Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Ozark Cherokee


One of  my aunts who is part Cherokee was speaking with an outsider who'd moved into the Ozarks some years earlier, and the man  happened  to refer the racism of people in the Ozarks.

My aunt tore into the fellow. "Listen," she told the outsider, "a lot of the old-timers here have Indian blood. You start calling them 'racist,' and they'll go on the warpath!"

The man shut up.

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Sunday, May 27, 2012

John Grisham's Calico Rock, Arkansas?

Calico Rock on White River

Of all the unexpected book reviews to peruse, I never expected one about a John Grisham novel to focus on Calico Rock, Arkansas! The last time the 'Rock' got that much attention was when it served as the background to Bootleggers, a film -- not very good -- from my high school days in the early 1970s that proved popular in the Ozarks due to being set in that tiny Ozark town.

Well, the book review is of Grisham's Calico Joe and is written by Los Angeles Times reviewer Chris Erskine, "'Calico Joe' by John Grisham hits for average" (May 19, 2012), a review title hinting that the book isn't great. At any rate, here's the core of the review, the Calico Rock part:
"Calico Joe" is the first-person account of a fictionalized beaning of a Chicago Cubs prodigy by the name of Joe Castle, by way of Calico Rock, Ark. After being called up suddenly by the Cubs, Castle, soon dubbed "Calico Joe," gets off to a roaring start. After 11 games, he has 12 home runs and 14 stolen bases. He's hitting a ridiculous .725 and leading the Cubs to first place in their division (an accomplishment almost as remarkable as a .725 average). The baseball world believes it may be witnessing the next Ty Cobb. Or perhaps his better.

His story is told by Paul Tracey, son of Warren, a head-hunting power pitcher for the New York Mets who has more losses than wins and more anger than talent. Warren Tracey would be the one to end Joe Castle's career. While a young Paul watches in the stands, Warren aims a fastball at the head of Paul's boyhood hero, sending him into a coma and to the brink of death. In 1973, the storied career of Joe Castle comes to a tragic close after a mere 38 games.

Warren claims the bean ball was unintentional. Paul, a longtime victim of his abusive father's hate-filled tactics, knows better.

Jump ahead almost four decades and Joe Castle is a barely functional high school groundskeeper back in his hometown of Calico Rock; Warren Tracey is dying of cancer. Paul's dream/goal is to see his father apologize to Castle before he dies, an idea that the gruff old former ballplayer scoffs at.

In vintage Grisham fashion -- few authors can build to a crescendo the way he does -- the story picks up pace. Without revealing a rather satisfying ending, he plays good notes on the power of forgiveness, for the son, the dying pitcher and Calico Joe himself.

Oddly, this rather positive core of the review doesn't seem to fit the review's title. No matter. I'll probably never read the book. No time. It interested me because Calico Rock is in the area where the Cherokee side of my family settled after the Trail of Tears, just upstream from Sylamore, the part of the White River Hills near where resided my part-Cherokee grandmother's Cherokee aunt, Mary Black, who lived in the Sylamore Hills around 1910 in a log cabin without a floor, and who still sat cross-legged on the hard dirt and had jet-black hair at 70, or so my grandma told me.

I credit the LA Times for this review, but I actually read it in this weekend's Korea Herald . . . of all places to find a reference to Calico Rock, for which we can credit the effective fact of Grisham's fame and the circumstantial fact that he hails from Arkansas.

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Sunday, September 05, 2010

"Wart, wart, go away . . ."

Aunt Pauline at 83

Aunt Pauline is about a quarter Cherokee, I reckon, and knows a lot about Ozark home remedies, but much of her 'medicine' is probably of Scotch-Irish derivation. One thing she taught my brothers and me was how to rid ourselves of warts. Here's what she told us:
"Take a string and tie it around the wart, rub the wart 'round and 'round and say 'Wart, wart, go away,' then take the string off and put it under a rock in a field. Walk away and don't look back, and don't tell nobody. In a few days, that wart will be gone."
I make no claims, but I will report that the occasional warts of my childhood are gone, all of them. But what I really wanted to note was a short passage on an Irish-Catholic remedy for warts that I read yesterday afternoon in David Mitchell's first novel, Ghostwritten, published in 1999. In this passage, Mowleen Muntervary, an Irish physicist who has taken refuge with her husband, John, on Clear Island -- an island off the coast of Ireland -- is given the 'medicine' for the wart remedy by a couple of islander friends who pull up to her cottage on a motorbike:
Red Kildare's mighty motorbike pulled up, spitting stones and smoke. Maisie was in the sidecar. "John! Mo!" she had to yell over the engine. "Mo! Here's a piece of bacon for your wart!"

Maisie put a thumb-sized thing wrapped into aluminum foil into my hand. "Rub it on your wart before nightfall and bury it, but don't let anyone see it or it won't work . . . ." (Mitchell, Ghostwritten, page 353)
Though not identical superstitions, this latter one being somewhat less 'supernatural', both Pauline's and Maisie's cures are recognizably similar folk remedies that rely a bit on magic (or perhaps psychosomatic conviction). I'd be curious to know other, similar traditional ways of ridding a body of warts, not that I have any warts and all.

Therefore . . . comment!

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Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Tan Trough Creek, Izard County, Arkansas

Tan Trough Creek
(Photo by EIC Crew)

The hillbilly crew Denny, Jim, and Rick over at Exploring Izard County are forever finding the unexpected in their Ozark explorations of Izard County. I'm always interested in their meanderings around Izard because my maternal grandmother was born there and most of her Cherokee relatives were settled in the rough, hilly area around the White River, which is part of the White River Hills. I'm from Fulton County myself, just north of Izard, so I know the region and did some exploring of my own as a teenager.

Denny and Rick -- I don't know where Jim was (out of pocket, I reckon) -- took some time recently to explore a fascinating, mysterious place called Tan Trough Creek, which runs just north of Calico Rock, Arkansas. Here's what Denny wrote about the creek:
Tan Trough Creek begins as a stream seeping from acres and acres of glade rock north of Calico Rock. The little stream gathers size as it follows a deepening hollow to plunge nearly 100 feet to a canyon floor below through a semi-cylinder of stone! The creek then flows through the most amazing canyon we've encountered in Izard County . . . possibly even the Ozarks . . . this part of them at least. It's unique and quite wonderful!

For hundreds of yards, sheer bluffs of around 100 feet or more line each side of this creek. At one point, the tops of the bluffs on each side of the canyon are nearly within jumping distance of each other. As Rick and I searched for a way to get down to the creek bottom, we were forced to hike several hundred yards before finding a navigable way down. As we fought our way back up the creek through briars, saplings, and last year's ice-storm fall-out, we were rewarded with fantastic views of the bluffs above us as well as with discovering small waterfalls and caves in the faces of the bluffs.
Sounds like quite an adventure. I've got to see this place! But my upcoming Ozark trip this summer might not be the best of times -- too many ticks, probably, and too much heat and humidity.

Anyway, Denny has a bit more written about the canyon over at the EIC blog, along with three more photos and a ten-minute video that offers information about the creek and provides shots of the bluffs through some fairly heavy thicket.

From what I've read and seen, the place should probably be a state park. The description reminds me of Missouri's Grand Gulf State Park and leads me to wonder if Tan Trough Creek might not also be an ancient cave system similar to that one at Grand Gulf -- or like the collapsed cave with natural land bridge remaining at the nearby Calico Creek, which my family and I hiked around in with Denny and his family back in February 2008.

As mentioned above, I did some Izard exploring myself as a teenager. At 19, I spent my last summer living in the Ozarks when I worked on the surveying crew for my high school math teacher, Mr. Jim Scott. On days when we had no work, I'd hop on my ten-speed bicycle and pedal off on an adventure of discovery, several times on a 35-mile trip south into Izard County through some steep Ozark hills to Sylamore, enjoying the views but not the sweat and scorching sun.

I never discovered Tan Trough Creek, though, for I always continued southward, never turning off on the road toward Calico Rock whenever I headed down Sylamore way.

I missed out.

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Friday, February 01, 2008

Barack Obama: The Postracial Candidate?

Barack Obama
For a postracial America?

In yesterday's blog entry, I mentioned that I had thought of Barack Obama as signifying a "postracial America," but I did acknowledge:
Race is doubtless an issue, just as ethnic identity is an issue everywhere in the world, but Obama the candidate -- like Obama the person -- is more complex than that, as are his supporters.
There's a personal aspect in this for me, and not just because my kids are half Korean. I suppose that I pass for white, but my maternal grandmother was recognizably American Indian, so much so that when she and my grandfather were traveling through the Smokey Mountains way back in the 1930s, some Cherokee men standing around a potbellied woodstove in a local hotel (where my grandparents were looking to lodge for the night) came up to her while my grandfather was off inspecting the hotel room and asked:
"How does an Indian like you get along with an Englishman like him?"

"Oh," she replied, "we get along fine."
But she was curious about how the man had known that she was Indian since she wasn't very dark. He told her that she simply looked Indian, that this was obvious and that any Indian would instantly recognize the fact.

I grew up knowing the story and that I was part Cherokee, but I didn't really see the Indian in my grandmother until I moved to San Francisco and saw her face in the faces of old Chinese women, just as I now sometimes see her here in the old women of Korea.

Maybe that's partly why I feel comfortable in this distant place even though the Koreans probably think of me as just another waygukin -- an "outside-country person," as Robert Ouwehand translated it in his "Letter to the Editor" for yesterday's Expat Life section of the Korea Herald.

But to get back to Barack...

This morning, I read a short article, "Honolulu Diarist" by Allegra Goodman in The New Republic that reaches back to Honolulu of the 1970s to help explain Obama's fluid identity, the 'postracialness' that I mentioned. Goodman describes the complex identity dynamics that she saw taking place in her fifth-grade class, taught by an old "veteran teacher, old-fashioned, Christian, strict, Mabel Hefty," and she implies that Obama would have experienced much the same thing:
Six years before she taught my class, Mabel Hefty had taught a boy named Barack Obama who grew up to name her as his favorite teacher for her ability to make "every single child feel special." To Mrs. Hefty, special did not simply mean loved -- special meant singular. This was a particularly strong message to her diverse students. Mrs. Hefty's students were Chinese, Japanese, Hawaiian, Korean, Tongan, white, and, more often than that, hapa, a combination of many races and traditions. On the surface, our classroom looked like a melting pot. A girl with honey blond hair, cafe-au-lait skin, and green eyes might say proudly, "I'm part Hawaiian, part Portuguese, part Chinese, and part Irish." And, yet, despite this melding of cultures -- indeed, because of it -- we were all struggling to define ourselves and find a place in the world.
I think that this gets at part of Obama's appeal, especially to the young. Whether postracial or not, racially, ethnically, Obama is hard to pin down, much as America and Americans are becoming harder to pin down as we all struggle to find our place in the world.

Which is why Obama's not "The Black Candidate" that the Clintons would like for him to be...

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Saturday, January 26, 2008

Exploring Izard County: Mill Creek


The day is fast approaching for our trip back to the Arkansas Ozarks, and we're looking forward to a number of excursions with family and friends.

One friend with whom we'll be enjoying a hike is "D. Daddio Al-Ozarka," a 'professional' hillbilly whom I met online about a year and a half ago when I posted a photo showing an outhouse like the ones that I used to visit whenever 'nature called' back when I was a hillbilly kid myself. Although I had borrowed that image from a different website, I also linked to Daddio's Exploring Izard County for its many lovely Ozark photographs.

Daddio has a real name, of course, but I'm not sure if he wants it used online, though he doesn't appear too shy to appear online, for he posts photos that include himself -- as in this one below, where both the landscape and the hiking party are dominated by his enormous, capped head (though that's probably an optical illusion):


Daddio will be meeting us -- me, Sun-Ae, Sa-Rah, and En-Uk (with possibly a few other relatives) -- on the afternoon of Sunday, February 10 (2008), to act as informed guide to a nice spot on Mill Creek, the end point of a hike that he briefly described in an email to me a couple of weeks back:
If you haven't been to Exploring Izard County lately, check the latest post. Yesterday Rick, Cal, and I were shown an inspiring place on Mill Creek called "Needles Eye and Moon Eye". It is near Boswell . . . waaaAAAAYYY back in the woods. From the parking area, it is about a 30 minute hike on relatively level ground to the site. Our host, Wayne Hill, told us the the UofA had excavated the cave there and hauled off a number of artifacts decades ago . . . including a dugout canoe that his (Wayne) grandfather remembers seeing protruding from the cave floor.
I'm looking forward to this hike, for I haven't seen enough of Izard County even though the Cherokee side of my family mostly hailed from there. In my late teenage years, I used to visit the Sylamore Hills region of the White River in Izard County on my bicycle, and Daddio also has photos of that area.

I sometimes wish that I could land a job teaching in a university back in the Ozarks -- such as the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville (the UofA that Daddio mentions) -- but that's not likely to happen.

Instead, I make these online trips, as can you, too, if you visit Daddio's Exploring Izard County or his Hunkahillbilly site on You Tube.

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Sunday, December 09, 2007

David Lynn Jones

David Lynn Jones
"Mixed Emotions"
(Image from Amazon.com)
I'm not finished with Blumenberg, not by a long shot, but abstract thought, despite its aeyrie heights, can get a bit heavy, perhaps from the thin air up near the aetherial realms where eagles and epicycles still wheel about in their majestic circles. Today, I'm bringing it all down to earth and back home -- or maybe back to earth and down home, 'cause I'm posting on a country musician from my neck of the woods (not Porter Wagoner this time). David Lynn Jones, whose photo you see above, grew up in the tiny Ozark village of Bexar, Arkansas, around where my own maternal Grandfather Perryman did many, many years earlier. Jones, whose father was a farmer and mother a preacher (if I recall), was born a few years before me -- in 1950 if we can believe Answers.com (but that site usually borrows from Wikipedia) -- so I didn't hang out with him, but he was a nephew of my step-Grandfather Archie Dillinger and sang at Grandpa Archie's funeral (or so I'm told, for I was living abroad at the time), and like Archie and me, Jones is part Cherokee. I don't recall ever meeting Jones, who would be about seven years my senior, until we were both grown men and my my brother John, who was pastoring a church in Viola, Arkansas, introduced us after a Sunday sermon. Jones seemed like a humble fellow despite his good looks and musical talent, and he must have settled down a lot from his youth, for I recall hearing a lot of wild stories that would seem to cast him as someone in the mold of such Outlaw Country Musicians as Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, or Jerry Jeff Walker. My wife Sun-Ae met him as well back when she was still my fiancée, and at our country wedding in an abandoned old church on a country road not far from Bexar, we played his song "Nightingale Waltz" immediately after the (in)formal ceremony. I like what music of his that I've listened to, but I haven't heard much of it because it's difficult to find the albums despite his 1986 hit "Living in the Promiseland," which was covered by Willie Nelson and went quickly to number one on the country charts. For a few photographs of Jones, go to one or more of the following websites:
Ron Newcomer's Celebrity Photos: David Lynn Jones (as a young man) Amazon.com Site: Wood, Wind and Stone Image (from 1989) Michael Buffalo Smith, "2006 Americana Music Conference and Awards," Swampland.com (for a recent photo of an older Jones)
For the interested and intrigued, here's David Lynn Jones singing a song about his grown-up little sister, "Bonnie Jean." UPDATE: Larry Saidman has asked that I link this blog entry to a more recent entry on David Lynn Jones, and as I told him: "Sure, I can link to that blog entry of June 6th, 2008: 'David Lynn Jones: here in our hearts, too.' At that entry, I've linked to David Lynn's My Space site, where he sings his song 'Here in My Heart.'"

UPDATE as of December 2020:

Below are over 200 comments in what became an investigation of identity theft, with this blog entry playing an important role through comments that set some of us off in search of the real David Lynn Jones - was he living in Mountain Home, Arkansas, or Cave City, Arkansas?

When you reach the 200th comment, you'll have to click on the link "newer" to read comments 201 and up.

For greater ease, here is that link now.

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Thursday, September 27, 2007

One African-American's Thoughts on Obama

Hathor, Luxor Museum, Egypt
(Image from Wikipedia)

My online friend Hathor, who maintains her own blog, Hathor-Sekhmet, wrote me an email a few days ago to give her thoughts on Barack Obama, about whom I've previously posted and whose book Dreams from My Father Hathor and I have both read.

I found the email very interesting because it clarifies a sense among the African-American community that Obama isn't 'black' enough, and Hathor has given me permission to post her email here at Gypsy Scholar.

Hathor begins with a reference to a recent incident that I've somehow missed, probably due to my living in Korea, which leaves me abstracted from a lot of American domestic news, but Hathor provides some links for international readers like me, and I've added some links of my own on other points (as well as some interjections):
I don't know if you have been following the news about the assault in Jena, Louisiana; here's a link an another link in case you haven't and commentary . Barrack Obama is being called to task by some in the black community for not being more involved with this issue. When you mentioned to me about Obama appearing to be an outsider, I thought about that now. Even though he understands how it is to be black and feels the rage, he doesn't have the history in his soul, not as a Kenyan or as an American black. I think he should have made a statement about Equal Justice. Personally, I would not have required that he go to Jena or associate with Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton. Regardless of what type leaders Jackson or Sharpton are, they do understand the symbolism of nooses. They both understand how quickly that symbolism can bring violence and Jesse had certainly seen enough during the 60's working with the SCLC.

I don't think growing up as a child Obama had the constant reminders of what not to do, the unspoken words of what had happen to an uncle or some distant relative in the past, or the stories or news of violence to blacks from some offense of forgetting. There has not been sorrow or the struggle passed down. I am not blaming Obama, because you could not expect that from his mother or her parents. Unfortunately his father didn't feel the need for his son to be with him. I sort of understand how he feels when he goes to Kenya and his other family explains to him about his father. The feeling I had when my mother's sisters were telling me about how my mother was before she got sick, which meant nothing to me, because her impact on me was only from the person when she was sick.
Allow me to interject some remarks here.

For those unaware of Obama's personal history, you should know that his father was a black African from Kenya, and his mother was a white American living in Hawaii. Obama's father returned to Kenya when Obama was very young and had little direct influence on Obama's childhood, and Obama's time in Hawaii and Indonesia sheltered him from the strong black-white racial division of the time but also cut him off from the black community in America, a separation reinforced by the fact that he had no black relatives in the United States.

Hathor's observations here clarify what I referred to in my prefatory remarks above, namely, that a lot of African-Americans sense that Obama isn't 'black' enough. When she says that she doesn't "think growing up as a child Obama had the constant reminders of what not to do, the unspoken words of what had happen to an uncle or some distant relative in the past, or the stories or news of violence to blacks from some offense of forgetting," I finally understand the point. Part of being 'black' in America means having a familial link and a personal family memory to those who suffered under the South's Jim Crow laws, or who suffered comparable discrimination outside the South, including racist attacks and even lynchings.

One reason that I understand better is because I know how profound an adult's words to a child can be. My own great-grandmother told me when I was five years old to always remember that I was part Indian and not to forget how the Indians had suffered. She didn't relate any personal stories, and I don't know if her husband, who was half-Cherokee, suffered discrimination (though their daughter my grandmother hinted that he might have encountered some prejudice in Oklahoma), but even without personal stories, the memory of my great-grandmother's words remains with me.

But let's return to Hathor's remarks:
I wish he could express his earlier self, while running for president. He needs to express his vision with passion. Also he needs to get rid of some of his campaign advisers. I think the people can deal with more openness and honesty. I don't really worry about his experience in government. He has had to make decisions in life and in other positions, which I think prepares any one to govern. I thought one of the few new things this country was meant to abolish was a ruling class and dynasties. Quite a few people in their lifetime will have to act on a life and death decision, and 9/11 wasn't so extradinary that one would have to be groomed in order to make decisions. Sometimes, the event can bring out the brilliance and other times it brings out a response in fear. We never know.
I know what Hathor means. Who, for example, would have expected Mayor Giuliani to be a hero and a healer? Yet, there he was, on 9/11, an unexpected source of comfort and courage who said exactly the right things when so many others did not.
That quote in your post, in which Obama described his feelings as a youth, isn't resolved in this book. I think it is pushed back into the unconscious. His actions as a representative and his ideas about race are probably determined by his upbringing. In some ways his upbringing clashes with his own reality. Unfortunately he was not light enough to be perceived as something other than black. Being African was a problem because there were no African relatives he could spend time with, family outings, etc. Hawaii and Indonesia were not places where that was a lot of black-white conflict and not a lot of rhetoric pertaining to race, so his mother's views would be internalized more. This is just my opinion.
It's my own view, too, as I've noted above. But Obama had his own 'black' experiences, as the quote from Obama that Hathor refers to makes clear:
I had begun to see a new map of the world, one that was frightening in its simplicity, suffocating in its implications. We were always playing on the white man's court, ... by the white man's rules. If the principal, or the coach, or a teacher, ... wanted to spit in your face, he could, because he had power and you didn't. If he decided not to, if he treated you like a man or came to your defense, it was because he knew that the words you spoke, the clothes you wore, the books you read, your ambitions and desires, were already his. Whatever he decided to do, it was his decision to make, not yours, and because of that fundamental power he held over you, because it preceded and would outlast his individual motives and inclinations, any distinction between good and bad whites held negligible meaning. In fact, you couldn't even be sure that everything you had assumed to be an expression of your black, unfettered self -- the humor, the song, the behind-the-back pass -- had been freely chosen by you. At best, these things were a refuge; at worst, a trap. Following this maddening logic, the only thing you could choose as your own was withdrawal into a smaller and smaller coil of rage, until being black meant only the knowledge of your own powerlessness, of your own defeat. And the final irony: Should you refuse this defeat and lash out at your captors, they would have a name for that, too, a name that could cage you just as good. Paranoid. Militant. Violent. Nigger. (Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance, page 85)
Such was Obama's reaction as a young black man to some experiences of racial difference even in multiracial Hawaii of the 1970s.

At any rate, Hathor concludes with an explanation of her previous, lengthy silence about Obama:
I had intended to post about him, but I've been really too lazy to follow his campaign. Since Pennsylvania is one of the last primaries, the candidates who lose early hardly stay in the race till they get here. I think Obama has enough money to stay in. This is not to say I would vote for him, but it is too early for me to get engaged or hopeful about a candidate.
I also don't know enough about Obama's position on issues to know if I'd vote for him or not, but based on his extraordinary book, I rather like him personally.

Oh, one last remark from Hathor:
You are really disciplined, to be able to post everyday.
Thanks, Hathor, for the kind words, but I suspect that I post daily not from discipline but from an insane obsession to raise my voice in the wilderness, as if it could be heard among the some 200 million other bloggers out there in the same, tame, overcrowded wilderness.

Anyway, there it is, Hathor's email providing her interesting thoughts on Obama.

Thank-you, Hathor.

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Tuesday, March 06, 2007

"Tribe slave descendants face uncertainty"

Authentically Cherokee?

Since I occasionally mention the fact that I'm part Cherokee, I suppose that I ought to acknowledge this recent vote by the Cherokee Nation as reported in Yahoo News (Sean Murphy, AP Writer):

The Cherokee Nation vote this weekend to revoke the citizenship of the descendants of people the Cherokee once owned as slaves was a blow to people who have relied on tribal benefits . . . . In Saturday's special election, more than 76 percent of voters decided to amend the Cherokee Nation's constitution to remove the estimated 2,800 freedmen descendants from the tribal rolls, according to results posted Sunday on the tribe's Web site.

I'm no expert on either Cherokee or U.S. law pertaining to this issue -- and the report goes on to note that the vote will be challenged and could be reversed -- but I would like to muse on a couple of points:

First, although I refer to myself as having some Cherokee 'blood,' the issue of blood wouldn't have meant much to a tribal society. American Indian tribes inducted whites as members, Sam Houston being a prime example. He ran away from home in 1809, joined the Cherokee, was adopted into the tribe as a member, and was given the name Colleneh, meaning "the Raven." Could his membership be retroactively revoked because he wasn't Cherokee by blood?

Second, if 'blood' is the issue, then some members of the Cherokee tribe would be more authentically Cherokee than other members. I use the convenience of blood to talk about my great-grandfather having been a half-blood Cherokee -- though I usually shorten this to half-Cherokee. What this really meant in his case is that his mother was Cherokee and his father not. However, a half-blood member of the Cherokee Nation is officially just as much Cherokee as a full-blood member.

Those are my vague musings on the problematic of 'blood' -- no resolution achieved. But if one wants to get really scientific and technical about this issue, then the Cherokee Nation could turn to genetic testing . . . except that a lot of Cherokee might not like the results, for some members might turn out to have no discernable Cherokee inheritance. Again, I'm no expert, but reports that I read in the newspapers imply that anyone who wishes can have ethnic origins traced. I'm actually curious about the details of my own genetic history and would like to undergo such a testing some day if it can be easily and cheaply done.

And a lot of those descendents of slaves once owned by Cherokee might very well turn out to be substantially Cherokee by genetics. When I was attending Baylor University, in Waco, Texas, I had an African-American friend who claimed to be part Cherokee, and I think that he knew what he was talking about. When I worked at a Wells Fargo Bank in Palo Alto, California, one of my colleagues was an African-American woman who claimed to be part Cherokee, and I again had no reason to doubt her. Both of these individuals even looked part Indian to me, though I might not have noticed it if they hadn't mentioned the point.

The African-American Country-and-Western musician Charlie Pride is obviously part American Indian (look at him in this video), and I believe that I've read that he is part Cherokee. His eyes in the photo above remind me of some photos of another part-Cherokee, Johnny Cash (and see this video). To me, Pride looks just as much Indian as Chad "Corntassel" Smith . . . though that's a subjective judgement of mine.

But if we really want to know, then bring on the genetic testing.

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