I just had an image of mine published in Hallowed Ground, the journal of the Civil War Trust. It’s a photo I took of Ed Bearss on one of his battlefield tours through the Smithsonian. The theme of the issue is “30 years of battlefield preservation”, and Ed is, rightfully, the star, as he has been one of the greatest champions of historic preservation over the last sixty years.
Reading the article clipping below, along with my image (see credit at the bottom), you can get a sense of Ed’s larger-than-life personality. I’m very happy that my image is the one being used to depict and honor Ed.
The photo of Ed was taken at the Balls’ Bluff battlefield site, which he was involved in helping secure and preserve against development. Were it not for his work, all that remained would have been the smallest military cemetery in the United States surrounded by townhouses. Instead, thanks to his work and the efforts of a local/state public/private partnership, we have an exceptionally authentic battlefield to walk and understand how the events of the day played out.
You can find out more about the Civil War Trust on their website: CivilWar.org
For those who care about such things, the image was made with Kodak Tri-X in my Rolleiflex.
If you’ve been following along and paying attention to my blog, you know I’m a huge history fan, especially with regards to the US Civil War. I have had the great opportunity and privilege to attend perhaps a dozen tours through the Smithsonian Associates program led by Ed Bearss. Ed is the Chief Historian Emeritus of the United States Park Service, a combat-wounded World War 2 veteran, and even today at 93 he is still leading history tours over 160 days a year. He has an inimitable speaking style, a beyond encyclopedic knowledge of US history (especially military history), and a boundless energy rarely found in people less than half his age.
The trip where I took these photos was in the early spring of this year, to visit a lesser-known early battle of the Civil War, known as Kelly’s Ford. The battlefield is just down the road from Brandy Station, where JEB Stuart faced off against a now-competitive Union cavalry, and Robert E. Lee’s son Rooney was injured in the leg.
Kelly’s Ford was a smaller engagement and marked the beginning of the rise of Union cavalry, where previously Confederate cavalry had utterly dominated the field. Despite the relative minor character of the engagement, Ed, with his signature presentation and his admonition “if you want to understand the battle, you have to walk the battlefield”, manages to make such minor events and historical footnotes compelling.
I love this last photo of Ed as it really captures his spirit and personality.
Here’s another photo of Ed Bearss I took on the Ball’s Bluff tour, as he’s describing the battle in front of the sign at the park entrance, armed with one of his US Marine Corps- themed swagger sticks.
He’s always carrying one to point and gesture with while he talks, for emphasis.
One of the great privileges of living in Washington DC is access to cultural institutions. As part of the Smithsonian Resident Associates program, I get to take part in lectures and tours on art, politics, and history. As you can tell from my blog postings about my antique image collecting, I’m a big Civil War history fan. The Smithsonian Resident Associates program offers a wonderful series of lecture tours on the Civil War, the best of which are led by the inimitable Ed Bearss. Ed is a national treasure – he’s a combat-wounded WW II veteran, Chief Historian Emeritus of the US Park Service, responsible for raising and restoring the Union ironclad ship on display at Vicksburg, Mississippi (which he’ll say was a study in how NOT to raise a sunken ironclad), brilliant raconteur, and at 91, still leading tours 200+ days a year. And even at 91, he’s the first one off the bus and leading the charge across the field, the entire day. If you’re a Civil War fan, you probably know who Ed is – he’s one of the historians on-camera in Ken Burns’ The Civil War, and was a regular on History Channel’s “Civil War Diaries”.
This is a somewhat rare image of him on tour, as he’s got his eyes open. Often when he’s narrating the events of a battle, he’ll close his eyes. It’s not because of a vision problem – when asked, he explained that “it helps me picture the story in my head”. I feel so privileged to get to walk battlefields with Ed and listen to him tell the stories of the events as only he can, with his unique cadence and stentorian voice.
I’m a member of the Smithsonian Resident Associates program – its a whole collection of educational and entertaining activities offered throughout the year ranging from evening lectures to hands-on arts and crafts courses to day tours and even week-long study trips, as well as a certificate program in Art History taught in conjunction with The Corcoran School of Art and George Washington University. A couple weekends ago I went on one of their history tours to Manassas Battlefield for the battle of First Manassas, with Ed Bearss as the tour leader. For those who don’t know, Ed is an underappreciated national treasure. He turns 90 in a month and a bit, was combat wounded in WW II (hit five times by a Japanese machine gun), is the Chief Historian Emeritus of the US Park Service, and appeared in Ken Burns’ The Civil War documentary as well as a regular on the History Channel’s Civil War Journal. He has forgotten more about the Civil War than any of us will ever know. Ed, at 90, still leads tours over 250 days a year. I’ve taken five of his tours now (maybe six?), but he has some die-hard groupies out there that make me look like a slacker wanna-be fan (I’ve been on tours before where other folks have proudly announced they’ve taken every tour he offers through the Smithsonian, sometimes more than once).
Ed is a marvelous story-teller. He recounted the tale of how Stonewall Jackson got his nom-de-guerre:
“And General Bee, upon seeing Thomas Jonathan Jackson with his troops in the edge of the woods, called out to his men “There stands Jackson like a stone wall; rally behind the Virginians”. He may not have meant it as a compliment, however. It all depends, you see, on whether or not he said those two phrases in the same breath. Bee, you see, was a South Carolinian, and may not have held Jackson in particularly high regard. One version has it that he said the two comments an hour apart – if he said them together, it’s a compliment. But if he said them separately, “there stands Jackson like a stone wall” comes off as rather a put-down. The only way we’ll know for sure what General Bee meant is if one of us dies and goes to heaven or hell, and meets General Bee and asks him which it was”
This cannon, although NOT original to the battlefield, is in the relative position of Stonewall Jackson’s unit. One remarkable feature when you see the battlefield is how close the units were- one battery of Union cannon traded hands five times over the course of the day, and they were not more than 100 yards from the Confederate lines.
The Henry House that you see in the above photo was the home of the widow Henry, one of the first civilian casualties of the Civil War. The house that you see standing now is not her house, but a replacement. Her house was of similar footprint but only one and a half stories tall. It was destroyed when those Union cannons I mentioned previously were turned and fired point-blank into the house where Confederate infantry had concealed themselves and were firing on the Union gunners. One cannonball tore through the house and removed widow Henry’s foot on its way through as she lay in bed.
Within eyesight of the Henry House was the home of “Gentleman” Jim Robinson. Jim was a mulatto man, and the half-brother of widow Henry. Their father was “King” Carter, the tidewater plantation owner and one of the wealthiest men in America at the time of the Revolution. Jim was born a slave but manumitted by his father upon Mr. Carter’s death.
The monument immediately beside the Henry House was erected by Union soldiers immediately after the war, and is one of the oldest Civil War memorials. Perhaps THE oldest is also at Manassas, but is not much more than a pedestal today. It was erected during the war by Confederate soldiers to commemorate one of their generals who was killed at 1st Manassas, but torn down by Union soldiers some time after 2nd Manassas.
Here is the door to the Stone House, with the cleverly placed cannonball embedded in the wall. Note I said cleverly placed – there are a total of five cannonballs stuck in the stonework of the house, but none of them are there as a result of either the first or second battles of Manassas. Rather, they were added to the house at a much later date (some time in the early 20th century) by the owner, to boost the tourist appeal. How do we know? well, for one thing, all of them are neatly embedded, with no flaking, chipping or fracturing of the stone as would have been the case if the wall had been struck by the cannonball at high velocity. For another, one of the cannonballs is of a type not invented or used until some time in the 1870s.
Here is the stone bridge, around which much of the early fighting of the day took place. The bridge spans Bull Run, and although the bridge you see here today is of the same stone as the one that stood there at the battle, it is not the original bridge but rather a reconstruction – during the war, the Confederates demolished the central arch of the bridge to deny Union forces access to the other side. This did not stop them of course, but instead Union engineers built a wooden span on the existing foundations, and then it was rebuilt in the 1884 as you see it today. This was the original course of the Warrenton Turnpike (today’s Route 29, the Lee Highway) and all traffic on that route crossed this bridge until the route was straightened and a new two-lane bridge was built adjacent in the 1960s.
I’ll close with another portrait of Ed, with his swagger stick made from a .50 caliber machine gun bullet.
Two more from Gettysburg itself, and three more from the Catoctin Furnace.
The rail depot is now a little museum, with exhibits relating to Lincoln’s visit.
The iron master of Catoctin Furnace was responsible for all the finished product coming out of the factory. His house was quite large. Today it stands in ruins. The ‘root cellar’ image is my assumption of what the space might have been – it is not labeled on the site. I’m guessing at its function by the proximity to the house (it would have been immediately behind the house, near the kitchen). The other possibility is that it is the spring/well for the house. Since I lacked a flashlight, I did not go in to try and find out what was in there.
Here are some of MY photos from my Gettysburg excursion, not just the antique images I bought.
I had just taken this photo and was walking back toward the main square (aka “the diamond” in local parlance – that’s a whole other story) when I ran into someone who recognized my camera as a Rolleiflex, and who had one (actually several) himself. I explained to him that servicing them to get them back into good working order was not actually that expensive, and that he could still easily get film for them. I think (I hope, anyway) I inspired him to get his Rolleis out of the closet and put them back into service.
The “diamond” story:
I grew up just down the road from Gettysburg, in another southern Pennsylvania town storied in Civil War lore: Chambersburg. Like Gettysburg, it has a central town square, where the courthouse, a church, and a couple of banks are located. We always called it “the square”. Then, a couple of years ago, I went on a Civil War themed bus tour led by Ed Bearss, the historian and talking head (Ken Burns’ The Civil War and History Channel’s Civil War Diaries, among others). We were covering JEB Stuart’s raid on Chambersburg. When we arrived in downtown, he explained that the proper term for a town’s main square in that part of Pennsylvania was (and allegedly still is) “the diamond”. The squares are square, per se, formed at the intersection of two roads, which enter the square from the middle of each side, but in a gesture to ease of parking (originally buggies and horses, now cars), inside the square, the corners have been cut off, making a diamond-esque space in the middle. Thus the diamond. But I had never heard it referred to as “the diamond” in the first 39 years of my life until I heard Ed tell that story.
This is one of those places you see in so many small towns – the local dive bar, or “bar of shame” as I like to think of them. No windows that you can see in, which I suppose gives patrons an illusion of privacy. The ironic thing is that A: this bar is on the main street, just a block or so off the main square, and B: it’s a small town, so everybody knows everybody. If you enter this bar, the whole world is going to know about it.
The Emmittsburg Road, at evening time. I took this picture because it epitomizes Gettysburg, the battlefield, to me as much as any monument or marker or green bronze cannon. This is the gently rolling countryside where over three days in July, 1863, almost 50,000 men gave their lives.
Not actually in Gettysburg, but on the way home, is the Catoctin Furnace. This was an early ironworks, in operation from the late 1700s. Catoctin Furnace supplied the Continental army during the American Revolution, and the Union army during the Civil War. They would stack layers of charcoal, limestone and iron ore needed to produce finished iron into the furnace and let it burn, adding additional layers until enough molten iron was produced. Then a clay valve in the bottom of the stack would be opened and the molten iron bled off into sand-filled channels in the ground where it would form into pig iron bars. I’ve seen two explanations for the name, pig iron: one variation has it because of the shape of the bars after pouring, the other because of the sound the molten iron made as it ran into the molds.
All photos were taken with my Rolleiflex 2.8E, using Kodak Ektar 100.