Tag: American Civil War

Part 3 of 5 (Part 1 here; Part 2 here)

If Robert E. Lee had written his own memoir, he might well have started it with the same phrase Ulysses S. Grant used in his, “My family is American. . .”

In the America of the late nineteenth century of Grant and Lee—after enormous tracts had been released by the Louisiana Purchase and Lewis & Clark had gone on their expedition of exploration of the wild, wild west—there was a strong movement westward to fill in the spaces, and not enough people to populate them. So, began another wave of immigration into the U.S.

I suppose then it became a matter to pride to distinguish yourself from the new Americans, which was why Grant emphatically used that curious phrase.

(Part 2 of 5); Part 1 here

The American Civil War ended in the village of Appomattox Court House, bringing to a culmination four long years of hardship, privation, and a vast destruction of life and property.

A civil war—and I’d made the comparison of it with a fierce family conflict—is fought between people who have. . .connections, either some point of contact somewhere in the past, or childhood tussles, or familial links, or even long adult friendships.

Most of the officers on both sides were West Point graduates, which meant four years of study, and four overlapping graduating classes, and so, they most of them knew each other from college. The ones who stayed on in the army after graduating had further associations, either serving below or above their antagonists in this American Civil War.

Interestingly enough, the two generals who commanded the opposing armies—despite their both being military men, both graduates of West Point, part of the army family—had come across each other only once. This was during the Mexican War (1846-48) when Lee was Chief of Staff for General Scott, who was directing the U.S. Army, and Grant a mere lieutenant. It was a. . .non-meeting, really.

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(Part 1 of 5)

We’re on a long drive from…well, one place to another this past summer, and I’m bored and swiping on the map on my phone for somewhere to stop and stretch our legs. A name pops up. Appomattox. Appo-ma-ttox.  Appo—

My kid, in the back seat (who’s obviously been paying attention in history class) pipes up, and fixes my memory into place.

 We redirect the GPS, and we’re off. It’s a good thirty miles aslant of our intended route, but what matter, when there are such riches to be met at the end of it!

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