Pauline

Navajo Weaver Pauline Deswudt

The trading post was fairly busy with tourists, locals and a Mormon missionary couple when I heard the entry chimes go off again. Looking up to see who it was, I winced because I instantly recognized Pauline Deswudt. Pauline weaves very nice hand spun rugs, and is one of the toughest negotiators in the Indian art world. What I did not need at that particular moment was an audience while dealing with Pauline. I knew for a fact that she would use any and every advantage to make a deal swing in her favor. I also knew that working out a fair value for the weaving stowed in Pauline's Blue Bird flower sack was going to take time and concentrated effort. I walked over to Pauline and asked if she would give me a few minutes to help the customers. Pauline smiled and said she would.

I went back to work, hoping Steve and Priscilla would soon return from a meeting with the cafe managers and help me disperse the crowd. I was achieving fairly good success with the customers, helping them find what they were interested in and sending them back out into the gorgeous fall afternoon sunlight laden with turquoise and silver. As I worked, I noticed that Pauline and the missionaries were engaged in animated conversation. I groaned inwardly as she unveiled the storm pattern rug to the couple and began to explain its creation and meaning. Pauline caught me spying on her; I could see a twinkle in her eye and knew I was in trouble.

Before long, the crowd dwindled down to Pauline, the missionaries and me. I chatted for a moment with the missionary couple; they were very pleasant and told me to go ahead and take care of Pauline. "Great," I thought, "they were now on a first name basis with the woman I was preparing to negotiate with." I needed a distraction. Where were Steve and Priscilla? The missionaries told me they were hoping to look around the store while waiting to meet someone. I could tell they were curious how I would treat their new friend. Pauline rolled out her rug, and with great humor in her countenance, quoted a price double the regular rate.

In April of 1880, the Mormon settlers first struggled into this unaccommodating river valley and collapsed upon the red sand in frustration and fatigue. This devout group of rugged individuals were on a mission for their church. Simply put, they were sent by Brigham Young to expand the church's horizons, and bring the Book of Mormon to the Lamanites, (Native people), The stated philosophy was to be as unobtrusive as possible while proving the value the Mormon culture. When Brigham Young Jr. finally released the Bluff Saints from their calling, most of the families moved north to slightly greener pastures in Blanding and Monticello. Some left the country completely, vowing never to return to such a forlorn and desolate land, leaving Bluff in the hands of the heathens.

The point is that descendants of every Mormon family that ever resided in Bluff, and some that never did, still lay a serious emotional claim to our fair city, and an enduring, often times zealous, social responsibility towards her Native peoples. Pauline, the missionary couple and I were all very familiar with the past, present and future ramifications of what was happening right here and now, and one of us was taking advantage of the situation. I was in no mood to get "crosswise" with the religious right over a simple rug deal, nor was I in the mood to be the butt end of a joke either.

With a tortured smile plastered across my lips, I quietly told Pauline that there was no way in Hell that I was going to pay twice the regular price for her weaving. Pauline laughed out loud at my uncomfortable predicament, the missionary couple, nonchalantly, moved in closer to better hear the conversation, and I began to sweat. I could see where an unfortunate misunderstanding could arise from this particular circumstance. I was probably overreacting, but one can never be too cautious when it comes to political or religious fallout. I had to consider that my darling Mormon bride, a descendent of the original bishop of Bluff, "Brother Jens" no less, might take exception to an ideological misstep on my part. Pauline could see the deer in the headlights look in my eyes, and quickly pressed her advantage. "Please!" she said piteously, "I really need the money!"


Handspun Navajo Rug

The sister missionary had seen and heard enough, she clutched her purse, determined, I am sure, to give Pauline whatever currency was contained therein. The brother restrained his wife and bodily moved her across the store, mumbling something about nonintervention. I was a bit taken aback by his overly generous gesture; Pauline looked surprised as well and slightly guilty. Seeing a way out of the corner I had been painted into, I was about to tell the couple that they were more than welcome to purchase the rug directly from Pauline; it was fine with me! At that moment, a bright eyed young man in a black suit and a name tag poked his head in the door, located the couple and said, "Sorry we're late, we can go now!" The missionary couple quickly exited the building.

Focusing in on Pauline I said; "Darn your dry Navajo sense of humor, you could have had me black balled from Bluff. " "I know," laughed Pauline, "that's what makes it so funny!" Pauline must have felt sorry for me after that, because, without further debate, she quoted the price we both knew the rug was worth in the first place. I wrote her a check and she departed, still chuckling to herself at the joke she had pulled off at my expense. From that day forth, I have made a point of never mixing business with religion and Pauline.

With warm regards,