RED WOLF

As the story goes, a young warrior had become separated from his tribe and was searching for them. In the dark of night he heard singing from over the hill and went to investigate. He found a Red Wolf singing and dancing on its hind legs. In the end the wolf told him to teach the songs and dance to his tribe. The story comes from Kiowa culture; songs and dance that honor warriors. It was part of the Sun Dance which was banned by the federal government in the late 1800’s. They feared young warriors would rebel and leave the reservation. If they went back to the old ways the army would have to chase them down and they didn’t want another Indian war. After WWII, American Indians began to reclaim their traditions, including the Sun Dance. In the 1970’s, the federal government officially rescinded the ban.

The ceremony associated with the songs and dance of the Red Wolf are manifest in the Gourd Dance. Over time, other tribes have created their own Gourd Dance societies and protocols vary from tribe to tribe. The Kiowa stay with the original theme while some others have shifted emphasis to honoring veterans. Some permit only Native Americans to participate while some allow non-indian veterans to dance as well. 

In Cajun Louisiana, the surname Richard is pronounced with the French accent; (RE-shard). My friend Larry Richard is more Indian than not and his blood lines cover the American Southeast to the Great Plains and up into Canada. I started hanging out with him twenty years ago. We are storytellers. I was interested in the Cajun-Indian connection and he was graceful enough to accommodate me. We were both in the military, the same decade. But I did one tour, in peace time. Larry did two tours in Viet Nam. He came home without any bullet holes but exposure to Agent Orange would catch up with him and he still lives with that. He has been after me for several years to come dance the Gourd Dance with him. The Pow Wow in Gonzales, Louisiana is small, allows any veteran to dance in the circle. This year I did just that. There is formal dress regalia, so to say; a rattle, feathered fan and a blanket of red and blue. You don’t need the trappings but those are the basic elements if you want to invest in the culture. 

The drummer-singers had started drumming a low, slow invitation. Larry gave me a rattle and told me to come in the circle when he signaled me. Dancers were in a circle with the drum in the center. Not a lot of footwork; they simply moved in place, working the rattle to the rhythm. Singing and drumming changed tempo and intensity. When the pace dropped off, the dancers inched closer to the drums and sometimes gave out a shout, in honor of the red wolf. At the end, they backed up to the spot where they began. There would be a short break and then do it again. 

About half way through the first round, he motioned me into the circle. I stood close enough we could communicate and tried to model his example. At the end, after the drumming stopped, men from the circle, in their wonderful costumes, walked by me, dropped folded up dollar bills at my feet. I was told it was a gesture of respect, that I had been called into the circle of warriors and the gift was a tangible sign. Larry told me to just stand still. Another man came across, bent over, picked up all of the dollars and gave them to me. “This is their token of respect for you,” Larry said, “you can do anything with it you like. You can keep it or you can give it as a token of your respect to the drum.” I stood at the shoulder of the lead drummer until he looked at me. Then I reached in, touched the drum and dropped all of the dollars on the drum head, just as I was instructed. Then I walked around the outside of that circle, shaking hands with each drummer. By the time I got back to the side lines, the low, slow drumming had begun again. 

We danced three more rounds. I learned quickly that you need to have some dollar bills in your pocket as new people are brought in often and veteran, warrior, Gourd dancers are honored frequently. I learned how simple it looks and how taxing it can be to keep the rattle and your feet in sync with the drums. After an hour, even with the short breaks, the subtle motions become almost too much. After I was honored with the dollar bills, the same dancers came back around to shake my hand. This time they all looked me directly in the eye an said either “Thank you for your service.” or, “Welcome home.”  From another generation, before the Gulf War in 1990, my brothers in arms came home to jeers and insults. Gourd dancers wanted to be sure all veterans got a deserved welcome home and thank you. 

I was moved and that’s unusual. Letting go of my military experience was easy. I was never in harm’s way and I had no desire to go there. But I knew going in, that was part of the deal. I was trained and I understood our mission. I was lucky enough to see it through before the killing began. My old unit, the 2nd 503 was one of the first units sent into the Mekong delta in 1965, when I was a sophomore in college. Regardless of how I feel about the politicians who sent them there or the ideology behind it, they were doing the heavy lifting while I was studying philosophy and biology on the GI bill. There are names on the wall in Washington D.C. that belong to guys I used to play cards with; not to mention the ones who came home broken, to nobody who cared. 

I’m a Gourd Dancer now. Larry told me, “This is for real.” It’s not about my fascination with Native American culture and it’s not about patriotism. It’s about a common bond that we shared then and ties that still hold. Yes, I was moved and it did surprise me. But you’re never too old to learn and it’s never too late to turn the page.