January 2011

One correction to the fine article “Democratic Debacle” (June/July 2004) by Joshua Zeitz: In regard to the murder of three civil rights workers in Mississippi, Mr. Zeitz writes: “. . . Michael Schwerner, a young, Jewish New Yorker; and Andrew Goodman, a summer volunteer from Queens College....”

Andrew Goodman was likewise Jewish. With a solemn pride, many Jews have noted that both of the white civil rights workers killed with the black James Chaney were Jewish. That historical record should not be lopped in half.

There I was, standing outside a room in the White House, ready to have a one-on-one meeting with President Ronald Reagan.

This happened because I was running for Congress in 1988 and had come to Washington to attend a Republican “school for candidates.” I had had no idea that this experience would include an introduction to the president.

Somehow, in the middle of the day, I was taken to the White House. Now, there was just a door between me and the president. I was to have my picture taken with him; then, someone would say “thank you,” and I was to leave quickly.

When I entered the room, there was President Reagan, wearing a brown sport jacket, giving me a warm hello. I can still recall his eyes as he looked me over and made a judgment. He opened the conversation by asking how my campaign was going. He noted how difficult it is to win a congressional seat from an incumbent.

During the 1968 election, when I was 14, I became fascinated by politics. With my grandfather’s help, I began collecting political buttons from every presidential election in the 20th century and quite a few in the 19th. I also collected ephemera from significant gubernatorial and congressional races.

So, in 1971, when I heard that Ronald Reagan was giving a speech in Santa Barbara, my hometown, I gathered up all my Reagan buttons (plus a “Reagan Garter Girls” garter and a Reagan mirror) and drove to the hotel where he was speaking. Part of my enthusiasm for Reagan stemmed from his career before he entered politics. He had started as a sports announcer at a small radio station in rural Illinois; he’d been good enough as an actor to be a contender for the role of Rick Blaine in Casablanca; and, as head of the Screen Actors Guild, he declined to name names in his testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Now, he was governor of the nation’s largest state.

Anthony Brandt’s article about the delayed publication of the Lewis and Clark journals (“The Perilous Afterlife of the Lewis and Clark Expedition,” June/July 2004) was fascinating. However, there was a minor error in the text. While discussing Nicholas Biddle, Brandt claims that the “budding man of letters” would go on to become the first president of the Bank of the United States. The First Bank of the United States was chartered in 1791, when Biddle was six years old. He would become president of the Second Bank of the United States, which was chartered in 1816. But he was not even the first president of the Second Bank of the United States; that honor belonged to William Jones. Many historians believe that Jones’s policies helped trigger the Panic of 1819. Biddle did have his own legacy: a showdown with Andrew Jackson that would ultimately bring on the demise of the “Monster Bank.”

I am sure that many, many women of my generation were as touched as I was by Rarey’s letters to Betty Lou. I read them with a smile on my lips and tears in my eyes.

I, too, received many letters from my husband when he was overseas. I, too, bore one son while he was away. His reaction was identical to Rarey’s—joy, wonder, and gratitude.

My story, however, had a happy ending. My love came home safely and we enjoyed 54 happy years together.

Lincoln’s melancholy is famous. Less well-known is that he not only penned thoughts about suicide, but published them in a newspaper. Scholars have long believed that the only copy in the newspaper’s files was mutilated to hide those thoughts from posterity. But the composition has apparently always been in plain sight—and unrecognized.

How did such a thing come to be written? How was it lost? Why should we think it has been found? And what does it reveal about its author?

After reading “You Mustn’t Let It Bother You Too Much,” I was compelled to contact Rarey’s wife, Betty Lou. Her stories touched me deeply and truly brought out emotions I didn’t know I had. I am the wife of a recently deployed soldier, and your article was the best I have read since beginning this whole experience. By publishing these letters, American Heritage has given its readers a little glimpse into military life and the communication between loved ones separated by war. I know I will read them often during my husband’s absence. And my thanks to Betty Lou for sharing her wonderful life with the world; she is indeed a strong person.

Thank you for your article on George Rarey. His son, Damon, until his untimely death, was a member of the same organization that I belong to, and we were brothers in spirit if not in flesh. That organization is the American World War II Orphans Network. We represent the approximately 183,000 sons and daughters left fatherless by that war, and we invite anyone who lost a father then, or just has an interest, to visit our Web site at www.awon.org.

We timed our 2004 conference in Washington, D.C., to coincide with the dedication of the World War II Memorial. I believe we are the first group to hold an organized event at the Memorial after its dedication. At a candlelight service on May 31, the names of all the fathers of our members in attendance were read by their grand- and great-grandchildren.