The Press: The Trib’s New Eagle

At a crossroads in Wisconsin’s Bad River Indian reservation, 370 miles northwest of Chicago, a solemn band of Chippewas waited in their feathered best for the Chicago Tribune’s Colonel Robert R. McCormick one afternoon last week. The Indians planned to make the colonel a Chippewa chief, although they were a little hazy on the reason why. But they trusted their neighbor, who had set up all the arrangements: Editor John Chappie, 51, of the Ashland Daily Press (circ. 4,397), who idolizes Bertie McCormick as the world’s foremost military expert and the “most courageous American alive.” Explained one squaw: “We would do it for Chappie because he helped us Indians get on relief.”

As Chappie’s car delivered the colonel at the front door of the little reservation school, Visiting Chief Thunder Cloud split the air with a lusty war whoop of welcome. Movie cameras from the Trib’s Chicago television station ground away as the colonel stalked stiffly in and took his seat on the schoolhouse stage.

Frosted Flag. After a cornet duet and a song (Indian Love Call), plump Mrs. Julia Bennett, the Chippewa historian, instructed the colonel in the “teachings and ideals in the ancient Chippewa faith,” and the assembled braves and chiefs christened Bertie Me-Gee-See, i.e., “Chief Eagle.” Explained Historian Bennett: “What it really means is that now he can come and dance with us any time he wants to.”

Then the colonel went to Ashland’s Menard Hotel for a lake trout dinner. At the colonel’s place was a slab of frosted cake the size of a page of the Chicago Tribune. Up in one corner fluttered a full-colored American flag — just as in the Trib. A four-column drawing of the colonel filled the center. And across the top were two red and black eight-column headlines: TRULY AMERICAN AND WELCOME ME-GEE-SEE.

Maple Syrup. By mid-evening Editor Chappie’s ceremony had turned into a bear hug. Big Chief Me-Gee-See, crowned with a magnificent yellow, red, white and brown headdress, stood red-faced and short of breath in a deafening din of drums, jangling sleighbells and good-will whoops. One by one, the Chippewas stomped and howled past him to bestow gifts — a buckskin vest and a beaded belt (which he put on), a huge bow and quiver of arrows (one got stuck in his headdress and had to be extricated by a helpful squaw), wild rice, maple syrup and cranberries (“to give nourishment to your body to carry on that great battle for justice”).

Suddenly a hush fell, in anticipation of the colonel’s programed speech, “A Message to All Americans.” But the Chief was so worn out that he could only gasp a few words of thanks. A few minutes later he bolted for the door. The Chippewas and Editor Chappie were pleased anyway. “We do this,” said a chief, “because the colonel has made a wonderful exhibition of his life . . . McCormick is a very wonderful thing and still is.”