History has a way of repeating itself—not in the details, but in the echoes. As I watch the current administration deploy Marines and National Guard troops into American cities to confront protests over ICE raids and immigration policy, I can’t help but feel a chill. It’s not just the uniforms or the optics. It’s the precedent. And for me, that precedent begins not with Donald Trump—but with Abraham Lincoln.
Yes, Lincoln. The man most Americans revere as our greatest president. But I’ve long questioned that legacy. Lincoln, in my view, was a stubborn, hardheaded leader who plunged the nation into a war that cost over 650,000 lives. A war he believed would be over in months. A war he arguably provoked.
Let’s rewind to Fort Sumter. No one died in the initial bombardment. The only casualties came when a cannon exploded during the surrender ceremony—one Union soldier died. Yet Lincoln used that moment to summon 75,000 troops, escalating a regional standoff into a full-blown civil war. He suspended habeas corpus, jailed political opponents, and silenced dissent in border states like Maryland. All in the name of preserving the Union.
Fast forward to today. Trump, facing protests over immigration enforcement, has summoned federal troops into cities like Los Angeles—against the wishes of governors and mayors. He’s accepted a $400 million jet from Qatar, raising serious constitutional questions about foreign influence and the Emoluments Clause. He’s used executive power to reshape the judiciary, roll back civil rights protections, and stoke division at every turn.
And yet, like Lincoln, he claims to be saving the nation.
The parallels are uncomfortable. Both men faced divided nations. Both used federal power to suppress opposition. Both were hailed as heroes by some and tyrants by others. When John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln, he shouted “Sic semper tyrannis”—thus always to tyrants. That wasn’t just a madman’s cry. It was a sentiment shared by many in the South who saw Lincoln not as a liberator, but as a despot.
Today, many Americans—especially those on the political left—see Trump in the same light. A man willing to tear the country apart to preserve his own power. A man who, like Lincoln, may be remembered not just for what he did, but for what he destroyed in the process.
This isn’t a defense of Booth, or of violence. It’s a plea for perspective. We must stop mythologizing our leaders and start scrutinizing them. Lincoln’s war may have ended slavery, but it also ended hundreds of thousands of lives. Trump’s war—if it comes—may not be fought with muskets and bayonets, but with executive orders, surveillance, and militarized streets.
History doesn’t repeat, but it rhymes. And right now, the tune sounds all too familiar.
I’m currently working on a stage play about President Buchanan called Buchanan: A Rock Between Two Hard Places. It takes place at Wheatland, his former mansion, but now a tourist location in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. The situation shifts back and forth from 1863, when the Southern Army is in Gettysburg, Pa, just across the river from Lancaster, Pa. to the present day when a group of tourists are taking a guided tour of the house. They go from room to room and the modern group tells the story of the Buchanan administration, while in 1863, ex-President Buchanan is trying desperately to convince his niece, Harriet Lane, that she should evacuate Lancaster for a place further away from the war.
The tour group debates the issues of the Buchanan administration and his standing in history. Most either don’t know much about Buchanan or have a low opinion of him (based partly on the short video they watched prior to starting the tour), but one Franklin & Marshall student taking the tour is a big fan of Buchanan.
That’s what I entered into Bing Copilot, Microsoft’s entry into the AI market.
This is what I got back:
Copilot:
Your stage play, “Buchanan: A Rock Between Two Hard Places,” sounds intriguing! The juxtaposition of historical events and the present-day tourist experience at Wheatland creates a captivating narrative. Let’s delve into the layers of your play:
Setting and Structure:
Wheatland, once President Buchanan’s mansion, now serves as a tourist attraction in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.
The play oscillates between two critical time periods:
1863: The Southern Army looms near Gettysburg, just across the river from Lancaster. Ex-President Buchanan grapples with convincing his niece, Harriet Lane, to evacuate to a safer location.
Present Day: Tourists explore Wheatland, moving from room to room. Their discussions weave the story of the Buchanan administration.
Tourist Debates:
The modern-day tour group engages in lively debates about Buchanan’s legacy. Their opinions are shaped by a short video they watched before the tour.
Most visitors either lack knowledge about Buchanan or hold a dim view of his presidency.
The Buchanan Enthusiast:
Amidst the skeptics, a Franklin & Marshall student stands out—a staunch Buchanan supporter. Their admiration for the ex-President adds an interesting dynamic to the play.
Buchanan’s Dilemma:
In 1863, Buchanan faces the weighty decision of ensuring Harriet Lane’s safety during the war. His desperation to convince her to leave Lancaster underscores the urgency of the situation.
Historical Context:
Buchanan’s presidency was marked by challenges, including the impending Civil War. His actions during this critical period continue to shape his reputation.
Title Symbolism:
The title, “A Rock Between Two Hard Places,” aptly captures Buchanan’s predicament—caught between historical forces and personal relationships.
As you craft your play, consider exploring Buchanan’s complexities, the impact of war, and the enduring questions about leadership and legacy. 🎭📜
I did a double-take. Or more like a triple-take. Did Bing Copilot just use as its 3rd reference an article I wrote myself on my own blog. It sure did. I’ve become the “go-to guy” on the subject of James Buchanan.
Here’s that original blog, in case you’re curious.
Usually when historians are asked to rate the U.S. Presidents, they put James Buchanan at the bottom. I think this is very unfair. He was a very good President, who just happened to be elected at the very worst time in U.S. history.
The country was on the verge of Civil War when he was elected in 1856. Abolitionists in the North desperately wanted to crush slavery and the South along with it. Secessionists in the South were afraid of the dire consequences they would have to face if slavery, which had legally existed in America for 200 years, was outlawed and 4 million negroes were suddenly free to take merciless revenge on their masters. Buchanan had to use everything he learned during his forty plus years of public service to keep the powder keg from exploding, and he managed to do so. Then the election of Abraham Lincoln lit the fuse, and all Hell broke loose.
Rather than acknowledging Buchanan’s peace keeping efforts, both sides immediately blamed him for the war. Though Buchanan had strong sympathies for the South, he was also a strong Unionist and, for the sake of the preservation of the Union, he had to endure the lies that were spread about him by both sides. He didn’t want to further incite the South, so he couldn’t level blame on them for seceding, and he didn’t want to cast aspersions on the new President during wartime by blaming Republicans and Abolitionists for driving the South to secede. He was literally a rock between two hard places, and for the sake of the Union had to take the abuse that was heaped on him without defending himself. His silence only caused both sides to increase their level of abuse until his reputation was utterly destroyed.
He did not wish to stand idly by, though, and he wrote his memoirs to correct all the lies that were being spoken and printed about him. He loved his country so much, though, that he refused to publish his defense until the War was over. Then the Civil War dragged on and on for years and by the time he published his memoirs in 1866 it was already too late to save his reputation. History had already painted him as the villain, and he knew that a century would have to go by before his name could ever hope to be cleared. Unfortunately, a century and a half has gone by, and historians still fail to give him a fair trial. I’m sure they feel that removing blame for the Civil War from Buchanan would force them to place some of the blame on Abolitionists and Lincoln, and that just ain’t gonna happen. Lincoln had already been made into a god. After all, Lincoln freed the slaves, and he was the victim of an assassination. He’s one of the four Presidents on Mount Rushmore. His place in history was literally and perpetually carved in stone. So, Buchanan has to continue suffering “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.” Maybe, it will be another century before James Buchanan can get a fair hearing with historians and escape the bottom ranking…unless, of course, if Donald Trump continues the way he’s going.
Our representatives are chosen in free elections. The best way to get good representatives in government is for the people to study the issues, study the candidates, and be sure to vote. Tomorrow is Election Day. Vote wisely.
AI continued to use articles I wrote as reference material. I was both flattered and impressed. I decided to keep going with the AI, just to see how much more it could help me. James Buchanan became the President in 1857, the same year that the S S Central America sank in a hurricane leaving 450 men dead and 21 tons of California gold rush gold lying at the bottom of the ocean. I read all about it in a book called, The Ship of Gold at the Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea. Captain Herndon was the captain of the S S Central America. When he knew that the ship would eventually sink, he got all the men on board busy bailing out the incoming water while he transferred lifeboat after lifeboat of the women and children to the nearest ship to them, the Marine, captained by Captain Johnsen. Captain Johnsen rescued 100 passengers. Some 50 passengers who were floating on flotsam and jetsam from the ship were later rescued by a Norwegian ship, Ellen, which was passing through the area.
I asked AI about the incident.
Among other things, AI told me that President Buchanan gave a gold chronometer to Captain Herndon in recognition of his heroism during the disaster.
Wait a minute. Captain Herndon was swimming in Davy Jones locker, and certainly not available for any medals ceremony in Washington, D.C.
AI lied to me, and I knew it. Dead men get medals, but they don’t appear at medal ceremonies. I also knew from reading the book that President Buchanan actually issued the golden Chronometer to Captain Johnsen, the live captain of the rescue ship, Marine.
So, my point is that AI is an incredible tool that can help just about everyone with just about everything, but it won’t hesitate to stretch the truth a bit for the sake of a good story. It’s my kind of ap.
By the way, Captain Herndon was recognized for his heroism with a 21-foot-tall Granite Monument at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. Every year the first-year students celebrate the end of their first year at Annapolis by climbing to the top of the monument. And every year the senior class puts about 50 lb. of grease on the monument to make it a lot more interesting. The story of the Herndon Climb is another thing I learned from AI, and, of course, I fact-checked it. Maybe on James Buchanan’s birthday, April 23rd, I’ll see if I can get some Franklin & Marshall students to grease Buchanan’s statue in Buchanan Park and we’ll see if anyone can climb it.
Last week the local Susquehanna Valley oldies station, 96.1 FM SOX Radio, had their own “Santa D.” in a big booth at the Wrightsville Columbia Bridge collecting toys for underprivileged children. Their goal was to collect 7500 toys. “7500 toys,” I thought, “heck, my New York friend Marianne could probably gather that many new toys overnight. She’s the leader of a large network of New York Do-Gooders, who manage to turn a whole lot of bad situations into great fundraisers. Marianne just goes on social media and posts something like, “If anyone would like to contribute toys for underprivileged children [or it could be books for Africa, household goods for Appalachia, bleach, food, and water for victims of Hurricane Sandy, toiletries for veterans, or whatever itch needed scratching in some part of the world], they can just leave them on my porch.…and I’ll deliver them.” Overnight, her front porch would become The F.A.O. Schwartz of toy stores or a warehouse of whatever stuff they were collecting for the cause they were helping that day. But that’s not the point of this story.
The point is that the toy drive was being held at the historical site of one of the most famous bridges in Civil War history, the Wrightsville Columbia Bridge, which, back then, was a covered bridge. There are plenty of covered bridges out here in Amish land, and I asked around to find out why. I learned that the main reasons they were covered was to weather storms, and to prevent the horses from seeing the rushing water and being spooked while crossing and possibly falling into the river.The current bridge, the fifth edition of the grand structure, is not a covered bridge like its predecessors. It’s not even called the Wrightsville Columbia Bridge anymore, except by locals. U.S. maps call it the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge.
The first Wrightsville Columbia Bridge was destroyed by severe weather. The second Wrightsville-Columbia Bridge, completed in 1834, is the one that made history. Besides being the longest covered-bridge in the world it was “stout enough to bear loaded train cars.” I wondered how many of the people who travelled across the bridge to give toys, knew the history of the bridge itself. As a native New Yorker, I was completely unaware of the significance of the Wrightsville Bridge in the Civil War until recently.
Most of the Civil War battles were fought in the South. The leader of the Confederate Army, Robert E. Lee, hoped to get England and France to enter the war on the side of the South. So, he instructed his generals to attack the North, hoping to impress the European countries. The Rebel army advanced. The Confederates won at York, Pennsylvania, and were about to cross the Susquehanna River into the City of Lancaster on the way to the Pennsylvanian capital at Harrisburg. If they crossed the Susquehanna, things would not be good for the Union.
The small Pennsylvania militia could not halt the advancing army, so they tried to blow up the bridge with dynamite, but it was like a scene straight out of the movie, The Bridge on the River Kwai. The bridge was so well-built that it was not so easily demolished. So, on June 28, 1863, the Pennsylvania militia wound up soaking it with oil and burning the bridge.
The local people of Wrightsville and Columbia gave up their bridge to save the cities of Lancaster and Harrisburg, and, as it turned out, the Union itself. With no way to cross the mile-wide Susquehanna River, the Southern troops heading north poured into the Gettysburg area. The Army of the Potomac met them there a few days later on July 1, 1863, and they fought one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War at Gettysburg. Casualties were high on both sides, but Lee lost a third of his Southern army. The battle of Gettysburg, followed by Lincoln’s inspirational Gettysburg address turned the course of the war for the North.
It is very fitting that the site of the Wrightsville Columbia Bridge, which gave its all for the Union in 1863 was the site of so much gift giving this holiday season. Happy Holidays to all.
earlthepearl137 