James M. Redwine

Events

What Is The Score?

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80th birthday! Photo by Peg Redwine.

Psalms, Book IV, Chapter 90, verse 10 should be avoided by anyone who is nearing or has reached 80 years of age:

“The years of our life are threescore and ten,

Or even by reason of strength fourscore;

Yet their span is but toil and trouble;

They are soon gone, and we fly away.”

I make no comment on 80-year-old President Biden or 77-year-old Former President Trump. If both men are on the November 2024 ballot the voters can exercise their own judgment. And, should some other person lead either or both slates, the news media will make sure that their callow youth or doddering age are thoroughly exposed. And it will not matter anyway if the Bible is any guide because as the Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter I, verse 9 advises:

“What has been is what will be,

And what has been done is

What will be done;

And there is nothing new under the sun.”

Now, Gentle Reader, you may be of such an age that 80 seems but a pleasant temperature, not a grave specter or condition of daily life. However, as one who has recently joined the Four Score assemblage, I respectfully refer you back to Ecclesiastes, Chapter 4 verse 13:

“Better is a poor and wise youth

Than an old and foolish king

Who will no longer take advice.”

In other words, the mere arriving at or near 80 is not much of an accomplishment. Whether our leaders are 18 or 80 is not the relevant consideration; it is wisdom that matters and wisdom is not guaranteed by age nor is exuberant recklessness always the province of youth.

But what I have unfortunately come to experience is that diet and exercise mean little to most people who reach the “three score and ten” plateau. “Magic bullets” as trumpeted on countless television commercials do not really contain any magic. Sure, it is a good idea to not be sedentary or overeat at any age. However, no matter what good habits old people engage in, the battle still goes to the strong and the race to the swift. And those two truisms are proved by the rosters of any professional sport team and the ages of university faculties. Yes, some emeritus scholars still fill chairs so colleges can raise their images, and contributions, but doddering is not a productive exercise nor hardly inspiring.

Those near or in the octogenarian grouping are old enough to remember the Viet Nam War, the Gulf War and the Iraq War; of course, an awareness of the Ukrainian tragedy is inescapable. Yet we appear to be digging in deeper in numerous military briar patches while we have great humanitarian needs at home and abroad. Those of us who lived through Viet Nam are puzzled by others who did also yet vigorously have us engaged in numerous similar new quagmires.

Perhaps the real lesson some 80-year-olds, and many less than 80, anticipate is that there really is nothing new under the sun except the aches and pains we never truly expected should it be our lot to live long enough to experience them. On the other hand, as that eternal optimist, and opportunist, Scarlett O’Hara, said in Gone With The Wind, “Tomorrow is another day”. At least we all hope so regardless of the Sturm und Drang. As Robert Frost pointed out, all we have is the struggle so we better make up our minds to enjoy it regardless. Therefore, I’ll just pull myself up and say Happy Birthday to all my fellow Leo’s, especially the Four Score ones.

 

A Birthday Party

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Ben Franklin & George Washington. Photo by Peg Redwine

Ever since my mother’s three brothers and one of her three sisters returned home from serving in World War II my family has gathered for a Fourth of July reunion. While competing circumstances have caused some hiatuses over the last seventy-seven years, we have been fairly consistent in our celebration of life. We do what all families do at reunions, meet, eat and subconsciously soak in the subtle changes from childhood to absence.

Those changes are what John Denver wrote about in 1971 in his song Poems, Prayers and Promises:

♪ The days they pass so quickly now, nights are seldom long

Time around me whispers when it’s cold

The changes somehow frighten me, still I have to smile

It turns me on to think of growing old ♪

Denver, as I was, was born in 1943, therefore he was only 28 when he was contemplating aging. He died in a plane crash in 1997 so his early thoughts about growing old were prescient. When I listen to his young man’s song about encroaching old age I am impressed, and sobered, by his understanding of the physical and emotional aspects of aging. I do not recall even the vaguest concern of not being 28; I am now more aware.

Our current political debate is highlighted by President Biden’s age of 80 and former President Trump’s 77. Depending upon our partisan preferences we monitor each man’s speech and movements in a search for affirmation or condemnation of our hopes or fears for our nation. For although the United States just celebrated our 247th birthday, we Americans think of ourselves as a young, vibrant country that is always trying to perfect our union. The young John Kennedy is our ideal. We may need the wisdom sometimes brought by age but we crave the vitality often born of youth.

But age does not guarantee good judgment and youth may encourage recklessness. Each of us knows the angst of experiencing what Camelot’s Guinevere called for, and eventually obtained, “A day she would always rue”. Ben Franklin was 70 years old in 1776 and George Washington was 44. Most people would say both men had good judgment. Both showed wisdom and courage, two of the character traits we need in our leaders. Their age was not a factor. As John Denver concluded, “It’s been a good life all and all” and:

♪ How sweet it is to love someone, how right it is to care

How long it’s been since yesterday and what about tomorrow?

What about our dreams and all the memories we share? ♪

Well, back to our family’s Fourth of July Reunion. The singing was poignant, the bar-b-q was well seasoned, some members were young, some no longer were and, of course, numerous loved ones were sadly no longer with us. However, “I have to say it now, the changes do not frighten me” and next year will bring more. Some will be melancholy, some will be challenging, some will be interesting, but what it all will be is a continuing party.

Other Countries Heard From

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Photo by Peg Redwine

President Kennedy gave his inaugural address January 20, 1961 when I was a senior in high school. He was concerned about the Soviet Union’s 1957 Sputnik achievement and challenged American youth to respond. That September I entered Oklahoma State University and boldly majored in physics. By June 1962 I had learned how to smoke but not learned anything that would raise concerns in Russia. I changed my major to English and then in June 1963 decided to “ask what I could do for my country” without the headaches of college level studies. I became a 1960’s Okie and headed for California. On the way I took my first foray out of the United States to Nogales, Mexico.

My friend and fellow OSU dropout, Ed Kelso, and I drove his 1954 Mercury down to the Mexican border and were waved through without so much as a question, much less a visa. We stopped at the first bar we came to and ran into my old high school classmate Jim Reed and a few other guys from Pawhuska, Oklahoma who were there on a similar journey of cultural discovery. What I noted from my brief sojourn was my high school Spanish was sufficient as long as we had U.S. Dollars. I also received my first faint awareness of how lucky I was to have been born north of the border.

Another foreign country experience was when as a member of the National Judicial College faculty I was sent for two weeks (December 1999-January 2000) to Ukraine to teach Ukrainian judges. I liked the Ukrainian people but found their lives to be quite difficult. The judges told me they frequently did not receive their small monthly salaries and the Ukrainian government often failed to provide them and their families with promised individual family housing. Also, police corruption was in full view on the streets of Kiev and workers who were supposed to help repair such public assets as the fountain in “Freedom Square” did about as much work as I did at Oklahoma State. As the old Soviet saying went, “The government pretended to pay them and they pretended to work.” I left Ukraine with a greater appreciation of what our Founders sacrificed for us.

Then in 2003 the National Judicial College sent me to Russia for a week to teach Russian judges about jury trials. The old Soviet Union abolished jury trials after the 1917 Revolution and Russia was just reinstituting them into their legal system. Peg was able to be with me on that trip and we, once again, found the Russian judges to be friendly and gracious but the Russian culture caused us great chagrin. A good cup of coffee was truly a foreign concept, but the consumption of alcohol was quite prevalent. The idea of innocent unless proven guilty was belied by the defendants being housed in metal and plastic cages in the courtroom. And when a defendant on trial for murder was marched into the courtroom by four AK47 carrying uniformed guards right in front of the jury, my American sense of justice was assaulted. It was good to get back to my Indiana courtroom with its guarantees of equal justice. Russia was interesting, but the United States was good to come home to.

Most recently (June 2022-February 2023) Peg and I completed a six-month judicial teaching mission sponsored by the American Bar Association, the East-West Management Institute and the United States Agency for International Development. I was sent to the country of Georgia that until 1991 had been part of the old Soviet Union. My duties were to make friends, observe, work with and give suggestions to Georgian judges based upon my more than forty years of experience as an American judge.

We had a wonderful experience with the Georgian judges and our newly-made Georgian friends. They could not have treated us any better. Everyone we met was positive about our involvement and open to suggestions. We would gladly return to Georgia whenever invited. Of course, we did note substantial differences between the Georgian culture and America’s. Georgia is bordered on the north by Russia and on the south by Turkey. Twenty percent of Georgia is militarily occupied by Russia; that is a constant worry for the Georgian people. Peg and I thought how different our lives in America are. Our northern border is Canada which we visited in 2018 and is about as good a neighbor as any country could have. And our southern border is Mexico that appears to want to join us.

What this 2023 Fourth of July birthday party has helped us to reflect upon is, no matter how much CNN, MSNBC, FOX News and many in government service complain about America and malign it, many of the alternatives are pretty scary. After seeing how some of the rest of the world has to live, I find the ’ole USA absolutely marvelous. America has faults and foibles, but as Francis Scott Key wrote, it is really wonderful, “That our flag is still there.”

Photo by Peg Redwine

Las Vegas In The Osage

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Wade Tower at the Constantine Theatre, Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Picture by Peg Redwine

 

Alright, I finally give it up; my 1950’s Saturday morning black and white Cowboy and Indian movies at the Kihekah Theater in Pawhuska, Oklahoma are truly gone. They have been blown away like a prairie tornado by the big band sounds of Wade Tower and his marvelous musicians. Ah well, since Pawhuska is the capital of the Osage Indian Nation, we were always ambivalent as to which side to root for anyway.

On Saturday, June 03, 2023 from three to five in the afternoon Wade and his players with the multiple octaves and complicated rhythms transformed my old Kihekah Theater to the renovated Constantine Theatre and transported the audience across the plains to a séance with Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley. It was exciting and refreshing to experience music that did not repeat ad nauseum a single beat and three banging chords. Although Wade did manage to pay homage to his Oklahoma roots with a little George Strait. He also got the audience singing along and gyrating to Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline”, although I suspect alcohol may have been sitting in as a contributor from the appreciative audience. Wade and his Blues Brothers-dressed band members filled the ornate and historic Constantine with the kind of music and talent the old venue has not seen since my brother, C.E. Redwine, reprised his Oklahoma State University Blue Note Band there in 1994 when the newly renovated Constantine was re-dedicated. In fact, Floyd Haynes, who is Wade’s bandleader, reminded me of C.E.’s Paul Desmond quality saxophone playing.

Wade Tower and his band. Picture by Peg Redwine

Each of Wade’s ensemble was terrific. Wade’s vocals were powerful, sensitive and truly enjoyable. Sean Johnson on the tenor sax, Zac Lee sliding the trombone, Ryan Sharp on the trumpet, Chase Gulliver on drums, Vince Norman, keyboard, Rod Clark, bass and the justly featured Jerry Connel on lead guitar were solo quality artists. It was so exhilarating to feel each solid note and each changing key and modified rhythm. I like country music, but there are reasons there are seven notes with wonderfully complex sharps and flats as possibilities and multiple key signatures along with intricate tempos. Thank you Wade and your band for knowing and applying the full range of them. And further kudos go to the light and sound technicians who did a terrific job helping to bring Vegas to Pawhuska.

Also, thank you to the Board of the Constantine Theatre for your foresight and good taste in contracting with Wade Tower to perform every Saturday at 3:00 p.m. up to December 2023. Peg and I are eagerly looking forward to enjoying Las Vegas in the Osage again.

Peg Redwine, Wade Tower & Jim Redwine at the Constantine Theatre, Pawhuska, Oklahoma

The Mass Shooting Tocsin

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The definition of a “mass shooting” in the United States is a moving target based on the source of who describes an incident. While there is no neutrality on the issue of guns, the non-profit organization, Gun Violence Archive (GVA), defines a mass shooting as an incident in which four or more people, not including the shooter, are killed from gunshots. Applying these criteria, the GVA has published its figures for the period of January 01, 2023 to April 10, 2023 and compared it to the same time for 2014. In 2014 there were 59 incidents of mass shootings in the U.S. and in 2023 there were 146.

While those who announce the statistics may have motives to mischaracterize the figures, the statistics starkly establish an alarming trend upward. In a country of 330 million people where more people commit suicide with guns than commit mass shootings, and more than 30,000 die in vehicle accidents each year, it may appear that mass shootings in America are not out of control. But the tocsin should sound to alert us to a possible greater danger of a change in our national character.

It is not the inanimate objects of firearms that may be our greater concern but the animus we feel for one another. The most significant issue we should concentrate on is not the number of guns in our country nor who can access them, although these are important. What may be in play is why are we as a people engendering a degree of nihilism in some members of our society that so devalues oneself and others that “death by cop” and the deaths of unknown others is preferable to living.

I own guns, have since I was a boy. We had long guns in the pantry right next to our family’s dining table. There were no locked gun cabinets and no need for one. If I wanted to go hunting, I pulled back the curtain on the pantry, grabbed one of the guns and went hunting. Every boy and man I knew owned or had access to guns. Guns were not a means to achieve attention. We knew approval came from school and work and how we treated others, disapproval too. National attention was not on our radar but if it had been we knew it would need to come from helping others not indiscriminately murdering them. Our family was like most others and if we ever achieved any news media notoriety it was for some small contribution to local culture. It did not compute for most people that fame and infamy were equally desirable as long as they spelled the names right. So, what happened? What went wrong and how can we fix it?

The news media is not to blame for fostering a climate of “If it bleeds, it leads.” As a newspaper columnist for 33 years, I am a member of the media and I deny responsibility for anyone else’s behavior. I have enough to do being responsible for my own. No, the media is simply following the demands and interests of the American public. Movies, songs, video games and television shows that garner ticket sales and awards for ad nauseam renditions of pornography and senseless violence are the harbingers of what news sources people will pay attention to. CNN, MSNBC, Fox News and others are in business. They follow the demographics and those demographics are that what sells is the denigration of our politicians and blood from our citizens. What does not sell is any mention of good character and acts of kindness.

So, what does a disaffected, depressed, detached and marginal person conclude from the media? If one wants to matter, he or she must denigrate others or spill the blood of innocent strangers and themselves. I realize we will not return to the Andy Griffith Show and Walter Cronkite country we transitioned out of when all politics and all news was local. However, we can reevaluate how we report, not comment, on people with whom we disagree or, perhaps, even despise. The facts should be enough. Adjectives as to a politician’s motives should be eschewed. If the object of a news story is wrong, the public can reach that conclusion without some news anchor repeatedly claiming, “That’s a lie!” A lie requires intent and how does the news anchor know one’s intent. It should be sufficient to state the evidence and leave it up to the viewer or reader to decide if it is a lie or a mistake or even a difference of opinion.

A gradual turning away from a culture where, “The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones”, might be a good place to start. Or, if not Shakespeare, how about our mothers’ advice, “If we can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all?”

I get it that this approach might take years to help assuage our epidemic of gun violence and mass shootings. But I ask you, Gentle Reader, do you think the problem will be solved by continuing to vilify everyone we disagree with? Maybe, at least, respectfully hearing out opposing views before we label someone a crook or a liar might pour oil on troubled waters and help reduce our national tendency to assassinate character. Such an approach of just reporting the news may tend to discourage people teetering on the edge from taking up arms and actually assassinating innocent people.

Who’s In Control?

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Photo by Peg Redwine

Peg and I were in our apartment on the seventeenth floor of our 90s-Era looking building at 6:30 pm (9:30 am Central Time) in Batumi, Georgia yesterday when the whole gigantic complex quaked and my chair, with me in it, moved. Peg had been out on the tiny open-air balcony watching hearty Georgians swimming in the Black Sea. She came right inside shaking about as much as the apartment. We had experienced earthquakes before in Indiana and Oklahoma so we realized why we suddenly had a complete loss of control over our lives.

Peg heard a loud crack while I, as oblivious as usual, just existed through the moment. It takes a lot of power to cause a 42 story high-rise apartment building to move even if it is built on the small mobile rocks that make up the Black Sea beach. After we decided The End was not yet here, we checked for damage; none was obvious but we now have less faith in our accommodations. Speaking of faith, we understood why there was a gold-colored statue of the Greek god Poseidon in the public square across from our home. Poseidon was the god of earthquakes and other natural disasters, such as floods and storms, you know, like the hurricanes currently attacking the Philippines, Cuba and Florida, among other victims. The residents of Batumi must have had to endure a lot of mini-quakes over the years and decided a statue to Poseidon might help protect them.

Apparently when we realize we cannot control our natural environment we humans create gods who can. It makes us more comfortable if we have something that can control Mother Nature even if it also has the power to destroy us. As for Peg and me, it did not help assuage our angst that earlier in the day we saw workers around our complex employing a couple of trucks and a crane that looked like they were leftovers from the Dust Bowl Era. It was apparent that the job was bigger than the tools even if the workers did not appreciate the problem.

It has now been about twelve hours since the earthquake and Peg and I have had the time to assess the situation. We know it was not the New Madrid earthquake of 1811 and it was not a harbinger of the San Andreas Fault we have all been warned about for one hundred years. Oh, that will come as, unlike never happening pots of gold at a rainbow’s end, disasters do eventually appear. All we can do is create more gods, or at least, beliefs, that something somewhere can get things back under control for us.

 

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