Stones

Saturday evening Noel and I headed west, out I-70 a ways, then north. We wound up at the Old Stone Church near St. Marys. This church was dedicated in 1882 as a mission of the Eliot Congregational Church in Newton, Massachusetts. It was used until 1905 when a new church was dedicated in town.

I walked up the hill through the cemetery and looking back across the valley I must say is one of the prettiest spots in Kansas. At least two trains passed and the sound reverberated against the hillside. On one set of graves, prickly pear cactus was in full, ripe fruit. I picked a couple but even the fruit has the little almost invisible stickers and I spent the rest of the evening trying to suck them out of my fingertips.

Homemade monuments strike a chord with me, and this one (left) was particularly poignant. The craftsman was obviously not experienced in making markers and didn't realize if he could read his template it would come out backwards on the stone. It's funny, and it's touching.

On the way back home, we meandered north again, and crossed the Kaw where I stopped in the middle of the bridge to snap the picture below. An advantage to living in Kansas--stopping on bridges to enjoy the view.

Mayberry Days

My sister called this morning. She was on her way to Diana's Restaurant in Bannertown. For those unfamiliar with North Carolina geography, Bannertown is a "suburb" of Mount Airy, hometown of Andy Griffith. Diana's was packed. Seems Mayberry Days is in full swing and the tourists are flocking to this burg in northwestern Carolina. Snapping pictures of Snappy Lunch and Floyd's Barber Shop. The welcome out-of-towners bring some much needed cash into the area. Mount Airy is the very western edge of the Piedmont, formerly the textile capital of the world. Since every thing has gone overseas, the factories sit empty, grass growing in the parking lots. I can remember when quitting time meant hundreds of people pouring forth like cattle. Many of the farmers in the area had wives that worked in the mills and they would take them back and forth--"Go-get-hers" the farmers were called.

Socks, sweaters, baby clothes--Mount Airy's mills made them all. Since NAFTA, they're almost all gone. In August, Gildan Manufacturing closed its two remaining sock plants and put 520 people out of work. It is the single largest manufacturing loss in 20 years.

This year alone, Mount Airy has now been hit with a total of five plant closings. An estimated 1,047 jobs will be gone by the fall at Gildan, Renfro, Cross Creek, and Spencer’s Infants and Children’s Wear. Most of those jobs will be moved overseas.

“The economy has changed,” said Donald Brookshire, the city manager of Mount Airy, adding, “From the perspective of textile manufacturing, it’s a matter of time before the last textile manufacturer is here.”

My sister is a bookkeeper, and the number of bankruptcies she's seen over the past couple of years have gone beyond skyrocketing. So dear readers, go to Mayberry and spend some money! You'll be supporting one of my cousins.

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James-Younger Gang

My friend Terry Hobbs rode with me to St. Jo Mo on Thursday night to hear our bud Chuck Rabas (right) speak. It was a great talk on a sub-gang of outlaws that was called upon by Jesse from time to time. Lots of interesting folks, including relatives of the Jameses and the Youngers, and good research. Keep watching the blogs and we'll pass along some of the newly discovered facts. In case you can't quite make out Chuck's T-shirt, it has a photo of William Clarke Quantrill and says, "Go Missouri, Beat Kansas."

History Nuggets

My friend, Tom Perry, spent the day at Fort Leavenworth with me yesterday. Above, he is standing in front of the Syracuse Houses, built in 1855, and taking a photo of the Rookery, built in 1840. As one of our tour-goers said Sunday, "I had no idea Fort Leavenworth had so many historic homes!" We had breakfast at Tevis Restaurant (a Topeka landmark) here this morning and he headed to St. Louis. He did a fantastic job last night at the CWRT in Kansas City. The ultimate authority on Confederate General J. E. B. Stuart, Tom founded the Stuart Birthplace Trust back home in Ararat, Virginia. Tom never stops researching, and just when you think everything that could be known about Jeb is known, he uncovers another nugget. Like this one:

When Jeb was a cadet at West Point in 1853, he and another student had an altercation in the Mess Hall. They were taken before the commandant, Robert E. Lee. He asked each student what had happened and each in turn declined to comment. He gave them a slap on the wrist and dismissed them. Only a short year later, the other student, John Grattan, was dead and had single-handedly started the Plains Indian Wars that would last into the 1890s.

From the website, Wyoming Tales and Trails:

In 1851, the various Indians were summoned to Ft. Laramie where a treaty was entered into. In 1854, Chief Conquering Bear with Ogalala and Brule Sioux were gathered near Ft. Laramie to receive promised allotments of food from the government. The supplies were delayed in coming. At the same time the Hans Peter Olson Company of Mormons was passing through the area. A sickly, half-starved cow belonging to the Mormons wandered into the Indian camp. The Indians regarded the cow as abandoned and accordingly used it to provide sustenance. The Mormons complained to the military and demanded return of the cow.

A young West Point Graduate, Bvt. 2nd Lt. John L. Grattan, proceeded with a company to Chief Conquering Bear's camp and demanded that the Indian suspected of the taking of the cow be turned over to the military. Chief Conquering Bear refused to turn over the suspect but, instead, in compliance with treaty terms offered compensation in the form of a horse. The horse would, in fact, have been more valuable than the cow. Grattan refused the offer. The Chief started to walk away when one of Grattan's men shot the Chief. In the ensuing fire fight Grattan and all but one of his men were killed. The one had his tongue cut out and subsequently died in the Fort Laramie hospital. Among those present was a young Indian boy later to be known as Red Cloud (right; Grattan Massacre site, above right).

Of course, little more than a decade later, Jeb Stuart, too, would be dead, shot from his horse while commanding troops in defense of the Confederate Capital. Jeb rests in Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, Virginia. Grattan, though, lies in the National Cemetery at Fort Leavenworth. We visited his grave on our tour Sunday and I took Tom Perry yesterday. Tom snapped this photo of me at the monument to the impetuous young officer.

Irony

Michael Stubbs snapped this photo yesterday during our tour to Fort Leavenworth and environs. Paul Beck, Tom, Toni Beck, and Doug Wallace are gazing at the stones of two of Kansas most notorious murderers--Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, of In Cold Blood fame. They were executied April 14, 1965, and are buried in nearby Lansing.

I have mixed feelings about taking folks to this spot. When we were there on an earlier tour, the sextant joined us and commented that more people come to see these graves than all the others combined. It's ironic, isn't it? There is a major general and a flamboyant publisher resting in the same cemetery, and yet two low-life hoodlums get the most attention.

Yet, these are names everyone has heard. Not everyone knows Gen. James G. Blunt or D. R. Anthony, the brother of Susan B. and advocate for a freestate Kansas.

Toni commented that it doesn't seem right for these two men to be resting next to "decent" folks. Perhaps that is true.

I have been thinking a lot about right and wrong since my cousin was murdered. His family has been asked by the District Attorney if they want to pursue the death penalty. That is not an easy choice. A death penalty trial is an emotionally wrenching experience. The air in the courtroom is different when a life is at stake. Every word takes on added significance.

A boy I grew up with, a very close family friend, has been on death row for nearly 14 years. He committed two brutal murders. He probably deserves to die. Yet I know there is another side to him; I know he is someone who needed to get help for his issues a long time ago and no one understood that. I know he is not only a monster.

There is an Indian tribe, perhaps the Sioux, that believe the sacred stone from which pipes are made is striped with white and red representing the blood of the people--all the people--the victims and the victimizers, the innocent and the guilty.

I think I believe that, too.
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Ode to the Pumpkin

No fruit or vegetable captures the imagination like the pumpkin. Cinderella used it as a coach; Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater kept his wife inside its shell; Charlie Brown fell asleep awaiting the arrival of the Great one. It scares us, it entertains us, it feeds us. My favorite scene from all the Harry Potter movies is Hagrid's pumpkin patch (above). Aren't those pumpkins wonderful? Don't they conjure images of coaches and dwelling places for little beings? There is a wonderful mystery to a pumpkin.

Food, Glorious Food

Tom is whining that with autumn comes autumn food--fattening and irresistible. I made pumpkin soup last Sunday for company, and we have been savoring the leftovers ever since. Now comes the season for pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin ale, pumpkin truffle. . . oh my. Bryce Benedict grows hops and makes his own pumpkin ale which he generously shared a couple of years ago. It made the best cheddar ale soup I have ever tasted. The pumpkin flavor was just the extra touch to make it interesting.

Tradition

According to Pumpkin Patches and More, the tradition of carving a jack-o-lantern from the pumpkin began in Scotland and Ireland. (well, of course!) Except, they used turnips, pumpkins being native to the New World. Can you imagine homes decked out in turnips, or being scared to your stocking feet by a candle inside a turnip? Check out pumpkinpatchesandmore.org for the rest of the story.

And now, dear readers, I'm off to the pumpkin patch.
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Bald Eagle Rendezvous

. . . is this weekend in Lecompton, Kansas. Situated above the Kansas River, the setting for this event could not be more beautiful. Mountain men, Indians, traders and trappers gather just as they would have in the 19th century. Today through Sunday.

By the way, we're still raising money for the historical marker honoring Tom to be placed on the corner where he grew up. Let me know if you'd like to contribute. Tom really has his heart set on neon flashing lights that read, "Childhood Home of Tom Goodrich, Renowned Historian and Hunk."

From the Soap Box

In Arizona in the late 1800's, infamous outlaw Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) and his vicious gang of thieves and murderers have plagued the Southern Railroad. When Wade is captured, Civil War veteran Dan Evans (Christian Bale), struggling to survive on his drought-plagued ranch, volunteers to deliver him alive to the 3:10 to Yuma, a train that will take the killer to trial. On the trail, Evans and Wade, each from very different worlds, begin to earn each other's respect. But with Wade's outfit on their trail – and dangers at every turn – the mission soon becomes a violent, impossible journey toward each man's destiny. . . . from the studio.

If you plan to see 3:10 to Yuma and want to be surprised, stop reading here. Everyone I know, however, was lined up opening night so I don't think many evenings will be spoiled.

I've never been so angry at Russell Crowe.

Hardcore Western movie fans have been salivating over the opening of 3:10 to Yuma. (We were salivating over Jesse James, too, but our mouths have gone dry from waiting.) The 1957 version starring Van Heflin and Glenn Ford was excellent--well-done, suspenseful, and ultimately, optimistic. There are few rules in writing or movie making, in making art. But there is one, and it is unbreakable: when you give an object life, you have to step back and let it live. You step out of the way and let it twist and turn according to its will, not yours. Real art lives as do your children, independently. Shaped by you, perhaps, but ultimately independent.

So what happened at the end of the newest offering from Tinseltown? Elmore Leonard, who wrote the short story upon which the movies are based, attended the screening and commented, "Did you understand the ending? Because I sure didn't."

In fact, Leonard is quoted on his website as saying, "I didn’t understand why [Russell Crowe] shot his own men. Because he was all for them before. Why [did] he have the change of heart? I don’t think Bale was effective in what he was doing. You could feel sorry for him but why? Because every time Bale said “well I have this problem/I have that problem,” [Crowe] never sympathized with him ever….and then he shoots his own guys."

I'll tell you why he shot his own men. Because that's the mindset of Hollywood. It's all about body counts, and if you don't have any real ideas, just blow people away.

Who are these people we have given our culture over to? They don't think we can pay attention unless there is some sick, twisted, plot turn. They don't think we'll be satisfied to let characters do what they do. Even if we wanted Russell Crowe's character to shoot his own men, it doesn't follow with the rest of his actions, the foundation has not been laid. When he killed his own gang member earlier in the film, it was in context. It was cold-blooded, but it was in context. What happens at the end is the result of a writer that isn't confident in his own work and uses a body count to make up for it.

And why I am angry at Russell Crowe? He's the one person here with the artistic sensibility and clout to tell people that it doesn't work. And he just had a good time and let it go. In fact, I read an interview during which Crowe defends the ending and how appropriate it is. Russell, if you believe that drivel, you are not the man nor the actor I believed you were.

The movie works on so many levels, and that's what is so irritating. Christian Bale (right) was so good that I can't get his face out of my mind. "I've asked God to give me something but God ain't listening," to quote Bale's character. He encounters this outlaw who is everything that he isn't: brave, charismatic, and to some extent, even successful. But Bale's rancher has something that Crowe's outlaw doesn't have: someone to go home to, something to fight for. Each of them understands this and the relationship works.

What doesn't work is the ridiculous ending. I'll still invite Russell Crowe over for dinner next week, but I'm not getting out the good china.

All Over the Map

Yesterday, I thought about writing on the Battle of Antietam, or Sharpsburg, depending on your point of view. But I knew Sam Wheeler would do it, and do it well, so I didn't bother. Click on his link to the right. It's a worthy remembrance, especially in light of all the 9-11 coverage on television. Also, if you visit the historynet.com, you'll find a very interesting article of an 1864 plot to attack New York City (above). There is nothing new under the sun, dear reader.

Our buddy Herschel Stroud is headed East--Nashville, I believe, then Staunton, Virginia, then Philadelphia. He told me so Sunday morning. Said he was headed to StaUnton, pronouncing the au as any educated person would. Only problem is, Virginians say Stanton, as if the u doesn't exist. As a result, I was always misspelling the name of Edwin Stanton (left). I had the tendency to throw in a u, even though it wasn't pronounced that way, much to the chagrin of our editors. Then again, look at this poor man. Have you ever seen a more miserable human? He needs an extra u. . . .

Anyhow, Herschel is on the Organ Committee for St. David's Lutheran Church. Since Herschel is an MD and a dentist, and portrays a Civil War surgeon, my first thought was livers and kidneys, but no, we're talking pipe organs. Whew! Thank goodness!

Just thinking about Crawford, Nebraska, and looked up the weather forecast. A little cooler than ours:

Crawford: Partly cloudy. Scattered thunderstorms in the morning - then isolated thunderstorms in the afternoon. Cooler. Highs around 70. Northeast winds 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 50 percent.

Topeka: Breezy. Partly sunny with a 50 percent chance of thunderstorms. Highs around 86. South winds 15 to 25 mph.

So has anyone ever figured out the difference between partly sunny and partly cloudy? Is it like the glass that's half full or half empty and depends upon the optimism of the forecaster? Above, one of the adobe officers' quarters at Fort Robinson, just outside Crawford. Perhaps this is the one in which we stayed with our friends the Waskies in May. Let's just be optimistic and say that it is.