University Daily Kansan / Friday, May 1, 1992
9B
Lawrence attorney devotes career to Kickapoo
Continued from Page 1
Burr's tribal boss is Steve Cadue, a devoted Kickapoo chief who is leading the fight to put casinos on reservations.
Cadue met Burr more than 20 years ago when they built homes for underprivileged children. Cadue said he continued to have a good working relationship with Burr, whose legal advice is sought by other American Indian tribes and lawyers.
"There is not a day that goes by that we don't check with him on a some legal matter," he said. "Whether it is gaming, taxation, sale of gasoline, roads or school matters, he knows the law."
The casino's revenue would help build schools, roads, houses and utilities on the reservation.
Cadue also said attorneys specializing in American Indian legal matters were in demand.
"When the Indian Self-Determination Act was passed by Congress in 1975, Indian tribes began pressing for more sovereign rights," he said. "The Constitution requires more independent requirements more legal authority."
Cadue said Burr appealed to the American Indian community because of his concern for the well-being of a native person.
"He has a deep appreciation for the environment and the conservation of natural resources," he said. "With that being a guiding principle, he associates with the Native American people."
The Kiekapoon tribe is the only American Indian tribe in Kansas to have an attorney general and an established court system, Cadue said.
Dan Watkins, a Lawrence attorney and legal counsel for the Sac and Fox Tie in Kansas, said Burr was respected because of his knowledge of state and trivial laws.
"He is uniquely positioned because of his relations with the Kickapoos and because of his experience in state government," he said. "There are only a handful of attorneys in this part of the country with specialized interest regarding Indian law. And Lance is one of them."
Burr, a graduate of the KU School of Law, said his involvement with American Indian affairs stemmed from his seven years as an assistant Kansas attorney general.
"That's how I got my education," he said. "I didn't learn anything at KU."
After dabbling in state politics and an unsuccessful bout for Kansas attorney general in 1974, he moved to California.
He said he saw a state government run by legislators who lived inhumane lives.
"They are hypertensive when they are in Topeka, they eat bad food, and they are always rushed. Burr said, "That's no way to live."
He said his experience in state government showed him that American Indian tribes in Kansas were being neglected.
"I have to speak up." Burr said. "I have to do something. The treaties have been broken. We
"And the Indian way is still powerful... Sure we are dealing with a white man's world. But I am not going to walk off and see a race of people die."
Lance Burr
Attorney genreal of the Kickapoo Tribal Council
Another of Burr's crusades is the case of Gregg Sevier, a 24-year-old Lawrence American Indian who was shot and killed in April 1991 by two Lawrence police officers. A coroner's inquest one week later ruled the death a justifiable homicide.
are taught in law school to have ethics. I see no ethics by professionals that should be protecting Indian peoples' rights."
"One of the problems that we have with modern day, non-Indian people is that they have the tendency to look in the past," he said. "That takes the focus of modern day stuff, things like why so many Indians have become alcoholics, why they have low literacy rates, why they suffer from severe depression."
Burr said he thought people who made judgments on Sevier and on casinos were relying on past histories of American Indians to make decisions that affected the present.
Lance Burr's office floor is a makeshift file cabinet. Dozens of file folders are stacked across the floor. Even the tops of desks and bookshelves are full of the manila folders.
It's his way of working, and friends say his way works.
"That is just Lance's style," said Craig Stancliffe, a Lawrence attorney and friend of Burr. "If I had to call anybody for an issue about Indian law, it would be Lance."
Even Burr's girlfriend says she is not bothered by his lifestyle.
"I would never have been with him if he was a regular, three-piece-suit lawyer," said Patty Boyer, a paste-up artist at Allen Press.
Boyer said she met Burr about 12 years ago when Burr would meet with other friends and play guitar in garage bands.
"My roommate wanted me to go meet this ladner named Burd," she said. "I was thinking later."
Boyer also said that prior to their meeting, Boyer had been called "City Slicker and Country Boy."
"Lance worea straw hat and bib overalls while the other gore wore a tuxedo," she said. "They
would play their gigs at places by bus stations." Boyer said Warr was not worried about finan-
"He is not concerned with status," she said. "He likes to take the cause of the little guy, which I think is considered old-fashioned in lawyer circles."
Burr, a native of Salina, said his concern for American Indians was a result of his conservative background.
"My mother was very conservative," he said. "She told me not to show off. And I had an aunt that saved everything. She would cut old coffee cans and use them to patch her buildings. Those are things that stick in my mind ever since I was a boy."
Boyer said although Burr was a conservative financial planner, his ideology was everything but conservative.
"That doesn't mean he is low key," she said. "He sometimes lets off some steam."
Burr said he did not mind conserving resources and being a non-traditional attorney. Besides, that is his goal for work.
His devotion to American Indian culture is evident in the numerous pictures and paintings of famous American Indians hanging on his office walls.
"That's why the Indian way is a backdrop to my work," he said. "And the Indian way is still powerful. They are still around. Sure we are dealing with a white man's world. But I am not going to walk off and see a race of people."
'Manny' the mechanical man approaches finishing touches
The Associated Press
DUGWAY PROVING GROUND. Utah — Someday, when Army scientists ask "Manny" what's doing under that bulky gear providing protection from chemicals, they'll only have to ask
"My right leg is getting warm," the mechanical man may reply.
The clipped, electronic voice is robotic but the startlingly lifelike movements of the $10 million IBM computer
After years of preparation, Manny — a 5-foot-11, 165-pound robotic mannequin — is nearing initial tests at this remote Army installation in Utah's western desert.
Researchers wanted to start using Manny three years ago to test military protective garments but met delays over related chemical defense projects.
Then came the Persian Gulf War, and the specter of chemical attack loomed larger. By late last year, renewed financing and more staff put Manny back on track, officials said.
The robot's operators recently received a burnished stainless steel testing chamber. Meantime, civilian computer expert Jimmy Barnes added a few new tricks to a mechanical repertoire that lets Manny breathe, sweat, walk, talk and keep a uniform skin temperature of 98.6 degrees.
Instead of a flashing light, for example, Manny's voice can be programmed to announce problems.
Scientists are also contemplating recasting the plastic sheathing that gives the machine human form to bolster the attachment of its complex instruments.
Atop the plastic is a double layer of dense black rubber fitted with sensors to detect any
penetration of as little as one-billionth of an ounce of chemical or nerve gas.
This means Manny is practically ready for work, said project manager Capt. Mark Subsinsky.
Manny was conceived in 1985 by Lothar Salomon, a chemist and Dugway's then-scientific director. Salomon, now retired, was looking for something more realistic than ordinary mannequins and stand-in poisons to test garments for warfare. The mannequins and substitute chemicals were used because there was no way perform sufficient tests in a sealed environment.
Ideal testing mimics human movement like walking, squatting, sitting, crawling and manipulating tools. Manny not only moves, it can move hour after hour so analysts see how the protective clothing wears in repeated use.
That couldn't be done in the presence of
lethal chemicals until the test chamber was completed by Manny's maker, Battelle's Pacific Northwest Laboratories in Richland, Wash.
The hermetically sealed cube is fitted with windows. Inside, Manny is supported at the small of the back by a steel arm attached to a control unit housing hydraulics and electrical systems.
The chamber is stored in a sealed building that keeps chemicals from leaking into the atmosphere.
Besides the Army's uses, Manny potentially could be hired out without leaving the premises
On a recent visit, workers were knocking out a cinder-block wall to install windows in a room for Manny's computer and instrument panel. Upstairs, more windows will let observers watch Manny at work.
for testing protective gear for the Environmental Protection Agency as well as civilian hazardous-materials handlers and fire departments. A ski manufacturer has even inquired about running flex tests on its skis.
"From concept to actuality," said Capt. Tim Moore, who works in Dugway's chemical laboratory. "Manny's potential hasn't been touched."
But the Army's current and primary concern, is using Manny to secure the safety of soldiers who, despite treaties banning chemical warfare, could face lethal agents on the battlefield, officials said.
"It's good for the troops," Moore said.
This year Manny will continued to undergo tests. It will be year's end, if then, that actual chemical tests begin.
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