Finding Historical Truth

By Dave Whitaker, For the GOP of Bradley County, (Cleveland) Tennessee

Just as a matter of personal observation I believe that America became, in the 1950’s, a more homogenous nation. I’m certain that I don’t know all the factors that contributed to this new blending of the population, but Americans were definitely on the move. Our family was no different. By 1965 what was a fairly tight clan from the St.Louis area was now strung out between the east coast and the island of Guam. Maybe it was because I was the oldest of the cousins that I took with me a stronger sense of family.

Regardless, keeping up with my family’s history been an interest of mine since we all moved away. I guess the word got around and that’s how I became the un-official keeper of the oddly bound family histories. It was as if they came to me by magnetism. They just started showing up some thirty-five or forty years ago.

One of them had a very brief mention about a wing of my family from Tazewell, Tennessee, just to the north and east of Knoxville. In a hand-printed footnote it allowed that there were four brothers who cooperatively farmed the same acreage but ended up fighting against each other in the Civil War. The year attached to this blurb was 1861. With research I learned that at the head of this family was Joseph I. Whitaker, 1808 to 1892. My triple-great grandfather.

I had to know more.

In 1861 the winds of war were stirring up raw sentiments. Emotions ran as hot and bitter as day-old coffee on a wood fired stove. Grandfather Joseph didn’t miss the fact that the issues of the day were tearing the family apart. Two of his sons seemed determined to fight in blue uniforms (Pleasant Green Whitaker and Rice W. Whitaker), the other two yielding to the gray (Kingsberry Taylor Whitaker and William Kirk P. Whitaker.)

Joseph figured that selling his beautiful farm near the headwaters of the Tenneesee River, and moving to the Ozarks, would cool his son’s rage. He sold the farm and bought a wagon drawn by oxen to make the trip

Arriving in the Steeleville area of southern Missouri he traded the oxen and a shot gun for a small farm. Clearing the land, he hoped, would keep his son’s minds off of what had become officially a war. The four brothers were coming to blows across the supper table and with word from Fort Sumpter and the First Battle of Bull Run they veritably blistered at even coming close to each other. Helpless, this all conspired to bring grim and bloody visions to Joseph’s sleep.

The poem FOUR BROTHERS, inserted here, relates the story…

Four Brothers

When a story holds truth it’s a parable.

As we are when embraced by the light,

That our journey becomes more unbearable

If we’ve gambled too much on the night.

Four Whitaker sons all labored in love

With Joseph their pa, all could see…

Three had wives and kids, gifts from above,

A shared farm near the great Tennessee.

So… what does a farmer most care about,

But the land and the harvest to reap?

It’s his family there really can be no doubt.

He’d give of his life them to keep.

It was that way for these four brothers,

Who thought they would always agree.

But ’61 didn’t give ‘em their d’ruthers,

When death divided the family tree.

In night visions pa fought to die in their place,

The killing… it couldn’t be spoke.

On every soldier he saw a son’s face.

‘Cause dreams once escaped are like smoke.

In vain hope it would keep them from fightin’,

The fair Tennessee farm Joseph sold.

But loyalties filled their veins like lightn’in.

Once in Missouri the four brothers enrolled.

Turned out two went blue and two gray

Not knowin’ each other they’d face

In battle at Vicksburg, one walked away.

One buried in some Lou’siana place.

When Lee signed so peace could have a new start

Two alive made their way back to home,

But found that hate could stay in a heart

Though to escape it they’d try far to roam…. far to roam…. far to roam.

History makes no apologies for being history. It will not accept any blame for wrongs done. History is simply what happened. It is as impersonal as the proverbial pile of rocks. One of the bravest of all Americans said this about history, “I know of no way of judging the future, but by the past.”(Patrick Henry) Additionally, the Bible offers, ”For inquire, please, of the former age, and consider the things discovered by their fathers; for we were born yesterday, and know nothing….” (Job 8:8-9)

The poem attempts to add depth to the outcome of the decisions made by the four brothers. We feel the grief of a father who really lived and watched as his sons slipped away from his loving care. And saddest of all, the hate that drove a wedge into this family. But it happened.

The challenge, with respect to history, is getting it recorded accurately. Pulling down monuments won’t bring us closer to the truth. Re-working and massaging history will never yield fruitful results, only lies at the best. Finding the oldest, closest to the event record is generally the most reliable reflection of human actions and therefore motives. It’s all we have. We must hold it close, in safety, precious.