Growing Up in a Civil War Town

I was never particularly interested in the Civil War but now I realize how much the Civil War influenced me while growing up. The memory of that War was the atmosphere that surrounded me my entire childhood.

Murfreesboro, Tennessee was a Civil War town in many ways. A major battle was fought there. Persons who had lived through it were still alive in my childhood. I walked on land where blood had been shed and lives lost. Every trip around the town square (and these were almost daily) went past a statue of a young Confederate soldier. It held a prominent place in the middle of the town.

The name Nathan Bedford Forrest was as familiar to school children in Murfreesboro as George Washington. After all, he was the General who led the mounted troops that raided the Federal forces who had imprisoned the leading citizens in the town courthouse. These prisoners were facing possible execution. The early morning raid caught the Union forces unprepared for battle and Union General T.T. Crittenden surrendered unconditionally. A black-eyed peas and sweet potato supper was served to General Forrest and his men to mark the surrender. This is still an annual celebration on July 13. Why black-eyed peas and sweet potatoes? According to an account “The Yankees had killed every chicken, every duck and every cow in Murfreesboro.”

On Memorial Day children would line up with baskets of flower pedals and we would walk through Evergreen Cemetery scattering flowers on the graves of the 2,000 Confederate soldiers buried there. Then my sister and I would go a few steps further to scatter flowers on the family plot of all my relatives. A plot awaiting me is still there alongside my sister and parents and grandparents.

For as long as I can remember a Confederate sword, belonging to a great-grandfather, hung above the fireplace in my home and on the marble-top coffee table was a large leather-embossed photograph album. I remember flipping through pictures of ancient relatives and there alongside these pictures would suddenly be a picture of Robert E. Lee or Nathan Bedford Forrest. Through not in any way that I know of related to us, they were considered an intimate part of our family history.

Mother and my Aunt were members of The United Daughters of the Confederacy and every month they put on their hats and gloves and attended their meeting. There was a sub-group of old dowagers called “the REAL Daughters.” This was strange membership for my Mother who was a Woman’s Libber long before its time. I think now she joined so I would be eligible for all the U.D.C. Scholarships they awarded. I did get a scholarship providing free boarding in the lovely, prestigious UDC dormitory at Vanderbilt my entire four years at collage.

The strange thing I realize now is that slavery and all its atrocities was not associated with the Civil War for us. We were told stories of bravery, of Sam Davis, a 12 year old boy from nearby Smyrna who was a spy for the Confederates. Caught by the enemy and sentenced to death, he refused to tell his sources “I’d die a 1,000 deaths rather than betray a friend” he said. He was hanged.

We heard about old Mrs. Crichlow who rushed out in the heat of the battle in downtown Murfreesboro with only a broom as her weapon. “I’ve come to fight the Yankees” she reportedly said.

These were the enemy we were told—the Yankees who were trying to take our land. What a screwed up view of the reality of the Civil War I grew up with. Never any mention of States Rights or the Emancipation of slaves. The Confederate soldiers were portrayed as heroic and upright and dignified and courageous. In my mind they were always handsome and riding a fine Tennessee walking horse.