There was a wonderful man named Berton I.
Staples, who had come west for his health. He had been a
dress-designer in New York. When he came I do not know, but in 1926,
he was well-established. He established a trading post on Highway 66
at Coolidge, New Mexico, which he called Crafts del Navajo.
It is difficult for me to understand the amount of energy, will-power and intelligence that is necessary for a dress-designer from New York to establish a trading post in the wild west. The life was extremely primitive in those days, and it is a miracle that a human could make this change.
To be a trader in that country meant many things. One had to be a business man, a psychologist, a sociologist, a carpenter, an expert horseman, an expert in metal-work, textiles and pottery, not to mention an art critic. One of the most important things was to be a politician, with a little anthropology thrown in. It also helped to be a cook.
Most of the traders were good people, and a few were bad. Mr. Staples was one of the very good ones. To be a good trader meant that you paid the Indians equitable prices for their products, that you did not sell the pawned items if you could help it, even when it would be legal, that you helped to settle dis¬putes when it was appropriate, that you cared for those who needed it, and so on.
Mr. Staples took part in all of the doings around the country-side. This included the Gallup Ceremonial and later on, the Indian Arts and Crafts Board. He arranged trips for tourists, and, indeed, for Mom and Pop.
With their common interest and knowledge of the Indians and the Indian Problem, Mr. Staples and our parents quite naturally became very close friends. We always stopped at Coolidge on the way through.
On one trip to the Southwest, we stopped overnight at Mr. Staples' place. Mr. Staples and my father got into a discussion. The conversation turned to the problem of distinguishing between old silver and new, or modern, silver. Pop was propounding the idea that old silver had a certain aura about it which differentiated it from modern silver. Mr. Staples disagreed. Finally, Mr. Staples said to Pop, "Charlie, let me have that bracelet Ruth is wearing. When you come back on the way home, you can pick it up." So Mom took it off and handed it over. The next morning we went on our way. On our return we stopped overnight again at Coolidge. During the evening, Mr. Staples brought out Mom's bracelet. Only, there were two of them. He handed them to Pop and said, "Which one is Ruth's?" Pop looked and looked, but he could not tell. Mom couldn't tell. None of us could tell. They were identical, and, as I remember it, we never did figure out which was Mom's. One of Mr. Staples' silversmiths had copied Mom's bracelet and there you are.
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