A Church That Doesn't Deserve Constitutional Protection

I have long advocated and fought for the constitutional right to free speech. But a little church in Kansas has my hometown in an uproar…and I find myself for the first time supporting limitations on protected free speech.

The Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) plans on making his presence known this week in my hometown of Bethalto, Illinois---as the community mourns the death of a 23-year-old Marine who succumbed after a roadside bomb claimed him while serving in Afghanistan.  This is the same church that recently made news by trying to inflict itself on the family of Elizabeth Edwards, brave wife of former vice presidential candidate John Edwards. WBC said Mrs. Edwards would now go to hell to join her 16-year-old son who died in a car accident years ago.  

The church has made a practice of trying to disrupt the funerals of fallen soldiers and they say they will try again Thursday in Bethalto. I wish them luck. Knowing my hometown they are in for a challenge. The people I grew up around won’t allow it. This could get ugly.

The real question here is------Does the first amendment allow a religious group to say anything they want….anywhere?  The Supreme Court will answer that question in part when they hear the case of Albert Snyder this summer. Snyder sued WBC after it picketed his son’s funeral. He originally won the case and an $8-million dollar judgement. It would have shut WBC down…but an appeals court reversed the case and now it will go to the nation’s highest court.

I see this as a pure form of hate speech. This is like burning a cross in the front yard of an African-American. You are delivering a threatening message.  The basic argument in the Westboro Baptist Church/Snyder Supreme Court lawsuit is whether there are limitations on Constitutionally-protected free speech. In Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire, the Supreme Court ruled that free speech does not protect “obscene utterances” and “certain personal slurs.” The lawsuit also considers the possibility that the free speech expression of the Westboro Baptist Church may have violated the Snyder family’s constitutionally protected right to freedom of religion – to hold and attend their son’s funeral. When two constitutionally protected rights come into conflict, the Supreme Court is asked to determine where the line between the two should be drawn.

Like the famous Voltaire quote----“I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it”…..I have often decided it is best not to tinker with the constitutional right of free speech. But I have always been taught that there is a limit to our speech. For instance, the law is clear in matters of libel and slander. Isn’t this proposed demonstration an effort to slander the life of 23-year-old Lance Corporal Kenneth Corzine?

Also, the courts have ruled that First Amendment rights may give way to the greater public good. For example, there is no First Amendment protection for someone who falsely yells "Fire!" in a crowded theater, because such speech endangers the safety of others. Such expression might give rise to a disorderly conduct charge or similar charge. In determining the constitutionality of hate-crime legislation, one primary question is whether the prohibited speech deserves First Amendment protection.

Lining up across the street from the Cornerstone Assembly of God Church on Thursday with signs and chants against the life of an American hero, is a form of hate speech and will surely incite a safety problem in Bethalto, Illinois.

I pity Police Chief Alan Winslow’s task. Keep the peace….and allow the family of the Lance Corporal the space they need to grieve the loss of their loved one.

Sometimes WBC claims it will show up….and then doesn’t.

Maybe they will stay at home.

I hope the rest of Bethalto is there…..

I know I will be….in spirit. 

The Taynor Factor

I often reflect on the forces that were in play to create me. How did I come to develop my values? How did my environment shape my personality and demeanor?

I find there were many important people who had an impact on my development. My father certainly did. There were several key coaches and teachers that immediately come to mind. I come up with names like Jim Carey, Bob Kallal, Bill Mills, John Considine and Barbara Thompson. They all were significant. But the one name that continues to crop up is not that of a teacher, parent or coach. The name is Dave Taynor.

I came to know Taynor when I was a sixth grader. Young and impressionable, I was taller than most of my classmates and intrigued with basketball. I went to high school games where the young men who wore the colors of my town became the rock stars of my youth. After a Friday night game, I would retreat across the street to my home and replay the game again in my basement, from pre-game introductions to post-game interviews.

When I first met him, Taynor was a freshman playing for Coach Kallal at Trimpe Junior High. He was a scoring machine, often netting 20 or 30 points a game. His team was undefeated and became the hope of the entire town. Taynor was a self-made basketball player, taking his basketball to the lighted courts behind the junior high every night and shooting hundreds if not thousands of shots from all angles until the early morning hours. This work ethic fascinated me. How could someone be so dedicated to a sport to totally consume himself to that pursuit?

As he entered high school, I was entering junior high. I decided he was worthy of worship. I started a scrapbook of his newspaper articles. He burst on the scene and immediately became one of the best high school basketball players in Southern Illinois. Taynor wore number 32. He walked in a distinctive way and constantly rubbed the bottom of his sneakers. He was always the last player out of the locker room....he didn't take his warm-up off until it was gametime.

I wore number 32 in junior high, I walked distinctively and constantly rubbed the bottom of my Converse. I fought to be the last out of the locker room. Out back of my house, Pop built a lighted basketball court and every night I shot the basketball. I shot and shot and shot.

When high school ended for Taynor, it started for me. He went on to Kansas University. I made many a trip to Lawrence and became a lifelong KU fan. Now my kids are all Jayhawks.

My high school career was far less successful than Taynor's. I was short, but slow. Oh, I started quite a few games over my junior and senior years but my career was mostly forgettable.

Taynor went on to co-captain the Jayhawks into the Final Four in 1974. We stayed good friends for many years. Later in life, he fell on hard times and clearly made some mistakes. While others were quick to torch the memory, I couldn't. Taynor was a symbol for me. He was "hard work equals success." He was the high priest of basketball. I would never forsake him....never will.

Taynor inspired. I followed and it set a paradigm for my life.

Work hard. Be prepared to quietly work alone to hone your skills. Be determined to continue to pursue success. That is what Taynor meant to me. Now, even in my 50s, I understand that important influence. God Bless the Dave Taynors of the world who influence young male minds and make them aspire for something greater.

We need more of them.

The Mardi Gras of the Midwest--The Bethalto Homecoming

This weekend thousands will clog the midway in the central park of my hometown, Bethalto, Illinois. It is Homecoming time and like the swallows as they return to Capistrano, the lost and weary sons and daughters of northern Madison County will come home and relive their past. I won't, but that doesn't mean I still don't have a soft spot in this hard heart towards the very cradle of my existence.

My first memory of the Bethalto Homecoming was as a sprout, being led down the midway by my parents. We watched a gentleman introduce the acts. His name was Les Prehn. He did it for decades...ever since the Doughboys came marching home in the late 19-teens. That was the beginning of the event that has survived and flourished since.

My adolescence was marked by each Labor Day weekend. It was really a rival of Christmas for someone so in tune with Bethalto. God I loved that weekend. I blew hundreds of my hard earned dollars trying to win a rifle by blowing away all of a star in a shooting gallery. Never came close to success.

I remember the utter pride in wearing my Wilbur Trimpe football jersey to show that I was indeed a football player representing the town. Later it was the purple uniform that I still find pride in remembering.

Early adulthood led me to the Legion beer tent. That was living large. I suspect at least two of my offspring will be there to carry on the decades long tradition and tip a few with old classmates. I would go on Saturday night....drink a few and close the place down at midnight....get up at five in the morning to make breakfast for the United Methodist men...go to church to gain forgiveness for the night before.....and work the Rotary shake-up stand to round out the day. Not a problem....I was young and anyway---Monday was Labor Day.

The last Homecoming I attended was with my new wife who understandably didn't understand the Homecoming. I don't expect anyone from outside of Bethalto to understand.

Because of the events of my life, I have a sadness about the Homecoming these days. I can't see myself there. My life has moved on...well beyond those great old days.

Bruce Springsteen probably captured it best in his song, "Glory Days."

"They'll pass you by in the wink of a young girls' eye...Glory Days.....Glory Days."

God Bless my memories...