I have seen him set fire to his wigwam and smooth over the graves of his fathers... clap his hand in silence over his mouth, and take the last look over his fair hunting ground, and turn his face in sadness to the setting sun.
Of course in show business there are two ways to play it and I am not politically correct so I am not going to get endorsements or anything like that.
I felt so conflicted about having fled the rez as a kid that I created a whole literary career that left me there.

