The Way of the Buffalo

By Paul Butler

In America’s sixties and seventies, Jack is working in a minimum-security prison for young men when he meets Marlon—and Marlon has a story to tell. Spared the horrors of a hardened adult prison, he is forced to accept his current situation while telling Jack a bit about himself.

He and his friends ill advisedly stole a car and rolled it along while drinking. Their theft concluded in an accident. People got hurt, and Marlon fled. The next morning, though, the reservation police arrived at his home and arrested him, which is how he ends up talking to Jack.

Marlon’s reservation houses about two thousand American Indians. By day, his neighbors are all for peace and love; at night, when they get drunk, violence spreads. It’s a horrible way to live, forcing Marlon to struggle with his identity while fighting racial inequality. The Way of the Buffalo offers a fictionalized inside look at this tumultuous age of flower power through the eyes of a Native American youth who can’t find meaning in a crazy world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480895263

Paul Butler

A former federal prosecutor, Paul Butler provides legal commentary for CNN, NPR, and MSNBC and writes for the New York Times and Politico. A law professor at Georgetown University, he is the author of Let’s Get Free: A Hip-Hop Theory of Justice (The New Press) and lives in Washington, D.C.

Book preview

The Way

of the

Buffalo

PAUL BUTLER

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Copyright © 2020 Paul Butler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover Image Credit: Steve Nestler

Interior Image Credit: Paul Butler

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9525-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9527-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9526-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916792

Archway Publishing rev. date: 12/02/2020

Contents

Prologue

The Factory

‘GHETTO’ Teacher

Apples and Indians

The Indian Prison

Indian Center Program Description

Pierre de Chef

Down Time

Whitey

Pierre: Good Teacher/Bad Teacher

Red Delicious Apple

The Hobby Shop

Rose Blooms

Guys Meet Girls

Rodeo Drunks

Tribal Conflict

Pierre Canned

Lock-up to Hot Box

Another Broken Promise

Wasting My Prime Years

Senseless Murder

Epilogue

Prologue

C ORONAVIRUS ! has turned my life upside down. I work in the Hospitality Industry . My job has been eliminated as very few people are staying in hotels since the virus or COVID-19, has been spreading across the planet. It is getting better but still a long way back to ‘normal.’ My name is Paul.

My wife & I decided that since we are instructed to stay at home in Illinois that I would go through old photo albums to thin them out and possibly organize and scan selected ones to put on a disc or in the cloud, and leave for future family generations.

I went up to my attic and rediscovered a couple of old boxes when we bought the house years ago. I always wondered why the previous owner left them.

One box was full of old Christmas decorations and fake garlands. The other one had some old blankets and a big notebook, a manuscript titled The Way of the Buffalo with no name given for the author, at least not in the first few pages.

It was about a young recent college grad in Chicago working at a silkscreen company making plates for pinball machines. He was filling time waiting to find work as a teacher; the year was 1970 and no matter your college major, graduates could be hired as a ‘provisional’ teacher in Chicago at the time. They needed help. This ‘would be’ novel took me out of the pandemic for a while and drew parallels to today’s social issues in the world.

The story was set during the war in Vietnam. There were lots of war protests, as well as the civil rights movement. It appears that this guy, Jack Johnson, had been a business and psychology major from a Midwestern university. He could be described as a Robin Hood or a humanitarian person who wanted to help the ‘un-privileged.’ He may have questioned his path compared to some of his fellow business grads making good money in the private sector.

He had some interesting experiences working in the Chicago Public School System in the black community, but he decided to head out west to Washington State when school was out in June to catch up with some friends picking apples around Wenatchee, Washington.

After living in a cabin, picking apples with migrant workers and locals and with the season soon to be closing, he received a timely letter. It was a job offer to work as a dorm counselor at a minimum-security facility for young Native American boys via the VISTA national service program.

The location would be in the American southwest, New Mexico. He took a train heading south and east from Washington State.

Having read this diary or journal, I was struck by learning about somebody who was a free spirit who wanted more than ‘material’ success. He was like a social worker trying to make an impact first in the black community and then in the Native American community. No, I am not saying he was a saint. He was more of a ‘good-time Charlie’ seeking adventure in challenged socio-economic cultures - the black and the indigenous. Yes, he wanted and sought adventure but had a burning desire to explore life in different environments.

Jack spoke about the poverty-stricken Native Americans, the reservation wasteland in the mid- late twentieth century timeframe. Yes, things are somewhat better financially now with casinos but still miles to go as most employees working at casinos are not Native American. A positive according to on-line data is that more young indigenous adults are moving back to the reservation, increasing population and employment. On the other hand, things are worse for most people of color with the COVID-19 virus, especially on some reservations.

We live in a time where the poor and the elderly are most vulnerable. Many think this Corona Virus started in a market in Wuhan, China, where allegedly a bat bit an animal that was maybe cooked & eaten or just infected somebody. Thus, the virus spread. I do not think anybody knows for sure, but we know it started there.

We do know how quickly the COVID-19 virus was able to spread like wildfire over the U.S and other parts of the globe. That is what struck me…… finding a fifty year-old story titled, The Way of the Buffalo. The vulnerable people of color in this country are the diminishing ‘Buffalo’ currently. After internet research the obvious message of the book or manuscript is that buffalo were once prodigious in numbers mainly in the Great Plains of America. The number was estimated to be 30-60 million in the 1500’s. Native Americans relied on buffalo for meat and their hides for shelters. Early settlers knew this and developed a campaign to slaughter the buffalo to bring the natives to their knees. It is reported that in 1830 destruction of buffaloes began and in 1870 alone some 2 million were killed in the southern plains. In 1884 there were only 35 (that is 30+5) remaining most of those were in Yellowstone. Thankfully, now there are about 500,000 throughout the country with some 5,000 in Yellowstone.

At that time, white settlers were the attacking bison to thin out the Native American tribes. They succeeded.

Our present USA is a misnomer, as we are not ‘United’ but in chaos. In 2020, we are so split politically, so entrenched in our ‘Tribes’ we have a leadership void that promotes conflict and crisis. We see the economy taking priority over life. The greed & politics to keep the economy strong (the rich, richer) is greater than the will to keep our citizens, including our veterans from WWII to Afghanistan who risked their lives for our freedom, all the seniors in retirement homes…. healthy and alive.

We have had states bidding against each other, against the CDC for N-95 masks, gloves, and ventilators. Many Americans are experiencing…. The Way of the Buffalo. How could this happen?

Is this a thinning of our herd? I recently had a friend call me to say he thinks this is the ruling tribes’ solution for the looming problem of dwindling Social Security and Medicare funds.

Let these old people die and we can save billions in Social Security and Medicare costs going forward.

That is scary dark, and I just cannot buy it…….do not want to buy it. There is no doubt that rushing an economic recovery too soon will be a ‘Disaster’ according to many doctors, governors, and scientists. I get it! People are fighting against the confinement…loss of jobs, loss of rights, kids out of school. This is very tough for us all, globally.

Maybe this will be an awakening for this country. One group wants small, limited government, less taxes, let the private sector pervade, Regan ‘Trickle Down’ economics with the government as the problem. The other group wants more government to handle healthcare, environment, cheap education, and workers’ and women’s rights, among other issues.

It is fine to have differences of opinion on these issues but now we have a game-changer—a catastrophic health event sweeping America and the entire globe. People are very sick, out of jobs, we have small companies shut down that may never return, jobs that may never return….. life changing times.

We are now in need of isolation to protect ourselves and others. As stated, many times in the media, We are all in this together. No, we are not. It is still all about the almighty dollar holding on to it and making more for a few at the top. If we are all in this together there would be a national plan to get us out of the mess as other countries have done.

Maybe we need to be alone to come together. Perhaps the I is in the process of awakening the need for We. A reverence for the oneness of the wind, the pine trees, the lakes, the mountains, the plains, the animals are at the heart of Native American culture. The oneness with the earth. Now we are in the process of abusing the earth for money and greed. Maybe this decades old story can help us find the middle way.

While we are alone and with our families maybe we need to reconsider the definition of ‘success’ especially in the larger world. I get tears & emotional when I see people clapping & cheering for a shift of healthcare workers in New York and cities on TV. All my kids are in healthcare and some have endured the virus already and fortunately survived. That is great but it also frightens me about their continued exposure to the virus especially when a portion of the public thinks this whole thing is a hoax refusing to wear masks and just want to open up with business as usual. We know how that works as we enter the second wave of the virus in the fall of 2020. However, so many people are living their ‘finest hours’ by helping others, thank goodness!

In, The Way of the Buffalo, Jack has turned his back on success as defined by possessions, wealth, social status. He is trying to help some young confused Native American boys find their way five decades ago before cell phones, social media, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn… before computers were prevalent.

The irony is that the goal is to train these indigenous youth to be like us, to define success by the stock market, our mansions, cars and our clothes and possessions. It was the wrong path in Jack’s opinion. It reminds me of an appropriate Native American quote, People may hate you for being different & not living by society’s standards, but deep down, they wish they had the courage to do the same.

Maybe now, because of this dreadful virus sweeping the planet many of us will reevaluate what we value most.

Life is about balance. I do not believe Jack was a forever or fully committed ‘do-gooder.’ I am confident he ‘ changed and evolved’ in life, got a better paying job, & began thinking more about ‘himself ‘and family.

That balance is what our society needs - less greed, less corruption & materialism, more giving, less taking. You will read about a story in time, about somebody trying to make a difference, about one red brother who was visited by a great Apache medicine man who gave him words & wisdom to live by. This was Geronimo’s advice to a lost and suffering Ernie, a lost young man residing in the Indian Center where Jack ends up working and is the central component of the book.

Like the Buffalo, we will return to the prairie with a more caring and giving path going forward, which does not mean you have to give up your house, your car, your possessions. Perhaps you just need to find more balance in your life - more oneness… more us, more giving, less ‘I.’

Yes, I have been preaching……. I am sorry, but these issues are too important not to speak out. We can all do better. As one of our fallen black leaders said, We are better than this.

This story is 50 years old. There is so much that has changed and yet there is so much that has remained the same. I see these young men whose culture was destroyed try to remain sober, not sniff gasoline & glue, and fit into a different lifestyle as their old way of life has been ravaged.

I guess almost all of us will be doing the same thing going forward. Our world has been seriously changed and we must adapt just as they had to adapt.

That is my takeaway… you will find out yours? Now back to sorting photos in quarantine….

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The Factory

A frog does not drink up the pond in which it lives."

—American Proverb

March 16 1970

I have been in Chicago nine days now. It has been a week since I took the tests and filled out the application for teaching. That week of waiting has been an eternity. From all sources it sounds like a sure thing to get the teaching job, but the wheels of bureaucracy turn very slowly.

To help fill in the interval I have applied, and have been hired, as a squeegee operator on a silkscreen. It’s a repetitious job of five stages: pull out the glass plate, wipe it off, insert it into its proper place, bring down the silk screen, press and push the squeegee across the screen making the paint print, cover once again, and take out the plate…repeat, repeat, repeat, vomit if you so desire. I wonder as I perform such a robotic task how some of the men can do this thing day in and out, hour on hour. It’s as if you have to live in your head. Only occasionally do the workmen in my area talk during the work period. There’s a couple of black guys, some old men and a long hair that work the night shift.

I start the job in an hour, and I can hardly wait as Bill, the elder foreman, will be watching over my shoulder to see that I’m not making any mistakes. The treatment every rookie receives. One day during a break I was looking around the place and noticed some screens which print the symbols for slot machines. I asked a couple of the workmen about this and they told me the place is tied in with the syndicate. The whole setup is somewhat bizarre. According to these guys the syndicate is supposed to have full control of pinball machines, juke boxes, and I am sure they deal with slot machines.

Another kind of weird occurrence is that we all stop work at 12:00 at night and just sit for the remaining half hour. It is rather silly, and that last period goes by so slowly because you think of what you could be doing if you weren’t just simply sitting, waiting to punch out.

At home, when l am not working, I try to make good use of my time. Lately I have been painting a bit and I really think I’m improving, probably because I couldn’t get any worse. Anyway, it is a good vent for whatever you feel, be it up or down. I have been doing only watercolors as they are so cheap and a good inexpensive way to learn.

Chicago has good television just about every night. They have a talk program dealing with sex education, local issues, energy shortage, ecology, etc. They keep very current and have renowned anthropologists, ecologists, and generally experts in the field of discussion. Watching the tube is easier to rationalize and often is rather educational.

It’s getting near time to catch the bus and I know as I ride on it, the daily thought of what the hell am I doing here, working this mindless job, in this sterile environment? will pass through my mind. I suppose it’s a good experience, at least that’s the answer I give myself. I am learning new things about new people and about myself. Not much but my college brothers are getting the good paying business major jobs…… Getting on the money highway. Me - I do want to make a difference, make the world a better place. Am I stupid? My parents think I am!

Tuesday, the 17 th

As I am working it seems like the new god is George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and other historical figures on currency, there is a new Sabbath—Friday. A day which has taken the place of Sunday—the traditional moment of the week to look forward to and to hold in reverence. It is now Friday because most people get PAID on Friday.

Tonight, I said hello to a night shift worker at the warehouse. He said, What? As if I had ordered him to do something, being a complete stranger.

I said hi, in response and he muttered something indistinguishable.

That is so typical of the men here, especially the older ones who work at this place. It’s like they don’t communicate with you but only mutter out loud. They are so accustomed to living in their heads that words on the outside are superfluous. I’ll be wiping something up, maybe start some sort of a conversation and be answered with a grunt or some non-translatable murmur.

The boss is like a comic strip character from Mad Magazine….short, thinning hair, with mouse-like facial and verbal characteristics. Bill is an enigma. He looks like he belongs in that comic strip focused on trivialities yet conscientious with workers like me to make sure they are doing the job correctly. Assuming the work is completed, he really doesn’t give a shit but that’s a big criterion to meet because he is so very meticulous. It is hard to believe because the warehouse is such a black and desolate hole. No care taken for its interior.

On the silk screen a nail is used as a rest for my screen in between prints. The screen must be elevated by the nail to take out the silkscreen printed glass. Then a clear new piece of glass can be inserted so the next batch of ink can be applied to the screen and glass.

Tonight, this component nail was bent and appeared to be loose and not safe to hold up the silkscreen for plate glass transfer. Bill asked in meek politeness.

Do you like that nail? as if to replace it if I did not.

It’s OK, I replied.

In retrospect, the context of the conversation makes me laugh. I know Bill was being conscientious and helpful, but it almost sounded like he was asking me for my preference for a date. What the hell do you mean do I like this nail? How the hell can I ‘like’ that nail one way or another.

Yeah that nail is sleek, a grey tone to it with a great head. I love it!

It really told me where this creature was at. Do you like this nail? It is indicative of the trivialities that cram his brain. His mind is fashioned from bent nails and specks of dust. He trains these operators to push their squeegee up to the frame and back. Five men working like robots, turning out pinball glass plates—all lined up. Material is money, money is time, work efficiently, time is money, you get it.

Two black guys who work on the job are brothers and get into jiving each other. Another day, another dollar. No brother soul slang or punch lines. They are a couple of Joe Blows like everybody else at this place. Each night during break and lunch, part of the crew goes downstairs. Generally, the conversation revolves around money and how to get more; sex—who is getting laid and who is she; also, who gets the vote for being the boldest and least afraid of the boss. The ultimate winner would be the guy who is eventually shown the exit door and gets their last paycheck through the mail. There are not many winners from the ‘brain lottery’ here, but decent guys bringing home a paycheck for the family.

Tonight…as I become a robot, I have the idea of starting my own bar and proceed to deeply entrench myself into that fantasy. Whether it ever happens (which it won’t), it certainly made the time go by faster. Then I remember why I moved here in the first place and think about that.

I feel myself getting very impatient about teaching. I cannot wait to help some young children learn! If anybody needs help, an education, it is these little black kids. Even after the end of slavery, many have not had much of an education. By teaching, I can feel that I can actually be a part of the solution…..not a part of the problem as a Black Panther once said…think it was Eldridge Cleaver. And teaching would be so much better than this wretched factory full of robots, but I only took the job on a temporary basis so I can gut-it out a while longer.

Wednesday, March 18

This evening, I really got into a conversation with one of the workmen. As Andy told me he’s been smoking cigarettes for 28 years; I guess he’s in his early forties. He looks younger. Born in Poland, moved to Germany at seven, he eventually came to America—the land of fortune and great opportunity. He has been working at the squeegee board for nine years at this same run-down warehouse but appears relatively content. There is no union in this advertising sign-making company. The conditions, pay, and fringe benefits are poor. On the day shift there are mainly blacks, Puerto Ricans and Italians taking what they can get in the way of wages. Pay is only about $4/hour to start, probably $6-7 after 2-3 years or at most $10/hr. after 8-10 years on the job would be my guess.

Andy and I casually talked about his country, German cars versus American cars, planned obsolescence, the conversation having political undertones, naturally. After talking for some time, we concluded that this country is not fair. As he stated, The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. Heard that one before.

He turned and smiled ending up, But wad ya gonna do? in his Polish accent.

I really felt for this guy. He told me how his German wife also worked away so they could survive. He is noticeably neat in his dress, his precision printing and general mannerisms. I cannot relate to his life of past, present and projected routine. It’s like he’s lived his life. He knows the future will be like the present and the present is exactly like the past. There is nothing to look forward to, nothing to look back on that’s any different from today, yesterday and tomorrow. It’s so shallow, so empty and dead. Dead at least for me. His past has been so different from mine, it’s interesting to see the difference in security needs. This job for me is an experience at the most. I didn’t need the money, the work was of the most menial nature, and the task is generally mindless once it has been learned. It is like learning to tie your shoes—once you’ve learned it, you don’t even think about what you are doing as you do it. Your mind can be in Alaska, in bed with a woman, in Hawaii or fantasizing about starting a bar. Your mind is far from your job while you are performing it.

As stated before, intellect here is not the greatest. I suppose education is nil or obviously these people wouldn’t be tied to such a lousy way to make a buck for SURVIVAL. As the Polish worker said, It takes both my wife and I to make it. After a house payment and buying groceries and clothing, not much, if anything, is left. It is really sad but as he said Wad ya gonna do? The utter feeling of helplessness. I really wonder about other jobs he took when he first came to America. I mentioned the difference in levels of security between this fellow and myself. Obviously he must have found a great deal of security to latch on to this job for nine years and decide—that great decision—to settle down with his foreign-born wife, both strangers in a strange land and buy a house. He told me that was the thing holding him back from returning to Germany where his wife was born. He does intend to return in two or three years—for a three-week stay. Can you imagine that fantasy? Earning survival wages between him and his wife and planning to return to Germany for a vacation! This stranger was so very human and kind. I really think he is happy where he is at but sensitive about his intelligence as the other people are that I’ve been around—at least the 30-40 years old blacks and whites were.

Breaks are something else. For hours on end the workers will quiz each other on the most meaningless riddles which, to use as any criteria for intelligence, would be idiotic itself.

Tonight, for half the night, I was wiping glass plates to ready them for printing. A black man of about 30-35 years was working next to the Polish worker whom I was assisting. A game was initiated of one-upmanship using riddles as a criterion for knowledge and smarts. The questions were of the nature that you almost had to hear them before to figure them out—something that a late-night TV host would ask if that helps any at all—something ‘wacky’ if you please. When no response was given, immediately remarks like, You don’t know anything do you? would ensue. It was all amusing, but feelings were involved at a sub-rosa level. I was the third unbiased member in the game and often quick glances indicated they wanted me to settle the intellectual battle of sorts in the overall game. I tried and think I did remain neutral as I looked uninterested on the outside. The Polish worker confidently asked,

What other animal has sexual intercourse the way humans do—from the front?

The black cat could not answer immediately and began throwing out anything in response after long intervals of silent, determined thought to solve the question and win the inning of the game, so to speak.

A possum, he would say.

No, a possum do it thru da nose.

No, a possum does it through da mouth, the black would answer in a persistent, jesting retort.

The Pole would then have a really determined put down look on his face and diligently work away as if to pretend that was the top priority in his mind. After long moments of drifting in silence, the black would ask again about the question.

This is an animal with four legs in this country?

The Pole responded positively, and the determined look