Gymnasiums
Modern battlegrounds,,
Those days...
Blood on the floor,
And spittle.
Rival towns,
White - Red.
Sitting Bull long gone,
Custer long dead.
Native sons,
Sons of pioneers
Still locked in enmities,
Remembrances of treaties broken,
Lying words,
Hatreds long unspoken.
So much of fear
So little trust,
Braggarts claiming coup,
Braggarts thinking war
Through basketball.
So it was one night
I slipped and fell
In a reservation gym,
Heard the hiss and laughter,
Felt the rush of fear...
Anger came.
Before my racist pride
Could grow,
I felt a hand,
Heard a voice,
"You okay?'
Spike Bighorn
Pulled me to my feet
Before a silent crowd.
A quiet act of bravery
That spoke aloud
Made me see the way
Through hate,
Set me on a path
To lead me forty years....
An act of kindness
In a place of fear
Defuses tension,
Ends the wars,
Shames the cowards,
Fills the void
With hope.
-------------------
Recollection of a true story, 1977, Brockton, Montana. Arch rival towns, Lambert (Lions) and Brockton (Warriors) had hated each other for many years...****** fights on the game floors, destruction in the locker rooms, name-calling and death threats.... Spike Bighorn stepped up that night on his home floor and lifted a dumb White farm kid to his feet, slapped him on the back, and became a HERO and EXAMPLE to me for the rest of my life. People must have been watching Spike's life because he became a tribal leader on the Fort Peck Reservation, and is now serving us all through U.S. government leadership. I hope I am honoring him with this poem He is a great American. Don Bouchard
