MARK TRECKA

Mark Trecka is a writer, performer, and artist currently based in Chicago. He has traveled extensively and has performed in more than 20 countries throughout North America, Europe, and Asia with a variety of projects, including Pillars and Tongues. He has been published by GlobalPost, YVYNYL, Impose Magazine, and The End of Being, and is currently writing his first extended work of creative non-fiction. Trecka‘s work can also be read on his personal blog, Benediction / wilderness.

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3 Comments

  1. Frank Whitby says:

    The shootout at Pine Ridge, June 26, 1975, figures prominently in my childhood memory. I was 13 years old, on summer vacation with my parents and sister from Littleton, Colorado. My father had a nine-month university appointment, so my family spent every summer traveling and camping in the western US. We always camped rough and loved to look for interesting geological sites. Visiting the Badlands was a lifelong dream of mine, at age 13. We went to Mt. Rushmore, hiked up Harney Peak, and explored the Badlands and I remember it was hot. We were at Wall Drug that day and my father wanted to find a place to camp. It was evening and getting dark and we were driving down a remote paved road and there was a car clearly following us. My father told my sister and I to watch and see what happened when he slowed down or sped up. We were definitely being followed. There were some barricades saying that a bridge was out and we were forced into a gully as a detour. Turns out, this was a road block set up to stop us. When we drove across the creek, suddenly we were surrounded by shotgun-toting FBI agents and lights were turned on all around us. I remember that it was pretty creepy and my father told us to just sit still and we would be alright. The FBI were suspicious of our car driving down a remote road just a few hours after the shooting of the FBI agents. We were clueless and had no idea that a manhunt was underway. We were just out looking for a place to pull off the road and camp for the night. I remember them searching our car. I think they told my father to keep driving and not to camp anywhere nearby. I don’t remember where we stopped that night, but we either camped nearby or we drove all the way back to Denver, because I never stayed in motel in my life until I was an adult, and I know we did not sleep in a motel that night. I have visited the Custer Battlefield in Montana many times and other sites around the west, and I always remember how we were part of American history on June 26, 1975 on the Pine Ridge reservation.

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