Think About It with Michael Leppert Michael Leppert

I ate my track picnic at my kitchen counter this year. I don’t know if I’ve ever done that before, so I’m writing it down for future reference. The fried chicken was as delicious as any other year, though it felt weird eating it over a plate.
Every year, the Indianapolis 500 is our city’s most special event. It’s embedded in our culture, so grandly, so omnipresent, it’s hard to find a person or a place in the area untouched by it.
The event and its long list of traditions can feel delicate in some ways, reliant on something as unpredictable as the weather. In other ways, it feels as strong as Indiana limestone. When a few hundred thousand diverse people have a shared purpose, it’s amazing how well we can adapt.
A weather delay that forecasters began predicting in the middle of the week actually came true. I love not trusting the National Weather Service when it gives me bad news five days ahead of time. I treat those people like NBA referees: every call they make is the beginning of the argument, not the end of it. But they got it right this time. Golf claps for them this weekend, and I will go back to not trusting them by Saturday.
We ride our bikes to the track on race day, a tradition I recommend for anyone capable within about ten miles of Speedway. It’s a thirty-minute ride for us and we buy advanced parking from Bike Indy right outside the main entrance. It’s so convenient, we waited at home for the weather to pass. Much like my strange race picnic, I took my traditional post-race nap before the race this year. Odd, yes, but I’m too old to complain about any nap.
I started to stir around 2:00 p.m. and when I realized it wasn’t raining, I jumped a little. I yelled at my no-napping wife for a weather report, and she told me things were looking good, so I better get it together. The text messages from our bike group started chiming in while I was in the shower, and at 3:00 p.m., nine of us left the neighborhood for the track.
When we got close to our seats in Stand A, we wondered what the concession stands would run out of first. With a four-hour delay, that’s like hosting two races to the vendors. Beer was the consensus pick, but we were wrong. Food ran out first. I’d like to think that collectively we simply drink less these days, but that can’t possibly be true.
 
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While writing on Sunday night about the truly remarkable week surrounding a criminal trial in New York, I was captivated by the final story on 60 Minutes. It was titled, “The Album,” with Anderson Cooper reporting. The subject was an album of 116 photos discovered in 2007 that were collected by a Nazi leader at Auschwitz. 
“Here There Are Blueberries,” is the new Broadway play that attempts to make sense of the pictures by those connected to the victims there. Importantly though, it also provides context of the horrific events as seen through the eyes of those committing the crimes. The pictures make the killers appear happy to be there. One particular photo showed a large group of young German girls happily eating blueberries at an apparent party, while outside the frame, death surrounded them. It’s the source of the title of the play.
How did these once normal, average people become the monsters we now know them to be?
Last week in New York, Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson, appeared outside the courthouse where the criminal trial of Donald Trump is nearing its end. He was there to hold a press conference to support his leader and to label the trial “election interference” and declare the justice system “corrupt.”
The appearances at the trial of the most sycophantic members of the GOP, as Dylan Stableford writes for Yahoo! News, “began with a trickle, then became a steady stream.” Members of the U.S. Senate, former presidential candidates, and of course, a litany of House members have appeared there the past two weeks of the six week trial. Their uniform reason to appear is to suck up to the boss, and to fan the irrational flames of the boss’s support network.
The theatrics accomplish other things though, whether intentional or not. Most importantly is that it communicates that loyalty to this criminal is more important, more valuable, than the American judicial system itself. A large swath of the nation’s citizenry has arrived at a place where justice only exists in their eyes when it aligns with their loyalties, regardless of reality. It is that singleness of vision and commitment that allows the madness to grow.
To answer the question above, this is exactly how average people become monsters.
 
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If one wants to be a homer in Indianapolis, there’s no better time of year for it than May. This year, the Pacers have rejuvenated their playoff rivalry with the Knicks, Caitlin Clark has come to town, and the Greatest Spectacle in Racing is almost here.
And one more thing this May, the movie adaptation of John Green’s 2017 novel, “Turtles All the Way Down,” was released on Max. It’s one of my favorite books, the only one I ever read twice, written by Indy’s greatest author since Kurt Vonnegut. As a bonus, it’s set here in the city. Yea, yea, I know it was filmed in Cincinnati, but that’s another column for another time.
The story chronicles the mental health struggles of a teenager named Aza Holmes. She was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder and suffered the loss of her father who died unexpectedly, both when she was a little girl. She and her mom, who teaches at Aza’s high school, are consumed by these two life challenges.
It’s just another story really. The primary themes are relatable because of how often they exist in normal people’s lives. Normal. Aza would kill to feel like what she believes is normal. But her OCD drives her into “thought spirals,” revolving around the micro-organisms and their function inside her body. We casually refer to people as “germophobic” often these days, and more so since COVID-19. Aza would call most of these people “normal” too. The intensity of her fears is far more profound and dangerous. And still, her condition and her life are not rare.
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French philosopher and statesman Joseph de Maistre is credited with saying it first: “Every country has the government it deserves.” In America, we more often credit the sentiment to Thomas Jefferson, who specifically said, “The government you elect is the government you deserve.”
Ouch. Regardless of the version or the originator, it hurts more than usual on this Primary Election Day in Indiana. It’s designated as a state holiday, for all of the civic reasons that theoretically make sense. This year however, Hoosiers need to celebrate the end of the preseason, the undercard, the opening act that no one wants to watch at the overpriced concert.
Do we really “deserve” this? Sadly, I must concede that we do. As much as I have made fun of the Republican primary campaigns this year being about nothing, there actually is some value hidden in the noise. It’s telling us some hard truths about ourselves.
One truth is that the campaigns I have viewed in central Indiana do not differentiate themselves in any meaningful way on the issue of governing. Writing down that “governing” is an “issue” being inadequately addressed in any campaign for public office is, well, a problem.
Amazingly, the marketplace of ideas, has produced almost no actual ideas. It’s easy to point at campaigns and complain that they aren’t delivering what we, the voters, want. But in markets, supply and demand respond to one another. To summarize, we aren’t demanding enough.
 
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When the news broke last year that heavy metal band, Judas Priest, was coming to town for an April concert I took charge and bought reserved seats up front. When I saw them first in 1984, metal bands didn’t even sell reserved seats, we had to fight for them. That was part of the fun.
I don’t listen to metal much anymore, but I loudly have for the last month in prep for Sunday night’s show. I’ve been head bangin’ in the gym, making other old people nervous, and sporadically yelling out anthems from my youth that just sound wrong coming from the mouth of someone my age.
Last week, the school year ended for me and my students. My classes are a lot of work, so there’s plenty to celebrate when we’re through. But I can feel myself missing them even before they’ve left campus for the summer. I’ll recover when “my” kids come back for the fall, and when Indiana University gives me a hundred more. I know I’ll love the newbies, before we’ve even met.
My favorite high school teacher was Kreg Battles. He taught chemistry, a subject that has occasionally helped me on Jeopardy, and no place else. But I wasn’t really taking chemistry. I was taking Mr. Battles’ class, and he just happened to teach chemistry. He was a metal head, like my crowd was, and that made him one of us.
In 2010, he and I finally got to go to a concert together. That concert? Judas Priest. I asked him that night how he taught that awful subject all those years. Didn’t it get old? He laughed and said, “the students are new every year.”
Now as a new teacher myself, I can attest that the newness is not some little thing. It’s filled with wonder, optimism and excitement. And it’s contagious.
 
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It’s more than math. I have had this conversation many times over the years with a variety of people, and I have been surprised by their surprise almost every time.
Whichever party is drawing the maps of legislative districts, of any kind, they draw them to benefit themselves of course. That part is math, very basic math. In Indiana, Republicans in the Statehouse have drawn the last two maps that determine the House, Senate and Congressional districts. And they have served themselves up a lovely matrix of sweetheart deals.
Last week, James Briggs of the Indianapolis Star wrote a column full of news in it about Senator David Niezgodski, a Democrat from South Bend, who has been accused of sexually harassing a former employee in 2017. The premise in Briggs’ column is that Democrats “maintained a breathtaking lack of curiosity” about the accusations since they first surfaced several years ago. While I primarily agree, I contend the situation is lacking in systemic ways too. 
Personally, I’m not curious about the accusations. I believe them entirely. But what is the remedy? In a word, elections. There hasn’t been a long line of candidates pining for the chance to replace Niezgodski. Or any line at all. In his first reelection run in 2020, he was unopposed. I guess the party could have tried to find another candidate that year, but that’s not as easy as one might think.
Why would any Democrat want his job? Who wants a career of certain defeat on every ideological issue for the entirety of that career? Back to that “conversation” I’ve had so many times.
Gerrymandering in Indiana has created lopsided representation in the Statehouse. We talk about the math all the time, without talking deeply enough about the math’s impact. There are currently 40 Democrat members of the 150 available in the Indiana General Assembly. All of them should be applauded for serving at all.
It takes an unusual amount of patience and tolerance to endure life in what is supposed to be a deliberative body but is now overpopulated with a supermajority made up of unpersuadable people. It also takes an unusual amount of talent to successfully manage through it or overcome it to deliver positive results for one’s constituency. I wrote about two members who have that talent a few weeks ago, Sens. Andrea Hunley and Shelli Yoder. There are others. In the House, Blake Johnson and Carey Hamilton come to mind.
The job, as it currently exists, is profoundly unattractive. What it leads to is a reluctance to run, just like it leads to a reluctance to vote.
 
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