Going Home: IN PROGRESS

 

Kellen McNally, the middle child of the sergeant of Weidrich’s Battery, Steven McNally, said to me as we drove back to New York City, “You know, sometimes I do not think I have the right to reenact having not served in the military.”  After a lengthy sigh at the fact that this would have been a statement best made while we were still at the reenactment so that I could have discussed the thought with other reenactors, I began thinking about the comment myself.  At one point after Pickett’s Charge, the Captain made the rounds with his other officers and thanked each battery for their good work.  The enlisted men, including myself, were expected to slate the officers.  I did not salute...this was a (re)appropriation of military culture that I was not comfortable with as it blurred the line too much for me between actual commemoration of military history and misuse of military practices.  A full discussion of my discomfort and the boundaries between reenactment and false enactment will be posted to this site in the future.

 

 

What I am most excited about and interested in moving forward is to tell the true story of the history of reenacting - a tale that blends politics, prisons and patriotism.  Why this history is not well known and not documented is something I am setting out to rectify.  It is a rich history and a story that will fill in a gap of reenacting history to be sure, but also the history of American martial politics in the mid-1960s.

 

I drove by red Beetle down to Gettysburg to see for myself performances of masculinity, and I did – my own. The spectacle of the reenactment itself is something that I will be working further on, but also the roles of female reenactors and their acceptance within the hobby.  But what I saw of the reenactors was their dedication to commemoration, the preservation of history, and a strong familial bond that extended to include others. 

 

 

As I write this I can still smell the campfire in my hair and feel the woolen heat on my skin.  While these sensations are not “moments” in the reenacting vernacular, they are my moments. They bring me back to that time I camped in a farmer’s field for four days, occasionally dressed as a woman, but mostly as a man, and did many things I never thought I would, or could, do.  The reenactors taught me much more than I set out to learn and I am humbled by their generosity of possessions, knowledge and spirit.  My future work is dedicated to them - their stories, their (en)actions, and their history.