Issue 10 The Improbable History Issue

Random Jottings 10, the Improbable History Issue, is an irregularly published amateur magazine edited and published by Michael Dobson. It is available for customary fannish reasons or editorial whim, and can also be found as a free PDF at eFanzines.com (along with other issues of Random Jottings), or online in printed or ebook form for a modest price. Copyright © 2015 by Michael Dobson and Timespinner Press. All rights revert to the individual contributors. Cover design by John D. Berry. Samaritan Medal created by Steve Stiles. Masthead design by Tim Marion. Letters of comment to [email protected] or to 8042 Park Overlook Drive, Bethesda, Maryland 20817-2724 USA.

Table of Contents

And Now for Something Completely Different, editorial by Michael Dobson ...... 3 An Improbable Introduction, by Michael Dobson ...... 7 The Admiral, or Themistocles: the Improbable Leader Who Saved Western Civilization at Its Birth, by Mark Davis ...... 9 A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritan People, by Michael Dobson ...... 53 The High Priesthood and the Israelite Samaritan Priests, by Benyamim Tsedaka ...... 71 Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction (Leaning Tower of Pisa), by Heidi Feickert ...... 77 Florence Cathedral Dome Project, by Mark Kozak-Holland ...... 91 The Battle of Plassey, by Humayun Mirza ...... 111 A History of Hispaniola, by Andrew Hooper ...... 139 2 | Table of Contents The Civil War in Athens (Missouri, not Greece), by Richard H. Berg ...... 187 The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh, by Michael Dobson ...... 195 When Einstein Met Hitler, by Gregory Benford ...... 207 Douglas MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Miles Durr ...... 211 No Ill Wind: The Bari Air Raid, by Roger E. Herst...... 235 Fu-Go: The Japanese Campaign to Bomb the US West Coast Using Balloons, 1944-45, by Richard H. Berg ...... 243 King Company at Bloody Lindern, by Frank Chadwick ...... 251 “…And the Other Fellow Blinked:” How the Cuban Missile Crisis Almost Destroyed the World, by Douglas Niles ...... 277 Random Jottings on Random Jottings (letters) ...... 299 Other Titles from Timespinner Press ...... 321 And Now for Something Completely Different, editorial by Michael Dobson And Now For Something Completely Different...

THIS IS THE 10TH ISSUE of Random Jottings, the fanzine that’s Never The Same Thing Twice™. The previous issues have been:

Random Jottings 1—The Genzine Issue (1970) Random Jottings 2—The Name-Dropping Issue (2003) Random Jottings 3—The Not-So Good Samaritan Issue (2008) Random Jottings 4—The Alternate History Issue (2009) Random Jottings 5—The Odell Dobson Memorial Issue (2010) Random Jottings 6—The Cognitive Biases Issues (2011) Random Jottings 7—The Sidewise Issue (2012) Random Jottings 8—The Watergate Issue (2013) Random Jottings 9—The My Brilliant Fannish Career Issue (2014)

The first issue was mimeographed; issues 2 through 7 were photocopied, and issues 8 and 9 were produced using the CreateSpace print-on-demand system. Up till now, all issues have been in 8-1/2 x 11 format. Issues 1 and 4-9 are on efanzines; eventually I’ll get the remaining issues posted as well, Real Soon Now. Issue 10 is also a CreateSpace publication, but it’s 6 x 9, which I expect will be the page size going forward. Of course, this issue can just as easily be considered a book as it can a magazine, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m uploading it both as Random Jottings 10 (with this editorial and the letter column) and as a stand- alone book, Improbable History: The Weird, the Obscure, and the Strangely Important, part of my own Timespinner Press imprint. If you’d like a 4 | Random Jottings 10 copy without all the fannish stuff (or want to recommend it to your non-fannish friends), it’s available online. I’ve been sort of moving in this direction for a while. I did reprint the Watergate Issue in paperback format (Watergate Considered as an Org Chart of Semi-Precious Stones, though I’m thinking about adding in the supplemental material from Random Jottings 9 and retitling the book What Would Nixon Do?), and both the Cognitive Biases Issue and the Odell Dobson Memorial Issue would also work as books, especially with some additional material. I started a blog series on logical fallacies to accompany the cognitive biases work, and there’s quite a bit more I could add to the Memorial Issue as well.

Improbable People

I started thinking about the current issue at the Portland Corflu in 2013 and the plans jelled in a Serious and Constructive conversation with Andy Hooper in Richmond. From my years in the museum field and in the games field, I knew a number of history buffs, and there are quite a few history enthusiasts in fandom as well. I was immensely pleased and gratified at the number of positive responses to my call for submissions, and nearly ended up with an overabundance of material. I am tempted to do a second volume, Again, Improbable History, but then I’d be obligated to collect material for The Last Improbable History, which, as tradition demands, would never see print.

Spinning In Place

Originally, I set up TimespinnerPress to publish my Story of a Special Day series. (See the last couple of pages of this book for the available Timespinner titles.) I’ve been doing a “This Day in History” blog for a couple of years (improbhistory.blogspot.com, or see my summaries on Facebook or @SidewiseThinker on Twitter), and one day it occurred to me that I could turn this into a series of small books, 50-80 pages each, one for every day of the year, sort of like a birthday card people won’t ever throw away. The economics look pretty favorable. Even with modest sales they’ll produce a nice income supplement, and I can do all the work myself. While having my own publishing imprint wasn’t exactly a bucket list goal for me, it’s hard to resist, especially in the absence of And Now for Something Completely Different | 5 inventory or returns. I hadn’t planned on publishing other books, but it sort of worked out that way. I acquired a mammoth book on World War II in the Pacific, the product of some 30 years of work, and published it as my first non-Dobson book. (See “Douglas MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.) A good friend of mine had a book with University Press that went out of print, and I was able to rescue it. (See “The Battle of Plassey.”) Because of the magic of print-on-demand, I can afford to publish books with limited commercial appeal, and it’s a delight to do so. If you know someone who’s written a good history book with no commercial appeal, let me know.

I have two possibilities in mind for the next Random Jottings. Whichever it turns out to be, my goal is to have it ready for the Chicago Corflu. See you then.

An Improbable Introduction, by Michael Dobson

An Improbable Introduction

Michael Dobson

“It is quite true what philosophy says; that life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that it must be lived forwards.” — Søren Kierkegaard

History is inherently improbable. With the perspective of 20-20 hindsight, many events seem to be driven by destiny, but that’s not how it looks to those tasked to deal with it. The Titanic was actually a very safe ship, but everything went wrong at the same time. Stauffenberg’s bomb plot against Adolf Hitler (the basis for my novel with Douglas Niles, Fox on the Rhine) was foiled by a piece of very bad luck, not by a failure to plan. History often hangs by a thread, cut by the Three Fates according to their own rather twisted sense of humor. In these pages, the improbability of history is always front and center. An unlucky rainstorm, an error in construction, a chance meeting between a physicist and a dictator—and the probable course of history is diverted onto a new track. Improbable people, from Themistocles to Douglas MacArthur, twist history by being at the right place at the right time—or sometimes by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone once wrote, “Any event, once it has occurred, can be made to appear inevitable by a competent historian.” Or, for that matter, an incompetent one. Finding lessons in history is an art, not a science. No two situations are exactly alike, and it’s often possible to draw multiple, and even sometimes contradictory, lessons from the same event. Just because some lessons are contradictory, however, doesn’t make them false. Sometimes the right thing to do is act boldly; sometimes the 7 8 | Random Jottings 10 right thing to do is run away. The trick is figuring out which one applies to the current situation, and as always, the devil is in the details. The contributors to this book are a pretty improbable lot themselves, but they do have quite an imaginative range. I hope you find these improbable stories both useful and fun. For the rest of the Timespinner Press range, see the final pages of this book.

— Michael Dobson The Admiral, or Themistocles: the Improbable Leader Who Saved Western Civilization at Its Birth, by Mark Davis The Admiral Themistocles: The Improbable Leader Who Saved Western Civilization at Its Birth

Mark Davis

Mark Davis was a White House speechwriter during the first Bush Administration, and wrote President George H. W. Bush’s speech declaring the administration’s commitment to evicting Saddam Hussein from Kuwait. Before that, he was vice president of the Pacific Research Institute in San Francisco and a speechwriter and senior aide to California Governor Pete Wilson. He is a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin and Stanford University. Since leaving the White House, Mark was a top consultant with the White House Writers Group, where he managed corporate messaging strategies for nearly a dozen Fortune 500 companies, wrote numerous op-eds for such publications as The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, and US News and World Report, and co-authored Digital Assassination: Protecting Your Reputation, Brand, or Business Against Online Attacks (St. Martin’s Press, 2011). He’s currently director of the Uptown Creative Strategies Group, based in Austin, Texas.

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Mark comes by his writing talent naturally. His father, Jada M. Davis, wrote hard boiled noir fiction, including One for Hell (Gold Medal, 1952, recently reprinted by Stark House Press) and The Outraged Sect (Avon, 1956). I first met Mark through a mutual friend who asked me to read a then- unpublished science fiction novel he’d written: Darwin’s Arrow, being prepared for Kindle as this is written. I thought it was brilliant.We worked together on the board of the Samaritan Medal Foundation, and Mark wrote the introduction to my book Project: Impossible (Multi-Media Publications, 2013). While we were temporarily homeless during the renovation of our house a few years ago, Mark and his family took us in. Here’s Mark on the topic of Themistocles, and the key role he played in the birth of Western Civilization. The Admiral Themistocles: The Improbable Leader Who Saved Western Civilization at Its Birth

Mark Davis

“This extraordinary man must be allowed to have surpassed all others in the faculty of intuitively meeting an emergency.” Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War

An Improbable Man for an Improbable Land

UNTIL THE PERSIAN INVASIONS, the citizens of Athens in the beginning of the Fifth Century BC had every reason to look forward with hope, as if they anticipated their greatness. In the century to come, Athenians would flock to see the tragedies and comedies of four great playwrights whose works would later inform and inspire Shakespeare. Ahead was the foundation of history as a literary art by Herodotus and a literary science by Thucydides. Ahead was the opening dialogue of modern philosophy begun by Plato’s mentor, Socrates. Ahead were the establishment of modern medicine by Hippocrates, the fusion of high art and architecture under Phidias, and the first Western imperial democracy under Pericles. Ahead was the construction of the Parthenon we know today and all it symbolizes. Jacob Burckhardt, the great Swiss classicist of the 19th century, wrote of Athens that it “was as if, for centuries past, nature had stored up all its forces to expend them here, and the society of Athens

11 12 | Mark Davis gave it a position similar to that of Florence in the Renaissance, the only parallel in history.” In Athens, the basic identity of the West—its ideals and modes of thought—first flowered in this supremely creative moment in human history. And yet the Athenian moment almost didn’t happen. While the Greeks lived in city-states separated by mountains and ideologies, the river-valley civilizations to their immediate east were ruled under one throne. Persia’s Achaemenid Empire cast its shadow over territory that was seventy times the size of Greece, and ruled almost half of the world’s population. In the coming years, Athens and her allies would twice have to repel invasion and incorporation into this empire. That the Greeks survived these two Persian Wars is remarkable. That they survived the Second Persian War is due in large measure to the leadership of one unlikely man named Themistocles. Like Winston Churchill, Themistocles had an uncanny gift of forecasting future danger. Like Churchill, he was a champion of democracy who mastered the art of persuasion to persuade his people to prepare for the worst. Like Churchill, Themistocles was a magnificent wartime manager. But unlike our idea of a good leader, Themistocles was the very soul of deceit. He pulled off a hat trick of national survival by misleading his people while tricking the Persian king into destroying himself. Themistocles was one of the most talented double-crossers in history, and it is to his ability to deceive friend and enemy alike that the West as we know it today owes its existence.

All the Armies of the World

In 480 BC, Athens was stunned into silence, that pregnant moment of despair that precedes panic. The city-state had reveled in its growing prominence after a sensational victory over the Persian King Darius and his immense forces ten years before. Now the daily reports from traders at the docks of Piraeus added fresh details to the disturbing news that a new Persian emperor, Xerxes, was executing an elaborate revenge a decade in planning. The king’s Egyptian and Phoenician engineers had bridged the Hellespont, linking Europe to The Admiral | 13

Asia by aligning 674 ships in two rows. They connected this armada from bank to bank with taut cables of papyrus and flax connected to massive capstans pounded into the shore. Whole forests were felled to craft planks to make pontoon bridges. Tons of earth were rolled over the bridges to make them resemble a road. A high causeway was erected to keep horses, camels, elephants and men from panicking at the sight of water. Though modern scholarship would revise the numbers in Xerxes army (Herodotus thought it more than 2 million), it was still a staggering force for the ancient world—as many as half-a-million men in arms, with perhaps 40,000 horsemen, and a long retinue of slaves, prostitutes and priests. Victor Davis Hanson, the pre-eminent military historian, believes Xerxes mounted the largest amphibious invasion of Europe prior to D-Day. It was easily the most diverse army ever assembled. The whole Persian Empire was on parade in the passage from Asia to Europe: Persians and Medes with their trousers and wickerwork shields, turbaned Cissians, Assyrians with their bronze helmets and iron-studded wooden clubs, Indians with their bows and arrows of cane, Arabians with wide metal belts, and strangest and most frightening of all, towering Ethiopians, dressed in leopard skins and lion pelts, their spear-tips carved from the horns of gazelles to a razor sharpness. Sailing in a tight circuit along the coast was the king’s fleet, more than a thousand ships, many under the command of Ionian Greeks with a long history of service to the empire. Some modern scholars speculate that the threat to Greek civilization was less than it seemed. The Persians ruled the Ionians, but gave them broad latitude in culture and religion. Once Greece was subdued and reconciled to being a satrapy, wouldn’t the Persians govern Greece with the same leniency? Burckhardt rejected this optimistic speculation, concluding that Xerxes was so angered by the Greeks that he would probably have depopulated the country, deporting the polytheistic Hellenes to the interior of the empire and forcing them to bow to the Persian god, Ahura Mazda. 14 | Mark Davis

No other religion of antiquity was so perfectly adapted to foster the arrogance of perpetual self-righteousness and omnipotence as the version of [Persian] Zoroastrianism; perhaps victory over the Hellenes would have allowed this delusion to erupt into complete madness. So the destruction of Athens seemed assured. One leader kept his head, someone who years before had anticipated this second Persian invasion. One man who said, Trust me. I have a plan.

The Half-Breed

Themistocles was humble in nothing but his origins. A mentor had told him, “You, my boy, will be nothing small, but great one way or other, for good or else for bad.” He was a born outsider (524 BC), with a father of modest achievement, and a foreign mother (most likely from the Thracian north). Had it not been for the democratic reforms of the previous generation, an immigrant’s son like Themistocles would never have been a citizen of Athens at all. As a youth of questionable origins and little wealth, Themistocles was excluded from the finest academies. He studied at a school centered on wrestling, an academy dedicated to that ultimate half-breed, Heracles. Themistocles showed an early skill in social climbing, persuading young aristocrats to exercise with him at the wrestling academy. As a teenager, he was already finding ways to escape distinctions of class and birth. He excelled in the arts of rhetoric, practicing speeches until he could hammer home his points with the power of a trained litigator. Themistocles showed little interest in etiquette, but great interest in intellectual improvement. He was impetuous and often angry. Of himself, Themistocles would later say that “the wildest colts make the best horses, but only if they get properly trained and broken in.” In the Athens of that time, Themistocles would have learned of the cosmologies of Thales, of the mystical, math-music of Pythagoras and other natural scientists who anticipated nuclear physics and genetics with talk of the indivisible particle and the essences of life. But he gravitated toward one Mnesiphilus, an expert The Admiral | 15

Themistocles (CC BY-SA 3.0, Rijksdienst voor het Cultureel Erfgoed) in political tactics and practical measures, a sort of early-day Machiavelli who avoided talk of atoms and essences to talk strategy. Armed with trained ambition, Themistocles pursued the mutually reinforcing triangle of wealth, power and social standing. By age thirty-two, he had achieved enough prominence to be elected as an archon, joining a panel of executive, military and judicial leaders. 16 | Mark Davis

But Themistocles burned with greater ambition. He wanted to become the first man in Athens and the Greek world. It was the First Persian War that had put Themistocles on the path toward realizing this ambition Darius, Persia’s King of Kings, governed the Greeks in rich Ionian ports and trading outposts like Halicarnassus, Ephesus and Miletus along the Aegean shores of modern-day Turkey. Trade between the civilizations was rich, but not without friction in a Greek-speaking world that was increasingly inspired and inflamed by a PanHellenic vision. The Athenians, disturbed by the oppression of some of their brethren in Ionia by Persian-appointed tyrants, supported an Ionian rebellion that led to the burning of Sardis, a vital center of imperial administration. It takes a lot for a mouse to irritate an elephant. Now the Persian King Darius turned his ire on the noisy, bothersome collection of city-states at the periphery of their empire. Darius was especially angered by the incomprehensible obstinacy of Athens, which refused to make a formal show of submission with offerings of earth and water and had the temerity to disrupt his kingdom. So Darius dispatched an armada to subdue the bothersome kin of his Ionian subjects, assisted by an aged tyrant from pre-revolutionary Athens eager to rule again. After successfully conquering one Greek city after another, Darius came to sudden and unexpected ruin: Ten thousand Athenian hoplites—a citizen army that had spontaneously assembled itself, with no reinforcements from the rest of Greece, save a thousand soldiers from nearby Plataea—confronted a Persian Army three times its size on the plain of Marathon. As the center of the Greek phalanx collapsed, its armored spearmen at the wings enfolded the Persians and inflicted casualties at a rate of thirty-to-one. Only remnants of the Persian force made it back in a panicked run to the king’s ships. Among the victors was young Themistocles, one of the brave ones who had stared down the Persian onslaught under the leadership of Miltiades. Most young men would have been content to share such glory by association with a great general. Not Themistocles, who watched with secret jealousy as Miltiades became the toast of the town, the general’s vision, leadership and battlefield genius celebrated endlessly by poets and playwrights. The Admiral | 17

Themistocles already had such an exalted view of himself that he was beside himself with envy. Always talkative, Themistocles lapsed into silence in the company of his friends. He avoided his usual haunts. He complained about getting too little sleep. When asked why he had suddenly become an insomniac, he mentioned the “the trophy of Miltiades.”

A Warm, Personal Enemy

Themistocles didn’t have to just look up at his commander to feel jealous. He could also look to his side. He had a great contemporary to loathe as an enemy for life. The playwright Aeschylus would later celebrate this other young Athenian, Aristides “The Just,” as a hero of the Persian Wars. Miltiades had named Themistocles and Aristides to command the two units in the center of the hoplite phalanx. Though also born to modest means, Aristides was well connected. He was a cousin of one of the richest and most powerful politicians in Athens. Aristides’ rivalry with Themistocles began in adolescence, when both of them had fallen in love to the point of madness for a celebrated beauty. In their romantic competition, Themistocles and Aristides found a new passion, one they could indulge for the rest of their lives—hatred of each other. This hatred was based on far more than simple rivalry between two men angling for power. They could not have been more different in outlook, temperament and style. Themistocles, born to a foreign mother in the aspiring middle class, looked forward to future glory. Aristides, born to poor Athenian gentry, tried to live up to the glories of an ancestral past. While Themistocles reveled in spectacle, Aristides was ostentatious in modesty, opulent in poverty, proud in humility. Themistocles was broad thinking and liberal to the point of excess, while Aristides was pinched, conservative and excessive only in his disgust of excess. “I hope,” Aristides once said, “I will never sit on a tribunal where my friends shall plead a greater privilege than strangers.” To Themistocles, such declarations of rectitude were the marks of a pompous hypocrite. Despite Aristides’ professed lack of ambition, he would manage to sit on many tribunals. Aristides certainly never missed an 18 | Mark Davis opportunity to focus his famous rectitude on his rivals, often discovering something amiss in city finances after getting himself appointed an auditor. In Themistocles, the auditor would have a perennial target. Aristides was cool, unflavored water drawn from a deep well. Themistocles was rich, green oil fresh from the olive press. The two did not mix, and only one could layer the top.

A Fools Paradise

In the peace that followed the defeat of Darius, Athens after Marathon was a rich democracy tempted to believe, like the United States in the 1990s, that it had triumphantly realized “the end of history.” The Persians had come in force. They had been routed. Greek liberty had been secured. Now the brightest minds in Athens were absorbed in the remaining tasks—how to make sure they were first among the city-states of Greece. The historian Thucydides would later judge that Themistocles “was at once the best judge in those sudden crises which admit of little or no deliberation, and the best prophet of the future, even to its most distant possibilities.” While his contemporaries settled into the comforts and illusory security of the moment, Themistocles glimpsed the disturbing shape of the future. Marathon was a global advertisement for Persian weakness. The mere rumor of such a victory would speed through the whole of the empire in a matter of weeks, from tax official to priest along the Nile, from sailor to innkeeper at the port of Tyre, from trader to merchant in the towns along the Indus. The army of mighty King Darius has been beaten! And not just beaten, he has been humiliated by a band of ruffians so rude in speech and primitive of manner that many of them live without kings! Themistocles realized that the Persian court could not allow this defeat to stand. The Persians would bide their time. They would slowly accumulate vast forces. They would make painstaking plans for invasion. And when they returned, they would come with more than a thousand ships and the armies of the world. The Admiral | 19

Themistocles was also a realist about the limitations of his people. Athenians were the descendants of farmers, not mariners. They had always defended themselves on land with a hoplite army. In the war to come, Themistocles realized, to survive the magnitude of a second Persian invasion aided by a huge navy, Athens would have to turn from the spear and the shield to the bench and the oar. As he secretly planned, Themistocles’ love of Athens and his ambition fused into one great cause. Athens would need to be saved from many threats, not the least from its own complacency. And for Themistocles to save Athens, he must have power. Themistocles used every device of political positioning and persuasion to rise to the top of Athenian politics. His growing influence admitted him into the sweetheart deals that would make him rich. These riches, in turn, were invested back into the accumulation of power. Themistocles realized that before he could become a great man, he had to advertise himself as a great man. Though still young, and far from the richest man in Athens, Themistocles traveled to the Olympic games with an entourage, fine tents and furniture that would make a modern-day CEO blush. Themistocles’ tent always had the richest foods, the finest wines, the most skilled musicians. He played the role of producer to classical playwrights. While courting the rich and powerful, he made a point of remembering common people by their first names and hailing them as if they were best friends.

Transmuting Silver into Ships

In the midst of all his showmanship and politicking, Themistocles was already planning for what he realized would be the great challenge of his life—and the life of Athens. Almost a decade before Xerxes invaded Greece, Themistocles began to lead a reluctant democracy to prepare for the invasion ahead. To do this would require guile and a penetrating understanding of human psychology. In the citizen debates, Themistocles followed the lip-licking anticipation of Athenians over the discovery of a major new vein of silver at the state mines. For decades, it had been the Athenian custom to divide the revenues from its mines among all the citizens— 20 | Mark Davis much like some oil-rich kingdoms today distribute royalty checks to the masses. To Themistocles, money shared would be money wasted. Here was a rich strike, enough to fund what Athens would need to defend herself from Persia, its first powerful navy. Themistocles also understood something else. The thought of once again having to stare down the largest empire in the world would stagger the Athenians, leading to psychological shutdown. Themistocles knew that if he warned of an approaching Persian invasion, fear would clog the ears of his listeners and he would be dismissed as a Chicken Little. So Themistocles promoted the idea of a new threat, a middling one that would elicit the anger and competitive spirit of the Athenians without overwhelming them psychologically. Themistocles settled on the island city of Aegina—a rival state, at least as wealthy as Athens. Aegina drew the jealousy of the Athenians not just because its power was based on a proud and ancient naval tradition. Aegina was also a rising center of Hellenic art, a bright star in the Greek constellation—far too close and too bright for Athens. So Themistocles played the demagogue, turning the Athenian mind against Aegina, exaggerating its power, magnifying the threat to ridiculous proportions, much as John F. Kennedy would later win the presidency by concocting a “missile gap.” The only protection to tyranny under Aegina, Themistocles said, is to build a superior navy and make Athens the undisputed master of the sea. This will, of course, involve some sacrifice. To build such a navy, we must each invest our share in the new silver strike in our common defense. Athens debated this proposition, with none less than the war hero Miltiades in vociferous opposition. The most effective opponent of Themistocles’ naval policy, however, was Aristides, who likely saw the idea of a navy as an expensive addition to Themistocles’ grandiose sense of self. Aristides certainly did not think it a good investment. Hadn’t Marathon already proved that even the greatest known threat in the world— Persia—could be turned back to the sea by a band of dedicated hoplites on land? And Aegina was no Persia. There was also a domestic subtext to the debate. Athens had become a democracy, but one in which roughly one in ten Athenian The Admiral | 21 adult males were eligible to participate in democratic politics and run for office. Athenian democracy in 483 BC was an aristocratic Republic, somewhat like pre-Jacksonian America, in which men of property ran the show. (Athenian women, and metics or foreigners, could not vote or hold office, while the city’s several hundred thousand slaves were treated as chattel.) There was a noble linkage between the eligibility to exercise one’s political rights as a citizen with the fulfillment of one’s duty as a warrior. In the ancient world, to even be a modest foot-solider required the drachmas to purchase a hoplite’s brass shield and greaves, and an iron sword and long spear, an expense that one had to be at least middle-class to afford. If a man could outfit himself in a knightly cavalry garb, so much the better. To gird oneself in these ways was to prepare not just for battle, but to prove one’s worthiness to enter the civic debates. But create a navy—based on triremes each powered by 170 free, broad-shouldered, common men—and the city would be paying salaries to the lowest orders in society for the defense of Athens. If such men came home as heroes like the fighters of Marathon, they would expect greater say in governance. The lowest dregs of society —the potters and shepherds and fishermen—would be empowered. Aristides saw this more democratic future and he didn’t like it. Themistocles countered by portraying Aristides and his allies as being out of touch, even enemies of democracy. Themistocles’ mixture of reason, persuasion and demagoguery won the day. Within a few years, Athens would have a navy of 200 ships. Before Marathon, Themistocles had argued for transforming Athens and its nearby harbor, Piraeus, into one fortified city. Now fortifications and walls would at least be built around the three natural harbors of Piraeus. Themistocles achieved one more thing: Aristides was out. Of all of the institutions of Greek democracy, the most peculiar was ostracism. Anyone could be ostracized if 6,000 citizens inscribed his name on a potsherd, or ostraca. It was not, Plutarch wrote, “the punishment of any criminal act, but was speciously said to be the mere depression and humiliation of excessive greatness and power; and was in fact a gentle relief and mitigation of envious feeling.” 22 | Mark Davis

Aristides, for all his limitations, had a greatness of soul. When an illiterate voter—not knowing to whom he was speaking—asked Aristides for help in scratching out his name on an ostraca, Aristides obliged. He was also supremely capable. Aristides would later command the Athenians in their final victory against the Persians at the Battle of Plataea. But Aristides had revealed himself in this time as out of touch and seemingly unconcerned with Athenian aspirations for greatness. He had worked himself into a rhetorical corner, with Themistocles more than ready to trap him there. Aristides’ natural caution and conservatism—virtues that would have been so admired in early Republican Rome—were at odds with the mood of a city in an expansive mood. Themistocles persuaded the people to scratch the name Aristides on their ostraca and rid themselves of a nag. Aristides had ten days to leave Athens. Themistocles had a free hand to prepare.

The King of Kings

In the aftermath of Marathon, Persian courtiers and nobles murmured polite encouragements as Darius pledged to avenge his humiliation at the hands of the rowdy Greeks. It was not to be. As the Great King likely feared, the Greeks’ show of defiance had stimulated internal uprisings, with a fierce rebellion in Egypt. Darius, broken in spirit by his failures, died in 486. His son and successor, Xerxes, vowed to expand the Achaemenid Empire until it was bordered only by the sky. By 480, with the Egyptian rebellion subdued, a long debate took place before the king. Mardonius, a member of the royal family and a general, argued that the empire would be threatened by leaving the Greeks unpunished. “Besides,” he said, “from all I hear, the Greeks usually wage war in a stupid way, because they are ignorant and incompetent.” Better advice came from an advisor and uncle, Artabanus, who reminded the king that these incompetents were the victors of Marathon. As the invader, Xerxes would not only have to win on land and sea, he would also have to safeguard a bridge across the Hellespont. If we lose one battle on ground or waves, Artabanus said, The Admiral | 23 we run the risk of the Greeks dismantling our bridge and trapping us in their country. You can see, Artabanus went on, that the Supreme Being Ahura Mazda uses lightening to blast those living things that are prominent and superior, while suffering the small and inoffensive creatures to be left alone. Doesn’t the tallest tree attract his lightning bolts? Isn’t a large army susceptible to a small force, if it attracts panic or thunder? Xerxes bridled at these words, but considered his advisor’s points. For a long time, the king dithered from one position to another. Portents and dreams, helpfully interpreted by pro-war priests, finally brought the king around. The invasion was on. Xerxes quickly assembled the largest army the world had ever seen, one that Herodotus assures us required seven days and seven nights to cross the magnificent pontoon bridge into Europe. The effect of this spectacle on the Greek mind could only have been greater if the collective thud of the marching armies could have been felt in the city-states to the south. In the north, Greek cities vied with one another in shows of obeisance, opening storehouses of grain, offering the comforts of their homes to the royals, and making servile professions of eternal loyalty to the king. City elders everywhere pretended not to be bothered when, after two meals, the armies of Xerxes left their cupboards and storehouses utterly bare before stomping southward toward Athens.

Point of No Return

At first, Athens settled the command of the war on one Epicydes, popular for his eloquence, but a dilettante unprepared for the challenge of leading a war. Themistocles handled this pretender in the most expedient way possible—he took him aside and bought him off. Still, the top command was not to go to Themistocles. Sparta forced Themistocles to accept the leadership of one of its generals, Eurybiades, as the equivalent of supreme allied commander of Greece. Though distasteful to Themistoclean pride, the appointment of the Spartan was a natural result of Themistoclean diplomacy. Themistocles had sent his emissary Chileus to end conflicts and patch over disagreements with Sparta, Aegina and other rivals. In all, he managed to forge a coalition of 31 Greek city-states. 24 | Mark Davis

With southern Greece united in opposition to the Persians, Themistocles found himself forced to accept Eurybiades. Athens was close to the front lines. Sparta was on the Peloponnese—that fat peninsula separated from the rest of Greece by the Gulf of Corinth. The Peloponnese would be the last line of Greek defense, and the hardest nut for Xerxes to crack. Athens, exposed and soon to be under siege, had no choice but to accept the leadership of the more secure Sparta, much as Churchill had no choice but to accept the appointment of Eisenhower over Montgomery as supreme allied commander. Themistocles was the first Athenian to come to terms with this reality. After having saved the Greek command from an Athenian fool, he now had to use all his forces of persuasion to get Athens to accept foreign leadership. “And by this moderation of his,” Plutarch judged, “it is evident that he was the chief means of the deliverance of Greece, and gained the Athenians the glory of alike surpassing their enemies in valor, and their confederates in wisdom.” As northern Greeks vied with one another to submit to Persia, the rot of subversion penetrated Athens. Greek traitors began to circulate gold on behalf of Xerxes, making secret assurances of safety and prosperity under the emperor in exchange for a little help now. Themistocles ferreted out the traitors, publicly degraded them and had them and their families disenfranchised. Xerxes sent ambassadors throughout Greece asking for submission in the form of earth and water, but with the very deliberate omission of Athens and Sparta, which the king intended to destroy. When a Greek took it upon himself to interpret Persian demands, Themistocles had the people of Athens grant him the authority to put the interpreter to death. Xerxes and Themistocles agreed on one thing—the struggle between the vast empire and little Athens was existential, without even the possibility of forgiveness. Noisy, disrespectful Athens with its mob governance and its crass commercialism had long been emblematic of what was so offensive to Persian sensibilities about Greek civilization. Now the city had made itself the red-hot center of the king’s wrath. The Admiral | 25

Thermopylae

The Athenian vessels were added to those of the other city-states for a combined navy of less than 300 ships—larger than the Hellenic world had ever seen, but still a fraction of the king’s armada (the playwright Aeschylus, who was there, estimated the Persian fleet to have been more than 1,200 ships). Themistocles knew that if the Greeks were to have any hope of victory, he would have to lure the Persian navy into a confined space where its awesome numbers might work against it. No sooner had the Greeks gathered their ships around the long island of Euboea north of Athens than they proceeded to do what Greeks do best—squabble. The Euboeans, fearing abandonment, offered a large bribe to Themistocles to stay near them. This he gratefully accepted, loot he handed over to the Spartan admiral to bolster Spartan enthusiasm. One Athenian captain, in charge of the sacred vessel of Athena herself, protested the giving of this money— when his seamen were unpaid and grumbling and ready to go home. So Themistocles went to work again, first throwing the mutinous captain off guard by stirring up a crowd of sailors to rough him up. Then he transformed the captain’s anger into submission, soothing the rough treatment with a little wine, some apologetic talk of over- zealous subordinates, one silver talent to the captain, and a hearty dinner on deck for all. Themistocles, while fighting off the Persians, would constantly be forced to employ energetic diplomacy and skillful manipulation to maintain Greek unity. The Greeks anchored off a small cape, Artemisium, a strategic juncture at the northern end of Euboea from which to guard the eastern entrance to the coastline of Thermopylae. As the Persian navy approached, Herodotus tells us that a three-day “monster of a storm” reduced one-third of the Persian fleet to splinters on the rocky coastline. While the Persians worked to repair the rest of their fleet, they dispatched 200 seaworthy ships along the coast of Euboea to encircle the Greeks. The Greeks saw this as a splendid opportunity to run down an isolated detachment, but were soon compelled to engage the main Persian fleet off their chosen position of Artemisium. On the open sea, away from the confining spaces of inlets and straits, the Persian 26 | Mark Davis

Battle of Artemisium force enjoyed superior maneuverability, but Greeks had learned to protect their smaller force by assuming a frown-shaped crescent formation. Greek luck held with nature as well as strategy. On the first day of this three-day engagement with the main Persian fleet, a second storm destroyed Persia’s southern detachment. Plutarch reports that five centuries later at Artemisium one could still see a layer of dark sediment along the beach, grit from many burned ships and charred bodies. The Greeks destroyed as many Persian ships as they lost. Even with two storms and effective resistance from the Greeks at the Battle of Artemisium, however, Persian losses were quite acceptable compared to those of the much smaller Greek fleet. The Admiral | 27

With a few more such victories, the Greek fleet would cease to exist. The Greek navy had no choice to retreat southward. On land, as at sea, the luck of the Greeks at first seemed to hold. The Persians were poised to enter the rich lands of Boeotia and Attica. All they had to do was to break through one last pass. So simple a task, yet so hard to do. Even Xerxes’ famed Immortals could not break through. Two of the great king’s brothers fell. The place, of course, was that narrow pass called Warm Gates, or Thermopylae, where the Greek strategy of constricting the large Persian forces was put to work on land. This was a neck of land 50- feet-wide between high cliffs and the sea, representing an obstacle between Xerxes and the rich cities of Delphi, Thebes and, of course, Athens. Here the Spartan King Leonidas held his ground against perhaps 100,000 Persians with a force of less than 7,000 Greeks led by his 300 Spartans. Thermopylae was a strategic complement to Artemisium. The Spartans who faced Xerxes did not fear death, and therefore became as close to invulnerable as men can be. When told that Persian archers were so numerous that their arrows in flight could darken the sun, a Spartan leader famously replied with characteristic insouciance—it’s nice to fight in the shade. Where brute force had failed to dislodge the Greeks, however, treachery worked wonders. Sold out by a local Greek scout, the Persian troops were shown a secret pass. Now they could attack from both the front and rear. Leonidas, seeing a strategic defeat but a chance for a moral victory, dismissed his allies. The small band of Spartans, and a handful of men from a nearby town, moved to the open ground to meet the Persians. The bold contingent, upright and glorious in the mid-day sun, dissolved under a cloud of arrows. The body of Leonidas was desecrated, his head displayed as a trophy of war. For the Greeks, Thermopylae and Artemisium had both been defiant, inspiring defeats. But, as Churchill said after Dunkirk, “wars are not won by evacuations.” No power on earth could now keep the Persians from violating Athens. 28 | Mark Davis

Slight of Hand

At Artemisium, the Greeks had learned how to fight at sea. This was a significant achievement for, as Plutarch judged, “the first step towards victory undoubtedly is to gain courage.” Even in withdrawal, Themistocles kept up the spirit of defiance, inscribing Greek propaganda on rocks along the shore with appeals to Hellenic solidarity from the Ionians among the king’s fleet, asking them to defect and serve the liberty of their fellow Greeks, or at least pull back when it came down to a fight. This was deft bit of psychological warfare. Either the appeal would actually cause the Ionians to revolt. Or it would reduce their effectiveness by planting suspicions about Ionian loyalty in the king’s mind. Despite such minor acts of resistance, however, the reality soon sank in that Athens was exposed and geographically isolated from powerful Peloponnesian allies to the south like Corinth and Sparta. What Themistocles did next was truly unthinkable. Athens, having invested in a navy, surrounded by allies, expected to be defended. But Themistocles told his fellow Athenians that this was not possible. He had long since secretly come to the conclusion that to save Athens, its people would have to abandon it—leaving most of its treasure, golden statuary, fine art and granaries to be sacked. An archeological text, discovered in 1959 reads: Resolved by the Council and People Themistocles, son of Neokles, of Phrearroi, made the motion To entrust the city to Athena the Mistress of Athens and to all the other gods to guard and defend from the Barbarian for the sake of the land. The Athenians themselves and the foreigners who live in Athens are to send their children and women to safety in Troezen, their protector being Pittheus, the founding hero of the land. They are to send the old men and moveable possessions to safety on Salamis. The treasures and priestesses are to remain on the akropolis guarding the property of the gods. All Athenian men and foreigners of military age were to embark for 200 ships at the ready, “to defend against the barbarian for the sake of their own freedom and that of the rest of the Greeks” along The Admiral | 29 with the Spartans, Corinthians and others “who wish to share the danger.” The flat language of the motion—with its allotment of offices and instructions for selecting marines and archers—tells only the conclusion, not the fierce debate that had to have come before it. Themistocles had countered the dismay of his fellow Athenians with an appeal to idealism. Athens is much more than this place, he told his constituents. Athens is us, our beliefs, our talents, our wisdom. We can be saved. Our homes and objects cannot. When appeals to reason appeared to be insufficient, Themistocles resorted to magic and theatrics. The serpent of Athena disappeared from the inner sanctum of her temple. Themistocles persuaded the high priest to announce that this was because the goddess had abandoned the city for the sea. When a Delphic oracle proved obstinately unhelpful, Themistocles’ agents persisted until the oracle gave out a characteristically ambiguous statement that could be favorably interpreted. “Though all else shall be taken, Zeus, the all seeing, grants that the wooden wall only shall not fail.” Some interpreted the “wooden wall” as the thorn bushes around Athens. Themistocles said it could only represent the Athenian fleet. So wives, children and slaves were sent south to Troezen, a town so eager to ingratiate itself to Athens that it voted to keep the Athenian civilians at public cost. Many others were crowded onto the island of Salamis, an island west of Piraeus across the narrow strait of the same name. All men of fighting age were enlisted, with a generous allotment of eight drachmas for every sailor. When the Persians entered Athens, they found plenty of loot but only a token force defending the Acropolis. After an unexpectedly fierce and spirited fight, the defenders were vanquished. The Persians then amused themselves by toying with the moral defiance of the priestesses inside the temple, before they slaughtered them, plundered the sanctuaries of Athena and burned the wooden scaffolds of the Acropolis. For the Persians, it was the kind of easy victory that could only be a sign of favor from Ahura Mazda. For the Athenians, becoming a fugitive nation was an oddly liberating experience. 30 | Mark Davis

“We have indeed left our homes and our walls, base fellow,” Themistocles said a few days later to a Spartan, “not thinking it fit to become slaves for the sake of things that have no life nor soul.”

A Command Divided

As the crisis had built, Themistocles had proposed a decree allowing all the banished to return to the citizenry. This blanket policy was aimed at one man—Aristides. Behind this show of generosity were two very practical considerations. First, despite his antipathy toward Aristides, Themistocles could not help but see that the man was respected. Having Aristides at his side might prevent the runaway Athenians from disintegrating or betraying each other in factional squabbles. The other reason was that Themistocles secretly feared that Aristides —who had prayed to be forgotten by Athens at the moment of his ostracism—might act out of bitterness, lending his considerable talents to the service of the invading Persians. For Themistocles, it was a matter of ‘hold your enemies closer.’ With Athens on the run, the Spartans and their powerful Peloponnesian neighbors began to call the shots. Eurybiades, the Spartan admiral, announced that the fleet would set sail southwest for Corinth. The southern Greeks were erecting a wall, basing their efforts on a defensive strategy to keep the Persians from crossing the Isthmus of Corinth into the Peloponnese. Themistocles saw that the likely outcome of this defensive strategy would be the fragmentation of Greek unity, with city-states ultimately competing with each other for the best surrender terms under the Persians. When Themistocles complained, Eurybiades noted that in the Olympic games, “they who start up before the rest are lashed.” “And they who are left behind are not crowned,” Themistocles responded. Themistocles’ retort so angered the Spartan that he raised his staff to strike him. Themistocles stood calm. “Strike if you will, but hear.” He then proceeded to make the most important speech in his life. It began with a subtle threat. If Athens—now a populace without a city—were betrayed, it would have no choice but to The Admiral | 31 reconstitute itself in someplace new...some rich and fertile place. There was an unspoken implication. Perhaps Athens would settle in your very own Peloponnese. Themistocles knew that the idea of having Athenians as immediate neighbors would be almost as disturbing to the Spartan mind as having to bow before a Persian king. Worse, such a migration would also require the withdrawal of the Athenian portion of the Greek fleet, which Themistocles could order. Themistocles then subtly questioned the Spartans’ courage and honor, but not in a head-on way—which would have led to a political disaster, if not a fatal confrontation. Instead, Themistocles did this indirectly, picking out a quarrelsome fellow from a minor city and peppering him with jibes, calling him “an inkfish” with a “sword, but no heart.” Themistocles appealed to PanHellenic patriotism, praising the power of Greeks standing together. He appealed to strategic reason; it made no sense to abandon the narrow Strait of Salamis and the disadvantages that its constricted space would impose on the huge Persian fleet. “If you stay here,” he told the obstinate Spartan commander, “you are a man of courage, but if not—you will destroy Greece. The fleet is vital to the outcome of the war. You must do as I suggest.” Themistocles again resorted to auguries, always his weapon of last resort. When an owl landed on the mast, Themistocles took it as a good omen. See? The gods agree with me. The Peloponnesians listened to his impassioned speech and were moved. Within a few hours, the Spartans and other Peloponnesians were nervously thinking about the size of the Persian fleet, which had been replenished to its enormous, pre-Artemisium size by reinforcements. The Spartans again started to make plans to return to southern shores. But Themistocles was once again one step ahead of his fellow Greeks. He had already betrayed them all. 32 | Mark Davis

A Double Betrayal

Sicinnus, a Persian-born slave owned by Themistocles, appeared in the Persian camp asking to the see the king. After offering his obeisance and gratitude to be back among his people, Sicinnus told the king of the secret deliberations of the Greeks. He gave a little speech, the gist of which would have gone like this: Oh great king, my master Themistocles is isolated from his peers, and he is disgusted by their inconstancy and fecklessness. He seeks a secret accommodation, if you will only remember his service to you afterwards. He would have you know that the Greeks are in a state of panic, disunited, planning to retreat. You can catch them tomorrow in flight as they try to ferry their people and possessions off of Salamis. At this point Sicinnus may have dared to look Xerxes in the eye. “Unless you stand by and let them escape,” he told the king, “you have a chance to win a glorious victory.” Xerxes received this intelligence with joy. He acted immediately, splitting his fleet to block both ends of the Strait of Salamis. He dispatched the best part of his navy, the Egyptian contingent, to block the northern passage of the strait. If the Greeks tried to escape north, they would run into the Egyptian flotilla. If the Greeks made a dash across the strait back to Attica, they would find Persian triremes coming from the south at their starboard flank. At first light on a September day, 480 BC, Xerxes had fielded a replenished fleet of about a thousand ships full of men, armed and ready to ram into the flank of the small Greek navy as it attempted to ferry the fugitive Athenians to shore. The king’s navy rushed into the strait, preparing for the kill. The king himself sat on a golden throne set on a promontory, surrounded by his secretaries, to watch the battle of Salamis. As the sun broke over the waters, it seemed as if it would be glorious day for avenging one’s father. What the king saw next made him bolt upright. There were Greek ships, but this was no side-running fleet of fugitives. Instead, out of the confusion below, Xerxes saw something coming at the portside flank of his navy, Greek triremes rushing out of the coves and sheltered inlets of Salamis, each one cutting the water like an arrow. At the tip of each of these naval arrows was a fluted, finned ramming instrument molded from a solid half-ton knob The Admiral | 33

Battle of Salamis (from Rawlinson’s translation of Herodotus, 1897) of brass. When he looked to the decks, instead of seeing cowering civilians, the king saw Greek hoplite marines and archers. An ocean zephyr rustled the trees and grass around the king. Below, the same early morning wind stirred a strong swell into the channel. It was a daily occurrence, common knowledge to locals, but maritime intelligence unknown to the Persians. The Greek ships, squat and low-built, cut through the water at ramming speed toward the sides of the Persian navy. The nimble Persian ships became cumbrous in the constricted space. When they attempted to turn, the king’s ships were impeded by the swift current from the sea into the strait. Worse, the high sterns and decks of the Persian fleet were made to dominate the open seas, but were restricting in the face of so much close-in fighting. Oars entangled, hulls smacked, and confusion turned to panic even before the first Greek trireme hit. Xerxes raged as he heard the cracking of wood, and saw glistening pikes rake across the decks to kill his commanders. Smoke enveloped one ship after another as balls of fire splashed across the decks. Throughout the bay the king could see hundreds of motes, his best men flailing in the water, sinking under the weight of their 34 | Mark Davis armor. Though ranked among some of the finest warriors in the world, many Persians did not know how to swim. Those who did washed up on rocks and little spits of sand, panting and too exhausted to resist the hoplites and their spears. In a fever, Xerxes sent his engineers to cast massive stones and clods of earth into the narrowest part of the channel, hoping to create a dam his army could cross into Salamis. It was no use. With control of the seas, and the destruction of much of the Persian navy, the Greeks had turned the tables on Xerxes. When the battle ended, the war was far from over. Much Greek territory remained in Persian hands. The people of Athens would return to their burnt-out city, only to have to flee it again when Persian forces returned under Mardonius. But the Battle of Salamis marked the turning point in the Hellenic world’s struggle much as the Battle of Midway changed the war in the Pacific. As a result of this stunning Greek victory, the Hellespont bridge was now under threat by a liberated Greek navy, forcing Xerxes to beat a hasty retreat to his kingdom. And in 479, the Persian invaders suffered a final defeat in the battles of Plataea and Mycale. How had this stunning reversal come about? The night before, while Themistocles made his appeal to the other Greeks on the decks of a Spartan ship, he alone knew that his slave would entice the Persians to encircle the Greeks and their forces. Late in the evening, Themistocles had slipped out of a war council to receive his old rival, Aristides. Aristides was all urgency and business, alarmed that he had just managed to slip through a Persian fleet on the move. Themistocles was touched that the man had set aside his bitterness for the good of the nation. So Themistocles related the debates of the day, and then—perhaps in a startlingly cheerful manner—informed him that he had betrayed the Greeks by sending his most loyal slave to Xerxes. It was, of course, a classic double, double-cross. Sicinnus, Themistocles told his old enemy, may be a Persian. But he has long looked after my children and loves them as his own. He will be all too willing to sell the king on the idea that we will gather our people and make a mad dash for the mainland. And, of course, Xerxes will believe him. How could he not? Sicinnus is a Persian, The Admiral | 35 after all. And it is not as if we Greeks don’t have a history of betraying one another. Aristides listened and immediately grasped the brilliance of the deception. He also understood that once again, Themistocles had presented the Greeks with a fait accompli. His old rival had given Aristides a role he could not refuse. Themistocles had used up all his political capital in his incessant arguments with the Greeks, especially the Spartans. The rival of Themistocles would be believed. Aristides dutifully went from commander to commander in the dark hours of the early morning with the news of Themistocles’ trick. Any anger they felt at being manipulated by the Athenian dissipated when a band of Greek deserters from the Persian navy confirmed the news of the advancing Persian fleet and its blockade. The most improbable victory in history had been set up with an improbable deceit and won with a cunning strategy.

The Arrogant Aftermath

As a youth, Themistocles’ father had warned him of the dangers of a public career, walking him to the shore where old galleys broke upon the rocks. Do you see those ships, smashed into flotsam? That is how a democracy treats its leaders, how the vulgar many treat the excellent few. After Salamis, Themistocles reveled in his reputation as the savior of Greece. He went off on a victory tour, crowned with olive leaves in Sparta, and given a chariot and contingent of three hundred youths to parade around the Spartan countryside. At the next Olympic games, the crowds ignored the athletes and broke into wild applause at the sight of Themistocles, following him, patting him, thanking him. While Aristides would have blushed and muttered something about duty, Themistocles swam in the attention. He became the master of the aphorism, as if he knew he was speaking for the ages. Themistocles told his young son, after a moment of indulgence, that the little boy was the most powerful person in Greece: “For the Athenians command the rest of Greece, I command the Athenians, your mother commands me, and you command your mother.” He told a daughter being wooed by two men that he preferred a son-in-law who was a “man without riches, rather than riches without a man.” 36 | Mark Davis

Such a habit of speaking in maxims quickly becomes obnoxious, especially when they are taunts aimed at those considered mediocre or jealous. When a man from the minor island-town of Seriphus complained that Themistocles was famous not through his own devices, but through those of his countrymen, he replied: “You speak the truth; I should never have been famous if I had been of Seriphus; nor you, had you been of Athens.” He built a temple to Artemis of Good Counsel, and placed it next to his house. The implication was, of course, that he himself had been a good councilor to all of Greece. Such immodesty began to fuel resentment and dark rumors. It was said that Themistocles required so much revenue for the entertainment of friends and his frequent sacrifices that he secretly sold gifts. Earlier in his career, it was alleged that Themistocles had demanded a colt from a horse-breeder, threatening to turn the man’s house into a “wooden horse”—meaning it would break open to reveal a half-dozen lawsuits as deadly as a band of Homeric raiders. Themistocles seemed to have had a clearer view of his reputation than many of the stories suggest. He was walking along the shoreline with a young protégé noting the charred and decaying bodies of dead Persians. The young man remarked that the bodies were heavily laden with gold braces and necklaces, asking, ‘Why don’t you help yourself ?’ Themistocles shook his head and walked on, saying: “Time, young man, has taught us both a lesson.” Themistocles had other great services to render to Athens. He continued to build up the port of Piraeus, a feat that taxed his powers of persuasion. In fortifying the port, he had to once again persuade a reluctant people to invest in their security, while fending off the objections of the Spartans. Once again, Themistocles persuaded the Athenians to abandon their land-locked mindset. Legend told of how the ancient kings of Athens had led their people from a nomadic life around the sea to the stability and good living of the farm. Pointing to the recent victory, Themistocles persuaded the Athenians to, in effect, reverse their founding myth by making their port integral to Athens. Such a union of city and port required a common wall around both. The very discussion of such a defensive wall stirred fear in the hearts of Sparta and Aegina—much as talk today of a national The Admiral | 37 missile defense arouses the jealousy and suspicion of major powers. If Athens combines the defensive shield of an impregnable wall with its aggressive spear of maritime supremacy, who could stand against her? Spartan ambassadors appealed to the Athenians to enact a treaty in which no city would have walls, a sort of ancient version of the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty. As a show of good faith, the Spartans asked the Athenians to join them in tearing down the walls erected against the Persians near the Isthmus of Corinth. Themistocles visited the Spartans to allay their fears. He stayed a long time, protesting he was not able to negotiate until the rest of his delegation arrived. But the other Athenian diplomats were delayed by one problem after another. So Themistocles talked and drank and tarried in the salons of the great, sharing their complaints over his tardy colleagues. All the while, of course, at his direction Athenian men, women and children were busy ransacking tombs and old buildings, hastily wedging sculptured stones, columns and rocks to erect a wall. When the Spartans grew more suspicious, Themistocles suggested they send envoys to Athens to check for themselves if there was a wall or not—and then sent a secret message to Athens ordering Spartan envoys to be politely detained. By the time the Spartans and Aeginetans realized what was happening, the wall to Piraeus was already a fact on the ground. Themistocles next aimed all budgetary and geopolitical decisions at making the Athenian component of the Greek navy unquestionably dominant. It is because of this diplomatic spadework of Themistocles that the Greek forces would join together under the banner of the Delian League, forming a kind of a defensive NATO alliance between sovereign states. He defied the Spartans to widen the war council to include those cities that had not fought against the Persians. In this way, Themistocles kept the Greeks united, the Spartans counterbalanced, and the Athenians pre-eminent. As his achievements mounted, the envy of the mob swept over Themistocles as it had once swept over Aristides. Of the 1,500 ostraca shards discovered by archeologists, 542 are engraved “Θεμιστοκλῆς”—Themistocles. 38 | Mark Davis

Medism and McCarthyism

The character of Themistocles is perhaps best described by the Greek word megalegoria—literally, “big talking.” At best, it means high-minded eloquence. At worst, it has connotations of megalomania. The character of Themistocles moved between these two poles, splendid in wartime, arrogant in peacetime. Themistocles was often accused of having sticky fingers, of using his power for extortion, of resorting to bribes. Herodotus portrays him taking time from the war to extort money from Aegean islanders. There is undoubtedly some truth to reports of Themistoclean graft and extortion. Themistocles was certainly interested in ostentatious displays of wealth. But his real greed was for power. Money was needed because it helped him accumulate power and maintain it. Themistocles was also the target of the oligarchy and the tory wing of the democratic faction. As a proponent of greater democracy, Themistocles excited fear of mob-rule. He had cultivated powerful enemies, and when Athens fell subject to one of those witch-trial fevers that seize democracies from time to time, his enemies were ready to pounce. The best sources we have—Herodotus, Thucydides and Plutarch —had to rely on hostile informants in an age in which Themistocles seemed emblematic of democracy in its most radical and volatile form. Even Aristotle viewed Athens’ self-congratulatory praise of the victory at Salamis as the beginning of the demagoguery that would decades later bring Athenian democracy to ruin. Nineteenth Century German scholars, skeptical of democratic heroes and more sympathetic to Spartan ideals, would amplify this prejudice. When one corrects for such bias, the tools of interpretative history reveal a more nuanced portrait. Was Themistocles as rapacious as his enemies portrayed him, or was his love of spectacle the taste of a nouveau riche politician? Was he, like Disraeli, a born outsider who compensated for his lack of station by being a showboat? Did he truly lack any personal sense of ethics, or was he skillful in the use of bribery and influence to promote Greece’s war aims? The best evidence reveals a man with consuming ambition and a flair for extravagance, but who felt worry for his country as acute as a physical pain. The Admiral | 39

Despite his remarkable service, Themistocles had to endure the pure humiliation of ostracism, a sort of a public dunking of the great and overbearing. But it was not, as Aristides had shown, necessarily the end of a public career. The friends of Themistocles promised to look after his property while he retired to nearby Argos for a decade. It was, after all, not so bad to enjoy semi-retirement in the bucolic south, a place from which he could offer advice and employ a hidden hand in Athenian politics. Being sidelined from politics, however, turned out to be more dangerous than he had imagined. In exile, Themistocles became the target of a dark rumor campaign. Themistocles was about to be charged with treason for being in league with Persia. How did such a preposterous charge gain traction? Earlier in its history, Athens saw nothing wrong with seeking military help from the Persians. After Marathon, however, a Hellenic ideal arose that would define new limits for a loyal Greek. Although many Greeks would invite the Persians to meddle, such trafficking with the “Medes” (as the Greeks sometimes mistakenly called the Persians) would become the living definition of treachery. So charges of “Medism”—treasonous support for a mortal enemy—became a crime punishable by death. The treason campaign against Themistocles got a footing after a disaster from an unexpected quarter. After Salamis, Themistocles had shared command with the Spartan general Pausanias. The Greek fleet had destroyed the rest of the Persian navy on the coastline of Ionia, while on land Pausanias had gone on to win excellent victories, demolishing the army Xerxes had left behind at Plataea in 479. Victory was secure when the blowhard Mardonius, who had been so contemptuous of the Greek’s fighting ability, had his brains dashed out by Greek soldier with a rock. Pausanias further won the admiration of the Greek world by capturing the strategic stronghold of Byzantium. It wasn’t long, however, before stories of Pausanias’ gratuitous cruelty to allies and personal corruption began to drift back, a deep bother to the honor-loving Spartans. Pausanias was recalled to Sparta several times. In semi-disgrace, he roused suspicions that he was stirring up a rebellion among Sparta’s slave-peasants, the helots. It was during this period that Pausanias sent a trusted servant to deliver a diplomatic message to the Persians. The messenger had, however, noticed something 40 | Mark Davis disturbing. Several men before him had delivered similar messages. None, as of yet, had returned. Curious, he committed a capital crime by opening the letters and found a treasure-trove of intelligence and treasonous intentions. Pausanias had offered to help Xerxes retake Greece in exchange for the hand of the great king’s daughter and a comfortable tyranny over all of Greece to tide him over. The message ended with a single line that said, in effect, “and oh, by the way, don’t forget to kill this messenger.” The servant rushed to the ephors, the leaders of Sparta, to report this treachery. Exposed, Pausanias fled to the Spartan acropolis, seeking sanctuary in the temple of Athena. Sparta set down stones to trap him inside. Even the traitor’s elderly mother, fired with the patriotism that inspired so many Spartans to proudly denounce their own families before the state, heaved the first stone for that purpose. Many days later, the doors were opened. Pausanias was found unconscious, dying from starvation. He was rushed outside to die, lest his body pollute the temple. Among the effects of Pausanias were secret writings that included efforts to seduce the banished Themistocles into joining his treason, cast in somewhat elliptical language. Themistocles, by then in exile, had read them, but had likely never taken them seriously. Themistocles had filed away Pausanias’ communications as he did so many secrets, to be held close to the vest and used when needed. This time, Themistocles’ secrecy proved his undoing. The Spartans were still incensed over the devious way in which Themistocles had appeased them while secretly building his defensive wall. They had other reasons to be deeply suspicious of Themistocles. In the aftermath of Salamis, Themistocles had shared a proposal with Aristides to put the rest of the Greek navy to the torch; in this one bloodless move, Athens would have become the guardian and leader of all of Greece. Aristides saw the proposal as dishonorable, unfair and megalomaniacal. He had not only rejected it. He had gone public, exposing Themistocles to the other Greeks as a secret imperialist. The Admiral | 41

The Spartans worried that Themistocles would one day return to Athens and find new and ingenious ways to make the city even more domineering. So they embellished the evidence. Would Athens buy it? Themistocles had once said that the Athenians had no real affection for him. He was, he said, like a big tree on an empty plain—a shelter in rain, but a good source of firewood when the weather was clear. Now the weather was good. Athens was once again secure and comfortable. The forces of democracy, which had won the day at Marathon and Salamis, were in the hands of petty men. And Themistocles—like so many war leaders to come—was no longer needed. Indeed, he was a menace to the ambitions of the mediocre. Above all there was Aristides, once again ascendant, finally in a position to finish off his lifelong rival. Enemies in Sparta and Athens both issued what amounted to an indictment for treason. Themistocles was to be dragged to Athens and tried before the assembly. He would face a mountain of evidence (real and concocted), and endless accounts of his arrogance, avarice and lust for power. Themistocles conducted a letter campaign from Argos. His appeal was straightforward: Yes, if the charge is ambition, I am certainly guilty. I am proud. I like to govern. And it is precisely for these reasons that I would never abase myself as a slave to a barbarous king. He had made his best appeal and was alarmed by the hostile response. It became clear that to return to the city he had saved would be to die.

A Merciless Hunt

Soon, even Argos was no longer safe. Themistocles fled to the northeast, finding temporary sanctuary on the island of Corcyra along the Adriatic coast, which was grateful for a positive decision he had once rendered as a judge in a dispute between that island and Corinth. Word came that the Athenians and Spartans had combined forces in a manhunt for him. Themistocles cut across the mountainous interior to the northwest of Greece, to the country of the Molossians. 42 | Mark Davis

Themistocles and King Admetus, by Pierre Joseph François (1832)

It was not an inspired choice. Admetus, King of the Molossians, was still smarting from an officious reply from a request he had made when Themistocles was first among equals in Athens. The king made it clear that if he could one day get his hands on this Athenian, he would tear him to pieces. One can imagine, then, Admetus’ surprise when Themistocles appeared at his court. Someone, perhaps the king’s wife, had coached the Athenian in the best way to approach the king. Themistocles did The Admiral | 43 so in the most disarming way imaginable, with the king’s toddler son cradled in his arms. The great man then set the boy down and lay down by the king’s hearth—a traditional gesture of supplication. The king was won over. Under Admetus’ protection, it wasn’t long before Themistocles was reunited with his family, after a friend had spirited his wife and many sons and daughters out of Athens. The kingdom of the Molossians, however, was only a meeting place and a resting point. To the south and west, Greeks were hot on his trail. To the east, pirates and bounty hunters were hungry at the prospect of turning Themistocles over to the king of Persia to collect a bounty of 200 talents. So Themistocles beat them to it. He would collect that bounty himself.

Loyalty in Treason

Innocent of betraying his country to Persia, Themistocles under the charge of Medism now had nowhere to turn to but Persia. Themistocles was forced to embark on the most dangerous passage of his life. A rich friend gave him a traveling carriage and sent it deep into Persian-held Ionia. While Themistocles hid inside, the carriage-man told guards along the king’s highways that he was carrying a young Greek woman to a Persian nobleman. It was a believable fiction. A thousand years before Islam, women in Persia— be they wives or concubines—were often kept hidden from view, especially when traveling. At Sardis, Themistocles petitioned the satrap to be admitted to Persia proper to see the king. “Who must we tell the king that you are?” the governor asked. “For your words signify that you are no ordinary person.” Themistocles replied that his identity must be kept for the king himself. We can imagine the governor grumbling—fine, let us hope for your sake that he is pleased with who you are. The Athenian traveled the dusty roads, mountain passes and salt marshes of what today is southern Iraq, until he arrived at the administrative capital of Susa, in the far southwest of modern Iran. Fortunately for Themistocles, his old enemy Xerxes was dead. Like his father, Xerxes had returned to his court humiliated and 44 | Mark Davis broken by the Greeks. He was assassinated in the twentieth year of his reign. His son and successor, Artaxerxes I, was a pragmatic man with a less ambitious vision of the task at hand. The king was modest. He was as generous to the Jews as Cyrus had been, allowing his aide Ezra and cupbearer Nehemiah to carry out their missions to Jerusalem. Rather than set out to conquer everything beneath the sky, Artaxerxes contented himself with maintaining the borders of his empire. Nicknamed Longimanus by the Greeks for having one arm longer than the other, Artaxerxes was gentler than his predecessors and more curious about the Greeks. After bowing before Artaxerxes, Themistocles spoke through an interpreter to astonish the king by revealing his identity. Then he used one of his most artful—and devious—devices to persuade the king that he had been a secret friend of Persia all along. In the aftermath of Salamis, Themistocles and Aristides had hotly debated what to do next. Themistocles had argued strongly in favor of sending the fleet to the Hellespont and putting the torch to the king’s enormous bridges (just as Xerxes’ advisor, Artabanus, had feared). Aristides argued against this. Shut off Xerxes escape route with Greece, Aristides said, and the king will no longer grumble with an umbrella of gold over his head. He will be fighting for his life, with all of Persia coming to his rescue. Better to facilitate the exit of the Persian king and as many of his soldiers as he will take with him. Very well, Themistocles had replied, if the goal is to get the king out, then by all means let’s make it quick. Among the captured Persians, Themistocles found a eunuch known to the king. He had sent him off to Xerxes with yet another insincere message. Themistocles twisted the facts. He confided to the king that it was his fellow Greeks who were intent on destroying his bridge—a prospect Themistocles pretended to find horrific. The letter said, in effect, consider this a friendly tip. Who knows when you might have the chance to return the favor? The ruse worked. The message had panicked Xerxes, and spurred him to immediately set out for his home territory. Like so many Themistoclean moves, it also had hidden purposes and trap doors. By couching his appeal in such personal terms, Themistocles had made an investment in the king’s safety. Whether he had intended to do so or not, Themistocles had built up a smidgen of political capital at Susa. Now, speaking before that very king’s son, The Admiral | 45

Themistocles twisted the story to a new end. Did I not save your father’s life? You want witnesses for my loyalty to you? Take my own countrymen, who forced me to flee for my life, as witnesses for what I have done for Persia. For an Athenian, making a persuasive speech before the court would have been difficult. Themistocles would have approached the king as a supplicant with his hands on his mouth, lest his exhalations contaminate the lungs of the earthy suzerain of the Supreme Being, Ahura Mazda. After an initial bow, he would have kept his gaze respectfully downward, toward the sumptuous red carpets spread for his majesty’s feet. If he dared to sneak a glance upward, Themistocles would have seen an imposing figure in a lustrous robe of purple silk, a noble face under a tall, somewhat pontifical fez, and a thick, elaborately braided beard projecting from a strong jaw. Artaxerxes listened with polite astonishment and let Themistocles stew for a day. In the privacy of his residence, the king summoned his closest friends to rejoice. At night, legend tells us, the king awakened to shout three times, “I have Themistocles the Athenian.” He prayed that the Greeks would continue to expel and abuse their greatest men. In the morning, Themistocles was led into the king’s chamber, while a commander hissed at him under his breath. After what had to be a tense moment, the king informed Themistocles that the bounty of 200 talents would be paid to the fugitive himself. It is likely that at this moment Themistocles held his breath. It was a favorite trope for Persian kings to reward a subordinate for one of his good deeds, and then put him to death for one of his bad ones. But the king’s kind manner betrayed no interest in punishment. Quite the contrary, he welcomed Themistocles and asked him to tell him as much as possible about the politics and capabilities of Greece. Themistocles demurred, not ready to be a traitor in practice as well as law. A man’s discourse, he replied through an interpreter, is like one of your gorgeous Persian carpets. It has to be spread out. Wrap it up, and the pattern is apt to be distorted. You, great king, should wish to hear the words in private from my own lips in your tongue. With my broken Persian, I could be easily misunderstood and leave you misinformed. The king could have been angered by Themistocles’ delay. Instead, he was charmed by his metaphor. Take a year, the king said, 46 | Mark Davis to learn our language. During that year, Themistocles hunted and traveled with the king. He became a favorite of the king’s mother, and spent time in discourse with Magi. It did not go unnoticed that brisk changes soon came to the court. Flatterers, incompetents and untrustworthy servants of the king were weeded out. The court became more efficient and less subject to intrigue. Themistocles was perfecting his Persian.

Honor’s Tightrope

Throughout his service to the king, Themistocles limited his efforts to internal improvements of the empire. He also showed glimmers of Hellenic loyalty. When a visiting Spartan insulted the king to his face, Themistocles intervened and saved the man’s life. Other actions also betrayed his sympathies, risking his position with the king, which meant risking his life and the survival of his family. When Themistocles traveled back to Sardis he discovered, to his astonishment, a statue of a virgin goddess made of brass. It was the very statue that young Themistocles, as a water commissioner, had financed from fines levied on Athenians who had built secret pipes into public waters for private use. Plutarch reports that when Themistocles discovered the brass virgin, he petitioned the local governor to return it to Athens. The governor was outraged and threatened to reveal Themistocles to the king as a spy for the Greeks. Themistocles realized he had overreached, that he had in fact exposed where his true loyalties were. It took many apologies, explanations and outright gifts to the governor’s wives and concubines to get the governor to settle down. Secure again in his position, Themistocles was rewarded by the king with a lordship in Asiatic Magnesia, a rich agrarian region in modern-day Anatolia. Themistocles’ new realm consisted of three cities, one to supply him with tribute in the form of bread, one for meat, one for wine. He settled into a large estate and lived happy years in tranquility. One day, over a lavish meal, he smiled at his brood and said, “Children, we would have been undone if we had not been undone.” He must have been aware, however, that the day would come when his loyalty would be tested. Athenian galleys had long been The Admiral | 47 pirating the Aegean and fomenting a new revolt along the coastline of Ionia. Now the Athenians were stirring up a fresh rebellion in Egypt. The king’s messengers arrived at Themistocles’ home with one entreaty after another. You swore your loyalty to me, the king said. I saved your life and raised you to heights unknown to you in Greece. Now I am building an army and I need commanders. I need you to defeat the Greeks. Themistocles seemed trapped, but as always, he was one step ahead. He took flight once again, this time to a kingdom far beyond the king’s reach or that of any of his old enemies. How he died is a matter of dispute. Thucydides—always the flat realist—reports that death came to Themistocles through natural causes. But he also relates another version of his death as possible, one accepted as truth and presented in full by Plutarch. Themistocles knew that Egypt could be won back for Persia, but that a lasting victory was improbable against the new and very able Greek commander, Cimon, son of Miltiades. More than anything, Themistocles feared dishonoring the glory of his past victories. An explicit betrayal of Athens now would blacken his name and forever taint the memory of what he had achieved at Salamis.

The Burial of the Ashes of Themistocles in the Attic Land Giuseppi Bossi, 1806 48 | Mark Davis

According to this tradition, Themistocles called local Greeks to his estate, and staged one of his extravaganzas. The lavish, cheerful party went on all day long. Themistocles sacrificed a bull to the gods, prayed, shook hands with his friends, and stretched out on a couch to drink a fast-acting poison called bull’s blood. He ended his life in order not to betray his legacy. It is easy to dismiss this story as a lovely fiction. But then again, why does a Magnesian coin (where Themistocles would later be briefly worshipped as a god) depict him with a knife in one hand, a slain bull at his feet? Far from feeling betrayed, the legend reports that Artaxerxes respected Themistocles all the more for being true to himself. The king looked after the family of Themistocles. In time, his family would return to Athens, and the bones of Themistocles would secretly be reburied in Attic soil. Themistocles had lived sixty-five years on his own terms.

Contrarian Leadership and Democracy’s Dilemma

It is easy to see Themistocles, like Churchill, as a kind of clairvoyant. The reality is that both men saw the future not through any kind of mystical power, but by following the principle of contrarian leadership. A contrarian is simply a thinker who realizes that present trends won’t continue. If there is peace today, there will be war tomorrow. If the markets are up today, there will be a downturn ahead. The contrarian leader is not a pessimist. He merely understands where his moment likely fits in the ebb and flow of history. He is also a realist who understands that there is no institution or civilization so majestic that it cannot be brought down, whether Rome, the Soviet Union or the United States of America. The contrarian leader knows that anything erected by man can and will eventually be torn down by man. This somber realization keeps him ever vigilant against nascent threats. The contrarian leader also knows that what has worked in the past won’t necessarily work in the future—indeed, it is guaranteed to fail against a thoughtful and resourceful enemy. This insight allows the contrarian leader to see himself through the eyes of his enemy. The Admiral | 49

And by getting into his enemy’s mind, he is willing to put aside vanity, even to the point of using his enemy’s poor opinion of him as a weapon. Such a degree of objectivity allows the contrarian leader to understand that in a democratic society, the people don’t always want to know exactly where they are being led. They don’t always want to see the plan. In a crisis, they just want to be led by someone decisive. With any luck, they are led in a way that allows them to survive. The example of Themistocles also forces us to acknowledge the dark side of democracy. There is an ugly tendency to want to humble the great, even the very leaders who are responsible for saving us—as British voters did to Winston Churchill, unceremoniously dumping him as soon as victory in World War Two was secure. The Greeks used ostracism to try to control this impulse and render it almost humane. We see this leveling impulse today in a 21st Century media cycle that builds up leaders and celebrities in order to tear them down. Finally, we can see that when democracy is under siege, opponents come together in solidarity, inflamed by patriotism. But when a prolonged peace returns, so does the partisan venom. American democracy will not fail as Athenian democracy did because America’s founders built into the U.S. Constitution the means to check the power of majorities, while protecting individuals against persecution. But the downward spiral of partisan infighting and political intrigue in Washington, D.C., often falls to levels reminiscent of Athens at its worst. Ancient Athens offers us, however, more than cautionary tales about how democracies can fail. It also leaves us with an enduring example of how democracies can succeed. Liberty, like the Olympic flame, was stoked from a tiny ember in what by all rights should have been a minor city in an obscure land. That spark of liberty would have been extinguished long ago had it not been for this one clever and exceedingly improbable man.

n 50 | Mark Davis

Bibliography

Burckhardt, Jacob, The Greeks and Greek Civilization, translated by Shelia Stern (New York, 1998). Herodotus, The Histories, translated by Robin Waterfield (Oxford, 1998). Plutarch, Plutarch’s Lives, edited by Arthur Hugh Clough (Dryden translation, New York, 2011). Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War (The Landmark Thucydides, edited by Robert B. Strassler, commentary by Victor Davis Hanson, New York, 1996). The Israelite Samaritans

Benyamin Tsedaka and Michael Dobson

“How would you like to meet a real Samaritan?” Until my friend Ralph Benko enlightened me, I had no idea that the Samaritans still existed. Of course, the “Good Samaritan” of the Parable was never intended to be a real person, but real Samaritans do appear in several places in the New Testament, most famously in the person of the Woman at the Well. As it turns out, however, a small Samaritan community (slightly more than 750 people) continues to exist into the present day. One of them, Benyamin (Benny) Tsedaka, head of the A.B. Institute of Samaritan Studies and editor and publisher of A.B. The Samaritan News, visited my house for the first time in 2004, and subsequently was responsible for my visit to Israel and the Palestinian Territories in 2008. With Ralph, Benny, Mark Davis, and Humayun Mirza, we established the Samaritan Medal Foundation, with the goal of recognizing and rewarding people who bridged the gap between traditional enemies. (The Medal itself was designed by multiple Hugo Award nominee Steve Stiles.) While I eventually withdrew from the Foundation because of a disagreement about direction, I felt—and feel—that the entire project was hugely important, and am honored to have been part of it.

51 52 | Random Jottings 10

I delivered a lecture on Samaritan history for the Biblical Archeology Society of Northern Virginia (BASONOVA), and published the transcript in Random Jottings 7. It’s reprinted here (with some corrections thanks to Benny), followed by an original piece on the lineage of the Samaritan High Priests by Benny Tsedaka himself. Benyamin Tsedaka is an Elder of the Israelite Samaritan people. He has published over 100 books and over 2,000 articles in Hebrew and English on Israelite Samaritan life. He wrote the “Samaritans” entires in Encyclopedia Judaica, the Hebrew Encyclopedia, and the Hebrew edition of Encyclopedia Britannica for Youth. He is a graduate of the Kibbutz Teachers’ College in Tel Aviv and the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He served in the Israeli Air Force. Benny is conductor of the Israelite Samaritan Music Ensemble and honorary chairman of the Samaritan Basketball Team. He is a founding member of the Société d’Études Samaritaines (Society of Samaritan Studies) and lectures worldwide. Benny’s most important recent book is The Israelite Samaritan Version of the Torah, which for the first time lays out English translations of the Samaritan Pentateuch and the Masoretic (Jewish) text in a way that shows side- by-side versions with important differences noted. It’s a vital reference for anyone serious about historical Biblical studies. Benny has homes in the Samaritan communities in Holon, Israel, and Kiryat Luza, Palestinian Territories. He and his wife Miriam have four children. A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritan People, by Michael Dobson A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritan People

Michael Dobson

I MET MY FIRST REAL SAMARITAN in 2004: Benyamim Tsedaka, head of the A.B. Institute of Samaritan Studies and editor and publisher of A.B. The Samaritan News. Out of that first meeting eventually came the Samaritan Medal for Peace and Humanitarian Service, originally conceived as an interfaith recognition for people who crossed boundaries of nationality and faith to help others. Thanks to the Medal, I visited Israel and the Palestinian Territories in 2008, including the Samaritan communities in Holon, a suburb of Tel Aviv, and Kiryat Luza, a small settlement on the slopes of Mount Gerizim, the Mountain of Blessings, spiritual center of the Samaritan faith. You can’t very well work with the real Samaritan people without developing a more than casual curiosity about these people. While everybody knows what a Samaritan is—or at least what a Samaritan is supposed to be—as a result of the Parable, the real story of this tiny people is much less well known.

The Samaritan Medal for Peace and Humanitarian Service (designed by Steve Stiles) 53 54 | Michael Dobson

During my years working on the Samaritan Medal project, I learned a lot about their fascinating beliefs, about their amazing history, and about the turbulent world they’ve managed to survive for well over 3,000 years. But before we get to the Samaritans themselves, let’s take a look at the land of the Parable. So, if Mr. Peabody will be kind enough to fire up the Way-Bac Machine, we’ll get our trip underway. Our first stop is Alexandria, Egypt; the date is December 26, 1855.

The Road to Jericho

We’re on the deck of the USS Constellation, the tall ship now on display at Harborplace in Baltimore, Maryland. In 1855, it was stationed in the Mediterranean Sea. In those pre-Civil War years, its mission was to fight the African slave trade. The following story comes from letters written home by Marine Corps Sergeant William Philip Schwartz (right)—who just happens to be my wife’s great-great- grandfather. The letters were discovered in a trunk in her uncle’s attic a decade or so ago, and are now part of the USS Constellation Museum collection. In December of 1855, Schwartz and ten of his men decided to take extended shore leave to see the Holy Land. They booked passage on a Turkish steamer to Jaffa, where they hired guides and horses to travel to Jerusalem, a dangerous ride through bandit country. The American consul at Jaffa warned Schwartz that the guides were probably in league with the bandits. Wrote Schwartz: The road for about twelve miles from Jaffa lays between immense orchards of pomegranates, oranges, and lemons, which are defended by herds of prickly pear bushes, some 13 or 15 feet in height. After proceeding a few miles on our journey, we came to a halt and mustered our guides near us. We then [produced our revolvers and cutlasses, which had been generously furnished us by the captain of our ship, and] told [the guides] that we had them completely in our power, A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 55

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho, late 19th century

that we did not wish to injure any of them, but if we were attacked by any armed forces, they (the guides) would be the first we would kill, then fight our way through, if we could. This had the desired effect, for we had not proceeded over sixteen miles when we discovered a party of about twenty men making toward us in a very suspicious manner. We immediately placed our guides in a position to receive our first volley. They, perceiving our movement, at once concluded our motives and turned toward our foes, made hasty signs and dispersed the crowd, who took flight in an opposite direction. It doesn’t pay to mess with the Marines, even in 1855. Later in the trip, as the party climbed from the plains of Sharon into the mountains, Schwartz continued: This road from the plains to Jerusalem is the worst I think I ever saw. It lays for most of the distance about midway between the summit and foot of the hills, now ascending to the very top, then descending, as it were, into the very bowels of the earth, over rocks upon rocks, and through deep ravines and through gulleys. The hills in most places are perfectly barren, then again in a few scattered places may be seen a few olive trees and brushwood. 56 | Michael Dobson

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is to the northeast of the road William Schwartz traveled in 1855. Today, it’s a straight shot down Israeli Highway 1, but for millennia it more closely resembled the terrain Schwartz described: desolate and dangerous.

Samaritans in the New Testament

Everybody knows the story of the Good Samaritan. In fact, it’s the only thing everybody knows about Samaritans—although, as you can see, it never really happened. It’s a story Jesus tells to win an exchange with an expert in religious law. Yet, the Parable has so entered the consciousness of Western civilization that Roget’s Thesaurus and every dictionary I checked define “Samaritan” as a synonym of “good.” There are Samaritan charitable and service organizations by the hundred, the “Samaritan” armored ambulance, the USS Samaritan hospital ship, Samaritan skin cream (made in Australia), the “Good Sam” RV owners’ club, and even a superhero Samaritan in a comic- book series known as Astro City. (The superhero Samaritan, in a way, is the most appropriate of the bunch. Like his namesake in the parable, this Samaritan is made up.) The made-up Good Samaritan is much better known than the real Samaritans who appear in the New Testament. A woman from Samaria gives Jesus water from a well when he asks for it in John 4, a surprise, because “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.” When Jesus cures ten lepers in Luke 17, they all run away in joy. Only one, who happens to be a Samaritan, returns to thank Jesus for his cure. Jesus seems initially fond of Samaritans, but has an apparent change of heart after the Samaritan village refuses to loan him a donkey because he’s heading for Jerusalem in Luke 9. When he gives the twelve disciples their marching orders in Matthew 10, he says, “Don’t turn on the road that leads to the Gentiles, and don’t enter Samaritan towns.” In today’s phraseology, we’re experiencing a little cultural stereotyping here. It’s clear Jews think ill of Samaritans. It’s equally clear Samaritans return the favor. On the other hand, Philip in Acts 8 preaches in Samaria, and evidently wins a lot of converts. Some scholars also look at Acts 7 as evidence of Christian interest in the Samaritans. But with the end of Acts, the Bible draws a veil over the Samaritan story. A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 57

Will the Real Samaritans Please Stand Up?

Who, then, are the Samaritans? Where did they come from? Why was there such antipathy between Samaritans and Jews? What religion did Samaritans practice? And what happened to them after the days of the New Testament? There’s controversy on some of these matters. Let’s start with the non-Samaritan side. Here’s a description from Thomas Cahill’s The Gifts of the Jews. “[By 721 BCE]…[t]he Kingdom of Israel had…been reduced to the status of a vassal kingdom by the expanding Assyrian empire to the northeast. But soon after the death of Tiglath-pileser III, Assyria’s great warrior emperor, Israel decided to flex its muscles and throw off the Assyrian yoke. This was its last mistake. The Assyrians descended and carried off all the people of property, dispersing Israelite nobles throughout the empire as nameless slaves who would never be heard from again. In times to come, their land would be colonized by subject peoples from elsewhere in the empire, who one day intermarried with the remaining peasant stock, would come to be known as Samaritans.” 2 Kings 17 takes a similar view of the origins of the Samaritans. The North Kingdom of Israel, it says, fell to the Assyrian empire as punishment for its sins. The inhabitants had worshiped foreign gods and even put up two gold statues of calves and a sacred pole for Asherah. The Assyrians brought in new settlers from elsewhere in the empire—places like Cuthah and Hamath and Sepharvaim, and they brought the worship of their own gods with them. The God of Israel sent lions to attack these heathens, and as a result, the settlers converted—sort of. They took up the worship of the God of Israel, but alongside their own idols. Their descendents, the Bible writes, meaning the Samaritans, did the same thing. Josephus echoes the story in 2 Kings, and adds that while Greeks call them “Samaritans,” the Hebrew call them “Cuthem”—“from Cuthah.” These Cuthem are evidently an unsavory lot who sail with the prevailing winds. Writes Josephus, “When they see the Jews prospering, they call them their kinsmen, on the grounds that they are descended from Joseph and are related to them, but when they see the Jews in trouble, they say that they have nothing whatever in common with them.” 58 | Michael Dobson

“So he sent lions among them,” 2 Kings 17, illustration by Gustav Doré

If that's the public story, you can imagine what got said off the record. The only epithet we know about is “Cuthem,” but there were no doubt others. I’ll bet Jews and Samaritans told jokes about each other—most likely versions of the same jokes that have at one time or another been applied to every outsider group or rival. Did you hear the one about the two Samaritans who go into an inn? Or, my favorite, Why did the Samaritan cross the road? Heretics, idolaters, half-breeds…This is, to put it mildly, not quite how the Samaritans see themselves. It is a good guideline, however, to help us understand why, as the commentator of John 4 helpfully reminds us, “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans,” and why the idea of a “Good” Samaritan was, at the time of the New Testament, an outlandish notion. It would be somewhat akin to telling a Southern during Reconstruction the story of the Good Carpetbagger...or anyone with a 401(k) today the story of the Good Wall Streeter. A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 59

The Origins of the Samaritan People

Let’s first figure out whom we’re talking about. The word “Samaritan” today refers to a religious and ethnic community that uses the Samaritan Pentateuch for its sacred text and believes Mount Gerizim is the proper place for worship. That usage hasn’t always been the case, and when reading ancient documents, it’s hard to be sure whether “Samaritan” refers to that group or refers more generally to any inhabitant of Samaria, the former North Kingdom. That can lead to all sorts of confusion. Samaritan religious beliefs revolve around the four principles of their faith: • One God, the God of Israel • One—and only one—prophet, Moses • One holy book, the Pentateuch, and no other books. • And one holy place, which is Mount Gerizim, the Mountain of Blessings. The last item is the source of all the trouble between Samaritans and Jews. Samaritans themselves prefer to be called “Israelites,” but will settle for “Israelite Samaritans.” To them, “Samaritan” doesn’t mean “inhabitant of Samaria.” Those are Samarians, not Samaritans. Instead, “Samaritan” derives from the word Shomrim, “keeper of the law.” That goes to the heart of what Samaritans believe about themselves and their origins.

The Civil War

For that story, let’s set the Way-Bac dials for the time period of the Book of Judges, the 11th Century BCE, and hear what the Samaritan Chronicles, the major work of Samaritan history, has to say. A terrible civil war [has broken] out between Eli son of Yafni, of the Line of Ithamar, and the sons of Phineas, because Eli son of Yafni resolved to usurp the High Priesthood from the descendants of Phineas. When the Great High Priest Ozzi learnt of this, he thoroughly disowned him; and it is even said that he rebuked him. Thereupon he and the group that sympathized with him, rose in revolt and at once he and his followers set off for Shiloh. Thus Israel split into factions... 60 | Michael Dobson

These words were written in the 14th century CE by Abu’l Fath. Here’s what he’s talking about. The first capital of post-Exodus Israel was not Jerusalem, but ancient Shechem. Today, the city is known as Nablus. It is nestled in a valley between two mountains: Gerizim and Ebal. These mountains appear in the 11th chapter of Deuteronomy: “And it shall come to pass, when the LORD thy God hath brought thee in unto the land whither thou goest to possess it, that thou shalt put the blessing upon mount Gerizim, and the curse upon mount Ebal.” It was at Shechem that the Israelites, under the leadership of Joshua, reaffirmed their covenant with God, as described in Deuteronomy 27. Six tribes stood upon Mount Gerizim to recite the blessings for following the laws of the God of Israel, and the other six tribes stood upon Mount Ebal to recite the curses on those who disobeyed the Lord. As far as the future Samaritans were concerned, this made Mount Gerizim, the Mountain of Blessings, God’s chosen place, and the proper center of Israelite worship. Around the 11th century BCE, the priest and judge Eli—the one who was rebuked by the Great High Priest Ozzi—established a new worship site at Shiloh. This drove a wedge between the proto- Samaritans in Shechem and other Israelites, who recognized other prophets and additional books that make up the Hebrew Bible and Christian Old Testament.

The Era of Divine Disfavor

The tribe of Judah and the city of Jerusalem became increasingly dominant. Jerusalem was the political capital, the economic capital, and to a greater and greater degree, the religious capital. The traditionalists in Shechem were increasingly unhappy, and following the death of Solomon, the previously united Kingdom of Israel broke in two: the Kingdom of Israel, known as the North Kingdom, and the Kingdom of Judah, known as the South Kingdom. Both Samaritan and Jewish scholars agree that the break involved a division within the priesthood. For the next two hundred years, the two kingdoms struggled, until the regional superpower, the Assyrians, took over in 721 BCE. This ended the “Era of Divine Favor,” the Rahuta, which began with A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 61

Moses, and started the “Era of Divine Disfavor,” the Fanuta, which will last until the coming of the savior, or Taheh. What happened to the ten tribes of Israel that made up the North Kingdom? Samaritans tell us that the deportation primarily affected the aristocratic leadership in the city of Samaria, and involved far fewer people than is generally claimed. The Joseph tribes of Menasseh and Ephraim were relatively untouched, and it is from those tribes that today’s Samaritans claim an unbroken line of priestly succession all the way down to the High Priest I met in 2008: Elazar bin Tsedaka bin Yitzhaq, the 131st of his line, a direct descendent, according to their genealogical records, of Aaron the brother of Moses. 62 | Michael Dobson

Roughly two hundred years later, the Kingdom of Judah falls to Babylon, and Jews endure fifty years of captivity in Babylon before being permitted to return to their homeland. After the exile, during the Persian period, a Jew, Nehemiah, becomes the Persian governor of the Jewish community in Jerusalem. He outlaws marriages with “foreign women,” scuttling a marriage between a daughter of the Persian governor of Samaria and a son of the Jewish High Priest. Although the governor of Samaria wasn’t a “Samaritan” as we use the term, it was one more wedge between the Jews and their increasingly distant cousins on Mount Gerizim. Both Samaritans and Jews credit a contemporary of Nehemiah’s, Ezra, of the Book of Ezra, for completing the schism. Ezra, according to tradition, established the canon of the Hebrew Bible, including books other than the Pentateuch, and insisted on the centrality of Jerusalem as the one holy place for the worship of God. For this, Samaritans refer to him as “Ezra the Cursed.” From that time on, Samaritans and Jews are clearly different religions, even though they spring from the same root.

The Tenth Commandment

One important question is which came first — the Samaritan version of the Pentateuch, or the Jewish version? According to Benny Tsedaka’s masterful compilation, The Israelite Samaritan Version of the Torah, there are roughly 7,000 differences in the two versions, most involving different orthography. The differences that matter, as you might imagine, involve the chosen place for the Almighty. In 22 verses in the Book of Deuteronomy, the SP version says, “In the place that the Almighty HAS CHOSEN,” referring to Mount Gerizim, which had already been blessed. The corresponding Jewish Masoretic MT text—in each case—reads, “In the place the Almighty WILL CHOOSE,” meaning Jerusalem, which came later. To make sure there’s no ambiguity, the SP version even offers a different Tenth Commandment in Exodus 20, which basically summarizes as, “Keep Mount Gerizim holy.” To make the number of commandments ten, the SP combines “I am the Lord thy God” (or “Shehmah your Eloowwem”) and “you shall not have any other gods before me” into a single A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 63 commandment, followed by “You shall not make for yourself an idol” as the second. They’re not alone, by the way, in adjusting the number. The Jewish Talmudic version has “I am the Lord your God” as the first commandment, and combines “No other gods before me” and “No idols” as the second. On the Christian side, Anglicans list “I am the Lord your God” as the preface and separate “No other gods” and “No idols” into separate commandments. The Orthodox churches combine “I am the Lord” and “No other gods” into a single commandment, and make “No idols” the second. Finally, Roman Catholics and Lutherans combine “I am the Lord,” “No other gods,” and “No idols” into a single First Commandment and break the “No coveting” into two commandments: “not your neighbor’s wife,” and then “not anything that belongs to your neighbor,” an important distinction, as you might well imagine. (The Eleventh Commandment, of course, in all traditions, remains “Don’t get caught.”)

Abominations and Desecrations

As the Persians gave way to Alexander’s Macedonians, the governors of Samaria and Judea chose sides, with Samaria going with Alexander while Judea stayed loyal to the Persians. The governor of Samaria, Sanballat III, obtained permission from Alexander to build a temple on the Mountain of Blessings. That was good news for the supporters of Mount Gerizim. Now, Alexander (unsurprisingly) appointed his own governors to his new provinces. Jerusalem, long used to foreign overlords, accepted the new boss (same as the old boss). Samaria, however, took less kindly to the new boss, and burned him alive. The city aristocracy fled Shechem. Alexander’s troops hunted them down. Hundreds of Samarians—some may also have been Samaritans, though not necessarily all—took shelter in the caves at Wadi ed-Daliyeh. The soldiers built a fire at the entrance, and everyone inside died of suffocation. The high priest in Jerusalem took advantage of the moment to switch sides, and in the process annexed several Samarian districts to Judea. 64 | Michael Dobson

After Alexander’s death, the Seleucid rulers nominally controlled the region, but soon they were in a struggle with the Ptolemies. The leaders of Judea and Samaria intrigued in the background. Under Antiochus IV Ephiphanies, there was a general persecution of religious Jews, culminating in the sacrifice of a pig on the altar at Jerusalem, the “abomination of desecration.” Some sources report that the Samaritans, trying to butter up Antiochus, agreed to name their Mount Gerizim temple after Zeus, more evidence of Samaritan perfidy and heresy, but if the story has any truth in it—and that’s not at all certain—it’s far more likely that the renaming was involuntary. The Abomination of Desecration triggered the revolt of John Hyrcanus. The Samaritans sat out the battle, enraging the Jews. John Hyrcanus subsequently attacked Samaria as punishment for their lack of support, and destroyed the temple on Mount Gerizim. By the arrival of Pompey the Great and the beginning of Roman rule in 63 BCE, the Samaritans had already been made virtual foreigners in their own land. But we know who they are; these are the Samaritans of the New Testament, the Samaritans we know best. Which brings us back to where we started in our discussion of the Samaritans and the people I know today.

Whatever Happened to Pontius Pilate?

While there are no more mentions of Samaritans in the New Testament after Acts, it turns out the Samaritans aren’t quite out of the story. They have a little epilogue all their own. During the tenure of an otherwise obscure Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, a “lying Samaritan” (that’s Josephus’s phrase) tells everyone he has found sacred vessels on Mount Gerizim that were left there by Moses. A crowd gathers, and Pilate panics. He sends in soldiers and things get out of control. He’s convinced it’s a conspiracy and has the leaders of the movement executed. The Samaritans file a formal complaint with the governor of Syria, Pilate is sent back to Rome. As it happens, he wasn't able to wash his hands of this case, and so got fired from his job. A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 65

Samaritan History After the New Testament

Under Christian Byzantium, three of the great figures in Samaritan history appeared: the powerful leader Baba Raba, the composer Amram Dare, and the poet and theologian Marqe. Baba Raba, Samaritan reformer and leader, from the third century CE, is part man and part legend. He reorganized the demoralized and decimated Samaritans, and established the Hukama, a council of sages, to interpret and administer Samaritan law. He battled the Samaritan heresy known as Dositheanism, a Gnostic version of Samaritanism. (Dositheos was a follower of John the Baptist and the teacher of Simon Magus.) He launched a massive building program, and seeded Samaritan communities throughout what had been, since the Bar Kochba revolt, known as Palestine. Some stories about Baba Raba are somewhat less grounded in historical fact. To keep Samaritans from climbing Mount Gerizim, the Byzantines installed a mechanical bird on the mountain. If a Jew or Samaritan approached, the bird would scream “Hebrew! Hebrew!” and summon the guards. The bird comes into play when Baba Raba’s nephew Levi converts to Christianity and becomes a bishop, though he remained a secret Samaritan in his heart. He traveled with other church officials to Palestine, and with his colleagues, climbed Mount Gerizim. The mechanical bird screamed “Hebrew!” “Hebrew!” “There are no Hebrews here,” says Bishop Levi. “The bird must be broken!” The others, not knowing his secret, believed him. The Byzantines removed the bird and once again the Samaritans had access to Mount Gerizim. And what about Baba Raba? Samaritan tradition says Baba Raba spent the final years of his life under house arrest in Constantinople after being invited there by the emperor. (Accepting imperial hospitality all too often has a downside.) Amram Dare, a contemporary of Baba Raba’s, revolutionized Samaritan music. The Samaritan Chorus has released several CDs of his music. Amram Dare’s son, Marqe, a poet, wrote the great work of Samaritan theology, the Memar Marquah. During the Byzantine period, persecution steadily grew. Like Jews, Samaritans were forbidden to hold civil service jobs. They 66 | Michael Dobson

The Samaritan Chorus (Benny Tsedaka, last row, third from left) could not serve as royal informers. They could not hold any office or honor that would put them in a position to harm Christians. As if to underscore the point, the Samaritans responded by cutting off a bishop’s fingers and massacring Christians in Caeserea. Ultimately, this did not endear the Samaritans to the Christian emperor. With a history like that, it is not surprising that in the seventh century Samaritans welcomed the new Muslim invaders into Palestine, figuring anything would be an improvement over the Byzantine Christians. At first, it seemed to be a good bet. Some Samaritans achieved high political office. Although they still used Ancient Hebrew as their liturgical language, Samaritans adopted Arabic as their everyday language. Their traditional red turbans date from this period. Muslims color-coded the religions, reserving white for their own turbans, and assigning blue to the Jews, yellow to the Christians, and red to the Samaritans. A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 67

Assimilation, however, was less than total. Samaritans, who follow rigid codes of purity, didn’t like being touched by outsiders. Muslims often referred to Samaritans as “Lamasasiah,” or “Don’t Touch”-ers. By the beginning of the 11th century of the common era, most Samaritans lived in Nablus, and the community numbered only a few thousand. In 1099, the first crusaders arrived, demanding supplies for their march on Jerusalem. The presence of a large Christian community kept the crusaders from sacking the city, but they did take time to convert the Samaritan synagogue at Nablus into a church. Over the next 150 years, four more armies swept through, each taking a toll in lives and treasure. The Samaritans managed to survive all this, but just barely. From an estimated original population of 1.5 million, by the mid-sixteenth century—when “modern” Samaritan history officially begins—there were only about 220 Samaritans in Palestine, 200 living in Egypt, and about 100 in a small community in Damascus. (They weren’t all killed off; many converted to the most powerful religion at any given moment.) By all rights, the Samaritans should have gone the way of innumerable other dying people, but they continued to hang on. Part of it was the great gift of Jesus to the Samaritan people—the legacy of the Parable. By the 17th century, Samaritan manuscripts started to reach Western Europe. This was the first independent European knowledge of the mysterious Samaritans of the New Testament. European scholars were hungry to know more about the people of the Parable. This sudden interest from the West puzzled the Samaritans, who decided there must be groups of lost Samaritans living in England. Some Englishmen used this perception as a ruse to get more Samaritan holy books until the Samaritans got suspicious. Under the Ottoman Turks, Samaritans continued a slow decline. In 1912, an article in National Geographic put the total number of Samaritans at 140. The community was on the verge of extinction. Shortly after that, only a handful of the 24 Samaritan men drafted by the Turks in the First World War returned to the Mountain. 68 | Michael Dobson

But there was good news in the making. E. K. Warren, a wealthy businessman from Three Oaks, Michigan, was president of the International Association of Sunday School Teachers. While leading a group of Sunday school teachers to the Holy Land in the years before World War I, he met the high priest of the Samaritans. (At this time, there were 168 living Samaritans.) Warren, like most of us, had no idea there were still Samaritans in the world. Notice the effect here. The Parable of the Good Samaritan, a story that never happened, had so fixed the Western view of Samaritans that Warren could not resist repaying that nonexistent act of charity. Warren played Good Samaritan to the Samaritans themselves, helping the community survive. He acquired a large collection of Samaritan artifacts, which is located today at Michigan State University. It’s not too much to say that Warren’s timely intervention may have saved the community. The Samaritans survived the Ottomans, survived the British Mandate in Palestine, survived the 1948 War and the division of the community once again, survived the 1967 War, which put the two halves of the community in contact once again, and today still practice their traditions while living in the modern world. Today, the Samaritans still follow their ancient ways. They must live in the Holy Land. They must participate in the Passover Sacrifice on Mount Gerizim—they sacrifice lambs just as did the original Israelites. They keep the Sabbath, with rules slightly different from Orthodox Jews. And they practice the ancient rules concerning female purity, keeping separate chambers for women during their periods and after childbirth, when they are ritually unclean. Benny Tsedaka helpfully explained that Samaritan women really enjoy this tradition, because it means they get a few days off each month. I did not manage to confirm this directly with any Samaritan women.

Samaritans Today

The Samaritan community in Nablus moved to a new settlement, Kiryat Luza, located on the slopes of Mount Gerizim, as a result of violence from the First Intifada in the late 1980s. Although it is built in the style of an Israeli settlement, it is unusual in that there are no walls or barriers, and it is under joint Israeli and A Brief History of the Israelite Samaritans | 69

Samaritan Passover, 1948 (Photo: LIFE Magazine)

Palestinian control. All that remains of the historical Samaritan community in Nablus is an abandoned synagogue. Kiryat Luza is the last wholly Samaritan village, and is home to roughly half of the surviving 750 or so Samaritans. The remaining Samaritans live in a small neighborhood in Holon, Israel, a suburb of Tel Aviv. Because the community is so small, Samaritans pose no threat to anyone, although they are regarded with some suspicion by their Muslim neighbors because of their historical ties to ancient Israel. It helps somewhat that Samaritans have no religious objections to alcohol. The Good Samaritan Restaurant in Kiryat Luza is one of the few places in the West Bank where you can buy a drink. Samaritans move fairly easily between Israel and the Palestinian Territories. At least we weren’t challenged when I crossed through the military checkpoint at the border on my 2008 visit. (It was only later I learned the road we drove on was known as the “Highway of Death.”) Which is not to say that they don’t have big problems. In 2002, Samaritan Joseph Cohen, who lives on Mount Gerizim, took an alternate route home, passing near the Jewish settlement of Bracha. 70 | Michael Dobson

Kiryat Luza (Photo: Michael Dobson)

A group of Palestinian militants mistook him for a settler and shot him. Badly wounded, Cohen lost control of his car and rammed through an Israeli roadblock. Thinking he was a terrorist, the Israelis shot him too. Cohen survived, but can’t walk without crutches. Still, when asked when he would leave the Mountain of Blessings, Cohen was clear. “We will not leave. This is our home.”

n The High Priesthood and the Israelite Samaritan Priests, by Benyamim Tsedaka

The High Priesthood and the Israelite Samaritan Priests

Benyamim Tsedaka

IN THE TOP OF THE ISRAELITE SAMARITAN COMMUNITY stands today the High Priest ‘Abed-El b. Asdher b. Matzliach, 80, the 133th High Priest since Aaron b. ‘Amram, Moses’ brother, that it was promised to his grandson Phinhas the high priesthood to him and his seed forever [Numbers 24:12]. So, for 112 generations the high priesthood was inherited from father to son in the Phinhas family, heads of the Israelite Samaritan People till 1624 CE. Sometimes the high priesthood was inherited by a brother or uncle in the family if there was not a direct successor to the previous High Priest. Sometimes the High Priest appointed his son as his successor and shared with him the duties during his own time of priesthood. The high priests from the family of Phinhas were called “The High Priests the Rabbans.” Also, any member of this family that was not a high priest but was known as wise and creative held the title Rabban. A branch of this family was the Phinhas family of priests in Damascus. In two cases in the 12th century and the 13th century, the high priests of Damascus were called to move to Nablus to head the Israelite Samaritan People, since there was not a successor to the High Priest who died in Nablus. (Nablus is the modern name for Shechem, first capitol of the Kingdom of Israel.) Also in Damascus were priests that became High Priests that held the title of High Priest in Damascus. The Damascus Samaritan 71 72 | Benyamim Tsedaka

Samaritan High Priest Jacob b. Aaron b. Shalma in 1909

Community settled there since the 8th century CE and also there the high priesthood was delivered from father to son. In general, the Priests of Damascus and their families lived in a special neighborhood near to the neighborhood where the rest of the Israelite families lived. Although they were from the same Phinhas family, the high priests of Damascus were under the jurisdiction of the High Priest in Nablus, the head of all Samaritan people. Except for Itamar b. ‘Amram and Yusef b. ‘Azzi, the High Priests of Damascus were not concluded in the linage of the 112 Samaritan High Priests, the leaders of the Israelites. Manuscripts of the Pentateuch that were scribed by High Priests of the family of Phinhas were considered as most valuable. They were called Phinhasieh (plural Phinhasias). The High Priesthood | 73

The High Priests of the family of Phinhas continued until the beginning of the 17th century CE, although the family was struggling because of the decreasing numbers of Israelite Samaritans. In 1624 CE, the last High Priest of the family of Phinhas, Shalmaiah b. Phinhas b, Eleazar, died after eleven years in office. He left after him only one daughter. There was a mystery surrounding his death. He was in his way from Nablus to the Samaritans of Gaza when he disappeared. There is a tradition that he was taken by the Almighty. But the poet and writer Marchiv n. Jacob solved the mystery in one of his many letters to Europe in the 17th century when he wrote that “the last Rabban died in our time.” Through all the history of the the Phinhas family of high priests, they were escorted by another Aaron's priestly family, the descendants of Itamar b. Aaron, the brother of Eleazar. They were assistants to the high priests of the family of Phinhas in directing the religious life of the Samaritans and in the cult work. They helped the Phinhas High Priest in translating his Hebrew reading of the Pentateuch into Aramaic, the language of the majority of the Israelite People. Because of this special duty they were called ‘A b t a h (Translator) or in Arabic, Haftawi. The forefather of the current priestly families was the priest ‘Abed Ela b. Shalma of the top of the Samaritan Wisdom. He was born and active in Damascus, then moved to Nablus to serve the high priests. He a was great poet, translator and teacher of religion. His title in Damascus was “President of the House of 'Abtah.” In 1624 CE, the Samaritans were left without a High Priest near Mount Gerizim’s House of El, a very special location that established the authority of the High Priest in Nablus over the other priests in other cities where the Samaritans dwelt. In 1625, the Samaritan Community of Damascus was destroyed in a pogrom initiated by the governor Mardam Bek. Only one little family succeeded to escape from Damascus to Nablus. This family are the forefathers of the Dinfi household of today. The current Dinfi household is the largest of the four households of the Samaritans and contain two big families: Altif and Sassoni, or Sirrawi. The sages of the small Samaritan community of the 17th century CE decided to follow the priests of the Itamar family. Their 74 | Benyamim Tsedaka deep sorrow about the end of the Phinhas family was combined with the relief that they still had priests who were descendants of Aaron, a line that ceased from within the Israelite Samaritans. But the principle of delivering the high priesthood from father to son is limited in the Pentateuch only to the high priests of the family of Phinhas. Very quickly, the sages woke up to find another principle in the Pentateuch in this regard: “The Eldest priest of his brothers” [Leviticus, 20:20], and they asked the priest Tsedaka b. Tabia b. Yusef to be the first High Priest from the family of Itamar to head the Israelite Samaritans. Since then the principle of delivering the high priesthood “from Father to Son” has been replaced by the principle of "The Eldest Priest of His Brothers". The Eldest Priest in the family of priests is the High Priest. In the foundation of the two principles stands the common idea to avoid discontent towards the identity of the High Priest, that it should be limited to the decision of the Almighty and not ever leaving it to humans. Thus, when the identity of the next High Priest is known following these both principles, there is no chance for a split or discontent among the Israelite Samaritans. After the death of the Itamar's High Priest, the next High Priest will be the eldest priest after him. The current High Priest is Aaron b. Ab-Hisda b. HP Jacob b. Aaron b. HP Shalma b. HP Tabia b. Yitzhaq b. HP Abraham b. HP Yitzhaq b. HP Tabia b. HP Tsedaka b. Tabia b. Yusef. Here are the names pf all High Priests of the family of Itamar since 1624 CE: • Tsedaka b. Tabia: 1624-1650 • Yitzhaq b. Tsedaka: 1650-1694 • Abraham b. Yitzhaq: 1694-1732 • Levi b. Abrahan b. Yitzhaq: 1733-1752 • Tabia b. Yitzhaq b. Abraham: 1752-1787 • Shalma b. Tabia: 1798-1855 [Shalma was 4 years old when his father Tabia died. He was educated by the Samaritan sages till he became 15 years old and they found that he was qualified to be a High Priest]. • 'Amram b. Shalma: 1855-1874 • Jacob b. Aaron b. Shalma: 1874-1916 The High Priesthood | 75

Samaritan High Priest Eleazar b. Tsedaka b. Yitzhaq b. ‘Amram (left), with the editor. (Photo: Ralph Benko)

• Yitzhaq b. 'Amram b. Shalma: 1916-1932 • Matzliach b. Phinhas b. Yitzhaq b. Shalma: 1933-1943 • His brother Abisha: 1943-1961 • 'Amram b. Yitzhaq b. 'Amram b. Shalma: 1961-1980 • Asher b. Matzliach b. Phinhas: 1980-1982 • His brother Phinhas: 1982-1984 • Jacob b. 'Azzi b. Jacob b. Aaron: 1984-1987 • Yusef b. Ab-Hisda b. Jacob b. Aaron: 1987-1998 • Levi b. Abisha b. Phinhas b. Yitzhaq: 1998-2001 • Shalom b. 'Amram b. Yitzhaq b. 'Amram: 2001-2004 • Eleazar b. Tsedaka b. Yitzhaq b. 'Amram: 2004-2010 • Aaron b. Ab-Hisda b. Jacob b. Aaron: 2010-2013 • ‘Abed-El b. Asher b. Matzliach: 2013 - In the last three generations there has been a blessed increasing of the number of the members of the Samaritan Community [751 76 | Benyamim Tsedaka in January 1, 2012] and among them the priestly family of ‘Abtah, that is now the second largest household after the Dinfi household of the four households of the Samaritans today. The ‘Abtah priestly family is today of three branches called after their forefathers: “House of Phinhas” after Phinhas b. Yitzhaq b. Shalma the priest, the largest branch and the two much smaller branches: the “House of Yitzhaq” after HP Yiyzhaq b. ‘Amram b. Shalma, and the “House of Jacob” after HP Jacob b. Aaron b. Shalma. The duties of the ‘Abtah’s High Priest from Itamar include the following: Serving as the High Court of personal matters in the community, consulting the heads of the households and his brothers the priests, and trying to rule peace between singles and families of the community fighting one another. Calculating the calendar and circulating it among the members of the community twenty years of age or older twice a year, six months of calculation each time. Directing all religious ceremonies like circumcision, concluding of the reading of the Torah, weddings, divorces, and burials as well as initiated personal events such as the benediction of the first born or fulfilling an oath. Representing the Samaritan people escorted by the elected committees before the high officials of the governments. Blessing the worshippers every Shabbath, festival and the three pilgrimages with the Blessings of the High Priests [Numbers, 6:3-4], and above all events to direct the greatest event of the year: The Paschal Sacrifice on Mount Gerizim. The deputy of the High Priest is the priest Itamar b. Abraham b. Phinhas [79].

n Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction (Leaning Tower of Pisa), by Heidi Feickert Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction

Heidi Feickert

Douglas Adams once wrote, “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.” I was nearly a year late on a combination project management/history book titled The Six Dimensions of Project Management when Heidi Feickert came to my rescue. At the time, she was an instructional designer for a company for whom I do a lot of training. I knew she knew the topic, and I had long admired her sense of the absurd, and suddenly it occurred to me that she was the perfect person to help me finish the job. We quickly divided up the remaining chapters, and finished the book in record time. One critic wrote, “If someone had asked me whether I would ever find a project management book really interesting, I would have assume that this was some sort of sanity test. ...Well written, very interesting, outstanding examples with a liberal dose of humor, and in my opinion, excellent conclusions.” Although the book didn’t quite make the New York Times best-seller list, it’s still perhaps the funniest book ever written on the topic of project management. Heidi is a graduate of Smith College and the Universität Hamburg, with degrees in history and medieval studies. As a designer and trainer, she’s an expert on cross-cultural education and consults in culture change and change management, with a client list ranging from Interpol to Lufthansa to the Canadian National Railway. Here’s Heidi’s rather unique perspective on the highly improbable Leaning Tower of Pisa. 77

Exit Here For The Great Roadside Attraction The Inside Story of the Leaning Tower of Pisa

Heidi Feickert

ALL WRITERS WILL TELL YOU that research is key to any writing project. Only those who’ve actually written on large-scale projects will admit what that research looks like: in-depth procrastination while surfing the Internet and flicking through anything. At random. While drinking now-cold coffee. Or, whiskey if you’re going for the F Scott vibe. And wondering, “why did I say yes to writing this…?” So, after volunteering to produce written historical insights, I find myself doing some research. Meditating over a cold cup of coffee. Wondering why I volunteered. And as with any truly productive procrastination, getting distracted. Let’s start with a brief disclosure, sort of like you have at the beginning of an AA meeting: my name is Heidi and I am a language junkie. (‘Hi Heidi’) I love new words. Now, I don’t mean words like “bifidus reglaris”, vacant terms made up by a marketing department somewhere, describing faux science in the pursuit of selling more yoghurt (for those of you out there who’ve managed to hide out in a bunker for the last 10 years, “bifidus regularis” is a science-y sounding word used to sell yoghurt that improves your bowel function.) I love words that give us an idea of how we’re changing, perhaps with a soupçon of humor to help it along—the 1940s gave us “sitzkrieg”, in the 1920s

79 80 | Heidi Feickert

Henry Ford’s creations gave us “back seat drivers” and Prohibition gave us scofflaws and speak-easys. Here are a few I’ve come across as of late: “Blamestorming”—the well-known office process of addressing a crisis by assigning blame rather than fixing a problem “Administrivia”—all of the detail administration that has now made everyone require a personal assistant for their daily lives (no one’s father had to ensure that the cable company hadn’t added unapproved charges to the monthly bill) “Clickbait”—the art of creating an article that just makes you have to click on the link to the article. Clickbait is really interesting. Clickbait has caused even formerly literate magazines to reduce any subject to “10 Easy Reasons…” or “Five Quick Fix…” I haven’t yet seen “10 Ways to Fix The US Congress”, but I imagine the listicle is just waiting to be written. Clickbait is fascinating. Clickbait thrives off writing compelling headlines which tickle what’s referred to as the “curiosity gap”. The curiosity gap is the space between what we know and what we want or even need to know. Key information or individuals or places is left out of the headline (“Guess who’s pregnant!” or “Where Kate Middleton was spotted!”) thus begging the reader to click. More specifically, tho, it tickles our amygdala. It’s the human impulse of curiosity. Why do they want us to click? Because clicks generate traffic and generate dough. Just as a sidebar to remember, a clickbait headline could lead to an empty listicle or to a worthwhile article. Just because it’s clickbait doesn’t mean the article is bad. Interestingly, clickbait—something you’d probably hear declared a completely new phenomena—when you meditate on the idea, isn’t all that new. In many ways, it’s just the most recent revamping of a process that’s been going on for hundreds of years. You notice that it is basically a modern reworking…of the idea of rubbernecking. Or, the roadside attraction. Again, I can’t help but state: rubbernecking and roadside attractions are great words. Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction | 81

This Way to the Great Egress

America is famous for producing P. T. Barnum, the businessman who really did earn money off of “This Way To The Great Egress”. We are known for producing hucksters of every stripe. But, the roadside attraction stands out as something uniquely different from the perhaps seedy carnival sideshow. It was a family attraction, constructed with the express purpose of getting people to stand and gawp. Well, if you asked parents you might get a slightly different answer to the purpose of a roadside attraction. They are very useful for lengthening the lives of children fighting in the backseat of a car on a road trip. Often we forget what a seismic shift cars and individual travel had on every aspect of American culture: empowering freedom of movement for women and across social classes; changing how we perceive distance; enabling entire populations to move further than ever imagined from their place of birth. Much as with our current information revolution, the greatest impacts weren’t realized with the invention of the initial technology—the car—but as entrepreneurs adapted that technology to use: consider the difference between a laptop computer with basic email versus Facebook and cloud data. As with the Internet, the introduction of mass-produced, affordable automobiles had a massive impact on the US social fabric. In 1910, there were 500,000 motor vehicles in the US. In 1917 that number was 4.8 million, in a population of 100 million. Soldiers would be returning from the Great War, taking jobs, and just like smart phone aps and decorative cases, there was money to be made off of those drivers. Cars needed roads. By 1920, more than 300 cities had developed roadside camping facilities for motorists and more than one million people used them. Roads and highways were built or modernized and a numbering system for highways was introduced in 1925 to enable people to better travel across the entire country. Going back to the Greeks and Romans, people knew: if you could get people to visit your town, that meant money—even if it was only repairing the huge number of flat tires. In addition to the assembly lines in Detroit, selling repairing, and servicing cars provided work for millions. 82 | Heidi Feickert

Wigwam City Motel (Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Div.)

Just as with the Great Tulip Mania Bubble of 1637, the stock market crash of 1929 and ensuing Great Depression caused wealth to dry up, people to lose their jobs and commerce to come to almost a standstill. Spending on hotels, restaurants, vacation clothing, and travel supplies collapsed from $872 million in 1929 to $444 million in 1932. Clearly, if you wanted to stay in business during the downturn, you had to fight harder to appeal to the smaller number of tourists on the road. Thus, the invention of the roadside attraction, our precursor to clickbait. Something so outlandish or unique, you just had to stop and pull out your Kodak and take a snap (Kodak coined its brand in the 1920s to be a synonym for a camera). It may not have featured any Kardashians, but a Giant Ball Of Twine was equally fascinating in the 1930s. Here are just a few of the contributions to American roadside culture from the 1930s: • Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, Bemidji, Minnesota • World’s Skinniest House, Long Beach, California • The Leaning Tower of Pisa, Niles, Illinois Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction | 83

• Wigwam City Motel, Cave City, Kentucky • The Big Duck, Long Island, New York • Dinosaur Park, Rapid City, South Dakota It’s not as if any of these attractions have made great contributions to American culture, although they may have saved a few parents from complete insanity on long road trips with children. What’s really interesting about these great innovations in rubbernecking (“Free Ice Water! Wall Drug”) is how they play on sensationalism—or perceived sensationalism—rather than value. It is a item, constructed entirely to catch attention—a structure designed to draw the eye and the curiosity. The sensationalism goes back to eons-old sideshows. But the idea of a visiting a bizarre construction is—perhaps only by a small nuance—different from a freak show. When you really start considering where the impetus to build these oddball eye-catchers comes from, you end up drawing a line back to the grand-daddy of oddball construction: the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I suppose most people just accept that there’s this wacky, lopsided tower someplace in Europe. It’s ‘always’ been there. It’s one of those things your tour bus might pass between the stops in Rome and Venice. But, how’d it get so crooked? In the Middle Ages, Pisa was a rising maritime powerhouse. With good access to the sea, an excellent port and a strong merchant class, they were an up-and-coming state. Starting around the 10th Century (1000 AD) Pisa had set up trade standards that enabled its merchant class, secured trade agreements with Spain and the Mideast and even managed to establish colonies and trading outposts. Clearly, it was time for a bit of status bling, to announce that they had arrived. Pisa had the same dreams any striving, mid-sized trading empire had in the Middle Ages—they wanted to be somebody. And, to be somebody in the Middle Ages, the standard route to fame, fortune and pilgrims was: plunder, pick up a few saints relics, and toss up a cathedral to house it all in. The big tourist gig in the Middle Ages was namely holy relics tourism which drew pilgrims. Bones, bits and bobs ascribed to Christ or one of the saints—for example, the Shroud of Turin, a piece of 84 | Heidi Feickert the True Cross, or perhaps a saint’s finger—were consider holy relics, worthy of veneration. Traveling to pray at a site with one of these relics was an act of piety and may have been undertaken in gratitude for the fact that doomsday had not arrived, and to ensure salvation, whenever the end did come. Pilgrimage was an expression of Christian devotion that might purify the soul and was believed to produce miraculous healing benefits. As an act of penance, a criminal might achieve redemption through a pilgrimage. A pilgrimage constituted also one of the very few socially acceptable ways to travel and see the world. Thus, the purpose a pilgrimage was most likely not exclusively devotional. Pisa started off right—kicked off building a “state of the art” cathedral with a baptistery, main chapel and separate bell tower. In the 1100s in Italy, cathedrals with separate bell towers were all the rage. Cathedrals, unlike a normal big church, directly connected your town to the papal powerbase in the Vatican. This was not only a value-add for the rulers in your city-state, it was also a “Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval” from the church that you were a certified and recognized place to visit. These types of projects took generations to build—at a time when male life expectancy (if he survived childhood and being killed in war) was about 35—and a good contractor could keep three or more generations of his family employed building a cathedral over 100 years or more. The cathedral would be built in stages, starting one of the three components and completing it before going on to build the next section. By 1118, Pisan builders had completed the cathedral. Everything looked great. Next, the builders put up the baptistery. That done and feeling very successful, they moved on to build the bell tower.

Missed It By That Much

Construction started on the Tower of Pisa in August 1173. You’ll note, at this point the plan was not that it would eventually be called “Leaning”. Designed as the bell tower that would compliment the completed cathedral, the tower has eight levels, with those above- ground levels having an external arcade, each detailed with Romanesque (round-topped) arches and columns. The tower stood upright for over 5 years as the builders completed the first three Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction | 85

The Leaning Tower of Pisa in 1984. (Photo Credit: Uwe Gerig, courtesy of Deutsche Fotothek, CC BY-SA 3.0 Germany) 86 | Heidi Feickert levels. After they completed the third level (1178), Pisans looked at, scratched their heads and asked “does that look kinda crooked to you?” What we know today, thanks to the soft ground it had begun to lean. The foundation had only been set 3m deep and foundation stones were laid on soft ground consisting of clay, fine sand and shells. The builders may not have known the engineering specifics in the 12th Century, but they did know the First Law of Holes: if you find yourself in a hole, stop digging. Or, in this case: if you are building a tower that’s tilting, stop building. Citizens of Pisa decided to stop construction for a while—most likely, someone who had approved the funding and design was trying to figure out who to blame for the tilt. And, a few were probably hoping to let the tower settle a bit, thinking that it could straighten itself out, or at least stop moving. You can almost imagine the shoulder shrug. Whatever blamestorming process was in place, Pisa had several wars with neighboring towns that required their attention. Pisa was so preoccupied by wars that the demi-tower was left as a half-complete stump for almost a century. Financing could not go into construction if it was being spend on paying soldiers to ransack their neighbors. Left to its own devices, the tower did shift, the “tilt” of the tower moving from the north side to the northeast. Finally in 1272, under the direction of Giovanni di Simone, construction resumed. To try and compensate for the tilt, the new engineer had a brilliant idea for hiding the tilt: to create a cosmetic fix he designed the upper stories so that they had one side slightly taller than the other. By the time the seventh floor was completed, it became apparent that the building was moving again and the lean increasing, this time to the south. In 1284 work was halted again due to another war and probably a high level of chagrin on the part of the builders. Finally, in 1360 embarrassment got the upper hand and it was decided to complete the tower, one way or another. A bell top was added as the eighth level and the tower was declared complete, if lopsided. Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction | 87

Details of the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Credit: Flanker, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 3.0) 88 | Heidi Feickert

Well, not so much lopsided, but rather banana-shaped, due to the cosmetic fix of making one side of the tower higher than the other. The Leaning Tower of Pisa both leans and bends. If you’ve never been lucky enough to see it in person, it really is a remarkable structure.

Isn’t It Ironic

The Leaning Tower of Pisa is a remarkable structure for almost too many reasons to count. Engineering in the Middle Ages was definitely a “sorta-kinda” science. Using experience as a guide, artisans would design buildings based on their best-guess experience and builders would assemble them according to the “I think it should work” principle. As such, much as we have countless beautiful structures surviving from the Middle Ages, it wasn’t unknown for a cathedral to collapse, such as Beauvais in 1284. Pisa was not the only off-kilter tower built at the time. But it is one of the largest and one of the few to still be standing 800 years later. The real irony is why the tower is still standing. If the Pisa hadn’t been at war with Florence, Genoa, and Lucca for nearly an entire century, they would have continued building on the tower before the soil foundation had been allowed to settle. If the builders had constructed the tower in one phase, the unstable ground would have ensured the tower would have collapsed. Anyone who’s ever submitted a dodgy piece of work either to a professor or a boss will know “the look”, the distain given to a half- baked work outcome. Clearly, the off-kilter banana shape was not anything near the cutting-edge prestige piece of art that the Pisan city fathers had imagined to enrich their prestige. The completion was surely accompanied by blamestorming, shoulder-shrugging and a lot of people denying any involvement in the work. And the ultimate irony is that the lopsided Leaning Tower of Pisa has brought them more fame, recognition—and tourists—than could have ever been imagined in the original planning. Far outliving the medieval trend of pilgrimage tourism, the Leaning Tower has attracted Renaissance tourists, “Grand Tour” tourists in the 19th Century and modern-day hoards of busses, filled with tourists from China, India and every other conceivable place. Exit Here for the Great Roadside Attraction | 89

The truly new thing that the builders in Pisa created was a “failure” too amazing not to see. Pisa created the first roadside attraction, a construction so amazing that you have to rubberneck.

Nothing New is Actually New

The medieval Leaning Tower of Pisa. The 1930s roadside attraction, immortalizing faux dinosaurs in concrete. The clickbait link, begging you to find out who’s just been arrested in Mexico. You would think there’s hardly any more random collection of tidbits. All of them, however, tickle human curiosity. Our tendency to rubberneck. Fascinatingly, as technology has evolved over the last 1100 years, we’ve created unique, new outlets that harness the same unchanging tendencies. Sure, the tech word of the moment is the “curiosity gap”, to describe how clickbait tickles our amygdala and desire to fill-in-the-gap. It is, however, the same impulse that has always caused us to rubberneck and stop to gawp at a “can-you- believe-that” roadside stop. With no surface similarity, each of them actually harnessed the technology of their age to tap into the same triggers—and, interestingly, one of them is greed. But that would be another article.

n 90 | Heidi Feickert

Bibliography

"Leaning Tower of Pisa." Leaning Tower of Pisa. Accessed December 20, 2014. "Leaning Tower of Pisa Facts: History and Engineering." Udemy Blog. Accessed December 22, 2014. "Pilgrimage." Pilgrimage. Accessed December 21, 2014. "The History of Pisa." The History of Pisa. Accessed December 21, 2014. "The Middle Ages -- Religion: Collapsed Cathedral." The Middle Ages -- Religion: Collapsed Cathedral. Accessed December 23, 2014. Thompson, Derek. "Upworthy: I Thought This Website Was Crazy, but What Happened Next Changed Everything." The Atlantic. November 14, 2013. Accessed December 20, 2014. United States. National Park Service. "Roadside Attractions." National Parks Service. Accessed April 26, 2015. Florence Cathedral Dome Project, by Mark Kozak- Holland Florence Cathedral Dome

Mark Kozak-Holland

My professional work, as noted, is mostly in the field of project management, and my fascination with history is more of a hobby. I was speaking at a Project Management Institute conference in Iowa, and had a table full of books for sale afterward. Most exhibitors at these things sell consulting or training or software, so it’s unusual to find someone else offering books. At this conference, however, I wasn’t alone. That’s how I came to meet Kevin Aguanno, who among many other endeavors runs a small Canadian publishing house. Kevin was offering a line of books titled Lessons From History. There was a book on Roman construction projects, one on the project management of the Great Escape, another on Winston Churchill, and even one on RMS Titanic. I was intrigued, and while waiting for our airport shuttle, Kevin and I brainstormed about various ideas, and a month or so later, he arranged for me to talk with the line editor for Lessons From History, Mark Kozak-Holland. Mark is also a man of many talents. He worked in IT for 32 years in various project management roles, became a successful consultant, and gained a variety of professional certifications. He holds a B.Sc. with Joint Honours degree in Computer Science and Statistics from the University of Salford and a PhD from the Salford University Business School, where his thesis was on “The Relevance of Historical Project Lessons to Contemporary Business Practice.” 91 92 | Improbable History

He speaks and trains extensively, and still somehow manages to produce new books in the series on a regular basis—many of which he also writes, including the books on the Great Escape and RMS Titanic. Not only does he get into fine operational detail, he manages to extract practical observations and lessons for everyday project managers. Look him up on Amazon; he writes good stuff. I got to know Mark a lot better when I did a book for the series, Project: Impossible, a collection of stories about historical projects that any reasonable person would have thought impossible until they were actually done. (A later piece in this book is drawn from it.) He was kind enough to be part of this project, and contributes a piece on the construction of Florence’s Cathedral Dome. It’s based in part on a section of his book The History of Project Management (also, obviously, part of the Lessons From History series). Some of the more hardcore project management elements have been eliminated in favor of this detailed view of how it was (and still sometimes is) done. Florence Cathedral Dome Project (1420-1435)

Mark Kozak-Holland

THE FLORENCE CATHEDRAL DOME PROJECT (the Duomo) is an example of an improbable project. For 40 years the project had stalled because the sponsors could not find an individual who could commit to the end deliverable. So ambitious was their vision that the leading architects from all over Europe claimed it was impossible. The requirements specified a dome without a central support or flying buttresses which was nearly 44 meter (144 feet) across, and would have to start at 52 metres (171 feet) above the ground. With no end in sight, the sponsors selected an unknown architect with no formal training and any track-record, on an interim basis. Filippo Brunelleschi (1377-1446) was one of the most important architects and engineers of the Italian Renaissance. In addition to the Florence Cathedral, he built numerous other buildings and even conducted urban planning in the placement of his buildings. He also developed and built various types of hydraulic machines, military fortifications, and even ships. He is credited with the development of one-point linear perspective, a revolutionary technique in painting. This chapter examines how Brunelleschi was able to deliver a masterpiece project whose product remains the largest dome ever built. It was the first significant dome project in the West in 1,300 years. To meet this end, Brunelleschi rediscovered important best practices from the Pantheon project and used these in his project. The resulting incorporation of the Pantheon’s best practices influenced all aspects of the organization and management of the 93 94 | Mark Kozak-Holland

Filippo Brunelleschi Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 95 project, and influenced many projects after that. Brunelleschi’s design was clearly something radically new (Glancey, 2006, p. 280) and far ahead of its time. It is viewed by most historians as one of the most impressive projects of the Renaissance. A careful and detailed examination of the project is possible today because the physical remains of the edifice are so perfectly preserved and open to the public. Moreover the adjoining on-site museums contain the actual equipment used in the project. The nearby Museo del Opera del Duomo (the Duomo Museum or the “Museum of the Cathedral works”) contains the project designs (paper) and models. The museum also has Brunelleschi’s tools and reconstructed workshop. In many respects, Florence is a living museum which provides an insight into life in the medieval times of that era.

The Most Significant Project of Its Era

The Duomo was the most significant project of its era, predominantly for its far reaching scope. Brunelleschi and the project team were reaching beyond their grasp in delivering this project with the organization, technology, and processes available to them. In addition, it was the first significant dome project (in the West) since the Pantheon, which had been built by the Romans over 1,300 years earlier. Brunelleschi did not have any best practices, track-record, or experience to which to refer. All he had was a site visit to the Pantheon. The cathedral portion had been completed in 1367 and for 40 years it had stood unfinished without a dome. Aesthetically unpleasing, this unfinished dome was a major blow to civic pride. The project had stalled in a creative sense (Gentry & Lesniewski, 2011, p. 2). The stakeholders, therefore, were looking for someone who could “kick-start” and rapidly complete the project. The immense size of the dome structure, the need to construct it at a great height off the ground, and the complexities of doing so resulted in a substantial scope. The logistics of the project were driven by the sheer volume of high quality materials flowing into the site, as well as the large and highly skilled project workforce. The dome’s design had to be structurally sound. Working at such heights, any structural flaws that could lead to failures or collapses would be catastrophic, and set 96 | Mark Kozak-Holland the project back financially for decades. The project team could not make compromises in this regard because of the impact on the structure’s integrity.

Background and Context

The project was spurred by a rapid population expansion and a financial revolution which drove the emergence of the money economy and banks. The prosperous city-state of Florence wanted to match or exceed in size the much larger cathedrals that were being built around Europe. The structure had to be capable of containing 30,000 people. For the City of Florence, this project was symbolic and was all about civic pride. From the outset there were a number of major problems facing the project team that would have to be solved. The first problem related to the dimensions (height, width) of the dome. The initial phase had completed the cathedral to a height of 30 meters (98 feet), with a 42 meter (138 feet) wide hole in the chancel roof. The project team planned to build the dome to a height of 90 meters (295 feet). Their plan presented some ground-breaking challenges. For example, how would they raise a dome so high off the ground, literally suspended in mid-air? However they solved that problem, they would also have to erect an intricate assembly of scaffolding at such a height. No timber could span the diameter, and the volume of scaffolding reaching from the ground would be substantial. These problems introduced a whole range of issues from safety, working at these heights, to getting the volume of material required, through to the capability to maneuver men, materials and equipment in a very confined space. The physical limitations of the worksite, and the amount of available space dictated the access to materials and efficiencies. These latter issues were typical of Gothic cathedral projects where project teams had only small hand carts to move materials around. A typical passage width was 1.2 meters (4 feet) (Fitchen, 1986, p. 59). These tight confines demanded a highly planned and executed schedule of activities. The second problem related to the dome, whose overall weight was up to 35,000 tons (Fanelli, 2004). At the time, Brunelleschi had no analytical-mathematics in the field of static behavior of structures and the strength of materials. He relied entirely on experience with Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 97

View of Brunelleschi’s dome. For scale, note the people atop the dome. (Credit: Frank Kovalchek, CC BY 2.0, 2008) 98 | Mark Kozak-Holland materials, intuition and whatever models he had built. In contrast, the Pantheon dome sat on a solid, thick base where the load-bearing footings and drum walls were extremely thick; up to 6 meters (20 feet) deep. This was impractical for the Dome, which would have to sit above 4 stone piers that reached a height of 28 meters (92 feet). The building’s design ruled out the use of buttresses to support the dome, as in northern Gothic cathedrals. Therefore, the principal issue was creating a foundational base strong enough to take the weight of the dome.. The third problem related to the viability of the project and whether or not it could be completed. The design was unprecedented as it called for a massive dome, up to 90 metres (295 feet) in height. The dome also had to match the diameter of the Pantheon, 43.30 meters (142 feet), built by the Romans 1,300 years earlier. A dome of these proportions had not been delivered since the Pantheon. There were no best practices, templates, or experience to which to refer. For example, the knowledge of how to make concrete (used in the Pantheon) had been lost. Brunelleschi “was venturing, without being fully aware of it, far beyond what could be learned from existing building” (Fanelli, 2004, p. 205). Without this experience new issues arose, such as maintenance of the curvature of the dome. The race to build the tallest cathedral in the 13th century pushed the materials and technology to the limits and there had been catastrophes along the way. One such example was the spectacular collapse of the completed choir at Beauvais cathedral in 1284 during the construction phase. The vaulting at Beauvais had reached 48 metres in height, far surpassing the concurrently constructed Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Amiens, with its 42 metre (138 foot) nave. There was a heightened sense of awareness of this project’s challenge. Looking at the 42 metre wide hole in the chancel roof, the project sponsors wondered how the project could ever be completed. They had renditions and a brick model of the planned dome that had existed from 1367. Ever since then, the sponsors had looked for someone who could lead and deliver the project. They were filled with scepticism over the viability of the project, and needed to be convinced that it could be done. They could not envisage a structure strong enough to sustain both a framework and the weight of the dome. The diameter of the dome was too broad for beams to cross, Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 99 and a bridge was not feasible. The sponsors remained extremely sceptical throughout the project which added to the project manager’s problems.

Initiating the Project

The project sponsors and the Wardens of Works of the cathedral had deliberated over the project since 1407. On May 26, 1417 the Wardens awarded Brunelleschi a financial retainer of a mere 3 Florins a day for completing the drawings for the dome. In 1420, Brunelleschi suggested a congress of architects to advise on the project so that it did not stall again. The most prominent architects and masters from all over Europe assembled in Florence. They all met, in the presence of project sponsors and Wardens of Works, together with selected citizens, to hear each architect in turn present their method and plan. This feedback varied. Some suggested that a central pier be built from the ground up with arches upon it to hold up the wooden bridges used to prop the weight of the dome. Others suggested building the dome from pumice-stone so it would weigh less. Another opinion was to fill the centre with earth mingled with small coins, so that it would encourage groups to find the coins, removing the expense of clearing these from the project. Consensus settled on a pier built in the center, with the dome raised in the shape of a groined joint or vault, like that of S. Giovanni in Florence. Brunelleschi did not agree with this approach. He alone said that a dome could be raised very easily without central wood-work (scaffolding), piers and expensive arches, and earth, which was very radical for the time. He advocated using the same methods the Romans had used in raising the dome over the Pantheon in Rome (Vasari, 1550, p. 250). Brunelleschi was pushing the limits of known architecture, materials and technology. None of his counterparts believed the dome could be readily built. From their perspective, the building risks were too great, particularly of a structural failure or collapse. For example, the curving walls meant that the bedding angle of the bricks increased from zero to sixty degrees at the oculus (Gentry & Lesniewski, 2011, p. 6). If the team laid the bricks too quickly before the mortar set, there was a risk that the walls could distort and topple. 100 | Mark Kozak-Holland

Everyone thought he spoke nonsense and believed his suggestion unfeasible. The architects and masters asked Brunelleschi to provide some details, and show his model, as they had shown theirs. But he refused and proposed instead that whoever could make an egg stand upright on a flat piece of marble should undertake the project. All present took an egg and tried to make it stand upright. However, no one could find a solution to this problem. When Brunelleschi’s turn came, he struck one end of the egg on the flat piece of marble, and made it stand upright (Vasari, 1550, p. 317). Everyone protested that they could have done the same. Brunelleschi replied that they could then also raise the dome, if they saw the model or the design. Through the dialogue and communication that ensued during the conference, Brunelleschi convinced the stakeholders that his plan and method were best. The stakeholders then initiated the project with Brunelleschi as the principal architect (complete control was to come later). Brunelleschi’s persistence convinced many of his competence. He laid out his design on paper and convinced the project sponsors to give him the commission, making Brunelleschi the principal superintendent (or project manager). In 1420 Brunelleschi got the job, but on only a trial basis, which did not please him.

Technical Concerns

Brunelleschi understood that a successful design had to be based on the practicalities of what the project could readily deliver. He had spent 3 years in Rome, and made drawings of numerous Roman constructions, and encoded these drawings with his ideas on how they were erected (Vasari, 1550). The Pantheon inspired Brunelleschi, which he studied in detail. He did not just visit the Roman edifice, but got into the crawl spaces, and took from the structure what best practices he could. Brunelleschi initially considered concrete for the dome. This material was one possible solution. Within the dome structures of the Pantheon, Roman building techniques had gradually reduced the weight of concrete towards the center by controlling the caementa, the selection and grading of aggregate material which ranged from brick and tufa (volcanic dust), to pumice, to ropes of jugs. Roman concrete set fast and could be bent and curved, and lightened as required. However, the specific knowledge to make concrete had been lost. Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 101

Inside the Pantheon with the sizeable drum supporting the concrete dome and oculus (Kozak-Holland, 2009).

Brunelleschi instead selected a lighter brick and mortar, and strengthened it in critical areas (drum) with stone, iron, and wood. The impact on the project was a reduction in weight, scope and an increase in flexibility that improved the project pace. 102 | Mark Kozak-Holland

The Pantheon’s renowned size and imposing dome made a deep impression on Brunelleschi. The footings and drum walls were extremely thick; up to 6 meters (20 feet) deep. Brunelleschi designed a drum 9 meters (30 feet) high that could take the weight off the supports and distribute it evenly. The impact on the project was a simpler, easier and safer build cycle. He designed two double-walled domes with the inner shell 2 meters (6 feet) thick and the outer shell about one-third as thick. The dome could be built progressively, brick by brick, without any supports. Workers could sit atop the inner shell to build the outer shell. The inner shell is reduced in thickness towards the top. This is similar to the Pantheon dome which used progressively lighter concrete towards the center (Saalman, 1980, p. 180). The most striking feature of the Pantheon was its oculus. This was critical to the whole structural system. The concept of an opening centered in the roof is almost counter-intuitive. Brunelleschi incorporated it to provide a junction between the two shells or domes (Fanelli, 2004, p. 30) and act as a compression ring distributing forces. The Romans used Stone-ties extensively. These were made from sandstone and tied at the ends with iron, rigid octagons stiff enough to hold their shape. Brunelleschi embedded three stone-ties and circumferential timber rings into the brick masonry, like barrel hoops. They spanned the gap between the shells and provided tension to resist the spreading tendency. This reduced the stress and evenly distributed the weight. In lieu of extensive (and expensive) scaffolding, Brunelleschi substituted solid and safe work-platforms that the team could easily adjust as the structure grew (King, 2000, p. 70-73). This eliminated the need for 30 x 42 meter scaffolding tower, which lowered the cost and at the same time improved morale. and cost (timber was imported), and improved morale. The Pantheon project mixed concrete on-site where gradual adjustments to the caementa were made. For the Project the daily demand for bricks was so great that Brunelleschi demanded a brick- kiln be built on-site to produce bricks as close to the work-sites as possible. Inspired by the Romans, Brunelleschi built numerous engines such as a ground-based ox or horse-powered hoist, and high- Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 103

Brunelleschi’s ingenious solution, the lifting-engines, hauled materials up to the work-platforms at heights of 52 to 90 meters (171 to 295 feet), (Fanelli, 2004, p. 198).

elevation hoists, winches, and straddle cranes for positioning loads with great precision. These were innovative, useful technologies. 35,000 tons of brick, mortar, stone, and iron were hoisted to the work-sites starting at 52 metres (171 feet) in the air. The efficient ground-based hoist had reverse gears, three speeds, a carrying capacity up to several tons, and did not require unyoked oxen (Fanelli, 2004, p. 194-196). These machines inspired other 104 | Mark Kozak-Holland

Renaissance engineers, including Leonardo da Vinci. “Brunelleschi studied goldsmithing, which, in that day, required the making of intricate small devices. The mechanical understanding developed in that trade are clearly expressed in the devices he constructed” (Gentry & Lesniewski, 2011, p. 10). The impact on the project was significant in providing a constant supply of materials to work-site, maintaining the project pace, and keeping to schedule. It is highly likely that without these lifting-engines the project could not have been completed.

Personnel Issues

Brunelleschi was aware of the importance of the organizational aspect or people side of the project, in delivering the goods to the required levels of quality, at a pace to meet the time constraint. He needed the best project workforce available. Fortunately, the Opera (the supervisory board) who had completed the cathedral, was responsible for hiring the project workforce from the ruoli—a special list of workers who were selected and paid according to performance (Fanelli, 2004, p. 205). The skilled workers came out of a system of guilds where they had served their time and worked their way up from apprentices. As a result, there was a great deal of continuity with the experienced workers on the project. The skilled project workforce enjoyed a rare degree of job security and was bound by certain rules of conduct. Non-adherence to these rules would exclude team members from the list (Fanelli, 2004, p. 23). The Opera recruited the non-skilled project workforce through casual hiring. This group of people supplied materials and equipment to work-site. Brunelleschi was responsible for leading, guiding, and mentoring the project workforce. He appointed eight master-builders, one responsible for each side of the octagon, to carry out the actual building work, each with a workforce of about 60. Operationally, he “took pains to identify the critical path…work could proceed on all eight segments at the same time.” (Fanelli, 2004, p. 191). This allowed the work to be completed in parallel so all eight sections could be built at the same pace. As a result, each successive octagonal ring became self-sustaining once the mortar set (Fanelli, 2004, p. 191). This became increasingly important as the dome walls curved into the centre the bedding angle of the bricks increased from Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 105

The dome under construction and arrangement of the work-platforms. On the inside of the dome, joists supported the work-platforms (A), and protective parapets ran on the inside edge (B). On the outside shell ran a framework (C). The work-platforms against the inside of the inner shell (D). The support underneath a work-platform (E) (Fanelli, 2004, p. 192). zero to sixty degrees at the oculus (Gentry & Lesniewski, 2011, p. 6). If the team laid the bricks too quickly before the mortar set then there was a risk that the walls could distort and topple. Brunelleschi also introduced a herringbone pattern brickwork to help bond the layers of bricks together. 106 | Mark Kozak-Holland

A lack of space, with worker on top of worker, constrained all medieval cathedral construction projects. Transition and passing spaces averaged just over one meter (4 feet) in width. Since the Project had no scaffolding and only work-platforms this problem was even more acute. This required even greater feats of organization to keep the environment safe and minimize the risks that plagued projects working at such heights, with the available materials and equipment. The Opera appointed a pay clerk to check the daily production of each workman, record overtime and the periods of leave which were granted only by special permission. Workers taking unauthorized leave were dismissed. Management kept an hour glass on the wall to measure the breaks in the working day, and the pay clerk monitored the duration of break times. Through the pay clerk’s reports Brunelleschi monitored the workforce’s daily production. As the project progressed, it had its share of people problems. Most notably, some of the foremen demanded more pay and walked off the job in an industrial dispute. Brunelleschi won the day by hiring apprentices. He then worked very closely with these new hires, so they quickly acquired the necessary skills. Over time Brunelleschi changed the standard work day because of the difficulties associated in getting to the work-site using the spiral staircases (there were 150 steps to the base of the supporting drum), and the increasing height of the work-platforms. He showed compassion towards his project workforce. For example, he had a canteen built halfway up the dome to improve project morale and the efficiency of the workforce. In accordance with ancient custom, management celebrated the completion of each important stage with the project workforce to boost morale, sometimes with an inaugural banquet, or the offering of wine. On the closing of the project there was great celebration (Fanelli, 2004, p. 26).

Operations

Suppliers delivered an average of 2,000 tons of masonry each year. With the 270 working-day calendar Brunelleschi adopted, this worked out to 8 tons a day. They also delivered 4,000,000 bricks, or 400,000 bricks per year. A workforce of 60 men per shift laid 20 Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 107 bricks an hour. This may seem slow but they had to maintain the quality of the curvature of the brickwork and allow the mortar to set. The complexity of the design, maintenance of the project pace and adherence to a schedule required almost total control over the project execution and delivery. He assumed that without this authority, he could not be successful. He eventually attained the authority he required, but only after wrestling the control of the project. A number of his practices were quite modern. He adopted a formal change control procedure. In March 1422 the project committee met and following lengthy discussions executed a “change order” (Gentry & Lesniewski, 2011, p. 4) which reduced the weight of the dome by replacing stonework with brick at a height of 12 braccia (1 braccio = 0.7 meters) instead of 24 braccia. Coordinating schedules was of vital importance because the supply of brick had to continuously feed to each work-site and the brick laying teams. The rate of brick and mortar production had to be in lockstep with the project construction schedule. The Opera administered the public funds for the project, planned the expenditures, collected estimates, and monitored the project costs. Brunelleschi closely managed cost by taking a hands-on approach and working very closely with his workforce. Brunelleschi understood the financial implications of getting the work done correctly the first time. Any rework or disruptions were costly, or worse still, structural failures or collapse could be ruinous. He used models to guide his craftsmen so they had a much better understanding of project requirements. For Brunelleschi, the utmost priority was managing the risks that could affect the health and safety of the project workforce. Any accidents had a negative impact on morale. The risks of constructing the dome at such heights required him to pay great attention to the safety and protection of the project workforce (e.g., the use of work- platforms). As the project progressed, these risks increased as did the requisite safety measures. For example, as the team elevated the work-platform, they had to add more protective parapets and screening boards to block the view. Wine consumption was restricted when working at these heights. 108 | Mark Kozak-Holland

Each worker could choose tasks of lower or higher risks which determined their pay. For example, they could work at lower elevations, with lesser risk and pay (Fanelli, 2004, p. 25). he strived to create lifting-engines and other equipment that was safe. At the project close there were only three deaths. This statistic testifies to the effectiveness of Brunelleschi’s approach to risk management. Brunelleschi had a tempestuous relationship with the project sponsors. Initially, he laid down his terms and would only show his method if he were appointed as the project manager. In 1420 he was given the position he sought on a trial basis, but the matter did not end there. The craftsmen and the citizens heard about his appointment and had mixed reactions. As preparations for the construction were made, a faction appeared before the project sponsors, complaining that the sponsors appointed Brunelleschi too quickly, and that the project should not be managed by one man alone. Florence possessed an abundance of excellent master-builders but Brunelleschi’s appointment gave them no credit. If the project failed, the city might be blamed for giving too much control to one man. The faction suggested the project sponsors provide Brunelleschi an assistant, named Lorenzo Ghiberti, to restrain his impulsiveness. Brunelleschi did not finally get the sole responsibility for the project he craved until 1433.

The Output

The Dome was the peak of early Renaissance architecture and a masterpiece in its own right. The dome was widely copied around the world (e.g., St Peters in Rome and St Pauls in London), and is still the largest masonry dome in the world. It was one of the most impressive projects of the Renaissance, and restored confidence in building domes. The project took 16 years. Brunelleschi did not begin his project with any best practices, track-record, or experience. Throughout the project, he had to keep proving himself. His radical approach was far in advance of his contemporaries, even though a lot of it was based on Roman best practices he had been able to reverse engineer. He was persistent, innovative and creative, and his legacy is still one of the most remarkable architectural achievements of his age. n Florence Cathedral Dome Project | 109

The Florence Duomo as seen from Michelangelo Hill (Credit: Petar Milošević, courtesy Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0, 2014)

Bibliography

Fanelli Giovanni and Michele, (2004) Brunelleschi's Cupola: past and present of an architectural masterpiece, Mandragora Fitchen, John, (1986) Building Construction Before Mechanization Glancey, Jonathan, (2006), Architecture Hamlin, A. D. F. (Alfred Dwight Foster) 1855-1926, (1948) A Text-Book of the History of Architecture Seventh Edition, revised King, Ross (2000). Brunelleschi's Dome. Walker Publishing (Penguin Books in 2001). ISBN 0-14-200015-9. L. Ippolito and C. Peroni, (Rome: NIS, 1997), La cupola di Santa Maria del Fiore Walker and Dart (2011), Frontinius – A project manager from the Roman Empire Gentry, T. Russell and Lesniewski, Anatoliusz "Tolek" (2011), Structural Design and Construction of Brunelleschi’s Duomo Di Santa Maria Del Fiore Saalman (1980), Howard. Filippo Brunelleschi: The Cupola of Santa Maria Del Fiore. Vasari (1550), The Lives of the Most Excellent Italian Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, from Cimabue to Our Times

The Battle of Plassey, by Humayun Mirza

The Battle of Plassey

Humayun Mirza

It was an accident we met at all. My flight from Chicago to DC was cancelled, and I was rebooked on a later one. I settled in to my window seat and got out the Rommel biography I was reading as background for Fox at the Front, a novel I was writing with Doug Niles. The gentleman in the middle seat looked at the book and said in a slight Indian accent, “Rommel. I’m very interested in Rommel,” so we began a conversation. He introduced himself as Humayun Mirza. I was advancing some theory or another about Rommel (I do some of my best thinking by talking), he said, “An interesting idea, but I was having lunch once with Field Marshal Auchinleck and he told me something completely different.” Auchinleck, of course, was the British commander in North Africa during part of Rommel’s campaign there. I was intrigued. “May I ask how you came to have lunch with Field Marshal Auchinleck?” He smiled. “Oh, he was a great friend of my father’s.” “And who was your father?” I asked. “Well, at the time, he was the last Joint Secretary of Defence for British Colonial India. Afterwards, he was the first Secretary of Defence of Pakistan, and later the first President of Pakistan. He was deposed in a coup in 1958. That’s why I live in America.” He smiled. As we continued to talk, Rommel now forgotten, I learned that Humayun had also written a book, From Plassey to Pakistan: The Family History of 111 112 | Random Jottings 10

Iskander Mirza, First President of Pakistan, originally published by University Press. In addition to telling the remarkable story of his father, Humayun had also delved deeper into his family history. I learned that he was the great-great- grandson (and eldest male descendant) of Mansur Ali Khan, the last Nawab Nazim of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa, which roughly translates as King of East India under the Mughal Empire. In fact, Humayun’s last name, Mirza, wasn’t really a last name, but rather a title: Prince, a rank awarded his family upon his great-great-grandfather’s abdication in 1880. I was very sorry when the flight ended, and I immediately ordered a copy of his book. My knowledge of the history of the Indian subcontinent was sketchy at best, and what I knew was almost exclusively from the British point of view. I devoured the book, and subsequently wrote him a letter. It turned out that he lived not too far from me, and we arranged to have lunch. Over the years, we developed a deep friendship. When the rights to Plassey reverted to him, I immediately asked if I could republish it as a Timespinner Press book (available online, and highly recommended), and I was delighted when he agreed. Humayun was born in Poona, India, and attended the Doon School. At the time of Partition, he was in Calcutta undergoing knee surgery when a riot broke out. It was only through the personal intervention of Gandhi that the hospital was not destroyed and the patients killed. Although Humayun’s passion was flying and he had hoped to serve in the Pakistan Air Force, his father insisted he move to England to study insurance. He managed to become an aerobatics pilot on the side, however. The Battle of Plassey | 113

He moved to the US to attend Harvard Business School as well as to avoid the political pressures that came with being the President’s son. After graduation, he took a job with the World Bank, expecting eventually to return to Pakistan. It was there that he heard the news of the coup against his father and understood that it was no longer safe for him to return home. He progressed through the ranks of the World Bank to become a senior executive, working primarily in Central and South America and Africa, finally retiring in the 1980s, when he began researching and writing his book. Humayun is one of the most remarkable and interesting people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. He’s a great storyteller as well, and I’ve heard many delightful stories over the years, not all of which are printable. The article that follows is drawn from his book, edited for length, with the first page a summary by me. It’s the remarkable and true story of how a fortuitous rainstorm led to the British takeover of India—a very improbable history indeed. Nawab Nazim Syed Mir Jafar and his son Miran The Battle of Plassey

Humayun Mirza

SOME NAMES ARE SYNONYMOUS WITH TREASON. An American would say “Benedict Arnold.” A Norwegian would say “Quisling.” In India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, the equivalent name is “Mir Jafar.” Mir Jafar is generally thought to have conspired with the British East India Company to overthrow Siraj-ud-doula, the Nawab Nazim (effectively king) of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa, the three princely states that defined East India. According to his detractors, he betrayed the Nawab Nazim at the Battle of Plassey, and as a reward, took the throne for himself, ruling as a British puppet and paving the way for the British conquest of the subcontinent. Unlike Benedict Arnold and Vidkun Quisling, however, the story of Mir Jafar is much more complicated. Rather than the traitor of legend, Mir Jafar was trapped in a situation not of his own making. At worst, he was an opportunist; at best, he did what he could under very difficult circumstances.

The Mughal Empire

The beginnings of the Mughal Empire date back to 1556, when Akbar the Great ascended the throne. Over the next 170 years or so, the Mughals grew to dominate the entire Indian subcontinent, but as is often the case with empires, it began a slow decline. By the early 18th century, many areas nominally under Mughal rule were effectively independent kingdoms: Oudh, Hyderabad, and the Carnatic among them. The provinces of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa lay along the lower reaches of the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers.1 With an area of about 217,000 square miles, they were about the size of present day California and Florida combined, and about two and a half times larger than Great Britain. It was fertile and therefore a wealthy 115 116 | Humayun Mirza region, and a number of European nations established companies, including the English, Dutch, French, and others. Conflicts were common. In 1713, Murshid Quli Khan became effective ruler of the region. Although he officially acknowledged the Emperor as his sovereign and paid an annual tribute, he was basically free to run the region as he liked. Following his death in 1727, there was a power struggle, eventually won by Aliverdi Khan, who wrested control from weaker Nawab Nazims and became supreme ruler in 1739. He also gave nominal allegiance to the Mughal Emperor. A decisive and effective ruler, Aliverdi Khan fought back numerous challenges to his reign, including several from the European trading companies who were growing in power and influence throughout the subcontinent.

Siraj-ud-doula

On the death of Alverdi Khan in 1756, the throne went to his grandson, Siraj-ud-doula, who was 23 years old. Sullen, cruel, and possessing a tyrannical disposition, he was to alienate everyone with whom he came in contact. He quickly alienated those who had helped him gain the throne, including the influential banker Jaget Seth, the chief minister Rai Durlabh, and his uncle and army commander Mir Jafar. He slapped Jaget Seth in the face in public, and threatened him with circumcision, a deep offense to a Hindu. In response, Jaget Seth began plotting to overthrow him, reaching out to the British for support. The British were eager to help, because Siraj-ud-doula had destroyed their fortifications in Calcutta, imprisoning captured soldiers in a small cell, where several of them died. The British, seizing on the opportunity to win a propaganda victory, immediately claimed that an atrocity had been committed: an incident now known as the Black Hole of Calcutta. Extensive analysis has long since disproved the claims made at the time, but as propaganda it was very effective, and allowed the British to make a declaration of war against Siraj-ud-doula. Robert Clive was put in charge of the forces of the British East India Company. “I flatter myself,” Clive said, “that this expedition will not end with the retaking of Calcutta only and that the Company’s estate in these parts will be settled in a better and more lasting condition than ever.” The Battle of Plassey | 117

Siraj-ud-doula with mistress 118 | Humayun Mirza

Clive and his army reached Bengal in early December 1756 and he immediately sent his demands to the Nawab Nazim. To reinforce his claims, he attacked the nearby fort of Budge Budge, which fell on December 29, retook Calcutta on January 2, 1757, and overran the Indian fort at Hooghly. At about this time, the British and the French in India received news of the outbreak of war back in May 1756 between England and France. This meant that the French, who had settled in Pondicherry in the south at Chandernagore in 1673, would use the opportunity to support the Nawab Nazim against the British. But Clive had already thrown the gauntlet. It was now up to Siraj-ud- doula to respond. Siraj-ud-doula gathered his army and marched again on Calcutta. As the Nawab Nazim’s forces neared Calcutta, negotiations between the two sides began. While negotiations were underway, his army’s march on Calcutta continued. He reached the outskirts of the city on February 3. Clive, fearing that the Nawab Nazim was bluffing, ordered a night attack on the Nawab Nazim’s headquarters in the hope of either killing or capturing him. Through a miscalculation, the British missed the Nazim’s tent and blundered into a different part of the encampment! In the ensuing melee, the British were forced to retreat with heavy losses. What seemed a victory for the Nawab Nazim however, was turned into defeat by the pusillanimous behaviour of Siraj-ud-doula himself. The British night attack on his position thoroughly unnerved him, and he retreated from the city instead of mounting a sustained counter-attack. He then sent word to Clive that he was agreeing to all of the British demands! The British, though at first suspicious, were pleasantly surprised by his debacle. A treaty was signed on February 9 in which all key points were conceded to the British. By now, Siraj-ud-doula had antagonized much of the ruling class in Bengal, and his actions and the treaty which he was forced to sign now openly revealed him as an incompetent ruler and, much worse, a weakling. He had gone to war because the British had fortified Calcutta; now he had given in to the very demand. The courtiers thus began to actively search for other possible candidates for the role of Nawab Nazim—the name at the top of the list was the Nawab Nazim’s uncle by marriage and sometime commander of his army, Mir Jafar, a man of considerable The Battle of Plassey | 119 attainments, proven in battle, with a reputation for honesty. At the time, he was in his mid-sixties.

Syed Mohammed Mir Jafar Ali Khan

Syed Mohammed Mir Jafar Ali Khan (Mir Jafar) was the grandson of Syed Husayn Najafi, Governor of Najaf, then in Turkish Arabia and now part of Iraq. Syed Husayn Najafi descended from Hassan Mossanna, also known as Tabatabai (pure blooded), son of Hazrat Imam Hassan AS and son-in-law of Hazrat Imam Hossain AS, the Martyred. He was the Keeper of the sacred Key of Caliph Ali’s Mausoleum. He came to India in the reign of the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb and served in the Imperial Court as Naib Darogha Bayatal, Lord High Chamberlain. One of his three sons, Syed Ahmed Najafi, who followed him to India, succeeded him as Lord High Chamberlain to the Emperor. Two of the sons went to Bengal during the reign of Aliverdi Khan. One of them, Mir Jafar, became commander-in-chief of Aliverdi Khan’s military forces. Mir Jafar soon distinguished himself as a successful general. In January 1741, he played a prominent role in the victory in Orissa against the forces loyal to the family of the late Nawab Nazim Sarfaraz Khan. Ghulam Husain Tabatabai, who knew Mir Jafar personally, wrote “Mir Jafar exerted himself so manfully in that trying moment that he on that day acquired high character for military conduct and soldier-like prowess.” In 1744, Mir Jafar was again in action against the Ostend Company, which had defied the Nawab Nazim. He captured its trading centre without difficulty although the Europeans managed to escape by sea. In 1745, he defeated the Maratha army in Bihar. Before he died, Aliverdi Khan made Mir Jafar swear on the Qu’ran that he would help his grandson, Siraj-ud-doula, succeed him to the throne of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa. Mir Jafar was true to his oath and helped Siraj-ud-doula, barely out of his teens, to become Nawab Nazim. However, once his accession was secure, Siraj-ud- doula turned on his benefactor. He dismissed Mir Jafar from his post and publicly humiliated the proud man. But the war with the British provided a means for a temporary reconciliation between Mir Jafar and Siraj-ud-doula because the latter could ill afford to do without Mir Jafar’s military skills. The reward for his support during this 120 | Humayun Mirza campaign was restoration to his old post as Commander-in-Chief of the army. Although ostensibly back in favour, Mir Jafar remained isolated and insecure as Siraj-ud-doula’s temperament continued to become increasingly unstable. In addition to Mir Jafar, Siraj-ud-doula also antagonized other key men of his grandfather’s administration. Siraj-ud-doula’s defeat by the British at the second battle for Calcutta revealed his weaknesses. He surrendered everything that he had fought for, and signed a defensive and offensive treaty with the British, which as subsequent events will show, was not worth the paper on which it was written. Neither the Nawab Nazim nor Clive had any intention of adhering to it. Britain and France were about to go to war in Europe, and it was obvious that this conflict would be fought not only in Europe, but also in America and India, which both the French and the British coveted. The British in Bengal were eager to neutralize and expel the French forces there both for economic and political reasons. Following his success in forcing Siraj-ud-doula to accept a treaty on terms favourable to the British, Clive now demanded that the Nawab Nazim allow the British forces to expel the French from Bengal. He wrote to the Nawab Nazim to demand the total expulsion of the French from Bengal, saying that as long as England and France were at war in Europe, they would be so in Bengal. Siraj-ud- doula did not respond and tried to play for time by making weak excuses. The stage was thus set for the inevitable confrontation between the Nawab Nazim and the British, which was to take place at a small village called Plassey, about thirty miles from the capital, Murshidabad.

The Conspiracy

The game of intrigue and deceit continued. While making conciliatory gestures to the British, Siraj-ud-doula was urging the French to help him oppose them. Clive, while sending supportive messages to Siraj-ud-doula, was plotting his ouster with the conspirators in Murshidabad! Both were playing the same game; only Clive turned out to be more adept at it, though the cards were stacked heavily in his favour by the behaviour of the Nawab Nazim himself and the state of disarray of his army. The Battle of Plassey | 121

Siraj-ud-doula’s demonstrated weaknesses and insolent behaviour convinced the nobles at the Murshidabad court to oust him; the lead was taken by Jagat Seth. Yar Lutuf Khan, one of Siraj-ud-doula’s officers, was selected as the best candidate to replace the Nawab Nazim. Using Omichand, a clever Hindu businessman, as an intermediary, Yar Lutuf Khan’s candidacy was proposed to Clive by Jaget Seth on April 23, 1757. However, Clive felt that Yar Lutuf Khan did not have the necessary stature to rule the three provinces. Though the British had decided that Siraj-ud-doula had to go— indeed they had tried to kill him in Calcutta—they were neither in a position nor interested in governing Bengal, Bihar and Orissa. They needed a Nawab Nazim who, while sympathetic to them, would command the respect of the people, govern effectively, and provide a suitable atmosphere for their trade. They were interested in financial gains and nothing else. Jaget Seth began looking around for a stronger candidate who would be acceptable to everyone concerned. He settled on Mir Jafar. While all this was going on, Mir Jafar was getting increasingly worried about his own position in Murshidabad because Siraj-ud- doula’s threats were getting more frequent and insolent. So when he was approached by the conspirators, he readily agreed to throw in his lot with them. Mir Jafar informed Watts, the British resident in Murshidabad, via an intermediary that, “The Nabob2 was generally disliked, that he ill used everybody, that for his part whenever he went to visit him he expected assassination.” He now, together with Rai Durlabh and others, “…are ready and willing to join forces, seize the Nabob, and set up another person that may be approved of.” Once Mir Jafar, the most powerful noble in Bengal, joined the conspiracy, the British commitment to it was assured. Apart from their distrust of Siraj-ud-doula, Clive and the Council reasoned that the Nawab Nazim was so hated by his own people that his overthrow was inevitable. They also saw lucrative rewards for themselves if they took part in the removal of their hated enemy. To be fair, Mir Jafar had very little choice. He was humiliated and in constant fear of his life from Siraj-ud-doula. The opportunity offered to him by the conspirators—to join them against the unstable Nawab Nazim—provided him with a viable alternative, one that he could not let pass since the conspiracy was rapidly gathering momentum. From his point of view the scenario was clear: if it could be arranged to overthrow Siraj-ud-doula with the help of foreign 122 | Humayun Mirza mercenaries so much the better; his own forces would remain intact and could be later used to consolidate his own position. Once Mir Jafar had joined the conspiracy, it only remained to work out the terms with the British. The main financial negotiations were handled by Rai Durlabh. Mir Jafar sent his agent Omar Beg to Calcutta to work out the details with Clive and the Council. Mir Jafar also enlisted the help of Ghasiti Begum, Siraj-ud-doula’s aunt and mortal enemy, who put her remaining financial resources at his disposal. By May 1, Clive had decided to open direct negotiations with Mir Jafar using the British agent in Murshidabad, Watts, as the intermediary. The British Council prepared a draft proposal which was sent to Watts for his opinion and amendment before being presented to Mir Jafar. Siraj-ud-doula was now becoming suspicious, so he ordered Mir Jafar to reinforce Rai Durlabh’s army stationed at Plassey in an attempt to break Mir Jafar’s lines of communication with the British in Murshidabad. Nevertheless, on May 12, Mir Jafar’s agent in Murshidabad, Khwaja Petrus, was able to bring the final terms from the British to him at Plassey. Apart from payments now fixed at Rs.1 crore for the East India Company, Rs.50 lakhs were to be paid to the English inhabitants of Calcutta, Rs.20 lakhs to the Hindus and Muslims, and Rs.7 lakhs to the Armenians for the losses suffered at the hands of the Nawab Nazim.3 The French were to be banned from the three provinces and their factories and goods delivered to the British. The British were to have Calcutta and the lands south of Kalpi as zamindars (landowners). The British troops used by the new Nawab Nazim for his own defence were to be paid by him, and no fortifications were to be erected on the Ganges below Hooghly. Mir Jafar at first demurred at the exorbitant demands for money made by the English gentlemen for themselves, but after consulting with Rai Durlabh he confirmed the arrangement. It is obvious that Mir Jafar should have paid more attention to the financial terms of the treaty, but he was only a soldier, not a politician or financial expert. He relied on the advice of Rai Durlabh, who was to profit greatly from this arrangement. While these negotiations had been kept secret from Siraj-ud- doula, he knew that something was afoot. He recalled both Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh to Murshidabad and then dismissed them from their posts. Mir Jafar barricaded himself in his house “fully prepared The Battle of Plassey | 123 to kill or be killed.”4 Indeed, Siraj-ud doula ordered his arrest, but the force sent by him was beaten back by Mir Jafar’s retainers. Instead of renewing the attempt, he desisted and merely kept Mir Jafar closely confined. The writing was now on the wall. If the Nawab Nazim could not even arrest an official in his own capital, his authority was revealed to all as woefully inadequate. Meanwhile, Watt’s negotiations with Mir Jafar were also bogged down. On June 3 he reported: We can expect no more assistance than that they will stand neuter and wait the event of a battle. If we are successful, they will reap the benefit; if otherwise they will continue as they were without appearing to have been concerned with us. Since we know from subsequent events that this was a correct assessment of the situation, it is hard to understand why Clive is reported to have continued to entertain the notion that Mir Jafar would participate in the battle that was to follow shortly. On June 4, Watts was informed that Mir Jafar was ready to sign the treaty, and on June 5 he was smuggled into Mir Jafar’s house in a closed palanquin. He was met by Mir Jafar and his son Miran; finally, Mir Jafar signed the document. On June 12, Watts and the other English in Murshidabad secretly fled the city. When news of their departure reached Siraj-ud- doula, he at once realized that war was inevitable. With regard to the conspirators who were suspected of intriguing with the English, the deputy commander-in-chief Mir Madan advised, “We ought to put them down first so that the English, on hearing the news will of themselves take to flight. The presence of these…in our camp will be the cause of distraction…and they are sure to practice treachery.” Instead of acting decisively, the Nawab Nazim again displayed immaturity of judgement. He sought to conciliate Mir Jafar by visiting him personally and imploring his aid. Mir Jafar described Siraj-ud-doula’s efforts in a letter to Omar Beg on June 19, 1757: The guns and fire arrows were all ready against me, and the people were in arms day and night. Mr Watt’s news was known early on Monday. This startled the Nabob; he thought it absolutely necessary I should be soothed; he came to me himself. On Thursday eve the Hughly letter arrived that they were marched. I was to be with him. On three conditions I consented to it. One, that I would not enter into his service; 124 | Humayun Mirza

secondly, I would not visit him; lastly I would not take post in the army. I sent him word that if he agreed to these terms I was ready. As he wanted me, he consented. But I took this writing from all the commanders of the army and artillery: “that when they had conquered the British they should be bound to see me and my family safe wherever I chose to go.” The significance of this communication has not been given sufficient recognition by historians. Therefore, one should pause to contemplate the possible reasoning behind Mir Jafar’s subsequent actions. He had signed a treaty with the British to support them in a conspiracy to overthrow Siraj-ud-doula. But he had no confidence in Clive’s promises and did not trust him at all. So he agreed with Siraj- ud-doula and his commanders that he would not oppose them though he never said that he would join them. This placed him squarely between the two. It should be clear even to the most naive that Mir Jafar had no intention of getting involved in the quarrel between the Nawab Nazim and Clive. Indeed, after reaching an accommodation with Siraj-ud-doula, he informed Watts on June 20 (only three days before the fateful Battle of Plassey), through a messenger sent to Murshidabad by the latter, that he could promise no more than that he would “stand neuter.” Having sworn friendship to the Nawab Nazim on the Qu’ran, he now felt he could not act against him. Thus he hoped to ensure that he and his family would not be harmed no matter who won. Now in his mid-sixties, he seemed to want to spend the rest of his life in peace. He was not to be permitted this luxury. It is baffling, therefore, that up to the final moments Clive expected Mir Jafar to join him. Perhaps the fault is not Clive’s, but rather oversights on the part of his biographers.

The Battle of Plassey

Siraj-ud-doula now began preparing for the inevitable confrontation with the British. First, he tried to persuade the Frenchman, Jean Law (whom he had earlier offended and then expelled from his court), to return with his French contingent by offering him money. Law refused but the Nawab Nazim was able to enlist the help of 40 to 50 French artillerymen under the command of M. de St. Frais. If Law had not refused to assist Siraj-ud-doula at the battle that was about to take place, Clive may not have prevailed. Next, the hard-pressed Nawab Nazim tried to assemble his army and The Battle of Plassey | 125 march towards Plassey. The army refused to leave Murshidabad as their pay was in arrears. Siraj-ud-doula had to make lavish distributions of cash in order to get his army to move. Abandoned by his key military commanders and facing massive desertion from his troops, Siraj-ud-doula prepared for battle. His was not a happy situation. Having done everything he could to make the best of an untenable situation, Siraj-ud-doula marched out against the British. Though his army outnumbered the British by a considerable margin, his was a lost cause from the start, since his men were undisciplined and unhappy. They were certainly not prepared to unduly risk their lives for an unpopular Nawab Nazim. Clive, who had begun his march towards Murshidabad, had approximately 613 European troops, 100 Eurasians, 171 artillerymen, 2,100 Indian infantry plus 12 artillery pieces. As he progressed deeper into the countryside, he became increasingly alarmed at Mir Jafar’s silence. Clive hesitated, pondering the gravity of his situation. He even considered not engaging the Nawab Nazim in battle. But a retreat now would be regarded as an admission of weakness with dire consequences. The French and the Dutch would certainly take advantage of the situation. Moreover, the rainy season was fast approaching, which would make further military action impossible. Clive was also worried about being recalled to Madras. There was always the threat of the French causing trouble in that sector at any time. He decided to take a gamble and fight. He reached Plassey on June 22 at midnight, and discovered that the advance guards of the Nawab Nazim’s army were only a few miles away. The site of the battlefield, including the position of the Bhagirathi River, has changed so much today that it is hard to identify the features as described by eyewitnesses. Luke Scrafton, one of Clive’s chroniclers, sets the stage for us, “The main British force, protected by a mud bank and a ditch, was concentrated about fifty yards from the river in a mango grove about 800 yards long and 300 yards wide; the Europeans in the center and the Indians on the sides.” Siraj-ud-doula was camped strategically and safely on the other side of an entrenchment which ran along the river and extended about 200 yards inland. His forces under Mir Madan faced the British with the French artillery about two hundred yards from the enemy lines. On a redoubt just below this entrenchment, the French mounted one of their large caliber cannons. 126 | Humayun Mirza

Battle of Plassey

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English Boats Village of Plassey

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Map by Diesel LaForce, based on an original plan by M. Edwardes The Battle of Plassey | 127

All accounts of the ensuing battle place the troops of Mir Jafar, Rai Durlabh, and Yar Lutuf Khan, as forming a crescent from the entrenchment to within half a mile of the southern angle of the mango grove, with Mir Jafar’s division encircling and outflanking the English. The Nawab Nazim’s total force, as reported by historians, numbered 35,000 infantry (mainly untrained, badly armed and without discipline), 15,000 cavalry and 53 field-pieces. The army was commanded by the Bakhshi, Khwaja Abdul Hadi, who had succeeded Mir Jafar, but it was in fact the second Bakhshi, Mir Madan, who had Siraj-ud-doula’s confidence and control of the best troops, numbering about 12,000. Separate divisions were under the command of Rai Durlabh, Yar Lutuf Khan, and Mir Jafar. The presence of troops at the battle scene under the command of generals not loyal to the Nawab Nazim remains a mystery. We have seen that Siraj-ud-doula had neutralized one general—Mir Jafar. There is no evidence that they were there on his orders. There is also no evidence that he expected them to participate in the battle that was to follow. The numbers thus reported by historians as opposing the British have been highly exaggerated because they included the divisions under Mir Jafar, Rai Durlabh, and Yar Lutuf Khan. It would be more accurate to place the number of troops commanded by Mir Madan at 5,000 cavalry and 7,000 foot soldiers. Siraj-ud-doula, understandably, was not in a happy state of mind the night before the battle. He had no faith in his troops, to whom he had to pay large sums of money just to join him. Thus he could not be sure that they would really fight for him. He knew that he was surrounded by conspiracy and could not rely on his generals. He had already been defeated by the British in Calcutta when he commanded a much stronger force. This was hardly a prescription for victory against a well trained and well disciplined enemy. A more balanced Nawab Nazim would not have placed himself or his troops in this situation. Siraj-ud-doula was too hotheaded to have done otherwise. But he was only in his twenties. Clive got up early on the morning of June 23, 1757 and surveyed the battlefield from the roof of the Nawab Nazim’s hunting lodge, which he had occupied as his headquarters. The wide green plain below him was lit up with the glow of the morning sun streaming down from a bright blue sky, while in the distance dark masses of monsoon clouds hung menacingly over the Bay of Bengal. As the sun 128 | Humayun Mirza rose, the Nawab Nazim’s forces began to march out of their entrenchments. The scene is vividly described by Scrafton: …and what with the number of elephants all covered with scarlet cloth and embroidery; their horse with drawn swords glittering in the sun; their heavy cannon drawn by vast trains of oxen; and their standards flying, they made a most pompous and formidable appearance. The battle began at 8:00 a.m. when the French artillery under M. de St. Frais opened fire on the British positions. Siraj-ud-doula remained in his camp in the rear and not in direct command of his troops. The morning passed in an artillery duel with the Nawab Nazim’s forces slowly gaining the upper hand. The Nawab Nazim’s army advanced slowly and took up new firing positions. By 11:00 a.m. Clive had concluded that his situation was hopeless. He decided to abandon his positions and withdraw his troops to the shelter of the mango grove. Here they laid low protected from the Nawab Nazim’s artillery. From all accounts, the plan seems to have been to take shelter until nightfall. Then, they could mount a night attack, and if this failed they could make an orderly retreat, under cover of darkness, to their boats anchored up river. Clive was thus able to continue the artillery duel without taking any further losses. He probably felt that the battle had been lost. At this point a large body of troops began to move on Clive’s right flank. It appeared that an attempt was being made to encircle the British position and cut off their escape up the river to the safety of their boats waiting to transport them back to Calcutta. The British artillery opened fire on them to keep them at bay. As it later turned out, these troops belonged to Mir Jafar. Napoleon had once remarked that he wanted lucky generals, not necessarily skilled ones. At Waterloo, he certainly could have used Clive’s luck at Plassey. At about noon the heavens opened up, and for about an hour or so, a severe thunderstorm broke over the warring forces. Torrential downpours that deposit enormous quantities of water in a short period of time have become synonymous with this part of the world. The British, accustomed to such monsoon rains of Bengal, immediately covered their artillery and ammunition with tarpaulins, which the less experienced French did not. Their ammunition was soaked and their guns fell silent. Thinking that the enemy’s guns had also been silenced by the rains, a section of the The Battle of Plassey | 129

Nawab Nazim’s cavalry, led by Mir Madan, attacked. They were met by heavy artillery fire. Mir Madan was mortally wounded and the cavalry retreated in disarray with elephants in a stampede. Confusion now reigned in Siraj-ud-doula’s camp. The death of Mir Madan had completely unnerved him, and he seemed incapable of making any rational decision. He still had an excellent chance of winning the battle. The French ammunition was not all ruined, and some of their guns would have been able to fire again after half an hour. Given the fact that the British forces had been forced to retreat to the shelter of the mango grove, an all-out assault on the British positions might well have proved decisive despite heavy casualties. His commanders Khwaja Abdul Hadi Khan and Mohan Lal, who had taken over from Mir Madan, urged him to order an attack. But Siraj-ud-doula had already lost heart and sealed his own fate by not taking their advice. Instead, he kept summoning his commanders from the field to his camp, thereby disrupting lines of communication and spreading unease among his troops. It does not seem to have occurred to him to direct his forces in person. Siraj-ud-doula gave the order to withdraw. The British, seeing this, attacked without receiving any orders from Clive. It has been reported that when informed of the attack, Clive was furious at Major Kilpatrick, the officer who gave the order, but he relented when it appeared that the attack was bearing fruit. So sending for another detachment under the command of Eyre Coote, Clive continued the battle. While some of the Nawab Nazim’s forces fought back, Siraj-ud-doula lost heart and abandoned them. He obtained a swift camel and with his bodyguards fled to Murshidabad. The news of his flight disheartened his troops and was the catalyst for their final debacle—the Battle of Plassey was lost. His army ceased fighting and fled leaving their dead and dying behind. The battle was over by 5:00 pm. Bodies of men, horses, oxen and elephants were strewn all over the countryside. Only the forces of Mir Jafar, Rai Durlabh and Yar Lutuf Khan remained intact because they had not participated in the battle. Siraj-ud-doula’s flight from the battlefield not only sealed the fate of his forces but also his rule as the Nawab Nazim of Bengal, Bihar and Orissa. 130 | Humayun Mirza

The author at the monument to the Battle of Plassey

Commemorative plaque marking the spot where three of Siraj-ud- doulah’s officers fell on the battlefield at Plassey The Battle of Plassey | 131

Aftermath of the Battle

In terms of casualties, Plassey does not rank high among the great battles of the world. The number of killed and wounded was relatively small in a battle that lasted barely ten hours. However, the consequences of Plassey were enormous. It set the British on a path that would eventually lead to the conquest of the whole of India. It brought a surge of confidence to the British and a shiver of fear to the Indian princes who later capitulated one after another. Indian historians have speculated that Mir Jafar could have tipped the balance in the battle if he had joined in a sustained attack on the enemy. This is a highly unrealistic conjecture because he had earlier agreed with the Nawab Nazim that he would not join him in battle; however, as ventured above, he may have at one point changed his mind and joined the fray when he realized that the French artillery was getting the better of the British forces and that the latter was planning a retreat. When the battle took a turn for the worst, Siraj-ud-doula summoned Mir Jafar to attend him in his camp. Mir Jafar was extremely suspicious of these orders, but finally (accompanied by a strong armed guard) he appeared before Siraj-ud-doula who was now in a state of utter collapse. The latter placed his turban in Mir Jafar’s hands, and begged him to save him: “Forgetting my past trespasses, you shall henceforth behave as becomes a Saiyid…. I recommend myself to you, take care of the conservation of my honour and life.” Mir Jafar could now see that Siraj-ud-doula was incapable of exerting any authority. It is probable that at this moment he realized that the opportunity had finally come when he could rid himself of his nemesis and avoid further humiliations. But this meant that he would have to take his chances with Clive. In the event, he advised the Nawab Nazim to withdraw his forces into his camp and resume the battle in the morning. After leaving the Nawab Nazim’s camp, Mir Jafar sent a note over to Clive in which he said, “He [the Nawab] made me write on the side of the Qu’ran so that I cannot come over to you.” These course of events raise intriguing questions about Mir Jafar’s role in the Battle of Plassey. What were his true intentions? With the Nawab Nazim’s forces gaining the advantage in the artillery duel, and with victory in sight, was he considering an attack on the 132 | Humayun Mirza

British forces? When he found that the British artillery was still operational and the Nawab Nazim’s was not, did he decide that it would be suicidal for his troops to attack after seeing Mir Madan and his forces cut down? No one will ever know. His immobility has given historians, both English and Indian, reason to interpret his intentions to fit their respective thesis. However, one can effectively argue that Mir Jafar made a correct assessment of the odds and decided not to risk his troops. The indisputable fact, one often overlooked or downplayed, is that Mir Jafar did make a threatening move against the British and was stopped by their artillery. If that artillery had been rendered as ineffective as that of the Nawab Nazim’s, one can just as easily conjecture that he would have finished Clive off. This would explain his apprehensions at his first meeting with Clive after the battle. Mir Jafar found himself in an unenviable position. Clive had won the battle without his help and having despatched Siraj-ud-doula, could now quite easily turn on him. But, unknown to him, Clive could ill afford to pick a fight with Mir Jafar at this time. The British may have won a battle but they were in no position to control Bengal: Mir Jafar was the only noble who could do so. While the British were more interested in a favourable climate for trade, their victory at Plassey gave them an opportunity to plunder. So when a nervous Mir Jafar joined Clive at Daudpur the following morning thinking that he would be arrested, the latter saluted him as Nawab Nazim. Clive advised the new Nawab Nazim to seize the capital and its treasures without delay and to secure the person of Siraj-ud-doula who remained a danger while he was at large. Meanwhile Siraj-ud-doula had reached the capital early on June 24, and spent a fateful day vainly trying to raise another army. Only the imminent arrival of Mir Jafar spurred him into flight. He summoned his coaches and palanquins, piled them with gold and jewels and loaded his elephants with baggage and furniture. Taking his wife, Luft-un-nisa, and a few attendants with him, he fled towards Patna where M. Law and his party of Frenchmen were coming from Rajmahal to join him. They never met. Even if they had, and were able to defeat Mir Jafar and Clive, the course of history from the Indian point of view would not have changed; except perhaps, instead of the British, the French would have colonized India. Siraj-ud-doula would have found himself used by the French in much the same way as Mir Jafar was to be used by the British. The Battle of Plassey | 133

Afraid of being intercepted on the road, Siraj-ud-doula took to the river. Avarice was again his undoing. He loaded his boats with gold and jewels but omitted to take sufficient food for the journey. Famished after a few days, the party went in search of food on the river bank. There they encountered a fakir who recognized the fallen Nawab Nazim through his disguise. Having been a victim of Siraj- ud-doula’s cruelty himself, he took the opportunity to seek revenge by sending word of Siraj-ud-doula’s whereabouts to Mir Kasim, Mir Jafar’s brother, at Rajmahal. Mir Kasim came immediately and seized the luckless Siraj-ud-doula. He was taken in chains to Murshidabad. There Mir Jafar’s son Miran, who was emerging as the strong man of the regime, had no compunction in removing his cousin and arranged his execution without delay. His mangled body was paraded through the streets of Murshidabad to announce to all that a new dynasty was now in power.

Encroachment of the English

Several views have been put forward about Mir Jafar’s character. Some regard him as a clever and ambitious schemer intent on self- glorification, whatever the cost. Others view him as a capable soldier who made the most of the opportunities which came his way. Ambitious certainly, but not one to actively covet higher positions that were thrust upon him. His actions were driven more by events and forces, than by a desire for self enhancement—he was in the right place at the right time when destiny beckoned. His behaviour when Aliverdi Khan tried to make amends, does not suggest that of a ruthless plotter, but rather that of a proud man whose pride prevented him from acting in his own best interests. Ghulam Husain Tabatabai refers to “the levity and silliness of his character” which hardly describes a seasoned plotter. Historians have judged him harshly, largely because of his actions at Plassey: the English, possibly because he did not come to Clive’s aid when the latter mistakenly felt that he had an agreement with him; the Indians, because they tended to glorify Siraj-ud-doula primarily because of his youth and because his death was so horrible. Furthermore, since the loss of that battle essentially sealed India’s fate, someone had to be blamed. The immediate objective of the new Nawab Nazim, who took possession of the capital on June 25, was to gain control of the treasury where an untold fortune was believed to be stored. In order 134 | Humayun Mirza

Detail from Robert Clive and Mir Jafar after the Battle of Plassey, 1757, by Francis Hayman (National Portrait Gallery) to prevent any of this from going astray, Clive sent two envoys to Murshidabad to ensure that the British got their share. When they arrived, the envoys found that the value of the treasury had been grossly overestimated. This presented Mir Jafar with a major problem as the British still demanded huge sums of money and were not going to leave until they got their pound of flesh. He was anxious to get them out of Murshidabad as soon as possible so he could assume direct control of the government and go about the business of governing the three provinces. But the British had other ideas. Clive entered the city on June 29, to witness the installation of Mir Jafar as Nawab Nazim, and he refused to leave until he received his reward. He was later to remark about Murshidabad “as extensive, The Battle of Plassey | 135 populous, and rich as the city of London, with this difference, that there were individuals in the first possessing infinitely greater property than any in the last city.” At his installation, Mir Jafar hesitated at the foot of the dais, still unsure of his position. Clive promptly took him by the arm and led him up to the throne. A clear signal had been passed that Mir Jafar owed his throne to Clive. Before Plassey, the British were only merchants, dependent on the Nawab Nazim’s pleasure for their trade. After Plassey, they were conquerors. They had eliminated other European threats and, operating behind a Nawab Nazim, were now able to extend their influence across India.

Who Was Mir Jafar?

The character and motives of Mir Jafar have been much debated. He was known to savour the delights of his harem and was fond of dancing-girls. He even took one of them, Munni Begum, into his harem. She was to become an instrument of the British in their quest for wealth and power in Bengal. He became increasingly indolent, being a heavy drinker and opium-taker. The contemporary historian, Ghulam Husain Tabatabai, paints a dark picture of his morals, and later historians have blamed him for his alliance with the British. Yet a far more capable administrator, Mir Qasim, also failed to stem the British advance. Mir Jafar was no great schemer, but rather an opportunist who got caught in the flow of events. He did not intend to conspire against Siraj-ud-doula but was given little choice since the latter had threatened his very life. He also honestly thought that he could control the British and rule as Nawab Nazim Aliverdi Khan had done before Siraj-ud-doula disturbed “the hive of bees.” However, he grossly underestimated the greed of the English and their capacity for deceit and intrigue. He was rudely shocked by the interference of the British in his internal affairs. Both he and Siraj-ud-doula were caught in the tide of history. Indeed, it was Siraj-ud-doula’s failure in the second battle of Calcutta that opened the door to the British. Plassey merely confirmed their growing ascendancy after they had defeated the French at Chandernagore. Even if Mir Jafar had participated in the 136 | Humayun Mirza battle at Plassey against the British, the result would still have been a British triumph, the deciding factor being the monsoon rains which silenced the Nawab Nazim’s artillery at a critical point in the battle. Only, the Nawab Nazim, installed with British help, might well have been Yar Lutuf Khan and not Mir Jafar.

n

Bibliography and Endnotes

Bence-Jones, M. Clive of India. London, 1974. Chatterji, N. Mir Qasim. Allahabad, 1935. Dodwell, H. H. (ed.). The Cambridge History of India. Vol. 5. British India 1497-1858. Cambridge, 1929. Edwardes, M. The Battle of Plassey and the Conquest of Bengal. New York, 1963 Edwardes, M. Plassey: The Founding of an Empire. London, 1969. Foster, W. John Company. London, 1926. Ghulam Husain Salim. Riyazu-s-Salatin, translated by Abdus Salim. Calcutta, 1903. Ghulam Husain Tabatabai. Seir al-Mutaqherin, translated by Haji Mustapha. Calcutta, 1902. Griffith, Kenneth. Clive of India Gopal, R. How the British Occupied Bengal. London, 1963. Gupta, B. K. Siraj-ud-daulah and the East India Company. Leiden, 1962. Hill, S. C. Bengal in 1756-7. 3 Vols. London, 1905. India Imperial Record Department (later National Archives). Calendar of Persian Correspondence. Vols. 1-2. Delhi, 1911-14. Majumdar, P. C. The Musnud of Murshidabad 1704-1904. Murshidabad, 1905. Marshall, P. J. Bengal: The British Bridgehead. New Cambridge History of India II,2. Cambridge, 1987. Mukhopadhyay, S. C. British Residents at the Darbar of Bengal Nawabs at Murshidabad (1757-1772). Delhi, 1989. National Archives of India. Fort William-India House Correspondence. Vols. II-IV. Delhi, 1957-62. Roy, A. C. The Career of Mir Jafar Khan (1757-1765 A.D.). Calcutta, 1939. Sarkar, J. Bengal Nawabs. Calcutta, 1952. Sarkar, J. History of Bengal II. Dacca, 1948. Walsh, J. H. T. A History of Murshidabad District. London, 1902. Yusuf Ali Khan. The Tarikh-i-Bangala-i-Mahabatjangi, translated by Abdus Subhan. Calcutta, 1982. The Battle of Plassey | 137

1 In 1947, when the British Raj came to an end, Bengal was divided into West Bengal (as part of independent India) and East Bengal or East Pakistan (as part of the newly created independent nation of Pakistan). Bihar and Orissa became part of independent India. East Pakistan later became the independent nation of Bangladesh when it separated from Pakistan in 1971.

2 The rank of “Nawab” is pronounced “Nabob” in Hindi and English.

3 By all accounts, the value of the rupee, at least through the end of the 19th century, was equivalent to one pound sterling. Rs. 1 crore = Rs.10,000,000 (£10,000,000) and Rs. 1 lakh = Rs. 100,000 (£100,000)

4 Ghulam Husain Tabatabai. Map of Hispaniola, Encyclopedia Britannica (9th ed), 1800. A History of Hispaniola, by Andrew Hooper

A History of Hispaniola

Andrew Hooper

If not for Andy Hooper, this book might not exist. Andy is one of the leading lights in the amateur publishing world known as “fanzine fandom.” He’s one of the triumvirate responsible for Chunga, a delightful magazine available on efanzines.com. (There’s lots to see on efanzines, including my own Random Jottings.) This book originated in a series of late night serious and constructive conversations with Andy at Corflu, the annual convention for those of us in this small hobby. We talked about our shared interest in history, our shared interest in amateur publishing, and my own obsession with using print on demand technology, and a book idea was born. This book wouldn’t be complete without a piece by Andy, and I’m delighted that he’s part of the book. Andy is a multiple Hugo Award nominee (though not yet a winner), both in his own right as a writer and as an editor. He’s the administrator of the Fan Achievement Awards, the auctioneer at various conventions, and a Past President of the Fan Writers of America. (There is no actual president of FWA, as there are no actual duties. Instead, a new Past President is elected each year.) Here’s Andy Hooper and the highly improbable story of Hispaniola, from Columbus to the present.

139

A History of Hispaniola

Andrew Hooper

I. Cacique Sera Sera: The Five Kingdoms of Hispaniola Cacique is a word derived from the Taino language, spoken by indigenous people of the island of Hispaniola and other islands of the Bahamas and Antilles. The Spanish and Portuguese both adopted the word and used it to indicate any leader or person of influence in the societies they found on their arrival in the New World. In Brasil, the term is still used to describe the leaders of indigenous communities, while it Spanish-speaking country, it is a slightly ironic honorific used to describe any local political boss. The Quechua-speaking Incas had a suspiciously similar word, “Curaca,” which referred to family or clan leaders with a mixture of civil and religious responsibilities.

THE ISLAND OF HISPANIOLA lies in the Caribbean sea between Cuba and Puerto Rico. With a population larger than any other island in the region, its two modern states of Haiti and the Dominican Republic are also squarely placed in the prevailing Atlantic Hurricane zone. And in 2010 we saw how geologically active the entire region is, with deadly results for some of the most densely populated cities in the hemisphere. To these many natural perils we must add a history of human suffering and struggle that rivals that of many much larger nations. The island was and is the home of the first representative government elected by Africans in the Americas, and it was once the absolute front line of the war to escape European colonial domination in the Western hemisphere. Haiti declared itself an independent nation just four years after the United States ratified its constitution. Haitians still feel, with some justification, that the success of their revolution helped nurture the American republic because it denied Napoleon Bonaparte a base from which he might have sought to conquer the Americas! Such speculation aside, the

141 142 | Andrew Hooper history of the island is a little-known epic, intertwined with that of European migration from its very beginnings. * * * Christopher Columbus finished his five-week journey across the Atlantic ocean by landing on an unknown site in the Bahamas on October 5th, 1492. He spent the next two months island-hopping the region, and might have made no significant impact on the island of Hispaniola, had not his flagship, the carrack Santa Maria, run aground near Caracol Bay on Christmas morning, 1492. The Santa Maria was so badly damaged that she had to be abandoned, and Columbus was faced with the necessity of leaving some of his men behind on the island while he returned to Spain in the only ship still under his command. (The 3rd ship in his famous fleet, the Pinta, had been missing for six weeks, and would only rejoin Columbus after he began the voyage back.) With materials salvaged from the Santa Maria, and the help of friendly Taino-speaking people living in the vicinity, Columbus and his men founded the settlement of La Navidad, named for the Christmas day mishap that led them there. 39 men from the crew remained there when Columbus departed, under the command of

Map of the first voyage of Columbus, by Keith Pickering. CC BY-SA 3.0 A History of Hispaniola | 143 his mistress’ cousin, Diego de Arana. He would not see any of them alive again. The people who helped the Spanish build La Navidad are now known by the name of the language they spoke, Taino. Taino is part of larger South American language group known as Maipurean, and they are close relatives of the Arawaks of the continental mainland. They arrived in the Caribbean during the first Millennium, and there are two prevailing theories about their origin. One is that they migrated from somewhere in the central Amazon river basin , and the other holds that they came from the foothills of the Andes mountains in Peru. For two centuries leading up to the arrival of the Spanish, the Taino were under constant pressure from Carib people migrating from the Orinoco river region, so the Taino’s days may have been numbered well before Columbus landed. But contact with Europeans surely accelerated the process; within three generations, the Taino population would drop by 90%. The great misfortune of the Taino was that they were skilled enough to mine and work a small amount of gold from the mountains of Hispaniola. When Columbus met the chief or Cacique of the region around La Navidad, a man the Spanish called Guancanagarix, the chief was wearing a simple gold pendant around his neck. The Taino were happy to give up these trinkets, and delighted to fulfill the Spanish requests for more. When the Spanish insisted that the Taino spend their time hunting for more gold in the streams and highland slopes of the island, the visitors very quickly became much less welcome in the cities of Hispaniola. There were several large towns on the island, with enough people to qualify as a small city. We tend to dismiss the first cultures enslaved by the Spanish as less impressive because they did not build massive stone monuments like the Mexicans and Incas. But the Taino culture that Columbus and his followers encountered was both prosperous and sophisticated, far more so than the Spanish ever gave them credit for. In the late 15th Century, the island of Hispaniola was divided into five regions or Kingdoms, each ruled by a powerful Taino Cacique. The region ruled by Guancanagarix was known as Marien. To the south, occupying most of modern Haiti, was Jaragua, a polity so big that it was divided into 26 separate nitainos or districts. The region occupied by the modern Dominican Republic was divided between three major states. The northern coast was known 144 | Andrew Hooper as Maguá, the central highlands and south coast were ruled by Magunana, and the eastern peninsula was called Higüey. Columbus characterized the Taino he met as “childlike,” and seemed to believe that they had little tradition of warfare. He wrote that 50 of his followers would be able to take possession of the entire country. But the history that has come down to us from the five Kingdoms of Hispaniola tells a very different story. In addition to frequent battles with Carib and other people from neighboring islands, the Taino had a long record of strife between rival caciques, and some regions of Hispaniola had been engaged in blood feuds for several generations. The noble families of the Taino were as prone to complicated family and marriage alliances as any dynasty of the old world. And as one might expect, each of the caciques of Hispaniola had a different reaction to the advent of the Spanish visitors. One of the most famous personalities of the era was Anacaona, known popularly as The Golden Flower. She was born around 1464, the daughter and sister of Caciques. She was first noted as the composer of narrative poems and ballads called areitos. When Christopher Columbus’ brother Bartolomeo sought an alliance with the state of Jaragua, Anacaona appeared as an equal negotiating partner with her brother Bohechio. Anacaona was also married to a regional Cacique known as Caonabo, but he seems to have been an adjunct to her power rather than the other way around. Indeed, she is regarded as “the only female Cacique,” although she was far from the only powerful woman to appear in Taino history. Caonabo was a particularly notorious figure, because the Spanish believed he had orchestrated the slaughter of the Spanish settlers at La Navidad. Operating from a relatively secure position under the protection of the Cacique Guancanagarix, the Spanish had traveled to several neighboring regions, always demanding gold from the increasingly bemused Taino. But it didn’t take long for the Spanish to begin killing Taino who refused to take their demands seriously. And Admiral Columbus himself had abducted nearly 30 Taino before his first return to Spain. Only 11 of these survived to reach the Castillan court, where they understandably caused a sensation. Soon, the other Caciques began to implore Guancanagarix to abandon his protection of the Spanish. For some reason, he refused to comply. The Spanish characterized his loyalty as being inspired by God, but there is little evidence that the Cacique had accepted A History of Hispaniola | 145

Christianity. More likely, he saw the arrival of the powerful Spanish soldiers as the key to solving his long-standing political rivalries. Without them, he would have to face the consequences of his action, and indeed, when the Spanish were killed, Guancanagarix was forced to flee into the mountains, where he soon died. When Christopher Columbus returned to the site of La Navidad in November of 1493, he hoped at least to find a secure landing. Instead, La Navidad had been burned and looted. The corpses of 11 of his men were later recovered from the beach, and no trace of the other 28 was ever discovered. One of Columbus’ lieutenants on his second voyage to the new world was a conquistador named Alonso de Ojeda, a man renowned for his harsh treatment of native people. He seems to have taken it on himself to bring the murderers of the La Navidad colonists to justice. Traveling deep into Jaragua, he found and took custody of Caonabo, and planned to take him back to Spain. Fortunately, the ship was wrecked and Caonobo killed before he could be subjected to public torture and execution. Soon the Taino rose in general rebellion against the cruelties of Spanish rule. Anacaona became the ruler of Jaragua after her brother died, and she struggled to preserve good relations with the Spanish in the face of all provocation. In 1504, Governor Nicola de Ovando decided to use Anacaona’s unique status in both societies to break the Taino rebellion. He received news of a ceremonial dinner meant to honor Anacaona, a celebration hosted by eight different regional chiefs. When the guests had all arrived and were seated for the feast, Ovando’s men arrested Anacaona Alonso de Ojeda on her way into the feast 146 | Andrew Hooper house, then sealed the doors and set the building on fire. Anacaona and virtually every adult member of her household were accused of conspiracy against the Spanish crown. All the rest of the alleged conspirators were shot, while Anacaona was hanged. In the intervening 500 years, she has become revered as a founding mother of both Haiti and the Dominican Republic. The Taino rebellion was short-lived, as smallpox was able to finish the work Ovando had begun. But well into the 16th Century Taino living in the mountains of Hispaniola continued to resist the Spanish, and some were even successful, negotiating grants of land in exchange for peace. This pattern of resistance on the island would continue for centuries.

II. Ladino Negro: The Mark of Cane

The Ladinos Negros or “Black Ladinos” were Spanish-speaking Christians of African descent, living in Spain after the expulsion of Moorish power in the 15thCentury. Despite their loyalty and Christian religion, they were subject to bondage by the Spanish crown and forced to travel to the Americas where they spent their brief lives digging for gold. Some fought back. Ladino is also the name of a Sephardic Jewish dialect spoken in Medieval Spain. However, Latino is the native name for the “Mozaarabic” language, a hybrid of Arabic and Latin spoken in the Iberian peninsula up to the end of the 14th Century. Its use as a descriptor of speakers of a number of Romance languages, or a resident of Lazio, Italy, is of more recent origin. In the late 15th Century, the newly-united Kingdom of Spain tried to establish itself as a political and economic power to equal the other great nations of Europe. One part of this effort was the minting of gold currency which soon became a preferred method of exchange across the continent. But to continue this banking program, Spain needed immense amounts of gold, and the search for it became a national obsession. When Columbus established the colony of La Navidad in 1492, one reason he felt confident his men would find fortune there was the simple gold ornaments worn by the Taino people who lived nearby. But while the rumor of gold had the power to drive waves of immigration by enterprising Spaniards, there were other, more dependable commodities to be found or grown in the vast territories they invaded. The most important of these was sugar, with coffee, tobacco and the potato also receiving their due. Sugar A History of Hispaniola | 147 cane cultivation began on Hispaniola in 1493; Columbus brought cane plants from the Canary Islands on his second voyage to the Americas and sugar was among the first crops planted by Europeans in the New World. There are many varieties of sugar cane cultivated in the world today; the oldest probably originated in India and New Guinea. Crystallized sugar is described on Indian tablets cut more than 5,000 years ago. Sugar cane was one of the many things brought to the west in the wake of the Islamic conquest of North Africa and Western Asia. It became an important cash crop in the Middle East; by the 10th Century, travelers claimed that every farm in Mesopotamia now raised sugar cane, instead of the grain that had nurtured the first civilization. Large cane plantations came to line the banks of the Nile River in Egypt. The Spanish planted cane fields in the partially-tropical climate of the Canary Islands, their first colony in the Atlantic. The alcoholic properties of fermented cane syrup were equally well-known when the first sugar plantations were established on Hispaniola, and the profits to be made from the global appetite for rum would eventually make the island one of the richest places on Earth. Although there were surely exceptions, most of the Spanish who came to the Americas were not enthusiastic laborers. Contemporary chroniclers commented that rumors of gold were a constant distraction. They were also soldiers, expected to remain available for the defense of the colony. They had an unfailing enthusiasm for founding colonies and cities, but relatively little patience for building them. The competition with other European powers for possession of the new continents added to the urgency of establishing self-sufficient, defensible colonies. And Spain’s answer to all these pressures was to force people into labor by slavery. Columbus inaugurated this tradition on his first landing in 1492. His initial demand of the leaders he met was for food, followed by the seizure of any gold they had. When it became clear that the natives of Hispaniola had relatively little gold to offer, Columbus soon changed his demands to grants of land and the people needed to work them, people who were to be de facto slaves of the land owner. This was the genesis of the encomieda system, whereby adventurers expected that their service would be rewarded with 148 | Andrew Hooper arable land and a captive population needed to profit from it. The Taino and other American peoples found the process incomprehensible; their chiefs had no such authority over them, and no matter what punishments awaited their attempts, found any chance to escape preferable to captivity. The Spanish believed their slaves escaped with the instruction or encouragement of the chiefs who had arranged their bondage, so they executed the upper classes of Taino, Arawak and Carib society, and replaced them with the absolute authority of the crown.

Indian Reservations

The coercion and abuse of humanity this represented seems obvious to us now, and even the Spanish seem to have had little illusions about the effects of their ambitions on native Americans. As early as 1511, Spanish clergy openly condemned the abuse of native slave labor, as in this fiery sermon delivered at Santo Domingo by the Dominican Father Fray Antonio de Montesinos: “Tell me by what right of justice do you hold these Indians in such a cruel and horrible servitude? On what authority have you waged such detestable wars against these people who dwelt quietly and peacefully on their own lands? Wars in which you have destroyed such an infinite number of them by homicides and slaughters never heard of before. Why do you keep them so oppressed and exhausted, without giving them enough to eat or curing them of the sicknesses they incur from the excessive labor you give them, and they die, or rather you kill them, in order to extract and acquire gold every day.” De Montesinos actually touched off a hornet’s nest with his sermon. King Ferdinand characterized his preaching as “A most novel and groundless attitude,” but other parties were less amused, and within a year, de Montesinos and all the other Dominicans on Hispaniola had been recalled to Spain. But his sermon had a great effect on a young priest in the congregation, Father Bartolome de las Casas. It was his diligent documentation of the abuses perpetrated on Hispaniola that led the Spanish crown to establish the Council of the Indies, and later, the “Laws of Burgos,” which at least attempted to strike down the encomieda system De las Casa had a unique understanding of the Taino. His father was an early supporter of Columbus, and would accompany him on his second and subsequent expeditions to the New World. When A History of Hispaniola | 149

Father Bartolomé de las Casas, by Félix Parra, 1875 150 | Andrew Hooper

Pedro de las Casas returned in 1498, he brought with him a young boy whom he named Juanico. Juanico was presented to young Bartolome as a personal body slave. The relationship between the two, whatever it involved, lasted for two years, until the crown ordered all American slaves in Spain returned to the Americas in 1500. Regrettably, for those who would like to hold up de las Casas as an early icon of humanism, his compassion did not initially extend to Jews, Muslims, or anyone from Africa. He had no objection when the crown sought to replace the slave labor provided by native Americans with that of black slaves imported from both Spain and Africa. In later life, he wrote of an abhorrence of all slavery; but in the first years of the 16th Century, the Spanish Church had a political agenda dictated by a desire to rid the Iberian peninsula of anything but native-born Catholics, and saw slavery as a convenient way to expel undesirable people from Spain. One such group were the so- called “Black Ladinos,” people of Moorish and African heritage, who had converted to Christianity over the course of the long “Reconquista” of Spain. As they were faithful Catholics, many argued that the Black Ladinos deserved to remain in Spain, but the climate in the country was analogous to the American Red Scare of the 1950s. Anyone who looked Moorish was an imperfect servant of God at best. Few questioned that Spain would be better off without them.

What Can Brown Do?

And so, the first ship loaded with slaves for the New World came from Spain itself, carrying Black Ladinos who had all been born and lived their entire lives as subjects of a Christian king. They had gained some notoriety as craftsmen, but were particularly noted as capable miners and they were sent to Hispaniola to help find the island’s limited stock of gold. The 250 Ladinos Negros of that first sealift soon found themselves in a nightmare of mangrove, mountain and jungle, dotted with burnt and empty Taino towns. Taino slaves remaining in Spanish hands died by the hundreds from smallpox. The Ladinos Negros had been in Spain for generations, and accustomed to the diseases the Spanish carried, but just as susceptible to malaria and other tropical A History of Hispaniola | 151 afflictions. There were still more than 500,000 Taino living on Hispaniola in 1500; by 1535, there were less than 50,000 remaining. Only those who hid in the mountains and forests far from Spanish settlements persisted for long, and some Black Ladino slaves fled to these remote communities. As fluent Spanish speakers, they became translators for the Taino, and some were present in a district that achieved a fragile independence in the 1520s. For a few years, a Cacique known as Enriquillo ruled an open city populated by native Taino and escaped Ladino slaves. But its fate was a grim preview of the warfare to come; another army of escaped slaves razed the city in 1522. The marauders were Muslim Wolof people from Senegal and Gambia; the Christian Spanish-speaking Black Ladinos and their Taino families were just as alien to them as the Castillans. The Wolof uprising has the distinction of being the first major slave revolt in the New World, and the size of Hispaniola alone meant that there would always be places for rebels and escapees to hide. The constant fear of this rebellion, the withering effects of tropical diseases, and the unpredictable appearance of violent hurricanes that wrecked entire cities all would seem to argue against the establishment of a major colony on Hispaniola. But from 1516, when the first sugar mill opened on the island, the great value of their output kept the Spanish perpetually enthusiastic about their distant and dangerous colony. The sugar planters soon had more wealth than anyone on the island, and used their money to control the composition of the Real Audiencia, the representatives of royal authority in the colony. Despite the constant threat from bands of escaped slaves known as Marrons, the Spanish Sugar boom persisted through the first half of the 16th Century. But within a few generations, Spanish discoveries on the American mainland and the development of the rival colony in Cuba would put Hispaniola in eclipse. Its cane fields continued to produce, but profits could be hijacked by British, Dutch and French pirates who prowled the Caribbean from the 1540s. In 1564, an earthquake leveled both of the colony’s major cities, and reconstruction was slow. The island of Tortuga, at the island’s west end, became an acknowledged pirate haven, and the Spanish lacked the strength to attack it. 152 | Andrew Hooper

Piracy and Partition

In fact, at the outset of the 18th Century, Spain considered Hispaniola an outlaw colony. The merchants of the island helped other Spanish colonies to trade with other European nations, thereby avoiding the crown’s duties. Because of this, as well as the constant guerrilla war practiced by former slaves, the Spanish conducted a military campaign against their own colony in 1605. They forced the colonists of the South and West to relocate closer to the city of Santo Domingo, in hopes that a more compact colony would be easier to rule. The result was a disaster, as more than half the population died of starvation or disease. The vacuum left by Spain in the western part of the island was soon filled by various pirate colonies. In 1655, Oliver Cromwell dispatched an English fleet under the command of Sir William Penn with orders to take the island, After the English force was defeated outside Santo Domingo on April 30th, Penn withdrew his force and seized Jamaica instead. France’s impatience with the resilient and impudent pirate kings of Tortuga began that nation’s long presence on the island of Hispaniola. They seized the pirate island in 1640, declared it an official French colony, and soon expanded their operations there onto Hispaniola itself. They gained permanent control of the western half of the island in 1697. This was a provision of the Treaty of Ryswick, which ended the “Nine Years War,” a now little-known conflict between France and a Grand Alliance of England, Spain, Holland, Savoy and various German states. The question of who won is too complicated to address here, but France retained most of her European territory, and received new colonial possessions in exchange for those she lost. The changing policies of both empires meant that Hispaniola began to prosper again at the opening of the 18th Century. In the Spanish colony, now called Santo Domingo, a wave of emigration from the Canary Islands helped boost the population, and tobacco also increased their prosperity. Between 1737 and 1791, the population of Santo Domingo grew from 6,000 to more than 125,000. Of these, 40,000 were white, 25,000 were black or mulatto freemen, and 60,000 were slaves. This population growth was encouraging, but Spain’s expansion on the island was dwarfed by the French commitment. By 1789, the A History of Hispaniola | 153 white population of the French colony of Saint-Domingue was about 32,000, but they had tenuous control over 500,000 slaves, almost all taken from West Africa. Drawn from dozens of neighboring but distinct societies, the slaves mixed shared mythologies with European customs to create a culture distinct from others in the region. The punishing work and tropical diseases meant that regular shiploads of slaves from Africa were needed to keep the island’s numbers stable. France was transporting 40,000 slaves from Africa to Haiti every year just prior to the revolution of 1791. Inevitably, there came to be several societies of differing degrees of color within the colony of Saint-Domingue. Free or indentured blacks whose forbears had served the same planters for four generations felt little in common with slaves newly brought from Africa, who spoke no French, and had no European education or Christian religion. And little wonder slaves found those gens de coleur who possessed such assets indistinguishable from the white masters. France, with the use of a fleet that closely rivaled that of England and Holland, was able to take full advantage of the productive capacity of its half of Hispaniola. The French also began to grow tobacco, and introduced cotton and indigo to the island. But all other commodities were overshadowed by the literal mountain of sugar grown, milled and refined in what is now Haiti. In 1767 alone, the colony produced 72 million pounds of raw sugar, and 51 million pounds of refined sugar. Europe’s insatiable demand for sugar, molasses and the rum distilled from it, meant that the only issue was delivering the island’s output to market. In the middle years of the 18th Century, this trade made Saint-Domingue the most profitable European colony anywhere in the world.

Legacy of the One-Armed Man

One reason that the planters of Hispaniola required so many slaves was that they often escaped by the hundreds. The colonies of former slaves which the Spanish had called Marrons were now known as Maroons, and some grew to include thousands. They were capable of destructive raids on French settlements and plantations, but were too isolated to drive the French completely out of Saint- Domingue. But in the 1750s, some Maroon leaders began to entertain just such an idea. 154 | Andrew Hooper

The first explicitly revolutionary figure in Haiti’s history was François Mackandal, a one-armed slave who fomented a genuine terrorist movement. He was a charismatic organizer, able to unite numerous bands of Maroons, and led them to victory against French colonial militia. He also formed a secret network of slaves still working on the plantations, some of whom were encouraged to escape and join his muster. Using his knowledge of native herbs, Mackandal concocted poisons that he distributed to other slaves to use against their masters. Hundreds died from these poisons, and the plot was only discovered when a comrade revealed Mackandal’s involvement under torture. François Mackandal was burned alive in 1758, but this only increased his notoriety among the oppressed classes of Saint- Domingue. His achievements quickly reached mythic proportions, and his example of systematic resistance inspired many that would follow. Over 250 years after his death, he remains a cultural hero to Haitians, who have used his image on their currency. Contemporary sources assert that he was also a religious teacher, and subsequent historians have assumed this meant that Mackandal was a Houngan, or priest of the Voudoun religion. But recent scholarship points to the possibility that Mackandal was actually an Imam, an Islamic teacher, possibly born in Mali or Senegal. His lost arm is the source of just as much speculation. Traditional stories claim that it was mangled in a sugar press, but it seems more likely that it was severed as a punishment for attempted escape. One story maintains that Mackandal fell in love with a house slave, and when caught with her, was sentenced to fifty lashes. Such a prolonged beating was in fact a death sentence, so Mackandal may have done well to escape with “just” the loss of an arm.

Code Noir

Such brutal treatment was theoretically illegal, but that did little to restrain the conduct of colonial slave-holders. In 1685, faced with an exploding population of slaves under French ownership, King Louis XIV had established the Code Noir, a decree defining the legal status of both slaves and free blacks within the French empire. It also declared Roman Catholicism the official and only permitted religion in France, and ordered the expulsion of Jews from French territory. While its 60 articles included some limits on a master’s ability to A History of Hispaniola | 155 punish a slave, and prohibited them from selling husbands, wives and their young children to different destinations, it put even more formal limitations on their daily lives. Slaves could not carry weapons, a sensible precaution, but neither could they marry without the approval of their masters. Any slave who struck a white man, woman or child, was liable to be executed for it. They were not permitted to sell any commodity without the permission of their master, and they were expressly forbidden from ever selling sugar cane, even if instructed to by their owner. Escape was explicitly punishable by branding, mutilation, and death. There were undoubtedly corners of the French empire where owners treated their slaves with relative humanity, but Saint- Domingue was not one of them. The island’s overseers behaved toward the slaves as if they were quite aware that blacks outnumbered whites by more than ten to one, and only the fear of the most extreme punishment could keep them in submission. The enormous profit that planters realized from their crops was used to build opulent homes and gardens, while the slaves, on whom their enterprise depended, continued to live in misery. In many countries where Africans were enslaved, some small numbers of them were eventually granted freedom in gratitude for service, or to ease a guilty conscience. But that process was almost unknown in Saint- Domingue. The colony’s gens de coleur were almost all mixed-race children of slave women and white owners. Under the code noir, such children were legally considered slaves, but many fathers freed their offspring. Despite the racism of their official institutions, the French did not find mixed-race relationships as disturbing as some Europeans, and they did not act to make miscegenation a crime. In fact, the code noir considered the possibility that free white women might conceive children with enslaved black men, and specified that such children were free. Having as little as 1/16th white ancestry was sometimes enough to confer the legal protection afforded to whites. This system held no hope for the Africans who arrived by the thousands every year. Some of their worst resentment was reserved for people of mixed heritage, visually indistinguishable from themselves, but allowed to live in freedom. For their part, the gens de coleur were quite aware of the anger the slaves felt toward them, and actively resisted emancipation in Saint-Domingue for decades. 156 | Andrew Hooper

But the collusion of the free black minority, concentrated in the cities, had little to do with the abuses that were commonplace on the island’s rural sugar plantations. In a sense, these hugely profitable enterprises were also the front line of the 300-year war which the Marrons waged against their former oppressors. Any slave who escaped into the forest might find friends waiting for them, and could be expected to return and cut their master’s throat if the opportunity arose. Owners were determined to prevent escape by any means, and the punishments that awaited those who sought their freedom were truly inhuman. Henri Chrisophe was one of the most notable leaders of the Haitian revolution: his personal secretary, who had spent half his life as a slave, explained the bitter resolve of the revolutionaries with this list of acts committed by slave owners on Saint-Domingue: “Have they not hung up men with heads downward, drowned them in sacks, crucified them on planks, buried them alive, crushed them in mortars? Have they not forced them to consume feces? And, having flayed them with the lash, have they not cast them alive to be devoured by worms, or onto anthills, or lashed them to stakes in the swamp to be devoured by mosquitoes? Have they not thrown them into boiling cauldrons of cane syrup? Have they not put men and women inside barrels studded with spikes and rolled them down mountainsides into the abyss? Have they not consigned these miserable blacks to man eating-dogs until the latter, sated by human flesh, left the mangled victims to be finished off with bayonet and poniard?” In all, one could not have intentionally created a society more likely to erupt into racial violence and revolution than the western half of Hispaniola in the late 18th Century. The example of François Mackandal’s conspiracy began a process that 20th Century Marxists would have called a “consciousness raising.” Democratic and emancipative movements sprang up in both hemispheres, and when the French Republic was formed in 1789, the slaves of Saint- Domingue dared to hope that the ideal of liberté might soon include them. But while the colonial government continued to argue over the rights of 20,000 free men of color, the half million slaves around them were preparing to rise. In August of 1791, a rebellion began that would only end with France’s acknowledgment of Haitian independence 13 years later. Violence and pomp lay in their future, but the elegant and pitiless colony known as “The Pearl of the Antilles” was gone forever. A History of Hispaniola | 157

III. Colbert’s Goose: The Accidental Jewel

Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619-1683) was one of French King Louis XIV’s most important government officials, serving for nearly twenty years as the nation’s Minister of Finance. His reforms in support of French manufacturing and trade did much to keep the French economy working in the face of increasingly insupportable military spending. He was noted for personal munificence and generosity, but many of his regulations to protect French commerce were mercilessly draconian. More than 15,000 small business owners were put to death at his order for trading with foreign manufacturers. His directives lead to the systematic cultivation of indigo and coffee on Haiti. One of the most significant economic policy-makers of the Mercantile age, he is quoted as saying “The art of Taxation consists in so plucking the goose as to obtain the largest amount of feathers with the least possible amount of hissing.” France certainly had no intention of making Haiti the economic center of its overseas empire. Their ambitions were directed at India, and toward the parts of North America that they termed New France. Their explorers were much less aggressive than Spain’s bold conquistadors, and they generally treated the native people they met as slightly junior partners in their ambitions, rather than slaves to be worked to an early death. But mercantile competition and European political rivalry would conspire to give Haiti a critical role in France’s 18th Century experience, and would put the island at the center of the world emancipation movement. France’s gradual acquisition of Haiti is a suitable archetype of the European experience in the New World. At first, French adventurers came to Western Hispaniola and Tortuga only to collect food and water while they waited for the ships of the Spanish gold train to pass into the Atlantic shipping lanes. Like all Europeans who came to the Americas in the mid-16th Century, they wanted its gold for what it would buy them from the merchants of the European market. But with the passage of time, some found themselves permanent residents of the Americas, and determined to recreate their European homes in the New World. Some French sailors and pirates found it was safer and less stressful to plant fruit orchards and herd the wild cattle and hogs of Western Hispaniola than trying to take their fortune at the point of a cutlass. When they slaughtered an animal, these French immigrants would roast it over a wooden rack the Carib and Taino people called a Buccan, and sell or trade the meat to the crews of ships in need of durable provisions. Over time, the “Buccaneer” became synonymous with “Pirate,” but really, the pirates were just their most noteworthy customers. 158 | Andrew Hooper

Jean-Baptiste Colbert, by Philippe de Champaigne, 1655 (Metropolitan Museum of Art)

The Spanish sent several punitive expeditions into Western Hispaniola to drive out the Buccaneers, but their fleets were just as dependent on local provisions as the pirates. Ultimately, it was easier to withdraw their colony into the Eastern half of the island, and leave the West on its own. The French presence grew until the Crown was obliged to recognize the first subject land grants there in 1664, A History of Hispaniola | 159 with the formation of the French West India Company. But it took 30 more years for the French to secure international recognition of their claim to Haiti. Spain formally ceded possession of Haiti as an article of the Treaty of Ryswick in 1697. By then, some French families had been in Haiti for more than 50 years. The French colonization of Haiti was swift and enthusiastic, not least because their existing colonies on Martinique and Guadalupe were seriously overcrowded. The acquisition of the Western half of Hispaniola increased the French territory in the Caribbean by a factor of 10, and came at a time when the French economy needed the resources of the colonies more than ever. The 17th Century began with religious strife that eventually resulted in the 30 Years War, probably the most destructive conflict that Europe had seen to that point. As soon as that war ended, France’s own religious conflicts had helped magnify political differences into a civil war, known as the Fronde, between 1648 and 1653. The situation in France after the 30 Years War was not unlike that in Germany after the First World War. Thousands of unemployed soldiers returned from campaign to find no work in a nation crippled by perpetual war with Spain. In order to pay for three decades of fighting, the French crown had enacted a series of new taxes which threatened to bankrupt many of the French nobility, and usurped Feudal rights which they had enjoyed for more than 400 years. In contrast to the Revolution that would come 135 years later, the Fronde was a profoundly reactionary movement, which soon degenerated into half-hearted sieges and rounds of competitive bribery. Eventually, the threat from Spain became serious enough that the beleaguered Cardinal Mazarin, successor to the notorious Richelieu, was able to form a new government. He persuaded France’s generals to return their attentions to Spain, and an alliance with the Parliamentary government of Oliver Cromwell helped end the war after 25 entirely fruitless years. The only immediate victor appeared to be England, which took possession of the Port of Dunkirk for the next 20 years.

The Colbert Report

Understandably, there were significant reforms in the wake of this turmoil. The French military was reorganized in a manner which made it much more difficult for charismatic generals to operate 160 | Andrew Hooper independently of government supervision. And the entire French economy was to change dramatically, in an effort to reverse the tide of debt that had risen through a half century of war. The face of this reform was one of King Louis XIV’s most capable ministers, Jean- Baptiste Colbert (1619-1683). Colbert had risen through the patronage of Cardinal Mazarin, and had been entrusted with the Cardinal’s affairs when he had been temporarily forced to flee the country during the Fronde. His efforts at reform began with a term in a position that corresponded roughly to the Inspector General of a modern War Department. In the struggle to fund the perpetual recruiting and fortification to which the nation was committed, Colbert conducted an analysis that showed that only 50% of the taxes collected by the government ever reached the treasury. His efforts to direct more of the money collected to its intended use would have huge consequences – the guilds which had been the primary regulation of the French economy for centuries would have their powers radically limited. The government soon assumed the speculative role which had previously been played by Guild fathers and factors, in hopes of stimulating the growth of French crafts and manufacturing. In 1665, Colbert was named the Controller General of France; the same year, he established a French national glass-making center, writing regulations for the production and quality of glass, and making sure that there were ample government contracts to support the fledgling industry. Seven years later, Colbert banned the importation of Venetian glass, reversing a significant percentage of France’s balance of trade. Many, many other crafts and industries received similar reforms, and severe penalties were established for importation and use of products originating in other countries. Colbert’s campaign was quieter and took longer, but his war on smuggling may eventually have claimed more lives than the Terror that followed the Revolution of 1789. Colbert also sought a great increase in income from France’s colonial possessions and he issued grants of land to planters in the new colony of Saint Domingue, under the agreement that they would introduce new crops of coffee, indigo and tobacco to the island. He established a trading corporation, the French West India Company, in imitation of the mercantile companies formed by the Dutch and English. This triggered a huge round of ship building, A History of Hispaniola | 161 and the establishment of France’s first merchant fleet. But within a decade, the company had been dissolved and its assets attached by the crown. Unlike its East Indian counterpart, the F. W. I. C. was seldom profitable, and suffered from the attentions of Dutch and English privateers. And by the 1670s, French merchants had become so dependent on the trade from the Antilles they were more than willing to finance it themselves. Even with duties imposed to support other French commercial interests, the sugar and coffee trades made impressive profits. Despite their dependence on the profits made on Canadian furs, Haitian Sugar and Indian spices, the French were never very enthusiastic colonialists. Although there was a creditable wave of Huguenot emigration in the 17th Century, France never systematically exported its excess population, and relatively few Frenchmen were eager to seek their fortune outside the nation’s borders. The public impression was that the trade that resulted from France’s colonial possessions was not important, and that colonialism was itself immoral.

The French & Indian (& Indian) Wars

This attitude was one reason that France steadily lost many of its overseas possessions over the course of the 18th Century. Although French leaders were often able to win impressive victories against British, Dutch and Spanish opponents, they suffered from a disparity in numbers they were unable to overcome. At the opening of the Seven Years War in 1756, there were fewer than 50,000 French colonists in all of New France; by contrast, there were more than a million European residents of Britain’s American possessions. So while the loss of Canada was little mourned in France, it had a huge effect on Haiti. France also lost most of its interests in India at the end of the Seven Years War, although it retained control of some ports, including Pondicherry, until 1954. The cotton production lost in India was replaced by planting cotton in Haiti. Other islands in the Caribbean were lost to the British and Dutch, and the planters displaced by the change of administration tended to settle in Haiti. As Haiti’s population rose, the mortality rate, particularly among slaves, only increased. The island’s long tradition of slave revolt made the French increasingly cruel masters, and the constant arrival of 162 | Andrew Hooper new drafts of slaves served to preserve the cultural separation between slave and master. Many slaves lived and died in Haiti without learning to speak more than a few words of French, and spent their whole lives in the company of other slaves and a handful of Creole overseers. Those of mixed heritage therefore had almost nothing in common with their African relatives. The Freemen’s success tended to suggest to slaves that race alone was not an explanation for their bondage, and that the division between Europeans and Africans was even deeper than it appeared. The fact that a small number of Africans were initiated into the mysteries of European society only made the institution of slavery more abhorrent and arbitrary. By the 1780s, there was a good case to be made that Haiti was in fact a West African nation transplanted to the New World. The slaves had a menu of common languages, none of which were spoken by the white or free colored populations. French contempt for their African chattel was such that they had been only intermittently committed to converting them to the practice of Christianity, and soon tired of the task of inculcating each flotilla of new arrivals. West African religious beliefs and practices were therefore transplanted to Haiti largely intact, and they became a focus of Haiti’s gestating national consciousness.

Revolution and Inspiration

In 1789, Haiti was slightly more polarized along class divisions than France itself, but only because of the additional variable of race. There was a tiny upper class composed of whites, a larger middle class consisting mostly of free blacks, and both were completely dwarfed by a lower, enslaved class, most of whom had been born in Africa. Haiti’s free men of color were particularly excited when the French Revolution occurred in the summer of 1789. The French General Assembly’s Declaration of the Rights of Man seemed to suggest that all of Haiti’s population might look forward to emancipation, but surely those already emancipated would now enjoy the right to vote, to own property, and to pass it down to their posterity. Unfortunately, Revolutionary France was still both racist and economically dependent on the output of the slaves of Saint Domingue. They refused to seat free black men sent to France as A History of Hispaniola | 163 delegates to the assembly, and perpetually delayed any consideration of emancipation. The revolution rendered most of France’s empire vulnerable to capture almost overnight, because garrisons were withdrawn or disbanded, while other European powers felt they had no obligation to respect the sovereignty of a collection of regicidal revolutionaries. They might claim to be taking territory on behalf of the deposed Bourbon regime, to be returned on the restoration of the monarchy. With the dissolution of Haiti’s French colonial army, white and free black militias were formed to replace them. By the end of 1790, several armed groups were at large with the goal of securing full rights for Haiti’s free blacks, and white troops ostensibly representing the French government took to the field to oppose them. In February of 1791, two free black leaders, Jean Baptiste Chavannes and Vincent Ogé, were captured and publicly executed, which apparently did much to enrage Haitians who had previously been reluctant to join any rebellion. The subsequent Haitian Revolution began with a huge gathering and ceremony at a place called Bois de Caiman, held on August 14th, 1791. A slave known as Dutty Boukman, also a Houngan of the Voudon religion, called for a gathering in the Northern mountains, and hundreds of slaves ran away from their homes in order to attend it. Latter-day comment tends to focus on the religious content of the event, and tends to characterize it as a direct repudiation of Christianity. In reality, the gathering at Bois de Caiman was primarily a political event, meant to illustrate the enormous advantage in numbers which the slaves enjoyed. The drums summoned the crowd an hour after darkness. Encouraged by Boukman and other leaders, people came forward and confessed their despair and rage at the things they had seen and endured as slaves. According to tradition, a woman in the crowd was taken by the loas, and danced into the center of the gathering. Producing a knife, she used it to cut the throat of a pig, then passed through the crowd sharing the blood with everyone present. All vowed to kill all whites living on the island. 8 days later, on August 22nd, they followed up on the promise of the Bois de Caiman, and began killing thousands of whites all over the country. That is, if we can believe that the event at Bois de Caiman occurred at all. The first known reference to the gathering is in 164 | Andrew Hooper

Antoine Dalmas’ book History of the Saint Domingue Revolution, published in 1814. Relatively few of the generation that had begun the struggle were still alive by that time, and we can assume that Dalmas had access to far more French sources than Haitian. Even so, his account of the rally at Bois de Caiman closely follows that in Haiti’s own official history of the Revolution. And Dutty Boukman is not the sort of larger-than-life character that populates legend. The French captured and executed him only a few hours into the rebellion. But that may be part of the point; the mass of former slaves was so great that it did not need heroic champions to win its battles. And simply by leaving the cane fields, refusing to work another day, they had taken the planter’s economic power away forever. Whether it was at Bois de Caiman or during another transport of inspiration, Boukman also supposedly prophesized that the Revolution would be led by Georges Biassou, Jean Francois Papillon, and Jeannot, all of whom were indeed early Afro-Haitian generals. There was no attempt to create a central command among the revolutionaries. The former slaves gathered under the command of regional strong men, who struggled to find ways to feed and maintain their forces in the field. Biassou was soon co-opted by the Spanish, who paid him to fight French colonial authority. He then retired to Florida, and was made commander of a black militia battalion there. Jean Francois Papillon had a reputation for restraint when compared to Biassou, but he was also said to have massacred 700 white civilians at La Dauphin in 1794. He also took employment with the Spanish, but was overtaken by a former subordinate, Toussaint L’Ouverture, and paroled to retirement in Spain. Their fate was much happier than that of the leader known only as “Jeannot,” who was the most ruthless of the three, and supposedly took great delight in torturing and murdering his white prisoners, encouraging fellow revolutionaries to join him in drinking their blood. He was sufficiently over-the-top that he made everyone nervous, and eventually Biassou had him executed for excessive cruelty. The deaths of hundreds of white Haitians was enough to move the French government to act, but they seem to have been under a mistaken impression that they could mollify the rioting slaves by recognizing the rights of Haiti’s free people of color. On September 24th, 1791 the Concordat de Damiens was signed, guaranteeing the A History of Hispaniola | 165 political rights of Haiti’s free black men. After abandoning the indecision that characterized its early position on Haiti, the French Revolutionary government became committed to the rights of emancipated blacks, and even fought battles with white colonists to enforce them.

Take Sonthonax and Relax

In November of 1791, the French government’s First Civil Commission arrived in Cap Francais, with the mission of restoring order in Haiti. It did not succeed in any significant regard. In the Spring of 1792, the Assembly gave more formal recognition of the legal and political rights of free people of color, and sent a second Commission to Haiti to enforce the law in May. One of the three members of the Second Commission was Léger-Felicité Sonthonax, a profoundly committed Jacobin, and an abolitionist as a matter of pragmatism. With close connections to the Committee for Public Safety, Sonthonax quickly marginalized his fellow commissioners and expanded his own powers until he was the de facto governor of Haiti’s free population. He arrived with a deep distrust of the island’s whites, whom he suspected of being separatists at best, and Royalists at worst. Had they been back in France, he would have consigned the majority of them to the guillotine. The leaders of the free people of color assured him that they could provide the island with all the defense it would need if he would just guarantee their rights. He was skeptical of their claims, but with their help, he was able to contain the slave insurrection in the North for the balance of 1792. His fragile coalition fell apart in 1793, when a white planter named Galbaud tried to form a new government with the intention of re-enslaving all Africans on the island. When this counter- revolution was unsuccessful, about 60% of the whites remaining in Haiti fled the country. They were carried away to the British colony of Jamaica by British ships, and very few of them ever returned. Their contact with their British rescuers soon convinced the latter that they could take possession of Haiti with a relative handful of troops, and plans were made for an invasion. In order to defeat the forces in Galbaud’s filibuster, Sonthonax felt he had no choice but to reach out to the leaders of the slave 166 | Andrew Hooper

Léger-Félicité Sonthonax insurrection for help. Although many former slaves were implacably dedicated to the extermination of all whites in Haiti, there were others with less sanguine ambitions, and some of their leaders had military experience in France’s long 18th Century wars with England. Some had fought in the Southern theater of the American Revolution, and saw firsthand that people could successfully break free from the control of a European power. They were willing to aid the commissioner, but they had only one condition: Emancipation. While Sonthonax doubted that his authority extended that far, he was willing to promise everything in his power to secure their freedom. And when their assistance led to A History of Hispaniola | 167 victory, Sonthonax was actually sincere enough to follow through on his promises. He declared all the slaves of Haiti free on August 29th, 1793. And what was even more amazing – the French General Assembly was then willing to ratify Sonthonax’s proclamation, and even extended it to the rest of the French empire. As of February 4th, 1794, every man, woman and child under French rule around the world was now legally free. It was a glorious moment, if one which would be repealed within a matter of years. Sonthonax’ decision did not lead to an immediate cessation of hostilities on Haiti, as he must surely have hoped. White colonists continued to resist reform, and former slaves remained in their armed bands. And before long, the British went beyond merely offering asylum to anti-revolutionary refugees. They landed a significant expeditionary force at Jeremie in June of 1793. Both Sonthonax and free black commanders like Biassou and Papillon avoided contact with the British, and the invaders soon took possession of most of the cities in Haiti. But within a matter of months, the majority of the British troops were stricken with malaria or yellow fever, and their control of the colony shrank as the sick lists grew. They apparently fought no significant battles during their occupation, but at least 65% of the troops sent to Haiti never returned. Given that some of the troops present were Jamaican-born soldiers more accustomed to the Caribbean climate, the death rate among troops born in the British Isles must have approached 80%. Although Sonthonax failed to preserve Haiti’s profit potential, and the changing tide of politics would see him recalled to France in 1796 to explain his conduct, his pursuit of emancipation would have at least one more important consequence for the course of the Haitian Revolution. On the day that Galbaud’s forces were defeated and the showpiece city of Cap Français bombarded and burned, Haiti’s future President Toussiant L’Ouverture was busy reducing the distant city of Dondon at the pleasure of the Spanish crown. When word reached L’Ouverture that Sonthonax had made common cause with black revolutionaries against his fellow whites, the general was fascinated. The subsequent declaration of emancipation convinced him that France was much friendlier to his interests than either Spain or England. He began to communicate with French authorities again, and would soon find his personal power increasing as a consequence of his cooperation. But when the 168 | Andrew Hooper political situation changed with the rise of Bonaparte, and France sought to re-establish slavery in Haiti, they found that it was no longer possible to bribe one Haitian leader to make war on another. When whites fled the island in 1792 and 1793, they had faced two armies, one composed of former slaves, and one consisting of free blacks, When they returned, they found only one opponent waiting for them: the Haitian people. And defeating them would prove much more difficult than the conquest of European powers like Austria and Prussia.

IV. Dessalines’ Solution: Rising Overture

Jean-Jacques Dessalines was a creole leader of the Haitian fight for independence from France, and rose to become the nation’s undisputed ruler, crowning himself Emperor Jacques I in 1805. Some claimed that he was born in West Africa, but most probably he was born into slavery on Haiti. As a laborer in the sugar cane fields, he nurtured a burning rage against all masters, both whites and free men of color. Born Jean-Jacques DuClos, and given his owner’s surname, he was purchased by a free black named Dessalines, whose name he also adopted. After three years in this service, Jacques was made free himself; but when the Haitian slaves rose in 1791, he joined their ranks and swiftly became a leader. After years as the chief lieutenant of Toussaint L’Ouverture, he became the country’s head by defeating the French army and their Polish allies in 1803 and 1804. He was legendary for his cruelty, burning and butchering whole towns in his search for revenge. But he treated at least one of his former masters kindly. After his Imperial ascension, Dessalines found the old man who had given him his name, and repaid him with a job in the Emperor’s household. Nations may comprise millions, yet their formal institutions and philosophies are often the product of a mere handful of authors. I previously noted that the French would face a single enemy when they attempted to restore their rule over Haiti at the opening of the 19th Century. This was not to imply that the Haitians had solved any of the violent divisions within their society, many of which persist to this day. Through the end of the 1790s, Haitian cities remained fortified camps, while large parts of the highlands and Northern plains were populated exclusively by former slaves. These undertook raids on the cities and plantations around them as a matter of survival, as well as revenge. Yet this divided, mutinous nation was able to resist the concerted efforts of Europe’s pre-eminent military power. The reason for this can be summarized with a single name: L’Ouverture. Although A History of Hispaniola | 169

Francois-Dominque Toussaint L’Ouverture was no longer in command when the French re-invaded Haiti in 1801, when his successors had to resist the return of European authority, L’Ouverture had left them the tools to accomplish the task. His personal magnetism, political acumen and ruthless despotism brought some order back to the country, and made the Haitian rebels into an army. Other strongmen were able to follow his example, and successfully used violence to resist foreign invasion, and to suppress domestic dissent. Toussaint was born in Haiti, most probably in 1743. His parents were slaves on a plantation named “Breda”; tradition holds that his paternal grandfather Gaou Guinou was a chief of the Arrada district of Benin. He worked as a stable hand and then as a driver, developing some skill as a horseman. He was granted freedom in 1776, at the age of 33. A fervent Catholic, he was probably already a member of the Masonic Lodge of Saint-Dominque by the time he was freed. Rising to a high degree, his Masonic connections were a key to his initial acquisition of political standing and respect. Literate and devout, he was respected by Catholic whites and freedmen, and his recent bondage granted him credibility with rebellious slaves. When the revolution began in 1791, Toussaint already had people willing to follow him, and he immediately became one of the most important commanders of the insurrection. Like many Haitians, he had high hopes for the Revolutionary government in France, but he soon despaired that it would ever willingly grant emancipation. Spain, always uncomfortable with the huge trade in slaves passing by their doorstep (and particularly uncomfortable with their tiny part in its profits), suggested that they might be willing to grant universal emancipation if they regained possession of the whole island. This brought L’Ouverture into Spanish service, and he was safely in the Eastern half of the island when Galbaud’s revolt forced the French Minister Sonthonax to free all Haitians in 1793. As a large British Expeditionary force slowly perished of yellow fever in the west, L’Ouverture maintained a force of 4,000 well-trained guerillas to the east. After negotiation with he French General Laveaux, L’Ouverture brought his troops back under French command in May, 1794. The change was inspired by the crumbling fortunes of Spain in the European war, and driven by a desire to increase L’Ouverture’s authority over other rebel leaders including Georges Biassou and Jean Francois Papillon. 170 | Andrew Hooper

L’Ouverture met opportunity with bold action. His complete familiarity with the network of French fortifications known as the Cordon de L’Ouest enabled him to retake them from the Spanish in a matter of weeks. The rebels of the North flocked to his banner. By the beginning of 1795, two provinces were under L’Ouverture’s direct control, and British troops had abandoned their forward posts and huddled feverish in the cities. His success emboldened Andre Rigaud and his gens de coleur, who renewed their revolt in the South, driving the British garrison out of Port Au Prince. It would take three more years to convince the British to leave the island altogether. In 1796, they committed another hapless group of inexperienced regiments, with a large number of foreign volunteers and refugees, to the resumption of their campaign in Haiti. These troops had no more success in finding the elusive Haitian rebels than the first expeditionary force, and they were just as vulnerable to tropical disease. In 1798, General Thomas Maitland led a final English attempt to defeat L’Ouverture, who had been officially recognized as Supreme Commander of Republican forces in Haiti in 1797. L’Ouverture’s forces raided, harried and fought Maitland’s troops to a standstill, but even so, the Haitian felt it was prudent to negotiate a secret treaty with the British. L’Ouverture promised to keep Haiti’s ports open to ships of all nations, and the British were happy to end their five-year nightmare on Hispaniola.

The Black Spartacus

Various contemporaries credited L’Ouverture with a remarkable military sensibility for one without formal training. At least one reason for his consistent success was the modest number of troops in his army. With a force that never reached 8,000 effectives, his logistic requirements were modest, and he was able to move quickly through countryside that slowed his enemies to a crawl. He also had the sense to recognize capable subordinates, and he found two particularly talented captains in Henri Christophe and Jean-Jacques Dessalines. Although his father was free, Christophe was a slave as a young man, and some biographers claim he won his freedom through service with the Haitian volunteers in the American revolution. When the Haitian Revolution began, Christophe was a hotelier in Cap Francais, and was comfortable in the company of A History of Hispaniola | 171

Toussaint L’Ouverture (H. Rousseau and L. Dumont, from Album du centenaire by Augustin Challamel and Desire Lacroix, 1889) 172 | Andrew Hooper

Haiti’s remaining grand blancs. Dessalines was of a very different character. In his youth, he had seen the abuses common to the plantations first hand, and had been given the surname of his owner at birth. Later, he was purchased by a freedman named Dessalines, and took his name in preference to his original surname of DuClos. The original Dessalines granted Jean- Jacques his freedom after 1,000 days of service, some time before the revolution began in 1791. Even so, when the insurrection began, Dessalines immediately abandoned his fellow free blacks to join the slave bands, and seemed to be driven by a perpetual rage and determination to destroy every person and institution supported by human bondage. His ambition was at least the equal of his revolutionary colleagues, and like Bonaparte himself, would find the titles open to the leader of a Republic far too restrictive. Right through the end of the 18th Century, L’Ouverture and his sub-commanders remained nominal subjects of France, and certainly defended that nation’s interests in 5 years of war with England and Spain. And there were several internal challenges to French power as well. In March of 1796, Jean Baptiste Villatte, the lieutenant governor of Haiti, was accused of corruption and treason by Governor Etienne Laveaux, the French general whose friendship had helped convince L’Ouverture to return to French service. Villatte began an insurrection before he could be arrested, and captured several locations, including the Governor’s headquarters. L’Ouverture acted instantly to retake the lost installations, and liberated Laveaux within days. Laveaux responded by proclaiming that L’Ouverture was “The Black Spartacus…whose destiny it is to avenge the wrongs committed on his race.” But Toussaint also acted consistently to make himself the actual supreme authority on the island. Not long after Villatte’s rebellion was put down, L’Ouverture carefully arranged Laveaux’s return to France, ostensibly to represent the island in the Chamber of Deputies. He isolated Leger-Felice Sonthonax and other French commissioners. With L’Ouverture’s manipulation, Sonthonax was recalled to France in 1797, leaving almost no counterweight to L’Ouverture’s authority. While defending his own conduct, Sonthonax apparently alerted the French government to L’Ouverture’s ambition. The Directory sent General Marie Joseph Gabriel Théodore, comte de Hédouville, to replace Laveaux as A History of Hispaniola | 173

Governor. His only practical contribution to the state of the island was to inflame the rivalry between L’Ouverture and the mulatto leader Andre Rigaud.

The War of the Knives

Hédouville fled the island in October, 1798, leaving L’Ouverture and Rigaud to resolve their conflicts themselves. Rigaud was technically L’Ouverture’s subordinate, but in practice, he was the sole ruler of the Southern part of Haiti, and refused to acknowledge L’Ouverture’s authority. Rigaud was the son of one of the island’s wealthiest men, and had made a fortune of his own as a goldsmith. During his control of the South, cultivation of the island’s cash crops resumed, and more sugar and coffee reached European markets. But Rigaud’s long cooperation with English and Dutch traders (while still resisting the British military invasion) left him with relatively few friends within the French government. With Hédouville’s departure, there was no one to restrain L’Ouverture, and he immediately began a campaign to retake the South. This conflict is known to Haitians as “The War of the Knives.” From March to November 1799, L’Ouverture’s forces pushed Rigaud’s mulatto army further and further south, until they were bottled up in the strategic port city of Jacmel. The ferocity of this campaign approached that of the initial slave revolt, with neither side inclined to take prisoners. It was during this 9-month period that Dessalines cemented his reputation as a pitiless executioner. The spearhead of L’Ouverture’s army, Dessalines’ column left nothing but corpses and burnt villages in its wake. As many as 40,000 mixed- race Haitians died in the War of the Knives, and Jean-Jacques Dessalines and his troops killed most of them. When Jacmel was taken in March of 1800, Rigaud and his lieutenants fled to France, where they were well-received in honor of their resistance to the British invasion. One, Alexandre Pétion, would one day return and serve as the President of the Republic of Haiti. With no immediate rival for power in Haiti, L’Ouverture was finally confronted with the question of how he should rule the nation. For nearly a decade, he had fought to assert his personal authority, but had made few steps to institutionalize it, or formally abrogate France’s claim to the island. In 1800, he invaded the Eastern third of 174 | Andrew Hooper the island, and abolished slavery in the Spanish colony of Santo Domingo. And in 1801, he created a new constitution for an independent Haiti, and declared himself to be its Governor for life. The constitution provided for Haiti’s eventual autonomy, but stopped short of severing all connection with France.

The French Mistake

This tentative declaration finally attracted the attention of another jealous autocrat: Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. Napoleon was forced to abandon his plans to invade England in 1801, and entered a rare period of peace by signing the Treaty of Amiens. Temporarily free of foreign wars, he turned his attention to the restoration of French colonial possessions lost in the preceding half- century. He appointed his brother-in-law, General Henri LeClerc, to prepare an expeditionary force for the purpose of retaking the island of Hispaniola. LeClerc immediately sought out Andre Rigaud and Alexandre Pétion, who agreed to assist LeClerc in re-establishing French control. What LeClerc apparently did not tell his mulatto subordinates was that France was resolved to restore slavery on the island, as well as in every other place where it had been abolished in the 1790s. Even had Bonaparte been full of sincere fraternal feeling toward his black subjects, France was rapidly going broke without the profits of their bondage. France also wanted its sugar: Sugar grown in Jamaica and other colonies replaced Haiti’s produce during the revolution, but the British blockade kept it from reaching French tables, and shortages were common. And as France’s wealthiest and best- developed colony remaining in the New World, Bonaparte saw Haiti as a potential headquarters for an attempt to recover other possessions in the hemisphere. While the potential benefits of the operation were large, Napoleon apparently had no illusions about the probable fate of the troops he sent to Haiti. He forced LeClerc to take some of the least reliable regiments in the French army on his expedition, and it was often a race to see if the troops could desert before they died of yellow fever. But LeClerc also had the services of some of the better soldiers in Europe, expatriates from the Kingdom of Poland. Russia and Prussia had divided Poland between them in 1793, and A History of Hispaniola | 175

Jean-Jacques Dessalines, by Manuel Lopez Lopez Iodibo, 1806 176 | Andrew Hooper revolutionary France had been a natural refuge for dispossessed Polish soldiery. They served the French army in their own corps, the Vistula Legion, but by the opening of the 19th Century, they were growing skeptical that France would ever act to restore their nation. Faced with increasing disciplinary issues, and forced by terms of the Treaty of Amiens to disband the independent Polish Legion, Napoleon reluctantly detailed them to join LeClerc’s expedition, confident that they would prove to be a decisive asset. But by far the most important advantage held by the French invaders was the declining popularity of Toussaint L’Ouverture, who had become increasingly mercurial and quite justifiably paranoid. With the nation temporarily free but destitute, L’Ouverture felt he had no choice but to restore the plantation system, which angered many who wanted the land distributed to the people. When LeClerc’s ships landed, the French commander immediately offered amnesty to the Haitian leadership, and made little effort to find or engage their troops. He promised that leaders like Christophe and Dessalines would be permitted to retain their rank in an integrated Franco-Haitian army, and flatly denied that France wanted to make slaves of the island’s African population. L’Ouverture resisted these offers, but he must have seen the writing on the wall when even Dessalines was willing to join the French. (Christophe was not: he mobilized the garrison at Le Cap, which burned the city and fled into the mountains, leaving LeClerc in danger of starvation.) Dessalines fought the French enthusiastically at first: he led a desperate defense of a redoubt at Crete-a-Pierrot on the 24th of March, 1802, fighting stripped to waist to show off the scars left from whippings he had suffered as a slave. The Haitians lost 400 dead, many killed by French artillery, but the French troops supposedly suffered ten times that many casualties, and LeClerc is said to have begged his subordinates to conceal the disaster from Napoleon. The alliance of his white and mixed-race enemies must have appeared positively Satanic to Dessalines, but he had been equally disturbed by Toussaint L’Ouverture’s intention to wield sole executive power for life. If the French could remove L’Ouverture for him, his path to greater power would be opened without the stigma of deposing the nation’s greatest hero. The French promised that L’Ouverture would retain his freedom if he would submit his troops A History of Hispaniola | 177 to their command, and he agreed to this in May of 1802. He was immediately taken into custody, placed on a ship, and transported to France. Imprisoned at Fort-de-Joux, he died after only six months in captivity. While L’Ouverture was still en route to France, the Assembly passed the Law of 20 May 1802, which repealed the Law of 4 February 1794, which had abolished slavery. By simply repealing the previous law, no one involved was required to write any legislation explicitly re-establishing slavery. Parts of the empire were unaffected – the whites of Reunion Island had simply refused to acknowledge the original law, and the Royalists of Martinique had petitioned to join the British Empire, which also required them to abandon slavery – but in many places, free blacks were shackled and returned to their former owners. Understandably, some resisted this treatment, and punishment was usually summary execution. LeClerc was in no immediate hurry to provoke the former slaves of Haiti into a new rebellion and did nothing to implement the law. But rumors of a massacre on Guadeloupe soon reached the island, convincing many Haitians that they would never be free as long as they were ruled by France.

Cauchemar Polonaise

The French attempt to reassert slavery brought about one of the more amazing partnerships of the era, when Alexandre Pétion and Jean-Jacques Dessalines agreed to work together toward the goal of freeing Haiti from foreign influence. This was not arrived at quickly; into the autumn of 1802, Dessalines continued his French-approved operations against Maroon bands in the countryside, a conflict with religious elements, as the Christian Dessalines opposed the Voudoun practices of the rebels. Dessalines had also slaughtered Pétion’s men at Jacmel in 1800, and Pétion commanded the guns that pounded Dessalines’ troops at Crete-a-Pierrot. But each was willing to defer their differences in the cause of Haitian independence. They opened their campaign in October of 1802; General LeClerc responded by dying of yellow fever the following month. His replacement, Donatien Marie-Joseph de Vimeur, Vicomte de Rochambeau, was far less encumbered with restraint, and adopted the same tactics that the Haitians used. His random reprisals against rural Haitian villages, and the mutilation of 178 | Andrew Hooper captured blacks are seen as having cemented the alliance between black and mixed-race Haitians. When Napoleon could send him no troops to reinforce his command, Rochambeau imported 1,500 bloodhounds at his own expense. For this act the white planters threw a ball in his honor, where black prisoners were fed alive to the dogs. Perhaps as many as 10,000 of LeClerc’s expedition were Polish, Swiss or German volunteers, and these troops found the experience of opposing people fighting for their freedom to be particularly bitter. When they heard the black troops inside the works at Crete-a-Pierrot singing the Marseilles, some Poles refused to attack. Polish soldiers were regarded as honorable opponents by Dessalines’ soldiers; they showed their respect by murdering any Poles taken prisoner immediately, without indulging themselves in torture or mutilation. Haitian tradition maintains that many Poles deserted the French army and joined the rebels, but most sources agree that no more than 150 actually did so. Perhaps 400 of more than 5,000 Poles survived the campaign in Haiti. Some remained in Haiti, some settled on other islands of the Caribbean or in the United States. Some were captured at sea by the English, and interned in Britain. Almost none of them returned to France. The French situation was rendered even more desperate by a British blockade, which would have intercepted any aid that Napoleon tried to send. While Rochambeau and Dessalines traded atrocities – Rochambeau buried 500 laborers alive, so Dessalines hanged 500 French officers from every tree he could find – Napoleon decided to decline further adventures in the Americas, and sold Louisiana to Thomas Jefferson in April of 1803. Rochambeau’s defense was perhaps too tenacious; determined to resist to the last man, he apparently gave no thought to any Frenchman’s escape from Haiti but his own. Dessalines’ soldiers began their final siege of the French troops at Le Cap in November of 1803. On November 23rd, Rochambeau offered his formal surrender, but was able to slip out of Haiti aboard a French frigate. The ship was captured by the British blockade, and Rochambeau was interned in England for nearly nine years. Finally exchanged in 1811, he returned to command in Bonaparte’s army, and died from wounds suffered at the “Battle of Nations” outside Leipzig in October 1813. The French lost at least 60,000 men in their efforts to deny Haitian independence. Not one of the soldiers that went to Haiti A History of Hispaniola | 179 with LeClerc returned to duty in France. All either died or deserted in Haiti, or were captured by the British navy blockade. The Haitians suffered at least 175,000 dead, and were masters of a ruined country when the French were finally defeated.

Same as the Old Boss

On January 1st, 1804, Dessalines declared the former colony of Saint Domingue a Free Republic, to be known as “Haiti,” an Arawak name for the island. A council of Generals voted him the title of Governor-General (for life), and Dessalines ruled under the provisions of L’Ouverture’s constitution of 1801. He was determined that the plantation system and white rule should never be re- established, and forbade whites from owning property in the country. But his efforts to restore Haiti’s export economy left many feeling as though slavery had never been abolished. He instituted a quasi- military system of national service, in which all had to either join the army, or work in the fields for the good of the nation. Dessalines also came to feel that his title and that of the nation he ruled were not great enough. In September of 1804, he declared Haiti an Empire, and had himself crowned Emperor Jacques I in October. A new Imperial Constitution was approved in May of 1805, and it named him Emperor for life, with the right to name his successor. Despite his own prejudices, he was forced to fill most of the positions in his government with gens de coleur, since they possessed the education necessary to perform their jobs. But this was another source of resentment, and in less than two years, new rebellions began, in the old Vodoun-steeped heart of the North. Haiti had achieved its sovereignty as a nation, but it would take further struggle to secure freedom for its people.

V. Succession by Silver Bullet: The Coda Noir

After the ultimate success of the Haitian Revolution, the new nation’s nascent Republican ambitions were suppressed by a series of autocratic Emperors and Presidents for Life, who found in turn that their rule was perpetually challenged by violence and rebellion. Few of Haiti’s leaders of the first half of the 19th Century survived their terms of office. The murder of Emperor Jacques I was probably the most notorious assassination of the era, but the leaders who inspired it would later find themselves cornered as well. Henri Christophe, one of Toussaint L’Ouverture’s first supporters, eventually declared himself King of a divided Haiti, and was 180 | Andrew Hooper

condemned as a tyrant for his efforts to preserve Haiti’s export economy. Fearing imminent insurrection and the execution of his family, he shot himself with a silver bullet on October 8th, 1820. He was succeeded by President Jean-Pierre Boyer, whose 25-year administration succeeded in winning recognition from France (at the price of a 150 million franc indemnity) in 1825. But even he was deposed in 1843, in the wake of a destructive earthquake, and died in exile seven years later. It may be hard for 21st Century readers to fathom the transformation of Haitian revolutionaries like L’Ouverture and Dessalines into self-proclaimed royalty, but we need to remember that in the early 19th Century, representative government was still very much an experimental proposition, largely confined to Northern Europe and the fledgling American Republic. It was a nominally liberal, representative French government that had attempted to re- establish the bondage of Haiti’s black citizens, although it took the dictatorial Bonaparte for the attempt to gain its deadly weight. Observing the Corsican’s transformation from Consul to Emperor, the Haitian leaders concluded that similarly self-bestowed titles were a more convincing path to international legitimacy than the limited term of a popular presidency. They established assemblies and drafted constitutions to legalize to their regimes, then promptly suspended both when they contradicted the Imperial will. And while Haiti’s royal leaders enthusiastically embraced the trappings of aristocracy, they were partly motivated by a conviction that the leaders of a black nation were as deserving of a peerage as the white monarchies of the colonial powers. For Dessalines, his own title was less an issue than the permanent establishment of a black regime in Haiti. Observing the short lifespan of representative governments abroad, the imposition of an absolute authority with a legally recognized right of succession seemed to be a more certain path to national security and sovereignty. Haiti’s potential wealth from coffee and sugar production was still immense, and the return of colonial rule remained a real possibility. Dessalines was determined that Haiti would not remain racially and regionally divided in the face of another invasion. At the end of the campaign against the French, Dessalines had ordered the execution of more than 10,000 European soldiers and white Haitians, and encouraged the murder of any remaining whites all over the island. The constitution which he commissioned essentially made being white illegal on Haiti, or more precisely, specified that everyone on the island was legally black. No matter what their actual heritage, all A History of Hispaniola | 181

Haitian citizens were considered to be black, and all blacks were perpetually and irrevocably free. There were a few obvious exceptions, including the Polish deserters who had joined the revolutionaries in expelling their French employers. They were permitted to remain in Haiti and granted property to work, but were apparently worn down by the tropical climate, and many were eventually returned to Europe at the expense of the Haitian government. The Haitian Constitution didn’t end the conflict between blacks and mulattos, but it did allow the conversation to move on to differences in class and religion that remained troubling after racial issues were temporarily tabled. Haiti became a lodestone for black aspirations in the New World; freed slaves from the United States were encouraged to settle there, and Haiti accepted thousands of new African immigrants, rather than allow them to enter bondage in other parts of the Caribbean. But the dark truth was that Haiti’s tropical microbes continued to claim lives well after the removal of colonial rule, and the Haitian economy was still dependent on de facto slave labor to produce the sugar and coffee that kept it solvent. Without continued immigration from Africa, Haiti might have collapsed in its first decade of independence. L’Ouverture founded and Dessalines then maintained a neo-feudal system of forced labor to keep the fields productive, which was one reason Dessalines faced armed rebellion at the time of his assassination in 1806.

Kulak vs. Commissar

Dessalines had clear shortcomings as a peacetime leader, but his reign was one of the few times when Haiti had political control of the entire island of Hispaniola. His personal authority only papered over the deep divisions between the former slaves of the North and the gens de coleur of the South. The latter group, led by Alexandre Pétion, included many former merchants and entrepreneurs, who wanted a free market in which they might speculate. But Dessalines’ economic policies were highly protective, and most trade was essentially nationalized under his direction. The plantations of the North were maintained as collective entities worked under state supervision. But in the South, Pétion faced a more demanding populace, and was forced to distribute small parcels of property which were turned into hundreds of subsistence farms. When 182 | Andrew Hooper

Dessalines was killed, this region declared itself “The Republic of Haiti,” with Pétion as its president. In the North, one of L’Ouverture’s most faithful lieutenants, Henri Christophe (possibly born Tazio Lambert in Grenada, circa 1767) awaited Pétion’s invitation to become the new President or Prime Minister. When this was not forthcoming, he and his subordinates formed a government of their own, ruling a state simply known as “Haiti.” Christophe spent 4 years in this allegedly elected position, but continually chafed at the limits of his authority. In 1811, he assumed the throne vacated by the assassinated Jacques I, and declared himself Henry I, first titular monarch of the Kingdom of Haiti. Where Jacques I had reigned for only two years, Henry I had 9 years to build his imaginary kingdom. He corresponded widely, sent his children to be educated in European schools, and modeled his administrative style on King Frederick the Great of Prussia. While king, the former hotelier constructed several lavish palaces, and the great defensive works of the Citadelle Laferrier. These accomplishments were made by mobilizing the population in large Corvée labor battalions, some of whom built public works, while others kept the sugar cane growing. Christophe shared Dessalines’ distrust of French and Spanish imperialism, and gave preferred treatment to American and British traders. Britain finally abolished the importation of slaves to all parts of its empire in 1807, which only served to make speculation in Haiti’s sugar trade that much more attractive. Because of this centralized approach, the Kingdom of Haiti was always relatively wealthy, while the Republic of Haiti perpetually leaned over the edge of bankruptcy. Alexandre Pétion had been one of the leaders of the Alexandre Sabès Pétion mulatto insurrection known as (Bibliothèque nationale de France) the “War of the Knives,” but A History of Hispaniola | 183 his respect for Dessalines had convinced him to make common cause with the former slave, and he fought vigorously under Dessalines‘ command. But his personal rivalry with Henri Christophe was apparently quite implacable, and made it impossible for the former to gain control of the southern half of the country after the Emperor’s death. Pétion had also spent time in exile in France, and his contact with liberal writers and politicians had heightened his preference for democracy. He and his fellow gens de coleur had lost much in the cause of Haiti’s independence – once grudgingly made the heirs to Haiti’s colonial wealth, they had seen their white peers and relatives murdered or exiled, and their society reduced to a remnant of its former opulence. At the same time, Haiti’s former slaves saw the mulattos as co-conspirators in their bondage, and indifferent to their suffering at best. It is little wonder that Dessalines’ effort to equalize Haitian society by fiat fell flat.

Pétion Difference

Paradoxically, it was the aristocratic Pétion who had the highest ambitions for Haiti’s former slaves, and for the freedom of enslaved people around the world. He was passionately committed to education for all Haitians, and during his Presidency, he established the Lycee Pétion at Port-Au-Prince. This school was still in operation at the end of 2009, but was badly compromised by the December earthquake and has since been demolished. Pétion was also eager to see revolution and emancipation spread to other parts of the hemisphere. In 1815, he granted asylum to the Venezuelan revolutionary Simon de Bolivar, and sent Haitian troops to serve in his army when Bolivar returned to the continent the following year. The hardened Haitian soldiers helped Bolivar seize the city of Angostura, Venezuela, and from that foothold he would go on to liberate much of South America from colonial rule. After three years of inconclusive struggle, Pétion and Christophe signed a peace treaty that recognized the partition of the nation in 1810. Temporarily freed from that external pressure, Pétion began to find the limitations of democracy as intolerable as Dessalines and Christophe before him. In 1816, he convinced the Senate to declare him President for Life, and in 1818 he did away with their part in government altogether. But by this time, Pétion’s health had begun to fail, and he confirmed that General Jean Pierre Boyer would ascend 184 | Andrew Hooper to the Presidency after his death. As it transpired, Boyer had only a few months to wait; Pétion contracted yellow fever in the fall, and died before the end of 1818. Boyer, born in 1776, had been educated at a French military academy, and served as a Brigadier General in the Republican army. He had been sent back to his native island with the French Commission, Jean-Pierre Boyer and campaigned against Royalist and English troops during their occupation. L’Ouverture helped accelerate his return to France (with a stop in the United States). Back in Paris by 1801, he was part of the French expedition to re-take the island, but predictably rejoined Andre Rigaud’s rebel army at the first opportunity. Sharing experience, if not necessarily ideals, with Alexandre Pétion, the dying President apparently considered him a suitable successor.

President for (a long) Life

Once Boyer became President, his first priority appeared to be reuniting Haiti’s Northern and Southern halves. President Pétion may have been reluctant to make war on King Henry I and his generous foreign backers, but Boyer apparently had no qualms. By 1820, he had inspired regions of the North to rebel, and his army planned to march on Henry’s Citadel. In failing health, and fearful of the consequences for his children if he resisted, King Henry shot himself with a silver bullet on October 8th, 1820. Boyer was also apparently unencumbered by the democratic values that gnawed at his predecessor, and resisted calls for reform, A History of Hispaniola | 185 many from fellow revolutionaries who felt their work was still incomplete. On the other hand, he shared Pétion’s desire to free all slaves in the Americas, and was eager to attract settlement by black freedmen from the United States. He was flattered by Loring Dewey of the American Colonization Society, the semi-racist, quasi- abolitionist organization responsible for the settlement of thousands of former American slaves in Liberia. Dewey argued that Haiti was the ideal destination for free black Americans, with a “mild” climate, and a duly established negro government. Boyer would accept all the “immigrants” the U.S. sent, but could offer little support once they arrived. Disillusioned by the poverty they found in Haiti, most American freedmen soon returned to the USA. Haiti would come to be haunted by its support of Simon de Bolivar. His success in establishing the independent superstate of Gran Colombia excited Spanish-speaking residents of the Eastern regions. After years of covert organization, the former Spanish Lieutenant Governor of Santo Domingo, Jose Nuñez de Cáceres, declared the colony independent on November 30th, 1821. De Cáceres immediately sought recognition from and incorporation into Gran Colombia, but before Bolivar could respond, Boyer led an army of 50,000 Haitians into Santo Domingo. Predictably, resistance was led by white Dominicans, and collapsed after a skirmish. Many whites left for Cuba or Puerto Rico. Boyer formally annexed Santo Domingo, and immediately abolished slavery there. He also seized property formerly held by the Church and the Spanish Crown, imposed tribute payments on the Dominican people, and allowed many social institutions, such as schools, to close through neglect. Despite this, Haiti was to retain control of the future Dominican Republic until Dominicans went to war to win their independence again in 1844. With a population pacified – or exhausted -- after a generation of war, Boyer’s next concern was the establishment of a diplomatic relationship with the French. As long as France regarded Haiti as a rebellious province, it would remain a potential enemy, and a refuge for opposition to the Haitian regime. After years of negotiation, France recognized Haiti as a sovereign nation in 1825. The price was an indemnity of 150 millions francs, admittedly a fraction of the value of the commerce lost to the revolution. Although the total was reduced to 90 million, it must have been infuriating to Haitians to be asked to pay their former jailers for their freedom. And in order to 186 | Andrew Hooper make the first payment, Haiti had to take an immediate loan of 30 million francs from the French government. This debt was not retired until 1947. Boyer remained president of Haiti for 18 more years after gaining recognition from France. Despite his jealous retention of all executive power, Alexandre Pétion would probably have been proud of the stability achieved by his former protégé. He redistributed even more land and set cash crop quotas for the small farmers who worked it, but Haiti continued to transition toward farming for subsistence, and Haitians became a more ruralized and pastoral people. In some ways, they had come full circle from the Taino farmers and hunters who were worked to death by the first generation of Conquistadors. In 1843, the economy was crippled by an earthquake, and General Charles Hérard Aîné compelled Boyer into exile in Jamaica and Paris. Aîné served for less than two years before being deposed, yet he still had time to lose a war with the resurgent Dominicans, who established their independence for good in 1844. And his replacement, the elderly General Philippe Guerrier, died in office after less than one year. And his replacement, Jean-Louis Pierrot, had been a Prince of the Realm under King Henry I, and was brought in as a figurehead for the mulatto oligarchy. Yet he failed miserably in that capacity, and had to be removed from office after two years when he began to pursue radical administrative reforms. Stability and prosperity remained elusive, but Haiti had somehow survived 50 years after their audacious and bitter revolution of 1791. One can only wonder if North American revolutionaries would have held out for half as long under conditions as punishing and seemingly without hope. And one can only hope that the Haitians’ resilience and faith will eventually find some just reward.

n The Civil War in Athens (Missouri, not Greece), by Richard H. Berg The Civil War in ATHENS (Missouri, Not Greece)

Richard H. Berg

Coming up with a good title is harder than you might think. A good title sets expectations, identifies category, establishes tone, and more. It’s one of the most important marketing decisions you can make. That’s why publishers, not authors, usually have the final word about titles, and authors aren’t always happy about it. The Principled Person’s Guide to Office Politics, which I co-wrote with my wife Debbie, got renamed Enlightened Office Politics, on the grounds that there might not be enough principled people to make up a market. I guess I can see their point. I also understand why MacArthur’s Downfall, an alternate history Richard H. Berg’s card in Flying novel I wrote with Doug Niles, got Buffalo’s 2014 “Famous Game retitled MacArthur’s War. Never Designers” Playing Card Deck mind that there was already a book on the market with the same title, “Downfall” struck the publisher as rather negative, although it was really a clever play on the code name for the proposed invasion of Japan: Operation Downfall. Richard Berg, however, isn’t so understanding. When TSR, Inc., owned the SPI line of military simulation games, we were always happy to get a new Berg

187 188 | Random Jottings 10 submission. You need only read the copy on his “Famous Game Designers” playing card to understand why. He’s the King of Diamonds. I understand why he’s a king, but I don’t understand why diamonds. It’s not as if wargame design is exactly a path to riches. But back to titles. Rich sent in a Civil War cavalry game titled Horse Soldiers, and when the design brief and title got to me, I balked. It sounded to me more like a game set in the Indian Wars, so I insisted that they come up with a different name. After a few tries, we settled on Rebel Sabers, which I’m sure you’ll agree is much, much better. I thought nothing more about it until somebody showed me Rich’s annual joke awards column in Berg’s Review of Games. He gave a prize for the dumbest title of the year, and named the category the “Michael Dobson Product Naming Award.” I had never been an award category before, though I was once an answer on Jeopardy.1 Although Rich is far and away best known for his wargame designs, that’s far from the only notable thing about him. His primary professional career was as a criminal defense attorney. (“Interesting clientele,” he once observed.) Before that, however, he was a rock singer with The Escorts and played backup for 1960s novelty hit Tiny Tim. He wrote the music and lyrics for two off-Broadway shows, both produced, giving up the theater after the New York Times called the music “boring and derivative,” and he decided they were right. In recent years, Rich has worked as a communications consultant and speechwriter for corporate CEOs and celebrities. He’s the co-author of The Atlas of World Military History and the author of a novel, The Dutchman’s Gold, which he himself describes as “mediocre.” Remember, you read it here first. Rich has two articles in this book. The first, about an obscure and improbable Civil War engagement, follows. The second, about an obscure and improbable Japanese attack on the US, comes a little bit later.

1 The category was ALTERNATE HISTORY, and the $20 answer was “He was the Fox in Fox on the Rhine.” The question, of course, was “Who is Rommel?” The contestant got the $20; we got nothing. The Civil War in Athens (Missouri, Not Greece)

Richard H. Berg

ATHENS, MISSOURI, just south and west of the border with Iowa, does not exist any more. Which seems fitting, as the battle that took place there on August 5, 1861, does not exist anywhere in the Official Records of the War of the Rebellion. But it has not been forgotten by the present inhabitants of the area, who have taken great strides to establish what was the site of the old town of Athens as a memorial park and historical battle site. It’s not that Athens was a large engagement or even an important one. But it was one of the northernmost battles of the war – if you don’t view the Confederate attack on St. Alban’s, Vermont (from Canada, and more of a bank robbery than a battle) or Morgan’s raid into Ohio as actual battles, it probably is the northernmost battle - and it set the tone for this contentious and bloody mid-western state, a home for proponents of both the North as well as the South. Missouri was mostly a pro-Southern state with a strong presence of Union forces in the area. These were enough to keep the state from voting for Secession, but they weren’t enough to put a halt to a constant stream of attacks, ambushes and assassinations. And to counter the Union regiments, southern sympathizers began to form their own State Guards units. Sensing a move towards secession a wealthy Iowa merchant, William Bishop, traveled to St. Louis to petition for the ability to raise a regiment of Union home guards, for which he was awarded a colonelcy. Bishop, however, was no military man, so he sought out a storekeeper in the area who did have experience. David Moore had served with distinction during the War with Mexico. He had a well- earned reputation for temper and creative cussing, but he knew his trade. 189 190 | Richard H. Berg

Moore immediately started touring the northern section of the state raising troops. He quickly pickled up about a hundred volunteers, which prodded other locals to do the same. And, in July, with the secessionists growing increasingly restive and similarly active, the 1st Northeast Missouri Regiment was born. Moore was assigned to its command as colonel. Drill started immediately, with the men providing everything the regiment needed, which meant they were somewhat short of weapons. The Union actions were none too soon, for a Missouri farmer, Martin Green, brother of the state’s pro-Southern U.S. Senator, was also undertaking to raise a Missouri regiment that would fight for the rebel cause. He summoned the men of the State Guards, asking for volunteers from the pro-Southern towns, and, at the same time Moore’s 1st NE Missouri men were being used to quell a riot caused by southern sympathizers, he began to train his rather uneven collection of about a thousand men, two of whom were sons of David Moore! Green, like Moore, was elected colonel. Moore now decided to move to protect the important rail line running north from St. Louis. He selected as his headquarters the town of Athens, in Missouri but immediately across the Des Moines River from a major rail stop at Croton, Iowa. On the way there he decided to give his troops, now numbering around 500. a little taste of combat action. A pro-southern State Guard unit, under Major Benjamin Shacklett, was resting in Etna. Moore marched his troop to the town, where he was greeted by a small squadron of Shacklett’s volunteer cavalry. The mounted men fired several rounds far over the heads of the Union troops then turned and galloped away, leaving a citizen as the only casualty. It wasn’t much in the way of an ordeal by fire, but at least some of the 1st NE Missouri could say they had been in combat. The next day, the regiment arrived in Athens, and Moore sent some of his companies home to take care of their farms. He began further training and drill with the less than 400 men he had left. His main problem was that too many of his men had no muskets. This problem was serendipitously solved when a local politician, Cyrus Bussey, commandeered a trainload of brand-new Springfield Rifles that were destined elsewhere. When this train stopped at Croton, Bussey was prescient enough to leave Moore 200 of the new guns. The Civil War in Athens (Missouri, not Greece) | 191

Back at the Southern camp at Edina, Colonel Green was ready for action. He had more than three times as many men as Moore, and he also had some artillery. He now planned to move quickly on Athens, drive off the 1st NE Missouri, and seize Athens to control northeast Missouri for The Confederacy. Green’s problem, however, was that while he greatly outnumbered Moore, he failed to gauge his opponent’s mettle or understand the benefits of the position Moore held, a defensive position that would partially negate his text-book superiority of greater than 3-to-1. Even more telling was the fact that Green’s Missouri State Guards were as unprepared and woefully armed a group of ragtag enthusiasts as one could find. Not only did not one have any training of any kind or even a uniform– a gathering of the unit looked less like a military formation and more like a casting call for “Deliverance II” - but none of them had a true military weapon. They had armed themselves with whatever they could find at home, and this meant mostly shotguns and squirrel guns (rifled muskets, heavy and difficult to load). The regiment did have some cannon, though, two smoothbores from bygone days that no one knew how to use effectively, plus, incredibly, a hollowed-out log some resident genius felt would do the trick. It blew up the first time they tried to fire it, much to the dismay of the several enthusiasts standing near it. None of this deterred Green from his self-appointed mission, self-appointed in that The Confederate government knew nothing about what was going on in northern Missouri. On August 5, 1861, Green and his Confederates moved to the outskirts of Athens and prepared to push the federals into Iowa. Green, apparently, felt that the sheer size of his regiment would force Moore to retreat and abandon the town. He was aware that he was leading an undisciplined, untrained, and poorly armed mob, but he also knew that they were drunk with enthusiasm and eager for a fight. Moore, alerted by several scouts he had sent out, reacted quickly. He sent to Keokuk for help, and two companies, about 80 men from Samples’ City Rangers and Belknap’s City Rifles, answered the call as far as arriving in Croton, across the river. It was there that they apparently thought better of the idea and invoked the somewhat southern theory of states rights as a reason for not crossing into Missouri to join in the defense. 192 | Richard H. Berg

Unperturbed, Moore immediately deployed his 333 men in a skirmisher-like line in the center of the town and across its entire width. Green’s rebel States Guardsmen, who had mostly rode to the site, now reached an elevated brow of land overlooking the town and dismounted to fight on foot. The two real guns, a six-pounder and a nine-pounder, were placed at the lip of the elevated portion, with the legendary log a short distance away. Seeing how few Union troops were deployed below him Green now sought to use his numerical superiority to his advantage. He detached a hundred or so men from his right, under Major Ben Shacklett, to move down to the east side of the town, through Widow Gray’s cornfield, and emerge on the left flank of Moore. In a similar fashion two companies were sent to the wooded area on the small rise overlooking the Union right, to the west of Athens. Green now had Moore’s regiment surrounded on all sides, with their backs to the river. To counter Green’s encircling attempt, Moore moved about 60 of Captain Dull’s men to Stallion Branch, the creek west of the town and another company of infantry, under the ironically named Captain Elsbury Small (he was a huge man, weighing over 350 pounds) along with a squadron of mounted locals under Capt. Henry Spellman, all overseen by the county’s “fighting parish”, one Reverend Charles Callihan, to counter the Confederate move into the cornfield. The Union was still encircled, but at least its flanks were protected. At about 5:30 AM the battle started with Green having his artillery fire into the Union lines in the town. Along with having the infamous log explode, it was quickly obvious that the two guns commanded by Captain J. W. Kniesley were not very good at their chosen profession. Aside from a ball or two that ripped through some of the Athens houses, most of the shots ended up across the river, in Iowa, one destroying the Croton rail station. They had no effect on the ensuing battle, although they did cause some initial panic with the young Union troops. Seeing one volunteer attempting to flee, Moore sought to calm him by asking him, rhetorically, “Who ever heard of anybody ever being killed by a cannon?” Green, having brought his men to take the city by fright, reluctantly now ordered his men forward, slowly, firing as they went. The Union regiment returned fire immediately. Well, most of them did. On the Union left, Reverend Callihan was afflicted by a sudden The Civil War in Athens (Missouri, not Greece) | 193 influx of sauve qui peut. Crying out, “C’mon men! We’ll never stop ‘em!” He turned his horse around and bolted for the riverbank, to be quickly followed by the entire detachment of Spellman’s cavalry. They spent the battle in Iowa. Captain Small, however, was not perturbed by this desertion, and he used his over-sized presence to urge his men to stand still and keep firing. This was what all of Moore’s thin line was doing at this point. While the rebels slowly advanced firing their antiquated muskets and hunting guns as fast as they could, the steady volley fire of the new Springfields from the now resolute Union defenders soon began to tell. With casualties rising and the usual cloud of smoke and noise covering the entire town, Green sought to have his men charge the Union lines. His attempt was ignored by the poorly trained Confederates, most of whom were, by now, unnerved by the steady, and deadly, rate of Union musketry. Moore realized that the failure of the Southern States Guardsmen to take advantage of their numbers was, for him, an opportunity. With a yell he ordered his men to fix bayonets and charge the rebel line. For the States Guards this was far more than they either expected or wanted. With the Union bayonets glinting in the sun, Green’s center immediately collapsed and headed for the rear. Shacklett’s men, over by Widow Gray’s watched this happen and took it as a cue to immediately bolt east, down river. Kniesley, whose guns were simply wasting ammunition, limbered them up and galloped off down the road. Only Dull, on the west edge of town, managed to keep his men in good order and retire slowly and carefully. Moore ordered a pursuit of the fleeing rebels, but it lasted only a mile, his troops tired and unsupported by any horse. But they had won the battle against seemingly overwhelming numerical odds. The northern area of Missouri was, for the remainder of the war, a secure Northern bastion. Green’s States Guards suffered 31 casualties to Moore’s 23, but they left behind a huge store of horses, useless guns and a cache of long knives which they never had a chance to use. Almost everyone involved went on to fight elsewhere. Kniesley’s inept gunners soon learned their trade and became part of “Black’s Battery”. Green and Moore were both elevated to brigadier general and faced each other a short time later at Corinth, Mississippi. 194 | Richard H. Berg

Shortly after, both were out of the war. Moore lost a leg at Shiloh, and Green was killed by a sniper’s bullet at Vicksburg. In the larger picture, Athens is simply a small footnote. But it is an interesting one, and if it isn’t the northernmost battle of the war, it is the only one we can find that used a log as as a gun. For that alone, it deserves better than it has received.

n

Sources

Most of the information for this article came from the Battle of Athens Historic Site, overseen by the Missouri Department of Natural Resources, which provided a half dozen booklets and articles, most by the “Athens Historian”, Ben Dixon (and collected by gamer Mike Reed), plus a good article in “The Missouri Historical Review”, Vol. LXIX, #2, January 1975, by Leslie Anders. The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh, by Michael Dobson The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh

Michael Dobson

This essay is drawn from my book Project: Impossible, about projects any reasonable person would have considered impossible until they were actually done. Like other books in the Lessons From History series (see the introduction to Mark Kozak- Holland’s piece on the Duomo), it’s aimed at providing practical project management lessons through analysis of historical projects. For this book, I’ve cut out all the useful stuff, so we’re left with a very improbable history indeed. What’s remarkable about Lindbergh isn’t that he flew the Atlantic; that had already been done several times. No, what’s truly remarkable (in the idiom of the book, “operationally impossible”) is how he beat better funded, more experienced competition who had a huge head start. I suppose, for consistency’s sake, I should introduce myself. I was born in North Carolina and grew up in Germany and Alabama. After college, I joined the Aeronautics Department of the Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum as a research assistant, and later managed operations for the planetarium there. I worked as a career counselor for a number of years, then got a job with Dungeons & Dragons® publisher TSR, Inc., rising from an editorial position to Director of Games Development and Marketing, and subsequently worked for two other companies in the field. For the last couple of decades, I’ve been a management trainer, a writer, and a few other things. I’ve written somewhere north of 70 books. My wife and frequent co-author Debbie is a human resources executive; my son (at the time of writing) is finishing his plebe year at West Point. My hobby is collecting improbable friends, many of whom are represented in these pages.

195 Official Army Air Corps photograph of Charles Lindbergh, 1920s. The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh

Michael Dobson

“Look, Mr. Lindbergh, I don’t mean to belittle you, but, after all, New York to Paris isn’t like dropping off a mail bag in Keokuk, Iowa.’” — Charles Levine, president of the Columbia Aircraft Company, in the movie The Spirit of St. Louis (1957)

HE HAD ONE OF THE WORST SAFETY records in the history of aviation. He was underfunded. His competition included some of the most famous and acclaimed adventurers in the world. No sensible person would have picked the unknown Charles Lindbergh to win the race to fly the Atlantic non-stop from New York to Paris. The Orteig Prize was the brainstorm of French-born New York hotelier Raymond Orteig. In 1919, he attended a dinner honoring the World War I ace Eddie Rickenbacher, in which Rickenbacher expressed hope that one day the US and France would be connected by air. Inspired by the speech, Orteig decided to offer a prize — and like later New York magnate Donald Trump, named it after himself. Putting up $25,000 in 1919 US dollars (the approximate equivalent of US$325,000 in 2011), the Orteig Prize would reward the first aviators to fly non-stop from New York to Paris, in either direction.

197 198 | Michael Dobson

Eyes on the Prize

The first aerial crossing of the Atlantic Ocean took place in May 1919, and took nineteen days. Four Curtiss NC flying boats made the journey in 50-mile jumps, with Navy destroyers strung out along the flight path from Nova Scotia to the Azores to serve as beacons and docking stations. Only one, the NC-4, commanded by Albert Cushing Read with a crew of five, completed the journey. (The plane is displayed at the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida.) The first nonstop transatlantic flight took place only a month later, when British aviators John Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown flew a World War I-era Vickers Vimy bomber from Newfoundland to Ireland, winning a £10,000 Daily Mail prize. That plane is on display at the London Science Museum. One month later, the British airship R-34, carrying a crew of 31, made the first round-trip crossing, from Britain to Long Island and back. It was decommissioned in 1921 after being damaged in bad weather. The original duration of the Orteig Prize was five years, but by 1924 no one had claimed it. It was still too challenging. Rather than give up, Orteig decided to extend the contest by another five years. The first serious attempt at the Orteig Prize came in 1926, when Frenchman René Fonck and US Navy co-pilot Lt. Lawrence Curtin crashed their Sikorsky S-35 on takeoff. Two crewmen were killed. Undaunted, Fonck ordered a new plane from Sikorsky. Admiral Richard E. Byrd, famous polar explorer, announced his entry into the contest in late 1926. Heavily favored because of his previous achievements, Byrd purchased a modified Fokker C-2 monoplane, which he named America. It crashed on its first test flight. Meanwhile, Clarence Chamberlin and Bert Acosta, flying a Bellanca WB-2 monoplane named Columbia, started practicing for an attempt at the prize, setting a world endurance record by circling New York City for over 50 hours. An official US Navy attempt at the prize ended badly when their aircraft crashed, killing both pilots, the week before they would attempt the crossing. The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh | 199

From the other side of the Atlantic, Charles Nungesser and François Coli readied their Levasseur biplane L'Oiseau Blanc (The White Bird) for an attempt. By early May 1927, the Chamberlain and Byrd groups were ensconced at adjoining airfields on Long Island, and Nungesser and Coli were getting ready in Paris. All the groups were flying multi- engine aircraft with two or more crewmembers. All the aircraft had undergone numerous test flights. Anyone who thought they’d come in and beat that field was surely a fool.

The Flying Fool

Charles Lindbergh had many nicknames, beginning with “Daredevil” and continuing to “Lucky,” “Slim,” and most famously “The Lone Eagle.” The one nickname he despised was given him by the New York Sun, which published a poem about Lindbergh’s flight titled “The Flying Fool.” He responded, “I take no foolish risks and study out everything I do in the air. I don’t think I am a flying fool.” It is, however, not difficult to understand how the Sun — and others — could have reached that conclusion. Charles Lindbergh’s father was a member of Congress from Minnesota and his mother was a schoolteacher. His childhood was peripatetic; he attended over a dozen different schools in Minnesota; Washington, DC; and California. He briefly attended college in Wisconsin, majoring in engineering, but dropped out to pursue his love for aviation. He couldn’t afford the fees necessary to finish flight school, so dropped out again to become a barnstormer, traveling through the Midwest working as a wing walker and parachutist, filling in as an aircraft mechanic. He saved his money and in 1923 bought his first airplane, a World War I surplus Curtiss JN-4 trainer, popularly known as a “Jenny,” for $500, and after a half-hour check flight flew solo for the first time. Under the nickname of “Daredevil Lindbergh” (the first of the many nicknames he would acquire), he barnstormed across the company as a stunt pilot. 200 | Michael Dobson

Curtiss JN-4 “Jenny” used by “Daredevil Lindbergh,” 1920s.

In 1924, Lindbergh enrolled in the US Army’s flying cadet program, and while in flight school, collided in mid-air with another student at an altitude of 5,000 feet. In the official report, he wrote, “I…felt a slight jolt, followed by a crash…. Our ships were locked together with the fuselages approximately parallel…. I removed the belt, climbed out to the trailing edge…and jumped.” Both pilots survived the accident, and in spite of it, Lindbergh managed to be one of only eighteen candidates out of a class of 104 to graduate. In his first job post-graduation, he bailed out a second time while serving as test pilot for a new design of the Robertson Aircraft Corporation of St. Louis. The airplane went into an uncontrollable spin, and Lindbergh got out only 350 feet above the ground. Robertson Aircraft won the contract to deliver airmail from St. Louis to Chicago, and Lindbergh, now chief pilot, flew DeHavilland DH-4 planes on a regular route. In 1926, he bailed out of one DH-4 after he became lost in a storm and his plane ran out of fuel. Later the same year, he had his fourth emergency bailout in another DH-4 under similar circumstances. By then, he had been a pilot for only four years.

Caterpillar

In 1922, Leslie Irvin of the Irvin Airchute Company of Canada started the tradition of awarding a gold pin in the shape of a The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh | 201 caterpillar to everyone whose life was saved by a parachute. The Caterpillar Club is thus one of the world’s most exclusive clubs — restricted to those how have successfully used a parachute to bail out of a disabled plane. As of the end of World War II, there were 34,000 official members, including Tokyo raider James Doolittle, astronaut John Glenn, US president George H. W. Bush — and my father, Odell Dobson. To join the Caterpillar Club, you must make — and survive — an emergency parachute jump from a disabled aircraft. It is rare enough to hold a Caterpillar Club membership, even rarer to repeat the experience. John Glenn and George H. W. Bush (and my father, Odell Dobson) each bailed out once. James Doolittle, of Tokyo Raid fame, holds a three-time membership. But the rarest, most elevated level is the “Caterpillar Ace,” someone who has bailed out under emergency conditions not two, not even three — but four times. Two men hold that distinction. One, Lt. D. J. Lortscher, USN, ejected four times from F-4 Phantoms — and was killed in his fifth emergency in an F-14. The other man, of course, was Charles Augustus Lindbergh.

The Spirit of Charles Lindbergh

Although Lindbergh was respected in the St. Louis aviation community, he wasn’t well known outside it. Some airmail pilots were as famous and respected as the earlier Pony Express riders had been, and there were celebrities among them, such as Jack Knight, whose 1921 Nebraska to Chicago run was the stuff of legend. Lindbergh, comparatively, was nobody. A record four emergency bailouts was hardly a qualification. Lindbergh’s self-confidence (one might also argue ego) put him in the game. “Why shouldn’t I fly from New York to Paris?” he wrote in his autobiographical book The Spirit of St. Louis. “I have more than four years of aviation behind me, and close to two thousand hours in the air. … Why am I not qualified for such a flight?” Although for Lindbergh it was a rhetorical question, for others the question was quite real. Lindbergh was able to obtain sponsorship from the St. Louis Chamber of Commerce, and raised $15,000 (just shy of $200,000 in 202 | Michael Dobson

2011 US dollars) for the attempt, but had trouble finding an aircraft company to build a plane to his unusual specifications. He approached Charles Levine, president of Columbia Aircraft, to buy a single engine plane, but Levine (the source of the quote that opens this chapter) insisted on picking the pilot and the crew — with Lindbergh out of contention because of his safety record, among other things. By the end of 1926, several other teams were already making test flights, and Lindbergh didn’t even own a plane.

The Plane, The Plane!

In February 1927, Ryan Airlines Corporation of San Diego, California, offered to build Lindbergh’s plane for $6,000 ($76,000) — excluding the engine. He pledged to get the job done in three months. Lindbergh insisted on two. The new plane, designated the Ryan NYP (New York to Paris), was roughly based on an existing design, but with Lindbergh participating as a co-designer, the new plane evolved into something radically different, designed for a single mission. Extra fuel tanks and an increased wingspan added range. One fuel tank was between the engine and the pilot’s compartment, making it impossible for Lindbergh to see out the front. A periscope on the left side gave him a partial view. Weight considerations resulted in other changes: no radio, no parachute, no gas gauges, and no navigation lights. Lindbergh even redesigned his boots to reduce weight, replaced the leather pilot’s seat with a wicker chair, and reduced his maps only to those he’d use on the flight. (He did carry a life raft in case he had to ditch, but that was his only concession to safety.) The engine was a Wright J-5C Whirlwind, rated at 9,000 hours. Lindbergh modified that, too, with a special gadget that self-lubricated the engine continuously while flying. Most aircraft are relatively stable in flight. If you let go of the controls, the plane will tend to fly straight along its last heading. But not the Ryan NYP. It was designed to be unstable. If Lindbergh let go of the controls, the plane would tend to dive. This, he felt, would help keep him awake on the long transatlantic flight. The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh | 203

Charles Lindbergh and the Spirit of St. Louis just prior to Lindbergh’s departure from San Diego to New York.

Although engine reliability had improved substantially in recent years, prudence and common sense argued for multi-engine aircraft over long routes, especially over water. All the other aircraft in the competition were multi-engine; most were tri-motors. The flight time from New York to Paris would be at least 30 hours, so it was important to have at least a co-pilot. All the other entrants planned for a crew of at least two; most had four, with a radio operator and navigator for extra safety. Lindbergh was the only solo entry. Both these decisions, of course, were deliberate. Lindbergh argued that three engines simply tripled the chance of engine failure, and that multiple passengers and engines would increase the weight, and thus the fuel consumption. Strangely, this argument impressed no one else. Finally, all the other entrants did extensive test flying of their aircraft — and had the accidents to show for it. Total test flying time for the Spirit of St. Louis amounted to a paltry five and a half hours, with individual tests ranging from ten minutes to half an hour each. The majority of airtime for the Spirit was on the cross-country trip from San Diego, where the plane was built, to New York, with a quick stop in St. Louis: 21 hours, 45 minutes. There was trouble on the cross-country flight; Lindbergh’s flight log notes, “Serious engine-missing over desert mountains at night. 204 | Michael Dobson

Probably due to lack of carburetor air heater.” However, Lindbergh did break the transcontinental speed record in his hurry to reach New York.

Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines

The entire venture almost ended before it started. Two days before Lindbergh was scheduled to leave San Diego for New York, Nungesser and Coli took off from Paris in L'Oiseau Blanc. All the other competitors stopped and waited to see if the Frenchmen would succeed — except for Lindbergh, who set off immediately for New York on his record-setting cross-country flight in the newly-named and christened Spirit of St. Louis. When he reached New York, he learned for the first time that L'Oiseau Blanc had vanished. At the time, Nungesser and Coli’s disappearance became as famous as the later disappearance of Amelia Earhart. Charles Lindbergh was back in the race. As noted, there were already two competitors for the Orteig Prize in place at airfields on Long Island: Chamberlin’s group (ironically flying the airplane Levine refused to allow Lindbergh to pilot) at Curtiss Field, and Admiral Byrd’s group at Roosevelt Field. The Chamberlin group was plagued by feuding. Levine decided to push out Chamberlin’s co-pilot, Lloyd Bertaud, so he could fly in his place. Bertaud went to court to keep his job. During a practice takeoff of Byrd’s America, the plane crashed, injuring Byrd slightly and delaying the flight while minor repairs were made. On May 12, Lindbergh landed at Curtiss Field for a few days of final testing and preparation. All the teams were hampered by bad weather, which began to clear on May 19. Unfortunately, paved runways weren’t yet common in aviation. The field was muddy — too muddy to allow a heavily-laden plane to take off. But on the morning of May 20, 1927, at 7:52 AM, Charles Lindbergh, having moved next door to Roosevelt Field packed four sandwiches, two canteens of water, and 451 gallons of gasoline, and took off. The Spirit of St. Louis barely managed to clear the telephone wires at the end of the runway. The Unbearable Lightness of Charles Lindbergh | 205

He was on his way. And thirty-three and a half hours later, Charles Lindbergh and the Spirit of St. Louis landed safely at LeBourget Field, Paris.

Risky Business

All the teams competing for the Orteig Prize consisted of talented, experienced aviators, engineers, and designers. While Lindbergh’s talent and ability is undeniable, it’s not as if the other contenders weren’t on the ball as well. From a constraints perspective, what distinguishes Lindbergh is the nature and level of risk he was willing to assume. The technical equation for risk is normally written as a formula: R = P x I. It means that the value of a risk is the probability of it happening times the impact if it does happen. If there’s a ten percent chance of a $1,000 negative event, the value of the risk is $100, meaning that if you can get rid of the risk for less than $100, it’s a good investment. What if it costs more than $100 to get rid of the risk? Well, it depends. Not everything can be measured by money. What’s the value of getting into the history books? What’s the value of being acclaimed the world’s best pilot? In other words, the important question is whether the risk is worth running, and that’s often a judgment call. Admiral Byrd, already famous, had less to gain by winning the Orteig Prize than did the unknown Lindbergh. Passion, desire, and, yes, ego, all play a part in the measurement of worth. Lindbergh started far behind his competition, and was comparatively underfunded. He had more to gain by success, and the cost of failure (death) was equal for all the teams. If he accepted a risk level no higher than his competition, he would still have been doing test flights when Chamberlin and Byrd took off. Accepting an elevated level of risk doesn’t make you a “flying fool,” but at the same time it’s not something to take lightly. Sometimes, however, the additional risk-taking is exactly what allows you and your team to achieve the impossible. At least it seemed to work for Lindbergh. n A Hitler Christmas Card (German Postal History) When Einstein Met Hitler, by Gregory Benford

When Einstein Met Hitler

Gregory Benford

I was at a convention party in California when my friend Ted White introduced me to Jim Benford. Jim, as it turned out, had actually read and evidently enjoyed my book (with Doug Niles), MacArthur’s War. It turned out he had a personal connection to the book. His father had been on MacArthur’s staff in postwar Japan, and was the officer who had to interrupt MacArthur’s bridge game to let him know that North Korea had launched an invasion of the south. Evidently MacArthur had been drinking, but in spite of that was instantly in command and able to organize the entire immediate response. Jim later introduced me to his twin brother Greg. Gregory Benford is well known both in physics and in science fiction, with more than 30 novels and over 300 papers to his credit. He’s a retired professor of physics at the University of California, Irvine, a Woodrow Wilson Fellow, a Visiting Fellow at Cambridge University, and an advisor to the US Department of Energy, NASA, and the White House Council on Space Policy. He hosted the television series A Galactic Odyssey, and was a scientific consultant for Star Trek: The Next Generation. With his brother Jim, he edited the proceedings of a recent DARPA conference on interstellar travel, Starship Century: Toward the Grandest Horizon. In science fiction, he’s best known for the Galactic Center series and the award-winning Timescape. He’s won the Nebula Award twice, the John W. Campbell Award, the Ditmar Award, and the United Nations Medal in Literature.

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Greg, Jim, and I share an Alabama background, though I lived in North Alabama and the Benfords lived along the Redneck Riviera (the northern edge of the Gulf of Mexico). During their father’s Army years, they lived in Japan and Germany. In their teenage years, they published the well-known fanzine Void, acquiring numerous co-editors over time. Both brothers went into physics (Jim is an expert in microwave technology) and both have published science fiction. To me, one of the most fascinating things about Greg is that he knew personally many of the great names in modern physics, including a number of people who worked on the Manhattan Project. One of those people was Edward Teller, generally known as the father of the hydrogen bomb. Teller told this story to Greg, and over dinner one night, Greg told it to me. I knew I had to have it in the book.

Adolf Hitler, Berlin, May 1933 When Einstein Met Hitler

Gregory Benford

LONG AGO, IN THE EARLY 1970S, Edward Teller showed me a bit of historical memorabilia. It was Hitler’s 1941 Christmas card, a photo of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, an ancient Greek statue the Wehrmacht had taken from the Louvre. His greeting was printed: “Our Winged Victory.” Beneath that was a scrawl with only the A and H readable. We had been discussing getting Einstein to sign a letter to Roosevelt proposing research in nuclear bombs. Leo Szilard and Teller wrote several drafts and visited Einstein on a small Long Island seashore home where he stayed on his summer vacation in 1939. While talking to them about how plausible a German nuclear program was, Einstein recalled Hitler’s focus, his nature. “Einstein told me he saw Hitler once,” Teller said. “Some Nazi party parade through Berlin. Einstein was coming home from his university office. The Nazis always stage their big public events in the dark, when every advertiser knows people are more easily persuaded. The party procession featured Hitler standing in the back of a car, giving the stiff-armed salute or waving. So Einstein looked at Hitler and vice versa, they both recognized each other. Hitler gave him a look of pure rage. That’s when Einstein knew he had to get out.” Einstein remarked at the time, “Nationalism is an infantile disease, the measles of mankind.” Although I can’t find any trace of this story in Walter Isaacson’s monumental biography of Einstein, and it’s pretty thin as recollections go, I did hear it directly from Teller himself. It’s arguable that centuries from now, the only two iconic figures recalled from the 20th Century will be these—one evil, magnetic and destructive, the other profound and of great scientific grasp. Yet they sprang from the same culture and changed their era as had no one else.

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Douglas MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Miles Durr Douglas MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Miles H. Durr

As mentioned in the introduction to Rich Berg’s piece, titles are the responsibility of publishers, not authors. In other words, blame me, not Miles, for the title. This article is drawn from the book A Whole New Navy: America’s War in the Pacific, by Miles H. Durr, published by Timespinner Press. This was the first Timespinner book I published by someone other than myself. Here’s how that came about. I was having lunch with Roger Herst, who also has a piece in this book. We were talking about publishing, and he mentioned that he had a dear friend, then in his late 90s, who’d spent several decades researching and writing a 275,000 word comprehensive guide to World War II in the Pacific, but didn’t have a publisher. He wanted to give his friend the satisfaction of seeing the book in print. I agreed to look at it, and was stunned at the depth and quality of the research he’d done: every battle, every engagement, every ship. My first thought was to send it to a much bigger publisher, but unfortunately, he didn’t organize his sources properly. The book is accurate, however, (I had several people read through

211 212 | Improbable History it) and it’s a worthwhile addition to any collection of World War II or naval history books. I’m very proud to have published it. Miles Durr was born in 1928. He was a freshman in high school when Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. He was admitted to naval flight training in June of 1945, but when Japan surrendered, his flight program was cancelled. He served as First Officer aboard the anti-sub carrier Princeton. Following his military service, he continued to explore his love of naval history, and after he retired in 1991, he put his research together to create A Whole New Navy. He died in 2014. I never had the pleasure of meeting Miles, though we talked a few times on the phone. He was very happy to be an Actual Author, enough so that he framed, rather than cashed, his first royalty check. I picked the following piece because the strange behavior of Douglas MacArthur at the time of the Japanese invasion of the Philippines, forms a major plot element in my book MacArthur’s War. Some of the nuances Miles identified are new to me, and I really wish I’d had this available when I was writing the book. Douglas MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Miles H. Durr

IN JANUARY 1941, HAVING FIRMLY DECIDED on a “Europe First” grand strategy, the Americans had realistically written the Philippines off as indefensible. But then as a result of the Saigon crisis in July, they adopted the unrealistic “Forward Strategy” of the Army and Air Corp faction in the Philippines. Intended to deter the Japanese by creating a 250 strong Strategic Bomber force there by April 1942 with eleven Army divisions to support them, it had actually put the Japanese on a deadline, Dec. 7. By Dec. 8 (Dec. 7, Hawaiian time) the Asiatic Fleet had CA Houston, CL Marblehead, 13 destroyers in three divisions, and 28 submarines. In addition, Pacific Fleet CL Boise, who had just arrived with her troop ship on Dec. 6, was now in Cebu City. The Army Air Corp had 22 B-17s at Clark Field on Luzon with the other 13 sent to Del Monte on Mindanao on the 6th, making a total of 35 (One had crashed at Port Darwin, Australia en route.) Another four squadrons of 48 B-17s were to join by the end of the month from California including the 12 that had flown into the Pearl Harbor attack. By then, the 32 A-24s in the Pensacola troop convoy would have been there too. But none of these were present on the 8th. There were 85 P-40s and 40 P-36s on Luzon, with another 35 P-36s on other islands in the Philippines. The American Army had about 15,000 men in two divisions, while the Filipino Army had 65,000 men in eight divisions.

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General Douglas MacArthur (US Navy Photograph). The inscription reads, “To Admiral Nimitz. With regard and admiration. Douglas MacArthur”)

Destroyer Division 59 was in Manila Bay with DDs Peary and Pillsbury nursing collision damage. 23 subs were there, based on three tenders, with another tender still under conversion from a liner. Two subs were under repair. AV Langley based 28 PBYs, while AVD Childs based five. Also in Manila Bay were six PT boats , five mine- sweepers, two oilers and four miscellaneous craft. MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 215

Elsewhere in the Philippines were CA Houston at Iloilo, Panay; AVD Preston, with 13 PBYs, was at Davao, Mindanao; and AVP Heron was at Palawaan Island with four sea-plane scouts. Subs S-37 and S-38 were off Corregidor, Porpoise was in Subic Bay, S-36 was in Lingayen Gulf and S-39 to the east of San Bernardino Strait. Outside the Philippines were CL Marblehead with Destroyer Division 58 (including loner DD John Paul Jones) at Tarakan, Borneo; and Division 57 was at Balikpapan, Borneo, after an abortive trip to Singapore.

MacArthur

These forces were not formidable; neither were they negligible. They should have given the Japanese more problems than they did if they had been used properly. The American military has usually been quite forthcoming about most events in World War II, even those in which they did rather poorly. But not the events on Luzon from the initial landings in the north to organized fighting retreat into Bataan Penimsula after Lingayen. Air Corps commander General Lewis Hyde Brereton, arrived on Luzon on Nov. 1. Per the orders of Nov.26, he began B-17 scouting missions officially to the international boundary about 2/3 of the way from Luzon to Japanese controlled Formosa. With or without orders, several went all the way to Takao, Formosa, but saw little. On the other hand, a Japanese VO from Formosa completed a daylight scouting mission down Luzon’s central valley on Dec. 3, and on Dec. 5 a Japanese float-plane “buzzed” American picket PG Isabel in the South China Sea. Now comes the touchy part. It is touchy as it involves the actions and reputation of an American hero, General Douglas MacArthur. The best approach is to start with an unadorned chronology of early Dec. 8, then follow-up with whatever information that is available now. But that is where it gets controversial. 216 | Miles Durr

Time Event

2:24 AM News of Pearl Harbor reaches Washington.[1:24 PM, Dec. 7 Washington time.]

3:40 AM News of Pearl Harbor reaches MacArthur from Washington. [2:40 PM, Dec, 7 Washington time.]

5:30 AM Washington to MacArthur and Hart. “Execute Rainbow 5. Begin attacks on all Japanese bases within range. Cooperate with British and Dutch”.

Pre-dawn Gen. Brereton puts Air Corp on alert as of dawn.

Pre-dawn Gen, Brereton proposes to MacArthur that 17 B-17s from Clark Field bomb Takao at once with follow-up by 13 from Del Monte on the next day.

Post-dawn Reports received of attacks by Japanese Army VBs on Tuguegarao and Baguio air fields, also attacks by Navy CV VBs on AVD Preston in Davao harbor. Preston downs one VF.

Post-dawn MacArthur to Brereton, via Sutherland: “Don’t attack unless fired upon.”

7:15 AM Gen. Brereton makes second request for Takao mission, is stalled by Sutherland.

8:50 AM Sutherland to Brereton: “Make no attacks yet. Don’t bomb up your B-17s.”

9:25 AM Brereton, concerned about a Japanese air attack on Clark Field, is turned down again.

10:14 AM Three plane reconnaissance is authorized for later bombing mission on Takao. No bombs this time. MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 217

Late Gen. Arnold in Washington to MacArthur; “Avoid morning aircraft losses on the ground like Pearl Harbor”.

10:20 AM False report of Japanese Army VB attacks on Vigan and la Union, Luzon, received

10:45 AM Sutherland orders Brereton to bomb up B-17s for afternoon mission.

11:30 AM Radar picks up incoming attack over East China Sea.

11:45 AM Radar picks up incoming attack over Lingayen Gulf.

Noon Conflicting reports of incoming attacks reach Clark [Approx.] Field.

12: 20 PM Japanese air attacks hit Iba and Nichols air-fields.

12:35 PM Japanese air attack hit Clark Field.

3:39 PM Gen. Brereton gets past Gen. Sutherland to see Gen. MacArthur for 11 minutes.

This is what happened at headquarters. In the real world events made all this seem surreal. Gen. Brereton was quite frustrated by MacArthur’s inaction. Obviously the attack on Pearl Harbor justified immediate counter-action. This was reinforced by his code-breakers who predicted an early attack on Luzon. It is supreme irony that Brereton’s frustration was equaled by the frustration felt by Japanese VADM Tsukuhara, commander of the 11th Air Fleet on Formosa. His plan to hit the American air-fields on Luzon just after dawn to duplicate what the Striking Force had achieved at Pearl Harbor was foiled because his air-fields were completely fogged in that morning. The longer he waited, the more likely his aircraft would fly into an ambush prepared by the now fully alerted Americans on Luzon. 218 | Miles Durr

Not so for the Army bombers, stationed in other, fog-free, areas of Formosa. At dawn, 18 Army VBs set out for the Luzon air-field at Tuguegarao and 14 for the one at Baguio. Both had VF cover. The Tuguegarao group flew their mission without incident after their VFs carried out a strafing attack on the radio station at Aparri on the north coast of Luzon en passing. But the Baguio group inadvertently set in motion a series of events, disastrous to the Americans. At about 0900, they were sighted coming in from the South China Sea and, as they were apparently headed for Clark Field, 36 of the available 40 P-36s were sent to intercept over Lingayen Gulf. At the same time, all 22 B-17s took off to orbit nearby to avoid being destroyed on the ground. The interception by the P-36s failed when the Japanese turned, carried out the Baguio airfield attack and went home. At 1010, after the fog had lifted over the Japanese naval air-fields on Formosa, 54 VBs with 36 VFs began to leave for Clark Field, while 53 VBs and 53 VFs headed for Nichols and Iba. There was a brief panic as the returning Army planes were mistaken for American, but identities were quickly established. Shortly after 1100, the 36 P-36s and 22 B-17s returned to Clark Field to refuel the VFs and to bomb up the B-17s for the afternoon mission finally authorized by Gen. Sutherland at 1045. The two incoming raids picked up at 1130 and 1145 by the only operational radar on Luzon and were reported to the air-fields within minutes. Eighteen P-40s were scrambled at Nichols, but what happened at Clark would have been comical if it weren’t so deadly. The Air Defense Command was at Nielsen Field and the table- top plot at Clark. At this critical time, the Air Defense Officer was (literally) out to lunch. The Air Defense Command at Nielsen assumed that Clark Field’s P-36s would defend that field, but they were all being refueled after their abortive mission to Lingayen Gulf. Clark had no air defense before the attack began. Seven of the P-40s there tried to take off during the attack. Three made it. They shot down three Japanese aircraft. At the last minute, 18 P-40s from Nielsen were sent to Clark but were too late. 19 of the 22 B-17s were destroyed on the ground, including the three that had been scheduled for the Takao, Formosa scouting mission, as they sat at the foot of the runway, about to take off. 25 of the 26 MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 219

B-18s were destroyed on the ground, along with 5 P-40s. In addition 3 of the 18 P-40s sent from Nielsen were shot down by the Japanese. At Nichols and Iba air-fields, 32 P-40s and 25 P-36s were destroyed on the ground. It cost the Japanese a total of seven planes to inflict this disaster of 113 planes destroyed, all but three on the ground. Over 100 Americans died in these attacks. Now, 3 B-17s, 1 B-18, 46 P-40s and 15 P-36s remained on Luzon. Elsewhere in the Philippines were the 13 B-17s at Del Monte on Mindanao and 35 VFs, mostly P-36s on other islands. Compared with the professional efficiency of these Japanese attacks, and of later American actions, the defenses of Pearl Harbor and the Luzon air-fields were really sorry performances. And the “Forward Strategy” of basing strategic bombers on Luzon was now dead. General MacArthur, to say the least, was a controversial figure. Colorful, charismatic, imperious, possessing a sense of destiny, very adept at self promotion; he had many admirers, and at least as many detractors. During World War II, he attained near-mythic status, but for the wrong reasons that this history should make clear. There is little support for his reputation as a military genius. In the fall of 1941, he was charged with the defense of the American colony (technically a Commonwealth) of the Philippines. It was a difficult, if not impossible task, in the face of any determined attack. Reenforcement or supplies on any reasonable level would be impossible for some time. Yet he not only began with in a “hold at the beaches” defense for the more realistic “fighting retreat into the Bataan Citadel” approach when his forces were grossly inadequate but persisted in it after his air strength had been destroyed on the ground on the first day of the war. A detailed look at that disaster shows that it was only partially his fault. There was also bad luck and bad judgment by others. Rather it was the hold at the beaches strategy. It would have made sense if the planned 11 American divisions were available, but there were only 2. When the inevitable retreat came many vital arms and supplies, diverted from those intended for a citadel defense of Bataan, had to be abandoned making the subsequent siege of Bataan ait a futile tragedy. Few professional military men would have gotten their forces into such a situation. 220 | Miles Durr

The problem of finding out what happened between Dec.8 and Dec.16, when a fighting retreat to Bataan was organized, is because the records have been lost (perhaps on purpose?).

Disaster at Clark Field

There are four issues concerning the disaster at Clark Field outside Manila. We’ll look at each in turn. 1. The delay in authorizing the Takao mission until it was too late. 2. The failure to defend the air-fields. 3. The Forward Strategy v/s the Citadel Defense of Bataan. 4. Effectiveness of the B-17 for the Pacific area

Takao

MacArthur’s supporters say that he was concerned with Filipino neutrality. His critics say that he froze. Both are right for the wrong reasons. He has been criticized for the nine hour delay in reacting to the news of Pearl Harbor that resulted in the destruction of the B-17s and other aircraft on the ground at the three air-fields on Dec. 8.This is unfair, at least to some degree. He learned of the Pearl Harbor attack at 0340 and received authorization to execute Rainbow 5 and attack the enemy at 0530. His order, through Gen. Sutherland, not to bomb up the B-17s was due to the report of the incoming Japanese Army bombers, who were apparently headed for Clark Field, but who turned to attack the air-field at Baguio instead. This caused the B-17s to take off to orbit to avoid just the fate that actually did overtake them, just after they had landed to prepare for the missions ordered at 1014 and 1045 against Formosa. This was just hideously bad luck. MacArthur did not stall for nine hours. It was three hours from when he received orders to execute Rainbow 5 to when the B-17s were sent to orbit to avoid the raid that did not materialize. But this does not get him entirely off the hook. His inaction during this earlier critical three hour period was, at least in part, due to diametrically opposite stimuli. Through his father’s, and later his own, service in the Philippines he had developed a sincere but rather MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 221 paternalistic affection for the Philippino people. And he had closer ties. During their 400 years the Spanish colonialists had governed the islands rather loosely, by refereeing power arrangements among about a half dozen local families. These constantly shifting alliances produced a system that was somewhere between oligarchy and democracy. After defeating the Spanish fleet in Manila bay, the American “liberators” became one more colonial power. This “bait and switch” lead to the Aguinaldo revolt which was brutally suppressed by MacArthur’s Governor-General father between 1898 and 1907. The Americans then pretty much adopted the Spanish method of governing the islands. Aguinaldo survived to play a part in national politics during the war years As the Americans were less bad than the Japanese, the Filipino guerillas largely supported them until the end of the war. The younger MacArthur, as Field Marshal of the Filipino Army between 1936 and 1941, had developed ties with the Quezon family, who had sponsored his return to the Philippines. During the Washington negotiations, the Japanese had crafted a very shrewd proposal that the Americans and the Japanese jointly guarantee Filipino independence. This played on both the Filipino resentments left over from the Aguinaldo revolt and American reluctance to suffer heavy casualties defending an area they were treaty-bound to leave under their own steam anyhow in two to five years under the Tydings-MacDuffy Act of 1936. The Quezon family tended toward the neutralist position. This influenced MacArthur’s hope to maintain Philippino neutrality, if at all possible. There was another factor too. While it did not occur until Feb. 1942, it does show the closeness of his relationship to the Quezon family. On Feb. 15, Quezon put on deposit in MacArthur’s name in the Chase National Bank in New York City, $500,000, plus $35,000 for “expenses”. At this point, MacArthur recommended to President Roosevelt that the Philippines be declared neutral. Roosevelt flatly refused. This makes the two sums of money appear to be something between a token of appreciation from the Filipino people for services rendered and a bribe. The senior members of the Roosevelt Administration knew of this transaction but, for reasons described below, decided to keep it quiet. 222 | Miles Durr

What created the diametric conflict that MacArthur felt was that since July 26, 1941 he was, once again, a senior officer in the American Army. The attack on Pearl Harbor, a major American base, made retaliatory action mandatory, especially after he had received the 0530 message authorizing Rainbow 5. He was a man caught in a classic contradictory stimuli bind that morning. This helps to explain the strange three hour inaction on the part of a man who was anything but indecisive at any other time.

Defense of the Air Fields

It was mainly incredibly good luck for the Japanese that the American air fields were undefended. The attack by their Army bombers on Baguio air-field had sent the P-36s on a wild goose chase that also caused the B-17s to orbit then land at precisely the wrong time, just as the attack by the Japanese Naval bombers arrived after having been delayed by fog that morning. This was abetted by the silly situation of having the Air Defense Command at one air-field and the plotting table at another. This lead to the misunderstanding at Air Defense that the Clark P-36s could defend their own airfield when they were, in fact, refueling after their abortive mission to Lingayen Gulf. Finally, there was the almost comical situation of the duty officer there literally being out to lunch at exactly the wrong time. But absent an extreme interpretation of the “Command Responsibility” idea, none of this can be blamed on MacArthur.

Forward Strategy or Citadel Defense

There is little in the public domain regarding the shift from the Bataan Citadel Defense strategy to the “Hold on the Beaches” approach. It ultimately led to the disastrous retreat that ended with a hopeless siege and the notorious “Death March.” Perhaps when the full story is told, it may become clear whether what happened was inevitable or a bungle. Then MacArthur’s reputation will either be vindicated or suffer great damage and the strange dearth of information about this short period may be explained. MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 223

The B-17 in the Pacific

The B-17 had evolved from a continental defense bomber to a strategic bomber, and that is how the later very effective “F” model was used in Europe. But, after the Vladivostok negotiations had collapsed, there would be few strategic targets within its range in the Pacific for a very long time. By then the B-17, no longer used as a strategic bomber, was replaced by the longer-ranged B-24 in 1943 and the even longer-ranged B-29 in 1944.

Boeing B-17 flying over the Pacific Ocean

Myth Understood

This rather long dissertation concerns the origin of the MacArthur Myth. There were a very interesting tangle of events and political needs. The senior military commanders in Hawaii were made the fall guys for a surprise attack for which they had received inadequate information from the Navy Department’s War Plans 224 | Miles Durr

Division in Washington. The War Plans three-man board was totally inexpert in intelligence matters. Manila, on the other hand, had nine hours warning plus all the Ultra information that was available at the time that trouble would begin in the Philippines. Also, the influence of the Duhuet Strategic Bombing faction in the Army Air Corp had focused American attention almost exclusively on Luzon. Yet, despite these advantages for MacArthur and the obstacles placed in the paths of Short and Kimmel, the careers of the later were ruined, while the former went on to one of the most successful careers in the American Army. It was necessary to divert attention from how War Plans had failed to adequately warn Hawaii, and from how the Air Corp Duhuet faction had lead to the disaster at Clark, Iba and Nichols air- fields. This, in turn, had placed all the American forces in the Philippines in great jeopardy. Even the Marine VFs, intended to cover the transit of the B-17s to Luzon, lay in ruins at Wake. It was necessary to divert attention from Ultra and the de facto Anglo-American alliances in both the Pacific and the Atlantic, which would give political ammunition to the Isolationist faction in the Congress, although the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor had taken the Roosevelt Administration off the hook concerning war responsibility. And it was necessary to create a national hero to get through the dark days of early 1942. The colorful and charismatic figure of MacArthur was made to order for this. But, there would be a steep price for this as the war progressed.

Luzon and Points South

Covered by the attacks on the Luzon airfields on Dec. 8, the Japanese Bataan Island Force took that island, just south of the Bashi Channel boundary between Formosa and Luzon, for its airfield. On the next day only seven Zeroes flew down to destroy seven P-40s on the ground at Nichols Field because fog kept the rest of the Japanese on Formosa grounded. December 10th was different. The fog cleared allowing 54 bombers covered by 73 Zeroes to attack Cavite Naval Base on Manila Bay. Twenty intercepting P-40s and 15 MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 225

P-36s were overwhelmed by the 73 Zeroes with 21 shot down. The only Japanese aircraft loss was a single bomber, shot down by an ancient Philippino P-26 which crashed upon landing. SS Sealion and AM Bittern were sunk, while DD Peary and SS Seadragon were damaged. The Naval base at Cavite was put out of action, 233 torpedoes in storage there were destroyed, and 500 Americans died. During the Cavite air attack the Aparri Attack Force carried out landings there on the north Luzon coast and at adjacent Camiguin Island covered by Zeroes from Batan. The Vigan Attack Force attempted a simultaneous landing at Vigan on the west coast of Luzon but this operation did not go exactly as planned. Both operations were backed up by the Support Force. Nine of the B-17s from Del Monte on Mindanao were staged through Clark Field to attack both landings; five B-17s at Appari and four at Vigan. Twenty of the 40 P-40s remaining on Luzon had been used unsuccessfully to defend Cavite that day. The other 20 escorted the 5 B-17s attacking the Appari invasion force. The bombers sank escorting AM-19 but the landing was successful and the small Filipino defending force had to retreat inland. After the airfield disaster of the 8th, 16 P-36s were sent to Luzon from other islands to reenforce the 15 already there. About half were used in the defense of Cavite while 16 went as cover for the four B-17s attacking the Vigan force. All but seven P-36s had to turn back, probably due to maintenance problems, but this B-17 attack was more successful. APs Takao Maru and Oigawa Maru and AM-17 were sunk, and the flagship, CL Naka, was strafed by the P-36s. The landing was delayed until the next day. On the next day, this landing force was unsuccessfully attacked by three unescorted B-17s, one of which was lost. This was the occasion for Colin Kelly’s mythical triumph over BB Haruna. She was actually off Malaya at that time. His target, CA Ashigara, was not damaged. Zeroes from Vigan flew down to destroy seven PBYs at Manila on the next day, Dec.12. By the 13t`h, the Japanese had finished mopping up American air power on Luzon. Now, only 15 B-17s and about 40 VFs, of all descriptions, remained in all the Philippines, and the Americans had withdrawn all of them to Mindanao. In northern Luzon, Japanese forces from Aparri drove down the Cagayan Valley to reach Tuguegarao on the 12th, while others went west, then south along the coast to meet a drive from Vigan at Laoag. 226 | Miles Durr

A second prong from Vigan started south along the coast toward San Fernando. After the bombing of Cavite, AV Langley went south escorted by DDs Ford and Pope. Now only DDs Peary and Pillsbury, who were still working on their collision damage, five subs and AS Canopus remained in Manila Bay. Canopus suffered bomb damage there on Dec. 29 and again on Jan. 5, 1942. She left for the south on that later day. In the dying days, armored cruiser Rochester (a Spanish-American War relic) and ex-DD Walker (now a lowly water tender) were scuttled. DD Peary left on the 27th and suffered little damage from several Japanese, and one mistaken Australian bombing attacks, as she headed south, but AVP Heron was damaged by a Brunei-based bomber on Dec.31 as she went south from Palawaan Island.

To the east of the Philippines, the Southern Philippine Attack Force left Palau on Dec. 6, then split up at sea. CV Ryujo and six other ships headed directly west toward Davao, while the rest of the force went with the Legaspi Attack Force. To aid the Legaspi landings, early on December 8 Ryujo sent 13 VBs, covered by 9 old fixed landing gear VFs (their only use in the war) to attack Davao. Two of AVD Preston’s brood of 13 PBYs were destroyed on the water there, at the cost of one attacking VF. Later in the day, four DDs swept Davao harbor, looking for Preston, but she had left for the south. The landing force, and their escorts, reached Legaspi on Dec. 11, now accompanied by the Ryujo force. The six destroyers with the landing force held off the only American sub in the area, and the landing was successful. Two Army P-40s strafed the new beachhead on the 12th, then three B-17s from Del Monte on Mindanao attacked on the next day to inflict moderate damage on DD Kuroshio. Ryujo’s old VFs inflicted such damage on two of the B-17s that they were written off when they got back to base. That night, CL Jintsu and 2 DDs, CMs Itsukushima and Yae yama planted 300 mines in San Bernardino Strait and 133 in Surigao Strait. Del Monte was now the last operational American air base in the Philippines. On Dec. 16, three P-40s from there staged through Clark MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 227

Field to burn ten Zeroes on the ground at Vigan. But after the 14 remaining B-17s went south to Port Darwin, Australia on the next day, Del Monte like Clark, would be only a staging base. After Legaspi, the Support Force had returned to Palau to pick up the Davao Attack Force The Dec. 21 landings at Davao were covered by an air attack by Ryujo’s VBs on Del Monte. But luck was with the Army Air Corp. This attack missed, by one day, nine B-17s from Darwin who staged through Del Monte to attack Japanese shipping in Lingayen Gulf and at Davao. Kuroshio was damaged again at Davao. All nine B-17s got back to Port Darwin. On Christmas Day, Ryujo, four destroyers, and AV Chitose met nine APs from Palau at sea to cover a landing at Jolo in the Sulu Islands. Two days later, six of Preston’s PBYs attempted a dawn bombing raid on the shipping there. Ryujo’s VFs shot down four and no damage was done. Loyal Filipinos got nine of the shot down crews down to Tarakan, Borneo where they were rescued just before the Japanese landings there on Jan. 11, 1942. On the same day as the abortive raid, Dec. 27, 24 Zeroes arrived at Jolo from Formosa, after a non-stop flight. Far to the north, 24 Japanese APs had left Amami-O-Shima in the Ryukyus on Dec. 10 with a light screen of 2 AMs, 6 PCs and 6 SCs, bound for Lamon Bay on the east coast of Luzon. They were met at sea by Cruiser Division 5 and CL Nagara with three destroyers. The landings came on Dec. 23 at Mauban, Timonon and Lopez. Ryujo’s fighters failed to intercept 18 P-40s of the never-say-die Army Air Corp on Luzon, which had been staged through Clark from Del Monte to strafe the beachhead, on the day before Clark fell to Japanese forces from the north. But this didn’t change things. The Japanese Legaspi forces and their Lamon Bay forces met on Christmas Day near Lopez, securing all of southern Luzon. The Legaspi, Davao, Lamon Bay and Jolo landing forces and Ryujo now returned to Palau for a brief rest. At this point, Japanese aerial losses in the Philippines totaled 10 VBs, 23 VFs and 1 VO. Twenty-two of the American submarines based at Cavite were at sea by Dec. 11 with orders to carry out unrestricted anti-shipping warfare. But things did not go well. Seven were off Hong-Kong and Hainan, six were off the west coast of Luzon, four off Mindoro and five to the north and east of Luzon. After mostly futile cruises they rejoined their tenders at Soerabaja, Java as by then, Cavite was in 228 | Miles Durr

Japanese hands Their total score was four ships for 21,400 tons. On Dec. 11, Seawolf hit AV Sanyo Maru off Aparri, but the torpedoes did not explode. These were the first of far too many malfunctioning American torpedoes during the next year and a half. Skipjack fired at Ryujo off Jolo on Christmas Day, the day of the landings, but missed. On Jan. 26, old S-36 was grounded on a reef off Makassar, Celebes and lost. Finally, Shark took Adm. Hart from Manila to Soerabaja, Java, arriving on Jan. 15, 1942.

The Siege of Bataan

In the Philippines, the initial Japanese assault on Bataan in January had failed for lack of sufficient reserves and air power and had settled down for a two-month siege during which three interesting things happened. 1. On Jan. 20, the American defensive minefield in Manila Bay claimed two ships. On the 26th, the American Army carried out its last mounted cavalry change near the town of Morong. 3.The “Bataan Air Force,” consisting of four battered P-40s, survived through March to carry out several nuisance attacks on the Japanese. On Mar. 2, one of them sank one small ship in Subic Bay. And, forewarned by Army code-breakers, they ambushed an air attack on their Bataan fighter strip, shooting down five. There were five special submarine missions to the Manila Bay area by subs who brought in high-priority supplies, mainly ammunition, and took out Cavite code-breakers. Seadragon took 17 from Bataan on Feb.5, Permit took 30 on Mar. 11, and Seadragon (again) took 21 from Corregidor on Apr. 8. All this would set an example that the Japanese would later follow to their disadvantage. The code-breaking operation was back in operation at Port Darwin by May 18. One of the creations of the Roosevelt/Churchill world-wide divisions of responsibility was the South-West Pacific Area, organized in March. It was intended to recognize the autonomy of the British Commonwealth nations Australia and New Zealand in the American Pacific Ocean Area, and it was made to order for General MacArthur to command. This fit well with the needs of the growing MacArthur myth that made it unacceptable for him to be taken captive when end came at Bataan and Corregidor. So he was brought MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 229

out (pretty much against his will), first by PT-boat to Cagayan, Mindanao, then by plane from Del Monte to Australia between Mar. 10 and 13. CINCPAC [Commander-in-Chief, Pacific] was created for Adm. Nimitz in Hawaii at the same time SoWesPac was created for MacArthur. CINCUS [Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Fleet] was abandoned as it had an unfortunate sound after Pearl Harbor when pronounced phonetically. 230 | Miles Durr

But all this created a divided American command in the Pacific. MacArthur’s forces in SoWesPac were to fight a basically Army war with only marginal Navy support. Adm. Nimitz in Hawaii headed a predominately naval war with both land and sea forces under his control. Conflicts of doctrine and personality would sometimes inhibit efforts that should have received closer cooperation. This would persist for the remainder of the war and, in Oct. 1944, would almost lead to an American disaster. American politics would become involved too. Allegedly liberal but actually pragmatic Roosevelt, having served as Ass’t Secretary of the Navy during World War I, was a patron of the Navy. On the other hand the colorful and charismatic MacArthur was to become an idol of the Right in American politics.

In the Philippines, with the Del Monte airfield still in American control, the Americans were able to able to maintain some semblance of control in the central and southern Philippines through March. The Allied collapse on Java allowed the Japanese to transfer 20,000 men and 60 bombers to Luzon. As this corrected the Japanese deficiencies of reserves and air support, they began their final assault on Bataan on Apr. 3. The Japanese had expected it would take about a month, but sickness and starvation among the Americans and Filipinos was so extreme that it was over in six days. The unexpectedly rapid American collapse on Bataan left the Japanese with insufficient forces and supplies to deal with prisoners, and contributed to the infamous “Death March”. It was a screw-up as much as it was deliberate cruelty. This privation among the Americans and Filipinos were not just the result of the Japanese blockade. Rather it was the result of MacArthur’s decision to fight at the beaches when his forces were grossly inadequate for such an approach with the result that supplies, formerly stock-piled for a citadel defense of Bataan, had to be abandoned during the retreat to there. A desperate stop-gap effort was attempted to make up for this error, a series of small blockade runners who tried to make it to Bataan from Australia. But the effort failed. Two were sunk at Port Darwin in the Striking Force attack of Feb. 19 and three more were intercepted by Japanese surface ships in the central Philippines in March. MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 231

At the time of the Bataan surrender, six were at Cebu City, Cebu awaiting a covering bombing attack on Manila by Army B-25s, staged through Del Monte which came too late on Apr. 11. So the supplies were distributed among American forces in the central and southern Philippines instead. The Japanese pre-invasion bombardment of Corregidor began from Cavite on Mar. 26. It was joined by forces on newly-fallen Bataan on Arp. 10. American AS Canopus was scuttled the next day at Corregidor. Japanese shore guns got PG Finch on the 12th. But the Japanese raised and commissioned her as PC-103 on Apr. 1, 1943. She was finally sunk by 3rd Fleet carrier bombers off Indo-China on Jan. 12, 1945. PG Mindanao was sunk by Japanese bombers at Corregidor on May 2 and shore guns got AM Tanager and PG Oahu on the 4th. AM Quail and Filipino PT boat Q-3 were scuttled on May 6. They were the last Allied naval units in the Philippines. The Japanese landings came on the 6th covered by CL Kuma operating out of Subic Bay. Due to strong tidal currents between “the Rock” and Bataan and a stout American defense, the landings almost failed. But the state of health of the American forces on Corregidor was only marginally better than those on Bataan. So they asked for a truce to discuss the terms of surrender for Corregidor and the three smaller fortified islands, Drum, Coballo and Hughes. Japanese bombers had knocked out the 14” guns on Drum, but the 12”mortar had remained active to the end. As of May 6, some American forces remained in the central and southern Philippines. Elsewhere, Japanese forces from Cebu carried out a shore to shore landing on Panay on Apr. 16, covered by undamaged Kuma after which she retired to Subic. On May 3rd, other forces from Cebu went south across the Mindanao Sea to land at Parang and Cagayan on the north coast of Mindanao. This outflanked the American defenders of the Del Monte airfield who were facing the Japanese coming up the Sayre Highway from Davao. This was the situation in the rest of the Philippines when the Corregidor surrender negotiations began. In an attempt to keep American resistance alive in the Visayas and on Mindanao, Gen. MacArthur in Australia stripped Gen. Wainwright on Corregidor of command in those areas so that they 232 | Miles Durr would not be included in the surrender. The Japanese did not think this was a good idea and handled it in a way that was crude, but effective. During the cease-fire they had moved strong forces onto Corregidor and now threatened to massacre the American troops there who, by then, had been disarmed. Gen. Wainwright solved his dilemma of defiance of a superior officer versus the slaughter of his men by sending a personal representative, in a plane supplied by the Japanese, to the southern islands to explain the situation. In this way, he was able to convince most forces in the south to give up. The threat of a court martial of Wainwright was removed only when the full story became known in Washington. MacArthur has been rightly criticized for his mismanagement of the defense of Luzon and later for his horribly bloody campaigns in Papua and the Bismarcks But in this case, his “Putting Wainwright on the spot” was a legitimate action. What made it so potentially bad was not MacArthur’s action, but the Japanese reaction. The American situation in the south collapsed over the next month. Del Monte airstrip fell on May 9 and the balance of American forces on Mindanao surrendered on May 12, the day Puerto Princessa on Palawan Island was taken by the Japanese. American hold-outs on Cebu gave up on May 15 and those on Panay on the 18th. The Japanese landed on Negros on May 20, where the fighting lasted until June 3. The last Japanese landing against any resistance was at Tacloban, Leyte on May 24. Almost two and a half years later, a far larger, and more famous, landing would take place there. All organized resistance in the Visayas was over by June 9. But, by then, events 4,000 miles to the east had totally changed the character of the Pacific War. All these American surrenders in the south were official. Actually sizable bodies of troops faded into the jungle to operate as guerrillas until the return of American forces in Oct. 1944. Mao Te Tung’s dictum for a proper guerrilla movement held true here. They were fish that swam in the sea of the Filipino people. The Americans had widespread Filipino support, at least until the end of the Japanese occupation. Elsewhere, Allied holdouts were a plague on the Japanese. Australian forces operated on Timor until they were evacuated to Port Darwin on Nov. 30, 1942 and Dutch guerrillas operated on MacArthur’s Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day | 233

Douglas MacArthur (left) greets General Jonathan Wainwright (right) following his release from Japanese captivity after the war. 234 | Miles Durr

Sumatra right up to the end of the war. But, for all of this, the Japanese now held about 250,000 Allied prisoners-of-war. Although no-one knew it at the time, the Japanese destruction of the American, British, French and Dutch colonial empires in the Far East in 1942 represented the death of overt colonialism in that area. The Japanese had shown that it could be done, and indigenous Nationalist and/or Marxist movements later drove the Westerners out for good, at least as colonialist masters. And by the 21st Century, even Western economic domination of the Far East was fading fast.

n No Ill Wind: The Bari Air Raid, by Roger E. Herst.

No Ill Wind Bari, Italy December 2, 1943

Roger E. Herst

I met Roger Herst while I was picking up my then 14-year old son from a dinner party at his girlfriend’s house. Roger and his wife were the other adult guests. As introductions were made, I mentioned I was a writer, and as it turned out, Roger was as well. His novel Status 1SQ, a Cold War submarine thriller, had been published by Doubleday in 1979. (It’s now back in print under the much better name of Ghost Sub.) We began having lunch regularly and developed a good friendship. A native son of San Francisco, Roger Herst has written nine novels, a number of scholarly articles, and has lectured extensively in academic and non- academic circles. He is an ordained Reform Rabbi with a doctorate in Middle Eastern History, holding undergraduate and graduate degrees from the University of California Berkeley, the University of Chicago, Johns Hopkins University and the Hebrew Union College. His home for the past 30 years has been Washington, DC, where he lives with his physician wife. A son, daughter-in-law and two grandsons reside in Seattle. In delivering sermons, Roger observed that while a few congregants were moved by spiritual messages and a few more by amusing facts, almost everyone was focused on stories and tales. This led him toward a passion for writing. In

235 236 | Random Jottings 10 addition to Ghost Sub, Roger is the author of the (so far) six novel Rabbi Gabrielle series, Destiny’s Children, and Nunavut, a novel of the far north. Roger was a collegiate tennis player at Berkeley, and continues to hone his game both competitively and non-competitively. His musician/composer father left him a 110 year old Steinway along with the ability to write music and play the piano by ear. Outdoor time is spent jogging along the C&O Canal flanking the Potomac River and fly-fishing wherever a trout or bass might be raised. Roger is also one of the spiritual fathers of this book. It’s through Roger that I met Miles Durr and acquired A Whole New Navy for Timespinner Press, setting me on the improbable road to publishing obscure history books. He told me the following story over lunch one day, and I prevailed on him to write it up for this book. No Ill Wind Bari, Italy December 2, 1943

Roger E Herst

“There’s no ill wind that doesn’t blow somebody some good.” — Proverb

FIELD MARSHALL FREIHERR VON RICHTHOFEN, son of the First World War Luftwaffe ace, knew what all German commanders knew — that the war in Europe had shifted in favor of the Allies. The Third Reich once on the offensive throughout Europe was now fighting a defensive war. Rommel’s Afrika Korps had been badly beaten in North Africa, the Soviets were fiercely attacking on the Eastern Front, Allied Armies had landed in Sicily, mauling what was left of Germany’s tottering Italian ally, and were now advancing up the boot of Italy. German intelligence, never comparable to what the British had developed, predicted an Allied cross-Channel landing in France. An able general who knew how to fight on the defensive as well as the offense, Richthofen was tasked with slowing down the Allies as they advanced north toward Rome. But with diminishing military resources and fresh demands on all battle lines, the question was how? The Field Marshall’s staff devised an ingenious plan.

The Little Pearl Harbor

Richthofen’s ill wind blew on December 2, 1943 when 115 Luftwaffe Junkers Ju-88 medium bombers unexpectedly dropped from the Adriatic sky over the Italian port of Bari and bombed a 237 238 | Roger E. Herst

Junkers Ju-88 bomber (Courtesy Bundesarchiv, CC BY-SA 3.0 DE)

flotilla of Allied merchant ships off-loading in the harbor. The attack, made with complete surprise, put the port out of action for more than two months, and became known as the “Little Pearl Harbor.” At its best, American military intelligence wasn’t very good during World War II (witness Pearl Harbor and the Battle of the Bulge) and the devastating attack at Bari was another excellent example. Based on Germany’s use of poison gas during the First World War, US Army Intelligence predicted the Germans would use outlawed gas again on the battlefields south of the Italian capital. This fear crossed from fantasy to reality during Allied planning for the upcoming battle for Rome. To counter its miscalculation, the US Army loaded 2000 M47A1 100 pound bombs of mustard gas aboard the liberty ship John Harvey, and dispatched it along with 14 other ships transporting armaments to the Allies at the south eastern Italian port of Bari. There, the British defenders chose to ignore daily German reconnaissance flights over dozens of off-loading ships. Complacency became a fateful component of Bari’s defense. Not only did the Brits who were responsible for control over Italy’s eastern region fail to control the skies but they facilitated the effectiveness of the Luftwaffe by bathing the port with strong nighttime illumination. Richthofen waited until the harbor was jam-packed with merchant and naval ships, then No Ill Wind | 239 launched an aerial attack that rivaled successful air onslaughts by the British at Taranto and the Japanese at Pearl Harbor. Luftwaffe bombers flew in low, met nothing but scattered and ineffective antiaircraft fire and proceeded to sink 17 ships, damaging an equal number. The attack was over in less than a half-hour. Bari harbor was suddenly a mess, clogged with sunken and crippled shipping. So complete was the demolition that the harbor was unserviceable for months, stalling the Allied advance north along the narrow throat of Italy. With only Naples as an active port for Allied shipping, the Italian campaign slowed. Short of supplies and material in Italy, the Allies diverted men and weapons once destined for the Italian campaign to England to assist the cross channel invasion of France.

John Harvey’s Secret

A single chemical warfare officer and five naval crewmen aboard the John Harvey had been assigned to shepherd the secret cargo of mustard gas across the Atlantic. In the attack, a Luftwaffe bomb penetrated Hold One on the John Harvey and sent the Liberty Ship to the shallow bottom, releasing its deadly mustard gas, which immediately mixed in the seawater with fuel oil. All six of the chemical warfare custodians aboard the John Harvey were killed. So secret was this mission that no one in Europe, not even General Eisenhower's staff operating in North Africa, knew that noxious chemicals had polluted Bari Harbor. Much less did military authorities warn survivors of the attack that their clothing was saturated with toxic and potentially lethal chemicals. Silence mixed with ignorance was responsible for much unnecessary death and injury. The attack caused mass confusion. Survivors who showed up in British, New Zealand and Italian hospitals in the city of Bari presented with symptoms never seen before. Superficial burns over the entire body along with severe breathing and digestive problems. Horrible eye irritation led victims to believe they were going blind. Casualties were scattered among three military hospitals and a few civilian clinics. Many civilians affected in the harbor area were not treated at all. At first it looked like these victims suffered from severe combat trauma caused by 240 | Roger E. Herst

A Liberty Ship (USS Belle Isle, US Navy Photograph) explosions and fire. But such symptoms were not what military doctors had witnessed in other sea battles. Had they known what they were dealing with from the get-go, they would have plucked the injured from the water, remove contaminated clothing and showered off the residue mustard chemicals. But they didn't. During this medical confusion, Captain H.M. Denfeld, a physician on temporary assignment with the British in Bari, became skeptical, declaring, “We have men dropping dead for no apparent reason and we have to find the reason.” He made preliminary inquiries and guessed right. The reason was mustard gas!

The Cover Up

A trained chemical warfare expert, Lt Colonel Stewart Alexander, who was rushed to Bari from General Eisenhower’s staff in Algiers, eventually worked his way along the victims’ mind- boggling symptom tree to identify the culprit as mustard gas. Speculation went wild. Surely the Luftwaffe was responsible for deploying poison chemicals. The Pentagon in Washington admitted nothing. That this illegal gas as was delivered aboard the John Harvey, not by the enemy, was a fact few wanted to admit. Those who learned the truth were forbidden to reveal what they knew. Winston Churchill was adamant throughout the war, unable to admit that 617 men lost their lives and over 1,000 were injured due to the Allied stockpiling of illegal poison gas, gas in this case that was No Ill Wind | 241 manufactured at the Edgewood Arsenal in Maryland and originally designed to block the retreat of enemy forces. As Allied nations shifted from the defense to the offense in Europe, military observers possessed little time or inclination to investigate further. The final push to the German heartland was about to begin. The landing at Normandy captured everyone’s attention. The disaster at Bari got swept up in the forward momentum of war, then temporarily lost in its backwash. Who had time to investigate past battles, especially those with terrible results? In addition, the Allied High Command feared that the Germans might believe that the Allies were about to use chemical weapons themselves. The Allied records were not declassified until 1959. Although the US had previously acknowledged the presence of chemical warfare agents, the British, under direct orders from Winston Churchill, had ordered all British records purged. Mustard gas burns were listed as “burns due to enemy action.” The military defeat at Bari might well have been buried in the fast evolving events of conquest. But the story didn't end there. War always engenders unforeseen consequences and the disaster at Bari was no exception.

Serendipidy

That ill wind from the skies over Italy was about to shift and eventually blow some good. Nobody could have predicted what followed. A very thorough medical report on the attack at Bari produced largely by the efforts of Stewart Alexander, who had previously trained at the Edgewood Arsenal where the mustard gas had been manufactured, eventually circulated among medical institutions in the States. First to recognize that there was something to be learned from the statistical data gleaned from the dead and injured was Dr. Charles Huggins at the University of Chicago. Analysis of blood and tissue showed that the toxic chemical targeted fast growing white blood cells. Because malignant cancer cells are also fast growing, Huggins believed it might be possible to go beyond surgery and radiation to attack malignant cells with toxic chemicals such as nitrogen mustard. In 1966 Huggins earned a Nobel Prize for discovering how chemicals 242 | Roger E. Herst might be used to treat prostate cancer. The large number of victims at Bari produced a whirlwind of medical excitement. Experiments to control cancer blossomed, and furthered the careers of many investigators who became famous in use of chemotherapy. Sidney Farber and colleagues at the Children’s Cancer Research Foundation in Boston inaugurated studies on children using nitrogen mustard to treat their leukemia. Early results were promising though Dr. Charles Huggins chemotherapy treatments required much adjustment before producing long-term results. Dr. Cornelius Rhodes, once the American Director of the Medical Division of the Chemical Warfare Service during the War, returned to New York’s Memorial Hospital which became the home of the Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, one of the world’s premier treatment hospitals that pioneered in the use of chemotherapy. Untold numbers of cancer patients are alive today because innocent men lost their lives in Bari.

An ill wind in Italy warmed to blow many much good.

n

Bibliography

Glenn B. Infield, Disaster at Bari. New York: Macmillian, 1971 Fu-Go: The Japanese Campaign to Bomb the US West Coast Using Balloons, 1944-45, by Richard H. Berg FU-GO The Japanese Campaign to Bomb the US West Coast Using Balloons

Richard H. Berg

Here’s that celebrated, cultivated, underrated game designer Richard Berg, back for his first encore. Richard, always the show off, contributed not one, but two, pieces to this book. Mind you, they’re both on the short side, but still. I covered most of his bio earlier, but I should add that he was the historian for his class at Union College, and received a Special Award for Service to Brooklyn Law School. This award wasn’t given for academic prowess or anything like that, buy rather for having the courage to put on a three-hour musical about the law school. On a related note, I was also delighted to see a book in Rich’s Richard Berg as the Duke of Plaza Toro bibliography by Robert C. Mikesh. from The Gondoliers He was a curator in the Aeronautics Department of the National Air and Space Museum during my years there. He’s an impressive scholar and a hell of a nice guy; and I highly recommend any of his books. By the way, Rich has designed a game, Winds of War (published by LPS, Inc., 2008), about the Fu-Go campaign. Check it out.

243 Japanese fire balloon of mulberry paper reinflated at Moffett Field, CA after it had been shot down by a Navy aircraft January 10, 1945 (US Army photo A 37180C) The balloon is now in the collection of the National Air and Space Museum, Smithsonian Institution) FU-GO The Japanese Campaign to Bomb the US West Coast Using Balloons, 1944-45

Richard H. Berg

ON APRIL 18, 1942, THE UNITED STATES LAUNCHED the first air raid against Japan. The bombing flight of B-25’s, planned by Navy Captain Francis Low and led by Lt. Col. Jimmy Doolittle, launched from the deck of aircraft carriers, once thought impossible, was in one respect, a great success. It showed the Japanese how susceptible they were to such strikes, it terrorized the populace, and it concomitantly raised American spirit greatly. The Japanese, however, were not about to let such audacity go unanswered. Their ultimate reaction after several abortive and useless attacks by submarines on the West Coast, was one of the more improbable, and yet obscure, campaigns of World War II: the attempt to bomb the western half of the United States by delivering bombs carried by high latitude balloons driven by the jet stream. Japanese scientists had found that a “river of fast-moving air” existed at about 30,000 feet, moving directly west to east, towards the United States. Experiments early in the war showed that it would take a balloon approximately 60 hours to make the trip to the US West Coast, but that trip was not without problems. For one, the hydrogen-filled balloons would heat and explode when exposed to sun, and at night, the air pressure would drop so much that they would be in a=danger of hitting the ocean way before they reach their targets. In addition, the balloon had to be strong enough, yet light enough for its missions.

245 246 | Richard H. Berg

The Japanese, specifically the Ninth Army Technical Research Laboratory, under Major General Sueyoshi Kusaba, decided to construct the balloons from a type of paper called wash paper (kozo bush) that came in little squares. To put these pieces of paper together to make up the 10 yard diameter balloons they recruited school children and women, placed them in huge auditoriums and set them to work aided by a sticky paste made from potatoes. One of the problems they did encounter with this project was that the Japanese, on short rations, tended to eat the paste when not watched closely. With the delivery machine in production, the Japanese added a valve that would release some of the hydrogen when the balloon rose to high and a method for releasing sand bags when it got too low. The balloon payloads, intended to mainly start fires when they hit and called fusen bakudan, , destroying property and scaring the locals in great numbers, was a 33-lb anti-personnel fragmentation bomb , to which was attached a 65-foot long fuse that would burn for 82 minutes, giving it plenty of time to land, hit and start something. This would happen when the last of the ballast bags were released, usually over land, and the balloon would ultimately drop. The campaign went under the name Fu-Go. The first group of bomb balloons were released on November 3, 1944 and they began to land in the US two days later, near San Pedro, California. The next day, one landed in Wyoming, and shortly after there were sightings as far north as Alaska, as far south as Arizona, and as far east as 10 miles from Detroit! But these were just sightings; little, if any damage of any lasting kind,, had taken place. Japanese sources show that over 9,000 balloons were eventually released over the next 6 months, but fragments of only 285 were ever found. The idea of setting first fires was negated by the fact that this was the rainy season for most of the West Coast, and that dampened their effect. Some people did hear explosions, but had no idea what they meant. For most of the campaign, the government thought the balloons were being launch from the West Coast of the US! They could not comprehend that they came all the way from Japan, until the researchers at the Military Geological Unit, under Colonel Sidman Poole, analysed the sand in the ballast bags and determined it could come only from Japanese beaches. Fu-Go | 247

The US did launch several squadrons of fighters to shoot the balloons down, but the balloons proved to be difficult targets, moving too fast for the fighters at such altitudes. There were two major, one tragic, occurrences connected with the balloon bombs, though. While on a vacation trip to the woods outside Bly, Oregon, one Reverend Archie Mitchell, his wife and five children happened on a balloon which had landed but not exploded. Knowing nothing about what it was, one of the children started to pull it away, exploding the bomb and killing the entire family. Up to this point the government, with a cooperative media, had laid a blanket of silence over the entire Japanese campaign, fearing that such news would greatly frighten the public. Since this was what the Japanese wanted to do, the news blackout negated that portion of the campaign entirely, The death of the Mitchell family, however, forced the government to open the public’s eyes somewhat, so that another similar tragedy would not occur. In the meantime, under the That Was Close theory, on March 10, 1945, one of the balloons descended in the vicinity of The Manhattan Project’s production site in Hanford, Washington. It hit some electric lines, pulling them down and cutting off power to the facility that was producing plutonium, shutting that operation down temporarily. The only two other reported “hits” were small forest fires in the woods of the west. But none of these minimal, but scary, successes, were known to the Japanese, mostly because of the blackout. They therefore deemed the experiment worthless, and, with their hydrogen plants under heavy bombardment by the US, , they discontinued it in the spring of 1945. Fu-Go was an interesting idea, but it failed for two reasons: the balloons could not be controlled and most failed to reach their targets, and the silence of the population, their “ability to keep their mouths shut”, as one article stated after the war, deadened any possible impact they could have had. In epiloguish manner, one wonders how today’s media would handle such an event 248 | Richard H. Berg

★ Geraldo claims Japan full of hot air. Will open balloon to prove it. ★ Nancy Grace says O.J. is guilty, along with everyone on trial. ★ Is Britney going to bomb Paris? ★ Obscure game company jumps on media wagon to release obscure game.

Balloon Bomb Statistics

Number of Balloons *

Month Launched Sighted Recovered

November 700 0 3 1944

December 1,200 5 1 1944

January 2,000 11 9 1945

February 2,500 30 41 1945

March 1945 2,500 9 74

April 1945 400 21 37

May 1945 0 15 6

To t a l 9,300 171 168

* From a file by Erle Welch

n Fu-Go | 249

SOURCES There is a large amount of specific, detailed information – maps, charts, exact locations of sightings, etc. — available through the Internet. The History Channel has run two TV programs on this campaign. Among many are the following articles and books: • Robert C. Mikesh, Japan’s World War II Balloon Bomb Attacks on North America • “The Fire Balloons”, from Greg Goebel’s website, In the Public Domain • “Balloons”, from History House website. • “Report to V. Bush on the Japanese Balloon problem” (declassified), by an OSRD Special Committee. • Laurence H. Larsen, War Balloons over the Prairie (South Dakota History) • “Fu-Go; The Strangest Weapon of World War II”, on the Useless Information Website. • J. David Rogers, “How geologists unraveled the mystery of Japanese vengeance bombs in World War 2”

Gun camera footage of Japanese fire balloons shot down near Attu in the Aleutians, April 11, 1945. A P-38 is visible in the lower right frame. (US Army photo taken from an 11th Air Force fighter)

King Company at Bloody Lindern, by Frank Chadwick

King Company at Bloody Lindern

Frank Chadwick

Speaking of Richard Berg, here’s Rich on fellow game designer Frank Chadwick. “There is little doubt that, even in the rather busy pantheon of [wargame] industry heroes, Frank Chadwick is a Zeus amongst the Ajaxes. He is one of—if not THE—finest game designer working today. ... If dice produced olive oil, there is no doubt that Frank Chadwick would be wargaming's Godfather.” Frank is one of the founders of Game Designers Workshop (GDW), a highly respected and incredibly prolific producer of wargames and role-playing games. From 1973 to 1996, they released a new game on average every twenty-two days! His best known works include the Europa series, The Third World War, Twilight: 2000, and the delightful steampunk role- playing game Space: 1889. Frank hit the New York Times bestseller list with the Desert Shield Fact Book, published during the run-up to the Gulf War. In addition, he’s the author of the science fiction novel How Dark the World Becomes (Baen, 2013). He’s an inductee of the Charles Roberts Awards Hall of Fame and the Origins Hall of Fame, and is a three-time winner of the Charle Roberts/Origins Award for game design. Frank was kind enough to give a cover quote for Fox on the Rhine, sharing the page with Walter Boyne, who coincidentally had written a competing book on the Gulf War, Weapons of Desert Storm.

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I had the privilege of reading two unpublished novels by Frank. The first is an amazing story of the German invasion of Russia in World War II told from the point of view of a Soviet cavalry officer. It’s not exactly a topic chosen for maximum sales appeal, but it’s nevertheless brilliant. (I’d happily publish it in a heartbeat.) The second unpublished novel takes place during the events described in this chapter.

This article first appeared, in abridged form, in the June 2010 issue of World War II magazine. King Company at Bloody Lindern

Frank Chadwick

IN NOVEMBER OF 1944, AN AMERICAN INFANTRY DIVISION underwent its baptism of fire in the worst conditions imaginable and acquitted itself with honor beyond anyone’s expectation. The final outcome of the campaign, however, was determined by the heroic action of only one hundred men who found themselves in a hopeless situation and simply would not give up. The men of the 84th Division – the “Railsplitters” – were, to use the GI’s own language, “green as grass,” fresh off the boat from The States, and they were not going to a quiet sector to get combat experience on the cheap. Their first combat mission was to assault and reduce the Geilenkirchen Salient, a chunk of the German Siegfried Line which featured dragon’s teeth, minefields, and layer after layer of concrete pillboxes surrounded by trenches, foxholes, and barbed wire – what Lieutenant General Brian Horrocks, commander of British XXX Corps, described as the most formidable fortifications on the entire German front. If the GIs had been expecting their first sight of Germany to be picturesque, they were disappointed. The area around Geilenkirchen – the flood plain of the Wurm and Roer rivers -- was depressingly drab, worn, and ugly. Nondescript shabby little villages and grey industrial towns dotted a landscape unbroken by any terrain features likely to catch the eye. There were a few scattered woods and orchards, but the ground was mostly cabbage and sugar beet fields – now turned to sticky brown mud by the autumn rains.

253 254 | Frank Chadwick

The flood plain boasted no major hills or ridges, but a series of rises on the south bank of the Wurm gradually joined to form a low plateau further to the northeast. The low hills and rises were not obstacles to movement, but did provide excellent observation posts for German artillery. Everything had an abandoned, desolate feel, made more pronounced by the absence of civilians -- most had been evacuated by the Germans before the fighting began. There was another thing – the 84th Division would not be going into action under U.S. command. Its first offensive would be fought under British XXX Corps. Geilenkirchen was at the far northern end of the U.S. 9th Army’s area of responsibility, and the far southern end of British 2nd Army’s – the Wurm River formed the rough boundary line between Bradley’s 12th Army Group and Montgomery’s 21st. Despite that, cooperation between Simpson (U.S. 9th Army) and Horrocks (British XXX Corps) was good. Geilenkirchen needed taking, XXX Corps did not have the strength on the ground to take it, and so Simpson loaned Horrocks a U.S. division to get the job done. The operation would be called “Clipper.” King Company at Bloody Lindern | 255

The Geilenkirchen Salient was a tough proposition: the fortifications were impressive and deep – seven miles deep, all the way back to the Roer River – with interlocking fields of fire and few covered routes of approach. Asking a green American division to tackle this as their first assignment was asking a lot. The fact Simpson and Horrocks were willing to do so spoke volumes about their confidence in the ability of the U.S. training system to turn out combat-ready divisions capable of hitting the ground running. When it came to the “Railsplitters” of the 84th Division, they were right.

Operation Clipper

The plan was simple – most good ones are. On November 18th the British 43rd Wessex Division would drive in the northern side of the salient and the U.S. 334th Infantry Regiment of the 84th Division would drive in the south, leaving Geilenkirchen exposed and cut off. The 333rd Infantry would then hit Geilenkirchen itself the next day. The 334th attacked on the morning of the 18th with two battalions up, the key attack being by the I Battalion on the right, through a heavily mined orchard and entrenched rail embankment, then two clusters of concrete pillboxes, and finally across two thousand yards of open fields to seize the fortified village of Prummern. The attack bogged down under artillery and small arms fire almost at once, at the rail embankment, but the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Lloyd H. Gomes, moved up and led the forward rifle companies and platoons himself. This got the attack moving again, and it rolled forward, overwhelming all German resistance. The battalion paused to reorganize before attacking Prummern, and then swept in and cleared the village house by house. The regiment’s II Battalion made similar progress on its left, but against lighter resistance. (Draper pp 25-29, MacDonald p. 551, Ford p. 50-61) Casualties in the two attacking battalions were moderate – 10 killed and 180 wounded -- but by the end of the day, the 334th had destroyed a battalion of the defending 183rd Volksgrenadier Division – inflicting 450 casualties, of which 330 were prisoners. (MacDonald p. 551, Hatch p. 13) Among the dazed German POWs was a veteran officer, stunned by what had happened. “We knew we were facing 256 | Frank Chadwick

new troops and expected it to be easy,” he said, “but these men fight better than any troops I saw in Africa, Russia and France.” (Hatch, p. 12) The next day, the 333rd attacked and cleared Geilenkirchen, also with light casualties, and another battalion of the 183rd Volksgrenadiers was kaput. In the early morning hours of the same day, however, a new enemy appeared near Prummern – the veteran 9th Panzer Division. On the 19th it launched a counterattack, with I Battalion, 10th Panzergrenadier Regiment and six tanks of II Battalion, 33rd Panzer Regiment, and retook much of the town. (Draper p. 31) I Battalion, 333rd Infantry still held the surrounding orchards, and Regiment committed its reserve battalion, along with Sherman tanks of the attached British Sherwood Rangers Yeomanry. There followed several days of tough back-and-forth fighting for Prummern and the wooded hill (Hill 92.5) behind it – dubbed Mahogany Hill – but Prummern was secure by the 20th and Mahogany Hill by the 22nd. The division pressed forward to the northeast, closing on the villages of Muellendorf and Beeck, but the advance slowed to a crawl - in part because the Germans threw in more troops to halt the division. Both the 15th Panzergrenadier Division and elite 10th SS King Company at Bloody Lindern | 257

Panzer Division “Frundsberg” – fresh from its fight at Arnhem – were committed to stop the Railsplitters, and absorbed the remnants of the 183rd Volksgrenadier Division. (Ford p. 62) The SS division, which began entering the lines on November 23rd, relieved the battered 9th Panzer Division, which was pulled back to refit for the upcoming Ardennes Offensive. (MacDonald p. 567) Neither arriving German division was up to full strength, but they were on the defensive, held excellent positions, and had strong cadres of seasoned veterans. And then there was the mud. It rained almost every day that long November – a cold, steady rain, sometimes mixed with sleet. The floodplains of the Wurm and Roer were usually wet this time of year, but in November of 1944 the region received over twice as much rain as the average, and it became a vast sea of mud. Roads were axle-deep canals of mud. Foxholes dug in the low-lying beet fields became waterlogged, and soldiers slept on the ground beside them instead of in the water. Some foxholes filled up to the very top, and to keep under cover when shells hit nearby, riflemen had to hold their breath and duck their heads under water. Weapons became coated with mud and jammed. Trench-foot reached epidemic proportions. Tracked vehicles could not leave the roads – wheeled vehicles often could not move even on the roads. Hot chow was a distant memory. Men fought and died for high ground just to get out of that damned mud. By November 28th, the advance ground to a halt – it was time to try something different.

Enter King Company

All of the advances of the 84th Division to date had been made by only two of its three infantry regiments. The third regiment – the 335th – had been detached to support another U.S. division further south. Now it rejoined the Railsplitters and was available to get things moving again. The main front had stalled in the face of strong German positions in Muellendorf and Beeck, and on “Schlachen Hill.” In addition, there was a fortified back-stop position on “Toad Hill” and the village of Lindern – held by the I Battalion, 21st SS Panzergrenadier Regiment of the 10th SS Panzer Division 258 | Frank Chadwick

“Frundsberg”, (Draper p.60) giving the entire position depth. The attacks by the division’s main body, however, had drawn the bulk of the German troops into this position, and its left – or southeastern – flank was open, covered only by miles of muddy fields and a long antitank ditch. Behind the antitank ditch was the town of Lindern, and it sat astride the main German supply route. If the Railsplitters could get a firm hold on Lindern, the rest of the position would fall easily. Getting a hold on Lindern would be the job of the 335th Infantry. The original plan was for the regiment to throw all three battalions at Lindern, one behind the other, but that was reduced to a two-battalion attack when the regiment’s II Battalion was switched west for an attack on Toad Hill. Then I Battalion was held back as a reserve, and the Lindern attack came down to a single infantry battalion. Maj. Robert W. Wallace’s III Battalion, 335th Infantry would attack with two companies (Item and King) forward and one (Love) in reserve. They would make a long approach march at night and King Company at Bloody Lindern | 259 jump off before dawn. The approach march was from the southwest, and would require a gentle left turn to make a head-on approach to the target. Navigating at night and in extended assault formation would be tricky, so a landmark was picked out – as the troops reach the north-south highway from Gereonsweiler to Lindern, they would wheel left and advance along its axis, with the highway becoming the boundary between the two assault companies. If they became disoriented, they could orient at first light on a tall church steeple in Lindern, or the brickyard on the southwest side of town.

A Rifle Company’s Radios The United States Army had many more radios available than did any other army in World War Two. They didn’t work all the time, but they were an invaluable supplement to runners and field telephones, the traditional means of communication in the infantry. Each rifle company was authorized six SCR 536 radios. These were the small box-like radios with built in earpiece and microphone, held like an oversized telephone receiver. Today we almost universally call this sort of radio a “walkie-talkie,” but at the time they were called “handy-talkies.” The six SCR 536 handy-talkies – when all were available -- were nominally assigned to the six officers in the company: commander, executive officer, three rifle platoon leaders, and weapons platoon leader. In fact, they could be moved around at will, to give, for example, a radio to a forward outpost. The true “walkie-talkies” were the back-pack mounted SCR 300 radios officially held at battalion, but almost universally doled out one per rifle company. This was the radio the company commander used to communicate with battalion, regiment, and sometimes to attached artillery units. The normal allocation of one SCR 300 per company was doubled for the attack on Lindern. With all the small radios at platoon level, there was the potential of local chatter interfering with radio communication between company and higher levels. This was avoided by making the small SCR 536 radios AM, while all other signal corps radios were FM. The disadvantage of this, of course, was that the 536 handy-talkies could not be used to contact any other network, even if it was within their limited range. 260 | Frank Chadwick

After the wheel, the assault companies would cross the antitank ditch and press forward, ignoring any pockets of resistance, until they had crossed the railroad behind Lindern. They would dig in on the far side and await the inevitable German counterattacks. The reserve company would follow them and clear Lindern of any pockets of resistance and then reinforce them. The regiment’s I Battalion in reserve would be available for additional strength as needed.

The attack was also to be supported by the 40th Tank Battalion, which was now attached to the division, but the tanks would not go in with the first wave. Surprise was believed to be more important, and so the tanks would wait for word from the infantry as to when they should advance. In order to communicate with the tanks, each of the leading rifle companies was given one heavy SCR 509 radio, in addition to two SCR 300 back-pack radios for communication with battalion and regiment. (Draper p.52) The SCR 509, with its longer range, was only barely man-portable, and in fact was carried in two loads: one man carried the radio itself and the other the heavy battery pack which powered it, with a power cable connecting them. (Howerton p. 209)

Company K, which played such a remarkable role in the coming battle, was an unlikely candidate for the history books. It had not yet been in serious combat, but had already lost half of its officers – including its commander – in a jeep accident nine days earlier. First Lieutenant Leonard Carpenter, its unpopular executive officer – seen by the men as stuffy and distant – had assumed command, and three of the four platoon leaders were replacement officers who had arrived in the last few days. They hardly knew their men’s names, let alone strengths and weaknesses. Morale was shaky, and the men had little confidence in their company commander or new platoon leaders. Most rifle companies have one or two key NCOs to whom others look for leadership. In King Company, that man was Technical Sergeant George O. Prewitt, the platoon sergeant for first platoon. One of his comrades remembered him as, “A foothills hillbilly out of North Carolina with little learning, (but) he was a Phi Beta Kappa of soldiering.” (Howerton, p. 22) Almost alone among the soldiers of King Company, Prewitt accepted and worked with Lieutenant King Company at Bloody Lindern | 261

Carpenter, the new company commander, without reservation right from the start. Perhaps he saw something in Carpenter the other men had not yet noticed.

The Attack: 0630, 29 November

At 0630 – still pitch black in late November -- both assault companies crossed the line of departure in the same formation – two rifle platoons up, one in reserve, and the weapons platoon split up to give support to the rifle companies. Each platoon advanced with two squads up and one back, and Staff Sergeant Jeff Parker, who led King Company’s third squad of first platoon, recalled, “We went out in a column of twos. The columns were about 25 yards apart with three yards between men because it was still dark and we wanted to stay pretty close.” (Howerton, p. 193) King company attacked with Lieutenant Pozyck’s third platoon on the left, Lieutenant Romersberger’s first platoon on the right, and Lieutenant Smith’s second platoon in support. Lieutenant Lockard’s fourth (weapons) platoon gave up one 60mm mortar squad to each of the three rifle platoons, and its two .30 caliber light machine gun squads to third platoon on the battalion’s open left flank. Lockard with his weapons platoon headquarters party, and the company’s spare SCR 300 radio, brought up the rear behind second platoon. Each man carried only the essentials – rifle, gas mask, three chocolate D-ration bars, one canteen of water, and two bandoliers of ammunition. The men left their overshoes behind – speed meant more than keeping dry. (Howerton, p. 194, Draper p. 53) Lieutenant Carpenter himself and his small command group advanced with the two lead platoons. A rear company command group, led by the executive officer, Lieutenant Johns, and the company first sergeant, Julius Phagan, moved with the supporting platoon. Carpenter was up front to ensure the lead platoons got their navigation right and pushed on, regardless of what they ran into. Johns and Phagan would do the same for the support elements. Shortly after they crossed the line of departure, several German flares erupted in the night sky, illuminating King Company. Every man froze in place, as trained to do. As the flares drifted down on their parachutes and burned out, every man waited for the tearing sound of German MG-42s, but there was no German fire – they had 262 | Frank Chadwick

not been spotted. As soon as the light flickered out, the advance resumed. (Draper p. 53, Howerton p. 193-4) The plan started going wrong as soon as the attacking companies came to the “highway” to Lindern at 0645 – it was actually no more than a narrow dirt road. Fortunately, the men of King Company’s first platoon recognized it immediately as their landmark and alerted Carpenter, who ran over to third platoon to tell them to wheel. King Company’s two assault platoons came on line with the road to their right and headed toward Lindern. They crossed the antitank ditch with difficulty – it was partly flooded and the soft banks collapsed in sheets of mud as the men tried to climb out – but first platoon and most of third stayed together as units. Then they encountered flanking fire by German machine guns, and a few mortar rounds landed among the soldiers of third platoon but, remarkably, caused no casualties. The troops went to ground, but Lieutenants Carpenter and Romersberger, and several NCOs, “encouraged” the men to crawl out from under the tracers of the blind grazing fire and keep advancing. First platoon’s platoon sergeant George Prewitt recalled, “There were four machine guns firing at us. I began to yank the men up, and I kicked one in the ass. King Company at Bloody Lindern | 263

Sgt. Matuska did the same.” “They can’t hit you if they can’t see you,” Lieutenant Carpenter shouted over and over, and the men followed him forward. (Howerton, p. 194-196) About this time, a German round clipped off the antenna of the SCR 300 radio carried by Private Paul North, Carpenter’s radio man. A runner was sent back to fourth (weapons) platoon to get the spare antenna from the company’s other SCR-300 but the advance continued. The two assault platoons sprinted forward and in moments were in Lindern, the outlines of the buildings growing visible as the sun rose. At first Carpenter was unsure they were in the right place – there was no church steeple visible anywhere -- but then he caught sight of the brickyard and knew they were on the objective. (Howerton p. 198) Contrary to the pre-attack briefing, Lindern was one of the only towns in the area which did not have a standing church steeple, a mistake which would cost the battalion dearly in the next hour. The assault platoons ran through Lindern, firing from the hip and throwing grenades at any sign of resistance, but never slowing up. They came out on the far side sprinted across the open ground to the twenty-foot deep rail cut. Carpenter later reported, “We hit the railroad north side of Lindern. We went down a bank about 20 feet high and ran up the other side. We saw some long buildings that looked like barracks and turned out to be a German rest camp. Some men threw grenades into the buildings. Nothing happened. Fifty yards in front of the barracks we found a fence. There we started digging in - two-man foxholes. We stopped there because we knew we were going to dig in 50-100 yards the other side of Lindern. A long, sloping hill was in front of us. We dug in on the reverse slope of a very slight rise in the ground, the crest of which was 250 yards in front of us.” (Howerton, pp 199-200)

The Sharp End of the Spear: 0745, 29 November

King company began digging in at 0745 – Lieutenant Carpenter remembered because someone had asked the time. Now there was nothing to do but report their success and wait for the rest of the company to show up. Unfortunately, it was going to be hard to contact Battalion that day. 264 | Frank Chadwick

The Rail Cut The 84th Division’s history describes the rail line as sitting on top of a 20-foot tall embankment, and the U.S. Army’s official history, The Siegfried Line Campaign, also refers to the rail embankment. The eyewitness accounts from King Company, however, make it clear the railroad ran through a deep cut, not along the top of an embankment. Carpenter specifically mentions sliding down into the cut then scrambling up the other side, while Howerton talks of tanks coming into the area across a highway overpass – not through an underpass tunnel, and in conversation with the author confirmed the rail line ran through a deep cut. Equally telling, King Company continued to take scattered small arms fire from Lindern throughout the day, which would have been unlikely had there been a 20-foot tall earthen berm between them and the enemy.

German small arms fire had taken off the antenna of the company’s forward SCR 300 radio, and the antenna of the big SCR 509 had been damaged as well. The heavy two-part radio had been abandoned at the base of the rail cut so the two-man team could keep up with the advance. A runner had been sent back for a spare SCR 300 antenna, but he never returned and, as the sun rose, there was no sign of the rest of the company. Carpenter conferred with Item Company to his right, and discovered there was not a full company there either – only thirty-five men of its third platoon, and a five-man mortar squad, all under Lieutenant Garlington. They did not have a working radio. Carpenter had only sixty of his own men under his direct command: the four men of his forward company command group; thirty-two men of first platoon under Lieutenant Romersberger and Technical Sergeant Prewitt, the first platoon’s attached 60mm mortar squad with six men, but only eighteen men from Lieutenant Pozyck’s third platoon. Romersberger and Pozyck were both new replacements. Romersberger, even though he had been with the company only four days, had already displayed excellent leadership under fire during the advance and would continue to play a key role in the company’s survival. Less is recorded of Pozyck’s contribution, except for a report by one of his NCOs a piece of shrapnel “went right through Lt. Pozyck’s helmet,” perhaps leaving him temporarily stunned or King Company at Bloody Lindern | 265 disoriented. (Howerton, p. 204) It is more likely Pozyck’s contributions were tangible and considerable, but simply never written down. Pozyck received one of the first Bronze Stars for the action afterwards and was soon promoted to first lieutenant. The only senior NCO who had made it forward was George Prewitt. Carpenter co-located his foxhole with Pruitt, who effectively became the company first sergeant for the balance of the action. Pozyck’s third platoon had a harder time than first platoon moving forward, as it had been closer to the enfilading fire of the German machine guns on the left and had lost time engaging them. The artillery prep on the brickyard, through which they had to advance, had been late and so had delayed them another five minutes. The follow-on rifle squad and Technical Sergeant Urmon, the platoon sergeant, remained pinned down near the antitank ditch for too long, so when the sun rose they were still in the open in front of Lindern, and the now-alert SS defenders, and were forced to surrender. The left wing of third platoon’s forward echelon – over twenty men, including the light machine gun section attached from weapons platoon, third platoon’s attached 60mm mortar squad, one complete rifle squad and four men from another – became separated from the rest of the company about 0730 and crossed the railroad further to the left. Although the company’s main body could see them, they were too far away for Carpenter to control, and it is unclear who actually stepped up and assumed command of this group. They started to dig in on a low hill, but then were hit by U.S. artillery fire, including white phosphorus rounds, and pulled back into an apple orchard. At about 0900 or 1000 they were hit again by friendly artillery fire. Two men were killed and at least one wounded, and they withdrew across the rail line, carrying their wounded but leaving behind one light machine gun and the mortar. Shortly after noon the eighteen or twenty survivors, of whom six were wounded, encountered a dug-in German infantry force which took them prisoner. Carpenter later sent runners over to the abandoned position in the apple orchard and recovered the light machine gun. But what had happened to the rest of King and Item companies? The rear element of King Company – second platoon, the rear headquarters party, and the weapons platoon headquarters -- failed to keep closed up behind the lead platoons and lost contact in the 266 | Frank Chadwick dark. When they crossed the Lindern road, the officers did not recognize it as such, perhaps being confused by the reference to a “highway.” Technical Sergeant Bailey, the second platoon’s senior NCO, realized the mistake but was unable to convince his platoon leader, Lieutenant Smith, of the error; and, in any case, the group was being led by Lieutenant Johns, the company executive officer. Phagen, the company first sergeant, was also with this group and had been ordered by Carpenter to maintain contact between the assault platoons and the follow-on echelon, but, for whatever reason, failed to do so. (Howerton, p. 217) The group continued north, well off its intended path, until it encountered entrenched German infantry, was pinned down by fire in the open, and forced to surrender at daybreak. Nearly the same thing happened to the bulk of Item Company. It had farther to go than King Company (being on the outer arc of the wheeling maneuver), and had navigation problems of its own. Not only was there confusion at the road crossing, but the church steeple in a village to the north, combined with the absence of a steeple in Lindern, further slowed and misdirected the advance. Most of Item was caught in the open fields around Lindern at daybreak and either driven back or forced to surrender. So by 0800 hours, the two assault companies of III Battalion, 335th Infantry, had effectively ceased to exist. There were only one hundred men on the far side of the rail embankment, and they had no means of communicating their position to the rear. From the point of view of battalion headquarters they had marched into the darkness and vanished in a storm of small arms and mortar fire. As Love Company, the battalion follow-on echelon, tried to move forward to clear Lindern it was pinned down by heavy fire short of the line of the antitank ditch and forced to dig in. The I / 21st SS Panzergrenadiers in the entrenchments in front of Lindern were alert, full of fight, and not going anywhere. German artillery fire on the area forward of Lindern was accurate and intense. As far as 335th Regiment could tell, the attack had been a total disaster and both rifle companies had been wiped out. King Company at Bloody Lindern | 267

“We decided to hold our ground at all costs.” 1000, 29 November

For the men under Carpenter’s command, the first real action after crossing the rail line came on King Company’s left. About twenty minutes after they began digging in, three German medium tanks appeared on the road from Lindern, crossing the railroad at the single overpass in the area, and driving north almost through third platoon’s position. Private First Class Morton Reuben remembered, “I grabbed a bazooka round and put it in Wolfenberger’s bazooka. He fired and hit the middle of the tank but it bounced off…. The second round hit a tree and tore it up. The tanks passed out of sight.” (Howerton p. 201) Bazooka and small arms fire, while causing no visible damage, had nevertheless encouraged the tanks to leave the area, which is not surprising since they had no close infantry support and could not know how weak the U.S. position was. Between 0900 and 1000 the company began taking friendly artillery fire on the far left. This would eventually drive the isolated left wing of third platoon back, as related above. At about the same time, however, three different German tanks appeared from the north. Carpenter remembers them as Tigers, and the U.S. official history concurs. (Howerton, p. 201, MacDonald p. 570) The majority of “Tiger tank” reports turned out to be Panthers or Panzer IVs, but elements of the 506th Schwere Panzer Abteilung (Heavy Tank Battalion) were in the area and were certainly committed against Lindern in the following days, so it is not improbable three Tigers were present that morning. King Company had already identified the first group of three tanks as “mediums,” so they knew the difference, and they would get a very close look at these new ones. Two of the German Tigers halted about 300 yards away while the third continued to advance directly into the American position. There were several German-held pillboxes about 500 yards away in the same direction, and Carpenter could also see four more German tanks moving about 800 yards away. (Howerton p. 205) That made ten German tanks sighted in quick succession, but the most immediate problem was the lead tank moving into third platoon’s positions on the left. Even though first platoon still had a few bazooka rounds left, the U.S. infantry was nearly defenseless against heavy armor, and Carpenter had to make a quick decision: should they 268 | Frank Chadwick remain in place and risk getting overrun, or should they try to infiltrate back to their own lines through Lindern? He took a moment to confer with his senior NCO, Technical Sergeant Prewitt, “...and we decided to hold our ground at all costs.” (Howerton p. 205) And they did hold – in part because of the cool-headed marksmanship of third platoon’s Private Robert Nordli. Nordli told the story a few days later without dramatics, as if it was just another day at the office. “The tank came up to our front right in our lines. The tank commander stood up from the turret to observe. We moved back about 100 yards to get a better defilade position as the tanks came up. Unfortunately we had run out of bazooka ammunition.” (This was third platoon; first platoon still had a few bazooka rockets. –FC) “I hit the tank commander with an M1. He slumped over. The tank continued past us into Lindern for about another 100 yards, then backed up and returned to the vicinity of the pillbox.” (Howerton p. 201, Draper p. 56)

Churchill tanks near Geilenkirchen, November-December 1944 (US Army photo) King Company at Bloody Lindern | 269

The death of the commander of the leading German tank – probably the platoon leader – deprived the German armor of leadership at a critical time, and caused the tanks to pull off to a safer distance. Nevertheless, it now appeared the Germans were alert to the presence of the Americans in their rear. More German infantry began assembling around the pillboxes, and tanks moved back and forth along the road to the front. One hundred infantry with a handful of 60mm mortar rounds and two or three bazooka rockets could not possibly hold out against the force assembling, unless they got help, and getting help meant getting word back to battalion or regiment. Carpenter sent a party of four volunteers back to retrieve the abandoned SCR 509 radio set, but, although they recovered it and got it working, its antenna was sufficiently damaged that it could only receive – faintly – not transmit. The only other option was to send runners to try to get through. The odds of success did not seem high. In Carpenter’s deceptively casual words, “We knew there were Germans in and around Lindern in back of us because we were always getting fire from our rear.” (Howerton, p.201) Four soldiers volunteered anyway. They did not make it: one was killed and the other three captured. By 1300 the situation was clearly desperate, but suddenly one of King Company’s men had an inspiration. After working with the two disabled radios for several hours, Carpenter’s radio man, Private Paul North, realized one antenna is pretty much like any other. The company still had several small SCR 536 “handy talkies,” although they did not have the range to carry back to battalion. North, however, unscrewed an antenna from a 536 set, tied it to a fence post to get maximum elevation, and jury-rigged a connection to the big SCR 509 using a length of signal corps telephone wire. At about 1300 hours, Private James Calhoun of Love Company, the battalion reserve, heard his own SCR 509 come to life. The message was from King Company, and it was, “We made a Touchdown at 0745.” Touchdown was the coded signal for King Company on its objective. (Howerton p. 208-9, Draper p. 58, MacDonald 570) 270 | Frank Chadwick

The whole German Army couldn’t drive us out of there.”: 1400, 29 November

Two companies of M4 Sherman’s of 40th Tank Battalion had been waiting to advance in support of the infantry, but had never gotten word there was actually infantry left to support. As soon as the radio message was relayed to the commander of 40th Tank Battalion, Lieutenant Colonel John Brown, he ordered his Company A to “forget about bad roads, mine obstacles, and infantry support and get out to Lindern.” (Draper p. 58) The tanks moved forward, passing south of Lindern, but lost one Sherman to German fire and stalled short of the rail cut. Lieutenant Romersberger of first platoon and his runner, Private Howerton, volunteered to go back, find the tanks, and guide them to King Company’s positions. Although Howerton is officially credited with volunteering, he does not remember doing so and believes Romersberger volunteered, and he simply accompanied him as his runner. Howerton had developed enormous respect for his new platoon leader during the hours of the Lindern battle, and in his own words, “I would have followed him anywhere.” (Howerton p. 211) The two men found six of the Sherman’s “buttoned up” on the outskirts of the village and had a hard time getting their attention. The field phones on the back decks weren’t working, and so Romersberger and Howerton were reduced to banging on the side of the hulls with their rifle butts. “If there had been any German snipers nearby we would have most certainly drawn their fire,” Howerton recalled years later, “but nothing happened. Eventually we roused the tank commander, crawled on his tank and rode back through Lindern like Hannibal crossing the Alps.” (Howerton, p 211) At 1400 the six tanks crossed the overpass and deployed in support of King Company. The sense of elation among Carpenter’s men was indescribable. One of the soldiers in King Company later remembered, “When we saw those tanks, we figured the whole German Army couldn’t drive us out of there.” (Draper p. 58) King Company at Bloody Lindern | 271

The ASTP “Whiz Kids” The United States Army established the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP) in 1942 to allow particularly talented personnel (standard entry requirement was an intelligence/aptitude score higher than 120, as opposed to Officer Candidate School, which required 110) to continue higher education while in uniform, mostly in the engineering field, with an eye toward their eventual employment in technical branch and leadership roles. In 1944 the manpower crunch became so severe, however, the program was abruptly terminated and all ASTP cadets were used as fillers, mostly in infantry divisions slated for overseas assignment. The 84th Division received 2800 ASTP cadets in April of 1944 and began an intensive five-month training program to integrate them with the existing division cadre. Relations were strained at first, but eventually the ASTP men proved their worth, many of them rising to leadership positions and even earning field commissions late in the war. (Ford p. 22, Howerton, pp 31-32) One of the young ASTP cadets assigned to the 84th Division’s 335th Infantry as a combat rifleman and translator was a German Jew whose parents had fled Hitler’s Germany. When returning from a patrol and hailed by a sentry post, his thick German accent nearly got him shot as an infiltrator, but at the last moment Private Earnest Murphy of Hotel Company recognized him and yelled to his friend “Sandy” Sanchez to hold his fire. “I would know that guy’s voice anywhere, that guy is from F Company and his name is Henry.” (Hatch, p. 57-8) Had Sanchez fired, it would have altered United States history – whether for good or ill depends on your judgment of Henry Kissinger’s tenure as Secretary of State. Private Paul D. North, Lieutenant Carpenter’s radio operator, was one of the fifty-three ASTP cadets assigned to King Company. He had been a graduate student in electrical engineering at Lafayette University before ASTP was discontinued, and back at Camp Claiborne, when the division was training for overseas service, Private Allan Howerton – another ASTP cadet – remembered that North “liked to hang around the CP… and tinker with the radios…” (Howerton, pp 31-32, 208) Good thing. 272 | Frank Chadwick

Aftermath

The fight was far from over, but from that point on the Railsplitters definitely had the upper hand and did not let it go. Throughout the night of November 29/30, Love company, all of I Battalion, and most of 40th Tank Battalion, moved forward, cleared Lindern, and formed a perimeter defense. No counterattacks came that evening, but German shelling became heavy. On the evening of the 30th, and again on the night of December 1st, the German launched a series of strong counterattacks using battle groups formed from 10th SS Panzer Division “Frundsberg” and 506th Schwere Panzer Abteilung, as well as the 9th Panzer Division, hastily pulled back out of its rest and refit encampment. It was too little, too late, however. The 335th had paid a very high price for Lindern, and no one was ready to give it up. Within days the main German position began to crumble and the balance of the Railsplitters moved forward and secured the plateau overlooking the Wurm and Roer River. After a week or so to rest and reorganize, the Railsplitters would conduct an assault crossing of the Roer. That, at least, was the plan, and the Railsplitters would indeed force the Roer River against tough German resistance – but they would not get around to it until the end of February, 1945. Days before they were to hit the Roer in December, Hitler’s Ardennes Offensive – The Battle of the Bulge – kicked off, and the 84th Division was shifted south. It played a key role in blunting the German northern offensive arm in the Ardennes, but that is a different story. What was important now was the Railsplitters had taken everything four German divisions could throw at them, advanced through the strongest fixed defenses the Germans had anywhere, in the worst physical conditions imaginable, and triumphed. And in the end it wasn’t numbers or firepower which made the difference; it was the courage and determination of just one hundred infantrymen at Lindern. After they were pulled out of the line, King Company received enough replacements to bring it close to full strength for the Ardennes -- they needed quite a few. Of the one hundred and King Company at Bloody Lindern | 273 seventy-four officers and enlisted men of King Company who crossed the line of departure at 0630, 29 November, 1944, eighty- eight men were killed, wounded, or captured, almost exactly half the company’s strength. The influx of new men, however, did not change the essential character of the company. No matter how hard things got in The Bulge – and they would get pretty hard – the solid cadre of “Lindern men” always held the company together and kept it going. There were some new officers. George Prewitt moved up to command a platoon, receiving his field commission on 19 December. He refused to let any of his men salute him or call him sir, though – he still worked for a living. There were medals, as well. A total of twenty-one bronze stars were awarded to King Company men for the action at Lindern. Lieutenants Romersberger and Pozyck both received the medal, as did sergeants Prewitt, Matuska, and Humphrey. So did Private Robert Nordli, who stopped a Tiger tank with an M1. Two of the bronze stars were awarded posthumously. Another posthumous bronze star went to First Lieutenant Creswell Garlington Jr., who had brought forward the only platoon of Item Company to get through. He made it through the initial advance, and showed both courage and initiative in his actions covering King’s right flank, but he was mortally wounded by German artillery fire the following day. Garlington was a graduate of The Citadel, had in fact been the class valedictorian, and great things were expected of him. He did not have long to make good on those expectations, but he made the most of the time he had. First Lieutenant Leonard Reed Carpenter, the man who led King Company forward and held them together all through that long day, was awarded the Silver Star. He continued to lead King Company during the Bulge, the assault crossing of the Roer, and on into Germany, right up through March of 1945, when he was rotated out for thirty days R&R. The war ended before he returned. Some of the men felt the R&R saved his life; he continued to lead from the front and, by March, many felt his luck had about run out. They were wrong, however, and it was not the first time they had been wrong about him. A junior merchandizing executive before the war, a white-gloved spit-and-polish martinet of an executive officer in 274 | Frank Chadwick

British infantry in the streets of Geilenkirchen, December 1944 (Photo: Bert Hardy, British Army Film and Photographic Unit, from the collection of the Imperial War Museum) state-side training, Carpenter had emerged as a calm, courageous, and resourceful leader in the crucible of combat. There had been a time when no one in the company – except perhaps George Prewitt – would have thought it possible.

n King Company at Bloody Lindern | 275

Bibliography

Draper, Lt. Theodore. The 84th Division in The Battle of Germany. (The Battery Press, Nashville TN, 2000) ISBN 0-89839-310-8 Essame, H. The Battle For Germany. (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, NY, 1968) LCC 78-83223 Ford, Ken. Assault On Germany: The Battle For Geilenkirchen. (David Charles, Newton Abbot, Devon, 1989) ISBN 0-7153-9208-5 Hatch, Gardner, ed. 84th Infantry Division Railsplitters. (Turner, Paducah KY, 1988) ISBN 88-050349 Howerton, Allan Wilford. Dear Captain, et al. (Xlibris: 2000) ISBN 0-7388-1855-0 MacDonald, Charles B. The Siegfried Line Campaign. (Office of the Chief of Military History, Washington, D.C., 1963)

“…And the Other Fellow Blinked:” How the Cuban Missile Crisis Almost Destroyed the World, by Douglas Niles “…And the Other Fellow Blinked.” How the Cuban Missile Crisis Almost Destroyed the World

Douglas Niles

Doug Niles was teaching high school Clinton, Wisconsin, near the town of Lake Geneva, when one day one of his students gave him an excuse note to get out of class so she could be interviewed for People Magazine. “Her name was Heidi Gygax,” Doug wrote. “I asked her why People wanted to interview her and she told me that her father had invented the Dungeons & Dragons game. ... The next day, Heidi brought me a copy of the original D&D Basic Set, and two days later, I got some friends together and played my first game.” As they say, the first taste is free. A few years after that initial fateful encounter, one of the players in Doug’s game got an editorial job with TSR, and Doug decided to apply as well. “Armed with a half- written novel and some notes from my campaign, I applied for a design job.” He was hired in 1982 as a game designer, and went on to create numerous modules for D&D, Star Frontiers, Indiana Jones, and the Endless Quest pick-a- path novel series. I first met Doug when I joined TSR in late 1983, but the first time we worked together was on AD&D Battlesystem, a set of miniatures rules, which won the H. G. Wells Award for best miniatures game in 1989. Doug and I co- wrote a four module series, Bloodstone Pass, giving the Battlesystem rules a good workout. and in H4 Throne of Bloodstone, wrote the first and only adventure that could be played by very high level (up to 100) characters. 277 278 | Random Jottings 10

In the early 1990s, I was on a three-week seminar tour of Australia and New Zealand. I couldn’t very well pack enough books to keep myself occupied for three whole weeks (at least not while carrying clothes), so I survived by buying books in airport bookstores and abandoning them on the plane when I finished. While flying from Adelaide to Brisbane, I was reading a best-seller advertised as Tom Clancy-esque, but I thought it was awful. “I could do better,” I thought, and spent the rest of the flight making notes about exactly what the author had done wrong and how it could be done better, and figured out a topic for the book. Although I thought I could do better than the author, I knew I didn’t have the chops to do it well. Fortunately, a couple of months later, I was in Wisconsin on another seminar trip, and pitched the idea to Doug. We wrote a proposal for an alternate history novel, Fox on the Rhine, and sent it off to deafening silence from publishers everywhere. It languished for several years until Brian Thomsen took it to Tor/Forge. The publisher evidently said, “This is the worst proposal I’ve ever seen, but I like the idea.” He told Brian exactly what he wanted, Brian told us, and we followed through. Fox on the Rhine became a selection of the Military Book Club and led to a sequel, Fox at the Front, and an unrelated third book, MacArthur’s War, also a Military Book Club selection. Doug was a major contributor to the Dragonlance fantasy series and wrote the kickoff novels in the Forgotten Realms universe, along with two independent fantasy series published by Ace. He designed wargames based on Tom Clancy’s first two novels, The Hunt for Red October and Red Storm Rising. His games World War II: European Theater of Operations and Pacific Theater of Operations are classics in the field. Doug lives in the Wisconsin countryside near the town of Delavan with his wife Christine. He’s a recent grandfather; his daughter Allison, who served overseas in Operation Iraqi Freedom, lives not too far away. His son David lives in Colorado. He’s one of my very dearest friends. Doug has recently begun a new alternate history series about the Cuban Missile Crisis as it might have been. The first volume of Final Failure, Eyeball to Eyeball, is now available. Here’s Doug with a detailed look at just how dangerous the Missile Crisis actually was. “…And the Other Fellow Blinked.” How the Cuban Missile Crisis Almost Destroyed the World

Douglas Niles

NIKITA KHRUSHCHEV ASCENDED TO LEADERSHIP of the Soviet Union in 1953, following the death of the notorious dictator Josef Stalin. “The Big K” survived the inevitable political infighting that roiled the Politburo and the Kremlin in the wake of Stalin’s death by displaying an unsuspected talent for subtlety and ruthlessness. After more famous (or infamous) claimants such as Beria and Malenkov had been executed or shunted aside, the former peasant, metalworker, and party apparatchik from the Ukraine stood unchallenged atop the USSR’s government structure. His official title became First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union; in practical fact, he was the undisputed master of one of the two most powerful countries in the world. Khrushchev liked to gamble, and with the true gambler’s passion he generally entered a game confident that he would win. But Khrushchev was also a very insecure man, prone to fretful worrying, and like any gambler who did not immediately see the results of his bet, he became more and more fearful as events unfolded, and the likelihood of a winning bet slowly withered away. Volatile and 279 280 | Douglas Niles unpredictable, Khrushchev could shift from effusive good humor and bonhomie to morose depression seemingly at the drop of a hat. At the beginning of 1962, most of Khrushchev’s gambles had come up lucky sevens. In 1957 the Soviets launched the Sputnik satellite, first of its kind, awing and frightening the Americans and the rest of the world with this dramatic display of advanced Soviet rocket technology. Then, early in 1959, the Communist Bloc gained its first ally in the Western hemisphere when the fiery Fidel Castro overthrew Cuba’s dictator “Juan” Batista and installed himself and his brother as the new, properly socialist, leaders of that country barely 90 miles from the USA. Khrushchev hastened to embrace this newest star in the Communist cosmos. Then in 1960 the Soviet chairman humiliated his rival throughout the 1950s, American President Dwight Eisenhower, exposing him in an outright lie when the Soviets produced captured U2 spy plane pilot and CIA operative Francis Gary Powers—after Ike had claimed that the man, and his aircraft, had never existed. In fact, Soviet rocket scientists had developed the SA-2 antiaircraft rocket, and it stunned the world by shooting down an aircraft some 70,000’ in the air. American embarrassment was amplified a year later when the new President, John F. Kennedy, was forced to acknowledge CIA complicity in a poorly planned and executed mission to land anti- Castro rebels in Cuba at the Bay of Pigs. The Americans tried at first to deny involvement in that fiasco, but the world knew better. All the rebels were killed or captured within hours of the invasion, and American prestige sank to a new postwar low. Later in 1961 Khrushchev came up with a startling strategy that seemed to solve the vexing problem of Berlin. The German city was a perpetually annoying thorn in the Soviets’ side, located as it was in Communist East Germany yet garrisoned by American, British, and French troops, under the auspices of the treaty that had ended World War 2 in Europe. Postwar Berlin allowed a continual flow of refugees to flee from East to West, a migration that was elsewhere prohibited by the sealed borders Winston Churchill had famously termed the Iron Curtain. Obviously, the fact that so many workers were eager to flee the Communist “Workers’ Paradise” gave the lie to the Soviet’s propaganda, an unacceptable and embarrassing circumstance that could not be allowed to continue. “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 281

Khrushchev solved his Berlin problem with another daring gamble: he ordered the intra-city border in Germany’s capital to be suddenly and immediately sealed. This boundary, which would grow into the Berlin Wall, was established over one night, splitting families and separating workers from their jobs between dusk and dawn. Surprisingly enough, the barrier and its garrison of heavily armed guards solved Khrushchev’s problem by almost completely closing off the flow of refugees escaping to the west. Enhancing Soviet prestige, the NATO forces made no overt move to prevent the barrier from rising. By the beginning of 1962, however, one issue vexed the Soviet chairman far more than any other: an imbalance in the nuclear warfare capabilities between the USSR and the rival USA. The issue was the amazingly fast development of American supremacy in the nuclear arms race, which had heated up with dazzling speed. By 1962, the US could obliterate virtually any target in the Soviet Union with an intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM.) These powerful rockets could launched from US bases in the center of North America. Additionally, America’s newest solid fuel rockets lurked safely in underground silos, impervious to a first strike, fueled and ready for an immediate counterattack. The USSR, in turn, had very few such long-range rockets, and even those that existed were notoriously slow to fuel and unreliable to target. They stood fully exposed on less than a dozen above-ground launch pads, and because they used unstable liquid propellant they needed to be prepared for launch immediately before firing via a long, slow fueling process. Thus, their survival through the first hours of a nuclear exchange was very much in doubt. A new generation of Soviet ICBMs was in the works, but these rockets would not be operational until the mid 1960s. In the meantime, Khrushchev fretted and worried about the gap—even as he bombastically declared to the world that his country was turning out such missiles “like sausages.” True, the USSR was not without powerfully destructive nuclear weapons, but the Soviets had placed much more emphasis on short and medium range missiles. Based in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, these were a menace to Europe and Alaska, but presented no threat to the lower 48 states of America. The Soviets also relied on a whole host of battlefield 282 | Douglas Niles nukes, but these were of even lesser use in a multi-continent showdown. The solution to this dilemma came to the chairman during a springtime vacation along the coast of the Black Sea, in the form of another daring gamble. He knew that Castro feared an American invasion, and Khrushchev came up with a solution he could sell as beneficial to both countries: Cuba must allow the Soviet Union to use the island as a base for medium range and intermediate range ballistic missiles (MRBMs and IRBMs) which could reach targets throughout most of the United States. To further sweeten the deal, the Russians would throw in significant ground forces and more than 100 tactical nuclear weapons. The latter, established on Cuba, would be capable of destroying ships, invading forces, even the American base at Guantanamo Bay—which had long been an irritant to Cuban pride. Castro accepted the offer enthusiastically, and the result was a top secret plan code named Operation Anadyr. By July the plan was ready to begin. The operation would be concealed behind a veil of secrecy and misdirection, a tactic near and dear to the Soviet military known as maskirovka. The deception began with the name “Anadyr” itself, which was a river flowing from Siberia into the Arctic Ocean. Some of the more than 40,000 troops embarked for the mission were even equipped with parkas and ski equipment. The captains of the many ships transporting supplies and materiel to Cuba over the late summer and early autumn did not learn their destinations until they had traveled out of sight of land. Personnel included technicians, engineers, and rocket specialists, but also numbered many front line combat troops, including several motorized rifle regiments—the main unit of maneuver for Soviet Army ground warfare. They also included a number of SA-2 batteries, the same type of surface-to-air missile that had brought down Powers’ U2 in 1960. Some improved fighter aircraft of the Red Air Force were also deployed to Cuba, as was a squadron of short range bombers, some of which were capable of delivering nuclear bombs. The many battlefield nukes, including FROG self-propelled rocket launchers, were scattered among the Soviet military units. The Soviet soldiers who landed in Cuba did not wear uniforms; instead, they wore standard workman’s garb and were described simply as foreign laborers. Several Soviet navy submarines were also “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 283

dispatched to the Western Atlantic Ocean. As in long range rocketry, the Soviets lagged considerably behind the Americans in submarine technology, so they did not have nuclear powered missile-launching submarines operational in autumn of 1962. Nevertheless, the diesel powered “boats” were relatively modern vessels of the Foxtrot class, and in addition to normal armament each carried a single anti-ship torpedo armed with a 10 kiloton nuclear warhead—a warhead almost as powerful as the atomic bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of World War 2. Secrecy was maintained fairly well, considering the magnitude of the deployment. Even so, large cargo such as patrol boats and tactical bombers, though concealed in crates, had to be carried on the decks of cargo ships, and were subject to NATO aerial surveillance. In Cuba, roads had to be widened so that the huge, rocket-hauling trucks could make their way along the island’s third-world highway network, and sometimes buildings and other obstacles had to be bulldozed just so the vehicles could make tight turns. Word of this

Photograph of Cuban missile site taken by U-2 spyplane, October 14, 1962 284 | Douglas Niles movement gradually leaked out through the island’s extensive network of political refugees. Near the end of August a spyplane overflying Cuba captured images of SA-2 sites under construction. The “star” pattern of the anti-aircraft missiles mirrored the layout of bases in the Soviet Union where the SAMs protected ballistic missile launch sites. The new director of the CIA, John McCone, began to urge more recon flights over the island. The President was reluctant, however—not just because of the CIA U2 shot down in 1960, but also because a U2 had accidentally overflown the Soviet peninsula of Kamchatka very recently, an incident for which the US apologized, and a Taiwanese operated U2 had also been shot down over Red China, presumably by an SA-2. During September, the diplomatic war heated up, with the Americans warning the USSR that any Soviet offensive weapons placed in Cuba would be considered an act of war. The Russian replied with the claim that they were only sending defensive weapons systems to Cuba, and that any American attack against the island would place the US on a war status versus the Soviet Union. Still the rumors and reports continued, while Kennedy’s political foes began to accuse him of timidity. By early October the President decided that the flights needed to resume, but then bad weather—cloudy skies over Cuba—prevented the missions from flying for more than a week. Finally, on October 14, 1962, the clouds broke up enough to allow for observation, and a U2 prepared to take off on a mission that would commence the most dangerous crisis of the Cold War. Given the potential for hostile action, this flight—and all subsequent spyplane missions over Cuba —would be flown by United States Air Force pilots, not agents of the CIA. At about 2:30 AM (PST), Major Richard Heyser took off in a U-2 spyplane from Edwards AFB, in California. By 7:30 AM (EST) he was 70,000' in the air, just south of the western end of Cuba. It took him 12 minutes to cross the island from south to north, passing over the San Cristobal area (where exiles had reported those long, mysterious trailers, and the SA-2 sites had been previously spotted.) Shortly thereafter he landed at McCoy AFB Florida, near Orlando, which was a sleepy little backwater town in '62. “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 285

From there, some of the film was flown to SAC headquarters in Omaha, where Air Force intelligence specialists would develop and scrutinize them. The most detailed images, 18" x 18" negatives from the main camera, were flown to the Naval Photo laboratory in D.C., which had high speed processing capabilities. By midnight, much of the film had been developed and printed, readied for the delivery to the National Photographic Interpretation Center (NPIC.) Several hours before dawn on this Monday a courier brought the pictures to the NPIC, which was located in a dilapidated neighborhood of Washington DC, on the second floor above a run- down car dealership. The humble facade concealed the most advanced photo analysis lab in the world. A team of civilian and military analysts studied the pictures for more than twelve hours. Using data already gathered from spies, public Soviet displays, and earlier photo recon flights over Russia, the men at NPIC made measurements of long cylinders and analyzed the other equipment— such as fueling trucks and storage sheds—found on the sites. By the end of the day, the analysts confirmed that Soviet strategic missiles were being installed in Cuba. That evening NPIC director, Art Lundahl, called JFK's National Security Advisor, McGeorge Bundy, to report the findings. Lundahl was told to prepare for detailed briefings at the White House, to begin Tuesday morning, October 16. That day would become the first of the "Thirteen Days" Bobby Kennedy referred to in the title of his book about the Cuban Missile Crisis—the day the Kennedy administration learned of the presence of strategic nuclear rockets on Cuba. NPIC Director Lundahl brought his photos and briefing boards to the White House and spent the morning informing the National Security Advisor, McGeorge Bundy, the Attorney General, Robert F. Kennedy, and others of his agency’s findings. At noon, the President convened a meeting of what came to be known as the Executive Committee for National Security (ExComm) and listened as Lundahl told him about the missile sites. Like the others in the room, Kennedy was furious at the revelations; he felt personally betrayed by the Soviets, who had so blatantly lied through the diplomatic exchanges of September. Still, JFK resisted the general consensus in the room, which was to immediately order the USAF to bomb the sites into smithereens with 286 | Douglas Niles conventional, not nuclear, munitions. Even at the beginning of the crisis, Kennedy sought a way to stall for time. (As a side note, and unbeknownst to almost everyone, JFK had ordered a recording system to be installed in the Cabinet room. As a result, virtually all ExComm meetings were recorded; these recording were released to researchers and the public only in the last decade or so. While many people think that Richard Nixon was the first president to tape White House conversations, the practice went back to FDR. The biggest difference between Nixon's system and those of his predecessors was that the Nixon system was fully automatic, and earlier systems were turned on and off at the President's discretion.) After two meetings on Tuesday, October 16, ExComm met early on October 17 without JFK being present. Pictures from two more U-2 missions came in, and 5 strategic missile sites were now identified. The Joint Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon prepared a list of targets to be bombed in a surprise attack, but both Kennedy brothers, as well as others in ExComm, had begun to draw

Briefing slide for ExComm meeting “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 287 uncomfortable parallels between a surprise air raid on Cuba and the Pearl Harbor attack twenty-one years earlier. As this was the height of the campaign season for midterm elections, the President continued to maintain a normal schedule of public appearances, though he was thoroughly briefed about the day's ExComm meetings. The Soviets expected to have some of the missile sites operational within about a week, and did not yet suspect that the Americans had discovered them. Castro remained elated at the thought of his small nation’s suddenly massive military capability, and Khrushchev chortled as he imagined American consternation when—after they were fully operational—the missiles would be revealed to the world. On Thursday, October 18, President Kennedy hosted Soviet Ambassador to the United States Анатолий Добрынин (Anatoly Dobrynin) and Soviet Foreign Minister Андре́й Громы́ко (Andrei Gromyko, often referred to as "Mr. Nyet" by Western critics), along with Gromyko's deputy Vladimir Semenov, at a long-planned meeting in the Oval Office. Although Cuba was not on the agenda, JFK had photos of the missile bases on his desk, and planned to produce them if he could catch one of the Soviets in an outright lie. However, Gromyko was argumentative and critical of American policy in general, talking in circles and refusing to discuss Cuba. Dobrynin, we now know, had been kept in the dark about the missiles, so offered nothing on the topic either. As a result, JFK decided to hold on to the secret for a few more days before revealing the degree of his knowledge to the Soviets. On Friday, October 19, President Kennedy met with the Joint Chiefs of Staff (the four heads of the US military branches) for the only time during the crisis. While the Executive Committee for National Security (ExComm), the White House executive group managing the crisis, had begun leaning toward a "blockade Cuba" option, the Joint Chiefs argued for immediate airstrikes against the missile sites. The chairman of the JCS was General Maxwell Taylor, a hero of World War 2 who had lead a paratroop division into Normandy on D-Day. He was a thoughtful veteran who had written a controversial book, The Uncertain Trumpet, that had captured JFK’s attention. Serving first as a White House aid, Taylor had been personally appointed JCS chairman by the President. Consequently, he was not 288 | Douglas Niles entirely trusted by his military subordinates. Nevertheless, though he attended this meeting of the Chiefs, he let the other military men do the talking. They did so bluntly. None of them approved of the blockade; they were unanimously in favor of surprise attack airstrikes, with several urging an immediate invasion of Cuba quickly thereafter. Controversial Air Force Chief of Staff Curtis LeMay, who had taken the Strategic Air Command from a fledgling organization to the most powerfully destructive force the world had ever known, went so far as to tell JFK that a blockade was "appeasement, as bad as Chamberlain at Munich!" This was a hugely insulting remark, since it was well known that the President's father Joseph Kennedy's political career had ended in part because he supported Chamberlain's position of appeasing Hitler's aggression. LeMay went on to tell JFK that he was “in a pretty serious fix.” The President replied “You’re in it with me, personally!” which seemed to break some of the tension of the meeting. And despite their disagreements, there was never any indication that any of the military leaders would

Oval Office Meeting, October 18, 1962. From left to right: Vladimir Semenov, Soviet Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs; Anatoly Dobrynin, Soviet Ambassador to the United States; Andrei Gromyko, Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs; John F. Kennedy, President of the United States “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 289

do other than follow the commander-in-chief ’s orders as the crisis played out. Still, the recording system remained operating as the President had to depart to take a helicopter to Andrews Air Force Base. The Joint Chiefs were obviously disgruntled, with Commandant of the Marine Corps, General David Shoup, sounding especially bitter about the “piece meal” approach starting with a blockade. Apparently speaking to LeMay, a strong advocate of airstrikes, he barked “You’re screwed, screwed, screwed.”

Map showing range of Cuban missiles used during ExComm meetings on the Missile Crisis. Note that Oxford, Mississippi, is shown on the US map. When Bobby Kennedy, dealing with the integration crisis at the University of Mississippi, first heard of the missiles, he said, "What I want to know is whether these missiles can hit Oxford, Mississippi!" From that moment through the rest of the crisis, all CIA-prepared maps included Oxford — a rare moment of levity in the stressful days of the crisis. 290 | Douglas Niles

Despite the military opposition, and despite that fact that none of the Americans had begun to suspect the vast amount of tactical nuclear weaponry already in place on the island (a fact that later Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld might have termed “an unknown unknown”), the ExComm began to settle on a plan. After four long days of deliberation, the committee had agreed that a naval blockade of Cuba should be the first step of a series of sanctions intended to leverage the Soviet ballistic missiles out of Cuba. The Communists still did not know that the missiles had been discovered, nor was the American public yet aware of the crisis. But JFK could see that matters were coming to a head. Over the weekend, the plan would take its final shape. On Saturday, October 20, JFK was in Chicago on a campaign trip (supporting Democrats in the Senate and House who were up for midterm elections) since he had been maintaining the charade that there was no crisis going on. When he was needed in Washington to sign off on the final plan, Kennedy claimed that he'd caught a cold, and—much to the chagrin of powerful party boss Mayor Richard Daley— abruptly left for DC so that he could personally deal with the issue from here on out. On Sunday the President decided that he wanted one more meeting before making the final decision on whether to impose a blockade on Cuba, or whether to order airstrikes. General Walter Sweeney, commander of TAC (Tactical Air Command) at Langley AFB in Virginia, visited the White House to discuss the details of potential air attacks against Cuba. He could not assure JFK that 100% of the missiles could be destroyed from the air, creating a clear risk that one or more might be launched in the immediate wake of such a raid. Based on this information, the President made the decision to impose a naval blockade, which would be called a "quarantine" to make it sound less warlike. He also decided to address the nation via television the next day (Monday) making the hitherto secret crisis a matter of public knowledge for the first time. President Kennedy asked for an evening time slot for Monday, October 22, on all three television networks for an important speech on a matter of national security. Although Cuba had been in the news, most of the public was unaware of the subject for the speech, and speculation about Berlin and other topics ran rampant throughout the day. Much of the nation—almost certainly the largest “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 291 television audience in history as of that time—sat down to watch that night as JFK went on the air and announced to the world that offensive strategic rockets had been discovered on “that imprisoned isle.” He read the text prepared by his brilliant speechwriter, Ted Sorenson, speaking with the usual Kennedy eloquence, stating that “The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere.” Throughout the speech he took pains to mention that the whole New World, not just the United States, was affected by this deployment. He took time to address the people of Cuba, telling them that these missiles were not in their interests. He warned the Communist Bloc that any attack against any nation in the Americas originating from Cuba would be considered “as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response” against the USSR. He concluded: “Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right—not peace at the expense of freedom, but both peace and freedom, here in this hemisphere and, we hope, around the world. God willing, that goal would be achieved.” The Missile Crisis was now a public story, and awareness of the threat sent shockwaves through the US and the world. The US state of military alert was immediately raised from the peacetime standard, DEFCON 4, to DEFCON 3, which commenced preparations for war. The President’s speech was translated into Spanish and broadcast live from some twelve radio and TV stations in Florida. As soon as JFK finished, Fidel Castro ordered a complete mobilization of his reserves, then went to the office of his favorite newspaper and literally dictated the story for the next day's front page. By Tuesday morning, the population of the entire island was digging in, prepared for an invasion they expected any day. There was no response to Kennedy's speech from Moscow, however. Nor was there a “hot line” between the White House and the Kremlin at that time; one of the effects of the Crisis would be to establish secure, dependable communications between the two powers. The president signed Proclamation 3504 on Tuesday, October 23 authorizing the quarantine of Cuba. The United States Navy moved ships into position to enforce the quarantine, which was set to go into effect Wednesday morning, October 24. 292 | Douglas Niles

On the morning of that Wednesday, the President and the other members of ExComm met in the White House to wait for the 10:00 AM deadline, when the blockade of offensive arms shipments to Cuba would begin. There still had been no word from the Kremlin in response to Kennedy's challenge. Also on October 24 the alert level was raised again, this time to DEFCON 2, the only level short of actual war. Massive B-52 bombers were on airborne alert throughout the world, taking up positions within striking distance of the Soviet Union; shorter range B-47 medium bombers were being dispersed to various airfields and readied for rapid takeoff. Nearly 150 ICBMs were raised to ready alert, with another 160 nuclear- armed interceptors ready for immediate scrambling. At sea, US Navy ships had taken up positions along the quarantine line, approximately 800 miles from Cuba. The cruiser USS Newport News was designated as the flagship for the blockade. Then came reports from Navy recon aircraft over the Atlantic: a number of Soviet ships had stopped "dead in the water" while at least one turned around and headed back toward home. For the first time in more than a week, a hint of celebration was allowed. But with missile bases approaching completion on Cuba, the matter remained very much unresolved. That evening, the Soviet news agency TASS broadcast a telegram from Nikita Khrushchev to JFK warning that the United States' “outright piracy” would lead to war. However, at 10:52pm EST, a private telegram arrived from the Kremlin. This note was more conciliatory, and seemed to indicate that the Soviet chairman might be preparing to back down. On Thursday, October 25, as Castro prepared to defend his island and Khrushchev contemplated removing the missiles from Cuba altogether, United States Ambassador to the United Nations Adlai Stevenson addressed the UN Security Council about the crisis. Stevenson was one of the few influential American leaders who favored solving the crisis through negotiation; he was a loner in that he feared JFK was too willing to go to war. Nonetheless, he spoke sternly against a backdrop of aerial recon photos of the missile sites, asking Soviet Ambassador Valerian Zornin frankly if his earlier assertion that there were no Soviet offensive weapons in Cuba was true. When Zornin stalled instead of answering Stevenson's challenge, the US ambassador famously declared that he was “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 293

A US Navy Lockheed P-2H Neptune flies over a Soviet freighter during the Cuban quarantine prepared to wait “until Hell freezes over” to get a reply. In reality, he knew that time was running out: A US invasion of the island was tentatively scheduled for October 30. Despite these few encouraging developments, the CIA reported that Cuba was continuing to work on the missiles without interruption. Some, the shorter range MRBMs, would be ready for launch almost immediately, reportedly placing the Southeastern US as far north as Washington DC and as far west as Dallas under threat of immediate destruction. (Later, we would learn that these missiles actually had a longer range than the CIA knew at the time; in fact the MRBMs could have reached New York and Omaha.) At the same time, 14 Soviet cargo ships about to enter the quarantine zone turned around and started home. But the diplomatic process was thrown for a loop when a public declaration from the USSR demanded that the US withdrew its own medium range Jupiter missiles from Turkey. This contradicted Khrushchev’s personal telegram, and led ExComm to speculate that the chairman had been the victim of a coup. In reality, Khrushchev was frantic from stress, desperate for a way out of the crisis. The confusion 294 | Douglas Niles apparently resulted from the fact that the second message to be written was actually received before the first was broadcast. By Friday, October 26, 1962, events in the Cuban Missile Crisis were coming to a boil. In Washington, at the ExComm meeting that morning, JFK told the committee that he believed only an invasion would remove the missiles from Cuba, but agreed to continue both diplomatic and military pressure. Low-level US flights over Cuba escalated from twice a day to every two hours, the photo recon planes often dodging local antiaircraft fire. Also, a Soviet spy had lunch with reporter John Scali of ABC News and asked him to find out if the US was interested in a diplomatic solution. In Cuba Fidel Castro remained convinced that the US was about to launch a bombing campaign and almost certainly an invasion against Cuba. He rallied his people with stirring broadcast speeches and newspaper articles. Privately, he went to the Soviet embassy and drafted a personal letter to Chairman Khrushchev—a letter that seemed to urge the USSR to consider launching an immediate preemptive nuclear strike against the USA. In Russia Khrushchev, who was already seeking a way to defuse the crisis, was horrified by his volatile ally's request, and continued in secret negotiations with the American government. He wrote a long, personal message to JFK, which arrived in Washington in the early evening. Analysts studied the letter long into the night, seeking a lever that would allow both sides to back down and still save face. Saturday, October 27, 1962, is widely considered the most dangerous day of the crisis. No less than three separate incidents could have sparked a nuclear war: In the first, a U2 based in Alaska on a routine mission to the North Pole (to collect air samples for radioactive analysis) flew off course while returning home. The error took the plane over Russia, which could have been interpreted as the start of a nuclear bombing attack. The Soviets scrambled MiG fighters with orders to shoot down the intruder, as the American pilot discovered his error and quicky turned east, toward home. Meanwhile, two USAF fighters also scrambled to protect the U2, and each of these fighters was equipped with a nuclear-tipped air-to-air missile—that is, a nuclear weapon designed to shoot down a single enemy aircraft! Fortunately, the unarmed spyplane made it back to American airspace before a clash between the fighters occurred. Shaking his head over the nearly “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 295 disastrous flight, Kennedy declared “There’s always some sonofabitch who doesn’t get the message!” In midmorning of that “Black Saturday,” a Soviet SAM shot down a U2 over Cuba and killed the pilot, Major Rudolf Anderson, who would become the lone combat fatality of the crisis. His plane was first reported as “overdue” and it gradually became apparent that it had been shot down. This seemed to ExComm to be a major escalation of the crisis by the Soviet high command, and once again pressure to launch airstrikes against Cuba increased. (Only well after the crisis was it learned that the decision to fire the SAM had been taken by the battery commander on the site, and had not been ordered from on high.) Finally, and perhaps most dangerously Soviet submarine B59 was under intense pressure from USN destroyers, who were dropping “practice” depth charges to try and harass the sub into surfacing. Operating in a high temperature, low oxygen environment, after miserable weeks of cramped conditions on the longest submarine voyage ever made by the Soviet Navy, the captain lost control of his temper. Furious with the USN ships trying to force him to surface, he ordered his nuclear-armed torpedo loaded into the firing tube and prepared for launch. Only the intervention of his second in command (who was, oddly enough, also the squadron commander for all the subs deployed for Anadyr) prevented the launch of the torpedo, which could have annihilated several American ships in an atomic blast. Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, like most members of ExComm, was completely worn out from stress, and returned to the Pentagon to sleep in his office overnight. Watching the sun set, he realized that he wasn't certain that he — or the city — would be there in the morning. And yet by dawn on Sunday, October 28, the real showdown of the Cuban Missile Crisis had passed. The Soviets announced in a radio broadcast at 9:00 EST that the missiles would be withdrawn from Cuba. The crux of an agreement had been reached diplomatically, with JFK agreeing that the US would remove the batteries of (thoroughly obsolete) Jupiter medium range ballistic (MRB) missiles from Turkey. In exchange, the Soviets would remove their weapons from Cuba. 296 | Douglas Niles

Kennedy also insisted upon — and got — a promise from Khrushchev to keep the deal a secret, which led the world to conclude that the USA had emerged completely victorious from a very dangerous showdown. In fact, the crisis was the deadliest episode of the Cold War, but it wasn't until after the collapse of the USSR and the revelation of previously classified materials in the 1990s that we learned just how close to nuclear war both sides had come. The real danger, it turned out, was not that the heads of state would unleash atomic devastation upon each other, but that much lower ranking officers, who had the practical authority to use their nuclear weapons, would have done so upon minimal, or even accidental, provocation. Secretary of State Sean Rusk summed up the crisis for history when he reflected upon a childhood game of showdown, saying: “We were eyeball to eyeball, and the other fellow blinked.”

A US Navy P5M Marlin overlies a Foxtrot-class submarine. The destroyer Charles B. Cecil (DDR-835) is in the background. “...And the Other Fellow Blinked” | 297

However the outcome is described—and the true nature of the world’s narrow escape is still coming slowly to light—Planet Earth had dodged a very deadly bullet, indeed.

n

Additional Information

Much additional information, including a day-by-day account of the “Thirteen Days,” letters between Kennedy and Khrushchev, transcripts of Kennedy’s speech, and links to the actual ExComm tapes (now declassified and available for listening) can be found in Doug’s series on the Dobson’s Improbable History blog (improbhistory.blogspot.com). Search for the tag “Cuban Missile Crisis.”

US President John F. Kennedy (left) and Secretary of Defense Robert S. MacNamara (right), ExComm meeting

Random Jottings on Random Jottings (letters) Random Jottings on Random Jottings 9 (Letters)

Letters in alphabetical order; my comments in italics.

Greg Benford

Beautiful issue, loved Steffan's back cover, surprised Ted Chiang didn't like it. Your path through trufandom oddly parallels that of me and Jim: Alabama, southern fandom, brash fanzines like Void, Ted White... Yet different destinies: you games & DC, we physics and California. I learned to write in fmz, which forgave my clotted prose, so I emitted my first half a megaword where no pro could see it. Though Ted White bought my early fiction & nonfiction (after I'd broken in at F&SF) and Terry Carr put an early social sf of mine in his 1971 Best of the Year—a real boost. Fandom helped then; not sure it does much now. Maybe newbie writers can practice on the internet? Would explain some of the flame wars there.

[email protected]

Jim Benford

I got Random Jottings number 9 yesterday, the 'My Brilliant Fannish Career' issue. It's the best Random Jottings I have seen! I particularly liked your continuing series of “My Brilliant Fannish Career” pieces, which gave me a very interesting picture of your development and life. You were drawn to science fiction in much the way I was at an early age. I wonder: did the the other genres of the time had fans develop in a similar way? Did the westerns, mysteries, romance fans feel driven to express themselves through clubs, conventions, fanzines?

299 300 | Random Jottings 10

Not that I know of. If that's the case, then what is there about SF that makes some of the readers gravitate toward fan activities? I don't know the answers to the these questions but they certainly were raised by your intriguing autobiography. There are a lot of interesting pieces in Sanskrit, and of course the “Watergate Redux” is an interesting look back at an era most people don't remember anymore. I'm proud to say that I never voted for Nixon!

[email protected] You’re right that it’s interesting other genres didn’t seem to develop equivalents of our fandom. Mysteries come closest, I think. There’s comics fandom, of course, but that originated as an offshoot of ours. I don’t know why that is, either. I also didn’t vote for Nixon, which I suppose is fairly obvious.

John D. Berry

I got it too (thanks!) and was fantisted by the experience of rereading (well, re-skimming) the first issue, reproduced in this format but clearly redolent of the freshly mimeo’d pages typed on a manual typewriter. Reading about Midwescons in 1969 and 1970 certainly took me back; was that where we first met? (I was at the 1968, 1969, and 1970 Midwescons, all at the North Plaza hotel outside Cincinnati.) Interesting that neither I nor most of the Fanoclasts show up in Jodie Offutt’s conreport, though we must have interacted during the con. (How could we not? It was so small that everyone knew everyone.) I think it was the 1968 Midwescon where I was on a cross- country drive and had been playing cat & mouse with a front of thunderstorms and tornadoes ever since leaving Boulder. I got ahead of the storm once I got into Missouri (did I stop with Ray & Joyce Fisher in St. Louis?), but I remember that the day I left Cincinnati at the end of the con, a lightning bolt struck the lightning rod on top of the motel just as I was getting in the car. I took this as a sign that it was time to move on.

[email protected] Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 301

As I mentioned, I was quite shy around fans, especially godlike BNFs like you. Although I knew who you were, of course, we didn't actually interact until the George Senda Bubonicon in 1972, after which we had that Driveaway adventure through the Southwest, leading to us being stranded in Phoenix during a sandstorm.

William Breiding

I’ve been reading through, and enjoying, the small stack of fanzines accrued at Corflu 31: Jiant 2, Flag 15, SAM 16, Inca 10, Random Jottings 9, Fanthology 2013. And also the ones picked up at auction: 15 issues of YHOS (edited with great vigor by R Twidner), Mentor 21 (thought I was getting Aussie sercon instead got fan fiction, i.e., fiction by fans), and Fancy 2 (finally, even if it is a photocopy). When I decided to go to Corflu I told my friend Anne. We had previously made a go at a relationship that hadn’t worked out, but with both of us being Californians stranded in the cultural desert of West Virginia, we have remained friends. (We are both from the region but both of us had spent our adult lives in the Bay Area.) Anne is a complete mundane. She would be insulted by that statement not understanding its fannish context. Before she met me sf was bad TV, and silly, loud, often violent movies. She was flabbergasted by my admittedly humble sf collection (two bookshelves, 3'x6' each, plus about six board feet of sf-related nonfiction). Being of the nosy sort Anne has been known to leaf through my mail. She frowned quizzically whenever she came to a fanzine, asking “what is this?” while holding her nose. I tried to explain and showed her a copy of Robert Lichtman’s Trap Door with one of my personal essays in it. She was only mildly impressed. I suppose that’s the appropriate response. When I announced to Anne that I was going to Richmond to attend a small science fiction convention and visit with old friends there she wanted a thorough explanation. She was skeptical. I think she believed I would be off on an exotic tryst with a gorgeous woman. But I continued chatting up the idea of fanzines, old friends, propellor beanies, and con-suite parties. She was never entirely convinced of Corflu’s veracity. I encouraged her to google “corflu”. I don’t know that she ever did. 302 | Random Jottings 10

When I returned from Corflu 31 I think she finally believed that I’d attended a convention, rather than an assignation with high octane sex, when she saw that pretty name badge and I began entertaining her with stories of Nic Farey’s antics and insults. When Anne saw the cover of Join Together 3, the program booklet for Corflu 31, she giggled and said, “Is this what everyone looked like?” The cover, as you may recall, is one of Ray Nelson’s archetypal fans in a propeller beanie, in living color. I nodded. “Pretty much,” I said. Anne laughed out right. Later, I was busy in the kitchen making a salad for us. I noticed it had become silent in the living room. I stuck my head in to see what was going on. Anne had her nose stuck in Random Jottings 9 and didn’t notice me. “Have you suddenly become a fanzine fan?” I asked, dubiously. Anne glanced up from Random Jottings 9 and said, “But this is such an attractive magazine.” “So if it’s pretty you’ll pay attention to it?” Anne gave me a lopsided grin. “I told you I was looksist when we first met. Is the editor cute?” At this point I have to interrupt our narrative to explain that word up there. Back in the 1970s I was at a Worldcon hanging out with Avedon Carol. That was when I first heard this word. Avedon confessed that she was “looksist;” one who is looksist has a bias towards those who are cute, pretty, handsome, considered physically attractive. I found the term to be humorous and appropriate and “looksist” has become a part of my personal lexicon. When I first met Anne she also confessed that she was biased towards attractive people, of which there are few in this area, West Virginia being in a race with Mississippi for first place in obesity among the fifty states. That’s when I said, “so you’re looksist.” She got it immediately. When Anne asked, “Is the editor cute?” my response was unequivocal. “Yeah, he was one of the more attractive people at the convention. He has a cool haircut. The picture on page 30? He’s clean-shaven now, and he’s actually better looking than he was in 1971.” Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 303

“That happens sometimes,” Anne said. “Some people get better looking with age.” She peered at the photo. “He has a nice body.” “Anne, you can barely see his body.” “Still, you can tell he’s tall and slender. That counts.” “That’s true,” I said, “and he still is. And he wasn’t wearing glasses.” “A smart man,” Anne said, “to lose the beard and glasses.” She stuck her nose back into your fanzine and I went back to making our salad. What I found most fascinating about that photo on page 30 was that Lisa Tuttle was sitting next to you. I hadn’t the faintest inkling Lisa Tuttle was fannish, let alone pedigreed enough to join SLAN- apa. The photo itself is one hell of a roster of (to me) WKFs of the Seventies, except that I’d never heard of Michael Dobson. Michael Dobson was just a mysterious name that began popping up on Corflu registration lists. I assumed he must be some revenant risen from the Glades of Gafia to haunt the Old Pharts and Greybeards. I was unaware of Random Jottings as no one in the limited print fanzines I receive had mentioned it, and I do not graze at efanzines.com. So thank you, Michael, for Random Jottings 9. As Anne noted, it’s an attractive magazine. I found the account of your brilliant fannish career to be quite interesting. I stumbled into fandom in 1973 and went through a period of crifanac and burnout, and was well gafiated by 1980 (with the exception of socializing with San Francisco Punk Fandom and attending the occasional convention). Even in the ’70s fanzine fandom had grown large enough that our paths never crossed; omni-fan Jody Offutt wrote for both of our fanzines, though, so there was that tenuous connection that never strengthened, alas. When I saw all of the Nixon-related stuff and noted it was merely supplemental to Random Jottings 8 I said to Anne, “Apparently Michael Dobson is obsessed with Nixon–this is just a supplement to the last issue. Weird!” Anne, in her wisdom, replied, “For some people Watergate was a formative experience; Nixon’s betrayals and crimes was a loss of innocence, even worse than JFK’s assassination. I totally get it. 304 | Random Jottings 10

Though I didn’t know he’d applied to be an FBI agent. Now that’s weird!” I nodded, remembering at the time of Nixon’s resignation speech I was passing through Boston in a hippie van stoned out of my gourd, all of us cheering wildly. Earl Kemp. Hmn. Anne liked the repro of Linda Lovelace. Thanks, Michael, for a great read and a beautiful fanzine, and please, I beg of thee, put me on your mailing list. I rarely make it to a Corflu so unlikely to nab another from you in person. P.S.: You are making me daydream of pubbing my own ish with your tales at Corflu of how “cheap” it was to print of Random Jottings 9.

3507 N. Santa Rita Ave. #1, Tucson, AZ 85719 • [email protected] I actually still wear glasses, but they’re smallish. As far as the beard goes, it turned gray, so it had to go. As far as not knowing who Michael Dobson was, you’re hardly alone.

Bruce Gillespie

I could guess that Random Jottings 9 was great stuff from looking at the PDF version —but that’s the trouble with PDF versions. They sweep in, and they sort of look interesting, but they don’t have any of the impact of receiving the actual paper copy of a fanzine. I’m afraid Richard Nixon doesn’t ring the same bells to an Australian as he does to an American, which is why I haven’t read much of No 8. (This is despite the fact that the Watergate hearings were happening much of the time I was touring USA in 1973 -- the only time I saw any of them, though, was when I was staying with Roger and Judy Zelazny in Baltimore.) But No 9 relates to a fannish career, and I’m really looking forward to exploring this. I wish I had the money and time to do something equivalent with my own mother lode of fannish material, but that would involve an awful lot of scanning and/or OCRing, and I just feel like doing the next issue of Treasure or SFC instead. I’ll try to relate my own experience to yours. Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 305

We did meet at Corflu in 2005, didn’t we? I have a very strong visual impression associated with the name Michael Dobson, but this impression is of a person much younger than me. But there you are, in 1971, photographed with SLAN-Apa people, who also come from my own past, such as Jerry Lapidus (surely second from the right, seated, not third from the right), Ned Brooks (not sure if we’ve ever met, but have been corresponding for over 40 years), Mike Wood (a sad case), and the legendary Lisa Tuttle (never met, but Jerry Lapidus used to write about her all the time, and then she turned up in Britain and married Chris Priest for awhile). I didn’t get to Boston in 1971, but to Toronto in 1973. Will write more, or review gushingly in SFC or Treasure. It does seem a great wonder that a fanzine like Random Jottings 9 can still exist in a world seemingly dedicated to utter mediocrity and digital boredom.

gandc@pacific.net.au Yes, we did meet at the 2005 Corflu in San Francisco, fortunately before everyone got sick. And yes, I did mislabel the 1971 photo; I can tell the difference between Al Snider and Jerry Lapidus, but somehow typed the names backward.

Jerry Kaufman

Thanks for mailing the impressive Random Jottings 9. Too bad I couldn't save you postage by attending Corflu this year. Both front and back covers are brilliant, and I'd love to read the stories that inspired them. (I have read much by Ted Chiang, but not that particular item.) I enjoyed your random ramblings about your “career” — and recognized several names I haven't run across for many years. Lloyd Kropp rang a huge bell, but I had to talk to Suzle, and Google for photos and other data to bring back any context . I may have met him in Columbus, Ohio, as I went to Ohio State University, as Lloyd did. I might have his novel around here somewhere, and as I remain good friends with Sandra Miesel (although we only talk once a year or so) that's probably another way I knew Lloyd. Seeing Richard Nixon's application to the FBI tweaked my sense of wonder. I wonder what history would have been like if he became 306 | Random Jottings 10 an FBI agent. I suppose he would have concentrated on Communist infiltration, and on “fellow travelers.” Meanwhile, perhaps Nelson Rockefeller would have run against Kennedy and won the election. (And Suzle, along with her family, would have been able to stay in hotel much nearer to the Republican National Convention. Suzle's father was the mayor of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, and a Rockefeller supporter.) I don't remember if you sent me Random Jottings 1, but it still brought memories because its look and feel was so typical of the times - Connie Faddis art, lettering guide headings, Rotsler art, a Jodie Offutt con report, some of the usual suspects in the letter column. (Not me, though - I was gafiated at the time.) Thanks.

[email protected]

Jay Kinney

I received RJ #9 this last week and continue to be astonished by the professional quality of your “book-a-zine”.. What's the per copy cost on these? I recall it was astonishingly low for what one gets. Great covers and nicely designed interiors. My main misgiving is that it all looks so professional that a certain fannish funkiness is lost. I still hanker after the days of Twiltone, mimeos, and Royal typewriters.

[email protected] The printing cost was $2.24 an issue, plus another 60¢ (average) shipping and handling, depending on the size of the order. That’s cheaper than having it photocopied at FedEx Office. As far as fannish funkiness is concerned, I was always rubbish with mimeography, one of the reasons I didn’t Pub My Ish back in the day. It’s much nicer to avoid all the production hassles and just get a nice box in the mail—but that’s just me.

Tim Marion

Wanted to take this opportunity to thank you once again for your generosity and patience in keeping me on your mailing list. As a reward, you are now the proud recipient of that elusive beastie, valuable only due to its rarity, a Tim Marion loc. Or at least, it’s rare Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 307 nowadays. Long since gone is the farcical ambition I announced in my only previous loc that I was going to replace Lloyd Penney as fandom’s premiere letterhack. Back in the early 1970s, I used to receive loads of locs with almost that exact same preamble. But nowadays, if I bother to publish at all, I get hardly any response. But doing a zine yourself, you know how that is, judging by how few letters even as attractive a zine as yours gets. Speaking of which, very nice cover and presentation; you must have spent a lot of money printing this. The color covers look like they are more up to the quality of a graphic novel than a fanzine. The front cover, in particular, looks particularly nostalgic for an imaginary, proto-Victorian era of steampunk-powered jet helicopters. With that wide spine your zines now have, you might want to consider some sort of writing there, saying, basically "Random Jottings #[whatever], [month][year]" like on the cover. It's not necessary, of course, but I'm just saying you might consider that extra touch if it isn't too expensive. Very kind of you, really, to reprint Random Jottings #1, as that is the only issue I’m missing. In my collection of fanzine collections, I recall that I have the first two issues of Avernus but am sure I have not read them. Despite the antiquity of the zine (Random Jottings #1), it’s very well laid-out and greatly enhanced by the adornments by Bill Rotsler. Reading thru old fanzines always makes me very sad for those friends who are no longer with us, as well as the loss of those whom I will never meet. Speaking of which, there is a letter from good ol’ Harry Warner Jr. (whom I actually did meet once), discussing TV shows which were popular with fans back then and which I still occasionally watch. Only recently (in the last few years) I wrote an article on The Prisoner for Science Fiction Commentary, and now, at the beginning of 2015, I am slowly ploughing thru the sixth and final season of The Saint (some episodes seen before, of course) from 1969. I have owned a small set of The Saint paperbacks by Leslie Charteris not once but twice. Each time, I sadly came to the realization that I would never have time to read them, and eventually I either traded or gave them away. I admit I am a little regretful of that now, but doubt, considering how much I enjoy the Roger Moore series, that I would care for the 308 | Random Jottings 10 characterization of The Saint in the novels, which I understand is different. Moreover, the entire milieu is different. Part of the charm of The Saint TV series is that it’s set in the mod, swinging middle and late 60s. The books are more about a pulp-era hero. How prestigious of you to have a letter from Charteris on your article! And how kind of him to write and show an interest, I’m thinking. Thanks to old fanzines, and thanks to syndication and such networks as MeTV, Harry Warner and The Saint are still with us. (And we need them now more than ever…) Thanks for this time traveling experience, Michael! In toto, these letters make me want to read that second issue of Avernus! Perhaps I’ll dig it out and send you a loc on that as well… The last line of Random Jottings #1: “There will be a next issue, inevitably.” And right you were, of course! You even beat out my record of 27 years between issues of So It Goes. It was all of 34 years for you between issues, which is surely some kind of record! “An Amazing Coincidence” — how sad that so many otherwise professional people had/have such an extreme dislike and resentment of Ted White that they eagerly jumped on a bandwagon and labeled him a “drug dealer” (seemingly in perpetuity) merely because he mistakenly sold cannabis to someone whom he did not know was a minor. Such people make themselves look bad by bandying about that “drug dealer” label, not Ted. “Bring Me the Heat of Sharyn McCrumb!” — mighod, that sounds hot! (Well, that’s what it says on the Contents page; don’t blame me…) Especially considering you are (amongst other things) reviewing her book, Bimbos of the Death Sun. It’s a wonder my copy of the zine didn’t spontaneously combust upon reading… “Life in Greater Falls Church” — Maybe others will point this out, but the WorldCon in 1974 was DisCon 2, not 4. While “The Demolished Fan” is a good piece, it’s almost discouraging seeing it again. I mean, I enjoyed it originally in Mota. Then, a year or so later, you contributed it to SLAN-apa. Now all these years later you’re reprinting it again… Oh well, may as well read it again, since I don’t have that good a memory of the contents. And it’s not like you haven’t written plenty of other stuff in the meantime. Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 309

And it's nice to see it all laid-out in the snappy new computer typeface, as opposed to seeing it again in the 10-pitch Courier font of Terry Hughes's old typewriter. (See how familiar it is to me? I could even remember the typeface the article first had!) I'm actually glad I reread it, because the perspective of both nostalgia and age add considerable sauce and understanding of your dry humor and myth-making. I must confess the first time I read it I was probably reading too many fanzines, and thus impatiently plowed thru the material, not really respecting or appreciating it. Perhaps that's the problem I have with much “fannish” writing nowadays. Never thought I would do a complete flipflop and become sercon again, but I know what I enjoy reading and what I don't… Hey, you should know best, but I thought Eddie Ferrell insisted on calling himself “Good Time” Eddie Ferrell — where did this “Fast” Eddie Ferrell come from? An alternate universe? I definitely envy you for having originated in Charlotte fandom — from the outside at that time, you guys just seemed so ineffably fannish, including the little nicknames for everyone. Who else would buy a rubber stamp to post on outgoing Slan mailings, "Raunchy Pornography Enclosed!" (you, Michael!) during a time when Nixon was taking an impotent, disapproving glance at pornography and resulting censorship of movies and media seemed to be just around the corner? Who else could come up with “Fan-dumb!” (Edsmith). I also have a copy of Sanskrit, which I believe I acquired not thru my collecting fanzine collections but because you handed me a copy when I later visited you in D.C. I Michael Dobson, 1976 DisClave 310 | Random Jottings 10

DisClave 1976 Group SLAN-apa Photo. Standing: Jon Singer, Mike Wood, Ned Brooks, Michael Dobson. Sitting: Tim Marion, Nora Kozlosky (Michael’s girlfriend at the time), Doris Beetem the Elder, and Edsmith somehow got the impression it was something you had therefore done vocationally, not for a college. I caught up with you, after a several year gap, in 1976 at the DisClave. By that time, you were living in Maryland, I think, and working for the National Air & Space Museum in D.C. Here's another SLAN-apa Group Photo right back atcha. This is actually the “Smiling Variant” of the DisClave 1976 Group Slan Photo which I have only just discovered. All the ones which have been posted previously have us with relatively sober faces. Later that year, I attended a Steeleye Span concert in D.C. with a couple of guests whom I had immensely liked thru their fanzines, but Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 311 later, after much abused hospitality, came to regard as invincibly churlish. Just as I do now, I mismanaged my money, spent too much on breakfast, and was consequently stranded in D.C. on an extremely cold fall day, two days after having seen Span and a day after having visited Edsmith. You let me visit you at the museum and loaned me enough to finish the bus fare to get home. I can well understand your becoming a success at public speaking. You have a pleasant voice and a charming manner. That first time you visited Australia it sounds like you were busier than Beyoncé on tour! Well, Michael, I'm glad you have made such a success of your life. I may (or may not) have screwed up my life by electing not to finish college. Honestly, I was eager to get away from both academia and my parents. I came to New York City and, due to my typing proficiency, quickly got jobs as a temporary typist. This led to permanent jobs, which led to teaching myself word processing, which led to legal word processing, and now the bottom seems to have dropped out of that market and I am out of a job and penniless. Tons of word processors are now applying to whatever few positions open up, and for the most part, companies aren't hiring. And yes, to answer your future question, I have tried "reinventing" myself and no one but no one is at all interested. Allow me to quote you: “…thanks to fandom, I had places I could go; people I could see. I met many of my lifelong friends in fandom. I met people who were doing what I wanted to do, and started the long process of learning how to do it too. I went to parties, I visited museums, I heard music. I met girls who liked me back.” Great stuff, Michael. Very well put. In “First Fandom,” you mention your "then-best friend in fandom, J. Matthew Venable." Is this the New York fan who was also known as John Venable, who passed on 15+ years ago? Extremely amusing St. LouisCon report; your young, inebriated self obviously found a way to both party and rest at the same time! And you even made new friends in the process! Fascinating write-up on the origin of the Grit newspaper. I remember my mother's parents always used to have it around the apartment, after they moved to Newport News. I didn't quite 312 | Random Jottings 10 understand the appeal of it at such a young age, but I recall I did enjoy, and was frequently pleasantly mystified by, Henry the mum boy. Obviously you had quite an entrepreneurial bent at a very young age.

c/o Kleinbard, 266 East Broadway, Apt. 1201B, New York, New York, 10002 • [email protected]

As noted previously, production costs are astoundingly low. I could have put lettering on the spine, but it’s a bit iffy to get the placement exactly right and I didn’t want to take the risk. This issue is fat enough to get a spine, though. Yes, who would have thought that merely selling cannabis can result in someone being labeled a “drug dealer.” I am reminded of the guy who claimed he wasn’t a drug abuser. “I treat them very well,” he said. As far as The Saint goes, I read the books long before I saw the TV show, so my reaction is the opposite of yours. The early Saint stories (before Charteris began using ghost writers) are delightful, as if P. G. Wodehouse wrote adventure fiction. Yes, sadly there are more typos in this issue than I would have liked, from the mislabeling of Jerry Lapidus to leaving out a letter in “Heart.” It’s always a problem when you proofread your own stuff (love is blind, after all), but I’m sticking with the old story that typos mostly occur during the printing process. Edsmith and I always called Eddie Ferrell “Fast Eddie.” Ned Brooks called him “Good Time Eddie Filth,” from the 1969 musical Can Heironymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness? Eddie, I think, preferred “Good Time Eddie” over “Fast Eddie,” but nicknames are always given by other people. “Fan-dumb,” however, didn’t originate either with Edsmith or with me, but rather from someone whose name I don’t remember who was on the 1971 Pghlange trip with Lloyd Kropp,. Edsmith, and me. It was the punchline of a joke: “Why do science fiction fans drive hundreds of miles in the middle of the night to go to a convention?” “Fan-dumb!” You had to be there, I guess. I don’t think John Venable was the same person as J. Matthew Venable; who always went by Matt. He’s someone I sadly lost track of many years ago. The last I heard of him he was planning to move West. Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 313

Lloyd Penney

Myself, I am not sure I could ever do a fannish autobiography. I am sure I’d hear criticism about ego, and I’ve done more, and who the hell do you think YOU are? Also, I haven’t done a lot, but what I have done, I have done for a long time. I think we are always neofans because fandom seems to be as complex as anyone in it, and there is always a facet or niche of fandom we’ve yet to discover. And, we’re never slannish enough to not remember our neofannish days. A reminder every so often is what we need in case we start believing our own PR. There is always something new to learn. My own fannish beginnings were a little more modern, a combination of Mom bringing SF anthologies home from the library, and the family glued to the set to watch Star Trek on NBC. If people ask if I am a litfan or media fan, I usually say yes. I met fandom through a new Star Trek club forming on the west coast of Canada, but met much more of it by coming back to Toronto for school, and finding fandom by being invited to its biggest parties at the time. This is all in the early 80s, in case anyone is interested… I’d heard of Grit as a newspaper, but have never seen a copy, but if something like that had ever been established up here, I suspect it might have been considered something like a religious tract, like what the Jehovah’s Witnesses hand out, and promptly trashed. I fondly remember my two paper routes, and the fact I was able to make enough money to go to the weekly hockey games with a season’s pass. I don’t believe I’ve ever met Sharyn McCrumb, but mostly because I was going to Worldcons most years, and in many cases, I was the only Canadian fan around, I was asked several times if I was Walter Diefenbaker. I always said no, although I never got the chance to ask Ms. McCrumb if I might have found my way in there. I guess a wayward Canadian was the perfect protagonist in a convention full of thousands of crazy American fans. Great first issue in the back, and perhaps the best way to bring it back again, as part of the latest ish. You know, I couldn’t really make many comments on this issue because it is so personal and autobiographical. How do you comment on someone’s personal history? Looks like you had more pages than most first efforts, anyway, and you did have Rotsler cartoons… 314 | Random Jottings 10

You’ve gotten caught up, you’ve told your own fannish history, and you’ve updated your writings on Richard Nixon. What’s next? Let me know asap, and see you then.

1706-24 Eva Road, Etobicoke, Ontario CANADA M9C 2B2 • [email protected]

An autobiography is always about ego on some level, of course—not that there’s anything wrong with that. If someone enjoys the story, that’s all the justification you really need.

Alice Sanvito

What a nostalgic hit to see the facsimile of typewritten pages in the back. I was delighted to see Rostler's character. I always loved it and once embroidered it on a shirt which I wore for years. I loved what you said about (my words, not yours) that it's not enough to just show up smart, you have to bring something interesting to the table. I'm in a forum of very highly educated, very well-informed, mostly physical therapists/physiotherapists whose common interest is the clinical application of current pain science. It's an amazing group of people. I felt intimidated when I walked in. I don't even have a college education, having dropped out after one semester. Training for massage therapists is...well, as one said, when you measure your education in the number of classroom hours rather than years, you can't expect a high level of sophistication among your colleagues. Like you and fandom, in the beginning I was timid and saw these folks in an almost godlike position. I couldn't understand half of what they said, it was so far over my head. And now I am one of them and helping other massage therapists who are encountering high level discourse for the first time. Similar to fandom, the letters after your name don't matter nearly as much as what you contribute to the conversation, and I've finally come to realize I have something to contribute in spite of my lack of formal education. I usually read fiction before I go to bed at night, most often F&SF. Recently, I began reading The Sensitive Nervous System by David Butler. It's part of the canon of current pain science and he's brilliant, but I can only read about 2 pages a night and I've read the Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 315 last pages four times. I'm stuck on understanding ion channels and abnormal impulse generating sites on neurons. I should probably forget it and move on. As much as I love it, I need a break. Random Jottings will be that break. Thanks for sending me my new bedtime story.

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Paul Skelton

That cover by Harry Grant Dart was positively sumptuous. There is an almost photographic quality to the nacelle itself that puts one (well, this one anyway) in mind of Syd Mead. I note that it didn’t actually illustrate a story in that issue of All Story magazine, but was simply listed as a futuristic transport concept, or some such (though I can’t now find the reference). At first I was disappointed in that, having done such a superb job on the personal dirigible, he had apparently had a complete failure of the imagination when it came to the travellers’ outfits. As any fule kno, ladies in the future wear brass brassieres, short skirts with a short cape (‘cos they’re gurls), whilst all the men wear v-neck t-shirts, tights and a long manly cape. Then I realised that he’d probably deliberately kept the couple in the garb of the day in order to make the readers better able to envisage themselves as part of this future. It really is a fine piece of artwork in that it positively makes you want to get up there and fly that bloody thing. There is also a wistful sense of disappointment in that it never became reality. Having said all that it would seem positively churlish to admit my cavil when I came to the art credits to realise that it was a professional piece in the public domain that you had simply lifted from Wikimedia. “Couldn’t he find a fannish artist who was deserving of this magnificent repro?” I asked myself...though of course the whole point behind being a faned is that you can simply please yourself, and nobody can say you nay. Then of course came my relief upon reading the editorial, to discover that this of course had been your original intention and that your heart had been in the right place (in a jar in the cupboard, probably) all the time. In fact, given that you put him on from the subs bench, Harry served you 316 | Random Jottings 10 particularly well as it did make a far more dramatically impressive front cover than would have Dan’s piece. Actually the back cover didn’t really work for me. There seemed to be a rawness of line that made me think it had been reproduced at too large a size. It seemed to work fine in the more detailed sections of the piece but the character’s face seemed limned too simplistically, his blue eyes gazing vacantly off into space. This is I believe the first piece of Dan’s I’ve seen that’s been in full colour but this is certainly not the cause of my disappointment as the colouring seems to work very well. I can only attribute my lack of appreciation to his remarks that it “...owes something visually to the work of Leo and Diane Dillon”, as I was never a fan of their work. Still on the visual aspect of your zine I have to say that the reproduced cover of the first issue, both the art and graphics, struck me as very familiar. I was convinced I’d seen it before but on checking my records I do not have a copy. Perhaps I did once have one, but disposed of it in the great fanzine cull when Bill Bowers auctioned off about half my collection for me. Oddly, the name that sprang to mind when I saw it was ‘Lynn Hickman’, so I wonder if he once used a very similar cover drawing. That wouldn’t explain the familiarity of the graphics though.

[email protected]

There are problems with the back cover, but they aren’t Dan Steffan’s fault. One of the unbreakable CreateSpace production rules is that you can’t have any text in the UPC box. Unfortunately, his initials were there, and CreateSpace kept rejecting the file for that reason. Eventually, I had to enlarge the image enough to move the signature off the page, throwing off the design in the process. Dan and I were both unhappy with the outcome, but I was up against the deadline to have copies at Corflu and also traveling on business and that was the best I could do. The piece deserves a better presentation than I was able to give it, and I hope it sees the light of day elsewhere.

Edward R. “Edsmith” Smith

Thanks for the kind words. Don’t know about being well-read, etc. For the last few years my wife Ruth and I (we recently celebrated our 15th anniversary) have been studying (or in my case, not studying) French , including two (about to be three) trips to Paris. Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 317

After all this, the only thing I can say in French is Brigitte Bardot. So I can now confidently say I am illiterate in two languages. And yes, I can honestly say that there were two ex-Presidents at our wedding, John and John Quincy Adams, and their first ladies. Being interred in the basement of Quincy’s Church of the Presidents, they didn’t really have a lot to say, but we did offer tomb tours at our wedding, an unusual form of wedding party entertainment. The report of my death was somewhat exaggerated. But it was indeed virtually the end of my publishing career. I did do a couple of Xeroxed zines for small apas, but that was it. Of the Old Gang, I am still in almost-daily email contact with Harold Wilson. He and I exchange opinions on classical music, movies, books and other Important Issues of the Day. So I certainly have fandom to thank for two long-term friendships dating back to the early 70’s, yours and his. The grand manse at 1315 Lexington Avenue in Charlotte is no more. My mother sold the house after her mother’s death, but it had so many problems, like a tree growing outside that had spread its roots into the house itself, the new owner tore it down. The lot itself, in a nice neighborhood, was worth what he paid for the house, but the memory of the house and all the good times I had there with my grandparents and you will always live for me. Can visualize each room of the house, and even most of the books in my grandfather’s bookcase. Great to see Random Jottings #1, hand cranked by the two of us. I remember after this time getting an electric drum mimeo, which I thought was the greatest thing since sliced bread. High tech, indeed. Then, later, the silk screen mimeo, the one that exploded. And thus endeth my career as a publisher. You keep kicking around Nixon, which reminds me of a story. I think myself and my friends in DC in 1973 were victims of the plumbers, or FBI, or somesuch. The three of us hung around together, like 70’s Musketeers, and had all gone out for the day. All of us were careful to lock our doors when we left the apartment building where we all lived (and where you were later to live yourself). Upon our return, all three of our apartment doors were unlocked. Nothing was taken from two of the apartments, in spite of the fact that there was stereo equipment, tv sets, even some cash. But in one of the guys’ apartments, the only thing missing were some cassette tapes that he used to keep a taped diary, including of his antiwar activities 318 | Random Jottings 10

(he was director of the Washington Peace Center, which did draft counseling). I like the fact of the doors being left unlocked, as if to say, “We can do whatever we want, and you can do nothing about it.”. There’s probably at least a skinny file on me somewhere, as I was at the fringes of the antiwar group centered around Quaker House at the time. Quaker House was also burglarized around this time, files left scattered around, money and office equipment left untouched. Scary times, indeed.

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Milt Stevens

Before reading Random Jottings #9, I don’t think I’d ever wondered as to what Grit (the newspaper ) was. I noticed the ads only in passing. They were just one of the dubious products advertised in the back of comic books. Now that it is explained to me, the idea of having a newspaper that emphasizes good news isn’t entirely a bad one. I quit watching broadcast news because it was mostly police pursuits, shootings, cuttings, and other routine stuff. What does it mean? Nothing. Raw data generally doesn’t mean anything. However, TV news will continue reporting that dogs bite men. I’m not sure whether I knew what the TAFF Wars were about either. I am sure that I didn’t care. Your fan career parallels mine, but you did things at an earlier age than I did. I read SF from age 10 onward. I didn’t have any real contact with fandom (joining LASFS) until I had graduated from high school at age 17. I didn’t go to a con until I graduated from college at age 22. These days some people lament that teenagers can’t afford to go to worldcon. That was also the case when I was a teenager, but there really weren’t all that many cons to afford back in those days. In retrospect, I think it was a good thing that I didn’t get heavily involve in fandom until after I graduated from college. I knew some guys who flunked out of college because of too much fanac. In the last sentence, “guys” is the appropriate word. I don’t know of any females flunking out of college because of excessive fanac. I’ve never made it to a Deepsouthcon. However, I did meet many of the people you mention through SFPA. I was a member of SFPA from 1966 to 1969. Those were also the years I was in the Navy. Random Jottings on Random Jottings (lettercol) | 319

Spending a lot of time at sea, made me anxious to receive mail from anywhere and gave me lots of time for fan writing. I even joined the NFFF. After getting out of the Navy, many other activities beckoned, and I didn’t do as much fan writing. 6325 Keystone St., Simi Valley, California 93063 • [email protected]

R-Laurraine Tutihasi

You're a few years my junior, but I didn't discover fandom until the early seventies when I'd already got my master's degree. Like you I started reading early, though maybe not until I was three. This was back in Japan, and my first exposure to a sort of sf was the adventures of Baron Munchausen. It wasn't until I was in this country that I was exposed to more modern sf. I don't really know what the books were that I read. I think I had a list at one point, but it seems to have been lost or thrown out. I probably read many of the same books you did. My father simultaneously introduced me to the library and to having my own books. He enrolled me in two book clubs. He drove me to the main library in Rochester, NY, every two weeks. I quickly learned that the books that had an atom or rocket symbols on the spine were the best. Much later, in high school, I joined the Science Fiction Book Club. I dropped Girls Scouts, because they met the same evening as Star Trek. We share a few other things in common. I went to UNC-CH for graduate school, so I spent a couple of years in your home state. Although the flowers in spring were very nice, I couldn't stand the humidity in summer. I also enjoyed learning more about Earl Kemp, whom, I think, I met through FAPA. I read the first of Sharyn McCrumb's infamous pair of books but not the second. I remember some of the rumours flying around about her background and reasons for writing those books. They were all wrong, at least according to you. Thanks also for the followup on the Nixon issue. 320 | Random Jottings 10

I also enjoyed reading your Random Jottings 1 reprint. I personally never tackled ditto or mimeo printing, though I cut stencils for both to be printed by others. By the time I discovered fandom, I was working for Xerox; so I had easy access to xerography. [email protected]

We Also Heard From...

Jeff Beam—I have been enjoying reading about your time (our time) at UNC, and re-reading Julia’s play, my poem and the other pieces. Terry Kemp—I dropped everything reading it from end to end. Then I sat down and composed a very long loc. When I tried, and tried, to send it my email server failed. Eventually I had to reconfigure my system in order to send and receive as the failure turned out to be caused by some recent update from my provider. Although I did take this as a sign and deleted the prior email as being some of my ramblings. Bruce Townley—As always, an impressive production. You’re a fine fellow for having sent it.

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From Plassey to Pakistan Humayun Mirza The history of British Colonial India and the formation of Pakistan from the unique perspective of the son of Pakistan’s first president and last of the royal line of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa!

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321 A Whole New Navy: America’s War in the Pacific Miles Durr The most comprehensive and detailed description of America's naval war in the Pacific ever—every battle, every ship, every task force and every task group from Pearl Harbor through the Japanese surrender!

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Watergate Considered as an Org Chart of Semi-Precious Stones Michael Dobson Watergate was never like this! How good was G. Gordon Liddy at project management? What happened to the cop who caught the Watergate burglars? What would happen if Spider-Man got involved in Watergate? Features “My Nixon Dream” by Steve Stiles!

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