Both cowboy and Indian
Of course the legacy of a comedian who told simple truths is a complex lie. And the fact that the man synonymous with whitewashed all-American values was actually an outspoken indigenous celebrity turns the joke on itself — you can’t be any more American than a Cherokee.
Will Rogers (1879-1935) was one of the most popular entertainers to have ever lived. In his prime, he was the country’s most-read newspaper columnist, top male box-office attraction, and goodwill ambassador to the world. When he ran for president on the ticket of the Anti-Bunk Party, he garnered support from Henry Ford, Amelia Earhart, and Babe Ruth. In the words of Damon Runyon, Rogers was “America’s most complete document.”
He was also a proud Cherokee whose grandfather had been relocated by the Indian Removal Act from Georgia to present-day Oklahoma. He called himself “the boy from Indian territory,” though joked that “I have just enough white in me to make my honesty questionable.”
In his recent book We Had a Little Real Estate Problem: The Unheralded Story of Native Americans & Comedy, historian Kliph Nesteroff sketches a convincing portrait of Rogers as an indigenous icon who “spoke about Native American issues with regularity.” But because he dressed as a cowboy, he passed as white, walking a tightrope with a lasso. In the movie So This Is London (1930), he adlibs a version of himself when asked if he’s an American:
“I think I am. My folks are Indian. Both my mother and father had Cherokee blood in ’em. Born and raised in Indian Territory. Of course, I’m not one of these Americans whose ancestors come over on the Mayflower, but we met ’em when they landed. It’s always been to the everlasting discredit of the Indian race that we ever let ’em land.”
Jokes like these were expunged from the popular imagination after Rogers died in a plane crash at the age of 55. It was the height of the Depression and the biggest news story of the year, so what the country needed was a saint. “The complex and nuanced Cherokee comedian was reduced to a simple, homespun cowboy, representing God and country,” Nesteroff writes.
Though even Rogers’ simplest bits were deceptively clever. His most reliable routine began with “Well, all I know is what I read in the papers,” which was the forerunner of Norm Macdonald’s platonic ideal of setup = punchline: Just reveal the absurdity by relaying the truth. “I don’t make jokes,” Rogers said. “I just watch the government and report the facts.”
Which wasn’t completely true; he also had a particular knack for blending cracker barrel wisdom with crackerjack phrasing:
“A fool and his money are soon elected.”
“Let advertisers spend the same amount of money improving their product that they spend on advertising and they wouldn’t have to advertise it.”
“Diplomacy is the art of saying ‘nice doggie’ until you can find a rock.”
“Everybody is ignorant, only on different subjects.”
“You can’t say civilization don’t advance, however, for in every war they kill you in a new way.”
“An onion can make people cry, but there has never been a vegetable invented to make them laugh.”
Given Rogers’ odd position in the American pantheon, his riff on the original America First movement, back before we were condemned to repeat history, was particularly good. What better perspective on nativism than a native one?
“I want to get this society ‘America Only’ going. ‘America First’ is all right, but it allows somebody else to be second. … Why, I figure the patriotism in my organization when I get it formed will run around 165 or 170 percent American. It will make a sucker out of these little 100 percent organizations.”
Quick quips; lightning
“This country was a better place when then cowboys all sang and their horses were smart.”
— Kinky Friedman
“Do you know why the Indian rain dances always worked? Because the Indians would keep dancing until it rained.”
— Sherman Alexie
“When asked by an anthropologist what the Indians called America before the white man came, an Indian said simply, ‘Ours.’”
— Vine Deloria Jr.
Speaking of…
American myths
Pithily passing
Get Wit Quick is 151 issues into a search for the vegetable that makes people laugh. (The potato did its best in 2021.) I heartily recommend the book We Had A Little Real Estate Problem, from which I learned more about Sterlin Harjo, one of the brains behind the terrific series Reservation Dogs. Draft axiom: If history seems boring, it’s probably because it’s wrong. Corollary: History is poorly written by the victor. Not speaking of poorly written things, my book was Elements of Wit: Mastering The Art of Being Interesting. Tap the ❤️ below until you can find a rock.