Just don’t tell ‘em about the pajamas

The Native American Business Enterprise Center recognized the Native Times with an award last week. It was a really nice affair. They fed us all a good dinner and I met some great people. I was even at the same table as Dana Lance, who until then I’d only known via email and news from the Chickasaw Nation.

The evening was going really well until I realized that I’d be expected to say a few words up on the stage. Yes. Up there. In front of everyone.

My first job out of high school was a radio announcer and I worked as an announcer for several years. You’d think public speaking would be easy. Well, it is. If I can’t see who’s listening and they can’t see me talking. I felt like Forrest Gump standing in line to meet the President after getting shot in the buttocks.

I reached over and squeezed my husband’s knee. “What do I say?” I asked.

“Calm down. Just say what’s important and don’t tell ‘em you spend half the day in your pajamas,” he said.

Well, THAT cat is out of the bag, now, isn’t it? And now I need to remember to discuss with our 5-year-old that she and I got dressed BEFORE Daddy got home from work so Daddy WOULDN’T KNOW we spent the day in our pajamas.

I reached for my glass of wine and changed my mind. I pictured the episode of The Big Bang Theory where Sheldon drinks wine to calm his nerves before accepting an award. His drunken acceptance speech and pantless antics went viral on YouTube.

Then I remembered producing for John Erling of KRMG radio back in the day. Before his shift he’d sip a cup of hot lemon water to clear his throat. I made do with coffee. I was last to go, so I had time to consider. What was important? The answer was ‘who,’ not what.

Saturday marks my four-year anniversary of owning the Native American Times. When I bought the paper, the economy was sinking and newspapers across the country were shutting their doors. I was oblivious to that at the time. Owning a newspaper was a nearly forgotten college dream that was coming true.

However, one thing, a very important thing I hadn’t considered, was what I’d do with the paper once it printed. It had to be delivered and I was so worried about producing the paper I hadn’t thought of that little technicality.

I didn’t have the time to tell the entire story to the dinner crowd last week, so I’d like to tell it now. There’s a group of people out there I owe a lot to and I want them to know it.

I had a fax copy of all the distribution points written out in longhand by the former owners and the woman that delivered for them. None of them wanted to do it anymore. I knew I couldn’t take care of my baby, deliver papers, edit, write, design, sell ads and manage the website, too. I needed help.

My parents stepped up. They loaded up the Toyota and away they went. It took three days and 1,500 miles. We didn’t have street addresses so a lot of time was spent hunting around and asking “where is such and such.” My mom kept a yellow legal pad that she filled with addresses and notes. After about three months, Dad declared he was tired. His butt was tired. It was time to quit. I put an ad in the paper and hired a distribution driver. Thanks to my parents, I was able to get on my feet and keep it going during the worst of times.

Since then, I’ve been blessed with great contributing writers, talented tribal media friends and several readers who submit some pretty good articles. But I wouldn’t have a newspaper if I didn’t have people putting it out there for everyone to read. Advertisers need circulation and I need advertisers to pay everyone that makes the newspaper happen each week.

I started off doing two routes myself and hired some help for the rest. I’ve been blessed with some good people (and learned lessons from some not so good). People stepped up who cared about the job and doing it well. Goodwin Bassett from up in Red Rock was my first hire. He passed the job on to Randy Whitehorn who passed it on to Curtis Johnson. All good people who did a great job but had to move on. The days are long and the miles are hard on a car and harder on the tires.

Wes Mahan has been with me the longest. He’s been through a couple of cars now and who knows how many tires he’s driven bald. He and Steve Lacy put in 10-plus hour days. Wes heads south and west one day, north and east the next. Steve heads west and north up to Ponca City and then makes sure the Osage Nation and a chunk of the Cherokee Nation gets their papers. My sister, Brenda Slaughter, is the crazy one. I think every newspaper has at least one Crazy on staff. She only delivers one day, but she’s determined that as many Choctaws as possible get the Native Times. She drives more than 750 miles and puts in 14 hours, driving from Westville to Tahlequah and back over to the Arkansas border. Then she heads south down to far southeastern Oklahoma to Idabel, Broken Bow and Hugo. The air went out on her car and still she runs her route, even if it’s 115 degrees. (She says she keeps an ice chest full of water in the front seat and the windows down.) Kathy Robertson takes care of Anadarko and often chases down the errant UPS guy in her car to make sure she gets her papers delivered on time.

In addition, I owe a big thanks to Mike Marris (Durant) and Dana Attocknie (Oklahoma City) who deliver the Times for free. Why? They love the newspaper.

Because of these people who care about their jobs and the newspaper, the Native American Times went from 5,000 copies per week in 2008 to being the third-largest circulated weekly in Oklahoma.

Now that’s pretty important.

*It’s also important to call before you drop by my office. I can’t have you catching me in my pajamas.



Lisa Snell is a citizen of the Cherokee Nation and a graduate of the University of Tulsa where she earned a degree in Communication and a minor in graphic art. She publishes the Native Times from her home office under the watchful eyes of her 1-year-old son and two rather ugly dogs. She may be reached by emailing This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..