Durango Read online

  By the 1960s, however, things began to change. Tourism in the spectacularly beautiful region, with its national forests and then wilderness areas, jagged peaks, ancient Native American ruins, wild streams, partially restored mining towns, nature and horse-riding trails, and plentiful campgrounds, brought a wave of economic growth. Increasing numbers of city dwellers, confronting urban crowding and pollution, visited the region, went back home and sold out, and moved to the area permanently. But all this activity and all these new people needed more of what was already lacking: water.

  Not too long thereafter, a vast national search for energy resources began. As early as the 1950s, areas around Durango were mined for a new vital resource—uranium—first for nuclear weapons and then for nuclear power plants. But there was also coal, and there was oil and natural gas.

  The confluence of tourism, urban escapees, and energy development meant that water from the San Juan snows could not continue to run off down the streambeds to New Mexico and Arizona. It had to be stored. And the only way to store it was to build dams, more particularly a dam collecting water from the Animas and La Plata rivers.

  The federal government, in the form of the Department of the Interior’s Bureau of Reclamation, was only too glad to help. It was beginning to run out of places to build dams in the West. But as planning began for the Animas–La Plata Dam around 1968, resistance arose. All those people who had recently moved into the area, now having put their roots down, were less than enthusiastic about increasing the water supply that would then encourage their former neighbors back East to come out and join them, thus bringing the congestion they themselves had only recently and eagerly escaped. The newcomers soon joined old-timers who already thought Durango overcrowded to organize opposition to the dam. Both newcomers and old-timers found support from traditional conservation and newer environmental groups opposed to dams virtually anywhere. By the late 1970s they found a political champion in Jimmy Carter.

  The town of Durango itself had begun to emerge in 1880 when an entrepreneur named William Jackson Palmer brought the Denver & Rio Grande Railroad all the way to southwestern Colorado. He played a central role in laying out the very grid that would become the town, surveying and selling lots, and he saw to it that there were people out there on his railroad line who would take his trains back and forth to Silverton and Denver, miners who would come to work at the smelter built there a few years after, goods that would fill his outbound boxcars, and cattle that would crowd the inbound cattle cars back to Denver.

  Over the years a frontier mystique grew up around Durango as embodying an ideal western small-town-America style of living that was human scale. People knew each other. They attended their various churches with those they worked with during the week. Parents knew teachers. Shopkeepers knew customers. Insurance agents, auto dealers, repair shops, bankers, lawyers, and cowboys mixed and mingled. It was an honest place. It was solid and trustworthy. It was about as close to perfect as a place could get.

  Who wanted mining trucks, oil rigs, gypsy roughnecks breaking up Saturday night bars, bigger, noisier hotels, big chain stores, and eventually, inevitably, back-office service representatives in Bangladesh handling your insurance claims? Stop development. Stop the dam. So, peaceful Durango, representing western America if not all America in the second half of the twentieth century, found itself deeply divided.

  There was one more element in this equation, however, that came into play. The Southern Ute Tribe had historic claims to water rights on the Animas and the La Plata. If any dams were built upstream for the Durango city folk, a proportionate share had to go to the Utes. And finally, after decades of hanging on in at best marginal conditions, the Utes saw the dam as offering the possibility of a major step up.

  Now the equation was complicated. The pro-dam development faction had the Indian tribes on its side. And the anti-dam, anti-development faction—who by nature would normally have found themselves on the side of the hapless, downtrodden, neglected, and cheated Native Americans—found themselves opposing a substantial means for Ute improvement and self-advancement.

  Out of a mixture of water and minerals emerged a serpent of greed that threatened to poison this idyllic community.

  4.

  Sheridan made room at his drugstore table for Caroline Chandler. You’ve already had plenty of caffeine with the boys, she said.

  A little, he said. But on a Monday morning there’s always need for more.

  Without being asked, the waitress brought two large mugs of very strong coffee. Her raised eyebrows asked, Anything else? They both shook their heads.

  Had my annual spring roundup with Harv Waldron, he said presently. I’m gettin’ too old for this. It’s my good deed for the week.

  Oh, Daniel, she said, patting his rough hand, you’ll be bringing Harv’s cows down decades from now.

  Hope to God not, he said. Though the only good part was that the excursion in the blizzard gave me an excuse for an extra Jameson.

  It is good sleep medicine, she said with a tone of experience.

  How’re things up at your place? he asked.

  No complaints, she said. I think I owe you a dinner.

  He chuckled. That’s usually a signal that you’ve got a big rock that needs moving or a board loose somewhere.

  She looked offended. Now, that’s cruel. I’ve fed you plenty of times where you haven’t had to work for it.

  He looked at her through lowered eyebrows and presented a tight smile. Not sure how you mean that.

  She laughed. You know how I mean it. Don’t be cute. I could put you to work for six months around my place patching and fixing, but I’d have to feed you the whole time, and I can’t afford it.

  Will work for food, he said. Maybe a little kindness from time to time wouldn’t hurt, either.

  Let’s not go there, she smiled. I know your definition of “kindness.”

  Just a healthy boy, he said, who gets lonely from time to time.

  They both tried the cooling coffee, each ransacking memory for the long history of a complicated friendship. This cabinet of memories had hidden compartments of happiness and drawers of various sizes stuffed with webs of conflict and controversy. An air of irresolution pervaded every corner.

  She broke the reverie. Been down to see Leonard Cloud recently?

  The deep crease between his eyebrows deepened. We keep in touch. After a moment, he said, Why bring that up?

  You know I can’t leave it totally alone, she said. It’s your life. And it’s my life as well. Then after a pause she added, It’s not over, you know.

  Well, it sure as hell is for me, he grunted, and signaled for more coffee.

  We’re not going to pursue it, she said, at least not here, not now. But you know how I feel. A time will come when it has to come out. And it will. It has to, Daniel. Otherwise, there’s no justice in this world.

  He snorted. No justice. I’d say the no justice side wins this one.

  After the coffee was refilled, he said, The Utes are doing well and that’s all I care about. Talk about justice. They had to wait over a hundred years. But they’re finally getting what they deserve. Leonard says the royalties are rolling in.

  What I’ve heard, she said.

  He’s so smart, Sheridan continued. He’s got the tribal council to create a trust fund. Sam’s law firm helped ’em set it up. Most of the royalty money goes there. And they’ve got a plan to put that into education for several generations of tribal kids. They’ll still have plenty left over for really decent housing for the families. And they’ve started work on the senior center and a new community center in Ignacio.

  She said, They’ve finally got a chance to live like real ordinary human beings. She wanted to say more, to tell him that she had advised the Ute tribal council on how to set up a durable trust fund, but she decided it could wait until later.

  He
leaned back in his chair. Even poor, they were the most ordinary human beings I ever met. It’s kinda interesting to wonder whether they’d get back on their horses and roam again if they could.

  Be a little hard, she said, dragging their stuff across interstates and through a bunch of parking lots and truck stops.

  He laughed. Sure enough. Wouldn’t be the same as the old days, now would it? I just hope they don’t go to hell with most of the rest of modern civilization. There’ll be a few of them that’ll pack up and buy some big old houses in Hollywood. He shook his head.

  Have you gone to hell, Daniel? she asked.

  He laughed again. Course not. If I had, you wouldn’t be here, would you? And besides, I’m not big rich, in case you hadn’t noticed.

  That’s a good question, she said. I suppose I would be here. I’d keep trying to save your soul.

  Well, I appreciate that, Miss Missionary, he chuckled. My soul sure does want savin’.

  If I cook something Friday, will you tell me more about what the tribe’s doing? she asked. It’s the only way I can find out.

  Well, he said, you know Leonard as well as I do. Just get on your horse and ride out there. He’d love to see you. After a pause he said, But you know me well enough to know I’m not going to turn down a supper.

  They rose, he threw a bill on the table, and they headed for the door. I’ll bring the Jameson, he said as he touched her shoulder, then raised a hand in parting.

  5.

  He didn’t tell Caroline about the ceremony. He rarely did.

  The day after his adventure with Harv Waldron’s cows, he had indeed met with Leonard Cloud, the tribal chairman. Then he had gone to the weathered house owned by the Southern Ute’s venerable holy man on the outskirts of Ignacio. Two Hawks was well into his eighties. No one, including himself, was quite sure of the year of his birth in the early twentieth century. From his earliest years, Two Hawks had seen spirits in the wind and water. He prayed to the four compass points and the four seasons. And he communed with all the creatures. Each species of tree—sage, juniper, pinion—had its own spirit, and all required respect and reverence. The birds were messengers on the wing. Though he was an occasional meat-eater, there was no memory in the tribe of him ever purposefully harming a living thing. A rattler deserved his own space. Two Hawks would step well around.

  One of Sheridan’s earliest memories was of his father taking him to meet Two Hawks, then a vigorous man in his mid-thirties. He was tall and lean, even then with lined cheeks and narrow hips. The young Sheridan watched with keen eyes as the two men conversed. They spoke in short sentences punctuated by long silences. Their mood was inevitably solemn. Most often, Sheridan’s father asked questions and listened quietly as Two Hawks responded.

  They talked about ordinary things—weather, water, people, and sometimes current events in the outside world. Occasionally, however, Sheridan observed periods of meditation and quiet communication, almost a kind of worship. Throughout his growing-up years, he went with his father on these sojourns two or three times a year, and he lent himself more easily to the temper and found in the silences—even more than in the conversation—a form of communion. By the time he was an adult and after his father’s passing, he assumed this pattern. And he watched Two Hawks grow older, even thinner, and become increasingly a part of all things, animate and inanimate, around him. It seemed that the older the Ute became, the more he merged into his natural environment and became a part of the scrub trees, cactus, birds, wildflowers, and sage that were part of his nature.

  A few years before, in the time of the trouble, Sheridan had sought the companionship and wisdom of the aging holy man. Two Hawks had helped save his sanity and possibly even his soul.

  Now, the day after the storm, Sheridan parked outside Two Hawks’s old house. He waited and watched, as always, patient so as not to intrude on the holy man’s space. Before long, he saw the thin arm in the doorway beckoning him inside.

  The Ute made tea using local herbs. They sat for a period and thought.

  Sheridan said, Did the snow get down this far?

  Two Hawks nodded. Some. Not as much as you, though.

  Sheridan related the lost cow incident from the previous Friday night.

  The mother cow risked her calf’s life to see if you really cared about them, Two Hawks said and then chuckled.

  She could’ve found a better way to settle that question, Sheridan said. How are things here? he asked, meaning the reservation.

  I am told we are now wealthy people, Two Hawks said. The chairman has done a good job keeping our faith. We are nature’s people, not the people of your things. He said “things” in such a way that Sheridan knew he meant cars, appliances, and trinkets.

  But all this money will change us…for good and for bad. Our young people will have better learning. Then they will leave this place. We will have better houses. He surveyed his own primitive surroundings. But we will burn more coal to heat and light. We’ll have bigger pickups. They will burn more fuel. Humans are the last creatures to learn about the balance in nature. Two Hawks held both hands palms up as if measuring weights on a scale. Every use has a price, he continued. Usually the price is greater than the use we seek. The less necessary the use, the greater the waste.

  Will there still be Utes in fifty, a hundred years? Sheridan asked.

  Come ask me then, Two Hawks smiled. I will be a juniper down near the Animas…if the Spirit thinks I am worthy.

  Sheridan smiled also. Why not a cougar?

  Oh, I have not earned a cougar spirit yet. It will take time. Much more than the years I have had. The cougar spirit is very big. He is the chief of these parts. It is a very big spirit. It must be earned.

  How do you earn that spirit? Sheridan asked.

  Two Hawks looked through the doorway, his stare a hundred miles downrange. Strength. Patience. Courage. Fortitude…a good word. Wisdom. Mostly wisdom.

  You seem pretty wise to me, Sheridan offered.

  If you were not my good friend, Two Hawks said, I would say that your people’s idea of wisdom is pretty thin. Wisdom needs time and patience. It needs thinking. It needs praying. It is a gift, but you must earn this gift.

  His voice was reedy and thin, but forceful. His arrow-straight back had begun to bow at the shoulders. His ancient shirt hung on his frame as on a scarecrow. Dust briefly blew past the open doorway. They were silent for a time. Sheridan knew the holy man had something to say.

  Two Hawks hummed a chant quietly, as if in a kind of trance. Then he said, The first time it was water. Long ago. When I was a boy, our ancient holy men, older even than I am now, said that the holy men for generations before them, before memory, said the second time would be fire.

  Sheridan inhaled and waited.

  Fire. Very big fire.

  Like a forest fire? Sheridan asked.

  Much bigger. Intense fire. Bigger than a mountain blowing up. Man-made. As hot as the sun.

  Well, Sheridan said, that has to be something nuclear. He waited and said, Is that it?

  Two Hawks shook his head. I don’t know. I am told that the nuclear things burn as hot as the sun. I don’t know anything else man has created that does. If it burns, it will destroy the whole earth. It will be a judgment. The Spirit will decide things have gone too far. We cannot act as if we were gods. We cannot hold such power.

  The government says we’re trying to get rid of some of this stuff. The bombs, Sheridan said.

  All. It all must be destroyed. Or it will be used. The ancient people said the fire could not be contained if it started. That’s all I know.

  Two Hawks presently held up a hand. Sheridan had become familiar with this sign. He waited and watched, breathing quietly and looking into the distance. The ancient Ute hummed in rhythm and closed his eyes. After a moment he began a prayer, a prayer for all the creatures, great and smal
l, for the winged things, for the creepy-crawly creatures, for the trees and flowers, for water and wind, for all things in nature. Then he prayed for the people, his own Ute people and people in Durango and wherever there were people. He asked the Spirit’s blessing on all things.

  Sheridan breathed softly. He knew the rest to come.

  Two Hawks asked the Spirit to heal his friend Sheridan. He reminded the Spirit that Sheridan was a worthy man, an honest man. Sheridan and his father and his father’s father had been friends to the Utes. Sheridan had earned the Spirit’s blessing. Sheridan needed the Spirit’s blessing. Then he became silent.

  His heart heavy, Sheridan waited in silence. Though burdened by his own history, as always he felt better for the prayer and the blessing. Then both men stood. Two Hawks walked him to the open door. They did not shake hands in the fashion of civilization. But when Sheridan reached his pickup, he turned and held up his hand by way of thanks.

  Visions of the fire to end all life had been in the back of Sheridan’s mind ever since.

  6.

  Madam Chairwoman, Sheridan said, we’re going to have to resolve the Animas–La Plata issue one of these days. This commission has gone back and forth, up and down, and sooner or later the state and the feds are going to want our judgment on the matter.

  Recently elected to the commission at this point years ago, Sheridan would later become its chair.

  Mr. Sheridan, said Dolores Raymond, chairwoman of the La Plata County Commission, you know well enough that there are five of us here, and two of us are for it, two of us are against it, and one of us—she looked down the horseshoe-curved table to her right—can’t make up his mind.

  Well, Sheridan said, our members of Congress have to vote on the funds for the project in next year’s budget, and I don’t know about you, but they are pestering me for a decision.

  Me too, Dolores Raymond said. What’s your opinion these days, Mr. Ralph?