THE NAVAJO CODE TALKERS

Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

Late in the year of 2004 and while conducting research on Navajo Code Talkers, I found a range of material on the subject. An endorsement by Bookwatch of the book featured in this post states, “’THE NAVAJO CODE TALKERS’ (authored by Doris A. Paul) is the single most comprehensive account of the contribution of the Navajo Native Americans in World War II…Highly recommended!” Only a few of the code talkers are still with us. Sadly, the Navajo Nation is now one of the cruelest of Covid-19’s killing fields of the Western Hemisphere. This is emblematic of the history of the fate of America’s First People, and I can think of no darker stain on present-day American decency.

Because it is important to me to encourage the welfare of the beautiful indigenous people of my country, I include Native American characters in my books when appropriate, facets of my stories that showcase their histories, their cultures, and their priceless and immeasurable contributions to American life. My latest novel titled A CHANCE AT THE MOON, features as one of its main characters a Navajo rancher named Sam Whitehorse. His explanation of the code talkers is presented in the following excerpt of my novel:

Excerpt of

A CHANCE AT THE MOON

O

ver dinner of left-over mutton stew, fresh fry bread, ancient discolored platters of corn and squash from his own garden, a dinner sweetened with great pyramids of watermelon, also grown at his urging in loamed soil he had nurtured through the years, Sam Whitehorse was storytelling that blistering July evening. Koa Kalua’i and the ranch hands Jack Ray and Carl Mathers were so caught up in Sam’s recounting that savory chunks of lamb on their forks hung in mid-air for over-long spans of time. Acculturated by his Diné upbringing in the art of oral narrative, Sam was a natural and eager storyteller, and that night, with such a captive audience, he was in fine form. 

“Of course, we Navajos wasn’t the first code talkers in the U.S. military.” Sam spoke with authority, for he had become a student of the code talkers’ history, an endeavor inspired by his own military experiences. “It ain’t widely known, but fourteen of my Choctaw brothers of the Army’s Thirty-sixth Division was the original ones, all the way back in 1918 during the final offensive of World War I. It was in the Meusse-Argonne campaign against the Germans. During several battles in that operation, Pershing and his men was able to finally recover more than two hundred miles of French territory from the Germans, but fer a long while, the situation had been bleak fer our side because the American forces had been practically surrounded by the Germans. 

“The enemy was adept at breaking the American’s communication’s codes, and had tapped their telephone lines. American runners, who was sent out with messages between companies on the battle line was being captured right and left. It was a captain of one of them companies, while overhearing two Choctaws talking to each other in their own tongue, who got the idea to use them as communicators. He come up with a plan to station them fourteen Choctaws in different companies where they transmitted and translated radio messages and wrote field orders in their own language. The Germans was unable to decipher them codes. The tide of the battle turned in only seventy-two hours after that. That was what I’d describe as a spur-of-the-moment situation compared to the strictly organized and rehearsed programs among my Comanche and Navajo brothers that come later in World War II, but it was the first occurrence of Native Americans performing that task. There’s also been others, involving several tribes of American Indians.”

“I ain’t heard of any ones but the Navajo Code Talkers. They’s been in the news quite a bit here of late,” Jack replied, pouring himself a second cup of black coffee from the hand-me-down coffee pot, a charred and scarred, blue-veined enamel centerpiece holding court on the table.

Pushing back from the table and rubbing his stiff knees, Sam replied, “Just last month the five living veterans of the original twenty-nine Navajo Code Talkers in World War II, who actually developed the code, was presented with the Congressional Gold Medal. The remaining twenty-four was honored posthumously.” 

“He don’t like the word to git around, but since he was one of them Navajo Code Talkers who come after them first twenty-nine, Old Sam here’ll be atravelin’ to Washington, D.C. too, come November, and he’ll be receivin’ the Congressional Silver Medal,” Jack informed the others.

 “Ain’t too many of us around no-more. I surely wish the others had received this recognition before they passed on.”

“It is too often the case that veterans fail to receive the recognition and benefits they deserve. Look at what happened to the Viet Nam veterans, many of my fellow Hawaiians included,” Koa added.

“I served with lots of them Hawai’i boys in ‘Nam,” Jack interjected. “One o’ them boys, he played a slack key guitar. I ain’t never heard a guitar played thataway. It was real purty.”

“It’s called kī  hō  alu in my language. Spanish and Mexican cowboys brought the guitar to my islands back in the early eighteen hundreds, and the paniolo...that’s Hawaiian cowboys...picked it up and adapted the slack key tradition unique to Hawai’i.” Demonstrating the technique with his hands, Koa continued. “The way it is done is that some of the keys are left slack from the standard tuning, and the thumb plays the bass while the other fingers play the melody. Improvisation in a finger-pick style is important.”

“You play, do you, Koa?” Jack inquired, fascinated by the mysterious man who had become a regular visitor to the ranch.

“Oh, I turn a little tune here and there. I have a Keola Beamer CD out in my car. He is one of Hawai’i’s masters of the technique, if you would like to hear it sometime.”

 “Well, shore. That’d be right nice,” Jack replied, his head nodding in approval. “A lot of them Hawai’i boys over in Nam, theys names started with “k” like yourn and that guitar player you just mentioned. I never could git my tongue wrapped around them guy ‘ez names.” 

“It is a very simple language to master once you understand the basics of it. The entire Hawaiian alphabet contains only twelve letters...the same five vowels as in English, but only seven consonants: h, k, l, m, n, p, and w. It is a bit easier to memorize than the English alphabet. That lyrical sound you hear comes from words overflowing with vowels, but if you remember to pronounce each vowel separately rather than blending them to make a different sound as you do in English, you will pretty much be able to be understood,” Koa explained, his big fist all but smothering his coffee cup. “By comparison, the Navajo language is much more complex, isn’t it, Sam?”

“You got that right, Son. That’s why it was ideal for the code talking during the war.”

“How’d that code work, Sam? Wasn’t it kept top secret ‘til not too long ago?” Carl asked.

Sam replied with a nod of his head. “Yep, Carl, it was kept as highly classified material ‘til 1968. I imagine most folks thinks we just talked Navajo like them Choctaws and them other tribes talked their languages, but the Navajos didn’t use translations of their language. What they done was devised a code where Navajo words was used to substitute fer something else. Like a dive bomber in Navajo was ‘gini’ meaning chicken hawk, or fer mine sweeper we’d use ‘cha’ meaning beaver in Navajo, or report was ‘who-neh’ meaning got words. Then fer the alphabet, we’d use three or four different words fer each letter which kept redundancy from giving the code away. As Koa said, the complexity of the Navajo tongue made it the ideal language to use fer that purpose. The code never did git broke.”

“Ain’t no wonder. I hear’d tell it’s jist as hard to larn as English,” Jack interjected….© -Linda Lee Greene, Author & Artist

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A CHANCE AT THE MOON purchase links:

https://www.amazon.com/CHANCE-AT-MOON-Betrayal-Murder-ebook/dp/B07Z44YN9X/  - EBOOK

https://www.amazon.com/CHANCE-AT-MOON-Betrayal-Murder/dp/169984402X/ - PAPERBACK