Mr. Sherman Alexie, recipient of the PEN/Hemingway Award, a Spokane/Coeur d'Alene Indian and a man hailed as one of the best young writers of his generation, is my hero. The New Yorker named him one of the top 20 writers for the 21st Century and he has earned this title with his prolific, insightful and powerfully emotional prose. As a poet, he is the first four-time World Heavyweight Championship Poetry Bout winner. This is not just writer resume blah blah. These are secret hero ingredients. But he’s not just my hero. He is also the hero of a gaggle of people in the Milwaukee area. From a geeky reservation kid that developed a sense of humor to keep the bigger kids from beating the crap out of him, he grew into a college-educated, award-winning geeky man.
Humor was abundant on the reservation where he grew up, he says. He turned to humor because he was different and got beat up a lot. "You can't run as fast or throw a punch if you're laughing," he said.
And the more traditional the person on the reservation, the funnier they were, he says. "My grandmother was hilarious. My whole family was funny. I was the least funny. My family thought I was depressed and angry. "
I first saw Mr. Alexie at the University of Wisonsin-Milwaukee in 2002. The auditorium was packed for his lecture: "Killing Indians: Myths, Lies and Exaggerations." I didn't know what to expect as my sister and I sat down with a diverse crowd numbering over a thosand. What we got was mostly humor but a few lessons that hurt to the quick.
"People want us to be the K-mart of spirituality. I don't talk about religion . . . You really shouldn't have a dream catcher in your car while your driving. And you don't have to wear Indian jewelry when you come to hear me talk. I'm going to like you because you came."
The talk turns somber when he talks poignantly about the birth of his son, now 5, who nearly died at birth and who has been left with some disabilities.
"Everything we believed of in the world was shaking and falling apart," he says. "We began a lawsuit against the hospital because we believed there was negligence, but we stopped it.
"The lawsuit would tell our son we didn't want him the way he is. It would have said we're not capable of forgiveness and that those people in the room were inherently evil. It would have said we were morally superior. It would have been all about our hatred. We let it go."
The lesson, he says, is this: "We're all wrong almost all of the time."
When I walked from the campus that night, I felt changed. My mind was swimming and my heart was filled to bursting. No event since then has moved me as much.
On Wednesday, July 9, 2003, Schwartz’s Bookstore was packed with over 300 sweating bodies all gathered round to watch this beautiful brown man. The book tour brings with it the ban of Mr Alexie’s existence; airport security. As a black haired, dark skinned man, security finds him very attractive. He has taken to packing everything in his suitcase in their own individual containers to speed the search process. After unpacking and re-packing his suitcases in almost every airport he goes through, Mr. Alexie is often complimented on his packing by the relieved security. “I do it all for you…” he responds coyly.
He pointed out George W’s father issues, something that was brought home for him as he watched our nation’s president stride the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln in his flight suit. Alexie spoke of his envy at how good George looked in the flight suit and then asked about what George Jr. must have been thinking about as he walked the length of the carrier. “Daddy,” Alexie said in a tiny voice “mine is bigger than yours!”
His acid tongue leaves no subject exempt but underneath is a hard won wisdom and an honest desire for a better world. “As a reluctant role model, I can only advocate for two things for any youth: stay sober because you'll die young if you don't, and question all authority figures because they're usually seeking to protect their power.”
Mr. Alexie is as avid in his love of American pop culture as he is conscious of his native roots. He rails against the common stereotypes of Native Americans but has a passion for movies, music and mystery novels. He is a huge fan of Dennis Lehane. His simple philosophy that men that cross streams as they urinate together will never go to war and how he had intestinal flu when he was on Oprah had the crowd in hysterics. I may never eat cantaloupe again.
The crowd, made of all creeds, colors, financial backgrounds and ages, was enthralled. Entranced by the rantings and brutal honesty of this wonderful man, I had a feeling while I knelt in the midst of those people I have very rarely felt. I had a feeling of total unity with those people. That, at that point in time, we were all truly together, sharing the joys, frustrations, passions and sorrows of the man behind the podium. At certain points, people were literally doubled over with laughter. There were moments of complete silence as Alexie shared the pain of his father’s death and when he recalled the death of an Indian on his reservation. The man, drunk out of his mind, had fallen and drown in a puddle of water 2 inches deep. And, with all that he has seen and experienced, Alexie is still full of hope for this world and it’s people. All of its people.
When Alexie said he had only one more story to tell and then he had to go, the entire audience went, “Aaaawwwwww…………” like a bunch of spoiled kids. He looked at us, smiled wryly, and said, “I don’t believe you.” But he made that last story a long one. When he was done, he received a standing ovation. The crowd dispersed throughout the bookstore, waiting for our letter lots to come up for the book signing. When I approached Alexie with my book stack he looked exhausted, but happy. Again, as was the case the last time I saw him, when asked to sign and date my books, he had to ask the date. For each book. Poor man… I adore him.
