James M. Redwine

Events

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!

Reflections

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Memorials take many forms and have many purposes. Some are large in scope covering acres of land containing statues and museums, such as Gettysburg Battlefield, or are smaller in area but allow visitors to absorb history and meaning through sober reflection, such as the Washita Battlefield National Historic Site where Custer ambushed and killed Chief Black Kettle, his wife and most of his tribe of peaceful Native Americans.

What should be the design of a Posey County’s memorial to the people and events of October 1878? Of course, that is a community decision best made by representatives of various interests. However, I respectfully suggest the purposes of a memorial should be the same regardless of the physical structure:

To honor the victims;

To recognize the events;

To learn from the past;

And to inspire a desire to make a better future.

When one visits Gettysburg the opportunity to simply walk The Wheatfield as did the Confederates, or crouch behind short stone walls awaiting the charge as did the Yankees is to be transported into the soul of the battle of July 1863.

At Washita, to silently walk the dirt paths the fleeing Indian families took on foot as Custer and his soldiers pursued them on horseback is to experience the horror of November 1868. No museum is necessary.

Whereas the design of a memorial to the events of October 1878 in Posey County should be the result of careful planning with input from numerous persons, the location should be pre-determined. It should be where the murders took place, which was on the campus of our beautiful and historic courthouse.

I respectfully suggest a small area on the southeast corner of the courthouse campus be set aside and that there be medium size stones or marble steles with the names of the victims along with small marble benches where people could sit and absorb the events of 1878 while reflecting on their meaning. Of course, there could be a brief explanation of the events on a historical marker that would match the overall design. However, the design is not as important as the statement we as a community should make by finally publicly recognizing the events.

Why?

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There were telephone calls, personal inquiries and Facebook posts. Thank you everyone! It speaks well for Posey County that people today are taking an interest in recognizing a terrible injustice that previous Posey County citizens committed and perpetuated by silence over one hundred years ago.

I have been a citizen of this fair county since 1976 and have been deeply involved in our legal system. From 1976-79 I served as the Chief Deputy Prosecuting Attorney, from 1979-80 as County Attorney to the Board of Commissioners, from 1976-81 as a practicing attorney, from 1981-83 as judge in what was then the Posey County Court (now the Posey Superior Court) and from 1983 to 2019 as the Posey Circuit Court Judge. And while I will retire as a full-time judge December 31, 2018, the Indiana Supreme Court has appointed me as a Senior Judge for 2019. In other words, I have had and have some responsibility for aiding in the administration of justice in Posey County.

Therefore, I believe it is my duty to help seek justice, at least in memory, for the seven men who were murdered during one week in October 1878. The murderers included two hundred white Posey County men who were aided by the silent complicity of the rest of our citizens. Since I first found out about these murders I have spoken and written about the events. The following is the Preface of my historical novel JUDGE LYNCH! that was published in July 2008.

PREFACE

On March 14, 1990, I spoke to the Posey County Coterie Literary Society in the courtroom of the Posey Circuit Court in Mt. Vernon, Indiana. As a thank you, the Society presented me with William P. Leonard’s History and Directory of Posey County (1882). The presentation was made by the Society’s President, Ilse Horacek. I read the book the following weekend and was struck by three brief paragraphs found at page 101:

“Annie McCool, a white prostitute, was murdered at Mt. Vernon, by some unknown person, in September, 1878. Her murderer was supposed to have been a negro paramour.

Daniel Harris, a negro, on October 11, 1878, shot and killed Cyrus Oscar Thomas, a son of Geo. W. Thomas, Esq., of Mt. Vernon, while the latter was in discharge of his duty as Deputy Sheriff. Harris was indicted by the grand jury at the October term of the Circuit Court in 1878, and at the August term of that court in 1881, the prosecutor, William H. Gudgel, entered a nolle prosequi. It is supposed by some and denied by others that Harris was murdered by the friends of his victim who disposed of his body by means which will forever leave its whereabouts a mystery.

James Good, Jeff Hopkins, Wm. Chambers and Edward Warner, all colored, were hanged October 12, 1878, by a body of unknown men, from trees in the Public Square, at Mt. Vernon for murders and other heinous acts committed by them during that year.”

I could not find any further description of these events that had occurred right outside my court chambers so I contacted Ilse who brought me a copy of the Western Star newspaper of October 17, 1878, that she had pieced together from the microfilm records stored at the Alexandrian Public Library in Mt. Vernon.

As a German child during World War II, Ilse observed firsthand the denial of civil rights by those in power. After marrying a soldier from Posey County whom she met in Germany, Ilse made her home in Mt. Vernon and has always been vigilant in the cause of equal justice for all. Ilse pointed me to other sources for more information.

One thing that I personally observed was the four old hangman’s nooses that are still on display at the Posey County Jail. On May 21, 1992, I took those nooses to be props for a speech I had been asked to give on the 1991 Rodney King police brutality case to our local Kiwanis Club. The reaction of the crowd of business and professional leaders to my comparison of the 1991 case in Los Angeles to the 1878 lynchings in Posey County was a surprise to me. That is when I began in earnest to search through the old court records in the courthouse catacombs and the Indiana State Archives.

I have also written about the events of October 1878 several times over the last few years in my weekly column, “Gavel Gamut”. The column appears in our three Posey County newspapers, The Mt. Vernon Democrat, The Posey County News, and the recently revived Western Star as well as The Carmi Times in Illinois.

Each October for the past three years I have reprised the murders and the cover-up. On numerous occasions I have solicited family diaries or records, such as a copy of the photograph Glenn and Kenneth Curtis saw in the 1950’s. Perhaps this book may help bring out more facts.

The Harrison family is often referred to in news accounts and even court records as Harris. For the sake of consistency, Harrison is used throughout this book.

Much of this novel is rooted in fact. But, because many in the white community of 1878 had good reason to avoid exposure and many in the black community were driven out, I have taken poetic license to tell the story and call for such atonement as may be possible.

Jim Redwine, May 2008

That is WHY. Why NOW you might ask? Because there has been no atonement, no recognition, no justice and no memorial for 140 years. The time is now!

Finally Raising The Veil

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During one week in October 1878 seven Black men, three from one family, were murdered by a well-organized group of about two hundred white men in Posey County, Indiana. At that time Posey County had 20,000 residents only 200 of which were Negroes. The odds were 100 to 1 and white people held every position of power including the newspaper owners and editors, the Circuit Court Judge and the Prosecuting Attorney.

Making the crimes disappear was easy. As John Leffel, the owner and editor of The Western Star newspaper, wrote on the front page, “Now let the appropriately dark pall of oblivion cover the entire transaction”. Leffel had been an eye witness to five of the murders and even interviewed the victims before four of them were lynched on the courthouse campus and another was “slaughtered like a hog” and his body parts thrown into the jailhouse privy.

With the active assistance of Posey County’s legal and law enforcement community and the acquiescence and quiet approval of the entire white community Leffel’s directive was carried out and no one was ever brought to justice. In fact, some who were aware of and involved in the murders and coverup even went on to higher political offices.

This sordid chapter of our county’s history was brought sharply to my mind again last week when I received a letter from Deidre Eltzroth of Indianapolis. I do not know and have not met Ms. Eltzroth but, according to her letter, she is the daughter-in-law of a close friend of mine, Jerry Kuykendall. Jerry and I have been friends for forty years and as a teacher at Mt. Vernon Junior High he coached our son, Jim, in track. Jerry is a generous public servant who gives countless hours through the Red Cross and numerous other activities. Deidre wrote that she had read my book, JUDGE LYNCH!, which is about the murders. She opined I might be interested in a memorial to the victims.

Deidre enclosed a brochure on the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama. The memorial at EJI is dedicated to the more than 4,000 Negro lynching victims who were murdered in America between 1877 and 1950. Some of Posey County’s victims are named on a bronze coffin. EJI is asking each of the localities where people were lynched to dedicate a memorial to the victims. Peg and I toured the EJI in Montgomery this past summer. It is a sobering reminder of our treatment of “freed” slaves and other African Americans after the Civil War.

By coincidence, just recently three of the leaders of the Posey County Bar Association inquired about honoring my 38 years of service as judge. I was humbled and gratified by their thoughtfulness and suggested what would be most desired by me would be a memorial on the campus of the Posey County Courthouse to those long-forgotten souls who were murdered without due legal process then cast into the dustbin of history by the establishment and the legal system.

So, thank you, Deidre, for your timely and thoughtful letter. I hope we can now all work toward righting a great wrong. For more information about the Equal Justice Initiative go to www.museumandmemorial.eji.org.

 

Some Relief

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November 6th cannot get here fast enough for those of us accosted by the national media about the acclaimed virtues of their favorite candidates and the attributed evils of those they dislike. But there is another group of citizens who will be even more grateful when the election is over, that is the candidates themselves. Having been a candidate myself I feel their pain. And the winners will have suffered as much as the losers; although victory may somewhat assuage the pain of the campaign. However, the elation from an election night win may soon crash on the reality of actually filling a public office and the nagging dread that another campaign may soon be required.

Political campaigns remind me of Jerry Clowers’ most famous story. You may recall Clowers who was a standup comedian known as the “Mouth of the South”. Clowers was born in Liberty, Mississippi in 1926 and died in Jackson, Mississippi in 1998. He told many humorous stories of southern culture, some of which might fall through the cracks of today’s political correctness. His Coon Hunting routine brings up the feelings many political candidates experience. You may know the story which involves a Mississippi coon hunter who climbs a tree to confront what he thinks is a raccoon and finds himself in a battle with an unamused lynx.

As the hunter is suffering claws and teeth he calls for his fellow coon hunter to shoot up in the tree. His friend yells back he is afraid to fire his gun as he might hit the treed hunter. The hunter in the tree yells back, “Fire anyway, one of us has to have some relief!”

When it comes to political races often candidates are so amazed and chagrined by the experience they get the same feeling. “Just get it over, I’ll worry about who wins later.” On the other hand, those of us on the ground, as it were, can receive the benefits of the effort of those who seek to serve us without any sacrifice on our part.

So, on behalf of those of us on the sidelines allow me to say thank you to the candidates and as another famous candidate said, “We feel your pain”, but it will soon be mercifully over for all of us.

To The Members Of The First Line

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In a Cajun funeral one’s family and close friends form the First Line and send him/her off with a procession dancing to “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Homilies are recited, personal remembrances are told, and a sad time becomes a good time. Although neither Cajun nor Creole, I was honored with a rousing send off from my close friends and even closer family on Saturday, August 16, 2014. We had my funeral at JPeg Ranch and I immensely enjoyed it. It was also nice to hear what was said and sung.

One of my friends, Randy Pease who is a fine guitar player and song writer, wrote and performed “The Ballad of Jim Redwine”. Another friend, D. Neil Harris who is a judge in Mississippi and a professional trombone player, sent a video of himself playing a fine rendition of “Saints” while he whirled a Hula-Hoop.

The entire First Line of about 130 family and friends marched around our barn singing and swaying. Limericks, poems, testimonials and stories of past glories (or not) were shared as I, the Dearly Not Departed, listened carefully.

This greatly satisfying event came to mind yesterday as my sister, two sisters-in-law, two brothers and, of course, Peg, met with the Reverend Mr. Ken Woodham who wisely leads and carefully guides the combined congregations of the Pawhuska, Oklahoma First Presbyterian and Disciples of Christ churches.

Ken and the Church Board have the unenviable task of overseeing the inevitable “funeral” of the marvelous old and declining building that housed the First Christian (Disciples of Christ) congregation for almost 100 years. Countless important events such as weddings, funerals and baptisms took place in those hallowed halls. My own baptism occurred there September 9, 1951, and my siblings and I saw off our beloved parents there. Our lives and that building have progressed happily together.

Much as my own funeral, what Peg calls my Fun-er-al, was a celebration of many lives, the Church Board has wisely determined the “funeral” for the brick and mortar part of our church will be a celebration. All members, past and present, are invited to preserve mementos such as stained-glass windows, pews and tables. No charge will be made and no contributions are required. Of course, my memory of the fine people who have served this house of love and respect leads me to suspect voluntary offerings will be forthcoming. As to the real church, i.e., the people who have graced this structure that now deserves a respectful goodbye, they will live on in both memory and current service.

You might wonder about my physical well-being or perhaps my mental health. My self-diagnosis is both were good in 2014 and remain so. Of course, other opinions may live on. If you should think me and Peg just a little left of plumb for holding my life celebration a little early or if you question the Church Board’s send off of the old building with love instead of a garage sale, I respectfully suggest life’s best work and best times occur when we are just a little crazy.