The Hotel Leecy, the largest and “most commodious hotel” on the reservation, was advertised on a side column in almost every issue of the Tomahawk. The hotel served daily communal meals with seasonal fish, game, and vegetables, and provided a livery stable. John Leecy, the proprietor, allowed us to ride free on the horse carriage between the hotel and the train station because we always promoted the hotel to arriving passengers. Leecy admired our ambition and hired us a few months later to feed and groom horses in the hotel livery stable.
Aloysius painted two blue ravens perched on the back of a roan stallion owned by John Spratt. Two years later he invited us to work in his harness shop. That was a very good job at the time, one of the best, because we continued to care for horses and at the same time learned about the harness business. We learned how to forge and fashion metal, but later we returned to work in the livery stable at the Hotel Leecy. Daily we encountered travelers and government bureaucrats who stayed at the hotel, and every visitor talked with us about horses and the future. No one ever talked to us about the forged parts of a harness. The blue ravens my brother painted and my tricky stories would become the crucial totems and portraits of our future service in the First World War.
The Leecy, Hiawatha, and Headquarters were the only hotels on the reservation, and there was a summer boarding house in the community of Beaulieu. Louis Brisbois, the proprietor of the Hotel Headquarters, rented clean rooms, according to the newspaper advertisements, and the “tables are always provided with fish, game and vegetables in their season.” Aloysius sold Brisbois a blue raven perched on the peak of the hotel, and he invited us to work in the kitchen for food and money. The invitation was very tempting, the food and pay, but we were more interested in horses at the time, and naturally we were loyal to our uncle and to John Leecy.
The Pioneer Store, established by Robert Fairbanks, and many other merchants and traders in groceries, lumber, and sundries, advertised in every issue of the Tomahawk. The Motion Picture Theater, the first and only theater on the reservation, was promoted on the back page of the newspaper. Movies were shown twice a week. The tickets cost ten cents on Tuesday and twenty cents on Saturday.
Augustus treated us to our first movie, short scenes about trains and cowboys, but the tiny theater was musty, crowded, and the actors were crude and dopey. The cost of a single movie ticket was about the total income for a day of newspaper sales at the station, so we saved our money to travel on the Soo Line Railroad to Winnipeg, Minneapolis, or Montreal.
I started to write scenes and stories that summer, and imitated the newspaper style of the patent insides. Later, the government teachers corrected my style, and they would not believe the sources of my literary inspiration. My first written scenes were tightly packed with descriptive, imitative, derivative images and analogies. Most of my scenes were not yet original expressions or even creative enough to be considered unintended irony or mockery.
Aloysius painted blue ravens posed as the engineer of the train, as haughty passengers, and enormous ravens seated in the caboose, perched on the water tower, and blue ravens waiting at the station. Later he painted ravens with blue bluchers, blue women with raven beaks, and the station agent with blue wings. I wanted to write in the same way that he painted.
Together we sold an average of ten copies of the Tomahawk two or three times a week at the Ogema Station. We earned a total of about thirty cents a week, and after three months of hawking the newspaper that summer at the station we had earned less than two dollars each. Not enough to buy two train tickets to Winnipeg or Minneapolis.
The Feast of Good Cheer was our deliverance.
Aloysius sold several portrayals of blue ravens on newsprint but together we sold only four copies of the Tomahawk to relatives at the fortieth anniversary of the treaty settlement of the White Earth Reservation on May 25, 1908. Naturally there were pony races and music by the native White Earth Band. Augustus raised his whiskey bottle and praised our success as hawkers of his newspaper. We smoked a peace pipe for the first time that summer at the reservation anniversary, and we ate with the adults at the Feast of Good Cheer.
Soo Line Railroad tickets were more expensive than the cost of travel on the old Red River Oxcart Trail that ran four hundred miles from Winnipeg or the Selkirk Settlement through the reservation near the trading post at Beaulieu and White Earth to Detroit Lakes and the final destination in Saint Paul, Minnesota.
The deep ruts of the oxcart wheels were evident on the entire route north to south across the reservation. Aloysius was always ready for an adventure. We were eight years old the first time we walked several miles in the old wagon ruts on our way to another world. The weather turned out to be the adventure, however, not the route of the oxcarts. A severe thunderstorm, lightning, thunder, and heavy rain, changed the rutted course of our adventure to rivers. We took cover under a huge white pine and waited for the storm to pass. The oxcart wagon ruts overflowed, natural tributaries of an obsolete time, and our great adventure ended with stories of a memorable thunderstorm.
The new railroad, station, and the weekly newspaper became our sense of the future, although later we actually earned more money mucking out the livery stable at the Hotel Leecy. Yes, at the time the muck of horses provided a better salary than hawking newspapers with patent cosmopolitan news stories about the nation and the world.
Aloysius painted two solemn blue ravens seated on a bench at the railroad station in Mahnomen. The huge beaks of the ravens were covered with dark blue spots. A copy of the Tomahawk was on the bench next to the blue ravens. The banner headline was a single word, SMALLPOX. Wisely we never hawked that scary headline of the newspaper, and there was no reason to reveal the actual story that smallpox had been reported at Munroe House in Mahnomen. The Minnesota Board of Health had released the same report that “smallpox was increasing” in the state.
That afternoon we announced instead that the “Japanese landed more than thirty thousand troops in Wonsan, Korea,” and expected to “advance on Vladivostok” in Russia. We sold three papers with that headline, and four more copies with the report that “annuities due under the old treaties will be paid to the Mississippi and Lake Superior bands by Agent Michelet.” The annuity payments started on Monday, May 29, 1908, and each person received $8.40 in cash. Naturally our families were there for the carnival of treaty payments. Our relatives danced and told stories about the fantastic new worlds of railroads and automobiles.
The Great White Fleet was news that week in the Tomahawk so we hawked the story at the station. President Theodore Roosevelt had ordered the fleet to sail around the world for about two years to demonstrate the naval power and mastery of the United States. The great fleet left San Francisco on July 7, 1908. Not one paper was sold in the name of the ironic pale peace voyage.
Aloysius painted blue ravens on the mast of ships and named the Great White Fleet the Great Blue Peace Fleet. The chalky color code of the fleet was an obvious contradiction of sentiments. The color of peace was not the same as the notion of naval power. The Blue Fleet would have been a more humane and enlightened color in Australia, New Zealand, Philippine Islands, Brazil, Chile, Peru, and San Francisco. The blue ravens represented a greater sense of peace than the voyage of dominance around the world by sixteen white battleships of the United States Navy.
William Jennings Bryan was nominated for president at the Democratic National Convention that summer in Denver. Clearly there was no need to shout out that story because the mere mention of his name sold nine copies of the Tomahawk, more than any other person, place, scandal, or political story. Bryan ran three times for the presidency. He never won the electorate but he was greatly admired by natives on the White Earth Reservation.
The next train arrived later that afternoon from Winnipeg and we hawked the newspaper story about an absurd prison sentence. Emma Goldman, considered the antichrist of anarchism, touched the very hand of an army private and that single touch became news around the world. The private was sentenced to five years in prison. The train passengers were apparently not interested in the story and turned away. We hawked the name of Emma Goldman down the aisle of the passenger car but the ironic news of a soldier and the touch of a great anarchist was not good enough to read on the