Pre-Valentines Day Thoughts ...

It is just three days until Valentine's day.  As the years pass, you tend to forget about things like Valentine's day gifts and celebrations and that is kind of a shame.  Like everything else in your life, love takes more work and more attention as you get older.  I was reminded this morning how lucky I am to have married my childhood sweetheart.  We literally grew up together in so many ways.  Happy Valentine's day dear.

A Rat Pack Saturday Night

The Rat Pack held its monthly soiree' at Roger and Maddy Harmon's home last night.  We had agreed to cook at our house and transport the food.  We would have entertained at our place but our dining area is so small that six adults really crowd each other.

The day was, to put it politely, INTERESTING while the evening was pure unadulterated fun.  Sheila and I started by going out early to pick up a few items we had missed the night before including freshly dressed chickens at the local meat market.
During our rounds, we passed a hole in the wall mex place that serves champurra all day long on Saturday. Sheila had seen the signs and had to have some thinking it was just rich Mexican hot chocolate.  She came back to the car with two thirty two ounce styrofoam cups of the stuff.  The second she got into the car with it, I smelled something that both triggered ancient memories and turned my stomach.  As soon as I pulled the lid off the cup, I recognized the smell.  Boiling corn hog mash.  Champurra is made by boiling cornmeal, sugar and chocolate, stirring it constantly.  It is quite nourishing but for gringos an acquired taste at best.  I chose not to acquire the taste.  I couldn't get past the olofactory associations.

We got home and cooked all afternoon, carefully timing the start of each dish to end at 5:45, the target time we had chosen to leave the house and drive to the Harmons and still have fresh, hot food when we got there.    It got kind of testy in our kitchen after a while.

But, the beans were done on time and came out perfect.  Same for the collard greens.  We started frying chicken at 4:45 and at 5:45 the last piece was coming out of the oil.  Everything but the potatoes was fresh and steaming hot when we served it at the Harmons.  The menu was skillet fried chicken, pinto beans, collard greens, oven fried potatoes and cornbread.  It was darn good if I do say so myself, one of those ethnic meals designed to get you back in touch with your inner redneck.

Maddy outdid herself with a chocolate cheesecake that was sinfully delicious.  Roger had provided a magnum of Blackberry Mad Dog and kept rounds of the official drink of the Rat Pack, Champipple, always available. For those of you who are too young to remember Red Foxx, Champipple is the poor person's equivalent of a wine spritzer made with sweet, cheap wine like Mogen David.  It is actually quite good in a naughty soda pop kind of way.

After dinner, we settled in with a pot of coffee and played a totally insane game of Apples to Apples that lasted until way past everybody's normal bedtime.  There were plenty of jokes around the table and much good-natured foolishness.  A good time was had by all.

Friday Night In Tulsa

Our daughter Michelle called Friday and asked if we would like to go out to dinner that evening.  After much  texting between mother and daughter we wound up at Chili's at 51st and Harvard.

I was not expecting much out of the meal and was pleasantly surprised.  The Chili's Chicken Crispers were actually not bad and at a price of two adult meals plus a shared appetizer, it was a actually a pretty good value.  They even managed a pretty good guacamole and I am a guacamole snob having been spoiled by the fresh made daily stuff served at the real mex places up here in my barrio.

Little Ben was fussy and had to be fed in the middle of the meal.  But, he was also terminally cute.  We chatted a while and generally made a nice little evening of it.

A Quiet Little Birthday

Yesterday was a strange day.  I spent a goodly portion of it sitting in a doctor's office while Sheila had a routine colonoscopy.   I had an appointment later in the afternoon with some really nice people.  A nice, easy, low stress legal matter.

During the appointment, I received a text message from Sheila's sister saying that her computer had bit the dust. By this time, it was late afternoon.  So, Sheila and I drove to Broken Arrow and fixed her sister's computer.

By the time the computer (and operator) were sorted out and instructions on a new semi-smartphone had been given, it was dinner time.  We decided to go to dinner someplace in the 71st street, Woodland Hills Mall corridor.  Since it was my birthday, I chose.  I chose Carrabas.  As we walked in, Sinatra tunes were playing on outside.  At Sheila's suggestion, we danced a step or two right there on the sidewalk before we went in.

The meal was a mixed bag.  The bruschetta was disappointing.  Bruschetta should be fresh and tangy.  The tomatoes and basil should the be the stars.  This bruschetta tasted like it had been marinated for several weeks and was laced with chunks of mozzerela.  It was anything but fresh or appetizing.  Even the toast left something to be desired.  Too much olive oil.

The entrees were great .... but small.  It seems there is no happy medium in restaurants these days.  Based upon our experience with gigantic entrees at other Italian restaurants we both ordered the small portions. Well, they were just that, small.  Very small.  Kind of stingy actually. I had the chicken marsala. It was great.  Maybe the best in town.  About two ounces more would have been even better.  Sheila had the chicken Bryan.  It was also fabulous.

We had passed a new DQ on the way.  That had really excited Sheila who is a DQ fanatic.  So, instead of having my usual black coffee and a couple of bites of tiramisu, we drove back down the street to DQ for desert.  I had a child's cone and Sheila had the biggest, prettiest soft serve cone I have ever seen.

As birthdays go, I wouldn't call this an exciting one.  But, as you age, excitement is not everything.  Sheila's tests went well.  We had a chance to visit with her sister for a while and do something nice for her.  And then, we had a nice dinner.  All told, not a bad day.

New Years Day 2013

Sheila is becoming quite the Southern Cook these days. This was our lunch, an authentic "hoppin john" made from black eyed peas, collard greens, smoked meat and other veggies and spices. She served it with jalapeno-cilantro cornbread and sweet tea. It was fabulous.

-----------------------

Today, most of us will eat black eyed peas "for good luck." It is a tradition in our house that we eat the old southern staple called "Hoppin' John" which is made of black eyed peas rice and other vegetables. But, most people don't know WHY southerners do this.

That great humanitarian Abraham Lincoln ordered General William Tecumseh Sherman (a vicious racist btw) to burn his way across the South until he reached the sea. His orders were to not only seize military objectives but to also burn cities, towns, farms, homes and crops as he went. He was ordered to kill livestock, steal foodstuffs and literally leave the South starving.

He did this with a vengeance. In that sad winter, the South was starving. But, ignorant Yankees that they were, they did not recognize the food value of black eyed peas and thought they were simply hog fodder. So, they did not destroy the black eyed peas. The South survived that winter on black eyed peas seasoned with a little salt pork and some winter or early spring greens. This was the southern "luck" associated with black eyed peas.

So when you eat your black eyed peas today, you are honoring your southern ancestors who were tough enough to survive on food that the Yankees thought was worthless and in the process remembering the despicable cruelty of your own Federal government when some of it's people resist it.

From Facebook:

Bill Kumpe Sherman's march was not the only instance of Lincoln's use of starvation as a weapon of war. In Ft. Gibson, Oklahoma the Union Cavalry fed their horses corn while the Cherokee women and children outside were being systematically starved because some of their men had joined the Confederate cause. The Cherokee women would follow the cavalry columns at a distance and pick undigested corn kernels from the horse droppings to have something to feed their starving children.

Jim Honea I'm amazed at the cruelty and hatred that comes from war. The deadliest war in American history and we were killing each other. I still don't see how the Union Army could claim any moral high ground. I remember the full name of these New Years Delicacies (we have them throughout the year)---"Black Eyed Cow Peas".

Bill Kumpe:  Jim, if you you get a yen for Oklahoma history do some reading on the civil war in Oklahoma. Fascinating stuff. The Confederacy offered the civilized tribes a far better deal than the Union and they took it and split the tribe in the process. The absolute racism of the Union and particularly Kansans toward the tribes was disgusting. Lincoln ordered a second march to the sea through Oklahoma and Texas. They left a trail of dead troopers all the way back to Ft. Gibson. The Cherokee and Choctaw troops along with I believe the 9th Texas Cav. chewed them to ribbons.

Christmas 2012

We spent Christmas at our daughter Michelle's house here in Tulsa. There was lots of family, lots of gifts and lots of food. We were truly blessed.  But, we were especially blessed by the presence of our first grandchild, Benjamin Robert Schatz.  Little Ben fussed a bit over the commotion, had Christmas dinner on his Mommies chest and then slept through most of the afternoon.

What do you give a grandchild for his first Christmas?  After considerable thought, I gave him a silver coin minted in the year of his birth.  And, I made a collection of my YouTube music recordings so that, if I should pass before he will remember me, he will at least know what his grandfather's voice sounded like.  I never knew my grandfather Kumpe, he died before I was born.  I met my grandfather Burchfield on his deathbed.  I always envied kids who had grandparents.  But, as I held little Ben on Christmas day, I thought of one more thing I could give him, perhaps the best gift I have.  I decided to tell him who he is.

Ben:

Many Americans start their life without knowing anything about their ancestors that came before them.  I know that your Schatz grandparents will do a good job of telling you about your father's family. This is something about your mother's.

You are descended from Otto Kumpe.  He immigrated from Germany during a time when the local kings were selling their young men to the highest bidder as mercenaries in everybody else in Europe's wars.  Some of these men where the Hessian mercenaries the British hired to suppress the American Revolution.  Otto was not one of them.  He immigrated later.  If you have daughters someday, they can join the Daughters of American Revolution.  Your ancestor on my mother's side, Tennessee Barnes, was the daughter of a Revolutionary war soldier.  

If you choose, you can join the Sons of Confederate Veterans.  Otto's sons served his newly adopted country.  Your great-great-great grandfather Edward Kumpe served honorably with Company A of the 6th Arkansas Infantry during the Civil War.  He was captured near the end of the war and paroled.  He then immigrated to Indian Territory where he became a full citizen of the Cherokee Nation. He ran the first stage coach station on the Military Road between Ft. Smith, Arkansas and Ft. Gibson, Oklahoma. The station was located at the foot of a mountain that old maps still call "Krumpe" mountain, after him.  If you choose to become involved in the SCV, I would caution you to choose your company carefully.  Many of these folks are honorable men, serious historians and re-enactors, who are simply trying to preserve their rightful heritage. This is a noble effort.  But, some are not honorable men and they should be avoided.  These men attempt to justify modern prejudices by misuse of their southern heritage and get away with it because the causes and effects of the Civil War were far more complex than modern historians will record.

If you choose, you can also apply for membership in the Military Order of The Stars and Bars (descendants of Confederate Officers) by virtue of your relationship to your collateral ancestor Capt. G.C. Kumpe who served in Leighton's Rangers (Light Cavalry) of the Alabama Volunteer Militia. 

By virtue of Edward Kumpe's Cherokee citizenship, you are a federally recognized member of the Cherokee Nation. The Cherokee Nation that your ancestors immigrated to was not a "tribe" but rather a carefully planned constitutional republic.  Many of the political class of that republic were men of education and wisdom.  They were not savages.  Many were Christian gentlemen who were substantial citizens in their home southern states before the U.S. government forced them to immigrate.  On matters of citizenship, they were not concerned about blood nearly as much as character and ability to serve their country.  You owe no apologies for your light skin and tribal membership. Your ancestors were part of that enlightened class who built a sovereign nation in the wilderness under horrible conditions and were in truth far more civilized than the interlopers that later stole what they had built.  

Your great-great-grandfather, John Kumpe, was an honorable man who suffered much tragedy in his life.  He grew up at the Kumpe stage station on the Oklahoma frontier during the violent and tumultuous times prior to Oklahoma statehood.  Older maps record the location of that stage station at the foot of Kumpe Mountain in Sequoyah County near Gans.  He was born a frontiersman, a cowboy of sorts in his youth. Someday, I hope to show you a picture of him with his horse.  Never let anyone disparage your ancestors for being "cowboys" in the fashion of the Europeans and some pseudo intellectual Americans.  Three generations of your ancestors worked cattle.  It teaches you patience, self-reliance and courage.  It is a hard job that lesser men cannot perform.  Later in life, John was the draymaster for the railroad in Sallisaw, Oklahoma. He was well known and well respected in the community.  He was  born a Cherokee citizen in the independently sovereign Cherokee Republic and died a U.S. citizen in the State of Oklahoma.  

Your great-grandfather William Kumpe, was also an honorable man.  He was a genuine Okie.  His mother, Mae Webb Kumpe, became too ill to care for him when he as an infant and he was raised by his half-Cherokee great aunt Ada and her full blood Cherokee husband, John Miller.  When they lost everything in the Great Depression, they packed what they had left into a Model T pickup truck and drove to California. They made a living of sorts raising livestock in the desert until Uncle John became too sick to work.  William was thirteen at the time.  He drove that Model T pickup from San Diego, California back to Sallisaw, Oklahoma to bring his sick parents home.  The roads were dangerous and he often told me about having to back up the highest mountain passes since the Model T's gravity feed fuel system would not work on steep inclines. Later, while working on the Oklahoma crew of the movie "Grapes of Wrath," 20th Century Fox offered him a permanent (and well paid) job if he would stay with crew as they shot all the back to California.  In his gentle way, Dad told them no thanks, he had already been to California and did not like it.

William Kumpe served with distinction with the 160th Field Artillery of the 45th Infantry Division (Oklahoma National Guard) during World War Two.  General George Patton called it the finest infantry division in the history of the U.S. Army.  William was awarded the Bronze Star for bravery.  I believe it was awarded for something that happened at Anzio. He would never talk about it.  He walked with a limp from a service connected injury and suffered from post traumatic stress disorder but it never stopped him from working hard and doing everything he could to take care of his family.

I am a veteran, a lawyer, a writer and a musician.  I have told you about my father's people.  My mother's people came to Oklahoma late.  They were sharecroppers who managed through sheer determination and great sacrifice to buy their own piece of Oklahoma.  I grew up on a hardscrabble farm/ranch a couple of miles from the old stage station that my great grandfather Edward Kumpe built.  It was a hard life but not necessarily a bad one.  I learned to love the land my ancestors worked so hard for and to respect the dignity of my family and friends who never left it. Do not be ashamed of these country people and their beliefs.  They are far better people than those who disparage them.  

I am a veteran because it was my duty to serve during the Viet Nam War in the same way that all of the Kumpes who came before me served in their generation's war. There was never a question whether I would serve, only when and how.  I served in the Navy and later in the Naval Reserve.  Like my father, I walk with a limp from a service connected injury.  

I am a lawyer because, even though I discovered it late in life, the Kumpes are genetically inclined toward the legal profession.  If you ever do a genealogical search, you will find a high percentage of the Kumpes are attorneys and judges.  I did a lot of things in life before I discovered that my particular personality and intellectual skills found their best fit in the legal profession.  Lately, I have also become licensed as an armed private investigator.  

I am a writer because I choose to be.  I enjoy it.  I inherited that from my mother, Rubye Burchfield Kumpe.  I am  published but no longer submit for publication since the fees are not worth the trouble.

I am a musician because it came naturally to me.  My mother's people were hill folk. Music was as natural to them as breathing.  I learned to play guitar by ear when I was five.  That summer, my uncle Eugene Burchfield, a poetically tragic yet infinitely lovable man, restrung his priceless Gibson mandolin so that it could be chorded something like a guitar and then taught me to "three chord" simple country songs by ear.  I have played, mostly for my own enjoyment, ever since.

There is one more thing you should know.  I am a devout, born again Christian.  For many years, I was an ordained teaching elder.  This too is part of the family heritage. Your Cherokee great aunt many times removed, Ada Miller was a devout Baptist.  She raised your great grandfather William Kumpe in the faith and he remained faithful to it. For most of his life, he was a deacon in the Baptist church and often served as the church's music director.  When I was young, I departed from the faith but when I matured I returned to it.  Though I too did my time in church offices like my father, in later years, my Christian service has consisted mostly of advising the church on matters of law and public policy and defending the faith and the faithful when necessary.

I hope I get to tell you these things when you are old enough to understand them and process them in light of our current culture.  But, if I don't, this blog post should be a start in figuring out  who you are. If I could give you one piece of advice it would be this:  strive to be an honorable man.  Money, position and power mean nothing if you have surrendered your honor to achieve them.  Do not associate with dishonorable men. Legality has nothing to do with morality and honor.  Guard your conscience carefully. Your ancestors have given you a good name.  Strive to preserve it in your generation. 

God bless you Ben.

Your grandfather, 

Bill Kumpe

Here is a postcript from a family member that was posted online about my Great Grandfather Edward Kumpe:

Edward E. Kumpe b. 6-18-1843 Tuscumbia, Ala. d. 2-17-1914 Sallisaw, Okla. buried Duncan cemetery was married 3 times.
Eliza Campbell, 11 July 1867 in the Cherokee Nation - ArGaz, pg 2 col 3, 1867 July 23 issue. March 1876 Eliza Kumpe buried Oakland cemetery, LR, Ar. where many of Edward's Kumpe siblings buried. Wife #2 Liza Childers abt. 1878. Liza b.1859,Indian Territory. Their son Charlie Augustus b. 2-5-1879. Wife #3 Julia Dooley abt. 1888. 1900 Census, they had 4 living children of six. 1930 Census, Julia Kumpe is living with niece, Eliza Nobles.
1930 Census John E. Kumpe(56)b. Ar. Sallisaw with two sons, John H.(19)and Charlie(17). Is John Edward's and Eliza's son? John has a daughter, Eliza, b. 1900.
Is Rafe A. Kumpe Julia's and Edward's son Ralph b. abt.1900? 1930 Census Rafe(30) Anaheim, Calif with May O.
Is Eliza Geo. C. Kumpe's mother? He was born abt. 1871.
Edward was a private in Capital Guards during Civil War. He was Gen. Thomas Hindman's wagoner. Edward was in the battle at Shiloh. He was captured Dec. 31, 1864, Franklin Co., Ala. and paroled Feb. 25, 1865. His name is on the military statue erected in 1911 in front of the Military Museum at MacArthur Park, E. 9th St.,LR, Ar.
1893 Aug. 10, E. E. and Julia Kumpe were Charter Members of Ironton Baptist church, Pul.Co., Ar.
Edward's mother, Lucinda Kumpe died 11-22-1897. Her obit said Edward was living in the Indian Country.
My 12 year old grandfather, John Henry "Jack" Kumpe (my grandfather) and his uncle, Martin Luther Kumpe, were robbed and shot at by a black man at Martin's Ironton store in 1894. Martin died as a result. Gun jammed when fired at Jack. During trial, it came out that black man was revenging his brother who was shot by Edward for stealing corn from his Edward's crib. The black brother recovered.
________________________________________________________

This is a picture of what I believe to be Edward Kumpe's shotgun, perhaps the one used in the incident described above.  It was handed down to my father by his father.

Saturday at the Farm

We went to the farm today.  Sheila and I have a routine that I find very enjoyable.  We get up early and then stop at QuikTrip to top off the tank and get a cup of their excellent coffee.  Then, we swing by the Subway on Admiral for one of their flatbread breakfast sandwiches to eat on the road.

We took the pickup.  This is the first time we had driven it for any distance since getting it back from the shop.  For reasons known only to God I guess, it was quieter, smoother and got better fuel economy.  Body work shouldn't have affected any of that.  It can't be all in my head, I calculated the fuel economy when we got back to Tulsa and filled up again and we got almost 23 mpg, about 4 mpg better than the last trip.

We got to the farm around mid-morning and spent until lunch time straightening out the closet in the front bedroom.  I got inertia while we ate lunch and had to finish a particularly sweet episode of Gunsmoke on ME TV Arkansas before I could get going again.  In the afternoon, I installed a new medicine chest in the bathroom and made and installed a new door for the crawlspace.

About 3:00, we took a drive around the pasture.  I have never seen the grass eaten down that low before.  My tenants cows had even eaten the sage-grass down.  They have to be hungry to eat that stuff.  When my dad was raising cattle, we used to joke about spraying sorghum water on sage-grass to makecows eat it.  Usually, with the weather as warm as this, there is a lot better green grass growing down below the sage that they munch on.  We saw spots of green here and there but it was all nibbled close

The ponds are several feet below their normal level.  I checked my grandmothers old dug well.  I saw the bottom of it bone dry for the first time in my life.  I had seen it muddy a few times but never bone dry.  In normal times, the bottom of that well is usually four of five feet below the water table.  In short, we are in the middle of a drought.  A bad one.  A multi-year, soil's gonna blow away if it don't rain soon drought.

By dinner time, we were passing through Sallisaw and as usual had dinner at Charlie's Chicken.  I don't know exactly how to explain to outsiders that the best meal in town can be found at a place that looks like fast food joint but is actually a first class southern/soul food buffet that serves better than average fried chicken, really good smoked meats and a great selection of sides.  This time they had smoked ribs on the buffet.  While I only sampled one since I don't eat red meat, Sheila enjoyed them thoroughly .... with a lot of sauce.

After dinner, I decided to drive up US 64 for a while instead of just getting on I-40.  As we passed Sallisaw Dam, a mysterious force took hold of the wheel and we wound up parked looking at the old dam and remembering other Saturday evenings.  In honor of those other Saturday nights, I swore I would not move the car until I got a kiss and I mean a real kiss, not just a peck on the cheek.

When we left, I stayed on US-64 until Webbers Falls.  It was very pleasant to just drive through the country, looking at the lights in the farmhouses and taking the drive a little slower.  All in all, it was a good day.