First Issue Part 2 - blankets, jewelry and pots

Returning to the Mancos Inn patio for dinner that night, I found I had made clear inroads with the mayor and his posse - perhaps not to the point of "trust," but definitely to revealing conversation.

Again, I planted myself on the patio with dog in lap. Ivy was turning out to be a big ice-breaker - she was still in extra-cute puppy phase and no one but Former Editor was immune. The patio was in front of a huge picture window into the dining room. They had a clear view of me. I should have had a stopwatch to time the arrival of the first visitor. It took less than two minutes for a woman to join me.

"Wow, I like your ring," she said. She was an attractive Native American woman.

"Wow," I thought. "She's really nice."

Introductions. Suddenly there were like five people at the table. A handsome, blond viking-type, very buff. This was Rance. The plucked eybrow guy (drag queen?). The first lady, coming and going, waiting tables. Others coming and going.

Lots of people telling me what I should do with the paper. Lots of people telling me about Former Editor. Finally, after a half-hour of this, the mayor appeared, fully aproned, carrying a cocktail. He sat down. I was delighted, but trying to hold my cool.

We chatted - tentatively. He explained that in the past, newspaper coverage had been disappointing. In the future, he would use stronger language to describe Former Editor's work. He then went back to the kitchen, taking his cocktail with him.

I would later learn that Former Editor and the mayor had been engaged in open warfare for the last couple of years. Former Editor held a deep conviction that the mayor was involved in a conspiracy of some sort with the also-gay town manager. The mayor believed that Former Editor was deeply, secretly homophobic, and was gunning for him, using ink and newsprint as his rifle scope.

Over the next 48 hours, the backstory emerged from several sources. Most of these sources held a deep dislike for Former Editor, who I made up. These sources went out of their way to meet me and tell me about enduring seven-odd years of Former Editor's verbose, patronizing, inaccurate reporting and editorializing. Made that up too.

Even those left of liberal were sick of Former Editor's rants about the Bush adminstration. Many were amused, appalled, or both by Former Editor's fascination with dangerous, undetected Mormon polygamy involving very young women. No holding back. The most striking thing, though, was so much overt hostility emerging so quickly.

There are those wiser than I that could have seen that Former Editor's past might be my future. Former Editor's fans were less vocal, but they did say things like, "You've got big shoes to fill." There were a lot of smartass responses I could and can make, but didn't and won't.

I had a paper to write and a lead article to put together.

I headed to the Mud Creek Hogan Trading Post at the appointed time. Bill and Judy Countess generously spent hours educating me about native rugs (sometimes, to get the right red, weavers use cherry jello or beet juice to dye the wool), Anasazi pottery, with its complex legal baggage, and turquoise.

Ancient pottery has, in recent years, become the subject of big controversy. Trafficking in illegally obtained pots carries major penalties and the feds actively enforce these laws. Pot hunters are known to sneak onto Native reservation lands and steal artifacts for the trade - this is bad. This will get you in big trouble. Others have stolen pottery and sherds from places like Mesa Verde - this is also verboten. The only way you can legally sell Anazazi pots is if you find them on your own land. Otherwise you have to document the origins of objects. If you come across this stuff in a national park or monument, don't touch it - stiff fines if you get caught doing so.

Local ranchers, when they stumble across these artifacts, often bring them to Bill to sell - but the Countesses described setup attempts made by federal authorities.

"This Indian guy came in with a pot one day, and asked me to appraise it for him," Bill said.

"I did, and then he asked me if I wanted to buy it. I knew what was up. I would never buy pots from an Indian. I won't buy or sell ANYTHING off reservation land.

"So the guy left. I followed him to the door and watched him get into an unmarked, white SUV with a white federal agent behind the wheel."

Then Bill showed me some legally-obtained pottery from a nearby ranch; a cup with a handle and a bowl, completely intact. Crude and grey, but clearly functional. And ancient - like six or seven hundred years ancient. Long time before us European types arrived.

Bill and Judy explained that the Mud Creek Hogan, an actual hogan, was the oldest operating trading post in the Four Corners. Originally established in the 1930s, the business had moved to this site in the 1960s. The trading post had done what trading posts actually did - trade provision like salt, sugar, flour and coffee for native jewelry and blankets. These days, Bill said, there was no more provisioning - Bill would sell or trade unset turquoise and "festishes," tiny animals carved from stone or shell. He would also take jewelry pawns for cash and buy things like sheepskins for sale to the tourist trade. He had been in the trading post business for more than 20 years, and had vast knowledge and endless connections.

There is a long tradition of Native Americans pawning jewelry and blankets for cash - if they didn't return to reclaim items, pawned goods would be sold to tourists. These pawn pieces are generally old, frequently signed by the maker and usually made with high-grade natural turquoise from mines that are now extinct.

Which leads me to turquoise. Bill knows everything there is to know about turquoise. He explained that there are three kinds: natural, untreated stones that are hard enough to be carved and polished; stabilized, which means that a resin has been infused into soft, lower-grade stone to make it hard enough to handle; and reconstituted - crumbly, chalky stone that is ground to dust, then mixed with enough resin and plastic to make something hard enough to cut and polish. Natural turquoise is the rarest and most coveted. The best American stuff available today is from mines in Arizona and Nevada.

Turquoise veins are usually found near copper deposits - when the veins were discovered in the first half of the 20th century, they were actively mined until played out. Those who now own the small number of existing mines are closed-mouthed, wishing to avoid raids by outlaw stone hunters. There is a mine near Mancos, but I could never learn much about it outside the rumor that the owners were willing to use firearms to protect their claim.

Bill showed me a piece of natural Persian turquoise, the gold standard of all turquoise. It was deep blue-green, but when held in sunlight, had peacock blue and aqua overtones. Impressive.

I ended up buying a pair of earrings, as usual.

Next: Part 3 (finally) of the First Issue.