A concerned citizen. That was the caption under the picture of me at the town hall. The picture that ran in the paper on Tuesday morning. The paper that William Frick read over morning coffee, pancakes, eggs and a side of sausage at the Good Town Diner out on route…
I stopped writing to find a rural town on google maps. I zoomed in to Indiana, near the Ohio border. I zoomed in closer just north of Highway 70 because I wanted a road but not a major highway. Something flanked by large farms, fields of corn gone to stubble. Something that passed through tiny towns where men like William Frick read the paper and talked with friends over breakfast. I settled on Greens Fork, Indiana. I wanted to know the name of their newspaper, if they had one. Was it a farming community. Where was the local school. My search lead me to an article from 2015, “Was Greens Fork Named for a Notorious Killer?” This is the when and where of how my not-so-great attention got hijacked.
A principle creek there reportedly was named for a ferocious Delaware Indian who had a reputation as a killer. He allegedly lived in a cave a half-mile north of town and had taken the English moniker of John Green, a name that was cause for alarm not just in Wayne County but in Randolph County as well.
…
Early in 1813, a scouting party saw him in the Indian town of Blue River (near Liberty). He asked permission to accompany the men to one of their settlements.
During the trip, some of the men got the upper hand and tied up the dangerous Delaware. They discussed executing him but instead transported him to the home of Col. George Hunt, south of Centerville, who was in command of the local militia.
Opinion was sharply divided as to what to do. The Delawares at the time were on friendly terms with the American government, but a majority of the settlers favored executing Green.
Thomas McCoy, one of the first settlers in the Elkhorn area, and others opposed it. McCoy cut the ropes binding Green and mounted him on his horse and, despite protest, carried him to safety.
One of the men most avidly in favor of killing Green was Charles Morgan, an avowed Indian hater.
Shortly after McCoy released Green, Morgan and his two half-brothers, the Beasleys, were murdered while boiling sugar water in a camp near Martindale’s station (just outside of Greens Fork). The three men were scalped, and one of the Beasleys was thrown in the fire to roast.
-Steve Martin
After reading that, I felt small in the presence of countless histories and myths scattered across the country (and the world). I’m not sure I could use Greens Fork as a mini setting for the story I was just starting. Or maybe I have to use Greens Fork. And now, having stopped to share the legend (the author, Martin, seems to think it’s more myth than history), I’m not even sure I can get back to my train of thought.
Germination
Every so often, a wild thought takes root. It’s usually the result of modest desires allowed to run amok (mentally). Lately, I’ve been in the mood to travel. I’m thinking about San Diego, Arizona, or Miami in the winter and Spain in the Spring. I’ll probably do none of them. I’ll get overwhelmed by the cost and logistics and timing and what to do about the dog and talk myself out of it before I get started. The other night, this modest desire to travel ballooned into quitting my job, trading the car in for something a little roomier, packing a suitcase or two, grabbing the dog and hitting the road to explore the country. The whole thing could probably be financed for $2k – $3k a month… food, gas, lodging, and kibble would be my biggest expenses. I could write about it and beg my friends for money (to at least cover the cost of the kibble).
I can’t even commit to a long weekend trip a few months from now, let alone half a year or a year on the road. And I know I’m not the only one who “fantasizes” about such things or who wishes he could get paid to just go and be in the world. The impetus for the story, the one that starts in Greens Fork, Indiana, grew out of this. Maybe I could still write about it without actually doing it. “A Concerned Citizen” – a story about a man (and his dog) who travels the country pursuing a sense of self, community, and knowledge of others by attending town halls and public meetings. It, the story, I think begins in the middle, or maybe near the end. Greens Fork, and what happens with William Frick is the last town hall. He never intended to do the commissioners’ / city council meeting thing. He set out looking for cheap places with beautiful people… and as with so many things in life, he got sidetracked.
This is where mediocre talent and an utter lack of dogged perseverance cut me short. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to build the rest of the story or sit for a long enough period of time to get anywhere. This is when I look at the clock and decide I need a break before I’ve even begun. This is when I think about getting groceries and a shower and what to have for lunch or when I’ll exercise. This is when I do everything BUT write the story I feel bubbling up. When it comes to my own desires, I am a saboteur extraordinaire. I tell myself I’ll come back to it – knowing it’ll remain another unfinished note in a folder of unfinished notes. It seems the best I can do, is go out and collect more source material.