The script for this Boston TV station report on the Morris Worm is priceless:
It may even help puts today’s worm and virus news in perspective.
The script for this Boston TV station report on the Morris Worm is priceless:
It may even help puts today’s worm and virus news in perspective.
by Christina Rossetti in 1872
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago
It is time again for a look at why we celebrate Thanksgiving. Although I have made a guess once or twice before in past years, this year I noticed Wikipedia has a greatly enhanced entry. They filed it under “Legacy” for Sarah Josepha Buell Hale (October 24, 1788 – April 30, 1879).
Right away you might wonder how a woman born in 1788 could be responsible for a holiday introduced by settlers. Ah, as I mentioned five years ago, Abraham Lincoln was the first US President to recognize Thanksgiving. Before legislation in 1863 supported by him, the only American holidays were Independence Day and Washington’s Birthday.
Hale had tried, without success, to get the four prior US Presidents to adopt Thanksgiving. Lincoln found her appeal suited a particular need ; he saw it as a chance to repair relations after the Civil War by bringing families together for a holiday.
It did not acquire the imagery of Settlers and Native Americans at the same table for another 70 years.
…presidential declarations of Thanksgiving made absolutely no mention of the Plymouth Pilgrims or a “First Thanksgiving” until Herbert Hoover’s proclamation of 1931. This revision was apparently due to a change from how Pilgrims (and Indians) were perceived. Depictions of the settlers in America before the 19th century showed violent confrontation with people they encountered. As late as the 1910s a typical Thanksgiving “Pilgrim-puritan” image is more likely to have suggested settlers were fleeing a shower of arrows and running to safety than sitting down for a friendly meal with the “natives”.
The original letter by Hale to Lincoln is also found on Wikipedia, under the section on her Legacy.
The letter does not appear on the Wikipedia entry for Thanksgiving. Perhaps even more disturbing is that the name “Hale” does not appear anywhere on the Thanksgiving entry. It appears instead in the Thanksgiving_(United_States) entry. My guess is that some people are intent on documenting Thanksgiving as an ancient festival. I think there is danger in confusing a distinctly American celebration with harvest festivals that have existed for thousands of years.
It is a wonder so few people think of Hale as the author of the American holiday Thanksgiving. A first-person account I read once from that period convinced me that many Americans thought it peculiar to adopt it as a holiday. They did not see a long history of harvest festivals in their past.
Instead, they reflected upon it as something the religious might celebrate in the East. I remember one diary by a girl who in 1863 talked about her family discussing their “first” Thanksgiving to support the US President despite reservations about Puritans. Wikipedia brings this up as a southern phenomenon, but I think that is incorrect.
In some of the Southern states, there was opposition to the observance of such a day on the ground that it was a relic of Puritanic bigotry
It was likely to be more nation-wide, as opposition to Puritans definitely was not isolated to the South:
Thanks go to Hale, I suppose, for her persistence and overcoming secular resistance and convincing Lincoln to create a national and secular Thanksgiving.
Hopefully her story will become a regular discussion topic at the dinner table. Despite the updates to Wikipedia entries for Thanksgiving history, and well-timed stories in regular press about Hale and Lincoln, she may remain more famous for her poetry:
Mary had a little lamb,
little lamb, little lamb,
Mary had a little lamb,
whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
Mary went, Mary went,
and everywhere that Mary went,
the lamb was sure to go.
A poem from 1899 by Edwin Markham in San Francisco, which was said at the time to represent “the battle-cry of the next thousand years“. Only a hundred years later, however, the title already has taken on a completely different meaning:
Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in his face,
And on his back, the burden of the world.
Who made him dead to rapture and despair,
A thing that grieves not and that never hopes,
Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox?
Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw?
Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow?
Whose breath blew out the light within this brain?Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave
To have dominion over sea and land;
To trace the stars and search the heavens for power;
To feel the passion of Eternity?
Is this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns
And marked their ways upon the ancient deep?
Down all the caverns of Hell to their last gulf
There is no shape more terrible than this–
More tongued with cries against the world’s blind greed–
More filled with signs and portents for the soul–
More packed with danger to the universe.What gulfs between him and the seraphim!
Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him
Are Plato and the swing of the Pleiades?
What the long reaches of the peaks of song,
The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose?
Through this dread shape the suffering ages look;
Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop;
Through this dread shape humanity betrayed,
Plundered, profaned and disinherited,
Cries protest to the Powers that made the world,
A protest that is also prophecy.O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
Is this the handiwork you give to God,
This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched?
How will you ever straighten up this shape;
Touch it again with immortality;
Give back the upward looking and the light;
Rebuild in it the music and the dream;
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes?O masters, lords and rulers in all lands,
How will the future reckon with this Man?
How answer his brute question in that hour
When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores?
How will it be with kingdoms and with kings–
With those who shaped him to the thing he is–
When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world,
After the silence of the centuries?