MARCH 2018

MARCH 2018
Corruption as Government


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Friday, March 16, 2018

TOMBSTONES Chapter Fourteen

I can't imagine what the hell Pete Spence - aka Elliot Larkin Ferguson - was thinking when he and that smug violent little (5.4") lunatic Frank Stillwell (above) held up the south bound Bisbee Stage on Thursday, 8 September, 1881. The Sandy Bob line carried no strong boxes so this less than dynamic duo were reduced to robbing the passengers, miners and gamblers who had little cash southbound, going into the little mining town 25 miles south of Tombstone. And probably every one of the 200 residents squeezed into the narrow "Puerta de los Mulos" knew Pete and Frank personally, since the pair jointly owned a livery stable in Bisbee. Stillwell was just 24, but he had already gunned down an Hispanic waiter who brought him tea instead of coffee. But Spence had been a Texas Ranger. Not for long, since he was also a little crazy, but he should have been too smart for this hold up.
Some thought this lunatic larceny had something to do with Robert Crouch, a 50 year old California coach driver who had entered a cut-throat competition with the established Arizona Mail and Stage Company. Because the new entrepreneur had red hair and a freckled face, they called him and his business the "Sandy Bob" line.  And it was a hard business in the best of times. Paying passengers and freight barely met operating costs. The Arizona Mail could also count on a $15.00 a month fee for carrying Wells Fargo insured strong boxes 3 times a week between Charleston and the rail head at Benson. But the real profits were in carrying the United States Mail. Seeking to promote growth, the USPS paid $50 a month for daily delivery between Tombstone and Charleston, and $78.00 for three times a week delivery between Tombstone and Bisbee.
But when Arizona Mail and Stage balked at delivering to the tiny San Pedro River community of Hereford, 7 miles due west of Bisbee, "Sandy Bob" snapped it up.  He was even willing to wait to be reimbursed by Arizona Mail, which continued to collect from the USPS. So maybe there was a nefarious plot to generate bad publicity for the upstart Sandy Bob line, and they hired Frank and Pete as their agents. But that seems unlikely because the future of all stagecoach lines in Arizona had been determined in March around a conference table in far off Boston, Massachusetts.

On one side of that table sat William Barstow Strong, President of the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe Railroad conglomerate. On the other sat the President of the Southern Pacific Railroad et al., Mr. Charles Crocker. At this meeting the SP agreed to lease their tracks between Lodi, New Mexico and Benson, Arizona for use by ATSF trains. And ATSF agreed to share profits from a new line they would build south from Benson, through the mill town of Fairbank, Arizona, to the border at Nogalas Mexico, where it would connect with their Sonoran line, reaching the Pacific via the port of Guaymas. The minute that agreement had been reached, the most profitable stage coach lines in Arizona were living on borrowed time. So why go to all the trouble to annoy a competitor when everybody's business was going to shrink over the next six months to a year?
Like the Guadalupe Canyon Massacre, the beginning of the Benson to Guaymas rail line was another indication that the age of outlaws was coming to an end. Two months earlier, about midnight on Thursday, 14 July 1881, the career of freelance and infamous hot head Henry McCarthy, aka William Bonney, aka Billy the Kid (above), came to an abrupt end in rural Lincoln County, New Mexico when he was shot dead slipping into his girlfriend's bedroom. 
 And the day before the Bisbee Stage Mutt and Jeff robbery, a successful 15 year criminal career, which included at least 9 bank robberies, 8 train and 4 stage coach holdups also came to an end. On a tight turn 2 miles west of Glendale, Missouri the James gang pulled off their last armed train robbery. The division of the paltry $6,000 take, caused some discouragement among the members.
And 6 months later, in St. Joseph Missouri, Mr. Thomas Howard, aka Jesse James himself, would be assassinated by one of his own gang. These were indicators.
In a decade the Federal government would recognize what was happening that summer of 1881. The Census Bureau would announce in 1890 there was no longer anywhere in America with less than 2 persons per square mile, nor significant numbers migrating west. The frontier had ceased to exist. And according to historian Fredrick Jackson Turner (above), "The Significance of the Frontier..." in America was that it had made Americans exceptional - more violent, more inventive, less restricted by traditions. 
The same census also determined that over the previous 40 years the population of native Americans had been reduced by almost half - 401,000 to 248,000 - proof that Americans were not like other nations who butchered and starved minorities, such as the Ainu in Japan, the Armenians in Turkey, the Hindus in Pakistan, the Muslims in India, and the Romani, the Cathars and the Irish in Europe. Except of course we did.  But all that was big picture stuff.
The little picture was that Pete Spence and Frank Stillwell needed a couple of hundred dollars for the up coming weekend. And Frank was so disliked that one Tombstone resident predicted that when he died Frank would be the "chief attraction" in hell.  So on that dark night of 8 September, 1881, these two chuckle heads wearing masks blocked the road and forced the passangers to hand over any "sugar" they had on them. All noticed the smaller of the thieves repeatedly used that word - "sugar" - to refer to money. It was a favorite phrase of Frank Stillwell, a man whose inquest jury laughed when the coroner described his body as the most shot up corpse he'd ever seen. And Cochise County Marshal Johnny Behan knew the instant he received the telegram announcing the Sandy Bob hold up, that Frank Stillwell had to be the chief suspect. He was, after all, one of Johnny's own deputies..
And this might be the proper moment to ask why the crooks never thought to cut the telegraph lines which criss-crossed southern Arizona. The Apache did, every chance they got.  But "white" criminals never seemed to think of delaying law enforcement by just clambering up the nearest pole and snipping the thin wire. And it was not just the fools Stillwell and Spence. In March the would-be robbers of the Benson stage had also left the telegraph wires intact, allowing for immediate pursuit. But I digress.
Part of Deputy Marshal Frank Stillwell's job was collecting county taxes, but Behan noticed the money from Bisbee always seemed to be late and always seemed to be short, which meant so was Johnny's 10% cut.  So Behan, not usually known for his dedication, wasted no time in dispatching to Bisbee ,a 28 year old mining engineer, fast draw shooter and part time deputy, David Nagal  along with 35 year old Deputy William Milton "Billy" Breakenridge (above).   Billy was also a Federal Deputy Marshal, and a cool man with a gun. And knowing that Frank Stillwell was the suspect, he and Dave were joined by deputized Federal Marshals Wyatt and Morgan Earp, and Wells Fargo detective, Marshal Williams.
The Tombstone lawmen interviewed the passengers of the held up stage, and learned about the thief who asked for "sugar". And in checking the crime scene they identified a distinctive boot heel mark in the sand. Checking with a Bisbee cobbler, they were told that Frank Stillwell had new heels put on his boots that very morning. A search of the shoemaker's trash produced the source of the distinctive heel prints, and all 5 lawmen proceeded directly to the livery stables where they found Frank and Pete, still recovering from their night time crime spree. The master criminals were arrested and transported directly back to Tombstone. Which is where things started to get confused.
Charged with highway robbery and theft, both men were arraigned in front of a Justice of the Peace on Tuesday 13 September.  Bail was set at a hefty $7,000 each. And then, to the Earps surprise, Frank's bail was guaranteed by his old boss, Charles Hamilton "Ham" Light.  Light had managed teamsters in Prescott, and Frank Stillwell had been his enforcer. Then about 1880, "Ham" moved to Tombstone. He owned a corral there, and rented out apartments on the northwest corner of 3rd and Fremont, in his Aztec house. It got is name because it also contained the offices of his Arizona Trading Company. In other words, Charles "Ham" Light was far more than he appeared to be.
Light's willingness to put up $7,000 in property to guarantee Frank Stillwell's appearance in court, would seem to indicate a couple of things. Either "Ham" trusted that Frank would show up or he feared what Frank would tell the lawmen if he was supported by Light.  There was also the possibility that like Luther King before him, once out of jail, Frank Stillwell would shortly be dead. That possibilty was reinforced when Johnny Behan chose this time to fire Frank for "accounting irregularities".   But the rapidity with which both bails were supplied - Ike Clanton guaranteed Pete Spence's $7,000 bond - hinted that if "Ham" Light and Ike Clanton were not the money men behind the Cochise County Cowboy's rustling ring, they were both closely connected to those who were.
Whatever the reason for the quick bond, the Earps (above) were not willing to allow these two miscreants out of their clutches. Almost immediately Pete and Frank were re-arrested, and transferred to Tuscon for trial in Federal court, beyond the immediate reach of the Cow Boy forces in Tombstone.  To make matters worse, the Republican Tombstone Epitath now insisted the pair were being charged with the robbery of the Tombstone to Contention stage coach. 
Knowing Pete Spence (above) and Frank Stillwell were innocent of that charge, the McLaury brothers and the Clanton family were convinced the Earps were now framing their opponents, as the Cow Boys had done to Doc Holliday. As Wyatt Earp later testified, "since the arrest of Spence and Stilwell, veiled threats were being made that the friends of the accused will 'get the Earps.'" In fact the pair had been charged with interfering with the United States Mail, which justified the Federal charge.
It didn't matter. By the end of September 1881, with Pete (above) and Frank in jail, the Cow Boys could feel walls, real and imagined, closing in on them.  They were willing to believe in a conspiracy against them, because they had conspired against others. And in response to the rising tensions, the Earps moved their families into adjoining rooms at the Cosmopolitan Hotel. Both sides were hunkering down into armed camps. 
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VICKSBURG Chapter Fifty-Four

On Saturday, 16 May, 1863, the mountain boys were waiting beyond the crest of the hill. They were a thousand souls from Lumpkin, Habersham, White, Town, Rabun, Union and Faninn counties. 
They were the sons of  the 29'ers -  prospectors who had clawed a million dollars worth of gold dust from the gravels of the Chattahoochee, the Tallulah and Tugaloo rivers and some 500 hard rock mines across the Georgia Appalachians. 
That wealth had belonged to the Cherokee nation, but white lawyers and politicians engineered the speedy dispatch of those inconvenient natives down a trail of tears, in exchange for a share of the riches earned on the stolen lands.  
And now, atop the hill, their sons, the 52nd Georgia infantry, were waiting to pay not only their own invoice but also the debt of their fathers.
At the bottom of the hill were the Union men of the 31st Illinois regiment, and according to their diary, they had also begun the day, waiting. “About ten o'clock in the morning... the men spread their cartridges to dry in the sun, in an old field about five miles from Champion Hill.” It was not until late morning that musketry and cannon fire was heard, and 45 year old Lieutenant Colonel “Jack” Reese ordered his regiment into formation. “The men hastily gathered up their ammunition and seized their muskets, and the regiment followed the head of the column at double-quick...”
John “Jack” D. Reese was originally from the corn fields around Champlain. But in 1858 he and his wife, Marry, had moved south to Perry County, in little Egypt, where he was elected sheriff. When war broke out Jack was quick to volunteer, and was chosen Colonel of the regiment because of his experience in the Mexican war. He had seen no combat, but he had risen to the exhaulted rank of 2nd Lieutenant.
The 1st Brigade of the  3rd division's,  under General John Eugene Smith (above), included the 31st Illinois, as well as the 20th, 45th and 124th Illinois, and the 23rd Indiana. It was placed on the far right of the battle line, opposite the north face of Champion Hill.  
As soon as his artillery was ready, Black Jack Logan sent most of his men up the forested slope and ravines. But the men of the 1st brigade, designated the division reserve, lay on their belly's, “...while the hostile shells whistled and shrieked and exploded above them.”
The men of the 52nd Georgia often referred to themselves as The Fifth – so over sized was their regiment. They had been inducted into the Confederate Army in March of 1862. And in the 3rd year of the war, their companies were still the size of regiments and bore romantic titles - The Habersham Guards, the Cleveland Volunteers, the Lumpkin Bodyguards, the Hiawassee Rangers, the Beauregard Braves, the Allegheny Rangers, and the Fannin Rifles. And their Colonel, 34 year old lawyer Charles Duval Phillips, was the second son of one of the wealthiest families in Marietta. In January he had led them in their spirited defense of Chickasaw Bayou. Their causalities that day had been light, and they were proud of their accomplishment, and certain of their ability to face down the Yankees.
It was somewhere between 2:30 and 3:00pm before Hoosier Brigadier General Marcellus Monroe Crocker (above)  finally got the order to send his 7th division forward. Remembering Grant's reprimand when McClernand had failed to issue ammunition before his men had crossed the Mississippi River, Major General James Birdseye McPherson, XVII commander, made certain his troops received their cartridges and caps from the wagons parked around the Champion house, before releasing them to the attack.
And then, at last it was the attack Grant had been seeking since 10:00a.m., with every unit pressing the rebel line at the same moment. The XVII corps' 3rd Division under Logan, on the right flank. To their left was Hovey's battered 12th division from McClernand's VIII Corps, advancing again on the Confederate line they had been battling all day. To their right, striking the rebel line in the elbow where it bent to the south, was another XVIII Corps division under Crocker. And striking the eastern slope of Champion Hill was Prussian Brigadier General Peter Joseph Osterhaus' 9th division. By pressing everywhere, Pemberton's line must give somewhere. In fact it gave everywhere.
All day Pemberton had been feeding first General Stevensons battalion's and then General Bowen's men, piecemeal into the battle for the junction of the Ratliff and Clinton roads. 
This had been slowly sucking the balance of Pemberton's army north, toward its only safe escape route - the Baker's Creek bridge. Had General Loring thrown his division into the assault, the rebels might have held the Yankees back until nightfall. Or, the sacrifice of another 7,000 men, might have destroyed the only cohesive division the army had left.
Ignoring his commander's orders, and then his demands and then his pleas, “Give 'em Blizzards” Loring (above) refused to release a single regiment to retrieve Pemberton's honor. Instead, by 4:00p.m., two thirds of the army was weary, bloodied and outflanked. The battalions began to lose cohesion. It was a fighting retreat which threatened to become a rout. Only Loring's division held its formations and slowly began to slowly shuffle south, looking for an escape route over the swollen Bakers Creek.
The un-engaged Georgia 52nd regiment stood firm, while a few hundred yards to their front a battery of five cannon appeared on their road. In limber were the four 6-pound bronze still smoking Napoleon cannon and a single iron rifled 6-pound gun of the “Cherokee Artillery”, under 39 year old French-Belgium Captain Maximilian Van Den Corput. Having been engaged moments earlier and been forced to withdraw, Captain Corput was resting his winded horses atop the hill, when a target presented itself to the gunners. And entire Yankee battalion appeared just beyond a ravine to their front. Corput ordered 2 guns to unlimber and open fire.
Clawing their way to the crest of Champion's Hill, the Yankees of John Smith's 1st brigade had paused to reform, and found themselves suddenly under artillery fire from their right. Smith immediately saw the threat and the opportunity. Although his troops were the 3rd Division's reserve, knowing the larger battle was already won, Smith ordered his men to face right and charge the guns. 
Immediately their vanished into the ravine. As they reappeared within a few yards of the battery, the 2 guns fired a round of grapeshot. But it was badly times and largely missed the blue coats. The Yankee battalion then fired a volley directly into Corput's battery, killing most of the horses, and almost half the gunners.
Corporal Wesley Connor, of Corput's battery, told his diary, “...many of the cannoneers (sic) had failed to stick to their guns, and the Yanks were close upon us, Captain Corput told his men to take care of themselves, and we were not long in putting the order into execution. I felt so mortified that I stopped once or twice to make sure that I was not the first to leave the guns.” Their division commander was kinder, noting the 42% casualty rate had proven the crew's devotion.
Five hundred yards to the rear, Colonel Charles Philips witnessed the loss of the battery and impulsively decided to take it back. He sent his thousand men charging at the double quick forward, into the 20th, 31st, 45th and 124th Illinois and the 23rd Indiana regiments.
The Yankees had time to prepare for their arrival. Said the diary of the 31st, “...there was crossing of bayonets and fighting hand to hand. Sergeant Wick, of Company B, used his bayonet upon his foe, and Sergeant Hendrickson, of Company C, clubbed his musket in a duel with one of the men in gray.”
A Iowa soldier summed up the situation  all along the battle line, when he said, “We killed each other as fast as we could."
Colonel Phillips was leading the charge, but after a few minutes he was shot in the head and hands. He collapsed into the desperate mass, and it was several minutes before his second in command, Major John Jay Moore was even informed. The major then tried to issue an order to retreat, but the melee continued.  
The entire fight lasted for less than half an hour, during which time at least 24 mountain men were killed. At least 750 officers and men of the 52nd regiment were killed, wounded or captured. The few survivors would continue to appear on the rolls of the Confederate army as the 52nd Georgia regiment. But during that half hour their bravado ceased to exist.
The Yankees of Smith's brigade also paid a price. The 20th Illinois suffered 22 killed, 107 wounded and 7 missing. The 124th Illinois lost 63 men killed and wounded. The 23rd Indiana had 4 officers and 14 men killed. The 45th Illinois suffered 5 dead – approximately 140 dead.
One unnamed member of the staff of the 52nd survived the disaster, and spurred his horse to escape. “At least a dozen dead battery horses had to be leaped in that lane. Suddenly the lane turned at left-angles, and stretched a half-mile down towards Baker's Creek. Down this lane with race-horse speed the rider flew, while minnie-balls whizzed around too close to the ear to be musical, and raising the dust on the ground before the rider. But thanks to good fortune both rider and horse escaped."
As the army began to collapse around him, Lieutenant General John C. Pemberton turned to those around him and said, ““I call upon you gentlemen to witness that I am not responsible for this battle. I am but obeying the orders of General Johnston.”
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Thursday, March 15, 2018


I suspect the problem begins with the oft quoted but not well understood phrase, “pie are squared.” In the first place, it’s not. It is a fact that you cannot square a circle, and yet it is done everyday, out of sight for those of use who are math-impaired. This is so because  pi is the relationship between the length of the line forming a circle, divided by the distance across that same circle. And this relationship somehow always works out to be 3.141592653589793238…etcetera, etcetera, ad infinitas, add nfelicitous, and never ever repeating. This makes Pi an irrational number, which is confusing again because I find all numbers irrational, even on Pi day (3/15).
To find the area of a living room you simply ask a realtor, and then Subtract 10%. But to find the area of a circle you must  measure the radius of a circle and then square it -  or to put it another way, the radius of the circle times the radius of the circle times the radius of the circle - three times.  In the shorthand of math-speak that becomes, A(rea)= pi Radius squared. This is true math-media.      
What this mystery formula really means is that you can never turn a circle into a square of the exact same size: close, but never exactly. And it doesn’t matter if it is a great big circle or an itty-bitty one. Pi is always 3.141 etcetera, etcetera, etcetera..
If you are a math freak this is obvious, while the rest of us have to be satisfied with accepting that Pi is an irrational number and live with it. But I ask you, what is the value of knowing pi? 
I had a fourth grade teacher who was so obsessed with having her students memorize the value of Pi to twenty decimal places that she had us memorize the following poem: “Sir, I send a rhyme excelling, In sacred truth and rigid spelling, Numerical sprites elucidate, For me the lexicon’s full weight”. Each of the 20 words of that poem has the number of letters required to read out the first twenty digits of pi, in order.  I had to memorized that poem again in my thirties because as a ten year old I couldn’t spell the word Nantucket, and as a sixty year old I rely upon a spell checker to detail any word long enough to rhyme with  “elucidate”. So this poem was as much a mystery to me then as the number Pi remained for years.
But I am older now and I have grown so used to making mistakes in public that I hardly notice the embarrassment anymore. So I openly admit that I still find pi a puzzle. Besides, every time I make a mistake, I learn something new. Things my mistakes have taught me so far include, never turn down a chance to use the bathroom, never loan money to attractive women, never invest in Nigerian lottery tickets, never give out my social security number over the net, and never question the value of pi. But, why pi?
Legend has it that the great Greek mathematician Archimedes of Syracuse was struggling over the solution to pi when a Roman soldier blundered into his garden. The old man supposedly snapped, “Don’t touch my circles!”, whereupon the chastised legionary pulled his Gladius and separated Archimedes’ head from his face. I suppose that if Archimedes had been sitting in his bathtub, as he allegedly was when he discovered that displaced water could be used to measure density (Eureka!), something else might have been separated. But, suffice it to say that before computers, finding pi was a great big pain in the Archimedes. He managed to figure out that pi was somewhere between 3 10/71 and 3 1/7. He might have done better if he had invented the decimal point, first. But...
About the year 480 CE the Chinese mathematician Zu Chongzhi figured out that pi was a little more than 3.1415926 and a little less than 3.1415927. After that the decimal point zealots took over. The German mathematician and fencing instructor Ludolf van Ceulen worked out pi to 35 decimal places. And in 1873 the amateur geek, William Shanks, worked it out to 707 decimal places. But William made one tiny little mistake in the 528th number and that threw everything else off. But it was such a good try that nobody noticed his screw up until 1944. Today computers have figured pi out to one trillion digits to the right of the decimal point and still no repeatable pattern has been detected, and still it never reaches zero. It is still a little bit less than 3.15 and a little bit more than 3.14. All that has changed is the definition of “a little bit”. It keeps getting smaller and smaller -  but it will never be zero.
But what does that mean? What does Pi mean, beyond its face value? Well, it turns you can find it in the   curve of the double helix of a DNA molecule, the chemical code of all living plants, animals and bacteria, and the behavior of light coming from distant galaxies, or out of our sun.  Einstein himself realized that if you want to describe why and how a river "meanders"  to the sea, you need to use Pi , because the actual length of a stream, with twists and bends is usually between 1.3 and 1.4 times the straight line distance - called the "meander ratio".  All the geologists have to do is plug in the variables for soil type, and angle of slope and latitude and drawing rivers on a map becomes predictable. Pi is why why so many rivers look the same when seen from space or on a map. Pi is what all rivers have in common with DNA. And airplane wings. And sewer pipes. And eye balls, human and otherwise. 
Pi reveals the underlying structure of the universe, the lines of force - magnetic,  gravity, chemical or electrical.  Pi is like a master key, that with a little jiggling, can be made to open just about any door. The mere fact that such a key exists, tells you that everything we can see, hear and feel is connected to everything else, even the stuff we can't see. Pi tells you the chaos inside an exploding super nova is governed by the same laws that control the budding of a flower. It is the mathematical proof that there is a logic to the entire universe, and that logic is 3.141592653589793238...etcetera, etcetera.        
Thus pi is the “admirable number” according to the devilish little Polish poetess Wislawa Szmborska. While being infinitely long it includes “…my phone number, your shirt size, the year nineteen hundred and seventy-three, sixth floor number of inhabitants, sixty-five cents, hip measurement, two fingers, a charade and a code, in which we find how blithe the trostle sings!” (…and no, I have no idea what or who the hell a trostle is or what makes it blithe or unblithe. Do you?)
Daniel Rockmore, in the pages of "The Chronicle of High Education" for 12 March 1999, wrote that Pi was "Foreign, unpredictable, otherworldly, yet as common as a's easy to find, but hard to know. Among mathematicians there still rages a fierce, unsettled debate about whether pi is a "normal" number--that is, whether each of the digits 0 through 9 each occur on average one-tenth of the time in the never-ending decimal expansion of pi...making...Pis...a veritable poster number for the fashion world's ambiguous and androgynous advertising campaigns."  And you thought mathematics had no sex appeal  Why, if Pi was plain old 3 or dull old 4, there would be no sex. Sex is made possible by being 3.14159265358979.... etceteraetcetera.. And it cannot be and will not be controlled. And certainly not owned.
A physician and a crackpot amateur mathematician from Solitude, Indiana named Dr. Edwin J. Goodwin thought that he had “solved” pi to the last digit - and none of this irrational numerical horse feathers for him!  He decided to make Pi his own personal private property by copyrighting it.  But in order to profit from his discovery (you know how wealthy the Pythagoras estate is) Dr. Goodwin needed a legal endorsement. And rather than subject his brainchild to the vagaries of the copyright peer review, the good doctor instead offered his theory as an accomplished fact to the local politicians. The proposal, Indiana House Bill 246, “…an act introducing a new mathematical truth and offered…to be used only by the State of Indiana free of cost…provided it is accepted and adopted by the official action of the Legislature…”. this insanity actually made it through the Committee on Canals and Swamps (Perfect place for it!) in record time, and was passed by the full Indiana house on 5 February, 1897, by a vote of 67 to 0.  Who says politicians don't spend time on important issues?
Unfortunately, in the Indiana Senate some wiseacre showed the bill to a visiting Purdue party- pooper, Professor of Mathematics C.A. Waldo. And now we at last know where Waldo was, at least in 1897. The lawmaker asked if the professor would like the honor of meeting the amazing Dr. Goodwin, and Professor Waldo replied that he already knew all the lunatics he cared to know, thank you very much. And with that comment Dr. Goodwin’s brief bubble of fame was burst. On 12 February, 1897 any further vote on the bill to copywrite the perfect definitive solution to Pi was postponed indefinitely.  Hoosier lunatics have since moved on to more productive fields.
It was not a victory for logic so much as an avoidance of a victory for ignorance, which is pretty much the same thing that happened in Tennessee about 30 years later when they tried to make evolution illegal. Don't tell the whales. They'll have to go back to being dogs. 
Still pi remains one of the most popular mathematical equations, if mostly poorly appreciated by those of us who aren’t trying to generate a random number or navigate a jet plane across the North Pole, or predict the next stock market bubble, or launch a satellite, run a radio station, process an X-ray or a Cat-scan, drive a submarine, drill for oil, purify gold or etcetera, etcetera, ad infinitas, add infelicity.
Just trust me, and always trust pi. It lifts your spirit, gives you a sense of security and keeps your circles on the square. To share it just try singing..."Pi, Pi, Me oh my, Nothing tastes sweet, wet, salty and dry, all at once, ...oh my, I love pi!
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