THE SAD UNTIMELY END OF MAXEY

THIS I REMEMBER

 

Pretty much everyone in town knew Maxey and they all knew he was queer.  That was the word back then, a hurtful word, instead of the present term "Gay".  Personally, I never saw much that was gay about the whole thing.  Anyway, Maxey was born queer, came up queer and it was a given fact, like the landmark gray water tower that had JIMSON CITY painted on the side in big black letters.  

Maxey was a quiet guy who minded his own business.  He was, however, hypervigalent.  His black eyes, which had an intense haunted look, never missed a thing, including me on the day I buried his cousin, Daisy.  I did not speak to him then but we exchanged furtive glances, him suspecting and me not ready to address the terrible possibility.  

He graduated from Jimson City High and like many young men his age was drafted into the army in World War II.  This may not have been the hardship for Maxey then it was for other young men of that period.  When Maxey returned from the war he moved in with his aunt, Hattie Crumbarger.  Hatty was 87 and while alert and able to get around on her own, still needed someone to be with her.  Maxie got a job at the Chrysler plant over at the neighboring city of Indifference and life went on much as before.

On a warm evening in the spring of 1966 the heavy smell of honeysuckle must have gotten to Maxey.  Now in his early 50's he drove to Capitol City and found a companion for the evening.  Maxey brought him back to Aunt Hattie's brick bungalow in Jimson City.  Sometime in the early morning hours, he and his new friend started arguing.  Some said over money, an unexpected request or charge by the visitor.  The altercation became quite vocal and loud enough for someone to call the local Marshall.  It certainly wasn't Aunt Hattie who retired at 8 o'clock and was deaf as a post anyhow.

At any rate, two of the town's cop's responded to two different calls.  They were Leroy and Buster Branch, first cousins.  They both arrived separately, and rounding a corner of the house from opposite directions, drew on each other and by the grace of God did not shoot each other.

As I got the story the trick was escorted to the county line, put out of the sheriff's car and was told not to either come back or look back.  He eagerly complied.  Maxey, however was arrested and taken to the office of the High Sheriff of Bindweed County, Angus McQuade.  I never learned what charges were filed against Maxey, if any.  I don't think it was illegal, even then, to be queer in Indiana.  Texas, probably.  There he was apparently grilled strenuously and forcefully (some say bullied) by the sheriff and his staff  until he suddenly slumped in his chair, the  victim of a massive stroke.  He was rushed by ambulance to the VA hospital in Capitol City

I got the call from the Veterans Administration three days later to come down and pick up Maxey's body and the American flag under which he had served.  He was buried next to his parents in the IOOF cemetery in a plain silver colored casket, the bright red stripes of the flag intensified by the warm spring sun.  The members of the American Legion post served as pallbearers and honor guard complete with firing squad and a kid from the Jimson City High School Band playing taps.  That always got to me.

Angus McQuade was elected to three more terms as High Sheriff of Bindweed County.  To my knowledge no charges were ever filed against him.

And Maxey,  an honorably discharged queer veteran of the United States Army  who had served throughout World War II, cannot speak from the grave.

You will not find Justice in Bindweed County, Indiana!