The music at the heart of the Indian movement

The New York Times favorably reviewed the film, "Dances With Wolves" in 1990 but complained that it was "too long" at 181 minutes. It opined: "A historical drama about the relationship between a Civil War soldier and a band of Sioux Indians, Kevin Costner's directorial debut was also a surprisingly popular hit, considering its length, period setting, and often somber tone."

That description might have sufficed for white audiences, but all across America and everywhere in the Western Hemisphere the film was shown, American Indians were mesmerized by Floyd Westerman in his role as Ten Bears. As much shining authenticity as could be crammed into his role, Floyd delivered. There was no doubt he led his people, and there was no doubt the child who came to learn was the white man. To Indian people, Kevin Costner played a side role to Floyd's magnificent performance.

But magnificence in life was definitely not the attitude of Floyd Westerman the person. Recently he said when commenting on his work: "Our struggle is all about our spiritual rights and the Indian point of view ... they're so old, they make the Bible look like it was recently written."

Every Indian's friend Floyd Westerman was set free in the early morning hours of Dec. 13, 2007. He began his journey as he wished, disconnected from tubes and regulators and breathing apparatuses. His son Richard had the honor of bringing Floyd home to Sisseton, S.D. The two were fleetingly acquainted when Richard was a young boy. Floyd's concert schedule as a musician was demanding and unending. But as men the two found their blood and history to be an everlasting bond.

Walking beside them in spirit are all American Indians: men, women, and children. Everyone who has heard Floyd's songs know he taught them to sing as no one else did. Whether performing at Wolf Trap or coming to a community pow wow, Floyd gave his musical gifts freely. Once in the turbulent 1970s he went to an "Indian bar" in Washington, D.C., to play for those who requested it. As he began to sing, the jukebox suddenly sprang to life and blared out an old country song. A burley Indian marched over and pulled the plug, taking a little of the wall with the cord. Everyone chuckled, but that night nothing could compare to Floyd, not the jukebox nor anything else the bar had to offer.

Then he played. The size of the crowd never mattered. If Indian people wanted to hear him, he came and sang. One song was about his mother: "Thirty-five miles and you'll be free. Thirty-five more miles to go. Through the wind and driving rain, I'll take you home again. Oh, Mama, thirty-five more miles to go."

No Indian eyes were dry when they heard this. Indians all have mothers to worry about. All know they have suffered in this life. Floyd sang for all Indians. He gave voice to the love of and dedication to ancestors. His was the definitive word on that connection.

Floyd's own early life was like so many others. He left the reservation to attend a Bureau of Indian Affairs boarding school. In keeping with policies at the time, the school punished those who expressed their Indian culture. "They cut his hair and they wouldn't allow him to speak the language," his son Richard said. "He was a survivor of everything that the government has tried to do to Native Americans." Floyd graduated from a reservation high school, spent two years in the Marines and earned a degree in secondary education from Northern State College in South Dakota.

He made a friend named Vine Deloria. The two journeyed together for the rest of Vine's life. "Custer Died for Your Sins" was Vine's j'accuse of America. Floyd followed with an album of the same name. He went on to play and sing with the greats in Western music, but he kept to his roots home at Sisseton and with the American Indian Movement and International Treaty Council. He was at the heart of the movement. He was its song.

He joined the singer Sting to perform in many concerts in support of the environment. He wrote a new song, "The Earth Is Your Mother," to spread the word on what the land means to Indian people. Good roads, Floyd. You leave us your powerful messages in song and image. Pidamiya.

Laura Waterman Wittstock, Minneapolis, writes on American Indian, political and current events.