The Sensory Environments of Civil War Prisons
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University of South Carolina Scholar Commons Theses and Dissertations 2015 The eS nsory Environments of Civil War Prisons Evan A. Kutzler University of South Carolina Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarcommons.sc.edu/etd Part of the History Commons Recommended Citation Kutzler, E. A.(2015). The Sensory Environments of Civil War Prisons. (Doctoral dissertation). Retrieved from https://scholarcommons.sc.edu/etd/3572 This Open Access Dissertation is brought to you by Scholar Commons. It has been accepted for inclusion in Theses and Dissertations by an authorized administrator of Scholar Commons. For more information, please contact [email protected]. THE SENSORY ENVIRONMENTS OF CIVIL WAR PRISONS by Evan A. Kutzler Bachelor of Arts Centre College, 2010 Master of Arts University of South Carolina, 2012 _____________________________________________ Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements For the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in History College of Arts and Sciences University of South Carolina 2015 Accepted by: Mark M. Smith, Major Professor Don Doyle, Committee Member Lacy K. Ford, Committee Member Stephen Berry, Committee Member Lacy K. Ford, Vice Provost and Dean of Graduate Studies © Copyright by Evan A. Kutzler, 2015 All Rights Reserved ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Neither the sound of bells, nor the smell of privies, nor the feeling of lice factored into my imagined dissertation when I matriculated at the University of South Carolina in 2010. The Civil War, however, had always loomed large. As a child, my mother often took me metal detecting in the woods, fields, and streams of middle Tennessee in what became our shared hobby. An early lesson in sensory history occurred one summer in a cow pasture (with owner’s permission) along the Nashville and Decatur Railroad. We discovered a Union garrison’s hearth and recovered discarded fragments of melted lead, railroad iron, buttons, chess pieces whittled from bullets, and hundreds of copper percussion caps for muskets. While I was the stereotypical relic hunter interested in finding more “stuff,” my mother pushed both of us to think about what these small pieces meant to the people who had last touched them. She hypothesized that the occupants had amused themselves by throwing percussion caps into the fire to hear them “pop,” which I now know others did, including some of the prisoners at Andersonville. In many ways this was my first exposure to sound history. I lucked into several fine mentors at the University of South Carolina. A scheduling conflict in 2010 meant that I had to switch teaching assistantships from Japanese history to Walter Edgar’s history of South Carolina. It was indeed good luck. More than anyone else my first year in graduate school, Edgar cut to the chase about doing history and surviving academics. He also gave me an office at the Institute for Southern Studies and set the precedent of, as he put it, “not evicting” me. At the Institute iii for Southern Studies I have had the opportunity to learn from a diverse and interdisciplinary crowd, including Bob Brinkmeyer, Mindy Spencer, Tim Williams, Walter Liniger, Melissa Cooper, Courtney Lewis, Todd Hagstette, and the late Phil Grose. Bob Ellis, the assistant director, has been as important of a mentor as anyone else. He has read more drafts, entertained more ideas, and talked me down from more rooftops than anyone else at USC. Edgar also introduced me to Mark Smith who became my dissertation advisor. I do not have space enough to express my gratitude to him for accepting me as a student and pushing me in the direction of sensory history. Dr. Smith’s early advice gave me the confidence to explore what I wanted to study. Seeing his book in manuscript form in 2014 reminded me of the similarities but also the differences in our research and interpretations, and gave me the final push needed to glide through a year of anxiety and uncertainty as thoughts became words and notes turned into chapters. It was also fortuitous that I stumbled upon the public history program. In 2010, Bob Weyeneth, encouraged me to consider a master’s degree in public history along the way to the PhD. Choosing this route meant more work, especially in the first two years of coursework, but it helped clarify what was important to me about studying the past. The public history program has also given me a broader cohort of historians to admire and learn from. I feel lucky to have had benefited from projects, conversations, and discussions with Sarah Conlon, Jennifer Betsworth, Justin McIntyre, Rebecca Bush, Katie Fauth, Katherine Klein, Caitlin Podas, Caitlin Mans, Jessie Childress, Kat Allen, Tim Hyder, and too many more to name. The public history program also led me to meet Tracy Power when I was as an intern at the South Carolina Department of Archives and iv History. Tracy has been endlessly generous with his thoughts and good questions. Three years after he served on my master’s thesis committee, I still grapple with insightful questions Tracy raised about the lives of “Johnny” and “Billy.” Five years in graduate school is long enough, especially as I saw friends from Centre College move from school to careers and families, often in new and exciting places. What seemed like a lifetime commitment in 2010 would have been much longer were it not for the good role models I found in the graduate students at USC. David Dangerfield, Allen Driggers, Mark Evans, Ramone Jackson, Rob Haulton, David Prior, Tyler Parry, Caroline Peyton, Jay Richardson, Beth Sherouse, Sarah Scripps, Tara Strauch, and Michael Woods were among those whom I sought to emulate during the early months and years of graduate school. These fine scholars helped knock down the pedestal and remove the veil surrounding coursework, comprehensive exams, and the dissertation. This project has benefited from wide support within and outside the University of South Carolina. The Society of Colonial Dames, the University of South Carolina, the Institute for Southern Studies, the Friends of Andersonville Organization, Kentucky Historical Society, Virginia Historical Society, and the Filson Historical Society all provided grants and fellowships in support of research and travel. The National Park Service regrettably has only one site devoted to prisoners of war, but Andersonville National Park is a gem of a site. This dissertation benefited from conversations with Eric Leonard, Christopher Barr, Stephanie Steinhorst, Alan Marsh, and James Culpepper and I have immense respect for the challenging and complicated place they are charged with v interpreting. My knowledge of prisoners of war, let alone Andersonville, will never match their individual and collective expertise. While financial support made research trips possible, there were occasionally gaps in lodging along the way. Filling those gaps were new and old friends, colleagues, and family friends. Roger and Marion Pickenpaugh not only let me into their home, they also let me peruse Roger’s extensive compilation of prisoner diaries and letters. Alex Waldrop, Gera de Villiers, Alex and Yinghao Riffee, Jeff Kaplan, Jacob Raderer, Justin Roush, Jody and Jamie Noll, Andrew and Katie Fauth, Katherine Klein, Adj Wiley and Tony Giarnelli, Frank and Rose Drislane, Travis Weaver, and Jeff Buckhout all made the process of traveling a lot more fun. And when I had a couple (fruitless) interviews at the American Historical Association in January 2015, the Noll clan kindly allowed me to tag along on their family vacation. It would be impossible to name all the individuals who have read papers or chapter drafts over the years in official and unofficial capacities. I am grateful that Don Doyle, Lacy Ford, and Steven Berry all agreed to read my dissertation in full and I am grateful for their feedback. Mitch Oxford read most of the chapters in addition to innumerable discussions over any number of drinks. On chapter drafts and conference papers, the advice of Tim Williams, John Lynn III, Dave Roediger, Aaron Sheehan-Dean, Lorien Foote, Mark Christ, Michael D. Thompson, Michael Christ, Joseph Glatthaar, Peter Carmichael, Lorient Foote, Joan Cashin, James Beeby, Barbara Gannon, Gary Sellick, Robert Green, Andrew Kettler, Brian Robinson, Chaz Yingling, Ali Nabours, Neal Polhemus, Tim Minella, and Robert Olguin were all helpful along the way. vi There is a cliché warning out there to be nice to archivists they will erase you from history. Luckily most of my experiences with archivists and reference librarians have been non-hostile. Juliette Arai, Trevor Plante, and William H. Davis made it considerably easier to navigate the foreboding environment of the National Archives in Washington, D.C. The staff at the Library of Congress was first-rate as were the reference librarians and archivist at almost every university and state historical society I passed through. Francis Pollard, John McClure, and E. Lee Shepard at the Virginia Historical Society went out of their way to make my two visits comfortable and productive. Valuable guidance came from John Coski at the (then) Museum of the Confederacy, Hampton Smith at the Minnesota Historical Society, Trenton Hizer at the Library of Virginia, Paul Carnahan at the Vermont History Center, Richard J. Sommers at the Army Heritage Education Center, as well as Beth Van Allen, Patrick Lewis, and Tony Curtis at the Kentucky Historical Society. At the local South Caroliniana Library, Graham Duncan, Brian Cuthrell, and several others led me to sources I would have otherwise missed. Those closest to me have provided the consistent loving support necessary to finish a project I often thought I never should have started. My father and my stepmother have shown support at each and every step as have Kyle, Erin, Daniel, and my grandmother Hudson. My grandmother Balloga helped me buy a reliable vehicle when I moved to South Carolina, and I regret she did not live to see the completion of the degree.