History Geeks, the Next Generation

On Sunday, I took Debbie's youngest son and his buddy to the reenactment of the Battle of Monmouth. The battle was actually fought on June 28, 1778 and was on a Sunday as well. Geek moment! But that wasn't the best part of the day.

The cool part was that it wasn't my idea. When the boys found out about the reenactment, they begged me to take them. I used to do Civil War reenacting and have been to a million of these kinds of things. Honestly, the smoke and fire show doesn't do much for me anymore. My only motivation to attend these events is to get some reference photos for paintings. But when these little 8 year old's gave me the puppy eyes, well this geek couldn't say no.

We arrived just in time for the big show. As we walked from the parking area, the pace quickened when the first shots rang out. These guys were jazzed and it was infectious. I enjoyed the battle as much as they did! Their barrage of questions showed that they were genuinely interested. It was a perfect illustration of why I got involved in reenacting years ago.

Another great moment was when, at the end of the battle, we heard over the loud speaker that there would be a children's drill complete with wooden muskets and cartridge boxes. Now, having done reenacting, I know that at the end of an event you're tired, sweaty and outta there. Kudos to Outwater's Militia for running the drill while everyone else was packing up. I could describe the scene, but I think these pictures tell the story better.

The kids dutifully thanked me for taking them. I should have thanked them. They made my weekend.

Art and Ammunition: Sketching D-Day

Yes, this is sketch of Omaha Beach on D-Day. No, I wasn't there and I didn't draw it. If you want to find out more about who did and who else sketched the invasion, click here for my article on greathistory.com!

Historic Pennsylvania

This is a 8x10 oil painting I did over the weekend in response to Karin Jurick's famous Different Strokes from Different Folks challenge. If you've ever been to Pennsyl-tucky (I can say that, I'm from New Jersey and we get our share of barbs!), you'll recognize this as a very typical scene. It's a beautiful state with tons of great history! Since this is the season for road trips, let's take a look at it.

Of course there's Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, and that Civil War buff mecca, Gettysburg. Don't forget the dramatic Washington's Crossing either! Those are all familiar places, but there's a lot more state to cover.

Summer means baseball. Little League baseball. I know I'll be watching my fair share of games this year. Well, it all started in 1939 in Williamsport, PA. There's even a hall of fame there!

How about something a little more, um, weird? Try Gravity Hill near Schellsburg. Whether or not cars actually roll up hill, or if it's an optical illusion I know not. I've always wanted to check it out! While you're there, stop in at the Jean Bonnet Tavern (Whiskey Rebellion fame) or Old Bedford Village for a glimpse into colonial life.

For more on the haunts, jaunts and history of Pennsylvania, check out this site. The road less traveled can be just as interesting!

Every One Has A War Hero

This weekend, you will be reminded a lot to take a moment away from your barbeque's to remember why we have a long weekend to usher in the summer season. It's kind of staggering to think of it, but I'd be willing to bet that each and every one of us has a family member or friend, or knows someone who has served in the military (if you haven't yourself). For me, there's quite a few. Let me introduce you to one.


George Raymond Hayes is my uncle by marriage. He married my mom's sister and they enjoyed 51 years of wedded bliss (no sarcasm there, they really did) before she passed away in 2001. They never had any kids of their own, but they certainly had an influence on many. Including me.

Uncle Ray (as I know him) is now 87 years old and is very spry considering he's battling cancer and a broken elbow. He grew up in Newburgh, NY during the Depression and Prohibition. The son of Irish Catholic parents, he is still very religious but there's always been an element of the devil too. His father had a small trucking business (i.e., one truck) and did very well hauling bootleg booze. Uncle Ray helped him on those deliveries. As a teenager, with a group of friends, he ambushed a Klu Klux Klan meeting with BB guns. We often forget that you didn't have to be black for the Klan not to like you.

As the storm of war was gathering steam, Uncle Ray decided to join the Navy. He had already been in awhile when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Eventually he was assigned to PG-62, the USS Temptress. It was a Flower Class Corvette built in England (yeah, they gave us stuff too), a smallish boat meant for convoy duty. Before the war was over, he participated in the sinking of a German U-Boat, witnessed the mess at Omaha Beach through the site of the ship's 3 inch gun, chipped ice off the radar tower to keep the boat from capsizing, survived a direct hit of a 500 lbs. bomb that didn't explode, and ran aground in a hurricane off Virginia Beach.

The Navy brought him back for Korea. His most harrowing story from that conflict was laying down cover fire with a BAR while extracting a shore patrol that had gotten into trouble. There's many more stories and I've heard them all a million times. They're a part of my history too.

After the wars, he continued to be there when someone needed him. He took care of each of my mom's sisters in their dying days because they had no one else. This hard drinking, opinionated, impulsive Irishman also has tremendous compassion. He's still quick with a joke and will flash that sly smile that means he's up to something. Lately we haven't been able to meet for lunch and a couple of cold ones as was our custom. I really miss that.

Uncle Ray is one of my good buddies. He'd be the last one to use the word "hero" so I won't embarrass him with it. You can't argue his integrity though.

Remember a Vet this weekend.

Eating Crow, Passing the Buck and Talking Turkey

I painted this study of negative space after reading a review of Ralph Keyes lastest book, I Love It When You Talk Retro, Hoochie Coochie, Double Whammy, Drop a Dime and the Forgotten Origins of American Speech. Mr. Keyes' previous book was the inspiration for a previous post of mine on quotes and mis-qoutes.

So many sayings and expressions that we use today can be traced back to the far reaches of history. Illustrated here is "Eating Crow". We all know what it means, but where did it come from? Most likely, it came from a mid 19th century joke that went like this: If you get stuck out in the wilderness do these 3 things; 1. catch a crow 2. boil the crow for a week with one of your boots 3. eat the boot. That might sound like a Henny Youngman joke, but I don't think he went that far back! Another story has a British and American soldier from the War of 1812 forcing each other to eat a crow that the American shot. Frankly, it makes no sense to me and smacks of urban legend. Better check out Snopes.com for that one!

Harry Truman stopped the buck at his desk, but how did we start "passing the buck" to begin with? Keyes offers up an explanation featuring gambling out on the frontier. A buck knife was passed around to mark the dealer of each hand. If the cards dealt were questionable, the dealer used the knife to defend himself. If you didn't care to take a chance on getting sliced up like deli turkey, you would chose not to deal and thus, "pass the buck (knife)".

Speaking of turkey, let's talk....Evidently, "talking turkey" derived from an old saw that had an Indian and a White Man hunting together. At the end of each trip they divided up the game and the Indian always ended up with all the crows (and, presumably, was "eating crow"), while the white dude claimed all the turkeys. That is, until our Indian got fed up and finally started to "talk turkey" with Mr. PaleFace.

Ok, so before you go off half cocked, let me give you some scuttlebutt. This isn't the most scholarly history you will read, but if you are curious about the origin of American slang, I'm afraid it's hobson's choice for you. If you have trouble making small talk at cocktail parties a book like this might just be right up your alley.

Alright, alright. I'll stop now. Enjoy!

Man's best friend

Folks, meet Baron. He's our 7 month old Field Spaniel. Baron is a gem of a dog. He's lovable, mellow, goofy and has an infectious personality. On Saturday, March 28th Baron was hit by a car up in Maine where I was visiting my sister. The day before, I had attended the funeral of one of my college roommates. I consider both to be good friends. I almost said goodbye to two good friends on consecutive days.

Fortunately, through the wonderful service provided by the Portland Animal Emergency Clinic, Baron survived. The long term effects are not yet clear, but right now he's at home and getting stronger everyday. I'm no animal rights wacko, nor do I mean to imply that the loss of a dog is akin to the loss of a human, but to me, a friend is a friend. I've been tormented by thoughts of how this could have been avoided and, how it could have been much, much worse. I don't see canines as show dogs, hunting dogs, working dogs or guard dogs. For me, it's simple. Baron is my buddy.

Not everyone sees it that way. I have a friend who grew up in rural Arizona and he's a bit flummoxed by the lengths we easterners will go for our pets. I totally get this. Throughout history, man has had many different relationships with dogs. Most people think we picked dogs because we found them useful. Another theory suggests that they picked us...because WE could be useful. I subscribe to that theory.

Most people have never heard of a field spaniel. Some think that they are the original "spaniel" which spawned all the other breeds (Brittany, Springer, Water, Cocker, etc.). It's most likely that they were simply very big Cocker Spaniels. Apparently, they were bred into a very grotesque configuration which nobody wanted and were nearly extinct. In the early twentieth century, breeders worked on bringing back the more pleasing features of the breed. They definitely succeeded, but the breed is still far from popular. That's fine with me. He's my little secret.

In my own personal history, I've had some wonderful canine companions. They have given me some great stories through the years. There was Winslow, who looked like a lamb and never got over the loss of my mother; Charlie, who used to meet me at the train station (by himself) every evening, and Sam, who warded off depression and was my ambassador to a new life (and many, many other stories). When he was a pup, he fell through the ice on a pond chasing a duck. I fished him out to the applause of on-lookers. And that was only the start.

Rick, my old college buddy, gave me some great stories too. The night we proved too slick for the Selinsgrove cops, or when we decided to collect street signs or that ridiculous 4o+ year old 4 wood he kept (and used) in his golf bag. To protect the innocent, I can't mention the other stories.

Life is about stories. Stories come from friends...whether they be old college room mates or new dog buddies. And stories are what make history.

So I guess that's why I like history. It's the stories. Jimmy Buffet once said, "we do it for the stories we can tell." Amen Jimmy.

A Life Unfinished

At left is an unfinished landscape study I started this weekend. It's from a photo I took in Devils Den at Gettysburg National Historic Park. Devils Den is a spooky place. To me, those large rock or boulder formations speak as crude monuments to those who struggled there and as head stones to those who fell there.

There's some irony in my choosing to paint this particular subject this weekend. Yesterday I found out that one of my college roommates had passed away. Rick was also a rugby teammate and a good friend who left me with many great stories (some to be told and some not). He was only 43 years old. I know that his wife and young children will never completely get over it.

I can't help but recall other unfinished lives that have touched me; schoolmates, dear friends and even my mother. The grim attrition of life does not allow for all of us to attain a ripe old age and to accomplish all that we hoped. As we grow older, sometimes we can't help but look at each other and wonder, "Who's next?" Eventually the rhythm of daily life resumes and we forget about the question, until the next is struck down. Then we cope as best we can.

So too do I think of those soldiers who stood in ranks and wondered, "Who's next?" How did they cope when life's grim attrition gets compressed into 3 or 4 years of war and you lose friends in the span of minutes, not years? For the student of history, you will inevitably stumble across war in your studies. I think it will mean more to you if you can keep this simple theme in mind when you do.

Here's another bit of advice for you. Quite a few years ago, when another friend succumbed to the very same illness, I made a pledge. Simply put: Never pass on the opportunity to see an old friend. It's so easy to say, "I just don't have the time." Try not to, because you probably do have the time.

Rick, you were one fun, crazy, tough SOB and, at times, a royal pain in my ass. I'm really going to miss you.