Crouching Tiger, Flying Dutchmen

Today's travelogue finds me and my son in the northern Knox County town of Freelandville, a spot in the road where Indiana highways 58 and 159 meet. Freelandville's claim to civic pride rests primarily on its 1941 basketball sectional championship, in which the tiny school slew the mighty Vincennes Alices, one of southern Indiana's most storied high school basketball programs. Freelandville then took the first game of the regional the following weekend, and gave eventual state champ Washington a great game for three quarters in the nightcap before falling.

At the southeast corner of the four-way stop where 159 ends at 58, I saw the Dutchman Cafe and was reminded of the old school's mascot. Such a nickname would never fly today, you know. Hofstra University shed its highly offensive "Flying Dutchmen" nickname a few years ago, replacing it with one that belittles a much smaller group: black country and western singers. I hear that at halftime of each basketball game, a Hofstra student dresses in a western shirt and chaps, straps on a guitar and sings "Kiss an Angel Good Morning." Race-baiters.

The Freelandville Dutchmen would not pass muster today, as they would be pressured to change their nickname to some blandly inoffensive abstraction, like ... Pride, for instance. Or, better yet, to some made-up noun that doesn't really connote anything, like the MLS' MetroStars. Nevermind that Freelandville was founded by Dutch, and that Dutchery evokes a great sense of pride in the locals. I think that's what this whole nickname controversy boils down to - these mascots were created out of a sense of pride and respect, which is something that those who oppose nicknames like "Braves," "Indians," etc., just don't seem to understand. It's along that line of thinking that explains why you don't see any teams called the Welfare Queens or the Meth Addicts.

Although the locals might argue otherwise, like yesterday's destination, Wheatland, there wasn't a whole lot of reason to hang around Freelandville for very long - for instance, the town has exactly one fewer gentleman's bar than Wheatland has. Son and I rolled into town from the east on 58, found a few abandoned storefronts and houses, as well as a grocery store long ago shuttered. But they have a nice website touting their town, the Freelandvillers do.

Faced with a decision to continue westward toward Carlisle and Merom on 58 or south toward Bicknell on 159, we chose the latter so we could start meandering back home.

I really enjoyed the trips I took with my son this week; I imagine that he felt less enamored with them, for usually at about an hour or so into one of these trips, just after we started heading back toward home, he'd get really fussy and eager to get out of his car seat.

But I enjoy soaking up the history of the small towns in my area, for one reason or another. I really haven't figured out why. I do, however, have a better handle on the melancholy feeling that sets in when I'm in those towns - dying often brings sadness, and the fact that a lot of small-town America is on life support also brings a certain sadness.