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The history of the root club is tempestuous—evolving from weapon to ceremonial tool to art form, with a sojourn into tourist kitsch in the late 1800s to mid 1900s. Their origins, uses, and designs only recently have been brought to light and documented, largely through research that Neptune, along with Tufts University’s Joan Lester, has done, and continues to do. And as Stan Neptune investigates and discovers and documents, he also carves more root clubs, which are then purchased by private collectors and museums, and become part of the ongoing story of this ceremonial art form
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Neptune grew up on Indian Island, with minimal awareness of his culture. Those were, he remembers, just the times. But when he returned from a stint in the military, he knew that the cultural hole he felt needed to be filled, and he ended up turning to Ronald “Senabeh” Francis, acknowledged to be the spiritual leader and medicine man of his tribe. Senabeh was also a carver of root clubs. As Neptune sat listening day after day to his stories, he was also watching the jackknife in Senabeh’s hands, the way he coaxed what was in the wood up to the surface, and soon Neptune was doing the same—working to preserve and communicate both the clubs and the culture.
So what attracted you to root clubs?
I didn’t really get attracted to root clubs. I was just hanging out with Senabeh, and he kind of chose me. I didn’t go searching to be a root club carver, and I didn’t know I would be doing this for the rest of my life.
How long did you work with him?
I’d say about a year. You can only teach so much to a carver and then they have to progress on their own. I got the basics from him—how to block out the heads on walking sticks [which Neptune still makes] and root clubs, how to look at the root system and see what’s there.
So it’s root after root after root, getting the rhythm of what you’re seeing, and how to pull it out.
Yeah, that’s it. They’re one of a kind. No two roots are alike. And we’re the only ones that make clubs utilizing the whole root system.
Is it possible that other tribes have carved root clubs? Why only the Wabanakis?
No, the Iroquois and others have made ball clubs or gunstock clubs, but no one else has made root clubs. It may be that it comes down to the fact that we have the right wood.
What’s the right wood?
White or gray birch. I knew a Passamaquoddy man a while back who was a root carver, but he would use poplar. It’s a softer wood with not much of a burl on it. I only use birch. It’s the traditional wood. Originally, remember these were used as weapons. If you look at one of those roots, you can see that it would serve the purpose. And now, just look at that. [He holds up a recently dug root.] Artistically, there’s so much you can do with it.
How do you choose the right root?
I find a stand of birches, and look at the base. They need to be a couple or three inches in diameter. I scrape any leaves away, and if the burl stands out all around, that’s a good one.
What then?
I dig it up, cut it off, maybe about four feet. I rinse off the roots, strip the bark. There it is, ready to be worked.
Does it take a while to figure out what the root wants to be?
Sometimes. You can’t carve into a club what’s not there. You have to bring out what’s in the root.
You are one of the few remaining root club carvers in the country. How will the form continue?
Just last week I was in one of Joan’s [Lester] classes at Tufts. I do demonstrations. I talk about the culture. For about 20 years, I would go to the Children’s Museum in Boston every April and do that, too. But as far as the hands-on part, the creating of new work, it will go on. It always has. I have someone who is apprenticing with me now. In 1996, I had my first apprentice, my son Joe Dana, and he’s amazing. His carving is even more detailed than mine.
What’s different about clubs now?
They are much more intricately carved. There are a lot of figures on top. Over time we have added color and dyes. When carvers first started adding color, it looks as if they used dyes that were used in basketmaking. Today I use enamel paints and stains. But what this research has done is provided me with more information about the old-style clubs, and now I make those, too. They are more natural, with no paint.
Have you always supported yourself from art endeavors?
Oh, yes. I don’t need that much money, and it’s important to me to get back to a simple lifestyle. That’s my whole thing—simplicity and self-sufficiency. People used to say that Senabeh could be a millionaire because he could carve a head on a walking stick in seven minutes. People have said that to me, too. I take 20 [minutes], though. But being a millionaire is not what’s important to me.
You no longer live on Indian Island.
No. I lived there just about all my life. Growing up, it used to be woods, but now it’s nothing but houses. That’s what pushed me away, and now I have four acres on Olamon Island [one of the 146 islands in the Penobscot River that are the Penobscot Reservation]. It used to have a community at the turn of the century, but not now.
Tell me about marketing. A problem?
Yes, and no. I built up contacts over the years. I’m known now, and when I carve a club, it never hangs around long.
So how would someone buy a club?
They’d call me, and we’d talk.
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