Is There a "Diva" Chromosome?

I went to a funeral today, and, I shamefully admit, I was glad that I was not one who had to sit in the "reserved" section. The dearly departed was the ex-wife of my mother's first cousin. Though I am saddened by her loss, I was far enough removed from the spectacle that I was able to sit towards the back and watch the family. She had suffered from chronic medical issues and this was the time, expected but not expected, when she didn't get to leave the hospital and go home with her family. I arrived just over an hour before the services, with time for visitation with the family. No family was present, except for her grandson, my fourth cousin, who unsurprisingly, has not had much experience with funeral home customs, and he stood out in the hall chatting with all the men-folk as they came in. No one was in the visitation room but visitors until a half-hour before the service. Finally, my male cousin arrived and did his duty meeting and greeting and making small talk until time for the service. As the time rolled around to begin, the daughter still had not arrived, and her brother started talking about her need for "everything to be about her." Apparently, between coordinating schedules, doses of Dutch courage, and a heaping helping of Xanax, she found time to be more fluid than the rest of us do, and had, um, sort of not been on time for either the visitation the night before or the funeral services that were scheduled to begin. Thirty minutes after the pastor had seated the immediate family to begin the funeral, the daughter arrived with her father, my second cousin, and ex-husband to the dearly departed, among much jollity among the male funeral goers about getting lost on the way (they had been there the night before).

 
This was a difficult moment, because I am a firm believer that no one should judge the bereaved in the way they do (or don't) handle their grief. Yet, I'll admit, the conventional part of me, the part of me that thinks that everyone should put away those white shoes after Labor Day, go to the Fourth of July Parade, and BE ON TIME FOR YOUR MOTHER'S FUNERAL, was scandalized. Not even in the gossipy, "OMIGOD, Becky, look at her butt. It is so big" way, but in the "This just ain't right" way. I try hard not to be judgmental, but, I judged. I judged. Even during the service, she was so overcome by Sarah McLachlan's "Angel," her son had to leave his row with the pall bearers and support her in her DFO moment (Done Fell Out) while I watched and wondered if anyone else was visualizing pitiful dogs and cats from the ASPCA commercial. Even in the recessional, her son and daughter-in-law had to prop her up as she lolled across their strong and sympathetic arms out to the waiting limousine.

I don't make people wait for me to be ready. I am always the one catching the DFO, and have never, never, never made a scene in public, except for the Terms of Endearment moment I had at the hospital when they were failing to provide adequate hospice care to my mother. Even then, it wasn't for my sake, but for my mother - a world class attention getter - who was absolutely worth making a scene for if it would make her more comfortable in her last days. I have always been that way. When I was two and in the hospital, when they told me to be brave and hold still for the IV, I did. I don't try to top others when describing my pain, physical or psychic, as if loss and despair could somehow be ranked. I try to reassure wait-staff if they make a mistake with my order. I try to be absolutely invisible in every circumstance, never calling attention to myself in social settings. Anyone who has ever seen me teach or talk in faculty meeting would scoff at this, but it is absolutely true. Where is my Diva gene? Do I want one? Maybe a little bit of one?

And This Old Dog Is Still Learning

The old part of town, with a sign
in case you can't tell.

Warning - history teacher reflecting on a learning day coming right up. I took a road trip today. This narrative is really long, too, because I had the whole trip back to think about it. What better idea than to go somewhere I've never been when violent thunderstorms are predicted for the afternoon? I have never been to (only through) Corinth, MS, and decided I wanted to see the Civil War cemetery there. I didn't turn on Google Maps on the phone; I like to explore old towns by riding up and down the streets. The methodology for finding any ball field at any school has its own set of rules, but I'll give you the cemetery rules now. Ball field rules some other time, but they both have the same first rule. First rule - find the water tower. That's easy to spot and always close to the middle of town. Second - find the old part of town, which usually is right off the square. If there's not a square, head for the area that doesn't have sidewalks. Third - look for the First Baptist Church. EVERY town in the south has a First Baptist Church, and it's usually in the oldest part of town. Fourth - look for the cemetery. It always works. Not today. I got as far as #3, smack in the oldest part of town, and then...nothing. 

Battle of Shiloh Interactive Center

I started looking for higher ground (in the old part of town), knowing that cemeteries are usually placed on high spots. I started a cruising pattern, and, lo and behold, I found Shiloh Street. Knowing that the retreating Confederate Army from Shiloh regrouped in the already heavily fortified city of Corinth, I made a mental bet that the road probably came close to the path both armies followed as they marched south from Shiloh and then I realized Shiloh Road follows the railroad tracks. (Well, duh. "And it's one, two, three, what are we fighting for?") I saw a sign for the Corinth Battlefield  Unit of the Shiloh National Military Park Interactive Center (it was a big sign). It wasn't on Shiloh Road, but I could get to it from there. It is a lovely place, despite its history, and is sited, appropriately, on a hill overlooking the railroad - certainly a spot to make a stand. The visitors' center is a very modern, low built facility, and I appreciate that choice, because it allows the natural terrain and features to be the dominant landscape so that visitors can get a tiny glimpse into the hills, if not the mud, guts, weeds, and blood that would have covered the original scene. I didn't go into the center, though, because I only had an hour or so and I wanted to see the cemetery. 

In Vicksburg, the Confederate 
dead got a few more embellishments 
than the simple marble maker,

I don't mean to seem ghoulish, but I like visiting cemeteries, particularly historic cemeteries. There are an endless variety of headstones carved with florid sentimentality, simple stones with only names and dates, and, often, with the old cemeteries, markers with no names at all. Speaking of cemeteries, where was the Corinth battlefield cemetery? Is there a cemetery? Holly Springs, Oxford, and Vicksburg all have their town cemeteries (in the old part of town and close to the churches), and the Confederate dead lie not far from the Union soldiers. In every case, however, the Confederate section is far more ornate and significant in looks, but the Union soldiers are all decently placed, with markers indicating as much information as the Quartermaster's Office would have had at the time. I'm not surprised that the Confederate sections are so ornate. Johnny Reb has had a long time to stew over it all and isn't over it yet. More important to me, though, is that they lie together sharing in death the land they would not yield in life.

To my shame, I had run out of ideas on how to find the cemetery now that the usual tried and true method of dead reckoning had failed. If it wasn't by the churches and it wasn't by the battlefield, where could it be? I pulled into the McDonald's parking lot and noticed I not only couldn't get a WiFi signal (at McDonald's?), but I only had 3G service. The National Weather Alert that sounds like a drum and bugle corps was working just fine, though. I got at least five alerts, just in the time I was parked. Of course, I checked Facebook in case something Really Important had happened on my feed, and had a post from a friend with a video of Aretha Franklin's performance of Rolling in the Deep (from her new album) on David Letterman. I was thrilled, because I had heard the studio version, and though I think it's better than brilliant, I thought it was overproduced and was anxious to hear it performed live. But I only had 3G service. This meant that I could not get to that song until I got out of Corinth, or maybe even Mississippi. I opened Google Maps and asked for the location of the Civil War Cemetery . It wasn't anywhere close to where I was. As a matter of fact, it was on the other side of the tracks (cue foreshadowing). I had to go back to the main highway and start over. Believe me, my pride can take it. I started into the area where the cemetery was marked by Google Maps and immediately noticed it was not in the affluent part of town. As a matter of fact, I was in the poorest part of town I'd seen yet. I'm not talking about a fancy neighborhood that has gone downhill. This neighborhood has always had little plots of land, little houses, mostly wooden, and dirt driveways. This part of town has always been the poor part of town. Not a lot of people were out. I don't know why - it was close to four o'clock and school was out. It was strange that I didn't see many people around, although the area clearly was inhabited. Then I passed the giveaway.  

Corinth, MS Black History Museum

I passed the Black History Museum, beautifully maintained, but small, and in the historic "black part of town." Again, I made the decision to bypass the museum and head for the cemetery. And why was I heading for a Civil War cemetery in this place? Believe me, the irony of where I was, what I was doing, and the fact that I was still wanting to hear Aretha Franklin sing did not pass me by. Frankly, I also was thinking a lot about what Nina Simone had to say about Mississippi right about then. So, there in a part of town with small, neat, unimposing houses was a National Cemetery. I realized right away it wasn't just a Civil War cemetery, but, literally, the National Cemetery for the city of Corinth and the final resting place of its soldiers, known and unknown since the Civil War. I never did see that fancy stuff I expected to see around the Confederate part, but I did see markers dating back to the Civil War, a few with names, but the vast majority were 6"x 6" plain stubs of marble placed in the ground to mark the places of unknown soldiers. I saw the sections with soldiers from Korea, from World War II, Vietnam, and, finally, at the northern end (I have no idea if that was intended). the Union dead. No Confederates. Only Union markers, most of them anonymous. 

National Cemetery, Corinth, MS

I don't know if you can see the detail on the photo to the right in this picture, but it is marked , "4058, Mary Waters and Child."  I always enter a cemetery with a proper attitude of sincere respect, but that marker made me weak at the knees. The only explanation is that they were camp followers, probably with her husband, on his campaign, and had lost their lives. Once I got home and was simultaneously writing and researching this piece, I read that typhoid and dysentery were as common as bullets for causing deaths in the Corinth campaign. 

Unfortunately, I have become a walking barometer, so with a storm front coming in (and those crazy alerts screaming on my phone via 3G), I was out of breath and aching, and unable to go past the second row of any section. It was time to head home. The storm was coming and I wanted to get home before it became a dark as well as stormy night. On my way out, I found the marker that explained the origins of that National Cemetery. After the war, the U.S. government had to bury its dead properly (note that there was no Confederate government any longer, so the plans didn't include those dead).

Corinth battlefield cemetery
 immediately after the engagement
and then after they were relocated
 to Corinth National Cemetery

It established fourteen National Cemeteries to be built to provide a final resting places for the Union dead. Soldiers who had died in West Tennessee and Northern Mississippi were disinterred from their original burial ground and reburied in Corinth in land purchased by the U.S. Government. As I was writing this narrative, trying to find a bit more background information, I saw that there are only three Confederate dead in that cemetery. There were nearly 6000 people buried there by 1870. The marker went on the say that in the 1870s, all of the National Cemeteries were redefined to provide burial places for any honorably discharged members of the military.

This railroad crossroads had strategic
value second only to Richmond, VA

I never did find where the Confederate soldiers were buried. I did find out that there were two campaigns in Corinth. The first was after Shiloh, when the Confederate army scampered through and were able to scamper out, leaving the Union command believing they had the town and surviving soldiers surrounded. When they entered the city in 1862, the fortifications were there, but most of the citizens. as well as those experienced rebel soldiers, had left. It became a Union stronghold. Of course, the Confederates had to have Corinth back. It wasn't just a stop on a single railroad line, it was the crossroads of two major rail lines, critical lifelines of communication and transportation. In 1864, the Confederate army launched an offensive to regain the city, but, outnumbered 2-1, were defeated.

My brain is still spinning.  I still don't know where the Confederate soldiers of Corinth are buried. I don't know if the black community grew around the cemetery or if the cemetery was placed in the area of the old slave quarters, but I do know that if I had had the good sense to stop at the Battlefield Interactive Center or the Black History Museum, I would know more and these questions would not be haunting me. As I turned out of the cemetery, I noticed the old street marker said that I was on "Cemetary Road." That misspelling gave me something else to ponder, and wish that I had taken the time and care to stop and ask about. As if that wasn't enough, as I was researching images to supplement the photos I had taken, I discovered a historica marker for something called the Contraband Camp.

Statue commemorating the
Contraband Camp

It seems that escaped slaves seeking asylum would head to Corinth, since it was held securely by the Union Army.They were put to work, but they also were given arms and organized a black army unit of 1000 soldiers. Before today I had never heard the words "Contraband Camp," much less known what it was. And I'm still mostly ignorant of everything but its name. I'm sure I can do a Google search and find out a lot more, but there is no photograph, no narrative, no animated guide that comes close to touching my heart the way the real place does. The part of history that I'm passionate about is not the story of grand armies and the idea that "history is written by the victors," even though all of that is crucial. What touches my soul is when I think how personal it can become: knowing how to find the First Baptist Church in any small town in the south; the little misspelled street sign; the hand lettered sign for the Black History Museum; and a small marble stone that says "Mary Waters and Child."

Those men, women, and children belonged to someone, no matter how poor or how unimportant, and they deserve every bit of the recognition and regard that is given to the generals of those great armies. For the most part, today was filled with new lessons, but an old lesson still proves true. With his typical wit and wisdom, William Faulkner said, "The past is never dead; it isn't even past." I will go back, and it won't be just for sightseeing. I'll start earlier in the day and plan to learn a lot more.