by Low, Denise;
“A beautifully layered history, . . . [this] memoir is an act of honoring to Low’s own family, to be sure, but it also crucially assesses the intricate meanings of Native peoples’ displacement and resistance.”
—Molly McGlennen, author of Fried Fish and Flour Biscuits
“In this important book, Low speaks powerfully and poignantly of the plight of mixed-blood families plagued by once-justified fear and its resultant secrecy and the troubling confusion and aching absence this leaves for the grand- and great-grandchildren.”
—Linda Rodriguez, author of Every Broken Trust and Heart’s Migration
“Denise Low’s memoir weaves together Native American history, meditations on the western landscape, and intimate stories about her family in a most compelling fashion.”
—Blake Allmendinger, professor of American literature at the University of California at Los Angeles and author of The Melon Capital of the World: A Memoir
“The Turtle’s Beating Heart pierces the veil of anonymity and mystery surrounding [Denise Low’s] Delaware grandfather. As she examines his life and times, she not only discovers much about his identity; she also learns a great deal about herself and the rest of her family and other Delaware-descended people. . . . As she learns, so, too, does the fortunate reader.”
—Geary Hobson, professor of English and Native American Literatures at the University of Oklahoma
“In this loving tribute [Frank Bruner’s] granddaughter Denise Low pieces together his painful and elusive story out of a tangle of migrations, historic traumas, and family silences. . . . We see this long-established Native American poet replanting her family and tribal history, re-indigenizing these people, their lands, and their stories.”
—Siobhan Senier, editor of Dawnland Voices: An Anthology of Indigenous Writing from New England
American Indian Lives
Series Editors
Kimberly Blaeser
University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee
Brenda J. Child
University of Minnesota
R. David Edmunds
University of Texas at Dallas
Clara Sue Kidwell
University of Oklahoma
Tsianina K. Lomawaima
University of Arizona
Frontispiece
The Turtle’s Beating Heart
One Family’s Story of Lenape Survival
Denise Low
University of Nebraska Press | Lincoln and London
© 2017 by the Board of Regents of the University of Nebraska
Cover designed by University of Nebraska Press; cover image © Patrick Emerson
Author photo © Tracy Rasmussen, Insight Photography Inc.
Frontispiece: Delaware Turtle, a mural at Haskell Indian Nations University, by Eli Jackson. Author’s collection.
Acknowledgments for the use of copyrighted material appear in the preface, which constitutes an extension of the copyright page.
All rights reserved
Publication of this volume was assisted by a grant from the Friends of the University of Nebraska Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Low, Denise, author.
Title: The turtle’s beating heart: one family’s story of Lenape survival / Denise Low.
Other titles: One family’s story of Lenape survival
Description: Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, [2017] | Includes bibliographical references.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016012187 (print)
LCCN 2016012850 (ebook)
ISBN 9780803294936 (cloth: alk. paper)
ISBN 9780803296534 (epub)
ISBN 9780803296541 (mobi)
ISBN 9780803296558 (pdf)
Subjects: LCSH: Delaware Indians—Kansas—Biography. | Bruner, Frank, 1889–1963. | Delaware Indians—Ethnic identity. | Bruner family. | Low, Denise—Family. | Delaware Indians—Kansas—History. | Indians of North America—Kansas—Ethnic identity. | Indians of North America—Cultural assimilation—Kansas. | Kansas—Social life and customs—20th century—Anecdotes. | Kansas—Biography.
Classification: LCC E99.D2 L68 2017 (print) | LCC E99.D2 (ebook) | DDC 978.1/033—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016012187
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For Thomas Pecore Weso and our families
Contents
List of Illustrations
Preface
Part 1. A Twentieth-Century Native Man: Frank Bruner (1889–1963)
Part 2. Cutting Ties: Dorothy Bruner (1915–2002)
Part 3. A Haunted Life: Denise Dotson (b. 1949)
Part 4. Today: Living in Delaware Country
Notes
Bibliography
Illustrations
Delaware Turtle
1. Great-Grandfather Frank Bruner Senior with fish
2. Delaware migrations
3. Mary Frances (Dotson) Marchetti
4. Penokee Man drawing in Graham County Historical Society
5. Frank Bruner Junior at railroad crossing in Burns, Kansas
6. Two brothers: Charles Bruner and Frank Junior in bow ties
7. Burns State Bank, ca. 1900–1909
8. Frank Bruner Senior
9. Jacob and Mary Bruner’s tombstone
10. Mary Bruner
11. Frank Bruner Junior on a wagon in Burns, Kansas, with nephew Dan Bruner
12. Frank Bruner Junior as a baby with brothers Harry and Charles
13. Bruner brothers Charles and Frank Junior in a deeply shadowed portrait
14. Frank Bruner Junior, ca. 1895
15. Eva, or Evelyn, Miller in Kansas City, Kansas
16. Robert Lathrop Bruner
17. Frank Bruner Junior and grandson David Dotson
18. Frank Bruner Junior and Evelyn (Miller) Bruner in Oakland
19. Jane (Dotson) Ciabattari and author
20. Evelyn (Miller) Bruner, Mary (Dotson) Marchetti, Frank Bruner Junior
21. Frank Bruner Junior with Dorothy Lea Bruner
22. Dorothy (Bruner) Dotson, age sixteen
23. Dorothy (Bruner) Dotson, age fifty 24. Denise (Dotson) Low
24. Denise (Dotson) Low
25. Diminished Delaware Reserve, Leavenworth and Wyandotte Counties, in northeastern Kansas
26. Old Delaware Trading Post North Lawrence, Kansas
Preface
My family’s Delaware tribal history became official in 1626 with the “sale” of Manhattan Island. Many paintings exist of this moment. Tattooed “Indians” wearing deerskin robes, my forebears, meet with Dutch traders, who wear breeches and plumed hats. Peter Minuit presents guilders and trade goods as tribute to the Native leaders. In return the Dutch enjoy a trade alliance. From a European perspective this iconic moment transferred legal title of Manahatta, Island of Hills, and the Delawares left. Or did they? Delaware groups persisted through the resettlement of New York City by Dutch traders, the English, and then colonial Americans. Delawares continued to play major roles in the fur trade, the French and Indian Wars, the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and the Civil War. When their political power finally diminished, most Delaware people went west along forced migration routes, while some populations stayed in the East. The major remaining clans are Wolf, Turkey, and Turtle. All of them adapt to many different conditions. All are survivors, like my family.
In the 1870s my grandfather’s Delaware parents relocated to the Kansas plains, far from Manhattan. Still, Grandfather lived with the consequences of transactions between Europeans and Delawares, as do I. Historic trauma is the term that suggests long-la
sting effects of grief through generations, and it frames my account. Restoring my family’s suppressed ethnic background adds a small part to the marginalized Delaware history.
I am among the uncounted numbers with “Indian heritage” who are doubly marginalized by misunderstandings of mainstream society and by federally enrolled tribal members who denigrate Natives without official recognition. Many United States Indigenous nations are fortunate to have a more continuous tradition, especially those whose members live in remote areas such as North Dakota and New Mexico. Delawares, in contrast, lived in Delaware, New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania—centers of early European settlement. After several hundred years of resistance, from the 1500s to the mid-1700s, they were overwhelmed but not finally defeated.
Dozens of Delaware communities continue to exist from the Atlantic Ocean to Idaho and from Canada to the southern plains. Two federally recognized tribes are in Oklahoma and one in Wisconsin. State-recognized Delawares are in Delaware, New Jersey, and Ohio. Others meet regularly, including the Kansas Delaware Tribe of Indians near my home in Lawrence.
Twenty years ago, as an adult, I discovered my grandfather’s Delaware origins. Although Frank Bruner appeared to be Native, my parents never talked about this open secret, and his tribe was uncertain. When I was young, he and my grandmother kept apart from our family, even though they lived only a few miles away. As I grew to adulthood, I questioned this distancing. Now I recognize the workings of historic crosscurrents within my own family.
Grandfather’s life span, 1889–1963, is an era when lives of ordinary people, including Native individuals, were of less interest to those who recorded history. The nascent civil rights movement had not yet resulted in social and legal equities. Education of Indigenous Americans, overseen by the federal government, focused on assimilation and manual trades. As a workingman, my grandfather left behind no written records and only a few belongings. Among us descendants only brief stories survive. In this account I preserves as much information about my grandfather as possible, from research and family stories. Grandfather Bruner lived a rich, even heroic life, despite prejudice, and I aspire to honor his legacy.
Family members who shared knowledge with me are my grandfather, Frank Lathrop Bruner Junior; mother, Dorothy (Bruner) Dotson; uncle, Robert Lathrop Bruner; father, William Francis Dotson; and sister, Mary (Dotson) Marchetti. Other family members who contribute are my sister, Jane (Dotson) Ciabattari, and brother, William David Dotson. Other sources are family members Theress (McCann) Bruner, Robin Bruner, Becky (Bruner) John, Barbara (Bruner) Johnson, and Gail (Bruner) Murrow. I appreciate the support of my husband, Thomas Pecore Weso, and his family, of the Menominee Indian Tribe of Wisconsin, especially Mary Walker Sanapaw.
Kimberly Blaeser has been a valued guide for this project and also Matthew Bokovoy. The anonymous readers provided invaluable suggestions for revision as well as project editor Joeth Zucco and copyeditor Elizabeth Gratch.
My writing draws on some oral traditions shared by descendants of the Fall Leaf, Journey Cake, and Segundin families. Janet Allen has been especially helpful and generous. Other sources are publicly shared historic Delaware tribal stories and historic sources. Some of the early commentators, such as Reverend Peter Jones, were Algonquin cultural brokers with blood ties—his mother was Mississauga Ojibwa. Reliable Native sources may have Anglicized names or not. I appreciate the inspiration of Clara Sue Kidwell, Ojibwa and Choctaw scholar, who first delineated for me how Native experiences are unique to United States history because of connection to the homeland, orally transmitted literary traditions, nation-to-nation status of tribal governments to the federal government, and identity of tribal communities. These issues are a critical baseline.
My appreciation to those who took time to read and comment on the manuscript, including Alice Azure, Kelly Barth, Mitchell Bush, Robert Day, Joseph Harrington, Susan Harris, DaMaris B. Hill, and Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg. Those who lent further support are Daniel Bentley, Cathryn (Miller) Colton, DeAnn DeRoin, Gretchen Eick, Heid Erdrich, Greg Field, Karen Highfill, Geary Hobson, Jennie James, Donald Knight, Stanley Lombardo, Judith Roitman, Linda Rodriguez, Siobhan Senier, Pamela Dawes Tambornino, and Diane Wille. Stephanie Fitzgerald and her scholarship are a continuing inspiration.
Gratitude to these individuals and many others who help me as I attempt to express personal, family, and tribal experience in the medium of language. All errors and misunderstandings in this account are my own.
Previous versions of some essays in this collection were published in the following:
“Delaware Diaspora Memoir.” In The Fluid Boundaries of Suffrage and Jim Crow, edited by DaMaris B. Hill. New York: Lexington Press, 2016.
“Silence Is Alive” and “Urban Grandmother.” In Yellow Medicine Review. Edited by Carter Meland (Spring 2014): 109–12. “Gambling in the Heart of Winter.” In Yellow Medicine Review, edited by Chip Livingston (Fall 2012): 49–51.
“Winter.” In Imagination & Place Anthology: Weather, edited by Kelly Barth, 65–68. Lawrence KS: Imagination & Place Press, 2012.
“My Mother Is a Garden.” In Riding Shotgun: Women Write about Their Mothers, edited by Kathryn Kysar. St. Paul: Minnesota Historical Society Press, 2008.
Part 1
A Twentieth-Century Native Man
Frank Bruner (1889–1963)
“Delawares are like clouds,” says Brice Obermeyer. “They never get together.” He quotes an elder’s explanation of the Delaware diaspora, one of the longest of any United States tribal nation. Their first removals were in the 1600s and have never ended.
“Yes,” answers one of our group members. This is an annual meeting of the Kansas Delaware Tribe of Indians. She continues, “They may be separate, but they travel the same direction.” I laugh. The metaphor works perfectly to describe the stubborn individuality of my family members, especially my maternal grandfather, Frank Bruner. Some years ago I began a search for his Delaware past. I lived near my mother until her death at age eighty-seven, and besides her stories, she left a mound of invaluable documents and photographs.
This early summer morning the Kansas Delawares, related to the Lenape of Bartlesville, Oklahoma, meet at the Wyandotte County Museum, situated among rolling green hills—good farmland on former Delaware holdings. This spacious grasslands region is my lifelong home. Prairies have intense beauties: azure noon skies, fireplace ember sunsets, and an agate band of hazy western horizon where eternity is a real valence. Clouds, as they pass overhead, become personal messengers with information about Rocky Mountain winds one day and Caribbean hurricanes the next. The speaker’s cloud metaphor is vivid.
I visited the Wyandotte museum, just west of Kansas City, once before, to research my Delaware grandfather’s life. He lived in the area during the early twentieth century, within a block of the original Delaware trading post. After the Ku Klux Klan invaded his hometown in central Kansas, his family moved into this haven. Kansas City’s community of mixed tribal descendants had welcomed my grandfather’s family a hundred years ago. Today, at this meeting, I want to express gratitude to their grandchildren.
My journey to this meeting began years ago, when a Wyandot student attended my class at Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, Kansas. Like the Delawares, the Wyandots settled in Kansas City during the nineteenth century, before their removal to Oklahoma. My student’s family remained in the city. This isolate group knows their Native roots and continues to practice their culture, almost invisible to their neighbors.
In my English composition class the Wyandot student worked hard and often wrote about tribal history. He described how Wyandots purchased land from the Delawares and stood with them throughout the turbulent skirmishes preceding the Civil War. His ancestor William Walker was provisional governor of Nebraska Territory and helped prevent the western spread of slavery in 1853.
This student was among the first people to help me understand my family’s connection to larger historic events, including th
e Delaware migrations through Kansas. He opened my eyes to the cultural persistence of Native peoples into contemporary times. When I was a child, my parents had mentioned the “old country” as an abstract place like heaven, where the past was stored—Irish, English, and German grandparents alongside Native. In their view that history had ended. My Haskell student described a more vibrant history, one linking past to present. From his stories I learned how communities have living souls, as distinct as individuals. When they fracture, losses are real. When nurtured, they grow.
Discrimination against Native people has been so fierce that many people, like my family, suppressed their non-European ancestry as completely as possible. Some black Cherokees chose to identify with African Americans because it was easier. Dwane Lewis of Lawrence told me this and how his Cherokee freedmen family struggled to survive the Civil War and to establish themselves in a farm community that included Charles and Mary Langston, grandparents of Langston Hughes. They also shared Native ancestry.
Traditions do not disappear easily. Today, before the Kansas City meeting, a Kansas Delaware man purified everyone with sage smoke and prayers—in English but with the same intentions as expressed in the original language. After more than four hundred years of contact, smudging with sage smoke, or “smoking off,” endures as an aspect of spirituality. The Delaware practice includes smudging the bottoms of people’s feet as well as the rest of the body. Another tradition is hospitality. The spiritual leader included me, a stranger with no direct blood ties, without hesitation.
As the meeting begins, another guest, my husband, sits beside me. He is an enrolled member of a federally recognized group, the Menominee Nation of Wisconsin. Menominees, or Wild Rice People, are a related Algonquian-speaking nation. Next to him is the chief of this Kansas City group, Kameran Zeigler, who presides. All Kansas Delawares descend from families who did not make the final move from Kansas to Oklahoma in 1867. Each has solid documentation of ties to the Delaware Indian Tribe of Oklahoma. What they do not have is a million dollars to pay lawyers for a ten-year proceeding for legal recognition. My hosts at this meeting are as disenfranchised as my grandfather.
