Monday, November 25, 2013

It stains my soul with color

I went to Macon for the second time a couple of weeks ago. That place is an architectural gold mine. When I found four places listed on the National Register, I thought I'd gone to heaven, but when I tried looking up a particular house online, a gorgeous confection on the corner of Spring and Georgia, I learned that there are more than six thousand properties listed on the National Register in Macon alone. I was quickly brought back to earth. I have a lot of work to do to see more of what survived Sherman's army.

One beautiful place is St. Joseph's Catholic Church. It was built from 1899-1903, was designed by Brother Cornelius Otten, features a domed cupola, flying buttresses (not so sure about that), stained glass windows from Bavaria, and a high altar of Carrara marble.

Here's a photographic serenade to this wonderful building:



































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Thought of the day:

...I'm innocent still - inside me are stained glass windows that have never been broken - and when I see your light it stains my soul with color ... (John Geddes, A Familiar Rain) 

Sunday, November 24, 2013

The mystery of the Andersonville dove

Civil War grave number 12196 marks the final resting spot of Maine Sergeant Lewis S. Tuttle. 

His headstone would be nearly anonymous among the sea of almost 13000 headstones of those who died at Andersonville, if it weren't for the dove that is posed atop it.

Tuttle was captured in Virginia with his brother on May 19, 1864. Not much is known about him, other than what his service records say: he was six feet tall, fair-skinned, with light hair and gray eyes. He had a wife named Lydia Ann and two daughters, Clara Ella and Addie Cora. He died November 30, 1864 of diarrhea, a common cause of death. In fact, diarrhea, dysentery, and scurvy caused the most deaths at Andersonville. 

Lewis's brother David also died there; his grave is number 12322. The graves are numbered sequentially in order of death or in order of the death being recorded, in most cases generally coinciding. This means David died within a week or two of his brother. A third brother, Loren, was perhaps the luckiest of the three: he was shot in the shoulder and was discharged.

No one knows when or how the dove appeared there. It's one of the enduring mysteries, certainly a sweeter one than the mystery of the identities of the nearly 500 soldiers whose graves merely have the notation Unknown Soldier marked on them.

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Thought of the day:

Without mysteries, life would be very dull indeed. What would be left to strive for if everything were known? (Charles de Lint)



Friday, November 22, 2013

Too pretty to burn

Madison, Georgia has a couple of romantic legends about why it was spared from destruction during Sherman's march to the sea. One legend says Sherman had a mistress there; the other claims Sherman said Madison was "too pretty to burn." I went to Madison the other day and asked at the visitor center if either of these stories was true. 

Madison is indeed a pretty, pretty place but it turns out neither of the legends is true. What, or rather who, spared Madison is Joshua Hill. Hill was a Georgia Congressman but a strong Unionist who resigned his seat in protest of Georgia's vote for secession; additionally and not incidentally, he was a friend of Sherman's brother. Then, as now, it ain't what you know, it's who you know.

Madison is yet another of those places that needs a return visit. I was able to visit just a few sites that were on my list;  to see everything will take a lot more time.

The Historical Society offers a three-fer: a $10 ticket gives access to three historic homes complete with guided tours. The first home was Heritage Hall, also known as the Jones-Turnell-Manley House, built in 1811 by Elijah E. Jones, a doctor with the Confederacy. The docent on this tour initially spoke of the servants who performed various tasks but, when questioned, admitted it was slave labor, not paid labor. It's understandably a touchy issue.

It is the only home in town with four columns flanked by two square piers.

It turns out I had perfect timing for the tours as the Christmas decorations had just been completed. But let me say how freaky it is to see everything done up for Christmas when it's 60 degrees outside. I'd forgotten about this from when I lived in Texas.
Parlor

Heritage Hall was one of many in-town farms and was on four acres. It first was situated 200 feet from its current location and was moved before 1912 when its then-owner sold some of the acreage for construction of a church. The entire home was lifted, placed on logs, and pulled by teams of horses and mules.
Entrance hall


It was a private residence until 1977 the last owner, pictured in her wedding dress in the photo on the wall, below, donated it to the Historical Society.
Dining room



Furnishings throughout the house have been donated over the years. The docent said nothing is turned away, and if the donor chooses a place in the home for the item, it is always kept there. The cradle in the corner holds a doll. A visitor to the site said she should be moved out of the afternoon sun, but the donor said that spot is where she should remain.
 

The doll in the photo below, on the right, stays in her high chair, all year but goes "home" for two weeks at Christmas every year. She has a lovely head of real hair.

 
The crocheted coverlets on the beds were made by the slaves. They are all in amazingly new condition. I've done a very little bit of this kind of work and can testify to the amount of time they take to complete.

Upstairs bedrooms






Ladies' sitting room

The room below was first used as the dining room but was converted to the doctor's office. The door with the wreath on it, at far left, leads to the outdoor kitchen. The doctor required the slaves to whistle as they approached the house, not, as you might think, to announce their presence in case he was seeing a patient, but because he knew they couldn't whistle and at the same time eat off the platters of food they were bringing in for a meal.
Doctor's office

The second house on the tour was a town home, a place for a family, generally the wife/mother and children to live in, away from the plantation in the country. While far more modest than Heritage Hall, to me it was much more comfortable and livable.
Rogers House

It's known as the Rogers House, built in 1809-1810 by Reuben Rogers. It is built in the two-over-two style.
Parlor

A back shed was likely added around 1820 when census records show 18 people lived here.


The house predates the Morgan County Courthouse (the photo's all the way at the end) by almost 100 years.
Dining room

The house has had 17 owners and was restored using photos and records from the city's archives. It looks as it probably did in 1873. Furnishings are representative of the mid-19th century.
The bed has rope attached through holes and onto pegs to keep it tight.
 
 
The second upstairs bedroom


The last house on the tour is known as Rose Cottage. It was built by Adeline Rose in 1891. 

Adeline Rose was born into slavery and little is known of her before 1891 when she earned a living for herself and her two children by taking in laundry at 50 cents a load.


She made the quilt on this bed, which does not say Jesus Saves, but Jesus Saved.


These two pieces are not hers but were donated. Gorgeous work.



Adeline died in 1959 after living in the house for 68 years. In 1966 the City of Madison moved the house to its present location next to Rogers House.


And here is the County Courthouse, built around 1905, and called an "outstanding example of Beaux Arts design." Another item from the National Register of Historic Places to be crossed off my list. I wish I'd gone inside.

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Thought of the day:

History is herstory, too. (Unknown)







Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Four score...

A recent foggy morning lent a pensive attitude to the prison site and national cemetery. 

Today is the 150th anniversary of The Gettysburg Address. Just think, the war still had a year and a half to go and this prison was not even yet built.

Looking south toward some monuments, barely visible left of center.



The fence encloses a large hole in the ground that could be the site of a well that was dug by prisoners, or it could be the beginning of a tunnel, but it dates to the time of the prison. The tree has grown up since the prison closed; the entire prison site was barren of vegetation.



Looking toward the Ohio and Michigan monuments.



On the quarter mile road between the prison site and the cemetery.



The Georgia monument at the entrance to the cemetery, a memorial to all American prisoners of war. This memorial was the last to be placed at Andersonville, dedicated by Governor Jimmy Carter, in 1976.

 
Iowa remembers its dead.








Watch the video Ranger Chris Barr made for this historic anniversary.
 
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Thought of the day:


Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. (Abraham Lincoln)

Friday, November 15, 2013

Two soldiers' stories


My good Washington friend wrote to me not long after I left my home in March to predict I would meet interesting and wonderful people, which I most certainly have. She also predicted I would meet people who would help and prove to be valuable to me in the future.

Because of her unerring views on things I pay attention to what she says, and she was once again right when she said I would meet folks who would help me. The wonderful people at Petrified Forest have already helped me to secure a volunteer spot at a sought-after national park for next summer. I would never have gotten this spot without their help.
 
Even more important than the help I got from Petrified Forest was meeting a man at Andersonville this week who didn't offer advice but merely told me a story. Mr. Larson had two relatives who were on the Bataan death march; both survived. He brought in for donation to the POW museum a photograph of one of them, I. C. Scott, and photocopies of articles about his experiences on and after the march.

Mr. Scott in 1992

Mr. Scott spent 3 1/2 years as a prisoner and said hate for his guards kept him alive but hatred for the entire people was "too debilitating." And it was, ironically, a Japanese soldier who saved his life. 

He endured two forced marches without water, dug graves for the hundred men who died every day, got little sleep, was forced into road building and more grave digging, enslaved in a coal mine 12 hours a day, and was eventually blinded by vitamin A deficiency. 

One day he sat, exhausted, and began humming his mother's favorite aria from Madam Butterfly. A guard who was behind him said, "I know that song." He said he'd worked for an American couple who had been good to him. Then, Mr. Scott said, "Something dropped beside me. I heard him move away. And there was a banana leaf wrapped around something. And it was some of his bento, and it had some meat in it. The guard never spoke to me again. But I would see him. And the next few weeks I was working, he would manage to walk by without anyone seeing him and he would always drop something, food..." The guard also gave up half his quinine ration when Mr. Scott contracted malaria. He is convinced the kindness of this guard saved his life.

Mr. Scott in 1941, left, and 1944, right, after being help prisoner for 3 1/2 years. He was 6'1" and weighed 98 pounds.


The other relative's story began in a similar way but ended differently. He was badly beaten by the Japanese for refusing to relinquish his ring. He was so near death that his friends had to carry him on the march or the Japanese would have killed him. 
1942 photo captured from the Japanese after the end of the war, showing survivors carrying their comrades in improvised stretchers.
 
He survived the march and the subsequent imprisonment but was never able to give up the hatred he had for his captors and all Japanese people. It so consumed him that he died at a relatively young age.

This story was an epiphany to me but it shouldn't have been. I know of the destructive consequences of hate and anger. I know how it saps my energy, extinguishes every spark of pleasure and delight, and sacrifices those precious, irretrievable moments I could have spent living - so I'm not doing it any more. I've come to the realization that if someone who suffered as Mr. Scott did was able to let go of his black heart of hatred, it must also be in my power to do so. No more of the ex-husband couldn't, wouldn't, didn't, or refused. I choose can, will, do, and accept. It is amazing how these two stories have turned me around. I have Mr. Scott to thank for his attitude and grace, and Mr. Larson for bringing me a message I long needed to hear. My friend from Washington was right again.

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Thought of the day:

Acceptance looks like a passive state, but in reality it brings something entirely new into this world. That peace, a sudden energy vibration, is consciousness. (Eckhart Tolle)

Monday, November 11, 2013

The luxury of hope

I knew very little about Andersonville before I came here. I'd worked at a medical museum in Washington, DC that was founded during the Civil War in order to be a repository of, let's say body parts, which furthered the knowledge of medicine immeasurably. Nearly everything I saw there, though, was from the Union perspective, so when I saw the posting for Andersonville I thought it would be a good opportunity to see something of the Civil War from the Confederate side. I was not prepared for the stories of Andersonville. I hope to tell some of them, of the men who came here and who died here.

In the meantime, in the here and now, the days are getting shorter and the nights much colder. There's often frost on the grass of the wide expanse of the prison site, or fog rising softly from the bottom land. One morning I went out for a walk before work and was rewarded with a lovely sunrise. Seeing it rise so beautifully made me think of the men who were imprisoned here and the horrible conditions in which they lived. How many of them would have had the luxury of admiring the coloring sky? Every one of them was fighting for survival with inadequate food, clothing, shelter, and sanitation, but I hope such a sight would have given the viewer at least a brief moment of escape, a fleeting hope.


The Ohio monument.



Reconstruction of the North gate of the stockade.




The Massachusetts monument.




The Michigan monument.

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Thought of the day:
It is impossible to be both grateful and depressed. Those with a grateful mindset tend to see the message in the mess. And even though life may knock them down, the grateful find reasons, if even small ones, to get up. 
(Steve Maraboli - Life, the Truth, and Being Free)