Columns
You Can Go Home Again and Again
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.
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.
A Christmas Gift From Peg
Everyone we meet in the country of Georgia likes Peg. When we walk along the cobblestone streets or eat at one of the small and numerous restaurants Peg is frequently approached by complete strangers speaking a foreign language who manage to convey their goodwill toward her as they ignore me. I am used to it. I get it. I accept it. But the world does not know that Peg has a dark side that often involves misadventure for me.
I first noticed it years ago when we would go skiing and Peg would sweetly say something like, “Jim, that ski run really looks interesting. Why don’t you ski down first, then I can follow you?” I fell for this ploy several times and paid the price. She, of course, never followed after she would see me wipe out as she feigned concern while secretly chortling at my naïveté.
My misogynistic side wonders if Peg’s enjoyment of my misfortunes is unique to her or if it is a more general wifely trait. Those of you who are involved in the connubial bliss of marriage can reflect for yourselves if the sweet-wife-turned-devious-Delilah is universal or just my lot in life.
Anyway, yesterday was the latest example of Peg lulling me into trying something foolish while she remained the amused spectator. It all began when we were discussing what we would give one another for Christmas.
I confess I am not an easy person to shop for. When I want a shirt or something to eat, I go buy it. I really like Christmas but I am not into the buying and getting part of it. The country of Georgia is good for the Christmas Season as many Georgians celebrate the Julian calendar Christmas Day of December 25th and many recognize the Gregorian calendar of January 7th. I like that approach. Peg and I have stayed with America’s December 25th so she gave me my “gift” yesterday as the weather was good. Weather good you say? Here’s why that mattered.
For the four months we have spent in Georgia we have watched boats dash around hauling fools attached by a long cable and held up by parachutes. These gaily decorated parachutes lull observers into ignoring the perils of falling a hundred feet into the chilly waters of the salty Black Sea. It looked like harmless fun from the safety of our apartment’s balcony. And that’s how Peg sold me on it as she would make comments like, “Jim, look at that guy under the parachute with the smiley face. Doesn’t that look like fun? You would really enjoy that.”
So after I had firmly resisted her repeated efforts to have me succumb to such nonsense for several months, Peg said, “You’re so hard to buy for. How about a parasail ride for your Christmas gift. It will be fun!” I had an initial thought that “one husband’s fun” was likely to be “one wife’s insurance benefit collection”, but I held my silence. And, as often happens with us, I forgot the various disasters for me that Peg’s innocent suggestions had wrought. I said, “Okay, thank you for my Christmas present, let’s go do it.” We went down to the dock and met a Fagin selling rides.
The wizened visage of the toothless boat captain astride his version of a motor boat did not alert me to my fate. That was my fault. I did not see or ask about any safety equipment. That was also my fault. There were no rehearsals or explanations of how this would transpire or what the precautions were for mishaps. Of course, he spoke only Georgian so it would not have mattered anyway.
The Ancient Mariner took Peg’s 150 lari (about $50.00) and strapped me into an apparatus of cords and buckles. There was no escape button. We got about one hundred yards out on the Black Sea then the captain began to let out the cable attached to the smily-faced parachute and me. I quickly was lifted off the deck into a panoramic view of the shore and the Sea. I admit, it was a thrill.
We rode around for about fifteen minutes, the advertised length of the ride, then we continued to bounce along the choppy waves for quite a while as I slowly realized something had gone terribly wrong. The captain could not get the cable to crank me back in. I remained in the harness one hundred feet above the Black Sea as the December wind swirled around me.
After thirty minutes another small boat with two young roustabouts who were disciples of Captain Fagin came along hoisting a long line with a hook attached. They made several attempts to hook my cable and finally did. Then they started hauling me down between the two boats. You, Gentle Reader, understand that the only thing between the boats was the cold, deep Black Sea into which I was thrust face first still attached to the parachute that was rapidly filling with water.
After noting the water was salty, I began to attempt to escape both my harness and the parachute, but the cords were wrapped tightly around both of my legs so I could not swim. My loyal captain did not jump into the Sea to rescue me and neither did the two faux sailors. I guess they all did not wish to get wet. Anyway, I managed to roll onto my back as the would-be dry, rescuers fished me out with a grappling hook type approach but using mainly their hands.
When we got back to shore I was soaked and cold but soothingly comforted by Peg who had filmed the whole episode on her iPhone as she sat warm and dry in the boat. She said the only thing that made sense, “Well, Merry Christmas.”
Hot Wars and Cold Seats
Each morning I look off my apartment balcony at the ships floating on the Black Sea that lies between the countries of Georgia on the southeast and Ukraine to Georgia’s northwest. So far the ships have remained of the merchant variety, but I always look first to make sure. Georgia is a country of four million people with virtually no way to defend itself. The Georgian government that fears Russia on Georgia’s northern border and the citizens of Georgia who fly Ukrainian blue and yellow flags are in constant yang and yin over the war being waged just across the Black Sea. The government worries about poking the Russian bear and the citizens publicly rally and demonstrate in support of the Ukraine population.
Recently Russia has been stirring up its long held relationship with the country of Belarus that lies between Russia’s western border and Ukraine’s northern border. Belarus is in the same military condition as Georgia. Belarus, as led by the politically embattled president Alexander Lukashenko, with its nine million citizens, is even more supine to Russia’s might than Georgia. Therefore, Belarus does not pretend to resist Russian moves to use Belarus as a staging ground for Russia’s military and probable invasion of Ukraine. At the very least, Belarus provides Russia with a vital logistical path for re-supply of its military.
This morning, December 15, 2022, I am gazing at the tankers and grain ships right outside my window and, as we humans often experience, a totally unrelated memory of a simpler time comes to mind. In 1954 my family had a new Ford automobile, the kind with front fenders. Some of you will remember fenders and maybe will have even ridden on them to deliver newspapers as my brother Philip and I used to when we could wheedle Mom into driving us along our paper route. In 1954 the Korea War was over and our generation’s war in Viet Nam had not yet begun. The hero of the Normandy Landing of WWII, Dwight Eisenhower, was president of the United States and America was keeping the Soviet Union on its heels, not with bombs but with the humanitarian Marshall Plan.
In those halcyon days in Pawhuska, Oklahoma the Pawhuska Journal Capital newspaper was owned and operated by Glen Van Dyke and Phil and I had one of the delivery routes. We would go to the Journal Capital office on Kihekah Avenue and get bundles of papers. Phil and I would fold them into five-point throwing projectiles and fill two canvas bags that we hung over the Ford’s hood ornament. We each sat on a fender and competed for distance and accuracy as we banged the papers off the porches of our neighbors who sometimes complained to our parents.
I did not read the Journal Capital then and never had any inclination at age 11 to write a column in it. However, I do remember my mother and father sitting at the kitchen table and laughing at Glen’s witty sayings in his regular column. I still remember Mom and Dad laughing out loud when Glen complained that modern science seemed to be able to create hand warmers and foot warmers but for some reason could not come up with a toilet seat warmer. Gentle Readers, that was almost 70 years ago and, while we are now on our way to Mars, we still have not cracked the code on toilet seats. However, we seem to still be sending vast amounts of aid to keep the Russians on their heels.
The U.S.S.R. Revisited
In Batumi, Georgia there are many Ukrainian flags flying and the blue and yellow colors of Ukraine are displayed in shops, on cars and even whole sides of buildings. Georgians relate to, understand and support Ukraine that has a border along the Black Sea as do Georgia and Russia.
The Black Sea is an important shipping water and leads ultimately to the Mediterranean Sea and therefore the whole world economy. Just as the Black Sea port of Odesa is critical for Ukraine to access the Black Sea, directly across the Black Sea is the equally vital port city of Batumi, Georgia where Peg and I are living. We look out from our apartment’s balcony across the Black Sea and often wonder if Russia will invade Georgia as it has before. In fact, Russia’s military currently occupies 20% of Georgia.
Peg and I drove within a few kilometers of part of the Georgian territory claimed by Russia when we traveled from the capital of Georgia, Tbilisi, to our judicial duty station in Batumi. We were warned to not try to get near the Russian military installation as Russia considers that a part of Russia, much as it does Ukraine’s Crimean area. And with our American passports, we might become fair game for a Gulag. Just ask Brittney Griner.
As I am writing this column on Sunday morning, December 04 (our son’s birthday, by the way) I am looking out our 17th floor window at merchant ships on the Black Sea. One of the ships has two large metal tanks that occupy almost the entire length of the ship and appear to be equipped to haul natural gas. Many of the ships that go by us are loaded with semi-trailers. Batumi has little in the way of exports except wine; Georgia claims to be the 8,000 year old birthplace of wine. However, as this is both a port city and a warm water tourist destination, a great deal of grain and manufactured materials are imported to Batumi. The concern, of course, is that Georgia with its 37,000 man military would be a mere nuisance if Russia and its million man army decided this port is an attractive excuse to re-claim all of Georgia as part of the historical Russia. After all, Stalin was born in Gori, Georgia and even attended the Tbilisi Spiritual Seminary. Since Stalin was history’s greatest butcher of human beings and presided over the Soviet Union (U.S.S.R.) for over 25 years, the concerns of Georgians do not seem unreasonable.
Speaking of the U.S.S.R., the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, I am currently reading a book that cites stories from Georgian persons who lived under the Soviet Union. The book contains 70 stories, one for each of the 70 years the U.S.S.R. existed, and was compiled by editor Buba Kudava. In his forward to the book, Kudava addresses the U.S.S.R. name:
“Until only recently, Georgia was part of a country whose falsity began with its very name. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, as it was called in full. Four assertions, and all four of them lies!
How, after all, could the term “union” be applied to a group of territories brought together without their consent, through fear and violence, and held together through force of arms? How could the descriptor “soviet” be used when no true “councils” were consulted and no true counsel sought? How could rampant totalitarianism be described as “socialist”? And how could any of the “union’s” 15 sham “republics” be deemed worthy of that name, with all of its associated high ideals?
Four assertions, and the same number of falsehoods.”
Life in Soviet Georgia, ISBN 978-9941-487-64-4 (2021), p. 7
Literature often tells us more than news reports about what actually happened to people and how it felt to those affected by the events. The stories from this book strike me as valid observations of where Russia truly stands when it comes to Ukraine and Georgia and maybe the other thirteen “Republics” of the old U.S.S.R. I understand why Georgians stand with Ukrainians.
Amazon, The New Tower of Babel
In Genesis, Chapter 11 God observed the tower that King Nimrod and his Babylonian people had built to reach heaven and the gods and said, “Behold the people is one and they have one language … now nothing will be constrained from them.”
So the gods destroyed the tower, convoluted the one language into many and stopped human progress toward godly status. The Tower of Babel was the ultimate example of the axiom, “Pride goeth before a fall.” Now I do not understand why God would not want people to reach for the heavens, but He certainly devised the perfect way to stop us. Of course, in Exodus Chapters 20 and 34, He warns us He is a jealous being and in Isaiah Chapter 55 He tells us not to try to figure Him out as His ways are higher than our ways and His thoughts are higher than our thoughts. Just a few frustrating moments of trying to understand what the jangling television commercials are saying or an attempt to make sense out of the song lyrics mumbled and slurred into multi-million dollar sound systems designed to make sounds intelligible, will remove any doubt that our contemporary cacophony of colliding incoherent babel surpasses all understanding. Human progress has been hoisted on the effete petard of the universal response to all attempts to communicate, “Huh?”
It is as if the gods have become overly concerned about humanity’s movement back to a universal language, Amazonia perhaps, and have come down to earth to stop us from “all just getting along” by shopping over the Internet. After all, if we can communicate from sea to shining sea via a few simple electronic clicks, there is much less likelihood of a major miscommunication and ergo a misunderstanding that might escalate to conflict. Heck, we might even learn to work together on all sorts of projects, world famine, global warming, the World Cup, who knows what heights we could reach?
Well, if Jeff Bezos is the new King Nimrod and if Jeff really does simply work full-time giving his billions made from Amazon away to charity, I can foresee the Old Testament gods getting concerned. And one way to staunch human progress is to release upon the world Satans of the communications world, you know, movies, cable tv, commercials and what passes for contemporary music.
The goal of the gods might be to attack human progress by having leaders of competing countries such as China and the US of A rely upon translations of news broadcasts in which snippets of the highly paid but incomprehensible speakers instead of enunciating important concepts, peaceful coexistence for example, mumble a leader’s language so that the words come out as threats of nuclear war.
Now I realize this whole column may be based on a false premise of my being personally challenged. Maybe you, Gentle Reader, have no difficulty making sense out of what is muttered during TV, radio, movies, plays, concerts, sporting events, and even sermons. If my failings are simply my personal problem, good, and amen. However, if the whole world is being prevented from understanding what the heck is truly being said and meant, I suggest this new Tower of Babel may soon come tumbling down.
On the other hand, there is a cure to this polemic pandemic, could everyone please slow down and speak up?
The World In Ruins
Donald Trump has declared he will make a third run for the presidency in 2024. Joe Biden claims he will seek re-election. Several Republicans, Ron DeSantis, Mike Pence, Mike Pompeo, and others are not so secretly hoping lightning strikes them, or maybe strikes Trump. Democrats Gretchen Whitmer, Kamala Harris, Cory Booker, and others are feigning fealty to Biden but may be looking wistfully at the effects of Father Time.
In other words, American politics remains unchanged from the days of Jefferson and Adams. It also has regenerated its tiresome media circus of peeking under tent flaps and salivating at the probability of political gaffs. So, buckle up or just tune out for the next two years. As for me and Peg we have been looking at the past, as the present is just too fractious. So, as the pundits and politicians squabble like infants with dirty diapers, Peg and I have been interested in viewing the ancient ruins that became ruins when the cultures of the past let their tantrums get the better of them.
A couple of years ago we visited Rome and walked around the Coliseum. One gets images of gladiators and emperors who had no thought their pretentious edifice would be a mere pile of rubble one day. Then just last week we visited another ancient fort less than ten miles from our home in the country of Georgia. Georgia claims, according to the book Georgian Folk Traditions and Legends, to be situated at the juncture of Europe and Asia and to “[b]eing the most invaded country on earth.” For example, Russia that is Georgia’s neighbor to the north has most recently invaded Georgia in 2008 and 2014.
However, the fort we visited was built by several conquerors over thousands of years but was constructed in its present form on the orders of Roman Emperors Nero, Pompey, Julius Caesar Tiberius and Hadrian during the era 65 BC to the reign of Constantine, 306-337 AD. The name of the fort is Gonio-Apsaros Fortress and it is an impressive structure with ancient stone guard towers, sewage and water systems and Roman hot baths. Of course, today it is all just remnants of past glory. It is on the outskirts of the resort city of Batumi, Georgia near the shore of the Black Sea and about 3 miles from the Turkish border.
Gonio reminded us of the hauntingly impressive Native American pueblo village at Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado. This extensive cliff city was home to many Native Americans for over 700 years from 600-1300 AD. Was it simply abandoned, and if so, why? But once again we observed an impressive series of homes and a mountain stronghold that now is interesting and beautiful, but not lived in by its creators.
I suppose there are many reasons we enjoy visiting these sites of once vibrant communities gone dormant. The inventive genius of our human ancestors gives one a sense of awe and appreciation for the hard work and perseverance of people who were probably quite similar to us. If we could transport them to modern times or transport us back to their times, everybody would most likely fit right in with just a little movie make-up and a change of clothes.
The conclusion or question that keeps us awake, for example I am writing this at 3:50 a.m., is that just as the country of Georgia has been conquered numerous times (as has Jerusalem by Jews, Muslims and Christians on a revolving basis, and Rome and Greece by Vandals and Visigoths and North and South America by Spanish, English, French and Portuguese invaders) are our ruins going to provide interest to tourists of the future?