial representations of Native

Against this backdrop, positive representations of Thorpe the American served to

A month later, reporting on Carlisle’s lopsided win over Army in a much-anticipated

representations of contemporary Native Americans, and because the years of removal

Hollywood’s Jim Thorpe

Reading Between the Lines

The Text in Historical Context

In its civil rights implications, Branch Rickey’s closing narration represents

The Hollywood Ending

Theoretical Considerations and Methodology

Jim Thorpe and the Athlete of the Century Selection Process

1. Michael Jordan 1. Jim Thorpe

Indians ‘Playing Indians’

resides in the opportunities it presents to manipulate ‘Indian’ imagery as a visual