Posey Magazine May/June 2013 by J. Bruce Baumann

A magazine for and about

Posey County, Indiana

“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein “Our chief want in life is somebody who shall make us do what we can.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882) “Be happy with what you have and are, be generous with both, and you won’t have to hunt for happiness.” — William E. Gladstone “Everything will be alright in the end, and if it is not... it’s not the end.” — The Best Marigold Hotel

Cover story Clement Biddle Penrose VII is a man who truly lives up to his family name, a name he can trace back to the Magna Carta. Instead of being called a “jack of all trades,” Clem could be called a “jack of all arts”—musician, songwriter, sculptor, and painter. In fact, he at one time even designed sets for the New Orleans Opera. Today, although still pursuing his own projects, he spends his time promoting the New Harmony Artists Guild, an organization he hopes will encourage both children and adults to discover and expand their artistic talents and dreams.. Special thanks to the following for their help Joseph Poccia

“You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight.” — Elizabeth Gilbert “If I had my life to live over again, I would ask that not a thing be changed, but that my eyes be opened wider.” — Jules Renard “The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.” — Flora Whittemore

BUSY I

rarely buy sweatshirts with slogans emblazoned on them. I have no desire to be a strolling billboard advertising someone else’s ideas. But some years ago I made an exception. I came across a white sweatshirt with images of ants crawling all over the back and sleeves with a few marching their way onto the front. There they joined a quotation from Henry David Thoreau — “It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is: What are we busy about?” I found the query so compelling that I couldn’t resist buying the shirt. Since then, I have rarely worn it without ending up in a conversation about the sentiment. And I have gone in search of what other sages have had to say about the topic. As you might guess, they come down on both sides of the question about the wisdom of being busy. Socrates cautioned, “Beware the barrenness of a busy life.” It may come as no surprise

that Thomas Jefferson said, “Determine never to be idle...It is wonderful how much may be done if we are always doing.” My personal favorite is Confucius who suggested, “No matter how busy you may think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.” All of these thinkers seem to assume that the state of being busy is the direct result of a choice or choices that a person makes. With that I wholeheartedly agree. I think it is imperative that one not lead a life by default. Life is too short to be too busy to enjoy the simple pleasures of beauty and peace and friendship. It has been said that the condition of being perpetually busy is a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, so

completely booked, so in demand every hour of the day. But finding meaning in life takes time. It requires that you stop scurrying about and take the time to see life whole and make the unexpected connections that make it meaningful. If you take time to think about a friend’s invitation for a leisurely lunch, instead of saying “I don’t have time,” try saying “it’s not a priority” and see how that feels. Changing our language reminds us that time is a choice. If we don’t like how we’re spending an hour, we can choose differently. A cautionary note from someone who wishes she had thought this way sooner before age and arthritis caught up with her: Do the things that you’ve always dreamed of doing now. Seneca perhaps said it best, “There is nothing the busy man is less busied with than living: there is nothing that is harder to learn.” —Charlene Tolbert Contributing Editor Posey Magazine She can be contacted at: poseymagazine@aol.com

POSEY POSTCARD

“The beauty and mystery of this world only emerges through affection, attention, interest and compassion . . . open your eyes wide and actually see this world by attending to its colors, details and irony.” — Orhan Pamuk

ÂŠ Photographed by J. Bruce Baumann

CLEMENT BIDDLE PENROSE VII

LIFE AFTER LIFE AFTER LIFE

BY LINDA NEAL REISING

With his immaculately groomed beard

and soft-spoken drawl as Southern as sweet tea, Clem Penrose could easily be cast as a country gentleman in a Civil War epic. Even his name, Clement Biddle Penrose VII, sounds like a character from a novel. His grandmother warned him that his moniker would be “a lot to live up to.”

Penroseâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s kitchen doubles as his studio in the New Harmony Artists Guild building

ÂŠ Photographed by J. Bruce Baumann

After all, one of his relatives, a Clement Biddle Penrose from Pennsylvania, was a signer of the Louisiana Purchase. However, by the age of 12, Clem was already sure of what he wanted to be —an artist. “When you choose to be an artist, you choose between being a property owner, a man of wealth, or being committed to a dream, which might not be lucrative.” Clem chose the dream, one he continues to feed today in his role as the creative director of the New Harmony Artists’ Guild. Clem grew up in New Orleans, but his grandparents on both sides of his family lived in the St. Louis area. His mother’s family, including his grandmother and three greataunts, had at one time lived in New Harmony and were related to the Owen family. Clem, although a direct descendant of Robert and David Dale Owen, never visited the town when he was young. He was familiar with it only through the stories he heard and the sketchbook drawings that had been completed by David Dale Owen. When he looked at the bucolic scenes he thought, “What a paradise! My visions of New Harmony were always filled with utopian concepts and altruistic ideals.” In 1967, Penrose’s last great-aunt died. While at her funeral in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, he met Kenneth Dale Owen for the first time, and the two became friends. Per the instructions of his late great-aunts, a large number of family items, including furniture and art, were to be returned to New Harmony after their deaths. Therefore, Clem found himself driving a U-Haul full of family treasures back to New Harmony, where they remain today in the McClure House. Clem’s Clem Penrose admits that balancing art and music is difficult. The two, art and music, are almost like twin siblings vying for his attention.

The Banjo Man, c. 2000

life was to take many detours before he would find himself back in utopia. After high school, Penrose joined the National Guard during the time of the Bay of Pigs scare. Everyone, including Clem himself, assumed he would never go to college because, although obviously bright and talented, he couldn’t pass the required standardized tests. However, his Aunt Betty encouraged him, and he soon enrolled in Pearl River Jr. College, where he graduated with honors. He then moved on to the University of Southern Mississippi, where he not only earned a BFA in painting, sculpture, and art history, but was also named to the Who’s Who of American Colleges and Universities, maintaining a 3.75 grade point average. “My parents didn’t have the money to pay, so everybody—my grandparents, my sister, my aunt—would put up a few bucks here and there. So many people were counting on me, so I did very well.” He eventually went on to earn an MFA from Penn State University. After nearly seven years of college, devoted to becoming a teacher, Clem decided that he did not want to become an educator. “What I really wanted to do was to go out into the world and be an artist.” Starting in 1969, he spent the next five years hitchhiking, his mural brushes and guitar in tow. “I’d get a job playing in some bar somewhere and end up painting a mural.” Finally, he simply burned out and returned to New Orleans to regroup. Then in 1974, Jane Owen asked Penrose to come to New Harmony. “Aunt Jane invited me. She said, ‘You must come to New Harmony.’ She sent the bus fare. I cut my hair, bought a sport coat, a pair of slacks, dress shirt, and tie. I kept my cowboy boots and my guitar. The bus ticket cost thirty-five bucks.” When he arrived, Clem found himself in a swirl of restoration and renovation. He became the fifth person hired by Historic New Harmony to assist an architect who was working on a number of undertakings. “I did drawings of the storefronts on downtown Main Street. The architect needed a draftsman. I had an assistant, and I’d climb a ladder, rip out a façade, measure, and draw.” During the second year, Penrose also started

Bobâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Place, c. 2011

The Hand of God, c. 2009

The Orchard House, c. 2007 taking pictures of all the projects taking place, and he created a library of 20,000 slides. Although he seemed in his element, drawing and playing music on weekends at the Yellow Tavern and Sass & Poss, Clem decided to leave New Harmony in 1976 when his father was diagnosed with serious heart problems. Once again, he found himself without a means of support. While working for Historic New Harmony, he had purchased a van. One day after returning to New Orleans, he happened into a van shop to “window shop for a window” because he couldn’t afford to buy one. The owner of the store noticed some paintings in the van that Clem had done and asked if he could airbrush a scene on the side of a van. Penrose assured

him that he could even though he had never done so before. He went to Sears with his parents’ credit card, purchased a compressor, and was on his way to painting his first airbrushed masterpiece—a three-headed dragon on a green Fiat. What Clem didn’t realize was that he would have an audience of 20 to 30 people. “This was a performing art. I wasn’t ready for this,” he admits. However, that airbrush experience would eventually bring him back to Posey County. After the death of his father, Clem was invited to bring a series of his airbrush paintings to New Harmony for an exhibit at the Athenaeum. It was here that he met his second wife, having been married and divorced many years before. He and his new wife settled in Mount Vernon where they lived

A pastel portrait of a woman that Penrose started that will eventually be painted in oil. His style conveys both realism and richness.

Posey County Road, c. 2010

Today, stepping inside the headquarters of the Guild, a visitor can see evidence of Clem’s love for both visual art and music. for 17 years before divorcing. At about this same time Clem began formulating ideas for the New Harmony Artists’ Guild. He went to New Orleans where he worked on the project for six months and where friends and family gave him practical advice about how to write a proposal for the guild. It wasn’t until he traveled to Houston to complete a commissioned sculpture of Jane Owen’s granddaughter Abigail that all of the pieces started falling into place. With the help of Annie Owen, the daughter of Jane Owen, and TALA, Texas Accountants and Lawyers for the Arts, Clem was able to file a 30-page document required by the federal government to create the New Harmony Artists’ Guild, Inc., a public charitable organization, designed to introduce the arts to children and adults who might not have the opportunity otherwise. The hardest part was developing a three-year budget, but he was able to complete it in one weekend, and the project was approved in an astoundingly short time period—20 days. Clem’s next stage of life, or “incarnation” as he likes to say, was about to begin. Today, stepping inside the headquarters of the Guild, a visitor can see evidence of Clem’s love for both visual art and music. The walls are covered with his paintings and prints, but below them a variety of musical instruments wait to be picked up and strummed, plucked, or drummed. Clem admits it can be a difficult balancing act. “It’s hard to find discipline and time to paint when playing. I have to cut one off to do the other.” The two, art and music, are almost like twin siblings vying for his attention. Clem’s musical tastes have been influenced by the Deep South of his youth. “I remember going to a black church and

Once asked if he could play some Willie Nelson, he responded, ‘Me and Willie got an agreement. I don’t play any of his stuff, and he won’t play any of my stuff.’

Howard Clark, a musician, listens to his old friend talk about art and music. listening to the music and thinking, ‘Man, this is as good as it gets.’” The Delta blues singers also shaped his music, including a street performer named Babe Stovall who played an old resonator guitar that he had painted green. And of course country music also helped shape Clem as a musician. Today, he mainly plays his own compositions on guitar and harmonica. “People ask, ‘Can you play anything by Willie Nelson?’ I say, ‘Me and Willie got an agreement. I don’t play any of his stuff, and he won’t play any of my stuff.’” Then, of course, there is the visual art. Clem just completed four murals and 10 pieces of paintings on objects, such as lamps. He feels, at the age of 70, that “some of the best work I’ve ever done was done this year.” However, he’s also quick to admit that he’s always most proud of the last project he’s

done, “Or the next one,” he adds with a smile. It’s easy to see why Clement Biddle Penrose VII has been described as a bona fide Renaissance man, and he tends to agree with that assessment. “I feel that way. From what I know, the definition of a Renaissance man is a person who is called to paint, sculpt, write, play music, and I do all of that. I feel very fortunate and blessed that I have gifts that at times can be very difficult and confusing, but they were given for a purpose…I am blessed.” A Posey County resident since 1980, Linda Neal Reising lives in the historic “Cale House,” where she writes fiction and poetry, as well as fending off rowdy raccoons and voracious Virginia creeper. She can be contacted at: poseymagazine@aol.com.

Poetry Summer Ants The unexpected knocking on the door this hot summer morning reveals to me a man in a St. Louis Cardinals’ hat, blue, and a green “MASH” T-shirt with the red cross just like on those war ambulances. He is armed with a metal canister and hose. And, nice as could be, says, “I found your ants for ya.” My ants. These, a gift, lost now found. “I just want you to know they may get worse before they get better. Right now they’re trapped. But they’ll come ’cross where I sprayed and then they’ll lick their legs and die.” Now these are little ants. Kabir, the Indian mystic poet says You can hear the bells of God ringing on the anklets of the ant. I want to ask them before they cross over not to stick out their little tongues, not to lick their legs. My spirit, however, like yours, is not refined enough to do that, to speak such delicate language. — Duncan Newcomer

Posey Portrait

Jonalee Jones, from Stewartsvile, working the posies at Compton’s Flower Patch

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

Feathers/By Sharon Sorenson Want to draw more birds

to your yard? The birds themselves can teach you how. During spring migration, most of us see more birds than during any other time. For a few weeks almost anywhere in Posey County, rosebreasted grosbeaks show off their colors, Swainson’s thrushes enrich the morning chorus, and multiple wood warblers flit through the canopy. Then they’re gone. But indigo buntings, having arrived with the grosbeaks, nest in Posey County. So do summer and scarlet tanagers and a few colorful warblers. Wouldn’t it please the eye (and ear) to have them in or near the yard? Creating better birdfriendly habitat begins by

Baltimore orioles love locust tree blossoms

A gray catbird dines on mulberries

ÂŠ Photograph by Charles Sorenson

An eastern bluebird swallows holly berries whole

ÂŠ Photograph by Charles Sorenson

Indigo buntings nest in Posey County, preferring brushy grasslands

ÂŠ Photograph by Charles Sorenson

A summer tanager enjoys the pleasure of a mulberry tree

And how many birds do we see in well manicured, chemically treated lawns? None.

learning which birds prefer what plants. Think about it: Birds are irrevocably tied to the plants around them for food, shelter, nest sites, and nest materials—everything elemental to a bird’s life. So, birds check yards not so much for feeders as for plants—all kinds of plants, large and small, those that produce nectar (and the bugs the nectar attracts), berries, or seed. Choosing plants for your yard, however, is complicated by the fact that different birds prefer different habitat. Some like shrubby unmowed grasslands; others choose forest edges; some favor dense conifers; some prefer shrubs and weedy patches. Watching birds we hope to attract, however, teaches us what they like. So venture out and watch multiple habitats. Go early. Migrants have traveled all night. At dawn, they drop down to feed and rest for the day before taking to wing again at dusk. As a result, early morning yields best birding. Listen for unusual songs, track down the source, and note the habitat. Then mimic that habitat in your backyard. For instance, over the past weeks, I’ve watched scarlet tanagers and rose-breasted grosbeaks frequent tulip poplar trees, enjoying the blossoms’ nectar and bugs the nectar attracts. As nectar lovers, Baltimore orioles also love tulip poplar blossoms, but they readily feed as well in our oaks and black locusts, also in bloom. Magnolia warblers, yellow-breasted chats, and red-eyed vireos seem drawn solely to the locusts. And among them, a trio of flycatchers—least, yellow-breasted, and Acadian flycatchers—dart about, also in hot pursuit of bugs the locust nectar attracts. The great-crested flycatcher, however, prefers tall trees and darts after bugs from forest edge. A gray catbird sings daily from the thicket along our back property fence, an area we quit mowing about fifteen years

ago. Native grape vines now wrap through downed sugar maple branches and climb an old black cherry tree. A native red mulberry tree came up, “planted” by a bird that enjoyed someone else’s berries, and now offers fruits galore. And brambles reign supreme. Catbird paradise! Common yellowthroats pop up from the low tangles of our wild blackberry patch. But they also explore a monster brush pile formed with this year’s apple-tree pruning. The brambles and brush pile share two characteristics that attract secretive birds: they offer low-to-the-ground dense cover, and they are largely impenetrable by hawks and some other predators. What do these birds teach us? They like native plants—tulip poplar, oak, black locust, black cherry, red mulberry, wild blackberries. Native plants attract birds because they and their blossoms host native bugs. Result? Bird magnets. Many migrants prefer upper canopy cover, so nectar-producing trees draw more birds than shrubby nectar plants. And secretive species demand dense cover. If dense cover also harbors bugs, birds hit the jackpot. And how many birds do we see in well manicured, chemically treated lawns? None. A watchful eye during early morning walks will teach you more.

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.

there had been cable television and the Discovery Channel in 1884, Posey County undoubtedly would have been deluged with thrill seekers and reporters searching for the “Wild Man of Lost Bend.” Even without modern communications, the story created quite a sensation. For several weeks, residents from the Lost Bend area of Pigeon Creek reported sightings of a wild creature. The testimonies were eerily similar. Many described the being as half-human, half-animal. Just as many people today roll their eyes and scoff at the mention of Bigfoot, some people not living in the area attributed the stories to vivid imaginations or a mild form of mass hysteria. But Posey County residents of the Lost Bend region were convinced that what they were seeing was real, and they were terrified. These citizens would soon find out they were justified in being afraid. In early November, a Mr. Robbins, whose first name is lost to history, was walking through his cornfield with three of his hired hands. They came to a sudden halt when they saw, lying before them, the creature that appeared to be fast asleep. The peculiarlooking being was covered in hair. Mr. Robbins gingerly approached the slumbering beast, at which point it awakened, grabbed a stout cudgel lying nearby, and struck Robbins

on the head. Quickly, the farm hands jumped into action and grabbed the creature from behind. Using all of their strength, they were able to subdue him and tie him up securely. They then wasted no time transporting him to the New Harmony jail. According to newspaper articles of the period, it was difficult to determine whether the hair-covered prisoner was male or female. Although exhibiting unusual strength, the creature also displayed “some rather dainty qualities.” Its eyes were described as being “peculiarly shaped, being slightly oblique.” Because the eyes were so closely set together, they gave the appearance of being one eye to any person standing even a few feet away. Communication with the captive was hampered by the fact that the prisoner seemed unable to hear or to speak. The authorities were at a loss as to what to do with the “Wild Man.” Within a week, news of the capture had spread. The “Wild Man of Lost Bend” became a tourist attraction. Groups of visitors from surrounding communities began gathering at New Harmony to catch a glimpse of the now-famous beast. Undoubtedly, families, complete with children in tow, brought their picnic lunches and created a holiday around a visit to the jail, almost as if the circus had come to Posey County.

Finally, on Thursday, January 8, 1885, the “Wild Man of Lost Bend” was transported from the New Harmony jail to the Posey County poor asylum in Poseyville. Authorities had determined that the “creature” was indeed a human being “of unknown age, deaf, dumb and nearly blind.” According to a newspaper account, the man “clothed in rags, hair streaming in wild disorder…his face covered with long bristles, hatless and without shoes, with frozen feet hobbling through the snow was giving all appearance of being insane.” Witnesses standing nearby were gripped with fear but also relieved that the “Wild Man” was being institutionalized. With the gift of hindsight, and perhaps a higher degree of education and awareness, we present-day citizens of Posey County can look back and realize the “Wild Man of Lost Bend” was not someone to be displayed like a carnival sideshow attraction, but simply an individual in need of compassion and services that were not available in this area at that time. However, to those who were alive at the time, the “Wild Man” was no doubt elevated to mythical status, becoming the subject of innumerable stories told around late-night, Posey County campfires. — By Linda Neal Reising

SPRING FEVER

“It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want — oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” —Mark Twain

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 REFLECTING

friend of mine died a while back, and when told that his illness was terminal he said, “But I have so much more to do.” Lately, I’ve given a lot of thought to what it must feel like to die. I suppose my age has a lot to do with that, but I’m sure that the world we live in today contributes. It’s not my mother’s world, for sure. Hers was a simpler time. Today we’re poisoning our food supply, the air we breathe, and the water we drink. These are the basics for living a long and healthy life. Add anger and worry and they take their toll on the body, too. Like many of my friends, I check out the obituaries on a daily basis, looking to see if I’ve moved up in the line. My high school class vicepresident died this year, after a long illness. He was my age. I know it’s a morbid way to check your standing,

but I remember my mother and grandmother doing it, too. My wife died last year, leaving me to grieve and wonder. Wonder if my life was worth living. The answer, of course, is yes. It hasn’t been easy, but it has come.

Friends keep asking how I’m doing. I kept saying, “fine,” even when I wasn’t. I’m learning how to feed myself, pay my bills on time, attend to the animals, and be ready to laugh when funny sneaks up on me. I’ve rejoined the world. I take pleasure in new friends. I can again see life with an open mind. Saying “fine” is no longer just a shot from the lip. I’m learning to love what I have and what I might have. I find joy and beauty in things I used to pass by without notice. I can see with new eyes, laugh at myself, and appreciate old items, like me, that only need to be primed to come to life. This magazine is approaching the end of its third year. I’ve considered giving it up, but I’ve found new pleasure in Posey, so we’ll continue. Oh, some days it’s still hard to get out of bed. But, eventually I do, because there is so much more to do.

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

“The artist brings something into the world that didn’t exist before, and he does it without destroying something else.” —John Updike, writer (1932-2009)

Donnie Martin’s last hummingbirds fly away

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