From an early age, Ellison Myers Brown knew he was fast.
“When his mom wanted to send a message, a family message within the Narragansett Tribe … they would send him to run and deliver the message,” recalls his granddaughter, Anna Brown-Jackson.
“A lot of the aunts and uncles said when he would get there, he’d tell them the message and then he’d sit down and eat,” she laughs. “Invite himself for dinner.”
Running ran in Brown’s family. His uncle had been a competitive distance runner. Brown’s traditional name was “Deerfoot,” but as a boy he took on the nickname “Tarzan.” And it stuck.
It was the 1930s, a time when many people believed the Narragansett tribe had vanished into the history books.
But Brown took the Narragansett name and ran with it, propelling the tribe out of obscurity and smashing through centuries of racial erasure with a stunning victory in the Boston Marathon.
“Some people have never heard about Tarzan Brown; a lot have not,” Brown-Jackson says. “People are becoming more aware of him now as time is going on.”
Powerful path out of poverty
Endurance running is a tradition that goes back centuries in Native American cultures.
Historian Mack Scott is a citizen of the Narragansett Tribe. He directs Brown University’s undergraduate Native American and Indigenous Studies Initiative and wrote a for the journal “Ethnohistory.”
“Communication – just like today – knowledge is power,” Scott says. “Traversing the lands as fast as possible was power.”
“The runners that were able to do that would be people that were of great importance,” he says.
But her grandfather also saw competitive running as a way out of poverty, Brown-Jackson said.
“These were runners in the Depression era, so jobs were hard to come by. But especially being an Indian in this area, it was 10 times worse because a lot of people didn’t want to hire you,” she says. “They would have signs in the windows, ‘No Indians’ and things like that.”
Brown left school to become a stonemason, but he also began entering races. Before a race, he’d check out the cash value of prizes on the winner’s table and figure out which prizes he wanted or needed – that helped him figure out how fast or slow to run.
Sometimes he’d let another runner win.
“My grandmother said one time he [wanted] a Frigidaire, so he came in second,” she says. “But I mean how many people will come in second to get a Frigidaire? A lot of people won’t.”
Birth of a Boston Marathon legend
In 1935, Brown entered the Boston Marathon, following in the footsteps of another Indigenous runner, Tom Longboat, of the Onondaga Nation. He won the race in 1907. Brown didn’t place first, but got plenty of attention. His shoes gave out and he finished the final miles barefoot.
The next year, all eyes were on Brown and star runner Johnny Kelley. About five miles from the finish line, they were dueling for the lead, heading up a treacherous hill.
“Johnny Kelley caught up to him and, like, patted him as if to say ‘Good job, I’ll take it from here,’” Brown-Jackson recalls. “And my grandfather, when he got the pat on the back he took off like a bat out of you know where!”
The two battled it out till Brown surged ahead, winning the 1936 Boston Marathon.
That section of the course is still known today as Heartbreak Hill because “he broke Johnny Kelley’s heart,” Brown-Jackson says.
‘Paper genocide’ to international star
As Brown surged past the finish line, a group of Narragansett citizens dressed in Native regalia were there watching. Newspaper headlines were quick to pick up the international story: “.”
It was a headline emblazoned with pride for Native communities, says Lorén Spears, a member of the Narragansett Tribal Nation and executive director of the Indigenous-led Tomaquag Museum in Rhode Island. Brown’s victory came at a time when the history books were writing that the Narragansetts no longer existed.
“They’re saying we don’t exist, because on their paper genocide, we don’t exist,” Spears says.
Historically, Native peoples have endured many forms of loss – land theft, violence, disease, she says. The term “paper genocide” refers to ways Indigenous identities were made to disappear from archival records.
“One of the ways to erase people was on official documents,” she says.
Native race and identity were often changed in the historical records. This is seen in documents from the Revolutionary War, Spears says.
“A gentleman would go into the regiment as Narragansett, as Indian, and come out of the regiment as ‘colored,’ ‘mulatto,’ ‘musty’ or Negro,” Spears says. “The person didn’t change, but the document changed.”
This race-shifting fed into a widespread myth that Native Americans were destined to become extinct. In 1880, the state of Rhode Island attempted to ‘detribalize’ the Narragansetts. The state abolished Narragansett tribal authority and forced the sale of their lands.
Historian Mack Scott says it was a way for the state to pretty much say “that’s it.”
“They wipe their hands, and in the language, they say, ‘The name of the Narragansett now passes forever into the history books,’” he says.
A Rhode Island Supreme Court ruling upheld detribalization in 1898, and there was no mention of the tribe in Rhode Island records until the 1930s – right near the time Tarzan Brown won the Boston Marathon.
All along, the Narragansetts were still here – they had continued to hold community meetings and their annual powwows. But Spears says Brown’s marathon victory sent a powerful message.
“And put us not on a local stage, not on a regional stage, not just on a national stage, but on an international stage,” Spears says. “While we’re invisible as a people, when we’ve been detribalized, that’s really important.”
A legacy lives on
Brown’s 1936 Boston Marathon win earned him a place on the U.S. Olympic team, but that run was cut short by an injury. In 1939, Brown won the Boston Marathon for a second time, this time setting an American men’s record.
Decades later, in 1983, the Narragansett Tribe received federal recognition.
Today, hundreds of people gather each November in Mystic, ϳԹ, for an annual run in his honor. This year marked the 50th anniversary of the Tarzan Brown Mystic River Run.
“What a great day,” the announcer said as the race started. “And what a great time to honor one of the best runners in the world, Ellison Tarzan Brown.”
Indigenous runner Patti Dillon of the Mi’kmaq Nation, who’s set multiple world records, says she came out to honor Brown.
“Running is a part of our culture and it is hard,” she says. “But it’s so rewarding and nobody can do it for you. So, therefore, nobody can take it away.”
Tarzan Brown died in the 1970s. Brown-Jackson said organizers approached her grandmother and asked if they could name a race in his honor.
Anna Brown-Jackson says she’s proud to share her grandfather’s story. It’s heartwarming, she says.
“Letting people know about my grandfather, he was an unsung hero for a long time,” she said. ”It’s just good to see him get the recognition he deserves.”
Read more from Still Here: Native American Resilience in New England
Chapter 1: For Native Americans, an enduring spiritual connection to the land
Chapter 2: The hidden history of Indigenous slavery in New England and beyond
Chapter 3: 'Unsung hero:' How runner Tarzan Brown put the Narragansett tribe on the map in the 1930s
Chapter 4: Amid mist and music: A Native American reverence for water, celebrated on the banks of the CT River
Chapter 5: Power of powwow: A cultural connection echoes across generations of Native Americans