A Hot Time on the Rez

Last Sunday, June 28th, dawned cloudy, with the promise of wind and rain later in the day. I got up at 5:30, was in the car by 6:45. Code Talker Chester Nez’s family had invited me to join them for a celebration in honor of Chester, to be held on the checkerboard potion of the Navajo Reservation, south of Gallup, New Mexico, USA. I crossed my fingers, hoping we wouldn’t mire in New Mexico’s famous mud.

I knew it would be a memorable day, but still, I was worried. Would there be a good crowd to greet Chester? Would he feel comfortable, appreciated? In writing his biography, I’d grown to really care about him. As one of the “original twenty-nine” – Code Talkers who’d designed the doubly-encrypted code that contributed heavily to the United States’ victory over Japan in World War II – he was regarded by many as a hero. But I thought of him as a friend.

More self-centered thoughts crowded into my head, as well: Would I fit in? Would I do or say something stupid?

Mike Nez, Chester’s son, drove my car so I wouldn’t get lost. Mike’s son, Michael, drove the Nez truck with Chester, senior Mike’s wife Rita, and Mike and Rita’s grandson Emory as passengers. We made a tiny caravan.

The ride out to the reservation was filled with sweeping vistas of distant mountains and closer mesas, all colored in a thousand shades of red and purple and tan. The sun, slanting through heavy cloud cover, transformed familiar landmarks into burnished jewels. As we approached Chichiltah, Chester’s childhood home, pinon and ponderosa pines grew abundant. Rock outcroppings emerged from hills like fabulous sculptures.

We spied the blue-and-white striped tent from the main road. It sat on the side of a hill, and we approached on a dirt track through sparse grass. Scattered around were small houses and indeterminate out-buildings. A lone outhouse, its door lying on the ground, sat near the top of the hill.

Mike senior helped 88-year-old Chester from the truck into the wheelchair that had become his transport back in March, after his left leg was amputated mid-calf. The two nephews who had arranged the shindig, Raymond and Johnny Gray, greeted us. Inside, chairs and tables filled the circus-sized tent. American flag pennants graced the dais in front, and the U.S. flag popped up everywhere – on people’s clothing; decorating the tables laden with food; arranged in patriotic, party-favor “bouquets;” and splashed across the napkin ties.

Four Navajo military men dressed in camouflage marched in, carrying the US flag, the New Mexico flag, the Navajo Nation flag, and the black POW/MIA flag. Everyone – older women dressed in the traditional velvets and squash blossom necklaces, children in jeans and tee shirts – jumped up from their chairs. Chester stood, unwavering, on his one whole leg, his arm raised in a salute, while Miss Navajo Nation, Yolanda Jane Charley, sang the Star Spangled Banner in Navajo. Then the more than 100 attendees, myself included, lined up and filed past Chester, shaking his hand and thanking him for fighting for us. I snapped shot after shot with Mike’s digital camera.

Various men and women joined Chester and Mike senior on the dais. Zonnie Gorman, daughter of deceased Code Talker Carl Gorman, spoke about the men’s WWII mission. Although Zonnie used English, most spoke in Navajo. Somehow, the speakers were riveting, even though I couldn’t understand their words.

A small army of women and girls served up a sumptuous home-cooked dinner, complete with fry bread, corn pudding, and mutton stew. There must have been a hundred or more guests, and each plate was heavily laden. After the meal, mints were passed out in tiny packets adorned with – you guessed it – American flags.

Families posed with Chester for photos, everyone looking proud. People brought colorful gifts, including a plaque of thanks from Navajo Tribal chairman Joe Shirley.

A live band struck up country western songs outside the tent’s wide entrance. Sudden thunder, a quick shower, and winds that shook the tent dampened no spirits. A small herd of sheep and goats calmly climbed the hill.

Everywhere people laughed and joked. I’d heard of the famous Navajo sense of humor, and today it was abundantly evident. Nearly everyone I met made a good-humored comment, making me feel welcome. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Well into the afternoon, Mike senior noticed that Chester, sitting at the center of the dais, looked tired. He asked me to check with him, to see whether he was ready to go home. Chester shook his head. “I’d like to stay a while longer,” he said.

-Judy