Lexington and Concord - The Shot Heard 'Round the World

Today is the 240th Anniversary of the Battle of Lexington and Concord, considered to be the first battle of the American Revolutionary War. This was the culmination of Paul Reveres' "Midnight Ride" captured so eloquently by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in his epic poem. When I was in fourth grade we had to memorize this lengthy poem. I still know some, if not most, of it by heart. I will reprint it here for those who have never had the pleasure of reading it. But first, as I often say, a little background.

By the spring of 1775 the colonies were seething with resentment and anger at the British for a series of wrongs incurred over the course of a decade. These wrongs included "taxation without representation" and the quartering of soldiers in private residences. The Stamp Act and the tea tax were already behind us on this April morning. The midnight ride that had awakened the countryside was the result of a new transgression on the part of the British and General Gage, who was then the military Governor of Massachusetts.

Sam Adams and a few other of the Revolution's leaders were hidden in the countryside around Boston, most near Lexington and Concord. It was there that they kept a supply of guns and ammunition. General Gage was under orders to take these men prisoner and destroy their supplies. Benjamin Church and Joseph Warren were both still in Boston with Paul Revere as their chief messenger. Revere noticed that the British were making ready several small craft for crossing the Charles River to Cambridge. But they were never sure if the British were going to use the land route instead. So they arranged their signals, just as stated in Longworths' poem.

At 10 PM on the night of April 18th, 1775 Joseph Warren decided that warning needed to be sent to Sam Adams and so he dispatched Paul Revere. They had arranged the lantern signals of "One if by land, two if by sea" to be shown from the tower of the Old North Church. Revere would cross by water as insurance against William Dawes,who would take the land route, being captured on the way to Concord.

Using the petticoats of the boatman's girlfreind to muffle the oars, Revere set out to cross the Charles River. Arriving in Charlestown he began his ride with a narrow escape from 2 British soldiers. Due to this event Revere was forced to use an alternate route to the North, which lengthened his trip by several miles and more than a few precious minutes.

Arriving in Lexington he found Sam Adams and John Hancock. He was then joined by Dawes and Dr. Samuel Prescott, a resident of Concord. They left quickly, but before traversing the 5 miles to Concord they encountered a British roadblock, which they broke through and then split up. Dawes was thrown from his horse and taken prisoner. Revere was also taken prisoner and under interrogation gave false and misleading information to his captors as to the number of militiamen awaiting the Redcoats at the bridge.

Dr. Prescott, with his keen knowledge of the wooded country between Lexington and Concord, was the only rider to make it. His warning enabled the Militia to arm and ready themselves for the arrival of the British that morning.

Revere, meanwhile, was riding with the British back to Lexington, when he heard the church bells and gunshots that gave proof to his assertation that local militia were waiting the arrival of the British. This convinced the British to turn Revere loose, although they did give him a tired and slow horse as a precaution that he not reach Lexington too quickly. Revere joined Hancock and Adams to retreat into the countryside. Only the fact that Hancock had left some valuable papers at the tavern in Lexington caused Revere to return there.

Upon retrieving these papers, Revere rode out of town past the assembling militia. As he rode on through the countryside he heard the shots and looking back, saw the smoke from the "Shot heard 'round the World."

In April of 1860 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow climbed the tower of the Old North Church and was inspired to write his simplified version of the nights' events. It was first published in The Atlantic Monthly in January of 1861. It has since acquired legendary stature and has served as the inspiration for millions of Americans to learn more about the events of that night. I reprint it here with great pleasure and as a tribute to those men who gathered at Lexington that morning to begin the labor pains that ultimately gave birth to our Nation.

The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

The following is an eyewitness account of that day by 23 year Sylvanus Wood, who wrote the following in 1858. It was sworn before a Notary.

"I, Sylvanus Wood, of Woburn, in the county of Middlesex, and commonwealth of Massachusetts, aged seventy-four years, do testify and say that on the morning of the 19th of April, 1775, I was an inhabitant of Woburn, living with Deacon Obadiah Kendall; that about an hour before the break of day on said morning, I heard the Lexington bell ring, and fearing there was difficulty there, I immediately arose, took my gun and, with Robert Douglass, went in haste to Lexington, which was about three miles distant.

When I arrived there, I inquired of Captain Parker, the commander of the Lexington company, what was the news. Parker told me he did not know what to believe, for a man had come up about half an hour before and informed him that the British troops were not on the road. But while we were talking, a messenger came up and told the captain that the British troops were within half a mile. Parker immediately turned to his drummer, William Diman, and ordered him to beat to arms, which was done. Captain Parker then asked me if I would parade with his company. I told him I would. Parker then asked me if the young man with me would parade. I spoke to Douglass, and he said he would follow the captain and me.

By this time many of the company had gathered around the captain at the hearing of the drum, where we stood, which was about half way between the meetinghouse and Buckman's tavern. Parker says to his men, 'Every man of you, who is equipped, follow me; and those of you who are not equipped, go into the meeting-house and furnish yourselves from the magazine, and immediately join the company.' Parker led those of us who were equipped to the north end of Lexington Common, near the Bedford Road, and formed us in single file. I was stationed about in the centre of the company. While we were standing, I left my place and went from one end of the company to the other and counted every man who was paraded, and the whole number was thirty-eight, and no more.


Confrontation at Lexington Green

Just as I had finished and got back to my place, I perceived the British troops had arrived on the spot between the meeting-house and Bucknian's, near where Captain Parker stood when he first led off his men. The British troops immediately wheeled so as to cut off those who had gone into the meeting-house. The British troops approached us rapidly in platoons, with a general officer on horseback at their head. The officer came up to within about two rods of the centre of the company, where I stood, the first platoon being about three rods distant. They there halted. The officer then swung his sword, and said, 'Lay down your arms, you damned rebels, or you are all dead men. Fire!' Some guns were fired by the British at us from the first platoon, but no person was killed or hurt, being probably charged only with powder.

Just at this time, Captain Parker ordered every man to take care of himself. The company immediately dispersed; and while the company was dispersing and leaping over the wall, the second platoon of the British fired and killed some of our men. There was not a gun fired by anv of Captain Parker's company, within my knowledge. I was so situated that I must have known it, had any thing of the kind taken place before a total dispersion of our company. I have been intimately acquainted with the inhabitants of Lexington, and particularly with those of Captain Parker's company, and, with one exception, I have never heard any of them say or pretend that there was any firing at the British from Parker's company, or any individual in it until within a year or two. One member of the company told me, many years since, that, after Parker's company had dispersed, and he was at some distance, he gave them 'the guts of his gun.'"

The Boy Who Fell From the Sky - A True Story of the TSA

Last month a 17 year old boy fell from the sky in Boston. This was a very unusual incident, as young men do not ordinarily fall from the skies. But fall he did, onto a street in a suburb of Boston, Mass., where people became rightfully indignent about where the boy had come from. After all, in this day of plunging real estate values, one must be sure to protect the neighborhood from incidents such as these, which only serve to further depress home values in the area. And so, an investigation was launched.

The boy in question was from Charlotte, North Carolina. Apparently he had stowed away in the wheel well of a jet, which would be going to Boston. His body was found along the flight path leading to the airport, lending credence to the theory of his having stowed away. He had been attending high school here in Charlotte, where the school system is under funded and teachers are being laid off, even while new schools are being built. So nobody told this young man that it’s minus 20 degrees at 30,000 feet. But this is not the point of the story.

While this young man was busy climbing a fence, dodging the perimeter patrols which surround the airport, and then stowing away in the wheel well of a jet, thousands of people inside the terminal at Charlotte Douglas International Airport were busy disrobing and emptying their pockets for our collective "safety." Am I the only one upset by this?

The illusion of security will not stop a single determined suicide bomber or terrorist. Terrorists are not stupid, just misguided in their beliefs. So, if a 17 year old high school student can figure out how to elude the external security of the airport, reaching all the way to the airplane itself, how hard will it be for a trained and determined terrorist?

I called the Airport a few weeks back to ask how this happened. TSA said the external security is not part of their mission. The Airport is responsible for that. The Airport Security Office would not comment, beyond stating that it was the responsibility of the local Police. The local Police deny this. They state, rightfully so, that the security of the airport is the responsibility of the airport.

It’s sad that this young man had to fall to his death for some unknown reason. But his fall should serve as a notice to all that you are not one iota safer today than you were before 9/11.

"Running the Books" by Avi Steinberg

This isn't the book Avi Steinberg intended to write. This isn't the job he was supposed to have. This is not the life he was prepared to live. So, who is the real Avi Steinberg? Come along on Mr. Steinberg's journey as he finds out just who he is and how the hell he got there.

Raised as an Orthodox Jew, Mr. Steinberg fully expected to become a Rabbi. Or at least a Cantor. At age 14 he immersed himself in Talmudic study. He even carried a copy of the Mishna wherever he went, opening it for study at every available opportunity, much to the amusement of even his Orthodox friends. His graduation book predicts his destination in life as "...a shepherd in the Negev desert."

After graduating from college he finds himself without work and very little desire to make a career at anything in particular. For awhile he takes a job as the obituary writer for the Boston Globe. This is when he sees the want ad for a job as a Prison Librarian in Boston's South Bay. He takes the test, gets the job and is plunged into a whole new world, for which he is mostly unprepared. As he prepares for his new job, he wryly notes that most of the Prophets had been criminals of one sort or another. Some had even served time. Two were wanted for murder. One was an exhibitionist.

Different criminals make for different kinds of librarians, and Mr. Steinberg contends that while pimps make the best, psycho killers are the worst. And while his approach to running the prison library is not quite in line with the rules, he does manage to make a difference. Along the way he gets to shepherd a colorful ensemble of individuals with names like Solitary, Brutish, Nasty, Poor and Short. And those are just the girls!

The prison library is a place of refuge for the prisoners, but a source of high anxiety for the staff. There are so many places, and ways, to hide notes, weapons and contraband in a library. It needs to be searched after each library "session." What do you do when you find the notes? A good prison librarian throws them away. What happens when one of the woman prisoners wants to sit near the window to look out onto the prison yard? Will he be savvy enough to figure out that she is only trying to get a glimpse of her son, who is a prisoner in the same facility as his mother? In short, what happens to a man who is suddenly confronted with people and decisions for which he may be unprepared?

In the case of Mr. Steinberg, he lets the books do the talking, while he uses his imagination to get the inmates truly interested in something beyond the walls which surround them. He initiates a "Photo Response Essay" program, in which he passes out pictures and has the inmates write about them. This is officially the "Creative Writing Class", but through this program the inmates learn to confront, and possibly even understand, themselves a bit more.

He introduces them to the photo journalism of Arthur "Weegee" Fellig, one of my all time favorite photograhers, and his collection of crime photos from 1930's New York City. These are raw photos of real life to which the inmates can relate and open up to. Here is a link to some of his extraordinary work;

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/06/19/arts/0620-EXPL_index.html

In turn, he is introduced to things that he has never heard of. Take "skywriting", which is one of the more elaborate ways that prisoners use to communicate with one another. This involves looking skyward and tracing the letters of the message backwards so that the person on the ground can "read" the message. This type of communication was mostly done between the male convicts and the women prisoners who are housed in "The Tower." At any time during the night there were at least 5 such "conversations" taking place. One of Nasty's poems from the Creative Writing Class is a Haiku that deals with "skywriting."

cell in late winter
skywriting to skinny dude
darkness in the yard

With a deft hand, and keen imagination, Mr. Steinberg manages to make a difference in the lives of all those he comes into contact with. This surprises him as much as it does the inmates. Interwoven with his own story is that of his Orthodox friend Yoni, as he struggles to find his own place in the world.

After leaving the job at the prison, Mr. Steinberg bumps into one of his old
"students" from the prison at, you guessed it, the Public Library! Mr. Steinberg is going through some personal changes in his life's direction when he meets the former inmate, who wears an Arab Kufi on his head. The author hadn't known that he was a Muslim. They walk together, each one speaking of their current direction, or lack of one. During this conversation, the former inmate reminds Avi of one of the stories from the Mishna which he told the class in prison. It's the one about the fruit peddlers.

"A merchant bought a sack of prunes from his competitor. Opening the sack, he saw that the prunes had begun to rot. He went back to the seller and demanded his money back. The seller refused, and the two men went to the Rabbi to settle the dispute.

The Rabbi sat down at a table between the two men and emptied the sack in front of them. Then he put on his glasses, and without saying anything, he went to work, slowly and carefully tasting one prune after another, each time shaking his head.

After some time had passed, the Plaintiff spoke up, "So,Rabbi, what do you think?"

The Rabbi, who was about to consume the last of the prunes, looked up sharply and said, "Why are you fellows wasting my time? What do you think I am - A prune expert?"

Avi is amazed that the former inmate has remembered the story, which he always thought of as a story about a Rabbi who managed to eat some prunes for free. Not so, says the former inmate. "It's about a smart guy, okay, but he ain't smart in the right way, see? Just 'cause you think about something a lot don't mean you know anything about it. Maybe you went to Rabbi school, or you're an Iman, or whatnot, but that don't mean you know shit about no damn prunes."

This is an engaging and rewarding read. It will leave you a little bit humbled. And that's a good thing.

A Milwaukee Memory from Albert Springer

This is a post from the Milwaukee google group of which I am a member. There are many exciting things posted there from time to time. There are great stories of storms at sea, the ship's part in carrying supplies to Vietnam, bringing King Tut's mummy to the United States, and of course, the everyday tensions that occur aboard any ship. But this one, sent in by A. Springer, a Boatswain's Mate from the ship's first days at sea in 1969, was so low key in it's delivery, that I thought I would print it here. It is an unusually matter of fact account in the life of a ship, and a sailor, over the course of a few months. And it's living proof that you don't have to be a professional writer to convey a slice of life in an accurate and engaging fashion.

From: uss-milwaukee-aor-2@googlegroups.com [mailto:uss-milwaukee-aor-2@googlegroups.com] On Behalf Of Albert Springer
Sent: Thursday, August 12, 2010 8:48 AM
To: uss-milwaukee-aor-2@googlegroups.com
Subject: Boston Yards.

It was 1970 when the Millwaukee returned from Gitmo Cuba and she docked back in Rhode Island base and unloaded all Munitions to that little island in the river. The next day we sailed to Boston and entered the Charlestown Naval yards for repairs. We docked about 3 piers over from the Constitution because one had to walk right by it to leave the base. Then there was the Jarheads and they had a bar with happy hour every afterrnoon about 4pm. Them guys and their little station at the gate would screach you comeing and going even if you just went to the YMCA across the street from the base. The Milwaukee stayed at the yards there untill around August and when she was fit for sea trails we left for a day test after we left the pier they set the watch and i had the helm from around 8 am to 2 pm i know it was a stright 6 hours because the captain didnt want to bother changeing the watch for 2 hours. The USS Kennedy was setting in the South Boston Yards when we left ,and when we were comeing back that day of test run, we meet the Kennedy comeing from the harbor. She was sailing for Veit Nam and her deck had over 100 planes on it, iTHINK we had to man the rail for her passing too. After we passed the lighthouse at the end of the harbor the QM took the helm and i was relieved of duty thank god my legs were killing me. It was the ONLY time i ever stood the helm watch in the daytime, i had the helm watch many a night from 12 to 4 (The MID ) and i think that was because i must have pissed off BM/1st class Lawya once. After the ship was said to be fit and seaworty she then headed to the Med her first time. But she left without me. i got send to the south Antics In Boston where i got my Honable discharge a few months later.

A. Springer SM1 BM.Deck second division. Uss Milwaukee 69 -70