American Indians Southern California

The discussion at Montezuma Hall in Aztec Center was about Monty Montezuma. It was intense. The hottest topic this term at San Diego State University is not the presidential election or some civic or academic matter. The issue that has the student newspaper and Student Council abuzz is controversy over the future of the sports mascot.

John Valenzuela was winding his RV through a lush, quiet pocket of the Leona Valley when he saw that 15 feet had been sheared off the top of the yellow hill. He stopped by the side of the road, and made sure he was in the right place. Was that really the same hill? Then he felt sick. The hill is a state-registered archeological site.

Archeologist Daniel F. McCarthy is trying to learn as much as possible about a mystery he believes will never be solved. McCarthy, 42, has recorded and photographed 50 Indian mazes he estimates are up to 3,000 years old in Orange, Riverside, Imperial and San Diego counties. "I know of no other similar aborigine carvings anywhere else in California, in America or in the world," said McCarthy, a scientist on the faculty of UC Riverside.

It would be difficult to write a better spoof of the energy frenzy than the tale that has been unfolding here on a small Indian reservation. There is the pony-tailed convicted felon who came to this remote Eastern Sierra town with bodyguards, secrecy agreements and plans for a power plant that would reap millions in annual profits for the local tribe, require no fuel and produce no pollution. There was the prototype: two boxes connected to a car chassis suspended off the ground.

It would be difficult to write a better spoof of the energy frenzy than the tale that has been unfolding here on a small Indian reservation. There is the pony-tailed convicted felon who came to this remote Eastern Sierra town with bodyguards, secrecy agreements and plans for a power plant that would reap millions in annual profits for the local tribe, require no fuel and produce no pollution. There was the prototype: two boxes connected to a car chassis suspended off the ground.

Archeologists believe that when Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo discovered Southern California for Spain in 1542, there were more than 20,000 American Indians living in the area. And there is evidence that people lived here for at least 10,000 years. When the Spaniards arrived, they found that the two largest Indian groups in today's Los Angeles area--the Chumash and Gabrielino--were accomplished artists and skilled craftsmen, adept at making a living from the sea and land.

Motorists along U.S. 395 just north of this Eastern Sierra town can't help but notice the newly installed roadside building with "casino" emblazoned on its side in big red letters. Hoping to draw local gamblers and lure tourists and skiers driving on the busy highway, the Bishop Paiute Tribe opened the temporary 24-hour casino in October at the edge of its reservation outside of town.

When Chumash leader Charlie Tiq Slo'w Cooke walks the trails of the Santa Monica Mountains, he walks where his ancestors walked thousands of years before him. He knows which plants nourish, which plants poison and which make good medicine. He knows the habits of birds and animals, the changes the seasons bring, the ceremonies that kept--and still keep--his people bonded to the earth.

The most conservative estimates indicate that 80,000 American Indians live permanently in the Greater Los Angeles area, but Indian activists believe at least 200,000 are here at any given time, most seeking economic opportunities not available elsewhere. Whatever the population figure, their prominence is being celebrated today in Santa Monica. It's an honest-to-goodness powwow, with more than 100 Indians participating in dances and rituals that demonstrate their cultural heritage.

"You can't miss it," the casino manager said. And you can't. Past the giant grimacing terra cotta lizard, past Lost Goose Ranch and the "Beer to Go" market, way out in what looks like a boulder farm, you'll find it: The Cahuilla Creek Restaurant and Casino. Home of big-bucks bingo, a $4.95 grilled ham-and-cheese special and 205 electronic gambling machines that the federal government considers illegal.

The discussion at Montezuma Hall in Aztec Center was about Monty Montezuma. It was intense. The hottest topic this term at San Diego State University is not the presidential election or some civic or academic matter. The issue that has the student newspaper and Student Council abuzz is controversy over the future of the sports mascot.

Alice Ford's birthday trip to Rosarito on Friday night fell short by a mere 50 feet. That was as close as the ship on which she stood, margarita in hand, would come to the Mexican coastal city's new pier during this voyage--the inaugural run of a daily casino cruise from San Diego that marks a novel venture for a California Indian tribe. Opening-night delays and concerns about a damaged section of dock kept Ford and the 400 other passengers from disembarking.

When Indian tribes got into the gambling business, they proclaimed reservation casinos as their new buffalo, providing sustenance just as the herds did before being annihilated a century ago. Some tribes have since become fabulously wealthy--but having learned from experience, they are not relying exclusively on casinos as their meal ticket.

Dennis Basquez hates to fill out forms. He was so wary of bureaucracy that he did not get a California driver's license until the age of 37. And like many Native Americans in California, Basquez ducked the 1990 U.S. census. "I wouldn't fill out the forms. I didn't know what a census was. I thought the government was up to their tricks again," said Basquez, a Soboba tribe member who lives on the Morongo Indian Reservation near Banning Pass.

Surrounded by family, friends and scores of strangers, Abel Salazar celebrated his 75th birthday Saturday at the Oakbrook Chumash Indian Interpretive Center. But it wasn't the cake and gifts he received that made the day special for the Chumash elder. "When I was growing up, we never dreamt that the Native American people would be recognized," Salazar said. "What we're doing today is bringing back the culture."

A small California Indian tribe, all but exiled from its homeland in Death Valley years ago, has struck a precedent-setting deal with the federal government to serve as partners in the management of the 3.2-million-acre national park. The agreement with the Timbesha Shoshone is "a new template on how to deal with Native Americans in the [national] parks," said Don Barry, assistant U.S. Interior secretary for parks and wildlife.

Following angry speeches by Native Americans, the City Council Tuesday night voted to ask for a grand jury investigation into the Koll Real Estate Group's handling of 8,000-year-old human bone fragments found near the Bolsa Chica wetlands. "You're dealing with the lives of fellow human beings," said Councilman Ralph Bauer, who made the motion for the investigation. "All of us would like our ancestors to be treated with dignity." His motion was approved on a 5-2 vote.

A small California Indian tribe, all but exiled from its homeland in Death Valley years ago, has struck a precedent-setting deal with the federal government to serve as partners in the management of the 3.2-million-acre national park. The agreement with the Timbesha Shoshone is "a new template on how to deal with Native Americans in the [national] parks," said Don Barry, assistant U.S. Interior secretary for parks and wildlife.

Most everyone agrees there is something of enormous importance in this rock-strewn and wind-swept portion of the eastern Imperial Valley bounded by Picacho Peak, Pilots Knob and Muggins Peak. A Canadian firm believes there is gold buried deep beneath the desert, and it wants permission to create a 1,571-acre open pit mine where 130,000 tons of rock a day would be gouged, blasted and drilled from the earth.

"You can't miss it," the casino manager said. And you can't. Past the giant grimacing terra cotta lizard, past Lost Goose Ranch and the "Beer to Go" market, way out in what looks like a boulder farm, you'll find it: The Cahuilla Creek Restaurant and Casino. Home of big-bucks bingo, a $4.95 grilled ham-and-cheese special and 205 electronic gambling machines that the federal government considers illegal.