By Ed Piper
In considering why the idea of the Civil War "clicked" with me back on our walk through the neighborhood in Nashville in 2003, I always contrast the Civil War--which took place in locales far from my home--to the Catholic missions in California.
Born and growing up in Southern California, I learned about the missions early in life and studied them as part of California history in school. My family and I visited missions, especially San Juan Capistrano, where the swallows return each Spring. That seasonal event was a big deal for our mother, and we made the trek from Long Beach, where I was born and where we then lived, down the coast to San Juan Capistrano to see the arrival of the swallows more than once.
Why do I bring up the missions? They were always something known and nearby for me growing up, whereas the Civil War was only something I studied in the history books. It seemed far away, locked away as part of history long before my birth.
In any case, when Dianna and I took a stroll to give her cousin Cara a break during our visit to her home in Nashville, I saw the stone wall near her home, read the historical placard about the Battle of Nashville, and--voila!--I've been hooked ever since.
There is the romantic idea of the Civil War: rifling was new, repeating guns were new, soldiers on the North still stood shoulder-to-shoulder, Napoleon-era style, getting mowed down. As I wrote in another post, the humanness of the conflict appeals to me.
I don't like war. I think it stinks. It's horrible. I'm not a big fan of military strategy. Having never been in the military and having never studied military tactics, I know only what I have picked up by osmosis in reading Catton, Foote, McPherson, etc. (I don't retain much of it; I don't picture much of it well, since I don't take time to place the physical layout.)
What appeals to me is Grant, a guy who failed at everything else, whether working at his father's tanning enterprise or in the shop, or any kind of business (he tried to float ice down from snow country to sell in lower parts, and that was a disaster). Sam Grant, when in war, suddenly became calmer, could think under pressure, and had riding skills to boot. In the U.S.-Mexican War, he rode his horse to get to the U.S. camp while under heavy fire through town by hanging over the side of his horse, just like you see in the cowboy movies.
He opposed President Polk's war, which was instigated to gain land from Mexico. Grant knew it was aggression. But he served faithfully to the best of his ability, as a good soldier. He showed glimmers of what was to happen in the Civil War over a decade later.
A vital skill that historians say Grant had was to write clear orders to his commanders in concise words. This enabled his subordinates to grasp his objective, and to act in the most effective way possible.
Grant had a drinking problem, and when he was away from Julia, his beloved wife (whose dad was a Southern slaveholder), he got into trouble with this.
What appeals to me is Abraham Lincoln. He was a great man. He wasn't perfect, and didn't claim to be. What he did was show an immense aptitude for learning on the job: He didn't have any capable generals who could act as his general-in-chief, so he educated himself by studying war strategy and learning from others more experienced. He played a major role in directing the war, even while he had to work his way through all his bumbling generals, McDowell, McClellan, Burnside, Hooker, Meade, and all the rest.
He had a spirit sensitive to the Almighty, and though not a traditional Christian as we would understand it, he kept a line open to the fact the country was in need of repentance and forgiveness. The curse of slavery had put a blot on the U.S. It was written into the Constitution, as fine a document as that was.
Two great men in their time, Grant and Lincoln.
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
Island No. 10
By Ed Piper
Island No. 10, so-called, sits in the middle of the Mississippi River at the edge of southern Missouri. My wife was born in St. Louis, so our travels have taken us to visit her favorite Uncle Rudy and Aunt Evelyn, who we used to stay several days with and have a delightful time with. Evelyn's specialty is sandwiches made on hot dog buns (she doesn't waste or throw away anything), which I remember eating on our visit to Meramec Cavern on one trip.
Anyway, back to Island No. 10, we didn't know a thing about its existence until we made our way to New Madrid, a town on the Mississippi River in southeastern Missouri. There, we took in the information at a tiny tourist center which told us about the earthquakes that changed the direction of the river.
Also, mention was made of the island, which by its strategic location was coveted by both North and South forces to help hold control of the upper Mississippi. (I hadn't caught the Civil War fever--that came a few days later on a walk in Nashville.)
What was memorable--and scared the pants off Dianna--was a miniature simulation of the earthquake activity at New Madrid. It consisted of a small box or container, filled with sand. A pump sent water flowing into the sand, with the result that it quickly sank and left a big hole. My wife watched all this with rapt attention, turned to me and said, "Ed, we have to get out of here!"
Despite her decades of living in earthquake territory in California, she was alarmed. Being the kinesthetic person that she is, she internalized the demo and figured a similar event was going to repeat itself right then--for our benefit or harm.
We did take time to purchase a picture frame that we still have, the first of many picture frames that we bought. It has a beautiful bird or two in the design. When one of the "feet" on the frame broke a few years ago, our good friend David Soderlund repaired it. It's a keepsake for us.
North and South forces exchanged control of Island No. 10, just outside New Madrid, during the Civil War. It was vital to blocking (by the South) or opening (by the North) passage by Union forces down the Mississippi River.
Island No. 10, so-called, sits in the middle of the Mississippi River at the edge of southern Missouri. My wife was born in St. Louis, so our travels have taken us to visit her favorite Uncle Rudy and Aunt Evelyn, who we used to stay several days with and have a delightful time with. Evelyn's specialty is sandwiches made on hot dog buns (she doesn't waste or throw away anything), which I remember eating on our visit to Meramec Cavern on one trip.
Anyway, back to Island No. 10, we didn't know a thing about its existence until we made our way to New Madrid, a town on the Mississippi River in southeastern Missouri. There, we took in the information at a tiny tourist center which told us about the earthquakes that changed the direction of the river.
Also, mention was made of the island, which by its strategic location was coveted by both North and South forces to help hold control of the upper Mississippi. (I hadn't caught the Civil War fever--that came a few days later on a walk in Nashville.)
What was memorable--and scared the pants off Dianna--was a miniature simulation of the earthquake activity at New Madrid. It consisted of a small box or container, filled with sand. A pump sent water flowing into the sand, with the result that it quickly sank and left a big hole. My wife watched all this with rapt attention, turned to me and said, "Ed, we have to get out of here!"
Despite her decades of living in earthquake territory in California, she was alarmed. Being the kinesthetic person that she is, she internalized the demo and figured a similar event was going to repeat itself right then--for our benefit or harm.
We did take time to purchase a picture frame that we still have, the first of many picture frames that we bought. It has a beautiful bird or two in the design. When one of the "feet" on the frame broke a few years ago, our good friend David Soderlund repaired it. It's a keepsake for us.
North and South forces exchanged control of Island No. 10, just outside New Madrid, during the Civil War. It was vital to blocking (by the South) or opening (by the North) passage by Union forces down the Mississippi River.
G'burg 2003
By Ed Piper
People often ask if you've visited Gettysburg, when you tell them you're a Civil War enthusiast.
My Gettysburg experience wasn't thrilling.
It is a great site: It has incredible historical significance for our nation. President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, which he started scribbling on an envelope, I believe, is considered one of the greatest speeches ever delivered.
But when we went, the temperature was an energy-zapping 93 degrees. I used Yahoo Maps, back before Google Maps became dominant, and the crazy software had us taking something like 90 turns--literally--in the days before such devices had been perfected and made more practical. (Maybe I'm mixing up the degrees and the turns, but it was a ridiculous amount.)
In our drive from Buffalo, Dianna's hometown, to Pennsylvania, we were looking for tiny streets in an unfamiliar area. We arrived somewhat frazzled. Not a good start for a battlefield visit.
Throw into that the fact that Dianna had broken her right foot only weeks before the trip, which we were locked into with plane reservations and so forth. She had a Velcro cast on her right leg, and that severely limited her mobility.
(We also moved to a new residence just before our flight East, so we were on some kind of overload.)
This was in 2003. I remember a Cyclorama, or some such name, which was a giant board depicting the entire Gettysburg battle area. Low tech, but explanatory.
I recall the statues and obelisks everywhere, dedicated to different soldiers and regiments for both sides. Probably way more for the North, since Gettysburg isn't revered in Southern circles as a landmark event to be remembered.
We walked a little within the town, near the National Park. There were buses, trams you could take for tours. We took a tour that included Little Round Top. I can't tell you anything I heard, but I remember the view looking down from a raised point. We walked up through a forested area where troops battled on uneven ground. That must have been hell.
We did a little the first afternoon, then stayed a short time the next morning. But with the heat, and Dianna's foot not working, we weren't there for long, and took off.
Gettysburg is a wonderful Civil War site. But it is the most commercialized, the one featured in movies--deservedly--and I am moved to explore other, more off-the-beaten-track battle field locations in my Civil War travels.
Grand Gulf, which I mentioned in a previous entry, fit this ideal: tiny, off the tourist itinerary, no crowds, no commercial promotion of it. We visited it in April 2017.
People often ask if you've visited Gettysburg, when you tell them you're a Civil War enthusiast.
My Gettysburg experience wasn't thrilling.
It is a great site: It has incredible historical significance for our nation. President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, which he started scribbling on an envelope, I believe, is considered one of the greatest speeches ever delivered.
But when we went, the temperature was an energy-zapping 93 degrees. I used Yahoo Maps, back before Google Maps became dominant, and the crazy software had us taking something like 90 turns--literally--in the days before such devices had been perfected and made more practical. (Maybe I'm mixing up the degrees and the turns, but it was a ridiculous amount.)
In our drive from Buffalo, Dianna's hometown, to Pennsylvania, we were looking for tiny streets in an unfamiliar area. We arrived somewhat frazzled. Not a good start for a battlefield visit.
Throw into that the fact that Dianna had broken her right foot only weeks before the trip, which we were locked into with plane reservations and so forth. She had a Velcro cast on her right leg, and that severely limited her mobility.
(We also moved to a new residence just before our flight East, so we were on some kind of overload.)
This was in 2003. I remember a Cyclorama, or some such name, which was a giant board depicting the entire Gettysburg battle area. Low tech, but explanatory.
I recall the statues and obelisks everywhere, dedicated to different soldiers and regiments for both sides. Probably way more for the North, since Gettysburg isn't revered in Southern circles as a landmark event to be remembered.
We walked a little within the town, near the National Park. There were buses, trams you could take for tours. We took a tour that included Little Round Top. I can't tell you anything I heard, but I remember the view looking down from a raised point. We walked up through a forested area where troops battled on uneven ground. That must have been hell.
We did a little the first afternoon, then stayed a short time the next morning. But with the heat, and Dianna's foot not working, we weren't there for long, and took off.
Gettysburg is a wonderful Civil War site. But it is the most commercialized, the one featured in movies--deservedly--and I am moved to explore other, more off-the-beaten-track battle field locations in my Civil War travels.
Grand Gulf, which I mentioned in a previous entry, fit this ideal: tiny, off the tourist itinerary, no crowds, no commercial promotion of it. We visited it in April 2017.
V'sburg
By Ed Piper
Before our trip to Vicksburg, a major battle site in the Civil War, I remember asking Art Miley if you could look up from the Mississippi River to the heights in the city.
"I only remember looking down from above," said Art, a good friend who enjoys blogs and the Civil War. He had visited the city with his wife Babs years before.
Art was the first one to inform me that there was a Civil War battle site as far west as New Mexico.
Well, before traveling to the Deep South two months ago, I had an image in my head--conjured up through reading and musing about the war over the years--that had me positioned down on the river or river shore, looking up to the city of Vicksburg far above. I don't think it was an image formed from viewing photos; more from reading Shelby Foote (who I'm re-reading now), James McPherson, and others.
The actual view in Vicksburg, as you might expect, is totally different from the mental image I carried in advance. For one, rangers at Vicksburg informed me that the river has taken a different course. It changed course in 1878 or so after jumping its confines. In addition, Army Corps engineers undertook a project that moved the Mississippi on a different tack.
For another, thousands of trees have been planted on the park site since the Civil War. So the view of the river below is completely blocked. The greenery makes for a beautiful park; no so great for picturing the siege of the city historically accurately.
Dianna and I tooled around on the shore of the Yazoo River (a delightful name), which now runs in front of the area below the city. Grant's Canal is listed on the websites as a Civil War-related site. But when I asked a local where that might be, when we trekked south of the city to Navy Point, another demarcated location, he laughed and said, "I don't think there's much to see. It's back up north." He discounted it as a destination to go seek out.
Grant's Canal refers to General Grant's attempt, among others, to construct another route past Vicksburg that wouldn't involve passing within range of the Confederate batteries mounted above the Mississippi. This attempt of Grant didn't work, as did several other attempts. The place was just a mess, as far as rain, bayous, swamps, and muck, to try to pass soldiers through and establish some kind of foothold to attack the "Gibraltar of the Mississippi", which held a formidable position.
Probably the highlight of our four-night stay in Vicksburg, besides eating blackened chicken and Mississippi Lava chocolate dessert at Rusty's near the shore, was finding a Native American piece shaped by the ancient Poverty Point Indians in northeastern Louisiana at a second-hand store for our grandson. The finder, a restaurant owner in Vicksburg, said that he found it on a jaunt across state lines. What was even more fun was chatting with Lyle, a paleontology/archaeology buff who told us most likely the shaped stone was a point for an atlatl, a spear propelled by a band the hunter would hold on his hand to snap the atlatl forward. Our grandson was thrilled to get it.
Before our trip to Vicksburg, a major battle site in the Civil War, I remember asking Art Miley if you could look up from the Mississippi River to the heights in the city.
"I only remember looking down from above," said Art, a good friend who enjoys blogs and the Civil War. He had visited the city with his wife Babs years before.
Art was the first one to inform me that there was a Civil War battle site as far west as New Mexico.
Well, before traveling to the Deep South two months ago, I had an image in my head--conjured up through reading and musing about the war over the years--that had me positioned down on the river or river shore, looking up to the city of Vicksburg far above. I don't think it was an image formed from viewing photos; more from reading Shelby Foote (who I'm re-reading now), James McPherson, and others.
The actual view in Vicksburg, as you might expect, is totally different from the mental image I carried in advance. For one, rangers at Vicksburg informed me that the river has taken a different course. It changed course in 1878 or so after jumping its confines. In addition, Army Corps engineers undertook a project that moved the Mississippi on a different tack.
For another, thousands of trees have been planted on the park site since the Civil War. So the view of the river below is completely blocked. The greenery makes for a beautiful park; no so great for picturing the siege of the city historically accurately.
Dianna and I tooled around on the shore of the Yazoo River (a delightful name), which now runs in front of the area below the city. Grant's Canal is listed on the websites as a Civil War-related site. But when I asked a local where that might be, when we trekked south of the city to Navy Point, another demarcated location, he laughed and said, "I don't think there's much to see. It's back up north." He discounted it as a destination to go seek out.
Grant's Canal refers to General Grant's attempt, among others, to construct another route past Vicksburg that wouldn't involve passing within range of the Confederate batteries mounted above the Mississippi. This attempt of Grant didn't work, as did several other attempts. The place was just a mess, as far as rain, bayous, swamps, and muck, to try to pass soldiers through and establish some kind of foothold to attack the "Gibraltar of the Mississippi", which held a formidable position.
Probably the highlight of our four-night stay in Vicksburg, besides eating blackened chicken and Mississippi Lava chocolate dessert at Rusty's near the shore, was finding a Native American piece shaped by the ancient Poverty Point Indians in northeastern Louisiana at a second-hand store for our grandson. The finder, a restaurant owner in Vicksburg, said that he found it on a jaunt across state lines. What was even more fun was chatting with Lyle, a paleontology/archaeology buff who told us most likely the shaped stone was a point for an atlatl, a spear propelled by a band the hunter would hold on his hand to snap the atlatl forward. Our grandson was thrilled to get it.
Southern accent
By Ed Piper
Something that fascinates me is who has a Southern accent, and who doesn't.
On our recent trip South, I was very aware of when a person I encountered voiced things similar to the way I do, in a "generic" American accent, or sounded like the stereotypical rural Southerner.
Now, this went across racial lines: Antoinette, the middle school teacher with whom I conversed at the Visitors Center at Vicksburg National Military Park, didn't have an accent--either Southern or black. The gentleman at Taco Bell in Natchez who claimed the Civil War wasn't over slavery, but the oppression by the North of the South through tariffs and other measures, didn't have an accent, in the way I'm defining it. He was white.
A delightful man who we interacted with and enjoyed it a lot was the state staff member at Grand Gulf, a tiny, insignificant Civil War battle site in Mississippi, an hour or so's drive south of Vicksburg. I don't know his name, but his Southern drawl became part of his enjoyable informative discussion of the site of Grand Gulf in the war. He was enthusiastic and full of background on the history of the place. Here was a backwater of the Civil War, yet his manner made our hour-and-a-half stop there a big part of our trip.
The accent doesn't have to do with having an education, or lack of it. The Mississippi state employee at Grand Gulf is educated, smart, the whole deal, and he had a thick accent.
Another gentleman, this one a retired engineer with the Army Corps of Engineers, working at the Lower Mississippi River Museum in Vicksburg, was highly educated and highly accented. Related to my previous entry, he was a Southern white who claims the Confederacy didn't secede over slavery (an argument which I said I'm not buying).
A fellow staffer at the Lower Mississippi museum, who happened to be African-American, was articulate while having no "Southern" or "black" accent, to my hearing.
You couldn't predict who had an accent and who didn't, black or white, before talking to individuals on our recent trip.
Something that fascinates me is who has a Southern accent, and who doesn't.
On our recent trip South, I was very aware of when a person I encountered voiced things similar to the way I do, in a "generic" American accent, or sounded like the stereotypical rural Southerner.
Now, this went across racial lines: Antoinette, the middle school teacher with whom I conversed at the Visitors Center at Vicksburg National Military Park, didn't have an accent--either Southern or black. The gentleman at Taco Bell in Natchez who claimed the Civil War wasn't over slavery, but the oppression by the North of the South through tariffs and other measures, didn't have an accent, in the way I'm defining it. He was white.
A delightful man who we interacted with and enjoyed it a lot was the state staff member at Grand Gulf, a tiny, insignificant Civil War battle site in Mississippi, an hour or so's drive south of Vicksburg. I don't know his name, but his Southern drawl became part of his enjoyable informative discussion of the site of Grand Gulf in the war. He was enthusiastic and full of background on the history of the place. Here was a backwater of the Civil War, yet his manner made our hour-and-a-half stop there a big part of our trip.
The accent doesn't have to do with having an education, or lack of it. The Mississippi state employee at Grand Gulf is educated, smart, the whole deal, and he had a thick accent.
Another gentleman, this one a retired engineer with the Army Corps of Engineers, working at the Lower Mississippi River Museum in Vicksburg, was highly educated and highly accented. Related to my previous entry, he was a Southern white who claims the Confederacy didn't secede over slavery (an argument which I said I'm not buying).
A fellow staffer at the Lower Mississippi museum, who happened to be African-American, was articulate while having no "Southern" or "black" accent, to my hearing.
You couldn't predict who had an accent and who didn't, black or white, before talking to individuals on our recent trip.
Port Gibson middle school teacher
By Ed Piper
Antoinette Anderson is a history teacher at the middle school in Port Gibson, Mississippi. I met her at the Visitors Center at Vicksburg National Military Park, and talked with her about the Civil War and teaching it in history class.
Antoinette donates her time at the center, traveling north the half hour or so from Port Gibson, which is the site of some Civil War battles right on the Mississippi River.
"All my students are African-American, and for them it was a revelation that someone who is not black would work for the rights of blacks," she told me as we chatted amiably over the counter at the Visitors Center. She was referring to her classes studying the abolitionists, as I recall. She said she hadn't yet taught the Civil War to her students, and she was considering different ways to cover the subject.
I checked out with her this matter of some Southerners' belief, even today, that Confederate states didn't secede from the Union over slavery, rather it was about states' rights. She shook her head and said no, she doesn't buy that argument. I haven't done a scientific poll of my own, and I haven't talked to many people. But in the few conversations I have had with Southern sympathizers about the causes of the Civil War, I haven't met an African-American person who maintains secession wasn't about slavery. Those few I have chatted with who maintain this view have been white.
Antoinette talked about the various states' memorials along the 16-mile route within the Vicksburg park, financed by each of the states individually and commemorating their heroes in the war in 1861-1865. She proudly told me about the African-American memorial, the most recent addition to the park, she said, and pulled out her phone to show me a picture of it.
The young woman struck me as an energetic and caring teacher, an appropriate fit for her students, who will undoubtedly lead them to awareness and insights about the long-ago war that will be valuable to them as they grow and mature.
Antoinette Anderson is a history teacher at the middle school in Port Gibson, Mississippi. I met her at the Visitors Center at Vicksburg National Military Park, and talked with her about the Civil War and teaching it in history class.
Antoinette donates her time at the center, traveling north the half hour or so from Port Gibson, which is the site of some Civil War battles right on the Mississippi River.
"All my students are African-American, and for them it was a revelation that someone who is not black would work for the rights of blacks," she told me as we chatted amiably over the counter at the Visitors Center. She was referring to her classes studying the abolitionists, as I recall. She said she hadn't yet taught the Civil War to her students, and she was considering different ways to cover the subject.
I checked out with her this matter of some Southerners' belief, even today, that Confederate states didn't secede from the Union over slavery, rather it was about states' rights. She shook her head and said no, she doesn't buy that argument. I haven't done a scientific poll of my own, and I haven't talked to many people. But in the few conversations I have had with Southern sympathizers about the causes of the Civil War, I haven't met an African-American person who maintains secession wasn't about slavery. Those few I have chatted with who maintain this view have been white.
Antoinette talked about the various states' memorials along the 16-mile route within the Vicksburg park, financed by each of the states individually and commemorating their heroes in the war in 1861-1865. She proudly told me about the African-American memorial, the most recent addition to the park, she said, and pulled out her phone to show me a picture of it.
The young woman struck me as an energetic and caring teacher, an appropriate fit for her students, who will undoubtedly lead them to awareness and insights about the long-ago war that will be valuable to them as they grow and mature.
'Tariffs'
By Ed Piper
We had an interesting exchange with a 30's-something young professional in the Taco Bell in Natchez, Mississippi, about the Southern cause.
My wife and I were "hail-fellow-well-met"-ing everybody on our vacation to the Deep South, saying hi, chatting it up, and really enjoying ourselves and the time in visiting Civil War sites and soaking in some of the fabled Southern hospitality.
A young gentleman from Greenville, North Carolina, overheard that we were from San Diego and invited us over friendly-like, so he commenced to recommend locations to see on our stay in the bastion of preserved antebellum mansions, situated on the eastern side of the Mississippi River.
"The Confederate states didn't secede from the Union due to slavery," the earnest and friendly man told us when we moved on to this subject. "The North had begun to impose tariffs on Southern cotton and so forth, and that's why the South pulled out."
Dianna and I listened to this and explored this, but I had read this line before and we had had interaction with another white Southerner previously on the trip who carried the same argument. I just wasn't buying. It wasn't a matter of misunderstanding Confederate intentions.
As a ranger at the counter at Vicksburg National Military Park had pointed out, the very words of leaders of secession stated that their reasons included the preservation of slavery. She pulled out a binder that had statements from the secession conventions of states. Right there was the argument that the races are different and they can't be combined in society. It just won't work. That was the Southerner's argument.
Being a little drained and lacking some sleep on our trip to this point, I shortly had enough with the
Greenville's argument claims, got frustrated, and left the table to go to the counter in Taco Bell to order another taco or something. Dianna, having better social skills, hung in there and stayed at the table to converse with the gentleman.
Just to make sure I wasn't taking things only from my reading, and wanting to hear from real live people, I did ask other people on our trip about their view of secession and slavery. An African-American woman who donated her time at Vicksburg acknowledged that some whites in the South still argue the Civil War wasn't about slavery, but gave her own very different view. Hopefully, I can relate my conversation with her in a separate blog entry.
We had an interesting exchange with a 30's-something young professional in the Taco Bell in Natchez, Mississippi, about the Southern cause.
My wife and I were "hail-fellow-well-met"-ing everybody on our vacation to the Deep South, saying hi, chatting it up, and really enjoying ourselves and the time in visiting Civil War sites and soaking in some of the fabled Southern hospitality.
A young gentleman from Greenville, North Carolina, overheard that we were from San Diego and invited us over friendly-like, so he commenced to recommend locations to see on our stay in the bastion of preserved antebellum mansions, situated on the eastern side of the Mississippi River.
"The Confederate states didn't secede from the Union due to slavery," the earnest and friendly man told us when we moved on to this subject. "The North had begun to impose tariffs on Southern cotton and so forth, and that's why the South pulled out."
Dianna and I listened to this and explored this, but I had read this line before and we had had interaction with another white Southerner previously on the trip who carried the same argument. I just wasn't buying. It wasn't a matter of misunderstanding Confederate intentions.
As a ranger at the counter at Vicksburg National Military Park had pointed out, the very words of leaders of secession stated that their reasons included the preservation of slavery. She pulled out a binder that had statements from the secession conventions of states. Right there was the argument that the races are different and they can't be combined in society. It just won't work. That was the Southerner's argument.
Being a little drained and lacking some sleep on our trip to this point, I shortly had enough with the
Greenville's argument claims, got frustrated, and left the table to go to the counter in Taco Bell to order another taco or something. Dianna, having better social skills, hung in there and stayed at the table to converse with the gentleman.
Just to make sure I wasn't taking things only from my reading, and wanting to hear from real live people, I did ask other people on our trip about their view of secession and slavery. An African-American woman who donated her time at Vicksburg acknowledged that some whites in the South still argue the Civil War wasn't about slavery, but gave her own very different view. Hopefully, I can relate my conversation with her in a separate blog entry.
Monday, June 12, 2017
Natchez: Glenfield
By Ed Piper
I had never been to an antebellum mansion before--I thought--until we toured Longwood, an attractive though unfinished mansion in Natchez, Mississippi, in April 2017.
(My wife later reminded me we had toured Andrew Jackson's estate, The Hermitage, near Nashville, years before. I also later recalled that I had rented a car to drive from a Presbyterian conference in Louisville to Lexington, Kentucky for the day, and visited Henry Clay's estate there, complete with preserved slave quarters.)
Which is a long lead-in to our experience touring Glenfield, another antebellum mansion in Natchez. Though not well-restored like other sites we visited, this one was highlighted by a very spontaneous, off-the-cuff, not-politically-correct tour given by Marjorie, the granddaughter of Gussie Field, who lived in the house as a child.
Glenfield was called Glencannon when Lucy Cannon's father owned it back in the day; "glen" meaning "valley" or "location", the rest of the name an appendage from the surname of the family owning the estate at the particular time.
The delight for Dianna and me on the hour-plus walk was that unlike James, our polished and erudite tour guide at Longwood, Marjorie just let fly whatever came to mind--and sparred with her daughter, Valerie Verna, over various family stories and recollections.
What stuck in my mind, though I took copious notes in a little booklet throughout Marjorie's tour, was her vivid description (passed on to her) of the aggressive and threatening Union pickets who positioned themselves during the Civil War not far from the house.
In the account she gave, the Confederate pickets set up right around the house. Not too far away were the federal soldiers. The latter came knocking--or rather, wanting to barge into the house. Mr. Cannon, the owner, was a committed Confederate and was not about to give permission for the Union men to enter.
Therefore, they shot at the door. The bullet hole in the front door is still visible. And the point in the entry inside the residence where the bullet ricocheted off the wall is preserved, as well. It really makes the story come alive, when you can look down and see the actual hole the bullet made. Quite something.
Well, Marjorie, she got the blood going and spoke as one who feels the injustice of the Yankees forcing their way in is still current. This was no idle history for her, or so it seemed from her impassioned narration of events so long ago.
The other vivid impression I had of the house was that there was no way my wife, who is deathly allergic to dust mites, could have stayed overnight in that house. The reason the thought even came up was that Marjorie and her daughter Valerie live in the house, and there was a visitor from Europe who was staying overnight at the time of our tour. This woman was invited by Marjorie to accompany us on the walk through the house. She was from Germany, I recall, and she spoke good English. She had booked a room in the house for several days on her vacation. No way Dianna and I could have stayed, with the dust pretty apparent from the moment I came inside the door.
We learned a lot of the spirit and fervor of Southerners, I felt, from this tour alone. It was enjoyable for the fact of its authenticity. It was not a watered-down, no-rough-edges tour. (The next day we toured Melrose, administered by the National Park Service and lavishly restored with Park Service money. We got a very different view of antebellum and Civil War times from the African-American employees there.)
Visiting this site also helped give us a broader view of antebellum mansions in general, as Marjorie made clear that there just wasn't money they have to put into restoration. You could still imagine the grandeur of the place in old times, but you saw it through the lack of badly-needed repairs of the roof and grounds in general that is the present state of the place.
I had hoped to come to this site to see slave quarters, now remembering that I had been able to see the slave quarters at Henry Clay's estate years before in Lexington. But, alas, the present property doesn't include any of that. In fact, the fields that slaves would have worked are no longer part of the property either. To see an intact antebellum mansion, with fields and slave quarters, is a special historical thing indeed. (Melrose does have the slave quarters. The buildings have been restored, but they are not decorated or furnished in any way inside the structures.)
I had never been to an antebellum mansion before--I thought--until we toured Longwood, an attractive though unfinished mansion in Natchez, Mississippi, in April 2017.
(My wife later reminded me we had toured Andrew Jackson's estate, The Hermitage, near Nashville, years before. I also later recalled that I had rented a car to drive from a Presbyterian conference in Louisville to Lexington, Kentucky for the day, and visited Henry Clay's estate there, complete with preserved slave quarters.)
Which is a long lead-in to our experience touring Glenfield, another antebellum mansion in Natchez. Though not well-restored like other sites we visited, this one was highlighted by a very spontaneous, off-the-cuff, not-politically-correct tour given by Marjorie, the granddaughter of Gussie Field, who lived in the house as a child.
Glenfield was called Glencannon when Lucy Cannon's father owned it back in the day; "glen" meaning "valley" or "location", the rest of the name an appendage from the surname of the family owning the estate at the particular time.
The delight for Dianna and me on the hour-plus walk was that unlike James, our polished and erudite tour guide at Longwood, Marjorie just let fly whatever came to mind--and sparred with her daughter, Valerie Verna, over various family stories and recollections.
What stuck in my mind, though I took copious notes in a little booklet throughout Marjorie's tour, was her vivid description (passed on to her) of the aggressive and threatening Union pickets who positioned themselves during the Civil War not far from the house.
In the account she gave, the Confederate pickets set up right around the house. Not too far away were the federal soldiers. The latter came knocking--or rather, wanting to barge into the house. Mr. Cannon, the owner, was a committed Confederate and was not about to give permission for the Union men to enter.
Therefore, they shot at the door. The bullet hole in the front door is still visible. And the point in the entry inside the residence where the bullet ricocheted off the wall is preserved, as well. It really makes the story come alive, when you can look down and see the actual hole the bullet made. Quite something.
Well, Marjorie, she got the blood going and spoke as one who feels the injustice of the Yankees forcing their way in is still current. This was no idle history for her, or so it seemed from her impassioned narration of events so long ago.
The other vivid impression I had of the house was that there was no way my wife, who is deathly allergic to dust mites, could have stayed overnight in that house. The reason the thought even came up was that Marjorie and her daughter Valerie live in the house, and there was a visitor from Europe who was staying overnight at the time of our tour. This woman was invited by Marjorie to accompany us on the walk through the house. She was from Germany, I recall, and she spoke good English. She had booked a room in the house for several days on her vacation. No way Dianna and I could have stayed, with the dust pretty apparent from the moment I came inside the door.
We learned a lot of the spirit and fervor of Southerners, I felt, from this tour alone. It was enjoyable for the fact of its authenticity. It was not a watered-down, no-rough-edges tour. (The next day we toured Melrose, administered by the National Park Service and lavishly restored with Park Service money. We got a very different view of antebellum and Civil War times from the African-American employees there.)
Visiting this site also helped give us a broader view of antebellum mansions in general, as Marjorie made clear that there just wasn't money they have to put into restoration. You could still imagine the grandeur of the place in old times, but you saw it through the lack of badly-needed repairs of the roof and grounds in general that is the present state of the place.
I had hoped to come to this site to see slave quarters, now remembering that I had been able to see the slave quarters at Henry Clay's estate years before in Lexington. But, alas, the present property doesn't include any of that. In fact, the fields that slaves would have worked are no longer part of the property either. To see an intact antebellum mansion, with fields and slave quarters, is a special historical thing indeed. (Melrose does have the slave quarters. The buildings have been restored, but they are not decorated or furnished in any way inside the structures.)
Vicksburg: Confederate Memorial Day
By Ed Piper
An unusual experience I had on our April-May 2017 trip to Mississippi and Louisiana was a visit to Cedar Hill Cemetery in Vicksburg, Mississippi, where the Sons of Confederate Veterans (SCV) were holding a memorial service for deceased Confederate soldiers.
The reason for the observance was Confederate Memorial Day, which I didn't even know existed previously.
In truth, we arrived in advance of the ceremony. So it wasn't actually going on, and frankly, we drove away before it began.
I don't subscribe to the Confederate view of the "Lost Cause", that the South was in the right for seceding from the Union and that the secessionists' cause was glorious and they were jobbed out of it, etc., etc.
I am, however, at a different point in my life where I am able to observe and interact with people that I wouldn't have tolerated when I was in my rabid anti-racist days during college, especially at Chico State, where in the off-campus student newspaper I assailed any and all I even suspected of racism against blacks from my lofty perch as sports editor.
Which is to say, this gathering at the cemetery in Vicksburg, on a Sunday after we had just attended Mount Heroden Missionary Baptist Church, an African-American church downtown, was a whole other ballgame. There were only white folks visible there, to my recollection.
And many were wearing their medallions signifying their attendance at various Confederate reunions and the like. I met and talked with one such "good old boy", who was friendly--I told people I was from California, but I didn't explain that I thought their cause was different from mine--and who showed me his medals.
I was introduced to an artist who does paintings for the State of Mississippi. We talked for several minutes, as his amiable wife sat nearby. This gentleman is an accomplished artist, while he also is a popular participant at these Confederate events.
I don't judge people the way I would have at age 20. I, instead, like to talk with them, get to know a little about them, and try to understand how they think and look at life.
This, I find, is much more productive than castigating people from the wisdom of my own mind. Back in the days when I was a raving crusader against racism against blacks, I alienated many people, I'm sure, and I created hate where I claimed I was working against hate. Figure that one out.
I can still picture the hilly cemetery, there on that overcast Sunday, April 23, in early afternoon. The only reason I knew the "memorial service" was going to take place was that I happened to Google newspapers and websites covering Vicksburg, Mississippi, and read an item on this gathering.
Dianna stayed in the car, since it was a little windy at the time, a bit chilly--though previous days in Vicksburg had been hot and humid. I trudged from our car, which I parked down the hill a little from where the people were coming together, up to the site. There were displays of the Sons of Confederation Veterans and other items. People were having their pictures taken in front of the displays. It was all very unusual for me.
An unusual experience I had on our April-May 2017 trip to Mississippi and Louisiana was a visit to Cedar Hill Cemetery in Vicksburg, Mississippi, where the Sons of Confederate Veterans (SCV) were holding a memorial service for deceased Confederate soldiers.
The reason for the observance was Confederate Memorial Day, which I didn't even know existed previously.
In truth, we arrived in advance of the ceremony. So it wasn't actually going on, and frankly, we drove away before it began.
I don't subscribe to the Confederate view of the "Lost Cause", that the South was in the right for seceding from the Union and that the secessionists' cause was glorious and they were jobbed out of it, etc., etc.
I am, however, at a different point in my life where I am able to observe and interact with people that I wouldn't have tolerated when I was in my rabid anti-racist days during college, especially at Chico State, where in the off-campus student newspaper I assailed any and all I even suspected of racism against blacks from my lofty perch as sports editor.
Which is to say, this gathering at the cemetery in Vicksburg, on a Sunday after we had just attended Mount Heroden Missionary Baptist Church, an African-American church downtown, was a whole other ballgame. There were only white folks visible there, to my recollection.
And many were wearing their medallions signifying their attendance at various Confederate reunions and the like. I met and talked with one such "good old boy", who was friendly--I told people I was from California, but I didn't explain that I thought their cause was different from mine--and who showed me his medals.
I was introduced to an artist who does paintings for the State of Mississippi. We talked for several minutes, as his amiable wife sat nearby. This gentleman is an accomplished artist, while he also is a popular participant at these Confederate events.
I don't judge people the way I would have at age 20. I, instead, like to talk with them, get to know a little about them, and try to understand how they think and look at life.
This, I find, is much more productive than castigating people from the wisdom of my own mind. Back in the days when I was a raving crusader against racism against blacks, I alienated many people, I'm sure, and I created hate where I claimed I was working against hate. Figure that one out.
I can still picture the hilly cemetery, there on that overcast Sunday, April 23, in early afternoon. The only reason I knew the "memorial service" was going to take place was that I happened to Google newspapers and websites covering Vicksburg, Mississippi, and read an item on this gathering.
Dianna stayed in the car, since it was a little windy at the time, a bit chilly--though previous days in Vicksburg had been hot and humid. I trudged from our car, which I parked down the hill a little from where the people were coming together, up to the site. There were displays of the Sons of Confederation Veterans and other items. People were having their pictures taken in front of the displays. It was all very unusual for me.
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Impetus
By Ed Piper
The latest impetus for my energy toward the Civil War is our recent trip to Mississippi and Louisiana, which took us for 13 days to Vicksburg--my big reason for going--as well as Natchez, Mississippi, and New Orleans. I hadn't realized that New Orleans was a Civil War site, but it was, quickly taken over by Admiral David Farragut (who has a street named in his honor in Point Loma, not too far from us here in San Diego).
We drove the beautiful, and immense, 16-mile drive within the Vicksburg National Military Park our first full day in Vicksburg April 21. It was hot (84 degrees or more), and humid, which had me lagging and dragging as we got out of our rental car to walk up to the giant Illinois monument and other memorials within the park.
The Northerners really stuck it to the Southerners. Just by setting the immense area of this park aside as a national park in Southern territory says all it has to say--commemorating a Union victory that Southerners aren't about to celebrate.
Someone commented on this: There are a great number of monuments by Northern states who sent soldiers into the Siege of Vicksburg to defeat the "Gibraltar of the Confederacy" overlooking the strategic Mississippi River. The statues were paid for by the individual states. Can you imagine the response of the Southerners who had been Confederate supporters when all this activity took place to canonize the Northern heroes, right in the Condederacy's back yard?
It's right up there with the Union turning Robert E. Lee's home at Arlington into a Union cemetery. They started burying Union soldiers on the grounds, and eventually took over the whole place. Of course Robert E. Lee wasn't going to return to live there. Would you, with graves situated all around your house, and dedicated to the victory of the opposing side? Not a subtle move to stick it to the South.
I'm sure I'll expand on and detail more the places we saw on our Mississippi-Louisiana journey April 20-May 2, 2017.
The latest impetus for my energy toward the Civil War is our recent trip to Mississippi and Louisiana, which took us for 13 days to Vicksburg--my big reason for going--as well as Natchez, Mississippi, and New Orleans. I hadn't realized that New Orleans was a Civil War site, but it was, quickly taken over by Admiral David Farragut (who has a street named in his honor in Point Loma, not too far from us here in San Diego).
We drove the beautiful, and immense, 16-mile drive within the Vicksburg National Military Park our first full day in Vicksburg April 21. It was hot (84 degrees or more), and humid, which had me lagging and dragging as we got out of our rental car to walk up to the giant Illinois monument and other memorials within the park.
The Northerners really stuck it to the Southerners. Just by setting the immense area of this park aside as a national park in Southern territory says all it has to say--commemorating a Union victory that Southerners aren't about to celebrate.
Someone commented on this: There are a great number of monuments by Northern states who sent soldiers into the Siege of Vicksburg to defeat the "Gibraltar of the Confederacy" overlooking the strategic Mississippi River. The statues were paid for by the individual states. Can you imagine the response of the Southerners who had been Confederate supporters when all this activity took place to canonize the Northern heroes, right in the Condederacy's back yard?
It's right up there with the Union turning Robert E. Lee's home at Arlington into a Union cemetery. They started burying Union soldiers on the grounds, and eventually took over the whole place. Of course Robert E. Lee wasn't going to return to live there. Would you, with graves situated all around your house, and dedicated to the victory of the opposing side? Not a subtle move to stick it to the South.
I'm sure I'll expand on and detail more the places we saw on our Mississippi-Louisiana journey April 20-May 2, 2017.
'Heaven is in your mind'
By Ed Piper
I was thinking Civil War and all the romantic things that that conjures for me the last couple of days. The Civil War, as I was telling my good friend Art Miley--who encouraged me to start my blog on La Jolla High sports (thepipeline35.blogspot.com) years ago--is long before my time, and it wasn't mechanized and "modern" to the extent that the World Wars were.
But also, for some reason, the humanness of the Civil War clicked with me those short moments when Dianna and I were on a walk in Nashville years ago, and I read the words of a historical marker next to a stone wall (no play on words here): "Behind this wall Union soldiers fought to repel Confederates", or something like that.
It was concerning, of course, the Battle of Nashville. I think that followed the Battle of Franklin, though I could be wrong, because on our visit at that time to Dianna's cousin's, Cara, we also traveled the short distance south to the city of Franklin and had pizza and talked with Jenny and Patrick. (Jenny is Cara's sister.) (I need to check the war chronology for accuracy.)
Franklin had a marker concerning the Civil War battle fought there.
"Heaven is in your mind", this entry's title, refers to the Three Dog Night song in which this sentence is sung. I thought of it in reference to my enjoyment of Civil War things. I don't have much knowledge or understanding of military strategy, as I told Art yesterday. I focus more on the personalities of the leaders, and the human experience of literally battling through the war, of being on the home front, or wherever the human struggle was going on during that long-ago time.
An image that really appealed to me this week was the one of President Abraham Lincoln, who was a great man, in my view, meeting with General Ulysses Grant, who I also think was a great man, though that is not universally shared, on the River Queen, a steamboat. These meetings would take place at City Point, Virginia, a spot Dianna and I visited in 2010. The area is now incorporated in the city of Hopewell. We walked up to the building that was on the site, a grass lawn around it. Just beyond is the neck in the river that Lincoln would travel up to meet Grant, I suppose the James River.
There is a painting, and you can see the image online, of one man's conception of Lincoln and Grant conferring. Maybe I can capture the image to print out some time.
Babs Miley, Art's wife, a student of history, though that doesn't do her justice, recalled the quote attributed to Lincoln when someone wrote the general off as a drunk. "Whatever he's drinking, I want to send him more of," Lincoln supposedly said. Or "Whatever he's drinking, I wish all my generals were drinking."
I was thinking Civil War and all the romantic things that that conjures for me the last couple of days. The Civil War, as I was telling my good friend Art Miley--who encouraged me to start my blog on La Jolla High sports (thepipeline35.blogspot.com) years ago--is long before my time, and it wasn't mechanized and "modern" to the extent that the World Wars were.
But also, for some reason, the humanness of the Civil War clicked with me those short moments when Dianna and I were on a walk in Nashville years ago, and I read the words of a historical marker next to a stone wall (no play on words here): "Behind this wall Union soldiers fought to repel Confederates", or something like that.
It was concerning, of course, the Battle of Nashville. I think that followed the Battle of Franklin, though I could be wrong, because on our visit at that time to Dianna's cousin's, Cara, we also traveled the short distance south to the city of Franklin and had pizza and talked with Jenny and Patrick. (Jenny is Cara's sister.) (I need to check the war chronology for accuracy.)
Franklin had a marker concerning the Civil War battle fought there.
"Heaven is in your mind", this entry's title, refers to the Three Dog Night song in which this sentence is sung. I thought of it in reference to my enjoyment of Civil War things. I don't have much knowledge or understanding of military strategy, as I told Art yesterday. I focus more on the personalities of the leaders, and the human experience of literally battling through the war, of being on the home front, or wherever the human struggle was going on during that long-ago time.
An image that really appealed to me this week was the one of President Abraham Lincoln, who was a great man, in my view, meeting with General Ulysses Grant, who I also think was a great man, though that is not universally shared, on the River Queen, a steamboat. These meetings would take place at City Point, Virginia, a spot Dianna and I visited in 2010. The area is now incorporated in the city of Hopewell. We walked up to the building that was on the site, a grass lawn around it. Just beyond is the neck in the river that Lincoln would travel up to meet Grant, I suppose the James River.
There is a painting, and you can see the image online, of one man's conception of Lincoln and Grant conferring. Maybe I can capture the image to print out some time.
Babs Miley, Art's wife, a student of history, though that doesn't do her justice, recalled the quote attributed to Lincoln when someone wrote the general off as a drunk. "Whatever he's drinking, I want to send him more of," Lincoln supposedly said. Or "Whatever he's drinking, I wish all my generals were drinking."
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