James M. Redwine

Events

Gulf of Tonkin, Weapons of Mass Destruction or Tankers in the Persian Gulf, Each a First Casualty of War

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Aeschylus (c. 525-455 BC) is the earliest sage credited with the ironic observation that, “The first casualty of war is truth”. However, it does not require an ancient Greek playwright to point out such an obvious truism. Whatever the times, whichever the country and whoever the politicians, gossamer justifications for attacking other nations is de rigueur.

Sixty thousand Americans were killed in the Vietnam War that was escalated by President Johnson from a failed CIA coup to a full blown war based on the false premise of the Tonkin Gulf Resolution. President George W. Bush took America to war against Afghanistan and Iraq recklessly and wrongly alleging Iraq had “Weapons of Mass Destruction” and that Iraq was involved in 9/11. Now we have such luminaries as John Bolton salivating to send American soldiers maybe to die or kill Iranians while Bolton precipitously declares Iran attacked a Japanese oil tanker and a Norwegian oil tanker near the Persian Gulf. Of course, the Iranians are the only Persians over there. Why the United States has any right or obligation to intercede for Norway or Japan against Iran is a mystery advanced by Bolton and Mike Pompeo but debunked by even Japan and Norway along with most of the international community.

As we near the celebration of our nation’s independence from Great Britain we might want to examine whose blood and treasure is once again being so cavalierly wagered by some of our politicians. I am fairly confident President Trump, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and presidential advisor John Bolton do not plan to do any of the actual fighting. And it will be our tax money not their personal funds expended. The clamor for war is akin to why we revolted against England. Taxation without representation is analogous to a declaration of war without Congress. Maybe we should dump some tea into the Potomac.

Name That Phrase

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When I want to take a walk I prefer my most comfortable pair of boots. When I want to return to a destination I choose the route I previously successfully traveled. Even when I mow my yard I normally approach the task the same way each time. Surprises are okay for birthdays and Christmas, but for almost everything else familiarity tends to work best if it is an option.

So when the New Harmony, Indiana Working Men’s Institute asked me to speak this Fourth of July after the initial glow of pride the rush of trepidation led me to seek out shelter in time-tested material such as the following offerings. As most of the original authors have already received their “summonses to join that innumerable caravan..”, I presume a little plagiarism will pass without complaint.

As to July 04, 1776

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The British had provided America with a system of government, but imposed taxes upon us to pay for it without allowing us to be represented in our own government.

It was a time of dark and stormy nights filled with British soldiers being quartered in our homes without our permission and Americans being impressed to serve on British ships. Such treatment incited the embattled American farmers to stand at Lexington and Concord and fire the shots heard ‘round the world. At least one patriot decided death was preferable to dishonor and wondered why some still remained silent while their brethren were already in the field.

Others declared the course of human events made it necessary to sever America’s ties to Great Britain and take its rightful place among the nations of the world. From 1620 until 1776 people had dithered and wondered whether to be or not to be free. Whether it was nobler to suffer Britain’s slings and arrows or to take up arms and oppose them. In other words, should we drink high taxed tea or dump it in the harbor?

Fortunately for us our Forefathers and Foremothers chose liberty over acquiescence, freedom over paternalism and sacrifice over dishonor. Thanks to all of them.

This Land Is Our Land

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Woody Guthrie (Woodrow Wilson Guthrie 1912-1967) came of age in the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression. When one hears Woody sing about the America of those times Guthrie’s personal experiences and perceptions should be considered. In that context, his song’s ironic lyrics that point out America might not have been made for everybody speak to those Americans left out by our Founding Fathers, who were all well-to-do white men.

James Madison (1751-1836) is called the Father of the United States Constitution for good reason. He conceived of and drafted most of the Constitution including its first ten amendments, the Bill of Rights. Madison and the rest of the fifty-five well-to-do white men who attended the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania from May 25 to September 17, 1787 met in secret. The public and the media were excluded and the delegates were sworn to secrecy.

Madison and his fellow Virginian, George Mason (1725-1792), were of like mind in believing average citizens were not equipped to govern themselves and, therefore, a Constitution needed to provide for a government to consist of capable representatives who could provide for the common good. Such groups as women, Negroes and Native Americans were not to have a say in determining their own destiny. Over the years since 1787 we have slowly and gradually addressed some of the Founders’ omissions.

Slavery was abolished almost one hundred years late by the XIIIth Amendment and women were given the right to vote by the XVIIIIth Amendment in 1920. Young men who could be drafted to fight for their country at age eighteen but could not vote until age twenty-one, were fully enfranchised in 1971 by the XXVIth Amendment.

America from the Spanish Conquistadors of the 16th century until this very day has struggled with what were, are and ought to be the ideals of our country’s government. Competing interest groups such as religious sects, LGBTQ citizens, immigrants, political parties, social and cultural associations, news media and countless others exert pressures and vie for recognition and inclusion in our American dream of equality and equal opportunity. In short, America calls itself a melting pot, but it is often more of a bubbling cauldron of competing aspirations.

As we near our mutual birthday on July 04, we may wish to re-examine the base upon which our national dreams were founded and candidly evaluate our progress. Of course, it is only human that in a country of over three hundred million people we will always have disagreements on what directions to go and the best methods for getting there. And we should, also, probably both recognize the genius of our Founders and remember they were simply humans too.

Practicing Up For The Fourth

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Christmas and the Fourth of July were my father’s favorite times of the year. He would start “practicing up” for each commemoration about December first for Christmas and right after Memorial Day for the Fourth of July. Christmas is a ways off but our country’s birthday is rapidly approaching with Memorial Day having been this past weekend.

Memorial Day is an officially recognized federal holiday enacted to honor those members of our armed forces who gave their lives so the rest of us could enjoy the blessings of liberty. It is altogether fitting and proper that Memorial Day and the day we declared our freedom from Great Britain are linked in our minds and hearts.

It brings forth sadness and gratitude to see American flags adorning the graves of those who suffered an early death for us while we have the opportunity and the obligation to say thank you to their memory. The same feelings arise when we remember the courage and sacrifice of those fifty-six men who together pledged their “lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor” on July 04, 1776.

So, how do we go about “practicing up” to celebrate our collective birthday? Benjamin Franklin, the oldest of the signers, enthusiastically directed us to honor our Day of Independence with explosions (fireworks), the mass consumption of flame cooked meats (barbecue) and patriotic music. My father, and I am confident most of yours, Gentle Readers, took Ben’s advice to heart. Whereas, Memorial Day we usually note with solemn services followed by family dinners, most of us approach the Fourth differently, more as if we are trying to bring forth those great spirits from 1776.

From the President of the United States to governors, mayors and the leaders of civic organizations throughout our country speeches will be made. From individual families to communities at all levels, parades, barbecues, games and fireworks will be enjoyed from the morning of July 4th until the smoke finally clears late at night.

I am already practicing up.

A Yankee Girl Does Rodeo

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America consists of four countries: (1) everything east of the Mississippi River excluding Florida; (2) Florida, (3) everything west of the Mississippi River excluding California; and, (4) California. Rodeos are the province of people in country (3) although some folks in Florida and California do know there is no accent on the term rodéo except for a certain drive in Beverly Hills frequented by the frou-frou set.

Yankees, that is almost all of those people in countries (1) (2) and (4) snub their noses at those of us from country (3). Yankees tend to talk funny while casting aspersions on the pleasing western drawls of those of us from country (3), and Yankees dress odd while failing to appreciate western wear. In sum, some Yankees want to ignore country (3) even to the point of eliminating the Electoral College and bribing their way into colleges most of those in country (3) would not wish to attend. After all, could real Americans root for colleges whose colors are pastels?

It was important issues such as these that coursed through my brain as Peg, who was born in New York, and I attended a rodeo in Osage County, Oklahoma last week. I was left with the conclusion that Yankee girls and rodeos may not be the best fit. Perhaps you will agree once I relate Peg’s take on the Roy Clark Memorial Championship Rodeo held April 26 and 27, 2019 in Pawhuska, Osage County, Oklahoma.

Peg was fine with and impressed by the opening ceremonies that started with a cowgirl mounted on a horse and carrying the United States flag. That cowgirl was followed by another mounted cowgirl carrying the state flag of Oklahoma then by five more cowgirls riding around the arena with flags of the Air Force, Army, Marines, Navy and Coast Guard. As the flags were displayed “The Star Spangled Banner” was sung, the Pledge of Allegiance was recited and a long prayer was given. Then the rodeo events began. That’s also when Peg began to inquire about such things as calves, steers, horses and bulls feeling put upon by such things as cowboys, cowgirls, ropes and stock handlers.

“Jim, that cowboy roped that calf around the neck while it was running full speed and abruptly jerked it to a stop by reigning in his horse. Doesn’t that hurt and isn’t that cruel and inhumane?”

“I suppose so, but not ever having been roped, I don’t know. I note the calf jumped up and trotted off looking fine.”

“Well I beg to differ, you chased me until I roped you in, although sometimes I wonder why I did. Anyway, Jim, the announcer said the cowboy tied up three of the calf’s legs with a ‘piggin string’ he carried in his teeth. Where are the pigs?”

“There are no pigs in rodeos unless you are on a farm back east. It’s just a term of art.”

“It seems like almost all the cowboys who try to ride the bucking horses and bulls get thrown off. Doesn’t that hurt? And, where’s the art in that?”

“Yes, it hurts about like getting hit by a 300 pound football player. However, if they hang on for 8 seconds they can win prize money. It’s all part of the rodeo experience, Peg.”

“Jim, I don’t think it’s fair they penalize the cowgirl barrel racers for knocking over a barrel. Why don’t they set the barrels up so they won’t fall over?”

“Because then the cowgirls would go flying over the saddle horns when the horse hits a barrel.”

“Jim, in that team roping thingy why don’t they just set a large circle of rope down on the arena floor and shoo the steer’s hind legs into it?”

“Because that is not what happens on a ranch when cattle are being worked. Rodeos are based on actual ranch work and steers have to be rounded up on a ranch.”

“Jim, do you think we’ll see Sam Elliott here tonight?”

“Are you ready to leave? Maybe we’ll go see a movie. Perhaps you’ll see Sam there.”

To Peel A Potato

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As many of you, my first job for pay was mowing neighbors’ yards. My brother Phil and I would start the first week after school let out, usually about June 01, asking around for jobs. We charged $2.00 for mowing and trimming a house and yard on one or two lots. The lots were 25’ wide by 100’ long and since this was always summer in Oklahoma the trimming required was minimal; flowers were pretty much hoped for only. Still, trimming with mechanical hand trimmers was a worse job than mowing so Phil and I alternated who did which.

Our business plan originated when I was 9 and he was 10. It began when Dad finally scraped up enough money to replace our ancient mechanical push mower with a power push mower. We went from one or two yards per week to 5, sometimes 6. The gasoline engine used leaded gas and the tank held one quart which was enough for one lot. We usually had to refuel at least once. Gasoline cost less that 20 cents per gallon. A 5-gallon can could be filled for 1 dollar. You can readily see how the net income ran into double digits.

Of course, we had to be up before sunrise and load the gas can onto our wagon so we could walk it the one mile, each way, to a gas station. One problem we sometimes encountered was we would have spent all of our profits from the previous week on pop and snacks or shells for our 22 or 410 for rabbit hunting so we had to have Mr. Hamlin who owned the station front us the fuel.

This first business was pretty good but we yearned for higher goals, that is, more money and less work. So when our Mother told us a lady, Mrs. Juby, from church needed kitchen workers in her restaurant we transitioned from mowing to actual jobs, 50 cents per hour and one meal. Dad said o.k. but we still had to mow our own yard.

Mrs. Juby’s restaurant was one of those iconic small-town eateries. A few plastic covered booths along two walls and a counter down the middle with backless stools along with a menu of plate lunches, always including mashed potatoes. Phil and I had no idea how many potatoes it took to feed the luncheon crowd of one small town. Also, we were tasked with washing the huge kettles and pans the potatoes were washed and boiled in.

Everything went okay for us at first because we knew our place. Mom told us just do what Mrs. Juby said and don’t embarrass the family and Phil and I were pretty handy with paring knives due to all the squirrels and rabbits we had cleaned plus Mom had made sure we were familiar with washing pots and pans long before we got paid for it.

For a few weeks in the summer between my 6thand 7thgrade years Phil and I peeled potatoes and washed pans like the professionals we were. One thing Mom had taught us over the years was how to properly clean and peel potatoes. Most importantly, we knew all bad places, rotten parts, were to be removed. Unfortunately, Mrs. Juby saw the removal of potato parts as an attack on her profits, kind of like Phil and I might have seen the waste of a tank of gasoline.

So, one busy lunch hour we were assiduously washing pans and peeling potatoes when I came across a large spud that was mainly black and mushy. As I was eliminating about 90% of the potato Mrs. Juby burst into the kitchen with her apron flapping. Then when she saw the small remnant of potato I was contributing to the mashing pile her jaws matched her apron. “Jimmy! What are you doing? I’m not made of money you know. Is that why I have had to buy more potatoes? And you Philip! How could you let your little brother waste food like that? Well, I am going to let your Mother know about this. Finish with lunch then you don’t need to come back tomorrow!”

Well, Gentle Reader, my first real job was grand while it lasted, but not nearly as grand as the job I just finished. Thank goodness Mrs. Juby was not voting in Posey County the past 38 years!