A shouted or muted code word for a range of uses from World War II paratroopers to Osama bin Laden’s Pakistani compound. Why Geronimo? Why does the name stand out more prominently than other North American Indian leaders? Why has Geronimo been the Indian name that has lodged more deeply in the public mind than any other since the early 1880s? The name of this Apache leader has cast a shadow over Indian chiefs ranging from Tecumseh and Pontiac to Crazy Horse and Chief Joseph. None comes close to challenging the dominance of Geronimo. His name is the best known of all North American Indian leaders.
Yet Geronimo was not a chief. Sometimes he led parts or all of the Chiricahua Apache tribe; at other times he commanded only a personal following of about thirty in his extended family. Sometimes he executed brilliant strategy and tactics; at other times he neglected the most elementary techniques of Apache warfare. He was not, as legend asserts, the hero leading his people in a last stand to retain their homeland.
If not, who was he? What persona resides beneath the legend?
With Geronimo, to penetrate the layers of legend is to engage in the detective work of a great mystery. He was fifty-four years old before his name came to the notice of white people. Before that, only his flawed autobiography and a few other Indian sources cast light on his life. After that, many whites and Indians stated their opinions of who he was. They are so contradictory that they define Geronimo as a personality of many contradictions.
Once before, in The Lance and the Shield: The Life and Times of Sitting Bull (Henry Holt, 1993), I attempted to understand a significant person from another culture. The Lakota Sioux chief Sitting Bull has also achieved legendary status, although not as prominently as Geronimo. I steeped myself in Sitting Bull’s culture and tried to interpret his life’s path within his context. Multiple reliable sources, both Indian and white, chronicle his life’s path, from birth to death. Unlike Geronimo, Sitting Bull consistently acted as his culture prescribed. Culture, dedication to the welfare of the Lakota, a consistent resistance to the encroachments of the white people, and an unflinching devotion to his people narrowed the quest for the real person obscured by the legend.
For Geronimo, the task is infinitely harder. The real person beneath the legend is more of a ghost. One can master his culture, but unlike Sitting Bull he did not rigidly adhere to it. Much of his early life remains shrouded in mystery. Much of his later life must be inferred from both white and Indian sources. They tell where he was and what he did, but rarely why he did it. The context of Geronimo’s life is much wider than Sitting Bull’s.
Furthermore, Geronimo exhibits essentially two personae. When he came to white public notice, he was a Chiricahua Apache leader, often fighting the Americans, often accommodating to them. The newspapers carried frequent accounts of his activities—usually embellished or even false. To the newspapers he owes his prominence, for the stories that clogged them planted his name in the public mind. After his surrender, he evolved into a different person, but no less prominent and no less contradictory. For nearly thirty years, in these incarnations, he fascinated the public. By then, the fascination had gained such momentum that it rolled unabated into the twenty-first century and in 2011 demonstrated its continuing appeal in the Pakistani compound of the current world’s most malevolent terrorist.
Geronimo’s life’s path is far rockier than Sitting Bull’s, but it is a path worth exploring.
The path has been explored many times, in books, articles, motion pictures, and museums. The standard biography since 1976 has been Angie Debo, Geronimo: The Man, His Time, His Place (University of Oklahoma Press, 1976). Why, then, with a sound biography followed by countless unsound books and articles, explore the path again? I have undertaken this project because of much new material, published and unpublished, becoming available since 1976. Also, not to denigrate Angie Debo, my research leads me to different interpretations than hers. Thus my exploration has added another entry to the Geronimo bibliography.
I have tried to present various episodes from both the Apache and the white perspectives, instead of using what award-winning author T. J. Stiles terms the usual historian’s “omniscient overview.” Thus what the Indians perceived is set down without including vital information they did not know. This is followed by the white perspective, what they knew and reported. The change of perspective is signaled by space breaks and transitional sentences in the body of the book.
Military installations in the Southwest were named either camp or fort. This can be confusing, especially since many camps later became forts. I have avoided this confusion by naming all these places forts. Thus Camp Bowie, later Fort Bowie, is Fort Bowie from the first mention.
According to the only reliable source, compiled by Gillette Griswold at Fort Sill in 1958–61, Geronimo had eight wives over his lifetime, all but one of whom is named. I have attempted to place these eight at the appropriate places in Geronimo’s lifetime. (A ninth marriage was quickly terminated.) Unfortunately, several additional wives, not named, turn up in the sources as shot or taken captive. I cannot account for them but include them as the sources dictate.
I wish to acknowledge those whose interest and aid have contributed importantly to this book. Topping the list is Edwin R. Sweeney, whose biographies of Mangas Coloradas and Cochise and history of the Chiricahuas from Cochise to Geronimo proved indispensable. Sweeney probed Mexican sources—archives, papers, newspapers—as no one else has. Geronimo and his cohorts cannot be followed through their Mexican adventures without resort to Sweeney’s work. Moreover, Ed has become a close friend and adviser who often pointed the way for me as I struggled with questions about Apache life south of the border. He has also exploited numerous archives in the United States that I have been unable to reach and provided me with photocopies of critical sources. I am deeply grateful for Ed’s generosity and counsel.
This is the fourth book for which I have worked with cultural geographer Peter Dana of Georgetown, Texas, to create shaded relief maps to illustrate my text. This project has proved very difficult because it ventured into Mexico and involved the most tangled mountains on the continent. Thanks, Peter.
Never have I submitted a manuscript that my wife, Melody Webb, has not thoroughly vetted. Her comments are always relevant and valued, and almost all result in correction and revision. Thanks again, Melody.
Longtime friend H. David Evans of Tucson, Arizona, is intimately familiar both with the literature of Geronimo and the Chiricahuas and the geography of the land they roamed. I asked him to review and comment on all the text. Dave graciously consented, and his comments and editing have proved extremely valuable.
I owe a debt of gratitude, as usual, to my longtime agent, Carl Brandt of Brandt and Hochman in New York, and to my valued editor at Yale University Press, Christopher Rogers. In fact, I chose Yale because I wanted to work with Chris. He provided the most thorough and thoughtful evaluation of my manuscript in my experience and offered many suggestions that have led to major revisions. The book is much different and much better than the original because of Chris Rogers. Yale’s Laura Jones Dooley deserves special gratitude for the exellent copyediting.
Others whose help has been beneficial include Towana Spivey, director of the Fort Sill Museum; Senior Historian Richard Sommers at the US Army Military History Institute at Carlisle Barracks, Pennsylvania; Gatewood biographer Louis Kraft; Henrietta Stockel; Katherine Reeve of the Arizona Historical Society; and, for crucial help with illustrations, Roy Marcot, Jay Van Orden, and Mark Sublette. Historian T. J. Stiles offered valuable advice in presenting the text. To all: thank you.