PEACE OFFERING

We should have mentioned the National Museum of the American Indian, which opened Tuesday in Washington, D.C. Here are some images from the opening ceremony. The First Americans Festival continues through Sunday.

A friend writes:

On Monday, I just happened to be enroute home from a weekend trip and changed planes in Memphis, where more than a few participants boarded my flight to D.C. I was really struck by how much this museum means to them. This may sound corny, but I was moved to tears by their enthusiasm and pride. The museum was 15 years in the making and it will be the Smithsonian's last museum. The last museum for the first Americans.

About 20,000 Native Americans marched in the Procession of Nations on opening day. It is said to be the largest gathering of the tribes in history. Most were dressed in full tribal regalia as they walked together to the dedication of the museum. The word "awesome" -- these days completely overused -- really applies here. It will take more than a museum to heal their wounds, but what a great start.

Roughly half of the $219-million museum ($119 million) was funded by the federal government. Private contributions made up the rest of the funding. "Three tribes with thriving casino operations together raised $30 million," the Christian Science Monitor reported. Some 8,000 artifacts from 24 tribes, representing 10,000 years from the pre-Columbian era through the beginning of the 20th century, will be on permanent exhibit. Overall holdings include 800,000 objects and 125,000 photographs.

"Not all Native Americans have embraced the new museum," however:

The American Indian Movement, an activist group, issued a statement claiming the museum failed to display the tragic history of the U.S. government's "holocaust" against the nations and peoples of the Americas.
September 24, 2004 11:35 AM |

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Me Elsewhere

'WILD SIDE' STILL ROCKS 

Nelson Algren was one of the great American authors of the 20th century, it is no exaggeration to say, and among the most neglected. Consider his underrated classic, "A Walk on the Wild Side." The title -- popularized and co-opted as an idiomatic phrase by Hollywood and Madison Avenue (institutions Algren loathed) -- is familiar to most anyone who speaks English or knows Lou Reed's lyrics. But the novel itself? Hardly.

BUSTER KEATON REVISITED 
Buster Keaton: Tempest in a Flat Hat is not a biography. "This book is merely a fan's notes," Edward McPherson writes in the introduction, although his publisher ignores the disclaimer and calls it a biography on the cover. In fact, the book is a bit of both, a difficult combination to bring off unless you're David Thomson, who set the standard with Rosebud, his penetrating rumination on the life and career of Orson Welles, which was nothing if not a distillation of every obsessive thought he ever had about the myth and the man and all his movies.
LAUREN BACALL, STILL SALTY AT 80 
When Lauren Bacall writes that her singing voice ranges "somewhere between B minus sharp and outer space," she's being candid and funny. It's not every stage star with two Tony Awards for best actress in a musical whose vocal talent offers so little promise. (OK, Harvey Fierstein excepted.) Still less would one admit it.
THE STARS ACCORDING TO BOGDANOVICH 
Peter Bogdanovich's superb collection of movie-star profiles and interviews -- a sequel to Who the Devil Made It, his interviews of top film directors -- begins with an affectionate tale about Orson Welles that reminds us just how intimate the author's connection to Hollywood's greatest has been. But contrary to what we've come to expect from dime-a-dozen celebrities and celebrity interviews not worth two cents, the tale avoids bromidic egotism and journalistic platitudes.
SAMMY'S WHITE DREAMS 
Four decades ago Lenny Bruce sentenced Sammy Davis Jr. to "30 years in Biloxi," stripping him of "his Jewish star" and "his religious statue of Elizabeth Taylor." Now we have two new biographies of Davis that spring him from ridicule, if not from doubts about his legacy, and restore a measure of dignity to a black entertainer whose huge fame and success never overcame his devout wish -- indeed his lifelong effort -- to be white.
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