" I’ve Paid My Dues –
Now Get Outta My Face"
Being a Civil War re-enactor these past 11 years has been pretty fun, all things
considered. I’ve enjoyed playing tourist in my own state (and others), seeing places
and meeting people I would never have seen or met if not for this hobby. I’ve been
to many great events over the years, tasted the gunpowder and seen the elephant
(he looks like Ab’ram Linkum). I “bagged” my first Yankee during a skirmish on the
grassy plaza of the Daytona Beach Library in 1995, and it was there that I heard for
the first time that immortal question “Are those guns real?”
In the early days, I started out in an artillery unit in Ocala, the members of which
were all cross-trained as riflemen. But I was in this artillery unit for only three years
before the gun carriage rotted, and when the lieutenant waffled on fixing it, me and
my pards became full-time infantrymen.
The great thing about being in artillery is this: you man-handle the piece into
battery, and stand there next to it while the infantry pointlessly marches 100 miles
around you to get into its starting position. My point is, once you do the initial work
of rolling that heavy piece into place, you don’t have to do any more work. You
certainly don’t have to shoulder a 9-pound musket and march uphill over pine
needles in slick-soled brogans (try it sometime). You don’t have to suck the dust
raised by the 50 guys ahead of you in line. You don’t have to worry about stepping
into a gopher hole and twisting your ankle or knee. Or getting stuck in the eye by
an errant bayonet, or accidentally kneeling into that hidden prickly pear (ouch!). Or
the many various and sundry ways you can find yourself getting hurt.
Being an artilleryman, by contrast, is easy duty. All you have to do is stand there at
your post, do your job correctly, watch what you’re doing, and try not to get blown
up. Easy! And when the show’s over, you just clean the tube, secure the piece, and
walk back to camp. And you’re done. A good day’s work, minus the heatstroke.
So, after seven or more years in the infantry, I’m starting to wish I was back in
artillery. But since it doesn’t look like my infantry unit here in Tallahassee is going
to buy a cannon anytime soon, it looks like I may be stuck with “hoofing” it for a
while longer.
Or am I? Who says I have to actually march and fight? What authority does my
captain have over me, really? I mean, it’s not like the provost marshal is going to
haul me off to the stockade if I go AWOL, now is it? After all, this is just PLAY
ACTING. I’m not really in the army, you know? What are you going to do, captain, if
I decide NOT to fight one day? Are you gonna get in my face and berate me for
being lazy?
I think not. After 11 years (or more, counting my years doing Second Seminole War-
Dade’s Battle), I think I’ve paid my dues. I’ve been a hard charger. I’ve never
shirked my duty. So I think I’ve earned the right to sit on the sidelines once in a
while, whenever I want to.
Now, having said that, I would say it would be different if I were a sergeant or
captain, who are safety officers more than anything. They are vital to the
functioning of any re-enacted battle. Officers have a greater obligation and
responsibility and don’t have the option of “sitting out” a fight.
I, on the other hand, am not quite as necessary. However, I wouldn’t try and make a
habit out of not participating altogether. I just need to set new boundaries for
myself. If my feet start aching terribly (and boy do they ever), or the heat becomes
unbearable (boy does it ever), I’m going to remind myself that I am NOT obligated
to be out there, risking my health. Because when a hobby starts messing with your
health, or it suddenly stops being as much fun as it used to be, it may be time to
step back and re-evaluate. I could do anything, from playing music in sutler’s row to
helping the medical staff carry bags of ice.
Spoken like a true goldbrick, you might say? Well, remember, a hobby is supposed
to be fun. But when one aspect of your hobby becomes a little stale, you adapt, and
try new things, to make it fun again. That’s all I’m saying.
So, Mr. Hardcore Purist, get outta my face. From now on, I’m doing things on MY
terms, not yours. And I’m going to have FUN!
( C ) 2006
By Jason Z. Dehart
Jason