The "Heroes" of the Hunley

I’m a sucker for shipwrecks.  I don’t know why, but there’s something about the presence of a massive structure sitting on a seabed for, sometimes, centuries that just engages my imagination; the envelope of water makes even the most mundane details magical. 

            A few years ago, I had a chance to visit the C.S.S. Hunley, the first successful submarine (successful in the sense of being able to actually kill people other than its own crew—at which it was also remarkably successful.)  On February 17, 1864, the Hunley rammed the Federal warship Housatonic, which was enforcing a blockade of Charleston Harbor, planted a torpedo in its hull, and exploded it.  For the first time, a massive warship sank, helpless against eight men and a mine.

            You have to see the Hunley to really understand just how stupendous a feat this was.  Its propulsion was by a hand crankshaft linked to one small propeller, and operated by eight sailors.  They could not sit upright, but rather were hunched over nearly ninety degrees.  They had to “power” for a mile and a half just to get to their target, and then crank all the way back.  The air was foul, and the illumination provided only by candle.  What really impressed me were the two hatches, about the diameter of a basketball hoop.  These were small, strong men—and once they squeezed into this thing, it would have been impossible to squeeze back out in a hurry.

            And they didn’t.  The Hunley sank after this mission,  drowning all the crew, just as it had twice before.  When it was raised in 2000, all eight were still at their stations.

            Heroes?  To my mind, certainly.  I cannot imagine doing what they did, and I have to admire and honor what they did.  But I’m troubled by that admiration.  They bravely sacrificed their lives, all right, but they did it for an evil cause.

            The crew of the Hunley were Confederates.  They may have had many personal reasons for committing to the side that they did, but ultimately, by doing so, they were committing to the ideal of white supremacy.  The Confederacy was dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal—but that huge numbers of people were not, well, men (or women).  Some people could be property, legally equivalent to cattle and horses.  Moreover, they were part of a culture that had engaged in ethnic cleansing, including the Trail of Tears, and that was openly advocating imperialistic expansion to Cuba, Mexico and Central America.

            Is heroism dependent upon the cause for which it’s expressed?  Can we appreciate the bravery of Nazis at the Siege of Stalingrad or the Battle of the Bulge, or the sacrifices of the Japanese at Iwo Jima?  Can bravery be recognized apart from the bearer’s ideals?

            For the first time in 150 years, we now have the chance to see the Hunley clearly.  Can we?

            Watch the following video from CBS News:  http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18563_162-57363382/restoring-a-piece-of-s.c.s-civil-war-history/?tag=cbsnewsTwoColLowerPromoArea;fd.morenews

From the Hubble Telescope

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

GOOGLE INTRODUCES “GOOGLE GRADER”

Kirkland, WA:  Google today announced the release of a new free software package for community college instructors, Google Grader. 

“We’re very excited about this,” says Google spokesperson Genevieve Eek, “since so many of us spent some time as adjunct instructors and know the terrible burden of grading essays.”  Google Grader, she predicts, will dramatically reduce the turn-around time for returning essays to students, although it may also result in reduced teaching opportunities for recent grad school students.

Google Grader will scan electronic copies of submitted essays for common errors, such as fragments, comma splices, and run-on sentences.  An “Advanced” setting can identify dangling and misplaced modifiers, subject/verb and pronoun agreement problems, and five-paragraph-theme structures (which will automatically be assigned a failing grade.)  One touted feature, however, had to be removed after Beta testing; the “Logic Lapse” analyzer frequently overloaded the program, causing complete system collapse.  “We’re working on a new algorithm for that,” says Eek, but she concedes that, as with Voice Recognition, such a feature may be far from practical application.

Google Grader will be available for download as soon as Google can find interns capable of writing the instruction manual.

Bracing for 64

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now Will you still be sending me a Valentine? Birthday greetings? Bottle of wine? 

I started wearing suspenders (“braces”, if you’re of the British persuasion.) Is this the final capitulation of the Baby Boomer?

 You know the stereotypes: an old man in a rocker on the front porch of a rickety store, smoking, hooking his thumbs in the suspenders on either side and telling boring stories. Or the urban working class guy with the tattered coat and flat cap (I have several of those, too). Or Uncle Joe of suspect sexual predilections. At best, I’m Captain Jack of Torchwood; at worst, friends call me “Snuffy.”

 I bought them for costumes. The first set was for a bit part in a staged reading of The Rainmaker; I played Grampa. The second pair was part of an appearance by Ken Burns to promote his Prohibition film; I dressed as a worker in a bootlegging warehouse. All in good fun, and I embraced the stereotypes.

 But then I made an uncomfortable discovery: the damn things are comfortable and practical. I’ve been having this problem. My belly protrudes. It didn’t do this when I was working out every day and riding my bicycle to work. But it does now, swelling like a balloon. And my pants keep falling down. I’ve found that I have two options: 1) cinch a belt as tightly as I can around my hips, in which case my shirts invariably become untucked and I suffer from 19th-Century female “diseases”; or 2) hitch the pants up above the apogee of my stomach bulge, in which case I become one of the Katzenjammer Kids.

 The suspenders solve both problems. The pants stay at the proper level, and the shirts stay tucked within them (well, mostly. Buttons still have a tendency to pop apart, though.) So far I’ve been able to hide them under sweaters so my concession to age has gone largely unnoticed, but Spring will someday arrive, and there I’ll be: a certified senior with suspenders and a Hawaiian shirt. Maybe shorts, too—why not embrace the decrepit dorkiness of it all?

 Gotta go. The front porch rocker needs me.

  Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?