James M. Redwine

Hoosiers

O.S.U. 17; I.U. 24

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Peg and Jim Redwine at a Hoosiers game

Indiana University will beat Ohio State University in football Saturday – two days after the submission of this article. Yes, I still have faith in the Hoosiers! I base my prediction of the score on I.U.’s will to win and their discipline that will keep the Cream and Crimson’s penalties low and their turnover margin in their favor high. I have been an observer, and often a chagrinned one, of I.U. football since the autumn of 1963. Believe me I have known disappointment over the last 60 years. But this team of 2024 is not one of loss; it is one of destiny. Refusal to allow defeat in the grueling fourth quarter, maintenance of their extremely high emotions when O.S.U. loses control of theirs and sound judgment coupled with alert opportunism will be the fundamental football foundation upon which Coach Curt Cignetti and his assistant coaches will guide the team to a close victory. And, it will be the hallowed I.U. legends of yore that will call forth-fourth quarter heroics from this year’s standard bearers.

The Gables Restaurant in Bloomington, Indiana was across the street from the Indiana University Law School, which I attended from June 1968 to August 1970. The water was free and that was what I could afford. Above the counter was a gigantic colored picture of the 1945 undefeated football team (9-0-1). Many times, my classmates and I would sit mesmerized by the penetrating gazes of Ted Kluszewski (yes, that Ted Kluszewski), George Taliafero (the first African-American to lead the Big Ten Conference in rushing), Bob Ravensberg (first team All-American), All-American full-back Pete Pihos and All-American end Bob Ravensberg. In 1948, receiver Mel Groomes became the first African American player to sign with the Detroit Lions. The team was coached by the legendary Bo McMillan. As I and my fellow law students, some with Viet Nam War era service, set drinking water we would sometimes note how these true heroes from the WWII battles seemed to be staring deep into our souls challenging us to carry on their dedication to America and I.U.

In 1967, Coach John Pont led Quarterback and future lawyer Harry Gonso, running back Jade Butcher and running back and punter John Eisenbarger to our only Rose Bowl where we met O.J. Simpson and acquitted ourselves very well in 1968. They were 9-2 that season losing to Minnesota and USC.

These two teams earned legendary status as our current 2024 team is performing. The victory by I.U. over Ohio State University this Saturday (23 November 2024) will become part of Indiana University folklore. Just as I correctly predicted I.U.’s victory (but not the score) over Michigan State, I boldly assert I.U. will beat O.S.U. 24 to 17. You will note, Gentle Reader, as I write this column, I.U. is 10-0 and November 23, 2024 has yet to have occurred.

 When Coach Cignetti reminds the team before the game and again at half-time that our discipline and fierce rage to win will help us avoid penalties and force O.S.U. turnovers, I am comfortable that the ghosts from 1945, 1967 and Coach Lee Corso’s 1979 Holiday Bowl conquest of previously undefeated B.Y.U. will become the magic of Hoosier myth and lead to victory number 11 in the 2024 football season.

It need not be said that win number 12 over Purdue to crown our championship season of 12-0 will forge our way to the crest of the College Football Playoffs. As Hoosier James Whitcomb Riley might have said:

“When the frost is on the football and O.S.U is numb and in the shock,
And you see the humbled wobble of the once proud Buckeye cock,
Then it’s good to be a Hoosier and a champion one turned out,
For the struttin’ once proud Brutus will go into whimperin’ rout.
When I.U. brings him to heel, he’ll tuck his tail twixt his legs,
As Ohioans rend their togs to rags, we’ll leave them suckin’ on their eggs,
Scarlet and gray will fade away and might as well be hocked,
When the frost is on the football and O.S.U. is numb and in the shock!”

As the gun sounds in Columbus, Buckeyes ’l be fodder for our fans,
Ohioans will mumble to themselves as they stumble from the stands,
’Ole U.S. Grant will rise up, draw his sword and rail at young J.D.,
Ne’er on my watch, young man, was such a loss allowed to be.
Not so fast Ulysses, as your boss in the big dust up,
I, the Hoosier rail splitter, say quit complaining, take a sip from this bitter cup,
For ne’er again will Hoosiers have to bear the Buckeyes run amock,
When the frost is on the football and O.S.U. is numb and in the shock!”

IU Wins

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At an IU game

Indiana University football coach, Curt Cignetti, promised his team would win before he ever took the field in Bloomington, Indiana. He has been better than his word and as I write this column on Halloween, I boldly predict the Hoosiers will be 9-0 after they beat Michigan State 34 to 23 at East Lansing, Michigan the day after tomorrow. I realize both the score and the total outcome could be different than what I assert, but that’s why they call them predictions.

I wish Coaches John Pont, Lee Corso and Tom Allen were going to be there to join in the celebration but I know they will be there with spirit and support; Peg and I certainly will be. As I have not been on campus as a student since 1970 and the Cream and Crimson have not had this kind of success since the 1967-1968 season, all Indiana fans now have something to cheer. I could tell when ESPN’s GameDay was at Bloomington before last week’s game, the student body was totally exhilarated.

I am confident that Coach Cignetti has been eagerly awaiting my analysis and game input. Perhaps he’s having a difficult time finding my phone number in Osage County, Oklahoma. If I had not had an accident at our small ranch earlier this week, Peg and I could attend the game and be available with advice.

I’m going to keep this column short as my minor accident while working around our place makes it difficult to write. That’s why I’m dictating this column to Peg; she always corrects them anyway. We will be parked in front of the television Saturday making sure that the Coaches know we are available if they need a quick fix. Our disciplined team will stay alert to the damage that penalties and turnovers cause; we do not expect to see many of either.

♫ “….
Never daunted, we cannot falter
In the battle, we’re tried and true
Indiana, Our Indiana
Indiana, we’re all for you. IU!” ♫

 

Respite and Nepenthe

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Photo by Peg Redwine

Edgar Allan Poe in The Raven holds out little hope for relief from the memories of the lost Lenore. Poe seeks respite in the mythical ancient Greek beverage, nepenthe, that causes forgetfulness. In those Dog Days of summer where August made the fires of hell sound inviting, respite and nepenthe finally arrived in September on the wings of the forward pass. Gentle Reader, allow me to quote my favorite author on our salvation from the hades of 100℉ temperatures:

“The crisp autumn air. The dry brown grass. Sweaty pads and the exhilaration of combat without weapons.
The kind of battle where one can experience the thrill of having been shot at and missed without even being shot at.
Football! Ersatz war. Clashes of pride, power and cunning.”

Echoes of our Ancestors: The Secret Game, p. vii
By James M. Redwine

Football has returned and the grass is going dormant. The experts may assert there is no connection but I say the frequency of mowing is inverted to my several favorite teams’ re-emergence in game day uniforms. Somehow the same weather that keeps me from doing outside chores does not hinder me from sitting in the heat for four hours watching boys and men shoving an inflated pig bladder covered with cowhide back and forth.

Perhaps it is because I no longer have to endure the two-a-day early morning and evening practices nor the inane exhortations of coaches who themselves also no longer must do so, but watching others play football sure beats working in the heat. In fact, Peg and I have already been jiggling our schedules so we can follow the Hoosiers, the Cowboys and the Sooners on Saturday. Our new season hopes are high but any disappointments can be assuaged with guacamole, chips and cold beer. Besides, even though we may have the occasional opportunity to attend a game in person, normally we will be sitting on the couch in 72-degree air conditioning while others entertain us with their sweat and blood and give us an excuse to leave the lawnmowers put away. I would not want you to think Peg and I have not had to make our own hard choices during the football season. For example, we had to get up at 5 o’clock in the morning to watch the 2023 Super Bowl when we were in the country of Georgia; it was tough.

Anyway, thank you to all those who have sacrificed their August sweating and preparing and now their autumn struggling for our relief. We truly appreciate it and will frequently raise a parting glass in your honor.

Photo by Peg Redwine

Hoosiers and Slave Auctions

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Gentle Reader, you will, of course, remember the Gavel Gamut column of December 05, 2005 where one of Posey County, Indiana’s most infamous brawlers was mentioned. One Tom Miller was fond of drink and when drinking was fond of fighting. In the years just before the Civil War old Tom would get liquored up and lick whoever had the misfortune to run into him on the streets of Mt. Vernon, Indiana. As described by John Leffel in the Western Star newspaper Miller would, “Pace the streets of Mt. Vernon with his coat off, sleeves rolled up, his shaggy breast exposed and his suspenders about his waist.” According to the editor, Tom always bellowed the same challenge, “I’m a mean man, a bad man and I orter to be whipped, I know, but whar’s the man to do it?”

Tom Miller was only one small part of our Posey County and new state of Indiana’s reputation for tumultuous living. The sobriquet, “Hoop Pool Township”, was fairly earned by Posey County brawlers who drove visiting boatmen away. And as for frontier justice in Indiana, some experts assert our Hoosier nickname came about from the proclivity of Indiana rowdies to bite off ears and spit them out onto barroom floors.

I am indebted to columnist Erik Deckers who set forth this theory of the origin of the word “Hoosier” in his article contained in the publication Here and Wow, Indianapolis! Vol.1, No. 1, 2018. At page 22 Deckers attributed this possibility to Indiana’s poet laureate James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) of When the Frost is on the Pumpkin fame who claimed that early Indiana folks would frequently gouge out eyes or bite off body parts which would litter a barroom floor and when the next day someone would kick the removed piece of fleck they’d ask, “Whose ear?”

If I had not dealt with so many cases in court where the behavior of the combatants resembled such activity I might look askance on such a theory. However, I can see some merit to Riley’s analysis.

Well, onto another topic as discussed in last week’s column. You do remember last week’s column, right? Okay, it involved military service and concentrated on my Great Great Grandfather, John Giggy who was a stone mason and farmer from La Grange, Indiana who fought all four years (1861-1865) in Company H of the famed Iron 44thIndiana Volunteer Infantry.

Before being wounded at both Shiloh and Chickamauga and before he saw his first shot fired he and his outfit witnessed a sad spectacle in Henderson, Kentucky that helped them understand one of the main reasons they went to war. Kentucky did not secede, but it did have legal slavery until 1865. In fact, one reason Tom Lincoln, Abraham’s father, moved his family from Kentucky to Indiana was to avoid competing for work with slave labor. Slavery was part of the legal and social culture of Kentucky. The young Hoosier farm boys from northern Indiana who were used to doing their own labor had not had direct knowledge of The Peculiar Institution until they personally observed a slave auction in 1861 just across the Ohio River as they were making their way south:

“It was a strange pitiful sight that of women and little children standing upon the action block to be sold as human chattles. They came wringing their hands and with tears and sobs, lamenting their cruel fate. The soldiers stood near filled with pity and indignation but restrained by law and discipline. Slavery existed at this point in its mildest form. Here were a dozen or more large tobacco factories. The blacks were required as a daily task to strip 400 pounds under penalty of the rod. Children of ten years were given this task. Work hours extended from 4 a.m. to 8 p.m. In each room was an overseer whose presence was a threat. Some negroes were well dressed, others ragged. Attendance at church was allowed and many were Christians. They regarded the coming of the soldiers as the precursor of their liberty.”

As to the name Hoosier, Posey County’s most famous citizen, Major General Alvin P. Hovey, while in command at Shiloh came across a Union sentry on a dark night who asked for the password. Hovey was just getting his men to that position and had no idea what password was being used. When the sentry asked, “Who goes there?”, Hovey improvised what he hoped would be an acceptable password and responded, “Hoosiers”. The sentry said, “Welcome Hoosiers.” Apparently, we Hoosiers have been welcomed as such for a long time.

How To Carve An Elephant:

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Take a block of marble and chip away everything that isn’t an elephant. The same principle applies with chili made by Yankees.

When the United States Air Force stationed me at Indiana University to study Hungarian I arrived with a solid foundation in chili. My previous life had been pretty much confined to Oklahoma and Texas where chili was to cuisine as basketball was to Hoosiers. There was none of this nonsense that chili is to be eaten only in wintertime.

In the southwest we ate chili year round and all day long. Chili on eggs at breakfast. Chili poured in a bag of Fritos for snacks. Chili at wedding receptions. Chili at church potluck dinners. Bricks of frozen chili at scout camp.

Chili was a health food. It was served to colicky children and constipated seniors. If the ancient gods of the Greeks and Romans had discovered chili they would have looked askance at ambrosia. The true Land of Milk and Honey can be found in the chili parlors along the banks of the canal through downtown San Antonio.

So, Gentle Reader, you might grasp my befuddlement when I ate my first meal at Indiana University and saw a sign on the chow line announcing that chili and grilled cheese sandwiches were being served, but when the nice lady behind the counter handed me my bowl of “chili” it had large red and white things floating among the greasy gunk.

“Ma’am, I don’t know if you noticed but there’s some strange stuff in my bowl.”

“That’s chili.”

“Uh, it has red and white globs swimming in it.”

“Those are red kidney beans and macaroni.”

Then I met Peg who not only was from east of the Mississippi she was also a Yankee from above the Mason-Dixon Line. Fortunately for me, we got married before she ever cooked for me the first bowl of what she called “chili”. She added celery to the kidney beans and macaroni. At our home, a pot of chili calls for two pots now: one for the chili I make and one for whatever you call what Peg makes.

Over the years I have spent in this Hoosier heaven for everything but chili I have had friends serve me chili with tofu, eggs, potatoes, kidney beans, white beans, chicken, sugar, macaroni, spaghetti, and a lack of cayenne pepper. Enough! Chili is shredded beef or hamburger, browned then drained. Sautéed onions, water, salt, black pepper, chili powder, garlic, cumin, cayenne pepper, tomato sauce and, for some, chili beans are slowly added to the sizzling meat and then masa flour added at the very end to thicken the mixture. It is simmered for a minimum of two hours then served with Fritos or corn tortillas with hot sauce, preferably Tabasco, chopped raw onions and shredded cheese on the side. THAT IS ALL! That is chili!

(Folks, this is Peg. I’m the lucky person who gets to type and edit these Gavel Gamut articles. I just can’t let you get the wrong idea this time. I had never heard of chili with macaroni or spaghetti either until I moved to Hoosierdom! In Yankeeland we made our chili with browned and drained hamburger, kidney beans not chili beans, tomato sauce or tomato soup, a little bit of ketchup, chopped celery and onions, salt and pepper and maybe a dash of chili pepper if we felt daring. Chili is served with Saltine crackers, not Fritos. That’s the difference between Yankee chili and my Dear JJ’s southwestern chili!)

The Snowbird’s Lament

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Hoosiers wear pajamas on Sunday morning at home. Many Floridians wear them everywhere, all the time. The only Hoosiers who wear house shoes to dinner are the same Hoosiers who play Bingo. Floridians wear house shoes to church.

The servants at Downton Abbey dress better than elected officials in Florida, well, maybe Indiana too, but you get the metaphor.

Half of God’s waiting room sits around, not in, swimming pools speaking English with funny Yankee accents while the other half mow, trim, plant and construct while speaking Spanish.

Peg and I fall into category one, but we speak proper Hoosier. We only use our high school Spanish when we leave our geriatric condo complex.

There are parks everywhere in Florida. Nobody uses them except people with dogs. Indiana does not waste farmland on parks. Hoosiers flock to the few parks they can find and play softball while Floridians remain Bingo-bound and look at all the parks.

Indiana in winter provides proper weather. Ice, snow, sleet and frostbite are reveled in by Hoosiers who honor school closings and worship tow trucks. Floridians don parkas at 60 °, give unsolicited advice to Hoosiers such as, “Just quit your job and move down here”, and ask, “What’s a tow truck?”

The grass in Indiana has the courtesy to go dormant in October and remain in repose until April. Grass in Florida prides itself on providing year round off the books employment to the three million illegal immigrants who have accepted Emma Lazarus’ open invitation on the Statue of Liberty. By the way, within a month of arrival, each traveler puts, at least, two more cars into Florida’s kamikaze traffic. Hoosiers drive cars too, but in Indiana, dodge’em as a sport is discouraged.

Hoosiers eat breakfast at breakfast time, i.e., before eight a.m. Restaurants in Florida do not even open until nine and Floridians consider it gauche to eat an egg before ten.

People in Indiana harness the Ohio and Wabash Rivers for industry and recreation. Florida is also surrounded by water, but the only ones who use the ocean are a few middle aged surfers who greet everyone with, “Hey, Dude.”

In summary, Floridians dress funny, talk funny, drive crazy and have no winter. Hoosiers are normal, but freeze half the year. If you want to contact Peg or me before spring, send us a letter.