July 1, 2001
Shape-Shifting at Little Bighorn
By ALLEN BARRA
THE last time I made the trip to the Little Bighorn Battlefield in Montana, John F. Kennedy was president and Gen. George Armstrong Custer was still a hero. In fact, it was his battlefield, the Custer Battlefield, and stayed that way until Congress changed its name in 1991. I don't recall seeing another human being except a park ranger whose only advice was to "watch out for rattlers when you walk out in that grass." My father and I ended up walking about a mile and a half down the barely visible path on which Custer had ridden to immortality on June 25, 1876, reasonably certain that we had identified the spots where he had foolishly split the 7th Cavalry into three battalions. We were off the mark by at least two miles.
Thirty-eight years later there is no chance of getting lost near Little Bighorn. Cruising down Interstate 90 amid scores of station wagons and R.V.'s recently, I saw a giant billboard inviting me to "Las Vegas Style" casinos. Another assured that "Crow Indian children" had good teeth because they brushed with Gleem. There were dioramas, gas stations, souvenir stands and convenience stores, one of which was built on the site where the Indian villages were strung out when Custer's men appeared.
The battlefield itself is a national monument filled with plaques and restored markers. On Custer Hill, where Crazy Horse sealed the general's fate by flanking his battalion on the back slope, a Sioux father in track shoes and a "Born in the U.S.A." T- shirt pointed out to his son the black headstone that supposedly marks Custer's fall.
All year long Indians and tourists have been making pilgrimages in remembrance of the 125th anniversary of the disastrous attempt by the United States Army, aided by Crow scouts, to force the Sioux and their allies back to the reservation. When the smoke cleared, Custer's battalion of some 225 officers, scouts and enlisted men was wiped out, with the Indian casualties estimated at roughly half that amount.
Though the actual battle was fought on June 25, most Americans didn't learn of the debacle until several days later because of its remoteness from the centers of white civilization. Some in the western territories began hearing grisly accounts on July 3, just as the festivities for the biggest bash in the country's history, the weeklong Centennial celebration, were beginning. Most Easterners didn't find out until July 6. In Philadelphia, the news hit particularly hard: Custer had planned to attend the party after mopping up out west.
PERHAPS the timing of the battle helps to explain why a fight that was scarcely more than a dusty provincial skirmish compared with Antietam and Gettysburg has had such a powerful grip on the American imagination. The battle of the Little Bighorn was a shock to the system of a nation that had blind faith in Manifest Destiny, and the defeat endures as a cautionary tale 125 years later. After all, if Custer had won he'd probably be little more than a footnote in history books.
"He's had quite a journey," says Robert M. Utley, a historian whose 1988 biography, "Cavalier in Buckskin," is a major work on the huge shelf of Custer literature. "In 1876 he was the United States' most dashing military figure, the symbol of the country's growing power."
Today, he added, many share the view of the Indian historian Vine DeLoria Jr., who has called Custer the Eichmann of the Plains. "Surely he was somewhere in between those two extremes," Mr. Utley said.
Over the years, Custer's demise has become a lightning rod for Indian concerns, even as Little Bighorn has become big business.
"As late as 15 years ago you scarcely saw an Indian presence here when they had a ceremony," says Ken Hill, a Crow park ranger who lives on the reservation where the battlefield now sits. "That's all changed. Now, all the tribes that fought here make presentations, along with representatives of the 7th Cavalry as well. You come here for a reenactment and you'll see more Indians and cavalry getting along than on a set of a John Ford movie."
But in an age of increased political and cultural awareness among Indians, relations between the tribes aren't always so cordial.
Another Crow, also a park ranger, said the Sioux "can be pretty puffed up about their victory here, and you'll still find some elders who don't like the fact that we fought with the U.S. Army against them."
"But this was our land before the white men pushed them back here," he added. (The Crow were granted the area by treaty in 1851, but the size of their land has shrunk from 38.8 million to 2.5 million acres today.)
But a visiting Sioux saw it differently, saying his people beat Custer "and the Crow are making all the money off it."
Little Bighorn draws about half a million tourists a year, not bad for a spot often referred to by Montana tourist officials as a stopoff rather than a destination. Not everyone is happy about all the attention. "A circus atmosphere is developing around what ought to be a very sacred place for all Americans," Mr. Utley said.
HE added that the federal authorities "were on the wrong track" in 1952 when they built the visitors' center on the battlefield itself. "Now a lot of people rush into the museum, cool off, buy some postcards, run to the bathroom, then jog up Custer Hill and think they've seen the whole thing."
There are plans to build a new visitor's center in nearby Garryowen Valley — named for the Irish marching song of the 7th Cavalry — so tourists can approach the battlefield as the soldiers did, but so far Crow leaders have not given approval. The park superintendent, Neil Mangum, says he believes a compromise will eventually be reached for a combination of a visitor's center and a Crow cultural center, but for now the tourist building remains an eyesore for many Indians and whites.
Despite their differences, descendants of both the Crow and Sioux seem to agree that they are "taking back the country," and they may well be right. The white population in several Great Plains states is declining, and the Indian peoples in many counties in those areas are inching toward majority status. But Custer has proved to be a resilient cuss, and the descendants of both those who defeated him and those who fought alongside him at Little Bighorn would be wise not to underrate him as he underrated the Indians. Actually, judging from all the traffic jams and garish billboards, it's hard to shake the feeling that no matter who inherits the land, Custer may have the last laugh after all. Allen Barra is a contributor to American Heritage magazine and the author of "Inventing Wyatt Earp" (Carroll & Graf, 1999).
Copyright 2001 The New York Times Company
