“Thanksgiving is a public holiday celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November in the United States. It originated as a harvest festival. Thanksgiving has been celebrated nationally on and off since 1789, after Congress requested a proclamation by George Washington.
It has been celebrated as a federal holiday every year since 1863, when, during the American Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a national day of "Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens," to be celebrated on the last Thursday in November. Together with Christmas and the New Year, Thanksgiving is a part of the broader fall/winter holiday season in the U.S.
The event that Americans commonly call the "First Thanksgiving" was celebrated by the Pilgrims after their first harvest in the New World in October 1621. This feast lasted three days, and as accounted by attendee Edward Winslow it was attended by 90 Native Americans and 53 Pilgrims.” (Wikipedia)
To be sure, ever since I was served as an adjunct professor at a local university, and a graduate level editor, I have cautioned my students, (and others) to avoid Wikipedia. However, the foregoing description appears to be accurate in every way.
In the past several years I have discovered a direct family connection among my mother’s ancestors to one of the Mayflower pilgrims, Richard Warren; a signer of the Mayflower Compact, and who, sadly, died at the relatively early age of 50.
Pt. 2
At about the same time I discovered the existence and filial connection to ‘Pilgrim' Warren, my kinship with a number of famous descendants of his, and cousins of mine came to light. And only today I was able to add several more to the list.
Alan Shepard, first American in space and moon walker, (the earth’s celestial neighbor, not the dance), Sarah Palin, Alaska governor and Vice Presidential candidate, Henry Longfellow and Henry Thoreau, American poets, Taylor Swift, American singer, Ulysses S. Grant, Calvin Coolidge, Franklin Roosevelt, Presidents of the United States, Ernest Hemingway, American author, and Richard Gere and Orson Welles, Hollywood movie stars.
Quite a notable list of stratospheric personalities!
And not to bore you with any further names and nomenclatures, suffice it to say that there are several others whose monikers you would recognize among my family lineage.
Some have thought it strange that I have come up with so many ‘famous skeletons,’ and flesh and blood notables. And yet I think every one of us might claim kinship to a few of the rich and famous among us. After all, if you do the math you will see that for each preceding generation the number of our direct ancestors (grandparents) doubles.
I mean, check it out.
We have two parents, four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great great grandparents, etc. etc. And amazingly, if you do the multiplication, by the time you arrive at the 33rd generation, (approx. 1500 years) each and every one of us have (drum roll) 1 billion direct ancestors. And for each generation which precedes it, the total doubles again.
Pt. 3
I was watching an old 1980’s classic today. “Places in the Heart.” As the movie begins, we see a Great Depression era sheriff engaged in a mission to arrest a drunken black teenager; (who just happens to have a loaded gun in his hand).
Suddenly, the young boy fires his revolver, and Royce (also my name) Spalding falls to the ground dead. Ultimately, the esteemed Ku Klux Klan of the Texas town take matters into their own hands, and lynch young Wylie from the nearest sour apple tree.
As the movie progresses, the sheriff’s widow, Edna, (portrayed by Sally Field) attempts to bring in a thirty acre crop of cotton, and enlists the aid of ‘Moze,’ (Danny Glover), her black field hand. And hope against hope, the two of them, along with a small crew of black locals, bring in the harvest, and are not only well paid for their time and efforts, but win an additional $100 prize for bringing in the first cotton in the county.
And not to be outdone, and as you might expect the Ku Klux Klan strikes again, and almost kill Moze for having assisted Mrs. Spalding. As the young widow enters the barn the next morning to check on her friend, (for he has been a good friend to her) and notices that the middle-aged black man is tying up a bundle, and preparing to depart, they strike up a conversation.
Moze
Ma'am, I'm gonna have to be moving along. Won't be long before that bunch comes back, and I'd best be gone by then.
Edna
What am I gonna do without you?
Moze
I'd appreciate it if you say goodbye to Frank and Possum for me. I'd soon as not have them see me like this. I been making on this doll for Possum. If you could give it to her, I'd be most grateful. And old Frank, he had his eye on this rabbit foot of mine for a spell, so I expect he might as well have it. Here. This is for you. It's a handkerchief that belonged to my mama. I thought maybe you could use it. I reckon I got a bit more attached to this place than I intended to. Well, Mrs. Spalding. I'm gonna miss you.
Edna
Moze, you listen to me now. You took a no-account piece of land, and people that didn't know what they were doing, and you farmed that land better than anybody could; colored or white. You brought in the first bale of cotton this year. Don't you ever forget that.
Moze
Yes, ma'am. Reckon I did that. I reckon I did.
Pt. 4
I don’t know why, but I have been thinking about love, and friendship and unity this Thanksgiving. Perhaps this movie was a catalyst.
I love the closing scene.
Perhaps fifty people are seated in the pews of an old-fashioned wooden church sanctuary; while the pastor reads from 1st Corinthians 13, (the ‘love chapter’ of the New Testament). The elements of the Communion are passed from one parishioner to another, and one by one they place the wafer in their mouths, and follow up with the juice. And as the tray is passed from pew to pew, the camera pans from face to face.
A couple members of a traveling dance band. A local banker. A teenaged girl. Suddenly, a black hand reaches out and accepts the tray, and we recognize the face and person of Moze. And next to him, Mrs. Spalding, and next to her, her dearly departed husband, Sheriff Spalding. And as the movie “fades to dim” the final shot includes not only the Sheriff, but the adolescent black teenager who deprived him of his life. And for effect, they unblinkingly stare into the space before them.
Obviously, given that day, time and place, the conclusion of the movie is dreamingly hypothetical in nature, and is designed to portray a sense of love, wellbeing, and unity among the members of a Depression era community.
As much as the rich and famous members of my genealogical tree, (to which I previously alluded) interest and fascinate me, I never had the privilege of meeting these who have gone on before, and I am unlikely to meet those who still remain.
As a counselor and as a person, I am much more inclined towards friends and family, and those of various strata, origins, and needs whom God has set in my pathway; people very much like the common citizens of that little town described in “Places in the Heart.”
by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Pt. 72. Copyright Pending.
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