Post by Hammerstein on Feb 26, 2017 4:25:25 GMT
Hammerstein and Holly Buchanan walk onto the Tohono O'Odham Indian Reservation. Hammerstein hasn't been in these grounds in over twenty years, and the reservation has definitely modernized. The scourges of alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide have been banished. An on site trade school, mentoring services, and a high tech medical clinic set this reservation apart from all others.
Some of the children and teens recognize the duo and run up to them for pictures, autographs and even just high fives and hugs. Hammerstein watches Holly interact with the children and thinks to himself how great a mom she will be one day.
Soon the kids leave and a member of the tribal council approaches.
“Hello, oLeechaa’i.”
Hammerstein’s blood runs cold as he hears his birth name that, being interpreted, means ‘Dog.’ He neither moves nor responds, but grabs Holly's hand and squeezes it tightly. The councilman speaks again.
“Excuse me, I mean, Hello, Jacob.”
Hammerstein sighs, then turns to face him.
“Hey, man. ‘Sup? Where's da old man?”
The councilman hands Hammerstein an envelope. Hammerstein is nonplussed.
“Dis don't tell me jack, Jack! Where's da old man?”
“Your father…”
Hammerstein throws a hand up to stop him.
“STOP! First of all, dat guy was not my father. My father is buried back in Mississippi. Second, I ain't takin no envelope til somebuddy tell me where he at.”
The councilman shakes his head.
“You are not to be made privy of his whereabouts until you read what is in the envelope. That is not up for discussion. And by council decree, neither you nor Ms. Buchanan are allowed to leave until you read this.”
Hammerstein is fuming.
“Ain't no way in hell y'all keepin us here. Dis still America.”
The councilman smiles and waves his hand.
“You are on Tohono O'Odham land and on this land, our law is THE law. Now, please, take this and read it.”
Holly whispers in Jacob’s ear. It seems to soften him a bit. He holds out his hand.
“Ok, I'll read it. Den I want you ta tell me where da old man is, ya dig?”
Hammerstein opens the envelope and begins reading:
“Jacob,
Since you are reading this, you have cooled your hot head and decided to listen to reason, likely due to Holly, if she has accompanied you.
I want you to know that I had the council contact you, to invite you here. I knew you would not accept had I extended the invitation myself.
Jacob, I know you do not want to know me. But, I want you to know this.
I loved your mother.
I honestly did. I still do today. When we found out she was pregnant with you, we made plans to run away from the reservation, but the tribal doctors said it was a high risk pregnancy. Our parents discussed it and decided that your mother should stay here until you were born, then our future would be discussed.
Or, that's what they told us.
When you were born, your mother's parents took her and flew back to New York. My father commissioned the mission in Phoenix to take you. He never gave me a chance to even try to raise you. You were a ‘half breed,’ unacceptable to the tribe. I fought to get you, but my father threatened to banish me from the tribe. Without the tribe, I would have never even had a chance to get you. So I had to make a choice between possibly losing you and definitely losing you.
And the oLeechaa’i...that was my father's idea. I would never call my son a dog.”
Hammerstein squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears, as he continues reading:
“Even though I was banned from having contact with you, I never stopped watching over you. Through the years, through all your trials and struggles, I never stopped watching over you.
When you were about to become a permanent part of the penal system, I tracked down your Uncle Rufus, who had fallen out with your family over his younger sister’s mistreatment. I called him, and he showed the type of man he was by dropping everything and flying out to Arizona to take custody of you.
I watched as your uncle drove away with you and I knew I’d probably never see you again.
I prayed that you would grow to be a good man under your uncle’s hand, and I can see my prayers were answered.
I also prayed that I would live to meet you face to face, and we could reconcile as father and son.
Unfortunately, if you are reading this, that prayer did not come to pass.”
Hammerstein nearly drops the letter as two truths become crystal clear: he had been wrong about his father, and now there was no time to make amends. He turns to Holly, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands her the letter, and collapses in her arms.
The tribal councilman comes over and puts his hand on the weeping wrestler's back.
“Jacob,” the councilman says, “I was your father's best friend. He gave me the letter you just read on his deathbed, with the explicit instructions to get you here and give you this letter. Now that you have read it, I will take you to him.”
Hammerstein, Buchanan, and the councilman walk over to the tribal burial ground. The councilman points to a grave.
“Jacob Hammerstein, behold your father.”
Hammerstein goes to his father's grave, kneels beside it and softly repeats the same word over and over:
“Alid…..Alid…..Alid…..Alid…..”
Holly looks at the councilman.
“What's he saying?”
The councilman looks at her, a sad smile on his face.
“He is saying, ‘My Father…..My Father.’”
***Fade***
“Ever since Hecho en Mexico, I been tinkin bout Sam Washington, da American Ultras, and El Toro.
Ya know, I ain't really ever been one ta wrap myself up in da American flag or call myself a patriot or nuttin like dat. Ta me, wavin da flag don't make ya a patriot anymore den standin in a garage make ya a car.
Bein a patriot mean ya love yo country so much ya call it out on tings dat ain't right bout it. Just like dese guys I gotta face at Because I Got High. Dey what's wrong wit America right now.
See, Sam Washington and da American Ultras like ta beat people over da head wit da flag. Dey wanna hate on people and attack people and do it in da name of America.
Well, listen here, Sammy boy. Yo America and my America two different tings.
Yo America a place where if folk ain't just like you and if they don't believe just like you, den dey can't be a real American. But, in my America, dey’s room for all different ideas and beliefs. Even our money say it, E Pluribus Unum, Out of many, one.
In yo America, y'all buildin a wall ta keep people out. In my America, we buildin a door ta let people in. Dey’s room for everbody dat wants ta come here, love, serve, and defend dis country and what it stands fo. See, dey call America Da Promised Land. Dey call it dat cause dey’s a promise for everbody dat comes here dat dey will be given da opportunity to become whatever dey dream to become is. Da American Ultras wanna turn da promise inta a demand, a demand dat everbody follow in dey footsteps whether dey want to or not. And dat ain't America. And I ain't standin fo it.
Im'ma standin up fo America, but not just America. I'm standin up fo all da peoples from all over da world, cause no matter what da American Ultras say, dey ain't but one race, and dat's da human race, baby!
See I love all da peoples. I don't care if dey American, Mexican, Canadian, French, German, Japanese, I don't care, baby! If y'all got soul, y'all my people.
And El Toro, dat used ta be you, bro. You used ta be da hombre de los personas, da man of da people. Ya used ta rep da fans, but den ya got hurt, and da people didn't fill da streets, weeping and wailin. Dey didn't have da teletons fo yo ass, or start no go fund me page fo yo ass. So den, in yo eyes, dey turnt on ya. Well lemme clue you in on sumpin, El Toro. Yo name might mean Da Bull, but all I hear from you is da bullshit.
It ain't da people’s responsibility to cheer yo ass out dat hospital bed. Dat's yo job. You gotta summon up all da cajones ya got, get out dat damn bed and fight yo way back.
But you felt sorry fo yoself, and dat left yo ass open ta Sammy and his line a bs. So now y'all all one happy little family. And y'all wanna spread y'all American Ultra propaganda down inta Mexico and figure wit Toro, dat’s da road in.
But y'all head in towards a six foot two, two hunnert and fitty two pound roadblock.
And it look like I'm standin alone in dis. I ain't seen hide nor hair a Anonimo or Dresdin since we got attacked.
And ya know what? Dat’s fine. Fuck em if dey ain't got da sack ta stand against y'all. It ain't da first time I fought for da people witout anybody standin in da ring wit me.
Dat’s ok, boys. Y'all stay at home, wringin yo hands bout Da American Ultras and what dey did to y'all at Hecho en Mexico.
I don't need y'all, cause all da backup Im'ma need gonna be out in da crowd. My proud Latino brothers and Latina sisters dat know dat all Americans ain't like Sammy and his boys. Dese people gonna push me through ta victory, even if I'm in dere all by myself.
American Ultras, El Toro, Da Hammer’s comin for y'all, and he gonna have Old Glory in one hand and El Bandera de Mexico in da other, and dis people's army of American and Mexican soul gonna trample y'all underfoot. And I ain't got but two mo tings ta say:
God bless America! and Libertad Trabajo Cultura!”
***Fade***
The Sonoran Desert at sunset is one of the most awe-inspiring sights the eye can behold. A myriad of colors paint the sky with hues of blue, purple, orange, and red.
Jacob Hammerstein and Holly Buchanan walk hand in hand out into the desert just outside the Tohono O'Odham Indian Reservation. They find a boulder to sit on and watch the sunset. Hammerstein squeezes Holly's hand.
“Holly, you ain't never gonna know just how much it meant ta have ya here wit me dese past few days. I love you, you know dat.”
Holly smile at her boyfriend.
“I love you, too, Hammie. I wouldn't be anywhere but here with you, even if it's been one of the craziest emotional roller coasters I've ever seen. At least it's over.”
Hammerstein shakes his head.
“Well, not exactly over, Holly.”
Hammerstein hops off the boulder and stands in front of Holly, her hands in his.
“Holly Buchanan, I been in love wit you from da moment I laid eyes on you almost two year ago. I thought bout you everday since we met, even when we weren't close ta each other. You da best ting dat's ever happened ta me in my life, and I can't tink of my life witout ya in it.”
Hammerstein reaches into his pocket, pulls out a little black box, and kneels in front of Holly, who has tears streaming down her face.
“Holly Buchanan, will ya make dis old Mississippi boy’s life complete and marry me?”
Some of the children and teens recognize the duo and run up to them for pictures, autographs and even just high fives and hugs. Hammerstein watches Holly interact with the children and thinks to himself how great a mom she will be one day.
Soon the kids leave and a member of the tribal council approaches.
“Hello, oLeechaa’i.”
Hammerstein’s blood runs cold as he hears his birth name that, being interpreted, means ‘Dog.’ He neither moves nor responds, but grabs Holly's hand and squeezes it tightly. The councilman speaks again.
“Excuse me, I mean, Hello, Jacob.”
Hammerstein sighs, then turns to face him.
“Hey, man. ‘Sup? Where's da old man?”
The councilman hands Hammerstein an envelope. Hammerstein is nonplussed.
“Dis don't tell me jack, Jack! Where's da old man?”
“Your father…”
Hammerstein throws a hand up to stop him.
“STOP! First of all, dat guy was not my father. My father is buried back in Mississippi. Second, I ain't takin no envelope til somebuddy tell me where he at.”
The councilman shakes his head.
“You are not to be made privy of his whereabouts until you read what is in the envelope. That is not up for discussion. And by council decree, neither you nor Ms. Buchanan are allowed to leave until you read this.”
Hammerstein is fuming.
“Ain't no way in hell y'all keepin us here. Dis still America.”
The councilman smiles and waves his hand.
“You are on Tohono O'Odham land and on this land, our law is THE law. Now, please, take this and read it.”
Holly whispers in Jacob’s ear. It seems to soften him a bit. He holds out his hand.
“Ok, I'll read it. Den I want you ta tell me where da old man is, ya dig?”
Hammerstein opens the envelope and begins reading:
“Jacob,
Since you are reading this, you have cooled your hot head and decided to listen to reason, likely due to Holly, if she has accompanied you.
I want you to know that I had the council contact you, to invite you here. I knew you would not accept had I extended the invitation myself.
Jacob, I know you do not want to know me. But, I want you to know this.
I loved your mother.
I honestly did. I still do today. When we found out she was pregnant with you, we made plans to run away from the reservation, but the tribal doctors said it was a high risk pregnancy. Our parents discussed it and decided that your mother should stay here until you were born, then our future would be discussed.
Or, that's what they told us.
When you were born, your mother's parents took her and flew back to New York. My father commissioned the mission in Phoenix to take you. He never gave me a chance to even try to raise you. You were a ‘half breed,’ unacceptable to the tribe. I fought to get you, but my father threatened to banish me from the tribe. Without the tribe, I would have never even had a chance to get you. So I had to make a choice between possibly losing you and definitely losing you.
And the oLeechaa’i...that was my father's idea. I would never call my son a dog.”
Hammerstein squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears, as he continues reading:
“Even though I was banned from having contact with you, I never stopped watching over you. Through the years, through all your trials and struggles, I never stopped watching over you.
When you were about to become a permanent part of the penal system, I tracked down your Uncle Rufus, who had fallen out with your family over his younger sister’s mistreatment. I called him, and he showed the type of man he was by dropping everything and flying out to Arizona to take custody of you.
I watched as your uncle drove away with you and I knew I’d probably never see you again.
I prayed that you would grow to be a good man under your uncle’s hand, and I can see my prayers were answered.
I also prayed that I would live to meet you face to face, and we could reconcile as father and son.
Unfortunately, if you are reading this, that prayer did not come to pass.”
Hammerstein nearly drops the letter as two truths become crystal clear: he had been wrong about his father, and now there was no time to make amends. He turns to Holly, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands her the letter, and collapses in her arms.
The tribal councilman comes over and puts his hand on the weeping wrestler's back.
“Jacob,” the councilman says, “I was your father's best friend. He gave me the letter you just read on his deathbed, with the explicit instructions to get you here and give you this letter. Now that you have read it, I will take you to him.”
Hammerstein, Buchanan, and the councilman walk over to the tribal burial ground. The councilman points to a grave.
“Jacob Hammerstein, behold your father.”
Hammerstein goes to his father's grave, kneels beside it and softly repeats the same word over and over:
“Alid…..Alid…..Alid…..Alid…..”
Holly looks at the councilman.
“What's he saying?”
The councilman looks at her, a sad smile on his face.
“He is saying, ‘My Father…..My Father.’”
***Fade***
“Ever since Hecho en Mexico, I been tinkin bout Sam Washington, da American Ultras, and El Toro.
Ya know, I ain't really ever been one ta wrap myself up in da American flag or call myself a patriot or nuttin like dat. Ta me, wavin da flag don't make ya a patriot anymore den standin in a garage make ya a car.
Bein a patriot mean ya love yo country so much ya call it out on tings dat ain't right bout it. Just like dese guys I gotta face at Because I Got High. Dey what's wrong wit America right now.
See, Sam Washington and da American Ultras like ta beat people over da head wit da flag. Dey wanna hate on people and attack people and do it in da name of America.
Well, listen here, Sammy boy. Yo America and my America two different tings.
Yo America a place where if folk ain't just like you and if they don't believe just like you, den dey can't be a real American. But, in my America, dey’s room for all different ideas and beliefs. Even our money say it, E Pluribus Unum, Out of many, one.
In yo America, y'all buildin a wall ta keep people out. In my America, we buildin a door ta let people in. Dey’s room for everbody dat wants ta come here, love, serve, and defend dis country and what it stands fo. See, dey call America Da Promised Land. Dey call it dat cause dey’s a promise for everbody dat comes here dat dey will be given da opportunity to become whatever dey dream to become is. Da American Ultras wanna turn da promise inta a demand, a demand dat everbody follow in dey footsteps whether dey want to or not. And dat ain't America. And I ain't standin fo it.
Im'ma standin up fo America, but not just America. I'm standin up fo all da peoples from all over da world, cause no matter what da American Ultras say, dey ain't but one race, and dat's da human race, baby!
See I love all da peoples. I don't care if dey American, Mexican, Canadian, French, German, Japanese, I don't care, baby! If y'all got soul, y'all my people.
And El Toro, dat used ta be you, bro. You used ta be da hombre de los personas, da man of da people. Ya used ta rep da fans, but den ya got hurt, and da people didn't fill da streets, weeping and wailin. Dey didn't have da teletons fo yo ass, or start no go fund me page fo yo ass. So den, in yo eyes, dey turnt on ya. Well lemme clue you in on sumpin, El Toro. Yo name might mean Da Bull, but all I hear from you is da bullshit.
It ain't da people’s responsibility to cheer yo ass out dat hospital bed. Dat's yo job. You gotta summon up all da cajones ya got, get out dat damn bed and fight yo way back.
But you felt sorry fo yoself, and dat left yo ass open ta Sammy and his line a bs. So now y'all all one happy little family. And y'all wanna spread y'all American Ultra propaganda down inta Mexico and figure wit Toro, dat’s da road in.
But y'all head in towards a six foot two, two hunnert and fitty two pound roadblock.
And it look like I'm standin alone in dis. I ain't seen hide nor hair a Anonimo or Dresdin since we got attacked.
And ya know what? Dat’s fine. Fuck em if dey ain't got da sack ta stand against y'all. It ain't da first time I fought for da people witout anybody standin in da ring wit me.
Dat’s ok, boys. Y'all stay at home, wringin yo hands bout Da American Ultras and what dey did to y'all at Hecho en Mexico.
I don't need y'all, cause all da backup Im'ma need gonna be out in da crowd. My proud Latino brothers and Latina sisters dat know dat all Americans ain't like Sammy and his boys. Dese people gonna push me through ta victory, even if I'm in dere all by myself.
American Ultras, El Toro, Da Hammer’s comin for y'all, and he gonna have Old Glory in one hand and El Bandera de Mexico in da other, and dis people's army of American and Mexican soul gonna trample y'all underfoot. And I ain't got but two mo tings ta say:
God bless America! and Libertad Trabajo Cultura!”
***Fade***
The Sonoran Desert at sunset is one of the most awe-inspiring sights the eye can behold. A myriad of colors paint the sky with hues of blue, purple, orange, and red.
Jacob Hammerstein and Holly Buchanan walk hand in hand out into the desert just outside the Tohono O'Odham Indian Reservation. They find a boulder to sit on and watch the sunset. Hammerstein squeezes Holly's hand.
“Holly, you ain't never gonna know just how much it meant ta have ya here wit me dese past few days. I love you, you know dat.”
Holly smile at her boyfriend.
“I love you, too, Hammie. I wouldn't be anywhere but here with you, even if it's been one of the craziest emotional roller coasters I've ever seen. At least it's over.”
Hammerstein shakes his head.
“Well, not exactly over, Holly.”
Hammerstein hops off the boulder and stands in front of Holly, her hands in his.
“Holly Buchanan, I been in love wit you from da moment I laid eyes on you almost two year ago. I thought bout you everday since we met, even when we weren't close ta each other. You da best ting dat's ever happened ta me in my life, and I can't tink of my life witout ya in it.”
Hammerstein reaches into his pocket, pulls out a little black box, and kneels in front of Holly, who has tears streaming down her face.
“Holly Buchanan, will ya make dis old Mississippi boy’s life complete and marry me?”