I would like to give a tip of the hat to the many, many people who helped us dig up details about Quincy Tahoma’s life. We do not even know the names of many of the helpful clerks, librarians, secretaries, archivists, curators, shop owners, and others who helped both Charnell and me as we started searching for clues more than ten years ago.
Here is one example. When we found a copy of Quincy Tahoma’s obituary clipping in a bio file at the Laboratory of Anthropology in Santa Fe, it confirmed what Charnell had heard from Feliz Tixier whose family knew Tahoma — that he had served a short term in the state penitentiary. While the article answered many questions for us about the date and place of his death, and circumstances of his burial, it opened up a new set of questions.
Prison? When? For what? For how long?
I took my questions to the New Mexico Library and Archives. When I asked an archivist where I might look for prison records, she pointed me to books containing the records of prisoners. As I flipped through the pages, I got excited because the records included mug shots, and at the time we had not found a photos of Tahoma. They also included details about the conviction, dates of incarceration and release, etc.
However, I noticed that all the criminals in the book were accused of very serious crimes–multiple murders, acts of violence. That did not sound like our boy, Tahoma, and sure enough, there was no record of a Quincy Tahoma. Another mystery.
But the archivist pointed me to another set of records, the Governor’s inmate records. Here I found a brief note that Quincy Tahoma had been pardoned in March 1, 1948, after serving part of a sentence that began on New Year’s Day, 1947.
I took the prisoner number on the record and went to the U. S. District Court building in Santa Fe to see if they had records that went back to the 1940′s. The very helpful person I talked to assured me that they did have microfiche records going back that far, but it might take a while to find them. I left my phone number and went on to other explorations. She called me later to tell me that the number I gave her did not correspond with their numbering system, and my hopes sank. Then she said that she had continued to search, and had found the records of his trial. Amazing! Surely she had more pressing matters than digging up a fifty-plus-year old trial.
I went to the court house and saw the short record of Quincy Tahoma’s trial–what he was accused of, who accused him, who the judge and prosecutor were, and most amazing of all–discovered that he apparently had no defense attorney. The trial apparently lasted no longer than a traffic court trial, Quincy pled guilty to a lesser offense and was taken immediately to prison.
Now I am going to leave you with a bit of mystery, so that you will want to buy Quincy Tahoma: The Life and Legacy of a Navajo Painter when it is released next spring.
But if it has not been for the persistence of a clerk at the Federal District Court records office, we would never have been able to tell this part of Tahoma’s story.
We suspect that Quincy was railroaded by a system that assumed American Indians to be guilty when accused by non-Indians. But we have no proof that is the way the courts ran. Do you know of other cases in the mid-twentieth century where an American Indian seemed to be railroaded by the courts?