Hello all out in the Blogosphere!
Really starting to feel like my character, Hubert Logan! In the current issue of “Super Indian,” Hubert started a blog and all heck is breaking loose. I’m not sure if I’ll go there with THIS blog…but you never know!
In my continuing pledge to keep writing — here’s another entry. It’s a stunning Monday here in Los Angeles. The sun in shining (as usual) — and I’m continuing the work on “Super Indian” as promised. Right now, “Hubert’s Blog” is about 65 percent finished. Just finished inking Page 16…and the pencil work has begun on Page 17. The total issue runs 23 pages….so I’m getting there!
I’m also prepping to attend/speak at the upcoming Southeast Indian Writers Gathering in Cherokee, North Carolina. A host of Native American writers are converging on the Cherokee Museum and there will be a few days worth of panels about all kinds of writing. I hope to have more information about this later today for tomorrow’s blog.
My guitar is making the trip — so most likely there will be a performance as well. It’s gonna be fun.
The last time I was in North Carolina, I was a wee child. My family was driving from Maryland to Oklahoma and we stopped in Cherokee on the way. While there, my dad, Ken Wahpecome saw this old Indian man decked out in full Western Plains regalia. Yep, we are talking headdress, buckskin, beadwork. [Why is it that even Indians want to get their photos taken with other Indians? (AAAY!)]
Now, as most of you know, Cherokee people don’t wear buckskin — you’re likely to see Cherokee men in ribbon shirts and turbans, not the stereotypical Hollywood Indian wear.
My Dad wanted to make sure we got the full experience of what was back then a small, sleepy town. Cherokee, North Carolina is home to the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians and this was way before the Casino days. Dad walked up to the man and asked to have him take a picture with me and my sister Gay.
The old man said, “Sure. That’ll be five dollars.”
My Dad was incensed. He gathered us up and stormed off. “Can you believe that guy? Didn’t he notice we were Indians? I’m gonna start charging five dollars for my picture, too.”
He always told that story with an ironic laugh.
That’s a black and white photo of my Dad from back in the 1970’s. I think he could have totally sold his photo for five bucks a pop.
There will be more about North Carolina tomorrow. I have a feeling!