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Well, first of all, that ain't no baby on my hip.
It's an AK-47 Russian made assault rifle.
Which you'd better know how to shoot. To kill.
Especially if you're the only female journalist in the midst of 100's of war weary soldiers, as I was in the Western Sahara and Morroco in 1981 to produce and direct BLOOD & SAND: War in the Sahara, my first independent feature film.
On one side of this war is a king living in splendid Moorish palaces equipped with high-tech war rooms. On the other side are desert nomads, sleeping under the stars, armed with more daring than equipment. The filmmaker takes us to the front lines and to both sides, where the participants are allowed to speak for themselves, making BLOOD & SAND: War in the Sahara impressive journalism as well as great film.
- Africa News
So How Does A Kid from the Cornfields of Illinois End Up A Filmmaker...
on the Frontlines of Racism in America & Africa?
Chief Sam Blowsnake -- that's the person who put me on the path to Africa. The first time I met him I was eight years old and he was in full regalia, just as in this picture. We were neighbors. In the tiny town of Lyndon Station, WI, population about 600. He lived on one side of the only hill in town, and we lived on the other side, in a summer home newly bought by my parents. Seemed to me initially in my child mind that the only thing separating me from the Chief was the woods of that hill, so dense it had a canopy, just like the Amazon jungle.
On our second day there, I would learn differently. My dad returned to Streator, Illinois, the town where I was born, to collect more of our belongings. Shortly thereafter, Lyndon Station townspeople showed up with a startling message -- warning, really -- for my mother: "Stay away from the Indians. The men are drunks. You're only safe here with your own kind."
One of the cases displaying baskets & jewelry
Soon as they left, my mom took me and my siblings by the hands and marched us, totally unafraid, through the dense woods giving me nightmares, right over the hill right up to the Chief's front door. She knocked, and like magic, he appeared. Regal. Tall. And commanding. In feathers and buckskin and moccasins. But what surprised me the most is that he was alive. From watching John Wayne movies, I thought settlers had killed off all the 'Indians' in America to make it safe for white people.
"Chief Blowsnake," my mother began, "I am Isabel Sopher. My husband and I just bought the resort on the other side of the hill. We want to offer display case space to you and your people so the tourists staying in our cabins and those stopping to eat at our restaurant can buy the beautiful jewelry and baskets and other crafts your people make." My mother said nothing to Chief Blowsnake of the warning she had just received from the townspeople.
"The White Eagles and the Funmakers share this hill
with us," the Chief replied. "We are having a powwow this
Saturday evening, a Winnebego traditional ceremony. You
and your family will be my special guests. And, of course,
we accept your very generous offer. Thank you."
Here are a few precious seconds from the tiny homemade movie my dad proudly shot that night of our first powwow -- in person -- with the White Eagles, the Funmakers and Chief Blowsnake.
As a young girl, every time the Santa Fe Chief iron horse belched its steam and blew its ear piercing whistle as it roared past our $12,000 tiny tar shingle house on the wrong side of the tracks in Streator, Illinois, causing my bedroom curtains to shimmy and dance with excitement, I knew it was in honor of a bigger world beyond my own, a world far different from my own.
But I had no idea where that world was. Or how to get there. And probably never would have, had Chief Blowsnake not invited my family and me into his world that night.
The powwow not only transported me to that bigger, different world I had been longing for every night as my bedroom curtains fluttered, it also put me onto the path that would be my life journey -- Ultimate Destination Africa, as journalist and filmmaker.
From that night on, I never again watched another John Wayne movie. And had no tolerance for the word "savages" or the mentality responsible for it.
412 East 12th Street - Home
Train Depot Streator, Ilinois
My hometown of Streator, Illinois - the #3 Stop on the Santa Fe Chief Grand Canyon Route
Beginning my Journey to Africa...
Riding my horse Freckles through the woods
of Wisconsin to visit Chief Blowsnake
'Neighbor' Chief Blowsnake circa 1954
Map
Never Be Silent.
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