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

Pirate wins, unruly fans, skinny dipping & other random thoughts

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• A friend of mine -- he was my first editor down in Nashville -- said he thought yesterday’s post was a “great column.” He then amended the compliment and scolded himself for calling it a column, a column being a soon-to-be archaic designation stemming from vertical newspaper layout. I got into writing because I so enjoyed reading Mike Royko’s Chicago Tribune column so I was very pleased. For the record, I usually call these posts, stories or essays and I’m relieved my old editor didn’t so fuss that he’d described the piece as “great.”

• I usually try and go to sleep with one potential blog topic on my mind and let it marinade until dawn. Then I can usually drive to the office in a foggy enough state of mind that I can write the thing in about 90 minutes. Whether it was because we watched about an hour of “Ted” starring Mark Wahlberg and the animated stuffed bear last night or some other reason, I was totally blank this morning. Thus, today’s round-up of various thoughts and news.

• Have you noticed how rarely I write about politics anymore? Maybe it’ll change when the next election heats up, but I became fatigued contributing to so much pointless bickering. And I figured no one on earth clicked onto my blog thinking, “Well, let’s see what Rodell thinks about how Anchor Babies figure into Tea Party immigration reform proposals.” So until I have something unique to say, I’m holding my fire on topics like what to do about Syria. I will say this: I miss it when Henry Kissinger was Secretary of State. Not because I believe he had any special insights. I just liked it when the name of our nation’s top peacemaker began with “Kiss.”

• We still have about 30 minutes left, but “Ted” is a riot. Val and I are loving it.

• As she has joined the swim club, I’m spending a lot of time watching our 12-year-old daughter swim laps. She’s great, already a much more accomplished swimmer than I’ll ever be. Of course, that’s not much of an achievement. I like being in water, but I dislike moving around in water. My favorite thing to do in water these days is sit in a submerged chair about neck-deep with one of those inflatable little life preservers around my glass to keep my bourbon from spilling. My favorite thing to do in water used to be skinny dipping with naked college girls. I realize that’ll never happen again. But I guess that’s the life trade-off I get in exchange for being incrementally bestowed with all this lousy wisdom.

• Apple fans are geeked over the release of new iPhones. Me, I won’t care until Apple makes an iPhone that cures all the cancers I’m convinced they cause.

• Lots of nice sentiments on-line and in the papers about the Pirates snapping a 20-year losing streak in Texas last night. I kind of feel like the team does. This is nothing to go too crazy over -- and certainly nothing to get arrested over. That’s what happened to one Pittsburgh fan who ran out onto the field after last night’s victory. The paper said nothing about his age, level of sobriety, etc. But I’ll wager he was young, drunk and stupid.

• Having said that, it’s probably a safe bet that sometime in the next year or so that drunk young idiot will get to enjoy a moonlit skinny dip with some college girls so he’s at least got that going for him.

• At this very instant, my blog stats page says there are 27 people in the U.S. reading my blog; 10 in France; 6 in Russia; 2 each in Brazil and China; and one each in Sri Lanka, Taiwan and the United Arab Emirates. The stats page is highly unreliable, but if even half of that is true then I find it very cool.

• Instead of writing about Syria, federal budget showdowns or immigration reform, in the last month or so my blog topics have included human bladder size, trans-oceanic tugs-of-war, corn puns, and Hilary Swank’s nipples. Take that, George Will.

• I disparaged that Bucco fan for running on the field last night, but I’m always chagrined they never show it on the news. I swear, watching a drunken fan trying to elude paunchy middle-aged field security guards is as entertaining as anything I’ve ever seen actual athletes do. Makes me glad they’ll always serve beer at ballgames.

• We had a tragedy in Pittsburgh Monday. A 50-year-old city police officer shot and killed his life-long best buddy in a silly bar dispute. The details are yet to emerge, but I can guarantee you it was utterly pointless. It makes me glad that me and my buddies never fight over pointless crap. And that most of my buddies keep their guns in their glove boxes.

• As I said, we still have about 30 minutes left in “Ted.” It’s uproarious fun. But if in the last half hour either or Ted or John pulls out a pistol and shoots the other I’ll be very disappointed.

• Looking for a day-brightening nostalgic listen? Hit “play” on Boz Scaggs’ “Silk Degrees” from 1976. “Lowdown,” “Lido Shuffle,” “Georgia,” “It’s Over” -- what a great catchy collection. 

• The very best fan on the field incident I can ever recall was in 1986 and it didn’t even involve a field. Then 20-year-old Darren Crowder  stole the pace car at NASCAR’s superspeedway in Talladega, Alabama -- and drove it for a one-lap joy ride with speeds up to 100 mph. I don’t know how he thought it was going to end, but here’s what I remember happening: He crossed the finish line, safely slowed to a halt, smiled and put his arms up outside the window like he was saying, “It’s all good. I was just having fun. No biggie!” Then these five or six enormous Bubbas pulled him from the vehicle and began delivering one of the most savage and methodical beatings I’ve ever seen. It was like they’d choreographed each punch. They were like railroad gandydancers taking timed turns driving the spike into granite. Had I not known the doomed recipient of the pounding was a NASCAR fan, I’d have been appalled.

• 8days2amish tweet of the week: “Told 7 year old if you squeeze coal hard enough it’ll turn into a diamond. She squeezed a piece so hard she almost made a turd.”

• Thanks for reading. There’s lots of encouraging evidence that people everywhere are enjoying the blog and referring it to friends and neighbors. There’s just no evidence it’s happening in Sri Lanka, Taiwan or the United Arab Emirates.

Related . . .

17 topics, one post, zero money: Scattergun bloggin’

Mel Gibson & other random thoughts

Happy National Nude Recreation Week!

Ordering justice for Murdoch

John Bercow is the break-out star of the swirling Rupert Murdoch/News Corp. phone hacking scandal.

He’s the British Speaker of the House of Commons and the man the cameras focus on when they want to show the tumult the scandal’s wreaking on British government, media, law and society.

Bercow, 48, has been in the spotlight for bellowing, “ORD-da! ORD-da! ORD-da! ord-DA! ORRRD-daaaa!”

The first time I saw him shouting the only word I’ve ever heard him utter, I thought, “That man would be brilliant in a restaurant that discourages diners from dawdling over menu options.”

“ORD-da!”

His cadence and phrasing are almost Dylanesque. Like Dylan, he can say the same two syllable-word five times and make each redundant syllable sound distinct.

Bercow’s a father of three, but I have to wonder about his parenting skills. He’s got the shouting part down perfect, but the kiddies in parliament pay him no mind.

I haven’t seen anyone so ineffectual at crowd control since Lt. Frank Drebin tried to clear sidewalk gawkers after the runaway gas truck slammed into the fireworks factory: “Move along! Nothing to see here! Nothing to see!”

Of course, there’ll be plenty to see in parliament today.

We’re witnessing the first act in a corporate de-pantsing the likes the world has never seen.

No one else on earth matches Murdoch’s level of pernicious and insidious influence on world opinion. He oversees a global corporate culture that runs on ridicule, bullying and hateful vituperation.

Without Fox News, the world would never have heard of freedom fries, terrorist fist jabs, birther movements or the $3 trillion Iraq War.

And it’s all served up with a smug sneer, the kind that let the Murdochs think this 9-year-old phone hacking scandal was behind them.

It is anything but.

“A week ago people thought this scandal might lap at Murdoch’s feet, but the waters are now over his head and his empire is at risk of submerge,” says journalist Michael Wolff, author of “The Man Who Owns the News: Inside the Secret World of Rupert Murdoch.”

“The name Murdoch now stands for something very clear -- you hack people’s phones. And now the Murdoch brand is irrevocably tainted.”

With his reach into every level of conservative government, some are already calling this Britain’s Watergate.

That means it has the potential to be America’s Watergate II.

You could argue Murdoch’s done more to promote the conservative Republican brand in American politics than even the sainted Ronald Reagan.

Murdoch first appeared on my radar screen in 1984 when Mike Royko, the great Chicago columnist (and reason I became a writer), quit the Chicago Sun-Times after Murdoch bought it saying, “No self-respecting fish would be wrapped in a Murdoch paper. His goal is not quality journalism. His goal is power for Rupert Murdoch, political power.”

More than 27 years later, Forbes Magazine ranked him the 13th most powerful person in the world.

The unraveling begins today. Today for the first time, the Murdochs will be on the record and fact-checked in ways he’d never get on bootlick shows like Fox & Friends.

Cutthroat competitors and every enemy the Murdochs ever made -- and they are legion -- now have an opportunity to exact a revenge that’s long simmered.

And all those unblinking fair and balanced news consumers are about to learn what the rest of us have known for a long, long time.

Mr. Murdoch is of order.

And about out of time.