Yaqui Town By Helen Moore COMPARED to Papago Indians, the Yaquis are a mean looking lot. Burdell took me riding out to Yaqui Town one day and showed them to me and told me about them; that is, as much as he knew. And although such things as he told me seemed incredible so close to the back door of civilization, the things I saw myself gave credence to his stories. The Yaquis are disant cousins of the infamous Penitiente Indians of the New Mexican mountains. You know, they're the ones who carryout the crucifixtion ritual each Easter. The Yaquis throw a big party at Easter, too, but they've toned theirs down quite a bit because they live so close in. They're only about a thirty minute drive from Phoenix out into the wilds. Then, between our prejudice against murder and our natural American curiosity, we've forced them to make sort of a show of the whole thing. Not that the Indians aren't dead serious about it; they are, and a lot goes on in private that we don't know about. But it's a good show, and so they stage it for profit. I had visited the Latter-day Saint ward at Papago Village quite a bit, and I even knew some of the Indians personally. Most of the younger ones attended school gladly, and there were several who had graduated from the Indian high school and junior college in Phoenix. They were clean, good looking (as desert Indians go), and, for the most part, well dressed. I'm telling you all this so you'll understand just how surprised I was with Yaqui Town. I can't say that I saw much of the town when I went out at Easter time. We didn't get there until about one o'clock Easter morning, and we left before day-break. But then we didn't go to see the town, or even the people; we went as curiosity seekers to see something different and unusual. We went to see the Easter dance. The Yaqui braves begin to dance at noon on Good Friday, and dance continuously until midnight Easter night. All normal activity ceases in the little settlement during this time, and every buck, squaw, and papoose devotes his time and energy to religion. The squaws, old men, and children squat, sprawl, or lie around a huge bonfire in one end of the arena roped off for the dancers against the curious crowd. At the other end of this area the dancers sway, stomp, or shuffle to the rhythm of a tom-tom. Every now and then the dancers gain new energy from somewhere and leap and gyrate with mad exuberance for several moments before returning to the monotony of the swaying - shuffling dance. During the dance the braves must fast, and only complete collapse allows any of them to rest for a while in the shelter of a grass hut erected for that purpose. Other than the regular beat, beat of the tom-tom and the grotesque shadows cast by the dancers in the firelight, there is little to brand the dance as barbaric. They've become too civilized or too lazy: they don't even bother with their ceremonial dress any more. In the midst of all this pageantry I was astounded to see their church. It is an exact replica of the exemplary Christian church, steeple and all. But it is very small, and it is kept dazzlingly white. We, the curious, were allowed to step inside and look, but the sullen, watchful faces of the two squaw sentries warned us not to approach too near or to touch any of their treasures, and treasures there seemed to be in the soft light of the candles which illuminated the interior of this strange church. At the far end of the room on a low platform was the reproduction of the crucifixtion of Christ portrayed by dolls dressed in an odd assortment of costumes and ornamented with bits of colored glass and wisps of dirty ribbon and lace. On tables along the two side walls were Christian relics intermingled with relics of savage origin, making, all in all, a most amazing display. I didn't even especially notice the personal appearance of the Indians as being different from most other Indians I had seen; I was too absorbed in the exhibition itself. So it wasn't until two months later when Burdell took me out to really see Yaqui Town that I was aware of the low standards of these Indians. Unlike the Papagoes they believe that school is a form of incarceration for no reason and with no profit; they do nothing that direct preservation of life does not necessitate, and their personal appearance is anything but pleasing. They are of squat, stunted build with sullen, coarse faces, and they are very, very dirty. Their houses are made of rough adobes with roofs of thatched palm leaves. The doors, during the rainy season, are merely blankets swung across the openings; they have no windows. I don't know if they have any comforts or conveniences inside their rude, one-room hogans. I don't even know what they use for furniture because I've never heard of anyone being allowed to see the interior of their homes. Burdell wants to someday, though. He told me he was very curious to see if Yaqui women were good housekeepers. Burdell is an artist who specializes in desert scenes. Yaqui Town is a favorite of his because the indolent people, the mud huts with their thatch roofs, and the (Continued on Page 20) page fourteen Mediocre Millions Timothy Haye WE are quantitative people. We are continually measuring things; our money, our land, our liabilities, our assets, our waist lines, our gasoline, our blood pressure, our heart rate, our nose length, anything and everything. Of late we have come to think ourselves authorities on criteria and have established standards for measuring human qualities. A college I once attended gave tests designed to measure one's sense of humor. Now we measure the marriage risks for prospective brides and grooms. We measure adaptability and so-called intelligence. This measuring mania that has made its way into humanity, for all good interests and purposes, no doubt, has also become a destructive force. There are some human qualities that evade measurement, but which play very important parts in our lives. It is this fact that presents a problem in the pursuit of happiness. When Binet invented his intelligence test it was not done with the happiness of everyone in mind. Those whose intelligence according to the test is above the normal may not be affected, but the average man may assume a fatalistic attitude because of his mediocrity. The test is a very impersonal thing, and is admittedly only a rough classification of human abilities and does not tell the whole story. Even our psychologists are at a loss to explain intelligence; so why should they be so bold about measuring it? At least, why can't they also be sufficiently philosophic to think of the happiness of the average person? Ironically enough, though nature gives one man more intelligence than another, she may still give them both equal ambitions or aspirations. Why should the unfortunate average person be tortured with ambitions when his innate abilities have him handicapped? There is an old saying that "There is always room for a man at the top." This is true. Every story written has a hero who is the highest in his class or the fastest on the job or the smartest in the school. Scholarships are plentiful for the man with the best "point rating" in school. But what of the average man? Everyone can't be the hero. Great accomplishments are predicated upon innate gifts; rewards are given without effort on the possessor's part. Intelligence is forced upon some just as is feeble-mindedness or blue eyes upon others. One fellow I knew at school could do all his chemistry in the last three weeks of the quarter and get "A's." He was brilliant. He could have used his brain to solve big problems or to make new worlds, but the indiscriminate Gods had given him little of the other valuable human qualities the unmeasurable, acquirable qualities. He never finished school and is content to mix cement for a building contractor. In the same class were average fellows who wanted to be chemists or doctors or engineers and would have appreciated a brain like his. At times life seems a colossal joke, the result of a monstrous fumbling. Our college professors, not being philosophers, continually seek for the stereotyped brain that does unfalteringly the little tricks of logic demanded for each day in class. They are happy with a choice few who will receive "A's." They ignore the mere average student. My cry is not against the ruthless distributors of innate ability, but in favor of better adjustments in a world where congenital inequity flourishes. We should not forget a few very obvious facts. One is that bold measurement of human quality defeats its own purpose. Keen competition should and does stimulate better study and greater effort, but grades are given in ratios or according to the curve. This method of classification and rewards distribution makes it that there must mathematically always be average students, no matter what the nature of effort may be. A second fact closely related to the first is that just as farmers and laborers are basic in our economic status, so are average students the measuring sticks by which our superior students are given their exaltation. For each "A" student there must be several "C" students. Even in small classes where instruction is so personal as to reach every one with almost equal force, one student is picked out to receive "A", two or three to get "B", and possibly ten to receive "C". The point is this: for every state representative there must be hundreds of citizens; for every concert violinist there must be hundreds of fiddlers; for every leader there must be hundreds of followers; for every engineer there must be hundreds of workmen. For every Hitler there must be thousands of common-run Nazis. The great one-in-a-million personalities should take note of this. It is because of the other 999,999 that they are where they are. The millions that raise them up may also tear them down. If there is a difference in innate ability and there are places at the top for only a mathematically determined few, what of the mediocre millions trying through education to obtain happiness and to fill their appointed place in the world? It is obvious that the geniuses of history have possessed something more than intellect. Usually the Binet test would show little difference for Napoleon and Lincoln, Catherine the Great and Curie, Archimedes and Pasteur; crook and saint, thief and philanthropist. Something beyond mere "brains" moulds the lives of all men. We love or hate men for their purposes, not for their brains. It should be through education that men of brains and men of mediocrity could strive to live a chosen type of life. The urge of educators to place us each on a certain intellectual level takes no notice of our other potentialities. As long as the classrooms have more mediocre than superior, why is education designed only for the superior few? What does education give the average man? Must he quietly accept a back seat because of a whim of nature? When the Gods put us here it was with the hope that we would learn and perhaps after countless eons build a world of our own design. Thus, though some were given an apparent advantage through being numbered among the elect, some qualities were to be acquired. Why then are we not given a chance to acquire some of these other qualities? We could win them by right of effort if opportunity were afforded. A proper justifying of things would require a new philosophy of education. Our school teachers would not qualify as proper instructors until they could show more than a theoretical conception of the importance of statistics. Each would have to submit a reason for teaching his course, a philosophic rational, humanitarian justification. What good is a doctor with a cardiograph and a hand keen and swift with a scalpel if he is ignoble and indifferent to suffering? What good are his pills if he does not understand the hopes and dreams of man? What good is a Nobel if with the invention of a deadly weapon he gives no thought to how it may be used? The new education would be different in many respects from the old. Examinations would have to do more than to eliminate. They would have to instruct the teacher. Teachers would have to give credit for individuality, originality, and soundness of thought. Mimicry and memorization would be recognized as such. Lectures could not be cold dissertations on Shakespeare, supply and demand, or atomic structure, but would have to stimulate meditation and appreciation in all minds instead of mere accumulation in a few. Medical educators aware of the sacredness of their job teach the ethics of their profession. Courses would (Continued on Page 23) page fifteen