Jim Bowie, a soldering iron and a finger in the eye: My day with docs

          The question is pretty much always the same but you don’t like to ask it of yourself. You wait until the question is right in front of you, asking itself in loud, belligerent terms: Can you handle it?

          When you’re young, loud and ignorant, the answer is that of course you can handle it. Head a little further down the road, maybe reaching your thirties, and you answer, “Yeah, sure, I guess so.” And when your hair has more grey than any other color, your answer is always, “What choice do I have? I’ll handle it.”

          In the case of Your Loyal Blogger the answer is usually a little different: The answer is usually, “I don’t want to handle it.” Unfortunately for YLB, this is not a legitimate answer and that’s the bad news.

          The good news is that Mrs. Leeway usually says something like, “You idiot, go see a doctor,” and then the whole question of dealing with it comes into play.

          Yesterday, in the final moments before my surgeon began sticking, carving and, yes, burning my nose, I told her that I am not good with needles or knives. She immediately jammed a needle into my face and said, “Little pinch.” She moved from spot to spot, leaving some finger or other jammed into my right eye as she numbed the targeted area with needles and some kind of buzz juice, which medical professionals term a, “numbing agent.”

          Then the three docs all walked out for a while, probably to double-check on our insurance company, which nobody in the office had ever heard of. Back came the Doctoral Trio and, I have to assume, out came the knives. Truth be told, you don’t feel much if the buzz juice has done its job. A little pressure where the carving is under way and the standard finger in the eyeball, but not much else.

          Once the carving was done, the burning was next and that seemed odd. In the kitchen, I usually burn things before I start carving them. Not so in this case. The boss doctor pulled out a soldering iron, or what looked like one, and started cauterizing (med-speak for burning) the open wound in order to stem the flow of blood.

          You know you’ve lived a full life when you hear and smell your own flesh sizzle. I commented on the matter at about the time the cook-off reached its zenith, but got no reaction at all from the three medical professionals in the room. The women to whom I had entrusted my health and well-being. The surgeons.

          Geez, one fake laugh at that moment might have been nice.

          They slapped some gauze and tape across the offended nose and sent me out to sit with Mrs. Leeway while they inspected and detected the piece of my flesh they had removed, then called me back for more needles, knives and soldering irons. More jabbing, cutting and, of course, burning.

This time they were not fooling around. They gave me so much buzz juice that my upper teeth went numb. “Too bad none of you are dentists,” I said. “My teeth are numb.” In response, they dropped a bigger piece of paper over my face, jammed a finger in my eye and resumed the Jim Bowie treatment to my face.

“We’re going to move closer to your eye this time,” the boss surgeon said. I was confident my eye would be safe. Her finger was still planted smack on top of it. To damage the eye, she’d have to cut her own finger.

More digging, more burning. At one point I felt something and mentioned it, generating a brief, “Um hum,” from the boss doc. It seemed like a breakthrough after the humorless silent treatment I’d been getting.

They sent me out to the lobby a second time while they turned my flesh into another science project. I reread the six-month old edition of Sports Illustrated I’d gone through the last time they sent me out. It was still full of old news.

Finally they called me back with the good news that they had gotten all the bad stuff out of my face and that it was now time for the sewing. I asked how many stiches I’d need and they told me that it was really just one because they were going to sew me up like a baseball, one continuous string. Some would be under the skin, some visible. The stuff would dissolve in time and there would be minimal scaring.

Now, Your Loyal Blogger has had stitches before, but this was the first time the old baseball stitch has been used. None of the educated professionals in the room (other than me) were aware that Vin Scully is retiring or what that means. They were somehow aware that the Cleveland Indians had clinched a playoff berth. But they did not seem to link these comments with their own comment about the baseball stitch they were about to perform on Your Loyal Blogger’s face.

By that time, I didn’t care. They’d put the soldering iron down and that was good enough for me. On the way home, I regaled Mrs. Leeway with tales of the operating room and she said, “I think I hear a blog coming.” She was right, as usual.

Thanks for reading and, please do yourself a favor: Use lots of sunscreen and wear a hat when outdoors.

A book review

Review of The 1966 Green Bay Packers: Profiles of Vince Lombardi’s Super Bowl I Champions

Edited by George Bozeka

McFarland & Company, Inc

          This book goes deeper in depth than any I’ve seen on the Packers of that era. Any sports fan will enjoy the close up look at each player and coach that George Bozeka and his team of researchers have jammed into this book.

          It is true that every team is the sum of its parts but this book breaks down each part that made up the Packers organization that Lombardi led. From the stadiums where the Packers played home games to the reporters that covered the team, every part of that first Super season is covered in real detail.

          I was especially taken by the section covering The Press. Sports journalism was different in those days and the men who wrote the words, shot the pictures and called the games had different relationships with the Packers than the men and women who do the same jobs for professional sports teams today. In that sense, this book is a look back at an era in sports when things were different.

          Don’t get the idea that this is a book of nostalgia with longing for a bygone era. Instead, this is a text book for the study of one of professional football’s greatest champions.

Words

                Language can be a tricky thing. Words that can mean the same thing sometimes do not and the user can innocently stir up all kinds of trouble with a word used without care. You can cause great consternation with a minor word substitution.

Put another way, if you mix insult with innuendo you can be tossed out the window. That’s a wordy way of saying you can get defenestrated, but it has no bearing on our topic. We’re talking about, uh, words.

In the 1850 United States Census, three families who were likely related through the husbands, lived in Montgomery County, Alabama. At least two of the sons of these men served in the Confederate Army.

James B. Merawether was 44 at the time the census counter came to the house to get the population information. James’ wife, whose name appears to have been spelled Sopiah, had given birth to eight children. The family’s real estate had a value of $9,000. That was a very fine sum in 1850.

Thomas Merawether was 38 when the information was collected. His wife, Matilda, had given birth to six children, all of which were under the age of 10 when the census statistician noted the family’s names. This family’s real estate was valued at $6,000. Less than the value of the land held by James and Sopiah, but still a considerable holding for the era.

William Merawether and his wife Tabitha were just getting started in 1850. William was 25. He and Tabitha had three children, all under the age of four years at the time of the census visit. Still, the family real estate was valued at $5,000.

Here come those words to make their point.

James and Sopiah were the eldest of the three couples and their land value was the highest. James was listed as a “planter.” Next in both age and land value came Thomas and Matilda. Thomas was categorized as a “planter.”

William and Tabitha, the youngest couple, had the fewest children. Their land was valued slightly less than either of the other Merawether families. William was classified as a “farmer.”

Nothing wrong with farmers. If we had more farmers and fewer politicians, we’d be better off as a society. But, do you see it? The $6,000 land holder was a planter and the $5,000 owner was a farmer. A subtle difference in language use shades the reader’s understanding of the text and the view of the individuals involved.

Young writers have a tendency to use too many words. In today’s world of unlimited word space, developing writers can really crank up the vocabulary and spew words at a frantic rate. But, like the boxer who can hit the hardest with the shortest punch, the writer’s short passage can generate the best impact. Thus, each word in a short passage becomes more important.

Even in the case of a census sheet, words tell a story. Their use is important.

Thanks for reading.

Timothy Morgan: Believe it or not ...

          Private Timothy F. Morgan is an answer to a trivia question. Many people will refuse to believe you but Morgan’s story, so average for the most part, has a surprise ending.

          When we’re done, feel free to check it out yourself.

          Morgan was an Alabama resident when the Civil War broke out. We find his cause repellant today, but he felt the need to volunteer as a soldier in the Confederate States Army. That’s an important point. He was a soldier in the CSA.

          Specifically, Morgan (who was a resident of Randolph County) joined Hilliard’s Legion sometime in the spring of 1862. He is shown on the Record Roll at Montgomery, Alabama on April 5, of that year as a member of the Legion’s Second Battalion, Company A. At the time of that recording, Morgan was on sick furlough.

          A Private, Morgan became a soldier in the 59^th Alabama Infantry in November of 1863 when the Legion was split into two regiments and a smaller battalion. The Legion’s first action, at Chickamauga, was so costly that its surviving members were grouped into the 59^th and 60^th regiments, plus the smaller 23^rd Battalion, Alabama Sharpshooters. The three units fought together in a brigade commanded by Brigadier General Archibald Gracie.

          Gracie’s command served in General James Longstreet’s detachment that saw action in Tennessee before eventually moving with Longstreet to serve in the Army of Northern Virginia. 1864 was a long, drawn out struggle for the AoNV and 1865 did not start out any better.

          Morgan survived, somehow, until he was seriously wounded. It appears he suffered his wound at the battle of Hatcher’s Run, March 25, 1865. There is a graphic description of the nature of Morgan’s injury available on line, but I’ll spare the details. Suffice is to say that Morgan died, apparently at Lincoln Hospital in Richmond, Virginia, on April 5, 1865.

          Average so far, but hold on. The kicker is coming.

          Morgan, a Confederate veteran of three years’ experience, was buried April 6, 1865. Morgan had fought at Chickamauga, Knoxville, Drury’s Bluff and Petersburg before his luck ran out. Read it again: Morgan was a part of the blood-stained Confederate victory at Chickamauga and as a member of the 59^th he played a role in the violent Confed win at Bean’s Station. Morgan survived the meat-grinding months in the trenches in front of Petersburg before finally suffering a terrible wound at Hatcher’s Run.

          The Union burial service did not waste much time. Morgan was interred April 6, the day after he passed away. You can visit him today. His grave marker is easily found and, from the image I have seen, the marker is in good condition.

          You can find the grave of CSA Private Timothy F. Morgan in the Arlington National Cemetery.

          Thanks for reading.

A year to the day...

            Hard to believe, but it has been a full year now. A dozen months, to the day.

          A year ago this morning, I woke up alone in a hotel room, knowing I would not be going to the racetrack. I’d skip the elimination rounds at the drag race and drive home instead. I had to figure out a way to manage the pain, balance the need for pain relief meds with the need for a clear head while driving in order to get home safely.

          One year ago Amy met me at the door and asked if I was going to let her handle things. If not, she said, she would take the dog and live in a local hotel. Exhausted and unable to stand up straight, I acquiesced.

          It was the start of a long road. I was on my back for the next three weeks and only walked with the aid of crutches for three weeks more. Luckily for me, the next race on my schedule was during the Labor Day Weekend and I didn’t have to miss any work.

          It took seven months of physical rehab before the docs pronounced that I was good to go. Seven months of listening to that damn Ohio State music the personnel at the rehab joint loved to listen to. They sure shut up when Alabama won the national championship football game, I’ll tell you that. I wore my Alabama shirts for several sessions in order to drive the point home, too.

          Two days before I woke up in that hotel room, I felt something odd in my back when I pulled my computer bag out of the trunk of the car. Shrugged it off, you know, like we all do when there is work to be done. But my leg started hurting a bit and that night I was unable to sleep. I tried ice on the leg and on the back, took whatever over-the-counter pain stuff I had with me and tried to sleep but the discomfort did not get better.

          I had to skip my normal trackside activities the next day in order to conserve my steps. It hurt too much to walk. I even left my camera at the hotel because I couldn’t carry it. Finally, late in the afternoon I reached the point where I couldn’t deal with the pain and asked for directions to the nearest hospital. I hitched a ride to my car in a golf cart.

          Naturally, I’d driven my own car to the event because it was roughly an hour away from home. I mention this because the Mustang has a manual transmission. The left leg, the sore one, had to work the heavy clutch. Ow.

          The hospital ER operated very efficiently, I have to say. They were geared up to deal with fireworks accidents but I was whisked in very quickly because nobody in the area had blown their fingers off yet. I was x-rayed, diagnosed (close but not quite exactly right, as it turned out) and sent off with a mild pain killer. They couldn’t give me anything real good because I admitted that I had to drive myself back to the hotel. Got a prescription, which I filled the next morning before the drive home.

          Couldn’t see the doctor until Tuesday, by which time I was just about screaming. Got some more meds and a recommendation that I start physical therapy. But the doc’s office staff didn’t see the need to worry about PT and I finally, two days later, had to chew them fairly well in order to get them to call and set up an appointment. It had to be done that way in order to appease the insurance company.

          Ended up in the local ER before I ever got to the PT appointment because the pain just kept getting worse. Not sure how many people actually get relief at that ER. I didn’t. They gave me some morphine, which didn’t work. But I did get a real nice bill for the visit.

          We learned a lot about insurance during this whole thing.

          Between the two doctor visits and the second trip to the ER, I finally got meds that allowed me relief from the pain roughly half the day. I knew that all I was really doing was masking whatever the real problem was and that it would take therapy to undo whatever it was I’d done.

          Eventually, the therapy started working and I made it to the Labor Day race, where the media center was on the fourth floor of a building that had no elevator. Once, while slowly lumbering my way down the stairs, a wiseacre started singing the theme from the old TV show Petticoat Junction: “There’s Uncle Joe, he’s movin’ kinda slow at the Junction,” this guy intoned.

          All I could do was laugh and, believe me, laughing felt good.

          The PT folks got me better but it was my wonderful wife Amy who got me through this whole mess. I took a chunk out of her retirement because she had to work as a nurse, driver, cook and psychologist to get me through it all, especially those first few weeks. I guess all those years of teaching second graders came in handy, huh? So, a big thanks to my Sweetie.

          I also need to thank everyone who sent an email or called while I went through all this stuff. It was a difficult time for a while and the notes and calls helped. I’m not too sure I ever said thanks to all of you and that’s why I’ve written this dull blog.

          Thanks!

          And now, on to the next emergency.

Time well spent: Gettysburg 2016

 

         After spending nine solid days at Gettysburg for the 2016 Civil War Institute and the traditional extra days walking and exploring the battlefield, some thoughts:

          This year’s Institute was primarily devoted to the Reconstruction era of US history, a subject Your Loyal Blogger has spent little time studying. Thus, the ideas were fresh and new. Scott Hartwig’s discussion of John Bachelder’s vision for Gettysburg and Bachelder’s tireless effort to complete an accurate presentation of what happened there was fascinating. Mark W. Summers’ presentation on the questions of Reconstruction was outstanding, a tremendous talk. Barbara Krauthamer spoke right after Summers and was also very effective.

          Megan Kate Nelson gets special mention. She gave three presentations in one day, having started the day with a case of laryngitis. Got ‘em all done.

          Your Loyal Blogger went on two tours of the battlefield at Gettysburg that simply could not have been better. The first, led by Christian Keller of the US Army War College explained the use of history, specifically the fight at Gettysburg, as a practical tool. Keller talked about how he leads Staff Rides with US military officers (and others). He talked about the strategical, operational and tactical level of planning and the use of the battlefield for those levels of planning. Leaders, Keller said, sometimes see what they want to see and react accordingly. He termed this “cognitive dissidence,” and used Union General Francis Barlow as an example to drive the point. On the first day of the battle, Barlow moved his men from their assigned position to an area of higher ground. Barlow was routed by the Confederates.

          The second tour was led by a favorite of this blogger, Susannah Ural of the University of Southern Mississippi. Ural led us down the path of the Fourth Texas Regiment during that unit’s attack toward Little Round Top on July 2, 1863. This was an absolutely tremendous opportunity. The idea was to follow a private named Val Giles along his way through the attack. Giles wrote home about the battle and Ural used his letters to make points along the way. She also paused to point out the path of the First Texas and explained how the attack’s path differed from the original plan.

          Truth be told, this writer has wanted to walk that specific area of the battlefield for years. Ural’s tour made it possible to walk the area while coming to a better understanding of it.

          This year’s CWI was tremendous. It was sold out and it did not disappoint.

          Next year’s Institute does not have a theme but the preview available at http://www.gettysburg.edu/cwi/ makes it obvious that it will be another great week.

          Ural will be there to discuss the Texas Brigade and two other presentations look very interesting: A panel discussing William Tecumseh Sherman and a talk by Earl Hess titled Rethinking Braxton Bragg. James Ogden, the historian at the Chickamauga & Chattanooga National Military Park, another favorite here, will give an overview of the siege of Chattanooga.

          Hope to see you there.

 

          Teaming with fellow Civil War buff Buck Weber, the search began for the location where Confederate General James Longstreet made what seems like an elemental blunder before the fighting started on July 2, 1863. Some of Longstreet’s men were moving behind Confederate lines toward their pre-attack location when they stayed into a position where they were visible to the small number of Federal Signal Corps soldiers positioned on Little Round Top.

          After discovering the potentially disastrous mistake, Longstreet ordered the men to retrace their steps and take another path toward the takeoff spot. This cost the Confederates several hours before the attack could start. Given how Confederate failure can be measured in a small number of minutes that day, this was an important spot to understand.

          Weber’s map reading skills led us to a raised spot along Blackhorse Tavern Road, not far from Hagerstown Road, where Round Top was visible. It was determined that minus some modern day trees, Little Round Top would also be within sight.

          Locating this spot helps you understand the scope of the distances involved in fighting a Civil War battle.

          Two areas of emphasis for the next visit to Gettysburg emerged during the week: Generate a better understanding of the locations Barksdale/Wilcox attack on July 2, 1863 and the fighting north of the Bloody Angle on that same afternoon.

 

          Thanks for reading.

Taking in the 2016 Civil War Institute with an old pal

         

         

          This week, a rare opportunity to walk the fields of Gettysburg with close friend and Founding Member of the Wall Gang, Bucky Weber. This trip is something we have talked about for years and now, thanks to the patience, understanding and humor of our wives we finally get to do it.

          Buck and I are both history buffs although I think he has been interested in the American Civil War longer than I. He has visited Gettysburg once before, just one day in a severely limited capacity, and has longed to return. I am so pleased that we got to go together.

          Mrs. Leeway and I have visited Gettysburg annually for eight years. This is the sixth year for me at the Civil War Institute at Gettysburg College, a tremendous, 5-day conference featuring some really great presenters. The theme of this year’s CWI is Reconstruction.

          One part of my CWI experience this year will be a tour with brilliant Civil War historian Susannah Ural. We’ll follow the steps of the 4^th Texas Infantry at Little Round Top. It just doesn’t get much better than that.

          Funny thing this year: I worked in New Jersey this past weekend and drove by the Gettysburg cutoff on the way home today. We’ll drive back there Wednesday but this time we’ll TAKE the cutoff.

          Darn right.

          Amy and I have two restaurants we like it Gettysburg and the three of us will make our pilgrimages this year. Regan and Erik plan to come down to see us Sunday and we’ll probably hit the pub GarryOwen (sic) on that day.

          My battlefield equipment: Heavy walking boots, a large-billed sun hat, jeans, lots of sun screen and bug repellant, dark glasses and photo gear. One very light windbreaker in case of rain (it’s usually a warm rain in June, so I use the windbreaker to protect my camera). Oh, I usually bring the map, too.

Maps of the battlefield are available at the Visitors Center and I get one for every visit in order to mark various vantage points. Multiple batteries for each camera, a monopod and a tripod. My gear fits in one large camera bag. I have walked all over the battlefield with that bag.

I usually arrive at a battlefield with a detailed plan for my field walks but this year my plan is to go where my buddy wants to go, since it is really his first visit. We’ll look at his check list, plan a route and go. We have Wednesday afternoon/evening and all day Thursday at the battlefield. The CWI starts Friday afternoon and runs through Tuesday. Another day and a half on the battlefield after that before we head home.

One thing I’d like to show Bucky, if there is time: The location where the Maryland regiment of Union soldiers defended Culp’s Hill against the charge of the Confederate Marylanders.

Mrs. Leeway is smarter than Mr. Weber and I. She spends much of our Gettysburg stays in the air-conditioned hotel room, sometimes venturing across the hotel parking lot to the movie theater or to the outlet mall. There is very inexpensive public transportation that stops at our hotel roughly every hour. She’ll join us for the ice cream social at the CWI and for the big dinner on the final night of the Institute.

Hard to explain how excited Amy and I are about Bucky’s visit and our trip to Gettysburg. One thing for sure, we’ll all be posting on various platforms. Hope you can look us up.