James M. Redwine

Christmas

Practicing Up For The Fourth

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Christmas and the Fourth of July were my father’s favorite times of the year. He would start “practicing up” for each commemoration about December first for Christmas and right after Memorial Day for the Fourth of July. Christmas is a ways off but our country’s birthday is rapidly approaching with Memorial Day having been this past weekend.

Memorial Day is an officially recognized federal holiday enacted to honor those members of our armed forces who gave their lives so the rest of us could enjoy the blessings of liberty. It is altogether fitting and proper that Memorial Day and the day we declared our freedom from Great Britain are linked in our minds and hearts.

It brings forth sadness and gratitude to see American flags adorning the graves of those who suffered an early death for us while we have the opportunity and the obligation to say thank you to their memory. The same feelings arise when we remember the courage and sacrifice of those fifty-six men who together pledged their “lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor” on July 04, 1776.

So, how do we go about “practicing up” to celebrate our collective birthday? Benjamin Franklin, the oldest of the signers, enthusiastically directed us to honor our Day of Independence with explosions (fireworks), the mass consumption of flame cooked meats (barbecue) and patriotic music. My father, and I am confident most of yours, Gentle Readers, took Ben’s advice to heart. Whereas, Memorial Day we usually note with solemn services followed by family dinners, most of us approach the Fourth differently, more as if we are trying to bring forth those great spirits from 1776.

From the President of the United States to governors, mayors and the leaders of civic organizations throughout our country speeches will be made. From individual families to communities at all levels, parades, barbecues, games and fireworks will be enjoyed from the morning of July 4th until the smoke finally clears late at night.

I am already practicing up.

Wishful Thinking

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Is there a better time than Christmas? I think not. For those of us fortunate enough to remember Christmas as a feeling of warmth and joy produced by a loving family it simply does not get any better. The strength and confidence those feelings engender when times get rough often provide the difference between success or failure or even survival.

​When we are tossed by the waves of ignorance or malice we can reach back to those times when love was not only requited but unconditional. Hot chocolate and Christmas carols shared with family and friends over the years provide an unshakable foundation when the world treats us cruelly or worse, indifferently.

​As one who has often observed a parade of people whose Christmas experiences are of abuse and separation, I spend a lot of time thinking, “There but for fortune.” When I reflect on Christmas past my memories include generosity, security and sacrifice for others or for me. But generations of people who have been brought before me in court this time of year often reflect a profound hopelessness. Frequently they include children whose only sin was to be born into the wrong family.

​I realize my thoughts are neither rare nor new. One does not have to be a judge to see great heartache or to empathize with those who live it. In fact, at Christmastime the very best in people often rises to the surface as giving to others increases greatly. We know, of course, we should act this way year-round. However, it is still better to do so now than never.

​As for me I know I was simply lucky to be born into a family where Christmas Eve meant gathering at Grandma and Grandpa’s then singing carols with Mom, Dad, my sister and brothers on the way home before experiencing the joy and excitement of Christmas morning. That is the rock upon which much of my life has rested. I wish a similar foundation, regardless of one’s beliefs, were true for everyone.

Alone In A Crowd

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When I was 16 I worked at a Phillips 66 gas station. I made $1.00 per hour; if I worked 12 hours I made 12 dollars.

The station had one pump for regular (leaded) and one for ethyl. Mr. Cummins and Mr. Miller of Columbus, Indiana had not yet perfected the marketing of the diesel engine. Gasoline prices ranged from 25¢ to 30¢ per gallon.

My boss, the owner, and I were the only workers. We would check and air up the tires, check the oil, put distilled water in the battery, have the customer re-start the vehicle so we could check the transmission fluid, wash the windshield and headlights, whisk broom out the floorboards, fill the gas tank and, if asked, would put the vehicles up on our lone hydraulic lift and apply new grease through the fittings. We did not accept tips but we did talk with every customer.

Whenever an out-of-town car or pickup or tanker came through we would tell them where they could get a bowl of chili or a chicken fried steak. We also gave directions to delivery locations or residences.

Yesterday my car told me my tires were low and that I should take it in for service before I drove another 2,800 miles. The computer did not offer to tell me where I could buy a bowl of chili but, if I had asked it, it would have.

For some reason these memories and events brought E-filing to mind. If you happened to read last week’s column you may recall our local legal system will soon be virtually paperless and, pretty much, human contact-less.

I am not sure of the exact time frame our world began its inexorable march toward exchanging ones and zeros for “Hellos” and “May I help yous?” It was probably either when self-service gas stations or drive through fast food places appeared or maybe when television allowed us to watch ball games alone in our living rooms. Or it might have been when Wikipedia replaced conversation. Of course, Wikipedia is my best friend when I am writing these columns.

As a youngster I sought solitude in long hikes out onto the prairie. Now I am almost completely alone in every group I encounter. If I crave an exchange of human speech I must first send the people next to me a text then try to remain focused until they deign to say something. Other than cashing the checks for Christmas, I am not sure our grandchildren make the connection of us to them. The thank yous come by text. On the other hand, my Grandfather would have thought he had found heaven early if we had had computers then. He thought grandchildren were an unnecessary disturbance, better neither seen nor heard. Some people just wind up in the wrong century.

Be that as it may, we are discussing the irreversible conquest of human interaction by technology. The salient feature of contemporary society appears to be the general desire to isolate itself from itself. I ask you to examine your own world. In mine, I no longer need to leave my chambers to either attend or teach continuing judicial education. Banking is on-line. Taxes are paid electronically. One can get instructions on everything from curing a hangnail to impeaching the president via the Internet without talking to another person. Even toll bridges and highways are self-serve.

We used to look to our colleges as places where people of different backgrounds would mingle and appreciate one another’s views and cultures. However, even the “best” colleges now offer degrees on-line. When our son was in the Army stationed in the Middle East he started and completed his Masters of Business Administration and never saw a professor or a classroom.

Surely, before long, everyone in America will be homeschooled in the sense no child will need to leave her or his house from kindergarten to doctoral programs. And, unless the Russians interfere, soon all voting will be done without the need for polling places.

I guess we still may want to maintain contact to continue procreation. However, we artificially inseminate everything from pandas to pigs. Maybe we will eventually be able to just “mail it in” after we get married via Skype.

Well, I have to go. This column is carried by several digital newspapers and I need to email it in before the deadline or I’ll get a nasty note from some device somewhere.