"They're fast food employees."

The news is reporting that 62,000 new McEmployees are going to work under the golden arches this week. I speculate that of those numbers, about half are non-English speaking, another quarter are teens or college-aged workers and the rest are a mix of out-of-work professionals and those whose sights aren’t set that high.

This morning, my wife returned home from work after early morning visits to two 24-hour, fast food drive-thrus. It was 5 AM and all she wanted was coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Apparently, that was too much to ask.

First, she ordered a McBreakfast with coffee, but was refused service because the geniuses there decided to clean all the coffee makers—both regular brewers and McCafe machine—at the same time. None of the bright McEmployees thought to have one brewed pot on a warmer elsewhere, or to maybe do one machine at a time. Short of that, they could’ve picked a better time than the beginning of the breakfast rush, like say 2 AM. Even the bars haven’t let out by then.

Secondly, she decided to hit the drive-thru at the next door Steak-N-Shake. Upon her attempt to order the same breakfast, she was told they don’t serve breakfast until 6 AM. They were happy to make her a burger topped with an egg, but NOT a breakfast sandwich with any other meat! Oh wait, you can also order a bacon burger, so there IS breakfast meat in the restaurant.

Sooo, they are open 24 hours, but breakfast starts promptly at 6. Okay. Where’s the logic in that? Do the chickens only wake up and begin producing the eggs at 6 AM in Steak-N-Shake’s storeroom? Apparently not. Eggs are available for burgers ONLY! No egg is to touch that hot grill for ANY OTHER sandwich!

The moral of this story?

Kids, do yourself a favor, and shoot a little higher. When I was a teen looking for employment, I was afforded the opportunity to get a McJob or to make pizzas at a national pizza chain. I chose the latter. But you can do better. Go wait tables, dig a ditch or intern at a professional office somewhere. Even ditch diggers get better direction and management from their supers.

When my wife came home and explained her adventures in drive-thru ordering, I simply replied, “Honey. They’re fast food employees.”

Random Spirituality

Just in time for Easter…my first blog on anything spiritual in quite awhile. I’ve been ruminating on what it means to “lift God up from the Earth.” It would seem that it means different things to different readers of the Gospel. I am referring, of course, to the words of Jesus as recorded in the Gospel of John, twelfth chapter, 32nd verse, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”

In the evangelical circles where I once circulated, this one verse served as their singular mission statement. Lift God up so that everyone will be saved. Of course, they didn’t believe in universal salvation. I mean, what would we do with an empty hell? List it in the real estate section on Craigslist?

No, my contemporaries in the church didn’t believe that we could lead every soul to Christ, they just believed that we should try. And the Christ-given formula was simple.

Lift God up from the Earth.

But what does that mean, exactly? What did Jesus mean when and if he said these words? The footnote in Today’s New International Version, © 2005, says that lifted up means “exalted.” Well, there’s a favorite catchphrase in evangelical Christianity, “Exalt the Lord!” I used to sing that chorus in church. So was that the secret formula? Go public with my praise and lift God up with my voice? Would that “draw all people” to God? Some of my contemporaries thought so.

There was another sample in my circle who believed it meant that and more. They believed that Jesus was giving them the charge to wear their Christianity on their sleeve. You’ve seen them on street corners, in the public square, toting signs, holding political rallies, etc. They believed that the more public with your faith, the better. How else would God be lifted up? In my personal experience, these kinds of displays only served the opposite purpose of turning people off to the message of redemption. It may sound like a harsh criticism, but I’m only pointing the finger at myself. I lived this way for awhile in my younger adult years.

Now that I’ve been fully detoxed from years of “churchification,” I feel that I have a better perspective. I still believe that faith should be lived out publicly, but not in any of the ways I’ve described heretofore.

I sincerely believe that Jesus was promoting a better way to live that had nothing to do with church services, praise choruses or political rallies. He just went about daily life doing what he does, helping others. He usually didn’t make a big spectacle of it, though some of his ministry did become a spectacle, of sorts. In fact, after some of his great miracles, he actually requested discreetness. Jesus wasn’t about drawing attention to himself. He was about helping people live better lives.

I do not see how forcing one’s religion or personal beliefs down someone else’s throat serves that same purpose. It draws no one closer to God. Likewise, I don’t see how public displays—whether at outdoor church services or pro-life marches—exalt the Almighty and draw people in.

I think it is simple, random acts of love and kindness that go the furthest to accomplish the mission of John 12:32. The little things we do to help others that make life better in small increments are, in my opinion, what lifts up the ideal of Christ and knowingly or unknowingly draw them toward that ideal.

Consider that as you enjoy Easter Sunday and determine to make the world a better place one random act at a time. Peace be with you.

"Look, Ma! No hands!"

Fear is something I learned early in life--fear of the dark, fear of storms, fear of getting hurt, etc., etc. I wouldn't even ride the new bike I got for my sixth birthday for fear of falling down and skinning my knees or elbows...or worse. Not sure if God gives us fear as a safeguard, but I had an unhealthy dose.

Well, yesterday as I was circling the nature trail behind my 6-year-old, I was amazed at how well she rides a bike for her age. No fear. Actually, I was the one worried about her taking a sharp curve on the leaf-covered trail and losing it. I don't think that ever crossed her mind, at all. As she pedalled fast and leaned into the serpentine bends of the trail, I swelled with a little pride.

What struck me was the fact that my two daughters fear very little. Did God use the baby dropper to administer their fear level? Or had my wife and I done a good enough job of parenting to ensure that they don't fear the world or the everyday scrapes and bruises that are just a part of growing up?

Either way, I am thankful that my daughters don't fear the things I did as a kid. Seriously, I didn't even ride a bike until I was 10! I was that fearful. My hope is that my daughters will always grab life by the horns and go for it; that fear will never creep in and lord over them the way it has me at times in my life (not just as a kid).

It seemed like an odd thought to have while enjoying a bike ride on a warm, sunny afternoon, but I've ruminated on it now for several hours and I am very thankful. I guess God knew what he was doing when he gave me the two most wonderful girls in the whole world. Guess I shouldn't fear their growing up and moving out. Just another fact of life...and mine has been enriched so much in the last 10 years.

Coach Caldwell

If you suffered through the Colts game last night, then stayed up for WTHR’s post-game coverage, then you heard the blue jersey-clad fan call out the head coach on camera. It was well said, and WAY overdue! Just who is this soft-spoken, even-keeled nobody at the helm of the NFL’s most jeckyl-and-hyde team?

I’ve been complaining to my family about him for two years. He led a dismal Wake Forest Demon Deacon's team into a few games at my alma mater, Florida State. It was typically a Demon Deacon bloodbath. They were the doormats of the ACC, after all, and FSU was at its Bowden Dynasty finest. But don’t let the brilliance of the Bowden era at FSU diminish the complete dullness of the Caldwell era at Wake Forest. I saw how pathetic they were, firsthand! And Jim Caldwell’s expressionless face on the Wake Forest sideline matched the equally vanilla play on the field by his team. It was uninspired football.

The official Colts/NFL website states, “Caldwell spent 1993-2000 as head coach at Wake Forest. In 1999, Caldwell led the school to its first winning season and bowl game since 1992.” Granted, that bowl game pitted a 6-5 Demon Deacons team against a very average Arizona State team, also 6-5.

Here is Jim Caldwell’s record as the Wake Forest head coach, by year:

1993 Record, 2-9
1994 Record, 3-8
1995 Record, 1-10
1996 Record, 3-8
1997 Record, 5-6
1998 Record, 3-8
1999 Record, 6-5
2000 Record, 2-9

Let me do the math for you—that adds up to a total of 25 wins in 8 seasons as head coach, an average of 3 wins per season. THREE WINS! WOOT!!!

So Tony Dungy helps him get to the next level, hiring him while still at Tampa Bay. The Feb. 2001 headline from the official Buccaneers/NFL website reads, “Tony Dungy dips into the college ranks once again to flesh out his coaching staff with Jim Caldwell, Joe Barry and Mike Tomlin.” Now, I’m not knocking Dungy for pushing diversity on the NFL (Lord knows they needed it!), but what exactly did Caldwell bring to the table? A losing record as a college head coach?

And now we have the politically-correct Mr. Irsay to thank for promoting from within, someone who is even MORE mild mannered than Dungy. Thank you, Tony, and thank you, Mr. Irsay. I hope Coach Caldwell enjoys the extended off-season, and the unearned accolades for an over-achieving, MASH unit (aka the 2010 Indianapolis Colts).

Bowl Mania

Are you kidding me, NCAA???

Just when the crescendo of public dissent was reaching its peak, you go and ADD bowl games?? I know that's your idea of an answer to the call for a playoff to crown a legitimate national champion, but it's a huge step in the WRONG direction. We don't need more MEANINGLESS games! I mean, seriously! The Pinstripe Bowl? The Car Parts Bowl? The TicketCity Bowl? Where do you come up with these ridiculous names and sponsors? What's next, the Extenze Bowl hosted by Jimmy Johnson???

Am I the only one tuning out these lackluster, mismatched, over-commercialized bowls? Are there really football fans out there SO hard-up that they'll watch a pair of teams barely over .500 kick a bevy of field goals? COUNT ME OUT!!!

I watched my alma mater in the Chick-Fil-A Bowl, and I'll probably watch the BCS National Championship, but the Throw-Mama-From-The-Train Bowl and the Overhyped-Pair-of-7-and-5-Nobody-Team-Bowls...NO THANK YOU!!!

Get real and give the people what they want, you greedy, money-grubbing bastards!!! (Imagine the voice of Jim Mora) PLAY-OFFS!

PRINCE TOWN DVD HAS ARRIVED!

Prince Town the DVD is now available! My very first documentary project is in the bag and I couldn't be happier. With over 80-minutes of footage, this DVD features color footage from the '30s, front porch interviews, coverage of the 1965 state basketball championship from WRAY and the IHSAA archives and much more! For those who have ever called Princeton, Indiana, home...this is a must-own DVD!

I spent a good part of the fall down in Princeton, pouring over hours and hours of archival footage, shooting new footage from atop the county courthouse and assimilating it all into this video documentary, based on the research of my Uncle Greg Wright (author of Prince Town and More of Prince Town). Produced in 16:9 widescreen, even the home movies from the 40's and 50's look great. There is the 1955 Fair Centennial Parade, construction of the new Gibson County Bank (1964), pictures and video of the square at Christmastime, footage of the 1992 Heinz plant fire and an extensive look back at the Great Tornado of 1925. Anyone who is interested in a copy of Prince Town the DVD can contact me directly.

Noles Bowl

It's practically an annual tradition, FSU's football team going to a bowl game, but after a few meager seasons in the twilight of Bobby Bowden's career, I no longer take the invitations for granted. Last Sunday, the Noles, now under the leadership of Jimbo Fisher, were invited to the Chick-Fil-A Bowl where they will face South Carolina, led by former Florida head coach Steve Spurrier...a familiar nemesis to be certain.

It looks to be a great game pitting the 19th and 23rd ranked teams in the nation, each runners-up in their conference championship. Spurrier always brings a high-flying offense to the field, and Fisher will place a Charlie Ward-like quarterback at the helm. I'm talking, of course, about the red-shirt sophomore E.J. Manuel who is a dual threat. He went toe-to-toe with Virginia Tech's Tyrod Taylor in the ACC Championship Game and held his own against the ACC's Player of the Year, posting almost 300 yards of passing offense and 33 points on the board. Not too shabby for a guy that's only started a few games. But he's no stranger to the bright lights of the college bowl season, as he started in last year's Gator Bowl for the Noles and was named game MVP. I'm hopeful he'll be as impressive in this year's Chick-Fil-A Bowl.

During the news conference last Sunday, Jimbo Fisher was successful in convincing the Chick-Fil-A mascot to do the tomahawk chop (see pic below).

In a word...WECKL!

No matter how hard I look, I cannot find anyone more precise, yet more fluid on the drumkit than Dave Weckl. I LOVE this guy's drumming!

Had I discovered Weckl earlier in life, I would be able to say he is the undisputed number one in my book. As it is, I grew up idolizing Neil Peart, so Dave is like number 1-B...but I think even Neil would bow to Weckl's percussive prowess. In fact, he basically does on the Burning for Buddy Tribute DVD. Still, Neil is tops. And if I had to categorize my faves, I'd put him at the top of my rock drummers list and Dave at the top of jazz/fusion drummers. For more on my favorite drummers, see this blog post from April 2009.

Hope you enjoy the short clip, above, of Dave showing off his chops!

This is 8 minutes of pure percussive mayhem!!!

I first took notice of this drummer while listening to Army of Anyone's debut (and only) release. On the hit single "Goodbye," Luzier breaks into a mini-solo during the last minute of the song. His fills mezmerized me. To this day, I cannot duplicate a couple of them.

Anyway, on the above video he starts out with the mini-solo from "Goodbye," then breaks into flurry of pedal and stick fills that will blow your mind! After which, he shows off his chops by playing the rims of his toms, leading back into another flurry of fills...I couldn't tell you what notes, exactly--maybe 64ths?--as he is going too freaking fast. I think he is my new fave!

5 Things I've Learned About the Colts This Season

1. Peyton Manning is NOT Superman.

His kryptonite in college came in the form of the Florida defense. In the NFL, Belichick and Turner are his two-headed evil nemesis...call them the Luthor twins.

2. The defense will NEVER be able to stop the run.

3. Ryan Diem is ALWAYS good for about 10 yards in false start penalties.

4. Jim Irsay has crippled his franchise by continuing to make emotional, rather than heady, decisions...

...like promoting an enigmatic, uninspiring coach from within; sticking
with Sanders through a litany of season-ending injuries; and promising the moon
to Manning in the early twilight of his career.

5. The roster is NOT very deep.

-----------------------------

But as they say in Monty Python's "The Life of Brian," always look on the bri-i-ight si-ide of life...

My collegiate and high school alma maters played superbly over the weekend!

The Seminoles trounced the hated, archrival Gators and will play for another ACC Championship.

Chatard's football team won it's 10th state championship...way to go Trojans!!!

PRINCE TOWN DVD

Here is a sample of the documentary film that I am helping my uncle to produce. It features historical images from his book, Prince Town, rare video footage shot as early as 1938 and interviews he conducted with past residents. The finished product will be a captivating peek into Princeton's past.

I hope you enjoy the six-minute preview.

Morris Birkbeck's "Notes on a journey in America," 1818

An English gentleman set out from the British Isles to begin his “voluntary exile” in the first half of the year 1817. Journaling along the way, he chronicles his adventures from his voyage to his final destination, though the last page of the book finds him still in Princeton, Indiana.

I found this book through another book I was researching, Early Indiana trails and Surveys (1919), by George R. Wilson. In Wilson’s book, he notes, “For a good pioneer description of Princeton and southwestern Indiana, as of 1817,” see Morris Birkbeck’s Notes on a Journey in America. I’ve become a frequent visitor of the American Libraries’ site, Archive.org, which has volumes of historical books in various digital formats. It was there that I found an online version of Birkbeck’s 1818 work. And it has been a fascinating read, thus far.

The earliest accounts of pioneer life in southwestern Indiana I had discovered previously were written from second- and third-hand accounts after the Civil War. This book is the first eyewitness account I’ve read, and it confirms, in large part, the descriptions of pioneer life from the accounts, like that of Col. William Cockrum, penned decades later.

I have quite enjoyed the perspective of this English gent who praises the qualities of Vincennes’ French residents and looks down in disgust at the filth of many cabin-dwelling pioneers in the countryside. He describes the attitude of the latter as “yawning lassitude.” From what I gather, he considers Princeton somewhere in the middle.

From the outset of the book, Birkbeck explains his reason for the “narrower limits” of his American exploration through only Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. “I can forego the well-earned comforts of an English home, [but] it must not be to degrade myself and corrupt my children by the practice of slave-keeping.” The “curse” of slavery—“the bane of society”—he says, has taken “fast hold” of Kentucky and every state south, so he sets a northward course for the untamed wilderness of the Wabash Valley.

He lands at Norfolk, Virgina, 3 May 1817 with the hopes of reaching the Illinois Territory by winter (Note: it would not be entered as a state within the Union until December the following year). Upon reaching Pittsburgh, he foregoes the most common means of travel—down the Ohio River upon a flatboat—for the land-bearing route across Ohio. He finds that horses are rather inexpensive here, since most eastern travelers dismount in favor of the river highway to ports south, namely New Orleans. After purchasing a couple of horses, the Birkbeck party set out for Cincinnati on 4 Jun 1817.

It is not clear the precise date that Birbeck’s traveling party reaches Indiana, as there is a gap in his journal from 23 June – 6 July. By the former, he is writing from Cincinnati and by the latter from Madison, Indiana, about 90 miles downriver. Upon reaching Madison, he writes in his journal,

Indiana is evidently newer than the state of Ohio; and if I mistake not, the character of the settlers is different, and superior to that of the first settlers in Ohio, who were generally very indigent people : those who are now fixing themselves in Indiana, bring with them habits of comfort, and the means of procuring the conveniences of life: I observe this in the construction of their cabins, and the neatness surrounding them, and especially in their well-stocked gardens, so frequent here, and so rare in the state of Ohio, where their earlier and longer settlement would have afforded them better opportunities of making this great provision for domestic comfort. (p.85)

Birkbeck finds from his own personal experience that the stereotypes held in England of the inhabitants of Indiana are quite false. He does not encounter “lawless, semi-barbarous, vagabonds, dangerous to live among.” On the contrary, he finds Hoosiers to be both “kind and gentle to each other, and to strangers.” He also finds across the rolling hills between Cincinnati and Madison several cleared settlements that seem to “multiply daily” interspersed among miles of uncleared timber. His first impression of Indiana and its people is very favorable. He writes that Madison is but five years old at the time of his arrival, which is off by three years, as the town was incorporated in 1809. Still, we get a glimpse into our pioneer past and see the southern portion of our state as it was in its infancy.

Making great headway through the State of Indiana, he comes within a day’s journey of Vincennes by 12 July, stopping at a spot 16 miles east of there, called Hawkins’ Tavern. He speaks of another tavern just 20 miles east of there which sits on the White River, called Stolt’s Tavern. I’m guessing this would have been in the area of present-day Loogootee, Indiana. Most of the land between these two stops, he says, is “unentered, and remains open to the public at two dollars per acre.”

The final destination of the Birkbeck party was eastern Illinois, but for some reason, upon reaching Vincennes, they head south, reaching Princeton by 18 July. For whatever reason he chose the budding town, Morris Birkbeck opines, “Prince Town affords a situation for a temporary abode, more encouraging than any place we have before visited in this neighborhood.” He rents a log home in town with a bountiful garden for nine months at a cost of 20 pounds. This would become his headquarters for the remainder of the book. From here, he would venture out on several explorations of southwestern Indiana and across the Wabash into Illinois Territory.

On one such exploration, he journals from Harmony, Indiana, on 25 July, that he has traveled from there 18 miles south to the banks of the Ohio River, lodging for the night in Mt. Vernon. He speaks of the vast amount of valuable land rich in sand, but it is no match for the prairie land he seeks in Illinois. He calls Mt. Vernon “a very new town,” which by name it was. Settled in 1805, it would be known for the next 11 years as McFadden’s Bluff, renamed in 1816 after President Washington’s home. Upon return from Mt. Vernon to Harmony the next day, Birkbeck finally crosses the Wabash into Illinois and explores the region called the Big Prairie between the Wabash and Little Wabash rivers.

At the beginning of August, 1817, Morris Birkbeck finds his way to the land office in Shawnee Town, Illinois, where he purchases 1,440 acres of prairie and marsh land near the Little Wabash. He describes at great length the land and inhabitants of the Big Prairie with which I will not bore you here. He does return to Harmony, Indiana, a forty mile trek from Shawnee Town, on Sunday night, 3 August. There, he finds the streets empty as everyone is at church. In fact, he has to call the innkeeper out of church to fetch his horses. He comments on the neatness and peaceful appearance of the Harmonites as they pour out of the church, all 700 of them, though he laments their religious superstitions.

By 4 August, he is back in Princeton and pens his next several entries from there, commenting on everything from wild game to the climate. It is for these brief glimpses into the life and times of the Hoosier pioneer that this book is well worth the reader’s investment.

Back to mediocrity

Well, that was fun while it lasted. After three weeks in the Top 20, the Seminoles are back to mediocrity, losing this week to North Carolina State. Not that the Wolfpack isn't a team to be reckoned with, especially at home, but Seminole Nation has come to expect a lot more since joining the basketball conference (aka ACC).

Let me couch my complaining in historical terms. Those of us who attended FSU in the glory days, and cheered the team onto two national championships, are not content to watch the team barely eek out a winning season, or lose at home to the Wake Forest's of the college football world (that 30-0 game was an all-time low for the team, the program and the legendary coach). After all, we're not a lowly Big Ten school (or Notre Dame).

I was there for the building of Bowden's Dynasty. I watched the erector-set stadium of the early Bowden Era morph like a Transformer into the castle it is today. I saw them dedicate the larger-than-life bronze statue of Bobby. I cheered the 'Noles to victory under the Superdome in 1999.

Then the end came.

The end of an era. The end of a dynasty. The downward spiral of the program from greatness to mediocrity. So you think I'd be used to the idea of underachievement by the Noles. After all, this has been the decade of lowered expectations. Still, every year, by some great miracle from on high, I believe that things will be different. With the passing of the torch from Bobby Bowden to Jimbo Fisher, my hopes were revived. Then, with the hype that preceeded the 2010 College Football Season, I actually allowed myself to dream once again. But those dreams were short lived. They came crashing down the second week of the season, when FSU got drubbed by Oklahoma, only to be revived once again by six straight wins, the fifth of which came against hated rival Miami.

It was mid-season. The Noles were 6-1. They had vanquished the Ibis, and sat atop all Florida schools as the lone Top 20 team, ranked #16 in the AP Poll. I was beginning to believe once again that FSU was on the mend, that the program had turned the corner (which it actually has, I'm just being dramatic). So going into this weeks game, in hostile territory, mind you, I had the Seminole flag waving in the wind on the front of the house. I turned on the big screen TV and settled in to watch the annual NC State-FSU shootout. Senior Quarterback for the Noles, Christian Ponder, seemed to overcome some early game jitters and miscues and had the offense poised to strike the death-blow with under a minute remaining. Then, he drops back to pass, fakes to the fullback....and FUMBLES the DADGUM ball!!!

Game over.

Not only does the Wolfpack win, they virtually eliminate FSU's chance at the first ACC title in five years. Goodbye BCS bid. Goodbye Top 20 ranking. It was nice while it lasted. I guess I'll wait to see what the Noles can put together next year, but I'm not too hopeful. They lose a veteran offensive line and their QB. It'll be a couple years before the highly touted 2010 recruiting class is able to make a big difference. So, again, I wait. Slowly acclimating to the new dynasty of mediocrity, I wait. :/

Noles Improving, Set Sites on Boston College

After dominating in-state rival Miami, the Seminoles are 5-1 and ranked #16 in the Associated Press Poll. Their next victim, Boston College, has to play in front of a sold-out Doak Campbell crowd in the midday, Florida sun. If the noise and the heat doesn't get 'em, the swarming Seminole defense will!

Yes, it is still early in the season, but this Seminole is already dreaming about the postseason possibilities. A loss to Oklahoma early in the season served as a wake-up call. And now that the defense is getting comfortable in new coordinator Mark Stoops' scheme, they are tearing up the opposition. As the bleacher report aptly noted,

The Seminole defense laid gruesome hits on the Canes all night. It seemed every time a receiver came across the middle or a running back tried to gain any yardage between the tackles, a Seminole or two were there to crush Miami’s skill position players. The physical beating took its toll. UM players needed extra breathers on the sideline throughout the contest, especially in the second half.

FSU Tops Florida in Poll
After the mighty Gators fell to LSU, at home no less, they dropped to #22 in the national poll. Miami fell out of the Top 25, thanks to the drubbing they took from the 'Noles. That leaves FSU as the highest ranked, and only Top 20, team from the Sunshine State. Of course, everyone in Seminole nation has the last game of the season circled every year as THE ONE to win. Fortunately, the Gators have to travel to Tallahassee this year to face the surging 'Noles.

But first things first, the Seminoles have to take care of the Eagles this Saturday, and continue building on the momentum. Since spotting Oklahoma 47 points earlier this season, the 'Nole defense has only given up a total of 47 points to their other 5 opponents, an average of just slightly more than a touchdown per game. Not too shabby. Maybe they can hold BC to a field goal...and then block it! :)

Well, this Seminole is happy to revel in the moment, and dream of a BCS bowl bid.

GO NOLES!!! >>>--------,,,->

My Dunning Discovery

Next weekend would've been my great-grandfather's 126th birthday, so to celebrate we'll make our annual excursion to the tiny hamlet of Francisco, Indiana, to visit with several generations of David Dunning's descendants. Though he passed in 1977, at the ripe old age of 93, we continue the tradition started by his family decades ago. We still meet at his farm on Wheeling Road that holds so much in the way of memories, including how he fed and raised nine kids there. Only two of his children will be able to share in the festivities October 2-3, my Uncle Les (88) and Aunt Ginny (85). Yes, they are great-aunt and uncle, but we've always called them by the moniker Mom used to address them growing up.

It is fitting that my latest genealogical discovery involves Les and Ginny's grandparents, my 2nd great-grandparents, Albert Charles "AC" and Sophronia (Morrison) Dunning. Since they died in 1932 and 35, respectively, all I had were bits and pieces of family stories and folklore. I only found some old pictures of them while going through my late grandmother's things a couple of years ago. Here is one of the family taken about 1884.

That's my Great-Grandpa David sitting in his father's lap. The two older boys, George and Robert Charles, died when they were 25 and 13, respectively, so I never knew them either. Aunt Bessie is seated in Sophronia's lap.

Needless to say, I had no clue where they lived other than the old census records that gave their residence as White River Township in Gibson County, Indiana. Well, lo and behold, the 1881 Atlas of Gibson and Pike Counties shows the location of the old family home in the White River bottoms. I had studied that map several times at the library and online before I discovered the AC Dunning farm about midway between Patoka and Hazleton and west of the highway about 2 miles. It was sitting right there under my nose!

So on my last visit to the area (just last week), I was able to get access to the old property in the river bottoms from the current owner. Unfortunately, the Dunning home is gone, bulldozed by the current owner five years ago. But I walked where my ancestors once lived, along an old creek and down a steep, sandy, one-lane road eroded into the side of a hill. Driving down that narrow lane was like stepping back in time. I could imagine the horse-drawn carriage or wagon bumping down the sandy slope, through a corn field, around an old barn and to their two-story, white, wood-framed farmhouse. They raised their children in that home, along with some chickens and livestock. The current landowner says he knocked down an outhouse and chicken coup in addition to the old house. He walked the property with me, pointing out the location of everything. In fact, if you look on Google Earth, you can still see the footprint of the house.

I look forward to seeing the family this weekend and hearing more old stories of David Dunning and his parents who survived floods and the hard life of late 19th-century farming. I can't wait to ask Uncle Les and Aunt Ginny if they have any memories of the old home in the river bottoms. All I have is a picture taken beside the house in the teens or 1920's. AC and Sophronia are elderly, their children all grown, at least David and his three surviving sisters (three brothers died, the two mentioned above and one as an infant). As I said, it was a hard way to live back in the late 1800's in rural, southwestern Indiana.

We'll gather at the spot where my great-grandfather celebrated his 93rd birthday nearly 34 years ago. He is buried at Fairview Cemetery just one mile west of his home (pictured above about 1993). I remember attending his funeral as a 9-year-old boy. It was a tragic year for me, as I lost my Grandma and Grandpa Doyle in March '77. Still, the reunion brings back great childhood memories, not just of Grandpa Dunning, but of the whole family gathering to tell stories, play games and, yes, eat our fair share of down-home goodness! We'll be doing it again in a matter of days, and I cannot wait!

One Mermaid's Spirtual Journey

My aunt Sarah started blogging last year. Today, in remembrance of 9/11, she posted a great blog @ One Mermaid's Spiritual Journey: "Peace and Love" is the only way. I hope you'll take a minute to read her thoughtful and spiritual insights.

James Hussey Letter dated 12 Sep 1862

I've been building my family tree online for the better part of 8 years, but only recently purchased access to the vault of records on Ancestry.com. Today, I made one of the coolest finds to date. First, let me give you a bit of family history...

Back when Indiana Territory was a vast wilderness of tall timber, unspoiled watersheds and every kind of wild beast, my pioneer ancestors came from all points south and east to settle this veritable, backwoods paradise. Of the New England-born pioneers, was the family of Richard and Aphia (Mills) Hussey.

According to Gibson County newspaper man and historian Gil R. Stormont, the couple and their 4 children left Maine and travelled overland through the Genessee Valley (NY) to Washington
County, Ohio. Richard Louis Hussey (1789-1851) was a cabinet maker there for four years. Aphia bore him two more children before they left in late 1821 for Gibson County, Indiana, locating 5 miles east of Princeton, near Francisco. There, Richard cleared a farm and opened a blacksmith shop. He is my 5th great-uncle on Mom's side.

The last of the four children to be born in New England was James Madison Hussey (1817-1862). He would have made the long overland trip as an infant, knowing only thick woodlands of southwestern Indiana as home. After many years service to his father, clearing and cultivating a farm, James owned and operated a flour and a saw mill on the Patoka River in nearby Kirksville (now Wheeling), Indiana. That was before he heard the call of duty to put down the rebellion. James enlisted in the Union Army on August 2, 1862, and served as First Lieutenant in Company B, 65th Regiment, Indiana Volunteers.

It wasn't long before 1st Lt. Hussey contracted a serious illness and found himself bedridden at Camp Comeback in Henderson, Kentucky, southward across the Ohio River from Evansville. It is at this juncture we come to the present moment and my great find. Thanks to another Ancestry member, some of J. M. Hussey's correspondence has been saved in digital format for antiquity. Below is a scanned image of the opening of one of his last letters to his wife, Sarah, dated (on my birthday, no less) September 12, 1862. (Click on the image for a more readable, full-size version.)


By early November of that same year, James Madison Hussey was dead. He never recovered from his illness, as historian James T. Tartt recalls, James died of pneumonia in a Henderson, Kentucky, hospital. He received a military burial on the family farm back in Indiana. Now owned by the McConnell family, Lawrence Cemetery sits at the corner of a field just off Fairview Road near Francisco.

Who's the Illegal Immigrant?

Dateline, Arizona, July 29. State officials are appealing a ruling by a Clinton-appointed federal judge that limits Arizona law enforcement’s ability to carry out the new immigration law. Basically, they can’t arrest day laborers for illegally soliciting work in this country or ask law-breakers to prove they belong here.

Let me for one moment straddle the fence on this one. I believe it is a state’s right to protect its own border. If Arizonans feel that illegal immigrants are a strain on their economy, a burden on law enforcement and degrading to their community, then they have a democratic right to keep the illegals out. On the other hand, I don’t believe this is anyone else’s fight. If you’re not a resident, full- or part-time, of the State of Arizona, what do you care about illegal immigrants?

I live in the State of Indiana. I don’t see a flood of illegal Mexicans flooding into my state because of lax border patrols in Arizona. This issue doesn’t really affect me directly. But you wouldn’t know that to hear some of my neighbors explain it. They believe the immigration problem is systemic. What happens in Arizona affects the rest of us in some negative way, whether it’s higher health care, higher taxes, crime, etc…or so they say.

What would they have said 100-200 years ago when the flood of European immigrants was taking this country by storm?

Lest we forget, this land isn’t really “our land,” after all.

After murderous raids on the Native Americans, stealing their land and reaping the harvest, our immigrant ancestors engaged in a bloody, civil uprising against their British masters, so they wouldn’t have to share the spoils with their forbearers. Interesting. This was followed by a bloody, civil war also fueled by greed and self-serving interests. Are you starting to see a pattern here?

Now these newcomers want to come in and encroach upon our stolen property and our blood-stained wealth. HOW DARE THEY!

Let us remember that we were all once immigrants to this great land, some by legal means and others not. Either way, we inherited a land that wasn’t legally ours to begin with. Keep this in mind while you glare down your nose from atop your high horse at all those “illegals.”

Pancakes & Smoky Links

There was a Sunday morning tradition at Grandma Wright’s house. After attending worship service at the Methodist Church on West Emmerson, she would make a stack of pancakes on the stovetop griddle and boil Smoky Links in water (or “boral” them, as she would say in her southern Indiana twang). That is a fond childhood memory for me, and I don’t recall one Sunday that she didn’t keep up this tradition.

Alice Kathryn Dunning, my maternal grandmother, was my dearest grandparent. She was born on the farm in Francisco, Indiana, in July 1920. She came from humble beginnings, helping to raise chickens and her siblings on her father’s farm on Wheeling Road. The sixth of nine children born to David and Ruth (McEllhiney) Dunning, she was only 17 when her mother left home. Taking on more responsibility at the farm, Kate learned to be self-sufficient and hard-working. These are traits that I remember well.

Married in 1937, the same year of her parents’ divorce, Grandma started a family of her own with Richard Larson, a second generation Swedish-American. They lived in a modest home just south of Highway 64 in Francisco and had three children, my mother being the youngest and only daughter. Richard was a hardworking, entrepreneurial type who needed nothing more than his hands and a working truck. They enjoyed life as a lower-middle class family in a small farming town until Grandpa Larson’s injury kept him from manual labor. This caused him to sink into a depression he couldn’t shake. As a result, he was hospitalized in Evansville and eventually granted my grandmother a divorce in 1961.

Grandma met a World War II Veteran and jeweler around that same time. Kathryn Larson and Robert Edgar Wright married October 1962 and within a year-and-a-half had a son, Gregory. He is the one pictured holding me as an infant.


Grandma Wright, as I always knew her, held a job at Hurst Corporation and made a decent living. Grandpa’s jewelry business was located on Main Street in Vincennes, and between the two of them, they made a very good living. Their house was situated atop the hill in Tower Heights just two doors south of Gibson General Hospital, where I was born in ’68. I can remember many summers and holidays at Grandma’s house on Third Avenue. When I was an adolescent, my parents would let me spend a week at her house. Those are some of my fondest childhood memories. Having an uncle around, just four years my senior, ensured that I would have plenty to do while I was there, whether playing his drums, taping his album collection, playing ball in the backyard or riding his moped all over Princeton’s north side.

While at Grandma’s house, I also enjoyed running errands with her—out to Grandpa Dunning’s farm to pick vegetables, down to the Red & White or 3-D on Broadway, over to the veterinarian to meet Aunt Elsie for lunch or to the beauty parlor for her bi-monthly hair appointment. A rather funny memory is Grandma’s rain bonnet. She would protect her hairdo from the elements with a plastic rain bonnet; you know the kind only grandmother’s wear in public. Well, she would fuss over me getting wet and insisted that I wear one, as well. I always refused, but the mental image still gives me a chuckle.

Grandma was diagnosed with breast cancer after my family had moved hundreds of miles away to Florida. I didn’t get to see much of her after 1986, much to my disappointment. I was living in Tallahassee when she finally died in February 1990. That is one of the saddest days that I can remember. I was able to return for her funeral at Colvin and her burial with family at Fairview Cemetery, near Francisco. My Uncle David, her oldest son, now lives across the street from where she rests.


Grandma was such a great cook and I recall the many pies, cobblers, cookies, biscuits and pieces of fried chicken she would lovingly make…but my favorite meal was Sunday breakfast. As I sat at the kitchen table this morning, enjoying hot pancakes smothered in peanut butter and syrup (a family tradition) and Smoky Links, I remembered Grandma Wright. The smell, the taste, the week of the year, all brought back vivid memories.

She would have turned 90 on Tuesday. And though she died much too soon, I have many reminders of her, not the least of which is my daughter who bears her name and nearly shares the same birthday, just two days shy. I really do miss Grandma Wright, may she rest in peace.

Indiana's Love Affair with the Tomato

I'm no fan of the tomato. Never have been one to take a bite out of the "love apple" or cut thick, hearty slices for a dagwood sandwich. Even chunky salsa used to make turn up my nose with a quick, "No thanks."

Only in recent years have I acquired a taste for homemade salsa, or been able to stomach the squishy guts of a raw tomato atop my hamburger. Still, tomatoes were always there...always staring at me from the kitchen table or grandmother's garden. Heck, even today I have several friends in the city who are growing plump, juicy tomatoes in their backyard gardens!

I was raised upon the foundational belief that nowhere is there to be found a better, juicier, sweeter tomato than in southwestern Indiana, home to generations of my horticulture-loving family. Yes, the sandy deposits of the Wabash and White rivers help to grow the best tomatoes in these continental United States...or so I've been brainwash...er...told.

Well, now I can better understand the root of this Hoosier love affair. Just look what I found in an old New York publication called "The Cultivator, Vol. IV" page 303: