Phoenix, Arizona, July 4 – The largest Indian school in the Southwest and the second largest in the Union is that in the Salt River Valley, near this place. It is unique in several respects. It is patronized by the Apaches, the Pimas, and the Maricopahs, who have until the past two years been the most lawless, intractable, and savage tribes Uncle Sam has had to deal with.

The fifty-seven Pima and Apache girls in the school under the supervision of the matron, learn to cook, wash, sew, and perform all other household duties, in addition to their study of the English language. The superintendent of the school finds the Indian girls less tractable to book learning than the boys, but they have a zeal for neatness in sewing and knitting that is astonishing. Very few of the girls have any taste for arithmetic and the forms of language, but they love to execute brightly colored maps and to draw. They are always much more reserved and diffident than their red-skinned brothers. The boys are handsome fellows, from fourteen to twenty-one years of age, and during certain hours of the day they are compelled to attend to the duties of the farm. They do not do this reluctantly, as one might suppose, but with good will and an apparent anxiety to learn. They are dressed in uniform, their hair kept closely trimmed, and they show their appreciation of the change from almost absolute nudity by keeping their shoes polished and their clothes nicely brushed. In the classroom they excel in arithmetic and spelling, and any exercise that brings the blackboards into use wins their attention. Strange as it may appear, they have not the least liking for exercising in the gymnasium, but in out-of-door sports, such as running races, leaping, and vaulting, they are very proficient.

A recent visit to the Indian school was a revelation in some respects. The writer has known the Pima Indians on their reservation as a fierce, sullen, obstinate, and cruel lot of savages, with a record second to not even the Apaches for horrible butcheries of white settlers and unspeakable barbarities upon their enemies in warfare. It was therefore a surprise to see over 150 of the boys and girls of these desert savages come marching into the chapel with military precision, dressed in handsome, neat-fitting garments, wearing linen shirts, and with their hair brushed with as much nicety as that of a city dude.

The surprise did not end there. When the opening hymn was announced one of Apache girls that five months before was running wild on the desert south of the Gila readily turned to the number, and, handing the writer the book, asked in good English if he would not take part with them.

Some of them sing splendidly, and Prof. Rich, the Superintendent of the school, says that they are natural musicians. Several of the younger ones have learned to play the organ, and with the French harp they will make an average city gamin ashamed of himself. Hugh Patten, one of the monitors, plays the piano very well, having picked the accomplishment up without any instruction, only being aided by his natural aptitude for music. This Indian is a peculiarity in Indian life. Some years ago he learned the English language, and acted as an interpreter from that time till the opening of the school, which he entered, where he has since remained. He discarded his Indian name and assumed an English one, and in the three years he has acquired a good English education. He is of medium size, rather dark, but with the prepossessing appearance of a student. He has done much to induce his people to adopt civilization, and is , of course, a warm friend of the school.

"A great general has said that the only good Indian is a dead one, and that high sanction of his destruction has been an enormous factor in promoting Indian massacres. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment, but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man…It is a great mistake to think that the Indian is born an inevitable savage. He is born a blank, like all the rest of us. Left in the surroundings of savagery, he grows to possess a savage language, superstition, and life. . . As we have taken into our national family seven millions of Negroes, and as we receive foreigners at the rate of more than five hundred thousand a year, and assimilate them, it would seem that the time may have arrived when we can very properly make at least the attempt to assimilate our two hundred and fifty thousand Indians…The school at Carlisle is an attempt on the part of the government to do this. Carlisle has always planted treason to the tribe and loyalty to the nation at large. It has preached against colonizing Indians, and in favor of individualizing them..."

The two group portraits, taken at the Carlisle Indian Industrial School, show Chiricahua Apache boys and girls at the time of their arrival in November 1886, and four months after arriving, in March 1887. John N. Choate was commissioned by the school to make portraits of the students as a public relations effort showing the success of the school in assimilating the Indians. Attended by over 12,000 Native American children from more than 140 tribes between 1879 and 1918, Carlisle was the model for nearly 150 Indian schools. Upon arrival, school officials cut the children's hair and exchanged their clothing for uniforms. Students were given Christian names, and were punished for speaking their native languages. Note the changes in dress, hair, and skin color, possibly due to the climate and to the emphasis on indoor activities. This group belonged to the Chiricahua Apache tribe, whose leader, the famous Geronimo, had surrendered with his followers in September 1886, marking the end of the Apache wars. The band, including 103 children, was taken prisoner and sent to Florida; many of the children were then taken to Carlisle School.

The students' names on the arrival photograph were recorded as (back row, left to right): Hugh Chee, Frederick Eskelsejah (Fred' k Eskelsijah), Clement Seanilzay, Samson Noran, Ernest Hogee. Middle row: Margaret Y. Nadasthilah. (front row): Humphrey Escharzay, Beatrice Kiahtel, Janette Pahgostatum, Bishop Eatennah, Basil Ekarden. A numbered version of the photograph exists. The photographer arranged the students in the same order in the later portrait. Scholars note that the "after" portraits followed established conventions of middle-class portraiture of the period, emphasizing the civilizing mission of the school. School founder Richard Platt described this goal in an 1892 speech "all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man."

"Who is the lady of Lofty mein
Who walks about with the air of a queen
And movement as steady as a Ford machine
Why sonny that's our matron

Who is busy as a big bumble bee
Getting us up promptly at reveille
And calling us down in a stinging hey
Why laddie that's our matron

Who is high mistress of this whole works
Sees that no loafer his duty shirks
And about the place no deadly germ lurks
You're right lad that's our matron

Who sends us out to do the chores
And makes us stop to close the doors
And downs our necks the castor oil flows
Why sure son that's our matron.

Who carries the worry of the whole red race
written in lines of care on her face
And smooths out troubles in every place
Right my son that's our matron

Merry Christmas 1917, Dedicated to Mrs. G by One of the Boys"