OMAHA, Neb. – He
was an Irish kid until the first
grade. Then, the orphanage
children discovered cowboys and
Indians. Ever after, he was “the
Indian.” Only later in life
would he discover that his blood
carries not a drop of Irish
heritage.
Robert O’Brien was an American
Indian orphan. He grew up to
become a leader of numerous
Native outreach programs in
Nebraska. On June 20, the
Nebraska Urban Indian Health
Coalition recognized O’Brien for
his life of service.
Tears welled in the eyes of
Donna Polk-Primm, NUIHC
executive director, as she
presented him with an honorary
plaque and star quilt. On top of
his inspiring dedication to
Nebraska’s Native community,
Polk-Primm knows his uplifting
life story, how he retraced his
lineage to “tribal royalty.”
From his birth
Feb. 28, 1931 until early
adulthood, O’Brien had never met
another Indian. He spent his
teenage years working for room
and board on a farm in rural
Minnesota. Friends at the small
town school called him “Chief.”
He was a leader among the boys –
strong, tall, articulate,
president of the 4-H Club.
O’Brien
snuck into the Navy Reserve at
age 16. His 20-year military
career spanned enlistments in
the Navy and Air Force; fellow
soldiers often referred to
O’Brien as “the Indian.” He met
a Native American for the first
time while serving in France.
The Navajo sergeant asked him
about tradition, song and
ceremony. “What tribe are you?”
O’Brien had no answer. He grew
up without one.
He moved to Omaha after being
stationed at Offutt Air Force
Base. On a stormy afternoon, he
noticed a soggy paperboy seeking
refuge from the elements.
O’Brien invited him inside for
hot cocoa. Surprised, the boy
stared and said, “You’re an
Indian, aren’t you!” The
paperboy was Indian, too.
The boy introduced O’Brien to
his father, Peter Thomas, a
member of the Winnebago who was
helping to organize a local
Native community group in the
late ’60s.
When O’Brien attended the first
meeting, he had never seen so
many Indians in one room. To his
astonishment, they voted him
president of the Indian
Community Center Association,
and O’Brien began his first
immersion among people of
America’s First Nations.
“When we were going out to the
parking lot to get in the car, I
thought, ‘what in the hell have
I gotten myself into?’ Because I
didn’t know anything about
Indians.”
They began with a dream of
creating a Native health clinic
for Indian people, and over the
next 40 years, O’Brien helped
guide the dream through the
reality of numerous
Native programs.
In 1986, he helped establish the
NUIHC. Shortly after, the state
of Nebraska invited him to
become an Indian commissioner.
However, O’Brien said an
influential naysayer protested
that he didn’t belong: “‘He
doesn’t even know if he’s
Indian. We don’t even know if
he’s Indian. He doesn’t have an
enrollment number.’ So they
withdrew the offer to be on the
Indian Commission because I
didn’t have an enrollment
number.”
Then, in 1990, IHS announced
that he could no longer serve on
the NUIHC board of directors.
Without proper paperwork, he
wasn’t eligible.
He began assembling the puzzle
pieces of his origin story. On a
summer road trip, he stopped by
the orphanage where nuns raised
him in St. Paul, Minn. The
building was gone. After some
research, he found a paper trail
leading to his birth
certificate.
He found a name. Arthur Mandan.
O’Brien learned his father
was the first chairman of the
Three Affiliated Tribes of
Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara in
North Dakota. His
great-grandfather was Chief Red
Buffalo Cow, the last recognized
Mandan chief, who signed the
1851 Treaty of Fort Laramie.
After 62 years without siblings,
he had more family than he could
have possibly imagined. He found
a welcoming network of sisters,
brothers, cousins, nephews,
nieces and clan relations.
And he learned of his mother.
She was a nun (the orphan child
of German immigrants). When she
became pregnant, the Catholic
Church spirited her back to
Minnesota from the Fort Berthold
Indian Reservation. The church
took her newborn child, who
received an Irish name and a
hidden identity. He grew up in
the same orphanage as his
mother.
He enrolled in the TAT in 1992.
The same year, he rejoined the
NUIHC board of directors.
Energized by positive momentum,
he said, “We’re going to make a
go of this.
“That’s really all I wanted to
do; for so long, we had heard
people complaining and bringing
up charts and graphs and showing
how Indian health was the worst
in the country. Everybody talked
about how bad it was. … (I
thought,) let’s get in there and
do something instead of sitting
on our butts and complaining.”
Under his leadership, the
coalition’s annual budget grew
from $300,000 to $2 million, and
NUIHC established many key
programs, including residential
and outpatient behavioral health
treatment, the “Tired Moccasin
Elders Program,” transportation,
diabetes education/services, and
HIV/AIDS testing and counseling.
“If we could ever get the money
to buy our buildings, I would
love to rename them in honor of
Bob O’Brien,” Polk-Primm said.
“We are who we are because of
him.”
He retired from the NUIHC in
2006 and regularly chats over
the phone with his remaining
brother and sisters in North
Dakota. As he sits in his living
room, a picture of his father
hangs over his shoulder. The
black and white image shows
Arthur Mandan shaking hands with
President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Mandan visited the president
with a delegation to rescue a
sacred bundle from the Heye
Museum in New York.
O’Brien’s face is Mandan’s
reflection; they share facial
features – the same high
cheekbones, identical
slicked-back hair. After a 1992
ceremony, they even share the
same name – Mea Iràaxi Madoush
“Spirit Woman.” Tony Mandan said
their father received the name
from someone who saw a spirit
woman in a vision.
After a prolonged search,
O’Brien found his mother, Marie
(Gdanietz) Bruestle, and he
hugged the former nun outside
her home in Mendota, Minn. She
lived her final years in Omaha
with her lost son.
The broken circle of their lives
mended.
