Digital download. PDF available upon purchase.
 
Little Spirit examines the practice of eminent domain and the taking of land and dignity, first from a Native American’s perspective and then from today, as seen through the eyes of George Terrill IV, who learns about the feelings and challenges of Native Americans and the taking of their land – and how contemporary America hasn’t changed that much in terms of citizen rights.
 
George has recently graduated from college and needs a job. Little does he realize that a chance meeting with Rodney Whitehorse and learning the history of Rodney's tribal ancestors will profoundly change his life and destiny, as will meeting and falling in love with Amy, a mixed-race leukemia patient whose father is one of America’s wealthiest men. Can love prevail in a time of trial? Can good overcome the uncurbed power of government regarding eminent domain?
 
Little Spirit is more than a love story and greater than a legal thriller and will keep readers asking themselves could this really happen?, only to realize that, yes, it could happen to me.
 
Author Notes/Why You Should Read Little Spirit
 
“Growing up in Madison, Wisconsin, in the 1950s was almost idyllic–if you were a middle-class or affluent Caucasian male. For the rest of us? Well, it was still very good compared to other places we heard about in the tumultuous ‘60s. What made Madison great was its economic stability based on four key things—its education, government, medicine, and insurance. It was a place where everyone was provided an excellent public education and a safe environment in which to live.
 
We were white, but our family’s socio-economic situation certainly did not fit the middle-class or affluent profile. It wasn’t horrible, but sleeping in a public hallway under the stairs until you are 12 years old, as I did, does have a way of modifying what you consider normal. Add to that a genetic propensity for weight issues exacerbated by a high-carbohydrate, protein-deficient diet, and the net result for me was being the poor, little, fat kid everyone picked on...too slow, too poor, too alone to be worthy of the cool kids’ attention.
 
We lived in the Fourth Ward, adjacent to the community of Green Bush, which everyone simply called ‘The Bush,’ home to a blend of African Americans, Italians, and Jews who, like us, represented the lower rungs of the socio-economic ladder and who grew up together, played together, laughed together, and died together. While there were differences, there was also the common bond called life, punctuated by acceptance and laughter. Adjectives were never used to detail someone you referenced.
 
In the early 1960s, Madison’s political leaders determined The Bush to be a blight on the city and the Triangle Redevelopment Authority was created to eliminate the community through the demolition of several blocks of low-income housing and construction of new apartment buildings, office space, and retail stores. The project was controversial at the time and is now recognized nationally as an example of urban renewal that negatively impacted the lives of many Madison residents.
 
With the demolition of The Bush, the African-American population was relocated to an area known as ‘Hell’s Half Acre,’ the Italians moved to the area of ‘Burr Oaks,’ and the Jews moved just a little further west. Gone was the sense of community, replaced by divisions that had never been as prominent. Gone was the level of tolerance and acceptance that comes from being neighbors! Gone were the bonds that created a social tapestry we could still use today if people would only judge each other by who they are and not what they are.
 
While this treatise is long, it serves to explain some about why I wrote Little Spirit. By the book’s cover you know that it’s a story involving Native Americans. What happened in Madison to a community, a society, and a culture reminds me of what happened to the Native Americans on a much broader and more vicious scale. The impetus for this story goes back to a day when I was a child that was burned into my memory, never to be forgotten. Let me explain.
 
With our meager resources, travel for our family was considered a luxury. By the age of 18, I'd barley left Wisconsin, and had only been to Milwaukee once or twice, and Mineral Point, Wisconsin, and Dubuque, Iowa, simply to visit relatives. Visiting an aunt and uncle living in Washington, D.C., was simply out of the question. It was an era when the only time we even had the luxury of talking with them was during a three-minute, long-distance telephone call at Christmas time.
 
In 1956, Aunt Hazel and Uncle Leonard came to visit for only a couple days and they stayed at the Hotel Lorraine on West Washington Avenue, representing the first people I ever knew who’d stayed in a hotel. They’d driven their brown Hudson from D.C. and talked of the tollways and the two-day trip. As a special treat, they offered to take us to Wisconsin Dells. While only 54 miles away, it could have been on the other side of the earth for all I knew.
 
We set out and made a day of it, even riding in one of the Ducks—amphibious vehicles left over from World War II. As the day was ending, we made our way to the downtown area and a myriad of gift shops filled with all types of Dells memorabilia, much of which was attuned to Native Americans and the fact that the Dells had been sacred grounds for local tribes before the white man arrived. Perhaps it was the cigar store Indians outside the gift shops that captured my attention. Perhaps it was the fact that we’d paid a quarter just before our guests arrived to see the movie, The Searchers, where John Wayne’s character—a ruthless vigilante who seeks revenge on the Comanche who massacred his family—kills countless men, women, and children in return. Either way, my gift from my aunt was a ‘real’ Indian headdress with six feathers in it that she quietly paid for.
 
As we were driving back to Madison, Aunt Hazel turned to me and asked what I thought of Native Americans, and why I thought it was that in Wisconsin Dells—where ‘Fort Dells’ was designed to stave off Indian attacks and is associated with individualism, self-reliance, and courage—there weren't any ‘real’ Indians. I had no idea and no answer. Instead, Aunt Hazel spent the next hour explaining what really happened in America and how those remaining Native Americans were put on reservations for which there are two synonyms–‘misgivings’ and ‘difficulties’–both seeming understatements for what happened to them. Over the years, I’ve spent time learning about those who were my ancestors’ neighbors. I still have that headdress, stored with what few toys I had as a boy. The headdress was never worn and from that day on. I never played cowboys and Indians again.
 
When you’re the poor, little, fat kid who’s judged simply for what you are–alone, afraid, and sad, you begin to have deep feelings about those who are also judged by what they are, simply different on the outside, but filled with the same hopes and dreams the rest of us have. Though writing Little Spirit had several goals for me as an author, the top one was to vent my frustrations, first, about a wonderful, eclectic group of Madison residents who accepted each other and lived side by side before being segregated, and second, on behalf of all those who, like me, were or are judged, simply because they are different.”