To be honest with you, I’m just burned out on this Civil War Sesquicentennial thing, so let’s set aside the obligatory Appomattox post, unwind a little, and take a look at this listicle of twenty historic houses to visit in Tennessee. Here are my observations, for whatever they’re worth:
- The Carter Mansion is right there near the top. Well done. (I’m quite fond of the Carter Mansion, you know.)
- Blount Mansion made the list. Good.
- No Marble Springs on the list. Home of Tennessee’s first governor. Put it on the list, already.
- Tipton-Haynes made the list, and it has a Sevier association. This mitigates some of my vexation over the omission of Marble Springs. Not all of it, but a little. Actually, Sevier would probably be totally miffed to see Tipton’s home and Jackson’s home on the list when his own home is omitted.
- More eighteenth-century homes on the list than I expected, which is nice.
- No Andrew Johnson home on the list. Homes of two other Tennessee presidents listed, but no Johnson. What gives?
- Not one, not two, but three houses associated with the Battle of Franklin on the list. That’s more than the number of John Bell Hood’s functional limbs. Pick either the Carter House or Carnton, for crying out loud.
- Technically, I suppose Graceland is a historic home, but I think we all know it’s not a real historic home, right? Judging by the supermarket tabloids, we can’t even be sure the guy who lived there is dead.
- The Lincoln quote at the top of the site is a worthy sentiment, but I doubt he actually said it.
- You know what could’ve replaced one of those Battle of Franklin houses? Sgt. York’s home. That would’ve been cool.
This is a legitimately big deal:
A plan years in the making for a new Tennessee State Museum next to Nashville’s Bicentennial Mall may finally get funding for construction.
Gov. Bill Haslam has proposed allocating $120 million for a new state museum as part of an amendment to his 2015-16 budget that includes nearly $300 million in additional non-recurring investments. To become a reality, the new museum would also require $40 million in private funds from the museum’s ongoing fundraising efforts.
The governor’s office says it is moving forward on the museum and other new capital projects because franchise and excise tax collections exceeded estimates last month as a result of “an unusual one-time event” on top of other revenue collections and program savings.
“I think all of the plans have been pretty well agreed to, and this could move along pretty quickly now that we have the funding in place,” Tennessee Finance and Administration Commissioner Larry Martin said of the museum.
It’s pretty exciting. I just hope the new galleries will be as jam-packed with artifacts as the current exhibits in the Polk building. The best thing about the current facility is the fact that you get to come face to face with so much awesome stuff. It’s that encounter with so many incredible objects that makes a visit to the state museum so special: personal effects from the Donelson party’s harrowing flatboat voyage to Middle Tennessee, the Peale portrait of Sevier, and (of course) that exhibit case full of King’s Mountain treasures.
If the new galleries keep the collections at the forefront in the same manner as the current exhibits, while employing the latest techniques to interpret them, then we’re going to be in for a great show.
As regular readers of this blog know, I have the honor of serving on the board of the Governor John Sevier Memorial Association. GJSMA supports the programming and operations at Marble Springs State Historic Site, Sevier’s final home in Knoxville, TN.
This year marks an important anniversary in Tennessee history. It’s the bicentennial of John Sevier’s death. To commemorate the occasion, GJSMA is undertaking a special fundraising initiative for 2015, called “$200 for 200.”
We’re asking folks who love history, museums, and Tennessee’s heritage to make a $200 donation to support our programming, in recognition of the 200th anniversary of Sevier’s death. Donors who make this special bicentennial gift will be recognized on our $200 for 200 web page, and will also receive these benefits for one year:
- Free site tours for two adults and our children
- Free admission for two adults and four children to our special John Sevier Days event in September
- 10% off gift shop purchases
- Discounts for our special workshop events
- A discount on site rentals
It’s a great way to support a fantastic historic site and do something meaningful in recognition of an important Tennessee anniversary. If you’d like to join our $200 for 200 effort, you can donate via PayPal at the Marble Springs website or send a check to Marble Springs, P.O. Box 20195, Knoxville, TN 37940.
I know that a lot of you folks who read the blog appreciate Tennessee’s history and its historic places, so I hope you’ll consider a donation. Thanks!
I’ve spent the whole War of 1812 Bicentennial waiting to post this. *squeals with delight*
Fun fact: Jimmy Driftwood, the guy who wrote this ditty, was actually an Arkansas schoolteacher and principal named James Corbitt Morris, who used music to liven up his history classes. In 1936 he set his own lyrics to a traditional song about the battle called “The Eighth of January.”
Driftwood got a recording contract about twenty years later, but “The Battle of New Orleans” didn’t become a sensation until Johnny Horton heard it on the radio while driving home from a show and decided to do his own version. Horton got a hit, Driftwood got a second career as a musician, and we got a song so awesome it almost makes up for the White House getting torched.
Here’s a little archival item to end one year and ring in a new one. My mom ran across this vintage Marble Springs postcard and gave it to me as a Christmas present. I don’t know the date of the photo, but somebody mailed the card from Knoxville to the tiny town of Godley, TX in 1910. That was thirty-one years before the state purchased the property. As you can see, the place needed some work.
I’ve seen this same postcard image online, and something about it has always befuddled me. If the building in the picture is one of the extant structures on the site, it could only be the kitchen, which is attached to the main cabin by a dogtrot.
Since the main house is a good half-story taller than the kitchen, you should be able to see the gable end over the kitchen’s roof on the postcard. But from the postcard, it looks like there’s no building on the other side of the kitchen. Somebody evidently retouched the image to replace the main house with trees. I have no idea why anybody would do this, unless the smaller, dilapidated kitchen cabin better fit some postcard maker’s notion of what an Appalachian homestead should look like.
I did a little poking around online and ran across a slightly different version of the image from UT Special Collections, dated 1921. Here the main house is clearly visible, as it would be if you were standing there in person. This version, however, also looks heavily retouched. Did somebody try to clean up an earlier, already retouched version and produce this result? I don’t know enough about early photo manipulation to tell precisely what’s been done to the images.
Anyway, it’s an interesting glimpse at a place that’s changed a lot over the years, and one where I’ve been privileged to spend quite a bit of time.
I’ve been reading Massacre at Cavett’s Station by the eminent Tennessee archaeologist Charles Faulkner. The titular massacre was one of the uglier episodes in the long history of white-Cherokee conflict on the Tennessee frontier. It took place on September 25, 1793 when a massive war party (contemporary reports put their numbers as high as 1,500) headed for the territorial capital of Knoxville heard firing from the town and feared they’d lost the element of surprise. Instead, they fell on Cavett’s Station several miles to the southwest, killing the thirteen men, women, and children who were there.
Remarkably, the Indians had managed to approach Knoxville without detection by John Sevier’s militia, but retaliation was not long in coming. In what would prove to be his last Indian campaign, Sevier marched into Georgia and caught some of the perpetrators at Etowah, near present-day Rome. The Indians were in a position to oppose the militia’s crossing of the Etowah River at the town, but when a party of the whites moved south to cross elsewhere, the Indians followed them and left the fording place near the town undefended. The militiamen galloped back to Etowah, dispersing the defenders and putting the town to the torch.
Apparently Sevier decided that defeating the Indians wasn’t punishment enough, because he decided to up the ownage by sending them the following message, a copy of which is preserved in his journal:
Your murders and savage Barbarities have caused me to come into your Country Expecting you would fight like men, but you are like the Bairs and Wolves. The face of a white man makes you run fast into the woods and hide, u see what we have done and it is nothing to what we shall do in a short time. I pity your women & children for I am sure they must suffer and live like dogs but you are the Cause of it. You will make War, & then is afraid to fight,—our people whiped yours mightily two nights ago Crossing the river and made your people run very fast.
To the Cherokees and their warriors if they Have Any.
Ouch. Not much for the niceties of spelling and punctuation, but the guy definitely knew how to twist the rhetorical knife.
Today’s the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Franklin. When it comes to the Civil War Sesquicentennial, I haven’t really done much in the way of commemorative posting. I’m taking notice of this anniversary, however, because I have a personal connection to Franklin. I don’t have an ancestor who died there or anything of that sort; it’s entirely a matter of happenstance.
I was born on November 30, and every year my dad—a longtime history teacher and Civil War buff—would remind me of the coincidence. (Luckily for him, my mom’s birthday is the anniversary of Bunker Hill, so he always remembered that one, too.) So here are a few links in recognition of a dark day for the Confederacy and an auspicious one for me.