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From June until late October in the year 1985, we had more Civil War Events in the Missouri/Kansas region than any other time I can recall over the last 22 years. I was still without work, but an opportunity soon presented itself within two to three weeks after New Madrid. I was hired to work at another graphic arts lab, but it was located in North Kansas City. I was very much surprised to learn that Dan Hadley, a member of Crowley's Clay County Confederates, was also an employee at this shop. Because of our mutual interest in the hobby, plus the fact we were co-employees, Dan and I developed a good friendship. At breaks or at lunch, we gabbed about Civil War stuff, upcoming events, and even the newsletter. After Dave Bennett announced his resignation as editor of the WESTERN CAMPAIGNER in 1986, Dan and Pat James (another member of Crowley's) assumed the responsibility of editing the newsletter.
June 22-23, 1985 Heritage Village at Hodge Park
I have already talked at length of the visits we made to this site near Liberty, Missouri. While the Confederate reenactors seemed to enjoy free run in the reconstructed village, the camps of the Union boys were located at the northern edge of the park. One new development that was to become a thorn in our side and further drive a wedge in our future involvement at Hodge Park, was the request made by the Park for the Union guys to remove their blue jackets if they wanted to roam the village. The Parks people wanted the village to appear as if in Confederate hands and only during the "battle" was there to be the presence of the Union invader.
There was a Ladies "refugee" area and they occupied a few of the "reconstructed" private homes in the village. My wife Mona, and Gail Higginbotham shared quarters in the grist mill. They also brought along the two girls, who were almost 4 years old at this time. Katie and Hillari took to 19th Century camp life like a duck takes to water. They had on their little camp dresses, bloomers, and brown leather lace up shoes. One could usually hear them shrieking and laughing minutes before you saw them; their blond hair usually damp with sweat from running like little female demons. They didn't mind eating hardtack, or drinking from a canteen. We had a number of teenage boys in the group, whom the girls developed a fondness for and it was usually their hardtack and their canteen water the girls snatched. The boys didn't mind this attention at all, in fact they welcomed it and in the process they became sort of 'surrogate uncles' to the girls. Another 'surrogate uncle' was Jim Beckner who by this time was a member of the cavalry, and would offer the girls horseback rides around the park.
Gregg Higginbotham was the only officer, as this was a local event and not any kind of sanctioned event as some others. We did have about 25 boys in the company, including some from St. Louis, and the Joplin/Springfield area. For this event I was the acting 1st Sergeant. No highlights to speak of from the battle except I had a round go off prematurely in my musket while I was reloading. This was a hot June day, and after 4 or 5 rounds fired, the steel musket barrel gets damn hot. Fortunately, I had the barrel facing away from me when it cooked off, but two of my fingers got burn blisters on them and I had powder residue under the skin for almost a week.
We had a number of visitors to 'our side' of the village, despite the efforts of the Park to hide us. One such visitor was a young fellow by the name of Don Whitson. He came with his wife Susan and his little baby girl Emily who was in a stroller. Don was very excited about the hobby and wanted to join up. I said "Are you sure you want to be a Federal? You don't have a brain tumor do you?" In a few days Don and his wife came over to the house, I showed him all my stuff, plus I loaned him several reenactment catalogs, and other source material. Within a month, Don would be completely outfitted and would be attending his first event. (In 2002, Don is still a solid member in the hobby).
July 4-6, 1985 Spirit Festival, KCMO
After working with the Kansas City Parks and Recreation Department for a number of years in bringing reenactors to historic sites such as Lone Jack, the John Wornall Home in Westport, the Bingham-Wagoner Home, and the 1859 Jail, Gregg Higginbotham was asked if he could bring a few reenactors to the Fourth of July Celebration at the Liberty Memorial in Kansas City. The Liberty Memorial was built about 1919 as a monument to honor the veterans of World War I, both the living and the dead. It has not stood the test of time very well, so annual festivals are staged in an attempt to raise money for restoration of this sacred edifice. Throughout the weekend, a number of activities were available to entertain the crowd including carnival games, children's rides, clowns making balloon animals, and face painting. Live music on center stage began at twilight for an audience spread out on blankets and/or lawn chairs. The unmistakable aroma of fried foods, cold beer, popcorn, and cotton candy assaults the senses upon arrival at the festival and when mixed with the odor of hundreds of sweaty bodies and stale cigarettes, you have a rather indescribable smell.
Higgy called me early on the afternoon of the 4th. He told me he'd been given a check for $300 from the Spirit Festival people for the purchase of whatever food he thought 25 reenactors would eat over the 3-day event. We went first to the grocery store and spent $100 on food (Dinty Moore beef stew in a can, Slim Jims, jerked beef, pop tarts, etc.) then we went to a liquor store and spent the rest. I don't remember how many cases of canned beer we purchased, plus we bought several bags of ice, about a dozen packs of Swisher Sweet cigars and some pipe tobacco. We divided the 'booty' between six coolers, dumped the ice of top, and headed to the festival (by this time, the beer of choice was Stroh's).
We had two small camps set up in an area about 20 yards square, separated only by the distance an empty beer can will travel. Only twice during the entire weekend were we asked to do a demonstration for the public and it was of the 'dog and pony show' variety where we skirmished from behind port-a-johns or behind a metal trash dumpster. Most of the time was spent getting 'corned'. By the end of the weekend we had empty beer cans piled 2 feet deep inside one A frame tent. Sometimes we'd get up and stretch our legs and walk around the festival a bit, but always with a mucket of beer and a stogie shooting out of our mouth.
The evening entertainment was very odd as it featured two guys who did a Bob Hope and Bing Crosby musical/comedy schtick for about two hours. I'm sure it pleased many older adults of the World War II generation. The scary part was they actually looked, talked, and sang like the stars from those Road movies. They even had a Dorothy Lamour looking gal who sash-shayed across the stage in a sarong, playing the love interest of both men. "Bob" even got to sing his trademark song, "Thanks for the Mammaries."
Charlie Pautler officially joined the Holmes Brigade at this event. Crowley's Confederates, he argued, had too many old farts in it and not enough guys his own age. We had about 6 teenage boys in Holmes Brigade at this time and every one of them liked to leave their schoolwork at home, hang out at a Civil War event and drink popskull. You can blame Higgy, Maki, and myself for corrupting these young men, encouraging them to drink with us. Even though the lads were prone to 'heave up their socks' after an all night binge, they developed a bizarre side that bordered on the slapstick. The first stooge-like antic from the lads came about after Jerry Vest, my old Mexican War pard, passed out flat on his back after a night of drinking. The lads pounded tent stakes on either side of him and ran string back and forth over his body until he looked like Gulliver captured by the little people. The same lads assaulted Maki and I by placing a bread stick in our mouths as they pinned us under a dog tent. (As the second half of the eighties began, these teenage boys became more and more bizarre with even greater pranks to follow and by the end of the decade they'd achieved something of a cult status, at least in the Trans-Mississippi. But their story will have to wait for now)
July 13-14, 1985 Higginsville, MO
This was a living history event at the site of the old Confederate Veterans Home. Not much to speak of here. We demonstrated camp life, we did a little drill, the Ladies groups had a fashion show, we had church services in the old Confederate chapel, and we had a ceremony to honor the dead Confederate veterans in the Church cemetery.
One incident led to some childish behavior on my part that I'm not proud of. Aaron was a witness to this rant of mine and he will remind me of it once in a while. I had a dog tent that kept falling down. No matter how many times I reset the poles or staked it down, as soon as I turned my back it would topple. John Condra was goofing around by my tent and I blamed him for knocking it over. With teeth clenched and steam coming out of my ears, I actually threatened John with bodily harm.
"I'll f...ing kill you and that's no f...ing lie!" I bellowed.
While I was having this tantrum, I was slinging my equipment all over the place and I threw my cartridge box in a tree. It took my several moments shaking the tree before it fell out. Boy was I red from embarrassment and it remains the single most childish act I'd ever committed.
July 20-21, 1985 Maryville, MO
A small event was held on a flat treeless piece of cow pasture near the Northwest Missouri State University town of Maryville, MO. As events go, there was really nothing special about Maryville except it was another excuse to get drunk. We were really out in the middle of nowhere with this one, although a few token visitors may have stopped by to gawk. Actually the event was part of the Nodaway County Fair and I'm sure we fired the pre-requisite number of cartridges at each other during the generic battle, but the only thing that stands out about the weekend at Maryville was being invited to a frat house. Confederate reenactor Kevin Wells was attending this school at the time, plus he was a proud brother of one of the fraternity's. A typical Saturday night keg party was planned at the house and Kevin invited about a dozen of us to come along. We came through the door, wearing our Civil War uniforms of course, and clutching our tin drinking cups. Several ice-cold kegs were in a back room, but we had to navigate through a sea of gyrating male and female bodies dancing to punk music. One or two of us may have had a dance with a sorority sister, but it wasn't me. I was content to look at the nubile flesh from a distance and get 'corned.'
I do know Dan Hadley was at the party for a while, and he really got smashed. I believe he had to be helped back to camp.
And that's all I have to say about Maryville, folks!
August 24-25, 1985 The John Wornall House, KCMO
Since our first visit in '82, we have been to the Wornall House several times. On the anniversary of the Battle of Westport, during the Christmas holidays, or just when we wanted to come out to do some recruiting, drink Stroh's Beer, and smoke cigars. Hig was real good friends with Janet Bruce, who ran the place, and as long as we behaved ourselves, we were allowed to camp on the lawn of the great house any weekend we wanted (I've already said much on the John Wornall House, and its volunteers in Chapter 12).
We had done a federal encampment before, but a request was granted to allow Confederate reenactors to occupy the Wornall House grounds for an event. About 25 to 30 boys pitched camp under the Stars and Bars, including members of Crowley's Clay County boys, Higgy, Maki, Erik Hansen, John Condra, and myself. We, who normally wore the Union blue, shed those outfits for a quasi-Missouri guerrilla look. Hig had a butternut colored jacket, and I think Maki and Hansen also had some sort of civilian clothing. All I had was dark blue pants, dark blue vest, a white shirt, and my Mexican War wheel hat. Some of the guys thought I looked 'too blue', but that's all I had. I claimed to be Samuel Langhorn Clemens. Since we were all supposed to be Missouri Confederates, no two people were dressed alike. There may have been an officer who wore a fancy coat, but he was the exception. The rest of us looked like we came straight from home with whatever weapon we could carry. I had the Charleville of course.
The event was fun; I'll have to admit. Only one other time had I portrayed a soldier of the Southern persuasion and that had been 5 years earlier at Wilson's Creek on the cannon crew. First off, we had to sign our names on a paper, and then we did a little awkward squad drill. We also had a firing demonstration, and I think we had candlelight tour that evening. It was during this time in late August, that I believe the TV movie NORTH and SOUTH aired on ABC. The local affiliate, KMBC Channel 9, sent a camera crew to the Wornall House and filmed some of the encampment that would run right after the movie at 10PM.
Late Saturday night, some of the guys took off on a hike several blocks up the street for the bars of Westport. The once proud township where thousands of immigrants heading west in the 1850's came to shop before venturing out in the great unknown, had been swallowed up by the urban sprawl of the metropolis of Kansas City. When people say they are going to Westport in the 21st Century, it is to one of the many bars, music houses, or ethnic food joints that haunt a 5-block area.
Higgy and about a dozen boys came back to camp later with stories of how they terrorized some of the "snobby college boys" at one of the grog shops on Main Street by throwing ice, digging in their trousers for crabs, and making shrill noises with the edge of a dollar bill pressed against their lips. They also had a hot jalepeno pepper-eating contest, I was told, with no clear winner from that. At some point in the wee hours of the morning, a few of the stalwart lads had a vomit-spewing contest in which I think John Condra was one of the contestants.
Sep. 21-22, 1985 Lexington, MO
This was my third visit to this State Battlefield Park near the Missouri River, my second as a reenactor, and it was pretty much the same old scenario on the same old battlefield. We recreated the same turn of events as we had done three years ago on this battlefield: the State Guard rolling the hemp bales for cover, the fight at the Anderson house, and the Federal surrender were carbon copies of our previous outing. We did have a larger turnout of reenactors, because word had gotten out that Lexington and the Missouri Civil War Reenactors Association put on a good event. The crowd swelled to record numbers both days of the "battle", plus we had a respectable number of people who came for the first ever "candlelight tour" of the battlefield after dark.
The most interesting thing that happened at the '85 Lexington occurred during the Holmes Brigade elections. Since 1981, Gregg Higginbotham had been 1st Lieutenant of the Brigade and one of the finest qualities about him was a firm belief in authenticity, both in dress and in manner. Hig has always been very passionate about the time period and because of this enthusiasm he has been able to draw recruits to the hobby, like a moth to a flame. He was also a "jester and morale builder. It added rather than detracted from events, even though at times he'd lose most if not all his command on occasion. He knew the drill and when called upon in a crisis, he came through."
Don Strother had been the Brigade's 2nd Lieutenant since 1982. At this time, I really didn't know that much about him except that he was the exact opposite of Hig. Don "was pretty laced tight", strictly military in his demeanor, rarely smiled, and kept to himself. Don never spoke of his personal life except to say he lived in Purdy, Missouri and worked in a Tool and Die Factory. In the real army, he would have been a supply officer or in some administrative position. One thing in Don's favor was he brought the largest bloc of boys to our events, the Joplin/Springfield/Oklahoma crowd, plus he'd paved the way for Holmes Brigade's future involvement at Fort Scott, Kansas with living history encampments at the National Park site.
Dick Stauffer had a feeling that someday he'd need to groom a replacement for himself. For the past five years, he'd led the Brigade as its Captain from its stumbling infancy in 1980, to a point in the summer of 1984 when we finally became proficient at drill, skirmish, battlefield tactics, and on the march. In the beginning, Dick did not campaign for the position of Captain, but he accepted it because he understood what needed to be done and how to do it. By 1985, Holmes had achieved these goals, mostly involving an unselfish attitude, especially from Dick who was building a house (with his own two hands) in Columbia, MO. If a change had to be made soon, Dick felt the Brigade had a firm enough foundation to continue on, no matter whom was in command.
Before we had the secret ballot, which came into being around 1990, we'd have nominations taken from the floor. If someone wanted to run for a position, he'd be nominated right then and there, or he could nominate himself. When judging a candidate for a position, it was best to get to know the guy first and then decide if he was suited for the position. "There was probably some small attempt to post men from different regions in various positions, but I think it was more out of an innate sense of fairness rather than a deliberate attempt. With rare exceptions, no one took their rank seriously."
That changed with the '85 election. The largest section of Federals in the Holmes Brigade came from the Southwest Missouri/Oklahoma region, and at the election, their desire was to push their man Don Strother to a higher position. Dick was aware of this and because he believed it was important to placate Don's boys and keep them from splitting away from Holmes, which was his fear, he made a decision.
"To maintain the appearance of cooperation that had been the hallmark of the group, I asked Gregg if he'd switch places with Don. Both of us knew what that meant and Gregg could have said no and taken his chances. Instead he said he'd do it."
Looking back, Dick said to me it was a painful decision to ask Gregg to make and he dwells on it to this day. In 1986, Don made an unsuccessful attempt to replace Dick as Captain. Although he easily won his reelection, Dick could see the writing on the wall, and knew by 1987 it had come time to step aside to avoid the same problem of internal unrest Gregg had made his own sacrifice to prevent. At the New Madrid event in 1987, Dick Stauffer announced his resignation as Captain.
In looking back, I had incorrectly assumed that Hig was viewed as an unsuitable candidate for Captain because he was "too much like one of the guys." I see now that back door politics played a role in the '85 elections and got Don moved up to 1st Lieutenant. If this move had not been made, there would probably been constant bickering and unrest between his people and the rest of Holmes Brigade. With one simple act, this negative potential was removed, Don would become the new Captain in two years, and Higgy would return to the ranks as a private.
Hig didn't have time to agonize over the situation, because he had a different agenda of his own. In August he'd resigned from the firehouse at Richards-Gebaur AFB and went to work full time for Jackson County as the site administrator for the 1855 village Missouri Town. As time went along, Hig would find he didn't have the luxury of getting away to Civil War events like he used to. Plus after a long week spent in historical costume, albeit as an 1855 farm hand, he didn't much feel like "dressing up" in another 19th Century outfit. His duties required many hours of maintenance to the buildings, the livestock, the gardens, and the volunteers who worked the "town." Hig was in charge of making sure everything ran not only smoothly, but also historically correct. That meant the volunteers had to be dressed correctly, had to talk correctly to a visitor-as if it was 1855, and when working, had to use the correct tools. In some cases, it was like pulling teeth, as Hig would tell me later. Many of these volunteers had to be dragged kicking and screaming into doing the interpretation, as he wanted it. Hig was the site administrator at Missouri Town from August 1985 until December 1991 and in those years hosted some outstanding Living History events. The story of Missouri Town Days was an exciting time for many reenactors because it gave many of us a chance to hone our skills in doing a civilian impression. I will talk more on Missouri Town in a separate chapter.
When talking about the candlelight tour, it is best first to explain what it is and what is supposed to happen. Beginning at dusk, between six to ten people volunteer to be tour guides. It helps if they know a little first person and have knowledge of the battle that was fought on this field. Each tour guide takes a candle lantern and escorts about 20 to 30 visitors through the darkness to view selected scenes of the battlefield after dark. The group will tour an area at least a hundred yards or more, going from US camp to CS camp, with several curious tableaus' going on between each. The camp scenes are common activities done by candlelight in which soldiers do simple tasks such as mending clothes, writing letters home, playing card or domino games, or eating supper. One or more talented soldiers may play musical instruments and sing a haunting song of home. Leaving the camp, the visitors begin to enter a "no man's land" where they might hear frantic orders shouted in the darkness followed by one or more muskets firing. They might see several people in civilian attire who claim to be "from town" wandering around in the darkness looking for a fallen loved one. Also between the two camps is the hospital, which this year was set up in the historic Anderson House. Bandaged and blood drenched men lay in the hallway of the great house, spilling out onto the front and back porch as well. The wails, moans, and occasional screams from the slaughterhouse where some men are hacked on by a surgeon reminded me of a haunted house or a bad porno movie. In one hall of the house several officers might be seen shrouded behind a veil of cigar smoke, discussing the events of the day and planning for tomorrow.
Each reenactor could chose what scenario he wished to participate in, although many preferred the "sit in camp and do nothing" variety. Joe Anderson, Charlie Pautler, and I ended up sitting on the front porch of the Anderson House with a dozen or so horizontal soldiers. The three of us claimed to be slightly wounded, but didn't fuss about our ailment's like some of the other boys were doing. Every once in a while a nurse would come by and bathe the heads of the more tormented lads with a cool wash cloth or provide a cool drink of water for the parched throats. I don't recall what injury Joe and I suffered from, but Charlie had a bloodied bandage around his eyes; a shell fragment had blinded him.
For the next hour, the three of us carried on the greatest first person dialogue ever. Charlie talked of the bride he'd left at home and how he'd never see her face again. We talked of lost faith, lost love, and the dog that was lost in a freak knife throwing accident. It truly was an Academy Award winning performance. At one point a man claiming to be a State politician came to offer some comforting words to us broken men. When he found out that the three of us were Federals, boy he began saying some hurtful words. He was one of those secessionist fire eater's who'd come from Virginia and he didn't like us sitting on the same porch as his Southern children, as he called the horizontal scarecrows. We asked him why he wasn't in uniform, and fighting alongside "his children". We also asked him if he'd hired a substitute to fight in his place. He sputtered like a small motor as he attempted to debate us on patriotism. After a moment or two of verbal sparring, one of the nurses told the politician that us wounded Federals deserved care because the war was over for us and she told him to "get away with you're hatefulness."
The candlelight tour was nearing its conclusion, so one of the volunteers told us. The three of us had been totally oblivious of the comings and goings of these visitors; we were so wrapped up in our play-acting. Joe and I continued in our attempt to cheer blind Charlie, who was sinking into a morass of self-pity and a deep depression. One minute, Charlie was softly speaking about not being to see his bride one more time, then the next minute he collapsed against me like wet laundry. I said, "Joe, he's gone!' I remember Joe wailed like a newborn babe as I cradled the still body of poor Charlie in my arms. I'll admit I was a little choked up as well. A moment later, everyone began to file out, the dead and wounded soldiers who'd lain on the hard wood floor. The volunteers began collecting all the candle lanterns and extra equipment scattered about the place. The tour was over! I gave Charlie a buss on his big floppy lips and he was like Sleeping Beauty awakened by Prince Charming. He tore off his bandage and said, "Goddamn you Quince! Let's go get some popskull!"
Oct. 5-6, 1985 Baxter Springs, KS
"Five years before war was even declared between the states, there had been an undeclared war between the Border States, Missouri and Kansas. In 1856, Kansas held an election to determine if she could enter the Union as a free territory. Missouri, was a slave holding state and felt her livelihood threatened by what Kansas was attempting to do, so many of her citizens came over the state line to cast illegal votes. Blood was soon spilled along both sides of the state line.
"When war was declared in 1861, nothing really changed between Missouri and Kansas. A series of murders, and arsons were still carried out all along the border, mostly by men wearing the uniform of either the US or the CS government. Give a murderer a uniform and it doesn't make him any less a murderer. By 1863, a form of martial law had been declared in several western Missouri counties. The infamous Order No. 11, in which families were forced to vacate their homes because of suspected sympathies with bushwhackers, led to Quantrill's raid on Lawrence, Kansas.
"The constant raiding back and forth across the state line by Pro-Union and Pro-Southern forces, led to an incident which took place on October 6th between Quantrill guerrillas and a small Union outpost near Baxter Springs, Kansas.
"As the story goes, William Quantrill was leading about 400 men South to winter quarters, when word came to him of this little Union outpost in the Southeastern corner of Kansas. Just a few log cabins surrounded by an earthen embankment, Fort Blair was garrisoned by approximately 155 men from the 2nd Kansas Colored Infantry and Co. C & D of the 3rd Wisconsin Cavalry.
"On the morning of the 6th, 60 cavalrymen had been sent out on a foraging detail. By noon, the remaining 95 men were preparing for their lunch, when interrupted by intense firing from the woods. Within a moment, Quantrill's guerrillas were upon them, but the Unionists were able to drive back the assailants aided also by a small mountain howitzer.
"Rather than press the issue, Quantrill ordered his men to another objective that came into view. Traveling down the road from Fort Scott was a column of wagons with an escort of 100 mounted cavalrymen from Co. I, 3rd Wisconsin Cavalry. The group was on its way to Fort Smith, Arkansas and included General James G. Blunt, who was traveling in a buggy accompanied by a young lady, and a wagonload of band musicians. Not knowing of the recent fight at the nearby fort, Blunt was surprised to see a column of mounted men approaching. He mistakenly thought they were from the fort and had come out to greet him (by this time, many of Quantrill's men were dressed in captured Federal uniforms, so Blunt along with everyone else was confused). One account claims the band was preparing a musical salute when the horsemen broke into a charge and opened fire. Blunt, his lady friend, and his mounted escort all ran like rabbits. The musicians were not so lucky. Left all alone and defenseless, they were slaughtered like dogs, and their dead bodies tossed back into the wagon, which was set ablaze. Out of 100 men that escorted General Blunt through Kansas that day, 89 were killed. One of the dead was Major General Samuel Curtis' (of Pea Ridge fame) son Henry."
----The Civil War in the Ozarks, by Steve Cottrell.
The first thing that I noticed upon arrival at Baxter Springs that Friday night was how cold it was. My wife and I came to the event together and set up the A tent, plus the two cots side by side with about five blankets on top of us. Not sure what the ladies did that weekend, but for us soldiers, we began the day by rehearsing the two actions we would do both Saturday and Sunday.
The original fortifications were built in August of 1863, but by the time Lieutenant James B. Pond and his troop arrived in October, he found the accommodations woefully inadequate. The west wall was torn down, and the camp kitchen was located about a dozen yards south of the fort near Spring Branch. At the time of Quantrill's arrival, the Union infantry soldiers were eating their lunch at the spring.
In what amounts to a huge stretch of the imagination, we in Holmes Brigade were portraying the 2nd Kansas Colored Infantry. We were supposed to be relaxed, unaware of lurking danger, our muskets were stacked a dozen yards away, most of us in our shirt sleeves, and enjoying a hot plate of chow from the camp kettle. When the guns started going off, we dropped everything and ran through a hailstorm of lead to reach the earthen embankment. As in the original fight, we had one mountain howitzer in position on the parapet wall and within moments of our mad scramble to safety and our weapons, the howitzer roared like thunder.
For the next half-hour, we blazed away at the guerrilla cavalry with musket and cannonball. We also had at our disposal, Mr. Karl Luthin and some of his 7th Illinois Cavalry boys who for the sake of the event were portraying the 3rd Wisconsin. At one point, our guns fell silent so Karl and his boys could leap their horses over the parapet wall and engage in saber to saber duel with their mounted counterparts. These cavalry clashes are usually pretty boring, unless you're a spectator. There's something about big men on sweaty horseflesh and cold steel going "tink tink tink!" that seems to always thrill the crowd. After this bloodless segment was concluded to the satisfaction of all, we had about fifteen minutes to prepare for Part II of the battle.
We marched out from the fort, this time under arms and in full uniform, and veered to the left until we were partially hidden from the crowd by a stand of trees. The area we performed our little circus act was roughly the size of a football field (come to think of it, this might have been the town's football field. The original Fort Blair site was under the city sidewalk). One side was heavily wooded, while on the opposite barren side sat a row of bleachers where the hundred or so spectators from town sat munching on their kettle corn and soda pop.
We marched on either side of a horse drawn wagon in which six or eight "band members" sat inside clutching their trombones and tubas. I'm not sure if these instruments were made from the Tool&Die plant in Purdy or were simply papier-mâché creations with aluminum foil wrappings, but they were crude replica's. There was also the "buggy" in which the General and his lady friend sat. Don't recall who the General was, but the lady was Michelle Yipe.
After some words were spoken from the grandstand, in order to give the audience a prelude to what would happen next, the wagons with their escorts veered back onto the field. We'd rehearsed this particular part of the battle earlier in the day and more than the other because it involved some close hand to hand fighting. As mentioned in the above history, Quantrill's men were wearing captured Federal uniforms when they appeared on the scene. General Blunt incorrectly assumed that the mounted column approaching him were from the fort and sent a scout forward to confirm the identity of the men.
We all were supposed to act like we were surprised to see this escort coming from the direction of the fort, so Ken McElhaney and I had the following dialogue during the entire battle:
KEN: "Oh, look up in the road...a head"
QUINCY: "Pray tell, a body of men....approaching!"
KEN: "It doth look like they've come from the fort to greet us!"
QUINCY: "Oh smashing...a welcoming committee! Jolly good!"
KEN: "Wait a moment, chaps! Little Steve Harris is being fired upon! It doth look like a trap"
QUINCY: "Oh drats! It does not look good for our side."
KEN: "I say, could it be Quantrill and his hooligans?"
QUINCY: "You may be right old chap. Oh, what's this? My friend Joe has been shot in the head!"
KEN: "Don't run away, General! Bloody hell! Looks like we've been abandoned!"
QUINCY: "Dammit all! Ouch, I've been shot in the kneecap!"
KEN: " Help me Quincy! One of these guerrillas is trying to take my scalp!"
QUINCY: " I think ( hack-stab-murder-slice) I'm dead!"
KEN: " I am (shoot-violate-incinerate) deceased as well"
The cavalrymen rode rings around us, emptying their revolvers into us and at close range. We were in fear of getting hit in the face by a "wonder wad" coming from the pistol, so we mostly ducked or hid under the wagon. In no time, all the Union boys were writhing on the ground in various stages of death. A few of the mounted confederates came by to strip the dead of their valuables, including Dave Bennett who crawled over to where I had died under the wagon and stole my pocket watch and some Federal greenbacks from my pocket. Ain't nothing like a little slaughtering to excite the "johnnies". They violated a few more of the boys, emptied their revolvers into the air and rode off stage hollering like she-devils.
Oct 19-20, 1985 Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis
The final act of 1985 was played out against the background of the Show-Me Showdown, or the I-70 World Series between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Kansas City Royals. As our membership included guys from both metropolitan areas, there was a fair amount of disagreement to be had. While we were in St. Louis, the two ball clubs were on the other side of the state playing (I had a little transistor radio in my tent and listened to the game in the evening). However, during the day, we were involved in doing Living History, we had another candlelight tour, and some kind of generic battle. The Jefferson Barracks Park is a pretty good size area to mill around in. We had some Army of the Tennessee boys and fielded four companies. It was the most Federal infantry any of us in Holmes Brigade had ever seen (By the summer of '86, we'd be part of an entire Brigade numbering about one thousand). This was the end of our innocence here.
To be honest, there was really nothing about the Jefferson Barracks event that stands out and is worth mentioning. It was the first and last time I attended this site, because when the wife and I returned home Sunday night after a five-hour drive, we found our house had been burglarized again! Katie was with Grandma Ross in Windsor; at least that was comforting. Once again, our bed mattresses had been turned over and in Katie's room as well. Dresser drawers ransacked, clothes pulled from the closet, microwave oven stolen, and A 2-LITER BOTTLE OF CHERRY COKE TAKEN RIGHT OUT OF THE REFRIGERATOR! We had had a similar burglary a year and a half ago. It is not an easy thing to go through. Just as in the last robbery, I assumed it was 3 or 4 punks who came through an open field behind our house and busted through the back door. My wife Mona was very upset and the police were called out, but they could only offer us the token police statement. Less than a year after this, some medical buildings were constructed in the vacant lot behind our house and we were never bothered again (We remained in this house another 8 years, then in 1993 we moved to a bigger house-with an alarm system).
This closes the door on 1985 and the first volume of my memoir. I had witnessed the birth of reenacting on a grand scale in Missouri, as our hobby group stumbled around in its midwestern playpen for 5 years gaining respectability, and now we were going out to see the rest of the reenacting world. The next five years would see the Holmes Brigade going out east, not just across the Mississippi River but into the states of Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania to take part in 125th Anniversary Reenactments of the Civil War.