By Chuck Haga
Star Tribune Staff Writer
Larry
Cloud-Morgan didn’t die alone. How could he? He was a peace activist, a
playwright, a counselor in shelters and hospitals, on city streets and on the
White Earth Chippewa Reservation. He was a storyteller, a spiritual leader, a
historian and a linguist who helped preserve the Ojibwe language on tape at
Harvard University.
He was a convicted felon who served time in a federal penitentiary for taking a
jackhammer to a nuclear silo. He confronted—gently—white protesters who would
deny his people their traditional fishing rights. And he was a reformer who
helped reshape tribal government on his White Earth Reservation in northwestern
Minnesota.
“Larry was the anchor for our reform
movement,” said Erma Vizenor, now Secretary-Treasurer of the White Earth Tribal
Council. “He gave a lot of himself during that time.”
Cloud-Morgan, 61, died Tuesday at
Methodist Hospital in St. Louis Park from complications caused by diabetes.
“He was gentle with people on the
street and spoke truth to the powerful,” said Michael McNally who teaches
religion at Eastern Michigan University and studied with Cloud-Morgan at
Harvard.
“He was my spiritual mentor,”
McNally said. “He was present in the moment with people, whether they were rich
or poor, and he brought people together across boundaries of race, class and
religion”
“The vigil at the hospital was an
illustration of that. The people were from all walks of life.”
Sen. Paul Wellstone said that he met
Cloud-Morgan when they were both involved in community organizing. “I think his
impact was even more personal than political,” Wellstone said. “Even when he
disagreed, it was his way to still be a friend. He was a really good, gentle
man, very spiritual and with a tremendous sense of justice. I really believed in
him.”
Camp Justice
Cloud-Morgan was born Feb. 1, 1938,
in Cass Lake, Minn. An enrolled member of the White Earth Band, he was raised on
the Leech Lake Reservation. “He considered himself a resident of both,” McNally
said, and of the Twin Cities American Indian community. He lived for a time in
Chicago, where he worked for Marshall Field’s and traveled the world as a
luggage buyer, acquiring an interest in and knowledge of fine clothing that
often surprised and amused people who knew him as a man of the streets. He
returned to Minnesota in the early 1980’s.
In the early 1990’s, he was
spiritual leader of a grass-roots reform movement known as Camp Justice at White
Earth, which ultimately led to the corruption indictment and ouster of former
Chairman Darrell (Chip) Wadena and other tribal officers. “Even in a fight,
Cloud-Morgan was a healer,” Vizenour said. “One always felt better after being
with him, no matter what the situation was.”
Minneapolis attorney Miles Lord
worked with Cloud-Morgan and other reformers during the struggle at White Earth.
“He had a dedication to freedom and free speech,” Lord said.
He opposed tyranny.”
But Lord was a federal judge—and
Cloud-Morgan a federal prisoner—when their paths first crossed.
“I first met him in an airplane when
he was on his way to jail,” Lord said. “It was for tapping away at that missile
silo. I told him I was sorry the judge took it so seriously, when it was just a
symbolic act."
Cloud-Morgan and three others were found guilty in February 1985 of conspiracy,
destruction of government property and other charges after they admitted to
damaging a Minuteman II missile site near Higginsville, Mo., about 45 miles east
of Kansas City. They cut the padlock on a perimeter fence and damaged radar
devices, electrical cables, locks controlling access to the missile for
maintenance and the concrete launch lid over the missile. Cloud-Morgan was
sentenced to eight years in prison followed by three years’ probation. The
sentence was reduced, and he was released in July 1987 on probation. But in
1989, he was ordered back to prison for a year for violating his probation. He
had traveled to Georgia and Florida—for nuclear protests without seeking
permission from his probation supervisor. He knew he wouldn’t get permission, he
told the judge. And he knew he had to go to the protests.
Hard to see anger
In 1990, at the height of the
controversy over tribal fishing rights in Wisconsin, Cloud-Morgan went to one of
the fishing sites to burn sage, recite prayers and beat a ceremonial drum.
“Throw him in the drink!” one white
protester shouted. Another yelled, “You beat that too hard and you won’t be able
to hold your welfare check, buddy.”
With another protester, less
strident, Cloud-Morgan talked. “I’m a person like you,” he said. “It’s hard to
see good people get angry.”
He worked with Catholic Charities,
and he was a board member and volunteer worker at St. Joseph’s home for battered
women in Minneapolis. In 1997, he received a human service award from the
McKnight Foundation.
Despite his own failing health, he
had participated in many funerals in recent years. “He was not a priest or
medicine man, but a spiritual leader who a lot of people called on.” McNally
said. “It took a toll on him, but he wanted to make sure that people passed with
dignity.” He planned the liturgy for his own service, McNally said.
Cloud-Morgan is survived by sisters
Sophie Jenkins, Minneapolis, and Leona Cloud, of Onigum Minn., and brothers
Elmer (Bud) Morgan, of Cass Lake, and James Morgan of Newport Beach, Calif.
A wake will be held after 5 p.m.
today at the Office of Indian Ministry, 3045 Park Av. S., in Minneapolis. An
additional wake is planned Friday at the Veterans Memorial Center in Cass Lake.
The funeral will be at 11 a.m. Saturday at the Veterans Memorial Center, with
burial at the Morgan Cemetery in rural Cass Lake.
For more information on the Ojibwe language and the history of the White Earth
Reservation, go to
www.startribune.com/spirit
See also:
Larry Cloud-Morgan
and the Silo Pruning
Hooks
Mendota Sacred Sites - Affidavit of Larry
Cloud-Morgan
Cloud-Morgan, Catholic activist, buried
with his peace pipe
He
called me "Little Brother" as we built and
used a sweat lodge, did pipe ceremony, and talked about life on and off the
reservation, about global politics and politics on and off the reservation. He
taught me much about the heart and essence of being truly "Indian" beyond the
white and "red" stereotypes. I learned the difference between the spirit of
walking in balance on the red road and the "righteous red road rage" that is the
unfortunate face worn by some Native Americans today. And he taught me to love
people no matter how they spoke and behaved toward me. He had risked his life,
freedom, and reputation to do what he believed was true to Spirit. He gave
freely and with much love to those who needed his counsel and help.
