Reviews for Hunter Holmes Mcquire: Stonewall Jackson Doctor

The average rating for Hunter Holmes Mcquire: Stonewall Jackson Doctor based on 2 reviews is 4 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2018-04-15 00:00:00 Rahul Mane Parrish's biography of Richard Taylor, the only one available that I am aware of, is good recounting of the General's life both that of his time as a Confederate General, and his time before the war as a planter aristocrat, and post war as a delver into politics and an important part of the Reconstruction era Democrat Party. While some have bemoaned Parrish's lack of writing style and flair, at least he isn't a David Glantz (sorry Colonel...), and this book is readable if not beautifully written. Son of General and President Zachary Taylor, Richard Taylor was not the type of man most would have assumed would attain greatness in the coming American Iliad. His own father worried well into Taylor's late teens and early twenties that Richard would be a do nothing lay about. Taylor would struggle with indolence through most of the first half of his life, until the War came. He had a habit of enjoying idleness and even in his romantic pursuits, where he jaded a highly devoted young admirer early on, he tended towards passivity. When he purchased and ran his own plantation, called Fortune, in Louisiana, he did far better, but still nothing there indicated to most that he would become a great military hero. However, if they had looked closer, they would see that his plantation ownership prepared him quite well for command. Taylor, like most slaveowners, was not a cruel or harsh master, and easily won over the devotion of his people (even if, when given the chance during the War, they promptly agreed to leaving their lives as slaves, as such is only the natural state of humanity to reject slavery). Through them he learned to tend to the needs of others on a large scale, and he very much did. He would carry this over as a military commander. While Fortune was profitable, he did run into financial difficulties which would plague him his whole life, and caused most to suspect the son of the famous Zack Taylor of being nothing more than a handsome mediocrity. The War proved them all wrong. He earned distinction as a Division commander under Stonewall Jackson in the 1862 Valley Campaign and in the Seven Days on the Peninsula. Sent West, Taylor would stamp his mark on American military history with his command tenure in his adoptive home of Louisiana. Most famous for his defeat of Bank's Red River Campaign in the spring of 1864, Taylor was the bane of Federal command in the region long before. His retaking of most of the state in 1863 came dangerously close to threatening Federal control of New Orleans and the Mississippi River. His campaign there was an example of brilliant maneuver and selective engagement of the enemy in battle. However, his brilliance in terms of a war fighter was marred by his insubordination and antagonism towards his Department Commander Edmund Kirby Smith. The war waged between Smith and Taylor was an all too common tragicomedy that was endemic within the Confederate hierarchy, and which helped doom the Southern War for Independence. Despite that, his excellent service in Louisiana, and earlier under Jackson, earmarked him for a spot amongst the pantheon of American military greats. This is all the more remarkable as he faced the very personal tragedy of losing more than one of his young children to illness during the war. And he had to see his adoptive homeland wrecked and ruined by a harsh Federal measures. The further west of Washington one went, the more destructive was the Union Army. After the War, Taylor would fail to fix his finances, though he would turn over ownership of Fortune to a former slave. Despite his constant financial struggles, he was an important figure in Democrat Party politics for the rest of his life, and he helped restore the Democratic Party to the Presidency in the 1880's. His autobiographical account of the War is considered the best ever written by a former Confederate General. And while Parrish takes a more of a neoconservative approach to analyzing Taylor's post war record, it's unmistakable that Taylor served as the model for the New South following the War and Reconstruction. And Taylor himself was a studious chronicler of her culture and of her war and her reasons for waging it. And if Taylor was seen as mediocre in the first half of his life, his second half was one of lasting fame. While some might not enjoy the somewhat dry writing style of Parrish (there's just something about a PhD that takes the writing skills out of a person), I found this book to be a particularly good one and it's one I'll definitely keep in my library. Highly recommended.

Review # 2 was written on 2013-10-10 00:00:00 Gregory Perry This book, as I mentioned, is very patchy in quality. Quite obviously a lot of laborious research went into the book. A great deal of new ground was covered, since to the best of my knowledge this is the first full-length biography of General Taylor. The military campaigns are well researched and explained, and Parrish seemed to have a decent grasp of the strategy he discusses, providing helpful critiques along the way. These are necessary qualities to a good history, but they are merely clerical and can be found in anyone with a capacity for tedious work inside a prim apparatus. But his research consistently outruns his analysis, and there are deep seated problems with this book. For starters, Parrish is a poor writer. Speaking of the controversy between Taylor and Edmund Kirby Smith, he says "their differences were stark, immutable, and explosive." (p 316) The last two adjectives are nearly antonymous. In another place he speaks of General Grant "running interference," a wildly anachronistic football metaphor. If these seem like nit-picking, examples could be multiplied. Moreover, he doesn't seem to be able to spin the raw material of his research into a narrative. In some places he moves from one paragraph full of quotations to another in an almost Powerpoint-like format. Two more fundamental quarrels: 1. It seems to me one of the cardinal requirements for an historian is sympathy with his subject--either a cordial affection or a cordial detestation. Parrish moves mechanically through the biographical parts of his work. When he touches on any controversial issue he holds his subject at arms-length and with almost a sneer. Sometimes he does this at random, without any apparent principle behind it. For instance, during Zachary Taylor's presidency, the Mississippi river flooded a plantation managed by his son (Richard), who headed to Washington to report on the matter. Parrish comments, "The president tried to appear stoic. 'We ought to be thankful that matters were no worse', he stated.'" (p. 29.) Why does he say that president tried to appear stoical? If Parrish means to imply the president was acting hypocritically, he offers no evidence. What prevents him from taking Zachary Taylor's statement at face value? This comes off as a sneer at a simple expression of contentment amid adversity. A few pages later, Parrish describes Lady Emmeline Stuart-Wortley's visit to America, and her tour of Richard Taylor's plantation. She was impressed by Taylor's treatment of his slaves after reviewing a large number of them, and concluded that "slaves as a whole rarely received abusive treatment, except at the hands of small planters, 'who have never had such powers before.' Her aristocratic prejudices thus guided her opinions." (p. 32). Although her opinion was later confirmed when Frederick Olmstead, a northern observer, visited Taylor's plantation, and no evidence is ever shown that Taylor had anything but the most cordial relations with his slaves, Parrish feels called upon to distance himself yet again from this conclusion with his remark about Lady Stuart-Wortley's "aristocratic prejudices" influencing her judgment. The obvious suggestion (bulverism, really) is that her conclusion was incorrect because she was an aristocrat, but again no evidence or argumentation is ever raised that would counter the multiple independent testimonies. 2. Parrish is forced to badly misread Taylor to prop up his odd thesis that the values of the Southern aristocracy (summarized as "benevolent paternalism") were in some sort of fundamental conflict with reality. In the prologue he says, "Taylor and his peers strove to retain an aura of dignified detachment while practical necessity relentlessly eroded the sacred ideal of benevolent paternalism toward those they viewed as social and racial inferiors. The daily rigors of controlling slaves, the disruptions of political sectionalism and secession, then the wartime uprising and exodus of bondsmen from the South's plantations, and finally the violent racial crisis of Reconstruction politics all struck at the foundation of Taylor's values." (p. 3.) In the chapter "Aristocrat in Political Bedlam" he elaborates on each of these themes in turn. First he accuses Taylor of grasping for an aristocratical lifestyle when the economical realities of his situation could not support it--pointing to Taylor's fondness for fine wines and racing stables while struggling to maintain his plantation under heavy mortgages. Parrish wants to use this as evidence that Taylor's claim to an aristocratic position in society was a sham, that he kept up a facade that was unsupported by the underlying economic realities. But farming in America has always involved heavy mortgages, and farmers all over the continent draw salaries commensurate with their status while carrying high levels of debt. Taylor's case seems like a perfectly ordinary example of this. If Parrish wants to argue that Taylor was fiscally irresponsible, I will make no objection. But to turn this into a debunking of planter culture in general is poor analysis indeed. Second, Parrish claims that Taylor somehow failed to live up to his standards toward his slaves because "controlling" them was a difficult and daily task. But his quotations from Taylor himself, from his numerous slaves, from British observers, and from northern observers, all testify to his cordial relations toward his slaves. Taylor frequently paid them (pp. 32-33, 49), helped his body servant learn to read and write, (p. 32) provided good housing, clothing, food, and medical attention (p. 45-47), and worked with them himself during the busy sugar production season (p 48). Although the slaves were happy and content under his care, this relation was supposedly undermined by the need for good order on the plantation. The author makes much of the fact that the slaves required discipline, specifically the need to control their access to liquor (they tended to get drunk) and the occasional miscellaneous pilfering of plantation supplies. But the whip was never used (p. 49-50), and Olmsted, a northern observer, commented that "while his negroes seem to be better disciplined than any others I had seen, they evidently regarded him with affection, respect, and pride" (pp. 44-45). Nevertheless, Parrish bizarrely concludes that "the ideal of paternalistic trust gave way to the necessity of continual surveillance and periodic punishments, never cruel in degree, yet indicative of slavery's unavoidably coercive purpose as forced labor for a master's profit." (p. 114). If the need for discipline and good order is fundamentally opposed to an attitude of benevolence, then Parrish needs to question every social institution, especially literal paternalism--parenthood itself. Now if the slave crimes were serious depredations that struck at the heart of the plantation system, or if they were committed with the intention of protesting or bringing down the whole order, there would be some sense in viewing them as a breakdown of relations between master and slave. But they were minor infractions: drunkenness and petty thievery. These things have happened in every stable society throughout the history of the world. Only in the case of Southern planters, apparently, are they evidence of tectonic collisions of values. His last assertion with regard to slavery at least carries a surface plausibility. "Although they obviously revered Taylor with deep loyalty and affection, appreciating his generosity and fair treatment, his slaves hoped fervently for freedom, and their frequent forays into undisciplined behavior only confirmed their ultimate desires." (p. 115). He is referring back to his account of Olmstead's interview with a slave: "Then Olmstead sprang the question he had wanted to ask the most: 'Well, now, wouldn't you rather live on such a plantation than be free, William?' 'Oh! no sir, I'd rather be free!' the slave answered excitedly. 'Why would you?' asked Olmstead. 'If I was free--if I was free, I'd have all my time to myself. I'd rather work for myself. I'd like dat better," affirmed William.'" (p. 53.) But this, too, hardly undermines the planter ideal of "benevolent paternalism." I myself would much rather run my own business than work for a boss (even a kind one). I think about it quite frequently. It is very appealing. I hope to do it someday. But right now--like William the slave--I have neither the means nor the capacity. Although it is true that, unlike William, I have the possibility of doing it someday, my current situation as an employee dependent on a kind employer is similar to that of Taylor's slave. Yet how absurd would it be to argue that, because I want to work for myself someday, my employer's ideal of benevolence is therefore a sham? Moreover, the assertion that the slaves' "frequent forays into undisciplined behavior only confirmed their ultimate desires [for freedom]" also does not follow. There is no necessary correlation between petty thievery and a desire for independence, and Parrish offers no evidence of such a correlation in the slaves' case. He might just as plausibly assert that when (say) a Wal-Mart employee sneaks a candy bar off the shelf, he is expressing a desire to be self-employed, or that Wal-Mart's strict rules against employee theft are evidence of a coercive system that fundamentally undermines its claim to be a good employer. It seems quite clear to me that the multiple recorded instances of Taylor's cordiality toward, and care over, his slaves, and their expressions of loyalty and affection toward him, are obvious and undeniable evidence that Taylor was, in every meaningful way, an example of "benevolent paternalism." If Parrish wants to suggest an alternate meaning to the phrase, or another set of criteria by which to measure Taylor's behavior, there might be some use debating the point. But Parrish does neither. Third, the author points to Taylor's involvement in sectional politics as another failure of his aristocratical values. If possible, this assertion is more baldly wrong than the two previous. In 1860 Taylor was involved in the secession convention of Louisiana as a delegate. Although he worked strongly for union as long as he thought it possible, once matters had gone too far to recall, he supported secession for his own state. He was involved in calling the convention, and represented his parish with a vote in favor of secession. He mentions only one concern in his memoirs: the unreflecting enthusiasm with which his fellow delegates dismissed the need to prepare for war. He says: "As soon as the Convention adjourned, finding myself out of harmony with the prevailing opinion as to the certainty of war and the necessity for preparation, I retired to my estate, determined to accept such responsibility only as came to me unsought" (Destruction and Reconstruction, p. 6). But this was a standard position for Southern Whigs after secession. General Lee said much the same thing. But listen to how Parrish explains Taylor's statement: "To an extreme degree…Taylor carried lasting feelings of tragedy stemming from personal anger and regret'anger over the excesses of democracy having produced political fear and hostility between the two sections, and regret over having consented to participate in the resulting conflict between two visions of the American democratic idea of popular rights and power. By retreating to Fashion [his plantation] and swearing to abandon the Confederacy, he seemed like an outcast, part of a group of conservative planters and other old Whigs who believed in the old Union as the best protector" (pp. 118-119). This is preposterous. Parrish is engaging in serious revisionism to support his thesis. It is simply impossible to find, in Taylor's paragraph quoted above, a vow to "abandon the Confederacy." Indeed, in his very next sentence Parrish says: "Yet Taylor attached an important proviso to his vow. He would serve only if called, just as he had done so often in the past" (p. 119). This is his summary of Taylor's decision to "accept such responsibility only as came to me unsought." But look at what Parrish tries to make out of it. According to him, Taylor is saying, "Out of anger and regret, I swear to abandon the Confederacy! But I will serve in it if called." This dissolves into incoherency. No reasonable man, if disillusioned with the actions of his state, would have promoted those actions anyway. No reasonable man, if he swore to "abandon" the Southern cause, would attach a "proviso" to "not abandon" it. No reasonable man, if radically disaffected with the Southern cause, would have spent four years of arduous labor and responsibility fighting to defend it. And, may I add, no reasonable biographer would claim he did all these things. It is true that Taylor, looking back after the War, spoke scornfully of the mass enthusiasm that prompted a short-sighted policy toward disunion. He regretted the careless attitude toward preparing for war, and the influence of demagogic politicians in stoking hostilities. In these opinions he was merely agreeing with many of the first-tier Southern leaders'leaders who, like Taylor, served in the highest ranks of the Confederate army and government once the die was cast'Robert E. Lee and Alexander Stephens, for instance. The difference was one of policy, not principle, and their disappointment with imprudent decisions is scarcely to be equated with a disillusionment with the Southern cause. The most careful and thoughtful leaders in a society are nearly always out of step with the popular tumults. This, if anything, only supports the existence of a viable aristocracy in the South. If Parrish were to mount a reasonable argument for his thesis, he would need to demonstrate that 1) secession represented a wholesale rejection of aristocratic leadership, 2) the would-be aristocrats differed from populist leaders in areas of principle, not merely policy, 3) the Southern fire-eaters represented more than the standard turbulence to be found in any movement, including the American revolution, and 4) the establishment of the Confederacy, in its government and military, was a triumph of populist leadership over the aristocracy. But the slightest investigation into the composition of the army and government of the Confederacy will prove the preponderance of the aristocrats in the highest places of responsibility, and the truth that those who were most cautious in moving toward secession were the most dedicated to Southern independence. Fourth, and final, is Parrish's claim that "the wartime uprising and exodus of bondsmen from the South's plantations, and…the violent racial crisis of Reconstruction politics all struck at the foundation of Taylor's values" (p. 3, quoted above). The first section, regarding the war-time actions of the slaves, is simply untrue. The great majority of slaves stayed on the plantations. This is proved simply by the continuing production of the plantations during the War. By the second year of the war almost the entire manhood of the South was on the front lines, and nothing restrained the slaves from simply walking out of the fields'if not openly warring on the women and children who now ran the plantations. Had they done so, the South would have run out of food by the winter of 1862. I know the Confederate army was impressive, but even I don't claim they fasted for the last two and a half years of the War. Parrish's evidence only shows that slaves left their plantations after the territory was occupied by Union troops'which of course no one will deny. The planter ideal of cordial master-slave relations would have received a blow if the slaves had revolted the instant their masters left for the front lines. But Parrish is arguing, in effect, "the ideal failed because the social structure did not persist after it was destroyed by force." He might as well argue that the widespread destruction of industry in the world wars disproved capitalist ideals, because "once the factories were destroyed, the workers left." The same thing applies to the racial tensions during Reconstruction. Parrish is making a bald category mistake. The avowed aim of the north during Reconstruction was to destroy the planter culture, remove the gentleman from his position of leadership and influence over the slaves, and dismantle the finely-balanced structure of hierarchy in Southern society. (See statements in Congress by Thaddeus Stevens or Charles Sumner, the Republican leaders during Reconstruction.) It is ludicrous to point to its forcible destruction as evidence of its failure. In order to make a credible case, Parrish needs to prove that planter ideals broke down while they were still in force. But he is effectively saying, "Ha! Their society fell apart after we destroyed it. Clearly a failure." No more time need be spent on this. Really, this shows just how far revisionist historians have to reach in order to deny the traditional view of Southern society. Taylor's status actually illuminates, almost perfectly, the four dimensions of Southern society that Richard Weaver sketched in "The Southern Tradition at Bay." Moreover, Parrish neglects the most interesting aspects of Taylor's membership in the Southern elite. He was perhaps the most cultured man in a cultured circle, with a classical and European education that surpassed most of the vaunted intellects of Boston society. Having no formal military training he became one of the finest generals in the South. Without seeking political influence, he was chosen to the Democratic convention of 1860 and to the secession convention in Louisiana, and played a difficult role in Washington, D.C. after the War, trying to mitigate the horrors of Reconstruction. He was a personal friend of the Prince of Wales, an honorary member of the Marlborough club (reserved for the royal family of England), and was, to the end, one of the last examples of a uniquely American take on aristocracy, defeated for all time by the "destruction and reconstruction" of the South. In all of these areas he is most significant as a preeminent example of the success of the Southern planter culture--in social stability, in race relations, in agriculture, in politics, in war, in leadership, in education. Parrish missed a natural opportunity to examine these areas: how they relate to the fundamental questions of the trajectory of American history, how America changed with their removal from power, and, in the end, the identity of America itself. I appreciate Parrish's resurrection of an almost forgotten character in our history, and his distorted thesis does not materially damage the bulk of his book, taken up with a fascinating account of Taylor's military career. But alas, he falls well short of the mark when it comes to the most basic analysis. What he offers may be safely dismissed from any careful consideration of these issues.