WHAT KIND OF MEN WERE THESE?

I'm a bit of a Civil War buff, not a hardcore collector of memorabilia or a devoted historian, but clearly someone who finds the war, the events leading up to it, and how it impacted life in its day. So when we got the chance to live in Charlottesville, Virginia for a few years in the 1990's, I relished the proximity to so much Civil War history. I saw Bull Run, Appomattox Courthouse, etc. but one of the most lasting impressions came on a fall drive along Skyline Drive. I found myself looking down from the lofty overlooks at the rugged Shenandoah Valley, thinking how Stonewall Jackson lead a barefoot army through that terrain in the dead of winter! What kind of men were these, anyway?

This weekend, I spent two days on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, including visiting some old friends who happened to be staying in the charming beach village of Salvo, just past Rodanthe, the town once called Chicamacomico, where the old pre-Coast Guard U.S. Life Saving Station still sits. As I drove by the historic site I recalled an account North Carolina historian David Stick recorded of that very Life Saving Station's crew gathering around their breakfast table writing out their last will and testaments before heading out one foggy morning to respond to the cries of a ship not even visible beyond the breakers, on a day when conditions convinced the men they would not be returning alive. (Ultimately, they did make it back, and made it back with the ship's passengers). Again I ask, what kind of men were these?

These accounts aren't that unusual - the Charge of the Light Brigade, doomed as they were; Washington crossing the Delaware on a cold, Christmas morning; a group of colonist standing up to the almighty British Crown and signing their name to a bold declaration of Independence, assuming they were signing their death sentences. What kind of men, indeed?Which brings us to 2010 - a day when divide and conquer is rule of the day, no one seems to take responsibility for anything, choosing rather to cast blame, never dealing in honest dialogue and debate, preferring to spin their opposition's perspective into some kind of DC Comics-like twisted super-villain scheme. We've allowed ourselves to be reduced to name calling, immature brats, spitting and cursing across the aisle at "the other side" - black vs. white, rich vs. poor, north vs. south, left vs. right, boy vs. girl, and so it goes. All the while, we're all in the same boat. Regardless of who's right and who's wrong (and we're all wrong about plenty, no doubt) we're going to succeed or fail together. At this rate, our failure is assured. No one is taking the bull by the horns and doing the dirty work needed to fight through and survive.

What we need is that kind of men that marched barefoot across the snowy Shenandoah, that wrote out their wills and dragged the heavy surfboat miles across the sandy beach at Chicamacomico and into the surf to brave the breakers. Where do we find that kind of men? If we can't find them within our selves, we may be doomed.