KILLING THE OLD LION

In the past week, someone, several someone’s, killed a massive, but gentle, unassuming lion.

That lion has guarded a portion of Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, a sacred venue, containing the gravesites of hundreds of unknown Confederate dead, for the past 125 years; and ‘til now was never threatened, nor approached with malice.

Everything changed this week

For you see, in the past few days, and in the dark of the night, a few so-called “protestors,” (who claim they want law and order) climbed over the wall, and intruded upon the silence of this sacred piece of ground, (and which is quite obviously private property) and desecrated The Lion of Atlanta; an amazingly beautiful marble sculpture which commemorates the sacrifices of the unknown dead of the Confederate States of America.

These vagabonds, (I would love to use a different word here) scaled that perimeter wall, armed with spray paint, and hammers and chisels, and they proceeded to “kill” the defenseless lion; first drowning him in that blood-red paint, as if he had been slain, and then gouging out his eyes, and breaking off his teeth.

Although I have never visited this gentle giant, I have admired, and grew to love him from afar, and was determined to visit him one day. (Unfortunately, these ne’er do wells got there first).

Seven decades ago, my great Uncle, Henry Dowling, one of the last surviving Civil War veterans, participated in a Confederate Memorial Day ceremony in this section of the cemetery; memorializing the unknown Confederate dead who “reside” here. No doubt, he gazed in awe upon The Lion of Atlanta, and perhaps shivers ran up his aged spine.

The common Confederate soldier never owned a slave, and earnestly believed that the battle he fought was more about home and family, than anything else. And, of course, he had little “say so” in whether or not he participated in the war in the first place.

Speaking of the sanctity of that wonderful old lion, (and beyond anything I have recounted) why I am so taken up with it. (It is not an exaggeration to say that the loss of it has affected me, but more personally, like the loss of that great old cathedral, Notre Dame).

My great great Grandfather, Isaac Ring, was a transplanted Yankee, and while living in Georgia, he was drafted as a private in the Southern Army. And not long after he began his service, he was captured, and interned at the infamous Union prison in Elmira, New York; where he experienced a myriad of injustices, and cruel treatment by his own countrymen.

We live in an age of Political Correctness, and we are in the midst of a season in which what I consider to be radical, uninformed elements are tearing down the vestiges of America’s troubled past, as if they were capable of erasing that regretful history from the books.

The death of that noble, old lion has irrevocably impacted me, much as if I had lost someone near and dear to me.



And come to think of it… I have.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

If you would like to copy, share or save, please include the credit line, above