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- John Barrymore
- John D Rockefeller
- Ivy Maddison
- Jack Dempsey
- Jascha Heifetz
- Irving Berlin
- Helen Westley
- Heywood Broun
- Igor Stravinsky
- H L Mencken
- Harold Lloyd
- George Jean Nathan
- Gloria Swanson
- George Gershwin
- George Horace Lorimer
- Fred Stone
- Fritz Kreisler
- Franklin P Adams
- Fred and Adele Astaire
- Frank Crowninshield
- Eugene O'Neill
- Eva le Galliene
- Fannie Brice
- Eddie Cantor
- Ernest Newman
- Ed Wynn
- Charlie Chaplin
- Douglas Fairbanks
- Carl Van Vechten
- Carlotta Monterey
- Babe Ruth
Babe Ruth - Calvin Coolidge
- Ann Pennington
- Avery Hopwood
- Alexander Woollcott
- Al Smith
- We’ll Enter to Win, Boys!
- It’s P. E.!
- It was a Massive Silver Cup
- 'We are Going to Win,' Declared Harriet
- Buffalo grazing
- Hidatsas burial scaffolds
- Drums on a summer's evening
Our camp on a summer’s evening was a cheerful scene. At this hour, fires burned before most of the tepees; and, as the women had ended their day’s labors, there was much visiting from tent to tent. Here a family sat eating their evening meal. Yonder, a circle of old men, cross-legged or squat-on-heels in the firelight, joked and told stories. From a big tent on one side of the camp came the tum-tum tum-tum of a drum. We had dancing almost every evening in those good days. - Grandfather sacred medicines
“Do the spirits eat the food?” I asked. I had seen my grandfather set food before the two skulls of the Big Birds’ ceremony. “No,” said my grandfather, “They eat the food’s spirit; for the food has a spirit as have all things. When the gods have eaten of its spirit, we often take back the food to eat ourselves.” - At this hour, fires burned before most of the tepees
“At this hour fires burned before most of the tepees.” In fall or winter the fire was within the tepee, under the smoke hole. - Winter Camp
Autumn came; my mothers harvested their rather scanty crops; and, with the moon of Yellow Leaves, we struck tents and went into winter camp. My tribe usually built their winter village down in the thick woods along the Missouri, out of reach of the cold prairie winds. It was of earth lodges, like those of our summer village, but smaller and more rudely put together. We made camp this winter not very far from Like-a-Fishhook Point. - To eke out our store of corn and keep the pot boiling, my father hunted much of the time
To eke out our store of corn and keep the pot boiling, my father hunted much of the time. To hunt deer he left the lodge before daybreak, on snowshoes, if the snow was deep. He had a flintlock gun, a smoothbore with a short barrel. The wooden stock was studded with brass nails. For shot he used slugs, bits of lead which he cut from a bar, and chewed to make round like bullets. Powder and shot were hard to get in those days - My father stabled his horses at night in our lodge, in a little corral fenced off against the wall
My father stabled his horses at night in our lodge, in a little corral fenced off against the wall. “I do not want the Sioux to steal them,” he used to say. In the morning, after breakfast, he drove them out upon the prairie, to pasture, but brought them in again before sunset. In very cold weather my mothers cut down young cottonwoods and let our horses browse on the tender branches. - Turtle, I think, was the last woman in the tribe to use an old-fashioned, bone-bladed hoe
Turtle was old-fashioned in her ways and did not take kindly to iron tools. “I am an Indian,” she would say, “I use the ways my fathers used.” Instead of grubbing out weeds and bushes, she pried them from the ground with a wooden digging stick. I think she was as skillful with this as were my mothers with their hoes of iron. - Turtle’s hoe was made of the shoulder bone of a buffalo set in a light-wood handle, the blade firmly bound in place with thong
Turtle’s hoe was made of the shoulder bone of a buffalo set in a light-wood handle, the blade firmly bound in place with thongs. The handle was rather short, and so my grandmother stooped as she worked among her corn hills. She used to keep the hoe under her bed. As I grew a bit older my playmates and I thought it a curious old tool, and sometimes we tried to take it out and look at it, when Turtle would cry, “Nah, nah! Go away! Let that hoe alone; you will break it!” - Inside the lodge
Indians, when journeying, made the campfire outside the lodge in summer; inside the lodge, in winter. Usually a slight pit was dug for the fireplace, thus lessening danger of sparks, setting fire to prairie or forest. The fire was smothered with earth when camp was forsaken. - Old Turtle made me a dolly of deer skin stuffed with antelope hair
Old Turtle made me a dolly of deer skin stuffed with antelope hair. She sewed on two white bone beads for eyes. I bit off one of these bone beads, to see if it was good to eat, I suppose. For some days my dolly was one-eyed, until my grandmother sewed on a beautiful new eye, a blue glass bead she had gotten of a trader. I thought this much better, for now my dolly had one blue eye and one white one. - Winter clothing
- A heavy wind blew the snow in our faces, nearly blinding us
“We had a hard time,” he said. “Perhaps the gods, for some cause, were angry with us. We had gone five days; evening came and it began to rain. We were on the prairie, and our young men sat all night with their saddles and saddle skins over their heads to keep off the rain. “In the morning, the rain turned to snow. A heavy wind blew the snow in our faces, nearly blinding us. - I saw that the black-bear skin was bound to one of the posts at the entrance
The next morning when I went out of the lodge, I saw that the black-bear skin was bound to one of the posts at the entrance. This was a sign that my father was going to lead out a war party. I was almost afraid to pass the bear skin, for I knew it was very holy. - Gardening
- The wild geese had come north, but this fact alone was not proof that winter had gone
- Harvesting
- Baby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floor
One evening in the corn planting moon, she was making ready her seed for the morrow’s planting. She had a string of braided ears lying beside her. Of these ears she chose the best, broke off the tip and butt of each, and shelled the perfect grain of the mid-cob into a wooden bowl. Baby-like, I ran my fingers through the shiny grain, spilling a few kernels on the floor. “Do not do that,” cried my grandmother. “Corn is sacred; if you waste it, the gods will be angry.” - Turtle and her old-fashioned digging stick
I was too little to note very much of what was done. I remember that my father set up boundary marks—little piles of earth or stones, I think they were—to mark the corners of the field we claimed. My mothers and Turtle began at one end of the field and worked forward. My mothers had their heavy iron hoes; and Turtle, her old-fashioned digging stick.