#impact charleston

[it-happened-one-fic]

Dancing with Visions - It Isn't Unusual - Charleston - Venti

Author Notes: I forgot how difficult it was to write the Charleston and writing it with Venti (a character I have written very little with) made this doubly hard. But that's what I get for randomizing the matches between characters and dances. I wrote this fic will listening to the song "It's Not Unusual" by Tom Jones. The performance in this fic was inspired by a couple Charleston by Sondre and Tanya, viewable here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmY_QNOFvRY. Just like the rest of this series, reader is female. I hope you enjoy!

If you would like to read more of this series, the fics can be found here: Dancing with Visions Masterlist.

Type: Female reader/ dance/ fluff/ platonic or romantic/ sfw

Word Count: 1036

Realistically speaking, I should have known something was going to happen when Venti, of all people, sat down next to me on a bench despite the festival that surrounded us. Because, for Venti, festivals were important. He could make a lot of easy money, get people to buy him drinks, and have a generally good time without anyone to really scold him about his alcohol intake. Because, bluntly put, a festival in Mondstadt always meant alcohol.

So for Venti, who could be argued to be the man of the hour, to abandon the festivities and instead sit with me on the sidelines was odd.

Even more so, though, I really should have known better than to accept his excuse that it wasn’t unusual for him to sit with ‘someone as dear as you’ as him flirting and taking a break from the celebrations.

I did, however, recognize my mistake for what it was when Venti’s hand crept over and across the bench to where mine rested. But that was far too late for my realization, though, considering I was barely able to even look down at where his fingers toyed with mine before I was being yanked up to a standing pose.

“Venti,” Despite his behavior, I found myself chuckling out his name as he looked at me with bright eyes.

“Come on, a day like this is made for music and dancing. Not for sitting off to the side all by your lonesome,” He pulled me further away from my now-abandoned seat and closer to the dancing people.

I grinned at him, tilting my head at the flirtatious young man, “Then shouldn’t you be playing music?” 

At my words, he grinned and shook his head, bowing at the waist as he gestured off towards the side at Six-fingered José, “A gentleman such as myself knows when to let others have their moment in the spotlight.”

I snorted at his words but shook my head. Surrendering easily to the grinning young man,  “Alright, one quick dance.” 

He looked all but diabolically pleased with himself as he twirled me lightly so that I was facing him, with my back to the crowd of dancers, as he interlocked our hands, “How does the Charleston sound, my lovely lady?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t really complain as I laughed at him, “Figures you’d like a dance as fast as that one.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, causing me to laugh as he started to sway with the music, “Is that a yes?”

I nodded in lieu of responding, only lagging slightly behind him as he started dancing before I was matching his kicking motions perfectly. Grinning despite myself as we shifted around, trading off on who leaned backwards as our feet hit the ground in time to the upbeat rhythm of the music around us.

I could hear others laughing around us, and some even started clapping, making room for us as we danced. Matching the festive atmosphere perfectly as Venti’s sparkling, laughter-filled eyes continued to hold mine.

He pulled me towards him, and I laughed as we collided before I leaned back, letting him whirl me in a rapid spin before I was lowered once more so that I was in a limbo-esque position.

He tugged me back up with a carefree laugh, twirling me so that our bodies were parallel to one another with our arms extended across each other’s backs so that our hands could stay locked together.

Our footsteps clicking against the cobblestone path melded with the applause that clapped along to the beat of the song as we continued to dance. Spinning around so that we were facing each other and trading off on which side our arms were locked as we kept up our kicklike footsteps.

I was laughing out loud right now, knowing perfectly well that I’d lost to both Venti and the festival’s atmosphere of joy. Which was precisely what  the bard had wanted.

Because that was just the way Venti was. Always pushing me to relax and join in on his playful actions, even if I was usually more likely to sit off to the side and watch others’ celebrations.

I suppose that when it came right down to it, he simply couldn’t help himself.

He spun me out as the song ended, keeping a hold of my hand as he turned and walked with me away from the crowd of dancers who kept on going without us. 

“There. One dance, as promised,” I smiled at him, half out of breath from both having laughed quite so much and the raw amount of energy I’d just exerted.

He grinned back at me, tugging a flower out of one of the bouquets that filled the streets and holding out to me as if he were a magician who’d just whisked the blossom out of thin air.

I glanced smilingly at the Cecilia bloom before accepting it, causing his smile to only widen, “And I do thank my lady.”

I laughed slightly, shaking my head fondly and sitting back down on the bench before blinking in surprise as the bard sat down next to me, “You aren’t going to rejoin the festivities?” 

I leaned towards him almost worriedly, but he only shook his head. That usual smile of his on his face as he leaned towards me as if he were mirroring my motions, “I told you, it isn’t unusual for me to want to spend time with someone as dear as you.”

I blinked at him, twirling the flower in my fingers lightly as I held his wide-eyed gaze, “It is when there’s booze to be had that you aren’t going after.”

He pressed a hand to his chest, looking at me with a faux hurt expression, “If I leave you, you won’t be protected, and someone else will come by to make you dance with them!”

I hummed in response, not believing him in the slightest but opting to stay silent as I looked back out at the crowd. A slight smile on my face as I leaned relaxedly against Venti.

After all, it wasn’t unusual for me to be pleased that he was staying with me rather than leaving.

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[champstorymedia]

From the Charleston to TikTok: A Timeline of Dance Evolution

Introduction: Dance has always been a form of expression, communication, and entertainment throughout human history. From the roaring twenties of the Charleston to the viral dances on TikTok today, dance has evolved and adapted to the changing times. In this article, we will take a journey through the timeline of dance evolution, exploring the key moments and styles that have shaped the way we…

[nakul-thakore]

Nakul Thakore - A Tech-Savvy Explorer

Nakul Thakore, the real estate specialist, transforms brick and mortar into dreams realized. A former lab specialist turned property connoisseur; his journey is a symphony of science and aesthetics.

[todropscience]

MICROPLASTICS FOUND IN THE EXHALED BREATH OF DOLPHINS

Microplastic is a ubiquitous environmental contaminant, widespread across terrestrial and marine environments. In the environment, microparticles have been documented in a variety of fauna. Human epidemiological studies have found relationships between inhaled microplastics and oxidative stress, as well as inflammation.

Recent research has uncovered something quite striking: bottlenose dolphins in Florida and Louisiana are exhaling microplastic fibers. While plastic pollution has been well-documented in marine environments, this new study adds inhalation to the growing list of exposure routes for these animals. Bottlenose dolphins were found to be exhaling microplastics similar in chemical composition to those found in human lungs. Their exposure to microplastics might reveal broader environmental risks, especially for cetaceans health.

Breath samples were collected from wild bottlenose dolphins during health assessments conducted by scientists in collaboration with several organizations, including the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago and the Oceanogràfic Foundation. The researchers used a Petri dish or a custom spirometer to capture the dolphins' exhaled breath and, in the laboratory, analyzed the samples under a microscope for small plastic particles characterized by their smooth surface, bright colors, or fibrous shapes.

- A microplastic from a bottlenose dolphin's breath, nearly 14 times smaller than a human hair. Photo by Dziobak/College of Charleston.

The study found microplastics in dolphins from both urban and rural estuaries, demonstrating that even less-populated areas are not immune to plastic contamination. The key takeaway is that plastic pollution is a widespread issue, with effects that may be more far-reaching than initially thought. While the impacts on dolphins' lung health remain unknown, this research underscores the need to investigate how microplastic inhalation could affect marine life and humans alike. Reducing reliance on plastic is a crucial step toward addressing this growing problem.

Main photograph: Todd Speakman/National Marine Mammal Foundation.

Reference (Open access):  Dziobak et al. 2024. First evidence of microplastic inhalation among free-ranging small cetaceans. PLoS ONE

[whencyclopedia]

Treaty of Paris of 1783

The Treaty of Paris, signed on 3 September 1783 by representatives from Great Britain and the United States, was the peace agreement that formally ended the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and recognized the United States as an independent nation. The treaty was considered generous to the United States, fixing its border at the Mississippi River and thereby doubling its territory.

Background: The World Turned Upside Down

On 19 October 1781, the battered British army marched out of Yorktown, Virginia. Dressed in resplendent new uniforms freshly issued for the occasion, the British soldiers passed between the French and American armies to throw their muskets onto a steadily growing pile of surrendered arms. Emotions were running high; some British soldiers wept as they laid down their weapons, while others haphazardly threw their muskets onto the pile in the hopes that they would smash. Lord Charles Cornwallis, commander of the surrendering British army, was not present at the ceremony, having pled illness. It was left to his second-in-command, General Charles O'Hara, to offer his sword to American General George Washington, who refused, instead motioning for O'Hara to give the sword to his own second-in-command, General Benjamin Lincoln. According to legend, as the ceremony took place, the military bands played a tune aptly titled "The World Turned Upside Down".

As this dramatic scene suggests, it was immediately apparent that the Siege of Yorktown marked an important turning point in the war. But in the direct aftermath of the siege, few could have anticipated just how significant it had been. Despite Cornwallis' surrender, the British army certainly had the military capacity to continue fighting, as they still possessed sizable military presences in New York City, Charleston, Canada, and the West Indies. Indeed, King George III of Great Britain (r. 1760-1820) and Prime Minister Lord Frederick North, had every intention of planning a campaign for the upcoming 1782 season. The king and his ministers knew that the fledgling United States was on the verge of failing. The Continental currency issued by Congress was worthless, and many of the underpaid soldiers of the Continental Army were close to mutiny. To top it all off, the treasury of the Kingdom of France was running dangerously low, leading the French to hint that they would have to exit the war if peace was not soon concluded. All King George III and Lord North had to do was prolong the war for a year or two more, and the American rebellion would collapse in on itself.

But unfortunately for the king and his ministers, the British people had long been experiencing war fatigue, and the defeat at Yorktown was the final straw. This attitude was reflected in Parliament when it reconvened after its Christmas recess in January 1782. While many in Parliament did not necessarily approve of an independent United States, they were more concerned about the negative impact that the war was having on British resources and international prestige, particularly after the conflict had taken on a global scale with the entry of France and Spain in 1778-79. Year after year, members of Parliament had listened to Lord North give excuses as to why British arms had failed in North America during the previous campaign season, before promising that a British victory loomed just over the horizon. Now, when news of Cornwallis' surrender reached London, they had finally had enough. In February 1782, colonial secretary Lord George Germain was forced out of the cabinet, with Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, losing his position soon after. The house of cards finally collapsed on 20 March, when Lord North resigned rather than face the indignity of being removed from office by a vote of no confidence. George III himself even considered abdicating the throne but was persuaded against it.

North was replaced as prime minister by Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, whose political faction, known as the 'Rockingham Whigs', had opposed many of the policies of the North ministry including the war in North America. Supported by influential British politicians like Charles James Fox and Edmund Burke, Lord Rockingham immediately took steps to end the war upon coming to power; the king, who despised Rockingham �� indeed, the two could not even be in the same room – could do nothing as the new ministry set about bringing seven years of war to an end. In April 1782, Rockingham sent a representative to Paris to begin informal peace talks. When Rockingham unexpectedly died the following July, the Earl of Shelburne became prime minister and took up the supervision of the negotiations.

Continue reading...

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part IV

Moonlight Becomes You

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: A quick historical note - President Roosevelt’s fireside chats are mentioned in this chapter. For those who may be unfamiliar with American history, the fireside chats were a series of radio addresses given by FDR between 1933 and 1944. They were designed to keep the American public updated about The Great Depression and the United States’ progress in World War II. If you’re interested, you can actually hear the audio of the fireside chat that Peach references in her letter.

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from the Bing Crosby song of the same name.

Dedication: This story continues to be dedicated to my sweet friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Her support has meant so much to me in writing this series!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, allusions to childhood death caused by the 1918 Influenza pandemic, references to illness, a lot of fluff.

August 7, 1942

Dear Peach,

It makes me real happy to hear that you like the nickname. I was surprised to learn that you’ve never had a nickname all your own, but I’m doubly happy to be able to give you your first. It’s a real honor, let me tell you. Not to mention the fact that you ARE special, so you certainly deserve to feel that way.

I think when we all get back, we’ll have to be very careful to keep Dottie, Tommy Boy, and Benny from conspiring, you and I. They do sound like they’re very much of one mind, your sister and my friends—though I’m sure Dottie is much lovelier than my lughead buddies. As I write this, in fact, Benny is snoring loud enough to wake the entire carrier. I’m not sure how any of the other fellas are managing to get any sleep. But at least as long as he’s snoring, I know he won’t be reading over my shoulder. We have to take our victories where we can, as we’re all quickly learning.

Now that I think about it, I do believe I made you a promise in my last letter, Peach. I promised I would try to be more organized, and I’m going to stick to that. I’m going to make a list, so that I’m sure to answer each and every part of your letter. I have to admit that I’ve read it five or six times already. The thought that you’d take such precious time out of your day to sit and write to me of all people still seems simply too good to be true, but so long as this dream is my reality, I’m going to make the most of it. I want you to know how much every word you write means to me.

First of all, trust me when I say that your words truly are sweeter than any dessert they could dream up for us here. Sweeter than honey, sweeter than ice cream, sweeter than pie—heck, even sweeter than a Georgia peach. Mail Call IS a wonderful day, and getting a letter from you makes it all the more wonderful.

I appreciate your belief in me, Peach, more than words could say. In all honesty, I’m probably not even a quarter as brave as you think I am. Maybe I shouldn’t admit that in writing. I’m sure the rest of the guys would tell me to play the part of the hero, but the truth is that I don’t feel like one most days. I only want to serve my country and do my part, but I’d be lying if I said there weren’t days when I felt downright terrified to be here. “War is hell” is right, no doubt about it. I hope you don’t think less of me for saying so. But somehow, I know you won’t. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I just know I can trust you with these sorts of things. The thought of getting to lay down my burdens with you, even if only for a moment, is such a gift. Thank you.

Paris, huh? That must have been some honeymoon. Since we’ve arrived, I’ve been able to see [REDACTED], but I’m sure it can’t compare to what your parents saw back then. One day, I hope you do get to make it here, Peach. I hope you get to see all the most beautiful parts of the world. I wouldn’t want you to be here now, not when everything feels the opposite of beautiful, but one day. We’ll make it safe here again so that it’s beautiful for you. I promise.

Listen, if you can convince your mama to hand over the peach tart recipe, I just might be able to convince my mama to share her apple cobbler recipe…

Speaking of which, it made me smile to hear about your Fourth of July. For the record, Paddy was right—getting to hear about the parades and the fireworks and the strawberry pound cake (I’m sorry about the sugar, by the way) made me feel like everything we’re doing over here is worth it. Some days are real hard. Some days, it feels like we’re not making any progress. But when I hear that you and your family are safe and happy back home, it makes me realize that what we’re doing over here every day does matter. So long as you’re all still able to celebrate Independence Day in peace, then we’re doing our job. Some of the other fellas got letters from their families, telling them about their Fourth of July parties and picnics, too. We all sat together and read them out loud, and it made us feel for a moment like we were there. We could taste the hot dogs and the watermelon and the Root Beer Floats. And it made us smile and laugh, Peach. I promise, nothing you could tell me about life back home would feel like salt in a wound. On the contrary, it’s like a balm for our spirits.

I’m sorry to hear about Frankie’s teeth. I hope the little guy is doing alright. I remember watching my brothers go through it growing up, and seeing Clara go through it just a couple years ago. Being her godfather, it felt extra hard to watch her suffer, so I know just how you feel watching your nephew. In her most recent letter, Natasha told Paul that Paul, Jr.’s been cutting some teeth as well, but he’s “soldiering on, just like his daddy.” It seems like such a small thing, but I could hear Paul crying in his bunk that night. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you that, Peach, considering how trustworthy you are. He misses Natasha and Clara and Paul, Jr. something fierce, and I know he can’t wait for the day when he gets to hold them in his arms again. Since your thoughts for us seem to be so powerful, maybe you could spare some for Paul? I know it’d mean a lot to him.

Paddy is a good man, Peach. A great man. I know you know that and you don’t need to be hearing it from me, but it’s true. If ever he’s feeling down about staying stateside, you let him know that none of us could be doing what we’re doing over here if it wasn’t for what he’s doing over there. He’s a smart guy, Paddy is, and we appreciate how hard he’s working. If anyone feels differently, well—quite frankly, their opinion just doesn’t matter.

It is a little tricky to have a conversation on paper, indeed. Oh, I wish more than anything that we could be talking face to face. I think of that night on King Street all the time. Can I be honest with you, Peach? I hope you won’t think this is too forward, but when the days here are long and hard, sometimes I just picture your pretty face and it makes things feel better. And I hope you know that your loveliness is so much more than just skin deep—your heart and your kindness are what make you so beautiful. I’m sorry for being so forthright—I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable—but I just wanted you to know that. Your friendship and your kindness to me that last night stateside mean so much to me, and they always will.

Speaking of friendship, I’m rather starting to think that my friends like you more than they like me. You should have seen Tommy Boy’s and Benny’s faces when I told them you said hello—they lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July and demanded to see your words for themselves. Evidently, my word wasn’t good enough. They say hello in return and want to thank you for all your well wishes. Paul says hello, too. He says of course he remembers you, and that he hopes you’re doing real well. He still hasn’t forgotten about getting Natasha a string of pearls just as pretty as yours.

I’m sorry the heat’s been so oppressive back in Charleston. We’ve had nothing but rain here for weeks, so we’ve been rather wet and miserable. But your letter was a bright spot amidst the clouds, and I’d be happy to take some of that southern sun off your hands  if you’d be willing to take some of our clouds and rain.

Now you’ve really given me something to look forward to, Peach, if you’re really serious about singing something at our next dance. I assure you that it’s easy to promise that I won’t laugh because I KNOW you won’t be terrible at it. Your voice, I know, is just as lovely as you and I can’t wait to hear it.

It’s funny you mention “Chattanooga Choo Choo” because that one just so happens to be one of my mother’s favorites. I think the two of you would get along just swell. I just had a letter from her the other day, and she assured me that all is well at home. It does my heart good to hear that from both her and you.

I do know “Blue Moon,” Peach. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear it the same way again without thinking of your beautiful words. As I write this letter right now, the moon is shining down, and I’m picturing it shining down on you, too. The last time I got to see you—well, I suppose the only time I got to see you—was in the moonlight, so I think it will always be special to me. And you’re right—when I think of the same moon shining down on you and me, and all my friends and family back home, it makes me think that maybe the world isn’t so big a place after all. Maybe we’re not all as far apart as it seems. Thank you for reminding me of that. I did tell Paul, and he wrote your words down to send to Natasha. So we all owe you a debt of gratitude.

Alright, have I rambled on enough? Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever written letters so long as the ones I write to you, Peach. But I suppose it’s because I want you to know me. It’s funny, I’ve always been happy to blend into the background. I’m not the sort of guy that most people take notice of—not like Paul and Tommy Boy—and that’s okay. I’ve always been fine with that. But with you—well, I want you to know me. I don’t want to blend into the background where you’re concerned. And I think that maybe you understand that? I felt it that night we met—that you understand. You understand so much, Peach, and I’m so grateful for that.

I won’t bore you with it now, but maybe sometime in the future, I could tell you stories about myself? Stories from when I was growing up, stories from Annapolis—stories that will help you get to know me? I would never want to pry, and you don’t have to tell me anything about yourself that you don’t want to, but I thought that maybe—well, I don’t know what I thought except for the fact that I’d really like to know you, the same as I’d like you to know me.

Okay, I think exhaustion is starting to addle my brain, and I should probably stop writing before I say something that makes me look even more foolish than I probably already have.

You’re in my thoughts, Peach, and I wish you nothing but the best. I hope this letter finds you happy and well.

Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

September 19, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I’m so, so sorry that it’s taken me so long to write you back. I felt that your beautifully heartfelt letter deserved all my attention, and I didn’t want to sit down to write a response until I was able to give it that.

We had a bit of a crisis here in the Sheridan household back in August, around the same time your letter arrived in the mail. We’re not sure how he possibly could have picked it up, but poor, sweet Frankie came down with influenza. He couldn’t keep anything down, and then he started burning up with a terrible fever. Dottie was absolutely frantic, and we rushed him to the hospital. When the doctors confirmed it was the flu, Dottie was beside herself. I know you’ve never met Frankie, but he’s normally such a happy baby, so full of life and joy—to see him so still and lethargic and quiet was quite terrifying. I was scared, too, but I tried to remind Dottie that her son was just as strong as his mother. Dottie was born in 1918, you see, during the Spanish Flu epidemic. She was one of the only babies who survived in the hospital where our mother delivered her. I think that’s all Dottie could picture—all those mothers and fathers who never got to bring their children home. She insisted on bringing Frankie home to care for him—she said she wasn’t going to run the risk of keeping him in the hospital.

Poor baby was terribly sick for over a week. I don’t think Dottie or Paddy slept a wink that whole time. I tried to convince them to take turns staying up with him, so that they could get some rest, but they just stayed by his side all night, every night. It really is quite something, isn’t it? The power of a mother and father’s love? I won’t lie, Bobby, there were some really scary moments when we weren’t sure he was going to pull through. I’ve never been so afraid or cried so many tears in all my life, I think. But then one day, his fever finally broke and we could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve never seen my sister or brother-in-law look more happy or relieved. It felt like we had all been holding our breath without even realizing it, and we were finally able to breathe deeply again.

We’ve all been in recovery mode since then, and have been monitoring Frankie very carefully. Just as he started to get better, Dottie fell a little under the weather, so Paddy and I were taking care of them both. I’m very happy to report that both my sister and my nephew are back to their smiley, happy selves, which has been such a joy. I’ll be very glad to put this whole episode behind us.

I want to thank you for your last letter, Bobby, because it truly helped keep me sane when it felt like the whole world was spinning out of control. Though I didn’t feel able to write back until everyone was feeling better, I did read your letter every night before I went to sleep. You wrote that my stories from home were like a balm to your spirit, and I just want you to know that your words were a balm to mine. You are one of the kindest men I’ve ever known, Bobby. Thank you. Thank you so much.

You would think with so much time to plan this letter in my mind, I would have something brilliant to share, but I’m afraid that I’m still feeling a bit scatter-brained after everything. So here are the words that have been bouncing around in my head and my heart for the past few weeks, in response to yours:

You’ll always be a hero in my eyes, Bobby. The fact that you’re brave enough to admit that you’re terrified just further proves it to me. True heroes don’t think of themselves as heroes. They just do the job that needs being done—like you’re doing. And your country is so proud of you for it. I’m so proud of you for it.

I believe you when you promise that you’re going to make it safe there, wherever you are right now. I’m confident that the world will be a beautiful place again. Maybe one day you can show it to me.

I might just be able to convince my mama to share her peach tart recipe. We’ll see. You sweet talk your mama, and I’ll sweet talk mine.

Thank you for putting my mind at rest about telling you stories from home. If they really do lift your spirits, then I promise to tell you as many stories as you want to hear.

Poor Frankie really can’t catch a break, can he? Between his teeth and the flu, he’s had a rough go of it lately. But I’d say he’s “soldiering on,” same as Paul, Jr. I’m sorry to hear how hard the separation is for Paul. As his best friend, I’m sure it’s hard to watch him struggle with that. Of course I’ll be thinking of Paul and Natasha and the children. I include them in my prayers every night, and I’ll continue to do so until they’re all together again. I keep all of you in my prayers.

Thank you for your kind words about Paddy, Bobby. I didn’t share them with him, because I didn’t want him to be upset that I knew how he’d been feeling, but I have your words tucked away in my heart, and I’ll be sure to pass them onto him when the time is right. He is a good man, and I’m glad to know that other people see it in him, too.

You really are too kind to me, Bobby. I have a feeling you may be remembering me through rose-colored glasses, but I thank you for your sweetness all the same. Your friendship means a lot to me, too, and I’ll always be so thankful for that night we met. I’ll never forget it.

I find it impossible to believe that your friends could ever like me more than you. How could they, when you’re such a wonderful friend? Tell Tommy Boy and Benny that I say they have to take your word as golden because you’re extremely trustworthy. I don’t want to hear about any more of this doubting nonsense. And tell Paul that my family knows a couple jewelers who would be glad to help an American hero. Whenever he’s ready to find those pearls, he can just give a holler.

I’ll gladly give you some sunshine in exchange for some rain! With fall coming, it’s not quite as hot as it’s been, but we’d still gladly take fresh, clean rain to wash away the last of the sticky heat.

What song would you like to hear? I’ll start practicing now, so that by the time you come home, maybe it’ll be halfway as good as you seem to think it’s going to be.

From what you told me, your mother sounds just lovely. I’d love to listen to some Glenn Miller over a nice apple cobbler with her.

Oh, none of you owe me anything. I’m sure I’m not the first person to make such an observation about the moon, and I won’t be the last. But I am glad that it could bring you all a little bit of comfort. And when the moon comes up tonight, I’ll be thinking of you.

Bobby, you could never fade into the background, not to me. But I do understand what you mean. I’ve always felt the same. I’ve never been one that people take notice of. Dottie’s always been good with crowds. My friends Emily and Marilyn—they were volunteering with me that night at the dance—they’re always good at making conversation. I’ve never been that way. And I’ve always accepted that about myself, same as you. But it is nice to feel like someone really sees you, like they really know you. I have that with my family, but it’s good to know there’s someone else out there who understands me. Someone like you, Bobby. I want you to know me, too.

I’d like it if we could share stories with one another. I’d like that very much. I want to hear more about your farm in Iowa, and your family, and all the mischief that you and Paul and Natasha got into when you were growing up. I’m all ears, whatever you’d like to share.

Before I close my letter, I thought you might like to know that President Roosevelt gave one of his fireside chats a couple weeks ago. He hasn’t given one since April, so we were all very eager to hear what he had to say. He spoke a bit about inflation and the cost of things. He promised that he’s working with Congress to try to keep things as reasonable as possible, but we all understand that’s rather difficult with a war on. And we’re happy to make the sacrifices necessary to do our part for the war effort.

He also spoke a bit about the progress of the war. I admit that talk of battles and military strategy goes a bit over my head, but he did say something that stuck out to me and has been in my head ever since. He said—and forgive me if I paraphrase a bit—that battles and wars aren’t won by men who are concerned about themselves, about their own safety and comfort. And it made me think of you, Bobby, and all your friends. It made me think of what you’re sacrificing, especially your safety and comfort. We’re going to win this war. I know it. And it’s because of men like you. Don’t ever doubt that.

I hope that when this letter finds you, you’ve managed to carve out a little bit of safety and comfort for yourself. I hope that you’re doing well, and that you’ll be able to come home soon.

Please stay safe, Bobby.

All my best,

Peach

[kemetic-dreams]

Haitian Immigration : Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

Many Haitians moved to Louisiana during and after the Haitian Revolution, which began in 1791 and lasted for 13 years:

The long, interwoven history of Haiti and the United States began on the last day of 1698, when French explorer Sieur d'Iberville set out from the island of Saint Domingue (present-day Haiti) to establish a settlement at Biloxi, on the Gulf Coast of France's Louisiana possession.

For most of the eighteenth century, however, only a few African migrants settled there. But between the 1790s and 1809, large numbers of Haitians of African descent migrated to Louisiana. By 1791 the Haitian Revolution was under way. It would continue for thirteen years, result in the independence of the first African republic in the Western Hemisphere, and reverberate throughout the Atlantic world. Its impact would be particularly felt in Louisiana, the destination of thousands of refugees from the island's turmoil. Their activism had profound repercussions on the politics, the culture, the religion, and the racial climate of the state.

From Saint Domingue to Louisiana

Louisiana and her Caribbean parent colony developed intimate links during the eighteenth century, centered on maritime trade, the exchange of capital and information, and the migration of colonists. From such beginnings, Haitians exerted a profound influence on Louisiana's politics, people, religion, and culture. The colony's officials, responding to anti-slavery plots and uprisings on the island, banned the entry of enslaved Saint Domingans in 1763. Their rebellious actions would continue to impact upon Louisiana's slave trade and immigration policies throughout the age of the American and French revolutions.

These two democratic struggles struck fear in the hearts of the Spaniards, who governed Louisiana from 1763 to 1800. They suppressed what they saw as seditious activities and banned subversive materials in a futile attempt to isolate their colony from the spread of democratic revolution. In May 1790 a royal decree prohibited the entry of blacks - enslaved and free - from the French West Indies. A year later, the Haitian Revolution started.

The revolution in Saint Domingue unleashed a massive multiracial exodus: the French fled with the bondspeople they managed to keep; so did numerous free people of color, some of whom were slaveholders themselves. In addition, in 1793, a catastrophic fire destroyed two-thirds of the principal city, Cap Français (present-day Cap Haïtien), and nearly ten thousand people left the island for good. In the ensuing decades of revolution, foreign invasion, and civil war, thousands more fled the turmoil. Many moved eastward to Santo Domingo (present-day Dominican Republic) or to nearby Caribbean islands. Large numbers of immigrants, black and white, found shelter in North America, notably in New York, Baltimore (fifty-three ships landed there in July 1793), Philadelphia, Norfolk, Charleston, and Savannah, as well as in Spanish Florida. Nowhere on the continent, however, did the refugee movement exert as profound an influence as in southern Louisiana.

Between 1791 and 1803, thirteen hundred refugees arrived in New Orleans. The authorities were concerned that some had come with "seditious" ideas. In the spring of 1795, Pointe Coupée was the scene of an attempted insurrection during which planters' homes were burned down. Following the incident, a free émigré from Saint Domingue, Louis Benoit, accused of being "very imbued with the revolutionary maxims which have devastated the said colony" was banished. The failed uprising caused planter Joseph Pontalba to take "heed of the dreadful calamities of Saint Domingue, and of the germ of revolt only too widespread among our slaves." Continued unrest in Pointe Coupée and on the German Coast contributed to a decision to shut down the entire slave trade in the spring of 1796.

In 1800 Louisiana officials debated reopening it, but they agreed that Saint Domingue blacks would be barred from entry. They also noted the presence of black and white insurgents from the French West Indies who were "propagating dangerous doctrines among our Negroes." Their slaves seemed more "insolent," "ungovernable," and "insubordinate" than they had just five years before.

That same year, Spain ceded Louisiana back to France, and planters continued to live in fear of revolts. After future emperor Napoleon Bonaparte sold the colony to the United States in 1803 because his disastrous expedition against Saint Domingue had stretched his finances and military too thin, events in the island loomed even larger in Louisiana.

The Black Republic and Louisiana

In January 1804, an event of enormous importance shook the world of the enslaved and their owners. The black revolutionaries, who had been fighting for a dozen years, crushed Napoleon's 60,000 men-army - which counted mercenaries from all over Europe - and proclaimed the nation of Haiti (the original Indian name of the island), the second independent nation in the Western Hemisphere and the world's first black-led republic. The impact of this victory of unarmed slaves against their oppressors was felt throughout the slave societies. In Louisiana, it sparked a confrontation at Bayou La Fourche. According to white residents, twelve Haitians from a passing vessel threatened them "with many insulting and menacing expressions" and "spoke of eating human flesh and in general demonstrated great Savageness of character, boasting of what they had seen and done in the horrors of St. Domingo [Saint Domingue]."

The slaveholders' anxieties increased and inspired a new series of statutes to isolate Louisiana from the spread of revolution. The ban on West Indian bondspeople continued and in June 1806 the territorial legislature barred the entry from the French Caribbean of free black males over the age of fourteen. A year later, the prohibition was extended: all free black adult males were excluded, regardless of their nationality. Severe punishments, including enslavement, accompanied the new laws.

However, American efforts to prevent the entry of Haitian immigrants proved even less successful than those of the French and the Spanish. Indeed, the number of immigrants skyrocketed between May 1809 and June 1810, when Spanish authorities expelled thousands of Haitians from Cuba, where they had taken refuge several years earlier. In the wake of this action, New Orleans' Creole whites overcame their chronic fears and clamored for the entry of the white refugees and their slaves. Their objective was to strengthen Louisiana's declining French-speaking community and offset Anglo-American influence. The white Creoles felt that the increasing American presence posed a greater threat to their interests than a potentially dangerous class of enslaved West Indians.

American officials bowed to their pressure and reluctantly allowed white émigrés to enter the city with their slaves. At the same time, however, they attempted to halt the migration of free black refugees. Louisiana's territorial governor, William C. C. Claiborne, firmly enforced the ban on free black males. He advised the American consul in Santiago de Cuba:

Males above the age of fifteen, have . . . been ordered to depart. - I must request you, Sir, to make known this circumstance and also to discourage free people of colour of every description from emigrating to the Territory of Orleans; We have already a much greater proportion of that population than comports with the general Interest.

Claiborne and other officials labored in vain; the population of Afro-Creoles grew larger and even more assertive after the entry of the Haitian émigrés from Cuba, nearly 90 percent of whom settled in New Orleans. The 1809 migration brought 2,731 whites, 3,102 free persons of African descent, and 3,226 enslaved refugees to the city, doubling its population. Sixty-three percent of Crescent City inhabitants were now black. Among the nation's major cities only Charleston, with a 53 percent black majority, was comparable.

The multiracial refugee population settled in the French Quarter and the neighboring Faubourg Marigny district, and revitalized Creole culture and institutions. New Orleans acquired a reputation as the nation's "Creole Capital."

The rapid growth of the city's population of free persons of color strengthened the "three-caste" society - white, mixed, black - that had developed during the years of French and Spanish rule. This was quite different from the racial order prevailing in the rest of the United States, where attempts were made to confine all persons of African descent to a separate and inferior racial caste - a situation brought about by political reality in the South that promoted white unity across class lines and the immersion of all blacks into a single and subservient social caste.

In Louisiana, as lawmakers moved to suppress manumission and undermine the free black presence, the refugees dealt a serious blow to their efforts. In 1810 the city's French-speaking Creoles of African descent, reinforced by thousands of Haitian refugees, formed the basis for the emergence of one of the most advanced black communities in North America.

Soldiers, Rebels, and Pirates

Many Haitian black males eluded immigration authorities by slipping into the territory through Barataria, a coastal settlement just west of the Mississippi River. Some became allies of the notorious pirates Jean and Pierre Lafitte, white refugees of the Haitian Revolution. Surrounded by marshland and a maze of waterways, Barataria was an effective staging area for attacks on Gulf shipping. The interracial band of adventurers dominated the settlement's thriving black-market economy.

But pirates and smugglers did not make up the whole of Barataria's fugitive residents. Some two hundred free black veterans of the Haitian Revolution, including Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Savary, a former French republican officer, were among them. In 1799 seven hundred soldiers, opposed to Toussaint L'Ouverture fled to Cuba and later migrated to Louisiana. By 1810 this movement of Haitian soldiers from Cuba had created a black military presence in Louisiana that seriously worried Governor Claiborne. He anxiously requested reinforcements. The number of free black men "in and near New Orleans, capable of carrying arms," he wrote, "cannot be less than eight hundred."

Colonel Savary and other republican veterans of the Haitian Revolution remained committed to the French revolution's ideals of liberté, egalité, fraternité (freedom, equality, fraternity.) They regrouped to aid insurgents attempting to establish independent republics in Latin America. In November 1813 Savary offered to send five hundred Haitian soldiers to fight with Mexican revolutionaries. When their effort to establish a Mexican government in Texas failed, Savary and his men returned to New Orleans. Within the year, however, the colonel and other Haitian veterans would be rallying against the forces of the British crown.

As British forces threatened to invade New Orleans in 1814, American authorities sought to win the loyalty of battle-hardened black soldiers like Colonel Savary. They were also well aware of the prominent role that free men had played in slave rebellions. With the English approaching, pacifying them would be strategically sound.

General Andrew Jackson arrived in New Orleans in December 1814 and immediately mustered 350 native-born black veterans of the Spanish militia into the United States Army. Colonel Savary raised a second black unit of 250 of Haiti's refugee soldiers. Jackson recognized Savary's considerable influence and knew of his reputation as "a man of great courage." On Jackson's orders, Savary became the first African-American soldier to achieve the rank of second major.

The Haitians in Barataria also fought in the battle of New Orleans. In September 1814 federal troops invaded their community and dispersed the Lafittes and their followers. Hundreds of refugees poured into the city. Andrew Jackson offered them pardons in return for their support in defending the city. After the victory, he commended the two battalions of six hundred African-American and Haitian soldiers whose presence in a force of three thousand men had proved decisive. He praised the "privateers and gentlemen" of Barataria who "through their loyalty and courage, redeemed [their] pledge . . . to defend the country."

Jackson observed that Captain Savary "continued to merit the highest praise." In the last significant skirmish of the battle, Savary and a detachment of his men volunteered to clear the field of a detail of British sharpshooters. Though Savary's force suffered heavy casualties, the mission was carried out successfully.

Within weeks of the victory, however, Jackson yielded to white pressure to remove the men from New Orleans to a remote site in the marshland east of the city to repair fortifications. Savary relayed a message to the general that his men "would always be willing to sacrifice their lives in defense of their country as had been demonstrated but preferred death to the performance of the work of laborers." Jackson, though not pleased, refrained from taking any action against the troops. In February, the general even lent his support to Savary's renewed efforts to rejoin republican insurgents in Mexico.

Afro-Creoles and Americans

In colonial Louisiana and in colonial Haiti, military service had functioned as a crucial means of advancement for both free and enslaved blacks. After the battle of New Orleans, however, support for the black militia declined among free people of color. The disrespect shown to the soldiers who fought so valiantly, along with their disappointment at not receiving some measure of political recognition, contributed to their disillusionment.

Afro-Creoles' anger mounted as Louisiana's white lawmakers embarked upon an unprecedented and sustained attack upon their rights by formulating one of the harshest slave codes in the American South. In 1830 the legislature reaffirmed the 1807 ban on the entry of "free negroes and mulattoes" and required slaveholders to ensure the removal of freed people within thirty days of their emancipation. In Louisiana, as elsewhere in the South, segregation, anti-miscegenation laws, and the legal ostracism of racially mixed children signified the imposition of a two-category pattern of racial classification that relegated all persons of African ancestry to a degraded status.

Reduced to a debased condition, deprived of citizenship, denied free movement, and threatened with violence, Afro-Creoles, both native-born and immigrant, developed an intensely antagonistic relationship with the new regime. Under the United States government, black Louisianians had anticipated an end to slavery and racial oppression and had looked for the fulfillment of the democratic ideals embodied in the founding principles of the new American republic. But contrary to their expectations, the process of Americanization negated the promise of the revolutionary era. Instead of moving toward freedom and equality, the new government promoted the evolution of an increasingly harsh system of chattel slavery.

From Revolution to Romanticism

Following the example of intellectuals in France and Haiti, Afro-Creole activists in Louisiana - led by Haitian émigrés, their children, and French-speaking native Louisianians - had been nurturing their republican heritage. As political expression was stifled, they poured their energies into a new vehicle of revolutionary ideas, the Romantic literary movement.

New Orleans' highly politicized black intelligentsia thereby tapped into the Atlantic world's ongoing current of political radicalism, protesting injustice in their literary work. Their principal forum was La Société des Artisans. Founded by free black artisans and veterans of the War of 1812, the organization provided local Creole writers the opportunity to exchange ideas and present their numerous artistic works in a friendly setting.

Among these young writers was Victor Séjour. His father, a Haitian émigré, was a veteran of the War of 1812 and a prosperous dry-goods merchant. The young Séjour had been educated at New Orleans' prestigious black school Académie Sainte-Barbe, under the tutelage of Michel Séligny, the most productive Afro-Creole short-story writer. Séjour's audience at La Société proclaimed him a prodigy, and his father, determined to see his son fulfill his artistic potential and anxious for Victor to escape the burden of racial prejudice in Louisiana, sent him to France to complete his education. In Paris, the youth quickly came under the influence of another writer of African-Haitian descent, renowned novelist Alexandre Dumas, author of The Three Musketeers (1844), The Count of Monte Cristo (1844-45), and many other celebrated works.

Séjour made a dramatic debut on the literary scene with the publication, in March 1837, of an impassioned attack on slavery, "Le Mulâtre" (The Mulatto), the first short story by an African-American writer to be published in France.

Following the publication of "Le Mulâtre," Séjour embarked on a remarkably productive artistic career. When he was only twenty-six years old, the famed Théâtre Français produced his first drama; it would be followed by two dozen more. In one season, French theaters produced three of his works simultaneously, and Emperor Napoleon III attended opening nights of two of them.

Ironically, Séjour's first story, though it may have circulated privately within the black community, was never published in New Orleans. It fell within the parameters of an 1830 Louisiana law prohibiting reading matter "having a tendency to produce discontent among the free coloured population . . . or to excite insubordination among the slaves." Violators faced either a penalty of three to twenty-one years at hard labor or death, at the judge's discretion.

Despite such restrictions, the city's free people of color managed to fashion a vibrant literary movement, dominated by Haitian refugees and their descendants. The influence of the French Romantic movement among New Orleans' black intellectuals became more evident in 1843 with the publication of a short-lived, interracial literary journal L'Album littéraire: Journal des jeunes gens, amateurs de littérature (The Literary Album: A Journal of Young Men, Lovers of Literature). Its most prominent black founder was Armand Lanusse, of Haitian ancestry and one of the city's leading Romantic artists. Lanusse and his fellow writers, both émigré and native-born, ignored the 1830 literary censorship law and, like their fellow Romantics in France and Haiti, used their literary skills to challenge existing social evils.

In a series of introductory essays,the anonymous contributors to L'Album deplored "the sad and awful condition of Louisiana society," where the spectacle of rampant greed, unrelieved poverty, and institutionalized injustice "grips our hearts with deep sorrow, showering grief over all our thoughts, filling the soul with terror and despair."

Within a year of its debut, L'Album disappeared from the literary scene after critics attacked the journal for advocating revolt. Lanusse then edited a collection of poems by Creoles of color in 1845; Les Cenelles: Choix de poésies indigènes was the first anthology of literature by African Americans in the United States. Les Cenelles was much more subdued in tone than its predecessor. Still, Lanusse in his preface emphasized the value of education as "a shield against the spiteful and calamitous arrows shot at us." He and his colleagues considered their art form a springboard to social and political reform.

The Haitian Influence on Religion

In 1847 Lanusse and his friends helped to assure the survival of a small Catholic religious order dedicated to charitable work among the city's enslaved people and free black indigents. The congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Family was founded in 1842 by Henriette Delille, yet another prominent Afro-Creole of Haitian ancestry. As Delille's sisterhood struggled to maintain their community during the 1840s, a coalition of Afro-Creole writers, artisans, and philanthropists obtained corporate status and funding for the religious society.

When Delille took her formal religious vows in 1852, she headed Louisiana's first Catholic religious order of black women and the nation's second African-American community of Catholic nuns. Bearing striking testimony to the enormous impact of the Haitian diaspora, the first Catholic community of African-American nuns, the Oblate Sisters of Providence, founded in 1829 in Baltimore, originated in the Haitian refugee movement.

In 1848, Armand Lanusse and other Romantic writers took concrete measures to promote reform by establishing La Société Catholique pour l'Instruction des Orphelins dans l'Indigence (Catholic Society for the Instruction of Indigent Orphans). Through their organization, black activists executed the terms of a bequest by Madame Justine Firmin Couvent, a native of Guinea and a former slave, to establish a school in the Faubourg Marigny for the district's destitute orphans of color. Appalled by the indigence and illiteracy of the children, Couvent donated land and several buildings for an educational facility of which Lanusse became the first principal.

While Lanusse pursued his reform agenda within the existing institutional framework, another contributor to the volume, Nelson Desbrosses, followed a nontraditional path to empowerment and change. He traveled to Haiti before the Civil War, studied with a leading practitioner of Vodou, and returned to New Orleans with a reputation as a successful healer and spirit medium. Desbrosses undoubtedly recognized Vodou's historical significance in Haiti's independence struggle. During the revolution, the religion served as a medium for political organization as well as an ideological force for change. On the battlefield, Vodou's spiritual power proved decisive in reinforcing the determination of revolutionaries in their struggle for freedom. In the North Province, houngans (Vodou priests) sustained the revolt by mobilizing as many as forty thousand enslaved people. 

Vodou thrived in New Orleans until the 1803 Louisiana Purchase, when President Thomas Jefferson and other political leaders sought to undermine Creole predominance by Americanizing the culture of southern Louisiana. The post-1809 influx of Haitian refugees, however, slowed the Americanization process and assured the vitality of New Orleans' Creole culture for another twenty-five years. Immigrant believers in Vodou infused the religion's Louisiana variant with Afro-Caribbean elements of belief and ritual.

In the relatively tolerant religious milieu of antebellum New Orleans, Haitian immigrants joined with Creole slaves, free blacks, and even whites to assure the religion's ascendancy. Through Vodou, practiced in secrecy, Afro-Creoles preserved the memory of their African past and experienced psychological release by way of a religion that served as one of the few areas of totally autonomous black activity.

In transcending ethnic, class, and gender distinctions, Vodou helped to sustain a liberal Latin European religious ethic that recognized the spiritual equality of all persons. Vodou's interracial appeal and egalitarian spirit, reinvigorated by Haitian immigrants, offered a dramatic alternative to the Anglo-American racial order.

Beginning in the 1860s, Vodou assemblies were systematically suppressed, but the famed "Vodou Queen" Marie Laveau continued to exert great influence over her interracial following. In 1874 some twelve thousand spectators swarmed to the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to catch a glimpse of Laveau performing her legendary rites. By that time Laveau and other Afro-Creole Vodouists had fashioned some of the nation's most lasting folkloric traditions, as well as a religion of resistance that endures to the present moment.

The Civil War

Federal forces occupied New Orleans in 1862, and black Creoles volunteered their services to the Union army. The newspaper L'Union - whose chief founders, Dr. Louis Charles Roudanez and his brother, Jean-Baptiste, were of Haitian ancestry - announced its agenda in the premier issue. The editors condemned slavery, blasted the Confederacy, and expressed solidarity with Haiti's revolutionary republicans.

An 1862 editorial written by a newly enlisted Union officer, Afro-Creole Romantic writer Henry Louis Rey, urged free men of color to join the U.S. Army and take up "the cause of the rights of man." Rey invoked the names of Jean-Baptiste Chavannes and Vincent Ogé. Their ill-fated 1790 revolt had paved the way for the Haitian Revolution:

CHAVANNE [sic] and OGÉ did not wait to be aroused and to be made ashamed; they hurried unto death; they became martyrs here on earth and received on high the reward due to generous hearts...hasten all; our blood only is demanded; who will hesitate?

The editors of L'Union described Rey and the Afro-Creole troops as the "worthy grandsons of the noble [Col. Joseph] Savary." The paper insisted that military service entitled them to the political equality that had been denied their ancestors who fought valiantly in the American Revolution and the War of 1812. Furthermore, its editors warned, the men had resolved to "protest against all politics which would tend to expatriate them."

When federal officials undermined their suffrage campaign, Afro-Creole leaders took their case to the highest level. In 1864 L'Union cofounder Jean-Baptiste Roudanez and E. Arnold Bertonneau, a former officer in the Union army, met with President Abraham Lincoln; they urged him to extend voting rights to all Louisianians of African descent.

In L'Union, and its successor, La Tribune, the Roudanez brothers and their allies foresaw the complete assimilation of African Americans into the nation's political and social life. During Reconstruction they called on the federal government to divide confiscated plantations into ten-acre plots, to be distributed to displaced black families. They insisted that the formely enslaved were "entitled by a paramount right to the possession of the soil they have so long cultivated."

The aggressive stance and republican idealism of La Tribune prompted the authors of Louisiana's 1868 state constitution to envision a social and political revolution. The new charter required state officials to swear that they recognized the civil and political equality of all men. Alone among Reconstruction constitutions, Louisiana explicitly required equal access to public accommodations and forbade segregation in public schools.

The Consequences of the Haitian Migration

After Reconstruction collapsed in 1877, Creole activists fought the restoration of white rule. In 1890 Rodolphe L. Desdunes, a Creole New Orleanian of Haitian descent, joined with other prominent rights advocates to challenge state-imposed segregation. Their legal battle culminated in the 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson Supreme Court decision. Though the nation's highest tribunal upheld the "separate but equal" doctrine, the decision included a powerful dissent that would be used to rescue the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments in later Supreme Court decisions. The descendants of Haitian immigrants would play key roles in civil rights campaigns of the twentieth century.

Haitians exerted an enormous influence on eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Louisiana. Their sustained resistance to Saint Domingue's regime of bondage forced repeated changes in French, Spanish, and American immigration policies as frightened white officials attempted to isolate Louisiana from the spread of black revolt.

The massive 1809 influx of Haitian refugees ensured the survival of a wealth of West African cultural transmissions, as well as a Latin European racial order that enhanced the social and economic mobility of both free and enslaved blacks. In early-nineteenth-century New Orleans, the immigrants and their descendants infused the city's music, cuisine, religious life, speech patterns, and architecture with their own cultural traditions. Reminders of their Creole influence abound in the French Quarter, the Faubourg Marigny, the Faubourg Tremé, and other city neighborhoods.

The refugee population also reinforced a brand of revolutionary republicanism that impacted American race relations for decades. With an unflagging commitment to the democratic ideals of the revolutionary era, Haitian immigrants and their descendants appeared at the head of virtually every New Orleans civil rights campaign. Their leadership role in the struggle for racial justice offers dramatic evidence of the scope of their influence on Louisiana's history. From Colonel Joseph Savary's militant republicanism to Rodolphe Desdunes's unrelenting attacks on state-enforced segregation, Haitian émigrés and their descendants demanded that the nation fulfill the promise of its founding principles.

In his 1911 book Our People and Our History, Rodolphe Desdunes described Armand Lanusse's anthology, Les Cenelles, as a "triumph of the human spirit over the forces of obscurantism in Louisiana that denied the education and intellectual advancement of the colored masses." African Americans in Louisiana triumphed over these forces in their distinguished history of military service, their embrace of artistic and scholarly pursuits, their campaign for humanitarian reforms, and their Civil War vision of a reconstructed nation of racial equality. Their Haitian heritage was central to those victories.

[lboogie1906]

Private First Class Ralph Henry Johnson (January 11, 1949 – March 5, 1968) was a Marine who posthumously received the Medal of Honor for heroism during the Vietnam War.

He was born in Charleston, South Carolina. He enlisted in the Marine Corps Reserve and was discharged to enlist in the regular Marine Corps on July 2, 1967.

Upon completion of recruit training with the 1st Recruit Training Battalion, Recruit Training Regiment, MCRD San Diego in September 1967, he was transferred to Camp Pendleton. He underwent individual combat training with Company Y, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Infantry Regiment, and basic infantry training with the Basic Infantry Training Company, 2nd Infantry Training Regiment in November 1967. He was promoted to private first class on November 1, 1967.

In January 1968, he arrived in the Republic of Vietnam and served as a reconnaissance scout with Company A, 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, 1st Marine Division.

On March 5, 1968, while on Operation Rock, a four-day operation by the 3rd Battalion 7th Marines in the “Arizona Territory” northwest of An Hoa Combat Base, his 15-man reconnaissance patrol was attacked by enemy forces on Hill 146 in the Quan Duc Duc Valley. When a hand grenade landed in the fighting hole he shared with fellow Marines, he yelled a warning and hurled his body over the explosive charge. Absorbing the full impact of the blast, he was killed.

A complete list of his medals and decorations includes the Medal of Honor, the Purple Heart, the National Defense Service Medal, the Vietnam Service Medal with two bronze stars, the Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry with Palm, the Vietnamese Military Merit Medal, and the Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal.

The Ralph H. Johnson VA Medical Center in Charleston, formerly the Charleston VA Medical Center, was renamed in honor of him. His Medal of Honor, along with his Medal of Honor citation and a portrait of him, is framed and on public display at the Ralph H. Johnson VA Medical Center.

The Navy announced that a new Arleigh Burke-class guided-missile destroyer would be named USS Ralph Johnson.

His name is inscribed on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[mariacallous]

Climate change and its related disasters have brought a new set of risks to homeowners, renters and the value of property—but also a chance for change. The multiple challenges posed by these disasters offer an opportunity to reevaluate our housing policy, especially concerning making traditional housing markets more effective and inclusive.

Among the many sectors and industries requiring climate solutions, stable and affordable housing is critical to developing disaster resilient communities. Despite the need to prepare for a climate-changed future, structural reform in the housing sector is an underused tool for helping communities develop ways to better endure disasters. This is particularly true in the many Black-majority neighborhoods that are more vulnerable to disaster impacts.

Housing issues often amplify the impacts of a disaster on Black communities

Black communities, which are often more vulnerable when floods, fires or disasters occur, often bear the brunt of climate impacts due, in no small part, to poor quality housing and community infrastructure. Yet, many of these same communities have limited control over local housing decisions, exacerbating their vulnerability.

These neighborhoods, often situated in historically devalued areas with poorer quality infrastructure in which homeowners have fewer resources to draw on, face unique challenges when disasters occur. As the damage from floods, storms, and wildfires becomes more severe, the economic security of homeowners in the most disaster-prone areas is threatened by rising insurance premiums in addition to damage to assets and a reduction in home equity, which all eat away at a family’s wealth. Homeowners in cities like Charleston, for example, are likely to face hefty costs to stay dry, such as the expense of raising foundations.

In the most at-risk areas, like low-lying coastal plains threatened by sea level rise, climate-related disasters are undermining the viability of entire neighborhoods. That impact is sometimes increased by city councils that are reluctant to invest in adaptations to the built environment — buildings, design codes and other human-made conditions — that could lower the threat posed by a disaster.

But housing quality can also indirectly amplify the impacts of disasters. Poorly insulated housing, for example, can increase the cost of heating and cooling during temperature extremes and raise healthcare costs when, for example, residents expose themselves to health risk to avoid a high AC bill.

Community-led solutions can help reduce impacts of disasters

Giving residents a voice in housing development processes and decisions can jump-start local efforts to mitigate the effect of climate disasters. Initiatives like Struggle for Miami’s Affordable and Sustainable Housing and the Jane Place Neighborhood Sustainability Initiative exemplify how community-driven approaches can bolster housing resilience and protect vulnerable populations. SMASH, located in Miami-Dade County, uses community land trusts to give residents an opportunity to have more control over their neighborhood. Recognizing that those who experience housing challenges are often best placed to lead the efforts to fix them, SMASH helps residents to weatherize their properties against climate extremes and works with property owners and local governments to stop evictions during disasters.

JPNSI, operating in some of the most disaster-prone areas of New Orleans, advocates for policy change to better protect renters’ rights after a disaster strikes. By building coalitions of local Black, Latino, women, youth, elderly residents— some of the most vulnerable groups across the city — JPNSI has succeeded in changing local regulations. These changes address two of the largest sources of insecurity before, during, and after climate-related disasters: a disproportionate number of short-term rentals and high rates of eviction.

What these initiatives share is the use of community-led action that, by addressing housing inequities, helps lessen a community’s vulnerability to disaster.

The urgency of addressing disaster-induced housing insecurity:

As temperatures rise, intensifying the frequency and severity of climate-related disasters, housing insecurity is likely to escalate the most for households and communities where housing is already precarious. From 2019 to 2023, there were 102 separate billion-dollar climate-related disasters, at an average cost of $122.5 billion per year. Disasters amplify displacement, highlighting the urgent need for proactive measures to safeguard housing stability.

In the most exposed places, like Miami-Dade County, Florida, climate-related displacement is one of the largest threats to Black communities. Census data indicates that roughly 3.1 million adults were displaced by disasters in 2022, 1 million of whom came from Florida, displaced by Hurricanes Ian and Nicole. In the Miami-Fort Lauderdale-Pompano Beach metro area, 39.6% of the displaced population was Black, far exceeding the proportion of Black residents in the area at 19%, and higher than the percentage of displaced Latino residents (37.8%) and white residents (18.8%).

Without structural reforms, disasters could exacerbate housing affordability issues, pricing residents out of ‘safer’ areas, and further marginalizing Black households. In high elevation neighborhoods, such as Little Haiti in Miami, where a luxury real estate development is already planned, residents fear that they will be pushed out. There is a growing concern that cities could see a new form of displacement, “climate gentrification.” The controversial term, used by some researchers, describes what occurs when residents of relatively wealthy communities, finding their higher valued neighborhoods becoming unlivable due to events such as sea-level rise, begin buying-up property viewed as less at-risk, driving up costs and pricing out the original residents.

These challenges demonstrate that structural reform in the housing sector is a linchpin to supporting residents of Black neighborhoods to strengthen their communities. By reframing housing as a vehicle for social equity, we can reduce the adverse impacts of climate-related disasters and empower marginalized communities.

Investing in community-led disaster resilience

By integrating housing reform into broader disaster preparedness strategies, we can build resilient neighborhoods from the ground up, ensuring the preservation of Black communities’ integrity and vitality. Initiatives like those led by SMASH and JPNSI, still nascent across most of the U.S., are demonstrating the potential of structural reforms in the housing sector to reduce vulnerability to disasters, protect communities from mounting costs and diminish the threat of disaster-related displacement.

[astraphel]

The EPA announced three additional carcinogenic chemicals have been detected in the Ohio trail derailment.

Vinyl chloride: a colorless gas that is used to make polyvinyl chloride (PVC) plastics and is highly flammable and decomposes to make toxic fumes. According to the National Library of Medicine, it is also carcinogenic and can cause other health issues.

Butyl acrylate: a clear liquid that is used for making paints, sealants and adhesives. It is flammable and can cause skin, eye and respiratory irritation.

Ethylhexyl acrylate: a colorless liquid used to make paints and plastics. It can cause skin and respiratory irritation and, under moderate heat, can produce hazardous vapor.

Ethylene glycol monobutyl: a colorless liquid used as a solvent for paint and inks, as well as some dry cleaning solutions. It is classed as acutely toxic, able to cause serious or permanent injury, and highly flammable. Vapors can irritate the eyes and nose, and ingestion can cause headaches and vomiting.

Vinyl chloride turns into hydrogen chloride when burned (which is what Norfolk did). When hydrogen chloride mixes with water (think the upper atmosphere), it turns into hydrochloric acid. This was the primary chemical in this spill.

The chemicals have, at this point, on February 13th, 2023, reached the Ohio River, which then flows into the Mississippi. Wildlife everywhere in Ohio and Pennsylvania are dying, and people are being told that it's okay to go home.

This tragedy happened because Norfolk Southern Railway has been cutting operation costs to a dangerous level. This is one of the things, in addition to NO SICK LEAVE for rail workers, that was being brought up when the rail unions were threatening to strike before Joe Blow busted it.

The Carmen, who have their own union and are responsible for safety checks, have had their inspection times reduced from the industry standard of three minutes per car to 90 seconds. Going over that time risks termination.

There was another derailment on December 2022 ALSO in East Ohio and ALSO with Norfolk Southern Railway, only that was just candle wax. 7 weeks later and this happens.

[gutspiller]

let the light in - PROLOGUE

read it on ao3 here

Your husband’s been out hunting for what feels like a million days.

The lines etching every wall in your home show it, clearly. For months, you painstakingly clawed out each retched scratch, but lost count after around two hundred. You checked it twice, wall and pen, aimlessly wandering around the ominous halls to find the empty spot for that day.

You never found it.

The house calls never stopped, ringing one after another from giggly teenagers, amateur investigators, and any other pathetic person bored enough to try. Eventually, you threw it out.

You hunt your own food, grow your own plants, and wait. All you do is wait. It drones on in your mind, pictures of him littering the wall like overflowing vines in an abandoned home.

House.

A house is not a home without warmth, the love you once had. You once supposed it was only a house without your husband– but you believe it’s always a home with his pictures in it. You kiss them once, twice, thrice, before bed. When you wake up, when you cook, when you clean, when you simply live.

God may take mercy on your wicked soul, but you’re not so sure your husband will. His warmth had only extended to you, and his poor mother.

You don’t want to think he’s died. You know that man is capable of pushing through anything, and he was an exceptional hunter. There’s no way he could’ve died. You would forgive him if he just came back, held you once more, even gave you one more pound of fresh venison to sear.

You would let him eat it, let him have it all, if he just stepped one foot in your doorframe. It’s not like you’re psycho, or anything, you’re just crazy in love. He would’ve laughed at that, the ritzy man!

He would’ve laughed, but at this moment, you still. You stand in place, running a hand through your greasy hair. You don’t remember the last time you washed it, and you don’t want to.

You can’t stand the silence.

The radio dial clicks with a red light, static creeping up as you slide the weary record into the player. You vowed never to touch it, at least subconsciously. You wouldn’t touch it until he came home.

He’ll never come back. You know it now, picking at your hangnails and tearing them off. You run to pick up the dried deadly nightshade he once gave you, holding them in a shaky grasp.

You eat his love in the form of purple petals.

It’s all you do, that day. You dance to his vinyls, throwing your hands up in the air and shrieking like a wendigo. You recall the foxtrot, the Charleston, every silly tango your husband taught you. You cry and cry until your tears have been drained, smashing into every intricately placed piece of your house. An itch plagues your throat, slows your breathing.

Suicide is a sin, it says it, you know it. It’s in the books as a gold standard of what not to do. Your husband must forgive you just this once, he must know your situation down there, yes? You dance until you can no longer hold up the weight of your own body. A paralysis overtakes your body, and you can’t seem to catch your breath as you fall to the ground with a thud.

How you love that man. It’s all you can think about as the blood sputters out of your mouth, it’s all you can think about when a vase rattles from the harsh impact, shattering fine glass in your open-eyed gaze to the ceiling.

It’s all you could ever hope to think about, as the plant’s water goes down your throat and chokes you. You cough, unable to move from your spot on the ground. The pretty pansies come down to clog up your dry mouth; and as with your so-called husband–

Whom you admired so fearlessly in your approach–

Through muffled sputters, you breathe out, "Don't save me, by God, don't."

You breathe your last breath in this lifetime.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Dancing With Visions - Masterlist

Beautifully Vulnerable - Kaeya (Rumba)

Perfect Lead - Xingqiu (Foxtrot)

Do the Hustle - Cyno (The Hustle)

Wish to Dance - Neuvillette (Slow Waltz)

Der Lauschaer Galopp - Bennett (Folk Dance)

Your Shared Victory - The Wanderer (Paso Doble)

Not Like Running With Lupical - Razor (Shag)

Unwilling to be Parted - Zhongli (Argentine Tango)

Take the Heat - Chongyun (Polka)

It Isn't Unusual - Venti (Charleston)

Beyond Relieving - Kaveh (Ballroom Samba)

Our Song - Thoma (Two-Step)

However Long it May Be - Dainsleif (Rumba)

My Dear Partner - Heizou (Jive)

My Win This Time - Childe (Ballroom Samba)

Morale - Gorou (Cha-Cha)

A Careful Partner -Diluc (Ballroom Tango)

The Dance I Enjoyed - Tighnari (Cumbia)

According to Plan - Freminet (Romany Polka)

Just as Fun - Itto (Ballroom Salsa)

Create a Stir - Ayato (Quickstep)

A New Side - Albedo (Jitterbug)

Ever-steady Heartbeat - Kazuha (Viennese Waltz)

Until Next Time - Dottore (Argentine Tango)

Without Any Hesitation - Kinich (Lambada)

Keep Up - Wriothesley (Mambo)

Unspoken Words - Xiao (Smooth Waltz)

Coming Soon!

If you would like to read more fics like these, my Genshin Impact Masterlist can be found here!

[jinruihokankeikaku]

Reminder - early hurricane forecasts often miss, both high and low, but it's better to be overprepared than underprepared. If you live on the Florida Gulf Coast, from the northwest border down to Tampa Bay, you should be preparing for a Category 3+ hurricane impact sometime this Thursday (2024/09/26). This will likely be a very large storm regardless of its intensity, and areas as far west as coastal Alabama/Mississippi/southeastern Louisiana, and as far northeast as Jacksonville/Savannah/Charleston (on the coast) and Atlanta/central Georgia (inland) could see gusty winds and rainbands. Much of the Florida peninsula could experience tropical storm conditions regardless of the exact location of landfall.

I'm just an amateur etc.; listen to the NHC and your local weather office. But the NHC is a conservative organisation, and if you're concerned, best to take reasonable precautions in advance than to wait for them to issue dire warnings.

[dertaglichedan]

What to know about Scott Bessent, Trump's U.S. Treasury pick

Treasury secretary, which would make him the incoming administration's top economic official.

Why it matters: Bessent would bring to Treasury deep knowledge of bond and currency markets and a close relationship with Trump — as well as a surprising connection to hedge fund manager George Soros, mega-donor to liberal causes and bogeyman to the political right.

Zoom in: Bessent, 62, founded hedge fund Key Square Capital Management. Before that, he spent most of his career at Soros Capital Management, including as chief investment officer from 2011 to 2015.

Bessent has been an avid fundraiser for Trump and a defender of the president-elect in media appearances.

Trump has threatened to impose high tariffs on all U.S. imports. Some economists have warned that such aggressive tariffs could reignite inflation.

In recent interviews, Bessent has tried to play down Trump's trade threats.

"The idea that he would recreate an affordability crisis is absurd," Bessent told Axios' Mike Allen in a phone interview this earlier this month.

Bessent told Axios that Trump "regards himself as the mayor of 330 million Americans, and he wants them to do great, and have a great four years."

He also told the Financial Times last month that the tariffs were a starting point for negotiations with trading partners.

"My general view is that at the end of the day, he's a free trader," Bessent told the FT.

The intrigue: Bessent has been critical of the Federal Reserve and will likely be a key voice as Trump selects his appointees to run the central bank.

Last month, he put forth a novel and unorthodox idea to name a "shadow Fed chair" who would be heir apparent to Jerome Powell when Powell's term is up in 2026. The idea was criticized for the potential impact on financial markets.

Bessent has since backtracked on this idea. Speaking on CNBC earlier this month in the aftermath of the election, he clarified that he thinks the incoming Trump administration "should nominate the next Federal Reserve chair early."

...

Bessent is married to John Freeman, a former prosecutor, and they have two children. If confirmed, Bessent would be the first openly gay Treasury secretary. They live primarily in Charleston, S.C., and preserve historic mansions, per the Wall Street Journal.

*** Libs losing their minds over the last footnote in this article. LOL

[whencyclopedia]

Treaty of Paris of 1783

The Treaty of Paris, signed on 3 September 1783 by representatives from Great Britain and the United States, was the peace agreement that formally ended the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and recognized the United States as an independent nation. The treaty was considered generous to the United States, fixing its border at the Mississippi River and thereby doubling its territory.

Background: The World Turned Upside Down

On 19 October 1781, the battered British army marched out of Yorktown, Virginia. Dressed in resplendent new uniforms freshly issued for the occasion, the British soldiers passed between the French and American armies to throw their muskets onto a steadily growing pile of surrendered arms. Emotions were running high; some British soldiers wept as they laid down their weapons, while others haphazardly threw their muskets onto the pile in the hopes that they would smash. Lord Charles Cornwallis, commander of the surrendering British army, was not present at the ceremony, having pled illness. It was left to his second-in-command, General Charles O'Hara, to offer his sword to American General George Washington, who refused, instead motioning for O'Hara to give the sword to his own second-in-command, General Benjamin Lincoln. According to legend, as the ceremony took place, the military bands played a tune aptly titled "The World Turned Upside Down".

As this dramatic scene suggests, it was immediately apparent that the Siege of Yorktown marked an important turning point in the war. But in the direct aftermath of the siege, few could have anticipated just how significant it had been. Despite Cornwallis' surrender, the British army certainly had the military capacity to continue fighting, as they still possessed sizable military presences in New York City, Charleston, Canada, and the West Indies. Indeed, King George III of Great Britain (r. 1760-1820) and Prime Minister Lord Frederick North, had every intention of planning a campaign for the upcoming 1782 season. The king and his ministers knew that the fledgling United States was on the verge of failing. The Continental currency issued by Congress was worthless, and many of the underpaid soldiers of the Continental Army were close to mutiny. To top it all off, the treasury of the Kingdom of France was running dangerously low, leading the French to hint that they would have to exit the war if peace was not soon concluded. All King George III and Lord North had to do was prolong the war for a year or two more, and the American rebellion would collapse in on itself.

But unfortunately for the king and his ministers, the British people had long been experiencing war fatigue, and the defeat at Yorktown was the final straw. This attitude was reflected in Parliament when it reconvened after its Christmas recess in January 1782. While many in Parliament did not necessarily approve of an independent United States, they were more concerned about the negative impact that the war was having on British resources and international prestige, particularly after the conflict had taken on a global scale with the entry of France and Spain in 1778-79. Year after year, members of Parliament had listened to Lord North give excuses as to why British arms had failed in North America during the previous campaign season, before promising that a British victory loomed just over the horizon. Now, when news of Cornwallis' surrender reached London, they had finally had enough. In February 1782, colonial secretary Lord George Germain was forced out of the cabinet, with Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, losing his position soon after. The house of cards finally collapsed on 20 March, when Lord North resigned rather than face the indignity of being removed from office by a vote of no confidence. George III himself even considered abdicating the throne but was persuaded against it.

Lord North

National Portrait Gallery, London (CC BY-NC-ND)

North was replaced as prime minister by Charles Watson-Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, whose political faction, known as the 'Rockingham Whigs', had opposed many of the policies of the North ministry including the war in North America. Supported by influential British politicians like Charles James Fox and Edmund Burke, Lord Rockingham immediately took steps to end the war upon coming to power; the king, who despised Rockingham – indeed, the two could not even be in the same room – could do nothing as the new ministry set about bringing seven years of war to an end. In April 1782, Rockingham sent a representative to Paris to begin informal peace talks. When Rockingham unexpectedly died the following July, the Earl of Shelburne became prime minister and took up the supervision of the negotiations.

Continue reading...

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part V

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: As always, if you’re interested in learning more about the historical context of any of the letters, or if you have any questions about anything that gets discussed, feel free to reach out! I will say that Bob’s mother’s remedy for influenza that gets mentioned in this chapter was a real “home cure” that people used to use back in the day!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story!

The title for this chapter comes from The Andrews Sisters song of the same name.

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to @luminousnotmatter​. I could thank you endlessly for all the love and support!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to war and its impact, mentions of rationing, discussion of war casualties and death, references to church and prayer, a ton of fluff as always.

October 12, 1942

Dear Peach,

First of all, I want to start by saying that I’m so sorry for the troubles your family went through at the end of the summer. Little Frankie sounds like quite the trooper, but I’m sure it must have been hard on all of you to see him so sick like that. I’m real, real glad to hear that he’s on the mend. Dottie, too.

It’s funny—even though I’ve never met her, it’s not hard at all for me to believe that your sister was one of the few babies who survived the Spanish Flu back in 1918. From everything you’ve shared with me, it sounds like it would take a lot to break Dottie Sheridan. I’d bet my last dollar that she gives Paddy a run for his money on a regular basis. Maybe don’t tell her I said that though. I do want her to like me, should we ever get to meet in person one day.

You know, a couple summers back, my little brothers ended up coming down with a case of influenza. It seemed as though they picked it up from some of the kids they’d been playing with. It might sound crazy, but my mother would take a handkerchief, sprinkle it with whiskey, and make my brothers inhale the fumes every night before they went to bed. I don’t know where she learned that remedy, but would you believe that the two of them were right as rain after just four days? I’m confident that everyone in your household is the picture of health now, but you might want to give it a try should anyone else come down with the flu. I can’t explain it, but it did seem to do the trick!

I’ll selfishly admit that the weeks that went by without receiving a letter from you were desolate ones indeed. I received a couple letters from home, which were wonderful, but I found that my mind kept wandering back to sunny Charleston instead of the farmlands of Iowa. When I finally saw your handwriting on the envelope they handed me during Mail Call, it took everything in me not to jump up and down like a fool and make a scene. Just like you, I’ve been rereading your letters each night before lights out. I know we haven’t been exchanging messages for long, but each one lifts my spirits more than you could know. And around these parts, that’s a real special thing.

Despite being so far away from home and from everything that’s familiar and comfortable, when I close my eyes and imagine sharing a slice of your mama’s peach tart or getting to dance with you again and hear your pretty voice, I feel as though everything’s going to be alright. Even if the feeling only lasts for a minute or two, it gives me something to hold onto in the moments when it feels like maybe the world really is going to pieces. So thank you for that. Your kindness and your sweet words of encouragement are helping me get through this war, minute by minute and day by day.

I think, if you’re agreeable to it, that I’d really like to take you up on your offer to show you the world one day. Maybe even from up in the air. I may be Paul’s backseat gunner, but I know a thing or two about piloting an aircraft. You can trust me. Any places in particular you’d like to see, Peach? I’m all ears.

I promise you that I am most certainly NOT remembering you through rose-colored glasses. If you remember, my glasses are very much of the non-rose-tinted variety. But they do aid my vision, which helped me to see that night back in May just how absolutely swell you are. I hope it doesn’t embarrass you if I say that I still remember the way your smile put the stars to shame that night on King Street. And though I know no rehearsal is necessary, it does make me quite happy to think that you’ll be practicing a song with me in mind. I know any song you pick will be beautiful, but how about “Someone to Watch Over Me?” It was the first song we danced to, after all. And I’m sure you’ll knock it out of the park. If Gershwin was still alive, I know he’d be thrilled to hear someone doing such justice to his music.

I’ll have you know that it took me quite some time to get the peace and quiet I needed to write this letter because Tommy Boy and Benny simply would not stop chattering in my ear. At first, it was just more of their usual advice—most of which, for your sake, I don’t actually take—but then I realized they were trying to pass along messages of their own to you! I very clearly, and perhaps a bit selfishly, told them that you were my pen pal and that they’d just have to go find some of their own. Benny pouted a bit, but Tommy Boy just grinned, slapped me on the shoulder, and told me he’d never been prouder.

They both say hello, by the way. I did agree to pass that much along.

Paul’s sitting near me right now, writing his own letter home to Natasha and the kids. He wanted me to thank you for your prayers and for your kind words. He’s not one to get all mushy most of the time, but I can tell that your thoughts for him and his family really do mean a lot to him. And he said he’s definitely going to take you up on that jewelry offer when we get home. He may have made some comment about buttering Natasha up when we finally return home, after leaving her alone with two babies for so long. Although, now that I think about it, my little goddaughter, Clara always insists that she’s a big girl. So I’m sure she would take great offense at me referring to her as a baby. Promise you won’t tell on me?

Peach, I hope you know how truly extraordinary you are. I find it just about impossible to believe that people don’t take notice of you. To me, that feels like people taking a stroll outside and not taking notice of the sun. But it means more to me than words can say that you can relate to me in that way. Feeling like you see me, like you really understand me—that doesn’t happen to me often. Especially not with girls as lovely as you. I’m very much looking forward to us getting to know each other better and better.

As far as childhood stories go, I want to make it very clear that Paul and Natasha were solely responsible for any and all mischief that was had in our youth. I was very much just along for the ride. I promise you that it wasn’t my idea to put frogs in our mean teacher’s purse during the school picnic when we were in the third grade. And I certainly wasn’t the one who kidnapped our class hamster so that he could “live a life of freedom in the great outdoors.” Though I will admit I may have been present when the crime was committed. I was a very nerdy and awkward kid, which I’m sure isn’t hard at all for you to imagine, so I do have to credit Paul and Natasha with providing me with some of the most exciting and interesting moments of my life. There’s hardly a memory I have that doesn’t involve the two of them. I think you and Natasha would get on wonderfully. Maybe one day, the two of you will get to meet.

What about you, Miss Peach? Were you a rebel growing up in Georgia, or a goody two shoes like me?

I’m glad to hear that President Roosevelt is keeping you all informed back home, but I’m sorry to hear that the prices are still going up. I know you already mentioned that they started rationing sugar. I hope more rations aren’t coming your way, but, truth be told, I have a sinking feeling that they will be. We’ve been burning through supplies like crazy over here, and it always feels like a scramble to get more of what we need. But I’d still hate to think of you or anyone else having to go without. It just doesn’t seem right. But then, I suppose a lot in this world doesn’t feel right at the moment.

Thank you for sharing the president’s words with me, Peach. I passed them on to the rest of the fellas, and we’re all mighty appreciative of it. I have to say, even if it was Roosevelt’s words, they sounded a lot sweeter coming from you. My safety and comfort feel like a small price to pay if it means that you and my family and the rest of the good folks back home get to rest well each night.

I hate to end my letter to you on a sad note, but thinking of men who aren’t concerned about themselves makes me think of some of the boys that we just lost recently. Just last week, in fact. They weren’t part of my squadron, but I did know several of them. They were a couple years ahead of me at Annapolis, and they were bunking on the carrier with my squadron. Good men, every single one of them. They were shot down during what was supposed to be a fairly routine fly-over. They leave behind mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, fiancées, sweethearts, and friends. But I think a part of them will still be here, so long as those of us who remember them are still around. They were men, like President Roosevelt said, who put duty and country before themselves. And they deserve to be remembered.

We also recently lost some enlisted men—some sailors on a nearby carrier. We’d gotten to know them pretty well these past few months, and it was a tough blow. I was saddest to learn about the death of a boy named Timmy [REDACTED]. I say boy because that’s what he was. We got to talking one night, him and I, and he admitted to me that he was only sixteen. He’d lied about his age and somehow managed to squeak on by—my guess is that with the draft on, they’re willing to look the other way when boys jump up to volunteer. Sixteen years old. I tell you, I don’t think I could have stomached this at sixteen. I can barely stomach it now at twenty-two. I promised him I wouldn’t tell, and I feel a little guilty to be breaking that promise now that he’s gone, but I think someone else besides me should know how brave he was. He gave everything he had for the family and the country that he loved. I know I’ll never forget him. I know I keep piling more and more names on your list, but maybe you can remember him, too? That way, his legacy will live on. I think he’d be happy to know that.

If any of my letters ever feel like too much to you, Peach, please let me know. I don’t want to unburden my own heart at the cost of your peace of mind. I’m thankful for all the ways you listen and make me feel heard, even with the entire Atlantic in between us. Just getting these words down on paper, knowing that you’ll be reading them soon, fills me with a great sense of calm. Has anyone ever told you what a great pen pal you are?

My mother wouldn’t be happy if she heard me admitting this, but sometimes I’m so dead tired at the end of the night that I fall asleep without saying my prayers. On the nights that I do manage to stay awake, however, I pray for you right after my family, you and Paddy and Dottie and Frankie. I pray that you’re safe and happy and well. I’m always glad to hear that it’s so.

Goodbye for now, Peach. I look forward to your next letter, as I always do.

Very Sincerely Yours,

Bobby

November 3, 1942

Dear Bobby,

I was so thrilled to receive your last letter in the mail, but I admit that I was crying like a baby by the end of it. I’m so sorry for the friends that you lost, especially young Timmy. Sorry always seems like such a trite thing to say in the face of such a tragedy, doesn’t it? It doesn’t feel like it encompasses even half of the pain and the grief and the sorrow that follow in the wake of such horror. But for lack of any other words that would suffice, I’m afraid that “I’m sorry” is all that I can say. Please know that I mean it from the very bottom of my heart.

I hope you don’t mind, but I showed the last part of your letter to Dottie. She walked into the kitchen and was very concerned about why I was such a bawling mess, so I thought it would be better if she heard it directly from you. My big sister is much less prone to tears than I am, but even she cried when she read your beautiful tribute to that young man. We went to church the next day and lit candles in honor of Timmy and all the young men who were lost. I’m so incredibly touched that you would want to share their memories with me, Bobby. I will most certainly treasure them in my heart and pass them along to anyone I can. I don’t want them to be forgotten either. I don’t think anyone deserves to be forgotten. Everyone leaves their mark on this world, no matter how tiny it might seem to others. Even at just sixteen, Timmy clearly left his mark.

I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for you over there, flying dangerous missions yourself and watching those around you, men who you’ve shared laughs and good times with, make that final sacrifice. Please don’t ever feel like you can’t share it with me, Bobby. If you have to live it every day, and face that reality, then the very least I can do is lend a listening ear. I’m always here for you, whatever you need to get off your chest.

To be honest, you’re the first real pen pal I’ve ever had. I’m glad to hear that I’m doing a good job, because I happen to think you’re a terrific pen pal, and I wouldn’t want to let you down in return. It’s kind of funny—when I’m sitting down to read your letters or write one of my own, I sometimes forget that there’s an entire ocean between us. Sometimes, when I read your words, it feels like you’re right here next to me. I can hear your voice, even if it was so long ago now that we were last together. And it just makes it all feel so real to me. You’re a rather wonderful writer, you know.

Hm, now let’s see. Which part of your wonderful letter should I respond to next? I have it laid out in front of me right now, so that I don’t miss or forget anything. Should we discuss your mother’s rather unorthodox cure for the flu? I’d never heard of whiskey in a handkerchief before! I thought Paddy was going to split his sides from laughing so hard when I told him and Dottie. He said that he’s not so sure he should be sticking booze in his baby’s face, but that he’d be more than happy to try that remedy himself! We’d only ever been aware of good, old-fashioned chicken noodle soup and lots of rest. I’m hoping we don’t have another influenza scare any time soon, but we’ll be sure to try the whiskey trick if we do.

Now as for seeing the world—I’ve never been flying before. On the one hand, it seems very exciting and exhilarating, but on the other hand, it seems like the most terrifying prospect in the world. Bless those Wright brothers for being the first ones to give it a go. I suppose if I ever wanted to expand my horizons, however, I’d have to get on an airplane. Ocean liners aren’t exactly the most efficient means of travel. And if I’d trust anyone to take me up in the air for the first time, it would be you, Bobby. Like I mentioned once before, my parents went to Paris for their honeymoon, so I’ve always wanted to see it. Did you know that they call it the city of love? I suppose it must be very romantic with a nickname like that. I’ve also always wanted to see Italy—the Colosseum, the Pantheon, all that amazing art. I imagine it must be so magical. Maybe not right this moment, but Rome has certainly survived its fair share of catastrophes, if I remember my history correctly. I’m sure it will survive this, too.

How about you, Bobby? What parts of the world would you like to see when all of this is over?

“Someone to Watch Over Me” is one of my favorite songs. And now every time I hear it, I think of you and that dance we shared at the USO. If that’s the song that you’d like to hear, then I’ll happily start practicing it right away. Mr. Gershwin certainly knew what he was doing when it came to composing, didn’t he?

Don’t tell them this—we wouldn’t want them getting big heads now—but I always find it to be a delight when you share stories of Tommy Boy and Benny. It makes me so happy to know that you have such good friends over there with you. And I always get a good laugh, imagining their antics. You must have the patience of a saint, Bobby, to put up with all of it. As I’ve said before, I know all too well what it’s like to have to hide away to carve out a little peace for letter writing—Dottie is constantly trying to throw her two cents in whenever she can. I actually have Frankie to thank for my solitude at the moment. He’s been a bit fussy, so Dottie hurried off to check on him. I adore my sister more than life itself, but even I can admit that it’s a bit easier to concentrate when she’s distracted.

I absolutely cross my heart that I will never let it slip past my lips that you called our young Clara a baby. It will be our little secret. I’m sure she and Natasha and Paul, Jr. will be thrilled to receive the letter Paul’s writing to them. Paul sounds like such a wonderful husband and father. He reminds me of Paddy in that way. The two of them seem to have a lot in common. Tell Paul that I’m more than happy to lend any assistance I can to helping him pick out the perfect gift for buttering up his wife. Trust me, I’ve helped my dear brother-in-law do it on more than one occasion.

Speaking of Paul and Natasha, I’m shocked to learn they were such little hooligans when the three of you were growing up. Frogs in your teacher’s purse? Kidnapping the classroom hamster? What kind of trouble did you not get into, I should ask? I think that perhaps you were more of a little rebel than you’re willing to admit, Ensign Floyd. I myself was quite the prim and proper little lady growing up back home in Georgia. Believe me, I was much too shy to be getting into any sort of trouble with anyone. Truth be told, I really sort of kept to myself, even when I was a child. But I always had Dottie, thank goodness. She’s four years older, and she’s always looked out for me. She’s my best friend and my biggest champion. It would be lovely to get to meet Natasha one day, too. Any friend of yours must be a delightful person who I’m sure I would like very much.

Your words are sweet as honey, Bobby, and make me feel just as warm and cozy inside. Whenever I’m having a difficult day, or the weight of the world’s troubles feel like they’re pressing down on me, I read your letters and they never fail to make me smile. I always knew that there were good men out there in the world—my father and Paddy have always been prime examples of that to me—but I think I was starting to doubt that there were many men left who were truly kind and good-hearted. You put those fears in my heart to rest. You are such a good man. I know we haven’t known each other long, and that most of our conversations have been through letters, but your warmth and your kindness always shine through.

I may not be able to speak to how unhappy your mother would be to learn about you falling asleep before your prayers—I like to think she’d understand, given the circumstances—but I can say with total confidence, despite never having met her, that she would be very happy and proud to know just what kind of man her oldest son is. I’m sure she already knows and is already so proud.

I keep you in my prayers every night, too, Bobby. You and Paul and his family and Tommy Boy and Benny, and all the rest of your squadron. All I ask for is that you all come home safely. And soon.

You’re in my thoughts. I look forward, as always, to your next letter, whenever it may arrive.

Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost forgot to mention that it was Frankie’s first Halloween! Unfortunately, the annual parade in town was canceled, but everyone still decorated and the children in the neighborhood got to go trick-or-treating. Dottie made Frankie a little pumpkin costume—he was the cutest little pumpkin you ever did see! We still have some candy lying around the house, which I wish I could send to you. Did Clara, Paul, Jr., and your brothers dress up this year? I hope they had lots of fun!