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.