A Tribute To Poopy

They laid Poopy to rest today.
Actually, his name was Wayne and only two years older than I. I had always thought him to be much older, but as a four year old, the six year olds, already in school, seemed much older, and the kids in Harpswell grew up faster than we soft kids uptown.
Nicknames often come from some indiscretion or something done by accident during early childhood, and he was no exception to that. The story goes that when he first started school, he had an accident, which left him with full pants. The old family farm was just down the road from the one room school house, so the teacher sent him home for clean clothes. Being no slouch, he realized he had stumbled on, as we used to say in the Army, “a good sham,” and so several days later, he unloaded his problems, and took the short walk home. After several leaves of absence, his mother sent a letter to the teacher, instructing her that if Wayne were to do this again, “Let him sit in it.” The next event was the last, but the effect it had on his fellow students gave him the name “Poopy,” which never left him.
His obituary said he was an avid hunter. Well, that was an understatement, as the terms “poaching” and “jacking” were often associated with his name, and as late as this past fall, he was allegedly pinched by game wardens for taking a shot at an entrapment decoy placed near the side of the road. It also said he loved entertaining people with “anecdotes.” This was quite true, and the majority either stared or ended with “Gawd, boy.” Or “Gawd, boy, did you ever…”
But I’m not writing this to make fun of an early childhood incident or to put him in the role of rural buffoon. Wayne was a salt of the earth type of guy, who was a friend to everyone, and those who knew him all had stories about him. The fact is, with Wayne’s passing, a bit of what made Harpswell an interesting place, has disappeared and we are becoming less a community and spiraling deeper into the bland retirement community for people from away that we are rapidly becoming.
Rest in peace, Poopy. We’ll miss you.

Memorial Day 2000

In May, 2000, I was asked to deliver the Memorial Day speech at my town's parade. Harpswell is a small town of about 5,000, and the speech is delivered from the front of the Old Town Meeting House which was constructed in 1758. It is truly a Norman Rockwell event.
I would like to dedicate my remarks today to Sp4 Clark Douglas of Corning, NY; John Michael Rice of Indianapolis, Indiana; and LT. Brian J. O’Callahan of Alexandria, VA, three friends who will always remain young men in my heart, but who so richly deserved to go on to raise families and suffer the indignities of aging.
People began gathering together on this day, on what was known as Decoration Day to honor the fallen of the Civil War, those brave men, who rushed naively to the colors to save the Union and rid our country of the scourge of slavery. Once they had enlisted, most wondered almost immediately what they had gotten themselves into, and once they “saw the elephant,” their term for going into combat for the first time, they realized that dying for one’s country is not particularly glorious, and they never wanted to see it again.
But war did come again, and the armies passed on in time. We now honor the fallen of many wars and conflicts. The grand armies which spread out across the continent in the struggle to save the Union have become ranks of moss covered headstones. The endless lines of marching men, who fought the First World War from Flanders to the Pacific are now by a faint whisper in time, and the great armies which defended our country from the threat of fascism and communism in Korea are now in the winter years of their lives, and their stories are too quickly falling silent. Even the young men from Vietnam, who invaded the evening news, are nearing the autumn of their lives.
The real tragedy of the losses in all these wars is not so much the loss of the individual, who as the armies pass, is relegated to old photograph albums, remembered by a decreasing few, until none remain who knew him at all. The real tragedy is the loss of potential. We know not what great piece of literature bled away, unwritten, in the trenches of France, or what medical discovery was lost with the life of a young soldier on Okinawa or even Stalingrad, or what technological breakthrough was lost in the Mekong Delta. Perhaps an unborn descendent of one of the lost ones would have had the cure for AIDS or the knowledge of controlling fusion. We will never know what might have been.
If the sacrifice of our fallen brothers and sisters is to have any meaning in a world becoming increasingly smaller, we must also remember those others who fell wearing the jackets of field gray, wearing sandals made from old tires or who were incinerated in their tanks on their desperate retreat back to Bagdad, for like our own, they too had their hopes, their dreams, and their potential for good.
Some would say that on a day when we wrap ourselves in our flag, that what I have just said is inappropriate, but it is fitting and proper that we do this. One of the stories of the early celebrations of Decoration Day tells of a cemetery in which were buried both Union and Confederate dead. The graves of the Union soldiers had been covered with flowers by their loved ones, but when the families of the Confederates approached the local commandant to ask if they could place flowers on the graves of their loved ones, permission was denied.
During the night a breeze arose which blew the flowers from the Union graves, and in the morning the previously unadorned Confederate graves were covered with flowers, a tribute, many said from the Union fallen to their Southern brothers in arms.
In remembering all, we can protect the future and thereby honor the sacrifice of our own.

The Civil War Comes To Harpswell, Maine

In late June 1863, the Civil War was approaching two climaxes, which would ultimately lead to the Union victory. In the west, the forces of General US Grant were beginning their final push to capture Vicksburg opening the entire Mississippi River to the Union, while in the east, the Army of the Potomac was engaged in a grueling foot race with Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia as it moved north through Maryland and Pennsylvania in an attempt to attack Washington DC. At the same time, a lesser known event occurred which directly involved Harpswell.
In May 1863, Lt. Charles Reed was serving aboard the CSS Florida off the coast of Brazil when it captured the brigantine Clarence. Reed, a 23 year old native of Mississippi had graduated at the bottom of his class in 1860 from the US Naval Academy at Annapolis. The young lieutenant prevailed upon the commander of the Florida to allow him to take 20 men and head north to disrupt shipping off the east coast to try to draw away resources from the Union blockade. He was provided with a 12 pound howitzer, small arms, and the Clarence was commissioned as Florida No 2.
The intrepid Reed and his crew sailed northward along the eastern seaboard of the United States, capturing or burning several ships, and on June 12, within sight of Cape Henry, they came upon the ship Tacony. Raising an inverted American flag, a sign of distress, as a feint, Reed approached the unwary ship, sent over a boarding party and captured it. Figuring this new ship was better and faster, he transferred his men and weapons to it, and set the Clarence aflame.
The Confederate raiders had captured 6 vessels and 50 prisoners in a week. The US Navy was ordered to send any vessel available to hunt down and either destroy or capture what was now becoming a threat to Northern shipping. Even the yacht America from Reeds alma mater, the Naval Academy was sent out in pursuit. The Tacony continued to elude the hunters and between June 12 and 14, captured 15 more vessels!
June 23 found the Tacony becalmed off Portland (ME)Harbor where she was hailed by a federal gunboat. Reed bluffed them off, replying that he was a different vessel bound for Portland. As the gunboat departed, they shouted a message over the water for them to be on the lookout for rebel marauders.
Realizing that the Tacony was going to be recognized, the crew captured and took possession of the schooner Archer on June 24 near Southport and enjoyed a fine chowder dinner prepared by the Archer’s crew. The fate of the Tacony was now to be that of the Clarence, and she was set afire.
The next day, the Archer was off Damaraiscove (some accounts say Haskell’s) Island where they encountered two Harpswell fishermen, Albert Bibber and Eldridge Titcomb tending their fishing gear. The accounts also vary as to exactly what happened next. One states that the crew of the schooner represented themselves as a party of fishermen needing guidance into Portland. The other relates that the two were hailed, and asked to come aboard, and when they demurred, and armed party was put over in a small boat to persuade them to do so. Since it is unlikely that any Maine fisherman would give up a good day’s hauling to ride into Portland with a party from away, the latter is more likely the actual.
Once on board, Reed interrogated the two and learned that the steamer Chesapeake was in Portland Harbor as well as the revenue cutter Caleb Cushing.

At about 7:30 PM the unobtrusive Archer, slipped passed the forts guarding the mouth of Portland Harbor and dropped anchor. Reed ordered most of his men and his two captives below, but kept several on deck to allay any suspicions from those passing by. The rest of the crew was put to work manufacturing fire bombs from oakum and turpentine. The plan at this point was to capture the Chesapeake and steam her out of port. The chief engineer, however, determined he would not be able to get enough steam up in the boilers by himself in time to be underway before daylight. That left the Cushing as the next target of opportunity.
Most of the crew of the Caleb Cushing was ashore for the funeral of the captain, who had died quite suddenly, and there was a dance party in progress on Peak’s Island. After midnight, when all had quieted down, and the returning crew was bedded down for the night, Reed and his raiders rowed across the harbor and took possession of the cutter, securing the crew below decks. Things started going awry for the Confederates as they slipped the anchor and found themselves aground. Launching two small boats they began towing the Cushing down the harbor hoping for a morning breeze to pick up. As they drew abreast of the Archer, Titcomb and Bibber were brought on board and forced to assist in piloting. Around 4 AM, the outgoing rebels were passed by the steamer Forest City inbound from Boston. Ironically one of the passengers was Lt. James Merryman, newly assigned to take command of the revenue cutter.
To avoid risking fire from the forts at the mouth of the harbor, Reed directed the cutter up past Peaks and Hog Islands and into the gap between the latter and Cow Island, making out into Hussey Sound. Although Bibber warned the Confederates that is was a risky passage, he testified later that he was neither asked nor gave any directions as to the course. Realizing that pursuit was inevitable, be begged the rebel captain to release him and Titcomb before they got to Green Island. Reed denied his request.
In the meantime, the Portland waterfront was alive with activity. Mayor Jacob McClellan chartered four vessels to pursue the rebels and sent messages to the two army commands in the area, the 17th ME at Ft. Preble and the 7th ME at Ft. Abraham Lincoln up the Fore River. The troops from Ft. Preble, 35 men and two small field pieces were hurried aboard the Forest City, while 27 men from the 7th ME with similar weapons, were piled aboard the Chesapeake, along with 50 armed civilian volunteers. The Forest City, with its steam already up, set out in pursuit with the Chesapeake following in short order.
Meanwhile, aboard the Caleb Cushing, Bibber was still pushing his plea to be released. Finally, out by Cod Ledges, with two steamers visibly loaded with soldiers coming after them, Bibber, begged again, and was given permission to take one of the small rowboats tied along beside and go. This he did with such alacrity, that he left his fellow, Titcomb, behind with the rebels.
Reed ordered the crew to fire several shots at the approaching Forest City with the Cushing’s 32-pounder and the former pulled back out of range to protect its exposed paddle wheels. The Chesapeake bore up fast, and after a hurried, across the water conference, the two vessel captain’s agreed the Chesapeake would take the lead and run down the Cushing. Realizing the gravity of the situation, Captain Leighton called on all hands to determine what should be done. It was unanimously agreed to run the cutter down and strike her amidships. Colonel Mason commanding the army troops on board admonished his men to stand fast and stay cool.
Aboard the cutter, the situation was becoming grim for the Confederate crew. They had fired all the ammunition they had found, and knew that side arms and cutlasses would not be much of a defense against the well armed pursuers. Reed had his captives brought up on deck, still in handcuffs and loaded aboard two small boats. Someone remembered to throw them a ring of keys as they shoved off, but in their haste to escape did not remove the restraints. Reed’s crew began to set fire to the vessel, before jumping into the remaining small boats and rowed away as well.
Two citizens, one a milliner, the other the port shipping master had been jockeying for command of the volunteers and began issuing conflicting orders. As the boats carrying the released captives approached, one issued an order to fire, whereupon Colonel Mason finally took control and shouted that he would run through with his sword the first person to fire. Realizing the danger they were in, one of the former captives, Lt. Davenport from the cutter began waving his white shirt. They were brought aboard unceremoniously as if they were pirates themselves and placed under guard. Meanwhile the Forest City rounded up Reed’s crew, who had thrown their weapons overboard and fashioned a crude flag of surrender.
Volunteers came forward to board the cutter and dowse the flames, but fortunately for them Cpt. Willard, one of the Portland Harbor Pilots knew there was a great deal of powder still hidden aboard the cutter of which the Confederates were unaware. After standing back to watch it burn, the Caleb Cushing suddenly erupted in a sheet of flame and sank to the bottom.
The Rebel prisoners were brought back to shore, imprisoned at Ft. Preble and moved to Ft. Warren in Boston.
The exploits of Lt. Charles Reed and his intrepid crew are but a sidelight of the great Civil War. Their exploits were soon overshadowed by the cataclysmic events at Vicksburg and Gettysburg.

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