South of Shiloh by Chuck Logan Read Free Book Online Page B

monument is a reality. Special thanks go to the Heritage Development Corporation in Nashville for their very generous donation. The monument was put in place out in front of the Kirby House today. But we’re going to wait on the landscaping until the reenactors get through tramping around. Once they finish up we’ll get it all spiffed up for the dedication right after the Shiloh Living History. Okay folks. The mikes are open and I see the calls are stacking up.
    “Hello, you’re on Southern Almanac .”
    “Hey Mitchell Lee, this is Jimmy Tobin calling from Hatchie, and some of us over here are not real clear on how they got the dates all mixed around with the battle event and the dedication. Kirby Creek was after Shiloh, not before. I thought getting history accurate was still important around here.”
    “Well, Jimmy, I hear you. But this year the Sons of Confederate Veterans decided to sponsor this super-hardcore authentic battle scenario and that means no spectators. We’ll still be doing an event on the anniversary but it’s gonna be more dedication ceremony and celebration than a reenactment. So’s not to conflict with the dedication, the SCV moved their reenactment up.”
    Mitch punched another button. “Good evening, you’re on Southern Almanac .”
    “Yeah, Mitchell, some of the boys I know are complaining about the way they cut off registration for Kirby Creek. It’s gonna cause a stink in some SCV camps. It’s discrimination.”
    “It’s a problem, I agree,” Mitch said. “But you gotta see their side. Don’t get me wrong, these hardcore types do tend to roll their grits in little balls. On the other hand they expect a level of commitment most mainstream reenactors don’t, well, want to put up with.”
    “Who thought this up anyway?”
    “Way I heard it, a local boy went out to West Virginia last year for Rich Mountain. That’s the one where a couple hundred Yankees grounded their packs then hiked six miles up a mountain in the rain. Then they slept up there without their packs, blankets, ponchos, and most of their food.”
    “Not my idea of reenacting.”
    “Look at it this way, maybe somebody figured if you could get Yankees to march up a mountain you could get them to pollywog five miles through Cross State Swamp. Which is what they’re gonna do.”
    The caller laughed. “Bleep that,” he said.
    Mitch went to the next call. “Howdy, you’re on Southern Almanac .”
    “So Mitchell Lee, you gonna be at Kirby Creek?”
    “Not me. I never was into dress-up reenacting. I was in the shooting end. My father-in-law, Hiram Kirby, God bless him, we were on the Forrest Rifles until…” Mitch’s voice caught slightly.
    “You got our prayers, you and your wife. Damn shame what your family is going through.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Mitch paused for a moment before hitting the next call. “ Southern Almanac , come on.”
    “Talking about Forrest Rifles—where’d you learn to shoot?”
    “Well now…” Mitch let his voice ruminate. “’Suspect I did just like most of you all out there. You see, my grandpa who raised me always had two squirrels for breakfast. Every morning from the time I was twelve till I started high school he’d get me up at dawn, hand me this old single-shot .22 and two long cartridges. Then he’d push me toward the woods and not let me back in till I had two skinned squirrels. And Grandpa, he didn’t like the meat shot up. Grandpa, he insisted on head shots.”
    Mitch switched to the next call.
    “Got a monument question. Now, the new Tennessee memorial they put up at Shiloh is cast bronze, am I right?”
    “Yes sir, cast in Wyoming.”
    “But the statue you put up is granite.”
    “Southern gray, out of Georgia.”
    “How come granite and not bronze?”
    “Well, we had meetings on this and I figured we should honor those sleeping heroes with an old-fashioned flavor. Fact is, granite sculpture is a dying art. As the old sculptors retire there’s no new