(6)
A History Lesson-Part Two
With that, from behind a curtain next to the South window stepped as grand looking a soldier as there ever was. He was "dressed to the nines" in Union Army finery, epaulets dripping from his shoulders, and with his long, blond, curly locks and mustache, he was a familiar-looking figure even to the history-challenged President.
"Wha—how long has he been standin' there?"
"That is not important, George," said Lincoln out of the side of his mouth. "President George W. Bush, I would like you to meet General George Armstrong Custer."
"It is indeed a pleasure to make your esteemed acquaintance," replied the striking-looking Custer, sticking out his gloved right hand, as his left hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure," replied a shaky George W., as he stood to greet the bedecked general.
"I asked the General to come here and talk a bit about hubris. He knows a thing or two about it, don't you General?" Lincoln had a way of making even this pithy saying seem harmless.
"I do, indeed, Mr. President. Yes, I do indeed," replied Custer.
"Then come and sit with us by the fire and warm yerself. You've been standing for awhile," said Lincoln, pointing to a third chair that had somehow materialized.
"I would prefer to stand, Mr. President, if you don't mind, sir."
"Suit yerself. Bring some water for the general, George, would you please?"
"Oh, certainly... why wouldn't I get water for George Flippin' Custer," muttered the President, more to himself than to his guests. He was wondering if he was really dreaming or losing his mind.
The President returned with General Custer's water and sat back down in his chair. This was truly the craziest dream he'd ever had.
Abraham Lincoln began by addressing Custer. "General, why don't you begin by refreshing the President on some of your many grand military accomplishments."
Custer drew himself up ramrod straight in profile view and then turned his head towards his audience. He loved talking about himself.
"Well, Mr. President and...Mr. President: Although I am best known for the unfortunate and tragic events in the Dakota Territory in 1876 that led to my demise, I was made the youngest brigadier general in the Union army at the tender age of 23. I served with distinction and bravery, if I say so myself, leading direct and frontal cavalry charges at the battles of First Bull Run, the Peninsula, Antietam, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, the Wilderness, and Petersburg. Am I leaving anything out? I was with General Grant at Appomattox. I was given the very table upon which the surrender was taken from Robert E. Lee because of my own bravery in battle." There was a dramatic pause. "I... was a great man!" General Custer left no doubt in the room that he, at least, thoroughly believed it. President Bush was greatly impressed as well. Abraham Lincoln was sitting with one spidery leg crossed over the other, his head slowly bobbing, enjoying Custer's performance as he would one of his favorite plays.
"By 1876, I very well may have been the most popular man in America! I was considering a run for the White House. Libby, my wife, thought it would get me off the 'trail', but I felt like I needed one more big success, one more... feather in my hat." Custer pondered the possibilities for a moment, lost in the campaign. A small cough from Lincoln brought the general back from his reverie.
"Yes... umm, my beloved 7th Cavalry was assigned the glorious and most dangerous task of finding and engaging a large group of rebellious Indians in the Dakota Territory who had refused the generous offer to reside on government-given land. That was arrogance right there, I tell you. Imagine the ingratitude of those savages! We offered to school their children, to teach them the ways of our farmers. These nomadic... heathens spat on our kindness," said the general, spitting, "preferring to live like wild animals. The United States government had treated these... savages like their own children, offering them the chance to become civilized people. I never believed it would happen, no sir. Not after the things I had seen."
President Bush was ten years old again. Like many boys growing up in the golden age of the Hollywood Western, he had played his fair share of cowboys and Indians in the scrub brush suburbs of Midland, Texas.
"Yessir, I've seen acts of unspeakable cruelty perpetrated by these miserable... monsters." Again, Custer paused as if he had just come upon a scalping. He looked away dramatically, and gazed out the window. "From the moment the first ships landed at Jamestown, and Plymouth Rock, it was our...destiny to spread across the great–"
"Oh! Oh! I know!" The President was raising his hand like it was 7th grade American History class.
"Yes, Mr. President?" The general was not used to being interrupted.
"Manifest destiny. It was our manifest destiny!"
"Manifest destiny? Yes, of course, it was our manifest destiny..." General Custer looked at Abraham Lincoln for relief. "Yes...that's very good. Manifest destiny. It was our manifest," nodding at President Bush, "destiny to spread our civilization, our Christian faith, and our democratic form of government across the hills, the mountains, the plains..." Here Custer was rising like a maestro, "from sea to shining sea!"
President Bush started clapping and gave him an "atta boy!"
Abraham Lincoln cleared his throat like a school teacher, and the President settled back down in his seat.
"However, I got in a little bit of trouble with the Grant administration that wasn't my fault, you understand, and was sitting in jail when my Seventh moved out. Without their leader! Oh, I pleaded with the President, used all my powers of persuasion, and ol' U.S., he really was a softie, wasn't he, Mr. President?" Now he was looking at Lincoln, who nodded. "Well, he did finally let me out to be with my boys, and lead them to our common glory."
General Custer paused to consider his boys. There appeared to be moistness around his eyes as he slowly spoke. "A finer group of men you will never find anywhere, and that's the God's honest truth." The general was staring out the window at the moon. President Bush was tearing up, too, knowing that this story didn't end well.
"Well, I knew everything there was to know about soldiering, and Indians, and I had a plan, and it had worked perfectly at the Washita River in '68, and nobody, I mean nobody was going to tell me how to kill Indians." Here, Custer turned to his audience. "There were naysayers in the ranks, to be sure; told me we were going to be severely outnumbered, they did." Custer's voice started to rise. "But what are five savages to one brave United States Cavalry man? We had the righteousness of almighty God on our side, the Stars and Stripes in the van, and yours truly, if I may say so, at the front of the chase. I didn't give a fig if it were 15-to 1!" Another long pause, and the President could feel the end was near.
"Alas... I was to have the part of Job in this play, and it was Satan and his minions that were to rule the day. My brilliant battle plan and the courage and valor of every single soldier were, unfortunately, no match for the likes of such beasts." Here Custer spat on the rug again, causing an audible grimace from the President. "Beasts who seemed to care little for the value of their own lives, or for any life! How does one fairly fight such fiends!! O! Unmerciful God! To what purpose was I sacrificed? I was meant for so...many...greater things... to be cut down in my prime by the likes of..." Finally Custer, having fleeced all available pejoratives, and, exhausted by his own recital, sank down slowly in the available chair.
President Bush was close to having a second conversion. Abraham Lincoln, thoroughly satisfied with the general's aria, offered him a handkerchief from his vest pocket. "The General is still... working through some 'issues', as I believe you say in the current lexicon." He let the air settle in the room for a bit, sipping on his water, staring placidly into the fire. General Custer turned slowly towards President Bush and started to speak but held back for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
"You know, Mr. President, I've had a long time to reflect upon the events of the 25th of June, Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-Six. The one element of the battle plan that I never gave a consideration to, never thought two shakes about, was that the enemy was fighting for their own homes. People, no matter how uncivilized–hell, animals–will fight to the death for their own homes, for their kin. It is a fact of nature. Never underestimate what your opponent will do when he is fighting for his own. Ahh, as much as I hated 'em, I have to tip my hat to 'em; they were the ones fighting for their freedom, not us."
A moment of clarity swept over the President like a cold, wet, rag and he saw for an instant that, as much as he admired the patriotism and courage of George Armstrong Custer, he, George Walker Bush, maybe was about to commit some of the same errors in judgment that had led to the general's bitter end. It was disturbing, this feeling of second judging, and George W. Bush didn't like it. No, he didn't like it one bit.
After a few minutes, General Custer stood and announced his departure. "Please stay, General," Lincoln pleaded. "I believe you know our next guest." But Custer was adamant, and with handshakes all around, and a salute from the President, the general made ready to leave. Turning towards President Bush he said, "Mr. President, I hope something I said tonight may help you with the trials that seem part and parcel to your office. I surely hope it doesn't take you as long to figure things out as it did me. Good evening to you, sir!"
And with that, the general disappeared out the double doors.
"Hell of a man, hell of an American," said a moved President Bush.
"Yes... and he liked your addition to his 'destiny' line," agreed Lincoln.
"And people say I didn't learn anything in school," said the President with a wink. "Well, whoever you had in mind next is going to have a hard time beating out General Custer."
"I would have to say many people would agree with you, George. Unfortunately, I must also say that the man I want you to meet would not be among those in agreement," offered Lincoln.
"Well which curtain is he hidin' behind this time?"
"He's not hiding behind any curtain," said the former president. "He's waiting out in the hall. Oh, I have to admit a guilty pleasure in making this man wait. As much as he made me wait... he absolutely hates it!" Lincoln gave a sly smile. "I'll go let him in."
President Lincoln went to the double doors and as he opened the right one, summoned his guest in. Immediately, the man burst right past Lincoln and marched straight to the window that General Custer had been standing at not five minutes before, completely ignoring President Bush. This new man, smaller in stature than Custer, but dressed in similar Union Army regalia replete with epaulets, medals, and ribbons, was obviously trying to gather his emotions, but not doing a very good job at it.
"Mr. President," said Lincoln as he walked back towards his chair, "I would like you to meet Major General George B. McClellan."
The President, who had already stood as General McClellan brushed by him, extended his right hand in greeting. "It's an honor to meet you, General."
McClellan extended the moment that his back was turned just long enough to make the point, then slowly turned towards President Bush and painfully stuck out his own right hand. "The pleasure is all mine, I'm sure, Your Excellency." He nodded Abraham Lincoln's way and mumbled something that sounded like "Lincoln." George W. Bush saw that this meeting, whatever its purpose, was going to be different.
"Mr. President, I've asked the General, and he has graciously accepted," began Lincoln with a twinkle, "to come here and talk about...me." Lincoln's eyes met McClellan's, and while McClellan was throwing darts, Lincoln was killing with kindness. "Now, in making this request of the fine General, I specifically asked him to talk with absolute honesty in my presence." An audible grumble escaped McClellan, as the President's mind raced to interpret the last sentence. "It is well known that out of my presence, General McClellan had a less than favorable view of my...competence. Would that be a fair statement, General?" McClellan declined to comment. "I'll take that as a yes," said the unflappable Lincoln. "Why, if I had had to serve–no, lead–my nation's grand army under the thumb of such bald incompetence, I believe I might have spoken up, too. Imagine, a great leader such as yourself, General, constrained from true glory by amateurs!" The former president was clearly baiting McClellan, priming him like a lawnmower, and it was working. "Did they not call you the Little Napoleon, general?" McClellan quickly removed his right hand from within the space between the buttons on the right side of his tunic.
"Enough!" cried McClellan. "You...you... railsplitter!" This obviously was a tremendous insult. Addressing President Bush, he blustered on. "This... buffoon bungled his way into the greatest calamity this nation has ever known and was granted... sainthood for it!"
His work sparking the fire of General McClellan's considerable ego now done, Lincoln sat back in his chair, crossed his legs and enjoyed the show.
"My God, there's a Lincoln something in every nook and cranny in this nation! And for what? What did he do? He was a nobody! Elected president as a... a farce. A two-bit country lawyer elected president because the god-awful Republican Party couldn't agree on their own... name! Then, what does he do? He appoints his betters to his Cabinet! So they can suffer under his misguided rule! There were at least a half-dozen people in his own Cabinet that were better qualified to lead this country in such a calamitous time. Why him? It's one of the great mistakes of history, I tell you, no doubt about it. When his baggage train showed up in Washington it was a sad day for our nation. I'm sure the men of the blasted Republican Party, to a man, rued what they had done. Why, in fact–"
President Bush could take the denigration of his hero no longer. He sought to bring the temperature down. "General McClellan would you like something to drink?"
"No!"
"Some water, coffee, a beer–"
"I SAID NO!!"
This was too much. The President stood up. "General McClellan, may I remind you that you are in my house, and this is my dream... not to mention the fact that you are speaking to a sitting President of the United States. If you don't show some common courtesy, I'm afraid I will send you back down... whatever portal you came from." President Bush could show some attitude when he had to.
"My apologies, sir," said a chastened McClellan. He now spoke in measured tones. "I don't need anything to drink because I don't plan on being here for very long, that's all. This isn't the most pleasant of subjects."
"Don't worry about it," said the President, who felt sorry for President Lincoln being put through this. He needn't have worried.
"Now, where was I?" asked the General.
"You were speaking of the funereal atmosphere upon my arrival in Washington," answered a beaming Lincoln, stealing a wink at George W.
"Oh yes. Thank you. What a catastrophe! In any event, I was assigned the task of creating out of whole cloth an army that would be given the monumental task of saving the Union. Obviously, given the sorry shape that our armed forces were in at that moment, this was going to take some time. It was an assignment only for the most brilliant and determined organizer, and I was happy to do my best for my country. In reality, there was no one else qualified to do it. But these politicians," McClellan spat the word out, "who knew nothing about war but what they'd read in books... and this... this imbecile here had done battle with nothing more dangerous than a log–"
"A log! Ha!" Lincoln slapped his knee and laughed loudly.
"–trying to tell West Point military men how to make war! By God we had to save the Union from him! Letter after letter–'General when are you going to move?' 'General you need to go now', 'General, if you're not using your Army, can I borrow it?', 'General, General'–how did he know? He was a railsplitter from Illinois! I had the fate of the lives of 100,000 men in my hands. The men!" McClellan put his hands on his heart. "They loved me as much as I loved them! And this political poltroon wanted to send me up and down the countryside undermanned and under equipped." Lincoln was in stitches, and a tear ran down his right cheek. "Oh, you think it's funny do you, railsplitter, but if it wasn't for your generals–Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and me–pulling your arse out of the fire time and time again, there would be two nations today, I promise you that!"
McClellan was turning the color of a fine Merlot. "And what, pray tell, does this man do for an encore? Why, he frees the stinkin' slaves is what! Just what we needed, tens of thousands of niggers crowding into our lines, begging for food. We didn't have enough food for our own troops! Another brilliant move by a man that never saw a day of battle but in the comfort of his own office. And look!" McClellan's arm swung out at the South window. "There he is, right out there next to Washington and Jefferson! What an insult to them both! And he's on your money, they've named towns after him–"
"He's a holiday!" offered the President.
"He's a bloody holiday!" The general looked like he was going to explode.
"Hey, didn't you two run against each other or something?" President Bush was trying to lighten the mood.
"Yes yes, in '64."
"And the general ran a splendid campaign," chimed in Abraham Lincoln. "Just splendid!"
"Oh, shut up!!" exclaimed General McClellan.
What incredible insubordination! President Bush could hardly believe his ears. But, on the other hand, who knows what sort of relations are forged in the realm of ghosts?
"Running against a sitting president in a time of war was a fool's errand and you know it," McClellan said bitterly. "And now, the man is a legend among legends, and I... I will be eternally known as his foil." General McClellan gazed out the window shaking his head at the Lincoln Memorial, lost in his own bitterness.
"You sure I can't get you something, general?" President Bush tried again.
"No, I must be going. I've stayed too long as it is." And with that, he straightened up and snapped a salute. "Your Excellency."
President Bush saluted back. "General McClellan it was certainly a... informative."
Ignoring Abraham Lincoln, General George McClellan started marching crisply out of the room. He stopped, turned around, and looked directly at George W. Bush. "Watch your back, Mr. President." And then, he was gone.
The President was still fairly stunned. "How... how can you be okay with that? I mean, I would've so had his hide..."
"Me?" asked Lincoln. "I haven't had so much fun in years."
"But he... he called you every name in the book! He was the rudest man I have ever met!" The light went on. "You...killed him with kindness. That's what you did. You are a genius."
"Oh, no, I'm nothing of the sort. The General rightfully feels that his legacy has been tarnished by always being associated in an unfair way with me."
"But... is he always like that?" President Bush just couldn't get over it.
"Well I try not to put him up to this kind of thing too often," chuckled Lincoln.
"Okay, but what kind of lesson am I supposed to learn from this? I frankly don't think I could laugh at someone insulting me like that right in front of my face."
"Remember–he never did it back then in front of my face, either. I have the advantage of knowing now what went on then. And he knows I know. That's why it pays in the long run to be as honest and as forthcoming as possible in all of your affairs."
"Honest Abe! They called you that for a reason didn't they?"
"Well, I certainly hope so! They called me that and a whole lot of other things, too, as you could hear."
"But wait. Are you implying that I might have some people around me who think of me like that? Good Lord..."
"I didn't say that. You said that."
"No, I'm askin' you. Do I?"
"George, I just want you to open your eyes to all possibilities. Don't be so sure of every darn thing. Be open to the idea that there are more ways than one to skin a cat. If everybody is telling you the same thing, then you're bein' played for a fool. Bring in your worst critic and let him have at you. Let people who disagree with your point of view have some time with you. Yer still the boss. But you can lead so much more effectively if you know all sides of the story–not just the ones that have been cherry-picked for your approval. Always seek the unvarnished truth. Listen to your spiritual guide, Jesus the Christ." President Lincoln's eyes were getting sleepy. "Well, I've taken up too much of your time, and the fire is almost out. I hope this has been at least a bit useful to you, George."
"There's a lot to take in, Mr. Lincoln. I have a bunch to think about."
"I'm sure you do," smiled Lincoln. "Well, let me walk you back down the hall to your bedroom, and I reckon I'll go." Abe Lincoln stood up slowly, retrieved his candle off the mantelpiece, and led the President to the door.
"This has been the most interesting dream I have ever had, sir, by far. Thank you so much for visiting, and I hope one day we can do this again."
"George... Mr. President... it was my pleasure. Remember to do the right thing and always tell the truth."
George W. Bush opened the door to his bedroom and turned to hug Abraham Lincoln, but he was gone. The President stood there for a moment shaking his head. He closed the door and groped his way back to his bed. Laura was fast asleep, right where she was before. He climbed under his covers and slowly drifted off to sleep.
***
Après le Reverie
The alarm went off religiously at 6:00. George W. Bush woke with a start. He fumbled for the off switch and then immediately turned and looked for his wife. There she was, sleeping. Holy crap, what a flippin' dream!
"Honey! Hey–Bushie! Wake up, honey!" President Bush spoke in a loud whisper.
"Hmmm," was the reply from the President's wife.
"Bushie, I had the most unusual dream last night. It was crazy and real–"
"Hmmm, tell me about it later, Bushie," mumbled Laura Bush, pulling her covers almost completely over her head.
"No, Bushie, this was different," said the exasperated President turning on the bedside light. "I mean, I just gotta tell you about it now!"
Laura Bush rolled over and put her hand over her eyes. "What time is it?"
"It's six. Now lemme tell you. First, somebody was wakin' me up. I think it's Tommy–"
"Somebody woke you up? When? I didn't hear–"
"No... in the dream! Now–I think it's Tommy, but then I get a better look and it looks like some Muslim terrorist about to kill me–us... and–"
"Oh, Bushie, I don't want to hear about that! Gee whiz, there's enough trouble in—"
"No, honey, listen! I think it's some terrorist, but it turns out to be Abraham Lincoln!"
Laura Bush turned towards her husband and propped her head up on her elbow. "What? Was he nice?"
"Was he nice? Yeah, he was nice! 'Was he nice?' Geez... anyways, we go into the study and have this talk all about... deep stuff–truth, Iraq, my faith, my staff–it was so real Bushie, I feel like I learned things I didn't know. Can you do that?"
"I dunno, the mind is a powerful thing, honey."
"That's what he said!"
"Who?"
"Lincoln! Man, this is so weird. I can remember whole bunches of it. It was so real..."
"Well Bushie, why don't you write it down, honey, so you'll remember it. Now I want to sleep for a little lon–"
"No wait, that's not all. We're talkin', and then he brings General Custer, you know, Little Bighorn Custer, from behind the curtain to talk to me. Man, he was some dude, Bushie! All decked out in his–"
"General Custer was behind the curtain? Did he scare you?"
"No, Bushie, he... he was just there, and then he talked for awhile, and then he left."
"Oh... Was he nice?"
"Bushie, these are important people–legends! They're not gonna be nice, or not nice. He was... like you'd think–a little full of himself, but very cool.
"I wouldn't think, honey. I've never had Custer in a dream. Custard, yes. I've had custard, but no Custer." Laura Bush was being playful.
"But that's not the end, either."
"Oh my God, Bushie. Sitting Bull, and Pocahontas, and Andrew Jackson, too?" The President's wife knew how to get his goat.
"Noooo, but General George McClellan was there, too, and the weird thing is, I don't... or didn't, know a dang thing about this guy before, but he comes in and proceeds to trash Lincoln, and Lincoln's sittin' there like he's watchin' his favorite movie! And after he leaves, Lincoln implies to me that there are people in my Cabinet who might think the same about me and...oh yeah, McClellan said the same thing as he's leavin'. I just can't believe this dream."
"Well, you should write it down. Now, McClellan, was he nice?"
At that point, President Bush threw his pillow at the First Lady, and they both laughed like highschoolers.
