Vanished America, Part Three: "There Will Be No Turning Back"

I believe that, apart from Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant was the most admirable and most interesting character to emerge from the American Civil War.  (I am speaking of those on the national stage, not of the thousands of admirable and interesting characters -- on both sides -- who were involved in the War.)

As I have noted before, the best description of Grant comes from Theodore Lyman (who served as an aide to Major-General George Meade, commander of the Army of the Potomac):  "He is the concentration of all that is American."

It is interesting that this description comes from Lyman:  he was born into Boston high society, graduated from Harvard, and his letters and his journal entries tend to be dismissive of military officers from "the West" (i.e., anyone who did not come from the East Coast).  He considered them uneducated, unsophisticated, and uncouth.  However, Lyman has nothing but good things to say about Grant.  He cannot avoid a bit of condescension now and then, but it is clear that Lyman recognized that he was in the presence of a remarkable man.

In the late summer of 1864, Grant's headquarters were located in City Point, Virginia, on the James River.  On August 6, a munitions barge anchored in the James exploded due to Confederate sabotage.  Lyman wrote this about the incident:

"This morning we heard a heavy explosion towards City Point, and there came a telegraph in a few minutes that an ordnance barge had blown up with much loss of life.  Rosie, Worth, Cavada and Cadwalader were in a tent at Grant's headquarters when suddenly there was a great noise, and a 12-pounder shot came smash into the mess-chest!  They rushed out -- it was raining shot, shell, timbers, and saddles (of which there had been a barge-load near)!  Two dragoons were killed near them.  They saw just then a man running towards the explosion -- the only one -- it was Grant! and this shows his character well."

David Lowe (editor), Meade's Army: The Private Notebooks of Lt. Col. Theodore Lyman (2007), page 248.  (The emphases are in the original.)

Although Grant was "noticeably an intrepid man" (Lyman's words again), he had no vainglory about him.  He was quiet, steady, and -- above all else -- supremely imperturbable.  When Grant went east to assume overall command of the Union armies, William Tecumseh Sherman wrote to his brother John (who was a United States Senator):  "Give Grant all the support you can. . . . He will fight, and the Army of the Potomac will have all the fighting they want. . . . His simplicity and modesty are natural and not affected."

                                                    Charles W. Reed
                  "Grant Whittling During The Battle Of The Wilderness"
                                                       May 5, 1864

In May of 1864, Grant began his first campaign in Virginia against Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia.  The Army of the Potomac was immediately battered by Lee for two days in the Battle of the Wilderness.  In the first three years of the War, each prior commander of the Army of the Potomac had turned back to the north after coming up against Lee in Virginia.  Not Grant.  He continued to move south. 

On the night of the second day of the battle, Grant learned that Henry Wing, a reporter from The New York Tribune, was returning to Washington to file his story on the battle.  Grant took Wing aside, put his hand on Wing's shoulder, and, "in a low tone," said:  "Well, if you see the President, tell him from me that, whatever happens, there will be no turning back."

Wing returned to Washington (a dangerous trip), and he was then brought to the White House to provide whatever information he had about the battle.  (Given the state of communication in those days, information was scarce, even for Lincoln.)  Wing provided a 30-minute report to Lincoln and an assembled group.  As the others left, Wing told Lincoln that he had a "personal word" for him.  Alone with Lincoln, Wing then repeated Grant's message.  According to Wing, "Mr. Lincoln put his great, strong arms about me and, carried away in the exuberance of his gladness, imprinted a kiss upon my forehead."  Henry Wing, When Lincoln Kissed Me: A Story of the Wilderness Campaign (1913), pages 36-39.

                                        Cold Harbor, Virginia, 1864

Vanished America, Part Two: "Sweetheart Of The Rodeo"

The "country music" that one hears in today's world of popular entertainment is not country music.  If you wish to hear real country music you must go back to the sources.  For me (and for others of my generation, I suspect) that exploration began with a 1968 album (yes, album) by The Byrds:  Sweetheart of the Rodeo.

At that time (and to this day, come to think of it) country music was anathema to the soi-disant cognoscenti (who are always blinkered and deaf to the real thing) -- they believed that country music was the music of gun-totin', Bible-thumpin' rednecks.  Roger McGuinn and Chris Hillman of The Byrds knew better.  Fortunately for us, they stumbled upon Gram Parsons at a time when they needed to add some members to the group.  And the rest, as they say, is history.

Gram Parsons's legacy is a story in itself.  He died in 1973 at the age of 26.  But, before he died, he passed his love of traditional country music on to a generation of  people who might not have otherwise recognized its distinctive American beauty.  The Byrds hired Parsons to play piano (at which he was marginally proficient -- he mainly played guitar), but his enthusiasm convinced McGuinn and Hillman to make a country album.  McGuinn said later that he had merely intended to hire a piano player, but Parsons "exploded out of this sheep's clothing.  God!  It's George Jones!  In a sequin suit!"

                                         Gram Parsons (1946-1973)

Sweetheart of the Rodeo is not a "cross-over" album, or a "fusion" album.  It is a traditional country album by young American musicians (The Byrds were rock stars at the time) who appreciated this unique form of American music.  I am certainly not claiming that The Byrds and Gram Parsons are the ultimate exponents of true country music -- for that, you need to go back to the Carter family, Roy Acuff, and the Louvin brothers and move forward from there.  But please listen to the album -- I recommend starting with "Hickory Wind," "You Don't Miss Your Water," and "One Hundred Years from Now" -- and you will hear American music at its best.

Vanished America, Part One: "My Darling Clementine"

John Ford's My Darling Clementine was released in 1946.  It tells the story of Wyatt Earp and the gunfight at the O.K. Corral.  By "modern" standards, Ford is old-fashioned, unsophisticated, and (of course) politically incorrect.  He preferred to film his movies in black-and-white rather than in color.  He regretted the demise of silent movies, because he liked to tell his stories with images, not words.

Wordsworth, Hardy, Yeats, Frost, and Stevens each wrote hundreds of poems.  Of the two or three thousand poems that the five of them wrote, a few score achieved something approaching perfection of feeling, thought, and form -- in other words, beauty.  In the same way, of the hundreds of scenes that John Ford directed, a few score achieved beauty as well.  As it happens, that beauty often has quite a bit to do with the U.S.A.

In the following scene from My Darling Clementine, nothing happens.  It is Sunday morning.  Wyatt Earp (Henry Fonda) leans back in a chair on the porch of a hotel in Tombstone.  The townsfolk are heading to the church-meeting up the street.  The church has not yet been built:  only the frame of a bell tower and two flagpoles with flapping American flags stand against the sky.

                                 
Chihuahua (Linda Darnell) arrives.  Henry Fonda leans his chair further back, holds out his arms, and places one foot, then the other, on the post, lightly bouncing up and down.  No words are spoken.  Chihuahua walks into the hotel to meet Doc Holliday.

                     
An aside:  this scene demonstrates that, as far back as 1946, Henry Fonda was way cooler than Marlon Brando, James Dean, Paul Newman, and Steve McQueen (and any actor after them) ever were.

Monument Valley, Arizona -- one of John Ford's favorite locales --lies in the distance.  (Monument Valley is actually about 400 miles away from the real Tombstone.)  Wyatt is likely thinking about Clementine Carter.  "I sure like that name . . . Clementine" is the final line of the movie.  Vanished America.