Old Joe

I first met Joe Beletso in the late 1970s. He was long, lean and stately. He always wore a tall black felt hat with a rounded crown, and looked as if he had just stepped out of a sepia tone post card. He was of an earlier era, probably born around the turn of the century. When asked his birth date, he would simply reply "hola," ( I don't know! ). Joe liked to dress in layers. Below his classic "Indian hat" and whispy gray whiskers, you might see a white tee shirt, a red flannel button down, three or four shirts, a leather vest and, finally, a Levi's jacket. Two pairs of Levi's would be hung from his bony hips, protecting his long, thin legs. Big black hob nail boots completed Joe's wardrobe, and he wore the same outfit whether it was below zero or 100 degrees above. I never saw him sweat or look the least bit chilled, he seemed to have the whole clothing issue worked out.

On the day of our first meeting, I was working at Blue Mountain Trading Post when into the parking lot wheeled a big, brown Ford pick-up truck with dual tires on the back axle. Out of that big rig climbed Joe, followed by a small entourage of family members. The group had a big impact on the small store. The old man walked right up to me and looked me over with a twinkle of humor in his eyes. He bobbed his head a bit and asked if we pawned silver jewelry. I curiously looked back and him, then peered over his shoulder at his group, and wondered what was developing. I said "Yah ah teeh Hosteen," trying to impress him with my perfect Navajo interpretation of "hello sir." Well that started an embarrassing chain of events. Joe launched into eloquent Navajo, and left me totally confused. Noticing my lack of understanding, he patiently began again. "Me wanna pawn this bracelet. It be okay? One Hundred Dollars be good!" I had the sneaking suspicion that I was being toyed with. At that moment, I would have bet plenty that this grand gentleman had a genuine mastery of the English language.

Joe peeled back his shirt sleeve and produced a beautiful traditional bracelet, which was set with a cluster of soft blue/green turquoise. I looked it over and quickly determined that its value easily merited a One Hundred Dollar loan. I said, "Be good by me." Joe laughed at the vain attempt to recover my composure. We filled out the forms and I handed over a crisp new One Hundred Dollar bill. I placed his bracelet in a paper bag for storage and filing, said thank you and shook his hand. Hosteen Beletso offered the traditional Navajo "soft" handshake and took the payment. He reached into his inner shirt pocket and retrieved a wallet as thick as a club sandwich. It was encircled by a wide rubber band, which was meant to hold its bulging contents in place. Joe ceremoniously removed the rubber band and opened his billfold. Inside was a stack of One Hundred Dollar bills two inches thick. Placing the new bill next to its companions, Joe smiled broadly, replaced the strap and buried the wallet under all those layers of clothing. I have been told that Joe also carried a second wallet for small bills, but I never personally saw that one exposed. He then said, "Pretty good all right." As if on cue, the entire group turned and exited the building, piled into the truck and off they went. I stood there watching their departure, trying to make some sense of what had just happened. Hosteen Beletso certainly did not need the money. I wondered if I had just experienced that notoriously dry Navajo sense of humor. I just sat there for a few minutes, frustrated by this new mystery. At that point I determined to unravel the puzzle as quickly as possible. I didn't realize it would take me years to do so.

I began to investigate Joe, and found some interesting bits of information, much of it only recently discovered. Earlier this week Clyde B., my Navajo mentor, introduced me to the General Allotment Act of 1887 (also known as the Dawes Act). Clyde said that in the 1870s and 1880s, there was increasing frustration with federal Indian policy. At that time there were basically two schools of thought with regard to the issue. Those who subscribed to the first believed that federal Indian policy had been a complete failure, and that dramatic changes were needed. Those who followed the second looked at the large tracts of Indian land as unrealized opportunities to make vast sums of money.

The Dawes Act was inspired by those who favored the Indians. These people believed that if individual Indians were given plots of land to farm, they would become self sufficient, and eventually become part of mainstream America. Basically, the goal was complete assimilation. The act authorized the government to grant 160 acre portions of reservation land to individual Indians. Title to the property was held by the government in trust in behalf the individuals for a period of 25 years, after which it was transferred free of encumbrances. The holding period was intended to give the individuals time to learn accepted farming techniques, and to shelter the land from state taxation until the people had a chance to get on their feet. Unfortunately, the Dawes Act was also a failure, and large tracts of reservation land were lost, victims of tax sales, or sold for insignificant sums. So, in 1934 the Indian Reorganization Act ended the practice of allotment. The Indian Reorganization Act, contrary to the Dawes Act, was based upon the premise that tribes would continue to exist indefinitely. The government's policy of assimilation had failed to accomplish its desired goal.

Joe had been granted land on nearby McCraken Mesa during the allotment period. Since it was a rugged, rocky, mostly vertical, piece of real estate located in the southeastern corner of Utah, Joe's land didn't seem to have much value. In 1956, however, oil and gas were discovered beneath the surface of this forsaken land and a small rag tag group of Navajos, who had been scratching out a living on this mesa for many years, were about to get a lesson in energy development. They banded together in what is termed a "unitization" and jointly began to receive the benefits of the discovery and to live the good life.

This explains how Joe came to possess so many Ben Franklins, but it doesn't explain why he was so intent on adding one more bill. Again I relied on Clyde for enlightenment. It seems that Joe may have been trying to build a credit line. By borrowing small sums of money from local lenders, and establishing a positive credit history, he may have had his eye on bigger prospects. This could have easily been the case, because after years of doing business with Joe I would have helped him with any financial endeavor. Old Joe's credit was impeccable. It is my understanding that every banker in our local area felt the same. Another scenario may have been that Joe simply used us as a safe haven for his extensive jewelry collection. It was not unusual for us to have a dozen pieces of Joe's prized possessions at any given time. Navajo homes are seldom locked, even in this day and age, and when Joe left home he simply wired his front door closed. He may have found it wise to store his jewelry in our safe.

I haven't seen or heard from Joe in many years. We withdrew from the pawn business about ten years ago, and have lost track of many of the friends we made while in it. Clyde mentioned that he believes Joe to be alive and well, living in an extended care center somewhere in the Four Corners area.

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