There are other kinds of supernatural attacks whose roots aren’t contemporary at all. Some Iroquois healers talk about a condition they call “bothered by the dead.” Though the effects might look the same as a garden-variety curse, this one doesn’t involve the stroke of a living witch, and it comes with a heavy spiritual depression. As Macbeth would say, your “genius is rebuked,” in this case by the generations of the dead.
If you’re a Native American, the cause of this complaint might be as inadvertent as failing to observe enough of the major ceremonies of your nation, hence offending the ancestors. Native Americans, at least, ought to know better.
But even non–Native Americans who mind their own business can take a hit from some ancient, indigenous power that seems beyond the natural. The offense might be as active and direct as offending a site of importance to those who had once revered it. It could be as innocent as living or working over such a site every day. This could happen easily all over New York state, and not many people would be aware that this was the case. The dead buried before the arrival of the Europeans are long gone from us, and most of the spots they treasured are invisible. Think of all the battlefields, burial grounds, and sacred sites in Iroquois country that have been unknowingly developed and built over.
How could a piece of land rebel against anyone? Again, it might be by the collective power of the offended dead. If the dead lack awareness or self-protection, the source could be a psychic mechanism set in place by shamans in ages past, like a curse on a pharaoh’s tomb. When a community left a sacred site or burial ground, its power people often performed a closing ceremony to protect it.
Ted Williams talked about an unusual and more specialized condition he called “skeletally entranced.” It was dangerous to mess with old human bones. He talked about young people raiding burial grounds and leaving with a couple of nuggets. If they fell asleep with these stolen bits in their pockets—“the dice of drowned men’s bones” as in Hart Crane’s poem—with no help near, they might not wake in this world.
It may be hard for some readers to understand this belief that artifacts, human remains, the dead, and even sites can project a force that could be active today. But many people living in upstate New York—and not just Native Americans—have their reasons for leaving this an open question.
The Two Ball Curse
The Iroquois have always loved sports. They had a handful of games, apparently offshoots of hunting, that wouldn’t seem familiar to most Americans. One that would was the game of lacrosse, which the Iroquois probably invented. The basics of the old game—ball, sticks, teams, running—would be quite recognizable to anyone today. The rules were somewhere between those of the modern game and the Siege of Stalingrad.
The Iroquois have adopted many of the sports of white society, though at some disadvantage due to the small numbers and typical poverty of their communities. One of their traditional favorites is baseball.
The Oneida William Honyoust Rockwell (1870–1960) recalled an incident from around 1900 in which the baseball-crazed Oneidas had arranged a game against a well-practiced team of white guys from Cazenovia. The Oneidas’ numbers were so small, though, that between their two communities they could put together only nine able adult bodies. The Oneida figured they might need a little help. An old-timer told them what to do.
“Go into the graveyard and pick an old grave. Make a hole in the earth and reach around with your hands until you come up with an old toe bone. Take it with you to the field you’re going to play on and bury it under the pitcher’s box. Take some of the black dirt with you, too, and let every man on your team rub his hands with it before the game. And, finally, just before the game, the whole team has to take a swig from the same bottle of whiskey, then cork it up and put it away. When you pitch to the white men, it will look to them like you are throwing them two balls to hit.”
The team decided to try the formula, but objected to only one thing: the one bottle to be used and the single swig of it apiece. All was done as prescribed, though: bone, bottle, and burying dirt were in their places by game time. The Oneida lost 22–0.
The incident had Rockwell scratching his head. When he met the great Native American Jim Thorpe (1888–1953) years later, he couldn’t help getting it off hischest. “How could we lose with so much national medicine behind us?” he asked. Thorpe—multisport athlete and Olympic champion—could only venture the guess that the white men were able to hit both balls.
Power Line
Just after he moved into Williamsville in the 1970s, Mike Bastine was approached by a neighbor as he got into his car. Perceiving that he was a Native American, the man asked, “What nation are you?”
“I’m Algonquin,” said Mike.
The man sighed with relief. “Thank God. I don’t need any more to do with them Tuscaroras.”
Mike laughed and asked what he meant. “There’s one of them up there on the Tuscarora Reservation that’s been giving me and my whole crew the creeps. Name’s Mad Bear. I won’t go up there any more.”
“Well, that’s who I’m going up to see,” said Mike. The man’s terror was so comical that Mike calmed him down and asked his story.
Mike’s neighbor worked for the power company, which had run lines across reservation land. When some Native Americans felt that something in the original agreement wasn’t being met, Mad Bear showed up to do his medicine on behalf of the nation and the land.
The project met snags, including baffling malfunctions with equipment. Fully functioning bulldozers fell utterly useless. A few had to be junked. When the lines were
