AI and "The Fighting Fifth"

We seem to be constantly hearing about Artificial Intelligence, including the ability to have something written by it.  I decided to go to https://bard.google.com/ and ask "What happened on May 20 or 21?" since finding the weekly topic always is my starting point.  Several notable events happened, but the one that caught my eye was:

    May 20, 1862 - The Battle of Seven Pines, also known as the Battle of Fair Oaks, was fought in Virginia during the American Civil War. The battle was a tactical draw, but it was a strategic victory for the Confederates, as it forced Union General George McClellan to abandon his plans to capture Richmond, the Confederate capital.

That battle was important to Michigan's "Fighting Fifth" Infantry and especially to my program reenacting Liberetta Lerich Green telling about her family's work as an Underground Railroad Station  and her brothers in the Civil War.  Both brothers  after that battle wound up at Libby Prison becoming what was sardonically known as "Guests of the Confederacy."  I next asked "What happened to prisoners of war after the Battle of Fair Oaks?"  Bard today said:

    The Battle of Fair Oaks, also known as the Battle of Seven Pines, was fought on May 31–June 1, 1862, in the Seven Days Battles of the American Civil War. The battle was a tactical draw, but it was a strategic victory for the Confederates, as it forced Union General George McClellan to abandon his plans to capture Richmond, the Confederate capital.

    Prisoners of war (POWs) taken during the Battle of Fair Oaks were held in a variety of locations, including both Union and Confederate prisons. The conditions in these prisons were often harsh, and many POWs died from disease or malnutrition.

    The treatment of POWs during the Civil War was governed by the Lieber Code, a set of rules and regulations issued by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863. The Lieber Code established basic standards for the treatment of POWs, including the right to food, water, shelter, and medical care. However, the Lieber Code was not always followed, and many POWs suffered greatly during their captivity.

    The following are some of the specific locations where POWs from the Battle of Fair Oaks were held:

• Union Prisons:
  • Camp Douglas, Illinois
  • Camp Morton, Indiana
  • Camp Chase, Ohio
  • Camp Butler, Illinois
  • Camp Parole, Maryland
• Confederate Prisons:
  • Libby Prison, Richmond, Virginia
  • Castle Thunder, Richmond, Virginia
  • Salisbury Prison, North Carolina
  • Andersonville Prison, Georgia

    The Battle of Fair Oaks was a bloody and costly battle, and the treatment of POWs after the battle was often harsh and inhumane. The experiences of these POWs are a reminder of the terrible cost of war.

That is different from what I was able to receive the other day!  I didn't save that first paragraph, but the difference begins with a subtle change in the opening sentence: 

    Prisoners of war (POWs) taken during the Battle of Fair Oaks were sent to a variety of locations, 

-- from that I find little the same (and find myself wondering if I edited it since my saved material was done earlier this week.)  I find the sentence continues:

    depending on their side of the war and the severity of their injuries.  Union POWs were typically sent to prisoner-of-war camps in the North, while Confederate POWs were sent to camps in the South.  Prisoners who were seriously injured were often sent to hospitals, while those who were not injured were typically held in barracks or tents.

Did I edit out about the Lieber Code?  Possibly, as I certainly wouldn't have Liberetta talk about it.  Instead I find a great deal related to my question about prisoner conditions:

    Conditions in POW camps varied greatly, depending on the resources available to the camp and the attitude of the captors.  Some camps were well-run and provided prisoners with adequate food, clothing, and medical care.  Others were poorly run and prisoners were often subjected to harsh conditions, including malnutrition, disease, and physical abuse.  

    The treatment of POWs during the Civil War was generally better than in previous wars, but it was still far from ideal.  Many prisoners died from disease, malnutrition, or exposure.  Others were killed or injured in  prison riots or escapes.  The war ended with the release of all POWs, but the experience left a lasting legacy of suffering and loss.  

    Here are some additional details about the treatment of POWs after the Battle of Fair Oaks:

    Union POWs: Union POWs were typically held in camps in the North, such as Camp Douglas in Chicago, Illinois; Camp Chase in Columbus, Ohio; and Camp Morton in Indianapolis, Indiana.  Conditions in these camps were generally fair, and prisoners were provided with adequate food, clothing, and medical care.  However, there were some exceptions. For example, Camp Douglas was overcrowded and unsanitary, and prisoners were sometimes subjected to harsh treatment by the guards.

    Confederate POWs: Confederate POWs were typically held in camps in the South, such as Libby Prison in Richmond, Virginia; Castle Thunder in Richmond, Virginia; and Andersonville Prison in Georgia. Conditions in these camps were often poor, and prisoners were often subjected to malnutrition, disease, and physical abuse. Andersonville Prison was particularly notorious for its harsh conditions, and it is estimated that over 13,000 prisoners died there.

    The treatment of POWs during the Civil War was a complex issue, and there is no easy answer to the question of how they were treated. However, it is clear that many prisoners suffered greatly during their time in captivity.

I then asked "What were the conditions in Libby Prison?" because both of Liberetta's brothers were there.   There are some changes I will note in black text, using it to show what I found earlier.  I also note Bard offers to "View other drafts."

      Libby Prison was a Confederate prison located in Richmond, Virginia, during the American Civil War. It was located in a (converted) former tobacco warehouse and (that) was originally intended (used) to house only officers, but it eventually became overcrowded and held enlisted men as well. (Union prisoners of war. The prison gained an infamous reputation for its overcrowded and harsh conditions.) Conditions in Libby Prison were notoriously harsh, and many prisoners died from disease, malnutrition, and exposure.

    Here are some of the specific conditions that prisoners of Libby Prison had to endure:

(This section really contradicts the earlier information):

Overcrowding: Libby Prison was designed to hold 1,000 prisoners, but it eventually held over 2,000. This overcrowding let unsanitary conditions and a lack of privacy.

(Note the statistical differences.)

    The prison was originally designed to hold 300 prisoners, but by the end of the war, it was holding over 1,000. The prisoners were confined to two floors of the building, which had no running water or sewage system. The prisoners were forced to sleep on the floor, and they were given very little food or water.

My earlier "draft" went on to say:

Malnutrition: Prisoners were given a daily ration of cornmeal, bacon, and salt, but this was often not enough to eat. Many prisoners also suffered from scurvy and other diseases due to a lack of vitamin C.

Exposure: The prison had no heating or cooling, so prisoners were exposed to the elements. In the winter, it was often freezing cold, and in the summer, it was often stifling hot.

Disease: Diseases such as typhoid, cholera, and smallpox were rampant in Libby Prison. The lack of sanitation and the overcrowding made it easy for diseases to spread.

Physical abuse: Prisoners were sometimes beaten by the guards for minor infractions. There were also reports of prisoners being tortured.

The conditions in Libby Prison were so harsh that many prisoners died. It is estimated that over 1,200 prisoners died in Libby Prison, including 300 who died in a single outbreak of typhoid fever. The prison was eventually abandoned in 1865, after the end of the Civil War.

The conditions in Libby Prison were a stain on the Confederacy's record. They are a reminder of the human cost of war, and they serve as a warning to future generations.

***In contrast the later look at conditions says:

    The conditions in the prison were ideal for the spread of disease. The prisoners were often crowded together, and they did not have access to proper medical care. As a result, many prisoners died from disease, including typhoid, dysentery, and pneumonia.

    The conditions in Libby Prison were a source of great suffering for the prisoners. Many prisoners lost weight and became emaciated. Some prisoners also suffered from mental illness as a result of the stress of their captivity.

    The conditions in Libby Prison were a violation of the Lieber Code, a set of rules and regulations issued by President Abraham Lincoln in 1863. The Lieber Code established basic standards for the treatment of POWs, including the right to food, water, shelter, and medical care. However, the Confederate government did not always follow the Lieber Code, and the prisoners at Libby Prison suffered greatly as a result.

    The prison was burned by Union troops on April 3, 1865, as they were evacuating Richmond. The fire destroyed the prison and all of the records of the prisoners who were held there.

I then asked "How were prisoners paroled from Libby Prison?" Again I'm offered to View other Drafts. There are only slight wording differences at first.

Prisoners were paroled from Libby Prison in a variety of ways. The most common way was for the prisoner to sign a document agreeing not to take up arms against the Confederate States of America until the end of the war. In exchange, the prisoner would be released and allowed to return home.

My earlier version goes on to name this system the "parole and exchange cartel."

Another way prisoners were paroled was through prisoner exchanges. In a prisoner exchange, the two sides would agree to release a certain number of prisoners on a one-for-one basis. This was often done to relieve overcrowding in the prisons.

Finally, some prisoners were paroled through special arrangements. For example, some prisoners were paroled so that they could attend the funerals of family members.

That isn't my earlier version.  Instead it earlier said:

Another way to be paroled was to be granted a furlough. This was a temporary release from prison, typically granted for medical reasons or to attend to family matters.

Finally, prisoners could also be paroled if they agreed to work for the Confederate government. This was often done in the case of skilled laborers, such as doctors or engineers.

(The next section says essentially the same, although it doesn't mention being rejected and it goes on to say: They also had to post a bond, guaranteeing that they would not take up arms again.)

The process of parole was often slow and bureaucratic. Prisoners could wait weeks or even months for their parole to be approved. In some cases, prisoners were denied parole even after they had signed the parole agreement.

Despite the challenges, parole was a way for prisoners to escape the harsh conditions of Libby Prison and return home to their families.

I finally asked "How frequently were prisoners paroled from Libby Prison?"  Again other drafts were offered.

The frequency of prisoner paroles from Libby Prison varied over time. In the early years of the war, paroles were relatively common. Here the earlier version may have only slightly different wording until it goes on to again cite the cartel: The parole and exchange cartel was in effect from 1862 to 1864, and during that time, thousands of prisoners were exchanged. However the cartel broke down in 1864, and after that, it became much more difficult for prisoners to be paroled.

There were a number of reasons why the parole and exchange cartel broke down. One reason was that the Union and Confederate governments were unable to agree on the terms of exchange. Another reason was that the war was going badly for the Confederacy, and they were reluctant to release prisoners who might be able to fight again.

After the parole and exchange cartel broke down, prisoners were still able to be paroled in some cases. However, it was much more difficult, and the process was often lengthy and complicated. Prisoners who were paroled after the cartel broke down were typically required to sign an oath of allegiance to the United States, and they were also required to post a bond.

***The newer version, however, does give some new and interesting information:

However, as the war progressed, paroles became less frequent. This was due to a number of factors, including the increasing number of prisoners, the growing distrust between the two sides, and the increasing difficulty of transporting prisoners.

According to the National Park Service, approximately 1,200 Union prisoners were paroled from Libby Prison during the course of the war. This represents about 10% of the total number of prisoners who were held at the prison.

The most common time for prisoners to be paroled was during the winter months. This was because the conditions in the prison were particularly harsh during the summer, and prisoners were more likely to die from disease or malnutrition.

The parole process was often slow and bureaucratic. Prisoners could wait weeks or even months for their parole to be approved. In some cases, prisoners were denied parole even after they had signed the parole agreement.

Despite the challenges, parole was a way for prisoners to escape the harsh conditions of Libby Prison and return home to their families.

What does this comparison between versions show?

For teachers and others proofreading to see if AI was used, there may be multiple versions to check.  The statistics about how many prisoners were held is worrisome because it has been said that AI sometimes gives misinformation.  Research in various books, however, may also give contradictory information.  The trick is for a human researcher to note the differences.  

The real question is: how a human might improve this dry information?  In the case of the Lerich brothers, Liberetta has some of the letters her family sent during that time and information directly from her brothers.  Older brother, Will, joined Michigan's "Fighting Fifth" because he wanted to "look out for his brother."  Isaac (commonly called Ike) joined as a bugle boy, but was injured and lay on the Fair Oaks battlefield for ten days.  Will was already in Libby Prison when Ike was finally carried in to join him.  Both wound up eventually being paroled for their injuries.  Ike was sent home, but he left the Invalid Corps or Veteran Reserve Corps to become an officer in the Third Michigan Infantry, as he could ride horseback all day -- although his letters home stress the difficulty of doing it.  By the time he mustered out in San Antonio after the war, he was a major.  Brother Will went back as an ordinary infantry soldier.  He also claimed to have been at Andersonville Prison, but I can find no proof of that.  Human research makes it look as if it was a bit of his own storytelling.  

Short of a time machine, both artificial intelligence and human claims are far from infallible.  As a storyteller I try to present from the point of view of the person telling the story.  AI may add to the story if it has access to information not easily located by the researcher.  As for teachers and other reviewers, the addition of a "human view", like those shared by the Lerichs, will remain important beyond just the facts.

 

     

   

 

"The Beacon Tree" and the Underground Railroad

Ages ago I began reenacting the story of an Underground Railroad station near Utica, Michigan.  Telling as Liberetta Lerich Green, I used her story recorded in a pamphlet called "The Beacon Tree" produced by the Shelby Township Historical Committee.  That information was rounded out by what I found at the Bentley Historical Library at the University of Michigan, in local newspapers on microfilm, and, of course, members from both the Lerich and Green family.  Among the historical society members I was also helped by Jo Burgess.  She was both a member of their group and a naturalist on staff and founder of what is now called the Burgess-Shadbush Nature Center, which includes the site of the Lerich farm.

I was recently approached by a Utica Community Schools student to participate in a class project about the Beacon Tree.  This is his video, running just under 5 minutes, including brief interviews with Hilary Davis from the Historical Committee and Janice Dobis, a teacher at Beacon Tree Elementary School.  I'm in the center of the interviews appearing first as Liberetta singing the song sung at the planting of the tree and then appearing as myself telling a bit more.  (Personal thoughts to self: I'm beginning to transition to telling more often as the older Liberetta and must get that white wig built up so my own darker hair doesn't show!)

This is a card about the program I do.

Aside from the project done by the student who wishes to remain anonymous, I know this is a bit of history that still needs to be told.  The family were pioneers even before statehood for Michigan and the Lerich boys each were in Michigan Infantry units in the Civil War (although there was nothing Civil about that War!)  This is why the sidebar on this blog has pages about the "Fighting Fifth" Infantry.

Michigan is nearing its bicentennial in 2037.  I like to say my historical storytelling is "as seen by the average person."  I hope the Lerichs and the Greens will continue to have their stories heard.

Lakeview Cemetery Walk and the story of Elizabeth Vliet

I know many reading my articles can't make the Cemetery Walks I do in September and October.  For Oak Hill I've been a guide taking people around to hear the stories of the people buried there.  In Clarkston both last year at the first Cemetery Walk and again this year I have become one of the buried people.  I believe the story of Elizabeth Vliet has a lot worth hearing.  She was a "war widow" and some of my research for her includes information I already knew from my portraying Liberetta Lerich Green, whose two brothers were in the Civil War (I always say there was nothing Civil about that war!) and each lived after being "guests of the Confederacy" at Libby Prison.  (Their lifespan was reduced by what they endured.)

One of the things I love about storytelling is each time is tailored to its audience.  It's rather like a snowflake in that no telling is exactly alike.  It's also why I have chosen to have my stories told to an actual audience rather than just recorded and imagining audience reactions.  Additionally I include as much audience participation as I can.  In this case asking if anyone in the groups knows what being a "guest of the Confederacy" means.  (It gives me a hint of their possible Civil War knowledge.) Similarly I ask if people know what "Decoration Day" is now called.  In this story it's quickly obvious the audience members who know and can relate to what I'm saying about the Civil War.

Here is Elizabeth Vliet's story as I told it (with slight variations not affecting the facts).  You might also go to various genealogy sites, especially Find A Grave. 

Elizabeth Vliet Bower and family

Welcome to my City of the Dead! 

Entrance to Lakeview Cemetery

So many families came here from New York in the 1830s and 40s, around the time of Michigan becoming a state in 1837, that it's no wonder we all know each other. Here in Clarkston we all lived within three blocks of each other.  My big sister, Sarah, and I came across Lake Erie and landed in Detroit, then traveled north to come to Clarkston where we already knew some of the people. She married Jedediah Yager, the town blacksmith, while I earned my way as a dressmaker.  I stayed in touch with our sister, Maggie, back home in New York, especially when she became a war widow.

I, too, am one and don't know who had it worse -- me being left with three small children, Joshua, Helen, and baby Josephine or my sister, Maggie, who later lost her young son.  He was her only child, named after her soldier husband, Florian, who never had a chance to meet him. Yes, it was hard raising my children, but at least they helped me cope with the loss of my husband, Nelson Vliet, but Maggie soon lost everyone. Even in death my children and their families gather here. My youngest, Josephine, and my son, Joshua are right here. A bit further away is my daughter, Helen, who married into the Clark family.

Fortunately Clarkston families all knew and supported each other within our three blocks. I was so relieved that Jedediah came back to my sister, Sarah! There were five Vliet cousins serving along with Nelson. Many people lost family members in the War of Rebellion (there was nothing Civil about that war). Another of Nelson's cousins, Mary, and I both have husbands who are not here. Both were “Guests of the Confederacy” dying in their prisons. Her's was at Libby Prison and my Nelson is buried at Andersonville Prison. This stone with his name on it is called a cenotaph. A cenotaph memorializes someone buried elsewhere.

Cenotaph at Lakeview  

 

 Andersonville Prison Cemetery with 13,714 P.O.W. graves, of which 921 are marked "unknown"

N. Vliet tombstone at Andersonville

I don't like to talk about Andersonville, but maybe it's sufficient to say that after the war the camp commander was tried by a military tribunal for war crimes, found guilty, and hung. Even at that it was a quick death for him unlike the men he held prisoner. It's a miracle anyone lived to walk out of there. When they did, they looked like skeletons. Even then it shortened the lives of the survivors from dysentery. The water you see down there in Cemetery Lake is cleaner than what they had to drink at Andersonville.

But before all of that, and even before I married Nelson, he built our family house that stands near the intersection of Holcomb, just down the street at 11 South Holcomb. He did it with his father “Wiltsie” or Wilson Vliet. 

Nelson was the oldest of nine and the first generation after his parents came from Germany.  Wiltsie was the town cabinet maker and carpenter and would even make you a boat if you needed one! Nelson lived in that house with his first wife, Sarah, and their infant son, Alonzo. Sarah and their baby died in the same year. That happened a lot back then. Some of Clarkston's knowing and supporting each other came naturally since Nelson and I had both lived in the same New York town, Ludlowville. It was no surprise when Nelson and I went back there to get married in front of our relatives a year later.

It was a good start to our family, but too soon the war took him away with the 22d Michigan Volunteer Infantry. He mustered out in Pontiac under the command of former Governor Moses Wisner as their Colonel. Governor Wisner so wanted to take our Oakland County boys to defend the Union and end slavery. Wisner was a known abolitionist and even had his barn burned for championing that too often unpopular position. Wisner, too, didn't survive, but instead died of Typhoid Fever just a month later.

With their being the twenty-second infantry regiment you can see why Lincoln had been so happy with the many volunteer regiments from Michigan.  He was known for saying “Thank God for Michigan!” At first it looked like the 22d would be spared. They were in Kentucky until the spring of '63, then on to Nashville to guard the railroad which carried Union supplies through the summer. Unfortunately in September they were sent to Georgia for the Battle of Chickamauga. (My sister, Sarah's husband, Jedediah Yager, as a blacksmith was at Chickamauga with his Michigan cavalry regiment and will tell you more as you go further on your Cemetery Walk.) We all went down to the Clarkston rail depot to get the Detroit newspapers telling about how the war was going and learn of any casualties.  Chickamauga was the first major defeat for the Union. Only Gettysburg had higher casualties, but the main cause of Union deaths overall during the war was disease and that included my Nelson.

You may notice his grave also has the marker saying G.A.R. That stands for Grand Army of the Republic which after the war is the name for the Union Army veterans. Nelson was part of that army even though he didn't live to march in their reunions.

After the war I was one of many war widows. I supported our little family with my dressmaking. I also took solace in something called Decoration Day which eventually spread all over the country, even the south. We didn't have these paved roads, or even gravel roads from town to here at the time, but every year I gathered flowers and flags and walked down the hill from Clarkston, then up the hill to here, and decorated the ever increasing number of veterans from that war. Then it was down this hill and back up the hill to Clarkston again and home.

But children grow up and start their own lives. Here at the cemetery you passed the pink marble obelisk (they look like a finger pointing up to heaven) near your entrance. It was made for Charles Bower, who came from the same county in New York as I did. He, too, had lost a spouse, his wife. Their's had been a long marriage and we were both alone as our children were finally grown. After two years of talking and sharing our losses, we were ready to share our old age and my big empty home. He was 65 and I was 49. <sigh!> It was only for a year. At 50 I was twice a widow.

Over time my daughters, Helen a bit, but especially Josephine had also become involved in recognizing those who “gave their all.” Josephine even learned to become a dressmaker like me. When I died after still more years as a widow, she continued Decoration Day although it became Memorial Day and, shortly before she died, she passed the ceremony on to the American Legion. On what you call Memorial Day they remember all the veterans here complete with ladies in black dresses putting roses on the graves around the flag pole as part of the presentation.

This is a City of the Dead and here the people of Clarkston continue to know and support each other. I just wish my Nelson could be here instead of at Andersonville. 

***

As you may have noticed last week from the bottom of the poster for the Cemetery Walk it was: Sponsored by the National Society Daughters of the American Revolution, Sashabaw Plains Chapter with funds going to the Restoration of Lakeview Cemetery historic gravestones.  

Monthly during warm weather volunteer gravestone cleaning proceeds along with professional assistance from Carter Cemetery Restoration Company.  It was also in May the Eagle Scout project for James Lazur, a Clarkston High School senior. Dave Carter of Carter Cemetery Restoration Company  mentored James and his swim teammates as they learned to restore some of the historic headstones at the cemetery. James brought Scouts, family and friends to the cemetery to wash headstones. He planned, fundraised, and executed his project.

Clarkston Junior High students at the Vliet cenotataph, Elizabeth's grave marker is in the lower left

 

In addition to the professional and monthly volunteer cleaning, Clarkston involvement continues with Clarkston Junior High School students in Mr. Alexander Sennabaum's American History classes coming to Lakeview Cemetery on Tuesday, May 24. They washed headstones in the historic area just to the left of the entrance to the cemetery. As a class project and Service Learning project, the students had researched the early citizens of Clarkston, and especially the Civil War soldiers from Clarkston. They had created a three to five minute video about the life of the early settlers or soldiers. Working with their Technology teacher, Mr. Sennabaum, and Mrs. Rogers, the Academic Service Learning Coordinator, they created a QR code for their video and it is printed on a blue plastic stake that is placed right next to the gravestone. Community members that visit the cemetery can scan the QR code, listen to the students' presentations and learn about the early settlers who founded Clarkston.

This is what you find from the QR code at Nelson Vliet's cenotaph.

Clearly Clarkston continues to know and support each other.

 

 

 

My First School - W.E.B. DuBois - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Texas finally is getting power!  I'm still praying for the ice-flooded homes in Algonac.  Hitting the 20s, even though the windchill is less, is cause for celebration!

The contrarian, or maybe just wishful thinking part of me, tends always to think of summer when snow and cold grinds on.  Whatever schools are open in the pandemic were closed for a Snow Day earlier this week.  Michigan's talking about requiring the 2021-22 school year to include Summer School to make up for all the losses from the Pandemic.

It's time to read about a time when opening a school in the summer was a cause for joy.

I frequently present as a "One-Room School Teacher", giving a view of Michigan's early 20th century rural schools and also its roots.  Michigan does have areas where the following description by W.E.B. DuBois of southern schools in the hills of Tennessee in 1886 might match their development.  The book, Upward Path; A Reader for Colored Children, at one time was described by Amazon as:

THE UPWARD PATH contains some of those no-longer-proper words and ideas, but this is what was considered the right kind of reading for African-American children and students in 1920; to pretend it was different would rob us of the chance to understand the past a little bit better.

As someone who is not African-American I confess to struggling with those "no-longer-proper words and ideas" when reenacting yet a different program.  As Liberetta Lerich Green, when reading actual letters from her brothers during their Civil War, I find myself editing on the spot to omit those words.  Even describing the very people traveling the Underground Railroad involves choosing words with a mind inside 2021.  This is at the very heart of looking at history.  The past often includes language and actions no longer acceptable, but it is necessary.  In today's case the book was compiled by two people, a principal, Myron T. Pritchard, and Mary White Ovington, Chairman of the Board of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, America's oldest and largest civil rights organization.  While some humorists have renamed it the "National Association for the Advancement of Certain People", this old way of referring to African-Americans is still part of their name.

DuBois himself, at the founding and naming of the NAACP, suggested the word 'colored', rather than 'black', was used to include 'dark skinned people everywhere' according to his biographer, David Levering Lewis.  DuBois was long-time editor and reporter in the NAACP journal, "The Crisis" and possibly today's remembrance comes from it.  Whatever its source it reminds me of another book of his, Darkwater; Voices Within the Veil, where he used the term "veil."  Lewis explains:

             The 'veil' was that which covered colored people around the world. In the book, he hoped to lift the veil  and show white readers what life was like behind the veil, and how it distorted the viewpoints of those looking through it – in both directions.

Darkwater came out in 1920, the same year as The Upward Path.  Let's lift that veil and see how a young Fisk University student experienced those early schools.

MY FIRST SCHOOL

W. E. B. DUBOIS

Once upon a time I taught school in the hills of Tennessee, where the broad dark vale of the Mississippi begins to roll and crumple to greet the Alleghanies. I was a Fisk student then, and all Fisk men thought that Tennessee—beyond the Veil—was theirs alone, and in vacation time they sallied forth in lusty bands to meet the county school-commissioners. Young and happy, I too went, and I shall not soon forget that summer.

First, there was a Teachers' Institute at the county-seat; and there distinguished guests of the superintendent taught the teachers fractions and spelling and other mysteries,—white teachers in the morning, Negroes at night. A picnic now and then, and a supper, and the rough world was softened by laughter and song. I remember how—but I wander.

There came a day when all the teachers left the Institute and began the hunt for schools. I learn from hearsay (for my mother was mortally afraid of firearms) that the hunting of ducks and bears and men is wonderfully interesting, but I am sure that the man who has never hunted a country school has something to learn of the pleasures of the chase. I see now the white, hot roads lazily rise and fall and wind before me under the burning July sun; I feel the deep weariness of heart and limb as ten, eight, six miles stretch relentlessly ahead; I feel my heart sink heavily as I hear again and again, "Got a teacher? Yes." So I walked on—horses were too expensive—until I wandered beyond railways, beyond stage lines, to a land of "varmints" and rattlesnakes, where the coming of a stranger was an event, and men lived and died in the shadow of one blue hill.

Sprinkled over hill and dale lay cabins and farmhouses, shut out from the world by the forests and the rolling hills toward the east. There I found at last a little school. Josie told me of it; she was a thin, homely girl of twenty, with a dark-brown face and thick, hard hair. I had crossed the stream at Watertown, and rested under the great willows; then I had gone to the little cabin in the lot where Josie was resting on her way to town. The gaunt farmer made me welcome, and Josie, hearing my errand, told me anxiously that they wanted a school over the hill; that but once since the war had a teacher been there; that she herself longed to learn,—and thus she ran on, talking fast and loud, with much earnestness and energy.

Next morning I crossed the tall round hill, lingered to look at the blue and yellow mountains stretching toward the Carolinas, then plunged into the wood, and came out at Josie's home. It was a dull frame cottage with four rooms, perched just below the brow of the hill, amid peach trees. The father was a quiet, simple soul, calmly ignorant, with no touch of vulgarity. The mother was different,—strong, bustling, and energetic, with a quick, restless tongue, and an ambition to live "like folks."

There was a crowd of children. Two boys had gone away. There remained two growing girls; a shy midget of eight; John, tall, awkward, and eighteen; Jim, younger, quicker, and better looking; and two babies of indefinite age. Then there was Josie herself. She seemed to be the center of the family: always busy at service, or at home, or berry-picking; a little nervous and inclined to scold, like her mother, yet faithful, too, like her father. She had about her a certain fineness, the shadow of an unconscious moral heroism that would willingly give all of life to make life broader, deeper, and fuller for her and hers.

I saw much of this family afterwards, and grew to love them for their honest efforts to be decent and comfortable, and for their knowledge of their own ignorance. There was with them no affectation. The mother would scold the father for being so "easy"; Josie would roundly berate the boys for carelessness; and all know that it was a hard thing to dig a living out of a rocky side-hill.

I secured the school. I remember the day I rode horseback out to the commissioner's house with a pleasant young white fellow who wanted the white school. The road ran down the bed of a stream; the sun laughed and the water jingled, and we rode on. "Come in," said the commissioner,—"come in. Have a seat. Yes, that certificate will do. Stay to dinner. What do you want a month?" "Oh," thought I, "this is lucky"; but even then fell the first awful shadow of the Veil, for they ate first, then I—alone.

The schoolhouse was a log hut, where Colonel Wheeler used to shelter his corn. It sat in a lot behind a rail fence and thorn bushes, near the sweetest of springs. There was an entrance where a door once was, and within, a massive rickety fireplace; great chinks between the logs served as windows. Furniture was scarce. A pale blackboard crouched in the corner. My desk was made of three boards, reinforced at critical points, and my chair, borrowed from the landlady, had to be returned every night. Seats for the children—these puzzled me much. I was haunted by a New England vision of neat little desks and chairs, but, alas! the reality was rough plank benches without backs, and at times without legs. They had the one virtue of making naps dangerous,—possibly fatal, for the floor was not to be trusted.

It was a hot morning late in July when the school opened. I trembled when I heard the patter of little feet down the dusty road, and saw the growing row of dark solemn faces and bright eager eyes facing me. First came Josie and her brothers and sisters. The longing to know, to be a student in the great school at Nashville, hovered like a star above this child-woman amid her work and worry, and she studied doggedly. There were the Dowells from their farm over toward Alexandria,—Fanny, with her smooth black face and wondering eyes; Martha, brown and dull; the pretty girl-wife of a brother, and the younger brood.

There were the Burkes,—two brown and yellow lads, and a tiny haughty-eyed girl. Fat Reuben's little chubby girl came, with golden face and old-gold hair, faithful and solemn. 'Thenie was on hand early,—a jolly, ugly, good-hearted girl, who slyly dipped snuff and looked after her little bow-legged brother. When her mother could spare her, 'Tildy came,—a midnight beauty, with starry eyes and tapering limbs; and her brother, correspondingly homely. And then the big boys,—the hulking Lawrences; the lazy Neills, unfathered sons of mother and daughter; Hickman, with a stoop in his shoulders; and the rest.

There they sat, nearly thirty of them, on the rough benches, their faces shading from a pale cream to a deep brown, the little feet bare and swinging, the eyes full of expectation, with here and there a twinkle of mischief, and the hands grasping Webster's blue-back spelling-book. I loved my school, and the fine faith the children had in the wisdom of their teacher was truly marvelous. We read and spelled together, wrote a little, picked flowers, sang, and listened to stories of the world beyond the hill.

At times the school would dwindle away, and I would start out. I would visit Mun Eddings, who lived in two very dirty rooms, and ask why little Lugene, whose flaming face seemed ever ablaze with the dark-red hair uncombed, was absent all last week, or why I missed so often the inimitable rags of Mack and Ed. Then the father, who worked Colonel Wheeler's farm on shares, would tell me how the crops needed the boys; and the thin, slovenly mother, whose face was pretty when washed, assured me that Lugene must mind the baby. "But we'll start them again next week." When the Lawrences stopped, I knew that the doubts of the old folks about book-learning had conquered again, and so, toiling up the hill, and getting as far into the cabin as possible, I put Cicero "pro Archia Poeta" into the simplest English with local applications, and usually convinced them—for a week or so.

On Friday nights I often went home with some of the children,—sometimes to Doc Burke's farm. He was a great, loud, thin Black, ever working, and trying to buy the seventy-five acres of hill and dale where he lived; but people said that he would surely fail, and the "white folks would get it all." His wife was a magnificent Amazon, with saffron face and shining hair, uncorseted and barefooted, and the children were strong and beautiful. They lived in a one-and-a-half-room cabin in the hollow of the farm, near the spring. The front room was full of great fat white beds, scrupulously neat; and there were bad chromos on the walls, and a tired center-table. In the tiny back kitchen I was often invited to "take out and help" myself to fried chicken and wheat biscuit, "meat" and corn pone, string-beans and berries.

At first I used to be a little alarmed at the approach of bedtime in the lone bedroom, but embarrassment was very deftly avoided. First, all the children nodded and slept, and were stowed away in one great pile of goose feathers; next, the mother and the father discreetly slipped away to the kitchen while I went to bed; then, blowing out the dim light, they retired in the dark. In the morning all were up and away before I thought of awaking. Across the road, where fat Reuben lived, they all went out-doors while the teacher retired, because they did not boast the luxury of a kitchen.

I liked to stay with the Dowells, for they had four rooms and plenty of good country fare. Uncle Bird had a small, rough farm, all woods and hills, miles from the big road; but he was full of tales,—he preached now and then,—and with his children, berries, horses, and wheat he was happy and prosperous. Often, to keep the peace, I must go where life was less lovely; for instance, 'Tildy's mother was incorrigibly dirty, Reuben's larder was limited seriously, and herds of untamed insects wandered over the Eddingses' beds. Best of all I loved to go to Josie's, and sit on the porch, eating peaches, while the mother bustled and talked: how Josie had bought the sewing-machine; how Josie worked at service in winter, but that four dollars a month was "mighty little" wages; how Josie longed to go away to school, but that it "looked like" they never could get far enough ahead to let her; how the crops failed and the well was yet unfinished; and, finally, how "mean" some of the white folks were.

For two summers I lived in this little world; it was dull and humdrum. The girls looked at the hill in wistful longing, and the boys fretted and haunted Alexandria. Alexandria was "town,"—a straggling, lay village of houses, churches, and shops, and an aristocracy of Toms, Dicks, and Captains. Cuddled on the hill to the north was the village of the colored folks, who lived in three- or four-room unpainted cottages, some neat and homelike, and some dirty. The dwellings were scattered rather aimlessly, but they centered about the twin temples of the hamlet, the Methodist and the Hard-Shell Baptist churches. These, in turn, leaned gingerly on a sad-colored schoolhouse. Hither my little world wended its crooked way on Sunday to meet other worlds, and gossip, and wonder, and make the weekly sacrifice with frenzied priest at the altar of the "old-time religion." Then the soft melody and mighty cadences of Negro song fluttered and thundered.

I have called my tiny community a world, and so its isolation made it; and yet there was among us but a half-awakened common consciousness, sprung from common joy and grief, at burial, birth, or wedding; from a common hardship in poverty, poor land, and low wages; and above all, from the sight of the Veil that hung between us and Opportunity. All this caused us to think some thoughts together; but these, when ripe for speech, were spoken in various languages. Those whose eyes twenty-five or more years before had seen "the glory of the coming of the Lord," saw in every present hindrance or help a dark fatalism bound to bring all things right in His own good time. The mass of those to whom slavery was a dim recollection of childhood found the world a puzzling thing: it asked little of them, and they answered with little, and yet it ridiculed their offering. Such a paradox they could not understand, and therefore sank into listless indifference, or shiftlessness, or reckless bravado. There were, however, some—such as Josie, Jim and Ben—to whom War, Hell, and Slavery were but childhood tales, whose young appetites had been whetted to an edge by school and story and half-awakened thought. Ill could they be content, born without and beyond the World. And their weak wings beat against their barriers,—barriers of caste, of youth, of life; at last, in dangerous moments, against everything that opposed even a whim.

******************

Some of this matches my own audience's appetite that also "has been whetted to an edge by school and story and half-awakened thought" when talking about one room schools. 

Here in Michigan, at https://www.miorsa.org/ I'm delighted to see the tentative plans for nearby Brighton to host an annual conference.

Beyond that, the long ago community in DuBois's reminiscence deserves a lifting of "the Veil."

******************

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:            

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but the late Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for October 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 
           - Zalka Csenge Virag - http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.com doesn't give the actual stories, but her recommendations, working her way through each country on a continent, give excellent ideas for finding new books and stories to love and tell.

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. Have fun discovering even more stories!

Oxford Library Program + Hutchinson - Travels of a Fox - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

This coming Friday you might want either to go to the Oxford Public Library (Michigan)   at 2 p.m. for an intimate Fireside Chat or sign up for the virtual presentation of "The Civil War from the Homefront", to signup, as I bring Liberetta Lerich Green alive from the Oxford Cemetery, where several of her family are buried.  It's part of the library's two months of programs on Michigan in the Civil War.  

They own today's story and the classic book where it originates, Chimney Corner Stories, by Veronica S. Hutchinson along with her other three anthologies,  which form a basic collection of "nursery tales."  Her books are intended for preschoolers and primary grades with stories that should be known by all young children.  The other books are: Chimney Corner Fairy Tales (1926), Fireside Stories (1927), and Candle-light Stories (1927).  Hutchinson also produced two books of poetry selections, Chimney Corner Poems (1929) and Fireside Poems (1930).  It's hard to find information about her, but "Library Journal" of October 1914 lists her as a graduate of Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh Training School for Children's Librarians who was hired as Assistant Children's Librarian for the Cleveland Public Library.  Today's story is from a book that has just become Public Domain.  I look forward to the next two years bringing each of her anthologies into the Public Domain as they are true classics.  I recommend them to anyone with young children in their family or working with that age group.

To show how Chimney Corner Stories has the basics, here are the contents and all but today's story and possibly "Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar" and "The Cock, the Mouse, and the Little Red Hen" are well known.  The stories are: Henny Penny; The Old Woman and Her Pig; The Pancake; The Three Bears; The Three Billy Goats Gruff; Peter Rabbit; The Three Pigs; The Little Red Hen and the Grain of Wheat; Little Black Sambo (nowadays he is portrayed as being from India, but the illustration and the names of his parents needs to be discussed); The Cock, the Mouse, and the Little Red Hen; today's story; Lazy Jack; Mr. and Mrs. Vinegar; The Elves and the Shoemaker; Bremen Town Musicians; and Cinderella.  While I dislike the stereotypical illustration of Sambo's "Black Mumbo" and "Black Jumbo", the illustrations are by the multiple award winning Lois Lenski, whose Wikipedia article includes a section on  "Controversies and criticism".  To give a good overview of the book's style, I am showing the title page.

"Travels of a Fox" is a great story for teaching how to predict what will happen next -- a basic educational skill -- as well as an interesting bit of nonsense.

Let's let this less well-known story speak for itself. 

I love the Fox going to see "Squintum's", but believe that rascally Fox was a bit of a con.  He knew curiosity almost guarantees opening the bag.  Of course we know no Fox could put the Ox in a bag and throw it over his shoulder.  Personally I like foxes, so while this "wicked old Fox" got what he deserved, the story is definitely a bit of childlike nonsense.

***************************

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:            

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but the late Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for October 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 
           - Zalka Csenge Virag - http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.com doesn't give the actual stories, but her recommendations, working her way through each country on a continent, give excellent ideas for finding new books and stories to love and tell.

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. Have fun discovering even more stories!