Religious freedom & secular saviors in Hoosierland

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I’d like to see the Indiana state legislators pass a bill that orders their most conservative Hoosier constituents to just lighten the hell up.

Serve everybody. Smile. Be nicer. Avoid divisiveness. Tell more jokes.

Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.

You’d think those 10 words would sound familiar at least to Christians so rapturous about their religious obligations.

I wonder what else would happen if these religious freedom laws are taken to their logical conclusion. Because the laws don’t specify which religions conservative lawmakers consider the “good” religions.

So, in the name of religious freedom, would a couple of Islamic extremist bakers be legally allowed to open a Fort Wayne cupcake shoppe that for propaganda purposes beheads infidel customers?

Could a Scientology movie theater in Evansville get away with playing nothing but John Travolta and Tom Cruise features?

What if — and I’m just being silly here — a fanatical religious group took over a South Bend university and used their obnoxious sports programs to spread the sanctimonious belief that God Almighty favors their teams over all the secular others?

See where this madness could lead?

It saddens me that Indiana, a state that’s provided me with so many happy memories, is the recipient of a taint that will prove difficult to erase.

The state’s come so far.

Remember, Indiana back in the 1970s was deemed by Chicago Tribune columnist Mike Royko the worst state in the entire union. Of Indiana he said, “Its two major cities — Indianapolis and Gary — give people a choice of dying of either boredom or multiple gunshot wounds.”

I enjoyed a fine summer-long frolic there in ’83 when a college buddy asked if I wanted to join him in a rowdy carny outfit. We rambled all over Indiana.

What do I remember most about those splendid summer months?

Farm girls sure like to kiss.

And, bless their hearts, not a one of them ever asked about my religion or if I was gay.

As for family fun, we had a wonderful vacation at the historic French Lick Resort, a place that reminds me of the wet kiss Rod Serling and the “Twilight Zone” gave idyllic small town America in “A Stop in Willoughby.”

Abe Lincoln, that holy exemplar of just American grace, had his values forged by Hoosiers. The Lincoln Boyhood Home in Lincoln City is where Lincoln lived from ages 7 to 21.

The state is overwhelmingly populated by friendly folk who today, I’m sure, are horrified that Indiana’s become a national punching bag, all thanks to bone-headed bigots who are in a dead heat race to either extinction or political irrelevence.

Indiana isn’t like them. Indiana, to me, is more like Santa Claus.

In fact, Santa Claus is Indiana.

I’ve done a maybe a dozen stories about the small southern Indiana town that in 1852 became the only town in America officially named Santa Claus.

It’s magnificent. It’s home to Holiday World & Splashin’ Safari, one of the best theme parks in America, one that is regularly featured on the thrill shows for its host of pulse-racing roller coasters.

We love it there.

And, get this, Holiday World is just like the real Santa Claus: It gives away cool stuff for free.

It’s the only amusement park or entertainment venue I’ve heard of that gives away as much Pepsi product fountain soda for free as guests can guzzle. Owners think it’s a nice gesture to thank people for visiting Santa Claus.

The parking is free, too. So is sunscreen.

So I’ll never think of Indiana as a place of judgmental intolerance. It’s not like that.

I can’t wait to go back. 

And to those who think they can hijack good people’s values to suit your narrowly defined interests, you’ve been put on notice.

Try it again and all America will rise up and bring many mighty social and financial pressures to bear.

So you’d better be good. 

But don’t be good just because to do otherwise risks so much ruin and ridicule.

Be good because it’s the right thing to do. Be good because we’re all God’s children.

Be good for goodness’ sake.

Related . . .

I love Santa Claus 45759!

RIP Will Koch, Holiday World founder

The summer I ran away with the carnival

Good bourbon & horny farm girls influence my NFL picks

Santorum’s correct: Man marrying dogs in Wisconsin!

How recollections of good bourbon & horny farm girls influence my NFL picks

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Many football fans around America and serving overseas will be rooting for teams based on hometown affiliations, favorite players or coaches.

With the Pittsburgh Steelers out of it, I could care less about any of those factors. 

I root based on nostalgic recollections about the cities where I can recall either getting kissed or getting good and drunk.

Happily, I have some experience in both realms from all four cities.

Let’s run ‘em down:

Seattle Seahawks

Esquire magazine sent me there in 2003 to do a story about the Waterfront Seafood & Bar in nearby Bellingham. I’d pitched them the story after learning the divey little joint had been home to three serial killers — Ted Bundy, Hillside Strangler Kenneth Bianchi and D.C. sniper John Muhammad — and that they were all considered good customers. I asked the bartender to share her idea of a bad customer. “That’s be anyone who steals, breaks shit, or starts a fight right when my shift is about to end,” she said. The three men (their eras did not coincide) had combined to kill 50 innocents. In fact, those notorious killers weren’t the only homicidal regulars in this friendly spot. She told me about James Allen Kinney who in 1998 had been convicted of beheading a date. I asked if he was as nice as the serial killers. She said no. “Now, that guy was just an obnoxious ass.” Despite the history, I had a great time at the Waterfront. People treated me with good cheer and no one tried to behead me when they learned I was a Steeler fan. Of course, the Steelers beat the Seahawks in the 2006 Super Bowl so another visit might have a different outcome. It’s the only bar I’ve been where even a designated driver can wind up with a real killer hangover.

Green Bay Packers

It was my pleasure in 2009 to enjoy a jaunt across Wisconsin to write about all the great golf in The Badger State. It was very sweet. I came to love Milwaukee and the great Sobelman’s Pub where the Bloody Mary’s are like spicy salads with vodka dressing. But I really enjoyed Kohler, home to the American Resort and its five championship golf courses. It’s about 20 miles south of Green Bay. I’d intended to drive up and have a look at historic Lambeau Field. The first night I was sitting at the bar for an early dinner and sipping a great big bourbon when five cheerful friendlies from Milwaukee found out I was from Pittsburgh. I’ll never forget what one of them said: “Man, I’ve never met anyone from Pittsburgh who wasn’t a really great guy!” I told him he hadn’t met me after I’d had four big bourbons. I was joking. I didn’t do anything to diminish Pittsburgh’s reputation and  they guy bought me bourbon all night. I never made it to Green Bay because my new friends made sound a lot like Latrobe only with everything named after Vince Lombardi instead of Arnold Palmer. But I’m very fond of Wisconsin and its inhabitants, so based solely on the free bourbon let’s take the Cheeseheads in a squeaker upset over Seattle, 35-31.

Indianapolis Colts

One of my favorite descriptions of any locality was authored by Chicago columnist Mike Royko from about 30 years ago when he was trying to determine which was America’s most awful state. I can’t recall the “winner,” but I’ve never forgotten what he wrote about Indiana: “It’s a state whose two major cities, Indianapolis and Gary, give visitors a choice of dying from either boredom or multiple gunshot wounds.” Much has changed since then. I’ve enjoyed several family and work-related visits to the town Santa Claus and its Holiday World amusement park, and the French Lick Resort’s fantastic. I don’t know if Gary’s changed, but I know that thanks to the aggressive efforts of N.R.A. lobbyists, I can die from multiple gunshot wounds right here in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. But my fondest memories are of my college days in ‘83 when my buddy asked me to join him barnstorming the midwest in a traveling carnival. We spent weeks in Goshen, Fort Wayne, Elkhart and at the state fair outside Indianapolis. I remember a lot of beer consumption and happy encounters with friendly farm girls who liked to kiss. If any of those farm girls survived their reckless youths that featured drunken encounters with transient carnies, then they’re bound to be big Colts fans.

New England Patriots

That leaves us with the presumptive favorites to win it all. The Patriots are a great organization and have been perennial favorites for the last 14 years. But they haven’t won once since 2004 after they admitted they cheated. Being a Steeler fan, that admission really buoys me so let’s repeat it: They haven’t won since they cheated. The Steelers have won two Super Bowls in that span and might have won another if the Patriots hadn’t admitted they cheated to beat them. Being fair-minded, I might have a different opinion if I had a sunny recollection of a good romp in Beantown. I do not. I was there on a week-long assignment for People once in 2001. It was a rags-to-riches story about a petite little woman who overcame a troubled youth and reprehensible sexual harassment to become one of the Northeast’s most successful bricklayers and philanthropists. She’s very sweet and a wonderful example of how anyone can overcome great odds to do great things. But she didn’t try to kiss me and working for People was a terrible burden that left a bad taste in my mouth. I enjoyed a nice night at Fenway, had some expense account lobster and did a fair amount of touring. But no one hailed me for being a great guy from Pittsburgh so screw ‘em. Another upset: Colts 27, Patriots 17. 

So if randy recollections of good drunks and horny farm girls have anything to do with it, Super Bowl XLIX will feature the Green Bay Packers vs. the Indianapolis Colts, along with the usual national consternation about why the NFL insists on using Roman numerals.

Want to talk about it?

Call me!

My number is DCCXXIV CMLXI MMDLVIII.

Related . . .

The summer I ran away with the carnival

John Muhammad and a real killer bar

Wisconsin by a foot

Santa Claus: I’m back & a good man’s gone

Boston Corbett: America’s greatest eunuch

NFL playoffs ’13: a rooting fan’s guide

I'm back and a good man's gone

I’m back from an unannounced six-day blogging vacation while I took the family on a summer frolic.

It was unannounced for security reasons. We’ve all seen stories about crafty crooks who prowl the internet for clues that someone is going away.

I consider it more disparaging evidence of man’s decline that today’s crooks dawdle around on Facebook rather than sticking a gun in someone’s ribs the way honest crooks always used to.

But I felt bad about it all week. I felt it was an affront to my regular readers.

I worried that they may have felt something happened to me, that maybe I’d been injured in a freak typing accident or that maybe I’d, egads, found a real wage-earning job.

Let me assure you, that’s never going to happen.

Certainly, I don’t think I have any readers who would use the information that I was away to break into my home. First of all, my readers are no fools. They know precisely how impoverished I am.

Not many people are going to go out of their way to rob a man who boasts that his prize possession is a beer can collection he’s tended since the fourth grade.

I think my readers are uniformly charitable, well-read, make informed decisions based on facts, like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain.

But, boy, would I have felt stupid explaining to police how I’d given daily updates about our distant whereabouts.

The blog’s become such a habit that if I don’t post at least 750 words three times a week, I feel like I’m shirking my commitments.

That, of course, is insane. It would be like my kid feeling guilty over not playing enough with her Care Bears.

Yet, as I strolled through several midwest playgrounds, the feeling did persist. I’d see taxpayer-funded highway workers mowing already trim grass and feel the need to expound on the waste.

I’d think how the relationship between me and the caddie the pro shop had assigned me was not unlike that between a hooker and her John and reflexively want to reach for my laptop.

I’d see so many awful tattoos on so many misshapen bodies and think maybe I should become a tattoo artist.

So instead of blogging, I talked. And talked and talked and talked. I yammered so relentlessly my daughter said she actually missed being in school.

So did my wife.

The only thing I said during the entire eight-hour trip home that wasn’t greeted with exasperated groans of impatience was, “We’re home!”

So I’m going to try and get to all that in the next few days, but first we need to engage in some mourning.

Will Koch, 48, died Monday at his home in Santa Claus, Indiana. He was found dead in his pool from what his family believes were complications from the Type 1 diabetes he’d dealt with since college.

To me, it was like hearing Mr. Rogers had died before anyone had a chance to get to really know the grace and joy of Fred Rogers.

Koch was for 20 years the president of Holiday World and Splashin’ Safari and the outstanding successor to his father and grandfather who founded the world’s first theme park, one that predates Disney World by nine year. The park is divided into four sections that celebrate Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween and the Fourth of July, a traditional lineup that makes brawny amusement park snobs snicker.

By poignant coincidence, we were there Tuesday and Wednesday, the day before he was buried. The tears of the employees who beloved him were never far from the surface.

I first met him in 1996 when National Enquirer asked me to travel to southern Indiana to do a Christmas story about the town called Santa Claus. Each December, the normally sleepy Santa Claus Post Office, ZIP code 47579, goes from handling 3,000 pieces of mail a day to more than 50,000. This Christmas alone, postal workers will help deliver more than 500,000 pieces of mail from all over the world.

Little did I know it at the time, but Koch was in the midst of turning the quirky little park into a colossus.

I’d write about the place every couple of years for various newspapers, but didn’t have an opportunity to return until 2008 when I accepted a longstanding invitation to bring my family.

Koch and park spokeswoman Paula Werne met us at the front gate and thanked me for all the coverage over the years. My impression of him was that he was warm, mirthful and that when he knelt down to tell my daughters that he hoped they had a wonderful time at his park, by God, he really meant it.

My impression of the park was more euphoric. When an overseas airline magazine magazine asked me to do a story about the must-visit amusement parks in the entire world, I told them they had to include Holiday World.

They’d never heard of it.

I told them that the it edged out all the Disneys and the Six Flags and a host of better known others in 2005 when the International Association of Amusement Parks and Attractions organization awarded it Best Park, the smallest park to ever earn the designation.

I told them it was a coaster lovers’ paradise and that Amusement Today declared The Voyage the world’s number one wooden coaster for the past three years, and that the same magazine gives it top honors for cleanest and friendliest park.

I told them that Splashin’ Safari this year opened the $5.5 million Wildebeest, the world’s longest water coaster and a fitting companion to Pilgrim’s Plunge, the world’s tallest water slide.

I told them Forbes Magazine included it on its 2006 list of the top 10 amusement parks in the world.

They agreed it needed to be included.

Those are worthy credentials all, but what impressed me most is that in 2008, Koch decided it would give away for free sunscreen and soda.

Scattered throughout the park are sunscreen stations and Pepsi oases that allow thirsty families to drink as much free Pepsi products as they want all day long.

In a day where ballparks and movie theaters charge $4.50 for 12 flat ounces of soda, it’s a flabbergasting gesture.

Try and get there one day. You won’t regret it. This week was our second visit in three years and if we don’t go back by 2012, our kids will scream neglect.

We can only hope heaven’s all it’s cracked up to be, but I can’t help but think that in two years or so, the souls of the saints will be greeting Will Koch on the golden sidewalks and saying, “Hey, thanks so much for all you’ve done around here. You’ve really made this place so much more fun and friendly.”

Countless people have been saying that here on earth for years.

A married father of three, he will be missed.

I love Santa Claus, 45759!

This has been the best Christmas season for me in more than 30 years and for that I think I have Santa Claus to thank.

You see, I spent three days this summer getting to know Santa Claus. I’d seen Santa Claus before, but just for a quick reportorial glimpse. This year I had a good long look. I became friendly with Santa Claus and I discovered just how wonderful Santa Claus can be.

Of course, I’m not talking about the rotund individual with higher Q ratings than popes, president-elects or do-gooder American Idol champs.

I’m talking about the town, not the individual.

Santa Claus, Indiana, 47579.

The small town is just north of the Ohio River and just a couple miles from the Spencer County boyhood home of Abraham Lincoln.

I’ve known about Santa Claus since 1996 when I did a crackerjack on-site investigation of the town for National Enquirer.

I wrote about how the tiny town of just 1,800 or so merry souls goes crazy for Christmas every day of the year. Residents live on streets named Mistletoe Drive, Candy Cane Lane and Arctic Circle. It has the magnificent Holiday World amusement park themed to celebrate the seasons.

I learned how the Santa Claus post office goes from handling about 3,000 letters a day to more than 50,000 with more than 500,000 gaining the “Santa Claus, Ind.,” postmark throughout the season.

As there hadn’t been much press on the town up to then, the story became a minor national sensation with wire story follow-ups and various TV shows doing cheerful segments on the midwest Santa Claus.

I followed up with travel stories and a couple of pieces about the Christmas Lake Golf Course there (feature writers, take note: lots of great year-round stories in Santa Claus). But it wasn’t until this year that I finally accepted yearly invitations to return to learn more about Santa Claus.

I think we’re going to go back every year now.

It was that wonderful.

We stayed at Santa’s Lodge and immersed ourselves in Holiday World and Splashin’ Safari. It instantly became our favorite amusement park on the planet. Three of its rollercoasters have been rated by Amusement Today magazine as being in the world’s top 12 with The Voyager being no. 1. The water park was superb fun.

Think Santa Claus is just generous at Christmas? Think again.

At Holiday World, they give away for free all day all the soft drinks you can guzzle. No catch. If you’re so inclined, you can drink large Pepsi or Mountain Dew until your teeth rot right out of your gums.

In a day when we’re gouged $1.50 for bottles of tepid water and $4.50 for single servings of ballpark pop, the gesture staggered us. Park spokeswoman Paula Werne said other guests are just as thunderstruck by the policy. “After we started giving away free soda, the number of petty service-related complaints dropped to zero,” she said. “People are just thrilled they can enjoy a refreshing Pepsi product for free.”

It’s amazing. They do the same with SPF 30 sun screen. Unattended lotion and soda oasises are scattered liberally throughout the park.

As someone who’s been steadily trending toward curmudgeon bordering on crank ever since he turned 12, I didn’t think there’d be much that would lurch me back toward the ranks of the cuddly sentimentalists.

But the 2008 Christmas season has been a joy. I haven’t had one episode of snarling rage over crass commercialism, traffic or rampant greed. I'm at peace with my fellow man.

Maybe it’s my own darling family. Josie’s 8 and has been angelic throughout the holidays, my ever-tolerant and lovely wife’s been wonderful and -- speaking of Christmas miracles -- little Lucinda, 2, is beginning to embrace the first stumbling specifics of potty training. Dirty diapers may soon be a memory.

Hallelujah.

But, honest, I think Santa Claus had something to do with it. It was such a wonderful visit. The people were so kind and friendly and watching so many happy families left a joyful impression that lingers still.

We’re planning on going back. This year’s the 200th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln’s birth so a visit to Spencer County offers a great historic two-fer, Honest Abe and St. Nick.

Thanks for reading the blog. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. If you or your loved ones are having trouble finding the holiday spirit in your hearts, you might want to try looking in southern Indiana.

That’s where you’ll find Santa Claus.