Post by blackcrowheart on Jan 15, 2008 11:35:39 GMT -5
In an Ancient Culture, a Team Takes Root
Monica Almeida/The New York Times
Gertrude Romero, a Dallas fan, in Acoma Pueblo, which may be the oldest
continuously occupied village in the United States.
ACOMA PUEBLO, N.M. — To the north, the Sky City casino draws
truckers off Interstate 40 with its billboard advertisements promising
loose slots and low limits.
Monica Almeida/The New York Times
Adobe buildings in Acoma Pueblo, which sits atop a 367-foot sandstone
mesa.
The New York Times
Acoma Pueblo, N.M., about 700 miles from Dallas, is a hotbed of Cowboys
fans.
To the south, the towering sandstone mesa attracts tourists to a
reservation without electricity or running water, with houses made from
adobe clay and a church built in 1629.
Gilbert Concho, a 60-year-old master potter and spiritual elder of the
Acoma tribe here, navigates these worlds. In his house, halfway between
the traditions on the reservation and the new economy of the casino, he
has transformed a spare bedroom into a shrine to the Dallas Cowboys.
It appears to have been designed by the team's owner, Jerry Jones, himself: 40 Cowboys T-shirts, 15 pairs of
socks, a dozen hats, 10 jackets, 2 blankets, a wine bottle bearing Mel
Renfro's likeness, a pennant, an ashtray and a tortilla warmer, all
awash in blue and silver.
Even here, in what the Acoma describe as the oldest continuously
occupied village in the United States, the Dallas Cowboys connect a
community fighting to maintain ancient traditions while adapting to the
modern world.
Concho worries constantly. He frets about losing the next generation to
drugs and alcohol and teenage pregnancy. He dwells on his declining
health. And he wonders, like much of America, if the pop starlet Jessica
Simpson is messing with the confidence of Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo.
"I worry we're losing our traditional ways," Concho said,
sitting on a bed in his shrine, his feet tucked into Cowboys socks and
moccasins. He abruptly switched topics. "And tell Romo to stay away
from Jessica," he said. "We have a game to win this
weekend."
Concho's ancestors settled in Acoma Pueblo around 1150. They built
their village on the mesa, 367 feet above the valley, positioned
strategically to defend against raiders. (Presumably, not the ones from
Oakland.)
The pueblo looks like a set for a Western movie. In fact, John Wayne made several films here. A Tim McGraw video
and two Toyota commercials were also shot on the mesa.
Inside the church, which was built without nails but with beams carried
30 miles from Mount Taylor, the tour guide Fred Stevens carries a knit
stocking cap with Romo's name stitched across the front.
He pointed to the oldest confessional and oldest classrooms in the
United States, to the candles that spiral 25 feet up from the altar
— red to represent their native religion, white to represent the
Catholicism of the Spanish who enslaved the people here.
Outside the mission is a cemetery, measuring 400 feet by 400 feet, and
40 feet deep. The tribe prefers the term replanted, instead of buried,
because members believe they came from the earth and will eventually
return to it. Humps of clay surround the cemetery, with eyes, noses and
ears carved into them. They are soldiers guarding the dead.
The tribe has about 3,600 members, and 10 to 15 families live year-round
in the pueblo. Theirs is a matriarchal society. The women own the houses
on the mesa, each inherited by the youngest daughter in a family.
The Acoma practice a religion heavy on song, ritual and ceremony. They
grow corn, beans and squash in the valley below. They infuse pop-culture
influences with Spanish, Mexican and Indian traditions.
The best example is the Cowboys, America's team, their favorite in
all of football. And like anywhere else, the Cowboys inspire strong
feelings.
"I hate them," said Gary Keene, another guide who lives on the
pueblo. "Too many Cowboys fans around here. The only good thing to
come out of Texas, in my opinion, was ZZ Top."
Everything in Acoma connects — the people and the traditions, the
ancestors and the spirits, the animals and the plants and the soil. Even
football.
Concho discovered the game in seventh grade. He played defensive tackle,
fullback and middle linebacker in six seasons for the varsity.
Before games, he painted stripes on his face, a red one from dark clay
on top and a shiny purple stripe on bottom. This served as a blessing
from a higher power, he said, and a reminder of his ancestors. It kept
him healthy, kept him safe.
"I always wanted to be that warrior," said Concho, whose black
hair is now flecked with gray. "Like the times when I used to think,
What was it like back then? When we were fighting the Spanish and all
that."
The Battle of Acoma started in 1598, when warriors killed 13 Spanish
soldiers. The conquistador Juan de Oñate and 70 men retaliated by
killing hundreds in the tribe. Gaspar Pérez de Villagrá described
the battle in a poem, with its descriptions of the mangled dead, pierced
flesh and quivering bodies.
After the three-day battle ended, de Oñate cut the feet off the
remaining adult men and enslaved the entire pueblo. The history of Acoma
is defined by this kind of tragedy and sadness. The people here learn of
persecution, prosecution and genocide. A resiliency remains, born from
traditions passed from one generation to the next.
Concho knows that resiliency, that sadness. He worked the graveyard
shift in the nearby uranium mines for 20 years, 2,500 feet deep inside
the shaft. He said he beat alcoholism, only to wake up 10 years ago with
an unfathomable pain in his stomach.
Two of his siblings died from Hodgkin's disease, but tests and scans
have revealed nothing so far. In his shrine, he keeps a Cowboys bag with
his medication: the insulin for his diabetes, the morphine for his pain,
the 20 pills he swallows every day.
Diabetes, alcoholism and the effects from the uranium mines are common
on the reservation.
The pain subsides for a few hours most Sundays in the fall, when the
Cowboys are on the satellite dish and Concho rests in his comfortable
green easy chair.
"Sometimes I feel down about my illness and my stomach," he
said. "I'm scared. But I always love the Cowboys. They are my
favorite team."
With the energy he still has, Concho makes the intricate pottery that
line shelves in his living room. He leads prayers. He writes songs
performed on sacred holidays. He speaks in schools and wonders, he said,
if children "really believe anymore."
He wants to ensure the traditions are passed on.
"Just like beating the drum, you know," Concho said.
"Everything must be passed down."
Including this obsession with the Cowboys.
Tina Torivio, a 36-year-old tribe member, swears she has been a Dallas
fan since birth. In high school, she dreamed of becoming a Cowboys
cheerleader. On a trip to Dallas in 1983, she begged relatives to drive
her around the empty stadium.
She watched games with her father before he died. Years later, she said,
it feels as if he is sitting next to her, shouting in spirit at the
television.
Children at school never understood. They used to ask Stevens, the
guide, Shouldn't you like the Redskins or the Chiefs? "I didn't
think Indians liked Cowboys," he said.
As the tour continued, Stevens pointed to huts where Cowboys fans live,
to stands of pottery made by women who swoon over Romo. He told stories
of catching people in cars during sacred ceremonies, listening to games.
Of villagers bringing generators to the mesa to catch the Cowboys on TV.
Of being unable to contain his excitement after the Cowboys won the
Super Bowl and his boss sending him home from work.
Of all the fans here, only Concho has made the pilgrimage of about 700
miles to Texas Stadium for a game. He went on Thanksgiving two years
ago, with tickets from a friend, the former Cowboy and author Pat
Toomay. Sheryl Crow sang the national anthem. Broncos cornerback Champ Bailey signed his book. Cowboys guard Larry Allen, his favorite player, stopped to talk.
"One of the best days of my life," Concho said.
On Wednesday, he rested on a bench at the scenic viewpoint. Several
miles behind him, the casino continued to churn out the money with which
the tribe built new schools and civic centers. Front and center, the old
village rises in the distance, a postcard in sandstone.
Caught between these worlds, Concho stared in silence across the valley.
His leather Cowboys jacket glistened in the sun.
Monica Almeida/The New York Times
Gertrude Romero, a Dallas fan, in Acoma Pueblo, which may be the oldest
continuously occupied village in the United States.
ACOMA PUEBLO, N.M. — To the north, the Sky City casino draws
truckers off Interstate 40 with its billboard advertisements promising
loose slots and low limits.
Monica Almeida/The New York Times
Adobe buildings in Acoma Pueblo, which sits atop a 367-foot sandstone
mesa.
The New York Times
Acoma Pueblo, N.M., about 700 miles from Dallas, is a hotbed of Cowboys
fans.
To the south, the towering sandstone mesa attracts tourists to a
reservation without electricity or running water, with houses made from
adobe clay and a church built in 1629.
Gilbert Concho, a 60-year-old master potter and spiritual elder of the
Acoma tribe here, navigates these worlds. In his house, halfway between
the traditions on the reservation and the new economy of the casino, he
has transformed a spare bedroom into a shrine to the Dallas Cowboys.
It appears to have been designed by the team's owner, Jerry Jones, himself: 40 Cowboys T-shirts, 15 pairs of
socks, a dozen hats, 10 jackets, 2 blankets, a wine bottle bearing Mel
Renfro's likeness, a pennant, an ashtray and a tortilla warmer, all
awash in blue and silver.
Even here, in what the Acoma describe as the oldest continuously
occupied village in the United States, the Dallas Cowboys connect a
community fighting to maintain ancient traditions while adapting to the
modern world.
Concho worries constantly. He frets about losing the next generation to
drugs and alcohol and teenage pregnancy. He dwells on his declining
health. And he wonders, like much of America, if the pop starlet Jessica
Simpson is messing with the confidence of Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo.
"I worry we're losing our traditional ways," Concho said,
sitting on a bed in his shrine, his feet tucked into Cowboys socks and
moccasins. He abruptly switched topics. "And tell Romo to stay away
from Jessica," he said. "We have a game to win this
weekend."
Concho's ancestors settled in Acoma Pueblo around 1150. They built
their village on the mesa, 367 feet above the valley, positioned
strategically to defend against raiders. (Presumably, not the ones from
Oakland.)
The pueblo looks like a set for a Western movie. In fact, John Wayne made several films here. A Tim McGraw video
and two Toyota commercials were also shot on the mesa.
Inside the church, which was built without nails but with beams carried
30 miles from Mount Taylor, the tour guide Fred Stevens carries a knit
stocking cap with Romo's name stitched across the front.
He pointed to the oldest confessional and oldest classrooms in the
United States, to the candles that spiral 25 feet up from the altar
— red to represent their native religion, white to represent the
Catholicism of the Spanish who enslaved the people here.
Outside the mission is a cemetery, measuring 400 feet by 400 feet, and
40 feet deep. The tribe prefers the term replanted, instead of buried,
because members believe they came from the earth and will eventually
return to it. Humps of clay surround the cemetery, with eyes, noses and
ears carved into them. They are soldiers guarding the dead.
The tribe has about 3,600 members, and 10 to 15 families live year-round
in the pueblo. Theirs is a matriarchal society. The women own the houses
on the mesa, each inherited by the youngest daughter in a family.
The Acoma practice a religion heavy on song, ritual and ceremony. They
grow corn, beans and squash in the valley below. They infuse pop-culture
influences with Spanish, Mexican and Indian traditions.
The best example is the Cowboys, America's team, their favorite in
all of football. And like anywhere else, the Cowboys inspire strong
feelings.
"I hate them," said Gary Keene, another guide who lives on the
pueblo. "Too many Cowboys fans around here. The only good thing to
come out of Texas, in my opinion, was ZZ Top."
Everything in Acoma connects — the people and the traditions, the
ancestors and the spirits, the animals and the plants and the soil. Even
football.
Concho discovered the game in seventh grade. He played defensive tackle,
fullback and middle linebacker in six seasons for the varsity.
Before games, he painted stripes on his face, a red one from dark clay
on top and a shiny purple stripe on bottom. This served as a blessing
from a higher power, he said, and a reminder of his ancestors. It kept
him healthy, kept him safe.
"I always wanted to be that warrior," said Concho, whose black
hair is now flecked with gray. "Like the times when I used to think,
What was it like back then? When we were fighting the Spanish and all
that."
The Battle of Acoma started in 1598, when warriors killed 13 Spanish
soldiers. The conquistador Juan de Oñate and 70 men retaliated by
killing hundreds in the tribe. Gaspar Pérez de Villagrá described
the battle in a poem, with its descriptions of the mangled dead, pierced
flesh and quivering bodies.
After the three-day battle ended, de Oñate cut the feet off the
remaining adult men and enslaved the entire pueblo. The history of Acoma
is defined by this kind of tragedy and sadness. The people here learn of
persecution, prosecution and genocide. A resiliency remains, born from
traditions passed from one generation to the next.
Concho knows that resiliency, that sadness. He worked the graveyard
shift in the nearby uranium mines for 20 years, 2,500 feet deep inside
the shaft. He said he beat alcoholism, only to wake up 10 years ago with
an unfathomable pain in his stomach.
Two of his siblings died from Hodgkin's disease, but tests and scans
have revealed nothing so far. In his shrine, he keeps a Cowboys bag with
his medication: the insulin for his diabetes, the morphine for his pain,
the 20 pills he swallows every day.
Diabetes, alcoholism and the effects from the uranium mines are common
on the reservation.
The pain subsides for a few hours most Sundays in the fall, when the
Cowboys are on the satellite dish and Concho rests in his comfortable
green easy chair.
"Sometimes I feel down about my illness and my stomach," he
said. "I'm scared. But I always love the Cowboys. They are my
favorite team."
With the energy he still has, Concho makes the intricate pottery that
line shelves in his living room. He leads prayers. He writes songs
performed on sacred holidays. He speaks in schools and wonders, he said,
if children "really believe anymore."
He wants to ensure the traditions are passed on.
"Just like beating the drum, you know," Concho said.
"Everything must be passed down."
Including this obsession with the Cowboys.
Tina Torivio, a 36-year-old tribe member, swears she has been a Dallas
fan since birth. In high school, she dreamed of becoming a Cowboys
cheerleader. On a trip to Dallas in 1983, she begged relatives to drive
her around the empty stadium.
She watched games with her father before he died. Years later, she said,
it feels as if he is sitting next to her, shouting in spirit at the
television.
Children at school never understood. They used to ask Stevens, the
guide, Shouldn't you like the Redskins or the Chiefs? "I didn't
think Indians liked Cowboys," he said.
As the tour continued, Stevens pointed to huts where Cowboys fans live,
to stands of pottery made by women who swoon over Romo. He told stories
of catching people in cars during sacred ceremonies, listening to games.
Of villagers bringing generators to the mesa to catch the Cowboys on TV.
Of being unable to contain his excitement after the Cowboys won the
Super Bowl and his boss sending him home from work.
Of all the fans here, only Concho has made the pilgrimage of about 700
miles to Texas Stadium for a game. He went on Thanksgiving two years
ago, with tickets from a friend, the former Cowboy and author Pat
Toomay. Sheryl Crow sang the national anthem. Broncos cornerback Champ Bailey signed his book. Cowboys guard Larry Allen, his favorite player, stopped to talk.
"One of the best days of my life," Concho said.
On Wednesday, he rested on a bench at the scenic viewpoint. Several
miles behind him, the casino continued to churn out the money with which
the tribe built new schools and civic centers. Front and center, the old
village rises in the distance, a postcard in sandstone.
Caught between these worlds, Concho stared in silence across the valley.
His leather Cowboys jacket glistened in the sun.