The Man Who Taught Snow Dancing

A true, full-blooded Native American, he was. Not quarter-Native. Not half-Native. But full-blooded. One gaze at his face and this fact was not hard to see.

I met this good man sometime back in the late 1990’s. Seems like “public drunkeness” rings a bell. I do recall my aboriginal friend spending a a couple of nights at the local Crossbar Hotel, otherwise known as the Bristol Jail (a place where I taught two nights a week for a quarter century).

I don’t recall his given Native American name. I wish I could, but I cannot. I am at least a bit ashamed to say that I only called him “Chief”, same as the inmates did. (Chief seemed to like it. But looking back now, it was more like “acceptance” on his part, rather than a like.)

This Native man was a handy man/carpenter/brick mason, walking and working his way across America. While here in Bristol, he just happened to become momentarily filled with some very potent local alcohol, which then led him to stagger around downtown. Therefore, the brief jail sentence.

It was a cold January night at the Bristol Jail when I first made this man’s acquaintance. It had yet scarcely snowed a flake that winter. My inmate students (one of whom on that particular night was Chief) and I were gathered together in the tiny jail library, when someone mentioned I should gather up my elementary school students the next day and do a “snow dance” outside with them, so they could get out of school for snow.

Gleeful chortling ensued.

Then Chief began to speak.

“Mr. Talley,” began Chief, as all immediately grew quiet. The men may have poked a bit of fun at his name, but whenever Chief spoke, they all showed respect.

“Teach you snow dance, I will. My people did snow dance to get close to buffalo. Buffalo sink down in snow. Walk slow. Easily we walk across snow in snow shoes. Ask Great Spirit to send snow, we did. And Great Spirit did. Same for you if you ask with pure heart. Have little ones do snow dance. It not matter how they dance. It only matter they dance with pure heart and joy. Great Spirit have much love for little ones to send them snow.”

(It seems like Chief might have been of the Cheyenne tribe. But again, I can’t recall for sure. Anyway, it doesn’t much matter, I suppose. What matters is that he was the “real deal”.)

The next day, while back teaching in my elementary school classroom, I led my “little ones” (my students) in a snow dance.

That night it snowed so much we were out of school for two days.

From that point on, Chief Wild Turkey Talley (yours truly) led the children on a bonafide “snow dance” outside together whenever we decided we might want school to get called off for a snow day or two.

Somehow, every single time we “snow danced” together, it began to snow within twenty-four hours.

No, it didn’t always snow enough for us to get out of school all those times. Maybe half the time. But it did snow (at least a tiny bit) every single time. Sometimes just a flurry, but it always snowed. Any meteorologist would envy our record.

When the skies grew grey each wintertime, my teaching colleagues would often come up to me, uttering the heartfelt plea, “Mr. Talley, will you please take the kids outside and do the snow dance?” (Teachers love snow days as much as their students.)

Indeed, our snow dance worked like a charm. Every single time. Forty-eight dances we did. Forty-eight times the Great Spirit sent the little ones some snow as a reward for their pure-at-heart efforts.

I have included a video of once such dance here. You can even hear Chief Wild Turkey Talley chanting away in the background.

Fortunately, I have living witnesses - my many former students who did the snow dance with me - who could testify to the veracity of our claim of constant success.

Thank you, Chief, wherever you are now, my friend.

Thank you, Great Spirit, for your sense of humor and your love of pure-hearted, joyous little ones.