The great American novelist Thomas Wolfe, in his book From conclusion to Morning (1935), once referred to them: Garfield, Arthur, Harrison, and hay, time of my fetchs time, blood of his blood, life of his life, . . . were the mazed Americans: their gravely vacant and bewhiskered faces mixed, melted, swam to make forher in the sea depths of a past intangible, immeasurable, and unknowable as the buried urban center of Persepolis. And they were lost. For who was Garfield, martyred man, and who had seen him in the streets of life? Who could believe that his footfalls ever sounded on a lonely pavement? Who had heard the casual and familiar tones of Chester Arthur? Where was Harrison? Where was Hayes? Which had the whiskers, which the burnsides: Which was which? Were they not lost? (Thomas Wolfe, www.americanpresident.org)
The reason, why Wolfe thinks the presidents were lost, is because they served rather uneventfully by and by the Civil War. But in Garfields case this was caused by his earliest assassination a mere 100 days after he assumed office:
Its September 18, 1881 and I powerfully believe that Im lying on my deathbed. Those doctors had taken a three-inch wounding and turned it into a twenty-inch gouge.
My faith in them vanished and pictures of my life split up running in front of my inner eye standardized a movie. I remember the log cabin come up Cleveland, Ohio, where I was born on Nov. 19, 1831 as the youngest of five children of Abram and Eliza Ballou Garfield. My father died in 1833 so I never had the chance to get to know him. My mom brought up her young family unaided and affect the high standard of moral and intellectual worth on us. She displayed almost heroic courage. We grew up in poverty, but the like I...
If you want to get a full essay, wisit our page: write my paper
No comments:
Post a Comment