VALLEY FORGE, PA.-- Visitors supposedly get a feel for
the winter of 1777-78.
The tattered Continental army of Gen. George Washington has retreated
from Philadelphia to someplace north along the river. Washington,
searching for winter quarters from which he can still monitor
the British, decides on Valley Forge.
Valley Forge, Pa., lies a bit north of Philadelphia's so-called
Main Line, a phenomenon of wealthy suburbia that strung out from
center city along the railroad's main line in the 1800s.
Concrete highways get me there, and when my flirtation with American
history is ended, I'm only a silver dollar's throw from King of
Prussia and the largest shopping mall east of Minnesota.
General Washington has difficulties keeping supplies, soldiers
and officers at Valley Forge. Roads are almost non-existent. Many
merchant-farmers would just as soon do business for British pounds
as for the almost worthless colonial scrip.
A national park now occupies Valley Forge. Regular visitors come
to jog or ride bicycles along the miles of concrete paths and
asphalt drives that meander through the 3400-acre park marked
by statues and recreated infantry and artillery positions.
As the Continental army settles for the winter of 1777, it is
12,000 strong _ or more accurately, 12,000 weak, a collection
of farm boys, adventurers, malcontents and mercenaries from the
13 colonies who forage for food and don what rags they can gather.
This army-in-name-only of the Continental Congress has proven
no match for the British Expeditionary Force.
Valley Forge is an odd memorial by most standards. No battle
was fought here of determining significance. Gettysburg, to the
West, where the Union was preserved and President Lincoln's eulogy
became a national canticle, has more for those seeking drama in
American history.
In summer, the most exciting activity at Valley Forge is picnicking.
Visitors park along a ridge in the shade of elms. Perhaps spreading
blankets on the remains of a colonial defensive mound, they devour
food from a nearby Wendy's or Pizza Hut and enjoy the panorama
of rolling, manicured hills.
Washington's men build shelters from logs and mud. The general
rewards the first squadrons to complete an adequate, windowless
one-room bunkhouse.
Stopping inside a reconstructed hut, I feel humidity entrapping
me. The floor is damp even to my modern shoes. I cannot stay in
the cramping room more than a few minutes, and in a flash I understand
better why many men preferred to give up the fight and go home.
Park staffers dressed as colonial soldiers who recite history
to strolling tourists avoid staying in the huts, I notice. One
holds a woman in thrall under a shading oak with his description
of the retreat; a second lectures a clutch of visitors near a
small campfire site.
Cameras, mine among them, wind feverishly at the costumed guides
to history.
Makeshift hospitals also rise in the hills the general has forced
his army to call home. Innoculation against smallpox is ordered
by Washington and saves many lives-- some who will die in successful
campaigns at Trenton and Princeton-- but anaesthetics and sanitary
surgery are practically unknown. By mid-winter, disease and desertion
have depleted the force to about 6,000.
Even officers of the infant force seem marginally loyal.
Most want to go home to share winter with families. Many do so.
Washington complains of this. He also complains of gambling among
his forces, and forbids it. He urges them to shun alcohol and
to practice their prayers. Ironically but wisely, he supplies
rum to his languishing troops.
Contemporary homes in Valley Forge display expansive lawns and
clean driveways on which sit an array of Saabs, Taurus wagons,
Jeep Cherokees and a more-than-occasional Dodge, Chevy, or Ford
pick-up truck. About 75 percent of the homes are colonials, a
realtor tells me.
Twenty or twenty-five years ago, these suburbs were filled with
trendy utility trucks, Toyotas or Datsuns, but America-- perhaps
like Washington learning in retreat -- has won back its truck
market.
An elite legion of Virginia soldiers guard General Washington
at his stone-built headquarters. It is assumed Virginia colonists
will be most loyal to the general, himself a Virginian. These
fighters form the life guard; they will be the first disciplined
in an American manual of arms and trained for the rejuvenated
attack force.
General Washington richly deserves admiration, but his judgment
in selecting the proffered services of Baron Frederick von Steuben
to whip his regulars into a disciplined army may outshine his
prowess as a commander. Von Steuben, a Prussian
mercenary-turned-colonist,
is truly an under-sung hero of American history.
Recommended by Benjamin Franklin, he wrote and administered the
discipline that turned rag-tag fighters into soldiers.
What makes a modern visit to Valley Forge worthwhile is
a strategy, a perserverance in the wake of failure, a discipline,
a retreat to ready for an assault in a bid for independence.
The pastoral vistas are fitting. Valley Forge calls Americans
to meditation. Nothing here is spectacular. From tranquil hills,
Washington launches a strengthened force and drives the British
from colonial soil.
Leaving the auditorium where an 18-minute film documents the grueling
winter, an aging father, tanned and athletic, like a U.S. sailor,
retired, tells his children of a war monument in Hawaii:
``You should see the monument at Pearl Harbor. They take you right
out to the Arizona. They never raised it from where it was sunk.''
His children listen bemused. They drag through this school-like
activity with quietness that belies their Nike athletic shoes
and Calvin Klein shorts. One wears a Philadelphia Phillies cap
and a Michael Jordan shirt.
All seems connected: Washington's life guard, the suburbs' trucks,
the inner defenses of the Valley Forge encampment, Pearl Harbor,
the Philadelphia Phillies, von Steuben's standards and Calvin
Klein.
Could there be Air Jordans, or Jeep Cherokees without Valley Forge
and its ideals?
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