Heart Mountain Wyoming Foundation Historic Site caretaker Johnny Tim Yellowtail likes it when his friends call him “JT.” But having a nickname is entirely different from having your name changed …
This item is available in full to subscribers.
The Powell Tribune has expanded its online content. To continue reading, you will need to either log in to your subscriber account, or purchase a subscription.
If you are a current print subscriber, you can set up a free web account by clicking here.
If you already have a web account, but need to reset it, you can do so by clicking here.
If you would like to purchase a subscription click here.
Please log in to continue |
|
Heart Mountain Wyoming Foundation Historic Site caretaker Johnny Tim Yellowtail likes it when his friends call him “JT.” But having a nickname is entirely different from having your name changed by the federal government because your name is too long.
Yellowtail’s grandfather, Robert Hawk with a Yellow Tail-feather, was taken from his family at age 4 and sent to a Montana American Indian boarding school in 1893. He wouldn’t see his family again until he was an adult. At least he survived the experience, unlike many of the Indian children who were physically, sexually, mentally and emotionally abused or died in one of the many government schools set up to “civilize” children in the Anglo-American culture. The process stripped the children of their heritage in efforts to assimilate them to the white culture. Part of the process evidently meant having Robert’s given name changed.
“Once you’re put into a boarding school, you were not allowed to see your parents again until you were the age of 18. So when Robert was in the boarding schools, he said that it was one of the harshest punishments that he ever went through,” Yellowtail said Friday during a speech at the Mineta-Simpson Institute. “A lot of these little girls and little boys got raped by the staff and a lot of these little girls got pregnant by the staff. They didn’t want this information to get out, so that’s why they were getting murdered in the boarding schools by the age of 10 or 11.”
Yet, by the time Robert Yellowtail was that age he was sent to the Sherman Indian High School in California due to his high level of intelligence, bravery and his “stubborn” attitude, Johnny said. While in school Robert excelled, eventually heading to the University of Chicago where he graduated with a law degree at the age of 20.
“After he graduated high school, he told himself that he wanted to help his people,” Johnny said, adding “When he came back to the reservation with his law degree, they said he came back at the right time because this is when his arch rival, Sen. Thomas Walsh, an American lawyer and Democratic Party politician from Helena, opened up 1.8 million acres of their land to homesteaders.”
A tribal leader
Many in the tribe couldn’t speak English, so Robert, who spoke perfect English became an important man in the Apsáalooke Crow Tribe. They went to Washington, D.C. to fight for their rights and misappropriated land.
It took seven years for Walsh to admit defeat, but in 1917 the Crow won their battle.
“When that happened, our chiefs and the warriors all stood up because the crows were victorious ... and they started singing the warrior victory song,” Johnny said.
In 1930, Robert became the superintendent for the tribe. He was able to convince area farmers to give about 40,000 acres of former tribal lands back to the Absáalooke. Then Robert helped bring buffalo back, now numbering about 800 head, Johnny said.
Robert also convinced many Crow warriors to enlist and fight for the U.S. during World War II. Out of all the ethnic groups, Johnny said, the Crow Nation had the most volunteers in the country.
Then, after the war, the tribe became embroiled in a fight between two sides; those who did and those who didn’t want a dam on the Bighorn River at Ft. Smith. Robert was against flooding the valley because many chiefs and warriors were buried there. The land was considered “sacred” to the Crow, Johnny said.
The fight over the dam was so polarizing that the tribe started having two different Crow Fairs with participants basing attendance on which side of the dam debate they were on. Robert tried to negotiate with the federal government for a better deal for the tribe, but in the end the tribe was only paid about $600 per tribal member, or about $5 million for the land.
The government, in an attempt to find support for the deal, decided to name the dam after Robert Yellowtail. But he wasn’t pleased with the announcement nor supportive of the dam project.
“They still turned around and named it after him. They tried to say it was an honor, but it was more of a slap in the face,” Johnny said.
One last fight
In the 1970s a mining company wanted to dig coal on Crow land, only proposing giving the members a very small amount of the profits. Robert Yellowtail was once again called on to fight for the Crow.
“[Tribal members] said that coal was worth more than [what was offered], Johnny said. “They rallied around Robert again, he went to court, and this time the Crows were victorious.”
Thanks to help from Robert, the tribe was then able to be self-sufficient, Johnny said. His selflessness cemented his legacy in the tribe before he passed away in 1988.
Johnny Tim Yellowtail was young when his grandfather passed away, but one of his fondest memories came from a celebration honoring Robert.
To honor someone through dance, they move counter-clockwise with the honoree up front. During the dance it was considered bad manners to move ahead of the honoree in the dance line. However, Johnny was young and absolutely loved to dance in his native regalia. During the dance, as children sometimes do, Johnny got ahead of himself and ended up dancing to the front of the line. He was just about to be grabbed and dragged off the stage, but Johnny’s grandfather said let him dance.
“I went in front of him and I started dancing. And people started kind of freaking out, you know. But my grandpa stopped everybody,” Johnny said of the fond memory.
The Crow and Japanese detainees share a reverence for Heart Mountain and continue to honor the mountain. The two cultures also share the experience of being removed from their land.
“[The Crow] were forcibly removed from this site long before Japanese Americans were forcibly moved to this site,” said Foundation Executive Director Aura Sunada Newlin. “That mountain is very sacred to Crow people in a similar way that is very sacred to us as Japanese Americans.”