One of the great benefits of being teacher is the time off. Although many of us spend our breaks keeping up our credentials and taking classes, the time away from students can help re-energize us and give us the time to actually get caught up on a little thing called life.
As is custom, I am hitting the road once again and using my trip home to Arkansas to see my dad as sort of another way of getting to see the history of our land. Just mere blocks from my hotel in Atlanta is the Gone with the Wind Museum! Well, that actually might be one to skip. I cannot even begin to imagine what they probably have in that place.
On the agenda for this journey is a visit to the Chickamauga Battlefield. Although I have passed by it a number of times, I have never actually stopped there. In recently digging up some information about my family history, I discovered that my great great great grandfather visited the site right after the battle and was horrified by the sight of the bloated corpses being ripped apart by wild dogs. It led him to a lifelong stance of pacifism which was passed down to multiple family members and even is present today.
I'm not really sure where the rest of my trip will take me but it is always interesting to see what I can find.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
McHistory
There has been much debate about large corporations like Walmart and Disney trying to build on historic grounds. Critics say it will destroy history and demean the memory of those who fought and died for this country. As an ardent preservationist, I I have to agree. While it might not be possible to save EVERYTHING, I still think its important to hold onto what we can.
Driving through Virginia, you are inundated with all kinds of history from the very beginnings at Jamestown to more battlefields than you can count. While touring around where Chancellorsville was fought, I could not fight the road hunger any longer and reluctantly stopped off at a McDonalds that was oddly Civil War themed with cannons and Civil War murals covering the walls. I was both horrified and amused, but that Big Mac was still calling my name.
Upon getting ready to leave, we ordered coffee to get us through the upcoming driving. Since they make such high class coffee, it was taking a while so I started looking around at the paintings and one of Stonewall Jackson caught my eye. I had known that Jackson was shot by his own men out of confusion and had died as a result of the wounds and the onset of pneumonia days later. The caption on the painting said that a gravesite for Jackson was just a quarter of a mile away. Now this wasn't just any grave, it was the grave for his arm which had to be amputated after he was shot. With coffee in hand, I was on a mission to find the strange little grave.
Steve, my traveling companion, instantly rolled his eyes at the detour and I could tell he was seriously thinking about catching the next flight out of Richmond if this was gonna be any indication of where the rest of the trip was going to take us. Of course, I was in bliss at the prospect of finding this weird little piece of history.
The grave is located in a tiny family cemetery on Ellwood Plantation. The story goes is that on May 3, 1863 following the amputation, Reverend Beverley Tucker Lacey visited the field hospital and disvovered the severed limb. Not content with just burying it with other legs and arms, the good reverend wrapped the carnage up in a blanket and took it to the home of his brother where they buried it. I often wondered what type of ceremony they had. Considering Jackson was still alive, I wonder if they prayed over it or did the usual stuff associated with a burial.
Regardless, we found the plantation and asked a groundskeeper where we would find the arm. He laughed a bit and pointed us down a path that led to the cemetery. The location is marked by a single marker which says simply "Arm of Stonewall Jackson. May 3, 1863. Despite the fact that it is a family cemetery, Jacksons arm is the only thing buried there. I guess the rest of them knew they couldn't compete so they up and left.
As I stood there staring at the marker and wishing that I had a shovel to confirm the existence of the arm, I was filled with an odd gratitude to McDonalds toward leading me here. Usually, after a Big Mac, I am cursing their existence, but between the rumblings of my unhappy stomach, I actually was thankful for McDonalds. It made me realize that history can be learned in the strangest of places.
Recently, I also found the location where the rest of Jackson died on May 10, 1863. It is located at Guinea Station, Virginia about 26 miles away. A similar marker marks that spot. My future goal is to complete the journey and locate where the rest of Jackson is buried but that will have to be a future summer trip. Maybe a nice Wendy's Frosty will lead me there.
Driving through Virginia, you are inundated with all kinds of history from the very beginnings at Jamestown to more battlefields than you can count. While touring around where Chancellorsville was fought, I could not fight the road hunger any longer and reluctantly stopped off at a McDonalds that was oddly Civil War themed with cannons and Civil War murals covering the walls. I was both horrified and amused, but that Big Mac was still calling my name.
Upon getting ready to leave, we ordered coffee to get us through the upcoming driving. Since they make such high class coffee, it was taking a while so I started looking around at the paintings and one of Stonewall Jackson caught my eye. I had known that Jackson was shot by his own men out of confusion and had died as a result of the wounds and the onset of pneumonia days later. The caption on the painting said that a gravesite for Jackson was just a quarter of a mile away. Now this wasn't just any grave, it was the grave for his arm which had to be amputated after he was shot. With coffee in hand, I was on a mission to find the strange little grave.
Steve, my traveling companion, instantly rolled his eyes at the detour and I could tell he was seriously thinking about catching the next flight out of Richmond if this was gonna be any indication of where the rest of the trip was going to take us. Of course, I was in bliss at the prospect of finding this weird little piece of history.
Regardless, we found the plantation and asked a groundskeeper where we would find the arm. He laughed a bit and pointed us down a path that led to the cemetery. The location is marked by a single marker which says simply "Arm of Stonewall Jackson. May 3, 1863. Despite the fact that it is a family cemetery, Jacksons arm is the only thing buried there. I guess the rest of them knew they couldn't compete so they up and left.
As I stood there staring at the marker and wishing that I had a shovel to confirm the existence of the arm, I was filled with an odd gratitude to McDonalds toward leading me here. Usually, after a Big Mac, I am cursing their existence, but between the rumblings of my unhappy stomach, I actually was thankful for McDonalds. It made me realize that history can be learned in the strangest of places.
Recently, I also found the location where the rest of Jackson died on May 10, 1863. It is located at Guinea Station, Virginia about 26 miles away. A similar marker marks that spot. My future goal is to complete the journey and locate where the rest of Jackson is buried but that will have to be a future summer trip. Maybe a nice Wendy's Frosty will lead me there.
The Power of Place
I have a very odd way of traveling. Rather than hitting the malls or theme parks, I head straight to the most obscure historic sites. Those lucky(or unlucky) to go along with me are usually dragged to places far off the beaten road in search of some decaying gravestone.
Naturally, as a history teacher it would be normal to do those things, but to me it has become sort of a weird and sick obsession. Sometimes I wonder if I could end up on one of those reality shows where people have the strange addictions. I don't think I'm that far gone, but then again, I did hear of a museum that reportedly held Lincoln's last bowel movement. Sadly, the place was closed down. One would think people would be beating down the doors to take a look, but I guess I'm wrong.
Regardless, there is a very real power that is in these places. Going to Antietam and walking through the fields that in 1862 were drenched in blood, one can't help but be moved by the experience. I will often find a quiet spot at these locations and just try to commune with the past. I must admit that sometimes it can be an eerie experience, becauseI can truly sense an almost psychic imprint where some of these things occurred.
Years ago, when I was in high school our teacher showed us a video about Emmett Till. Emmett was a 14 year old black boy from Chicago who went to spend the summer with relatives in Mississippi during the summer of 1955. Emmett broke one of the big rules of segregation by whistling at and supposedly talking fresh to a white woman. Emmett was kidnapped in the night, beaten and killed for his "crime". The two men, J.W. Milam and Roy Bryant were aquitted of the murder but later confessed in graphic detail later on to Emmett's death.
For years, the story stuck with me and I even had the chance to speak with Emmett's mother shortly before her death. She told me her side of the story and did not think Emmett intentionally whistled at Carolyn Bryant. She blamed it on a speech issue he had in which his word endings ended with a whistle sound, especially when he was nervous.
Naturally, as a history teacher it would be normal to do those things, but to me it has become sort of a weird and sick obsession. Sometimes I wonder if I could end up on one of those reality shows where people have the strange addictions. I don't think I'm that far gone, but then again, I did hear of a museum that reportedly held Lincoln's last bowel movement. Sadly, the place was closed down. One would think people would be beating down the doors to take a look, but I guess I'm wrong.
Regardless, there is a very real power that is in these places. Going to Antietam and walking through the fields that in 1862 were drenched in blood, one can't help but be moved by the experience. I will often find a quiet spot at these locations and just try to commune with the past. I must admit that sometimes it can be an eerie experience, becauseI can truly sense an almost psychic imprint where some of these things occurred.
Years ago, when I was in high school our teacher showed us a video about Emmett Till. Emmett was a 14 year old black boy from Chicago who went to spend the summer with relatives in Mississippi during the summer of 1955. Emmett broke one of the big rules of segregation by whistling at and supposedly talking fresh to a white woman. Emmett was kidnapped in the night, beaten and killed for his "crime". The two men, J.W. Milam and Roy Bryant were aquitted of the murder but later confessed in graphic detail later on to Emmett's death.
For years, the story stuck with me and I even had the chance to speak with Emmett's mother shortly before her death. She told me her side of the story and did not think Emmett intentionally whistled at Carolyn Bryant. She blamed it on a speech issue he had in which his word endings ended with a whistle sound, especially when he was nervous.
Last Christmas, I was on my way to Arkansas to visit my dad and of course the road trip took some unexpected turns through Mississippi. I felt drawn to the site of Bryants Grocery where the infamous whistle took place. The town of Money where the store is barely registers on a map. As I barrelled through the cold cotton fields, I wondered if I would ever find it, but just when I began to lose hope, I rounded a corner and there it was. The remains of Bryants Grocery is boarded up and it is covered with thick ivy. It stands like a lonely skeleton on a dusty road, quietly whispering its story to those who drive past. As I stood there for a while, I could imagine Emmett coming down the road with his cousins, not knowing that buying some candy would result in his death. I felt compelled to leave a small remembrance there and decided to leave a small poinsettia. Originally, it was intended for my mother's grave, but I figured she would have understood. As I placed the poinsettia down, I noticed a few small faded notes with quotes by Martin Luther King Jr. and other sentiments.
Going to these places, I feel intensely connected to the people and events. I challenge everyone to do the same. DisneyWorld and all those other touristy places are wonderful, but try and get off the main highway once in a while. Sometimes there are some powerful lessons and experiences to be had and you don't even need a Disney Fast Pass to see them.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Reflections on 9/11
Throughout the last week I have been watching the mounting 9/11 coverage and then got up early this morning to see the services being held in New York, Washington D.C. and Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Although 10 years have passed, it still seems so fresh and new.
10 years ago, I was just beginning teaching in Tampa and trying to settle in with the new environment and new students. I honestly do not think there is any way to prepare for a day like 9/11 as a teacher. On one hand I wanted to shield my students from the carnage, but the American history teacher in me had to share with them about what was going on.
As my 2nd period marched into class they were their typical 8th grade selves, chatting wildly and securing seats for their friends. I began by telling them that there was a situation in New York and they refused to believe me. I had played a trick on them the previous week so many of them looked at me in amusement and waited for the punchline. Rather than trying to convince them, I grabbed a radio and turned it on.
For the next hour we sat and simply listened as the world changed with each passing minute. Some kids stared at the radio while others quietly prayed. We were all too shocked to cry. That came later as the numbers lost being reported became humanized through pictures and stories. It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had as a teacher.
Today, I had to eventually turn the television off and went out for a bike ride with the intention of visiting our 9/11 memorial that was dedicated on Friday. Since that fateful day 10 years ago a group known as the Bayshore Patriots have gathered each Friday on Bayshore Boulevard. The corner where they gather is now home to a beam from the World Trade Center. As I visited a steady stream of people crossed the street to pause and reflect at the memorial.
Despite the nightmare that occurred 10 years ago, I have been encouraged by how good actually came from it in the form of memorial foundations and charities established in their honor. The families actually took that pain and turned it into something positive. Could there be a better legacy?
10 years ago, I was just beginning teaching in Tampa and trying to settle in with the new environment and new students. I honestly do not think there is any way to prepare for a day like 9/11 as a teacher. On one hand I wanted to shield my students from the carnage, but the American history teacher in me had to share with them about what was going on.
As my 2nd period marched into class they were their typical 8th grade selves, chatting wildly and securing seats for their friends. I began by telling them that there was a situation in New York and they refused to believe me. I had played a trick on them the previous week so many of them looked at me in amusement and waited for the punchline. Rather than trying to convince them, I grabbed a radio and turned it on.
For the next hour we sat and simply listened as the world changed with each passing minute. Some kids stared at the radio while others quietly prayed. We were all too shocked to cry. That came later as the numbers lost being reported became humanized through pictures and stories. It was one of the most powerful experiences I have ever had as a teacher.
Today, I had to eventually turn the television off and went out for a bike ride with the intention of visiting our 9/11 memorial that was dedicated on Friday. Since that fateful day 10 years ago a group known as the Bayshore Patriots have gathered each Friday on Bayshore Boulevard. The corner where they gather is now home to a beam from the World Trade Center. As I visited a steady stream of people crossed the street to pause and reflect at the memorial. Despite the nightmare that occurred 10 years ago, I have been encouraged by how good actually came from it in the form of memorial foundations and charities established in their honor. The families actually took that pain and turned it into something positive. Could there be a better legacy?
Saturday, September 10, 2011
This is the story of Paul
Throughout the last few years my constant traveling companion has been a beat up old doll of Paul Revere. I picked him up as a souvenir and took a picture of him at the gravesite of the real Paul Revere. Since then, little Paul has traveled thousands of miles and has been photographed more times than a Kardashian, but unlike a Kardashian, he deserves the fame.Little Paul has been on the hunt for John Wilkes Booth, survived a night with Lizzie Borden, been locked up in Alcatraz, cooked with Paula Deen, and even attended Sunday School with Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter. His outfit is fading and he is developing kind of a funky smell, but until he starts ripping apart, he will continue to be my muse. So throughout my entries on One if by Blog you will most likely see him pop up in pictures.
The Ride Begins
There is nothing better than a field trip. As a young kid, I remember being so excited at the prospect of getting out of the classroom , even if just for an hour. Every year the highlight would be our annual field day in which we would compete in games against other schools. For some reason I was always the kid that got volunteered for the potato sack race, that is until my career ending broken ankle in the fifth grade.
As a teacher, I still get excited for field trips and look forward to taking my students to Boston each year for a journey into our revolutionary history. A few years back I set the goal of visiting every historic site that I teach about. I have done very well thus far but there is a nagging feeling that I always have when I leave each spot.
Since I began teaching 15 years ago I have had a dream of teaching students on site. Not just as a tour guide but as a teacher. In recent years, I have felt that the confines of the classroom have been a bit suffocating and have been wanting to take my passion for teaching history on the road. Visting all of these places in the last few years has cemented my drive to teach on location. This is where the idea for One if By Land Adventures came into being.
My dream is to transition from a classroom teacher and take my lessons to the actual sites where I will teach students through live feeds and pre-recorded lessons. I also envision visiting schools and bringing history to them through live reenactments and re-creations of famous historic events. For years, I have been been turning our schools theatre into the aftermath of the Boston Massacre, with students investigating the crime scene. I can only imagine what it could become with a REAL budget.
One if by Blog is the first step toward making my dream become reality. I am excited at the prospects and hope that you will join me on all my future adventures through our past.
As a teacher, I still get excited for field trips and look forward to taking my students to Boston each year for a journey into our revolutionary history. A few years back I set the goal of visiting every historic site that I teach about. I have done very well thus far but there is a nagging feeling that I always have when I leave each spot.
Since I began teaching 15 years ago I have had a dream of teaching students on site. Not just as a tour guide but as a teacher. In recent years, I have felt that the confines of the classroom have been a bit suffocating and have been wanting to take my passion for teaching history on the road. Visting all of these places in the last few years has cemented my drive to teach on location. This is where the idea for One if By Land Adventures came into being.
My dream is to transition from a classroom teacher and take my lessons to the actual sites where I will teach students through live feeds and pre-recorded lessons. I also envision visiting schools and bringing history to them through live reenactments and re-creations of famous historic events. For years, I have been been turning our schools theatre into the aftermath of the Boston Massacre, with students investigating the crime scene. I can only imagine what it could become with a REAL budget.
One if by Blog is the first step toward making my dream become reality. I am excited at the prospects and hope that you will join me on all my future adventures through our past.
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