A nation mourns

November 25, 2014

A nation mourns then and now.

We remember Gettysburg, Antietam, Cold Harbor, Spotsylvania, Monocacy, Bull Run, Atlanta, Ferguson,  New York, Selma, Miami Gardens, Kabul, Faluja, Bagdhad, Syria.

We remember and cry.

Ft. Delaware Part 2

The ferry that travels between Ft. Mott, Pea Patch Island and Delaware City turns first south to deeper waters, then curves back up to the other side of the island.  After a short tram ride where we learn a bit about the marshland fauna, we arrive at the entrance. Our guide, Bill talks at that point more about the bats that live in the fort than the history, partly because the bats have a disease that they are trying to contain with various precautions. He gives us a schedule of events for the day, and then we are off on our own to explore.

Stepping across the drawbridge  through the entrance where prisoners were hung by their thumbs, the real brick fort becomes apparent. The inner courtyard/parade grounds are much smaller than Ft. Warren, leaving more of an impression of an estate rather than a midieval castle. In fact, the prisoners lived outside the fort in wooden barracks, whereas the nicely appointed rooms that we can view are reserved for the commanding officers.

The one tour that we take is guided by a woman from the fish and wildlife dept, who is also more enthusiastic and knowlegable about bats than history. We have to wait until we meet the 'laundress' the 'soldiers' and the 'ordinance clerk' to learn more about life on the island.

A bit more background is needed.

Night falls in the cemetery

The darkness and cold remind me that night falls so early at this time of year.  It is 5:30 pm and the only lights in the cemetery are those from the lanterns placed along the walkways and at each grave. They create arcs of lights in a white rainbow of memory.

During the daytime, an unspoken rule of relative quiet. The evening seems to allow all to chatter and laugh loudly. Until they get to the podium where the names of the dead are being read aloud.

Gettysburg Parade The confederate regiments

From my home state of Maryland, a 'border' state where the state anthem declares that Abraham Lincoln is a tyrant and despot.

A

Gettysburg Parade Lincoln Arrives by carriage

Soldiers, women's auxiliaries, Calvary on horseback, regimental bands and Abraham Lincoln parade for a delighted crowd lining the street. Next to me is a boy scout troop, saluting as each regiment passes by.  

The parade includes both Union and Confederate re-enactors and lasts over an hour.

 

At night after the battle draft 1

campfires burn tonight
It is our stories that are glowing'
They warm us without flames
songs of home and glory
Silence is our blanket
Pull it slowly over you
Rest my brothers
Rest your heads
The next days battle is just an early morning time away

As the silent sentry watches over us
Rest my brothers
REst your heads
 And wait for early morning

In the wilderness of virginia
The fires burn in the daytime

Antietam beginnings

Of all the battles that I've read about over the past months, this immediately grabbed my imagination more than any others even Gettysburg. I put effort into writing a song culled from as much information as I could find. This date, Sept 14 has been set aside for months; And today I wake up early to take my first solo trip after a long night returning from Baltimore for the Star Spangled festival.


Antietam is a battlefield that should be done in 2 days there is so much to see and do. Though a one day battle, so much happened here over a large area, that to just hike the trails and hear the guide takes up the whole day.

Arriving at the visitor center, I am directed to the observation room, which is framed by windows on 3 sides, providing a view of the surrounding mountains, the cornfields and woods that are the sites of the tragic events that occurred 152 years ago.

I begin to cry at the beauty, the tragedy, the quiet, the anticipation of the day.

Remembrance Day early mornng

Knowing that I have people to join with on a cold and windy November 15 morning is a comforting way to enter this most extraordinary day.  As part of the General Meade Society ceremonies, we meet at the General Humphreys statue along the main road in Gettysburg park.  I had not anticipated the formality of the event, but immediately realized the seriousness of this occasion when General Meade himself steps out of his car (!) in formal dress uniform.  Throughout the morning, dozens of generals, soldiers and their 'ladies' walk up Sickles Ave to form lines for a procession. Joined by onlookers, the ceremony is led by General Humphreys (Jerry) as he remembers the life of the general who was Grant's chief of staff. The generals themselves march in a ragged line, clearly out of practice unlike the regiments that I have seen over the past few months who pride themselves on their proficiency in all matters of soldiering.

All around the park dozens of such ceremonies are in progress. Flags are flying, regimental band music can be heard as they march by on the roads. After the Meade ceremony is over, I am a bit adrift waiting for the parade at 1:00. Then just 100 or so feet away I see a large crowd that draws me to one of the most unusual ceremonies of the morning. One hundred people are gathered around the statue that was, in July, hidden by tree cover, quite curious. This man sitting on a chair dressed in a suit seemed so out of place among the monuments and uniformed soldier's statues. 

 I now recognize it as the statue of the last union solder survivor,  Albert Woolson, who died in 1956, at the age of 107. He was a member of the Grand Army of the Republic a national  organization "limited strictly to 'veterans of the late unpleasantness' "  The GAR eventually endorsed the Sons of Veterans of the United States of America (later to become the Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War) as its heir and then the Women’s' Relief Corps (WRC) with the title "official auxiliary to the GAR." 

 So, one by one, representatives of the Sons of  Union fighters, and women's auxiliaries, 12 groups in all, place wreaths at the foot of the statue. Seated in the front row is a special guest, known to all (both literally and figuratively)-Abraham Lincoln. He manages to finesse the anachronism of the time, smoothly winding his remarks about the present into.... wait, is he reciting the Gettysburg Address?  The man behind me says, "He's the best", apparently remarking on his abilities as a Lincoln interpreter.

Some 50 feet away, a trumpeter plays the most stirring Taps that I have ever heard. Slow, elongated, legato, with a last note that floats in the air for seconds. It is at that point that tears come to me-and an image of my father in uniform, a veteran.

Remembrance Day Gettysburg Parade I

On Little Round Top for the Second time

National Cemetery Illumination

A letter to my friends M and H:
 
The 12 hours I spent at Gettysburg were full of extra extra beyond ordinary moments. I wanted to share one  story from the day as a response to our conversation at dinner about war and veterans.
As we went deeper at dinner into the reasons why I am even  taking this journey, the questions that you each had of war and slaughter and support of soldiers were ones that I found haunting. I am not an 'historian' of the type that will remember the minute details of the battles. I realized after dinner that instead I have been for the past 6 months patiently 'listening' through my readings and  battlefield visits to the lives of soldiers and generals and all who were affected on both sides. 
You asked why  I wanted to participate in the Veterans Day ceremonies at Drexel.  It was to listen to people that I can be in LIVE conversation with.  It seems that we spend much time in our community doing 'interfaith dialogue and 'eliminating racism' dialogue' parsing our similarities and differences. Here is yet another group of people-men and women who go to war= that I  have opinions and feelings about-yet, how can I begin to talk with them unless I listen first. The Civil War was not univerally  popular in the 'north', Lincoln had his detractors just as the Iraq and Afghanistan wars.
So I have found that before I can say 'Ain't gonna study ( participate in) war no more" I have to actually "Study war".

Which brings me to one poignant experience at Gettysburg. Remembrance Day is an annual  time around the anniversary of the Gettysburg Address, when, I found out, dozens of commemorations take place throughout the park.  'Regiments' and devotees of specific people or battles take the morning to speak about and place wreaths at various monuments and statues. Later in the day there is a parade that includes both Union and Confederate re-enacters, sons and daughters associations, women in full hooped glory, 'widows' and regimental bands. (Lincoln was in the parade as well). After dark, candles in bags  set out beside every grave light the way in the cemetery for the traditional Illumination. For 3 hours, the names of the dead are read aloud.  And after THAT, I attended a program of words and music recounting the lives of the wounded left behind in the Old Lutheran Church that was used as an army hospital .

The story of importance here took place at 4 pm, dusk- standing on Little Round top, the site of the  final horrendous hand to hand combat battle in 1863.    

The scene  151 years later is a peaceful view of the mountains and fields surrounding Gettysburg, where  on the hilltop a regimental horn and drum band is playing lively songs that would have been heard in the soldiers' camps. Then the band leader points to the valley below and reminds us that the next set of  quiet hymns are for the men.
 
With the first notes, I feel a rush of energy coming up from the field below-as if the spirits of those who fought there are hearing the music from afar,roused to  gather round for the consolation that it might give them. What comes into my mind, what I hear myself wanting to say to them is :
"Please forgive us"  "PLEASE FORGIVE US"

Little Round Top at dusk

There is a narrow path that goes part way down the hill. Several people stand at various points on the path looking out in silence. I make my way down to whisper the Mourners Kaddish. To the tune of Amazing Grace the tears flow as the words Oseh Shalom B'mromav, Create peace, now would be good- are rolling off my tongue.  

At the cemetery, I have a chance to ask for forgiveness to individuals whose names are read aloud and to stand with the silent sentries as taps is played. And I remember my father, who was a veteran, but never spoke about it in his lifetime.


Thanks for being a part of this conversation. And for listening.