Category Archives: Civil War

Some Reflections on Memorial Day, Part Four:

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Hundreds of people were at the Speedway as I drove out of town last Monday morning. A few were at the start-finish line—Felix Rosenqvist, his owners and crew for the annual victor’s picture taking. The rest, armed with brooms, shovels, and other equipment, were cleaning up the 500 tons or so of trash left behind by Sunday’s huge crowds. The speedway pays volunteer groups $125 per person to do the cleanup work.

 

Several years ago, I narrated Aaron Copeland’s A LINCOLN PORTRAIT with the Jefferson City Symphony and some of the words began to come back to me as I drove through the rich, flat prairies of the two states.  “He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana, and grew up in Illinois….” 

The way to Indianapolis on I-70 takes people through Vandalia, once the state capital of Illinois.  The old capitol still stands, and the House of Representatives where Lincoln began his political career has been recreated.

I wanted to go on a northern route home that would take me through Springfield, where Lincoln lived and owned the only house he would ever own, where he prospered as a railroad lawyer, and from which he left to become President.  This trip, however, was to take me to the little village to the west where he grew up.

New Salem.

Lincoln struck out on his own after his brief stay in the Decatur area and spent several years in this little village as a laborer, and as an unsuccessful store owner.  It was in New Salem that he began the study of the law and began to practice as a lawyer.  It was in New Salem that Ann Rutledge entered his life and departed from it, a relationship romanticized by many through the decades.

Abe Lincoln was a quiet man; Lincoln was a quiet and a melancholy man.

However deep the Lincoln/Rutledge relationship was, it has been recorded that her death left Lincoln deeply depressed, depression being a condition he dealt with throughout his life.

One of the recreated buildings in the little village is the Rutledge Tavern where Lincoln stayed—a “tavern” being a place offering room and board for visitors and travelers (Missouri’s first official state historic site is the Arrow Rock Tavern, if you want to see what a tavern was in the early 19th Century).

The park was closed the day I stopped on the way home, “closed” meaning the visitors center, restrooms, and the village buildings were unoccupied by staff and reenactors.  But visitors could take a quiet walk among the businesses and homes, the mill and the gardens and the stores.  And I did.

Copeland’s narration and his music went with me.  The composition was created in 1942 but its passages from Lincoln’s speeches seemed appropriate that day as I walked where he had walked. I remembered pieces of the narration and when I got home I pulled the script from that performance with the symphony.

The first segment:

Fellow Citizens, we cannot escape history.  That is what he said. That is what Abraham Lincoln said.

Fellow-citizens, we cannot escape history. We of this Congress and this administration, will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance, or insignificance, can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation…. We — even we here– hold the power, and bear the responsibility.

The second:

He was born in Kentucky, raised in Indiana, and grew up in Illinois. And this is what he said. This is what Abe Lincoln said:

The dogmas of the quiet past, are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise — with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.  

Both were from his 1862 message to Congress, what we call the State of the Union today.  The third segment:

When standing erect, he was six feet four inches tall. And this is what he said:

It is the eternal struggle between these two principles — right and wrong — throughout the world. They are the two principles that have stood face to face from the beginning of time; and will ever continue to struggle. The one is the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of kings. It is the same principle in whatever shape it develops itself. It is the same spirit that says, “You toil and work and earn bread, and I’ll eat it.” No matter in what shape it comes, whether from the mouth of a king who seeks to bestride the people of his own nation and live by the fruit of their labor, or from one race of men as an apology for enslaving another race, it is the same tyrannical principle.

Lincoln said that during his last debate with Stephen A. Douglas, in Alton, Illinois in 1858. Lincoln lost the race for the U. S. Senate that year but his debates with Douglas brought him national attention.

Segment four:

Abe Lincoln was a quiet man; Lincoln was a quiet and a melancholy man. But when he spoke of Democracy, this is what he said. He said:

As I would not be a slave, so I would not be a master. This expresses my idea of democracy. Whatever differs from this, to the extent of the difference, is no democracy.

Again, from 1858.

And the concluding segment:

Abraham Lincoln, 16th President of these United States, is everlasting in the memory of this country.  For on the battleground at Gettysburg, this is what he said:

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.

“That cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion,” he said—-referring not to the war but to the re-commitment to the document that created the Union, that created a government “by the people, for the people,” the Declaration of Independence.

I have had a front row seat to the operation of the people’s government for many decades and as I walked the quiet streets where Abraham Lincoln walked I was reminded that the people’s government requires a people’s responsibility whenever there is a “stormy present…piled high with difficulty.’

“We must disenthrall ourselves and then we shall save our country,” Abe Lincoln said.

Today, it seems, we are locked in “the eternal struggle of these two principles—right and wrong…The one is the common right of humanity, and the other the divine right of kings.”

“Disenthrall:” —to free ourselves of the present condition, “and then we shall save our country.”

This, again, is what Abe Lincoln said to us in 1862:

The fiery trial through which we pass, will light us down, in honor or dishonor, to the latest generation…. We — even we here– hold the power, and bear the responsibility.

Tens of thousands of ours have died creating this country, creating and defending a nation that can celebrate its holidays with great noise, great drama, and frivolity while pausing for a few minutes to be grateful for their sacrifices and recommit to keep their faith—–

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.

After about an hour or maybe an hour and a half, I resumed my drive home. I crossed the Mississippi River with my dashboard telling me I had seventeen miles worth of gas left in the tank. A hundred yards from the bridge at Louisiana Missouri, I put 15.6 gallons of cheaper Missouri gas into a tank that’s supposed to hold 15.5 gallons.

And then I came home.  I had decorated no graves on Memorial Day but I was glad that I lived in a country that those in their graves protected for us, a united nation despite our differences that  pauses for a  gaudy celebration of its existence even in a “stormy present,” knowing that we have the power to restore our nation to one that is of the people, by the people, and has the ability to be made better—-

—-for the people.

(Various prominent people are on YouTube narrating A Lincoln Portrait. I suggest you look at one, or some, of them.)

(Picture credits: City of Vandalia; Bob Priddy)

 

 

Some Reflections on Memorial Day, Part One 

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This was a Memorial Day that has taken some time for us to process.  The holiday’s origins are easily overlooked each year by the rush of noisy celebrations that seem far removed from the original intent of the day.  I was awash in those contrasting “celebrations” that have overshadowed the “observance” and “commemoration” originally intended. But I found toward the end in a closed state park a quiet reminder of why Memorial Day is and should be recalled for its origins—and why this contemporary noisy version of Memorial Day anticipates the next great holiday that this year will challenge our honesty about who we have become.

This might be written more for my benefit more than for yours and I hope you will excuse me for these ruminations.  I didn’t plan on them stretching into four chapters but a lot was going on, not the least of which was “The Greatest Spectacle in Racing.”

We’ll talk about the race but this series is not all about racing for the race is only part of the story.

The weekend had been spent in a city that observes/commemorates Memorial Day throughout the entire month of May. I know of no other city that rivals Indianapolis’s Memorial…..Month.

Indianapolis is a prototype that diminishing cities might use to reinvent themselves.s  through the course of several decades and several setbacks, Indianapolis has emerged as a dynamic, livable place of major league proportions in spirit and enterprise. And each year it throws one big party in May.

Reconciling the big party in that prototype city with the solemnity the holiday was originally created for, reconciling what men and women in the military died for in the war that created Memorial Day dwith what we are and what that the city is provided the ingredients for a lot of thinking on the long drive back to Jefferson City on Monday that took me through a lot of American history and some of my own.

I was born in Decatur Illinois, a town where Abraham Lincoln’s family briefly lived after moving from Indiana. I was raised in two small central Illinois towns, Mt. Pulaski (population about 1,500) and then Sullivan (a bigger place of about 3,300 when we moved there in fourth grade). Abraham Lincoln practiced law in both places as a circuit-riding attorney.

Lincoln scholars point to 1843 as the first time Lincoln and a couple of friends first quoted the phrase from three of the Gospels that “a house divided against itself can not stand” as they helped organize the Illinois Whig Party.

Fifteen years later, he spoke them again in accepting the nomination to run against incumbent Senator Stephen A. Douglas: “If we could first know where we are, and whither we are tending, we could then better judge what to do, and how to do it. . . .A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently half slave and half free.”  He lost that election but it paved the way to the presidency two years later and the great test that followed that determined the correctness of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and by 1858 Abraham Lincoln.

A civil war that tested that assertion took Lincoln to Gettysburg on November 19, 1863, where more than seven-thousand soldiers from both sides had been killed and more than forty thousand had been wounded. He paid tribute to those who died defending the Declaration of Independence’s proclamation that our nation had been “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

He called upon the nation that day to complete what he called the “unfinished work”  and “the great task remaining before us,” not referring to the war but to the words of the Declaration. He called for the people to recommit themselves to that cause so the nation should have a “new birth of freedom” flowing from, by, and for the people—a united people, a house NOT divided.

A 1904 newspaper article reported that in October 1864, almost a year after Gettysburg and about six months before the Civil War ended, three women in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania decorated the graves of Union soldiers.  Boalsburg, an unincorporated area of 4,600 today, makes the disputed claim that the event was the earliest documented observance of a memorial day.

On May 1, 1865, just three weeks after Lee’s surrender and two weeks after Lincoln’s death, as many at 10,000 people in deeply Confederate Charleston, South Carolina dedicated the graves of Union soldiers who had died in a Confederate Prison. Reports tell us many in the audience were Black.

Waterloo, NY claims to have held the first FORMAL annual observance of a memorial day on May 5, 1866. Local druggist Henry Welles is credited with thinking of the event.

The first national observance was on May 30, 1868 when former Illinois white supremacist John A. Logan, who had become became strong Lincoln supporter at the start of the war and abandoned his racist sentiments after fighting alongside black troops, issued a national proclamation calling for “for the purpose of strewing with flowers or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country. ” Logan, a wartime Union General, was the Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, an organization for Union Army veterans such as my great grandfather. The day originally known as “Decoration Day” was expanded after World War I to honor all of our country’s military dead. It officially became Memorial Day in 1971 when it became a national Monday holiday that now is most often considered the unofficial beginning of summer.

Logan County, where Mt. Pulaski is, was named after Logan’s father. My great grandfather enlisted in the Union Army in Moultrie County, where Sullivan is.

My journey Monday, the now designated Memorial Day, took me back through that area of Lincoln and Logan, and Private Robert T. Priddy—who served under General Sherman at Vicksburg—where Logan was with another Union Army unit.  I had been thinking a lot about the cacophony that the holiday weekend had become as the miles of pavement disappeared beneath my car, I found myself in a quiet place that helped me put the day, the weekend, into a context.  I’ll take you from the cacophony to the quiet in succeeding chapters.

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Monstrosity

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President Trump says he wants to build a 250-foot tall arch to celebrate this country’s 250th anniversary.  It is yet another project that wreaks of excess and of self-promotion.  Whatever its official name becomes, it’s always going to be known as the arch that Trump built. Arch deTrump, some already are calling it.

The only thing taller in the area that stretches from the Arlington National Cemetery east to the Library of Congress across from the Capitol is the Capitol itself, and by only a few feet.

Grace, beauty, and appropriateness have never been in his lexicon.  Gross, ugly, and inappropriate too often define him to an increasing number of people.  Last week, in an oval office reveal of the design for this monstrosity. CBS reporter Ed O’Keefe asked the President who the arch is for.  “Me,” he said.

The fact checkers who have built their careers on Trump’s lies had a day off on that one.

The Commission on Fine Arts refers to it as the Triumphal Arch. To be honest, the  letter “i” should replace the “h.”

The only manmade arch that we have been able to find that is bigger than this is the one on the St. Louis riverfront.

Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe in Paris is almost 100 feet shorter, at 164 feet.  The Monument to the Revolution in Mexico City is only 220 feet. The Arch of Triumph in Pyongyang, North Korea tops out at 197 feet.

The four-sided arch that is the Pennsylvania State Memorial at Gettysburg, honoring the 34,500 Pennsylvania soldiers who fought there, checks in at 110 feet. Not far away, the National Memorial Arch at Valley Forge honoring those who wintered there 1777-78 is sixty feet high.

The top of the Memorial Arch in Huntington, West Virginia is only 42 feet from the ground. The Camp Randall, Wisconsin arch honoring Civil War veterans from that state needs only thirty feet to dignify them. The Bushnell Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch in Hartford, Connecticut is but 116 feet and the Washington Square Arch that commemorates George Washington’s inauguration in New York City gets the job done in 77 feet.

“It’s going to be beautiful,” he says.  Philip Kennicott with the Washington Post offers a brutal opposing view:

It is an insult to the men and women who risk their lives to protect democracy, who have fought in wars against fascism, who have actually achieved victory rather than merely declared and celebrated it. Its symbolism is borrowed and confused, and it will block a sacred vista that connects the Lincoln Memorial to the final resting place of the Civil War dead, and veterans from every major war and conflict this country has fought.

This is a subtly that escapes people such as Trump who think symbolic as well as real sledgehammers and wrecking balls are among mankind’s greatest inventions. The arch will stand at the southern end of the Arlington Memorial Bridge, interrupting the flow of history from the Lincoln Memorial to the peaceful hillside that is Arlington National Cemetery, a cemetery on land confiscated from Confederate commander Robert E. Lee as a resting place for those who defended the Union in the Civil War.

Some critics say the planned arch will obscure much of he cemetery but will frame Lee’s mansion at the top of the hill beyond. Is that intentional?  Who knows, although Trump has expressed a fondness for honoring Confederate leaders.

Trump has said it will be 250 feet high as a symbol of the nation’s 250th birthday. As of last week, however, it is only colored drawings.  The first shovel of dirt for the project has not yet been turned and Independence Day is less than 90 days away.  As one critic put it, “If it isn’t going to be done this year, it really has nothing to do with the 250th Anniversary, and as Trump said, it’s for him.”.

Kennecott concludes, “It perverts a fundamentally American idea about war. We have fought them, we have died in them, and we have brought war to too many people who did not deserve our meddling with their politics and sovereignty.

“But no matter the cause, no matter how great the victory, we fundamentally honor sacrifice and service. We celebrate the end of wars and the achievement of peace, not victory. Roman victory arches are lovely to look at, but they were primarily political statements, assertions of personal power and propaganda by ambitious men”.

Caesar Trumpus wants his arch.

If it can’t be finished by July 4, maybe he can complete it in time to celebrate his glorious victory over Iran.

Three Celebration 

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A few days ago we had a joint celebration at Lincoln University, the school on the hill at Lafayette and Dunklin Streets in Jefferson City.  The combination Black History Month observance, the celebration of the school’s 160th birthday, and the observance of our nation’s 250th birth anniversary also created a unique moment for local author Michelle Brooks.

Michelle has become a prolific author of nine books about Jefferson City’s history, including he one that debuted that evening, February 5 (another anniversary: the 115th of the burning of the Capitol that led to the construction of the magnificent building we have today). First to Freedom; Cole County U.S. Colored Troops, is a tribute to several of the Jefferson City black soldiers who were in the 62nd and 65th Colored Infancy of the Union Army whose financial contributions led to the creation of Lincoln.

One of the officers of the 62nd noted in his farewell speech that 99 of the 4312 men had learned to “read, write and cipher.”  In all, he noted “200 read and write understandingly, 284 can read, 377 can spell in words of two syllables and are learning to read.”

Jefferson City offered a ramshackle school building for the new institution. Classes began in the fall of 1866, nineteen year after Missouri passed a law making it illegal for black people to be taught to read and write.

I was asked to emcee the event that included an Abraham Lincoln reenactor reading the “Proposition 95—Regrading the status of slaves in states engaged in rebellion against the United States.”  Most people speak of it as the Emancipation Proclamation—which I believe should be pronounced with emphasis on the first word: EMANCIPATION proclamation—and another reenactor portraying Robert Foster, the founding officer. Missouri became the first slave state to have its own EMANCIPATION Proclamation. By the end of the war, one-in-ten Union soldiers was black—179-thousand in the army and another 19-thousand in the Navy.

Part of my remarks between presentations and to end the evening said:

“We have many great statues and bronze tableaus in and at our Capitol, but I think the finest, and most inspirational one in Jefferson City is just up the hill, the “Soldier’s Memorial Plaza” tableau.  It recalls the sacrifices made by members of the 62nd and 65th United States Colored Infantries, men who knew full well a way of life they fought to leave behind.

“They are symbolized in bronze now.  But they were symbols FOR millions of people in their time and remain in bronze as symbols of hope for all of us today and tomorrow—-life and freedom are only a hand-grasp away, and they are a reminder that an open hand  is always better than a closed fist in maintaining the nation whose 250th birth anniversary we celebrate this year.

“The first slaves were brought to Missouri to help mine lead in the 1720s.

“When Lewis and Clark went upstream past the bluff that is now the site of our city, a black man named York was part of the group, the slave of William Clark. When they came back from the Pacific Ocean in 1806, a black man was part of the explorers. His name was York. York was William Clark’s slave. He endured with them all of the dangerous times, saw all of the glories of the great mountains, and was the equal of all on that perilous trip. He  believed he would become a free man on the return and could not adjust to being nothing more than a slave again.   Eventually Clark shipped him off to Louisville Kentucky where he was reunited with his enslaved wife.

“If York and his wife had children, they would have been part of the freedom movement after the Civil War.  We don’t know what happened to him. History seems to have obscured him. But the Emancipation Proclamation and the 13th Amendment gave his descendants the freedom he dreamed of.

“When the first black member of the legislature, Representative Walthall Moore of St. Louis took office in 1921, almost sixty years after the proclamation, he had to room in Jefferson City with a black family, had to eat at a black restaurant, travel in black-owned taxis, and drink from water fountains for the colored.

“But it was Moore who got the half-million dollar appropriation that transformed Lincoln Institute into Lincoln University. .

“Forty-seven years later, I watched as the Jefferson City council, in 1968, passed an ordinance that said black legislators no loner had to stay in Lincoln University dormitory rooms and private homes, and that black people could live anywhere in the city where they could afford to live.

“One-hundred-and-sixty years after the founding of Lincoln University, many people of color still struggle to be considered “people” and there are those who judge some to be unequal only because of their color, their faith, their identities—-and the country where they were born.

“In this year when we celebrate the 250th anniversary of a document that proclaimed that all men are created equal, we again find ourselves wondering meaning the meaning of those words. Some interpreters believe Jefferson meant that all of us are BORN equal in nature.  It is in nurture that divisions are made, distrust develops, and hate can take hold.

“We learn these lessons through the honest study of history and if we are free to learn that history, we can be the ones who bend the arc of the moral universe a little more toward justice.

“Let us go forth from this good evening in the hope that history gives us for peace.”

The event concluded with a fine prayer from Rev. Dr. Adrian Hendricks II of the Joshua House Church in Jefferson City.

Heavenly Father: Tonight as we take a moment and pause to celebrate the history of African Americans, we pause to celebrate American history, giving you thanks and praise, O God, for this nation; giving you thanks and praise or i’s foundation and for its forefathers and for its Declaration to uphold the high ideals of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

And yet In this hour, even as this nation struggles to uphold its identity, we give you thanks and praise for its potential, a potential that still has the opportunity to demonstrate love for our fellow man, a potential that still has the opportunity to pick up the poor and stabilize the impoverished, a potential that still has the opportunity to right historical wrongs, heal historical wounds, and to be the first global power that’s unafraid to let freedom ring!

Lord, go before us, as WE navigate a new pathway. Stand beside us, as we rediscover our moral compass and move within us as we continue to define what it means to be an American.

It’s in your mighty and matchless name that we pray,

Hallelujah & AMEN!

Amen, in deed.

(Photo credits: Jefferson City Convention and Visitors Bureau; Lincoln University)

The Border War

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I might not be considered a loyal Missourian—

because I don’t give a hoot on which side of the state line the Royals and the Chiefs play.  If I’m going to drive three hours to get to a game in Kansas City, what’s another ten or fifteen minutes on Interstate 70?  A game is a game wherever it’s played.

I long ago thought the Missouri-Kansas sports rivalry thing was stupid. The pre-war Civil War ended more than 150 years ago and to liken two teams of big guys trying stomp on each other, or two teams of tall guys jamming a ball into a metal circle has any significance to the universe is insane.

The great sports columnist Heywood Hale Broun wrote in the forward to his wonderful book, Tumultuous Merriment;

“The actual importance of the contest is immaterial to both spectators and players once the period of magic has begun.  The level of excitement is subconsciously chosen by those present and after a time exists beyond their control. It is only harmful when, like some lingering germ from a tropical paradise, it darkens the future.  All of us should play as if life and honor depended on it, and all of us should cheer as if it were Lucifer State versus Angel U. in the arena; but at game’s end all of us should recognize that paradise was neither won nor lost. None of us should emulate those middle-aged men who stare glumly into the bottom of a highball glass when they think of a shot that failed to drop in the last second of some long-ago basketball game.”

In other words, the game is what is important and it is important only within the time of the game. Attaching any importance outside that period is a waste of time.

So, then, is all of the anguish about economic advantage of one place over another unimportant within the entirety of an economic area.  And that should be what we are talking about here because the metropolitan cities and counties form their own economic area regardless of rivers and streets. Why there continues to be a counterproductive economic civil war within that area is beyond my understanding.

It’s not a case of whether the teams play on one side of the Missouri River or the other. The river as a boundary is a manmade abstraction as are state lines. The grass is the same color on both sides. Drive down Stateline Road. One side is in Jackson County, Missouri. The other is in Wyandotte County, Kansas.  If you drive north, you’re in Missouri.  Drive south and you’re in Kansas.  The difference is a white line about six inches wide in the pavement..

The Chiefs and the Royals are still going to be “The Kansas City Whatevers” regardless of which side of a manmade line on which they hold their contests.

Get over it.

For years, Missouri and Kansas have waged an economic war, giving tax breaks to snatch this or that business from the other side only to have the other side a few years later offer tax breaks to get the company back.

If one state or the other is economically ahead, it can’t be by very much.

This silliness almost became—and maybe should have become—academic in 1855, the days of the pre-war border war, when pro-slavery Westport resident Mobillion McGee decided the chances of Kansas entering the Union as a slave state would be improved if the Missouri boundary line was shifted to the east a few miles, thereby putting more pro-slavery voters in Kansas. He and newspaper publisher Robet T. Van Horn convinced the legislatures of both states to agree to the scheme.  But a young man they hired to seek congressional approval went to Washington, fell in love, married and left on an extended honeymoon, during which time enthusiasm for the plan cooled and it was never carried out.

Their idea has some validity today, not in redrawing the boundary lines for slavery but in considering territory on both sides of the lines as a single economic entity. Such a move would take, as happened in 1855, legislative approval from both states to form an economic district that would jointly pursue economic development mutually beneficial to the broader area.

Call it the McGee Enterprise Zone in which rivalries would not be recognized and the economic power of two states will be combined for greater development, the value of which would be shared by both.

It won’t be simple to organize such an entity. But doing so could end decades of unproductive rivalry resulting from unnecessary adherence to manmade lines. A battle between Lucifer State and Angel U is okay in the three hours of a game. But the game does not last for more than 150 years and neither should the parochial man-made rivalry between Kansas and Missouri.

Build stadiums wherever negotiations lead them to be built. It’s all still the Kansas City area and in the end we should be glad they don’t move to Nashville.

 

Ephesians 6:11 

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This is the Bible verse that Donald Trump’s evangelical supporters cite to show that God kept him from being assassinated this summer in Pennsylvania.  Since the shooting occurred at 6:11 p.m., some of those who thump Bibles that he uses for fun and profit more than he uses them for any guidance claim God wants him to win next week’s election.

It is an absurd example of using the Bible by taking one verse out of context or of avoiding all of the other 6:11 verses in the Bible.

Ephesians 6:11 is a manmade division of the scriptures and 6:11 might easily have been some other chapter and verse had not Robert Etienne, a printer in Paris, divided the Greek New Testament as he did, into the chapters and verses in 1551.  He used his system when he published the Hebrew Bible two years later.

The sixth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Christians at Ephesus contains 24 verses.

Reading the entire letter in which Paul defines what it takes to be a Christian does not work very well for those who grant the ex-President holy status.  Chapters five and six seem more applicable to Mr. Trump than the out-of-context verse 11.

In these two chapters, Paul tells the Ephesians to be “imitators of God” and to “walk in love.”

“Among you…there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or any kind of impurity or of greed,” he tells them.  That seems more applicable to the candidate than the one that, it is claimed, clipped his ear.

“Nor should there be obscenity, foolish talk, or crude joking…No immoral, impure, or greedy person…has any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God,” he advises the Ephesians.  Hmmmm. That seems to fit somebody we know more than one verse that some think means God is on his side.

Paul advises them (and us, if we think the scriptures have any contemporary relevance), “Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things the wrath of God is coming on the sons of disobedience.”  Sons of disobedience might fit the speeches and subsequent events of January 6, 2021 more than explaining how someone’s life was “spared” in a shooting.

Elsewhere in that chapter he advises people to “have no fellowship with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them, for it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret.”  Mr. Trump brands those who expose “fruitless deeds” as “Fake News.”

There’s some great advice about how husbands and wives should treat each other that might do him some good or might have done him some good.

The sixth chapter, the one in which the evangelistic supporters pluck out of context to prove it was God who caused the shooter to carefully miss the speaker that day in Ohio, addresses children and parents.

It also tells slaves how to behave. And he offers advice to their masters.  As we recall, slavery was ended, although at terrible cost, by a war that Mr. Trump says could have been avoided if Abraham Lincoln had negotiated.

If Mr. Trump had any sense of history he would know that negotiations had gone on for decades, even before the anti-slavery language was removed from the Declaration of Independence almost 250 years ago.  Missouri came into the union in 1821 because of heavy discussions about slavery that led to a mutual appeasement policy that let the debate rage on.  Lincoln took office telling the South he did not want to end slavery; he just didn’t want it to expand to newer states.

We have an idea of what Mr. Trump’s solution would have been had he been in Lincoln’s place in 1861: let the states decide.

And that brings us to the celebrated eleventh verse and the later verses that it is easy to ignore for those who want religion to focus on power.

Paul was writing from a Roman prison to the Christians in Ephesus who had seen many pilgrims make trips to worship a pagan god.

The twelfth verse reads, “For our struggle is not against the flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this world’s darkness, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.”

Do you suppose that could be read to mean we should be more concerned about Vladimir Putin, President Xi and Supreme Leader Kim than we should be about a non-existent flood of fentanyl-lugging criminals and mental patients released from Central American prisons and mental hospitals so they can come here and take over Colorado apartment buildings and eat our pets?

“Take up the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you will be able to stand your ground…Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, and the breastplate of righteousness arrayed,” says verses thirteen and fourteen.  Unfortunately for the “belt of truth,” Mr. Trump seems to be a suspenders sort of guy.

And righteousness?  Calling people names after they have spoken out about your love of Hitler, your respect for dictators, and your various slanders and assaults, verbal and otherwise, on individuals and institutions—-is that an example of righteousness all of us should follow?

Near the end of Chapter Six, Paul asks the Ephesians to “pray in the spirit at all times, with every kind of prayer and petition.”

I’m waiting for Mr. Trump to open one of his rallies with an off-the-cuff prayer. I worry, however, how I could tolerate a two-hour prayer

He certainly had his chances twice in one day last week—at a “Believers and Ballots Faith Town Hallk in Zebulon, Georgia and a Turning Point event right after that in Duluth, Georgia.

Sarah Posner, in an opinion piece for MSNBC (or as Trump likes to call it “MSDNC,” for Democratic National Committee, wrote that one the participants in the town hall meeting, held at a church, asked Trump about a new survey showing 32 million regular church goers might not vote this fall.  When the questioner asked him for a message to those voters encouraging them to vote, the best he could do was respond, “Christians are not tremendous voters,”  which might be a surprise to a lot of us. Then, she reports, he “rambled for nearly three minutes on themes of religious persecution by ‘not nice’ and ‘stupid’ people, guns and COVID restrictions, without completing coherent sentences or thoughts.”

Turning Point is run by conservative evangelical Charlie Kirk, who also is an election denier. The AP reported that Kirk called this election “a spiritual battle,” and charged Democrats “stand for everything God hates.”  Posner says Kirk and another conservative, Jack Posobiec, have been the big promoters of the Ephesians 6:11 protection plan.

She concludes, “Amid GOP panic over losing women and swing voters who support abortion rights, Trump appears adrift in his evangelical mobilization, meandering through disconnected verbal thickets of insults and boasts, unable to focus on issues or hammer home talking points.”

We don’t want to exhaust our participants in these discussions much more than we already have. But we decided to look up some other 6:11 Bible verses, chosen at random.

Genesis 6:11 says “Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and was full of violence.” So God authorized the great flood.

The sixth chapter of Ruth has some good advice for somebody on our ballot next week, beginning a verse earlier:

“10 For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. 11But thou, O man of God, flee these things; and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness.”

The sixth chapter of Matthew offers some caution to those who make good social and political hay from religious organizations. It begins with “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”  This is the chapter that includes the Lord’s prayer and Verse eleven prays, “Give us, this day, our daily bread.”

First Timothy, 6:11 reads, “…Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness.”  Nice, but it doesn’t seem to describe the person who survived an assassination attempt.

We could go on but we will not, to your great relief we are sure. We close with the Sixth Psalm that does not have an eleventh verse.  But its ten verses seem to fit our situation.

1 Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger
or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint;
heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in deep anguish.
How long, Lord, how long?

4 Turn, Lord, and deliver me;
save me because of your unfailing love.
5 Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
Who praises you from the grave?

6 I am worn out from my groaning.

All night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears.
7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
they fail because of all my foes.

8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
for the Lord has heard my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my cry for mercy;
the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be overwhelmed with shame and anguish;
they will turn back and suddenly be put to shame.

The Gun, The School, The Town , The Times

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I took a gun to school once.

In a more innocent time.

A long, long time ago.

It was a revolver that held seven .22-short bullets.

It wasn’t loaded.

Here is the gun:

Well, not really THE gun. Our house burned down three weeks before Christmas when I was a high school freshman.  I lost my coin collection that included a mis-strike nickel that had two heads, several plastic model airplanes, a baseball card collection that probably included a Mantle rookie card, a few Red Man Chewing Tobacco cards, and assorted other baseball cards that would have put both of our children through college had the collection survived, a collection of Lone Ranger novels (since re-accumulated through the years), my old maid aunt Gertrude’s National Geographic collection that began in 1907 (I had looked through only a few as I sought out the ones that had stories about African natives whose lack of above-the-waist attire was very interesting to a boy my age), and the gun.

Today I would be rushed to the principal’s office; my parents would be called; I would be home-schooled for a while, to say the least.

My great-grandfather played the fife for the 126th Illinois Infantry that served under General Sherman at Vicksburg and then was instrumental in gaining control of northern Arkansas, including the capture of Little Rock.  He enlisted in another town in Moultrie County and after the war lived in what we called a big city in those days—Decatur—for sixty more years where he once owned an ice cream store.

His pistol was the first Smith & Wesson pistol.   Not THE first, but—well, you get the idea.

I think I took it to school because we were studying the Civil War in an elementary school class and it was no big deal.

I don’t remember the duck-and-cover drills some children of that vintage practiced, thinking that hiding under a school desk would save them from an Atom Bomb.   We had fire drills, though.  A couple of times a year.  Outside we’d go. Never in rain or snow but I do remember some cold days standing on the sidewalk while the teachers checked every room to make sure one of my classmates hadn’t decided to hide out.

I grew up in two towns in which Abraham Lincoln, then a circuit-riding lawyer, occasionally visited to take part in trials.  I have been told that the one in which I spent the most time had a Sundown Ordinance—no Negroes allowed in town after dark.  (I use the word because that’s the word that was used then.) Many years later I considered the irony of a town where Lincoln was a sometime-lawyer that told black people they were not welcome after sundown.  But then, as I have learned, Lincoln’s own attitudes toward black people were pretty undeveloped then.

My class was the first to graduate from the new high school that I could watch being constructed when I was in my Junior English class in the old high school—which was torn down a few months ago. Some black men from Decatur were part of the construction crew and one day one of my classmates told me he had heard that they planned to move their families to our town after the new school was built and “if they do, there’s going to be trouble.”

I couldn’t understand why he felt that way. I was young, innocent of worldly things.  I did not meet my first black people until the second semester of my freshman college year when the Residential Assistant for my dormitory floor brought a couple of black guys around to every room and introduced them.  To me they were just guys.  Years later, I figured out that the university was integrating the dormitories (I watched the first black football and basketball players perform for the school).  By the time I left, America had undergone a painful change. I had changed, too, picketing a segregated bowling alley one evening with my church group, and came to work in a segregated city with an HBCU that would taste violence during the Civil Rights struggle.

My little town surrounded by the rich land of the Illinois prairie still has high school sports teams unapologetically called Redskins. It’s about fifty miles from the University teams are called the Fighting Illini. My class ring, safely in a bank deposit box, features the abstract image of a Native American Chief.  Or at least the profile of a Native American in an ornate headdress.

Not commenting. Just saying.

One of our World War II heroes was a B-25 pilot who wasn’t satisfied to just fly over his hometown. He buzzed it.  Stood that plane on its wing and flew around the courthouse dome.  That was before we moved there.  By the time we moved there he was our school principal.  Col. Loren Jenne’s Army Air Corps uniform is in the county historical museum.  It’s a really, really good recently-built museum constructed with the help of an advisor for the Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield.  Visiting it for a reunion a couple of years ago made me realize how lacking we are in Jefferson City for a good local historical museum.

The town library’s board room holds part of local resident’s collection of 700 hood ornaments and the former Illinois Masonic Home has one of the largest collections of sea shells in the country.

I had a laid-back high school history teacher who once told me he became a teacher because “it was better than working for a living.”  Everybody had to do a report on some historical event for his class. Mine was on the Battle of Gettysburg. It took as long as the battle took—three days. Even then I could write long.

I missed one of the biggest events in town history because I was in college.  Richard Nixon dropped in on this little town of about 3600 during his 1960 campaign. Town leaders had invited him and challenger John Kennedy to hold an old-fashioned debate at the annual buffalo barbecue.  Kennedy didn’t show but Nixon ate half a sandwich and then spoke to about 17,000 people who gathered in a park where I had learned to love playing baseball.  A Boy Scout who helped provide security at Nixon’s table picked up the remainder of his buffalo sandwich and took it home.  His mother put the remnant in a pickle jar and froze it.  Sixty years later, he published a book, The Sandwich That Changed My Life, recounting how the sandwich is still in that jar but occasionally had been on public display including the day he took it to Los Angeles for an appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.  Carson gave him one of his half-eaten sandwiches, which led people such as Tiny Tim and Steve Martin to make additional contributions.

Nixon wasn’t the first presidential aspirant to visit my little town.  When Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas were holding their famous debates throughout the state—Lincoln was challenging Douglas for a seat in the U. S. Senate—Lincoln paused to give a speech in a little grove of trees that is now the site of the civic center. Douglas wasn’t there. However, a riot between Lincoln and Douglas supporters broke out on the town square during the 1858 campaign.

We had a Brown Shoe factory, as did many small towns, for decades. It was near the now-gone elementary school I entered late in my fourth grade year.  I hit a softball through one of its windows one day during a noon hour game on the vacant lot between the school and the factory. Foreign competition shut it down. The building is still there, re-purposed several times. .

I went away from that little town to study journalism at the University of Missouri.  In those first few days, new college students ask and are asked many times, “Where are you from?”  There were nods of the head when the answers were St. Louis, or Kirksville, or Joplin, or Polo, or Hannibal (my roommate), or other Missouri towns.  But when I said, “Sullivan, Illinois,” there was the second question:

“Where’s that?”

And I would reach into my back pocket and pull out an official Illinois State Highway Map, William G. Stratton, Governor, and I would unfold it and show them.  Today I would say, “It’s about 40 minutes north of Effingham” and everybody would know because Effingham, then a bowling alley and a gas station-small town on Highway 40, is a major stop on straight and boring I-70 between St. Louis and Terre Haute.  I’m sure some of my new classmates walked away thinking, “He’s too weird.”

In a few days, I’m headed back to Sullivan for my (mumble-mumble) class reunion. I cherish these get-togethers, especially as our numbers dwindle.  I have a nice red polo shirt, although I wish I could find an appropriate red and black sweatshirt or jacket to wear while I ride in one of the 1959 convertibles a classmate has arranged for classmates to ride in during the homecoming parade. It shouldn’t be as hard as it was the other day to find the right thing in Jay and Chiefs country.

But the other day I bought a new car that’s red with black trim and I hope that is appropriate.

A few years ago I came to the conclusion that the last time we met as a class was the night we graduated.  Now, we are the Community of ’59.  Then, were a homogenous group raised in the same county, for the most part, part of the same culture for the first 18 years of our life, no more acutely aware of the greater world beyond us than teenagers today probably are plugged into life outside their schools.  But since then, life has changed us, has filled us with our own unique experiences and we come together as diverse individuals shaped by the decades that have passed.

Yet, when I think of them, it is easy to see them in my mind as perpetually young. And when we meet, we don’t spend a lot of time reminiscing. Instead we talk as contemporary people who have been friends for a long, long time who have nothing to prove to each other or no reason to try to impress one another.  We are special friends bound together by long-ago experiences who can talk about present issues, even those on which we not unexpectedly differ, and then go back to our homes and our separate futures cherishing this one more chance to be with each other.

I’ve lived in Missouri (except for three summers while I was in college) for almost eighty percent of my life. Each year I travel from Jefferson City to Indianapolis for a couple of races.  I usually stop for lunch in Effingham.  And each time, I feel a little tug to turn north.

All of our towns and each of us have stories such as these. Someday, descendants I will never know, might read these stories.

Think about writing yours.

For them.

I went to school with a gun one day in a time my grandchildren probably would not understand, when the only drill we had to worry about was the fire drill.

That was a long, long time ago. But if nobody every tells about those times, how can anybody else ever hope that there ever can be that kind of safe era again?

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Medal

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I am really, really angry about our former President’s comments that the Presidential Medal of Freedom is better than the Medal of Honor.

Most of you have watched or listened to what he said a few days ago, speaking of the Medal of Freedom:

That’s the highest award you can get as a civilian. It’s the equivalent of the Congressional Medal of Honor, but civilian version. It’s actually much better because everyone gets the Congressional Medal of Honor, they’re soldiers. They’re either in very bad shape because they’ve been hit so many times by bullets or they are dead. She gets it and she’s a healthy, beautiful woman. And they’re rated equal, but she got the Presidential Medal of Freedom.”  

She is the equal of soldiers who are “hit so many times by bullets or they are dead?”

What is it with this guy who shows no respect for honor, courage, or sacrifice, whose vacuousness regularly produces such instantly cringeworthy observations as his discussion of the Battle of Gettysburg?—

“What an unbelievable battle that was. The Battle of Gettysburg. What an unbelievable—I mean, it was so much and so interesting, and so vicious and horrible and so beautiful in so many different ways.  Gettysburg, Wow. I go to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, to look and to watch. And the statement of Robert E. Lee—who’s no longer in favor, did you ever notice that? No longer in favor—‘Never fight uphill me boys, never fight uphill.’  They were fighting uphill. He said, “Wow, that was a big mistake.” He lost his great general, and they were fighting. ‘Never fight uphill, me boys,’  But it was too late”

Civil War historians have never found any verification that a native Virginian ever sounded like a native of Ireland in encouraging his soldiers to fight.  Uphill, downhill, or on flat land. Or that he said anything such as that or—

According to Trump, Lee said, “Wow, that was a big mistake.”

Wow?  Here is part of Lee’s report of the battle:

“The highest praise is due to both officers and men for their conduct during the campaign. The privations and hardships of the march and camp were cheerfully encountered, and borne with a fortitude unsurpassed by our ancestors in their struggle for independence, while their courage in battle entitles them to rank with the soldiers of any army and of any time.”

Lee lost. He did not say wow.  But he did honor his troops, living and dead, in the full report.

Sixty-four Union soldiers received the Medal of Honor for actions at Gettysburg.

Or his extensive knowledge of the American Revolution, shared in a July 4th speech in 2019 when he educated his audience this way:

“The Continental Army suffered a bitter winter of Valley Forge, found glory across the waters of the Delaware, and seized victory from Cornwallis of Yorktown. Our army manned the air, it rammed the ramparts, it took over the airports, it did everything it had to do. And at Fort McHenry, under the rockets’ red glare, it had nothing but victory. And when dawn came, their Star Spangled Banner waved defiant.”

Fort McHenry and the Francis Scott Key’s poem about the flag are from the War of 1812, not the revolution.  And—what is his definition of “rampart.”  And seizing the airports????!!!

(There was no Medal of Honor in the American Revolution. George Washington established a Badge of Military Merit, the first medal applying to private soldiers, in 1782. The medal today is awarded for reasons Washington did not mention and is known since its formal establishment 150 years later as the Purple Heart.)

I’m getting too worked up as I go back over the uncounted instances of disrespect for those who have worn our country’s uniforms and the historical and scientific gibberish that he thinks is clever and smart and that far too many people who must be a whole lot smarter than him accept anyway. Let me get back to what I started to write.

I am not a veteran.  But I cannot describe the depth of gratitude that I have for veterans, whether they came under enemy fire or whether they were a clerk at a stateside base. I was honored to be asked to work with a dedicated group made up of veterans and Gold Star Family members (Gold Star families are those who have lost loved ones in wartime) to build a Gold Star Family Memorial Monument near the Capitol a few years ago. I provided the words carved into the memorial’s stones.

The Chairman of that group was my State Representative, Dave Griffith, a Special Forces veteran who has spent most of his life in positions of service to the public. We differ on some political issues—some—but that has not affected our friendship and our working on some legislation for next year that will restore millions of dollars in funding for our state veterans homes and for other causes.  It is an honor to associate with people such as him.  And it is that kind of respect that leaves me so angry when someone such as our 45th President diminishes the Medal of Honor and disrespects those who have received it as well as those who have served honorably whether on the front lines or in the back offices.

There seems to be nothing this candidate cannot cheapen with his words and his actions. He awarded 24 Presidential Medals of Freedom, fourteen of them to sports figures. He interrupted one of his State of the Union speeches to give one to Rush Limbaugh. The quotation at the start of this entry refers to the award to Miriam Adelson, a doctor known for her humanitarian work and donations to Jewish organizations.  But probably more important to him is that she and her late husband donated $20 million to his 2016 campaign and another five-million dollars to his inauguration fund, then a half-million more to a legal fund for Trump aides, another $100 million that went to conservative groups and Republican candidates in 2018. Open Secrets, which watches political donations, says the Adelson’s total giving to these causes and to a pro-Trump political action committee is close to $220 million dollars in 2019 and 2020. She’s also “a healthy and beautiful woman,” which most of us would not consider a qualification for a presidential medal.

Here’s an important difference between those who get the Medal of Freedom and those who receive the Medal of Honor:

Military members are encouraged to salute a Medal of Honor recipient who is wearing the medal, even if that person is wearing civilian clothes. The military custom is for junior offices to salute senior officers.  But the Medal of Honor recipient is entitled to receive a salute from anyone, regardless of rank.

No Medal of Freedom winner is entitled to that show of respect. The former President is correct that many recipients of the Medal of Honor are dead or have dealt with serious wounds.  To say that they are entitled to less respect from the President of the United States than someone who hits a baseball, shoots a basketball, hits a golf ball, or carries a football is unforgiveable—or gives a lot of money to his campaign and also is a good-looking woman—is beyond forgivable.

It is best to stop here rather than go on with the altercation at Arlington that was as much about honoring soldiers killed in the Afghanistan withdrawal (that he planned while in office) as staging a photo op at a D.C. church was about sincerely-held faith.

NO, ON SECOND THOUGHT IT IS NOT BEST TO STOP.

The above material was written last Wednesday.  On Thursday, he blamed the Arlington controversy on “very bad people” and suggested that the Gold Star families he was with made the video of the event public, not members of his campaign staff who have been accused of pushing a cemetery staffer out of the way when she tried to enforce the no-politicking rule for the area out of the way.

“This all comes out of Washington, just like all these prosecutors come out of Washington. These are bad people we’re dealing with,” he told an interviewer in Michigan. “They ask me to have a picture, and they say I was campaigning. The one thing I get is plenty of publicity… I don’t need the publicity.”

If he didn’t need the publicity, why did he have a video crew with him?

The Army has confirmed that the shoving incident happened when the staffer tried to keep a Trump campaign aide out of the area that has strict rules about media presence. The area is for recently-buried service members and regulations published by the Army and Arlington National Cemetery prohibit political activity there. The Washington Post reported that “ahead of the visit, Arlington National Cemetery officials had warned Trump’s team that he could visit the grave sites, but not as part of a campaign event. The cemetery made clear that while media could accompany Trump to a wreath laying at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, they could not accompany him into Section 60.”

Officials have told The New York Times the woman refused to press chages because “she feared Mr. Trump’s supporters pursuing retaliation.”  Trump Campaign Press Secretary Steven Cheung says she is “suffering from a mental health issue,” and senior adviser Chris LaCivita has called her a “despicable individual.

Trump’s campaign social media site shortly afterwards posted several pictures and videos that were taken during the visit, including a recording of him blaming President Biden for the deaths of American soldiers in the final hours of our occupation of Afghanistan.

When asked by NBC if his campaign should have published the images, Trump gave his familiar excuse: he knew “nothing about” that.  And when the reporter bored in with another question, he suggested parents of the dead servicemen distributed the images.

On HIS social media??????.

“I don’t know what the rules and regulations are. I don’t know who did it, It could have been them – it could have been the parents.”  When pressed even more, he said, “I really don’t know anything about it.”

The family that invited Trump was contacted by Trump nemesis Maggie Haberman, a New York Times reporter. She posted on X:

“Contacted by NYT, Michele Marckesano issued a statement from the family saying they support the families searching for accountability around the Abbey Gate bombing. However, she said, their conversations with Arlington officials indicated Trump staff didn’t adhere to rules.”

The Gold Star families are the “very bad people????”

There is a terrible irony to this deplorable incident at Arlington:

A 1998 law allows Trump, if he wishes, to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery—-

—-the burial place of more than 400 recipients of the Medal of Honor.

Surely, he wouldn’t——

would he?

(This entry was changed on September 2, 2024 to include Maggie Haberman’s post on X)

JUST DESSERTS

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When I’m in Indianapolis, I stay with my friends, Rick and Karen, who have a condo downtown, a few blocks from Monument Circle.  They know all of the fine downtown restaurants—I think, in fact, that Rick has a couple of places that have tables for him whenever he goes in—and, worse, they know all of the dessert places.

The most recent visit involved three excellent dinners and three visits to dessert places none of us had any business going into.  The last night we went to something called The Sugar Factory.

I should have turned and run as fast as I could the other way.

Of all the items on the menu, I thought the Strawberry Cheesecake Milk Shake sounded the most tasty and probably the simplest of the desserts.  Boy, was I ever wrong.

There was the milk shake in a sugar-topped glass and a straw.  But the straw was there mainly to hold the other elements together. Whipped cream and candy strawberries topped the shake itself, topped by the cheesecake and more whipped cream, a real strawberry, and then a strawberry/chocolate cupcake topped by more whipped cream.

God help me!  I ate and drank it all.  The cupcake was nothing to write a blog about but the cheesecake was pretty good and the strawberry milkshake was just the right thickness and flavor.

The eight-block walk back to the condo was done at a fairly leisurely pace.

I had planned to spend a fourth night, after the race, but I decided to stick around only long enough to take the pictures I wanted and then head home early, listening to the rest of the race on the radio (it is, after all, about a 400-mile drive).  I told Rick I was leaving early because I didn’t think I could survive another dessert.

If my doctors were to look closely at my blood samples, I am sure they would find I don’t have white blood cells.  I have vanilla blood cells.

Once a week Nancy and I get together with a couple friends for game night—dominoes, Rummikub, Five Crown, Swoop, stuff like that.  Halfway through the evening, or when we change games, is dessert time.  No matter what the basic treat is—brownies, cobblers, cake, whatever—ice cream is the vital ingredient.  Always too much ice cream.

On our refrigerator, amidst the numerous pictures of grandchildren, cartoons, the next shopping list and assorted refrigerator magnets, is an advertisement I found in a 1916 Jefferson City newspaper. I look at it the way some people consider their bumper stickers, “He said it. I believe it. So it’s true.”

In 1916 the ad assured buyers that Weber’s ice cream was safe to eat, produced in sanitary surroundings, and was not the impure foods of the time found in grocery stores, themeat sometimes hanging openly in the windows.   Eat our ice cream and you’ll be alive tomorrow to eat more.  That kind of message.

But in today’s FDA-regulated food environment, I am comfortable reading it another way—that ice cream is an essential food group.

I think it is a genetic flaw.

While doing some family research a few years ago, looking for references to my great-grandfather, a Union (with Sherman) Civil War veteran, I uncovered a family secret

A longer article in the Decatur (Ill.) Evening Bulletin from July 6,1896 telling me that Robert Thomas Priddy and his partner, A. A. Cooper, both experienced dairymen, had bought “the milk depot and ice cream business “in the basement of Fay’s meat market on the west side of Lincoln Square.”

A year later:

I inherited my addiction to ice cream from an ancestor who was with Sherman at Vicksburg and later helped capture Little Rock.

He died in 1925.

In the old family photographs, he’s thin. It’s clear he didn’t dip into the inventory as often as he could have.

I wonder what he would have thought of that Strawberry Cheesecake Milkshake at The Sugar Factory.

 

 

 

A New County—part II, A New Book

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Before hostilities in pre-Civil War Missouri turned deadly with the Camp Jackson incident in St. Louis, Governor Claiborne Jackson and his associates were gathering supplies they would need to repel an “invasion” of Missouri by federal troops if one happened.  A large quantity of gun powder was procured in St. Louis and taken to Jefferson City by two companies of the Missouri Volunteer Militia, one of which was Kelly’s.  From Jefferson City, some 12,000 kegs of powder that had been stored at the fairgrounds about a mile from town were distributed throughout much of the state to be hidden away until needed by Jackson’s forces. Kelly and his unit took about half of the supply to Cooper, Saline and other nearby counties where they were carefully hidden.  The stored powder was a factor in the Confederate victory in the Battle of Lexington.  One of those involved was Michael K. McGrath.

The Irish unit fought at Boonville, Carthage and Wilson’s Creek, where Kelly was wounded in the right hand, (as seen in his picture) and in the Confederate capture of Lexington. The unit also was at the Battle of Pea Ridge, in Arkansas then in 1862, he became part of the regular Confederate army that fought in Mississippi and in the Atlanta campaign against Sherman and his Union troops.

St. Louis researcher Doug Harding indicates that McGrath would have been one of the 23 survivors out of the original 125 members of Kelly’s unit. Kelly surrendered in Louisiana in 1865 and took the oath of allegiance to the Union and was paroled in Shreveport.

It is not clear if McGrath also took the oath there or at some other time and place.  But signing it allowed him to take a bar examination and become a lawyer, paving the way for him to return to public office.

Kelly, his health broken by the war, died in 1870 and is buried in the McGrath family plot in St.  Louis’ Calvary Cemetery.

(Official Manual of the State of Missouri, 1913-14)

McGrath in 1866 became a deputy clerk for the United States district and circuit courts. In 1868 he was elected to the clerkship of the St. Louis City Council.  Two years later he was elected clerk of the criminal court and in 1874 he was elected to the first of his four terms as Secretary of State (his first term under the 1865 Constitution was for only two years; the 1875 constitution established the term at four years.

He decided the State of Missouri government had grown large enough to require some kind of a directory.  He produced the first one in 1878.

(Missouri State Archives)

McGrath wrote in the two-page introduction, “It is a truth that must be admitted, that many outside and some even in it, know but little of the vast resources or of its immense wealth and unexampled prosperity, and when told scarcely believe it, so great is the extent and magnitude thereof…No location in the republic represents a more encouraging field for the honest laborer or the aspiring citizen. The contentions of the war have long since disappeared. Liberalism and tolerance in politics and religion are noted characteristics of her people. They are generous, hospitable and enterprising. Among them poverty and humble birth present no barrier to the attainment of wealth, distinction and honor.

“True merit is the criterion of success, and is fostered by hearty encouragement and profitable recognition. Occupying, as she does already, a front rank among the States of the Union, it is easy to forecast her future as one of glory and renown!”

This first manual was 72 pages long.

His term was the longest in Missouri records until James C. Kirkpatrick served five four-year terms.

He was elected to the Missouri Senate to fill a vacancy and served in the Senate during the 1889 session.

McGrath was never far from the public trough, it appears.  The Columbia Daily Tribune observed upon McGrath’s death that “He has been inspector and attorney in the office of the building commissioner, assistant state examiner of building and loan associations…” He also had a brief and unsuccessful stint as a publisher of a Sedalia newspaper. He was nominated in 1909 to be St. Louis City Register of Deeds and was nominated for another city job in 1911 but lost both times.

In 1912, McGrath was elected to the Missouri House of Representatives. He introduced some bills, including the one to chance St. Louis County to Grant County, but failing health forced  him to go home where heart trouble and bronchitis became too much to overcome and he died on January 28, 1913 at his home in St. Louis.

A resolution of mourning passed by the House of Representatives said, “The House lost a useful, honest, and courageous member, the State a valued and Patriotic citizen, and society an influential and sympathetic member.”

The St. Louis Times wrote, “It is much to say that a man can spend all his mature thought in a lifetime covering seventy-nine years upon the chances and changes of politics and go to his grave ithout surrendering the belief that reform in politics is possible, and that it is worth while to keep on fighting.  Such was the experience of Michael McGrath, of whom men ar easing toda, ‘Yes, he was a politician—but he was square.”