Archives For Civil War

I have lived in the South for almost nine years now. As a history student for life, I have tried to take advantage of my home in Nashville and learn more about the American Civil War. I also have tried to observe how people from the South talk about the Civil War. Although I don’t live in the deep South, the war seems to be a distant past to most people here. My only fear is that people will forget what happened and more importantly, what we can learn from it.

lee

My father was a member of Kappa Alpha, an “Old South” fraternity, which was inspired by the gentlemanly conduct of Robert E. Lee, when he served as President of Washington College (later became Washington & Lee). My father as well as my grandfather, who was also a Kappa Alpha member, always spoke fondly of Robert E. Lee. I never quite understood why because of Lee being a General whom led a rebellious army that ultimately lost. Lee did not seem to be a perfect person but why did his soldiers fight so bravely for him and why did they follow him when he agreed to surrender to Union forces? I learned why from a story in the book, April 1865, the author wrote a beautiful ending that captured the scene of Richmond, Virginia not long after the Civil War ended.

It was a warm Sunday at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, and an older man, one of the church’s many distinguished communicants, who had spent the last four years in war, was sitting in his customary pew. With his shoulders rounded, his middle thickened, his hair snow-white and beard gray, as usual, he attracted the attention of the rest of the church. But then so did another parishioner.

As the minister, Dr. Charles Minnergerode, was about to administer Holy Communion, a tall, well-dressed black man sitting at the western galley (which was reserved for Negroes) unexpectedly advanced to the communion table-unexpectedly because his this had never happened here before. Suddenly, the image of Richmond redux was conjured up-a flashback to prewar years. Usually whites received communion first, then blacks-a small but strictly adhered to ritual, repeated so often that to alter it was unthinkable. This one small act, then, was like a large frontier separating two worlds: the first being that of the antebellum South, the second being that of post-Civil War America. The congregation froze; those who had been ready to go forward and kneel at the altar rail remained fixed in their pews. Momentarily stunned, Minnergerode himself was clearly embarrassed. The horror-and surprise-of the congregation were no doubt largely visceral, but Minnergerode’s silent retreat was evident. It was one thing for the white South to endure defeat and poverty, or to accept the fact that slaves were now free; it was quite another for a black man to stride up to the front of the church as though an equal. And not just at any church, but here, at the sanctuary for Richmond’s elite, the wealthy, the well-bred, the high-cultured.

The black man slowly lowered his body, kneeling, while the rest of the congregation tensed in their pews. For his part, the minister stood, clearly uncomfortable and still dumbfounded. After what seemed to be an interminable amount of time-although it was probably only seconds-the white man arose (Lee), his gait erect, head up and eyes proud, and walked quietly up the aisle to the chancel rail. His face was a portrait of exhaustion, and he looked far older than most people had remembered from when the war had just begun. These days had been hard on him. Recently, in a rare, unguarded moment he had uncharacteristically blurted out, “I’m homeless-I have nothing on earth.”

Yet these Richmonders, like all of the South, still looked to him for a sense of purpose and guidance. No less so now as, with quiet dignity and self-possession, he knelt down to partake of the communion, along with the same rail with the black man.

Watching Robert E. Lee, the other communicants slowly followed in his path, going forward to the altar, and, with a mixture of reluctance and fear, hope and awkward expectation, into the future.

I now understand what a humble, yet magnanimous man looks like. Reconciliation that month of April 1865 emerged in the form of Robert E. Lee.

Recently I watched the movie Midnight in Paris (2011).  I’m not a Woody Allen junkie but this one fascinated me.  The main character Gil, played by Owen Wilson, is an aspiring writer who admires the “Lost Generation” artists from 1920’s Paris.  In the movie, Gil finds himself transported to that era where he meets artist greats like Ernest Hemingway, T.S. Eliot, Gertrud Stein, Pablo Picasso, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.  Although a fiction story, it was amusing to get lost in the story of the Gil and it got me thinking.

What era would I have liked to live in?

There is much to consider in the question and answers can be surprisingly personal.  I’ve asked this question many times to friends and you get a lot of different answers.

Women quite often bring up that era’s rights of women first.  An old female friend of mine said that she wouldn’t want to live in any other era than now because women have never had so much opportunity.  I never thought of that before she brought it up. My wife in particular always wishes she were in the Jane Austen Victorian Era with the beautiful dresses, chivalry, and beautiful dialogue (no pressure on me, huh).  My mother is fascinated by the Tudors (yes the show as well) but never would have wanted to wear the suffocating dresses or have to deal with lack of modern medicine.

Most men I’ve quizzed seem to be fascinated by eras that represent the greatest adventure to them.  If you were a baseball fan, perhaps it would be the 1920s and 1930s when Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig ruled the diamond.  If you admired the military, they say World War II, The Civil War, or the Napoleonic Wars.  My father has always been intrigued by his grandfather who lived from the 1880’s to 1980’s. His Grandpa Moberg was born during the “horse and buggy” age and lived until seeing a man on the moon.

And now my answer…

The Age of Exploration is a favorite of mine.  But then I remember details about explorers like Magellan who despite technically not making it around the world (killed by Filipino natives), ironically got a GPS system named after him.  The truth is, his story wasn’t much different from other explorers who either died in the middle of their journey fighting natives or from some terrible disease.   I’ve also been fascinated by the Roman Empire  or Ancient Greece and their gallant expansion battles, beautiful architecture, and lessons of government.  Perhaps I read/watched a little too much of Julius Caesar and The Iliad. If I were to pick a favorite, I would pick The American Revolution. I imagine myself fighting for freedom with my distant relative, Vermont Minuteman Lt. Nathaniel Bowman Brown.  It has always seemed to be a time period of great drama; to live on the frontier, fight for freedom, and form of a new way of life.

The truth is, as Midnight in Paris’ Gil points out, someone is going to be asked this question fifty years from now and possibly think that “the 2010’s” is the best era.  We are never quite satisfied in the era we live are we?   We look back to find solace and inspiration from other eras.   I’m sure that ole Uncle Nate Brown looked back to The Renaissance and thought, “Man, that era was so much better than this 1770’s mess.”

What about you?  

What is the best era in history to live?