Huntür's postcard arrived...

The postcard I sent to Huntür from Lyon arrived today, taking 8 days for the trip. The card itself is recognizable, but it's also obvious it was "stressed" during its journey.

When I was at the post office in Lyon, I asked the clerk to affix a pretty stamp, explaining that the card was for my granddaughter. "You want something for a collector?" asked the clerk. I smiled and said yes.

The stamp she put on the card is indeed a pretty commemmorative, celebrating Bartholdi's statue of La Liberté éclairant le monde (a.k.a., Liberty Lighting The World, better known to us as the Statue of Liberty). However, I don't understand why the clerk proceeded to affix a PRIORITY tape to the stamp if it was intended for a collector.

That tape, you see, is of Scotch™ quality, meaning you can't remove it from paper without taking a layer of the paper with it. So if the stamp was intended for a collector, the damage caused by removing the tape (or the ugliness of the tape if it was left in place) would have made that collector lose interest in the stamp.

No real harm done, of course. Huntür is only 3 years old and certainly not a collector. And it's always entertaining to receive mail with unusual stamps, don't you agree?

Cheers...

P.S. BTW, the Bartholdi stamp cost €0.90, or about $1.20. From the U.S., FWIW, a postcard to France would cost 70 cents.

Remembering Gettysburg...

In his essay entitled History, Bill Whittle paints a compelling picture of what was at stake on July 2, 1863 near the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania:

Were the South to win that July day, the first northern state capitol – Harrisburg – would fall to the Confederates. Nothing would stop them from reaching Baltimore, and Washington. If the Army of the Potomac lost yet again on this field, the South would very likely take Washington, the British would enter the war on the side of the Confederacy and the mighty Royal Navy would break the Union blockade. In the words of Shelby Foote, the war would be over -- lost.

Whittle describes the importance of a small hill that overlooked the Union positions, called Little Round Top, and the actions of both sides to secure this strategic high ground. Then he concludes with the following:

And so we come to this exact time and place. It is the 2nd of July, 1863, just south of a small Pennsylvania town. You are on a small hill covered with thin pine trees. Your face is black with gunpowder: it burns your throat and eyes, it has cracked your lips, and you are more thirsty than you believed possible.

All around you are dead and dying men, some moaning, some screaming in agony as they clutch shattered arms or hold in their bowels. The field in front of you is covered with dead Rebels, and yet the ground looks alive, undulating, as the wounded Confederates try to crawl back to safety. In the woods below you can hear fresh enemy troops arrive, hear orders being issued in the soft accents of the deep South. You have no more musket rounds. There aren’t even very many rocks left to throw. And you know that this time, they will succeed.

These men have never been beaten, least of all by you. You are a professor of Rhetoric at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. As you walk what is left of your line, you know you have fought bravely and well, done more than could ever be asked of you. You have no choice but to fall back in orderly retreat. Your men are out of ammunition. To stand here and take another charge is to die. It’s that simple. These men are your responsibility. Their families depend on you to bring them home. Many have already died. To not retreat will likely condemn many more wives to being widows, not the least your own.

You look down past the dead and dying men to the bottom of the hill. Masses of determined Confederate men are emerging, coming for you. They are not beaten. They are determined to have this hill. Off to your left stands Old Glory, the hinge in your pathetic, small gate.

You know that this is war to preserve a Union, a system of government four score and seven years old. Many said such a system of self rule could not possibly survive. If you retreat now, today will be the day they are proven right.

You cannot go back. You cannot stay here. Your men look at you. You utter two words:

“Fix Bayonets.”

You can see the reaction on the faces of the men. No, that can’t be right. He couldn’t possibly mean it.

But you do mean it. You know history. In the middle of this shock and death and agony, amid the blood and stench and acrid smoke, you have the perspective even now to see what is really at stake here.

As Chamberlain walked his line one last time, he smiled, and shouted, “Stand firm, ye boys of Maine, for not once in a century are men permitted to bear such responsibilities!"

It is facile to adduce base motives or gullibility to those who fought the Civil War; the fact remains that it took that war -- the bloodiest in American history -- to settle the issues of secession and slavery. (I'll leave alternative histories to writers more gifted than myself.)

In the meantime, I shall keep in mind that despite the fundamental importance of the Declaration of Independence, there is more to remember and honor during this holiday period.

In any event, go read the whole thing.

Cheers...