Roland Dixon and the Maidu
Bruce Bernstein
R
oland Burrage Dixon was the first to do
fieldwork under Franz Boas' theory and
method. He studied linguistics and
ethnology with Boas at Columbia in 1898 and
1899, although he was Frederick Ward Putnam's
student at Harvard from where he received his
doctorate in anthropology in 1900. Working under
curator Boas for the American Museum of
Natural History, Dixon went in 1898 to the North-
west Coast as a member of the Jesup North
Pacific Expedition. During the 1899-1905 field
seasons, Franz Boas sent Dixon to work with the
Maidu, Shasta, and a variety of other groups in
California. The period of Dixon's museum spon-
sored California fieldwork corresponds to the five
years in which Boas would finalize the shift in
anthropology from museums to universities.
Dixon's pioneering work in California resulted
in the seminal ethnographies on the Shasta and
Maidu; the identification of the two major Califor-
nia Indian linguistic stocks, Hokan and Penutian;
a dissertation on California Indian languages; a
monograph on Maidu myth and folktale; two of
the first academic publications on basketry; and
650 Maidu artifacts for the American Museum of
Natural History anthropology collections. In all,
Dixon published three books and twenty-eight
articles based on his California fieldwork, sixteen
of them by 1907.
Moreover, Dixon was the first academically
trained anthropologist to work in California,
beginning the replacement and subjugation of
talented museum professionals and collectors
such as John Hudson, Carl Purdy, Charles
Wilcomb, and Stewart Culin. His work in Califor-
nia began in 1899 and ended in 1905—the Ameri-
can Museum of Natural History's interest in
California beginning and ending with Dixon. The
museum's only other significant collections of cen-
tral California material culture, the Purdy and
Briggs collections, were purchased during this
same period. By 1905 when Boas left the
American Museum, Kroeber had fully established
the University of California's anthropology
department. Clark Wissler, Boas' successor at the
American Museum, in concordance with Kroeber,
understood that the American Museum's re-
sources could be better used elsewhere, and thus
used Dixon's patron to support research on the
northern Plains and Herbert Spinden's 1909-1913
work in the Southwest.
Dixon first worked for the museum in 1898 in
British Columbia in Prince Rupert and with the
Llioett as part of the Jesup North Pacific Expedi-
tion, Boas' ambitious trans-Pacific investigations
of the Bering Strait Land Bridge. Dixon inter-
viewed informants for ethnological information
and to collect texts and folktales; he measured
heads and bodies and took plaster casts for
anthropometric studies; and he did a certain
amount of archaeology to obtain objects for the
museum as well as human bones for analysis.
In 1898, Dixon seems to have worked his way
south while tracing the diffusion of language,
finding himself on the Siletz Reservation in Ore-
gon, where the remnants of Shasta speakers—no
more than four individuals—lived. Whether he
became immediately moved to save the language
from extinction, or if Boas influenced his decision
is unknown. However, we can extrapolate that
Boas did influence Dixon's decision in that he was
working for the American Museum under Boas,
and, further, had taken at least two semesters'
worth of courses from Boas.
During the 1898 and 1899 school years, Roland
Dixon commuted from Boston to New York to take
Boas' courses at Columbia University. Dixon was
enrolled in Harvard's graduate anthropology pro-
gram under Frederick Ward Putnam. The Har-
vard department emphasized archaeology, and
Dixon had to look elsewhere for guidance in a
dissertation which concentrated on ethnography
and linguistics. Putnam, no doubt, encouraged
him to take linguistic course work from Boas.
Boas was a Putnam protege, Putnam having
helped him obtain the Curator of Anthropology
position at the American Museum. Putnam had
founded the anthropology department at the
American Museum in 1893 and served as Boas'
boss during his first few years there. Boas was
curator from 1895 to 1905, during which time he
also was establishing his department at Colum-
bia.
Dixon's Maidu collections were the first sys-
tematic collections made by either a museum
curator or anthropologist; because of Kroeber's

high regard for Dixon's work, no Kroeber student
or other Boasian ethnographer worked with
either the Concow or Mountain Maidu. His collec-
tions are of continuing importance because of
their generally good documentation, firm collec-
tion dates, and location of purchase. Some objects,
such as the Moki cape and female and male burn-
ing figures are one-of-a-kind objects; other items,
like the hairpins he purchased at Chico, help com-
plete a portrait of Maidu artists such as George
Barbor or Mike Jefferson, whose work is repre-
sented in other museum collections as well. The
collections'documentation is mostly in the form of
correspondence between Boas and Dixon. It
provides vital information, such as names of
makers and informants, and the circumstances of
acquisition as well as an understanding of how
anthropological fieldwork was done under Boas.
Reportedly, Dixon's fieldnotes were destroyed at
his own death. There were numerous notebooks;
in 1903 he reported a total of seventy eight, thirty
eight of which pertained specifically to the
Maidu.
Dixon was a private individual; there is much
which remains unknown regarding his personal-
ity. Clearly, he was a well-respected anthropolo-
gist, researching and publishing widely; in
addition, he was liked by his students and ad-
mired for the detail included in his courses. "He
was undoubtedly one of the most erudite ethnog-
raphers of all time" (Tozzer 1936:292). Dixon was
an out-of-doors man who would spend weeks at a
time camping alone in the mountains. Henry
Azbill, an elder from the Chico Maidu community,
remembered him in the 1960s as a man in a red
wool shirt, blue jeans, and black boots who lived
in the village and ate the different foods offered to
him, unlike Kroeber who stayed in the Bidwell
Mansion and ate with Mrs. Bidwell (Craig Bates,
personal communication, 1992). In 1915, Dixon
built a "farm" at Harvard, Massachusetts, where
"surrounded by his own woods and his gardens,
he lived a life of isolation but of contentment"
(Tozzer 1936:293). Dixon was also a forgiving man
as evidenced by his long friendship and associa-
tion with Alfred Tozzer, an individual for whom he
had nothing but disdain during their first season
together in California. Alfred Kroeber, perhaps
Dixon's closest associate in anthropology wrote "a
naturalist translated into a scholar in the field of
culture history seems to sum up what Dixon
above all was in Anthropology" (1936:297).
Roland Dixon and the Boasian paradigm
In 1898, Franz Boas wrote of California anthro-
pology, "without any doubt the most formidable
ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 21
field is California, on account of the great number
of tribes found in that state," and he called for the
formation of "The Association for the Preservation
of the Knowledge of Pre-Columbian America."1 He
wrote again of the need for anthropological work
in 1899:
When I first suggested the importance of under-
taking work among the vanishing tribes of Cali-
fornia, I pointed out that the clue to much of the
earliest history of our continent must be sought
among the tribes of California. We find in that
State a most remarkable diversity of language
and customs and physical appearance of the
Indians. . . . We cannot hope to understand the
early history of America, unless we investigate
thoroughly the tribes of California. If this be
done at all, the work must be taken up at once,
because the tribes are disappearing rapidly.2
The Maidu did not have either the population,
inherited property traditions, or the rich material
culture of Boas' Kwakiutl. In the correspondence
between the two men, Boas never expressed any
dissatisfaction with Dixon's Maidu collections; he
seemed to understand that there was not much
available. Nonetheless, Dixon always seemed
dissatisfied with his collecting and the non-
availability of specimens. However, although
Dixon repeatedly anguished, there was a substan-
tial amount of material to be acquired, as evi-
denced by the 200 Maidu objects purchased by
Stewart Culin of the Brooklyn Museum from 1906
to 1908, and the 2700 Maidu specimens collected
by Charles Wilcomb of the Oakland Museum from
1908 to 1915. The purpose of Dixon's work was
less and less to acquire objects for exhibitions,
and more and more to collect folktales and infor-
mation on indigenous languages which would be
published for use by an academic community.
Under Boas' direction, Dixon spent the major-
ity of his efforts collecting myths and folklore.
They took on more importance than the objects he
collected for the museum; indeed, they become
"artifacts" themselves. Regardless of what Boas
expected of Dixon, he nonetheless maintained
that Dixon worked first for the museum:
It is my desire that Dixon should complete his
Maidu work during the coming season. . . . You
understand, of course, that we are to a certain
extent tied down in our movements by the ne-
cessity of bringing back material for the
Museum; but whatever we get I want to be as
useful from a scientific point of view as
possible.
22 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2
During the 1902 season, Dixon collected a total
of seventy-five objects. Clearly, the collection of
texts took on a meaning parallel to that of collect-
ing objects. Dixon even quantified his success in
collecting folktales, "I have obtained from some
thirty tales (some 15-16 pages of closely written
English) aggregating over 100 pages in all."4
In the Boasian paradigm, the study of folklore
was shifting from its use in the evolutionary para-
digm as defined in E. B. Tyler's work. Dixon col-
lected folklore to assist in the development of the
Boasian critique of cultural evolution. Tyler had
seen folklore as originally rational in origin, but
surviving as irrational custom; repeated themes
in folklore therefore represented a sameness of
mind. Boas believed sameness was not an issue
worth investigating until historical connections
were known: "at issue is not whether these tales
may be related, but whether their historical con-
nection has been proved" (Boas 1915:309). Boas
sought to understand folklore as unconscious in
origin, but central to the maintenance of society
through its rationalization of traditional forms of
behavior.
Boas believed the "genius of people" is imbed-
ded in folklore. Rationale for long established cus-
toms is known through myths, whereas
explanations of actions are only secondary; fur-
ther, these explanations are historical in nature,
resulting from interaction with other societies
and the environment. Dixon's collection of folk-
tales was intended to uncover deep rationales,
thereby cutting to the core of culture and making
comparison possible. In addition, Dixon collected
cultural data to contribute to a larger view of
North American Indian cultures.
The tensions between museum and university
based anthropology are ever-present in Dixon's
California work. Whereas museum collecting had
been a principle reason for doing anthropology,
Boas concentrated on developing anthropology as
an academic discipline. Dixon's work for the
American Museum of Natural History corre-
sponded with the shift from museum to university
based anthropology. This is most evident in the
decreasing numbers of objects Dixon collected
each subsequent year of work; for example, in his
first two seasons in California he obtained 643
objects,5 nearly all of the total of 650 objects he
would acquire for the Museum. Seemingly trying
to justify this change in emphasis, Boas wrote to
Museum President Jesup in 1902:
Both of these museums [University of Pennsyl-
vania and Field Museum] are simply bringing
together material without any serious attempt
to preserve the scientific and historical signifi-
cance of the objects collected and for this reason
I consider their activity destructive. . . . It has
been the distinctive feature of the work of our
Museum that all its enterprises have resulted in
material and important additions to our knowl-
edge of Indian tribes, so that at the present time
the American Museum of Natural History, in
regard to its ethnological publications, ranks
with or even above the U.S. Government
[Bureau of American Ethnology].6
Additionally, Boas' faith in public education
was shaken. His ideals about the American people
were met with "profound disappointment" and
"lay shattered" by the colonist intent of the Span-
ish American War (1898-1900). Thus by 1900 he
was retreating from the idea of museums as a
public education tool. "The number of people in
our country who are willing and able to enter into
the modes of thought of other nations is alto-
gether too small. The American, on the whole, is
inclined to consider American standards of
thought and action as absolute standards"
(Stocking 1974:332).
For Boas, the collection of data and publication
took precedent over the collection of objects and
exhibition. But Boas needed to find sponsors for
fieldwork, which he continued to justify by the
collection of objects and subsequent exhibitions.
It had been common practice for ethnographers to
purchase from dealers and local collectors as well
as native people. However, the shift to a Boasian
paradigm emphasized the priority of collecting di-
rectly from Indian people, and in the absence of
objects to be acquired, the commissioning of abo-
riginal-type specimens.
Throughout the 1901 season, Dixon arranged
for the purchase of the Carl Purdy collection for
$500. Some of the collection was illustrated in
Dixon's "Basketry designs of the Indians of North-
ern California" (1902). Dixon disagreed with Boas'
desire to use the collection in the paper, which
relied upon Dixon's first-hand understanding of
Maidu basket design. The brevity of the Porno
section (ibid:20-23) which used the Purdy collec-
tion, and its discussion on design arrangement
instead of meaning, indicates that Dixon was
working from the baskets themselves rather than
information gathered in the field. Dixon wrote to
Boas, "The Purdy collection, however, I feel some-
what 'shaky' about as I do not known the designs
from personal experience. However, I think with
the help of a little correspondence with Mr. Purdy
I can get along pretty well."7 No doubt, Boas' in-
tention in including the Purdy's collection in

Dixon's paper was to justify the expense of buying
the collection for the museum.
Roland Dixon and the Maidu
On 17 J u n e 1899, Dixon arrived in San
Francisco to begin his first season's work with
Maidu Indian people. In 1899, he collected 116
Maidu artifacts for the American Museum of
Natural History, including baskets from Genesse,
Quincy, Indian Valley, Big Meadows, Chico,
Mooretown, and Round Valley. In all, he collected
27 objects from Round Valley, 36 from the Concow
at Chico and Mooretown, and 29 from the
Mountain Maidu. The accession list represents
Dixon's concerns about artifact data: price, native
name, basket pattern name and/or interpretation,
and the place purchased. Because the accession
list is in chronological order, it is easy for us to
determine that Dixon returned to Chico as a last
stop to pick up the pieces of dance regalia he had
ordered in August. Dixon returned to Cambridge
on 30 September 1899. During the winter months
he wrote "Basketry Designs of the Maidu Indians
of California" (1900), "Some Coyote Stories from
the Maidu Indians of California" (1900a), and his
dissertation on Maidu language and ethnology.
In 1899, Dixon went first to the Round Valley
Indian Reservation about 180 miles north of San
Francisco, although the majority of Maidu people
lived in the Sierra Nevada. It was a logical desti-
nation given what little was known or understood
about California Indian people: in other states,
Indians lived on reservations. Some Maidu had
been removed to this reservation in the 1850s,
however, many more stayed behind in their tradi-
tional homelands in the Sierra foothills and
mountains, living in scattered camps and on
ranchers' lands.
After some difficulty, he located Hiriam Kelley8
who was to serve as his principle informant and
interpreter in Round Valley. Kelley, about thirty-
five years old, was of Hawaiian and Maidu heri-
tage.
I attempted to get some texts yesterday morning
from an old man, but with little success; he was
willing enough, but could not understand
English enough to give them [myths or texts] as
I wanted. Tonight with the help of Hiriam the
interpreter I hope for better success with
another man.
Dixon continued to encounter difficulties with
fieldwork in Round Valley:
ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 23
The Indians here are so civilized and so busy
with their crops that I fear I shall have to offer
as high as $.75 or even a dollar to induce them
to come.
I have been trying to get baskets, spears, fire
drills, acorn pounders so on [sic], but as yet with
small success. Of baskets already made there
seems to be very few and it is only paying large
prices that any of these can be secured. The
number of 'women who make baskets seems to
be limited, as yet I [sic] not persuaded any to
undertake the job of making me a basket or
baskets of the sort I want. This is the same truth
with the men as regard to spears, bows and
arrows. The 'market' for baskets has been
spoiled by the prices paid during the Worlds
Fair when all the baskets in the Valley were
bought.10
The collecting of plaster face casts and anthro-
pometric measurements were another component
of Dixon's first few seasons. "Since writing to you
last I have been able to get only two casts."11 A few
weeks later he was able to relate that he had
obtained seven additional casts of the Mountain
Maidu individuals, and he wrote Boas "I made
three casts at Genesse—all of young men about
20-25, as these were all I could induce to undergo
the operation."12 It is not surprising that all of his
casts are of men. Anthropometric measurements
also were made predominantly on males, some
forty men to only nine women (Boas 1905). A
white male stranger was probably afforded only
cautious access to females.
Recruiting a local literate Native or non-Native
man to work year-round collecting texts and
objects was a part of the Boasian paradigm. As
Dixon reminded Boas, "If I could only get a man
even remotely resembling Teit to do some work
among the Maidu, it would be productive of a
great deal I believe."13 Dorius Leon Spencer would
be Dixon's "George Hunt." He was a non-Indian
man, born in Indiana, who arrived in California
in the 1860s. He married a Maidu woman, and
apparently was called "Doctor" because of his
knowledge of Maidu ceremonies and medicinal
plants.
Dixon first met Spencer in August 1899. "I
have been quite fortunate in getting material.
From Bucks I made a search for the Mr. Spencer
who was supposed to know so much of the Indi-
ans. I found him after some difficulty and ob-
tained considerable information as to food-
customs etc- but no folktales as I had hoped to
get."14 During the winter of 1901, Spencer wrote
24 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2
to Boas hoping to cancel his agreement with the
Museum. "I do not consider myself compitant [sic]
to write or record for him [Dixon]; or your
museum."15 In Boas' response to Spencer we have
one of the clearest expressions of what Boas
hoped to accomplish with community-based
anthropologists:
It has occurred to me that you might be of very
great service to us in other ways than writing
down what you know about the Indians. Mr.
Dixon's collections embrace particularly bas-
kets. Of course all the old things have gone out
of use, and it would be impossible for a collector
to find them nowadays among the Indians, but
certainly there must be a great many old people
who remember all the articles of dress and all
the little implements which they used, and the
ceremonial head-dresses and utensils which the
tribe used in olden times; and I do not doubt,
that with your influence among the Indians, and
with your knowledge of their customs you could
induce them to make a good many of these
things. Great care would have to be taken, of
course, in getting these things made in the cor-
rect way, and not in a slovenly fashion. . . . I
appreciate the difficulty of getting the Indians to
work promptly on things of this kind, but the
Museum is not in a hurry; and even if such a
collection should extend over quite a number of
years, we should be glad to wait if we can only
secure the objects.16
In Spencer's return letter he mentions the
possibility of collecting a "burning image" for the
museum, along with "many of the old specimens
of old headdresses and other implements . . . but
I do not know what prices to pay for them. . . . I
must go and talk with the older members of the
tribe [sic] get them in a good humor and then
strike a bargain with them for what I want."17
Spencer's winter assignments in 1902-1903 in-
cluded the acquisition of two burning figures,
used in a memorial ceremony for the dead. Dixon
wrote to Boas:
He is to try to get two or three weeks time this
fall to get information. For the time thus spent
he is to get $4.00 a day. If he can get more time
he will, but he must limit this amount to the
sum of $100.00 which must also include any
payment he has to make to Indians while on the
work. He is also going to get collections up to the
sum of $100.00 exclusive of this [burning] image
which is probably around. . . . We [the Museum]
are thus responsible for a maximum of $275.00
to Spencer which sum I shall have left I feel
sure.18
It was not until 1903 that Spencer was able to have
the male figure completed for the museum, paying
$100 for the figure and another $75 to dress it. The
female figure was delivered in early 1904 and cost
the same amount. The $275.00 paid for these
figures represented one quarter of Dixon's 1903
field budget.
What Roland Dixon's museum collections
com municate
While Dixon had a difficult time collecting at
Chico, Culin later acquired thirty-five pieces of
dance costume because the men's religious society
disbanded between Dixon's last visit in 1905 and
Culin's first visit in 1907 (Bates and Bibby 1983).
Furthermore, Culin was able to purchase entire
dance outfits, whereas Dixon collected single
items and pieces made specifically to sell. The
paucity of Dixon's Chico Maidu dance regalia col-
lection communicate the strength of the religious
society during his visits, although he observed,
"the Indians of the [Sacramento] Valley . . . to a
large extent [had] given up their ceremonies"
(Dixon 1905:287). Additionally, what he was able
to learn depended upon "statements made by a
few old men, who remembered different dances"
(ibid). Another fact that defies Dixon's bemoaning
the demise of native religion at Chico is that four
of his informants were important members of the
Chico religious society: Billie Preacher, George
Barber, Mike Jefferson, and Pouissey.
In 1902 Dixon acquired a reproduction of a
Moki dance cape from Mike Jefferson at Chico.
The costume was never used, nor was there a way
for it to be worn. It cost $20 and was a substantial
investment as compared to the dollar or two he
was spending on baskets. Through the purchase
of made-for-sale ethnographic specimens, Dixon
helped create a market for dance regalia. Many of
these things were abbreviated objects, made
quickly and for sale.
Twined baskets were another serious omission
in his collecting. Apparently in disregard of the
Boasian paradigm and the ethnographic present,
Dixon paradoxically wrote "the very great major-
ity of baskets now made by the Maidu are of the
coiled variety" (1902:11). Boasian anthropologists
sought aboriginal artifacts that were thought to
be devoid of historical influences. It seems obvi-
ous that he would need to commission twined bas-
kets in order to properly represent the aboriginal
Maidu past.19 Twined baskets were vital compo-
nents of Native Californian kitchens and were

apparently still made and in use, because ten
years later Charles Wilcomb collected a substan-
tial number of these baskets for the Oakland
Museum. Undecorated twined baskets were of lit-
tle use to Dixon, however, because design names
were the primary reason for his interest in bas-
kets (Dixon 1900; 1902). Basket designs were
thought to be helpful in building diffusionary
models, revealing historical relationships as well
as independent invention. Like Dixon's collections
of folktales, basket designs were meant to cut to
the core of cultural meanings, to assist in uncov-
ering deep rationales. Therefore, he collected bas-
kets for their variety of designs rather than their
functions. Dixon wrote "designs quite similar to
some of the Maidu patterns are also to be noted
on baskets from the Hupa and other tribes in
northern California, and among some of the coast
tribes of Washington and Oregon" (1900:276).
Perhaps because he was so interested in men's
work, he ignored, or did not have the opportunity
to watch the work of basketmaking. For example,
he seems to have been confused about basket ma-
terials and coiled basket work direction. While he
collected briar root as a basket material and as
the black sewing strands in completed baskets, in
print he did not list it as a Maidu Basket material
(Dixon 1900; 1902; 1905). Furthermore, he failed
to make the connection between work face and
work direction: "The direction of coiling is, among
the Maidu, very uniform, all bowl or storage bas-
kets being coiled from right to left, and all platter
or plaque basket in the opposite direction"
(1905:146). What Dixon missed was that leftward
or counterclockwise coiling always proceeded in
the same direction, while a weaver might work on
either face of the basket.
As a further example of his lack of attention to
women's work, Dixon wrote that "The Maidu had
no mush-paddles for stirring their acorn-soup,
making use, for this purpose any common stick"
(1905:180). Nevertheless, Charles Wilcomb col-
lected three Maidu mush paddles ca. 1910 (cf.
Simpson 1977:100-103).20
Typically, Dixon recorded where he purchased
a basket but not where it had been made, al-
though this information was apparently available
to him: "In the box with the baskets is a fine
specimen of the rabbit skin robes made by the
Washoes. I found it at Spanish Flat and got it
cheaper, I believe, than should have done from
the Washoes themselves."21 The baskets he col-
lected at Spanish Flat tell an undeniable visual
truth as well. Cooking baskets with straight walls
seem to characterize Nisenan baskets, while bas-
kets from Hunchup's village, twenty miles to the
ROLAND DIXON AND THE MAIDU 25
south, and Miwok baskets might also be found in
a Southern Maidu household. We can only wonder
what further types of information were available
to him.
In Roland Dixon's work the rationales for writ-
ing and collecting seem to be opposed. While the
nascent Boasian paradigm was in need of truths
to create itself, the Maidu, decimated by contact
with Europeans, needed truths to sustain them-
selves. Furthermore, while the written word and
museum specimen are both artifacts, only objects
were constructed using native truths and mean-
ings. During the period of Dixon's fieldwork, the
written word took precedence over the object in
the representation of American Indian cultures to
non-Indian people. Dixon's written work has been
read and cited for generations, while his collec-
tions—the by-products of his fieldwork—have
languished for decades in museum storage. The
objects were possibly only intended to satisfy his
patrons and therefore were not integrated as data
in his publications. Clearly, if he had examined
the objects carefully he might have avoided some
errors in his ethnography. Like many Boasian an-
thropologists who would follow him, Dixon col-
lected objects more like a tourist than a trained
anthropologist. In turn, museums' treatment of
Boasian material culture collections has con-
formed with their importance to the discipline.
This is graphically represented by the disorgan-
ized storage rooms of Dixon's (and other) ethno-
graphic specimens, while the history of
anthropology as depicted in his plaster cast face
moulds is neatly arranged by catalogue number
and protected in individual plastic bags. Anthro-
pologists have tended in the past to value their
own constructions over those of their subjects.
As Edward Bruner (1986:14) has suggested, "In
ethnography, there are always at least two double
experiences to be dealt with: on the one hand, our
experiences of ourselves in the field, as well as
our understanding of our objects; and on the other
hand, our objects' experiences of themselves and
their experience of us." Anthropology as practiced
by Dixon did not see "people as active agents in
the historical process" of constructing their own
world. Indeed, museums have ever since relied
upon the written word to tell the story of the
American Indian. •
Notes
1. Franz Boas to President Morris Jesup, 21 March 1898,
Correspondence file no. 10, Anthropology Dept., AMNH.
New York.
2. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 1 December 1899,
26 MUSEUM ANTHROPOLOGY VOLUME 17 NUMBER 2

Correspondance files R. B. Dixon I 1898-1904, AMNH, 20. Oakland Museum specimens 16-1707, 16-1710, and
New York. 16-1737.
3. Franz Boas to Alfred Kroeber, 19 March 1902, Acces- 21. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 11 September 1900,
sion 1902-61, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. Correspondence Files, R. B. Dixon I, Anthropology
4. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 21 October 1900, Acces- Dept., AMNH, New York.
sion 1900-66, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York.
5. Franz Boas to Museum President Morris Jesup, 9 References
January 1902, Correspondence file no.10, Anthropol-
ogy Dept., AMNH, New York. Bates, Craig and Brian Bibby
6. Ibid. 1983 Stewart Culin at Chico. American Indian Art
7. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 16 April 1901, Accession Magazine 8(4):46-53.
no.1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. Boas, Franz
8. Kelley was a relative of Mary Azbill, one of Dixon's 1905 Anthropometry of California Indians. Bulletin of
principle informants at the Maidu community at the American Museum of Natural History 17, part 4.
Chico. Kelley seems to have recommended to Dixon 1915 Anthropology in North America. New York: G. E.
that he try to work at Chico. Dixon apparently spent Strechert and Company.
five weeks in this first season in Round Valley and Bruner, Edward
never returned. 1986 Experience and its Expressions. In The Anthro-
9. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 27 June 1899, Accession pology of Experience. Victor "Rimer and Edward Bruner,
no. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. eds. Pp. 3-30. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
10. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 12 July 1899, Accession Dixon, Roland
no. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. 1900 Basketry Designs of the Maidu Indians of Califor-
11. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 22 July 1899, Accession nia. American Anthropologist 2(l):266-76.
no.1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. 1900a Some Coyote Stories from the Maidu Indians of
12. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 3 August 1899, Accession California. Journal of American Folklore 13:267-70.
no. 1899-49, AMNH, New York. 1902 Basketry Designs of the Indians of Northern Cali-
13. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 16 May 1900, Correspon- fornia. Bulletin of the American Museum of Natural
dence File, R.B. Dixon I, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, History, volume 17.
New York. 1905 The Northern Maidu. Bulletin of the American
14. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 3 September 1899, Museum of Natural History, volume 17.
Accession no. 1899-49, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New Kroeber, Alfred
York. 1936 Roland Burrage Dixon. American Anthropologist
15. D. L. Spencer to Franz Boas, 1 February 1901, Acces- 11:291-300.
sion no.1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. Stocking, George (ed)
Spencer wrote to Boas both because he was the curator 1974 A Franz Boas Reader: The Shaping of American
at the museum and Dixon's boss and because Dixon Anthropology 1883-1911. Chicago: University of Chicago
was studying in Germany at the time. Press.
16. Franz Boaz to D. L. Spencer, 3 April 1901, Accession Simpson, Richard
no. 1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. 1977 Ooti: A Maidu Legacy. Millbrae, CA: Celestial
17. D. L. Spencer to Franz Boas, 10 June 1901, Accession Arts.
no. 1901-1, Anthropology Dept., AMNH, New York. Tbzzer, Alfred
18. Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 27 August 1902, Acces- 1936 Roland Burrage Dixon. American Anthropologist
sion no. 1902-53, Anthropology Dept., AMNH.New York. 11:291-300.
Dixon's budget for the field season was $1000, which
included his transportation from Cambridge to San
Francisco and return, informants fees, and object col-
lections. He also set aside a portion of the money to
pay Spencer during the winter as well.
19. See Roland Dixon to Franz Boas, 12 July 1899, Acces- Bruce Bernstein is Chief Curator and Assistant Director of the
sion no. 1899-49, AMNH, for Dixon's comment about his Laboratory of Anthropology/Museum of Indian Arts and Culture,
need to order baskets of the "kind he [Dixon] wants." a part of the Museum of New Mexico in Santa Fe.