Remembrance Day

Remembrance Day. The solemn memorial for the six million Jews that were systematically exterminated by the Nazi party during World War II. I've had the honor of hearing first hand accounts of the terrors from survivors. It is chilling every time and remembering the evil that human beings are capable of is one of the most important tasks a historian can take on.

Six million people. That is the equivalent of all the military deaths in the War Between the States.

Times ten.

It's staggering no matter how many times I read that figure. No matter how many stories of the survivors I hear. No matter how many stories they tell of the ones that never made it out alive.

I want to commemorate it somehow. But I want to go about it differently. Walking through Oakland Cemetery the other week, I saw so many Jewish graves. There is a lot of Jewish History embedded in Southern History. Being that this is also Confederate History Month, I want to mesh the two a bit. I'm going to share the stories of a few men from the Old South. Jewish men. Men that would have found themselves among the crowds from those stories had they only been born in central Europe about 100 or so years later.

Francis Salvador was born in London in 1747 and moved to South Carolina in 1773. Although there were laws prohibiting Jews from holding office or even voting, no one voiced an objections to his election to the general assembly. He served as a delegate to the revolutionary Provincial Congress of South Carolina. He would also sever in the second Provincial congress later that year. In July 1776, at age 29, he became the first Jewish man to give his life for the cause of American Independence.

David Levy Yulee

Another Revolutionary War leader was David Emanuel. He served as a soldier and a scout under his brother-in-law, John Twiggs. During his service he would escape after being captured by the British. He survived the war and served in several roles in the new state. In 1801 he was serving as president of the state senate when Governor James Jackson resigned to take a seat in the U.S. Senate. Thus Emanuel became the 24th governor of Georgia, the first Jew to serve as governor of any state of the U.S. Emanuel County, Georgia is named for him.

David Levy Yulee (born David Levy) was the son of a Moroccan Sephardi Jew. He founded the Florida Railroad as well as served as president of several companies. He served as Florida's territorial delegate in Congress before Florida's statehood. In 1845, when Florida became a state, he was became the first Jewish member of the U.S. Senate. After Florida seceded in 1861, he resigned his post as U.S. Senator and became a member of the Confederate Congress. The town of Yulee and Levy County, Florida are named for him.

Judah Benjamin

And then there's Judah Benjamin. It's hard to imagine a man so capable and accomplished that has been relegated so obscure in American History. His post-war exile would carry him to Great Britain where he would be appointed as Queen's Counsel. Before this, however, he'd serve as senator from Louisiana. In 1861 he became the first Jewish cabinet member on the North American continent when Jefferson Davis appointed him to be Attorney General of the Confederate States of America. He would go on to also serve as secretary of war and secretary of state. There would not be a Jewish member of a U.S. cabinet until 1906, 55 years later and 22 years after Benjamin's death. Not to mention the fact that Judah Benjamin turned down U.S. Supreme Court nominations from two different presidents.

I know, I know. Names, dates, places. *yawn*

Don't look at it that way. See people. Four men with families, hopes dreams, fears, lives like you and I. It is important to remember these successful men this way. It's important because that is how we should remember those six million that were poisoned, shot, beaten, starved and left to die of disease. They were piled in mass graves or incinerated like they were nothing but they too had  families, hopes dreams, fears, lives. Did  have.

The only differences between these four men and any of the victims of Hitler's Final Solution were years and miles. As remarkable a Judah Benjamin was, the SS would have shoved him in an oven in a heartbeat. We know this because so many men like him met that very fate...we just don't have their names in our history books, not even to the level we have his. We don't have counties named for the children that never grew up or the mothers that bore them. So many stories eliminated from our records forever. And as time progresses, the survivors become fewer. Those that remain to tell us first hand are being lost to death. And many of their stories are going with them.

It's all too easy to see a number like six million - 6,000,000 - and dismiss it. Even all those zeroes don't seem to help. In an age where we take about millions, billions, even trillions so casually. But we have to understand this number. We have to understand the humanity on both sides of the number. We have to see the others in Serbia and Rwanda. We have to see it and know we are capable of doing it and it can happen to us. More importantly we have to remember that we can keep it from happening to anyone ever again.

We have to know it's inevitable if we ever forget.

Into the Wild (Man's)

April. Confederate History Month.

Where to start?

I'll start with this. Confederate History is a complex, mangled, interwoven mass of good and evil. I'm looking at it honestly, trying with everything within me to be unbiased in my approach to learning what really happened.

It is all too appropriate that the traditional color of the Confederate forces was gray.

I've been around this block enough to know what so many are thinking about this topic. "Slavery" is bound to pop up any time the word "Confederate" is uttered. And that's a shame, because there was so much more to the Confederacy than slavery.

Let me say this up front. I'm a Southern apologist. Guilty as charged. But I'm not a "slavery was wrong, but" apologist. I'm a "slavery was wrong, period." apologist. It was an indefensible practice that is best left in the past, and that only because it cannot be undone entirely.

It was wrong.

And so, no matter how hard we try, we cannot ditch the elephant in the Confederate parlor. Despite the indisputable evidence that the South was fighting for independence to pursue the form of government established in the infancy of this nation and despite the irrefutable evidence that the North was fighting to centralize all government power in Washington, the South just can't seem to get the albatross from around our neck.

We were absolutely right...and dreadfully wrong.

Which brings me to today's adventure.

Tucked into the masonry of the old town of Big Shanty is this little gem known as Wild Man's Civil War Surplus. For those of us that can't seem to get enough, it's always good to find someone that has extra to spare. And so today, while on a completely unrelated errand I found myself, along with my favorite Southern belle, walking through the front door of "The Best Little Warhouse in Kennesaw". We found ourselves surrounded by piles, stacks and rows of history and even some propaganda. Various sundries ranging from wildly hilarious to embarrassingly offensive filled the store that seemed like the attic of Reconstruction-era Dixie. And then, from the back room, appeared the most celebrated artifact in the establishment, Dent "Wild Man" Myers.

Dent "Wild Man" Myers, Photo by Roadside America

Wild Man has progressed in years since last I saw him. He wears a beard that makes the Duck Dynasty bunch look like some contestants from Project Runway. The loaded pistols on his belt let you know he's ready for any foolishness you may have for him while the "Guns Allowed" sign on the front door invites you to have a fighting chance. While the organization of the store might not be up to snuff by many critics, he seems to know where everything you could ask for could be found. His hands are adorned with rings on every finger but make no mistake, this is not Liberace. Let me just say that his selection in jewelry does not reflect modern notions of diversity and ecumenism.

There is so much in the store and about the man himself that I just cannot agree with. I've heard the word bigot used to describe him. There is some evidence to support such claims. But there is just something about the man that won't let me throw him out entirely. First of all, he is a primary authority on The War. If you need proof of this, go to Kennesaw Mountain National Military Park, configure the most detailed question about a specific aspect of the battle that you can muster and present it to one of the rangers. You get a good attempt at an answer and then he'll say, "You know, if you really want to know more about this, you should go see Wild Man." And the Surplus is the best place to learn about that battle.

Also, he is, appearance aside, a delightful person to meet. He was very polite in my interaction with him today. My transaction was interrupted by a telephone call, a company trying to offer him a credit card. The side of the conversation I was privy to went something like "Well, I'm trying to get to lunch and trying to help a customer...how much money we talkin' about? $100,000? I've got more money than that in my pocket right now." I had to laugh. And then when he returned, apologetically, to me he accepted cash. Cards are worthless in Wild Man's, he figured the total on an old adding machine and presented me with a hand-written receipt from his carbon copy pad.

But it's more than that. To me he represents a microcosm of the South. There's some things that I don't agree with but I see a lot of good there as well. And much of the bad needs to be remembered. We cannot purge every drop of "offensive" history from our society. We have to know where we've come from if we want to move forward.

I also want to judge people on the whole. Not just on the negative aspect I see. The truth is, Wild Man is open about his opinions. His faults and wrongs are laid out on display, much like the Confederacy's. But what about my faults? What about yours? What prejudices do we hide? What fears haunt us? What do we conceal within us that we'd be ashamed for anyone else to know? Are we honest with ourselves about it?

When we look back on The War the North had it share of atrocities - Camp Douglas, "Hellmira", Sherman's March to the Sea, Lincoln's true intentions about slavery, the suspension of the Constitution, all these swept under the rug or even justified because of the behemoth sin of the Confederacy.

That sounds more like the rest of us. "I thank you Lord that I'm not like that Wild Man."

And then I looked at him today. I saw an old man. A man whose remaining years are getting fewer by the day. All that knowledge, the humor, the carbon copy pad and the faults will die with him. Some kid will move in, open a skateboard shop and...

See? There I go again. "God be merciful to me, a sinner."

Confederate History Month. Take the good with the bad.

Good Friday

So the cemetery thing has become a recurrent theme as of late. I admit that on face value it does seem a little weird but it satisfies a curiosity within me that a shopping mall just can't seem to handle. So that is how on Good Friday 2013, with the help of Google Maps turn-by-turn directions, I found myself at Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta.

Once inside the gate, I was stunned by the breathtaking beauty of the place. Something about it screamed "life", not "death". A quick stop at the visitor's center to get a map and I was off on my exploration.

My first encounter on the grounds was a small Boston Terrier that came running towards me. At first I thought he was growling but when he came closer I realized he was grunting. The dog had a tennis ball in his mouth and seemed to wonder if I wanted to play. I reached to get a picture of him but I think he was camera shy. He spun around and headed off again to find someone more interested to fetch than photography. Suffice to say, his image won't be making an appearance in this article.

Then there were birds, squirrels, trees, grass and shrubs. There was a young mother and her child enjoying a picnic. Small groups of people were on self-guided tours, much like myself. Several joggers made their way through the streets, conversing as they prepared for the 5K run hosted by the cemetery every October. Even the many workers I encountered seemed to be enjoying the warm Georgia sunshine and their picturesque surroundings as they carried out their tasks.

While I was at the grave of Margaret Mitchell two ladies came up and advised they had come to have lunch with the author. Being a polite Southern gentleman, I excused myself as they spread out their meal along the path. My mother didn't raise me to impose on people with company, even if the host is deceased. So I headed off to find the father/son governors Brown.

For over three hours I walked among the lanes, saw famous names from Georgia and even national history, took in the serenity of the park and enjoyed myself. The Italian Cypress trees swayed lightly in the breeze. The dogwoods began stretching their blossoms as if they knew Easter was upon us. The Lion of the Confederacy continued his eternal nap, resting among the Unknown. No one cussed me out, tried to kill me, shot me a bird or questioned the legitimacy of my heritage.

And then I merged back onto the Downtown Connector for the drive home.

What a difference a mile can make.

There is a lesson here. One about Good Friday and what it means to us. And so I'm going to just go with tradition and not get caught up in the discussion of the Friday/Sunday/three day debate for now. Just go with this because the truth of the Gospel is what is important.

Inside the brick walls of Oakland among the 70,000 +/- dead people I found life. Out in Atlanta, among the 3 million +/- living people I found death.

A small spot of death full of life surrounded by a expanse of life full of death.

Do you see the Good Friday in the analogy?

Many of the people in these graves died violent deaths and caused the violent deaths of others. Almost 7000 soldiers from the War Between the States make up the Confederate Memorial grounds, including 16 Union soldiers. A plaque commemorating the Andrews' Raiders, their capture, trial, hanging and initial burial (a mere 280 feet past the south wall) stands at the wall along Memorial Dr. And on that fateful day in 1864, John Bell Hood stood on the hill behind the Bell Tower and watched as he commanded Confederate forces during the Battle of Atlanta, which spilled over onto what is now cemetery grounds.

But today one can get lost in the beauty of the place. And on hot summer days, Oakland Cemetery can be as much as 5 degrees cooler than the rest of Atlanta around it

In a place of death, I found life...even while surrounded by a place of life where I found death. And over 163 years of history, Atlanta has not punctured the brick walls surrounding Oakland. The Olympics, the Super Bowl, the World Series, The Final Four, the rapid growth that all these can bring. Atlanta has spread over Georgia like pepper gravy over a warm cathead. Yet, Oakland's streets and lanes remain largely as they were built. It's trees, flowers and beautiful monuments are protected from the sprawl because of the death inside.

Death brings and protects life.

That, after all, is the message of Good Friday