5/26 SHERMAN INDIAN SCHOOL [Riverside, California]

I guess this is somewhere in the vicinity of Los Angeles, insofar as there was a clearly defined smog line stretching through the desert that we had to drive through before getting to Riverside.


Riverside, like most of the towns in southern California we've passed through, has a clear "oasis" look. The town itself is very long and winding, rather than radial, no doubt closely following some little stream or spring. Everywhere throughout the town are dark green lawns, lighter green trees, and tall skinny palm trees that keep all their leaves and fruit on the very highest peak.
Everywhere else, there are no houses, no greens, no signs of life. Just flat, tan, dry desert, with one torn green patch of life surrounded by nothing.


This was expected to be a particularly wrenching ceremony, as Sherman is pretty famous, as boarding schools go. However, in the end, it was something rather anti-climactic. I have to admit that I didn't follow the ceremony very closely, because of the painting. I should explain that sentence.


The halls were being painted white that day, so my path between my two cameras took an extremely roundabout route that involved no less than five flights of stairs. I didn't want to walk through the ceremony, or through the paint, so I got the most extreme workout I've had in a long, long time. During the nine hours I was manning those cameras, I have no doubt I walked many, many miles in stairs.


Three days later, my calves are still killing me, and they complain vocally every time I stand up after sitting down for more than 30 minutes.


One story I did hear, however, was from a local man probably in his 60s. When he was young, his older brother drowned in the nearby creek, and his body was swept away. Or, at least, that's what they thought. His family believed that for almost a month, before discovering that he hadn't actually been in the creek: he had been kidnapped by missionaries who put him in Sherman 'to get a good education.' In the meantime, however, his family had dredged the river, held a funeral, and mourned the death of their child.


There were also two people who confirmed that one of the government's tactics to get children was to round up nonconforming families and lock them in Alcatraz. Yes, that Alcatraz. They would only be released when they broke down and told where their kids were hiding. By the time they returned home, their children would already be gone.


Oh, but as far as "anti-climatic" goes, the ceremony as a whole didn't have the energy we expected. People still got into it, and there were still lots of tears and prayers, but there was a defensiveness that was pretty apparent. Some people didn't want Sherman's good name (it's still open) tarnished. Also, the auditorium offered too many ways for people to spread out, so it always looked kind of empty, despite a decent turnout. It's amazing how driven people are to sit in the farthest back corner -- the back row was pretty full even though the auditorium was divided in two and we turned out all the light for the back half. It was darned dark back there, but you could still the occasional glint from the glasses of someone hiding in the shadows. Finally, there were one too many speakers who lost track of what they were supposed to be talking about, and just took advantage of the chance to be listened to. I'm going to devote a post to that phenomenon soon.


So, rambling speakers addressing an empty-looking room, interspersed with Sherman supporters who wanted to remind everyone that maybe these things happened, but today we've got an all-star track team. Go Sherman!


It was still good to be there, it just wasn't what was expected.



Picture Below: People line up to say prayers and offer tobacco to the Hoop.