Crookshank: the Homestead Years

Settled in the early 1800’s on the edge of what would become Hoosier National Forest, Resolute, Indiana, today is a city of about 13,000 residents with tree-lined streets, rolling hills, languid breezes, a lazy river through the center of town, pies cooling on windowsills, still-working antique gaslight lamps, and friendly face after friendly face of all hues and colors. It is dear reader, a magical place to grow up; to be forced to leave here would be a sad thing.

A large portion of the homestead was annexed into the park by an Act of Congress in 1913, meaning that 2/3 of the ancestral home of eleven generations of Crookshanks and their heirs would be protected from being taken by the state or city governments for their uses. Almost 2,000 acres were under the protection by the grand daddy of all governments, the federal government, for better part of 100 years. Although most of their land was now included in the park, the Crookshanks and their kin would forever have free reign on their land -- and they made full use of it. There were vacation homes (more like tiny lodges) that sat on smallish lakes, creeks, and even the Ohio River. These were built over the many years by various cousins, aunts and uncles, and a few great, great grandfathers and grandmothers.

But, the one structure that received the most attention from Wes and his family was the raised basketball court with a large ‘C’ painted at center-court. It had a wood floor (built from the hardest, longest lasting wood from local trees), and was set 18 inches above the grassy field located behind Trip’s large barn. A colorful canvas canopy towered 50 feet over the court, like a giant geisha's fan, providing a much-needed sun shade. There was also (equally as important to the 47 first-cousins of Wesley Crookshank) a stream conveniently nearby that hot, sweaty players of many sports would routinely jump into to cool themselves down (along with several dogs, an occasional raccoon, and one very fat bunny).

Although born in Kentucky, 13 yr-old Wesley Crookshank's heart and soul (and large hands and feet) belonged to Indiana through and through. Though still in junior high, Wes could already palm a basketball with one hand and could score from all over the basketball court at-will: lay-ups, shots from the top of the key or behind the backboard. He was a fluid machine of arm movement, jumping ability, proper arc on his shot, and follow-through with his hand snapped-down just so. He didn’t really shoot the ball so much as toss it in with the skill of a supremely confident Army sharpshooter. Wes didn’t fire that often, but when he did, it was deadly accurate and sometimes bodies were bloodied and egos bruised.

Under the direction of “coach” Trip Crookshank, young Wesley could already shoot a basketball right-handed better than most ball players in Indiana. But, Wes was left-handed. His grandfather Trip (and Wally his dad) encouraged young Wes to throw a football and baseball right-handed since before he could walk. And, yes, shoot a basketball too, in spite of his being sinistral (which is not such a nice word for left-handers, derived from the root word for sinister), Crookshank would practice shooting right-handed in middle-school as he would for the rest of his life.

Far from being sinister, Wes was indeed a natural lefty. His grandpa would tell anyone within earshot that the reason for this was that when Wes was a baby in Kentucky, he must have always been reaching towards Resolute to get back home again to Indiana because on the map, the Hoosier State would have been on his left. Being a lefty made writing with the fountain pen that school required him to use that much tougher, as one would invariably smear ink both on the page and your palm. So, Wes began to favor math over English because when working math problems, one could write top to bottom, figuring out the solutions neatly. Whereas in English class, it was a messy mess of green ink on his shirt at least once a week, and he’d feel the fool walking around school with evidence of his left-handedness on his sleeve for all the school to see -- an emerald letter 'L' of embarassment.

Being the grandson of a Methodist minister, Wesley scored points with the frugality commensurate with his faith. The game was never about Crookshank or his stats; he played out of loyalty to his team, and more importantly to win. It's not that Wesley played-down to his competition (like a weaker player might); it was simply that Wes was confident in his abilities (even if no one knew how good he was) and content to be unheralded. But, when scoring was needed, Wes could pour in the points like one turns on a spigot, as his cousins knew all too well.

Each afternoon, like clockwork, Wes would put on his well-worn sneaks, and pull-on his father’s over-sized basketball jersey -- after completing his homework, of course -- to shoot 100 free throws from the free throw line, aka, the “charity stripe.” He would wear the jersey over shirts, sweaters, even his jacket if the weather was freezing. From the charity stripe Wes would shoot with 97% accuracy each practice session, sometimes making 100 in a row. His talented cousins could shoot 80 or so in a row, but none ever matched the centennial mark from the line. After his 100 daily free-throws, he’d "shoot around" for another hour. On weekends, after chores on the farm were done, Wes and his cousins played hours upon hours into the friscalating twilight until they were called for supper.

Wes missed his father, more than he would ever let on to his grandparents. If Wes was sitting in class and heard a familiar Ford truck drive past, he'd crane his neck to see if it was his dad's green machine (only his closest friend, and cousin, Jerome knew what he was doing). And when his dad would come home for visits, Wes never let him out of his sight.

It was on one of these visits home that the Crookshank cousins played their uncles in a grudge match game that to this day is talked about with reverence. It was the beginning of the legend that was Crookshank, Wesley Ellis, and the first disagreement between Wes and the man he adored.

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Crookshank: Wesley Ellis

In 1968, 12-yr-old Wesley Ellis Crookshank was one of hundreds of Crookshank cousins within six counties of the town of Resolute, Indiana. In the late 1940's and early 50's, with the return of brave Hoosier men after World War II, there was a population boom to say the least. As a result, it became more than a little monotonous to hear roll called around the various schools and their classrooms with hundreds of Crookshanks in attendance: "Darnell Crookshank?! Jeremy Crookshank!? Justin Crookshank?! Sally Crookshank!? Silvia Crookshank?!" (See what I mean? Completely obnoxious, right? I'm ready to pull my hair out just writing that sentence.) Kids were constantly rolling their eyes each morning, and the Crookshank name began to wear out its welcome, which was quite unfortunate because there wasn't a more hospitable bunch in all of Perry County and its environs to be sure.

A meeting was held at the homestead, and soon all Crookshank kids were no longer enrolled with their last name; they merely used their first and middle names. And, so it was that Wesley Ellis Crookshank simply became: Wesley Ellis. Or, Wes to his grandpa and friends.

It is said that a Crookshank can recognize a cousin (even one they’ve never met or haven’t seen since childhood) as far removed as 3rd cousins. The distinctive ears (not unsightly, just especially familiar to one used to seeing the elongated lobes staring back in the mirror); the bountiful head of hair; penetrating stare looking for clues seemingly at every glance for some mystery that could erupt without notice; and the smile ... the especially kind smile. There it was. The one trait all Crookshank cousins possessed and that their parents cherished.

An unwritten and unspoken ritual began with Crookshank men doffing their cap (or taking them off completely for women) and acknowledging a passerby as far back as the 1800’s. The Crookshank smile was one that had a dimple on one cheek and a smile line on the other. Always, or almost always, seemingly pulling one on the other with each smile. (One should always not say always, dear reader. Well, you get my meaning.) The ritual would begin when a Crookshank might recognize a relative, he or she would slightly turn their head, smile, and nod a little hello. When the return smile revealed a familiar dimple and a smile line, good manners required one to stop and make the proper introductions. So, on dozens of school campuses in Indiana, Crookshanks using their first and middle names could spot each other fairly easily.

Wesley Ellis had it, and he recognized the smile on more than a dozen kids on the school yard also. And they all recognized him as a Crookshank in good standing with his family and community. He was good stock as they would say. Even for a boy who was born in Kentucky, and whose dad still lived in Prospect driving around in his old green pickup truck.

The conversation eleven years earlier between Wally and his parents Trip and Fiona Crookshank took all of ten minutes. All three knew that Wally had returned to ask his folks to help rear Wesley Ellis while he continued to make a living and a name for himself in Kentucky. The baby needed stability, a women's influence, and family. In Resolute, Indiana, on the original Crookshank homestead, he'd get all three, especially the family.
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(Part III cont'd)

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Crookshank: Minor Basketball Legend

On the edge of Hoosier National Forest, Indiana, USA, lies the Crookshank family homestead nestled amongst the greenest tall pines just on the left hip of a low lying mountain range. Eleven generations of Crookshanks have called the Hoosier state home (even prior to statehood in 1816 ), but that home court winning streak came to an abrupt and angry end when Wallace Earnest Crookshank IV (“Wally”) moved his family to neighboring and equally basketball-loving state of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, USA.

As father-son spats go, the Crookshanks have seen and survived their fair share, less than most, more than some. But the familial peace of this branch of the Crookshanks was shattered seemingly beyond repair when Wally and his dad "Trip" (Wallace III) Crookshank disagreed over Wally’s favorite gal, soon-to-be-wife, Isabella.

Turns out, the Crookshanks are a capable bunch of gentlemen farmers (and gentlelady), with a keen eye for picking a good melon, literally. This melon-pickin’ skill carried over from farming into other areas of their lives and served them well, whether in business, theology, which cousin to choose for a pick-up game of hoop, or in choosing a spouse. It is said that a Crookshank can spot an ill-intentioned, ulterior motive a mile away, and detect manure before an outsider has a chance to put shovel into pile. They are often called “wise behind their ears” for their slightly protruding listening discs, but it’s the “wise beyond their years” knack for making good decisions that has resulted in the family Crookshank choosing spouses with amazing accuracy of darn near 90% -- making for an odd thing really when a Crookshank marriage doesn’t take root and blossom.

And so it was that Trip Crookshank simply did not agree with Wallace-the-lesser’s decision to spend his hard-earned savings on an engagement ring for Isabella Smith of the French Lick, Indiana Smith’s. To Trip’s way of thinking, they didn’t know her long enough and not enough was known about Isabella or her family. Wally was smitten, however, and so off he and his new bride went to Prospect, Kentucky, to start a new life, away from prying eyes (he felt) of family who might be judging him and the 18-yr-old's ability to discern for himself his choice of mate, thank you very much. Eighteen months and one baby boy later, Wally returned to Indiana with his son Wesley Ellis Crookshank riding shotgun -- no longer smitten, but rather somewhat smote after Isabella-the-lesser-half ran off with a Kentucky wildcat heading out west to make his fortune in California in the motion picture business. Wally was now part of the dubious 10% crowd that chose or guessed wrong on the multiple-choice exam of love.

(Part II cont'd)

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Windy LA (Doubting Son)

Palms and palms, shake and they yaw,
palms and palms, lovely and grand.
If the wind she blows, look out below,
for the fronds of palms fall and they land.

The palms they tall, 100 foot land,
with span 20 per block.
Untold planted in L.A. Moderne, arranged in lines not stands.
And when windy, my man, Myles my boy, palms and palms they rock.

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