Cda Chief’s Generosity Created ‘White Indians’ He Adopted Settler Families, Now They Get Tribal Benefits

Here, under the dry leaves rattling in the wind, lies Joseph Peavy, his grave marked only by a corroded nameplate and an iron cross.

Here, beneath a lichen-covered stone, rests Julien Boutelier.

Here, the marker streaked by a century of trickling rain, is where Steve and Christine Liberty buried two children in two years. Nearby rests “Little Agnes” Nixon, buried in 1889, a month before her first birthday.

Other than crumbling headstones in the DeSmet Cemetery, the white settlers who lived among the Coeur d’Alene Indians 100 years ago didn’t leave much of a mark upon the landscape. Only one of their farms remains, and none of the homestead cabins.

They did, however, leave the tribe one legacy that causes an undercurrent of animosity among some Indians today.

Through a fluke of history, some of the settlers’ descendants remain card-carrying members of the Coeur d’Alene Tribe, though they have almost no Indian blood. They receive many of the benefits of other tribal members, a sore point among some Indians.

“I’m Irish, French and Scotch-English,” said Lewis Watson, 62, a descendant living in Spokane. “I am still considered a Coeur d’Alene tribal member.”

“It’s a badge that very, very few people wear,” said his brother in Seattle, 71-yearold Larry Watson. “I rather enjoy saying I’m a member of the Coeur d’Alene Tribe, although I’m not an Indian. I enjoy telling the story.”

The story of the so-called “white Indians” begins with Coeur d’Alene Chief Andrew Seltice.

In the 1870s, Seltice befriended four white settlers, eventually inviting them and their families to live on the reservation. All accepted.

The adoption of the four families was part of the tribe’s 1887 treaty with the U.S. government.

In 1909, the U.S. Department of the Interior reviewed the case. In the eyes of the department, Assistant Secretary Jesse Wilson ruled, “they are, and should in all respects be treated as, members of the Tribe.”

It is unclear exactly how many of the white settlers’ descendants are among the tribe’s 1,400 members today.

“There are only just a handful of them, really. It’s probably less than 50,” said Gloria Greene, a Bureau of Indian Affairs worker in Lapwai who tracks tribal enrollments.

And their number is dwindling. In 1940, the tribe stopped taking members who had less than one-quarter Indian blood. Thus, all the “white Indians” are 55 or older.

“I was one of the lucky ones,” said 55-year-old Mike Crabb of Cheney. “I have a sister who was born in ‘41, and she didn’t qualify.”

Most descendants left the reservation. Lynn Deno, 67, decided to return.

As a boy, Deno spent weekends clearing timber from his father’s “allotment,” - the 160 acres given to his father, as a tribal member.

Deno grew up in Spokane, where his neighbors quickly learned that the Denos’ home was paid for by an Indian housing program.

“When I went to grade school, they called me ‘Chief,”’ recalls Deno. “Chief of what?”

In 1974, he retired from construction work and moved to the reservation. He owns 400 acres. As a tribal member, under federal law he doesn’t pay taxes on the income from the crops.

Deno goes to tribal meetings and votes in elections. But, like most of the settlers’ descendants, he doesn’t attend feasts or powwows.

“I’d be welcome,” he said, “but it’s not my culture. I’d feel kind of out of place.”

Lewis Watson said he doesn’t even vote in tribal elections anymore.

“We are not Coeur d’Alene Indians as such,” he said. “You can tell the animosity.”

That animosity dates back to the turn of the century, when Congress doled out parcels of the reservation to each tribal member - and to more settlers.

As tribal members, the four families filed 66 claims, totaling more than 10,000 acres of prime reservation farmland. The Nixons alone filed claims for 17 160-acre farms.

“Choice Palouse land, worth probably $150,000 in the heart of the Coeur d’Alene Indian Reservation … was secured by one white family in the Indian allotment made by government agents this spring,” said the July 20, 1909, edition of the Spokane Chronicle.

Today, with the tribe proposing a $200 million national lottery, some hard feelings remain.

“I hope it goes,” said Lewis Watson. “You know why? If they declare per capitas (payments) for tribal members, I’m in on it.”

In recent years, he and other descendants say, they’ve been called “apples,” an Indian insult meaning “red” on the outside, and white on the inside. The term “white Indians” is also considered pejorative.

Tribal officials are reluctant to talk about the settlers’ descendants. At a tribal meeting earlier this year, one woman angrily declared she was sick and tired of the fact that there are “white Indians.”

Some descendants are sensitive to those sentiments. Sister Delores, a descendant of the settlers and a well-liked nun at the DeSmet Mission, declined to talk about the issue.

For their part, descendants of Chief Seltice acknowledge their ancestor’s decision still rankles some Coeur d’Alenes.

“Members of the tribe now do not like to talk about it,” said his granddaughter, 81-year-old Marceline Seltice Kevis. “They don’t know the history, and they don’t want to talk about it. They just turn their head.”

“It’s kind of like ‘What are you doing on my reservation?”’ said Seltice’s other surviving granddaughter, Marie Irene Seltice Lowley, 77. “I don’t like it, because they’re drawing a line.”

Still, both support their grandfather’s decision.

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Lowley. “I would be glad if they would come forward and show a little interest, but they don’t.”

Tribal membership means different things to different descendants. Many, like Lewis Watson, have little or no interest in tribal affairs.

Others, like his brother Larry, say they consider their membership a unique honor. Larry Watson said he even thought about running for the tribal council, but couldn’t since he didn’t live on the reservation.

“You get a little pride,” said Crabb, who intends to be buried in the DeSmet cemetery.

Deno said he learned his family’s history at 14, when his grandfather sat him down for a day and told him the story.

“He just thought I should know,” Deno said.

For him, his membership connects him to the land, the mountains, the snow, the game. His father went to school in DeSmet, and Deno’s childhood memories include Indians riding by on horseback as he cut wood.

“This is where I learned what life is about,” he said, sitting at home on reservation land.

When Deno dies, he wants his ashes scattered on his father’s 160-acre reservation allotment.

“I consider myself fortunate,” he said. “Damned fortunate.”

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