Latest news with #BattleofAntietam
Spectator
02-07-2025
- General
- Spectator
Admit it: most wedding speeches are awful
Perhaps the most traumatic part of attending an American wedding – much worse than the bridesmaids coming in the wrong way, the proliferation of dinner suits and the tendency of couples to write their own appalling vows – is the tradition of the 'rehearsal dinner'. This, an event the night before the wedding, is where the United States of America gets to play out its full psychotic breakdown in the context of a couple's nuptials. Anyone, and I mean, anyone, is allowed to stand up and make a speech. Meaning that Uncle Robert E. Lee IV from Alabama can stand up and compare marriage to the Battle of Antietam while Cousin Xi/Her from Portland, Oregon, can rise to give a polemic on how marriage is a form of oppression, but in this case she'll let it pass. If only we'd have known that the non-conformist instincts of the pilgrims would come back to bite us in such a horrific way, we'd have sunk the Mayflower before it left Plymouth harbour. I say come back to bite us, because these American customs are now popping up in English weddings with alarming speed. Nowhere is this clearer than in the amount of wedding oration – both before and after dinner. Indeed, one of the least consequential side-effects of the 1960s revolution has been the inflation of wedding speeches. It feels outdated – sexist, even – to limit the talking to the groom, best man and father of the bride, so now basically everyone gets to have a go: bride, maid of honour, mother of the groom, you name it. Divorce has only added to the potential rollcall. A stepfather may have had far more to do with a bride's upbringing than a biological father, and therefore requires a speech too. All very inclusive, but the playbill does start to look fuller and fuller. Suddenly, rather than having two parties demanding to be represented, you might have four, or even eight. Often these come in such quick succession that listeners are denied a moment in between to recharge their glass and at least dull the horror with alcohol. All this is compounded by the rather awkward fact that many of us simply can't make speeches. Given that the House of Commons has become a rhetorical dead-zone (e.g. 'Does my Hon. Friend agree with me that we are moving at pace to deliver on our plan for change?'), it seems unfair to expect that generation of Home Counties dads to be masters of oratory. Rather than spare us the ignominy of having to listen, however, the modern tactic seems to be a policy of safety in numbers, as if five bad speeches are somehow better than one. For my wedding later this month, we will be only too happy to keep speeches at a minimum. Having gone to town on the church service – full choir, four hymns plus a Te Deum, two scriptural readings and two poems – paring back the after-dinner element seems only fair. The hope is that by that time, most guests will have drunk enough to lose at least two of their five senses. We have also been mindful that, in the grand scheme of things, having lengthy speeches – beyond a quick toast – is a fairly recent innovation. So much of modern romance owes its philosophical grounding to Jane Austen; yet despite the popular imagination of her as a doyenne of weddings, the novels yield almost no detail about the ceremonies themselves, apart from Mrs Elton's bitchy little aside about Emma's pared-back wedding: 'Very little white satin, very few lace veils. A most pitiful business!' There are certainly no speeches mentioned. Perhaps the greatest fictional wedding oratory comes in Four Weddings and a Funeral, where Tom, played by James Fleet, tries to copy his friend Charles's (Hugh Grant) more successful best man speech from an earlier wedding, but it all goes horribly wrong. In the film it lands badly; I happen to think it's the single funniest minute of all. 'When Bernard told me he was getting engaged to Lydia, I congratulated him because all his other girlfriends have been such complete dogs… Although may I say how delighted we are to have so many of them here this evening.' This is actually an ideal best man speech because, on a day where every moment is plotted out to the second, it brings a joyous touch of anarchy – and when so much wedding time is given over to sentimentality and pleasing untruths about the perfection of the couple, it can offer a welcome moment of relief, and reality. That said, too much Dutch courage can be perilous. A best man slurring his way through five pages of pre-prepared gags and boorish anecdotes about stag-do antics is the only thing worse than the doling out of mawkish praise. So – a plea this wedding season – let's keep the speeches short, and ideally not too sweet.
Boston Globe
01-04-2025
- Politics
- Boston Globe
‘Shocking, irresponsible, inexplicable': 3 writers on Signalgate
War plans have been stolen before, but never shared like this By David Shribman The British had advance word of George Washington's famous crossing of the Delaware on Christmas night in 1776. A week later, Washington was handed a map that showed the location of the British positions in Princeton, N.J., before the critical battle there. Union general George McClellan had Confederate general Robert E. Lee's battle plan, found in a field and wrapped around three cigars, before the pivotal 1862 Battle of Antietam. And Joseph Stalin was given repeated reports, some from defectors, that Adolf Hitler was preparing to defy the alliance forged by the Molotov-Ribbentrop agreement in World War II by sending German troops to invade the Soviet Union in 1941. Advertisement But this was different: Advance plans for an imminent military action against Houthi militia in Yemen were inadvertently provided to the editor-in-chief of The Atlantic magazine via a messaging app called Signal. Never mind that the Trump team has special animus for The Atlantic, or that Goldberg himself, who has reported critically about Donald Trump's views on military personnel, has sparked unusual resentment from the president. The mere fact that information that should be top secret was shared casually is what renders this episode special, shocking, irresponsible, inexplicable, incomprehensible, and simply startling. Advertisement Goldberg himself didn't think he ought to have been the recipient of this dump. In fact he thought the conversation among the 'Houthi PC small group,' which included Vice President JD Vance and Secretary of State Marco Rubio, was a scam — that the names on the distribution list were phony and meant to lure him into an entrapment. He had reason to be suspicious; the notion that national-security matters would be discussed over a commercial messaging app was, in one of the rare appropriate uses of this over-worked word, unbelievable. The risks to American personnel and interests can barely be believed. Only a decade ago, the political world was in an uproar over Secretary of State Hillary Clinton's use of a private server; among those expressing withering criticism were Trump, now president again, and then-Senator Marco Rubio, at the time a GOP presidential candidate and now Trump's secretary of state. At least Clinton wasn't sharing what Goldberg described as 'precise information about weapons packages, targets, and timing.' As he was plowing through this material, an astonishing breach of national security, the Atlantic editor thought the entire communication was made up — but the truth is that you can't make this stuff up. A mobile device and a webpage display the Signal company logo. The messaging app was used by top Trump administration officials to discuss plans for a bombing campaign in Yemen. Leon Neal/Getty Will Vance's brief declaration of independence haunt him? By Whatever you think of the pro-isolationist, Europe-bashing stance of Vice President JD Vance, give him credit for at least a tiny display of spine when it comes to expressing a view that clashes with President Trump's national security team – and with Trump. In the now infamous group chat on the Signal app that inadvertently included Atlantic magazine editor Jeffrey Goldberg, Vance weighed in with a candid assessment of the proposed air strike against Houthi militants in Yemen: 'Team, I am out for the day doing an economic event in Michigan. But I think we are making a mistake.' Advertisement As reported by Goldberg, Vance went on to say, 'There is a real risk that the public doesn't understand this or why it's necessary.' He then touched the third rail: questioning Trump's understanding of the issue, saying, 'I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There's a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc.' About 30 minutes later, Vance retreated, telling Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth: 'if you think we should do it let's go. I just hate bailing Europe out again.' Shortly after that, someone with the initials 'SM' – identified in The Atlantic as presumably Stephen Miller, Trump's deputy chief of staff for policy – said, 'As I heard it, the president was clear: green light, but we soon make clear to Egypt and Europe what we expect in return.' Given Trump's penchant for absolute loyalty, those words from Miller should have put a shiver down Vance's briefly stiff spine. How this declaration of independence plays out over time will be interesting to watch. After a mostly obsequious tenure as Trump's first vice president, Mike Pence broke with Trump over his demand to overturn the 2020 election results. With that, Pence was dead to Trump and the MAGA crowd – and being dead to Trump and the MAGA crowd is not where any ambitious vice president wants to be right now. Advertisement But here's another way to look at it: What Vance told that Signal chat group is what he says publicly about foreign policy. He's staunchly isolationist, hesitant to use US military force in the Middle East, and down for demanding that Europe pay a lot more for US military support. And those are positions the MAGA base likes. So maybe not so bad after all? Meme wars, on X By Accidentally adding a journalist to a seemingly top-secret communications channel where the nation's most important national security officials are discussing plans for a military attack in Yemen is laughable. And I mean that quite literally. As soon as I finished reading Goldberg's piece, I raced to X — quickly pausing to change the name of my iMessage political group chat to 'Houthis PC small group' — to witness the comedic fallout. It didn't disappoint. Memes and fist-flag-fire emojis galore. Half-joking journalists musing about Goldberg's decision to leave the chat. Veep reference after Veep reference. And more than a few strategic quotes from current Trump officials calling out Hillary Clinton in 2016. But here are the funniest contributions that popped up on my timeline — so far. Dang it, guys, we accidentally added Caesar to Caesar Assassination PC small group: — Carl (@HistoryBoomer) One of these things is not like the other: Lurking in the chat like — Mike Nelson (@mikenelson586) Big Bird in the board room: Advertisement — Kein Mensch Kein Tier (@KampfmitKette) Meme trends collide: JD Vance — Minnesota DFL Party (@MinnesotaDFL) A good start? As Mike Waltz might have put it: 👊 🇺🇸 🔥 Bringing hell, but to whom exactly? By Sage Stossel Sage Stossel This column first appeared in , Globe Opinion's free weekly newsletter about local and national politics. If you'd like to receive it in your inbox every Wednesday, sign up . David Shribman is a nationally syndicated columnist. He can be reached at
New York Times
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
‘Amerikin' Review: A White Supremacist's Undoing: DNA
There was a guy I knew when I was in my teens. Blond and blue-eyed, popular at the beach, he named his puppy after a superstar. It made him laugh to let people in on the gut-punch nasty joke behind it: that, as far as he was concerned, both were black female dogs. Chisa Hutchinson's layered new play, 'Amerikin,' has me thinking about that for the first time in decades. Her central character, Jeff, has named his own dog in the same spirit — after a racist slur that he is not shy about shouting into the neighborhood to summon his pup. I'd hate for anyone to think that detail was too exaggerated. Not in these United States it isn't. Directed by Jade King Carroll for Primary Stages, 'Amerikin' is set in Sharpsburg, Md., which was Confederate country back when the bloody Battle of Antietam was waged nearby during the Civil War. In 2017, it is Trump country, and when the working-class Jeff (Daniel Abeles) and his wife, Michelle (Molly Carden), take their newborn son home, Jeff is eager to give the child he adores every social advantage in their small town. If that means accepting an invitation from his pal Dylan (Luke Robertson) to join the local white supremacist group, Jeff would be honored. It would bolster his sense of belonging in this place where he's lived since childhood. But his nomination comes with an asterisk: He must take a DNA test to prove that he is 100 percent white. To his alarm, the results say otherwise — and even though his tech-savvy best friend, Poot (Tobias Segal), doctors the results, word gets out. And you know what happens when a band of white racists discovers a nonwhite family living in its midst. As Gerald (Victor Williams), a reporter for The Washington Post, frames it in a headline: 'White Supremacist Hopeful Becomes Target of His Own Hate.' Funny and tragic without being a tragicomedy, 'Amerikin' doesn't fit neatly into a dramatic category. A thoughtful palpation of the civic body, it examines inherited pathologies, protective reflexes and assorted strains of trauma. This is a play about parents and children and what kind of country we want to be. It suggests grounds for optimism — the possibility, anyway, of understanding, progress and repair. But with a whole lot of avoidable pain along the way. For Jeff and the exhausted Michelle, the first weeks of parenthood are rough. She is in the terrifying grip of postpartum depression, but he treats her with callousness rather than compassion. It doesn't help that he reliably brightens at the sight of their neighbor Alma (an exceptional Andrea Syglowski), who is also his ex. It is Alma's Facebook post in Act II that piques Gerald's interest in writing about Jeff. That in turn prompts Gerald's 20-something daughter, Chris (Amber Reauchean Williams), an aspiring journalist, to accompany him to the interview. 'You think I'm letting you go into Confederate territory by yourself, Black man?' Chris says. 'They just had a Klan rally there.' Hutchinson is taking on a great deal here, and in a couple of spots it feels as if she leapfrogs characters to where she wants them to be: in a pivotal, unlikely monologue by Jeff, explaining to Michelle why he married her and laying out their future, and in a conversation between Gerald and Chris that is difficult to believe they would have in front of Jeff. At 59E59 Theaters, the production's sense of regional speech is admirably strong, with accents shaped by the broad Maryland 'o.' (The dialect coach is Deborah Hecht.) The set, by the brothers Christopher and Justin Swader, is meticulously detailed. But would Michelle, who cleans up after her husband and his friends, even when she has just given birth, stand for grimy baseboards? I doubt it. The script also has an olfactory plot twist — to say more would be a spoiler — that is implausible, given the set's tight dimensions. The cast is terrific, though, and the baby's cries are impeccably sound-designed by Lindsay Jones. What's strange is that the swaddled infant requires too much visual suspension of disbelief. It is unambiguously nonpliable, and no real child is that. We are all of us malleable when we arrive in the world. Every influence leaves its mark.
Yahoo
13-03-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
A brief history of the 'retirement fight' — and why, as one UFC vet put it, you might leave 'on a stretcher'
Back in 1879 there was a local tavernkeeper named Dan Dwyer who, in addition to fighting for the Union Army at the Battle of Antietam, had also done a little prizefighting in his day. That day had recently ended, but Dwyer was still respected and appreciated among the rogues who comprised the Boston fight scene. His Waterbury saloon had been a gathering point for all manner of gamblers, and his reputation as a man everyone could trust to hold and disperse money for various types of wagers had earned him the nickname 'Honest Dan.' His prowess with his fists had a way of limiting disputes, and this also earned him a separate reputation in the prize ring. But at around 43 years old, Dwyer decided he was done. So his peers all banded together to do what they often did when one of their own was calling it quits — they staged a benefit show. Benefits for aging and retired boxers were a common occurrence in the prizefighting world of the 19th century. It was a way of saying goodbye while also stuffing the man's pockets with some cash as he eased into the next phase of his life. The modern fight game has its various halls of fame and its farewell highlight reels to commemorate a fighter's time within the sport. But back then, they preferred to get together in a theater one night for a show featuring sparring exhibitions, various musical acts, and, at least in the case of Dwyer's benefit, the demonstration of a new contraption called a rowing machine. The main attraction of the benefit show was, of course, a fight. And it was customary for the honoree to step in the ring and spill some blood (his own or someone else's) one last time. For Dwyer's farewell fight, he was matched up against a 21-year-old newcomer to the Boston prizefighting scene. That young man's name was John L. Sullivan, and he would go on to become the heavyweight champion, as well as one of the first true sports stars in American history. Unsurprisingly, the fight didn't go so great for Dwyer. He had skill and savvy, but Sullivan had youth and speed and power. According to a Boston Herald account, Dwyer started off well enough in the opening round, 'hustling the young pugilist about the stage at a rapid gait.' But before long Sullivan came charging forward with the aggressive 'rush' that would become his signature, firing a hard right hand through Dwyer's defenses. 'The blow caught him on the point of the jaw and he fell like a log,' the Herald reported. Again, this was at a party for him. He had to get beaten up by an up-and-comer more than 20 years his junior. That was the fight game's way of saying thank you and good luck with your future endeavors. And honestly? Not all that much has changed. Consider the recent comments from former UFC fighter and current on-air analyst Din Thomas, who had an interesting take on Dustin Poirier's search for just the right opponent to end his UFC career on. 'One thing I know about the UFC, they don't give a damn about your retirement fight,' Thomas said in a recent interview with MMA Junkie's Mike Bohn. 'In fact, they would like to see you on your retirement fight be took out on a stretcher, in a neck brace. That's the game.' Thomas is not wrong. The fight game is not known for being overly sentimental. To a promoter, the most important fight is always the next one. A sense of history and respect for yesterday's heroes, that's all well and good when it's tied to some future event — like Robbie Lawler's upcoming UFC Hall of Fame induction, which was enough to earn him a farewell highlight package at UFC 313 this past Saturday. But just on its own, history doesn't sell. People don't plunk down $80 on pay-per-view for memories. The fight game is always looking forward, and so are fight promoters. When UFC execs look at a potential Poirier retirement fight, they don't ask what they could do to send Poirier off into the sunset as the happiest possible version of himself. No way. Instead they ask what they could use him for and how they could best turn his current value into future value. This is why we so often see the older generation of fighters get fed to the younger ones. It's a way of trying to transfer one fighter's value to another, which to a promoter is far preferable to letting that value walk out the door (headed either to the rocking chair or another organization) and getting nothing for it. The underlying concept is the same as those 19th-century boxing benefit shows. Why did Dwyer have to fight a hungry, young lion like Sullivan? Well, he didn't. He could have picked someone his own age, someone easier. But that wouldn't have been as interesting to the ticket-buyers, which in turn would have meant less money in his pocket at the end of the night. Sullivan himself was not immune to this aspect of the benefit fight. According to Christopher Klein's 'Strong Boy: The Life & Times of John L. Sullivan,' the former champ's many supporters pushed for a benefit after he lost his heavyweight title to 'Gentleman' Jim Corbett in their historic 1892 title fight. That bout, like many prizefights of the time, was a winner-take-all affair. Sullivan left with nothing in his pockets — and he had never been known as a particularly frugal man to begin with. The very next day after the fight, Corbett offered to appear at a benefit for Sullivan so that at least the former champ would get some money for his efforts. Initially, Sullivan's pride prevented him from accepting the offer, insisting that he didn't want Corbett's 'services or his money.' It took him about 24 hours to change his mind. As is still the case with MMA 'retirement fights,' Sullivan was the star at his own benefit. Corbett might have been the heavyweight champ, but when he appeared at Sullivan's benefit show one reporter noted that he 'might as well be the croquet champion of the world,' since that's about as much attention as the crowd paid him. Before the fisticuffs began, Sullivan addressed the many fans in attendance. 'I have nothing to say but bestow good honors on the present champion,' Sullivan said. 'I was defeated and have no excuses to make. When a defeated man begins to make excuses, he makes the mistake of his life.' Then the two men shook hands and put on especially large boxing gloves before engaging in a very light sparring session. The management of Madison Square Garden, which had profited greatly from Sullivan's role in helping to legitimize boxing as a spectator sport, still took half the gate from this benefit show. So there's another similarity with the retirement fights of today, in which the promoter is always the primary beneficiary. Partially because it was such a financial success, this wasn't the last benefit for Sullivan by any means. This, too, is not so different from the modern fight game. It's always the last fight — until the next one. Sullivan would later appear at a benefit for 'Nonpareil' Jack Dempsey, who sparred with Sullivan in the headliner despite the fact that he was dying of tuberculosis at the time. Sullivan also had another easy go with Corbett at a separate benefit later that month. This time Corbett toyed with a noticeably slower, heavier version of Sullivan, who only seemed to grow more bitter toward the new champion, despite Corbett's role in helping him financially. 'I want it distinctly understood,' Sullivan later told a crowd, 'that [Corbett] is no friend of mine and I am no friend of his.' It wasn't an acrimony that persisted in spite of Corbett's charity toward him, but in large part because of it. Sullivan needed the money. He also seemed to hate the fact that he still needed the money, and had to revisit the worse beating of his life in an increasingly comical rerun in order to get it. As much as it's supposed to be a reverent event meant to pay homage to a fighting great, there's also something vaguely patronizing about the retirement fight. And it only gets worse the more times you do it. Perhaps this explains why, years later, the undersized heavyweight champion Tommy Burns proudly insisted that he'd fight anyone if the money was right — even Jack Johnson. Burns was criticized for this, since boxing's white establishment believed in 'holding the color line' in order to prevent a Black fighter from ever becoming heavyweight champion. But Burns had a very simple way of explaining his reasoning, and it all came down to what he'd seen happen to so many of his predecessors. Or, as Burns put it: 'They will never have to hold a benefit for me.'
Yahoo
05-02-2025
- Yahoo
5 reasons John Bell Hood was the worst Civil War general
In May 2023, Fort Hood, Texas was officially renamed Fort Cavazos and while some have expressed outrage at the name change, it's honestly just much more fitting. Over the course of 30 years in service, Gen. Richard Cavazos became a veteran of two of America's most brutal wars, receiving the Distinguished Service Cross in each of them – and his first one was upgraded to the Medal of Honor. John Bell Hood, meanwhile, has been referred to as 'the single largest mistake that either government made during the war.' If there is one general that could be considered as having single-handedly lost the Civil War for the Confederates, it's Hood. After getting promoted to brigadier general, Hood got into a disagreement with his superior, Gen. Nathan Evans. Hood captured some Union ambulances and Evans ordered him to send his spoils to another unit. Hood refused, saying it was unfair that his men shouldn't get the wagons because they captured them. Maybe it was unfair, but that's how armies work. Evans rightfully had Hood arrested. When Robert E. Lee told Hood he would free him if he just apologized, Hood again refused. Lee let him go eventually, probably the first bad call Lee made during the war. Later, at the Battle of Antietam, Lee asked Hood where his division was, to which Hood replied 'lying in the field where you sent them.' There's no doubt Hood was good at leading men into battle, but once he was wounded and became a strategist, that all changed. It led many to believe that he became addicted to laudanum (a tincture of opium used as a painkiller during the war), which explained his poor performance later on. Some historians refute that allegation citing the papers of his doctor as evidence. Whether he was an addict or not, the fact that he was so bad at being a general that his contemporaries thought he was high all the time says a lot about his abilities. At Gettysburg, Gen. James Longstreet ordered Hood to take his men through the Devil's Den, a rocky area that he believed could hamper his effectiveness. Hood instead requested to go around the Devil's Den to avoid the difficult terrain. His request was denied but when he actually moved, much of his force somehow still ended up drifting away from the Devil's Den and into the Union forces on Little Round Top. Robert E. Lee's master plan at Gettysburg did not include engaging Little Round Top because he considered it irrelevant to his objective and Longstreet was ordered to pass it by entirely. By drifting into Little Round Top, he gave the Union some of its most storied actions of the battle and the entire Civil War. The bayonet charge of the 20th Maine wiped up two rebel regiments and Hood was wounded in the assault. Did Hood veer to the East on purpose? No one knows. It's hard to overestimate the importance of Atlanta to the Confederacy. It was a hub for several railroads, a key commercial area and an important manufacturing center. So when William Tecumseh Sherman came marching toward the city in 1864, it was really important that the rebels repel his army. Defending the city was Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, who stalemated Sherman by holding his defenses, strategically withdrawing and not being lured to a fight he couldn't win. But Johnston was soon replaced by Hood, who had been undermining Johnston by sending criticism of his performance to Richmond for months, something totally on-brand for Hood. The result was a disaster for the south. Sherman took Atlanta in time to guarantee Abraham Lincoln's re-election and doom the Confederacy forever. Reeling from Atlanta, he decided to attack the Union in Tennessee, believing Sherman would abandon Atlanta to pursue him. He was wrong. When Sherman found out Hood was moving north, he said 'If he goes all the way to Ohio, I'll supply him with rations. My business is down here.' Unfortunately for Hood, he would instead be fighting the undefeated Union Gen. George Henry Thomas. Hood attacked Thomas at Franklin by sending his men across two miles of open ground without artillery support. The didn't even make it to the Union lines. It was one of the worst disasters for the rebels in the entire war, and the second of such disasters led by Hood. To make matters worse, he reportedly attacked that way to teach his own army a lesson in discipline. The Battle of Franklin was so embarrassing that Hood's girlfriend dumped him. He followed up that attack by laying siege to Nashville, where he was outnumbered two-to-one in freezing weather. Thomas repeated the exact same tactic on both days of the battle, changing nothing. He used an attack on the right to draw troops from the rebels' left flank and then attacked the left flank. Hood fell for it both days and was forced to withdraw on the second day. The Army of the Tennessee was no longer an effective fighting force – and had John Bell Hood to thank for it.
