King of the Road - November 2010
Put it Past
Fort Sumner gains wisdom from its tumultuous history
Story and Photography by Lesley S. King
In the center of Fort Sumner, I step up to an old-style soda fountain at Addison Drug, complete with cushy stools and a stainless-steel root-beer dispenser. I order a cup of coffee. Just that—not a half-caff soy latte or a double-caramel macchiato, but a 35¢ cuppa Joe. As the server pours it, she asks about my day, then actually listens to my response. I realize that this moment reflects the attitude throughout Fort Sumner. Life is simple here, and the people are friendly.
Because of this, I relate to this town of some 1,250 residents on U.S. 60, 162 miles southeast of Albuquerque.
Like it, I had a tumultuous youth, served up with a hearty portion of tragedy. In my early twenties, I lost three of my closest loved ones in accidents—two in automobiles, and one in a helicopter. I spent the next five years recovering, and today, more than anything, I seek simplicity and kindness. Here in this small community named for the 1863 U.S. military fort, and known for its tragic beginning, that seems to be the main goal, too.
After my cup of coffee, I head to the Bosque Redondo Memorial at Fort Sumner State Monument. The exhibit in the Monument’s new museum—designed by Navajo architect David Sloan and shaped like a hogan and a tipi—is still being built, but placards and a 30-minute film, along with a few Navajo and Apache artifacts, provide background. At the front desk, I pick up a handheld audio guide and head outside.
I take a scenic stroll along the Pecos River, past numbered kiosks, as the audio guide recounts the history. In 1864, in an attempt to end conflict in the frontier Southwest and to fulfill the young nation’s belief in Manifest Destiny—that the dominant culture of European immigrants had the right to spread across the North American continent, regardless of who might already be living here—the U.S. government began an experiment. Soldiers rounded up 415 Mescalero Apaches and some 9,000 Navajos and marched them here, to Fort Sumner. Some of the Navajo endured this Long Walk of 450 miles in the dead of winter with little food, water, or shelter.
IF YOU GO What to Do Billy the Kid Museum Bosque Redondo Lake Bosque Redondo Memorial at De Baca County Courthouse Old Fort Sumner Museum Sumner Lake State Park Where to Dine Where to Stay and Dine |
I come to a stone reproduction of Fort Sumner, the military complex that oversaw Bosque Redondo relocation camp. The government’s hope of establishing a place where the Native Americans could grow their own food and create a community ended in catastrophe for many reasons, most notably crop failure, overcrowding, disease, and poor planning. During their time at Bosque Redondo, between 500 and 1,500 Navajo died. They called it Hwééldi (Place of Suffering).
The Mescalero rebelled first, in 1865, by escaping. Three years later, the Navajos finally found relief when they signed the Treaty of 1868 in a meadow here, its border now marked with a rock shrine.
In exchange for their freedom, the Navajo agreed to live peacefully and remain within 5,200 square miles set aside for them in the Four Corners region. The Mescalero lived in hiding until 1873, when President Ulysses S. Grant established a reservation through executive order in the White and Sacramento Mountains of New Mexico, to the southwest of here.
I stop along the river at another stone marker. This is the place where, after Bosque Redondo was evacuated, a mansion was built by land baron Lucien Maxwell, best known for, in 1864, owning the largest single tract of land of any individual in the United States. The house is gone, but this stone marks the spot of another violent historic event. On July 14, 1881, in Maxwell’s home, Sheriff Pat Garrett shot and killed Henry McCarty, a.k.a. Billy the Kid, who had recently escaped from jail.
Fort Sumner is rich in the history of this legend of the Old West. I encounter it again nearby, at the Old Fort Sumner Museum, which chronicles Billy’s story in a series of artful paintings by Texas artist and Billyphile Howard Suttle. Out back, I find Billy’s elusive tombstone, now enclosed in a cage and shackled to the ground to prevent it from being stolen, as it was in 1950 and again in 1981. (Both times, it was recovered.)
Next, I stop at the Billy the Kid Museum. The expansive place displays Billy the Kid memorabilia, including a pair of dress chaps and spurs, and also tells the history of the area, beginning with the time of Bosque Redondo, and continuing through the era of homesteading and the region’s place in rancher Lucien Maxwell’s empire.
Farming and ranching still feed the economy here. Down the street from the museum, I step into a café, where I meet Willie Patterson, who’s in town after having spent the previous day branding 85 calves on his ranch. He calls this “the best ranch country in the state.” He still brands the traditional way, roping and flanking the calves, rather than the more modern means of running them through chutes. It requires a strong team. “Ranching here is a neighbor deal,” he says. “The only way we can keep doing it is by helping each other.”
Like Patterson, many of the residents here are hearty folks who enjoy the outdoors. Fortunately, there’s a lot to do. I drive 16 miles out of town, heading northwest on U.S. 84 and N.M. 203, to Sumner Lake State Park, which meanders among the hills. In summer, water-skiers and jet-boaters ply the lake’s 4,500-acre surface. Year-round, fishers catch walleye, bass, and crappie. Another popular fishing spot is right in town: Bosque Redondo Lake is part of a special Big Cat stocking program, and as a result, fishers routinely land catfish as long as 16 inches.
I finish my tour back in Fort Sumner, at the De Baca County Courthouse, an elegant structure of red brick built on a hill in 1930. On the second floor I find poignant murals, painted in 1934 by Russell Vernon Hunter as part of the WPA Federal Art Program. The murals tell the town’s story in graceful strokes: the suffering at Bosque Redondo, the death of Billy the Kid, the coming of the railroad, the establishment of farms and ranches. As I gaze at the paintings, I see the beauty of history itself, and I’m grateful for my day here. Despite its beginnings, Fort Sumner is today a friendly place, full of the kindness and peace that a tragic past can bring.
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