Views From Oregon

On April 9, 1865 my grandfather shook hands with Abraham Lincloln, then President of the United States, and, Grandfather lived long enough to relate the incident to me.  Of course, upon the conclusion of the story, I promptly shook hands with Grandfather so I could say I shook hands with a man who shook hands with Abraham Lincoln.  I already knew the story, because it was family legend, but I wanted to hear it from Grandfather’s own lips.

The story.  On April 9, 1865, General Robert E. Lee, Commander of the Confederate Army, surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant, Commander of the Union Army, at Appomattox Court House in Virginia.  Thus ended the Civil War, the bloodiest war in the history of our nation.  When word of the completion of the surrender ceremony reached Washington D.C. President Lincoln dashed out of the White House and shook hands with every Union  soldier in close attendance.  Grandfather was one of those lucky Union soldiers.  A private, 16 years old, a late joiner who had served but a short time and had seen little combat, Grandfather enjoyed a disproportionately large piece of the fruit of victory.  President Lincoln died six days later, April 15, 1865, from a gunshot wound inflicted by John Wilkes Booth.

On the day I first heard the story from Grandfather’s lips I was ten years old.  In the conversation Grandfather recited the roll call of his company, a memory he retained to his death in his middle nineties.  In later years I asked Grandfather many questions about conditions of that period.  His memory was keen.  He explained that most people he knew, including his family, lived off the land, growing crops and nurturing domestic animals.  It required work, work. work. from dawn to dark, except Sunday.  Church was big.  Almost everyone attended on Sunday, and after church were picnic lunches and athletic contests.  Sunday was the social day of the week.  It was at church that Grandfather met my Grandmother.  Grandfather also told of families during the war that were torn apart because some members favored the South and some the North.  Fortunately his family was united for one cause.  Grandfather did not participate in any of the major battles, but he was involved in some minor skirmishes.  On one occasion he was laying on the ground when a cannon ball rolled up and bumped him in the stomach.  It knocked his wind out, but otherwise did not appear to do any damage.  Another time a bullet hit the tree next to him. dislodging a piece of bark that hit his cheek, drawing blood.  That was the extent of his battle stories  Later in life I was privileged to visit the site of the surrender at Appomattox Court House, as well as many of the Civil War battlefields.

Grandfather was held in high regard by his family, almost regarded as a Saint by his three daughters, one of whom was my mother.  His six sons remembered him as a strict disciplinarian, who demanded a high level of work ethic on his large ranch, but all agreed that he was abnormally smart, with an unusual memory.  Grandfather was an avid reader who kept informed on domestic and foreign issues.  He was very successful financially and doled out gifts to many members of the family.  He bought and gave to my mother 160 acres that bordered my parent’s ranch.  He sent me an occasional check while I was working my way through college.

Grandfather died while I was serving in the US Army in World War II.  I didn’t get to shake hands with the President, but I did see much more combat, and suffered more wounds, than did Grandfather.  I have wondered what of interest I could tell my Grandchildren about that war that did not involve my combat experiences.  I decided it would be visiting Hiroshima, Japan, shortly after the atomic bomb devasted that city.  In the occupation that immediately followed the surrender of Japan my company was sent to Hiro, a small city between Hiroshima and Kure.  We visited the site of the atomic bomb blast periodically.  When we first arrived we were limited to fifteen minutes in the blast area, because of radiation.  This visiting time was extended as time passed.  Local people who had been exposed at the outskirts of the blast were suffering from burns, some dying each day.  The Japanese interpreter assigned to me had a little brother who had burns on his face.  He and a friend had peeked over the top of a wooden fence to watch the single B-29 in the morning sky.  They were far enough away from the bomb when it expoloded that the wooden fence protected the rest of their bodies, but their heads were exposed.  When I returned to the US in December of 1945 the boy was getting better.  I assume he recovered.  I hope so.

The lesson.  That I, a very much alive guy, received an account from an eye witness of an incident that took place in 1865, almost 141 years ago, is evidence that we are not as removed from the past as some people may think.  –TEB