Relic of my past

Gather 'round children, it's time for me to ramble a story at you.

I've been playing with my new camera lens a lot, exploring its features and trying to become more proficient with the camera itself. The other night, I dug deep into my closet and found my old Civil War reenacting uniform, deciding to use the hat as the subject of a photograph. In the process, I managed to dig up quite a few memories, too.

For some reason I've never been able to fully explain, I've been fascinated by the American Civil War era since I was very young. I've always been a history buff. I love studying humanity: our triumphs, failures, inventions, misdeeds, everything. The personal stories of regular people tend to interest me the most. Still, my specific focus on mid-nineteenth century America came out of left field. I suppose the impetus of my obsession can be traced back to the older brother of my childhood best friend. He was a reenactor, and I often saw him coming or going from various events, dressed in his blue uniform and looking, I thought, super cool.

It was during this time, too, that the movie "Glory" first came out. I still contend (with little dissent) that it's a great movie, and I remember watching it several times when it first came to video.

Several years would pass, I moved to a new state, and eventually became friends with a boy whose family was interested in Civil War reenacting. It was through them that I eventually had my chance to participate. And between my love of history and my love of acting, it quickly became my number one hobby.

Happily, my parents were pretty supportive of me. I suppose having a kid who likes to learn about history, play dress-up and go camping every weekend is a lot better than some alternatives. Still, it's not exactly cheap. I spent a lot of time saving my allowance to afford the various pieces of my uniform before I could officially start reenacting. It was (is) very important to appear "authentic" - or as authentic as any 20th century person can be, anyway.

Keep in mind, too, that I had no desire whatsoever to portray a member of my actual sex. Hoop skirts and bonnets had absolutely zero appeal to me, so I would, quite naturally, act in the role of a young girl who dressed as a boy and went off to soldier. And contrary to what several older gents tried again and again to convince me of, my portrayal was quite authentic. While not super common, there are hundreds of documented cases where women passed as men so they could go off to fight in the war. They did it for every reason under the sun: to follow husbands and sweethearts, to get away from home, to fight for their country, to find adventure. They fought on both sides, north and south, and a handful even managed to become officers. Some served as spies, others as musicians, many as regular enlisted soldiers. They fought, they were wounded, killed, captured--some discovered for what they were, plenty who made it through undetected.

There was at least one documented case of a woman bringing a baby to term, only to be discovered when one of "the boys" gave birth in the middle of camp one day. A fellow soldier, remarking on the occasion in his diary, said that the Union would certainly win if they could keep up their numbers simply by having other soldiers give birth to new ones.

Point is, I realized very quickly that I was more "authentic" than the many late-middle-aged, overweight guys who were out there with me. I had just as much of a "right" to be there, and did my best to maintain my subterfuge. There were plenty of people who never suspected that I was actually a girl, and plenty of people who did know and had no problems with it. Sadly, however, there are still reenactors who don't believe women should be allowed to portray men, and it can be hard to find a unit to join up with. Luckily, my unit was comprised of friends, and it wasn't an issue.

Being that I was too young to drive, most of the reenactments I attended were near my home in Illinois. But in '92, I convinced my folks to take us on a "vacation" to Gettysburg, PA, where my unit would participate in the annual recreation of the famous three-day battle there. I still look back on that trip as one of the best things I've ever done. My unit, the 8th Illinois Cavalry, Co. E., took part in the first days' reenactment which, for the first time in several decades, the park was allowing us to do on the actual battlefield. Even a torrential downpour couldn't dampen my excitement. The accompanying lightning, however, brought an early end to our day.

We spent the following few days touring the park, wandering through the various encampments, and generally exploring. It was a blast, and I promised myself that I'd come back some day (which I did).

And though I stopped reenacting by the time I hit high school (it had become much harder to pass as a boy right around then), my fascination with the time period never ended. I still get this unexplainable thrill every time I read a book or watch a movie or stumble onto a reenactment of the era. And I've kept my uniform. The pants don't fit anymore, but (miraculously) some of the other pieces do. I won't lie: some day, I'm going to find a way to hit the field again, hardtack in one hand and a beeswax-lined canteen in the other. For whatever reason, I'm always drawn back to it--to take a photo, wander a battlefield, read a book, or just to reminisce on my stupid blog.



Further reading about women in the Civil War:

• "They Fought Like Demons: Women Soldiers in the Civil War" by De Anne Blanton and Lauren M. Cook
• "All the Daring of a Soldier" by Elizabeth D. Leonard