Concert Reviews From 2016 & 2017 *or “Soundetourium Musaic”

One of my favorite parts of being a reporter at The Lawton Constitution has been the freedom to share my love of and for music. While most of the weekly columns revolve around the local music community, every once in a while I get to cover some bigger shows when they roll through the state.
Here are a few cool experiences from 2016 and one from 2017.
I’ll follow up with some tales from the local stages from Southwest Oklahoma’s working legends.
Hope you enjoy.
srains@swoknews.com
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(May 20, 2016 edition)
GHOST in OKC
Bathed in a haze of smoke and cloaked in otherworldly light and costume, Sweden’s Ghost shook souls and celebrated a mischievous macabre Monday night at Oklahoma City’s Diamond Ballroom. Interlude music of classic rock staples led the audience into an inspired singalong to “Carry on My Wayward Son” before cathedral-filling organ music filled the interlude and built anticipation as incense, sage and other spices burned from the stage and mingled with the stage smoke that cloaked the venue. The two disparate tastes were a perfect interlude for the night’s headliners. Ghost’s best material falls somewhere between the two spectrums.

Five Nameless Ghouls took to the stage with the opening theramin tones that layered into the track “Spirit” and the emergence of singer/ringleader Papa Emeritus III caused the audience to erupt. Following the “Meliora” track list, the band proved it is as heady as it is heavy with “The Pendulum and the Pit.” Taking a cue from their mystique as a black pope and his musical minions, the band offered consecration to its front row fans and indulged in one of, if not the only, catchiest near-pop song about a body’s decomposition I’ve heard. n Ghost — “Body & Blood” — https://youtu.be/76vp-JieJRE.

The band’s biggest hit, the Grammy Award-winning “Cirise,” provoked a fan chorus. A highlight was Papa’s serenade to a crew of Lawton fans who’d made the journey to their rock church: n Ghost — “Cirise” — https://youtu.be/2dwrKFSSl7A.

The musicianship of Ghost is indisputable. It commanded the full-throttle approach of songs like “Mummy Dust” and “Zombie Queen” but also found balance in the beautiful from madness. Two of the concert’s brightest moments were the acoustic and (dare I say) pretty “He Is,” and the many-layered track “Absolution.” Combined, these two numbers offer insight into the vast range available from this idiosyncratic and iconic band. The encore, “Deus in Absentia” offered the audience a celebratory revelation to ride out a night of musical alchemy.

Not as spooky as Marilyn Manson in his prime, or as campy as Alice Cooper these days, Ghost is something unique. There are heavier, faster and louder bands, but there is no other like it. The music is the black magic it crafts because one listen leads to many more with this band.

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(Oct. 14, 2016 edition)
ZAKK SABBATH/CLUTCH in OKC
Tuesday night’s journey took me to Oklahoma City’s Diamond Ballroom for a night of high-octane rock and roll with Clutch. Coupled with Ozzy Osbourne’s bandmates featuring guitar legend Zakk Wylde, Zakk Sabbath outshone the originals with a true hour of power set of iconic music.

With the legendary Black Sabbath conducting its farewell tour (and no chance to attend), Zakk Sabbath more than makes up for the angst I’d been feeling. Beginning with “Children of the Grave” the band hit some heavy-duty high notes. Takes on “Supernaut” and “Into the Void” were as thick as thunder and melted steel. Its take on the quirky Sabbath classic, “Faeries Wear Boots” was a legendary moment to witness.

It was the band’s 13-minute reconstruction of a Sabbath classic that brought the house down. Wylde took his guitar and skills into the audience and made his axe sing. Here’s the proof: n Zakk Sabbath — “War Pigs” — https://youtu.be/JNzu-UGUh0u4.

The powerhouse set closed with the trio taking a nine-minute journey into the dark for a personal Sabbath favorite: n Zakk Sabbath — “N.I.B.” — https://youtu.be/T0GpecPdpvc.

Next, it was time for Clutch to take the audience to church with a full-throttle rock and roll revival. It’s known for its live shows and after catching this set, I understand the hype. If anything, folks have understated things.

Kicking off with “Burning Beard,” singer Neil Fallon was a whirling dervish made of equal parts Pentecostal preacher and rock and roll messiah. He encapsulated the role as they tore through “Decapitation Blues” and “Pulaski Highway.”

Dipping into its extensive song catalogue, things soon hit overdrive: n Clutch — “The House That Peterbilt” — https://youtu.be/OATuPLzL9TM.

“Escape From The Prison Planet” carried the energy to a crescendo before Clutch eased into a showpiece from its latest album, “Psychic Warfare.” I still think it’s the coolest song from their now yearold “Psychic Warfare” album: n Clutch — “Doom Saloon/Our Lady of Electric Light” —https://youtu.be/faER5AOeI Vo.

“Profits of Doom,” “Earth Rocker” and “Unto the Breach” carried the crowd like pulsing electricity —the vibe was palpable as waves of sound washed like the tide over the bobbing sea of people. Following a brief break, they came out to lead the rock and roll congregation into a near riot of revelry with “Cypress Grove.” A last blast of power closed the service with the power of a revelation.: n Clutch — “A Shotgun Named Marcus” — https://youtu.be/Il8BEgwLmvA.

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(Dec. 23, 2016 edition)
THE FLAMING LIPS in OKC

The first concert T-shirt I’ve bought at a show since Lollapalooza II back in 1992 (there were two: Soundgarden and Pearl Jam) says everything: “I experienced The Flaming Lips in concert and it made me a better human being.”

I took my daughter Chloe to The Flaming Lips’ first hometown show in four years on Dec. 16 at Oklahoma City’s Criterion. She’s heard their music since the womb but had no real idea what was in store. I’ve been to a few of their shows over the years, but this was the first shared with the 16-year-old mini-me. My greatest gift was seeing her face the moment she “got it.”

Returning to my notion that Lips mastermind Wayne Coyne is Santa Claus, or at least in league with the top Kringle, he and his bandmates gave a Christmas present for the ages to over 3,000 people in the venue.

The venue was interactive with the stage. Among the audience stood large inflatable mushrooms. Across the stage was draped a curtain of LED lights that raised and lowered, glowed and glimmered as part of the production. Behind the band rose the enormous projection screen. It was an overwhelming swirl of sound, light and ever-present stage smoke that, for over two hours, was peppered with non-stop confetti and enormous helium balloons. Alice never visited a wonderland so wild.

The expanded lineup pulsed the opener “Race for the Prize” with energy from two drummers keeping one heartbeat. People wearing inflatable fish, frog and sun outfits danced with the buoyancy of the melody of “Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots.” From in front of the stage looking back, a sea of smiles was a wonder to behold — linked in a unified joy. On stage, a pair of folks in inflatable dancing eye suits made for a Dali-esque accent to the performance of “The W.A.N.D.”

The band’s live show offers the best sober psychedelic experience I’m aware of. An overwhelming feeling flows from the gathering of “fearless freaks” there to enjoy great music and some silly sights. It was a holiday reunion for the unique tribe that is the Lips’ fan base. And, boy, was it loud.

The absurdist showman, Coyne, rode onto the stage atop an LED-draped unicorn during the debut of a new song from the upcoming album “Oczy Mlody.” With roadies pushing his horned pony statue from the stage and through the audience, Coyne interacted in a love sea while performing a new classic. “This is my first time riding a unicorn while singing a song about unicorns,” Coyne said at its conclusion: n The Flaming Lips — “There Should Be Unicorns” — https://youtu.be/IAgU_c3qai E.

Lawton Eisenhower grad Steven Drozd’s role in the band is front and center — he continually grows more interesting as a musician with each album. Playing at different times keyboards, guitar, bass and drums, his was also the angelic voice in harmony: n The Flaming Lips — “Feeling Yourself Disentegrate” — https://youtu.be/Kgr7kUcv HBc.

A favorite was the incredibly powerful and strange gong-related number, “Pompeii Am Götterdämmerung.” “The Observer” and “What Is the Light?” each offered sonic rapture. Strobe lights and music to match made for an indescribable feeling in the audience. Nights like this are why going to live shows is so important. No matter what, when you’re there you’re part of something that will never be exactly like any other moment. It’s life enhanced and shared. On this night it was celebrated.

Ever the P.T. Barnum, Coyne entered his famous inflatable hamster ball as the band laced into a Lipsperfect tribute to David Bowie. When he stepped from the stage and moved out to the middle of the audience where he would stand atop while in his bubble to sing, Lawton’s own master of the front rail Anthony Vallario was among the first to offer a hand: n The Flaming Lips — “Space Oddity” — https://youtu.be/dsY170s0lok.

The joy of the event filled the room with the message of “LOVE” on the screen behind the band. It’s part of what makes it a special band to experience live: n The Flaming Lips — “A Spoonful Weighs A Ton” — https://youtu.be/u-5kfr-Li4PY.

As an encore, Coyne donned his best Santa hoodie and sang “White Christmas” while bassist Michael Ivins stood on a chair and snowed confetti over him to create a scene both sweet and surreal. The night’s closer (and official state rock song) “Do You Realize??” provided a group sing-along by the family of free, sweet spirits. It was fitting that a lot of faces not seen in a while were rediscovered. It was even better to see the smile on the kiddo’s face for the next two days. It’ll be a smile shared 20 years from now, I hope.

The show was filmed for an upcoming home video release and will be well worth watching. And look for the new album out next month. I think it’ll be a good one.

Coyne and company may not have been listed in the new edition of “Distinguished Oklahomans,” but they are one of the good ones who distinguish Oklahoma.

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(April 7, 2017 edition)
THE NIXONS REUNION SHOW in OKC

The March 31 return of The Nixons to their old Oklahoma City stomping grounds turned out to be a real blast from the past. After being apart for 15 years, the band was as tight as if they’d never stopped. For the quartet — lead guitarist Jesse Davis, singer/guitarist Zac Maloy, drummer John Humphrey (also with Seether) and bassist Ricky Brooks — it was a night of magic. Or, as Davis called it in three words: “Amazing. Epic. Fun.”

“It was a special experience for us as a band,” Davis said. “It was like putting on your favorite shoes again.”

Those favorite kicks were put to work. They kicked energy into the hindquarters of the audience filling the Bricktown Coca-Cola Events Center. Seriously, these guys never skipped a beat.

Kicking off with the title track from their 1994 album “Halo,” halos of smiles filtered through the large crowd of Generation Xers. It felt like a reunion of sort, standing with over 1,000 faces that all looked so familiar. I’ve probably been in concert halls with all of them at one time or another. To be sure, those faces (and mine) were a little bit less lived-in then than now. Save for a few children in the mix with their parents, when the lights went low all returned to the early 1990s when The Nixons were the live act to see. On this night, the kids learned why.

Maloy cited the Kurt Vonnegut origin of another title track, although it provided musical truth meant to comfort the souls of the band’s still-hungry fanbase: n The Nixons — “Foma” — https://youtu.be/aG516WPE 0M8.

Fire was a theme for the night and the band was on fire. With the projection screen behind them showing images from the final episode of “Twin Peaks” that would lead to the feature movie “Fire Walk With Me,” the visual imagery joined the energy of the music. It was enough to set Maloy into a firebug frenzy as he squirted lighter fluid on the stage and raised an altar of flame while Davis sliced out a guitar lead. It was enough to set off ignition and took things higher when the band tore into its version of Elton John’s “Rocket Man.”

All voices joined in with the band’s biggest hit. Modern times made a moment that would’ve had hands holding lighters in the air, on this night it was a crowd illuminated by cellphone light: n The Nixons — “Sister” — https://youtu.be/ROlAS6ZBfVU.

One of the most fun live music moments came during the band’s performance of “Happy Song.” It’s one of the most suitable titles for a song I know and led to the night’s closing — a twosong encore. Davis said the first song was an early one he’d written the lyrics and music to. The second was a Who classic and played as passionately as ever: n The Nixons — “One by One/The Seeker” — https://youtu.be/I—d67Hvn-GU.

Davis said the bandmates are “incredible people and musicians … and had a great time on stage.” With an “amazing” audience and the support from Oklahoma fans, media and social media, Brewer Entertainment for the venue and Toucan Productions for the lighting and effects, it was a homecoming well worth the wait, he said.

“It’s hard to find the words to express what we got out of and experienced on stage and shared with the fans,” Davis said. “It was simply awesome.”

Hopefully the show is the new beginning to more awesome moments from this great Oklahoma band.

America: 2017

Lilac blooms and thrives

When watered.

Neglect and abuse-withered,

It kindles

Fuel rich for ignition

With one single spark.

 

My Gnome-Town

There’s gnome place like Lawton

Power poles are stops on magical mystery tour

BY SCOTT RAINS STAFF WRITER SRAINS@SWOKNEWS.COM

From Nov. 20, 2015 edition of The Lawton Constitution

Two pieces of wood painted with a mythical creature and magic mushroom that sprouted (was placed) onto a Lawton Constitution parking lot power pole led to a secret connection to Oakland, Calif.

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Lawton gets called a lot of things.

“Enchanted” may not be the first word that comes to mind. But as the holiday season approaches, mysterious additions to downtown power poles are inviting the perceptive walker to enjoy a small moment of magic.

Fastened to almost all of downtown Lawton’s wooden power poles are small blocks of wood, affixed with wood screws. Some have two, some have one, but each has some magic — the painted image of a gnome, sometimes accompanied by a mushroom.

Along with being great storytellers, they make for a great story. When you see one, you begin to see more. Magically they appear almost everywhere. No one seems to know when.

A reporter became aware of the anomaly while catching a glimpse of color at the base of a pole in The Constitution’s parking lot off of Southwest 3rd Street, between A and B avenues. Following the trail east, more of the mini-minions adorned the poles to 2nd Street, but the eastern path ended there. Returning west, they dot nearly every wooden power pole south of West Gore Boulevard to near E Avenue. Although the path leads literally to City Hall, they’re not a City of Lawton project, officials there said.

A mystery gnome appears less hidden from his perch at the base of a power pole in the alley between B and C Avenues on 5th Street. The small, painted spirits and sprites have appeared in at least the past month.

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They don’t appear to be invaders, although they appear at night. Dressed in colorful tunics and caps with equally vibrant fungi accompanying, they’ve added smiles to those who see them.

Brian Fink was taking a break behind the building at Southwest 3rd Street, between B and C avenues. He smiled as he looked to the wee visitor affixed to a pole.

“I noticed that, maybe last week,” Fink said. “I’ve been trying to figure out who put ‘em up and what they’re for. I like them.”

Further down the road, Linda Motley and Sue Elkins took a break from their jobs at BancFirst at the corner of Southwest 5th Street and C Avenue. They’d noticed the new habitants over the past month.

“They just appeared,” Motley said.

Elkins said she’d heard they were part of some “artist in California’s” project but she didn’t know who.

“That’s quite a few little gnomes,” Motley said. “I think they’re cute.”

Elkins said they’re great conversation starters.

“I hope they leave them alone,” Elkins said.

Since the poles are PSO’s property, a call to Tim Hushbeck, PSO’s Lawton manager of communications, was made. The question was asked about the gnomes with the qualifier: “This could be one of the odder questions you get today.” Following further description of the situation, he laughed before answering.

“That is insane,” Hushbeck said. “I have no idea what that is; I have no clue. That is crazy.”

Subtly hidden in the grass, a gnome and mushroom attached to a power pole near Southwest 6th Street in the alley between B and C Avenues wave wanderers towards a trail that physically leads to Lawton City Hall. The wooden mysteries dot the base of poles throughout the downtown.

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Hushbeck said that, to his knowledge, no one received permission to affix the painted, wooden blocks to the poles. Generally, he said, it’s discouraged to put any sort of signs or other items into the poles because it could weaken the pole’s integrity or slow down the replacement in an emergency.

He hadn’t seen the new pole habitants and said he would have to check them out. As small as they are, he didn’t foresee any reason to remove them. He said the question lived up to the qualifier.

“You do qualify with the strangest question of the day, if not the whole month,” Hushbeck said.

You could really say, “There’s ‘gnome’ place like Lawton,” and you’d probably deserve a punch for the pun. But a similar outbreak of gnome-adorned power poles cast its spell over Oakland, Calif., in 2013. Pacific Gas & Electric Co. were reportedly going to remove Oakland’s gnomes before an outcry of support from the population. They were left in place and adopted as a part of the community.

Later that year, other gnomes appeared in Napa, Calif, inspiring another bad pun when the community went by “Gnapa” during its height of publicity.

And then the gnomes went underground, which would be their natures. According to folklore, gnomes are known for living below the soil, and their iconic name is derived from a Latin term for “earthdweller.”

The original artist(s) remained “Anonymous” from California and have not been identified. So far, “Anonymous” is the name of the magician who has made downtown Lawton a little bit more whimsical.

If “enchanted” isn’t the right word for Lawton, then maybe “magic” will work.

A painted gnome waves from behind waves of leaves from a hidden alleyway in downtown Lawton.

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{Since this story first published, the anonymous Gnome master returned the favor as the wee folk continue to sprout around Comanche County, Oklahoma}

From the Dec. 27, 2015, edition of The Lawton Constitution

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Gnome delivered to police reporter

Delivery does nothing to clear up mystery of little people

BY SCOTT RAINS STAFF WRITER SRAINS@SWOKNEWS.COM

A gnome found a home with its delivery to The Constitution two days before Christmas.

While the elves may call the North Pole home, a legion of the cap-clad little people are claiming parts of Comanche County as their collective “gnometown.” After writing about the phenomenon in November, Wednesday’s arrival quickly claimed its own patch of the reporter’s desk.

But was it a gift from Santa Claus or from another, unidentified spreader of good cheer?

A new gnome found its home among coffee cups and photos on the reporter’s desk after the “Anonymous” artist delivered it to spread good cheer and prove his existence.

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The gnomes are part of a growing family of painted mythical creatures to have sprouted around Lawton in the past few months. More recently, they’ve begun homesteading along the margins of Medicine Park. Small blocks of wood featuring painted gnomes and, sometimes mushrooms, have popped up on wooden power poles in the “Cobblestone Community.” Like the “sooners” already homesteaded in Lawton, they are fixed to their posts with wood screws. Brightly colored portraits of happy gnomes wave at passers-by. It’s how they spread their magic.

The gnome migration toward the Wichita Mountains followed the discovery of a network of gnomes affixed to the bases of the PSO power poles lining the alleys south of West Gore Boulevard to E Avenue, and between Northwest 2nd and 8th streets. More may be around town, so it’s always good to keep an eye open. The new fixtures have created a stir of interest.

After first being startled and then amused when asked in November about the gnomes, Tim Hushbeck, PSO’s Lawton manager of communications, said he would see if the mini smilemakers would cause any disruptions with the poles’ integrity. Soon after, he said they were good to go and would remain in place.

Lawton’s not the first city to embrace its new population. Although they arrive under the cover of darkness without word or warning, the gnomes spread good cheer upon first sight.

Oakland, Calif., is the location for the first documented painted gnome invasion on the city’s power poles. Initially, Pacific Gas & Electric Co. were to remove the gnomes, but community support swayed the decision and they were allowed to stay.

Another influx of wooden nymph-wonders arrived in nearby Napa, Calif., later that year. Their popularity led to many calling the wine-country community “Gnapa” during its peak publicity. Following The Constitution’s story in November, a reader from Napa wrote to confirm that information.

Many have wondered if the small markers are some form of “geo-cachiing” — an outdoor recreational activity in which participants use a Global Positioning System (GPS) receiver or mobile device and other navigational techniques to hide and seek containers at locations throughout the world. Others have speculated the gnomes are part of some sort of treasure/prize hunt. Only the artist knows for sure. But it appears to be something else — something designed only to cost the viewer a smile and a moment of wonder.

A unique project of American folk art, the gnomes — both in California and in Oklahoma — are the products of artists who go by the name of “Anonymous.” The artist — or artists — remains unknown.

Description given

An email sent by the purported artist (under a pseudonym) provided a form of confirmation through the delivery of the new gnome. It matches the style and signature of the dozens of others in town. A witness described only as a man with brown hair and a white Tshirt dropped off the package. There went the Santa Claus theory.

The purpose of the project has not been clarified — there is no obvious artist’s statement. However, the public’s response appears to be the point, according to the email:

“It warmed my heart to read how they affect people.”

An Okie Goes Noodling And Gets Bit (From The Lawton Constitution, Aug. 22 and 29, 2009)

Though I’m Oklahoma born and Oklahoma bred, I’d never taken part in the traditional sport/survival fishing called “Noodling.” I finally buckled down & watched the documentaries, “Okie Noodling” and “Okie Noodling II” and knew I had to take an adventure for a story.

I got the number for David Baggett, featured in the two movies and world renowned for the sport of handfishing. While I was able to catch a fish, I soon learned that this pastime is more than about catching fish. It’s about the friendships that develop and the confidence that comes from knowing you can walk into a lake and have a better than even chance of walking out with dinner – and a story.

This is still one of the best times I’ve had, as a reporter and as an Oklahoma man.

Me and “Bubba” after our teamwork brought in this 15 pounder. I thought it was a big one.

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(From Aug. 22, 2009) Part I

AS THE OLD SAYING GOES, “YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE CRAZY, BUT IT HELPS.”

Especially If You Go Noodling

 BY SCOTT RAINS • STAFF WRITER

Baggett is a Southwest Oklahoma legend in a world where your fingertips are the bait and hook to catch a monster catfish. He and his uncle, Red, are among the noodlers profiled in the documentary movies “Okie Noodling” and “Okie Noodling II.” They are considered pioneers who helped push for the sport’s legalization in Lawton lakes during the mid-1980s.

In preparation for the 10th Annual Okie Noodling Tournament last month in Pauls Valley, Baggett and his noodlin’ team scoured the holes they know throughout Southwest Oklahoma’s in search of the big one for the tournament. Prime noodling season runs from mid-May to mid-July.

Two days before the tournament, I rode along in hopes of finding out exactly what it means to get “bit.” We were joined by Johnnie Lively, Duke Nelson, Rodney Barmettler and Josh Strange for the day’s search of locales.

They say you have to be a little bit crazy to blindly stick your hand in a hole hidden by the brownest Oklahoma waters — visibility is an impossibility. Whoever they are, they’re probably right.

Baggett has spent close to the last 30 years checking holes, creeping around submerged concrete and rock piles and digging his fingers into clay embankments and submerged tree trunks in search of the big fish found in the murkiest of hiding places. His personal record is a 62-pound flathead he caught a couple of years back. He offered some useful tips before jumping in feet first.

While using your hands is the best-known aspect of noodling, the key to a good catch begins with a good foot block once you find a hole, Baggett said. A pair of sneakers or water shoes are a must — a dangling foot often will instigate a bite and the uncertain surface below water can cause you to get chewed up pretty quickly.

“You always want to block the hole because you don’t know what he’s going to do,” Baggett said.

David Baggett hauls out a monster cat during a prior fishing endeavor.

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Baggett’s favorite catch are the large flatheads. If you want to have a little fun, he said, the channel and blue catfish are known scrappers.

“Those blues, they’re the bulldogs of catfish,” Baggett said. “They’ll bite ya’ and try and strip away some hide.”

Is there a special technique. It’s simple, Baggett: Stick your arm into the hole.

“Once you get down into that hole, they are going to bite you,” he said.

When the fish clamps down, depending on its size, you have options. If the fish is small enough, you grab its mouth with both hands and lift it out of the water. With bigger fish, you may be able to push your hand through the gills to get a hold. But remember that catfish gills are sharp, so be careful. Once the fish is brought up, another noodler will run a stringer through the fish’s mouth and gills “and then we’ll pretty much let it do its thing,” Baggett said.

With that basic knowledge shared, Baggett asked one last question: “Do you know how to swim? ‘Cause that’s kind of important.”

(In the interest of full disclosure, I underwent years of summer swim lessons and, while never becoming a shark, far exceeded minnow class standards and graduated a capable swimmer.)

A truckload of adventurous Okies — boat in tow — trekked into the shoreline of Lake Ellsworth at Edgewater Park and quickly concentrated on a concrete slab jutting from the water like a man-made iceberg crashed into terra. Lively, Nelson, Barmettler and Strange positioned themselves in the water around the slab and reached underneath to search for a soft-dug entry for the bottom-feeding fish. A secure holler under a big slab like this offers the fish a relatively secure spot to nest and lay eggs. A wily angler with a good grip will find this hole and a battle will begin.

The first slab only offered tips on what makes a good hole. If the soft sand entry of an underwater cavern has the feel of being wallowed out, there’s a good chance something is, has been or soon will be there. These empty holes await a cat.

Baggett’s boat next traveled to a nesting area further out in the lake. Baggett remembered holes he’d seen there years before when waters were lower. Such a hands-on form of fishing leads the noodler to an intimate knowledge of the lake and it’s unseeable underwater secrets.

Noodling tends to take you to odd places where you stick your hands in and hope to get bit.

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Along the clay bank and stretched across a perimeter of small trees rising above the waterline, the team spread out. To scour a 50-yard-long and 40-yard-wide berth would be a good afternoon for one or two noodlers. With long poking sticks in hand and focusing on each step in the chest-deep water, the noodlers poked and prodded the holes and possibilities within a half hour — all to no avail.

One of the tools in Baggett’s tackle box is his cell phone. Baggett is a go-to source for many noodlers with questions ranging from legal fishing spots to possible hot spots. A tip led the team to an old boat landing on the lake’s south side about 8 p.m. Following an afternoon of temperatures well over 100 degrees, the balmy dusk brought sweet relief; and the location brought one more opportunity. The team was joined by other noodlers who swelled the number to nine sets of hands ready to work.

Eventually, they found a honey pot outcropping of underwater concrete with holes aplenty. Baggett and Lively quickly discovered the feel of fish inside.

“That felt like a big one,” Baggett said.

They found their way to the edge of the concrete, 18 feet positioned to block any openings around the large slab. Each noodler took dives underwater to the wallowed-out ledge four to five feet below. Those with sticks poked and prodded the promised fish towards waiting hands and feet.

Baggett pushed the fish my way. After Nelson dropped below the surface, I dived, blowing the air from lungs enough so I could sink, hands feeling and gripping for the concrete until I reached the hole. With eyes closed in the murkiness, my arm made it mid-wrist inside when my hand touched the flex and slime of a cat in the hole. Reflex pulled my arm back midway before adrenaline rushed my fingers back inside, only to feel the flurry of a thrash of the tail as it sped along a hidden corridor toward another waiting noodler.

To break the surface and taste air after the moment’s excitement was both sweet and frustrating: sweet because after the first reflex, I reached for the fish; frustrating because it evaded my grasp.

The sky turned night blue, illuminated by the moon and stars. Nine grown men surrounded an underwater slab of concrete with the promise of one, or possibly two, big catfish underneath. The depth of the holes allowed the noodlers to stay anchored in place between dives. Baggett and Lively had a large fish caught between their holes in a game of ping-pong that lasted for what seemed forever. The sound of an underwater concussion fired the noodlers up to hang in there longer. I wanted to see what could shake my senses with a thunderous thump of the tail — or snapping shut of the jaws — that shared my space in the murky water. The phantom remained just a fingertip out of arm’s reach. I heard a sound much like being underwater in a swimming pool when Fort Sill’s artillery is blazing — except you can feel something alive is close.

“That’s what we call underwater thunder,” Lively said. “That’s how we know we got a big one.”

The allure of the fish kept the reporter and noodlers in the water as the water temperature dropped. Any fleeting thoughts of quitting were quashed when a fisherman returned to surface, gulped that first breath of air and said, “I felt him.”

It had to have been after 11 p.m. when I next touched the fish we’d begun to call “Big Daddy.” I dived several times, my monkey-like right arm fully extended deep into the hole, harnessed into a groove of sand and water-softened concrete. I was a cold novice eager for a story and freezing in a womb warmed by moonlight, desperately wanting that bite.

During a random dive after many failed before, my hand felt something big. Fumbling fingers found the now-familiar ledge and, as I reached inside, barely mid-forearm deep, my hand landed atop the head of a fish. I began to cradle what felt like an enormous forehead and a dorsal fin raked against my elbow. In my mind, a light finally illuminated the ledge I’d spent so long learning and I “saw” the slimy green beast I now wanted so badly to bite my hand.

“Th-Boom!” sounded a crash in the water; another hand reached to grab its tail. Underwater thunder pounded through my ears and, as suddenly as it came, the image in my mind was gone and I raced upward for a breath. At that point, the motion of my head breaking above the water synchronized with my feet, which re-entered the hole to block an escape.

So close. So very close. Close enough the novice noodler returned several more times to lay motionless with fully extended arm in hopes of enticing a bite … in hopes of eventually receiving another brush or any other sign the battle would continue.

Cold water, common sense and wrinkled digits eventually won. It was a stalemate. Weary and water-logged, the nine noodlers emerged from the black glass lake shortly after midnight.

Except for rock-induced scratches along the arms, I was unscathed from the expedition.

But I’d answered the first question that Baggett had asked: I was ready to get bit.

I knew I’d be back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

(From Aug. 29, 2009) Part II

Reporter goes after one that got away

BY SCOTT RAINS STAFF WRITER SRAINS@LAWTON–CONSTITUTION.COM

Two weeks after the first noodling trip, David Baggett called again.

“You ready to go? I know we’ll find some fish today.”

An unhesitating “Yes” was my answer. The 14 days had passed like tar and I was ready to catch a catfish.

I met up with Baggett and was introduced to Stubbs Blanton. We were joined by Johnnie Lively and his 5-year-old son, Colby, and Baggett’s son, Karlton, 10. We loaded up and hit the road; conversation turned from sharing noodling nuances to Baggett’s penchant for restoring hot rods.

Baggett drives a boatload of handfishermen to a secret sweet spot for a shot at the elusive catfish.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Today’s spot guaranteed a bite, Baggett said. The location — a small lake southwest of Lawton — was sworn to secrecy; a mentor and a novice noodler honor the gentleman’s code. We met up with Josh Strange, Duke Nelson and Nelson’s father, Bubba. The Nelsons brought a boat for the expedition — this would be Bubba’s first noodle. No mistake that this trip would be special; you don’t get dropped into a boat with a crew of men named Bubba, Duke and Stubbs and not step away with an experience.

The noodlers found a good shoreline and broke from the boat into waist-deep water. Some took waded in, stick in hand to navigate as the blind, feeling out each next step. Baggett and Lively checked holes closer to shore walking by hand with their legs afloat in the water. The sticks prodded holes and ledges in search of life. An active hole is indicated by drastic shifts in water temperature — currents funnel cold water through channels and offer a clue that intensifies the search, Baggett said.

There was the sound of a “whomp” in the water and Duke Nelson and Strange announced that a fish was in a hole in the bank. As they blocked the hole, Baggett asked if I was ready, but he spoke to the air — I’d already taken off for the chance to catch a cat.

“When you put your hand in, let it bite down,” Baggett said.

I lay my arm into the hole with my head above water, my body supported by a jagged rock bed that tore into my flesh over the next 10 to 15 minutes. As my arm extended into the hole, the path began to curve slightly. My fingers felt the way to a widened opening and then ….

“Bam!” “Whomp!” The fish snapped my hand with its bristled, sandpaper teeth.

A chorus of laughs erupted and Baggett asked if I’d been bitten. I had been — in more ways than one.

I was frustrated; the fish was within my reach, but I couldn’t get a better hold or go any deeper. My fingers reached and grabbed the feelers, or “whiskers,” in an attempt to provoke the fish into taking a good bite so I could get a grip on it. Instead of chomping down, the catfish bit with a weird motion that caused its mouth to rotate as its body began a “death roll” much like an alligator.

The fish attempted to swim above my hand. In reaction, I pushed my hand upwards and caught the fish’s belly in my palm and its dorsal fin against the ledge top. With the fish pinned, my fingers began to creep up towards its bottom lip.

Water began to pour in from beside my shoulder to let me know that Bubba had torn into the earth to help with the capture. With the widened opening, the fish made a quick lunge. I offered one more palm punch to its gut and pinned it against the muddy roof. The fish made a strange sound as its mouth opened wide at the top of the water and Bubba said, “I’m gonna grab it.”

“Whoosh!” From beside my head, two hands reached in and grabbed the fish’s mouth, ripping the cat from the hole. We quickly got a stringer together, in the mouth and out the gills of the fish before letting it thrash around in the water to tire out as we celebrated the catch.

Baggett’s experienced hands lifted the stringer and he said we’d caught a flathead catfish weighing between 12-15 pounds. Nowhere near one of the terrifyingly huge monsters you see on TV, but a pretty good catch for a couple of first-timers working together. There’s a crazy satisfaction in seeing the fish you’d just helped pull from the murk fill the boat’s storage tank with its bulk.

“You’re only as good as the guys you’re with,” Baggett said. “Most of the time, it takes more than one person to bring in a fish.”

Prune-like, water-saturated and blood-stained fingers displayed the spiraled bites brought home from battle. Knowing that in a pinch you can walk into a lake and find dinner is strangely fulfilling. New scars are badges to having survived and acquired a new skill.

We loaded into the boat and checked more locations for catfish. We found a hole about 3½- feet deep when another telltale “whomp” echoed. Lively and I took turns diving into the hole, which was open enough for most of my trunk and an extended arm to reach. Bubba worked to block the hole and Stubbs checked for any other exits. Both men kept their eyes on the air bubbles of the noodlers below.

Lively asked Bubba and me to push him down into the water so he wouldn’t blow out his air during submersion. With our hands on Lively’s shoulders, we were able to read his movements to know if he’d found something.

I felt him emerge from the hole with a fish, and I dropped below the surface. Lively’s hands gripped its mouth and I pushed the cat against his body. With thumbs in its mouth, Lively tried to press his fingers into the gills. Bubba sensed trouble and pulled the diver from the water. I rose from the murk to see a flathead — slightly smaller than the one we’d caught — flying through the air my way and made a fruitless attempt to catch the catapulting fish.

Needless to say, what good fishing story doesn’t involve at least one that got away?

The one that didn’t get away is me. I’ve taken the lessons learned from Baggett, Lively and the crew and have begun to teach them to a friend. The lesson about teamwork stand out — trust is essential. We want to be good partners when next May rolls around; that’s when the cats return to the wallows.

When I spoke to Baggett a few weeks later, I filled him in on my growing fancy for noodling. By now I’ve begun to carry my poking stick and lake shoes in the car — just in case.

Baggett, laughing, verified that I’d been bit.

“I hate to tell you this, but you’re a noodler now,” he said.

The hand of a reporter who knew he’d been bit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One of the best parts to fishing is the stories that come from it. No good journey is complete without a side track.

(Also from Lawton Constitution Aug. 29, 2009)

Fisherman answers question: Do locusts taste like Slim Jims?

BY SCOTT RAINS  STAFF WRITER SRAINS@LAWTON–CONSTITUTION.COM

Stubbs Blanton took one for the team and answered an odd question while on the noodling expedition.

“Do locusts taste like Slim Jims?”

Duke Nelson had playfully antagonized Blanton the whole afternoon, telling the senior fisherman that locusts taste just like Slim Jims — he’d tried it and he knew.

Shells with ready-to-emerge critters hung from the lake shoreline’s brush like heavy ornaments awaiting plucking. Ready to call the younger noodler on his bluff, Blanton plucked a couple of the bright green locusts from their shells during the day’s last walk to the boat. Once aboard, he began plucking the legs and wings from the first, now thumb-size insect in his hand. With a grin that rounded his white whiskers upwards and eyes twinkling, Blanton’s resemblance was equal parts Ernest Hemingway and Santa Claus.

“Pop!” The bug went in his mouth and a boatload of noodlers let out a collective groan before doubling over in laughter.

“Stubbs,” Nelson said, “you do know I was kidding, right?”

As a connoisseur, Blanton offered information about locusts’ protein value and flavor while he prepared the second morsel for munching. With words coated in honey, he spoke as if the verse about John the Baptist in the Bible — “…. and his food was locusts and wild honey” — was written about him.

It’s rare that a group of men cry around each other. The boat ride to shore was filled with tears of laughter. All aboard said it was water spray from the prow.

Once ashore, Blanton offered his critic’s assessment to the locust’s flavor; he’d never eaten locust before.

“No, it didn’t taste like a Slim Jim; it didn’t really taste like much of anything.”

Stubbs savors the flavor – or lack thereof – of a locust as a boatload of shirtless noddlers groan and laugh.

My 2-Cents * I’ve been that kid and I’m not black

I’ve held off on commenting about the Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman case for a while. Haven’t felt it truly my place but since the trial’s conclusion, I thought I’d put in my thoughts.

Why not? Every other pseudo-intellectual windbag has taken a turn so here goes. I’m so sick of groups taking this case, this issue, and using it for their own agenda.

This isn’t about race or even really about generational differences. This is about right and about wrong.

In my viewpoint, the nosy Neighborhood Watch man lost his stand your ground rights the second he got out of his car against directions to the contrary by a dispatcher and followed the kid on foot. For all the comments about the kid throwing the first punch or being the aggressor, all I have to say is: it’s moot.

Put your self in the kid’s sneakers:

Walking back to his dad’s through the neighborhood and he notices he’s being followed by some strange man. Armed with Skittles and tea, a teenager was stalked by a glorified Gladys Kravitz (remember Bewitched?) armed with a gun and a knowledge of how to “stand his ground.”

Don’t we warn our children about that kind of thing?

I still don’t understand how the person who actually stood their ground ends up dead and it’s “OK.” A trigger pulled by a guy wanting to wear the white hat, not good enough to be a real cop. They advise Neighborhood Watch persons to not be armed. He called the police, let them do their job.

I’ve been that teenager. Sure, I’m white but I know what it’s like to be the one people are keeping an eye on, simply due to appearance. According to the jury’s decision, a couple of times I was put under similar circumstances in my youth, I should justifiably be dead.

Being one of the few long-haired punk rock/metal kids in my Southwest Oklahoma home-town of Duncan during the late 80s-early 90s, I was afforded the “right” of facing extra scrutiny everywhere I went because of how I dressed. My lack of a car at the time meant I had to walk a lot of places. I wasn’t a criminal, I was just a kid.

Twice before the age of 20, while walking down the street or on a sidewalk (time limits my memory of the exact locations) I was approached by someone with the intention of acting a cop while, in fact, not being a cop.

I’m an American. If I haven’t done anything illegal, you don’t have the right to touch me. Follow all you like but knowing I was being followed caused me to take elusive walking maneuvers.

Because I tried to avoid the situation, does that make me suspicious? To someone with blinders on, I suppose so. I thought I was doing what I was told: try to avoid conflict if at all possible.

Twice when a strange hand grabbed me without provocation because being elusive was equated with guilt, I returned the favor with fingers in balled up form. I don’t like being touched unless I open that door first. When unwanted contact was made, I stood my ground. Someone’s blood was shed. Noses do that when you punch them.

Did I deserve to be shot for walking home? For wearing a Misfits T-shirt and combat boots while I walked home? For being 18-19 and responding to an overly-aggressive “goody-good” with the words “Fuck You” and a fist?

In Florida, I guess I would.

I have no issues with guns and gun ownership. I wish people on both sides of the debate weren’t total assholes about that issue. The 2nd Amendment has a very important reason for being there.

But I wish more people wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss, oh, say, the 1st Amendment so they can get all gooey about the 2nd. Remember, free speech is 1st for a reason. The 2nd is there to back up the 1st.

This isn’t about guns. This is about people overstepping their bounds.

I had someone try to argue with me that my opinion would be tantamount to a rape victim not being allowed to shoot her assailant while attacked.

Bullshit.

I counter this with the equalization that Zimmerman was the rapist in this scenario and when his intended, Martin, fought back and got the upperhand, that the instigator gets to “feel threatened” and pull a trigger.

I guess the meek will truly inherit the earth at this rate. Because, apparently, if you can stand up for yourself, on your own two feet and without a weapon other than your fists, it’s considered not fair.

If George Zimmerman was scared for his life that night in February 2012 it’s because he got in over his head. Instead of taking the consequences of his overreach, he took a gun and killed a kid.

I could’ve been that kid.

This isn’t even about race. This is about right and about wrong.

One day it could be your kid. Remember that.

To Dance Is To Live * Comanche Homecoming 2013

Comanche Nation celebrates homecoming

BY SCOTT RAINS STAFF WRITER

SRAINS@LAWTON-CONSTITUTION. COM

Scott Rains/staff
Comanche fancy dancers will transfer during next weekend’s homecoming powwow in Walters from the Carmike Cinemas’ red carpet to the Cotton County red earth. Solid prize money offered is a guarantee of quality dancing talent to be on hand beginning Friday night.

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Members of the nearly 16,000 strong Comanche Nation return to Walters next week to celebrate the 61st annual homecoming celebration in Sultan Park.
With a flair fitting for the people known as the Lords of the Plains, the event offers visitors colorful insight into a Comanche tradition that long predates this event.
Lawton is the location of the nation’s headquarters and the Wichita Mountains’ foothills are considered “home.” But next week, the winding banks of East Cache Creek that snake through the park will be alive with the Comanche heart and soul.
Each warm greeting by a newly arriving member of the Numunuu Nation re-establishes generations-old bonds; each pound of the drum echoes the beat of the people’s lifeblood. This is the time that many bands return to their roots and become one again.

Scott Rains/staff
Comanche princess dazzle the red carpet and are sure to shine in the central dance grounds of Walters’ Sultan Park next weekend during the 61st Annual Comanche Homecoming. All tribal princesses are encouraged to participate in the festivities.

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Camping sites are already being staked out as families prepare to move into the grounds over the next week and rekindle times past. While the old gathering grounds of Comancheria are memories, the Cotton County seat has become a yearly social point for the nation to come together, honor its warriors and dance.
The homecoming’s beginnings date from the time before members of the Comanche Nation were recorded as citizens of the United States. Longstanding tradition called for returning warriors to tell of war feats at a ceremonial gathering, but the veterans who fought for the United States in World War I — Bruce Tomah, Frank Red Elk Atetewuthakewa and Woon-er-vetah Will (Henry) Permansu — were never afforded that honor. Their tales are lost to time.
Following the end of World War II and the return of those serving in the military, the first homecoming was held in the summer of 1946. Four returning Comanche Code Talkers were honored that year — Elgin Red Elk, Melvin Permansu, Willie Yackeschi and Roderick Atetewuthtakewa Red Elk.
With their tales from the European front, these warriors were honored as heroes. And they danced as their forefathers danced.
Dancing has continued for 60 years since. With feathers awhirl, beads and jingles shaking and clanging, all forms of traditional dances stepped by buckskin-clad feet moving spiritedly on the earthen grounds lie ahead this week. As long as the people dance, the people live, and so does the culture.
The Numunuu’s social culture is integral to their existence. Community and communion are staples to the bonds formed through generations of bands bound by blood.

Scott Rains/staff
The young men dancers offer the fanciest steps during the red carpet premier of The Lone Ranger last month in Lawton. Dance competitions this weekend during the homecoming powwow in Walters will offer dashing color to the Cotton County landscape.

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An intrinsic part of the Comanche warrior’s path would be the eagle dance before going to war. The golden eagle is the raptor kin to the Comanche people, according to lore, and personifies the fierce and beautiful qualities by which both are described. Their connection is entwined.
Historian Ernest Wallace wrote of the Comanche dancers moving like they “were young eagles attempting to leave their nest and parental care in order to soar away, masters of the sky” and songs offered imitation of eagle cries instead of singing.
Between the dances, Wallace said, individual warriors from prior campaigns would rush into the dance circle and tell of outstanding coups performed and dazzling deeds from prior engagements. These are the traditions brought back to life each July in Walters.
Western artist George Catlin’s written observations while with the Comanches in 1857 noted this as he wrote of their love of conversation and sense of humor.
His description of the Comanches during a gathering was that they were “… the graceful, conversational, garrulous, story-telling and happy” and spoke of their celebration filled with “wooing their sweethearts and embracing their little ones about their peaceful and endeared fire-sides.”
Save for the type of dwellings set up at the campsite, Catlin’s description of a 19th century encampment bears close resemblance to the modern homecoming:
“Present altogether, one of the most picturesque scenes to the eye of a stranger, that can possibly be seen; and far more wild and vivid than could ever be imagined.”

Wagon carries Cyril centenarian to her final resting place * Leaving the way she arrived (from 2007)

Before I began in 2005 at The Lawton Constitution, I’d been the publisher/editor/staff/delivery boy of The Cyril News in Caddo County. Learned what it really takes to be a newsman in that little town. It was home. Will always be so.

One of my readers, Ruth Coleman, was a wonderful woman and interesting conversation when she’d stop by the shop. It wasn’t that often but I always was happy for a hello. I was sad to hear of her passing.

But when told how she was being celebrated, I returned “home” and brought back this story from the Oct. 25, 2007 edition of The Constitution.

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CYRIL — When Ruth Coleman took a south turn onto U.S. 277, she left town the same way she came — riding in a covered wagon on her way to a new home.

 This time, her home is her final resting place — Cyril’s Celestial Gardens Memorial Cemetery.

 The first time through Cyril’s city limits, she was the 3-year-old daughter of Elmer and Ora Hollarn and rode in a covered wagon. The family moved to the then-new town of Cyril from their home in Agra in 1908.

 Coleman’s funeral procession Wednesday was led by a a two-horse team of Percheron horses, black as a moonless night, hitched to a covered wagon. Driven and owned by Steve Tevebaugh of Comanche, this was his first time to drive his team in a funeral. “I’ve done weddings and proms, festivals,” he said, “but never a funeral before.”

 The family and friends followed in solemn procession behind the creakywheeled transport carrying the body of the centenarian, who had died Monday at her home in town. During the funeral service in the filled First Christian Church sanctuary, Coleman’s relationship to almost everyone in this Caddo County town of about 1,000 was celebrated.

 “How does one begin to tell the story of a woman who lived 102 years?” asked the Rev. Kirk Smithers.

 A graduate of the old Indian Hills Country School southwest of town, Ruth married Hugh Coleman and the couple moved to Cyril where they both worked for the schools. Later, she worked at the hospital and also served as town clerk. Tears flowed from the many friends who grew up under her guidance — many of whom are considered town elders today.

 The couple were the parents of renowned Western Swing “fiddle” player Keith Coleman. The haunting strains of his instrument wafted through speakers, creating a musical soliloquy of sweet melody and sadness that formed a sonic narrative to a life lived to the full.

 Gene Metcalf told of growing up with the young Keith Coleman during the Dust Bowl days. The two boys put wet washcloths over their mouths and ventured into the storm only to return to the Coleman house, where Ruth cleaned up their exposed faces, which were, by then, mud brown.

 A slide show of pictures from her life began with a photo of the infant Ruth, taken before Oklahoma was a state. Through the presentation, captured moments spanning the town and state’s history — Ruth Coleman’s lifetime — flashed onto the screen.

 One photo was greeted by needed laughs from the grieving. The image was of the full-of-life great-great-grandmother at her 100th birthday. On her lap sat a cake full of more candles than icing. Overshadowing the glow of the candles was the smile of a happy woman. The final picture was taken during the town’s centennial celebration last month. In it, Coleman beamed while wearing a crown after being named the town’s centennial queen.

 Coleman was close to her seven great-grandchildren — Jeremy Walters, Matt Walters, Jason Simmons, Amber Wilson, Keila Simmons, Luke Walters and Clayton Brown — Metcalf said. They served as her pallbearers, helping their great grandmother on her way home.

 The long procession of cars that slid slowly into line behind the buckboard hearse were a testament to the family and community ties that had been forged over Coleman’s long life: She left Cyril with more than when she arrived.

Old Married Man Song * a haiku

I’d walk one hundred

miles for a camel just to

get you off my back.

The Story of Millie Durgan * Beyond “The Searchers”

I was fortunate enough to be able to share this amazing story of a Kiowa captive. Sure, it’s been told before but this was to be the first time told from the Native American side of things. If you’ve ever seen “The Searchers,” this is its source story … but way cooler.

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Courtesy photo
A rare photo of Millie Durgan late in her life. She was taken in 1864 from her Texas home at 18 months and lived a lifetime as a Kiowa woman before passing in 1934.
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The Legend of Millie Durgan

BY SCOTT RAINS/STAFF WRITER SRAINS@LAWTON–CONSTITUTION.COM

The tale of Millie Durgan is one woven from the fabric of many stories.

Elements have been told through time, including in the noted book “The Searchers,” which inspired a movie that starred John Wayne.

But Candy Kauley Morgan, a descendant of Millie Durgan, said this is the first time the Native American — specifically, Kiowa — story has been told.

 

Scott Rains/staff
A historical sign sharing Millie Durgan’s story was put in place on Oklahoma 19 approximately 20 years ago.

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“I am the great-great-granddaughter of Kiowa captive Millie Durgan,” Morgan said. “She was 18 months old when Kiowa warriors raided her grandmother’s ranch, where she was living with her Irish family in 1864 near Fort Belknap, Texas.”

The saga begins shortly before the end of the Civil War. It takes place during a peak in the battle between Native Americans who had been living on this continent for centuries and an encroaching new nation.

On Oct. 13, 1864, several hundred Kiowa and Comanche Indians raided home sites in the Elm Creek valley of western Young County, Texas. The Fitzpatrick Ranch was one. It belonged to Durgan’s grandmother and was where the baby was living with her grandmother, her mother and older sister, Charlottie, Morgan said. A family of freed slaves also lived on the ranch.

Courtesy photo
Millie Durgan’s oldest sister, Charlottie following her return from less than a year as a Kiowa captive. She had tribal tattoos on her face and arms but was able to assimilate back into Texas society.

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During the attack, the Kiowas killed Millie Durgan’s mother and a member of the ranch hand’s family, then took anything of value and set the ranch house on fire, Morgan said. One of the warriors returned to the house as it was burning and found little Millie crawling out from under a bed.

“That man was Au-Soant-Sai-Mah, a noted Kiowa warrior and a partner of Kiowa chief Set-Ankeah (Sitting Bear) or Satank,” Morgan said. “Both of these men were members of the Ko-eet-senko, a warrior society composed of the 10 bravest members of the tribe.”

Au-Soant-Sai-Mah and his wife were childless, so he put Millie on his horse and took her back to their camp and she became their daughter.

“He picked her up and saw her frightened gray eyes and his sympathy and interest was aroused; he thought of his wife and decided to take the girl home,” Morgan said. “He held her in his arms, took her on his horse and cared for her on the long furious dash back to the Wichitas.”

“Millie’s mother, Sue, and a son of Mary Johnson were killed during the raid,” she said.

Durgan’s grandmother, Elizabeth Ann Anderson Carter Fitzpatrick; uncle; oldest sister Charlottie (Lottie) Elizabeth Durgan; and four people from the ranch hand’s family — Mary Johnson and her three children: Jube, Lottie and John, were also captured by the Kiowas — Morgan said. Millie’s uncle was eventually killed. Within a year her grandmother and Lottie were returned. The girl had tribal tattoos on her face and arms. They assimilated back into their lives as settlers, Morgan said. Durgan, however, became Kiowa.

 

Public domain image
John Wayne’s character, Britt Johnson in the movie “The Searchers,” was based on Mary Johnson’s husband, a freed slave and ranch foreman, who was instrumental in obtaining the release of the captives other than Millie Durgan from the Elm Creek raid in 1864.

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In the movie, John Wayne’s character, Britt Johnson, was based on Mary Johnson’s husband, who was instrumental in obtaining the release of the captives, Morgan said.

“He (Johnson) traded food blankets and other things for the release of his wife and children, Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Lottie (Millie’s grandma and sister),” Morgan said. “That movie is thought to be about Cynthia Ann Parker, but actually the producers researched several stories about captures, including my great-great-grandmother’s story.”

Durgan led a remarkably different existence than most Kiowa captives, Morgan said.

“It was customary that captives lead a rather hard life and were not much better off than slaves — that wasn’t the case for Millie,” Morgan said. “She was adopted into the tribe and treated well by her new family.”

J.T. Goombi, another Durgan descendant, told how Durgan received her Kiowa name of Sain-To Hoodle. “That means ‘She Killed A Cow,’” Goombi said. “Kids stirred up the livestock and they came running through camp and she grabbed one around the neck and, I guess, she killed it trying to hold it still.”

Identity concealed

Durgan was raised among traditional Kiowa customs, and Kiowa was the only language she knew, Morgan said. She married a Kiowa named Goombi and her true identity was not known until three years before her death in 1934. Goombi was a scout with Troop L, 7th Cavalry, stationed at Fort Sill. Goombi — also Goomby or Gumby — was her third husband. He was born in 1849 and died in 1908, and from their union came eight children: Mary, Minnie, Jennie, Lillian, Jane, Ellen, Mary and Joseph. Morgan is a descendant of Ellen. Durgan’s first marriage was to Pe-ahtone-ty. They were married in the Kiowa custom and did not have any children, Morgan said. He died before allotment. Her second marriage was to Maun-kau-pate and he also died. They had one son, Au-tau-bo, also known as George Goomby.

J.T. Goombi said Durgan’s light skin and fair hair color were things she hid about herself through most of her life. She would peel green walnut shells and rub the inside onto her skin to stain it darker. When she went in public to deal with white people, she would cover herself with a blanket to remain barely visible underneath.

The Rainy Mountain Indian Baptist Church near Mountain View is where Durgan’s spiritual legacy was forged for her generations to follow, Morgan said.

“When the Baptist missionaries came to Rainy Mountain she refused to take up their religion,” Morgan said. “She was brought up in the Indian religion and had a firm belief in the old idols and medicines.”

Legacy of faith

The Baptist missionaries wooed her with the sewing circles that took place in the fellowship hall, Morgan said. She enjoyed the activity and she was quilting at the church well before she ever became a Christian, she said. That conversion had an effect on the family line as several teachers, including Morgan’s father, Reuben Kauley, have become preachers.

“All her children adopted the Christian religion and at the death of her youngest son she became a Christian so she could meet her children in the afterlife,” Morgan said. “Her legacy is my family’s faith.”

Scott Rains/staff
Millie Durgan’s grave in the Rainy Mountain KCA Cemetery is shaded under a cedar tree’s broad trunk and hovering canopy that stands as timeless as her story.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Reunion to link long-separated branches of Durgan family tree

BY SCOTT RAINS

 STAFF WRITER SRAINS@LAWTON–CONSTITUTION.COM

MOUNTAIN VIEW — A tale of two sisters will write a new chapter this weekend in the Kiowa homelands near Rainy Mountain.

A reunion more than a century in the making is set for the family of Kiowa captive Millie Durgan Goombi and the descendants of her Irish family. The meeting will take place during the 2013 Durgan Family Reunion, Friday through Sunday, at Rainy Mountain Kiowa Indian Baptist Church near Mountain View.

“When Millie was captured, I guess today you’d call it kidnapping, she had a 7- or 8-year-old sister, Charlottie,” said J.T. Goombi, a descendant of Durgan.

Millie’s grandmother, uncle, sister, and people from the ranch hand’s family were also captured by the Kiowas during a raid in the Elm Creek valley of West Texas in 1864. Within a year her grandmother and sister, Charlottie, were returned. The sisters never reunited.

Descendants of both Millie and Charlottie’s families will have their first personal meeting at the Durgan Reunion, said Candy Kauley Morgan, great-great-granddaughter of Durgan. James Hewitt of Roseburg, Ore., and Jerrianne Meyers of Kernville, Calif., are the great-grandchildren of Charlottie.

 

Scott Rains/staff
Florence Emhoolah, J.T. Goombi and L.B. Poor Buffalo gather around a table filled with old family photos one recent Saturday as they and other family members helped prepare the Rainy Mountain Kiowa Baptist Church and cemetery grounds for this weekend’s family reunion.

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A connection via Facebook with Hewitt brought them into contact with their long-unknown kin.

“They have spent years researching their Kiowa cousins and will represent Charlottie’s side of the family at the reunion,” Morgan said. “A full three days of events are planned and family members are encouraged to camp at the church.”

Durgan’s descendants are looking forward to sharing their story — a Kiowa story — with the prodigal brethren.

Goombi, Morgan, L.B. Poor Buffalo and Florence Emhoolah gathered around a table filled with old family photos one recent Saturday as they and other family members helped prepare the church and cemetery grounds for reunion.

“When you talk about her real story, all you have is a collective of stories told by others,” Goombi said. “I never got to see her or interact with her.”

“Old people didn’t like to talk about those who passed on; they considered it taboo,” he said. “We had a lot of taboos.”

The idea of meeting these newly discovered relatives offers hope of learning more about who they are in a different way.

“That’s going to be interesting,” Goombi said. “Maybe there are more pieces to the puzzle.”

 

Scott Rains/staff
J.T. Goombi remembers the large three story house as being the central hub for his Kiowa family growing up. Crumbling in a wheat field outside of Mountain View, the frame offers flights of thought to visions of a grand structure bustling with life not so many decades ago.

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They remembered a large, three-story house on the other side of Rainy Mountain. In the traditional ways, cousins were considered siblings and elder relatives were parents.

“That’s where we all come from,” Poor Buffalo said. “We were there all the time, getting caught by Grandma getting into the cellar or sneaking into the attic — kids didn’t go up there.”

“It seemed to me to be the biggest house in the world,” he said.

Goombi remembers a big wedding that took place in the large front room, the dining room filled with a Beverly Hillbillies-size table. A bride walked up an enormous staircase into this mansion on the prairie.

In the cut, wet wheat, some Kiowa kids beat Wrigley to the punch and created their own kind of spearmint chewing gum.

“We’d take some of that cut wheat and wild mint that grew out there by the well and chew it,” Goombi said. “We made spearmint gum first. We were creative.”

A trip out to the homestead reveals a crumbling concrete structure in the middle of a field east of Mountain View. The large, columnar walls rise exposed amid a sea of freshly harvested wheat, its rusty rebar red from exposure to time. You can still imagine its grandeur when you walk up to it and take in its full scale.

The stories live on through the elders and the younger generations finding who they are. In the age of the Internet, some connections are more easily made than in the past.

 

Scott Rains/staff
The Rainy Mountain Indian Baptist Church near Mountain View is where Millie Durgan’s spiritual legacy was forged for generations to follow. It will be the site for this weekend’s family reunion activities.

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Morgan said it was finding Hewitt online and their following correspondence that kicked the idea of the reunion into gear. He has family history and records to share, as do the many descendants of Durgan. The family now numbers around 500, she said.

As her descendants stood near Durgan’s grave in the Rainy Mountain Cemetery west of the church, a cedar tree’s broad trunk and hovering canopy stood as timeless as this story — a reunion of a family split apart and ready to reunite almost a century and a half later. Following the family split, many from the white side believed the lost girl had died.

“There are stories of Millie dying in infancy, or some variation of that,” Morgan said. “But that can’t be. Look at us, we’re right here. We’re her family.”

A Tale of Two Flags * sometimes you go with the poetry/floetry

I was on my way back to the office last night when I noticed how muggy the air was. I looked up and saw a flag draped, almost smothering its pole and a half block away and several stories higher, another flag expanded in the stiff northeastern breeze. Inspiration hit. That and the urge to one up a staff photographer with a flag fetish. He takes many flag photos. But I don’t believe he’s had two in one shot. Bingo!

Scott Rains/staff
As dark skies move in over Lawton Wednesday evening, a tale of two flags was told on West Gore Boulevard. As the flag latched limply against the pole in the yard at Community Escrow and Title on the corner of Northwest 3rd and Gore Boulevard, a northeastern wind ruffled and expanded the large flag at the intersection of 2nd Street, displaying the best of times by virtue of cool breeze in the upper atmosphere. Meanwhile, closer to earth, the worst of times was felt in the muggy air evident by the smaller flag.