Reflecting on a Fall

I was four. Days. Old.

April 30, 1975: The end of arguably the most tumultuous time in American history, spanning across three decades - even though it was never "official". There was no declaration of war by Congress; there was an invasion, followed by an occupying force that split the country and the world in two. People liked to try to pretty up this mess by using the word "conflict".

Vietnam.

The fall of Saigon.

Obviously I have no recollection of it, and when I was younger, I was surprised to see that "technically" I lived during the Vietnam War (yes, I'm aware that I'm using the word "war"). It was a war that I'm sure my fellow classmates in school heard a little about, but did not understand how it touched so many lives, yet our parents very well could have enlisted or pressed into service for our country. Like my dad. He was lucky. He was engaged to my mother and saw his deployment listed as "Thailand". He called her to report the bad news, scared of going into the killing fields; instead, the hand of fate stepped in and the following day, his assignment was changed and he was sent to Frankfort, Germany. His friends weren't necessarily as lucky; as many families weren't.

This war is and always will be controversial. The cause, the methods of fighting, the high casualties and costs of the on-going, never ending battles that jumped from country to country, falling like dominoes, just like the Americans were hoping would not happen. Fate cannot be controlled. I know as a student of history, I've read about the war, but easily grew confused about what country was where, and the names of the leaders (many were guerrilla or warlords) so I am far from an expert. I can say that I can see how many people watching the nightly news with all of it's carnage thought the same thing.

Funny thing is there are so many ripple effects from this instance that it should make history itself blush. Wars were meant to be won, with clear opponents; Vietnam was the first one that truly was opaque. Now, the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and even the NATO involvement in Libya show that the governments may be overrun by a more forthcoming dictator to overthrow, but you never know the true feelings of the people of that nation. Ask the Soviets who live in Russia today and if they like democracy with it's flaws or the insecure safety of being able to fear what they already knew with their oppression.

The feelings towards the American troops has made a 180 degree turn. When some soldiers returned from their tour of duty in Vietnam, they were protested and even spat upon at the airports. Now they get parades and ribbons on trees.

There are so many underlying questions that take more than a blog to address, so I leave the questions open to you. Why do Americans "Support our troops" when the same was being attempted 30-40 years ago? What has changed in our society?

The wars that we face now are often conflicts; rarely ever have declarations of war been made through the same channels as they were with things like World War I & World War II. Why?

Are we helping or hurting the countries that we involve ourselves with? Doesn't the end result come from the desire of the people of that country? Communist China, in pursuit of the almighty dollar, a capitalist mantra if ever there was one. It's only a matter of time before the government's inability to quell people's inalienable rights as humans will erode their other hostilities. Same thing with North Korea; they're stuck against a wall wounded trying to fight against anything they can, but they're cut off from the world. Look at Egypt, they purged it themselves; Libya is trying; Iran has and will continue to try.

And the oddest result of them all: North Vietnam, which of course was enemy # 2 (second only behind the USSR) 36 years ago tonight; and now there is one Vietnam. A united Vietnam. With a McDonald's. During President Clinton's presidency, the ambassador to Vietnam, was a former Vietnam soldier. We trade with them. Funny how times change. Is it all because of forgiveness, or the pursuit of more money?

The world has grown smaller and much more intertwined, but at times people and governments can be more than oceans apart. It is what makes the world such a difficult, dynamic place. Whomever would have thought after this unforgettable photograph taken 36 years ago we and our "enemies" would be where we are today.

Just do one thing. Don't forget. Don't forget the people behind a war like this (on either side) or the people who fought in them. There are still thousands of them trying to perform it daily for us. Better yet, go to Washington D.C. and see the Vietnam memorial. I don't think there is a bigger punch to the stomach than seeing all those names. They have been remembered.

Don't forget.

Greatest American Maritime Disaster, and It Ain't the Titanic; but both sank in April!

As April winds down, so do the stories from the Civil War. This year marks the 150th anniversary of the start on April 12th, meaning it won't be until many of the climactic events won't have their 150th until 2015. There's two important things left in April, but only this one is from the Civil War (the other isn't until 1975).

On this night, sailing up the Mighty Mississippi River, prisoners of war were looking at the stars aboard the Sultana carrying them home to the North. It was April 26-27, 1865, the latter part of the same day John Wilkes Booth was shot and killed.

(Above, the last known photograph of the Sultana, taken in Arkansas on April 26, 1865)

These soldiers had been through hell, literally. Many were Midwesterners that had been freed from the notorious Andersonville (GA) prison camp, along with other POW camps. It should be noted that the Union was far from reproach, as they too had overcrowded POW camps with poor rations, life expectancy, etc.

All these soldiers wanted to do was to get north of the Mason Dixon line and go home to their families. They had prayed for this day. Unknown to them, the ship was damaged; a boiler had a problem and was leaking. It was quickly, and poorly, repaired at one of the ports and the Sultana continued on her journey up from Vicksburg (where General U.S. Grant had whipped the Confederacy in 1863, before Lincoln moved him on to command the Army of the Potomac).

The one problem that likely everyone on board knew, there were an awful lot of people on the Sultana.

There were only enough cabins on board for 75 to 100 people, however unscrupulous, the owners were being paid by the Union by the head ($3) so they packed in as many they could. Ultimately, there would be approximately 2,400 souls (more than the Titanic, on a ship a fraction of the size). The soldiers were no doubt uncomfortable, but were happy to lay down where ever they could. The night of April 26th silently rolled by into the early morning of April 27th.

About eight miles north of Memphis, at about 2 AM, there was an explosion. It is strongly believed that a boiler exploded and there was immediate trouble. Unlike the Titanic, this ship was not iron and steel, but wood. It was just a matter of time for the inevitable to claim its victims.

Some would be heroes and help others, some grabbed on to low hanging branches of trees along the banks of the river, while many died of hypothermia. The most haunting image is that of a defenseless prisoner of war, emaciated, malnourished or missing a leg, that could not make a move to save their own life. Imagine, much like 9/11 in the World Trade Center, you had two viable (and not good) options: burn to death or jump.

The ship was gone in about an hour, and so was the majority of passengers. The numbers dwindled from 2,400 down to 500 or so, and of those, only 200 survived due to the burns they endured. Like many disasters, many of the bodies were never recovered.

So why haven't you heard of this disaster? John Wilkes Booth. Only he could upstage the deaths of hundreds of people. No doubt, it would have put a smirk on his face that he was able to push aside the attention of the supposed "heroes".

The sad thing is, there is no shipwreck to visit, to pay tribute to, to make the reality tangible. Hundreds of people perished in the Mighty Mississippi, but the river was mightier. Over time, the route of the water has shifted, leaving the Sultana wreck buried in a soybean field, last viewed in 2002.

It is important to pay attention to what I call "the footnotes of history". These are the things that likely you've glanced right over and never gave it a second thought. These footnotes are far from that though, because every event that happens in a person's life has importance, and if we forget about these moments, we will forget them; and that would be unforgivable.

Sharing a birthday with a celebrtiy

I have learned that I share my birthday with a celebrity; unfortunately, the actor has been dead for 146 years and is actually remembered more for an act he committed than an act he performed in. I share a birthday with John Wilkes Booth.

Luckily, the similarities end there. The atrocity that JWB committed against this nation will never fully be understood. I could go into the countless "what ifs" regarding this moment in history; but I will not. I find it amusing that JWB was pinned down inside a barn, ready to fight to the death for what he believed in (the elimination of tyranny) eerily parallels, as well as the polar opposite of a man whose execution Booth witnessed six years earlier when John Brown died for (a racially equal society) what he believed in, pinned down by the authorities. I'm sure Booth never thought it would come down to this, being trapped inside a tobacco barn on the Garrett farm in Virginia; cornered like a rat.

The fury must have been as strong in his mind as the flames swarming around him. He just couldn't understand how his plan backfired. Why weren't people praising him for freeing them from King Abraham? Why wasn't the South rising up to capitalize on this moment? There are many reasons, one of which America was tired. Tired of war, fighting and slaughter. In all honesty, most military leaders on both sides were glad to finally lay their arms down and go home to resume their lives.

Booth had severed his ties from his brother, and stained the name in some eyes. He was now no different than a hoodlum or a common thug. His mystique was extinguished, but certainly not his fight. As the standoff continued, JWB was ordered to come out, but he was not going to let his final performance be anti-climatic. Within a second, his fight was over. Soldier Boston Corbett disobeyed the direct order of not firing, took aim at Booth through a crack in the barn's vertical boards, and pulled the trigger.

It was a direct hit and Booth fell to the ground, helpless, much like his victim 12 days earlier slumped in his chair when he was shot in the back of the head. Booth was dragged out of the barn; it was early morning on April 26th. The manhunt was over. JWB's spinal cord was severed and he was paralyzed.

Booth was taken to the porch of the Garrett's farm where he fought one last time, this round was for his life, and it was a two-hour fight. The thought certainly must have run through his mind, it was his birthday today - he was 27. Shortly before he died, JWB asked to see his hands. The soldiers lifted them up so they were in his field of vision. He stared at them and whispered "Useless, useless." then he died.

His co-conspirators would be hunted down and executed as well. What Booth meant by his last words can be interpreted in so many ways, but it was certainly a correct assessment at the same time. His battle; his vision; his actions were all useless. Lincoln had become a national saint overnight, glossing over any of his flaws, because he represented the solidarity of the American spirit - both North and South and he was struck down by a cowardly act by an obsessed person. Unfortunately, as much as Lincoln's spirit lives on, so does Booth. Consider Lee Harvey Oswald, Siran Siran, James Earl Ray and Timothy McVeigh.

Good and evil are as tangible as the fingers on your hands. These fights continue every day and although we received a Heaven and Hell battle royal here on earth, culminating with the deaths of Lincoln and Booth, we must be cognizant of our environment and our zeal. We are all Americans and must respect each other as such, along with our differences. If not, the lessons of history are lost on us all.

Now he belongs to the ages

There is much debate if these were the words spoken by Secretary of War Edwin Staton at the moment of Lincoln's death, or if he said "Now he belongs to the angels". Either way, he was right. The weight of the world that Lincoln had carried on his shoulders had finally been lifted, but the only way to get rid of it was to lose his life. That weight now burdened every man in the room at 7:22 AM.

Vice President Andrew Johnson, whom many viewed as a threat to the peace Lincoln worked for because he was from a southern but loyal state, was an inadequate replacement at best. Often he was believed to be a drunk, and the late President himself had only met officially with Johnson twice in their term in office (the second having been earlier on April 14th, prior to Lincoln going to Ford's Theater!)
Some even believed that perhaps Johnson was involved in the assassination.

People's heads were swirrling around, especially with the news of the attempted assassination of Secretary of State Seward who would survive. The presidency was not like modern times, and the Vice President was more of figure of honor than an active office, even though they were a heartbeat away from becoming president, so this was not unusual.

Thank goodness Stanton had his wits about him, as he basically ran the US while Johnson was being sworn in and beginning to adjust to his new responsibility. It was Stanton who started the manhunt to flush out and capture any and all involved with the late President's assassination.

Poor Mary Lincoln, who was emotionally very fragile, felt like she had finally regained her husband, only to have him so violently taken from her, beside her, before her eyes. The Lincoln family seemed cursed. Abraham had forseen it somehow. He had many dreams and was haunted by much in life. This mental toughness is likely what made him able to guide our country through the most turbulant days since the Revolution.

His untimely death -- murder, made him a martyr; just like Jesus Christ, he was struck down on Good Friday and on Easter Sunday, would share the pulpit. Suddenly, the attrocity of murdering a man that was finally succeeding struck a nerve with many, including southerners. The wave of emotion swept over the people, wiping away ill feelings and replacing the man with the legend. The rail-splitter, the emancipator, the martyr.

This would drive Booth crazy for his weeks on the lam. Didn't everyone see wht he did? He freed them from tyranny! But he failed to realize that human nature is peaceful. Both sides wanted the war to end somehow. The world would never be the same already, they knew that, it was just how to stop the war machine. Many felt like Lincoln was the one doing it and now he was sensessly removed from the equation by a coward who shot him in the back of the head during a private moment. Now Booth was the monster, not Lincoln. The plan had backfired.

Lincoln' body was removed from the Petersen house later in the afternoon and taken to have (an obvious) autopsy conducted by the Surgeon General. Immediately after his body was removed, someone photographed the bed and room in which he died. There weren't color photos back then, which is probably good so people wouldn't see the crimson red soaked pillow on which his head laid. The photograph preserved a moment in time; a true snapshot.

This is what history is. The examination of one or many snapshots, how they interlink with each other, and how they created the moment we are now in and help us understand what our choices before us will do.

For Lincoln, he left his imprint on not only America, but the world. Don't believe it? Type in "Lincoln Funeral" on Google under images and look for yourself. The room was empty in the Petersen house, but the hearts and minds of the people from 1865 though now have the snapshot burned in their collective memories forever.

Carpathian cleanup of Titanic mess

Nintey-nine years ago today, reality set in. Humans had not conquered nature as they were led to believe in the Gilded Age. Sure man could fly now, and make machines that quadrupled output and other things that a generation earlier could never have dreamed.

Money didn't matter. Opulance didn't matter. If you were rich or poor, first class or steerage, it didn't matter anymore. As I mentioned in my previous blog yesterday, I knew Dr. Maurice Hardgrove who was just a young boy travelling back to the US from a trip to Ireland, and was on the Carpathia. He was shooed to bed by some crewmen. When he would get up in the morning and go to the top deck, this is what he would have seen.

The kindness of people during a tragedy endured as always. People would bring blankets and even their own clothing to the shivvering survivors.

The finality set in once everyone was brought on board and the lifeboats made their way out of the cold ocean waters as well. An empty reminder of all who were lost just hours earlier.

It would be a somber three and a half day journey to New York. The smiles of children likely haunted the newly widowed, neither of whom would have any idea how different their world would be now.

Names were taken, wires sent to New York and England to update people as to the true story and consequence of the disaster.

On a dark and cold spring evening, the Carpathia arrived in NewYork with the survivors of the Titanic. This is not how it was imagined. This is not how it was supposed to be. This was the ship that was unsinkable! And yet, here, the survivors slowly made their way off, their eyes blurred from all of the flashbulbs going off the cameras.

The bitterest pill to swallow, the toughest to accept was the final reminder -- empty lifeboats with the word "Titanic" on the bow. Oddly enough, there were 13 that made it, carrying 705 survivors out of over 2,200 people.

It was then that the rest of the world learned something that the passengers of both the Titanic and Carpathia found out 99 years ago today, as much as humans create and progress, you cannot defeat or conquer nature.

Ever have a bad day? It could be worse...1865 (Example 2)

So you have the weight of the world on your shoulders at work, or at least it sure feels like it. Computer systems are slow, the drive-thru you grabbed lunch at gave you the wrong order, but you knew at the end of the day, you'd be spending quality time with a loved one, getting a much needed laugh.

Abraham Lincoln was no different. Finally, with Lee's surrender days before, he could exhale a bit and believe the war would definitely come to an end and the union would be preserved. Earlier in the day, he had a brief discussion with his cabinet on how to begin Reconstruction and help their fellow southerners rebuild and recover.

Four years of somber work, that aged him by 20 years, appearance-wise gave way to a few smiles and  carriage ride with his wife discussing 1869, when he'd have completed his second term and they would possibly return to family and friends in Springfield, maybe travel to Europe and Lincoln really wanted to see California.

To treat his wife to some much needed quality time, they went to the theater. Unfortuntely, General Grant backed out, so another couple would go in their place to Box 7 at Ford's Theatre. The Lincolns arrived midway in the first act; the play stopped and "Hail to the Chief" was struck up by the band. He received thunderous applause, but just wanted to sit back in the rocking chair and enjoy some quiet time, just like everyone else.

Earlier, Lincoln had refused bodyguard protection, stating if someone wanted to kill him badly enough, they would accomplish it. This drew parallels to the dream he had a week earlier about finding himself in a casket in the East Room in the White House where he was told the President was assassinated. Lincoln was an easy going person and although he had an escort for the night, he had ducked out as the third act began and went next door to a saloon for a quick drink.

Booth already had his plans laid out and quietly walked over to the box, waited for the line that would deliver the loudest laugh and shoot Lincoln dead. Poor Lincoln's last words were reassuring Mary that a simple sign of affection between the two of them was perfectly acceptable (likely because he felt so much guilt for not being able to be the husband or father he wanted to be while he was steering the country through the greatest crisis since the Revolution.

Lincoln, smiling at the play's dialogue rocked in his chair enjoying the moment. No one in the box knew Booth was inside. It sounded like a paper bag popping; many didn't even realize what had just happened. Lincoln's head went further down on his chest and stopped rocking. Major Rathborne, Grant's surrogate tried to stop Booth, only to be stabbed by Booth's daggar. Booth then jumped to the stage ready to run to his horse waiting in the alley. He knew Ford's Theatre inside and out and with the rush of people starting to realize what happened, escape back out the door through which he entered was out of the question. He stepped up on the ledge of the railing in the box and jumpe down to the stage, shouting "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" However, on the jump down, one of his spurs got caught in the bunting decorating the president's box and as he landed, he broke his leg. Bad day for Booth. More ironic, the bunting that he was caught on was the stars and stripes of the American flag, which almost seems to have come to life to stop Booth himself.

Booth scrambled out into the alley and bolted out of Washington as fast as he could, maneuvering his way past a sentry post to escape into the Maryland countryside to try to make his way to southern sympathizers. Brutus had succeeded! He had killed the American Ceaser. However, he was the only one that had this opinion as he would soon find out. That would be the ultimate slap in the face to him was thinking he'd be a hero, not a villan.

As for President Lincoln, he was taken across the street to the Petersen boarding house and taken into a bedroom, where he was laid diagonally because he was too tall for the bed. It was here that the surgeon general inspected the wound and deemed it mortal. People came and went throughout the night to see him; many wept. Mary was so beside herself that Secretay of State Stanton ordered her out of the room. The scene was romanticized by a painter, as seen below, but the room was far too small for these people to be in with the President at one time.

The night would be a long one; and could have been much more devistating if Booth's fellow conspirators had his nerves and passion. They could have murdered many of the President's cabinet and the Vice President. The only one that was followed through by Secretary of State Seward, who if not for the horse buggy accident earlier in the month that led to him wearing a neck brace, his would be assassin most certainly would have severed his carotid artery. He would be scarred, but survived.

The survival of Lincoln was not as lucky. It started out as such a nice day, culminating with a performance at a theater, until things were taken into the hands of an obsessed person, around ten after 10:00 that night. What a bad day. What a horrific day.

And it was Good Friday. Booth should have selected a better day to execute his plan, as the day would help build up a parallel that would drive his fury to new ends.

Just a bad day all around.

Ever have a bad day? It could be worse...1912 (Example 1)

We've all had days that just couldn't get worse, at least in our minds. We're just minding our own business, and bam, something happens. Then another thing. You're umbrella blew inside out, then you get soaking wet and trying to make a mad dash for  your car, you run through a puddle that splashes on your pants, drop the keys in the pooling muddy water next to the car door. Could it get any worse? We ask ourselves.

The answer is a definite yes.

At this exact moment, 99 years ago, two men who didn't even have a pair of binoculars (budget cuts; that costs money) and saw a looming black shadow in the water from the "crow's nest" high atop a pole on floating ship that was on it's first voyage. "Iceberg ahead!" the crewman called out. The captain had gone to bed, as the Titanic sailed into a field of icebergs on the moonless night. Surely this was no threat to the ship that was deemed "practically unsinkable" due to it's bulkheads. Imagine an icetray, that's what the interior hull looked like. Any four consecutive ones could be damaged and the ship would stay afloat.

The crew using it's natural instinct to avoid the collision ordered to turn the ship hard astarboard, but it was on top of the iceberg, and still rammed into the solid ice. Unfortunately, steel wasn't quite up to par, and the metal was more "iron" in composition, meaning it was more fragile, especially in the freezing cold waters of the Atlantic (recovered pieces of the wreck were tested by being struck at the same speed of the collision and simply sliced in half).

This was okay, right? Four compartments, no problem. The ship's designer was on board and went to assess the damage. Four compartments were damaged; and a fifth slightly. The iceberg did not gash the ship, but rather banged into the Titanc like dots and dashes from Morse code. The ship was doomed.

Captain Smith, on his retirement voyage to deliver the ship to New York knew what all of this meant. Half of the passengers would be dead in hours because there weren't enough lifeboats (those cost money too, and who needs them on a ship that can't sink?). If the Titanic would have driven straight into the iceberg, it would have survived, but crippled the ship. Many of the officers would have been killed instantly, leaving the ship afloat to receive help, but human instinct was to get the ship out of the way. What a bad day.

The day was uneventful until they entered the iceberg field. Poor foresight led to the doom of the ship and over 1200 people would be dead by morning. If you were lucky enough (good day or bad day?), you might be able to get onto a lifeboat. Kind of scary, but the scale of what was happening didn't seem too obvious at first as the ship took a long time to start rising from the bow. When your lifeboat would get away from the sinking ship, of which many people didn't believe was really sinking, did the horror sink in. This is what you would see in the pitch dark; the only lights for miles: the crippled Titanic.

A little after 2 AM, on the 15th, everything went dark. The boilers were no longer accessible to fuel. The angle of the ship was more dramatic and items slid to the front of the bow from dishes, to boilers, to people. Panic begins to set in to the people remaining on board; the lifeboats were gone by 2:15. People started screaming and a large, unworldly sound reverberated throughout the area for miles. The ship was not built for the stress of being raised at somewhere around a 45 degree angle. The hull snapped the Titanic in two and the bow started to disappear below the water for good. People were clinging to the bow hoping it would somehow buoy, but (again later tests from underwater showed) part of the keel of the boat was still attached between the two sections which had torn between the third and fourth funnels. The sheer force ripped the two pieces and the bow sank at such a rapid rate that it plowed into the mud 2 1/2 miles below the surface.

Lifeboats struggled to stay away from the suction, which killed many, but most people died of hypothermia in the freezing cold waters. All the gentile ways of the Gilded Age were destroyed as the stern filled up and started sinking as well. People knowing what they were facing, ran over each other and jumped, hoping they'd somehow survive (and a few did this way, including the assistant wireless operator who sent out the signal SOS).

At 2:22 AM, the stern disappeared under the ocean's surface and would land by the bow, the two pieces facing opposite directions. Any bodies that went down were crushed immediately. The pressure at this depth was 6,000 pounds per square inch.

The screaming and terror made survivors wonder if the people who went down with the ship, including the captain, got the better end of the deal. It would be hours before the Carpathia, that had to turn around to come back to the disaster site (about four).

I had chance to meet someone that was on the Carpathia. More will follow tomorrow about him, but seven year old Maurice Hardgrove couldn't sleep on this night 99 years ago. He stepped out of the stateroom and saw two crew members talking. He felt something wasn't right, like the ship was turning as if to head back to Europe, not New York. He heard something about a rescue. Then one of the men shooed him back to his room.

Now, hundreds sat in the dark, praying, mourning and wondering what would happen next. The officers that survived tried to keep order and as the biggest threat, the people in the water that threatened to overturn the lifeboats, tragically faded away into the darkness as their lives were extinguished just like the lights on the Titanic. Hopefully the Carpathia would make it, but it was going to be a long night.

Talk about a bad day.

There's no such thing as luck, just fate

On this day in 1865, a day where the North was still celebrating the surrender of Robert E. Lee, not all of the citizens were happy. Two nights earlier, Lincoln addressed a crowd with what would be his last public speech, by candlelight, with his son Tad at his side at the White House. Here, Lincoln laid out hs plans for Reconstruction and the equality of all men, regardless of race. One person in the crowd had been stalking Lincoln for months. His mind was clouded with hatred and a desire to set America free from its tyrant leader, old Abe Lincoln; that person was John Wilkes Booth.

Listening to Lincoln's words echo through the night, and hearing that blacks should have the right to vote, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. The plan to kidnap Lincoln in exchange for imprisioned soldiers no longer made sense, and his fury boiled over. He said to his companion and fellow conspirator to remove the Union's leaders by force, "That means n--- citizenshp. Now, by God, I'll put him through."

The question was when or how? When would he realistically have a chance to strike? As famous as he was, and how many times he was close enough to Lincoln to do something, indicates that Booth felt it was his destiny; it was inevitable.

Then on April 12, 1865, by a freak chance fate gave him the opportunity he was looking for. As an actor, Booth had his mail delivered to Harry Ford's Theatre. There, he made his dramatic entrance into the box office stating, "We are all slaves now." Harry Ford and Booth once were friends until politics split their friendship across the street during an argument at the Petersen boarding house. (It should be noted that this would be the building where Lincoln would die -- fate?)

General Grant had arrived in Washington and met with Lincoln. Booth so badly wanted to make the assassination happen on April 13th, which was Thomas Jefferson's birthday. Things were looking Booth's way. What a better way to assassinate Lincoln, then to have the man that forced the unquestioned leader of the Southern armies there in town to suffer? The queston was still lingering, when and how?

One hundred and forty-six years ago this afternoon, Booth burst into the office at the National Theatre inquiring about the itenerary for theatre productions. He learned that the Lincolns would be attending something likely in the future. Still not enough.

Picking up his mail on the morning of April 14th at Ford's Theatre, where he had already crept around the interior to refresh his memory of the floorplan (which he also did at the National), he learned that the Lincolns. Quietly, he absorbed this information that his hated enemy would be coming to a theatre that he was very familiar with and the Lincolns' guests would be none other than US Grant and his wife Julia. This had to make Booth salavate at the thought of how luck was playing into his hands. There is no such thing as luck, just fate.

The plan was laid out in Booth's head. He would kill Lincoln that night, and possibly Grant for good measure. He would let his conspirators handle the rest of the cabinet for the federal government; all of which would be murdered, sending the nation into a tailspin and igniting a new spark to fuel the Confederacy's come back for the final blow.

He didn't realize that fate was in charge. We have no way to control it, and rarely it gives us the end result that we expect or count on.

John Wilkes Booth was overconfident, out of touch, and had a blood lust that would only be quenched by Lincoln's death the following Friday night, April 14th.

He didn't realize the historical significance if his plan worked. Friday, April 14, 1865 was more commonly known as something else: Good Friday. The day in which a great and controversial man was martyred for a greater cause on a cross after being persecuted. There would be a parallel drawn that Booth would never have dreamed of, and damned his plans of becoming a hero. He would have a spot next to Judas Iscariot. Fate would see to that and Lincoln would be projected to something above and beyond Booth's fears.

Civil War

What can possibly be said about the Civil War of the United States that hasn't already been said? Scholars and history-philes alike have disected it every way possible. What was the main cause? Who is the most iconic. I could easily spend hours typing about it, but instead, I ask you to think about it and what comes to mind when you hear it? Abraham Lincoln? Robert E. Lee? Emancipation Proclaimation?

Today is the 150th anniversary-the sequisentennial of the American Civil War. A great deal of ideals and feelings back then are still permeating today's society: government involvment, state's rights, etc. Every time that you think we live in a divisive time, read about the 1830s into the 1860s. Each generation has their own demons they must face, and usually the majority wins. That is what happened when 150 years ago, some thought people with different skin colors were inferior, inept and savage. Obviously by today's standards, this is ridiculous! Or is it? Remember, only 45 years ago, the Civil Rights movement was still pushing to illustrate that Jim Crow was wrong. Think about this, what thought are we as Americans fighting about now that 150 years ago, our descendants will look at and think the answer was so clear. It never is when you're living in that time; the "heat of the battle".

Just remember we all love America, and so did the Union and Confederacy, they just had different views on how to make this nation great. The "liberals" and "right wing" are doing the same today. Their patriotism should not be called into question, what should be remembered is there are two sides to every story, and the truth usually can be found somewhere in between.

I think what Abraham Lincoln said in response to the Virigina Convention on April 13, 1861, where they cited why they were leaving the union, sums up the patriotic swell inside us all: "And, in every event, I shall, to the extent of my ability, repel force by force."

That's pretty American to me. God bless the soldiers, families, and citizens that were involved in this four year bloodbath. You have made us stronger and our union better for it.