Chief Anderson

"Kikthawenund" is an odd name. It is awkward and choppy. Doesn't sound intimidating or proud. It's no "Geronimo." But Kikthawenund is my guy. For better or worse.

You've heard of him, right? Maybe not. But in my hometown Kikthawenund is its namesake. Well, the Swedish version of that name, at least. Anderson. Chief Anderson. A man who was born of a Swedish father and Delaware Indian mother, who settled his people on the shores of the White River along a trading route that stretched from Cincinnati to Noblesville, Indiana, and beyond. Kikthawenund's father wanted him to have a traditional Swiss name, so he called him William Anderson. From the beginning, this settlement was known as Andersontown.

They say Anderson was a man of few words. A leader by example. One who stayed committed to his beliefs. He and his tribe had been a part of a split between the Delaware. Some Delaware were untrusting of white settlers. Others believed that these new "Americans" would be able to figure out a way to live amongst the Delaware in harmony. Since Kikthawenund was both white and Delaware, he hoped harmony could be achieved. He settled Anderson holding on to this belief.

When the great Indian warrior Tecumseh came to Andersontown to meet with Kikthawenund, hoping to garner support in Tecumseh's plan to fight William Henry Harrison and the U.S. Army in the Indiana Territory, Chief Anderson refused. He still believed in the promise of a new America.

Tecumseh went to battle with the United States at the Battle of Tippecanoe and lost his life. The Indians were soundly defeated. As a result, all Indians were forced to leave Indiana and its surrounding states and go beyond the Mississippi River, including Chief Anderson, who had been an ally to the U.S. the whole time.

Fast forward to March, 1996. I'm standing on floor of The Wigwam, my high school's 8,996-seat basketball arena. I'm wearing a traditional Indian headdress, chest plate, tasseled leather pants, moccasins, and war paint on my face (I was the school mascot). My school's basketball team, the Anderson Indians, has just won a regional playoff game. While the celebration continues on the floor, a loud, bellowing voice is heard over the loud speaker.  "The Great Spirit!" someone exclaims.  It is the Great Spirit, Chief Anderson, here to greet us from beyond the grave.  Actually, it's P.T. Morgan, Health and P.E. teacher - Chief Anderson wasn't available, but the crowd doesn't seem to mind.  "The Spirit...LIVES," he proclaims, to a throng of cheers. 

Scenes like this one have played out in Anderson since the 1920s, when "Indians" replaced "Ducks" as the high school nickname (the Duck had to be replaced after he was attacked at a game by Lapel's Bulldog - maybe high schools should stick to human mascots).  People in Anderson have always taken great pride in "being the Indians."  Legend always had it that a Delaware himself taught the high school Indian mascot and Maiden the ritualistic dance performed before every home basketball game.  However, I would be willing to wager very few graduates of Anderson High School are aware that Chief Anderson and his Indians, the original Anderson Indians, were kicked out of town forever. 

My question, one that will probably never be fully answered, is, "Why did 19th and 20th Century Americans take so much pride in naming its sports teams, schools, and cities after Native Americans while at the same time encouraging the decimation and degradation of the people themselves?"  Was it guilt?  Reverence?  "Sorry we destoryed you, but you really did put up a good fight against our rifles with your bows and arrows, so we're going to call our baseball team the 'Braves.'" 

In Anderson, do we really deserve to call ourselves the Anderson Indians?  Would the Chief, himself, be okay with this?  Recent political pressure suggests that the nickname "Indians" may not last forever.  Of course, this will be met with resistance by locals who can't believe how anyone could possibly be offended by this.  "What's the big deal," they'll say.  Perhaps the "big deal" is that Chief Anderson, the founder of the city, leader of the Indians, was never able to return to the city he started.  He had to die in rural Kansas, dreaming of his home on the White River.  And now his spirit is portrayed by a P.E. teacher, and only for the reason of pumping up the crowd about a basketball game.  We took his home, then minimized his memory by attaching it to high school sports.  That's why it's a big deal. 

"Indians" will probably survive for the forseeable future.  Certainly "Anderson" will remain the city's name, and the state will always be "Indiana - Land of the Indians."  Each time I see any of the three of those words, I will remember the Chief, Kikthawenund, and hope that he has forgiven us for moving on without him.