Tribute to Homer Warren

Kathy was gone that afternoon, so I picked up the telephone when it began ringing. I never identify myself when I answer the phone. Barry, for example, will say, "Twin Rocks, this is Barry." Not me, I want the opportunity to say, "Sorry, Steve is not in today," if I can't afford to buy something from an artist (or if a bill collector is hot on my trail). So, when I answered, "Twin Rocks," the first words out of Rena Juan's mouth were, "Hellooo, who is this?" Rena always begins her telephone conversations with "Hellooo," and always wants to talk for extended periods, so I knew I had to find a way to shorten the conversation.


Homer Warren at Twin Rocks Trading Post.

Thinking on my feet has never been my forte', so I inartfully said, "Oops, Bob's repair shop, this is Bob." No luck, she wasn't buying it. "Come on Steve, I know it's you," she said. My attempts to convince her that the initial response of "Twin Rocks" had been a mistake, and that I really was Bob, failed miserably. "Where is Rosetta," she asked. "Rosetta is off today," I responded. "Well, when she comes in, tell her Homer died yesterday." Rosetta is a cook at the cafe, and cousin to Homer. That is how I learned that an important chapter of our trading post history had closed.



Navajo Folk Art by Homer Warren

Homer Warren began bringing folk art into the trading post before I even knew there was such a thing. It took Patrick Eddington and Susan Makov to educate me. Pat and Susan are our friends who wrote the "Trading Post Guide Book." Before they became so busy, they traveled the Southwest searching for interesting people, places and things. It was a natural for them to write the guide, since they knew better than anyone where to find great Southwestern art. They were fond of Homer's sandstone carvings of people, trucks and horses. As a result of their interest in his work, and folk art in general, we began a dialog about contemporary Navajo folk art. These conversations taught me a great deal about folk art and helped me appreciate the beauty of Homer's work.


Navajo Folk Art by Homer Warren

Homer stumbled into the trading post shortly after we opened with what he called "kachinas." His kachinas, were not actually kachinas at all. In fact, they were very simple carvings of Navajo people and animals engaged in a variety of activities. Some were of Navajo women holding weaving tools and materials, others showed Navajo men with tall hats holding ropes and leaning on posts. There were scenes of Navajo people herding sheep, standing next to their horses, sitting on stones drinking soda, hitchhiking, riding in wagons, and a myriad of other themes. There was even one of me with a pencil thin mustache (which I always wanted, but never had), wearing my red wool coat and holding dollars in my hands. The obvious implication was that my primary purpose in life is to spend those dollars on Navajo art.

Homer’s carvings were cut and rasped from local sandstone with old files and backsaws. Once the stone had been properly formed, it was painted with very bright acrylic colors. As I travel around the Southwest seeing friends and doing business, I am amazed at how often I find Homer's work represented in the homes and stores of people I visit.

Homer's art has an almost child-like innocence, which attracts hordes of people. When his children, Josephine, Lindaphine, Saraphine, Wandaphine and Herman, became old enough, Homer taught them to carve, and they expanded the themes to include, among others, the hip hop culture, beauty queens, movie icons and Halloween characters. Homer ceded jurisdiction over the kachinas to the kids, and began carving horses. No matter how hard I worked to convince him he needed to carve the figurative pieces, he stood firm and never waivered. The kids carved kachinas and he carved horses, that was it.

Homer the individual was a little more complicated. When I first met him he had recently been engaged in his primary occupation, sitting under the Cottonwood Wash bridge sipping 16 oz. cans of beer. Over the next 13 years that we did business together, he was generally angling for a means to access the source of his pleasure; the local convenience store refrigerated beverage department.

At one point I decided that I simply could not allow myself to be involved in his destruction. So, in my most self-righteous tone, I informed him that I would no longer buy his work; at least until he dried out. He gave me his patented "Ahhhhhh" and walked out the door. The next week he was back, fully neglecting my previous lecture. I again climbed up on my soap box and informed him that he simply had to stop drinking; there was no other alternative. Another "Ahhhhh" and he was on his way. This went on for quite some time until I realized that much better people than I had failed to cure his addiction. Homer was going to be Homer no matter what any of us said or did.

After I realized I wasn't as smart as I thought, and that I really didn't know what was in Homer's best interest, we settled into a very comfortable relationship. He would bring me his carvings, and I would buy them and let him decide what he was going to do with his money and his life. His children always seemed to be fairly well cared for and he certainly was very fond of them, and they of him. He helped them learn to make a living for themselves and stepped aside to allow them into his kachina market. They seem to have, with his help, grown into very nice young people.

Homer and I often had conversations about the attractions of the Squaw Dance, and what delights could be purchased for five or ten dollars during the affair. I learned that Homer was indeed a very caring and interesting character. I also learned to look forward to seeing him, because it was always an adventure. He told me about being in Viet Nam, and about his father the medicine man. At one point he even brought me two large, flat stones, which he swore were used by his father in certain healing ceremonies. Although I had grave doubts about the veracity of the story, my checkbook suffered a setback and the stones became part of the trading post inventory. Grange and Kira drag the stones from under the counter once in a while and pretend they are one thing or another. Since Grange is currently in his tractor and “tament trut” (cement truck) phase, and since the stones look a little like a bulldozer blade, he refers to them as his "dozers."

We all worried that Homer would die prematurely, but also realized there was nothing we could do about that; he lived life
as he wished. At one point two young guys got more than a little fired up while drinking with Homer, and decided to antagonize Irene, Homer's wife. When Homer intervened, they literally tried to twist off his head. There was a lot of speculation whether he would ever walk again, but it was not long before I noticed him shuffling toward the trading post with his small traveling bag of carvings; as good as new. I remember how happy I was to see him again.

This time he had fallen from the back of a pick-up truck and hit his head. A short time later he was dead. The next thing we knew, the family arrived looking for donations to help fund the funeral. No one gallon jars for this family, they have extensive experience in dealing with tragedy and are very efficient. When disaster strikes, they show up with pad and pencil to note the contributions made. Everybody in town has been touched by Homer in one way or another, so I am sure the donations are generous.

In retrospect, I guess Homer taught me many lessons. Probably the most important one was to accept people for who they are, and avoid imposing my values on others. After I got over my self-righteous indignation, as a result of Homer’s persistence, I found a very nice man under that coarse exterior. It seems that almost everybody in this small town discovered the same thing. We are all sad to have lost him and his art.


Steve and Grange with Navajo Folk Art by Homer Warren

Copyright©2002 Twin Rocks Trading Post