Denver the Day Before the Columbus Day Protest...

The Day Before the Columbus Protest In Denver The basement of the old church building is used for get together hall; it is at Fifth and Bannock in Denver. On Friday there was little paragraph in the Rocky Mountain news about the Four Winds Survival Project in the morning paper, so being in the area I went to check it out.

The front door was locked and a side door to the basement didn’t look very promising as I grabbed the handle and pulled at it, but it gave way and there was the smell of frybread when it opened. Inside there were four older Indian women, there were three Lakota from South Dakota and one Dakota from Missouri. They had just finished cooking dinner, Indian tacos.

They looked like they had lived a hard life, no smiles from any of them. There was protest planned against the Columbus day parade on Saturday, some flyers were on the table. “We’re gonna feed about 300 people after the protest tomorrow”, one said. “You know I was at the Knee for seventy some days during the takeover” another said, “AIM was really active then. We don’t know how many for sure is gonna be there tomorrow.”

 Two younger women came in from outside, they were laughing and talking in the lilted way of the Northern Plains Indians, “Oh, geez, watcha girls got cookin’ anyways?” They looked around and sat down. They looked at the flyers on the table.

 “There is a Indian Education conference over to the convention center, we took some flyers over. There was a lot of Indians over there, we told them we had Indian tacos for lunch, selling it at $4.00 a plate, you know, thinking maybe some of them would show up here.”

“Well, where are all the skins?”
“None of ‘em showed up,” the one from Missouri said, “Maybe they’re running late.”

The clock on the wall said 12:30. “We’d like to eat, Louise, but we ain’t got no bucks Honey till tomorrow."

"We’re headed down to a temp job place at Five Points, they got sometin’ going tomorrow at the stadium, said they’d pay 10 bucks an hour, we just need to wear black slacks.”

“Where have you guys been, we haven’t seen you around?”

“We just got out, got tossed in down on skid row. We got carried away with the party. Man, you shoulda seen us!”

The three Lakota women retreated back to the kitchen, as the two young ladies talked.
“Are you going to the protest tomorrow?” one cook asked.

“I want to go, been going for twenty years!” said one. Her features were rough from having been in a number of fights, her face was scarred.

"I just got back from Wounded Knee, spent six months at home. It was hard there, had to cut my own wood, stayed by myself out there four miles from the Knee. That old place is pretty good, the only thing holding it together is the paint"

:Geez, it ain’t no fun being there by yourself. My daughter is married and lives in Yuma with her main squeeze, so I came back. I got to work though, need some cash and it’s gonna be easy work, maybe six, eight hours, I don’t know., but I need the bread. So this year I ain’t going to be there.”

“Do you guys, want to eat?”

“Sure, can’t turn down free food, living on the streets is tough, but it’s good on the legs, no salt, not butter, tough like the old Indians. Maybe we can hang up some of these posters for you guys, spread them around downtown.”

The food was brought to them and they continued to talk. ”We can help you guys out, put these out.” 

“Where you gonna put them?”

 “We got places, but then if we put them in bars, a bunch of drunk skins might show up, start fighting with the Italians, all hell break loose, everybody get tossed in.”

“One year Van Morrison came and bailed everybody out. Everybody got out of jail”

“Not this year, the way it is nobody can yell around, run into the street, lay down in traffic, stop the parade. Nobody can say anything.”

“What? Nobody can say nothing. No drum, no screaming.”

 “None of that stuff.”

“Oh man, we gotta go, gotta make sure we find out about the job tomorrow.” Said the one from Wounded Knee.

“My partner, her old man is getting out of prison tomorrow, so we got other things to do, first time we won’t be there. but we will take a few of these posters and put them up.” The two young ladies left.

The lady from Missouri River, she said, “This center is a place for a lot of people, they get a chance to get together here, we let anyone come. We set workshops for regalia, quilt making, support groups.”

 “How do you guys get your funding”

“We get a little money from the Lutherans and Methodists, but it is not enough, it is real struggle sometimes to get things paid each month. Every month is a trial for us, we don’t know how we make it, but we do, just barely.”

She offered a refill of coffee. “My left leg has been bothering me, if I can get someone to take my place tomorrow with the serving I am going to stay home, I’m 54, but sometimes it’s a struggle to just be here, but this place has saved me. We have a meeting every Sunday upstairs, a drum group comes in and we sing, and there is a prayer. Not like a regular church service but Indian way of praying.”

Another young lady comes down the stairs from outside. “ I smell food.” They tell her they are selling Indian tacos, they made it for the Indian Education conference people but no one showed up from there, so there is a lot of leftovers.

“ I will take six order to go she says.”

 “We trying to get ready for tomorrow, but we don’t have any beans, do you know where we can get someone to donate some beans so we can cook ‘em.” the lady with the sore leg says.

“You know I just have a couple of bags in the car. My Mom told me to come by and check to see what was going on, we were going to use them ourselves, but she told me to come by and check, good thing I did, let me go and get them.”

The cook followed her outside. The coffee was finished and sitting there took a look around the room.

There is large picture of a group of Indians, a picture maybe 5 feet across on the wall with out a name, untitled. No one knew when or where it was taken, except that it was from the last century.

There was also a small picture of black church congregation near it, also old. There are a few filing cabinets with items for craft and regalia making and anything else that they need store from time to time.

A young Indian man with long hair came in, also a child of the streets. He had somehow gotten a pair of new Nikes that were on his feet. The three remaining cooks came out to look at them. They told him those shoes sure looked good on him.

They served him up a plate of food and he sat down to rest and eat. I cleared my place, told them it was a pretty good meal and walked out the way I had come in.

Before I left they told me...."Brother there is a place in Denver where the cold winds don’t blow come back and see ue. You get a chance to step out of the snow."

The women there have seen a lot of people come through those doors and will offer anyone a cup of warm coffee that hits the spot. They in turn will sit and listen to your story and wish you well when it is time to head back out on to the streets of Denver.

Rustywire