75 Years After

The Grand Army of the Republic and the United Confederate Veterans have talked for years of holding a joint reunion. They might have done so but for oldsters who were Billy-be-damned if they would march under 1) The Stars & Stripes, or 2) The Stars & Bars. When Blues and Grays tried it 25 years ago, at the 50th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, cussing and fisticuffing discouraged subsequent attempts. This year, the U. S. Government stepped in with a healing offer of free transportation. So last week G. A. R. and U. C. V. tried again at Gettysburg. This time they got on beautifully, for the men were exceedingly old.

Searching for eligible invitees, the War Department found only 10,687 living Rebs and Yanks, about two Northerners to one Southerner. As actuaries figure, several of the 1,420 Union and 530 Confederate gaffers who accepted the invitations would inevitably be claimed by Death on the Pennsylvania fields where 51,112 of their comrades were casualties on the days of July 1 through 3, 75 years ago. But none had died by last weekend. James Hamaker, 95, of Aledo, Tex., fell out of a Pullman berth, was hospitalized with a broken left shoulder. On each of the three anniversary days, some 20 to 30 others were bedded with rheumatics, colds, shock, weariness. That was not bad, for their average age was 94. Oldest was Negro William A. Barnes, 112, of Oakland. Calif., who brought an ample gin supply. Youngest were several of 88, who were 13 (having lied about their age) that afternoon when Pickett's charge lapped the crest of Cemetery Ridge and rolled back crushing the hopes of the Confederacy.

Last week, Confederate John C. Smith, 108, of the 46th Georgia Regiment, told how during the battle he reached into his mouth and removed the bullet that had knocked out two of his teeth, paused again to clap mud on his skull where another bullet knicked it, and fought on. Dr. Capers C. Jones, of Birmingham, Ala., 91, barked at Secretary of War Harry Woodring: "Give me your hand. I ain't going to bite you." "I'm sweet 16 and never been kissed!" shouted Yankee Daniel Daffron, 92, of Forest Grove, Ore. Said his harried attendant: "Have I had a time trying to keep track of him!"

And though the spirit was daring, the flesh was weak. Some of them rode in wheel chairs. It looked like their last reunion. Spain will be fortunate if, in 2013, such a reunion can be held on the battlefield of Teruel--with Fascism and Communism as well forgotten as are slavery and abolition.

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