History

On the Road: Discovering Missouri’s 19th-century German communities of faith

Steve · August 13, 2011 · 11 Comments

This is the first in an occasional series of travelogue/photo essays on seeing and experiencing intersections of faith, history and culture — on seeing new and old communities of faith.

cover — "Lasset uns Beten!" 1908, photo by Steve Givens

On Friday, Sue and I drove around the Missouri River Valley of Central Missouri just east of our state capital of Jefferson City, an area settled and farmed largely by 19^th– and 20^th-century German immigrants. They were drawn to the area, in large part, by its fertile river valley and its similarities to their homeland, and the marks they left on the landscape are still present in the cleared and plowed fields, a few old stone buildings, and their churches — both Catholic and Protestant – whose spires spring up from the land as you approach any village or town on the narrow, winding roads. Always, there is a church steeple signaling the existence of a community.

We hit just a few towns on this short road trip. When I see the town of Frankenstein on the map, I know we have to go see it. Besides the intrigue of the name, I have been there before many years ago when I was a child, as friends of our family owned a “country place” not far away up Highway 100 in Osage County. There’s not much to see now in Frankenstein, if there ever was, but its Catholic Church – Our Lady, Help of Christians – is a

Mary1 — Our Lady, Help of Christians, Frankenstein, Mo. Photo by Steve Givens

Mike Eruzione on Fatherhood and Miracles

Steve · July 20, 2011 · 2 Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I was in Chicago for a professional meeting of the Council for the Advancement and Support of Education, where one of the scheduled speakers was Mike Eruzione. Please tell me you know who Mike Eruzione is. Please…

Okay, I realize that not everyone is a sports fan, but Eruzione played a huge role in what is certainly one of the greatest moments in sports history. Ever. In 1980, in the midst of the Cold War when America desperately needed something to believe in, he was the captain of the United States Olympic Hockey Team, back in the day when real amateurs represented our country in a sports world filled with professionals.

Want to hear a good story? Listen to your elders…

Steve · May 31, 2011 · 4 Comments

IMG_8437_2 — Daytona Beach, photo by Steve Givens, June 2011

Out on the beach today, I saw an old guy sitting in a wheelchair, staring out at the surging ocean. The waves off Daytona Beach were crashing loudly just 50 feet out, but by the time they reached the wheels of his chair they were just harmless bubbles and foam. He sat there for some time, and I wondered what was going through his mind.

Likely, he was wondering how it has all come to this – sitting in a chair and staring at the ocean instead of plunging headlong into the oncoming waves. Perhaps he had been a championship swimmer or a surfer dude in the 1950s. Perhaps he stormed a beach in France and can never shake those gruesome memories. No doubt he saw the hard, fit bodies of the young men and women running and playing around him and remembered his own halcyon days of summer. But I’ll never know what he was thinking because I didn’t ask him. I just saw him as “an old guy in a wheelchair.”

The Spirit of a Piece of Land: Nearer My God to Thee

Steve · October 31, 2010 · 2 Comments

Sue and I own a sloping patch of land in central Missouri where we have a small, 50-year-old weekend cabin on the shore of the Lake of the Ozarks, a sprawling, man-made, spider of a body of water, created by the damming of the Osage River back in 1931 and dotted now with houses and jet skis. But it’s a nice quiet getaway, especially this time of year, when the crowds and most of the loud boats have disappeared for the season. It’s our favorite time of year.

The dam created one of the Midwest’s favorite (and most beautiful!) summer playgrounds, but it no doubt took with it the history and culture of those who lived here before, and I do think of that often. What exactly was right here on our little plot before the dam I cannot say. Maybe just a shady corner of a majestic and ancient forest akin to that which still exists as you move in all directions away from the lake, but perhaps more. Maybe someone’s home, someone’s church, someone’s grave.

And before then? Before the coming of the white man? Perhaps where I sit right now typing on my laptop a young tough-skinned Osage Indian crouched in his very first hunt, his bow drawn and his eyes locked on a 16-point buck making its way gingerly through the trees to drink from a sliver of a stream.

The point is this: We don’t really own the land. We are given the blessing of calling bits and pieces of it “home” for a while, but it belongs to the creator and to the lives of all who have touched it and worked it and walked it over the years.

Tim Grimm performing at our house concert series. Photo by Fred Volkmann.

Trapped in History: The Strange Case of Levi Dust

Steve · October 21, 2010 · 3 Comments

“People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.” — James Baldwin

One day back in the mid-1980s, I was walking through the Missouri Historical Society’s History Museum in St. Louis’ Forest Park. On display was an exhibit of paintings by 19^th-century St. Louis artists. They were very nice, I guess. But one painting reached out and grabbed me by the lapels, shook me violently and said, “Pay attention here!” The person portrayed in the painting, Levi Dust, has been with me ever since and has played a key role in several creative endeavors.

The painting, by artist Matthew (Mat) Hastings, showed an older African-American man in the middle of a dirt street, children running around him and tugging at his clothes. In his upraised hand he held a handbell. I was intrigued. What was going on in this picture? I leaned in. How could I not?