A '57 MG in a '59 MG

During the aforementioned trip to Upstate New York, one thing I really wanted to do... photographically, that is... was to get a picture of me in my Uncle Neil Payne's classic MG-A.

It is two years younger than I am... but it runs better and the body is in better shape.

When his brother, my Uncle Warner, died almost ten years ago, he was in the middle of restoring it. Both he and Warner have had several MGs over the years... and so Uncle Neil happily and deftly picked up where Warner had left off.

The bottom photograph... is of me in the spring of 1960 with another MG-A (Uncle Warner's). I am still a 1957 model. But can only guess (and would likely be wrong) what year this MG is. But as I recall, it was blue as well.

Scott Payne, my Rebel cousin from earlier blogs, is Warner's youngest son.

It was Neil's son - and my cousin - Glenn, took me for a wonderful ride in it on the winding roads and rolling hills of rural Broome County. It took little or no arm twisting.

Not a CD-ROM, but a CdV

This is one of my favorite likenesses. Even if it is one of my ugly mug. Almost looks like a CdV. During the Civil War, photographs were printed and pasted to cards about the size of a credit card. "Cartes de Visites"... calling cards with images. Inexpensive and easy to mail or keep in an album... carry around in your haversack. Very popular.

Unless, of course, you had one with my ugly mug on it. Then you put it in the barn to scare away rats.

More "Family Reunion" Activies...

Great Scott! What a Payne!

Cousin Scott Payne (and fellow reenactor - albeit in Confederate gray) and I hamming it up further for the camera at the Pierce Creek Civil War reenacting event in Binghamton, NY, this past weekend. Scott portrays the Gray Ghost - Col. John Singleton Mosby.

"My cousin? Not in THAT uniform, you're not!"

This past weekend I went to my old hometown in Upstate New York. Mostly to see family. But not without coincidence, there was a Civil War reenactment event there too. I will be posting more pics later, but this is one of my favorites.

I hadn't seen many of my family for quite a few years - sadly, not since the last couple of funerals. But I had heard, through the grapevine, that my cousin, Scott Payne was a Civil War reenactor as well - and would likely be at this event. I hadn't seen Scott for almost 25 years.

On Saturday, I was looking at the sutler's wares, when I was tapped on the shoulder by a Confederate officer.

"Are you from Michigan?," he asked. I assured him that yes, I was.

And so then, this Rebel says, "I am your cousin... Scott!"

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Not in that uniform, you're not!"

And so we spend the rest of the day having a family reunion - replete with such photographs as the above.

But like I said, more later!

Port Hope at the Tip of the Thumb of Michigan

A few weeks ago, I went to a terrific, terrific Civil War Reenacting event at one of the lighthouses on the shores of Lake Huron... specifically Pt. Aux Barques, near Port Hope, Michigan. I will try to post more pictures as time goes by... along with the Upstate New York event... but wanted quickly to post these few.

The "hat club" grows! These "smoking caps" (or "lounging caps") are quite the fashion statement for the elegant and discerning Civil War soldier. Photographic evidence proves of their existence at that time... and now even more so! Usually when our kepis, forage caps or slouch hates are doffed once back in camp, out comes the smoking caps (if nothing else, then to try to tame a tangled mess of sweating battle-head)... although on Sunday, several of us (posed here) fought the Confederates so topped. We won! Coincidence? I think not.

You will notice that some of Yankees here look like they also have on their red jammies. Those are the dapper Zouaves. For more info (so I don't have to type more than I have to) check out http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zouave

While technically, their fezzes are not smoking caps, we all were in agreement that because of their bravery - and individuality - in their choice of uniform styles, they should be de facto members of the hat club. The Confederates... ever the rebels... had but only one of their large number who had the sense and decency to own/wear a smoking cap. I invited him to join us for the picture... but couldn't be found when the time came. Later I found him and so I include him here separately. But know he is our brother. The hat club transcends the Mason-Dixon line.

The bottom picture is just some of us hamming it for the camera... Civil War reenactors tend to be far from camera shy - if not out and out hams. And we do so have a good time.

Detroit, Michigan

A couple random and random pictures of the Motor City.

The city skyline was taken from Windsor, Canada... and yes, it really is south of Detroit.

Monuments

Recently, I attended my wife's family's reunion in northwestern Pennsylvania. It had been quite a while since I've attended, so I really thought it best I look for no excuse and tag along on this one. To be perfectly candid, I was happily surprised that I had such a wonderful time.

My wife's brother pastors the two Catholic churches there, in Corry, near Erie… a small town of perhaps 6,800. I took a walk Sunday through 'downtown' armed with my ever present camera. As usual, I found several interesting things to take pictures of, not the least of which was the obligatory town square Civil War monument. Another monument that I took pictures of was erected for several volunteer firemen who had been killed in a fire almost forty years ago in Corry. There are four different memorials, I am told, in town. One at each of the two firehouses, one in the town square not far from the Civil War monument and then a beautiful one I'm assuming at the site of the fire. It reads:

In Appreciation and Recognition

of Their Supreme Sacrifice

David Apps

Richard Brigham

Jon Miller

Dennis Rockafellow

Lauren Shreve

The internet can be a wonderful thing and I learned much from it. And was touched much by it. The fire was the evening of Easter Sunday, March 29, 1970 at a Sherwin-Williams Paint store, in the "business district". It was supposed to have been a simple and "ordinary" fire. But apparently the fire - of undetermined cause - had been burning undetected in a partition for a quite a while, long before these volunteer fireman arrived. The 80 year old, long narrow 2-story building, tucked between an office building and a vacant building, was made of brick and timber and shared walls with the adjacent buildings. It had a false ceiling and it is suspected that hot fire gases collected there, and, along with the flammable paint and thinner and/or the linseed oil fumes given off from the burning linoleum floors, it all made for a deadly combination. Fifteen minutes after the volunteer firemen arrive, the building exploded, blowing out both the front and back walls.

Six firefighters were trapped in the rear, under debris, in the alley way. Five were able to free themselves. The sixth, the fire chief's son, was killed. The toll on the street side was much worse. Over a dozen firefighters were injured; many spectators were rushed to the hospital with injuries from flying glass. Firefighters and spectators fortunately were able to free several trapped victims. But unfortunately four additional young volunteer firemen were crushed to death under the wall.

I don't know these men, or their families. I am not from Corry. But I am compelled to imagine what that horrific night - a holy holiday - must have been like in that small community. Or what the coming days, months and years must have been like. What is today like for many? What is it must be like for those who remember. I can't help to think of the friends and families… especially and poignantly, the fire chief father… what they all must have felt, and numbingly didn't feel, for days, months or years. The parents of these five young volunteer firefighters must be quite old, I would think, if still alive. Wives would have remarried, girlfriends having moved on, never forgetting these lovers. Young children now grown and perhaps grandparents now, never remembering well these fathers. Faded memories at best for some. Painful memories at worse for others. Imagine being the surviving volunteer firemen, for a moment, and being call to the next fire. I've seen several pictures of the unveiling of the monument… with those firemen, wives, children, family and community all present. I cannot fully imagine what that day was like. The emotions. The sky was gray and I am sure hearts were as well.

As you drive through small town America, in addition to the more obvious cemeteries, there are many, many monuments in city parks and town squares. Almost all are driven by unseen. Many, I am sure, are seen so frequently by the residents that they are unseen as well. That grieves me. That anyone could be forgotten in a few years. And, sadly, it doesn't have to be generations. I have seen idiot tourists posing for pictures with dopey grins and rabbit ears at Ground Zero in NYC.

I am certainly not a military historian, neither am I any kind of a social historian of the Civil War era. Many put me to shame. I can't pretend. But I am both a Civil War Nut and a Genealogy Nut. And two things about reenacting I seem gravitate to is finding and savoring those moments where we could almost have traveled back to 1863 for a few seconds (maybe, just maybe, we have). The other is appreciating and recognizing that the people we reenactors portray and emulate and research were real, flesh and blood people. No different, really, than you or I today. We someday all will be but gradually fading memories as well. Do we "know" those we depict? What do we "do" with that knowledge? Do we appreciate and recognize?

Corry was established in 1861, I am told, although it had been settled for longer. The Civil War began soon thereafter and many residents left to fight. Fewer, I am sure, returned. Thus the monument in the town square. I cannot read the inscription in the photograph I took. But I imagine it is no different than any other Civil War monument's. And for me it is unnecessary. The statute of the solider, with his musket, wearing his kepi and great coat, brings to our minds quickly the men and the sacrifice - theirs and the people left at home. Reenactors understand. Nothing needs to be read. Or said.

Again, I can't read when it was erected, but would assume that many present that day knew those whom it was set there to honor. Some veterans, wives, children, family, friends and community. Imagine the emotions that day.

Forgive me if I offend and if I am incorrect. While my wife's family is Catholic, and a brother a priest, I was only one for a year and a half (Catholic, not a priest). So I might be off a bit here… or perhaps… I might be ineloquent at best. While at the reunion, we slept in the rectory, attached to one of the churches. It was pretty much impossible to forget where we were. There were constant reminders of my brother-in-law's faith and vocation. The Pope watched us sleep from his framed picture above the dresser. Several other Holy pictures were peppered in each room. Catholicism is identifiable to Protestants as having armies of statues (Jesus, his mom and step-dad along with Saints galore in every nook and cranny), the "Stations of the Cross" and Christ "still" on the Cross in every shape and size. And some would incorrectly assume that they are prayed to… even adored. But they are more reminders than anything else. Monuments if you would. We are a both a forgetful and easily distracted race. We need to have helps to recall and to focus. To appreciate and recognize. So we erect monuments and statues and headstones. Places like Gettysburg are filled with each. And truly, and ultimately, this is why reenactors reenact - military and civilians both - to appreciate and recognize. We are living historians and living monuments.