A Southern Missive

The Battleground Ground Louisiana series that I will be the facilitator for in Winnsboro, Louisiana, begins in Ferbruary. One of the books I’ll be using is When the Devil Came Down to Dixie: Ben Butler in New Orleans, written by Chester G. Hearn. General Butler is one of the most vilified individuals in the Civil War. He is known as a brazen opportunist, a bungling administrator, and a cruel despot. The Southern women of New Orleans particularly disliked him, and he and his Federal officers were met with insults, spit, and even dumped chamber pots from balcony windows. Women who played piano would only play rebel tunes when a Yankee passed their house. Butler was incensed, so he issued the infamous Order 28, which read:

As the officers and soldiers of the United States have been subject to repeated insults from the women (calling themselves ladies) of New Orleans in return for the most scrupulous non-interference and courtesy on our part, it is ordered that hereafter when any female shall by word, gesture, or movement insult or show contempt for any officer or soldier of the United States she shall be regarded and held liable to be treated as a woman of the town plying her avocation.

This decree only worsened the feelings of New Orleans women for him and his staff in occupied New Orleans. As Hearn correctly points out, in the South, nothing was more sacred than the honor of a woman. Photographs of Butler were distributed through the city and pasted to the bottom of tinkle-pots. You can see a photograph of one of these chamber pots here: http://www3.flickr.com/photos/deepfriedkudzu/sets/72057594060734949/.

Butler well deserved the nickname given him: Beast Butler.

I love quotations, and I found a good one by one of the better emperors of the Roman Empire, Marcus Aurelius. He said: A person’s life is dyed with the color of his imagination—Marcus Aurelius (AD 121-180).

I find this an apt quotation for writers, teachers, and the gifted students I instruct. Our imagination truly colors our world.  Just think about it—our imagination is connected to our Muse, to our inventions, our discoveries, and our world view.  I have found in my own creative writing that the better my imagination (my own inner theatre) the richer and more exciting my writing will be.  One web site I found that dealt with imagination said it well: What we imagine with faith and feeling comes into being. Imagination can be nurtured or crushed.

While I don’t want my students to become like Espinosa in Borges’ “The Gospel According to Mark,” about a man with an undirected intelligence, neither do I want their creative, exploratory urges dampened or stifled. Reflecting on this quotation by Marcus Aurelius (and I do intend to read his Twelve Meditations someday) made me realize the importance of my own imagination to my creative writing.  The daily grind of working in our salt mines, the cares and necessities of life, the responsibilities to care for others that we cannot avoid—these demons can drain the energy that imagination must feed upon.  

Tonight, I was the guest speaker for the 7th annual Lee-Jackson Banquet of the J.J. Alfred A. Mouton Camp of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. The theme was “Our Southern Heroes, ” so my speech was centered on Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson as such. Before I delivered my speech, I played my guitar and sang some Southern tunes. After the speech, I sold and autographed copies of my book, Stories of the Confederate South. It was not a great night for sales, but it was not a bad one either. The banquet was held at the Steamboat Warehouse Restaurant in Washington, Louisiana. (A city rich in history!)

Overall, I was pleased and thought the evening worth my time and effort. The food was great, and I had an attentive aned receptive audience. What more could a speaker want? If you’d like a copy of my speech, I’ll be happy to send it to you as a Word attachment. Just write me at rickeyp@bayou.com and request it. Pardon this short entry, but it’s late (2:00 A.M.) and I still need to write a poem before going to sleep.