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| Bank of Louisiana 10-dollar "Dix" note. |
(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator
George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere
in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Is ‘Dixie’ disappearing from the
scene?” was originally published in the March 16, 2000 edition of The Monroe
Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
We Americans are a funny people. We write beautiful songs
about our country and then we either push them aside or change the music to
punk rock or what some refer to as “rap.”
Just the other day, I happened to turn on the boob tube and
witnessed a misfit trying to sing the most beautiful hymn “Amazing Grace” to
so-called punk rock music.
I am not a vicious man, but if I could have gotten my hands
on that punk, I would have been guilty of murder.
The singing of our “National Anthem” at some of our sports
arenas is a disgrace to the world.
Our beautiful old Southern song “Dixie” is fast fading from
our schools and various organizations that should sing and encourage it to be
sung.
In our world of fantasy and make believe, we teach our youth
history, not like it happened, but like we wanted it to happen. We attach many
untrue happenings to this song and try to attach hate and segregation to its
lyrics.
The name Dixie is probably a bit of Franco-American slang
born in the Mississippi River boat trade, though some say it derived for the
Mason-Dixon Line, the imaginary boundary between the North and South.
It had become a universal nickname for the South long before
the Civil War. But the believed origin was derived from the most endearing of
all commodities – money.
The financial houses of New Orleans had within their bank
notes a $10 bill. On the corner of this bank note was the French word “dix.”
The rough, rugged boatmen and stevedores of the New Orleans waterfront called
these bills “dixies.” Thus, the story goes that because of this, the great
river basin in the lower South acquired the name “Dixieland.”
Many rumors give evidence as to who actually wrote the song “Dixie.”
It was in 1859 before the words made their formal debut in song, though the
early stages of the Southern anthem, or something quite like it, had been sung
on plantations and steamboat decks for generations before.
What actually started out as a minstrel show tune changed
meaning when on Feb. 18, 1861, Jefferson Davis was inducted as president of the
Confederacy in Montgomery.
As a small band wound its way up the hill toward the Capitol
under the direction of Herman Arnold, a naturalized German music teacher, the
small marching band struck up Arnold’s version of “I Wish I Was in Dixieland.”
Soldiers of the 1st Alabama Regiment were the
escort. They were the first to march to the peppy music of the grand tune.
The song was an overnight sensation; even Abraham Lincoln
liked it. Just a little more than four years after its Montgomery debut, when
he was in the final week of his life, President Lincoln took “Dixie” back into
the Union.
It was April 8, 1865. President Lincoln was returning from a
tour of the Union Army camp near Richmond, Va. He had boarded a paddle wheel
steamer, the River Queen, for his return trip to Washington. A Federal Army
band was aboard. Mr. Lincoln asked the director of the band if he knew “Dixie.”
“It has always been a favorite tune of mine,” stated the
president. “And since it is now federal property, we have the right to enjoy
it. Also, the Rebels can now be free to hear it and play it whenever they
choose.”
The federal army band on board the River Queen struck up the
sweet, inspiring tune “Dixie.” When the music had died away, there was much
clapping of hands and other applause.
Within minutes, the River Queen slipped away downstream,
bearing President Lincoln on the last trip of his life.
With all the history that is associated with this grand old
tune, why must our society hide a song that has meant so much in our past?
Nowhere in the lyrics of this old song do I recall anything about hate, race or
slavery.
As I have stated many times, modern day history tends to
fabricate and misquote the actual happenings of yesteryear.
As we sink deeper and deeper into our worlds of fantasy, we
are widening the gap from truth and reality. Our fantasies will soon push us
forever from the pages of our true heritage to the make believe world of
fiction and falsehood.
Our national cemeteries, where those who have fallen in the
defense of their beliefs wait for the final roll call of judgement, will be
sold to the highest foreign bidder. A video factory or something to further
push us on the road to fairyland will fill the landscape that once was hallowed
ground.
Gone forever will be America as we knew it, and the pitiful
few who dare to recite our “National Anthem” will have to do so in top secrecy
for fear of their life.
Sadly, but not with
upbraiding,
The generous deed was
done.
In the storm of the
years that are fading,
No braver battle was
won.
Under the sod and dew
of the evening,
Waiting for the
judgement day,
The remembered graves
of the Blue
And the forgotten
graves of the Gray.
(Singleton, the author
of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of
79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime
resident of Monroeville, he was born during a late-night thunderstorm on Dec.
14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946,
served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat
deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June
28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit
from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. For years, Singleton’s columns,
titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared
in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe
County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first
column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He is
buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of
Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm
records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns
are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part
of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)
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