BILL RICHARDSON INTERVIEW

   

   [BEGIN SIDE 1]

   

   This is Brad Cole from Northern Arizona University.

It's March 29, [1999].  We're visiting with Bill

Richardson today in Gallup, New Mexico.  This is an

interview that's part of the United Indian Traders

Association Oral History Project.  [Gail Steiger is

running the recording equipment.  Various family

members and employees make comments throughout.]

   

   Cole:  Mr. Richardson, if we could start with when

and where you were born.

   

   Richardson:  I was born in Winslow, Arizona, August

28, 1918.  That's where I was born.  Most of my school

years were there.  Of course in the summertime we was

on the reservation, but when they got to school age, we

was either there or in Phoenix for the winter.

   

   Cole:  What was Winslow like?

   

   Richardson:  Great town!  Winslow is one of the best

towns in Northern Arizona, because they had the

railroad shops there, and most of the men that worked

there were employed by the railroad company.  At that

time they drew good money, and Winslow had no business

vacancy downtown and houses were hard to get when I was

a kid.  Most people, if you wanted a house, you had to

build it to get it to live in.  It's been a lot of

change over the years, but they later moved the

[railroad] shops to Barstow, California, and Winslow

kind of went down after that.  But here in the last

three or four years, they've moved a lot more railroad

men into Winslow, and I understand it's a little better

town now.

   But I had a fellah come in the store here....

(brief interruption)  A fellah come in the store from

Kansas City and I got to visiting with him and his

wife.  This fellah's as old as I am.  I said, "You

folks heading for Phoenix?"  He said, "No, we're goin'

down to a place called Winslow, Arizona."  (chuckles)

So I [asked him], "How come you goin' down there?"  He

said, "I haven't been there since I was a boy, but that

was the best town I've ever been in, in my life.  I

never have forgot it."  "Well," I said, "today you

might be a little disappointed, because it's not as

busy as it used to be, but it's still a pretty good

town."  But he was on his way to Winslow.  (laughter)

He must have had a good time when he was there.  But it

was a good town, good people lived there, a lot of good

people.

   

   Cole:  Who were your parents?

   

   Richardson:  My dad's name was Claude Richardson,

and my mother was Truly Richardson.  They both came

from the same home town, south of Fort Worth, Texas.

My dad was really, when he started out, I think he was

teaching in college when he was about twenty-one,

twenty-two years old.  He was a mathematician, and he

was valedictorian of the high school, and my mother was

the valedictorian the next year.  Of course it wasn't

very big classes at those times, but I thought that was

pretty good.  But my dad, most of his work consisted of

bookkeeping on all these stores they had at one time,

and getting traders to....  About the time a trader

wanted to leave for two or three months, you had to go

get somebody to bring out there so they could fill in,

'cause if a trader ever got to town, he might not come

back for....  (laughs)  Because you know, it got

lonesome.

   But he brought my mother's second oldest brother,

Tobe Turpen.  He brought him out here when he was

fourteen years old and put him to work at Blue Canyon.

I think Tom Turpen was the oldest brother.  He put him

at Tuba City, when he was a young man, married.  No,

wait a minute, I take that back.  He put him at Shonto.

In 1918 they had the flu pretty bad over here.  In

Flagstaff they were stackin' 'em up on boxes, they

couldn't bury 'em, it was cold.  Tom come to town, my

dad seen him there, he said, "Tom, what are you doin'

in town?"  He said, "I come in, I need to get a load of

merchandise."  And my dad said, "Well, Tom, get your

merchandise and get out of town.  Everybody's got the

flu."  So he did, he went back, a couple of days later,

we got word that he was dead.  His mother-in-law got

the original cleaving tick and she died.  Had a wife

and little girl that didn't catch the flu.  They

wrapped 'em in tarps and put 'em in the old warehouse,

and brought 'em out at night, 'cause the Indians were

superstitious, and buried 'em at Winslow.  They're

buried down there today.

   Then another boy is Jim Turpen.  He was the youngest

one, Jim Turpen.  He spent a lot of time in Flagstaff.

He didn't like the reservation too well, but he was a

pretty good trader when he went out.  But he stayed

around there and worked for a fellah who ran a dry

cleaning shop called Kress [phonetic spelling].  He was

pretty well-known back in those days, back in the

thirties and forties--well, mostly twenties and

thirties.  I'm getting up here too far.  But Jim went

to school there at Northern Arizona.  He met his wife

there.  She's a girl from Globe, Arizona.  They raised

their family--they had a store up here in Gallup at one

time.  Then they moved down to Tucson later on and he

got in the turquoise business and stayed in that 'til

the time he died.

   Had an older boy up here, Jimmy Turpen.  He was

general manager for Tobe Turpen, Jr., up here north on

the highway.  But he's retired now, too.  These guys

are all retiring, they're a lot younger than I am!  I

don't understand it.

   

   Cole:  What brought your dad to the Southwest, then?

   

   Richardson:  Well, I had two, I called 'em uncles.

Their name was McAdams--George and Higgins.  McAdamses

opened a store over here on the north side in the

1890s, but they were really out here, kind of gamblers.

They come out of Tennessee, and more or less gamblin'.

I think Higgins and Uncle Mac got into a card game up

at Las Vegas, up here at New Mexico, when they first

come out, and there were two other brothers with 'em

named Bowers--they were cousins.  Seemed like some guy

pulled a gun on Uncle Mac and Higgins picked up an iron

chair and killed three of 'em.  This is all pretty well

documented.  So they went before a judge, and the judge

said, "You guys can't hold him because it was self-

defense.  But you have to get out of the territory for

three years."  So when they come back, they got off at

Flagstaff three years later, and the two Bower boys

later become dentists--wound up down here at El Paso.

They were great big men.  Higgins, God, he was a big

man.  When he was a young man he was about six-foot-

five and weighed about 280.  His brother was the same

way.

   But when they left Flagstaff, they went north to

Tuba, and then east to Red Lake, and him and a fellah,

a Mormon boy named....  Oh, gee, I can't think of his

name.  His last name was Lee.  What's his first name?

Cole and Tad are related to him, but I can't think of

his name.  Anyway, they built that store there, and Dad

bought from a fellah up there trading at Shonto out of

a tent.  He paid him off for what they had up there,

and they helped him build that old store, and they went

to work for my dad there at that old trading post.

That's a long time before I was born.  I was born in

1918, I'm talking about 1913, 1914, along in there.  I

got pictures of that old store downstairs, too.

   But when they first come out here, my dad went to

Blue Canyon--him and Hubert.  From Blue Canyon, went

and built that store at Kaibito.  From Kaibito, there's

a government man that told my dad they needed a store

at Cameron.  A lot of Indians over there, no place to

trade, 'cause they couldn't go to Flag, they didn't

have cars, you know.  So my dad went down and talked to

the superintendent about it and they give him

permission to go over there.  They got there, they had

to get an Indian to find out where the water was.

There's a spring up above the store called ___________

Springs, a natural flow down the hill.  So that's when

they built that store, along about 1917.  But I got a

cousin runnin' that store that tried to put a claim in

against them for water rights out of the river, they

were takin' that water out of the river all those

years.  I had these papers showin' they didn't, and got

him out of court really without paying anything.  It

would have cost him a lot of money.  But of course they

take water out of the river now, 'cause they've got a

motel out there, you know, and have to have a lot of

water.

   But they went from there, they bought that old store

over at The Gap.  We had that store for a number of

years.  They owned that store at--they were partners at

Indian Wells with a fellah named Marty.  Marty's boy

still comes to see me, the son, one of 'em.  Had a

store at Red Lake, two stores at different times, they

had those two stores at Sunrise and Leupp.  They were

about five miles apart on the Colorado River north of

Winslow.  I lived out there at that Sunrise store for

about eight or nine years, about the time I was goin'

back and forth to school in Winslow at that time.

   Anyway, you spend a lot of time goin' in Flagstaff.

Used to buy most of our wholesale merchandise from

Babbitt Brothers out of Winslow and out of Flagstaff,

both.  But my dad also made a lot of trips back to

Chicago and to New York to buy dry goods and that type

of stuff to ship out this way.

   You know the old Hubbell Store in Winslow?  (Cole:

Uh-huh.)  You know where it is?  (Cole:  Yeah.)  ___ my

dad built that in 1922.  They sold it to Lorenzo.  When

they sold it, they dissolved the partnership, they sold

that to Lorenzo, and it's been Lorenzo's ever since.

But Dad, a track would come up on the side of the

railroad car and unload the merchandise.  That's where

they'd load the wool out, and most of that went to

Chicago, when I was a kid--wool, hides--and if they

bought cattle, they shipped 'em out of Winslow.  The

old stockyards there used to be right down in the

middle of town.  And lots of sheep were shipped from

Cameron and from--well, more or less, most of 'em I

guess out of Sunrise.  We had to drive 'em over to, oh,

let's see, south, about twenty miles over to the

railroad track and put 'em in pens.  The railroad cars

come along there and load 'em up.  It'd take about two

days to get 'em over there.

   Those days, there wasn't too much jewelry.  Most of

the early days was rugs.  Had lots of rugs, not much

jewelry.  They started gettin' into jewelry pretty

good--Uncle Mac up here started makin' quite a bit of

jewelry in the early twenties.  But before that, mostly

big belts or beads.  They used that more or less just

to borrow a little money on 'til they got their rug

made or sold their sheep or lambs or ewes or whatever.

Sometimes sell their cow.  Whenever the superintendent

said they could sell 'em, that's when the trader could

buy 'em.

   Used to be a fellah out at Tuba City called Walker.

He was superintendent.  He could tell you what you

could do and what you couldn't do.  If an Indian had

any kind of problems, it's usually with his neighbors,

so he'd come in, the superintendent would send a

policeman out to settle it--one policeman, Tuba City

area.  Today, they've got 300, since the whiskey got in

there, you know, drinkin'.  But in the early days,

there was no trouble a'tall.  In fact, a lot of times,

the trading post, where _________ were, a lot of time

they didn't even lock the doors.  Of course they locked

up the trading post, but nobody ever bothered anything.

But you'd better not leave one open today!  (chuckles)

Take in your car, too!

   

   Cole:  Well, when did you first become involved

in....

   

   Richardson:  Well, I was born in it, raised in it.

The only time I was gone [was] during the war.  My dad,

oh, along in the late thirties, I was down at Arizona,

I guess, University, and he decided we'd better start

gettin' off the reservation because the Indians were

wanting to take over the stores.  And so he thought [it

was] a good time.  He sold that last store he had, I

think, to Tobe Turpen, Sr..  Tobe also had a store up

there.  He bought McAdams' store, and Rich had bought-

in on that store.  That was back in 1930.  And

Richardson and Turpen run that store in the thirties.

Then later on, Tobe Turpen, Sr. bought it out.  It's on

the north side.  Then Tobe Sr. left [and] Tobe Jr. took

it over.  Mostly rugs, silver, pottery, and that type

of stuff.  He was a good operator, did big business.

He had a store, I don't know, it's up here on Second

Street about a mile up.  Might go up there and take a

look at it, nice-lookin' store.

   

   Cole:  You said you used to spend your summers on

the reservation.  Did you work in the stores when you

were a kid?

   

   Richardson:  All the time, yeah.  Sure did.  How

much schoolin', at Tuba City, yeah, one-room

schoolhouse.  Had a trader out there named John Curley

[phonetic spelling].  He had three boys and a girl.

Those kids were in school, a one-room schoolhouse, and

my sister and I were in it.  Had one teacher, she

taught the third grade, the fourth grade, the fifth

grade, and the sixth grade.  And the oldest Curley boy

I think was in the sixth grade.  Later on after the

mother and daddy had passed away--the sister had also

died--the boys run the store, the three boys.  And one

would take off every year and go to the university, and

the other two would run it.  Then they'd change off.

That's the way those boys got their education.  But the

oldest boy, Richard, come home one summer, and an

Indian girl cooked supper, opened a can of beets and

put on the table.  He got that, what do they call that?

   

   Cole:  Botulism?

   

   Richardson:  Well, closed his throat up, and he died

before they got him to Cameron.  They were trying to

get him to Flagstaff.  That was Richard, the oldest

boy.  ______ later come up here and worked for the

government.  I kept in contact with him.  He worked for

the government, and he was up here several years.  The

oldest boy, now, his name is, I believe, Allan.

Somebody told me he's still living, he lives down in

Cottonwood.  But he run the store, then later run a

store at Kaibito.  That's gettin' back up after World

War II, during those years.

   Who else you want to know about?  Lot of traders out

there.

   

   Cole:  Did you ever learn to speak Navajo?

   

   Richardson:  Oh, yeah, good enough to work in a

store.  When I was a kid, I learned pretty darned good,

'cause I was playin' with kids out there at Tuba.

They'd teach me some and I'd teach them some.  When I

got away from the reservation, I lost a lot.  But

anything they want, come in here, ask me about

something, or they come back here and want to talk to

me private, I usually understand pretty well what they

need, or what they're gonna hafta have, and I get along

with 'em pretty good that way, yeah.  First thing you

learn in the store is to count. [counts in Navajo]

T’áá_á’í, naaki, táá’, díí’, up to 1,000.  That way a

trader can pretty well price stuff and tell 'em in

Navajo how much stuff costs.  They want a can of bakin'

powder and a sack of flour, it'll be t’áá_á’í béeso dóó

bi’aan naaki yáál.  That was $1.25 for a sack of flour

and they threw in the bakin' powder.  Sometimes they'd

buy forty, fifty sacks, dízdiin azis.  That means they

want forty bags, so....  They bought a lot of tomatoes,

they bought a lot of canned tomatoes, canned peaches,

canned pears, and these little cans of salmon.  Bought

lots of crackers, lots of bread.  In the early days,

they didn't have the bread delivered, but later on the

mailman used to deliver several boxes of bread, maybe

one time a week, whenever he come out, and that was

gone pretty fast.  But most of the time they made their

own bread.  We sold a lot of dry goods, mostly piece

goods, like you'd roll it out and make your own

dresses.  A lot of velveteen to make their blouses.

Men usually wore Levi's, a dollar and a quarter a pair,

white shirts were one dollar, as I remember, when I was

a kid.  Even if it was wintertime, they'd buy an extra-

big pair and they'd put 'em over the top of their other

pants.  And the same way their shirts.  They just keep

warm, you know.  But summertime, they run around in

their "G" string, up and down that river.  They go down

there and bathe and summertime, they'd be like

everybody out there washin' their hair and takin' a

bath and stuff like that.  Then they built these steam

huts, they called 'em a little sweat house.  They get

in those and put hot rocks in there and sweat.  Hardly

anybody in those days, they never heard of anybody ever

havin' any kind of a disease except TB.  Most of those

Indians, no cancer or anything like that, but if they

got sick, it was usually in their lungs.  And they

carry 'em to Phoenix and put 'em down in that desert,

and most of 'em usually died--they didn't make it back.

They had a lot of sanitoriums down there.  Even some of

the traders had to go down there and try to get their

lungs cleared out, you know.  But there used to be a

lot of that down back in the twenties and thirties.

   Then they shipped a lot of those kids out of there,

you know.  They had a boarding school there at Tuba,

but a lot of those times, those kids got up to seventh,

eighth grade, they ship 'em down to Phoenix to that

Indian school.  And some of 'em they sent to

Albuquerque, some of 'em as far down, I guess, as

Oklahoma, or I think Kansas is where a lot of 'em went.

A lot of times those people hired those kids out, they

didn't want to send 'em, they wanted the kids to stay

home.

   One time this fellah named Wilson came out there.

He was a federal man, had another guy with him

horseback.  I guess it was around 1915, along in there.

I'd have to look on those notes of my dad's.  They come

in the store about five o'clock one evening and Dad

said, "Where you headed?"  They told him they were

goin' up to see the chief, he hadn't sent his kids to

school, and see if they couldn't make him get those

kids in school.  Dad said, "Well, I wouldn't go up

there tonight.  That old chief will kill you."  I

forgot, what did they call the guy?  Tall Jako or

something.  Dad said the guy was an Indian about six-

foot-four, and his arms like a cedar post, and legs.

So he told the guys, "Why don't you come on in here and

spend the night and eat."  He said they'd come on in

and eat, but they were gonna sleep outside, they wanted

to leave early in the morning.  Dad said, "I got up at

five o'clock, and they were already gone."  They went

off to that guy's hogan, and I guess they heard 'em

comin', and they had a cover on that, like a blanket

over the front of the door, you know, the rest of 'em

around there sleepin'.  But this guy, the old chief,

reached to pick up a gun, and Wilson shot him.  And so

that set off a wave, I don't know.  Them Indians all

got pretty hashké, got pretty mad about that.  And they

all saddled up and these guys took off.  They thought

they went to Tuba City.  Dad said he surrounded Tuba

City so the guys couldn't get out.  But they didn't go

to Tuba, they went further down and crossed the

Colorado River and went to Grand Canyon and got back

into Williams, got on a train, and went back where they

come from.  But those Indians got pretty riled about

that.  My dad told me all about that.  Of course, those

guys didn't have no business goin' out there shootin'

that guy, either.  If they'd have got shot, it'd been a

fair trade-off, I think.

   But the Traders Association on this side, I got

pictures of some of those guys, oh, like Smith, John

O'Farrell [phonetic spelling], Joe Lee.  That's the guy

I was thinking about, Joe Lee.  He's related to

Tanners.  He's the one that helped build that store

with McAdams.  You got the book on Richardson's

traders?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Richardson:  Anything in the book you want to ask me

about?

   

   Cole:  Maybe.  I can't think of anything right now.

What were your living conditions like when you were a

kid out on the reservation?

   

   Richardson:  Well, outside toilet.  Of course, a lot

of people were getting ___________ to that outside

toilet.  Stores were poorly built, they were built out

of rock, and they put a wood cover on top of 'em, and

tried to keep the water out the best they could.  But

most of them old stone buildings, and whatever a trader

had around there, that's what they built it out of.

And they'd get their doors and windows and stuff.  Dad

told me he made all the furniture for that store at

Blue Canyon himself--table and chairs and stuff like

that.  I think most of those old traders did the same

thing.  Later on things become a little bit better.

They built pretty nice kitchens in 'em, and they'd get

these big old heavy wood stoves that would heat water

on one end.  That way they could heat water.  Your bath

was a Saturday-night bath in a washtub.

   No entertainment.  I remember out there at Shonto, a

fellah by the name of Ernest West, when he come out of

World War I, he brought a radio out there, about that

long, with a big old speaker on it, sit on top of it.

He'd spend half the night, all you could hear on that

thing was a bunch of screechin'.  I guess once in a

while he had some earphones on his ears.  But there was

no entertainment.  Everybody got out and took a walk on

Sunday or rode horseback.  Always kept horses.  Always

had to have good horses around the store.

   Every once in a while I'd ride up to camp, talk to

an Indian or somethin' like that, you know.  As far as

drivin', back in the thirties, the trucks got better.

Used to use those ton-and-a-half trucks to haul stuff--

mostly groceries out of Winslow or Flagstaff--dry

goods, whatever you went in for.  And sometimes haul

sheep in those trucks--and wool.  Used to haul lots of

wool into that warehouse in Winslow.  They bought lots

of wool at Cameron.  I've seen it stacked up higher

than that store on the side of the buildings.  Then

they'd haul that into Flagstaff and load it on the

Santa Fe and ship it out.

   But that's how they made a living with tradin'.  It

wasn't cash.  Come out there and the Indian brought a

rug--say his wife came in and brought a rug.  At that

time a big rug would go maybe for $100.  A hundred

dollars would last 'em three months, 'cause things were

cheap.  But they give 'em a trade slip and said, "John

Begay has $100 comin'--or Maria Begay."  Write $100 on

it.  They'd trade out twenty, twenty-five dollars'

worth, load the wagon, and go home.  He had a slip and

you had a slip.  When he brought it in, you matched 'em

up, see how much they had comin', and then made about

another twenty-five, thirty dollars.  And they might

bring the kids in and buy 'em a shirt and a pair of

pants, somethin' like that.  But you give 'em cash,

they have no place to put it.  They didn't want no

cash--especially bills.  Once in a while they like a

little change, you know, to rattle in their pocket.

But there wasn't no machines to buy soda pop outta.

They had what they called pacheegee-pachogee [phonetic

spelling], and pacheegee was the red soda pop. Ch’il

_itsxo [was] orange.  That was it.  Today they got

every kind of drink you want, you know.  But that

Orange Crush and red soda pop was bottled there in

Flagstaff.  Then later on they built a bottling plant

in Winslow called Nehi.  Then they started gettin' cola

and 7-Up and all that kind of stuff.  They were in a

taller bottle.  So most of the traders started buyin'

their pop out of Winslow.  But Orange Crush was a big,

big drink in the early days.  That was a good drink,

Flagstaff.  They got down ice-cold pop, you know.  Pop

was a nickel, so I guess it cost you two-and-a-half

cents and another cent to haul it out there, you know.

Then you had to get it up out of the bottles and charge

'em those.  So you had to be sure you got all your

bottles back.  Then you come in and sit there and drink

his pop before you went home, and leave the bottles,

'cause they had that in bottles, 'cause had to pay for

'em.

   But their main--sometimes they'd come in the store

maybe on a Saturday, be fifteen or twenty come in and

just sit around the bullpen and have an old stove in

the middle.  They always kept this old tobaccy, he

carried probably Bull Durham and papers and matches,

and they'd sit there and roll 'em up, about half of it

fell out.  Then they'd drink coffee.  Always had a pot

of coffee with a bunch of cups.  Over on the counter

there was a boxful of sugar and spoons.  Then they'd

get a can of tomatoes.  Sometimes they'd get ten,

fifteen cans, the trader would open 'em, come back and

get tomatoes, and they'd get peaches, open it up and

put a spoon in all of 'em, they'd sit around there, a

half a dozen loaves of bread, and they'd sit there and

talk all afternoon.  Toward night they might start

doin' their tradin'.  And some will go home that night,

some will wait the next day and go home.  Used to have

a hogan or two in back of the store to take a sleep in,

you know, just kinda like a guest place for 'em to

stay.

   We had pretty good huntin' out there, recreation.

Big deal, we'd hunt, on the Colorado River used to be a

lot of ducks.  And fall there'd be a lot of doves down

there in those old cottonwood trees on the river.  And

rabbit--everybody used to hunt these cottontail

rabbits.  In the wintertime, you get up about daybreak

and go down the trail.  You see 'em up in the rocks,

those ledges, rocks, a-sunnin', and you can shoot 'em

like a shootin' gallery.  And one time we got good

enough we could hit 'em goin' down the trail, too, you

know.  We used to have a lot of fun doing that kind of

stuff.  Swimmin', did a lot of swimmin' in the river,

stuff like that.

   

   Cole:  Would the Navajo children go with you to do

that hunting?

   

   Richardson:  No.  Early days, they didn't allow

those Indians any guns.  My dad got in trouble with

that one time--not him, but he had a fellah that run

that store at Blue Canyon.  They'd moved on up to

Kaibito and Cameron, and this guy come to Winslow and

took back some--I think he bought some .22 bullets.

And some of those guys out there got ahold of .22 guns--

some of those Indians had 'em--and he sold 'em those

bullets, and they closed that store up immediately--the

superintendent found out about it.  So Dad had to go to

the old governor in Arizona, Hunt, and got Hunt to call

the Interior Department and get the president in back

of it, and I got the letter on that someplace.  They

got that store opened back up.  Dad told 'em the

situation, left that guy there, and this guy didn't

know no better.  My daddy warned this guy, but the guy

did it anyway.  But they got it back opened up.

   Then one time we had a little trouble buyin' cattle

'cause they put 'em in the pen the night before.  I

think that was Tuba City, and the Indians weren't

supposed to put 'em in 'til morning.  And Walker got

pretty hot about that.  They weren't supposed to put

'em in the pen the night before.

   

   Cole:  Why is that?

   

   Richardson:  He just had his hand on your head, boy.

These [$100,000?] bond is a lot of money, and he could

order you off, if he didn't want you out there.  He was

tough.  But the funny part about that, some of his

great-grandchildren come see me here last year, and

they asked if I knew him, and I said, "Yes, I did.  I

knew him when I was boy.  Sure did.  I used to go down

there."  Of course my dad would go down to the office

and talk with him, and I'd go with him.

   But I knew a lot of traders at that particular time.

A fellah named [Josh Dowd?] run the old Babbitts Store,

that old round building.  Then right next door, I think

it was run by Johnny O'Farrell.  Cow Springs was run by

a fellah--my dad brought this fellah named Smith right

out from Cleveland, Texas.  He was a good friend of my

dad.  My dad was teaching school down in that area, and

he knew this guy, used to go in the bank, he was a

cashier.  But the president of the bank, went in that

Cleveland Bank one night and cleaned it out.  So Luke

went down the next morning to go to work, went in, safe

was open.  People would--he'd opened the doors, got

lookin' around, wasn't no money.  And those people got

hot!  He had to get out of that bank.  This guy had

taken that money, and they'd tracked him to Old Mexico,

but they never got him out.  But he called my dad,

said, "C. D., I gotta get outta here or I'm gonna get

killed!"  So my dad said, "Well, you go down, take your

family"--well, he just had his wife--"get on that Santa

Fe train there in Cleveland, and I'll pick you up in

Winslow."  So he did.  Then my dad took him out to

Shonto and put him to work.  Later on he built a store

at Cow Springs and run that 'til he died.  But his

daughter, she come, _______ one daughter, and she come

to see me twice a year.  She lives in El Paso now.

   Oh, I don't know, a guy named Buck Lowery [phonetic

spelling], he's quite a guy.  Him and his son run the

store there at....  See, Dad sent him....  Well, he

worked at Tuba City, and my dad sent him up to The Gap.

Then after he left The Gap, he went up to Marble Canyon

where they built the bridge.  First time out, they had

to go down the trail, get on a big old flat--they

ferried you over, put your automobile on the ferry then

they drove up on the other side.  He built that store

and a kind of a, oh, hotel, and he had a service

station right down there by the bridge, after they

finished the bridge.  Some guys come in there about

midnight one night and filled the car up and shot the

old man that was workin' the station.  I think Buck and

his boy, Dave, heard the shot, and they jumped in the

car.  It was only 300-400 yards, but they got that old

car down there, and the man was on the floor, dying,

and the other car took off.  And they went up there,

first they got the police out there right away.  Well,

not right away--as fast as they could, comin' out of

Flagstaff.  Kanab, I think, had a policeman up there.

But they couldn't find those guys.  They put a road

block up ahead.  Finally three days later they found

'em over in the forest, asleep in their cars--Kaibab

Forest.  So they arrested 'em, took 'em into Flagstaff,

and they immediately locked 'em up in jail there.

Three days later, Buck got a telephone call--one of

those old "three rings and it's yours" or two rings.

He answered the phone and the sheriff there--I think it

was Dan Frances[phonetic spelling]--said, "Buck, these

two guys broke out of jail, and we think they're on

their way back to Utah."  They lived in Utah.  So

better be on the watch-out for 'em.  So him and Dave

took two .30-.30's and drove down the road across the

bridge, put the car in the middle of the road, and one

got on one side, one got on the other.  Pretty soon

they see a cloud of dust on the old dirt road.  And

Buck said, "That's gotta be those guys."  You know,

there wasn't no travel in those days to speak of.  And

so Buck waves that gun for 'em to slow down.  They

never slowed down, they just kept comin'.  Almost ran

over Dave, comin' around him.  Buck shot both them guys

and killed 'em right there.  They didn't get no

further, boy.  So they didn't have to have no trial.

Pretty good stories, you know.  (laughter)  Early days.

   But those guys, most of the traders my dad was

raised with, even back in school days.  This Buck

Lowry, he's a great big guy.  Dad said, "Boy, he's a

good football player."  I said, "Well, he looks like a

tank."  My brother used to play football at the

University of Arizona, and he looked about like Buck

when he was a young guy, and he was a big man, too.

   But those old guys that they done that, kind of,

they pretty tough old birds.  Of course the early

traders, I think most of those guys were out there

kinda lookin' around for gold and silver and that kind

of stuff.  My dad had a cousin named Smith, 1860--

second cousin or somethin'.  He come out here, tradin'

off horseback--him and two other fellahs.  They caught

'em over there, I think up there around Marble Canyon

someplace, they'd run up in a cave.  These Indians were

chasin' 'em, and they shot Smith, and these other two

guys got on a horse, but they lost all their trade

goods and lost one horse, and they got away from 'em.

Most of those guys I think in the early days were

lookin' for gold and silver, that type of stuff.  Later

found out the Indians needed trade goods, so some of

'em started tradin', I think.  You go out there to

mine, you got anything around, I think they'd want it,

and so either stole it or traded you out of somethin'.

So it was a good business in the early days.  They had

no place to trade, so an old trader went out there,

they were performin' a good service for 'em.  A lot of

people said, "Well, them old traders got rich and

robbed the Indians."  (chuckles)  I said, "Name one!"

I knew all of 'em.  That guy at Cedar Hill, [Mary?]

told my dad, "C. D., I sold my store for $10,000, and

I'll never have to work another day in my life."  That

was in the thirties.  Ten thousand dollars and he could

retire!  Nobody had $10,000.  But that guy, he went to

Phoenix and retired on $10,000.  That old store just

burned up here a few years ago, that old Cedar Hill

Store.  That was on the way up there goin' toward the

lake up there, up toward--what's that town up there

where Lake Powell is?

   

   Cole:  Page?

   

   Richardson:  Page, yeah.  It's on that road up

there.

   

   Cole:  Do you remember the Sheep Reduction Act at

all?  John Collier's....

   

   Richardson:  Oh, that jerk!  That big jerk!  Yeah.

Dang right, I remember it.  Yeah, sure.  He wouldn't

come out in that country either, 'cause they'd have

probably shot him.  He had a right, he worked for the

Interior Department, and the land was overgrazed, too

many sheep.  Probably a family that had 1,500, 2,000

head of sheep, and land was overgrazed, and they were

gettin' on each other's land--that was causin' trouble.

And so he come out during the thirties--there wasn't no

market for sheep anyway.  Market gone way down when the

Depression come along.  So he started makin' 'em sell

those sheep off, kill 'em off.  The government, I

guess, reimbursed 'em.  Got the herd down to thirty,

forty, maybe fifty head--which they still are today.

You don't see no big herds of sheep anymore.  And the

grass started comin' back, and they made 'em get rid of

a lot of horses and cows.  But boy, the traders didn't

like 'em, and the Indians didn't like 'em.  Didn't like

what they did, the Collier Act.  That was bad for them

people, 'cause they thought they were losin' all their

livestock and didn't have anything to make a living

with.  Well, it hurt a lot of 'em.  They managed to

bring in fifty, sixty bags of wool--a lot of money.

But when they got down to fifty head or forty head,

maybe one bag, two bags of wool, you know, so it wasn't

too good.  But yeah, I remember that.  I remember my

dad talkin' about it, and all the traders discussed and

hollerin' about it.

   And the heavy snow, we had snow out there I think it

got pretty heavy out there around Red Lake and Leupp

and that country, and even up as far as Oraibi.  One

winter about 1932, 1933, and had to bring in these old

Army planes and drop hay off, and food, all over that

country.  These people were snowed in and couldn't get

out of camp, you know, couldn't get to the trading

post.  They did that there for a few weeks one winter.

They were doing that any time they had a heavy snow.

Well, they do it today.  But it was quite a novelty in

those days.  You know, I think some of them old planes

were....  Shoot, I think some of those planes were

single-engine, big-engine planes, if I remember right.

Then later on I think some of those Army, old bomber

planes they had to use, kick that hay out.  See, that

was before World War II, so there wasn't too much in

the way of airplanes.  But once in a while, one would

land out there in front of the trading post and spend

the night with us.  Come back over across country.  He

could look right straight ahead and see the San

Francisco Peaks, and it was gettin' toward dark, and he

didn't want to go that way (laughs) until daylight, to

be sure he go around them mountains.  We had several.

When I was a kid out there, guys would stop to spend

the night, [we'd] feed 'em.

   Then the government got to where they started ______

where we were, they started buildin' water tanks, and

dikes around that old Leupp School.  Give a lot of

those in that area, give 'em a few bucks in their

pocket.  They'd get paid, I think, every two weeks,

buildin' dikes and tanks and puttin' in windmills.

That was a little bit later on.  Probably, actually a

lot goin' on about 1936, 1937, 1938, 1939, along in

those years.  But they started doin' a lot of erosion

work, and, you know, give 'em somethin' to do.  Kinda

like the WPA.  They give a dollar a day.  Then they had

another deal, they'd take these young guys in some kind

of a camp and they give 'em a dollar a day and board

and room.  Kinda like _____, go up in the forest or

clean up the forest and build dams and walks and all

that kind of stuff.  But the WPA was mostly around town

to build sidewalks and curbs and gutters and that type

of stuff, during Depression years.  But the Indians

didn't get in on that--this was strictly for the

whites.  They got in on anything on the reservation.

They kind of worked out there, they had the preference

out there.

   

   Cole:  Did the Depression have much of an impact on

your family at all?

   

   Richardson:  My dad closed up a lot of stores.

Well, he got rid of all the stores except one.  The

last one was probably about 1939.  There's a wholesale

house there in Gallup called....  Well, Dillan's

[phonetic spelling] still here, but there used to be

two of 'em--one great big one across the

street–Ilfeld’s.  This one over here belonged to Old

Man Cotton.  They had thousands and thousands of

dollars' worth of rugs in big stacks.  They got my dad

to come up here and take a look at that.  They said,

"C. D., we're gonna hire you to turn these rugs for us.

We can't turn 'em."  They were tradin' merchandise, and

these traders would bring in rugs, didn't have no

money.  I seen 'em unload 'em over at that back door

all day long, that wholesale house.  They couldn't pay

'em money, they had to pay 'em in rugs.  And the

wholesale house wanted to get rid of 'em, so Dad said,

"Well, what kind of a deal do you want to give me?"

And he said, "We'll give you 10 percent of everything

you sell."  And he said, "Well, I gotta take my boy,

'cause he's got the drive and he's gotta be with me,

and carry the rugs in and out of these stores, 'cause I

can't do that no more.  I can drive, but I can't carry

those rugs and show 'em."  Big job, to carry these

rugs, spread 'em out, then fold 'em back up, you know.

So they give him an expense account, so much a mile.

Went over here and bought the biggest Chrysler we could

buy, _____ Chrysler, took all the back out of it, and

the trunk had cases made to put jewelry in, and we'd

load that car up and we'd go from here to....  Well,

we'd probably go from here to Denver, stop at Denver,

and we did business there.  Then we'd go on up into

Wyoming, to Laramie and Yellowstone.  The way we did

business in those days, those dudes would come out of

the East, and they'd go to these big dude ranches, and

they'd spend a week there and bring their kids out and

spend a week or two.  They had money.  So we made a

deal with these guys that owned these ranches, to show

rugs.  They said, "Fine."  "You show 'em," we said,

"and you get a percent of what we sell."  They said,

"That's fine, but you can't show 'em 'til after supper.

These dudes get in and take their baths or whatever.

Then at night, you can show 'em."  So we got rid of a

lot of rugs that way.  Those dudes from back East would

buy a few rugs.  So sometimes when we'd get back in,

we'd go all the way from there back down to Jackson

Hole, into San Francisco, Los Angeles, Palm Springs,

Phoenix, Tucson.  And then, by the time we got back

into Gallup, my daddy had a check for $3,000-$4,000

comin' off of what he sold, and that was a lot of

money, because the banker down here at the bank was

only makin' about $200 a month, the president.  So my

dad did real well.

   

   Cole:  How long would that trip take?

   Richardson:  Oh, gee, it drove me crazy.  I didn't

like to be away from home, 'cause I had a girlfriend,

you know.  Sometimes five, six weeks.  And I was out

loadin' and unloadin' rugs.  Of course they shipped

rugs ahead of us all the time.  Before we left Denver,

we'd have a shipment there waitin' at the express

office.  Then we'd get up to Laramie up in Wyoming,

we'd have another shipment there.  By the time we got

back down to San Francisco, probably pick up a shipment

there.  Saddle blankets were good on the west coast.  A

lot of people had ranches, and we did a lot of business

around Hollywood in those days.  There’d be a lot of

those guys that hung around, they were extras, working

in the film.  They had some old corrals down there

where they hung around, waitin' for calls at Hollywood,

and we'd go down there and unload a few good saddle

blankets to them old cowboys.  Some of them guys later

become pretty famous.

   

   Cole:  Do you remember any of 'em?

   

   Richardson:  Oh, we used to....  I had a brother-in-

law that played football with John Wayne at the

University of Southern California, by the name of

Harold Wheeler.  He later become chief of police at

Tucson.  But he kept up with John all during the years.

But how John Wayne got into movies, they'd work out

there at the gates as guards at night.  Harold would be

out there at one gate, and maybe one of these other

guys--had to be John Wayne at times--and they got to be

good friends 'cause of playin' football together.  They

give them guys $300 a month.  They just had to go out

there at night, and they could study.  Anybody'd come

up there, they'd get out there and see who they were--

couldn't go in, you know, the studios.  But I told

Harold, "Man, you did pretty darned good.  Well, you

had enough money to marry my sister."  Then he

later....  But he said him and John both had

opportunities to go in the movies at that particular

time.  But he said Helen said, "No, way, buddy, you're

not goin' in the movies."  But John Wayne did, and he

got very famous.

   But there was guys used to come in here, even down

here, and we'd make a silver panel with turquoise in

'em.  See, they made a lot of pictures here.  This was

later on, back after World War II.  They used to make a

lot of pictures here, and these fools started all

comin' here.  I'm tryin' to think of some of those

guys' names, but we'd make pistol handles for 'em, for

their pistols.  But they were a pain in the neck, them

guys.  Oh, gee!  Don't say nothing, but they were so

demanding, you know.  But some of 'em we got along with

real, real good.  But they had some pretty famous stars

in here.  Most of 'em got out there in the old El

Rancho Hotel, got pictures of all them guys.  You ought

to drive by and take a look at 'em.  They're all up and

down the halls out there.  They headquartered out there

because there was a casino back in the thirties, and

they could gamble.  They didn't close those casinos

until after World War II.  But they headquartered there

because they all liked to gamble.  But they made quite

a few pictures in this part here.

   But those old guys in California that I knew were

just extras,I mean, we knew, but they were no big star.

I guess some of 'em later become stars, I don't know.

Of course I was too interested in chasin' girls and

goin' to school, you know, to pay much attention to

that.

   

   Cole:  What were the quality of the rugs like then,

say?

   

   Richardson:  Well, back in the thirties they weren't

too bad.  Back in the early twenties, a lot of black-

white, kind of thick.  Lots of saddle blankets.  A lot

of the rugs are shipped back to Chicago to an outfit

called....  Oh, a big department store outfit.  What's

that outfit's name back there?

   

   Cole:  Was it Speigel?

   

   Richardson:  No.

   

   Cole:  Marshall Fields?

   

   Richardson:  Marshall Fields.  My daddy used to ship

a lot of rugs back to that guy.  They were pretty good

quality rugs, not too bad--but we have better rugs

today.  People say, "Well, the Indians are gonna quit

weavin'."  But we're still buyin' a lot of rugs.  But

we're gettin' a better quality rug.  We get rugs that

we have to pay $5,000, $10,000, $12,000 for.  We used

to never see nothin' like that.  But they're better

quality.  We still get quite a bit of Hopi stuff--

baskets and pottery.  They come over from Second Mesa

and that country.  All those guys take that stuff into

Phoenix and down to Sedona and on down to Phoenix and

Tucson.  But once in a while they'll bring in some

stuff over here, and we're able to buy it.  But some of

the baskets my daddy used to buy at Tuba City, Hopi,

that's where those big heavy-set baskets, $200 in

trade.  Today we're paying $4,000 and $5,000 to get

'em.  That's our cost!  It's a lot of difference in

price.

   But our main business is the loan business--pawn.

   

   Cole:  Tell me again, then, when did your dad sell

out of the reservation?

   

   Richardson:  I think the last store was about 1939.

Come into Gallup.  We built the first store he put in

here, when he quit workin' for Gross-Kelly, put a

retail store.  My dad's health wasn't too good.  He

kind of had a stroke and had to go down to Phoenix to

live for a couple of years.  My mother run that store,

then I come in and went to work with her.  I worked

with her 'til the war come along, and I was gone for a

while then.  I come back and opened a store myself.  My

dad had a store in Tucson.  He come up here just before

I got loose and bought another store, a cuttin' shop in

this same block.  Had a lot of turquoise, cuttin'

turquoise and petrified wood.  He bought that and then

I started runnin' it and makin' jewelry.  My dad later

come up here 'til his health got [worse].  He went to

the old home place in Winslow and lived there 'til he

died.

   My dad was a pretty sharp guy.  He lost his leg.  He

broke it back here on this back step, and it didn't

heal.  They finally had to take that leg off, but he

stayed in the old house in Winslow and bought rugs and

played the stock market.  But he couldn't get out

unless somebody--used to be a couple of old traders

come out and pick him up and take him out to where they

were buying cattle and sheep, and he got a kick out of

that, 'cause they're good friends of his.  In fact,

Josh Stiles [phonetic spelling] is one of 'em, lives

right across the street.  He used to be at Tuba City

when I was a kid.

   My dad kept pretty active, he never give up, even

after he got out of the business.  In fact, he called

me once and said, "Bill, I got a half a dozen rugs down

here."  I said, "What are you doin' buyin' rugs, Ross?"

"Give me somethin' to do.  Indians found out I was back

in town, and they bring 'em over."  So I go down this

weekend and pick 'em up, pay him for 'em.

   My mother died.  She was living here in Winslow.

She had a stroke and had to move her to Phoenix.  She

lived nine months unconscious.  She was very fluent in

the Navajo language, too, and she knew the trading

business.  She knew it pretty well.  She could work in

the store.  A lot of pictures of her horseback riding

out in the country in the early days, and Tom and Tobe

and all of 'em horseback ridin'.  Lot of pictures of a

snake dance in the early days, back in 1914, 1915.

That's when they'd let you take pictures.  Then they

finally cut it out, you know, but I've got a lot of

those old pictures.  Old high-wheel automobiles.

   But that book that Tony wrote, the last book he

wrote, was a good book, pretty authentic book.  In

fact, his dad had bought that old store down at Two

Guns from Andy Miller.  Now, there's a character, that

guy.  Andy Miller--you ever heard of him?

   

   Cole:  You know, we have some...

   

   Richardson:  You ought to go to the courthouse and

look that up, boy.

   

   Cole:  We have some photographs of Indian Miller's

daughters.

   

   Richardson:  This guy was a great guy, but he owned

a store at Two Guns about twenty miles west of Winslow.

Used to be an old gravel road from Winslow to

Flagstaff.  Used to be an old Yellow Way bus, open bus,

come down there and stop.  And he had signs on the

highway, "Indian Goods Half Price," and all that stuff,

like you see today.  He was the only guy in those days.

He stopped a lot of tourists, he had a little zoo over

there in the back that had just animals--coyotes and

foxes and....  He had bobcats.  In fact, I had a

friend, he got a job out there feedin' them animals

when he was a kid goin' to high school in Winslow.

Threw a piece of meat in, that cat'd grab it.  His claw

went through here and come out here.  Kid's name was

Brown.  He was the same grade I was, about a sophomore

in high school.  And he come with his hand all bandaged

up.  I said, "Jim, what happened?"  He said, "Man, this

is crazy, Bill.  I threw that cat a piece of meat, and

his claw went through that hand."  God, it's a wonder

he hadn't tore it off.  He had some matches in his

pocket.  He struck one of them matches on one of them

rocks and stuck it on that cat's nose and he let loose.

I said, "Man, you're smart, boy.  No older than you,

you're pretty smart."  He said they were afraid of

fire, and I knew that.

   But Andy Miller was runnin' that store and doin'

good.  Had a post office there, but he killed, I think,

the postmaster.  Postmaster was runnin' around with his

wife, caught 'em in bed, and so he killed him.  He said

this guy attacked him.  But that trial went on for

months in Flagstaff, or Prescott--I think it's

Flagstaff.  The finally....  They never convicted the

guy.  But the judge said, "Mr. Miller, you pack up and

get out of this state.  Don't come back."  So he went

to Box Canyon out here.  Big caves they call Yellow

Horse now.  The road used to run right by it.  He put

in a beautiful store.  He's the guy that put the first

place in out there, started doin' a good business

there.  And his wife used to come in at night on the

weekends, sit around and visit my mom and dad and have

dinner with 'em.  He was a New York Indian, I think,

spoke perfect English, but he scared the devil out of

kids.  He wore a big black hat, about six-foot-five,

had long pigtails.  But every once in a while....  They

buried this guy in Winslow.  You go to the graveyard

and there'll be a bucket of red paint has been dropped

on his grave.  Us kids would all go there to look at

it, you know.  And they'd say, "Indian Miller did it!"

We don't know if he did it or not.  He was livin' up

here.  You ought to go look that story up and read it.

It should really be interestin' to you.  And that goes

back in the twenties.

   Then Uncle Erv bought that.  Uncle Erv was Dad's

oldest brother.  He had a lot of acres.  He never got

that farming out of his system when we left Tennessee.

So my aunt, as soon as he run the store up at

Inscription House, they also run mules over there to

Rainbow Bridge.  But he liked to farm, and when he

planted those beans, always carried a pint of whiskey

in his back pocket, rentin' mules.  Mules up there and

farmed.  And raised those red beans, and he made money

farmin'.  He had a couple of guys helpin' him.

   

   Cole:  That was in Winslow?

   

   Richardson:  No, Flagstaff!

   

   Cole:  Flagstaff?!

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, right out there this side of

Wynona.  Down that valley.  He farmed a lot of beans

right there by the railroad track.  That's when I was a

kid.  But he liked that farmin'.  He'd get a load of

dry goods–whatever they need, and flour, sugar, and

coffee--and he'd haul it out to the store, but he might

spend a night or two, but he always come back to town.

He liked Aunt Susie--she always kept two guns on her

hip.  Big woman.  The two boys stayed out there, Cecil

and Tony stayed out there too.  They had a daughter

named Ervie May.  She later married a superintendent.

He was Crownpoint superintendent.  That guy's name was

Ford.  They lived in Flagstaff before she died.  They

had a home up there this side of San Francisco Peaks.

Uncle Hubert retired up there, too.  He built a big

home up there before he died, up there, kind of....  A

lot of land up there was made out of old....  Well,

they were old logs, I guess.  I don't know, probably

all gone now.  But they made fences out of those,

fenced-in the land, and he had a big home sittin' over

there in one of those fields.  He lived there when he

retired.

   But Old Rich, he had a daughter, Jean; a boy named

Bud; and the oldest boy, Jack.  Jack got killed in a

car wreck between Flagstaff and Cameron.  He died when

the Cadillac's lights went off and he run off in one of

those arroyos and killed him.  And Bud got hurt on the

ranch at Grand Canyon.  He was running cattle up there

for Hubert.  But his horse run under a tree and a

branch caught him and broke his neck.  I think that's

what happened to him.  Then Jean, she later died on her

own.  Jack's the only one that worked in the store.  In

fact, he was buyin' the store when he got killed.  He

and I were at the University of Arizona at the same

time.  We lived in the same fraternity house.  But he

was a pretty smart man.  If he'd have lived, he'd

probably still been runnin' the place.  But Jack never

worked in the store much, and Jean never worked in the

store much either.  But Jack would have been the guy

that would have run it, if he hadn't got killed.

‘Cause he was already payin' his dad off for it when he

got killed.

   

   Cole:  And their dad was Hubert?

   

   Richardson:  Hubert.

   

   Cole:  And that was your uncle?

   

   Richardson:  My uncle, my dad's brother.  That's all

in that book.

   

   [END TAPE 1, SIDE A; BEGIN SIDE B]

   

   Richardson:  Well, a lot of people up there in

Flagstaff had a lot of history in back of 'em--

especially people runnin' sawmills up there.  They've

still got a big old home up there.  They don't live in

it anymore, over there by....  What's their name?

   Cole:  Riordan?

   

   Richardson:  Riordan, yeah.  That outfit run

hardware--Schwitzer's [phonetic spelling].  (Cole:

Right.  And Babbitt brothers.  All the Babbitt brothers

were living then.

   

   Cole:  I guess they're kinda gettin' out of the

business real fast here.

   

   Richardson:  Some woman from the university--I think

it was your university, or maybe....  She said, "I

understand you folks had a store at Tuba City."  And I

said, "Yeah."  She said, "Do you have any records of

it?"  I said, "Yeah.  I've got pictures of it, too."

She said, "Well, I'd like to see those."  And I said,

"Well, come up this way sometime."  So a couple of

weeks later she popped in and said, "I'm So-and-So.  I

talked to Babbitt, and he said there wasn't no such

store up there."  I said, "Well, when was Babbitt

born?"  (laughs)  I think it was about in the fifties,

you know.  One of the grandkids.  I said, "Well, the

young fellah just wasn't born soon enough."  That store

had been gone for years, you know.  I think my dad sold

it to Babbitts, and later on the government took that

land over, and they built a--gee, I don't know what's

there now, a day school or something, maybe a clinic.

Last time I was there, they had some kind of a deal

there, but the old buildings are all gone, the store.

I've got pictures of 'em.  So I showed her the

pictures, and then I said, "Now, if that's not enough,

here's a picture of me sittin' out in front of the

store, and my brother and some of the Stiles kids."  I

showed her all those and I said, "Why don't you go to

the courthouse in Flagstaff?  (chuckles)  They'll give

it to you."  But this guy, he didn't know nothin' about

it.  I went to school with a Babbitt girl, I guess,

down the university, if I remember right.  Could have

been Ed Babbitt--one of those Babbitts.  I think Ed

owned a garage, Ford Motor Company.

   

   Cole:  Right.  Because I think Jim Babbitt, who we

see quite a bit, he's done a lot of historical work on

trading posts.

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, they knew a lot about the old

trading posts.  How many was it?  Five brothers, or

four brothers?

   

   Cole:  Five older ones.

   

   Richardson:  One or two of 'em were playboys, I

think.  The other two or three had to do all the work!

But I think they just drew money out of the business

and had fun, I guess.  (laughs)  But I knew most of

'em, the kids.

   

   Cole:  I'm going to get this on the record and have

you tell us who all your brothers and sisters were.

   

   Richardson:  Well, I have two sisters.  One of 'em

was Helen.  She's the one that married the football

player, Wheeler.  She's been gone now about fifteen

years.  She lived in....  He was chief of police in....

Well, first he was chief of police in Winslow, then

become chief of Tucson.  And they lived down there most

all their later years, and she raised a boy and a girl,

and they still live in Tucson.  One of 'em's a lawyer,

and the other teaches, I think, some at the university.

   My younger sister is Harriet.  She married a

dentist.  He was a boy from Winslow named Bob Brennan

[phonetic spelling].  He become a dentist, and they've

lived in Scottsdale for the last thirty-five years.

Bob and Harriet have a boy named Gary, he's a dentist;

and a girl who was killed in a diving accident in

Winslow.  They come up here to spend a couple of days

at Winslow and she hit a rock diving out at that old

Clear Creek Pool--seventeen years old.  She had ridden

horses all her life and never got hurt, but one diving

accident took her life.  But they've been down there

most of the years.

   My brother is Harold Richardson.  He was a dentist

and football player.  He played University of Arizona

four years.  Then he later went back to St. Louis and

got his degree as a doctor of dentistry.

   But that pretty well wraps up--my brother still

lives here.  In fact, his wife works for me.  He don't

practice anymore.  He's had some health problems.  But

that about takes care of my immediate family.  My dad

and mother are both gone.

   

   Cole:  Now, when you started working in the store,

or bought your store in Gallup, what was the big

difference between it and the trading post?

   

   Richardson:  Well, you're dealin' with mostly people

goin' up and down [Highway] 66, buyin' souvenirs.  When

I come back after the war and opened the store, you

couldn't get much in the way of silver, 'cause silver

had been frozen--the government froze silver.  They

give allotments to the Indians, and there wasn't too

much silver around.  But there was a lot of turquoise

comin' out of the mines.  They was minin' a lot of

turquoise around Globe and Miami and Morenci, and we

was able to buy lots of turquoise.  Silver started

loosenin' up, and we started makin' a lot of jewelry.

But we didn't do that on the reservation--we just had

'em [fight about it?].  One thing, people come in every

once in a while and buy rugs.

   But you know where the railroad depot is in

Flagstaff?  Right across the street on the corner used

to be a drugstore, last thing I know.  I don't know

what's there now, but my dad had that, you kind of went

up the steps there, and you had a store there, mostly

rugs, pottery, and baskets.  That was back in the

twenties.  And that whole block burned down one time,

from the alley up this way.  Then he later opened

stores in Phoenix, so he could get rid of the stuff.

You couldn't get rid of it up here, you know.  ‘Cause

the roads were bad, and there was no travel in the

winter.  But down there, you'd get winter tourists, and

you could sell it in Phoenix and Tucson, and move it

over in Palm Springs, and some of it up and down the

coast.  But you had to hunt people to buy it.  It

wasn't easy to give away.  Today, you've got a lot of

buyers for it, but those days you didn't.  We don't go

out to wholesale at all any more--they come to us.

They fly in and fly out--the dealers do, most of the

time.  They pick out stuff, then we ship it to 'em.  We

get buyers out of Dallas.  Oh, we got buyers in every

state, I guess, now--Chicago, several in Texas and

different places, Houston, Dallas, Fort Worth, New

York, New Jersey.  People come in here from all over

the country--a lot of buyers come out of Florida.

   But the only thing I do now is loan money.  I got a

film on that I'll give you, if you want, a documentary

on it.

   

   Cole:  Maybe describe the pawn business for us.

   

   Richardson:  Well, most pawn, it's a banking system

for the Indians.  It goes way back to the early trading

days.  The Indians didn't have no money, so they'd grab

an old string of beads or a saddle or whatever, take it

in.  The trader would keep it for a few weeks 'til he

made a rug, or his wife did or something.  Well Dad

said I was [a living pawn boss?].  They had a

reservation, I wouldn't have made a dime.  Just

accommodatin' them people until they get somethin' to

trade.  But today, if you are careful and work it right

and got the right help, it'll make you money.  We loan

$1,000 in the state, I can charge 'em $100 the first

month.  Second month it drops down to 24 percent.  And

if they leave, we keep it.  We don't sell anything

unless it's been here at least a year and we've

notified 'em.  And if it's something that's good, we

know the family wants to keep, we'll throw it in a

drawer and write 'em a letter and tell 'em we'll keep

it 'til they come in--which we do.  Sometimes that

stuff's here two, three years.  And we're in no hurry

to sell it, but we try to make money off the interest

on it.  Sometimes, I had a girl awhile ago come in and

hand me a ticket for 1997.  I said, "Well, what now?"

She said, "Well, it's a gun.  I just want to know if

it's still here."  And I said, "Well, I hope not, but

it maybe is.  The gun's still here."  So she paid the

interest on it, two years of it.  Time with them is a

little bit different.  Most pawn shops are gonna keep

it thirty days and want to sell it.  Well, we don't do

that, and the tribe don't want you to do it either, you

know.  So we work with 'em pretty good.  We have a lot

of people comin' here and pawn.  This place'll pack up

the first 'til about the fifteenth, pretty well packed

up--people just takin' care of their pawn.  A lot of

times the article they want to borrow money on, they

might want to borrow $500 on a $300 belt.  Well, if I

know they're good pawners, just like goin' to the bank,

they know you're gonna pay it, they'll lend you the

money.  Well, I’m sayin' we're here.  If we figure

they're good for it, we'll let 'em have the money.  But

sometimes they'll come in and bring a $1,000 belt and

want to leave it for $50.  "What's the matter?"  "Well,

I don't want to leave it at home."  Kids are drinkin',

you know, and some of 'em'll be smokin' pot and they'll

steal anything they can get their hands on, and do.

Pick up their folks' jewelry or grandma's jewelry or

whatever they got, and take it to somebody and sell it

and pawn it.  So they'll bring in their valuable stuff

and leave it here.  Sometimes they'll bring it and say,

"Would you keep this box for me?  I'm gonna go to

California."  And I said, "Well, go up there and tape

it up, and I will, and put your name on it."  We'll

throw it back here in the back and keep it for 'em,

don't charge 'em any.  But they like to get in for low

interest, know it's gonna be here for a while.  If they

do need $500, they come and get it.  The belt's still

here.  They come and say, "Bill, I want to raise the

loan on my pawn," that's what happens.  So that works

pretty well for 'em too.

   But most everybody who come in here are people we've

been dealin' with.  I got people from Tuba City,

Shonto, Kaibito, great-grandkids.  There's one fellah

brought his great-grandpa in, his wife, lives in

Cameron.  The guy worked at the trading post when he

was a kid, my Uncle Hubert.  He's way up, oh, he’s

about a hundred, but they come in and pawn stuff once

in a while.  The boy brings 'em over here.  They got

good stuff, and they usually borrow a couple thousand

dollars before they go home.  Then they get a little

money, six months later they come in and take it out.

   We've still got a lot of families that trade with

us, traded with us before.  A lot of 'em around the

Leupp area, Red Lake area, still tradin' with us.  A

lot of time, pawns, there's flat tires, value gone

dead, alternator, old man got drunk, spent a paycheck,

mama has to have some groceries to buy the kids, you

know.  A lot of it kind of emergencies.  Traders are

pretty good to 'em in that respect.  Sometimes they

walk in and say, "Bill, you know me?"  "Yeah."  "I've

got nothin' to pawn but I need fifty bucks."

(chuckles)  So I sign the ticket and I just _______.  A

lot of that I don't get back, but that happens, you

know.

   A lot of people want to see me in private.  That

copper go....  (brief interruption for business)  But a

lot of 'em come in and talk to me.  It's usually

somethin' happened in the family, somebody died and

they want me to help bury 'em.  We do a lot of that.

That means they want a blanket, they want some beads--

no charge.  We get that right along pretty good.  A lot

of 'em get a job, goin' off to work, ain't got no

money, got no pawn, want to borrow $100--we do that

sometimes.  And most of it's paid back, but a lot of

it's not.  (chuckles)  So that's the way that goes.

   But it's always been that way with the trader.  The

trader used to haul 'em to doctors and feed 'em when

they didn't have no money, and give 'em groceries.

That's gone on for a long, long time--before I was even

born, I guess--and it's still goes on.  It’s still kind

of a tradition.  They figure the trader, if they need

help, they go to the trader and he'll help 'em--

especially if they had an auto accident, somebody got

killed in the family.

   Then a lot of 'em get killed with this drinkin'

business--it's taken a lot of people--lots and lots of

people.  Whole families, in fact, that got on it and

didn't get off of it and either died or killed, you

know.  I've seen several families, whole families, go

down with it.  That's a tragedy, shouldn't be that way.

That's what made the reservation nice in the early

days, there wasn't no drinkin' and no pot smokin' or

anything.  All long-haired Indians, all had good

wagons, sheep and cattle, mind their own business, and

good people to trade with.  But now you get a lot of

drinkers and whatevers robbin' each other, killin' each

other.  Sixty-four homicides, I think, last year on the

reservation.  Gangs of kids, you know.  They've started

to lock a lot of 'em up down there in the desert down

there around Florence, I guess.  They commit murder,

stab one another and that kind of stuff.  We used to

never have that.  No such thing as that.  But today

there's a lot of it.

   

   Cole:  What brought about that change?

   

   Richardson:  Liquor, booze.  See, after World

War II, when the soldiers come back, the Indians could

drink when they was in service, just like everybody

else.  But when they come back here, we still had

prohibition, Indians couldn't drink.  White man could

drink, Indian couldn't drink.  So they had to hold

special elections and open it up for 'em.  Then they

started drinkin' way too much--women, men, everybody

got to drinkin'.  The streets out here, killed our

business for about ten years.  Tourists wouldn't even

come in this town because there was drunks layin'

around the streets, fightin' and all that stuff.  The

jails weren't big enough, had to build bigger jails,

more judges.  But for ten years it really got bad, but

it's kind of tapered down, but it's still with 'em,

still with 'em.  (someone enters)

   This is my brother, Harold Richardson, the one who's

a dentist.  (greetings exchanged)  University of

Flagstaff.

   

   Harold:  You're from Flagstaff?

   

   Cole:  Yeah, over at NAU, from Northern Arizona

University.

   

   Harold:  My wife's in Prescott.  You know where

Prescott's at?

   

   Cole:  Yeah, that's where Gail's from.

   

   Harold:  This lady right here, she's from Prescott.

   

   Richardson:  Prescott's grown, too, they tell me.  I

haven't been up there for quite a while.  Tellin' me

it's gettin' to be a pretty good-sized town.

   

   Steiger:  More on the way.

   Richardson:  Yeah.  Well, clean air and wide open

spaces, and they're comin' out of the East, they don't

have that back there.  Our town don't grow very fast,

and I'm glad.  We don't have any smog here.  I live up

here on the hill and get to work in ten minutes.  If I

want to go to Phoenix, I get on a plane and fly down

there in an hour, so it's not bad.  We can drive to

Albuquerque in an hour and twenty minutes, so not too

bad.

   

   Cole:  If I could, Bill, I'm gonna have you talk a

little bit about the Traders Association.  You were

showing us the photograph downstairs.

   

   Richardson:  Well, the Traders Association, they

used to have their annual meetings here at Gallup.

They'd usually come in during the ceremonial.  All the

traders would gather, they'd hold their meetings out at

the El Rancho, and their dinners and parties, and

discuss what was goin' on, on the reservation.  Mostly

concerned reservation traders.  And the lobbyist,

whoever's in Washington, they'd have his report.  And

they kept an office here with a secretary.  And like I

say, anything come in, they sent 'em a letter, tellin'

'em what was goin' on.  And this secretary drew a

pretty good salary.  And then they started, after

silver become available again, they started a silver

shop, and the secretary hired people to run that, but

he was in charge of it.  So traders could come to town

and buy that silver at private market price, maybe a

cent over or somethin', but that worked real well for

'em for a number of years, too.  But it was more or

less an association to protect 'em from what the tribe

was tryin' to do to 'em, I guess, or the

superintendents--give 'em a little leverage, since they

had to go to Washington, they'd go back there and

present a case, you know, tell their side of the story

and have somebody listen to it.  So that's really, I

think, the main reasons that they banded together, was

protection from what could happen to 'em on the

reservation.  Tribe come out and say, "We don't want

you anymore, get out."  They go to Washington and get

that where they couldn't do that to 'em, you know.

They violated the law bad enough, they might have to

get 'em off, but outside of that....  And if you sold

the business, whoever you sold it to had to be approved

by 'em and all that stuff, and you used to have to be

bondable.  But I think it was just more or less to give

them some protection, bein' out on the reservation, you

know--not from the Indians, but from the government.

(chuckles)  People that's over the top of 'em, you

know.  You give a BIA worker or somebody a little

authority and sometimes they get big-headed, you know.

Same way with the superintendents.  Those

superintendents [are] pretty tough.  If they didn't

like you, they could make it hard on you.  But I think

that was the main reason for it.  I can't think of any

other reason.

   

   Cole:  The photo downstairs was 19....

   

   Richardson:  Oh, they go back to 1912, 1913.  Some

of 'em before that.  Uncle Mack had some books up here

in the front as you come in the door, some stories on

the wall there about some of the old stores, names out

of the old trading posts that Richardson and McAdams

owned.  But they were all just one big family.  They

owned a lot of stores at one time.  They owned a lot of

stores.  I'll show you where it is up here in a minute.

They get a lot of write-ups and Wild West stories--

especially McAdams and those guys--'cause they was

gamblers and they had pretty good tales about 'em.  And

those guys closed up and went to--they went down to

that uprisin' in Cuba.  Uncle Higgins and George, they

joined up.

   

   Cole:  Roosevelt?

   

   Richardson:  Roosevelt was....  Well, he wasn't the

main guy, though.  There was another guy over

Roosevelt, but they always said Roosevelt, joinin’

Roosevelt.  But they were discharged at Prescott.  You

go down to the old hospital, there's a statue there,

and they got McAdams on it, two brothers.  You take a

picture of that.  That's a friend got me a picture here

a couple years ago and said, "You know these guys?" and

I said, "Yeah."  He said, "I never did know.  You know

I've been up there all my life, I didn't know those

guys were on that statue."  And I said, "Yeah, both of

'em."  They were discharged.  That's where they went to

the hospital to get checked out.  Then they come back

and traded.  Kind of rough guys--closed up business, go

down....  Uncle Mack left one time and went around the

world.  Took him over a year to go around the world.

Just left his wife and the clerks to run the place.  He

was the kind of guy that liked to get out and see what

was goin' on.  And those two cousins of his, they were

kind of renegades, too.  They both become dentists down

at El Paso.  They spent about three-fourths of their

time across the border--liked to go down there and eat

and play around with them Mexican gals, I guess, and

bowl.  I went down there one time and had my teeth

worked on by this kid, and got through, Byron said,

"Well, we're gonna go to the Old Mexico and eat elk

steak tonight, then we're gonna bowl."  Hell, I didn't

know what a bowling alley was.  But anyway, I remember

we went down there and spent about half the night with

them guys--bowled and ate.  But they lived down there

most of all their life, raised their families in El

Paso.  They used to come see my dad once in a while up

here.  Pretty interesting people.

   This Smith that got killed in 1860 out there trading

off of horseback, great-great-grandson was out at his

sister's house in Los Angeles.  He come from

Cincinnati.  My dad was out there, we'd been sellin'

merchandise, went over to Maude's house and here come

this fellah, Smith, drove a big Cadillac.  This was

back in the thirties, things were tough.  Got out, he

had a high-powered suit on, overcoat.  Dad hadn't seen

the guy in twenty years, and of course they had a lot

to catch up with.  All spent the night there and talked

all night long.  So I asked my dad, "What's that guy

do?"  So he said, "Well, he works for a bank."  I said,

"What's he doing out here?"  So my dad said, "Well,

he's got some crazy program, startin' a program called

a Christmas club."  "Christmas club?!  What's that?"

Well, you know this Christmas club that come along

pretty heavy back in the fifties and sixties?

Everybody put a dollar a week, two dollars a week.

He's the guy that started that, went to San Francisco

with it.  But he become a very wealthy man over the

years.  But he was always in the banking business.  But

he was related to that guy that got killed on horse up

there tradin'.

   But this Maude out there, she had a boy that worked

for a movie company.  He was makin' these sound

machines at that time, him and his brother.  (turns to

someone else)  What was those kids' names out there in

California?  It was Earl?  You know, that stayed at

Aunt Maude's house, that invented that sound machine

for silent movies?  Ben?

   

   Harold:  Ben and Earl....

   

   Richardson:  What was their last name?  I couldn't

think of it.  He's such a good guy.

   

   Harold:  Ben and Earl Gulet [phonetic spelling].

   

   Richardson:  Gulet, yeah.  His sister just died

about two years ago.  She lived in Colorado Springs.

And her boy was killed doin' some of that crazy work.

Now, that's the place when the movie stars come over.

They come over there and borrowed money from Ben and

his brother all the time, 'cause Edison or somebody

paid 'em all the time to put this thing together for

'em, so they were doin' pretty good.  Then he also

chauffeured for a guy come out of New York City, a

multi-millionaire.  He come around, I guess, through

Panama, and then into Los Angeles from New York on a

ship.  He picked him up there and drove him for three

months.  Every time this guy called, "Ben, I want the

car."  A certain time, Ben was there with his car,

wearin' a chauffeur's cap and all this stuff.  The guy

paid him about $500 a month–he was like a millionaire

at that time.  But he spent three months doin' that,

and at night he was workin' on this other stuff all the

time.

   But those boys–I asked his cousin–he was in here a

couple of years ago.  They was up at Colorado Springs,

and I said, "How much money did those guys make?  You

was a kid livin' out there."  He said, "Ben, I know

back there were $10 million."  That's when things

were....  And he also got in on that deal of puttin'

those radars up and down the coast.  He was one of the

big guys in that.  I said, "What happened to the

money?"  He said, "Bill, he give every dime away."  I

said, "To who?"  He said, "Well, you remember all those

guys used to hang around, them movie players, gettin'

into movies?"  I said, "Yeah."  "He kept a lot of them

goin'.  Every time a friend wanted to start a business,

he just wrote him out a check.  He give me a lot of

money and I just blew it," (laughs) "on cars and

stuff."  (greets Lucretia in Navajo)  But these guys

got to be pretty famous young men during their time,

during World War II.  They were all kind of tied-into

the trading business.  You know, the relatives, 'cause

of my dad, you know, and he was....

   Cole:  What would you say makes a good trader?

   

   Richardson:  Patience.  If you don't have patience,

don't get in it.  My brother couldn't do it, no

patience.  Sometimes an Indian might take an hour-and-a-

half to make up his mind he wants a sack of flour.  He

might go over and sit down, you're waitin' on him, and

all of a sudden he just stops and walks away.  You know

he wants some dry goods and some other stuff, but has

to drink some coffee and smoke some Bull Durham and eat

a can of peaches.  They may come back over and start

tradin' again.  So it takes a lot of patience.  That's

early days.  Today, the Indians are in a hurry.  I

always say to these Indians, "Why aren't you like your

grandma and your grandpa?"  "What do you mean?"  "They

wasn't in a hurry.  You guys run in here, have a car,

want to borrow $100, and boom! you get mad at a clerk

'cause they can't give it to you in two seconds.  Take

it easy!"  But that's the difference, now they're

gettin' like everybody else, all in a hurry, you know.

Used to be better in the early days, but you had to

have a lot of patience.  My dad had more patience than

anybody I ever knew.  He could sit for hours and talk

to Indians about things goin' on, you know.  My mother

was that way, too, she had patience with 'em too.  And

I got some of that, but a lot of times I'll sit back

here an hour-and-a-half listening to something that's

going on that they want to tell me happened, and

usually they need help, and what needs to be done, you

know.  So we go through all that.  But it's a little

different thing today than it was then.

   

   Cole:  Who's the more active trader?  Is it more the

women or the men?

   

   Richardson:  Well, the women usually.  When they was

buyin', they usually knew what they want.  Sometimes a

guy'd come in, he had his young wife and his old wife.

The old wife go sit down by the stove, and him and the

young wife come up there and the young wife tell 'em

what they need, and they say, "Flour, sugar, coffee,

tomatoes," and drink a bottle of soda pop while he's

talkin'.  Sometimes while he's talkin', it'd take an

hour for 'em to decide what they was gonna buy, and the

color of dry goods.  You take out a piece goods and

roll it out on the counter and they might decide they

want three yards, and then they say, "Wait a minute,

six yards."  It took time.  But most of the women did

the picking out what they wanted most of the time.  A

lot of the men, if they wanted a pair of pants, Levi's,

or shirt, or hat, they picked it out themself.

Sometimes they want a pair of white socks or somethin'.

I always kept shoes in the store, too--boxes of shoes.

Sometimes they sit down and try shoes on once in a

while.  A lot of 'em still wore moccasins.  I just sold

a pair of moccasins a while ago to an old woman, ninety-

seven years old.  She said, "Bill, ___________."  I

said, "Well, I told her now they're about sixty-five

dollars, but to you it's ___________."  That's forty.

She said, "I'll take 'em."  She's about ninety-seven.

   But a lot of changes, a lot of 'em party, a lot of

'em gamble now.  They like to hit these casinos, night

clubs, and a pretty fast life.  They're drinkin' and

smokin' pot.  They're goin' along with the rest of the

crowd, I guess.  But it takes a lot of 'em out, too--

car wrecks and kidney failure and that kind of stuff.

Used to didn't have that, but they have today, and it's

not gonna get any better, don't look like.  Got a lot

of 'em in the penitentiary now, used to didn't have any

of 'em in the penitentiary.  But it's usually from

runnin' over people, drivin' drunk, or hittin' 'em with

a knife or shootin' 'em or somethin'.  Same problems

the white man's got.

   

   Cole:  Does the Navajo have a different outlook

economically than the white person does?

   

   Richardson:  Well, they're all tryin' to get a

little bit of education.  They can borrow school money

and the tribe gives 'em some money.  But you've got a

lot at the University of Arizona, you've got a lot of

'em in Northern Arizona University of Flagstaff--got a

bunch of 'em up there, 'cause I've helped two or three

over the years go to school up there.  They get a

pretty fair education, they realize that they got a

better chance of gettin' a job.  So a lot of 'em are

gettin' in the tribe out here and the government, and

they hold pretty good jobs.  They want better cars,

better houses.  Living conditions for a hundred years

was terrible on the reservation--you know, living in

hogans.  Now they're gettin' pretty decent living

quarters out there.  They can build pretty nice houses.

They developed electricity, water.  Now they're workin'

hard to get 'em telephones out there.  All of 'em don't

have telephones, but they're gettin' pretty close to

livin' like the Anglos.  Still some of 'em still live

in hogans.  If you go out there today, you still see

some hogans around they live in--or shacks.  But I'll

tell you one thing they're puttin' a lot of on the

reservation now is these mobile homes.  They sell a

jillion of those.  You go out here toward Window Rock

and you see 'em all over these hills.  I guess plumb

across the reservation.  Well, that's cheap housing and

it's good housing.  You've got three or four bedrooms,

two bathrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen.  So

it's a quick way to get into a pretty good house.  And

they get a little lot and the land out there, don't

have to pay any taxes on it.  So all they have to make

is the trailer payments.  So they do pretty good that

way, not too bad.  And they can hook up a system where

they can have indoor toilets runnin', you know.  Some

of 'em still have to haul their water, but they're

gettin' to where most of 'em have most of the

conveniences everybody else has.  They go for good

automobiles, they all like to buy good pickups.  Once

in a while some of 'em drive up here in a Lincoln or

Cadillac, so they do all right, a lot of 'em.  A lot of

'em live here in town, nice homes, got better jobs, and

they get the job done, so they live pretty good.  I got

a guy livin' up there next to me that's a contractor.

Just bought a house, $300,000, two-story house.  He's

done a lot of levelin’ and yard work, only about two

acres of land.  Got a beautiful home, really pretty

home.  So they're doin' better, they're comin' along,

doin' pretty good.  Most of the stores around town, you

go in, the Navajos wait on you.  If you go to a

drugstore, mostly Navajo girls or men.  You go to a

restaurant, mostly Navajo girls or men.  Drive-ins.  Go

to Bell's, you go to Wal-Mart, 90 percent of the help

is Indian.  So they all get out and hustle jobs.

That's a weekly paycheck, you know.  And they work

service stations and garages.  A lot of 'em work as

mechanics.  A lot of 'em run these trains now.  And

that's a good job, runnin' that train.  That's gonna

bring you $1,200-$1,500 a week, I guess, so they do

pretty good.  They could become brakemen and engineers.

A lot of 'em work on track.  I got a fellah here, he

comes in here and his wife trades with me.  They borrow

money once in a while, not very often.  Named Spencer.

His paycheck I think every two weeks is about $1,700-

$1,800.  He runs the machine, puttin' these ties in on

the railroad, $17, $18 an hour, something like that.  A

lot of 'em work in the coal mines, and that's, I think,

about $15, $16 an hour.  They run twenty-four-hour-a-

day shifts.  So out here at Window Rock, there's a lot

of 'em up at Kayenta--they work a lot of Navajos up

there.  A lot of 'em get out and do pretty good.

   

   Cole:  Why do they come here for their loans, versus

working with the bank?

   

   Richardson:  Well, 'cause Arizona's stupid.  (Cole

chuckles)  Well, I was gonna talk about problems....

Oh, a lot of 'em to go the bank, yeah.  But they have

to wait.  And if you've got a flat tire, you need fifty

dollars to get a tire, the bank's closed, they can come

in here and get it, and I ain't gonna charge 'em no

more than a bank.  You borrow fifty dollars at a bank,

they're gonna charge you half of that to write up the

papers on it!  So right away you owe 'em seventy-five

dollars.  But a lot of 'em go to the bank, but they can

borrow from me just about as cheap anymore--a lot less

hassle, and I'm not gonna push 'em for the money.  We

got some loan company here they borrow from, they

charge as high as 1,800 percent.  Legislature, they're

trying to get it cut down to around 48 percent.

Anyway, __________ lobbyist pushed it through and

they're gonna keep it.  They're not gonna _____ 'em

again 'til next year.  So you borrow $300, right away

you owe $300 or more.  But they go to those places once

in a while.  (someone enters)

   That's my daughter, Sue.  (Sue shows jewelry)  We're

gettin' in this Internet business now and all this

stuff.  Kind of a pain in the neck.  Have to have

computers and people workin' on 'em; buy high-powered

cameras.  That's not too good, I don't like that.

   

   Cole:  Does Arizona have the same ____________.

   

   Richardson:  Then Arizona come along and cut their

interest down--2 percent I think it started off with.

It got up to 3 percent.  That's no good, those guys

can't do it, they can't exist.  So a trader on the

reservation, they quit.  They had it right there at

their home, they could go get some money.  But other

guys had to pull out, 'cause they couldn't even pay

their help.  But a lot of expenses to doing pawn.  It's

a percentage deal.  You make 12-15 percent on your

investment, you done pretty darned good by the time

everything is paid.

   But anyway, two Arizona legislators come to see me.

They were all dressed up in their suits.  "You guys, do

for you?"  One was out of, oh, I think Coconino County.

One of 'em's out of Phoenix.  They said, "Well, we want

to talk to you about this pawn."  I said, "What can I

do for you?"  "This law we got's killin' it.  These

guys can't exist on the reservation."  I said, "Well, I

couldda told you that!  Why hasn't a guy come talk to

me before?  Or talked to anybody in this pawn business?

It's no get-rich-quick deal.  It'd take years.  If you

start a pawn business today, you ain't gonna draw no

money off it for five years.  Otherwise, it's goin'

downhill.  It's just that slow, you know, it's not a

fast deal.  But it's only a third of it works at a

time, is all it works.  One month it'll be 33-

1/3 percent workin', next month another 33-1/3, and

that's the way it is."  But anyway they said, "Well, we

gotta get it back.  They gotta have it."  I said,

"Yeah, I know that.  Well, what can I do for you?  You

want to see my ledgers and my pawn tickets?"  We had a

lot of laws on the pawn tickets that regard how long

you keep it and commercial credit laws, and federal,

state, and city laws, all on the back of these tickets

now.  Used to have nothin' but a ticket.  You tore it

off and give them the stub, you kept a stub, you had a

number on their name.  "Well, we want to copy your

ticket and take a picture of how you list it and all

that stuff in the book, keep track of it."  I said,

"Well, your computer, got it on computer too, then it

goes to the bookkeeper, they put it on a computer.  Got

three or four records.  Our police department keeps a

record of it.  That's all there is to it."  They said,

"Well, I don't see why they couldn't operate under the

same law you guys are."  And I said, "No reason why

they couldn't, 'cause if they're on the ball it'll make

'em a little money every year.  If they're not, if they

got poor help, they'll lose money.  But most of those

traders run it theirself, they know what they're

doin'."  I said, "Gentlemen, just a minute, before you

go back, you're never gonna get it back."  He said, "I

betcha we do."  I said, "No, you're never gonna get it

back."  And they've got some modification on it the

last twenty years, I guess, or fifteen years, but not

much.  I still think it's around 3 or 4 percent a

month.  There's just no way you can make money at it.

A lot of these guys charge 'em on the front end and

when they come to take it out, on the back end, too,

which is against the law.  I think some of it might

have existed that way.  But at that percentage they

can't--especially if they had to....  But these guys in

cities, you know, they rent a building and pay their

help.  That percentage won't get it all.  But if you go

dead, they can sell it and make money.  But we don't do

that.  We don't try to sell ours and make money, unless

they don't want it, they're not gonna take it out, it's

at least been here a year and people have been

contacted and they didn't come see about it, so we'll

sell it--especially stuff that keeps pilin' up, like

saddles, 'cause you run out of room, and that kind of

stuff.  But jewelry, we've had loans eight, ten years

back here in the drawers.  I was going through this

morning some of it.  And sometimes they'll come get it

later on, and sometimes they won't.

   The only ways that these guys can operate in Arizona

is they got to get the stuff and it's got to go dead

and they can sell it.  Take something for $50, they

might be able to sell it for $80 or $90 if it goes

dead.  That's how they make their money.  Same way with

diamonds, they do the same thing:  Take a diamond for

$100, they might be able to sell it for $200.  But

we're not tryin' to do that, we're just tryin' to live

off the interest.  That rate of interest they've got in

Arizona, no way.  You might as well forget it if you're

gonna try to live off the interest and pay your help.

We got girls out here we pay good money to.  They're

not dumbbells, they've been in this business twenty,

twenty-five years, some of 'em.  I got two girls been

here a long time.  They draw nice bonuses, nice checks,

drive good automobiles--but they do their job.  The

ones that keeps running back here to ask me questions,

they haven't learned it, see.  Some of 'em learn it,

some of 'em don't.  I have one girl that's been back

here _______, she's pretty smart, she should know it.

She's good on computers.  But when it comes to just

really knowing the value, all I say, "Well, if you was

gonna buy it, what would you want to pay for it?"  I

said, "Well, that sounds pretty good, why don't you

loan her that much?  And maybe I can get my money out

of it."  But she keeps coming back asking me the same.

But when it comes to high _________________ $1,500,

$2,000, they won't make a loan on it, they want me to

look at it first--anything that gets over $1,000, you

want me to look at it.  My son-in-law worked for me a

long time.  He left me, he's out on his own now, but

he's pretty good at it too, determining what it was

worth.  We gotta figure out mostly what can we get out

of it, if we have to turn it.  That's the way we look

at it.  If we get a break-even deal on a lot of it,

we're real happy with it.  A lot of times we don't get

that.  But some items we'll make some money off, we

have to sell it too.  Sometimes we'll make some money.

   But Arizona should have it, should never have taken

it off the reservation.  That was a shame when they did

that.  But when you get somethin' in place like that,

_________, that's a good deal for Indians, they don't

have to pay but low interest.  But there ain't nobody

out there to pay it to.  They don't stop to look at

that.

   

   Cole:  What do you see as the future of trading?

   

   Richardson:  Well, there'll always be some of these

people that'll be makin' rugs.  The silversmithing is

gonna go on forever, just like these jewelers in New

York.  These Indians are gettin' better, they put out

finer stuff.  They'll get these big books out of New

York, different places, and copy these designs.  They

have guys that sit at tables that design this stuff all

day long for 'em in New York, and they'll copy those

designs, and maybe they'll start putting diamonds in

it, and that type of stuff.  Here's a ring I bought a

while ago.  I haven't even stopped, I give the Indian

the money and walked away from him.  See, stuff like

that.  She asked me $500 for that.  We're seein' more

of this kinda stuff, see.  It'll be sittin' diamonds.

These guys are good.  They do a lot of fine work.  And

there's gonna be more of those 'cause they draw big

money.  A good guy makin' gold can make himself a

couple thousand a week, easy.  A good weaver can do

very well, too, and they'll always be those people

who'll follow that because they like to do it.

Artists:  we got a guy comes in here with pictures all

the time, asks us $3,000, $4,000 apiece for pictures--

and they're worth it.  I don't buy 'em all, 'cause I'm

not too much of a picture hound.  But we buy some of

'em.  They're just really outstanding work, really good

work.  Some of the art's all over the world, there's

books out about 'em, and who has bought 'em, and whose

collection they're in, and so on and so forth.

There'll always be artists and rugs and jewelry and

paintings.  And even some of these pottery makers are

doin' some stuff I've never seen before, really out of

this world.  But some of that stuff, I've had people

come in here this morning and ask me $2,500, $3,500 for

just one piece of pottery.  And you know, that's a lot

of money.  If it gets broke....  But we kind of shy

away from that, unless we got a special order for it,

but they are good artists, good artists.  They're as

good as anybody probably in the whole country, as far

as making silver and jewelry and rugs.  Some of these

gals will make these real fine rugs, get big prices for

'em--$10,000, $12,000, $15,000, some of 'em.  But it

takes 'em a while to make 'em, they don't just put 'em

together in a few minutes.  If they stick with it, and

are able to move their merchandise, they do well, they

do real well.  A lot of 'em open their own stores.  A

lot of 'em go to all these shows.  A lot of 'em that go

to all these shows, the trader hardly ever sees 'em.

They go directly to shows and sell, and then they'll go

home and make something to go to the next show.  You

know there's a show every month, maybe two, all over

the United States.  Almost every state in the union has

a show now, but they have big ones in Tucson and

Phoenix and I guess Flagstaff has 'em.  Don't they have

'em up there at the museum?

   

   Cole:  Right, in the summer especially.

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, go up there, rugs and jewelry,

whatever you want, and they sell it to them tourists.

But they're makin' all the big shows now.  And they're

also getting stuff now for the Olympics in Utah.  These

Indian artists started makin' stuff for special order

up there.  I said, "Well, they got all them guys in

jail!"  (laughter)  "Well, not all of 'em, Bill!  Gotta

give me some orders."  I said, "Well, maybe those ones

are lucky."  But they're movin' that stuff, and it's

already....  That thing's gonna bring in millions of

dollars up here, so they're already preparin' for it.

These Indians are gettin' in on it, and that's good.

I'm 1,000 percent for 'em.  I like to see 'em get in

there and make that money, you know.  So they'll have

it and keep this thing goin'.

   But as far as the future, I see less and less of

lower class of jewelry, 'cause you walk into any store

and see lower class of jewelry, $2.95, $3.95, $4.95,

and everybody's got so they don't want it.  About the

only thing we can sell today is something that's

better, better stuff.  People are looking for better

stuff.  So that helps the artist, the guys that really

are doing the work.  So they demand a better price, but

they get it.  If I buy a piece of junk, I'm sittin' on

it.  If I buy a good piece, I'll sell it.  That's the

way it is today.

   

   Cole:  Have you seen much of a problem yourself with

some of the forgeries and stuff you read about in the

newspaper in jewelry?

   

   Richardson:  When did it start?!  They have big

meetings up here, these Hopis and Navajos start

shoutin' and screamin' at each other.  Oh, who was in

there?  We had two big....  We've got a senator named

Bill Ripley [phonetic spelling], he did one time.  Same

names I got, Richardson and Demincio [phonetic

spelling] is here, and another guy, last time down here

at the Chamber of Commerce Building.  Fifty of us

around the table.  There's Hopis and Navajos screamin'

at each other about imitation.  So I said, "Well, it's

always been.  There's always gonna be somebody tryin'

to make somethin' cheaper than what you got, and

they're gonna imitate it.  Don't make no difference

what there is in the world, they're gonna imitate it if

it can be sold.  I've seen Indian jewelry in the five

and ten cent stores back in 1925, 1926, when I was a

kid, goin' in and seein' Indian jewelry that's made

over in China!"  Had white turquoise in it, made out of

some kind of a metal.  Then they started makin' it out

of copper.  They've always imitated.  And these

manufacturers like Bell, Mazel, Pacific Coast Jewelry,

back in the thirties they was really, really big in it.

They stamp it out, but use Indian symbols.  They set

the stones and do the soldering.  And they had nice

lines of jewelry, clean lines of jewelry.  And they

sold all over the world.  And Bell Pacific out in

California did the same thing here in not San Diego,

but what's that town by Long Beach where they got the

big boat?  I can't think of it.

   

   Cole:  Santa Barbara?

   

   Richardson:  No, not Santa Barbara.  It's right

below Long Beach.  Anyway, they had a big factory

there, they made it.  Back in the thirties, and after

the war there was lots of it.  During the war, they

couldn't get the silver, so they started makin' wings.

The government gave 'em silver to make the wings, so

they had enough to make a little jewelry too, so they

could carry on the jewelry business.  Then when they

were able to get silver--during World War II when

silver was frozen, Indians got allotments of it, the

traders would buy the first Indian turquoise, and pay

'em for the silver when they brought it in.  But down

south, the traders took the turquoise and petrified

wood to the border, got the Mexican silversmiths to

make it, 'cause they were just as good or better than

the Navajos, and they could make Indian designs.  So

they had the silver, so they'd make it and bring it

back into Tucson and the trader would pay 'em for it.

But that's how they got silver during the war years.

That's how the traders existed, really, was that

Mexicans....  Was that an imitation?  I say so.  But

the Spanish come in here and taught these Indians how

to make it to start out with.  Who's imitatin' who?

   But anyway, I got a basket down at the bottom of the

steps.  I don't have one here, but Afghanistan they

make the baskets that look just like these Indian

baskets.  Hard to tell 'em.  I went to a show there, it

was a furniture show, Southwest furniture out of Santa

Fe.  This guy had these baskets stacked up, and I

looked at 'em, "Gee, they're pretty.  Where'd you get

that many Indian baskets?"  I went out and pick up that

big one out there.  "How much is this basket?"  "Thirty-

five dollars.  But it isn't Indian," he said,

"Afghanistan."  "You don't have a tag on it."  Medicine

basket just like the medicine baskets we have, twenty

dollars.  So I bought some and brought 'em home to show

these people what they are.  But tell me something they

don't imitate.  I don't know what they don't imitate.

   Imitate rugs in Mexico.  A girl walked in here, I

had to go to Albuquerque last week, my wife had an

operation ________ couple of days.  The day before I

went, I think it was a Monday, "I got a big rug out in

the car."  I said, "How good is it?"  "Good one."

"Bring it in."  She unrolled it on the counter.  I

looked at it, rolled it back up--it was a big rug.

"How much you tryin' to get for that?"  "Well, I'll

take $900 for it."  I said, "Young lady, you're pretty

well-educated, you ought to be smarter than that.  It's

a Mexican rug, and it probably didn't cost you $200,

and you shouldn't be sellin' it, 'cause you're hurtin'

your own people."  She rolled up, her and her husband

went out and got in the car and drove off.  They bought

it in Old Mexico someplace.  But they do that every

once in a while.  The guy that buys rugs for me is not

here today, but once in a while he'll bring one in.  We

can smell it, too, you know, and feel it, tell what it

is.  But it's a good imitation.

   So how do you stop it?  I don't know.  You just

gotta go along with it, make something better.  The

worst thing about it, these senators said, there's so

much stuff comin' into the country now, a lot of it

comes through Mexico in boxes of stuff.  Comes out of

South America, Taiwan, different places.  It should be

stamped in the middle.  Instead, they put a little

sticker on it, these dealers can take the sticker off

and put it in with their other merchandise, it looks

just like it.  So that's bad.  So we say the only way

it's gonna stop is we got to stamp it in the middle.

These guys say, "Well, they just don't take time and

make 'em do that."  But that'll stop it, 'cause people

will look on the back and see, "Hong Kong" or "Japan"

or someplace else, well, they won't buy it.  But

they're mixin' a lot of that stuff in.  And they have

it copied.  They'll send Zuni earrings and beads and

what else to these guys and have 'em copy it, but it's

not stamped in the middle, it's just put on there,

"Made in Hong Kong" in paper, and they just tear the

paper off when they get it over here.  How you gonna

stop it?  I dunno.

   I used to have 200 weavers after the war, weavin'

these belt strips.  We sewed 'em on belts for beaded

belts.  And went along pretty good for three or four

years.  We was gettin' a very good price out of 'em,

makin' money, and all of a sudden they was appearing

from Japan.  They'd copied 'em, and they was selling $3

on the three-quarter-inch belts, and $4 a dozen wide

belts.  That was all the profit we was makin'.  So we

had to close up immediately, I let all those weavers

off.  But we was makin' a lot of belts at one time, but

they killed it overnight when they brought 'em in the

country, 'cause they had a paper tag on 'em.  We

stamped ours with a branding iron and put on "genuine

Indian handmade."  And we used Indians to sew it and

Indians to put the beads on it.  The only thing that

wasn't handmade was the leather--we got that from

Tandy.  Old Man Tandy had a big leather house down in

Fort Worth.  He wanted me to make him a bunch of 'em.

I went down to see him and I said, "I'll make 'em if

you'll prep for 'em."  That means he had to lace 'em

too, had to have them holes.  I said, "We're doin' that

by hand, and it's expensive."  He said, "We can't do

it."  I said, "We can't make you your belts."  He said,

"I'll talk to you later."  So I come home and I hadn't

been home two weeks--I'd gone down to that Cotton Bowl

Game, I guess it was--and after I come home I got

letter from him and a sample belt.  He got a machine

made where it could lace that belt.  So he sent me

10,000 belts and I made him....  We made a trade.  But

I got my belts from him after that.  But even after we

didn't have to hand lace 'em, still we couldn't make no

profit on 'em, so we just give it up.  But that cost us

a lot of jobs.

   I don't know how you stop 'em.  They say, "Well,

fine 'em."  Arizona's got some laws, they fined some

guys over there once in a while, but I don't think it

lasts too long, they go back doin' it again.  A lot of

times it's pretty hard to tell this stuff, too, you

know--when especially jewelry comes in.  A lot of times

I buy it, take a long look at it and bring it back to

me.  "Pretty good imitation, if it's an imitation."

Most of these kids now stamp their initials on the back

of it.  But years ago, they didn't do that.  But

anybody can take a piece of jewelry and stamp an

initial on it.  They can copy that, too, you know.  So

I don't know where the protection is.  Early days,

bought a Navajo rug, you put a tag on it--back in

thirties, twenties.  Tag says, "This rug guaranteed to

be genuine Indian handmade by Navajo Indians."  Had the

emblem of the United States government on there, said,

"$10,000 fine to take this ticket off."  No trouble,

nobody's imitatin' rugs.  That's before they started it

anyway, but the government used to have that on there

to protect the Indians.  So I made the motion that they

do somethin' like that, but the congressmen didn't see

how they could do that.  So I don't know.  So I think

we're gonna hafta live with it.  So these Navajos and

Hopis are still hollerin' at each other still.  'Cause

Navajos, they'll get it and sell it on the streets, you

know.  Hopis don't want anything imitated--kachina

dolls, they all make kachina dolls, and nobody ever

made kachina dolls but Hopis in the early days.  Zunis

might have made a few of 'em, kind of secret.  But the

early days, the kachina dolls were very plain.  They

had sun gods and rain gods and corn gods.  Now they put

'em on skateboards and put wings on 'em and all that

kind of stuff.  Pretty fancy and pretty expensive.  But

they're just copies of what people are buyin' today.

Not Zunis, but the Navajos will copy what the Hopis are

makin', and they're pretty good at it.  But the Hopis

are really the kachina makers, from a long, long, way

back.  They're the kachina makers.

   What else you got in mind?

   

   Steiger:  What haven't you told us that you'd like

to tell us?

   

   Richardson:  Well, I don't know what else to tell

you.

   

   Cole:  What would some of your favorite memories be,

being a trader?

   

   Richardson:  Well, ________ a trader, plumb crazy

_______.  Had a guy workin' out at the trading post at

Sunrise one time, and he was actually a painter, but we

run out of paint jobs so we said, "Well, Roscoe, we're

gonna make you a trader."  He liked that.  So he

started learnin' how to count and tradin'.  Stacked

flour and put groceries on the shelf.  We always threw

the empty boxes back in the warehouse for groceries.  A

guy had a bunch of canned goods, he'd go in there and

get the grocery box and put the groceries--like they do

at the grocery store, you know.  Ten pounds of potatoes

and canned goods and maybe something else in the box.

He went back and reached in a box and there was a snake

in it.  I heard him holler.  I run back there and I

heard him say, "Snake!"  I said, "Hey, Oscar, let me

get that box."  He threw the box down, I picked the box

up, snake was gone.  I'm afraid of 'em too, I don't

like 'em.  He went around back and got in his old car

and went to Winslow.  He didn't come back.  So I went

to Winslow one Saturday afternoon--we had an old home

place there--and I took a bath and got cleaned up and

went downtown to the picture show.  I come out of the

show that night with some guy I was runnin' around

with, and I went by Babbitts old store.  I looked in

there, and this guy's paintin'.  I kept lookin' there

and I said, "Old Oscar!" and I knocked on the door.  He

looked at me and he come down.  I said, "Oscar, what

are you doin'?  I thought you were gonna come back and

go to work."  "No, Bill," he said, "I'll never work in

a store again.  That snake scared me to death.  I

hardly ever talked for two days after I got here."  He

got drunk, stayed drunk for a week.  I could still

smell it on him when he was paintin'!  (laughter)  But

he got a job paintin' that ceiling in Babbitts, white.

Old corrugated roof.  He spent about a week paintin'

that.  He got some other jobs around town.  Later on he

went back to California.  But that was one of the funny

stories.

   Oh, I heard my dad tell some funny ones about

_________, come out there in the early days, worked for

Babbitts at the old store in Tuba.

   

   [END TAPE 1, SIDE B; BEGIN TAPE 2, SIDE A]

   

   Cole:  ... Northern Arizona University.  It's

Monday, March 29.  We're with Bill Richardson in

Gallup, New Mexico.  Also present in the room is Gail

Steiger, running the camera equipment, and this is Tape

3.

   You were just about ready to tell us the story you

remember from [your dad].

   

   Richardson:  Well, I remember a lot of funny things.

Some of 'em I can't tell (laughs), but some of 'em are

pretty funny.

   

   Cole:  You can tell us anything.  (laughs)

   

   Richardson:  I guess the funniest thing would be

down around the corrals and a guy tryin' to ride those

horses and get throwed up in the air.  I did that too,

myself, a few times--get bucked off on your head and

stuff like that.  I always thought it was funny.  Of

course the guy gettin' bucked off didn't think it was

too funny.  You see a lot of funny things.  I can

remember some stories.  It's in that book, too, I

believe.  There was a guy named Lewis, he used to drive

truck into Flagstaff and haul for ____________

trucking, Hopi.  Guy comin' down that Cameron one

night, hitchhikin'.  I think he ran a store there, and

he was gonna hitchhike on over to Tuba City someplace.

I think it was Tony out there, workin' for Hubert that

time, or Cecil, one of 'em.  This old boy, they asked

him where he was gonna sleep, and he said, "Ah, I'm

gonna sleep out there in front of the store."  He went

over there and got on a road, just a trail, you know,

and he said, "I got a rope to put around me, so snakes

won't get me."  And here he had some kind of a bedroll.

Lewis come along that night and run over him.  It

wasn't funny, you know.  He tried to protect himself

from snakes, but that truck's what got him.  And

probably the only truck that had been over the road in

a week.  (laughs)  That wasn't funny, but the way they

told it, you know, it was kind of funny.  I think they

put that in the book.

   Most of us guys, I don't know.  A lot of 'em, wives

get tired of stayin' out there and get crossways of the

old man, and he'd have to go pack up everything and

haul her home.  She might live in Texas or someplace.

(laughs)  I can remember a lot of that kind of stuff

went on.  But there wasn't noplace, nothin' to do out

there.  Them Texas gals was pretty tough on 'em in the

early days.  Of course a lot of those old traders,

they'd been in World War I, you know, and come back out

there.

   

   Cole:  How about your mom?  How did she like it?

   

   Richardson:  My mother liked it.  She liked Indians.

Anytime she found somebody that didn't have a sweater

or coat or something, she'd give it to 'em.  She didn't

wait for 'em to pay for it--especially kids, you know.

And she took 'em horseback ridin' with her.  She rode a

lot of horses.  I used to ride with her a lot.  We was

at The Gap one time, and my ma saddled up the horses,

we come out of the cook shack--Buck ____'s wife was the

cook up there--got on a horse, my mama grabbed me by

the arm and threw me on the back and we started down

that wagon trail.  A rattlesnake, about like that,

coiled up.  I didn't see it.  My mother just went over

the top with that horse.  Of course the horse scared

up, too, you know.  I looked back and I said, "Mom, you

jumped a snake!"  She said, "Yeah?!"  I always

remembered that, something that kind of stuck in my

mind, you know.

   We had a trader one time at Leupp named--I called

him Tao Jake-o [phonetic spelling].  He was almost

blind.  His name was--he's got a boy out here that's a

preacher now.  Oh, what was that old man's name?  We

got a picture of his old store, too.  My dad hired him

to come out there and work a couple of weeks.  He lived

out here at Gallup.  My dad and mother were gonna take

a trip to Phoenix or Tucson, and the old man come over

there to trade.  And a good trader, talked perfect

Navajo--he married a Navajo woman.  Good Luck!  I

believe the name was Good Luck.  Well, let's see, it

wasn't Good Luck.  Well anyway, back in the back they

had a room off of the kitchen where he slept, his

bedroom.  There was about three or four bedrooms in

back of this old store, a big living room, fireplace,

and a pool table.  I was there, and there was a guy

camped out in the back yard, he was a brick layer and a

carpenter, and he was building a storage barn.  I went

out and I was sleeping off the living room on the sun

porch.  At six o'clock an Indian girl come out and

said, "Bill!"  I was about fourteen, I guess.  She

said, "Get up!"  I said, "What do you mean, 'get up'!"

Her name was Gladys.  I said, "Get out of here,

Gladys."  She said, "I can't cook breakfast, I can't

start the fire."  I said, "Why not?"  She said,

"There's a snake in the kitchen!"  "There isn't no

snake in the kitchen!"  So I laid back down, pretty

soon she come back, "Bill, can't cook breakfast."

"What's the matter?"  "Snake in the kitchen."  So I got

up, put my Levi's on, boots on, didn't have a shirt on.

Just as I got to that dining room door, I heard that

sucker.  I peeked inside the kitchen, and he was just

off that old man's bedroom door, and he was coiled up

like that, and he was a rattler.  (whistles, "whew!")

"Boy!" I said, "Wow!"  So I hollered at the old man, I

said....  Gee, I'm tryin' to think of his name.  Seemed

like it was Good Luck, but that's not his name.

Anyway, I hollered at him, I said, "Don't open that

door," 'cause he was about half blind.  I said,

"There's a snake there.  So he hollered back and said,

"I'm not gonna open the door, I heard him."  "Okay."

So I ran around to the back.  This guy living in a tent

out there was a sharp shooter with a .22 or any kind of

gun.  In fact, when he wasn't working, he hung around

Flagstaff and anytime these carnivals come through down

at Winslow, they had a shootin' gallery, he'd get a job

there, and he was good.  He grabbed a .22 and said,

"I'll get him."  I said, "Unt-uh, let's get the

shotgun."  He had a 4-10 shotgun there.  He said, "I

don't need it."  So I said, "Well, give it to me,

'cause I don't want that snake to get away."  He handed

it to me, double-barrel, I put two shells in it.  A 4-

10 is not too heavy, you know, but heavy enough to kill

a snake.  But he got that door, took dead aim, knocked

that snake's head right off.  But I never forgot that,

'cause if that old man had opened the door during the

night, that snake mighta bit him.  Gee, I wish I could

think of that guy's name.

   But the old man, he'd have to light--we'd be

weighin' wool, way out, and he'd have to light a match

to read the __________, didn't have no electric lights.

Probably had a lantern, but most of the time he struck

a match to read the scales, you know, when was weighin'

wool after dark.  Had those old store lamps in there,

fill 'em with gasoline, pumped 'em up.  That's the only

light you had.  Well, there's a lot of crazy things, I

dunno.  (chuckles)

   Most of 'em, I think family wasn't gettin' along,

'cause the family didn't like that country, I think.

(laughs)  They couldn't get adapted to it.  Either

between a man and his wife.  But my mama used to get

pretty disgusted at 'em, 'cause where they lived they

didn't have no job, but come out there, they had pretty

good job at that time--my dad give 'em a pretty good

job.  Later on, helped 'em get into business on their

own, you know.  But there's always a lot of things.

   Squaw dances used to be kinda fun.  Those girls

grabbin' the boys and makin' 'em pay to dance with 'em.

I used to go to a lot of squaw dances.

   But most of the time around a trading post is work,

there's always somethin' to do--count sheep or brandin'

sheep or sackin' wool or ______ hides.  Wasn't too much

time for entertainment anyway, really.  Always a lot of

work around a tradin' post.

   Tobey Turpen and I–Tobey come up there one time, he

was about seven years old.  I guess I was about three

years older, ten, eleven.  Everybody gettin' ready to

go to bed.  They had a bed in there just inside the

living room, off the office, and they said, "We're

gonna put you kids in here."  They threw us blankets

and a couple of pillows.  I woke up during the night.

I reached down to get the cover, and I felt somethin'

wet.  I hollered "snake!" and I threw this thing, it

hit the ceiling.  Tobey jumped up and started

screamin', "snake!"  We couldn't get the door open to

get back in the living room.  They finally got out

there, we got a lamp over there--the cat got on our bed

and had six kittens.  (laughter)  That stuff kinda

sticks in your mind when you're a kid, but I don't know

anything really, really funny.

   Used to play a lot of penny ante poker and get in

arguments about that.  Shoot pool, get in an argument

about that.

   

   Cole:  So when did you meet your wife?

   

   Richardson:  I met her in Texas, come from my dad

and mother's hometown.  In fact, my dad and mother went

to school with her daddy, and he was a Baptist

preacher.  I don't know, I was down there one weekend.

I'd been up to Dallas with a cousin of mine, goin' to

some kind of a school.  That was just before the war, I

guess.  I got kinda tired of the tradin' post, wanted

to get out and do somethin' else.  So I went down there

with him and we were down at the hometown one weekend

and he introduced me to her.  She was comin' out of the

post office.  He said, "I'll get you a date with her."

"Well, she looks pretty good."  She was a pretty good-

lookin' girl.  [I] said, "No, I can't, I got a date

with somebody else.  So I didn't think anything more

about it, and about a week later I got a call from her

sayin' next time I come down she'd go out with me.  So

I went out with her, and the next thing I know I went

to California.  That was before the war.  I went and

got me a job workin' for North American Aviation.  But

the funny thing, before the war, they sent me back to

Dallas, and that's where I took up with her again.  If

I hadn't gone back to Dallas, I wouldn't guess I'd ever

married her.

   

   Cole:  What was her name?

   

   Richardson:  Mattie Holland.  Brought her out in

this country and she didn't like it, first time.  After

the war we come out here and all the steam engines were

still runnin', belchin' smoke, roundhouse out here was

belchin' smoke.  Hang your shirts out on a line--white

shirts--they'd turn black.  (chuckles)  She didn't like

that at all.  And no conveniences.  We had wood stoves,

and she didn't know what a wood stove was.  But she

learned.  Now I can't get her to go back to Texas!  I

try to _________ once in a while.  Kids been goin' to

school down at Waco--our grandkids--and Baylor

University.  She still has a brother and sister-in-law

lives down there, but pretty hard to get her to go back

down there.  All she remembers is the hot times and the

mosquitoes and the chiggers, and we don't have that out

here, you know.  But she's pretty dedicated to this

country now, she likes it.  Most people get used to it,

they like it.

   

   Cole:  And how many children did you two have?

   

   Richardson:  We had two girls.  This one girl--the

other girl works in the store, too.  She's in

Albuquerque today.  Her daughter's working on her

major.  She had to go back to take some classes today.

Most of the time she's here, but she works in the

store.

   

   Cole:  Do you think either of them will take the

business on when you're....

   

   Richardson:  I don't know.  These young people got a

lot of things to do, you know.  I don't know, I got

some grandsons.  One of 'em--well, most of these guys

are football players.  I tried to get one, Billy, to go

down and play with University of Arizona.  He wound up

down at Baylor.  But his girlfriend lived in New

Mexico, so he moved over to New Mexico, and finished up

school there, and went back to Baylor and got his

master's, then went to Michigan and got his law degree.

He's practicing here now.  He just started practicing

this last fall.  He done well.  And the other boy is

studying to be a doctor.  He's been down there five,

six years.  Tried to get him into University of

Arizona, but that's hard to do.  I'm havin' to get some

pretty prominent people to put their two cents in.  Of

course their excuse is, "We don't take out-of-state

students anymore."  But that's not so, they all take

out-of-state students.  But we think maybe we've got a

chance there.  It looks like we might have a chance to

get him in.  He's a pretty smart guy, and got a good

personality.  Most of these doctors they say they want

somebody that can relate with people, you know, get

along with people--not so much grades as it is being

able to relate with people.  That's kinda like a

medicine man gettin' along with these Indians.  They

have confidence in him, and that's why they go to the

medicine man.  Even if you finish college, you still go

to the medicine man.

   

   Cole:  Did you ever have any experiences with

medicine men yourself?

   

   Richardson:  Oh, yeah, we have 'em today, here.  I

got one girl _______ a while ago, she works computers.

She come in one day and said, "Bill, I need a medicine

basket."  "So go pick you out one.  What are you gonna

do, hang it up in the house?  Or what you gonna do with

it?"  "Goin' to the medicine man."  I said, "Well, you

got the big hospital up there--free."  "Well, I been

there, didn't do no good."  "Okay."  So two weeks later

I said, "How you feelin'?"  She said, "What do you

mean?"  "Well," I said, "you wanted a medicine basket.

Have you been to the medicine man?"  She said, "No, I

needed more than [that].  I need a buckskin and two

blankets," or something.  I looked at her and said,

"Well, what you got look here is about $700.  An office

call, that's pretty steep!"  But they have the

confidence in those guys, so that's half the battle.

Just like you got a doctor, there may be a better

doctor sittin' here, and this guy is a mediocre doctor,

but you got confidence in this guy.  So that's the way

they are about medicine men.  We have 'em in every day.

Lots of times they bring in a bunch of baskets.  See,

when they get paid, they get the blankets and all the

baskets and buckskins and they'll bring 'em in.

Sometimes they have $1,000-$2,000 worth of stuff at a

time, and we'll buy it back and resell it.  Sometimes

they'll pawn it.  We'll take it in pawn and keep it for

'em.  But I have one long-hair named Miss Colson.

She's writin' a book.  She lived out here in the

country.  She got a medicine man that takes her to all

these things all over the country.  Any kind of a

ceremony he's in, she's there to watch it.  This goes

on night and day.  And on the weekends, that's all she

does.  A lot of times she'll take off for a week at a

time and go with him.  She's starting to write a book

on it.  I just said some of it she's not gonna like.

Well, so far so good, but it wasn't too long ago she

said, "I couldn't stomach some of it."  I said, "Well,

I told you that."  But she's enjoyin' it, and bein'

there to see it, she's gonna write a book, that's the

way to go.

   A man and woman from University of Northern Arizona,

two years ago come here, well-dressed young kids in

their twenties.  Had a baby covered with ashes, laced

down in one of these carry deals.  My wife looked at

that baby, she said, "What in the world's the matter

with this baby?!"  The baby looks like it's about six

weeks old.  They didn’t say anything.  I said, "You've

been to the medicine man?"  They said, "Yes."  So I

said, "Well, you guys look like you're educated."  She

said, "Well, he's finished school but I'm still in

school."  "Where do you go to school?"  "Flagstaff."

"Where you guys from?"  But they got far along and

still take the baby to the medicine man.  Sure upset my

wife, cover a little baby with ashes, but they believe

it, so it's good.  Long as they got the confidence, I

don't see anything wrong with it, I'm for it

100 percent.

   Cole:  One other question.  When you were a kid, did

your family ever go over to the powwow in Flagstaff?

   

   Richardson:  Oh, yeah!  I got so mad up there one

time that I couldda....  If I'd been big enough, I

probably wouldda tried to whup the sheriff, I guess.

They used to bring slot machines out there to the old

grounds.  That's where we used to play football, too.

I seen some big crowds out there, when Winslow and

Flagstaff played football.  ______ college.  But they

had a good powwow there in summer.  Then after the war

they had some ________ come in tear it up and done away

with.  I don't know whether they have anything anymore,

but it was a great show.  It went on after World War II

for quite a while, and then it melted.  Well, they got

into the same thing here–try to tear it up.  They

stopped it here for a year or two.  But it was a great

show.  Boy, lots of people.  Good parades.  You was up

there in the trees.  We camped out.  We always took big

trucks up there, and the bedrolls, and built a big fire

and fried a lot of hamburgers and had a lot of good

times out there, 'cause we knew a lot of those

Flagstaff people.  But those trees up there, boy, a

hundred people in them trees, mostly Indians.  Good

show, good show.

   But I went over one time and had some nickels in my

pocket to put into this machine.  Had three-bar

jackpot, didn't pay.  Whup!  So I went and got a cop

[who] said, "Kid, I can't do nothin' about that."  I

said, "Well, I'm not gonna leave that machine.  I might

just take it home."  He said, "You'd better leave it

alone, it's chained."  So finally some other guy come

down and told me to get lost--some big guy said, "Get

out of here kid!"  So I never got my jackpot, but I

always remember that.  (laughter)  I always figured the

sheriff had to give 'em permission to operate that

stuff.  They had slot machines in that county for a

long time.  I think when Cecil become sheriff, they

went out.  But they had 'em in that county for a long

time.  I think Navajo County had 'em too.  That taught

me a lesson--I never played 'em after that.  And I'm

pretty old, and I never played 'em after that.  I

learned a good lesson then:  leave 'em alone.

   

   Cole:  If you could change anything about your life,

would you do it?

   

   Richardson:  Well, I got a lot of good experience,

but like everybody else on that reservation, I got

pretty doggone lonesome as a kid, because there wasn't

other kids right there.  Tuba City, there was.  I used

to play with the Curley boys, but when I got out to

Leupp, that trading post is kinda sittin' there by

itself with no kids around.  Traders once in a while

we'd get out and foot race and stuff like that, just a

pastime.  We built us a tennis court, and that'd take

some time.  Sometime at night some of the old traders

would play checkers.  We'd play a couple hundred games

of checkers a night--fast.  And I had an uncle named

Jim Turpen [phonetic spelling], he's a checker-playin'

fool.  (brief interruption for business)  We'd play a

lot of checkers at night, and Jim was a grown man,

married and had a kid, Jimmy.  His son had worked up

here.  He learned to shoot marbles in Texas:  draw a

big ring outside on that hard ground and put ten

marbles in a ring and each one of us had one to....

First guy to knock one out stayed in the ring and

knocked the rest of 'em out.  I never got a shot when

Jim was playin'!  (laughter)  I always remember those

little things like that.  Fly kites.  We used to put

them kites out there on that __________ lot of wind on

that river, you know.  But like I say, a lot of

horseback ridin', a lot of gettin' throwed off on your

tail, and gettin' in the mud and have to get off the

horse and get him out, goin' up the canyon swimmin'--

did a lot of stuff like that.

   We had a place down below our store called Grand

Falls.  Used to go down there when the water was

runnin' heavy in the river and picnic down there and

stuff like that--about five, six miles downriver from

the store.  A lot of sandy land.  But outside of that,

there wasn't much to do.  That lonesome part I didn't

like, my dad didn't like it.  He told me he stayed at

Blue Canyon one time three months without seein' a

white man.  He said, "Boy, liked to drove me crazy!"

Hubert had gone off to Kansas and got married and

didn't come back when he was supposed to.  My dad said

that was a bad time in his life.  "Well, when I got

along and sittin' out there sometimes on Sunday all day

long, nobody around by yourself, it got pretty

lonesome, you know."  I got where I didn't like that at

all.  Every time I could sneak off to Winslow, if

somebody was there to watch the place, I'd go into

Winslow, 'cause I had friends there.  But sometimes I

didn't get to do that [but] once a month, so that

wasn't too good.

   When I got in school, as soon as the football season

was over, I went to the basketball coach and said, "I

want to play basketball."  He said, "You're a football

player, not a basketball player."  "I'll be a

basketball player.  I don't want to go home."  And when

track season come around, I'd go to the track [coach

and say], "I want to run hurdles or 100-yard

somethin'."  So I learned how to run hurdles.  That's

so I didn't have to go back, 'cause I could stay in

town as long as it was track season and basketball and

football was goin' on.  And we got to travel a lot.  We

got to do a lot of travelin', especially the basketball

team.  We'd go down to the valley in the winter and

spend a week during the Christmas holidays and play

those teams in the valley, you know.  They'd put us up

down there.  So I liked that.  We'd spend time in

Flagstaff up there, Northern Arizona track meet.  Then

we'd have basketball tournaments up there, __________

high school.  I liked that.  That kept me from goin'

back and goin' to work.  But that all come to an end

soon as I was _________.  But on the weekend my dad

said, “Not playin' football, we got all these piñons.”

Phoenix had a lot of piñons at that time.  I said,

"Well, I can't go, I'm practicin'."  "Well, you gotta

go.  I can't lift them sacks."  So I told my coach and

oh, geez!  We're gettin' ready to play Prescott.  So I

went down to Phoenix and I didn't get back for that

game.  The coach was mad and my dad said, "Well, I'm

sorry that had to happen, but we had to turn them

piñons, because we've been holdin' too long."  Of

course, the grocery stores would buy 'em, you know.

Needed the money, too.  I liked the town pretty good.

A lot of times we'd leave Flagstaff, that old hotel--

we'd have breakfast there at the hotel and probably

leave there 6:30, 7:00.  We wouldn't get to Cameron

'til noon.  Now how long [does] it take [to get] to

Cameron, forty minutes, forty-five minutes?  Spend the

night there, next day we go to Tuba City and we didn't

get there 'til after noon.  Cut across those washes,

you know, and sandy roads and stuff like that.  But

that's the way life was.

   A lot of things went on out there.  But usually

between the traders and their wives.  (laughter)

Mostly mad 'cause they was out there, I guess.  But

some of 'em liked it, I guess.

   There's a guy brought a picture in here a while

back.  I kept lookin' at that picture, he's down in

this wash.  I kept lookin' at that picture and I said,

"You paint that at Tuba City?"  He said, "Yeah, how'd

you know?"  And I said, "Well, I was goin' up that hill

one night."  He had a road in there, down by Curley's

store.  About eight o'clock I left Curley's, and I was

on a horse.  Got about halfway up that hill and that

horse reared up and threw me off, and he run down in

that wash.  And I said, "Where your horse is, is where

my horse was.  But it took me 'til ten o'clock to get

him outta there."  I was a kid down there, and I had to

go down there and get ahold of him and try to get him

back up on that road.  Took me 'til about ten.  About

that time, my dad was out lookin' for me.  _______ I

seen the car comin'.  But told him about that, and he

said, "Still there.  The old road's changed.  They cut

it down and made a new road up there."  I got that

picture downstairs, I think.  Things like that I always

remember.  Things always happen.

   Used to pick lots of watermelons out there and

cantaloupes.  Everything they raised you could have,

you know--corn and wild plums.  Lots of reservoirs,

lots of good swimmin'.

   

   Cole:  Who raised the food?

   

   Richardson:  Government, for the schools.  In fact,

a fellah here named Miller put in all the irrigation.

This guy is up in his nineties.  He still comes to see

me.  And he come down and asked me some questions once,

wanted to know if I remembered certain buildings.  He

made a map of the whole town.  He's puttin' this in the

book.  He's been writin' this book now for about two or

three years.  I haven't seen him for about three or

four months.  The last time I run into him at Furr's.

Him and his wife are both still livin'.  He went out

there as a young man and helped set up that irrigation.

They raised all that food for those schools, and canned

all the fruit.

   

   Cole:  He lives in Gallup?

   

   Richardson:  He lives in Gallup now.  He retired

here from the government.

   

   Cole:  What's his first name?

   Richardson:  Well, let me look it up here.  (aside

about equipment)  Let's see here, he's in the telephone

directory some[where].  Talks real slow.  He starts to

tell you somethin', it takes him quite a while, but he

remembers all that stuff.  He remembers all those guys

that were out there, too.  He could tell you a lot

about the reservation.  (long pause)  Several Millers

in here.  I can't really guess which name.  I'll get it

here in a minute.  (long pause)  Hey, June, what's

___________ telephone number?  I'm lookin' for this guy

from Tuba City and I forget his first name--I think

it's Bill, though.  Ask that guy if he used to live at

Tuba City, I want to talk to him.

   

   June:  Bill Miller?

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, I think that's the guy.  Ask him

if he used to live at Tuba.  Funny I can't remember--I

should remember that guy's first name, but I don't.  I

just call him Mr. Miller.

   Well, what else you got?

   

   Cole:  Maybe we could follow you around a little bit

and see....

   

   Richardson:  With the camera?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Richardson:  Okay.  I'll start in here.  This is the

type of merchandise I told you the Indians usually

pawn.  It usually starts out as an emergency lots of

time.  But these belts and beads, we get down....

We'll walk down there in just a second, soon as he gets

loose here.  (sounds in background of perhaps June

trying to locate Mr. Miller via telephone)  This is the

type of stuff they bring in.  A lot of people want to

know why they'd pawn their merchandise.  Well, it's

like you or I, we go to the bank and borrow money.

Sometimes they can't, and they get [it] from a trader.

They usually get what they want, and they leave their

merchandise for security.  And 90 percent of it they

redeem, so we like that, too.

   This area here is mostly beads and belts.  We take a

lot of rugs and blankets.  Now, these are stuff that's

been bought the last few days.  (discussion with June

of Mr. Miller's first name, James)  It's Earl Miller.

   

   June:  There's no Earl Miller here.  There's James

Miller on Aztec.  I called that number, 863-0144, and

it's not his number anymore.  And then I called the old

number 722-whatever, and it's been disconnected.

   

   Richardson:  He may be down in Phoenix.  He goes

someplace in the winter.  I betcha that's where he's

at.  James--I think that's right.

   June:  Is it Earl, did you say?

   

   Richardson:  I was thinking his name was Earl, but

maybe James.  I haven't seen him--it's been three

months since I've seen him.  He's probably down in the

warm country.

   Well, all this stuff in here is all stuff that's

been left for security.  Some of these beads here,

loans low as $10, $15, $20 dollars, some as high as

$2,000.  So you have to know the difference of what

you're loanin' your money for.  And the same way with

silver.  We get belts in here worth $50 and some worth

$5,000.  So you gotta know what you're takin'.  Same

way with beads, belts.  Bracelets same way.  These

buckets back here, these are all full of bracelets.

They come here to redeem 'em, they got the same number

on here, location number, so we don't have any trouble

locatin' 'em.  We just go to this rack #142 and hunt up

their number.  Unless they get in the wrong bucket once

in a while.  (laughs)  That's the only bad part about

the business now, we're gettin' a lot of this stuff

here, like diamonds.  We don't particularly care for

that, 'cause we don't know enough about 'em.  But the

younger generation, that's what they're pawnin', is

diamonds.

   Then we get back here in the gun room.  You can see

most of this stuff comes in after huntin' season, and

it'll stay here 'til next huntin' season.  Oh, the

start of huntin' season, this vault will pretty well

empty out, except for the pistols, but they'll take

most of the rifles out.  When they get through huntin',

they'll bring 'em back in.  And a few pistols, not too

many pistols, but we get a few of those.  But these

guns, they go up on top and all the way back over here.

Then you got rows and rows of these guns that come in.

They have a happy home all winter--most of the winter.

Soon as huntin' season is over, they bring 'em in.

Safekeepin', too, so that's got a lot to do with it.

   Get lots of watches, but they're usually on Indian

bands.  Hardly ever take watches unless they got an

Indian band on 'em like that, you know.  Most of these

drawers are full of watches, pins--we get lots of pins--

rings--you name it, we get it.  Belt buckles, that type

of stuff.  More watches.  But it's something they can

get a little money on, just like you got a ring, you go

broke, you go pawn it.  You can ______, but a lot of

people do.  (greets someone)

   This is some of the stuff done by the Indians.  A

guy ______ put this picture.  I said, "Well, that's

wrong."  I gave him a picture to copy and he said,

"Why?"  I said, "There wasn't no Coca-Cola in those

days.  It was either Orange Crush or Delaware Punch,

the sign there, ____________."  But he put "Coca-Cola"

up there.

   Most everything in the way of dead pawn ____ would

be out here, we sell 'em.  And dead pawn guns over

here, and dead pawn jewelry in these cases, so people

can buy the stuff if they come in.

   I'll take you back here where the saddles start.

Saddle there, is something an Indian can borrow enough

money on to make a car payment, a lot of 'em--$300-

$400.  ____________ safekeepin', $450, you know, leave

'em 'til they get ready for 'em.  Sometimes they have

eight or ten saddles and they'll pawn all of 'em.  When

springtime comes--they're startin' to take saddles out

now, 'cause it's gettin' warmer.

   C'mon back.  I walk too fast for you?  Some of these

saddles come in brand new, probably hasn’t been on a

horse yet.  They borrow $350, probably what they need

to make a house payment, car payment, or somethin'.

They'll come along pretty soon and take it out.  That's

a bronc saddle--we get quite a few....  No, that's not

a bronc saddle either.  But we do get quite a few bronc

saddles.  A bronc saddle will bring $500, $700, a good

bronc saddle.  They're expensive.  Of course you have

to build them a little bit better.

   That's the room where we keep our silversmith's

supplies.  And this is piñons.  Bought quite a few

piñons this year, but about all gone.  Saddles

upstairs.  Now we get down to some stuff here that

these are what you call medicine man buckskins.  They

have to have that.  And they bring a pretty good price.

We loaned $175 on this one.  People say, "Well, that's

junk," you know, but there's a big demand for 'em.

   Then we get in back of you, all these baskets over

here.  That's the medicine man baskets, and wedding

baskets.  They'll pawn those, too.  Buffalo hides on

top.  We get a lot of buffalos, but the most we get

back here is all saddles.  They go all the way back.

Walk over there a little bit, and we got 'em all the

way back to the back, around the corner, upstairs, all

the way back to the back.  That's why I need more room

next door.  (laughter)  But it gives you an idea of

what they bring in.  Used to get people bringin' in

electronic stuff, but we had to quit takin' that, it

takes too much room.

   Some of those piñons look like they've been roasted.

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, they got black on 'em.  I don't

know who brought those in here.  Must have been them

Mexicans.  Got somethin' on 'em.  When we buy piñons,

we have to clean 'em up pretty good.  Most people buy

'em now, roast 'em.

   But that gives you an idea of what we get from the

Indians in the way of pawn.

   

   Cole:  That's a lot of stuff.

   

   Richardson:  Yeah, just go on back if you want to.

More baskets here.  This is a big, big item with these

Indians, is baskets and buckskins--big item.  But

this'll give you an idea.  It runs all the way around

the corner.  Saddles upstairs, everywhere.  (chuckles)

We've got plenty of saddles, and most of 'em have a lot

of jewelry.

   But like I say, Arizona should have kept their laws

where they could pawn, too.  The only thing is, those

guys in Congress did a disservice to the Indians is

all.

   Over there in front we got a lot of retail stuff we

buy every day, in the showcases.  Of course we just

more or less mark that and put it in the wholesale

room.  Then we'll take it out there when we need to put

it in the front.  We run a wholesale jobbers out of

here, too, out of this room in here.  That's where we

get ________ on the Internet.

   But there's quite a few facets in this business.

You get to study it out, you know.  Once in a while I

have people come in, want to know if I still buy some

sheep.  I say, "No, I ain't got no place to put 'em."

"How about a cow?"  "No."  Come in here all the time

and want to sell me a horse.  I ain't got no place to

put 'em.  (laughter)  I said, "Besides, you hafta feed

'em--I don't wanna feed 'em."

   The old tradin' posts--well, they really mostly

groceries, dry goods, is what it was.  Of course you

seen the same type of stuff--mostly saddles in the

early days, and big belts, heavy bracelets--not too

much jewelry, but beads, they used to have beads, and

they would pawn beads.  Some of those beads they pawned

in the early days, $50 probably worth $3,000-$4,000

today, those old beads--so a lot of difference in the

price of 'em.

   Well, let's take you out in the front and show you a

little of the front end of it.

   If you leave me the address, next time Miller, I get

ahold of him, I'll have him contact you.

   

   Cole:  Yeah, I got my card and stuff here.  I'll

give you one.

   

   Richardson:  I guess he goes down, probably--he

probably goes down around Phoenix in the winter.  He's

gettin' pretty old.  But he's got a whole layout of

Tuba City.  He's mapped the whole thing, all the old

school buildings, trading post, and the reservoirs and

irrigation and all that stuff.  He helped put all that

stuff in.  (talks a little business with Albert Lee,

identifying different stones in jewelry)  If you see

something there you want, pick it up.  (more business

conversation)

   These pictures are of a lot of our customers, come

in.  We keep a lot of 'em up there on top.  They come

in and have their picture made.  This old man's up in

his nineties.  (someone whistles appreciatively)  He'll

be in here the first day of the month, every month.

Him and his wife come in and pay interest, pick pawn

up.  _________.  (greets someone)

   This stuff's all new stuff.  A lot of it from Hopi.

Pottery comes from different villages over here in New

Mexico--Acoma, Santa Domingo, Tesuque, Santa Clara.  We

get quite a bit of Hopi pottery, too.  A lot of these

baskets, these all come from Hopiland, these Hopi

baskets.  We got all different tribes with different

kinds of merchandise.  (aside about bow and arrow)

Most of that's all Hopi.  Probably over there is Acoma.

_____ dead pawn.  They come out of dead pawn.  They’re

made–that's the kind they wear.  Those medicine baskets

up there are all for sale--they're in dead pawn.

   My pictures of these old people.  Hardly ever a week

goes by we don't pick up a paper and they're gettin'

ready to bury 'em.  You know, they're gettin' old,

dyin'.  Here's another wall of ________.  Like I say, I

used to chop 'em up for kindling--now they're worth a

lot of money.

   All the rugs we buy right direct.  They come in,

bring 'em in from the reservation.  They come from

Shonto, too, say, Kaibito.  A lot of 'em from Piñon,

Ganado.  But we buy rugs every day here.  Take a look

at that painting by a fellah named Abe Beta (phonetic

spelling).  A very fine painting.  You take a look at

that, you'll see how good these guys are.  That's about

as good as any photograph, ____________.

   You ever get out on the reservations?

   

   Cole:  Little bit.  We've been out to Hopi and....

   

   Richardson:  I think most of those stores are now

kind of like 7-Elevens, aren't they?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Richardson:  They don't buy anything, no way--

jewelry or pottery or anything.

   

   Cole:  You know, we interviewed Jay and Loyd Foutz

at Kaibito, and there's a lady, Evelyn Jensen, trying

to get Oljato going again--Navajo lady--but it

looks....

   

   Richardson:  Pretty hard?

   

   Cole:  Pretty hard, yeah.  They're pretty much just

selling pop and chips and gas.

   

   Richardson:  Most of 'em are now.  Yeah, I've had a

time or two they come and want me to go back and put a

store in.  I said, "No."  I think I left at the right

time.  (chuckles)  You're not buyin' merchandise out

there and tradin' for it.  Too many rules and

regulations.  These things you buy out there anymore.

Can't take pawn, don't pay, you lose money takin' pawn.

Not much incentive.  These big grocery stores goin' in

out there, fast food restaurants, picture shows.

They'll probably do pretty good.  Indians like

entertainment, and they like these big grocery stores,

too, because that makes it pretty easy for 'em.

   Quite a few people here to buy rugs from every day.

We just take a picture of 'em.  Then some of 'em won't

let you take a picture.  Some of 'em are still

superstitious.  You'll take a picture, they'll say no.

A lot of 'em we still get their pictures.

   This guy here, he's ninety-five, silversmith--still

got his own pickup.  I said, "______, you still ridin'

horses?"  "No, no more."  "What about your cattle?"

"Yeah, the boys take care of 'em."  He comes in once a

month.

   I think that old man comes from around Cameron.  I

think he's dead now--I don't see him in a long time.

   That's Cecil Richardson.  He's the one that was

sheriff of Flagstaff twenty years.

   Let's see, there's some stuff over here on this

front here you might get.

   This [is the] old tradin' post at Blue Canyon.

That's the old tradin' post at Houk.  That's Shonto.

This is the fellah, Smith, that come out here in 1860,

related to my dad.  Had my uncle there, raised beans in

Flagstaff--that's Hubert.  He spent most of his time in

Cameron.  That’s Bill Young.  He married a Richardson,

youngest sister, this fellah here.  He run Ganado for

fifteen years.  _________ old stores, right here.

Shows you locations of 'em.

   That's my sister lives in Phoenix.  She's married to

a dentist.  That's me.  (laughs)

   There's an old invoice from Babbitt.  It's McAdams

____________ Richardson-Turpen, proprietors, that they

bought McAdams out in about 1930.

   I got drawers and drawers of that stuff--old

invoices.

   

   Cole:  What are you gonna do with it?

   

   Richardson:  Well, I got stuff packed up.  Now one

of these days, I get this new building, I'm gonna put

it in frames and glass, so people can see what they

used to buy.  A lot of it was billed out of Chicago,

New York, Los Angeles.  A lot of it's from these

wholesale houses like Babbitts and Ilfelds and Gross-

Kelly and those guys.

   Well, I've about showed you everything up here but

the jewelry.  Take a look at that.  Most all of this is

all new stuff in here.

   Most of these dolls come from over in Hopiland, out

of Second Mesa or Oraibi.

   

   [END OF INTERVIEW]