The Warriors

An unidentified Union Soldier.

        When I was a boy there were many Civil War veterans scattered around the community. They formed a tight little group which the stay-at-homes referred to, on the sly, as the Liars Club. I thought of them as warriors and heroes. They got special consideration at family reunions and picnics, and on the Fourth of July and,Memorial Day they put on their old campaign caps and paraded behind the band. 

       They were great storytellers and when they got together and began to brag about their exploits a boy would leave his favorite game to sit and listen. 

       My favorite was old Gus Scherr. Gus was not much force as a farmer, but he was an unsung rural Homer when it came to spinning yarns about The War. His stories got longer and taller with time. He liked boys and there was always a gang following him around, begging him to tell them a story. One of them who was getting along in his history book once pointed out to him that he couldn't have been at the Battle of Shiloh and the Battle of Fredericksburg, since they were both fought on the same day. 

       Gus was not disturbed by this, claiming that history books have a way of being wrong about dates. Gus had other talents. He was the best fisherman in the country, and if he especially liked you he would invite you along to his favorite pool. He was a great squirrel hunter too, and could take off warts by rubbing them with his thumb and reciting some mysterious words. 

       The middle finger on his right hand was missing, lost, Gus said, at the Battle of Gettysburg. "I was layin' there behind a rail fence," he said, "and I see this Johnny Reb sneakin' up on me, ready to shoot. I drawed a bead on him and we both fired at the same time. I hit him right between the eyes. His bullet took off this finger, clean as a whistle.' "" 

       He lived comfortably on his pension and what he took off his little farm. Since he never allowed his work to interfere with his hunting or fishing, his corn patch was not the most productive. Most of his year- round food came from his kitchen garden, which his wife tended. 

       To Gus the Civil War was not only the greatest war in all history, but the greatest event of all time. It never really ended for him, just tapered off into a sort of passive cold war. Once when he was picking potatoes the smaller ones kept falling through his hand at the missing finger. It had been fifty years since Gettysburg, but Gus straightened up, spat a stream of tobacco juice into the wind, and shouted, "Consarn that Rebel!" 

       The small boys who followed in his wake and idolized him may not have learned sound history from him, but they'll tell you today that any boy who hasn't had an old soldier to tell him stories has missed one of the great experiences of life.

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