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Authors: Don Coldsmith

BOOK: The Long Journey Home
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Z
ack Miller cabled his brother Joe back in the States, who then contacted some of their German associates to learn the status of the Oglalas.
Even with the transatlantic cable system, communication was slow and unreliable. International law was vague, and the balance of power was shifting. In spite of the Millers' experience in bribing officials, it was risky. Today's government might be ousted tomorrow, and it would never be good to have been supporting the wrong side in such an inflammatory setting.
Germany, above all, trusted no one. Their undersea U-boats with their deadly torpedoes had begun to control shipping, concentrating especially on any vessels flying the British flag, military or not. For the Hundred and One, even contact with their German colleagues was dangerous to both parties. Reluctantly, it was decided to discontinue communication. In one of the last cable interchanges, Zack Miller stated his position to Joe:
GET THEM TO HERE
I'LL GET THEM HOME
ZACK
“What means this?” asked Hans Stosch-Sarrasani, pondering a cable of explanation forwarded from Joe which only seemed to complicate the situation in Dresden.
It was very touchy, and imperative that they should disclose as little of
their potential plan as they could manage. The cables had mentioned few specific locations, lest the European authorities might be waiting to make arrests.
“Zack's in London,” explained Beasley, “but he doesn't want to announce that we're tryin' to take our Indians there.”
Stosch-Sarrasani nodded.
“Good,” agreed the German. “You know the trouble the odder show had.”
Beasley and John Buffalo nodded soberly. Both the Sarrasani Circus and another, Colonel Cummin's Wild West Show, had had European tours featuring American Indians in progress in the crucial summer of 1914. At the war's start, German authorities, suspicious that Cummin's dark-skinned performers might be Serbian spies, had arrested and jailed the entire troupe. Eventually, they were freed only through the efforts of the American consul general in Hamburg. The United States had proclaimed neutrality thus far.
“It is best if ve continue as ve can,” suggested Stosch-Sarrasani. “It shows that ve are honest.”
The other men nodded.
“Now, ve have some small performances out of Dresden. Let us try to do these, to let the travel of the troupe be seen.”
“Will they let us do this?” Beasley asked.
“Ve will see,” said the showman cautiously. “Ve must not appear to try to hide.”
He turned to John.
“Herr Buffalo, you must make sure that your Oglalas do not try to sep—how you say, ‘split up.' A dark-skinned man, traveling alone, might be shot as a spy.”
John nodded. A few Indians had taken off on their own the previous season, and had reached home safely, but 1914 was a different story.
The circus man unrolled a map on his desk and began to point to specific locations.
“Now, here, the border is easy, going out of Germany. Very dangerous, the odder way. Denmark, Norway, still safe. Ve could maybe schedule a few shows in places near the borders, to Nederlands, maybe. There is still some crossing to Britain.”
 
A complicated schedule was tentatively agreed upon, involving exhibitions already booked and some added because of strategic locations. There were stops by suspicious border guards, verifications by wire of the papers the travelers carried. There was a complicating factor, not mentioned by John to the others: The citizenship of Oglala Sioux was not recognized as that of “Americans.” They were not citizens of the United States, and not protected under America's neutrality. Fortunately, authorities in Europe were not so concerned with the
niceties of such matters, as with whether there were spies among them. The reputations of both the Millers and the Sarrasani Circus were good, and it helped that the circus had been quite popular on the Continent, even with the onset of the war.
A wandering and devious route through Scandinavia and Holland, crossing only at “neutral” borders was eventually successful. Every member of the stranded troupe arrived safely in England, happy to be alive.
 
“I'm tryin' to book space,” Zack explained. “Some problems … Even if the Kaiser's U-boats weren't attackin' everything British, they're not happy—the Brits, that is … . With sellin' us tickets. They're puttin' everything into their own war effort. Lots o' folks tryin' to get out of England too, y'know … Get to neutral territory.”
Perhaps the most amazing discovery to the European contingent was that the London Wild West Show was still in operation at all. Virtually all their livestock had been confiscated, but the show must go on. With a few animals not suited to military use, and a few more acquired, the troupe reorganized quickly. Emphasis now was on the Cowboy Band, magic acts, jugglers and acrobats, and on the roping and shooting skills of the cowboys and cowgirls of the Hundred and One. The Oglala dancers, fresh from the Continent, again swelled the crowds in the Shepherd's Bush Stadium.
This was simply a diversion, while Zack Miller continued to try to arrange passage home. He seemed to be facing increasingly greater obstacles.
“I'm in touch with the War Department,” he told a group of key personnel. “Ours, that is. The Navy's comin' to help evacuate refugees, but it'll be more than a month before they can get here. I'm tryin' to get some tickets on some American freighters that are headin' home.”
It was early September, and a few 101 personnel were sent on home with a pitiful assortment of salvaged equipment and rejected livestock. Passenger berths were even more scarce. A few days later, Zack Miller called a meeting of all hands.
“Folks,” he began, “it ain't good, but it's better. There's a U.S. Mail packet steamer here—the
St. Paul
—bound for a New York run. Now, it's not a passenger ship. She's equipped to carry no more than a couple hundred passengers, but these are hard times. There'll be about 700 passengers besides us. The Hundred and One will buy the tickets, and the Germans aren't shootin' at neutral flags so far.”
There was a subdued cheer.
“We ought to be in New York in late September,” Miller went on. “Now, the main show is still on the road for a couple months. Those who want to join that troupe can do so. They'll close in late November, but open in February at San Francisco. So you got some time to decide.”
“What about horses?” someone asked.
Miller turned around with a grin.
“Ever know the Hundred and One to be short on horses? We even supply the British Army.” He paused to chuckle. “Wonder how they're doin' ridin' our buckin' stock?”
The total expense of the repatriation had cost the 101 in excess of $25,000, but everyone was headed home.
 
Hoping against hope that there would be word of Hebbie, John took the train back to Oklahoma with Zack Miller and assorted other employees.
He sat staring out the window at the dark Indiana landscape, listening to the rhythmic click-clack that had so impressed him on his first train ride. The sounds of gentle snores from the other passengers drifted through the coach. An occasional point of light identified an isolated farm. The car was becoming chilly in the November night. Maybe somebody would waken and stoke the wood stove. He could, but didn't want to. John shifted his position and tucked a buggy robe around him.
It seemed a long time since he'd had a bit of time alone to think about anything. Working for the Millers was exciting, to say the least. It was always a dizzy whirlwind, almost anywhere. Their interests and holdings and properties worldwide were astonishing. The Miller brothers also seemed to have more respect than most whites for those of Indian heritage. They had given him, John Buffalo, jobs of gradually greater importance, and he had been able to handle them. It felt good … . There was only a slight gnawing doubt sometimes that he'd been called upon only when his specific skills were in demand.
But is that not the way of the world for the white man? A need occurs, and someone is found to fill it. Each time he'd been called upon, he felt that he had done well. Better than most could have—especially with the disgruntled Oglalas. Most of them were now quite content. Many from the German circus had actually joined the stateside show units on the road. His own pay would have been good, but he felt that he needed a rest. So he was headed back to the ranch, the place that held more happy memories than any other he could recall … . A safe haven against the demands and pressures of the world. It would be good to be in familiar surroundings and with no imminent emergency in sight. Maybe there might even be some word of Hebbie.
 
There was no word. Nothing. Not that he had expected anything, but he needed something. A letter, a note, even a secondhand rumor. He'd heard the saying that no news is good news. He now began to doubt it. Would it not be better to know?
 
 
In the past few years, there had been some women in his life, but no closeness. It was a matter of convenience, a fulfillment of biological needs. Nothing more. For a few years, John had felt that no woman could take the place of the Senator's daughter in his heart. He had now grown beyond that, and had realized that for her it had probably been little more than a temporary fling, now outgrown. In some of his worst moments, he had imagined his lost love telling her society friends about an injudicious kiss with an athlete at Carlisle, for which both had been punished. Maybe, even, an amusing story to them.
Hebbie had been a very different matter. There had never been a time, even now, that he had doubted her integrity. Hebbie was what she was: nothing more, nothing less. Even now, he understood her position. She did not want to encumber his life with her problems.
No matter that in her desire to spare him in this way, she caused even more pain. Of course she could not know that. Could not know that to be able to hold and comfort her would have meant the whole world to him.
D
espite the problems of the disastrous 1914 season, the Millers charged ahead with plans for 1915. They would expand the tour, rather than curtail it because of the war. This was accomplished by splitting the show, to run two units simultaneously.
The first, with the cadre of headliners now associated with the Hundred and One, would open in February at the Panama-Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco. Only nine years before, the city had been virtually destroyed by a giant earthquake and the fires that followed. This exposition would celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal, and the vast importance to worldwide shipping that it offered. Secondarily, it would demonstrate the success of the city's resurrection from the ashes. The resilient citizens, already preferring to call the event “The Fire” rather than use the term “earthquake,” had done a remarkable job of reconstruction.
There were new acts, too, in the arena performances of the 101 Miller Brothers Wild West Show. The West Coast was becoming a center for the movie industry, and there was never a shortage of extra cowboys, ropers, trick riders, and sharpshooters. There was Cuba Crutchfield, trick roper, who challenged all corners to a roping contest, offering a $1,000 cash jackpot. Joe Miller advertised the dare in Billboard magazine, but no challenger ever appeared.
Pedro Leon, another roper, specialized in working with both hands, as Will Rogers often did. Leon's ultimate trick was to rope four galloping horses and riders with a maguey lariat in his left hand, turning to rope four more horses and riders coming from the other direction with another rope, in his right hand.
The arena director for the San Francisco unit was Booger Red Privett, who had had a small Wild West Show of his own until this season. He was an old friend of Bill Pickett and a skilled bronc rider.
 
“How'd he get his name, Bill?” John asked.
The bulldogger smiled. “When Red was a kid, him an' another boy decided to celebrate Christmas or somethin', with a bang. They stuffed a holler tree with gunpowder and set 'er off. T'other kid was killed, an' Red was nearly blinded … . Boogered up some for sure. Ever since, he been ‘Booger Red.'”
 
Booger Red also had a daughter, Ella, a strikingly pretty teenager who was a skilled horsewomen. Ella Privett quickly became one of the crowd's favorites, as well. A number of the cowboys were enamored of Ella, but a bit overawed by her highly protective father, Booger Red.
While at San Francisco, the 101 Show sponsored a ten-mile relay race, involving four riders, each using five horses. They would change horses after each half-mile sprint. Ella Privett, now dubbed Miss Ella, and the only woman rider, placed second behind the great Tom Millerick. She also beat Hank Linton, whom she was to marry later in the season. In a horseback ceremony outside a Baptist church in Port Arthur, Texas, while still on the tour, the young riders tied a knot that would last for more than half a century. Booger Red need not have worried.
Not all romances that season on the 101 tour were as favorable. In an ominous prelude to trouble, Joe Miller fell hard for one of his headliners, Bessie Herberg, whose act consisted of a trained horse, Happy. Joe's wife Lizzie sometimes joined the show on the road, but did not really enjoy the nomadic life. Occasionally over the years she had heard rumors of Joe's philandering, but this episode was apparently pretty flagrant. Lizzie packed up her three children and headed for San Francisco. Arriving there, she learned that the 101 Wild West Show had closed and was en route to join the second unit, already on the road.
There were quiet and discreet jokes that Joe Miller had moved the entire operation solely at the approach of his long-suffering wife, but everyone knew better. It had been planned to merge the units when attendance began to fall off at the San Francisco exposition after its early spring opening. They closed in June.
 
Other events which would profoundly affect the life of John Buffalo had been in progress. In April 1915, Jess Willard, a Kansas cowboy, won the world's heavyweight boxing championship in Havana, Cuba. The fight had lasted twenty-six blistering rounds under a blazing tropical sun, and ended in a knockout
by Willard. The newspapers spent considerable space discussing the fight and its implications.
Jack Johnson, the first Negro to achieve the championship, had been resented bitterly by the white sports world. Jess Willard had been heralded as the “Great White Hope,” who would demonstrate the white man's superiority once and for all. When Willard's victory took place, it was undoubtedly the biggest sports event of the year. Willard became a national hero.
It was never said that the Miller brothers would overlook a chance at publicity. They hastily added the Great White Hope as a headliner in the Wild West Show. It required some doing: a private railroad car for Willard, his family, manager, trainers, and assorted friends. Included in the deal were an automobile and chauffeur, a chef and a porter, for the exclusive use of the Willards.
 
“John, you done any boxing?” asked Joe Miller.
“A little, back at Carlisle,” John admitted.
He hadn't enjoyed it much, and there was not much emphasis on boxing at the Indian schools. Striking with fists was virtually unknown among the Indian cultures. One would strike an enemy with a weapon or a coup stick, or would wrestle. Competition was keen in running, swimming, and contest sports. This translated well to track and field or competitive games, but not to boxing. It was an unfamiliar concept.
John had heard about the signing of Jess Willard by the Millers, and was not completely pleased by the news that the Great White Hope would be a part of the show. He was prepared to resent this development. But what did Miller have in mind?
“It's like this,” Miller went on. “We're settin' up to have an extra private show after each main event. Willard will ride with the cowboys in the arena, but for those who want to stick around and pay an extra quarter, they can watch him in the ring with a sparrin' partner. Now, he's got his own trainin' partner, Walt Monohan. But if we're doin' this a couple times a day, we figger it might be good to have somebody else to fall back on.”
“But, I—”
“You don't have to take any real punches, John. Just dance around a bit. They'll be watchin' him, not you.”
“I don't know, sir … .”
“Talk to him before you decide,” suggested Joe Miller. “He's a nice fella, John.”
“Okay, I'll talk to him.”
 
John was not eager for this interview. He was deeply suspicious about the thing of the Great White Hope and already resented deeply the racial overtones in
this situation. It was a pleasant surprise, then, when he first met Jess Willard. The man who extended a hand to him seemed exactly as he had been billed: a big, friendly Kansas cowboy.
“John Buffalo? Howdy. I'm Jess Willard. Mr. Miller tells me you were at Stockholm. You really know Jim Thorpe?”
“Yes, sir.” John was completely taken by surprise.
“Must have been quite an experience!”
“It sure was.”
“I'll want to talk to you about it later. Now about this sparrin' thing. You're an athlete and at least have an understanding of boxing. Want to try it? Just a show, a little sparrin' for the crowd.”
“Maybe so,” said John. “Why not?”
Against his initial feelings, he found that he liked this man.
 
There was a session or two in which he was coached by Walt Monohan.
“Dance around to your right, John, away from his right. That's it … Parry his left, but don't—Ouch! Remember his one-two … . Block, but watch his other hand!”
Willard slipped a left past John's block and landed a fairly solid punch to his jaw. John's head whirled. Almost instantly, he found himself in a clinch, struggling with his arms around the champion's shoulders and chest. He didn't remember having grabbed the man.
“Sorry, son,” Willard said in his ear. “Now, when you're in a bit o' trouble, jest grab your opponent like this … . Hang on a minute … . Wrassle around till your head clears … . Referee's gonna break it up, but it gives you a bit o' time … .”
 
The sparring routine was so popular with the crowd that more exhibition sessions were scheduled between shows. It was purely a sparring encounter, and John was grateful that he was not asked to “take a fall,” as he had feared. To the spectators, simply watching the champion work out was reward enough.
 
There were more major developments that summer on the international fronts. The Great War was building rapidly, and the Millers were hard put to furnish horses to the Allies. Shipping became more of a problem almost daily.
Brothers Zack and George were concentrating more on the lucrative business in supplying the war effort, and were, more and more, allowing Joe to manage the show. However, the shipping problem proved a means to serve both efforts. In typical Miller fashion, it was decided to buy their own steamship. A German maritime firm agreed to sell them a vessel at New York for a sum
of nearly $500,000, an unheard-of figure in 1915. However, the Millers calculated that four trips delivering horses to Allied nations, would pay for the ship. Then, after the war, the ship could be refitted to carry the entire Wild West Show on a five-year round-the-world tour.
But the best-laid plans go awry. German attacks on shipping were increasing, and in May an American freighter was torpedoed without warning. Only a few days later, the Cunard Line's S.S.
Lusitania
, a passenger steamer out of New York, was destroyed by German torpedoes, with a loss of more than 1,000 passengers, including Americans. For all practical purposes, the United States was at war.
Despite this, President Wilson believed that the country should remain neutral. It would be nearly two years before the mood of the citizens would force the entry of the United States into the Great War.

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