Lisa Montgomery is scheduled to die Jan. 12 in the federal death chamber in Terre Haute, Indiana, and would be only the fourth woman ever executed by U.S. federal authorities and the first in more than 67 years

Lisa Montgomery drove from Kansas to Missouri and fatally strangled a pregnant woman, Bobbie Jo Stinnett, cut open her body, and kidnapped her baby on Dec. 16, 2004, as part of a premeditated murder-kidnap scheme.

Montgomery, 52, the only woman among 52 federal death row prisoners, is scheduled to be executed Jan. 12 by lethal injection by the Federal Bureau of Prisons in the federal death chamber at U.S. Penitentiary Terre Haute, Indiana. The Death Penalty Information Center, a Washington, D.C. based a national non-profit organization, says 22 of the federal death row inmates are white, 22 are black, seven are Latino and one is Asian.

She would be the first female United States federal prisoner executed since Bonny Brown Heady, 41, was executed in Missouri’s gas chamber, along with co-defendant Carl Hall, 34, in Jefferson City on Dec. 18, 1953, for the Sept. 28 kidnapping and murder across the state line in Lenexa in Johnson County, Kansas of six-year-old Robert “Bobby” Cosgrove Greenlease Jr. from Kansas City, Missouri, whose father Robert Greenlease Sr. was a multi-millionaire auto dealer, and the requested $600,000 ransom payment was the largest in American history at the time.

As well as being the first female federal inmate executed in more than 67 years, Montgomery would be only the fourth woman to be executed by federal authorities, the first being Lincoln assassination conspirator Mary Surratt, one of eight Lincoln co-conspirators tried by a military court and found guilty on June 30, 1865, and given various sentences depending upon their involvement.

Lewis Powell, George Atzerodt, David Herold, and Mary Surratt were charged and convicted of conspiring with John Wilkes Booth, who entered President Abraham Lincoln’s State Box at the Ford Theatre in Washington, D.C. on April 14, 1865, and shot and mortally wounded him. All were hanged at the Washington Arsenal on July 7, 1865 – with Surratt becoming the first woman executed by the United States federal government.

Ethel Rosenberg, 37, who, along with her husband Julius, 35, were convicted of conspiracy to commit espionage as Soviet spies, and were executed by electric chair on June 19, 1953, six months before Heady.

Montgomery, who doctors, psychologists and social workers have all concluded over the last 15 years, is seriously mentally ill after being sexually abused as a child in what amounted to torture enduring across years, drove from her home in Kansas to Stinnett’s home in Skidmore, Missouri, purportedly to purchase a puppy.  Once inside the residence, Montgomery attacked and strangled Stinnett – who was eight months pregnant – until the victim lost consciousness.  Using a kitchen knife, Montgomery then cut into Stinnett’s abdomen, causing her to regain consciousness.  A struggle ensued, and Montgomery strangled Stinnett to death.  Montgomery then removed the baby from Stinnett’s body, took the baby with her, and attempted to pass it off as her own.  Montgomery subsequently confessed to murdering Stinnett and abducting her child.  In October 2007, a jury in the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Missouri found Montgomery guilty of federal kidnapping resulting in death, and unanimously recommended a death sentence, which the court imposed.  Her conviction and sentence were affirmed on appeal. On Jan. 1, a three-judge federal appeals panel of the U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit reversed a Dec. 24, 2020 district court ruling that had vacated her execution date, and reinstated her execution date subject to review by the full appeals court.

You can also follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/jwbarker22

Misplaced patriotism and public health propaganda are no disinfectants for a pandemic

John M. Barry’s 2004 book The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History, chronicles the 1918-19 Spanish Flu pandemic. It is a compelling read, and placenames such as Haskell, Kansas, an isolated and sparsely populated county in the southwest corner of the state, remain etched in my mind.

Barry also serves as an adjunct member of faculty at the Tulane University School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine in New Orleans.

But what really struck me was the very, very rapid breakdown in public order, Barry chronicles, despite official protestations to the contrary.

Nurses, who were right on the front lines, and truly, truly heroic in the earliest stages of the pandemic, in many cases soon just stopped coming to work. Many, of course, were too sick to, gravely ill or dying themselves, but many who were still well stopped coming to work out of fear of becoming infected themselves, and perhaps also infecting their loved ones. The same happened across many different public offices. Can any of us really know what we would have done faced with similar circumstances? I think not.

Government in many cases, and particularly at the municipal level, pretty much ceased to function – and that happened very, very quickly. State and provincial governments weren’t much better in many cases, and federal governments were, to be very charitable, slow off the mark. The international institutions we have now, for the most didn’t exist in 1918.

Philadelphia is one of Barry’s chilling examples that has stayed with me. Things were so bad there in the fall of 1918, when the Spanish Flu pandemic arrived in the city, that a group of volunteer women, holding no official titles or offices, who lived on Philadelphia’s “Main Line,” home of the city’s old money and prestige, essentially took over the key functions of the city government and co-ordinated Philadelphia’s response to the pandemic.

In essence, the Ladies Auxiliary, albeit a very well off, and a very well connected one, saved the day in Philadelphia in 1918, but it was a very close thing indeed.

But how did things get so bad in Philadelphia in the fall of 1918?

On Sept. 28, 1918, despite sound advice and warnings to the contrary, Philadelphia public health director Wilmer Krusen insisted on allowing a Fourth Liberty Loan Drive parade, with some 200,000 people jamming Broad Street, “cheering wildly as the line of marchers stretched for two miles.” It was after all the patriotic thing to do in the final Allied push to defeat the Central Powers and win the First World War.

“Within 72 hours of the parade, every bed in Philadelphia’s 31 hospitals was filled,” Kenneth C. Davis wrote in Smithsonian magazine in September 2018. “In the week ending October 5, some 2,600 people in Philadelphia had died from the flu or its complications. A week later, that number rose to more than 4,500. Allison C. Meier in an article for Quartz last November noted that historian James Higgins, writing in Pennsylvania Legacies, observed that by the first week of October 2018, roughly five weeks into the outbreak, “Philadelphia’s mortality rate accelerated in a climb unmatched by any city in the nation –perhaps by any major city in the world.”

We really are not very particularly good at learning the lessons of history. Or when we think we have, we often draw the wrong lessons. Misplaced patriotism. Public health propaganda. These are no disinfectants for a pandemic.

The original name of the new coronavirus was provisionally known as Novel Coronavirus 2019-nCoV, before the World Health Organization (WHO) adopted the name COVID-19.  The Coronavirus Study Group (CSG) of the International Committee on Taxonomy of Viruses, which is the entity within the International Union of Microbiological Societies, founded in 1927 as the International Society for Microbiology, and responsible for developing the official classification of viruses and taxa naming (taxonomy) of the Coronaviridae family, proposed the naming convention SARS-CoV-2 for COVID-19. The World Health Organization, perhaps finding the recommended name a tad too resonant politically to SARS from the not-so-distant past, opted instead for the official name COVID-19.

The revised World Health Organization’s case fatality rate earlier this week of 3.4 per cent from 2 per cent for COVID-19 on March 3 is a 70 per cent fatality increase.

“I think the 3.4 per cent is really a false number,” U.S. President Donald Trump told Sean Hannity, one of his favourite conservative Fox News hosts, in a phone interview broadcast live March 4.

In the early 1980s, I watched with surprise and unexpected admiration as C. Everett Koop, an evangelical Christian, who served as surgeon general under U.S. Republican president Ronald Reagan from 1982 to 1989, and was well known for wearing his uniform as a vice admiral of the United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps, had the singular political courage to speak the truth about the science of AIDS as our knowledge increased. According to the Washington Post, “Koop was the only surgeon general to become a household name.”

Who will be the next C. Everett Koop, with the courage to speak truth to power, afflicting the comfortable, while comforting the afflicted? Someone Ike the late Dr. Li Wenliang, the whistle-blower ophthalmologist who sounded the alarm after contracting the virus while working at Wuhan Central Hospital.

There have been some exemplary public health responses to the COVID-19 public health emergency of international concern, such as those of Dr. Bonnie Henry, British Columbia’s, provincial health officer, whom André Picard, the health columnist at The Globe and Mail, earlier today described as setting “the standard for public health communication. Too often, public officials are dispassionate and robotic. Using clear language and showing genuine emotion makes your message more relatable and impactful.”

And then there have been the less than exemplary public health responses – or perhaps more accurately – lack of response.

When is a pandemic not a pandemic? When the World Health Organization (WHO) has Dr. Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus as its director-general apparently.

“I think it’s pretty clear we’re in a pandemic and I don’t know why WHO is resisting that,” said Michael Osterholm, director of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota.

Devi Sridhar, a professor of global public health at the University of Edinburgh who co-chaired a review of WHO’s response to the 2014-16 Ebola outbreak in West Africa, said a pandemic declaration is long overdue.

While none of this is easy when we don’t yet have a clear idea of the transmissibility and virulence of COVID-19, it is equally true the absence of true, timely public health information and honest decision-making, we risk further fostering a not insignificant climate of international government and institutional distrust, leading to social media platforms being lit up with stories such as the ones suggesting that the novel coronavirus is a genetically engineered biological weapon with a protein sequence included elements of HIV, the virus that causes AIDS – either a Chinese one that had escaped from a laboratory in Wuhan or an American one inflicted on Wuhan, or that COVID-19 is perhaps some kind of so-called “false flag” operation to distract us from someone or something else.

You can also follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/jwbarker22

 

Your best life: Life in Christian cinema is often a game of Friday night high school football

 

The problem with sports being a metaphor for life is not that the claim is inaccurate: sports truly is a metaphor for life. The problem is the terrain of what constitutes a metaphor for life is a vast landscape. Within sports, virtually everything can and is described as being a metaphor for life.

When it comes to comparing values and ideals taken from sports and applied cinematically to life, I have a fondness for golf and high school and college football movies. While I don’t play golf (at least not yet) I did play a bit of high school football some many decades ago.

There’s strong evidence that sport strongly reinforces certain personal characteristics such as responsibility, courage, teamwork, mental focus, persistence, humility, commitment and self-discipline.

While there are all kinds of things that can rightly divide secular moviemaking from films made by Christian genre movie producers, high school football is the game field they both play, often scoring box office touchdowns on. Perhaps in no small part because Friday night high school football is in some ways best thought of as a secular religion south of the Mason Dixon Line. High school football teams usually play between eight and 10 games in a season, starting after Labor Day. If teams have successful league seasons, they advance to regional or state playoff tournaments. Some schools in Texas play as many as 15 games if they advance to the state championship game. Most high school teams play in a regional league, although some travel 50 to 100 miles to play opponents.

Among my favourite golf movies are Tin Cup from 1996, starring Kevin Costner and Rene Russo; The Legend of Bagger Vance, with Will Smith, Matt Damon and Charlize Theron, released in 2000; and Seven Days in Utopia, released in 2011, starring Robert Duvall and Lucas Black, based on the book Golf’s Sacred Journey: Seven Days at the Links of Utopia by Dr. David Lamar Cook, a psychologist who lives in the Hill Country of Texas, where the book and movie are set.

As for American high school football movies, Ranker, the social consumer web platform launched in August 2009, designed around collaborative linked datasets, individual list-making and voting, which attracts 20 million unique visitors per month, in fact, has a category simply called “The Best High School Football Movies.”

Ranked number one is Friday Night Lights the 2004 film directed by Peter Berg, which documents the coach and players of the 1988 season Permian High School Panthers football team in Odessa, Texas and their run for the state championship, based on the 1990 book, Friday Night Lights: A Town, a Team, and a Dream by H. G. Bissinger. The film won the Best Sports Movie ESPY Award.

Number two on Ranker’s list is Remember the Titans, made in 2000, and based on the true story of African-American coach Herman Boone, portrayed by Denzel Washington as he tries to introduce a racially diverse team at recently but voluntarily integrated T. C. Williams High School in Alexandria, Virginia in 1971. It was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer.

In 2006, Alex and Stephen Kendrick, who are both associate pastors on the staff of Sherwood Baptist Church in Albany, made Facing the Giants, their second Sherwood Pictures movie, about high school football and resilient faith. While the movie is admired and often still shown 11 years after it was made at Christian church movie nights, secular cinema critics have been less effusive in their praise.  Still, two scenes stand out for me, and are widely available on YouTube. The first is lineman and Shiloh Eagles team captain Brock Kelley’s 100-plus yard blindfolded “Death Crawl” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-sUKoKQlEC4) with his 160-pound teammate Jeremy Johnson on his back, and soccer kicker turned placekicker David Childers’ 51-yard game-winning field goal in the Eagle’s 24-23 victory over the Richmond Giants (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uCj5_a3nbw).

When the Game Stands Tall was released in 2014. It stars Jim Caviezel, best known for portraying Jesus in Mel Gibson’s blockbuster 2004 film The Passion of the Christ, here playing Catholic De La Salle High School Spartans’ football coach Bob Ladouceur (with Laura Dern as his wife, Bev Ladouceur), and telling the story of what comes after the record-setting 151-game 1992–2003 winning streak by De La Salle, a Catholic boys’ high school in Concord, California, just east of San Francisco. The movie is an adaptation of the 2003 book of the same name by Neil Hayes, then a columnist with the Contra Costa Times.  The movie was filmed in Louisiana.

Released a year later in 2015 is Woodlawn is also a true story and in some ways a faith-based version of Remember the Titans, although Woodlawn is set slightly later (two years) and is situated in at Woodlawn High School in Birmingham, Alabama in 1973, a decade after Birmingham had Bull Connor as commissioner of public safety in 1961 when the civil rights “Freedom Riders” bused to the South, and where on Sept. 15, 1963 a bomb exploded before Sunday morning services at the 16th Street Baptist Church, with a predominantly black congregation that served as a meeting place for civil rights leaders. Four young girls were killed and many other people injured.

Woodlawn opens with a prologue set three years earlier on Sept. 12, 1970 where legendary University of Alabama football coach Paul “Bear” Bryant, the Crimson Tide’s iconic fedora-wearing legend, well played by Jon Voight, tries to ease tensions by inviting John McKay and his University of Southern California (USC) Trojans team to play at Legion Field in Birmingham, marking the first time a fully integrated team had come to play Alabama in the South. The Crimson Tide had one black player at the time. The game was a 42-21 Trojans rout.

Cut to three years later, when Woodlawn High School becomes integrated, with football coach Tandy Gerelds, played by Nic Bishop, welcoming the arrival of such talented black players as Tony Nathan, played by Caleb Castille.

Hank Erwin, played by Sean Astin, just sort of shows up at Woodlawn High School, introducing himself as a “sports chaplain” and asking to address the team. Tandy Gerelds reluctantly agrees. In his impassioned speech Hank asks the players to “choose Jesus” and, much to the coach’s amazement, most of the players agree, including Tony Nathan, who would go onto become a tailback for Alabama and later the Miami Dolphins. Erwin’s sons, Birmingham brothers Jon and Andrew Erwin, directed Woodlawn.

To understand the somewhat enigmatic self-proclaimed sports chaplain Hank Erwin, it is helpful to know something of the “Jesus movement,” which began on the west coast of the United States in the late 1960s and early 1970s, spreading primarily throughout North America, Europe, and Central America. Members of the movement were often called “Jesus people,” or “Jesus freaks.”

Its predecessor, the charismatic movement, had already been in full swing for about a decade. It involved mainline Protestants and Roman Catholics who testified to supernatural experiences similar to those recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, especially speaking in tongues. Both these movements were calling the church back to what they called early Christianity and recovery of the gifts of the Spirit.

TIME magazine had a 1966 cover asking “Is God Dead?” They had another cover story in 1971 on “The Jesus Revolution.” And just one year later, in June 1972, more than 80,000 high school and college students gathered in the Cotton Bowl Stadium in Dallas for Explo ’72, organized by Campus Crusade for Christ (now known as Cru) to celebrate the person of Christ and mobilize youth to take the Good News to friends and family when they returned to their hometowns. Bill Bright, founder of Campus Crusade for Christ, led the initiative and Billy Graham, now 98, and the most important Christian crusade and revival evangelist of the latter half of the 2oth century, preached at it. And Hank Erwin was there for it.

The dramatic tension on and off the field is elevated by events such as Nathan refusing to shake Alabama governor George Wallace’s hand during an awards dinner, citing Wallace’s opposition to school integration, and Tandy getting in trouble with the local school board because of the team’s religious activities, including Hank Erwin getting the microphone plug pulled while delivering the Lord’s Prayer before the history-making 1973 game that attracted 42,000 spectators (another 20,000 were turned away), only to have the thousands of spectators spontaneously recite it for him.

Peter J. Leithart, a teaching elder in the Presbyterian Church in America, who lives in Birmingham, Alabama, and is president of the Theopolis Institute, wrote in a review in September 2015, after an advance screening of the film in Birmingham, in the Catholic journal First Things that “the acting is good, especially Jon Voight as Bear Bryant, Nic Bishop as Woodlawn’s coach, Tandy Gerelds, and Caleb Castille who plays Nathan in his first film. Technically, evangelical films have come a long way.”

Caleb Castille was originally hired as a stunt double for the British actor who was picked to play Tony Nathan, but visa complications left the Erwins scrambling to find a last-minute replacement. Only then did they discover Caleb’s audition tape.

Caleb Castille won two national championship rings with the University of Alabama before he sensed God was calling him out of football to pursue an acting career instead. His father, Jeremiah Castille, played with Tony Nathan on the 1979 Alabama Crimson Tide national championship team.

Still, Leithart was left dissatisfied by Woodlawn. “I think there are a number of reasons for that dissatisfaction, but at base the problem is theological (ain’t it always).

“Evangelicalism is a word religion. I’m a big fan of words, but even talking pictures aren’t fundamentally about words. It’s no accident that the hall of fame for directors has a large share of Catholics (Fellini, Hitchcock, Scorsese), Orthodox (Tarkovsky, Eisenstein), and sacramental Protestants (Bergman, Malick). This can’t be the whole story, of course, since aniconic Judaism has produced some of the world’s great filmmakers. But there’s something to it: Evangelical films over-explain, over-talk. They don’t trust the images to do the work.

“I suspect a more sacramentally oriented evangelicalism, an evangelicalism more attuned to types and symbols in scripture, would make better films.

“Evangelicalism is also a conversionist faith. The key crisis of life is the moment of commitment to Christ. In Woodlawn, most of the characters convert early in the film, necessarily so because the story is about the effect of the revival on race relations. But that means that the line of character development is flat. The really crucial character development has taken place in the moment of conversion. The main exception is Coach Gerelds, and not surprisingly, it’s Coach Gerelds who ends up being the dramatic focus of the film, the character whose emotions and motivations we get to know best.

“Theologically speaking, character development is ‘sanctification.’ A conversionist form of Christianity places less emphasis on sanctification than on conversion and justification. In films, that translates into drastic oversimplification of human psychology. For evangelicals, there are only two sets of motivations, as there are two kinds of people: Saved and unsaved. While that is ultimately true, it is not the whole story.”

Woodlawn, distributed by Pure Flix Entertainment, owned by David. A.R. White, raised in a small Mennonite farming town outside of Dodge City, Kansas, brothers Kevin and Bobby Downes, and Michael Scott, did impressively better perhaps with the very secular Rotten Tomatoes, which is by no means always kind to either evangelical or high school football films, and is the leading online aggregator of movie reviews from a mix of professional critics and its community of users, with an overall score of 77 per cent, and an audience score of 82 per cent (earning a “full popcorn bucket”) meaning the movie received 3.5 stars or higher by Flixster and Rotten Tomatoes users. Rotten Tomatoes noted under “Critics consensus: No consensus yet.” Rotten Tomatoes is part of Fandango’s portfolio of digital properties.

Next up for me perhaps is the college football movie from 2006, We are Marshall, which depicts the aftermath of the Nov. 14, 1970 airplane crash that killed 37 football players on the Huntington, West Virginia Marshall University Thundering Herd, along with five coaches, two athletic trainers, the athletic director, 25 boosters, and a crew of five. New coach Jack Lengye, played by Matthew McConaughey, arrives on the scene four months later in March 1971, determined to rebuild Marshall’s Thundering Herd and heal a grieving community in the process (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YU4QBR-V79I).

You can also follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/jwbarker22

 

 

Woodlawn is a potent mix of Deep South high school football set against a backdrop of racial tension and the early 1970s Jesus movement

While there are all kinds of things that can rightly divide secular moviemaking from films made by Christian genre movie producers, high school football is the game field they both play, often scoring box office touchdowns on. Perhaps in no small part because Friday night high school football is in some ways best thought of as a secular religion south of the Mason Dixon Line. High school football teams usually play between eight and 10 games in a season, starting after Labor Day. If teams have successful league seasons, they advance to regional or state playoff tournaments. Some schools in Texas play as many as 15 games if they advance to the state championship game. Most high school teams play in a regional league, although some travel 50 to 100 miles to play opponents.

Ranker, the social consumer web platform launched in August 2009, designed around collaborative linked datasets, individual list-making and voting, which attracts 20 million unique visitors per month, in fact, has a category simply called “The Best High School Football Movies.”

It’s a pretty impressive list.

Ranked number one is Friday Night Lights the 2004 film directed by Peter Berg, which documents the coach and players of the 1988 season Permian High School Panthers football team in Odessa, Texas and their run for the state championship, based on the 1990 book, Friday Night Lights: A Town, a Team, and a Dream by H. G. Bissinger. The film won the Best Sports Movie ESPY Award.

Number two on Ranker’s list is Remember the Titans, made in 2000, and based on the true story of African-American coach Herman Boone, portrayed by Denzel Washington as he tries to introduce a racially diverse team at recently but voluntarily integrated T. C. Williams High School in Alexandria, Virginia in 1971. It was produced by Jerry Bruckheimer.

Woodlawn, released last October, is also a true story and in some ways a faith-based version of Remember the Titans, although Woodlawn is set slightly later (two years) and is situated in at Woodlawn High School in Birmingham, Alabama in 1973, a decade after Birmingham had Bull Connor as commissioner of public safety in 1961 when the civil rights “Freedom Riders” bused to the South, and where on Sept. 15, 1963 a bomb exploded before Sunday morning services at the 16th Street Baptist Church, with a predominantly black congregation that served as a meeting place for civil rights leaders. Four young girls were killed and many other people injured.

Woodlawn opens with a prologue set three years earlier on Sept. 12, 1970 where legendary University of Alabama football coach Paul “Bear” Bryant, the Crimson Tide’s iconic fedora-wearing legend, well played by Jon Voight, tries to ease tensions by inviting John McKay and his University of Southern California (USC) Trojans team to play at Legion Field in Birmingham, marking the first time a fully integrated team had come to play Alabama in the South. The Crimson Tide had one black player at the time. The game was a 42-21 Trojans rout.

Cut to three years later, when Woodlawn High School becomes integrated, with football coach Tandy Gerelds, played by Nic Bishop, welcoming the arrival of such talented black players as Tony Nathan, played by Caleb Castille.

Hank Erwin, played by Sean Astin, just sort of shows up at Woodlawn High School, introducing himself as a “sports chaplain” and asking to address the team. Tandy Gerelds reluctantly agrees. In his impassioned speech Hank asks the players to “choose Jesus” and, much to the coach’s amazement, most of the players agree, including Tony Nathan, who would go onto become a tailback for Alabama and later the Miami Dolphins. Erwin’s sons, Birmingham brothers Jon and Andrew Erwin, directed Woodlawn.

To understand the somewhat enigmatic self-proclaimed sports chaplain Hank Erwin, it is helpful to know something of the “Jesus movement,” which began on the west coast of the United States in the late 1960s and early 1970s, spreading primarily throughout North America, Europe, and Central America. Members of the movement were often called “Jesus people,” or “Jesus freaks.”

Its predecessor, the charismatic movement, had already been in full swing for about a decade. It involved mainline Protestants and Roman Catholics who testified to supernatural experiences similar to those recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, especially speaking in tongues. Both these movements were calling the church back to what they called early Christianity and recovery of the gifts of the Spirit.

TIME magazine had a 1966 cover asking “Is God Dead?” They had another cover story in 1971 on “The Jesus Revolution.” And just one year later, in June 1972, more than 80,000 high school and college students gathered in the Cotton Bowl Stadium in Dallas for Explo ’72, organized by Campus Crusade for Christ (now known as Cru) to celebrate the person of Christ and mobilize youth to take the Good News to friends and family when they returned to their hometowns. Bill Bright, founder of Campus Crusade for Christ, led the initiative and Billy Graham, now 97, and the most important Christian crusade and revival evangelist of the latter half of the 2oth century, preached at it. And Hank Erwin was there for it.

The dramatic tension on and off the field is elevated by events such as Nathan refusing to shake Alabama governor George Wallace’s hand during an awards dinner, citing Wallace’s opposition to school integration, and Tandy getting in trouble with the local school board because of the team’s religious activities, including Hank Erwin getting the microphone plug pulled while delivering the Lord’s Prayer before the history-making 1973 game that attracted 42,000 spectators (another 20,000 were turned away), only to have the thousands of spectators spontaneously recite it for him.

Peter J. Leithart, a teaching elder in the Presbyterian Church in America, who lives in Birmingham, Alabama, and is president of the Theopolis Institute, wrote in a review last September after an advance screening of the film in Birmingham in the Catholic journal First Things that “the acting is good, especially Jon Voight as Bear Bryant, Nic Bishop as Woodlawn’s coach, Tandy Gerelds, and Caleb Castille who plays Nathan in his first film. Technically, evangelical films have come a long way.”

Caleb Castille was originally hired as a stunt double for the British actor who was picked to play Tony Nathan, but visa complications left the Erwins scrambling to find a last-minute replacement. Only then did they discover Caleb’s audition tape.

Caleb Castille won two national championship rings with the University of Alabama before he sensed God was calling him out of football to pursue an acting career instead. His father, Jeremiah Castille, played with Tony Nathan on the 1979 Alabama Crimson Tide national championship team.

Still, Leithart was left dissatisfied by Woodlawn. “I think there are a number of reasons for that dissatisfaction, but at base the problem is theological (ain’t it always).

“Evangelicalism is a word religion. I’m a big fan of words, but even talking pictures aren’t fundamentally about words. It’s no accident that the hall of fame for directors has a large share of Catholics (Fellini, Hitchcock, Scorsese), Orthodox (Tarkovsky, Eisenstein), and sacramental Protestants (Bergman, Malick). This can’t be the whole story, of course, since aniconic Judaism has produced some of the world’s great filmmakers. But there’s something to it: Evangelical films over-explain, over-talk. They don’t trust the images to do the work.

“I suspect a more sacramentally oriented evangelicalism, an evangelicalism more attuned to types and symbols in scripture, would make better films.

“Evangelicalism is also a conversionist faith. The key crisis of life is the moment of commitment to Christ. In Woodlawn, most of the characters convert early in the film, necessarily so because the story is about the effect of the revival on race relations. But that means that the line of character development is flat. The really crucial character development has taken place in the moment of conversion. The main exception is Coach Gerelds, and not surprisingly, it’s Coach Gerelds who ends up being the dramatic focus of the film, the character whose emotions and motivations we get to know best.

“Theologically speaking, character development is ‘sanctification.’ A conversionist form of Christianity places less emphasis on sanctification than on conversion and justification. In films, that translates into drastic oversimplification of human psychology. For evangelicals, there are only two sets of motivations, as there are two kinds of people: Saved and unsaved. While that is ultimately true, it is not the whole story.”

Woodlawn, distributed by Pure Flix Entertainment, owned by David. A.R. White, raised in a small Mennonite farming town outside of Dodge City, Kansas, brothers Kevin and Bobby Downes, and Michael Scott, did impressively better perhaps with the very secular Rotten Tomatoes, which is by no means always kind to either evangelical or high school football films, and is the leading online aggregator of movie reviews from a mix of professional critics and its community of users, with an overall score of 77 per cent, and an audience score of 82 per cent (earning a “full popcorn bucket”) meaning the movie received 3.5 stars or higher by Flixster and Rotten Tomatoes users. Rotten Tomatoes noted under “Critics consensus: No consensus yet.” Rotten Tomatoes is part of Fandango’s portfolio of digital properties.

You can also follow me on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/jwbarker22

Butch Cassidy and the end of an era in the Wild West, also known as the Old West

Today marks the 149th anniversary of the birth of Butch Cassidy, the last of the legendary Wild West or Old West bank and train robbers, in Beaver in what was then the Utah Territory. Utah was admitted to statehood on Jan. 4, 1896. Beaver is 210 miles southwest of Salt Lake City and 220 miles northeast of Las Vegas, situating it about halfway between the two cities.

The first settlers came to Beaver from Parowan, about 35 miles to the southwest, in April 1856, a decade before Cassidy’s birth as Robert Leroy Parker, a son of Mormon parents who had answered Brigham Young’s call for young couples to help build communities of Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints adherents.

Parker was the first of 13 children born to Max and Annie Parker.

On June 24, 1889, Parker, who had taken to using the alias George Cassidy, committed his first big-league crime, robbing a bank in Telluride, Colorado, of more than $20,000. It was while laying low afterwards, while he worked in a Rock Springs, Wyoming, butcher shop, that he earned the nickname  “Butch” Cassidy, which would become one of the most famous criminal aliases in American history.

In 1894, Cassidy was arrested for horse theft in Wyoming. He served two years in the Wyoming Territorial Prison at Laramie. Upon his release, he quickly returned to a life of crime, putting together a gang of outlaws that became known as the Wild Bunch.

Cassidy’s most famous partner was Harry Longbaugh, better known as the “Sundance Kid.” Longbaugh’s nickname came in 1888 after his release from jail in the town of Sundance, the county seat for Crook County in the then Wyoming Territory, about 270 miles north of Cheyenne, where he had served time for horse theft. Wyoming was admitted to statehood immediately preceding Utah on July 10, 1890.

Other members of the Wild Bunch included Harvey Logan, alias Kid Curry; Ben “The Tall Texan” Kilpatrick; Harry Tracy, Deaf Charley Hanks and Tom “Black Jack” Ketchum.

The Wild Bunch specialized in holding up railroad express cars, and the gang was sometimes called the Train Robbers’ Syndicate.

The characters of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were, of course, forever immortalized in the 1969 film bearing their names, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, starring Paul Newman as Butch Cassidy and Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid. The film won three Academy Awards in 1970.

As the 19th century came to a close, the Wild West was no longer quite so wild. In fact, Larry  Schweikart, a professor of American history at the University of Dayton, and Lynne Pierson Doti, the David and Sandra Stone Professor of Economics at Chapman University in Orange, California, argue in their 1991 book, Banking in the American West from the Gold Rush to Deregulation, argue that at least in terms of bank robberies, most of what we believe to be true is really myth and there were in a 40-year period in the late 19th century, spread across 15 states and territories, including every state or territory west of the Missouri/Minnesota/Texas line, specifically, Arizona, California, Colorado, the Dakotas, Kansas, Idaho, Nebraska, Nevada, New Mexico, maybe a dozen bank robberies including two major ones pulled by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. In any event, the Old West was becoming both more populous and efficient in terms of law enforcement. The frontier was closing.

Tired of his robberies, railroad executives hired detectives to catch Cassidy and began placing mounted guards in railcars to pursue the Wild Bunch.

In 1901, Cassidy fled the United States for Argentina accompanied by his lover, Etta Place, and the Sundance Kid. The trio homesteaded a ranch at Cholila, though Place returned to the United States after several years. In 1904, Cassidy and Sundance learned that detectives had tracked them to South America. They abandoned the Cholila ranch and resumed a life of robbery in Argentina, Chile, and Bolivia.

While there is no conclusive evidence to prove it, Bolivian troops reportedly killed Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in the village of San Vicente in 1908.

The families of both men insist, however, that the men survived and returned to live into old age in the United States.

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Back roads and country music: Jimmy Rankin and Jolene ‘Little Miss’ Higgins both Thomspson, Manitoba-bound this fall

Nokomis, Saskatchewan country blues performer Jolene Higgins, better known by many perhaps by her stage name of “Little Miss Higgins,” will be in Thompson Oct. 22 for a 7:30  p.m. show, marking the second Home Routes concert of season six here – and the second consecutive country blues artist to perform, as this year’s lineup kicked off Sept. 23 with Deep Cove, Nova Scotia area country bluesman Morgan Davis.

Home Routes house concerts are at  Tim and Jean Cameron’s place at 206 Campbell Dr. Tickets are $20 at the door and the coffee will be on, says Tim Cameron, now in his third season of organizing Thompson stops on the tour. For more information give Tim or Jean a call at 204-677-3574 or send them an e-mail at: cameron8@mymts.net

All the money goes to the performers, some of whom would likely never pass through Thompson without the concert series. Performers typically do 11 shows in 14 days at their stops along Home Routes Borealis Trail circuit in Northern Saskatchewan and Manitoba, which Thompson is part of . Other stops on the Borealis Trail beside Thompson include Flin Flon, The Pas and Minitonas and Swan River Valley in Manitoba and in Saskatchewan, Buena Vista, Annaheim, Prince Albert, Napatak, Melfort and Greenwater Lake Provincial Park. Other circuits on Home Routes include the Yukon Trail; Salmon-Berry in British Columbia; Cherry Bomb and Blue Moon in British Columbia and Alberta; Chautauqua Trail in Saskatchewan and Alberta; CCN SK in Saskatchewan; Central Plains in Saskatchewan and Manitoba; Jeanne Bernardin in Manitoba, Agassiz in Manitoba and Ontario; Estelle-Klein in Ontario and Québec and the Maritimes in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island.

Brooks, Alberta-born Higgins was raised in Independence, Kansas, named in commemoration of the July 4, 1776 United States Declaration of Independence.  For her newest release, Bison Ranch Recording Sessions, Higgins teamed up with a quintet of musicians she calls the “Winnipeg Five”   –  Jimmie James McKee on trumpet, Eric Lemoine on banjo and pedal steel, Blake Thomson on guitar, Patrick Alexandre Leclerc on upright bass and Evan Friesen on drums. All five of them sing harmonies.

Also coming to Thompson 2½ weeks after Higgins is Mabou, Nova Scotia country and folk legend Jimmy Rankin, who first came to public acclaim as a member of the famed Celtic Rankin Family, but is also well-established over the last 15 years as a solo artist. While The Rankin Family stopped performing a group after a decade in September 1999, smaller versions still reunite from time-to-time and these days it is made up of Jimmy and his sisters, Cookie and Heather Rankin. Three members of The Rankin Family have died over the last decade and half, including Raylene, who died of breast cancer in 2012; Geraldine, who died in  2007, the result of a brain aneurysm, and John Morris Rankin, killed in a car accident on Cape Breton Island in 2000 when the  truck he was driving to a hockey game plunged off a cliff into the Gulf of St. Lawrence after he swerved to avoid a pile of salt on the highway.

Jimmy Rankin, now 50,  will be performing an acoustic show in Thompson Nov. 8 at the Letkemann Theatre at R.D. Parker Collegiate. Show time is 8 p.m. and tickets are $25. The City of Thompson, which used to have a four or five-concert series every fall and winter, is bringing Rankin in. Thompson is the last stop on Rankin’s “Back Road” tour in support of his latest album, Back Road Paradise, although he is also set to perform as a guest, along with Ian Sherwood, at  Nova Scotia singer-songwriter Rachel MacLean’s “Christmas With Friends” show Dec. 7 at  University Hall at Acadia University in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. Rankin’s “Back Road” tour kicks off at Western Manitoba Centennial Auditorium in Brandon Oct. 19.

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