Evening Star Newspaper, January 17, 1932, Page 68

2 THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 17, 1932 Gradually the stock of significant move- ments increased and found extended use wuntil a common language was available throughout a great territory. The Indians, possessed of calm dignity, were undismayed by the camera or the acknowledged importance of the occa- sion. In natural manner, they viewed the situation simply as presenting an opportunity to do some tale-swapping with a purpose. “Entirely self-contained and showing an undeniable composure, they were jideal camera subjects,” Raymond Evans, director of motion picture operations of the United States Department of Agri- culture, said last week in recalling his experiences connected with supervision of photographic activities at the council. “They entered upon their silent telling of stories as though nothing mechanical were spying upon them. “The camera was eguipped for sound reproduction. With the conversations and speeches of the council’'s members being presented by no other means than motion it might seem this equipment was superfluous. It was used because of an eagerness to obtain a record of the ‘ughs’ and other audible manifestations of ap- preciation and approbation which the chiefs extended toward each other dur- ing the council. “An interesting phase of the work as- serted itself when the chiefs continued to indulge themselves in their sign-mak- ing even after the sun had set and photography perforce was ended. They sat far into the night of each day the council was in session absorbing the pleasures they found in ‘listening’ to stories that originated in all sections of the old Indian country.” NLY one untoward event entered into the task of photographing the coun- cil, Mr. Evans stated. It put in its ap- pearance when Bitter Root Jim, 80-year- old medicine man, proved himself to be the possessor of a very ambitious pair of hands and used them for the better part of an hour to tell about an event of his youth. Just beyond the midway point of Jim’s tale, the camera’s immediate sup- ply of film admitted defeat. The story told by Jim, who appeared in the somewhat amazing regalia of his position, dealt with a credulity-taxing narrative. Four-score of years seemed to mean nothing to his hands as they moved with certainty and precision to tell his fellows about what happened in the dim past at a time when starvation was close to his people. Standing in front of the camera, Jim told how lack of food finally drove him into the hills on a lone hunt. The story advanced to the point where Jim found a large bear stretched in sleep. Firing his gun, Jim not only wounded the animal, but also unwillingly told five other bears in the vicinity that some- thing was wrong. Unable to load his gun again, Jim set upon the arriving quintet with the butt of his weapon. The escapade reached a conclusion, Jim told the council, with the slaying of the six bears. Thus the starv- ing were provided with meat. Much film had been sent through the camera before Bitter Root Jim and his six bears gained the center of the tepee. Part of it had been used by Mr. Evans and Eugene Tucker, the cameraman, in photographing arrival of the chiefs at the meeting place. After the chiefs had donned their full costumes, they again were photographed, passing front of the camera as they en- tered the tent, with Gen. Scott greeting each dignitary with signs expressing wel- come. Close-ups were then taken, with each council member’s hands revealing his name and the location of his reserva- - tion. An Arapahoe would touch his hand three times across his chest, a Sioux would run the edge of his hand across his throat, and so on with all the others, according to the signs designating their various tribes. The first story recorded by the camera *ame from Tom White Horse. It involved an unparalleled situation. Using a form of communication which can be seen but cannot be heard, Tom discussed another form which caters to the ear but ignores the eye—the radio. Some degree of wonderment naturally attaches itself to the statement that one of the most elementary methods of con- veying thoughts and ideas might so well fit itself into the modern scheme as to provide means for a discussion of radio. Authoritative declarations dispel the wonderment. Gen. Scott had placed virtually a life- time of experience behind the statement cezm Bitter Root Jim, 80-year-old medicine man of the Flathead Tribe, is shown in this photograph. taken from the official sign language film as he was about to use his gnarled hands for three-quarters of an hour in telling about a bear hunt of his youth. that the Indian sign language offers all the equipment necessary for expression of any human emotion. To that need only be added the declaration, coming from the same source, that the language has been expanded during recent years to provide signs for most of the gearings and contrivances of white men. The very lengths to which 15 mep of wide experience went in their discussions during the council stand as evidence that gives rout to any impression of inade- quacy. OME of the more protracted stories were photographed outside the tepee. Among these was the tale told by Moun- tain Chief, an imposing character more than 80 years old. Though almost blind and thus unable to know at first hand what his fellows said in silence, Moun- his fists upon the ground in imitation of that sound. Later, when the sun had set and the camera had left its commanding position, Mountain Chief continued his story- telling. He drew a sign-picture of his participation in a batile against 161 Crees, 7 of whom he killed. He downed his enemies, he told the council, by at- taching his spear to a long stick. Several other stories were recorded by the camera and will be recreated when the film is exhibited. But narratives did not monopolize the time of the council. Conversations were conducted to prove the complete ability with which repre- sentatives of each of the 14 tribes un- derstood the common language. Gen. Scott took a leading part in these informal conversations and gave general direction to the manual gyrations which formed them. This enlarged section of the official film shows Deer Nose, one of 14 chiefs who formed the “Great Council of Northwest Indians,” as he used his hand to tell the recording camera: “I belong to the Crow Tribe.” tain Chief was able to tell his story. And he did tell it. His topic was the hunting of the buf- falo as it was practiced in those far dis- tant days of his youth, when the shouts of the chase were among the happiest sounds made by men. Mountain Chief became almost as in- tensive in the telling of his story as he was in the 60s and 70s, when he went great distances in pursuit of big game. The limits of his intensity were chal- lenged when he reached the point in his narrative requiring description of the sounds made by the buffalo in flight. There was a fine frenzy in the old chief as he stooped his aged body and beat After the council disbanded the gen- eral came to Washington to speak into the sound-recording apparatus in the Department of Agriculture studio, so the film showing the meeting might be pro- vided with his audible explanations of the proceedings. While at the National Capital he also began compilations of the “film dictionary,” which he now is going to advance toward completion. The section of the dictionary sched- uled for early completion and exhibition will present approximately 450 signs and their meanings. When the task is fin- ished more than 1,300 signs will be in- cluded. In producing the dictionary, Gen. Scott makes each sign before the lens of the camera. Before this is done, however, a subtitle presenting a word or phrase identifying the individual sign is pre- pared for addition to the film. Each sub- title is accompanied by an explanation of the sign’s origin and other relevant information. The general’s hands are then photographed as they make the sign which has been described by the title material. A scooping motion of the hand, termi- nating at the mouth, means “water.” An unnatural position of the arm indicates “lame man.” Placing of the fists above the forehead, one atop each eye, signifies buffalo. The same position of the hands, with the fingers extended, stands for “elk.” Jumping one hand over the other denotes “frog.” And pointing to the backbone is the sign language way of saying “Rocky Mountains.” GEN. SCOTT'S name among the In- dians is “Mole-Te-Qu-Op.” It means “The Man Who Talks With His Hands,” and was first applied to the general by Big Wolf, a Cheyenne chief, in 1890, when the Army officer was sent among the Cheyennes in Montana to quiet the ghost dance excitement. The veteran soldier’s proficiency in the sign language, however, antedates the coining of his Indian title by almost two decades. Soon after his graduation from West Point, in 1876, he was assigned to the 9th Cavalry; later he obtained a transfer to the Tth Cavalry, which had suffered heavy losses in the battle of Little Big Horn. The general served with the Tth throughout the remainder of the Sioux campaign, and, later, in the Nez Perces War. “Early in his career on the plains,” writes one commentator, “Scott recog- nized that one way to solve the Indian problem was to try to get the Indian point of view. In order to accomplish that he had to learn to converse with the In- dians. Obviously, it was a lifetime job to learn the tongues of all the tribes. But the intertribal language, the sign language, offered a short cut. So the young officer set himself about the task of learning that method of communica- tion. “He was fortunate in gaining the friendship of a remarkable Indian, I-See-O of the Kiowa, who became guide, philosopher and teacher of the young lieutenant. “Both instructor and pupil were fight- ing men, but they also were peacemak- ers; they worked together in establishing a better understanding between the white men and the Indians.” Full recognition of Gen. Scott’s posi- tion as an authority on the intertribal language was centered in the act of Con- gress providing for production of the films which now are nearing completion. That measure appropriated $5,000, which it stated should be used by the Board of Indian Commissioners “to meet the ex- pense of recording by motion and sign pictures, through the instrumentality of Maj. Gen. Hugh L. Scott, retired, and such Indians as may be required to as- sist him, the theory, history and practice of such soundless language.” One of the plans held for the film pro- poses exhibitions in the several large In- dian schools throughout the United States. The younger generations of In- dians, authorities declare, have found more appeal in the swing of modern slang than they seem to see in the move- ments that make sign words. If the students in the Indian schools are inspired by the film to engage them- selves in a continuation of the soundless speech of their ancestors, many elderly hearts will be happy. In any event, the students will find themselves, accomplished with Govern=- ment officials, scientists, historians and many other folks as observers of a strange and significant product of the motion picture camera. One certainty exists: Each person viewing the sign language films will come upon a pulse-quickening moment when the screen shows the climax of the grand council at Browning. In that moment will be seen the image of a famous Army officer who has fought in many fights and who has conirived many terms of peace. He will be seen as he appeared when he sent his expres- sive hands through a soundless farewell to 14 silent men whom he long has known and may never see again. He and those men now have added a real satisfaction to the adornments of their later years.