Lafayette Street in 1939. October 3, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

October 3, 2019

Lafayette Street in 1939

One of my current projects is compiling a history of the neighborhood where I have lived for the past fifty years. It was developed in 1939, and we are having difficulty finding information about its early days. This has prompted me to record my recollections of Lafayette Street, the neighborhood where I grew up eighty years ago.

In 1939 I was eight years old; my brother Joe, two. We had moved into our new house at 1053 Lafayette in 1937; the neighborhood was still a combination of new houses and vacant lots.

Lafayette Street runs, in a general north to south direction, from an acute intersection with Elizabeth Street to an orthogonal one with Winfield, paralleling Bank Street one block to the east. It had just been paved, a welcome contrast to its gravel and “red dog” predecessor. The house on the northeast corner of the Elizabeth Street intersection was occupied by the Chamberlains – I don’t remember anything about them but the name.

Alfred Barzan believes that his father, Sam, built that house as a model home for Arthur Silhol, who was developing Lafayette Street. We are reasonably certain that Mr. Barzan built our house. It had been designed by architect James Wallace, whose sons Jim and Warren were members of our baseball team, the Hilltop Hellcats, years later. Our mortgage was for $5,700.

Leo and Freda Antion lived in the next house. Their son David was two years old in 1939. The lots on the east side of Lafayette were fifty feet wide by one hundred and twenty feet deep, splitting the distance to Bank Street. At that time there was a vacant lot between Antions and Russells; years later it was acquired by the abutting neighbors and split up, giving each of them a lot seventy five feet wide. Mr. Antion was a millworker; I remember that, after the war started, he worked in Dravo’s shipyard on Neville Island, building LST’s.

Holland Russell and his wife lived in the next house. Her son, from an earlier marriage, Frank Johnson lived with them. He was a 1939 graduate of Bridgeville High School who would go into the Army three years later. Mr. Russell was an employee of the Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad, and a devoted gardener doomed to perpetual failure trying to outdo our father.

We were quite pleased with our house, the only one that my parents ever owned. In addition to having individual bedrooms for Joe and me, our father had built an enclosed room in the attic that served as additional play space for us. The vacant lot behind our house and Russells’ provided all manner of potential. We nailed planks across branches of a black cherry tree as the beginning of a crude tree house. We laid out and graded a badminton court. And, of course, our father found a way to have extra garden space.

Mrs. Florence Kinder was our next-door neighbor. She was a nurse at Mayview with two grown children, both of whom served in World War II. Don became a crew member of a B-25 Mitchell bomber; Marian, a WAVE. I remember Don giving me a model of a Lockheed P-38 Lightning when he was home on leave for a visit.

The next two lots were vacant in 1939. Originally they were wild enough that there was a significant sumac thicket at the back. The lot closest to Mrs. Kinder provided our father with still another “guerilla” garden. Eventually we cleaned things up and built a modest “pitch-and-putt” golf course.

Hoppers lived in the next house. Mr. (Bill) Hopper graduated from Bridgeville High School in 1911, served in World War I, and eventually married Flora Hockenberry, who was a teacher in the Bridgeville school system. Mr. Hopper worked in a store selling engineering supplies in Pittsburgh, probably B. K. Elliot. Their sons were Bill (ten years old in 1939) and Don (five). Bill was the “big kid” in the neighborhood at the time and my idol.

DeBlanders lived next door to Hoppers. Dale was four years old; Wayne’s birth was still in the future. Mr. DeBlander worked for Universal Cyclops. Fortunately Dale is alive and well and a treasured member of our Octogenarian Brunch group. We must use him as a resource for further information on the Lafayette Street neighborhood.

The Coxes were next; I remember very little about them except that they had no children. Mrs. (Ann) Cox was the sister of Mrs. Panizza, who lived “catty-corner” across the street.

Then came the Hellers. Mr. (Kellen) Heller managed a dry-cleaning establishment in Mt. Lebanon. They had two children – Nancy (then seven) and Don (four). Don eventually acquired the nickname “Wimpy”, probably from the Popeye character and their joint love of hamburgers.

The “Bud” Sims family had the next house, beyond which was a large vacant lot extending to Winfield and over to Bank Street. Mr. Sims was a steel-worker. An interesting feature of this lot was a scattering of very large rocks which the kids quickly labelled “Keys’ Rocks” as a dimunitive of McKees Rocks. The Sims family had two children, Buddy (then one) and Sandra (later to be born).

Returning to the north end of Lafayette Street, the first house on the west side belonged to Dr. Peter Castelli (Bridgeville High School 1926) and his wife Rosalie. Mrs. Castelli was a Silhol; it was rumored that their large house had been a wedding gift from her father, Arthur Silhol. Dr. Castelli played a prominent role in the establishment of St. Clair Hospital years later.

My recollection of the Castellis is of a big party at their house with a loudspeaker playing music and the popular song “Rosalie” being repeated frequently. This song was featured in the movie “Rosalie” in 1937, where it was sung by Nelson Eddy. A version by Sammy Kaye was number thirty-five on the 1937 Billboard chart (“Sing, Sing, Sing” was first); that is probably the record they were playing.

Because of the sharp angle between Elizabeth and Lafayette Streets, the Castelli lot was a large triangle extending well beyond our house. The vacant lot next to it provided a natural shortcut for us going to the high school years later, via Fryers’ sidewalk and the (Eagle Way) alley running down to Gregg Avenue. It eventually was acquired by the owners on both sides.

The next house was the property of the Beall family. Bud Beall was a 1930 graduate of Bridgeville High School at which time he was known as Alpheus Beall. He married Elizabeth (Lib) Strain (Class of 1933); later on they had three children – Mary Jane, David and Virginia. When the War came Bud went into the service; my mother was very supportive of Lib while he was away. Bud worked for the Vanadium Corporation of America; he found me a summer job there in 1952. 

Two vacant lots separated Bealls’ from the Jones family. Amos and Thelma Jones had two sons, Amos Junior (then six) and Gary (two). Mr. Jones was a refrigeration repairman and a night watchman at one of the coal mines and a favorite of the neighborhood kids because he carried a firearm. Their house was directly across the street from DeBlanders.

Next came a vacant lot and then Panizzas. Mr. (Joe) Panizza owned the Bridgeville Bottling Works; he gave me a summer job in 1947. They had two children – Genevieve (then three) and Bob (not yet born). 

Their next-door neighbors were the Capozzolis, John and Eleanor. In 1939 Mary Ann Capozzoli was one year old; Elaine, Louise, and John Junior were still off in the future. Mr. Capozzoli managed Reliable Savings and Loan; my parents had known him since 1934 when he was responsible for renting them “the stone bungalow” (823 Bank Street). The neighborhood kids were delighted to learn that his nickname in high school (1925) had been “Speedo”, completely out of character with the careful way he drove his car on our street when we were playing in it. 

The house on the southwest corner of Lafayette and Winfield belonged to the Gallaghers. Mr. (Doyce) Gallagher was another Bridgeville High School graduate (1914). Their daughters were Lois (then nine) and Carol (four). At some point Carol was stricken with polio, probably the only victim we knew.

To an eight-year-old, Lafayette Street was an attractive oasis in a world that was still difficult to comprehend. We were pioneers, establishing homesteads in a previously unpopulated area. Vacant lots were slowly being replaced by new houses every year.

To the north our buffer was “Bank Property”, the well-established neighborhoods on Gregg Avenue, Chestnut Street, and Elm Street. We were grown-up enough to be able to handle the twice daily round trips through it to Washington Grade School, but still very apprehensive of wandering off from the designated route.

To the east, across Bank Street, was another pioneering settlement along Sarah Street. They were our defense against the “Bell Town” and “Goose Town” barbarians who lived on McLaughlin Run Road, much as “Greenwood” protected us from the ruffians on Baldwin Street.

The Weise family, symbols of affluence and stability, dominated the block south of us, in sharp contrast with the Godwins and Lesnetts who lived on the other side on them and earned their livelihood scratching in the earth as farmers.

And, finally, to the west Chartiers Street and the steep drop down to the Chartiers Creek valley was a gateway to a natural wonderland – woods and meadows and the Blue Ponds and the Swinging Bridge and Mayview Cave. We were indeed on the Frontier!

This has been an enjoyable trip backward eight decades. I believe I will recruit Dale DeBlander and my brother to be guest columnists some future week and provide their recollections of our neighborhood a few years later.

Gettysburg: the Play. September 26, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

September 26, 2019

Gettysburg: the Play

One advantage of reading this column is its unprecedented record of presenting exclusive scoops, reports of significant events that no other journalist is covering. This week’s scoop is a critical review of the eagerly anticipated premiere of the Noh play, “Gettysburg”, in the Charity Randall Theater on the University of Pittsburgh campus. Because of my daughter’s role in coordinating the event I have been somewhat apprehensive, apprehensive that the performance would not live up to expectations and apprehensive that it would not attract a significant audience.

Fortunately neither apprehension was realized. The performance greatly exceeded my expectations and was enthusiastically received by a large crowd. It was indeed a local theater  event that will be remembered for many years.

The play is a melding of two dramatically different cultures – traditional Japanese theater and our American obsession with the Civil War. The specific story, two comrades choosing commitment to opposing causes, over friendship, is an excellent candidate for a Noh play and could easily have been based on a Japanese tale. Playwright Elizabeth Dowd felt it was specifically appropriate for “the warrior Noh, a genre that …explores the Buddhist concept of the Asura realm where defeated warriors are condemned to fight their final battle through eternity”.

The play was performed by Theatre Nohgaku, a repertory company of English-speaking artists with a passion for classical Noh theater and a conviction that it has profound power for contemporary audiences. To help acquaint the Pittsburgh audience with some of the characteristics of this art form, they prefaced the performance of “Gettysburg” with excerpts from three other Noh plays. 

First was the “kiri”, (final dance), from the play “Hagaroma” involving a single actor and a three person chorus, all in Japanese. Next came “Cho-no-mai” , a basic instrumental piece that usually accompanies a dance in a variety of plays involving beautiful women, aristocrats, or crazed women. The final skit was an excerpt from “Blue Moon over Memphis”, an English language Noh play dealing with loneliness and set in Elvis’ Graceland mansion. The three skits served as a powerful introduction to this unfamiliar type of theater.

The play “Gettysburg” has two acts, seamlessly connected by an interlude. In the first act “the Veteran” arrives at the Gettysburg National Military Park seeking the monument showing the spot where Confederate General Lewis Armistead fell. The Veteran is a classic Noh “waki”, a traveler who is visiting a hallowed site. This waki has been traumatized by his experiences in the war in Afghanistan. 

A descendant of Union General Winfield Scott Hancock, the Veteran possesses a pocket watch which the dying Armistead had requested be given to Hancock, his (former) best friend, and which has been passed down through the generations to the Veteran. At the Battlefield Park the Veteran encounters a mysterious “Groundskeeper”, who helps him find the monument and then discusses Armistead’s last days with him. In Noh, this role is the “Shite”, the main character. 

The two men discuss the lingering effects of war. The Veteran: “Only the dead have seen the end of war”. The Groundskeeper: “No. Not even the dead”. The Groundskeeper then leaves; the Veteran sits down, his back against a fence post. Act One has ended.

The Interlude begins with the arrival of a “Docent”, a tour guide reciting her description of the events of the afternoon of July 3, 1863 – the greatest artillery barrage ever experienced in North America, Pickett’s Charge, Armistead’s piercing the Union lines and reaching the “High Water Mark of the Confederacy”, and the musket shots that felled him. She also explains the “best friend” relationship of Armistead and Hancock prior to the Civil War.

I found the Interlude to be extremely effective. Its detailed, specific “here are the facts” approach was a stark contrast to the mystical, ambiguous feel of the rest of the play. It provided an excellent way to communicate to an audience unfamiliar with the background of the battle all the necessary information to explain the context of the overall story.

I’d like to learn more about the function of the Interlude in other Noh plays; does it always fill in enough of the missing pieces to permit the audience to focus on the deeper levels implied by the primary Noh drama? The use of the Docent worked well in this particular play. Could the Chorus fulfill a similar role?

In the concluding act the Groundskeeper returns, revealed as Armistead’s ghost, in full Confederate dress uniform. He relates the story of his early career, his friendship with Hancock, the ultimate battle, and his mortal passing. He begs the Veteran for information on Hancock’s reaction to learning of his death and is disappointed to learn there is no record of it. He then leaves, doomed to an eternal battle. 

In the script for the play, the Veteran then removes the watch from his pocket, deposits it on the battlefield, gives a final salute, and leaves. During rehearsal the cast and director made an interesting change. Armistead’s black felt hat is remaining on the stage. The Veteran lays the watch beside it and then removes his beret, folds it carefully, and places it there as well. This display of respect seems more appropriate than the salute would have been. One hopes this satisfies the Ghost’s desire for forgiveness.

The troupe is still experimenting with this ending. In their second performance, at Bucknell University, the Veteran retained the watch and left only his beret. The philosophical implications of the ending are significant. I was particularly impressed with the careful way the Veteran folded his beret before placing it by Armistead’s hat, clearly echoing the respectful way a color guard folds the American flag at the burial of a veteran.

In both acts the eight-person mixed Chorus is used effectively to supplement the dialogue between the waki and the shite. This is another powerful characteristic of Noh theater, as it enables the two principal characters to communicate naturally, with no requirement that they fill in the details just to inform the audience. 

Noh theater seems to be part of the modern minimalist tradition, despite preceding it by many centuries. Compared to other theatrical forms it is sparse and “stripped to the bare essentials”. Those readers of this column who are complaining about my wordiness will be surprised that I even know the term, let alone the principles that define the concept.

The consequence of this minimalism is the removal of distractions, permitting (forcing?) the viewer to concentrate on the deeper meanings of the work. At the lowest level “Gettysburg” is a beautiful tale of the triumph of dedication to cause, over friendship. But it goes so much deeper, exploring courage, honor, duty, guilt, redemption, and reconciliation, while also questioning much broader issues – preservation of the Union, states’ rights, slavery, legacy, and even immortality. And it does this admirably, a credit to the genre and to the playwright.

I was impressed with the playwright’s incorporation of classic quotations from other writers into her script. William Faulkner’s novel “Requiem for a Nun” provides a perfect example, "The past is never dead. It's not even past." This concept is particularly appropriate for a genre in which the past and the present are regularly merged by the appearance of a ghost from earlier days, once again demonstrating the power of this unique form of expression.

I had the opportunity to witness the post-performance discussion of the play by its participants and several Noh scholars who were in its audience. Noh theater is highly formalized; adapting it to a well-documented, classic American story raises numerous questions.

The back wall of a Noh stage always has a standardized painting of a pine tree, “Yogo no matsu”, based on an actual tree at the Kasuga Shrine in Nara. For “Gettysburg” the producers chose a “witness tree” from Gettysburg as the backdrop and depicted it on three hanging scrolls (a triptych consisting of three kakejiku). Noh purists questioned this decision.

The actual tree depicted on the backdrop is a white oak at Devil’s Den that was already a mature tree in 1863; hence, a “witness tree”. The tree depiction is perfectly suitable for the play as presented. However, as a Civil War/Gettysburg purist (nit-picker?) I would have preferred a backdrop depicting the “copse of trees” that was the focal point for the Confederate assault and is very close to the spot where Armistead fell.

The traditional Noh stage is square with a gazebo-type roof supported by sturdy posts at each of its four corners. For this production the posts were represented by weathered fence posts of the kind that are everywhere in the Battlefield today. The traditional bridge entryway from the left was represented by a rustic split rail fence. Both modifications made sense to me, as they communicated well the Gettysburg environment.

Costuming was also controversial. Typically Noh actors wear boldly patterned, multi-layered, and voluminous costumes. In contrast the “Gettysburg” actors’ costumes adhered closely to authenticity. When General Armistead’s ghost appeared, he was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate general, a costume that would have satisfied the most particular re-enactor. I applaud that decision, although I respect the Noh purists who question it.

And then there is the question of music. A traditional Noh play uses two traditional percussion instruments and a flute, supplemented by an all-male chorus. Composer David Crandall chose to replace the flute with a violin and a harmonica and to utilize a mixed chorus, in an effort to create “a new musical idiom that merges Noh chant with Western harmony. This too seemed successful to this unsophisticated member of the audience.

An interesting comment from someone in the audience regarding the substitution of the violin and harmonica for the flute was that these two instruments seemed more appropriate for the development of a poignant mood. This comment was refuted by an Asian lady in the audience who considered it a cultural difference; in Japan the sound of the flute is perceived to connote poignancy. 

I found this to be amusing. My recollection of flutes in Japan in the 1950s was the sound of the flute played by the soba street vendor late at night as he attempted to sell the last of his noodles. To me the Japanese flute is a call to gastronomy rather than poignancy.

It is easy to understand the position of the Noh purists. However, in my case, these deviations from established Japanese traditions have enabled me, for the first time, to appreciate the power and effectiveness of all the rigor and nuances of the form. I may even tackle another traditional Noh play, in Japanese!

The rigor of the Noh format is supplemented by numerous clues, obvious only to native Japanese viewers and Noh scholars, which facilitate comprehension. These include masks, intricate details on the costumes, restrained physical gestures by the actors, props, and the voice of the chanting. This combination automatically eliminates distractions and permits the audience to concentrate on higher levels of meaning in the dialogue.

In summary, I am grateful for having had the opportunity to participate in this event. I hope that the repertory company is able to present this play many more times and that each audience includes someone who profits from it as much as I have.

Oyler Brothers, Barn Builders September 19, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

September 19, 2019

Oyler Brothers, Barn Builders

Although the purpose of our trip to Gettysburg was focused on the battle itself and Lewis Armistead’s participation in it, it was easy for me to get distracted by other interests. The first distraction came before we even reached the village. As we came in toward town on the Chambersburg Road we passed an impressive stone barn to the south of the highway. Elizabeth promptly reported, “McPherson’s Barn”.

I was aware of McPherson’s Barn and its significance in the first day’s battle. Our beloved Company D and the rest of the 149^th Pennsylvania Regiment were heavily involved in action adjacent to it. In John Nesbit’s fine “General History of Company D” he reports that Company D’s position was “formed in front of the McPherson farm buildings on the Chambersburg pike”. What I hadn’t realized was that the McPherson Barn was a classic stone Pennsylvania bank barn.

Also known as a “Sweitzer” barn from its origin in Switzerland, the Pennsylvania bank barn is a unique design. Ideally it is built on a side hill with access to the first floor for horses and cattle and on the second floor, in the rear, for wagon loads of hay. According to Eric Sloane in “Age of Barns” the first floor was divided into thirds – stalls for horses on one side, stalls for cattle and oxen against the other wall, and a general-purpose space in the middle.

 The second floor was also subdivided into thirds. The middle bay was the threshing bay, the place where the farmer could flail bundles of wheat, separating the grain from the stalks (straw). The outer two bays were used for storing hay unloaded from wagons. Frequently a partial third floor, the loft, would be installed to provide additional storage space for hay. Bank barns were large; the McPherson barn has a footprint of forty feet by sixty feet, and is about sixty feet high from the first floor to the ridge.

Another characteristic of the bank barn was the forebay, an extension of the second floor about eight feet long, over the entrance to the first floor. This provided weather protection over the area where the animals entered and left the barn. Typically the forebay was of timber construction unlike the rest of the walls of a stone barn.

My interest in stone barns begins with the fact that, according to Oyler family legend, my great-great grandfather Andrew Oyler and his three brothers were stone masons in the Cumberland Valley in the early 1800s, specializing in building stone barns. That’s as much as we know about them, but is enough to explain my fascination with designing and building structures.

Family lore also reports that the four brothers were exceedingly stubborn and could never decide which one of them was “boss”. This they resolved by each starting a different corner of the barn and building his own one fourth of it. Probably far-fetched, but still a good story.

Intrigued with the idea that McPherson’s Barn might be an Oyler barn, when we went to the Gettysburg National Military Park Visitor Center I took the opportunity to ask the Ranger at the Information Desk if he knew when McPherson’s Barn was constructed. His curt reply was, “In the 1840s, I would guess”. My equally curt reply was, “I wasn’t looking for a guess”. “Well, the property was developed in the 1840s”. “Thank you, that’s more like what I expected from an historian”. 

Further investigation has determined that the barn is currently leased to a farmer and is still in use. I have also learned that it and the Rose Barn, a similar stone barn on the Emmitsburg Road, were both built around 1811. The Rose Barn was destroyed by a fire in 1910 and demolished a few years later; nonetheless there are photographs and drawings documenting it. 

The principal difference between stone barns and conventional timber beam-and-post barns is the construction sequence. We are familiar with the “barn-raising” concept where timber bents are preassembled beforehand and, on the given day, all the neighbors show up to hoist them in place and then to add floor beams and girders to tie them together. A big show that is impressive but leaves a large amount of non-glamorous work to be done adding studs and girts and siding to enclose the barn.

In contrast, building a stone barn reverses the sequence – the outer walls are constructed first, and interior posts and floors added later. In both cases the roof comes last; its design and erection is identical for both types. Both designs require a row of 6 by 6 timber posts ten feet apart directly under the ridge of the roof, and transverse 12 by 12 timbers to support the second floor on top of them. The transverse timbers tie into the stone walls either in pockets in the walls or on corbels extending from the walls.

The source of the stones is an interesting question. Franklin County farmers had no difficulty finding stones in the early 1800s; their fields were lined with piles of stone removing during plowing, serving as fences. These “fences” are prevalent throughout the Gettysburg battlefield. In addition to fieldstone, there were limestone and sandstone quarries in the area in those days. From the variety of color in the McPherson and Rose barns I suspect that both were sandstone. 

The large smoothly dressed blocks at the corners probably came from a quarry; most of the rest may well have been fieldstone. The ideal stone for this use would have two roughly parallel faces about twelve inches apart, be about four inches thick, and from six to twelve inches long. A skillful stonecutter could easily produce such a block with a mallet and chisel. Examination of the stonework in both barns shows a wide variety of size and shape.

Based on current data for productivity of stonemasons and the typical size of these barns, it appears that four masons could produce the necessary work in about two months. Perhaps the Oyler brothers could do four or five barns a year. Consequently they probably built between fifty and one hundred barns in the first two decades of the nineteenth century. We are told they built barns in Pennsylvania and Maryland. Since Gettysburg is closer to Andrew Oyler’s home base near Chambersburg than Maryland, it is reasonable to consider the McPherson and Rose barns as candidates to be their products.  

Whoever they are, the masons who actually built the McPherson barn should feel good about the fact that their craftsmanship has survived two centuries and is still the basis for a functioning barn today. That is an impressive legacy. In this area we are fortunate that Woodville Plantation, the Walker-Ewing Log House, and the Oliver Miller Homestead have survived. How much of what we build today will still be in use in 2219?

Gettysburg! September 12, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

September 12, 2019

Gettysburg!

Last weekend I had an unanticipated treat – a trip to Gettysburg! My daughter Elizabeth had to deliver her daughter Rachael to music camp in Johnstown and decided to piggy-back a visit to Gettysburg onto that trip. It was easy for me to accept an invitation to tag on along behind her.

She is heavily involved in a symposium on the premiere of a play that will be presented in the Charity Randall Theater at the Stephen Foster Memorial building on the University of Pittsburgh campus at 7:30 pm on September 14, 2019. The play is based on one of the fundamental subplots in the drama of the Battle of Gettysburg, the overpowering friendship of two key antagonists in the conflict – Confederate General Lewis Armistead and Union General Winfield Scott Hancock.

I have been attempting to help her enhance her understanding of the events leading up to the battle, the battle itself, and the role these two leaders played in it. The opportunity to revisit the battlefield was too much for either of us to pass up. In addition, I wanted to see first-hand the monuments commemorating the three local companies we discussed in a recent column –Company C (149^th Pennsylvania Infantry), Company H (62^nd Pennsylvania Infantry), and Company K (1^stPennsylvania Cavalry).

After depositing Rachael in Johnstown, we arrived in Gettysburg just in time for lunch. The closest restaurant to our intended first stop had the unlikely name, “Gettysburg Eddie’s”. The moment I saw the picture of an old-time baseball player as part of the restaurant’s logo, I immediately thought, “Eddie Plank!”

My father grew up in Quincy, about twenty-five miles from Gettysburg. He was a dedicated Philadelphia Athletics fan; their superb left-handed pitcher, Eddie Plank, a Gettysburg boy, was his favorite player. 

In 1949 Harry Keck, the sports editor of the Sun-Telegraph, encountered another great pitcher, Lefty Grove, at a Dapper Dan dinner and wrote a nice article about him in his column. It included the statement, “Lefty Grove … holds the record for victories by a southpaw”.

Reading this precipitated an explosion in our living room, followed by a sarcastic letter to the editor informing Mr. Keck that he had no business writing about baseball if he didn’t know that Eddie Plank’s 324 career wins were more than the paltry 300 Grove accumulated. It is easy to see where I got my predilection to nit-picking! 

The restaurant honoring Plank in his home town was good enough that we returned there for lunch the next day. My father would be thrilled to know that his boyhood hero is still revered there.

We then went to the Diorama, a privately-owned exhibit that is billed as “the largest military diorama in the United States”. It does present an excellent three-dimensional view of the large area around Gettysburg where a series of battles occurred the first three days of July,1863. The thirty-minute narration of the sequence of events in those three days does help viewers obtain a perspective of their overall scope and relationship to each other. Nonetheless I felt that it could have been more effective, probably another example of nit-picking.

From there we went to the Gettysburg National Military Park Visitor Center. Like so many other National Park Service facilities, it was quite impressive. We watched a short film narrated by Morgan Freeman that did a good job of placing the battles at Gettysburg in perspective relative to the Civil War and the survival of the Union. 

We then toured the Cyclorama and enjoyed a brief presentation on the battles with it as a background. It is certainly wonderful that the Park Service has retained and rehabilitated this magnificent work of art. It covers a circular wall, one hundred feet in diameter and forty two feet high; its circumference is 377 feet. French painter Paul Phillippoteaux actually produced four identical cycloramas depicting the Battle of Gettysburg.

He came to Gettysburg in 1882 and made volumes of sketches, interviewed survivors of the battle, and hired a photographer to take panoramic pictures of the background. Eighteen months later he and his staff finished the initial version and installed it in Chicago. It was so successful that a duplicate was ordered and installed in Boston in 1884.

Twenty years later the Boston exhibit closed: the cyclorama was sold to an entrepreneur who dismantled it and moved it to Gettysburg in time for the 1913 Anniversary celebration. Eventually it was acquired by the Park Service and installed in the Visitor Center in 1962. A massive rehabilitation project in 2008 has ensured its viability for many years to come. Remnants of the Chicago version are in storage at Wake Forest University. 

A third version was displayed originally in Denver; there is no record of the disposition of the fourth version. It is known that one of these two versions was cut up to make tents for Indians on a Shoshone Reservation in the early 1900s. 

Although there are inaccuracies in the painting, its overall scope more than makes up for them. The details are excellent and their cumulative effect accurately depicts the enormity and intensity of the conflict. The focal point of our interest – Armistead – is shown on horseback; it is well documented that he led his brigade on foot, through the Union line at “the high-water-mark of the Confederacy”. 

We can excuse Phillippoteaux for personalizing his work by including a self-portrait of himself in a Union uniform, leaning against a tree. A wounded Abraham Lincoln being carried to a shelter where a surgeon is amputating a soldier’s leg is a bit of a stretch however. Nonetheless the Cyclorama is magnificent; kudos to the Park Service for salvaging it for posterity.

We then toured the Museum and marveled at its exhibits, video presentations, and artifacts. Again, the cumulative effect of so much of our heritage is overwhelming.

With a few minutes of daylight remaining we drove to the nearby Lydia Leister House, primarily to pay homage to my cousin Jeanne Bohn. Lydia Leister was a widow whose farm was located on Cemetery Ridge. When the battle began she took her children to safety. General Meade appropriated her modest two room frame house as his headquarters.

After she retired as a school teacher, Jeanne began volunteering at Gettysburg, re-enacting the role of Lydia Leister. At one of our family reunions she donned her nineteenth century costume and performed for our behalf. The combination of her extensive knowledge of the Gettysburg events and her ability to replicate the rural drawl dialect of that era brought Lydia to life for us. Lydia certainly was not happy about the way those “Ginruls” left her house.

Our final stop was the “Friend to Friend” monument in the Cemetery Annex. It was erected in 1993 by the Masonic Grand Lodge of Pennsylvania, to honor Freemasons who fought on both sides at Gettysburg. The monument is capped by a magnificent statue of Union Captain Harry Bingham administering to a severely wounded Rebel General Armistead. 

According to well accepted stories, after breaking through the Union line with a small number of men from his brigade, Armistead was hit by musket fire and fell. Captain Bingham came to his aid. When the wounded Armistead asked to see General Hancock, Bingham told him that his friend had also been wounded and removed from the battlefield.

Armistead then gave Bingham his watch and requested it be given to Hancock’s wife. In the statue Bingham has the watch in his left hand. The watch is a key component in the play that Elizabeth is promoting; confirming its significance in this marvelous sculpture was relevant.

We then checked into our hotel and set out to find dinner. An excellent choice was the Farnsworth House Tavern. It is associated with the historic Farnsworth House Inn, which was occupied by Confederate sharpshooters throughout the battle and is purported to have over one hundred bullet holes in its walls. We ate outside in a lovely garden, serenaded by a strolling violinist in a Victorian dress, and topped by a piece of authentic “Shoo-fly Pie” for dessert.

The next morning we set out on a self-guided auto tour of the battlefields and were rewarded by finding all the specific sites and monuments that interested us. We located the monument to the 149^th Pennsylvania Regiment, not far from McPherson’s Barn and viewed the “Railroad Cut”, where Company D fought and where Benjamin Kerr was captured. We then drove down Confederate Avenue along Seminary Ridge with its view of Cemetery Ridge where the Union forces were entrenched.

Then up over Round Top and onto Little Round Top. General Warren’s statue there was every bit as impressive as I remembered from the first time my Uncle Joe took me to see it, eight decades ago. From there we drove through Devil’s Den and the Wheatfield where we found the 62^nd Infantry monument right where Company H fought so valiantly. 

After taking a loop to the east to Culp’s Hill, we returned to Hancock Avenue and Cemetery Ridge, the site of Pickett’s Charge and Armistead’s downfall. We found the modest monument marking the spot where Armistead fell, and, not far from it, the monument to the 1^st Pennsylvania Cavalry with its fine statue of a dismounted “horse soldier” – I wonder if he was from Company K? 

We visited the Pennsylvania Monument and found plaques for all three companies. The most emotion I felt all day was reading Richard Lesnett’s name, knowing he had survived this battle only to expire the following year from wounds received at Hawes Shop, Virginia. 

Also nearby is the statue to Father Corby, the young chaplain of the Irish Brigade who gave general absolution to his charges on the morning of July 2. A statue of him was erected on the very boulder on which he stood, in 1910. Father Corby later became the third president of Notre Dame University; in 1911 a duplicate statue was installed on the South Bend Campus.

In the statue Father Corby is depicted as having his right arm raised to the heavens. It was automatic that some Notre Dame football fan would eventually name the statue “Fair Catch Corby”. This is grossly sacrilegious, but at the same time grossly humorous. I suspect South Bend is the one place one could get away with it. 

Visiting Gettysburg this time, equipped with specific knowledge and specific interests to be investigated, was a memorable experience. It is remarkable that a subject so extensively documented still possesses so many nuances that have not been resolved.

My perception has been that the first two days of the battle were minor skirmishes and that Pickett’s Charge overshadowed everything that had preceded it. I was surprised to learn that there were more casualties on the second day than either of the other two, and that the third day had the fewest. The intensity of the battles each day was remarkable.

Driving around the battlefield also changed my perception – the length of the battle lines was six or seven miles long! Small wonder that communication and coordination were such problems. Looking across the open fields between Seminary and Cemetery Ridges, from both directions, engenders ominous feelings. Except for Little Round Top, “high ground” wasn’t nearly as relevant as I had thought.

The strategy and tactics are fun to contemplate and second guess, probably more so than in any other major encounter. More puzzling is the motivation of the combatants. William Faulkner’s famous quotation in “Intruders in the Dust”, regarding the obsession of every young Southern man with “not yet two o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863” records his explanation of one view point. I still cannot fathom why 165,000 men were so willing to destroy each other.

I am grateful to Elizabeth for dragging me along on one of the most memorable experiences I have had. Perhaps her symposium and the performance of the play will help clarify things for me.

Railfans' Research Center. September 5, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

September 5, 2019

Railfans’ Research Center

Five and a half years ago Jim Fry donated his collection of railroad memorabilia to the Bridgeville Area Historical Society to become the nucleus of their railroad exhibit in the caboose annex at the History Center. His contribution included 140 books and pamphlets, plus thirty-four VHS tapes related to railroading.

My column, dated February 13, 2014, reported on the wide variety of material in the collection – detailed descriptions of specific railroads, technical books dealing with rolling stock, scenic railroads all across the country, model railroading, etc. – and predicted it would become the basis for a major asset for railfans.

Recently I had the occasion to spend some time at the History Center looking for information on the Pittsburgh, Chartiers, and Youghiogheny Railroad, and to be updated on the status of the Society’s collection of railroad related information. I have been aware of individual additions in the ensuing years, but really had no idea how extensive they have been.

At this point the accumulation of documents and memorabilia has created a valuable research center for anyone interested in railroading, and particularly as it concerns our local railroads.

Both of Gene Schaeffer’s fine books dealing with the Montour Railroad are included – the original 1997 volume as a paperback and the subsequent, 2008, hard backed cocktail table size book which is full of wonderful photographs.

David Aitken’s “The Little Saw Mill Run Railroad: Its Life and Legacy” is another treasure. Mr. Aitken donated a copy to the Society after making a presentation on that subject at one of their program meetings.

The Chartiers Valley Railroad (later the Chartiers Branch of the Pennsylvania Railroad) is expertly documented in three copies of “Keystone”, the official magazine of the Pennsylvania Railroad Technical and Historical Society. Doug Mahrer’s fine description of that topic is included in these issues; the Society is grateful to Mr. Mahrer for this donation.

The history of the current Wheeling and Lake Erie Railroad is well covered by Howard V. Worley, Jr.’s “Wabash Pittsburgh Terminal Railroad” and by “The Pittsburgh and West Virginia Railway: The Story of the High and Dry”, by Mr. Worley and William Poellot, Jr. 

The latter book contains five photographs that are specifically relevant to Bridgeville – a coal train on the viaduct at the foot of Vanadium Road, a locomotive on the interchange with the Pennsylvania Railroad on the B & M Branch, a 1937 wreck on the bridge over Chartiers Creek south of Bridgeville, and two shots of the well documented 1907 wreck north of Bridgeville.

When the Wabash Railroad went into operation in 1905 there were four passenger trains each way between Bridgeville and Pittsburgh. Inbound trains left at 6:23 and 8:26 am and at 12:38 and 7:28 pm. Trains from the city arrived at 6:23 and 10:22 am and 4:42 and 5:23 pm. Scheduled time for the 9.2 miles was between twenty two and twenty seven minutes. A one-way ticket to Pittsburgh cost thirty two cents.

“Three Feet on the Panhandle” by Larry L. Koehler and Morgan J. Gayvert is a comprehensive review of the Waynesburg and Washington Railroad, the wonderful narrow gage line that extended the Chartiers Branch twenty eight miles into Greene County.

The same railroad is discussed in a massive document produced by Mike Carrozza and presented to the Society in a large three ring binder. Entitled “Sixty Miles to Waynesburg”, it is a remarkable collection of photographs, maps, time tables, and other documents focused on railroading in the Chartiers Valley. In addition to being a dedicated RailFan, Mike was a retired railroader with a distinguished career in that industry.

The title of this collection celebrates the fact that it was possible to travel by train the sixty miles from Pittsburgh to Waynesbug, a trip that took about three hours, if all connections were properly made. His title page includes the comment “Including Branch Lines and Intersecting Railroad Lines”; the detail by which this comment is implemented is unprecedented.

Three other loose leaf binders contain valuable railroad related information. One is a collection of articles by Peter Roehm dealing with the Wabash Railroad. Bob Kurchena has put together a binder full of memorabilia from the Pennsylvania Railroad. Dana Spriggs printed out a large number of newspaper articles dealing with the murder of Pennsylvania Railroad station agent James Franks and compiled them in a binder.

Two belated donations from Jim Fry were a pair of handsome books dealing with railroad art – “In the Traces: Railroad Paintings”, by Ted Rose; and “The Railroad Artistry of Howard Fogg”, by Roland C. Hill and Al Chione. Jim had sent them to me, assuming they might provide source material for me to sketch. After I copied a dozen or so of Fogg’s paintings, I, belatedly, delivered the books to the Society. Both books contain very impressive railroad art.

The extent and variety of railroading information that the Society currently possesses, especially as related to our local area, is unique. Our challenge is to find ways to communicate it to a niche group, railfans.

Bridgeville: What's in a Name? August 29, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

August 29, 2019

Bridgeville: What’s in a Name?

Most of us are familiar with the accepted story of how Bridgeville got its name. In the early days a Virginian named James Ramsey had a warrant for “Purity”, 102 acres in the western half of what is now Bridgeville. He assumed his property extended to the center of Chartiers Creek.

At the point where the Black Horse Trail, the main road from Washington, Pa. to Pittsburgh, crossed Chartiers Creek, Ramsey made significant improvements and stationed a toll collector there to charge the local farmers for passing through. 

This idea did not set well for the locals. In 1793 they built a barge at Canon’s Mill (Canonsburg), loaded it with flour, waited for a heavy rain and high water, and floated a cargo to the Ohio River for shipment onto New Orleans. This action prompted the Pennsylvania legislature to pass a bill declaring that Chartiers Creek was a navigable stream.

The main consequence of this was moving Ramsey’s property line back above the high-water line, making it possible for the local farmers to build a toll-free bridge there. The site was also significant because Colonel Noble’s “Trace”, a crude road connecting his storehouse at Noblestown with trade routes to the East, also crossed the creek at that point.

The bridge was an immediate landmark; “Meet you at the Bridge” became a popular saying. Naming the nearby village “Bridgeville” was an obvious consequence. We are sure there are flaws to this story, but in principle it probably is accurate.

Recently John Schneider asked me when Bridgeville actually got its name. I guessed, “In the 1830s”. Since then I have had the opportunity to search through old newspaper archives looking for the earliest appearance of the name in print. My source is a website called “Newspapers.com” which has archived thousands of old newspapers and provides a powerful search engine to its users.

Based on my research it appears my initial guess was good; the October 5, 1830, “Pittsburgh Weekly Gazette” includes an endorsement of “Shears” by John McDowell and Daniel Hickman, Bridgeville.

According to their statement, “We the subscribers have purchased and made use of Shears made by P. A. Bemis & Co., Pittsburgh, and consider them superior to any in use in this section of the country”.

Bemis & Co. must have found the endorsement to be effective; they ran it ten more times that year, thirty five times in 1831, and twice more in 1832. We presume Messers. McDowell and Hickman used shears to shear wool from sheep. At any rate this is the earliest mention of the name Bridgeville we have found in old newspapers.

The next mention was also in connection with an advertisement, this one for Darley’s Arabian Heave Remedy. It appeared in the December 26, 1851 “Monongahela Valley Republican”. The medicine was intended “for the cure of Heaves, Thick and Broken Wind, Coughs, Colds, and all diseases that affect the wind of Horses.” 

The advertisement utilizes five paragraphs to sing the praises of the product and ends with a list of local establishments where it can be obtained, including “H. H. Morgan, Bridgeville”. This of course refers to Hugh Morgan who had a well-known store (and Post Office) on the east side of the Washington Pike close to the location of our current post office. 

The November 4, 1854, issue of the “Pittsburgh Gazette” contains legal notice reporting the seizing of property owned by Jeremiah M. Sample as the result of litigation brought by John F. Wrenshall. The property in question is one and a half acres “situate in the village of Bridgeville, Upper St. Clair on which is erected a blacksmith shop”. The notice also indicates the property is bounded by McLaughlin Run; the blacksmith shop may well be the one that survived until the late 1930s.

Five months later, March 31, 1855, the same paper reported that property owned by Jonathan Middleswarth, in Bridgeville, “a two-story frame store house with back building” had been seized as the result of litigation by Samuel Freyer. Apparently our current obsession with going to court dates back to the earliest days of our community.

By 1856 politics had taken center stage in Pittsburgh. The September 18 edition of the “Pittsburgh Gazette” devoted four full columns to a description of a massive parade in support of John C. Fremont’s campaign for the Presidency as candidate of the brand new Republican party. According to the article a crowd of nearly 100,000 Pittsburghers enthusiastically witnessed the parade. 

Sure enough, the description of the parade is the report “The Rich Valley, Woodville, and Bridgeville delegations followed; every wagon was ‘loadened’ with flags and bushes”. Rich Valley was the Post Office for the Borough of Mansfield, the portion of what is Carnegie today east of Chartiers Creek.

On August 9, 1862 the “Pittsburgh Gazette” reported a “War Meeting at Bridgeville” at the hotel of Mr. Boyd. We presume this is the hotel in what is now “Lower End”, shown on the 1876 map as “Mrs. Jones’ Hotel” and later operated by Matt Mallory and then Lou Kaufman.

On June 30, 1867, the “Pittsburgh Daily Post” reported the discovery of an unidentified man who had drowned in Chartiers Creek in the vicinity of the County Poor House. “Esquire Shaffer, who resides near Bridgeville” empaneled a jury that declared the victim “found drowned” and had him buried at the Poor House.

Although the formal incorporation of Bridgeville as a municipality was still decades away, it appears that the name had stuck by the 1860s and was recognizable to the general public.

Gettysburg. August 22, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

August 22, 2019

Gettysburg

I have been interested in the battle of Gettysburg since I was a small child and my Uncle Joe took me for a tour of the battlefield. I am currently revisiting this interest because of a project in which my daughter Elizabeth is involved. The Department of East Asian Languages and Literatures at the University of Pittsburgh is sponsoring a performance of ‘Gettysburg”, “a poetic expression of the ill-fated friendship between Confederate General Lewis Armistead and Union General Winfield Hancock and the unseen wounds of war”.

The play will be presented at the Charity Randall Theater on the University campus at 7:30 pm on September 14. It is a serendipitous confluence of two significantly different cultural icons – Japanese Noh theater and legends from the Battle of Gettysburg.

As part of her research on Gettysburg Elizabeth asked me about the participation of units from this area in the battle. I was aware of the three volunteer companies – Company D of the 149^thPennsylvania Volunteers Regiment, Company H of the 62^nd Pennsylvania Volunteers Regiment, and Company K of the 1^st Regiment Pennsylvania Reserve Cavalry – who were at Gettysburg. 

The story of Company K, organized in Bridgeville in the summer of 1861, is recorded on the Bridgeville Area Historical Society website under the “Bridgeville History” heading on the mast head.

My brother, Joe, discusses Company D extensively in his book, “Almost Forgotten”. It was organized in the Robinson Run area in August, 1862, under the command of Captain James Glenn.

Company H was organized in the Upper St. Clair/Bethel area by Captain Thomas Espy on July 4, 1861. They served admirably as part of the Army of the Potomac until their mustering out in August, 1864. Captain Espy was wounded and captured at Gaines' Mill on June 27, 1862. He died nine days later. Samuel Conner was promoted to Captain as his replacement and commanded the company for the duration of the war. Espy is memorialized as the namesake of Grand Army of the Republic Post 153; its headquarters are now the Civil War Room at the Andrew Carnegie Free Library and Music Hall in Carnegie.

Following its disastrous defeat at Chancellorsville in early May, 1863, the Army of the Potomac consolidated its position at Fredericksburg and waited for General Lee to make the next move. Following the tragic death of Stonewall Jackson, Lee reorganized his Army of Northern Virginia into three Corps, commanded by Generals James Longstreet, A. P. Hill, and Richard S. Ewell, plus J. E. B Stuart’s Cavalry. Union General Hooker had his Army subdivided into seven (smaller) Corps, commanded by Generals John F. Reynolds (I), Winfield Scott Hancock (II), Daniel Sickels (III), George C. Meade (V), John Sedgwick (VI), Oliver Howard (XI), Henry Slocum (XII) and Alfred Pleasonton (Cavalry).

Lee had convinced Jefferson Davis that the time was ripe for an invasion of Pennsylvania, up the Shenandoah Valley and into the Cumberland Valley. On June 3 Ewell’s Corps moved out. Hooker began to move Union troops north, east of the Blue Ridge which . Six days later there was a massive cavalry battle at Brandy Station, the largest ever fought in North America. Company H and the 62th, part of Meade’s V Corps, saw action at Kelly’s Ford, about five miles east of Brandy Station, as part of the battle. For the first time Union cavalry held their own against J. E. B. Stuart. Company K, now led by Captain J. H. Williams, was heavily engaged in the battle. 

At this point Company D and the 149^th, part of Reynolds I Corps, were still in position near Fredericksburg; they didn’t begin to move north until June 17. On the other side, Ewell’s Corps was well past Front Royal, with Hill and Longstreet not far behind. 

On June 22 Company H found itself in a small skirmish at Aldie, then continued its march North. On June 26 they crossed the Potomac at Edwards Ferry, where they learned that Stuart had passed through several days earlier, on his ill-conceived expedition behind the Union Army. By June 28 they were encamped near Frederick, now under the command of George Sykes. Their previous commander, George C. Meade, had replaced Hooker as commander of the Army of the Potomac on that day.

Company D learned of the change in command at midday on the 28^th when they moved into an encampment near Frederick after marching eight miles. Company K was nearby; it was the first time they had bee north of the Potomac in twenty months. Lee’s army was somewhere on the other side of the Blue Ridge; their intentions unknown. Everyone sensed the certainty of a major battle in the near future.

Company K moved on the next day, reaching Middleburg at 2:00 am on the 30^th. After a short rest they were back on the road at daylight, arriving and camping at Taneytown in the afternoon. Company D marched twenty-five miles on the 29^th, encamping near Emmetsburg. On the 30^th they crossed into Pennsylvania, camped at Brown’s Farm, five miles south of Gettysburg on the Emmetsburg Road. Despite the anticipation of bad things to come, they enjoyed the prospect of pay day, the last one many of them would enjoy.

Company H and the 62^nd marched nineteen miles through Frederick and encamped at Libertytown on the 29^th. On the 30^th they were on the road again at 4:00 am and reached Union Mills, ten miles short of the Pennsylvania border, twenty-three miles later. By now there were reports of Rebel troops in Chambersburg, York and Carlisle. 

Company D was the first to be engaged. At 9:00 am on July 1, they moved up the Emmetsburg Road toward Gettysburg, and soon heard the first guns of Buford’s engagement, west of the village. They left the Emmetsburg Road and moved west to Seminary Ridge, which they followed to the Hagerstown Road. At the Seminary Building they “stacked arms … and awaited events”. 

The events turned out to be a wholesale assault by General Henry Heth’s division that drove them back to a position on McPherson’s Farm on the Chambersburg Pike. After heavy fighting there the company withdrew into Gettysburg and eventually to the safety of the Union lines on Cemetery Ridge. Company Commander James Glenn assumed command of the regiment; he was the highest ranking officer still alive. Although they had been driven from the field, their efforts had delayed the Rebels long enough to permit Meade’s army to consolidate on a defensible line. 

Corps Commander John Reynolds was killed during the action and replaced by Abner Doubleday. Company D’s casualties were seven or eight, out of a probable complement of fifty. According to “Almost Forgotten” one of the casualties was Benjamin Kerr, captured by the enemy. He later escaped and rejoined his company, only to be captured a year later and die in a Confederate prison.

In the meantime Company H, with the rest of Sykes’ Corps, had marched twenty miles through Hanover and was within five miles of Gettysburg at Bonneauville, on the Hanover Road. At 6:00 am on July 2 they moved into position on Cemetery Ridge, south of XII Corps on a “desperately hot day”. By 3:30 the day got considerably hotter. Because of a series of unforeseen circumstances Sykes’ Corps was broken up into brigade sized units (a brigade is three regiments, about fifteen hundred men).

General Sickles had moved his III Corps forward, leaving Sykes’ Corps vulnerable. The third brigade, which included the soon to be famous 20^th Maine regiment, was sent to occupy Little Round Top. Company H and the second brigade was marched to the Wheat Field, with two other famous battlegrounds, the Peach Orchard and Devils’ Den on either side. 

At the height of the battle their Division commander (a division is three brigades), General James Barnes, ordered a retreat from what appeared to be a highly defensible site. The ensuing confusion turned into a rout back to Little Round Top. Company H’s casualties were enormous – three dead, nine wounded, and seven captured. Barnes’ decision was widely criticized. Ironically it was the only time he, a West Point classmate of Robert E. Lee, ever commanded troops in battle.

Company D played a minor role in the battle at the Peach Orchard late in the evening, suffering no casualties. On July 3 they were subjected to heavy artillery fire prior to Pickett’s Charge, but were too far from the brunt of the attack to be able to participate. The remnants of Company H protected an artillery battery on Little Round Top and were subjected only to sporadic sniper fire. 

And what of Company K, whom we left at Taneytown on June 30^th? The evening of July 1 they were ordered forward to Gettysburg. After marching all night they reached the battlefield at 9:00 am on July 2 and were immediately deployed to a position behind the left center of the line as support for the reserve artillery of the Cavalry Corps. The next day they were subjected to the full brunt of the Rebel artillery barrage – one hundred artillery pieces.

Although Company K is reported to have been in reserve, they did suffer casualties, including one documented fatality – Joseph McClanahan. It appears likely that they were part of the reserves that swept back the Rebels from the “High-Water Mark of the Confederacy”, Armistead’s climbing over the wall at “the Angle” and capturing two Union artillery pieces before being cut down by the onslaught of Union Reserves.

It appears to me that all three local companies performed admirably at Gettysburg. In retrospect it is easy to imagine Armistead’s spirit wandering the battlefield, hoping to get reassurance that his friend Hancock has forgiven him. I am eagerly looking forward to the performance of this play and its presentation of this question.