Andersonville Road Trip

When given the opportunity to take students on the road, I never pass it up.  Teaching on-site is a true passion of mine because I often feel constrained by the four walls of my classroom.  Getting students out there to walk where history happened allows them to have a much more personal connection to the subject.

Several years ago I began taking students up to the Andersonville National Historic Site in southwestern Georgia.  We do a mock trial beforehand in which students recreate the war crimes trial against Captain Henry Wirz who was the commander of the infamous prison camp.  We cap it off with the six hour road trip to visit the site for the weekend.  It is an optional trip for students and their families.

Rather than giving just your standard run of the mill tour, I always have both the students and parents actively engaged in activities while we are there.

While at the site, I give each student their own bag of items which represents the items that they would be bringing into Andersonville if they had actually been a prisoner.  Items include things like beef jerky, an orange, scissors, money, canteen of water, candles, peanuts and various other items.  When we enter the reconstructed front gate, students are then allowed to look at their items to determine how or why the particular items would be valuable to survival.  What is usually interesting is that students often begin to exchange items with each other.  Since we have already studied Andersonville, students usually pick up on the fact that their items would probably not have lasted very long since "fresh fish" were often attacked and robbed.  This is an activity that could easily be done in the classroom as well.

At designated sites on the tour we also read diary entries from survivors describing the conditions of the camp.  Some describe the horrors of the prison while others show aspects of daily life.  This year my creativity was inspired by a trip to Michaels and I bought each student a small bottle to gather up a sample from Providence Spring.  In August 1864, an intense storm approached the stockade and a single bolt of lightning slammed into the ground just inside of the prison, opening up a natural spring which provided some much needed fresh drinking water. The sudden appearance of this spring most likely saved hundreds if not thousands of lives. For years after the war ended, survivors would go to Providence Spring and drink from it saying it provided good health and good luck. Students were excited to have their own sample to take home.

Arguing the case to parents

Our trip also provided students with the opportunity to show off their debating skills to their parents.  When we got to the location where Wirz's office was, students were split into their prosecution/defense teams they had during the mock trial and were given a few minutes to argue their case for or against Captain Wirz in front of the parents who drove up.  This year, it was quite a lively debate with a majority of the parents saying Wirz was guilty.

At the end of our tour we visited the cemetery in which the 13,000 victims are buried.  The week before, I printed off a list of the victims and hung it up to give students a visual representation of what 13,000 actually looked like.  Each student then selected a name and wrote a remembrance card and put together a bouquet of flowers for the soldier.  When we visited the cemetery each student took their own tribute plus another classmates and placed it on the designated grave.  This is one of those things that could have been either a great success or an epic failure due to not being able to find the proper graves.  Luckily it was a huge success because my students said it made the whole experience much more personal since they felt more connected to the buried soldier.

In addition to visiting Andersonville, we also toured the Habitat for Humanity Global Village where they learned about the organization and visited mock ups of homes that they build throughout the world.  We ended the weekend by attending a Sunday school class taught by President Carter which  is a whole other blog post.  All in all this years trip was a huge success and students came in this morning still buzzing about what a good time they had.  I had a wonderful time too, but man am I exhausted.

President Carter post coming soon!

Pieces of History: Connecting Past to Present

 

 Oftentimes I get asked why I became so interested in history.  This, of course is usually after they tell me how much they hated history in school.  How boring it was.  How it was all just a bunch of useless facts and dead people.  Why should they care and why the heck would I devote my life to teaching it?  I try my best to not get offended but sometimes it is difficult, especially since I would never dream of telling another person that their job mad no sense.

I can understand their views because there were times during my youth that I had teachers who droned on fact after fact until not only our eyes glazed over, but theirs did as well.  I believe that the key to teaching history is to create a personal connection to it.  Offer up something that students can actually feel and touch.  Create some genuine emotion.

When I was a little 4th grade hell raiser, I could sense my teachers frustration.  I was the poster child for ADHD and very little could hold my interest very long, least of all history.  Actually, math would usually send me over the edge into a full blown manic wave of hysteria but that is another story.  I vividly recall Mrs. Wolf grabbing me by my shoulders multiple times and just yell "STOP!" when I was screwing around.

One day we went on a field trip of Civil War sites surrounding our town in northwest Arkansas.  At the beginning, I was much more concerned about whether my mom had packed a enough cookies in my lunchbox to really care about what we were actually going to see.  We were dropped off at a location known as the Headquarters House which served as headquarters for the Union commanders during a little skirmish that took place close to our downtown area. We were greeted by a little old man and I honestly assumed he had actually fought in the war.  He led us around and took us to a parlor area and pointed out a small hole that was in the door and told us that it was an actual bullet hole from the Civil War.  He passed around a bullet similar to what had gone through the door and we each handled it, absorbing its weight and carefully passed it to each other.

He then encouraged us to go up and touch the bullet hole.  This was especially shocking to me because every museum I had ever been to had barriers and huge signs everywhere saying "DO NOT TOUCH".  The fact that he encouraged us to touch it seemed so foreign and against the rules.  I glanced at Mrs. Wolf and she was scowling which was normal but did not voice her disapproval. As I touched the small bullet hole and felt its smooth edges covered by multiple layers of white paint I was transfixed.  I was actually touching history!  It was not something just in a book.  This was the real thing.  I often point out that this experience is what made me fall in love with the subject.  This was not just some random fact thrown out there or some battle maneuver droned on about.  This was a piece of history and I was allowed to touch it.

This is is the sense of wonder I try to bring into my own classes.  I love using objects to tell the personal stories of past events.  One of my favorites is using a replica of Lt. George Dixon's gold coin from the Hunley.  For years it had been rumored that Lt. Dixon had carried this "lucky" gold coin with him.  It had been given to him by his sweetheart back home and had saved his life during the Battle of Shiloh when it had deflected a bullet.  Nice story, but like so many of these stories, many are embroiled in myth and legend.  When the wreck of the Hunley was discovered, the conservationists hoped that the gold coin would be found, but it was considered to be a shot in the dark, but remarkably in 2001 it was found on the remains of Dixon glinting golden like it was brand new.  It even had an inscription that had been etched into it which said

Shiloh
April 6, 1862
My life Preserver
G. E. D.

Another story that interests students are the names carved into the floor of Stone House at Manassas.  After the second battle that occurred there, Privates Eugene Geer(aged 18) and Charles Brehm(aged 21) were taken to one of the rooms on the second story of the house to await treatment for their wounds.  While there, they each carved their names into the floorboards.  When teaching about it we talk about why they possibly did it.  Perhaps it was just graffiti.  Perhaps it was simply a reminder that they existed and felt this was the one way they could be remembered.  Geer died almost a month later

of his wounds while Brehm lived until 1909.

Years ago, I set out on a quest to visit every site that I teach about so in addition to telling the stories about the actual event, I tell about the misadventures I had while on the site.  From having my appendix explode at Fort Sumter to spending the night alone at the Lizzie Borden house, students enjoy hearing the story behind the story.  To get the pictures of the carvings at Manassas I had to do some SERIOUS sweet talking and groveling to be allowed to go upstairs.  I explained I had been to Manassas several times(I really had) and each time I was denied access.  Being the only one in the house at the the time, the park ranger finally relented and allowed me to go upstairs as long as I was super quick before other people came into the house.  I'm not exactly sure why they never let people up there.  Perhaps safety?  Regardless, I was able to get my own pics.  Sure, I could have searched for them on Google, but there is just something much more authentic about seeing it with your own eyes and getting your own pics.   Then again, maybe I'm just nuts.

Stories like these and many others like it are personal reminders that history is not just about a bunch of dead people and endless facts.  They serve as a personal time machine to the past.  Often we can come to realize that we are all connected to the past in many different ways.  The emotion of history is so important to get across because it creates that deeper connection.  I just hope that by sharing these stories I can help create that same sense of wonder that my 4th grade hellion self had when I actually "experienced history for the first time.

Storehouse: Visual Storytelling

I have to admit that tapping on the App store gives me a bit of anxiety.  Each time there's a brand new arrival of new and wonderful apps that are going to revolutionize life as we know it, or at least claim to.  Then there's Flappy Bird but that's a whole new and frustrating blog post. 

At times I get a bit of app overload and just as soon as I get really used to one, then another new great one pops up.  Storehouse is one that has caught my eye and creativity recently.  Basically, it is a visual storytelling platform that allows user to create stories through text, pictures, and short videos. It has a very user friendly layout and allows users to upload directly from an iPad through the camera roll, Dropbox, and Instagram.  It is so easy that within minutes it is possible to create a beautiful and engaging presentation.

Over the past few weeks, I have become a bit of an addict to the app which is pretty rare.  My ADD self generally gets tired of apps very quickly and I delete them, looking at them again only when I peruse all my past purchases(amazing how they add up). I have had a wonderful time going through old pictures and videos to create my first stories.

I look forward to having students use Storehouse and envision that it will be very useful in creating projects that involve photography.  In the near future, my Civics classes will work on a project in which they take photos of the Constitution at work in our daily lives.  I plan on setting up a class account so that they may each submit their projects to one site.  I can imagine that by working with the app, many new opportunities will present themselves.

Being such a new app, I am excited to see how it will grow and improve.  I do hope that Storehouse will provide a good way to embed stories on outside websites.  I would like to be able to directly embed my stories on my own website without having to go to the app.  I look forward to new and improved updates.

With all that said, I simply encourage everyone to give Storehouse a try and begin to experiment with it.  Look to the stories that are already created.  Not only do they provide inspiration, they are also great entertainment.  Be sure to check out my own stories by searching for One if by Land Adventures.

History Makes Me Vomit

I have been teaching American History for over 10 years now and I still love the subject.  It seems that there is always something new to learn no matter how many times I have learned it before.  It is with that spirit that I began to try to visit every historic site that I teach about.  There is something special about actually being at the actual location that brings the story to life much more than just reading from a stale old textbook.

A few years ago I was accepted into a phenomenol NEH Institute called Voices Across Time in Pittsburgh.  I decided to take the opportunity to use the experience to go on a historical road trip and visit as many places as possible on the journey there and back.  My itinerary included D.C., various Civil War battlefields, and the 4th of July in Philly.

I was very excited to get going, so much so that I just gave up on trying to sleep the night before and headed out of town at 4 in the morning(the lack of sleep did catch up with me though and I ended up napping in a Wal-Mart parking lot somewhere in the middle of Florida).  As I crossed the Florida/Georgia state line I stopped for gas and grabbed a yogurt to eat on the road.  As a travel tip, I would not suggest buying yogurt in a place that sells bait because after getting halfway through it I began to have regrets. 

My first official stop was to be Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina.  Fort Sumter was where the opening shots of the Civil War occurred and being a Civil War buff, I was really excited to finally see it.  As I began to get closer to Charleston, a wave of ill feeling came over me and I began to feel progressively worse with each passing mile. I figured that it was the sketchy yogurt I had eaten earlier and figured that pulling over and getting something real on my stomach would not hurt.  I saw a Subway up the road and pulled over to grab a quick sandwich.  As I got out of the car I was wracked with pain but hobbled my way into the restaurant.  Honestly, I don't know what the heck a sandwich would have done but it did seem like a good idea at the time.  I choked down part of the sandwich in hopes it would calm the demons inside me, but it seemed to have only angered them even more.

By the time I finally got to Charleston I was a hot, sweaty mess, but I absolutely refused to believe I was actually sick and walked toward the National Park Service Visitor Center for the next ferry out to the fort.  With an hour to wait, I went to the bathroom to throw some cold water on my face.  When I looked in the mirror, I simply could not believe it was me.  I was dead man pasty and my eyes were dilated.  Now, I'm normally pretty darn white, but this was totally abnormal.

The boat ride turned out to be an experiment in terror.  The rocking back and forth, plus the heat turned my stomach into a boiling cauldron.  I could not imagine throwing up because I had not actually gotten vomit sick since I was four years old.  This was a a totally foreign feeling for me, but despite the misery I soldiered on, keeping the Civil War soldiers in my mind.  Surely, they had experienced far worse than a tummy ache.  I didn't want to be a wimp.

I have a strong passion for historical preservation and try to instill that into my students.  I feel that these sites should be approached with respect, dignity, and reverence.  As I toured around the fort, I kept running back and forth to the bathroom to throw cold water on my face, but I still wanted to get the most out of the experience.  Looking at a plaque with at least two dozen other tourists, I felt that unmistakeable feeling that I was gonna puke.  I fought it hard, but the juices began to swell in my mouth and all of a sudden I exploded like vile volcano all over the plaque and the surrounding area.  The tourists scattered like crazy.  A little old lady in a wheelchair took off like she was in the Indy 500.  And then of course, there I was continuing to release the contents of my stomach all over a national shrine.  So much for dignity and respect.

Fort Sumter had survived war and scores of tropical storms and hurricanes through the years, but I managed to close down a whole section of it.  The NPS got me back on the boat and people kept giving me the stink eye and stayed far away for fear I would unleash again.  Upon landing at the dock I decided to forgo any other touring for the day and checked into a hotel, where I continued to be sick. 

After suffering through the night, I drove the next morning to Virginia, where I planned to do Colonial Williamsburg and the Historic Triangle.  By the time I finally arrived there, I was so weak and sick that I just crashed in the hotel and prayed that all would be better by morning.  I was mistaken.  The next morning I looked at my itinerary longingly and knew that all my plans would be put on hold until I got medical attention.  With Pittsburgh being my destination, I headed towards there, passing D.C., Philly, Antietam, and others along the way.  I was miserable at the thought of the lost opportunity.

To make matters even worse, I realized I had forgotten all my insurance information and frantically called my school to see if they could fax it to me once I got to the hospital.  I do not remember too terribly much about the drive, but apparently I scared the hell out of our business office because they kept calling me, begging me to pull over and call 911.  Later on, I was told that I was speaking gibberish and muttering about all sorts of things, including reading out the speed limit signs every time I passed one.

I got to Pittsburgh and found a hospital.  I walked in and said that I had REALLY bad food poisoning and that I needed help. I then just sat down in the middle of the floor and refused to move until they hauled me onto a wheelchair and into an examining room.  It did not take too long to diagnose me with appendicitis and I was whisked off to emergency surgery. 

The next thing I knew I was in recovery shivering uncontrollably with the surgeon standing over me shaking his head. Without much of an expression on his face he said "Mr. Fowler, you should be dead."  Not exactly the sentiment I figured I would receive, but I was at least relieved to be alive.  Later on he informed me, that my insides were a wreck and that the appendix had burst two days before while I was most likely at Fort Sumter.  He had never heard of anyone surviving that long with the toxins running through them.

Now let me tell you one thing, being that sick away from everyone you love just plain sucks.  Sure, the morphine trigger helped the first day, but after they took it away, I was left alone for 3 days with sadistic but well meaning nurses barging in every hour to poke and prod me to get a new blood sample.

I would like to say that the three day hospital stay was it, but when our class visited Gettysburg two weeks later, I was overcome with fever and had to be rushed to the emergency room once again to treat infections in my abdomen.  Another three days and I got to have a wonderfully attractive drain installed in my back that was connected to a collection bulb which smelled like death.  I tried to Febreze the thing but nothing curbed my stench.  My fellow classmates did their best to not to wince every time I passed by, but needless to say "drain boy" had to eat alone for several lunches.

All in all it took at least nine weeks to get over my battle.  I didn't even mention my rather unique roommate during the Philly institute, but honestly that is a whole book itself.  I like to tell my students that the Civil War got kicked off at Fort Sumter, but Sumter also declared a Civil War on me.