Sunday, November 27, 2016
So I will start with a brief nutshell of the circumstances. At the time of the Battle of Franklin, November 30, 1864, Carrie’s children were nine (Hattie) and seven (Winder). Carrie herself was thirty-five, her husband, John McGavock, fourteen years her senior at forty-nine. They had been married several years, Carrie coming from Louisiana to marry John, who was quite a wealthy man for the times, worth over six million dollars in our present day currency. He owned the flourishing plantation where he and his brother James had been raised, Carnton, in middle Tennessee. The McGavocks raised wheat, hay, corn and potatoes as well as maintaining a thoroughbred horse ranch.
Carnton, (Scottish for “the place of stones”) was less than one mile from the battle that took place on the far Union Eastern flank. Most of the battle took place after dark, from 5-9p.m., so the McGavocks could see the firefight that went on over the town of Franklin that evening. Because their plantation was so close, it became a field hospital for the Confederate troops.
This, according to the Wickipedia account:
More than 1,750 Confederates lost their lives at Franklin. It was on Carnton's back porch that four Confederate generals’ bodies—Patrick Cleburne, John Adams, Otho F. Strahl and Hiram B. Granbury—were laid out for a few hours after the Battle of Franklin.
More than 6,000 soldiers were wounded and another 1,000 were missing. After the battle, many Franklin-area homes were converted into temporary field hospitals, but Carnton by far was the largest hospital site. Hundreds of Confederate wounded and dying were tended by Carrie McGavock and the family after the battle. Some estimates say that as many as 300 Confederate soldiers were cared for by the McGavocks inside Carnton alone. Hundreds more were moved to the slave quarters, the outbuildings, even the smokehouse—and when the buildings were full, the wounded had to lie outside during the frigid nights, when the temperature reached below zero.
After the battle, at 1 a.m. on December 1, Union forces under Maj. Gen. John M. Schofield evacuated toward Nashville, leaving all the dead, including (several hundred) Union soldiers, and the wounded who were unable to walk as well. So when morning came, the 750 or so residents of Franklin faced an unimaginable scene of what to do with over 2,500 dead soldiers, most of those being 1,750 Confederates.
According to George Cowan's "History of McGavock Confederate Cemetery," "All of the Confederate dead were buried as nearly as possible by states, close to where they fell, and wooden headboards were placed at each grave with the name, company and regiment painted or written on them." Many of the soldiers were originally buried on property belonging to Fountain Branch Carter and James McNutt. Many of the Union soldiers were re-interred in 1865 at the Stones River National Cemetery in Murfreesboro.
A team of individuals led by George Cuppett took responsibility for the reburial operation in the spring of 1866. By June, some ten weeks after the start, the last Confederate soldier was laid to rest at McGavock Cemetery. Some 1,481 Rebel soldiers would now be at peace. Soldiers from every Southern state in the Confederacy, except Virginia, is represented in the cemetery.
Sadly, George Cuppett’s brother, Marcellus, died during the process of the reburials. Just 25 years old, he is buried at the head of the Texas section in the McGavock Cemetery. He is the only civilian interred there.
Most of the above was taken from the Wikipedia article about Carnton and the McGavocks. Now you know the FACTS, but let me tell you about my impression of this remarkable woman and the cause she put above all else.
It is said that Winder’s room was used as an operating room. A table was set up by the east-facing window where the surgeries were performed. Today, there is a table there much like what would have been used, along with the crude medical implements that were available at the time. Our guide told us that when the doctor finished an amputation, he would throw the limb out the window, get the man off the table and make room for the next one. Because the doctor most likely wore a rubberized apron, the blood pooled in a kind of horseshoe shape on the floor where he would have stood. He walked in it and stood in it, grinding it into the wood. It is still there, to this very day—a testament to five of the bloodiest hours in the history of the Civil War.
Once, Hattie was asked about her most enduring childhood memory. “The smell of blood,” she replied.
In the book, there is mention made of Carrie’s friend, Mariah, who had once been her slave but chose to stay with her as they had been together since childhood. Mariah was said to have had the ability to look at some of the graves and tell something about the person who was buried there. She had “the sight.”
For the next forty years, after the Battle of Franklin, Carrie dressed in black, visiting the graves every day. She carried the book of names with her. I have to tell you, when I saw that book of names I got chills thinking of the devotion she had to this cause. Those men were not forgotten.
My husband and I toured the house, a gorgeous old mansion, with a wonderful guide who was glad to answer any and all questions. Tours are around $15, and well worth it. The cemetery tour is $5, or you can just walk around and look for yourself, which is what my husband and I did. If you buy the book, I promise you will be as anxious to see this place for yourself as I was.
Walking those same floors that were walked upon by Carrie and her family, and the wounded men, the generals, the doctors…gave me feeling I will never forget. I could almost swear I felt her presence, still there, still watching over the soldiers she devoted her adult life to at Carnton…the “place of stones.”
You can order the Kindle version of THE WIDOW OF THE SOUTH here, and it's also available in print.
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Those of you who have read any of my books or occasional columns realize by now that I am a big fan of western films. And, with this group, I don’t consider myself alone in my enjoyment.
There are a lot of us who still thrill to the sound of “the thundering hoofbeats of the great horse Silver,” and other classic lines that bring Pavlovian smiles to our faces. Whether it is the beginning of a 1930s matinee serial, the yodeling of a 1940s singing cowboy, the William Tell Overture from radio and early television, the theme to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, or even Frankie Laine singing Blazing Saddles, our attention is captured.
But, it is a common situation that spouses don’t always share the same interests. My wife, for instance, has not been a big fan of westerns. She doesn’t know Ken Maynard from Ken Starr and, when I mentioned the Three Mesquiteers recently, she asked if Annette Funicello had been a member. It’s a sad situation. However, being a modern, enlightened sort of guy, I figure that I can find a way to bring her around. Cowboy films are something that couples should share.
There is a slight difference in our film tastes. For instance, when we were first married, the wife asked me to go see a British comedy with her. I thought she said “Benny Hill.” I was delighted. When the lights came on in the theater, I had been stuck watching Notting Hill. The memory of that terrible night still haunts me with HCFDSS (Husbands’ Chick Flick Delayed Stress Syndrome). I probably should have reported her to the Geneva Convention.
Anyway, I’m over it. And I have a plan to improve her film interests. Christmas is coming up and, instead of getting her a new iron or set of dishtowels, this year I plan to shower her with DVDs that will certainly put a smile on her face.
Knowing that I have been thinking about holiday gifts, the little woman has been tossing out hints on things she would enjoy receiving. Just last week she was watching the Travel Channel and remarked how she would like to see more of the country. So, for her geographic knowledge, I ordered Buck Jones and Tim McCoy in Down Texas Way, Dick Foran and Leo Carrillo in Riders of Death Valley, and Randolph Scott in Abilene Town.
And while watching the Hallmark Channel, she mentioned how much she enjoyed romance films. You guessed it. I bought Romance on the Range with Roy Rogers and Gabby Hayes.
One of the things the two of us agree upon is our support for law enforcement. Therefore, I think she will really appreciate the DVDs of Law of the Lash with Lash LaRue, and Guns of the Law with Dave O’Brien.
Now, obviously you have picked up that I’ve subtly taken her suggestions slightly to the west. And, by doing so, I have chosen the perfect Christmas entertainment that will inspire her to become a western-film aficionado. To cap everything off, I’ve included a 2017 calendar so she can keep track of family events. I can’t wait to see her eyes light up when she opens it to see the large, beautiful, color photos from the last 20 minutes of Sam Peckinpah’s masterpiece, The Wild Bunch.
Who said romance is dead?
Friday, November 11, 2016
I stood at the top of the incline, looking toward the long, black wall, with the more than 58,000 names just a blur. I watched people moving slowly along the wall…from those too young to have any memory of the Vietnam war, to those people whose hair had been bleached white by the passing of too many years.
Sometimes there would be a couple of men staring at the wall, engaged in quiet conversation.
“I don’t believe Smitty ever bought a cigarette of his own.”
“No, but he was a good man. You needed somethin’ done, you could always count on Smitty.”
“Problem with him, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was always talkin’ himself into trouble.”
“He only had three weeks ‘till his drop date when he was killed. Can you believe that? Three weeks.”
Ruth had gone to check in the book to help me locate some of my friends. They aren’t listed alphabetically, they are on the wall chronologically, according to when they were killed.
She came back with the names. The first name was Dan Lambdin. Dan and I were friends from Germany, in Vietnam at the same time, but not serving together. I found his name on the wall, and, as dramatically as if it were a scene change in a movie…the wall, the people around me, tone and tint, disappeared. I could hear the sound of rotor blades, I could smell jet exhaust, I could feel the oppressive heat of the flight line at Phu Loi, Vietnam.
Dan was in Vung Tau, and I had flown over from Phu Loi to deliver a helicopter. Dan’s roommate was gone, so he invited me to stay with him. We lay there that night, talking across the dark space between our bunks, remembering funny incidents from Germany, talking about what we had encountered in Vietnam.
“The first thing you have to do is to learn not to be afraid you’re going to be killed every time you go out,” Dan said. “You need to stop worrying about your mortality and think only about the momentary reality.”
But we wondered what it would be like to be killed. Are you aware beyond death? Where does your soul go?
“Ha! You better believe, I won’t be staying here,” Dan said with a chuckle.
The next day we went down to the airfield together. I was going to fly back to Phu Loi, and Dan was going to deliver a generator to a Special Forces “A-Team” unit near Binh Khat. We exchanged some off-color remark by way of goodbye, and went our separate way.
When I landed at Phu Loi, the line-chief, who had served with Dan and me in Germany, came over to tie down the aircraft. “Chief, did you hear about Mr. Lambdin?”
“What do you mean, hear about him? I just left him. Hear what?”
“He was just shot down and killed near Binh Khat. He was delivering a generator.”
“No,” I said. “That’s not possible!” I spoke those words while standing at the wall, but they reached back across the almost forty years that separated then from now in an instant.
Then, with my throat choked, and my eyes dimmed by tears, I continued my sojourn down the wall, putting my hands on 22 more names, feeling each of them, seeing them as the young, vibrant men I remembered. Looking around I saw that I wasn’t the only one traveling through time and that day. To me, my fellow time travelers were no longer old men with gray hair and drawn skin. They were young, and they were wearing jungle fatigues and flak vests, and they had M-16s slung over their shoulders, or .45 pistols strapped to their sides. Their eyes weren’t filled with tears…they were set in the ‘thousand yard stare’ that we all wore then.
VIETNAM REFLECTIONS by LEE TETER
I said one more goodbye to all my friends that day, then I walked away, leaving the wall behind me, but not the ghosts and memories. They will be with me until I cross that great divide. Vietnam was but three years out of my 76 years of life...but the impact those three years made on me is incalculable.
On this approaching Veterans Day I think not only of my Vietnam and Cold War peers, but of all 40 million who have served this country since its birth. We are one long line stretching through the battles that mark our history; Bunker Hill, New Orleans, Matamoros, Shiloh, Little Big Horn, San Juan Hill, The Marne, Iwo Jima, Chosin Reservoir, Ia Drang, Baghdad, and Fallujah, and I am proud to say that I am a brother to all of them.
Robert Vaughan - CW3 - US Army (ret)
All of us gave some…some gave all.
SOLDIER SEES DAUGHTER FOR THE FIRST TIME