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%shiGiftLJPOSTShea Sweet-Faced Student Maiden Who Yearns for the Simple Life of Her Aboriginal Ancestors♦thing thnt wo are not. We do not ‘bluff as It is called in slang. We are ouselves, and that is why the Red Man is, in my opinion, far nobler than the white in a great many inspects.I want to go back to nature, the good old nurse, and let the wind on the hill tops and the breezes that far. the low lands blow away from me all the taint that hangs from the past year that I have been in this big city of Boston.”Miss Ride- stretched out her arms and sighed in anticipation of her summer vacation. It was a graceful gesture, thought the inteWiewer. The girl waslarge and tall, but as smooth in her movements as a big cat. She w.as powerful, much stronger than himself, he could sec, but she was supple and lithe, with the grace that comes from a perfectly muscled body. ,' /-jO. ‘ *r Hers was a pleasant sitting room.There Was one big window, wide open.through which sunlight streamed. There was a baby grand piano in one corner, Its top covered with sheets of music. Over an arm chair a Navajo blanket spread its vivid coloring, and the walls of the chamber were covered with photographs of singers of world-wide fame. Most of the pictures were auto-*t grabbed by the singers themselves.*stories under the tuition of Dallas Lore Sharpe of Boston University.“And then again, I have played in ^he movies. Miss Rider nodded happily here. “yes, I played leads for the American Film Company in Hanj Francisco. The name of one release was ‘The Dying Race.' and my part ! was that of ths heroine, an Indian girl. Motion picture people say that we Indians make fine actors, because we are just ourselves and perfectly natural I when in front of the camera. We don’t act. We just play, as if our roles were parts in some game. When we are supposed to laugh in this game for the pictures we laugh just as children would laugh, and when we are supposed to grow angry we really grow angry, a little bit. It is what the directors call realistic.My life interesting? I should say so. Just think, tonight I am going to sing solos in a concert in Jordan Hall for Red Cross Auxiliary of the Conservatory of Music. My costume is my natural costume—an Indian girl’s dress and moccasins. All rrwy makeup consists of is a little brown grease paint to make me seem all Indian. 1 don’t look very Indian, do I? ,2• '* vAJMiss Rider indeed did not seem all Indian. She looked more Spanish than*There was a papoose cradle of buck- anything else. Her hair was blue-black.Miss Iva Josephine Rider, concert singer and student at the Boston Conservatory of Music, who, as the daughter of State Senator Rider of Oklahoma,shows little her Indian Mood when dressed for the opera.BY AUGUSTIN LARDYOut of Today and into Yesterday, she s Miss Iva Josephine Rider, student at servatory of Music, will again become Atlae-Unkalunt, a Cherokee Indian maid. . Twill step.the Boston Con-skm and wicker work hanging in one corner, and there was an Indian head dress on a writing table by the window. An unstrung bow hung on the wall and in a corner was a birch bark quiver, full of businesslike looking arrows, ?ome of them wer« tipped with flint, while other darts were barbed with steel. The bow itself was a powerful piece of wood that would have taxed a man’s strength'to bond. • 1 ’•/'In the open fireplace there swung a little china canary on a perch of alabaster. ’Ujc * ; . ',r- 3 '• \' ,’T*ViMiss Rider, watching the interviewer’s roving eye, smiled when she saw him look at the porcelain toy.‘‘1 had a reul canary once, she said. “But 1 could not bear to keep him eap-He used to sing to me, and his seemed to be asking for his free-So o-'e summer day 1 opened his and let him fly out the window. He seemed quite happy as he flew away into the sunlight. You see, 1 did not think I had right to keep him captive. Besides, I who am a singer, too, could not bear to think of myself singing in any sort of captivity. I must be free.”Hunts From Horsebackbut soft and silky, and it was piled high on her head. Her forehead was white, broad and well shaped, and the eyes, under the black, level brows, weredark hazel. .-r * -% '* -'Her Beauty Is Latin1five,song:(loin.cageWhen she smiled, and it was often, her well-cut lips parted, displaying twin lines of even ivory. The reporter never heard her laugh during the interview, but he wished very much that she did, for her voice was like scfft music. It was like a murmuring brook that rippled on and. on in the Same tune, and yet was never monotonous. Altogether, hers was a sweet face, much more Latin than Indian,* Her eyes were as gentleas *;*_ *rr'7My Indian name/* continued Miss Rider, “is Atlae Unkalunt. Atlae means sunlight and Unkalunt means rider. Rider is my family name, you see, because ?nost of my ancestors have been noted for their horsemanship. I was called Atlae because we Indians name people as we see them. ’ if you were to live with the Indians for a little while they could call you by some name that seemed to express your personality. I« tiamjiiad they called me Altai, • 4Tell you of my life? Oh, my life ; “My father's name is Dam Guesque, has been a most interesting one—far which means brave man. Mv mother’s more interesting than that pf the aver- I name was Josephine Pace ‘ There is age girl How many girls ever learn unite a little romance attached to theirOff will come tailor-made suit, neat patent leather low-cut shoes, long black silk stockings and all the articles of feminine dress that even an Indian girl must wear when she studies singing, advanced literary work and dramatic art in the cities of the Pale Faces. - * m* ftWill Revert to TypeUncorseted, her straight silky black hair uncoiffured into a simple plait falling down her back almost below her waist, Miss Iva Rider of 254 Huntington?.#rrue will again become an original American 'fl$rf* ' ;She will forget even the language of the white people. She will speak In the Cherokee tongue and she will live the life that her ancestors lived long before the first nig canoe bearing palefaces sailed aero.13 the big water to America’sarrows slung upon her shoulders, a hunting bow in her hand.And she wants to sing her songs to the stars instead of audiences that seem to her just tier on tier of pale-faced people who look alike, think alike, dress alike and feel nothing at all of what is in her heart when she sings her little Indian melodies.Could Scalp KaiserAll this will coMe to pass when Miss j him quizzically.“You are disappointed that I am not a full blooded Indian? Yes;”Miss Iva Josephine Rilt;Jer gave theSunday Post reporter a most friendly smile, and then stood back and watchedRider in a lew weeks leaves Roston for her home at the foot of the Ozark Mountains in Oklahoma. There, although shj is the daughter of State Senator T. L. Rider of Oklahoma, the voting woman intends to go back to the*«i-r —w — * ’ - — j . though he is aSunday Post reporter at her Boston home. She wants to live for a while the way her people did before the whites came, bringing with them axes for the forests and ploughshures forShe wants to liv-s as she did when she was a littie girl, when she used to :oam at wdl through woods and fields r curl ur in a buffalo robe before a1 d.sn so sorry,” she went on, but my mother was a white woman, and a blonde at that.” She led the was1 Into hei sitting room at the Huntington avenue residence.“However,” she smiled over her shoulder, “my daddy is an Indian, al-State senator, and as formyself, T feel that T am alt tndian.I am so much of an Indian that I would like to scalp the Kaiser.”“Could I really scalp him? Well, t have never scalped anyone, but I suppose it would all come to me if I ever engaged in such an operation. Anyhow,1 can throw a knife to quiver Into aplank of oak at 30 feet, and 1 am a dead shot with a bow e,nd arrow. I don’tto ride bareback and let the rush of the wind sweep her hair way out behind her as her pony goes galloping, galloping, free as herself? Not marty, IHm| _ ‘ -How many girls ever learn to go hunting on horseback, let the bridle slip down loosely Into the holl / of one’s elbow while the pony goes at full speed, and keep sending arrow after j arrow into a flock of wild geese that are honking their dismay at the whizzing death speeding up to them?“Or, again, how many girls know what It is to stretch out on the ground and stare up at the stars and wonder about life and death and other things until one falls into sleep?“I know all these things, because 1 am a really-truly Indian girl, although my mother was pure white, and I have that had a college education, am writing a book and studying to be a grand opera singer; • •- ™ .‘r ' : «“My book? It’s going to be a collection of Indian folk lore stories for children. Also I am writing some shortift ft#meeting. Would you like to hear it?“Well, when the Civil war broke out and the Yankees swept down into the Southland, my mother's people were driven from Georgia and they drifted out our way. My mother was just about three and one-half years old then.Her people died and my people—theCherokees-found the little girl wandering near their grounds. We adopted her and she grew up in the tepee of my father’s family. He, was about nineyears old. ■-* V, „ ;As children they would go hunting, fishing and playing together. They grew up together as friends in what j was galled No Man’s Land, which is jOklahoma today. ' ' . . .. . J’V* 22, ... . , , ... r. * * • ” • * »• ' rThen one springtime he came to her 1 1 llls IS the wa' M,ss lva Josephine Rider will appear when site dofis her Boston clothing and goes back to the and Bang his love song. He told her ! ' ’ t ‘ - , Indian garb of her ancestdrs in Otciahoflop*.. J, • -•’ '•’*ft I‘the rays from her eyes hadwarmed his heart toward her/ Then Rider/*she realized for the first time that she “When I was old enough Iloved him. They were married, and I have six sisters and one brother. Another brother is dead.” ' .“Tell about your education,*-thewas sentfor girls,to Thomas College, a school in San Antonio, Texas.My father was educated In the Cherft lt;Miss 1 okee Male Seminary In Oklahoma.way, he became a Senator whfjfeOklahoma was first msd.a a Sta|#. ijb 1907. He is nowi Senator again for aterm.; . v -.v - ‘a 7“Later I went to San Francisco, whero I played in the moving pictures, as Itold you. Then I came Hast, visited New York, and for the last two years I have been studying in the Boirton Con rervatory of Music. I have also beenHtudyinr dramatic art in Emerson College.” . , • . V• JfrIa€fire in the family wigwam and dream care for a rifle much. A rifle or a «hot-into .the ombers on the floor of hardShe Is sick of artificiality. She is sick af I; jShe is hired with theatres, crowdea ntreets, sickly city faces, dinner pares and concerts. She is tired even otgun does not give the thing one is hun-ing much chance. It seems unsport*-manlike.“When I get back to Oklahoma the first thing I am going to do is to get away from houses, people a/id paved Streets. I want ail the sunlight, thesinffifk( Jh pft ^CCompftnlment of one of 1 heavens, the clouds and tfie wide spacesavthe best orchestras in .the world.Slit to be free again.She wants to wear moccasins, wrapherself in a simple garment of deerskin, She wants to discard her big, dashing Faris hat for a single red feather in her straight black hair.Wants Stars for AudienceShe wants to exchange the fevered, fetid breath of the big city for the cool caress of the night wind. She wants to feet her pony# wild and free as herself, almost, poking his velvet*nose into her hand. She wants to leave far behind her the glare and glitter*of city lights, and she wants to roam through the forests |ike Diana of old, with a tmiver ofto myself. Oh, things are too crowded her© in Boston! In New York it is wcrse and San Francisco is almost as bad as New York. 7 /'*1go. I do not think I shall be very anxious to hurry back East again. Maybe I will have to/ for I have determined to study singing until I am fit for grand opera. But for this summer, at least, i want to forget all the make-believe, the artificiality and the sham that goes to make up what you pale faces call civili-j. •“We Indians are nature's own children. Even now. when ’civilization’ haft-been thrust upon us, we are nearer the soul of nature than was ever while man. We never protend to be some-o rb3iib ft\vtfa acoVtlt(o
Newspaper Details
Boston Post Sunday Magazine
Boston, Massachusetts, US
Sun, May 19, 1918
Page 22
Full Page
Clipped by
Anonymous
USA 05 Aug 2022
Other Publications Near Boston, Massachusetts
Massachusetts Centinel
Boston Globe
Boston Daily Globe
UMB News
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