Back in 2002, when I was still living in Kansas, I made a trip down to Pawhuska, as I often did, to see my grandparents. My grandpa had been diagnosed with cancer and I was wanting to spend as much time as I could with him. I made these trips often during those years and would just try to spend as much time as I could with him. He had been very influential on my life, and I felt very fortunate to have gotten to know him as well as I had.

During a few of these trips I started making pilgrimages up on the hill to the tribe’s museum gift shop where I had discovered they were selling Osage language tapes recorded by Lottie Pratt. These tapes weren’t cheap, especially for a college student, but lucky for me Discover was dumb enough to give my IN-GLE-HA a credit card. However, unlike most college students I didn’t go nuts, and only purchased one tape. I spent vast amounts of my time in the car and thought it’d be a good way to pass the time when I got sick of listening to that impish crap they call music on the radio these days.

On another visit I was greeted in the front yard of my grandparent’s Indian Camp home by my Grandpa and he asked me what I was doing in town. I was there to see him, but of course being a smart aleck, I told him I had just driven four hours to buy language tapes from the gift shop. By this time I had memorized the first tape fairly quickly and was intent on purchasing more, however upon my statement my grandpa reached into his back pocket, pulled out his billfold and gave me a crisp one hundred dollar bill. I asked “What’s this for?” and he told me “Buy everything they got up there… tapes…books, whatever they got.” I told him I couldn’t take it, that is was too much and his response to my insistence was very simple. “Take it. I want to see Red Corns talking Osage under the arbor again.”

I was unable to conjure a suitable smart aleck remark. And immediately forfeited the discussion. I did exactly as he had told me and went to the gift shop and purchased two more Pratt tapes and an Osage grammar book written by Carolyn Quinterro, a white linguist.

About the time I had finished memorizing the tapes and blasting through the grammar book, the month of June was upon me and I found myself visiting with my cousin Talee Red Corn. Talee informed me that he had been meeting with a very small group of Osages at the Wakon Iron once or twice a week. He sent their sentence study list, which I ferociously memorized to the best of my ability. And as luck would have it, they were going to be meeting a day prior to the start of our dance in Pawhuska. Needless to say I got blasted by their proficiency but my desire to keep up pushed me right out there in the open in what were my first real attempts to communicate in Osage with other Osages. I’m glad it was a small audience because I surely looked as they say, WA.XPA.THIn, truly pitiful.

Little did I know, that group who had been meeting on their own with absolutely no funding at all would be approached by, the 31st Osage Tribal Council to start a tribally supported Osage Language Program. And in a very short time, the group had found a location in downtown Pawhuska and began organizing formal classes, with paid positions for the sole purpose of revitalizing our Osage language.

Thanks to the generosity of Nancy Pillsbury, the program was able to build a recording studio and an editing suite to construct learning materials. My expertise in these fields allowed me into the program during its early stages to help purchase equipment and make attempts to teach Billy Proctor (then the current Hominy Drumkeeper) what I knew in the field. As it turns out Billy is way smarter than he lets on. And either he already knew what I was teaching him or he stayed up all night reading instruction manuals. Either way I think he was sandbagging me because that fool was like a duck to water with the programs I had set them up on.

Under the guidance and leadership of Uncle Mogre Lookout, the program, along with his teaching methods, cultural knowledge and theory about the language, became wildly successful. What started as a small group meeting at Wakon Iron had exploded into a full fledged program replete with all levels of classes.

The Osage syllabary quickly followed, in what I consider one of the ultimate expressions of tribal sovereignty. My heart swells every time I think about it. As an Osage graphic designer it’s akin to it being bottom of the ninth bases loaded, seventh game of the series with a 3-2 count and getting a fast ball right down the middle. I <3 Typography.

Quite literally this is where the language was at this time as well. No longer than a short while after the program got up and running did the tribe watch its last first language Osage speaker pass away, Lucille Roubedeaux.

As Uncle Mogre explained, “This is the last train out. If we can’t get it done this time around, then that’s it. There is no more after this. That’s it.” Everyone who ever heard those words fully understood the gravity of the situation, and decided that they did not want the language dying on their watch, including myself. (As a soon to be father, I would find it extremely difficult to answer my child or possibly future grandchildren if they asked if I was alive when Osage was spoken and why I didn’t know how to speak the language. It’s difficult to imagine our Osage functions sans language but that’s what it was coming to.)

With the introduction of the language department, dedicated students and teachers started to create new speakers for the first time in only God knows how many years. It’s quite literally been close to 200 years since the last time the number of Osage speakers INCREASED. It’s difficult to take into account what this scrappy bunch of Osages has done until you put it into perspective. The Vatican even called to verify the miracle (Ok I made that last part up).

Not long after bearing witness to this feat, I found myself at an Indigenous language conference in Stroud, Oklahoma. Story after story, I heard language department directors talk about battling their respective tribal governments over their efforts to preserve their respective community’s languages. You should have seen the looks on their faces as I explained in Osage country we had created a situation where it was political suicide to go AGAINST the language. I proudly boasted the triumphs of Uncle Mogre and his crew to a bunch of drop jawed faces. Of course some of the elders in the room didn’t believe me simply because they know Osages are always bragging and making stuff up that isn’t true to make themselves sound real keen. I’ll admit I might have embellished a little…..but not much. Honest. We just want to put our best foot forward. Be the best we can. It’s a pretty simple yet good philosophy to live by.

My tales of Uncle Mogre’s language exploits went far and wide, causing other programs to come check it out for themselves. They came to see how a program with no first language speakers, being led by a man with no formal training in education or linguistics, sufficiently funded by his tribal government had attained such a feat. Read it and weep. The Osage language program had become one of, if not THE best, program in the state. Language department directors from around the country told me they’d kill for what we had here. Well golly, that makes me so proud thinking about it, I nearly went to my old trunk, dawned a breach cloth and strutted around my living room for the rest of the evening bare chested and grinning. But I digress.

Fast forward to January, 2010. The Osage Nation Government passes a budget bill that cuts $120,000.00 with six line items receiving $1 in their budgets. Ouch… Meat Pie sale anyone?

In case anyone forgot language is a sovereignty qualifier. Meaning, in order to get, and theoretically maintain, your legal status as a tribal sovereign nation you must have a separate and distinct language and culture. Without this component all of the legal framework for which the Casinos and other business ventures (that fund EVERYTHING) sit on means jack squat, end of story, finito, kaput, sianora, THIn.KE!

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One of the things that I asked my grandpa during one of my many trips back to Pawhuska was if he ever knew how to speak Osage. His answer surprised me. He said “Yes, but I stopped speaking after my grandfather passed away. After that I really didn’t have anyone to talk Osage with. I can still understand it all right, I just can’t speak it.” It surprised me because I never heard him say more than few words at a time or use names for things. He passed away in 2004 never hearing me talk Osage, yet his words stuck with me.

Last summer during Inlonshka at Gray Horse, in the Pawhuska camp I sat across the table, in between dance sessions and was fully immersed in an all Osage conversation with Talee Red Corn and Bill Lynn. Something completely not possible for me up until recently. I’m not sure how long we sat their talking. It doesn’t matter. The point is we were talking. Talking Osage.

During the drive back to Pawhuska my father started flapping his lips. As oldest sons often do, and since I pretty much know everything already I opted to try to block out whatever he was saying. However, on this particular day my curiosity was struck by his thread of yippity yap.

Apparently he had been within ear shot of the conversation Talee, Bill and I were having at the table. He remarked that so much fuss gets made about this and that, and is this working, or does the language department need all this money, colorado trip this and colorado trip that so on and so on….. then he paused. Continuing with…But you know.. to sit there and hear you guys just talk Osage on and on and on and on, that makes it all worth it. He struggled to think of the last time he had seen that in his lifetime and came up short. Just three Osages probably talking with the proficiency of a six or seven year old. (I probably talk as good as three year old if I’m being generous). So much emphasis made on deliverables and empirical data to justify this program that the big picture had been lost. The point is to create speakers, and last I checked reversing a 200 year trend is not easy, nor does it happen overnight.

Three weeks later I sat on the committee bench in Pawhuska under the arbor on Thursday afternoon. These first sessions are usually sparsely attended compared to the others, and this day was no exception. I watch the singers getting situated and committees filing in from all districts, and waterboys taking their place at the end of the bench. This particular day I found myself sitting next to my cousin Talee Red Corn. And there we sat under the arbor jawing away in Osage. Two Red Corn’s yippity yapping back and forth like we have something important to say. Of course I can’t remember what we talked about but thats not the point. The point is we were talking. Talking Osage. Just like how my grandpa wanted.

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Last weekend right off the heels of the budget cuts, about fifteen Osages met, on their own dollar, at the White Hair Museum between Fairfax and Hominy. They met for the language program’s monthly language immersion event.; usually meeting once a month on a Sunday at various places like museums or the zoo etc. I have been to a few of these events and always enjoy myself.

We were greeted by Stephanie Rapp in the entrance where we looked at ribbonwork, old pictures, videos and books. I was accompanied by my freshly anointed pregnant wife Electa. We sat around talking as much Osage as we could for the better part of the afternoon.

I am hoping this program remains well supported by its government. I want those waterboys at the end of the bench to have what I have enjoyed from this program over these last years. And most importantly I want the program to make possible my dream of creating the first, first language speaker our family has had since my grandpa spoke as a young boy. An audacious braggadocios improbable feat I know. But then again I’m Osage I can’t help but do it up right. WA.SHKA^ as they say, do the best you can. I’m about to be a dad. I got to start thinking about these types of things.

You see…regardless of whether or not those in the Osage Nation Congress who pushed for these cuts and then voted this budget to the Chief’s desk to be signed realize it or not, Osages are going to convene. On their own dollars if necessary, and simply do one thing. Talk. About what isn’t the point. The point is, they will talk.