RIP Sam Houston Kingfisher, an old friend I met on the Navajo rez.
I just found out an old friend, Sam had died two years ago.
Sam’s dad Eagle Kingfisher was really good friends with Sam Drywater who I met in Tulsa in 1992.
A very headhitting funny story I can tell you about Sam Drywater is this. A newage wannabe lady came to this potluck supper we were having and she found out that Sam was a bona fide certified wool-in-the-dyed medicine type elder dude. So she offered him a pack of cigarettes and asked his advice about a profound moment she had just had. She was driving to that pot luck just hours ago and drove by a large hawk that had been hit by a car. She stopped a while and sat and prayed near it and asked Creator for guidance and was just certain Creator sent him to her, in the form of sending him to that Potluck that she was going to. Well Sam asked for a small room he could darken completely and some blankets and clothespins to do it. He sat in that room for at 20 minutes, and I swear this lady sat in a chair facing that door the entire time waiting for him to come out just like my family dog used to do when you pushed down the electric canopener.
Well he eventually came out that door while most of us were eating potluck stuff and mingling and he went right to her. Well he couldn’t go anywhere else without going right to her first because she was about 9 feet away directly in front of that door facing him. She got up like he was 9 men on a jury about to give the verdict and she was the defendant.
Well?
She stared deeply into his eyes, and he stared back. Neither of them blinked for a long time.
I just knew she wasn’t going to do a thing until he said something. It was almost painful to watch. Finally he pursed his lips and stiffened his chin and here’s what came out.
“Did you call the DEP or at least the DOT?”
She left that potluck with a mission, pronto. Many of us giggled a little. Even before Sam Drywater told Eagle, Eagle’s wife, his wife, me and Sam and a guy everyone calls Fumby, we laughed again as he told us he figured out in that room that it had to be the same roadkill wild turkey he’d driven by a few hours to get to the same potluck supper.
Well that’s what I remember, there’s probably more. So long ago.
Story about Sam Drywater while I’m remembering Sam Houston Kingfisher, sort of his nephew, who died a couple years ago. I just found out this morning. RIP.