In the heart of Oklahoma, a state barely two decades old in 1927, a unique story began to unfold. It was the year Doris Jean Lamar was born, and unlike most children of that era, her first words weren’t English. Instead, they resonated with the ancient sounds of an American Indian language, lovingly passed down by her grandparents. Today, decades later, Doris Jean Lamar stands as the last fluent speaker of that language, the language of the Wichita and Affiliated Tribes, a community numbering around 2,300 members.
A Living Repository of a Vanishing Tongue
Imagine an 80-year-old woman, sitting in a tribal canteen, a place she oversees with quiet dignity. Within her mind resides a language once spoken by thousands, then hundreds, of Wichita people. This language, a vibrant tapestry of words, stories, and cultural understanding, now rests almost entirely on her shoulders. She carries this immense responsibility with a sense of profound awareness, understanding the gravity of her position as the final fluent voice of her people’s heritage.
"As a girl, I never dreamed I’d be in this position, as the last speaker of my language," she reflects, her words echoing the weight of history. The Wichita language, classified as Caddoan, shares linguistic roots with the Caddo language, yet stands distinct within the broader family. The Wichita and Affiliated Tribes, to which Lamar belongs, are among the few indigenous groups in Oklahoma with a present-day jurisdiction within Caddo County, a testament to their enduring connection to the land.
A Childhood Steeped in Tradition
Doris Jean Lamar’s early life mirrored that of many girls growing up in southwest Oklahoma during the years preceding the Great Depression. Her maternal grandparents, both full-blooded Wichita, worked tirelessly on their farm, providing a nurturing environment for their grandchildren. She remembers a time of simpler pleasures, fewer cars, a culture of thriftiness born of necessity, and the absence of electricity, a stark contrast to the modern world.
Adding another layer to her identity, Lamar’s mixed heritage – a white father and an Indian mother – set her apart from many of her peers. "I never thought of myself as white; to me, I was Wichita," she explains, emphasizing her deep connection to her tribal identity. She recalls the bemusement and delight of the "old ladies" of the tribe, who were charmed by the sight and sound of "this little white girl speak Wichita."
Life’s Journey and the Enduring Language
Life took its course, and Lamar eventually married a non-Indian man, raising a family. However, after a divorce in 1959, she returned to her American Indian relatives near Gracemont, Oklahoma. There, surrounded by her kin, she continued to speak Wichita, preserving the language that had been a part of her since childhood.
"Ever since I could remember, I spoke Wichita," she says. "My husband told me that me speaking Indian was the only time he remembered I was Indian." This highlights the profound connection between language and identity, and how her fluency in Wichita served as a constant reminder of her heritage.
A Linguist’s Discovery and Collaborative Preservation Efforts
Around 1962, a pivotal moment occurred when Lamar encountered a dedicated young linguist. David Rood, from the University of Colorado, sought out tribal members, eager to listen and learn from their native tongue. Rood had been searching for a language that was not being actively preserved, and he found it in Wichita.
Since then, Rood has been working tirelessly with Lamar and other tribal members, racing against time to record and document the Wichita language. Their collaboration has involved countless hours spent meticulously going over words, compiling language CDs filled with creation stories, verbs, nouns, and names. The ultimate goal is to create a comprehensive dictionary that will serve as a valuable resource for future generations.
Defining Fluency and the Challenges of Preservation
Defining "fluency" within a tribal context can be a complex and sensitive matter, Rood explains. In smaller tribes, debates often arise over who truly qualifies as a fluent speaker. While Lamar speaks some Wichita with another tribal member who struggles with the language, there’s a recognition that true fluency goes beyond simple vocabulary.
"She tells me there are so many words in her head that she can’t get out, she gets frustrated," Lamar says, highlighting the internal struggle of someone who possesses a vast linguistic knowledge but finds it difficult to express it fully.
According to linguists, fluency involves more than just knowing ceremonial songs by heart. It requires the ability to use the language creatively and spontaneously. "I would say when somebody is able to speak the language in a way that has never been spoken before or ever written in a language book . . . as an abstract thought, then that is fluency," Rood explains.
An attempt to organize a conversation among the last few fluent Wichita speakers in the early 2000s met with limited success. Political differences among the speakers hindered the flow of communication. "Which is typical in almost all Indian tribes," Rood says, acknowledging the prevalence of tribal political factions. "They spoke a little, but not much."
Hope for the Future: Language Revitalization Efforts
Despite the challenges, hope remains for the future of the Wichita language. An immersion class for children and an adult-oriented language class are currently underway, both subsidized by federal grants. These initiatives represent a crucial step in the long and arduous process of language revitalization.
However, the Wichitas face another significant obstacle: retention. Sam Still, a Cherokee speaker, emphasizes the importance of language use within the home. "For children, when they have no one at home to speak the language with, there is no one to practice the sounds with and they lose it," Still explains. "When you’re around the language, you learn it better."
A Personal Mission to Preserve a Legacy
Meanwhile, Lamar continues her personal mission to preserve the Wichita language. She pulls a small recorder out of her pocket and turns it on, recording English words followed by their Wichita equivalents. "I have been doing this a lot, lately," she says, pressing play. "I just put whatever words pop into my head."
The tribal elder is acutely aware that her language hangs on the precipice of extinction. She remembers a time when everyone around her spoke Wichita. Now, none of her children speak more than a few words. "They live in the white world," she says, with a touch of resignation. "I don’t."
A Race Against Time
The story of Doris Jean Lamar is a poignant reminder of the fragility of language and the importance of cultural preservation. Her dedication to the Wichita language serves as an inspiration to others working to revitalize endangered languages around the world. It is a race against time, but one that is fueled by passion, determination, and a deep love for a heritage that must not be lost. The future of the Wichita language rests not only on Lamar’s shoulders but also on the collective efforts of the tribe and those who support their mission to keep their language alive for generations to come. Her story is more than just a tale of a single woman; it is a testament to the enduring spirit of a people and the power of language to connect us to our past and shape our future.