The Power of the Pen

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I lived in Bismarck, ND for ten years. Generally, all of my thirties.

One of the local attractions was the blockhouses at Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park. https://www.tripadvisor.com/LocationPhotoDirectLink-g49882-d...

I liked these reproductions so much that I built a one-third replica in my backyard as a playhouse for my boys who were six and ten at the time. The Civilian Conservation Corp built these repros in 1934.

The other reproduced building was Custer’s house. Which was being worked on by a friend of mine, when I lived in ND. Custer lived there a year before Little Big Horn. It was his last home with his wife.

All this is on my mind because as part of our covid-inspired entertainment my spouse and I are working our way through old movies that we love. Last week it was Little Big Man.

The screenwriter did a wonderful job of portraying General George Custer’s narcissism and insanity. Custer was known for his carefully tended hair. Some who served under him described him as a vain dandy. Despite having graduated at the bottom of his class at West Point he considered himself a military genius. In fairness, he did serve with distinction at the Battle of Gettysburg.

Little Big Horn represented an opportunity, in his mind, to resurrect his sagging career. Unfortunately, his advance people, possibly impaired by their illness, greatly mis-estimated the number of people he would face. His career ended due to improper planning for an event on the US plains.

Custer probably would have faded away as an asterisk in history, but for his wife’s efforts after his death.

Libby was left near destitute after George’s death. She used her writing talents to publish very popular books about her departed husband. She, of course, depicted him as a gallant fallen hero.

Little Big Man showed him as a fool, who had little regard for anyone other than himself.

Supposedly Libby was a fox. She spun the truth so that George became a legend.

Through her efforts, history didn’t give George’s dubious career an examination until after she died a wealthy woman.

The moral of the story: It’s not what you do, it’s who writes the story that counts.

Jill

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