I met Lee Polanco more than a dozen years ago when he “stopped” by my house one Sunday evening while I was watching “60 Minutes” with my wife.  I had recently returned from a trip to visit a friend in a very remote “aborigine” town in northeastern Australia.  During that brief trip I made friends with many people who actively practice “the old ways” – and fell into a deep friendship (love?) with many aboriginal people.  I found that they interacted in ways that were missing from my experience in California.  They were interacting and experiencing each other in ways that appeared to be much closer and meaningful than I was used to.  We quickly developed friendships and “sharing” that felt open and somehow more real. However, when I went back to Cairns on the way home I noticed that their culture disappeared from sight, even though I knew it was all around me – but invisible from the outside.

When I got home I realized that a similar situation must exist right here in Northern California.  It became obvious that my “white” community exists in the same time and place as an Indian community which was also invisible from the outside. Enter Mr.  Polanco.  On that Sunday night when I answered the door to a very stern looking young man my world changed in many ways.  The young man stood there for a few seconds and then said something like, “my chief wants to talk to you.”  I was totally surprised by this, but out of great curiosity I followed him to the pickup where I was introduced to Lee.  We exchanged pleasantries until Lee asked that I take him for a walk around my five acre property in a Eucalyptus grove.  Along the way we chatted a bit, but mostly Lee was silent – contemplating something.  Once we finished the tour he said he would send “the boys” down to get the wood next weekend.  “The Boys”??? Who in the heck were these boys and what kind of wood were they looking for?  Lee said it (without defining “it”) was “good” and gave me general specifications for the wood – straight, about five feet long, between 2.5 to 4 inches in diameter.  He wanted a pickup load of it by next weekend.

Totally intrigued by this odd encounter, and his proclamation that my wood was “good enough,” I diligently prepared a pickup load of wood meeting his specifications.  Sure enough, bright and early on the next Saturday a truck load of “the boys” showed up for the wood – and my life took a new, and beautiful, path.  On that morning I met Irvine, Freddy, Smiley and Frankenstein plus a couple of young men.  A week later Lee showed up unexpectedly with a middle-aged couple dressed in very formal, bright blue and white clothes!  Apparently they were the “sponsors” for something having to do with the wood.  (I later learned that is was for a Native American Church peyote ceremony). They were there to ensure that the wood, the property and myself were satisfactory for their ceremony. It was obvious that the right “spirit” was required – apparently “we” passed.

Just like that I had a new friend in Lee.  Over the next dozen or so years we spent time together building a sweat lodge in my backyard, traveled around through the neighboring hills telling stories and getting to know each other, attending various types of ceremonies together and finding a deep, unexpected, connection.  He sang songs, told me many stories of his life; I shared experiences from my life many of which I assumed were just “weird.” I assumed I made things up, or possibly was having dreams or hallucinations.  He felt they were important at a much deeper level than I had understood.  He told me many stories of his life, from his childhood in Texas, his time doing service in the Marine Corps, his 34 years as a Sun dancer, to his years driving a Greyhound bus, his years being a spiritual leader at the prison in Vacaville, and much more. 

The thing about Lee is that he donated his entire mind, body and soul to help others.  No matter how hard it was, or how difficult it was for him, he was there as a spiritual force.  He was forever dancing, singing, making “instruments” (gourd rattles, drums, leather goods, etc.), leading ceremonies, and just being there when needed. I was never certain why he seemed so happy to see me, but he always made me feel like I was really “special” to him.  I suspect he did that to everyone he knew.  Everyone was a special person to him.

I am forever indebted to him for introducing me to a new group of “Indian” friends.  Friends that have helped me change many of my views of life, changing my understanding and appreciation of nature and true praying, and just added fun and pleasure to my life. He will be greatly missed by all of his “special” friends, meaning everyone that had the honor of knowing him.