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Scalp Collecting—2008
There’s a certain simplicity and honesty
in a display of scalps hanging from the belt of an Indian brave. The
dangling hair pieces were a testimony to accomplishment, to masculinity,
and to victory. They were the portable proof on a brave’s prowess.
Scalping an enemy, however, in colonial times was a two-way street. It was
practiced by European settlers as well as by Native Americans. In fact
there continues to be intense discussion among historians whether Indians
in North America practiced scalping before the arrival of Europeans or
whether the white man brought his knowledge of scalping, along with
measles, syphilis and other delights of the civilized world.
We do know that scalping was practiced by
the Scythians in 440 B.C. and by the Visigoths and the Franks in the ninth
century A.D.; and we also know that on the American frontier governments
paid a bounty for each Indian scalp that was collected. As late as 1780
the Governor of Pennsylvania offered $1000 for each Indian scalp.
Native Americans, being equal opportunity
scalpers, honed their tonsorial skills on members of other Indian tribes
as well as on European settlers. Interestingly, they only scalped enemies
they saw as brave and honorable combatants. As a result General Custer was
not scalped after the Battle of Little Big Horn. He was seen as a coward.
The practice of scalping in North America
died out by the end of the nineteenth century—or did it? That question
came to my mind recently while seated around a dining table of ten gay men
on a Celebrity cruise from Auckland, New Zealand to Sydney, Australia. The
conversation around our table made me
wonder whether the practice of demonstrating one’s worth and value with
a collection of scalps has disappeared or simply become more subtle and
more sophisticated.
Conversation began on our first evening at
sea with the man to my right casually observing, “When I crossed on the
QM2 the dining tables were larger than this. We weren’t so crowded.”
“Oh, I agree,” a voice from across the
table proclaimed. “That ship was more spacious than this.”
“And more gracious,” a third brave from
our raiding party added. “Why, when I sailed with Oceania our table
linens were genuine linen, Belgian linen at that. And Belgian chocolates
were on our pillows at night.”
And around the table it went—comparisons
of previous travels intended to establish the number and quality of travel
scalps that each of our gay Indians could display. At first it was a bit
interesting, then a bit boring, and by the third night my partner and I
opted for a hamburger in the ship’s café.
I might have handled this innocent banter
better if I had realized at the time that the knife or sharp stone of days
of yore has been replaced by the conversational put-down and the sharp
tongue as instruments of attack. I should have re-read Stephen Potter’s
One Upsmanship, a book that was popular in my college days—and I won’t
put a date on that but it was a more than a half a century ago. And yes,
even then books were published on paper, not papyrus and the language was
English, not Sanskrit.
Potter, a British author and humorist
declared that the way to handle modern day scalp collecting is to respond
to an adversary’s claim with a counter-claim that is so outrageously
high, or so outrageously low that it makes the original claim appear
ridiculous.
For instance, when an acquaintance flashes
a Rolex in your face saying, “I’ll bet you have no idea how much I
paid for this,” the appropriate Potter response is either, “Oh, it
must have cost at least a million, maybe more,” or alternately, “I got
one just like it the other day for ten dollars.” Either assertion makes
the original question appear ludicrous.
My partner, Howard, uses a variation of the
Potter approach when new cocktail party acquaintances start listing their
accumulation of assets—scalps, if you will—for his benefit. “I keep
my Bentley at my cottage in East Hampton and my Jag is at the lodge in
Vail. When I’m in the city at my Penthouse in Trump Towers I simply use
a limo to get around.” Howard’s usual response, which is guaranteed to
redirect conversation but seldom gains friends is, “Unless you’re
planning on leaving them to me, I don’t need a list of your assets.”
This may explain why most of our friends are relatively asset-less.
I realize now that I should have replied to
my fellow traveler who lamented the absence of Belgian chocolates on his
pillow in Potter fashion with something like, “Oh, it must have cost you
thousands of dollars more to be on a ship that distributes Belgian
chocolates.” Or, alternately, “You know, I’ve seen big bags of
Belgian chocolates at Costco for $5.95. I’ll bet that’s where they got
them.”
Perhaps the simplicity of displaying scalps
on a belt is a more honest approach to proclaiming an individuals worth
than our current custom of, “You know, on my last crossing on the QM2
…”
John Siegfried, a former Rehoboth resident who now lives in Ft.
Lauderdale, maintains strong ties to our community and can be reached at hsajds@aol.com.
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