Remembering my thrill of viewing my first gathering of Native Americans

Oppressive !!! That one word defined the heat as it relentlessly beat down on the

small town of Anadarko, Oklahoma on that summer day in 1974.

Slowly, folks begin to gather on either side of the narrow, dusty streets. Soon the

crowds presented a solid line fronting the whole six blocks of the town, four deep.

Men, women and children of all sizes, from every corner of America and all

walks of life. Standing. Waiting.

All those hot, sweaty, people begin to grow restless as the clock hands slowly

moved to the one o'clock position on the city hall tower. The sun, heat, dust and

potpourri of food odors made me wonder just what I was doing there.

Then, from the lower end of the street, a low beat. Distant, but yet close. A solid

THUMP, THUMP, interspersed with haunting chants not normally heard in this

day and time. Definitely voices out of the past.

The chatter of talk became a low buzz and then filtered off to nothing except for

the occasional cry of a baby. Woken by the eerie chanting and slap of moccasins

on the pavement. The dancers began to move into view now. The leading tribes

resplendent in their festive headgear, bone, bead and wood breastplates,

ceremonial paint, beaded leggings and moccasins.

The annual parade of Native American tribes held in the small mid-western town

of Anadarko began to unfold before my eyes.

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MyLivingLegends/McDuffie 2

Enthralled, I stood there with my wife and two small sons watching the men,

women and children of all those native tribes, which I had so enthusiastically read


about all of my life, marching right out of those many books. Up the dusty, dirty

streets of Anadarko and into my line of vision.

I felt overwhelmed, tears actually began flowing down my cheeks. Tears, partially

from the intense excitement I felt at this moment and partially because of the

oppression my race had placed on these proud native Americans.

I do not know how many tribes came across my minds eye as I stood there on that

hot, dusty day. I do know that the experience is one I shall never forget.

If only we could demand media coverage of this great joy, at least equal to that of

the Super Bowl, so that we might correctly pay homage to those many natives of

this great country, who for many centuries before we arrived, had those "Oh

beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain. For purple mountains

majesty above the fruited plain----" all to themselves. We owe them !




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