Reading Becky Johnson’s informative article on the proposed “Cherokee Renaissance” (Aug. 10-16) and the plans to give the old commercial strip a facelift brought back memories of the village’s past incarnations. I was reminded of how Cherokee has morphed through several phases in the last 50 years — from a weekend carnival façade of the 1950s to the current hodgepodge that manages to combine authentic Cherokee tradition with commercial gimmickry.

Those of us who routinely drive through Cherokee and are familiar with its gaudy appearance can’t respond to it in the way a first-time visitor might. I remember driving a group of Navajo nurses through Cherokee in 1976. They had come to attend an I.H.S. conference at Boundary Tree and none had ever visited Cherokee before. As we passed the craft shops, stuffed bears, street chiefs, fudge shops, moccasin stores and waterslides, they became very quiet. When we got to the conference, no one got out.

Finally, one spoke.

“Could we sit here a bit? I’m feeling overwhelmed. Then, another one said: “It’s a lot like Tijuana, don’t you think?” Another one said, “No, it is stranger than that.”

Back in 1977, when the noted German filmmaker, Warner Herzog was completing the lyrical, dark film, “Stroszek,” he asked his locations crew to bring him a list of the 10 most bizarre/surreal locations in America. Herzog had decided that the film’s doomed protagonist would migrate to the U. S. where he would become increasingly suicidal. Eventually, the director decides that Stroszek’s suicide should occur in a setting that could be described as both nightmarish and comical. Herzog later stated in several interviews that when he looked at the 10 potential sites, there was no doubt as to the most bizarre location. He selected the “main drag” of Cherokee.

In the film, Stroszek (portrayed by the German actor Bruno S.) is seen driving out of the Great Smoky Mountain Park into “downtown” Cherokee. He is driving a malfunctioning truck/wrecker (cracked block?) that is obviously on its last legs. It is winter (off-season) and Stroszek stops for breakfast near faux Fort Cherokee, which is/was just across the street from the cage that houses the famed dancing chicken. He is greeted by a generic chief — resplendent in war bonnet, Navajo squash blossoms and yellow knee-puffs. Inside the restaurant, Stroszek dines with a well-known BIA official (the late Robert Evans) while complaining about the fact that he is running out of money (although he leaves a tip for the lovely Cherokee waitress, Patti Grant). He then cranks his ailing vehicle, ties the steering wheel off to a door handle, and puts it in gear.

The wrecker/truck begins to wander about in circles amid clouds of oily smoke. Stroszek pulls a shotgun from the dying vehicle, along with a frozen turkey (don’t ask), and goes across the street to see the dancing chicken. Then, after watching the antics of the chicken and a goose that rides a little fire truck, Stroszek feeds all of his change in the chicken’s slot, climbs on a nearby ski lift (next to the chicken’s home) and rides up the mountain with his frozen turkey. He disappears into the fog-wrapped timber, and after a suspenseful moment, the shotgun booms. Meanwhile, back at Fort Cherokee, the truck/wrecker is on fire and still orbiting the parking lot. The Cherokee Fire Department and the Cherokee Police arrive.

The truck/wrecker finally grinds to a halt as the fire is extinguished. The brightly attired chief watches all of the activity impassively (just another day in Cherokee!). Across the street, the chicken continues to dance in return for the last of Stroszek’s pocket change.

The images of Cherokee captured by Herzog no longer exist. Fort Cherokee is gone just like the images that characterized the first commercial strip in the 1950s — back when establishments like the Reservation Grill, Cubby’s Shooting Gallery, Monty Young’s archery range and a string of craft/moccasin shops plied their trade for six months each year. Back in1953, when I worked in a Dairy Queen located between a cinderblock bank and Homer Burgess’ craft shop, Henry Lambert had just started a long career as a street chief. From the beginning, nothing matched. A grocery store, a shooting gallery and the Tom-Tom restaurant stood cheek to jowl. Sheet-metal teepees abounded and young Cherokee girls learned to tie their baby brothers on their back in a bed sheet, thereby creating ... a papoose — something that would prompt a visiting tourist to pay for a picture.

If it appears that I am making fun of all that is garish, hokey and unreal in Cherokee, let me hasten to correct that misconception. No, after watching the village’s commercial landscape “morph” for 50 years, I have come to believe that Cherokee changes to fulfill the expectations of the public. It doesn’t matter that such changes are often based on the public’s misconceptions of Cherokee culture. Nor does it matter that the results are garish and tasteless. Cherokee decided long ago to give the public what it wants. As public taste improves (or degenerates), Cherokee simply removes an unpopular item and replaces it with a new, trendy one. If the public finally realizes that the Cherokees do not live in tepees and wear ornate war bonnets, these inaccuracies will vanish.

On the other hand, if the public wants their Cherokees with tepees and war bonnets, then rest assured, that is what they will get.

Despite the highly laudable roles of institutions such as the Oconaluftee Village and the museums which strive for authenticity in their presentations, the aspirations of the commercial district is much simpler. They are committed to a singular mission: Find out what will sell. Is it dancing chickens or double-weave baskets? Is it motorcycle rallies or quality restaurants?

Is it possible to design a Cherokee in which all of this diversity can blend and flow together? Can moccasins, fudge, Taiwan-crafted souvenirs, bullwhips and the sculpture of John Wilnoty exist side by side? To tell you the truth, I have the distinct feeling that if the shops in Cherokee acquire a more aesthetically pleasing appearance, something will be lost. I am reminded of the old Cherokee Fair which was altered to be more culturally “authentic” and less bawdy and crude. When the hoochie-coochie shows, the gambling and the sideshows were banished, the fair lost most of its charm.

However, it now has loads of integrity and ethnic relevance.

(Gary Carden is a Sylva writer. He can be reached at gcarden498@aol.com.)