LITTLE BIGHORN

Two nights in the rain and the humidity inside of my teardrop camper is intense. This morning the wind was still blowing and the day has only turned to more rain and blow. The Little Bighorn Battlefield is a magical place, charged with history and a powerful presence, even on a cold, rainy day. I’ve been here before, several times and never been disappointed. As I weighed my options, I remembered the cafe at the Trading Post opened at 8:00 so I headed that way. Early, all I could do was text my kids and grandkids and wait for the door to open up. 

When I walked into the dining room there were two men at the first table, smiling at me. I responded with an affirmative nod but before I could finish the nod I had been invited to sit and share coffee. “People call me ‘Putt’ ’’, said the taller of the two, with a braided pig tail that looped over his shoulder and down onto his chest. “That’s John Paul,” he said, with a subtle gesture to the other man. We were all about the same age and “Good Will” chemistry was the rule of the morning. As it turns out, Putt owns the trading post & cafe: John deals in Native American jewelry; works with and sometimes for Putt. One can certainly make a case for treating customers well but I think that treating well is just part of the greater package with these guys. 

As we drank coffee and I ordered breakfast, another man came and sat down.  Ces is Italian, a Research Fellow with the Smithsonian, in Washington D.C. All talk focused on the battle and I became the “Fly on the wall.” Then Pietro , a retired postal inspector comes and sits down; another Italian who shares Ces’ passion for Native American culture. Both were drawn in by the stories and the imagery when they were boys back in Italy.  

The photograph: they have a nearly life size photograph of an Indian, posed in front of a photographers backdrop. Publishing  business as it is, once a biography is researched, it’s difficult convincing anyone that the story isn’t perfect. Legend and first research suggest that Crazy Horse was never photographed. But a photo (Tin type, cerca 1877) turned up in California, after the printing of his first biography and Putt has it now. With some restoration and enlargement you can see evidence of what appears to be a scar on his cheek; his hair is lighter than other Indians in 1870’s photos and it has some curl to it; all consistent with descriptions from that time. In the 1950‘s, still living relatives identified the photo as that of Crazy Horse but publishers and authors don’t concede easily. Ces & Pietro are looking for more documentation and other photographs taken in front of the same back drop to lend credibility and add the photo to history, the story is too fascinating to let go.

Later in the day, we all climbed in Putt’s SUV and went for a ride. Along muddy, gravel roads we traced the time line of the battle. On June 25, 1876, Colonel George A. Custer led five companies of the 7th Cavalry on a raid against the combine villages of Sioux and Cheyenne along the Little Bighorn River. The result is etched into our national conscience. Whether one sees the battle as a tragic defeat or a righteous victory, the story and its legacy can not be dismissed. We stopped: “This is probably where the first shot was fired.” Troopers had ridden up on a boy and shot him, the first casualty. After that, a chain of events unfolded and the day took on a life of its own, dragging men and horses through an afternoon of savage conflict. By the end of the day, Custer’s troops were either isolated and held at bay, unable to join the fight or killed to a man. 

Grass is still green, sage brush still dots the hillsides and the “Greasy Grass”, the Indian’s name for the Little Bighorn, still meanders its tight, horse shoe bends, south to north on its way to join the Yellowstone. Up the coulees, across ridge tops and along cut banks, remnant bones of horses and men still wait to be recovered, to be remembered. 135 years after the fact, it still bears witness to what men will do to exercise their will over those who are in the way. It reminds us of what men will do to protect their families and a way of life. The battle did nothing to slow the doctrine of Manifest Destiny but it did provide the indigenous culture a bright spot. Once upon a time, the Real People pushed back agains overwhelming odds and won the day. I’m one of those who think it was a righteous victory.