James M. Redwine

Osage County

You Can Go Home Again and Again

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JPeg Ranch in Indiana. Photo by Peg Redwine

For many satisfying years Peg and I made our home in Posey County, Indiana among friends and family. During those years we were blessed with treasured visits from friends and family from out west, mainly my birth state of Oklahoma. Now that we have returned to make our home in Osage County, Oklahoma, as we reconnect with old friends and fond memories, we are occasionally blessed with visits from friends and family from southern Indiana. It is not frequent enough for us but is sweet when it occurs.

Therefore, we were pleased when we received an email from Mt. Vernon, Indiana high school senior, Carlton Redman, saying he had read our book JUDGE LYNCH! that we published in 2008, and for which my sister Jane nee Redwine Bartlett wrote the poignant Foreword. Carlton asked if I would participate in a Zoom call with his English class to discuss the book’s exposé of the long hidden horrific murders of seven Black men in Posey County in 1878; we were gratified for his interest. Carlton’s Redman family has deep roots in Posey County and his grandfather, Carl J. Redman, is an old friend of mine. Carlton’s uncle, Robert Redman, served as my court bailiff for several years. Another of Carlton’s uncles, Martin Ray Redman, was not only a fine public servant but also one of my best friends. Carlton’s cousin, Greg Redman, played baseball and graduated with our son, Jim, from Mt. Vernon High School. And, Dave Pearce along with his wife, Connie nee Redman Pearce, have carried my newspaper column, “Gavel Gamut”, in the Posey County News for many of the column’s 32 years and over 900 articles. In other words, unbeknownst to Carlton before he contacted me, the fine Redman family and my family have many pleasant connections and his aunt and uncle’s newspaper has often helped tell the story of the 1878 lynchings.

But that’s not why Carlton contacted me. He had been assigned by his teacher, Mary Feagley, to do a classroom project and he chose to investigate Posey County’s long and interesting history by reading our book and then having me appear in his class via the Internet on December 16, 2022 to discuss it. I was honored to do so as our son received a fine education from the Mt. Vernon school system and we have only good memories from his time there and our time in Posey County.

Photo by Peg Redwine

Gentle Reader, I hope you have read or will someday read JUDGE LYNCH! which is a historical novel, but refers to much of Posey County’s rich history. That Ms. Feagley has guided her students to know their own history gratifies but does not surprise me. Mt. Vernon High School has had several excellent teachers, such as Jerry King, who know our future is determined by our past and we need to know it, both good and bad.

In fact, Jerry and his wife, Marsha, appeared in the movie we made in 2011 about the murders of 1878. They reenacted General and Mrs. Alvin P. Hovey and even furnished their wonderful Pioneer Village for sets for the movie, for which my brother, C.E. Redwine, did the haunting music. Numerous Posey County and Evansville, Indiana residents volunteered their time and effort in the movie to help bring the previously hidden and forgotten terrible events of autumn 1878 to light. In fact, that movie premiered in my hometown of Pawhuska, Oklahoma at the Constantine Theater on June 11, 2011 at the First Ben Johnson Film Festival and has been shown several times in New Harmony, Indiana and elsewhere since then. JUDGE LYNCH!, its sequel, Unanimous for Murder published in 2021 that incorporates history from both Posey County and Osage County, and the movie are available at the Alexandrian Public Library in Mt. Vernon and Capers Emporium in New Harmony, Indiana. In Oklahoma they are available at the Pawhuska Public Library, the Osage County Historical Society Museum and Woolaroc Museum. And then, of course, from our website, www.jamesmredwine.com.

Carlton, his teacher and his classmates are helping the community remember what we must not forget, ignore or repeat. Thank you Carlton and Ms. Feagley. I was honored to serve forty years as a Posey County Judge and was honored to have JUDGE LYNCH! used to help preserve and expose our history.

Now that we live in Oklahoma we occasionally get to re-visit southern Indiana and see family and friends there. These times are rare but valued treasures, just as we used to feel when we lived in Indiana and visited Oklahoma. What Peg and I have found to our delight is that if one lives in both Posey County, Indiana and Osage County, Oklahoma, you have two homes and you CAN go home again, repeatedly.

“The Veranda” at JPeg Osage Ranch. Photo by Peg Redwine

♪ All The Grass Is Green ♪

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Photo by Peg Redwine

I like brown grass. It matches the unfallen brown leaves I don’t have to rake and the brown stagnant water in the pond that hides my fish from the ravenous blue heron. Also, brown grass does not engender chiggers. Ah, chiggers, Mother Nature’s reminder that we humans are, in fact, at the top of the insect world’s food pyramid. Here’s how the internet waxes eloquent about chiggers:

“They bite their human host (who invited them?) and by embedding their mouthparts into the skin

cause intense irritation with intense itching.” Ugh!

The omniscient internet says chiggers prosper in grasslands, like the Osage County, Oklahoma prairie, and are most numerous in early summer when grass is heaviest; you know, like now! I have been doing my own field work on chiggers since the mowing season has returned. I can attest that for once the internet is correct; chiggers proliferate in tall green grasses.

My ankles still display chigger bites from those halcyon childhood summer days when I would gayly traipse through the green prairie grasses in short pants and bare feet while the chiggers were rejoicing at the opportunity to embed their heads permanently into my skin and scar me physically and mentally for eternity. Surely someone should have kept me out of tall green grass for the first ten years of my life and surely I should not be communicating with chiggers now as beautiful dry brown grass turns into tall green chigger heaven.

Unfortunately, I cannot convince Peg our yard looks just fine with waving green stems interspersed with golden dandelions. She insists that I do battle with the vegetation that is being protected by battalions of chiggers as ferocious as Ukrainian freedom fighters. I don’t get it. Peg plants countless flowers and even decorative grasses while she insists I attack our yard with a smoking, noisy grass decapitating Kubota dragon. No wonder the chiggers launch counter attacks. I say let bygones be bygones. I’ll forgive those childhood chiggers if today’s marauders will leave me alone. But how can they if Peg demands I destroy their homes?

I say the blames for my chigger discomfort falls squarely upon Peg’s pathological need to impress the neighbors. Neighbors? We live in the country! Our cabin is a quarter of a mile from the main county road. Nobody ever sees our yard unless you count FedEx and UPS drivers who deliver Peg’s ever regenerating plants for her to plant and the chiggers to nest in. If I did not mow the yard all summer no one would see or care; well, except Peg of course.

But the real problem is not Peg. The real problem is the United States government that can send out trillions of borrowed dollars to encourage people not to work and trillions of borrowed dollars to help Ukrainians blow up Russian tanks, planes and ships but cannot spend a Depression Era dime to eliminate chiggers. It is time we returned to those thrilling days of yesteryear when instead of spreading armaments we spread insect killer, not DDT, of course.

Let’s hear it for dead chiggers and live, itch-free people. That’s a better campaign slogan than “Ban the U.S. Supreme Court” or “Raise a statue to Sammy Alito.” Well, excuse me a moment. I’ve got to go get Peg to type up this column for the paper and I can see out the window she is gleefully planting even more insect habitat.

Bowled Over

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Photo by Peg Redwine

Much as the Summer Solstice ushers in the ennui of torturously less daylight each day, as each of the forty-four college football bowl games is completed the dark pall of life without football forces us to put down our beer, get off the couch and go back to work. I accept that COVID is a significant issue but so is mental health. And one of America’s best palliatives for depression in the gray days of winter is watching other people risk their well-being on the football field.

The first college football game was played on November 06, 1869 between Rutgers and Princeton in New Jersey; one hundred people attended the game that Rutgers won 06-04. The first college bowl game was the Tournament of Roses’ East-West game (The Rose Bowl) played on January 01, 1902 between the University of Michigan Wolverines and the Stanford University Cardinal; there were eight thousand-five hundred spectators. Michigan won 49-0 and Stanford quit with eight minutes left to play. That first bowl game was initiated to increase interest in Pasadena, California as a tourist destination and to market the surrounding area and its products. All bowl games since that first one have had similar goals. The outcome of the games is not of paramount concern to most.

The attendance at such highly hyped events as the Tailgreeter Cure Bowl between Coastal Carolina University and Northern Illinois University on December 17, 2021 is indicative of the lack of fanaticism at most bowl games; 9,784, about the same number of fans who showed up for that first Rose Bowl. The bodies in the stadiums at bowl games are not the targets, eyeballs on TV advertising and promotion of each venue are.

As for the schools and players involved, they may have analogous goals. The colleges want to showcase their products and make some money and some players have hopes of enhancing their football futures either as players, coaches or announcers. In other words, the first bowl game was for exhibition purposes and, except for the payout by major sponsors to each school, that is still the overriding rational.

With that in mind I have a few suggestions on how we can incorporate the goals of all involved, or watching, with the ever-expanding number of college bowl games. As I mentioned earlier, we already have 44 bowls. It would require an addition of only 8 more to be able to have one bowl game every week of the year. Surely such eager potential sponsors as Bitcoin or China would pony-up for a chance to showcase their greatness. Maybe a bidding war could be encouraged between Jeff Bezos and Mark Cuban or Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg. Israel and Iran could promise to dismantle their nuclear ambitions and sell their peaceful intentions via commercials. Surely Facebook and TikToc would want to play.

One might wonder how one extra, exhibition-type game could be woven into a school’s regular football schedule. From the quality of play of most bowl games and with countless players opting to sit out, it is apparent that just showing up for one more Saturday should not be a problem. When my friends and I played Friday night football it was not unusual for some of us to show up the following Saturday morning for an impromptu, unorganized sandlot game just because. A lot of bowl games have a similar feel.

This system would expand college football perpetually and solve the ego problem for such “sponsors” as Jimmy Kimmel who endowed the Jimmy Kimmel LA Bowl. America could probably easily come up with underwriters such as Donald Trump and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Heck, I humbly suggest the Jim Redwine Armadillo Bowl might draw a nod or two and Peg and I will kick in fifty bucks apiece if that would suffice. We could host it in a pasture at JPeg Osage Ranch if the resident varmints do not too strongly object and if fans do not mind sitting on the ground. TV rights could be negotiated.

Game On

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Peg and I sat in our warm cabin on the Osage County, Oklahoma prairie recently and watched the live stream of the state high school semi-final football game between the Pawhuska Huskies and the Cashion Wildcats. Thank you www.kpgmtv.com!

It is not that we are only fair-weather fans; we have enjoyed attending the Huskies games in person since we moved from Posey County, Indiana to Osage County, Oklahoma two football seasons ago. However, this state semi-final match was played on a neutral field about 70 miles from our home so we opted for armchairs. It was still an exciting game, final score 35-31.

And while we truly appreciated the free live-feed, there were parts of the game that may have slipped our attention. So, if my observations are not 100% accurate, that is my excuse. That said, as Fareed Zakaria might say, “here’s my take” on the game.

The opening ceremonies affirmed both schools’ commitment to all that is good about high school sports. Then the hard-hitting play that followed had to make both fan bases proud. Neither team ever let up from an all-out effort on offense, defense and special teams. There were few penalties and none for unnecessary roughness, late hits, unsportsman’s-like conduct or taunting. There was no taunting, only two fiercely competitive groups of finely disciplined and talented, well raised and well coached young players. The game could be used in civic classes as an example of why high school sports are an important component of education.

These players likely all started in the summer of 2021 with two-a-day practices and sacrificed fun times for sweat and misery to be ready for this 48 minutes. High goals were set and achieved. Most significantly those goals included giving their best, not just in the game of football but in their examples of how sports can help mold character. It was unquestionable that each player on both teams wanted to win. However, Peg and I saw several players from both teams help their opponents up and even pat their adversaries on the back during the game. There were no fights or shouting matches or claims of bad calls. Football for football’s sake was the standard.

As a graduate of Pawhuska High School, I was gratified by the lessons these players so obviously had learned. The same would have been true had I gone to Cashion. So, thank you to the parents, coaches and teachers who set these young people on the right track and thank you to the players for a great game.

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.

How’s It Happen?

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This morning at 5:00 a.m. I woke up thirsty and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. While my eyes were beginning to engage, I reached into the cabinet for a glass. Then I managed to locate the faucet and turned it on. Clear, potable water came rushing out. I did not need to walk to the pond or draw a bucket from a well. It suddenly occurred to me that somehow from somewhere someone had done me a great service. And they did not even know me.

It was Thursday so I knew I needed to get our trash out. I collected the week’s refuse of leftovers and packaging and took it to our gate by the road. Later that day as I went to the post office, I noticed the trash was gone. My mail box contained greetings from two health care solicitors, we must now be in a demographics database. But it also contained cards from our kids and some important information from the V.A. Someone who did not know us cared enough to send it.

To get to the post office I drove on paved roads with proper markings and directions such as traffic control. Somebody must have sweated in the heat and shivered in the cold to help me get to the post office. And, of course, somebody at the post office who was neither friend nor family got our mail to us.

There were street lights helping to guide my way and a police officer watching out as he sat in his patrol car near the café. He may have been enjoying a cup of free coffee but he deserved it. He was there for us and he did not know us.

Who are all these people who provide water and garbage collection and sewer and street and energy and safety and health care? Why do they do it, especially all those town and city and county politicians who serve on boards and in offices that keep the lights on and the streets both navigable and safe? Many of them serve without pay or any financial benefits. Why do they give of their time and labor to serve the rest of us?

When I see news footage from other countries where people are without power or safety for themselves and their families, I not only feel for them I realize how good we have it. It even will sometimes slow down my complaining about all the services I receive from people who do not know me and have no reason to want to. Every now and then, through the dark glass of pessimism, a small light works its way into my psyche and I remember how lucky I am.

So, thank you to all of you who helped me slake my thirst. I will try to complain less and enjoy more. That should last a day or two if I do not watch cable news.

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