New York Interlopers

Interesting NPR story about a Wisconsin historian, Margaret Zerwekh, who campaigned for over 20 years to honor a civil war soldier who died on the last day of fighting at Gettysburg with the Congressional Medal of Honor. He's finally getting this thing (way postmortem), and now Fredona, New York's mayor is trying to take the medal on the grounds that the soldier's family moved to Fredona (he was born in Delafield, Wisconsin). Hmm, not sure what would be the best solution--dig up his body and then re-bury him with it? Did there really need to be a physical medal made up if this guy no longer had any living family members to present it to? Anyway, I like how Guy Raz stokes the fire later in the interview:

"You'd better work quickly before those New York interlopers come in and try to snag the medal."

Ha! "New York interlopers"! Some of my best laid plans have been foiled by the likes of those meddling yankees!

Virginia Celebrates 146 Uninterrupted Years of Civil War

Every year in America there are re-enactments of various battles from the Civil War. The men who participate--whether you describe them as "buffs" "enthusiasts" or "obsessive weirdos"--get pretty wrapped up in their parts, taking their roles so seriously that it would seem to drain any semblance of fun or lightheartedness from the whole enterprise. I've talked with a few re-enactors, and I can tell you that these guys are not fooling around--they make the most hardcore D & D nerds, fantasy role-playing "wizards" and Renaissance fair actors seem remarkably well-adjusted. So I can't say that I was particularly surprised to hear about an altercation at this year's re-enactment of the Battle of Stanardsville in Virginia.

According to the Richmond Times Dispatch, two "commanders" from the Confederacy and the Union "cavalries" ended up charging each other with assault resulting from an, um, unscripted battlefield scuffle. According to the report "Union commander" Joseph Ferguson knocked the hat off of his counterpart, "Confederate commander" Doug Nalls, who reciprocated by "shooting" Ferguson in the face with his historically accurate revolver. Although the gun was loaded only with blanks, it did contain gun powder, which caused Ferguson some nasty facial injuries. Both claimed their actions were accidental.

Civil War re-enactment clashes like this one are not without precedent, as you may imagine. In a 2008 re-enactment in Middletown, Virginia a 73-year-old retired policeman from New York was shot in the shoulder with a musket ball. About 20 years ago another "soldier" was also shot at a re-enactment of the Battle of Gettysburg. Oops.

All were claimed accidental. In the Stanardsville case, however, the Dispatch notes:

"Confederate re-enactors testified during the several-hour trial that the two had exchanged words before the violent encounter. According to Confederate witnesses, the Union commander used archaic slurs such as "blaggard" and "knave" to describe his Confederate counterpart. The prosecutor, Ronald L. Morris, said today that more contemporary insults were also exchanged." (!)

You see, even when these guys get pissed off, they stay in character (I am pretty curious about those "contemporary insults" though). Despite the eye-witness accounts, both charges were dropped by the judge--I guess the Stanardsville battle will end in a draw this time...but, as Ferguson said: "The feud on the battlefield goes on." I guess that's Yankee speak for "Watch yer back, Johnnie Reb."

The Filson Historical Society

This photo is of the main building of the Filson Club, a 125 year old local historical society of which I am now a proud member. I've been wanting to join up for several years, but I finally decided that now's the time: I'm only going to be in school for a few more months, so I had to act soon to take advantage of their student rate. Plus, I'm taking a class called Archives and Manuscript Management this semester and will need access to a local archives.

Anyway, my first visit was a rousing success: I have a paper due in which I have to write about being a patron at an archive, so I randomly decided to do a bit of research on the Civil War battle of Perryville, Kentucky (also known as the Invasion of Kentucky). The anniversary of the battle is coming up in a few weeks on October 8th (1862), and there is quite a bit of material at the Filson concerning the war, as well as the state's role in it. I spent some time in the library, getting oriented by the friendly reference librarians, and finally worked my courage up to go upstairs and visit the rare books and manuscripts room.

Readers, it was REALLY awesome: I got to page through the ACTUAL field report penned by Confederate General Hardee on the battle at Perryville. It was written on your basic-looking ruled notebook paper (sans spiral fringe, of course), and the General's penmanship puts us 21st century slobs to utter shame. It described, with poetic flourish, how the Confederate path "was marked by the crushed lines and disordered battalions of the enemy. Our troops displayed higher qualities than mere discipline can confer. The furor of freemen and the enthusiasm of patriots animated thier valor: whenever they advanced, the enemy recoiled before the shock: when they retired he dared not venture to pursue." I wonder how modern military reports compare to that.

Anyway, I was astounded that they brought it right out for me and left me alone in the reading room with it--free to ogle and page through it for as long as I liked! W-O-W! Here I am, just a random schmuck, and they treat me like some book writing historian--being taken seriously by strangers is kind of a new experience for me.

I plan to make a return trip next week to look at random awesome things: maybe I'll ask to see the letter penned by Mary Todd Lincoln to her cousin Emily in 1864...oh, boy!

Battle of the Wilderness

Readers, I'm winding down my obnoxious parade of Washington D.C. vacay photo essays, I swear. I just wanted to tell you a few things about the Battle of the Wilderness area, which we drove through on our way to Monticello, the home of Thomas Jefferson (also the B-side of our very own 5 cent piece: the fabulous U.S. nickel!).

The battle took place over three days in May, 1864, in the dense forest region of Spotsylvania, Virginia. Lee's army was vastly outnumbered (61,000 Confederates against Grant's 101,000) and had inferior artillery, both of which would be somewhat nullified in the confusing close quarters of the Wilderness, which played host to the most bloody fighting in the most brutal conditions of the war. Accounts vary, but it is generally agreed that the Union lost close to 17,000 men to the Confederacy's 8,000. While Grant's losses were greater and he was the one to disengage from fighting, it was not a true victory for Lee as Grant continued his aggressive offensive on towards Richmond rather than retreating North.

It was in this battle that a Union surgeon, William Chester Minor, saw much of his war action. Along with his (often futile) efforts trying to save the lives of the wounded, Minor was also charged with the duty of punishing those that tried to flee, branding their skin with the letter "D" for deserter. He survived the battle and the war, but in 1868 began exhibiting signs of mental instability. He was institutionalized at St. Elizabeth's hospital, an asylum in Washington D.C., for a year and a half with no improvements to his condition reported. He was then allowed to retire from the army and collect his pension, and in 1871 wandered to a slum in London, where his paranoia led him to fatally gun down a random man in the street.

Minor was found not guilty on grounds of insanity, and committed to Broadmoor asylum. Because he had an income (his army pension) and he was not judged to be dangerous, he was allowed to live in comfortable quarters along with his massive collection of books. It was during this time that he began corresponding with the creators of what was to become the most ambitious attempt to collect and document the English language: the Oxford English Dictionary. England's Philological Society had called for volunteers to help collect notations for words (their definitions and origins), and Minor devoted the rest of his life to the project, compiling over 10,000 entries, becoming the most prolific of the OED volunteers, and in the meantime befriending one of the project leaders, Dr. James Murray (who was, incidentally, unaware of Minor's situation until, believing that Minor was the hospital's administrator, he visited the asylum himself--only to discover his pen pal was an inmate, not its director).

By 1902 Minor's condition began to deteriorate further, his health failed, and he was eventually allowed to return to St. Elizabeth's in Washington, where he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He died in 1920.

Gettysburg

While I was in the District last week, we decided to make the hour or so drive to Gettysburg to see the famous battle sight there. Besides Perryville, Kentucky, I had never visited a Civil War battlefield--and of course Gettysburg is the most notable, it being the turning point of the war for the Union, and the backdrop for Lincoln's most famous address.

The town is kind of a quaint, throw-back little square of old brick buildings, with informative little markers in every nook and cranny. Still somewhat thriving, Gettysburg has a small-ish liberal arts college (founded in 1832) that boasts Dwight D. Eisenhower as a former member of its board of trustees. It's definitely one of those "cute historic towns" that they pack with jaunty public flower beds and bed and breakfasts, existing as near-stage setting for the tourists who come to see all the old cannons, monuments and graves scattered about. And speaking of graves: the other notable thing about the town of Gettysburg? Ghost tours. LOTS of ghost tours. Gettysburg has ghost tours like Myrtle Beach has putt putt courses: there's one on every corner.

Anyway, it was pretty impressive out in the field. Aside from seeing big marble monuments rising up every so often (erected by the states who had troops involved in the battle, along with others honoring various regiments), you get the distinct impression that the landscape really hasn't changed much since 1863. There's still the sprawling countryside, low walls built of brick and wood, and the view of the Blue Ridge Mountains off in the distance. The National Parks service maintains the area, including the graveyard on Cemetery Hill, which is where Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg address after the massive burial of over 28,000 soldiers.

One other highlight from the trip was our tour guide at Cemetery Hill: he was spectacularly terrible. The guy was a summer intern for the Parks Service, and he had a peculiar way with adjectives: that is, he ruthlessly abused them, which had a sort of breathlessly redundant, hypnotizing effect. You would want to turn away, but being stunned by his relentless beat-down of the English language, your senses were dulled into submission. He would also randomly interrupt himself to make disdainful interjections about what he saw people doing off in the distance. This confusing blend of historical and social commentary was pretty jarring: "...and that's why you see many numerous amounts of graves with--can you believe that lady's letting her kid do that??" Wha-huh? The entire group would all turn around.

This may sound nit picky, but it was a rather long tour, and this notably bad habit of his was combined with a tendency to talk so rapidly (or, as he would say "quick and rapid and really really fast, you guys") he would run out of breath, leaving him to pant his way through his speech. It was exhausting to witness. I wanted to run away, but the strange ranger-wannabe wizard held us all spell-bound. His take on the battle of Gettysburg was that it was "really really [gasp] REALLY bad and [wheeze] not good. You can't even [gasp] imagine it. REALLY, you can't--does that guy think he can park here??"