old indian pawn

One of my favorite things to do is to look around pawn
shops, you never know what you might find. It can be
something you have been looking for an didn't know it
until you see it. It is one of the things I like to do
when I get a chance.

Saturday I went into a pawnshop in Las Vegas and saw a
bracelet that caught my eye, it had Morenci turquoise
and a strong simple silver band. The design was
balanced, delicate yet elegant in it's simplicity. It
was tarnished pretty bad, almost black in color. Where
it came from I don't know, but I asked to see it. It
had been there for some time looked like. I bargained
with the broker for it and got a good price.


I put it in my pocket and walked around to other
stores a little bit, and then packed it a way to bring
home. When I got home I put it on the kitchen table
with the other junk I brought back and my daughter
picked it up. She looked at it. "Where did you get the
bracelet?" she said, "I like it, did you get it for
me?"


She put it on, and smiling with that look of mischief
in her eye which said, I have taken it already and
it's mine, Dad.


She held it up to the light, and said, "Hey look your
name is on the back". I came over and took really good
look at it and there was my name.


It came back to me, through the haze of time and
space. I remembered it was 1974 and made a living
selling handmade Indian jewelry.


Those were good and bad times. When you make jewelry,
you just produce it, but then you try to make it good,
making sure it is pleasing to the eye. I was young
and wanted to become a well known silversmith. My
uncle Bruce Harvey was quite good and some of his
tools my aunt gave to me. The stamps in particular
were well made and the patterns looked good stamped
into the silver.


There was a silversmith by the name of Jimmie Harold,
he was an old man but he was friendly. He knew my
Uncle Bruce, they had worked together in Tucson after
the war in the curios shops there, making all sorts of
jewelry over the years. They carried their hand bags
to work, a collection of tools used every day. Sitting
there making buckles, bracelets, bolo ties, spoons,
forks, concho belts and all sorts of rings.


Jimmie Harold told me about how they worked for this
shop and that one over the years. By the time I moved
to Tucson, Uncle Bruce was gone, he had been hit by a
car crossing the road in front of the Veteran's
Hospital. He was skinny guy, from Shiprock originally
and wore a back brace to support him, when we were
kids he showed us his bullet wounds, scars from the
South Pacific that left their marks on his back. As
long as I can remember I always saw him in a good
mood, easy going and never getting angry but a gentle
person.


These things came to mind as I looked at that
bracelet. He told me that some of the things you make
will go places you never will, so let it go and free
yourself from it.


This bracelet I made at home sitting at the kitchen
table with an odd collection of tools. The stones
were good, I had traded work for the turquoise.


When you make jewelry all the time, you think on
designs and try different things. Jimmie Harold used
to come by and visit and show me pieces he made before
he took them to Bahti's and the Kaibab shop in Tucson.
He would let me look at them and say try to make it.
The challenge was to make something like it if I
could. I tried and he always shared his designs and
how he made them with me afterward. I remember telling
him I didn't have the silver for a concho and he later
brought me some 16 guage sterling silver plate to make
a concho. I learned alot from him.


It got to a point where I would dream about designs
and loved the feel of silver in my hands. Taking the
time to make things even, straight, simple and neat.
As time went on I moved back to Toadlena and worked
from there, selling at Canyon De Chelly and the Grand
Canyon.


I had Morenci, three good matched stones, all of a
deep turquuoise color, hard stones to last a long
time. I fashioned the bracelet and made sure the welds
were solid. I made two bracelets that day and a
collection of rings. I went to Canyon De Chelly and
remember sitting there, a woman from I don't know
where came up, I can't even remember her name or face,
just that she picked it up and thought on it and
bought it, putting it in her purse.


I remember not wanting to sell it but that was the
purpose of it being made to provide for food, gas and
things needed for everyday life. The bracelet turned
out alright and I felt a pride in having made it. I
thought of keeping it because I liked the design of it
and color of the stone.


I stood there at the kitchen table. This piece of
jewelry was going to end up on my work bench, to take
out the scratches, and polish the stone and eventually
to sell again at a good price.


This bracelet was gone for a long time and to walk
into a pawn shop in a city miles away, by chance to
find a case with tarnished jewelry sitting in a
corner, where the stories of those Navajo silversmiths
and their lives were etched in the jewelry there,
forever set in the designs and effort to make those
things. This is what they say from years ago.


I had put the memory of it out of my mind since it was
gone for good. It touched me, to stand there and to
look at my daughter who was not yet even a twinkle in
my eye then. How strange it is that what was once
given up should come back years later.


I looked at my daughter and told her, "Put it on the
bench in my dungeon and I will polish it for you and
then you can have it".


She just said, "No, I will wear it this way; it looks
old. Then she went downstairs and I could hear her
say....."Look what Dad got for me..."

rustywire