January 2011

It took nearly 25 years for my greatgrandfather Emory Lively to achieve a war-born dream. During the 1863 buildup to the battle for Chattanooga, Emory was camped with the 3rd Alabama Cavalry in a grove of oaks near the top of Lookout Mountain. He was so taken with the magnificence of the area that he vowed to his brother: “When this war is over, I’m gonna build me a house here.” In 1887 Emory finally returned to those oaks with his wife and four children, and eventually he put up a house large enough for the extended family. When Emory died in 1936, his spinster daughter and his two sons and their wives continued to live there. In 1941 my parents and I joined the family in the house.

Last Shot

There was a time when urban Americans weren’t afraid of terrorists, bombs, and poison gas. The worst thing that could happen in a city was a strike. Cities were unprepared for labor walkouts because nobody could tell who would strike or when and where. Mayors saw to it that they kept on good terms with unions. 

Baron von Steuben lay in his northern New York grave more or less forgotten by everyone but scholars of the American Revolution until 1919. Then German-Americans, deeply disturbed by the propaganda generated by World War I, set about reviving him as a symbol of their patriotism. Chapters of the Steuben Society were founded in cities and towns with large German-American populations. During the 1930s they were vociferously anti-Nazi. In 1958, the 275th anniversary of the first German immigration to America, New York Steubenites began marching up Fifth Avenue, like the Irish-Americans on St. Patrick’s Day. The idea spread to Philadelphia and Chicago. All three parades now take place within a week of Steuben’s birthday, September 17.

Baron von Steuben remained an important officer in the Continental Army until the end of the war. He grew weary of his role as drillmaster and yearned for a fighting command. Washington found him more useful as a spokesman for the army’s needs before Congress. In 1780, when Washington’s great lieutenant Nathanael Greene took command of the shattered Southern Department, Washington sent Steuben with him to help reorganize the battered Southern army. At Yorktown, Washington put him in charge of one of the American divisions, utilizing his experience in siege warfare. The states of Pennsylvania and New York made Steuben an American citizen and New York gave him 16,000 acres of land in the Mohawk Valley, near Utica. Nevertheless, his casual attitude toward money got him into financial difficulties until the federal Congress granted him a $2,500 annual pension. He died in 1794 in the log cabin he had built on his New York acres, his devoted aide Benjamin Walker at his side.

There was a kernel of truth in the drama. Friedrich von Steuben was a Prussian soldier who had served with distinction in the Seven Years’ War and had become an aide-de-camp to Frederick the Great. But he had never advanced beyond the rank of captain. Discharged from the army after the war, he had made a precarious living as chief minister at the court of Hohenzollern-Hechingen, one of the many small principalities into which Germany was divided at the time.

This mini-state in the Black Forest region was presided over by a relative of Frederick the Great, Joseph Friedrich Wilhelm, whose royal expenses constantly outran his annual revenue. Steuben’s pay seldom exceeded more than $400 a year. One of his few consolations during these years was his nomination to a high order of knighthood that carried with it the right to wear the Star of Fidelity on his breast.

Visitors to the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum in Simi Valley, California, are treated to many tableaux from the President’s long, varied life: a re-creation of the kitchen in his childhood home in Illinois, the booth at Chasen’s (the Los Angeles restaurant) where he proposed to Nancy Davis, an exact replica of the Oval Office—and, now, an authentic Irish pub where he hoisted a pint of ale more than 20 years ago.

When Ronald Reagan announced his candidacy for governor of California—or so the story goes—somebody wisecracked, “Reagan for governor? No, Jimmy Stewart for governor. Reagan for best friend.” In later years Ronald Reagan would be referred to as a former film star, but in truth he was never really a star. In A-list films he was a costar; he was a star of sorts in B movies, competing with actors like Rory Calhoun for leads in second-level Westerns.

Last Thanksgiving Day brought with it sad news: An obituary in The New York Times told of the death of Joseph J. Thorndike, Jr.