Recently, a friend asked me for my origin story; he did not mean my personal family details. He wanted to know what brought me to be standing outside on a cold winter day sharing what I know about women during the American Civil War: who they were, what they did, and why it matters.
When I was eight years old, I went to Abraham Lincoln’s boyhood home in southern Indiana. I remember looking around, amazed that he had gone from this rough cabin to President of the United States. The idea hooked me on history at that moment. I read about his wife Mary, but she was peripheral to what I learned about him and his role in history.
Fast forward to college, where I studied to be a teacher. My third-grade teacher had an immense impact on who I wanted to be as a professional. She was enthusiastic about what she did, caring for her students in the process. I knew that was the type of teacher I wanted to be, one that could draw my audience into the excitement of learning.
During my teaching career, I began volunteering at a nature center and living history site. This experience brought me to realize that history and science are two sides of the same coin. The story is more completely told when you have the perspective of both. You can better understand the importance of the prairie grasses when you connect that to the life of the people living among it.
Luetta Coonrod leads an American Civil War cooking class at Graue Mill and Museum, in Oak Brook, Illinois. Photo by 10th Illinois, Co. H: “The Sandwich Guards.”
Luetta Coonrod holds the flag for the 10th Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry at the American Legion Post 76’s Veterans Day ceremony at Memorial Park, in Wheaton, Illinois. Photo by Paul Michna.
This is when I began to notice a “them versus us” attitude. Those who worked historically seemed to have little-to-no acceptance of those who worked with environmental science, and science-based interpreters appeared to feel the same way about historians. Loving both disciplines as I do, I found the divide difficult to understand. I tried to bridge the gap between the two groups, with limited success.
The connections between history and science became more entwined for me. The more I saw, the more I did, the more I read, the deeper I could see into the topic. I felt my own comprehension build bridges between what I knew and what I was learning. I wanted that experience for my students, both in and out of the classroom. I started drawing on those links when I taught a program, whether historical or environmental. I saw the light of understanding in ways that I had not anticipated, and I was enthralled. All learning should be like this, full of possibilities and delight.
I earned my master’s degree in teaching, with a focus on biological science. I began working as a non-formal educator, which included facilitating teacher workshops for their professional development. I thought if I could reach the teachers with my discovery, the impact would grow exponentially. If I taught twenty teachers, and each of them taught twenty-five students, it would be as if I had taught 500 students. This would lead to more learning, and that was my goal.
The story of women in interpretation is directly tied to this idea of needing a broader perspective. Too often, we have lost sight of the impact of women in our lives. As a child, I did not see Mary Lincoln’s voice as being relevant to what her husband did. As an adult, I know how crucial it is to truly understand what happened in their lives and within the broader context. Science can teach us details that have been lost within the larger historic picture. Mary Lincoln may have been diabetic; this condition would explain her mood swings. Knowing this possible medical history changes how we see the relationship between Abraham and Mary, as well as with their children.
Over the years, I have explored, studied, and sometimes stumbled over the story of women in history and science. Dr. Mary Edwards Walker was the second female doctor in the United States, and she remains the only female Congressional Medal of Honor winner. Her first medical practice failed because people would not accept a female doctor. She had to fight for her right to be a doctor during the Civil War, because it was believed that she was incapable of handling the daily work and trauma. She worked as a nurse before being allowed to be the surgeon she had trained to be. After spending time in a prison camp in Richmond, Virginia, she continued her medical vocation. Later in life, she focused on women’s rights and suffrage. She was ostracized for doing what she thought was best, but she did not let that deter her. Her story is little known, despite her heroic actions.
Speaking of stumbling across a treasure, I found this story only recently. Cathay Williams was enslaved in Missouri, where she learned the uses of plants for medicine and cooking from her mother. After she was freed by the Union army, she used that knowledge to work as a cook. She spent the last years of the war working with limited resources to provide for herself and the army for whom she toiled. After the war, she disguised herself as a man, William Cathay, and fought as a Buffalo Soldier out west. She is the only known female Buffalo Soldier, and there is a statue in her honor. When she was honorably discharged from the Army, she again turned to her cooking skills.
Albert Cashier came over from Ireland to work in a shoe factory in Belvidere, IL with his uncle. When the 95th Illinois Infantry formed, Albert joined. He fought throughout the war, in engagements large and small. After the war, Albert worked as a handyman in the town of Saunemin, IL. After Albert broke his leg, it was discovered that he had been assigned female at birth. Jennie Hodgers was Albert, earning a better livelihood and having more rights than would have been possible as a female. It was for at least these reasons that Jennie got off the boat as Albert: the job and the security that it entailed.
A photograph of Dr. Mary Edwards Walker, wearing her Medal of Honor. Photo by National Park Service.
The historic marker for Buffalo Soldier Cathay Williams, in Trinidad, Colorado. Photo by the Historical Marker Database.
Albert D.J. Cashier, photographed in 1864 and in 1913 for the Harvard Independent. Photo by the Harvard Independent and The Irish Times.
Albert D.J. Cashier (on right) with an unnamed fellow soldier in the 95th Illinois Infantry. Photo by RootsWeb.
While Albert’s story is probably one of the better known of women disguising themselves as men to fight during the war, this story is only one of many that have come to light through time. Women worked many jobs during the war, both at the front lines and at home. They ran farms and businesses, worked in offices and factories. They raised their families and sent care packages to their men who were fighting. Women took on tasks as laundresses, seamstresses, secretaries, and nurses. Shortly after the war, books were written so that their story would not be forgotten. Unfortunately, many of those books and tales have gotten lost over time. One reason why I do what I do is to bring their stories to life again for audiences both formal and non-formal.
These stories are examples of how widening our own perspectives can help us better reach our listeners. The more connections we make for ourselves, the more likely we are to strike that spark within others. It does not matter if the group is a traditional classroom with students or an impromptu walk. If we find a way to incorporate all sides of the story, we can help our learners embrace the knowledge that we want to share with them. We all love what we do; let that shine through each encounter.
I am sometimes asked where I find the information that I share. I read as many books as I can, as one reference can lead me to discovering a new story. Today, there are countless resources available online as well. Bibliographies and notes within books are good places to start the search. When I travel, I look at the foundation stories that a place is trying to tell. Conversations with others can be a wellspring of new thoughts and direction. When a topic grabs your attention, run with that passion. Ask questions! You never know exactly where you will be at the end of your travels.
May Watts (The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL) and Rachel Carson (Silent Spring) have been a bridge from our interpretive past to our present. May their torch light our way to the future. My career has traveled from traditional classroom teacher to non-formal educator and returned to a classroom. My learning is ongoing, from history to science and back again, and I would not have it any other way.
Albert D.J. Cashier’s headstone at Sunny Slope Cemetery, in Saunemin, Illinois. Photo by Find-A-Grave.
