James M. Redwine

Family

Changes

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They tore down my grade school and built a church. It is a nice church that regularly fills up with nice people, some of whom I do not know and some I do. In fact, some of the church members whom I do know I first met in the first grade in our old sandstone elementary school that is now their church. I expect almost every time one of those old classmates pulls up to their new church, they get a nostalgic image of our old school. I know that every time Peg and I happen to drive by the fine new brick church with its lovely green lawn and flowering shrubs, images of a sward of almost non-existent short grass interspersed with small pebbles and an occasional anthill fiercely guarded by large biting red ants come wafting through my contemporary thoughts.

The large two-story sandstone building with a bell tower on top and a basement below was one of the first truly substantial buildings in my hometown and had once, or so I was told by my Osage Indian Sunday School teacher, Violet Willis, served as a school for other Osage girls. Miss Violet and my family attended another church that has now been abandoned with some of its congregation now joining with that of the new one that replaced both my old school and my old church. The new church thoughtfully preserved the large stain glass window from my old church that was the sanctuary’s focal point. The stain glass scene was of a beautiful stream that gave worshipers an impression the water was flowing right into the baptismal vault where I and my sister and two brothers were baptized. That old sanctuary was also where we four siblings all sang in the choir and where our Father and Mother both served as elders and were honored during both of their funerals.

The new church that replaced my old school and my old church also replaced that congregation’s original church building that had been located about one block from my old church. That old church served its congregation well for many years and also served me and other Explorer Scouts as our meeting place because the civic minded father of one of my best friends from our old elementary school both formed and financially supported our Explorer Troop and, as a member of that congregation, got permission for us to meet there. My old friend and his family still attend that church in its new location. I bet he thinks about both our old school and his family’s old church building frequently when he goes to his new church.

Gentle Reader, you may get a sense from these reflections that somehow I am casting some sort of shadow over those who have seen fit to make the changes in my old school or the two old churches or my old beloved community at large to whom and what I owe so much. You would be far from the mark. I was blessed to learn many treasured lessons from my old school and several old churches, only one of which was mine, and countless friends, teachers and wise elders. How could I rue the decisions they made that helped make me so gratified today?

Changes must happen and hopefully they will be positive. One lesson I learned from those halcyon days of now bygone buildings was that the generosity and wisdom of those who populated those structures and that of those who now frequent the new ones are what matters most.

To paraphrase Martin Luther King, Jr., it is not the structures that are most important but the character nurtured by those who dwell therein. Old schools, changing old churches and changing communities are inevitable. However, it is not inevitable that change is good; good people must make them so. I was fortunate to grow up where the people did.

Raise a Parting Glass

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Old Baptist Cemetery, Wilburton, Oklahoma

The old Irish folk ballad, “The Parting Glass”, is a favorite Irish drinking song and is almost always sung, often a cappella, to help the dearly departed on their way. Military veterans are also frequently toasted to honor their service as glasses are raised and the ballad is sung. As you will see that tradition was carried from Ireland to America.

It is Veteran’s Day and as a veteran I have been thinking of all the service members, those who have served before and with me and those who are serving now. The United States Air Force was very good to me even though I gave little more than some of my time during a time my time was not otherwise of much value. While in the Air Force I was sent to Indiana University for one year to study a foreign language. Once honorably discharged I received four years of the G.I. Bill. I still receive VA health benefits. If a balance sheet were kept, I would be much more benefitted than contributing. Fortunately, no such accounting is made. So, thank you America.

And it is not just myself in my family who have been blessed to serve. Both of my brothers and my brother-in-law received honorable discharges and veteran’s benefits from the Army. Our father wanted to serve in World War II but a massive heart attack and his age caused Uncle Sam to say “no thanks.” In my immediate family our son, Jim, got his college education at West Point and now receives disability benefits due to physical health problems caused by his active-duty combat service on the front lines of both the Gulf War and the Iraq War. His son, Nick, our grandson, just graduated from Army Ranger School as Jim did about thirty years ago. Nick also got his college education via an R.O.T.C. scholarship thanks to the Army.

During WWII my mother’s three brothers and one of her sisters served as did my wife’s grandfather and two uncles. Each of these honorably serving family members received post-war benefits from a grateful nation. So, once again, thank you America.

Now going back another generation to my grandfather, Adolphus Cash Redwine, who was born in Georgia in 1848 before he moved to southeastern Oklahoma. With grandpa we find a murkier but perhaps more interesting veteran even if I am not sure which color uniform the Civil War era teenaged soldier wore. All I do know is that a few years ago my first cousin, Paul Redwine, who was the eldest son of one of my father’s numerous brothers living in the Wilburton, Oklahoma area told my sister, Janie, another of our uncles, Henry, received a letter of inquiry from the Veteran’s Administration in regard to our grandfather.

The letter stated grandfather’s military records indicated he was entitled to a military grave marker. Please remember this was at a time all service, Confederate or Yankee, was honored. The VA wanted someone to guide them to grandfather’s burial site. Paul said our Uncle Henry volunteered and the federal man showed up in Wilburton, Oklahoma with a bronze marker for grandpa’s grave.

Uncle Henry was one of the few people who knew the place where granddad was buried as grandfather was a Baptist minister who was preaching from the bed of a buckboard at a camp meeting in the remote hills of southeastern Oklahoma when something spooked the team of mules hitched to the buckboard. The mules took off and grandfather was thrown to the ground and killed. The congregation, at my grandmother’s request, buried grandpa right there with a board to mark the spot. That area grew into the tiny Bug Scuffle Cemetery outside Wilburton. Uncle Henry knew generally where the Bug Scuffle Cemetery was located among the sparsely populated hills. Unfortunately, Uncle Henry also happened to be a local source of moonshine. Uncle Henry made the gentlemanly suggestion that before he and the federal man placed the marker on grandfather’s grave, they should raise a toast in his honor using some of the family’s pride. The federal man, probably not wishing to offend, readily agreed.

My guess is grandfather’s military service, whatever it was, was still honorable even if his marker is not on his grave. For, as you see, Uncle Henry and the federal man raised so many parting Ball fruit jars to granddad’s service they never found his gravesite and lost the marker during their search. However, to grandfather and all veterans I am raising a metaphorical parting glass to say thank you and well done, and thank you to America for allowing us to serve.

Death Is Swallowed Forever (Isaiah 25:8)

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Barbara Taylor Pease & Jim at Echoes of Our Ancestors: The Secret Game Book Signing OCHS

Barbara (Taylor) Pease passed away ten days after my brother Phil Redwine. Their Baptist Christian services were similar in several comforting ways. They were also differing as Phil’s funeral was in Norman, Oklahoma and Barbara was honored as a member of the Osage Nation in Indian Camp in Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Peg and I had attended Barbara’s mother, Judy Taylor’s, funeral in 2016 and were moved by the Osage graveside rites. Perhaps the coincidence of my appointment as a Special Judge in a recent Indian law case made Barbara’s services even more impressive to Peg and me. I know I was surprised about how little I knew of Osage traditions even though I was born and raised in Pawhuska.

As part of my legal research into an area of the law completely new to me I went to my personal library and reviewed my autographed copy of John Joseph Mathews’ book, The Osages, Children of the Middle Waters. Mr. Mathews was well known to my parents and, at our mother’s request, Mathews signed a copy of his book “with special pleasure” to my brother Phil and me. Mathew’s extensive scholarship into Osage traditions brought out the beauty and solace of Osage burial rites.

Barbara’s services included former Osage Chief Johnny Red Eagle fanning over Barbara’s body with an eagle-tail fan. This impressive ritual reminded me of the following passage in Mathews’ book that described a burial of several Osage members of a hunting party who were killed by a lightning strike:

“The survivors came into the village carrying their comrades and singing their song of death. The Little Old Men looked at the sky in fear, then fanned away the evil spirit from the bodies with an eagle-tail fan…”

See Page 68

At Barbara’s services Palee Redcorn sang beautiful, haunting and comforting acapella renditions of hymns in the Osage language and then transitioned seamlessly into English versions. One of those death songs was the traditional Christian hymn, “Amazing Grace”. At my brother’s funeral his youngest son, Ryan, who is an ordained Baptist minister, sang a deeply felt acapella version of “Amazing Grace” from the pulpit.

Of course, Ryan also gave a marvelous and inspiring message under the most difficult of emotions to honor his father much as Reverend Scott Kohnle of the Indian Camp Baptist Church spoke for Barbara. I do not know if Ryan’s mother’s Native American heritage influenced Ryan’s message for his Dad, but I do know Ryan and Scott both captured the essence of Barbara’s family’s and our grief and pride in our loved ones. Barbara and Phil were similar in their kindness and generosity and in their steadfast pride and support of their numerous grandchildren.

To lose two such priceless members of our small circle within ten days of one another was a lot to bear, but the thoughtful and heartfelt services helped. Peg and I now better understand the communal support of family and tribe.

Mr. Thomas, Meet Phil Redwine

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Philip W. Redwine

Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) was a Welsh poet who was imploring his dying father to fight against death. Dylan pleaded with his dad:

“Do not go gentle into that good night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

The bravest fighter against Death I have ever known was my 79-year-old brother, Philip W. Redwine. Death was playing against Phil with a stacked deck but Phil kept drawing to inside straights for 34 years after Death thought it had dealt Phil a losing hand. The ultimate outcome was never in doubt but the timing sure was.

In 1987 Phil had a wife to help support and three young children to rear when, as country singer Tim McGraw sang:

“He was in his early forties (Phil was 44) with a lot of life before him when a moment came that stopped him on a dime.”

The oncologists at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center in Seattle, Washington told Phil he could die within 4 months but certainly would not live beyond 2 more years. Phil and our sister, Jane Redwine Bartlett, had gone to Seattle so Phil could apply to be a part of an experimental treatment program as Phil’s physicians in Norman, Oklahoma where Phil practiced law told Phil he only had 6 months to live. The Fred Hutchinson medical team apologized to Phil when they told him the cut off age for the experimental treatment study was 40. As Jane reported to our oldest brother C. E. Redwine and his wife Shirley and me, Phil simply responded that the Fred Hutchinson team, “Was not talking to the Phil Redwine who was dying, but to the Phil Redwine who was living and they were going to want him as a model for their study.” He asked them for the treatment even if he was not included in the study. After an overnight meeting Fred Hutchinson agreed to let him try.

So, for 34 years Phil practiced law, supported his family and was deeply involved in giving of his very limited time and limitless talents to his community. He endured chemotherapy, radiation, kidney failure, heart disease and cancer induced diabetes as he gave love and free legal advice to countless family members and friends. Phil could have been the model for the author of the Book of Proverbs. Just a few of the truisms that Phil’s life exemplified are:

Proverbs 13:22            “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children.”

Proverbs 19:11            “Good sense makes a man slow to anger, and it is his glory to overlook an offense.”

Phil would always listen respectfully to another’s point of view and would hear them out completely before agreeing or, gently, disagreeing.

Proverbs 18:2              “A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion.”

Proverbs 18:13            “If one gives answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.”

Proverbs 18:15            “An intelligent mind acquires knowledge, and the ear of the wise seeks knowledge.”

When you sought advice from Phil you knew he would carefully consider everything that you said then he would respond wisely and never make you feel lesser. Perhaps his constant companion, Death At Any Moment, guided his thoughts and helped him see others as Ernie Pyle said about soldiers in World War II:

“When you’ve lived with the unnatural mass cruelty that mankind is capable of inflicting on itself, you find yourself dispossessed of the faculty for blaming one poor man for the triviality of his faults.”

And perhaps his own constant vulnerability filled him with a passion to champion those who could not champion themselves. Phil fought the good fight for good causes in and out of court and often at immense cost to himself. He will be greatly missed, but his legacy is long and strong. Well done, Brother, you are my hero.

This picture was taken immediately after Peg finished printing the “Gavel Gamut”. Do you think Phil read this article?

On Her Own

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Our son, Jim on right, along with Canadian Platoon Leader & local Afghanis, 04/2002

Abraham Lincoln said he chose to not be a master because he would not choose to be a slave. Life is better if we get to make the choices for ourselves. We may choose unwisely but we would rather be wrong than be told what we can do. Independence of thought is usually within our control but independence of actions, for some, may depend on the largesse of others. Should we lose our independence when we have lived free for years it would be difficult to adjust. Afghanistan comes to mind. Afghanistan? Hey, folks, these columns do not need to be logical, they only need to be in writing. But it is not only the independence of women in Afghanistan that is my current concern but the independence of my older sister in Missouri.

Jane is currently in a hospital bed waiting the results of an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) test after her most recent fall. When we talked by phone this morning she spoke those dreaded words each of us may someday face, “This may be the end of my independent living.” Janie’s husband of more than fifty years passed away in 2012. She led a full life of public service before Bruce left her and has continued on her own until now. Janie has always been the go-to person for others to get things done. I fear an adjustment may now be required.

Janie grew up with three brothers. While our parents both worked outside our home, Janie used her good sense to keep our oldest brother on task and her two younger brothers from mayhem. Unfortunately, she moved out when she got married and left us to fend for ourselves. Now it may turn out she can no longer render assistance to others and may need help herself. I question whether such a paradigm shift will be a positive development. On the other hand, Janie has always done for herself as she did for others, or in her brothers’ cases, to others, so she may very well be back in charge of her life soon.

But let’s return to Afghanistan. When our soldier son spent a short portion of his Iraq war-time service in Afghanistan he became convinced the Afghan people held several loyalties higher than that to the country of Afghanistan. Jim concluded the Afghan men he met, he had no contact with women, were loyal first to their families, next to their particular tribe of which there are many, then to their religion and finally to what Americans call the nation of Afghanistan.

America has done for nation building in Afghanistan about what we did from 1492 until modern times “for” Native Americans. We must be slow learners. On the other hand, the Crusaders also sought to impose their religion on the Middle East. We may see ourselves in the faces of the male Taliban “infidels”.

I was raised by an independent mother and an independent sister. My wife, Peg, fits right in with them. When cable news shows Afghan females being returned to the times before our American invasion, I cannot but think of how I would feel if in their place. President Lincoln said it and I believe it. Of course, I also believe others should have the right to practice or not practice religion as they choose. So, I suppose I will continue to resent the TV images as I hope for Janie to be able to continue her independence and for Afghan females to find the same rights.

 

Unpaid Staff

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I have a friend who quite frequently volunteers to help others. He refers to himself and other such generous souls as unpaid staff. Fortunately for those of us who are blessed to live in or visit Osage County, Oklahoma there is a hard-working unpaid staff that helps preserve and promote the historic Constantine Theater. My family benefitted greatly from those efforts a couple of weekends ago when we held our two-day family reunion, jam session, art show and new book launching at the Constantine. We had a great time.

In addition to the volunteers who serve on the Board, there are a few competent and gracious paid staff such as Jennifer Adair and Shannon Martin who do the scheduling and make sure the lights come on. Jennifer’s mother, Linda Hubbard, as well as Jennifer’s daughters, Katie and Grace, also pitched in and helped make the weekend special. One of the unpaid staff, Board Member Cameron Chesbro, not only saw to the myriad technical needs of our diverse musical group he also displayed his own fine musical talents by sitting in as our unpaid drummer. Neither Gene Krupa nor Buddy Rich could have been a better fit.

It was wonderful to see friends, old and new, who took the time to drop in and cheer on our family jam session that included the world premiere of an original song The Redwine Waltz written and performed by C.E. Redwine and Roger Coble. We have a family that includes a few truly exceptional professional musicians, not including Peg and me, and several enthusiastic non-professionals, that is Peg and me. However, everyone dove right in and even some audience members got up and danced in the aisles of the grand ’ole Osage County Opry. Thanks for joining in the fun.

As one who grew up in Pawhuska and attended the Kihekah (Constantine) Theater on a regular basis for numerous community events it felt good to see the old girl sparkle once more. Osage County has many talented and creative people who need a stage to display their gifts to our community. The Constantine has a fine lighting and sound system thanks to the generous support of the contributors and volunteers. The Constantine has even served as a regular venue for feeding the extremely courteous and friendly crew and extras of the Killers of the Flower Moon movie.

Plays, movies, ballets, musical performances, lectures, dancing and numerous other public uses are being made of this one-hundred-year-old, ornate edifice. On mine and the whole Redwine Family’s behalf, several of whom have called Pawhuska their home, thank you to all the staff, paid and unpaid, who helped make our reunion so memorable and so much fun.

By the way, the Constantine is available for use by calling 918-900-6161 or just stop by and speak to the friendly people who are proud to be able to show off the grand old dame.