By Goodwin Berquist
Why would an organization "begun out on the dusty fairground with sort of a drunken brawl and an imitation snake dance" thrive in Prescott for seventy years? Cowboy poet Gail Gardner, a charter member of the Smoki People, provides some answers.
A colorful storyteller, Gardner recalls that the first Smoki ceremonial took place in 1921. The program was intended to be a burlesque of the Hopi Snake Dance. Prescott's Frontier Association was broke at the time and a number of civic-minded citizens decided to help out by staging a show to help fund the annual rodeo. Live bull snakes were used in the performance and, some braves, Gardner tells us, "figured they needed a little Dutch courage to handle those ferocious bull snakes." In those Prohibition Days, the moonshine they used "tasted like the bottom of a bird cage and smelled like a Forest Service outhouse." The chief decided "we would just have to stop that alcoholic stimulation the day of the dance, so he figured the words of a rum-soaked individual would carry more weight than those of a teetotaler, so he picked me to give the boys a temperance lecture," a tradition that Gardner continued for over fifty years.
Gardner reports that the snake dance had a profound effect on the participants. "We found that when you take off most of your clothes, put on those little Indian kilts, get painted up with body paint, and get a snake in your mouth, shake that rattle, why your back hair kinda' raises up, you know, you feel like you've really gone to the primitive." Thus it was that the dances came to enjoy what they were doing. Over the years the dances became more and more spectacular as the Smoki strived to make them authentic recreations of their Native American prototypes.
The Smoki organization was unique, Gardner noted, for there were no dues and no regular meetings. "You meet, then there's work to be done", when the chief calls on you for help.
One episode in Smoki history that received special treatment was the memorable trip of the Smoki dancers to Philadelphia in 1926, untaken in connection with the nation's Sesquicentennial. On the trip out, at St. Louis, the thirty-five men with their red Navajo peaked hats were mistaken for fans of the Cardinals who had just won the World Series. "Everywhere we went in St. Louis we got applause, we were offered drinks." At Philadelphia, there was a seven mile parade and 20,000 people showed up to see the Smoki dance.
In 1931, the Smoki People decided to build an authentic pueblo to store their regalia. "We hauled in a pile of rocks about as big as the Courthouse it only make one wall. So we had to haul in more rock. We found some old, old buildings with this fine old weathered lumber that they made the windowsills out of." The Smoki Museum to house the native American artifacts was erected with government assistance four years later.
Smoki's most distinguished member was Arizona's popular Senator, Barry Goldwater. Goldwater was made an honorary chief in 1964, the year he ran for President. His participation in Smoki went well beyond an occasional appearance at the August dances. "He sent us some of your finest drums, and he sent us books from the Smithsonian that are long out of print. You see, the early ethnologists, they went out into the field and photographed the Indian ceremonies. Colored photography hadn't been invented, so they took artist along who sketched the costumes in color. So if we wanted to put on one of these long discontinued dances, you could look at this book and see what the costumes looked like and what color they were." Barry "would fly up here for rehearsal" each day in July and sometimes he would serve as narrator. "He danced in both the antelope and snake line." "He's just the greatest guy in the world in my book anyway," Garner told the Prescott Corral of Westerners International in 1977.
In this same speech, Gardner touches upon several other interesting topics: Smoki parade costumes, the group's invitation to President Coolidge to become an honorary member, the group's history of rarely buying anything, due to contributed materials and the diverse skills of the membership, the antics of the mudhens, etc. For a firsthand account of the history of the Smoki People, Gardner is hard to beat.
Over the years, the Smoki organization changed with the times. Initially a private men's club, the group early on decided "we wanted some girls to take the part of squaws. Well, the girls decided they wanted an organization of their own." They got their wish, despite Gardner's initial opposition. "I've done a 180-degree turn and I'm all for 'em" now." Wava Gifford's illustrated book on the Smoki People received his special praise.
The original recording of the Gardner speech, oral history tape #112, is at the archives of the Sharlot Hall Museum. That museum has generously agreed to permit the Smoki Museum to make copies. Audio cassettes of Gardner's account of Smoki history cost $6 apiece and will be available at this afternoon's 2 o'clock presentation at the Smoki Pueblo entitle "Three Score Years and Ten: Prescott's Smoki People." The author of this article will also be giving a talk on the Smoki to the Westerners group in September.
Goodwin Berquist is a Research Associate for the Smoki Museum.
Sharlot Hall Museum Photograph Call Number: (pb015a75-379n). Reuse only by permission.
This 1947, Matt Culley photo of Gail Gardner shows the cowboy side of our postmaster, Smoki tribal member, and community leader. He sat down for an interview years ago and told the story of the Smoki. Today the story of the Smoki will be retold at their Museum.