Why is the study of history, especially our own American History, being relegated to the backwaters of importance, in this age of technological advances? One would think that, despite the allure of all that modern science and communication can give us, that technology would more keenly embrace the archiving, categorizing and studying of our past. Having taught since the early 1980's I've seen various media and methods of instruction come and go. Compared to the "good old days" of chalk, aromatic and stodgy printed matter and pre-historic mass media delivery systems, today's internet and cyber communication possibilities, make me feel like I've been given Santa's entire bag, plus rights to the sleigh and a platoon of reindeer! One would think that our students would eagerly await each new improvement, thrill at each new learning opportunity, so that we all might better understand from whence we have come.
To be fair, some of my students really do live this reality. Some of them simply cannot wait to share their discoveries with me, their eyes all aglow with the prospect of some nugget gleaned from obscurity, which will unlock doors of both wonder and understanding. For these cyber sleuths, history is a fertile ground for research which brings them immense joy and accomplishment. They are the motivated ones, those who do not necessarily need some engaging video game battle simulation to further their connectivity to our past. Their quest is personal and it is visceral, bounding far afield from just sight and sound. They want to imagine that, at the snap of a finger, they are magically transported to a time and place they never knew, except in books, movies and games - a place where touch, smell and taste, are equally important to their overall understanding of those who led us to where we are today. In short, they get it and they want to visit that moment in time that they "missed' by being born in these so-called modern times.
There was a time, when I was my students' age, that things like knowledge of our past, national pride, patriotism, heritage, nostalgia, Americana and a sense of place in the world's history, actually meant something. As kids, we had only as far to look as our own parents, to claim that birthright. Our dads, and in some cases our moms, had proudly worn the uniforms of the United States in the Second World War, thereby endearing themselves to all succeeding generations as "The Greatest Generation." We proudly learned to salute and honor our nation's flag, while reciting our Pledge of Allegiance. We learned and recited William Tyler's "American Creed." We contributed our nickels and dimes (and to us, that was often a lot of money!) to patriotic causes, such as monuments and veterans' assistance. We cried when our President, John F. Kennedy, was assassinated in Dallas. We cheered when Neil Armstrong walked on the Moon. We couldn't wait to get home and do hours of homework, so we could gain the privilege of watching our Western heroes bring law and order to the Old West, on our black and white television sets - the ones our parents couldn't really afford but owned them anyway, so that we kids might also be exposed to the new technology. We stood proud and tall, being patriotic at local parades, and we shared sad farewells when brothers, cousins and older friends (whom we really looked up to) went off to fight against the spread of communism, in the Vietnam War. And sometimes, we tried to eat our supper, while watching the evening news (at my house it was always on CBS, with Walter Cronkite) with our parents holding back tears, knowing that Vietnam represented once again, the brutality of war, perhaps an even more lethal one than they had endured, themselves.
I listened to my dad's "old Army buddies" who visited our home, and although we were never allowed to participate in the adults' conversations, we soaked up worlds of knowledge as they recounted to each other, the tales of sacrifice and service of "their war" and how they would do it again, if ever needed. We thought to ourselves, that we wish we had been with them, to share in that experience, because that was what was expected of any American, past, present and future. We were proud to be called Americans. Who among us, did not have some supply of uniform clothing, with the harmless, plastic weaponry, wishing to be like our fathers? In large part we admired, even idolized them and wished to someday become them. They were, in more instances than not, our own personal heroes, and many of us prepared ourselves in our hearts and minds, to be those men, when we grew into manhood.
Heroes? Oh yes, there were heroes other than my dad. What boy didn't pretend he was the rugged John Wayne, fighting outlaws and saving the day, in countless Western movies? Audie Murphy was the most highly decorated military hero our country produced, in the Second World War. He was greatly admired by my dad, so too, by me. I remember the day we heard that Audie Murphy had died, in a plane crash, on the south side of nearby Potts Mountain, some thirty miles from our home. Dad drove us there, while what was left of that airplane smoldered on the hillside. We walked around and I remember wondering why no one was there, to guard the site. I also recall that my dad wondered aloud, if he had suffered.
My dad idolized an old New York Yankees catcher, named Bill Dickey, telling me and all the boys whom he coached in baseball, that Dickey was the very best. Dad never saw Bill Dickey play, but when he, himself, was a catcher in the 1930's on the Andrew Lewis High School team (one of his proudest accomplishments in life) he tried to model his play after that of his baseball hero. Dad played baseball into his forties. I remember him playing catch with me, well into his fifties. I became a catcher, too, as did my daughter, in her childhood. She came to call him "Papa" and he was (even though she didn't realize it for a long time) her hero, too. The thing about heroes is that they don't have to save the world or do newsworthy things - they just have to be larger-than-life to young people who are in need of heroes. By the time my dad was in his eighties, his eyesight failed him and he could no longer fully enjoy the weekly baseball game that came on television. So, he would, from time to time, call me up and ask me to come over, to "watch" a ballgame with him. Of course, I was his eyes, and with each pitch that was thrown, the old catcher prepared to receive the ball, sometimes even moving his hands, as if to corral a breaking pitch. Blind as he could be, he called the game from his easy chair, asking me only to tell him if the new player whom he didn't know about, was a right-handed or left-handed hitter. He'd call out the pitch he'd selected in his mind, to let me know what it should be, then ask me if that was what was thrown. Quite often he'd get more than a little agitated at the real-life pitcher or catcher, for letting that hitter get hold of a pitch, and get on base. A lot of his old ball-playing buddies told me, when I was a kid, that dad was an awesome catcher, once even breaking both ankles in the first game of a double-header, yet still managed to play behind the dish, both games. I wish I had gotten to see him play baseball. A few short years later, my dad was holding the front door open for my mom to come in the house. He slipped and fell, fracturing his skull in the fall. Five days later, he passed away. I did not get to say goodbye. In his life, and in his death, he was my hero, and now that I see myself more each year looking like my dad, physically, I also realize that I have become him. I wonder if I'll ever deserve to be someone's hero?
So, you've been reading this for a while, and are probably wondering, "Coach G, where are you going with this? What do you want me to notice? What do you want to accomplish with me knowing these things?"
It really is a very simple thing that I'm trying to convey - we have lost our way, in my opinion. As a society, as a nation, as individuals, we have disconnected somehow, from the greatness that was once ours. Now, don't misunderstand me, please. I'm just as tolerant of others' viewpoints as I'd hope they would be for my own, but our nation's past and its traditions, are simply not as deeply rooted as they were just a few short decades ago. As I said in class, not long ago, change is best accepted, slowly, with folks having time to adapt, adjust and accept. Somehow, in the explosion of knowledge we call technology, our appreciation for our great nation and its people and what they accomplished so that we might own the "American Dream", has been put on the back burner.
This is neither criticism nor negativity towards other subjects, but why have we relegated the study of history to such a place at the table of America's being? Sometimes, as a history instructor, I feel as if what I try to accomplish with my young scholars, is unworthy in some academics' eyes, or perhaps I should postulate that it is not useful enough, compared to other studies and disciplines. After all, despite every possible inspiring lesson plan, with its inherent bells and whistles, we historians can only make the past but so appealing, to youngsters who are used to being entertained as much as they are being instructed.
So, where else (and how else) do we take our youth down the paths of nostalgia and historical identity, to help them realize just what a great nation they help inhabit? In a few short decades those of us who grew up valuing and promoting our heritage, will be gone, forever. Will my own grandchildren (currently two and four years old) ever even attend a July 4th parade, and if they do, will they only remember the fireworks? Who will tell them about the reasons for celebrating our nation's freedoms, and how it is their duty not only to be grateful, but to also teach their children and their children's children, to also give thanks for what we have always had? With all due respect to the other wonderful subjects our children study, we can't expect such lessons to come from grammarians, mathematicians and scientists. If our proud nation is to retain its rightful place (yes, I'm reminding you of that thing called Manifest Destiny) in this world such reminders of our past must come from historians (and the Americans they help influence).
You see, I have this scary dream, from time to time, that I'll wake up some morning, and all the reminders of our past, will be gone. No monuments. No plaques along the roadsides. No historic sites and parks. No museums. Battlefields? Gone. Replaced by golf courses, Frisbee golf courses and greenways. Mount Vernon? Monticello? Appomattox Court House? All re-purposed into condominiums and townhouses. Carpenters' Hall? The Smithsonian Institute? Williamsburg? Parking lots. Strip malls. Vaping parlors.
Come on now, coach...... don't you think you're over-baking this pot of beans, maybe just a little? We'll never really totally abandon our connections with our past, don't you think? We just have to adapt to our times and this generation, and sort of, well, re-interpret some of the "truths" you learned as a kid. I mean, after all, you did tell us in class, that you were not here to, how did you put it, "tell us what to think, but rather, 'how' to think." We're just doing what you said we should, right?
Remember, my young scribes, that I also said that we cannot re-invent the past, to suit our own sensibilities, and that to attempt to edit the past, could only distort all possible futures. We cannot speak for those characters whose lines have already been uttered. We may only seek to understand their words, their deeds, their motivations. We do not have permission from those who came before us, to change even one small particle of the past that they created. We may not deny that events occurred. We may not pretend that they occurred, or did not occur. We may not even sit in judgement - no not even that. We may, however, seek to understand their words, deeds, actions and motivations. In doing so, we help to enlighten our own shallow thinking, and not just be reactionary to things that, personally, either delight or offend our own sensibilities. TO KNOW THEM, WE MUST LISTEN TO THEM. We cannot just pick and choose what history is "good" and what is "bad." We must accept our common heritage, as it is, warts and all, that's all. And that is precisely why all of us have a duty to each other, to learn all the history we can hold - so that generations and centuries after we are all gone, history will still matter. It is the one constant, amid a world of changing circumstances, that we must hold on to - so that We The People will always serve as our nation's glue.
As I have been fond of saying, for most of my years as an educator: The founding brothers did not know what we would end up looking like, sounding like or acting like, but they knew that we were coming along, someday, and here we are. We owe it to them to give the world they bequeathed us, our very best, just as they gave the best of themselves and their world, so that it might continue to be worthy of being passed on to each succeeding generation. What greater gift can we give to our inheritors?