Posey Magazine March/April 2013 by J. Bruce Baumann

March/April 2013

www.poseymagazine.com

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March/April2013

A magazine for and about

Posey County, Indiana

“We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.” — Carl Sagan “Slow down and enjoy life. It’s not only the scenery you miss by going too fast you also miss the sense of where you are going and why.” —Eddie Cantor “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” — Carl Jung

Cover story

David Powell is a man of many parts. He makes his living working as a podiatrist, spending as much time as it takes to make each patient as comfortable as possible. He grows luxuriant facial hair and competes internationally in mustache contests. But, in his heart of hearts, he is an artist -- a glass artist. With a glass rod, a blowtorch and an idea, he creates a timeless piece of art. And recently he has begun incorporating cremains into his work, providing patrons with a means to stay in touch with their departed loved ones. The cover picture is a red and yellow glass paper weight with swirled spiral surface. It’s two and one-half inches in diameter. Special thanks to the following for their help Joseph Poccia

“Those who love you are not fooled by mistakes you have made or dark images you hold about yourself. They remember your beauty when you feel ugly; your wholeness when you are broken; your innocence when you feel guilty; and your purpose when you are confused.” —African saying “If, every day, I dare to remember that I am here on loan, that this house, this hillside, these minutes are all leased to me, not given, I will never despair. Despair is for those who expect to live forever. I no longer do.” —Erica Jong, writer (b. 1942)

SPRING FORTH Of

the four seasons, I think spring must be the one most eagerly awaited. Gardeners start their planning almost before the last notes of “Auld Lang Syne” die out. And the first truly warm day prompts discussions of trees budding out and first flowers appearing. In fact, a photographer friend of mine has already posted a picture of a snow-cloaked crocus in his yard. The poet e.e.cummings wrote "In Justspring when the world is mud-luscious...and puddle-wonderful." And don't you know just what he meant? And don't you just know when spring has arrived, bringing with it thoughts of rebirth, rejuvenation, renewal and regrowth? But wouldn't you know when humans are involved, there is room for disagreement. Meteorologists take into account the values of average temperatures on a monthly basis and divide the year into three-month seasons. Therefore, for them, spring includes the complete months of March, April and May. Astronomical spring, on the other hand, is based on the vernal equinox when the days and nights are close to 12 hours long. Then there is ecological spring. Those scientists look for biological indicators such as

the blossoming of a range of plant species, the activities of animals or the special smell of the soil. Regardless of the system you rely on, spring comes about because the axis of Earth is increasing its tilt toward the sun and the length of daylight rapidly increases. Our northern hemisphere begins to warm significantly causing new plant growth to "spring forth," hence the name of the season. But spring isn't just a season; it's a state of mind. Even though it can bring with it the likelihood of unstable weather, spring can be a metaphor for the start of better times. Spring training, spring clothes -- spring means something different for each person. The timing of its beginning even inspired Alan Jay Lerner, the writer of the book and lyrics of the musical "Camelot." In extolling the virtues of the kingdom of Camelot, King Arthur declares, "The winter is forbidden till December and exits March the second on the dot." The poet Emily Dickinson seemed to settle on a March start to spring when she wrote:

A Light exists in Spring Not present in the Year At any other period — When March is scarcely here A color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels. Whenever spring arrives, it is welcome. Old bones warm in the sun and young hearts leap to the sound of new life. Every living creature rejoices as winter loosens its chilly grip and allows us to look again at all of life’s possibilities and revel in one day at a time. Perhaps Robert Frost said it best when he wrote A Prayer in Spring: Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.

—Charlene Tolbert Contributing Editor Posey Magazine She can be contacted at: poseymagazine@aol.com

Posey County Courthouse

POSEY POSTCARD

“Each of us represents a star in heaven. Sometimes we shine with the rest. Sometimes we twinkle alone. And sometimes when we least expect it, we make someone’s dreams come true.” — Author Unknown

DAVID POWELL

By Charlene Tolbert

“Gladly would he learn and gladly teach.”

That was the description of the clerk in Geoffrey Chaucer’s

The Canterbury Tales, but it’s also an apt description of David Powell. But which David Powell, you might well ask. Is it David Powell, the bewhiskered world traveler who competes in international mustache-growing competitions? Is it Dr. David Powell, the podiatrist? Or is it David Powell, the glass artist who has pioneered the incorporation of cremains (the ashes that remain after cremation of a corpse) into glass art? They are, of course, one and the same and often at the same time. But let's start with the glass artist. Cremation ashes of a loved one were blended into the glass pen and ink set (above) to honor their family member’s beautiful writing abilities.

ÂŠ Photographed by J. Bruce Baumann

Flame on; let the dance begin. A mixture of propane and oxygen is required to attain the necessary heat to melt the glass rod.

Centering the glass tubing connection at the beginning of any blown object is mandatory, otherwise it will always be off center. Powell remembers that his parents had a number of small glass figures of animals they had bought at a Berlin shop. On his glassworks web site, he tells of being fascinated by their transparency and their solid form. Years later, watching an artist sculpt free-form pieces from glass rods into figurines sparked his desire to do the same. His interest started with the fire, with what he

calls "the artful dance with the flame." He was a student at Vincennes University in 1974 in a chemistry class when an instructor used a torch to create a piece of glassware needed for an experiment. Shortly thereafter, he took a lampworking class. Lampworking or flameworking is a type of glasswork where a torch or lamp is primarily used to melt the glass. Once in a molten state,

the glass is formed by blowing and shaping with tools and hand movements. Soon he bought a torch of his own, some glass and started making art glass in his garage. He now has a lampworking studio on Upper Mount Vernon Road in St. Philip and displays his work in an 1856 log cabin. His wife Melanie's great-great-grandfather was an early Posey County settler and their home and

studio is on land he cleared. On weekends Powell teaches lampworking classes by appointment, primarily teaching glass sculpture and beadmaking. "You can see joy in the faces of students the moment they create their first glass object. If you look closely, you can see the flame dancing in their eyes," he said. Powell makes appearances at area

art fairs and participates in a driving tour of Tri-State art studios around the holidays. He says youngsters are especially fascinated by his demonstrations. He often makes snails because they are small, quick and easy and will give them to well-behaved children. "Once they touch the glass, they will be artists. Maybe not glass artists, but artists of some kind."

Powellâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s signature Christmas ornament, or spirit catcher, requires a balance blend of blowing gently, rotating perfectly, and allowing gravity to work with you and not against you.

These are three hair forks, stainless steel, and Borrosicilla glass with dichroic glass components.

A property of glass, evident by the bright light on his finger, is that glass transmits light without transmitting heat.

Cobalt blue silver fumed glass with red coral sits amid sterling silver findings on a silk cord.

The snails, fish and birds he creates are popular with adults as well as children. His Christmas ornaments, especially the ones fashioned after Native American spirit catchers, also are in demand. He creates a variety of jewelry pieces such as pendants and rings. One pair of earrings he crafted for last year's Christmas shoppers was a very delicate mismatched pair – one earring was a fried egg, the other was a couple of strips of bacon. Lately he has developed a sideline of cremation art. He incorporates a person's loved one's ashes into a mixture of Borosilica glass and metal inclusions that winds up nearly indistinguishable from natural amber. From that glass he can make paperweights, touchstones, pendants and other items. He has had requests to make flat skipping stones and fishing lures with a treblehook spinner bait. Powell can barely remember when he wasn't making some kind of threedimensional art. “It's always been all in the hands,” he says. He has almost an equally hard time remembering when he didn't sport a mustache. But it's only been been in the last decade or so that the doctor and surgeon of podiatric medicine has turned that too into a kind of art form. He has traveled to England, Germany and Alaska to compete in the World Beard and Mustache Championships. In 2009 he entered in the Partial Beard Freestyle Competition by fashioning his mustache into the shape of a whale's tail. “I did it on a fluke,” he laughed.

Charlene Tolbert is a nearly lifelong Hoosier who continues to be captivated by the people and places of Southern Indiana. She can be contacted at poseymagazine@aol.com.

A stopper applicator rests next to a perfume bottle made of red borro silver fumed glass.

Poetry Sounds in New Harmony The sound of wood planks thumping against the wall of my small red brick Harmonist house broke a silence that I had imagined to be 200 years old, and a silence in German at that. This twenty-foot-by-thirty-foot, two-story, wood and brick house was built by Schiller, a German Harmonist, on the Wabash River in Southern Indiana in 1814 while waiting for Christ to come again. For my first five months the little shop next to my house was empty. Then the woodworker came. Living in a small town is its own kind of spiritual practice—part monastic, part sarcastic, part gospel, part gossip. In other words, humans on this side of the Second Coming. So I decide to make peace. I have a Shaker book, “Religion in Wood” and I take it to share with my afflicting new neighbor. I say, “I’m a minister.” (In other words, please be quiet so I can read and write like I used to here.) He says, “I’m an eschatologist.” Not many woodworkers are, and he invites me into his little shop. — Duncan Newcomer

Posey Portrait

Irvin Reynolds, New Harmony’s barber since 1984

Posey Portrait will feature a random photograph of a friend or neighbor — in a place we call home

Feathers/By Sharon Sorenson

ow, during March and April, even when Posey County nighttime temperatures drop well below freezing and icy winds howl around the corner of the house, the birds tell me it’s spring. Yes, last month the ground hog saw his shadow, predicting a lingering winter, but the birds tell me it’s spring. They’ve been singing since the middle of last month. But this month, there’s no mistaking the signs. American woodcocks—those oddly shaped, cryptically colored ground nesters—have been performing their springtime mating flights. About ten years ago, for the first time, I witnessed their ritual onthe-ground “peent” calls followed by their spiraling flight, an acrobatic phenomenon accompanied by an amazing array of chirps and twitters, sounds made entirely by wind rushing through their wings. For me, ever since that first experience, the woodcocks’ courtship flight has been synonymous with the first sign of spring. Since the birds perform only for a couple of weeks at dusk into early moonlit nights, it’s a performance mostly in silhouette. Only rarely have I seen them face-to-face during daylight.

American woodcocks

ÂŠ Photograph by Charles Sorenson

The first osprey of the season makes its appearance about the same time, typically perched along the Hovey Lake shoreline in the southwestern tip of our county. Its return shouts “Spring!” more loudly than the returning house wren’s trill. Unless it’s a firstyear adult, this osprey, like others of its kind, will return to last year’s nest, repair damage and set up housekeeping. The quiet burbling song of eastern bluebirds fills our springtime neighborhood. One pair has staked out the nest box in our front garden, fluttering the message to the rest of the birds: the contract for this real estate is signed, sealed, and delivered, and we’re laying eggs. Every morning about 6:30 or 7:00, the wood ducks land on the farm pond. After eyeing the situation, Mrs. Woody attends to business in the nest box while Mr. Woody swims about as if pacing the hospital’s maternity wing. Her daily egg laid, Mrs. Woody rejoins her mate and off they go, leaving the nest box to the ravages of starlings. In a few more days, however, when Mrs. Woody finishes laying her clutch of about a dozen eggs, she’ll stay put, incubating them about a month. Someday I hope to witness her ducklings’ fledging, when she calls them out and they plop, plop, plop into the water within hours of breaking from their shells. Woodpeckers have been drumming, too, as if they’re using some African communication system to advertise their newly acquired apartments and to flirt with the opposite sex. The downy, hairy, redbellied, and pileated woodpeckers each drum a different springtime beat, the differences distinguishable to trained ears. While the percussionist woodpeckers rat-ta-tat-tat the rhythm, other birds join what we traditionally call the “spring chorus.” At dawn, when every feathered creature sings its loudest, most hardy song, the chorus nearly blocks out the percussion. Lately Carolina chickadees have beat the baton at the startup, but usually it’s the cardinals. Even when I can’t see them through my still-sleepy eyes, I Red-bellied woodpecker during what woodpeckers do.

Osprey in flight looking for the next meal.

ÂŠ Photographs by Charles Sorenson

A male wood duck ushers in the beautiful colors of spring.

Eastern bluebird, male smile to know they’re there—and that it’s spring. Later in the warming sun, meadowlarks shout from a highweed perch their traditional message that it’s “spring-of-the-year.” At least that’s what their song says to my winter-weary ears. This past week or so, they’ve been almost evangelical in their oftrepeated wisdom. In fact, spring is so much with us now that many birds are back from winter vacation. Several weeks ago the first chipping sparrow chipped. The next night we heard the first field sparrow of the season. The first brown thrasher sneaked in, scratching under feeders, and a hermit thrush on its way north stopped to fatten up a bit. By mid-April, hummingbirds will return. But I know, too, that very soon the last white-throated sparrow and the last dark-eyed junco will leave. Posey County hosted them during their winter vacations. I’ll miss them and their cheery songs, the white-throat’s “Oh, Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody” call and the junco’s tinkling bell-like melody. Those are the ways I know, the ways the birds have told me so: it’s spring.

Sharon and Charles Sorenson settled in St. Philip in 1966 and continue to improve their certified backyard wildlife habitat that to date has hosted 161 bird species and 53 butterfly species. Send your bird questions and comments to them or contact them for publicvenue programs, conferences, or seminars at: forthebirdscolumn@ yahoo.com.

The New Harmony Heist With his piercing blue

eyes, light brown hair, and six foot plus frame, Harry “Pete” Pierpont cut a dashing figure. By 1920, he had been a good student and had landed a decent job in an Indianapolis automobile factory. But things began to change after he suffered a severe head injury in the summer of 1921. He began experiencing dizziness, headaches, and insomnia and developed a mania for firearms. This personality change would guarantee Harry a place in Indiana and Posey County history. Pierpont was first arrested for carrying a concealed weapon, leading to his commitment to the state hospital for the mentally ill. Upon his release, his life of crime began in full swing. He stole handguns and cars, wounding one owner and

Harry “Pete” Pierpont, courtesy of the Ohio Department of Corrections

landing in a Terre Haute jail, where he tried to saw through the bars of his cell. After serving time in the Indiana reformatory, Harry was paroled on March 6, 1924. It was then that he became the leader of a gang of bank robbers. On March 10, 1925, Pierpont and his gang struck the New Harmony Bank and Trust. According to The Western Star, a Mount Vernon newspaper, at just before 4 p.m. four men, not wearing masks, entered the bank, each equipped with a large revolver. Inside the bank were Frank Steelman, secretary and treasurer; Grace Schultz, assistant; and Rev. J.A. Sumwaltz, a Methodist minister and customer. Just as the robbery began, John Watkins, the ferryman at New Harmony, also entered the bank. The robbers commanded the victims to lie face down on the floor while they began retrieving money from the cash drawer and the counter. Steelman was ordered to open the steel safe inside the vault, but he refused. One of the bandits then struck the banker over the head with his revolver butt, leaving him with a severe scalp wound. Grace Schultz complied by opening the safe. As the robbers herded the four into the vault and closed the doors behind them, Schultz was overcome with emotion and fainted. As the gang was leaving the bank, having netted a little over $10,000, they met Leslie Steelman, the banker’s son. They forced the boy into a room at the back of the building before fleeing in their getaway car. Leslie freed the others from the vault, and news of the robbery was spread far and wide by telephone and telegraph. According to the Poseyville News, the robbers reportedly sped out Church

Pierpont and his gang struck the New Harmony Bank and Trust Street until they came to the Joel Moye home near Wadesville, where they turned toward Poseyville. Although followed for a while by a Reverend Gwaltney, their trail was lost when they turned east at Jesse Alsop’s place. Of course, even the newspaper admitted that some bandit sightings were “no doubt the product of fervid imaginations.” However, one reliable report of an encounter was registered the next morning by Charles Chamberlain. According to Chamberlain, he was walking about two miles above Griffin in the Wabash bottoms, searching for a cow, when he was accosted by four men. One pointed a revolver at him and demanded that he show them where they could catch a ferry to cross the river. Chamberlain said he didn’t know, but he agreed to walk along the riverbank with them to look for a crossing. After a while, the men decided to return to their hiding place. At that point, Pierpont asked Chamberlain if he was married. When he said he was, Pierpont offered him twenty dollars. The other thieves insisted he should be given more, and he was then offered eighty dollars. He kept refusing the money even though Pierpont told him because he was poor, he should take it and provide for his family. The man assured Chamberlain that they had plenty of cash since they had just robbed a bank in New Harmony. After a final refusal, Chamberlain was ordered to “beat it.”

Pierpont and his gang robbed numerous banks during this time period. When he was finally arrested, Pierpont was sent first to Pendleton, where he met a young criminal named John Dillinger. After the two were transferred to Michigan City, Pierpont became Dillinger’s mentor, teaching him everything he needed to know about bank robbery. Shortly after Dillinger was paroled, he helped Pierpont and his associates escape from Michigan City by smuggling in three pistols, perhaps hidden in boxes of thread sent to the prison shirt factory. Using hostages, the prisoners managed to escape. But when they attempted to meet up with Dillinger, they found that he had been arrested several days before in Dayton, Ohio. Posing as Indiana State Prison officials, Pierpont and two of his cohorts entered the jail where Dillinger was being held. When the sheriff asked for their credentials, Pierpont shot him and beat him before freeing Dillinger. Two days later, the criminals raided the Auburn, Indiana, police station, stealing guns and bulletproof vests. After a series of dramatic robberies, Pierpont was finally arrested and convicted not only of robbery but also of murdering the sheriff he had shot while springing Dillinger from jail. He and his death row partner, Charles Makley, tried to stage another prison break using pistols carved from soap and painted with black shoe polish, but guards opened fire on them, killing Makley and seriously injuring Pierpont. Still suffering from his wounds, Harry Pierpont had to be carried to the electric chair, where he was executed on October 17, 1934.

— By Linda Neal Reising

Out of the frame/J. Bruce Baumann

Out of the frame focuses on moments found without a story or context. We all pass something that catches our eye and tweaks our curiosity during the course of everyday living. Sometimes it makes us smile or even chuckle. You might say it tickles the mind. Other times it makes us think about life in a serious way. Regardless of how we react, in that instant the image touches a part of our brain or heart and becomes part of who we are. For the moment it takes us out of the frame.

ÂŠ Photograph by J. Bruce Baumann

Out In The Back Of Beyond/Editor’s Notebook AND THE ANSWERS ARE ...

ow come cats don’t like to play fetch? Do birds sing or lip sync?

Why do people say, “Don’t put your nose in my business?” That brings up visual images that I don’t want to think about.

Why do they call mixed drinks cocktails?

Should we care that celebrity marriages were doomed from the get-go?

Why are all toes really ugly?

Should you ask your dog what’s in his mouth before you kiss him?

How long can a fish hold its breath? Why do we use the same word digital for both photography and a medical exam? Do zebras realize they’re wearing jailhouse suits?

How does a slow-moving woolly caterpillar know it’s going to be a hard winter, when he doesn’t even know it’s going to be a bad day? Why do they call them training bras?

Where do birds go when they die? Why do they call it jay walking? Do you adopt a dog, or does a dog adopt you? How can you trust Punxatawney Phil to predict the weather? Geez. He lives underground. Is Florida really God’s waiting room? Can you really hear the grass grow? Does any of this matter?

J. Bruce Baumann Editor Posey Magazine poseymagazine@aol.com

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” — C.S. Lewis

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