Guest Post 6
November 19, 1994, 3:00P.M
Shaker Heights, Ohio
It Begins!
Whoa, that was one helluva movie. I
went to see “Gettysburg” last Sunday afternoon at the Richmond Mall by myself.
Paula decided to play tennis instead, and she was probably right. A lot of
blood and guts in the Battle of Gettysburg, men losing arms and legs. Scene when Sergeant Kilrain died was
heart-wrenching. The charge by Colonel Joshua Chamberlain’s 20th
Maine regiment was so real, first holding down the extreme left flank, at least
that’s what they called it, then charging down the hill with bayonets since
they had run out of ammunition. Killed, wounded, and captured a whole bunch of
Confederate soldiers who had fought valiantly in my opinion. And, the music.
Amazing. I bought the CD, and it’s playing right now. Boy, do I have the Civil
War etched in my mind. I gotta see it again, just to get the feel for it once
more. Loved the way the soldiers talked, both North and South. Pickett’s Charge
was gruesome but looked really real. Tom Berenger as General James Longstreet.
Beard was fake, but he was really good. Wow!
Well, with that in mind, I decided to
get to work on the letters, so, on Monday, after my run, I spread them out on
the dining room table and began to look at them to get the dates they were
written. The handwriting was perfectly legible and beautiful, and, as I worked
my way through, I kept a legal pad with the name of the author and date it was
written. When done with each one, it and its envelope, if there was one, went
into an acid-free folder which went into the acid-free storage box. After each set
of ten, I went into my study, made sure the Avery labels were aligned in my IBM
Ink-Jet printer, typed in the author’s name and the date the letter was
written, and printed them out for placement on the tab of a file folder.
Tedious, yes, but I was learning something.
Most of them were written by Thomas S. Armstrong, my
great-grandfather, to Francis Porter, who was my great grandmother. Some are
addressed to her in Hopewell, Ohio and some to Clinton, Illinois. I have to
find out about that. Then, there were some written by George W. Porter, also to
Francis, his sister, as some of the salutations noted. But, I am still curious.
She must have kept them and then stored them in the crates, but that begs the
question. How in the hell did the letters get from Clinton, Illinois in 1866 or
so to Cleveland Heights, Ohio in 1994? I’m beginning to think I will never know
for sure, but maybe there’s some way I can figure it out.
Armstrong’s letters were written from places like
Camp Goddard; Fort Donelson; Shiloh; Winchester, Virginia; and Libby Prison,
wherever that is, or was. Porter’s were from the same places, except that after
Shiloh, he wrote from Milliken’s Bend and Grand Gulf, Louisiana; Vicksburg,
Mississippi; Kennesaw Mountain and Resaca, Georgia; and Atlanta. There was also
one from Savannah. That’s in Georgia, too, I think. I wonder what story they
tell, but they must be different. Armstrong in prison, I guess, and Porter near
Atlanta. I thought I better get some books to tell me just what went on back
then.
I finished cataloging the letters on Wednesday,
wondering about the story, but right then, at 2 o’clock that afternoon, I had
another matter to attend to. You see, after I put the box in a black trash bag
to keep out the light, I drove down to the Western Reserve Historical Society to
talk with Mrs. Hendershott about books that would provide me with the
background that would help me understand the Civil War. She didn’t waste a
moment, once I got the question out.
“The Shelby Foote Trilogy,” she said
matter-of-factly. “There’s three books, The Civil War: A Narrative… For Sumter
to Perryville, then Fredericksville to Meridian, and finally Red River to
Appomattox. Seven hundred or more pages in each one. That’ll keep you busy,
Mr. Harvey.” I asked where I could obtain them.
“Loganberrry Books. It’s relatively new in my
neighborhood in Shaker. On Larchmere.”
“Wow,” I said, “I can walk over there from my condo.
If they don’t have Foote’s work, can I have them order it.”
“Surely.”
So, on the way back to my condo at Shaker Square, I
found Loganberry Books, parked in the back and walked in.
There was an older gentleman, with white hair and
glasses, putting books on the shelves. I approached him and asked if they had
Shelby Foote’s Trilogy on the Civil War. I loved his answer… "Not right now,
young fella, but I can get it for you.”
Well, now, I’m 47 years’ old, and he called me
“young fella.” I just asked him to order the set of three for me and was told
to come back in a week. He’d have them ready. Turns out he had been a history
professor at Case Western Reserve University, retired, and was asked by the
owner of Loganberry to help out. Lucky for me, he accepted. Wonder if he knows
anything about the Civil War.
.png)
.png)
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment