I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE ARE FRIGHTENED OF NEW IDEAS.
I’M FRIGHTENED OF THE OLD ONES.
Photo and quote courtesy of Alan Zimmerman.
I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY PEOPLE ARE FRIGHTENED OF NEW IDEAS.
I’M FRIGHTENED OF THE OLD ONES.
Photo and quote courtesy of Alan Zimmerman.
Sorry folks. I hit PUBLISH and you received a mess. Please ignore the mess and I’ll straighten things out tomorrow.
As I’ve reported in other articles on this site, my wife and I consider a trip to Washington, DC one of our favorite vacations. Excepting the outrageous hotel prices and a city’s normal culinary expenses, it’s for us, all free. That’s because we rarely leave the National Mall.
If we stray from the freebies on the Mall, it’s usually to visit the Phillips Collection, 1600 21st St. SW. Mr. Duncan Phillips inherited a bundle of money from his Pittsburgh, glass window millionaire father. He didn’t care much for high society or politics, so he built his mansion a bit north of DC’s political hub and a bit east of the social whirl in Georgetown. He married an artist and with her advice began expanding his art collection. They were also life long season ticket holders to the Washington Senators baseball team.
In 1921, Mr. Phillips, a published art critic, and his wife, artist Marjorie Acker founded the Phillips Memorial Collection. They amassed a substantial and very significant collection, many by modern artists unrecognized by the general public. They arranged the collection chronologically to show a progression towards contemporary art from El Greco through Goya, Cézanne, Manet, and into mid 20th century. Phillips supported many painters before their works were recognized by the public, some for their entire careers. These personal attachments are the reasons behind us rarely failing to visit the Philips or for that matter other private collections such as the Freer Gallery on the Mall; the Clark Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts; and Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore, Maryland.[1.]
Preliminary to an upcoming tour in the United States and abroad, the Phillips curators had mounted a special group of paintings by American artists, almost all of them unknown to us. We had just come from viewing the Andrew Wyeth exhibit in the National Gallery, so we had an American consciousness about us. In the last room we saw a portrait of a young man sitting in a chair facing the viewer.
This portrait had been painted by James Ormsbee Chapin (9 July, 1887, West Orange, New Jersey – 12 July, 1975, Toronto, Canada) [2.] Chapin was an important artist, famous in the world of art for his 1920’s portraits of the Marvin family. These portraits had a significant impact on the early history of Regionalists Thomas Hart Benton, John Steuart Curry, and Grant Wood. It was the portrait of Emmett Marvin, Farmer that had so enthralled us. Just a glance at Chapin’s renderings of Marvin is enough to understand Chapin’s style at the time and his influence.
The Chapin’s had one child, James Forbes (Jim) Chapin (1919-2009). Jim became a famous drummer and authored two books, Advanced Techniques for the Modern Drummer. Jim had ten children, four of whom were musicians including folk singer Harry Chapin. [2.]
During our 1999 Capital foray, my wife found a drum, its strap, sticks and a photo of our friend Vince Batista, the principal percussionist of the U.S. 3d Army band,(d. 2010) in a Museum of American History display. Vince mentored Bill Platt, principal percussionist of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra (Ret.); publisher and educator Garwood Whaley and Bill Hinger, son of timpanist Dan Hinger and many others. Bill Platt said Vince had the finest pair of hands he’d ever seen.
There’s a bit of serendipity here. Both Vince Battista and Jim Chapin studied with ‘Gus’ Moeller(1886-1966) and both were devoted to his snare drum method. They spent a good deal of time advocating the Moeller method. Chapin made a DVD that is still available in which he demonstrates and extolls the Moeller method. Vince Battista filmed a workshop he gave on Moeller’s technique for the 3d Army Old Guard, Fort Meyer, Virginia. There may be some copies of this one still floating about, but I think they’ll be very difficult to find.
Although I’ve not been able to verify the subject of Chapin’s painting of the little boy shown below, James Ormsbee had only one child and I like to think this is a portrait of Jim. His hands look poised to assume a matched Moeller grip.
[1.] Another advantage to the Phillips location is its nearness to Hank’s Oyster Bar, 164 Q Street NW. Both are near Dupont Circle.
During the week of 16 June, 2014, the Phillips curators announced they’d discovered a portrait under their Picasso Blue Room.
[2.] James O. Chapin moved to Toronto in 1969, a protest against United States policies in South East Asia.
[3.] Please see on this site my article Vince Battista on the Mall etc.
My interest in the Civil War probably began when I was a child. I remember overhearing conversations among my southern relatives, laced with sentiments more appropriate to an antebellum age. Thus, an empathy for the Southern cause was effortlessly inculcated in me. My northern grandmother kept a large volume of battle scenes reprinted from Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper. Captivated by its depictions of soldiers, drummer boys, colorful flags with fascinating designs, exploding shells and the exotic names: Chickahominy, Seven Pines, the Angle, the Crater, Look Out Mountain, the Hornet’s Nest and The Wilderness, I wiled away many a summer’s hour, never tiring of the cut and thrust of men in blue and grey. Then too, in a chest nearby, there was the uniform my Father wore while attending the Staunton Military Academy. The stuff of dreams.
Nestled against the Tennessee River, Shiloh Battlefield, also known as the Battle of Pittsburg Landing, is canopied by old trees that cast long shadows over its lush undergrowth, canon and monuments. The gloom seems permeated with hidden spirits and is imbued with a stillness that belies the violence that took place 151 years ago on 6-7 April, 1862.
At the time of the battle, some 400 people lived on the plateau above the river. The location of their small farms was naturally haphazard, determined by swamps, stands of trees and a maze of streams etching muddy channels to the Tennessee. The roads curved every which way. Today it is impossible for a first time visitor, even with a map, to know where they are in relation to the battle’s ebb and flow.
I visited Shiloh with Japanese percussionist Mika Yoshida, now Mika Stoltzman. We gave up trying to understand where we were in relation to the action and simply followed the curving roads through one woodland vista to the next. I cannot imagine what Mika was thinking. I doubt she’d ever been on a Civil War battlefield and was certain she knew nothing about Shiloh. No sounds carried in the heavy southern air, not from other visitors, not even from birds. Shiloh reminded me of a Japanese temple garden. A serious place encouraging serious contemplation. The two day battle mustered almost 24,000 casualties. A small log cabin church around which fierce fighting took place, lent its name to the conflict, in Hebrew, Shiloh means, Place of Peace. As we left the park, Mika paused and quietly said, “This is a sad place.”
Shiloh was the first major engagement of the Civil War and more than 4,000 acres are protected today by the National Park Service. It was Grant’s first claim to fame, but his claim was and is disputed by most everyone except Grant himself. Both he and his lifetime military colleague Sherman were told of lurking rebels and the messengers were sumarily dismissed. When an Ohio colonel warned Sherman that an attack was imminent, the general said, “Take your damned regiment back to Ohio. There is no enemy nearer than Corinth.” ( Corinth, Mississippi, lies 25 miles south of Shiloh.) The enemy was in the nearby woods waiting for the order to charge. To say the Union was caught off guard would be true, but an understatement of epic proportions.
Years later as I looked through some old battle ground photographs, I recalled Mika’s comment. Fredericksburg, Manassas, The Wilderness, Chancellorsville, Lookout Mountain and Antietam are battlefields I’ve visited. Each is unique in size, topography, consequences and, as Mika had recognized at Shiloh, aura. One consequence of Shiloh was the inspiration it provided William Shakespeare Hays to write The Drummer Boy of Shiloh, a song that sold a million copies in sheet music and influenced imitators who quickly created their own “Drummer Boy”.
During my high school years, I lived not far from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The commercial development and irreverent, tourist driven kitsch of today had not yet appeared. That began a few years later when the battle’s 100 year anniversary focused the public’s attention on the significant events that had occured when Gettysburg was a quaint rural hamlet. Occasionally I’d visit the battlefield’s highlights: Cemetery Ridge, Spangler’s Spring, Culp’s Hill, Little Round Top and Devils Den. One day I hunkered down in the Den and tried to imagine Longstreet’s attempt to envelop Meade’s left.
When visiting the stone wall on Cemetery Ridge, one must abandon automobiles and walk the ground. Otherwise the impact of what happened there cannot be appreciated. One must view the ridge from below, from the perspective of the men who had to walk three quarters of a mile without cover, half that distance up hill to a wall behind which lay an enemy fully prepared to meet them. From this perspective, the will and courage of Lee’s men can be understood. Considering Lee’s order, one Confederate officer opined, “It’s murder.”
And it was. On 3 July, 1862, 12,500 men formed in lines a mile long. When their so called charge was over, they had suffered more than 6,000 casualties. This was the Confederate high water mark. Though Meade allowed Lee to remove his wounded army across the Potomac River into northern Virginia, the South never fully recovered. Four months later President Lincoln arrived and read his Gettysburg Address.
Israel Friend in 1727 secured a deed from the Indian Chiefs of the Five Nations. Beginning “at the mouth of Andietum Creek thence up the Potomack River 200 shots as fur as an arrow can be slung out of the bow” thence “100 shoots right back from the river” then “squared till it interceeds with the creek”.
-Maryland State Roads Commission Plaque.
Farther west and south in Maryland, just a few miles from West Virginia, the land smooths out somewhat. Here, beyond the Allegany Mountains, there are fewer outcroppings of limestone monoliths like those at Devil’s Den and streams begin to flow westward towards the Ohio River, the Mississippi and ultimately the Gulf of Mexico. To me, a Baltimorian, western Maryland feels remote, even hidden. Sharpsburg has few neighbors and a visit to near by Shepherstown, only confirms the sense of isolation.
The battle of Antietam or Sharpsburg as Confederates prefer to call it, is more easily grasped then its eastern and more famous Pennsylvanian rival. The entire conflict took place on one day, 17 September,1862. The battle began at Miller’s Cornfield, migrated in a southerly direction to the Sunken Road and thence to the struggle for Burnside’s Bridge, a distance if approximately three miles. Today, near the center of the field, there’s an observation tower, allowing visitors to see much of the ground where the major engagements took place.
At first, Antietam Battlefield looks properly rural and benign as if it should be hosting a soft ball game and families with Frisbee catching dogs. The paved two lane Hagerstown Turnpike takes one up the western length of the battlefield, except for the bridge at its southern end, pass the National Park Service Visitors Center, the Dunker Church and the Cornfield. The uninformed might think the visitor’s center a rest stop, and Stonewall Jackson’s position worth a casual, “Oh look, an old church”. If noticed, the Cornfield wouldn’t provoke a comment.
McClellan had arrived with a two to one advantage over Lee. Yet technically, the battle ended in a draw. President Lincoln had cashiered Meade after Gettysburg for dawdling while Lee escaped and Major Gen. John Pope after 2nd Manassas a month later. He had brought McClellan back and given him everything he asked for, an enormous army, outfitted to the nines. Even so, he sat on his caution while the Union’s nemisis limped back across the Potomac, mauled, but still alive and dangerous.
Lincoln had every right to be pissed. Never the less the Confederates had been first to leave the field and that was close enough to a victory to allow him to issue his Emancipation Proclamation.
Foote, Shelby; Stars in Their Courses, The Gettysburg Campaign; Modern Library Edition, New York, 1994.
McPherson, James M.; Battle Cry of Freedom, The Civil War Era; Oxford University Press, New York, 1988.
Sears, Stephen W.; Landscape Turned Red, The Battle of Antietam, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, New York, 1989.
Sword, Wiley; Shiloh: Bloody April, Morningside House Inc. Dayton, Ohio, 1988.
Greetings Land lubbers. My grand-daughter Lucie is now in Cadiz, Spain having left Collingwood, Ontario on 26 August aboard the tall ship S.S. Sorlandet. She and 40 fellow students sailed up the St. Lawrence River to the Atlantic Ocean, arriving at their first port of call, Horta in the Azores. From Horta they finished crossing the Atlantic and sailed up the Tagus River to Lisbon Portugal, a total of 11,685 nautical miles in 51 days, with 24 of those days at sea.
The Sorlandet entered dry dock in Lisbon to remove a fishing net intagled in its rudder, causing a small oil leak.. The entire vessel was visible to the students for the first time.
During the Atlantic crossing, Sorlandet experienced 25 foot waves and winds which produced speeds up to 10 knots per hour. In the midst of this weather Jannik Rathke, an adventurous student decided to film his climb up rope ladders to the highest point on the ship. It’s an incredible journey worth seeing. Congratulations Janniik. His mother broadcast this uTube posting. I must write to ask her what she felt while viewing her son’s film for the first time.