Buffalo Spirit Articles - First Issue Welcome on our journey Elder Joe Cardinal - In his own words Devalon Small Legs - cultural advisor A case made for unusual, thought-provoking art Who do you go to for advice? Oglala Sioux man writes to set the record straight Listen and you will learn Make an offering to the Elder Advice from the powwow trail Sweetgrass Making the connection The healing dance - the arena director The man in two worlds The First Horses

Phone: (780) 455-2700Fax (780) 455-7639 Email: edwind@ammsa.com Devalon Small Legs, cultural advisor First of all I'd like to say that I'm not an Elder. I'm many, many years from that. I have experienced the traditional way of life through many Elders, through many medicine men, through many spiritual leaders, and I guess that's where I've gotten my knowledge from. . . When I was a boy. . . I was in my mother's womb. I believe that was where I was. And I would hear these things rolling. I had this dream continuously 'til I was about 10. But I believe that dream was when I was in my mother's womb. I would see a light, and I would wonder about what this light was. I'm not that old too. I'm only 45 years old. When we were young, we still lived in the log home and horse and buggy days. That was just the tail end of them in 1954. The train was the main piece of transportation that went through the reservation, down on the Peigan. And when I was very young, I seen things. This is before my third and fourth birthday, I seen things in the bush that we lived in. And I didn't know if they were real and I didn't know if. . . .I just thought they were part of the landscape. I thought they were part of everything . . . . One day, me and my brother, he was a little older than I was, there was a fence in front of us that separated us from what we call the bull pasture. We seen all these horses come running out. They ran along the fence. They ran back into the bush. We seen this Indian. He had a breech-cloth on, moccasins. He was running. Ran along the fence, chasing those horses. . . . The next thing, we look up again and the horses come through. But him, he was riding on the last one. He was chasing them. We're looking at him. So, we figured he was a neighbor. We went in and we told my mom and we told her in the language we had at that time, we told her what we'd seen. And she says 'Never mind.' My life got hard when I was sent off to boarding school. I wasn't that old. I was six years old when I was sent off to boarding school. And I realized that there's another world out there. . . Anyways, I went there, but I didn't go there long. . . . Day school started and I went to day school for a number of years. . . . And then in 1966, my mom and dad came home one day and they were really upset. My dad was really mad. He really wanted to see us continue our education, but they were going to lock him up if he didn't allow us to go into the assimilation education program at that time. I was almost 12 years old at that time. So we went through the assimilation program so my dad wouldn't go to jail. Another significant event that happened in 1966 was we won our liquor rights here in Alberta. And that spelled the ruin of our people, from that day forward. I was too young to know what that was all about, but I knew. . . There was my brother and I, Nelson Small Legs, Jr. His nickname was Coco. Both of us got shipped off to Lethbridge and that was a world away from where we were. And we began to go to school, boarding in white homes, and going into the system. In that time between 1966 and 1972, we were into the white system. And it was a rough system. We fought every step of the way. I didn't know how to fight. I thought the majority of people were friendly, but the prejudice was thick. And, you know, at that particular age you are very vulnerable to everything. Finally we learned how to fight back and we became rough and tough. . . . And I was always in trouble. But that formed something in me, that I should always fight. Then, I believe it was in 1969 or '70 that the drinking age here in Alberta went from 21 to 18. . . . I would go home to the reservations and I would find at home there wasn't the same type of living arrangements for the people on the reserve as there was for people in the city. And I was kind of really disgusted. . . .Why are we living like this? The whole reservation was drunk - I mean, literally. The whole reservation was drunk. We had people there that owned hundreds of heads of cattle that went from two, three hundred cows to inside a year they were broke. They sold their cows for drinking. The town of Fort McLeod just about shut down completely because of alcohol, because of people passing out in the streets. . . . So those drinking years were really tough, and I decided in 1969 that I was no longer gonna be an Indian. . . . I went to the black people, and I said, 'I'm going to be a black person, because I'd seen the Black Panthers the way they were doing things. And I started to write about black people, the slavery. And I did all the stuff that there was with the black people in trying to understand what they went through. And at the end of that part of my life, I found out I wasn't black. So, that left me only one choice. That I should jump into the bottle, LSD, marijuana. I did it all . . . .I went into a depression. And in that depression I lost myself. I went into LSD too deep. I became schizophrenic. I was drunk for 18 months straight. It got to the point where my mother and dad would buy me a bottle of whiskey just to get rid of me. It was a tough time. But all along, somewhere along the line, these dreams kept coming to me. 'I have to fast. I have to be an Indian. I have to be who I'm supposed to be.' But I kept resisting it, resisting it. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know who to go to. . . . So in Aug. 23, 1973, I was at my Auntie's place. Between my Auntie's husband and I we had 12 quarts of whiskey. We were sitting there. For four days we drank. . . . . I went outside to change my Auntie's tire and I didn't know how to change it . . . .There's got to be a better life somewhere. So that night I got up and I walked home and I went away. . . . Previously to that, I had stayed in the mountains and I was just about going crazy. You know, that Dustin Hoffman, when he comes out of the bush and he's going to throw himself off the hill. That's where I was. I was just right loony. . . . I became totally obsessed with booze and drugs, anything. . . .It wasn't just me. There was a bunch of us. A person was working with some individuals in southern Alberta. His name was Don Rider, and he was a medicine man from the Eden Valley reserve. He was a Stoney. I'd gone to other Elders, but I'd never found a medicine man. I'd seen other people that had Indian religious rights and there was other people in the societies in the Blackfoot culture like the Horn Society, Buffalo Woman's Society, Brave Dogs. All those, I'd seen them all and I'd taken part in their ceremonies, but I'd never got to see a medicine man, and I was still in the state that I was. I was still wrestling with who I was. . . . So I went there. . . .When I got to his place, that's when I totally broke down. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look him in the eye and I was deadly scared. And then we went into the sweat lodge. . . and that's where grandfather Creators, they touched me. They came into my mind. It was the first time in almost six, seven years that I was able to focus on who I was as a person. He took that feeling away, he helped me heal. And from that time on I've been working at this particular way. I went back to him a few times. He had a great following. He had a lot of people going to him.... I've been a militant activist since high school, and I've been on issues throughout Indian country. I've made my positions known on various things, primarily because I've wanted, and I still want, to promote the Indian way of life and to help people, as I was helped. I believe I have something to give to other people, to help them in their lives. My first marriage was part of the struggle. I lost my family because of my abuse with alcohol. . . . I have four children from my previous marriage. Libby [his wife] and I got together in 1987 and we decided to walk this path - we sobered up first - and we walked this path, our way of life. If it wasn't for her, I don't think I'd be here. She is a great part of my life. We have three beautiful children together. We have 11 children all together, seven grandchildren. This is the life that I chose. I understand that those things that were happening to me, many years ago in my youth, that the Creator had a trail for me. And I did experience some things in my life. . . . The Elders and the spiritual leaders that I've gone to, they've all said that once you pick up the pipe to use as the instrument for the prayer ou do not pick it up for yourself, you pick it up for all mankind. . . . We have gone through many ceremonies. . . eight Sundances. Each spring we go to the mountains to fast. Everyday there is something new that we learn and it's an ongoing process. I'm not a perfect human being. I have my faults and I'm not a guru. I don't want to ever be taken in that light. I'm only a humble, human being that has been given a way to help people. Continue your journey