We need a new twenty

We need a new $20 bill

While researching my novels, I learn quite a bit about historical figures, and that has changed my perspective on many of them. One of them in particular has been weighing heavily on my mind lately, and that is Andrew Jackson, sometimes called 'Old Hickory' but most often referred to by my contemporaries as 'The guy on the twenty dollar bill'.

Being a frequent visitor to social media sites, I watch with amusement (and sometimes boredom) while my Democrat friends vilify George W. Bush, and my Republican friends do the same to Barrack Obama. Neither of these men, as controversial as their presidencies sometimes are, comes anywhere near committing the moral outrages of Andrew Jackson.

I am not talking about his habit of dismissing all of the government officials who opposed his campaign and replacing them with his supporters. Every president since Jackson has done the same thing. I am also not talking about the personal scandals that one of his cabinet members (John Eaton) became involved in. Bill Clinton's infidelity blew poor Eaton out of the water.

I am talking about a particular bill, which was a platform of the Jackson campaign, and was passed into law on May 28, 1830. That law was known as the 'Indian Removal Act' and represents one of the most shameful periods in our nation's history.

For those of you who are not familiar with the act, it nullified treaties with what were then known as 'The Five Civilized Tribes' and made it a law that those people be forcibly removed to what is now Oklahoma. 'The Five Civilized tribes were, the Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek and Seminole peoples living in what we now consider the southeastern United States.

The people of these first nations were not referred to as 'civilized' for no reason. They were farmers, stock raisers, traders and artisans who lived a relatively peaceful existence with the whites for generations. I say 'relatively peaceful' as opposed to the nomadic tribes of the far west who seem to have maintained raiding as one of the pillars of their economy. The Americans in those southern states did not call for the native's removal to protect their settlements or their lives, but mainly because gold had been discovered in Georgia. 'Old Hickory' answered that call.

After the enactment of the Indian Removal act, many terrible atrocities were committed (by both sides) in the conflict between the First Nations and the Americans of European and African descent. I don't mean to say in any way that the act was the ultimate 'low point' in relations between the two groups. It does however, signify the start of years of institutionalized oppression by the U.S. government.

In my job as a cashier, I am struck by the irony that if a customer hands me a picture of
Andrew Jackson, I will give him a T-shirt featuring a representation of Osceola (I live near Florida State University). Most people that I have spoken with do not think about (or often even know) who Andrew Jackson was, and what he represented. So perhaps we should keep 'Old Hickory' on the twenty, lest we forget, and risk repeating a deplorable chapter in the history of our great nation.

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10/20/2014

p.s. My vote for the new model would probably be Cochise, but since I know of no extant picture of him, here is Sitting Bull for your enjoyment.

 

Life on the Wire

Life on the Wire

Recently I was discussing my novel with a local book club, and I was asked which is my favorite part. After giving the question a little thought, I said that my favorite part would have to be the scene in which a group of Blackfoot Indians are hunting buffalo.

A brave is riding his horse across the snow covered plain approaching a large herd of running bison. He guides his horse toward the stampede and proceeds to loose arrows into a cow until she falls. When this image came to me, I was sitting idle (as I often do) and casually wondering what it would be like to hunt buffalo when the scene sprang almost full grown into my mind. The image lingers with me still.

Imagine with me if you will, rising from your pallet of furs long before the break of day and emerging from your buffalo hide teepee (or lodge) and emerging into the cold darkness of a winter morning on the plains of what is now northern Wyoming or southern Montana. You and your friends gather your horses from where they have spent the night and leap onto their bare backs, setting out to locate the nearest buffalo herd.

By the time you reach the herd the sun has risen, and thousands of huge animals are spread out before you on the plain. You ready the bow that you made with your own two hands, and kick your horse toward the milling beasts. Soon the horse beneath you is running full tilt, and the panicked buffalo are streaming around you. You release the reins because you need both hands to fire your bow and now you are holding on with only your feet. The buffalo around you are nearly twice the size of your horse and the impact of their collective hooves shakes the frozen earth. It is difficult to aim from this position, so you wait until a buffalo is right beside you, at point blank range, before firing.

Close your eyes for a moment and really imagine it.

Sound a little dangerous?

It does so to me. OSHA would never stand for such a thing.

Now imagine that you had to do this thing regularly simply to survive. Imagine that if you failed in this insane task, you and your family (possibly your entire communtiy) would be hungry and possibly starving before long. Imagine that if any one of a thousand things went wrong, you or your horse could be crippled or killed, leaving your family without the resources to house, clothe or feed themselves.

That adds to the intensity a little doesn't it?

When I imagined this for the first time I was outside my workplace waiting for my shift to start. At my current job, we are not allowed to carry a pocket knife and are only allowed to use retractable box cutters to reduce the chance of us cutting ourselves. The dichotomy between the two realities struck me in that moment as I'm sure it did you.

The First Nations hunting buffalo, the Anglo pioneer woman literally carving a home from the earth, and the Vaquero rounding up cattle in the vast arid plains lived on a level that I will ever know. Granted, their lives would have been difficult, uncomfortable, and for the most part extremely short. I'm sure that each of them suffered their share of boredom and drudgery, but they were living with a capital 'L'.

I don't want to sound ungrateful for the conveniences of modern life that I enjoy every day. We live in a time of wonders, and by no means do I wish to disregard the amazing advances in technology which make our modern lives possible. I can't help but think however, that the comfort and security of twenty-first century America may preclude me from a depth of life that might have been possible in a less civilized time.

It would have been difficult, and at times terrifying, but to quote Karl Wallenda:

“Life is on the wire, everything else is just waiting around.”

10/13/2014

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Better Late than Never

Better Late than Never

I normally update this blog on Mondays, but I missed my self-imposed deadline yesterday. I had planned to meet my daily goal of one thousand words added to my novel document yesterday, but I didn't write a single one. I had planned to start the outline of a short story (tentatively titled 'Living with Gremlins') but I didn't do that either.

I don't have a sob story about a family emergency (I have no wife or children). I wasn't stricken by any non-specific malaise, either physical or emotional, and I had absolutely no prior engagements. Something did happen yesterday however that indirectly prevented me from doing any sort of work whatsoever.

The weather changed.

Every place has their weather issues. In Phoenix it is the heat, I assume that Duluth has the cold, and here in Tallahassee it is the humidity. Those of you who live in a humid part of the country know what I am talking about, and those of you who dwell in more arid climes can trust me when I say that you want no part of it. Complaints are made that humidity 'makes it feel hotter', but in my short experience the humidity ruins the weather regardless of temperature.

I realize this post is beginning to sound like a whiny rant, but there is a point I would like to make. I strive to accomplish many things every day. Between writing, work, study, and prayer, I try to pack every hour full of minutes and I am often guilty of forgetting why it is that I do these things. I must never forget that art work exist to support life, and not the other way around. Art for the sake of art is meaningless, and work for the joy of having 'bony fingers' is folly. These things that I do must serve the function of glorifying God first, blessing others second and myself as a bonus.

So when the Almighty sees fit to send a dry north wind into Tallahassee to drive away the oppressive moisture for a time, I feel it would be foolish to not enjoy it. I am aware of the Proverb that tells us that 'a little rest, a little folded hands and want comes on us like a thief', and I don't want good weather to become a justification for my laziness. Therefore, this morning (though the weather is nice once again) I am playing catch up with no regrets about spending an afternoon in the cool dry sunshine reading 'The Count of Monte Christo'.

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10/7/2014