Super elders among us: Centenarians in Indian Country

Everyone’s been reminded this was the year a century ago that the Titanic sunk in the North Atlantic Ocean.  Another remarkable moment occurred when Elizabeth Humetewa from the Hopi lower village of Moenkopi climbed down from the clouds into the physical world.  As a member of the Baa kop wungwa clan, not many ceremonials or weddings went by that she didn’t have some sort of participation.

The Arizona tribe recently announced that they had not only one but four centenarians in their ranks. The Hopis thoughtfully sent me pictures of two of their elders beaming into a camera. I peered closely into them as if I were looking for some kind of coded answer.  Each Hopi elder was certainly someone’s great-grandmother and great-grandfather.

Satisfaction of some sort sat on the edge of their smiles. Not much regret was visible at this point, I mused.  A trace of nostalgia, perhaps, but there was no trace of the nail-biting, gut-wrenching anxiety common to those a third of their age. Getting to the age of 100 in Indian Country takes some kind of special dispensation-an inherent stamp of approval by the tribal ancestors.  It seems they would be able to see the infant turn into the child into the adult into the elder in a blink of an eye.

The Hopi seniors were lauded just for the simple miracle of being themselves. Tribal officials gave them Pendleton blankets, certificates and lapel pins.  Then it was on to a hearty lunch. Something told me these are the real celebrities in Indian Country. Charismatic tribal leaders come and go but Indian elders who reach the century mark are the ones who got it going on.

These are the kind of folks alive before cars, televisions and cell phones became words. Kind of puts it into context as we jog along in the technological race. Paradoxically, by the time humans reach 100 years old, communicating and getting around become technical exploits. 

That doesn’t mean that Wesley Honahnie, 103, who also comes from the Hopi Lower Moenkopi village, doesn’t enjoy being outside when he can get there. He lived as a farmer and rancher, growing corn, watermelon, squash. Marsah Balenquah of the Hopi’s Bacavi Village takes part in the local church events and has been a year in the centenarian’s club at 101 years old.

In absentia, the tribe counts Evelyn Lassor from the Oraibi Village as one of their own although she lives in Brooklyn NY.
Meanwhile, the  Comanche Nation ‘s Josephine Myers-Wapp forged a solid reputation teaching at Santa Fe’s Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) then retired in the early 1970s. Now revered for her finger weaving, Wapp lived a whole career before I got the hang of catching the bus for elementary school. These are but a few of the tribal centenarians I could find. I know there’s more.

Nationally, census numbers show that over 53,000 Americans reached the century birthday. The closest I could find for Indian elders at or older than 100 were 1990 statistics that showed 264 super-elders, if you will. Since the U.S. number of centenarians for that time was just under 35,000 in 1990, I’ll bet the figure for Indian Country has grown since then, too. 

But I hear that it’s harder to get to 100 years old these days. Access to quality health care and the perils of modern day living make the feat a bit trickier across the board. That puts a premium on the advice given by these elders on how to advance like a pro. The answers I have read vary from eating simply, not smoking or drinking and never retiring.  It stands to reason some of it involves inheriting a perfect strand of genetic pearls.

Maybe environment has its say so. The lower village of Moenkopi might be the Native equivalent to the island of Amami in Japan that boasts a hefty share of centenarians.  The Japanese accredit it to their natural diet. I place my chips on diet as well. Surely, a traditional menu at Moenkopi in the early part of the last century set the curve on longevity.

Becoming a centenarian is kind of like hugging a butterfly, not necessarily impossible but a feat that takes some delicate maneuvering.  I suspect that no one who reaches one hundred years ever guesses that they will leave such enduring footprints.  They tread where we all aspire to follow.

S.E. Ruckman is a citizen of the Wichita and Affiliated Tribes in Anadarko, Okla. She graduated from the University of Oklahoma’s School of Journalism and has written for the Tulsa World and is currently a special contributor to the Native American Times. She is a freelance writer who is based in Oklahoma.