Steady beat brings tribes together at annual powwow

Dark Bear picks a drumstick off the grass and taps on the cowhide of his 14-year-old drum.

A Goshute, he has traveled with his drum all over the West, even up into Canada, to play at powwows like this one.

Hundreds of people enjoyed the powwow events in Liberty Park Friday, huddled under sunshades and canopies to fend off a blazing sun.

Dark Bear's son, Joe, taps his stick on the drum, and then two other men join in. Dark Bear learned the song from his uncle and passed it down to his children.

Young girls known as "grass dancers" stomp the grass. Before the age of lawn mowers, it was their job to press the tall grassy fields flat before a powwow began.

"Long ago it was just a big family get-together, a celebration of seasons, like winter or spring, or even a birthday," Dark Bear said.

In today's powwows, a lot is different. Thousands of spectators shuffle in through the day.

Many tribes come together, with Aztec and Navajo dancers, Utes and Shoshonis and many others.

Men and women wear plastic beads and synthetic clothes and a fence encircles the crowd so that people are sure to pay to see the dancing. Many of the dancers compete for cash prizes.

And most notably at this powwow, throngs of people just outside the fence are celebrating the arrival of Mormon pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley while eating food from such diverse spots as Africa, Peru, Hawaii and India.

"The Native American culture is always evolving," Dark Bear said after his set. This powwow is evidence of that.

Cal Nez has organized the Native American Celebration in the Park for the past 15 years. He says dancers from all over the West travel to Salt Lake City to participate. This year, there are more than 150.

"Pioneer Day is about celebrating culture," Nez said. "This is our chance to showcase our cultures to the community and to come together as a people."

Dallin Maybee is a dancer from western New York. He grew up on his father's reservation near Buffalo and now lives in Phoenix.

He is wearing 40 pounds of leather, despite the sweltering July heat. He cut and sewed his clothing himself. With his headdress, Maybee towers more than 7 feet.

"We don't want to lose our tradition, that's why we do this," he said. He used to dance professionally, traveling all over the world, but he has given it up for law school.

"It's hard to say what this all means. It means so much. All the symbols and the movements are very personal. People dance them for their own reasons."

Maybee dances to honor his ancestors.

"We're not re-enacters. We're not mountain men. This isn't something we're doing as a hobby. We're living this every day."

e-mail: mgonda@desnews.com