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Roscoe, MO Oct 6-7, 1984
What began innocently enough was this event hosted by the Missouri Confederate Brigade. Roscoe is merely a spit in the road about 90 miles southeast of Kansas City near the well traveled tourist trap Truman Lake and the Lake of the Ozarks regions where citizens congest the highways just to spend a weekend boating, fishing and/or swimming. History states that Roscoe was close to the site where some 8,000 Missouri State Guardsmen enlisted in the regular Confederate army around December 1861. A recreation of this enlistment would be conducted on Saturday afternoon.
Upon arrival at Roscoe on Friday night, we were assaulted by 'silly string' shot from plastic UZI's. It seems about a half dozen of the Union boys from the Springfield/Joplin/Oklahoma area ( including Scott White, Scott Hughes, Kevin Wells, and some other young pups ) had these 'weapons' and delighted in squirting several yards of blue or white foamy string on our heads, necks, or backs. They scampered about the area for a short spell, heads buzzing from the cheap beer they'd consumed and acting like a bunch of Outlaw Josie Wales'. Jay Jackson was bushwhacked when he innocently wandered into our area just to say hello. It was on this night that I really got to know Ken McElhaney, a member of the 24th Missouri who was pards with the Oklahoma bunch. He had a bottle of Dr. McGillicudy's peppermint schnapps that he shared with all of us. By the time the weekend was over Ken had a new name and to this very day, when the guys talk about him, they call him McGillicudy.
I came without my wife and I had the A tent to myself. I wore my frock coat, Mexican War cap, plus Mexican War issue drop-front pants. Wearing the pants was a bad idea, because the bottoms got all torn from hiking in the brush and I ended up having to hem them back about 3 inches afterwards. It was at Roscoe that John Condra began exhibiting some strange behavior when during morning formation, he fell in line without his musket then acted goofy when chastised by the Captain. We had a number of high school age boys in the hobby and their parents seemed ok with allowing them to go off with strange bearded men for the weekend. I remember one father shaking my hand and telling his son to behave and "mind" Mr. Talbott. Instead we ended up corrupting these boys by introducing them to beer drinking and off color humor. Boys like Erik Hansen, his nephew Aaron Racine, John Condra, Charles Pautler, and Joe Anderson ( just to name a few ) would make a name for themselves as master's of merry mischief and high jinks. More on these boys in a later chapter.
Saturday about mid-morning, a formation of all reenactors was held to recreate the ceremony of Missouri State Guardsmen joining the Confederacy (as mentioned at the beginning of this chapter). History states that because Missouri was so far removed from the 'goings-on' out east, and was short supplied at that, she had to rely on the hospitality of her own citizens for supplies. Plus, Jefferson Davis did not recognize the troops in Missouri as nothing more than rabble. By joining the Confederate army, Missourians could be a part of the sacred brotherhood and could expect some help from Richmond. The bad news was soldiers were needed on the eastern side of the Mississippi River first. Missouri was just a side show to be taken care of later once the rest of the Union was vanquished. Not all State Guardsmen wanted to join the CSA as it meant they would have to leave Missouri. They felt that their homes and families would be unprotected against the hated Kansan's or the "Dutchmen" from St. Louis. Holmes Brigade joined this gathering with our southern cousin's. We marched in loose order from our own camp in our shirt sleeves-no coats. Our role in the affair was to portray those Missouri State Guardsmen who refused to leave their homes to join the Confederate army. Frank Friel as General Sterling Price arrived in a buggy to convince the men to sign up. Frank was a poor choice to play the general because "Ol Pap" had no beard and Frank had one a yard long. "Ol Pap" begged and pleaded with the boys till the spittle hung from his beard like an obscene thread. He tried to convince the boys they had to join up even if it meant leaving their homes because it was for the "CAUSE!" After a considerable amount of tongue wagging had gone on, many of the boys went ahead and signed the roll and received their blood money or $50 bounty. Plus each new "convert to the cause" received a nine button gray jacket. The rest of us ( federals pretending to be southerners ) walked away from the scenario and on cue we announced we would stay in Missouri and..."we'll make sure and look after your wives and sweethearts while you boys are away fighting in Virginia!"
That evening there was a night firing demonstration; just to see what musketry and cannon fire looked like in the dark. It lasted about a half hour, then was followed by a dance up the road under a picnic shelter. A country/western band sounded like they were strangling a cat while couples jittered-bugged. Those of us that were not dancing merely walked around the area like June bugs around a naked light bulb, trying to work on a good drunk. Scott White's cousin (or brother) Harvey Rose attempted in embalm me with some bottled concoction he claimed came from the Indian Nation. For the most part, I remained sober and engaged some of the boys in a sing-a-long once the dance had ended. It was close to midnight and about six of us, including Higgy, John Maki, myself, and a new recruit named Louis Metoyer began belting out Civil War songs. An old duffer of about 70 years of age wandered in from town and joined our impromptu song fest. He kept interrupting us and wanted us to sing "Down By the Old Mill Stream....Mill Stream!" We gave him a beer and we let him sit with us until the beer ran out, then we ran him off and staggered back to camp.
I woke up before first light and stayed up. Everyone else was still under their blankets, but I was restless. The fire had died but there were still hot coals, so I began restoking it till it was a roaring blaze. Higgy woke up and went behind the trees to feed the raccoons. Then the two us began making coffee. The Brigade was due to go out on an early morning tactical ( 1984 seemed to be the year for tactical's-one at Brice's Crossroads, one at Athens, one here at Roscoe, and later in December, one at Prairie Grove ). Hot coffee was ready by reveille. We did not have time for breakfast, but each man was given a hard cracker and an apple as we moved on. The narrow trail we took through the forest was barely wide enough for two men passing through together. The trees were already beginning to turn color and some fallen leaves blanketed the trail. The high growing branches rose over like an arch, partially blocking out the rising sun. I don't know how far we went. A mile or two as the crow flies maybe, but the trail did not go in a straight line, but twisted every which way. We had two scouts, plus two impartial judges who were with us. Dave Bennett was one of the scout's and as he remembers:
"Dickson thought the tactical would be unfair because the federals did not have any cavalry. Rick Reed was the sponsor of the event so both he and I volunteered to serve as scouts to balance out the Federal shortage of mounted troops. Since this was Rick's back yard, Dickson took us up on it."
What happened next has been told and retold by everyone who was present at this Roscoe event. The minute-by-minute details are pretty much the same by all who tell the tale. Here is my version:
"We had been advancing up a trail as mentioned before, when our two scouts, Dave Bennett and Rick Reed came hustling back to us with word that a Confederate cannon was up ahead and around the bend in the trail. If we continued on, we'd walk right into the teeth of the thing, so they recommended to Captain Dick that we enter the woods on the right and try to outflank the gun and its crew. Quietly, the scouts led us into the woods single file ( I think we either crawled on our bellies or were in a crouched position). I recall we had to step over a strand or two of barbed wire after a dozen yards or so and when I rose up to do this, a shed about 50 yards to our left erupted in a ball of fire. The shed was right smack dab in the middle of the trail and we would have walked right into it if we'd continued on instead of striking off into the woods. After this heart-stopping moment, the company falls into position behind a collapsed barn. A few paces on the other side of the barn is the cannon. The gun crew can't see or hear us, but we can hear them laughing and carrying-on like they was on some kind of duck hunt. At a signal from the Captain, we break from around both sides of the barn and swoop down on the unsuspecting johnnies. It is my old buddy Steve Lillard, Ed Stamps, and four other scarecrows. The seemed very surprised to see us. In fact, they turn white as a sheet and one nearly falls over in a dead faint. We confiscate a few pocket pistols and the judge declare's the field piece is 'disabled', then we move back up the trail we'd come. We passed the fire damaged shed on the way back, but it does not quite register in MY brain how the johnnies actually destroyed it. After this episode, we continued on until we arrived at a certain rendezvous point before the Confederate infantry did and the judge declared the Federals had won this tactical."
It wasn't until we got back to camp that the awful truth was realized. Both Higgy and John Maki and some others claimed the cannon had been firing live canister rounds at the shed. They said they could hear the balls rustling through the brush ( the shed had also been soaked in gasoline which caused the fire ball ). I may not be sure, but I think someone had a cannister ball that they'd picked up next to the exploded shed. Not only had the cannon been firing live, but Ed Stamps had even emptied his revolver at the old shed. The news circulated through the company quickly that we'd been within an eyelash of getting wiped out for real and we began to shit our pants. I could never figure out WHY the johnnies were firing live rounds during a tactical exercise, when they had no idea where anybody else was at. They must have assumed they were in an isolated part of the wood, closed off from everyone else. There is really no excuse, nor are there any answers. Captain Dick went over to the Confederate camp that afternoon and gave Steve Lillard an earful. I was not in on the conversation, but I'm assuming it was not a cordial visit.
Later that afternoon, we had the scripted battle for the public to witness. The Federals were behind breastworks until assaulted and overwhelmed by attacking Confederate infantry. It was like Pickett's charge. Several of us were involved in hand-to-hand fights-which we'd choreographed earlier in the day. I was in one with Kevin Wells who pretended to stab we with a wicked Arkansas Toothpick as I lay on the ground from a wound. Soon the battle was over, applause washed over us, and it was time to pack up. We never forgot the episode in the woods when we almost walked into canister fire. Reenactor Steve Weldon from Joplin, later struck some medals and they were given out to all the members who had been UNDER LIVE FIRE!
After Roscoe, we had a minor living history event at Tipton (which is about 30 miles west of Jefferson City on Hwy 50). The reason behind this was that in October 1861, the great pathfinder - John C. Fremont- had a temporary headquarters here while he was still commanding general of the Union Army in Missouri. The building that was used had originally been a ladies seminary, built in 1858. It was hoped the presence of the reenactor's could spark an interest in restoring Fremont's old headquarters to its original condition.
This event was hosted by Bill Fannin. There were about a handful of Federals including Fannin, Higgy, Maki, myself, John Condra, and Louis Metoyer. The Confederate's had an equal number plus a mountain howitzer from Collin's Battery. The highlight of the weekend was an authentic costume contest in which a number of us entered, but was won by local boy Charlie Blondell. He had on Calvin Klein jeans and a Sears Roebuck western shirt. To say the contest was rigged would be an understatement.
On Saturday night, John Condra attempted to roast a raw chicken on his ramrod. John had got the chicken right out of the cold meat section at the local grocer, then he ran a ramrod right through the arse of it, and held it over the fire like he was roasting marshmallows. Unlike marshmallows, the chicken began to ooze hot grease which began to slide towards John's fingers. John squirmed and jerked his arm about, put the ramrod first in one hand then the other to keep the grease from his fingertips, until he nearly flipped the bird airborne. This was one of the first signs that showed that John Condra was a unique character.
Otherwise known as the Battle Between the Parked Cars. Another small affair located at the site of Sterling Price's headquarters just prior to the Battle of Westport. The highlight (or lowlight) of the weekend was on Sunday we had a battle just as church was letting out. Levasy is a tiny hamlet next to the Missouri River with maybe 50 souls living there. Hig's brother-in-law Steve was instrumental in having this event here; he was a resident. Steve though it'd look cool to have a little skirmish in and around the buildings and parked cars. The reenactors, myself included thought it would look like a dog and pony show. And it was. The dozen johnnies were on one end of the tiny town, the Federals on the other. Higgy had to work at the fire station on Sunday, so I was technically in charge of the Union forces. Gasp!
John Maki took about six guys and formed a line behind the railroad embankment, while I took the rest out as skirmishers. For the next ten minutes, it was like a bunch of kids playing a game of cowboys and indians around an apartment complex. One of us would hide behind a Monte Carlo, while another dashed towards the green Ford El Camino. We ran toward the alley to hide behind trash dumpsters. The johnnies dashed from building to sidewalk, then to cover behind a pickup truck. We blazed away at each other regardless of the people just coming out of church. We finally called a halt to the B.S. once we figured we'd humiliated ourselves enough.
The only other thing I recall about Levasy was when several of us went to Independence on Saturday night to get some popskull and we bought a bunch of TWISTED SISTER buttons for about 50 cents a piece. This heavy metal hair band came out in 1984 with a video which featured a young lad wearing "a TWISTED SISTER pin on his uniform". When we returned with the cold beer, we passed some of the buttons out to the Federals. On Sunday, just before the skirmish, John Maki was talking with some visitors who came to the camp and was describing the uniform he wore. When he opened up his coat to show off his vest, he still had the TWISTED SISTER pin on and had forgotten about it.
So ended the month of October. In December we went back to Prairie Grove, Arkansas, but I already have a chapter on it. Next I think I will talk about my involvement in the Mexican War and yet another TV movie.
Chapter 22: The Mexican War