The Map

The 1770 map before (left) and after (right) its restoration.

I'm always fascinated when something old and shriveled and long-forgotten is found in some obscure corner of a dark and dusty room - like that time I found my penis in the drawer of a desk we were about to throw out. While it wasn't someone's manhood that was discovered this time, it was nonetheless noteworthy when a delivery truck stopped at the Brooklyn Historical Society's office in May 2010 to drop off some old and yellowed maps and prints to be catalogued.

When Carolyn Hansen - the society's map cataloguer - began the process of unrolling the old documents, she quickly realized that something was different about this latest trove. As she started to unfurl the map - browned with age and dry and crisp as a potato chip - it began to rip. She immediately stopped. She'd unfurled enough, though, to see something that took her breath away. There was something written on the map: 'Ratzer 1770'.

Now, to me [and probably you and the rest of the world], that name would have stirred nothing in our brains; except perhaps the realization that the poor bastard who created the map probably got teased like hell as a kid with such a shitty last name. For Hansen, though, the name was like Babe Ruth or Abraham Lincoln.

She immediately went to find someone when she ran into James Rossman, the chairman of the society who just happened to be in the building at the time. "We have a Ratzer map!" she told Rossman excitedly. To others in the room who heard the reverential tone in Hansen's voice, the discovery registered the same recognition it would have in you or I. To Rossman, though, it was as magical as it sounded when Hansen said it.

That's because the name Ratzer is invoked by scholars and cartographers the way 'John Lennon and Paul McCartney' is by scholars of music. While it is difficult to pick one song for which Lennon/McCartney is most famous, for Bernard Ratzer his masterpiece was Plan of the City of New York in 1770. In her hands, Hansen was holding an early, previously unknown edition Plan of the City of New York. Since at the time there were believed to be only three copies of the exact map still in existence, this discovery would be filed under 'Deal, Big'.

One copy of the known maps belonged to King George III, and remains in the British Library in London, where it is displayed occasionally. The other two — one legible, the other tanned and dark with shellac — are at the New York Historical Society,and remain in storage but for two or three times a year, when they are pulled out for students.

This fourth map - while a breathtaking discovery for Hansen and Rossman - presented a challenge. It was aged beyond its 240 years by its destructive shellac coating. In its current condition it was literally untouchable. The story of how it was transformed from that state to a clearly legible and mounted [behind glass, of course] legendary artifact unveiled at a private party at the society last month is equally amazing as its discovery.

The folks at the Brooklyn Historical Society knew that map had been delivered from the society’s warehouse in Connecticut, but they had no catalog listing the map or when it had been acquired. It had been shellacked and mounted on linen, with a wooden pole attached at the bottom. It had been cut in long strips to allow it to be rolled up for storage. The ripping that Hansen had heard was one of the brittle strips breaking.

As for its creator, Ratzer was a British Army officer in America as well as a surveyor and draftsman. After its publication his map was immediately praised as a step forward from those of his predecessors - although he was dismayed when his name was misspelled on initial versions of his maps and called the "Ratzen plan."

The map included a detailed depiction of New York's slips and shores and streets in Lower Manhattan. To eyes in 2010, the map is a mix of the familiar and the long-forgotten. "Manhattan, at least the part shown here, was mapped as precisely as any spot on the Earth at the time," Robert T. Augustyn, co-author of Manhattan in Maps: 1527-1995, told the New York Times. "There was no more beautiful or revealing a map of New York City ever done."

Ratzer included notable buildings like "The Powder House," "The City Hall," "The Prison," as well as a detailed topography including the hills and woodlands near Kips Bay and Turtle Bay that have long-since disappeared. The Ratzer map is "one of the ways we know about how this place looked before the grid really took hold," Matthew A. Knutzen, geospatial librarian in the New York Public Library’s map division, told the Times.

The bottom of the map contains a striking illustration of the view of Manhattan as seen from Governors Island, with ships, soldiers, waves and smoke. Brooklyn - or "Brookland," as Ratzer called it - appears as a patchwork of farms of different shades, bisected by Flatbush Road. That probably is the first time "farms" and "Brooklyn" have been in the same sentence since the early 19th century.

Ratzer issued another, far more common version of the map - in 1776 - that is nearly identical to the first except for a tiny line of text from the publisher. That is why Hansen became excited when she saw "1770" written on the map [even though, most likely, Ratzer actually completed it in 1769]. The 1770 version, however, is the one that was presented - almost immediately - to King George.

The two 1770 maps at the New York Historical Society were gifts of its founder, John Pintard, on January 4, 1810, according to its catalog. That makes the map Hansen found the first Ratzer discovered in 200 years.

Exactly where this fourth version originated is still unknown, although on the back of the linen that Hansen began unrolling last May she saw the name 'Pierrepont' clearly legible. While the Pierreponts were a prominent Brooklyn family, there is no indication as to how or when it ended up in the Connecticut warehouse.

Fearful of causing more damage, the society called in Jonathan P. Derow, a paper conservationist. "It was in terrible condition," Derow told the Times. "I suggested it not be rerolled. Every time it was handled, more pieces were broken apart, and the damage was increased."

It was too brittle to move to Derow's office, so he made a makeshift plastic tent in the society’s office and inserted a humidifier. The hard paper softened, and Derow carried it away. He washed the map for four days in an alkaline bath [don't try that at home, folks] that removed acid and grime, and he cut away the linen backing. Derow then aligned the pieces, using a strong magnifying glass and tweezers, and let the map dry, only to see tiny gaps appear between strips, the result of the paper’s shrinking. So, he rewet it and started over, but let the pieces overlap slightly. That worked: the map shrank perfectly in place.

White lines were visible where the map had ripped, the brighter inner fabrics of the paper standing out from the stained surface. Derow came up with a simply brilliant idea. He went to a bookstore specializing in old, obscure books and bought a handful. To give you an idea of how obscure the books were, when was the last time you picked up your copy of The Select Dialogues of Lucian, to Which Is Added, a New Literal Translation in Latin, With Notes in English [1804]? The key ingredient was the cloth paper upon which such old books were printed, as opposed to the wood pulp that is used today.

While book-lovers might chastise him, Derow took the books and baked them in his kitchen oven. He then boiled them in water to create a simply delightful stew. Although no doubt tempting, Derow didn't eat the mixture but instead painted the now-liquid cloth onto the white lines, matching them to the rest of the map. He then framed the finished product behind plexiglass.

Derow charged the society $5,000 for the restoration - which apparently is a reduced rate. Still, the work is amazing. From an historical standpoint, the document is now protected for hundreds of years.

copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Grade A

President Ronald Reagan's official White House portrait [above], taken early in 1981. His physical appearance changed noticeably after the assassination attempt on March 30th of that year.

When the nation celebrated the 100th anniversary of Abraham Lincoln's birth, they put his visage on the penny. The story is interesting: President Theodore Roosevelt, in the final days of his Administration [remember, in 1909 the new President (William Howard Taft) wasn't inaugurated until March 4th], Roosevelt sought to suitably commemorate Lincoln before he turned over the White House to his bloated successor. So, Roosevelt instructed a well-known sculptor named Augustus Saint-Gaudens to redesign the penny [actually, while he was at it, Roosevelt told Saint-Gaudens to start to redesign all the United States coins]. Unfortunately for Saint-Gaudens, he up and died before completing the Lincoln project, leaving Roosevelt to find a new designer.

Victor David Brenner - to my knowledge, no relation to the comedian - had previously sculpted a bronze plaque of Lincoln that Roosevelt admired. Running out of time, Roosevelt chose the Brenner bronze as the new face of the penny. Unfortunately, by the time the new penny design was complete, Roosevelt was off in Africa shooting things. Still, the Lincoln penny was minted and began circulating in August 1909 - still within a time frame to call it in honor of his 100th birthday.

Not quite so with another American icon. Back in 1829, when I was a boy, the country prepared to celebrate the 100th birthday of George Washington three years hence. Seeking a suitable way to honor the 'Father of His Country', a group of citizens in Maine organized a commission to construct a 'Washington monument' somewhere in the nation's capital. The idea was to have the monument up and ready by February 22, 1832 - the actual 100th anniversary of his birth.

Initially, private donations poured in and the effort was taken over by a national commission. While originally the Maine group wanted to have the monument financed entirely by private donations, had they stuck to that the odds are the Washington Monument would be about six feet tall. So, 1832 came and went. Somehow, the commission actually lost money. So, missing the desired date of the unveiling by a cool 22 years, the commission was distraught when the private funds dried up. For once, the Congress of the 1850s did something positive and made a $200,000 donation in 1854.

It looked like the monument was just around the corner. Then Congress slipped back into its' more traditional bone-headed thinking and for some reason invited foreign governments to donate a marble block as part of what was now going to be the Washington Monument with a capital 'M'. They were invited to donate the marble block with their own message of congratulations on what was now being billed as a 125th anniversary celebration of Washington's birth. The reason I say it was bone-headed is that this was smack in the middle of the Nativist movement in the U.S., when anti-Catholicism was the national pastime [soon to be replaced by baseball]. So, when Pope Pius IX made a marble donation on behalf of The Papal States, the Nativist political party known as the Know Nothings [which, incidentally, could be the name of every political party] decided they'd seen enough.

It had been decided that an election would be held to select members of a new Washington Monument Commission [for some reason, Congress didn't trust its $200,000 with the group who blew through the donated money]. So, the Know Nothings relied on that age-old American political tradition and rigged the elections. The result was a commission filled with Know Nothings who proceeded to - literally - remove the papal marble block and throw it into the Potomac River.

Congress thought this was rude and immediately rescinded its appropriation and work on the Monument was halted. The country was too busy tearing itself apart, what with a civil war and all, so work didn't resume until after that conflagration. By the time the Washington Monument was finally dedicated, it was for the 150th anniversary of Washington's birth, in 1882. Oh, and the papal marble block was replaced with a new one in 1982, at the direction of President Ronald Reagan.

A wonderful segue [if I do say so myself] into a post on the 100th anniversary of the birth of President Reagan today. First, in the interest of humanity and dignity, we should consider it a blessing that the poor man is not still with us. Indeed, at one time doctors were telling Nancy Reagan that her husband's physical make-up was such that he could well live past 100, even though he no longer opened his eyes - a period that lasted four years until his death in 2004. For a man as vibrant and sunny as Reagan, his long and drawn out decline into death was hard on the country but much harder - devastating - to his family.

So, today we celebrate not the ill dying Reagan but the 40th President of the United States. There are many, many examples of men who became unlikely Presidents. Indeed, out of the 43 men who have occupied the office, probably a third were perhaps the least likely men to grow up and become President in their city, town or village. Our current President certainly fits that mold.

Does Reagan fit into this category? Yes and no. Actually, it is probably more no than yes. Reagan's detractors would scoff at that and say that Ronald Reagan was the least likely - and least qualified - man to assume the Presidency - ever. Of course, these are folks who are too young to remember Warren Harding's stag parties in the White House, but that's another story.

While it is true that Reagan did not turn to politics until he was well into his middle-age, too often his detractors belittle what he did during that first phase of his life. Those who did not appreciate that period of his life now lie by the political roadside alongside the carcasses of hundreds of others who underestimated Ronald Reagan.

Those putting Reagan in the unlikely/unqualified category point to that early career - first as a radio announcer, and then a Hollywood actor - as proof-positive that he belongs there. His detractors love to call him a 'Grade B actor' - which is horseshit. His movies were 'B' movies, but Reagan's acting was not. Despite the fact that the scripts were dreadful and he was surrounded by true 'B' actors, Reagan's performances are actually quite good. Indeed, even setting aside the fact that you know the man is going to become President 40 years hence, watching these horrible films you find yourself focusing on Reagan's characters simply because they are the only ones who are interesting.

Of course, his detractors also try to have it both ways. They say he was a horrible actor in the 1940s and 1950s but then the greatest 'actor' of all time while President of the United States. This defies logic - which, of course, has never deterred the Left on anything. In fact, I would say that Reagan's acting was not 'B' - ever.

But his supporters also misread him when they try to underplay his acting abilities as President. That is just plain silly. The man played a role of a lifetime from 1981-1989. He used his knowledge of communication, voice inflection, projection and knowing his audience to simple perfection. That's not a slap at Reagan, by the way. In fact, another President I admire - a guy from Arkansas - might have beat out Reagan for an Oscar if they gave one to Presidents' for their acting ability.

So, the whole 'acting' angle is more complicated than people think. Because it is so complicated, in fact, that tends to lead me to believe that it is at the crux of any study of Ronald Reagan. We should study it because one of the traits of the greatest actors - being a brilliant observer of people and taking those observations to project those qualities into a character - helped make Reagan a successful President. He was intelligent, but not brilliant. This led some to say that he had literally no intellectual curiosity. He had a limited attention span for most of his entire life, which often led those who were trying to get their point across to him in a meeting walk away thinking Reagan was a dolt. More likely, the dolt was the guy talking to Reagan. Reagan had gotten whatever he wanted or needed from the person and, with that done, the President had simply 'turned off the TV', so to speak. He listened, he learned, he studied, and then his mind was gone from the discussion.

The one intrinsic part of Reagan's character, though, was understanding and knowing people. That is ironic because Reagan himself was perhaps the least 'known' person ever to occupy the White House. I don't mean he wasn't famous; I mean almost no one 'knew' Reagan. He had no best friend other than his wife, Nancy. Beyond her, of all the hundreds of men and women who would work closely with Reagan over his political career, not one could say they 'knew' Reagan. Perhaps because he could read people so well he refused to allow himself to be read by others. Perhaps it was his childhood experiences with an alcoholic father with a temper [never a good combination...unless you're Charlie Sheen] made him so introverted, so removed. We'll never know.

But that's where Reagan's acting comes in. Because, although Reagan was an introvert with no confidants, he made every single person he encountered in his life feel as if they knew Reagan; that they were his confidant, buddy, pal. His acting skills allowed him to watch people, learn from people, entertain them, make them feel like they were a part of his life while - in reality - shutting them out his true self entirely. And that ability made him the President he became.

So, in my view, rather than dismissing him as a 'B' actor, in fact we should recognize - and not in a derogatory way - the role that Reagan's acting talents played in his successful leadership of the country. His acting career was not something to be passed over in a few pages in a biography: it was a key component of his being.

In the most positive sense - and not as a swipe at him - I say Ronald Reagan was no Grade 'B' actor. In fact, he was Grade 'A'. The only 'B' I'd give him is an academic mark. I believe he was a good [B] - not a great - President.

So, Happy 100th birthday, Mr. President. In this equation, A + B = a man worth honoring on this day.

copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

A Witness to the Execution

Nick Gozik [above] turns 90-years old tomorrow. He spent the morning of his 25th birthday as a witness to the execution of Pvt. Eddie Slovik.

Tomorrow marks the 65th anniversary of the execution of Pvt. Eddie Slovik, who became the first U.S. service member executed for desertion since the Civil War. Although 48 other American soldiers were given similar varying sentences during World War II, Slovik's was the only one carried out.

Also 65 years ago tomorrow, Nick Gozik celebrated his 25th birthday. Gozik, now a 90-year old man living in Western Pennsylvania, spent his birthday as a witness to Slovik's execution. When Gozik celebrates tomorrow with his family, he will be thinking of Slovik and remember a courtyard in a castle-like villa at the edge of the town of Sainte-Marie-Aux-Mines in the Vosges Mountains in France. It was there that Slovik was executed - a botched one at that - by a firing squad.

Today, Gozik remembers Slovik not as a coward but as one of the bravest men he ever saw. "I've seen a lot of people in the service who didn't want to die, but he knew he was going to die," Gozik recently told the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. "He knew what to expect, and he was going to abide by it. He paid the price of several thousand people deserting during the war. Believe me when I tell you, to me, he was the bravest soldier I ever met."

Gozik and Slovik had very different paths to that French courtyard. Gozik joined the Army National Guard shortly after his 19th birthday - two years prior to U.S. entry into the war. Slovik was drafted well-into the conflict. When the United States did enter World War II, Gozik and his fellow Guardsmen ended up on active duty.

Gozik served with the Army's 28th Infantry Division in an artillery unit that made its way through Europe, ending up in eastern France, where he survived the Battle of the Bulge. On January 30, 1945, certainly, the war was still raging, but Gozik and his unit were taking a breather. Unexpectedly, however, he and a few others were told to report to battalion headquarters the next morning. They were not told why.

After reporting the next morning, they were taken by Jeep to what Gozik described as a castle-like villa at the end of town with iron gates, a bridge and a stone wall surrounding it. Strangely, a Catholic priest was waiting for them. Without a word, after Gozik and the other got out of the Jeep, the priest began to say Mass. After the impromptu service, Gozik and the other men entered a courtyard. "They had put up a large pole in the center of this area close to the stone wall," Gozik recalled. The murmurs began: somebody was being executed today.

Gozik recalled the shock that quickly ran through his mind as that reality sank in. While he and the others were supposed to stand at attention, Gozik recalled that nobody did. Instead, they watched as Pvt. Eddie Slovik - wearing his uniform stripped of its insignia, as mandated by the Army Code of Conduct for those to be executed for desertion - emerged from a small shed.

Slovik was flanked by two soldiers. His head was bare and he had a blanket draped over his shoulders. Gozik recalled that Slovik was a, "little fellow. He was going to be 25 years old in February. And that day was my birthday — January 31st. I was 25 years old." It was 18 days before Slovik's 25th.

Slovik was strapped to the post — his feet, legs, waist and under his arms — so that when he died, he wouldn't slump to the ground. Suddenly a Catholic priest — the same man who had celebrated Mass around the Jeep with Gozik and his comrades — went to Slovik's side. Gozik thought he made out the words of "Hail Mary." He is sure, though, that he accurately heard the end of their exchange: "'Eddie,'" the priest said, "'when you get up there, say a prayer for me.' Eddie said he would."

A satiny black hood, made by a local woman who had no idea what it was to be used for, was pulled over Slovik's head.

Twelve more soldiers marched in — the firing squad. They were supposed to be the best sharpshooters d from various units in the 28th. Either they weren't the best, or the 28th had a lot of poor shots.

They stood at attention as a general read the charges against Slovik. The declaration lasted five minutes. Slovik then issued a final statement that Gozik would only understand years later. The soldiers then loaded their riffles. Eleven had live ammunition, one had blanks. The general then said — "Ready, aim, fire!"

"When they fired, [although] you expected the bang to go off...it shook us — 12 rounds," Gozik remembered. "It just shattered the stillness of the day."

While loud, it wasn't successful. Although Slovik slumped a bit as he was hit, the shooters had not accomplished their job. A physician checked Slovik's vital signs. He was still alive. "I heard the doctor say, 'What's the matter with you guys? Can't you shoot straight?' " Gozik remembered.

So, the twelve shooters reloaded as Slovik began moaning and breathing heavily. The second fusillade finally ended Slovik's life.

Gozik and the other witnesses were ordered to march out before Slovik's body was removed. Gozik went back to his unit and told his comrades what he had seen. He wrote home about it.

But he never heard mention of it from his superiors. There was no article in Stars and Stripes.

While the death stuck with him, and he didn't feel it was right, Gozik at the time didn't know the details of Slovik's crimes and wasn't terribly curious. He'd seen men get shot before - and he still had the task of trying to get out alive himself.

In fact, even after the war, Gozik never knew the details of Slovik's crimes. It was only years later - when he came across William Bradford Huie's book The Execution of Private Slovik- that he learned the story.

Gozik learned that Slovik - like himself - had been born into a Polish-American family; in Slovik's case it was in Detroit. At 12-years old, Slovik was arrested after he and some friends broke into a foundry to steal some brass. It was only the first arrest. In fact, between 1932 and 1937, Slovik was caught for several incidents of petty theft, breaking and entering, and disturbing the peace. In October 1937, he was sent to prison, only to be paroled in September 1938. He wasn't free long. After stealing and crashing a car with two friends while drunk, Slovik found himself back prison by January 1939 - the same month that Nick Gozik enlisted in the National Guard.

While Gozik ended up in the middle of a war, Slovik sat in prison. In April 1942, Slovik was paroled once more, and obtained a job at Montella Plumbing and Heating in Dearborn, Michigan. There he met the woman who would become his wife, Antoinette Wisniewski, while she was working as a bookkeeper for James Montella.

At the beginning of the war, once paroled, Slovik's criminal record made him classified as unfit for duty in the U.S. military [4-F]. As the war dragged on, however, that status changed. While he had been deemed unsuitable for the military at first, by late-1943 more soldiers were needed. "They were scraping the bottom of the barrel," Nick Gozik remembered. "They needed cannon fodder. He didn't belong there. He didn't belong there. It was sad."

After Slovik was reclassified as fit for duty [1-A], he was subsequently drafted by the Army. He arrived at Camp Wolters in Texas for basic military training on January 24, 1944. By August, he was dispatched to join the fighting in France. Arriving on August 20th, he was one of 12 reinforcements assigned to Company G of the 109th Infantry Regiment, U.S. 28th Infantry Division - Gozik's division.

While en route to his assigned unit, Slovik and a friend - Pvt. John Tankey - took cover during an artillery attack and became separated from their replacement detachment. The next morning, the two found a Canadian military police unit and remained with them for the next six weeks. Tankey wrote to their regiment to explain their absence before he and Slovik reported back for duty on October 7, 1944. The U.S. Army's rapid advance through France had caused many replacement soldiers to have trouble finding their assigned units, so no charges were filed against them.

That was when Slovik made a fatal error. The following day, on October 8th, Slovik informed his company commander - Captain Ralph Grotte - that he was "too scared" to serve in a rifle company and asked to be reassigned to a rear area unit. He told Grotte that he would run away if he were assigned to a rifle unit, and asked his captain if that would constitute desertion. Grotte confirmed that it would and refused Slovik's request for reassignment, sending him to a rifle platoon.

The fatal error Slovik made was thinking that - if he deserted - he would be sentenced to jail. Since he was quite familiar with being incarcerated, he figured that was preferable to ending up getting shot. Of course, at the time, he couldn't know that that would be his fate.

So, the next day - October 9th - Slovik deserted from his infantry unit. His friend - Tankey - caught up with him. Tankey was not as convinced as Slovik that he would only be looking at jail time. Tankey vainly attempted to persuade him to stay, but Slovik's only comment was that his "mind was made up".

With that, Slovik walked several miles to the rear and approached an enlisted cook at a head-quarters detachment, presenting him with a note in which he stated his intention to "run away" if he were sent into combat. The cook summoned his company commander and an MP, who read the note. The MP - who, like Tankey thought Slovik didn't realize the potential consequences of his actions - urged Slovik to destroy the note before he was taken into custody. Slovik refused.

He was brought before Lieutenant Colonel Ross Henbest, who again offered him the opportunity to tear up the note, return to his unit and face no further charges. After Slovik again refused, Henbest ordered Slovik to write another note on the back of the first one stating that he fully understood the legal consequences of deliberately incriminating himself with the note, and that it would be used as evidence against him in a court martial.

Slovik was taken into custody and confined to the division stockade. The divisional judge advocate, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Sommer, again offered Slovik an opportunity to rejoin his unit and have the charges against him suspended. Sommer even offered to transfer Slovik to a different infantry regiment where no one would know of his past and he could start with a "clean slate". Slovik, still convinced that he would face only jail time, declined these offers, saying, "I've made up my mind. I'll take my court martial."

The 28th Division was scheduled to begin an attack in the Hurtgen Forest. The coming attack was common knowledge among soldiers like Gozik. Casualty rates were expected to be very high, as the prolonged combat in the area had been unusually grueling. While America continued to have serious advantages over the Germans in armor and air support, the terrain and weather reduced that advantage considerably.

Here, it is important that we not operate under the facts as we now know them - namely, that the war would end in a few short months in Europe. In fact, in October 1944 it was thought that the war could in fact linger on indefinitely [although by that point there was no doubt that the Allies would win]. When considering the Slovik case, too, it is important to note that the rates of desertion and other crimes within the armed forces had begun to rise.

So, it was in that context that Slovik was charged with 'desertion to avoid hazardous duty' and tried by court martial on November 11, 1944. The prosecutor, Captain John Green, presented witnesses to whom Slovik had stated his intention to "run away." The defense counsel, Captain Edward Woods, announced that Slovik had elected not to testify. The nine officers of the court found Slovik guilty and sentenced him to death. The sentence was reviewed and approved by the division commander, Major General Norman Cota.

Perhaps realizing that he had made an incorrect assumption, on December 9th, Slovik wrote a letter to the Supreme Allied commander, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, pleading for clemency. However, desertion had become a systemic problem in France, and the surprise German offensive through the Ardennes had begun with severe U.S. casualties, pocketing several battalions and straining the morale of the infantry to the greatest extent yet seen during the war. It was in that context that Eisenhower confirmed the execution order on December 23rd, noting that it was necessary to discourage further desertions.

Needless to say, the sentence came as a shock to Slovik. It is understandable why Slovik had expected a dishonorable discharge and a jail term, as he had seen that same punishment meted out to other deserters from his division while he was confined to the stockade. Indeed, almost 40,000 U.S. service members evaded combat during World War II. Most were tried by lesser courts-martial, but 2,864 cases were heard by general courts-martial and received sentences from 20-years to death.

After reading about Slovik years later, Gozik finally made sense out of Slovik's last statement. Slovik's last words were "They're not shooting me for deserting the United States Army - thousands of guys have done that. They're shooting me for that brass I stole when I was 12 years old."

Today, Gozik calls the execution a blatant injustice. "If he died as a deterrent to eliminate the possibility of further deserters, it really didn't make a difference," Gozik said. "It was just awful as far as I'm concerned."

Slovik was buried in a section of a French cemetery reserved for 96 American soldiers executed in the European Theater. All but Slovik had been hanged for violent crimes — the murder or rape of civilians. For years, a Michigan politician named Bernard Calka - himself a World War II veteran - had tried to get Slovik's remains returned to the United States. In 1987 Calka finally succeeded, convincing President Ronald Reagan to order Slovik's remains be returned. Calka raised $8,000 to pay for their transfer from France to Detroit's Woodmere Cemetery, where Slovik was reburied next to his wife, Antoinette.

For years, Gozik wanted to pay his respects to Slovik. Finally, in November 2010, Gozik decided it was time to go to Detroit.

While there, he wanted to meet with Slovik's sister. "I just wanted to tell her what a brave man her brother was, and whatever happened to him, he did not deserve it," Gozik said. "I wanted to put her mind at ease that there was no justification." Slovik's sister declined to meet. The memories were still too painful.

So, on the day after Veterans Day 2010, Gozik and many of his family members went to Slovik's grave. With the help of a daughter, he placed a small American flag at the grave.

"It was the end of my journey for Eddie," Gozik said. "I did what I wanted to do, but I'm sorry it took that many years."

copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

The Surly Bonds of Earth - 25 Years Later

The crew of the Space Shuttle Challenger, from their official November 15, 1985 photograph. In the back row from left to right: Ellison S. Onizuka, Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Greg Jarvis, and Judy Resnik. In the front row from left to right: Michael J. Smith, Dick Scobee, and Ron McNair.

"We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and 'slipped the surly bonds of Earth' to 'touch the face of God.'"

President Ronald Reagan
Address to the Nation after the Space Shuttle Challenger Disaster
January 28, 1986

copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

With A Voice Like Ella's Ringing Out

Legendary performer Ella Fitzgerald and her personal assistant, Georgiana Henry, await their booking on gambling charges in a Houston police station [above], October 7, 1955.

I had intended this post for Monday's Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday. Unfortunately, I spent the week in deep negotiations with my publisher over the next book. Apparently, the tentative title - The Romanov's: No, I Don't Give A Shit, Either - was going to be a deal-breaker. So, with that out of the way, January 22nd will have to do.

The story is one that seems anachronistic when you consider our President or the fact that we have a national holiday celebrating the life and legacy of King. Back in October 1955, though, King was unknown and President Obama was six years away from even being born. In Houston, Texas, in 1955, you can bet that the idea of an African American [of course, that term would not have been the one used] President of the United States would have so shocked the consciousness of the inhabitants that you would have had a better chance of convincing them that aliens from Mars had landed on Interstate 45.

Try, then, to read this story in the context of the times and allow yourself to be amazed at how life in America has changed so much in 55 years that we might as well be talking about 550 years.

Nowhere is that more evident than in the photo that leads off this post. It is the look of shame, devastation, humiliation and anger. It is a picture of two women - one of whom may have been the greatest female vocalist of the 20th [or any other, for that matter] century. A woman who, later in life, would be rightly celebrated for all of her greatness.

None of that, of course, is apparent in the above photo. It was taken by news photographers who were tipped off by the Houston Police Department that there was going to be a bust at the Houston Music Hall. The night was October 7, 1955. The event at the Music Hall was part of jazz impresario Norman Granz' 'Jazz at the Philharmonic' tour, which included other jazz legends like Dizzie Gillespie, Buddy Rich, Oscar Peterson, Gene Krupa and Lester Young. Saxophonist Jean-Baptiste Illinois Jacquet, a tenor saxophonist from Houston - also on the bill - was the prime mover in bringing the show to Houston and making sure the concert (which featured both black and white musicians) would be integrated.

Two shows were scheduled that night. The raid that landed Fitzgerald and Henry in front of photographers took place before the end of the first concert. Fitzgerald, along with Illinois Jacquet, Granz and Fitzgerald's personal assistant Georgiana Henry were arrested. The charge? Shooting dice in Fitzgerald's dressing room at the Music Hall.

As the Houston Chronicle quaintly recounted in its October 8, 1955 edition:

Vice squad officers said three of the five -- Dizzie Gillespie, Illinois Jacquet and Georgiana Henry -- were actually crooning to the bones when police walked into Ella Fitzgerald's dressing room back-stage at the Music Hall.

Miss Fitzgerald and show producer Norman Granz were "just present" in the back-stage dressing room while the jazz show was going on in the Music Hall, the officers said.

However, all were taken to the police station and charged. They posted $10 bonds.

If there was any doubt that the raid was planned as a warning against future attempts at integrated shows, the group didn't stay at the police station for long. In fact, they made it back in time for the second show, leaving audiences unaware of what had taken place. Making a statement against integration was one thing. Causing the owner of the Music Hall to lose the bookings from the second show was something else.

That the concert happened at all was a small miracle. Granz wanted to run the show - which traveled throughout the North - in at least one Southern city. Illinois Jacquet insisted that his hometown be that city. He felt that this was a rare - perhaps once-in-a-lifetime - opportunity to demonstrate the possibilities of integration in his hometown.

According to an article in Houston History Magazine, the story was detailed in Dizzy Gillespie’s now out-of-print autobiography, To Be, or not … to Bop. According to the jazz legend, Granz told him that when he rented the Music Hall, he added a non-segregation clause to the contract. Upon arriving at the venue, Granz removed the signs denoting the 'white' versus 'black' restrooms, and refused to pre-sell tickets in case patrons attempted to section off parts of the venue for whites only.

In the build-up to the show, it was not as though Granz and Illinois Jacquet were interested in stealthily coming in and out of town with nary an attempt at publicity. Indeed, Illinois Jacquet took on the role of spokesman, visiting Texas Southern University, local high schools and Houston radio stations to promote the event. Both Granz and Illinois Jacquet had every intention for the show to become the first major concert in Houston with a desegregated audience.

But how did these two men figure to generate an audience - at least of whites - to desegregate the concert? That was where Ella came in. Granz and Illinois Jacquet knew that - in addition to Gillespie and the others - a line-up featuring Ella Fitzgerald would bring out the white audience. "A lot of people never saw Ella, or they may have seen Ella but not a lot of the musicians," Granz recalled later. "I got to the concert hall early, and somebody came up and wanted to change tickets because they were sitting next to a black. And I said, ‘No, you can have your money back, but we’re not going to change your seat.’" Unfortunately [for him], the customer took his money back.

Fearing problems because of the forced integration, Granz hired eight Houston Police Department officers as guards. Although no crowd disturbances or violence occurred that evening, for Ella Fitzgerald, her personal assistant Henry, Gillespie, and Illinois Jacquet, trouble was planned by Houston’s vice squad, headed by an asshole named Sergeant W.A. Scotton. It was Scotton who planned and operated the sting mission to arrest the performers.

After the first concert, five plains-clothes officers and Scotton obtained backstage access and burst into Fitzgerald’s dressing room with guns drawn and pointed at the inhabitants. In one corner of the room, Jacquet and Gillespie played craps, while Fitzgerald and Henry drank coffee and had a piece of pie in between sets.

Granz recalled the incident in Gillespie’s book stating that he heard the commotion, and when he came in, he saw Scotton headed to the bathroom, and immediately suspected the cop's intention was to plant drugs. With amazing boldness - not to mention bravery - Granz said to Scotton, "I’m watching you." With that, the cop turned around, walked toward Granz and jabbed his drawn revolver at the musician's stomach. With almost a trace of a smile, the Scotton said, "I oughta kill you, now." For a frightening second Fitzgerald, Henry and the others thought the officer was going to do it. Perhaps it was only an attempt to scare Granz and the others. Or, perhaps, Scotton caught himself before crossing a line he had not set out to venture beyond. Whatever the reason, Scotton withdrew the gun from Granz' stomach and joined the other members of the vice squad om making their arrests of Gillespie, Illinois Jacquet, Fitzgerald, Henry, and Granz for gambling.

While cuffed and being led out, Granz called out to the manager of the Music Hall that the second set would have to be cancelled. With the thought of the lost revenue - not to mention the fact that a cancelled show would likely cause the crowd to react unfavorably in an already tense situation, the manager begged Scotton to stop. Instead, the vice squad commander said - out of earshot of the arrested performers - that he would bring the group to the police station, book them, and make them pay a fine. But he would return them before the second show.

Of course, that had been the plan all along. As had been the notification to the Houston press of the pending arrests. For, when the group arrived at the station, they were greeted by reporters and photographers.

To further their humiliation, the performers were forced to sit on benches awaiting processing while photographers shuttered away with their cameras. The look on Fitzgerald's face above says it all. The degradation, humiliation and sheer powerlessness. It was a reinforcement to her - and others - that no matter how famous, successful or wealthy someone like Ella became, she was still African American. While her treatment was certainly more humane than would have been the case had she not been a celebrity, nonetheless it was a reminder that her America had a place for her, and expected her to stay there.

But she wouldn't stay there. That, in fact, is what we celebrate when we remember Martin Luther King, Jr. Although the most celebrated of the leaders of the Civil Rights movement, King was by no means a singular force. As powerful as his oratory and leadership skills were, without the tens of thousands of others - African American and white - forcibly integrating the country, it would never have happened. It is the legacy of those tens of thousands that we also celebrate.

And it is a celebration for us all.


copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Who The Hell is Ke$ha?

Every year I stay up late to watch Dick Clark's ball drop. Maybe I was distracted by Ke$ha's declaration to Ryan Seacrest that her 2011 resolution was "not to be a douchebag", but I never saw the ball drop last night. I think that means she's a douchebag.

Happy New Year. Being naturally morbid, every New Year's Day I think to myself - who has just celebrated their last New Year's Day? That is, which celebrities out there don't realize it yet but they will die sometime during this next year? Of course, it doesn't just have to be celebrities: often I'll wonder, 'Is this it? Is this the last year for me?' I told you: morbid.

So, on this first day of another year that no doubt holds something bad in store, here's a look back on all of those who rung in the New Year 2010 - most not knowing it was their last New Year.

While his public career died over 50 years ago, author J.D. Salinger died on January 27, 2010 at the age of 91. That's a pretty good run, 91 years. Since he hasn't had to work in 50 of those years, I'd say that's a damned good run, indeed.

One of the oldest Klansmen in the country died, too. A United States Senator by hobby, racist Sen. Robert Byrd [D, W Va.] died on June 28, 2010 at the ancient age of 92. Yes, Salinger was also ancient - but no one's seen him since the 1950s. Byrd refused to go away. I'm not sure if he was buried in his Klan gear, although it would have been fitting [well, if not, I'm sure they could've taken it to a tailor to get it properly fitted].

Also in politics, one convicted and one convicted-overturned politician no longer have to worry about raising campaign cash. Former Sen. Ted Stevens [R, Alaska] died in a plane crash - the second of his life - on August 9, 2010 at the age of 86. Stevens - as I've written about before - was convicted in 2008 only to have it overturned the next year. Unfortunately for him, that was too late, because he'd already lost his 2008 reelection campaign. The old fashioned convicted pol - former Rep. Dan Rostenkowski [D, Ill.] - died two days later, on August 11, 2010 at the age of 82.

From the history/government department, President Kennedy's speechwriter and great Camelot propagandist Theodore Sorensen died on October 31, 2010 at the age of 82. Someone who declared himself 'in charge' - but who was not President - also died. Alexander Haig - who served his country with distinction as a military officer, presidential aide, and [to a lesser extent than in the previous roles] Secretary of State - died on February 20, 2010 at the age of 85. Just recently, diplomat Richard Holbrooke died, on December 13, 2010, at the age of 69. The woman who had the great misfortune to dedicate the best years of her life to a scoundrel like former Sen. John Edwards [D, N.C.] also lost her life; Elizabeth Edwards died on December 7, 2010 at the age of 61.

Participants in America's Civil Rights movement continue to disappear as those tumultuous years fade further into the past. Former head of the NAACP, Benjamin Hooks, died April 15, 2010 at the age of 85. [EDITOR"S NOTE: I'm definitely noting the pattern of dying in the mid-80s. If our average span of life in this country reaches 85, then those of us working today have about as much chance of seeing money left for our Social Security as we do seeing any of the people in this post appearing on Dancing with the Stars...although I think I just hit on a new TV show: Dancing with the Dead Stars!]. Another great Civil Rights leader, Dorothy Height - who led the National Council of Negro Women for 40 years (1957-1997) - died on April 20, 2010 at the age of 98. One of the nine African American students who helped integrate Arkansas public schools in 1957, Jefferson Thomas, died September 5, 2010 at the age of 67. Finally, Ronald Walters - a pioneer in the Civil Rights movement who organized the sit-ins at drug store counters in Wichita, Kansas and Greensboro, North Carolina - died on September 10, 2010 at the age of 72.

Hollywood - as usual - provided the most noted deaths. From behind the camera, director and screenwriter Blake Edwards - whose works ranged from The Pink Panther to Days of Wine and Roses - died on December 15, 2010 at the age of 88. Director Arthur Penn - whose films included Bonnie and Clyde and The Miracle Worker - died on September 28, 2010; ironically, also at the age of 88. Another noteworthy death was that of producer Dino De Laurentiis [Serpico, Three Days of the Condor], who died on November 10, 2010 at the age of 91.

From in front of the camera, actor Tony Curtis [and his toupee], died on September 29, 2010 at the age of 85. Father of actress Jamie Lee Curtis, the Some Like it Hot star's real name was Bernard Schwartz. Good choice on the name-change, Tony. A sister of one of the great anti-Semites of our day died, when actress Lynn Redgrave died on May 2, 2010 at the age of 67. While her career took a hit when sister Vanessa rallied to the Palestinian Liberation Organization's cause in the 1970s and 1980s, Lynn still managed to maintain her career and her sanity. The movie Airplane! lost two of its central characters as Peter Graves died on March 14, 2010 at the age of 83; while Leslie Nielson died on November 28, 2010 at the age of 84.

From the world of music came the death of a legend: the incomparable Lena Horne died on May 9, 2010 at the age of 92. Teddy Pendergrass - whose career was largely destroyed after a horrific car accident in 1982 that left him paralyzed - died early in the year on January 13, 2010 at the age of 58. The man who tried to turn Frank Sinatra into Fabian, producer Mitch Miller, died on July 31, 2010 at the age of 99. Since there is no category for Dead Food Producers, we'll slot Jimmy Dean here under music. The singer of "Big Bad John" died on June 13, 2010 at the age of 81.

Television - a medium that was popular from roughly 1950-2000 - also lost some from its family. Art Linkletter, the long-time host of Kids Say the Darndest Things, died on May 26, 2010 at the age of 97. The second Trapper John M.D., Pernell Roberts, died on January 24, 2010 at the age of 81. The white half of the dynamic interracial television paring in I Spy, Robert Culp, died on March 24, 2010 at the age of 79. In addition to his role with Bill Cosby on that show, Culp was a genius as Ray Romano's father-in-law on Everybody Loves Raymond. Finally, nearly exactly 174 years after his death at The Alamo, Davy Crockett died again , this time with the passing of actor Fess Parker, who portrayed the legend in the miniseries Davy Crockett in 1955 [alongside co-star Buddy Ebsen for your trivia buffs]. Parker died on March 18, 2010 at the age of 85.

In sports, a number of legends passed. The man almost universally considered the greatest coach in the history of basketball, John Wooden, died on June 4, 2010 at the age of 99. Two baseball Hall of Famers died: manager Sparky Anderson - who captured World Series titles in both the National [Cincinnati Reds] and American Leagues [Detroit Tigers] - died on November 4, 2010 at the age of 76; and pitcher Bob Feller died on December 15, 2010 at the age of 92. A man who should be in the Hall of Fame, iconic Yankee owner George Steinbrenner, died on July 13, 2010 at the age of 80. While from the world of football, Hall of Famer George Blanda - whose unbelievable career lasted from 1949 to 1975 - died on September 27, 2010 at the age of 83.

Undoubtedly, I've missed folks. It was a long year, remember. And, as 2011 begins, we know that next year - assuming I'm not one of them - I'll be writing a blog post about those who are here today celebrating New Year's, unaware in most cases that it will be their last.


copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.

Don't Know Much About History

The 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry [above, as depicted in an 1890 lithograph by Louis Kurz and Alexander Allison showing the ill-fated attack on Fort Wagner in 1863], one of the first formal units of the United States Army to be made up entirely of African American men, fought on for the North and the Union - no matter what you read in a Virginia history text book.

File this one under 'Things I Couldn't Make Up'. Those of you who hear a Southern accent and automatically think "red-neck, racist moron", well shame on you. Shame on you, but I can also understand why the Southern drawl does conjure up 'slow' in your mind. There's the cliche about the 'South' and American History: namely that nothing has happened in this country - nothing worth remembering, anyway - since Lee surrendered to Grant at Appomattox Courthouse.

There's a lot of truth in that, although it is still a cliche. Yet that cliche isn't helped by recent news out of Virginia that there's some history text books being used there with the following factual inaccuracies:

1) New Orleans began the 1800s as a bustling U.S. harbor
2) The Confederacy included 12 states
3) The United States entered World War in 1916
4) Men in Colonial Virginia commonly wore full suits of armor
5) No Americans survived the Battle of the Alamo

For those of you who don't recognize those as inaccuracies, the correct answers are:

1) It began as a Spanish colonial harbor
2) It had 11 states
3) The U.S. entered the war in 1917
4) No they didn't
5) A few did survive

And these are just some of the errors - there are literally dozens of them - that historians have found in Virginia's textbooks since state officials ordered a review of textbooks by Five Ponds Press in response to an article in the Washington Post back in October.

The Post article in particular highlighted a very interesting claim in one textbook that said African American soldiers fought for the South in large numbers during the Civil War. Even your average moron - just on intuition - knows that's probably not true. That's the kind of 'history' one could find in Southern textbooks in the early 1900s; I'd thought we'd taken care of that. Apparently not.

Our Virginia: Past and Present, the textbook including the African Americans fighting for the South claim, has many other inaccuracies. And similar problems were found in another book by Five Ponds Press, Our America: To 1865. Yes: I'm guessing to many Southern racists they do consider it 'our America' until 1865.

"I absolutely could not believe the number of mistakes - wrong dates and wrong facts everywhere. How in the world did these books get approved?" Ronald Heinemann, a former history professor at Hampden-Sydney College, asked the Post rhetorically. He reviewed Our Virginia: Past and Present. In his recommendation to the state, Heinemann wrote, "This book should be withdrawn from the classroom immediately, or at least by the end of the year."

As I say, it all started after the Post reported that Our Virginia included a sentence saying that thousands of black soldiers fought for the South. That claim is one often made by the lunatic fringe and other Confederate heritage groups but rejected by most people here on Earth. The funniest part was the response of the book's author, Joy Masoff. With a straight face she said at the time that she found references to this 'fact' while doing research on the Internet. And you're wondering why 67% of Americans think George Washington fought in the Civil War?!

To deal with the embarrassment, Virginia officials commissioned a 'blue ribbon' panel of experts to review all history textbooks. The results are disturbing, to say the least. Some reviewers submitted lists of errors that ran several pages long. State officials plan to meet January 10, 2011 to review the historians' concerns. "The findings of these historians have certainly underscored and added urgency to the need to address the weaknesses in our system so we don't have glaring historical errors in our books," said Charles Pyle, a spokesman for Virginia's Department of Education. His brother, Gomer, was unavailable for comment.

As for the publisher, Five Ponds Press [based in Weston, Connecticut of all places] doesn't even try to deny that its books have errors. "Most of the items you reference have been identified, and we sent a notice a week ago to the Virginia Department of Education with our intent to make these edits in the book's next printing," Lou Scolnik, owner of Five Ponds Press, wrote in an email response to questions from the Post.

At least Scolnik is an honest crook. The Virginia Department of Education has been telling people for years that they have the strongest 'standards' required of textbooks in the entire country. Those 'standards' - brilliantly called the Standards of Learning - includes lists of themes that each textbook must cover. It turns out, those standards aren't so stringent after all.

For one thing, the reviewers that the department uses are not scholars. No. They are often elementary school teachers. Now, no offense, but my experience has been that most elementary school teachers chose that speciality because their base of knowledge doesn't exceed the sixth grade. I'm not sure they should be the ones reviewing the textbooks. Gomer's brother pretty much proved that with his ridiculous statement that, "Teachers [reviewing the books for facts] are not reading textbooks front to back, and they're not in a position to identify the kinds of errors that historians could identify." Really. That's what he said.

Five Ponds Press has cornered a growing portion of Virginia's $70 million-a-year textbook market. Many larger publishers employ professional historians, but all of the books by Five Ponds Press have been written by Masoff, who is not a trained historian. I'm doubtful she's a trained anything. If you'd like to read some other titles by Masoff, Google Oh, Yuck! The Encyclopedia of Everything Nasty and Oh, Yikes! History's Grossest, Wackiest Moments. No, really: those are the titles. Unfortunately, Masoff may be looking for work now: Scolnik said Five Ponds is in the process of hiring a professional historian from a Virginia university. Wow - there's a novel idea.

Four of the five experts reviewed books published only by Five Ponds Press. The fifth reviewer, DePaul University sociology professor Christopher Einolf, has written a book on a Civil War general. He reviewed Civil War content in nine Virginia textbooks published by companies other than Five Ponds Press.

Einolf's review found that one book - from publisher Houghton Mifflin Harcourt - has particular problems. Einolf took issue with some characterizations, saying, for example, that Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman did not "destroy" Atlanta but instead burned portions of the city. While I realize that's little consolation to the people who went up in flames, but nonetheless there is a difference between destroying a city and beating the hell out of it.

Einolf also found problems with the textbook's treatment of Pickett's Charge. While the suicidal thrusts involved 5,000 men, it actually involved more than 10,000. 5,000, 10,000 - what's the difference, right? In a shocker, Einolf said many of the other books neglect key elements, such as the role of African Americans in 19th-century Virginia. "Making a mistake is one thing. Ignoring the role that African Americans played in the state is almost as bad," Einolf told the Post. Actually, Professor, I think the latter is worse than the former, but this post isn't dedicated to the wonders of those in higher education.

Perhaps the most succinct word on all of this came from historian Mary Miley Theobald, a former Virginia Commonwealth University professor. She reviewed Our America and concluded to the Post that it was, "just too shocking for words. Any literate person could have opened that book and immediately found a mistake," she said.

The key words there, folks, are 'any literate person'. That disqualifies most elementary school teachers right there.


copyright 2011 by EBBP Redux. If you are reading this on a blog or website other than EBBP Redux or via a feedreader, this content has been stolen and used without permission.