SCOTT HEADBIRD (1927–1996), whose Indian names were Ba-gwekabiitang (Turns Towards the Sound) and Niigani-bines (Head Bird), was a gifted storyteller. Although the single story included in this book is too short to fully display his talent, it gives an excellent taste of Scott’s oratory. I visited with him on several occasions when he told incredibly animated stories, stories so funny that Scott would literally slap his own knees as he laughed at the punch lines.
Scott, like all Ojibwe people of his generation, grew up immersed in his language and culture. As a member of Leech Lake’s Mission Community, west of Cass Lake, Minnesota, he lived the seasonal life of all Ojibwe people in the area. His family’s allotments, scattered between lakes Andrusia and Cass from the Mississippi River to Big Lake, contained some of the best hunting, trapping, and fishing grounds on the Leech Lake Reservation. Scott’s family lived by using and selling what they acquired from the land. Scott ate so much fish as a child that he actually lost the taste for it in his later years, preferring red meats if given a choice.
Scott attended the mission day school until his teens. He completed high school in nearby Cass Lake. The benefits of living at home, rather than attending residential boarding school like many of his contemporaries, were great. Scott never lost his language or had it beaten out of him, and that sustained knowledge made him truly wise about many things—language, Ojibwe plants and medicines, and traditional lifeways.
Scott made his way in the world by retaining the skills he learned as a child. Throughout his lifetime, Scott made and set nets, snared rabbits, and gathered berries and pine cones for sale. He augmented the income from such endeavors by working many years as a logger and a carpenter. He acquired passions in the culture of European settlers as well. Scott was a talented pool player, and in his younger years he frequented bars and local tournaments in pursuit of worthy opponents. He joined the Ojibwe Hymnal Singers and was one of their loudest vocalists and most ardent supporters. Scott also enjoyed playing bingo and was a regular at the Leech Lake Bingo Palace and Casino in the 1980s and 1990s.
Scott truly treasured his family. He rarely went further than the grocery store without his wife, Susie. Even more arduous endeavors such as netting fish involved his family. He frequently spoke about the future of the Ojibwe language with great trepidation and hoped that his grandchildren would master it. His impact, however, reached far beyond his substantial family network. To a great many people, myself included, Scott offered fresh inspiration to care for the language he so artfully used for the entertainment and teaching of all Ojibwe people.
Waawaabiganoojiish
[1] Aabiding gii-ayaawag ingodwewaan anishinaabeg gaa-onjibaawaad i’iw isa Miskwaagamiiwi-zaaga’igan ishkoniganing. Obaashiing izhinikaade i’iw oodena gii-tanakiiwaad. Mii apane go gii-minikwewaad imaa sa gete-anishishinaabe-waakaa’iganishing. Moozhag gii-kiiwashkwebiiwag ingiw niizh.
[2] Aabiding ezhi-minobiiwaad, baapinikamigiziwaad, bezhig inini ogii-waabamaan waawaabiganoojiinyan ipitoonid imaa sa michisag. Geget igo gii-onzaamibiiwag ingiw anishinaabeg. Bezhig ogii-gaganoonaan wiijiiyan, wiindamawaad, “Oon ingashkendam ji-waabamag a’aw waawaabiganoojiinsh. Bakadenaagozi, giishkaabaagwenaagozi igaye. Niijii, miizh a’aw waawaabiganoojiinsh bangii o’ow isa ishkodewaaboo.” “Ahaaw,” ikido. Mii dash gii-mamood gaanda’igwaason, mooshkinebadood, aabajitood i’iw ishkodewaaboo. Miish apii gii-atood i’iw ishkodewaaboo imaa michisag.
[3] A’aw waawaabiganoojiinh ogii-waabandaan i’iw gaanda’igwaason atemagak imaa michisag ezhi-ipitood. Ogii-nandomaandaan i’iw. Mii dash geget igo gii-minikwed, ziikaapidang akina. “Inashke,” gii-ikido a’aw inini gii-wiindamawaad wiijiiyan ji-miinaad ishkodewaaboo, “Geget igo noonde-minikwe.” “Aabiding miinawa miizh a’aw waawaabiganoojiinsh ishkodewaaboo. Gidinawemaaganinaan noonde-minikwe.” “Ahaaw,” ikido. Miinawaa ogii-siiginaan ishkodewaaboo biindig i’iw gaanda’igwaasoning. Geget idash miinawaa ogii-minikwen a’aw waawaabiganoojiinh. Nising ogii-miinigoon ishkodewaaboo.
[4] Agaashiinyiwag waawaabiganoojiinyag. Mii i’iw gaa-onji-gichi-giiwashkwebiid a’aw waawaabiganoojiinh. Gii-kiiwashkwebitoo a’aw waawaabiganoojiinh ezhi-gagwe-baamibatood. Eshkam igo gii-kiiwashkwebii. Eshkam igo gaye gii-soongide’e. Mii apii gii-ikwanagwenid a’aw waawaabiganoojiinh. Mii dash ezhi-ikidod, “Aandi ayaad a’aw gaazhagens?”
That Old Mouse
[1] One time there was a pair of Indians from the Red Lake Indian reservation. The town where they lived was called Obaashiing. And they were always drinking there in one of those tarpaper shacks. Those two were always drunk.
[2] One time as they had a good buzz going, having a real brou-ha-ha, one guy saw a mouse running there on the floor. Those Indians had really been drinking too much. The one talked to his friend, telling him, “Oh I feel so bad to see that mouse. He looks hungry and thirsty. Friend, give that mouse some of this here whiskey.” “All right,” he says. Then he took a thimble and filled it up, using that whiskey. Then he put that whiskey there on the floor.
[3] That mouse saw that whiskey put there on the floor as he was scurrying by. He sniffed at it. Then he really drank, slurping down everything. “Look,” said that guy who had told his friend to give him the whiskey, “He really needs a drink.” “Give that old mouse the whiskey once again. Our relative needs a drink.” “All right,” he says. And he poured another shot of whiskey into that thimble. And that old mouse really drank it again. He was given whiskey three times.
[4] Mice are small. That’s why that mouse got so drunk. That mouse was staggering all over when he tried to run. He was getting ever more inebriated. And he was getting increasingly brave. At that time, that mouse rolled up his shirtsleeves. Then he said, “Where’s that cat?”