IN THE HANDS OF CLOWNS

    “These spirits of these few not withstanding their fatigue, situation, and unallyed thirst, added to the cruel yelling of those bloody monsters, the seed of Anak in size, exceed thought or description.” -Col. John Hawthorn report after The Battle of Minisink.

  

    The story goes that Moses sent out twelve spies, representing the twelve tribes of Israel, into the Negev desert to report back on what they found. They returned with a bunch of grapes so big it took two men to carry them. The spies told Moses, that yes, this was a land of “milk and honey” in front of them; but there was a problem. They described a land ruled by fearsome giants known as the sons of Anak. This intelligence slowed the biblical migration of Moses and his Israelites into the “promised land." There’s always somebody who owns better property up ahead; already building cabins and fences, blocking your sunset.

    Both my parents belonged to the First Presbyterian church in the village of Montgomery. Like their neighbors, they sent their kids to Sunday School and church. Even back then, Presbyterianism was a  kind of Christian-lite. Today, the old flames of evangelical Presbyterian reformism have long since been extinguished, in favor of covered dish get-togethers, gay marriage, and oyster suppers. I grew up with a strong sense of immediate family and community, and like Jack Hodges, I knew the warmth of congregation. It stuck with me. Like many of my ancestors, I would eventually end up in seminary.

    A primary distinction in my dipping a toe into sanctified waters was that I was a confessed infidel, an artist, a dead snake. I approached religion and theology with the same objective suspicion I did most things. I wasn’t buying it.

    After finishing graduate school at The San Francisco Art Institute, I applied to seminary with blood-prints from tattoos, and steaks from my dead cow. They summarily rejected me. The rejection letter flatly stated: “Far from being Christian you appear to be anti-Christian.” At this I took offense. To have ordained religious functionaries so cavalierly assign the negative to a prospective student, was not only incorrect, it was un-fucking-American. I was a free agent…..open to the discussion. I sat down and wrote a letter laying out my case. After going through a short appeals process, Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley, California, admitted me as a first year seminarian…with a full scholarship. That’s another letter I wish I had saved.        

      

    The Jennings family battle had worn nerves to the breaking point and heels planted firmly in the rich black dirt of Orange County. Nephew and uncle, daughters and nieces, had all spent nights in the gaol in consequence of each other’s petty mischief. Guns had been drawn, swords waved, and bayonets stuck in the dirt, as lines were constantly drawn and redrawn. And every line in the sand had been vigorously scuffed out and crossed with self-righteous indignation. A silly battle with all the dignity of a playground quarrel had taken on lethal proportions. There was no “right” or “wrong” to the matter anymore. With Phoebe Teed now gone and no other family member willing to mediate, reel in the vitriol, it was all about to blow up (literally) in Richard Jennings face. 

Jack Hodges sworn

 By Atty Gen. M. Van Buren:

Q. Do you expect a pardon in consequence of the conviction of the prisoner?

A. I expect nothing but death.

Q. Do you know James Teed?

A. The first time I saw him was at Conklin’s making a stone wall.

Q. How long after you came to live with Mr. Conklin was it, before you understood that there was a dispute between him and Mr.Jennings?

A. About a month.

Q. Did you ever hear Conklin express a wish that Jennings was destroyed? 

A. A year ago last harvest, Teed came to assist Conklin to harvest his oats. In their conversation they said they considered that I was the best person they could get to destroy Jennings. After we finished harvesting the oats we commenced mowing. The prisoner said the he expected Jennings would send a constable to put him in gaol. About ½ an hour afterwards they saw Colville Ludlum, a constable, coming towards them. Teed said he knew what he was coming for; “the damned old rascal has sent him after me, and wished he was out of the world.”

Q. When did you again have any conversation with the prisoner?

A. I do not recall anything in particular, till the circuit court last fall. The prisoner [James Teed] was at Conklin’s, and said that Jennings would beat Conklin in the suit; and said that the damned old rascal had ruined him, and he expected he would now ruin Conklin; that it was necessary to make a contrivance to destroy him. He said that if I would lend a hand to kill him, that no doubt Conklin would give me 4 or 500 dollars. I had no further conversation till after court.