I wanted to have some fun with The Perfect Indictment and the Battle of Brandy Station, but I done been run over by a bug the kids brought home, so all I got is something quiet and short. RIP, George Winston.
I wanted to have some fun with The Perfect Indictment and the Battle of Brandy Station, but I done been run over by a bug the kids brought home, so all I got is something quiet and short. RIP, George Winston.
Posted at 06:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Kinda busy date in English history, including the Viking raid at Lindisfarne (similar to the raid on Mar-a-Lago), so here's some contemplative music from one of my favorite series (suggest Trump play this in his cell to relax before bedtime).
Posted at 09:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
What is gonecannot be put back.Damagefrom the inside.What I have becomeis warmed overwith that nowancient dream.What I wasis vanished.I came back homebut I came backgone.
Cynthia Cruz.
Posted at 08:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
We've already heard from Col Shaw about the 54th's arrival in SC, but Cpl James H Gooding, who corresponded regularly with the New Bedford Mercury, fills in the scene a bit more:
Our reception was almost as enthusiastic here in Beaufort, as our departure from Boston was. You know probably how universal the enthusiasm was in Boston. The 54th has already won the reputation here of being a first class regiment, both in drill, discipline and physical condition. When the 54th marched through the streets of this town, the citizens and soldiers lined the walks, to get a look at the first black regiment from the North.
The contrabands did not believe we were coming; one of them said, “I nebber bleeve black Yankee comee here help culer men.” They think now the kingdom is coming sure enough. The yarns the copperhead press have so studiously spun, that the slaves were better satisfied in their old condition than under the present order of things, is all bosh. So far as I have seen, they appear to understand the causes of the war better than a great many Northern editors.
Gooding also shares some news about the Combahee Ferry Raid earlier in the month (told you we'd see more of Montgomery):
The 2d South Carolina volunteers have made a successful expedition. Col. Montgomery left with his regiment May 1st, in three small steamers, accompanied by Capt. Brayton of the Rhode Island artillery with one section of his command; the next morning he anchored in the Combahee river, thirty miles from Beaufort and twenty from Charleston, and thirteen from Asheepoo, on the Charleston and Savannah railroad.
The village on the river is approached by three different roads; one from Field’s Point, where the rebels had built a battery, but had deserted it; one from Tar Bluff, two miles above Field’s Point and one from Combahee Ferry, six miles further up the river. According to plans laid beforehand, Col. Montgomery took possession of the three approaches at one time. Capt. Thompson, with one company was placed in the earthworks at Field’s Point; Capt. Carver, with Co. E. was placed in the rifle pits at Tar Bluff; and, with the balance of the force, Col. M. proceeded to Combahee Ferry, and with the guns of the John Adams, and two howitzers, under command of Capt. Brayton, completely covered the road and the approaches to the bridge.
At Asheepoo the rebels had three regiments of infantry, one battalion of cavalry, and a field battery of artillery. As Capt. Thompson advanced up the road from Field’s Point, cavalry came in sight, but a few well-directed volleys sent them back in confusion to their stronghold at Asheepoo. At half past three a battery of six pieces opened fire upon them, but not a man flinched, but poured their fire in upon the rebels, killing and wounding a number. At this stage of affairs, the Harriet A. Weed came up the river and poured a few shells in the midst of the rebels, causing them to retreat hastily.
The raid commenced in earnest then, the soldiers scattered in every direction, burning and destroying everything of value they came across. Thirty-four large mansions, belonging to notorious rebels, were burned to the ground. After scattering the rebel artillery, the Harriet A. Weed tied up opposite a large plantation, owned by Nicholas Kirkland. Major Corwin, in command of companies R and C, soon effected a landing, without opposition. The white inhabitants, terrified at seeing armed negroes in their midst, fled in all directions, while the blacks ran for the boats, welcoming the soldiers as their deliverers.
After destroying all they could not bring away, the expedition returned to Beaufort Wednesday evening, with over $15,000 worth of property and 840 slaves. Over 400 of the captured slaves have been enlisted in the 3d S. C. regiment; the rest of the number being women and children and old men.
Col. M. left yesterday on another expedition, and the 54th is ordered for active service. We leave tonight for, the Lord knows where, but we shall try to uphold the honor of the Old Bay State wherever we go.
What Gooding does not report - perhaps unaware given how news traveled back then - is the crucial role played by Harriet Tubman (nicknamed "Moses" by abolitionist Wm Lloyd Garrison):
It is worth a day’s journey to hear Harriet herself describe the vivid scene—throngs of hesitating refugees, a motley crowd, men, women, children, babies—(“Pears like I nebber see so many twins in my life”)— and pigs and chickens, and such domestic necessities as could be “toted” along. The slave-drivers had used their whips in vain to get the poor refugees back to their quarters, and yet the blacks were almost as much in dread of the stranger soldiers. How deal with this turbulent mass of humanity? The colonel realized the danger of delay, and calling Harriet to the upper deck in a voice of command said: “Moses, you’ll have to give ‘em a song!” Then the power of the woman poured forth— Harriet lifted up a voice full of emotional fervor in verse after verse of prophetic promise. She improvised both words and melody:
Of all the whole creation in the East or in the West
The glorious Yankee nation is the greatest and the best!
Come along! Come along! Don't be alarm,
Uncle Sam's rich enough to give us all a farm!
Come along! Come along! Don't be a fool,
Uncle Sam's rich enough to send us all to school! etc., etc.
As she chanted to refrain “Come along! Come along!” she raised her long arms with an imperious gesture impossible to resist. The crowd responded with shouts of “Glory! Glory!”
Which brings us to another fun fact:
The Combahee River is an incredible militant chapter of U.S. history, not just of Black history, of world history. In fact, at the time when people looked at their conditions and they fought back, they took great risks to change their situation; and for us to call ourselves the Combahee River Collective, that was an educational [tool] both for ourselves and for anybody who asked, “So what does that mean, I never heard of that?” It was a way of talking about ourselves being on a continuum of Black struggle, of Black women’s struggle.
Quite honestly, I was never taught about the raid, Tubman's role, or how the Collective got its name (let alone that it even existed). Feature, not a bug...
Posted at 03:29 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
Happy birthday, Sir Thomas! Hope the candles on your cake don't burn down your house.
I enjoy it when artists (e.g., Johnny Cash) from a certain era cover more modern stuff that might not be in their milieu generally. Jones did a cover of Prince's Kiss with Art of Noise as well (HBD to Mr Nelson, you are sorely missed).
Fun fact: it was not unusual for me to bust out singing It's Not Unusual in class when discussing the importance of timing in signaling methods. Also, too: this mashup cracks my shit up.
Posted at 09:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings:
Recognize whose lands these are on which we stand.
Ask the deer, turtle, and the crane.
Make sure the spirits of these lands are respected and treated with goodwill.
The land is a being who remembers everything.
You will have to answer to your children, and their children, and theirs—
The red shimmer of remembering will compel you up the night to walk the perimeter of truth for understanding.
As I brushed my hair over the hotel sink to get ready I heard:
By listening we will understand who we are in this holy realm of words.
Do not parade, pleased with yourself.
You must speak in the language of justice.
Joy Harjo.
Posted at 08:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
I read RMJ's post about Matt Taibi, and wonder what "Matty Dick Pics" (epithet bestowed by emptywheel) would make of this:
Congressman Troy E. Nehls (R-TX-22) sent a letter to Target executives calling on the retailer to remove all pro-LGBT merchandise for children.
“Target’s “LGBT Pride Kids Collection” inherently promotes sexuality and sexual behavior, which desensitizes our children to adult content,” said Congressman Nehls. “This puts our nation’s most vulnerable in danger. Target’s LGBT children’s merchandise also puts parents in a position to have conversations with their own children about adult content they might not be ready for. I am disgusted Target is exploiting children because of the pressure from the radical Left and those with personal agendas inside the corporation. Our nation’s children and their innocence should be protected from these folks at all costs.”
Is this government coercion?
Posted at 04:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
It's no secret that I've generally been down on the fetishization of 1776 and mythologizing national unanimity, but it is a big day in Anglo-American history:
Resolved, That these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.
That it is expedient forthwith to take the most effectual measures for forming foreign Alliances.
That a plan of confederation be prepared and transmitted to the respective Colonies for their consideration and approbation.
Introduced by Richard Henry Lee, seconded by Paul Giamatti, debate ensued, recorded thus by Thomas Jefferson:
It was argued by Wilson, Robert R. Livingston, E. Rutlege, Dickinson and others
That tho' they were friends to the measures themselves, and saw the impossibility that we should ever again be united with Gr. Britain, yet they were against adopting them at this time:
That the conduct we had formerly observed was wise & proper now, of deferring to take any capital step till the voice of the people drove us into it:
That they were our power, & without them our declarations could not be carried into effect...That some [colonies] had expressly forbidden their delegates to consent to such a declaration, and others had given no instructions, & consequently no powers to give such consent...
That if such a declaration should now be agreed to, these delegates must (now) retire & possibly their colonies might secede from the Union:
That such a secession would weaken us more than could be compensated by any foreign alliance:
That in the event of such a division, foreign powers would either refuse to join themselves to our fortunes...That it was prudent to fix among ourselves the terms on which we would form alliance, before we declared we would form one at all events:
And that if these were agreed on & our Declaration of Independance ready by the time our Ambassadour should be prepared to sail, it would be as well, as to go into that Declaration at this day.
Some counterpoints:
On the other side it was urged by J. Adams, Lee, Wythe and others That no gentleman had argued against the policy or the right of separation from Britain, nor had supposed it possible we should ever renew our connection: that they had only opposed it's being now declared:
That the question was not whether, by a declaration of independance, we should make ourselves what we are not; but whether we should declare a fact which already exists...That the people wait for us to lead the way (in this step):
That they are in favour of the measure, tho' the instructions given by some of their representatives are not:
That the voice of the representatives is not alwais consonant with the voice of the people...
And finally kicking the can just a bit:
It appearing in the course of these debates that the colonies of N. York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland & South Carolina were not yet matured for falling from the parent stem, but that they were fast advancing to that state, it was thought most prudent to wait a while for them, and to postpone the final decision to July 1.
but that this might occasion as little delay as possible, a committee was appointed to prepare a declaration of independance. the Commee. were J. Adams, Dr. Franklin, Roger Sherman, Robert R. Livingston & myself. committees were also appointed at the same time to prepare a plan of confederation for the colonies [Dickinson's baby, the Articles of Confederation], and to state the terms proper to be proposed for foreign alliance [producing the Model Treaty, mostly Adams' work].
Fragmented we were, but a little community organizing really goes a long way...
Posted at 01:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
And down goes all before them.
Posted at 09:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
In Normandy, at Point Du Hoc,where some Rangers died,Dad pointed to an old man20 feet closer to the edge than us,asking if I could seethe medal the man heldlike a rosary.As we approached the cliffthe man’s swearing, each bulletedsyllable, sifted backtoward us in the ocean wind.I turned away,but my shoulder was held stillby my father’s hand,and I looked up at himas he looked at the man.
Gary Dop.
Posted at 07:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Watched Glory t'other day, which holds up well. While I don't necessarily want to center everything on the White Guy, Col Shaw's letters do give us some nice vignettes, such as his description of settling in around Beaufort, SC, after the 54th's enthusiastic sendoff in Boston the month prior:
Col. Montgomery sailed yesterday, and we shall go after him before long, I suppose.
This is an odd sort of place. All the original inhabitants are gone — and the houses are occupied by Northerners & a few Florida refugees. The Northern ladies here are a fearful crowd — ungrammatical and nasal. I had a taste of them the first evening we arrived, having unawares booked into a house where 8 or 10 teachers live. Ned Hooper extracted me by taking me to tea to his house, and I have not ventured in town, on foot, since.
Col. Higginson came over to see us, day before yesterday. I never saw any one who put his whole soul into his work as he does. I was very much impressed with his open-heartedness & purity of character. He is encamped about 10 miles from here.
The bush-whacker Montgomery is a strange compound. He allows no swearing or drinking in his regiment & is anti tobacco—But he burns & destroys wherever he goes with great gusto, & looks as if he had quite a taste for hanging people & throat-cutting whenever a suitable subject offers.
All our stores are very acceptable now, and the Hungarian wine Father sent us is excellent. Genl Hunter doesn’t impress me as being a great man. There is some talk of his being relieved. If we could have Fremont in his place, wouldn’t it be fine?
Mr. Eustis was over here yesterday. Tomorrow the Major & I ride over to his plantation. I hope you will send me all the papers containing accounts of our passage through Boston.
It is impossible to keep clean here for two hours—the fine sand covers everything. Every one here has received us very kindly; though there are a great many opposers among the officers they show no signs of it to us.
We'll catch up with Col Montgomery again later in the program; what a piece of work was he.
Posted at 06:06 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
We are blessedly free of smoke today, unlike our friends back East (blame Canada!). Also, unlike our local friends 134 years ago:
On the afternoon of June 6, 1889, John Back, an assistant in Victor Clairmont's woodworking shop at Front Street (now First Avenue) and Madison Avenue, was heating glue over a gasoline fire. Sometime after 2:15, the glue boiled over, caught fire, and spread to the floors, which were covered by wood chips and turpentine. He tried to put the fire out with water, but that only served to thin the turpentine and spread the fire further. Everyone got out of the building safely, and the fire department got to the fire by 2:45. By that time, there was so much smoke that it was hard to find the source of the fire, and by the time it was found, the fire was out of control. The fire quickly spread to the Dietz & Mayer Liquor Store, which exploded, the Crystal Palace Saloon, and the Opera House Saloon. Fueled by alcohol, the entire block from Madison to Marion was on fire.
Seattle's water supply proved to be a major problem in fighting the fire. At that time, water was provided by the privately-owned Spring Hill Water Company. Hydrants were only located on every other street, the 'pipes' were small, and many were made of hollowed out logs (several of which would burn in the fire). As more hoses were added to fight the fire, water pressure fell to the point that the hoses didn't work. Firemen tried to keep the fire from spreading further by pumping water from Elliott Bay onto the Commercial Mill, but the tide was out, and the hoses were not long enough to reach the side of the building closest to the fire. To add insult to injury, crowds harassed the fire fighters as the water pressure fell. At the same time the water supply was dwindling, the wind rose, helping spread the fire. Soon the mill was on fire, as well as the Colman Building and Opera House.
Mayor Robert Moran took command from acting Fire Chief James Murphy (ironically, Chief Josiah Collins was at a fire-fighting convention in San Francisco), who was reportedly "distraught". Moran ordered the Colman block to be blown up, in an attempt to end the fire, but the fire jumped past the block, and spread to the wharves as well as up the hill toward Second Avenue.
By 4:00, most residents realized that downtown Seattle was doomed.
I cannot help but notice the city's response to this conflagration was regulation...:
Within a week after the Great Fire the city began work on a new building ordinance, and Council approved it on July 1. The ordinance reflected the conflicts: buildings needed to be safer (particularly to attract investors), but they also needed to be built quickly (to demonstrate that Seattle's future was unaffected).
...Within the commercial district (identified as the “fire limits”), the ordinance addressed both fire safety and structural stability. Within the fire limits, walls were to be constructed of masonry with foundations at least 4 feet below grade. Walls were to be a minimum of 12 inches thick, but the lower walls of tall buildings increased in thickness depending upon height. For example, a five-story building had basement walls at least 24 inches thick, first-story walls 21 inches, second- through fourth-story walls 16 inches, and just 12 inches at the top story.
Masonry “division walls” to prevent the spread of fires in larger buildings were required and could be spaced no farther than 66 feet apart. Multiple arched openings of a limited size could be provided through the division walls. For spans longer than 27 feet, intermediate columns of iron, steel or heavy timber were required.
...that would warm Adam Smith's heart:
Such regulations may, no doubt, be considered as in some respects a violation of natural liberty. But those exertions of the natural liberty of a few individuals, which might endanger the security of the whole society, are, and ought to be, restrained by the laws of all governments, of the most free as well as of the most despotical. The obligation of building party walls, in order to prevent the communication of fire, is a violation of natural liberty exactly of the same kind with the regulations of the banking trade...
I'll close by noting Sadie does a lot of projects involving not a glue pot, but a glue gun. And that's why I always violate my kids' natural liberty by admonishing them to not burn down the house.
Anyway, add this to the catalog of NTodd's Obsession With Fire Posts...
Posted at 04:00 PM in History, Local Color | Permalink | Comments (0)
In the branches of the laurel treeI saw two dark dovesOne was the sunand one the moonLittle neighbors I saidwhere is my grave —In my tail said the sunOn my throat said the moonAnd I who was walkingwith the land around my waistsaw two snow eaglesand a naked girlOne was the otherand the girl was noneLittle eagles I saidwhere is my grave —In my tail said the sunOn my throat said the moonIn the branches of the laurel treeI saw two naked dovesOne was the otherand both were none
Federico García Lorca.
Posted at 08:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Following up yesterday's Confederate movement, here is a bit on the Union side today:
Shortly before noon [Gen Hooker] composed a telegram to President Lincoln outlining his dilemma. He had noted the changes in the enemy's camps but was not sure what they meant. He reminded Lincoln of his standing instructions to shield Washington at all times, and wondered how loosely he might interpret this directive.
If the enemy was moving northward and leaving only a small rear guard at Fredericksburg, Hooker believed he had an obligation to "pitch into" that force, even if that meant that the head of Lee's column might threaten Washington without the Army of the Potomac to block it. Hooker respectfully asked for Lincoln's opinion on the matter.
The president's answer crackled back four and a half hours later. Given the Union army's recent lack of success in attacking Fredericksburg's heights, Lincoln was not keen on Hooker's attempting that objective a second time. Hoping to make his point with one of his colorful analogies, Lincoln cautioned Hooker against becoming "like an ox jumped half over a fence and liable to be torn by dogs front and rear, without a fair chance to force one way or kick the other."
...Even as these messages were being exchanged, Hooker was undertaking a Rappahannock crossing to determine the enemy's disposition...The Federal engineers tried to push a pontoon bridge across using preset sections, but Rebel sharpshooters drove them back. Under a heavy covering fire from the artillery, a storming party of Vermont and New Jersey troops paddled in pontoon boats to the opposite bank.
A New York soldier standing in support watched in amazement as "the whole plain, on the further side, . . . [became] a sheet of flame from the bursting shells, and huge clouds of dust, plowed up by the shrieking missiles, rose so as to obscure [the river bluff]." The Federals landed and swept over the rifle pits dug along the river's edge. Then, reinforced, they charged up the height to overrun a stronger series of Confederate works located there. By dusk, a shallow perimeter had been established, with pickets pushed out almost a mile from the river. At very little cost, Joe Hooker had grabbed a jumping-off point on the southern side of the Rappahannock River for whatever purpose he had in mind.
Nothing really to add, 'cept "crackled back" reminded me of when Gen Buford, assessing the tactical situation as his calvary brigades arrived at Gettysburg a few weeks later, mentioned "wires hot with messages." It's probably my favorite scene from Gettysburg (taken almost verbatim from Killer Angels, not sure there's a true historical source).
But we'll get there soon enough...
Posted at 06:22 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
Apparently Bruce was playing with a Johnny Cash rhythm when he came up with this one in '82.
Posted at 08:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Your absence has gone through meLike thread through a needle.Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Posted at 07:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
You may rest assured of one thing: you won't catch me in the confounded balloon, nor will I allow any other generals to go up in it.
- Maj Gen George McClellan to his wife, April 11, 1862
Having blogged about balloons, I note with interest today's date:
The brothers Montgolfier came from a large family in Annonay, France that been successful in the paper making business for generations. Working in the paper mill, the brothers noticed that smoke tended to rise, and that it could lift pieces of paper. The brothers made several unsuccessful balloon experiments indoors first. They filled a paper bag with steam, which just made the bag soggy. The brothers had heard of Henry Cavendish’s work showing that hydrogen was much lighter than air, and were eager to put that knowledge to use to lift objects into the air, but they couldn’t devise a way to contain the hydrogen.
Their first successful balloon was a bag made of paper and linen, open at the bottom. A fire held at the bottom heated the air in the bag. The heated air inside the bag expanded, making it less dense than the surrounding air, causing the bag to rise.
The Montgolfier brothers didn’t quite understand the physics involved– they believed thick smoke was the key to keeping the bag aloft, so they burned things like straw, wool, and even old shoes to produce the densest possible smoke. Not recognizing that the heat had made the bag rise, the brothers also seem to have believed at the time that they had produced a new, previously undiscovered gas that was lighter than air.
But even with their poor understanding, through trial and error they were able to produce a working balloon. After making several small-scale tests, they were ready for the first public demonstration. The ten-meter diameter balloon was exhibited on June 4, 1783. Tethered to the ground, and carrying no passengers, the balloon rose high above the marketplace at Annonay.
Of course, everything cool can also be militarized. After seeing a demonstration on June 16, 1861, Lincoln went all-in and the short-lived Balloon Corps was born. Which brings us back to today's date, four score years after the Montgolfiers' first public flight demonstration.
Following his success at Chancellorsville, General Robert E Lee decided it was a good time to invade the North again and thus on June 3, 1863, his army began sneaking away from positions around the Rappahannock. General Dan Butterfield noticed something was afoot the next morning:
JUNE 4, 1863-9. 45 a. m.
General BUFORD, Bealeton or Warrenton:
Reports and appearances here indicate the disappearance of a portion of the enemy's forces from opposite our left. The general desires you to keep a sharp lookout, country well scouted, and advise us as soon as possible of anything in your front or vicinity indicating a movement.
DANIEL BUTTERFIELD,
Major-General, Chief of Staff.
-------------
JUNE 4, 1863 - 10 a. m.
Major-General MEADE, Stoneman's Switch:
Balloon reports from Banks' Ford two camps disappeared and several batteries in motion.
Balloon near Reynolds reports line of dust near Salem Church, and 20 wagons moving northerly on the Telegraph road.
DANIEL. BUTTERFIELD,
Major-General, Chief of Staff.
Thus began the slow race toward Gettysburg and a date with destiny, or whatever...
Posted at 01:40 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
Good fences
Good neighbors
All that jazz
Boundaries honored in the breach
Never taught us that in school
God is in the details
Ten Commandments
Whither the Beatitudes
Blessed with the pain of insight
Knowing you can’t start from the beginning
One hopes to keep the conversation going
Editing the poem of your life
Like somebody will sing it at your funeral
But nobody can open a rusted gate
The garden wilts and the weeds take over
Love is in the roots buried deep
Nobody can dig that far down
And why would they even try
Leave the edging for tomorrow
Looks like rain
Roll that stone
Stay on your side
Bartholomew Foxx.
Posted at 07:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Facebook reminds me of this post from 14 years ago:
What's weird, besides the inexorable crawl of linear time, is I had just been thinking about something I'd read back in HS English. It was from The Least One by Borden Deal, excerpted in one of those dilapidated hardcover lit survey books you'd cover up with shopping bags that you drew all over (most people leaned heavily into the Cool S, of course, but I usually drew variants of the classic Yes logo).
What was lodged in the crevasses of memory:
“You got it yet?” When I shook my head, he said in an urgent voice, “Think of one right now.”
I shook my head more stubbornly, meaning. It ain’t my place. John knew how I felt about that and so he didn’t say any more.
Everybody had a seat but me and John, so we waited by the red-hot stove while the roll was called by the nice-looking principal, Mr. Smith. Then he turned to us. “We have two new pupils starting today. I think they should tell the assembly who they are.”
“My name is John Sword,” John said. “We just moved to Bugscuffle Bottoms.” There was a snicker at the words, Bugscuffle Bottoms, but John didn’t pay any mind. I stood mute.
The principal said, “What about you, son?”
I couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to bolt right out of that auditorium and run all the way home. But Daddy, I knew, would only whip me and send me back. Mama and Daddy meant for us to get an education if it was the last thing that happened.
John nudged me and the principal said, “Speak up. Won’t anybody bite you if you open your mouth.”
I opened my mouth and heard my voice, weak and thin, and I could hardly believe I was going through it again, instead of dying like I’d decided I would. “My name is Boy Sword,” I said.
“I want your real name, not your nickname,” Mr. Smith said.
I gulped. “That’s all the name I got,” I said miserably. I added, “We just moved to Bugscuffle Bottoms.”
They didn’t snicker at Bugscuffle Bottoms this time. They had their teeth into better meat. They were snickering at me.
The principal looked baffled, then turned to John. “Is this true?” he asked.
John cleared his throat. “Yes sir. He ain’t never been named, so we just call him Boy.”
Mr. Smith must have been a kind man. He just said, “All right. We will enter him in as Boy Sword.”
As I walked to the back of the room there were whispers from each side, calling, “Boy! Hey, Boy! Hey, No-Name Sword!” I kept my back stiff and my face straight ahead. I hadn’t been able to do anything else but suffer it, ever since I could remember.
You’ve got to understand my daddy to know what all that name business was about. He was a smart man and educated, too; he had gone all the way through high school when didn’t many boys do that. Why, he’d sit and think like somebody else would eat a watermelon, and get just as much enjoyment out of it. He didn’t read a whole lot, though he never let a newspaper or a magazine get past him. He didn’t look for his ideas anywhere but in his own head. He had a God’s plenty of them there.
Daddy had been given an awful first name and had dropped it when he was old enough to decide such things and taken his middle name of Lee. I never knew what that first name was. He decided, when John was bom, that it wasn’t fair to give somebody a permanent name while he was too young to do anything about it, and so John was called Son. The day he turned ten years old, Daddy told him he could name himself whatever he pleased. John picked his name right off without any trouble, and Daddy, from that day forward, never once called him Son.
When I came along they called me Boy and from the first I had resented it. So when I turned ten, I said to Daddy, “I think you ought to pick my name. Every boy’s daddy gives him a name to be known by.”
“I thought you’d want to pick your name,” he said. “What about Richard? Richard is a pretty name. Richard Sword.”
I turned away. I was as stubborn as an iron-headed mule. “If you want it to be Richard, let it be Richard.”
“No,” he said. “It was just a suggestion. What do you want it to be?”
I looked at him then, hoping he’d understand. John had been Son, which placed him, while I had only been Boy. John had found his name. I didn’t want to find mine. I wanted my daddy to put my name on me so it would not only be my name, but his name for me, and I could wear it proud.
“If you’ll name me, I’ll be satisfied,” I said.
When Daddy got an idea it was hard for him to turn loose. “You’ll just have to wait, then,” he said. “Until such time as you can make up your mind, you will be known as Boy.”
Anyway, Sam got 75% of what appears on his birth certificate on this date (we added Loren a bit later to honor another important person in our lives). He and Sadie Catherine May know they can choose their own names if they like - and do anything else that reflects their authentic selves - but thus far they've both stuck with what they got.
Naming is powerful. Ursula K Le Guin understood. Even Klingons get it. Perhaps that's why bigots love to deadname and have made "pronouns in bio" into a shibboleth.
Dehumanizing is the point, cruelly trying to deny their targets' agency and identity. Yet they fail to appreciate that it is also practically sacrilegious:
The power to name can be experienced in our everyday lives; for example, nothing grabs the attention of a misbehaving child more effectively than a parent–the bestower of the child’s names–calling him by his first, middle, and last names.
The rabbis caution us, however, to use the power of our voices and our words wisely. We must make certain that we use the divine gift of naming in a moral, appropriate, and thoughtful manner. We must also reject feeling that we are destined to live with and exemplify only the names given to us by others. Our tradition teaches that through our own choices and actions, each of us can name and rename ourselves. By doing so, each of us can bring honor to God, to the bestowers of our names, and to ourselves.
Amen. Let your name so shine before men...
Posted at 05:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Gemini 4 launched on this date in 1965, and almost immediately Jim McDivitt gave us our first practical lesson in orbital mechanics:
[R]endezvous in space is a kind of puzzle, where you have to start at the ending and work backward. If there’s a space station in orbit, and I want to get my spaceship to it, where do I have to put my spaceship so that as I either slow down or speed up, the space station gets closer and closer to me, and we are able to meet at a point in space?
That is just the start of the weirdness of navigating in space. Your human intuition—based on 30 or 40 years of living on Earth and rendezvousing with things all the time: a doorway, the curb, freeway entrance ramps—is not only useless in space but it also tells you to do the wrong thing.
...In the early days of spaceflight, rendezvous wasn’t just hard and counterintuitive; it was scary. NASA feared that a failed rendezvous at the Moon, for instance, would leave two astronauts in the lunar module, orbiting in the wrong place, out of fuel—and therefore, doomed.
NASA’s first effort to use astronauts to rendezvous failed, and failed spectacularly, in just the way one might have imagined for a species of gravity-bound, novice space travelers.
...McDivitt and White were the first astronauts—Russian or American—to attempt a rendezvous in space. Their goal was to rendezvous their capsule with the used second stage of the Titan rocket that had helped launch them. Just after separating from the booster, as they entered orbit, McDivitt made a first stab at rendezvous. The official NASA history of the Gemini program, On the Shoulders of Titans, tells what happened: “McDivitt braked the spacecraft, aimed it, and thrusted toward the target. After two bursts from his thrusters, the booster seemed to move away and downward. A few minutes later, McDivitt pitched the spacecraft nose down and the crew again saw the rocket, which seemed to be traveling on a different track. He thrusted toward it—no success—and stopped. McDivitt repeated this sequence several times with the same luck.”
To mission control, McDivitt reported, “The booster fell away quite rapidly and got below us like there was a considerable difference in our velocity.” The booster wasn’t moving away, of course; it was McDivitt’s spaceship that was moving away, following the laws of orbital mechanics.
...McDivitt estimated that he started out a few hundred feet from the booster. After 45 minutes of trying to get to it, he radioed CapCom Gus Grissom at mission control: “I think we ought to knock it off, Gus. It keeps falling. It’s probably three or four miles away, and we just can’t close on it.”
“Right, knock it off,” Grissom replied. “No more rendezvous with the booster.” It was a four-day flight. In the first 90 minutes, McDivitt had used up half his capsule’s maneuvering fuel futilely “chasing” the booster in defiance of the laws of physics and motion.
...NASA would perform a successful rendezvous between two Gemini spacecraft just six months later. McDivitt would go on to command Apollo 9, the first test flight of the lunar module in orbit with astronauts at the controls. Apollo 9 was a huge success. McDivitt flew the lunar module 111 miles away from the command module in Earth orbit and then returned for a pinpoint docking.
Sometimes failure is not an option; sometimes it is a good learning opportunity.
Posted at 02:06 PM in History, Space | Permalink | Comments (0)
Period. 🏳️🌈🏳️⚧️ pic.twitter.com/BZ7zim4drX
— Dept. of Agriculture (@USDA) June 2, 2023
It was blockapalooza on that thread, with exactly what you'd expect from bluechecked mouthbreathers: countless variants of "only real women have periods" (4th grade called and wants their stupid jokes back), "how much of this money could've helped feed people" (dril called and wants his schtick back), "what does farming have to do with sexuality" (Dead Milkmen called and want their soil back), etc, etc, etc.
My favorite is that old chestnut, "get rid of this unconstitutional department." Not gonna do a deep dive into legislative history or constitutional arguments at this point, but I find it amusing to think an entity that's been around since 1839 (as a division within the explicitly constitutional Patent Office), and cabinet level since 1862 (through a duly passed act signed by that Lincoln guy they love to claim) is repugnant to the Constitution for reasons*.
But I cannot let something I found traipsing through the Journals go unremarked. On February 17, 1862, Representative Richardson (Democrat from Illinois) laid upon the Clerk's table: the petition of citizens of the United States, praying Congress to drop the negro question and attend to other business; which was referred to the Committee on Agriculture. Same as it ever was...
* Gonna let Tony Vaffanculo Scalia have a quick word: "A governmental practice...that has the validation of long, accepted usage, bears a strong presumption of constitutionality."
Posted at 10:41 AM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
What a wonderful world this would be.
Posted at 09:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
My friend and Friend, Mustang Bobby:
I’m not a huge flag waver. I don’t have a rainbow flag on my car, and I don’t wear symbols of my gayness on my lapel or my sleeve. I don’t have a problem with people who do, but it’s just not me. If people are going to take me for what I am, then they can do it without a semiotic clue or a preconceived idea. It’s probably my Quaker philosophy coming through, but I believe in leading in silence and letting my life be the symbol of what I am.
Also, I’m not sure if “pride” is the right word to describe how I feel about being gay. It’s a part of who I am — and always have been — and yet it doesn’t define me any more than the rest of what makes me who I am, so I find it hard to label it. To me, the word “pride” also carries with it a certain amount of exclusion, as if being gay was something that places me on a different plane than other people. I suppose that’s true in some respects, but it also feeds the mindset that being gay is somehow different than any of the other things that make each of us unique, and therefore something to be feared. I’m not proud to be gay, but I’m not ashamed of it, either. I just am. That is why, even under the onslaught of the bigotry and hatred of certain state governments and cheap political stunts by ambitious politicians who believe that no one ever lost an election by exploiting the abstract fears and paranoia of the ignorant, I cannot allow them to cast a pall over my life.
We all bear witness in our own way, which is as much the point of Pride as is joy. Being a fellow traveller, I appreciate MB's testimony of integrity; I also appreciate acts of subversion.
Posted at 06:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
I always say to the kids, "please don't burn down the house."
Posted at 09:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Home:
My home is not made of gold.
My heart is not made of ice.
My soul is not made of plastic.
No, my home is a peaceful
flower that no one can pick.
I am there when I am reading.
I am there when I am frightened.
I am there when I am calm.
Yes, you can enter.
But first repeat after me:
My heart is not made of ice.
My soul is not made of plastic.
Joseph Fasano's 8yo niece.
Posted at 08:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
211 years ago today, the Father of the Constitution asked Congress for our very first declaration of war (how quaint):
We behold, in fine, on the side of Great Britain, a state of war against the United States ; and on the side of the United States, a state of peace towards Great. Britain.
Whether the United States shall continue passive under these progressive usurpations and these accumulating wrongs, or, opposing force to force in defense of their national rights, shall commit a just cause into the hands of the Almighty Disposer of Events, avoiding all connections which might entangle it in the contest or views of other powers, and preserving a constant readiness to concur in an honorable re-establishment of peace and friendship, is a solemn question which the Constitution wisely confides to the legislative department of the Government. In recommending it to their early deliberations I am happy in the assurance that the decision will be worthy the enlightened and patriotic councils of a virtuous, a free, and a powerful nation.
The House debated a resolution until June 4, when it passed 79-49. The Senate followed suit on June 18 with a 19-13 vote in favor, and the president signing that same day:
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That war be and is hereby declared to exist between the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and the dependencies thereof, and the United States of America and their territories; and that the President of the United States is hereby authorized to use the whole land and naval force of the United States to carry the same into effect, and to issue to private armed vessels of the United States commissions or letters of marque and general reprisal, in such form as he shall think proper, and under the seal of the United States, against the vessels, goods, and effects of the government of the said United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and the subjects thereof.
I suppose it's notable that no Federalist voted to approve what some derisively called "Mr. Madison's War":
One sure way of avoiding war in 1812 was to abandon the effort to protect American commerce against the Orders in Council. Opposition leaders, John Randolph of Roanoke and some Federalists, advocated this course. Jefferson and Madison believed this to be impossible, economically, morally, and, above all, politically.
In economic terms, they believed it would mean loss of a substantial trade with the Continent, vital to American merchants and farmers and to maintenance of a favorable trade balance. In moral terms, they believed it would be wrong to abandon American citizens engaged in lawful occupations to the lawless rapacity of the European powers. In political terms, they believed it would have struck at American sovereignty and honor, and, most important of all, disgraced the Republican party and republicanism.
Given prevailing conditions and climates of opinion the need to build a strong economy, affirm national independence, maintain national morale, and support republicanism and the party of republicanism against its presumed enemies—could responsible Republican statesmen have made any other decision?
The opposition, which also included a smattering of Democratic-Republicans, wasn't entirely wrong to question whether we were even prepared to go to war. Just look at the ashes of our poor Library of Congress.
Anyway, what a lovely little war, more failed invasions of Canada, etc, all simply resulting in status quo ante...
Posted at 05:30 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
Posted at 07:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)
"Are you the new person drawn toward me?"
To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy’d satisfaction?Do you think I am trusty and faithful?Do you see no further than this façade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion?
Walt Whitman.
Posted at 09:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Samuel Pepys on this date, three hundred years before my birth:
And thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now so long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand; and, therefore, whatever comes of it, I must forbear: and, therefore, resolve, from this time forward, to have it kept by my people in long-hand, and must therefore be contented to set down no more than is fit for them and all the world to know; or, if there be any thing, which cannot be much, now my amours to Deb. are past, and my eyes hindering me in almost all other pleasures, I must endeavour to keep a margin in my book open, to add, here and there, a note in short-hand with my own hand. And so I betake myself to that course, which is almost as much as to see myself go into my grave: for which, and all the discomforts that will accompany my being blind, the good God prepare me!
With all the crap - including shrapnel from when my retina was detached a few years back - floating around in my eyeballs, it's likely at some point I'll have to close up shop here in similar fashion. Eh, I'm sure nothing I write will survive the passage of time, which is just as well.
Posted at 03:42 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
Don't know much about the French I took, but I'll never forget the apocryphal story of an English soldier yelling, "God forgive us: we have burned a saint!"
Posted at 09:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
You were behind me, but when I turned
there was the wrangling of crows
and the long grass rising in the wind
and the swelling tips of grain
turning to water under a black sky.
All around me the thousand
small denials of the day
rose like insects to the flaming
of an old truth, someone alone
following a broken trail of stones
toward the deep and starless river.
Philip Levine.
Posted at 07:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
McCarthy: We might have a child that has no job, no dependents but sitting on the couch, we’re going to encourage that person to get a job and have to go to work, which gives them worth and value. pic.twitter.com/HwUrHKXihb
— Acyn (@Acyn) May 30, 2023
I've got two such children, neither have dependents (sadly, Sadie cannot claim her American Girl dolls), and I can barely get them to put their trash and laundry in proper receptacles. Still don't want them to go work in the salt mines.
That said, Sam is actually rather excited about turning 14 so he can join UFCW 3000 and pick up some extra scratch at Thriftway. I look forward to his bringing home some TP or maybe a rotisserie chicken after work.
Posted at 03:18 PM in Local Color | Permalink | Comments (2)
Rejoice, O young man, while you are young, and let your heart be glad in the days of your youth.
Posted at 09:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d:
I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,But I saw they were not as was thought,They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer’d not,The living remain’d and suffer’d, the mother suffer’d,And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer’d,And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.
Walt Whitman.
Posted at 07:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
George E. Stephens, who served in the 54th Mass as an NCO and officer (battlefield commission), concluded in Why Should a Colored Man Enlist?
When time's ample curtain shall fall upon our national tragedy, and our hillsides and valleys shall neither redden with the blood nor whiten with the bones of kinsmen and countrymen who have fallen in the sanguinary and wicked strife; when grim visaged war has smoothed his wrinkled front and our country shall have regained its normal condition as a leader of nations in the occupation and blessings of peace—and history shall record the names of heroes and martyrs who bravely answered the call of patriotism and Liberty—against traitors, thieves and assassins—let it not be said that in the long list of glory, composed of men of all nations—there appears the name of no colored man.
Sgt Henry F. Steward (pictured above/right) donned the blue suit:
A twenty-three year old farmer from Adrian, Michigan, Henry Steward enlisted on 4 April 1863 and was mustered in on April 23. Steward served as a non-commissioned officer and was actively engaged in the recruiting of soldiers for the regiment. He died of disease at the regimental hospital on Morris Island, South Carolina, on 27 September 1863, and his estate was paid a $50 state bounty.
Standing at attention with his sword drawn in this full-length study, Steward is posed in front of a plain backdrop, but a portable column has been wheeled in to add detail on the left. Hand-colored trousers and buttons highlight the uniform in this ambrotype of Sergeant Steward.
Survived the assault on Wagner only to be felled by disease (which caused 2/3 of the 600k+ deaths) in "the last large-scale conflict fought without knowledge of the germ theory of disease."
Posted at 04:10 PM in History | Permalink | Comments (0)
I liked this tune aeons before I became the old man.
Posted at 08:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
You, created only a little lower thanThe angels, have crouched too long inThe bruising darknessHave lain too longFacedown in ignorance,Your mouths spilling wordsArmed for slaughter.The Rock cries out to us today,You may stand upon me,But do not hide your face.
Maya Angelou.
Posted at 07:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Guy who has only seen Blair Witch Project, watching this video: Getting a lot of Blair Witch Project vibes from this…
Posted at 09:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Sometimes,when they say this to the child,when they murmur this tothe retreaters, when they chidethe innocents, when they mouth thisto the God-fearing, God-loving,(christe eleison) grow up. in this world.grow up, and not in the direction towardswhich stars burn. they mean grow evil. evil ...the morning glories wrap themselves as theycrawl up the grey garden fence.like snakes, they wrap themselves around thewooden planks.bless the Lord,oh, my soul.
Carolyn Marie Rodgers.
Posted at 08:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
...and the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion.
Posted at 10:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
I pouring derision hot upon my days,
Hurrying to solder twisted chords of this music,
Catching the threads with bitter broken fingers,
Could I affirm the common way?
Once it was measurement of laughter,
Song in the berry, wisdom in the wine,
Oblivion for hereafter, and to stumbling time
Whirlwind. Yes, we had made our madness holy,
Worshipped the witless feet, bought off the fates
Till they were aged to mellow languor.
I was a fool, eating the violet-colored flowers,
Bruising untasted fruit, or pretending to shadows.
And all the while the years swirled over me,
Eddied about the darkness of my eyes.
Clarence Weinstock.
Posted at 09:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)