I wonder about the men who fought at Gettysburg 147 years ago, and if they were thinking about Independence Day.
A college professor, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain had no military training before volunteering to fight in the Civil War, yet he became one of our nation's greatest military heroes.
Survival was probably foremost on their minds, but the idea (on both sides) of the meaning of The Fourth of July must have been in their thoughts as well.
Our country was not so far removed then from 1776, when a group of men — knowing their signatures on the Declaration of Independence would mean certain death if their cause failed — signed it anyway. The last line of the document said it all: “And for the support of this Declaration with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”
But 87 years later (or, “four score and seven years”), the struggle was a different one. It was not to throw off the chains of tyranny placed there by a king, but the chains of slavery and for the preservation of the Union.
The “peculiar institution” of slavery and how to justify it, or abolish it, was debated at the time the Declaration was signed during the American Revolution. Many of our Founding Fathers owned slaves, yet some hated the idea.
That might have been on the minds of those at Gettysburg, too.
One of those men was Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain – perhaps the most unlikely military hero our nation ever had. He was a peaceful man – a professor at Bowdoin College in Maine who could speak ten languages. Until he volunteered for duty in the Civil War, he had no military training.
Yet his actions 147 years ago today, July 3, 1863, on a Gettysburg’s Little Round Top, might have singlehandedly saved the Union. There are some who believe, if Chamberlain had faltered, the Confederates could have poured through the hole in the left flank and devastated the Union’s undefended cities. Beyond Chamberlain and the 20th Maine Regiment lay virtually nothing to stop the Army of Northern Virginia, whch likely would have sacked Harrisburg, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. That, in turn, could have forced Abraham Lincoln to sue for peace.
I wonder what the world would be like today if, below the Mason-Dixon Line, there was a Confederate States of America? Thanks, perhaps, to a peaceful college professor from Maine, the answer is only conjecture.
At Little Round Top 147 years ago on this very day, Chamberlain and his men were almost out of ammunition. They barely repelled attack after attack. Then Chamberlain ordered his men to fix bayonets and charge into the enemy lines. It was a last-ditch effort. Nobody could have faulted Chamberlain and his men for pulling back instead. It’s happened many times in war, but retreat at that moment would have been devastating.
Chamberlain’s Maine men won the day. More hard fighting still lay ahead, but the Confederates were not able to exploit what turned out to be the weakest spot in the Union line.
Chamberlain survived 20 battles during the Civil War. He was cited for bravery four times, had six horses shot from under him, and was wounded six times. But it was his actions at Little Round Top that earned him the highest military award this nation can bestow: The Medal of Honor. In the last official act of the worst period in our history, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain was chosen to accept the surrender of Confederate infantry at Appomattox Court House.
After the war, Chamberlain was elected four times as Governor of Maine, and he eventually became president of Bowdoin College. In 1898, at the age of 70 and in pain from old injuries, he volunteered to serve in the Spanish-American War, but was rejected. He called it one of the great disappointments of his life.
He finally died in 1914, finally succumbing to the many wounds he received in the Civil War, a half-century earlier.
I have always found it amazing that Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, a peaceful and brilliant man, also is one of our country’s greatest military heroes. He was the perfect example of the citizen soldier who was a peace-lover at heart, but fought when necessary.
And I hope our military service members today – every one of them a citizen soldier who was not drafted, but volunteered – are able to take a moment to reflect on what happened 234 years ago tomorrow, when imperfect men risked it all just by signing their names.
Just a few days ago, President Obama said: “… I reject the notion that the Afghan people don’t want some of the basic things that everybody wants — basic rule of law, a voice in governance, economic opportunity, basic physical security, electricity, roads, an ability to get a harvest to market and get a fair price for it without having to pay too many bribes in between. And I think we can make a difference, and the coalition can make a difference, in them meeting those aspirations …”
Substitute “Iraqi,” “Panamanian,” “Vietnamese,” “Korean,” “German,” Italian,” or “Japanese,” for “Afghan,” and similar words could have been uttered by several other U.S. Presidents.
Our enemies today are no less dedicated to the destruction of the United States than those of 1776, 1863, or 1941.
Make no mistake. Our country has survived, and will, because of people like Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain who serve the cause of peace, but are willing to fight — not to conquer — but to bring about a better world.
Happy Independence Day.
A soldier of the Third U.S. Infantry (The Old Guard) watches over the Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington National Cemetery
About a million years ago, I was in the U.S. Army Reserve.
My unit, the 810th Military Police Company, was in Tampa, Florida. I eventually transferred to a Public Affairs Detachment, also in Tampa, because it allowed me to use my writing skills and, hopefully, provided a more valuable service to the Army.
Being an MP was fun, at times. Going to the firing range and helping add security to the annual air show at nearby MacDill Air Force Base were the fun parts. However, much of our “training” back then consisted of spot-painting the rust spots that would develop on the unit’s Jeeps.
In the two years I spent with the 810th, there was a middle-aged sergeant who had once been a part of the Third U.S. Infantry, better known as “The Old Guard.” We’ll call him Sergeant Thompson.
As part of The Old Guard’s Company E, Sergeant Thompson was one of the sentinels who guard the Tomb of the Unknowns at Arlington National Cemetery, just outside of Washington, D.C., where 300,000 Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines, Coast Guardsmen, two Presidents, and some civilians are buried. Usually, each Memorial Day, the President of the United States places a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns.
Now, as Army Reserve units go, I’d like to think the 810th was better than average. Some time after I left the unit, it was called to active duty for Operation Desert Storm, and served with distinction.
But anyone familiar with Reserve units will admit that that many of us citizen-soldiers get a little soft over time, since they only drill for one weekend a month. Immediately upon joining the 810th, just after four months of Basic Training and Advanced Individual Training, my boots gleamed so much you could see your reflection in the toes.
About a year later, I will admit, my boots were still somewhat shiny but the reflection in them was not so clear.
Not so in Sergeant Thompson’s boots. Month after month, his appearance never changed. His uniform was always sharp and crisp, and his boots were like black mirrors. He must have spent hours on them each month, only to come to our Reserve Center for two days.
In many ways, Sergeant Thompson never left The Old Guard. The sense of duty that was ingrained into him stayed with him for years after the last time he walked those 21 steps in front of, perhaps, the most revered spot in our country.
There have been four burials at that spot at Arlington, with all four Unknowns symbolically receiving our nation’s highest award for valor, The Medal of Honor.
A marble sarcophagus rises above the body of a World War I soldier as the centerpiece. On the side facing Washington the East are the Greek figures representing Peace, Victory, and Valor. On the sides facing North and South are six wreaths, representing the six major battles of World War I – the “War to end all wars.”
On the side facing West are the words:
“HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD”
A few feet to the west of the sarcophagus are the crypts of Unknown Soldiers from World War II, and the Korean War. The fourth crypt, originally containing the body of a serviceman killed in Vietnam, is now empty. That’s because the remains were identified as those of U.S. Air Force First Lieutenant Michael Blassie and disinterred for burial elsewhere.
We’ve become so good at identifying remains that is is likely there will never be another soldier interred at the Tomb of the Unknowns.
Guarding the Tomb of the Unknowns, for Sergeant Thompson, and for all the Old Guard soldiers before him and since, is a daunting and solemn responsibility. Only after relentless training to the point of perfection are Old Guard members allowed to actually be sentinels.
The sentinels guard the Tomb 24 hours every day to perfection. They guard it in hurricane force winds and blinding snowstorms. There are no holidays for The Old Guard’s Company E.
For anyone who has never seen the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns, it is a must-see when visiting Washington. It is, at once, elaborate and simple.
Here is how it is described on the Arlington National Cemetery website (http://www.arlingtoncemetery.org/ceremonies/sentinelsotu.html):
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An impeccably uniformed relief commander appears on the plaza to announce the Changing of the Guard. Soon the new sentinel leaves the Quarters and unlocks the bolt of his or her M-14 rifle to signal to the relief commander to start the ceremony. The relief commander walks out to the Tomb and salutes, then faces the spectators and asks them to stand and stay silent during the ceremony.
The relief commander conducts a detailed white-glove inspection of the weapon, checking each part of the rifle once. Then, the relief commander and the relieving sentinel meet the retiring sentinel at the center of the matted path in front of the Tomb. All three salute the Unknowns who have been symbolically given the Medal of Honor. Then the relief commander orders the relieved sentinel, “Pass on your orders.” The current sentinel commands, “Post and orders, remain as directed.” The newly posted sentinel replies, “Orders acknowledged,” and steps into position on the black mat. When the relief commander passes by, the new sentinel begins walking at a cadence of 90 steps per minute.
The Tomb Guard marches 21 steps down the black mat behind the Tomb, turns, faces east for 21 seconds, turns and faces north for 21 seconds, then takes 21 steps down the mat and repeats the process. After the turn, the sentinel executes a sharp “shoulder-arms” movement to place the weapon on the shoulder closest to the visitors to signify that the sentinel stands between the Tomb and any possible threat. Twenty-one was chosen because it symbolizes the highest military honor that can be bestowed — the 21-gun salute.
Duty time when not “walking” is spent in the Tomb Guard Quarters below the Memorial Display Room of the Memorial Amphitheater where they study Cemetery “knowledge,” clean their weapons and help the rest of their relief prepare for the Changing of the Guard. The guards also train on their days off.
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The sentinels actually do GUARD the Tomb of the Unknowns. It means they are willing to lay down their lives for an ideal, not for a king, president, or dictator. But then, every member of our military faces the same possibility.
I still have my boots. They have not been polished in more than 15 years. The leather is dry and cracked.
I have a feeling, if Sergeant Thompson is still around, he can still see his reflection in his boots.
Our son is now back on U.S. soil after his third combat tour. He’s an Army Ranger, so shining boots is not his forte. Each time he’s returned, we’ve gone to Arlington National Cemetery on our next trip to D.C., and we’ve watched the Changing of the Guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns. It never gets old for me.
We also walk to Section 60 at the cemetery, the place at Arlington at which many service members who have lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan have been buried. I say a prayer each time, thanking them for their sacrifice. I ask God to help their families to find peace.
It all feels monumentally inadequate and I weep for my family’s good fortune.
We will go there again soon.
"The World War" British recruiting poster.
A sign in Trafalgar Square, London, 1914: “No price can be too high when honour and freedom are at stake.”
A sign last week at an anti-war protest in Washington, D.C. (paraphrased): “No ideology, philosophy or belief is worth a single human life.”
Congrats to British Columbia and Canada on a great Winter Olympics. Makes me want to go there and visit. And Canada’s Olympic team started out slowly, but really came on, winning the most Gold of any country.
Sure would be nice to go back to London for the Summer Games in 2012. We were there Christmas 2008 and had a wonderful time.
Pretty amazing story about some nasty words between Greece and Germany. All European countries are equal. However, some are more equal than others.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/feb/28/bitter-legacy-greece-germany
Chris Drury films a PSA for Little League Baseball
Good luck to Chris Drury today in the Gold Medal game at the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. I was with Chris a couple of weeks ago in NY City (see photo) to film a public service announcement. The PSA will begin airing tomorrow (Monday, March 1, 2010) on the ESPN family of networks.
Today, Nov. 11, 2009, is Veterans’ Day.
Today is the day we – most of us anyway – thank those living and dead who have served in our nation’s many wars. Memorial Day is the one where we only thank those who died in service.
If you don’t fly Old Glory on Federal holidays like today, nobody knocks on your door wondering why not. That’s the way it should be. I have to admit that I have forgotten a time or two. But for the most part, I’ve remembered by unfurling the standard three-by-five Stars and Stripes and affixing the pole to the side of our house.
But there’s no Federal Holiday for the folks who are left behind while the soldier, sailor, airman, Marine or Coast Guardsman goes into harm’s way. There should be, but then again, there’s probably enough holidays.
Parents, like my wife and I, with a child at war, worry every day. We know our son, an Army Ranger on this third combat tour, is well-trained and well-equipped to do his job. But parents worry about their kids if they have “safe” jobs, too.
It’s the spouses who truly sacrifice, though. Though we will love our son forever, and we’re as proud as any parents can be, it is his wife who has it the roughest.
She’s the one with the legal and moral expectation of his companionship, protection, and comfort. Instead, he’s on the other side of the world, doing a job American soldiers have done many times: Fighting not for the sake of conquest, but for an ideal.
As my wonderful daughter-in-law counts down the days until her husband – our son – comes home for R&R, I am reminded of an Army wife named Sarah Ballou.
Sarah was the loved one left behind when Sullivan Ballou, the judge advocate of the Rhode Island Militia, went off to fight for the Union – and an ideal – in the U.S. Civil War.
He was 32 years old when he wrote these words, just before the first Battle of Bull Run.
July the 14th, 1861
Washington DC
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days – perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure – and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing – perfectly willing – to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows – when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children – is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death – and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles have often advocated before the people and “the name of honor that I love more than I fear death” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me – perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar – that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night – amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours – always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
Sullivan
Not long after Sullivan Ballou wrote those words, he was killed in battle. The letter was never mailed, but was found among his effects later.
The war lasted four more years, and cost more than 600,000 American lives.
Sarah died in 1917. She and Sullivan are buried next to each other in Swan Point Cemetery in Providence, R.I.
If you forget to put the flag on your house today, it’s no big deal. But if you know a wife or husband of a military member, be sure to thank them for their sacrifice, too.