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Show WHITE BEAR By GEORGE S. BENSON, President of Harding College, Searcy, Ark. White Bear is the name of a man who lives at Quapaw, Okla. He is last 70 and not rich but he is famous for his kindness and generosity gen-erosity for miles farther than you can see the smoke from his "tee-pec.' "tee-pec.' Some grandparents iivel in the past but not White Bear. His youngest child, an only son, has kept him young in spirit. The boy was a true Quapaw brave, in fact, a paratrooper. Finally to White Bear's fireside came an ominous little yellow envelope ... a telegram from the War Department. The son had liquidated his obligation to the country that was verily his own. The tragedy took place in training maneuvers near Des Moines, Iowa. White Bear hesitated no minute after the news came. Promptly he drew his savings from the bank, all of them, and boarded a bus. A Hero's Funeral ... At Des Moines a businesslike officer showed White Bear his son's pall. The proud father was ashamed. The casket seemed far too cheap for one so great noble as an American paratrooper, a Quapaw fullblood. White Bear frankly spoke his mind and the officer offi-cer told him how much the government would pay toward a more pretentious funeral. The old tribesman took the suggestion and accepted ac-cepted the credit. At home the young brave had been prominent and popular, loved and admired by many. He must now return like a hero. Handsome Hand-some things the father desired cost $72 more than the government's fixed amount. White Bear paid without protest. Then the unhappy father left shipping instructions with the officer and disappeared. Out toward the highway he went without a dollar to thumb rides home in time for the funeral. Beyond His Day . . . Forget for a moment those jaunty horsemen of the plains whose hatchets retarded the Gold Rush. Forget also the colored tales of modern Osagcs rolling in wealth. Here is something more nearly true : Speciman of a vanishing race, sore of foot and dim of vision, trudging sadly homeward, quite ignored by hurrying traffic; a stranger stran-ger in his native West, too proud to beg, too honorable to steal. South of Kansas City a short way, White Bear's time was more than half gone, his vitality almost depleted and his journey not yet half finished when help came. A suburbanite who had seen Indians before, sparing his tires along the highway's outer lane, saw the old man with perceiving eyes; dismissed him two hours later, strengthened strength-ened with a $2 steak and humbled with a ticket home. I low ideally American is this elder of the Quapaws. From his eyes no gaudy tears, no simpering about economic inequalities, no railing at "the system," no carping about rigid Army rules. With admirable independence he faced what might have been his last crisis, alone, with bitterness toward none, ready with his last penny to glorify his scion, his state and his race. |