Crow - The pale-faced lie: a true story

Sandra Jonas Publishing House

PO Box 20892

Boulder, CO 80308

sandrajonaspublishing.com

Copyright 2019 by David Crow

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used in any form whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews.

Book and cover design by Sandra Jonas

Publishers Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Crow, David Trenton, author.

Title: The pale-faced lie : a true story / David Crow.

Description: Boulder, CO : Sandra Jonas Publishing, 2019.

Identifiers: LCCN 2018960909 | ISBN 9780997487176 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780997487152 (paperback) | ISBN 9780997487190 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Crow, David Trenton. | Navajo IndiansBiography. | Fathers and sonsBiography. | LCGFT: Autobiographies. | BISAC: BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Cultural, Ethnic & Regional / Native American & Aboriginal | TRUE CRIME / General.

Classification: LCC E99.N3 C769 2019 | DDC 979.1004972 dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2018960909

All photos are from the authors private collection.

v2.7

To my wife, Patty

CONTENTS

AUTHORS NOTE

This is a true story. Some of the recollections come from my parents since I was too young to fully understand what was happening. I have followed up relentlessly with family members, neighbors, classmates, and others to make sure the events depicted are as accurate as possible. In some cases, I relied on family photographs and public records to verify my memories. The names and identifying details of some individuals and places have been changed.

PART 1

NAVAJO STATION

1956

My dad and me (age three) in front of our house at Navajo Station on the Navajo Indian Reservation. 1955.

CHAPTER 1

I WAS THREE AND A HALF the first time my dad told me we had to get rid of my mother. On that bitter cold morning in February, he jumped up from the table after eating his usual eggs, grits, and bacon and threw on his coat. Lonnie, Sam, and I had finished our cornflakes long before he sat down.

Thelma Lou, get David ready, he told my mother. His deep voice filled our tiny house. He and I are going for a ride.

Mom lurched into the living room with that twitchy look she got whenever Dad asked her to do something. I sat cross-legged on the floor watching The Little Rascals as she jerked back and forth in front of me like a broken wind-up toy. Get ready, David! she shrieked.

My younger brother, Sam, still in diapers, pushed his Tonka truck across the worn carpet and giggled when Mom stumbled over his toys. Our cat, Midnight, leapt out of her way and glided to safety under a chair. As usual, Lonnie, then seven, was camped out in her room with the door closed, listening to her radio and ignoring the rest of us.

Mom always acted nervous, like something bad was going to happen. It got worse when Dad was around. Before she could touch me with her clammy hands, I ran to the closet, put on my jacket and boots, and bolted out the door.

On the front porch, I hung close to the house and shivered while Dad scraped snow and ice off our Nash Rambler, or what I called the Green Bomber. I had a nickname for everything. White smoke poured from the exhaust and filled the air. I wished Dad would hurry up, but I would never tell him that. Behind him, the giant Navajo Compressor Station where he worked rose into the sky. Dad told me millions of pounds of natural gas flowed through the huge pipelines. They were connected to turbine engines that rumbled so loud I thought they would shake apart.

A fence surrounded the station and the twenty houses belonging to El Paso Natural Gas workers and their families. Everybody called the company EPNG for short. Our only other neighbors were rattlesnakes, stray cattle, sheep, coyotes, jackrabbits, and roadrunners. They all disappeared when it got cold. Dad said we lived on the Navajo Indian Reservation, but because we were Cherokees, we didnt have to follow any of the damn Anglo rules.

The snow blew hard, stinging my face, and I hopped around to stay warm. Dad carved out two openings on the frozen windshield, then snapped ice off the handle on the passenger door and signaled me to get in. Its colder than a well-diggers ass, so move it, he shouted, hustling to the drivers side of the car. Were gonna have some fun.

Dad knocked the snow from his boots and slid onto the seat. His burly arms and barrel chest seemed even more massive in his heavy work coat, the one with the familiar red-and-yellow EPNG logo. His head almost touched the ceiling.

Lets go! He stomped on the gas pedal and the Green Bomber sped out into the snowy Arizona desert. Just as I got up on my knees to see where we were going, he hit the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the side, throwing me against the door, like the whirlybird ride at the Navajo fair.

Seeisnt this fun, boy?

He stepped on the gas and we jolted forward. Seconds later, he slammed on the brakes again. I bounced up to the dashboard and underneath it, banging my head on the hard metal. Dad laughed. Hey, dont break the glove compartment, he said. We cant afford a new one.

The next time, I flipped upside down, and Dad laughed some more. I crawled back onto the seat and took another nosedive when the car stopped and spun again.

You sure as hell better be tough. He wagged his finger at me. I hate sissies. Youre scrawny and you cant hear worth a damn, but youre a determined little son of a bitch. Remember, youre a Crow, by God, a Cherokee Indian of superior intelligence and courage.

Dad straightened the wheel but didnt slow down. The wipers screeched against the icy windshield as swirls of snow whipped around us. Now its time for a real talk, he said. I have something important to say, and you need to promise not to tell anyone. He reached over and squeezed my arm with his gigantic hand. Got it?

I promise, I blurted through nervous laughter. I grabbed the door handle to keep from falling, afraid it would turn and Id fly out into the cold.

We need to get rid of your mother, Dad said, his voice low and sharp. Shes no goddamn good, and if you grow up with her, youll become just as loony as she is. Shes worthless and destructive, like her whole family. Shell ruin you. Ruin us all. You know we cant keep her around, dont you, boy?

No, but I nodded anyway. He said bad things about Mom all the time, that she was a crazy, stupid, whiny bitch just like her mother and the other freeloading assholes in the Dalton family.

But he wouldnt really get rid of her, would he? He yelled at her to go away and not come back, and sometimes he slapped her hard. Even then, she never left the EPNG compound unless Dad drove her to town. And usually things returned to normal after dinner. I could hear them laughing in their bedroom at night.

I wrapped both hands around the door handle and studied Dads face. Below his thick, wavy black hair, a Y-shaped vein popped out on his forehead, and his large blue eyes bulged like they might explode. His mouth stretched tight. He always looked scary like that when he was angry.

Would he leave Mom at the trading post? Or on the side of the road next to the Navajo drunks? Maybe hed put her on a bus and send her back to her mother like he threatened so many times. But Dad said her whore of a mother didnt want her. Neither did her two shiftless, alcoholic, mooching brothers. And Granddaddy Dalton could barely take care of himself.