April 18. 2008
Chief:
How frightening it must feel, when the fire is racing towards you, and you are surrounded by mountains. No place to run, no one to ask for help. nowhere to fly away. That's how I imagine a wounded eagle, in the lands where the Sun goes down.
That's how i felt when I read your letter. I wish I could perform miracles. I wish I could chase away the bad spirits surrounding you. Spirits of the flesh and of the mind.
I wish I could stop your boat from sinking. I wish I could gather big buckets and extract the bad waters. I wish I could keep you afloat!
This weekend, God has found you. No place to hide, God has tagged you. And if the winds are right, you will find tranquility, peace and love. In fact, God has always been there walking in your shadow. The question is? Have you looked back to see him? Make no mistake where you are. No more playing hide-and-seek with him. This is it!
The winds have brought you this far. Don't keep him waiting. With eyes that look into the darkness of souls, he has extended his arms toward you. Reach out and touch him. Reach out and hug him. Soon you will be free.
He has heard you crying in the night. Put your hand in the air and touch him. He is there. He is there for you and me. He has been there all along, and I will be here for you aslong as he permits my heart to beat like the drum.
Love you,
Fito
Monday, September 13, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Comanche Code Talker Charles Chibitty Dies
By Joe Holley
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Charles Chibitty, 83, the last of the Comanche code talkers who used their native tongue to confound Hitler's forces during World War II, died July 20 of complications of diabetes at St. Francis Hospital in Tulsa. He had been living at a Tulsa nursing home.
Mr. Chibitty, whose name means "holding on good" in Comanche, also was the last surviving hereditary chief of the tribe, the Comanche Nation reported. He was descended on his mother's side from Chief Ten Bears, known as one of the signers of the Medicine Lodge Treaty of 1867.
He was one of 17 Comanches from the Lawton, Okla., area who were selected in 1941 for special Army duty to provide the Allies with a language the Germans could not decipher. He served with the Army's 4th Infantry Division, 4th Signal Company.
The Comanche recruits created their code at Fort Benning, Ga., in 1941. "We compiled a 100-word vocabulary of military terms during training," Mr. Chibitty said in a 1999 interview with the Armed Forces Information Service. "The Navajo did the same thing. The Navajos became code talkers about a year after the Comanches, but there were over a hundred of them, because they had so much territory [in the Pacific Theater] to cover."
Mr. Chibitty landed at Utah Beach, one of 14 Comanches who hit the beaches of Normandy with Allied troops on D-Day. In presentations over the years, he recalled the first coded message he transmitted that day: "Five miles to the right of the designated area and five miles inland the fighting is fierce and we need help."
Because there was no Comanche word for "tank," the code talkers used their word for "turtle." "Bomber" became "pregnant airplane." "Hitler," Mr. Chibitty recalled, was "posah-tai-vo," or "crazy white man."
Two Comanches were assigned to each of the 4th Infantry Division's three regiments. They sent coded messages from the front line to division headquarters, where other Comanches decoded the messages. Some of the Comanches were wounded, but all survived the war. Their code was never broken.
"It's strange, but growing up as a child I was forbidden to speak my native language at school," Mr. Chibitty said in 2002. "Later my country asked me to. My language helped win the war, and that makes me very proud. Very proud."
Charles Joyce Chibitty was born in a tent near Medicine Park, Okla., a small community in the Wichita Mountains north of Lawton. Attending Haskell Indian School in Lawrence, Kan., he heard rumors not only of war but also of plans the military had to organize a native-speaking unit. He went home on Christmas break in 1940 and received his mother's permission to enlist.
The Army wanted 40 native speakers and managed to get 20. Three were sent home because they had dependents. Mr. Chibitty was one of the remaining 17 dispatched to Fort Benning and then to signal school at Fort Gordon, Ga.
As a radio man with the 4th Infantry Division, Mr. Chibitty took part in some of the fiercest fighting of the war, including the breakthrough at St. Lo, Hurtgen Forest, the Battle of the Bulge and the rescue of the "lost battalion." The division was the first American unit to participate in the liberation of Paris and the first infantry division to enter Germany.
Mr. Chibitty earned five campaign battle stars. In 1989, the French government honored the Comanche code talkers, including Mr. Chibitty, by presenting them with the Chevalier of the National Order of Merit.
In 1999, he received the Knowlton Award, which recognizes individuals for outstanding intelligence work, during a ceremony at the Pentagon's Hall of Heroes.
In addition to his work as a code talker, Mr. Chibitty was a champion boxer in the Army. He had learned to fight at Haskell Indian School.
After his discharge, he lived in Oklahoma, primarily in Tulsa, and worked as a glazier. He also gained fame as a champion fancy war dancer and was invited by many tribes to dance at their powwows.
"He was very good at that," said Lanny Asepermy, a retired Army sergeant major who serves as head of the Comanche Indian Veterans Association. "It's very physically demanding, but Charles was like a butterfly floating."
His wife, Elaine Chibitty, died in 1994. He also was preceded in death by a son and a daughter.
Survivors include three grandchildren.
By Joe Holley
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Charles Chibitty, 83, the last of the Comanche code talkers who used their native tongue to confound Hitler's forces during World War II, died July 20 of complications of diabetes at St. Francis Hospital in Tulsa. He had been living at a Tulsa nursing home.
Mr. Chibitty, whose name means "holding on good" in Comanche, also was the last surviving hereditary chief of the tribe, the Comanche Nation reported. He was descended on his mother's side from Chief Ten Bears, known as one of the signers of the Medicine Lodge Treaty of 1867.
He was one of 17 Comanches from the Lawton, Okla., area who were selected in 1941 for special Army duty to provide the Allies with a language the Germans could not decipher. He served with the Army's 4th Infantry Division, 4th Signal Company.
The Comanche recruits created their code at Fort Benning, Ga., in 1941. "We compiled a 100-word vocabulary of military terms during training," Mr. Chibitty said in a 1999 interview with the Armed Forces Information Service. "The Navajo did the same thing. The Navajos became code talkers about a year after the Comanches, but there were over a hundred of them, because they had so much territory [in the Pacific Theater] to cover."
Mr. Chibitty landed at Utah Beach, one of 14 Comanches who hit the beaches of Normandy with Allied troops on D-Day. In presentations over the years, he recalled the first coded message he transmitted that day: "Five miles to the right of the designated area and five miles inland the fighting is fierce and we need help."
Because there was no Comanche word for "tank," the code talkers used their word for "turtle." "Bomber" became "pregnant airplane." "Hitler," Mr. Chibitty recalled, was "posah-tai-vo," or "crazy white man."
Two Comanches were assigned to each of the 4th Infantry Division's three regiments. They sent coded messages from the front line to division headquarters, where other Comanches decoded the messages. Some of the Comanches were wounded, but all survived the war. Their code was never broken.
"It's strange, but growing up as a child I was forbidden to speak my native language at school," Mr. Chibitty said in 2002. "Later my country asked me to. My language helped win the war, and that makes me very proud. Very proud."
Charles Joyce Chibitty was born in a tent near Medicine Park, Okla., a small community in the Wichita Mountains north of Lawton. Attending Haskell Indian School in Lawrence, Kan., he heard rumors not only of war but also of plans the military had to organize a native-speaking unit. He went home on Christmas break in 1940 and received his mother's permission to enlist.
The Army wanted 40 native speakers and managed to get 20. Three were sent home because they had dependents. Mr. Chibitty was one of the remaining 17 dispatched to Fort Benning and then to signal school at Fort Gordon, Ga.
As a radio man with the 4th Infantry Division, Mr. Chibitty took part in some of the fiercest fighting of the war, including the breakthrough at St. Lo, Hurtgen Forest, the Battle of the Bulge and the rescue of the "lost battalion." The division was the first American unit to participate in the liberation of Paris and the first infantry division to enter Germany.
Mr. Chibitty earned five campaign battle stars. In 1989, the French government honored the Comanche code talkers, including Mr. Chibitty, by presenting them with the Chevalier of the National Order of Merit.
In 1999, he received the Knowlton Award, which recognizes individuals for outstanding intelligence work, during a ceremony at the Pentagon's Hall of Heroes.
In addition to his work as a code talker, Mr. Chibitty was a champion boxer in the Army. He had learned to fight at Haskell Indian School.
After his discharge, he lived in Oklahoma, primarily in Tulsa, and worked as a glazier. He also gained fame as a champion fancy war dancer and was invited by many tribes to dance at their powwows.
"He was very good at that," said Lanny Asepermy, a retired Army sergeant major who serves as head of the Comanche Indian Veterans Association. "It's very physically demanding, but Charles was like a butterfly floating."
His wife, Elaine Chibitty, died in 1994. He also was preceded in death by a son and a daughter.
Survivors include three grandchildren.
My Chief n Friend
Charles Chibitty (November 20, 1921 – July 20, 2005) was a Comanche Numunu code talker who used his native language to relay messages for the Allies during World War II. Chibitty, and 15 other Comanches had been recruited by the U.S. military for this purpose since Comanche was a language that was entirely unknown to the Germans, who were unable to decipher it. (The Navajos performed a similar duty in the Pacific War.)
Chibitty was born on November 20, 1921, in a tepee 16 miles west of Lawton, Oklahoma. He attended high school at the Haskell Indian School in Lawrence, Kansas and enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1941. He served in the Army's Fourth Signal Company in the 4th Infantry Division. He earned the World War II Victory Medal, the European Theater of Operations Victory Medal with five bronze stars, the European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal and the Good Conduct Medal.
In 1989, Chibitty and the other two surviving code talkers - Roderick Red Elk and Forrest Kassanavoid - were presented with the Chevalier of the Ordre National du Mérite by the French government. Chibitty's work — and that of the other Comanches who served in Europe — was not recognized by the U.S. government until 1999, when he received the Knowlton Award from The Pentagon, which recognizes outstanding intelligence work. By the time this recognition came around, Chibitty was the only surviving Comanche code talker.
In interviews with the media he would name all of his Comanche colleagues, so that they would not be forgotten. They were Larry Saupitty, Willie Yackeschi, Morris Sunrise, Perry Noyobad, Haddon Codynah, Robert Holder, Clifford Ototivo, Forrest Kassanavoid, Roderick Red Elk, Simmons Parker, Melvin Permansu, Ellington Mihecoby and Elgin Red Elk.
He died on July 20, 2005 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Chibitty was born on November 20, 1921, in a tepee 16 miles west of Lawton, Oklahoma. He attended high school at the Haskell Indian School in Lawrence, Kansas and enlisted in the U.S. Army in 1941. He served in the Army's Fourth Signal Company in the 4th Infantry Division. He earned the World War II Victory Medal, the European Theater of Operations Victory Medal with five bronze stars, the European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal and the Good Conduct Medal.
In 1989, Chibitty and the other two surviving code talkers - Roderick Red Elk and Forrest Kassanavoid - were presented with the Chevalier of the Ordre National du Mérite by the French government. Chibitty's work — and that of the other Comanches who served in Europe — was not recognized by the U.S. government until 1999, when he received the Knowlton Award from The Pentagon, which recognizes outstanding intelligence work. By the time this recognition came around, Chibitty was the only surviving Comanche code talker.
In interviews with the media he would name all of his Comanche colleagues, so that they would not be forgotten. They were Larry Saupitty, Willie Yackeschi, Morris Sunrise, Perry Noyobad, Haddon Codynah, Robert Holder, Clifford Ototivo, Forrest Kassanavoid, Roderick Red Elk, Simmons Parker, Melvin Permansu, Ellington Mihecoby and Elgin Red Elk.
He died on July 20, 2005 in Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
For Alamo's Defenders, New Assault to Repel
By ALLEN R. MYERSON,
Published: March 29, 1994
SAN ANTONIO— Before there were oil wells, before Neiman Marcus, Texans built their fierce pride on tales of revolutionary valor at the Alamo. But in recent years, a new generation of writers and politicians has taken another look at the Texas Revolution and called its leaders nuts, scoundrels and Anglo land-grabbers.
Davy Crockett, they say, did not wear a coonskin cap, and he tried to surrender at the Alamo rather than fighting to the death. William Barret Travis, the Alamo's commander, crazed from drinking mercury to treat venereal disease, never issued his legendary challenge for the brave to join him across his sword-drawn line in the dirt. Gen. Sam Houston, who was at least wise enough not to send reinforcements to the besieged fort, was a girdle-wearing opium addict.
And a major reason 189 Texans defended the Alamo against thousands of Mexicans in 1836, one researcher even says, was that Jim Bowie, who shared the Alamo command until falling ill, stole a hoard of silver and gold from Apaches he had butchered and hid it in a well on the Alamo grounds.
In Texas, this is no mere academic argument. All San Antonio, from Mayor Nelson Wolff to the owner of Uncle Hoppy's Alamo Plaza barbecue shack, has been swept up in a feud over who were the Alamo's true aggressors. By late March, city officials were making plans to rip up the street and plaza in front of the building to dig for the reputed treasure and Indian graves.
Things have gone so far that many Hispanic residents and several politicians want to wrest control of the site from the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, who have managed the building since the State Legislature entrusted it to them in 1905. The opponents, who include the leading candidate for mayor in next spring's election, accuse the Daughters of perpetuating myths that support white supremacy. The Daughters, more than 6,000 strong, are descendants of Texans before statehood. Conflicting Histories
Historians have long raised questions about some parts of the Alamo legend. But the latest generation of writers has challenged its very significance. For them, the Alamo symbolizes not the American settlers' struggle against tyranny but United States imperialism and racism triumphant over Mexicans and Indians.
Many of the Alamo's defenders, some current scholars say, were outlaws and mercenaries, hungry for land. The legend, these writers point out, is founded in Travis's letters appealing for help, "in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character."
"The Alamo is part of an Anglo-Texan creation myth," said Cynthia Orozco, who teaches Texas history at the University of Texas at San Antonio. "The Euro-Americans wanted to distinguish themselves from people who were here before them."
In part, this fresh look at Texas history reflects the willingness of scholars across the country to think anew about the United States' past. But the dispute over the Alamo also arises from what some in Texas see as the state's hard-won maturity, with less need for explaining and defending and more capacity for self-criticism.
"When I was young, you could never have this kind of discussion about Texas history," said 47-year-old Lawence Wright, who led a Texas writers forum called "Dibs on the Alamo." "There was an orthodoxy of belief, and nothing was more orthodox than the story of where we came from.' Alamoland or Shrine?
Closer ties with Mexico and the growing influence of the state's Hispanic residents are also factors in the raising of issues that many Texans had long thought settled. "The doors have been opened,' said City Councilman William Thornton, the candidate for mayor. "Places have been made at the table for people whose voices have not been heard before."
Mr. Thornton is leading a campaign to restore the Alamo and adjacent grounds as the Franciscan mission founded by Spaniards in 1718 instead of leaving the current building, which was the mission chapel, as a shrine to Crockett, Bowie and company.
The Daughters accuse Mr. Thornton of wanting to turn the Alamo and its nearby plaza into a raucous theme park and of pandering to the electorate in a city that is 56 percent Hispanic.
Texas history has in recent years become the passion of dogged amateurs, who sometimes beat the professionals to new theories or evidence. If much of the historical record once read like Butler's "Lives of the Saints," it now reads more like People magazine.
In her book "The Raven's Bride" (Doubleday, 1991), Elizabeth Crook of Austin concentrated not on Houston's triumph over the Mexican army but on his first marriage, which fell apart in disgrace after 11 weeks. Houston never explained what happened.
But at the "Dibs" forum, in the Dallas Museum of Fine Arts, Ms. Crook said even she was taken aback by how much further Jeff Long had gone in depicting Houston in "Duel of Eagles" (Morrow, 1990). "I did not care if you made Houston look bad," she said, "but I did care if you made him look silly. I did not think anyone would want to read a romantic novel about someone who wears a girdle.' Daughters Strike Back
If the latest Alamo battle can at times seem like refined academic discourse, in San Antonio it can quickly turn as stagey as pro wrestling. On St. Patrick's Day several Daughters, dressed in green, joined the Harp and Shamrock Society of Texas in a wreath-laying ceremony in which they portrayed the Alamo defenders, who included several Irish and Mexicans and at least one black, as the first Rainbow Coalition.
"Today, the Daughters are being told that they are ignoring or down-playing the role of certain ethnic groups in the fight against tyranny that took place on these hallowed grounds,' said Anna Hartman, a Daughter who heads the group's Alamo Committee. "Today's ceremony is clear evidence of how wrong these detractors are.'
Shortly afterward, Gary Gabehart, the president of the Inter-Tribal Council of American Indians here, showed up at the monument, brandishing an arrow. "This," Mr. Gabehart said, "is the arrow of truth, justice and historical fact." Sweeping his arm toward the street and Alamo Plaza, he said, "And this is campo santo," sacred ground.
Based on Spanish documents translated by a retired Bexar County archivist, Mr. Gabehart believes that the site includes a cemetery, dating from 1724 to 1793, holding 921 Indians, 39 Spaniards, 4 mulattoes and 1 Canary Islander.
At Mr. Gabehart's side that day was Frank Buschbacher, who has surveyed the plaza with divining rods, radar and electromagnetic sensors. "Here," Mr. Buschbacher said, pointing to the street in front of the Alamo, "is the gold and silver buried by Jim Bowie and his gang." Digging for Gold
Over loud objections from the Daughters, the City Council closed the street late last year, at least temporarily, to allow a dig and to keep tour buses from running over possible graves. Mayor Wolff appointed a committee to figure out what to do next.
The state owns the Alamo, but the adjacent land is in city and private hands.
Councilman Thornton's plan to restore the mission would require knocking down Uncle Hoppy's barbecue, a Hyatt hotel parking garage and a towering monument to the Texas Revolution, all at a cost of more than $30 million.
Well worth it, say some of the city's Hispanic residents. "Here's a mission that existed for 120 years, and the only people you hear about had been in Texas for two months," said Carlos Guerra, a columnist for the San Antonio Express-News.
The Daughters recognize that to retain the right to guard the state's heritage, they, too, must join the ranks of revisionists. So why not rewrite the latest Battle of the Alamo themselves, as male vs. female?
"There's something macho about it," Mrs. Hartman said, with a sly grin. "Some of the men who are attacking us just resent what has been a successful female venture since 1905."
Photo: San Antonio's monument to the defenders of the Alamo would have to be torn down under a proposal to restore the Alamo and its surroundings to resemble the Franciscan mission founded in 1718. Tourists posed on the monument beside statues of William Barret Travis, left, and Davy Crockett. (Lisa Davis for The New York Times)
By ALLEN R. MYERSON,
Published: March 29, 1994
SAN ANTONIO— Before there were oil wells, before Neiman Marcus, Texans built their fierce pride on tales of revolutionary valor at the Alamo. But in recent years, a new generation of writers and politicians has taken another look at the Texas Revolution and called its leaders nuts, scoundrels and Anglo land-grabbers.
Davy Crockett, they say, did not wear a coonskin cap, and he tried to surrender at the Alamo rather than fighting to the death. William Barret Travis, the Alamo's commander, crazed from drinking mercury to treat venereal disease, never issued his legendary challenge for the brave to join him across his sword-drawn line in the dirt. Gen. Sam Houston, who was at least wise enough not to send reinforcements to the besieged fort, was a girdle-wearing opium addict.
And a major reason 189 Texans defended the Alamo against thousands of Mexicans in 1836, one researcher even says, was that Jim Bowie, who shared the Alamo command until falling ill, stole a hoard of silver and gold from Apaches he had butchered and hid it in a well on the Alamo grounds.
In Texas, this is no mere academic argument. All San Antonio, from Mayor Nelson Wolff to the owner of Uncle Hoppy's Alamo Plaza barbecue shack, has been swept up in a feud over who were the Alamo's true aggressors. By late March, city officials were making plans to rip up the street and plaza in front of the building to dig for the reputed treasure and Indian graves.
Things have gone so far that many Hispanic residents and several politicians want to wrest control of the site from the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, who have managed the building since the State Legislature entrusted it to them in 1905. The opponents, who include the leading candidate for mayor in next spring's election, accuse the Daughters of perpetuating myths that support white supremacy. The Daughters, more than 6,000 strong, are descendants of Texans before statehood. Conflicting Histories
Historians have long raised questions about some parts of the Alamo legend. But the latest generation of writers has challenged its very significance. For them, the Alamo symbolizes not the American settlers' struggle against tyranny but United States imperialism and racism triumphant over Mexicans and Indians.
Many of the Alamo's defenders, some current scholars say, were outlaws and mercenaries, hungry for land. The legend, these writers point out, is founded in Travis's letters appealing for help, "in the name of Liberty, of patriotism & everything dear to the American character."
"The Alamo is part of an Anglo-Texan creation myth," said Cynthia Orozco, who teaches Texas history at the University of Texas at San Antonio. "The Euro-Americans wanted to distinguish themselves from people who were here before them."
In part, this fresh look at Texas history reflects the willingness of scholars across the country to think anew about the United States' past. But the dispute over the Alamo also arises from what some in Texas see as the state's hard-won maturity, with less need for explaining and defending and more capacity for self-criticism.
"When I was young, you could never have this kind of discussion about Texas history," said 47-year-old Lawence Wright, who led a Texas writers forum called "Dibs on the Alamo." "There was an orthodoxy of belief, and nothing was more orthodox than the story of where we came from.' Alamoland or Shrine?
Closer ties with Mexico and the growing influence of the state's Hispanic residents are also factors in the raising of issues that many Texans had long thought settled. "The doors have been opened,' said City Councilman William Thornton, the candidate for mayor. "Places have been made at the table for people whose voices have not been heard before."
Mr. Thornton is leading a campaign to restore the Alamo and adjacent grounds as the Franciscan mission founded by Spaniards in 1718 instead of leaving the current building, which was the mission chapel, as a shrine to Crockett, Bowie and company.
The Daughters accuse Mr. Thornton of wanting to turn the Alamo and its nearby plaza into a raucous theme park and of pandering to the electorate in a city that is 56 percent Hispanic.
Texas history has in recent years become the passion of dogged amateurs, who sometimes beat the professionals to new theories or evidence. If much of the historical record once read like Butler's "Lives of the Saints," it now reads more like People magazine.
In her book "The Raven's Bride" (Doubleday, 1991), Elizabeth Crook of Austin concentrated not on Houston's triumph over the Mexican army but on his first marriage, which fell apart in disgrace after 11 weeks. Houston never explained what happened.
But at the "Dibs" forum, in the Dallas Museum of Fine Arts, Ms. Crook said even she was taken aback by how much further Jeff Long had gone in depicting Houston in "Duel of Eagles" (Morrow, 1990). "I did not care if you made Houston look bad," she said, "but I did care if you made him look silly. I did not think anyone would want to read a romantic novel about someone who wears a girdle.' Daughters Strike Back
If the latest Alamo battle can at times seem like refined academic discourse, in San Antonio it can quickly turn as stagey as pro wrestling. On St. Patrick's Day several Daughters, dressed in green, joined the Harp and Shamrock Society of Texas in a wreath-laying ceremony in which they portrayed the Alamo defenders, who included several Irish and Mexicans and at least one black, as the first Rainbow Coalition.
"Today, the Daughters are being told that they are ignoring or down-playing the role of certain ethnic groups in the fight against tyranny that took place on these hallowed grounds,' said Anna Hartman, a Daughter who heads the group's Alamo Committee. "Today's ceremony is clear evidence of how wrong these detractors are.'
Shortly afterward, Gary Gabehart, the president of the Inter-Tribal Council of American Indians here, showed up at the monument, brandishing an arrow. "This," Mr. Gabehart said, "is the arrow of truth, justice and historical fact." Sweeping his arm toward the street and Alamo Plaza, he said, "And this is campo santo," sacred ground.
Based on Spanish documents translated by a retired Bexar County archivist, Mr. Gabehart believes that the site includes a cemetery, dating from 1724 to 1793, holding 921 Indians, 39 Spaniards, 4 mulattoes and 1 Canary Islander.
At Mr. Gabehart's side that day was Frank Buschbacher, who has surveyed the plaza with divining rods, radar and electromagnetic sensors. "Here," Mr. Buschbacher said, pointing to the street in front of the Alamo, "is the gold and silver buried by Jim Bowie and his gang." Digging for Gold
Over loud objections from the Daughters, the City Council closed the street late last year, at least temporarily, to allow a dig and to keep tour buses from running over possible graves. Mayor Wolff appointed a committee to figure out what to do next.
The state owns the Alamo, but the adjacent land is in city and private hands.
Councilman Thornton's plan to restore the mission would require knocking down Uncle Hoppy's barbecue, a Hyatt hotel parking garage and a towering monument to the Texas Revolution, all at a cost of more than $30 million.
Well worth it, say some of the city's Hispanic residents. "Here's a mission that existed for 120 years, and the only people you hear about had been in Texas for two months," said Carlos Guerra, a columnist for the San Antonio Express-News.
The Daughters recognize that to retain the right to guard the state's heritage, they, too, must join the ranks of revisionists. So why not rewrite the latest Battle of the Alamo themselves, as male vs. female?
"There's something macho about it," Mrs. Hartman said, with a sly grin. "Some of the men who are attacking us just resent what has been a successful female venture since 1905."
Photo: San Antonio's monument to the defenders of the Alamo would have to be torn down under a proposal to restore the Alamo and its surroundings to resemble the Franciscan mission founded in 1718. Tourists posed on the monument beside statues of William Barret Travis, left, and Davy Crockett. (Lisa Davis for The New York Times)
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The American Indian Council of Laredo, started in February 6th 1992, by Xavier Delapass Sanchez with the help from Tomas Tabares, Yvonne Walters, LaJuanda Burns, and Michael Peters. During that year, Gary Gabehart, Pres. of the San Antonio Council of Native Americans and Dr. Judy Victoria New also came to assist. This Indian Council was formed to honor my grandfather, ex-veteran, Theodore Roosevelt Delapass.
In May of 1993, the Memorial Day Pow Wow had its 1st pow wow at the Martin High School Cafetorium. The 1st and 2nd Pow Wows were held at Martin High School mainly because of my mom, Evita Delapass Sanchez assisted us in obtaining the location free of charge. These and from then on, the pow wows were made possible with the assistance of Robert Soto's South Texas Indian Dancers
Our 3rd one was the 1st held at the Laredo Civic Center. With the help of Saul Ramirez, the Mayor, and Larry Dovalina, plus my uncle Jose Delapass, as the main people helping to do the Pow Wow. From this 3rd year and for the next 5 years it was considered the best non-competition pow wow in the state of Texas, with the city of McAllen arguing about it.
It was during those last years, that the new Mayor, Betty Flores, Larry Dovalina, Irma D. Soto, assisted my uncle, and with the presence of Charles Chibitty, Last Comanche Code-Talker, that help it reach this level. By then my cousin Rose R. Rabin was coordinating the pow wow. It was also during those years that drum groups were formed and performed for the 1st time, songs were made and performed for the 1st time, a dancer returned to dancing after a 40 absence, and new dancers were brought into the Arena for their 1st time.
In the year 2000 that pow wow was postponed till 2001, and thats when Emiliano Flores and Sammy Aguilar took over for 3 years, coordinating it. In the meantime I was traveling all over the SE United States, and too far to attend.
During a small performance i did at the Laredo Pocahantas Celebration, it was suggested by Betty Flores that I return to coordinate the pow wow and bring it to its status of being the best in Texas. I have returned for the last 5 years, but it has not reached the level I wish it would. I have to give credit where credit is due. All the pow wows were still a success because of Mr. Soto's Dancers, and Drum, from the Rio Grande Valley.
During these years there have been many friends that have attended most of the pow wows. People like Emma Ortega, the story teller, Rudy Perez, the vendor, Uzziel Martinez, the actor from Hollywood, and John Benitez, and his wife Penny, my helpers, but people have also come from as far as Montana, Wisconsin, California, and Oklahoma.
So this year, 2010, the 17th annual, Robert Barrera has taken over the coordinating and with the the help of Mayor Raul Salinas, Irma D. Soto, and Blasits Lopez, Im hoping he will do a better job than I have done recently. Hoping,.... the pow wow again, will regain it state leading status, and detrone McAllen and San Antonio, as the best. I do want to mention this, Erica Rodriguez and Irma D. Soto help us behind the scenes so they might never been seen, but their help is greatly appreciated.
Memorial Day Weekend, May 28-29th are the days, lets attend, enjoy, see the beauty of the Native American Culture, and have fun!
Thank you
Xavier Delapass Sanchez
President
San Antonio Council Native Americans &
American Indian Council Laredo
lotp13@yahoo.com
(210) 461-4786
In May of 1993, the Memorial Day Pow Wow had its 1st pow wow at the Martin High School Cafetorium. The 1st and 2nd Pow Wows were held at Martin High School mainly because of my mom, Evita Delapass Sanchez assisted us in obtaining the location free of charge. These and from then on, the pow wows were made possible with the assistance of Robert Soto's South Texas Indian Dancers
Our 3rd one was the 1st held at the Laredo Civic Center. With the help of Saul Ramirez, the Mayor, and Larry Dovalina, plus my uncle Jose Delapass, as the main people helping to do the Pow Wow. From this 3rd year and for the next 5 years it was considered the best non-competition pow wow in the state of Texas, with the city of McAllen arguing about it.
It was during those last years, that the new Mayor, Betty Flores, Larry Dovalina, Irma D. Soto, assisted my uncle, and with the presence of Charles Chibitty, Last Comanche Code-Talker, that help it reach this level. By then my cousin Rose R. Rabin was coordinating the pow wow. It was also during those years that drum groups were formed and performed for the 1st time, songs were made and performed for the 1st time, a dancer returned to dancing after a 40 absence, and new dancers were brought into the Arena for their 1st time.
In the year 2000 that pow wow was postponed till 2001, and thats when Emiliano Flores and Sammy Aguilar took over for 3 years, coordinating it. In the meantime I was traveling all over the SE United States, and too far to attend.
During a small performance i did at the Laredo Pocahantas Celebration, it was suggested by Betty Flores that I return to coordinate the pow wow and bring it to its status of being the best in Texas. I have returned for the last 5 years, but it has not reached the level I wish it would. I have to give credit where credit is due. All the pow wows were still a success because of Mr. Soto's Dancers, and Drum, from the Rio Grande Valley.
During these years there have been many friends that have attended most of the pow wows. People like Emma Ortega, the story teller, Rudy Perez, the vendor, Uzziel Martinez, the actor from Hollywood, and John Benitez, and his wife Penny, my helpers, but people have also come from as far as Montana, Wisconsin, California, and Oklahoma.
So this year, 2010, the 17th annual, Robert Barrera has taken over the coordinating and with the the help of Mayor Raul Salinas, Irma D. Soto, and Blasits Lopez, Im hoping he will do a better job than I have done recently. Hoping,.... the pow wow again, will regain it state leading status, and detrone McAllen and San Antonio, as the best. I do want to mention this, Erica Rodriguez and Irma D. Soto help us behind the scenes so they might never been seen, but their help is greatly appreciated.
Memorial Day Weekend, May 28-29th are the days, lets attend, enjoy, see the beauty of the Native American Culture, and have fun!
Thank you
Xavier Delapass Sanchez
President
San Antonio Council Native Americans &
American Indian Council Laredo
lotp13@yahoo.com
(210) 461-4786
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