J. B. TANNER INTERVIEW

   

   [BEGIN SIDE 1]

   

   This is Brad Cole from Northern Arizona University.

It's August 12, 1998.  We're in the home of J. B.

Tanner in Farmington, New Mexico.  We're going to speak

with Mr. Tanner about his experiences as a Navajo

Indian trader.  Also present in the room is Karen

Underhill, and Lew Steiger running the camera

equipment.

   

   Cole:  J. B., let's start with when and where you

were born.

   

   Tanner:  Well, that was a miracle in itself, Brad.

When Mom and Dad got married, you would have thought

that he would have been on the reservation at some

store.  But they moved to Mesa, and I wouldn't be here

to talk to you if they hadn't of, 'cause I was born

premature.  I only weighed about three-and-a-half

pounds.  That was August 24, 1924, that I was born.

They had to feed me with an eyedropper and put me in an

incubator, which they had down in Phoenix, and they

didn't have it here in Farmington.  So that's what I

meant, I wouldn't be here.  So God works in mysterious

ways, even back then.  That's when I was born, and I

was born in Phoenix, Arizona.

   

   Cole:  Who were your parents?

   

   Tanner:  Rulel [phonetic spelling] Tanner, better

known as Chunky Tanner; and Stella McGee Tanner.  They

both belong to the Mormon Church, the LDS Church.  Her

brothers and my dad's brothers, the whole families

participated in one way or another, dealing with the

Navajo people.  And after we were--I think I was two-

and-a-half years old, I'm not sure on that.  I should

have found out when I knew I was going to do this.

Anyway, they moved back up here and Progressive

Mercantile put Dad out here at Montezuma Creek.  And I

was sick from the day, all that time I was in Phoenix,

and I just barely stayed alive.  That was another

miracle.  At Montezuma Creek, there was a medicine man

down there.  Dad and Mom told him that I was born

premature and all this and that, and he said, "I'll fix

it."  So he brought 'em a milk goat.  He said, "Feed

him this goat milk instead of whatever it is you're

feedin' him, and within a month he'll be all right."

And sure enough, it worked.  So I guess that goat's

milk was pretty powerful.  But that's where they come

from, Mesa, and was here and [herding?] this

Progressive Mercantile down here at Fruitland.  It was

a wholesale warehouse.  They owned several stores on

the reservation, and they put various guys on it and

give 'em a chance to buy 'em.

   Dad first went to Montezuma Creek and was there two

years and done real well.  Progressive Mercantile

bought Stya, over here on the road to Crownpoint from

Farmington.  That's a paved road now, but back then it

was just two tracks.  They had 5,000-6,000 head of

sheep and a trading post, and they wanted Dad to go out

there and run, 'cause he had done so good at Montezuma

Creek.  My dad, as I started to go with him, I was so

small that it was hard--he didn't want me to be self-

conscious that I couldn't do anything.  So he managed

to come up with some of the darnedest jobs.  He'd just

come up and tell me to go do this, whatever it was.  He

knew I'd figure out how to do it.  But I'll get into

that more as we go along.

   Could we have a break?  And I need to ask you, is

this the way you want me to do?

   

   Cole:  You're doin' fine.

   

   Tanner:  Just keep goin'?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Tanner:  The Navajo business was Mom, she more or

less with the guy that Dad had there at the store--they

run the store.  He and I took care of the sheep and all

the Navajo sheepherders moved camp and all.  So to get

me to have confidence in myself--that's what I meant,

that he'd give me these odd jobs.  For instance, my

brother Bob was two years younger than I, and he was

even a little taller than I was, because I got such a

bad start.  So he said, "Take that hay wagon and go

load those corner posts," big cedar poles.  Back then

you had to have a stretch post, they called it, and

then when the fence turned, that was a corner post.

But in between, you'd have to have stretchers, I think,

just about every hundred yards or so.  He said, "You

can tell, when you get them loaded, where the big holes

are.  That's where you drop these."  _______ sides up,

and Brad, there was no way that two kids could load

those.  Those posts were just too big.  So he come into

me right quick.  I said, "Bob, unhook that white horse

and put it goin' around on the other side, left side,

of the wagon."  While he was doin' that, I got one of

these small ______ poles and pulled it around there.

When he got the horse over there, he come over and

helped me put that small end up on the wagon.  Then we

done another post, about that far apart, and put it up.

Then we took this rope and the skids were here, and a

big sack here, and we skidded 'em all up on there.  It

was real simple, it worked, (chuckles) got 'em all on.

And then when we come to these places he wanted 'em

dropped, it was easy to roll 'em off, and just roll one

off.  Every time Dad would get a chance, he'd tell that

story.  He said, "Those damned kids would figure out

anything!"  So I _______ in on that one.

   You have to castrate the lambs and cut their tails

off.  Otherwise, they stay bucks.  Buck lambs, you have

to castrate 'em and cut the tail off.  When you do,

blood just goes all over.  Dad said, "You think you can

do that?  These Navajos are kinda slow."  So he got me

a bandanna and tied it around (chuckles) my head, and

he got a five-gallon bucket and put it there for me to

get up on and stand on it.  And they take these lambs

and hold two legs--front leg and back--and just kind of

spread 'em apart where I'd cut off of the bag, cut it

off with those [nuts?] and I'd go down and pull 'em off

with my teeth.  (laughter)  Dad used to tell that

story.  You can do five lambs while you're tryin' to

get 'em out on one.  Anyway, he just rode off after he

set that bucket up.  When he come back, boy, we had 'em

goin'.  And the ewe lambs, that's all we had to do, was

just cut their tail off and mark their ears--cut a

notch out of the ear.  The others, we had to de-nut

'em.  And that blood's all over me, and this bandanna

was red.  They called 'em Rocky Mountain oysters.

That's quite a delicate breakfast to have, Rocky

Mountain oysters and eggs.  You know, you have steak 'n

eggs, and ham 'n eggs.  We almost looked forward to

spring, when we could have--Dad would, after we cleaned

'em all, he'd put 'em in salt brine, salt water, and

keep 'em down in the basement.  They'd stay good for

about a week, until it started to get warm.  But things

like that, he'd do.

   And Granddad, he noticed when I was talkin' to the

Navajo kids alone, I was the oldest in the family, so

it was kinda hard, 'cause they couldn't talk English.

But when my Granddad seen us havin' trouble learnin',

bein' as we couldn't talk back and forth, and tell 'em,

"Oh, this means that.  Y��t���h means 'hello,'" and so

forth.  So he asked Dad if he could take me to Bisbee.

My Granddad was known for the best turquoise that was

ever mined.  It was down at Bisbee, and I don't know

whether you guys have seen any Bisbee turquoise now,

that come out of that copper mine that was down there.

That's where turquoise come from, is in your copper

mines.  It's zinc and copper mixed, if it got to a

certain temperature, everything erupted, and turquoise

come in pockets.  That Bisbee mine produced some of the

prettiest spider web and blue, and then there was some

green.  But we'd go down there to his mine--he had a

mine separate from, that he went back into a hill

there, before that copper mine was even started, then

was able to get more of it.  But we'd bring the

turquoise back to Santo Domingo, between Santa Fe and

Albuquerque, and leave a bunch of turquoise there in

the rough, and they would cut 'em and grind 'em and

make those [jatos? conchos?], you know, that they have

on the [otoman?].  Then white people make a choker out

of 'em.  Most of those have been one time or another,

like Dad pawned, and most of 'em's gone, but you'll see

some of these Navajo still wear some of those old

Bisbee _______.  But while we were doin' all that, then

we'd go to Zuni and leave turquoise there, and silver,

so that they could make Navajo-type jewelry for him,

particularly belts and bigger bracelets.  And then we

would go back to Crownpoint and then down to White Rock

where he stayed.  He had quite a few Navajo

silversmiths from Crownpoint all the way over to Bisti

and Tsaya.  They would make up jewelry.

   Once we got this cycle goin', and all this time he's

talkin' Navajo to me.  In a matter of six months, I

started to learn pretty good.  I never will forget, I

wasn't big enough to do anything hardly, and wherever

the sun went down, he'd stop that pickup and get the

bedrolls out, and we'd just have supper and go to bed.

And then just before daylight, he'd let a holler out of

him, for me to get up, in Navajo, and make his coffee,

"N�dii'n�ehgo ahw��h sh� '�n�l��h!"  And that's what

that means, "Get up and make my coffee!"  (laughter)

So I look back on it, it's really amazing how all this

stuff happened.

   So then it was gettin' goin' with him on about three

years, on that turquoise thing.  It wasn't a continuous

thing.  Whenever he was ready to make the run, and then

each time we'd pick up jaclas after that first one,

they'd have stuff for him each time.  Then we'd go to

Window Rock and out here at Crystal, where Chee Dodge

lived.  And we'd always give Chee Dodge the first pick--

spread it all out there and him and his family would

pick out what they wanted.  And then we'd just trade

all over for horses and sheep and cattle.  Then we'd

drive 'em off at Newcomb's, come across around Newcomb,

Sheep Spring, and bring 'em over to White Rock.  And

then he'd start 'em up and we'd take 'em on up through

and ship the cattle and ship the lambs.  But he'd

rather do that, than stay in the trading post.  Before

I was born, one of his kids or something, why, he was

down here at Shiprock, and here at Hogback.  And then

he got that homestead he had at White Rock.  He wanted

that, because there were silversmiths out in that area,

to do what I just talked about.

   But then it was about time for me to start to

gettin' a little education.  To start with, Dad and Mom

hired a woman as a teacher, [who] taught Bob and

Dorothy.  My family was seven boys and one girl.  I was

the oldest, and Bob and Dorothy was the [second and]

third.  And this lady taught the three of us.  Mom got

to worryin' about [Bob?].  The first thing you know,

we'd be behind everybody, better take us in.  So they

brought us in.  I think it was one or two years out

there.  We stayed with her folks, Grandpa Elwood McGee

and Grandma McGee, and went to school.

   Down here at Waterflow, kind of movin' on _________

there was a liquor outlet--Walt Stallings had it--and

him and Dad was really good friends.  And so out there

in the summer, I'd tell Dad when we'd go to these

dances and everything, I was self-conscious about bein'

shorter than the girls, and I could dance better if I

could have a few drinks, you know.  So at any rate, he

fixed it up with Walter Stallings, and whenever I come

in after anything, it was for him.  So about six months

later, Dad and I would come in, and we come into

Newcomb, instead of this way the road was bad, into

Newcomb's, we come by Walt Stallings down here, and

went in and old Walt said, "Damn, Chunk, I'm glad to

see you!"  He said, "How come?"  He said, "Well, I

thought you were drinkin' yourself to death!"  Boy, I

knew I was in trouble!  So Dad orders a couple of beers

and a bottle of whiskey, and he opened it like that and

handed it to me, and I said, "I don't believe I want

any."  He said, "Well, from what Walt says here, you've

been carryin' it out of here.  If you're gonna drink, I

want you to drink with me when I take a drink, 'cause I

won't overdo it."  And Granddad was the same way.  He'd

have a drink maybe every morning, while I was fixing

that coffee he hollered at me, he had a pint or half-

pint, and he'd just have one little nip.  Dad was about

the same way.  Dad would get on a bender maybe once a

year.  Grandpa, I never did see him drunk.  And we

finished that story.  I'm gonna skip some time in

there.

   Anyway, I got on up into school, and when I was a

junior, in February, all the kids, the only way we

could get it is have somebody older than us get it

before Dad set that up.  So all of the kids give me the

money, and I'd go get it.  Grace B. Wilson, in fact,

she said that Allen Foutz and I--he's a cousin of Jay

and Loyd's that you interviewed out there.  Him and I

was really companionin'.  She called us in and said--

had a cute little way of puttin' it--she said, "When

you have a basket of apples and there's two rotten ones

in there, if you leave 'em there, they'll just spoil

the whole basket."  So we knew what was comin'.  She

said, "I don't know very much about alcohol, and most

people don't.  Everybody just calls 'em the town

drunks," back in those old days, you know.  She said,

"I think you two boys have got a problem with

alcoholism.  But that's not for me to determine.  I'm

just gonna expel you now, so that you can maybe do

something about it.  The only way you can get back in

is your dad has gotta come in and sign for you and

guarantee there'll be no more drinkin' on the school

grounds."  Neither one of us wanted to get into that,

so I don't remember just how long [before someone] got

word to Dad, but it snowed, and then it rained and

sleet and melted the snow, and it was really muddy out

there.  It was three days before Dad got in.  He asked

me, "Do you want to go back to school?"  And I said,

"Well…"  And he said, "Well, I'm gonna tell you how

it is.  Grace B. Wilson said that the only way, that

I've got to guarantee her that you two boys won't be

bringin' booze home.  It's really my fault for settin'

it up with Walter Stallings.  I thought you guys would

appreciate it and not overdo it."  I said, "I don't

believe ________."  He said, "Fine.  When did this

happen?"  I said, "Two or three days ago."  And he

said, "_____________," and it was snowin' outside

again.  He said, "Get your clothes packed.  If you're

too damned smart to go to school, you're too smart to

be layin' around here."  Here I am about the size of an

eleven- or twelve-year-old at the most, at sixteen, but

he wasn't worried about me, 'cause he had taught me all

these things to do.  He knew I was gonna make a livin'.

I thought he'd lost his mind.  He said, "I want you to

leave right now."  And then Mother went to cryin',

"Please let him stay until tomorrow!"  "No," he said,

"they had three days.  They knew they weren't goin'

back to school."  So he called Uncle Bert, told him

what he had done.  He said, "I just told Allen the same

thing."  Well, the basketball team from Gallup was over

here.  They didn't know that, but we knew that.  We

damned sure realized we had two mad fathers, and so

we'd better get goin'.  We went down to the high school

and talked 'em into lettin' us ride in the trunk or

whatever.  Back then, they didn't bring 'em in buses,

for some reason, but several of the parents brought 'em

in cars.  I got to set up in the back seat, they made

room for me, and they put Allen (chuckles) in the

trunk.  It's a good thing they did, because when we got

to Shiprock, Uncle Bert and Dad had found out that

that's where we were goin'.  Well, Dad wanted me to get

out, because he figured I'd do what I done.  But Uncle

Bert was there, and everybody just said, "They didn't

come with us."  And there that kid was in the trunk.

And he looked in and saw me, and he asked me, and I

said, "I don't know what Allen done.  He decided to

stay."

   So we went on to Gallup.  We got in there, and Mom's

younger brother was workin' for Gross Kelly Wholesale

Company in Gallup, and I stayed with him that night,

and then got on the truck and went out to Greasewood,

Lower Greasewood, where Bill McGee and Ellis McGee was

runnin' the store.  Allen hitchhiked to San Diego.  His

older sister was married and livin' out there.  So when

we got out there, Lester Lee over at Steamboat, his

wife had been real sick for several years, and just

gradually gettin' worse.  People had told him he ought

to take her back to Rochester, Minnesota, to Mayos'

Clinic.  So he said, "I've got to take her down

________" on the phone.  Bill said, I know what you

need.  You need somebody to run Steamboat for you for a

couple three months while you take Ann back there."  He

said, "That's right."  He said, "I've got just the man

for you," and here I'm a little old sixteen-year-old

kid.  But anyway, Bill loaded me up and took me over

and Lester kept lookin' around, and finally he asked

Bill, "Where's that guy you were going to bring over to

me?"  He said, "That's him settin' off there."  "Oh!

that damned kid can't run this store!"  He said, "I'll

guarantee you he can!"  So anyway, he finally convinced

him, and Lester loaded his wife up and left that night.

So I run the store, and that was my first experience at

really havin' the responsibility to run it, and I

didn't know it at the time, but my granddad had gotten

me ready to where I could do it, because back then,

none of the Navajos hardly could talk English.  The

ones that could were workin' for BIA and wasn't around

home.  That was quite an accomplishment, really, to

have the whole tradin' post turned over to you.

   

   Cole:  What was that like, to run the store?

   

   Tanner:  Seemed though it was natural.  Had counters

just like the old trading posts--like they got at

Hubbell's there.  They traded on lambs and wool.  All I

had to go by was what they'd got the year before.  I

had an old book to look it up.  They'd make Navajo

rugs, and I was able to buy them, just helpin' Mom in

Tsaya, and then with Granddad out tradin' turquoise,

he'd trade for rugs, too, you know.  He trained me to

where I could run that store __________.  And so Lester

come back, and he was really pleased with it.  He said,

"I can't believe you've done that!"  I said, "Well, I

need a job, but I know you don't need me now."  So Bill

got me a job then over at White Comb [phonetic

spelling] for Francis Pyle [phonetic spelling], and I

stayed there for about eight months, and got me a 1936

Ford coupe.  I mean, you were somebody when you had one

of them (chuckles) back then.  I finally got that, and

I drove over to Kirtland, and I stopped at Walt

Stallings, got a good supply, like any alcoholic will

do.  I know now that's the reason I done it.  I got

there about thirty minutes before school was out, and

all the girls just come runnin' over there to see that

car, you know.  And I'm settin' there drinkin' a beer

in a leather jacket made out of calf hide, and brand

new boots, you know.  I was really somebody!

(chuckles)  Like a Navajo would say, "Dress up and be

somebody!"  That's how alcohol, even back then, gave me

trouble.  So I finally got the word after two or three

days, I'd better get started to get out of there,

because Miss Wilson was going to get ahold of Dad, and

Dad wouldn't tolerate that kind of nonsense at all.  So

from there on, I went out to Las Vegas, Nevada.

   Probably some other stuff back when I was little.  I

think I covered pretty much in there, I think.  I went

out there and I found out I was afflicted with a

compulsion to gamble as well as alcohol, because

Stewart Hatch [phonetic spelling] has got…  There's

another one you don't know.  I ought to write his name

down.  He's down here at Fruitland.  Stewart Hatch was

a carpenter, and I was working as a carpenter's helper.

So I would keep goin' over, doin' things that I wasn't

supposed to be doin'.  The boss would come around, and

I was always ahead of him.  But at any rate, he decided

he'd better get rid of me before I mess up _______.

They went ahead and paid me, and I went in town to Las

Vegas.  We were all stayin' at this little motel, and

about an hour-and-a-half after I cashed my check, I

found myself broke, playing slot machines and black

jack.  One place let me play until they decided I was

too young.  But anyway, I went over to the union hall,

and this guy hollered out, "I need six good men."  So,

boy, (slaps hands together) I was really fast.  I was

the first one up there.  There were five big colored

guys.  He said, "That'll make a good crew."  So we went

over there, and I'd make two trips--they had these five

semis with this ninety-pound roofing paper, they call

it.  It's got gravel on it, kind of sand on it.  Ninety-

pound, they called it.  So when we got through, he's

payin' these colored guys, and he said, "I want to hire

you.  I want to put you on a roofing gang."  I said,

"Boy, that's great!  My friends have all got a job, but

I don't have one."  I didn't tell him about being fired

that morning.  He said, "I'll just pay you on a regular

check."  I said, "What time do you have to go to work?"

And I knew, as hot it was down there, that they'd go

early.  So he said, "Well, you gotta be to work at five

o'clock in the morning.  And then you get off early.

You just work the eight hours ________."  "I'll have to

buy an alarm clock.  Go ahead and pay me."  And Stewart

Hatch is the only one that I told that I'd lost all my

money.  That's how I got money to get that alarm clock.

And then I got a job then…

   I didn't like that much.  I worked two or three

months there, and then I got on as a pipefitter's

helper.  I learned the plumbing trade.  This guy was

scared of height, and they stored this pete moss, they

called it.  These buildings had to be 120 foot high,

and the roof come way down and go up to real steep,

about like this, but it was 120 foot in there.  We had

to take this pipe up with a block and tackle.  So the

guy didn't like bein' up there, so he said, "Why don't

I do what you're doin', and pull that up there?  You're

not quite strong enough to pull that rope."  So [I]

went up and hooked them pipes up.  But the reason I'm

bringin' that out, alcoholics, if they manage to

finally get sober, they're pretty damned good people,

and they're sharp.  God give us a little more brain

than the average, so if we did happen to live through

all of that, and got off of it, we still had enough

sense left, enough brains left, to go ahead and make a

living.  So it was actually a privilege to be an

alcoholic, if you could ever get straightened out.  As

I go along here, Brad, I'll be able to explain to you

that I understand how come I had to go through all of

that.

   Then we all got drafted.  I became eighteen, and we

come home.  At that time we had to go to Santa Fe on

the bus, and then they took a physical in Santa Fe.

There was a Marine colonel there that wanted me to go

in the Marines to be in the Navajo code talkers, 'cause

I was cuttin' up with the Navajos there.  He didn't

give up, he just took me off separate two or three

different times, but I was bound and determined to go

on with what I had planned, to get in the Air Force.

And the way I look at my life, it's a good thing I did,

because the way I was drinkin'…  I ended up on B-

26s--that's a two-engine bomber.  And at the port of

embarkation to France, they used them.  And Louisi-

industry, Port Louisiana, they sent us all out as an

engineer-gunner, and then you had your pilot, co-pilot,

navigator, and bombardier.  Three days before we were

to ship out to France, they decided they had enough

over there, they saw they had control of it and were

going to be able to shut Germany down without any more

strafing bombers.  So they transferred us to B-29s,

they ones they used to drop the atomic bomb.  The only

way I know how to explain that, Brad, is it's kinda

like goin' from a Model "T" Ford to a Cadillac.  I

mean, there's just no comparison.  It's all electrical

instead of hydraulic.  So we just had to start all over

in school again.

   Well, they sent us to Amarillo, Texas, for an eight-

week course in electrical stuff that was in the B-29.

Right away we went through that, and we were there

another eighteen months.  They couldn't decide, for

some reason, to send us to Denver to radar school, or

back to Fort Myers, Florida, to gunnery school, because

on the B-29s you didn't set in the turrets.  Your

sights is here, and you had control of maybe two or

three different guns by radar.  So it was eighteen

months, and I lived off of the base, and I stayed at a

hotel in there.  We sold cigarettes--everybody did--

cigarettes were scarce, and we'd get 'em on the base.

And gamblin' I done pretty good.  So I was winnin' at

gamblin', and I was makin' a lot of money all the time.

I was workin' for Philips Oil Company in Amarillo, too.

Then we went to Nebraska for a little while up there,

and all of us got drunk.  They had a cyclone hit up

there, and it was so terrific that the wheat had been

cut, and like they used to shock it, put 'em in bundles

way back then.  The wind was so terrific, that wheat

straw would be all the way through a tree.  You just

had to see it to believe it.  Well, that second night,

the church people were really preachin'.  They had beer

iced down, and fried chicken--you know, the farmers all

cooked so good, you know.  All of us guys were just

natural __________, 'cause that's all we'd been doin'

in Amarillo for eighteen months.  And so we went up to

Columbus, I think was the name of that town.  Anyway,

we had two bad car accidents, killed three more people,

and girls got killed.  I'm bringing this out, because

it was things like that, like I was mentioning, I

should have listened to Grace B. Wilson on alcoholism,

but I didn't.  You don't want to admit that you can't

drink normal.

   They sent us to Alamagordo, New Mexico.  That was

the port of embarkation through the Philippines and

Batan and all the islands out there _________ Japan.

Tinian was where most of the B-29s were at.  Well,

while I was there is when they dropped the atomic bomb.

To make a long story short on that, I went to El Paso

and got discharged.

   Now I come back to all of this, within about a three-

month period, my age group, they're all out of the

service.  And we just mostly stayed drunk in Farmington

here.  Finally I went to work out at Aneth, Utah.  My

dad owned half of it, and his younger brother owned

half of it.  I was there for seven years, I believe it

was.  My first two kids I should mention.  When I was

at Alamagordo I went AWOL for eight days.  It showed on

my discharge, eight days AWOL.  Nobody can figure out

how come it didn't say what I got it for.  Well, my

commander on the B-29, he was transferred to London,

England.  He said, "J. B., you went home, you got

married, and I'm gonna do you one favor, and I probably

shouldn't do it.  I'm gonna take your papers that shows

about this bein' AWOL.  I'm gonna drop 'em in the

Atlantic Ocean so you can go on home.  I'm just gonna

ask you one favor.  Don't drink so damned much!"

'Cause I'd come out there drunk so much when we were

trainin' to fly.  One time one of my jobs was to get

out and check the gas cap, and I was too sick.  When it

come to it, he asked me about the gas cap, [I

responded], "Yeah, all secure."  And I hadn't even been

out there.  And we took off, and the gasoline was

comin'…  One cap wasn't…  Ordinarily, it would

have just blown up.  He turned it around and come right

back in.  I got my butt out there and put that cap on

and he covered for me.  But all of those things

happened like that.

   It's kind of like you have to talk to an alcoholic.

And in A.A. [Alcoholics Anonymous] that's what you do,

you share your hopes, strengths, and experiences.  If

you say you got a drinkin' problem, I'll tell you what

I've been through so you can identify with that.  And

then you get some confidence, and you'll start sayin',

"Well, what'll I do?"  It's a fantastic organization.

A.A. is second to none.  I mean, those guys would get

up…  And still at seventy-three--I'll be seventy-

four the twenty-fourth of this month--I still get up

when I'm called, any time day or night.  That's what

you have to do, if you want God to help you stay sober,

'cause he will remove that.  Bein' able to talk Navajo--

and that's the reason I was able to, as I go on, I'll

bring that out, bein' able to help the Indians.

Probably one of their biggest problems.

   That's a good place to stop, if we could, for a

little bit.  I'm gettin' a little dry.

   

   Cole:  Sure.  (tape turned off and on)  So you had

mentioned that you had just gotten married.  What was

your wife's name?

   

   Tanner:  Lorraine Dora Shamp [phonetic spelling].  I

want to put in here now that God put her down here.

She's the only woman, absolutely the only woman that

was put on earth, that would have put up with me.  I

know this now, because I've seen so much ________

drinkin' ________.  So [God?] really helped me when I

was gettin' my education in alcoholism, and giving me

her as a wife.  She left once and moved the kids back

to Farmington.  I'm kinda gettin' the horse before the

cart.  Anyhow, I want to finish that.  When we were on

[Gouwnton?], after I drank up the Navajo Shopping

Center that I'll come to, and was down to Yah-Tah-Hey,

she finally had a lawyer make up like she's gonna get a

divorce, and called two big moving vans and moved to

Farmington.  But after I got in the Turquoise Lodge,

and got sobered up and I come back…  I'll finish

that story, Brad, when we get to it.  But I want to put

it in there, how important this woman was to me.  I

just wouldn't have been alive if she hadn't took care

of me a lot of different times.

   But anyway, back to Aneth.  I've covered bein' AWOL

to marry her.  And we were there seven years at Aneth,

Utah.  Dad sold his half about six months after I went

down there, back to [Ralph?] that he'd agreed to do,

with all of us guys in the service, 'cause he believed

that Ralph would sell me part of it, but that's the way

it had to be done, to go back to him, and then we'd

have to…  Ralph didn't sell me part of it, but he

put me on a third commission:  whatever the store made,

I'd get a third of it, instead of just wages.  So I got

in there and the Navajo people at that time didn't have

much work goin' on.  But during the war the railroads

never did any repair work, and about the time I went to

Aneth is when they decided to start repairing these

railroads all over the United States.  It turned out

that the Navajos were the best ones they could get.  So

they gave them preference.  They hired a lot more

besides the Navajos--Spanish people, white people, and

what have you.  I'd send these young guys out to the

railroad, and they'd send money orders back, so I'd

give the family credit.  Ralph couldn't stand it.  He

just knew that I was gonna bake him, I guess.  He did

have sense enough to leave me alone, and he went back

to Cortez and built a motel up there, and just let me

have [at it?].

   It was about the time that peyote come.  The Utes

was usin' peyote.  It's a sacrament in their Native

American Church.  But it's kind of a dope.  Most people

know what peyote is.  Right away I figured out that the

ones that was usin' peyote was most of 'em, at Aneth,

Utah, was, because from Toyok [phonetic spelling] it's

just a little ways, and the Utes would come down and

sell 'em peyote and teach 'em how to run these--it's an

all-night sing, and you can drink the tea or the dried--

it looks like cactus.  As long as you don't drink

[alcohol] with it, it was very good, and I still say

it's good for the Navajos if they use it right.  But a

lot of 'em finally got to where they were drinkin' wine

with it, and it kinda made 'em crazy.

   Seven years I was at Aneth.  Startin' with the first

year, about three times the profit that he'd made in

the years that he was there.  I made more money that

one year than he did the three prior years.  That was

part of what done it, was this extra work done.  And

then I figured out that they was on peyote.  When

they're off, after they eat supper, they eat a little

of that peyote and they kind of have an illusion of

their family.  It's against the law to do it, but I'd

get the peyote from the Utes that come down there and

sell it, and I'd box it up with the other stuff and

send it to 'em.  In one day--I'll cover that with this

statement--the wool crop of all the sheep in Aneth,

Utah, the check come for the wool at Toyok, and that

day I picked up more money in money orders than the

wool check was.  And that's the reason I made the

statement peyote was good for the Navajo if they used

it right.  And I guess alcohol is good medicine for

various things, like Grandpa used to have a drink in

the morning to kind of get him goin' and take care of

his arthritis and this and that.  But I feel like

Grandpa Joe teaching me Navajo made it possible for me

to just come out of the service and take a trading post

like Aneth and three times it--one-third was as much as

he made by himself, and he's afraid he'd just [have to

keep?] me.  (chuckles)  He just took the money and

started buyin' property in Cortez, and Uncle Ralph died

here a couple of three years ago, and he owned probably

a third of Cortez, back from me makin' all that money

for him.

   

   Cole:  Did you have a Navajo nickname?

   

   Tanner:  Yeah, I'll get to it.  It's comin' here.

Then, they called me Shash y��zh bin�l�.  My

grandfather, they called him Shash y��zh.  They called

my dad Doo bi_ hal d�n�.  That's "hard to get along with."

My dad was kinda hard to get along with.  I think it

was on account of the sheepherders and all the way he

could discipline 'em.  If it had just been the tradin'

post he was runnin', I don't think he'd have got that

name.  But at any rate, they called me Shash y��zh bin�l�,

"Little Bear's grandson," is what it means.  I had a

chance to--Aneth, Utah, in comparison, is kinda like--

the tradin' post there is kinda like I said, the B-26

and the B-29.  It's like goin' from a Model "T" to a

Cadillac.  Goin' from Aneth to Keams Canyon was kinda

like the same thing--it was a bigger operation.  It had

Utes and it was just about ten times the volume.

   I want to insert one thing back in high school.

That was when we come out of the service and we was all

drunk.  The Mormons celebrate on the twenty-fourth of

July.  That's when Brigham Young come into Salt Lake,

and they celebrate that.  They always had a big rodeo

and stuff when we were kids.  They don't do rodeos now,

but at any rate, they have what they call Relief

Society.  That's the women.  We always felt like the

Relief Society women were just gossipin' about us boys

that drank too much.  I come out of the chute on this

horse, and none of us had had any training at bronc

riding, so one of Dad's older brothers, [Art Tanner's

boys?], Stan, was runnin' the rodeo, but it was all

guys about my age that was doin' the ridin'.  He said,

"Now, you guys haven't had any practice, so you can use

both hands instead of one."  So they cinched me down

and I'm so drunk I can't hardly get on there, but the

horse bucked and my feet went up in the air, but I had

both hands, so the horse bucked right back under me,

and I come down on him.  I went ahead and rode him.

Everybody in the crowd thought I done it on purpose

(laughs) and the judges.  So I got first prize.  And

back then, it was quite a deal, $100.  So that night at

the dance, I donated my $100.  I went up to the band

and had 'em announce I wanted the Relief Society

president, the woman that was in charge, to come up.

So I signed the check and donated it to her to buy

refreshments to talk about us guys.  (laughter)  But

that's how crazy an alcoholic is, too.  I mean, that

was all uncalled for.  I was just bein' a smart aleck,

like all that stuff was.  But at the same time, it was

part of what--I didn't have no business even winnin'

it, because the horse done it, bucked back under me or

somethin'.  But when I come down, I still had the

saddle of him, and then I knew I had to quit messin'

around and really ride him, which I did.

   But the point I wanted to bring out was how cunning,

baffling, and powerful alcohol is to an alcoholic.

It's an obsession of the mind, coupled with a

[neurology or crave?].  I'm bringin' this out now,

because it gave me so much trouble up to this time at

Aneth, and I was gonna go to Keams Canyon.  And I

decided in my own mind when I went over there I was

gonna cut out drinkin'.  I'd had nothin' but trouble,

like I said here, from the time I was in school, in the

service, and just little things happenin' in the

service, such as that gas cap--just hundreds of things.

I ain't got no business bein' here.  But the good Lord

looks after his drunks, I think.  That's the only

reason I'm here.  And He had to give me a good enough

education to where I had a real good story to share

with you or whoever had a problem--no matter what your

problem was, I've been through some of it.  All drunks

are different, but Navajos are a lot different to work

with than Anglos.  Spanish is kinda like 'em.

   Now we can go to Keams Canyon.  My two uncles were

running it:  William E. McGee--that's my mother's

brother--and Cliff McGee.  He, by this time, when I was

kicked out of school, he's the one that got me on the

Gross Kelly truck, sent me out to Greasewood.  But he

went out and went to work for Bill, while we were in

service.  He didn't have to go [into service] for some

reason.  Uncle Bill turned Steamboat over to me when I

was sixteen, so he had a lot of good help there.  But

him and Cliff just went on a big thirty-day vacation

when they got me to come out there.  And so this lady--

I'm gettin' to the name you were askin' me--"I sound

sleepy."  That means "the woman that sleeps a lot."

But Asdz��n ay�o 'a_hosh�.  But they called

her so sleepy, that the Navajos could say that sleepy.

Then there's asdz��n.  That means

"woman."  So she's a great big woman.  She's about six-

ten and real hefty.  She brought in this big rug, and

it was sixteen by twenty-two.  And I hadn't seen a rug

over at Aneth and Teec Nos Pos down here, Klagetoh,

and Sweetwater…  where I was acquainted with, and 

then out here at Tsaya when I was a kid at White Rock with  

Grandpa.

They didn't make big rugs.  And an eight by ten was the

biggest--you didn't see many of them.  So I thought,

"Well, boy, I'm in trouble.  I don't know what to give

for this rug or anything."  So I'm talkin' Navajo to

her, and she's laughin'.

   

   [END SIDE 1, BEGIN SIDE 2]

   

   Cole:  (gives tape ID)  J. B., you were just tellin'

us about the first time you tried to buy a sixteen by

twenty foot rug at Keams Canyon.

   

   Tanner:  Yeah.  I'll never forget that, Brad.  This

lady was big and everything, too, and I didn't know if

I didn't handle her right, I was afraid she might whip

me!  (laughter)  Anyway, I knew that as long as I could

talk Navajo, I'd get it done some way, so I just kept

talkin' to her and talkin' to her, and approached her

from different angles, asking her about the weave and

the dye she used.  I finally told her I'd never seen a

rug this big, and I was just going to have to depend on

her to tell me what she usually sold 'em for.  I had

her go over and show me different things.  Finally, she

just went over on one end there, and there was kind of

a step-off, going up into the jewelry department, about

twelve inches high.  She sat down on that step.

(quotes woman in Navajo)  "____________," she said.

"__________."  What that means is, "Quit talkin' about

this rug and come set down by me."  And she said, (in

Navajo) "______________.  I've never seen a white man

talk Navajo like you do, and I want to know where you

come from."  I didn't know whether she meant where I

went to school or what, but it come to me all of a

sudden, (in Navajo) "___________," I said, "_________."

"Oh, yeah?!"  That means "a ladies' man from Aneth,

Utah."  (laughter)  So she laughed and she was a big,

heavy-set woman, and I thought she was gonna roll off

of that step and onto the floor.  And every Navajo that

come in--I got the rug, she told 'em how much and we

traded it out, and she had three big wagons, and she

got 'em all loaded up with flour and food, so she got

enough food to go make a [big dinner].  She camped

there for three days, and she told every Navajo that

come in there what my name was.  (in Navajo)

"____________________________________."  She'd really

put the whole thing in there.  So a lot of the Navajos,

and where that comes from, is Aneth, Utah.  And

Navajos, they called it ���b��ch���dii.  That means

"the devil his self."  But that didn't have anything to

do with me.  I just told 'em what they actually call

'em--told her Aneth, and that's where I come from.  And

a lot of people said, "J. B., that's gonna hurt you,

talkin' about the devil, and bein' named

���b��ch���dii."  I said, "No, because it's got a 'yah'

with it."  A ladies' man, from Aneth, Utah.  And how

Aneth got that name, this trader that was out there

years ago, when it first started, he was really slow

motion, and no matter how big a hurry people was, he

still just took his time.  He had to wait on everybody,

because everything's behind the counter.  An old man

and his team, Sah-ga-nit-so [phonetic spelling] was

this guy's name, was having a sing for his wife, and he

had more people come than he had anticipated, and so he

run out of some food.  So he come into the store, and

he was in one big hurry, and he wanted to get waited on

and go.  Well, this old man, he's just slow motion.

Finally old Sah-ga-nit-so said, (in Navajo)

"______________."  And all the Navajos laughed.  He got

so mad and said, "He's just like the devil his self."

When he died and went on, that was the name of Aneth,

Utah.  So I have to tell that part.  What I meant was,

I was from there.  For quite a while the Navajos, and

even now, on my radio show, I have to explain that,

because a lot of 'em ask me the same thing, "How did

you get that name?"  It's really served a purpose.  In

A.A. when you give a talk, you say, "I'm J. B. and I'm

an alcoholic."  But you also have to say it in Navajo,

"____________," they call me.  _________, that means,

"an alcoholic."  And that loosens 'em up.  There'll be

200-300 of 'em in a meeting, and they just all--it gets

'em thinkin'.

   When I got in--I'll just touch into this, and then

we'll go a little way.  When I finally got in Turquoise

Lodge in Albuquerque, got sobered up, and I'd already

drank the Navajo Shopping Center up…  I shouldn't be

putting this in, but I want to get it where I don't

forget.  Anyway, we had A.A. groups going in

practically every chapter, and MacDonald got elected

president, chairman of the council.  And he hired

social drinkers to be the head of the alcoholic

department, so he got all that money for treatment

centers and stuff.  I'll tell you, that about broke my

heart, to where those A.A. members just quit.  They

weren't going to listen to a bunch of guys drinkin',

tellin' 'em how to stay sober.  But I wanted to bring

that out there, Brad, so that it's so important, that

even the most premature gentleman, that you can think

about, and there might be some questions you want to

ask on it, but goin' from "So Sleepy" after I got that

name, (in Navajo) ____________, we done the same thing.

Clarence Wheeler, that you've taken his…  He was

runnin' Polacca, and I was runnin' Keams, both of us

percenters.  And we done about the same thing that I

done at Aneth--really increased the volume.  And so my

brothers, Bob and Don, to start with, and a guy by the

name of Jack Leonard, had been workin' for the Navajo

Tribe in its uranium mines in various different places.

In fact, the Navajos found the uranium that was used

for the bomb at Alamagordo, and then the ones that was

dropped in Japan.  But this Jack Leonard was a guy up

high in that.  So I thought I had quite a bit of money

comin' to Keams.  Back in those days, when you were on

a commission, you had to stay the full year to get your

commission, I found out.  But I had a chance to buy

Ganado Trading Company, and Noslini [phonetic spelling]

Trading Company.  And so then I contacted, like I said,

Jack Leonard and Don and my brother Bob.  And the four

of us went over and bought Ganado and Noslini from Hugh

Lee.  His dad was Albert Lee, and Art Lee was his

brother.  I think he lived down in Flagstaff ________.

   Albert went on a mission for the Church, and he gave

Art power of attorney.  And the payments that older

brother Hugh was supposed to be making was another

income that I would have--Art handled it.  Well, right

away we fired them two businesses up at Ganado, and it

was definitely hurting all the surrounding stores.

They thought it was hurtin' 'em worse than it was.

Back in those days, the bankruptcy law wasn't like it

is now.  At that time, any three creditors could put

the demand on you--in Arizona, anyway--and this is

where Ganado was, in Arizona.  Art Lee…  (aside

about faulty memory)  But there's four of 'em, four

traders, but Art was the main one.  They just decided

they'd better get rid of me out there.  So they had

these three creditors in Holbrook, put the demand on,

and they drew up the papers, and gave the sheriff the

demand thing--I don't remember just what legally you

call it.  But on a Saturday evening, the sheriff drove

in out there, and I mean, we had these stores…  I

was the only trader that was ever had the demand put on

'em before sheep season.  Navajos had all this credit

on lambs and cattle, and in the spring, the wool.  And

that's what kept 'em goin', was that credit.  The first

of November I could have paid everybody I owed, and had

quite a bit left, but the first of September, I

couldn't.  I might have been able to go get some to

pacify those three, but I didn't think it was fair to

all the other creditors in New Mexico, like Gallup

Mercantile in Gallup and everything.  So I made a

stand, not knowing what they could do.  Clyde Teec

[phonetic spelling] was one of 'em, and Don Wheeler,

and Lester Lee.  Lester did not run his store

_________.  So that's the four of 'em.

   So Monday morning they're out there with an

auctioneer, and they auctioned off the grocery sacks

and the hardware section and the feed department and

the dry goods and the shoe department.  They divided it

up to where it was about an equal fourth.  I found out

later that there were four of 'em that had instigated

it.  They guaranteed these creditors that I had in

Holbrook--the Coca-Cola Company and the drug company,

and I think it was produce--that they would get their

money.  But they auctioned this stuff all off at about

ten, fifteen cents on the dollar--just enough to pay

these three creditors.  And Art, he got all of the

pawn, accounts receivable.  Here it is, the first of

September, and a big stack of checks had come in that

Monday; and the pawn was $50,000-$60,000.  Here I sat

there.

   Before the sheriff left--I want to insert this--

Saturday, the vault had $15,000 in cash that Tobe

Turpen [phonetic spelling] in Gallup was one of the

finest and one of the greatest traders.  He's dead now,

but he had let me have this $15,000 to start my lambs

with, because some of 'em would come in, and they'd

have $50 comin', or $200, $300, $400, or $500.  You had

to have money to give 'em over and above what they

owed.  So he advanced me that, and then he was going to

handle the sheep.  I talked the sheriff into letting me

take that money and give it back to him, because it

didn't have nothing to do with…  And I showed him

the date and the contract for lambs.  So I did get to

protect him, and the sheriff said, "I'm not supposed to

do anything like this, but I know Tobe Turpen, too."

So he let me take the…

   Now we're back to Monday.  They were just backin' up

trucks and loadin' the damned stuff all up.  I thought

you'd have time to go make arrangements.  I hadn't even

talked to a lawyer over the weekend, 'cause I didn't

know ______________.  So Bill McGee was kinda mad at me

for leavin' Keams Canyon and goin' on my own.  But he

said, "I can't blame you, because I know Hugh's not

gonna keep the stores, and I'd like to see you have

'em."  But he was still mad at me, because he had

brought me from Aneth over there.  So he got me Conrad

Kleinman [phonetic spelling], his attorney in Phoenix,

to handle it for me.  And so they put me in what you

call involuntary bankruptcy.  Now it's handled

altogether different.  You get to keep certain things.

They even took a .22 rifle, single-shot rifle.  What

I'd done, I had to move someplace, so I moved into

Gallup [with Demerkle?].  And that's when I got

acquainted with Pete Videll [phonetic spelling] that

owned--coal mining town there, and that's what Demerkle

was, mined coal.  And the railroad spur out there.  The

big mine was there, and they built these coal cars and

take it down.  So when trains come through Gallup,

they'd load those _________.

   I got acquainted a little bit with Pete there.  But

I couldn't do anything for eight months to a year,

Conrad Kleinman told me.  So I made a deal with Bill

McGee, and he'd just bought Pi�on Trading Company.  And

Paul Jones, in my opinion, was next to Chee Dodge or

even about as good, chairman of the council at that

time.  Paul Jones and Uncle Bill were real good

friends, is how come the tribe had owned Pi�on

themselves.  They tried to run three or four--I think

it was five or six stores, and they just couldn't,

havin' trouble.  And Pi�on was the last store that they

had, and Bill bought it from 'em.  Accounts receivable

was to be paid for as it was collected, and if you

couldn't collect 'em, the tribe just throwed 'em in.

So Bill made me a deal, that I come out there, after he

got Conrad Kleinman to handle the paperwork and stuff

in Phoenix.  Being as it's in Arizona, you had to go

all the way to Phoenix.  All my New Mexico creditors,

they had to turn in their bills.  But it didn't end up

that any of 'em got hardly anything, because these guys

hadn't give nothing for the merchandise.

   

   Underhill:  And what year was this?

   

   Tanner:  I think it was 1957.  No, John was born in

fifty-_______.  The latter part of the fifties.  So I

went to Pi�on for this period, and it turned out to be

between eight and nine months.  There again, I had a

big break.  It's when all these guys had been workin'

on the railroad that I mentioned at Aneth--they'd been

workin' over here, too.  They started up what they

called the Railroad Retirement for these people.  And

in the winter months, they would draw a check when they

was off work, and it was a big thing for 'em.  They had

a winter income, and they'd go back in the summer and

work.  A lot of 'em was startin', bein' as they was

workin', was getting a lot of Social Security.  A lot

of 'em at Pi�on didn't have the census numbers.

Navajos was multiplyin' so fast, the way they had

things goin', they wasn't keepin' up with 'em on that.

So a lot of 'em didn't have a census number.  So I

figured out right away that Pi�on could really be

something, if I could get all of this stuff goin'.

   Bill Stryker [phonetic spelling] was the head of the

Trading Division and was over all the trading posts.  I

went and saw him and Paul Jones and told 'em that these

accounts that went with the deal, but it wasn't payable

until they was collected.  And I said, "I need to get

rid of 'em."  And they agreed that if I'd bring $2,500--

and I suggested that I could get Bill to give me a

check for $2,500--it was an enormous amount _______--

and I'd already collected quite a bit of 'em, because

these people was tickled to pay whatever they owed when

they started to gettin' these checks.  And I got 'em

all lined up.  And to show you how it amounted to, they

had owned Pi�on three months.  The average actual cash

sales was $10,000 a month.  And that was big cash sales

back in those days.  _______ $2,000 or $3,000 was big,

until this railroad stuff started up.  These people

just couldn't believe that I was gettin' these checks

for 'em.  And so Paul Jones and the chairman and Bill

Stryker agreed to just go ahead and take $2,500.  I

said we should have done that to start with--and then

if you collect 'em, fine, if you don't, then we

shouldn't even be involved in it out there.  So I went

and called Bill in Phoenix, and he come out, and Cliff

at Keams.  And we took care of that.  When I was in

Demerkle, they come and took that .22 rifle in the

house I rented there at Demerkle before I went to

Pi�on, I got acquainted with Pete Videll that owned--he

had bought this town of Demerkle from the mining

company.  And in fact, he just fell into it.  But he

had leased a portion of it where the Navajo Shopping

Center is, to Cy Grave [phonetic spelling] from Cortez,

Colorado.  The trader up at Toyok--I can't think of his

name right now, I'll think of it in a minute--and his

four or five other businessmen, Cortez and Farmington,

that was in this organization, to run a livestock

auction in that big quonset building that's there.  I

don't know whether you've ever been over there or not.

It was there.  Big set of corrals out there, just

perfect for J. B.

   Back when I told you that the Relief Society

lady…  I said, "By the way, you guys will have

somethin' to talk about.  There isn't a trading post

big enough for me.  I'll have to build the damned

thing."  That's how smart aleck, you know.  So this was

it in my mind.  So these guys had [a bird nest?] on the

ground, but they didn't know how to handle the Navajo.

They didn't realize that when a Navajo loads something--

whether it's pi�ons, a cow, a goat, a horse, a rug, or

what--he wants the money for it.  The reason he loaded

it to you, he needed the money.  They wouldn't advance

'em.  They got 'em waitin' 'til Thursday or Wednesday,

whenever the sale was, and they messed around and they

went broke, they just couldn't make it work.  But I

seen right away how you could work it.  I had to make a

decision.  Well, I'm gettin' just a little bit ahead.

   But I had to make a decision, after Pete leased it

to me for $300 a month, that whole big layout, for five

years, with an option for five more.  So I had to make

a decision whether to bring some auction people in that

I didn't know how it worked either, but I did know we'd

have to work the Navajo.  If he unloaded a steer that

was worth $100, you know it was gonna bring $100, you'd

advance him $75.  That's more than he could get

anyplace else.  If you advance him more than he could

get, he's gonna be happy.  And then when it went

through the auction, we'd send him a check for it.

This was the time they were startin' to get pickups,

more so than…  A lot of 'em that couldn't work for

the railroad, didn't have the cash income.  So I just

decided to do it myself, and I got a guy by the name of

Jerry Crow [phonetic spelling] in Denver, that's a big

sheep buyer, to come down and keep the market open for

whatever--whether it was goats or jackasses or crow

bait horses or cattle or whatever it was.  He would

keep the market open.  And I mean, when that thing took

off, it was unbelievable.

   But I went back out to Pi�on, and I told Bill, "I've

got to leave early again, like I did when I went to

Ganado."  This was the first of August in 1957, when we

started that.  I figured I had…  I'll have to insert

Keams.  At that time I had $14,000-$16,000 comin', but

Bill ________ decided I had to stay 'til November to

get it.  And so I said, "I gotta go anyway."  So I had

to do the same thing with Pi�on.  I figured that I had,

with these accounts and everything, just in eight

months, my last three months, the cash sales was over

$40,000 a month.  I had had four timesed it from the

$10,000 they had done the first three months.  Besides,

I had a lot of others they could go ahead and get on.

I said, "You guys figure out what I've got comin', and

I'm gonna go, whatever it is.  I've gotta get in there

and get this thing established through sheep season--

get the Navajos to know what I'm doin'."  I didn't tell

them what I was gonna work __________.  He thought I

was completely nuts again.  He called Mom and told her,

"This is the last time I'm gonna try to help Buddy."

My nickname was Buddy.

   I should mention this.  When I was born, Dad wanted

to name me after my grandpa, Joseph Baldwin, and Dad

said, "Hell, he's too little to put that on him."  But

Joseph Baldwin's front initials is J. B., so that's how

I got my name, J. B., because I wasn't big enough for

Joseph Baldwin.  But at any rate, when I was in the

service, I had a hell of a time there, gettin' by.

They wanted me to be John or Jim, keep the "B."  But

no, I wouldn't do it.  They finally put "I.O." on my

dog tags, "initials only."

   At any rate, I told Bill, I said, "Well, give

us…"  And Clarence owned part of it, Clarence

Wheeler, and Cliff and Bill.  Bill owned half, I think.

Cliff and Clarence a fourth a piece.  So they figured

it up, and they sent the night man that was in there

cleanin', over to my house to tell me they had it

figured out.  So I went in, and they handed me a check.

It was $189.50 or thereabouts.  I said, "You guys

givin' me the wrong check here or what?"  And they

said, "No.  You're leavin' before inventory, and

somethin' might happen.  All this profit won't show up.

You know, ________ a bomb could hit it and blow it all

up, and this and that."  Bill said, "No, that's how it

is.  Take it or leave it."  So I turned it over and

signed it and I throwed it back over on the desk and I

said, "You guys need this worse than I do."  But I

mean, I really needed…  Back then, it was equivalent

to when I come, between $20,000 and $30,000.  It's

equivalent to $200,000 or $300,000 now, with what you

could do with it.

   But anyway, I had twenty dollars in my pocket.  I

loaded Lorraine and the kids up.  Sherry, the one that

come picked John up, she was born while we was there at

Ganado, so she was just a baby, and John wasn't born

then.  We got in and we got a room at the motel, had

breakfast the next morning.  I'll tell it this way, I

had a dollar three eighty-five left.  Just an old

saying I have.  But actually, it was $1.85.  That paid

the motel and breakfast and supper that night.  The

next morning I got up.  I had paid Pete Videll the

first and last month on the lease, $600, and I drawed

it out of Keam.  So I don't know whether you know where

Gross Kelly's used to be, the wholesale house.  It was

there on the one-way street goin' out old triple six

[Highway 666], and then on over the other one, Gallup

Mercantile was on the other one.  Comin' in, it's a one-

way street from [back?], and it turned across those

bridges.  Well, I met my brother Jerry, and he had a

store at Kayenta.  He was killed later in a plane

crash.  D. B. Clark [phonetic spelling] had had the

flyin' service in Gallup.  But he said, "C'mon, let's

go have some coffee."  It was right on the tracks.  And

I said, "Go on down to Fairmont, and I'll turn around

and come on down."  And he went down, and I told him

what I was up against.  I said, "Whatever you can come

up with will help."  He said, "Well, I can write you a

check for $2,500.  I know it ain't much, but," as he

put it, "it'll give you walkin'-around money while

you're puttin' the bigger money together."  I said,

"But you don't know how I appreciate that, 'cause I

just got $1.85 left."  So I got Frontier Airlines in

there in Gallup, and there's a plane over--I think it

left at 10:30--and one from Denver would pick you up in

Farmington, take you back to Gallup, around 2:00 or

3:00, whatever it was.  Well, this check he give me was

on Farmington Bank, and I wasn't established with

anybody in there, and just goin' through that

involuntary bankruptcy, I couldn't afford to take a

chance on them cashin' it.  So I flew over there and

came over here and cashed it and then went back.

   That night I went out and seen a guy by the name of

Bernie Vanderwagen.  I knew he was one of the biggest

sheep buyers at that time--him and Tobe Turpen.  But

Tobe was sick, the one I'd salvaged that $15,000 for,

or I'd have went to him.  But he was sick and down in

Tucson--pneumonia or something _____ Tonopah.  I went

out and seen Bernie, and I told him, "We can start

buyin' ewes and lambs"--this was the first of August--

"or ___________ want to do, Bernie, just buy any damned

thing they bring in, no matter what it is, at a price

that we can both make some money on.  You let me make

some money, and I'll let you make some money."  So he

said, "Well, we can talk about this later," but he

wrote a check out for $5,000, and he said, "This'll get

you started."  He didn't have any idea whether it'd

be…  I told him, "You'd better damned sure come to

town in the morning by noon, because this won't last

very long."  But he give me the five, and I had that

$2,500.  I let Don take $2,000 of it, I think, if I

remember right, and go down to Buvany [phonetic

spelling] Lumber Company, buy lumber to start making

shelving and make a supermarket-type in this quonset

building.  And then we built steps up to the scales,

over in the livestock building in the back, and put a

vault on each side--one for the bookkeepers on one

side, and pawn on the other--and then put these

homemade shelving deals.  Don done a hell of a good job

on that.  He really done a good job.  He checked

California supermarkets and…

   I think it was about September 10, Bernie had

everything covered.  He had a lot of grazing land out

towards Zuni, Whitewater and in there.  And he leased a

lot of _______.  Finally, he got some lamb buyers and

we started to rotatin'.  He'd sell some.  We managed to

get some cash flow comin' back just before they buried

it.  And this D. B. Clark that I mentioned--Jerry--they

went into the side of the mountain out there and killed

both of 'em.  But D. B. Clark loaned me quite a bit of

money later in September.  And Fred Capigia [phonetic

spelling] that owned the Pepsi-Cola plant was a

financier.  I had four of 'em, ________.  And Uncle

Don, Colin's [phonetic spelling] dad, he--I called him,

and he come over--I told him, "I need to stock these

shelves that Don's gonna build here."  He always had a

habit of rubbin' his forehead.  You just had to let him

go through his procedure--_______ guy.  He always liked

to lay down on the couch when you were tellin' him a

deal.  So I knew that, so I had a couch on the left.  I

said, "Come on over here, Uncle Don.  I've showed you

everything.  Here, lay down on this couch."  He said,

"Well, it's gonna take quite a bit to stock this.  This

is a big store."  I said, "Well, it'll take $30,000, at

least."  That was a lot of merchandise back then.  And

he said, "I haven't got that much loose money.  And

it's wheat time, I'm buyin' all this wheat from the

farmers, and I'm committed on it."  I said, "Well,

Henry Polacca believes in me.  But due to that

bankruptcy, he can't jump in, 'cause ________ of his

money on Ganado."  Kind of had me between a rock and a

hard place.  I said, "The reason I got you over here is

to guarantee him.  You don't have to come up with any

money, you can just guarantee me."  He said, "Well,

I'll just go tell Henry to give you the __________ in

thirty.  It'd be $40,000.  As I bring the flour to him,

he don't pay me, he just credits.  I'll pay him off

with flour," because he furnished all the trading

posts, see.  Well, that stocked it.  Within six

weeks…  (laughs)  This is the fifteenth of

September.  Within six weeks, with $1.85, Don and I had

that thing stocked and ready to go.

   I don't know whether you guys have heard of Ed Lee.

I'll tell you, he was a radio announcer and well-known

Navajo.  Beautiful voice.  He was just really a good

announcer, and he could sing those beautiful Navajo

songs like nobody else.  I went to see him when I first

got in town, but when we got the store stocked, we

built a place up there where me and Robert E. Lee--and

Ed and I'll tell you would be where the Indians could

see us, __________, on KGAK, the Navajo station there

in Gallup.  And I told him, "It's just like TV.  When

you're home, now that you see us talkin' to you here,

when you come in, you see us, you just shut your eyes,

and you can see us just like you see TV looks."  And

they got a big bang out of that.  And that's the way

that peyote was, too.  They'd shut their eyes and eat a

little bit of peyote, and they could see their family.

I think they really could.  Just illusions, I guess.

Man, they took good care of their family.  There's lots

of Navajo families out there that if it hadn't been for

peyote comin' in, would have drank theirselves to

death, because we didn't have Alcoholics Anonymous

goin' much then, or no way for 'em to…

   Between Ed Lee Notay [phonetic spelling], it was the

darnedest thing you ever seen.  Even the MJB Coffee

Company--that's my initials, "M" and J. B.--I told all

the Navajos, "This is Mister J. B. Coffee."  (laughter)

I called Denver and told 'em to send their salesman,

one with authority, on credit.  I told him, "I can't

explain this to you over the phone, what this operation

is, but you send one of your top men down here, and you

got one of the best accounts you'll ever have for MJB.

There's a whole Navajo Tribe out here that's gonna

start drinkin' it.  They liked Schilling's and Hill

Brothers, I think.  We changed that.  And they sent a

carload down and gave me thirty, sixty, ninety days to

pay for it.  I had three railroad carloads in three

months.  We paid for a third of it, and as I paid for

one, they'd send another one.  I had it up there, and

the volume was so great that we accumulated money there

to buy a [cabin?] with, and stuff that we didn't have

to pay.  The Navajo people are just fabulous, the way

they supported it.

   Charlie Williams had the Chevrolet agency, selling

Chevrolet trucks and stuff.  I told him right in the

same period there, the first of October I want you to

have a big line of trucks and stuff out here, and these

Navajos all have money for down payments, and they can

pay.  Oh, man, those livestock people, they didn't have

no credit, you know, or rated anything.  ________ "If

you don't do it, Sara Gurley [phonetic spelling] will,

or Rayco [phonetic spelling] that had GMC."  But I

liked Charlie the best, and so I gave him first chance

at it.  Those Navajos just come and really give me a

big hug.  "Thank you, J. B.!  We couldn't have got a

new truck like this if you didn't tell him that we're

good payers."  And then all I had to do is load

something up and sell a rug, or like a pi�on crop, or

hides, or whatever.  They could pawn for cash.  Up

until then, most pawn was just border trade.  The ones

that didn't have very good credit, they had to pawn for

it.  The good credit ones that had livestock, sheep and

cattle, the traders…

   Gettin' back to those four traders out at Ganado,

they wished to God that they'd left me at Ganado,

'cause the Navajo Shopping Center was just…  I don't

know how many times Ganado ever thought of bein'.  But

the Navajo people was ready for a change, and actually

as time went on, there were enough people who got on

some type of welfare, Social Security, [Aid to]

Dependent Children, that the traders out there that was

mad at me, their business, they started to give 'em

credit on these checks that was comin' to the old

people and dependent children, women without husbands.

So actually, it didn't hurt 'em like they thought it

was goin' to--just due to that Railroad Retirement

money that we all worked on, and we got the census

numbers.  This is a process from Aneth to Navajo

Shopping Center of about twelve years that it took to

get this line of thinkin' to where the Indian was

ready, and the people--even after goin' through

involuntary bankruptcy--to be able to get credit.  The

only damned reason they went with me was because the

Indian was with me.  And if MJB didn't go with me, or

the only reason Uncle Don even went, he felt secure,

was because he knew someway, somehow, credit is not

always how you pay, it's if the wholesale people are

gonna lose business.  Just like with MJB, I used…

Once I got MJB to go, I knew I could get Schilling's

and ________.  I think I kept just MJB for a month,

Christmastime.  Then finally I told the Navajos, "If

you'd rather have ________ the red cans, Schilling, or

Hill Brothers, we can put it in."  But that credit,

nobody but an alcoholic could figure all this stuff

out.  Like I told you, God give alcoholics more brains

than an average person, so that if you did listen and

realize that your only way to live was with His help--

every morning you have to ask Him to help you not drink

today--it's just that simple.  If you don't take the

first drink, you don't get drunk.  And that's the way

A.A. works.  And the A.A. fellowship, what they've been

through, they share their whole strengths and

experiences.  And at night, you load 'em up and take

'em to Albuquerque and get 'em in Turquoise Lodge and

come back and even though you were up all night, come

back and work the next day.  That's just the way it is.

   But so many people don't realize--they all say, "You

no good drunks!" you know.  I'll admit, I was the

sorriest SOB that ever was.  But I can truthfully say

that as [the gentleman?] Navajo Shopping Center ______,

the ones that wasn't ______ at Ganado, I eventually got

'em all paid.  And they all kind of unwillingly helped

me after about two or three months--some of 'em took

six months before they come in.  'Cause I couldn't

start payin' any of 'em anything for about a year

there, 'cause it was growing too fast.  But the

psychology of "I'm gonna miss out," is what gets people

to back you.  And no matter what you've done…

That's the reason I think so much of the Navajo people:

They supported me to where I could do that.

   Okay, now we'll get to about that support.  I had a

corporation.  I had to borrow more money, like pi�ons

take several million dollars to buy pi�on, ___________.

So the only way I could do it was get some stockholders

in there to put money in for stock, and I got three:  a

guy by the name of Peter Crails, John I-rik, and D. J.

Elkins [all phonetic spellings].  One of those was an

insurance guy, John I-rik.  And D. J. was really good

with cattlemen--he's a ranger, so he could be a lot of

help in the operation, for handling all the cattle

business and horses and sheep.  So there was three of

'em, and there's five in our family.  There was Mom and

Bob and Don and Joe and Jerry.  There was five of us

that had stock in 'em.

   Well, I discussed when John-John was born, I didn't

drink hardly anything in about a year-and-a-half to two

years, gettin' this thing goin'.  I was just so

enthusiastic in doing it that I didn't have time to

drink, and gettin' everybody coordinated.  And then

John-John was born.  I was at the point that I imagine

even if he hadn't been born a mongol [Down's syndrome]

child, I'd have found some other excuse.  But that was

the excuse that I used.  I had Kay's older son and

Kathy and Sherry that you met, and finally got this

going.  In fact, when he was born on Christmas Day,

mind you--that shows you how special he is--I think it

was seven or eight days I was just gone partyin',

celebratin'.  You know, finally got that boy!  The next

thing I knew, the business was fantastic, and I got it

in my head that if I went in some type of business in

Las Vegas, that my help wouldn't all get upset because

I was goin' out there so much.  So I bought this single-

engine Bonanza, and I hired this guy to fly it for me,

and I went in with Reid Foutz, which is a cousin of

Loyd and Jay, and a brother to Allen that got kicked

out of school with me.  But Reid ended up on the First

and Last Chance on Highway 91 comin' into Las Vegas,

right on the state line.  He got this property.  It was

a bar and what have you out there.  I went in with him

and we went to work on gettin' the licenses and stuff

and got slot machines in first.  There's a dry lake bed

there where we could land.  It was kind of comical.

This pilot, he got to where he knew just whether or not

I'd get in the plane and then I'd relax and drink.  At

that time I could drink a lot and still navigate.  But

I wasn't takin' care of business like I should.

   But anyway, there was a big power line runnin'

across this dry lakebed, so we'd always land on either

side of it, goin' with it, so he didn't have to go

under it.  Well, it was late in the evening, and I

don't know, for some reason, he was mad at me.  We were

coming in, and I had this drink.  I put it over in this

hand, and I had it up here on his seat.  I put my hand

up on the dashboard.  It's a good thing I did, because

about that time, when we were supposed to be landing,

he had forgot to put the landing gear down, so we come

in and made the most beautiful belly landing that's

ever been made in a single-engine plane.  Didn't even

spill any of my drink!  Just come in smooth and the

prop was all bent up.  I just finished my drink.  I

said, "Well, thanks for not spillin' my drink."  I got

out, and here come Reid and them down there, in a

pickup to get us.  We went back up and called an

airport to come and get it.  Just crazy things like

that, that happened, that shouldn't have.

   Another time there, old Bob, brother next to me, he

was a student pilot.  He borrowed Phil Foutz's single-

engine Cessna to bring me down one time.  We stayed for

two or three days down there, and I called up to the

store--something I had to get back that night, and it

was just already dark.  Bob said, "I'm not supposed to

fly on a student's license at night.  Let alone I'm not

supposed to fly with a passenger.  Let's wait to go

until daylight in the morning."  I said, "Hell, you can

handle it."

   We get in and we start back.  We found out it was

Cedar City.  We kind of got off, was a little too far

over.  But up on top before, there was an airstrip all

lit up down there.  So I said, "Well, before we go any

farther, let's land there and see if there's somebody

there.  We'll find out where in the hell we're at."  So

he landed, got down.  I said, "Well, there's nobody

here."  This is El Paso Natural Gas, and they was

runnin' these gas lines all over the country up here.

They put strips in every so often, so they could fly

the big shots in.  That's what it ended up bein'.  So

Bob just begged me.  He said, "We're safe here."  I

said, "Let's get back up and we'll get over there to

that highway, and we'll follow these car lights until

we come to something."  I don't know whether you guys

have been down that road from Las Vegas to Cedar City

or not, but [them cliffs?] are really high, that nose

right out on the bottom.  I don't think that we were

ever all the time above the thing.  I think there were

probably times that _____________.  But all of a

sudden, Cedar City lights come on.  We didn't know it

was Cedar City.  We're comin' in to land--the reason

I'm tellin' it--comin' in to land, and all of a sudden,

the lights on the strip were not there.  So we knew

there was a hill between.  And Bob was tryin' so hard

to do it right, that he grabbed the throttle and pushed

it too quick or too fast and it conked out.  But he did

pull the nose back, and we settled--God had a nice

plowed field there, that that landing gear hit in that

soft plowed dirt, and it flipped over on its back.  We

both had our seatbelts on.  Thank God He was lookin'

after us.  I had my hand up on the dashboard, and my

nose come down and hit it, and my nose was bleedin'.  I

asked Bob, "Are you okay?"  He said, "Yeah, I think my

ankle's hurt."  We're hangin' upside down, you know.  I

don't know if you remember Steve Canyon, used to be in

the funnies.  He had that happen to him, his plane

flipped over, and he was hangin' down there.  I said,

"Hell, if Steve Canyon can get out of here, let's get

unhooked here."  So we got unhooked, and fell down on

our heads.  We got out there and I remembered I left my

bottle in the plane.  So I ran back over and got my

bottle.  As I was running back over where he was, I had

to help him, because his ankle was bruised bad.  Here

the car lights come shinin' down there.  I had my

bottle, and I took a drink.  That was the worst thing

you could do.  Within two hours, we had a plane

chartered and back in the air, twin engine.  But the

plane, too, right when I took that drink, the gas

drippin' on that engine, some way it ignited, and the

whole plane burned down.  So that's another crazy

damned thing.

   

   [END SIDE 2, BEGIN SIDE 3]

   

   Cole:  (gives tape ID)  You were just going to

explain to us some of the differences between trading

on the reservation versus trading at the Navajo

Shopping Center.

   

   Tanner:  Well, that's really a good question.  I'm

glad you brought that up.  That was one of the reasons,

in order to help the Navajos get a cash flow, that I

went to Gallup at this place in Demerkle to start with,

'cause on the reservation you couldn't--their laws out

there wouldn't let you loan 'em money when they didn't

want to sell somethin', to make a car payment and so

forth.  And there were just all kinds of regulations

and one thing or another that made it hard for the

traders to help the Indians.  But after I opened Navajo

Shopping Center up, they all pretty well had to start

doin' the same thing.  But I mentioned there that all

those welfare checks and everything, that become the

trading post business.  Checks that come out there, and

the livestock and stuff--those people, they sold it

where they could get the [most?], that I had

originated.

   I had a problem with the stockholders of the Navajo

Shopping Center about this time.  They gave me a

choice.  There were five in the family on there, and

Don sided with the other three and gave me the

ultimatum of either buyin' or sellin', so I sold out to

them.  And they got most of their money from Adrian

Barryhill [phonetic spelling], which just out of

Grants, he had a big uranium mine on his ranch and had

made a lot of money.

   Well, after I left Navajo Shopping Center, I went

out to Vegas 'cause I had this deal with Reid.  I went

through most of the money I had in that, and when I

come back to Gallup--I don't recall just how long it

was, a month or two--I had $4,000 left, which is

pathetic.  But a guy by the name of Harv Wilson owned

the property where Yah-Tah-Hey is.  And he sold me that

120 acres, everything, all the land east of the

highway, in 1967.  It was approximately 130 acres.

Well, I bought it, and he said, "I'm gonna sell it to

you, kid."  He could talk real good Navajo, too.

   Harv and I had quite a thing goin' when I first got

out of the service.  He was chief of police on the

Navajo Reservation, and I coming from Aneth up to

Shiprock, too, that y�ii bicheii, and fair they have

every October.  The dancing y�ii bicheii came from

Aneth.  I was cuttin' up with 'em there.  And old Harv,

he didn't like me, for some reason.  The only thing I

could ever figure out is Crownpoint, well, I was with

my Grandpa Joe and they were having court, and he was

the interpreter.  And he told the judge that this guy

said this and that.  I jumped up and said, "No, he

didn't say that, he said this."  Everybody that could

talk Navajo knew that I was right.  So he was kind of

aggravated with me over that.  So two big Indian

policemen, one on each side, took me in, and they

throwed me in the drunk tank at Shiprock.  And I mean,

those Navajos at that time, it was illegal to drink.

When they got a bottle on, they drank it all.  So there

I was in there, I had puke all over me.  Even this

Stewart Hatch that I told you--that's his brother-in-

law--tried to get him to let me out, and he wouldn't.

But there's all these years in between, while I was

doin' all this other stuff.  He said, "I'm gonna sell

this to you, J. B."  They'd call me Buddy then.  "I

know you'll do with it what I would have liked to have

done.  You'll make a nice business out of it."  So he

sold it to me for $60,000--no payment except interest

the first year.  The interest was 6 percent, and twenty

years to pay.  And it come $415.28 was the payment.

And he said no prepayment, "I want that for my

retirement."  Well, again, back there, there's a pretty

good little check comin' in for retirement then.

   So I agreed to it, but after I got goin' out there,

well, the Navajos got a big bang out of it.  I didn't

have those big scales and corrals and stuff.  We had to

buy the lambs, you'd take ahold of 'em and turn 'em on

their back in a number three washtub and you could

weigh him on his back in that tub, and you'd just tip

the tub over and let him out.  These Navajos was backed

up there and [gettin'] a big bang out of it, just like

a rodeo, you know.  And so I was open while they were

fixin' the store.  There's a building made out of

ammunition boxes, and the more the stucco was on it,

and it was a hundred by forty--a hundred foot long and

forty foot wide…  So I hired a couple of guys, a

cousin of mine, Lynne Tanner and Henry Andrews, to come

in and pour the cement floor and start doin' what Don

done at the shopping center, while I started to buyin'

the sheep and stuff again.  And the Navajos, big long

lines.  But they were patient, and I'd help them, so

they were helping me.  Not all of 'em, but enough of

'em to put me back in business.

   So as we were just ready to open the store, and this

Adrian Barryhill come out.  He says, "Buddy, I don't

think D. J. and Don gave you a fair deal.  I loaned 'em

most of the money to do it and pay off a lot of stuff,

besides you.  I want to make it right with you."  I

said, "All right, I could use a little extra money."

He said, "I want to give you $50,000 more."  And I

said, "Wait a minute.  There's gotta be some kinda

catch to it.  Even with all the money you got, you're

not gonna give me $50,000 for nothin', I know that."

He said, "Yeah, the one only thing is, you gotta go to

either Flagstaff or Farmington or Holbrook--we'll even

put it in, it's ninety miles--but within a hundred-mile

radius of Gallup, you can't go in business."  So I

said, "Well, Adrienne, I wasn't on any type of welfare--

federal, state, county--when I come to Gallup, and I'll

have to consider your deal as a welfare offer.  Anyway,

if I'm not a free agent, I can't go where I want to."

So I said, "I want to be friends with you, but I don't

need $50,000 that bad."  So he went on and I'll have to

insert this.

   Adrian had two daughters, and this is Sherry's age.

He had them nice pickups and trailers and barrel racin'

horses, and I had the same with Sherry--she was really

good at it.  So they'd come and big pals.  You know,

they'd go all over barrel racin'.  But one of the girls

was killed one year, and two or three days after the

year was up, the other one was killed.  So they kinda

adopted Sherry, best friends.  And when Mrs. Barryhill

died, she included Sherry in her will.  I wanted to

mention that, because after him tryin' to be what was

right, and she knew about it, and I think that's one

reason he ended up dealing with Sherry.  And I wanted

to bring that in.  Everybody's got some good in 'em, no

matter what.

   As time went on out there, I'd been to the Turquoise

Lodge.  My wife was gettin' mad at me, and moved to

Farmington.  I don't remember if I told you Safford, or

did I tell that one already in there?

   

   Cole:  Yeah.

   

   Tanner:  I'd wake up maybe at Newcomb's or in Sheep

Springs.  I'd start out to go see 'em, but I'd get too

drunk and pass out on the road and wake up, and I'd

have to get back home.  The good Lord had to be lookin'

out after me to not have a head-on [accident] and

stuff.  I finally got back into the trading center.  I

think I just sold it up on my own.  At Yah-Tah-Hey,

what happened was, Uncle Don loaned me $6,000 to go

through Turquoise Lodge for two weeks.  At the time I

went through it, that first time it was $180.  The

State subsidized it some way, if you was a resident.

And then all the Navajos, we started to gettin' them in

there, and the tribe, that's all they had to pay, if

they was from New Mexico.  Arizona, I think, is $380 or

somethin'.  We were really haulin' those Indians over

there to get sobered up.  And they had these A.A.

meetings.  I didn't think I got that in this tape, did

I?

   

   Underhill:  You just mentioned that your wife had

moved into town.  That was the only part of it.

   

   Tanner:  So at the time when all of this hope,

strength, and experiences I could share with 'em,

through _______ that I've mentioned here.  Every

chapter house had these A.A. groups.  But over here at

Marbrook's [phonetic spelling], that [Cuba?] Highway to

Farmington, D. B. Clark runnin' that charter service.

I'd charter a plane and four or five of us would--had

Navajos and one thing and another, and maybe one

___________.  State police would block the traffic off

and we'd land on the highway and go to a meeting and

come back.  And then MacDonald messed that up.  He

hired social drinkers to run all the alcoholic program,

and all the A.A.'s.  We're just now gettin' started

back pretty good again.  But that's the ups and downs

of things, just like I've had ups and downs in the

tradin' business, from Ganado and Aneth and all.

   But finally, at Yah-Tah-Hey we got sobered up there.

I stayed sober seven years.  The early seventies was a

jewelry boom.  When it was all done, I didn't owe

anybody anything, and had all kinds of money and

jewelry and stuff paid for.  I conned myself, the

obsession of my mind convinced me that now with no

pressure--and I didn't consult Lorraine--if I'd have

consulted her, she could have told me different--but I

decided I could social drink, and started back on a

five-year 'nother go-around, in and out of hospitals,

in and out of hospitals.  A.A.'s will help you if you

try to help yourself.  I'd always make sure that I

didn't call the same one twice, to get me in the

hospital or something.  I'd get someplace where I could

get a new one.

   Finally, I did get sobered up, and when I did, Yah-

Tah-Hey, I owed quite a bit of money here and there.

So I took a guy in partners with me in the real estate,

by the name of Elliott Master [phonetic spelling].  His

nationality was Jewish.  There's a lot of good Jewish

people, but there's a lot of 'em that the dollar is

their god.  So he was going to do these great things,

develop it.  I had it all ready to develop, in housing

and apartments and a big shopping center.  I'd spent

$250,000 in the planning stages.  And the City of

Gallup, I drilled the first well out there.  They call

it the Yah-Tah-Hey Water Field.  And I had the

granddaddy water act, so they run a six-inch line from

their treatment plant on the right there, on Yah-Tah-

Hey, over to my place.  That's to keep the tank full

forever and ever.  And I ended up selling Yah-Tah-Hey

here four years ago, to Jerry Clayton [phonetic

spelling].  And this Elliott Master hadn't done one

thing that he'd agreed to do, and I found out later he

had done the same thing to a lot of people.  He gets

'em in a bind and then he gets you in.  So at the

present time, when I sold it, and I sold it to Jerry

Clayton, Thriftway station.  Then he sold it to Giant--

Jerry sold the Thriftway stations.  They didn't sell

Yah-Tah-Hey to Giant.

   That's when I decided, well, I've got to repay these

Navajos.  I've got a lot of experiences here that I can

share with them, maybe through a talk show on the

radio.  And I started it on KGAK, one hour on Friday,

every Friday at one o'clock.  That's when their Navajo

Hours started, in the afternoon, started at one.  I had

one hour on there.  And then on Friday at five o'clock

at KYVA, that only reached about a fifty-mile radius,

when all the workers was gettin' off work, so you got a

captured audience, and the older people was listenin'

to KGAK.  It's a program that's designed to give 'em

hope:  there is hope.  I tell 'em (in Navajo),

"___________, you can't feel sorry for yourself, 'cause

nobody else is gonna help you if you don't want to help

yourself--whether you're an alcoholic or not.  You've

still got to get up and--like your old ancestors did

when they came back from Fort Sumner."  I tell 'em that

your great-great-grandfathers and grandmothers, they

walked all the way back, and were just as happy as they

could be.  They were just happy to be free.  So many of

'em died down there, but still, they were coming home

to the four sacred mountains.  They needed somebody

that could tell 'em in such a way that they didn't look

at it that you were tryin' to boss 'em around or

anything, or like some of their leaders they elect as

councilmen and so forth.  After the election is over,

they get pretty belligerent, some of 'em, promisin'

they're gonna do this and that, and then they just take

care of it all.  But the Navajo people in general, in

my opinion, are not like the Pueblo Indians, and I'm

not downgradin' the Pueblo Indians.  The Navajo people

lived scattered out and had to haul water and go get

wood when it was scarce.  They would rather work than

to have welfare.  I would say 90 percent of 'em back in

the old days would rather work.  But when President

Johnson come in with the Great Society, and Peter

MacDonald got elected, and they had ONEO, they called

it, every Navajo that wanted a job, had it, but it was

federal money for about five, six, seven years.  And

when it was all finally run out, instead of 'em gettin'

some industry out here with that money, and some

permanent jobs, there wasn't no job, nothing.  And

there's this lady down to Chinle, __________ we called

her, I asked her, "Out of all that money, what's the

difference in Chinle?"  She thought a little bit and

she said, "_________, my boy, I don't really…  Oh,

yes, that one windmill that pumps water down there.

That was put in with that ONEO money.  It's still

pumpin' water."  That's the only thing that's left.

But the Navajos had a great opportunity there with all

that federal help.  And for alcoholism, they had all

kinds of money for treatment centers, but you can't

hire social drinkers--they made mistakes there.

   But one thing I didn't bring out with Yah-Tah-Hey.

The Navajo Community College.  Dean Jackson was

president.  I don't know whether you've got his name or

not, as president of Navajo Community College.  And

I'll make this statement so you know how important this

is.  If we could have went on with it, the Navajo

Community College would have more money comin' in than

Stanford or Notre Dame--they'd have been up in that

class.  And Dean Jackson--he was a fantastic guy--he

could see how we could do it.  I told him we'd do two

things:  We'd take all the Navajo rugs and jewelry and

stuff I could get together and we'd have a big auction

at Washington, D.C., and invite President Reagan and

Nancy.  And when they come in and see all this stuff,

just inventory, and what the college is tryin' to do,

they're not sayin', "gimmee, gimmee, gimmee," they're

out there makin' money, and givin' people opportunity

that a lot of people in Europe and the East Coast and

Japan and Asia, they'd like to help the Navajo if they

knew how, but who's gonna give 'em a way to do it?  And

we was usin' the Navajo weavings mainly, because that's

what the Navajos is really known for, is their Navajo

weavings.  And I gathered up the largest inventory

that's ever been put together, because when we go and

get President Reagan and Nancy to come, $100 million

wouldn't buy the advertisement, them just walkin' in.

Every reporter in the country that could, would be

there.  So after that show, when we got New York,

Miami, Boston, and then on to Europe, wherever we went,

before we got there, they'd know about it, just from

this first show.  Today, the Navajo people couldn't

have made enough rugs.  It was gonna include all Zunis

and Santa Domingos, and all their jewelry in it,

promote it with 'em.  And the reason I used the college

is because I had President Dean Jackson that understood

that the only way that we could have a great college on

the reservation is on hiring the right kind of

teachers, was do it just like Stanford and Notre Dame

done--they got people backin' it and helpin' it.  Maybe

some of 'em donated fifty dollars…  (tape turned off

and on)

   

   Cole:  So you were telling us about your idea of

selling the rugs in Washington, D.C.

   

   Tanner:  (aside about dead battery)  Let's see,

where was I at now?  'Cause this is real important.

   

   Cole:  You were working with Dean Jackson to try to

get this rug and jewelry sale in Washington, D.C.

   

   Tanner:  I was gettin' up that big inventory.

   

   Cole:  Right.

   

   Tanner:  Like I was tellin' you, Brad, this was

probably the biggest thing that I ever come up with.

Today we'd have all these hotels out there.  They could

have beautiful lakes, fishing, and skiing back up on

the mountain there.  And there would be no excuse for

any Indian, whether Navajo or what, not to be able to

make a living, doing their own arts and crafts, doing

what they know how to do.  And Dean Jackson had enough

foresight to go along with it.  Even some of 'em on the

board of regents was doubtful, he convinced 'em.  He

said, "Leaders come like Paul Jones was with the

council."  They sold us pi�on, I mentioned Paul Jones.

And that's what we need today, and I'm workin' on that,

gettin' Paul Jones-type leader.  But anyway, to get

this in here, when I mentioned to really get the

enthusiasm goin', that we had approached President

Reagan and Nancy and we had got the indication they'd

definitely be there, just let 'em know, 'cause that's

what Reagan ________ some people didn't like him, but I

just loved him because he believed people should get up

and do what [needed to be done (Tr.)].  And this

college thing just flabbergasted him, that these people

would come up with it, ______ market their own stuff.

And what this did, like say we were hittin' onto after

this show, the media really supported the college,

because when they do it like this, the media is

supporting the youth that's gonna learn now.  And

that's the reason all of our big colleges have the

means they do, is through support from the medias.  And

we was tyin' it in, and President Reagan was gonna help

us kick it off, just unbelievable the way it would have

went.

   I don't know whether any of you knew Wanda

MacDonald, MacDonald's wife.  She's a fantastic woman,

but she's not [dreed take noma?].  I don't think

MacDonald would have done what he done if it hadn't of

been for her.  She demanded that I--if the First Lady

of the United States is going to come to this show, the

First Lady of Navajoland should be representin' the

weavers and doin' the show with you.  I said, "Wanda,

that's not the name of the game.  This whole thing is

workin' because the media supports the college.  They

ain't gonna support J. B. and the First Lady of

Navajoland.  No way.  That's all there is to it.  We

spent, I think while I was gatherin' that inventory up,

it was almost three years that I was gatherin' up this

inventory, because you've got to have a fantastic

display.  We'd have all sixteen categories of the rugs,

and a weaver for each one:  Two Grey Hills, Ganado, and

[Ward Rounds?], and so on, around this big ballroom.

President Reagan and Nancy come around and shake hands

with each weaver.  And the media…  It was

unbelievable how this was gonna work.  And MacDonald

just backed off, and he said, "J. B., you've got to

work with Wanda.  She can funnel it through all

the…"  I said, "Mac, it just won't work that way.

Something tells me it's just not right."  So the very

next morning after that meeting in his office, he fired

Dean Jackson, the president, and the board of regents,

cleaned out.  He said, "Now, J. B., you got nobody to

work with."  I said, "Mac, you can't mean that.  These

kids that's not even born is who this is gonna be for.

They'll have the best teachers in the whole world.  We

can have the best educational institution that these

people deserve.  And the best markets for all the stuff

they produce.  It's a two-fold thing:  it's for the

weavers and it's for all the families that make

jewelry, all the [floss?]."  We had a big booth at

these auctions where it had all this information about

the college and how they could donate to it.  Over in

Europe--I don't know whether you guys know this or not--

but there's families over there that put up tepees and

act like they're Indian.  They really would support

something like that.

   And the little guy that helped me, I gotta get him

in there.  And I don't know whether he's not a drunk

yet or not.  But John Plane [phonetic spelling], little

bitty Navajo that went to school at this Indian school

up here in Farmington.  He'd set down and talk about

doing something, when we were having these first

auctions, trying to recruit.  Went all over Canada,

Colorado, California, Texas, having shows here to get

organized before we could do those bigger ones.  And

Little John played a big part in it.  I don't know

where he's at right now, and haven't been able to find

out.  His dad died drunk, and he always had the fear of

it.  But he was just one of 'em that couldn't…  My

kid brother Rick, A.A.'s for guys like me.  I had to

liquidate all that inventory and pay off the banks.  As

I got more inventory, I was able to borrow more, and

the auctions was turnin' money in.

   We set one up in Kansas City like we was gonna set

it up in Washington, with weavin' [and freight?], just

before Mac done that.  I walked in that ballroom, for

some reason I didn't go back ___________, I started to

play and threw it back down and _________.  I walked in

and I had bought every one of those rugs from traders

or Indians, and it took my breath.  Navajo weavings are

beautiful when they're all categoried, all Two Grey

Hills together, Ganados, and vegetable dyes, and Teec

Nos Pos.  There's sixteen different kinds.  And today,

I don't think there'd be a college that Notre Dame and

Stanford--everybody knows how well-off they are.  They

can do anything they want to do.  Catholic Church

really backs Notre Dame, and Stanford is mostly big

business people.  And Mac blowed it.

   This is the last thing I want to say on that.  It

ended up that Dean Jackson, it killed him.  His dream

just rolled up there.  He had cancer and didn't know

it, but I think the stress and everything brought it

on, and when you go over to Ellis' to take his, Ellis

___________, he's got portraits of different leaders,

council members and so forth, up on the wall that's

been painted.  And Dean Jackson's there--take a look at

it.

   Well, here I am settin' here sharing this with you

guys.  I darned near died with pneumonia in April, my

hair all come out, and I thought I was gonna be bald-

headed for sure.  But it's growin' back now.  And I

just cut my radio show off.  The first of April I made

four years.  I started on April first, four years ago

April.  But the doctor told me if I didn't quit runnin'

back and forth to Window Rock to do it, that they

couldn't cure this pneumonia.  And I darned near didn't

do it in time.

   The point I want to bring out on that is, here

MacDonald, he's in jail, federal penitentiary, and if

I'd have went with Wanda, the way he done all the

finances and everything, buyin' that ranch--it's

fantastic, I don't know where he's got all that money

hid--but I'd have been in jail with him, probably, for

[a load of?] this stuff.  And Dean, bless his heart, I

love him to death, the tribe did dedicate the arena at

Window Rock where they have a Navajo Nation Fair, as

Dean Jackson Arena.  His daughters is really barrel

racers, and his brothers and he ______ cowboy before he

took the job up there.

   But I've mentioned several times about in here, the

good Lord sure looked after me.  He had my Grandpa Joe

teach me Navajo, all these different times crazy

airplane deals that they plowed the ground soft.  Had

it been otherwise, it wouldn't have flipped over just

right.  And just countless times.  I've always said the

very worst tragedy in your life, there's some good to

it if you'll just look hard enough.  The good Lord has

it happen for a reason.  Well, I've been able to say

that's true, in everything that's happened to me:

goin' broke three times, and [and go clear to the

basin?], the Navajo people bailed me out.  Weigh the

lambs in the tub and all that kind of stuff to get you

goin' again.  Still, like John-John, when I left home

there, and looked over there and come back and held

him, he said, "Me say God, Daddy, stay me."  I knew

right then that's the reason God gave him to [us].

Then Lorraine quit havin' any nervous breakdowns, and

didn't have to take those darned shock treatments and

get rid of her memory.

   So the point I'd like to share with everybody that

might have access to this is, your Heavenly Father will

help you if you try to help yourself, and try to help

others.  And I think the only reason I've been able to

even think about puttin' a deal together like the

college deal with the auctions and stuff, and be able

to have it that [close?], within ninety days at the

most, of kicking it off, I haven't been able to figure

out what good has come out of it, because not only the

education for the people, but all of the income that

any kid growing up, all they gotta do is get Grandma

and Grandpa to teach 'em how to silversmith and make a

rug or what have you.  There'd have been people from

all over the world that would donate to those.  You

know how people do, they send $500 a year to a college,

or some of those rich people they saw, $100,000 a year.

And you can just imagine, like from Japan and all over,

all the rich people in Europe and the East Coast.  And

just tell 'em _____________ how close we got.  And we

had President Reagan ready to go.  And he couldn't

believe MacDonald had done that.

   But Brad, I don't know of anything else I can add to

my story.  I didn't bring that out until the end.  I

didn't get to do the greatest idea that I wanted to do

for those people.  If you could have just seen 'em,

just that one time when I bought Yah-Tah-Hey and had to

weigh those lambs in a tub, and we had big scales.  And

people laughin' and havin' fun doin' it.  That's

loyalty.  The Navajo people are just like the Alcoholic

Anonymous fellowship.  You don't wait, you go do it,

somebody asks for help.  You get up and you go help.

   Thank you, Brad.

   

   Cole:  Thank you.

   

   Tanner:  One of these days if I live long enough,

I'll figure out somethin' good about that.  The only

thing I can say now is, out of the three of us, Mac's

down there dyin', had heart surgery; Dean, he's already

passed on.  But it's probably the good there was that

it just tore him up so bad that he could see Notre Dame

and Stanford out there on that mountainside.  The hell

of it was, I could see it, and every time I go out

there, I just get sick.  They haven't even repaired the

thing out there--the college is about to go under.  One

of these days, we'll know.

   

   [END OF INTERVIEW]