You Should Really Read E. Jean Carroll’s Memoir
In the southeastern corner of Missouri is a tiny town that was named by a man, local lore has it, in honor of his girlfriend. She was Shawnee; when it was time to make his tribute to her official, the man, Samuel Green, came to the realization that he was unable to fully pronounce—or accurately spell—his beloved’s name. So he paid her what he determined to be the next-best form of appreciation: He named the town after the only Native American woman whose name he was able to spell. Pocahontas, Missouri, was born.
The writer E. Jean Carroll hears this bit of myth while visiting Pocahontas over the course of the extended road trip she takes for her new book, . At a local pie shop, she asks the owners about the provenance of their town’s name. Getting her answer, Carroll finds herself considering the fate of the woman: “I like to imagine the Shawnee girlfriend,” she writes, “mounting her stallion, galloping out of Missouri, riding across America, founding her own town, and, because she can’t keep white guys
