Friday, December 10, 2010
Charles Beecher's six years in Fort Wayne, 1844 to 1850, were at the beginning of his long careeer as a maverick minister and champion of social justice. The ninth of eleven children born to the Rev. Lyman Beecher, Charles had entered the ministry reluctantly. His father was president of Lane Theological Seminary in Cincinnati and was one of the foremost Presbyterian leaders of his day. Charles's education at the best New England prep schools and at Bowdoin College, however, had nurtured his love for poetry and music. He tried to avoid the ecclesiastical warfare and antislavery debates led by his father and his scholarly older brother Edward.
By his late twenties, married and a father, Charles agreed to the family plan to install him in Fort Wayne at his own church. According to the scheme of his older brother Henry Ward, then serving a church in Indianapolis, Charles would take the recently vacated pulpit of Fort Wayne's First Presbyterian Church on behalf of the Presbyterian faction championed by their father known as New School. The entrenched Presbyterian hierearchy, however, would hear none of this. Shortly before the Beechers arrived in Fort Wayne, a theologian from Hanover College representing the Old School faction won First Presbyterian's pulpit. Charles Beecher's future as an embattled minister and social reformer was thus launched.
Despite intense efforts, Henry Ward and Lyman Beecher were only able to recruit six members for Charles's new church. On Sunday mornings Charles rode his horse out to neighboring villages. On Sunday evenings he conducted services in the musty Allen County Courthouse. By 1845, only one year later, trustees and church friends helped Charles build their new church home. In addition to two Sunday services, Charles continued his ministry in at least four rural areas. Members from his church led Sunday school classes in these areas as well.
Reflecting his discomfort with religious conflicts, Charles preached tolerance and social justice. One of his most remembered sermons caused fellow Presbyterian ministers to view him as "unsound in the faith" because he stressed that there was more than one way of looking at fundamental religious truths. "The only unity that ever will be attained before the Resurrection of the Just, on earth, will be a unity of thinking differently, in love." Charles led his congregation in ministering to the poor in Fort Wayne. He organized a popular singing school, Bible classes, and discussion groups. He spoke out against the sin of slavery and against the unjust treatment of African Americans in our so-called free North. He likely supported the secret work of the underground railroad. Along with his strong moral convictions, he was quick to find humor in life. He was known for his storytelling.
In the spring of 1850 Charles told his congregation that he and his family, now including four children, were returning to New England for the summer. Sickness and poverty had taken their toll on this popular and "original" minister and his family. By the end of the summer, Charles made it known that they would not be returning. Reluctantly, members of Second Presbyterian Church gave up plans to ordain Charles as their first permanent minister.
Within a year after leaving Fort Wayne, Charles was recognized as a national leader in the growing anti-slavery struggle. His sermon against the Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850 and a long tract arguing against Biblical sanctions of slavery were circulated by the American Anti Slavery Society. He helped his sister Harriet Beecher Stowe describe scenes of slavery he had earlier witnessed in Louisiana that became part of her international best seller "Uncle Tom's Cabin." Charles then accompanied Harriet on a triumphal European tour. For decades, despite accusations of heresy, Charles championed religious tolerance.
While some Fort Wayne residents criticized Charles for going against popular opinions of the day, he was fondly remembered by many who knew him. His exuberant expressions of love through music and words during the divisive years leading up to the Civil War had touched their hearts. Today as we face other forms of war and injustice, particularly during this dark season, it is good to remember this truly remarkable "original."
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Recently while reading John F. Meginness, The Lost Sister of Wyoming searching for places and dates about Frances Slocum, I ran into a recollections piece by Horace P. Biddle. A highly regarded jurist, Biddle was born on March 24, 1811 in Fairfield County, Ohio, later settling in Indiana. He had studied law as a young man and became so good at it that in 1874 he earned a seat on the bench of the Indiana Supreme Court. Retiring in 1881, he began devoting much of his time to literature and music and in fact authored several books mostly on poetry. Meginness had a great respect for the old Judge and included Biddle’s recollection of notable people of his day.
That brings us around to the point of this posting. We in Indiana and especially in Allen County have long admired the Miami Civil Chief Jean Baptiste Richardville. Many are familiar with the chief’s history, that his father was a Frenchman, that his mother Taw-cum-wah brought their son up in the Miami culture, that his house still stands on Fort Wayne’s south side along Bluffton Road and that most people pronounce the name as “Richard Ville.” Even though from time to time we are corrected by those who would hold to purer articulation, we continue to use the familiar “Richard Ville” cognomen. Maybe it’s because we reason that at times even others’ suggestions don’t agree, so most of us are content to stick with our reliable “Richard Ville” and go on our way. We also enjoy the stories handed down orally and written about this famous man.
Judge Biddle makes it plain on page 197 that the name is pronounced “Roosheville.” He then proceeds to give this anecdote that makes the old Miami so interesting.
It seems that William G. Ewing had a disagreement with a French Indian trader named Mr. Berthelette who was an intimate friend of Chief Richardville. Whatever the squabble, Berthelette was intensely angry with Ewing and made a visit to Chief “Roosheville.” No sooner had the two greeted one another Berthelette was asking to borrow the Chief’s pistols. When Richardville inquired why such a request, Mr. Barthelette made it clear that he wanted to kill Mr. Ewing.
Judge Biddle recreated the scene quoting the chief, “Ah, oui, you shall have my pistol, Mr. Bar-te-lette; but come in and eat some dinner with me.’ After dinner was over Berthelette became very restless. The chief said nothing more about the pistols. Berthelette addressed him: ‘Chief, now for the pistols.’ ‘ Ah, oui; I get you dem pistol.’ The chief retired a few minutes, and came back with two bottles of wine. ‘Here, Mr. Bar-te-lette, my pistol – handing him the two bottles of wine – ‘but take care, now, you (don’t) shoot yourself.’”
Such is the nature of the great civil chief of the Miami who continues to bear the name we may not pronounce to the satisfaction of everyone. However, decisions such as the one he made with a couple bottles of wine demonstrate a wisdom that his people respected and formed the legacy of a wise old leader we can all admire.