Hosteen Billy's Rugs

Our good friend Jacque recently came to town for a visit. During her brief stay in Bluff, we had a good laugh about our Etta Rock story, and about Etta's effect on us. During our conversations, Jacque related several experiences she has had during her life as a "trader." Jacque's family has been in the trading post business for many years, and she and her husband, John, now own a supply house where they sell silver, turquoise and associated findings to local silversmiths. Jacque is fun loving and has a powerful, uninhibited laugh. Because of her long association with the trading business, she has many stories about the Navajo people and her family's interaction with them. We have often invited her to share those stories via guest essays. She simply laughs and says, "That's your gig, not mine."

During this visit, Jacque told us of a weaver she used to deal with; a very old weaver - Mae Gould. It seems that this elderly Navajo woman was not only nearly blind, she was also nearly deaf. Because of her advanced age, she wove rugs that were not extremely marketable. The problem was that Jacque had been dealing with this grandmother for such a long time, and had bonded with her so closely, that Jacque was unable to turn down the woman's weavings. The rugs were such that Jacque began considering the transactions donations rather than purchases.

Typically Mae would show up at the counter of Jacque's store and call out in a loud voice for Jacque to, "Come here." The loud voice was the result of her hearing loss, and everyone within a quarter mile could hear her. This once talented weaver would place her latest creation on the counter and state her price. Jacque would pay the asking price and chalk it up to good relations. After a brief but loud conversation, Mae would totter off until the next encounter.

As we were laughing about Jacque's experiences, I began to recall a similar situation that took place in the late 1970s at our Blue Mountain Trading Post location, involving an elderly Navajo man named Hosteen Billy. Hosteen is a term of respect, which is often used when referring to a Navajo gentleman. It is similar in usage to "sir" in the English language. At that time Hosteen Billy was believed to be in his late eighties, and had a full head of shaggy gray hair, a stooped back and a bright disposition. My parents had known Hosteen Billy for many years, and considered him a good friend. Mr. Billy's wife had been a rug weaver in her time, and Duke and Rose had purchased many weavings from the couple. When Mr. Billy's wife passed away, Mr. Billy inherited her small loom. After his wife died, Hosteen Billy realized that he still needed that little bit of extra income her rugs brought in, just to get by. Having watched the weaving process for over sixty years, and having warped the loom for his wife for all those years, Mr. Billy figured, "How hard can it be," and became a rug weaver.

When I came into the trading post one morning and discovered the first of Mr. Billy's weavings, I thought my parents had flipped out. I believe my comment was, "Who bought this, and why?" The rug was approximately one foot wide by two feet long. I say approximately because it was the most uneven weaving I had ever seen; and the colors were, well, indescribable. There were uneven bands of purple, red, green and pink. It was, without a doubt, the worst rug I had ever seen.

Consider that my parents taught me the business of buying and selling Indian art, and being frugal and not wasting hard earned money were key tenets of that education. I stood there looking at them and said, "You paid fifty dollars for this?" After barely avoiding a well aimed, and well deserved, slap from my mother, I began to receive another, more important, part of my education.

When Hosteen Billy showed up at the back door of the trading post, well after business hours, offering his first attempt at weaving, my folks bought it without question. They could have no more turned him down than turn away their own child. Hosteen Billy had walked seven miles from his home on the other side of West Water canyon to sell the rug. He not only sold it for the asking price, he got a ride home as part of the bargain. From that day forward, on a monthly basis, Hosteen Billy showed up at the trading post with a fifty dollar rug. He would stay and talk for a while and accept a ride home as needed. People were often amazed, when sorting through the stacks of Navajo weavings we kept at the trading post, to stumble upon one of Mr. Billy's rugs. After hearing Mr. Billy's story, many were pleased to own one of the weavings. We sold them for fifty dollars. As my parents often said, "We lose a little on each sale, but make it up in volume."

At one point the noted textile scholar, Joe Ben Wheat, author of The Gift of Spider Woman, came into the store. As he thumbed through our inventory of weavings he came across one of Mr. Billy's rugs and set it aside. We had a spirited conversation on Navajo textiles, creativity and fineness of weave, but nothing was said of Mr. Billy's extremely unique weavings; he simply set them aside. After a couple hours, he picked out two of our nicest rugs, threw our entire inventory of Mr. Billy's rugs on top of the stack and said, "I'll take these." I was flabbergasted. Here was the world renowned expert on Navajo textiles, and he wanted five of Hosteen Billy's rugs. My jaw hit the floor, the other two rugs I could believe, they were fantastic, but Mr. Billy's rugs! I stammered and stumbled over "Why" and "Don't you want to know about those?" Joe Ben simply smiled and said, "I like them, and I think I know the story."

My parents sat quietly by and watched the whole thing unfold. When Mr. Wheat left the trading post their smiles grew broader. I looked at them and said, "Like you knew." Dodging a well aimed kick, and receiving another lecture on my lack of respect, I walked away mumbling to myself, trying to grasp the meaning of what had just happened. We bought and sold every rug Hosteen Billy wove until he went to join his wife. I wish now that I had had the foresight to keep Hosteen Billy's first weaving I would treasure it and use it to remind me of the lessons I have learned. To this day if you happen to be thumbing through the stacks of rugs at Twin Rocks you may stumble onto a weaving that just doesn't measure up. As for me, I hope we will always have a few of those rugs in our inventory. Who knows, my children may also need an important lesson on life.

Copyright©2002 Twin Rocks Trading Post