Fort Duchesne, Utah – Some see him as a messiah, come to set the Northern Ute Indians free from poverty institutionalized at the hands of the federal government.
Others say he is just a snake-oil merchant – the latest in a long line of white men enriching themselves at the tribe’s expense.
John Jurrius is a well-dressed and articulate Texan who at 45 has amassed a fortune. He earned his chops during two decades in the oil business, but he likes to call himself an investment banker.
He brought to the Uintah and Ouray Reservation in eastern Utah a no-nonsense approach: for every $10 million he would make for the tribe, he’d keep $1 million. He also required a salary of $62,500 per month for himself and four staffers.
“I told them I wasn’t here to save them. I was here to make money,” Jurrius said in a recent interview. “The (tribal) elders gasped when I said that. But one elder stood up and said, ‘You’re the first (white) man to tell us the truth.”‘
Jurrius is as controversial as he is dynamic. He spent a number of years with the Southern Ute Tribe in southwest Colorado before he was invited to leave in 2000. After five years with the Northern Utes, his contract is up. Its renewal is tied to a pledge to increase by four-fold the dividends paid out to tribal members.
That has his critics crying foul: He’s buying his own contract extension, they claim.
New prosperity
In any case, Jurrius has an impressive track record. Longtime Southern Ute finance director Bob Zahradnik, a non Indian, said Jurrius helped lead the Ignacio-based tribe into a new era of prosperity.
During the Jurrius years, the assets of the 1,300-member Southern Utes grew from less than $200 million to what now is creeping up on $2 billion.
But some Southern Utes claim that Jurrius went beyond financial adviser to political power broker.
“He became involved in tribal decisions,” said Sage Remington, a full-blooded Southern Ute. “He was arrogant and viewed the tribal people as merely a conduit.”
From the vantage point of the Northern Utes, encamped in the hardscrabble Uinta Basin, the Colorado scenario looked more than a little inviting.
To Maxine Natchees, the chairwoman of the tribe’s governing Business Committee, Jurrius appeared as the man who could at last lead her people out of poverty.
Minimal royalties
Although the Northern Utes are believed to own vast deposits of oil and natural gas, they had only recovered minimal royalty payments over 40 years of energy exploration in the Uinta Basin.
Jurrius set up shop at tribal headquarters in Fort Duchesne in January 2001 and unpacked the model he built in southwest Colorado.
It includes a “membership fund” based on royalties and low-risk investments that would underwrite all tribal services: health, education, social services and retirement. In addition, it outlines a “venture fund” that seeks to build profits aggressively through a mix of investments in things such as real estate and technology.
Future ventures
It sets the stage for any number of future tribal business ventures.
To put the plan on what Jurrius calls a “firm financial footing,” he launched a new and comprehensive inventory of all the tribe’s mineral holdings. He renegotiated royalties on Ute gas and oil fields.
And he guided the creation of Ute Energy, so the tribe can participate directly in profits from new wells.
Not least, Jurrius helped the tribe free $190 million in water settlements that the federal government had held in trust.
The financial plan was put before the tribe for a vote. Once approved, it became something akin to law.
But complaints like those that dogged Jurrius in southwest Colorado – that he is secretive, heavy-handed and meddling in tribal politics – soon followed.
Some tribal critics maintain that no one outside of Jurrius’ inner circle knows exactly where the tribe’s money is. And there is no independent audit to back up his assertions.
“It’s change, and it’s hard,” Jurrius said. “My commitment to the tribe is that I’ll stay until I’m finished.”
