We spend our first thirty years thinking about our future, the next thirty thinking about our past, and our last years, wondering what the hell we were thinking! SC

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

 

THE HANGTOWN TRILOGY, OBIE, Episode Eighty-five, AN IMPASSIONED CHARGE

The final day of this event proved to be one of those glorious occasions which materialize only occasionally, but whose very promise serves to brighten life. The previous evening’s storm had settled the dust and left the old battlefield luxuriously green, and this morning’s pristine freshness and dazzling sun combined to create a truly invigorating day. The morning’s events were a fabulous blur of activity, and the weeklong extravaganza would culminate this afternoon in a reenactment of Picket’s courageous charge up Cemetery Ridge. By two o’clock the humidity was downright tropical, and the temperature was a hundred degrees and climbing fast.

Both sides were well represented for the reunion’s grand finale, and despite the fact that some questioned their ability; these old soldiers were ready, willing, and determined, to make this a culmination worthy of this illustrious affair. As the three o’clock starting time approached, these old veterans were fired up and stoked! Complete with authentic uniforms and much of their original regalia, both sides gathered together in final preparations. The authentic sounds of moaning and groaning rose from the staging area, as the old timers fought feverishly to squeeze into their uniforms, and the fragrances of liniment, mothballs, and hot toddies, hung heavy in the air.

Of the fifty thousand old soldiers who attended this assembly, the youngest, at age 61, would have been just a little shaver during the original conflict, and the eldest among us was alleged to be well over a hundred. This claim however could not be substantiated, as his birth certificate was on a tattered piece of papyrus, and no one could make out the Aramaic!

Shortly after three in the afternoon, the time of the original charge, the Reb’s assumed positions at a predetermined point below the ridge. The Yankee’s took the ridge top, and thousands of spectators looked on from the perimeters. Against our doctor’s advice and our own better judgment, Lidge and I were determined to participate in this event. We’d join the ranks of the bluecoats and face the Rebel onslaught as they took the ridge. It was a bit foolhardy, as advanced age and exorbitant temperatures introduced nine of our fellow patriots to their Maker before week’s end.

Once everyone had taken up positions, a hush fell over the crowd. The hot sun blazed down unmercifully on spectators and participants alike, sweat began to roll, gnats buzzed irritatingly in our eyes, and several moments ticked away, as we awaited our signal and the suspense gradually built. Anxious men stood at the ready, a crow called in the distance, and all at once the stillness was broken by a piercing Rebel yell! Drums rolled, the confederate ranks rose as one, bugles sounded, and as the vintage veterans sprang into their demanding charge, several of the more time ravaged warriors winded abruptly and went down in a moaning heap!

I was already traumatized by a long trying journey and a distressing reunion with my brother, and as the advancing Rebels reached a point some fifty yards below the top of Cemetery Ridge, and the first old soldier crumpled and went down, I was caught up and overcome with emotion! Seeing the fallen patriot collapse in the dust, I sprang to my feet with a commiserating moan, and charged down the hill intent on administering aid. My fellow infantrymen, seeing my distress and equally overcome by emotion, joined simultaneously in my guttural lament, and our primordial groan built as our ranks closed on the Reb’s. Seconds later, the two fronts of ancient veterans met on the field, ran headlong into each other’s open arms, and joined in compassionate embraces and exhausted sobs. Fifty years of pent-up emotions and long restrained passion was suddenly released onto the now benign battlefield, and one hundred plus former antagonists joined in prayer, camaraderie, thanksgiving, and heartfelt affection.

As we trudged slowly back up Cemetery Ridge, each assisting exhausted comrades, the Union Band played Dixie, the Rebel Band broke out in a spirited rendition of the Battle Hymn of The Republic, scars were healed, and brotherhood prevailed.

To be continued?

By Shannon Thomas Casebeer

Copyright © FEBRUARY 14th, 2009

SWEET LAND of LIBERTY...

The American ideals of liberty and justice were forged in the fires of scripture and tempered by the ages. Since its inception, our Republic has emerged slowly but steadily from the world’s history of bigotry, racism, and intolerance, toward a more just, merciful, and compassionate society; a society in which people of every conceivable faith and ethnicity can join together and find peace, acceptance, common purpose, and strength through that diversity, and in so doing form a government of, by, and for a people, unified by their diverse faiths and their mutual pursuit of liberty and justice for all. Our Constitution and America’s other historical documents demonstrate very clearly that America’s collective conscience, as reflected by our chosen leaders, requires constant scrutiny and surveillance. That’s why it’s essential we participate. That’s why it’s essential we vote. Freedom is every heart’s desire and every just government’s goal, but prior to our Constitution, liberty was a mighty illusive concept. My ancestors risked all they had in their quests for freedom, because in case after case, their homelands had very little appetite for religious freedoms. In far too many cases, Kings, Queens, and powerful religious institutions, dictated religious liberties. Bigotry, intolerance, and bondage were generally the result, and the freedom we enjoy today was little more than a dream. Even today, in the 21st century, in a country celebrated around the world as the land of liberty, there are people whom, given the opportunity, would deny freedom and forcibly inflict their religious beliefs on others. Even in a democracy of, by, and for the people, justice and equality are only as perfect as the conscience of that people. Even America’s grand and glorious democratic republic reflects not only our goodness but our greed. Freedom is not a privilege to be taken lightly. Freedom is a right and a responsibility, a perishable torch to be diligently tended and faithfully passed along. Freedom burns within our hearts, ignited by the founding fathers, and it falls to us to keep that flame alive. America’s most trusted and time-honored institutions are only as righteous as the hearts of our citizens; our most godly leaders are only as just as the collective conscience of their constituents, and the most telling measure of a nation’s heart is the compassion and the unity of its people.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

Would you buy a used car from this ol' fella?

Shannon Thomas Casebeer 

08-24-25

 

High Sierra Blood

I’ve always loved the mountains.
Heaven knows I always will.
It was way back during the gold rush,
My momma’s folks arrived in Placerville.

I’ve hiked its peaks and meadows,
With my granddad, as a kid.
If anyone loved the mountains,
My granddad Daniels did.

He hiked them with his granddad,
During Hangtown’s glory days,
Wading creeks and panning gold.
He knew the mountain ways.

Time in the High Sierras
Was my granddad’s greatest joy.
He’d hiked its fields and forests
From the time he was a boy.

Together we camped its lakes and streams,
We feasted on its fish,
Saw heaven from its summits,
Stood awestruck at the stars and made a wish.

Granddad watched the devastation,
Through seventy-two long years.
The clear-cuts and conflagrations,
And I saw it all reflected in his tears.

The Sierras are resilient,
Sympathetic and forgiving.
Despite the treatment they received,
The Sierras thrived; the Sierras went on living.

But in ‘69 my granddad died.
The foothills lost their luster.
When time came to leave old Placerville,
It took every bit of courage I could muster.

We moved back to Missouri,
The childhood home of Father.
There I met and wed my wife.
God blessed us with a son and with a daughter.

Through the years, I grew to manhood,
Built a home and tilled the earth,
Sought God, and spread Dad’s ashes,
And saw my grandson’s birth.

Life moves on; we’re given choices.
There are chances we must take.
Freedom can’t assure successes.
Freedoms found in choices that we make.

In the end, our joys dependent,
On what our choices are.
Sometimes you paint your wagon
And follow a wandering star.

So now I’m in the Ozarks.
My choices brought me here.
I’m happy in Missouri,
And heaven knows I hold the Ozarks dear.

And I’ve lived a long and prosperous life,
Beneath God’s bright blue skies,
But my heart pumps High Sierra blood,
And I’ll die with the High Sierra’s in my eyes.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

SC

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My mission statement, Regardless of the consequences, I solemnly swear

My little platform, such as it is, will be a voice for the planet, the poor and the elderly, and all those considered the least among us. I will speak on behalf of truth, justice, mercy, and all God's creatures great and small. I will endeavor each day to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer