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217 Ineeded stones large enough for Tillich’s healing messages. My geologist husband once again held a lamp to guide my ­feet. “Great-­ grandfather Richard was the first professor of geology at Indiana University, and its first building bears his name, Owen Hall. I’ve contributed to a room in his memory. I know a young teacher who may be able to locate a few sizable native Indiana rocks for in between your evergreens.” Kenneth’s call to Dean Pennington in December 1965 brought immediate results. The alert geologist knew that a highway was under construction outside Indianapolis, and he headed there on the chance that road equipment would turn up ­ long-­ buried boulders. I’ll never forget the excitement in Pennington’s voice when he telephoned Kenneth, for I was listening in. ChaptER 24 Paul Tillich Park 218 New Harmony, indiana “Tell Mrs. Owen that a glacier has deposited some solid granite stones suitable for inscriptions. Their coloration is unusual. They’ll do for her ‘Christmas trees’!” Kenneth thanked him heartily and offered compensation. “Don’t pay me a penny,” Pennington replied, “for having had the time of my life, Mr. Owen. Just pay the truckers who’ll haul them to New Harmony.”1 Although I was not in town for the unloading of my prehistoric windfall , I returned in late spring to welcome Ralph Beyer, the eminent London-­based letterer of Coventry Cathedral. His uneven, forceful, chiseled letters—like those found on early Greek tablets—­ were often gilded by his charming wife, Hilary.2 He had been trained by En­ gland’s­well-­known sculptor and typeface designer Eric Gill and had also studied under the German classicist Rudolf Koch. I learned from Ralph that his father, Oskar Beyer, the art historian, had been a good friend and colleague of Tillich’s at the University of Dresden prior to World War II, and their families ­were close. Ralph described cutting Tillich’s words into the boulders as “work which is very near my heart.”3 Many of my endeavors for New Harmony seemed to be guided by a will greater than mine. Close by the aborning park stood a few homes. One belonged to Walter “Luke” and Kathleen Mathews, staunch allies of mine. Kathleen grew the only pink lily of the valley in town and gave me as many as my garden would hold, plus a bushel basket of coral bells. Luke’s livelihood came from his ­insect-­spray ser­vice and the sale of dew worms for fishermen. His principal client was Harry “Catty” Brand. But their main occupation in the spring of 1966 was watching Ralph Beyer incise letters into stones. Luke finally voiced their misgivings, which ­were heard throughout town: “Poor Miss Jane imported this ‘bloke’ all the way from En­ gland, and he can’t print straight.” Local disappointment notwithstanding, Ralph transferred Tillich’s quotations into stone. However, one of my original selections—which I had shared with the Tillichs in their Chicago apartment during our joyous exchange—would have to be left out: “Religion is the substance of culture, culture is the form of religion.”4 I was particularly partial to the tallest among the silent stones, its beauty in­de­pen­dent of the hand of man. This stone would become a tombstone , inscribed with alpha and omega dates and an epitaph. Whenever it rains, lines of pink and patches of lavender appear. Paul Tillich Park 219 Fortunately, I had known that a portrait bust of Tillich would be essential for the park and had arranged for him to meet the very fine sculptor James Rosati, whom Tillich and I both admired. The appointment for a sitting was mediated by telephone, and happily a harmonious working relationship developed between subject and sculptor. While the sitting was under way in Jim Rosati’s New York studio, earthmoving machines­ were preparing the ground of Tillich Park. Paul Tillich did not live to see the completion of either. The portrait bust was not ready for the commemorative ser­vice that Hannah and I ­were busily planning.5 Ralph Beyer with a lettered stone in Paul Tillich Park, 1966. Paul Tillich Archive. Courtesy of the Robert Lee Blaffer Foundation. Sculptor James Rosati with the portrait bust of Paul Tillich at its unveiling, 1967. Head of Tillich © 1967 James Rosati. Photograph by James K. Mellow. Paul Tillich Archive. Courtesy of the Robert Lee Blaffer Foundation, James K. Mellow, and the Estate of James Rosati, Paul...


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