Faust on Death and the Civil War

Another week of light blogging; sorry about that. It's midterm exam time at AU, and I'm spending my evenings slogging my way through freshmen exams in my survey classes. The vast majority of my students are great, but on occasion...well, I just read an exam in which one student somehow got the impression that Washington surrendered to Cornwallis at Yorktown, and morphed the "Pequot" War into the "Puked" War. As Krusty the Clown would say, "Geeeezzz!."

I have managed to finish a really top-notch new Civil War book, however (getting stuck in the Milwaukee airport last week did wonders for my reading time): Drew Gilpin Faust's This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War. I would have preferred posting a longer, more comprehensive review--but I gotta get back to the Puked War.

Let me just say in brief here, however...wow. It was well worth the wait (Professor Faust was in the early stages of research on this project when I met her ten years ago, so suffice to say it's been in the works for a while; I guess running Harvard University really cuts into one's writing time, huh?). It is a tour de force of social, cultural and military history that left me at once dazzled, intrigued, and, well sad (consider the subject). Faust has managed to write both a solid intellectual history and a riveting narrative. Her overall theme---that Americans redefined death in ways that were both ironic and sentimental, to account for the war's tremendous death toll--is convincing, and her eye for detail and telling anecdotes is superb.

I'll revise about a half dozen lectures to account for her insights. Faust even offered some arguments that will influence the way I write about Lincoln and race. Bottom line: go read this book.

Millard Fillmore Soap on a Rope

Blogging is a bit light this week, I'm afraid; still trying to get caught up on my grading, etc., after last week's travel.

I just placed one of my more outlandish bids on ebay: I'm trying to pick up a Millard Fillmore Soap on a Rope. Did anyone see this President's Day commercial from Kia? I decided I pretty much had to have one of those things. And believe it or not, there were several Millard Fillmores for sale.

And by the way, Fillmore was not the first president to have a running water bathtub in the White House (I have no idea which prez has that honor).

President's Day

Mr. Lincoln's visage is now securely installed in my office, where I've had a steady stream of visitors and well-wishers to offer their congratulations and get a look at the life-mask. Everybody seems to agree that the mask is fascinating, though a couple of students also feel it has a slightly creepy look. I think it's the eyes, or lack thereof. Personally, I think it's just fascinating.


At any rate, happy President's Day. And yes, I agree with those who have rather ambivalent feelings towards this rather antiseptic holiday. The close proximity of Washington and Lincoln's birthdays made President's Day understandable. But I can't think of a better way to turn people off than to dilute the rich history of our Chief Executives with that catch-all, generic phrase "President's Day." It seems vanilla and, frankly, boring.


Moreover, do we really want to imply that all presidents should be celebrated equally, with no differentiation between them? Yes, there should be a certain respect afforded to anyone who occupied the president's chair, despite their various mistakes and foibles--even somebody like James Buchanan ("secession is a terrible idea, and I plan to do absolutely nothing about it") or Andrew Johnson ("White southern racism may or may not be a terrible idea--and I plan to do absolutely nothing about it"), or even Millard Fillmore ("I'm not sure I have any ideas, terrible or otherwise--and I plan to do absolutely nothing about it"). But surely most Americans agree that two presidents, Washington and Lincoln, stand far enough above the rest that they each rate their own particular holidays.

Perhaps the thing to do would be use a birthdate for one and some other date for the other, to split them apart on the calendar and make the festivities somewhat more palatable. Perhaps we could, for example, celebrate Washington Day on GW's birthday in February, and celebrate Lincoln Day on, say, January 1--the date he signed the Emancipation Proclamation into law. Or perhaps November (the date of the Gettysburg Address), or possibly his Second Inaugural in March.

Just a few random thoughts. Happy President's Day, and long live Chester Arthur!

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

After my two-day visit to Springfield for the Lincoln Symposium, I headed for New York and the Barondess Award banquet. It was a long, hard trip...


Planes: I took off from Indy for Newark Airport by way of Milwaukee (I know; it didn't make much sense to me either). When I arrived in the Cheesehead State (that's not an insult, I rather like the Packers), I was told that weather had delayed my flight to Newark until so far down in the evening I'd surely miss the banquet. I checked with numerous other airlines, and they all told me the same thing.

So I called the folks in New York; they suggested I fly to Philadelphia, where they'd arrange for a car service for the trip to the Big Apple. I found a flight to Philly--barely. It was boarding at Gate 52, and I was at Gate 29, so I did a serious dead-run across the airport and barely made it.

Trains: okay, so now I'm in Philly a couple of hours later. Great--except the New York folks told me they couldn't get a car service. They did get me a reservation, the very last one, for an Amtrak commuter train running from Philly to New York. It was scheduled to leave less than thirty minutes after I landed, and I had to find a cab, make it to Philly's 30th street station, buy the ticket, and then board the train. I made it, again, but barely--again.

Automobiles: I got to Penn Station at around 5:30pm. The banquet had already started, but I wasn't scheduled to speak for a while yet, so I had time. I found my way out of the depths of Penn Station, thanks to a friendly NY cop with a serious Bronx accent, hailed a cab and we went tearing down Madison Avenue. Well, more like crawling, actually--it was rush hour in downtown New York, otherwise known as the Sixth Circle of Driving Hell. If I ever move to the Big Apple, the first thing I'll do is sell my car; no way I'd ever drive in that traffic.

But man, what a city! Okay, I know I didn't see much of it--I arrived, gave my talk, and left the next morning--but I seriously want to go back. Madison Avenue alone was seriously cool, and I loved the ambience.

I made it in time--again, barely--and had a wonderful experience with the Civil War Roundtable folks. Their hospitality was great, their conversation engaging (I talked Indy 500 racing with A.P. Hill--it's a long story), and as for the Barondess Award itself--well, words fail me. Check out this website for the complete story. Suffice to say, I was overwhelmed. And very, very tired.

Blogging the Lincoln Symposium, Part II

11:00am: the second (and final) day of the symposium was much the same as the first, weather-wise: very cold and snowy. I found my way to the Old State Capitol building again, and spent a couple of hours hob-nobbing with local Lincoln enthusiasts, fellow authors and scholars, and signing copies of my books.

1:00pm: time for the second paper session, here again in the chamber for the Illinois House of representatives. I led off with a paper entitled "Lincoln's Ethic of Distance," which had one person at least--Mark Neely--intrigued by the title and its meaning. My topic, after all, was to address scholarship on the legal and constitutional issues of Lincoln and his times. This I did, surveying the literature on the subject from Harold Hyman's pioneering work in the 1970s down through more recent works by Phil Paludan, Herman Belz, and others.

The "ethic of distance" came when I turned to the scholarship on Lincoln's legal career, and I laid out my argument for the law practice forming the foundation of a sense of distance--emotional, intellectual, and psychological--between Lincoln and other members of the American public square. The paper was generally well received, I think, and afforded me an excellent opportunity to test some ideas that have been bouncing around in my brain for quite some time.

1:45pm: My paper was followed by an excellent presentation by Brooks Simpson. I've known Brooks for a while through emails, blogging, and various other professional crossroads--and of course his well-deserved reputation as a top-notch Civil War scholar--but until now we had never actually met. He's a heckuva nice guy, to go with his Civil War expertise. He offered an interesting and very thorough overview of the literature on Lincoln as commander-in-chief. He also, incidentally, took much better pictures than myself of the symposium: you can view them here.

2:45pm: following a brief break, Michael Vorenberg rounded out the symposium with a presentation on his work concerning the Civil War and definitions of American citizenship (yeah I know, that's not a very good picture of him; but from my vantage point directly below and to his right, it was the best that I and my poor camera phone could manage). Michael is another colleague with whom I've often corresponded (he wrote one of the essays in Lincoln Emancipated) but never met in person. I really enjoyed his paper, particularly his assertion that Lincoln never much talked of African-Americans and citizenship rights. Indeed, Michael pointed out, Lincoln never actually referred to African-Americans as acquiring citizenship rights at all.

Fascinating stuff. I'll take into account Michael's insights when I address this topic in my new book on Lincoln and race. And that, after all, is what the symposium and other such gatherings are all about: historians exchanging information and spurring new ideas and inquiries among one another, and in an atmosphere of friendly collegiality.

4:00pm: I had to head right back to Indy after the paper session--my flight for New York was scheduled for early the next morning--so unfortunately I had to miss the symposium banquet. Too bad; I had a wonderful time, and the food at these gatherings is pretty good.

Tomorrow: my odyssey to New York and the Barondess Award--or, as it should be known, "Planes Trains, and Automobiles II."

Blogging the Lincoln Symposium

I'm on the road this week; seems like I'm always on the road during the second week in February, doing something Lincoln-related. This year I'll attend and deliver a paper at the 2008 Lincoln Symposium in Springfield, Illinois, and then fly out to New York on Wednesday for the Barondess Award ceremony.

5:00am: my day starts with a 3 hour road trip from my home in Fishers, Indiana to Lincoln's home town of Springfield, Illinois. I've made this drive a lot, of course, and it's normally not such a bad trip--but today was really, really cold. The temp was one degree--one whole degree--when I reached the outskirts of Springfield and checked into my hotel at around 9:00am.

10:30am: I head for downtown Springfield. I was here this time last year with my wife, doing a book talk at this place, the Lincoln Museum and Presidential Library. It was darned cold then, too, and a lot more crowded. I did last year's book talk the same day Obama announced his candidacy for the 2008 election here, and there were people everywhere.

Today, however, things are much more quiet; the cold weather has driven everyone indoors, I think. I checked in with the folks running the symposium, said hello to Tom Schwartz, Lincoln expert extraordinaire, and finally got to meet Allen Guelzo; our paths have crossed on occasion, but we've never actually met each other until now.

I have to admit, I feel a little twinge of sadness coming here. This will be the first time in a long while that I visit Springfield and don't meet Phil for lunch at Augie's, his favorite restaraunt, located right on the town square.

12:45pm: I head over to the Old State Capitol building, where the Symposium's book signing and paper sessions are to take place. This is a very interesting old building, fully restored to approximate its appearance in Lincoln's time. The Lincoln law offices were all located within reasonable walking distance of this place. He litigated cases in courtrooms located here, and used the building's law library for research. And of course he spent time here as a legislator.

1:00pm: the first paper session begins, with presentations by Jean Baker, Mark Neely (that's him in the picture above), and Douglas Wilson. We crowd into the chamber that once was home to the Illinois House of Representatives. As with much else in Springfield, the city preservationists understand the appeal of Lincoln, and have tried to restore the chamber to its appearance in Lincoln's time. He delivered his "House Divided" speech in this room, on the very spot Mark is standing, in fact. That's enough to send chills up even the most jaded historian's spine. Mark made a comment to this effect, in fact, and I remember feeling that way myself when I delivered a paper up there at the 2004 Symposium.

All three papers were fascinating. Dr. Baker focused on a review of the historical literature that sought to understand Lincoln on a personal level. Dr. Neely addressed Lincoln's ambivalent attitude towards party politics in the North, and Dr. Wilson offered a wonderful analysis of Lincoln's rhetoric, along the lines of his analysis in Lincoln's Sword.

I had planned to take detailed notes, and blog at some length on their papers. But--and here's a typical geeky, academic goofball accident--I managed to break my pen (my back itched, and I couldn't reach the spot, so I tried to use my pen and snapped the stupid thing in half; sounded like a gunshot going off, too, to my utter mortification--see what I mean by "geeky" and "goofball"? This kind of thing only happens to us nerds) and I was therefore unable to take any decent notes. So I'm reduced to my memory, here late at night in my hotel room.

Anyway...that little bit of stupidity aside, I had a very good time. Looking forward to delivering my paper tomorrow

afternoon.

New Ernie Pyle photo

I know this has nothing whatever to do with Abraham Lincoln or the Civil War, but a student of mine pointed out a news story to me about a new photograph of Ernie Pyle, taken right after he was killed, which has recently surfaced. That's the photo above, and here's one of the numerous news stories on the topic.

Count me as one of those surprised historians. I never saw this before, nor did I think any such image existed. The government's censorship of photos during World War Two was quite rigorous, and they were especially careful to see to it that images of dead GI's did not make it into the newsreels. Apparently this photo was, if not repressed, at least discouraged from surfacing by someone.

Pardon the off-topic post, but World War Two has always been something of a hobby of mine.

Mobile Abe

Brief story here about a new mobile Lincoln museum. It's a 300 foot trailer that will tour various sites in Kentucky, including the boyhood home and the state fair. No indication in the story concerning what exactly is in the trailer, but with 300 feet to work with, it should be worth a look.

State's Rights for Abe?

I ran across a couple of articles suggesting that some people may be getting a bit testy about receiving their fair share of credit--if that's the right word--for Abraham Lincoln and his legacy. Story here outlines the attempts by Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois to claim "bragging rights" to our sixteenth president. And this piece in a Kentucky paper, written by Harold Holzer, suggests that Lincoln bore much goodwill towards his native state. The image above, by the way, shows a group of Kentucky students getting in touch--literally--with Mr. Lincoln's legacy, via his proboscis.

I'm not quite sure I agree entirely with Professor Holzer on this one. Yes, Lincoln did probably feel an unusual sense of attachment towards his native state. On the other hand, he wondered aloud if he might be lynched should he try to visit his birthplace (and I think he was only half joking). The strategic headaches caused by Kentucky's attempts to maintain its neutrality were also considerable. From a purely military and political point of view, Kentucky was as much headache as asset.

But more generally, I wonder about this rather unseemly attempt by various states to grab their share of the Lincoln spotlight. This is not to single out Kentucky here, either; I've run across this sort of thing here in Indiana, as well. In the first article cited above, James McPherson made a rather diplomatic attempt to suggest that all three states--Illinois, Indiana, and Kentucky--have an equal claim to the Great Emancipator. Fair enough. But what is it about "claiming" Lincoln that matters so much, anyway? If Idaho can take its shot at the Lincoln Bicentennial, then I'd say pretty much any state can.

Lincoln certainly would not have been impressed by this state-centered battle for his legacy. He never could quite understand state sovereignty, or this notion that a state should command an Americans' loyalties.

Lincoln Home set to open

Story here about the long-awaited opening of the Soldier's Home (or Lincoln's Cottage, or the Soldier's Home; or, as one article puts it, Lincoln's "secret hideaway"), the summer residence of Lincoln and his family in Washington DC. The restoration project seems to finally be near completion, the home will open its doors on February 18th.

For those unfamiliar with the home, this was a cottage located on the outskirts of Civil War-era Washington, near a soldier's hospital (hence the name "Soldier's Home"), where Lincoln and his family spent quite a bit of time--particularly in the summer, when the heat became oppressive. Lincoln would often take solitary carriage rides to and from the home, prompting one of John Wilkes Booth's early plots to kidnap the president.

Anyone interested in learning more about this topic would do well to consult Matthew Pinsker's excellent book on the subject.