Twain to Keller: "...All Ideas Are Second-Hand..."

When she was 11-years-old, Helen Keller wrote a story called The Frost King.  The story was published in The Goodson Gazette, a journal on deaf-blind education. Keller was accused of plagiarism after someone accused her story of being very similar to Margaret Canby’s Frost Fairies.  There was then a tribunal to discover if she had knowingly plagiarized Canby’s story.  Ultimately, young Keller was acquitted.  However, it had been discovered that Keller had been read the story when she was very young by using finger spelling.  However, some came to Keller’s defense saying that she had adapted her own story out of the story by Canby.  Anne Sullivan said, “all use of language is imitative, and one's style is made up of all other styles that one has met.”  Margaret Canby herself stated that Keller's version was superior to her own.  Keller never wrote fiction again.

Mark Twain read about the event in Keller’s autobiography, and sent the following letter of support:

Riverdale-on-the-Hudson

St. Patrick's Day, '03

Dear Helen,—

I must steal half a moment from my work to say how glad I am to have your book, and how highly I value it, both for its own sake and as a remembrance of an affectionate friendship which has subsisted between us for nine years without a break, and without a single act of violence that I can call to mind. I suppose there is nothing like it in heaven; and not likely to be, until we get there and show off. I often think of it with longing, and how they'll say, "There they come—sit down in front!" I am practicing with a tin halo. You do the same. I was at Henry Roger's last night, and of course we talked of you. He is not at all well;—you will not like to hear that; but like you and me, he is just as lovely as ever.

I am charmed with your book—enchanted. You are a wonderful creature, the most wonderful in the world—you and your other half together—Miss Sullivan, I mean, for it took the pair of you to make a complete and perfect whole. How she stands out in her letters! her brilliancy, penetration, originality, wisdom, character, and the fine literary competencies of her pen—they are all there.

Oh, dear me, how unspeakably funny and owlishly idiotic and grotesque was that "plagiarism" farce! As if there was much of anything in any human utterance, oral or written, except plagiarism! The kernel, the soul—let us go further and say the substance, the bulk, the actual and valuable material of all human utterances—is plagiarism. For substantially all ideas are second-hand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources, and daily use by the garnerer with a pride and satisfaction born of the superstition that he originated them; whereas there is not a rag of originality about them anywhere except the little discoloration they get from his mental and moral calibre and his temperament, and which is revealed in characteristics of phrasing. When a great orator makes a great speech you are listening to ten centuries and ten thousand men—but we call it his speech, and really some exceedingly small portion of it is his. But not enough to signify. It is merely a Waterloo. It is Wellington's battle, in some degree, and we call it his; but there are others that contributed. It takes a thousand men to invent a telegraph, or a steam engine, or a phonograph, or a telephone or any other important thing—and the last man gets the credit and we forget the others. He added his little mite—that is all he did. These object lessons should teach us that ninety-nine parts of all things that proceed from the intellect are plagiarisms, pure and simple; and the lesson ought to make us modest. But nothing can do that.

Then why don't we unwittingly reproduce the phrasing of a story, as well as the story itself? It can hardly happen—to the extent of fifty words except in the case of a child; its memory-tablet is not lumbered with impressions, and the actual language can have graving-room there, and preserve the language a year or two, but a grown person's memory-tablet is a palimpsest, with hardly a bare space upon which to engrave a phrase. It must be a very rare thing that a whole page gets so sharply printed on a man's mind, by a single reading, that it will stay long enough to turn up some time or other to be mistaken by him for his own. No doubt we are constantly littering our literature withdisconnected sentences borrowed from books at some unremembered time and now imagined to be our own, but that is about the most we can do. In 1866 I read Dr. Holmes's poems, in the Sandwich Islands. A year and a half later I stole his dedication, without knowing it, and used it to dedicate my "Innocents Abroad" with. Then years afterward I was talking with Dr. Holmes about it. He was not an ignorant ass—no, not he; he was not a collection of decayed human turnips, like your "Plagiarism Court;" and so when I said, "I know now where I stole it, but whom did you steal it from," he said, "I don't remember; I only know I stole it from somebody, because I have never originated anything altogether myself, nor met anyone who had."

To think of those solemn donkeys breaking a little child's heart with their ignorant rubbish about plagiarism! I couldn't sleep for blaspheming about it last night. Why, their whole lives, their whole histories, all their learning, all their thoughts, all their opinions were one solid rock of plagiarism, and they didn't know it and never suspected it. A gang of dull and hoary pirates piously setting themselves the task of disciplining and purifying a kitten that they think they've caught filching a chop! Oh, dam—

But you finish it, dear, I am running short of vocabulary today.

Every lovingly your friend,

Mark

To read about the event in detail, click here.

Visit www.lettersofnote.com for more fascinating letters!

(Source: www.lettersofnote.com; Mark Twain's Letters, Vol. 2 of 2; Image: Mark Twain, via.)

“Family Comes Back to Family”

       Most of us have a connection to the past that only goes as far as our grandparents.  For many, it is usually just an odd snapshot from a past reunion, a remembered story about a long-lost relative, or names in an old family Bible.  Some of us only get to experience our ancestors from genealogical information we discover in books and online.  But what if an artifact from a distant ancestor seemed to travel through time to find you.  What would you think?  Divine intervention?  Coincidence?  How would you feel if it happened to you twice?  Well just ask Allison Houston Olson, because she’s experienced it.

       “I received a phone call from my good friend, Julie Baggett Burroughs.  She called to tell me about a sale occurring at an antiques store near my house,” recounts Allison.  Some old student desks that were being sold in this particular store had interested Allison; however, after arriving and inspecting the desks, she decided that they weren’t what she wanted.  This is where the story could have ended, but it took an incredible twist.  She turned to her mother-in-law who was accompanying her, and asked her if she wanted to have a look around.  They entered the first antique booth and found several interesting items on display.

Portrait of Sarah Luvenia Malone Falls 1852-1899

       “An antique photo resting on a lower shelf caught my attention.  While looking at the photo, I commented to my mother-in-law that I could not understand why on earth people would sell old photos of their family members.  As I stood up, my eyes immediately rose to the items on the wall above my head.  What I then saw produced a lump in my throat and caused my heart and emotions to race.  Directly above me was the 18”x20” original framed photograph of my great-great grandmother!” she recalls.  “I couldn't catch my breath.” 

       "That is my great-great grandmother, that is my great-great grandmother,” she remembers telling her mother-in-law excitedly.

       “Are you sure?” her mother-in-law repeatedly asked her.

       “I am positive!” Allison replied.

       She had just found an antique photograph portrait of her great-great grandmother, Sarah Luvenia Malone Falls!  She knew that was who it was because several family members had copies of the original photograph portrait, but the whereabouts of the original were never known.  Allison goes on to say that her grandmother, who has passed away just a year before, had wondered about what had happened to that original photograph of her maternal grandmother.  

       “Almost exactly one year later, I locate it in an antiques store, “ Allison says, “ With hands shaking, I took the photo off the wall, walked to the cash register, and told the owners that the photo was of my great-great grandmother.  The owners questioned me, so I gave them her name.  They turned the photo over and there on the back was her name.  I was still shaking and on the verge off tears.  I called my mother and told her what I had found, and then the tears began welling up again.”

       The original photograph now resides in the home of Allison’s mother, Bobbie Wyatt Houston.

       "I felt like she had found a priceless treasure. I was very excited when she gave it to me. I felt like my mom, who had just passed away only a year before, was sending us a sweet message of endearment. The picture now holds a place of honor in my home,” says Mrs. Houston.

       How does Allison herself now look back on the event?

       “Initially I was dumbfounded. My emotions were all over the place. I then realized she was home. Sarah Luvenia, that is. I had brought her home, so to speak. Why had it been me? I don’t know. Was it God? Could be. Coincidence? Doubtful. Luck of the draw? I don’t think so. For some reason, I was supposed to be there that day. For some reason, I needed to be there that day and my friend, Julie, was the instigator, for lack of a better word, in getting me there. Sarah Luvenia's portrait had been hanging there since February of that year, no one had purchased it, thank goodness, but in October, she needed to come home. I truly have no answers, other than, she needed to come home.”

       Now that’s an incredible story all by itself, but what if a very similar event happens just a bit further down the road? 

The actual antique cotton basket

       Allison describes herself “a collector of all things vintage”.  She has recently started to sell some of her finds on a Facebook page.  She recalls a recent event.

       “I received a message from someone, unknown to me, asking if I bought antiques. For those that know me well, this is one of my weaknesses, that and genealogy. After much conversing on Facebook, we agreed to meet. This gentleman lived in an area where many of my maternal grandmother’s family members lived.  There is even a road with the family name. My family and I arrived at his barn one afternoon.  The man was very welcoming. He had several things set out for me to peruse. I noticed a large hand-woven cotton basket near the front.”

       She says she asked him about the antique basket and he said he had gotten it from a man named Mayfield who lived just up the road from him. Allison says that that the name sounded familiar, but “it didn't initially click”.

       She says she continued to look around his barn at his wonderful collection of antiques; all the while in the back of her mind, she was thinking about the name “Mayfield”. She picked out a few items, one being the basket; then questioned him further about the gentleman that had made the basket.

       “He told me the man’s name was "Robert Mayfield".  BING!  Lights and sirens went off in my head! My great-great-great grandfather was Robert "Robin" Jasper Mayfield. What were the odds, I thought at the time. After much discussion, I discovered that a past relative of mine had made the basket. A conversation with my mom later confirmed it. This gentleman was gracious enough to take us to the old home site of my relative where I took photos and heard stories about how life used to be when my relative was living. The old cotton basket is now in my home, where it shall remain.  I reconnected with a part of my history that I would not have known about had this gentleman not contacted me. He welcomed us into his home and barn; but most importantly led me into a part of my history, and for that I am eternally grateful.”  She adds, “Someone once told me ‘family comes back to family’. I don’t know where they saw that or read that, but I believe it to be true.”

Click here to view Allison's Southern Mother Junker page on Facebook (and maybe find a treasure for yourself)

Tom Clardy also claims Sarah Luvenia Malone Falls as a great-great grandmother and can't be more happy that the portrait now has a safe home with family.  He may be contacted at tfclardy@aol.com

Letter to Dennis

In 1945 after Germany’s surrender, Lt. Richard Helms, intelligence operative with the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), managed to get his hands on some of Adolf Hitler’s stationary from the remains of the Reich Chancellery. Helms, who later became a director of the CIA during the Watergate and Vietnam War eras, sent this letter back home to his three-year-old son, Dennis. The letter, which now resides in the CIA Museum in Langley, happened to have arrived there the day after Osama bin Laden was killed. Be sure to read the full story at The Washington Post (link below after letter and transcript).

Image: The Washington Post

OBERSALZBERG, DEN V-E day

ADOLF HITLER

Dear Dennis, 

The man who might have written on this card once controlled Europe — three short years ago when you were born. Today he is dead, his memory despised, his country in ruins. He had a thirst for power, a low opinion of man as an individual, and a fear of intellectual honesty. He was a force for evil in the world. His passing, his defeat — a boon to mankind. But thousands died that it might be so. The price for ridding society of bad is always high. 

Love, Daddy

Read the Washington Post article by Ian Shapira

source 2: http://www.lettersofnote.com/

Sixteenth Century Korean Love Letter

While uncovering an ancient tomb in South Korea, archaeologists discovered the mummified remains of 30 year old Eung-Tae Lee, who died in 1586.  The following letter written by his pregnant wife  was found with the body.

To view the original letter and a special gift that the wife had made for her 

departed husband, click here.

Click for more information on the letter and tomb.

"Palaeontology of Kronos (Qo'noS)" [Star Trek fanfic]

 The Star Trek Universe, Star Trek, and characters of Star Trek is owned by Paramount Pictures, a division of Viacom. All the copyrights belong to them. This work is for entertainment purposes only and is presented free of charge.

The PLANET

Kronos, or Qo’noS, ¹ is an M-class planet that orbits in the Klinzhai system² and is found at galactic coordinates (-321.5, 48.6, -87.9). It is the second planet of the system and is nearly one and a half times the size of Earth. Kronos is the only world in its five-planet system that is inherently capable of sustaining life, although ecological changes have made life more tenuous. On all other occupied planets in the system, Klingons have had to use large amounts of relatively sophisticated technology to live there. The surface of Kronos is a vast shallow ocean³ with a large single landmass.  On the landmass itself there are many small bodies of water scattered around it. The largest thirteen of these, the only ones that show up on a planetary map, are very salty. Kronos has a severely tilted axis that causes dramatic seasonal changes,  turbulent wind patterns and extremes of weather.⁴

Kronos is unique among M-class worlds in that it has very little botanical diversity. Geological information from Kronos suggests that the world was once rather lush and wet, but suffered due to a large asteroid, which altered the axial tilt of the planet. This asteroid is also thought to have caused enormous pressure in the planet’s interior, which led to disastrous earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Fossils found in the underground water pockets and in the lava rock show that a form of klingonoid existed before the time of the asteroid.  Apparently, damage caused by the asteroid changed the level of silicates in the surface of the planet, thus making it less adaptable for vegetation. This caused nearly every native species to evolve into a carnivorous form.

Because of the axial tilt to the planet and because of the high carbon dioxide layer (and the greenhouse effect that it creates) as well as the large surface area of the ocean, the weather tends to be very turbulent.  The ecological devastation of Praxis has also affected the ecology and climate of the planet.

DEVELOPMENT OF A SENTIENT RACE ON KRONOS

It has been considered that the Klingon people were ‘seeded’ on Kronos, possibly by a race called The Preservers, when the planet was lush. Some scientists have put this theory forth due to the chemical differentiations within the Klingon genome bearing no chemical resemblance to some of the rest of the life on the planet.  Since this theory is relatively new, most scientists concur that the Augment Virus of 2154 resulted in the chemical changes as well as genetic tampering by the Klingons themselves.  Nevertheless, the abundance of klingonoid-type beings within the Sagittarian region of space⁵, scientists use the taxonomical term Homo sagittari to refer to similar proto-klingon beings of Kronos⁶.

     The current physical state of the Klingon people is as it has been since long before the time of Kahless. However, the race ultimately developed from a quasi-mammalian creature with a very strong exoskeleton (Homo sagittari scutis), a design not unique to Kronos according to some researchers. The exoskeleton was composed of large, thick bone plates that almost completely overlapped. The H. sagittari scutis had a spinal ridge along the back and fore limbs, and possessed an opposable thumb. The H. sagittari scutis could squat on its hind legs to use the forelimbs to break, rip and hold. The hominid living in a harsh environment, developed redundant organs, possessing multiple versions of most important internal parts, such as lung, liver and kidneys; the heart had 8 chambers.

       The social behavior of H. sagittari scutis has recently been inferred by observation of the similar extant hominid native to the polar plateaus of Kronos -- Simia q’onoenis.  The H. sagittari scutis dominated the planet (fossils cover much of the planet) living in small family units (troops) lead by a dominant breeding female, the dominant male living outside the troop but in the same area. The males separated from the troop at about 6 years. At this age the male would seek out a mate from a different troop.

       Males that encountered another male without a troop would usually instigate a fight to the death. Ultimately the male would encounter an unrelated troop challenging the dominant male or taking a female away. Challenging a dominant male was a risky business and fights were always to the death. Once a troop was won in this way it was usually necessary to cull those that were a threat, most commonly the males near maturity and the dominant female. At times if two males of the same troop reached maturity at the same time they would leave together. In this rare circumstance, the two males would almost always seek out a large troop and defeat the dominant male, culling those that were a threat.  At times the dominant partner would become the dominant male and breed, the other male would assist in keeping the area free of other males. At other times the two males would split the troop and territory, then would either severe all ties or, quite commonly, to offer mutual defense to each other –forming a larger unit (clan).

     During times of famine the troops would be forced to move into territories claimed by other clans. Invariably this led to fights among groups. In most cases the older females and the males near maturity would assist the dominant male, as the threat was so serious the whole troop might die if the territory was lost. In these circumstances familial clans would unite and work together.⁷  This proto-klingon, after being a dominent species, quickly exits the fossil layer and is replaced by the heartier Homo sagittari osteodermis.

     Homo sagittari osteodermis appears after a planetary catasphrophe affected the planet of Kronos, dramatically changing the planetary surface into a much harsher environment.  Due to evidence found in the bones of H. sagittari scutis, famine seems to have occurred on a large planetary scale. The times of famine increased and slowly Homo sagittari scutis started to be replaced by Homo sagittari osteodermis. Although H. sagitarri osteodermis was slower in movement than H. sagittari scutis, he had the advantage of a stronger exosheleton and greater strength giving it the ability to bring down larger prey. This also meant that H. sagittari osteodermis’ troops, families and clans were more successful in times of conflict. 

     The hostile environment of Kronos that had necessitated the development of the exoskeleton slowly changed and in time the exoskeleton was slowly replaced by a stronger endoskeleton. Eventually the Klingon became a creature with several bony plates covering the vital areas of the body, such as chest, stomach and head. The spinal back ridge was retained and many retained plates on the upper and fore arm. There were also at this time still some cases of both H.sagittari scutis and H. sagittari osteodermis, however both slowly gave way to the faster and free moving Homo sagittari loricatis. The three sub species were fully compatible for mating purposes and the main reason for the decline of the more primitive forms was the dominance of the more agile Homo sagittari loricatus males.

     Slowly, the amount of bony plates reduced. The exterior cranial plate was still used presumably in combat, not always to the death, between males to settle disputes. For this reason the exterior cranial plate was the last to be subsumed by the endoskeleton. The spinal ridge on the back disappeared just before the cranial plate, this left a lumpy appearance in the internal spinal column in the new Klingon form.

     Finally the exterior cranial plate was lost and the modern Klingon form came into being. The internal skull had been reinforced to defend against the force of the Homo q’onoensis kranialis males striking their heads together. This gave the Klingon the well known cranial ridges.  Over time Homo q’onoensis kranialis developed a more settled lifestyle and their rudimentary use of implements led to the development of more complex tools. Homo q’onoensis kranialis began fashioning implements from wood, rock and bone using sinew as a binding material.

     As the use of implements grew and brain size increased, the nomadic nature of clans becomes more settled.  Thus we see the development of the large-brained Homo q’onoensis sapiens – the modern Klingon.  This development brought shelters and farming i.e. animal husbandry. In time, the use of implements led to the discovery of metals to replace bone and rock. Homo q’onoensis sapiens also developed the use of tools for modern defense and aggression – modern bladed weapons. Such weapons became commonly used in settling disputes, often fatally. This practice increased and became a pastime in itself. The male Homo q’onoensis sapiens regularly spar with each other violently for sport. This activity led to more success among more intelligent, larger-brained males when disputes with other clans arose.  At this time, clans developed into the first Klingon societies.

  

 Klingon evolutionary progression synopsis:

Homo sagittari scutis* – first known klingonoid biped developed from a ‘mammalian’ creature with a covering of heavy, scaled body plates/exoskeleton; opposable thumb; considered as the first with redundant organs; fossils suggest poison glands

Homo sagittari osteodermis* – A primitive klingonoid with several bony plates covering the vital areas of the body, such as chest, stomach and head. A prominent spinal back ridge with hard back plates and thick plates on the upper and fore arms

Homo sagittari loricatis*  - Klingonoid with several bony plates covering the vital areas of the body, such as chest, stomach and head. The spinal back ridge was retained and many retained plates on the upper and fore arms; developed the use of tools, such as utilizing rocks and sticks to break open the shells of other creatures

Homo q’onoensis kranialis - The thick exterior cranial plate was used in combat (?). For this reason the exterior cranial plate considered the last to be subsumed by the endoskeleton(skull thickens). Noticeable reduction of body plates / the spinal back ridge on the back disappeared just before the cranial plate, this left a lumpy appearance in the internal spinal column; development of tools for combat and hunting

Homo q’onoensis sapiens (Homo sapiens sapiens q’onoensis) – modern Klingon; retains prominent cranial ridges; hard leathery pads covering vital areas of body (chest, stomach, back, and upper parts of limbs); continued development of tools, development of recreational implements; settlements instead of nomadic lifestyle/animal husbandry, as opposed to hunting as main food source.

 * When speaking of the specific variant found on Kronos, the taxonomic name is usually followed by the variant name. Ex. Homo sagittari scutis var. qo’noensis.  However, in this information the specific variant is understood and will not be expressed.

 Notes:

1. also called Klinzhai by its inhabitants, the same name as the system.  When Klingons say “Klinzhai” they are not referring to merely the planet but to the entirety of their “residence” in the Universe.  Klingon writing and song often use Klinzhai to refer to the Universe as a whole, indicating the Klingon “right” to dominate all. (Note that the “Klinzhai” is sometimes spelled “Klinshai” in other cultures/dialects)
2. Some still use the antiquated term “the Kling (or Klin) system”
3. Past scientists claimed that the planet was made up entirely of a great landmass with few instances of water.  However, we know that to not be true; although it does lack the great percentage of water found on Earth.
4. Also see “The Asteroidal Tilt Change” or the modern “The Praxis Catastrophe” for more details
5. From a Terran perspective (?)
6. Humanoids from several star systems in the “Sagittarian Region” have very similar ‘klingonoid” features, most apparently the ridged forehead.  Other similarities include a redundant organ system and various biological processes.  Planets where the similarities are most observed naturally occurring include ‘Eng, Hoj, Busha, Azul VI, Tuqval, Daghtuj, Tysam, Majake, and Gillis IV.
7. Social organization is based on archeological evidence and the observations of Simia q’onoenis, which shares 97% of its DNA with modern Klingons (Homo q’onoensis sapiens)

"Dancing at the End of the World"

       We never knew it would end like this.  When I was a child, people predicted that it would be a violent end.  We were told that Mankind would show itself to be ultimately savage, with brother fighting brother till the very end.  They said we’d blow ourselves up.  But it didn't happen that way; there was hardly a whimper and there was dancing.  There was just a lot of dancing.

       My town of St. Odilia was a thriving, busy town as I remember it as a child.  It was far from the hell that it is now.  They say that most of the buildings were rock and metal back then, not the cardboard and wood used nowadays.  I just remember the sprawling acres of businesses with their bright lights as you traveled down the road.  It's now a gray memory. When I go down the main street today, it feels more like a Hollywood set from an old disaster movie than a real town. People don't remember movies. The older buildings made with their graying, rotting lumber contrast greatly with the buildings constructed of whatever materials could be found, including old twisted signage and wrecked sections of ruined old buildings.  Since nobody cares enough to create new materials, people have gone to using whatever can be found and salvaged for shelter.  Some just huddle together in shock, with maybe a blanket. Nothing looks clean and shiny new like I remember.  Everything has a stain of the past on it.  Burned edges and scorch marks are reminders that everyone notices but no one talks about. You stare at them while you wait for the finality of it all.

        Everybody just waits nowadays.  Nobody works anymore.  What is there to work for?  There's no motivation to do anything. Those very few that have always been that go-getter-type walk around collecting bottles and cans, or trying to form committees or groups.  Change and hope died a long time ago; I myself call it crazy.  The go-getters seem to have the attitude that if they stop, everything will really end – too late, you idiots.  We, those who just wait, watch them twitter about talking to themselves. They continue to walk around, their tin cans and bottles occasionally breaking the silence.

        The only ones nowadays that do seem to have a direction of some kind are the members of the Dancing Tribe -- young men and women, traveling around acting like what my mother would call “heathens”.  Most only wear loose brightly-patterned pants tied around their waists, baring their chests to the world.  I can hardly tell any difference between boys and girls - thin bodies, long hair.  They just dance together or alone out in the open, usually in some drug-like stupor. Their bodies jerk and heave without pause. Their arms flailing about like someone drowning. Hands grabbing at other bodies in fleeting caresses. It's one of the last beautiful things left to us. Occasionally, one of ‘em might drop dead when it finally gets them. 

        I remember when it started, and that lovely guy announced that he and his youthful friends would “dance while the world around us falls or until changes were made, whichever comes first.”  Nothing else had worked up to that point, although we had tried.  People had protested.  People had gotten angry.  People had rose up.  People had died.  But the Powers That Were had already secured our future and by doing so, they just dismissed us. By this point, no one really cared anymore.  Except for the Dancing Tribe.

       They had started as a way to get people’s attention about what was happening around us.  This guy and his buddies had tapped into the communications grid and sent messages for groups to meet and to protest.  They pleaded, they tried to coax.  When no one listened to them, that’s when they started to just dance. They just danced. Some thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever conceived, but the movement did get stronger. When they started to dance across the land, they began to have more people join them.  People at one point thought that this dancing would begin a new era. That something could be done, but there was nothing else that could be done. The End was here.

       Back when they announced that The End was finally here, nobody cried.  They just gathered up and made do until their time came.  Oh, occasionally there was one who would scream and bellow, shouting prayers to the ominous grey clouds.  Or one who would go on a rampage killing whatever was in his path.  Or one who knew what the answer was and then vanished into the mist. Most of us still just wait.

       Now just these dancing youths travel the countryside, dancing with the last remains of civilization.  They used to make me mad.   I don’t know if it was jealousy or grief; but nowadays, I always give a little clap when I see a roving band dance into town.  Mrs. Green usually thumped my head when I did my little cheer.  Now she’s gone.

       For a long time the Dancing Tribe seemed to have disappeared.  When they finally returned, they seemed sadder.  They still had their smiles, but they seemed to shine less.  They rarely talked except to help take away the pain; when you did hear them speak, you knew another soul was at rest.

       The last time they danced down the street, they only talked to a few of the sickest older folks. “Dance on,” I yelled to them inside my head, as I pulled my old blanket tighter to me. Once a young long-haired lad caught me looking at him and smiled at me.  He walked toward me with a big grin, pushing back a curly lock to get a better look. I looked at him straight into his hazy blue eyes. He got close enough that I could see my reflection in his wide pupils. He looked deep into me. He leaned his curly head to the side, and started to reach into a pocket of his pants.  He started to say something, but then he heard the tambourine in the distance.  He shook his head slightly from side to side in time with the shakes of the tambourine. He closed his eyes, his mouth twisted into an orgasmic grin. He turned toward the sound and I held my breath until he moved away, dancing away down the street toward the clarion call.  I caught him glancing back before disappearing into the gray mist. I hunkered down a bit. I finally lifted up and looked around at all the people huddled together in small tight groups on the steps and at the base of nearby buildings.  The foggy mist rolled down the street, carrying away the teeth-clenching sound of the tambourine.  I always wonder when they will return.

copyright 2013 T.F.Clardy 

To My Old Master: "...to test your sincerity...send us our wages for the time we served you"

In August of 1865, a Colonel P.H. Anderson wrote to his former slave,  Jourdon Anderson, asking him to come back to work on his farm. The emancipated Jourdon had moved to Ohio, had found a paid job, and was supporting his family.

(Be sure to read it all the way to the end)

Dayton, Ohio, 

August 7, 1865

To My Old Master, Colonel P.H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin's to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy,—the folks call her Mrs. Anderson,—and the children—Milly, Jane, and Grundy—go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, "Them colored people were slaves" down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor's visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams's Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve—and die, if it come to that—than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

From your old servant,

Jourdon Anderson.

What happened to the former slave that wrote his old master? Click here.

(www.lettersofnote.com; Source: The Freedmen's Book; Image: A group of escaped slaves in Virginia in 1862, courtesy of the Library of Congress.)