General musings

Greetings from Kure Beach, NC. We arrived here this afternoon. Kure Beach is the town where Fort Fisher is located, and the little inn where we’re staying is part of the northernmost reaches of Fort Fisher. It was certainly fought over during the Union assaults on Fort Fisher. It’s very cool being able to say that we’re sleeping on a battlefield, even if it has been completely obliterated. We will be here until Sunday morning, when we head for the Outer Banks. I’m speaking to the Cape Fear CWRT on Thursday night.

I spoke to the Raleigh Civil War Roundtable last night. It was a good talk, the first time I’ve done one on Monroe’s Crossroads. One fellow came up to me before the talk and handed me two small boxes of slides taken during an Army staff ride on the battlefield in 1994. He had no real use for them, and thought I might like to have them. He gave them to me as a gift. Fortunately, the AV guy was still at the North Carolina Museum of History, and we were able to use the slides in my talk, even though I was seeing almost all of them for the first time along with the audience. It made things interesting, to say the least.

The weather is not good. It’s cool and very cloudy and never got above 70 today, certainly not beach weather. However, the worst day at the beach is still significantly better than the best day at the office. That’s how I’m looking at it…..

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Susan and I purchased this house in March 1995. It was built in 1968, and featured lots of lovely early Brady Bunch decor features such as olive green floor tile, harvest gold appliances, yellow bathroom fixtures, and lovely flocked wallpaper. We were only the third owners of the house (and still are, for that matter). The thing is that neither of us has ever liked this house. She thought I liked it, and I thought she liked it. Consequently, we decided to purchase this place even though we both hate it. The only things it had going for it are that it is located precisely halfway between Susan’s mother’s place and Susan’s grandmother’s place, and that it has a large fenced yard that’s great for large dogs. However, even that is not without its problems–there’s a portion of the yard that has atrocious drainage, and about half the time, it’s like gelatinous goo out there with bottomless mud that provides a very attractive nuisance for golden retrievers. Needless to say, we spend far more time than we might otherwise enjoy wiping muddy doggy feet as a consequence. We moved in on tax day, and have been here ever since.

When Susan’s grandmother died, we ended up with a bunch of her crap that got stuck in our basement. Then, when Susan’s mother died, we ended up with a lot of her stuff, too. Mix in the fact that we tend to be clutter people and have way too much crap of our own, and it’s a real recipe for disaster.

There’s a nearly 40 year old silver maple tree in the front yard. At this point, it’s as tall as the house, which means it has a huge root network. That huge root network is the root of our problem. The roots broke up the masonry main sewer line, and it then backed up into the basement. Not realizing that the line was broken, we had it snaked out, and everything was okay for about two months, and then it happened again. The plumber ran a camera down the line, and we got to see the true state of affairs: the line was hopelessly broken in multiple places and was far beyond repair. Seven thousand dollars later, we had a brand new PVC main sewer line that’s impervious to the roots.

The problem is that two major back-ups of the main sewer line turned the basement into a toxic waste zone, and we avoided the problem by not going down there unless absolutely necessary. It’s incredibly dusty down there–I am allergic to dust–and God only knows what else. We’ve realized that try as we might, we can no longer avoid that particular zone of the house, and tonight we started cleaning it out. It’s a horror zone down there, and finishing the job is going to be a nightmare. I suspect that I’m going to have to end up hiring someone to finish the job, I recently saw and check out this House Cleaning service in Boise for better results. Because I’ve already got a sinus headache from the short time I had to spend down there. It’s a damned good thing that there’s very little down there worth keeping.

I can’t wait to get out of this house that I hate, but I absolutely dread the process that will be entailed.

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This is a quick follow-up to Wednesday’s post about plagiarism by the Harvard undergrad. It bears noting that her publisher, Little Brown, has done the right thing, and has pulled the book off the shelves until a revised edition can be brought out. Although Little Brown will take a bath on this, it did the honorable and correct thing, and I tip my hat to the people there who made this difficult decision. Megan McCafferty, the author whose work was plagiarized, has apparently decided that that is a sufficient remedy, and has elected not pursue further action against the plagiarist.

While I can certainly understand and appreciate that, I do wish that she had decided to pursue further action against the plagiarist, if for no other reason than to send a clear and unambiguous message that plagiarism is not acceptable, and that there is a severe penalty to be paid for plagiarism. Perhaps then, we might see some headway being made toward making this problem a bit less commonplace and a bit less acceptable.

Kevin Levin noted in his blog today that even he, as a high school teacher, sees this problem with his students. As Kevin properly points out, ultimately, freely stealing someone else’s intellectual property is, in fact, a reflection on the character of the plagiarist.

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I saw the first review of my Monroe’s Crossroads book today. Because Savas-Beatie prepared bound galleys of the book for review purposes, the review actually was written before the book was released, as it was written for inclusion in the monthly mailer for the History Book Club. The book was chosen as an alternate selection of the month for the Club. William C. “Jack” Davis wrote it, and it was extremely flattering. In fact, I couldn’t have been more pleased with it if I had written it myself. That it came from someone of the stature of Jack Davis made it all the more exciting for me.

Im not a member of the HBC, so I had to work my network today to track it down. It took a bunch of e-mails and several hours, but I did get it. A couple of people were kind enough to get a copy of it for me from the HBC web site. A couple of others are also sending me the published version of it so I have it as included in the packets that were sent out to Club members.

It also carried me back to the publication of my first book in 1998. The book, Gettysburg’s Forgotten Cavalry Actions, was published in June of that year, and the first review did not appear until October. I remember waiting for it with a combination of great impatience but tremendous fear, all at the same time. I had no idea how it would be received by the reviewing public. So, when the issue of Civil War News arrived that contained the review of my book, my hands were literally shaking. I finally got to it, and my heart felt like it stopped.

And then I read it.

When it was a good review, I let out a whoop of joy. It felt like a ten thousand pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I still get excited when I see good reviews of my work, but nothing will ever feel like that first one did. There’s only one first time for anything.

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As the author of eleven books, I’ve signed a lot of books in my life. As an example, the Civil War Preservation Trust purchased 2,200 copies of my book on the Battle of Trevilian Station, to be given away as a premium for a fundraiser to purchase battlefield land at Trevilians. I signed and numbered 2,000 book plates and 200 actual books, usually 200 per day, for eleven days. By the end of it, I thought I had perpetual writer’s cramp.

It happened again with my book on East Cavalry Field. CWPT was in the process of raising funds to pay for a preservation easement for a parcel of land across the street from the battlefield. This time, it was another 2,000 book plates, signed and numbered. I did the same thing again–200 per day until finished. Once again, I had what seemed to be a permanent case of writer’s cramp.

I just got done signing a bunch of copies of my new book for some of Ted’s customers. This is the first time that I’ve done this–Ted shipped me several cases of books and then forwards to me the invoices. I sign them, pack them, and then mail them. Ted will reimburse me for the postage and for the mailers once this is all said and done. However, this is the first time that I’ve ever done it this way. Hopefully, the four boxes that Ted sent won’t last very long, and he will have to send more. 🙂

I like signing books (within reason, that is). People seem to really enjoy having their book personalized–it makes something that is inherently impersonal and makes it their own. Some folks just want the signature. Others want date and signature. Still others want it truly personalized by including their name, and I usually try to do some sort of an inscription when I do that. I will, however, do it any way that the customer wants. The customer is always right, after all. And it’s all about making sure that the customer is happy. Happy customers are repeat customers.

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Warning: there is absolutely nothing about the Civil War or my historical work in this post. Instead, it’s about my hockey addiction, so please feel free to skip this post if it’s of no interest to you. I promise to get back to the usual rantings about history tomorrow.

Tonight is a sad night in our household. By now, it’s no secret that Susan and I are major NHL fans, although it’s probably fair to say that I’m a bigger fan. I’ve been a serious NHL fan since childhood. The Philadelphia Flyers won their first of two consecutive Stanley Cups in 1974, when I was 13 years old. They won it again the next year, and have never won another one since, although they’ve had some great runs at it since then. Philadelphia was desperate for a winner in those days–the Phillies and Eagles were mired in last place year after year, and the 1973 76’ers had set a record for futility that stands to this day: 9-73. So, when a Philadelphia team finally won a championship, we were all crazy for them. I’ve been a very serious hockey fan ever since, and I remain a loyal Flyers fan to this day.

In 1994 or so, Columbus got an East Coast Hockey League team, the Chill. The team sold out its first 83 consecutive home games before missing one. They were tremendously successful, a prototype for the successful marketing of a minor league sports franchise. We were season ticket holders and rarely missed a game. The success of the Chill led to our getting an NHL expansion team here in 1999.

One of my partners at the law firm and I split a pair of season tickets to the Blue Jackets. The team hasn’t been very good; this is the first time in five years they haven’t finished dead last in their division. This year, they finished third, but were still under .500. They are improving steadily. Going to the games is great fun, and it’s a highlight of my week.

Tonight was the end of the season for the Blue Jackets, who went out in style with an overtime goal by Sergei Fedorov to win the game. They finished 35-47-4, for 74 points. The prior franchise highs were 31 wins and 71 points, so this year was definitely a step in the right direction, and I think that if Rick Nash, the young superstar who had 54 points in 54 games after returning from injuries, had been healthy all year, they would have made the playoffs. It is a bittersweet night here. Hockey season is now over, although I will watch the playoffs and root for the Flyers. It’s going to be a long haul until the next home game, in October. I will be going through withdrawal.

Now it’s back to rooting for the Phillies. Talk about an eternal exercise in frustration…..

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It’s now been six weeks since Cleo had her stroke and we had to put her down. It’s been five weeks since little Miss Aurora came home, although it feels like MUCH longer, thanks to the sleep deprivation.

The thing about puppies is that they aren’t typically housebroken at the age of 8 weeks, which is how old Aurora was when we brought her home. We’re crate training her, but when we’re home in the evenings, and she’s out of the crate, we have to watch her like a hawk, and hustle her outside if she shows even the slightest inclination to pee, or else it’s on the floor. The whole watching like a hawk thing means one of us has to be watching her pretty much constantly, which is a huge disincentive to being productive. Consequently, I have been able to spend exactly two hours on my Dahlgren manuscript since Aurora came home. Needless to say, nothing is getting done and no progress is being made.

Fortunately, she’s getting a little bigger and a little older now, so she now is able to go longer between trips outside, and she’s learning to tell us that she needs to go outside. I think that this means that I will finally get a chance to resume being productive this week. It’s been a long time, and I’m getting anxious about not being productive. That pressure comes entirely from within; I have no publisher for the project as of now, so I have no deadline other than that which I impose upon myself. At the same time, loose ends drive me absolutely nuts, and this is a HUGE loose end. So, I am getting extremely anxious about getting this wrapped up.

I hate being unproductive.

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The puppy got us up early this morning. She decided she had no interest in being in her crate this morning, and got us up early. I was flipping channels while contemplating showering, and came to the History Channel. To my great surprise, there I was on the screen. It was very strange.

In 1999, I was asked to be a talking head in an installment of an hour-long documentary on John Buford then being shot by Greystone for a new series called “The Unknown Civil War”. In March of that year, I went to Gettysburg and met the producer. It was early March, but it was uncommonly warm, nearly 70 degrees, although a violent cold front that would cause the temperature to drop about 40 degrees in no time flat was on its way. It arrived the next day.

That evening, he and I had a couple of cold adult beverages at the Farnsworth House tavern, and then the next day, we went to shoot the film. I woke up REALLY sick that morning, with a very nasty sinus infection. I felt like hell all day, and we regularly had to interrupt shooting in order to blow my nose and try to clear my throat. I managed to struggle my way through the thing, and to my great amazement, I don’t sound as bad as I felt that day, although I certainly know just how sick I was. On top of all of it, it started snowing while I was sitting out on the eastern spur of McPherson’s Ridge, overlooking Iverson’s Pits, filming my portion of the documentary.

A massive cold front blew through that night, meaning that my flight went nowhere (they had flown me into Harrisburg), and I had no more clean clothing. Fortunately, they put us up in a hotel, but I was only supposed to be gone one night, and that’s all the clothing, etc., I had with me. It was really kind of gross having to put on the same clothing again the next day, but I didn’t have much in the way of choices.

I have, of course, seen the video before, and even own a copy of it. However, this series has not aired on the History Channel previously, and it was really a surrealistic surprise seeing a younger version of myself (without the gray hair) on TV this morning.

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I would be remiss if I failed to mention the 141st anniversary of an event as important as the surrender of Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox Court House. 141 years ago today, Lee surrendered his army to Ulysses S. Grant in Wilmer McLean’s parlor. The surrender was the culmination of a relentless pursuit of Lee’s retreating army by the Federals in what was clearly Phil Sheridan’s finest hour.

Lee’s surrender began the process of healing the national wounds rent before and during the Civil War. In large part, this was due to Grant’s realization that he had to offer his adversary generous terms of surrender so that the Confederates could give up their cause with dignity. Grant permitted officers to keep their side arms and the men were permitted to keep their own horses and personal baggage. These simple gestures–intended to permit the enemy to keep their dignity–began the process of healing the nation’s deep wounds.

Likewise, Robert E. Lee deserves a vast amount of credit for realizing that continuing the war effort would bring about a useless effusion of blood. Lee easily could have taken the low road. Instead of surrendering, he could have ordered his command to take to the hills and conduct a guerrilla war that might still be raging today. The men of his army might would have done pretty much anything he ordered, so it is no inconceivable that they might have headed for the hills and a lifetime of bushwhacking.

Jay Winik has written a much-acclaimed but, in my humble opinion, vastly overrated book called April 1865: The Month that Saved America. Winik’s thesis–overstated, in my opinion–is that the generous surrender terms granted to first Lee by Grant, and later to Johnston by Sherman, were critical to bringing about an actual end of the war, and not drag it on as an endless guerrilla conflict. While I think Winik wrote a good book, I don’t believe it is the masterpiece that many–including the present President of the United States–have declared it to be.

Abraham Lincoln had intended to let the South up easy, and had Lincoln not been assassinated, the face of Reconstruction would have been very different indeed. The fact that Lincoln was assassinated by a Confederate sympathizer gave the Radical Republicans an excuse to impose harsh terms upon the South instead of following Lincoln’s plan.

It is, therefore, not beyond the realm of reason to argue that with his assassin’s bullets, John Wilkes Booth nearly undid all of the good done by Robert E. Lee when Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox on the generous terms offered by the Union commander. Fortunately, calmer heads prevailed when Gen. Joseph E. Johnston realized that there was no reason to continue the war in North Carolina once Lee surrendered. Johnston had a nearly insurmountable lead on Sherman’s pursuing army, and Johnston might have continued running indefinitely. Instead, Johnston, a wise man, recognized that, in light of Lee’s surrender, the time had come to end the conflict. When Johnston learned that Lincoln had been assassinated, he was–and for very good reason, I might add–very concerned that Sherman might turn on him and take out the country’s anger and frustration on him and his men, but Sherman was a greater man than that. Sherman, in fact, wanted peace, and not just the surrender of Johnston’s army. Sherman gave Johnston peace terms, not just surrender terms, but an angry and bitter Washington ordered Sherman to revoke those terms and to offer the same terms that Grant had given Lee. Wisely, Johnston accepted those terms, and with that, the war east of the Mississippi River ended.

Again, while I firmly believe that Winik’s book greatly overstates its case, Winik’s point is nevertheless well-taken. The surrender of Lee’s army on the generous terms offered by Grant began a healing process that ultimately led to this country being the great power that it is today.

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Today, it finally hit me that spring has finally sprung. In no particular order, I’ve noticed the following things today:

1. The daffodils are out everywhere. They’re my favorite flower, because they mean it’s spring time.

2. Tomorrow is opening day for major league baseball. If you need proof that it’s spring, I can’t possibly think of better proof than that.

3. We’ve slept with the windows open for the last couple of nights.

4. I have a sinus infection. That’s always a sure sign that it’s spring.

5. One of my neighbors had a new roof put on this week. Nobody does that sort of work in the winter time unless it’s absolutely necessary.

6. The NHL regular season is nearly over. Our Blue Jackets have only eight games left to play. They’ve won five in a row. It’s a crying shame they waited until the tail end of the season to decide to start winning.

7. Susan had the top down on her convertible the other day for the first time this year.

8. Everywhere we looked today, we saw people riding motorcycles. That prompted us to get our bikes out today.

I’m a novice biker. My bike has about 40 miles on it, and my total riding experience equals about 75 miles. We took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation new rider course last fall, and it was deifnitely a worthwhile experience. I’ve already used some of what I learned in the class, including a quick stop today, the first I’ve had to do on the street. My learning curve is still so steep that it’s almost vertical, and I’m still scared to death every time that I get on the bike. I hope to get up the courage to take the thing out on the freeway soon; so far, I have not done so–too scared, not enough experience, and not enough confidence in my abilities on the thing yet. But, it’s a definite sign of spring.

Let’s hope that the weather holds and that there’s no more snow. I love spring, and I hate winter.

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