A PARTY WITH SILVER HEELS

“Is death an eternal sleep? Oh no: a secret voice within assures us we will never die.”- Hon. William W. Van Ness The Report of the Trials of the Murderers of  Richard Jennings

Personal journal entry May 16, 2017 (two years ago—to the day!)   

    Yesterday the weather broke. It’s been a wet, cold Spring. Finally temperatures rose into the high 80’s and it was a welcome relief to have a summer-like day. I didn’t hunt in the morning. I haven’t had any luck getting on turkeys and decided to sleep in. They’ve either been henned up, or not gobbling. So I took the morning to catch up on CNN and build a chicken coop for Mrs. Osterhout, who’s in Mexico. 

     This week has been a busy one for the President. He fired FBI Director James Comey, by his own admission, for allowing the probe into Russia’s meddling in the election to move forward. Then Trump met with the Russian Ambassador in the Oval office (barring American press) and reportedly disclosed classified material during the meeting. Questions over this meeting, the firing of Gen. Michael Flynn, James Comey, and all that has taken place within the administration over the past four months, has led to the appointment of a special prosecutor, ex-FBI director Robert Mueller, to oversee the investigation into Trump’s activities. In a hilariously twisted dig at America’s democracy, Russian President Putin offered tapes of the oval office meeting to congress. All the Russian iPhones were on record in the oval office. Smelling blood, CNN talking heads are positively giddy. 

     Frustrating turkey hunting, building a chicken coop, staying apprized to the constantly unfolding news out of Washington DC, occupied my day. Absorbed in the news, and continuing coop construction, at 6:00 pm I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. So I went down to my local bar to get a burger. After a few sips of my beer and a couple of fries I began to feel lightheaded. The bartender looked at me and asked, “Are you okay?” I said “Yeah.” and then I wasn’t so sure. Feeling dizzy, I asked for a glass of water and told the bartender that if I passed out not to call 911. She scowled at me and told me sternly. “Don’t you pass out in my bar.” That was the last thing I remember, until I came to with a couple of strangers picking me up off the floor. The paramedics were on their way.

    When the ambulance arrived I refused to go to the hospital, and went home to recuperate. I’ve had this happen before and have been fine after rehydrating, and getting something in my stomach. It’s low blood sugar, or heat exhaustion, or just being punished for being stupid and not eating. Still a little weak this morning, I hope to get a turkey, and the chicken coop up today, if Trump can keep his mouth shut and I don’t pass out again. As Osterhout family historian Walter H. Thomas complained to “the girls” in Ulster County, I also seem to be going down “that long rough hill” pretty fast. 

       

     A month of thinking about their fates did nothing to prepare James Teed and David Dunning for their wagon ride to the gallows. Both men hung their heads before the taunting crowd; Teed clamping his quivering lips, Dunning periodically lifting his eyes to look around and spit. Dunning, more defiantly angry than distraught, yet still overcome by the reality of the moment, didn’t know how to act. They’d never seen so many people in all their life. Nobody had. Many spectators opted to forego the village ceremony and parade, deciding instead to go directly to the orchard; in order to get a seat and a good view, (not blocked by an apple tree). The last time this many bodies gathered in a field in Orange County was during the Revolution, as blood dripped down bayonets, and cannon ball ripped through the tree tops. This time only two would die. 

     A bird’s eye view of the orchard, drawn on a scrap of paper, looked like a giant horseshoe, pencil dash benches and lolly pop trees, surrounding a large red grease crayon gallows. Beautiful shake roof viewing stands flanked the main stage, dappled in the bright spring sunlight. This was prime seating for clergy, magistrates and politicians. Piles of straight back chairs had been brought in wagonloads from the courthouse, the night before. The chairs were set in tight rows on the viewing platforms, festooned with black crepe, hung in large, billowing sheets across the front of each stand. Only the gallows was oddly pristine, planed, sanded pine, smooth and wet, alternately gleaming, then dulled in shadow, as the clouds passed before the sun. The hand hewn posts, and hanging cross bar, rose in structural simplicity. Brand new, glistening, hemp ropes, also catching the mid-morning light, bobbed and danced in the breeze. “Look!” someone shouted “Here they come!”

    Once the parade turned into the orchard road, the chaotic elbowing of the crowd for position began in earnest. Official estimates of the crowd range between 15,000 to 40,000 people. These figures seem outrageous for the time, but they are repeated over and over again in newspapers and published reports; enough times to be taken seriously. Crowd size matters. The West Point soldiers tightly encircled the scaffold, with men on horseback forming the outer rings. The size of the horses was something nobody had considered. How was anybody to see over all that calvary, in tall hats? Some of the crowd was forced to stand on the benches, craning their necks. Boys and young men climbed the fruit trees for a better look.

   Dunning got out of the wagon first, shrugged off help from the constables, and defiantly climbed the steps of the scaffold alone. He stopped on the back edge of the platform, well short of the dangling nooses, whirled, turning his back to the crowd. At the last minute, the carpenters had increased the height of the deck to nine feet, from the originally proposed seven. Even with the men on horseback blocking their view, most in the crowd could easily spy the short, agitated man in white, giving them his back. James Teed dutifully followed his former tenant to his ascribed spot, his knees buckling, legs giving way once again, supported by two constables, staring blankly at the crowd.

     With everyone settled in, Sheriff Moses D. Burnett raised his arms for quiet; and addressed the massive audience. Solemnly, he read the death warrants for all four men, never mentioning the pardons of Conklin and Hodges. Nobody had bothered to remove the two extraneous nooses, so there was some confusion as to just which noose was to be used for whom, and how many would be hung. Then, realizing his omission, the Sheriff quickly read through the state pardons of Jack Hodges and David Conklin, confirming the death sentences of James Teed and David Dunning. Two men would hang. Nothing could save them now.