IN THE TWO decades after World War II, American families took to the roads on vacations that had as much to do with pleasure as with a desire to explore historic sites that reflected the country’s national identity and democratic values. In 1954 alone, around 49 million Americans set out on heritage tours of the United States, including Mount Vernon, Gettysburg, Washington, D.C., and Independence Hall. These sacred places connected Americans with a rich history that allowed them to imagine themselves members of a larger community bound together by common values. Such a connection with history and heritage encouraged good citizenship at the height of America’s ideological struggle against the Soviet Union.1
Although Petersburg was certainly not as popular as Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, and Antietam, families did make it a vacation destination or at least stopped briefly to tour specific sites such as the Crater. Tours of the eastern front of the Petersburg campaign began at Battery 5 and ended at the Crater. Visitors learned about the battle through the physical landscape, which included earthworks in various stages of preservation as well as a series of wayside markers and exhibits. Battery 5 included a trailside exhibit that described the initial Union assaults in June 1864 as well as three thirty-pound Parrot rifles. A representative of the National Park Service at the Crater met visitors, and further information was made available. Visitors could survey additional examples of field artillery tubes, view a small number of exhibits in a field museum, and purchase postcards, including a reproduction of John Elder’s famous painting of the battle, from a vending machine. The park also offered a well-laid path to the entrance and remains of the mine as well as the crater itself. By this time the landscape, beyond what little remained of the actual hole, had lost most of its wartime character owing to the brief existence of the golf course and park service maintenance.2
The wayside markers as well as the guide’s interpretation of the Crater and broader campaign followed the standard story that had taken shape by the time the National Park Service took control of the site. Emphasis was placed on the strategic importance of the city and the evolution of the campaign as well as on the drama of the construction of the tunnel and preparations for the Union assault. Visitors were treated to a vivid description of the explosion and a broad outline of the battle itself in all of its horrific detail. Finally, William Mahone’s counterattack was acknowledged as the dramatic turning point of the morning’s fighting. In all of this, Americans learned little about the crucial role that African Americans played in this battle or of the event’s overall significance in the war after 1863. The literature available at this time offered very little to assist visitors in better understanding the experiences of black soldiers, and the lack of intent to highlight their contribution to the battle made it unlikely that visitors learned anything about the slaughter of these men following the battle.
The battle and the war as a whole, presented thus devoid of any political and social context, reflected an understanding that many American families brought with them to the battlefield, and it was validation of this narrative that they were looking to connect with. Any attempt to provide additional information about the presence of African American soldiers and their treatment at the hands of outraged Confederates would have challenged a consensus view that few Americans were prepared to confront. What visitors could not know was that events on the racial front, beginning with the Supreme Court’s landmark ruling in Brown v. Board of Education, would, in a few short years, challenge America’s collective memory of the war and its fundamental meaning. These challenges eventually led to substantive changes in the way the National Park Service interpreted the Petersburg campaign and the Crater. How visitors experience the park today is reflective of these significant changes.
The 1937 reenactment brought a version of the Crater story to a new generation gearing up for another world war. Compared with the 1903 reenactment, little had changed in the way the landscape of the Crater was interpreted. The establishment of the Petersburg National Military Park—and the uncritical acceptance by its research staff of an interpretation that downplayed race and highlighted the virtues of national reunion—all but guaranteed that visitors would receive a skewed account of the events of July 30, 1864. To a great extent veterans on both sides shaped the way in which the landscape would be interpreted by future generations. Neither side had any interest in reminding the other of the important role black soldiers played in the battle, nor did they raise questions of responsibility or blame for the causes of the war. Without any reference to broader issues of race or questions involving the reasons for the war, the landscape was understood strictly in military terms involving the movement of soldiers—if only of one color. In short, the battlefield became a symbol of shared values, a monument to the sacrifice of veterans on both sides, supported by the government and the American people.
During the two decades after the 1937 reenactment, the Park Service worked to develop its interpretive facilities in order to continue to attract crowds to the battlefields around Petersburg. The clubhouse that had once housed the Crater Battlefield Association was converted into a museum, and an eleven-foot-square relief map of the entire Petersburg siege was installed for the benefit of visitors. In addition, an amplified six-minute recording was mounted in a tree at the Crater, which offered an overview of the battle for visitors as they walked the remains, including the tunnel and other intact fortifications within the battle site. By 1939 there were thirty-five temporary 100-word markers placed along the driving tour route at such sites as Battery Five, Fort Stedman, and the Crater; permanent markers along with self-guided tours of Fort Wadsworth and Battery 5 later replaced these signs. After World War II, an ordnance exhibit of eighteen pieces of artillery was added to the Crater site, including a Coe-horn mortar, a thirty-two-pounder naval gun, and a twelve-pounder breech-loading Whitworth rifle.3
While the Park Service worked vigorously to improve the physical plant and access to sites such as the Crater, little changed in terms of how the battle itself was interpreted. All the improvements reinforced strictly military aspects of the battle, specifically the initial mine explosion and the role of Virginians, including William Mahone and the Virginia brigade of David Weisiger. As a result, visitation to the Petersburg battlefields increased from roughly 150,000 in 1938 to 215,000 in 1955. The superintendent of the park reported optimistically in 1938 that “a review of the monthly summary of registrations reveals that most of the states are represented each month, along with numerous visitors from other countries.” In addition to the general public, the Crater also attracted the attention of visitors from the Army War College, a group of Washington professionals who styled themselves the “Battlefield Crackpates,” and numerous military officers from such countries as Greece, England, France, and Germany. In April 1946, General and Mrs. Dwight D. Eisenhower toured the battlefields around Petersburg.4
Students at the mine leading to the tunnel to the Crater, ca. 1937–1946. The Crater proved to be an attractive destination for Virginia’s white student population, but very few African Americans traveled to the battlefield, given the interpretation of the battle that had evolved by this time. (P-990, Petersburg Museums)
The concentration on improving the physical landscape of the Crater up to and through World War II reinforced an already deeply ingrained interpretation of the battle that highlighted the widely held values of bravery and leadership in the face of unspeakable horrors. Newspapers referenced speeches and publications about the Crater from the turn of the century that implored their audiences to honor “the places where these memorable acts were done,” where “American generals led brave American soldiers in a series of great battles,” and thus all “may be inspired by the courage and heroism they displayed.” Park literature continued this trend through World War II. A small guide published in 1942 characterized the park’s mission as one that “commemorates the valor and devotion of the American soldiers who served around Petersburg during the Revolution and the War Between the States.” The fighting in Europe and the Pacific provided another opportunity to remind visitors of the “new era in the history of America” that emerged out of the Civil War. In 1950 the Park Service published a fifty-six-page booklet titled Petersburg Battlefields authored by Richard W. Lykes, which provided even more detailed coverage of the campaign. The ten pages devoted to the Crater focused in detail on the construction and explosion of the mine followed by the standard outline of the battle. Apart from referencing the South Carolina brigade that had been caught in the explosion, Lykes concentrated on Mahone’s counterattack and the conduct of the Virginia brigade. Not surprisingly, Lykes makes no reference to the slaughter of black soldiers following their surrender.5
The educational value of the Petersburg battlefields was stressed early on as a way to attract visitors and forge connections with school districts around the Commonwealth. As early as 1934, research technician Branch Spalding described the sites as a “potential educational instrument.” As the Petersburg Progress-Index reported, however, the educational staff outlined an agenda that fell in line with the Park Service’s overall interpretation:
The possibility of making teaching more effective was stressed by him [Spalding] in his explanation of the field and park museum, for they will offer to pupils and teachers more about the siege of Petersburg, the beginning of modern warfare and other things than can be secured in books alone. He showed how the park can be helpful in the study of geography, in history, economics, botany and animal life. The importance of streams, of bridges and ravines in the history of the nine-month siege of Petersburg and all warfare was shown too, by Mr. Spalding in an interesting series of six timed maps of the Battle of the Crater. Such maps will be part of the educational features of the museums, giving the locations of troops and their movements at specific times.
This narrow focus left no room for any meaningful analysis of how the presence of USCTs during the battle connected to the broader issues of race and emancipation during the Civil War. There is very little reference to any park contact with black schools in the Petersburg area beyond a visit by thirty-two students from the Franklin County (colored) Training School in April 1937. The park’s records indicate a single meeting of the Negro Masons in September 1938.6
On July 3, 1956, the Petersburg National Military Park celebrated its thirtieth anniversary with an “Establishment Day” ceremony in the visitor center, which was to be formally dedicated as part of the program. The principal speaker was Franklin W. Smith, whose service as the president of the Petersburg Battlefield Park stretched back to 1926. Smith offered enthusiastic remarks about the hard work carried out to improve the physical layout and interpretive services of Petersburg’s battlefields; his “treasured” map of the grounds showed clearly the amount of land acquired by the federal government, from 346 acres in 1926 to 1,505.44 acres. Although speakers generally reflected on the past, the ceremony also offered the opportunity to discuss a new long-term plan aimed at improving every park in the system.7
The most significant development was the Department of the Interior’s authorization of the Mission 66 Development Program, which brought specific improvements to the Petersburg parks, including a new visitor center that was completed in May 1967 and increased access through roads and bridges. A new interpretive program that included additional audio stations and a ten-stop tour that began at Battery 5 and ended at the Crater was also created. The additional audio stations supplemented those already being utilized at Fort Stedman and the Crater; two more were set up at the tunnel entrance, and another described the Confederate counterattacks. The broader goal of Mission 66—as it related to the park’s Civil War battlefields—was to prepare the sites for the large crowds expected in connection with the nation’s Civil War centennial celebrations, which would run from 1961 to 1965.8
Americans were exuberant at the prospect of the upcoming Civil War centennial celebrations. In 1957 Congress authorized the Civil War Centennial Commission, choosing Ulysses S. Grant III to serve as its chairman. With the help of Karl S. Betts, a former advertising executive who served as executive director, the commission hoped to tap into this centennial excitement by concentrating on the shared values that had come to define the nation’s collective memory of the war by emphasizing sectional reconciliation and the bravery of the men who fought on both sides—and by avoiding potential controversy. The centennial offered Americans a chance to unfurl Confederate battle flags and ponder the character and heroism of such iconic figures as Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson. Families could watch as reenactors brought to life memorable battles such as First Manassas and Gettysburg, where lessons could be taught about the common bonds of bravery and patriotism that most white Americans had come to believe had animated the men on both sides.9
A few monuments can be found at the Crater. This crowd (ca. 1932–1946) stands next to a monument to the Second Pennsylvania Heavy Artillery, and a monument to William Mahone can be seen in the background. (Petersburg Museums)
In 1955 the Virginia Civil War Centennial, Inc., was given a corporate charter by the Commonwealth to organize events that would commemorate some of the bloodiest engagements of the war. The organization’s preliminary plan, authored by Charles T. Moses, echoed the themes of reconciliation and patriotism that defined the work of the national commission:
The Civil War Centennial is a commemorative effort of greater magnitude than any ever before undertaken by the Commonwealth of Virginia. The Virginia Civil War Commission’s plans are designed to interpret and explain this cataclysmic period of history to our own people and those who visit us and to call attention to the heroism, the idealism and the devotion to principle displayed during the War. The Commission hopes that a theme of moral and spiritual regeneration will run through all of its activities. Virginia has an opportunity to attract millions of out-of-state visitors through an exciting Centennial program. But Virginia has an even greater opportunity to inspire these people to be as dedicated to great ideals in a time of peace as our forbears were in a time of war. This is the time for Virginia to emphasize the victory of character won by Lee and others in rising above the horrors of war and the shame of defeat.10
In a publication made available to Virginia’s teachers, the commission suggested that “the Centennial is no time for finding fault or placing blame or fighting the issues all over again.” Blame for the war could be found on all sides. According to the manual, the deep divisions that spawned the war “grew out of hate, greed and fear, ignorance and apathy, selfishness and emotionalism—evils from which this generation is not free.” Teachers were instructed to impart to their students a dramatic narrative of the war by concentrating on the soldiers and the battlefield as well as on the broad themes of “Heroes and Patriotism.” Not surprisingly, Robert E. Lee stood out as the central figure of the war: “Lee’s words should have as much meaning to Virginians today as they did in reconstruction times.”11
Individual counties and cities organized their own committees, which reported to the state commission. In Petersburg, Richard T. Wilson III, chairman of the city’s committee, set out to promote a small slate of activities beginning with an opening ceremony to honor the centennial along with a parade and rededication program. A “camera club” contest was also designed to furnish slides of area sites for the local committee. Not surprisingly, the Crater battlefield was singled out for attention, and the local committee pledged to cooperate with the National Park Service to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the battle. A reflection of its popularity was clearly visible in a brochure published by the Petersburg Chamber of Commerce in 1961. The brochure featured Elder’s famous painting on the cover and advertised the city as the “birthplace of total war.” It is unknown whether those involved planned a reenactment of the battle, but given the popularity of the two previous events, in 1903 and 1937, it is likely that the subject was discussed.12
Even as Americans geared up for celebration, however, problems festered just below the surface. The growing civil rights movement presented a direct challenge to the way white Americans wished to remember the war by highlighting continued racial injustice as a result of the unfinished business of the Civil War and Reconstruction. As much as white Americans wanted to celebrate and remember their preferred interpretation of the war, the continued problem of race served as a reminder that not all was well. Indeed, the images of Lee and Jackson were being challenged on a daily basis by the names of Martin L. King, Rosa Parks, Medgar Evers, and Emmett Till, as well as by news of school desegregation, lunch counter sit-ins, and Freedom Riders. The civil rights movement presented a challenge to centennial event organizers and participants by casting a shadow on the nation’s self-proclaimed status as the leader of the free world at the height of the cold war.
By 1960 the nation had witnessed violence and protest following the 1954 Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education and school desegregation along with the Montgomery bus boycott in Alabama. In the spring of that year, in an effort to desegregate department store lunch counters, students staged sit-ins beginning in Greensboro, North Carolina, and within a short period of time 115 stores had been integrated in over 100 cities, including four national chains. While individual protestors and organizations may have been focused narrowly on “the prize” of basic civil rights, their collective actions served to turn the centennial celebrations into a contested landscape where the accepted historical narrative could be challenged and revised.13
The decision of the Civil War Centennial Commission to hold its annual assembly in the city of Charleston, South Carolina, in April 1961 as part of the commemoration of the attack on Fort Sumter set the tone for the challenges that would be faced throughout the four years of commemoration. Segregation policies in Charleston meant that black commission members from Northern states would not be able to stay at the Francis Marion Hotel. A public relations fiasco was avoided with a last-minute decision and assistance by the Kennedy administration to move the proceedings to a federal military facility outside Charleston.14
The reenactment of First Manassas that took place in July 1961 reflected the growing racial divide between the struggle for civil rights and the centennial even more clearly. Reenactments proved to be the most controversial forms of commemoration; in addition to the cost and difficulties associated with preparation, national commission leaders were skeptical that they could accurately depict the horror of the battlefield. This did not stop organizers from scheduling a three-day event, and while investors failed to earn a profit, it did attract over 3,000 reenactors and an audience that numbered over 100,000. Critics of the purely celebratory and one-sided character of these events could not help but draw a connection between the moral high ground of the Freedom Riders who were viciously attacked in Alabama and the celebratory tone of the centennial. “The war was in vain, the celebration is a blasphemy and a disgrace,” wrote Rabbi Bernard Bamberger on June 20, 1961, “if a century later the Negro’s right to full equality may still be limited by prejudice enacted into law or perpetuated by custom.” The sight of thousands of white Southerners waving Confederate flags and shouting the “rebel yell” following the defeat of Union troops on the battlefield only fueled the revulsion of black Americans and other critics.15
The response by African Americans to the Manassas reenactment was part of a much broader critique of the centennial. In May 1961 African American historian Lawrence D. Reddick, who had recently been fired from his post at Alabama State College in Montgomery for comments in support of civil rights, addressed a group of teachers in New York City urging them to resist the myth making that was being used by centennial planners to challenge those who were pushing for civil rights. Reddick went on to ask President Kennedy to issue a statement calling on black Americans to honor the centennial with a critical eye. The veteran civil rights and labor leader A. Philip Randolph was even more direct: “There is no doubt that this whole Civil War Centennial commemoration is a stupendous brain-washing exercise to make the Civil War leaders of the South on par with the Civil War leaders of the North, and to strike a blow against men of color and human dignity.” The authors of a pamphlet published by the Vanguard Society of America echoed Randolph’s sentiments: centennial planners had set out to do nothing less than “to build up the Dixiecrats, to put billions of new dollars into their hands, to offset civil rights gains in the South and to destroy the broad mass movement for Negro-white unity for civil rights.”16
As part of their critical assessment of the centennial, African Americans offered a robust counter-memory of the Civil War that highlighted the importance of slavery in bringing about secession and war, a bottom-up narrative that emphasized their own roles as full historical agents in achieving their freedom as well as the sacrifice and heroism of black soldiers on the battlefield. Popular accounts of USCTs benefited from the scholarship of Benjamin Quarles and Dudley T. Cornish, both of whom published important studies in the 1950s. Focus on these soldiers not only worked to correct the historical record, it forged strong connections between those who had fought and died for freedom in the 1860s and those who were struggling to gain the fruits of that freedom a century later.17
Scholarly work was filtered down to the black American middle class through newspapers and popular magazines. The Richmond Afro-American offered its readers a continual stream of articles focusing on a wide range of subjects relating to black contributions to the Civil War, especially the history of USCTs in Virginia. In early 1961 an article appeared criticizing a series of essays written by popular historian Bruce Catton, which the author believed failed to account for the role “played by colored Africans.” The author corrected this oversight by referencing some of the earliest attempts to recruit black men into the Union army as well as the role of Frederick Douglass in convincing Lincoln of the need to utilize this untapped source. “Their fight was for freedom and against an enemy,” asserted this writer, reminding readers that the enemy “gave no quarter to white officers or troops in colored regiments.” That the newspaper’s offices were located in the former capital of the Confederacy also offered ample opportunity to remind readers of the abandonment of Richmond on April 2, 1865, and of the celebrations that ensued when USCTs entered the city.18
Arguably, many African Americans learned about the Civil War in the pages of Ebony and Jet. Both magazines strove to encourage a new political and historical consciousness among their readers by relating the actions of black Civil War soldiers. Ebony commissioned Lerone Bennett Jr. to write a series of articles on black history, including a June 1962 essay titled, “The Negro in the Civil War.” Bennett would later become known for his harsh critique of Lincoln’s racial outlook and of the steps that led to the issuing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Bennett stressed the steps that ordinary African Americans took to win their freedom and offered a thorough overview of the battles that USCTs took part in, including the Crater. Well-known lithographs depicting black soldiers in battle usually accompanied such articles, and one issue of Ebony published in 1968 featured on its cover black men in the military uniforms of previous American wars. Although early 1960s’ articles addressing the history of African American service in the Union army left readers with a sense of optimism about the past and present, the escalation of the war in Vietnam and growing tensions on the racial front left some doubting the possibility of real change. The past, after all, was in some respects dispiriting. “When the Civil War ended,” asserted one editorial, “black soldiers found that they had moved up just one small notch.” While they enjoyed the benefits of legal citizenship as a result of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth amendments, their lack of work and empty pockets meant that “they had exchanged legal slavery for economic slavery.”19
For many readers, the history lessons were nothing less than an awakening. Writing from Brooklyn, Marie Josey lamented the fact that Ebony was not being read by more white Americans. While Josey was disturbed by the tendency of whites to think of “Negroes [as]‘docile’ slaves,” she admitted that “this was my conception of the Negro until I started subscribing to your magazine.” Others, like James E. Haynes of Cleveland, honed in on the feelings of empowerment that these stories engendered, writing that they “lend encouragement and moral support to our stride-breaking brothers in the South.” Published letters suggest that, indeed, the majority of readers lived in Northern states. Even though this region experienced significant racial upheaval throughout this time, the focus of the articles on the Civil War South allowed Northern black readers to identify more closely with hardships elsewhere.20
Jet magazine also kept readers apprised of centennial events, even offering commentary that challenged the way the war was being commemorated, but its history features were more subdued compared to Ebony. A regular column featured key moments in the Civil War, including the expected list of battles in which USCTs fought. The charge of the Fourth Division at the Crater was described as a “gallant” one that would have succeeded if not for the failure of “Federal support.” Human-interest stories such as Rev. Herman White’s application to the Veterans Administration for “war bonuses” owed to three ancestors who fought in the Civil War served as a lesson to readers that they could empower themselves and uncover a personal connection to ancestors who fought through accessing documents available in the National Archives.21
For young civil rights activists like Frank Smith, who would later establish the African American Civil War Museum in Washington, D.C., the introduction to the history of USCTs occurred while organizing voter registration drives in Mississippi during this period. Meeting a descendant of a USCT highlighted the “contradiction between the lack of civil rights among blacks today with the sacrifices made by black men during the Civil War.” Over the next few years Smith nurtured a close connection between civil rights activism and history while attending college in Mississippi, where he was introduced to the scholarly work of Cornish, Quarrels, and John Hope Franklin.22
While white Americans’ interest in the centennial declined as a result of events on the political and racial front, the NAACP, the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History, founded by Carter G. Woodson in 1915, and other black organizations stepped up their attacks in 1963 by asserting their own black counter-memory of the centennial of the Emancipation Proclamation, continuing to make use of stories about armed black soldiers. The Crisis boldly argued that the proclamation was the culmination of a process that “finally finished opening the door that Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s pioneer regiment had pried loose in the Sea Islands of South Carolina.” Howard Meyer went on to chastise the public school system for failing to educate students on the important role that USCTs had played in maintaining the Union and ending slavery. He also criticized the historical profession, which he believed continued to intentionally ignore this subject. Articles about black soldiers found in the pages of the Crisis during the centennial of the Emancipation Proclamation were as much about “integrating America’s heritage” as they were about emphasizing that African Americans had through their own actions demonstrated that the “Negro race deserved to be free.”23
This resurgence of interest in the contributions of African Americans in the Civil War eventually filtered down to a limited number of classrooms across the country. Publications such as the Negro History Bulletin and new textbooks encouraged students to take pride in their collective past and an interest in the centennial. Observance of Negro History Week throughout this period included numerous appeals to students to remember that “Negro soldiers who wore the Union blue” made up “ten per cent of the total army.” These “Freedom Lessons” tended to offer a more moderate message, encouraging young black Americans to identify with and even to revere the nation’s democratic institutions and “the ideals of America.”24
Regardless of the Kennedy administration’s lackluster performance in the area of civil rights legislation, black and white activists continued to challenge the limits of the nation’s racial tolerance as well as ongoing centennial events. While King marched on Washington, D.C., in July 1963, crowds gathered at Gettysburg to remember the “High Water-Mark.” In contrast to the crowd that had witnessed the “rebel yell” back in July 1961 at Manassas, audiences at Gettysburg witnessed a contest for control of the meaning of the battle. Governor George Wallace of Alabama used the occasion to deliver a states’ rights address next to a monument to Alabamians who fought in the battle. Northern governors from Pennsylvania and New Jersey countered that the war was fought to end slavery and that the battle’s dead could not rest until full political rights were granted to every American.
The centennial anniversary of Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation proved difficult to control as critics pointed out the wide gulf between the promise of freedom and the present reality. The editors of the journal Freedomways predicted that “the world will take note of the fact that the system of segregation and discrimination continues to deprive some 20 million Negro Americans of their rightful status as citizens in the political, economic and social life of the nation one hundred years after slavery’s end was decreed by President Abraham Lincoln.” In addition to the introduction of emancipation, other significant events, including the assassination of President Kennedy in November 1963, the civil rights agenda of Lyndon B. Johnson’s administration (which culminated in the Voting Rights Act of 1964), and the nation’s growing involvement in Vietnam alienated even more white Americans from taking part in centennial events.25
By 1964 centennial organizers in Petersburg were forced to acknowledge that the general public that had lost interest in commemorating the Civil War as well as more dramatic changes in the racial and political structure of the city. The population of Petersburg in 1960 was approximately 19,000 whites and 17,000 African Americans and yet, as in many Southern cities, the former controlled local political power. Beginning in 1960 Petersburg erupted in civil rights demonstrations that continued throughout the decade. Leadership from area churches such as Gillfield Baptist Church, led by Rev. Wyatt Tee Walker, the local chapter of the NAACP, and area schools such as Virginia State College, with its rich history stemming back to its founding during the Readjuster era, all worked to encourage and support the protest movement.26
The early flashpoint for organized protest in Petersburg was the desegregation of the city’s William R. McKenney Central Library, formerly the home of William Mahone after the Civil War. The segregated library restricted black patrons’ access to resources by forcing them to use a side entrance and a poorly lit basement. The remaining floors and library stacks were reserved for whites. Led by the Reverends Walker and R. G. Williams, 140 demonstrators from Virginia State College and Peabody High School took seats on the first two floors of the library on February 27, 1960. Walker approached the counter of Petersburg’s central library and asked for a biography of General Robert E. Lee written by Douglas Southall Freeman. In response, the library closed for four days to all patrons, and the city council, despite pleas to end library segregation, passed a strict anti-trespassing ordinance to discourage protests. On March 17, fifteen black patrons entered the library’s front door and took seats, which led to the arrest of eleven.27
Following the sit-in, protests spread to other public sites, including the Blue Bird Theater and the Trailways Bus Terminal Restaurant, which was forced to desegregate on August 15. A series of visits by Martin Luther King Jr. led to voter drives throughout the city and helped to maintain pressure on the city council. The following May a group of Freedom Riders disembarked at the very same terminal and were hosted overnight without incident. By 1964 activists had registered voters, challenged biased hiring practices and, most important, prepared the way for the inclusion of African Americans in positions of civic authority. That same year the first African American was elected to Petersburg’s city council.28
The combination of social and political unrest in the city, along with broader national trends, dampened enthusiasm for an elaborate commemoration of the battle of the Crater. Those committed to remembering the war had to deal not only with the theme of emancipation and fewer Confederate victories to celebrate but also with the recruitment of black Americans into the Union army, their introduction to the fighting in 1864, and unpleasant episodes such as the massacre at Fort Pillow. Given these conditions, the lack of any concerted effort to draw attention to a battle that highlighted many of the themes now being emphasized within the black community is understandable. While the 1903 and 1937 reenactments had been able to easily steer clear of the divisive issues of emancipation and race, the racial unrest in Petersburg and changes to local government would have made it unlikely that organizers could pull off an event that celebrated white Virginians and ignored the presence of USCTs. Indeed, a large-scale ceremony commemorating the Crater would have been an ideal event for individuals and organizations interested in introducing a black counter-memory to remember emancipation, honor the contributions of African Americans, and draw connections to the ongoing civil rights struggle.
While it can be easily explained why the Petersburg Civil War Centennial Commission resisted organizing a reenactment, what is remarkable is just how little was done to mark the 100th anniversary of the Crater. Even without a reenactment, other examples of pageantry would have been possible, including flag presentations, infantry drill, and even parades of soldiers in Civil War uniform. The ceremony that did take place involved little more than the formal dedication of a small marker commemorating the battle presented by Petersburg mayor Marvin W. Gill Jr. on behalf of the people of the city to the Petersburg National Battlefield Park. Most newspaper accounts of the ceremony were relatively brief; in addition to providing a basic outline of the ceremony, they mentioned that the Park Service was planning to restore the entrance to the tunnel.
The lack of enthusiasm for the monument dedication was borne out in an editorial that had appeared the day before. The author was relegated to having to remind his readers that “cognizance should be taken of the best known event which occurred in Petersburg during its ordeal of 1864–65 and indeed during the long span of the community’s history.” The writer admitted that residents of the city could “plead innocent” to “having a burning interest” in centennial events and that he himself “felt apologetic about our whole performance.” In conclusion, the writer struggled to find a sufficient reason for the public to attend the commemoration at all: “As a matter of fact, there are some people who are interested whether they have some sentimental concern or simply feel that good citizenship requires an awareness of the past, present, and future of a community. No one of these three reasons should be excluded.” Newspaper photographs show a small number of people in attendance.29
By not holding an elaborate commemorative ceremony, interested parties sought to protect their preferred interpretation of the battle that celebrated the heroism of white Confederates, primarily from Mahone’s Virginia brigade. A decision to hold a more prominent event would have invited challenges to the way public memory of the battle had been used so effectively to reinforce white political control of the state by ignoring the steps that African Americans had taken during the Civil War to secure their own freedom and civil rights.
Centennial events continued into 1965, but the crowds were small and their enthusiasm diminished as both domestic and foreign issues took center stage. Confederate flags had been unfurled, but they now stood atop Southern state capital buildings, not simply as a symbol of “Massive Resistance” but also as a defense of a past that had come under increasing attack. While most civil rights activists between 1961 and 1965 concentrated on the more immediate goal of political empowerment rather than on challenging popular perceptions of the Civil War, their actions would lead in the decades to follow to significant changes in the historical landscape.
In 1967 Travis J. L. Stephens completed an M.A. thesis at Virginia State College (now University) on USCTs at the Crater. Relying heavily on the small body of scholarship that kept the history of this subject alive within academic circles, the thesis offered a detailed tactical account of the Fourth Division during the battle. Stephens strays from his military focus only a few times, but toward the end of his work he offers an assessment that, read in the context of Petersburg in 1967, suggests a perspective that extends beyond 1865: “One need no longer question the ability of the Negro to fight, for at each of the battles described, he not only fought, but died valiantly.” The completion of such a thesis in close proximity to the Crater battlefield at this point in time suggests that a new generation of African Americans had discovered Civil War history and pointed to the possibility of renewing Petersburg’s Civil War heritage within the black community.30
