By Tom Danehy
MANY people's lives are defined by lines. Lines they stand
behind, lines they walk along, lines they suddenly cross. For
Eagle Woman Ereaux, her interaction with the line is definitely
a straddle. The 18-year-old high-school senior-to-be jumps back
and forth between legal adult and mischievous kid, between serious
steen outstanding athlete and clear answer to the question, "What's
wrong with this picture?"
But mostly, she's a strange kid in a strange land, a Lakota Sioux
in the Land of Casual Hispanics and So-What Anglos. A young woman
who is intellectually and physically at peace with her surroundings,
and yet is constantly--maddeningly--hearing the spiritual call
to return home.
Hers is a journey long ago begun, but one which will not be over
'til it's over--and maybe not even then. In the meantime, she
saunters through life, a ball of incongruities, struggling hard
to throw off the shackles of old stereotypes, while at the same
time wildly embracing the new one.
She's Eagle Woman, Native American Basketball Player.
The first day she walked into the Amphi High gym, she looked
like she had been dressed by blind people with really bad senses
of humor. Barely 5-foot-4, she was wearing an oversized hockey
jersey that Shaquille O'Neal would probably have to tuck in, shorts
big enough for two, and socks up to her knees. Shiite Muslim women
often show more skin.
And she had on the Jordans, the latest in the assembly line of
over-priced, over-valued shoes no longer coveted by serious ballers,
but instead worn mostly by wannabes and fashion flaunts.
School starts at 9:30 a.m. on Thursdays at Amphi High, allowing
for teacher workshops and such. But a handful of die-hard girls
show up at 7:30, on a day they could blessedly sleep in, to play
ball. They are the few, the dedicated, the insomniacs. The Thursday
morning open gym is not so much a secret as it is something which
is actively avoided by those who see those two extra hours of
sack time as a gift from God Hisself.
She introduced herself as "Wamnee Wea" (Wom-nee Wee-uh),
which is Lakota for Eagle Woman, and asked if she could play.
A coach who was there at the time told her that she looked like
she had been mugged by Tommy Hilfiger. She was told that while
it was open to all, the games were generally played by serious
ballers, not goof-arounds, but she was welcome to play if she
came back looking like someone who had actually touched a basketball
at some time in her life.
Eagle disappeared into a bathroom, then emerged wearing regular
shorts (defined as going only to the knee, not mid-shin) and a
jersey which read "HARLEM Basketball." When asked about
it, she replied, "It's Harlem, Montana, on my reservation.
I've been to that other Harlem, but mine is tougher."
And so it began.
SHE HAD AN outgoing, breezy personality, belying the inner
turmoil which can only be dragged out of her in rare times of
a lowered guard. She quickly became popular in the tight-knit
basketball sisterhood. She showed up for every open gym and worked
hard. Her game was raggedy, but the passion was there. That's
a combination that's vastly preferable to a great game with no
passion, which translates to...oh, the 1999 Los Angeles Lakers,
I suppose.
There was a Navajo kid from Winslow, where girls basketball championships
are as common as dust storms and lost tourists, trying out for
the team, as well. The kid, whom Wamnee referred to as her "cousin,"
had the good game/bad 'tude mix. After a couple games where she
displayed great offensive skills and no desire to play defense,
the coach told her, "You couldn't guard a chair with a gun."
The kid went back to Winslow.
Wamnee stuck it out. She tried out for, and made, the junior
varsity team, which would end up being the best in Amphi school
history. Her coach that year was Rebecca Chilton, a truly scary
mix of drop-dead beauty and stomach-turning intensity. The tanned,
blonde Chilton (no one ever calls her "Rebecca"; it's
too soft) was a former national rodeo star who had excelled in
three sports at Buckeye (Arizona) High School and had played basketball
and volleyball in college.
Chilton loved Wamnee as a person, but bristled at the kid's undisciplined
game. They got along like, well, cowboys and Indians. Sorry.
Borrowing a line from a colleague, Chilton said that Wamnee "would
rather pass a kidney stone than a basketball." Plus, the
kid apparently never met a shot she didn't like or wouldn't try
to force at the most inopportune time. She ended up deep on Chilton's
bench, where she stayed most of that season.
The only time she got to start was when Chilton, after unsuccessfully
battling pneumonia for a week, was ordered by her doctor to get
some bed rest. The aforementioned colleague coached the JVs that
one day and started Wamnee, as much to piss off his buddy Chilton
as anything else. Wamnee responded with a solid all-around game
as Amphi crushed the host Sabino team.
When Chilton returned to the team, Wamnee returned to the bench.
But she played well in spots the rest of the season and remained
generally upbeat.
When the season ended, she seemed destined to play a second year
of JV ball the next year. But a funny thing happened. She showed
up at the gym the very next day and began working. (Serious hint
to prospective ballplayers and/or their parents: The only thing
that will put a smile on a basketball coach's face faster than
showing up on that symbolic "first day of the next season"
is to have freshman twins walk into the office to introduce themselves,
having to pause to duck their heads through the doorway.)
HER PARENTS USED to show up to the games and they seemed
normal enough, or as normal as possible considering he's a farrier
and she a law student. Her mother, Michelle, is a petite, always
soft-spoken woman with sad eyes that seem to reflect the entire
tragic scope of modern Native American history. She holds a degree
in Computer Science from the University of Connecticut and, over
the years, had worked for the tribe in various white-collar capacities.
A few years back, she made a mid-life decision to become a tribal
lawyer. She was accepted by the University of Arizona Law School,
and the family moved to Tucson.
Eagle Woman's father, Charles, is almost too Indian-looking to
be true. Strong face, even stronger chest. Arms that undoubtedly
made a tribal cop or two think twice about hassling him during
the troubles on the rez back in the 70s.
Through happenstance or circumstance, Charles and Michelle had
found themselves deep in the mess a quarter century ago. Michelle,
who was originally from Florida, had moved to the Sioux Reservation
shortly after college. Idealistic and headstrong, she draws scary
parallels to the character of Maggie Eagle Bear in the movie Thunderheart.
The big difference is that, in the movie, Maggie ends up dead,
face-down in a gully.
Michelle nods calmly and says, "Other people have made that
comparison. I can say that I often feared for my life in those
days. They were bad days."
An understatement, to be sure. Almost open warfare raged in the
Sioux Nation in the early '70s, and it was a four-sided affair
among Traditionals, who wanted a return to the old ways; the American
Indian Movement, an outgrowth of the radical '60s who generally
sided with the Traditionalists but were branded as Commies by
others; the FBI; and the self-titled GOONs ("Guardians Of
the Oglala Nation"). With oil and mineral companies gladly
greasing the palms of crooked Indian politicians with millions
of dollars in graft while other on the reservation were near starvation,
the place was a tinderbox. And the Ereauxs were right in the middle
of it.
(Writer's note: For a gripping account of these years, which
came to a head with the killing of two FBI agents and the subsequent
conviction and imprisonment of Leonard Peltier for their deaths,
read Peter Mathiesson's masterwork of investigative, opinionated
non-fiction, In The Spirit of Crazy Horse.)
"Terrible things happened back then," recalls Charles
Ereaux. "People you had grown up with were all of a sudden
your mortal enemy, bought off by the GOONs with a new pickup truck
and a color TV. You learned not to trust anybody, and that's the
worst part. The history of the Indian is built on trust. Mistrust
and greed were worse White Man's poison than smallpox."
They eventually moved on to the Ft. Belknap Reservation in northern
Montana, less than an hour's drive from the Canadian border, and
started a family. First came a son, then Eagle Woman, followed
in a couple years by her younger sister, White Thunder Woman.
Eagle Woman remembers those days on the Ft. Belknap Reservation,
near the small town of Harlem. (If you check the map in the atlas,
you'll see that it's right near Zurich.) For a while, they lived
in a small ranch house which didn't have electricity. The Montana
winters are legendary, and Eagle Woman has vivid memories of lying
under several blankets at night, listening to the wind blast past
and through their house. (Just down the road from Zurich, Montana,
is the aptly-named Chinook.)
"It's weird," Wamnee says. "We were freezing to
death and I remember hoping that we wouldn't run out of wood for
the stove, but I can't help but look back at those days and smile.
They were hard times, but I feel like I belonged there."
Shunning what passed for society at the time, Michelle home-schooled
her kids for a while, but finally relented and sent them to school
in Harlem. It was here that Wamnee latched onto the time-honored
tradition of becoming the school's tomboy, earning that proud
title by beating up several of the toughest boys in the school.
She starred on the boy's baseball teams, but eventually gravitated
to basketball, despite (or perhaps because of) her diminutive
stature. She loved the game and played it all the time, even when
the wind was howling and the snow was blowing.
Over the past two decades, Indian Reservation basketball has
become a cultural phenomenon, raising its skilled practitioners
to icon status and making each home game by the local high school
a place of sound and fury, signifying a great deal to a great
many.
And so it was in Montana, where reservation schools often challenged
the "big-city" schools from Billings and Great Falls
for the state championships. The rise and tragic fall of one such
team was chronicled in a classic Sports Illustrated piece
which focused on the team's star, the wonderfully-named Jonathan
Takes Enemy.
The team had won the state crown and the players were heroes
on the rez. But within a few years of the championship, all had
fallen. Two of the starters were dead from alcohol-related problems.
One was in prison and another had been horribly injured in a car
crash.
At the time of the article, Jonathan Takes Enemy was at his third
or fourth "last-chance" college, trying desperately
to cling to his high-school basketball God-hood. During his senior
year, he had taken full advantage of his status and had impregnated
more females than Steve Garvey. With all the girls coming forward
claiming he was the father of their children, it was a wonder
he could get up and down the court.
"Indian basketball is an interesting thing," according
to Michele Francisco, a Tohono O'odham who starred for Sells Baboquivari
High in the early '90s. "In a way, it has become the drug
of choice for young Natives. It's a bleak, empty existence for
a lot of kids, so they find a ball and a hoop and just play all
the time.
"I read a history of basketball once," she continues.
"They said that a lot of people mistakenly believe that it's
always been a black person's game. But it was really an inner-city
game (where you can't always find a baseball diamond or football
field). It was first played by the Irish and Italians and Jews.
It wasn't until blacks replaced those other ethnic people in the
inner-city that it became a 'black-person's game.' So it's really
not surprising that Indians play it. Unfortunately, a lot of reservations
are the ghettos of the '90s."
WAMNEE'S HARD WORK in the spring of 1998 elevated her game
to Varsity level. She played with spirit and daring and mostly
under control. She went into the summer with high expectations
of success in the various leagues, tournaments and trips to far-off
places that have become the norm for high-school basketball these
days. Then the roof fell in.
Charles split on the family. He claimed it was something spiritual,
but Wamnee suspected otherwise. He ended up in Scottsdale, which,
of course, is the center of all things spiritual. Meanwhile, Michelle
packed up White Thunder Woman and Eagle Woman and headed back
to Ft. Belknap, where they spent much of the summer doing pretty
much nothing at all.
Charles eventually showed up and the family was reunited. (Michelle
tells the strangest story on that account. She claims that after
seeing the indie hit film Smoke Signals, Charles felt ashamed
and hurried back to his family. It's strange because after I saw
that film, all I felt was a blood rage toward that annoying character,
Thomas.)
Wamnee returned to Amphi in the fall, her skills somewhat eroded,
her confidence shaken. She was happy to see her friends, but after
having spent the summer on the rez, felt it pulling her back.
But she concentrated on her schoolwork, successfully swatted away
all the boys that seem to be constantly buzzing around the bundle
of energy, and made the Varsity team. The squad was coming off
its best season ever and appeared to be even better than the previous
year's group.
Then the cough showed up. And stayed. Basketball teams are natural
breeding grounds for more germs than a Woodstock reunion. You've
got a group of kids in close proximity, pretty much locked in
a building for two or three hours a day at the height of cold
and flu season. Illnesses can make several circuits of a team
in one season. During basketball season, most kids get sick, and
some kids stay sick.
Wamnee's cough got worse and worse as Christmas approached. She
was noticeably weaker and had trouble running the sprints in practice.
Just after New Year's, Amphi had a non-conference game at Santa
Rita, a team which had upset the Panthers in a pre-season tournament.
There would be no upset that night, as Amphi rolled to a 40-point
win.
Wamnee was playing well off the bench, but then she started coughing.
She told the coach not to take her out, but he did, anyway. She
sat on the bench and coughed into a towel. When she pulled the
towel back, it was soaked with blood.
Her parents took her to the hospital, where the doctor said she
had pneumonia. Indications were that she had had it for more than
a month. She missed several games and when she finally returned,
many pounds lighter and weak from the ordeal, her playing time
went back down to Chilton-era levels.
Her team won the first-ever girls basketball conference championship
in school history. She recovered enough to represent the 5A-South
Conference in the statewide 3-point shooting competition at halftime
of the boys state championship game at America West Arena. She
finished third in the state.
In March, she was walking her dog one evening when she was accosted
by two males in their late teens. One made an improper remark
about her anatomy and she, perhaps recalling her halcyon days
in Harlem, punched him right in the face. The other began punching
and kicking her. She fought back as best she could until a passing
motorist stopped and the thugs ran off. The next day, she proudly
displayed her facial bruises at school. She still had what it
took.
When the season got over, she drifted away for a while. She began
traveling on weekends, performing traditional dances at powwows
around the Southwest. New Mexico one week, Nevada the next. She
loves her people, but in many instances, has come to resent their
lifestyle. The basketball reference would be hatin' the game,
but not the playa'.
"I naturally have a lot of Indian friends, but it's ridiculous.
All they do is drink and complain. I tell them, 'Think back. I'll
bet the first person who put a bottle of alcohol in your hand
wasn't white.' We do this to ourselves and then we perpetuate
the stereotypes.
"I know I'm not going to do that stuff. I'm not going to
drink, I'm not going to have a kid before I get married. Thunder
and I are going to get an education. Maybe we'll both be lawyers
with our Mom."
She said this just before getting into a car and leaving Tucson
again. They're headed back to the reservation for what Wamnee
smiles and calls "another summer in the Third World."
There was some talk about getting jobs at a summer camp in Minnesota,
but both Thunder and Eagle agree that they'll probably just end
up back on the rez.
Wamnee says she'll be back for her senior year at Amphi. Michelle
needs only one more year of law school to graduate. And with four
starters back from last year's team, the Panthers should be favored
to repeat as 5A-South champs.
She says she'll play ball, but admits she's lost some of the
fire. She realizes that her size and circumstances limit her future
in the game. She doesn't see basketball as a means to an end as
much as a means to a dead end. She'll play it because, like the
land, she can't resist its siren song.
Oscar Wilde said he could resist everything except temptation.
Wamnee can resist everything except that which defines what she
is and what she does at this moment in time. Right now, she's
an Indian and she's a ballplayer. Not somebody's girlfriend, not
somebody's drinking buddy. She's Eagle Woman and she stands apart.
|