French Lick

Last Thursday I talked to about 60 members of the Duneland Historical Society in Chesterton about Steel Shavings magazine, in particular the “Age of Anxiety” issue covering the years 1945-1953. Actually I got them to do much of the talking. I enlisted 16 volunteers for the purpose of reading excerpts from student interviews plus ones I did. It went great; everyone was loud enough and emoted. Readers got a free copy of volume 34 for being participants. Some passages got lots of laughs, and others were quite moving. The first few described the elation and celebratory mood when WW II ended, but most dealt with “the uncertainty of everyday life,” a phrase I used to describe the 1980s as well. I ended with someone reading political prisoner Katherine Hyndman’s reaction to an obit for Willa Mae, a cellmate of hers who became a prostitute to support her family and took dope because, in Katherine words, it “made it easier for her to live the life thrust upon her.” It is so touching I could not read it in class without tearing up. When Katherine was first in Crown Point jail, Willa Mae protected her against someone who called her a communist rat. In a moving letter to a comrade Katherine wondered if anyone besides herself wept for her, then added: “How many more Willa Maes are there in this rich country? Who cares about them? To the solid law-abiding citizens it was just one more sinner put into the earth, six feet down. Dear Willa Mae, I wish you could somehow know that I will never forget you. Rest in peace, dear child, you knew so little of it in life.” I took a half-dozen books with me to Chesterton Library Center and could have easily sold at least a dozen more. One participant noticed an article about her uncle Harold Petit, who delivered milk door to door when he moved back to Crown Point from California in 1951. Son Jack was wrote about him for my class.

Phil had arrived from Michigan by the time I got home, and the next day father and son traveled to French Lick Resort and Casino for the FACET retreat. The initials stand for Faculty Colloquium on Excellence in Teaching. Director David Malik, who got me to start an oral history project for the organization in return for buying me a new 27-inch, state-of-the-art MAC computer, paid for our room and my meals. On Saturday I interviewed 18 people in the Fairbanks Room (Hoosier Charles Fairbanks was Teddy Roosevelt’s vice prersident) with the help of Instructional Media technicians Tome Trajkovski and Aaron Pigors. Psychologist Bernard Carducci, whose specialty is working with shy people, had given the keynote address the evening before, dressed to the nines. He made several references to an author that sounded like quarterback Carson Palmer. It turned out the name was Parker Palmer, who has written a book called “The Courage to Teach.” Carducci showed up for the interview in shorts and a t-shirt and was just charming, the kind of guy you could spend hours with. We bonded. The day before he had on this classy pair of shoes. I told him I had been impressed, and he smiled and admitted that he had seen them at a used clothes store and had been delighted to find that they fit. Phil, a two-time Michigan EMMY winner for documentaries, attended five sessions and got some great footage of people doing interactive things. Since FACET is an organization that honors excellent teachers, session leaders pushed participants to get out of their comfort zone and try new things by seeing themselves in the eyes of students. One called “Art in the Dark” had professors doing various things as alternatives to simply sitting in a dark room listening to the instructor drone on and on about famous works of art, as happened in most art history classes.

It was my first visit to French Lick. I was supposed to go there for a conference on boxer Joe Louis and had written a piece on Louis’s Gary connections, but the entire conference was cancelled at the last minute. We stayed at a magnificent hotel that was originally built in 1901, when people believed the nearby mineral springs had curative powers. “Lick” means stream or creek, and two centuries ago the salt licks in the area were “harvested” because it was so valued as a meat preservative. One of the first salt companies was founded either by a Frenchman or a person named French. Hoosier basketball legend Larry Byrd was from French Lick, a name that sounds like a deviant oral sex act. FACET participants got tickets with their meal vouchers promising five dollars credit and a “Free Spin” at the casino. The big wheel listed various prizes, and I won a t-shirt. Phil spun and won 50 dollars cash! We both played a poker slot machine. I quickly lost my five dollars, but Phil ended up winning $5.45. At a computer-controlled roulette wheel people made bets on a computer screen in front of them. Minimum bet was two dollars a spin, but you could break it up into 25-cent increments. Phil won 20 dollars, using a strategy of using half his bet on red or black and the rest either on individual numbers or four corners. Phil also found time to swim and take a shuttle to a sister hotel in nearby West Baden that once had the largest dome in the world.

The final FACET plenary session featured Gerald Powers talking about what he referred to as “turn around mentors.” He related that when he was in second grade he hated school. An embarrassingly poor reader, he’d get rapped on the hand by a nun (Gerald labeled her Sister Euthanasia) because he couldn’t spell even the simplest words. He had an Uncle Edgar who turned his life around by various ingenious methods of positive re-enforcement. We broke up into small groups to talk about other people’s “Uncle Edgars” and I found myself, much to my delight, at Powers’ table. He’s a sentimental guy from Pennsylvania coal country (Pottsville), and said he left out several anecdotes about Uncle Edgar because he knew he’d break down. He had published a chapter about Uncle Edgar in a social work textbook and used this quotation from Confucius: “Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising each time we fall.” I mentioned how important historian William Harbaugh was in getting me to learn rather than just memorize for grades. Entering his class on diplomatic history at Bucknell, I was a Republican bent on becoming a lawyer. Thanks to him, I acquired a passion for history and a compassion for have-nots. I talked about hitchhiking to Lewisburg, PA, before quitting law school to seek his advice about becoming a historian and how 20 years later I heard him speak at a history conference and he had the same fire in the belly. We had a drink together, and I started sending him my latest Steel Shavings magazine, which he always read and commented on until one year a note came from his wife, saying that “Bill would have loved the issue but, alas, he passed away recently.” A woman at our table talked about coming from Greece as a child and how a teacher had been her turn-around mentor. Close to tears, she said she wished she knew how to get in touch with her to thank her.

The French Lick Resort buffet meals were tremendous. More than once I feasted on salad, cole slaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, rare roast beef au jus, and an ice cream sundae for dessert. At the final Sunday lunch, Chuck Gallmeier steered us to a table where, lo and behold, there to my direct right was Gerald Powers. I mentioned that I had been interviewing Sheriff Roy Dominguez and that he had an “Uncle Edgar.” When his family moved to Gary from Texas, he didn’t know English as well as some students and was pretty shy until a caring teacher put him on the safety patrol and encouraged him to go out for basketball. Powers said he recalled the badge he wore on safety patrol and how proud he was when he was promoted to lieutenant. Also at the table was outgoing FACET director David Malik, who told everyone about the computer he bought for me, which was better than his, and chuckled when I told him that one person I interviewed described his leadership style as akin to throwing a pebble into a pond and watching the waves expand outward. Charming yet dogged, he knows how to get his way when he wants something done.

Phil and I had plenty of time to talk on the way home with CDs by MGMT and Abba playing in the background. Home in time to catch the end of the Blackhawks hockey game, completing a sweep of the San José Sharks. When Chicago scored their final goal, over the public address system came the opening instrumental part from the Fratellis’ song “Chelsea Dagger.” As the two teams shook hands, the crowd sang a fight song that began, “Here come the Hawks, the mighty Blackhawks.” The Flyers are leading their series with Montreal 3-1, and it would be unbelievable if they could make it into the Stanley Cup finals. They last won it all in 1975, and Chicago hasn’t won since 1961. Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita were smiling down from their box when the clinching empty net goal went in with less than a minute left. An email greeted me this morning from childhood friend Terry Jenkins, starting out, “Go Flyers.” I also received an email from Suzanne, who has become fascinated with the ideas of mathematician John F. Nash, portrayed by Russell Crowe in the 2001 movie “A Beautiful Mind.” A genius but a paranoid schizophrenic suffering from delusions at various times in his life, he pioneered in the field of game theory and is most famous for something called the Nash Equilibrium.

In the news: the BP oil spill is worse than anyone thought and reaching land, threatening wildlife and the livelihood of tens of thousands. The federal government is in a Catch-22 situation, frustrated at the failure of BP’s attempts to stop the oil flow but without the expertise to take over operations. Obviously, it is the government’s fault for not having forced the offshore drillers to have fail safe plans, but it’s the Bush administration that deserves most of the blame for being in bed with the corporations. In fact, both Bush and Cheney have backgrounds in the oil business.

Dissatisfied with the movie “Robin Hood,” I moved over to an adjoining theater and caught “Letters to Juliet” – schmaltzy but worth seeing. Vanessa Redgrave is great as a woman who sought out an old boyfriend a half-century after their romance. In real life she’s married to Franco Nero, who played her long-lost lover. Riding in to her life on horseback at his wine vineyard, he later toasted her by saying something to the effect that he started that day as an old man and turned into a teenager. Redgrave is very subtle in having her character seem old and vulnerable one moment and vibrant and strong the next. There’s a very tender scene where she’s brushing the hair of the younger woman who’s helping her find her lover to show her appreciation and affection.