The Natives are from left to right Ray Tomas, the artist, Milton Salt, the quite man, and Bernagleene Drake, the comedian.
Three homeless buddies enter a half empty McDonalds on Seventh Avenue in Phoenix, AZ. Two of them order from the dollar menu while the other waits. To avoid theeat-in tax the group says the order is to go, then shuffles over to the table where they start to eat. An employee notices but lets it go and continues sweeping the floors.I’m clearing the tray of my own dollar menu when one of the guys asked for75 cents. This was for a cheeseburger, apparently, but they were loaded, and we all knew the quarters would go on booze. We ended up striking a deal: “I give you the .75 cents,” I say, “if you give me an interview.” They happily agree.
Before me is 51 year-old Milton, his friend Bernagleene, 49, and Ray Tomas, 35. These men are Native Americans, alcoholics and homeless. Milton is the leader while Ray
is more quiet.
Bernagleene jokes randomly about a coyote, I’d like to have followed but she was too happy, drunk telling the story and I got lost. “Yeah that’s funny,” I lied. Milton’s friend Ray sees a half-done portrait of a girl in my drawing pad. He asks for the pencil then takes over the portrait while I interview Milton some more.
Milton explained how America greed for power has not only put down their race, but also turned them into alcoholics. “Alcohol has put us in this situation, ,” he says with a shrug. Milton didn’t start this way; he grew up on the reservation with his three brothers. He attended Scottsdalle Community College for a year. “Somewhere in my life I lost it,” he says. Now Milton spends his days on the streets drinking, whiskey mostly but he also drinks straight tequila and vodka when he can. “One day at time,” he says. He adds that his brothers worry about them all the time.he is the only one on the streets, he says.
Ironically two conservative businessmen in suits and ties discuss world issues behind us as Milton and I talk. One rattles on about radical Islamic terrorists being American’s biggest challenge in the war. There clean and dark suits seem to juxtapose the sloppily dressed guy in front of me.
Milton and his friends don’t really care about the war, Milton says. They are just there to enjoy their lunch. Bernagleene steps outside for a smoke.
Ray who has been busy drawing, uses the lull in the conversation to assert his views. “You know what fucking pisses me off, is that people calls us Indians!” he fumes. , “I am Native American, not an Indian, Indians are from India.” Ray also denies being “homeless.” ““Back in the reservations I have acres of land.” Ray’s story is that he caught his wife cheating. “I saw them in my own bed, fucking,” he says. This one act got him to the streets, he says.
Something big went down afterwards because Ray then says he was in prison for eight years. He wont elaborate but says he is scheduled to go to court soon. “I haven’t slept for three days,” Ray says, “I know, I am crazy,”
Bernagleene returns from her smoke break. She arrives with another lady she just met in the restroom. Bernagleene comments on Ray’s drawing and applauds him on his talent. “You should take some art classes to show off your skills.” Ray is bashful but the drawing is actually pretty good.
Ray was able to turn my half done portrait of a girl into a Native American chief.I later learned that the drawing was a portrait of me. “That’s you my brother,” she smiles.
I enjoy chatting with these guys but the future politician in me bristles at people like Ray who don’t look forward to lives opportunities. These people’s futures are unknown. They will just continue drinking their life away and blaming the white man. “I am Native American,” said Ray, “I love my people,”, “Now lets get the fuck out of here.”
by Fabian Aguilar
$1.75 at McDonals
I met the Natives at McDs, it cost .75 cents for me to interview them about their lifes. Just don’t call them Indians, because they will make you feel stupid.
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