The Archivist

While the clocks tick away in the corner of the room, I sit and contemplate the day. With the draw of my vape pen, I notice the shapes forming in the twist and turns of the white clouds and I begin to think about my work. With a sip of coffee and a push of a button on the computer my day begins. Soon I will be so emerged in my work that the world around me disappears.

I am a Arcivist for a Tribe in Norhern Michigan. I preserve and research our Tribal history. When I work from home I research old news papers in a local archive for any mention of Native Americans. I love to read and many times, I am amazed at the content of those old news papers. There are times where I can do nothing but having a great laugh while I sit in pajamas, in bed, and my hot cup of coffee next to me.

Please do not get me wrong, I respect my work highly. I take my research seriously. What I do is important to my people. However, being an avid reader, I have built a love for reading to the extent where I find comfort and happiness in reading. So, my work has become a reward. I am truly happy with what I do.

Imagine you are doing your work and a moment later something happens that makes you laugh. When I read it is entertainment and once in a while I will find one that hits a funny bone. I will not quote the story but I will say the year was 1880, I read: One day, a young couple was traveling through a town where the young men were playing in the street. The woman had her baby wrapped into a large blanket as it slept. The wagon hit a hole and the travelers were severely jarred. The boys saw the baby fall from their mother’s arms and onto the ground. The boys yelled, “Hey lady you lost something!” The travelers not knowing the boys said, “They’re city boys, don’t stop.” Well the baby laid in the street as the parents rode away.” Yes, the boys did get the baby back to the parents but, wow! How could I not smile at that? How could I not laugh? One minute you’re reading about the price of wheat and grains and the next a story is something totally off the wall.

Three days a week I am in the office. Preservation is the goal on this day. Collections need to be cleaned before they can be brought into the main Archive. Imagine an one inch brush that is a long oval shape to vacuum with. Imagine how many papers can fit in a bankers box. Each paper must be vacuumed. I use such a brush to clean the dust, microscopic bugs, and fungi off each document. This is very mundane work because I can read a page before I am halfway through cleaning the paper. Most of the time I wait to read it later. To add to my happiness I have discovered other ways to entertain my brain. I have never listened to so many audio books, listen to information from podcast and YouTube videos in my life. I thrive to learn and I have enjoyed the content playing in my ear for it makes the day and cleaned papers fly by. Learning as I do preservation is a perfect medly.

I am honored to be taking care of these old, old documents. Studying history is not everyone’s cup of tea. Mr. McClutchy would be amazed to see me do so seeing that I failed his history class in the 7th or 8th grade. What I like most when working? I like the variety of content I read and I see each source as a teacher. I am surrounded by teachers and I once again become the student. To read, brings my nerd side out in me. I wish I had a photographic memory. I would be a walking encyclopedia. Oh, the history I have read and I am amazed at the information I have learned. Those old dusty documents have become something to cherish. I am honored to be the one taking care of them.

Currently, I am working on a large collection. This collection consisted of forty-six banker boxes. Each box must be frozen for two or more weeks to kill the microbes that may have grown on the paper. Once I mask and glove up, I open a time capsule. No one knows what will be revealed and what information will come forth. Oldest paper I have preserved is dated 1813. I must say that I took great pleasure reading that paper. I vacuum each sheet of paper and remove all the metal, such as paperclips and staples, that may destroy the document. I preserve them in acid-free folders and record their content in the computer. I am really proud to be the keeper of knowledge and preservationist of such things.

Once, I was so surprised to find my name in the collection. 1973, I remember the event that I am about to share very well. I was seven years old. My Auntie came to the house and announced it was time to learn to dance. My siblings and I followed her to another Native’s home. Drumming began and we were instructed to dance like the adults. I was so happy and was having fun. About thirty minutes into class, the happiness turned to fear. I remember the police cars pulled up with their sirens ablaze and lights flashing wildly. In the native community, this was not a good thing and being so young, I really did not understand. The authorities talked as I watched from my hiding spot behind the Aunties skirt. “Dancing,” the leader said, “Just dancing.” I was sent home and I was never taken back to dance. This traumatic memory stayed with me for many years. I never really knew why, but now I do.

As I mentioned above, I pulled a folder from the box in the freezer and it was labeled dance troup. Inside was listed all the individuals who were present. There, in blue ink, was my name. At first, I thought it was a novelty thing and I just smiled and put it out of my mind. When one brings in a collection the papers are hardly ever in order. One piece of history is one box and another piece of history is found at a later time. When entering the folder for the dance troup in the computer, I noticed the newspaper article with the same date. The article reported that the Indians were gathering and the woman who called in was in fear of being scalped. Police was dispatched and the Indians were disbanded. I don’t think scalping people was on my mind. I’m pretty sure that was not my intention. Reading this incident as an adult, I am astounded at the racism that had happened.

Well, I smiled here too. I smile because I finally have an understanding of the event. I do remember that day but the leader explained they were only teaching us how to dance. Well, our dancing can be spiritual and it was against the law for Natives to practice their religion at that time. Arrest were not made but I was amazed that society thought that dancing was wrong or they were in danger when the drums started sounding. Still in 1973, we were still savages to the dominate society. All I can do is shake my head and and marvel at the audacity or at the ignorance of people.

I love my work but the work can be heartbreaking. Once one does their own research in primary documents, history is filled with heartbreaking moments. Where else would you find answers to the community dynamics that impact Tribal people of this region? History books are very selective in what content they place in their books. Indians, savages, and redskins are the terms commonly used in the newspaper articles Nation wide. I see articles where land of the Natives were sold and mineral rights have not been paid for the resources on the land were harvested or in reality, stolen. Too see the old newspapers and typing the information into a word document brings the realization that most of the media reported their news in a way that was meant to bring people to fear the Natives. Many historians know that this is a common way media uses its way to gain power over the people. This I do not love so much but I can say that many historians can agree that the media‘s fear tactics worked or contributed in the mistreatment of the Natives. Heart breaking to read the same treatment of other migrating cultures as well.

My family has lived here in Norhern Michigan for many generations. From time to time a relative pops up in a news articles. I have gotten into the habbit of writing things down that have to do with family. In the next year, all the papers will need to be scanned and I will be able to get a digital copy of my family in the news. Family, I grew up knowing who my aunts and uncles were but I had no idea that they were very political and instrumental in assisting the Tribe in many issues. My Grandfather, who I barely remember was seen in many articles. I know his face, I knew he was a tailor, but I did not know that he loved archeology. He found many artifacts in areas where there use to be settlements of the Natives. One may say that contribution was small but history is history. One small piece now may be an important part to the Tribe later. How many of you can say that you can learn about your family while you work?

Generational trauma is evident in many Native Families. Currently, the issue of the boarding schools is a hot topic. I am not going into much detail with the particulars on this issue. What I will say, with a smile, that my grandfather did the best he could in that situation. He and my Grandmother are survivors of the boarding schools. One of the things that I had found was the documentation that proves that he went to school with Jim Thorp who won a gold metal in the Olympics. An Olympian forced to attend an Indian Boarding School. Imagine bringing in a collection and seeing a letter with all the correlating documents that proves such an affiliation. Even though both men were in Indian Boarding schools, they both overcame the contrast that they were subjected to. I am not certain what trauma traits rested in their being from the experience, but they both did well in life.

Two years I have worked as an archivist and I have learned more than I had expected. At the age of 55, I can see that there can be many more years of research to be made. I look forward to opening more time capsules that come in from all kinds of sources for the anticipation is always great and exciting. One thing I am looking forward to is, building an understanding of the formation of the dynamics we, as a Tribe, has worked to overcome. History is the key to understand the strength that was needed in the people to overcome their challenges. Especially those that where bias opinions of the media and how widely that bias was spread. The bigger picture is forming in my mind with every sheet I preserve and record. I will continue learning as the years pass. How many? Only the creator knows.