|
|
Marceline, MO July 2-3, 1983
I'd been to Marceline a couple of times during the late seventies and early eighties, when my wife and I came to visit her maternal grandparents. My mother-in-law lived most of her life here and still had friends that we were inclined to call upon from time to time, plus her sister still resided in Marceline. Marceline was also the boyhood home of Walt Disney and after becoming famous with Mickey Mouse, he returned to make a huge cash donation for the construction of a city park. Marceline was also the home of Crowley's Clay County reenactor Dave Stauffer (no relation to Dick). There was an old-fashioned 4th of July celebration going on in Marceline and Dave was asked by the city council if he could provide a few reenactors to the festivities. Since this was a non-sanctioned event, merely listed in the MCWRA newsletter, and most people probably already had plans for the fourth, a small turnout was all that was expected. Surprising, about two dozen showed up including myself, Hig, John Maki, and Newton Hughes as the only federal participants. Dave Bennett, Steve Allee, Lane and Scott Hughes from Shelby's Fifth MO Cav were here, as were several members of Crowley's Confederates. The only members of Crowley's whose names I can recall at this time are Jay Jackson, Randy Simmons, and Terry McGinnis.
We all "camped" in Dave Stauffer's backyard, including the cavalry boys who'd brought their horses with them. At nightfall, the four legged animals were tethered a short distance away, while the two legged animals drank popskull. Just up the road was a fireworks stand, and on a crazy alcohol-induced impulse, we bought several armfulls of bottle rockets and had a fight at a nearby rock quarry. Two opposing skirmish lines were formed by a random selection (it helped the selection process if you had a lit cigar or cigarette).We fired our bottle rockets by file, by company, but mostly independently (didn't know when those damn things were going to explode). Some of the guys had empty beer bottles to launch their missiles while others just let them fly from their fingers. The "battle" lasted about a half hour or less when finally the fireworks were exhausted and we returned to Dave Stauffer's house to resume drinking.
Marceline celebrated the Fourth of July like any typical small town in the USA. Patriotic streamers hung across the front of downtown buildings and around lamp posts. Miniature American flags were planted in the soil about every five paces. The typical parade up Main Street with politicians, VFW members, a float from the local 4H club, funny clowns with poodles on a leash, and loud kids riding bicycles decorated so wildly as to make your eyes hurt. The reenactors were also part of the parade. We may have fired a volley that got some neighborhood dogs barking. Homemade crafts and jellies were available as was hot dogs, sno cones, and cotton candy from various stands wrapped around the town square. No courthouse stood in the center, rather it was an open park with a playground and an old steam locomotive on permanent display. For this holiday weekend there was a beer garden. In the south east corner of the park in a fenced-off lot, beer-on-tap was dispensed from a BUDWEISER van. Some folding chairs sat until a funeral awning. Me, Hig, and Maki visited the beer garden more than once (Dave Bennett made have shared some suds with us as well). On our last visit, the beer tender threw some kind of shit-fit when we tried to walk out with our beer in our hands. According to policy, the beer HAD to stay in the designated beer drinking area. I don't recall what else was said, but heated words almost became a riot between the 3 of us and the beer tender. We may have drunk or dumped what was left in our muckets, or just told him to piss off, but we left after a moment. We ran into Lane Hughes at the other end of the park a few minutes later and explained what had happened. He was mounted on his horse at the time and next thing I know he digs those spurs into the animal's flanks and charges the beer garden "a-hooting and a-hollering" much like Slim Pickens in BLAZING SADDLES. We did not stay around to see what happened after that.
The highlight of the weekend was a planned "forced march" contest beginning outside the city limits and ending at the town square. Beginning early Sunday morning, before it got too hot, we were transported by pickup truck a couple of miles up a country road and dropped off. Participants in the contest were loaded down with traps (cartridge box, waist belt, bayonet, haversack, and canteen) , a musket, and a blanket roll. The cav boys were required to be dismounted for the march, of course. The object of the contest was to see who could cover the distance in the least amount of time. Two soldiers would take off every five minutes, march about one mile to a designated spot, load in nine times and fire one round in front of a judge, march another mile, load and fire in front of another judge, then continue into town. I believe the entire route was 3 miles, give or take a quarter mile. Steve Allee and Higgy volunteered to go first. (As a member of Shelby's Cavalry, Steve had a Sharp's carbine slung over his shoulder instead of an infantry musket, but he had the other necessary accoutrements on him. Being dismounted the cavalryman was obligated to have his horse walk alongside him, thus becoming responsible not only for himself but for his four-legged friend as well in finishing the course).
As I said Steve and Hig went first. And what did they do? They started off at a trot as if running a 400 yards dash! Well, that set the tone for the rest of us. At each five minute interval, two more soldiers would take off-sprinting at least the first 100 yards until settling into a brisk walk. Myself and a Crowley's Confederate were about the third pairing to depart. And just like everyone else, we sprinted at least the first 100 yards until I pulled up and settled into a common time route step. I'm no runner. I tried running a 10K run in Sedalia in '77 with mixed results. I have neither the wind nor the leg strength (too many donuts in my lifetime), so I let my gray clad cousin go on ahead at his brisk trot. Before I had gone too far another pair passed me by. After a mile, I came to the spot where a judge watched me load in 9 times and fire. Then it was back on the country road to go the next mile, load and fire. It was mid-morning and the temperature was already about 90 degrees. At least an hour had passed. I was all by myself. Everyone else had gone by and I was entering town. I was still walking at a slow pace, sipping occasionally from my canteen as the sun grew higher in the sky. Eventually, and last but not least, I entered the park where every other reenactor was there waiting for me. I was embarrassed that I'd come in last, and tried to hide the shame of humiliation with a little humor. The guys had been concerned at my late arrival, but seemed to be glad I'd made it through in one piece. The final results of the march placed Hig and Steve Allee in a tie for first place. John Maki came in second. Don't remember what prize or prizes were issued, but the most important one was sitting under a shady tree with an ice-cold beer.
I was going to bypass the last months of 1983 and jump directly to '84, but I hesitate because of 4 things that I must mention. The last months of 1983, all save one event in September, were not that memorable. There were some things written, especially in the local newspaper that made the events interesting at the time, but have not had an a lasting impact on me nor I think many other reenactors:
Heritage Village at Hodge Park, Kansas City July 30-31
In an earlier chapter I've already mentioned the park and the declining federal presence in it. We did have a candlelight tour in which I was on a burial detail with 3 other men. Hodge Park of '83 was the first event in which my 22 month old daughter Katie attended. (Sharel Parvin -Gregg Higginbotham's sister- was making cute little outfits for Katie as well as Gregg's daughter Hillari. Both little blond girls entered the hobby about the same time and began terrorizing the camp from the moment they made their debut.) From a newspaper account in Kansas City Star describing the event, John's last name was spelled by the reporter as "Make". For weeks and months afterwards, many of us fondly called him "John-on-the-make"
This was by far a more superior event than the one in 1980. We had the newly formed "Army of the Tennessee" which meant twice as many federals. If you've read my earlier chapter on Pilot Knob, it would be inappropriate for me, and boring for you, to repeat a story of the battle reenactment or its consequences. In a nutshell, to Ironton and back and in the Fort. Reenactor Paul Rosewitz, whom I'd met one year ago at Lone Jack, brought his two sister's (both whom were in their late teens) and collaborated with two other ladies to establish a brothel/casino in two side by side wall tents. During Sunday morning's church service a mysterious line of men could be seen visiting both of these devil's playgrounds. Finally at a word from the parson and several "christian" women, a provost force of six or eight men was organized and quickly closed both business' down. It was all a comical charade of course (no deviltry was actually committed), but it provided some moments of lightheartedness during an otherwise mundane church service. The "fallen women" were escorted from camp, while several men who had been in the casino were forced to wear signs marking them as "drunks" or "gamblers" and parade around camp for about an hour. During the Holmes Brigade business meeting, Dick was returned as Captain, Hig remained 1st Lt., Don Strother 2nd Lt., Bill Fannin became First Sgt., I became 2nd Sgt., Paul Rosewitz as 3rd Sgt., Boyd Wilson as QM Sgt., Frank Kirtley remained Color Sgt, and Erik Hansen, John Maki, Brent Wilson, and Robbie Piatt became corporals.
Before Kansas City grew into the metropolis it is today, over 150 years ago it was merely just a handfull of buildings near the Missouri River. Westport Landing, a few miles further south, was the major hub of activity and commerce in Missouri during the 1850's, because it was a jumping off point for travelers going west. Immigrants would load up on supplies, purchase wagons, and oxen here. Gambling houses, saloons, and brothels also plagued the streets of Westport during this time to tempt the traveler as well. The political climate was at a fever pitch during the 1850's as the issue of slavery was the topic on every one's lips. Just across the state line, Kansas was voting whether to enter the Union as a free or slave state. Missouri was already a slave state and many citizens felt threatened by what was developing over there. Fiery debates erupted in the streets of Westport in a discussion of this very issue and when strong drink was added, violence was usually the outcome.
During the weekend of October 8-9, 1983, Westport celebrated the 150th anniversary of its founding and a Living History Program was included featuring members of the MCWRA who had a mock debate over the issue I had just discussed. The reenactors were dressed in civilian clothing popular in the 1850's and just like in those feverish times, the men carried revolver's and knife's to the rally. I had no civilian clothes to speak of, so myself and Newton Hughes came as federal provost guard (Some months back, I had purchased a long tailed military frock coat, dark blue pants, and a fully dressed Hardee Hat. The hat included gaudy brass pins and an enormous ostrich plume). There were about 20-25 ruffians milling about shouting and waving their pistols in the air; some on horseback terrorizing the local population. It was Newton's and my job to maintain order. Only the two of us against a rowdy mob? We got hosed on this event and repaired to a saloon where we drank the rest of the afternoon and let the mob have its way. One very interesting note: I'd talked to a portential new recruit on the phone a day or two before we met at Westport. This young man was just starting high school and told me his body was still growing, but was very interested in the hobby. He said he'd be ready to attend an event next spring. His name was John Condra.
This was one of those trips in which we used Constance Soper's Suburban to get to. About 8 or 10 made the trip into Okieland to a wooden stockage type fort (like in Fort Apache). The johnnies got to use the interior of the fort for sleeping, drilling, etc., while the federals set up a tent city outside. Many of our wives came to Fort Gibson and occupied themselves by working on a huge quilt. Overall, this was a very dull event. Even the johnnies hated it, because their commander had them out drilling for about 3 hours. The federals had a knapsack inspection, we also had a mock hospital call in which we submitted to an "inoculation", and Kim McCall attempted to create a Signal Corp by wig-waging colored dish towels on a stick during the battle.
So ended 1983 on a sour note. All except Pilot Knob were unremarkable events, but I felt compelled to at least mention them. Next chapter begins the year 1984, a year which George Orwell predicted the end of free thought and the premise of BIG BROTHER watching over you. In the annals of Holmes Brigade history, I tend to believe 1984 more as "THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME!"