The Route 66 Chick

Flagstaff always seems to me the quintessential western town, but maybe it just made a big impression on me during my first visit there as a child about eight years old. I was crazy about all things western and was completely intrigued by American Indian culture. My clear memories of our visit there include my very indulgent father seeking out the local BIA office and entering it, my mother and me in tow, and asking the man behind the counter (clearly an indigenous person), "Where can we witness some real Indian culture? My daughter wants to meet some Indians!" I don't really remember what the Indian man told us or where he directed us to go (or where he maybe wanted to tell us to go), but the incident embarrassed my mother, who didn't think that was a proper question to ask. "Gene," she said to my dad, shaking her head, "That man WAS an Indian." Anyway, eventually I did study Indian culture when I returned to school a dozen years ago, and spent a ...