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A Walk in The Park

by Daniel Mallock

Last year I had a most abysmal job. The only joy in it was the location, nearby to Centennial Park in Nashville, Tn.

Nashville was surrendered without a shot to the Union after Forts Henry and Donelson fell to US Grant in early 1862. The Federals immediately began to dig in and fortify, and Nashville became the 2nd most fortified city on the continent second only to Washington, DC. An important supply depot for the Union in the west, Nashville was considered critical - and would be held. Only John Bell Hood in 1864 would come close to threatening the Union’s hold on the city.

Ringed by forts and blockhouses, Nashville was a formidable place. Fort Negley, recently refurbished and re-opened to the public, is a fantastic example of the star fort style of the War. It’s an amazing place to visit. Bristling with guns Nashville was quite the prize and not easily taken, in fact it never fell.

The Federals built fortifications and gun emplacements all around the city. One of these locations was the Centennial Park area where a very impressive replica of the Parthenon now sits.

My abysmal job was located near by to Centennial Park and I took a stroll in the park during my first week. There was a Union mortar emplacement in this particular section of the park and I went to look at the muzzle - you know to see if they were legit, etc. Well, sure enough, they were the real deal.

This emplacement had two mortars side by side both screwed down tight to concrete platforms. Very imposing and impressive one could imagine the shells being thrown for miles from these guns. I was most impressed - then I was horrified as I saw to my shock that one of the mortars had a round half in and half out of the mouth of the gun! I saw no indication whatever that the shell (round shot) had been disarmed. I thought, gosh, some drunken fool with a hammer or bottle banging on that thing… boom!

(Look at the pedestal behind this behemoth… it’s empty! Now you know why! Photo courtesy of Mr. Chip Curley. I am not an artillery expert and do not know exactly what kind of mortar this is. I invite any of my kind and ever patient readers to comment and let me know as much as they do about this critter.)

So, being the good Civil War student and humanitarian I looked on the Internet for the email address of the director of Public Works for the City of Nashville. I figured that the Department of Public Works would be responsible for such things, you know, like Civil War artillery pieces with live rounds in them in public places and such. I found his contact information readily and, consulting a map out of curiosity, also determined that sure enough this fine fellow’s office was located about 200 yards from the mouth of the gun and directly in its line of fire.

I crafted a nice little email and sent it along politely informing the Director of Public Works for the City of Nashville, TN that his office could be fired on at any moment from a Yankee cannon located nearby that was still loaded.

He replied that he would investigate the matter, right away.

Well, sure enough, three days didn’t go by before that mortar and its solid shot disappeared from the park!

The following week the local newspaper “The Tennessean” printed a single paragraph item buried deep in its pages that one of the mortars from Centennial Park had been removed. The paper stated that they didn’t know why the gun had been moved, or when and/or if it would be replaced. I didn’t get any credit at all but the comfort of knowing that the danger of the Yankee gun had been resolved! Several months back I did a little recon and the gun was still absent.

So you see, the moral of the story is this… just a little of bit of Civil War knowledge can be a life saver!

The Responsibility of Command - John Bell Hood and the Nashville Campaign with the John Bell Hood Society

by Daniel Mallock

There is no question that John Bell Hood is one of the great tragic heroes of the Civil War. His story is full of pain, frustration, victories and defeats, advances and finally retreats. A hero at Gettysburg, Antietam, Chickamauga, Gaines Mill, and other hard fought fields Hood was promoted to command the Army of Tennessee in July, 1864 as Joe Johnston’s strategic withdrawal strategy and refusal to work with Jefferson Davis finally got him removed from command.

Hood’s short but monumental career as commander of the Army of Tennessee is covered in violence and controversy with the culmination of both at Franklin, Tennessee, November 30, 1864. Besmirched in modern Civil War history by the slanted and agenda-laden approach of Wiley Sword’s “Confederacy’s Last Hurrah” General Hood’s reputation has suffered intensely in recent years. It is time for a re-examination of General Hood’s career, and most particularly the nature of the decisions that were made at Spring Hill, Franklin, and Nashville by General Hood.

There is a small but intense group of defenders of the truth, historians and students who search for the truth about Hood. It was my pleasure and privilege to tour Spring Hill and Franklin with them and my entire family with kids in tow this weekend. They are the John Bell Hood Society ably led by Sam Hood, a true defender of Hood and a true historian. Walking the ground is the only way to really understand a battle and to understand the decisions that were made based on terrain, local conditions, etc. Reading the records and memoirs is a start, but real understanding can only come when the ground is seen, the killing ground over which the blue and gray heroes fought at Franklin, Spring Hill and Nashville.

With a ruined arm from Gettysburg and a lost leg at Chickamauga, John Bell Hood is an unlikely army commander. But so it was, and under the command of Hood (unfortunately for him), the fortunes of the Confederacy in the western theatre came to a painful end under his tenure and leadership.

It has been said that the battle of Nashville was the only true decisive victory of the War. This may be so as due to losses of the campaign culminating in the battle of Nashville, the Army of Tennessee was no longer a feared army or formidable fighting force afterwards. Yes, there would be Bentonville later, and Joe Johnston would again be in command to oversee a bitter victory followed by a bitter surrender. But the Army of Tennessee was shattered at Franklin then crushed at Nashville. Bentonville saw an amalgamated Army very different from the army that crossed the Tennessee River in November, 1864 to free Nashville and assail Louisville and even Cincinnati.

General Schofield of the Union army says as much in his memoirs as does George Thomas - that the Army of Tennessee was shattered during the Tennessee Campaign and was no longer feared afterwards. It was still respected, but it could readily be dealt with - the Army of Tennessee would no longer command the ability to shift the balance of the war - anywhere.

But two weeks before Nashville there was Franklin - an astoundingly brutal battle even by Civil War standards. The violence at Franklin is on a par with few if any battles in that War and most all of its survivors have ranked it as likely the very worst experience of their entire lives. Franklin happened because General Hood gave one order: “We will make the fight.”

The origins of this order, the options that he had, the high cost of the order itself and the incredible bravery of the men on both side who fought at Franklin were discussed this weekend on a tour of Franklin and Spring Hill that my family and I (yes, including wife and kids!) were fortunate and honored to have enjoyed. Sponsored by the John Bell Hood Society, this tour was thorough, fascinating, and educational. Hood has not recently received such a fair hearing as he got on this tour.

Before the bitter fighting at Franklin there was Spring Hill. Some 18 miles south of Franklin this small town could have been the site of one of the greatest victories of Southern arms in the entire War. But due to confusion of orders and difficult terrain a masterful flanking and envelopment movement directed by General Hood came to not with the following day being the battle of Franklin. The frustration that the failure to bag Schofield and his army at Spring Hill created in the Confederate army cannot be overstated. To understand Franklin, one must understand the events of the previous day at Spring Hill. It has been described variously as the greatest error, controversy, and lost opportunity of the War. There is no one more studied on this battle and its maneuvers than Mr. Eric Jacobson. Lucky for me Mr. Jacobson led the tour at Spring Hill and to Winstead Hill- the jumping off point of the great Confederate charge at Franklin.

Eric Jacobson is the lead historian at Carnton Plantation in Franklin. His recent book “For Cause and Country” certainly is the most authoritative study of Spring Hill in print. I recommend this book highly. Eric Jacobson is a superb guide- he is engaging, thoroughly knowledgeable of the terrain, the battle and the campaign. Spring Hill is one of the most confusing engagements/battles of the War. Mr. Jacobson’s explanations make it all come into focus. Standing on the hilltop nearby to the Columbia Pike it becomes clear how the entire Union army under Schofield (some 25 thousand men with horses, mules, wagons, artillery, etc.) could walk literally under the very noses of the Confederate army in the darkness of November 29, 1864. As Mr. Jacobson mentioned in passing, one cannot really understand Spring Hill without actually traversing the ground. We did. It has always been difficult for me personally to get a great feel for the ground and the events that happened at Spring Hill on the 29th of November, 1864. Now I “get it”- thanks to Mr. Jacobson.

Moving on from Spring Hill we made our way to Carnton and the Carter House. Carnton is lovely and haunting. Four CSA generals were laid out in death on its outside porch. Hundreds of Confederate soldiers were there suffering and dying as the MacGavock family cared for the wounded in their home and on their property. Blood stains from wounded Confederate soldiers still can be seen in the wood floors of the home. The horrific conditions there after the battle have been documented and written about but can truly only be imagined. Seeing the blood stains and hearing of the sufferings of everyone there, one can begin to see it.

There is a clock in the main parlor at Carnton that was there during the battle and after. We all fell silent and listened to the clock ticking just as it did that day as men suffered and died within hearing distance of it. It was a special moment, and can transport one to the past if one allows oneself to imagine it all - all the misery and horror of it. The appalling sites and events that occurred at Carnton around that clock that we heard ticking can only be imagined and all with a shudder.

After Carnton we made our way to the Carter House where David Fraley the chief Military Historian there gave an excellent tour starting in the yard where hundreds of Union and Confederate soldiers fought in ugly bloody hand to hand combat on November 30, 1864 there on the Carter property. Mr. Fraley has a wealth of knowledge of the people who fought at Franklin on both sides, the tactics and military issues involved and the very high cost to all involved that the battle exacted. Touring the house which was Union General Jacob Cox’ headquarters during the battle is to be transported back in time a bit.

Still covered in bullet holes and battle damage the Carter House at Franklin is one of the most historically significant homes in the entire United States. Standing in the yard one can almost imagine the brutal combat that took place there. It’s hallowed ground and a very special place that every Civil War student and every American should visit. There may be no place in the country where combat more vicious and brutal occured.

The charge of the Confederate Army of Tennessee that opened this brutal battle was double the distance of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg; had more participants, and was not preceded by artillery as the brave men at Gettysburg were. The events at Franklin are off the charts of grandness, brutality, violence, bravery, etc. And how lucky to have had a tour of the area by Mr. Fraley.

Decisions made at Franklin and Spring Hill by General Hood and then at Franklin and Nashville that would lead to the almost complete destruction of the Army of Tennessee have been analyzed often. Mr. Sword’s book on the subject has skewed the debate against the General unfairly. It is time to approach this battle and the entire Tennessee Campaign not from sadness and anger at the resulting brutality and apparently avoidable losses but more from an objective perspective whose only purpose is to determine the truth. This is certainly the historian’s duty.

There are no greater seekers of the truth about General Hood than the John Bell Hood Historical Society. Mr. Sword’s book “Confederacy’s Last Hurrah” is not the final word on these battles and the Tennessee campaign of 1864. It is important to give General Hood a fair hearing and to understand his motives, his abilities, his mood and thoughts during those difficult times of decision in middle Tennessee.

(Photo of Brigadier General John C. Carter’s grave, Columbia, TN. Mortally wounded at Franklin, Carter would die ten days later [the General is not a relative of the Carter House Carter Family]. Not believing that he was to die, and ignoring the assurances of doctors that he was mortally wounded and could not survive, General Carter would ask for his wife repeatedly. His grave would be unmarked for over 50 years. Photo of General Carter courtesy of Generals and Brevets.)

General Hood is a tragic hero who suffered greatly for his country. “He did the best he could under the circumstances” was heard often during this event. And it is so. I think that he did. While I disagree with some of the decisions that he made and wish that he hadn’t made them, I wasn’t on Winstead Hill as the sunlight was dimming on November 30, 1864; I didn’t marching down country backroads in the dark at Spring Hill the previous day.

However, men’s lives are not to be thrown away in order to do “something” rather than nothing. The commander has a responsibility to take calculated, reasonable risks. The attack at Franklin was contrary to all understood military theory and planning. It is difficult for an objective historian to defend the attack at Franklin as ordered by Hood. Frank Cheatham, Corp commander of the Army of Tennessee said to a Union survivor after the War that had Wagner’s two divisions not been in his advanced exposed position south of the Carter House, Schofield’s army would likely have killed everyone in the Army of Tennessee.

The battle of Franklin was a savage affair that was not pre-ordained nor determined by circumstances as some historians and defenders of General Hood have suggested. It occurred because Hood gave the order to advance - despite reasonable objections based upon sound judgments and reconnaissance by his subordinates particularly Cleburne and Forrest. These men are no longer alive to give explanations as to why they made their decisions. This is one of the reasons why historians exist.

General Hood will always be held accountable for his decision to attack at Franklin then to move forward to Nashville despite the heavy losses for not at Franklin. The devastating costs of both battles demand attention and explanation. Only the students and the historians can begin to understand how these nightmare battles came to be, as the commanders and the soldiers are gone now so long ago. There is no inevitablity about Franklin’s frontal assault or the advance to Nashville in my opinion. General Hood as the commander of the Army of Tennessee had the responsibility and privilege to make the momentous decisions during the campaign. The lives of his men are literally in his hands. Because the campaign failed and because so many lives were lost as a result of it, General Hood must be understood and held accountable by history for the decisions that he made. All men and women who make momentous decisions are thus held to account by history. This is no disservice to the General commanding but a duty accepted by the true student and historian.

The Union lines (three of them) at Franklin were fully manned and fully covered by artillery and were complete, so said Cleburne. The Union main line could be flanked if the requisite manpower were provided, so said Forrest. If Forrest can get across the Harpeth so can infantry - if Forrest asks for two hours to flank the position when the alternative is a potentially suicidal frontal assault without artillery support then Forrest should be given his chance. If Fort Granger is mounted with artillery it must be attacked or flanked and the divisions supporting it. Truly, had Forrest’s attack been fully backed with a complete compliment of cavalry and the additional division of infantry as requested by Forrest, Wilson well could have been driven back and defeated. This issue is worthy of more posts and articles and even a book. Dismissal of Forrest’s flank attack is not reasonable particularly by suggesting that the Harpeth was running too high to get infantry across. Forrest had a ford and got his horseman across, he would have got infantry and guns across too had he been given the opportunity.

But Hood would not wait, it was a race against time for him - and he must be held accountable as the results were so utterly devastating - even for him. After the battle of Franklin he sat on his horse viewing the carnage and loss and cried… anybody with a heart would do the same. Yes, he was concerned that Schofield would escape him again just as he had slipped the trap the previous evening at Spring Hill, but this is not justification for ordering a frontal advance unsupported by artillery and with the cavalry main force across the river. This race against time concept causes men to make rash decisions and ignore good council. There are options, even in war and even 18 miles south of Nashville. An army destroyed in a risky adventure is not likely to fight well or at all the following day.

For Hood, the advance to Nashville was little more than an act of honor and psychology as he knew, and essentially stated so in his memoirs, that little could be done at Nashville after the horrors and losses of Franklin. These decisions must be understood in their context. This is not a matter of excoriating anyone or of criticizing unnecessarily men facing the most extreme stress possible, it is rather about the need and desire to really understand what happened. This is what history is all about.

Great history is not about analyzing events with modern eyes it is best done when we can put ourselves “in the shoes” of the people involved. Understanding best comes when we can learn what the people involved understood - history with 20:20 hindsight isn’t real.

For analysis we should include everything we learned after the events… but for true understanding we need to in some way, as best we can, become the actor himself/herself and use the information that they had available to them (and perhaps much that they did not) to try as best we can to come to understand why decisions were made and how events came to occur. This is an honest approach to history - as honest as perhaps we can be - and removes our biases and prisms and agendas as much as possible.

It is important for Civil War students and those interested in these important events to try their best to understand General Hood. He has been dealt with unfairly by recent historians, most particularly Mr. Sword. The John Bell Hood Society and Mr. Sam Hood are leading the way in correcting the errors of some historians and showing those interested in our nation’s history that John Bell Hood was not perfect but was a hero nonetheless.

(Several photos courtesy of Mr. Graeme Goetz)

Compassion and Chivalry in War: Civil War and WW2

Introduced by Daniel Mallock

The horror, violence, and cruelty of war is occasionally interrupted by deeds of extreme humanitarian bravery and compassion. When these stories are shared, they raise the hairs on the back of one’s neck, and can bring one to tears.

In particular when men show compassion to their enemies it tends to reawaken the soul and remind one that in the midst of war and bloodshed and cruelty, the human heart - the foundation of civilization - is still alive and still motivates men to do deeds of valor for those they would otherwise destroy.

The Civil War is rife with such stories. Three come to mind: First, the selfless bravery and compassion of Sergeant Kirkland at Fredricksburg who will forever be remembered as the “Angel of Mayre’s Heights”. Risking his life to bring water to his wounded foes in blue, Confederate Sgt. Kirkland showed everyone there and thereafter that compassion did not die in the War.

Confederate Lt. James Graves has a special yet largely unknown place in Civil War history. After the Battle of Glasgow, Missouri, late in October of 1864 Lt. Graves was commanding a detachment of Confederate Cavalry escorting Union prisoners to a place of parole. Graves had some 50 mounted men with him to escort the approximately 25 Union officer prisoners in his charge.

He was soon challenged by Bloody Bill Anderson, the notorious bushwhacker and murderer of Centralia infamy. Anderson demanded that Graves surrender the Union officers to him and his men. It was clear that Anderson was planning to kill the Federals. Graves refused.

What happened next is one of the most astounding and special events of the entire War. Graves approached the Union prisoners and told them that Anderson, who they all knew for the cruel man that he was, had demanded them, and that Graves had refused. He informed the Union men that he would fight Anderson and his men, who Graves considered outlaws, rather than surrender his Union escort.

Graves gave the men in blue weapons and a Union flag. The Confederate cavalry escort and the Union officers formed a line of battle together and faced Anderson’s 300. As they advanced, the bushwhackers withdrew, and the Union men were delivered safely to their destination. Never before or since had Union and Confederate soldiers been in line of battle together.

Documentation regarding this event is available in the Official Records and elsewhere though it is scant and difficult to locate. A medal was struck after the War and presented to Graves by these Union officers. Graves traveled from the South to St. Louis to accept this, from what I understand to be, astonishingly beautiful medal.

Someday soon I hope that this superb and very important story will be told in its entirety so that the entire country can learn of the special qualities of our Civil War soldiers of both sides. Most importantly in this time of political division, war, and the ongoing threat of terror it is important for all Americans to see that our history has superb examples of cooperation, compassion, bravery, and a central unifying idea of what is right and what is so very wrong. Identifying a direct threat to both his own command and his escort of enemy officers, Graves defended them rather than walk away and give them up to be killed. This astonishing act of bravery and thoughtfulness is largely unknown, but it deserves a much wider audience.

Another superb example of Civil War compassion under fire comes from Kennesaw Mountain, June 27, 1864:

“It was during this battle that one of the noblest deeds of humanity was performed. Colonel W. H. Martin of the First Arkansas of Cleburne’s division seeing the woods in front of him on fire and burning the wounded Federals, tied a handkerchief to a ramrod and1 amidst the danger of battle mounted the parapet and shouted to the enemy: “We wont fire a gun till you get them away. Be quick.” And with his own men he leaped over our works and helped to remove them. When this was done, a Federal major was so imprssed’ by such magnanimity that he pulled from his belt a brace of fine pistols and presented them to Colonel Martin with
the remark,

“Accept them with my appreciation of the nobility of this deed.”

(Battles and Sketches of the Army of Tennessee, B.L. Ridley, 1906, p319)

Our Civil War seems to have many such stories of compassion and care that one side showed to the other. In fact, an excellent book was written recently on this subject, and I recommend it: My Brother’s Keeper: Union and Confederate Soldiers’ Acts of Mercy During the Civil War by Daniel Rolph (Stackpole, 2002).

WW2 may have similar numbers of stories of compassion and mercy between enemies, but they seem few and far between.

I was sent an email by a friend the other day that I would like to share with you. It originated from a North Carolina shop’s Web Site (Classic Arms) to which I give credit and appreciation here.

I present this story in it’s entirety, and unedited. It is a special thing, and I hope that you will be as affected by it as I was. It is comforting to know that in the middle of the horrific brutality that was the Civil War and WW2 there were warriors on all sides who retained their sense of humanity and compassion and were able to see, if only for a short moment, a brief yet very important moment, that those on the other side were human just like them, and deserving of something better than death. More importantly still, these heroes were brave enough to risk their own lives to help their fellow men even in the midst of mortal combat.

-Daniel Mallock

Chivalry In The Air
As told by Jim Brodie
For Military Appreciation Day
Florida House of Representatives
April 19, 2007

I would like to tell you a story.

A true story of Chivalry, Gallantry, Courage and Compassion.

I hope you will enjoy it and share it with the special people in your life.

At Dawn on the morning of December 20, 1943, American Army Lieutenant Charlie Brown piloted his B-17 bomber into formation and joined nearly 400 others from the 8th Air Force in England to bomb a German fighter factory in Bremen. It was his first mission as pilot in command of this 30 ton 4 engine heavy.

Charlie was 21 years old. His crew of ten were all in their late teens and early twenties. They had worked together and they had trained together…they were more than a crew… they were a team.

The bomber stream crossed the North Sea with American P-47 fighters as escorts. The fighters would stay with them for as long as they had range. But when the fighters turned back to refuel the bombers were on their own.

As they crossed the German coast they were attacked by defending ME 109 fighters.

The Messerschmitt ME 109 fighter was a world class, single engine aircraft, …fast, maneuverable and deadly … armed with machine guns and cannon. The two forces clashed and fought all the way to the outskirts of Bremen. During the action Charlie’s bomber sustained numerous hits wounding several of the crew and knocking out one engine. They were able to stay with the formation but as they approached the target, German anti-aircraft guns opened up. Charlie’s plane was hit again, destroying the Plexiglas nose and wounding the bombardier.

They could have turned back,
they should have turned back
but that’s not what THIS crew was all about.

They stayed with the mission and dropped their bombs directly on the target.

They were unable to keep up with the formation as it turned back toward England.

Alone as a straggler they were an easy target. Once again the German fighters attacked. Machine gun and cannon fire tore through the airplane.

The American gunners fought back bravely …all 10 machine guns blazing. Charlie flying his bomber directly into the oncoming Germans as if it were a fighter, employing tactics no bomber was built for.

The one sided battle lasted far longer than anyone could have expected, one German fighter destroyed, another probable…but the flying fortress and the crew were being shredded…Charlie was hit in the right arm.

At 25 thousand feet the controls of a second engine were shot away and the bomber’s oxygen supply was destroyed. Without oxygen the crew and pilot lost consciousness and the bomber spiraled toward earth 5 miles below.

The Germans scored it as another kill and raced off after the main bomber formation. Charlie’s B-17 continued its lumbering death spiral.
Miraculously the out of control bomber was spiraling slowly enough that the pilot regained consciousness in time to get control of the airplane and leveled off at 150 feet.

Charlie ordered his co-pilot to prepare the crew to bail out if he could get enough altitude for the parachutes to open. The co-pilot came back and told him of the dead and wounded crew and the horribly damaged airplane. They were in no condition to bail out.

Charlie replied, “that’s okay, I can’t get any altitude anyway”,…throw everything overboard to lighten the load”…parachutes, life rafts, machine guns. A third engine was now acting up.

As they flew, their course took them, unknowingly, over a Luftwaffe fighter base.

On the ground German fighter Ace, Lt. Franz Stigler was having his Messerschmitt fighter re-armed and re-fueled. He had already shot down two of the American bombers that morning adding to his long list of what would be 28 aerial victories.

He could not believe his luck, here was another target and he went off to bag number three for the day which would surely earn him the Knight’s Cross presented by the Furher himself!

As Franz sped toward his target his experience told him to do it just right, even though this American was alone and a straggler, he had been shot down by B17’s before and he had the wounds to show for it.

As he approached from the rear Franz noticed how low and how strangely the bomber was flying. The closer he got the more amazed he was that it was flying at all.

It was terribly shot up. He determined he would get as close as possible…..his 30 mm cannon and machine guns ready…..his finger on the trigger. As soon as the tail gunner would raise his guns Franz would blow them out of the sky and go home a hero….once again.

Closer….still closer….yet, no reaction from the crippled bomber. The much faster fighter flew by in a wide arc without firing. Franz noticed the tail gunner was dead… blood was everywhere.

He saw the courageous American crew struggling to save their comrades and a valiant young pilot trying to keep his airplane flying.

As the German fighter passed, them the entire crew was horrified. They were helpless; they were doomed…and they knew it…they were all about to die.

The defender of the Reich circled back, still in amazement that this bomber could remain airborne. He approached again and did not fire. This time slowing down enough to fly in formation on Charlie’s right wing.

Charlie, bleeding from his wound looked in horror, could not believe what he was seeing. The two 20 something warriors stared at each other, each other, each taking the measure of the other airman…the planes just a few feet apart.

He signaled Charlie to drop his landing gear, land in Germany and surrender. Charlie, either not understanding, or still groggy, just glared back. He refused to give up his ship on his first mission as pilot in command.

Again, Franz, using hand signals, ordered the American pilot to land and be taken prisoner. Charlie refused.

Franz thought to himself, “I can’t murder this brave but helpless crew and their “cowboy ” pilot, but we are still way inside Germany and if I leave them alone they will be dropped by the next fighter or flak gun”.

So, in an act of great compassion and chivalry and risking facing a firing squad, German Lt. Franz Stigler escorted American Lt. Charlie Brown’s bomber to the North Sea coast. He pointed toward England…then he saluted, said “happy birthday cowboy” rolled his fighter into a hard right turn and headed back to base never to breathe a word of what had happened.

He flew an incredible 480 combat missions… was credited with 28 victories and 40 more probables. He survived bring shot down 17 times.

Charlie and the crew were in total disbelief. This gallant German knight had given them life. They continued across the North Sea, crash landing on the coast of England.

Charlie continued to serve his country throughout the war flying 30 more combat missions over Germany and retired from the Air Force as a Lt. Colonel. He and his crew related their story to the Army brass and were told, “Bury it”, your mission is classified Secret “we are at war, son… there are no gallant Germans”. But Charlie and the crew never forgot the chivalrous airman who gave them back their lives.

That should be the end of the story…but it’s not.

Forty five years later in 1988, Charlie attended a reunion of his WWII bomber squadron and told his story. Fifty seven children and grandchildren had been born to the surviving crew of Charlie’s bomber. The press was there and a reprint of the story was eventually published in a German fighter pilot’s magazine.

A year later, in December of 1989, Charlie received a five page type written letter postmarked Surrey, British Columbia. In the letter was a precise description of the air action over Bremen Germany on December, 20 1943…details that only Charlie knew, such as aircraft markings, time of day, precise battle damage and even the wave salute.

Charlie couldn’t believe it; how could this be possible? He was suspicious, but the details were accurate, the same story told from a totally different perspective. He telephoned Canada; for an hour the two spoke; every detailed was described. Charlie and his wife Jackie flew to British Columbia and met Franz and his wife Helga. In the airport in Canada the two old warriors, now in their 70’s, once again came face to face. They stared at each other; fears and memories that had been locked away came rushing back. With tears in their eyes they embraced.

Franz said, “Happy Birthday Cowboy”, for it was December 20th, 1989.

Franz and Charlie have remained friends ever since and have become as close as brothers.

James Patton Anderson and U.S. Grant in the NorthWest

by Daniel Mallock

Events over time that overrun each other, that are inextricably tied together and form a mosaic and tapestry reaching to a certain strange and stunning inevitability are often seen in historical study. In the course of recent research I ran across one of these events and was amazed at its importance. Important events such as these are often known to but a few. But their importance is undiminished.

This story of James Patton Anderson, Confederate General, is little known, I have certainly never seen this case discussed elsewhere. But I’d like to share it with you, as I know you will appreciate it.

Major General James Patton Anderson (1822-1872) was a division Commander in the Army of Tennessee. A man of the “Old South” he was a proud slaveholder and staunch secessionist. At one time the Commander of the District of Florida Anderson was posted to the Army of Tennessee in July, 1864. At Jonesboro Anderson took a very painful wound to the face which is wife believed finally took his life some ten years later.

Noted for his friendship with Leonidas Polk and his strong conservative views, after his surrender at Greensborough, NC Anderson refused to sign the Loyalty Pledge and would thus be prevented from resuming his pre-war legal career. He died in poverty in Memphis, TN. He was a strong Confederate and did not sign the Oath for to do so would have “implied a regret for what he had done & he had none. And if his life was to go over he would do just as he had unless if possible he would be more devoted to the cause,” according to his widow, Etta.

Anderson served as United States marshal of Washington Territory, from 1853 to 1856, and it was there that he had his fateful encounter with US Grant. This period was a particularly low one for Grant. Only with the coming of the Civil War would his prospects turn around. Grant’s short but astonishing meeting with Anderson near a river bank would have consequences that would change the course of American and world history.

The following account was written by General Anderson’s widow Etta and was sent in letter form (1889) to a Mr. Earle with the request that he not disclose the letter’s contents.

“Genls. McClelan [ sic ] (a great favorite with us), Grant, Auger, & many other officers were our friends there; & let me tell you a little thing that for Genl. Grant’s children’s sake will be kept between us. While my husband was taking the census, way up near the Dalles, on the Columbia River, Genl. Grant, then a Lieut. paymaster with the rank of Capt., was suffering from mania_____ [delirium tremens]. Got away from his soldiers. They were all camping on the bank of the river. My husband had Indians with him. The soldiers woke him & told him of Grant’s condition & that he had gone. He woke his Indians, made them understand, & put them on the trail. They tracked him by the pieces of his outside woolen shirt on the bushes; found him crouched down under some bushes ready to plunge into the river hundreds of feet below. One false step & both would go down to certain death. The banks were solid rock hundreds of feet high & the water so cold that they could not live in it a moment without cramp. Genl. A. was strong and active. He climbed carefully until he was between Grant and the river-gave one spring against his breast-forced him back to the ground, & caught to the bushes near & held him fast until the soldiers came & helped to secure him & take him into camp. Patton rarely spoke of it. About the time of the fall of Vicksburg, it got out through some officer writing to one of his staff & his staff insisted on knowing the particulars & were much amused.”
(courtesy of Florida Historical Society: The Florida Historical Quarterly volume 65 issue 3)

Note: The term “delirium tremens” is found in the original article posted online.

This Reviewer Suffered!

“This Republic of Suffering” by Drew Gilpin Faust

Reviewed by Daniel Mallock


Like the Civil War itself, there was certainly an air of inevitability about “This Republic of Suffering” by Drew Gilpin Faust. The almost universally shocking devastation and death wrought by the Civil War fundamentally changed the character of American society and how Americans (and former Rebels) understood their relationship with government and with one another. Dr. Faust has undertaken this ambitious project of documenting “death” in the Civil War. Interested readers and students of the War can applaud the attempt while mourning her myriad failures.

“This Republic of Suffering” was written by the current president of Harvard University. Debuting to overwhelmingly positive reviews, fawning encomiums in print, on the internet, and in broadcast media this book currently has garnered little criticism or critical analysis. As one of the few books on the subject of Civil War “death”, the author perhaps has overwhelmed her audience with the 50-odd pages of end-notes that might tend to lend credence to a better formulated argument. End notes of such length can be misleading. A flawed or erroneous proposition can have endless endnotes associated with it, but the fact of the original error is not altered. And that is the problem with “This Republic of Suffering”—founded upon a false premise this book is neither enjoyable to read nor correct in its central theory.

The cover photo of Confederate battle dead is a stark, disturbing image. It is disturbing, sad, and sharply simple. Dr. Faust has done the opposite in the text—transmogrifying an ugly simplicity to a much larger society-wide but completely false and essentially unnecessary academic concept that, she proclaims, is at the heart of Civil War death.

The foundation of her book (and reiterated in media appearances) is the author’s bizarre and completely convoluted and artificially constructed concept of the “Good Death”. She argues that the absence of this “Good Death” for men dying in battle caused so much additional (pain) for them and for those they left behind. She claims extensively that this concept is a conscious idea that participants of the War so desperately tried fulfill their Victorian-era ideas of what a “proper death” ought to be.

This “Good Death” trumpeted by Faust for several hundred pages is nothing more than the pre-war death and funeral rituals involving last words, and the comforting presence of friends and family around the dying person’s death bed. Warfare does not generally afford the continuance of such civilized traditions when so many men are so far from home dying in camp and battle. Faust is unrelenting in describing this concept even giving it a proper academic Latin name “ars moriendi” to lend it more credence. Faust writes that “the work of death was Civil War America’s most fundamental and most demanding undertaking”. Death, the result of combat and warfare in conjunction with suffering on the homefront, is not as she says “the most demanding undertaking”, the War itself – its sacrifices, privations, and sweeping changes that it brought - with death as one of its main and most appalling results is at the core.

Faust’s theory is wrong not because she has misidentified a serious issue, but rather because she has misunderstood universal human needs and warfare’s results with a particularly American causation or response. Every society since the beginning of civilization has had to deal with the horrors of war, with the absence of friends, brothers, sons and husbands, and their deaths far from home and loved ones. This desire to be with the dying, this need on the part of the soldier to be comforted to have his family near to him is as universal as any human concept. There is nothing in this concept of the “Good Death” other than an academic’s hubris and fundamental misunderstanding of universal human truths. Faust removes Civil War death from the human continuum and isolates it as an American event alone. But our Civil War wounded and dead experienced the very same devastating losses though on a much greater scale that societies have experienced for thousands of years.

“Soldiers and their families struggled in a variety of ways to mitigate such cruel realities, to construct a Good Death even amid chaos, to substitute for missing elements or compensate for unsatisfied expectations,” writes Faust. These are universal needs, not localized American concerns illustrative of anything about American society or culture. This confusion of the universal for the local is one of the main failures of this book. No one wants to die alone; no one wants to die without last words recorded, no one wants their burial places unrecorded and their families forever without knowledge of them. Extensive details of deaths and deathbed letter writing or recordings of last words or lack of same are just further fake proofs for Faust’s confusions.

Confusion and misunderstanding, lovingly footnoted, are at the heart of this highly disappointing and frustrating book. Rarely has a historian been so out-of-touch as to suggest as Faust does repeatedly that the soldier’s behavior is further evidence of their need/desire to “act out” some pre-ordained concept of what they should be doing or thinking as they die. One cannot be completely sure as to the motivations behind this research except to foist this false notion of the “Good Death” upon an interested but unsuspecting public hungry for history of moment. There is an agenda at work in the book quite separate from any affection for the subject that tends to override feeling at the expense of the dying. It’s almost unseemly.

Faust posits that without these “Good Death” concepts being enacted by the dying, understanding their “roles” in this “play” of working through the “Good Death”, the poor about-to-be deceased and his family would forever be frustrated and unhappy on account of it. Faust believes that Americans during the Civil War were required according to her concept of the “Good Death” to be around the bed-side, to hear the final words, to see a brave departure so that they could be assured that the dying fellow was worthy to get to heaven. Without this viewing of the death in a social setting, the poor dying fellow’s life would be without a satisfactory conclusion. “Kin would use their observations of the deathbed to evaluate the family’s chances for a reunion in heaven. A life was a narrative that could only be incomplete without this final chapter, without the life-ending last words.” For soldiers killed outright on the field of battle there could be no last words. However, this is overstatement and excess on Faust’s part, as such motivators—to get to heaven, to do their “Good Death” duties, were rarely part of the soldier’s life and such claims are not supported by the massive evidence of dying soldier’s last statements, last words, statements of surviving comrades etc., regardless of Faust’s 50 pages of endnotes.

“Tell my father I died with my face to the enemy!” “Tell my mother I died doing my duty!” Such statements are common. “Tell my mother I was a good soldier and sure ’nuff I can now get into heaven!” are far rarer. The soldiers of North and South, completely supported by their respective societies all fully engaged in the war effort were far more concerned with assuring family and friends of duty well done, bravery, the avoidance of cowardice, and the comfort that death had come swift and with little pain. These are universal communications from soldiers throughout history dying in battle. The universal truth of the loneliness of death far from home certainly trumps any academic’s concept of responsibility to some nebulous false tradition and “art” of dying.

“Americans thus sought to manage battlefield deaths in a way that mitigated separation from kin and offered a substitute for the traditional stylized deathbed performance.” This abysmal characterization of death as some kind of culturally pre-ordained requirement is both disturbing and confused. The exigencies of the battlefield could not possibly allow for “substitution” of a traditional death and its “performances”. Faust’s confusions about universal truths of soldiers, battles, sacrifice, and death is truly astounding especially in such a book written by the president of America’s supposed eminent institution of higher learning. “Soldiers, chaplains, military nurses, and doctors conspired to provide the dying man and his family with as many of the elements of the conventional Good Death as possible, struggling even in the chaos of war to make it possible for men—and their loved ones—to believe they had died well.” As before, the dying men of battlefields all died “well”, though some died better than others, certainly. There are no performances at death. This suggestion that the dying understood what they were “supposed to do” is a complete misunderstanding of how men fight wars, how and why they die, and the universal sorrow felt by those left behind. There certainly was an inevitability that a book on Civil War death should appear, but how unfortunate that it should be this one.

“These were condolence letters intended to offer the comfort implicit in the narratives of the ars moriendi that most contained. News of the Good Death constituted the ultimate solace—the consoling promise of life everlasting.” Faust is onto something here, but not at all what she supposes. The literature of the War, the letters, diaries, first hand accounts all tend to support a conclusion quite the opposite from Faust’s. Almost everything coming from the front, officially and from friends, as correspondence from or about those who are dying serve a very specific universal purpose of comforting those who love them.

Those involved in this savage war lived in a world of death and violence, sacrifice and loss. Faust includes quotes from participants, but misunderstands and mischaracterizes them so that they fit her empty theories. Union Colonel Luther Bradley writes, ” Of all the horrors the horrors of the battlefield are the worst and yet when you are in the midst of them they don’t appall one as is it would seem they ought. You are engrossed with the struggle…” Soldiers in the war are in a world of death, killing and being killed. Concerns typical of their previous civilian non-combat lives are rapidly overturned and subsumed. Death is part of the reality of soldiers in war. On the firing line or in a charge or receiving a charge or under an artillery bombardment one is as (likely) to get wounded or killed as another. In the midst of the struggle, as Colonel Bradley says, it’s all killing and all being killed—there is an acceptance of this truth by everyone involved.

Faust extensively quotes her sources. But it’s all for naught. There is only one quote that she prefaces with the honorific “perceptive”. This quote is a fairly pedestrian one by an academic about the frustration of those looking for news of the missing. “A professor at Gettysburg College who aided many civilians searching for kin after the battle there perceptively described ‘aching hearts in which the dread void of uncertainty still remained unsatisfied by positive knowledge.’” There seems nothing particularly “perceptive” in this comment (except) perhaps that it was made by an academic. Can this be more perceptive than Colonel Bradley’s comments above, or any of the hundreds that are quoted elsewhere in Faust’s book? No. This is a paean to a fellow academic long dead, and betrays a bias fundamental to the failure of this abysmal history.

Agenda-driven history can have unfortunate consequences. In describing the aftermath of Gettysburg, Faust falls, and falls hard. “By July 4, an estimated six million pounds of human and animal carcasses lay strewn across the field in the summer heat.” She kindly further provides the horrified reader with descriptions of the “stench” from the thousands of unburied bodies, and what the locals did to counteract it. I have personally read hundreds of books on this subject, and have never before read such a revolting and de-humanizing description of Civil War dead. Faust merits some compliment amidst the revulsion that this statement caused for me. It takes quite a bit for me to be revolted by anything in this subject area and, having no recollection of ever having had this response, even from reading first hand accounts of battles, horrible wounds and the mounds of dead at Franklin in particular, Faust has succeeded where so many others have failed. This disgusting characterization of our Civil War dead in pounds is simply vile.

Now that we have crossed the line to “war porn” which is exactly what this description of Faust’s is, what is to be done? How can we politely dismiss this obviously well-researched but utterly mistaken muddle? The Civil War was fought between two Christian countries having very similar societies, cultures, and understanding of God and man. The relationship between God and man is at the center of Faust’s concept of the “Good Death”. But like Christians today, believers then accepted their fate and placed no blame upon God. They continued to believe and understood their role in the God/Human dichotomy as one of endless mystery with sufficient answers never arriving. This is faith. “War weary Americans invoked the trials and patience of Job, reminded themselves that the Lord ‘doeth all things well,’ and dutifully and almost ritually affirmed, ‘Thou he slay me, yet I will trust in him.’” This understanding of the limitation of people to understand the will of God has long been the foundation of American religious life. Despite the hundreds of thousands of deaths and bloody high cost of the War, it continued—each side seeing God with them and the results in God’s hands. Faust kindly supplies instructive quotes and source material that undermine her thesis, and put the lie to her theories. Our American war dead ought not to be described as meat measured in “pounds”.

An essential truth of war is death. Even after the shock of Bull Run, the horror of Shiloh and the brutality of Gettysburg and beyond both sides did not flinch. Two societies engaged in warfare to the end - to the death- is the ugly simple truth of our Civil War and its horrific casualty rates.

There is no “Good Death”. Faust’s “Good Death” is the tradition of pre-war America, the tradition of stability and comprehensible deaths, funerals, sad partings, and profound last words. The War shattered these pre-War concepts and substituted military necessity in their place so that burial of war dead became exigent upon “practicalities” – the dead would be buried and identified if the course of battle allowed for it. As the armies moved, fought battles and moved on, the focus continued on only one thing and little else- winning battles and the War. A nation in civil war with both sides dedicated to total victory and nothing else had little time for the polite, staid death and dying traditions of the pre-war era. The course of the war alone would dictate funeral practice and set new traditions most formally the hallowed day “Memorial Day”.

Faust’s over-analysis is typical of current academic historiography. Building a book upon a false premise, filling the thing with page after page of endnotes does not a convincing argument make. President of Harvard or not, historians must submit their work to the vigorous review of others well-versed in the subject. Was that done in this case? Where were the editors who should have removed the “war porn”? Silent, and overwhelmed by the duty of editing the president of a prestigious institution? We shall never know, and the issue itself is of little moment. Faust’s work must stand on its own or fall.

Ambrose Bierce the great American writer, veteran of many Civil War battles, was shattered by his war experiences. Faust supplies his words but misconstrues their meaning and import. “‘Death was a thing to be hated.’ Bierce wrote…’It was not picturesque, it had no tender and solemn side—a dismal thing, hideous in all its manifestations and suggestions.’” Civil War death was ugly, disgusting and shocking just as war death in every war in every country for time immemorial has always been. The only “Good Death” was dying with one’s face to the enemy doing one’s duty, and perhaps more. This however is not Faust’s understanding of it. Bravery, courage, heroism—all of these things that presaged death added more prestige to the dying man and made him more the hero at home. Civil War death perhaps merits a book, but not this one. This unsatisfactory academic romp through, as Faust puts it so eloquently, “the warp and woof” of Civil War death is unfortunate at best. But, as death is one of the central themes of the War—at least in its literal aftermath for the participants—it was inevitable that such a book should be written.

The actualities of Civil War death would be unlikely to promote the production of an academic history such as this one though a false premise vigorously foot-noted could. The reliance on false premise, empty theories, and the proving of same is a fundamental flaw in the academic approach to history. But, could there be a book on this subject founded upon specious academic theory and mistaken readings of primary sources, produced by anyone less than the president of America’s foremost academic institution? Could such a book have passed a vigorous edit cycle and peer review? Had this book been produced by anyone less than the august personage who wrote it it would have likely been quickly forgotten and largely ignored.

Fundamentally, the concept of death for most Americans before, during, and after the Civil War was about life after death. This a foundational concept for any Christian-based religion. This has always been the case. Faust seems not to understand this. It is a surprising error in such a book that deconstructs religious and cultural traditions. The promise of Christianity to believers is that they will go to heaven and live an eternal life after death. This is the reward of Christianity. Faust states that death was a “cultural preoccupation” during the Civil War. “Redefined as eternal life”, she continues, “death was celebrated in mid-nineteenth century America.” No. Death in America for Christians had always been about eternal life. This is the fundamental promise of Christianity and has been for at least two thousand years. There was never a redefinition of it.

It is important to pay attention where attention is merited. A letter from Sergeant James Williams , Company A, Sixteenth South Carolina is illustrative of the truth, not oft shown by Faust. In a letter many years after the War he describes his comrades from the battle of Franklin and their understanding of what it “all” meant. “As has been said so many times in so many ways, man finally learns how to live, only when it is time to die… The earth would not soon see the like of these men again. . . it had been a time to walk with the giants.” Another story from the “Military Annals of Tennessee” is equally instructive, and perhaps more so.

The story of George Darden is not widely known, but illustrates the ugly truth of Civil War death . There is no “Good Death” certainly not in the Faustian sense. In a world of battle and war everyone is as likely to die as the next and all, for the most part, are prepared. Killing or killed—the world of the Civil War soldier is one of death—everyone is involved in it, everyone accepts the likely outcome, which is their own demise.

During the siege of Atlanta, in a charge near the location and on the same day that Union General McPherson was killed, late July, 1864, George Darden of Company G, 6th Tennessee was mortally wounded.

“He was a brave and eccentric man…His eccentricity and reckless nerve did not forsake him as he lay dying on that field of blood. Near him was a terribly wounded Federal, whose cries were heart-rending. The cries greatly disturbed Darden, who had composed himself to die, as he said, in peace. He appealed to the wounded Federal to keep quiet and die like a man. He said: ‘You disturb me very much. I am wounded unto death as well as you. An hour at most and both of us will have passed away, and for the sake of a common manhood let us die calmly and like men of courage.’ But the wails and groans of the desperately wounded Federal in nowise abated. Darden, with a great effort, dragged himself to the wounded Federal, and after examining his wounds carefully, said: ‘Friend, you can’t live long; your sufferings are great, and you will not let me die peacefully. Hence, for the sake of both of us, I will end your agonies.’ And with these words he raised himself as well as he could, placed a loaded rifle to the Federal soldier’s breast and fired. The soldier died without struggle, and Darden layed (sic) himself calmly by his side, pillowed his head against a stump, and remarking, ‘Now I can die in peace,’ passed away without a sound or struggle, or a prayer that any one ever heard. All this was observed and heard by wounded men of the regiment who lay near the scene. The impression on their minds was deep, and the story is repeated at every gathering of the survivors of that terrible battle to this day.”

Death in war is an ugly business. Confederates and Federals knew after the first battles, after the first horrors, after the first bodies were returned home what it was all about and what would further be required of them. The two countries were fully united in the idea of war ‘till the end. It was victory or nothing, and the men in the ranks paid the price for society’s wants with their blood as soldiers in war always have done and always will do. These are universal truths. There are no “Good Deaths”. The pre-war way of death was abandoned very soon after the Civil War because circumstances involving massive armies, high casualties and ongoing military operations made the previous traditions based upon stability and nearness of family to the dying simply impossible.

And there is the crux, again: it is a simple ugly matter and a dark business. Civil War soldiers considered a “Good Death” one in which they died doing their duty, being brave and courageous, with their face to the enemy and in the heat of battle defending the “right” as they saw it. Faust’s over-analysis of this simple yet painful truth is disturbing. A thoughtful, comprehensive book on this topic might be of some moment, but this is not the one.

The Civil War was America’s conflagration of unity. There are no more Confederates and Federals we are all one people. The Union government and the southern states after the war did the best they could to bury the dead, commemorate their sacrifices, and save the battlegrounds so that future Americans might learn and be inspired by the bravery and courage displayed on those fields at such a high price. Success in these endeavors was not universal.

Clara Barton, the great Civil War nurse, described a failure of her own in lectures that she gave across the country after the war, as quoted by Faust. “Clara Barton described her crisis of conscience when a young man on the verge of death mistook her for his sister Mary. Unable to bring herself actually to address him as ‘brother’, she nevertheless kissed his forehead so that, as she explained, ‘the act had done the falsehood the lips refused to speak.’”

In comparison to all the good work that she did for so many wounded and dying Civil War soldiers, this event is a small one but not perhaps for the man in question. Addressing the poor dying man as her brother could only be seen as a kind, compassionate gesture—except apparently by Barton. Why she could not or would not do this simple kindness is a false conundrum much like the bulk of Faust’s “This Republic of Suffering”.

Built upon misconceptions and the fundamentally false premise of the “Good Death” Faust “soldiers on” with “proof” upon “proof” and “source” after “source” to lay a foundation underneath a falsehood. This is a book of cold analysis where the soldiers dead on the battlefield are measured in pounds to illustrate most inappropriately the difficulty that locals had in removing them. There was no constraint upon Barton except her own to bid the dying soldier “Farewell, dear brother!” “The Republic of Suffering” may be most memorable for its confusions and misunderstandings than for any valuable additions to Civil War study. There were no constraints upon president Faust to tell a truthful simple story. But if these self-evident stories were told could she fill a book with such stories, and would there be academic fame and respect resulting? Is history now in academia deemed of moment only if theories are proposed and explanations given even if they are wrong?

The soldiers of the Civil War have told their stories in thousands of memoirs and books, the families have done the same. Only in the academic world it seems does an analysis that ignores so fundamentally the participants and relies so heavily on theorizing and abstractions carry such weight. Those who read the diaries, letters, reports, etc., of the men on the firing lines know the truth. The truth is that the “Good Death” is a myth constructed solely for the benefit of this book. For the men and women of the Civil War there were no “Good Deaths” only those that involved sacrifice, pain, loss, heartache and tragedy. Look to Ambrose Bierce and the other survivors who were scarred and shattered yet did their duty and held in high accord those who also did theirs but paid the ultimate price. Soldiers in every conflict everywhere want the enemy soldiers to “die for their country”. But if they had to die Civil War soldiers like soldiers in every war preferred to die “well” if they are forced to die; and, even more so if the unenviable result of death were to occur to them they preferred better than “well” – to die with bravery, courage, and heroism. Where is the value in over-complicating a matter as simple, and as deep as this one? There is little to recommend this book as it is so very frustrating, and so very unpleasant to digest. Dr. Faust’s “The Republic of Suffering” is neither instructive nor enlightening, but casts a dark pall across the very subject it purports to lighten. Death in battle is an abysmal, ugly thing, but without those brave men (and now, women) prepared to face it we are all truly lost.

The Workings of a Kind Providence in Life
by Daniel Mallock

Today I was laid off.

This is not particularly extraordinary. I am a Systems Analyst and IT fellow-I’ve been through this before. The most astounding thing happened 10 minutes after I left my company and ventured forth into the unknown.

I’d like to share it with you.

It was a lovely day in Franklin, Tennessee today. Puffy, scattered clouds all about the sky and a favorable breeze blowing at 64 degrees. Perfect weather for early March in the Mid-South.

I stopped at a local gas station several miles from my now former company to throw a few dollars in the tank. As I walked into the station, I saw an older fellow sitting on a beautiful new motorcycle. This brought to mind my frustration that I was driving my car rather than my own motorcycle.

I got to chatting with this fellow and found out he was from near my home town in New England. We talked of bikes, Franklin, etc. I told him about my own bike and my little misadventure in Maine some years ago on a Yamaha. Recently retired, and a long time resident of Franklin I asked him if he was interested in local history.

“Are you interested in the Battle of Franklin?” I asked him.

“No, I was never interested in the Civil War, but I can see that you are,” he said pointing to my Battle of Franklin/Carter House bumper sticker.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve been a student of this battle for many years - since I was a child, actually.”

And then something amazing happened.

He said, “I have some maps that a friend gave me many years ago of the Battle of Franklin. I would like you to have them. Follow me on my bike and I will give them to you.”

We traveled to his house nearby he leading the way on his motorcycle, me following in my 4-wheel ride.

The maps he gave me are unpublished. They are produced by a local historian in impeccable detail showing most particularly the locations of Confederate artillery batteries during the battle. These maps are the finest and most detailed maps of the Battle of Franklin I have ever seen. They are a treasure, a miracle to me. They open a new world of study for me in my pursuit of knowledge on this very savage and brutal battle of November, 1864. In addition, they confirm my researches regarding the bitter fighting over captured Union artillery pieces at the Carter House and Cotton Gin early in the battle.

Needless to say I was humbled and astounded at this turn of events. My new friend said then, “I see you like the maps. Let’s go over to the house of the fellow who drew them.”

Again, I followed him through the back streets of Franklin. We arrived at the historian’s house completely unannounced. My friend hadn’t seen him in over 5 years, though they live only 2 miles from one another. The two were old friends separated by loss, illness and the passing of time as it moves so swiftly forward.

I was introduced very kindly, and thanked the historian for his hospitality. I complimented him on his maps and told him how very happy I was to have them. I told him that these are the finest maps of the battle I have ever seen, and told him I would send him my writings on the subject. The historian is old and in ill health but met me, a complete stranger, as a new and welcome friend.

What a pleasure to meet two people so thoughtful and friendly and kind. Who can know how or why these things occur? The fact that they do occur makes life so very special and continues to reinforce my belief that a kind Providence sometimes takes a moment to guide me on a path that can bring me to more knowledge of history, of myself, and of the kindness and deep caring of others - otherwise strangers now friends.

One might suggest that a lay off is extraordinary. It is. But I’ve seen this before. Sometimes it’s an ugly business, business. But we always move forward as best we can, with a good and positive attitude that the right will find its course, or we will be led upon it. There is little so stable in life as change. But beyond this matter of business and career the matter of scholarship, of new friendship and most importantly of the entirely selfless kindness of others is what is so extraordinary.

-Daniel

Senseless Violence Across the Land Exposes Moral Relativism

by Daniel Mallock

The senseless murder of innocents always shakes our moral foundations. School shootings in particular are shocking and deeply painful. There has been a spate of school murders, mall murders, and of course the ever-present domestic murders where a child kills the parents and siblings, or a parent murders the entire family. These are ugly, senseless, horrible crimes for which there never appears to be any explanation. The killers kill themselves and we as a culture are left with little to learn from these events.

These events undermine our trust in society, in places we had always thought were safe havens-like schools, and builds suspicion where before there may have been a neutrality of feeling.

Most recently Northern Illinois University is the scene. Before that was the massacre at Virginia Tech and the mall shootings in Salt Lake City, and Omaha, Nebraska. Anything can happen in our society now, there are no safe havens - not at study and not in the marketplace.

This most recent horror at NIU involved a young man who has been described by colleagues and teachers as “revered”. Everyone exclaimed shock and bewilderment that the killer could have done such an appalling crime. For them, it seemed to have come from the clear blue sky, without any warnings. In the days following his vicious cowardly attack we learn that this man had a history of mental illness, was given an early discharge from the military for reasons that are still not divulged, refused to take his medication, had been institutionalized for self-destructive behavior (cutting himself), etc. Until recently his facade of normalcy that allowed him to have a long-term relationship, gather awards and respect from his peers, and be seen as a fine student and teacher and functional/normal human was fairly stable so that everyone was fooled.

But there were warning signs. According to CNN the “27-year-old shooter had a history of mental illness and stopped taking antidepressants three weeks ago, making him ‘erratic,’ according to authorities. In the months leading up to the surprise attack, he started covering his body in bizarre tattoos and stockpiling guns.” (CNN, posted 2/19/08) Perhaps we will never know what actions those around him may have taken in the days and weeks prior to the murders to prevent the soon-to-be mass murderer from a total meltdown.

The killer’s girlfriend of two years, now in the national spotlight - has made her choice to talk to the press. Her comments are illustrative of much more than her state of mind in the wake of her boyfriend’s cruelty and violence. They are indicative of a more thorough and widespread moral confusion that seems to permeate our entire culture.

“He wasn’t erratic. He wasn’t delusional. He was Steve; he was normal,” said Baty. She added, “I still love him.”

Can someone “love” someone who has just viciously murdered 5 people? Can someone “love” someone who is a destroyer of life, a berserker? Is Steve worthy of such feelings after his killing spree? Might she have said more accurately, I still love what I thought Steve was? or, I still love the person who I knew as Steve before he did this awful horror, or, I still love the man I thought I knew but never really did. Why couldn’t she have said, “I cannot love someone who did such an appalling thing.” Aren’t there crimes and actions that are unforgivable? I think there are, and this mass murder of innocents at NIU (or VT, or at a mall, etc.) is one of them.

Is this a misconception of what “love” is? Do we need a new definition of “love” to teach our children? Or could this just be some blind loyalty on her part? Does “love” now make us live in a vacuum utterly separated from moral obligation, compassion for others and duty to the wider society?

She clearly struggled with the situation.

“I was with him all the time,” she said. “How could I not have seen this coming? I feel partially responsible because maybe I should have seen something.” The distraught Baty also said her boyfriend was a victim as well on Valentine’s Day. “I feel so bad for the victims. I can’t tell them how sorry I am,” she said.

But then, in just the next breath, it all falls apart.

“But he was a victim too. I know they probably won’t want to hear that, but he was.”

This moral relativity that allows Ms. Baty to compare in her mind the killer with the victims in a way that puts them in the same category seems a complete confusion of priorities and proportion. Feeling bad for the victims ought to have precluded her from describing both the victims and the murderer as victims. It seems a callous, callow, and hollow thing to say. I think that she is correct when she says that the victims and their families “won’t want to hear that.”

“The person I knew was not the one who went into Cole Hall and did that,” Baty told CNN. “He was anything but a monster. He was probably the … nicest, (most) caring person ever.” (CBS News, 2/19/09)

No. It seems that Ms. Baty did not know her boyfriend at all. He was not all “nice” nor “caring”. He was utterly false, evil. The depths of anger and hatred that some people harbor and hide remain a mystery to us all, almost without context or precedent until they lash out and collapse into depravity and violence. There was a time when such actions would earn nothing but condemnation. Can there be sympathy for such a monster? His false persona is gone, and a re-assessment of him and his life required. We often do not know one another, and with disastrous consequences.

In a related situation a youth pastor in Houston, Texas surrendered himself to authorities for a murder that he committed in 1994. The congregants of his church have forgiven him both for the murder and for his falseness, apparently. His church of almost 1000 people praised the murderer/youth pastor for “taking responsibility” and turning himself in. There didn’t seem to be any discussion of why it took him 14 years to do so. But there is more.

Several congregants are quoted by CNN as describing the pastor/murderer as a “hero”.

“‘He’s a hero, really,’ said Kelley Graham, 24. ‘I don’t know how many people would do what he did.’” (CNN, 02/18). Another impressed church member was even stronger in his appreciations, “I am thrilled my son has a role model to accept responsibility the way Calvin (the murderer) has,” Thac said. “There are way too many men who don’t accept responsibility.”

Acceptance of responsibility has only recently been seen as something heroic. Previously, such admirable conduct was considered a fundamental aspect of maturity, of good citizenship, of respectability.

In time of war, as our soldiers fight in Iraq and Afghanistan and war clouds gather on the horizon at other hotspots around the world, can the “acceptance of responsibility” truly be considered “heroic”? Where is the heroism in the admittance to a crime of violence and cowardice? Is this pastor/murderer as heroic, say, as a soldier who dives on a grenade to save the lives of his comrades in Baghdad? Isn’t the police officer who rushes into a house to save the lives of innocent hostages and dies in the attempt a hero? How can we compare an admitted murderer who finally after 14 years admits his guilt to such people who sacrifice themselves for others? The concept of heroism elevates the hero who has surpassed the requirements of responsibility. Taking out the trash is a responsibility, accepting great risk to help others is heroic.

Do we as a culture no longer know who to raise up in honor, and who to abjure and condemn?

A culture of moral confusion must find it difficult if not impossible to sustain itself when in mortal conflict with an ideology of reactionary absolutism like Islamism so contrary to our own understanding of what is good and evil.

When we have so lost our way so as to be unable to identify evil when it confronts us, (or even shares our homes or classrooms with us), and so clearly identifies itself as such by its actions; when we as a culture can not agree fundamentally that certain crimes and behaviors are utterly unforgivable, and that those who commit such horrors like the massacres at VT and NIU, etc. should be roundly condemned, disdained, and reviled - can we effectively confront a violent ideology whose goal is our destruction?

After the school shootings and mall shootings and shattering intra-family murders of recent years, we are left with little learned and little to learn from. The killers who harbor hatred and nihilism and believe that their greatest aspiration is to destroy innocence have nothing to teach us. They kill themselves or are killed, and we are left with questions having no answers. In response, we install improved security systems and processes, and debate gun ownership rights and gun control as we should.

But there is an emptiness of sorrow and moral confusion that these events leave behind. When someone commits an atrocity like the one at NIU or Virginia Tech how can it be that those close to him, who thought they knew him but did not, in the aftermath say that they continue to love him? Isn’t it so that they continue to love the person they thought they had known, a facade that was fronting the hatred and ugliness underneath rather than the cruel anti-person who committed the crime?

Is it time for a re-examination of “love” and the concept of “hero” in our culture? It would appear that the answer is yes. Can we “love” those who commit horrible crimes against us? We need a better, deeper understanding of how we, each one of us, relate to everyone else in our country. We need to have our standards returned to us, we need our heroes again. We need to rescue them from our past, and elevate them when they appear in our daily lives. These are the men and women who inspire us with their courage, bravery, self-sacrifice, and character. And we need to be able to condemn, without doubt and with compassion, those whose abominable actions put them beyond the pale and outside the family of humanity.

Little Friend, Little Friend - Jarrell’s Powerful, Quiet, Short Homage to America’s War

Introduction by Daniel Mallock

A great poem ought to be huge - grand in scope, but not necessarily excessive in length. Great poetry should tell massive stories with multiple layers concisely and artfully. One doesn’t need obscure references, convoluted language, nor self-congratulatory internal winkings. Poetry is supposed to be honest. A great poem should pack a serious punch of power and style and insight.

It’s a complicated world and life is complex, confusing, and manifestly difficult to fathom. Poetry is at its does best when it illustrates and even explains something of life and humanity in a form that is reachable and readily understood, entertaining and impressive. Overly complex poetry tends to be more a demonstration of the art and poet rather than anything that might tend to educate, enlighten, or entertain the reader.

I’ve heaped praise and criticism on the Nashville Fugitives on these pages already. I believe the finest Civil War poem of the 20th century is by one of them - “Lee in the Mountains”, by Donald Davidson. Conversely, the worst Civil War poem of the last century was perpetrated by Allen Tate another Fugitive. His poem “Ode to the Confederate Dead” is something of a crime; a criminal cruelty dumped upon an entire country by an otherwise credible poet. Tate’s poem has long been considered a classic, a suitable tribute to the Confederate dead - the truth is that both assertions are false.

Robert Lowell’s “For the Union Dead” is a brilliant poem conceived by another writer associated with the Fugitives (Lowell studied under John Crowe Ransom at Kenyon College). These three poems represent the finest and the worst 20th century poetic treatments of the Civil War. So, it is somewhat ironic that one of the finest poets of WW2 should also be a student of Ransom, and a colleague of Robert Lowell at Kenyon - another Fugitive associate and Nashvillian. Let’s now complete the Nashville connection…

Perhaps the greatest American poet of WW2 is Randall Jarrell. This poet who would write of bombing raids and dying ball-turret gunners, who would bring the reality of the war into his poetry so powerfully, so lyrically, and so successfully - was born in Nashville and would later teach at Vanderbilt, the very home of the Fugitives.

Randall Jarrell (1914-1965) could embed the nitty gritty of war into his work - the machinery, the oil, the gunmetal, the equipment of death and destruction. He would populate his poems with people who de-populated cities, the air crews of the Eighth Air Force, for example. Jarrell brought the casualties, the blood, the losses, the mechanics of war together in such a way as to bring the war home to the reader - Jarrell’s poems make World War Two real; every casualty is strongly felt.

As with most survivors of war, Jarrell was deeply affected if not scarred by his war experiences. Jarrell served in the Army Air Corps (precursor to the US Air Force) working in a control tower. He had enlisted to fly aircraft but failed to qualify. Jarrell went on to a very successful academic and writing career after the war becoming a noted critic and poet. He died in 1965 in Chapel Hill, North Carolina in a traffic accident. It is not known if Jarrell’s death was a suicide or an accident, but his bouts with depression and the intense emotional depth of his poetry give one pause. Robert Lowell referred to his old Kenyon colleague as one of the “best lyric poets of the past”.

Jarrell’s war poems are jarring, and very real. He brings the experience home and slams it down on the page so that the reader must deal with it, somehow. As with so many of Jarrell’s WW2 poems reading “Little Friend, Little Friend” is an emotional experience, a jarring slap on the side of the head with the truth and ugly reality of war. The ugliness and horror of war can be shared via the beauty of poetry, with the obvious irony there for all to see.

One of Jarrell’s greatest poems is but a fragment and challenges the definition of poetry itself. It is very short, and very powerful. It seems to embrace the men and machines of the war, and put them back in the air where Jarrell always knew them to be - doing their terrible damage and raining death down upon the cities and one another.

David Perkins wrote, “They are vivid and moving incidents of combat, told with an exceptionally sensitive psychological insight and moral perplexity.” (A History of Modern Poetry: Modernism and After (Cambridge, MA, 1987), 393.) Jarrell tells his stories in beautiful language, with little fanfare, and intense emotional power. His poems are novels on a page, huge stories of massive events and shattered people and cities all scrunched up on the page like a crashed bomber - and rebuilt in poetry by way of explanation.

“Little Friend, Little Friend” is a radio transmission/poem between a bomber pilot and a fighter pilot flying in hostile skies. They are there for each other to a certain extent, always just out of range. They do what they can for each other. And in these few lines is a very powerful, very simplified view of the comradery, ugliness, bravery, and extremes of fighting wars in the air. Jarrell is one of America’s most brilliant poets. It is a privilege to present this brilliant fragment/poem of Jarrell on my blog.

“Little Friend, Little Friend”
by Randall Jarrell, 1945

. . . . Then I heard the bomber call me in:

“Little Friend, Little Friend, I got two
engines on fire. Can you see me, Little
Friend?”

I said “I’m crossing right over you.
Let’s go home.”

The Bomber
Photo Courtesy of “100% Geek”

Little Friend
Photo Courtesy of “HistoryLink101″

The Greatest Civil War Western - The Outlaw Josie Wales

by Daniel Mallock

The Outlaw Josie Wales is my favorite western. It’s considered by some folks to be the greatest western. I agree.

A great western should have a collection of strong key elements, and Josie Wales has them all. The setting is the savage Civil War in Missouri and Kansas where atrocities and outrages were perpetrated by irregulars of both sides. Folks at the time called these criminals and guerrillas “bushwackers”. The fighting in this theater of the Civil War is not commonly known by non-students and historians and was particularly ugly and violent. Most actions were small unit affairs, with people who were well known to one another before the war fighting under opposing flags. Violence and crimes against civilians was common as both legitimate armies used irregulars to terrorize the civilian population. The massacre at Centralia, Missouri , September 27, 1864 was perpetrated by Bloody Bill Anderson and his men. There is no mention of this event in the film, of course, as there could be no sympathy for anyone who had had a part in that abomination.

Josie Wales captures the ugliness and horror of those times and provides a motivator to the title character when his family is murdered by Kansas Union irregulars. Wales is enraged and joins Bloody Bill Anderson’s Confederate guerrilla outfit. When the War ends, they are one of the last organized Confederate units to surrender (at least according to the film). Wales’ comrades surrender themselves at a Union camp, but Josie refuses. But everything is not as it seems and as the men surrender their arms and take the Oath of Allegiance to the Union, they are viciously murdered in cold blood. It turns out that the same unit that has just killed his fellow Confederates is the very same that had killed his family several years before. And so the chase begins… Wales is now the “Outlaw Josie Wales” running from bounty hunters and every male in the territory with a gun not to mention the Union army.

Josie Wales is played by Clint Eastwood in one his best performances. The character is very much like the “Man with no name” from his Spaghetti Western days. Closer to “Blondie” in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly than the silent gunslinger of “Pale Rider” Wales is essentially a good man driven to revenge and violence by circumstances. He is the everyman of the Civil War dragged into the maelstrom of events. As he runs from his pursuers he picks up a ragtag crew of fascinating characters who ride with him, eventually heading for southern Texas. Along the way there are gunfights, suspense, and lots of action.

A great western should have certain components including:

• beautiful desert scenery
• a good story line
• small ramshackle frontier towns
• a hero or anti-hero with strong and understandable motivations
• guns, ideally pistols
• cool hats
• indians
• lots of horses
• rotten villains

Outlaw Josie Wales (1976) was directed by Eastwood as well as starring himself. Sandra Locke, later his common law wife, Chief Dan George, and John Vernon co-star.

Wales is an avenger as he rides across deserts and through broken down frontier towns. He has no options, but to find a place to hide, or just keep on riding forever. Every shooting that involve him is self-defense or in the defense of others who cannot defend themselves. He is a hero, an unsurrendered Confederate partisan, haunted by the senseless murder of his family.

Josie Wales has beautiful scenery, lots of horses and pistols, rotten villains who deserve to get shot (and generally do), suffering innocents who need protection, and one of the coolest hats in American cinema history.

Josie Wales’ hat is stained with sweat, it’s a deep Confederate Gray with a wide and slightly upturned brim. Eastwood hides his eyes under the brim of this hat, and when he slightly lifts his head to look at someone - they know quickly that Wales is not a man to be trifled with. He has a sense of honor and obligation to others, but has no compunction in shooting those who are hunting him or are fixin’ to hurt his friends.

There is a funny moment after Eastwood and his friends have arrived at their Texas destination. Sondra Locke dressed in a fine white dress talks about how beautiful the clouds look. She represents the stability, and happiness of his pre-war life and the look of sadness and dissociation that Eastwood delivers is a fine and sad one. After all of his war-fighting, his losses, and the personal toll that the War has taken, Josie Wales must try very hard to find a place for himself in a peaceful and stable post-war environment. Killing is easy now for him, it’s the living without violence that will be so challenging. One of the more powerful aspects of his character is that he so wants to try.

“For the Union Dead” by Robert Lowell - A Superb Civil War Poem that Continues to Resonate

Introduction by Daniel Mallock

It is altogether fitting and proper that this poem should be posted and read today, of all days. Martin Luther King day is the right day for this poem, this tribute to the Union dead of the Civil War and a particular remembrance of the black soldiers who wore the uniform of the Union particularly of the Massachusetts 54th Regiment made famous to non-Civil War students by the movie Glory several years ago.

The 54th Massachusetts was the first black regiment to march from the North to fight the Confederacy. These men were quite brave knowing that in battle they would likely get little or no quarter, and if captured they would most assuredly be sent south back to slavery. These men had much to prove what with years of racism from North and South to be broken and defeated by their bravery and sacrifices not to mention the Confederate army that they would later face on the battlefield. They would win ever-lasting fame for their courage during their doomed assault on Fort Wagner at Charleston Harbor, South Carolina, July, 1863. The attack would be a night assault on this heavily guarded fort. The fighting would be intense and the 54th would not be successful. Their white colonel, Robert Gould Shaw would be killed, and almost half the regiment would be lost. The first Medal of Honor for a black man would be earned there.

They marched down Beacon Street, with the Massachusetts State House on one side and Boston Common on the other - off to war, off to death and glory on a twin mission; to fight for the Union and show the world that they were equal in ability to whites. Directly across the street from the Massachusetts State House on Beacon Street there now stands the brilliant monument by Augustus St. Gaudens forever commemorating the 54th, the first black regiment and their white commander Colonel Robert Gould Shaw.

Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, Colonel, 54th Massachusetts

This monument on Beacon Hill is one of the finest monuments of any kind in the United States. As a tribute to Shaw and the 54th it is unparalled in the physical world; but in the emotional world, the world of poetry, Robert Lowell comes quite close. Lowell brilliantly describes the monument to the 54th and works it into the life of Boston that foremost of abolition cities of the North. Standing before the 54th monument on Beacon Hill, as the crowds walk swiftly by and the traffic speeds along past the State House, one can almost hear the men breath as they are forever frozen in bronze on their march south to battle. There are few monuments in bronze as lifelike as this one: it is an incredible tribute to the 54th and their commander and adorns the city of Boston as fittingly as the obelisk at Bunker Hill or the colonial historical sites of Adams, Revere, Hancock, and several miles to the west, Lexington and Concord.

Lowell’s “For the Union Dead” is a successful poem on so many levels and succeeds completely where Tate’s “Ode to the Confederate Dead” so totally fails. It unifies time and place, and brings context and permanence where everything seems to be shifting and changing. As a tribute to the 54th and the Union dead of the Civil War its elements run as deep as the waters off the coast of Boston seen from the top of Beacon Hill so long ago when the skyscrapers didn’t block the view.

Having started his education at Harvard Lowell transfered to Kenyon College to study under John Crowe Ransom another of Vanderbilt’s Fugitives, like Allen Tate and Donald Davidson. It is an astounding thing that the two greatest Civil War poems of modern times (”Lee in the Mountains” and “For the Union Dead”) and the worst (”Ode to the Confederate Dead”) should be written by poets with Nashville connections. Lowell went on to graduate school to study under Robert Penn Warren, another Vanderbilt “Fugitive”.

St. Gaudens placed a latin inscription on the monument, the motto of the Society of the Cincinnati (a society of Revolutionary War officers started by George Washington and Henry Knox): “Relinquit Omnia Servare Rem Publicam”. The translation is: “He left behind everything to save the Republic”. Lowell opened his poem with this latin phrase but changed the singular “he” to “they” in the latin so that his poem would refer to all the men of the 54th not just its white commander, Robert Gould Shaw, to read: “Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam”.

St. Gaudens’ Masterpiece - The 54th Massachusetts Marching to War - You can almost hear them breath

“For the Union Dead” was published in 1964 during the height of the Civil Rights movement. Active in Civil Rights efforts it is perfectly understandable that Lowell should have written this poem of unity and appreciation with concern, too, that the past should be remembered and its lessons learned. The battlefield of Fort Wagner had been by then reclaimed by the sea at Charleston Harbor and the monument to the 54th had fallen into disrepair. In fact, it was during this time that the St. Gaudens monument had been removed and stored in a crate to prevent damage from “shaking” from the construction of the underground Boston Commons parking garage. So, the battleground is gone, and Shaw’s monunument is gone (but only temporarily), and history fades while “progress” continues speedily obliterating the memory of those that have come before.

“The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
grow slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets
and muse through their sideburns . . .”

Lowell’s brilliant poem is his way of retaining the past and ensuring that important historical memory is not lost forever. The men of the 54th Massachusetts, black and white, were leaders in bringing an end to slavery and establishing equality under the law for blacks in America. The story of their bravery and sacrifice is important to understanding American history and the Civil War. These men demonstrated with their actions and their blood that they were equals and merited equal positions in American society. As Americans North and South we ought to continue to embrace their memory and appreciate the many challenges that they overcame and the lessons that they taught us with their sacrifices at Fort Wagner and elsewhere.

On Martin Luther King day especially we can look back to the 54th Massachusetts as a standard bearer in the struggle for Civil Rights in America. In the 1980s I was privileged to be part of an effort to restore the St. Gaudens monument to its original beauty and power. Lowell’s poem is a tribute to this beautiful work of art, and the men of the 54th Massachusetts who so inspired it. It is our duty as a civilized society to remember our past, appreciate and commemorate our war dead, and learn those lessons that they underscored for later generations with their lives.

“Two months after marching through Boston,
half the regiment was dead;
at the dedication,
William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.”

This is one of the finest poems of the 20th century and stands with “Lee in the Mountains” as one of the two great modern poems of the Civil War. It is my pleasure to present it here.

-Daniel Mallock

For the Union Dead

by Robert Lowell

“Relinquunt Omnia Servare Rem Publicam.”

The old South Boston Aquarium stands
in a Sahara of snow now. Its broken windows are boarded.
The bronze weathervane cod has lost half its scales.
The airy tanks are dry.

Once my nose crawled like a snail on the glass;
my hand tingled
to burst the bubbles
drifting from the noses of the cowed, compliant fish.

My hand draws back. I often sigh still
for the dark downward and vegetating kingdom
of the fish and reptile. One morning last March,
I pressed against the new barbed and galvanized

fence on the Boston Common. Behind their cage,
yellow dinosaur steamshovels were grunting
as they cropped up tons of mush and grass
to gouge their underworld garage.

Parking spaces luxuriate like civic
sandpiles in the heart of Boston.
A girdle of orange, Puritan-pumpkin colored girders
braces the tingling Statehouse,

shaking over the excavations, as it faces Colonel Shaw
and his bell-cheeked Negro infantry
on St. Gaudens’ shaking Civil War relief,
propped by a plank splint against the garage’s earthquake.

Two months after marching through Boston,
half the regiment was dead;
at the dedication,
William James could almost hear the bronze Negroes breathe.

Their monument sticks like a fishbone
in the city’s throat.
Its Colonel is as lean
as a compass-needle.

He has an angry wrenlike vigilance,
a greyhound’s gently tautness;
he seems to wince at pleasure,
and suffocate for privacy.

He is out of bounds now. He rejoices in man’s lovely,
peculiar power to choose life and die–
when he leads his black soldiers to death,
he cannot bend his back.

On a thousand small town New England greens,
the old white churches hold their air
of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags
quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic.

The stone statues of the abstract Union Soldier
grow slimmer and younger each year–
wasp-waisted, they doze over muskets
and muse through their sideburns . . .

Shaw’s father wanted no monument
except the ditch,
where his son’s b