Tag Archives: American history

Sunday Review: Red Clay, Running Waters by Leslie K. Simmons

Many of us know at least a minimal amount about the tragic Trail of Tears, in which the U.S. government forced the Five Civilized Tribes of the Southeast (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole) to leave their ancestral lands and move to the Indian Territory (now the state of Oklahoma) west of the Mississippi River. Thousands died during the journey.

What is less known are the events that led up to this calamitous outcome. In her biographical novel Red Clay, Running Waters, Leslie K. Simmons provides an in-depth look at how the Cherokee fought to retain their homeland by focusing the story on one important figure: Skaleeloskee, known to history as John Ridge. The son of a Cherokee leader, John was sent from his home to a mission school in Connecticut at the age of 16. He excelled at his studies and became an accomplished orator. He also fell in love with Sarah Bird Northrup, the white daughter of the school’s steward.

In the 1820s, a relationship between a native man and white woman was controversial, and the young couple’s desire to marry creates a firestorm of opposition. However, the two had formed a deep bond, forged in part because of their attraction to each other but more importantly because of shared ideals. Simmons excels at portraying their love, both in the beginning infatuation stage and over the course of time. After persisting for two years, John and Sarah finally were allowed to marry in 1824. The prejudice and discrimination they faced because of their relationship was merely a foretaste of what was to come.

Sarah traveled with John to Georgia to live in the Cherokee Nation, which stretched across parts of Tennessee, Georgia, and Alabama. The Cherokee were in the process of developing a constitutional government similar to that of the United States. John became a member of the National Council. However, because of Americans’ lust for good farmland and the 1828 discovery of gold in Georgia, the United States began to pressure the Cherokee to cede their homeland and move.

One mistake whites often make when thinking of native peoples is assuming that they are somehow monolithic in their thinking and in their attitudes toward whites. As I learned while writing my own novel Blood Moon: A Captive’s Tale, that is often not the case. Factions existed among the Cherokee with strongly held, opposing opinions about how to deal with the U.S. government’s demands. John, supported by Sarah, fought hard for what he thought would be the best solution, but equally passionate leaders argued for other outcomes.

Simmons portrays the conflict in detail in her novel. The arguments were complex, and some of the people involved were inconsistent and at times devious. Although highly educated and skilled at both writing and speaking, John wasn’t always trusted by more traditional Cherokee who viewed him as “too white.” The situation in the novel vividly shows the dilemma often faced by native peoples: do they adopt white ways to gain tools to help fight for their people, or is the cost too high in the loss of their culture and perhaps legitimacy in the eyes of their people?

This novel will be especially appreciated by readers who enjoy policy debates and situations with multiple shades of grey rather than a clear blank-and-white outcome.

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Filed under 19th century life, American history, Cherokee, Historical fiction, Native American, Trail of Tears

Surprising Research: Returning the World War II Military Dead

While working on a chapter that deals with the death of my main character’s uncle in the Italian campaign during World War II, I decided to look up how long it took to bring back the bodies of dead members of the U.S. military. Having grown up during the Vietnam War and seen the televised footage of caskets returning home, I assumed that it might take a few weeks or months at most. But the answer stunned me. The United States did not bring home the first shipment of World War II dead until October 1947, a full two years after the war ended.

More than 400,000 U.S. military personnel died during the war. The government offered the surviving families two burial options: 1) they could choose to have their loved ones buried in an overseas military cemetery, or 2) they could ask to have to the remains returned to the United States for burial.

World War II was a much more widespread and complicated conflict than any the United States had fought before; battlefields ranged across Europe, Africa, and Asia. The government realized that because the dead were found in such far-flung regions—and because not all of those places would be in friendly hands at war’s end—it was likely that many more families would want their loved one’s remains returned than had occurred after the end of World War I, which took place primarily in Europe.

Not all the dead were recovered. The remains of more than 280,000 Americans were found. (Some are still being found.) As it turned out, more than 171,000 families chose repatriation. In a little more than three-quarters of those cases, those who died were buried in private cemeteries, with the rest being eligible for burial in national cemeteries.

Why did it take so long to return the bodies?

  • First the war had to be won. The government had a policy against transporting remains while the conflict continued.
  • Second, after hostilities ceased, the military had an enormous job to get the live troops back home safely.
  • Third, recovering the bodies of the fallen, buried in temporary graves around the globe, was in itself a logistical nightmare.
  • Fourth, the government had to contact all the families of the dead to learn their wishes. The questionnaires did not go out to the families until 1946, and then the government had to compile the results so it would know what to do in each case.

Next week, I will write about the process of bringing the remains home.

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Filed under American history, fiction, Historical fiction, Research, Writing Historical Fiction

Sunday Review: Book Woman of Troublesome Creek

Kim Michele Richardson’s The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek is a beautiful example of a historical novel that sheds light on a little-known aspect of American history. Frankly, I wish publishers would look for more stories like this instead of endlessly bringing out books about the world wars.

This story focuses on two aspects of Kentucky’s history: first, the pack horse librarians who at some danger to themselves carried books and magazines into some of the poorer regions of the Kentucky hills and, second, the blue people of Kentucky, whose unusual color was caused by a recessive genetic condition and which caused them to be discriminated against in much the same way Black citizens were.

Richardson herself is a native of Kentucky, and she conveys an especially strong sense of the place and culture. Cussy Mary is a likable narrator, spunky without being overly modern. Through Cussy’s father, the story also highlights the hardships of Kentucky coal miners.

The book has a satisfying but not too saccharine ending and an epilogue that explains more about the historical background. I enjoyed the novel very much.

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Filed under Book Reviews, fiction

Twenty Years After 9-11

I’ve never posted this poem here, but today seems an appropriate day. I wrote it when my brother Keith was serving as a civilian contractor, driving trucks in Iraq, and he told me they weren’t allowed to stop when people ran in the road because of the threat of IEDs (improvised explosive devices). Please note that what happens to the trucker in the poem is something that I imagined, not that my brother experienced. Keith died last December of COVID-19, so now for me personally, this poem relates to two of the great tragedies in our country’s recent history.

Fatal Impacts

I. The Fireman

He never knows what wakes him—

the click of the furnace,

the dull scrape of a snowplow in the street,

his wife’s soft sigh—

but once awakened, he hears explosions,

the loud percussive impact of a body hitting street,

bursting in a wet and heavy instant

like a monstrous water balloon

or a dropped melon.

Like a repeating loop of newsreel,

he sees them jump from the towering pyre

and try to keep on running,

arms pumping, legs striding through the smoky sky

as they plummet to eternity.

And he who could not save them,

nor the comrades lost in the Twin Towers’ fall,

keeps faith by living with the burden of memory—

the smell of burning flesh and fuel

the acrid taste of powdered concrete—

and waits for it to crush him

so he can join the others.

II. The Trucker

The snores are loud in a tent of 40 men,

shaking him from sleep

just as the roar of jet engines

must have vibrated the tower windows

right before the impact.

Eighteen hours he drove that day,

hauling steak, detergent, and stacks of mail

to an army base near Fallujah.

As he returned,

a barefoot boy in dirty clothes,

scrambled over the gravel shoulder

and onto the single-lane highway.

The boy held out his hands before him

in the universal gesture for “Stop”

and squeezed shut his eyes.

Following orders,

the convoy neither slowed nor turned

but drove straight forward to avoid ambush.

His was the truck that hit the slender body,

the initial thud of impact

followed by a bump as he ran over a yielding mass,

each set of wheels encountering less and less of a barrier.

Now he lies on his cot, trying not to shudder,

and tells himself the boy would have grown to be a terrorist,

so that killing him was like squashing a baby scorpion.

Above the snores of his tent mates,

comes the high-pitched hum of an overworked heater.

And hearing its whine, he imagines

that somewhere in the desert,

a brother or uncle or cousin

wails over a broken body

and vows jihad.

Copyright: Ruth Hull Chatlien. May not be reprinted or published without the author’s written permission.

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Filed under poetry, This Date in History