The interpreter frowned. Far from being greedy for dog, the tribe were sick of the sight of it. There was indeed a new, higher fence around the village, but Truman had had it put up because he felt the previous one was too low to prevent passersby from seeing inside the village without first buying a ticket. The events described in the story had never happened. Julio knew this was part of the business they had signed up for, but some of Truman’s farfetched stories made him feel uncomfortable, especially the portrayal of his countrymen as violent savages.
Back at Luna Park, Feloa and Dengay sat sharpening their spears and talking in hushed tones. The men were sick of being locked up in the village all the time; they had to do something about it.
Before they left the Philippines, Julio had warned them that they would have to make sacrifices. But they hadn’t anticipated the extent to which their lives would change. The tribe prided themselves on the fact they were largely self-sufficient in their native environment. They were strong headhunters, free to roam as they pleased and physically fit and active. At Coney, they spent their days cooped up in a pen, their every move watched by thousands of strangers. Overnight they had become entirely dependent on Truman for everything.
The tribal ceremonies which accompanied the Igorrotes’ agricultural labors in their homeland were a high point of the calendar. Now, with no land or crops to tend, their tribal dances and songs felt meaningless. They had a crude smelting plant to produce the copper they needed to make their pipes and jewelry, but it was little more than a tourist attraction. They had no choice but to eat the dog their new bosses gave them, and their only work was creating a show for their visitors. Without physical work to do in the fields, they felt idle and got little exercise. A roll of flesh hung over the bands of their loincloths. Their Coney diet was making them fat. More than anything, the tribespeople longed to leave their village and see something of the world outside.
Julio had promised the previous night that he would talk to Truman about it but Feloa and Dengay weren’t sure if they could trust him. Both men knew that the interpreter and their boss were friendly. The tribesmen had complained many times to Julio about all the dogmeat they were given to eat and nothing had changed.
Callahan wandered through the village and spotted the two Igorrote men huddled together. He walked around the back of the huts and hid behind one, close to where they were sitting. Truman’s security guard and right-hand man was no great linguist. He’d picked up a few Bontoc words and phrases but not enough to understand their conversation. He did, however, sense rumblings of discontent. He moved closer and accidentally trod on the tail of one of the mutts tied to the fence for that night’s dog feast. The dogs began to bark. Feloa looked up and, noticing Callahan, abruptly stopped speaking.
The security guard knew that he should speak to Julio first, but Truman’s two assistants didn’t have much time for each other. Callahan preferred to deal with things himself or go straight to Truman. He walked over to one of the other security men working in the village and told him to watch over things while he went to see the boss.
Callahan was still in Truman’s office when Julio happened to call in on his way back from the store. The interpreter often visited his boss and that day he had something he wanted to talk to him about. He wouldn’t mention the newspaper article, for he knew it wouldn’t achieve anything other than getting Truman’s back up. The showman would simply say he was doing his job.
Truman invited Julio to take a seat and asked him if there were any problems in the village. The interpreter paused for a moment and looked from Truman to Callahan. He would have preferred to speak to Truman about the tribe’s complaints in private, but now that he had asked him directly, Julio could hardly lie. Some of the tribespeople have been asking if they could be permitted to leave the village to go for a walk. Might it be possible? Julio asked hopefully. He suggested letting them go out in small groups with him, or with Truman or Callahan.
Truman looked serious for a moment. No, he said firmly, it’s out of the question. Noticing Julio’s crestfallen expression, the showman said he was keeping them locked up with good reason, because he wanted to protect them from racists and scoundrels. Americans had not yet embraced people whose skin was not white like their own. Truman told Julio of a terrible incident he had heard about recently: a gang of two hundred white men had gone, armed with clubs and stones, to the shacks where a group of black laborers were living just across the water in Weehawken, New Jersey, “bent upon wiping out the negro gang.”3
If the Igorrotes ventured out into the New York streets with little clothing and even less common sense, Truman continued, he dreaded to think what might happen to them. Though he didn’t say so to his assistant, he also knew that if ordinary Americans could see his Igorrotes on the city streets for free, they would stop paying to see them at Coney. It was safe, Truman said, for Julio to go out because he wasn’t naive like the others, and besides, his lighter skin and smart Western clothes meant he didn’t stand out like his countrymen. Flattered but reluctant to give up, Julio pressed on: Could they just have a walk around Luna Park? They could wear their American clothes. Truman shook his head.
Sensing that he had pushed it as far as he could, Julio got up to leave. He noticed the smug expression on Callahan’s face. It was important to Julio that Feloa, Dengay, Fomoaley, and the others knew that he had put their case to Truman, that he was doing what he could to make their lives better, but he didn’t know how to tell them what the showman had said. It seemed so final. Did Truman intend to keep them locked up like prisoners for a full year, until their contracts expired?
9
Tribal Life in the City
LUNA PARK, JULY 1905
A section of the Igorrote Village at Luna Park, showing two of the tribal huts and the headhunters’ watchtower
TRUMAN ENTERED THE hut to find the women gathered around Laguima. The atmosphere was festive as family and friends fussed over her, fixing her ceremonial apron and headdress in place. It was a big day in the Igorrote Village. Laguima was getting married, to the “full-fledged warrior” Bocosso.1 The impending nuptials had been widely advertised in all the New York newspapers. Those who came would have a chance to watch history being made.
One of the older women stepped forward and presented Laguima with the bridal trousseau. The women had spent many hours weaving the beautiful patterned cloth using red, yellow, orange, blue, pink, and purple threads. The bride-to-be clutched it to her chest.
This was not quite how Laguima had imagined her wedding day, but she knew what was expected of her. She picked up her pipe and sucked deeply on it, filling the hut with smoke. All the Igorrotes loved their pipes, but perhaps none more so than Laguima, who had smoked constantly during the wedding rehearsal.
Truman looked on admiringly as the young woman gave her audience a twirl. He tried not to look at her large ornamental ear stretchers. All the women, and many of the men, wore them and considered them to look most attractive, but they turned their manager’s stomach. Truman watched Laguima chattering excitedly with her friends, and couldn’t help but think of Calista, his daughter back in Iowa. She would be thirteen now, not that much younger than Laguima. It was a long time since he’d seen her and he wondered what she looked like now. Did she have her mother’s fine features?
Doctor? Truman’s thoughts were interrupted by Laguima. Proudly, she stepped forward to show him her bridal outfit. You look exquisite, said Truman. He told her he was providing a special wedding banquet for her and Bocosso, and he wanted them to savor every moment of the day. Laguima smiled up at her boss and thanked him. The wedding might be a staged event,2 designed not to unite two young lives forever as one but simply as a show for the unsuspecting crowds. But it was still a feast. They might as well enjoy themselves, thought Laguima, tucking a flower in her hair.
Outside, the crowds had been arriving since the park opened. A section had been roped off for the press. Photographers were busy getting into posit
ion. Truman began briefing reporters on what to expect. Everyone jostled for the best view. Bocosso, the groom-to-be, appeared from the men’s quarters, flanked by his fellow tribesmen. After a respectable delay, Laguima emerged from her hut. She looked over at Bocosso and smiled before taking a few tentative steps toward him. Standing at the front of the enclosure, Truman informed the public that, unlike in a typical American wedding ceremony, no promise and no advice were given at an Igorrote wedding. The showman had placed the tribe’s copper gongs around the fence of the enclosure so that the crowds could show their appreciation for the wedding spectacle by throwing coins into them.
A tribal elder, Byungasiu, stepped forward and assumed a position in front of Bocosso and Laguima. The couple stood silently while Byungasiu placed a hen’s egg, some rice, and a dash of tapui, the fermented rice drink consumed on special occasions, in a bowl. Then the elder began to speak. Truman explained that he was addressing the Igorrote god, Lumawig, and began to translate: “Thou, Lumawig, now these children desire to unite in marriage. They wish to be blessed with many children. When they possess pigs, may they grow large. When they cultivate their palay, may it have large fruit heads. May their chickens also grow large. When they plant their beans, may they spread over the ground. May they dwell quietly together in harmony. May the man’s vitality quicken the seed of the woman.”3
The women of the tribe began walking toward the center of the village, where they started to sway with their heads held aloft. A few of the men held tom-tom drums, which they began to beat with increasing urgency. Another tribesman stepped forward holding a gang´-sa, which he struck with a short stick. The leader sang an improvised song, with his last few words being taken up in refrain by the rest of the men. Their voices gradually grew quieter and the women took up the song.
Clutching their spears and shields, the tribesmen bent over at the waist and began to lurch forward with strange jerky movements, joining the women in a constantly moving circle. The dance grew faster and faster until their nearly naked bodies dripped with sweat. The crowd looked on, not quite sure what to make of the scene unfolding in front of them. Two of the tribesmen appeared carrying a dog, “a species of Coney Island cur,” which, Truman explained, had been specially fattened for a week. (At home the Igorrotes usually starved their dogs for several weeks before the slaughter, preferring their dogmeat lean.) On seeing the dog, the centerpiece of any Igorrote wedding feast, the Igorrotes howled with joy and danced with wild abandon.4
Two of the groom’s closest friends were selected by the bride to hold the dog aloft, taking two paws each. The dog twisted and squealed. Feloa slit the beast’s throat, and, as its warm blood spilled out onto the dust, he walked around and cut off its tail. Dengay came forward and placed an iron pot under the dog’s throat to catch the gushing blood. The execution was deft and, Truman insisted, it had less horror and pain than was witnessed in American abattoirs. The canine’s body was taken to the center of the village, where it was held over an open fire. When all of its hair had been singed off, the bald, tailless body was thrown into a large pot. There it simmered into a pulpy mass. Truman invited the reporters, and any members of the public with a stomach strong enough, to step forward to peer into the pot.5
The tribespeople gathered around as the dogmeat was ladled into bowls. The bride and groom were given their serving first. Scooping it up with their hands, the couple greedily tore off chunks with their teeth. The tribesmen and boys were fed next. Contradicting his statement in Seattle that women were only permitted to eat dog on their wedding day, Truman told the crowd that now that the newly married couple and all the male members of the tribe had sated their hunger, all the women and girls were allowed to eat whatever canine scraps were left over.6 The showman then signaled to the groom that it was time to adopt an American custom and kiss his bride. Bocosso embraced Laguima tightly, making the young woman blush. The audience whooped and threw coins into the copper gongs.
Truman decided he would take the opportunity to educate the American public about Igorrote mating rituals. It was a fact, he told the newspapermen, that among the Igorrotes marriage almost never took place prior to sexual intimacy, and rarely prior to pregnancy. The reason was that no man wanted to risk marrying a woman who could not bear him a child. Furthermore, he explained, it was customary for a young man to be sexually intimate with two, three, or even more girls before he reached a decision as to who he wished to take as his bride.
Though Igorrote women were not given quite as much sexual freedom as the men, they nonetheless had a lot more of it than their American counterparts. An Igorrote woman was almost invariably faithful to her temporary lover, though she too was free to experiment with different lovers (though not simultaneously) until she decided which man was for her. Truman continued: contrary to the social mores in their new host country, when an unmarried Igorrote woman became pregnant, it was viewed as a virtue, not a stigma, for she had proven her fertility.
In Igorrote courtship rituals, it was typically the woman who made the first move. She would declare her interest in a new lover by using a flirtatious trick, such as stealing a man’s pipe, his pocket hat, or even the breechcloth he was wearing. The man would then be forced to chase after her into the o´-lâg (the sleeping place of all unmarried girls and young women, which their lovers were permitted to visit). Truman left the rest up to the newspapermen’s, and in turn the public’s, imaginations.
Americans declared themselves shocked and, in some cases, quietly envious.
That night, Truman paid a visit to the Brooklyn Lodge of the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks on his way home from Coney. The five-story clubhouse was an imposing brownstone building on Schermerhorn Street, with a large bay window and, lest any member should miss it, a statue of an elk standing outside the door. Truman was a member of the society and whenever he traveled he found that visiting the local lodge was an excellent way to get established in the city.
The showman sat in the parlor with a tumbler of whiskey in hand. A huge pair of elk antlers hung on the wall above his head. Surrounding him were some of the most powerful men in the city—judges, senior police officials, politicians, businessmen, wealthy merchants, doctors, architects, and the like. Such acquaintances could come in very handy. Noticing a newspaper editor he knew, Truman got up and walked over to greet him. Just then a bell started to toll. The Elks gathered round and raised their glasses as a lodge official intoned, “It is the hour of recollection.” The Exalted Ruler, the most important man in the room, stepped forward to give the eleven o’clock toast:
You have heard the tolling of eleven strokes.
This is to remind us that with Elks, the hour of eleven has a tender significance.
Wherever Elks may roam, whatever their lot in life may be, when this hour falls upon the dial of night, the great heart of Elkdom swells and throbs.
It is the golden hour of recollection, the homecoming of those who wander, the mystic roll call of those who will come no more.
Living or dead, Elks are never forgotten, never forsaken.
Morning and noon may pass them by, the light of day sink heedlessly in the West, but ’ere the shadows of midnight shall fall, the chimes of memory will be pealing forth the friendly message,
‘To our absent members’.7
These words, or a variation on them, were a nightly ritual at every Elks Lodge in America. The toast was a highlight of the evening, for it signaled that the time had come to drink heartily and make merry. Throwing back his whiskey, Truman approached the Exalted Ruler. It was time they became friends.
Truman was on a roll. The wedding might have been a sham, but the public hadn’t realized that and they had loved it. At last Truman was making good money, and he had to admit he was enjoying the attention. Work could not be going better. He’d been so busy he had rather neglected poor Sallie. He and Sallie were still staying with Adele and George Wilkins. They had been most generous hosts, but Sallie was beginning to tire of livin
g in someone else’s house.
Adele was charming, but Sallie longed for the company of someone of her own age and background. She also wished her husband were home more. It was seven months since they had married and in that time she’d hardly seen him. He kept telling her that things would settle down soon, but there was little sign of it. He often came home in the early hours reeking of alcohol and sometimes he didn’t come home at all, complaining that he had been detained by work and had stayed over in his Coney bungalow. She had written to Catherine, her favorite of her four sisters, seeking advice. Catherine wrote back telling Sallie to insist Truman pay her more attention. How Sallie loved receiving her sister’s letters. They arrived once a week without fail. Catherine wrote of life back home, and of their father, sisters, and brother, in such a chatty, newsy way that Sallie almost felt as if she were there talking to her.
The Lost Tribe of Coney Island Page 11
