Category: History

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Moon

Remember when we landed on the moon? (That we comes very easily: not sure if I mean we humans or we Americans, who really made it happen, and then went on to other, much less grand things.) As Rob, among others, remembers, our initial visit to that rock out there happened 39 years ago today.

I’ll save the reminiscing for some other time. Maybe I can get my brothers to write parallel versions of our great 1972 expedition to Florida to watch Apollo 17, the last moon launch.

But until then: By way of my brother John: some nifty NASA video of the Earth and the moon, as no one had ever seen them back in 1969.

[Soundtrack below, by way of the late Nick Drake]

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A Lincoln Letter: ‘Quarrel Not at All’

Letter from Abraham Lincoln to James Madison Cutts, October 26, 1863.
First page of a letter from Abraham Lincoln to Army Capt. James Madison Cutts, counseling him to refrain from further quarrels with his fellow officers. (Library of Congress)

Today’s edition of The Journal of Interesting Things You Learn While You’re Supposed to Be Doing Something Else (this installment could be called “Abe Lincoln and the Peeping-Tom Hero Guy,” but that would be silly and wrong):

Researching one topic, I stumbled upon another in the form of this letter from President Lincoln to Captain James Madison Cutts, Jr., dated October 26, 1863. The letter is fairly well known , and I encountered it in the Library of America’s “Lincoln: Speeches and Writings 1859-1865” (pp. 530-31). Here’s the entire letter as published:

“Although what I am now to say is to be, in form, a reprimand, it is not intended to add a pang to what you have already suffered upon the subject to which it relates. You have too much of life yet before you, and have shown too much promise as an officer, for your future to be lightly surrendered. You were convicted of two offences. One of them, not of great enormity, and yet greatly to be avoided, I feel sure you are in no danger of repeating. The other you are not so well assured against. The advice of a father to his son “Beware of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, bear it that the opposed may beware of thee,” is good, and yet not the best. Quarrel not at all. No man resolved to make the most of himself, can spare time for personal contention. Still less can he afford to take all the consequences, including the vitiating of his temper, and the loss of self-control. Yield larger things to which you can show no more than equal right; and yield less ones, though clearly your own. Better give your path to a dog, than be bitten by him in contesting for the right. Even killing the dog would not cure the bite.

“In the mood indicated deal henceforth with your fellow men, and especially your brother officers; and even the unpleasant events you are passing from will not have been profitless to you.”

Reading this, one naturally wonders: who was the recipient of this profoundly wise and kind advice, and what became of him?

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My Club

Because California has joined the national movement to hold presidential primaries no later than the beginning of the previous year’s Christmas shopping season, we had two primary votes this election cycle. On SuperDuper Tuesday, we voted for presidential candidates and a slew of ballot measures. Yesterday, we voted on state legislative races, a couple more initiatives, some local officials, and party central committee members. (Not that I know who the members of the Alameda County Democratic Party Central Committee are, and not that I understand what it is they do. I voted for one yesterday, Wes Van Winkle, because–I know someone who uses this method for betting on horses–I like his name. He didn’t win.)

I felt blasé about the election. I didn’t have any strong feelings about anyone or anything on the ballot. When I finally overcame my inertia to go vote late in the afternoon, the polling place was deserted. The poll workers acted like they hadn’t had much business all day (someone commented that I was the 57th person to vote for the day; they had been open for 10 hours at that point). This is in Berkeley, where people miss no opportunity and spare no effort to express their opinions.

I don’t know the city turnout. But countywide, 24.24 percent of registered voters cast ballots (that includes mail-in/”absentee” ballots). Pretty anemic, but better than the statewide figure, 22.2 percent. In our SuperDuper primary, 57.7 percent of registered voters participated, and 60.1 percent in Alameda County.

That February vote got a lot of attention because of the high turnout. It’s true that it was the highest in a long time (see the California Secretary of State’s table (PDF file) of primary election statistics going back to 1910). But if you go back to the 1980 primary, 63.3 percent of registered voters turned out–perhaps because of the presence on the ballot of Proposition 13, the initiative that slashed property taxes in the state and helped make it much, much harder for counties to raise them. Or maybe not: 1980 itself marked the beginning of a long term trend toward lower primary turnouts in presidential years. The primaries from 1964 through 1976 all recorded turnout from 70.95 to 72.6 percent.

Of course, if you look at yesterday’s statewide participation in terms of percentage of eligible voters, it’s much lower. California has about 23 million people qualified to go to the polls; about 16 million are registered. Yesterday’s turnout was just over 3 million, or a shade over 13 percent. I never thought that by voting I’d be in an exclusive club.

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Guest Observation: Tom Paine

“Man did not enter into society to become worse than he was before, nor to have fewer rights than he had before, but to have those rights better secured.”

(From “The Rights of Man“)

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Snapshots

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One blogger I read faithfully posted a picture and invited guesses as to what it is. I and others surmise it’s a picture of three Japanese soldiers during World War II, but anything more precise about the circumstances is just a guess.

That first picture intrigued me, and I went looking for other pictures of Japanese soldiers during the war. I eventually lit on this–a collection of Flickr photos. The photographs–and that’s one of them above (click for larger version)–were posted by a guy who is in possession of a photo album his grandfather picked up on Guadalcanal during the war. Most of the pictures depict a sailor (or perhaps marine), some alone, most with compatriots, in a variety of settings: on shipboard, some apparently in China. There are a few family shots, and a couple pages depicting the Japanese royal family. Nearly all the pictures have handwritten captions.

The guy who posted the pictures also started a blog–WWII Japanese Photo Album–which says he intends to “get this long lost treasure back to its family.” It’s a long shot–but a great project.

Meantime, you look at the pictures of the young men in sailor’s and soldier’s gear and you think, “These were just kids.” Odds are, most of the ones you see here didn’t survive the war.

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End of a Desperate Ruffian

Doing some research on a possible future project, I came across this: a judge passing sentence in a Revolutionary War case that today might be called today attempted murder with special circumstances. The prisoner, named Abijah Wright, had with several confederates broken into the home of a Pennsylvania militia colonel; his intent was to murder the colonel or deliver him to the British; but the colonel, aided by one of his sons, “discomfited” the attackers. Wright was captured, tried and convicted of “felony and burglary,” and sentenced to death. (He was also charged with treason, but there’s no record of how the jury disposed of that charge, apparently; I found a recent paper on Wright’s trial, one of nearly two dozen similar proceedings held in late 1778 and early 1779 in Philadelphia).

Here’s what the judge had to say to Mr. Wright:

“YOU have been indicted of a burglary and thereto pleaded that you were not guilty, and for trial put yourself upon God and your Country: They have found you guilty. What have you to say, why sentence of death should not be pronounced against you?

“(A long pause ensued and no answer)

“A copy of your indictment, and of the panel of the jury who were to try you, was delivered to you many days before your trial, that you might be prepared in the best manner for your defence and challenges. Upon your trial you have had two able Counsels assigned you by the Court to render you every possible assistance. A sensible and unbiased jury have found a verdict against you upon as clear and full evidence as ever was given in a Court of Justice. It only remains for the Court to pronounce the awful sentence prescribed by law.

“Before this is done it may be useful to you to remind you of the heinousness of your crime, and in what manner you ought to employ the few days which may be allotted to you in this life. The law has so particular and tender a regard to the immunity of a [man’s] house, that it stiles it his Castle, and will never suffer it to be violated with impunity. You have in the dead of night, with a number of desperate ruffians, broke and entered the mansion house of Colonel Andrew Knox, in this county, then peaceably in his bed, it being after midnight, and when all the creation, except beasts of prey, were to be supposed at rest. You broke and entered this house in a hostile manner, with arms in your hands and with an intent to murder the owner, having discharged many loaded muskets at him. It has been alledged, that you might have intended not to murder him, but to carry him away a prisoner to the enemy, then in possession of this city. This is so far from being an extenuation of your guilt, that it is an aggravation of it; for you, in such a case, would have been guilty of treason. … [Y]ou, his countryman … attempted to put him into the power and under the dominion of his inveterate foes, foes to God and man, by whom you were sure he would at least have been confined in a loathesome dungeon, if not assassinated, or starved to death. But he, with the assistance of his son, discomfitted seven of you, whatever your wicked purposes might have been, and has proved that he was not deficient in that prowess and courage necessary for the station he was in. …

“Let me intreat you for God’s sake, who wisheth not the death of a sinner; for Christ’s sake, who died for all mankind; for your own sake, whose eternal happiness or misery depend upon a sincere repentance; to reflect seriously upon your past life, to redeem your time, and to be earnest and importunate at the throne of grace for mercy and forgiveness. If your desire the conversation, advice or prayers of any pious divines, or other good men, the Court will use their best endeavors to obtain them for you. Do not go out of the world in the manner too, too many thoughtless wretches in your condition are apt to do. Be convinced of the justice of your punishment, ask pardon of your offended country; but strive, above all things, to make your peace with God.

“Having now discharged my duty to you as a Christian, I must resume the office of the Judge.

” ‘YOU shall be taken back to the place from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and there be hanged by the neck until dead.’ God be merciful to your soul.”

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Guest Observation: Tom Kettle

Two or three weeks ago in my Irish history class, we were going over the World War I years. One of the things the professor does is weave in poetry and song; he has even sung a song or two despite the palpable discomfort of many of his auditors. For the poetry, his habit is to declaim a stanza or two unless the piece is quite short. During the World War I lecture, he brought in a sonnet by a man well-known in Ireland but little known elsewhere: Tom Kettle.

Kettle was an Irish nationalist of the Home Rule stripe. Meaning: He hoped for an independent Ireland, but supported a campaign to create an Irish government that would still be part of the British Empire. Just as that goal was about to be realized, the European war broke out. When the fighting began, in August 1914, Kettle was in Belgium trying to buy guns for Irish nationalist militias. Instead, he spent several months helping the Belgians in their futile bid to hold off the German onslaught. Prompted largely by what he had seen, he volunteered for service in the British army when he returned home and recruited fellow Irishmen into the ranks. Among radical nationalists, who held to the age-old position that England’s difficulty was Ireland’s opportunity, Kettle’s position was akin to a sellout. When the nationalists launched the Easter Rising in Dublin in 1916, Kettle was devastated; though in poor health, he asked for a front-line combat position. He was sent to France to join an Irish unit in the Battle of the Somme.

It was there that he wrote “To My Daughter Betty, The Gift of God”:

In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown
To beauty proud as was your mother’s prime,
In that desired, delayed incredible time,
You’ll ask why I abandoned you, my own,
And the dear heart that was your baby’s throne
To dice with death. And, oh! they’ll give you rhyme
And reason: some will call the thing sublime,
And some decry it in a knowing tone.
So here, while the mad guns curse overhead,
And tired men sigh, with mud for couch and floor,
Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead,
Died not for flag, nor King, nor Emperor,
But for a dream, born in a herdsman’s shed,
And for the secret Scripture of the poor.

The poem’s postscript reads: “In the field before Guillemont, Somme. September 4, 1916.” Kettle died leading his troops into action five days later.

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Peace ‘n’ Love ‘n’ the Olympic Torch

The New York Times published an excellent piece this morning about the origins of the Olympic torch relay and how it relates both to the ancient Greeks and our enlightened 2008 world. The story recounts the invention of the torch-lighting ritual and relay especially for the 1936 Berlin Olympics and Leni Riefenstahl‘s intended paean to Aryan culture, the film “Olympia.” I remember the movie’s opening sequence, but had no idea at all that I was watching the birth of the whole torch routine. In the movie, the Times’s piece recounts, “the torch is conveyed from one bearer to the next and ends in Berlin at a 110,000-seat stadium where it ignites an altar of flame. Through shimmering heat the sun itself can be seen, vibrating in sympathy. And Hitler salutes the cheering crowds. This passing of the torch thus demonstrates a lineage of inheritance — a historical relay — making Nazi Germany the living heir to Ancient Greece. A claim was being staked. ”

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Insane

Once upon a time–not that long ago, really- it wasn’t necessary to hunt too far to understand the reasons for strange behavior. If someone acted in a bizarre way, they were nuts. End of story. That isn’t a very nuanced view of the world of yesteryear, but I think it’s generally true (interesting to note, however, that when a genuinely crazy person happened upon the scene and committed some outrage, they were more often than not held to account as if they were responsible. Case in point: Charles J. Guiteau, the off-his-rocker assassin of President James A. Garfield; but that’s another story for another time). Anyway, here’s what occasions this brief rumination: a story from a 1906 edition of The New York Times that details the strange behavior of one of the city’s finest:

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Blog Billiards

A few days ago, before this last blog mini-hiatus, I posted a 108-year-old item from The New York Times (“Forced to Drink Beer“). The story describes a couple of bar denizens as “laughing immoderately.” That phrase prompted Marie, a regular reader from Springfield, Illinois, to search for it in the Times archives and link to the search in a comment. I’m not sure what period she searched, but “laughed immoderately” appears 59 times. Looking through the list of those who expressed mirth or amusement in this rather unrestrained manner, I saw that one of those whose guffaws are memorialized forever in the Times archives is Governor John P. Altgeld (see the clip below).

In responding on Marie’s comment, I mentioned the governor’s 1893 cameo in the search results. I referred to him as John P. “Eagle Forgotten” Altgeld, the second-greatest man who ever lived in Springfield (OK — your mileage may vary). “Eagle Forgotten” is the title of a biography of Altgeld first published (I think) in 1938. The book takes its title from a Vachel Lindsay poem about Altgeld, “The Eagle That Is Forgotten.” After reading my comment, Marie posted the poem.

OK, now: Rob, a blogger near New Orleans who reads both Marie’s posts and mine, read the poem. He’s in the habit of citing a blog of the day, and after reading “The Eagle That Is Forgotten,” linked to a Vachel Lindsay site.

I just like the serendipitous nature of this exchange. To keep it going, here’s another item to check out: the sculpture “Eagle Columns,” by Richard Hunt, at the southwestern corner of Sheffield, Lincoln, and Wrightwood, about a mile south of Wrigley Field. I happened across it one day on a long walk up to my parent’s place. Weirdly, I can’t find a single decent image of this installation online. Anyway, here’s what The New York Times had to say about it recently:

“The inspiration for … ‘Eagle Columns’ (1989) …was Mr. Hunt’s interest in two Chicagoans of the 1890’s, the liberal Illinois Governor John Peter Altgeld and the poet Vachel Lindsay. An ensemble of three soaring bronze towers, each surmounted by a fantastical eagle, commemorates the two: Altgeld, who pardoned three anarchists convicted of inciting violence during the Haymarket Square riot of 1886 on the ground that their trial was unfair, and Lindsay, who eulogized Altgeld in a paean titled ‘The Eagle That Is Forgotten.’ The monument is in a park across the street from Mr. Hunt’s Chicago studio.”

The park is Jonquil Park, and it’s in Altgeld’s old neighborhood. Also in the vicinity: his grave in Chicago’s Graceland Cemetery. (And if you’re really in a mood to get out and see Altgeld-related sites in Chicago, try here and here.)

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