Six doubloons, three farthings and a tuppence

I was thinking this week about all the traditions begun by The First Thanksgiving.

I reckon what happened was the Native Americans came out of the woods and brought maize and deer and pumpkin pies, and they had a big feast with the Puritan Pilgrims.

You kind of wonder what those long-ago Native Americans were thinking.

"Hey Chief, the braves are kind of hankering for a party."

"Well, why not? Where should we have it?"

"We were thinking we'd all head over to that settlement of the white demons. You know, take some food and kind of welcome them to the neighborhood."

"Sounds good!"

That leaves me scratching my head, frankly. Surely there were more fun creatures to party with, even in pre-colonial America, than Puritans. At least you can teach otters and wolves to do funny tricks.

Relations were pretty good between the newcomers and the natives that day. There was one tense moment just before dinner when a pan of corn was set too close to the fire and started to pop. The braves grabbed for their tomahawks and bows, looking around wildly, figuring it was a musket attack. When they figured it out, everybody had a good laugh except the Puritans, who considered mirth to be a sin.

(And that, children, is how the first popcorn was invented, as far as you know.)

Everybody ate their fill Thursday night and then collapsed, tight as ticks, into their blankets around the fires. Once in a while, the braves would sneak off into the woods for a hit off the peace pipe, upon which the Puritans frowned. The Puritans frowned at a lot of things, such as noisy belches, and it had been a pretty big dinner, so there was some frowning going on, but things stayed peaceful.

What the history books seldom mention, however, is that the onset of trouble between the two races all can be traced back to that first Black Friday.

It was around five o'clock in the morning when the commotion started. During the night, the Pilgrims had stealthily snuck out to their ship, the Mayflower, and brought back carts and carts full of stuff. Now, two hours before dawn, cute little Puritan kids in bonnets and short pants paraded through the camp site, waking up the Native Americans by beating spoons on pot lids and hollering.

"What in the name of the Great Spirit ..?" the chief muttered, coming awake in his blankets. He sat up, realizing he still had a half-eaten roast turkey leg in his hand. He took a reflexive bite and looked around, chewing in amazement.

(Editor's note: Portions of this column may not be historically accurate.)

Those enterprising Pilgrims had been busy. They'd cut up the sails from the Mayflower to make banners and streamers. Little groups of carts were scattered all over the place, each under a sign that advertised goods. "Miles Standish's Colored Bead Emporium" was right next to "Gov. Wm. Bradford's Real Indian Arrowheads." There were deep discounts on everything, especially the latest designer loincloths.

Prices had really been slashed. I would tell you how low they were, but you wouldn't believe me.

The Pilgrims had even whittled some big shopping carts out of hickory limbs, using sawn trees for wheels. Those primitive carts didn't have a little seat on them where you could put a kid, but it didn't matter, because in those days the Native Americans carried their younguns around in little sacks on their backs or just let them run around barefoot.

Well, despite the early hour, the Native Americans just couldn't pass up those deals. And the Pilgrims kept reminding them there were only 32 shopping days until Christmas.

It wasn't long before all the Native Americans had shopping carts and were dashing among the vendors, trying to be first in line to get the greatest bargains. A few folks got trampled and there were some broken bones, so it was lucky there was a cart offering splints at "60 PERCENT OFF RETAIL!"

The crazy-mad shopping frenzy lasted for hours until finally the Native Americans were ready to check out. They got in long lines and stood there, wondering what came next.

Prudence, the lady who was checking people out, looked at her first customer. "That'll be six doubloons, three farthings and a tuppence," she said. "Would you like to donate a farthing to the Humane Society today?"

The problem was the Native Americans didn't have any money. The Pilgrims hemmed and hawed, and finally Gov. Bradford told them that it was really against policy, but he reckoned they could put their stuff in layaway and pay a little at a time. Or they were welcome to fill out credit applications.

The chief, however, was a proud fellow, and somewhat wiley. For all the purchases, he offered the Pilgrims the area now known as Massachusetts, which is a name derived from the Native American phrase, "Can you believe these idiots think you can actually own land?"

As they pushed their laden, rickety shopping carts through the forest on the way back to their village, the Native Americans were laughing their heads off, although some were a little miffed that the Pilgrims hadn't offered to send any leftovers home with them.