“It’s a really interesting history, though. You should all read it sometime,” he added. “Shall I go on with the story of Wounded Knee now?” His ‘audience’ nodded.
“The reservation peoples have always been treated badly by the white people who have businesses along the borders of the reservations. Although most of their revenue came from their Indian customers, they treated them like second-class citizens most of the time. So it was little wonder some of the reservation peoples began to revolt against this kind of treatment.
“Anyway, back to Wounded Knee… When news of the takeover reached the U.S. Marshals at Pine Ridge, they promptly placed roadblocks to prevent access to the area. The FBI got involved. AIM people and their supporters brought in food and supplies by backpack using overland routes. Federal forces wouldn’t allow any Wounded Knee property owners or residents back into the village once they’d left. Both the Departments of Defense and Justice become involved. Although it’s against the law for the U.S. government to bear arms against their own people, they sent in weapons, personnel and equipment, pretending to be part of the state-run operation. The federal government is responsible only for reservations so it was, ostensibly, the state and local forces stopping local people from traveling onto Pine Ridge, especially if they suspected they were carrying food or ammunition. It was a blockade, a siege.”
“What’s a siege, Uncle Cal?” asked Sami.
“That’s when you’re surrounded, and nothing and nobody can go out, or get in. No food, no medical help, nothing,” he told the little girl.
“Our occupation of Wounded Knee lasted from February 27, until May 8, 1973,” he continued. “During that time, we had many meetings with different U.S. senators and others in charge, with AIM agreeing to leave and allow the Oglala to work things out among themselves. In order to implement this decision, Richard Wilson organized a ‘goon squad’ and participated in gunfire exchanges with us. Postal workers were sent in to see if they could find any violations of postal property. We allowed them to leave without their weapons after four hours.
“Also during this time, gunfire was exchanged between the FBI, the BIA and some of our people resulting in an agent taking a wound in the wrist. Nobody knows who fired that shot. Our six lawyers arranged a restraining order, to allow them, each with a carload of food, to enter each day for five days. Richard Wilson and his ‘goons’ illegally set up roadblocks and seized all the food.
“Both sides, the various governments factions, AIM and their supporters, all established, violated and reinstated cease-fires. On March 26, heavy firing occurred. Unfortunately, one of the U.S. Marshals received a wound that paralyzed him from the waist down. Wilson’s people were involved and may have fired that shot. Nobody knows.
“Two deaths occurred at Wounded Knee near the end of April. Frank Clearwater was shot while asleep in a cot in one of the churches and died on April 25. Lawrence Lamont, a resident of Pine Ridge Reservation received a fatal gunshot wound on April 26. A cease-fire was established after these deaths.” Cal was beginning to sound very sad and tired.
“Why couldn’t they just agree?” Val wondered. “Why can the U.S. never treat our people with respect?”
“It was like they were playing Cowboys and Indians,” Sonny observed. “Like they couldn’t ever let us win, ever.”
“After a lot of negotiating,” Cal continued, “you’ll want to read about all the details sometime – the agreement was that everyone would leave Wounded Knee. Anybody with outstanding warrants against them would be arrested. A residual government force would be left behind to prevent further incidents (and, so they said) to protect militants from reprisals.
“We, AIM, decided to end the occupation because of lack of food, electrical power and medical supplies. Did you know, many babies were born during the occupation? They were nicknamed ‘the Wounded Knee babies,” he told Sami.
“It’s interesting to note, that when the Oglalas declared Wounded Knee to be a Sovereign Nation, they asked for recognition by the Six Nation of the Iroquois Confederacy, which they got. An Onondaga chief read from a statement issued by the Grand Council of Iroquois, which was addressed to the U.S. government. I memorized it and will recite it to you, because it greatly affected me.
“‘You are concerned’ the chief read, ‘for the destruction of property at the BIA building, and at Wounded Knee. Where is your concern (then) for the destruction of our people, for human lives?’ He spoke of the Pequots and Big Foot. ‘When will you cease your violence against our people? Where is your concern for us?’
“Then he told of Indian lands flooded to make way for power projects, strip-mined by coal companies and plundered of timber. ‘Compare,’ he said, ‘the damage of the BIA and Wounded Knee against the terrible record and tell us we are wrong for wanting redress. We ask for justice, and not from the muzzle of an M16 rifle.’
“His closing words were eloquent. They moved me greatly, so I’ll quote them:
‘We have not asked you to give up your religions for ours.
We have not asked you to give up your ways of life for ours.
We have not asked you to give up your government for ours.
We have not asked you to give up your territories.
Why can you not accord us with the same respect?
For your children learn from watching their elders,
and if you want your children to do what is right,
then it is up to you to set the example.
That is all we have to say at this moment. Oneh.’
When Cal had finished reciting, they saw there were tears running down his cheeks. As had Val and Sonny. Lisa had been watching her children’s faces while her brother spoke. She knew that they had been greatly influenced by Cal’s story. Now, they’ll want to learn more about their Indian heritage. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. After all they were Kelly's kids too.
“What can we do, Uncle Cal?” Peter asked intensely. “I want to do something.”
“It’s up to you, Peter. Get your education, be a doctor. Then, if you feel you want to help, go to any of the band councils and ask how you can help. It’s as simple as that. We’ve come a long way on the reservations since Wounded Knee, but many people still live in abject poverty. There is not enough education, not enough work, not enough health care. The government doesn’t care about the water. But, if we work within the systems – as a lot of our people do – we can slowly but surely improve things for those living on the reservations.
“What I’ve learned from my experiences is that change can only come by working together, within the system. Revolution is not the way.
“Read all you can, both about Wounded Knee, and about the history of the aboriginals. About our people’s history, which is a lot more rich and complex than I can ever tell you.”
“What an amazing time you’ve had, Cal,” Val said. “We had very little idea what was going on back then. You’ve been living history.”
“Carmine has written two books,” Sonny told them, a trifle sarcastically, “about his adventures, so, we’ll all be able to read all about them if we want.”
“Hey! That’s wonderful, Cal,” Val replied, “How can we get a copies?” She noticed Sonny’s tone, realized he was jealous of his brother and wondered what she could do about it. Maybe he could write a book about his collections, about his teaching. Anything to get him over his bitterness!
Peter, fascinated by his Uncle’s story, said, “I’m going to do what you suggest, Uncle Carmine. I want to get a copy of your books. What are they about?”
Carmine, taking Peter aside, began to describe his books. “Actually, I have a few in my backpack, I’ll get them for you later.”
Lisa, suddenly noticing her young children’s drooping eyelids, announced, “Time for bed, Sami, Jack. First some hot chocolate, then away you go” Turning to the others, she asked, “Hot chocolate with marshmallows, everyone?”
Chapter 22
Life Goes On
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br /> Carmine stayed only two days with his brother before having to return home to Rosebud. Lisa, feeling dejected, thought she might never see him again. “So soon?” she despaired aloud, “We’ve just got you back. The kids will be so disappointed.”
“You’ll be coming down to see us soon, Lisa,” Cal assured her. “And we’ll be expecting all of you, so start saving.”
Sonny was relieved when his brother left. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Carmine, but more that he compared himself to his older brother and failed. Nothing Val said to him would change his mind.
“What’ve I done with my life?” he complained to himself.
Maybe he’ll feel better once the baby comes, Val thought to herself hopefuly.
* * *
Marybeth called Lisa the day after Carmine left, asking if she would be the Maid of Honour at her wedding and wondered if perhaps Martin would agree to be Tom’s Best Man.
“When’s the wedding, Marybeth?”
“The Saturday after next. Four in the afternoon, at the Episcopal Church here in town.”
Val asked if Father Dwyer was performing the ceremony. She told Marybeth she was feeling a bit disgruntled with the parson because he’d kept Ben’s secret of his boys’ paternity from her and her mother.
“That’s understandable, Lisa. But would it stop you from being in my wedding?” Marybeth then explained the reason they were asking Martin to fill in as Best Man. “Tom’s Uncle Jim was supposed to stand up with Tom, but had a motorcycle accident and was in hospital with a badly broken leg.”
She explained the wedding was going to be very casual. “I’m going to be wearing my long, blue velveteen skirt and a white peasant blouse. So whatever you think you might like to wear that wouldn’t clash too much with that, would be fine. Tom’s going to wear black jeans, a black t-shirt, his cowboy boots and a herringbone jacket.”
“That is pretty informal. I’m sure Martin will be pleased to help out, Marybeth. Will there be a party afterward?”
“Yes. Dinner at the Dionysus. You know it?”
“Open bar, BYOB, or what?”
“Everything laid on. No worries. And, we’re having a DJ, so we can dance!”
“That sounds great, Marybeth.”
“What about Val, Sonny and Cal?”
“You’ll have to call them. But unfortunately, Cal has gone home already, so he won’t be able to come.”
“Drat! I’d rather looked forward to him being there. Oh, well. Don’t forget the kids are invited too, Lisa.”
The afternoon of the wedding was cloudy with the odd shower, but Marybeth and Tom didn’t care. They intended to enjoy themselves regardless. Nothing would spoil the occasion for them.
The rain held off. Sonny had asked, when Tom invited he and Val to the wedding, if he could take the ‘official pictures’ of the wedding. Now he was snapping away, with what appeared to be a very good 35 mm camera, as they exited the church. He continued taking photographs and had taken over fifty pictures by the time Tom and Marybeth left the reception after 11.
“He’s been an amateur photographer for at least six years now. Some of his work has taken prizes,” Val boasted to Marybeth when she asked if Sonny’s camera was new.
“Do you recall that picture in our hall? The one of the red tree with the full moon shining behind it? Somebody wanted to pay him over a thousand dollars for that. I keep telling him, he should do more. I think he has a real talent for it.”
“We’ll get him to take the pictures of Tom’s furniture, as soon as we get back from our trip, then.” Marybeth told her. “And, he’ll be paid. He won’t be an amateur anymore. And I’d definitely like to see his ‘portfolio! His has one doesn’t he?”
“Well, albums anyway. You’re not paying for these, though,” Val assured her. “These are our wedding present to you and Tom.”
Marybeth was pleased that the George clan had accepted them as friends, despite what must have sometimes seemed like intrusive meddling on her and Tom’s part during their investigation into the arson. Even Sonny has come around!
Tom’s mother and father had arrived for the wedding in a large motorhome, along with his Uncle Jim, his childhood fishing buddy who was wheelchair bound, his leg in a cast to the hip.
Val’s parents, Natalie and Dave Young, came to the reception. Dave was anxious to speak with Tom and hoped to visit to his shop. The two arranged to get together as soon as Tom returned from his honeymoon.
Just as they were about to leave the restaurant, Ken Ronson approached them, and after bussing them both on the cheeks, handed an envelope to Tom.
“This came into the office for you earlier. Thought you might like to have it before you take off. Where are you headed, anyway?”
“We’re going to Disneyland. Neither of us has ever been. But we’re not going until we get this arson thing out of the way.”
“What’s in the envelope, Tom? Marybeth asked when Ken had left them, curious to know if was a wedding gift of some kind.
“Says here it’s from Robert Lansing Smart, Law Office.”
“Not a gift then. That’s Howie’s trustee.”
“Looks like he wants me to meet him at Pleasant Valley tomorrow. Says Howie has requested to see me.”
“You alone? Not me?”
“Well, it says me, but maybe not specifically. He also wants to know where he can locate Frannie deJean. I’ll have to see if I can get her address from Val.”
“There goes our honeymoon! Guess we’ll head up there first thing in the a.m.”
“Not on your Nellie!” Tom exclaimed, grabbing her hand. They ran, laughing, through the pouring rain to the Tom’s new truck. “Day after tomorrow will be quite soon enough.”
Chapter 23
Another Visit to Howie
Robert Smart was waiting for them in the lobby at Pleasant Valley Haven. Marybeth wasn’t sure the man wanted her in attendance – the letter had mentioned only Tom. She was right, he didn’t.
“I’m Mr. Howard’s lawyer,” he told them. “Also his cousin and the executor of his estate. It’s not my idea, miss, keeping you out,” he told Marybeth. “Wayne told me he would speak only to the ‘young man’. Apparently, what he wants to tell you, Tom, is rather sensitive. He’s not at all well – according to his doctor he’s not expected to live more than a few more days – had a heart attack, could go at any time – so I guess we should humour him.”
“Fine with me,” she responded, curtly, sitting down on one of the lobby chairs. Still, she was annoyed. She sat there stewing, finally thinking – It’s Tom’s last case, let him handle it. He’ll tell me all about it after, anyway. She picked up a magazine, but couldn’t read. Who knew, when we first opened that arson file, we’d meet this wonderful, interesting family, become friends with all them and learn that one of Tom’s ‘heroes’ was such a flawed character. Tom’s last case…
Accompanied down a long hall by Lou Garrett – the same woman who had escorted Tom and Marybeth previously – to a private room in the medical wing, they found Wayne Howard propped up in bed, a nurse in attendance. Tom noticed his pallor right away. His lips looked blue, a sign of heart failure. A cannula fed oxygen into his nose and an I.V. needle had been inserted into the back of his right hand. A heart monitor beeped quietly above the bed.
“Good, you came,” Howie murmured weakly, when he saw them, “I don’t have much time and I want to clear things up before I go.”
The nurse interrupted. “Mr. Howard must not be unduly disturbed.”
“Go away! Leave!” Howie dismissed her, coughing and waving his left hand.
She stepped back, but stayed just inside the doorway. “Just you take it easy, Mr. Howard,” she advised.
“You got that document, Robbie?” Wayne asked, ignoring the nurse.
“I do.”
“Robbie here’s my cousin,” Howie told Tom. “He’s my lawyer too. Handles all my finances.”
“Yes, he said. Why did you want to see me, Mr. Howard?�
�
“I want to talk about them fires.”
Tom was taken aback, not having expected a confession. “Are you making an official confession, sir?”
“Mr. Howard has a written confession,” Smart interjected. “Dictated actually, typed up, signed and witnessed. I’ll give it to you when we leave here. But I think he wants to tell you in his own words.”
“I’m just tellin’ you a few things you gotta know, young feller. First of all, I didn’t set all them fires you’re lookin’ into. Oh, I know, you think the same person set them all, but it ain’t so.”
Leaning close to hear the old man’s weak and thready voice, while trying to recall all the fires he and Marybeth had found in the file, Tom said, “There was one at the Walkerton Mall in 1957, another in ’63 at the River Run Motel and one at the Bellevue Apartments in July 1968.”
“Them two first ones, I never did.” Raising his voice, speaking directly to Tom, he said, “Walkerton Mall was on my land, you know.”
“It wasn’t your land anymore, Wayne,” Smart reminded him. “It was sold after your Mother died. That’s where your trust fund came from, remember?”
“Right you are, Robbie. Well, anyways… I didn’t start that fire. Started the one at my own house, though,” he blurted almost gleefully, his eyes lighting up. “When Mama died, I set the whole rotten, stinkin’ heap aflame. It went up like a rocket!”
“That wasn’t in your written confession, Wayne,” Smart told him. “Are you sure you want to discuss that one?”
“Yep. Might as well get it over with.” Whispering slyly, with a slight cackle, he informed them, “Old lady was still in there when it went up, ya know.”
“Wayne was found outside when the fire department arrived, but it was too late.” Smart told Tom. “The place had almost burnt to the ground. Nothing left but a pile of rubble. He wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, was pretty much out of it but he told the firemen he’d tried to get his Mother out. Said he couldn’t get through the flames. He suffered severe burns trying to rescue her. ”
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