Author: Tom Darby

For years, as a Catholic school student, I was taught that the man who betrayed Jesus to the chief priests and elders in Garden of Gethsemane was a traitor. I don ‘t believe it is the churches fault that this is what I eventually learned. I think that it is what I heard and as a child it is what I took to heart.

It’s been years since I took first communion, was confirmed, or have asked a priest to hear my confession. I
know now that I can speak to Jesus directly. I can tell him my trespasses and be forgiven without having to make an act of contrition.

Please do not think that I am putting down the Catholic faith, because I am not. How a person comes to know Jesus is between that individual and Jesus. All I ask is that individual remain open-minded and open-hearted enough to receive new lessons in their walk of faith .

During my years following my first communion, I studied towards my confirmation. This is where a child passes into young adulthood within the tenants of the faith . We were asked to think quietly for about 15 minutes about a saint or an apostle that we would like to have represented us as our confirmation guide . (I must politely submit that some of this has been lost on me through the years.) I requested the apostle Judas Iscariot.

This shocked the priests, as they had never heard of such a thing.

They told me that I could not take Judas as a confirmation guide as he had hanged himself after betraying Jesus. I tried to argue the point that Jesus was a forgiving God and knew all along that Judas would betray him and selected him as one of the original disciples anyway.

I further pointed out what John 13:27 says, ‘…and after the morsel, Satan entered into him. And Jesus said to him, “What you do, do quickly.”’

Finally when I added that Jesus called Judas ‘friend’ even after the kiss in the garden, the brothers of the order lost all sense of themselves and shouted me down .

In the end they won the battle and I was forced to select another saint or apostle, though for the life of me I cannot recall who it might be as Judas Iscariot has remained on my mind all these years later. The Padres at Saint Joe ‘s Catholic Reform School failed to win the war .

The Lord that I pray too every morning and every night, whose word I read so that I can maintain it in my heart in times of weakness and trouble and in happiness and joy is a forgiving God. Therefore I believe whole-heartily that
Jesus forgave Judas Iscariot even though he was weak and hanged himself.

Not only do I have the arguments that used to attempt to persuade the priests with, but I also have a glimpse of Judas• remorse and a timeline of events leading up to his death and then Jesus’ death .

Let’s look first at the mind of Judas as the gospels show us . Once he discovered that his act of betrayal had led Jesus to be condemned to death he felt so terrible that he tried to return the 30 pieces of silver to the chief priests. {Matthew 27:3)

Unfortunately the chief priests not only failed to see Jesus as the Messiah, they failed to help Judas when he admitted that he had sinned by handing over an innocent man for trial. The chief priests told Judas that it was his responsibility. (Matthew 27:4)

Judas responded by throwing the 30 silver pieces into the temple and left. (Matthew 27:5) Perhaps Judas, who had witnessed many of Jesus’ miraculous works, was trying to force Jesus to lead a revolt against the Roman Empire.

However did not work. With nowhere to go and no one to turn too and a complete lost of faith, Judas Iscariot hanged himself. And so we are left to assume that he burns in a fiery Hell forever.

Yet if one should take a look at the time line there is more to look at than the simple events. The idea that Judas Iscariot died prior to the living Christ weighs heavily into the picture from a theological point. (Matthew 27:5)

Christ died for the trespasses of the world. That means he died for Judas’ trespasses as well. Therefore, Judas is in heaven with our Lord, Jesus Christ .

Yet , there is that point about Judas Iscariot having committed suicide. My grandfather used to say that, “People think that like a coin the truth has two sides, not so because a coin has a ridged edge and you have to look there too for the truth.”

It has taken me years to understand many of the things he used to say. He was telling me to check everything before making a final conclusion .

To this day I have not stopped examining and I keep discovering biblical nuggets of truths. Between A. D. 63 and 70 , a Gentile Physician named Luke wrote a letter to Theophilus about the death of Judas Iscariot.

He writes, ‘With the reward he got for his wickedness, Judas bought a field; there he fell headlong, his body burst open and all his intestines spilled out.• (Acts 1:18)

As Judas hanged himself, the branch he selected did not hold his weight , broke and he fell. So much for suicide.

Lastly, I believe that Judas Iscariot is the unsung anti­ hero of the New Testament. It is easy to over look the fact that Jesus chose this man to be one of his 12 disciples.

But we are always reminded that Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus every time .we partake of communion. What has become real easy to forget is that all the Apostles abandoned Jesus .

And like Judas, they all misunderstood Jesus’ mission. They thought he was there to over thrown Rome, when he was there to save the man from sin.

If it was no t f or his courage to step away from the table and go to the chief priests and elders in the first place
we may all. still be waiting for the first coming of Christ. Jesus knew what was to happen, not only to himself but what was going. to happen to Judas.

I think Jesus; my Savior had it in his heart to save Judas Iscariot as well. The one thing we will never know until we stand before our creator is whether or not there was a request for forgiveness or not prior to Judas 1 death.

As a Christian, I do not condemn or judge him. I hate the sin but love the sinner.

Of course, I am still not certain that Judas Iscariot would not have been a suitable guide for my confirmation . Perhaps I needed more instruction that ‘pick a saint or an apostle.’

My wife’s brother and sister-in-law were kind enough to bring up a trailer load of antiques and papers from Southern California. These are antiques that have been in my wife ‘s family for nearly a hundred years, if not more.

Needless to say we are excited to have them in our home. I am especially excited because I have my own set of dressed drawers for the first time in nearly twenty years. That means no more digging through her undies to find my missing socks.

Boy-howdy!

We also ended up with many of the family journals and diaries. These books hold no real value for anyone else in the family but me as I am the resident historian and story-teller.

I am slowly and carefully leafing my way through these books and discovering many hidden tales. I will get to these multi paged gems in a few moments.

There is really something about the smell of old furniture and old books that I really like. It reminds me of the fact that thing with true intrinsic value really do last.

Memories are also in the same group. They too have their worth.

It was just after one in the morning when the Outside patrol officer radioed in that he had discovered a man, unconscious and bleeding from his head, laying in the rock embankment between parking lots one and three. It was New Years Eve Night, unwanted but not wholly unexpected.

I responded to the patrol officer, “10-4, unit 95, I’m rolling REMSA, all units standby.”

Picking up the telephone, I pushed the tone button at the same time. I repeated the information so that all other officers on duty would be aware that an emergency was in progress and that radio traffic would be limited to emergencies messages only.

Then I dialed 9-1-1, telling the dispatcher on the other end of the telephone the situation he had.

Once I knew an ambulance was on its way I returned to the main console and brought the outside unit up on camera. I zoomed in until the officer and the body lying in the rocks filled the small viewing screen.

By this time a supervisor had shown up and he was attempting to wake the unconscious man up to move him. However the injured man would not wake up.

“Command to Adam-2” I said, “REMSA is enroute. E-T-A less than five off of Mill Street.”

The supervisor responded, “10-4, be advised that guest is 10-56.”

“10-4”, I commented, making a note in the log that Adam-2 was on the scene and detected the presence of alcohol on the man’s breath.

As I glanced up I saw the supervisor turn the man’s head from one side to the other. The sight caused me to cringe.

Stepping down on the microphones remote button, I spoke as calmly and as authoritatively as I could, “Adam-2, secure the guests head and neck for possible spinal cord injury.”

The supervisor pulled his hands away from the man and moved to his feet just as the ambulance arrived on the scene. I shook his head from side to side, feeling a wave of disgust well up inside.

I continued to watch as the paramedics placed a c-collar on the man and rolled him over on his side as gently and carefully as possible to slip a hard board under him prior to moving him onto the gurney and then the ambulance.

Jus’ as the ambulance was pulling away from the scene, the first shifts watch commander walked into the dispatch room. He was a portly man with sad sack eyes, a waxy pallor and very little hair.

On his rolled up sleeve he wore the striped of a sergeant.

He shuffled as he walked up behind me as he spoke in a bellowing voice, “We don’t give medical directions here, got it?”

It as much less a question as a command.

“Yeah, I know that,” I answered. “But you’d think our boss would know enough not to move the head and neck of an unconscious man especially, one who is bleeding from the face.”

The Watch Commander stood there momentarily stunned. He was not used to subordinates getting in his face.

Then he responded, “I don’t care, we don’t give medical directions, period. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir, you made yourself very clear,” I replied.

The old man never said another word to me as he turned and shuffled out of the dispatch room. With that I turned around and wrote down what he had said and why I had done what I had done.

Adolf Hitler arrested the Rothschilds in Germany in 1933, Austria in 1938, and France in 1940, seized their assets, and removed Germany from the Rothschild-owned banking system, turning Germany into a superpower.

On Saturday, March 12, 1938, Hitler dissolved the Nathaniel Rothschild Foundation, ending the German, French, and Austrian branches of the Rothschild central banking system and placing Germany back on the gold standard, usury-free. He arrested Rothschild at the airport in Aspern, Austria, seized his banks and assets, and only after lengthy negotiations between the family and National Socialists did they agree to release him upon payment of what today is the equivalent of $21,000,000 in ransom.

The Rothschild family is still suing to reclaim what Hitler took from them.

The Rothschild family had attempted to infiltrate America through its banking system from the first days of America’s founding but were blocked in 1835 by President Andrew Jackson.

Ultimately, they gained control of the U.S. financial system through the Federal Reserve Act, signed into law by President Woodrow Wilson on Tuesday, December 23, 1913, creating the Federal Reserve System, the central banking system of the U.S.

Years ago there was a book called ‘You’re okay, I’m okay.’ I don’t know who wrote it, nor do I care, because after I read it the first time I believed it was all a bunch of hooey and I still do.

It was a book designed to help boost the readers self esteem.

For a long time I thought I had a terrible self esteem problem. I felt I did not measure up to other people’s standards. I viewed other people, seemingly unscathed by their actions regardless of how those actions might have affected others, as okay emotionally.

I spend a great deal of time attempting to emulate these persons. I wanted desperately to be as successful as they were and have all the nice things they owned and still sleep well at night.

However I have never been able to get those nice things because I have always operated from the desire to do what was right even if it was not the best thing for me. It left me frustrated until now.

Life long Humboldt County resident Evelyn Chism passed away September 24th, 2004, at her home in Fortuna after a short illness. She was born June 19th, 1926 in Ferndale to the late Joaquin and Mary Martin and graduated from Fortuna Union High School.

Evelyn worked at St. Joseph Hospital for over 30 years. After retiring, she became a full time homemaker.

She leaves behind her husband of 57 years, Don Chism, her children, Dennis and Eileen Chism, Betty and Lester Phelps, David Chism, Chris Chism, and daughter-in-law Rita Chism. Evelyn was preceded in death by a son, Bill Chism, grandson, Barry Phelps , and sisters and brother, Mary, Olivia, Aurora, Ruby, and Jack.

Once, I had a job selling educational programs to corporations for a non-profit organization. I was very good at my job, bringing net sales up from $150 dollars a month to over $30,000 dollars a month in less than nine months.

I also scheduled volunteers to teach these educational programs as well as taught them myself.

Next thing I realize I have a new director who comes in and reorganizes the entire department. I suddenly found myself spending more time cleaning classroom materials and doing data entry than selling, scheduling or teaching.

Net sales fell off rapidly and just as quickly I was blamed for the lack of revenue generation and discharged.

At first I was angry and hurt at how I was treated because deep down I knew it was not fair. A few days later that anger and hurt turned to self-doubt and I began to wonder what I had done wrong, causing myself to be fired.

My lack of self–esteem was kicking in. I moped around the house and then found myself another job and got on with life.

This has been a reoccurring pattern in my life. And I am just now starting to see that I am not the one that is always at fault.

Yes, there are times when I should back down or hold my tongue. There are times though when I am right and I must stand up for what I believe in.

My problem, I have discovered isn’t a lack of self-esteem.

It’s the practice of self-examination. I am continually re-examining everything I do and say. I don’t want to do and say things to be mean or hurtful. I want say them because they are truthful. Sometimes the truth hurts.

And yes, I do sleep very well at night next to beautiful woman.

The barn was dark, especially since Tommy and Adam had walked into it from a noonday sun. So they could hardly see a thing as Tommy tripped over something. Adam was behind him and was witness to the sudden trip and less than graceful fall. Tommy hit the barn floor with a hollow, echoing thud.

No sooner did he land on the ground, than he was back on my feet. Tommy swore a blue streak as he bent over to pick his hat up off the planking.

Adam was laughing at him as he said, “Did you have a good trip last fall?”

Tommy grew red in the face and madder by the moment. Suddenly he kicked out at the unseen object that had injured his pride.

“Owe!” Tommy screamed as he dropped to the floor holding his right foot.

Whatever he had kicked, it was solid as a rock. He started swearing even louder as Adam laughed even harder. After a couple of minutes Tommy stood up and limped across the barn floor to his Grandpa’s workbench. His right foot was on fire and he was thinking the worst, that he had broken his foot.

Tommy fumbled around in the darkness for the cool feel of the hurricane lamps’ glass chimney. He struck a match and lit it, then hobbled his way back over to the place where Adam was still standing.

The light threw shadows the full length of the barn and made Adam look taller than he already was. He had both hands on his sides. He had laughed so hard they hurt. Tommy looked down to see what it was that he had tripped over and what he may have broken his toes on. It was a dull mass of steel, flat on top with a cone shaped point at one end. It was Grandpa’s anvil that Tommy had kicked.

Adam busted out laughing again and he dropped to his knees. He had tears in his eyes he was laughing so hard. Tommy was angry again.

“What’s so funny?” He hissed at the fool rolling on the barn floor howling like a lonesome coyote. “It isn’t funny,” he shouted “I think I broke my foot!”

Adam continued to laugh.

He turned and hobbled over to the workbench, blew out the lantern and headed for the door.

“Isn’t funny,” Tommy announced, “I’m hurt.”

Adam looked at him with this crooked little grin. The one he gets when he’s getting ready to say something smart aleck, then he smiled. “Tommy if you think that hurt, jus’ wait till you kick the bucket.”

With that Tommy left Adam lying on the barn floor laughing his darn fool head off. He had to go get his foot examined, and then he thought to himself, “Maybe I ought to get my head examined too.”

The assignment seemed simple enough, almost benign at first, however that is because I forgot it has been nearly a quarter of a century since I left school and just less than that since I escaped the reservation. I am finding out that my thought process is rustier than my first Dodge pick-up, which still sits out back of my parents’ government home.

In college, I hesitate to say university, because I did more partying my first two years than my last two years…besides it was a state run facility…I did a little writing for the newspaper. But that was mostly to impress the women, who did not know any better or didn’t really care as long as I supplied the beer.

That’s the funny part.

It would be ironic, if it weren’t so sad knowing that there was an Indian and a beer in the same room. I was convinced that a beer or two prior to writing a story would loosen me up enough to cause the juices to flow. I regularly got printed and ‘by-lined’ so I felt satisfied.

Unfortunately I now realize I could have been a much better journalist and reporter. And I could have been the family’s academic star.

This brings me to the memory of my first beer.

It involved a group of us kids down by a mud wallow. A wallow is where the cows would come to roll around, seeking relief from the heat and insects that plagued them.

Evening was falling and we heard a cow coming before we could see it. Someone had a great idea of tipping a cow so they called for us all to be quiet.

We waited and we drank.

When the animal appeared, it hesitated just long enough to sniff the air, sensing that we were near and up to no good. At about the same time someone let out a war-whoop and we raced down on the cow.

The poor beast nearly jumped out of its skin as it tried to figure out what was happening. But it was too late.

We were already trying to tip the cow.

Suddenly I saw a bright burst of light. I felt a crashing sensation as my body slipped through the nighttime air. I don’t recall hitting the ground.

But it must have been a funny sight, because the next thing I do remember is waking up to a bunch of faces looking at me, laughing. When I finally gained enough of my wits about me to sit up, I looked over at the cow which stood with its sharp-horned head down, prepared to defend itself in a charge and realized that we had picked the only bull in the field to try and tip.

It would be years later that I would come to understand how this random act had affected me. I sat down one after noon and randomly pounded down a beer with one of the neighbor guys.

Next thing I realized I found myself ‘tipped’ into trying my hand at writing again and I thank my lucky star.

The trail up the river had been a long one for the young tribal deputy and his horse. He was searching for the young men who had taken the dug-out canoe that rested in the camp park that was once owned by Roy Rook. It was considered an Indian artifact and the tribal elders wanted it back.

Tommy suspected it had been taken by young pranksters as a joke to upriver to Seiad Valley. It wasn’t the first time the dugout was taken. Tribal youths had taken it before and paddled it down river as part of initiation into “manhood.”

He slowly made his way to the old logging camp of Indian Camp, now erased from the face of the earth by the time. He vaguely remembered the Christmas holiday that he early anticipated as a 5 year old. The camp was prosperous and booming with some 150 men employed in the redwoods.

In previous years, Christmas had been an individual family matter, but community figures thought that it was time to put on a public celebration. They determined it was time to invite people in from surrounding communities for a formal affair.

The ladies of Indian Camp took over the planning shortly after Thanksgiving and invited the families from Fort Goff, Happy Camp and Seiad Valley to join them. Arrangements were made to rent the newly built Indian Camp Hall and put up a community Christmas tree where parents could bring their gifts.

The ladies were also planning a grand ball, which was to follow the opening of the gifts, and a midnight buffet.

It soon appeared that the weather was going to cooperate and the community would enjoy a real “white Christmas.” Snow began to fall and children were out having snowball fights, sledding and generally making the most of the occasion.

Another three inches of snow fell, enough to carve out a sled run from the Sequoia Boarding House to Azalea Street. Children were out in swarms and even some adults gave it a try.

Tommy sat on his horse, recalling the events.

Several women from Indian Camp, including Tommy’s mom, took boats back down river to Klamath to collect gifts for those children who would not be getting much. Klamath merchants donated gifts as the men of the community made a trip to Red Mountain east to get a tree. That included Tommy’s Uncle Ronny.

However, two events disturbed and saddened the community in early December as Tommy remembered. A resident of nearby Fort Goff was chased down and lynched by a vigilante mob for the supposed murder of another man and a week later another man shot and killed the keeper of a saloon in Indian Camp.

Tommy moved his horse over to the spot where an old foundation remained. He imagined it to be the saloon, though he knew it probably wasn’t.

Then he recalled the rain which began to fall and how the snow quickly melted. The streets were soon shin deep in mud. Dad had to carry both Tommy and his little brother Adam from boardwalk to boardwalk to avoid sinking in the mud, it grew so deep.

The upcoming Christmas party at the Hall lightened most spirits, however. At 7 p.m. on Dec. 24 the doors of the hall opened and young and old alike burst in upon a festive scene of a well decorated 15-foot tree beneath which rested a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts.

A male quartet offered up holiday hymns and the women followed with carols. The Fort Goff String Band even played a few traditional western songs.

Santa then appeared looking as Mom once noted, like something of “a cross between a mule-skinner and a bull-of-the-woods,” but both Adam and Tommy enjoyed him and came forward eagerly when their names were called to receive gifts. No one was left out.

Soon the floor was cleared, the children were sent on to homes for the night and the musicians turned up for the dance, which lasted until the sun peaked over Red Mountain.

Tommy recalled lying on his pallet of blankets, listening to the strains of banjos, guitars and fiddles as they plunked through the early morning hours. The memory made him sad to think the camp had died out.

He backed his horse away from the crumbling foundation and together they turned back towards the river. “Best to stay away from Christmas past,” Tommy said, as he patted his horse on the side of the neck.