The happiness before the sadness

I’m halfway through, and keenly absorbed in, H.W. Brands’s Dreams of El Dorado: A History of the American West, a “distressed” copy of which I found at Barnes & Noble.

How does one survey such a broad topic?

The chapters are built around vignettes. In one chapter, the fur trapper Joseph Meek hides himself from a grizzly bear, under a blanket. Then he hides in the shrubbery while Crow Indians disembowel another fur trapper.

Later in the book, Meek leaves his daughter in the care of the missionaries Marcus and Narcissa Whitman. The Whitmans are killed by Cayuse. Some other youngsters, the Sagers, die with them. I remember these children from the 1974 “family Western” Seven Alone.

In 1843, the Sager family was traveling from Missouri to Oregon. Along the way, the parents died, leaving the seven children to fend for themselves in the wilderness. This movie documents the miraculous and heartwarming story of survival, which has now entered the realm of Oregon legend.

As I recall, the movie never mentions that the children were doomed to be caught up in the massacre of the Whitmans.

The Indians blame the Whitmans for spreading diseases. Other pioneers are downright murderous. Violence and greed are the two great themes of this book. I expect that, in future chapters, these themes will be pitted against, or at least invoked to darken, Frederick Jackson Turner’s Frontier Thesis, the subject of an “independent study” course I took in college. (Turner’s long book is here; some commentary on his Frontier Thesis is here.)

I am all for studying grand historical themes. I have less enthusiasm for grand historical theses. I, personally, subscribe to just one grand historical thesis, which is captured in an exchange at church between my old collegemates Andrew and Joel.

Andrew: Your child seems happy enough right now.

Joel: This is just the happiness before the sadness.

Andrew: But isn’t all happiness the happiness before the sadness.

(Case in point: the Sager children.)

Actually, because I am a Christian, I think this grand historical thesis is false; but my thesis that this thesis is false is a theological thesis, not an historical one.

The remains of the May

A Texan whose birth was in Arlington
Read all about Stevens of Darlington.
The Remains of the Day
Was the name of the play
She perused on her Kindle, in Arlington.

I wrote this because I wished to test whether it would be easier to write a limerick or to write my dissertation. The limerick was much easier to write. One can put any nonsense into a limerick. (I am now testing whether it is easier to write a blog entry, or my dissertation.)

The Remains of the Day is my choice for Prof. Robby P.’s book club, which I’ve intermittently attended since 2004. Joel, my old schoolmate, has been going to the meetings, and so have Prof. Cristian (the Romaniac) and Prof. Uncle Tim. (Come to think of it, Joel may also be a “Prof.”; I’m not sure what his title is.) Morgan, Robby’s frisky black Lab, died some time ago, but he has been succeeded by two frisky, young, black Labs who jump all over everybody like Morgan used to. The other attendees are young women who recently studied at Bethel College.

This morning I read The Remains of the Day instead of going to church. Martin & Mary and I all took the day off from church. We have really been dragging our feet at the end of this school term.