I decided long ago to stop writing about the current president. He lies more than Tommy Flanagan. He is more difficult to pin down than Slippery Stuff Gel. (Some of you know what I mean.) So instead, I’ll write about Howard Porter.
Do you remember Porter? Probably not. He was awarded the Most Outstanding Player honor for the 1971 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament, even though his Villanova squad lost in the championship game to UCLA. Only, he didn’t really win it. And Villanova didn’t really finish second. If you are old enough, you might remember actually watching that game, but if you check the record books, you will find that Porter’s award and the Wildcats’ results were both vacated. Porter had signed with an agent before the end of the tournament and thus was ruled ineligible after the fact.
It’s easy to remark on how silly that all seems. How sports should be decided on the field and everything else is political nonsense. Talk to Ben Johnson or Lance Armstrong or Reggie Bush. I imagine they all think they won. But, as recent events have made clear yet again, cleaning up the historical record is of great consequence, and doing it sooner rather than later is always preferable.
I only have a layman’s understanding of treason, but I’m pretty certain that Robert E. Lee committed it. To be fair, I learned this in American public schools, and had I instead learned it from – I don’t know – maybe a retweet on The Daily Stormer, perhaps I would be equally certain that Lee showed up at Appomattox expecting to receive Grant’s surrender but that a typo inserted into the articles of surrender by some deep state operative resulted in the south’s capitulation. But none of that matters because Robert E. Lee did not commit treason. He was never tried for the crime, and therefore, never found guilty. President Andrew Johnson wanted to pursue these charges, but Ulysses Grant, who accepted Lee’s surrender, worked tirelessly to ensure that this did not happen.
Grant’s rationale is open to some historical interpretation, but it essentially came down to a few things. It is entirely possible that Lee would not have surrendered when he did if he was not given assurances that he and his leading generals would be spared prosecution. Even if he had surrendered, the rancor that would have been generated by any trial of confederate leaders may well have made a bad situation worse. Grant could logically assume that his offer of amnesty was the best way to stave off continuing violence and death. It is also likely that Grant respected Lee as a worthy and honorable rival and that a code amongst military men figured into his decision.
By every account I have ever read, Ulysses Grant was a fine man, far more admirable than Andrew Johnson, who may have been motivated by other, less noble sentiments. But I’m wondering today if Johnson wasn’t right.
Had Lee been tried for treason, we might have more clarity on the violent debates that rage today. Perhaps he would not have been convicted, but if he had been, there would almost certainly be no public statue to argue over. Of course, there would some who would see him as a martyr. You can’t please everyone. There might still be statues of Stonewall Jackson and J.E.B Stuart, confederate generals who died in battle before the end of the war and would probably have never received any form of judicial verdict. This doesn’t solve every problem.
It’s easy to speak on what should have happened at the end of a most horrific war from a distance of 150 years. Grant and his colleagues acted in what they thought was the best interest of the country, just as Gerald Ford did when he pardoned Richard Nixon. I’m wondering today whether such decisions are supremely short-sighted. An official record of crime and punishment matters a great deal. Robert E. Lee – and Richard Nixon – could have had their cases adjudicated. If found guilty, each could have been pardoned after the verdict. Many would have declared this an injustice – or at the very least a waste of taxpayer time and money – but we would have a record on which to rely.
Future decision-makers would be well-advised to keep that in mind. For, as Jimmy Gator (as voiced by Philip Baker Hall and written by Paul Thomas Anderson in Magnolia) says “We may through with the past, but the past ain’t through with us.”
I wonder if Howard Porter has any thoughts on this.