Here they are, for better or worse.
Stories Worth Rereading > Standing Bear's Speech | Various
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Standing Bear’s Speech
from The Indian Journal
The first time an Indian was permitted to appear in court in this country and have his rights tried was in the year 1879. Previous to this every Indian in the United States was subject to the orders of the Secretary of the Interior. If he happened to be a man of a tyrannical nature, the Indians fared hard. One Secretary of the Interior had caused all the Poncas Indians to be driven, at the point of bayonet, from northern Nebraska down to Indian Territory, depriving them of lands to which they held government deeds. They were left in the new country for months without rations, and more than one third of them died. Among these was the son of Standing Bear. The old chief refused to have the boy buried in the strange country, and, gathering about thirty members of his tribe together, he started for their ancient hunting-grounds, intending to bury his boy where generations of the Poncas chiefs lay.
The Secretary of the Interior heard of the runaways, and through the War Department telegraphed to General Crook, of Omaha, to arrest the Indians, and return them to Indian Territory. So General Crook arrested Standing Bear and his followers, and took them all, with the old wagon that contained the body of the dead boy, down to Omaha.
Standing Bear told his story to the general, who was already familiar with many wrongs that had been committed against the Indians, and who was indignant at their treatment. He detained the Indians at Omaha until he consulted with a Mr. Tibbles, an editor of a newspaper. They agreed to espouse the cause of the Indians, securing to Standing Bear a trial in the United States court. It was the most notable trial ever brought in the West, and, in fact, the scope was as wide as any ever tried in this country; for upon its decision one hundred thousand persons were made citizens.
Mr. Tibbles, who attended every session of the court, describes what took place, in the following words:
The court room was crowded with fashionably dressed women; and the clergy, which had been greatly stirred by the incident, were there in force. Lawyers, every one in Nebraska, and many from the big Eastern cities; business men; General Crook and his staff in their dress uniforms (this was one of the few times in his life that Crook wore full dress in public); and the Indians themselves, in their gaudy colors. The court room was a galaxy of brilliancy.
A few days afterward Judge Dundy handed down his famous decision, in which he announced that an Indian was a “person,” and was entitled to the protection of the law. Standing Bear and his followers were set free; and, with his old wagon and the body of the dead child, he went back to the hunting-grounds of his fathers, and buried the body with tribal honors.
I said good-bye to the war....
Typical ambiance during the Second Indochina War
My tenure in the (late) Republic of Viet Nam during the Second Indochina War included part-time work in a civilian capacity for Civil Operations and Revolutionary Development Support, an organization operating under the protective political cover of the U.S. Agency for International Development. My full-time job involved enlistment in the U.S. Air Force Security Service, 6924th Security Squadron, near Da Nang Air Base. I was a Radio Intercept Analysis Specialist, RI20250-1. This identity card (fingerprints on the reverse) used to be medium green in color, but has faded over time. But then, I've faded as well.
Pan American Airways took me back to the States.
I moved to Portland, Oregon....
Mount Hood guards the eastern approaches to Portland.
The "counterculture" had established itself.
Those were the days of eight-column newspapers.
Humans went to the Moon....
S69-39526 (16 July 1969) --- The huge, 363-feet tall Apollo 11 (Spacecraft 107/Lunar Module 5/Saturn 506) space vehicle is launched from Pad A, Launch Complex 39 Kennedy Space Center (KSC), at 9:32 a.m. (EDT), July 16, 1969. Onboard the Apollo 11 spacecraft were astronauts Neil A. Armstrong, commander; Michael Collins, command module pilot; and Edwin E. Aldrin Jr., lunar module pilot. Apollo 11 is the United States first lunar landing mission. Astronauts Armstrong and Aldrin will descend in the Lunar Module (LM) "Eagle" to explore the Sea of Tranquility region of the moon, while astronaut Collins remains with the Command and Service Modules (CSM) "Columbia" in lunar orbit.
The lunar module [LM] was a two-stage vehicle designed for space operations near and on the Moon. The spacecraft mass of 15,065 kg was the mass of the LM including astronauts, propellants and expendables. The dry mass of the ascent stage was 2180 kg and it held 2639 kg of propellant. The descent stage dry mass was 2034 kg and 8212 kg of propellant were onboard initially. The ascent and descent stages of the LM operated as a unit until staging, when the ascent stage functioned as a single spacecraft for rendezvous and docking with the command and service module (CSM). The descent stage comprised the lower part of the spacecraft and was an octagonal prism 4.2 meters across and 1.7 m thick. Four landing legs with round footpads were mounted on the sides of the descent stage and held the bottom of the stage 1.5 m above the surface. The distance between the ends of the footpads on opposite landing legs was 9.4 m. One of the legs had a small astronaut egress platform and ladder. A one meter long conical descent engine skirt protruded from the bottom of the stage. The descent stage contained the landing rocket, two tanks of aerozine 50 fuel, two tanks of nitrogen tetroxide oxidizer, water, oxygen and helium tanks and storage space for the lunar equipment and experiments. The descent stage served as a platform for launching the ascent stage and was left behind on the Moon.
The mission's Extra-Vehicular Activity (EVA) took place on 20 July 1969. Lunar Module Pilot Aldrin made this photograph with a Hasselblad 500 Electric Data Camera; Commander Armstrong is working at the Lunar Module's Modularized Equipment Stowage Assembly (MESA). This is the only photograph of Armstrong made during the EVA.
Sharon Tate and others were murdered....
Sharon Marie Tate (1943-1969). "I honestly don't understand the big fuss made over nudity and sex in films. It's silly. On TV, the children can watch people murdering each other, which is a very unnatural thing, but they can't watch two people in the very natural process of making love. Now, really, that doesn't make any sense, does it?"
Sharon was athletic, fluent in Italian, shy, well liked, well read, well traveled, witty. Tess of the d'Urbervilles: A Pure Woman Faithfully Presented by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) was her final read. Sharon loved animals, life, people, the universe ... and then she was gone.
The murders took place on 9 August 1969 at 10050 Cielo Drive in Los Angeles. In addition to Sharon and her unborn child—who would have been named Paul Richard Polanski—Abigail Anne Folger (1943-1969), Wojciech Frykowski (1936-1969), Thomas John Kummer a.k.a. Jay Sebring (1933-1969) and Steven Earl Parent (1951-1969) were murdered at the house on Cielo Drive.
I've no doubt those last two events will seem like quaint folklore to many of you, but they were electrifying at the time. I still become upset whenever I think of Sharon Tate and her friends who were murdered via a useless low-life shitbag's dementia.
A Song Of Despair
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
—Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto a.k.a. Pablo Neruda (1904-1973) from Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada [Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair] (Santiago: Editorial Nascimento, 1924) translated by William Stanley Merwin (b. 1927)
I was born at New York city and have lived in various places both Occidental and Oriental. Subjectively-chosen highlights: U.S. Air Force Security Service, 1965-69; University of Oregon School of Journalism, B.Sc., 1973; Lane County Chapter, Vietnam Veterans Against the War; worked in positions of increasing responsibility within the journalistic media of magazines, newspapers, radio and television; retired.|
NOW FOR SOMETHING (NOT) COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
DeviantART Stamps: Immediately below are "stamps"—made by artists who are members of this Web site—depicting a few of my favorite things. This collection will grow, in the fullness of time.
Lissi was my feline hostess whilst I was at Reading in the U.K. during my "European Tour" of 2008. Lissi died in her sleep on Sunday, 17th March 2013. She was a wonderful person and I shall always miss her, even though our relationship was all too brief.
You can see, via the audio-visual file below, what level of quality YouTube affords its customers who choose to record on YouTube's own Web site. Imagine you're screening a beat-up 16-millimeter sound film, projected on the wall by a noisy old projector; and further imagine the film's sprocket holes are all torn up, so the sprocket wheels can't engage properly and synchronization is continuously lost.
Ta da! See what I mean? Never mind that the subject matter isn't exactly riveting; but even such a tedious presentation as this deserves better technical treatment by YouTube. Nevertheless I'm leaving it just the way it is, since it reinforces my old-man image.