Author:
Fan of Leon The Man
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: 20:20:19 07/30/07 Mon
In reply to:
EKMBBC Leon Harrison, G.C.M.
's message, ""Reading, writing and reenacting"" on 13:21:35 07/30/07 Mon
Who says that reenacting don't pay?
http://ohsnap.daytondailynews.com/media/157156
>Leon Harrison
>West Carrollton, Ohio
>Wednesday, July 25, 2007
>
>To: The Editor, East Kentucky Magazine
>
>Subject: Reading, writing, reacting and reenacting
>
>
>“Reading, writing and reenacting”
>
>
>Reading, writing, reacting and reenacting are subjects
>that should help me make some pages for this
>[forthcoming future] issue of East Kentucky Magazine,
>that will no doubt be published after Mountain Days
>[August 18-19] takes place in Dayton, Ohio. Yes, I
>know that outdoors it is about 130 degrees Fahrenheit
>in the Middle East, thereby making it sort of hard for
>me to honestly complain about reenacting and working
>and sweating a little bit. This past weekend [July
>20-22], at the Gorman Heritage Farm in Evendale, Ohio,
>low-eighties temperatures were not that hot…during a
>few hours of fun in the sunshine.
>I shall not wonder or worry about my retirement, with
>my reclining and relaxation in this prosperous
>relatively-safe nation, not getting or keeping me in
>physical shape for reenacting as a [aged 18-28] Civil
>War infantry soldier; nor can or shall I try to claim
>that I can really experience or feel real soldiers’
>hardship or pain. Since it is not in the genes or
>makeup of the male species to heedlessly or needlessly
>complain or whine, how can I now honestly do so or
>pout or shout about being at least three stories
>behind?
>
>Saturday, July 21, 2007, Gorman Heritage Farm
>
>After the Saturday battle, during which he had been
>KIA [leading to the Union defeat and the wailing of
>women and children], Sgt. Harrison had tried to ignore
>his dirty Springfield rifle and delay cleaning it for
>a couple of days. That evening, while encamped at the
>Drake Motel in Cincinnati, he could not keep from
>cleaning his rifle, wanting his CO and fellow soldiers
>to hear his steel ramrod “RIINNGG!” when he dropped it
>into the barrel. This is one of the safety checks done
>for fun during “Inspection, arms!” Likewise, on Sunday
>night, Sgt. Harrison had to once again clean his rifle
>to do and hear this “Riinngg!” thing for himself if
>for nobody else, somehow sensing that those old NCOs
>and officers were watching and critiquing him.
> Reenactment and relevant travel research never hurts,
>and using the Internet can save you some money, time
>and regrets, I bet. During this recent Gorman
>Farm-reenactment weekend [July 20-22], I wasted a lot
>of time and gasoline, if you know what I mean, making
>and leaving about 250-miles and
>50-black-powder-cartridges-worth of carbon footprints
>between West Carrollton, Sharonville and Cincinnati,
>as I drove up and down Reading Road to and through
>Evendale, Reading and Glendale. Like Sharon Woods,
>this was the very first time that I had driven off of
>and away from I-75 to Evendale.
> The staff and volunteers at the Gorman Heritage Farm
>stressed Earth and environmentally-friendly recycling,
>but were smart enough to use golf carts to carry
>people [me] and haul stuff all around the farm, making
>things much more efficient and even easier…on heavier
>or older reenactors. They were good for carrying
>firewood. The gunners, cavalry, sutlers and other
>people with heavy equipment, horses and tents could
>not do without their SUVs, pickup trucks and trailers.
>We Buckeyes must give credit and express some
>gratitude to the ghost and spirit of the late
>[once-infamous] Confederate Cavalry General John Hunt
>Morgan and his raiders for giving us and our Indiana
>Hoosier neighbors a little bit of Civil War history to
>go along with a little glorious heroic romantic
>mystery. Like at Leatherwood Creek [Cornettsville,
>KY], the location of every Civil War [“Cold Mountain”]
>incident and even the smallest of skirmishes give us
>cause and reason enough for our annual seasonal
>celebrations, commemorations, reenactments and similar
>historical community events. In 1863, General Morgan
>and his raiders stole a couple of horses from the
>[1835] bank barn on the Brown farm, returning one of
>them in a hard-ridden broken down condition. This same
>barn is located upon a long hill that overlooks the
>reenactment battlefield site, spectators and visitors
>sitting or standing below it to watch the show and
>exploring around and within it to look at the farm
>displays, implements and animals.
>Saturday, July 21, 2007, Gorman Heritage Farm
>
>Local Gorman Farm staff, volunteers and impressionists
>had worked with reenactors and reenactresses to set up
>educational historical displays throughout the park,
>located off of the neat but narrow graveled and paved
>walkways. The smart-Alec Sgt. Harrison asked a pioneer
>cook if he could do “HOT POCKETS”. He could. This
>gray-bearded fellow was giving people samples of meat
>that he roasted on a spit over an open fire, cutting
>them off with a knife and forking them to their
>fingers.
>There was an outdoor school (with wooden desks under
>an open-sided tent) and similar small educational
>stations scattered along and off the walking trails
>[used by people with golf carts and horses], with
>posted educational informative paper placards that
>explained details, facts, figures, short stories,
>statistics and trivia about Morgan’s Raid and relevant
>Civil War conditions and events. I did not see the
>slave auction. People liked petting the cavalry
>horses, of course.
>Across the paved path from the school station was
>located a vegetable garden, near one end of the
>battlefield. Eager energetic young’uns got to dig in
>the dirt for ‘taters, getting dirty and having fun and
>each of them keeping one.
>The tents of Sutlers Row were set up along the dirt
>lane across from the tractor shed. There, Sgt.
>Harrison once again chatted with a Cincinnati
>seamstress, who had sewn a brass button on his sack
>jacket at Barbourville, Kentucky. She does pretty good
>at Leatherwood. She was wearing a black cloth cast on
>a leg and had not dressed or brought her seamstress
>stuff for this event.
>Sgt. Harrison helped Richard A. Baumgartner set up his
>tent, under which he displayed, sold and autographed
>some of the eight Civil War books that he had either
>authored or co-authored, including his latest:
>“BUCKEYE BLOOD, OHIO AT GETTYSBURG”. I really do not
>need any more Civil War stuff, including unread books
>to look at. Sgt. Harrison gave Mr. Baumgartner one
>FREE copy of the current issue of East Kentucky
>Magazine, generously doing likewise for a few other
>lucky reenactors.
>At the near end of the tents, the “doctor” and his
>assistant had set up their tent with their medical
>display, both of them wearing
>red-splashed-and-speckled white aprons, including
>their instruments and the dry red “bloody” bucket of
>amputated appendages. He also used volunteers from his
>audience for patient participation, to explain and
>demonstrate. It was fun and educational for one and
>all without being too graphic or gross for most of us.
>We do not want to make people feel too bad or sad or
>sick.
>The concession tents were set up behind the bank barn,
>tables and chairs set up on the sloping grass yard
>between it and the Sutlers Row lane. There was plenty
>of good festival food, e.g., hamburgers, hot dogs and
>chips with soda pop and water. Volunteer carpenters
>were demonstrating shed framing by nailing
>two-by-fours together. Sgt. Harrison had to consume
>some of this good festival food, to give him energy
>for his two big battles.
>
>According to my notes: Union artillery was the 5th
>Ohio Light Artillery. Confederate artillery was the
>18th South Carolina, Confederate Marine Corps [white
>trousers], and Graves Battery. Union infantry was the
>4th and 48th Ohio Volunteer Infantry with the 6th,
>32nd, and 35th Indiana. Confederate cavalry was the
>5th Texas and 9th Virginia. As mentioned above, the
>Union cavalry consisted of Generals Custer, Lee and a
>few others who had to wear their blue coats for folks.
>
>Every reenactment is a reunion for someone, whether
>they be regular reenactresses and reenactors,
>individual independent walk-ons [yours truly], sutlers
>or their families, friends, kids and kin who see each
>other now and then or again and again. Finally, your
>EKMBBC took some notes to help him [his mature
>late-middle-aged memory] to record and remember these
>events and people: Lt. Vernon Woodruff is the CO of
>the 4th Ohio Volunteer infantry, whom I drilled with
>at Sharon Woods. Lt. Richards Davidson, CO of the 48th
>OVI, was there with his brother Donley. Private John
>Kestler, 59, was there with Pvt. Joe Stanforth, among
>unknown others and our reenactor sisters and brothers.
>As a captain, First Sgt. Jeff Stein had been Sgt.
>Harrison’s CO at Sharon Woods, in addition to
>performing his drunken-duel skit at the Grove City,
>Ohio, Century Village event. Sgt. Harrison remembered
>1st Sgt. Stein and Sgt. Marvin Crone from the Camp
>Wildcat, Kentucky, reenactment of 2005.
>The weather was wonderful, with daytime temperatures
>ranging between the high seventies and low eighties,
>clear clean blue high skies above us with scattered
>bright white puffy cumulus clouds to screen us and the
>fun from the direct rays of the sun. There were also
>plenty of trees to screen us with shade, except at the
>Soldiers’ Encampment that had been located at a long
>fenced field behind the alfalfa barn, the Confederate
>and Union encampments and tents had been set up and
>separated with flags.
>In the bank barn, Greg Jowaisas explained, sang and
>played his traditional American music, telling us
>informative short stories. He had also been good at
>Sharon Woods Heritage Village Museum, where I had last
>listened to him and seen him.
>In alfalfa barn, with cues and advice from his wife,
>Bill Nordan performed as General John Hunt Morgan,
>lecturing while wearing his nice gray uniform with
>black-plumed cavalry hat, high black boots, pistol and
>sword, of course. With three young soldiers, Mr.
>Nordan had displayed and demonstrated uniforms,
>equipment and flags, being an expert concerning the
>experiences, exploits and life of General Morgan, of
>course.
>On Sunday morning, Chaplain Dan Mason used this barn
>for his sermon, while wearing a Jewish prayer shawl
>with his black Civil War-era suit with string tie. He
>is a pretty good preacher teacher, using history and
>humor to impart his heavenly message. Inside the
>Heritage Village Museum chapel, during a similar
>Sunday sermon at Sharon Woods, Chaplain Mason had worn
>a black-striped bluish Scottish kilt. He was also
>involved in First Sergeant Jeff Stein’s comical
>“drunken duelists” skit. He gave last rites to fallen
>soldiers, who lay upon the battlefield after they were
>KIA, as he had done at Sharon Woods, making it look
>poingiant and good. I shall always remember and
>appreciate his prayers there.
>Thus far, I am sorry about the lack of action and
>passion or smooching and shooting. Do you want me to
>just start making stuff up for a graphic gory glorious
>romantic sensitive sweet smooch-and-sweat story with
>blabbing and stabbing? So far, I see no way to
>honestly write in wizards or witches or babes or
>bitches…oh, I already did it with Brandy. Remember, I
>did honestly refer to my previous experiences with
>evil spirits. What’s for supper? Take another break.
>Hannity’s radio show ends at six o’clock, when the
>local TV-news shows come on.
> A little harmless nostalgia for “the good old days”
>is okay, but thank God for microwave bacon!
>Besides myself, I have also saved four neighbor dogs
>from starvation by feeding them bone treats.
>Take a break until I continue this, tomorrow.
>
>Saturday, July 21, 2007, Gorman Heritage Farm
>
> “4:37 a.m. I can’t sleep because I’m a dumb…
>forgetful person; forgot my bayonet and brogans! Got
>to go to W.C. and return with them. SHOOT! FUDGE! So,
>it’s gonna be a long fudging day.”
>
> Later, that sunny Saturday morning, your humbler
>EKMBBC parked and left his car in the Gorman Farm lot,
>where he once again opened the doors and the trunk to
>unload his fun and guns stuff. From there, a warm
>uniformed Sgt. Harrison carried it up the winding
>paved paths between and by and the display stations,
>exchanging greetings and salutes, rout-stepping by
>gardens, fields and meadows, walking around and
>between the barns to finally go through the fence
>gateway into the encampment field. Farm and encampment
>sights, sounds, sights and smells and sounds mingled
>pleasantly and competed for his attention: random
>scattered three-second scenes that were suitable for
>pictures, gone in an instant and never to be repeated.
>Brandy got her bone treat with petting.
> As Sgt. Harrison walked on, approached and entered
>the Union encampment, he acknowledged and exchanged
>the typical friendly greetings of reenactors and
>reenactresses, who no doubt shared some of his mutual
>memories of Sharon Woods and previous events. As
>usual, it was sort of embarrassing when each and every
>one of them started asking Sgt. Harrison to join with
>them and their units for this event; not that they
>just needed and wanted another armed blue-clad soldier
>to fill in their ranks, to march, make smoke and
>noise, and take “a hit” for the audience and media
>people. Nobody offered him makeup or mineral water.
> That weekend, the farm and encampments were to open
>for the public at 10:00 a.m. The Saturday and Sunday
>battles were scheduled to start at 2:30 p.m., with
>Morgan’s Raiders stealing horses from the bank barn
>[as in 1863], followed by exchanged cannon fire and
>skirmishing by cavalry and infantry, before the main
>engagements commenced. It was nice to see real regular
>normal parents with their children, friends and kin,
>walking and talking and listening to and learning from
>lectures and participants, including farm animals and
>horses, of course. Sgt. Harrison didn’t mind posing
>for and with them for their photographs and digital
>images. They had fun looking at swords and guns.
> Now, Paul D., our public and regular readers might
>find it hard to believe that my retirement with
>related reclined reading and relaxation have not been
>exactly preparing me for the physical demands and
>necessities of these reenactments.
> Therefore, it sounded sensible when Private John
>Kestler suggested a small simple scenario, to be
>performed by he, Pvt. Joe Stanforth, and Sgt.
>Harrison, that had been approved by Lt. Davidson and
>Captain Woodruff: These three more mature soldiers
>would lead the advance of the main two-unit body and
>skirmish down below the barn and the audience, in the
>shade, by the yellow-rope-line safety barrier. At 59,
>Pvt. Keslter is about a dozen or so years more mature
>than Sgt. Harrison, Pvt. Stanforth being even more so.
>He also has a bad leg for an infantryman.
>Regardless of his rank and the power, prestige and
>responsibilities that go with it, Sgt. Harrison does
>not really mind fighting as a private but from the
>left end of a squad. But, since he had “the stripes”,
>he ended up with a pair of period black binoculars and
>was put in charge of this three-man unit of
>skirmishers.
> So, Sgt. Harrison led his two troops down the gravel
>lane around and below the big bank barn and into the
>field adjacent to the spectators who were watching and
>waiting for the show to begin. A man with a microphone
>was making announcements and talking to the crowd via
>the public address system and speakers. Sgt.
>Harrison’s skirmishers spread out and advanced into
>the safety sector on the right flank of the three
>Union cannons. They played like they were scouting and
>then started gradually withdrawing, walking and
>talking with three aforementioned Union cavalrymen and
>the audience, entertaining the crowd in the lull
>before the storm, letting them take their pictures.
>While hidden in plain sight by the rope, Sgt. Harrison
>counted 33 rebels as they marched in a column of twos
>right beside them! As usual, there was some confusion
>as Sgt. Harrison’s unit had complicated and confounded
>Confederate plans for Morgan’s horse thievery, they
>being in the way until they were advised to withdraw
>and remain away from the lane and the gate.
> Sgt. Harrison and his skirmishers likewise had to
>back up some more to give the cavalry space for their
>skirmish, nervous experienced horses performing at
>close range while pistols popped and sabers flashed
>and slashed in the bright summer sunlight. In the
>distance, clean white trousers and gray coats of
>Confederate Marine artillerymen were noticeable at the
>northern end of the field, their guns set up at the
>summit of a low rolling hill at that end. Union guns
>were set up on the opposite end along a low slope
>above the shallow grassy battlefield bowl in between,
>all spread out for the spectators on a field of green.
>After three cannon shots were exchanged, Sgt. Harrison
>and his skirmishers started popping off long-range
>shots at their Confederate counterparts, cavalry and
>cannon-crew friends at the other end. Morgan his
>riffraff rebels stole a couple of horses and got away.
>Reenactors soon learn to adlib, adapt and adjust (as
>they must) to rapidly changing and confusing
>situations, the audience rarely noticing or caring out
>there somewhere, those invisible peaceful civilians at
>the edge of those drifting gray clouds of gun smoke.
>The thunder of cannon fire and sounds of horse hooves
>and whooping and hollering mixed with the crack and
>pop of pistols and rifles.
>Main infantry units arrived at both ends of the field,
>the rebels coming out of the trees at their northern
>end, the Yankees coming out of the south down the barn
>lane and forming up, in ranks of two, beside the
>cannon line.
>After Sgt. Harrison ran up to Captain Woodruff and
>gave him a quick perfunctory report on the situation,
>he was ordered to rejoin with the 48th OVI when he had
>finished with it. He fell in at the left end of the
>second squad on the left flank, Sgt. Crone being in
>front of him in the first rank, passing commands with
>his cues about what to do and when. Their spread-out
>skirmish lines looked fine, advancing and pressing the
>rebels while dressing left, both units firing
>thunderous volleys with firing at will [I will not say
>it!] and by ranks and files, the second [taller] rank
>firing over the right shoulders of the soldiers
>standing or kneeling in the first one, taking turns
>firing and advancing, firing and advancing, getting
>closer to those gray-clad Confederate ranks of troops
>who were following similar orders and doing the same
>or similar maneuvers.
>Once again, Sgt. Harrison had not put his earplugs in;
>nor had many if any of his fellow and female reenactor
>friends. Sweating and swearing, clumsy big fingers
>fumbling and dropping caps and cartridges, stopping to
>bend down and quickly pick them up or just leaving
>them on the grass, smelling sulfurous gun powder and
>sweat, trying to pay attention and hear commands
>between the gunfire and yelling and laughing and
>joking, grunting with effort each time that you tamp
>that rifle butt down on the ground to seat the powder
>into the base of that long barrel, raising it up to
>aim high and fire, again and again, a routine,
>experience making it faster until you start getting
>tired and breathing heavy, slowing down, huffing and
>puffing and going “Whhhhooooeeee!”
>Alas, despite the brave brilliant courageous heroic
>gallant leadership and experienced example set by
>Sergeant Leon Harrison, it had been painfully
>preordained that the Union side was to lose this
>Saturday battle, the Yankees retreating to be defeated
>and shot down like cattle herded back toward the end
>of the field from whence they had came, much to their
>disgrace and shame.
>As he had that Saturday afternoon at Sharon Woods,
>Sgt. Crone took his hit and went down wounded, thereby
>leaving enlisted leadership to Sgt. Harrison, who
>wounded him again by backing up and walking upon and
>over his body. “Look out for the wounded!” Sgt.
>Harrison tried to keep them in line during the
>withdrawal. “Dress left! Dress left!” The end came
>soon after a rebel lieutenant shot Sgt. Harrison with
>his pistol, felling him and knocking him on his back
>to lie upon that warm grass. Women and children wailed
>and cried and men groaned with shock and sadness at
>this sobering sight. A thoughtful fellow soldier still
>shaded Sgt. Harrison’s dimming squinted green eyes
>from that bright sunshine by gently placing his kepi
>over them.
>Almost as a ghost, Sgt. Harrison now lay silent and
>still, listening to the battle still going on above
>and around his limp blue-clad body, Union gunfire
>becoming more sporadic with deaths and distance,
>Confederate gunfire being louder and stronger as they
>advanced in ranks, listening to their boots and shoes,
>accoutrements and commands coming closer, laughing and
>whooping with pride and a sense of triumphal victory
>over their blue-clad foes. The Union commander refused
>to surrender his few remaining troops. Finally, from
>the PA speakers: “The South wins!” From Sgt.
>Harrison’s body: “Booooooo! Boooooo! Booooooo!”
>
>5:07 p.m., Saturday, July 28, 2007
>
> Bill #1 [Carpetbagger] Carney just called me from his
>Carney House in Acworth, Georgia, to inform me that a
>[biplane] stunt pilot may have died in a crash at the
>Vectren Dayton Air Show, having no details to give me.
>I have to wait for the six-o’clock TV news. He heard
>it on CNN. Such real dramatic deaths put my part-time
>playacting into the proper perspective, though I tell
>everyone that my reenacting is not real and that I do
>it just for fun, but with honor and respect.
>
>Saturday, July 21, 2007, Gorman Heritage Farm
>
> “Resurrection!…Resurrection!…Resurrection!” A
>friendly smiling rebel gave a revived Sgt. Harrison a
>hand to help him get off his back and onto his brogans
>again. Sweating soldiers drank water and poured it
>over their sweaty hair and heads, before forming up
>into their units with friends again. “Fall in! Fall
>in! Front! Prepare to pass in review! Without
>doubling, left face! Forward, march, in columns of
>twos in front of the audience!” Once again, The Battle
>Hymn of the Republic started out game but quickly
>degenerated into “La, la, la, la…” I have got to study
>and learn the words to that song! In front of the
>crowd. “Battalion, halt! Right about, face! Cap and
>prime your weapons to check to see if they are loaded!
>Ready!…Aim!…Fire!” A volley of cracking caps thus
>showing all rifles to be empty and safe.
>“Right about, face!” Facing the appreciative audience,
>laughing and smiling and joking, snapping and away
>with their cameras and silent camcorders.
>
>Saturday, July 28, 2007
>
> At 6:07 p.m., I have learned that Jim LeRoy Jr., 46,
>died after flying and crashing his S2S Pitts Special
>biplane into a runway at the Vectren Dayton Air Show,
>pulling out at the bottom of his half of a Cuban Eight
>loop, toward another opposing plane, too low and too
>close to the ground. It burst into flame after
>skidding to a stop. The show was ended after the crash
>but will go on tomorrow; people being allowed to use
>the tickets that they bought for today. Yesterday, two
>WWII P-51 Mustang fighters collided during the
>AirVenture show at Oshkosh, Wisconsin, killing one
>pilot. One plane was landing when it hit the tail of
>another one that was on the ground. The shows must go
>on!
>
>Saturday afternoon, July 21, 2007, Gorman Farm
>
> After weapons were checked and cleared for safety,
>there were a few short speeches and closing
>ceremonies, ranks of two gray and blue-clad soldiers
>facing the audience. To keep it authentic and
>realistic, Sgt. Harrison’s companions were acting like
>enlisted men have always done, just for fun,
>whispering sotto voice and quietly chatting with each
>other: “Look! Look at that blonde in the blue shorts!
>Yeah…and that little pink top! Ooo…look at those legs
>and those neat little feet! How about that redhead?
>Yeah!” Sgt. Harrison was disgusted by such insensitive
>offensive chauvinist sexist behavior and did not
>partake in any of it.
> “Battalion, attention! Right, face! Forward, march!”
>Keeping in step and proudly marching back through the
>gate and onto the path, stirring up dust, hundreds of
>boots and shoes rhythmically crunching stones in step,
>people pausing to watch they march by while smiling,
>exchanging japes, jibes and jokes with those friendly
>folks. Marching back to the encampments where coats
>and accoutrements were gratefully taken off, guns
>stacked or leaned for cleaning. They were soon
>stopping or going to get cold soda pop and bottled
>water or juice.
> People were still welcomed and visited until the
>camps closed at 4:00 p.m., the farm doing likewise at
>5:00 p.m. Despite all of this friendship, fellowship
>and camaraderie, Sgt. Harrison was eager and ready to
>load up his stuff and leave, for the shower and clean
>civilian clothes that awaited him at the Drake Motel.
>After they bid their goodbyes, with promises to meet
>again for another fun day on Sunday, Sgt. Harrison
>retraced his steps back down the paths, through the
>little hills, returning to the parking lot where he
>reloaded his fun and gun stuff back into his little
>Union-blue Olds Intrigyoo. After opening those windows
>and that sunroof, and turning on his stereo, he drove
>away on Reading Road and let the wind blow in and cool
>him off.
> After getting cleaned and dressed up, your EKMBBC
>once again drove away from the Drake in search of
>romantic models and dancers, but simply sampled some
>more evil spirits while in the company of men. He has
>got to win this Mega Millions lottery! No new female
>friends were at the Holiday Inn, nor seemed to be
>around or to be found at or inside the Glendale Inn or
>Peg’s Pub or the Blue Goose Sports Café, to go with
>the evil gin & tonic spirits that had went so great
>with “1408”. Take a break. I’m going for a walk.
>
>Sunday, July 22, 2007, Gorman Heritage Farm
>
> Again, Sergeant Harrison had easily and
>enthusiastically awakened at the Drake. After getting
>up and driving back to the Gorman Farm, he parked his
>car, unloaded his trunk and put on this stuff, to
>route-step and carry it back up to the Union
>encampment, stopping at the concession tents to sit
>and consume more fine festival food, and to fill up
>his canteen with one quart of water.
> While walking back to the 48th OVI encampment, he
>exchanged greetings and pleasantries with his
>reenactor acquaintances and friends. After hanging his
>straps on and leaning his rifle against the fence post
>behind the 48th OVI tent, he walked back down to the
>alfalfa barn to listen to Chaplain Dan Mason’s
>entertaining, educational and inspirational Sunday
>sermon, after which he consumed some more of that good
>traditional American festival food.
> This Sunday was one of those historic memorable
>occasions because: For the first time ever,
>Sgt./Lt./Captain Leon Harrison had been paid a
>[ten-dollar] “bounty” for his participation and
>performance. To commemorate and record this event, Lt.
>Davidson and Sgt. Harrison put on their coats and
>kepis to smile, shake hands and pose for photographs,
>while their other fingers held each end of Sgt.
>Harrison’s ten-dollar bill.
> “Ha, that Springfield [rifle] is startin’ to pay for
>itself! Only fifty-nine more bounties and it will! Who
>says that reenactin’ don’t pay?”
> Private Kestler had consulted with First Sergeant
>Stein about Stein replacing Sgt. Harrison in his
>pre-battle skirmisher skit with Private Stanforth,
>both of them politely asking Sgt. Harrison for his
>permission and opinion. Sgt. Harrison readily agreed
>to march and stay with the unit because 1st Sgt. Like
>one General Lafayette Combs, 1st Sgt./Captain Stein is
>without a doubt a better showman and could do a much
>better job of entertaining the audience while doing
>some reenactor recruiting. Do you now see how
>reenactment scenarios and skits evolve and are changed
>and rearranged by participants, performers and other
>people adapting, adjusting and trusting as they must,
>to look good for ever better shows?
> At about two o’clock, it was once again time, to get
>ready and fall into formation. The audience was
>silently watching the marching and preparations at
>each end of the battlefield. After the 4th and 48th
>arrived and halted in formation, back at their [south]
>end of the field, Sgt. Harrison and those other
>soldiers got to distantly watch 1st Sgt. Stein and his
>skirmishers [Pvts. Keslter and Stanforth] silently
>perform and pantomime for the audience below the bank
>barn, Stein enthusiastically walking along the rope
>line and waving and talking to people, hamming it up.
>“Steinie’s wound up. Look at him, he’s goin’ for an
>Academy Award. Hey Stein, do ya mind if we start the
>battle? Ha,ha,ha…!”
>With field and unit commanders, Bill Nordan/Gen.
>Morgan and Jeff Stein had created and coordinated some
>Yankee-skirmisher shooting and resistance, to oppose
>those riffraff-rebel-raider horse thieves, making this
>short little pre-battle sideshow an entertaining bonus
>for the audience that had been waiting in
>anticipation.
>Once again, Morgan’s horse thieves escaped, after
>exchanging shouts and shots with the skirmishers,
>running away to engage Union cavalry as cannon crews
>started exchanging shots. The 48th started advancing
>on the right flank of the Union guns, the 4th to their
>right, dressing to the right. Since the Union was to
>win, few troops could take hits to lay down and quit;
>instead of playing dead they had to keep marching and
>shooting and moving ahead toward the Confederate
>[north] end of the field while trying to make it all
>look real.
>From the first rank, Sgt. Crone got four men to agree
>to take a big hit with one loud rebel cannon shot,
>walking and talking, moving and shooting, sweating,
>stumbling and swearing, whooping and hollering and
>laughing with fumbling fingers, dropping caps and
>cartridges on the grass.
> It was a long way across that battlefield, making
>smoke and noise with the girls and boys, soldiers
>running out of cartridges and caps, fellow soldiers
>and officers digging into brown and black leather
>boxes to share them and pass them around, shooting as
>fast as they could and burning powder, adding to the
>thick drifting gray sulfurous cloud that followed the
>formations as they closed, cannon crewmen firing and
>adding smoke to go with the din of battle. Loading on
>the run while stumbling, trying to stay in ranks and
>formation. Advancing Union troops saw Confederates
>taking hits, without their KEVLAR vests they joked and
>guessed.
> “Watch the Wounded! Look out for the wounded!” A few
>rebels surrendering, others dead or wounded, spread
>out upon the battleground, one wounded reb still
>sitting up and pointing a pistol until Lt. Davidson
>hacked him down with his shiny sword that flashed
>sunlight when he slashed with it, yelling for rebels
>to put down their weapons and surrender. At last,
>beside and in front of the silenced Confederate guns,
>the advancing blue Union ranks met with those gray
>ranks of Confederate! Still, they stood and refused to
>give up or run or lay down their guns. Sgt. Harrison
>kneeled down on the ground in front of them to hide
>behind the big body of a dead rebel.
> With a victorious Yankee yell, Sgt. Harrison
>inspired, encouraged and led and ran with his fellow
>and female soldiers, charging toward the standing
>ranks of their enemies. Close-range shooting and
>hand-to-hand combat is usually forbidden and avoided
>during reenactments, for very good rational [angry
>passionate] safety reasons. For the very first time,
>Sgt. Harrison ran up to a rebel line, stopping in
>front of a gray-clad husband and wife who remained
>silent and standing straight. Sgt. Harrison did a few
>energetic port-arms pushes at them with his rifle,
>switching the angle for the audience, while listening
>for the end of the battle. He may have ended his
>little battle before the bigger one, just for
>friendship and fun, putting the butt of his rifle down
>on the ground to smile and shake hands with his
>enemies, and to drink water from his canteen before
>taking off his kepi and pouring it over his sweating
>head.
> “Resurrection!…Resurrection!…Resurrection!” Applause
>from the audience after the announcer declared: “The
>North Wins!” This time, cheering laughing Yankees and
>booing rebels, chatting and milling around, moving
>back toward their comrades and units, ready to fall in
>and reform for the march in review and closing
>ceremonies.
>A couple of lovely young reenactresses, wearing
>bonnets and long dresses, had walked onto the field
>with ice, hidden within their cloth bags, for the
>sweating soldiers to cool off with; which they did
>with gratitude, putting it on their faces and into
>their mouths and not worrying about germs shared and
>spread by dirty sweaty hands that had been blackened
>by burned black gunpowder.
> “Fall in on me! Front! Dress right with the colors
>[flag]! Dress left with the sergeant! Battalion!
>Company! Attention! Shoulder, arms! Right, face!
>Forward, march! Right shoulder, shift! By column, to
>the right, march! With cavalry and artillery, tired,
>sweaty proud infantry columns of blue and gray-clad
>troops marched in front of the appreciative applauding
>audience to halt beside the rope-line and the slope
>below that old bank barn.
> Once again, units did about-faces to cap and clear
>their weapons, caps cracking in high-elevation volleys
>for the sake of safety. Units about-facing toward the
>crowd for closing comments, including that of First
>Sergeant Stein: “Yes it’s a lot of fun!” Maybe getting
>some new young reenactor recruits to continue and
>ensure a future for our historic hobby.
>And…once again…Sgt. had to silently endure and ignore
>those quiet, crude offensive insensitive chauvinist
>sexist comments and jokes that were spoken sotto voice
>and wittily whispered by his comical but compassionate
>comrades: “Look at that lady with that striped back
>pack! Over there, look at those legs! Ummm…nice! Oh,
>Scarlett, where are you? She’s got pretty feet! I love
>summertime, shorts, flip-flops and tiny tight tops!
>Look at that redhead! That blonde looks better!…Break
>ranks, march! Dismissed!”
>After some rifle stacking and fine dining with
>festival food, back at the encampments, reenactors
>prepared to strike camp, load up their stuff and
>return to the realities of the 21st century and their
>spouses and houses, bosses and coworkers, and families
>and friends, once again. There were the jovial
>goodbyes with plans and promises to meet soon or again
>at other events, exchanges of information about places
>and dates. Some friendly Texas Confederates gave Sgt.
>Harrison this flyer here: “THE THIRD ANNUAL SPIRIT OF
>VINCENNES CIVIL WAR DAYS, September 7, 8, & 9, 2007,
>Vincennes, Indiana”. NNNNOOOO!!!
>
>
> THE END…FINALLY!
>
>
>
>EKMBBC Captain Leon Harrison, G.C.M.
>
>EKM Buckeye Bureau
>West Carrollton, Ohio
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
|
Who says that reenacting don't pay?