Columns
Spann(ing) The Globe
It may not be the “Constant variety of sports” or the “Human drama of athletic competition” as promised by ABC’s Wide World of Sports, but Jim and Stephanie Spann’s New Harmony Soap Company provides a fun learning experience and great smells. Peg and I now know how to make soap and we have the aromatic masterpieces to prove it.
When Peg told me she had signed us up for a three hour soap-making class for this past Saturday my first thought, which I prudently kept to myself was, “Well, there goes my day off”. It was held at the New Harmony Soap Company on Main Street and was taught by the Doctor of Saponification, Jim Spann.
Saponification is not a misspelling of the great Italian sausage, soppressata, which is what I secretly hoped when Professor Spann started his lecture with the term. Turns out it is an ancient Latin term for soap-making. According to Jim we humans have been trying to remove the grit and maliferous substances from our bodies with homemade soaps since, at least, Babylonian days about 5,000 years ago, probably about the time that human population began to increase.
My first memories of soap-making involve our Pawhuska, Oklahoma neighbor lady, Mrs. Caldwell. I do not know her first name as when I was a child adults did not have first names. Today, complete strangers address everybody by first names and even the President of the United States is “The Donald”. But the demise of polite society is stuff for another column. For now, we are addressing the wonderful world of soap-making.
Whereas Mrs. Caldwell brewed her lye soap in a galvanized tub over an open fire in her yard next door to my family home, Peg and I were carefully and skillfully instructed in the use of electric hot plates and stainless steel pots.
Instead of hours of stirring her concoction of sodium hydroxide, water and lard as Mrs. Caldwell did, Peg and I had the use of electric mixers. And our lard was supplanted with coconut oil, palm oil, sunflower oil and shea butter mixed with distilled water and a cornucopia of interesting scented oils, such as clove, nutmeg, cinnamon, eucalyptus, rosemary, peppermint, etc., etc., etc.
Once I accepted my fate of a Saturday without football or simply vegetating on the couch, my next fear was of falling into the remedial group of soap makers. No problem. The process was so easy even a judge could follow it. Although Peg was always at least one step ahead of me, no one else seemed interested in my progress. It was truly a lot of fun.
If you are looking for something different to do right here in Posey County, I highly recommend the Spann College of Saponification in New Harmony. The New Harmony Soap Company has 4 more soap-making classes coming up; 2 in February and 2 in March. And while I am in no way intimating you might have a need for it, you might smell better too.
Judicial Lodestones & Amulets
The National Judicial College teaches thousands of judges. As a faculty member for 22 years I have learned a great deal more than I have taught. The student judges’ collective experience and wisdom have often been what I have looked to when I was not sure where else to turn with a difficult situation.
For instance, when I feel myself getting angry at someone in front of me, say a recalcitrant spouse in a divorce, an unfeeling defendant in a child molesting case or an attorney whose style is of the button-pushing genre, I remind myself of what Socrates said:
“A judge’s duty is to do justice, not make a present of it.”
In other words, the power I can wield is not Jim Redwine’s power; it belongs to the people.
And when a problem such as lack of resources or a need for courthouse renovation becomes so severe people are denied justice I remind myself of what Robert Kennedy said:
“Some look at things and ask ‘Why?’, I dream of what things could be and ask, ‘Why not?’”
Or more prosaically, my quote the National Judicial College just published in their magazine, Case In Point, page 35:
“It’s better to go ahead and do good than to fear the lack of authority.”
The NJC collected such guidelines from 50 judges from all over America for the most recent edition. I find several of their thoughts helpful both for judges and those who may need a judge. The college asked us for brief statements of, “What we wish we had known before we became judges”. I will set forth a few.
“That I was giving up my individual identity. Your personal opinions and views are restricted in context at all times. Pretty soon you can begin to forget who you are.”
Judge Jan Satterfield, 13th district Court, KS
“The job doesn’t pay enough to be a jerk! Mistakes in applying law or reviewing facts are expected. Arrogance from the bench is inexcusable. Litigants will often decide how all judges act from their contact with you. Don’t get us a bad review.”
Judge Gregory D. Smith, Municipal Court, TN
“That folks would really believe that my court would be just like Judge Judy’s show.”
Judge Cynthia L. Brewer, Chancery Court, MS
“How dangerous it is to walk down stairs in a robe!”
Judge Stephen D. Hill, Kansas Court of Appeals
Perhaps we can look at some other gems of judicial learning later.
OOPS!
Say you finally found the time and money to go to Hawaii. It is a beautiful day. Slight ocean breeze. Swaying palm trees. Smoke from Kilauea Volcano languidly wafting into the sky. The aroma of a whole hog slowly roasting in a pit of sand while poi is being prepared by graceful hula dancers. A Mai Tai with a tiny umbrella calling your name as you lift the coconut shell to your lips. Life is good. Then, just as you finish your Mai Tai and head to the first tee you are accosted by a cacophony of blaring shrieks from every electronic device within earshot:
“BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO HAWAII. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”
Now you have a dilemma. You have already spent more money on airline tickets than you paid for your first car. A round of golf, paid in advance and unrefundable, cost more than the birth of your first child. You have schlepped your heavy golf clubs from Indiana to “an island sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean”.
You bought new golf shoes and enough $5.00 golf balls to lose one on each of the 18 holes. Your plaid shorts and black socks with little tassels look super cool with your flowered golf shirt.
You think to yourself, “Self, what should we do?” Options are cascading through your brain. Take cover. Dig a hole next to the luau pit and pull it over you. Run to the beach and hope the water doesn’t boil you alive. Find a basement not leaking full of seeping water. Curse. Pray. Beg. Scream.
After much negotiation with the gods over the unfortunately miasmic circumstances you make your decision:
“Well, at least the golf course is now devoid of other people. I think I might as well tee off and when the round is over, if I am still alive, follow the advice my drill instructor gave in Air Force Basic Training to prepare for a nuclear attack:
‘Put a chair in the middle of the room, bend over and kiss ….!’”
Oh, by the way, after 38 minutes an announcement came out, “Just kidding, someone pushed the wrong button”.
Those Folks Were Tough
My Mom’s three brothers and one of her three sisters served in the Army during World War II (1941-1945). Aunt Betty was a nurse, Uncle Bud, who was a rodeo cowboy, was in the cavalry, Uncle Buck flew close air troop support over Europe and Uncle Bill killed and saw killed way too many men from Anzio to Germany. Mom sent any extra we had, and some not so extra, to support her siblings and their comrades.
My Mom’s Mom’s Mom’s father, my great-great grandfather immigrated with his parents from Bern, Switzerland in 1852 when he was fourteen. His father served as a career soldier in Switzerland for 21 years. They settled in LaGrange, Indiana.
My great-great grandfather, John Giggy, enlisted in Company H, Forty-Fourth Indiana Volunteer Infantry on August 28, 1861. His first major battle was Fort Donalson then he was wounded at Shiloh and sent to the military hospital in Evansville to recover.
After a short furlough he rejoined his regiment in Murfreesboro then at Chickamauga was wounded in the hip on September 19, 1863, after which he walked back to Bridgeport, Alabama using a bed slat for a crutch and having nothing to eat for 3 days but 3 crackers. He was then ordered to the hospital in Nashville before being furloughed again until he rejoined his regiment at Chattanooga on December 31, 1863 (Happy New Year?)
He continued fighting and marching, marching and fighting until mustered out at Indianapolis in October 1865. He became a farmer and a stone mason and fathered 9 children including my great grandmother, Agnes (Giggy) Vulgamore.
Thereafter he simply went about his life without thinking his country owed him anything more than a fair opportunity to raise his family and be left alone.
I never had the chance to meet him but I am confident his toughness helped buy me and my siblings a better life. Thanks to Grandpa, Aunt Betty, my uncles and all the other tough and non-assuming veterans who did their duty so the rest of us could do things they could not have dreamed of.
Oh To Be An Egyptian Judge
Some of you may have noticed I have been a judge for awhile. And, although I know it may surprise you, not everyone of my thousands of decisions has been met with universal acclaim. Occasionally someone may actually disagree with my fair and objective legal analysis and have the bad form to say so. Well, my friends, not if we were in Egypt.
According to a report in the Palm Beach, Florida Sun Sentinel of Sunday, December 31, 2017 a court in Cairo convicted 19 people of making public statements, “[t]he court found to be inciting and expressing contempt toward the court and the judiciary”. If you are wondering why I was reading the Palm Beach paper in sweltering 80 degree weather while some of you may have been enjoying a cool and exhilarating Indiana Christmas season there is no truth to the rumor it was because Peg and I felt compelled to be near President Trump’s Mar-A-Lago winter White House. We did not even receive an invitation to his $750 per person New Year’s Eve party. It may have been lost due to the holiday rush at the post office. Anyway, back to Egypt and the injured dignity of the judiciary.
The newspaper reported that the heinous criminals insulted the judges by making statements that were aired on TV, radio, social media or in other disfavored publications. Now the court did not deign to ignore these demeaning comments or to call for the miscreants to tug vigorously on their forelocks. Oh no. The defendants received 3 years in prison and were fined up to one million Egyptian pounds ($56,270 US).
Each defendant was also ordered to pay one million Egyptian pounds to each of the judges of the powerful union known as The Judges Club. Now I would never advocate for such a response against anyone who had the temerity to publicly disagree with my rulings. However, a few hours in the stocks on the courthouse campus might be considered or parading around the courthouse wearing sackcloth and ashes or maybe a few public recitations of “Judge Redwine is Solomon” or, well, you get the idea.
Actually, it is events such as those in Egypt that truly show what a blessing it is to be in a country where CNN, MSNBC, The NY Times, The Washington Post, FOX News, Breitbart and many other publications can spew their invective against anyone from the Supreme Court to even a court in Posey County, Indiana without fear of being jailed.
Instead of just worrying about the current protestors in our enemy Iran perhaps we should address the draconian pronouncements of offended judges in countries such as our friends in Egypt and elsewhere. The injured sensibilities of some pompous plutocrat may lead to far greater harm to the public than their unfair judgments that get publicly condemned.
“That’s My Story …”
Before the scales fell from my eyes my big sister would use me as a test subject for her early cooking experiments. In the summers before I started first grade Janie would order me to sit at an imaginary table and eat what Janie imagined to be food. The table was actually the sun-baked Oklahoma dirt and the food was pies she mixed up using that same dirt, water from a garden hose and bird eggs she stole from furious sparrows. Actually the mud pies tasted about as good as some of our neighbor lady’s homemade lye soap Janie also told me was fudge.
As I matriculated to grade school Janie was involved in Home Economics in high school. Now her cooking was for credit and as she was always our parents’ favorite I and our other two brothers were expected to test her culinary concoctions and rave about them. This was hard to do when most of what she tried to feed me got slipped to the dog under the table. I particularly remember being force fed something Janie called orangey coated biscuits. The dog had a problem for three days.
Now before you conclude I blame my sister for my addiction to packaged foods let me say Janie somehow managed to make herself into a fine gourmet cook – after she left home! Her erstwhile mud pies are now delicious brownies and her ghastly orange biscuits are now wonderful home baked breads. Of course, since I only get her current creations as Christmas gifts, she has quite a bit more to atone for.
This Christmas Janie sent Peg and me an assortment of Grandma’s sour cream fudge, Mom’s peanut brittle and Janie’s own original chocolate chip cookies. She had carefully packaged them and sent them to us via FedEx. We could tell Janie had filled the offerings with labor and love. Unfortunately, the FedEx driver went beyond the call of duty when he delivered the box to our rural home. He pushed it through the pet door of our garage in an effort to protect it from the elements and varmints.
When I got home from work I pushed the button to raise the garage door that also contains the pet door. I was looking straight ahead when I felt the left front tire roll over an object on the garage floor. Naturally I backed up and ran over it again. The contents of the box I ran over twice reminded me of those happy days of childhood. However, the mashed up goodies tasted a great deal better than the scrambled sparrow eggs. Janie need never know!