11,752. RUDIMENTS, pt. 683

RUDIMENTS, pt. 683

('time it for the middle of the night')

I've made mention of this

before,  but when I entered

seventh grade one of the most

memorable things I ran across

was a rear-wall bulletin board

display in one of those 'new

to me.' classrooms about the

'centenary' of the Civil War.

Now, I'd known about the

Civil War before, had seen

soldiers and battle things, but

nothing ever sunk in; it had

never really been pushed or

processed in the lower grades.

For some reason the impetus

there was towards Mesopotamia,

Egypt, the 'Fertile Crescent,'

the Pyramids, and all that. It

only much later occurred to

me that the truer reason,  in a

propagandistic sense, was

probably to inculcate into

the minds of young children

an overview of things within

a 'religious' based slant  -

Humankind's slow ascent

from Creation to settlement

and then to Society, etc. The

Civil War represented the

opposite of  all that, therefore

not fitting the greater outline

of any of it. The Civil War

could only be explained while

using the terms, unkind in all

respects, of pillage, savagery,

death, destruction, burning,

and all the others things that

went with it. Including the

subjugation of others. Once

again much as the rest of

'American' history before it;

and since. Things to be avoided

by the betterment-efforts of

lowly sixth-grade teachers.

That's a real hurdle, to be

handled at that level  -  this

now was 7th Grade and the

bar has been raised high enough,

I figured, to allow for some of

that to filter in. The Civil War was

treated like the guest condiment

at a barbecue : everyone had

heard of it, but never tasted it nor

tried it on their bun. whether

hot dog or hamburger. To me,

it as the new taste sensation!

First off, the Civil War had some

really deep and serious American

meanings; old stuff, of the sort

no one talked about in that newer

of television, Sputniks, rabbit

ears, transistor radios and crazy

new cars. The Civil War was

so old that it was back in the

days when people lived with

blood and death, when dead

aunts and cowboy uncles and

kin were laid out at home; with

living-room funerals in an age

before both embalming and the

funeral-business as an industry.

When dirt paths led to outhouses

and family burial grounds on the

property. When the differences

between 'proper' and 'improper'

things were much different. When

Death was a way of life and Life

too, oftentimes, was a simple way

of death. Things were different,

and that was that. Bible talk was

still prevalent  -  all those cadences

resounding with old words and

odd names. People were savaged,

caught in  a grinder no one wanted

but from which, few walked away,

and from which, as well, many

returned without limbs; hands or

arms blown off, crushed to

smithereens, faces gouged and

scarred, things missing everywhere.

They lived on, and shuddered,

back at home as the 1870's and

even the 1880's dragged them

along. Stories. Valor. Conceit.

Rank. Service. Things were

still made of wood and metal.

The only thing we have like that

today are, maybe, shovels; and

I said maybe.

-

When I got to 7th grade, and saw

that bulletin board  - as stupid

and probably ridiculous as it was,

I was taken. Gone. Smitten. I forget

the place name or the teacher  -

maybe a Mr. Agresta, maybe

someone else. Even funnier is

how, actually, I remember it as

a female teacher's classroom  -

because I can recall thinking about

the different sensibility and caring

awareness that would maybe have

taken the steps to make and display

such a thing. Yet, I can't bring

forth a name. No matter. I can

still remember the declaration

of intent I made to myself to

someday, as far as this 'Civil War'

went, to write about it all myself,

in my own theoretical way. And

i will; I still hope.

-

Life is never a straight line,

and straight lines anyway just

go nowhere  -  endlessly out and

away. I was more interested in

the twists and the circular curlicues

that Time made with those lines :

Back, over, and returned again,

That's what I felt and swore to

write of. The lens that I wore

was a different lens, for a way

of seeing that was mine alone,

or was about to be; but why kill

your intentions with planning?

That's what went on in my head.

I've started and stopped this

effort numerous times over the

years since  -  Iselin, NJ, believe

me, would surely have been an

insufficient place to claim any

origination from for this material,

but then so too would have

been Avenel or Woodbridge, or

Carteret, for that matter. (I throw

Carteret in because of its main

entry-point to the Turnpike and

the short zip up to NYC). But,

anyway, there's a real curlicue

for you.

-

'Lincoln went down to Middleburg;

knowing already that the South was

seceding. To protect slavery  -  and

not for any of those other reasons

that people were also claiming. States'

Rights, protective tariffs, industry

versus agriculture, Jefferson over

Hamilton, and the rest. He was

certain of that  -  certain enough to

stake his own biblical claim of the

rightness of both cause and God

together. he also knew that no longer

did any of those old references matter.

Perhaps God and Bible did, yes, but

not any longer germane were the

rhetorical flourishes of the cause

being drawn within the outlines

'yeoman farmer' and 'industrial

worker'  -  whether together, half

joined, or held asunder. It would

all need a new way, and that clay

by which to form it would have to

me of a mixture now made of

men AND blood; sorry enough

to say, there could be no turning

back. War and disunion both

shared, somehow, the same back.

The western territories, they too

presented their own new set of

problems. In the 'American' vein,

and starting out anew all over,

it was fresh land for the dividing.

Slave or Free. Which would it be?

Some there were, he'd been told,

who were saying that secession

in response to his election was,

in their words, a 'hysterical

over-reaction to a non-existent

threat.' He himself was not so

sure about that and only hesitatingly

had been willing  -  until now  -

to talk half-steps to cover the

matter. Northerners, it was told

to him, were imperious about

abolishing slavery at all costs,

having themselves 'grown up

without it,' were determined to

defend the principles of  their

'free-labor' society. In the North,

hostility to slavery was so deeply

rooted as to have become itself

inseparable from 'Unionism.'

To Southerners, he now realized,

he was seen as nothing but a

menace; newly in place, but

a menace nonetheless. Their

withdrawal from the Union

was not, to them, any over

reacting. Rather, it was to

be a new calculation.'

-

Well, that's a beginning of the

oft-started, oft-stopped Civil

War and Lincoln book. One

time I was stuck in endless 

traffic along the stretch of I95

at Fredericksburg, Maryland.

I turned off onto one of the 

other roads, which dumped 

me into an endless array of

eateries, chain stores, and the 

rest, plus travelers and touristy

types all doing pretty much the

same thing. It was the day after

New Year's Day. Many people

were wandering, maybe still

bleary. I'd just been in ridiculous

traffic, all through the signs along

the roadway with Civil War names
-  all those woods and gulleys once
wild with blood and fire : Hickory 
Run, Rappahanock, Five Mile
Fork, Plank Road, Chancellorsville,  
and a hundred Spotsylvanias

of the untended mind. I thought

to myself, 'This? This is our end

result? In these woods, where

men gurgled to death, boated 

and dead all along these running 

fields. As I looked at each tree, 

they called out 'Help us!'' What

a horrible disaster this all turned

out to be  -  a ground war fought 

for metal and steel, oil and gas;

fought  for the future and fought 

from the past.

-

I finally went up to a tow-truck guy

with his local address on the truck

door, and I said to him, 'What gives?

Is it always like this?' He said, 'Always.

This is nothing. It's a holiday weekend.

Come back on a regular day; you'll

see. If you want to get through here

you've got to time it for the middle

of the night.'