Remembrance Day

A war ends:

What General Lee’s feelings were I do not know. As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible face, it was impossible to say whether he felt inwardly glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the result, and was too manly to show it. Whatever his feelings, they were entirely concealed from my observation; but my own feelings, which had been quite jubilant on the receipt of his letter, were sad and depressed. I felt like anything rather than rejoicing at the downfall of a foe who had fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so much for a cause, though that cause was, I believe, one of the worst for which a people ever fought, and one for which there was the least excuse. I do not question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of those who were opposed to us.

General Lee was dressed in a full uniform which was entirely new, and was wearing a sword of considerable value, very likely the sword which had been presented by the State of Virginia; at all events, it was an entirely different sword from the one that would ordinarily be worn in the field. In my rough traveling suit, the uniform of a private with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must have contrasted very strangely with a man so handsomely dressed, six feet high and of faultless form. But this was not a matter that I thought of until afterwards.

We soon fell into a conversation about old army times. He remarked that he remembered me very well in the old army; and I told him that as a matter of course I remembered him perfectly, but from the difference in our rank and years (there being about sixteen years’ difference in our ages), I had thought it very likely that I had not attracted his attention sufficiently to be remembered by him after such a long interval. Our conversation grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of our meeting. After the conversation had run on in this style for some time, General Lee called my attention to the object of our meeting, and said that he had asked for this interview for the purpose of getting from me the terms I proposed to give his army. I said that I meant merely that his army should lay down their arms, not to take them up again during the continuance of the war unless duly and properly exchanged. He said that he had so understood my letter. …

***

General Lee, after all was completed and before taking his leave, remarked that his army was in a very bad condition for want of food, and that they were without forage; that his men had been living for some days on parched corn exclusively, and that he would have to ask me for rations and forage. I told him “certainly,” and asked for how many men he wanted rations. His answer was “about twenty-five thousand;” and I authorized him to send his own commissary and quartermaster to Appomattox Station, two or three miles away, where he could have, out of the trains we had stopped, all the provisions wanted. As for forage, we had ourselves depended almost entirely upon the country for that.

***

I determined to return to Washington at once, with a view to putting a stop to the purchase of supplies, and what I now deemed other useless outlay of money. Before leaving, however, I thought I would like to see General Lee again; so next morning I rode out beyond our lines towards his headquarters, preceded by a bugler and a staff-officer carrying a white flag.

Lee soon mounted his horse, seeing who it was, and met me. We had there between the lines, sitting on horseback, a very pleasant conversation of over half an hour, in the course of which Lee said to me that the South was a big country and that we might have to march over it three or four times before the war entirely ended, but that we would now be able to do it as they could no longer resist us. He expressed it as his earnest hope, however, that we would not be called upon to cause more loss and sacrifice of life; but he could not foretell the result. I then suggested to General Lee that there was not a man in the Confederacy whose influence with the soldiery and the whole people was as great as his, and that if he would now advise the surrender of all the armies I had no doubt his advice would be followed with alacrity. But Lee said, that he could not do that without consulting the President first. I knew there was no use to urge him to do anything against his ideas of what was right.

I was accompanied by my staff and other officers, some of whom seemed to have a great desire to go inside the Confederate lines. They finally asked permission of Lee to do so for the purpose of seeing some of their old army friends, and the permission was granted. They went over, had a very pleasant time with their old friends, and brought some of them back with them when they returned.

When Lee and I separated he went back to his lines and I returned to the house of Mr. McLean. Here the officers of both armies came in great numbers, and seemed to enjoy the meeting as much as though they had been friends separated for a long time while fighting battles under the same flag. For the time being it looked very much as if all thought of the war had escaped their minds. …

–U.S.Grant, “Personal Memoirs

‘A Horror Story’

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Pictures that appeared in yesterday’s New York Times. The images are haunting in themselves. There is a long and equally haunting story that goes with them. The man pictured was Isaiah “Cy” Oggins, Born in Connecticut in 1898 to Lithuanian Jewish immigrants and educated at Columbia. At some point he became a Soviet spy, was arrested in Moscow in 1939 (the occasion of the top photos), spent eight years in a prison camp, and was executed (on the day the bottom photos were taken).

The Times story focuses on Oggins’ son, Robin, a history professor in upstate New York. He was about seven years old when he saw his father for the last time, in the late 1930s. The second set of pictures above appeared only when a reporter for Time began researching the Oggins case. (That investigation led to the publication earlier this year of “The Lost Spy,” an attempt to reconstruct Oggins’s fate; the book got an uncharitable review from the Times, and much more favorable attention from the Washington Post and Los Angeles Times. NPR reprinted the first chapter a couple months ago).

The Times piece Saturday focused on Robin Oggins’s hopes to learn more about his father’s fate. The story concludes:

Seeing the final photographs for the first time, Robin wept.

But the photographs arrived late in his life. His wife was ill with Alzheimer’s disease, his mind occupied by his own academic research. He had no means or experience to press the Russian government for help.

“I am a full-time caregiver,” he said. “I do not speak Russian. Practically, I cannot travel. To work on this, I would not know where to begin.”

Still, the photographs raise questions. What did a man, caught at the crossroads of history and reduced to such a state, know? “Abstractly, I want more,” Robin Oggins said. “Practically, it changes nothing. It is still a horror story.”

Bridge and Fog

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A favorite cheap excursion: Oakland to San Francisco and back on the ferry ($4.50 each way if you buy a 20-ticket book). We had rain showers early in the afternoon, and then this fog blew in over the bay. Somewhere in this picture are a couple of 50-story tall bridge towers. After we passed under the bridge, the fog swirled away from a tower for a moment (below). We took the ferry back to the East Bay after dark, and later in the evening a front blew through and cleared out the clouds.

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All-Nighter

The first election night I worked in a newsroom was 1972. Nixon beat McGovern, and the election was called, not prematurely, at 6 p.m. or so, about the same time I walked into the office to start a double shift. My impression of that night is one of disappointment and bleakness mixed with the fun and satisfaction that I’ve always had in doing the news for events both great and small.

I’m not sure I recall the last election evening I was in the newsroom. For a presidential election, it might have been ’88–one that deserves forgetting.

Last night I’ll remember for awhile. Yeah, I’ll admit the outcome was satisfying (though I think my main feelings were relief and a sense of how surreal it is that what came to pass came to pass). But I’ll also remember it for the fun and satisfaction of working with a group that responded well to the work at hand. I went in at 5 o’clock with only a general outline sketched out of where we wanted reporters to go and what sort of stories we’d like them to do. I left after 6 a.m. after watching everyone generate enough good stuff that we could have filled our regular newscasts several times over (luckily, we had an expanded time slot today).

I slept a little. Not enough. I don’t have to work this evening, so I have today to regroup and reflect and hope I won the office election pool.

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Polling Place

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Noontime. Thom and I went to vote together, with the dog in town. Our polling place was quiet. The optical scanning machine used in Alameda County displays how many ballots have been registered for the day, and I was Number 92. So many people do early voting or mail-in voting in our area — maybe 60 percent — that lines at the polls may be a thing of the past.

Lest We Forget

From today’s San Francisco ballot:

Measure R

Renaming the Oceanside Water Treatment Plant — City of San Francisco

(Ordinance – Majority Approval Required)


Shall the City change the name of the Oceanside Water Pollution Control Plant to the George W Bush Sewage Plant?

[Update: Given the general loathing for Bush hereabouts–hey, the measure’s backers had to collect more than 10,000 signatures to get it on the ballot–I expected this thing would pass. But no–it actually lost, something like 30 percent to 70 percent. That shows more class than I figured San Francisco voters had.]

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Do It



Vote today or forfeit you’re hard-won and patience-trying right to whine about the result and its after-effects for the next four years. Really. You tell me you don’t vote, I don’t hear what you’ve got to say about the state of the world. The Cubs, “American Idol,” Angelina Jolie, “the technique of the young Picasso vs. that of the old,” that wild stock market, the latest developments in cosmology, genetics or subatomic physics–we can converse on all that and more (though I don’t promise I’ll understand most of the above). But no bitching about politicians, the system, activist judges, shady lobbyists, budget deficits, or any of the rest of that election-implicated stuff. You open your mouth on any of that, and, to quote the immortal former Chicago cop Jack Walsh, here come two words to you.

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Media at Work

You read, listen to, and watch the media. I’m sure not 30 seconds go by without you saying to yourself, “Boy, this is thoughtful and deep. How did these people get to be so smart?”

Here’s one of our secrets: smart publicists who anticipate our every need and who know our audiences inside out. This morning’s case in point: an email from an agency that will remain unnamed–though lord knows they ought to get all the plaudits they’re due.

Here’s how the email starts out:

EENY MEENY MINY MO: The latest Associated Press poll finds one in seven voters – or 14 percent – are still undecided or could be persuaded to change their minds.

On the eve of the election, our expert guests are available to take one last look into the issues in and surrounding this historic election:

1. Don’t Let Subconscious Prejudices Sway Your Vote At The Last Moment: What if you can’t bring yourself to vote for a black man or a white woman? Are your suddenly prejudice? Cultural Diversity Expert and Consultant for Harvard Business School, Martha Fields, shares how people can process their feelings of emerging racism, sexism or ageism that may have been triggered by this election so you can vote for who you feel is best, regardless of race, sex or age.

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Guest Observation: St. Matthew

Chapter 25

31 ¶ When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory:

32 and before him shall be gathered all nations: and he shall separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats:

33 and he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.

34 Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:

35 for I was ahungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:

36 naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

37 Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee ahungered, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

38 When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

39 Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

40 And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

About This Election I Keep Hearing About

On my mind, as on all of our minds hereabouts to a greater or lesser degree, is this election we’re having the day after tomorrow. I could talk about poll numbers. Or about the masses of people already going to cast their ballots. Or about the Republican smear that popped up during the Sunday night football game. (OK–I’ll give in to that tempration. It was a spot that featured Obama’s image and the slogan “Hate he could believe in” superimposed on a clip of his former pastor, the Reverend Wright, inveighing in his mild way against racism. The ad takes Obama to task for not condemning Wright earlier than he did and concludes: “Barack Obama: Too Radical. Too Risky. “if nothing else, the ad just shows that it’s never too late to go out with a little class.)

Just now, I happened to see a bunch of pictures of kids at a school in Oakland. Kids doing stuff in the classroom. Kids having fun on Halloween. Kids jumping rope. All in all, a pretty happy-looking bunch–sheltered, at least in the pictured moments, from any concerns their families might be having about jobs or money, about crummy housing or living in the toughest neighborhood in town, about health care or immigration status, about what next week or next year might hold.

What you might see in these faces is just children being themselves. No calculation, no guile, no meanness–maybe they were all on their best behavior. They’re just there in the fun of the moment. But moments like that don’t last long enough, and looking at the faces you see something else, too. It’s tempting to call them our heirs, our future, the people who before long will going out to vote in their own elections. The truth is, I’m not sure what I see when I look at these kids, beyond this: Each and every one of them is worth whatever chance we can give them to become the people, the citizens, we would all like to be.

That’s what my vote comes down to.

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