Seven score and seven years ago (November 19, 1863)

Does the name Edward Everett ring a bell? In the mid-1800s, he was a Massachusetts Congressman and Senator, also governor of that state, served briefly as Secretary of State under President Millard Fillmore, and was a gifted and noted orator of his day. He was well-known—so well-known that in November of 1863, he was invited to be the keynote speaker at the dedication ceremony for the Gettysburg National Cemetery. Just four months before, a brutal three-day battle had taken place on the otherwise peaceful fields of this sleepy southern Pennsylvania town, a battle that would go a long way in determining the future of the war, and the future of our country.

Well, most of you know the story. As sort of an afterthought, President Abraham Lincoln was invited to also share a few words at this event. Everett spoke eloquently for about two hours. After this, Lincoln stood up and spoke for about two minutes. And in that brief period of time, he gave perhaps the most stirring speech in our nation’s history, the Gettysburg Address. Everett himself is said to have lamented that he had not expressed in two hours what Lincoln had conveyed in two minutes.

Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address on November 19, 1863—one hundred and forty-seven years ago today. Most of us readily recognize the first and last lines of the address. It begins with the iconic line “Four score and seven years ago” (although, in my history class lecture yesterday, several of my students were not aware of what a ‘score’ is in this context), and ends with the equally memorable “that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” However, I am afraid that most people are not familiar with the large “middle section” of the address, and are equally unfamiliar with its overall purpose and meaning.

In short, the Gettysburg Address is a masterpiece. It is one of those works of art that gives me goose bumps regardless of how many times I have read it. I could probably write for hours commenting on its contents, and Lincoln’s brilliance, but instead I will try to keep my comments short and let the address, printed below, speak for itself.

Of all the salient points in the address, two jump out at me more than any of the others. The first is that Lincoln cited the proper foundation for his remarks: “Four score and seven years ago.” A score is twenty years. That means that Lincoln was referring to 1776, specifically the Declaration of Independence. Our county had been ripped apart by several sectional issues, the most prominent of which was slavery. It was THE hot-button issue of the day. You think health care, abortion, and border control are controversial today . . . well, slavery was worse. Compromises worked for a little while, but over the years, states and citizens became increasingly polarized and hostile. By the 1850s, Kansas had exploded into violence in what would be a precursor to the Civil War (known as “Bleeding Kansas”). In Washington, a southern senator beat a northern senator with his cane (many southerners responded by mailing this senator more canes!). In 1859, John Brown invaded Harper’s Ferry, hoping to incite a spontaneous slave revolt throughout the South. Then, of course, in 1861, the Civil War started. And it was, in a word, a bloodbath.

But in all this time, no president had forcefully enunciated that slavery was incompatible with the ideals upon which this country was founded. But in this speech, Lincoln begins by reminding us all that our country is based on the idea that “all men are created equal.” His ensuing appeal for a “new birth of freedom” in our land could only be achieved if it was placed solidly on this foundational idea. Compromises and half-measures would no longer work. Things after the Civil War could not, and would not, be the same as they were before the conflict.

The second point is that Lincoln makes it very clear that this address is not for the dead, but the living. In stirring fashion, he exhorted his audience—those who were still alive—to be dedicated to the task that the fallen soldiers had started. That task, in short, was for them to live lives that embodied the ideals upon which our country was founded, and to help ensure that all people could realize their inalienable rights. If everyone would do their part, our form of government would not “perish from the earth.”

Well, enough of my verbosity. But let me just ask this in closing: Is this “task” of which Lincoln spoke finished in 2010? You see, I believe that the Gettysburg Address applies to us as American citizens today just as much as it applied to Lincoln’s original audience. In my view, there are laws, Supreme Court rulings, and various practices that take place today that are not in keeping with the ideals upon which our country was founded. It is therefore up to me (and, I would suggest, all of us) to be dedicated to the (still) unfinished task that those soldiers at Gettysburg had “thus far so nobly advanced.” Lincoln was talking to a large crowd in 1863, but he was also talking to us.

I hope you enjoy reading and reflecting on the words of Abraham Lincoln:

Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great Civil War, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.

We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.

The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.

It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion,

that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Am I asking too much?

Consider the following brief quiz:

1. Who is on the ten dollar bill?

2. What is the first line of the Erie Canal Song?

3. What state is Vice President Biden from?

4. Complete the saying, “To the victor goes the ________.”

5. What is the length of one term for a United States senator?

Did you get them all right? Did you think the questions were difficult? In my estimation, these questions should be pretty easy. Maybe the Erie Canal Song is a little tougher, because that song is slowly slipping out of our national memory (as is the case with many of the songs of our heritage, but that’s another subject for another day).

Over the past few semesters, in the course of lecturing in my American History class at the local community college, I have asked these questions to my class. In each case, I was met with silence. Nobody knew the answers. Zero students in a class of about twenty-five. I wasn’t surprised that everybody didn’t know the answers. But I was dumbfounded that nobody knew.

It’s not that I think my students are stupid or incapable of learning. I honestly don’t think that’s the case. I try to take a little time to get to know my students, and all of them are capable of learning at a high level.

Why, then, do the students, a majority of whom are in their late teens or twenties, not know these things? As I recall—and I’m trying to be as honest as possible here—when I was a teenager, such facts were commonly known, or at least more commonly known. Vice President Mondale was from Minnesota. Vice President Bush was from Texas (that’s more obvious now since he and his son served as President). Ulysses S. Grant is on the fifty dollar bill, and Benjamin Franklin is on the one hundred.

The next question, naturally, is that if this is in fact a valid observation, then why is it that young people today don’t know these things? The answer to this question is no doubt the subject of many books and journal articles. In my view, there are some deep-seated problems not only in our educational system, but in our culture in general that contribute to this problem (a loaded statement, I know . . . perhaps I can address it in more detail sometime).

I notice this phenomenon not only in my teaching, but in many other areas of life. The problem rears its head in matters ranging from common knowledge, to historical facts, to bad grammar. For instance, I recently ran across two Facebook pages, established by American youths. One explained that what parents view as “back talk” is really just “kids explaining why their wrong” (how about “why THEY’RE wrong”). As for the other one, I don’t recall the specific subject, only that everyone would “want to be apart of this.” Hmmm. I could see myself being a part of something. I could see myself being apart from something. But how do I be “apart of” something?

It’s as if the movie “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” is coming to life . . . Teacher: “Who was Joan of Arc?” Ted: “Uh, Noah’s wife?” . . . Teacher: “It seems to me the only thing you’ve learned is that Caesar was a ‘salad dressing dude.’”

So here I am ranting. It just seems like many things that used to be common knowledge no longer are, that poor grammar and spelling are ruling the day, etc., etc. And it seems to me that the average fifteen, or eighteen, or twenty-two year old ought to know better.

Am I asking too much?

(Quiz answers: 1. Alexander Hamilton; 2. “I got a mule and her name is Sal, fifteen miles on the Erie Canal”; 3. Delaware; 4. spoils; 5. six years)

(Really bad) historical jokes

No profound thoughts today on the way to work. I did get to thinking, though, that it’s going on six months since I started this blog. I wasn’t so sure I’d keep blogging for this long, but alas, here I am. So, let me take a second to send out a sincere and hearty “Thanks!” to everyone who reads my blog. Your interest and response, be it by way of posting comments, emails, or personal contact, is both kind and encouraging.

That said, today’s entry is some light fare. Some of these admittedly (very) bad jokes have been with me since high school. I thought it was high time to get them off of my chest. The questions appear first, and then the answers are below. If you want me to explain any of them, go ahead and leave a comment. And if you read these and feel that I’ve lost any shred of credibility that I otherwise might have earned, well, that’s the risk I take.

So . . . here you go. My attempt at “historical humor.”

1. What did the mathematics professor say when proposing a toast at the National Geometry Association banquet?

2. What did the American sailor say in 1807 when he woke up to find himself on a large, majestic ship of the British Royal Navy with splendidly high masts and brilliantly polished rails?

3. While taking her European history final exam essay, how did Nancy Sinatra describe the German U-Boat strategy in World War II?

4. Staying with “fictional final exams,” how did W.C. Fields explain George Washington’s feelings about having to spend a bitter cold winter at Valley Forge?

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Answer 1. “Here’s lookin’ at Eu, -clid.”


Answer 2. “I’m impressed!”


Answer 3. “Das Boot was made for walkin’. And that’s just what it will do. One of these days Das Boot is gonna walk all over you.”


Answer 4. Washington would have said, “On the whole, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.”

The Missouri Compromise (March 3, 1820)

Sometimes in life, compromise is good. Whether it’s at the office, in a marriage, or among friends (or even enemies), compromise can help people recognize common ground, mend wounds, and give all sides a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment.

But sometimes, compromise is merely a means to procrastinate or sidestep very difficult issues. And although both sides might feel temporary satisfaction or success, the underlying problems do not go away. Often, they are left to fester, and ultimately lead to an even worse situation further on down the road.

Take the United States in 1820 as an example. In most respects, things looked very bright for our young nation. First, we had recently emerged from a war with the greatest power in the world, England (the War of 1812), and we had not lost. This was a huge boost to our national confidence and morale. Second, there was a burgeoning, palpable national energy afoot. Citizens were settling the frontier at a rapid pace, and inventions like the cotton gin and steamboat were allowing for exponential growth in production and trade. And third, this was a time known as the “Era of Good Feelings,” a decade-long period where there was a cessation of sorts from the partisan political wrangling that had characterized the pre-War of 1812 scene. Politicians were actually getting along.

In addition to all of this, the potential for national expansion seemed almost limitless as a result of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. In one stroke of a pen and a $15 million payment, the United States had acquired a vast amount of land west of the Mississippi River (830,000 square miles). Lewis and Clark led an expedition to survey this territory, and by the mid-1810s, had published the story of their journey. This further fired the American imagination and soon settlers streamed across the Mississippi.

The story still sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, by 1820, enough settlers had made their way across the great river and it was time for Missouri to apply for statehood. The original thirteen colonies/states had grown to twenty-two by this point. By now, though, lawmakers had begun to see a problem. You see, of the twenty-two states, eleven were “free,” and eleven were “slave.” A delicate balance had developed, and northerners and southerners feared the consequences of upsetting this balance. Southern congressmen thought that if a majority of free states existed, then the North would impose its will to abolish the institution of slavery. Southerners could not let that happen. Northern congressmen, growing increasingly anti-slavery in sentiment, felt just the opposite.

Beginning in 1819, Congress debated the issue of what to do with Missouri for several months. Sectional strife reared its ugly head, as it had at the Constitutional Convention back in 1787, and during the first Congress in 1790. Congress seemed deadlocked.

Then a deal was struck. It just so happened that Maine was preparing to apply for statehood around this time. So Congress made a compromise: Maine would enter the Union as a free state, and Missouri as a slave state. The balance would be preserved—twelve free states and twelve slave states. Everybody could breath easy. What’s more, a “Missouri Compromise Line” was established, extending west from Missouri. In the future, slavery would be prohibited north of that line, and allowed to the south of it. Congress passed the Missouri Compromise on March 3, 1820 . . . 190 years ago today.

So a compromise was struck. Crisis was averted. America continued its “Era of Good Feelings” after this bump in the road. Settlers continued to move to the frontier, canals were constructed, turnpikes were built, steamboats roared down the Mississippi, small mills and factories began to pop up. America was alive.

But of course, this was the type of compromise that ultimately sidestepped the real issue at hand. That issue was whether or not slavery was really compatible with the ideals of the Declaration of Independence, the American Revolution, and the Constitution. The Missouri Compromise mollified all sides for a time, but eventually sectional differences would continue to flare. Eventually the north and the south found it increasingly difficult to compromise. And eventually they went to war (the Civil War) and over 600,000 Americans died. Why? Because two sections of the country could not agree on a myriad of issues, primarily the issue of slavery.

So what do I make of all this? Well, the Missouri Compromise teaches me that compromise is a very tricky thing. Sometimes compromise is appropriate and the right thing to do. At other times, it may seem like the right thing, but it is only a means of punting problems into the future, sometimes even to future generations. For American lawmakers in the first half of the 1800s, discerning this was extremely difficult, because the issue really did boil down to either ending slavery or ending the Union. It was that divisive.

As a history teacher, I firmly believe that the study of history is more than just learning a bunch of facts and figures, and it’s more than just going out to visit your favorite national historic sites. The importance of history is that we can and should learn from it. Studying the way people thought and acted in previous generations should help inform the way we think and act about things.

Because of this, believe it or not, I often pray that God would give me the wisdom to know when to compromise and when not to compromise in day-to-day situations. Heaven knows that I make mistakes. But when I reflect on the Missouri Compromise, I am reminded that there are times to compromise, and times not to compromise, even if I know that negative consequences will ensue.

Thirty years ago today

“What we have here is the rarest of sporting events,” said Al Michaels in his pre-game analysis of the 1980 Winter Olympic hockey game between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. In more recent years, he reflected that the confluence of events leading up to the game was so extraordinary that something like it could never happen again. And I believe he is right about that.

In terms of the game itself, you had the Soviet hockey machine in high gear, mowing down opponent after opponent. A few months before the 1980 games, they came to America to play a series of exhibition games against NHL teams—and routed them. And in another exhibition game just three days before the start of the Lake Placid games, they crushed the U.S. Olympic team 10-3. The U.S. team, though playing in their home country, was not expected to win a medal. The Soviets were expected to win the gold and not be challenged.

But the U.S. went on a roll after a dramatic last-minute goal in their first Olympic game, tying highly favored Sweden 2-2. Buoyed with confidence, the team defeated Czechoslovakia and three other teams to advance to the medal round. Much to everyone’s surprise, they would play the Soviets on February 22, 1980.

Of course, this “extraordinary confluence of events” referred also to the world events that were going on at the time. The Iranian hostage crisis. The Russian invasion of Afghanistan. The American “malaise” and low national self-esteem of the late 1970s. The Cold War was as hot as any time since the Cuban Missile Crisis, and America seemed to be at its weakest. This hockey game just seemed like another area where the U.S. would be embarrassed.

But we all know the story. The U.S. would just not let the game get out of hand, and trailed by only one goal going into the final period. Then two quick goals halfway through the third period sent the Lake Placid crowd into bedlam. The team held precariously to a 4-3 lead to the very end, when Michaels bellowed what is probably the most famous broadcasting call in sports history: “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!”

The victory, and the gold medal (clinched two days later in a victory over Finland) led to a spontaneous outburst of patriotism in America. As team Captain Mike Eruzioine has said, the gold medal didn’t make us win the Cold War, or get the Russians to leave Afghanistan, but it sure did help people to feel proud about their country again. Instead of the constant television images of Iranians burning American flags, we saw people—Americans—enthusiastically waving the flag.

This game took place when I was two weeks shy of my fourteenth birthday, and it has always had a very special place in my memory. I think this is because it happened when I was at an age where I was first “waking up to the world,” in a sense. I was alive during the latter days of the Vietnam War and Watergate, but I was too young to say that I experienced these in a personal way.

But for me, the age of thirteen was when I started to pay attention (a little) to what was happening in the world, and what it all meant for my country. I can remember that the Iranian hostage crisis was the first real international story that I followed on a day-to-day basis, and like most Americans, I found it terribly frustrating. If America was a powerful country that stood for freedom and liberty, then why could we not get our hostages home?

So, I look back at the Miracle on Ice game as the first (of many) real, personal memories of a rekindling of American pride during this era. And while I agree that it had no real effect on ending the international crises of the day, I fondly remember this game, and the gold medal in Lake Placid, as a turning point of sorts for our nation.

Both of my sons enjoy watching the highlights of that game, as well as the various retrospectives and of course the 2004 movie Miracle. One thing I cherish is that I do not have to go to a history book or a highlight reel to reconstruct the magic of the Miracle on Ice game. Rather, I had the privilege to have lived through it as it happened.

Happy Columbus Day

I spoke last time about the odd phenomenon of “new” knowledge, most of which comes from what my third grader learns at school. For instance, that there are now five oceans in the world (not four, like when I was a kid), and four states of matter instead of three. Another tidbit I picked up is that in many schools these days, Christopher Columbus is introduced as the “first foreigner” to come to the New World.

Now, on this point, I have to disagree. Foreigner? Yes. But, don’t forget that Leif Ericson landed in North America around the year 1000, almost 500 years before Columbus. Also, Native Americans migrated from Asia to North America across the Bering Strait region over the course of hundreds of years. They were not all from the same areas. So, I suppose some of these migrants would be considered original settlers, and later migrants would have to be considered foreigners as well.

Over time, Columbus Day has become one of those holidays that has sparked controversy over the process and scope of European settlement of America. Some see it as a memorial to a daring seaman who ushered in a new age. Spanish settlement spawned French, Dutch, and English exploration and settlement, which eventually led to the establishment of our country. Others see it as an inappropriate and insensitive celebration of one culture’s overtaking of another.

But, instead of delving into that debate, I’d rather share a few lines from a letter that Columbus wrote on February 15, 1493, describing his first encounters with the native peoples of the Caribbean. I find his comments fascinating, particularly those pertaining to his belief in God and the potential for the native peoples to believe in God also.

To me, the Indians’ first encounter with Columbus is just about the closest thing I can think of to aliens landing in a spaceship and little green men visiting me at Virginia Beach as I am reclining and reading a book on a warm summer day. It was that bizarre. Anyway, here are a few excerpts where Columbus describes the land and the native peoples. Enjoy.

“Spanola is a marvel; the mountains and hills, and plains, and fields, and land, so beautiful and rich for planting and sowing, and for breeding cattle of all sorts, for building of towns and villages. There could be no believing, without seeing, such harbours as are here, as well as the many and great rivers, and excellent waters, most of which contain gold.”

“It seems to me that in all those islands, the men are all content with a single wife; and to their chief or king they give as many as twenty. The women, it appears to me, do more work than the men.”

“Of anything they have, if it be asked for, they never say no, but do rather invite the person to accept it, and show as much lovingness as though they would give their hearts. And whether it be a thing of value, or one of little worth, they are straightways content with whatsoever trifle of whatsoever kind may be given them in return for it.”

“I gave gratuitously a thousand useful things that I carried, in order that they may conceive affection, and furthermore may be made Christians; for they are inclined to the love and service of their Highness and of all the Castillion nation, and they strive to combine in giving us things which they have in abundance, and of which we are in need.”

“And they knew no sect, nor idolatry; save that they all believe that power and goodness are in the sky, and they believed very firmly that I, with these ships and crew, came from the sky.”

“Since thus our Redeemer has given to our most illustrious King and Queen, and to their famous kingdoms, this victory in so high a matter, Christendom should take gladness therein and make great festivals, and give solemn thanks to the Holy Trinity for the great exaltation they shall have by the conversion of so many peoples to our holy faith; and next for the temporal benefit which will bring hither refreshment and profit, not only to Spain, but to all Christians.”

“This briefly, in accordance with the facts. Dated, on the caravel, off the Canary Islands, the 15 February of the year 1493.”