Roland Dixon and the Maidu

Bruce Bernstein

Roland Burrage Dixon was the first to dofieldwork under Franz Boas' theory andmethod. He studied linguistics and

ethnology with Boas at Columbia in 1898 and1899, although he was Frederick Ward Putnam'sstudent at Harvard from where he received hisdoctorate in anthropology in 1900. Working undercurator Boas for the American Museum ofNatural History, Dixon went in 1898 to the North-west Coast as a member of the Jesup NorthPacific Expedition. During the 1899-1905 fieldseasons, Franz Boas sent Dixon to work with theMaidu, Shasta, and a variety of other groups inCalifornia. The period of Dixon's museum spon-sored California fieldwork corresponds to the fiveyears in which Boas would finalize the shift inanthropology from museums to universities.

Dixon's pioneering work in California resultedin the seminal ethnographies on the Shasta andMaidu; the identification of the two major Califor-nia Indian linguistic stocks, Hokan and Penutian;a dissertation on California Indian languages; amonograph on Maidu myth and folktale; two ofthe first academic publications on basketry; and650 Maidu artifacts for the American Museum ofNatural History anthropology collections. In all,Dixon published three books and twenty-eightarticles based on his California fieldwork, sixteenof them by 1907.

Moreover, Dixon was the first academicallytrained anthropologist to work in California,beginning the replacement and subjugation oftalented museum professionals and collectorssuch as John Hudson, Carl Purdy, CharlesWilcomb, and Stewart Culin. His work in Califor-nia began in 1899 and ended in 1905—the Ameri-can Museum of Natural History's interest inCalifornia beginning and ending with Dixon. Themuseum's only other significant collections of cen-tral California material culture, the Purdy andBriggs collections, were purchased during thissame period. By 1905 when Boas left theAmerican Museum, Kroeber had fully establishedthe University of California's anthropologydepartment. Clark Wissler, Boas' successor at theAmerican Museum, in concordance with Kroeber,understood that the American Museum's re-sources could be better used elsewhere, and thus

used Dixon's patron to support research on thenorthern Plains and Herbert Spinden's 1909-1913work in the Southwest.

Dixon first worked for the museum in 1898 inBritish Columbia in Prince Rupert and with theLlioett as part of the Jesup North Pacific Expedi-tion, Boas' ambitious trans-Pacific investigationsof the Bering Strait Land Bridge. Dixon inter-viewed informants for ethnological informationand to collect texts and folktales; he measuredheads and bodies and took plaster casts foranthropometric studies; and he did a certainamount of archaeology to obtain objects for themuseum as well as human bones for analysis.

In 1898, Dixon seems to have worked his waysouth while tracing the diffusion of language,finding himself on the Siletz Reservation in Ore-gon, where the remnants of Shasta speakers—nomore than four individuals—lived. Whether hebecame immediately moved to save the languagefrom extinction, or if Boas influenced his decisionis unknown. However, we can extrapolate thatBoas did influence Dixon's decision in that he wasworking for the American Museum under Boas,and, further, had taken at least two semesters'worth of courses from Boas.

During the 1898 and 1899 school years, RolandDixon commuted from Boston to New York to takeBoas' courses at Columbia University. Dixon wasenrolled in Harvard's graduate anthropology pro-gram under Frederick Ward Putnam. The Har-vard department emphasized archaeology, andDixon had to look elsewhere for guidance in adissertation which concentrated on ethnographyand linguistics. Putnam, no doubt, encouragedhim to take linguistic course work from Boas.Boas was a Putnam protege, Putnam havinghelped him obtain the Curator of Anthropologyposition at the American Museum. Putnam hadfounded the anthropology department at theAmerican Museum in 1893 and served as Boas'boss during his first few years there. Boas wascurator from 1895 to 1905, during which time healso was establishing his department at Colum-bia.

Dixon's Maidu collections were the first sys-tematic collections made by either a museumcurator or anthropologist; because of Kroeber's

ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 21

high regard for Dixon's work, no Kroeber studentor other Boasian ethnographer worked witheither the Concow or Mountain Maidu. His collec-tions are of continuing importance because oftheir generally good documentation, firm collec-tion dates, and location of purchase. Some objects,such as the Moki cape and female and male burn-ing figures are one-of-a-kind objects; other items,like the hairpins he purchased at Chico, help com-plete a portrait of Maidu artists such as GeorgeBarbor or Mike Jefferson, whose work is repre-sented in other museum collections as well. Thecollections'documentation is mostly in the form ofcorrespondence between Boas and Dixon. Itprovides vital information, such as names ofmakers and informants, and the circumstances ofacquisition as well as an understanding of howanthropological fieldwork was done under Boas.Reportedly, Dixon's fieldnotes were destroyed athis own death. There were numerous notebooks;in 1903 he reported a total of seventy eight, thirtyeight of which pertained specifically to theMaidu.

Dixon was a private individual; there is muchwhich remains unknown regarding his personal-ity. Clearly, he was a well-respected anthropolo-gist, researching and publishing widely; inaddition, he was liked by his students and ad-mired for the detail included in his courses. "Hewas undoubtedly one of the most erudite ethnog-raphers of all time" (Tozzer 1936:292). Dixon wasan out-of-doors man who would spend weeks at atime camping alone in the mountains. HenryAzbill, an elder from the Chico Maidu community,remembered him in the 1960s as a man in a redwool shirt, blue jeans, and black boots who livedin the village and ate the different foods offered tohim, unlike Kroeber who stayed in the BidwellMansion and ate with Mrs. Bidwell (Craig Bates,personal communication, 1992). In 1915, Dixonbuilt a "farm" at Harvard, Massachusetts, where"surrounded by his own woods and his gardens,he lived a life of isolation but of contentment"(Tozzer 1936:293). Dixon was also a forgiving manas evidenced by his long friendship and associa-tion with Alfred Tozzer, an individual for whom hehad nothing but disdain during their first seasontogether in California. Alfred Kroeber, perhapsDixon's closest associate in anthropology wrote "anaturalist translated into a scholar in the field ofculture history seems to sum up what Dixonabove all was in Anthropology" (1936:297).

Roland Dixon and the Boasian paradigmIn 1898, Franz Boas wrote of California anthro-

pology, "without any doubt the most formidable

field is California, on account of the great numberof tribes found in that state," and he called for theformation of "The Association for the Preservationof the Knowledge of Pre-Columbian America."1 Hewrote again of the need for anthropological workin 1899:

When I first suggested the importance of under-taking work among the vanishing tribes of Cali-fornia, I pointed out that the clue to much of theearliest history of our continent must be soughtamong the tribes of California. We find in thatState a most remarkable diversity of languageand customs and physical appearance of theIndians. . . . We cannot hope to understand theearly history of America, unless we investigatethoroughly the tribes of California. If this bedone at all, the work must be taken up at once,because the tribes are disappearing rapidly.2

The Maidu did not have either the population,inherited property traditions, or the rich materialculture of Boas' Kwakiutl. In the correspondencebetween the two men, Boas never expressed anydissatisfaction with Dixon's Maidu collections; heseemed to understand that there was not muchavailable. Nonetheless, Dixon always seemeddissatisfied with his collecting and the non-availability of specimens. However, althoughDixon repeatedly anguished, there was a substan-tial amount of material to be acquired, as evi-denced by the 200 Maidu objects purchased byStewart Culin of the Brooklyn Museum from 1906to 1908, and the 2700 Maidu specimens collectedby Charles Wilcomb of the Oakland Museum from1908 to 1915. The purpose of Dixon's work wasless and less to acquire objects for exhibitions,and more and more to collect folktales and infor-mation on indigenous languages which would bepublished for use by an academic community.

Under Boas' direction, Dixon spent the major-ity of his efforts collecting myths and folklore.They took on more importance than the objects hecollected for the museum; indeed, they become"artifacts" themselves. Regardless of what Boasexpected of Dixon, he nonetheless maintainedthat Dixon worked first for the museum:

It is my desire that Dixon should complete hisMaidu work during the coming season. . . . Youunderstand, of course, that we are to a certainextent tied down in our movements by the ne-cessity of bringing back material for theMuseum; but whatever we get I want to be asuseful from a scientific point of view aspossible.

22 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2

During the 1902 season, Dixon collected a totalof seventy-five objects. Clearly, the collection oftexts took on a meaning parallel to that of collect-ing objects. Dixon even quantified his success incollecting folktales, "I have obtained from somethirty tales (some 15-16 pages of closely writtenEnglish) aggregating over 100 pages in all."4

In the Boasian paradigm, the study of folklorewas shifting from its use in the evolutionary para-digm as defined in E. B. Tyler's work. Dixon col-lected folklore to assist in the development of theBoasian critique of cultural evolution. Tyler hadseen folklore as originally rational in origin, butsurviving as irrational custom; repeated themesin folklore therefore represented a sameness ofmind. Boas believed sameness was not an issueworth investigating until historical connectionswere known: "at issue is not whether these talesmay be related, but whether their historical con-nection has been proved" (Boas 1915:309). Boassought to understand folklore as unconscious inorigin, but central to the maintenance of societythrough its rationalization of traditional forms ofbehavior.

Boas believed the "genius of people" is imbed-ded in folklore. Rationale for long established cus-toms is known through myths, whereasexplanations of actions are only secondary; fur-ther, these explanations are historical in nature,resulting from interaction with other societiesand the environment. Dixon's collection of folk-tales was intended to uncover deep rationales,thereby cutting to the core of culture and makingcomparison possible. In addition, Dixon collectedcultural data to contribute to a larger view ofNorth American Indian cultures.

The tensions between museum and universitybased anthropology are ever-present in Dixon'sCalifornia work. Whereas museum collecting hadbeen a principle reason for doing anthropology,Boas concentrated on developing anthropology asan academic discipline. Dixon's work for theAmerican Museum of Natural History corre-sponded with the shift from museum to universitybased anthropology. This is most evident in thedecreasing numbers of objects Dixon collectedeach subsequent year of work; for example, in hisfirst two seasons in California he obtained 643objects,5 nearly all of the total of 650 objects hewould acquire for the Museum. Seemingly tryingto justify this change in emphasis, Boas wrote toMuseum President Jesup in 1902:

Both of these museums [University of Pennsyl-vania and Field Museum] are simply bringingtogether material without any serious attempt

to preserve the scientific and historical signifi-cance of the objects collected and for this reasonI consider their activity destructive. . . . It hasbeen the distinctive feature of the work of ourMuseum that all its enterprises have resulted inmaterial and important additions to our knowl-edge of Indian tribes, so that at the present timethe American Museum of Natural History, inregard to its ethnological publications, rankswith or even above the U.S. Government[Bureau of American Ethnology].6

Additionally, Boas' faith in public educationwas shaken. His ideals about the American peoplewere met with "profound disappointment" and"lay shattered" by the colonist intent of the Span-ish American War (1898-1900). Thus by 1900 hewas retreating from the idea of museums as apublic education tool. "The number of people inour country who are willing and able to enter intothe modes of thought of other nations is alto-gether too small. The American, on the whole, isinclined to consider American standards ofthought and action as absolute standards"(Stocking 1974:332).

For Boas, the collection of data and publicationtook precedent over the collection of objects andexhibition. But Boas needed to find sponsors forfieldwork, which he continued to justify by thecollection of objects and subsequent exhibitions.It had been common practice for ethnographers topurchase from dealers and local collectors as wellas native people. However, the shift to a Boasianparadigm emphasized the priority of collecting di-rectly from Indian people, and in the absence ofobjects to be acquired, the commissioning of abo-riginal-type specimens.

Throughout the 1901 season, Dixon arrangedfor the purchase of the Carl Purdy collection for$500. Some of the collection was illustrated inDixon's "Basketry designs of the Indians of North-ern California" (1902). Dixon disagreed with Boas'desire to use the collection in the paper, whichrelied upon Dixon's first-hand understanding ofMaidu basket design. The brevity of the Pornosection (ibid:20-23) which used the Purdy collec-tion, and its discussion on design arrangementinstead of meaning, indicates that Dixon wasworking from the baskets themselves rather thaninformation gathered in the field. Dixon wrote toBoas, "The Purdy collection, however, I feel some-what 'shaky' about as I do not known the designsfrom personal experience. However, I think withthe help of a little correspondence with Mr. PurdyI can get along pretty well."7 No doubt, Boas' in-tention in including the Purdy's collection in

ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 23

Dixon's paper was to justify the expense of buyingthe collection for the museum.

Roland Dixon and the MaiduOn 17 June 1899, Dixon arrived in San

Francisco to begin his first season's work withMaidu Indian people. In 1899, he collected 116Maidu artifacts for the American Museum ofNatural History, including baskets from Genesse,Quincy, Indian Valley, Big Meadows, Chico,Mooretown, and Round Valley. In all, he collected27 objects from Round Valley, 36 from the Concowat Chico and Mooretown, and 29 from theMountain Maidu. The accession list representsDixon's concerns about artifact data: price, nativename, basket pattern name and/or interpretation,and the place purchased. Because the accessionlist is in chronological order, it is easy for us todetermine that Dixon returned to Chico as a laststop to pick up the pieces of dance regalia he hadordered in August. Dixon returned to Cambridgeon 30 September 1899. During the winter monthshe wrote "Basketry Designs of the Maidu Indiansof California" (1900), "Some Coyote Stories fromthe Maidu Indians of California" (1900a), and hisdissertation on Maidu language and ethnology.

In 1899, Dixon went first to the Round ValleyIndian Reservation about 180 miles north of SanFrancisco, although the majority of Maidu peoplelived in the Sierra Nevada. It was a logical desti-nation given what little was known or understoodabout California Indian people: in other states,Indians lived on reservations. Some Maidu hadbeen removed to this reservation in the 1850s,however, many more stayed behind in their tradi-tional homelands in the Sierra foothills andmountains, living in scattered camps and onranchers' lands.

After some difficulty, he located Hiriam Kelley8

who was to serve as his principle informant andinterpreter in Round Valley. Kelley, about thirty-five years old, was of Hawaiian and Maidu heri-tage.

I attempted to get some texts yesterday morningfrom an old man, but with little success; he waswilling enough, but could not understandEnglish enough to give them [myths or texts] asI wanted. Tonight with the help of Hiriam theinterpreter I hope for better success withanother man.

Dixon continued to encounter difficulties withfieldwork in Round Valley:

The Indians here are so civilized and so busywith their crops that I fear I shall have to offeras high as $.75 or even a dollar to induce themto come.

I have been trying to get baskets, spears, firedrills, acorn pounders so on [sic], but as yet withsmall success. Of baskets already made thereseems to be very few and it is only paying largeprices that any of these can be secured. Thenumber of 'women who make baskets seems tobe limited, as yet I [sic] not persuaded any toundertake the job of making me a basket orbaskets of the sort I want. This is the same truthwith the men as regard to spears, bows andarrows. The 'market' for baskets has beenspoiled by the prices paid during the WorldsFair when all the baskets in the Valley werebought.10

The collecting of plaster face casts and anthro-pometric measurements were another componentof Dixon's first few seasons. "Since writing to youlast I have been able to get only two casts."11 A fewweeks later he was able to relate that he hadobtained seven additional casts of the MountainMaidu individuals, and he wrote Boas "I madethree casts at Genesse—all of young men about20-25, as these were all I could induce to undergothe operation."12 It is not surprising that all of hiscasts are of men. Anthropometric measurementsalso were made predominantly on males, someforty men to only nine women (Boas 1905). Awhite male stranger was probably afforded onlycautious access to females.

Recruiting a local literate Native or non-Nativeman to work year-round collecting texts andobjects was a part of the Boasian paradigm. AsDixon reminded Boas, "If I could only get a maneven remotely resembling Teit to do some workamong the Maidu, it would be productive of agreat deal I believe."13 Dorius Leon Spencer wouldbe Dixon's "George Hunt." He was a non-Indianman, born in Indiana, who arrived in Californiain the 1860s. He married a Maidu woman, andapparently was called "Doctor" because of hisknowledge of Maidu ceremonies and medicinalplants.

Dixon first met Spencer in August 1899. "Ihave been quite fortunate in getting material.From Bucks I made a search for the Mr. Spencerwho was supposed to know so much of the Indi-ans. I found him after some difficulty and ob-tained considerable information as to food-customs etc- but no folktales as I had hoped toget."14 During the winter of 1901, Spencer wrote

24 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2

to Boas hoping to cancel his agreement with theMuseum. "I do not consider myself compitant [sic]to write or record for him [Dixon]; or yourmuseum."15 In Boas' response to Spencer we haveone of the clearest expressions of what Boashoped to accomplish with community-basedanthropologists:

It has occurred to me that you might be of verygreat service to us in other ways than writingdown what you know about the Indians. Mr.Dixon's collections embrace particularly bas-kets. Of course all the old things have gone outof use, and it would be impossible for a collectorto find them nowadays among the Indians, butcertainly there must be a great many old peoplewho remember all the articles of dress and allthe little implements which they used, and theceremonial head-dresses and utensils which thetribe used in olden times; and I do not doubt,that with your influence among the Indians, andwith your knowledge of their customs you couldinduce them to make a good many of thesethings. Great care would have to be taken, ofcourse, in getting these things made in the cor-rect way, and not in a slovenly fashion. . . . Iappreciate the difficulty of getting the Indians towork promptly on things of this kind, but theMuseum is not in a hurry; and even if such acollection should extend over quite a number ofyears, we should be glad to wait if we can onlysecure the objects.16

In Spencer's return letter he mentions thepossibility of collecting a "burning image" for themuseum, along with "many of the old specimensof old headdresses and other implements . . . butI do not know what prices to pay for them. . . . Imust go and talk with the older members of thetribe [sic] get them in a good humor and thenstrike a bargain with them for what I want."17

Spencer's winter assignments in 1902-1903 in-cluded the acquisition of two burning figures,used in a memorial ceremony for the dead. Dixonwrote to Boas:

He is to try to get two or three weeks time thisfall to get information. For the time thus spenthe is to get $4.00 a day. If he can get more timehe will, but he must limit this amount to thesum of $100.00 which must also include anypayment he has to make to Indians while on thework. He is also going to get collections up to thesum of $100.00 exclusive of this [burning] imagewhich is probably around. . . . We [the Museum]are thus responsible for a maximum of $275.00

to Spencer which sum I shall have left I feelsure.18

It was not until 1903 that Spencer was able to havethe male figure completed for the museum, paying$100 for the figure and another $75 to dress it. Thefemale figure was delivered in early 1904 and costthe same amount. The $275.00 paid for thesefigures represented one quarter of Dixon's 1903field budget.

What Roland Dixon's museum collectionscom municate

While Dixon had a difficult time collecting atChico, Culin later acquired thirty-five pieces ofdance costume because the men's religious societydisbanded between Dixon's last visit in 1905 andCulin's first visit in 1907 (Bates and Bibby 1983).Furthermore, Culin was able to purchase entiredance outfits, whereas Dixon collected singleitems and pieces made specifically to sell. Thepaucity of Dixon's Chico Maidu dance regalia col-lection communicate the strength of the religioussociety during his visits, although he observed,"the Indians of the [Sacramento] Valley . . . to alarge extent [had] given up their ceremonies"(Dixon 1905:287). Additionally, what he was ableto learn depended upon "statements made by afew old men, who remembered different dances"(ibid). Another fact that defies Dixon's bemoaningthe demise of native religion at Chico is that fourof his informants were important members of theChico religious society: Billie Preacher, GeorgeBarber, Mike Jefferson, and Pouissey.

In 1902 Dixon acquired a reproduction of aMoki dance cape from Mike Jefferson at Chico.The costume was never used, nor was there a wayfor it to be worn. It cost $20 and was a substantialinvestment as compared to the dollar or two hewas spending on baskets. Through the purchaseof made-for-sale ethnographic specimens, Dixonhelped create a market for dance regalia. Many ofthese things were abbreviated objects, madequickly and for sale.

Twined baskets were another serious omissionin his collecting. Apparently in disregard of theBoasian paradigm and the ethnographic present,Dixon paradoxically wrote "the very great major-ity of baskets now made by the Maidu are of thecoiled variety" (1902:11). Boasian anthropologistssought aboriginal artifacts that were thought tobe devoid of historical influences. It seems obvi-ous that he would need to commission twined bas-kets in order to properly represent the aboriginalMaidu past.19 Twined baskets were vital compo-nents of Native Californian kitchens and were

ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 25

apparently still made and in use, because tenyears later Charles Wilcomb collected a substan-tial number of these baskets for the OaklandMuseum. Undecorated twined baskets were of lit-tle use to Dixon, however, because design nameswere the primary reason for his interest in bas-kets (Dixon 1900; 1902). Basket designs werethought to be helpful in building diffusionarymodels, revealing historical relationships as wellas independent invention. Like Dixon's collectionsof folktales, basket designs were meant to cut tothe core of cultural meanings, to assist in uncov-ering deep rationales. Therefore, he collected bas-kets for their variety of designs rather than theirfunctions. Dixon wrote "designs quite similar tosome of the Maidu patterns are also to be notedon baskets from the Hupa and other tribes innorthern California, and among some of the coasttribes of Washington and Oregon" (1900:276).

Perhaps because he was so interested in men'swork, he ignored, or did not have the opportunityto watch the work of basketmaking. For example,he seems to have been confused about basket ma-terials and coiled basket work direction. While hecollected briar root as a basket material and asthe black sewing strands in completed baskets, inprint he did not list it as a Maidu Basket material(Dixon 1900; 1902; 1905). Furthermore, he failedto make the connection between work face andwork direction: "The direction of coiling is, amongthe Maidu, very uniform, all bowl or storage bas-kets being coiled from right to left, and all platteror plaque basket in the opposite direction"(1905:146). What Dixon missed was that leftwardor counterclockwise coiling always proceeded inthe same direction, while a weaver might work oneither face of the basket.

As a further example of his lack of attention towomen's work, Dixon wrote that "The Maidu hadno mush-paddles for stirring their acorn-soup,making use, for this purpose any common stick"(1905:180). Nevertheless, Charles Wilcomb col-lected three Maidu mush paddles ca. 1910 (cf.Simpson 1977:100-103).20

Typically, Dixon recorded where he purchaseda basket but not where it had been made, al-though this information was apparently availableto him: "In the box with the baskets is a finespecimen of the rabbit skin robes made by theWashoes. I found it at Spanish Flat and got itcheaper, I believe, than should have done fromthe Washoes themselves."21 The baskets he col-lected at Spanish Flat tell an undeniable visualtruth as well. Cooking baskets with straight wallsseem to characterize Nisenan baskets, while bas-kets from Hunchup's village, twenty miles to the

south, and Miwok baskets might also be found ina Southern Maidu household. We can only wonderwhat further types of information were availableto him.

In Roland Dixon's work the rationales for writ-ing and collecting seem to be opposed. While thenascent Boasian paradigm was in need of truthsto create itself, the Maidu, decimated by contactwith Europeans, needed truths to sustain them-selves. Furthermore, while the written word andmuseum specimen are both artifacts, only objectswere constructed using native truths and mean-ings. During the period of Dixon's fieldwork, thewritten word took precedence over the object inthe representation of American Indian cultures tonon-Indian people. Dixon's written work has beenread and cited for generations, while his collec-tions—the by-products of his fieldwork—havelanguished for decades in museum storage. Theobjects were possibly only intended to satisfy hispatrons and therefore were not integrated as datain his publications. Clearly, if he had examinedthe objects carefully he might have avoided someerrors in his ethnography. Like many Boasian an-thropologists who would follow him, Dixon col-lected objects more like a tourist than a trainedanthropologist. In turn, museums' treatment ofBoasian material culture collections has con-formed with their importance to the discipline.This is graphically represented by the disorgan-ized storage rooms of Dixon's (and other) ethno-graphic specimens, while the history ofanthropology as depicted in his plaster cast facemoulds is neatly arranged by catalogue numberand protected in individual plastic bags. Anthro-pologists have tended in the past to value theirown constructions over those of their subjects.

As Edward Bruner (1986:14) has suggested, "Inethnography, there are always at least two doubleexperiences to be dealt with: on the one hand, ourexperiences of ourselves in the field, as well asour understanding of our objects; and on the otherhand, our objects' experiences of themselves andtheir experience of us." Anthropology as practicedby Dixon did not see "people as active agents inthe historical process" of constructing their ownworld. Indeed, museums have ever since reliedupon the written word to tell the story of theAmerican Indian. •

Notes

1. Franz Boas to President Morris Jesup, 21 March 1898,Correspondence file no. 10, Anthropology Dept., AMNH.New York.

2. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 1 December 1899,

26 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2

Correspondance files R. B. Dixon I 1898-1904, AMNH,New York.

3. Franz Boas to Alfred Kroeber, 19 March 1902, Acces-sion 1902-61, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

4. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 21 October 1900, Acces-sion 1900-66, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

5. Franz Boas to Museum President Morris Jesup, 9January 1902, Correspondence file no.10, Anthropol-ogy Dept., AMNH, New York.

6. Ibid.7. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 16 April 1901, Accession

no.1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.8. Kelley was a relative of Mary Azbill, one of Dixon's

principle informants at the Maidu community atChico. Kelley seems to have recommended to Dixonthat he try to work at Chico. Dixon apparently spentfive weeks in this first season in Round Valley andnever returned.

9. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 27 June 1899, Accessionno. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

10. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 12 July 1899, Accessionno. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

11. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 22 July 1899, Accessionno.1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

12. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 3 August 1899, Accessionno. 1899-49, AMNH, New York.

13. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 16 May 1900, Correspon-dence File, R.B. Dixon I, Anthropology Dept., AMNH,New York.

14. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 3 September 1899,Accession no. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, NewYork.

15. D. L. Spencer to Franz Boas, 1 February 1901, Acces-sion no.1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.Spencer wrote to Boas both because he was the curatorat the museum and Dixon's boss and because Dixonwas studying in Germany at the time.

16. Franz Boaz to D. L. Spencer, 3 April 1901, Accessionno. 1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

17. D. L. Spencer to Franz Boas, 10 June 1901, Accessionno. 1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.

18. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 27 August 1902, Acces-sion no. 1902-53, Anthropology Dept., AMNH.New York.Dixon's budget for the field season was $1000, whichincluded his transportation from Cambridge to SanFrancisco and return, informants fees, and object col-lections. He also set aside a portion of the money topay Spencer during the winter as well.

19. See Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 12 July 1899, Acces-sion no. 1899-49, AMNH, for Dixon's comment about hisneed to order baskets of the "kind he [Dixon] wants."

20. Oakland Museum specimens 16-1707, 16-1710, and16-1737.

21. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 11 September 1900,Correspondence Files, R. B. Dixon I, AnthropologyDept., AMNH, New York.

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the American Museum of Natural History 17, part 4.1915 Anthropology in North America. New York: G. E.

Strechert and Company.Bruner, Edward

1986 Experience and its Expressions. In The Anthro-pology of Experience. Victor "Rimer and Edward Bruner,eds. Pp. 3-30. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Dixon, Roland1900 Basketry Designs of the Maidu Indians of Califor-

nia. American Anthropologist 2(l):266-76.1900a Some Coyote Stories from the Maidu Indians of

California. Journal of American Folklore 13:267-70.1902 Basketry Designs of the Indians of Northern Cali-

fornia. Bulletin of the American Museum of NaturalHistory, volume 17.

1905 The Northern Maidu. Bulletin of the AmericanMuseum of Natural History, volume 17.

Kroeber, Alfred1936 Roland Burrage Dixon. American Anthropologist

11:291-300.Stocking, George (ed)

1974 A Franz Boas Reader: The Shaping of AmericanAnthropology 1883-1911. Chicago: University of ChicagoPress.

Simpson, Richard1977 Ooti: A Maidu Legacy. Millbrae, CA: Celestial

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Bruce Bernstein is Chief Curator and Assistant Director of theLaboratory of Anthropology/Museum of Indian Arts and Culture,a part of the Museum of New Mexico in Santa Fe.