Elders nodded in unison.
After rapidly shooting several photos, R.J. turned back to the group of men. “Would you mind answering some questions?”
The men exchanged looks before motioning to one of the long tables lining the far wall. When all were seated, the Elders on one side with Sean and R.J. on the other, R.J. removed her pen, notebook and tape recorder from her backpack, placing them on the table.
The recorder caught their attention and they stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. Four pairs of eyes turned to Sean and seconds ticked by as unspoken words seemed to pass between them. Finally, George Eagle Feather spoke, pointing to the recorder. “Yes, we will answer your questions, but you may not tape our voices.”
“Okay.” With a shrug, R.J. tucked the recorder back into her bag and picked up her pen. She’d start out with a few warm-up questions to put them at ease. “Who designed the Cultural Center?” she asked, directing the question to George Eagle Feather.
“A young architect in Minneapolis – Edward Little Bear,” Sean replied.
“A Native American?” R.J. asked, scribbling the name in her notebook.
“Yes, we wanted a designer who understood the culture,” he answered.
She ignored Sean and focused on George Eagle Feather. “How long did it take to complete the project?”
“We broke ground ten months ago,” Sean replied, launching into an explanation. “All the materials are from the reservation and from renewable resources. During the construction, the entire tribe participated in some way.” He pointed to the shields and the paintings, hanging on the walls. “These were all made by people here on the reservation, as were many of the displays that I’ll show you later.”
R.J.’s pen paused while irritation shot through her. This – some carefully crafted script that anyone could write – wasn’t the story she wanted. Not if she wanted a major newspaper to notice her. It was time to hit him with something from left field.
Cocking her head, she studied him. “Why a cultural center instead of the casino that some of members of the tribe wanted?”
Her question hit its mark. Without glancing their way, she heard the Elders shift in their seats while Sean’s amber eyes flared.
He recovered quickly and gave her a tight smile. “There’s always two sides to every question, but the important thing is, in the end, the tribe came together to build this.” Rising, he motioned to the door. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the building.”
Reluctantly, R.J. stood. She would love to get one of the Elders aside and grill him about any dissention that might have existed, but Sean wasn’t going to give her the opportunity. Maybe she’d have her chance later.
After voicing her thanks to the Elders, she followed Sean into the display area. While they strolled along, he gave a running monologue, describing each display and its significance. They paused in front of photos showing families standing in front of tar paper shanties; dancer displays with elaborate costumes and beautifully beaded moccasins; tribal implements used hundreds of years ago when the people still roamed the plains following the buffalo.
Interesting, but R.J. had finally had enough. She stopped short in front of a large stone plague. “I appreciate the tour, but if you really want to draw tourists, you’ve got to give me a better angle than this.”
“What do you mean?”
“What makes this place different than every other Native American museum in the country?”
“I told you – it’s made of material from the reservation; the entire tribe worked—”
R.J. cut him off with a wave of her hand. “So? You think anyone really cares about that stuff? Readers want to know more than just facts and figures. They want the human story.”
“Such as?”
“Well, one question that springs to mind – why did the Elders hire a white to represent the Center?”
He stiffened. “I’m not
After rapidly shooting several photos, R.J. turned back to the group of men. “Would you mind answering some questions?”
The men exchanged looks before motioning to one of the long tables lining the far wall. When all were seated, the Elders on one side with Sean and R.J. on the other, R.J. removed her pen, notebook and tape recorder from her backpack, placing them on the table.
The recorder caught their attention and they stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. Four pairs of eyes turned to Sean and seconds ticked by as unspoken words seemed to pass between them. Finally, George Eagle Feather spoke, pointing to the recorder. “Yes, we will answer your questions, but you may not tape our voices.”
“Okay.” With a shrug, R.J. tucked the recorder back into her bag and picked up her pen. She’d start out with a few warm-up questions to put them at ease. “Who designed the Cultural Center?” she asked, directing the question to George Eagle Feather.
“A young architect in Minneapolis – Edward Little Bear,” Sean replied.
“A Native American?” R.J. asked, scribbling the name in her notebook.
“Yes, we wanted a designer who understood the culture,” he answered.
She ignored Sean and focused on George Eagle Feather. “How long did it take to complete the project?”
“We broke ground ten months ago,” Sean replied, launching into an explanation. “All the materials are from the reservation and from renewable resources. During the construction, the entire tribe participated in some way.” He pointed to the shields and the paintings, hanging on the walls. “These were all made by people here on the reservation, as were many of the displays that I’ll show you later.”
R.J.’s pen paused while irritation shot through her. This – some carefully crafted script that anyone could write – wasn’t the story she wanted. Not if she wanted a major newspaper to notice her. It was time to hit him with something from left field.
Cocking her head, she studied him. “Why a cultural center instead of the casino that some of members of the tribe wanted?”
Her question hit its mark. Without glancing their way, she heard the Elders shift in their seats while Sean’s amber eyes flared.
He recovered quickly and gave her a tight smile. “There’s always two sides to every question, but the important thing is, in the end, the tribe came together to build this.” Rising, he motioned to the door. “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the building.”
Reluctantly, R.J. stood. She would love to get one of the Elders aside and grill him about any dissention that might have existed, but Sean wasn’t going to give her the opportunity. Maybe she’d have her chance later.
After voicing her thanks to the Elders, she followed Sean into the display area. While they strolled along, he gave a running monologue, describing each display and its significance. They paused in front of photos showing families standing in front of tar paper shanties; dancer displays with elaborate costumes and beautifully beaded moccasins; tribal implements used hundreds of years ago when the people still roamed the plains following the buffalo.
Interesting, but R.J. had finally had enough. She stopped short in front of a large stone plague. “I appreciate the tour, but if you really want to draw tourists, you’ve got to give me a better angle than this.”
“What do you mean?”
“What makes this place different than every other Native American museum in the country?”
“I told you – it’s made of material from the reservation; the entire tribe worked—”
R.J. cut him off with a wave of her hand. “So? You think anyone really cares about that stuff? Readers want to know more than just facts and figures. They want the human story.”
“Such as?”
“Well, one question that springs to mind – why did the Elders hire a white to represent the Center?”
He stiffened. “I’m not
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