MARY BAILEY INTERVIEW

   

   

   

   [BEGIN SIDE 1]

   

   This is Karen Underhill with Northern Arizona

University.  It is Tuesday, July 13, 1999, at 2:00 p.m.

and we're in the home of Mary May Bailey for an oral

history interview to talk about her life.  This will be

part of the United Indian Traders Association Project.

[Brad Cole and Lew Steiger are also present and make a

few comments.]

   

   Underhill:  We thank you for your willingness to

speak with us today.

   

   Bailey:  Thank you for the opportunity.

   

   Underhill:  We'd like to start with where and when

you were born.

   

   Bailey:  March 15, 1921, in Magdalena, New Mexico.

I guess when I first started to talk I thought it was

real smart of me to say, "Betty was born in Albuquerque

and I was born in March."  (laughter)  I had an older

sister Betty, who was two years older than I; and a

younger brother, Roger, who was fifteen months younger

than I.  So when he appeared on the scene quite

unexpectedly, my father said he would take care of me,

and Mother could have the other two to take care of,

besides the ranch and all the other stuff that went on.

   We lived out of Magdalena in the Datil Mountains,

which is just about as cold as you can get anywhere in

the world, except the Arctic.  And it wasn't fit for

mother cows, so they just raised steers and put them

right on the market.  And at that time, Magdalena,

during World War I, was the biggest shipping point in

the United States for beef for the Army.

   While my father was in the Army, his father and his

younger brother bought a whole lot of livestock at a

humongous price, which were all steers, and after the

war stopped, there was no sales, so they went busted

and took out bankruptcy.  It took them a long time to

get it paid off.

   So that is when we moved to Piñon.  Now, do you know

where Piñon is?  (Underhill:  Yes.)  Okay.  In 1924,

you can imagine what it must have been like.  The roads

were very poor.  Our only contact with any other human

being was with Lorenzo Hubbell and he was at Oraibi.

So we went there and we played and we had a good time.

We washed all the pottery and put it out and put it in

a hospital--that took care of it.  We rode stick

horses.  And then one day my sister decided she wanted

to go on a picnic.  So she went to my mother and she

said, "Could we go way out in the country and have a

picnic?"  And Mother thought to herself, "Honey, we

couldn't get any further out in the country than we

are!"  (laughter)  But she made us a lunch and put it

all in a little red wagon, and we went under the first

piñon tree we came to and had a picnic.

   Now, about this same time, there was a double murder

at Piñon.  The bride was from the Piñon area, the groom

came from over on the Bodaway.  Now, that's out of

Tuba.  Before the wedding started, one of the bride's

suitors murdered the bridegroom.  And in turn, the

bride and her sister murdered him.  So there was a

horrible lot of talk and "what will we do? and how will

we do it? and should we send for the police?"  They'd

have to come from Prescott.  So they came to Daddy and

they said, "Please tell us what can we do to settle

this?  It's not getting anywhere among us."  So he

said, "Since you both have had such a horrible loss,

and you can't be away from your homes much longer, I

would suggest that you just shake hands and [leave] and

went to your homes and never saw each other again."

And that's what they did.  But, oh my! it was a

horrendous time, lots of tension.

   

   Underhill:  Who were your parents?

   

   Bailey:  My father was Jot Barnett Stiles.  My

mother was Marjorie Bowles.  She came from Guthrie,

Oklahoma, to Winslow in 1914 to teach kindergarten.

And her parents just thought she was going to the end

of the world.  So they sent her oldest brother with her

to make sure that this was a proper place for a young

lady to be.  She had six older brothers--she was the

only girl.  So you can imagine their concern.  And her

father was a lawyer in Guthrie, Oklahoma.  His name was

Alfred H. Bowles.  So she didn't like it at first, but

boy, she sure got used to it in a hurry, and she never

wanted to go home again.

   Daddy came to Winslow in 1903.  Barnie Stiles had

come in first with the Hashknifes [phonetic spelling].

They had driven the Hashknifes as far as Albuquerque,

and the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad was finished, and

they loaded them on cars and brought them to Winslow.

So that's the way the Stiles family came to Winslow.  I

guess they had a bad drought here, and they took them

to Montana.  It was owned by a big syndicate in New

York City.  So they went to Montana and they all froze

to death.  So there was remnants left that they hadn't

been able to gather.  Now, that range was from the New

Mexico border to Flagstaff, to the Mogollon Rim and to

the reservation line, which is a lot further out than

it is now.  So they had many, many riders, so there's

lots of people who want to know, "Did you know any of

the Hashknifes?"

   But there is a story about one of 'em, his name was

Rimmy Jim [phonetic spelling].  I don't know if you

know where Rimmy Jim's is.  It's right there by the

Meteor Crater.  He had a trading post there when

[Highway] 66 went by.  And he built an outhouse for all

the people that stopped to have a little rest.  The one

he built for the women was a two-seater.  So when they

first started working with microphones, he bought one

and put it underneath there.  And he would wait until

some rather large woman went out, and then when she

finally got seated, he'd say, "Pardon me, madame, would

you mind moving to the other hole, I'm painting under

here."  And she would come flying out!  (laughter)  And

that was his entertainment.  Now, his name was Rimmy

Jim and he was a rider for the Hashknifes.  And I asked

my father, "Was he from the rim country?  Is that why

they called him Rimmy Jim?"  And he said, "No, honey,

he had a Rimmy rig.  His saddle was made by Rimmy in

Texas.  And when you had that many Jims and Johns and

all of the common names, you had to differentiate."

And how I learned that, I went to school with a girl

here who was a Smith.  And my father always referred to

him as Bill A. Smith.  And I thought, "That's a strange

way to address a man when you've known him all your

life.  So I asked him one day, "Why do you call him

Bill A.?"  "Well," he said, "when he went to the

Hashknifes to hire out, there was a whole lot of Bill

Smiths, so he was the first one, and he was Bill A.,

and the next one was Bill B."  (laughter)  It's just a

lot of fun.

   

   Underhill:  How did your parents meet?  Here in

Winslow?

   

   Bailey:  Well, yes.  Mother came to teach school,

and Daddy used to ride in from out--they had a ranch

north of town here--and he was very shy.  There's a

picture of them in their later years.  But I have a lot

of pictures of him when he was young.  That's it!  And

in the bedroom there are big pictures, and they're very

handsome people.  And he used to tell us kids, "I used

to peek around the corner and wait 'till she came by,

and I'd say, 'Hello, Miss Bowles.'"

   Well, when school first started here, there was a

huge funeral, and that's when Uncle Barney had died.

And that was in 1914.  So most of the teachers went to

the funeral, and one of Mother's roommates came home

and said, "Say! was there ever a knock-out, good-

looking man who was one of the mourners!"  So Mother

inquired what his name was, and she said, "Jot Stiles."

So eventually they met.  And they had quite a nice

courtship.

   World War I was just beginning to come into being,

and they knew they would have to go.  So Daddy told her

that he was not going to enlist in the Army, he was

going to buy some bulls and go to the Argentine.  Well,

as things went along, he changed his mind and sold the

bulls and enlisted in the Army, and he was sent to Naco

as a border patrol.  All the men that rode horses were

on the border patrol.  So he did so well there they

sent him to officers training school in San Diego.  And

that's when things were beginning to end, and they

needed him at home, so he finally got out ahead of the

others, and tried to save what he could in Magdalena,

but there was no way they could meet their bills.  So

they spent the rest of a long time paying it off.

That's when Daddy went to be an Indian trader.

   

   Underhill:  What do you think made him chose that

path?  Did he know Lorenzo Hubbell?

   Bailey:  I think they had met, but he had been

working with the bank in Holbrook and the one in

Winslow by going into the rim….  And he told me in

later years, if he had had any sense, he never would

have done it, because he was on horseback and all he

had was a rifle, and that was dangerous country.  It

was full of people who had run from the law, all over

the country, and hid down on the Tonto Rim.  So he

said, looking back on it, he didn't know why he had

ever chosen such a path, but he did.  And then

eventually he tied up with Lorenzo Hubbell and went to

Piñon.

   

   Underhill:  How old were you when you first arrived

at Piñon?

   

   Bailey:  When I first arrived at Piñon, I was about

three years old.  And then we had a car, which was an

old Dodge, and that's my first memory, is being asleep

in the front seat between Mother and Daddy, and hearing

that car gear down and gear down, like they used to,

and then come to a stop, and seeing my dad take off his

shoes and socks and his pants, and then we could see

him go down to the wash and wade and see if he could

find a rock bottom or something we could cross on.  And

if not, then he came back and he said, "All go to

sleep, we're here for the night."  And we'd have to

wait 'til the wash went down, to cross.  And that was

either the Polacca Wash, or one of those coming in that

area, because we were always around the Hopis.  But it

was some exciting times.

   And of course we didn't get any mail, much; and no

fresh groceries.  But occasionally they would send them

out from Flagstaff or Winslow or Holbrook on the mail

route.  So we did get some connection.  Lorenzo Hubbell

brought Daddy a wet battery radio--one of the first

ones--but they could never get it to work.  So that was

out.  No telephone.

   My father had an abscessed wisdom tooth, and he was

suffering the agonies of the damned with that thing.

He heard of a doctor, he thought, that was at Keams

Canyon.  So the doctor turned out to be a stockman for

the United States government, and all he had was one

pair of forceps.  So he pulled and yanked and pulled

and yanked--now, with that infected--and got it out.

And then he bathed it in....  What was it?  Oh, shoot!

It was some kind of an acid, but it wasn't an

antiseptic.  And oh, he had the sorest mouth and throat

for a long time.  Mother fed him egg whites beaten with

sugar in it, to keep him goin'.  But at least he didn't

have a toothache!

   Now, my uncle Barney, who this started out with, had

a toothache when he was rounding up cattle, getting

ready to bring 'em in here to ship from Winslow.  And

it was hurting him very badly, and he knew there was no

dentist here and none anywhere around.  So he heated a

wire, red hot, and found the hole and stuck it in there

and cauterized it.  Well, when you hurt bad enough to

do that, you hurt!  But I've often thought how strong a

people these had to be.

   

   Underhill:  What were the Hopi customers like at

Piñon?

   Bailey:  We didn't have them at Piñon.  They're

still all Navajos in that area.  But the villages

weren't far away, and that's where Lorenzo Hubbell was.

So there was contact when we would go over there.

There was no place....  We were eighty miles from any

railhead from anyplace, mainly.  And there wasn't much

communication among people.  They just didn't travel

around.  We did go to Ganado, finally, and meet the

elder Hubbells.  And that was the first electric

refrigerator I ever saw.  And my, how marvelous to make

ice!  (chuckles)  But I just remember the trip barely,

and I've gone back since, and it comes back to my mind,

what it was like to meet those group of people.  We

stayed overnight, and then we had to go back to Piñon.

   Then when Betty got to be six years old, they needed

to have her in school.  So Daddy and Jess Smith, I

think--yeah, that was Jess Smith--that bought a

partnership.  No, they bought....  I don't know how,

but they had a partnership at the Tuba City Trading

Post before Babbitts took them over.  And that's where

Betty went to school and I went to school and my

brother went to school.

   Now, I had diphtheria.  They'd just gotten there and

gotten settled, and it was wintertime, or late winter,

and I was the only case in Coconino County.  I can

remember the men coming from Flagstaff, and they looked

like giants, and they had a rod like that, that they

were gonna stick me in the side with, and they did, one

on each side, for the toxin, anti-toxin.  And then I

was unconscious for a long, long time.  Mother had a

friend who was one of the nurses at the Indian hospital

there, and she would come down and stay with me a lot.

And I don't know, I guess it was not meant for me to

go.  So around Eastertime, I began to come to.  And the

first time I can remember really being aware, is that I

could pull the matter off of my eyes and open them,

without my mother bathing them.  (phone rings, tape

paused)

   

   Underhill:  We're back.

   

   Bailey:  Where was I?

   

   Underhill:  You were talking about diphtheria, and

it was the first time you could wipe the matter away

from your eyes.

   

   Bailey:  Okay.  And Betty and Roger had cranked up

the Victrola, and they were playing the "Hallelujah

Chorus" from Handel.  And that's always been one of my

favorites.  Oh, my! to wake up and hear that and know

that the kids were there, and I could play again!

There's pictures of me.  Mother finally got my hair

combed, and she curled it, and she took a picture of me

front and back--cut off my hair--no more of that jazz.

   So then I went on to school, and because I was a

year late going to school, Roger and I went all through

school together.  When we moved to Winslow to go start

our real schooling, I came home from school the first

day and I just blabbed on everything Roger did.  And he

got me aside and straightened me out real well.  He

said, "I'm going to school tomorrow, and I'm going to

tell Mother everything you do."  So, boy, that cinched

it!  We never told anything that went on, unless it had

to be told.  So I learned to keep my mouth shut at a

very young age--which is a good thing.

   

   Underhill:  What was the Tuba City Trading Post like

when you arrived?

   

   Bailey:  Well, it was huge.  They had to keep the

cards and vanilla in the safe--which was a strange

thing for me to think about.  We had two traders that

worked with Daddy all the time:  Bill O'Brien, and

Sandy Hassell [phonetic spellings].  And that's where

Sandy got his start.  He's written some books, and I

have lots of pictures of him.  And we played in the

wareroom and jumped in the wool sacks, and we had a

great time.  And that's where Roger found the dinosaur

print.  And there's lots of pictures of him with his

feet, to give an idea of how big those prints were.

And then Daddy always told us that over in that same

area there were hoofprints of miniature horses.  So

somewhere over there in that area, they must still be

there.  And I can remember when we came to Flagstaff,

you could see dinosaur eggs everywhere.  Some were very

large, and some were quite small.  And you couldn't

find one now if your life depended on it.  And I've

often thought, "Why would somebody take those?!"  I

don't know what they could do with them--maybe cut 'em

in two to see if there was an embryo in.  But it's

always amazed me.

   Let's see....  We had a one-room school, grades one

through eight.  The Curley [phonetic spelling] kids

went to school with us, and the Richardsons, and then

that was Bill and Harriet.  And then the other

Richardsons lived at Cameron, so whenever we went to

Flagstaff, we'd always stop by and saw them, and they

had three children, and they all died very young.  I

don't know what happened there.  Over at Cow Springs

there was another little girl I used to play with

occasionally.  And then there was some on up the way.

About this time they were getting ready for putting the

bridge across Lee's Ferry.  Now, we went up there, and

I don't know what for.  I rather imagine it had

something to do with sheep.  But I can remember going

down the dugway and I have pictures of Betty and Roger

and I sitting on the bank, waiting for Daddy to help

the man get off the sandbar.  And we went and stayed in

Kanab, and it rained and rained and rained, and we

couldn't get back for a week, so we had to stay in

Kanab that time.

   Then on our way back....  Let's see, what was that

girl's name, that lived at Lee's Ferry?  Anyway, she

was a real nice girl, and I enjoyed her.  So when they

opened up the bridge, Mother and Daddy and I guess

everybody else that could make it, went to the

dedication of Rainbow Bridge.  Now, I have pictures of

when they started, and all the way across.  But while

we were there, they just kept playing, "When It's

Moonlight on the River Colorado," and Mother and Daddy

danced and danced all night long.  Then the next

morning we went to the dedication and some guy in an

airplane just like that one went underneath that bridge

and out.  Oh, I just can't imagine anybody having that

kind of nerve.  But that's when we went across there,

and I guess they built another one, now, because that

wouldn't handle the trucks.

   Now, Johnny O'Farrell--and his picture is in that

picture down there--and my father were the fastest of

friends all the time they were Indian traders.  And

after they both retired they still were good friends.

Cora, in the meantime, had died.  When we used to go

over to Red Lake to visit with the O'Farrells, Cora

always got a bad headache, and then we had to come

home, and I always knew we kids had caused the

headache.  (chuckles)  Her mother was a cook at Tuba,

though, that cooked for all the people that came to

stay with us.  And there were courier cars that came

from Santa Fe.  I guess they held eight passengers, and

there was always a young lady from the University of

New Mexico that was dressed in a velveteen top and had

a skirt, and she was their courier, and they came and

stayed overnight at Tuba, and then went on to the Grand

Canyon, and then caught the train out of Flagstaff.

Now, there's not too many people know that there was

even such a thing, or that people came from all over

the world to Tuba City.  But there's pages in those

guest books there with people from England and

Australia.  One of the women from Australia came and

stayed with us three years.  And we had other people

that would just come and stay.  And then when the

motion picture people would come, boy, that was fun!

   We had a little dog name Mihi, and he was a rat

terrier, and the sorriest dog that God ever put on this

Earth.  And one of the cameramen just fell in love with

Mihi, and he wanted to buy him from us kids for a

hundred dollars.  Well, we set up such a hue and cry,

"No! you can't sell our dog!"  So Daddy gave a Navajo a

quarter to take him off about six months later, after.

Oh, he was really a sorry thing.  We had a good dog,

too.

   

   Underhill:  What movies were filmed at Tuba?

   

   Bailey:  Sunset Pass was the last one.  But there

were others that came and went.  Then one night

everybody had gone to bed, but Daddy had left the light

on.  And somebody banged and banged and banged on the

front door, and he went to the door finally, and there

were two men standing there, and they said, "Is there

any way we could get anything to eat?  We've been lost

out here since early morning."  And it was Gary Cooper

and the man that was with him, and they came and Mother

got up and fixed them breakfast.  Then they stayed the

night, and then they went on the next day.  His

signature is in that book.

   We met lots of people.  Will Rogers came through on

his way to the snake dances, and at that time lots of

people could go to the snake dances.  It was just

really an occasion.  So we always all went.  Or other

dances.  The home dance is just as beautiful as

anything of the others.  The snake dance scared a lot

of people, because the priests would let those snakes

run clear back to the people, and then they'd pick 'em

up--they wouldn't have a chance of getting bitten, but

they didn't know that, and it scared the puddin' out of

'em.  (chuckles)  And you could see 'em just drape 'em

over, and drape 'em over, and drape 'em over, and then

they'd wrap around there and bite sometimes that way.

But it was very interesting.

   Now, after I got up from the diphtheria, Mom was

real busy getting this guest ranch underway, so she

hired Mattie, who was a Hopi woman, just to pack me

around all the time.  She would go about her work, but

I stayed with her, and she took care of me.  And then

when the dances started, she asked if Roger and Betty

and I would come down to the plaza.  And I think one of

the most frightening things I can ever remember is

hearing those "thump, thump, thumps," and the jingles,

and seeing these huge men come up to you.  And they

gave me a little cradle that was woven like a basket,

and a little mother kachina in there.  Now, she's the

one with the black face and the pointed ears.  But

she's the mother kachina that comes when they do the

bean dance in the spring with the whippers.  And the

whipper kachinas are the ogres, and they come to whip

the children that have told, if they knew who these men

were.  And it's still thus so.  But anyway, it's a good

thing to know.

   Anyway, we thought that was a pretty good idea, to

dance.  There was a little Navajo boy that lived out in

back of the trading post, and his mother was weaving a

great, huge rug of a Yé’ii bicheii, one-figured Yé’ii

bicheii.  Any authentic Yé’ii bicheii never has an even

number in the people.  So her son was named Homer, and

Homer and Roger and I decided we could do the Yé’ii

bicheii.  And we went into the store and took some

little sacks that they used for candy sacks, and put

corn in there and pushed a handle, and we would go in

and we would dance the Yé’ii bicheii in front of all

the guests in the evening.  Well, that went over real

big, so then we decided, hey, we could pass the hat!

So we did that and took up quite a collection, and Mom

caught us.  (laughter)  And that ended our dancing!

But it was fun, we made all kinds of fun.

   

   Underhill:  How many rooms did your guest ranch

have?

   

   Bailey:  I think there must have been ten.  Now,

there are pictures of 'em that you can see a long way.

There's pictures, too--I don't know whether they're in

this group or not--but of the men that came from

Phoenix with The Arizona Republic.  And there was just

all kinds of people that came.  You'd just be

surprised.  Of course all the Babbitts came out.  And

they went into partners with Daddy after Jess Smith

left.

   Jess Smith was married to Lillian Wilhelm Smith.

Have you ever seen any of her paintings?

   

   Underhill:  (inaudible)

   

   Bailey:  All right, she did not like children, and

children did not like Lillian.  And I think that was

some of the problem that parted Jess and my dad's

partnership.  She would rather paint than have any

truck with us kids.  (laughs)  And that was her choice.

But anyway, it was an interesting encounter.

   I can remember a woman coming up to me, who was from

England, and she said--now, I'm just a little kid--

she's talkin' to me and she says, "My goodness, aren't

you afraid of these savages?"  And I said, "Where are

any savages?"  She said, "These people here, they're

savages!"  And I said, "No, they're my friends."  She

couldn't figure that out for a long while.  But that

was just the way it was.

   Let's see, one day my brother stole a hat from a

store, and Mother caught it right off the bat, and

she....  We never were spanked.  I never had a spanking

in my life.  The closest I came was Mom tapped me on

the behind as I went screaming through the house when

my grandmother was real ill--or singing at the top of

my voice, I guess.  And that's the only whippin' I ever

had.  And my sister got a pat with one of the slippers--

you know, your night slippers--and those are the only

times we were ever whipped, because Mother never

believed in ever....  She said, "As soon as you raise

your hand to a child, you've taught them to raise their

hand to you."  So that didn't go over.  Anyway, we were

corrected, though, very well.  Anyway, he stole this

hat and Mother made him take it back to the store.

Then she got the camera, and took him as he cried all

the way back to the store with this hat.  (laughter)

But it's a priceless picture.

   Let's see, my Uncle Skeet had the trading post then

that the Richardsons sold.  And he had the trading post

at the other end of Tuba.  There were two then.  So

Carmen, who was his wife, made beer one summer, and

they put it up in their closet on the upstairs.  Their

living quarters were up above the store.  And this hot

July day, the revenuers would come by to get a drink of

pop or somethin', and here all of this stuff was goin'

"pop, pop," off, you know.  "What's that strange noise

up there?"  "We don't know."  And they didn't inquire

any further.  (laughter)  But you couldn't have liquor

on the reservation, unt-uh!  No cards.

   

   Underhill:  What did they do with the beer?

   

   Bailey:  I guess they got rid of it pretty quick.  A

lot of the Navajo kids would come and go to Sunday

school.  There was a Presbyterian mission at Tuba City,

and that's the first church we came to, so we joined.

Mother made sure that we were baptized and joined.  And

so the Navajo children would send three kids to Sunday

school for as long as it took to build a deck of cards,

because it was illegal to have them, but they could

make the Sunday school cards into playing cards, and

they liked to gamble.  So can you ever think of

anything worse happening to a Sunday school card?!

(laughter) than endin' up in a deck of cards?!

   

   Cole:  Is that why you kept the cards in the vault?

   

   Bailey:  Uh-huh, that's why.

   

   Underhill:  And you said also, vanilla?

   

   Bailey:  And vanilla, because it was alcohol.

Strange bunch of things they had to deal with.

   

   Underhill:  Can you describe the store for us?

   

   Bailey:  The store was a big hexagon, and all the

way around was--they had a big opening where the big

double doors opened and came in, and that was always

called the bullpen, and there was a big stove in the

middle, to get warm in the middle, in the wintertime.

And they all managed to, there was always a coffee pot

going.  And on the counters there was always a cigar

box with a spoon tied with a string, and made permanent

with that box.  The box was filled with tobacco, and

there was always papers.

   And there was always an odor about a Navajo trading

post that if I was to go in one today, I would

recognize it immediately.  There was a mixture of wool,

ground coffee, and all of these other wonderful smells--

oh my!--and hides.  Some smells not so good, and some

smells good.  It made it just wonderful.  And cheese!

They always had a big block of cheese that they could

cut cheese off.  And then all mainly canned goods.

Lots of pawn.  Lots of big, heavy safes.  I don't ever

remember being robbed at Tuba, but we were robbed one

time at Castle Butte, and I'll tell you that story

later.

   Anyway, when it got to be close to the thirties, my

father knew it was time to get out.  So he sold his

interest back to the Babbitts and we moved to Winslow.

He didn't know exactly what he was going to do, but he

thought he wanted to go into the cattle business again.

So he found a ranch out of Holbrook that was thirty-

five miles north of Holbrook, that was the Turkey Track

Ranch, and he bought it and stocked it.  And we moved

to Turkey Track.  Well, by this time, my sister is in

the eighth grade, and Mother knows that she cannot....

For a while, we moved to town and Daddy stayed at the

ranch, and then when Betty got to be an eighth-grader,

the Depression was pretty bad then, so they boarded her

in town, and Mother taught Roger and I at home.  So we

had a marvelous time.  We could do our studies in the

morning and go play all day.  Once in a while Mother

would ride with Daddy, but he said it got too

expensive, he couldn't afford all that Absorbine Jr.

(laughter)  And I can remember one morning Mother

saying, "Well, am I going with you today?"  And he

said, "No, not today.  This would be two bottles of

Absorbine Jr."  (laughs)  So it was rough riding.  But

Roger learned to ride really well.  I guess Daddy

started from the first, and then I was part of the

learning process.  He would yell at me, "Mary May, run

by me and beller like a bull!"  And he'd rope me.

(laughter)  So I had a lot of rope burns early on.  But

it was fun, we just had a great time.  He was one of my

best friends.  And he was killed in World War II,

Achen, Germany.  He was in the second wave that came

into Normandy, and they fought all the way across to

the German border.  He was a staff sergeant.  Anyway,

that nearly killed my folks, when they lost him, but we

went on.

   While we lived at Castle Butte, Daddy was employed

by the United States government on these loans to

ranchers through some kind of conservative outfit for

ranchers that were desperate.  So he would go and do

all of the investigations and fill out all the papers

and everything.  And he went all over Northern Arizona,

and sometimes Mother would go with him.  But he needed

somebody to be in the store, and he wouldn't allow us

girls to be in the store.  So there was a young man

that came from Kansas, and his uncle was a policeman

here, and he asked Daddy if he had anything that Doc

could do.  So he hired Doc Blair and taught him

everything he knew, and Doc worked for us for many

years before he had his own trading post at Indian

Wells.

   But Roger and I were just little devilments all the

time, thinking what we could do to entertain ourselves.

And we used to get a big pan of water and tie a string

on it and tie it to the front door of the store, and

then get out there in the front on the road, and just

yell and scream and holler like we were bein' murdered,

and Doc would hit that door runnin' and get wet.  Then

we'd just laugh like fools!  But when you live out that

far, you learn how to do your own entertainment, 'cause

there's not too much to keep you busy.

   Then one time Mother threw out a little piece of fur

off of a fur collar.  So we cut it into strips and took

a lot of time, and in the outhouse we made a little

(laughs) snake out of it.  Then we waited around, goin'

around by the garbage dump and lookin' at the garbage

all morning, waitin' for Doc to come out.  Pretty soon

he finally made it up the hill, and then he let out a

scream, and he grabbed his pants up and ran all the way

to the store, (chuckles) got a hoe and ran all the way

back, and he chopped that thing up.  And then he knew

who did it!  (laughter)  But he never told on us.

Ornery bunch!  But kids make their own fun, I guess.

   Let's see....  In the summertime then, when Roger

was thirteen, Daddy brought him into town and talked to

all the law officers and everything, and they said,

"Well, if he can pass the test, he can have a driver's

license."  Because Daddy really needed him to run the

truck for produce.  So at thirteen, he had a driver's

license, and he decided he was going to be the head of

this outfit, no matter what.  So I was no contest.  I

didn't have enough strength, I wasn't big enough.

Betty was five-feet-seven, I was five-three.  So I

never got a chance at bein' the head honcho.  But she

and Roger fought for who was gonna be boss when he was

thirteen.  And he pinned her, so that was it.  So he

would come to town to get groceries, and he'd say,

"Okay, now you meet me at the Central Drug corner at

nine o'clock, 'cause if you're not there, I'm goin'

home, and you can get there the best way you know how."

So we always met him.  It was a long walk.

   Then one Christmas, 1936, I got a Shirley Temple

doll for Christmas, and a pair of riding britches, and

English boots, and oh, I thought I was really

somethin'.  And Mom got real sick with flu, and Daddy

brought her to town, and my grandmother came down with

pneumonia, I guess from the same flu.  Anyway, Dad

Stiles came to us and he said, "Betty, you're going to

have to drive to town and get your dad to come out and

get his mother and take her to the hospital, because I

can't do a thing to help her."  So that's what we did.

And we got along just fine.  But I never did

understand--I guess my grandfather's reasoning was that

it would be company for Betty to have somebody with

her.  That's why he sent us.  So anyway, that's what

happened that Christmas.  We had lots of fun.

   We used to put our Christmas tree out for the

Navajos on Christmas day, and they would strip it of

all of the tinsel--everything.  Boy, just within the

twinkling of an eye it would all be gone.  At that

time, all of the traders on Thanksgiving and Christmas

would kill a beef and make a great huge stew in

washtubs and feed all the Navajos in that community.

So they would be around, and they always called

Thanksgiving "Little Christmas," Késhmish Biyázhí.

Okay, so it was Little Christmas, and then Christmas

was Christmas.  And out of all this wonderful

opportunity to learn how to speak Navajo, I was never

allowed in the store to learn.  So the only thing I can

tell you is the price of a wagon.  And that's t’áá_á’í

béeso dóó bi’aan tádiin dóó bi’aan ‘ashdla’. That's

$135.  (laughter)

   

   Underhill:  And did you have a nickname, though, in

Navajo?

   

   Bailey:  No, not really.  My daddy, they called him

Jádí, which is "Antelope," in this part of the world.

When he was at Tuba, he had another name, which was

"Cowboy," ‘Aka_ bist_ee’ii.   Then when he came here,

he was Jádí.  During World War II, he had five trading

posts:  one in Winslow and one at Bitahochee and one at

the coal mine, and one at Canyon Diablo and Castle

Butte.  So he was busy, and he needed Roger to help

him.  But Roger decided he needed to go.  He had been

told that he could stay, but he finally decided he

needed to go.  So he got on a train, and on the train

there was five Apaches, and they didn't speak any

English.  Now, Navajo and Apache are close enough, you

can understand.  So he took them out to this camp in

California, and when they got there, this man said, "Do

you speak Navajo?" and Roger said, "Yes."  He said,

"Well, we need you in the world's worst way.  We've got

a court martial going on here, and we're getting

absolutely nowhere.  So if you would come and act as an

interpreter, we'd appreciate it."  So he went over

there, and it was a kid from Castle Butte, and he spoke

English, but he couldn't read any writing.  And all the

orders that went out by writing, he just ignored.  So

that was the basis for his court martial.  And they got

that straightened out, so that was a good thing.

   Let's see....  We used to go, while we were still at

Castle Butte and still growing up, we were all

teenagers, and Daddy would allow us to take the truck

when there was a squaw dance nearby.  And we'd load it

up with pop and cigarettes and gum and candy, and just

stuff like that, and go and sell it while they did the

squaw dance.  Well, always if Daddy went with us, he

always had to take a little chimayo.  A little chimayo

rug was made by Pendleton, but it was a small one for a

child.  So all the little girls wanted to always dance

with my dad (chuckles) so they would get a Pendleton

shawl.  And it was fun to watch.  They'd always hook

Roger for somethin'.

   

   Underhill:  Why do you think you weren't allowed to

learn Navajo, but Roger was?

   

   Bailey:  Why?  Because Daddy did not think it was

proper for young ladies to be in the store.  And then,

after my brother was killed, we both had to go back and

run a trading post.  So it really made it doubly hard.

I remember one day I was left at the store with my

little girl.  She was just a baby, and I was there

alone, and this Navajo man came, and all he wanted was

tó ‘azis.  Now, tó means "water." Azis is "a sack."  So

it was over an hour that we went through everything in

that trading post, and I'd say, "This?" “Dooda,”

[meaning “no”].  Anyway, what he finally wanted, he

found a potato.  I took him back to the back of the

counter, and he found a potato, and there was an empty

pop bottle, and he put 'em together and then I knew he

needed kerosene in a bottle with a potato stopper.

Now, how you could get from (laughs) tó ‘azis to that,

without knowing the kerosene part, was a real battle.

Oh, my!  (laughter)

   But it was real interesting, and we had lots of

people that would come, just touring around looking for

something unusual, and they would just be enthralled

with the whole deal.

   Now, at that time, it was still a lot different than

it is now.  And I think there still is a taboo that a

mother-in-law never sees her son-in-law.  And the

warning signal is "There's an owl outside."  And either

the squaw would sit with her blanket over her head

while he came in and did what he had to do with the

trader, or else somebody would tap her on the shoulder

and she would leave.  But that was one of the taboos I

remember--but there were a lot of them.

   Oh! we were robbed at Castle Butte.  There was a

bad, bad windstorm one night, and evidently whoever

these robbers were came in with the wind, and the dogs

never barked or raised any kind of a fuss.  They broke

in through a window and they stole boots and pants and

shirts, and what else?  Hats!  So the next morning when

Daddy found out he'd been robbed, he came back in and

sat down with a cup of coffee and he said, "You know,

all my life I've heard of these crones among the

Navajos who can tell you exactly what happened.  I'm

going to find out if that's true."  So he got in the

truck and went off for a while, and in about an hour-

and-a-half, he was back with this old squaw, and he

asked her what she needed.  She said, "I need one of

everything that was stolen."  She sat down in the

middle of our living room with these items all the way

around her, and she had a little sack of corn pollen,

and she put this one up this way, and this one up this

arm, and then she just went off into a trance.  And I

can see her sittin’ there.  And pretty soon she started

to talk, and she said, "They came in from the west, and

they went to this one window and broke it.  What they

took...."  And she told him who they were, and where

they lived.  So Daddy took her home, and on his way, he

stopped by this place, and he confronted these two

young men, and he said, "I want my stuff back."  "Well,

we've hidden 'em in the rocks."  "Well," he said, "go

get it."  So they did.  But isn't that amazing?!  You

hear of such things happening, but you just never can

really believe 'em.  But I got to see that, so I know

it was true.

   

   Steiger:  We heard people talk about medicine men

that could do that.

   

   Bailey:  Oh, yes!

   

   Steiger:  But this woman, was she a medicine woman

or something like that?

   

   Bailey:  I don't know what her capacity was.  My dad

just called her an old crone.  Now, "witch" is my

interpretation of what he meant, and maybe she was some

kind of a spiritualist among them, but he knew who she

was and what she did.

   There was a lot of Indians that were most

interesting.  There was one old woman, she must have

been in her eighties.  Every time she came to the

trading post, she stole my potty.  So I had to be real--

because we just had an outhouse--so every time she

came, I had to keep a real close watch on her (laughs)

so I could chase her down the road and get my potty

back.  Anyway, I asked Daddy about who she was and what

she might be, and he said, "Well, we'll find out."  So

he asked her a lot of questions, and she told him that

she was on the Long Walk.  She must have been around

three or four--she didn't know which--but she couldn't

walk all of the way, and she had to be carried part-

way.  So from that, Daddy and I discerned that it must

have been three or four years old.  So then I got into

playin' with clay and I made a clay model of her once.

And I made a clay model of another man, and I showed it

to him--that was old Big Ben--and he told me I was

ch’__dii.  He wasn't real happy about it.  So I never

showed any others to my good friends, but we sure had a

lot of fun.

   Let's see....  I was married on December 6, 1941.  I

was married down at the house in Winslow, and we went

from here to Williams and stayed overnight on our way

to California.  The next morning we got up and war had

been declared.  And from then on to California we were

in blackout.  They had guards on every bridge that you

crossed on Highway 66.  You had to wait until a Jeep

came and took that guard and took you all across.  And

then the next guy would come back with the others, and

it was a long process.  But, boy, talk about being

fearsome!  It was a real deal.  My grandfather was a

very witty man, and he said, "Yup, Mary May was married

one day, war was declared the next, and there's been a

battle ever since."  He lived to be ninety-four.  He

was a great man.  I enjoyed him a lot.  My other

grandfather died at the trading post at Canyon Diablo.

That was in 1939.  So I had a lot of good relatives

growin' up.

   

   Cole:  What was his name?

   

   Bailey:  Out here?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Bailey:  His name was Seth Rogers Stiles.  They're

all in a cemetery.  I've got six generations in the

cemetery out here.

   

   [END SIDE A; BEGIN SIDE B]

   

   Underhill:  This is Tape 2 of an interview with Mrs.

Mary May Bailey, and it is July 13, a Tuesday, about

3:15 p.m.  This is Karen Underhill, conducting the

interview, and we'll continue.

   

   Bailey:  All righty!  I think it was June 4, 1942 or

1943.  I was staying down at Mother and Daddy's house,

and I must have been sleeping on my right side, facing

east in the bedroom on the east side of the house.  My

father was sleeping in another room, but he must have

been on his right side, too, facing the east.  It must

have been between four and five o'clock in the morning.

We both woke up and jumped out of bed and said, "What

in the world was that?!"  And there was no noise, there

was just this horrible bright light.  So Daddy wrote it

down in his little ledger that he kept about everything

that happened every day.  When the war was all over,

they finally told us that they'd set off an atomic bomb

down in New Mexico, and that's what it was.  We could

see it from here, if you were upstairs.  So my, what a

mammoth thing that must have been.  Now, that's a long

distance.  But it must be on that strata.  I don't

think there's anything here you could hurt--don't worry

about it.

   

   Steiger:  (inaudible)

   

   Bailey:  Oh, I gotta get those off.  Well, I just

had to check and see if I knew anything else, to tell

you.

   

   Underhill:  You mentioned at one point you were

operating a trading post.

   Bailey:  Yes.  That was the time when--it was after

the war.  Betty and Charles had to go back and run one

too, at some time.  I don't know which one they ran, I

can't remember that.  But we had to go back.  Let's

see....  I had just lost a little boy.  My first

husband just couldn't tolerate it.  He just went to

drinking and never--it took him many years to ever come

out of it.  But that's the time we went back and stayed

at Castle Butte.  And we had a lot of friends in

Winslow, and one Thanksgiving we all got together out

at Castle Butte for a Thanksgiving meal.  I'd made a

great big turkey, and we had a great huge feast.  It

was getting along about dusk.  The friends I'd invited,

like we, he worked on the railroad and he knew he might

get called, so Ross drove him back to Winslow.  And the

fires had all died down, but we were very comfortable,

but there was no window in the truck that Ross was

driving.  So when he came back, he was cold as he could

be.  So we built up all the fires again.  Well, I'd

left some plum pudding in the oven.  And that fire got

to roaring real good, and it shot off (laughs) all over

the kitchen!  Here it is nine o'clock at night, and you

just have gasoline lights to deal with.  So we got up

and scrubbed down the walls and got everything back

together.  And then something else happened--well, I

guess it was that--flipped all the lids on the top of

the stove.  Oh, my! what a mess!  There was soot

everywhere.  (laughter)  We really celebrated that

Thanksgiving!  But it was fun, we had a lot of good

times.

   

   Underhill:  What were your customers like, then?

   

   Bailey:  Well, it was just a real lot of, you really

had to think.  I'll tell you a story about Navajos and

how some of them work.  Daddy had this one man, and he

said he was just like a coyote--he could see out of the

back of his head.  Now, whether that meant that he just

had a lot of mental telepathy, or whatever, he used to

sit out in his hogan by the month, figuring out how to

cheat my father.  So this one time we were buying wool,

and some of the people that had big herds would bring

the wool already entramped and put into a big--they're

350-pound sacks.  So this guy brought it in, Daddy

checked it for being wet--no wet, no sand.  He didn't

open it all the way up, but there was a lot of wool.

So he bought it, 350 pounds of wool, put his number on

it, and it went.  They always brought it into Winslow

to ship it out to San Francisco or Los Angeles.  They

went from there through the Panama Canal and around to

Boston.  That was the cheapest route to send that heavy

a load.  And also, it picked up moisture on its trip

going back to Boston, so that was another profit.  So

then when they bought it in Boston, there always came

with a bill of lading, what each sack brought and what

it weighed and everything.  So Daddy looked up on this

chart to see what Joe Benally's [phonetic spelling]

sack had in it.  (chuckles)  And there was an old

mattress wrapped up real, real tight, and then padded

with wool everywhere.  (laughs)  So Daddy could hardly

wait to do something for him some day.  (laughter)  It

was really funny, what happens.

   Steiger:  Did he ever get him back?

   

   Bailey:  I think he did.  I'm sure he did, in some

way.  He had grown up on the Navajo Reservation, so he

knew Navajos forth and back, and they knew him.

   

   Underhill:  How would you describe the typical trade

transaction that took place?

   

   Bailey:  Well, they either brought in a rug or

hides.  Now, when we first moved to Castle Butte, my

father took string and measured out thirty-six inches,

and tied a knot in both ends.  And he gave it to every

woman that wove, and he said, "I want a saddle

blanket."  You don't have to make a design in it, all

you have to do is weave it so it's thick, and if you

can use angora, use the goat hair," 'cause it was

better for a horse's back than anything else.  Then he

would give them a double one, double the thirty-six

inches, for a double saddle blanket.  Okay.  And he

started this himself.  When we first moved to Castle

Butte, all they wove were flowers and stuff, and they

looked horrible, and it was not a good, saleable item.

So he started that, and then he had orders from J. C.

Penney's and Montgomery Wards and Porter's in Phoenix.

Oh, we just bought saddle blankets by the great gross.

And they either brought in a saddle blanket to sell, or

a blanket.  They wove lots of better blankets then.

And hides, we bought hides.

   We'd buy mutton sometimes, or a lamb or a goat was

the best thing in the world they could bring in.  And

we would have fresh meat.  And then we finally got an

Electrolux refrigerator so we could keep it without

havin' to hang it up every night.  Oh, those were the

most delicious things to eat!  Mother would do 'em

outside with the ribs.  Oh, my! they were good.  But

that's what they would trade, or they would pawn

something.

   Now, I was down at the store in town one day when

Daddy had a New York banker sittin' there by his desk,

and he was watching all of this, and he thought it was

the most amazing thing he had ever seen, because one of

Daddy's best customers, or some of 'em--there were a

lot of good customers and he knew 'em well--had come

in, and they wanted to borrow their pawn.  So Daddy

went back to the pawn room, and he had shown the guy

the pawn room before.  And he picked out their pieces

that they wanted, and he sent them on their way.  Now,

this is stuff taken in as collateral.  That banker

nearly died!  "How in God's world can you ever make a

profit?!"  So Daddy told him, "You have to know your

customers."  And he said, "They're honest as the day is

long, and they'll be back, and they'll bring it back

in."  And so they did.  But oh, there was a huge amount

of pawn.  And that was one of your big items.

   Just working in a trading post--you see, both Betty

and I did have to go back and run a trading post.  Then

my sister and I both worked in the store down here.  So

we had lots and lots of contact.  But we had a good

instructor with us all the time.

   One day, I don't know whatever stirred up these

Indians.  There were some people that lived out around

Leupp, and I can't recall their name real quickly, but

they were--oh! Fewson [phonetic spelling] was their

last name--and Daddy always called 'em "the feudin'

Fewsons."  And they fought!  Over the drop of a hat,

they'd fight.  Well, there were two of their family

squaws in the trading post, and I don't ever know what

precipitated it, but this one girl walked up to the

other squaw and she knocked her clear over the stacked-

up flour in the middle of the store.  You stacked 'em,

you know, so that they were real high.  And she knocked

her clear across there, and then all the rest of the

Navajos just sat back there and laughed.  And it was

all over within a twinkling of an eye, and nobody knew

what had started it, or how or why.

   Then one day....  Usually the squaws did all the

trading and buying, because they're head of the

household.  All she has to do at that time, to get a

divorce, was throw his stuff outside the door with his

saddle, and that did it.  That was the end of the

marriage.

   One day this woman had bought all kinds of

groceries, and the tailgate to the truck was still up,

so she had to climb over that, and then climb up with

all these groceries.  As she was taking one of the last

big sacks up, it broke and spilled, and everybody just

sat down and hee-hawed!  They all just laughed and

laughed and laughed, and so did she.  And she climbed

out and picked it all up and got another sack.  They

are the best natured people you can ever think of.  But

they'll sure....  It was funny.

   Daddy went down, when we were at Castle Butte--he

always bought sheep every year--and then he bought

sheep from all the other traders, so he would have a

huge big herd.  So they were getting them all gathered.

They brought 'em in by truck, and we're ready to cross

from Castle Butte to Holbrook, which wasn't a very long

way.  So Daddy had gone down and counted out the sheep

this morning, and he was four short.  So he waited

until the herders came in, and he said, "Well, I'm

short four sheep.  Do you know anything about it?"

"No, don't know a thing."  He always stamped a "T" with

red paint on their forehead.  So he came back and sat

down and had a cup of coffee and thought a while, and

then he says, "I know where those sheep are."  So he

went to these herders' hogan, and sure enough, here's

these four head of sheep with mud on their head.

(chuckles)  So he dusted it off, and there's the "T"

and he brought 'em back.  He said, "Now, you are going

to take these sheep to Holbrook tomorrow, and there

won't be one missing, will there?  Or if you say no,

I'm going to go get the police right now.  So you can

make up your mind.  Either you can make sure that every

one of these sheep gets to Holbrook, or you're gonna go

to jail."  So they thought about that a while, and they

decided that's what they'd do.  So he met 'em in

Holbrook, and there was not one sheep missin'.  They

must have had to carry some of 'em, there were little

lambs.

   

   (side conversation about storm warning)

   

   Underhill:  You may have house guests!  (laughter)

   Bailey:  That'd be perfect!  That would be fine.  I

could show you all these pictures.  We could stay up

all night lookin' at pictures.

   Underhill:  What do you think separated a good

trader from a bad trader?  Your dad obviously was

successful at it.

   

   Bailey:  Well, I think you had to be a very astute

businessman.  You had to be extremely honest.  And, of

course, he had the advantage of growing up on the

Navajo Reservation and speaking Navajo when he was very

young, and he played with Navajo boys, so he knew their

nature.

   Now, at that time, there was no high school in

Winslow.  When he graduated from the eighth grade, I

think he stayed out of school another two years, and

then he was sent to Fort Worth, Texas, to a business

school, and he was there for two years.  So he learned

all about business, all about how to type, how to do

everything.  So he was a pretty shrewd trader before he

ever went into the business.  He knew a lot about

everything, business-wise.  So that's why he always had

all of these enterprises, like starting the Navajo rugs

for saddle blankets.

   Mr. Bush lived at Dilkon, and I guess he's the guy

that started....  They thought they should put flowers

into rugs so that they'd look more like carpet.  So

Daddy had to get them all over that.  (laughs)  And by

this time, Mr. Bush was gone.  But it was just being

enterprising, I think.  And he was a shrewd

businessman, and Mother got to be just as shrewd as

Daddy, so they always talked things over.  They were a

great team, they always pulled just like a team of

anything.

   Speaking of teams, we had a bunch of--when we lived

at Turkey Track Ranch, Daddy had sent these two young

men out with a wagon and a team, to mend fence, and

they worked hard all day, and when they came back in

one of the horses was stifled.  Now, that's pulling the

shoulder out of joint.  So Daddy fired 'em then and

there, and said, "Marge, go and find me a quarter and

sterilize it."  So he went down to the corral and threw

that horse down, and he cut a slit in the shoulder.  By

then, the quarter had been sterilized and he slipped

that quarter in that slit, and he said, "No one is to

ride this horse or have him as a team.  No one is to do

anything but let this horse rest for a year, and then

he'll be all right."  There was a team, and the one was

named Kettle Belly, and the other was Leche--it was a

grey and a white--and it was the white one that had

been stifled.  So that's what he did, and we watched,

and I often wondered.  Now, the only thing I can

reason, it acted as a counter-irritant and brought more

blood to that area, so that it would heal faster.  But

I've never been able to find a veterinarian that could

tell me why that would work.  Maybe just the rest.  But

as a little kid I used to think, "Boy, I'm gonna look

that horse up as soon as he dies.  I want that quarter

back!"  (laughter)  Talk about greedy, huh?

   

   Underhill:  Did your mother also work in the store?

   Bailey:  Yes, she did.  She just worked all the

time.  She was a good cook, too.  She worked with Daddy

a lot.  At this time they were living in Winslow and

running the trading post on Front Street.  And Daddy

would have other things.  He'd go out to the ranch, and

Mom would run home to get supper, and I learned a good

lesson.  When a man is hungry, you set the table, and

then you start cooking, because they think it's

imminent, it's gonna happen real quick.  (laughter)

But she was a good sport, we had lots of fun.

   

   Cole:  What was the name of the store in Winslow?

   

   Bailey:  Downtown?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Bailey:  It was just J. B. Stiles Trading Post on

Front Street.  And it burned after....  Let's see, I

think Daddy had sold it, and then it burned.  But we

had a robbery there, too.  Some high school kids--I

don't know where they thought they were going, but they

went from the roof into the trading post.

Inadvertently they went into the pawn room, and they

just grabbed pawn from everywhere and stuck it in a

sack.  And nobody knew a thing about it for about a

year-and-a-half.  And then one day these kids were

riding down Highway 66, going through Winslow, and a

policeman saw 'em pull up a string of beads like this,

and another string like this, and that's who done it.

They had buried it.  So a lot of the turquoise was

ruined.  A lot they got back.  I have a string I put

together with all just trash that was left over.  But

it's amazing how little people know about anything.

   And like I say, these people from New York would

come by and go around and visit with Daddy in the

trading post, and they couldn't understand how that

worked out at all well.  (laughs)  One of the things

Daddy wanted worse than anything in the world was a

four-horned sacred sheep.  And he was having a lot of

difficulty with a gall bladder.  So it finally got so

bad he went to Cottonwood to have it taken care of, and

while he was down there, this Navajo brought in a head

with the four horns.  And Betty and I were down there,

and we thought, "Oh, Lord! what are we gonna do now?!"

Well, there was a big deep freeze down there, so we put

it in there, and it stayed there 'til Daddy was well

enough to take care of it, and then he had it mounted.

It burned up in the store.  That was sad, 'cause

there's not very many sacred Navajo sheep anymore.

   

   Underhill:  Was your father a member of the United

Indian Traders Association?

   

   Bailey:  Oh, yes, yes.  And they went to a lot of

their meetings and went to Phoenix.  He and Johnny

O'Farrell would always get together.  Now, Johnny

O'Farrell finally went from Tonalea or Red Lake to The

Gap.  And he had that trading post over there. So when

Swinerton [phonetic spelling]--do you remember the

painter Swinerton?  (Underhill:  Unt-uh.)  Well, he did

a lot of beautiful landscapes.  And he had the little

canyon kids in the Good Housekeeping magazine.  So when

he died, he had requested in his will that he be

cremated and brought to Arizona and put in the Colorado

River.  So that job fell to Johnny O'Farrell.  And he

had a suspicion that it wasn't proper to spread ashes

anywhere in Arizona, and especially not on the

reservation.  (chuckles)  So he had to be real careful

about the highway patrolmen comin' up and down that

strip.  But he finally got the ashes in the Colorado

River for her.  And I always thought that was pretty

neat.

   

   Underhill:  Did you ever attend any of the United

Indian Traders Association meetings?

   

   Bailey:  I did, but I don't remember it much.  We

always went shopping.  (laughter)  It was a break to

get to a big store.

   

   Underhill:  Do you remember what your father's

number was, the hallmark number?

   

   Bailey:  I don't know.  I have several of his cards

around here, and I don't know whether they might be on

there or not, but they'd be out in the garage, so I

don't know.  But he was well-known among the traders.

He had a lot of customers that bought sheep or cattle

in Colorado, because I could remember they shipped a

lot of them there.  And then toward the end, the Santa

Fe had given up shipping any livestock, so then they

had to be trucked out.  The sheep would go in the

triple-deckers, and one morning I was out at Castle

Butte, and they were loading sheep, and this big triple-

decker had just come, I don't know, coming in with a

load, and that thing tipped over, and not one of those

sheep was hurt.

   

   Underhill:  Huh!

   

   Bailey:  It was going real slow, and it was just on

an incline and got the thing off balance and over it

went.  But boy, it was just harrowing to watch that.

   

   Underhill:  Now, how long did your family stay in

the trading post business?

   

   Bailey:  Dad semi-retired, I guess.  He never did

retire, he still kept buying sheep.  There's still

Navajos that come here and ask me if I'll buy a cow.

(chuckles)  They track me down.  But until he died, he

was still buying cattle.  He had a big ranch between

here and Flagstaff from Dennison--if you know where

Dennison is on the Santa Fe--to Sunshine.  And it was

the Sunshine Ranch.  And when Roger was killed, he

couldn't handle that ranch and five trading posts, so

he started narrowing things down so that he could

handle 'em, and then he bought the one out south of

town.  And then he died and Mother and Betty and I

didn't know how to run a ranch, so we leased it for a

while.  First we let it lay fallow, and that was the

smartest thing we ever did--just not to let any

livestock be on there at all.  And it rained well and

built up grass and the tanks filled.  But Betty wasn't

interested in it, so most of it ended up [being my

responsibility].  But I'd always gone with Daddy.

   Now whenever there was anything medical to do with

cattle, Betty run the other way.  (laughter)  So Daddy

would come and get me, and oh my! this one young heifer

had aborted, and we had to get the afterbirth back in.

So he sterilized a Coke bottle, and we got her in the

chute, worked and got it back and stitched it in.  And

I said, "Daddy, what's somebody gonna think when she

goes to slaughter and they find a coke bottle in

there?"  He said, "Oh, I'm sure they find a lot of

other things that's unusual."  But that's what kept it

in.  It had been out too long and was too dry to stay.

You'd have had to soften it a lot before you ever

pushed it back.

   But he was a remarkable man.  He certainly knew a

lot about everything.

   

   Underhill:  When did you stop working in the trading

post?

   

   Bailey:  Well, after he died, it burned.  He had

sold it before he died to George Baker.  And then it

burned.  So George Baker moved out east of town, and

it's Brachman's [phonetic spelling] now.  Bill Brachman

bought it.  But he was raised with a trader, so he

understood.

   Oh, one time....  Let's see, this must have been in

the forties.  Yeah.  Mother and Daddy had decided they

would take a vacation and go out to Los Angeles to

visit with my sister.  She was living there at the

time.  So Daddy says, "Well, as long as we're goin',

let's take a whole lot of pawn and see if we could

peddle some of it."  So he got all the dead pawn.  Now,

pawn goes dead after a certain time.  But these bankers

that would come by and talk to Daddy were astounded.

"You mean you keep that stuff for a year without any

payment at all?"  "Absolutely!  And longer if they're

good."  You know, if they're good customers.  He said,

"You just have to know your people."

   Anyway, so they filled a big boot box and took it to

Los Angeles.  And Daddy loved the horse races, so they

went to Santa Anita while Betty was doin' other stuff

with the kids and Charles was at work.  They went to

the Santa Anita Race Track and they had the best time.

They took their boot box and put it under their seat.

And they spent the whole afternoon there watchin' the

races.  Then they were all over, so they left, and they

got out quite a ways from the racetrack, and Mother

said, "Jot, did you put that in the car?"  And he said,

"No, did you?"  "No."  "Well, let's go back and get

it."  So they went back, looked, and there it was.

Isn't that amazing?!  In Los Angeles, even in the

forties.  So they still had their jewelry to peddle.

(chuckles)  Oh, my, there were a lot of funny things

that happened.

   One cold winter morning, the Collier's magazine had

just come, and I was down at Mother and Daddy's and I'd

been looking through it, and it was all about going to

the moon, and how they were gonna get there.  So I took

it to Daddy and I said, "Daddy, look at this article.

Do you think they'll ever get to the moon?"  And he

said, "Honey, I can't even begin to think about that.

I've got to get to Holbrook this morning, and I can't

figure out how I'm gonna do it!"  (laughter)  I thought

that was a pretty good answer.

   

   Underhill:  How did you see trading change over

time?  You saw it from the time you were very young.

   

   Bailey:  Yes.  It was a totally different thing--

especially when they first started the CCCs [Civilian

Conservation Corps], and they put those men to work

killing....  What are they called?  Prairie dogs!

Prairie dog crews.  So they would hire all of these

young Indian men, and they would go out and use poison

grain and hit every prairie dog town they could, to get

rid of 'em.  They thought they would bring an increase

in the amount of grass.  Well, that wasn't causing the

overgrazing.  The overgrazing was too much livestock.

But that was one answer to the United States

government.

   And at that time....  John Collier was his name, and

he wanted to reduce all of the herds of the Navajos.

So he forced them to sell--not taking into

consideration that these were how inheritances....

Livestock was always an inheritance from the mother.

She owned all the livestock.  And if there were four or

five children, they would just not have anything left

if they had to kill all of these, which they did.  And

traders bought 'em and sent 'em to Kansas City by

train.  So his name just became a swear word among the

Navajos.  I don't know if you've ever heard that or

not, but it was, it was just a swear word--they just

hated him.

   

   Underhill:  How did that affect your business?

   

   Bailey:  Well, there was no price of anything at

that time.  You know, everything was Depression.  But

Daddy always managed to make money with his rugs and

with the trading post--it always made a profit.  Like I

say, he was a shrewd trader and he knew how to do it.

   When they first started the draft--and that was

before we were in the war--they sent all kinds of

flyers out to all the trading posts to open up a place

where these men could come and register to sign up for

the draft.  So Daddy thought that was a real good idea,

so he put a....  We had a big ceremonial hogan that he

had bought after one of the ceremonies close to Castle

Butte.  He bought the whole thing and had the men come

up and set it up by Castle Butte, because it made a

wonderful place to have an extra bedroom or just extra

room, which we didn't have much of.  So he put up a

flag pole and flew a flag, and put a big Navajo rug out

there on the side of the hogan, and that's where these

men signed up.  Well, that morning that they were to

sign, this young Navajo man came.  One of the first

ones, and he had a bedroll on the back, and a rifle

mounted in a scabbard on the side of his saddle, and he

hung around all day long after he signed up.  He was

still there when we were eating supper.  And Mom said,

"You know, I think you ought to go out and ask that man

what he's waiting for, Jot."  So Jot puttered out, he

asked him what he was waitin' for.  He said, "I'm

waiting to go to war.  I'm all ready.  Just as soon as

they tell me where I can go, I'll go."  And he said,

"Well, it doesn't work that way.  You've got to wait

'til you're drafted."  But they were good people.  My,

a lot of them were very good--real good friends.

   When Daddy died, they came to Mother immediately,

two different medicine men came.  And they said, "We

want you to know that we're having the same ceremonies

for Jot as we would have for our own."  So Mother said,

"Well, now, let me help you with it."  And she took the

key to the store and went down and gave them flour and

sugar and coffee and whatever else they needed.  So it

was the day that Kennedy was shot.  I had just come

home from school, and my daughter came home to have

lunch with us, and his name was Honagotnee [phonetic

spelling].  He came with his daughter, and he said,

"Now we need to finish the ceremony with your mother."

So we sat out on the front porch and he went through

his chants with his corn pollen, and his daughter

interpreted for us.  And that's the only ceremony that

I know of that was ever held for a white man.  And I

thought it showed a great deal of respect, and Mother

was very well pleased.  But the fact that it happened

the same time that Kennedy got shot was a little

unusual.

   Ask me some more questions.

   

   Underhill:  Did your father arrange for people to

work with the railroad?

   

   Bailey:  No, I don't think he ever got into that

kind of a deal, no, when they were hiring like for the

CCCs and whatever else, because there were a lot of

government programs just starting up to helping them.

Then they would come.  I don't know how they would get,

how it would ever be known, but Idaho would come.

People from Idaho would come and take Navajos as

laborers into the potato fields and all those big heavy

fields where there was a lot of heavy work to be done.

And they'd be gone all the time.

   And then as the Navajos got better educated, it

helped a great deal, because when Roger was drafted, he

had to take in a group of Apaches that didn't speak any

Navajo or any English.  And I've often wondered how

stupid can the government get?  Here they've got a man

that can speak Navajo, why don't they use him with the

Navajos?!  And this one guy I was telling you about

that was court martialed, he was the number one scout

in the South Pacific, and they were battling over there

and he was in some kind of a charge, and he ducked down

like this and caught a shell here, and it knocked out

his eye.  But he was around from Castle Butte area.  So

there was just a lot of 'em that served and served

well.  (inaudible)

   And I still have people come here to see me.  This

guy that pawned this watch (chuckles), and I didn't

even know what I had.  Shows you how smart I am.  It's

a Citizens band watch.  The jeweler says the watch

alone is worth $200.

   

   Underhill:  Oh, my gosh!  And the band?

   

   Bailey:  And the band, I don't have any idea.

   

   Underhill:  What other kinds of services did your

family provide at the trading posts?

   

   Bailey:  Well, there was always burying the dead,

which at that time they were most superstitious about.

And I don't know how many people Daddy buried.  But if

they didn't do that, they had to go through a ceremony

that lasted nine days, and destroy the hogan.  The

north side of the hogan was always knocked out to take

out a body.  It was never taken through the front door,

which always faced the east, you know.

   There were a lot of wonderful customs.  When we were

first starting in the trading and we were around there

all the time, it was just very seldom that a mother-in-

law ever saw her son-in-law.  And the warning that they

would come in and say if they saw the son-in-law coming

toward the trading post and knew she was there, they

would come in and say there was an owl outside.  And

she would either sit there with her shawl over her or

not, but that was the warning.

   And let's see, one day there was a....  When they

have squaw dances, they move every daylight.  They

dance all night, but they move the next morning.

Whoever is chosen as the--I guess it's the princess of

the dance, has a baton with ribbons on it.  And she

holds that upright all the time.  If it ever drops,

it's all over, it won't work.  So this one morning

there was all of these people, horses and wagons and

trucks and everything, and these people in front

stopped and they didn't move anymore, and Daddy went

out and asked, and they said, "Well, there was a coyote

that just went across our way, and we can't go on by.

We've got to do something else, or call the whole thing

off."  (aside to pet)  So they mulled around awhile,

and pretty soon they found a way to go around that the

coyote didn't go, so that they could go on and have

their sing or squaw dance.  But that's what we usually

went to when we took the truck, was a squaw dance,

because Daddy--and like I told you, he had the little

blanket, the chimayo.

   

   Underhill:  How did things change after World

War II?

   

   Bailey:  Well, I think the Navajos knew that they

couldn't make a living with just staying on the

reservation, so a lot of the men went to work for the

Santa Fe.  And they were good workers.  When they had

the ice docks in Winslow, they iced all the cars at

night.  And a lot of those Navajos came in and worked

as ice workers.  And of course the upstairs of Mother's

house, the windows were always open in the summertime,

and Daddy could listen to all the Navajos talking as

they loaded all this ice.  (laughter)  And he could

understand what they were saying, and sometimes he'd

just wake up.  Everybody'd just be asleep and he'd just

wake up laughin' his head off.  (laughter)  Oh, they're

a great group.

   And I like the Hopis, too.  And I fire all the time

now.  I have a kiln, but it's down right now.  Two

elements are burned out.  But I fire, and that box over

there is greenware to be fired.  Now they're using

ceramics--you know, poured ceramics--to make these

beautiful things.  I'll show them to you before you go.

They do beautiful plates.  They make big bowls.  Oh,

there's some out there in Polacca that just do

wonderful work.  Now, the ones at Oraibi, I don't know

what that's called now, but Oraibi are bringing theirs

in.  They're not quite as good as the ones around

Polacca, but they bring in lots of it.

   And there's two men that work out there in

geriatrics that have degrees from Flagstaff, and they

get hard up for money every once in a while and they

build a bowl about this big the old way, and paint it,

and then they fire it the old way so it will be

variegated.  Then they bring it to me and I fire it for

ten bucks, and they take it to the Heard Museum and

sell it for $3,000.  (laughter)  But they are beautiful

things, and I just can't get out of it.  I just love to

watch and see what they're making.

   

   Underhill:  And how did you get started firing

pottery?

   

   Bailey:  Well, in the seventies....  I had a friend

when I was in the sixth grade.  There were three of us

girls that kind of stayed around together.  But this

one girl was always messin' us up.  So she had done her

tricks again and Peggy Eiler [phonetic spelling] and I--

Peggy Darling was her name--and I decided we'd be best

friends.  So from the sixth grade on, we were together.

We went to college together, she stood up with me when

I was married.  We've just been together, and we went

into business together in the ceramic business.  And

she did all the bookwork and I did all the teaching and

all the stuff that had to be done.  And we had that

until I had an aneurism in my brain, and I was out of

commission for a while.  She couldn't run it by

herself, but I had the kilns over here, and we had to

transport all of that greenware here and fire, and then

take it back to the shop.  And if it had to be glazed,

bring it back and fire again.  So there were three big

kilns out here.  So I've gone through three big kilns.

I'm waiting now to get some new elements, and I'll be

back in business.  But little things like those little

storytellers over there--I just love to see those.  And

now she's doing turtles with storytellers.

   

   Underhill:  Who are some of your favorite artisans

that you've worked with over the years?

   

   Bailey:  Oh, yes!  And it's just wonderful.

   

   Underhill:  Anyone in particular?

   

   Bailey:  Yes, this Carol is one of them.  What's-her-

name Bailey.  Effie Bailey is one of the best painters

out there in Polacca.  She does beautiful work.  And

there's a young man now that's started.  He knows

absolutely nothing about Hopi pottery, but he does all

of their designs on greenware, and they're just

beautiful.  And I know he makes a good living with it.

His name is Montoya.  And I always like to see him

come, because he has some unusual things.  But I just

can't get away from it.  My heritage just won't let me

do anything else.

   

   Underhill:  Your father's daughter!

   

   Bailey:  And that painting over there is a copy of

the original--that Hopi dancer, snake dancer.  Have you

ever seen a snake dancer before?

   

   Underhill:  Just in photographs.

   

   Bailey:  Okay, well, that's what they look like.

And the Hopis can recognize him.  So his name was Logan

Dallas.  You don't often seen anything that's....  But

they don't mind that I have it.  It's not any big deal.

And that's Castle Butte in that painting over there.

That's from Gordon Pond.  Do you know of Gordon Pond?

   

   Underhill:  No, I don't.  Very nice.

   

   Bailey:  And this one is Homer Koolyama [phonetic

spelling].  And there's a big picture in the back room

I want you to see before you go, he painted of my

father on horseback, and the rest of his family

branding.  Now, the picture that it's painted from was

in just flat, open area, but he's put in buttes and

everything.

   

   Underhill:  (laughs)  Changed the landscape.

   

   Bailey:  And the picture, the horse's leg was not

included on the picture.  So he had to do it over.

Now, the only time you ever see that there was a

makeover on it, is when you take a picture of it.  You

can't see it with the natural eye.  So I thought, "Boy,

if I ever want to buy a big wonderful painting, I'm

going to take a picture of it before I do."

(laughters)  Anything else!  If they'll allow it.  It

would just be good sense.

   Underhill:  Now, you mentioned that you were married

in 1941, December 6.  How did you meet your first

husband?

   

   Bailey:  Well, I was a Rainbow Girl.  Do you know

about Rainbow Girls?

   

   Underhill:  Equivalent to Girl Scouts?

   

   Bailey:  No, it's a Masonic order for girls.  And

there was a big dance in Flagstaff, and this guy came

up and danced with me and I forgot all about him.  He

lived in California, but evidently he didn't forget

about me, so he came back when he graduated from high

school to go to work for the railroad.  And he worked

first in the bridge and building, then he worked his

way up to being a fireman, so that's when we got

married.  This Peggy Eiler and him are the ones that

decided when I was going to get married.  So they

picked the date.  Man, what a day!  (laughs)  The world

fell apart the next day.  Most interesting.

   

   Underhill:  How many children?

   

   Bailey:  I had three.  I had Bruce and then I had

Roger, and he died when he was ten months old, and then

I had Peggy.  Peggy's the only one I have left, and she

lives in Colorado.  So we're going up to see her the

end of this month.  And she had three children.  Now,

my sister had the same.  She ended up with the same I

did, a boy and a girl.  Charlie McFetridge [phonetic

spelling] and Margery [phonetic spelling].  And then

they had their children, and they were the same as my

grandchildren, three boys and a girl.  Amazing!

   

   Underhill:  (laughs)  What a coincidence.

   

   Bailey:  I don't think that would happen very often.

   

   Underhill:  Are there any other favorite stories

that you have from your years out at the posts?

   

   Bailey:  I can't think of any right now.  I did take

the census one year--1960, I think.  Isn't that when

Goldwater ran?

   

   Underhill:  In 1964.

   

   Bailey:  It was 1964, then, I guess.  Yeah, I

carried his sign on top of my car from here to....

What is that place in Colorado, the first one?

   

   Underhill:  Cortez?

   

   Bailey:  No, that big pueblo thing.

   Cole:  Mesa Verde?

   

   Bailey:  Mesa Verde.  All over Mesa Verde and back

down the reservation.  (laughs)  It was fun.  And I've

got a whole lot of nice mementos from him that I'm

saving.  And it was a real fun thing.  I was attendance

officer at all the schools.  The high school you didn't

have to bother, because they don't have to go to school

if you're eighth grade or older--just so you've

completed the eighth grade, that's all they care about.

And there was a lot of funny things that happened

there, too.  We had a mechanic in town that needed help

a lot of the time, and his son was an eighth grader,

and he needed him to help him with a lot of work.  So

my son Bruce had come out of the Navy, and he was home

on leave.  It was Frontier Days at Winslow, so they'd

asked us all to dress western.  So I had on boots and

pants and a shirt.  And before I left, Bruce said,

"I'll go with you today.  I want you to wear my gun."

So I put his gun on, and we got the list and went out

calling on these people.

   So I walked up to this....  Bruce said he'd stay in

the car, so I walked up to this guy and I said, "Why is

So-and-So out of school?"  And he said, "Well, I need

his help today."  And I said, "Well, you're not doin'

that boy any favor to keep him out.  If you have to

have him work, work after school or on Saturday and

Sunday.  But it's just not fair to that boy."  And he

never was absent again!  (laughter)  But I wouldn't

have shot a gun on a bet!  Oh, my, I hated 'em.

   

   Underhill:  And they weren't allowed on the Navajo

Reservation, were they?

   

   Bailey:  Guns?

   

   Underhill:  Uh-huh.

   

   Bailey:  We always had one.  Oh, that was another

story I was gonna tell you.  When we moved to Turkey

Track Ranch, radios were a real hot item, so Daddy had

to have one.  So he bought a battery-type deal, and he

needed an aerial and a ground wire.  So he took his

rifle off of the wall, "blam! blam!" and he had his

holes, and he put 'em out.  Didn't have to go to the

radio shed.  (Underhill laughs)  I always thought that

was innovative.  (laughter)  Mom didn't care about much

of the smoke.  Oh, my, growin' up was fun!

   It was a bitter cold winter in 1930.  Cattle froze

standin' up.  The chickens lost their feet.  We lived

out, and you could hear the train whistles from

Holbrook.  So he had to break ice all the time.  They

use a tripod.  When these cattle would get so weak,

they'd get down and they couldn't get back up.  So

they'd work with horses and put a tripod over the

downed animal, and a strap underneath 'em, and try and

raise 'em up.  Well, they would be on the fight so

badly, they'd come at that horse and gouge them, and

that was probably enough to send 'em back down, so you

did the whole thing over and over and over again.

   Before we could come to town, Daddy would say, "We

might go to town today, but don't get dressed yet."

And he'd take boiling water and pour over the manifold--

whatever that is--and then he'd attach the horse to the

car, and they'd go around and around and around until

the car would start, and then we knew we were goin' to

town.

   

   Underhill:  When you first went out to Piñon, you

had an automobile then?

   

   Bailey:  We had an automobile.  It was an old one.

One day we were going over to see Lorenzo Hubbell, and

there was not even a good back seat--it was just padded

back there enough so you weren't ... killed.  And on

our way, this Navajo man wanted to hitch a ride.  So

Mother was in an awful quandary.  Was that Navajo gonna

sit back there with us kids, or was he gonna take her

place up in front?  Well, she came back with us kids.

(laughs)  And we went to Oraibi.  It had rained at some

point in there, and we were up on the mesa, and we had

to come down, and there were no brakes on the car.  So

this Indian fellah was still with us.  Mom set us three

little kids on the bank of the road, and she and this

Indian would pull back on that car as Daddy would drive

into the side of the butte, gettin' us down.  Well,

that was quite exciting.  (chuckles)  So you never

knew.  We always carried food in the car.  We never

went anywhere, even to go to Flagstaff.  We always

carried food in the car, and water.  And a washpan and

a towel and washcloth, because as we came into

Flagstaff, we had to stop under a pine tree and be

washed and changed our clothes before we ever got into

Flagstaff, and stay at the Monte Vista.

   

   [END OF INTERVIEW]