My First Reenactment at Gettysburg- a 20 Year Anniversary Memory

 Copyright (C) 2013 by Frederick Walton

Fresh Fish ready for the Battle of Gettysburg

Gettysburg is often called a "Mecca" for reenactors. It's a magical place that has a strong pull for anyone interested in the war between states. I have visited there many times...as a tourist, as a research historian and as a reenactor. I generally stop for a few hours whenever I'm passing through the area. I once spent a week there with my wife seriously contemplating the purchase of a B&B. I have led tours there, acted in the movie "Gettysburg" there, participated in a battlefield monument identification project, taken tours, marched in parades, fought & camped on the ACTUAL battlefield under the auspices of the National park service...Wow! now that I think about it, I've has lots of great memories and experiences there.

Every experience I have ever had in Gettysburg has been memorable, but today I am thinking about my first visit as a reenactor.

When I became a reenactor and joined the 150th New York Volunteer infantry regiment in 1993, most of the members had attended the 125th Gettysburg reenactment in 1988. It was their badge of honor and distinction. The camaraderie they shared, the experience they gained and the bragging rights they earned where all very attractive to a fresh fish newby like me. In time I earned my place as a full fledged member of the regiment, but I would never be...could never be... part of that unique fraternity of brothers who went to the 125th Gettysburg renactment.

When I "enlisted", I didn't realize that 1993 was the 130th anniversary year of 1863, but when the 150th NYSVI put the Gettysburg reenactment on their event schedule, I was anxious to go. Not only would this be my first time reenacting at Gettysburg, it was actually my first "mega"-reenactment anywhere. Sure, I had been to a number of drills, school talks and local living histories, but this was finally the real thing!

I packed my gear. I think I had bought a tent for the occaision, but for just about everything else, I was either wearing it or it fit into my haversack. Today, as a veteran, I choose to travel light, but at that point, my lack of "stuff" gave me little choice.

I wish I could remember exactly how I felt, but I am sure it was overwhelming. That feeling never changes whenever I go to the big national reenactments. Neat orderly rows of white tents cover entire fields, stretching to the horizon. Troops drilling on the margins while individual soldiers of every description walk through the camps under the smoky haze of hundreds of cooking fires. Across the road, a huge car park has taken over the adjacent fields and cars of every color and description stretch to the opposite horizon.

In the middle are large circus size tents and rows and rows of large wall tents, their sides rolled up to display a multitude of exotic wares spilling out into the dusty temporary streets.

Golf carts noiselessly glided around cavelrymen leading straining horses to pasture. Crowds of curious spectators and excited participants flowed eagerly in and out of busy suttlers. The hot air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke, horse manure, popcorn and roasting meat. A stray breeze might ruffle the colorful pennants and flags hanging everywhere, adding to the pageantry, but doing little to stifle the record breaking heat.

Nearby stood row after row of pickup trucks hauling trailers carrying one and sometimes two cannons. I had never seen so many cannons in one place. Colorful license plates were silent witness to the distances these canons have traveled...Texas, Ohio, Vermont, Illinios, North Carolina.

Every where you looked were people in period dress heading somewhere in every direction of the compass. Even little kids, decked out in miniature uniforms or hoop skits ran around underfoot playing soldier.

The site reminded me of the state fair, without the Ferris wheels.

After registering, I joined the throng of sweaty, dusty soldiers loaded down with gear. Some of the smarter guys pushed period wheel barrows. As I wandered up and down the endless rows of tents, looking for our camp site, I realized the aimless wanderings looked a bit like the attack of the zombies, as desperately hot and tired renenactors dragged themselves down one company street after another is a daze.

I don't really recall how I found my friends or, really, anyone who was there, but I have a strong memory of laying on a new wool blanket in a new wool uniform inside a new crisp white dog tent. I gazed at the intense white spot radiating heat, made by the late afternoon sun. Sweat oozed from every pore in my tired, dusty body. The tent was hotter than an oven. But I had a silly grin on my face. I was a soldier and this was my own, personal home for my weekend in Gettysburg! I proud to be a soldier that had finally started earning my own bragging rights.