James Gordon Pendleton, 1933-2014

Our family circle is a little smaller tonight.  One of the tallest branches of our family tree has fallen, a man who was friend to many, and whose unceasing service to our community has finally come to a close.  But more than just a cousin, he was also a good friend, an adviser, and always an encourager.  He served on the school board for a number of years, and his signature is one among those found on my high school diploma. He never overlooked a single high school graduation within the family, and that meant a lot to all of us traveling toward adulthood.

As a politician, he was fairly low-key.  He didn't spend time crowing about his accomplishments, because in his eyes, that was a look backwards.  He preferred to always look forwards, to envision what could be, what might be, and then to put his efforts toward making those things happen.  A few years back, at a family get-together, he told me where his political philosophy came from.  He said that when he was considering his first foray into politics, he asked his mother what her thoughts were on the subject.  In her homespun way, she told him, "I reckon nobody ever built a statue for a man who never done nothin'."

Instead of saying "It can't be done," his approach was more thoughtful, more on the order of, "And how do you propose to do that?" He was a lifelong Democrat, but he was also a banker.  He knew which side of the ledger the credits went, and which side the debits went.  He voted against the wishes of his party, if those wishes conflicted with his personal values.  He was less about being on the side of the majority, and more about being on the side of progress, and the side of right. In discussions he might play the devil's advocate, in order that all sides might be heard and considered before an issue was brought to a vote.

He was less about tax-and-spend, and more about investing in our community.  He was an early--and continuous--supporter of the YMCA of Harrison County, among many other institutions that enhance our community.  He donated his own funds to many worthwhile organizations and causes in the area, usually without public recognition or fanfare.

He was born in New Middletown, Indiana in 1933, during the very heart of the Great Depression.  He was one of 5 children, so he learned about the value of a dollar from an early age.  He served in the military, and then graduated from college--quite an accomplishment in his generation.  He started as a teacher and a coach, and in many ways he spent all his life teaching and coaching those around him.... especially those of us who were fortunate enough to be part of his extended family.

Yes, the passing of James Gordon Pendleton will leave quite an empty space...in our family, and in the community.  But I'm proud to have known him, and prouder still to have been a relative who benefited from his knowledge and counsel.  He was humble, but he was about the furthest thing from "a man who never done nothin' " I've ever met.  Maybe he didn't change the whole world, but he sure left a set of footprint in this little corner of it that anyone should be proud to walk in..

For Those Discouraging Days

You get up in the morning, you go out and give it your best, and you go to bed. Then you get up and do the same thing over again. Results, and your effectiveness, are going to vary because that's life. But as long as you've given your best, and done all you can do, even if the result is less than you hoped for you can still have a clear conscience about your own actions. We are never going to save all the orphans [including good causes that have been orphaned], or feed all the hungry [including those who hunger for knowledge, truth, and justice], or make a home for all the homeless [remembering that it's love that makes a home, and not just a roof and four walls]. The best thing any of us can do in our lives is to go out every day and, in our own way, try to make a difference in the world.

Because eventually you will make a difference...if only to one person. And it will be worth it.

One More Adventure

Life's an adventure, I tell ya.

About 2 weeks ago, the single-tube 2-foot [0.6096 meters, for my Facebook friend Dave, what with him being over in Germany and all] fluorescent light over the kitchen sink went out. The fixture's hard-wired with a wall switch, and it's the one I installed about 10 years ago. I've owned the house 20 years as of August 2014, so I guess that 10 years must be the life of these lights. But that's not how the adventure started.

It all started when I went to Wally World and bought a replacement tube...which never made it to my car. [I think the checkout girl either just forgot to put it in a bag, or forgot to give me that bag.] So I called the service desk when I got home, and some regional manager named Allison answered the phone. She told me to come get another one, and tell the folks at the service desk when I get there that "Allison said so."

Wellllll.....it was several days before I made it back to Wally World, but when I told the folks at the service desk that "Allison said so," everything suddenly went my way. I reckon if I'd have told 'em to give me all their money 'cause "Allison said so," I'd have walked out of there a rich man that day. So I got my 2-foot tube, and this time I got home with it.

When I installed it...nada. Nada damn thing changed. So I decided that, since the local hardware folks seldom carried the type of stuff I needed , I'd check out either BLowes or Deep Homo my next trip uptown. Well today was that trip. Before I left, I checked the BLowes website, and they not only listed the fixture I wanted, but the website said it was in stock for immediate pick-up. So I drove the 30 miles to the store...to discover that, not only was it NOT in stock, but the sample in their display was marked "N/A"...as in NOT AVAILABLE.

So I left and drove to another past of town to the closest Deep Homo store...the one with the orange buckets and orange aprons. At Deep Homo, I also discovered I was SOL...simply out of luck...if I wanted to use that newly-purchased but once-installed so no longer returnable 2-foot-long [0.6096 meters long] T8 fluorescent tube. [Maybe if "Allison said so," they'd take it back, but I figured I'd already been lucky once.] BUT I was able to find someone for some customer assistance at Deep Homo...something apparently lacking on the day before Labor Day at BLowes. The employee told me that they apparently no longer carried the 2-foot-long [0.6096 meters long] T-8 fixture, but they'd be happy to sell me a 2-foot long [0.6096 meters long] T-5 fixture. The T-8 bulb is about an inch and a half [3.81 cm] in diameter, and the T-5 is about the size of my middle finger.

So, since I had plans to install the light on Labor day, instead of giving the employee at Deep Homo the middle finger [which I have now dubbed "T-5," just because it makes the REST of the people look at me funny], I bought the T-5 fixture, and will give it a go at installation on Labor Day.

Yep, life's an adventure...except when life is a rock, but the radio rolled me.

Let's Talk About Religion

My religion is one of peace. I won't force my religion on you, and I request that you don't force yours on me. ["Fighting for peace" is like "screwing for virginity"...perhaps George Carlin said that?] I wish to have power over no man, except myself; that is difficult enough a task for most days. And having reached this point, if I treat others as I would wish to be treated myself--offering a hand to those who need it, doing what I can to feed the hungry, and clothe and shelter the needy, to the degree that I am physically and financially able to do so--I would hope that by my example others would take up a similar way of life. 

IF there are any commandments in my religion, they are to treat others as we would wish to be treated, and to not infringe or attempt to impose my will on another. Does that make me better than anyone else? NO, not at all; it simply makes me different from the zealots of all faiths and denominations who feel the need to "recruit" others to their "way." And if others choose to also practice the same things I attempt to practice, they are not "followers" of my "way," but "brethren" [what's the comparable term in a feminine gender?...I know it's not "cistern"...] traveling a similar path. 

I try to live my life in such a way that my life itself is a witness to what I believe; and that as a witness, my life's testimony should not show my words and thoughts to be hypocrisy. Live, laugh, love...with that as my guideline, how could I condone war, or any shedding of blood over an idea, and not be a hypocrite? My fight is not with other men; my fight is within myself, to overcome the weaknesses of character that keep me from fully living as I believe I should.

I honestly believe this is the essence of what true Christianity, or any true religion, should be. As a Christian, I have hope of an afterlife, of a resurrection from the death of this frail body.  But I don't believe that it's something that can be earned, no matter how many good deeds I do in my life, or how well I treat others.  To me, that's akin to working for a paycheck, rather than working because you're doing something that you love.  You do what's decent and honest and honorable because it's decent and honest and honorable...NOT because Mommy promised you a sucker, or Daddy promised you a new car, or because Jesus promised you a home in Eternity.  It's a matter of changing what's in the heart, about going from "What's in it for me?" to "How can I be the best I can be?"

I think that was the essential lesson that Jesus came to teach us.

Happy Birthday, Andy

Thirty-four years ago tonight, I pulled an all-nighter.

OK, maybe I did sleep a couple of hours, but not all at once.

My wife Brenda--Duck, to her friends--and I were expecting our first child. The due date was supposed to have been July 14th, but that one came and went. I was working second shift at the old W. R. Grace fertilizer plant on Grant Line Road in New Albany, and living in a townhouse apartment in Clarksville, on Greentree Boulevard, just across from where the O'Reilly's Auto Parts store now stands. The site where the Grace plant stood then is part of the Wal-Mart, across from the National Guard armory.

I had worked second shift, and just got home. I looked around, and Duck was nowhere to be found downstairs. So I went upstairs, and saw the light on in the bedroom and also in the bathroom, with the bathroom door shut. There was a notebook next to the bed, and when I walked over and saw what was on it, I calmly turned around, went downstairs, and walked back out to our car. The notebook had times written down on it, and the times were 8 to 10 minutes apart. So, realizing it was gonna be a long night, I got back in the car, and drove to the nearby Convenient Food Mart. I bought a frozen pizza, brought it back to the apartment, preheated the oven and baked it...and then ate it. All of it. Long nights following a long shift at work require a lot of fuel, y'know.

Then I went back upstairs. Between trips to the bathroom, Duck had managed to write a few more times on the notebook. So I then made the mistake of asking her why she was spending so much time in the bathroom. She explained to me that one of her friends had told her that she could speed up her labor if she took an enema. So while I was at work, she gave herself an enema--a difficult task for a pregnant woman--by lying on the stairs. [I didn't ask for details...so I can only guess.] But when she decided that the enema wasn't working fast enough to suit her, she gave herself another enema. The second one worked...with a vengeance, apparently.

So finally she was able to stay out of the bathroom for minutes at a time. The pains were getting closer, so she called her OB doctor. [Turned out that HER doctor had decided to go on vacation that week, so his partner was on call.] At around 1 am the pains were close enough that we headed to the hospital, after getting ahold of the OB's partner. Due to my insurance, we had to go to Floyd Memorial Hospital...and in 1980, what we now call the "old section" of Floyd was ALL there was of Floyd.

Once we got to the 4th floor, I spent a lot of time in the waiting room. And of course, the first thing they did to Duck when she got to the hospital was to give her yet another enema. The nursing staff would only allow one person in the labor room with her at a time, so I split my time there with her sister Donna.

Friends, if you have never been involved with a woman going through labor, you have missed a huge slice of life. Sometime during the night, during one particularly rough labor pain, I was called things that no human being should ever be called. I was told that, if this is what having sex leads to, my sex life was over right here and now. And I was told things that I can't recall simply because I'd been up since early the previous morning.

Off and on, I was able to doze in the waiting room . The TV shows at 4 am on the cable channels in 1980 were bizarre...or at least that's how I remember them. I saw one religious show, where the man on the screen was explaining some prophecy, while wearing sunglasses. Then he removed the sunglasses...to reveal another pair of sunglasses under those. And a few minutes later, he removed THAT pair of sunglasses, and he had another pair under the second one. I'm pretty sure I didn't imagine that, but then sleep deprivation between "good old-fashioned cussin's" makes the mind wonder if it saw and heard what I thought I saw and heard.

Finally, around 10 o'clock that Wednesday morning, I was summoned to the delivery room. I put on the paper gown, the mask, the hat, and the funky shoe covers--a challenge for my size 13 feet--and then waited until I was given the OK to enter. What seemed like two minutes later, at 10:23 am on July 23, 1980, our son Mark Andrew Knight was born. I don't remember what he weighed or how long he was, I just remember he was healthy, and the ordeal phase was over.

Not counting the teenage years, of course.

But that's another story for another time.

Happy birthday, Andy!

As Ye Sow, So Shall Ye Reap

The shootings in Las Vegas surely were the acts of mentally unstable people. But were those people not merely putting into practice what some folks preach on places like Facebook every day? The folks I'm talking about are the ones who hate our government, and want everyone else to hate our government just as badly as they do.

Truth be told, if some of these people preaching hate had their way, they would put a bullet in our President and never bat an eye. Well, facing facts, nobody with a gun is going to get anywhere near our President. So the folks who hear all this anti-government preaching and ranting decide to focus not on what they CAN'T do, but what they CAN do.

And the closest part of government, to most people, is the local police force. The two shooters in Las Vegas took out a pair of cops who were having lunch...and then covered their bodies in Gadsden flags, the yellow ones with the legend "DON'T TREAD ON ME." Apparently this indicates that these shooters took that hatred of government talk seriously...deadly seriously.

And I'd bet that the manner in which they died didn't bother them at all, either. My guess is, they considered themselves martyrs for the cause.

As folks kept repeating during the Bill Clinton "debate" over the meaning of the word "is," words DO have meaning. Apparently all that "take our country back" and hatred for government talk echoed within the souls of these two young people. And they acted upon it. Now, I'm sure all the "take our country back" and "hate the government" folks will disavow any connection to the actions of these two shooters; they have to. These shooters were over the edge, mentally. We all have to believe that.

Because that's a whole lot easier than going to the families of the dead officers and the dead civilian and saying, "We didn't really mean it." When you call people to action, never forget that words have meaning, and actions have consequences. And people WILL take your words literally, even if you meant them in a figurative sense. And once those words are said, they can never be unsaid.

The hatemongers who influenced these shooters are no less culpable in this case than the hippies in the '60's who preached "revolution" while never thinking that others would take THEM seriously and plant bombs that would kill innocent people.

That's my opinion on the subject. No doubt yours is quite different.

Never, EVER Settle...

Never, ever settle for less than you're worth, or for a result that's less than what you're worth.

In June, 1973, the band Aerosmith released the single "Dream On" from their self-titled album. The song peaked at #59 nationally. The song was re-issued in early 1976, debuting at #81 on the charts. This time, the song continued to climb, peaking at #6 on the Billboard Hot 100.

In 1975, KISS released the studio version of "Rock And Roll All Night," from their album "Dressed To Kill," and the song peaked at #57 on the Billboard charts. But a live version, from their "Alive" album, was released in October of 1975, and that version reached #12 on the national charts.

These two bands COULD HAVE settled for the original result. But they believed in themselves, and they believed in the product...and eventually the public believed as well.

A good lesson for us all. Believe in yourself. Believe in what you're doing. If you can't believe in what you're doing, no one else will, either. If you can't believe in what you're doing, then CHANGE what you're doing, and change what you're doing to something you CAN believe in.

Thoughts On Getting Older

As morbid as this may sound, lately I've been thinking a lot about preparing more for the end of my life. I'm not so egotistical that I can't accept the fact that my life someday WILL end, nor do I presume that it will continue for a long time from now. But I find it frustrating that it seems my entire working life--from my years of auto parts, welding, and my training at IVY Tech--has all led me to where I feel confident that I can build my lifelong dream, my street rod pickup truck...but now that I have the experience, education, and training to do it, I find myself too broke to actually do it.

And now I'm experiencing the aches and pains that "traditionally" go with being my age. Before I turned 50, I could pretty much do all the stuff I did when I was 20. When I turned 55, the deterioration started for real. And now, as I'm in my 60th year, I'm finding I suffer from sore joints and muscles without the benefit of knowing what--if anything--I did to cause the pain.

But it's the combination of all these things that has me thinking that I need to make sure that loose ends are getting tied up, and that I begin to take on fewer, not more, responsibilities. I'll not be seeking any long-term financing for any projects, and I'm not seeing a "lifetime membership" in anything as a financially sound investment. I'm not depressed--other than the part about my truck--but every day, I find myself asking myself, "What are they [the folks who count on me to do things] going to do when I die? I realize that I'm no more indispensable than anyone else...but I'm already thinking that as one by one our pets make their way across that rainbow bridge, I can't consider replacing them, much less adding to their numbers...because I want to be able to adequately care for them, and the older I get, the harder it gets.

That's also why I'm committing to fewer and fewer promises, even with good friends. I'm just finding myself less and less able to deliver on such promises. And I don't make promises lightly. I wish I could do more for friends and family, sure...but my physical resources just don't allow for that as much as I'd like. I can't run on empty at all any more...not like I did when I was working 2 jobs, or 3 jobs including the weekends, when I was younger. Maybe I just used myself up over the years, but I don't have the reserves I did a few years ago. And it leaves me feeling bad for those around me, more than it leaves me feeling sorry for myself. I can't contribute as much to their lives as I'd like. And as much as I'd like to think I could "turn it around," at this age there's just not as much ability to "bounce back" as I used to have.

So I'm facing my own mortality, and realizing that , in my 60th year, it'll be here sooner rather than later. Now, I plan to put THAT off as long as I can...BET ON IT. But I'm enough of a realist that I can see it on the road ahead; I just don't have the depth of field yet to judge the distance involved. So If I turn you down when you ask something of me, PLEASE don't take it personally. It's not you...REALLY.

It's me.

Lessons Learned From A Pork Loin

These days, groceries are expensive. I usually shop for bargains, which are sometimes hard to find. Lately, I've been foregoing most beef products, because the price per pound would deplete the food budget too quickly. So I've been turning to other protein sources. And one of the less-expensive of these has recently been pork loin.

The loin is the part of the pig along the top of the rib cage, according to Wikipedia. I've recently been buying boneless pork loin for around $1.88 a pound, on sale. A 7 to 12 pound pork loin will yield a good number of pork chops, which is what sliced pork loin often becomes. Or a larger section of the loin can become a roast, which we usually cook in the crock pot with carrots, potatoes, and some various seasonings.

So when you strip it all down, a pork loin can be said to be "loin from a pig."

Now, when I was a kid, television was in its infancy. A lot of comedies were shown on TV, and it seems we got to see a lot of the old "movie shorts" featuring the Three Stooges. Curly, as we all know, spoke English with a distinctive accent...and words like "turn" became "toin," "burn" became "boin," and "learn" became "loin." [Some of you may already see where I'm going with this.]

So if pork loin can be called "loin from a pig"...putting this into Curly Howard's voice, just what CAN we "loin from a pig?"

First, pigs like mud. But the reason is, on those hot summer days, the water and the mud form an insulating layer around the pig's skin, helping to keep them cooler. If you've ever seen pigs in the mud, they lie down in it; they roll in it; they immerse themselves in it...often from their piggy snout all the way to their curly tail. So if there's one lesson we can "loin from a pig," that's to totally immerse ourselves in subjects that we love. Roll in it...enjoy it to the fullest. WHY? Because it's cool.

The second lesson we can "loin from a pig" has to do with breakfast. Ever hear the explanation of the difference in the terms "involvement" and "commitment"? When it comes to breakfast of ham and eggs, or bacon and eggs, or sausage and eggs...we can say that the chicken that lays the egg is INVOLVED in your breakfast...but the pig is COMMITTED. The chicken can, after all, walk away after breakfast; the pig cannot. So the second lesson we can "loin from a pig" is to always be fully committed to any projects we take on. We need to go at them "whole hog," as the saying goes, and be committed to their completion and to the perfection of the job at hand. Just being slightly involved, and then walking away...is just plain chicken.

Those are the words of wisdom I have to impart to you today. I hope that when you return to the grocery store and walk by the meat case, you'll be reminded of these lessons you can "loin from a pig" whenever you see the packages with pork loin on sale. I really hope that you'll "loin from a pig" and put these lessons to use in your daily lives as well.

Now...about that bacon that's "fully cured"...was it really sick to begin with?

Christmas 2013

So Christmas is here again...some folks are waxing nostalgic, some folks are waxing philosophical, and yet others are waxing areas I don't even want to talk or hear about. No matter which group you fall into...if you'd lighten up on the spiked eggnog, you wouldn't fall as fast or as hard. Many of you will claim that the fat man with the beard came to visit your homes while everyone was sleeping; the truth is, I never left the house after 7 pm...and I have witnesses.

May everyone who reads this have a wonderful day, no matter what you're celebrating. As for me, I'm going back to bed and hoping I sleep through the rest of the night. Morning will find many of you eating candy you found in your socks...which, any other time of the year, would be a quite disgusting concept. And if you don't end up getting what you want for Christmas, I'd like to ask everyone to focus instead upon all we have, and give thanks for that. Or simply give thanks for the negative things you DON'T have, such as cancer. Others--some of them friends--aren't quite as lucky. There, but for the grace of God, walk you and I.

Appreciate what you have; appreciate as well what you don't have. And may peace be in your life from this day forward.

Just How Big is YOUR God, Anyway?

I see a lot of hand-wringing from folks whose candidate didn't win election this past Tuesday. Many of these folks are upset that the "more Godly" candidate didn't win the election, and that the candidate who won will have destroyed our nation by the time his term in office is over. Yet these people also claim to be people of faith.

So that prompts me to ask them: "Just how big is YOUR God, anyway?" It seems that He's big enough to have created the heavens and the Earth, and all that's in them...yet you seem to think He's not "big enough" to thwart the supposedly "evil" schemes of politicians? Think about that for a moment. You have a God who's big enough to build the universe, who's big enough to put it all in motion and keep it in motion...yet you have worries about His ability to stop a few mere mortals in their quest to perpetrate evil on our land?

Maybe you should try MY God. He's big enough to handle anything. Just because He allows things to occur that aren't in accordance with YOUR will, that doesn't necessarily mean that events are not perfectly in alignment with HIS will. I have faith that MY God can overcome anything that men try to accomplish, and that His will is going to prevail against everything up to and including Satan and Hell itself.

Or maybe it's not your God who has let you down...maybe it's your own faith.

Now, THAT part I can relate to. Being human, sometime my faith wavers. Satan sends his followers to create doubt and fears in our minds and in our souls and in our spirits. He does this much the way God works, through the acts of men and women, and through storms and weather phenomena. But this only occurs to the extent that God ALLOWS it to occur. Consider the story of Job, a man richly blessed by God. Satan was allowed to take all those blessings away, and to even send physical afflictions upon poor Job, just to test his faith in God. But even Job was only allowed to suffer to the extent that God allowed it.

Was it the will of God that Job should suffer? My view is that it was not; God's will is that we follow His words and His ways, and that through doing so, we prosper. But God also tells us, in I Peter 1:7, that our faith will be tested, as gold in the fire. So at times like these we should NOT be filled with despair, as many seem to be. I've read the Book; God's side WILL prevail in the end.

If we dive deeply into despair at what was simply the outcome of a single political election, do we have strong enough faith to prevail when the times of TRUE trial and tribulation are upon us? Let us pray instead, not "for" or "against" any political candidate or party; let us pray for our own faith to be strengthened enough to withstand whatever lies ahead; and let us pray that God's will, and not our own, be done throughout our lives, and even for evermore.

So if YOUR God isn't big enough to handle the results of a single election...maybe it's time to re-examine your God, and your relationship with Him. My guess is, it's not your God that's lacking, but perhaps your faith in Him. I, too, have been guilty of allowing my faith in God to waver...so I'm not placing myself above anyone here. But I'm also praying that my faith will be strengthened daily...and that yours will be, too.

May His peace, that which passes our frail human ability to understand it, be upon you.

OBITUARY: Mary Ellen Knight Plue

from THE CORYDON DEMOCRAT, Wednesday, June 29, 1949

MRS. SCOTT PLUE DIES IN ILLINOIS
REMAINS BROUGHT TO ELIZABETH FOR BURIAL

Mrs. Mary Ellen Plue, 93, widow of Scott Plue, died last Wednesday morning at 5:30 o'clock at her home at Normal, Ill., following a lingering illness.

Mrs. Plue was the daughter of the late Ebenezer and Rebecca Knight and was born and reared in Harrison County. She was a member of the Methodist Church at Elizabeth. The remains arrived at Gehlbach and Resch's Funeral Home last Friday afternoon.

Funeral services were held last Saturday morning at ten o'clock at the Methodist Church at Elizabeth. Burial was in Rose Hill Cemetary.

Surviving are two sons and five daughters, Walter Plue of Meriam, Kansas, Ernest Plue of Peoria, Ill., Mrs. John McWhorten and Mrs. Richard Prido of Normal, Ill., Mrs. O. E. Anderson of Terre Haute, Mrs. Robert Spencer of Louisville and Mrs. C. E. Baker of Jeffersonville. She also leaves one brother, Charles Knight of New Albany and one sister, Mrs. Ida Glaze of Louisville.

Class of '72 40-Year Reunion This Weekend

In some ways, it was a whole lifetime ago...but it sure doesn't seem like it's been 40 years. Tonight we're going to have dinner at Nathan Blank's brewpub in downtown Corydon, on the Square, before its "official" opening...so our class will be their first paying customers. Plans are for all the classmates to sign a T-shirt; then a professional photographer will be there to get a group photo, which will be framed and hung on the wall with the T-shirt, giving our Class of '72 a moment of low-level fame, such as it is. The class isn't charging admission; you just pay for your own food and drink tonight.


Then tomorrow, we plan to have a get-together at Camp Cedarbrook, with a cookout and pitch-in dinner. The class had money left over from the last reunion, so there's also no admission charge for this event...and the class is providing the burgers and the hot dogs, as well as buns, condiments, plates, cups, and utensils. Last time we had a get-together at the camp, the conversations and laughter went from early afternoon to late at night, and it was fun hearing tales told that some of us had never heard before...some of the incidents we saw and heard of while in school suddenly made sense, after hearing the classmate equivalent of Paul Harvey's "Rest Of The Story."


And after our big weekend, we get 2 whole years to plan for our next event. Since most of our class will turn 60 in 2 years, we're making plans to have a "Senior" prom...hopefully we can book the Belle of Louisville for a cruise, as we did for our junior prom back in '71, and again for our 25-year reunion in '97.


Unlike a lot of high school classes, most of our class got along, and we enjoy each others' company. Or maybe we're so old now, we've forgotten enough that it's easier to forgive one another. Whatever the case, I'm looking forward to getting together with the old gang once more.

"Take Our Country Back"??--From WHOM??

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around a lot of what's going on in the political world, at least in America, today. There's a large hue and cry to "take our country back!" that makes me ask...from whom? When did they apparently "steal" it? If we're looking at election results, the "whom" MUST be...the majority of voters. After all, it is the MAJORITY of the voters who have elected our President, our Senators and Representatives. Since one of the basic premises of our constitutional form of government is that the person who wins a plurality of the votes is entitled to hold the office, how is it that our country was "taken" from anyone? If anything, the score is that we voted, somebody won, and somebody lost...simple as that. Nothing was TAKEN from anyone. Just because your candidate or party didn't win, it doesn't mean that anything was TAKEN from you. It wasn't a palace coup, it was an election...and the majority of those who chose to exercise their right to vote simply didn't find your candidate more appealing than the candidate who won. So be adult enough to admit that, and let's drop the pretense that anything was TAKEN from anyone.

Then there's the people who are following candidates such as Republican Rick Santorum, who apparently want to put Christian values into our laws. I suppose that Mr. Santorum and his followers believe that laws abridging the rights of non-Christians to follow THEIR religious beliefs would somehow pass coustitutional muster...yet I fail to see how. In fact, there are state legislatures these days that are considering laws that would ban Muslim "sharia law" form being effective in America...and yet these same folks would want us to live under THEIR religious laws. I believe that the Constitution's first amendment provisions forbidding any laws that would abridge an individual's right to exercise their religious beliefs should be sufficient to cover then needs of our nation.

Conservatives rail that the right to pray has been taken away from our school children. Actually, the "right" of a teacher to FORCE any child to pray in school has been taken away; that's all that has been "lost," and I believe that to be a GOOD loss. Look at it this way: Why is it "right" for a teacher to force a child to pray to a Christian God, but yet it's not "right" for a teacher to force a child to face Mecca and pray to Allah? Because "we" are right and "they" are wrong? If that's how you look at the issue, then you apparently don't truly believe in religious freedon in America. No I don't condone stoning women, nor do I condone cutting off hands or other appendages from people; in fact, I think the Bill of Rights' protection against "cruel and unusual punishment" covers that area already.

Don't get me wrong. I have Christian-based religious beliefs, and I, too, think the Muslims are "wrong." But since I have the right to exercise MY beliefs and possibly be "wrong," why shouldn't others in our great land have the same right to be "wrong?"
I believe that's how our Founding Fathers meant for our nation to operate. And I don't believe that the idea of "taking back our country" [with the subtext of imposing "our" religious ideas on others who--for now,anyway--still have the right to believe as they choose, even if it IS something different from our own beliefs] is something that will bring America back to its ideaological roots.

1906 Knight Family Letter

HERE IS THE TEXT OF THE 1906 LETTER, written by James Knight Kreutzinger to his son, Edmund Philip Kreutzinger:

"Mt. Vernon, Ind. 2-11-1906

Dear Edmund--

I was naturally somewhat surprised to note your request for all possible information concerning my mother's family; these things gradually pass out of our recollection and unless some pride is taken in cultivating the family tree it rapidly falls into decay. All that I know authentically is that Grandfather Knight was born in the year 1791 in the County of Hampshire England. His father was James Knight, a well-to-do and rather intelligent farmer, who had two sons: James my grandfather, and Richard, four years younger. Grandfather became a floriculturist in South London and in 1836 and 1837 was awarded silver medals by the South London Floricultural Society; we have one bearing the date of 1837. Uncle David's family has the other. I do not know the maiden name of grandfather's first wife, who was the mother of 7 children:

Eliza (Dewey)

James (supposed to have been blown from a steamboat)

John (supposed to have died of yellow fever in the south)

Richard and Thomas (who remained in England and whose descendants still remain there, except Jessie Grace who came to America about 10 years ago)

Edmund and

Joseph.

After her death he married Esther, second daughter of Thomas Mayne and Esther Bryan. the latter died during the early childhood of my grandmother, as did the youngest daughter, Anna; and grandmother and her eldest sister, mary, were placed in the family of a relative, mrs. Andrews, where they remained until the latter emigrated to Australia, when grandmother entered the employ of Mrs. Colton as a companion where she was living when she met James Knight. Her faher, Thomas Mayne, was a watchmaker and made each of his daughters a watch, one of which is now in our family in a dilapidated condition. My grandmother claimed relationship with the historian Gibbon, just what degree I am unable to say, but the mother of Esther Bryan was a Gibbon.

Of the sons and daughters of James Knight by his two marriages Eliza, the eldest, married Thomas Dewey, came to America, and became the mother of one son, John, who died upon reaching his majority; his mother died about 1842. James became a civil engineer, came to the U.S. and married becoming the father of 3 children two of whom, with their mother died in the early '50's; the youngest child was brought up by the family of his mother's parents. Uncle James was never heard from after the blowing up of a steamer on her way up the Ohio. John disappeared in an equally mysterious manner; Thomas and Richard who remained in London were goldsmiths, I think as was also their Uncle Richard. The Knights were Regular Baptists and during their residence in London attended the Church of John Stevens, a picture of whom is now in my possession. Those of the family who remained in England were member of Charles Spurgeon's Tabernacle. Edmund, Joseph, Ebenezer, David, Esther and Mary came to America with their parents and all married and reared families except Mary, who died at the age of 16. Samuel, the youngest child, died just before the family left England.

The children of James Knight and Esther Mayne were Ebenezer, David, Esther, Mary and Samuel. The only surviving member of the two branches of the family is Ebenezer, who lives in Harrison County, Indiana at the village of Elizabeth, just below New Albany. We have had no communication with our London relatives since Jessie Grace came to America some 10 years ago. Grandmother Knight was born Aug. 25, 1799, and died in Kansas in 1879. Grandfather Knight died in Posey County Indiana
in 1859. Mary, the older sister of grandmother Knight, died in the latter part of 1858; she never married. This is about all I know for a certainty of our ancestry on the Knight side.

Of course you heard of the death of Rillie Ries by drowning in the YMCA pool at Evansville?

This is all I can think of just now so goodbye. We all send our love.

Yours truly,

/s/ James K. Kreutzinger"

I did some research, and discovered that the South London Royal Floricultural Society was formed in 1835.

Old Knight Family Letters..Part 1

For some time now, I've been intending on publishing for internet availability some letters and other documents related to my family history. Here are three letters that were written in pencil on lavender-colored paper, so they were difficult to transcribe. They were sent from Esther Knight to her son/my great-great-grandfather, Ebenezer Knight, shortly before her death in 1879. Spelling and capitalization remain true to the original letters.

"Myers Valley
Potawatomie Co. Kansas

April 28. 1875

My dear son

I have been waiting for a letter from you but it seems in vain. You will not write and I am so trembling that I scarcely know how to. When i think that my only two sons should now on my account feel so bad one to the other, I must leave this painful subject. I want you to write me and let me know how your wife and children are. And let me know how Matilda Rogers and her family are. If you see them give my love to them. Also how Mrs. Combs and Mrs. Glasco are. I have never ask you my son for any think before but I should be very glad if you spare me a trifle now and then to buy me some tea. For ever since the grasshoppers destruction they have never used coffe nor tea and David's wife sold her cow because they had no feed so they have been deprived of milk and butter. So that it has gone hard with them, and as it happens often one trouble don't come alone. About a month ago their other [illegible] colt died. I must close for I am to nervous I can write no more at present.

From your
affectionate
mother
E. Knight

Answer this as soon as possible and don't keep me in suspence. May the blessings of God rest upon you it is my fervent prayer."

Letter 2:

"It is nearly 9 months since your brother David sent you a letter, but we have heard no answer. I have been very sick and am still very weak. My memry is very bad, but I have not forgot i have a son Ebenezer who had a wife + family. I hope when you receive this letter you will read it directly. If you do not I shall think you have disowned your mother and brother altogether, but remember you are as dear to me as when the Lord first gave you to me. Remember we ought to forgive if we expect to be forgiven. Now your brother feels no [illegible] toward you than he did this winter. He was in great trouble at the time and you did not answer the letters he wrote, but I will say no more about it. Your brother is in hope you will write so soon and let me know how you all are getting along. I had such a bad cough in January that i thought I was going home, but The Lord as been pleased to spare me but I am very weak and feeble. But I feel strong in the Lord and the Power of His Might. My son I hope if we never see one another again on Earth we shall meet in Heaven where parting will be known no more. Give my love to your wife and children when ever you can't find time to write."


Letter 3: [apparently written to one of Ebenezer's children]

"I received your letter with the pictures and was much pleased that I was not quite forgotten by my oldest son. Finally I was glad to hear you enjoyed yourself on Christmas day. I am not able to comply with your wish to send my picture. Your aunt Esther Kreutzinger as got me and your grandfather Knight, in one and if at any time you should visit you can see it. Whenever your sister Ellen can spare the money I would like to have her and her brother David James picture together. Give my love to Thos. and his wife and tell them i wish them all the happiness the world can offer them and that is but little at the best. Tell them thou I never espect to see them on Earth I hope to meet in heaven where parting will be knone no more."

Note, written in ink, apparently by David Knight:

"This is all I can find of Mother's last writing. I would have written for her but for the reasons given on this sheet, she would not allow it.

D.K."

Samson Sidney Turley

From a 1951 book published by Pfrimmer's Chapel Evangelical United Brethren Church, Corydon, Indiana:

SAMSON SIDNEY TURLEY

October 15,1874 - December 15, 1950

S.S. Turley was the son of William Harvey and Elizabeth Rosenbarger Turley and was raised in this community. He was converted at our church when he was a boy.

He was received into Indiana Conference at the 81st session held at Dale, Indiana August 25, 1909. His first charge was at Crandall, Indiana. He was ordained in 1911. He served the church at Hartsville during 1912 when there was eighty-seven converts. In 1914 he organized a United Brethren Church at Sardinia and in 1915 he organized one at Grammer.

In 1918 he went to Beatrice, Nebraska and was transferred from Idiana Conference in 1919. While serving at Beatrice, Nebraska he was wed to Miss Rose Meredith.

He began evangelistic work as a Evangelist At Large September 24, 1920. Mrs. Turley assisted with special music. They held services in every state in the United States, In Washington, D. C. and in twelve foreign countries. They educated two native Japanese boys for the ministry and attended the weddings of each of these boys in their native country.

His remains were placed to rest in the Grover Memorial Mausoleum in South Park Cemetery at Greensburg, Indiana.

My Early Education Helped Shape Me

On a discussion forum I frequent, one of the regulars posted a photo of an old abandoned 1-room schoolhouse he used to attend, and made the following comments:

" K through 4.

"No Internet
No phones
No gym
No sports
No indoor plumbing

"No wonder I'm such a bitter, gun-toting domestic terrorist."


The school where I spent first grade in 1961 was a lot like that...although they did have indoor plumbing. Now an historic landmark known as the Leora Brown School, it had been the "colored school" in town before the school system integrated. When we "baby boomers" overwhelmed the capacity of our 1914-built grade school, a couple of "overflow" classrooms were set up a couple of blocks away when they put up a partition wall in the formerly-one-room "colored school."

Mrs, Bickel--who had been my dad's first-grade teacher in 1936, back when she was Miss Miller--was my teacher. The other classroom went to Mrs. Merk, the wife of the principal at the junior high. [Mr.Merk had been my dad's senior English and Latin teacher in high school...and Dad hated him.]

The only phone in the building was one that hung on the wall in the back hallway, and its purpose was for use in case there was an emergency, so the principal at the main grade school could be notified. There was no gym, and the only sports were whatever we could work into a short recess on the part-gravel, part grass-and-mud playground. I use the term "playground" quite loosely, since the only play equipment there--besides our own imaginations--were three 2x12's u-bolted to a crude pipe frame to approximate some teeter-totters.

While "busing" was something that caused some strife under court-ordered integration in Louisville in 1975--and still causes some controversy even today--it was nothing new to us. We rode the bus to school, except for the kids who lived close enough to walk. At the "Annex," we rode the bus the 3 blocks to the main grade school for a cafeteria lunch...at 25 cents a day for that meal [Extra milk was 2 cents for a half-pint carton...and chocolate milk was ONLY allowed on "special occasions', with an extra carton costing 3 cents.]. And we rode the bus back to the "Annex" for afternoon classes...and then we rode the bus home. Black kids and white kids all rode the same buses, and we all managed to get along. No, we didn't sit an a circle holding hands singing "Kum-Ba-Yah" at school; we were too busy teasing each other about who had a crush on what girl, or playing "catchers" ["TAG! YOU'RE IT!"] or some other game that normal first-graders play.

We weren't taught how to be "politically correct" back then. The environment? Well, they tried to teach us to clean up after ourselves, and not to waste things, with varying degrees of success...but I guess that's that's the heart and soul of effective environmental protection--cleaning up after yourself, and not wasting resources--isn't it?

In the community where I grew up, owning a gun was not only accepted, but it was almost expected. Back then, most everyone either hunted or fished, many did both, and we skinned or scaled and cleaned and gutted and cooked and ate what we shot or caught...or gave it to someone who WOULD cook and eat it. "Catch and release"?? Only if the fish wasn't big enough to be a "keeper." Often we seined our own minnows, and usually threw back the crawdads and hellgramites that we occasonally ended up with...although some folks used them for bait, too.

So I guess growing up as I did, I never understood the need for any of the "politically correct" BS we keep hearing abut these days...because we knew better than to pollute the places where we hunted and fished, among other things, because we wanted to continue to be able to hunt and fish there. And we knew who our friends were, and didn't care if they were black or white becaus we all grew up riding the same school buses, and shared the same classrooms, lunchrooms and restrooms at school anyway.

And in my eyes, it's a shame it's taking the rest of the country so long to try to learn what I was being taught in first grade, at what used to be the old "colored school."

Growing Up In Downtown Corydon

When I was a kid, I pretty much grew up in downtown Corydon, IN. And since my dad and grand-dad ran a business in town, I knew most of the businessmen [and women] as well. So anyone who grew up in Corydon during our era might well remember:

*when the Krause Hotel at South Capitol and Poplar Streets burned down;
*the Corydon Jaycees' annual Pancake Festival, which used to close off all of Elm and Beaver streets for carnival rides every May;
*the old Blaine Hays law office on the southeast corner of Chestnut Street and Capitol Avenue;
*the Eureka Telephone Company's green-glazed building;
*the Elm Restaurant [bonus points for having come and gone through the side door];
*Foley's Barber Shop, on the south side of East Chestnut street;
*Dwight Harper's barber shop, when it was between Berlin's and Davidson's Pool Room;
*Ledford's Grocery...as well as Johnny Frederick's;
*Rick Warrick's Buick dealership, on the "Mauckport Hill", across from Claude Windell's Shell station;
*Corydon Auto Supply, across Capitol Avenue from the courthouse;
*Hobie Poellein's Western Auto store, where we got most of our bicycle accessories;
*Nelson's Firestone, on Chestnut Street, where we got the rest of our bike stuff;
*Ordner's Variety Store...bonus if you remember when they were over by the Corydon State Bank;
*North Side Garage, operated by Kelly Hardin;
* West Side Garage, operated by Tom and Doug Robson;
*the original Hamburger Castle, and the pinball machines in the back that cost a nickel a game, 6 for a quarter;
*Roy LaHue and Sons mens clothing store;
*the A & P grocery [and the smell of freshly-ground coffee when you walked in the door];
*the Marathon station just before Parks Chevrolet;
*the Mobil gas station on the West Hill;
*Sherrill's Roller Rinks...the one on the hill AND the one at the fairgrounds;
*the rampside Corvair appliance delivery truck from Hurst-Miles Hardware store;
*home milk delivery by both Sealtest and by Kannapel's Dairy.

These are but a few of my childhood memories of growing up in Corydon. I'm sure you have your own, and some will be different from mine. But these were a part of growing up in an isolated small town, and with the interstate highway system, the kind of childhood we had can never happen again.

Organizing the Garage: An Exercise In Futility

Ever since the days of the caveman, the "man-cave," also known in modern vernacular as a "garage," has been disorganized. Man has, through the centuries, invented many storage devices to help organize this "man-cave," and yet nearly all have utterly failed in this purpose. Man has even used "wo-man" to help organize the "man-cave," but this arrangement has proven unsatisfactory because "wo-man" has different ideas on what is important and what is junk than does Man...and once "wo-man" organizes the "man-cave," Man can never again find what once was close at hand and extremely necessary. So the failure is one of the "cave-man" who utilizes his "man-cave," rather than the reverse. And it has been so since the time of the Neanderthals...and will most likely continue throughout the time of the George Jetsons and beyond. It is our nature, written in our DNA, it seems.