On June 6th, 1944, a fifty-six-year-old brigadier general waded ashore at Utah Beach, walking with a cane.
He was the oldest man in the D-Day invasion, and the only general to land with the first wave at Utah Beach. He was Theodore Roosevelt Jr. — eldest son of the twenty-sixth president, a soldier who had been wounded and gassed in the trenches of the First World War a quarter-century earlier, and who had asked three times for permission to lead the assault before the Army said yes.
The currents at Utah Beach pushed the first landing craft about a mile off course. The men who came ashore looked up to find an unfamiliar shoreline and no clear plan. Roosevelt walked the beach, took his bearings against the landscape, and made a decision: they would attack from where they were. "We'll start the war from right here," he said.
Thirty-six days later, on July 12, 1944, Roosevelt died in his sleep of a heart attack in Normandy. He never made it home. His Medal of Honor was awarded posthumously — for the morning he steadied a beach full of men under fire, on terrain that was not the terrain he had been promised, and decided the war would go forward anyway.
He was the son of a man who once charged up Kettle Hill at the head of the Rough Riders. He died serving the country his father had served, in a war his father did not live to see.
Illustration detail from a Glidden Company advertisement for wood stains and varnishes. When Johnnie came Marching Home - Charleson painting circa 1937.
On this day in 1898, Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders famously charge up San Juan Hill. Roosevelt’s bravery captures the public imagination, launching him into national prominence.
“The charge itself was great fun,” he declared afterwards. “Oh, but we had a bully fight.”
But how much of his legendary reputation was earned on the battlefield—and how much was created by an adoring media eager to make him one of the Spanish-American War’s most famous heroes?
That conflict—later dubbed “a splendid little war”—was fought just as Cubans, Puerto Ricans, and Filipinos sought to free themselves from Spanish rule. Their plight earned the sympathy of many Americans, so when USS Maine exploded in Havana Harbor on February 15, 1898, some believed Spain had sabotaged the ship.
War was declared in April. Roosevelt was thrilled!
FULL STORY: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-roosevelt-rough-riders
ACTUAL LIFE OF THE COWBOY ON WESTERN CATTLE RANGES.
The Dangers of the Round-Up Greater Than Those of Battle—Excitements, Hardships and Fascinations of the Life—Food and Pay Good—Work of the Round-Up.
Fᴏʀᴛ Cᴏʟʟɪɴs, Col., June 21.—It is not to be wondered at that the rough riders made good fighters. They were trained and hardened to that kind of work. The majority of them were cowboys, fresh from the Western cattle ranges. Some of them were born to the life while others had become familiar with it by long usage. Cowboy life is more arduous than most people suppose. For instance, the dangers of the round-up are greater than those of the battlefield; that is, the statistics will show proportionately more casualties among cowboys than among soldiers engaged in active campaigning. This does not include casualties from shooting in the case of the cowboys. The cowboy seldom carries a gun on the round-up, and he would have little use for it if he did except to shoot prairie dogs and coyotes. In olden times an occasional shooting scrape was heard of, but of late years it is not considered good form for a cowboy to pack around a heavy six-shooter on his hip. It is only the cowboy that you see in the picture books that does this.
Life on the round-up is a very sober and matter-of-face affair. There is much hard work and little time for frivolities. It is up early in the morning and late to bed at night. The life has its fascinations. The broad plains stretch away on every wide until they touch the horizon. Overhead, as a general thing, there is a clear sky and a bright sun. At night the stars, which appear to hang very low down, beam mildly from a rich blue, and if the moon be full it is light enough to read a newspaper by. Across the plains the breezes play continually, sighing softly through the bunch grass and sage brush. And, mounted on a fleet-footed bronco, it is up and away for miles and miles over the swelling plains with the lightness and freedom of a bird. Two campaigns each year the cowboy makes—the spring and the fall round-up. The spring round-up is for the purpose of branding the young calves. The fall round-up is for the gathering of the fat steers, which are destined to be sold for beef. The fall round-up is the more agreeable, for the branding of calves is not a pleasant occupation, especially to one who has nerves that are in any way sensitive. But at best it is a life of constant activity. Leagues of prairie must be scoured in all directions. Every ravine, every little valley, every place where a creature may hide from human sight must be searched so that no calf may escape the branding iron and no fat beef escape the shambles. Like an invading army the round-up sweeps across the country, and little of any account slips through its meshes until the last nook or corner has been searched, and nothing is left in the "cavvy" but a lot of mavericks. These are parcelled out, and the round-up is disbanded.
Quite a simple affair is the cowboy's outfit. In the early history of the range the regulation suit was of buckskin—trousers and shirt, ornamented with a fringe of the same material. Nowadays it may be a cheap hand-me-down suit, but the trousers-legs are tucked deep into a pair of high boots—high both as to legs and as to heels, and at the bootheels jingle a pair of spurs. The broad-brimmed felt hat or sombrero is seldom missing. It is a protection against sun and rain. The crown is surrounded by a leather band and depending from beneath the brim is a leather loop to be used under the chin in case of a high wind. Frequently it is marked upon its ample brim with the owner's name, the brand of the outfit to which the owner belongs and various other legends of a character significant of the range. The cowboy wears a heavy woollen shirt or perhaps a sweater, with some kind of handkerchief knotted loosely around the neck. This is for both use and ornament. For rough weather he has his leathern jumper and oilskin slicker. Over his trousers he wears a pair of chaps, or loose leather trousers, as a protection against rain and wind, as he scours across the plains at full gallop. Slung at the right wrist is a quirt—a short whip with a thick, heavy handle, very much of the size and weight of a slungshot [sic]. This is an article of general utility to be used upon the flanks of an unruly cow, pony, or obstreperous Texas steer. Coiled at the pommel of his saddle is the inevitable lariat, which he soon learns to handle with dexterity.
When the cowboy joins the roundup, he is supposed to furnish his entire outfit, with the exception of the horse that he is to ride. This is furnished by his employer. The cowboy accordingly supplies himself with saddle, bridle, spurs, chaps, lariat and a kit of bedding. The last consists usually of four pairs of blankets, one comforter, one pillow and a tarpaulin. The tarpaulin is made of double length and is composed of eighteen-ounce canvas. In packing up, the tarpaulin is laid out at full length upon the ground, and the rest of the bedding piled in layers at one end. Then the loose end is folded over the bedding and the whole made into a compact roll and secured by two stout leather straps buckled tightly. In making up the bundle the bedding is arranged in the order for sleeping, so when the cowboy is ready to turn in at night all he has to do is to pick out a level piece of ground, unroll his bundle thereon and crawl beneath the blankets. One fold of the tarpaulin is beneath him next to the ground and the other over him, and is of such length that the end, in case of stormy weather, can be pulled up over head and ears. And though the tempest may howl across the treeless plains and the rain fall in torrents, the occupant of the rude but comfortable couch sleeps the sleep of the just. The first thing he does upon arising in the morning, unless his bedding has become badly wet by a storm, is to roll up his bundle in precisely the same shape that it was before he retired on the previous evening, so that it may be ready to load upon the camp wagon when the outfit moves.
A roundup outfit consists of foreman, cook, horse-wrangler and as many cowboys as the occasion demands. The foreman is commander-in-chief, and his orders are absolute. The cook takes charge of the camp wagon and provisions, cooks the meals and drives the outfit from point to point, as the roundup progresses. The horse-wrangler has charge of the band of cow ponies that are used in riding the range. And as an indication of the amount of riding done, it may be stated that from three to eight broncos are furnished to each cowboy, the number depending upon the character of the animals and the nature of the country to be ridden over. The first one stirring in camp in the morning is the cook, who turns out soon after 3 o'clock. He rouses the camp and starts his fire for breakfast. The cowboys crawl sleepily forth from their warm blankets, rubbing their eyes and straightening their limbs, stiffened by much hard riding. In the dim light of the campfire they roll up their bedding, make a hasty toilet and then go out to where the ponies are picketed to select the horses which are to be ridden for the day. Of course the freshest are selected. Then the animals are saddled and bridled and taken to camp, where they are picketed to await the pleasure of their riders, who must get their breakfast before going out upon the range. Breakfast over and the sun perhaps just appearing above the horizon, the cowboys receive their orders from the foreman, and away they scatter over the waking plains in the fresh morning air. When they return depends upon circumstances. If they have to ride far and they are bothered with wild cattle or weakly cows with calves that must be driven slowly, they may not get back to camp until late in the afternoon or far into the night; but whenever they may return there is always awaiting them a warm, wholesome and ample meal, for the cook has orders to have meals ready at all hours. Tired and hungry are these hardy men of the plains when they come in from the range. They may have ridden over much rough country, cut up by the ridges, buttes, ravines, sloughs and quicksands, and they have been obliged to double upon the trail in pursuits of wild and cantankerous Texas steers, and to make wide detours to get around some insurmountable obstacle. That is the time when the romance of the thing is at its lowest ebb and the cowboy swears beneath his breath that that is the last round-up that he will ever go on. But a good square meal, washed down with ample draughts of strong coffee, and a sound night's sleep dispel in a great measure the inclination to discontent and he rides forth again full of life and spirit.
The cowboy is well fed and well paid. He gets from $35 to $40 a month. The cook gets $50. The camp commissary is well supplied with the best the market affords. Good fresh beef is always at hand, and is roasted, boiled and made into stews and soups. Canned corn, peas, beans and tomatoes are provided in unlimited quantities. Beef and tomato soup is a prime favorite with the cowboys and is cherished next to their coffee. The fruits used on the round-up are all of the dried variety, the canned article being too heavy and bulky for transportation long distances in a camp wagon. These are stewed and cooked into pies and dumplings. Occasionally the stomach of the cowboy craves something tart, like stewed apples or peaches, wh[ich] he will sit down and finish at least a quart at a single sitting. The cowboy are not stin[t]ed in any reasonable demand for the good things of life.
The office of cook in a cow camp is an important one. He who holds it must be a man of ability and resources. He must cook in the open air in all kinds of weather and at all hours of the day. He must be a good cook, too, for the employer as well as the employed will not brook poorly cooked food. The fare must not only be abundant, but it must also have variety. He is provided with any amount of good raw material, and he is not expected to spoil it in the cooking. But he is usually a man of natural ability and much experience and everything moves very much like clockwork. His methods are quite interesting. If the round-up is moving through a country where plenty of wood may be obtained he cuts two logs from ten to twenty feet long, according to the size of the outfit which he has to cook for. These are laid side by side on the ground with a space of some eighteen inches between them. Between these logs the campfire is laid of dry stovewood, and when all is burned down to a coal the various kinds of food are put on to cook. The cooking is done in pots, kettles, frying pans and a Dutch oven. The last named is a most useful article. All kinds of baking can be done in it. For the information of the uninitiated it may be stated that the Dutch oven is of cast iron and shaped very much like a pot, but has a lid and long legs. The camp cook of experience never starts to cook so long as his fuel shows the least sign of a blaze. He never hurries anything, and therefore never burns or scorches any of his cookery. The great weakness of an amateur camp cook is an inclination to use too much fuel and to cook over a roaring blaze. The consequence is that he burns everything to a cinder before he is aware of it. If the logs above described are not easily obtainable the cook digs a long trench in the ground and lays his fire in that. If about to enter a treeless tract of country he takes along a supply of firewood in the camp wagon, but if worst comes to worst he can make a fire of sagebrush or even of dry buffalo chips.
The cowboy upon the round-up is in the midst of manifold dangers to life and limb. In the first place he is obliged to mount the first bucking bronco that comes to hand. For all he knows this animal may be the worst kind of untameable degenerate; a vicious creature that will buck sideways, straight up and down, and perhaps have a habit of rearing up and falling over backward upon its rider. Therefore every cowboy must necessarily be a bronco buster. Then all over the plains there are snares and pitfalls for the unwary. In certain regions the ground is honeycombed with prairie dogs and gopher holes, into one of which a horse is likely to step at any moment, while perhaps at full speed, throwing the rider over its head as if shot from a catapult, and leaving him stunned or maimed or perhaps dead. Then there is the Texas steer to contend with. He may charge down on the rider with lowered head and long, pointed and protruding horns, ready to gore horse and rider to death. But what the cowboy has most to dread is the stampeding of the herd, especially at night. For the cattle have to be night-herded. It takes from three to six men to night-herd an ordinary bunch of cattle, and there are two reliefs during the night. All through the dark hours these men ride slowly round and round the edges of the herd, calling softly in a soothing voice to the cattle, or perhaps singing some familiar song in an undertone. For the slightest excitement or surprise may set the whole herd off pell-mell across the plains in a panic. A restless animal in the herd or the too near approach of some prowling coyote may start a panic. Or, what is worse, a thunderstorm, for a single bolt of lightning or an unusually loud crash of thunder may do the business. Then the only thing to do is to get the cattle to milling; that is, to running round in narrow circles instead of plunging off in a straight line to possible destruction, for a stampeded herd will not stop at a ravine, but will rush into it and pile up many deep, never to come out alive. Then the cowboy must do his best work. In alternate moments of inky blackness and blinding flashes he rides at a breakneck speed, in danger at any moment of being thrown by a false step of his horse or of being overwhelmed by the irrisistible [sic] onrush of a mass of frightened brutes and trampled and crushed to death by many hoofs.
Not more than six or seven years can even the hardiest cowboy stand this kind of life. Rheumatism brought on by much hard riding and sleeping upon the ground begins to cramp his legs, and heart trouble is quite likely to intervene, from too much violent exertion and undue excitement incident to the round-up. But it is easy to see how this kind of life would fit one for the perils and hardships of a military campaign.
...it only just clicked for me that Dr. Sweet from Atlantis was an army medic on San Juan Hill.
An army medic on San Juan Hill, for the Rough Riders.
The Rough Riders, who are famous for, amongst other things, have Theodore Roosevelt as one of their commanders.
Theodore Roosevelt, who may very well have met Dr. Sweet at some point during the campaign, or even been tended to by him.
Dr. Sweet, who was there for a famous military campaign from real history, where it's possible he met and worked with Theodore Roosevelt.
And it's mentioned so fast and off-handedly that, in spite of having seen this movie in theatres and many, many times over the years, that I only just now made this connection, and only then because someone did a gifset including the maybe three seconds it took for Dr. Sweet to drop this insane piece of backstory and then never mention it again.
