CATAWBA RESERVATION, S.C. — One of the hardest days in Donald Rodgers' life came in June 2004 when he left his job as the Catawba Indians' cultural programs director.
"I absolutely loved my job, working with school kids and visitors," Rodgers said. "I mean, what was there not to love about that job? I got to sing, dance and tell the story of my tribe."
Rodgers took a job in Charlotte, N.C., because of the tribe's increasingly shaky financial condition. Later, 70 tribal workers were laid off; the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs had cut off a grant until the tribe's financial records could be audited.
Despite repeated promises by former Chief Gilbert Blue that the "financial mess" was about to be straightened out, 2 { years later the tribe's impressive administrative offices on the second floor of their longhouse southeast of Rock Hill, S.C., remain empty and mostly dark.
It's as if Catawba Inc. has gone belly up.
The tribe's continued financial instability greeted Rodgers last Monday morning when he reported for work as the tribe's newly elected chief: The tribe has no money to pay his salary.
"Being the chief of this tribe is a full-time job, and I'm willing to do the work, but they didn't tell me I'd be doing it for free," joked Rodgers, 39, still a counselor with Charlotte's Alliance Credit.
And the prospects of new money any time soon don't appear to be great.
The tribe's much-heralded high-stakes bingo game that was going to provide a steady revenue stream well into the 21st century closed this year, and the building was demolished. A proposed bingo operation in Myrtle Beach, S.C., never started. A "24-hour high stakes bingo casino" has never gotten the approval of the S.C. General Assembly.
Blue led the tribe to a $50 million land claim settlement in 1993 and the status of being South Carolina's only federally recognized tribe. Money was spent on housing, scholarships, health care and direct grants.
However, within a decade, things on the reservation had begun to sour. Dissidents claimed the chief and executive council were unresponsive to the needs of the 2,000-plus tribal members, an estimated 600 of whom live on the reservation tucked along the river that shares the tribe's name.
At a tribal meeting in March, Blue said he was so disgusted with personal attacks that he would quit after 34 years as chief. Last Sunday, Rodgers was declared the winner against three other candidates in a vote for the next chief with about 41 percent of the votes.
"Several older and younger tribal members came to me to ask me to run," said Rodgers, who said it wouldn't be fair to identify the individuals.
Frances Wade, 83, doesn't like the word "dissident" but agrees that she is one "because I disagreed with how our tribe was being run by the previous administration and I wouldn't shut up."
She didn't vote for Rodgers because she didn't think he attended enough meetings, but said she's willing to give him a chance.
"I've known him since he was a boy," Wade said. "He says he's going to listen to all members of the tribe whether he agrees with them or not, and if he does, then I will support him."
Christy Rodgers says straightening out other people's messes is her husband's strong suit.
"He really doesn't care who made the mess or finding someone to blame, he just goes to work to make it right," Christy said.
She says she and her husband and their three children — Ben, 13; Isaac, 12, and Emily, 10 — are strengthened by their faith; they are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After graduating from Rock Hill High School, Rodgers worked for two years as a Mormon missionary in Santa Rosa, Calif. After his mission he worked in maintenance before going to work at the cultural center.
"If Donald has a weakness, it's that he's tender-hearted and cares too much for the underdog because he was one in high school," Christy said. "Sometimes he would come home and cry about some of the people who he had counseled at the credit agency."
York County Council Chairman Buddy Motz is a Rock Hill native who is aware of the tribe's recent misfortunes.
"I see the Catawbas as a major asset for York County, but since the settlement, I've seen little cooperation or coordination with the tribe's leaders," said Motz, who called Rodgers on Friday afternoon to set up a meeting to discuss the tribe's future. " And from what I hear, Donald, is the one to lead the Catawbas out of their troubles."
It was a small thing, but on Wednesday, Rodgers had his second dose of frustration with the tribe's broken system. He attempted to return calls from the chief's office, but the office phone's voice mail was still assigned to Blue. Rodgers' personal cell phone was so backed up with that day's unanswered phone messages, no one could even leave him a message.
"It was a mess when I left, and this is what I came back to," he said, smiling as he sat in the chief's chair. He displayed a fist-full of other phone messages. "But, this is to be expected. Trust me, we're going to get this mess straightened out so we can straighten out the other messes."
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