The Tale of Two Tokens: Going to Church at Little Bighorn

Little Bighorn National Battlefield was not on the itinerary. It wasn’t a conscious choice. I made a mistake planning the trip. Some friends we are planning to see live in a different town (and state) than I planned for. I still have no idea how I did that, but it is how we get to this story. Leaving Billings, Montana, I noticed the brown and white sign saying that the battlefield was coming up. After quickly looking to see if it took us too far out of the way (it didn’t), we decided to stop.

    Like with all National Parks, the first thing we typically do is go to the visitor center. We have a small list of tasks to do there. Stacey gets the passport stamped, and we get the sticker for the park/monument/battlefield; we get whatever information we need, and we buy the simple collectibles we are picking up to remember our trip. For us, that means a certain type of postcard that we hope to frame and make part of a future home. We are also collecting tokens from each park for our two grandkids, like the good grandparents we are. This is where the story gets interesting.

    In my limited experience so far, parks typically have a single token. The coins, about the size of a nickel, are minted with the park name and a defining feature or animal on one side, and often the date of establishment or another fact on the reverse. Until today, they have all been round. However, it was immediately clear that the Little Bighorn medallions were different. One was rectangular, with the park name, its establishment date, and the image of a soldier on horseback (who I assume is General George Armstrong Custer) on the front, and the monument's obelisk, in silhouette, on the back. The other was a more traditional round design and featured the park name on the front, with a picture of Chief Sitting Bull and his name, while the reverse bore the words, “I am here by the will of the Great Spirit, and by his will I am Chief.” The two tokens rightly reflect the two sides of the story of the Battle of Little Bighorn. In fact, they perfectly portray the tension we felt from the second we drove onto the memorial. The gift shop reflected this tension with American Indian history books and Native items, but also bookmarks bearing the image of Gen. Custer. There was candy made to look like rifle cartridges from the era (a paper tube with powder and a ball, in this case pixie dust sugar and a gumball), and also sage sticks for ceremonial cleansing.

    The dichotomy continued when you walked out of the visitor center. In front of you was a National Cemetery holding the remains and headstones of US service personnel from the late 1800s through the Vietnam era. A flagpole with flags at half-mast stood in the middle of the rows of memorials. A monument, originally placed in another location, commemorated those who fought in the Indian Wars against the “hostile Indians” In another spot, people had laid coins, respecting the valor of a particular US soldier. In the cemetery, the tension between the two stories was strong, with respect paid to those who have served, fought, and died protecting the country, laid to rest in a place where the US Army dramatically lost a battle in the midst of a genocidal war against the original inhabitants of North America.

    The walk up the hill to the monument marking where Custer and his soldiers took their last stand only added to the tension. While the monument traces its date of establishment to the year of the battle, 1876, it was a number of years later that a memorial marker was placed on the hill (1881) and nearly a decade (1890) until the Army placed headstones around the battlefield, marking, as best they could, the locations where soldiers fell. Looking out across the rolling hills, it is easy to see these locations of demise. What one does not see is markings for where any of the Indian Warriors fell.[1] The granite monument to the fallen soldiers on the top of the hill is staggering. The 263 US 7th Cavalry soldiers who died, each with their name inscribed on the stone marker boldly jutting out into the big sky of Montana, is impressive. The obelisk does its job, marking the spot of the fallen soldiers, their mass grave, and setting them apart as heroes to be admired and remembered.

    In contrast, the Indian Monument across the street (or is that on the “other side of the tracks”) could not be more different. Rather than calling attention to itself by standing erect on the top of a hill, the native monument blends into the landscape. Carved from a hill, the monument to the Lakota Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho is nearly unseen until one walks closer and is invited into the space through the small channels cut into the hill. Once inside, the story of the battle is told from the Indian perspective. It too has lists of the men who fought and died, but those names are situated in the context of their communities and the larger American Indian experience. The monument’s information is carved into stone on the outside walls of the round shrine reserved for remembrance. Even the part of the circle that opens to the vista portrays men on horseback without names, allowing them to represent all who joined together on that battlefield. By situating this memorial as a circle, the visitor is invited into the story being told as a participant. You are welcomed to become part of the community represented by standing in their midst, in contrast to being asked to look up and gaze upon the names of the fallen in admiration, and even worship, as visitors are asked to do across the street.

    It was in the circle that the real contrast between the two tokens, and the two men portrayed on them, was minted in my mind. On one part of the wall, a quote from Custer read “I will never harm the Cheyennes again. I will never point my gun at a Cheyene again. I will never kill another Cheyene.” Custer said these words in March of 1869 after another battle (Wasita), or massacre, depending on your perspective, while smoking a peace pipe. Seven years later, Custer died shooting at the Cheyenne. In the years in between, Custer actively participated in the Indian Wars.

    The other man from the tokens did not participate in the ofBattle at the Little Bighorn. Sitting Bull (Tatanke Iyotake) heeded his mother's advice and stepped aside for younger warriors. However, according to the memorial, “After the battle, he went to the ridge, filled his Cannupa (pipe), and prayed for the fallen warriors. He also prayed for Custer and his men.” Along with that story, the words on the wall contained these quotes:

    “In order to heal our grandmother earth we must unify through peace.”

    “generosity, compassion, and sacrifice”

    “truth, justice, and wisdom.”

It seems that Sitting Bull was interested in a lasting peace based on words Christians would know from their scriptures.

    Two Bible passages came to me as I read the story of the Battle of the Little Bighorn and sat in the tension of the two stories portrayed in that place – one each for the men on the tokens. The first comes from the Old Testament. Two prophets, Jeremiah and Ezekiel, speak of those who say “Peace, Peace” when there is no peace (Jer. 6:10 & 8:11 / Ezk. 13:16). Gen. Custer’s words seven years before he famously died reek of this statement. Promising to never again level his weapon at an Indian sounds like “Peace, Peace” when there was no peace, and no intention of peace. In fact, if you look at the Jeremiah texts, they seem prophetic in the case of Custer.

    From the least to the greatest,
        all are greedy for gain;
        prophets and priests alike,
        all practice deceit.
    They dress the wound of my people
        as though it were not serious.
        ‘Peace, peace,’ they say,
        when there is no peace.
    Are they ashamed of their detestable conduct?
    No, they have no shame at all;
        they do not even know how to blush.
    So they will fall among the fallen;
        they will be brought down when I punish them,”
        says the Lord. (Jeremiah 6:13-15 - NIV)

    The other passage that came to mind was Jesus’ instruction to his followers to

    "[T]reat your enemies with love and respect, and send up good prayers for the ones who             make trouble for you and bring you pain. This will show that you are mature children of your         Father from above, who sends his blessing of rain on the ones who do right and the ones             who do wrong.” (Mathew 5:44 & 45 – First Nations Version)

    You might know this passage another way – “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (NIV). This passage fits well with Sitting Bull's actions and aspirations. While it is often said that the United States is a “Christian Nation” in the story of the Battle of Little Bighorn, it is the American Indians who were striving for and living out the values of the Kingdom of God. I could not have known the full experience ahead of me when I bought the tokens for my grandkids. As we walked back to the van, I told my wife, Stacey, “I feel like I just went to church.” The stark contrast between the worship of militarism in the cemetery coupled with the honoring of those perpetrating a Colonial genocide in the name of a “Christian Nation” at the monument to “Custer’s last stand,” and the invitation to peace in the Indian Memorial felt like a three-dimensional illustration of Jesus words,

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’

But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,

that you may be children of your Father in heaven. (Matt. 5: 43-45 – NIV)

Joel K




Afterword:

The United States government and the US Army erected memorials to the fallen soldiers of the Battle of the Little Bighorn almost immediately after the battle ended in 1876. However, the Indian Memorial was not created till 1991, one hundred and fifteen years after the last shot was fired. Just this year, President Trump ordered signs telling the story of the American Indians at Little Bighorn removed in an effort to restore “Truth and Sanity to American History.” Historians often point out, and rightly so, that history is told by the victors. The historical version of the Battle of the Little Bighorn, portrayed at the Monument until 1991 and desired by the current administration, tells the story from the losing perspective, albeit through a lens that benefits the ongoing Colonial viewpoint.



[1] There are a few markers of the places where Indian warriors feel in other places in the park, but not visible from this spot.

One Sunny Sunday morning at Jimmy Claxton's Grave

When James E. Claxton was laid to rest in 1970, Oakwood Hill Cemetery had already been around for nearly 100 years. Baseball had been around for, well, who knows how long, but the professional game had been in existence since 1869. At least that is the official story; players we undoubtedly paid before the Cincinnati Red Stockings, the "official" first professional team, played 101 years before Mr. Claxton was laid to rest. Yet that year, 1970, was only a mere eight years after the Negro American League disbanded, the last vestige of Negro League Baseball. Following that, one remaining Negro League Independent team soldiered on until 1989, when the Indianapolis Clowns ceased operation. For the last number of years, the team was no longer playing competitive baseball, but rather traveled as a side-show attraction, much like the Harlem Globetrotters. I spent Memorial Day weekend in Tacoma, Washington, and that trip brought all of this history into sharp focus for me.
On Saturday night, May 23, 2026, I attended a Banana Ball Championship League game in Tacoma's Cheney Stadium (home of the AAA Tacoma Rainiers) with my wife Stacey, my daughter Emma, and her family (wife Kelsy, Son Luka, and Daughter Lyla). The game was between the Party Animals and the Indianapolis Clowns. The Clowns' name has been revived by the Banana Ball phenomenon (see: https://bananaball.com) in partnership with the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum because, as head Banana Jesse Cole has stated, “They were the first baseball team to put entertainment first and would go to great lengths to bring their style of baseball to fans all over the country.” As a student of the game, and in particular the Negro Leagues, it was wonderful to see the Indianapolis Clowns back on the field, and that history remembered. 

Standing at the grave of James "Jimmy" Claxton, the next morning in one of Tacoma's oldest burial grounds, I recalled Claxton's life and paid my respects. Claxton is not a name known by many. Baseball

card collectors might know the story of how Claxton, by accident, became the first black baseball player to appear on a baseball card. (1) Others might look at baseball-reference.com and see a very short professional career listed. On that website, he is listed as playing three games for two teams (Pollock's Cuban Stars & the Washington Pilots) in 1932 in the Negro East-West League. It doesn't get much better if you click on his minor league stats. He is listed as playing in two minor league games in 1916 in the Pacific Coast League (viewed by some, like me, as the third Major League at that time), and his history tells us (see footnote 1) that both appearances for the Oakland Oaks were on the same day. On that single day, he appeared in two games, pitching in both sides of a doubleheader. He was the starter in game one and the closer in game two. Yet, that one-day minor league stop (though it yielded the famous baseball card), and the "cup-of-coffee" in the official Negro Leagues, belies the greatness of his career.

Claxton was born in Wellington, BC in 1892, but was largely raised in the coal mining towns of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. He began playing semi-pro, industrial league baseball as a catcher as a teen, eventually playing for his hometown Roslyn Yippers an integrated team that played at a high level in semi-pro ball in Washington State for decades, including a stint in the Seattle City League. Claxton goes on to play for another 24 years on semi-pro, barnstorming, and industrial league teams. Teams like the Seattle Royal Giants (which he helped found), Shasta Limited, and the barnstorming Cuban House of David.  He integrates many of the teams he plays for. It is estimated he played for some 100 teams in a 40-year baseball career. According to his Negro League Legends baseball card, “Claxton preferred playing in integrated semi-pro leagues close to his West Coast home rather than the Negro Leagues.”

Claxton biographer Ty Pheland wrote, “To Claxton church, work, and baseball were twists of rope. On their own with little strength, but when intertwined, capable of lifting heavy loads.” I would argue that Claxton was practicing Public Theology by integrating baseball in many of the places he went. 

Due to being well-traveled and the poor record-keeping of games in this era, Claxton's stats are incomplete. From the stats we have, we know he was an excellent hitter and pitcher. He holds a lifetime Batting average of .350 and a pitching record of 138- 77 as a pitcher.  One former major league scout declared him “the greatest ball player to ever play the game.”

He pitched in his last game in 1956 at the age of 63 – an old-timers game between Tacoma City League and Valley League old-timers.  That same year, he retired from his work as a longshoreman, a job he used to help support his baseball career throughout his life.

On Sunday morning, the day before Memorial Day, I stood at the gravesite of James E. Claxton. Since reading his story in Ty Pheland's book, he has become one of my favorite players ever to play the game, despite never having seen him on the field. Claxton's story of early baseball integration, rooted in his faith, resonates as important and valuable to me. His excellence in obscurity is a trait, an experience, a history, I value. 

As the sunlight streamed through the trees of the cemetery, the silence was broken by the calling of a Northwest crow. It seemed fitting that a bird from the region Claxton loved and preferred to play in was providing a soundtrack for my visit to his grave. However, given the area's indigenous history, it is interesting to note that a crow symbolizes wisdom, intelligence, and adaptability. Those traits were present in Claxton. He had intelligence for the game of baseball, but also knew that barriers could be broken down. He was wise enough to know that his faith could be lived out, demonstrated in the world, not just in church spaces or the segregated spaces of the negro Leagues, but wherever he took his talents. And by playing for many teams, in many places, for many years, Jimmy Claxton made adaptation a way of life. The crow cawing away was speaking to the legacy of a man who was great before the world was ready for him, but who blazed the trail for the players that came after him. Claxton is also an example for all of us seeking to live out our faith in the world against overwhelming odds. His courage is enlivening, and his "do what you can where you are" approach is inspiring.

Until next time,
Joel Kiekintveld

NOTE:

I owe much in the post to the book Darkhorse: The Jimmy Claxton Story by Ty Phelan

(1) 

Claxton is on the roster for the Oakland Oaks of the PCL for no more than a couple of weeks in 1919. He was passing himself off as a Native American from Minnesota (since Indians were allowed to play in the PCL and Blacks were barred). During his stint with the Oaks, the photographer for the ZeeNut Candy Company took pictures of the team for that season's PCL baseball cards. Claxton was photographed and a card was issued with his likeness. This card becomes the first baseball card made in the United States to feature a black player. As noted above, Claxton plays in two games on the same day. He pitches in both games of a doubleheader and ends the day with a stat line of 2.1 innings pitched, 4 hits, 3 runs, 2 earned runs, and four walks. It was discovered that Claxton was black (he was also "French and Indian on his father’s side, and Irish and English on his mother’s." - https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/jimmy-claxton/) and released.