STELLA TANNER INTERVIEW

   

   [BEGIN SIDE 1]

   

   This is Brad Cole from Northern Arizona University.

We're in Farmington, New Mexico.  It's July 16, 1998.

We're at the Fifth Generation Trading Company with

Stella Tanner, and we're going to interview her as part

of the United Indian Traders Association Oral History

Project.  Also present in the room is Joe Tanner, Jr.,

and Lew Steiger, who's running the camera and sound

equipment.

   

   Cole:  Stella, what we'd like to do is just start

from the very beginning and have you tell us about your

life.  So the first question is, when and where were

you born?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I was born at Kirtland, New Mexico.

I always thought my birthday was on Christmas Day.  I

guess I was born just a few minutes before.  Mother

always had me celebrate Christmas Day, but the

original, in Salt Lake records, is the twenty-fourth.

I was born in 1906.  When I was about a year old, my

parents lived with Grandpa McGee, which they used to

live down here, just above where Joe has his home down

in the valley.  Grandpa, they called him Pappy McGee,

and he had seven boys, and they always followed Pappy,

all except two of 'em wouldn't go--the wives wouldn't

let 'em.  And they went to Idaho to clear land.  And so

we followed 'em up there, and my dad traveled with him

until I was thirteen.  And then that's when we came

back to Kirtland.  At first we went to Idaho, and then

to Utah--Richfield--and done different things.  And

then he and the boys ran a moving picture theater in

Richfield, when they just had the kerosene lamps around

to show the light.  And then he decided they'd go to

Springdale, Utah, Zion's National Park.  So by that

time they had four children.  We went up there, and

there was no road at all, you know, going up to Zion's

Canyon at that time.  We went in a covered wagon, all

of us.  I can just see the horses today pulling 'em up

over the heavy rocks.  And when we finally landed in

Springdale, Pappy McGee, my grandfather, was already

there with his wife and a couple of the others.  I

remember so clearly that my mother got out of the wagon

and looked all around, and she said, "Well, Elwood, all

we need is a lid."  Have you ever been up there?

   

   Cole:  Uh-huh.

   

   Tanner:  It's just round, you know.  And so that

tells you how she liked it.  She didn't like it.  And

then we were there for about three years, and Dad

worked on the road, when it first started to be built

up there to Zion's Canyon.  And then they left and went

down to Harrisburg, Utah, and he just was a farmer

then, and raised cane and made sorghum.

   My mother was a Hunt, you know, and her parents

lived at--at that time they called it Jewitt [phonetic

spelling] Valley.  That's where Waterflow is now.  And

they were the ones that was sent into Tuba City,

pioneered into there--you know, the Hunts, the Foutzes

and the Tanners, and I don't know how many more.  But

anyway, my mother's father was dying with cancer, so he

sent my mother $500 to come home so he could see her

before he died.  Do you want me to go into this?

   

   Cole:  Yeah, this is great.

   

   Tanner:  So we loaded up.  By that time there were

seven children.  We loaded all our possessions in that

covered wagon and we left the twenty-eighth of March,

and we got in Jewitt Valley on the twenty-ninth of

April.  It stormed on us every day of that trip.  Us

older children would have to walk on the back of the

wagon.

   

   Cole:  How old were you?

   

   Tanner:  I was just about thirteen.  And so when

nighttime would come, my dad would build a big bonfire

and have us take our shoes off and dry the shoes and

socks, and make us a great big kettle of Postum--hot

Postum, to get us warm.  But that's how long it took us

to come from Harrisburg, Utah, to Waterflow by covered

wagon.

   

   Cole:  And Waterflow was where again?

   

   Tanner:  Well, it's between Kirtland and Shiprock.

At that time it was called Jewitt Valley.  Every day

was an experience.  All of us kids never did get sick,

all on that whole trip.  But that's how long it took us

in that covered wagon to get there.  Comin' over the

Salina Canyon, it really did snow on us, I remember.

And so we stayed at a cabin on top of the mountain.  It

was empty there, along the road.  It had a fireplace in

it, and we all got our clothes dried that night and

stayed warm.  Then we finally got to Grandpa Hunt's

place.  He had a big ranch there in Jewitt.  Should I

call it Jewitt or Waterflow?

   

   Cole:  Either one is fine.

   

   Tanner:  But that's what it was called then.  And

then I'll never forget my dear mother.  She hadn't seen

her parents for about eight years, and how happy she

was when they got there.  Then Grandpa Hunt died about

six months after we got there.  Then he loaned my

father another $500 to buy his little place there in

Kirtland, New Mexico.  So that's where I finished

growin' up.  That's where I met Chunky Tanner.  They

used to have the biggest house there in Kirtland, and

all of us kids that lived in Kirtland, we liked to go

down there and play with the girls.  One day when I was

about fifteen, I guess, Josephine, one of the girls

close to my age, said, "Oh, here comes brother Chunky."

That's what they called my husband.  His name is

[Riold?] Lehi Tanner, but he didn't like it.  Whenever

we'd go down there, it was on a weekend, and I had real

long hair and I could sit on it, and she always put it

in ringlets for the weekend.  And Josephine said, "Here

comes Chunky," and he'd been down to Mesa.  He came in,

and I immediately fell in love with him, because he

came up, took hold of one of my curls and said, "This

is the one I'm waitin' for!"  Of course, I believed

him.  (laughter)  It went on for about another year,

and he got engaged to somebody else, and he came home

when I was sixteen, on Christmas I'd be seventeen.  He

had a falling-out with his girlfriend.  Vera Burnham

was her name.  So he started goin' with me in November,

and we were married in January.

   

   Cole:  What year?

   

   Tanner:  In 1924.  I'd just barely turned seventeen.

Chunky didn't have enough money for me to go to Mesa

with him.  He had a job down there with the Lily Ice

Cream Company.  So I had to wait a couple of months

until he went down and earned enough money to put me on

the train to go down.  In the meantime, I found myself

pregnant with J. B. right away.  I went down there in

March.  J. B. was born in August--he was a premature

baby, only weighed three-and-a-fourth pounds.  Right in

the heat of the summer, we didn't have any cooling

system at that time, so we'd just wet a sheet in the

bath tub and then roll up in it at night.

   In the spring of 1925, his father wrote us a letter

and said he wanted Chunk to come up to Gallup to help

him sell turquoise.  He gave the turquoise to the

Indians to make jewelry with.  So in the meantime we'd

saved enough to buy a Model "T" Ford.  On the first of

June we went up here.  J. B. was just a baby.  He was

from August to the next June, about eight or nine

months old, and I was just really lookin' forward to

goin' up and showin' our baby to my parents.  We

stopped in Gallup and spent a couple of days.  Grandpa

Tanner--that's Joe Tanner, you know.  That's number

one, isn't it?  Anyway, then we went on over to see my

parents at Kirtland.  His brother-in-law, Willard

Stalworthy [phonetic spelling], had a store down at

Montezuma Creek, and he needed somebody to run that

store.  So we traded our Model "T" Ford as a down

payment on that.  Went down there, and his father was

really upset with us for several years, because he

planned on us being over there with him.  But we went

down there in 1925, in June.  That was the end of

nowhere.  Do you know where Aneth, Utah, is?

   

   Cole:  Uh-huh.

   

   Tanner:  Well, it's just below there a ways,

Montezuma Creek.  That's where all these fugitives were

for a while.  But there was no road, only just about

like the ones we traveled in to go into Springdale.

Got down there, and then had to turn the Model "T" back

to Willard, and he drove it back.  He went down and

followed us down.  Never seen a white person then for

eight months.  Just sit right there.  The store was in

pretty bad shape, but my husband was a real good Navajo

talker, and he really built it up.  We got 1,400 head

of lambs that first fall, in 1926.  He bought more

lambs that year than he did before.  The Paiute Indians

were down there at that time, and I remember how

frightened I was of them at first.  But you know, those

Indians became my best friends, and they're the ones

that really taught me a little bit.  I'd follow Chunk

around and I'd say, "What did he say?  What did he

say?"  And he said, "Oh, get this girl to tell you what

they said."  That's how you picked up the language, and

I got to where I could tell 'em how much stuff was, and

just gradually learned the language.

   

   Cole:  Was that Navajo or Paiute?

   

   Tanner:  Navajo.  But of course my husband was a

very fluent speaker, just like his father was.  So we

were there for two lamb seasons.  That's how they did

way back there.  They'd have two pay days:  wool season

and lamb season.  And the traders would carry 'em on

the books.  And then when they'd make a rug, they

didn't make these real fancy rugs then, but they'd

bring 'em in and the trader would tell 'em how much

they were worth, you know, and write it down on a paper

bag.  They'd buy one thing at a time.  And after they'd

buy one thing, why, they'd have to know how much they

had left.  And then it would just take 'em all day to

trade out that rug, because they liked to come into the

trading post in their wagons.

   

   Cole:  Would that all be done on the paper bag?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, trading out the rug.  And we used

to buy the rugs by the pound back then, because they

didn't have the real fancy designs.  They had some, but

not real good ones.  But in the fall of 1926, we went

out with the lambs.  That's the only time we left the

trading post, is when we delivered the lambs into

Farmington, New Mexico.  By that time I was pregnant

with my second boy, so when we got in there with the

lambs that year, Willard Stalworthy said, "Well, I've

gotta have you out to Tsaya.  I'm gonna sell you a half-

interest in Tsaya.  You've heard of Tsaya?  It's

between Farmington and Crownpoint.  Why they call it

Tsaya, it means "water under the rock."  There's a big

cave out there.

   

   Cole:  Do you know how that would be spelled?

   

   Tanner:  T-S-A-Y-A, [pronounced] Saya.  And so we

went out there in 1927, and bought half-interest in

that.  We were there for about eighteen years.  Finally

I had all my children except....  But during that time,

the first two years we were there, the grass was so

high....  Did you cross the reservation last year?  Did

you see all the flowers between Gallup and Shiprock?

   

   Cole:  We didn't.  We were out here in February.

   

   Tanner:  But this year they weren't in bloom like

that.  The first two years we were at Tsaya my husband

ran 1,500 head of ewes, leased from government land,

along with the trading post.  And that's some of the

pictures that I have of Tsaya that I'll get for you.

Maybe I'm goin' too fast.

   

   Cole:  No, you're fine.

   

   Tanner:  After about the third or fourth year, the

grass began to--we didn't have any storm, and the sheep

began to have trouble with their feed and everything.

I think it was about in 1929, I remember my husband

saying, "All these expensive sheep...."  He paid eight

dollars a head for 'em, when we bought in.  And then

the lambs dropped down to three cents a pound that

year, in 1928 or 1929--delivered in Kansas City.

(chuckles)  And so we began to really having to be--

went really in debt, you know, because we still owed a

lot on the sheep.  Then in 1932, why, the ground--there

wasn't any feed anywhere.  So the government came in

and they had the traders, all of them, cut down--and

the Navajos, too--on all their herds, and they'd run

'em into these canyons and just slaughter 'em, because

there was no feed for 'em.  I'll never forget what a

terrible ordeal that was for my husband.  It was hard

on everybody.

   

   Cole:  Did they take all the sheep, or just a

certain amount?

   

   Tanner:  They just cut 'em down to where they'd

have--they were allowed so many.  But going back to the

trading post, he ran the ewes each year or two, along

with the trading post.  In those days they didn't pawn

like they do today.  They'd come in and start to pawn a

little bit.  That's the first recollection I have of

pawn, is they'd bring a bracelet or beads or something

in, and Chunk would tell 'em how much they could have

on it.  Then he'd roll it up and put it in a paper bag

and put it just in a drawer.  We didn't have too much

pawn.  We carried it mostly on the book from one season

to the other.

   That was in 1932 when the Depression started, you

know, when all that happened.  If you want to ask some

questions about some of the other stuff, before I go

on.

   

   Cole:  What was Montezuma Creek like when you moved

out there? if you could describe the kind of building.

   

   Tanner:  Like I said, that was the end of nowhere,

as far as I was concerned.  The only way you could get

any freight in or anything, was in big wagons.  I

remember I'd watch over that hill, when I thought there

was going to be a load of freight comin' in, which

would only be about once every two months.  You'd see

that team of wagons comin'.  It just seemed so good to

be able to see somebody.  And then one time we hadn't

seen any white people for I don't know how long.  There

were a couple of men who came down to try to buy

cattle.  So we were glad to see them.  They came and

stayed there at the store.  The Indians were happy to

see 'em too, but this one....  The store was full of

Indians one day, and Chunk had told 'em all to bring

their steers in if they wanted to sell 'em--which they

didn't have only one or two of 'em, each family, I

guess.  I remember the store was full of Indians, and

this one guy was talkin', and the Indians were all

lookin' at 'em, 'cause they were talkin' English and

they couldn't understand 'em.  This one guy, he had

false teeth, and this one Indian was just starin' in

his face.  (laughter)  And so he reached up and got his

teeth and just __________.  Of course they were really

superstitious, and ___________ had had 'em for sure.

(laughter)  Boy, nearly everybody in the store cleared

out of there in a hurry for a little while.  (laughter)

That was really funny.

   

   Cole:  What were your living quarters like?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we didn't have any.  We had the store

building, just about the size of this building here,

and then a dirt floor.  Then it went directly into the

little kitchen we had.  That's just one room there,

where we cooked, ate, and slept in that one room.  It

was also dirt floor.

   

   Cole:  What about water?

   

   Tanner:  Had to carry your water from the San Juan

River.  The store was right up on top of the ridge from

the river.  When it was really muddy, why, you know how

we cleared our water?

   

   Cole:  Unt-uh.

   

   Tanner:  We'd fill these--there were wooden barrels

down there when we went down there.  The Indians would

carry the water up from the river and fill the barrels.

We'd take a can of milk and put it in that fifty-gallon

water and stir it real hard.  It just clears all the

water up.  The sand and dirt all went to the bottom.

That's how we got our drinkin' water and everything

from the San Juan River there.

   I went too fast.

   

   Cole:  No, you're fine.

   Tanner:  I was goin' to Tsaya, before I told you all

about Montezuma.  Is there anything else?

   

   Cole:  We'll probably jump around a lot.

   

   Tanner:  That's okay.

   

   Cole:  What was the kind of typical trading

experience at Montezuma, when a Navajo would come in?

   

   Tanner:  There wasn't any of 'em that spoke English

at that time--only in the summertime if one of the

children would come home.  And they were forced to send

their children to school then.  Sometimes they'd run

away.  Let me see, what was the question?

   

   Cole:  About what a typical trading experience would

be, when a Navajo would come in.

   

   Tanner:  Well, they'd come in and buy their

supplies.  And like I said, we'd charge it on the books

from wool season to lamb season.  I don't recall of any

pawn down there at Montezuma Creek at all.  My first

contact with pawning was at Tsaya.  But they'd all come

in, in their team and wagons.  They lived quite a

distance, and they had to haul their water from the San

Juan River up to wherever they lived in their hogans.

   

   Cole:  You said you speak Navajo.  Did you ever have

a nickname?

   

   Tanner:  They called me Shimá Yázhí.  That means

"little mother."

   

   Cole:  What about your husband?

   

   Tanner:  They called him Dual-tendi-yazzi [phonetic

spelling].  That meant "the little man that was hard to

get along with."  (laughter)

   

   Steiger:  How would you spell those?

   

   Joe Tanner:  How would you say that again?

   

   Tanner:  Dual-tendi-yazzi.  You spell it for 'em!

   

   Joe Tanner:  I don't know!

   

   Tanner:  You have to just spell it like it sounds.

And that's the way you had to do with their names when

they'd write it down on their books.  We had one old

fellow down there at Montezuma Creek that they called

Big Thumb, because he had the biggest thumbs I ever saw

on anybody.  But they named everybody, you know.

   Goin' back to Montezuma Creek, and goin' back to

J. B.:  He was premature, born at seven months.  My

neighbor gave me a great big bottle of castor oil that

I felt like I needed.  She gave me the whole eight

ounces, and that's what brought everything.  But

anyway, he never seen a well day.  We had to feed him

with an eye dropper for the first two weeks when he was

born, because he couldn't nurse or anything, and when

he'd cry, he sounded just like a little mouse.  Anyway,

when we went down to Montezuma Creek, he was very ill

all the time.  Chunk was telling this medicine man

about his little sick baby.  And so one morning after

he'd told him that, we heard a loud noise out in front

of the store and the blatting of--I knew it wasn't a

lamb, because it sounded different, and it was a goat.

Chunk went and opened the door for him, and it was this

old medicine man stood there.  He had this milk goat,

and he said to him, "Now, you give your baby this milk

from this goat, and he'll get well," because he had

diarrhea so bad he couldn't hold anything down.  And

from that day on, then he started to gettin' better.

So I've always thought an awful lot of the medicine

man, because I feel like he saved my oldest son's life

with that.

   

   Cole:  Did you have any other experiences with

medicine men like that?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I helped deliver a couple of babies

out at Tsaya with the medicine men.  That was quite an

experience.

   

   Cole:  I'm sort of curious, how did your husband

come by his nickname?

   

   Tanner:  Because he really was hard to get along

with.  (laughter)  When he got mad at the Indians, he

could talk so fast--you could put him in a room with

the Indians, and listen to 'em all talk, and you

couldn't tell which one was which--that's how good a

talker he was.  But when he'd get mad at some of 'em,

they said he could really talk fast and mean.

(chuckles)

   

   Joe Tanner:  His father had taught him to speak

Navajo?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  Well, he used to go with Grandpa

Tanner when he was just out at Tsaya.  After he was

three years old, Grandpa would take him with him, when

he'd go out to the Indians.  By that time, he got over

bein' mad at us, so he'd come around quite a bit.  And

he's the one that taught J. B. a lot.  And then livin'

with the Indians, and that's the only playmates they

had.  All the boys speak it, but he speaks it better

than any of 'em.

   Cole:  Grandpa Tanner....

   

   Tanner:  Joseph Baldwin Tanner.

   

   Cole:  Right.  When you got married, he was in

Gallup.  Was that where he'd always been?

   

   Tanner:  Well, no.  He had a big ranch in Cortez for

a while, and then he had a trading post there, out in

the outskirts of Cortez.  Of course that's how his boys

learned to speak the language, because they were always

around the Indians, too.

   

   Cole:  And then I was wondering, you said at

Montezuma Creek the rugs they brought in weren't the

quality they are now.  What kinds of rugs were they?

What did they look like?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they weren't fine weave at all.  They

made mostly saddle blankets, and then a lot of 'em

would make their wedding dresses, you know, for 'em.

They used to wear those woven dresses when they'd get

married, some of the Indians.  But none of 'em was

really....  It was after we went out to Tsaya that they

started workin' with the Indians to learn more about

how to weave and everything.

   

   Cole:  What about the jewelry and other crafts?

   

   Tanner:  There wasn't anything fancy with them

either.  Just after we went to Tsaya that they began

working with the silversmiths.  It was quite a while

after we were there before they really....  I think

when we were there about six years is when Chunk bought

a rug, it was called "daisy rug," a circle rug at that

time.  And that was really a beautiful one.  It had the

round circles in it.  That was made out of the fine.

Then Chunk began tellin' 'em how to weave their wool

finer.  And then all the traders began doin' that in

about the forties.  When you interview the boys,

especially Joe, his father, he's really knowledgeable

on the rugs and can tell you--go back to the dates when

they first started finding the good designs and all

that.

   

   Cole:  What about jewelry?  Did Chunk have much to

do with that?

   

   Tanner:  No, his father did, but it was quite crude.

He'd go down to Bisbee.  He had an interest in a mine

down there.  I think that's where the Blue Gem come

from, wasn't it? from his mine?  And he'd sell 'em the

stones and they'd make just the plain bracelets.  Some

of 'em were pretty nice, but not like they are today.

Of course they're really gettin' fancy today.  I don't

care for the real fancy ones like they're makin' today.

I like the old, old [pawn?].

   

   Cole:  When you were either at Montezuma Creek or at

Tsaya, did you actually do trading yourself ever?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I didn't when I was at Montezuma

Creek.  I baked bread for every day, about twelve.  We

had an old wood stove, and I'd bake the bread and the

Indians would stand around waitin' for that bread to

come out of the oven, and we sold loaves of bread.  And

I made the cookies for the store, because like I said,

we only got supplies in about every two months.  And so

we had to make the bread and cookies that they bought.

I made their skirts, sewed them up.  We had a machine,

and I'd charge 'em so much for sewin' up a skirt.

They'd buy a new skirt and put it right on over the top

of the old one.  They didn't have the day schools

until, oh, we'd been at Tsaya, I guess, about ten years

before the day schools started to be built.  Built some

beautiful ones there across the Chaco Canyon from

Tsaya.

   

   Cole:  Now, did you still own partly Montezuma Creek

when you moved to Tsaya?

   

   Tanner:  No, when we left down there, Willard

Stalworthy, brother-in-law, he bought our part back,

and then turned it on Tsaya.  But during the

Depression, after he'd started, why, the sheep kept

goin' down, and no grass and everything.  We went broke

there, and finally we had to leave.  Willard took that

back and put Ken Washburn out there.  Then we went to a

place between Bisti and Tsaya.  Chunk had built a big

reservoir, lake, there, and so he threw up a cabin and

we started a little store there.  We called it Crimson

Hills.  Then his health began getting really bad.  We

had to....  Well, let's see, it was in the early

forties, I guess, we found out he....  Let me think a

minute.  After we left Crimson Hills, we were there for

about two or three years and built it up pretty good

again, and then moved.  We finally bought a place at

Kirtland and put the children in school.  But before we

did that, I taught 'em a little bit.  Then we had a

girl come out and teach 'em.  But we bought this home

down here at Kirtland and then Chunk went to work with

his brother down at Aneth, Utah.  We were down there

for four or five years.

   

   Cole:  When you were out at Crimson, you said he

built a reservoir.  How'd they do all that?

   

   

   Tanner:  Well, with mule teams.  The Indians had

some horses.  You just close off a wash, and then when

it'd rain, it'd fill up with water.  It got to be a

pretty good-sized one.  And that's where we got our

water from there.

   

   Cole:  Did he do anything else with the water?  Any

kind of farming?

   

   Tanner:  He raised a little bit of corn.  Mostly we

just used it for when we'd buy lambs and water them.

And then we'd let the Indians come in and use it.

   

   Cole:  When you mentioned at Tsaya that you had a

sewing machine, was it powered by generator, or by

hand?

   

   Tanner:  No, it was a treadle.  It was already there

when we went down there.  Whoever was there before us,

Jess Stalworthy was a half-brother to Willard, and I

guess he must have left it there.  I made lots of

Indian skirts there.  It took about twelve yards.

They'd buy the material, and then I'd charge 'em about

a dollar for sewin' it up.

   

   Cole:  How would you compare Tsaya to Montezuma

Creek?  What were the living conditions and things?

   

   Tanner:  Well, the living conditions at Tsaya was a

little bit better.  Let's see, it had two bedrooms and

a living room that went right into the store.  Then the

little kitchen.  We built on one side of it, we built a

kind of a porch.  When the kids got big enough to go to

school, we hired somebody to come out and help teach

'em.  But the wind used to blow terribly out there.

Whenever it did, I'd have to sweep up the sand off of

the floor where it'd drift in through the windows.  It

wasn't very good, but it seemed good to me after being

down at Montezuma Creek.

   

   Cole:  Do you remember what the schoolteacher's name

was?

   

   Tanner:  I was tryin' to think.  It was right after

they'd built the first day school out there, and she

was from Kentucky.  Elizabeth was her first name.  I'm

tryin' to think of her last name.  Anyway, she weighed

about 400 pounds.  She'd turned in, written about she

wanted to go out on the reservation and teach.  Instead

of waitin' until she found out whether she got the job

or not, she came, and she went to the day school.  They

wouldn't accept her because she was too big and heavy.

She was just a young girl, too.  She was about twenty-

one, I guess.  And so Chunk was over there, and she was

cryin' and tellin' him her hard-luck story.  She said,

"I can't go back home and tell my folks I'm not

teachin' out here."  And so he said, "Well, I'll give

you a job."  So he hired her for two winters, and her

folks never did know that she wasn't teachin' at the

day school!  (laughter)

   

   Joe Tanner:  Did she teach your children?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  She laid on the bed and taught

'em, 'cause that's how big she was.

   

   Cole:  Did she stay with you too, then?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, she stayed right with us.  She had

a bed.  That's when he built that....  Oh, it was like

they call the Arizona room now, when you have a

trailer.  You close in one end of it.  And so she had a

bed there, and I'd cook for her.  But after the two

years, we bought the place in Kirtland, and put 'em in

there.  She went back to her folks, and I guess to this

day they thought she taught day school.  It saved her

life and ours too.  I think we paid her fifty dollars a

month and her room and board.

   

   Cole:  It sounds like at Tsaya the arts and crafts

business was a little bit better too?

   

   Tanner:  Well, a little bit, but we had about three

or four Indians, that like I said, made the circle rug,

daisy rug, after we'd been there about ten years.

   You've heard 'em talk about the piñon crops.  (Cole:

Uh-huh.)  I remember out there, when we were at Tsaya,

we paid five cents a pound for those piñons when the

Indians would bring 'em in.  So you can see how much

they've went up.

   

   Cole:  And what would you do with all the piñons

that you bought?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, we never did buy only just maybe....

They'd bring 'em in, in these great big wool sacks, and

maybe we'd buy maybe two of 'em.  We would have to

clean 'em ourselves, and then sell 'em back to the

Indians through the year.  I think we sold 'em for ten

cents a pound.

   

   Cole:  And then at that point you moved into

Kirtland?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we bought this home, and then I was

in there part of the time.  Chunk needed me out at the

store, too, to help.  So my mother lived there, she

helped raise--put the kids in school, too.  That's when

we were down at Aneth then.  And after we were at

Aneth, they'd buy the lambs in the fall, and they

needed a place to graze 'em and fatten 'em out.  And so

Chunk and his older brother, Don Tanner, he had a flour

mill there in Bayfield, and he'd take the lambs and

they leased some ranches up there that had alfalfa and

different kinds of grass on 'em.  They'd buy the lambs

at Aneth, and then take 'em up there and fatten 'em

out.  And then by that time we'd built our own little--

bought some property there, just this side of Durango a

little ways, where they bought cattle and everything.

We had a fixed space for fifty trailers to hook up,

too, you know.  We finally built a few cabins there to

go with it.  And then we put the children in school up

there, after we bought that.

   

   Cole:  And where exactly was that?

   

   Tanner:  That was in Durango, Colorado.  But they'd

send the lambs from Aneth, to fatten 'em out, before

they'd sell 'em.  And then by that time my husband was

really becomin'--he had emphysema, and we had to send

him back to Mayo's in Rochester.  He was back there two

or three times.  He had to leave Aneth, because he

couldn't be down there anymore.  He finally, after he'd

been back to Rochester, we finally sold the place in

Durango.  By that time, J. B. was married, and Don.

They went out to work for my brother, Bill, at Keams

Canyon.  And there at Ganado, too--they went to work

for the Wheelers--or he did.  When Chunk became real

bad, we had to....  Before that, though, we went, after

we sold out in Durango, why, the doctors told Chunk

that he had to go to a lower climate.  We went to

Phoenix.  He leased a bunch of cabins right there by

the courthouse, and I ran 'em for one winter.  It

didn't help his health, so we went back up.  We just

dropped the lease, and it cost us $5,000 for that

winter, not making anything.  We went back up and found

out that Montezuma Creek was for sale again.

   

   Joe Tanner:  ___________ to interrupt you, but at

Durango, could [you] talk a little bit about what [you]

did and how [you] traded at Durango?  Did you say you

had trailer courts there?  What all did you do at

Durango?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we had those trailer courts where you

hook 'em up to--had a lot of water there.  He drilled a

well.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Didn't you have a restaurant there,

too?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, and then I ran a little restaurant

there--snack bar.  I had all the doctors from Durango

comin' out for chicken and noodles--fried chicken.

   

   Cole:  About what year was that?

   

   Tanner:  That was in 1949 or 1950.  We sold that in

1953.  That's when we went down to Mesa, or Phoenix.

   

   Cole:  Was Chunk still doing any trading when you

were living in Durango?

   

   Tanner:  Well, after he left Aneth, he didn't,

because his health became too bad.  But after we turned

those cabins back in Phoenix, he, like I say, found out

Montezuma Creek was for sale again, and so he bought it

and went back down there where we first started out.

But his health wouldn't allow him to stay, so at that

time, J. B. and Don both were at Ganado, working for

the Lees and the Wheelers that owned it at that time.

When he found out he couldn't stay down at Montezuma

Creek, on account of his health, we went out to Ganado

to be with the boys.  I leased the restaurant.  There

was a restaurant off of the trading post there, and I

ran that for three years, so he could be in the

hospital.  He was in the hospital most of the time.  At

that time they had a big hospital there in Ganado,

which I think they still do, don't they?

   

   Cole:  _____________.

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  And then something happened that

the Lees decided they didn't want J. B. and them to

work for 'em anymore, so they went to work for my

brothers out at Keams.  Don and Birdy [phonetic

spelling] run Piñon and that.  So when I left there,

why, I went down to Keams and leased the restaurant off

of Keams' store, and that's where I was when Chunky

died.

   

   Cole:  And what year was that?

   

   Tanner:  It was in 1956.

   

   Cole:  Did you stay at Keams then after that?

   

   Tanner:  Yes.  I stayed there....  You mean after he

died?

   

   Cole:  Right.

   

   Tanner:  I stayed there for about two months after

he died, and then J. B. and Don decided they wanted to

come in to Gamerco.  They leased this big ol' tin barn.

(chuckles)  Opened up a store there.  They called it

Yah-Tah-Hey.  And so then I followed 'em, naturally,

and had a little snack bar in there.  We did really

well each year that that was there.  But I'll leave

that story for Buddy to pick up.

   

   Cole:  And where was that at?

   

   Tanner:  At Gamerco, just outside of Gallup.

   

   Cole:  And how long were you there?

   

   Tanner:  Oh....  We were there for about four years,

I think.  Then we lost it.  I'll leave that for Buddy

to bring his into--wouldn't you, Joe?

   

   Joe Tanner:  Whatever you think.

   

   Cole:  So how would you describe your relationship

with the Navajo people?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they became my best friends.  I've

always really loved 'em.  When we used to have the

stands there at the [Gallup] Ceremonial, I remember one

year I was working there in our stand during the

Ceremonial, and I was selling a necklace to a lady from

New York, and I looked up and here come this Navajo

woman, just runnin'.  She seen me in there, and she

come and she threw her arms around me, and I threw my

arms around her.  We were kissing each other, she was

from way back over at Tsaya.  And this [New York] woman

said, "You let those old dirty Indians love you like

that?!  My goodness!"  I said, "Well, she's the best

friend I ever had!  She helped me raise my children

down at Tsaya."  (laughter)  I've always loved the

Indian people, ever since I got acquainted with 'em.  I

was frightened of 'em at first, when we first went out

there, 'cause I was just a little girl.

   

   Cole:  What would have seemed most frightening?

   

   Tanner:  Well, all my life when I was little, my

mother used to tell us stories about how mean the

Indians were in all of her travels, like I told you,

that they followed Pappy McGee around.  And she'd tell

us that they'd go on the warpath and how frightened she

was of 'em, too.  And so when we went on the

reservation, naturally I was really worried about it.

But I soon found out that they were a good people.

   

   Cole:  How long do you think it took for you to

become more acquainted with them?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I was very shy of 'em at first, and

then my husband would say, "Well, now, these people are

going to be good to you.  I'm busy, I can't tell you

what this means and that means."  There was one girl

down there at Montezuma Creek that spoke a little

English, and he got her to teach me how to count to ten

and how to say what money was worth.  Gradually she'd

go around and she'd tell me what salt was, and sugar.

That's how I first started pickin' it up.  Then when

you're around it all the time, after you once get the

basics, why....  My husband, he was always too busy.

When he wasn't tradin' with 'em, he was out pitchin'

horseshoes with 'em or playin' cards with 'em when

they'd have their sings and everything.

   

   Cole:  Would they actually have sings right at the

trading post?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  In fact, now that brings up this

necklace here.  You know when they have these big sings

for the sick, they have nine different places to go--or

they did then.  The last night, they'd have it at the

trading post, and we always helped him with supplies

and everything.  Then they'd dance at night and sing.

The married women, when they're married, they can't get

out there and go pick a man to dance with--they're not

allowed to do that.  That's the way it was then.  And

so naturally they'd get jealous when their husbands

would go dance with these single girls.  And so one

night when they had this big one there at Tsaya,

several of 'em got in a fight.  It was real sandy out

there in front of the store.  The next morning when

Chunk got up, he went out and he come in and he held up

a little piece of beads about an inch or two long.  He

said, "Come on out here and help me, because there's a

lot of beads out here.  They got in a fight and broke

each other's beads."  So that's how this got started,

back more than fifty years ago.  So I always wear

these.  He finally got it all matched up, and we found

enough beads to make one strand.  Then every time the

pawn would go dead, why, if there's a piece that kind

of matched, he'd buy it and add it onto it, and after a

few years, why, he had this made.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned they were playing cards.  What

kind of card games, do you know?

   

   Tanner:  I forget what they called their main card

game back there.  I know they'd gamble with it.  They

played with the regular cards.  They had a name for it.

You can ask Buddy that question.  We call him Buddy,

the oldest one.

   

   Cole:  J. B.?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.

   

   Cole:  So they gambled quite a bit then?

   

   Tanner:  Well, in those days fifty cents and a

quarter was big gambling for them, you know.  Oh, what

is the name of that?  We still play it quite a bit.

Not "pitch," but....  Oh, there's a name.  That's what

they played.  And they have 'em in these casinos now

where you can play it.  What do you call that game?

   

   Cole:  We heard about one game called Cancun poker,

but I don't know if....

   

   Tanner:  Oh, poker, that's what I want.

   

   Cole:  Just poker, yeah.

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, that's what they played mostly.

   

   [END SIDE 1, BEGIN SIDE 2]

   

   Tanner:  ... happened with them.  Way back there,

you couldn't go to town when somebody got sick.  A lot

of times when my kids were sick, they'd bring me the

herb tea and stuff.  It was old medicine men, way back,

they were so much different than they are today.  They

were really good people.  Well, all of 'em are good

people, but a lot of people don't believe in the

medicine men--you know, our people, the white people.

   

   Cole:  Yeah.  What were some of the different

experiences you remember?

   

   Tanner:  And like I told you, I feel like the

medicine man was the one that saved J. B.'s life.

(aside about refreshments)

   

   Cole:  (gives tape ID)  Stella was just telling us a

few of her thoughts about Navajo medicine men.

   

   Tanner:  Well, I've seen Indians when they were just

dying, and they'd have these sings for 'em, and prayin'

over 'em, and feedin' 'em the herbs.  And my

grandmother, Grandmother Hunt, she was a firm believer

in all those herbs, because way back there, the doctors

weren't around much.  She was a midwife, my mother's

mother.  But going back to the medicine men, one time

out there at Montezuma Creek, I know, this lady was

dying, they said, and they had a big sing for her.  It

went through all the rhythm of the whole thing, and

they fed her....  Let's see, what's the name of this?

Brigham tea is one of 'em.  There's another one.

What's the name of that brush?  Oh, chaparral--

chaparral tea.  This lady had sores all over, too.

They made poultices out of the tea.  They'd boil the

tea and then just take the--it's like a sagebrush, you

know, that chaparral.  And they put that all over her,

and she got completely well, and I saw that.  Like I

say, there's a lot of people who don't believe in

medicine men, but way back there, they were different

maybe.  When my kids would get sick, we couldn't pick

'em up and bring 'em into Farmington or anything,

because we didn't have the time or the money to do it.

They'd tell us what kind of teas to give 'em, and

they'd get well.

   

   Steiger:  (aside about tape)  What did

transportation, gettin' back to Farmington, involve?

How did you guys get around?

   

   Tanner:  Well, when we went out to Tsaya, Chunk

bought a new Chevrolet, I guess it was.  But they

didn't have heaters in 'em way back then.  And so

whenever we would go to town, which would be about

maybe once every six months, and especially in the

wintertime, we'd heat--we had these big rocks, and we'd

put 'em in the fire and just get 'em real hot and then

wrap 'em up and put 'em in the car, and that's how we

stayed warm, with our feet.  And in the wintertime, it

was cold, you know, driving in.  But they didn't have

heaters in the car back there when we went to Tsaya.

   

   Cole:  What about Montezuma Creek?

   

   Tanner:  We didn't have a car down there.  We turned

our Model "T" in as a down payment.  So we were down

there for a year before we had a car.

   

   Cole:  Did you ever go back to Farmington on horses?

   

   Tanner:  After a year.

   

   Cole:  What was your social life like then, as far

as any religious things or anything like that?

   

   Tanner:  When we were at Tsaya.  But down at

Montezuma Creek, like I say, we went down there in

June, and when we brought the lambs in the fall, Chunk

went in with 'em to deliver 'em, but I didn't go that

first year.  So I was out there a year before I got to

see my folks, or went in town, or anything.  And there

weren't people comin' 'round.  There were just no roads

hardly--just take you....  Well, like Aneth, whenever,

it'd take us two days to go down to Montezuma Creek

when we went down there.  That's how bad the roads

were.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned that Chunk took the sheep into

town and left you there.  So were you in charge of the

store?  Did you have other employees?

   

   Tanner:  He brought a fellow by the name of Joe

Hatch in to stay with me that first fall that we were

there.  But the next fall was when we came out to go

down to--we didn't know we were going to Tsaya when we

left to go in with the sheep that fall.  I was pregnant

with my second boy.  So when we bought into Tsaya,

after we sold our sheep and did so well, Chunk bought

our first new car.  (chuckles)  But I stayed with my

mother until--we went in the last part of November, and

Bob was due to be born the first of January--and he was

born on New Year's morning.  And then after about a

week, I went out to Tsaya.

   

   Cole:  What were the roads like out to Tsaya?

   

   Tanner:  The roads?  Well, you couldn't go noplace,

hardly, when it was stormin', because it was a clay

pack.  But the roads were just, like I said, it was

just a trail out through the badlands there.  Have you

been out to Bisti, out this way at all?

   

   Cole:  No.  I've seen photographs, but I've never

been out there.

   

   Tanner:  You go through the badlands.  It'd take 'em

a good day to go into Farmington when we were first out

there.  And then they started workin' on the roads

after a few years, makin' 'em a little better.

   

   Cole:  How about, did you hire Navajo employees in

the stores?

   

   Tanner:  Not then, unt-uh.  We didn't hire anybody

the first few years we were there.  But I was talking

about this lake.  Chunk was all the time building

lakes, because he ran 1,500 head of ewes every year,

you know.  Wherever he'd see a wash when it'd rain and

fill up, why, he'd close that wash off and make a

little lake to have water for the sheep that he was

raising.  And he'd hire one or two of my brothers--they

worked for us.  They'd bring their teams out and help

him with that.  And then sometimes the Indians had--

wherever we could, we'd have the Indians that had

teams, to help build that lake.

   

   Cole:  What about any kind of fresh food?  Did you

have any chickens, cows, or....

   

   Tanner:  Well, we raised chickens.  We always had a

milk cow, and we'd raise a pig or two.  All of our

meat, we didn't have any refrigeration, you know, or

freezers or anything.  Chunk would take 'em....  At

that time, they sold Arbuckle's coffee, and it'd come

in big wooden boxes.  So he'd cover them with burlap

sacks and keep 'em wet--wet 'em, pour water over 'em--

and then that'd keep our milk and stuff pretty cool.

But at Tsaya, he closed in this under the rock--you

know, the spring there at Tsaya.  It's about a quarter

of a mile from the store.  He closed that in, and the

water was just the best water you ever tasted there at

Tsaya.  But we never did get it piped down to the

store.  We'd have to go up this hill and get it, carry

it down.

   

   Cole:  In those earlier years, what were the most

traded-for goods?

   

   Tanner:  You mean what did they buy?

   

   Cole:  Right.  Were there certain things they'd

always want?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we always carried lots of pork and

beans, but their favorite dish was to buy a can of

tomatoes and put sugar in it, and set there and eat

that with crackers, when they'd be about tradin' on a

rug.  Settin' on the dirt floor, you know.  Way back

then they were very superstitious people.  After their

daughters got married, or sons, the mother-in-law was

never allowed to see the son-in-law.  If she did, she'd

go blind.  So they sometimes would come to the store

and then somebody would say, "Here comes your son-in-

law."  They'd cover their face with a blanket and

leave, so they couldn't see him.

   

   Cole:  Were there certain items that women would buy

more, and some the men would buy?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we carried lots of material, and they

made all their clothes.  We never did have any, when I

was out at Tsaya those first years.  We carried Levis

and shirts for the men, but nothing for the women.

They had to make their--we'd make their velvet shirts,

too--or I would--and sell 'em back to 'em--a velvet

skirt and....  Sell 'em the material and the velvet to

make it with.

   

   Steiger:  I missed that.  Not to interrupt....  The

mother-in-law couldn't ever see her son-in-law ever?

   

   Tanner:  After they were married.  Now, they don't

pay any attention to it.  But I was saying, way back

then when we were there....

   

   Steiger:  Not just during the ceremony.  That was

it.

   

   Tanner:  After they were married, if they looked at

'em or saw 'em, they'd go blind.  That was what they

believed.

   

   Steiger:  That sounds like a pretty good custom!

(laughter)  Sorry.

   

   Tanner:  But that's the way it was.

   

   Cole:  When a woman would come in and trade out a

rug, would a family have like a family account?  Or

would it be in the man's name, or the woman's name?

How would that work?

   

   Tanner:  Well, it'd be mostly in the man's name.

Sometimes you'd have just the women, because their

husband wouldn't be around.  It all depended.  They

each one owned so many sheep.  And when they'd bring

their lambs in to sell 'em, why, she'd sell hers, and

then he'd sell his.  Then you'd have two different

bills, but mostly they were together.  We didn't carry

an awful lot of canned stuff.  The main thing was pork

and beans, and we had coffee in the packages, and

tomatoes.  That was their one biggest buy, was tomatoes

with lots of sugar put on 'em.  And none of the stores

out there then had floors--they were all dirt floors,

and they'd be just as hard as cement, because that clay

dirt, when it hardens it gets that way.  Then you'd

have to wet it and sweep it up every time.  But they'd

make big messes.  They'd all just sit on the floor and

visit.  When they'd come in, a family would stay all

day.  And like I say, they'd trade out--if they were

selling a rug, why, they'd buy one thing and then this

lady would say, (in Navajo) "_________."  That means,

"What else was it I wanted to buy?"  She'd think a

little bit, and then she'd buy one item, take that off.

And then she'd say, (in Navajo), "________," "How much

you got left?"  She'd have to know after each one.

Altogether different than what it is today.  No drugs

or like that out there when we were out there.  It was

people that would come and bootleg whiskey to 'em.  And

that was bad sometimes.

   I was trying to think.  Oh, I was telling the story

about--reminded me of when Chunk used to sell....  He'd

keep the best part of the wool from the sheep off of

some of 'em that was a lot better for rugs, and he'd

keep that to sell to the Indians, the women, to make

rugs with.  We had this big wareroom, and we thought it

was big then--it was about half as big as this.  He

always kept a big sack of wool in there.  But you know

the Indians liked to think--well, they'd just slip--and

we always had canned stuff back in there.  Well, they'd

sneak a can of peaches or a can of tomatoes and put it

in the wool sack, and Chunk did that purposely after he

saw what they were doing, because they'd weigh the

wool, and they'd buy back the canned stuff, you see,

because the can would be already in there.  (laughter)

But they thought they were getting 'em free, see--the

Indians.  He said that would compensate for some of the

ones that they swiped before he realized what they were

doing.

   

   Cole:  Were there other tricks or things like that,

that went on in trading, do you know?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, let's see.  I just thought of something

a while ago.  What was it?  Oh, when they'd bring their

lambs in to weigh....  See, we had to tie their legs

together and then had this scale to hang up on the....

We put the lambs in a number three tub, and take so

much off for the tub, and then had a rope that pulled

it up on this big scale, hand scale.  Well sometimes

they'd get in that store with 'em, and then pick up a

bunch of sand and throw all over in the wool and work

it in there.  That would make 'em weigh more.  Or

they'd put a little water in there, too, you know.  So

you always had to kind of figure that.  But you had to

watch all that stuff, too.  That's the way they'd do.

   

   Cole:  So would you just compensate on the weight a

little bit if that had happened?

   

   Tanner:  You tried to.  One time this man--I said

his name was Big Thumb.  At Montezuma Creek he brought

all of his stuff in the fall.  Chunk told him after

what....  He weighed all the lambs up and everything.

He told him how much it was.  Chunk had one of these

little adding machines that you punch, you know.  He

told him how much it was, and he said, "No, that's not

right."  Some of those old people could figure in their

head about as fast as you can add it up.  And Chunk

said, "Well, this machine here tells you the truth.  I

just punched all the weights for the lambs in that."

And the old medicine man said, "That's true, but if you

lie to the machine, it'll lie back to you."  (laughter)

So he had to be careful about that.  He was trying to

take enough off to eliminate the sand and a little bit

of water that was put in.  And they really liked to

bring 'em in when it was raining a little bit.

   

   Cole:  You had mentioned that a lot of the kids were

sent off to boarding school.  Did you help communicate

with the children at all while they were away?

   

   Tanner:  Well, Chunk would talk to the parents

sometimes, but you know, those little kids, they sure

didn't want to go.  A lot of 'em, way back when they

first started that, they'd run away.  And we lost

several children from out there at Montezuma Creek and

Tsaya both.  They'd run away and two or three of 'em

died from exposure.  That was when they had the schools

like they have the big Indian school here in

Farmington.  What was the name of this one down here?

And the same way in Gallup they had some, and they'd

force 'em.  They'd go out and say, "Now, you've got to

send these children to school!"  And they'd just load

'em up and take 'em.

   

   Cole:  What would they load 'em up in?

   

   Tanner:  They had their cars that they'd come and

get several families' children.  I used to feel so

sorry for 'em.  And then they got to where they

exchanged the students.  After that, they got better.

They liked it better like that--different families

would take 'em and raise 'em, you know.

   

   Cole:  What do you mean?  The kid would go live with

a family in town or something like that?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  There's a lot of 'em in Utah that

would take 'em up and really was good to 'em.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Are you talking about the placement

program?

   

   Tanner:  Placement, uh-huh.  But when they were

forcin' 'em to go to school, they sure didn't like it--

especially the little ones.  That's after the

government decided that they needed to go to school.

   

   Cole:  Would they come back in the summer then?

   

   Tanner:  And go right back to their old traditions.

(chuckles)  But you were wanting to know about some of

their trades.  You know, way back there, it was like it

was with the mother-in-law Indians--or the mother-in-

law seein' the son-in-law.  When they knew a person was

going to die, they'd take 'em out of their hogan and

take 'em up and put 'em up on the hill, away from the--

'cause if they died in the house, they'd burn it down.

That's the way it was when we first went out there.

And then they'd come to the trading post and wake you

up, no matter what time of night it was, and buy a

Pendleton shawl.  The trader would take it up and wrap

'em up after they died.  My husband used to make

coffins out of the Arbuckle boxes, and I helped him

bury a lot of 'em too.  They'd leave that up to the

trader, 'cause they were very superstitious way back

then.  But now they're not that way anymore.

   

   Cole:  Before there were traders around, would they

just leave the body out then?

   

   Tanner:  I think there were always traders from way

back--even a long time ago, and they'd help.  The

traders were their best friends.  I don't know what the

Indians would have done without the traders when we

first went out there, 'cause they depended on us for a

living and to help.  We helped with the sick, and

helped 'em bury 'em, and everything.

   

   Cole:  How often would--if you had a really good

customer, like at Montezuma Creek--how often would they

come into the store?

   

   Tanner:  Well, some of 'em that lived quite a little

ways, they wouldn't come in only about sometimes every

two weeks.  They'd come in with their wagon and get

their supplies.  And then when it was stormy weather,

they had to provide for that, if they knew a storm was

comin'.  The government wasn't droppin' food to 'em

when we were out there--and hay and stuff, and grain

for their flocks.  Nothing like that went on when we

were out there for those first years.

   

   Cole:  Were there any serious epidemics or anything

like that when you were _____________.

   

   Tanner:  They lost a lot of their children all the

time because they had a lot of tuberculosis among them.

And then they weren't eating right, and they lost a lot

of their young people all the time.  You've heard of

Annie Waneeka [phonetic spelling].  (Cole:  Uh-huh.)

She was Chee Dodge’s [phonetic spelling] daughter.

After she grew up and had her education, that was her

title.  In Washington she was over all the health

problems.  And that's when it began to helping the

people take care of that.  They put in the hospitals in

different places.  She passed away here about six

months ago.  She was a very dear friend of all of us.

But way back there, they just had to depend on the

medicine man to take care of their sick.  And they

saved a lot of 'em, but the herbs and all of that

didn't do all of it.  And they were very religious

about their prayers and things, too.

   

   Cole:  I just lost my [train of] thought.  So did

you ever deal with mail at Montezuma Creek or at Tsaya?

   

   Tanner:  No.  After they got the day schools in,

mail would come to the day schools.  But the only time

we ever got any mail before that was when somebody

would go to town.  After we were at Tsaya, we had a car

and Chunk would go in every once in a while--every

month or so--to order supplies, and then he'd come

right back--go in one day and back the next.  Then the

truck would come out with the supplies.

   

   Cole:  What about the Second World War?  Did you see

much impact from that?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I wrote lots of letters for the

Indian mothers.  They'd come in and have us write

letters to their boys.  That was the only communication

that they had, and they'd have to wait until....

They'd go to Crownpoint to get their mail there at

Tsaya, until the day schools got goin'.

   

   Cole:  Did the soldiers write in English, and you'd

translate it?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they would get somebody to help them

write letters if they couldn't speak [i.e., write

(Tr.)] English, wherever the boys were.  And then I'd

write back to the boys in English, 'cause I couldn't

write in Navajo.  And then they'd get somebody to read

'em.

   

   Cole:  Do you know, were many of 'em drafted?  Or

did they join?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we had several of 'em there at Tsaya

that were drafted, I know.  And some of 'em didn't want

to go, but there were a lot of 'em that did.  I wrote

lots of letters during that time for the mothers.

   

   Cole:  When the soldiers started coming back to the

reservation, did that create any kind of change?

   

   Tanner:  Well, mostly when they'd come back, when

they first would go out to those schools and wherever

they went, they'd go right back to--the biggest part of

'em--would go right back to their old traditions, up

until after I left the reservation.  Then they got to

where the younger generation wasn't speakin' the

language like they should the last twenty years.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned--you were talking about Joseph

Tanner.  It sounds like he was a long-time Indian

trader.  Do you remember any stories about him, or what

was he like?

   

   Tanner:  Well, like I say, he spoke Navajo, Hopi,

and Tewa.  I know when Chee Dodge....  Chee Dodge was

first president of the Navajo people.  He was a

wonderful friend to Grandpa Tanner.  He used to come

and stay with us whenever Grandpa was around.  He spent

a week at a time out at our trading post there at

Tsaya, visiting with him.  And they would be talkin' a

language that Chunk didn't know.  All my husband could

speak fluently was the Navajo language.  And I remember

one time they were in the living room just goin' on in

this language that Chunk didn't understand at all.  And

he come in and said, "I wish to hell you'd speak either

Navajo or English so I could know what you're talkin'

about!"  And I remember Chee Dodge sayin', "That's the

reason we're doin' this.  We're talkin' Tewa."

(laughter)  But he was a very fluent speaker in the

Hopi and the Navajo and the Tewa language--all three of

'em.  And the Zuni--he could speak fluent Zuni.  But he

had a trading post there in Cortez.  That was before I

married into the family.  He did really well with that,

bought lots of cattle up there.  Then after he left the

trading, then he owned a part of the Shiprock Trading

Post there for years--him and....  Oh, what was his

partner's name?  Anyway, there were two of 'em in there

together.  They had that there for years.

   You know, the Indians used to have more than one

wife.  And the government was taking the women away

from the men.  They got on the warpath, and Grandpa

Tanner was the one the government sent up there to try

to get 'em to not have three or four wives.  I've got

some pictures of an old man that had several wives.  He

told Grandpa when we went up there, "Well, they're

takin' my women away from me.  They can come get my

sheep and cattle, but they're gonna leave my women

alone."  But he talked to him and got him to come down.

He stopped that war.  I have a Tanner book that tells

all about that.

   

   Cole:  When you and Chunk were running the trading

post, did you have leases from the tribe or the

government?

   

   Tanner:  Well, no.  At Tsaya, that was on--you had

your own clear title to that.  But we had to lease the

ground for the sheep to run on from the government at

Tsaya.

   

   Cole:  What about Montezuma Creek?

   

   Tanner:  Montezuma Creek was clear.  [We] didn't

have to pay anything for that.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Was it on the reservation at that time?

   

   Tanner:  At Montezuma Creek [it] wasn't--it was

across the river.  It was on this side of the San Juan.

But the Indians were on this side, too.  I think it was

on the reservation, but I don't know of anybody that

had to pay when we first went down there, but later

they did.  I know my brothers at Keams and Polacca and

all through there, they have to pay the tribe so much.

   

   Cole:  Did you and Chunk ever belong to the United

Indian Traders Association?

   

   Tanner:  No, we never did.  I don't know....  When

we first went out there, why, there wasn't....  I never

had heard of 'em until we'd been in there for a long

time.

   

   Cole:  I'm going to kind of back up a little bit and

talk to you again a little bit about your parents.

   

   Tanner:  Okay.

   

   Cole:  You'd mentioned your grandpa, Pappy McGee,

and then your mom and dad.  What were their names?

   

   Tanner:  My mother was a Hunt, and her father's name

was William E. Hunt.  Her mother was French.  She was

Smootz [phonetic spelling] before she married.  Then my

dad was Elwood D. McGee.  My mother was Celia Hunt.

   

   Cole:  And so then your maiden name was McGee then?

   

   Tanner:  McGee, uh-huh.  Now, let's see, you talked

to Jewel and to Roscoe's wife.  Their fathers were

brothers to my father.

   

   Cole:  And then you were telling us about the trip

from Springdale back to Harrisburg.

   

   Tanner:  Harrisburg.  We left Springdale after Dad

helped build that first road that went into Zion's

National Park.  We went down to Harrisburg, and he just

leased some ground and raised vegetables, and raised

cane and made sorghum--molasses, he called it.  And

then when we left to come back here to be with Grandpa

Hunt before he died, that's how come we came back.  He

sent Mother $500 to come home with.  ______ took us.

   

   Cole:  How far would you make it, say, in a typical

day on that trip?

   

   Tanner:  Well, some days we didn't--I don't know

just how far it is from Harrisburg.  It's not very far.

I know you can go there in a half a day, I think.  Some

days it was really storming, you couldn't go very far,

but five or six miles.

   

   Joe Tanner:  That trip took thirty days, Grandma?

   

   Tanner:  Thirty days.  It stormed every day on us.

   

   Joe Tanner:  It takes about six or seven hours now

to drive it.

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, yeah.

   

   Cole:  Was there any kind of trail or road?  Or did

you have to make your own way?

   

   Tanner:  There was a dirt road all the way, but

that's all.  I know one time we could see a ranch down

a big lane, a ranch house.  And so Mother and Dad gave

Harvey, my oldest brother and I, she said, "You go down

and see if you can buy us some bread."  It was about

like you'd come through Kirtland--from the middle of

Kirtland up to the top of what we called Lovers' Lane.

It was all trees.  And that's the way that lane was.

And we walked down there, and sure enough this lady had

just emptied a great big pan of bread, loaves of bread

out.  I remember how I thought, "Oh! that bread smells

good!"  And so Mother gave us fifty cents, and she

[i.e., the woman who baked the bread] gave us two big

loaves."  And then it really started snowin', and so I

remember how we had to pull our sweater up over the

bread to keep it from gettin' wet, goin' back up there

with that bread.  It was our supper that night--bread

and Postum.

   

   Cole:  What would you eat nights that you couldn't

get bread?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they'd make us cornmeal mush, we

called it--cornmeal cereal--stirred the cornmeal into

the boiling water, just like you do the Cream of Wheat,

you know.  We ate an awful lot of that--tasted awful

good, though.  (laughter)

   

   Cole:  I was kind of wondering, did you have to

cross the Colorado [River] to get to Kirtland?

   

   Tanner:  No.  But comin' down that Salina Mountain

took us a couple of days or better, it seems to me

like.  Gettin' down there I remember the horses would

slip and slide in the snow goin' down that.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Did you have to come across the ferry,

Grandma?  How did you cross that river when you came?

Do you remember that part?

   

   Tanner:  I don't remember crossin' the river.  We'd

had to [have] crossed that Green River, wouldn't we?

   

   Joe Tanner:  (inaudible)

   

   Cole:  Yeah, somewhere.

   

   Tanner:  There must have been some kind of a bridge.

About all I remember about it is how cold and how wet

we'd get.  (laughter)

   

   Joe Tanner:  Do you remember what year that was that

you made that trip?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I was thirteen, and I was born in

1906, so that was about 1919.  But we had everything we

possessed in that wagon with seven children.  Richard

was a baby--he was sixteen months old.  Then Mother had

three more after we got--she had ten children, seven

boys and three girls.

   

   Joe Tanner:  You told us the story, Grandma, there

was somebody who came into the camp when you were

sleeping.

   

   Tanner:  Well, I was just wondering whether I should

tell 'em that.  (laughter)  On top of the Salina

Mountain.  I told you that we found this rock building

that had a fireplace in it.  Dad built a fire in it and

made us a bed on the floor, all of us children, but the

baby.  And we were all bedded down and sometime during

the night--and it was snowing real bad.  Dad told us

when he went out, "Now, keep covered up good, and I'll

check on you real early in the morning."  He said,

"It's snowing really hard outside."  But sometime

during the night somebody came in.  I get goose pimples

every time I think about it.  This guy looked us all

over, I guess, and he decided that I was the oldest

one, and he just come and he just felt all over me.

But he didn't bother me.  Pretty quick he just walked

out.  I didn't go to sleep the rest of the night, but I

didn't dare go outside to the wagon because it was

snowin' so bad, and I was frightened anyway.  None of

the other kids were awake, I guess, and that's what

woke me.  When Dad came in, I told him, and of course I

was really still upset and cryin'.  He went out and

found a few of the tracks where they'd wandered off.

But now, realizing--I didn't realize what it was all

about then--but it sure scares me now when I think

about it, what could have happened.

   

   Cole:  You said that after Chunk died, you were at

Keams Canyon.  Then you moved into near Gallup.  After

that business was gone, what did you do then?

   

   Tanner:  You mean after we left Keams Canyon?

   

   Cole:  Yeah, [from] Keams you went to....  I can't

remember the name of the town.

   

   Joe Tanner:  To Gamerco.  You were going to tell

about that.

   

   Tanner:  Yeah, we went to Gamerco, but I was leaving

that for Buddy to tell.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Well, he can tell about it, too.  I

think it would be good to have your [viewpoint (Tr.)].

   

   Tanner:  Well, the boys always wanted to have a

trading post, all of 'em together--my sons.  J. B. had

went in town and he decided that he'd like to have one

at Gamerco.  That's just out of Gallup.  And so he and

Don talked it over, and then after Chunk died, we still

owned one house there in Cortez.  They made us sell

that, and that's how we got started at Gamerco.  And

they had made [me?] leave Keams, and they used that

first money to kind of buy the necessities and get it

ready to go.  We called it Navajo Shopping Center.

Then Chunk's oldest brother came in and helped, loaned

us some money to get that goin'.  And that was a big

business.  We did really well there, 'til J. B. got to

drinking.  That's why I'm gonna let him tell that

story, and he will.

   

   Joe Tanner:  I think it's good to have your take of

what happened there--if you want to.  That's up to you.

   

   Tanner:  What happened?

   

   Joe Tanner:  Just to tell about the business.  That

was one of the first times that that kind of business

had been done, wasn't it?

   

   Tanner:  Well, yes, it was--where the Indians could

come in and just....  We really bought lots of rugs

there, and we had, like I say, Don Tanner came in and

helped, loaned us a bunch of money.  He brought all the

boys in, all seven of the boys were there together for

three or four years.  That's how it got started, and it

was one of the biggest businesses, and the first

business like that in the Gallup area.

   

   Cole:  What was different about it?

   

   Tanner:  Well, the Indians would just help

themselves, and then take it up to the counters and pay

for it.  Where out on the reservation, way back there,

why, you just had to set in the bull pen and point to

stuff that you wanted.

   

   Cole:  And did they have a larger variety of goods?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, we had everything in there, bought

everything, and it was a tremendous business.

   

   Steiger:  That was the first one of its kind?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.

   

   Cole:  Did they do a pawn business there, too?

   

   Tanner:  We had a big pawn business there.  That's

where really the first time....  Well, the last few

years that we were running it there at Ganado and

Keams, they had a big pawn business then.  But see,

that was quite a few years after we first went out on

the reservation.  But there at Gamerco they had the

vault and everything and took care of [the pawn], kept

it locked up all the time.  Then we took in lots of

pawn.  The Indians all knew the boys and knew Chunk,

and so they all came in to trade with us.

   

   Steiger:  Why did they want to change?  Or why did

they think that would be more successful?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they were starting to do....  They

knew that bigger buildings or bigger businesses would

eventually--there was one or two in Gallup at that time

too--the Kirk Brothers and several others.  But this

one was really....  And like I say, we were all there

together.  Then they brought in some more partners--the

Elkin [phonetic spelling] brothers--so they really made

it a big, big business:  bought lots of lambs and lots

of wool and lots of piñons.  (pause)  But it went

bottom up.

   

   Cole:  Do you think the Navajo preferred coming to

an operation like that, versus trading out on the

reservation?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, they liked it, yes.  Well, they didn't

hardly know how to do it at first, but they....  See,

Gallup at that time had quite a few stores in it, but

it was different from the trading posts out on the

reservation.

   

   Cole:  And was there more cash in the economy at

that time?

   

   Tanner:  Well, at that time they were sending a lot

of the Indians out on the railroad to do work, and so

they'd use one of the rooms in Gamerco there to have

'em come in and sign up for it, to go out, and that

gave the Indians quite a bit of cash for a lot of

years, that railroad business--and goin' out and

helpin' in the fields in Utah and all through there.

They found jobs for a lot of people.

   

   Cole:  Would they still buy and sell on the wool and

lamb cycle?  Or did that....

   

   Tanner:  Well, we carried some on the book, but

there wasn't as many as we had to....  They didn't

depend fully on that, because they had ways of going

out to work.  We'd carry 'em on the book for some of

that, too, on some of 'em that we knew that was honest.

   

   Cole:  Sounds like a pretty big operation.  What

about employees?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we had a lot of employees at Navajo

Shopping Center, because it was....  How big was that

big building?  Gosh, it was....  Well, you've seen

these big aluminum storage [buildings (Tr.)].  We had

about three of 'em put together.  It made an awful big

one.  It's still out there at Gamerco, but they've

added to it, but it was real large, and we had quite a

few employees.  But like I say, each one of the boys

had certain things to do, and then I had the snack bar

in one corner of it.

   

   Cole:  And did your family participate in the Gallup

Ceremonial?

   

   Tanner:  We always had a booth out at the

Ceremonial, until we left there and Joe started his

own--after we dissolved partnerships and lost it, had

to turn it back to the guys that had loaned money on

it, or bought-into it, you know.

   

   Cole:  What was the Ceremonial like back when you

first started ____________.

   

   Tanner:  The Ceremonial used to be on this side of

the tracks, you know.  And goodness, a week before

Ceremonial, when you'd go to come to Gallup, why, it'd

take forever to get in here at the last few miles,

because there'd be wagon [after] wagon--they all came

in wagons then, just like the old pioneer days used to

be, when they'd camp at night they'd make a big circle.

But out here, it was more than that, because there were

Indians from all over the reservation that would come.

Those first few years that we were there at the

shopping center, it was all wagons--very few cars.  The

Indians didn't have cars in those days much.  It was a

big affair.  (chuckles)  Something to see.  Now,

there's not as many people coming to see it as they

used to.

   

   Cole:  What would your favorite memories be from the

trading post there?

   

   Tanner:  Well, my mother and dad used to say, "I

don't know why you want to be out on the reservation

like that for!"  But I loved it out there, and I

learned to love the Indians.  It was lonesome

sometimes.  When I first went out there, I was so young

I didn't have sense enough (laughs) to know whether I

was lonesome or what.  Took each day as it came.

That's what we had to do.  But I always loved it out

among the Indians.

   

   Cole:  What did you love the most?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I enjoyed seein' 'em come in, and I

enjoyed while I was listenin' to Grandpa Tanner and my

husband talk to 'em so much, because they'd tell 'em

these wild stories in the Navajo language, and they'd

be laughin', you know.  So I always enjoyed that,

watchin' them.  I enjoyed goin' to town once in a

while, too.  (laughs)  We got to where we went in about

every three months at the last end, because the roads

had been worked on a little bit.

   

   Cole:  What was a trip to town like when you hadn't

been in for three months?  What would you do?

   

   Tanner:  Well, we always went from out to Tsaya,

every lamb season.  We'd go and Chunk would just hire

somebody to stay at the store, because that was a big

get-together for all the traders--they'd all meet and

ship their lambs out.  Then we'd go to dances and have

a big time.  But it was something to look forward to

every year.  We didn't go in much on wool season, only

Chunk would send his wool in.  I usually stayed at the

store.

   

   Cole:  What were the different holidays like on the

reservation?

   

   Tanner:  Well, the first few years we didn't pay too

much attention to 'em, but when my daughter--my

daughter was my third child--when she was five years

old, that was when the Depression first started.  We

knew they weren't going to have too much Christmas, but

my husband went in and he picked out something for each

one of 'em to have for Santa Claus.  And we had a

little Christmas tree all set up that we had candles

on.  I was going to just have them there for looks, you

know, and the little bells and things.  But we had a

heater in the front room, and my daughter had a little

broom.  Christmas Eve, early, we were real busy in the

store, Chunk and I.  Pretty quick one of the boys come

runnin', said, "Oh! Dorothy set the tree on fire!"  She

took this little broom (laughs) stuck it in the heater

and she was gonna light those candles.  As she did,

everything burned up, and we had to throw the tree away

and Chunk had to....  I said, "What in the world are we

gonna do?  We don't have anything left for the kids."

It was all under the tree and they got burned badly.

So he drove clear to Farmington and got back out there

just as daylight the next morning with two or three

little things for the kids.  (laughs)  That was quite

an experience.  It's a wonder it didn't burn the whole

house down.  The ceiling was muslin, you know,

stretched across and then calcimined.  So one end of it

burned before we got it put out.  There were a lot of

Indians there, and they helped us put it out.

   

   Cole:  Did the Indians at that time mark Christmas

or celebrate that?

   

   Tanner:  Well, they always called it "Kissmass" all

right, and they come around wantin' you to give 'em

Kissmass.  We'd always give 'em some candy or

something, and piñons.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned that you met the Navajo lady

that had helped raise your children.  What did you mean

by that?

   

   Tanner:  Well, she'd come and help me with the

washing, and then she'd just do everything for 'em,

just like one of the family.  We had her with us.

She'd been to school for a little while and learned to

speak a little bit of English.  She was good with 'em.

But when I brought 'em into Kirtland, and when I wasn't

there, my mother took care of 'em.

   

   Cole:  Did they come back out to the trading post in

the summer then?  Or did they stay [in town]?

   

   Tanner:  My children?  Yes, we all went out there in

the summertime.

   

   Cole:  And what kinds of things would they do?

   

   Tanner:  Well, the boys were thrilled to death,

because like I say, that's how they learned the

language.  My daughter never did like 'em.  She'd just

run and hide.  She wouldn't have anything to do with

the Indians.  But the boys all liked to play with 'em,

and they'd run and have races.  Way back there when

they were little, when they would have the sings, the

boys would come up missing--especially the two older

ones, Bob and J. B.  And they'd get just as lousy as

they could be, because they were with the kids all the

time.  Way back there, they really were lousy.  You'd

have to kerosene their heads every night to get rid of

[the lice].

   

   Cole:  Do what?

   

   Tanner:  Put kerosene all through their hair to kill

[the lice], and change all their clothes.  But they'd

go right back and do it again!  That's how they learned

to be such good talkers.

   

   Cole:  So that only happened when the sings were at

the post?  Or would they take off?

   

   Tanner:  No, whenever the Indians came around, J. B.

and Bob were right out there playin' with 'em.

   

   [END SIDE 2, BEGIN SIDE 3]

   

   Tanner:  I was trying to think exactly about what

year it was, but anyway, it was in the thirties--about

1935 or 1936.

   

   Cole:  (gives tape ID)  Stella, you were just

telling us about some of the unusual events that

happened at the trading post.  Maybe if you could tell

us a story about that.

   

   Tanner:  Okay.  Well, this was very unusual and very

frightening, but we heard this plane....  Like I say,

my father and mother had brought out peaches to can and

sell in the store, too.  And we were all busy doing

that, and we heard this plane come over, and that was

really unusual--we'd never heard a plane come over

there.  And we went outside and we could see this

plane, and it was droppin' fast.  The Chaco was about

two miles from the store.  We seen it go down just the

other side of the Chaco.  That was a big Chaco Canyon

full of sand.  And so Chunk and I got in the car and he

closed the store and we went to see what happened.  We

got there, and the plane was crashed, tore all to

pieces.  The front end of it was pushed up against the

two people that were in it, and they were begging to be

killed.  And then he told us that his wife was

unconscious, but he was talking.  And he said, "We left

Chicago this morning and we were on a race with three

other planes to see who got to California first."  And

they had this crash.  He just begged Chunk to reach

back and get that gun so he could....  They were in

terrible pain, you know.  And Chunk said, "No, I'm

going to see if I can get some teams, and we'll pull

this away from your legs and get you out and take you

into Crownpoint.  It took him quite a while.  He went

over and called Crownpoint and told 'em to send an

ambulance out from the hospital.  And then this old

man, Pueblo, had a big team of mules, and he got hold

of him, and then two other teams of horses, and they

all came.  At first he couldn't hardly get the Indians

to come.  They said, "Oh, no, that's ch’íidii."  That

means the devils took possession of the plane.  And he

explained to them that these two people were dying, and

if they didn't get 'em out, they would die.  And so he

finally convinced them to help him.  And they hooked

onto the front of it and gradually pulled it a little

bit at a time.  Every time they'd pull, it'd hurt them

worse.  They had a bottle of whiskey and every little

bit, Chunk would give each one of 'em a little swallow

of that.  And finally we got it pulled apart.  About

two hours later, the lady finally came to and she

thanked us and cried and told us a little bit about

what they were doing.  We made them as comfortable as

we could, and then the ambulance came, and the doctor,

and they took 'em up to Crownpoint to the hospital.

And then the next day Chunk and I drove up there to see

how they were doing.  We never got one recognition of

that whole thing.  Big write-ups in the papers about

everything, but Crownpoint got all the deal.  But they

knew, and we knew--and God knew that we got 'em out of

there.

   

   Cole:  So were they okay then?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  They were in the hospital for

three months there at Crownpoint.  They saved their

legs and everything, but that was really an experience

way back there.

   

   Cole:  What year did you think that was?

   

   Tanner:  I think it was either in 1935 or 1936.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned that Chunk went and called

Crownpoint.

   

   Tanner:  It was after they got the day school

started, I know, so it might have been a little later

than that.

   

   Cole:  So they actually had phone service?

   

   Tanner:  They had phones after the day school.  And

then the hospital there had the phones.

   

   Cole:  And what about at your trading post?  Did you

have a phone?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, no, we never did.  We didn't even have

any electricity.  We just had kerosene lamps, until

just about the year before we left out there.  We

finally got one of those lanterns that had the mantles

on, you know.

   

   Cole:  Uh-huh.  (laughter)  Did they have

electricity out at Crownpoint at that point?

   

   Tanner:  Their own--they had it built-into the

hospital, just at the hospital.  And the day schools,

after they went in, they did.

   

   Cole:  Now, could your kids have gone to the day

school?

   

   Tanner:  Not then--they weren't takin' 'em.  We

never did even ask, I don't think.  I don't believe

they would have then.  They did later let the traders'

children go.  I know at Ganado, one of my two youngest

ones went to school out there.

   

   Cole:  If you could, describe your husband for us,

kind of what he was like and what made him a good

trader.

   

   Tanner:  Well, like I say, he was born and raised to

be a trader, just like my boys were.  But of course I

thought he was the handsomest guy in the world, and he

was good-looking.  He weighed....  I've got one tall

boy, and the rest of 'em are....  When you see Buddy,

you'll know what size his dad was--small.  And he had

black wavy hair.  The Indians called him Dual-tendi-

yazzi, and he was ornery and mean, they said.  But

Chunk had a terrible temper, all right, and he'd get

mad at me and spout off, and then in an hour it was

different, and he'd forget it the minute he'd say it,

you know.  But I didn't do that, and I'd pout.  He

said, "Toots"--that's what he always called me--"say

something!  I don't give a damn what you say, but say

it!"  (laughter)  "And then I wouldn't be so ornery

with you," he said.  "I don't mean to lose my temper,

but I do, so you just have to overlook it."  And I've

got a couple of boys that's got pretty bad tempers,

just like their dad, but they don't spout off too much.

But they forget it the minute they say it.  Isn't that

the way you are?

   

   Joe Tanner:  Probably so.  (laughter)

   

   Cole:  So was that your other nickname, "Toots"?

   

   Tanner:  That's what my husband always called me,

was Toots.  Toots or Tootsey.  It was a great life.  I

loved it on the reservation.

   

   Cole:  You mentioned you had a couple of brothers

that were traders too?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, yes.  I've told you about Bill McGee,

my brother--William McGee, but we all called him Bill.

When we were at Tsaya, we took him out there when he

was fourteen, and Chunk taught him the language, and

Bill gives him credit for all his knowledge of the

Navajo.  Then he went to work for--after he learned

that, we couldn't afford to have somebody out there,

why, he got a job with Sunrise Trading Post, with the

Wheelers.  And then the younger boys worked for him,

and that's where they learned.  So all my brothers, all

but two of 'em, were Indian traders.  They loved it and

did well.

   

   Cole:  When you were a child, did you ever imagine

that that's what you'd end up doing?

   

   Tanner:  No, because I was always scared of the

Indians, (laughs) the stories that Mother would tell.

The Indians, some of 'em, are my best friends.

   

   Steiger:  What kind of stories would your mom tell?

   

   Tanner:  Well, you know, way back then, they used to

tell about the Indians massacring the white people.

That's what she'd tell us, and I grew up being scared

to death of the Indians (laughs) until I got acquainted

with them, and they weren't that way at all.  But of

course I guess the early pioneer people way back there

did have a lot of trouble with especially the Paiute

Indians were main, I guess.

   

   Cole:  I was going to ask you, when you were at

Montezuma Creek, did you have much dealing with the

Paiutes?

   

   Tanner:  Well, there were a few down there, and one

time one of 'em came in and this little Navajo told

Chunk, "That's the main leader of the Paiutes."  And

Chunk was a little bit leery of him, but he got to

talking to him, and he could speak enough Navajo to

where he could understand Chunk.  Chunk said, "Oh, you

don't need to be afraid of him, he's okay."  Just told

him that his ancestors were the ones that did all the

mean things--they didn't do it anymore.

   

   Cole:  What kind of changes have you seen over time

in the trading business?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, well, from the dirt floors and the

Indians not speaking English at all, and coming in and

just sitting around.  That was a big holiday for them,

when they'd get to come to the store and set down on

that clean dirt floor and visit with their neighbors.

So that's what I learned to look forward to, to see a

bunch of 'em come in and just visit.  It was a great

experience to be in.  Now, when I look back on my life

and think of all the things that have happened, like

from the wagons to the Model "T's" with the Indians,

and then they finally began to get cars and come in to

have their babies, and they have their funerals.  Way

back there, they didn't have 'em.  Just a thing that

the traders had to help 'em do, you know.

   

   Cole:  How long did you then live in Gallup?

   

   Tanner:  You mean after we started Navajo Shopping

Center?

   

   Cole:  Right.

   

   Tanner:  Then even before that, that was our....

Farmington and Gallup, or Gallup especially, was the

headquarters to come get, from Tsaya, to come and get

our supplies from.  I lived in Gallup from the time

that Chunk died until twenty-two years ago.  Then I

moved to Mesa.  I married Mr. Allen, an old friend of

mine, but I just had him three-and-a-half months, and

we found out he had cancer, and so we flew to Houston

and he didn't get to come back.  So....

   

   Cole:  How do you see the future of trading?

   

   Tanner:  I wouldn't want to live on the reservation

like it is now.  There's too many drugs out there--the

young people especially, it's got a hold on a lot of

'em.

   

   Cole:  What do you think has caused that?  Any

ideas?

   

   Tanner:  Well, just like it did with a lot of white

youngsters, they dare each other, you know, and get

where they have to have it.  In fact, my youngest son

died from the cause of drugs, which was a big heartache

in our family.

   

   Cole:  Which one was that?

   

   Tanner:  Rick.  It was a heartache.  He drowned in

Lake Lycita [phonetic spelling].  He was up there, and

he went out on the boat.  This young fellow that was

with him started the boat up too quick and it jerked

and Rick was standing up and went over backwards and

drowned.  He was a good trader too, just like all the

rest of 'em.  But he got with the wrong bunch and got

started with drugs.  It was an awful big heartache for

all of us--and for him.

   

   Cole:  When you look back upon your life, if you

could change anything, would you do it?

   

   Tanner:  (sigh)  I wouldn't want to change any of

the first part of it.  I had a lot of heartaches and a

lot of happiness.  I look at all my descendants, forty-

one grandchildren and fifty-four great ones, and two

great-great ones, and two more great ones comin'.

That's what keeps me goin', is my family.  (chuckles)

That's what makes life, and I love every one of 'em.

(laughter)

   

   Cole:  Is there anything else you'd like to add?

   

   Tanner:  I'm tryin' to think of....  If you can

think of anything else you'd like to ask, I'd be happy

to....

   

   Steiger:  I'm sure we're forgetting something.

   

   Tanner:  Can you think of anything, Joe, you'd like

to bring out?

   

   Steiger:  We'll think of something as soon as we

turn this camera off, or as soon as we put it all in

the car.

   

   Tanner:  If you can think of anything else you'd

like to ask, I'll try to answer it.

   

   Steiger:  I can't think of anything.

   

   Cole:  I can't, not right now.  Well, on behalf of

NAU and the United Indian Traders Association, thank

you for your time.

   

   Tanner:  Well, I've enjoyed every minute of it.  I

like to talk about all those old times.

   

   Steiger:  Oh, I've thought of one.  What did you

guys do for entertainment out there, like at the end of

the day, out in those early days?

   

   Tanner:  Well, Chunk and I played a little cards

once in a while.  And if we could find anybody that

would ever send us a book to read.  When we first went

to Montezuma, we didn't take any papers or anything to

read out there.  I didn't know what I was going into.

So we just depended on each other for entertainment.

Like I say, the end of the day, we'd play cards once in

a while.  We rode horseback quite a bit, go for a

little horseback ride.

   

   Cole:  Did you have a radio out there?  Or was there

even any reception?

   

   Tanner:  No, didn't have a radio for several years

after we went to Tsaya.  So we had to depend on each

other.

   

   Cole:  Did you own the horses?

   

   Tanner:  We eventually bought some, but when we

first went down to Montezuma Creek, we just bought us

some from the Indians that were tame.  We'd get Buddy

and put him up on the horse with us and go ridin' once

in a while in the evening.  But Chunk never lacked for

entertainment, because when he wasn't in the store, he

liked to play horseshoes with the Indians and play

cards with 'em.  I felt a little neglected sometimes

when he was doin' that.  But like I say, I was young

and didn't think much about it, just took one day at a

time.

   

   Joe Tanner:  So as you go through this life,

Grandmother, what advice would you give?

   

   Tanner:  Pitchin'....

   

   Joe Tanner:  So it wasn't regular horseshoes they

pitched, the kind we use now?  Just horseshoes?

   

   Tanner:  They pitched the regular horseshoes off of

the horses.  (laughs)

   

   Steiger:  That was a good question you were asking

_____________.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Well, I was just curious, about

Grandmother and her life.  I wondered what advice or

what counsel, or what would you tell us as your

descendants, to think about to live our lives?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I'd say if you were ever put in the

same position, just you and your wife way out in the

sticks or nowhere, no way to get in, you learn to

really appreciate one another, and you really love and

depend on each other for everything.  I think the

younger generations, they're so busy keepin' up with

all this fast stuff in life, that they lose a little of

that closeness.  I may be wrong.  I know you and Julie

are really close.  But there's a lot of....

   

   Joe Tanner:  __________ good advice.  That's why

we're asking.  (laughter)

   

   Tanner:  But like I say, we had to depend on each

other.  We'd get mad at each other all right, but we

couldn't ever stay mad over five or ten minutes, at

each other, because we didn't have anybody else to talk

to.  Chunk did, but I didn't!  (laughter)

   

   Cole:  Describe how they played horseshoes for us.

   

   Tanner:  How they played?

   

   Cole:  Yeah, you mentioned it's not like they

actually....

   

   Tanner:  Well, he's talking about the shoes they

throw.

   

   Joe Tanner:  We just wondered how they did it back

then.

   

   Cole:  Now they have the big shoes.

   

   Tanner:  They just had the regular horseshoes in

those days.  We always had one or two horseshoes

hangin' up in the store and in the house.  That was

good luck.  And they'd throw that horseshoe and try to

get it around that peg down there.  That's when they

won.  Is that what you meant?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.  I was just curious if they actually

used the shoes that they'd shoe the horse [with].

   

   Tanner:  Yeah, that's the one they used.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Those were a lot smaller and probably

harder to play back then.

   

   Tanner:  Yeah, it was harder to play.  But like I

say, we always had several of them hangin' in the store

and in the house for good luck, too.  That's what they

were called, is good luck shoes.  (laughter)

   

   Joe Tanner:  I had one other question.  Seth was the

first descendant that came into this area?

   

   Tanner:  That was Grandpa Tanner's father.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Were there any stories or things that

were told about him that you remember?

   

   Tanner:  Yeah.  He was assigned from Salt Lake to

come out and find places for the pioneers.  He was

comin' out one time, and they came to this place where

there were just all these big piñon trees or pine trees

or something, and he was on a mule.  They couldn't

bring the wagon on across, so he just got his rope out

and he put it around this tree and had the mule pull it

out.  He didn't pull it out--he broke it, though.  And

that's where he got his name--they called him Shush.

"My! you're just strong like a bear!"  That's what

Shush means.  So that's why all of us have the name of

Shush.  That was one of 'em.

   

   Joe Tanner:  And the Church sent him to this area?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.

   

   Cole:  So the Church was a big influence on him and

bringing him here.  I was just wondering how that might

have influenced your husband.

   

   Tanner:  Well, they always thought of Grandpa Seth

as a great man, because he was one of the people that

helped to build this.  And Grandpa Hunt and the Foutzes

and the Tanners were one of the first ones that they

sent out here to Arizona--Pine, and then they took 'em

away from there, and sent 'em into Tuba City.

   

   Joe Tanner:  They were sent first to where?

   

   Tanner:  Down to Pine and that area--Grandpa Hunt

and Grandpa Foutz.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Pine?  What area is that, Grandma?

   

   Tanner:  You know where Payson is.  Pine is on the

road coming from Winslow.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Oh, okay.

   

   Tanner:  My mother was born in Pine.

   

   Joe Tanner:  So they settled that area first, and

then they went to Tuba City?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.

   

   Joe Tanner:  I didn't realize that.

   

   Tanner:  Oh, you didn't?  Oh, yeah.  Grandma Hunt,

my mother's mother, she said that it was just all

wilderness when they came.  That's where most of her

children were born, before they went to Tuba City.  And

then when the government bought 'em out, after they got

the big farms goin' down there--we all went down there

for Tanners' reunion, it's been four years ago, hasn't

it?  (Joe Tanner:  Uh-huh.)  At the old places where

Seth had stopped overnight or he had done something.

Really interesting.  So Seth has always been--I've

always thought, "Oh, my, I'd loved to have known him."

But I never did see him, because he died before Chunk

and I were married.  He went blind and Chunk was about

eight years old, I guess.  They gave him the job of

leading Grandpa Seth around.  That's when Grandpa had a

store there in Cortez, and they had this big

cultivating ditch, you know, with the water running

down it.  They had a log across it.  Well, Chunk just

walked across the log, and he led Grandpa Seth right

through the water.  (laughter)  They tell that on him.

(laughter)

   

   Steiger:  Now, he wasn't a miner, was he?

   

   Tanner:  Grandpa Seth?

   

   Steiger:  Yeah.  'Cause there was a Seth Tanner that

was in the Grand Canyon that....

   

   Tanner:  That's Joe Tanner.

   

   Joe Tanner:  _________ Tanner Trail that comes

through the Tamarind [phonetic spelling], and there's a

Tanner Wash....

   

   Tanner:  That's the guy.  And then him and his

father....

   

   Steiger:  I'll be darned.

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.  Now you know who your Grandpa Seth

is.

   

   Steiger:  Yeah.

   

   Tanner:  But you're going back to my husband:  he

was always a promoter with everything.  When he was

young, Grandpa was going to be gone for a week, and

they had all this yard that all kinds of rocks in it.

She said, "I don't know what I'm going to do with that

Chunky Tanner this summer.  He's driving me crazy!"

Grandpa said, "Leave that to me."  So he called Chunky

and he said, "See all these rocks out here?  I want 'em

all cleaned up.  I'll give you twenty-five dollars to

have this all cleaned up when I come back next week."

Boy, that sounded like a lot of money to Chunk.  He

said, "Okay," and went a couple of days and he didn't

do anything.  Mother Tanner got after him.  She said,

"I thought you told your dad you were going to clean

this all up."  He said, "I am!"  And she said, "Well,

when?!"  And he said, "Well, starting in the morning."

And she said the next morning she was wakened at

daylight, all this noise of shovels and wheelbarrows

and kids a-hollerin'.  She went outside and Chunk was

in the middle of the yard, and he was directing all

these other kids how to do everything.  By night, he

had it all done.  He paid them so much, and he had the

rest.  (laughter)  He was a promoter.  That's why Chunk

always had the kids movin' gravel.  (laughter)  My

boys, if they'd get doin' something he didn't like,

he'd say, "I want all this gravel out here moved over

here."  And they'd do it.  And then he said, "When you

get that done, you can go play."  And so they'd do it,

and they'd say, "Well, Dad, we got it all done."  He'd

say, "Okay, now smooth it out."  (laughter)  That's

what kept 'em busy and learned 'em how to work.

   But he was a great trader all right.  I got to where

I could tell anything what they wanted in the store,

and then just a common conversation, you know, through

the years.  But I've been away from it now for twenty-

two years, so I kinda forgot.  (chuckles)  But I

wouldn't change anything.

   Anything else?

   

   Cole:  I can't think of anything right now.  (pause)

   

   Steiger:  Well, I guess this is irrelevant.  I want

to hear all about Seth Tanner, but....

   

   Joe Tanner:  Anything else that you can think about,

that you know of about Seth?  We hadn't talked about

that a whole lot.  That's something that we don't know

a whole lot about.

   

   Tanner:  Well, see, I don't know too much about him,

only just what I read about him.  Your dad has studied

it.  When you talk to Joe, he's made a study of Grandpa

Seth, and he can tell you a lot about it.

   

   Steiger:  Yeah, 'cause we go right by his mine down

there, and the trail and stuff.  That's really rugged

country, and people always want to know how that mine

was and how it worked out.

   

   Tanner:  Now, J. B. can tell you a little bit about

Grandpa Joe's mine down at Bisbee and through there,

'cause he went with him a lot when he was little.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Would he go off for days at a time,

Grandmother?  (Tanner:  Uh-huh.)  Or weeks at a time?

(Tanner:  Yeah.)  And how young was J. B. when he would

go down?

   

   Tanner:  Three and four years old.

   

   Joe Tanner:  And he'd leave with his grandpa?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh.

   

   Joe Tanner:  Would Chunky go with 'em?

   

   Tanner:  Oh, no, just Grandpa and Chunk--or Grandpa.

   

   Joe Tanner:  So he was three or four years old, and

he'd leave for weeks at a time?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, he loved it.  And then Bob was just

two-and-a-half years younger, and Grandpa wouldn't pay

any attention to him, so he bought him a new car one

time, when Bob was about three years old, and he came

out to the store to see us and spend some time with us.

We were all in there talking, and we heard this "bang,

bang," and went out there and Bob had picked up a rock

and he busted both the headlights out of Grandpa's new

car!  (laughter)

   

   Joe Tanner:  Had a little resentment, did he?

   

   Tanner:  Boy, Chunk was gonna beat the tar out of

him, he said.  And I said, "I'm going to find out what

was the matter."  Of course he took off runnin' and I

caught up with him and I said, "Why did you do that?!"

He said, "Grandpa never takes me noplace--just takes

J. B. or Buddy!"  That was why he did it.  So that's

how kids are, you know.

   

   Cole:  Does "J. B." stand for anything?

   

   Tanner:  Yeah, it does, it stands for Joseph Baldwin

Tanner.  When he was first born, like I told you, he

just weighed three-and-a-fourth pounds, because he was

so tiny.  When I took him to church to have him blessed

or given a name, they said, "What's the name?"  Chunk

said, "Well, that's the name, J. B."  And they said,

"Well, surely he's named."  And he said, "Yeah, he's

named after my father."  "Well, what's his name?"

"Joseph Baldwin.  But that's not this baby's name.  His

name is J. B.  He's too damned little to have a name

big enough like that."  (laughs)  That's the words he

used.  I shouldn't say that, I guess on [the tape].

   

   Joe Tanner:  Well, we want to hear just how it

happened.  (laughter)

   

   Tanner:  That's how it happened.  (laughs)

   

   Joe Tanner:  So he was just given the two initials

for a given name?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, because he was so little.  Chunk

wouldn't have it any other way.  But Grandpa Tanner was

a crude, cussin' man, laughin' all the time, but

cussin', you know.

   

   Joe Tanner:  So as the children and grandchildren

hear this, what would you tell us about work and the

principle of work?

   

   Tanner:  Well, I always told all my kids work didn't

bother anybody and it was good for 'em.  I was gettin'

after my son Ellis, the one that's coming to pick me up

today.  I said, "You're workin' too many hours," and he

said, "It seems to me like way back there all my life I

heard 'work didn't hurt anybody.'"  (laughter)  And it

don't.  Chunk always had the kids doin' somethin'.

That's what's wrong with some of the kids nowadays,

they don't have anything to do.

   

   Cole:  I remember one thing I was going to ask you

about.  Did Chunk bring any livestock into the range to

upgrade it, like bulls?

   

   Tanner:  You mean like horses and things?

   

   Cole:  I've heard that some traders actually would

bring higher-quality animals into the herds.

   

   Tanner:  Chunk brought the black sheep in when we

were out to Tsaya.  The first ones we bought were just

all ordinary Navajo sheep.  And he bought a half-a-

dozen of these light-faced bucks, we called 'em,

shipped in.  He's the first one on the reservation that

I know of that got them black sheep started.  Makes

better wool and everything.

   

   Cole:  Would he then allow the Navajos to breed to

'em?

   

   Tanner:  Uh-huh, and he'd just charge 'em so much

for that.  Then he used 'em for his, too.  See, he had

1,500 head of ewes.

   

   Cole:  And then would you start to see some of that

color show up in the rugs?

   

   Tanner:  Oh yeah, they really got good.  Oh, I'll

have to tell you something about the lambs.  (aside

about tape)  About the fifth year that we were out to

Tsaya, the drought came, you know, and the ewes would

disown their lambs, 'cause they didn't have any milk

for 'em.  And this was the year that my son Don was

born, in 1932.  We had a big barn out at the back, and

Chunk had hay stacked around to make a little rooms for

the ewes that wouldn't claim their lambs, and they'd

try to force 'em to let the lambs nurse.  Some of 'em

wouldn't let 'em, so he'd bring 'em in the house.  We

had lambs all over the kitchen floor and the oven door

open to keep 'em warm.  We'd feed 'em with the bottles.

And I was nursing Donny, I called him, one morning when

he brought two lambs in.  He said, "Toots, I want you

to do something for me.  I want you to feed these

lambs."  I said, "Well, get me a bottle."  He said,

"No, I want you to let 'em nurse."  And I said, "Well,

that's where I draw the line.  I done lost everything,

but I'm not...."  (laughter)  But we sure had a time

that year with the sheep not claiming their lambs.

   

   Cole:  And then, I'm sort of curious again about the

stock reduction program.  Did the government actually

send people out to do that?  And was there resistance?

   

   Tanner:  The Indians really hated that, but these

sheep could get big worms in their head.  We lost so

many of ours.  He'd split their heads open, and they'd

just be full of great big worms.  Then there was no

feed for 'em to eat, either.  So the government told

'em that's what had to be done, they had to cut down on

their stock, which they did.  They made 'em do it.

They'd just drive these herds into the gulleys and

slaughter 'em.

   

   Cole:  Was that the Navajos that would do that, or

was it the federal....

   

   Tanner:  No, the Navajos didn't do it, the

government had it done.  It was an awful year that

year.  A terrible thing.  I know Chunk one time,

Willard Stalworthy when he was in partners with, you

know, I told you about it.  They came out one day,

Willard and his wife and two other couples, just come

out to visit, all dressed in their Sunday best clothes,

you know.  And Chunk was out there, he was really

workin' with all the sheep, and they come drivin' up.

He had sheep all around the store there that day, and

they drove up laughin' and cuttin' up, and Chunk said,

"You just turn right around and go back, unless you

want to change those Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes and

come help me take care of these sheep!"  He was really

mad at 'em, comin' out there all dressed up, when he

was havin' so much trouble.  That was a bad year.

   

   Cole:  Do you think the stock reduction, over the

long run, helped the range at all?

   

   Tanner:  Yes, because it was a drought for a lot of

years.  In fact, the last two or three years is the

first time we've seen a lot of grass on the

reservation.  And it seems funny to drive through the

reservation now and not see these big herds.  Each

family is allowed about fifty head.  That's about all

they have--no big herds noplace.  Now they raise a few

cattle, I guess, along with it.  But maybe if the

reservation gets to growin' grass again, they'll let

'em raise big herds again.  (pause)  Buddy can tell you

about those mines, and his dad can tell you about Seth.

   

   Steiger:  Okay.  I wonder how your dad's dad's dad

ended up marrying a Cherokee.

   

   Tanner:  Oh, you mean the McGees?

   

   Steiger:  Yeah.

   

   Tanner:  Well, she was a pretty girl.  I've seen her

picture, and she was a beautiful girl.  They came from

Ireland, the McGees did, and then they came down into

Cherokee territory.

   

   Steiger:  Is that the Dakotas?  Is that where that

is?

   Cole:  Oklahoma.

   

   Tanner:  Oklahoma is where they were.  And then

Grandpa McGee married--the great-great-grandpa--married

a Cherokee girl.  He was killed in his mine.  He had a

silver mine there in Oklahoma, and they claimed that he

was making silver dollars down there, and somebody

killed him.  And then it was all covered over and

closed up.  My father's brothers and him went back

there several times trying to find that mine.  Never

did.  Of course I guess buildings are all over it now.

But he's the one that married the Cherokee girl.  My

dad said I'm a thirty-second.  (chuckles)  But we never

did get anything out of the boys--my father and his

brothers and their father tried to locate the mine and

find papers to prove that they had Cherokee blood in

'em, you know.  They never did get the right papers, so

they never got any of the money out of it.  There was a

lot of people that had the records got quite a bit of

money.

   

   Cole:  Well, thank you again, Stella.

   

   Tanner:  Well, thank you for asking me.  I was

really happy about it.  I hope I've done it right.

(chuckles)

   

   Joe Tanner:  You bet.

   

   Steiger:  Okay, well, I'll turn this off, and then

you can tell us something really good!  (laughter)

   

   [END OF INTERVIEW]