PAUL BEGAY INTERVIEW

   

   [BEGIN SIDE A]

   

   This is Karen Underhill with Northern Arizona

University.  We're at the Dinnebito Trading Company in

Page, Arizona.  It is Tuesday, February 10, [1998].

We're here with Paul Begay.  Lew Steiger is operating

the sound and camera equipment.  This is part of the

United Indian Traders Association Oral History Project.

   

   Underhill:  Paul, we'll start with your background.

What clan were you born for, and where and when?

   

   Begay:  Well, as I remember being told by my mother,

I was born when the snow was this high. (holds out

hand, about three to four feet from floor)  Now, the

Navajo people don't keep records, they don't have

written records, so all the records are kept by memory.

So my mother remembers giving birth to me when the snow

was this high.  I guess back in those days, the snow

was always that high at a certain time.  And so in the

Navajo way, we tell stories of the calendar years.

Now, you have twelve months in a year in today's world,

in the English way.  But in the Navajo way of

storytelling, you have thirteen months in a year.  That

makes it a little bit difficult to really pinpoint

exactly when I was born.  Our [year] begins in the

month of October.  We call it Ghaaji’, or in the

literal translation, it means "back-to-back."  On this

backside of it, it was once--everything has turned

colors, everything has died.  Everything that was once

alive has died, so a new beginning will come.  So new

process begins, a new life begins.  So that's the other

side of this back here, so that's why they call it back-

to-back.  So being that October is the first month of

the year, then we call it Ghaaji’ when everything dies

and a new cycle of life begins, followed by November,

which we call "thin winds."  Now, these are literal

translations of that month.  "Thin winds" meaning that

the light winds will begin to come.  You will feel it

on your face, the light winds, meaning that the winter

season is here, and you can feel the cold air--followed

by December, which we call the "big winds."  Now, the

big winds bring the big snow.  So back in those days,

it is understood that it snowed all in December.  So

when January comes, the snow is this high.

   So when my mom says, "You were born when the snow

was this high," that pretty much told me and everybody

else that I was born in January.  So when I got

introduced into the education system, they put as my

birth date, January.  What day, we don't know.  So

everybody took a wild guess, said "third sounds good."

So they put January 3.  What about the year?  See,

that's where the difficulty comes in.  My mom's story

goes according to the thirteen months of the year.  On

the other side we now know today as thirteen months of

the year.  So any way she tells her story, it's never

gonna be right.  So they tell me today I'm forty-five

years old, give or take a couple of years, because we

don't know.  So that's the way my so-called "official"

records say, January 3, 1952.  I know for sure,

according to my mother's story, January is correct.

But I have questions about the day I was born, the

third, and the year 1952.

   I was born--my mother belonged to the Gap-in-the-

Rock Clan, the Tsédeeshgizhnii clan.  The Navajo

society, we are made up of a matrilineal clanship

system, meaning that we will carry on our mother's

clan.  So all my brothers and sisters, we carry on our

mother's clan.  I was born for my father's clan, the

Deer Water Clan, Biihbitoo’nii.  In the Navajo way of

thinking, Dad is just a visitor to our home, so we

teasingly refer to Dad as our "in-law," because Dad is

married to Mom, who is the same clan as I am.  We tell

Dad to go get a job and support us.  There's a lot of

teasing going on.  It's a way of life in the Navajo

society.

   So I was born for the Deer Water Clan.  In the

Navajo way, we're told that in order to know who you

are, you must know four clans.  Because it's a

matrilineal clanship system, I must also know my

maternal grandfather's clan, my mother's father's clan.

He belonged to the Bitter Water Clan, the

Tódích’íi’nii.  My mother's mother's clan is the same

clan.  I already know that, because it's a matrilineal

clanship.  Mom carries on her mother's clan.  I must

also know my paternal grandfather's clan--my dad's

father's clan.  His clan will be different.  Dad's

mother's clan are the same, because he carries on his

mother's clan.  My father's father's clan, my paternal

grandfather's clan, was from the Towering House Clan,

Kinyaa’áanii.  So in order to know who I am, I must

know these four clans.  Name is irrelevant.  Name

doesn't really mean anything to the Navajo society.  In

order to identify yourself to another person, who you

are, these four clans we share.  In this way you know

who you are, and who the other person is, and you greet

each other accordingly.  He might be a brother, a

father, a mother, a cousin--that's the way you get to

know each other.

   So in identifying myself, I will tell this person my

four clans.  I am of the Gap-in-the-Rock Clan, born for

the Deer Water Clan.  My maternal grandfather belongs

to the Bitter Water Clan, and my paternal grandfather

belongs to the Towering House Clan.  Now he knows who I

am, and when he tells me his four clans, I will know

who he is, and we greet each other.  (Steiger asks for

time out, tape turned off and on)

   

   Underhill:  Can you tell us a little bit about your

early life, the area where you were, and what kinds of

things you and your family were doing when you were

young?

   

   Begay:  Growing up, the men in the Navajo society,

it seems like they're separate from what the women do.

The women have their own thing to do, and the men have

their own thing to do.  So they're pretty much doing

their own thing throughout the day.  In the evening, of

course they all come back to their traditional hogan--

this is the native Navajo dwelling--and they become one

family again, it seems like.  But during the day,

everybody does their own thing.  We were expected, as

young boys, we were automatically tabbed as the

sheepherders, the caretakers of the sheep.  You take

care of the sheep.  We were taught by our grandfathers

and our fathers.  If we had an older brother, he will

have had experience herding sheep, so he carries his

knowledge down to us--where we should take the sheep.

It is not proper to take the sheep in the same area for

three or four days at a time.  You must always

alternate your grazing area.  You have your winter

camps and you have your summer camps.  This is so that

the grass and the food supply for the sheep and the

horses and the cattle will always be there.  These are

things that were taught to you by your elders or your

older brother when you were growing up.  You learned

how to build a fire, if you needed to build a fire.

You learned how to hunt the rabbit, because you weren't

fed all the time in the morning before you left.  There

were times when you went without food, because food was

scarce.  And you were--[thought of] as a person that

has learned how to catch these rabbits and get food:

how to chase the rabbits, how to chase it into the

holes, how to use a stick and turn the sticks and make

sure the fur catches, the stick is caught by the fur,

and then you pull it out.  How you go through the

process of skinning the rabbit, cleaning the rabbit,

cooking it--these were taught the young child, so he

can survive.

   Everything that exists on earth we're told is good,

because in the mythology stories, and in the stories of

the Navajo, we're told that like many Indian tribes,

the earth is our mother.  And everything that comes

from the earth is good.  So come noontime when we took

the sheep to the local waterhole, we didn't look at the

water as being dirty.  When the sheep knelt down to

drink, the Indian sheepherder kneels down and drinks

also, never thinking that the water was bad.  I

remember every once in a while chasing the tadpoles

away and drinking.  But I didn't fear the tadpoles or

everything that exists in the water or on land, because

we were told as young children stories of our elders

that everything is also related to us:  the living

creatures, the crawling creatures, the winged beings

and the four-legged beings, they're all related to us,

because in the mythology stories, before we became the

image of a man and a woman, we were of these creatures,

we're told.  So they're all relatives of ours, and we

share the land with these creatures.  We're related to

the plants, the trees, the valleys, the waters,

everything.  So we address them likewise, like they

were our family and our relatives.  The darkness is our

grandmother, the sun is our father.  So we pray to

these beings, the elements of life, the air--they're

related to me.  And so you're taught these things at a

young age, so that when you go out there herding sheep

all by yourself, you're all with your family out there.

   And so we became sheepherders at a very young age.

Of course our father, grandfather, or older brother

will accompany us in the beginning.  But that will not

last forever.  You're expected to become a sheepherder

at a very young age, and you go out on your own.

Eventually, you will be joined by other brothers.  This

is not to say that only the boys herd sheep--the girls

also will do that.  There are cases where only the

girls are born into the family, so they become

sheepherders.  But most of the time, the girls' chores

will be at home--preparation of meals, the wool

projects, the weaving--those are taught the child, the

young girls at home.  And so they stay with the mother

and the grandmother, and their teaching and their

learning is done at home.  And so as young boys, we're

out there herding sheep all day.

   I remember my grandfather telling me that the

sheepherding process is an all-day job.  He would stand

to the west, and with two fingers, go like this,

sideways.  "You do not head home until there's two

left," he says.  Meaning that this is the land, and

this is the bottom part of the sun.  And so this is the

time when you will head home.  That will give you

enough time to take the sheep back home, put 'em into

the corral, the sun has set and you've done your job.

You will not be heading home when the sun is still up.

There's a lot of grazing time left.  You're wasting

that full day here.  So these were the teachings given

to us by our old people.  This is the way to herd the

sheep.  You had learned how to identify certain plants.

In case you didn't eat, you can dig up a certain type

of a plant, and chew on the roots, drink the juice and

the hunger will go away, so that you can last the rest

of the day.  These are the things that is taught the

young child.

   

   Underhill:  What did you do with the herds?  Some

wool?  Did you also trade or sell some of your stock?

   

   Begay:  Oh, yes, springtime is a very busy time.

When we had to--this is probably the only time when we

won't begin to herd sheep until about noontime.  All

the other times, as soon as you're done with

everything--your eating, your prayers in the morning,

using the ground corn to pray with--that begins your

day, and you take your herd out.  But in the

springtime, that would be time for shearing the sheep,

taking the wool off.  The women there will be helping

the men.  Very seldom will you see men and women

working together, but this is the time when the whole

family will be working together.  So a lot of shearing

is done, bagging them, getting them ready for the

trading posts.  A lot of the wool will be set aside,

and they will save those for their own rug-making.

They will go through the washing process, the

preparations, the dying, the carding, the spinning, and

all through what will become a rug, which will

eventually be sold to the trading post.  But others

[i.e., other fleeces (Tr.)], in bulk form, in bags,

will be taken like that to the trading post.  Back in

my younger days, when I was a small child, I remember

we only had wagons with a team of horses, and being

that we lived about twenty-five, thirty miles west of

the nearest trading post, Dinnebito Trading Post, it

took at least a whole day to travel there and back.

You had to make your purchase, I guess, pretty quick,

so that you can beat the sun.  But many times I

remember the sun had set and they would come back, our

families would come back.  But wool would be sacked,

and they would put it on the wagons and they would take

it.  And there the wool was sold.  Back in those days,

a couple bags of wool will buy you a lot of stuff.

That was the way it was.

   When a sheep is butchered, the skin is saved.  It is

stretched and pinned down on the ground to dry.  After

it dries, it's all rolled up so at times you might have

nine, ten, eleven sheepskins all rolled up.  These were

even taken to the trading posts to be sold.  And a

couple of these sheepskins, that was my spending money

for me, because I did a lot of herding sheep.  And many

times when a sheep is butchered, I would save it and

put it up there on top of the arbor shade, save it for

the next trip to the trading post.  And if I have two

or three of 'em there with me, that would give me a

ticket to go to the trading post also.  It was

something to look forward to.  All the other times, if

I didn't have a sheepskin up there, my job is to go out

there and herd the sheep.  But when I had a couple of

those sheepskins, I knew that I could take it to the

store, take it to the trading post, Mom and Dad will

sell it, or my grandfather would sell it for me, and I

would get the money.  And I don't quite remember, I

think it was always like kid stuff, something sweet

that you wanted to buy, or something that will last a

long time, that you kept in your pocket.  So, a couple

dollars went a long ways back then.

   The springtime was always a time....  And of course

in the fall, it's the same way.  By that time, the

young lambs that were born in the springtime had grown.

When we began to experience the education system come

fall-time, when we had to go back to school in August,

this is the time to sell the lambs.  And so the first

thing that came to the mind of these people was because

there's no way to get money from anywhere else, there

was no source to get it from--sheep was a way to get

money.  Sheep was our source of income.  And so four or

five lambs would be put into the wagon, and away they

would go.  And the kids that were going back to school,

would be riding on these wagons, and they would make

their trip to the trading post, the lambs will be sold,

and what money that we have, we'll buy a set of

clothes, shoes for the coming year.  It was always an

exciting time, also.  Even though the thought lingers

in the back of the mind, (regretfully) "Oh, it's

schooltime again.  I don't want to be away from my

family again for nine months out of the year."  Because

of the boarding school system, that's the way it

operated back in those days.  Nine months out of a

year, from August to May, you were away from your

family.  If you were lucky, and your family, your

parents had transportation, you might get a couple

visits.  But it was a very seldom thing for parents to

come and visit the child.  So you're basically away

from your parents nine months out of a year.  And

that's why we really--even though the excitement is

there for new clothes, you still had in the back of

your mind, "Here we go again, for the next nine

months."  But it was exciting.  This is a way of income

for the Indian people.  Sheep was our ticket.  This was

like dollar signs, if we had about fifty head of sheep

there, we were secure, we knew that we can make things

work.  So fifty head of sheep was a good herd, back in

those days.  But I remember many other people having a

lot bigger herd than fifty head.  And we looked at

people and you sort of determined in your mind,

"They're a lot richer than I am, because they have

about a hundred head more than we do."  Yeah, sheep was

very important to us, it was our ticket to the store.

   Of course the store was a convenient place for us.

It seems like when times began to change, when we began

to get away from the traditional way of life, we wanted

to be like everybody else.  We wore the things that are

different.  We began to see people wearing different,

other than moccasins, it was something that was made.

And of course you want to also have that.  You'd see

people beginning to drive the pickup trucks on the

Reservation.  You want that.  Those are the things.  It

went with the changing times on the Reservation.  But

we always thought, "If I have enough sheep, I can have

that."  And so that was the thinking of the Navajo back

in those days.

   

   Underhill:  How often did your family go to the

trading post?  Just twice a year, or more often?

   

   Begay:  They will determine [when there is a need.]

There will be a need to go.  It wasn't set like we will

go at least once or twice a month.  I think there is a

time when they feel there is a need to go.  Of course,

Navajos are not community-oriented people.  There's

clans living together.  Our group of clan consisted of

probably about five or six hogans, dwellings, and that

made our big family there.  Mom and Dad and the kids,

my brothers and sisters and I, we had our own hogan.

And aunt and uncle over here had their own hogan.

Grandpa and Grandma, they had their own hogan.  So we

all lived in this small area.  And being that they're

not a community-oriented people, the next group of

clans lived maybe four or five miles away.  So they

were bunched up like this, many miles away.  Of course

there's visitations, people keep in contact, but your

families stay together like this.  And so one of these

families from one hogan within your group might decide

there's a need to go to the trading post.

   Now, the Navajo way of thinking is not like people

think around here today.  I live here in town now.  If

my neighbor two doors down is going to the trading

post, or to the store, he won't come over here and tell

me that he's going to the store and [ask] if I needed a

ride.  Now, the Navajo ways, they help each other in

this way.  They will go around all these other hogans

within their group and say, "We're going to the store,

does anybody need anything, or does anybody need a

ride?"  And so they will go, rather than making four,

five, six, seven different trips within one month.  Why

not make one trip?  It'll be easier on the horses, and

you get to help your family members also.  And so it

wasn’t really specified how many times you should go.

There will come a time when there is a need to go.

   Many ceremonies on the Reservation began to use

materials, fabrics, that the trading post began to use.

And it seems like a lot of the trips that were made to

the store was for that purpose.  Ceremonies is done all

the time on the Reservation.  And so what they began to

do was buy these fabrics, and they began to use it in

the ceremonies.  They would have this patient-- Towards

the conclusion of the ceremony on the last night, they

would fold these blankets, fabrics, within about one

yard square, and the patient will sit on top of that,

and the singing and the prayers go on all night.  At

the conclusion of the ceremony in the morning, the

patient gets up and the medicine man rolls this fabric

and the blankets together and he puts it on his horse,

ties it on the back his saddle, and he rides off.  It's

used as part of the payment for the job or the service

rendered.  And so that became a common practice.  So a

lot of these fabrics, blankets, were sold in the

trading posts then.  And I remember in our group of

family, that was the reason for the trip.  And of

course you bought that material and blanket.  And of

course then you bought the food also--your necessary

things, the necessities of life, it seems like is

always there:  shovels and tools and hoes, something

that made your job a lot easier.  And we began to

experience these types of, "We can use this to make

your job--you can get a shovel and build your hogan a

lot faster."  Those are the things that, you know, it's

eye-catching.  And that's what the trading post was to

us, is a convenience for us.  Everything that we need,

it seems like it's there.  It's always something you

look forward to.  And of course as little children,

we'd cry because the wagon is leaving.  We want to go

with Mom and Dad or Aunt and Uncle.

   I was very attached to my grandfather.  I remember

my mother telling me a story one day, and my

grandfather, I guess, was going away to the trading

post.  Everybody was inside the hogan, and me being

very attached to my grandfather, a very young child, as

a toddler, I began to follow Grandfather.  Grandfather

never looked back, he just kept going on with his team

of horses and wagon.  And I kept following, until after

a while, everybody missed the child, the little kid.

And I guess by that time I had gone over the hill and

still going after my grandfather.  And my grandfather

tells us the story, he says something made him look

back after he was down about three, four miles

traveling.  He looked back and there was this dog, the

dog that always followed Grandpa when he was traveling,

the tail wagging back and forth.  The dog is following

Grandpa quite a few ways back, I guess.  But he also

noticed something quite a little ways back there, too,

something else moving.  And the thought just came to

him, "It's my grandson!"  So he turned around.  By that

time, everybody was following the foot tracks.  He

left, he went and followed Grandfather.

   So the little kids will tend to cry, because now

they understand there is good stuff at the trading post

also.  But you also understand you have a job to do,

you're herding sheep, or you stay home and you help

your other relatives, you kept the house clean, you had

a lot of stuff to do.  It was never--you never had time

to lay around.  We are so spoiled today.  I believe

what made us very spoiled is the TV set, the video

games, all this commotion goin' on, back in those--oh,

that was a sweet life, that was a good life, even

though it involved a lot of work, it was a good life.

I remember and wish it could have stayed that way

today.

   

   Underhill:  What did you think the first time you

saw an Anglo trader at Dinnebito, do you remember?

   

   Begay:  I really do not remember, but growing up and

then looking back at the little kids, I sort of thought

to myself, "Maybe that's the way I acted sometimes."

But I don't remember ever bein' shy.  Most of the

Navajo kids will be shy.  Boys and girls, they're both

shy.  They have this mother here, and of course the

mother wears the long skirt, and you could see the

little kids hiding behind the mother's skirt, pulling

on the mother's skirt like this, and looking at the

trader.  And it's sort of a funny thing to me, because

I think, "Is that the way I acted back then?"  Because

I really don't remember my first time seeing this

trader.  Just the action of the little kids, I tend to

think that that's probably the way I acted, because

that's the way the majority of the kids act.  Even

though you were a timid person, you still acted that

way.  Of course, once you know the person, then it's a

different story.  Kids begin to get all--like a lot of

kids today--hyper, and they run around, they carry on

their own things.  Kids sitting around inside the

trading post on the floor.  Mother might buy them

something, and they're pretty much content with that,

and they play with that while the mother and father

takes care of the shopping.  Over the counter is the

first thing that I remember.  I remember going to this

Dinnebito Trading Post, and that was our store.  A full

day's travel there and back.  I remember this man

[indicating Elijah Blair (Tr.)].  Well, I know him

pretty well today, but not back in those days.  I was

just one of those regular Indian people that went over

there, I guess.  And there was a big gap after probably

the age of eight or nine, where I didn't see this man

again, because of my education life, I went to school

in Utah, and for a long time I didn't see this person

until I was probably a teenager, and then I saw this

man again.  And he's still there.  But I've never

really talked to him, never really got to know this

man, until I became a man again.  I was over twenty, I

was nearing thirty.  I ran into this guy again, he has

a store here in the big city of Page.  And so one day I

talked to him, I said, "I remember going to your store

as a young child.  And I remember selling the sheep,

helping my grandma and my grandfather loading the sheep

and tying them down, making sure that the sheep doesn't

kick free.  I remember selling the wool.  I remember

selling the sheepskin, the dried sheepskins.  I

remember going into the store.”  All these stuff I was

telling him about, and the memories came back.  I said,

"Oh, yeah, that's the man!"  He changed quite a bit,

now he's all white.  See, he's all gray, but the man is

still the same.

   Underhill:  And this is Elijah Blair?

   

   Begay:  This was Elijah Blair.  I remember him

talking.  You have to make an Indian person very

comfortable in order to win his trust, because in the

Navajo way, you're told you don't talk about your

culture, your language, your history, your tradition,

your taboos--especially your religion--to a non-Navajo.

It's very hard for a Navajo person to do that.  So the

trader had to break through this and win the trust of

the Navajo.  And the way they did it probably what I'm

thinking is, they first have to learn the language.  He

tells me he came to the Reservation among the Indian

people when he was nineteen.  Didn't know nothing about

the language or the culture.  Now today, after forty-

some odd years, close to fifty years, this man is

fluent in the Navajo language.  He knows the way of the

teasing, the tradition, how to act as being a Navajo,

how a Navajo should act, how you tease.  Now, if he

spoke the Navajo language to a Navajo, you make that

Navajo feel comfortable, you begin to win this Navajo's

trust.  And so this man is loved by a lot of Navajo

people.  He knows, talking to him, a lot about the

tradition, a lot about the culture, and he's the only

man that I know that speaks fluent Navajo in Kentuckian

accent.  (laughs)  And so it is possible to learn

(chuckles) how to talk Navajo.  It don't matter what

part of the country you are.  And so this was the way

to win the hearts of the Navajo--learn their language,

learn their lifestyle, learn their way of teasing.

Teasing is a big thing among the Navajo people each

day.  I would see this Jaiyazhi, Elijah Blair, teasing

with the Navajos, grabbing at each other's clothes.

It's a way to interact with the natives.  And he got

accepted in this way.  And people, I don't think, after

a while, when transportation became more convenient,

people did not actually go to the trading post mainly

to buy something or to get supplies--they went to see

Jaiyazhi.  (laughs)  I remember in my group of clans,

or in my group of family, our hogan, the men talk about

Jaiyazhi.  The women, on the other side, of course, in

their own teasing ways, "Ah!, forget about that white

man!  He's no good, he doesn't know nothing about the

Navajo."  But the man, they stood up for this man

Jaiyazhi.  "I will go over there and talk with him,

shaadaaní, our in-law," they call him.  This is a way

of, when you say "in-law" to a white man, you're

basically saying, "Oh, he's good enough, so I wish he

could be my in-law."  This is what they're actually

saying.  It's not going to become, but it's just a way

of teasing among the Navajo people.  And so when they

say "my in-law," they're grabbing at his clothes, and

he's doing the same thing to the Navajo.  Maybe he's

grabbing this Navajo's clothing because he owns a lot

of jewelry and has got a big concho belt.  "Huge!

Looks like a wealthy Navajo.  I want him as my in-law."

And so this is the way to build a good rapport, a good

relationship between the trader and the Navajo, to win

the hearts of the Navajo.  And he's mastered that, that

type of life.  He's a great man, Elijah Blair.

   

   Underhill:  What did the Navajo people expect from

the trader?  What did the people hope the trader would

do for them?

   

   Begay:  Well, history tells us that back in the old

days in the 1860's, the Navajo people--my grandfather

used to mention in his stories, even--that his parents

and people in his parents' age group were known as

savages, raiders, thieves, murderers, and he sadly says

it is true--this was the lifestyle of our people back

then.  And this caused the government of this land and

the people that ran this government system in this

country, this caused these people to come, and they

sent a man by the name of Kit Carson.  And so the

roundup of the Navajo, because of their lifestyle,

their savage way of lifestyle, their renegading ways

and their thieving ways, they were rounded up between

1860 and 1864.  They were placed in a prison.  They

were enclosed, controlled position, in a place called

Fort Sumner, for four more years between 1864 and 1868.

The summer of 1868, based on the treaty between the

Navajo people and the United States government, the

Navajo people were released.  But they had to make a

lot of agreements.  And so the Navajo chiefs placed

their "X" on these agreements.  Probably one of the

treaties that is most outstanding is that the Navajos

will no longer go back to their old way of lifestyle,

being the thieving people that they were, the murdering

people that they were, the savage way of lifestyle--

that they will become sheep people.  The government

will provide for them sheep and goats, and they will

become sheep people.  Their lifestyle will be based on

being sheep herdsmen.  And so when they came back to

the Reservation in 1868, they were provided with sheep.

And they took their small herds, and they began to grow

their little herds.  When they came back to the

Reservation in 1868, they saw that people had moved

onto their land, and these people will be known later

as traders.  Trading posts were set up many miles

apart.  And so of course the Navajo man and the trader

had to begin to know each other.  So probably one day,

Mr. Yazzie, or Mr. Begay, Mr. Todachini [phonetic

spellings], somebody, some Navajo man, made a visit to

this place to see if he can begin to understand what

his purpose was for being there.  A lot of people will

think all the Indian people know how to do sign

languages.  The Navajo people are quite different than

a lot of other Indian tribes.  The non-Navajo sometimes

might think of an Indian person and see a whole bunch

of feathers.  Navajo people do not wear a whole bunch

of feathers.  Navajo people don't know sign languages.

Of course we do gestures and stuff like that.  I guess

it's a form of sign language, but that's about the size

of it.  So the Navajo and the trader began to

communicate.  Probably nothing happened the first

couple  visits, until three, four other visits came by,

they began to interact.  They began to probably come up

with a way to communicate.  He spoke his language, the

Anglo person.  The Navajo spoke his language.  They

began to try to figure each other out, figure out why

the other person is there.  Eventually, they began to

pick up little parts of each other's language, and a

lot of gesturing.  "Háádée’ish naniná,  Where are you

from?"  Is probably the question that the Navajo

wanted.  Of course the white man didn't understand--

gotta figure this thing out.  They did not really have

a way to work together, they didn't understand a way to

work together.  Until after a while, the white man

began to notice that the Navajo man carries a blanket

around all the time, a woven blanket.  And his wife,

the Navajo wife, wore a woven dress.  The horse that he

rides, he's got a blanket on top--maybe used to soften

the impact of the backbone of the horse.  And so he

notices, and the idea came about, "You know, this is

probably a good way...."  And so the introduction of

the rug was made to the world, to the metropolitan

areas:  Chicago and New York.  And of course, when this

happened, [they] said "Look at these magnificent rugs!"

And so the Navajo and the trader began to understand,

"Hey, this is a way to work together."  And so the

trader began to ask for the rugs.  The first purchase

of the rug probably was placed on the wall.  And when

the Navajo man and visitor, his wife comes, the trader

pointed at the rug.  This gave the understanding to the

weaver that the trader wants this rug.  That way, he

can give us the stuff that's in the back of his counter

here.  And so they began to educate each other on how

to work together.  And so through this introduction,

they began to work together and they understood that

this will be a way.  Here again, sheep is the economy

of the Navajo--based on the sheep was even understood

back in those days.

   And your question was?

   

   Underhill:  Expectations from the Navajo toward the

trader.  One thing that Elijah Blair has mentioned is

that the approach for the Navajo was more communal, as

in, "We should share."  And the trader was there to

make money.  In your experience, what kind of reactions

did that cause?

   

   Begay:  I think initially the Navajo people

understand....  Well, even today there's still a lot of

this thought among the Navajo people that, you know,

"I've labored through so much to make this piece of

rug, and to take it to the store and just get a small

amount of money to make my purchase," that's always in

the mind of the weaver.  But this is because from the

Navajo side, they really don't understand that the

trader is there, like you say, to make money.  And how

do we make money?  It seems like in the Navajo way of

thinking, "I will sell my rug for $100.  I will make my

purchase."  And she sort of thinks that the rug will be

sold back to the public for $100.  And they see this

price, that they've sold this rug that they wove and

sold a couple of months ago, they look at the price

after a couple of months, and it's got $200 on it, and

they think, "Oh, I got a bad deal here."  But it's

basically because they don't understand that this

person is also there to make money.  But the more time

is put into interacting with the Indian people, and the

trader, when they're talking together, they began to

understand that this is the way it runs.  The guy will

not make any money.  But we also understand from the

Indian people that it is a good thing for the trader to

be there, because he has some things that I can use,

like I said, to make life more easier.  He's got tools

to make life more easier.  He's got food that will last

a long time, as opposed to if you butchered a sheep,

you divided it up among all these different hogans that

you call your group of family living together, so that

the food will not go to waste, the meat will not go to

waste.  It's sort of like consumed within the short

period of time.  If you go to the trading post, you got

'em in cans and stuff like that, so it's a convenient

thing you can save until you need it.  And the more and

more stuff began to go into the trading posts, more and

more we began to go over there.  They kept coming up

with more new stuff.  So in a lot of Navajo people's

minds, I think that the Navajo people think they were

being ripped off in many ways by the trader.  But then

again, they also understand that they can't do without

the trader, because then it seems like they're not

advancing with the changing times.  In order to change

with the times, you change with this trading.  He has

something that provides you with these things, so that

you can keep up with these changes in time.  And so

that's the way the Indian people thought of the trading

post.  There was always a little animosity, there's

always a little anger set towards the trader.  But then

it's also understood we cannot live without the trader

also.  It's a place, like I say, going back to

convenience--there's a lot of things that he has to

make it convenient and easy for us to live.  And so

that's why even the person that got mad at the trader

will always be back over there again about a week

later--not necessarily to apologize, but he's gonna go

back over there, because he needs this place to also be

there.

   

   Underhill:  Were you familiar, when you were

younger, with the pawn system at all?  As you went to

the trading post, did you witness much exchange in

terms of pawn?

   

   Begay:  I remember my mother and my father pawning,

my grandfather pawning.  That was also--there was times

when you needed to do it.  Just because you had a

hundred head of sheep don't mean that you had sheep to

sell.  It's understood, the Navajo people took real

good care of their sheep.  You don't sell your

sheep....  It seems like it's not necessary at this

time to sell the sheep.  Save it for later.  It will be

of better use later, if we sold 'em later.  So let's

say, for instance, in the middle of the summer--May,

June--why would the Navajo sell five head of sheep,

when he could save it and use it? [Not] sell until

August, so he can buy the kids' clothes to go back to

school.  So in the meantime, they resort to their

jewelry, a set of beads, a concho belt, a bracelet.

They could pawn it for fifteen, twenty dollars.

Growing up, I remember watching Mom and Dad do that.

They would take off their bracelet and sell it--not

sell it, but pawn it.  And they would get some money--

fifteen, twenty dollars maybe.  And then, here again,

that's a lot of money--you could buy a lot of stuff.

As far as the addition of money for interest, I never--

I didn't know that existed.  But here again, I'm sure

the Navajo person also understands--especially the

older ones will say, "Well, I'll pawn this for forty

dollars."  He expects to get it back for forty dollars.

But here again, because he doesn't understand that this

person has to also make money, he is helping you by

lending you forty dollars, but for a little price.

Now, today a lot of people understand that, you have to

pay a little price to borrow some money.  But back in

those days, it wasn't like that.  But as time went by,

they began to be educated that this is the way it is.

They talk among each other--the Navajo people talk

among each other.  “Haash yit’áo?  Why is it I pawned

this for twenty dollars and then I had to pay twenty-

three dollars to get it back?”  And then the person

that now understands how the system works will tell the

Navajo, "Jó!  Because he doesn't know you and you don't

know him.  If you didn't know me, and I don't know you,

would you give me twenty dollars, lend me twenty

dollars and tell you 'I'll give it back to you sometime

later'?"  "No, I won't do that."  "Well, you won't do

that to me.  At least this man, he keeps it there, and

he says he'll give it back to you, but for a small

price.  In the meantime, you get your food or whatever

you need, and you go.  See, it's a way of helping."

The Navajo now began to understand that you get help in

this way.  And so three, four dollars or five dollars

interest is a small price to pay for what you got.

They began to understand it.  But then again, there's a

lot of people--especially the elders--they still

believe that they should get it back the same way,

because they don't understand.  He's looking at this

man, this white man, the trader, and he drives around a

car--especially probably Jaiyazhi, he's got his

airplane sittin' out there--this is a rich man.  Why

would he need an extra three, four dollars?  They don't

understand that, see.  But he still needs it, probably

to pay for his airplane or his pickup.  But through the

years, as times changed, they began to understand it.

Today the majority of the Navajos, I believe,

understand how the system works.  But it took them a

long time.  People still bring it up every once in a

while, "It shouldn't be that way."  I think they do

that just to pick on the trader.

   

   Underhill:  Were your family members able to borrow

their jewelry for ceremonies and things from Jaiyazhi?

   

   Begay:  Um, I don't remember back in the early days,

but here, today, sometimes I remember....  I even got

in a situation where I had to take a piece of jewelry

of mine, and I took it to Jaiyazhi, and being that I

know him personally, I know his son and daughter, I

know his wife, his family.  I think there's this, going

back to this trust among the trader and the Indian

people.  I once came here a couple of years back, a

ceremony being done, and I approached him.  I said, "I

have this item on pawn, but I don't have any other

jewelry to use during the ceremony."  And I explained

to him my situation.  And they understood.  Here again,

because Jayazi understands the significance of the

religion, the culture of the Navajo people, how

important it is to the Navajo people.  He says, "Yes,

you can take it, but bring it back on this day as soon

as the ceremony is done."  And I did, according to what

I promised him.  With the agreement made, I took the

jewelry.  Yes, there are times when Indian people do

that.  They would place their items on pawn, it's still

on pawn.  Go to the trader, explain your situation.

There's a great trust between the Indian trader and his

clients, the Indian people.  And so it goes along with

becoming great friends.  Yeah, that's a great friend of

yours, after you have made this relationship work.  I

don't know if he'll let me do that this time, but

(chuckles) yes, there were many times when I had to do

it.  I personally did it myself, brought the items

back, put it back into the store, and it's on pawn

there until I took it back out.

   

   Underhill:  You went to a boarding school.  What

differences do you see between a trader and maybe a BIA

schoolteacher or a missionary or other Anglo folks who

were coming to the Reservation?

   

   Begay:  Um....  The school system I went to in Tuba

City, back in the latter part of 1950, early part of

1960, it's probably the time when I saw a lot of white

people all at one time.  But here again, you have to

individually pick out these white people and go through

the whole process of winning their trust again, it

seems like.  And probably the teacher is probably the

one that I began to work on first--not really "work

on"--she had her job to do, but the thing that really

[won me over] as far as my first teacher, her name was

Mrs. Kirkpatrick.  A very tall lady, with the smile.

It seems like the smile always told me that everything

that I did on paper was always good.  And in the Navajo

culture, you don't have this eye-to-eye contact, so it

was very hard for us.  [END SIDE A, BEGIN SIDE B]  You

had to learn to do that.  You had to learn to look at a

person in the eye and feel good, feel comfortable with

it.  It takes a long time.  Even when I was in high

school, I still had difficulty looking at a person in

the eye.  Today I public speak, and I really had to get

rid of that.  But when you see another Native American,

or a Navajo person walking by, the culture kicks back

in and you look away.  But this lady, I think because

of being away from Mom and Dad for nine months out of

the year, you tend to look for some type of a mother

figure, or a family figure.  And even though this lady

was a white lady, she was the one that I picked.  And

so I was very comfortable with her.

   But the other, the missionaries, it seems like they

were sort of very pushy in certain situations.  I

didn't understand why, I thought it was all part of the

school system.  I remember at times when they would

come to the dormitories where you lived on Sunday—

[Video stops here; the following thirty lines (within

these brackets) do NOT appear on the videotape.  They

were transcribed from the audiotape, and remain here

for continuity:

   and it wasn't a case of what denomination you were--

a group of kids just went with this strange white man,

and he took you way far away, across the street to a

building.  And I guess that's where you worshiped, and

you're supposed to worship there.  I remember I went to

a church where sacrament was bread.  And I remember

most of the kids wanted to go over there, just so that

they can eat some bread, because we were hungry in the

morning.  So that was a choice of religion, because of

the bread that we could eat--a little extra eat.  And

so other than that, we never really got to know the

missionaries.

   Now, we had another store, a trading post, just a

little ways, about a mile away, walking distance.  Now,

I didn't really get to know this man.  All I knew, he

was a short guy with a bald head.  But he won our

hearts because he had his way of doing that also.  I

remember if we were good boys and good girls, we would

have this privilege of being told that we can go to the

trading post.  We didn't have any money, we had no

reason to go.  But when we got there, I remember this

white man used to tell us to stand right in the middle.

See, the counters went all the way around here.  And

there was a space right there in the middle where

people mingled--all these Indian people that came to

trade and to buy stuff--they mingled there and talked.

That's where all the kids would get all bunched up and

he would take a handful of these pennies and he would

throw it to us like this.  And we would scurry to get

as many pennies as we could--get at least two handfuls

and do that to us.  Now we had money to spend, see.

And he did that to us every time we went over there.

That won our hearts, and we wanted to go see this man

again.  Even though we didn't have any money, we had

about maybe ten, fifteen cents, but it was enough to

buy maybe gum, bubble gum.  Boy!  And we made it last a

long time.  That was a way of adjusting to the school

system.  We had the missionaries there, we had the

dormitory life, the teacher there.  We also had the

trading post.  We went through a lot of hard times,

going to school.  But everybody had their own--the

teacher, the missionaries, and the trader over here--

they all had their own thing to do, and they all had a

way of keeping us going, keeping us interested.

(Videotape resumes)]

   (Steiger makes comment about tape)

   

   Underhill:  This is Karen Underhill with Northern

Arizona University.  This is Tape 2 of two with Paul

Begay.  Present are Lew Steiger, and of course

Mr. Begay and myself, and it is Tuesday, February 10,

[1998], about 10:00 a.m.

   You mentioned weaving and the importance of weaving

among the family, among the Navajo people.  Was your

mother also a weaver?

   

   Begay:  Yes.  That was, like I said, back in the old

days when I was growing up.  It was expected that the

women are weavers.  Like I said, it was the way of our

economy.  You can't have anything or expect to have

anything unless you knew how to weave.  If you had

sheep, you gotta know how to weave.  You can't be

selling sheep or sheepskin all the time.  But of course

a nice blanket will always bring a higher price than

just selling your sheep or selling wool or selling

sheepskin.  And so Mom was the weaver.  She taught my

sisters how to weave.  Because of the introduction to

the education system, some of my sisters have limited

education in the art of weaving.  A couple of my

sisters had spent a lot more time with Mom, and she had

more experience and education into weaving, so she has

more knowledge in the weaving area than my other

sisters.  And so weaving, we've always seen.  In each

hogan, there is always a weaver.  This is a part of

life.  It was always done year-round, because you never

know when the trip to the trading post will be made.

It seems like there's always a rug there.  When I go

down to visit my mother in Tuba City, there seems to be

always a rug on the loom there, half woven or almost

completed, or in the process of beginning.  So Mom is

still a weaver today.  I have a daughter and she spends

a lot of time with my mother, and she's learning how to

weave.  In fact, a year ago, a year-and-a-half ago, she

began to give me small practice ones.  They're about a

foot by ten inches, and I'd seen maybe about ten of

them, around.  And she would give me a couple of them

here and there.  And then one day, I don't remember

what the occasion was, but she gave me something

wrapped.  And all the time I've been visiting there, I

guess she was hiding the loom somewhere, but it was a

pretty big-sized rug, about three feet by four feet.

And she gave me her first finished big-size rug.  She

says, "This is for you, Dad."  So I have it at home.

And so the rug weaving is carried down--at least in my

family--to even the granddaughters, the younger

generation.  And so it's important to my mother, in her

way of thinking, that this tradition, this art--it's

not more or less an art, it's a tradition, it's a

culture--that it be carried on and be maintained, not

to let it die.  And so I feel that she's got this great

appreciation in her heart, knowing that it's still

being carried down.

   

   Underhill:  Some of the traders have described

showing the Navajo women different designs, and from

their perspective, influencing how the rugs were made.

I've also heard from a Navajo woman that there is no

design until you start, and that the rug takes on its

own life.  (Begay:  Yeah.)  How would you describe that

process?

   

   Begay:  Well, the weaver never uses any type of a

measuring device, because of her strong belief in the

mythology stories.  We believe we learn--the Navajo

people, the Navajo weaver--believes she learned how to

weave from this spiritual person.  Now, when we got

into the education system, I read a book, and I was

told by people in the education world, that the Navajos

were not weavers at all, and that they had learned this

art from the Pueblo Indians.  And so one day I went

home and I told my grandmother, I said "We were told

that we learned this art of weaving, this culture, from

the Pueblo Indians.  Kiis’ áanii bits’ ‘áádéé’, from

the Pueblos."  And she told me (chuckles), anything

that she disagrees with, or anything that my

grandfather disagrees with, he or she will correct you,

sit you down right then and there and correct you, and

tell [you] their version.  Because of the strong belief

in the mythology story, my grandmother sat me down

there, and she told me that a long time ago in the

mythology stories it is told where we learned the art

of weaving.  It was not from the Pueblo Indians.  She

says that like many Indian tribes, the earth is our

mother, and the sky is our father, and everything that

exists, like I said before, is related to us--crawling

creatures, the winged beings, the four-legged

creatures, the plants, the trees, the mountains, the

valleys, the waters, the air, the darkness, the light,

the sun, the moon.  They're all related to us.  "And so

one day," she says, "the sun came up, our father the

sun came up."  Back in the mythology world there was

only holy beings existed on earth, and one day the sun

spoke.  And the sun spoke and he says, "Why is it that

I travel many miles, many distances each day, and I

give you the light and I give you the warmth, but when

I set in the west, I spend my lonely nights by myself?

I need somebody to be with me, be my companion, to

spend my nights with."  And so the holy people came

together.  Now, before these holy people came together,

there among them was this spiritual woman.  They called

the spiritual woman Changing Woman.  Now, this woman

became a woman.  Before she became a woman, she was

called White Shell Woman.  Now, there was a white

mountain.  In the Navajo mythology or the cultural

teachings, you have four sacred mountains:  the white

shell in the east, the turquoise mountain in the south,

the abalone in the west, and the obsidian, the jet, in

the north.  And the Reservation is within these four

sacred mountains.  During that time in the mythology

world, in the beginning, they saw to the east a

mountain, this white shell mountain, and there were

many mountains around it.  One particular mountain had

a cloud hovering on top.  And so the holy people got up

in the morning and they heard a child cry, and they

didn't understand where....  It appears that the crying

of this child was coming from this mountain that had

this particular cloud hovering on top, floating on top.

So the holy people went there, and sure enough, they

found a child there.  Seems to be abandoned.  They

looked around, they didn't find anybody around.  The

spirits spoke to them, and it was a gift to the holy

people.  They picked up the child and they took it back

down to where they lived.  Because the child did not

belong to anybody, it didn't have a mother or father,

the holy people helped each other and they raised the

child until she reached the age of puberty, and a

puberty ceremony was done for the child, this little

girl, this young girl.  At the end of the four-day

ceremony, the conclusion of the ceremony, she became a

woman, so they changed her name from White Shell Woman

to Changing Woman.  Now it appeared when the sun spoke

to them, that the sun requested a companion.  The holy

people thought spiritually, "Oh, this is why the child

was sent to us.  It was meant to be this way, that we

send this woman, who's now called Changing Woman, to be

with the sun."  So the Changing Woman was sent to the

west to be with the sun.  There, they had a spiritual

union.  From this spiritual union it resulted in the

birth of two boys, twins, one called Monster Slayer,

the other called Child Born of the Water.  But they had

one main reason for being born, these two boys.  The

reason was that they will travel on Navajo land and

they will kill off all the monsters that should not

exist in today's world.  There were many monsters,

enemies, that preyed on the people, the Navajo.  And

their job was to do away with all these bad creatures.

One day they were doing their job, and they were

walking down this valley and they heard somebody

singing, a beautiful voice coming from afar.  And they

looked in that direction, but they didn't see anybody,

so they began to follow the sound.  And the closer they

got, the singing became louder and louder, but they

still couldn't see anybody, until they came upon a hole

in the ground.  They looked down there, and sure

enough, there was somebody down there.  There was a

woman, and the woman was weaving a rug.  The boys

quietly knelt down, and they looked down there, and

they watched.  The woman was happy, that's why she was

singing.  She was happy because she just had a little

piece to go to complete her weaving on the rug.  The

boys watched.  The woman completed her weaving, she

took the rug off the loom, and she walked in that

direction.  And the direction that she walked away, a

line followed her.  "So, my grandson," my grandmother

says, "When you look at a spider web somewhere, in your

home or someplace, look closely, and if you don't see a

spider there, you'll see a line, the direction that the

spider departed.  That's why when you make a rug, in

one corner of the weave, there should be a line that

comes out to the end of the rug, we call the spirit

line.  That is to pay tribute, to honor the Spider

Woman that we learned how to weave from.  It was not

the Pueblo Indians we learned how to weave from, it was

the Spider Woman.  Therefore, the line should always

exist in an enclosed--(draws a square with his hands)

[In] a rug with a border, there should be a line that

comes out.  When you leave this line out, that means

that you will leave your mind open to think of new

designs.  If you don't leave the line in there, you

close the rug, then you've enclosed your mind, and you

will have a hard time thinking of new designs.  New

techniques, new designs will be gone.  And so this is

the reason why the line should be there."  So it is the

Spider Woman, this is the spiritual woman that we

learned how to weave from.

   Now, being that the belief among the weavers is that

we learned from the spiritual woman, she don't need no

measuring device.  She, beforehand, understands what

kind of a rug she will begin to weave, and she will

begin to weave--run the wool back and forth, the

strands of yarn and the wool, back and forth, and she

begins to weave.  What they have, the intricate

designs, all these, they are usually identical.  From

this side, if this rug was one piece here, it would be

the same as it is over here.  I can never understand

how my mother does that.  She weaves from the bottom

all the way to the top.  When she completes the weave,

a rug something like this (gestures toward rug on the

wall behind him) with a very intricate design, I fold

it in half when she completes it, and it's exactly half

and half.  And sometimes I will get a straight pin, and

maybe put a straight pin right here (again gestures

toward rug behind him), and maybe another one right in

the middle of this diamond here, and another one maybe

right in the middle of this grey area here, fold it,

half and half.  Then I turn it around, when I turn it

around, it's exactly where I placed it on the other

side.  Now how does that happen?  For the weaver, it's

the power of the spiritual woman, the Spider Woman,

that makes it happen.  This is the way they think when

they're weaving.  The only measuring thing that I see

when my mom is weaving, is she'll be weaving and she'd

use her hands.  "Oh, it's about three [hand spans]

there, three there," and she'd go back and forth, and

that's her only measuring device, is her hand.  But

it's not determined.  When I wanted to draw a rug, I

get out a ruler or a yardstick, get out a piece of

paper, and I measure it out.  This is the way a lot of

people understand.  They think that the Indian people

do this.  But the weaver just begins to weave.  How

does it happen?  By the power of the spirit of the

Spider Woman.

   

   Underhill:  When did you begin working in a trading

post?

   

   Begay:  I believe I worked for Elijah Blair for

about three years--mainly, I guess, because I needed a

job (laughs) at that time.  And then I also had a lot

of understanding about the rugs, I had a lot of

understanding about the arts and crafts of the

immediate Indian tribes here.  And I see a lot of them

here.  I also knew Elijah Blair very well.  I didn't

really know his children personally at that time.  But

when I began to work with them, I eventually grew to

know their family very well.  Just the thought of

working with the people.  Although at many times, here

again, the negative part and the positive part of the

Indian people coming to trade, you begin to feel that.

I remember feeling at times, this woman put a lot of

work into this rug.  Maybe she got paid about $200.  I

would stand here and wish she could have got at least

$300.  But, you know, I'm a person trying to make a

living too, even though I understand that this is the

way the system of the trading post works.  Here again,

the compassion side, the compassion for my people is

always in the heart also, and you sort of feel bad, but

you still work with that.  And so it was good working

with the Indian people.  Here again, even though the

Navajo people sometimes have bad feelings about the

trading posts, coming to the trading posts will never

stop, they will always be here.  We wish it will always

be here, anyway.  It's not the same as going to a Wal-

Mart over here, or Safeway over here.  It's not the

same.  When you go to a trading post, and you know this

trader, it's just like going to a relative that owns a

trading post.  This friendship and this relationship

between the trader and the Indian has developed so

strongly that this is the place you want to go, even

though you complain at certain times that that's too

much, you still go there, 'cause that's just part of

family.

   

   Underhill:  What separates a good trader from a bad

trader?

   

   Begay:  (big sigh)  The only thing I see as far as a

good trader and a bad trader is, I think--just that I

don't know one trader personally, and I know the other

one.  I think eventually if I begin to know the trader

that I [didn't] know before, eventually I will like the

trader.  But I think all traders are alike.  I

sometimes go to the bigger cities.  Traders there are

really--they have really big stores.  They have a whole

complex of buildings, and inside there is just amazing--

just stacks and stacks of rugs.  And this is what the

Indian people see, and this is the first thing that

comes to their mind.  "Boy, that man is just getting

rich on us!"  Now, that's just the idea the other

people have.  Sometimes I get that idea also, but that

doesn't make him a bad trader.  I really don't think

there is a bad trader--at least not from my experience.

I think the intention of the trader in the first place,

when he came onto the Reservation, was to work with the

Indians and help the Indians--just the understanding

that he is also making a living was a little bit hard

to understand.  But eventually, the Indian people began

to understand that.

   My experience with Jaiyazhi, he's, like I said,

always a friend to the Navajo people.  He always will

be.  He's traveled most of the Navajo Reservation,

setting up his trading posts here and there.  We would

love to think that his home is always Dinnebito, even

though his store is not there.  I think just looking at

him, just the feeling of being--just because I'm Indian

and I feel this--I think he thinks Dinnebito is his

home, because he knows a lot of people there, that's

where he spent a lot of time.  Growing up as a little

kid, he was the first white trader I have seen.  My

family, my grandparents, my whole relatives that live

within this expanse, the surrounding area, with a

radius of about twenty, twenty-five miles, they know

nobody else other than Jaiyazhi.  And so we go over

there.  He was our man.  Well, he still is today!

(chuckles)

   Underhill:  You mentioned that all traders are

alike.  What characteristics do those traders share?

   

   Begay:  Pawn, rugs.  (laughs)  I think the main

thing, they're there because they love the Indians and

they want to help the Indians.  They were there before

the big stores were, before all these convenience

stores got scattered on the Reservation.  They were

there before everybody else.  And I think for the most

part, most of these traders just grew with these Indian

people, and it's now hard to get away from, because

they have now become part of the family.  I think for

the most part, most of these traders feel that way.  "I

belong to the Indian people."  And the Indian people

also feel he belongs to us and we belong to him, we're

family.  That's just the attachment that develops

through years among them.  So, being family, it's very

hard to get away from family and relocate.  If I lived

here all my life in Page, it'd be hard for me to get

away from my relatives--especially the Navajo way.

It's easy for a white person to do that.  It's easy for

a white person to relocate to L.A. or to Seattle, maybe

because of economic reasons you have a better job over

there.  But Navajo will settle for a less paying job

here, just so he can be with his family.  I think

Jaiyazhi doesn't want to leave.  I think some of these

traders don't want to leave, because now they've lived

with these Indian people for so long, they're beginning

to think like Indians--it's hard for them, their heart

says, "I can't leave."

   

   Underhill:  What have you learned from your

association with traders?  You've mentioned some of the

differences in the economic approach.  But is there

anything else that you've learned?

   

   Begay:  I didn't really spend like on an every-day

basis, but I've learned to appreciate, like I said,

I’ve also looked at the negative part of it.  The

trader is feeding off the Indians.  I've looked at it

in this part a while back, for a time.  But I've

learned to appreciate that they were there to help my

family.  I now understand the reason why the trip to

the trading post was very special.  When I was growing

up, it wasn't done all the time.  When somebody came

and knocked on our hogan door and says, "We're going to

the trading post.  Do you need anything?  Or [does]

anybody need a ride?"  Or, "Throw in your three

sheepskins, we'll sell it for you and bring you back

some bubble gum."  The more stuff, supplies, the

necessities were added onto the trading posts, the more

we needed to go to the trading post.  And it was a way

for the trader to help my family, my grandma and my

granddad, my parents, my aunts and uncles, the group of

people I lived with.  It was a way to advance, go to

the next stage of this changing life.  And I have this

great appreciation for that.  I've learned to

appreciate the trader:  Do away with the negative side

and learn to appreciate that they were there for a

reason.  They were there because they thought, "I'll

work with the Indians, because I love the Indians,

because I want to supply them with what they need.

They have what they need, and they make what they need.

I can work with them, and become friends and become

family with them."  And a lot of traders have gotten to

this stage.  And my appreciations, not only for

Jaiyazhi, but for the trader that also thinks in this

way, thinks of the Indian as family that he's grown to

love, and he's finally made them understand that this

was the reason why he came.

   

   Underhill:  And what do you think the Navajo people

taught the traders?

   

   Begay:  What the Navajo taught the trader?  Well, in

this case, for Elijah Blair, I believe that because I

now understand he's got probably a greater knowledge of

Navajo culture, language, the everyday lifestyle, the

teasing techniques, how to interact with your Navajo

people.  He has greater knowledge than a lot of Navajo

people I know.  A lot of Navajo people don't really

carry on this tradition, because, here again, with the

changing times.  A lot of our Navajo people don't

understand the language, they don't understand the way

it used to be a long time ago.  But this man was here a

long time ago, so he understands.  And so I think that

the Navajos taught this white trader, and in return,

[he] better understands the Navajo.  Here again,

becoming the family, this was a way of becoming that

family member.

   

   Underhill:  Is there any favorite story you'd like

to tell on Elijah before we stop?  (laughs)

   

   Begay:  Elijah Blair?  Well, like I said, he's a

very fun person.  "Fun" meaning that, you know, when I

see--not only me talking with him--even when I see, it

gives me a great thrill to watch him with other Indian,

Navajo people, and the way they act.  He doesn't act

like a white man, he acts like the Navajo.  He puts

himself in a position of probably thinking that he's

Navajo.  In fact, I've even heard him at one time say

he thinks he was born with the wrong color.  (laughter)

And one of the greatest--the one that stands out in my

mind, thinking about it, [is]  when he said one day

that he believes that he should have been Navajo and

not white--he was born with the wrong color.  I

remember he was standing with his wife, and in the

Navajo way, you might observe when you go out on the

street, when there's a lot of Navajo people, if you see

a Navajo man walking, at about four or five paces

behind, there's a Navajo woman walking.  Culture tells

you that these two are married to each other, because

in the Navajo way, they never walk together like this.

The Navajo man always leads the woman.  I remember him

saying, "I believe I should have been a Navajo, so

Claudia, from now on, I want you to walk four paces

behind me."  (chuckles)  And I remember Claudia getting

mad at him, and telling him that she was never gonna do

that, and that was disrespectful.  Of course that's

disrespectful in white culture.  I remember this

teasing that went on.  That gives me an idea that this

man is very schooled and very educated in the

understanding of the Navajo culture.  Quite a man.

   Underhill:  Is there anything else you would like to

add about trading or Navajo culture?

   

   Begay:  Well, cultural stories are very important to

me.  I consider myself a traditionalist.  The stories

that I tell relate to traditional ways.  I also

understand the western way of life.  That cannot be

avoided.  I live in a changing time, a world that is

constantly changing.  But I have great pride in my

language, in my history, in my culture, and I wish to

just hope that it carries on, and it never dies.  Like

the thoughts of the Navajo weaver, she hopes that the

rug weaving never dies, and she tries very hard to pass

it down to her daughters and granddaughters.  Likewise,

the traditional stories, I would hope that it stays

that way.  A Navajo or an Anglo trader or a trader to

the Indians, for that matter, if he truly understands

and respects and appreciates the cultural teachings of

the Navajo people, he's truly a Navajo trader, a trader

to the Navajos.  I think a true trader is the trader

that understands the Navajo in this way.

   

   Underhill:  Well, I'd like to thank you very much

for your time this morning.  It's been just a wonderful

interview, and I am honored to have the chance to talk

to you.  Thank you.

   

   Begay:  You're welcome.

   

   [END OF INTERVIEW]