I met Herb Sam in 1982. It was the first year of my sobriety and my path on the Red Road. I saw Herb at several feasts in the Native community where he offered the invocation for the food. He spoke in the language and, for me, it was the first time I heard it spoken. At that time, I went to A.A. in North Minneapolis. One of the reasons I chose this particular club, the Mustangs Club, was because I wanted to be around other Natives who were finding their sobriety paths. Many of us were urban Natives and knew very little about our traditions. At that time, there was emphasis on connecting traditions with sobriety. At our table, we often brought up traditional beliefs, trying to connect them with whatever Step was the subject for the evening. But that created friction with non-Native members who felt that Natives were taking over the club. After several months, we decided to establish our own club and moved to the Upper Midwest American Indian Center. We invited Herb to our first feast. He provided a prayer and then talked about sobriety. He told us that we were on the right path and that we had many things to learn and many traditional values to instill in our lives. He said to be patient, that it would take time, and to seek out elders for advice. He then lit his Opwaagan (Pipe) and offered each of us to draw smoke from it. It was the first time I smoked an Opwaagan and it was a powerful experience. It seemed as if the manidoog (spirits) had entered me and soothed my soul-spirit. A few years later, when I started dancing, I saw Herb at the powwows with his Mississippi Ojibwe drum. Him and Chops always at the drum, singing those sweet, old traditional songs. After Chops passed on, it was never the same drum and Herb eventually stopped bringing it to powwows. I think it was about in 2004 that I approached Herb at a powwow, gave him tobacco, and asked if he would give me my name. I was hesitant at first. You always hear stories about how some elders will turn down a request. I was 58 years old, and with the exception of a childhood Ojibwe name from my Godfather, had never received my proper Ojibwe spirit name. Receiving a name is a significant part of an Ojibwe person’s life. With a name, you become a whole person. So I was nervous and hoping that Herb wouldn’t refuse my request. It was with great relief when Herb accepted my tobacco. He said he would have to have a dream first and my name would be revealed in the dream. Once he had the dream, he said he would call me and we would arrange for a naming ceremony. About a month later, Herb called and said he had my name. I wanted to say, what is it? But that would have been foolish. A name has to be properly brought into the world. A few weeks later, Herb came to our house. As per Herb’s instructions, I had a blanket on the floor with food for our feast - traditional foods like blueberries, manoomin (wild rice), frybread (which isn’t traditional, but what’s a feast without frybread?), roast beef (venison wasn’t available) with mashed potatoes and gravy. Herb brought his hand drum. I sat across from him on the blanket and my family sat around us. He told me my name and then explained what the name meant. “Endaso-Giizhik - Every Day. This is the name I dreamed about. It’s a good name. Four warriors had this name. Two were from a long time ago, long before we came here. Every day they went out early in the morning, looking for signs of the enemy, protecting their village. The last one to have this name was an old man who was always at powwows with his children. He reminded me of you - always at powwows with your children. The spirits will know you by this name. Every day remember your name. Every Day do something for your people to help them and protect them.” Then he stood up and with his hand drum sang in each direction, beginning with the east, and sang my name into existence. We then feasted and I gave him tobacco and a blanket for the naming ceremony. Afterward, I put out a spirit plate. In the following years, he gave me advice on personal situations. These weren’t things you could talk about on the phone. Herb’s rules were you had to go see him, bring him tobacco, and only then would he talk to you about the problems you were having. But that’s the way things are done by elders. One of Herb’s attributes as an elder and spiritual man was his work with the Twin City Native American community. He was always at various Native functions offering invocations, and willing to help and provide guidance for organizations and individuals. He lived with his wife, Patty, in Minneapolis, but even after moving back to his home rez, Mille Lacs, he continued his work in the urban community. Herb provided us with a link to our traditions. One of the things he did was to conduct Spring Ceremonies at the Minneapolis American Indian Center. Spring is a time of renewal. It was a time to bless the sacred items you had - Opwaaganag (Pipes), Medicine dresses (Jingle dresses), feathers, dance regalia, and drums - and to feast them. Everything was set out in a circle. Herb stood at the center. He spoke first in English to explain why we were there and what he was doing. Then he spoke in the language, lit his pipe, walked to each item/bundle, and said a blessing prayer for the item(s). Following the ceremony, we had a feast. Herb always asked that we try to bring something traditional. I always brought manoomin. One year, I bought manoomin with waawaashkeshiwi-wiiyaas (deer meat) and miinan (blueberries) mixed in; another year, I brought manoomin with ogaa (walleye) and miinan mixed in. I remember how good the kitchen smelled the night before the ceremony with the aroma of manoomin and deer meat or walleye frying. I wanted to eat some of it but Herb said you shouldn’t eat the food you were going to offer at the feast. It was part of a sacrifice that you were making. At one of the Spring Ceremonies, Herb and I sat off to the side before the ceremony began. If people wonder what old men talk about, it’s almost always about their health. Herb talked about his diabetes. He said he had medicine for it but key element was diet. He said that if people had healthy diets and didn’t eat all the junk food that was out there that diabetes would be less of a problem for our people. Then we talked about my cancer. The previous year, I had cancer surgery. Herb was concerned about it. He said I needed to take care of myself for my family. Then he said something that surprised me. He said cancer was a spirit and that I needed to respect it. He said that cancer was a fearful disease, but by respecting it, I could lessen my fear. Those are words that I took to heart and they became a part of my survivorship and cancer journey. A few years later, Herb became the spiritual advisor for the American Indian Cancer Foundation’s (AICAF) annual Powwow for Hope. In 2017, he blessed the eagle staff that my wife and I gifted to AICAF. On September 14, 2018, Herb passed to the spirit world. In Ojibwe culture, we don’t call it “the Happy Hunting Ground.” We call it Gaagige-minanigoziwining - the Land of Everlasting Happiness. His manner of passing was ironically from cancer. As such, I never expected to be writing about this. I had always thought that Herb would be conducting my funeral. But now that will never happen. We have lost a great warrior and a champion of our people. A generous man who epitomized kindness, humbleness, love, and self-love. We often talk about the Anishinaabe Spirit. The Anishinaabe Spirit is about our personal self, our soul-spirit, and how we conduct ourselves in our daily life. For those of us who know him, we are his legacy. And it is up to us to live within that spirit that Herb taught us about. Mii sa go © Robert DesJarlait, 2018
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Robert Desjarlait
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