General musings

Today at lunch, I was talking with a friend. She raised a question about some of the things that go into the drafting of a business plan, and I was describing some of the elements of a well-written business plan. Somehow, the issue of the difference between strategy and tactics came up, and I asked her if she knew the difference between strategy and tactics. She did, which surprised me a little bit. However, it got me thinking about those differences and how they play into the effectiveness of a battlefield commander.

Strategy is the “game plan”, if you will. It’s the grand scheme that sets out the final goal of a particular campaign or movement. Tactics, on the other hand, are the means by which the strategy is implemented. Here’s an analogy from my professional life. Coming up with a means of presenting a case to a jury is the strategy. Identifying the witnesses, choosing the exhibits, and coming up with the list of questions to ask that witness are the tactics by which that strategy is implemented. It is possible to be a great strategist and a lousy tactician. It’s also possible to be an excellent tactician but not a good strategist. Those differences become really critical the higher the rank that an officer possesses.

Here’s what I mean by that. An officer may be truly great at designing a grand strategy, but be really bad at making tactical decisions on the battlefield. Here’s a great example of an officer who was a great strategist but who was never known as being much of a tactician–William T. Sherman. Sherman, for instance, designed and implemented the strategy for taking the war to civilians and sapping their will to continue the war. At the same time, Sherman was never considered to be much of a battlefield tactician. In fact, he was generally known as being somewhat cautious and tentative on the battlefield.

William S. Rosecrans is another example of a brilliant strategist who was not great on the battlefield. Rosecrans designed one of the most brilliant campaigns in modern military history in the Tullahoma Campaign, when he, through a series of flanking maneuvers, pushed Braxton Bragg’s army all the way across the State of Tennessee and back to Chattanooga with almost no bloodshed. It covered nearly the entire state and was accomplished without a major battle being fought. However, as plainly demonstrated at Chickamauga, Rosecrans was no battlefield genius. In fact, his battlefield performance often left a LOT to be desired, and his fleeing from the field at Chickamauga and running all the way back to Chattanooga pretty much put the nail in the coffin of Rosecrans’ career as a battlefield commander.

The converse is also true. A guy like John Bell Hood was a truly great tactician on the battlefield at the divisional level, but once he was promoted to corps command and then to army command, he demonstrated no gift for much of anything other than attacking straight ahead. “All of the lion and none of the fox,” Robert E. Lee reportedly said when he learned that Hood had been given command of the Army of Tennessee, and Lee was absolutely correct. In a series of head-long attacks that took little or no account of terrain, strategy, or anything else, Hood pretty much sacrificed an entire army between Atlanta and Nashville.

The truly great captain is the one who has mastered both strategy AND tactics. Those generals are few and far between for what ought to be obvious reasons. The American Civil War produced two such men–Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant. Grant demonstrated his tactical brilliance again and again, but in no instance no more so than at Vicksburg. Lee’s remarkable string of battlefield victories is proof positive of his tactical genius, and he had a real gift for strategy–look at how he drove McClellan’s much larger army back from the outskirts of Richmond in the summer of 1862.

The distinction between strategy and tactics is an easy one to confuse, but it’s important never to lose sight of that difference. It’s the difference between a truly great commander and a mediocre one.

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I’m sitting in the airport in Atlanta as I write this, waiting for my connecting flight on the way home to Columbus. Due to weather, our flight is delayed about three hours, and I am now looking at not getting off the plane in Columbus until 2:30 AM. Sound like fun?

There are few things in life that I despise more than sitting in airports. It’s lost time, time that cannot ever be recaptured. I’ve often thought about sending the airlines bills for my time at my normal hourly billing rate. I know the bills would never get paid, but it surely would make me feel better. Call it civil disobedience if you like.

Of course, wasting time in airports lends itself well to all sorts of random thoughts, a few of which are worthy of including here.

Although it’s not a Civil War book, I’m reading a really fascinating book at the moment. It’s a joint biography of George S. Patton, Jr. and Erwin Rommel by a fellow named Dennis Showalter. It’s really an interesting study–Showalter points out that Patton and Rommel both took different courses to become brilliant armored commanders, both of whom left a tremendous thumbprint on modern warfare. Patton, of course, was an old horse cavalryman who saw the parallels between horse cavalry and modern armor, which Rommel made his fame as a hard-charging infantry officer in the mountains of Italy during World War I. I’m just over halfway through the book–I expect to make a lot more progress on it tonight as I kill time here in this miserable airport. However, of what I’ve seen so far of this book, I can recommend it without hesitation to anyone with an interest in military history.

Being in Atlanta also reminds me of the fragile and terribly delicate nature of Civil War battlefields. Some of the most ferocious fighting of the Civil War took place in and around Atlanta, but with a few notable exceptions, such as Kennesaw Mountain National Battlefield Park, precious little has been preserved. In fact, the vast majority of the battlefields here have been developed and no vestiges of them even remain to give a clue as to how to interpret the fighting that took place there. Pine Mountain–where Lt. Gen. Leonidas Polk was blown to bits by Union artillery–is the home to multi-million dollar houses, and very little survives, other than an obelisk to Polk that is difficult to find and really requires trespassing to reach.

During the Atlanta Campaign, the chief engineer of the Army of Tennessee, a man named Shoupe, designed arrow-shaped redoubts for the defenses of the river crossings. They were unique, groundbreaking designs, and were really novel. They had 18-foot-high walls, and covered the river crossing sites. I am not aware of them being used anywhere else before or since. The remaining shoupades are under dire threat of development, but apparently a recent deal with the developer has been struck to preserve the last two remaining shoupades. Of the original 36 shoupades, only two remain. All in the interest of progress.

Quite coincidentally, Mike Koepke has a post on his blog today about the imminent destruction of another battlefield from the Atlanta Campaign, the Battle of Lovejoy Station. It really is very sad indeed to see the wholesale destruction of these important sites. The post on Mike’s blog indicates that the developer is relying upon the U. S. Supreme Court’s horrific ruling of earlier this year permitting the seizing of private property by eminent domain for commercial development. I will do an entire post on this Supreme Court decision later this week.

Now, I’m all for development and progress, but as I have said here before, there has to be a way for developers and preservationists to work together, and any effort that leads to the voluntary preservation of any historically critical piece of ground is one that I support wholeheartedly. As Rodney King so famously said, “Can’t we all just get along?”

I hope to be able to post again tomorrow, but with as late as we’re going to get home, I don’t know if I will make it. Stay tuned. My own bed is going to look awfully good tonight……

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Reenactors and Living Historians – Definition?

Eric has asked me to write a little piece concerning the definitions of “reenactor” and “living historian.” For the most part, the public doesn’t see much of a difference between the terms, and uses them interchangeably in a generic sense. There are, however, several important differences. Since “reenactor” is a more specific term, I’ll define it first.

A reenactor is one who does a military impression and participates in battles and the resulting “camping” scenario. To put it plainly, these are the soldiers that one sees at battle reenactments. Reenactors are typically members of particular units, and there is a structure to the rank system, just as there is in modern military units. Most often a captain commands the unit, but ranks can be higher. New recruits start at the rank of private and can work their way higher to non-commissioned and commissioned levels.

The term living historian applies to a much broader group. Simply, a living historian is any individual who portrays a historical person – and it can be a military or civilian impression. A reenactor is a living historian, but not all living historians are reenactors. There are many types of living historians, portraying a variety of historical personalities, including but not limited to:

• Military – common soldier, non-commissioned and commissioned officers
• Civilian – common citizen of the period, medical personnel, musical, religious, sutler, wife of a soldier, etc.
• Political – politically significant historical figures (one example would be an impression of Abraham Lincoln)

Therefore, one can see that all reenactors are indeed living historians, but not the other way around. But because the term “reenactor” seems like a general term, the public often applies it to everyone mentioned above.

The term “living historian” is different, by definition, than simply a “historian.” Anyone, such as an author of historical works, a teacher, a researcher etc., is a historian, but a “living historian” presents their avocation by portraying an individual from history. This can be a specific individual, such as Lincoln, Jefferson Davis, Clara Barton, etc., or simply a non-specific person of the period.

All of these terms, incidentally, apply to any period of history. There are many WWII reenactors who dress in the uniform of the period and reenact battles and camp life of the time. If someone resembles, and dresses like, for instance Dwight D. Eisenhower, and only speaks to the public as that persona without actually participating in battles and encampments, then that person is a living historian.

I hope this helps clear up the similarities and differences in the two terms. Once again, “living historian” is the broader term of the two, encompassing military reenactors and those who portray individuals of a particular period in history, and present themselves as such. “Reenactor” is much more specific, applying only to those soldiers who participate in battle reenactments and encampments that the public identifies with particular events throughout the year.

J. D. Petruzzi

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There’s my job, which is how I support myself and my family. And then there’s my avocation, which is researching, writing, and publishing books. The two things are, for the most, not terribly consistent with each other.

My job: I’m a partner in a law firm with a pretty busy practice. I’ve made a career of avoiding domestic relations work, which is all about emotions and almost never about what makes business sense, and criminal defense work, with which I have fundamental philosophical issues. My bent is, and always has been, what makes business sense? The legal issues are what they are, and they have to be factored into the process of making decisions, but my fundamental issue has always been doing things that make business sense. If the legal implications are equal, I will always advise the client to do the thing that makes the most business sense for them.

There are some things about my job that I have always found rewarding. I have always enjoyed the intellectual challenge. I’m a good strategist and a decent tactician, and I love developing and implementing strategies. I enjoy creative solutions to problems. And I do find helping people to be rewarding. At the same time, there’s lots about my job that I absolutely despise. I hate chasing people to get paid. I hate feeling taken advantage of, and that happens much more often than I might otherwise like. It frustrates me to no end and really sours me toward the field. There are too many lawyers who decide that every case is worth fighting to the death over–even if it doesn’t make economic sense to do so–and they make life miserable for all of us. There are way too many lawyers and not enough good work, so a lot of bad lawsuits get filed. It makes all of us look bad, and it means that legitimate claims are often swept under the rug. It’s a very stressful existence, and I don’t bounce back from it the way I did when I was younger.

On the whole, after 18+ years of doing this for a living, I’m soon going to reach the burn-out point. The problem is that it pays well, and we have become accustomed to a nice standard of living. The term for my situation is “golden handcuffs”, and I wear them. Until I can figure out how to support myself at something close to the accustomed standard of living, I’m stuck here, and I’m stuck practicing law.

Which brings me to the point of this post–which is NOT looking for sympathy. Unlike the likes of J. K. Rowling, the most I have ever made in a given year from all of my historical work combined is about $10,000, which is certainly nothing even remotely close for a family to live on. If only there was a way that I could make a decent living with my historical work, I would certainly be a much happier guy. I really love the publishing business. The work we do at Ironclad is some of the most rewarding work I do. However, it’s the same story….we simply don’t make enough money to be able to take a dime out of the company. So, what we have is a company that does really good work–we publish some real quality works–but that is severely limited in what we as a company can do, and whatever we accomplish with it is basically a labor of love, because we certainly haven’t ever gotten paid a dime for anything any of us has done on behalf of the company. And, the trend in the publishing industry is shrinking sales–which will probably shrink even more if Google’s reprehensible copyright infringement scheme is permitted to proceed–meaning that there’s not a lot of opportunities for Ironclad to really expand or take on a really significant place in the market. So, as much as I love the process of giving birth to a book, both as author and as publisher, the money’s just not there for it to be financially viable.

However, it is what it is–history is something that gets short shrift in this society, which is much more interested in bling and in pop culture than learning from the lessons of history. I personally find it appalling that an airheaded bimbo whose sole claim to fame is genetics such as that moron Paris Hilton sells hundreds of thousands of copies of the crap that is ghostwritten for her, but people don’t buy history books except every great once in a while when the likes of David McCullough turns out a great book, but that’s definitely the exception and not the rule. Jessica Simpson’s marital issues and Britney Spears’ baby are far more important to the vast majority of Americans than understanding our historical heritage and what that means to the rest of us. Until that changes, it means that guys like me will continue to have to be amateurs who work at history as an avocation and not a vocation. And that’s sad.

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Today is November 19, the 142nd anniversary of the Gettysburg Address. The anniversary has really taken on a life of its own in Gettysburg.

Every year on Remembrance Day, as the anniversary is known, there is a parade of reenactors honoring the soldiers who fought at Gettysburg. I have never been there for the Remembrance Day parade, nor does the event hold even the slightest, tiniest little bit of interest for me.

I’m not a “living historian,” whatever that means (I say “whatever that means” because I have yet to come up with a definition of the term that more that two people agree with). Three very close friends of mine portray individuals who were at Gettysburg. One portrays Lt. Gen. James Longstreet. One portrays Col. Thomas C. Devin, and the third portrays Col. William Gamble. All three were there today, although I doubt that the fellows who portray Devin and Gamble participated in the parade–they usually set up shop on McPherson’s Ridge and educate people about John Buford’s stand on July 1. I’m not sure about General Longstreet. Because they do first-person impressions of figures who played significant roles in the Battle of Gettysburg, this is understandably an important event for them.

I’m also not a reenactor. I won’t get into the issue of farbs and realism. Suffice it to say that I am 6’3″+, I weigh more than 275 pounds, and I’m generally a big guy. I’m also 44 years old and have more gray hair than brown at this point in my life. Your average Civil War cavalryman was 5’3″, weighed 130 pounds, and was in his 20’s. I can’t even remember the last time I weighed 130 pounds, but it was probably in middle school. I also haven’t been on a horse since I was a child. Yet, my primary interest is Civil War cavalry. Given my own limitations, I would be one of the guys that people laugh at as reenactors. Hence, being painfully aware of my own limitations, I choose to avoid the issue. ‘Nuff said about reenacting.

I’m a guy who researches and writes, and who studies the war and the men who fought for something that they believed in. Consequently, the anniversary of Lincoln’s great speech–arguably THE greatest speech ever given by a politician–has never held much interest for me, even though the speech itself is compelling and fascinating. I absolutely hate being in Gettysburg when there are huge crowds there, and this, along with the anniversary of the battle, is one of two times per year when the crowds are immense. I get very uncomfortable in those kinds of crowds there, simply because the town does not have the infrastructure to handle it. You can’t park your car. You can’t get a table in a restaurant. The sidewalks are jammed. I could go on, but you get the idea. For me, it’s not a pleasant place to be at those times, and I try to avoid it all costs. That especially includes the anniversary fo the battle. So, I’ve just never had any interest in being there for Remembrance Day, and this year was certainly no exception.

To my friends who were there–I hope you had a great time. I know it’s an event that’s important to you, and I’m glad you were there enjoying camaraderie at an event you particularly enjoy. I hope it–and the parade–was terrific. To Mike and J. D., I hope you had LOTS of interested visitors out there on McPherson’s Ridge.

Having said that, I do regret not being there last year. Last year was the final time that my friend and mentor Brian Pohanka proudly led his Zouaves in the parade. Brian was already terribly ill, and he knew his days were numbered. He told me that he knew it would be his last parade, and that he was going to go and do it, no matter what, and he did. After the parade, he gathered his men around him on Little Round Top and told them that it would be his last time, and that he didn’t think he would be around this year at this time. He encouraged his men to carry the flame and to continue his work, even if he wouldn’t be there with them. I’m told that there was not a dry eye in the crowd, which doesn’t surprise me a bit.

Sadly, Brian was correct. He left us in June, and for those who regularly attend the parade, I’m sure it was strange not seeing him leading his beloved Zouaves down the parade route. I’m sure he was missed, and I hope someone sang “The Vacant Chair” for him this weekend. This was an event that meant a lot to him, and I’m sure he was watching over the parade from a better place, proudly cheering his Zouaves on. Rest well, Brian. You’re missed.

THE VACANT CHAIR

We shall meet but we shall miss him.
There will be one vacant chair.
We shall linger to caress him,
While we breathe our ev’ning prayer.
When a year ago we gathered,
Joy was in his mild blue eye.
But a golden cord is severed.
And our hopes in ruin lie.

We shall meet, but we shall miss him.
There will be one vacant chair.
We shall linger to caress him,
While we breathe our ev’ning prayer.

At our fireside, sad and lonely,
Often will the bosom swell,
At remembrance of the story,
How our noble Willie fell.
How he strove to bear our banner,
Thro’ the thickest of the fight,
And uphold our country’s honor
In the strength of manhood’s might.

True they tell us wreaths of glory,
Evermore will deck his brow,
But this soothes the anguish only,
Sweeping o’er our heartstrings now.
Sleep today o’ early fallen,
In thy green and narrow bed.
Dirges from the pine and cypress
Mingle with the tears we shed.

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As the clocks tolled the arrival of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, the guns finally fell silent. After more than four years of butchery, The Great War, The War to End All Wars, World War I, came to an end.

The anniversary of the end of the war was known as Armistice Day. However, it changed to Veterans’ Day in recognition of the sacrifices of the many men and women who have sacrificed to give us the country we have today. As you go about your business today, think of those brave men and women, and thank them for their sacrifices. Thank them for the country we have today.

A Canadian doctor named John McCrae, weary of the butchery of World War I, left a simple but eloquent tribute to those who gave the last full measure of their devotion.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

I’ve always been an admirer of Lt. Wilfed Owen, who was the embodiment of the warrior-poet. Owen was a brlilliant Scots poet who served in the British army in World War I. He was killed in action a scant two weeks before the armistice, having been through inimaginable hell. With the war-weary eyes of one who had seen too much, Owen chronicled his time in the charnel houses of Europe. His most famous poem, “Dulce et Decorum Est” follows:

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Here’s another of my favorite Owen poems. In light of the war in Iraq, it seems especially appropriate today:

Anthem for Doomed Youth

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, —
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

To all who have sacrificed on my behalf, thank you for your sacrifices and for your service.

In memory of Staff Sgt. Morton L. Wittenberg (U.S. Army, WWII) and Staff Sgt. Joseph R. Pacitto, USMC (Panama, Grenada, Desert Storm). May you both rest in peace with the thanks of a grateful nation..

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I am not a professional historian. In fact, I have never had a formal history class after tenth grade. With two majors and a minor, I didn’t have time to take any history classes in college. This means that I am entirely self-taught.

The fact that I am self-taught is actually a bit of a mixed blessing. On one hand, my mind is not cluttered with theory, and I have the ability to only focus on those things that interest me. On the other hand, it means that I have no formalized approach to the researching and writing of history. I am free to pick and choose what I want to work on, but it means that I am viewed by many–not all–academic historians as an amateur, one who is trying to horn in on their territory.

I can understand that. These folks make their living that way, and credibility is critical to their efforts. At the same time, I’m not looking to take their jobs, and my minimal book sales are such that they’re no threat to these professionals. However, just because I am untrained in the discipline doesn’t mean that I am incompetent or that I cannot do quality work. I like to think that I have earned my spurs (no pun intended) and that I have earned some respect. However, there are some academic historians who still tend to peer down their noses and be very condescending with the likes of me simply because I don’t have those three magic letters–P, H, and D–after my name.

Because of that, I tend to be very insecure about my work, and I likewise tend to be extremely touchy about the reactions to my work. I often feel the need to justify myself and to justify my work. It means that I can be unduly sensitive to legitimate criticism, and it means that I end up taking offense to things that probably were not intended to be offensive. I regret that a great deal.

I actually think that Rodney King had it quite right when he asked, “Can’t we all just get along?” Ultimately, my goal is the same as the professionals: telling the stories of the men who suffered and died for what they believed in the best, most accurate, and most readable fashion that I can accomplish. I can only hope that I succeed.

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Given George S. Patton, Jr.’s success as an armored commander and his success as an army commander, it’s easy to forget that he was an old horse cavalryman. In 1921, Patton, then a major in the 3rd Cavalry, wrote this essay, which sums up the mentality of the horse cavalryman. The essay is titled “The Cavalryman”. It’s a favorite:

“There is always room at the top,” is a favorite phrase for the advertisements of correspondence courses.

This is true in all walks of life, but in none is it truer than in regard to leaders of Cavalry.

Since the time when the increased complexity of war made the division into several arms necessary, there have been many good generals of armies, good infantrymen and good artillerymen not a few, but the good cavalrymen can be counted on the fingers of your hands.

This does not mean that the leader of cavalry must be of superior clay to his brethren of the other arms, but it does mean that he must possess a combination of qualities not often found in one individual.

He must have a passion – not simply a liking – for horses, for nothing short of an absorbing passion can make him take the necessary interest in his mount.

A diploma, even from [Fort] Riley, does no more than give a good start on the line which must be followed and developed.

He must be a veterinarian in theory and practice; a farrier and a horsehoer better than any man in his troop; a stable sergeant and horse trainer; a saddler. Above all he must possess a sense of obligation to his mount, which, with the whip of a remorseless conscience makes him – him personally – seek the welfare of his horses above his own.

No one acquires these qualities at teas or card parties, or by slapping his leg with his whip.

Such knowledge can only be acquired by reading books on horse diseases, on horse management, on conditioning, and training. By association with horsemen of all sorts and conditions wherever met. What he reads and sees and hears will not all be useful, or all correct. Much of it will be bunk, but little by little, through the years, constant research and above all, constant experimentation will lead finally to the acquirement of a little knowledge.
But, while so learning and working, he must remember that the things he e is accomplishing are not ends. He is neither a stable sergeant, nor a horseshoer, nor a veterinarian; such arts are but means. The end is to become a cavalry officer who will be a success in war.

The officer who never looks after his ponies after a game to see that they are properly put away; or who at the end of a long march or hard drill says, “Sergeant, fix up the horses, I’ll be back soon,” and then beats it, is not building for war; is not earning his pay. He is without pride and lazy, and the men know it and despise him while neglecting the horses.

I have said that all the foregoing things must be done with the object of obtaining success in war; but why?

Because, success in war depends on getting to the right place at the right time. Neither result may be attained if the horses play out. When the great moment for which he has lived comes, all his knowledge, no matter how hard he has worked, will seem pitifully inadequate to enable him to get exhausted and half starved horses over waterless country on time. Time, I repeat; let him brand that word into his soul. Nearly all the remediable failures of the world result from being late.

An now, suppose that the officer has possessed himself of these qualities; affection for the horse; tenacity of purpose; a studious mind; a feeling of obligation and a sense of time. What are the other qualifications he must acquire?

A thorough knowledge of war by reading histories, lives of cavalrymen, by the study of the tactics of his arm and by the constant working of problems. This, too, will take strength of will and hard work, but, again assuming that he has succeeded, what is the final quality which he must acquire?

He must rain himself into the possession of a Gambler’s Courage.

Since General Chauvel has destroyed the idea that the horse is precluded from the battlefield, and has shown that bullets are impotent to stop determined valor, the successful cavalryman must educate himself to say Charge! I say educate himself, for the man is not born who can say it out of hand. There are several reasons for this.

For years, we have been taught that fire is irresistible, our experience on the target range has strengthened the myth. We picture sheets of cupro-nickel (I had almost said lead) sweeping in devastating hurricane over the field.

At maneuvers we have been taught to skip on foot from bush to rock-like sand fleas on the beach.

Civilization has affected us; we abhor personal encounter. Many a man will risk his life, with an easy mind, in a burning house, who recoils from having his face punched. We have been taught to restrain our emotions, to look upon anger as low, until many of us have never experienced the God sent ecstasy of unbridled wrath. We have never felt our eyes screw up, our temples throb, and the red mist gather in our sight.

And we expect that a man, the result of all this, shall, in an instant, the twinkling of an eye, direct himself of all restraint of all caution and hurl himself on the enemy, a frenzied beast, lusting to probe his foeman’s guts with three feet of steel or shatter his brains with a bullet. Gentlemen, it cannot be done – not without mental practice.

That is why it is easier to attack on foot than to charge mounted. It seems more refined. There, in front, are those dear futile bushes of maneuvers, the bullets sing and whisper but there is more time to get used to them. It takes courage, higher moral courage to walk to death than to gallop at it. But, it is the form of courage which our civilization has given us. It is the courage of the burning house; not of the bloody nose.

Therefore, you must school yourself to savagery. You must imagine how it will feel when your sword hilt crashes into the breast bone of your enemy. You must picture the wild exaltation of the mounted charge when the lips draw back in a snarl and the voice cracks with passion.

While on the march or at horse exercise, you must say to yourself, “There is the enemy at the corner! What do I do? Charge!!” You must ride stiff fences, you must play polo.

When you have acquired the ability to develop on necessity, momentary and calculated savagery, you can keep your twentieth century clarity of vision with which to calculate the chances of whether to charge or fight on foot, and having decided on the former, the magic word will transform you temporarily into a frenzied brute.

To use the words which Conan Doyle puts in the mouth of his hero Gerard, you have equipped yourselves with, “A heart of fire and a brain of ice.”

To sum up, then, you must be: a horse master; a scholar; a high minded gentleman; a cold blooded hero; a hot blooded savage. At one and the same time, you must be a wise man and a fool. You must not get fat or mentally old, and you must be a personal Leader.

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Well, I’m home after a long weekend. I led two tours this weekend, even though I don’t feel particularly well. I seem to be coming down with a cold, and it’s difficult for me to talk in my normal voice at the moment. Nevertheless, I had a great time. The weather was just spectacular, I got to talk about things I really enjoy in a place I love, and with people whose company I enjoy. All in all, it doesn’t get much better than that.

As I finish this series of posts, there’s one final issue that I want to address.

There’s something about Gettysburg that compels otherwise normal, sane people to do things that make no sense. I’m not sure what it is. However, there’s something about Gettysburg that drives good people to propound goofy, unsupportable and unsubstantiatable theories. Perhaps they feel a need to be able to claim that after 140 years and countless tens of thousands of pages of books and magazine articles that they have made a great discovery that somehow unlocks the battle. Perhaps it’s that they feel the need to be the subject of discussion. Perhaps they just feel a need to stir up controversy. I don’t know what it is. However, three very prominent examples come to mind.

First, is a certain park ranger. He’s well respected among his peers, and he’s known as being a fellow who’s not afraid to research things and go out on a limb. His first book, which is an expounding upon Lee’s “real” strategy for Gettysburg, has sold a lot of books. This fellow’s most recent theory is that Meade figured out that Longstreet was making a countermarch, sending Union cavalry to meet it in the vicinity of Hunterstown. Instead of Longstreet’s infantry, the Federal horse found Confederate troopers, and a nasty little fight ensued. Never mind that there isn’t a single shred of evidence to support this particular claim. It’s new, and it’s controversial, so therefore, it has to be advanced.

Then, there’s a particular licensed battlefield guide. This individual is absolutely obsessed–to the point of perhaps being unhealthy about it–with a particular portion of the field. This guide has cooked up a bizarre theory about where an important event occurred that is based on a flawed and factually incorrect assumption. Without there being so much as a scintilla of evidence to support it, this person claims, as a matter of absolute fact, that the monuments of a particular brigade were misplaced and that the veterans were promised that these monuments would be moved, thereby reflecting the true place where these events occurred. Never mind that the records of the Gettysburg Battlefield Monument Association do not reflect anything whatsoever of the sort in any fashion. When this person is challenged about the evidence underlying this theory, that person responds by launching vicious personal attacks against anyone who challenges the theory, and demanding that anyone showing the moxy to challenge the theory prove it wrong. Never mind that the responsibility for proving a theory is on the person advancing a theory. By all accounts, this individual is a nice person. I’ve never seen it–this person has launched vicious personal attacks on me in public because I had the temerity to challenge the theory.

Finally, there’s another ranger I know. I’ve actually spent a fair amount of time with this fellow, and I enjoy his company. However, this fellow seems bound and determined to make a name for himself as making some great discovery. Consequently, he latches on to these bizarre theories and insists that they have merit. There’s also the fact that this fellow insists on arguing theories even when others prove him incorrect. It’s frustrating as hell when that happens.

I have never met the first two people mentioned. By all accounts, the first person is a very good guy, well liked and well respected. The second person, I am told, is nice. I would not know, and from the way I have been treated, I couldn’t possibly care less what that persons says and does. If what that person says and does has no impact on my life, then that’s good enough for me. So long as this person ceases and desists from launching personal attacks upon me, I couldn’t care less what that person says or does. The third fellow I know fairly well, and I enjoy his company.

Why these people insist on advancing these theories is a total mystery to me. Perhaps it’s because they feel some need to advance new theories in the hope of finding something new all these years later. Maybe it’s that they hope to make a splash and that they also feel some need to have a moment in the limelight. I doubt we will ever know, and it may not even be conscious on their part.

I do know that these theories frustrate me to no end when unwitting members of the public accept them as the gospel truth just because someone in a position of credibility says that they are so. In my mind, that’s wrong, and in my mind, it should not be allowed. The second individual I mentioned shows people the wrong part of the battlefield and claims that EVERYONE–the veterans, the GBMA, and the National Park Service were all wrong about where these events were placed. It’s wrong, and it needs to end.

Either put up or shut up. And if you can’t put up, then please, do us all a favor and shut the hell up.

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I am sitting in a hotel room in Gettysburg as I write this. The hotel is right next to the visitor center, meaning that it’s actually on the battlefield proper, although it probably ought not be here. That’s another rant for another night, though.

I spent a fabulous day on the battlefield today. The weather was nothing short of spectacular–not a cloud in the sky, and about 70 degrees. It simply doesn’t get any better. I led one tour today, and have another one to lead tomorrow. I am fond of saying that the even the worst day on the battlefield is significantly better than the best day at the office. It was certainly true today.

At the same time, it’s one of those mixed feelings things.

As I said, I am drawn to this battlefield, time and again. No matter how fascinating I find other battles, I still come back to Gettysburg. I ask myself why. Perhaps it’s because I’m a native Pennsylvanian. Perhaps it’s because I’ve spent more time on this field than any other and know it better than any other. Perhaps it’s because it was my first love. Honestly, I’m not sure. I wish I could understand it, but I can’t.

I do know that there’s one thing that I firmly believe. There WERE other battles beside Gettysburg. Some of them were even more important. Others are certainly as fascinating in their own right. What I’ve never been able to understand is why some people are single-minded about Gettysburg. Gettysburg is the ONLY battle that they care about, and it’s the only one that they deem worthy of studying in any fashion. Instead of really understanding where and how Gettysburg fits into the big scheme of things, they would rather micro-manage and micro-study every single thing about Gettysburg to the exclusion of every other battle. They may know ever teeny, tiny bit of trivia about Gettysburg, but they don’t know anything at all about the rest of the war.

A long time ago, I realized that one cannot truly understand Gettysburg without having a thorough understanding of Chancellorsville. There is so much about Chancellorsville that is directly tied to Gettysburg that you can’t truly understand one and not the other. Here are some of the linkages:

1. John F. Reynolds, who was aggressive by nature, never fired a shot in anger at Chancellorsville. Was it any surprise that Reynolds was desperate to pitch into the fray at Gettysburg?

2. Dan Sickles resented the position he was forced to abandon at Hazel Grove, which exposed his Third Corps to galling artillery fire. He swore it would never happen again.

3. O. O. Howard provided no real leadership to the 11th Corps, putting it into an untenable position. Then, he ignored reports of a Confederate movement against his flank. Although elements of his command fought hard, it was in an impossible position, and got routed and was sent flying.

I could go on, but you get the idea. All of these events play into the way these people conducted themselves at Gettysburg. Accordingly, I firmly believe that you can’t really understand Gettysburg without understanding Chancellorsville thoroughly. Some agree with me, but still refuse to learn these lessons. Others simply blow off the idea, content to stay in their own private Idaho. One fellow once said to me that since his time is limited, he’s decided to focus on Gettysburg to the exclusion of all other battles. While I can appreciate that, it’s an awfully narrow view.

The truth is that while I love this place and what it stands for, I would rather go to Antietam, where there’s no crass commercialism and phony ghost tours every ten steps. Or, better still, I would prefer to go to Chancellorsville and examine those events in detail. Or, I would prefer to visit some of the pristine cavalry battlefields that have been long overlooked by history and by most people.

In my mind, I think it’s very sad that people take such a narrow view. As important as this place is to me, there are plenty of places that are just as important, if not more so.

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