Haunted by Pehin Hanska

Thanks to my name, I am writing this essay about what it is like to be named Custer and work as an anthropologist and archaeologist who studies American Indian people. Aside from the obvious fact that I would not be writing such an essay if my name were anything else, I mean to say that it is the name—not necessarily my personal characteristics—that give me this opportunity. Devon Mihesuah asked me to write about my experiences because in a letter to her I noted after my signature that I was not joking about my name, that I really was an archaeologist named Custer who was indeed a relative of the infamous George Armstrong Custer. Thus my work here is the ultimate expression of what it means to be "a Custer." The name can be an identity, an essence of its own that transcends who I am as an individual. And I wonder if there are any other names from American history that can conjure up a comparable effect. Interactions with Indian people are somewhat new to me, a fact of which I am not proud, and I quickly learned from Indian people that postscripts about my name are necessary. The bitter truth that a relative of one of American Indians' more determined enemies is part of the anthropological enterprise, which continues to cause profound grief among Indian people and desecrate their ancestors' homes and graves, is almost beyond belief. Consequently, I feel a need to state that I am not a cruel joke. Rather, I am another cruel reality for American Indian people to bear. There are many archaeologists to inflict pain on Indian people. One more is not news. But one named Custer gets noticed, at least by Indians. My purpose here is to describe that notice. I was asked to write about my childhood experiences as a Custer, my family's experiences, and the ways that my family "honors" the name. I have tried to answer these [End Page 675] questions and explain how I came to a recognition of who Custer was and of the many meanings he has in American culture. I also include my experiences as an archaeologist because it is the convergence of the name and occupation that is particularly offensive. Furthermore, I think my experiences succumbing to archaeology's allure, learning its mysteries and esoteric rites, and working in the field are quite typical in spite of my name. This fact alone is revealing of archaeologists' willful ignorance of Indian people's feelings and interests. But Indian people realized that situation long before I ever did, and that is the worst part of the story. I also think that, for me, coming to terms with my own past as an archaeologist and coming to terms with my Custer family heritage are inextricably intertwined in many ways. Kid's Stuff I have no specific memory of when I first realized that I shared my last name with an infamous figure in American history. The connection never played a role in my childhood nicknames. Prior to entering junior high school, I cannot remember children, adults, or teachers making any kind of mention or "witty" remark about the possible connection between George Armstrong Custer and me. I do remember entering third grade and being allowed to read and check out the bigger "chapter books" in the elementary school library. I was drawn to the collection of Landmark Books, a series of children's history books published by Random House and found among them Custer's Last Stand, written by Quentin Reynolds in 1951. Seeing my last name on a book was something of a surprise. I read it eagerly and learned all kinds of interesting things. First, I learned I was lucky to be able to read the book because the back of its dust jacket told me that an expert in American history writing in the New York Times said, "Any pre-adolescent who has not feasted on

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