Chapter Two A: Battlegrounds

Indiana has been the host of several significant battles in its two hundred year history. In 1811, William Henry Harrison defeated The Prophet and broke the league of Indian nations that Tecumseh hoped to forge at the Battle of Tippecanoe. In 1863, North and South met in battles at Corydon as General John Hunt Morgan led 2,400 southern troops into Indiana in an attempt to divert the Army of Ohio from its focus on Tennesee. In the 1940s a little known World War II battle was fought on Indiana soil, known still as Time Wars. Neighbor fought neighbor over whether to switch to daylight saving time or to stay on real time. The state is still divided with eleven counties changing to Daylight Savings time in the summer and the other 81 counties remaining on Eastern Standard Time year round. Finally, there was the 1960 battle of Burns Ditch that stretched over five years and is still a hotbed of contention today. On one side was found the conservationist forces led by Senator Paul H. Douglas of Illinois, sometimes referred to as Indiana’s third Senator. On the other, Indiana governors Craig and Welsh and the powerful steel industry. At issue was a swampy marshland at the mouth of the Calumet River directly in the middle of Indiana’s sand dunes along Lake Michigan. At this site, the Army Corps of Engineers recommend the building of a harbor and port for ocean going vessels, opening Indiana as an international shipping center for steel and oil. The battle stretched through several years with victories on both sides resulting in the creation of the Port of Indiana at Burns Ditch in Portage, and the adjoining 15,000-acre Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore created by congress in 1966.

The co-existence of these two properties has been tenuous in its best times. Conservationists cite elevated levels of PCBs in and around the park that make many forms of water recreation and fishing unsafe. Industrialists are quick to discuss the 75,000 Porter County jobs that depend on the harbor and the adjoining steel mills. Driving from LaPorte to Chicago one crosses the indistinct boundary from clear lake-born breezes to the smog coated factories in a withered wasteland.

And still, one can find access to apparently pristine beaches just a short drive from the steel mills, all but vacant in the January winds that whistle off the lake, often dumping snow measured in feet instead of inches as the moisture invades the cold air of the mainland: Just the type of place where three men could have a private discussion if they did not wish to be observed.

Brian Borden arrived at the padlocked gate of the dawn-’til-dusk park and left his car. He stepped around the locked gate and flipped on a miniature flashlight to pick out the path through the trees to the long sloping sand dune ahead. There were no other cars in the lot, but that wasn’t unusual. Undoubtedly Rick Hedges would approach on the beach from the big Hoosier Steel factory just half a mile away. And who knew where they’d find that spook Marvin Jackson. Black as night, he could be standing in the trees right next to Brian and not be seen.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a shadow detached itself from the trees and the six-foot-six former basketball player joined him on the dune.

“Jeez!” Brian involuntarily jumped when Marvin approached. “You scared the bejesus out of me. Why do you sneak around like that?”

“It’s the escaped South Carolina slave in me. Stay in the shadows and no one will know you are there… until it’s too late,” Marvin said. He wore a heavy black parka drawn up around his head. “Why do we have to meet where it’s so cold? Surely the boss has someplace warm he could talk to us.”

“I suspect he does, but doesn’t want the likes of us to soil it,” Brian responded bitterly. “How the hell did I get myself into this?”

“You couldn’t make harbormaster on the seaboard and Hedges wanted to bring in his own man for the Port here. Now you pay the price for the party, Harbormaster.”

“There he comes,” Brian pointed down the beach. He started off to meet the approaching figure with Marvin trailing silently if not invisibly behind him. “What’s he want that couldn’t be handled over the phone?”

“Too many people can listen in on your phone. It’s an open service line. Now mine’s got an encryption system on it that’s never been broken. I could have had this meeting from Washington DC with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a babe in the other.”

“And which hand’s going to hold the secure phone?” Brian was disgusted with the thought of Marvin living a life of luxury and pleasure in Washington DC. How the heck did you get to be a lobbyist, anyway? Couldn’t take too much talent.

Rick Hedges, president of Hoosier Steel approached and kicked sand out of his shoes. “Brian, Marvin. Let’s get down to business. It’s colder than hell out here.”

“Right. What’s the issue?” Brian jumped in.

“Dredging. Why aren’t you keeping the damn channel dredgers working?” Rick demanded without further introduction.

“It’s the middle of winter. There’s no ships coming in until the St. Lawrence opens up.” Brian said plaintively. “Have you seen the size of the waves and whitecaps out there?”

“What I’ve seen is what they’re washing up on shore. This is the problem.” Rick pointed his flashlight down at the sand and kicked a dead fish over with his toe. “There’s fish floating belly-side-up all over the shallows,” Rick retorted.

“Excuse me,” Marvin jumped in, “but what’s that got to do with dredging?”

“Listen and learn. That’s what I brought you here for. Well, Brian, tell him.”

“Lot of fish come into the shallows of the harbor in winter. Water’s warmer because of all the heat generated by the mills,” Brian said glumly. “If we dredge in the winter we create a lot of fishkill plowing through them with the blades. If we’re cutting up all the live fish and spewing them out, then we’re accountable for all the dead ones too. People assume they are just more dredging damage.”

“That means something else is killing the fish,” Marvin stepped in.

“Glad you’ve got the brains we pay you for,” Rick snapped. “If the dredgers are moving, no one looks for other reasons that there would be dead fish around.”

“And the other reasons wouldn’t be good for the industry,” Marvin speculated.

“They certainly wouldn’t be good for our shareholders,” Rick answered.

“So I see why you need Brian to cover for you, but why did you drag my black ass out here from DC?” Marvin asked.

“Because we need some pressure applied to certain congressmen to quash a bill calling for tighter controls on inland water shipping. There’s a damn congresswoman from right here in Indiana who’s made it her mission to screw up the shipping and steel industry. She’s fighting a battle that was lost 40 years ago, but there’s so much upset over natural disasters in DC right now that she’s got some steam behind her stupid bill. We need to ease that pressure.”

“You want me to lobby her to pull the bill? Grease the skids?” Marvin asked.

“No such thing. Every dollar in her pocket moves her one step closer to being governor of Indiana. Stay clear of her. It’s the house Commerce Committee that we need to get to. Get the bill routed through them and let them kill it.” Rick paused. “I don’t want anything we’re doing to come anywhere near that bitch. She’s been sniffing around our butts like a dog as it is. If she gets wind that we’re actively fighting her, she’ll be all over us. By the same token, she needs to see that her competition are getting steel dollars and not her. She wants to play in this park she’ll have to choose the right team.”

“So what did we lose in the water that’s causing a fish kill?” Marvin asked. There was a silence in which only the breaking waves on the wet sand could be heard.

“Better that you don’t know,” Rick said quietly. “Better that none of us knew.” He turned abruptly and walked back up the beach toward the mill.

“Damn,” said Brian.

“Yeah. Good luck,” Marvin responded. Then he, too, turned and disappeared into the trees. Brian stood for a long time on the beach looking out at the water. Damn he loved the water. Why couldn’t he have gotten this job at a seacoast harbor where he could smell the salt? That was what was wrong with fresh water harbors. The water was stale. Big as Lake Michigan is, it lacks tides and constant movement that keeps the ocean clean. There were seven seas in the world and he ended up stuck in a bathtub. Damn. He turned and made his way slowly back to the car outside the park gates.

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