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Albert G. Martin (1842[?] - Feb. 24, 1864)

Lately, I've been studying the Civil War. I'm no expert, far from it. That's why I read about it. I'm not going to claim I "like" the Civil War. I don't like it, but I do find it fascinating and baffling at the same time.

A while ago I came across a man by the name of Albert G. Martin. He was a Canadian (oddly enough) who in May of 1863, at the age of 18, enlisted with the 16th New York Cavalry, Company B as a private.

In October of 1863, Martin and several other Union soldiers were captured by the Confederates and sent to Belle Isle Prison in Richmond, Virginia.

If anyone is unfamiliar with Civil War prisons, they were bad. "Bad" being an understatement. Horrendous. Inhuman. Overcrowding, lack of food, lack of latrines (the water the soldiers drank was the same water they relieved themselves in), lack of protection from the elements all contributed to thousands of deaths in the camps. Andersonville in Georgia is an infamous Confederate example. But it went both ways. Point Lookout in Maryland was a particular heinous Union POW camp.

(If one is interested, the 1996 movie Andersonville is worth a watch if you're in the mood for viewing deplorable human behavior.)

Belle Isle Prison, from the accounts I've read, was just as bad as Andersonville. While nearly 13,000 died at Andersonville alone, roughly 1,000 died at Belle Isle (though sources vary).[1]

Yet here's how Albert Martin described his "stay" at Belle Isle (all spelling/grammar is Martin's own):

          "I cant complain of the useage for we get used vary well here all is a fellow cant run about as much is 

          if he was in his own Lines" (November 6, 1863).[2]

I tried to find more information about Martin but besides one website (the William L. Clements Library at The University of Michigan, where the majority of my information comes from) he seemed to be lost to history. The web was no help nor any of those things called books. I couldn't even find his date of death. All I could find was this:

"In November [1863], Martin finally wrote to his mother to inform her of his capture . . . but from this point onward, Martin disappears from the [historical] record."

Well, that's an interesting little mystery, isn't it?

But someone had to know, right? He was a Union Soldier after all. The Union Army, for the most part, kept meticulous records. Then again, he was a prisoner at Belle Isle and records were the least of their worries. Still, I felt that whatever happened to Martin had to be recorded somewhere.

So I searched the National Archives (okay, so I e-mailed the National Archives to have them search for me, but you get the idea). And they found something. So I sent them $3 and they sent me this:

Under "Remarks" it says: Captured at Lewinsville, VA Oct. 1. 1863. Admitted to Hospital at Richmond, VA. Feb.7. '64 where he died Feb. 24, 1864 of diarrhea ch.[?]

  

Albert Martin's Death Certificate.

Morbid, I know.

Granted, the mystery was easily solved, however I believe--but have no way of confirming--I'm the first person in roughly 150 years to read this document (not counting the person who copied it for me, but I'm going to pretend they didn't actually read it).

I just may be the first person since the Civil War to hear of his fate. His mother may have known:

        "In a letter written in 1884, probably in relation to a pension application, Martin's

         mother seems to imply that Albert died in the service. However, she is not listed

         in the state records as a pension recipient for that year."

Or maybe she just assumed he died in the service? Since the government has no record of her receiving money for his death?

A little depressing, isn't it? Sorry about that. Yet interesting, right? That's History for you.

A closer look at the Certificate clarifies a few things even the W. L. Clement Library didn't seem to know:

-- It seems he was 21, not 18, when he entered service.

-- He joined the army as a Private in May but by June was promoted to Corporal.[3]

-- His death, and cause of, are clearly listed and quite specific.

I don't know who Albert G. Martin was. I don't know what he liked to eat for breakfast, whether he liked coffee or chocolate or cats, or whether he was married or had children (though highly doubtful considering his age when he joined the Army and his unfortunate early death).

He may have been a terrible person. Or he may have been the kindest person in the world. I don't know. But I know when he died. I thought someone should. And now you do, too.

So here is Albert G. Martin's Death Certificate. With his name, his physical description, his occupation (farmer), his rank, his fate. Proof of his existence. Now on the internet for all to see. For all eternity.[4]

And who doesn't want their name to live forever?

Civil War Soldier boy

1. Far more men died of disease in their own camps than they did in actual battle and POW camps combined. According to Time Life (so take it with a grain of salt) roughly 390,000 Union and Confederate soldiers died of disease compared to around 60,000 of both armies who died as prisoners of war.

2. All quotes from the Albert G. Martin papers, William L. Clements Library, The University of Michigan. Used, um, without permission.

3. That's a pretty dang fast promotion, by the way, but it may be because the 16th New York had a less than stellar reputation when it came to deserters and needed all the men they could, though they did seem to have tangled with Mosby's Rangers, which may have accounted for the many desertions.

4. Or at least until the inevitable collapse of society.

A Daily Dose of Dio #7

Dio even has advice for children:

A Daily Dose of Dio #6

Busy at Boskone today, but still got time for Dio.

Last in Line

A Daily Dose of Dio #5

More rainbows. In the dark. Dark rainbows.

Apparently, Dio didn't want to include "Rainbow in the Dark" on the album Holy Diver. He thought it sounded too "poppy". He literally wanted the song destroyed so no one could hear it.

Got to be honest, he's not wrong. About the "pop" thing. It's the keyboards. Hard to not be "pop" when using keyboards.

Then again, it was the 80's. Keyboards were in the air.

Van Halen's "Jump" came out a year after Holy Diver. Of course, "Jump" had a lot to do with David Lee Roth leaving Van Halen, but this isn't about Roth, is it?

And 4 years later Iron Maiden used keyboards to great affect on their Seventh Son of a Seventh Son album and that album's not too pop. I guess.

Some people got together and remade the video to Rainbow in the Dark.

Some people have too much time on their hands.

A Daily Dose of Dio #4

Before Dio (the band), before Sabbath, before Rainbow, there was Elf. Most of what was Elf was integretated into Rainbow, because Ritchie Blackmore knew a good thing when he heard it.

I think the album cover of their first record speaks for itself:     

Yes. They were that awesome:

A Daily Dose of Dio #3

No one sings about rainbows better than Dio. Hell, he was in band named Rainbow (Granted, Rainbow was more Ritchie Blackmore's group, but that doesn't take away from anything, okay and Joe Lynn Turner wasn't anything to scoff at).

Even today, if Dio was still around, he could rock the rainbow.

Rainbows. See? The idea of Dio bringing the world together is making more and more sense, isn't it?


As good as this song is, all I can think about when I hear it now is Skittles "Taste the rainbow." Stupid Skittles:

A Daily Dose of Dio

Dio was also in a little band called Black Sabbath. He replaced Ozzy Osbourne. I mean, who could replace Ozzy? Dio, that's who. And you know what? He was, arguably (okay, that's a big old massive 'arguably'), better.

Be Excellent to Each Other

The Wyld Stallyns. You know their name*. You know their claim to fame: bringing humanity together to live as one. It was a lofty goal. A seemingly impossible goal. A goal only a fictional movie could give us. 

Or could it happen in the real world? Is there, somewhere, a Wyld Stallyns in our world?

I believe so.

But to help me believe, I called on the ancient art of Science. Science is good for things. Things like this.

To find the One, I spent years and years--if I had a guess: two. Two years--of my life researching music, all music from all genres from all over the world. And with the use of graphs and waveforms and the Gale-Shapley algorithm, I have found an answer. I have found the One. A One, I think, that may take some time to process, but if one really thinks about it, makes perfect sense.

I present to you today what Science has revealed to me. The Wyld Stallyns of the real world.

Peace, thy name is Dio.

Yes. Ronnie James Dio. Old metal horns himself.

Of course, Dio fans already know this. They've known for years. But now they've got Science to back them up.

If the music of Dio can reach the ears of every person in the entire world, as impossible as that may be, there may still be hope for us all. Yes, like the Call and Tim Cappello, I Still Believe we can save the world. With a lot of help from Dio.

Can we do this? Can we get the word out? I think we can. Repeat after me:

Dio. Dio. Dio.

Thus begins a Daily Dose of Dio. No need to thank me:

*And if you don't, please check out Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and the under appreciated Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey. Or, you know, just Google it.

Three hours of shoveling snow ain't so bad

I live on the East Coast--please, don't hold that against me--and you might have heard we got some snow this weekend. It's funny, when I was living in Michigan we got snow all the time but USA Today never wrote articles about it. Nor did Al Roker come for a visit. Oh well, such is the fate of the flyover states.

Anyway, so we got a few feet of snow and everyone has been pretty much hunkered down in their homes the last day or so, thanks partially in part to the governor's driving ban--with up to a year in prison if you get caught or some such bullshit. It's mainly to stop joyriders, but still.

There are four humans stuck together--not literally--in my apartment right now. (There's usually three, but there's an extra this weekend so four instead of three and if three's a crowd what's four make?)

There's also one non-human in our apartment.* And, no, we do not have any pets.

Above our ventilation fan in our bathroom, a bird of some kind has made a nest for the winter. I think it's just the one, and not a family, by the sound of things. The lone bird was probably an outcast and while he or she hasn't bothered us too much up to this point, that changed during the blizzard. Now, we haven't bothered removing the bird since, unlike squirrels or rats or what have you, you don't have to worry about a bird chewing through wires or destroying any other part of your house. Well, it's unlikely a bird would do that. Still could, but unlikely. Oh, and it's not my house. Not that I don't care about or respect the property I rent, it's just that, well, it's not my house and we all need a place to call home during the winter, don't we?

When I woke up this morning and walked into the bathroom--as I am wont to do after a good night's sleep--I stepped in bird shit. We're not talking Radagast the Brown levels of bird shit, but shit is shit and even a drop on the floor is too much of it.

I cleaned it up all Spic and Span like and I had a few words with the bird. Me and the bird are copacetic now but I'm a bit worried. The fan is above the very spot where I brush my teeth and spend hours preparing my luminous hair.

Will tomorrow bring more shit?

Will tomorrow I be shit on?

I'd rather deal with the blizzard.

*we did have a bat once that circled the ceiling light in our living room several times before I noticed it. From what I've read, one of the main reasons a bat would ever fly into a house or any place it's unfamiliar with is because it's rabid. Rabid. Yikes. I managed to trap it in the stairwell and leave the door to our back porch open for it to find its way out. When I got back from work that day, the bat was gone. So it either flew out or found a home somewhere in the rafters of our Harry Tuttle-esque/Super Mario Bros.-inspired pipe-filled basement. So it's possible I have two non-humans living with me.

Thor Meets, ahem, Mephisto

I leave this here, unaltered and without comment, as a testament to the power of the Comic Book.

                                                                                                                                       The Mighty Thor #443, January 1992

(Most true believers out there will notice it's not the "real" Thor above, but the mere mortal Eric Masterson, who once temporarily replaced Thor after Thor was banished, yet again, by Odin after killing, yet again, Loki [they both got better]. After his tour of duty as Thor, Masterson went on to become Thunderstrike, whose claim to fame was a wicked awesome ponytail. Comics!)