Manassas or Bull Run

The first organized battle of the Civil war was fought on rolling farm land near Manassas, VA on July 21, 1861.  The Union army, led by General Irvin McDowell, proudly marched from Washington into the Virginia countryside with Richmond, the Confederate capital as their goal.  The betting line was that the Rebels would run in fear of the organized Union army and that the Southern insurrection would be squashed quickly.  So confident were they of an easy victory by the Union army, the wealthy of Washington, including some members of Congress, actually came out to watch with picnic baskets and wine.  No doubt these were the ancestors of people who enjoy the “Jerry Springer Show” and “Jersey Shore. “  However upsets happen in sports and wars and the first battle of Manassas showed both sides the realities of what they had gotten themselves into. 

Manassas, about 25 miles southwest of Washington, was a strategic point because it was the junction of two railway lines.  Bull Run, a creek with steep banks was a natural barrier to the advancing army and the Confederates fortified all the crossing points.  The first shots were fired at the famous Stone Bridge over the creek, but this was only a diversionary tactic as McDowell ordered the bulk of the army to march north, around the Confederates’ left flank.  Eventually the two sides engaged and while the Rebels did not run in fear as predicted, the superior numbers of McDowell’s force prevailed in pushing the Southerners backwards to the top of Henry Hill.  Reinforcements from the Virginia army under the command of General Thomas J. Jackson arrived to join the battle and the afternoon reversed the outcome of the morning as the reinvigorated Confederates gained the upper hand.  Jackson received his nickname “Stonewall” on this day in reference to his troops’ refusal to give up ground and the defeated Union army was forced to retreat back to Washington.

I jumped on an invitation from one of my friends to visit the Manassas National Battlefield Park and we spent the morning walking in the footsteps of Jackson, McDowell, and the 900 men who were killed that day.  Cannons dot the battlefield and the park is ringed with split rail fencing.  Much of the landscape is unchanged from 1861.  Bull Run creek still meanders around the property and under the Stone Bridge where it all began.  The Visitor Center, on the top of Henry Hill, contains a small museum with weaponry of the day on display.  A statue of Stonewall Jackson on horseback looks out over the battlefield outside.  Judith Henry’s house still stands near the edge of the hill with her grave and those of her two children right outside.  Mrs. Henry, then 85 years old and bedridden, refused to leave her home even though it was clear that the house would be right in the crossfire.  She was killed by artillery fire during the battle, the only civilian to die that day.  I think she made a good decision.  Having lived to 85 in 1861, Judith had blown the life expectancy curve and probably wasn’t long for this world in her condition.  Millions of people now know about her and have seen her grave because of her decision to remain in her home.

The battle was called “Bull Run” by the North and “Manassas” by the South.  It was fought primarily by inexperienced and naïve young men on both sides who had never seen war.  The carnage showed both sides the horrible cost that the Civil War would exact on both sides.  A second battle was fought here 13 months later by experienced and more deadly soldiers in both blue and grey.  3300 people died in the second battle of Manassas.  The contradiction of the pastoral serenity of the park now with the horrors of the two battles ran through my mind as we walked among the cannons.  Manassas National Battlefield Park is beautifully kept by the National Park Service and I left with an important history lesson reinforced by personal experience.

Quakin' in DC

At 2 PM the building shook and then again a few seconds later.  People poured out of offices and cubes with disbelief on their faces.  My first thought was earthquake, but that was quickly dismissed since this was DC, not LA.  The next, more horrifying explanation was a vibration in response to a nearby bomb.  Someone finally found enough composure to command everyone to evacuate.  We filed into the stairwell and then out into the street with confusion all around, and were joined by office workers from all the buildings in the vicinity.  Had this happened to every building?  I walked the 5 blocks to the National Mall to check on the Capitol and the monuments.  Fortunately, all were intact and there were no smoke columns anywhere within view.  A police officer confirmed that an earthquake registering 5.8 on the Richter scale had just hit the city.

Californians would be unphased, but to a lifelong East Coaster, having the floor beneath you shake in an unnatural way with an uncomfortably large amplitude, is a scary experience.  Fire trucks and police cars with sirens wailing sped by, but the fact that this event was caused by a natural phenomenon, not a terrorist, was a relief.  The next set of fears then set in.  How safe was my building?  What about the Metro?  I decided to call it a day and head home, on foot.  My apartment in Arlington, Virginia is about 4 miles from work.  A small fear of being trapped underground kept me out of the Metro and the beautiful summer weather (80 degrees with low humidity) made a long walk attractive. 

I made my way through southwest DC past hundreds of people waiting outside their offices for some direction.  Many were walking like me.  I stopped and shared experiences with a woman standing outside her townhouse.  She was an art collector and had many glass items that had fallen from shelves and broken during the quake.  Walking along the southwest waterfront toward the Jefferson Memorial, many tourists passed in the opposite direction.  What a story they had about their DC vacation.  The 14th St bridge behind Mr. Jefferson has a sidewalk that is protected from car traffic by a fence.  Staying as far to the right as possible, I kept hearing “On your left” as cyclists passed.  I was joined by many other walkers, unnaturally crossing the Potomac in ties, jackets, and dresses. 

Carefully negotiating our way across highway ramps, a few companions and I made our way toward the Pentagon parking lot.  From there, I found a way under an I-395 bridge and into my neighborhood.  The walk cleared my head and allowed for rational thought to take over.  There was no visible damage to any building or structure that I saw.  No cracks or evidence of falling debris.  By the time I arrived home, I felt safe in my apartment and a beer and an hour of local news put the event in perspective.  The epicenter of the quake was about 80 miles away in rural Virginia and the quake had been felt as far away as Chicago.  Washington did not suffer any appreciable damage; except for a few broken spires on the National Cathedral.  No one was killed and very few were hurt.  I’ll be more prepared for my next earthquake but I hope I never experience another one.  There’s a hurricane in the Bahamas right now heading for the southeast US with the potential for a whole lot more damage.  I’m not worried about that storm however.  I guess you fear what you’re not used to.

Airline Seats

As Americans get larger and airlines reduce flights to ensure full occupancy, air travel has gotten increasingly less comfortable.  My 155 lb body fits well in a standard airplane seat, but even I don’t have excess room.  So that is why you see concerned looks on the faces of seated passengers when a 300 lb  guy sweating through his business suit, toting an overstuffed rollerboard walks down the aisle looking for his seat.  Those looks of concern then change to relief when Jumbo passes their row.  Whew!  Someone else gets the pleasure of being cozy with the slabs of beef that flow around the armrest constraining their already tight space. 
 

On a recent flight, I was tucked into my snug seat comfortably reading a newspaper when the guy in front of me decided to take a nap. Of course he reclined his seat the maximum amount possible, intruding into my space so much that I could easily count his hair roots.  The paper got pushed into the never land where my progressive eyeglass lenses wouldn’t focus and I had about as much room as if I’d ridden out the flight in the toilet. 

I have two suggestions, rather, pleas for the airlines.  First, do not succumb to any pressure to increase the size of seats.  At the risk of sounding cruel, obese people shouldn’t fly, especially on smaller planes.  When the flight attendant on a small plane asks people to move to the front or back to even out the weight distribution, it is clear that size matters, and grossly overweight people are not making flights safer for the rest of us.  Seats built for what used to be average size adults discourage the obese from getting on airplanes and that’s good for the rest of us.  If you can’t fit in a standard seat, buy two tickets. Second, seats should be locked so that they don’t recline.  Sitting up straight is better for your back and must be safer since the flight attendant always makes us “return your seats to their full and upright positions” for takeoff and landing. 

My apologies to anyone whom I’ve offended with this post.  But to my engineering mind, all airplane passengers are not created equal and lighter ones are better, both for safety and for comfort.

Boston's History

“Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere…” is the opening verse of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s famous poem about the legendary American Revolutionary War hero.  On the night of April 18, 1775 the British army prepared to march from Boston to Concord, MA to destroy a munitions depot that the Colonists had stocked.  Two riders set out that night to warn the troops in Concord and anyone on the way that “The British were coming”.  Waiting in Charlestown, on the other side of Boston Harbor, Paul Revere saw two lanterns shining in the belfry of Boston’s Old North Church, the signal that the Redcoats were taking the shorter route, crossing the Charles River by ferry before starting their march.  William Dawes also rode out from Boston taking the longer land route and later joined Revere west of Lexington on the road to Concord.  Dawes and Revere then enlisted a third rider, Samuel Prescott to join them in alerting people in the towns along the way to Concord, but the three were arrested by a British patrol before reaching their destination. Dawes and Prescott escaped, but only Prescott succeeded in making it to Concord to warn the Colonial troops.  Revere never made it to Concord that night although Longfellow gives him the full credit.

The true story of Paul Revere’s ride, as I just summarized was one of the many historical facts that I learned on a recent weekend trip to Boston with my wife.  With only a short time to see the city, we took a walk on the Freedom Trail, a terrific 2.5 mile walk through the history of our country’s birth.  A line of red bricks in the middle of the sidewalk marks the Trail and takes the follower to some of the most important locations in Revolutionary war time.  The Trail starts at Bunker Hill in Charlestown.  A monument on the crest of the hill marks the spot where American colonists engaged the British Army in one of the early battles and a musket demonstration by a volunteer in Colonial uniform helps the imagination.

Our next stop was the USS Constitution, “Old Ironsides”, the oldest commissioned ship in the US Navy that still sails our waters on ceremonial occasions.  First used during the war of 1812, the undefeated ship is moored in Boston Harbor and active duty sailors give the public a great tour that explains the workings of the ship and how sea battles were fought 200 years ago.  Crossing the Charles River into Boston proper, the Trail meanders through the North End neighborhood.  Now an Italian section with great local restaurants on every block, the North End is one of the oldest parts of Boston, and also contains Paul Revere’s house and the Old North Church.  Nameplates in the church identified which pews had been rented by the wealthier members of the congregation in 1775. Surprisingly, one of the pews was reserved for General Thomas Gage who was the commander of the British Army in New England.  We think of war in terms of a clear cut battle between two sides with little in common.  However the nameplate was evidence that at least prior to the outbreak of the Revolution, the British worshipped with the locals on Sundays. Heading south through the city, the Trail passed historic places such as Faneuil Hall, the Quincy Market, the sight of the Boston Massacre, and the Old State House before ending at Boston Common.  If you’re able, seeing a city on foot is the best way and the Freedom Trail in Boston provides a great history lesson as well as good exercise.

The American Revolution actually began on a bridge in Concord on the morning of April 19, 1775 when an organized regiment of the Colonial army, having been warned of the British approach by Prescott, advanced and fired on the Redcoats.  The ensuing battle pushed the British all the way back to Lexington.  Reinforcements from towns and farms between Lexington and Concord joined the Colonists in the bloody battle that day.  From that point, there was no turning back; America was at war with England and the next six years decided the fate of the two countries. 

Minuteman National Park encompasses the site of the old battle road between Concord and Lexington and there is a walking trail with markers of important events.  A visitor center provides a very good presentation that ties all of the events together.  Standing on the soil where history was made gives one a closer connection to the past and taking advantage of the history of Boston, our history, is something that a visitor should not miss.