Talking Civil War with a fellow Jew on the Franklin battlefield

Chuck Byrn and I on the Lotz House porch

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On a sun-kissed morning in Middle Tennessee, I power walk along Cleburne Street in Franklin, halfway to my starting point at Fort Granger on the north side of the serpentine Harpeth River. On Nov. 30, 1864, this ground — a residential neighborhood today — became a bloody hellscape during the Battle of Franklin.

I hang a right into a small park, passing cannons marking a U.S. Army artillery position, foundation stones of the old Fountain Carter cotton gin, and brilliantly colored trees just showing off. Then I spot a pipe-smoking dude in a vest, checkered shirt, and blue jeans.

“Hey, Chuck.”

Chuck Byrn often communes with the spirits 
in this park in Franklin, Tenn.

It’s my Civil War pal Chuck Byrn, a docent/tour guide at the historic Lotz House on Columbia Pike. He’s a proud Jew and a 110 percent colorful character. Byrn is eager to park himself on a bench, yards from the stony path marking U.S. Army earthworks of 1864. His back aches, the result of all that weightlifting from his high school football playing days long ago.

“I love this place,” he says as we stare at hallowed ground. This is where Byrn often comes to commune with the spirits.

Besides the Civil War, Byrn and I share a common heritage.

“You know I’m 2.6 percent Ashkenazi Jew,” I tell him as we walk to the Lotz House.” At least that’s what my 23andMe DNA test says. 

At the Lotz House, 75 yards or so behind the Union line, Byrn waves me inside. He shows off a six-pound solid shot unearthed in the side yard with several others and invites me to look around. In a corner, under Plexiglas, stands a large cooking pot containing 10,000 Minies, found years ago by a relic hunter. I wonder who counted ‘em. 

Outside, on the Lotz porch, Byrn and I shoot selfies and enjoy small talk. Then he greets guests from the comfort of a wooden bench and takes several tokes on his pipe. 

“Flip that sign around to ‘Open,’” he tells a man from Colorado. Then I bid Chuck goodbye.

“I need to get back to Fort Granger.”

“I love that place,” he says.

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You might read more about Byrn in my book, “A Civil War Road Trip Of A Lifetime,” coming spring 2023. 🙏

Let’s keep history alive. 👊

In a small park along the Columbia Pike in Franklin, Tenn., a cannon marks a U.S. Army artillery position.
The stony path marks the line of Union earthworks.

Foundation stones of wartime Fountain Carter cotton gin — the site of intense fighting
on Nov. 30, 1864.

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My adventure to graveyard where a Confederate heroine rests

We suspect this is the grave of Alice Thompson in Dungan Cemetery in Thompson's Station, Tenn. (CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

Using my backwoods instincts honed by decades of easy living in the suburbs, I hacked through brambles, deftly eluded stumps, and climbed over fallen tree limbs to find the ancient cemetery where Alice Thompson rests in Thompson’s Station, Tenn. (The GPS of my new friend Bob, who accompanied me, helped a little, too. 😀)

Initially flummoxed by barbed-wire fences, we found a gap and exploited it to the max, making our way to a flat patch deep in the woods. Under a canopy of black walnut and cedar trees in Dungan Cemetery, we discovered the gravestone of two of Alice’s four children, Elijah and Mary, who died in 1867. 

That's me at the grave of Alice's children.

Nearby, steps from an old screw-top beer bottle, we found the gravestone under which we suspect Alice's remains rest. She died at 23 in 1870 of an unknown cause.

On March 5, 1863, as the Battle of Thompson’s Station raged around her, Alice found refuge in the cramped basement of the Homestead Manor plantation mansion astride Columbia Pike.  Not quite 17, Thompson—daughter of a physician for whom the town was named—peered from a window while cannons boomed and the muskets of grim-faced soldiers belched volleys of lead.

When a wounded 3rd Arkansas Cavalry color-bearer collapsed a few feet away, Thompson rushed from the basement and grabbed the soldier’s flag, waving it over her head.

" “Boys,” shouted a colonel, “a woman has your flag!"

An artillery shell landed near her, spraying Thompson with dirt, but it failed to explode. Then a Rebel soldier escorted the energized teen back into the basement, where she rejoined family members of the owner, his slaves, and neighbors.

Her 15 seconds of battlefield glory were over.

Bob Ireland with the gravestone for two of Alice Thompson's children, Elijah and Mary.

Gravestone of two of of Alice’s young children, Elijah and Mary. They died in 1867.
 Alice died in 1870 at 23.

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See battle damage on house in Sharpsburg, Maryland

Historic house at 111 East Chapline Street in Sharpsburg, Md.

Artillery damage visible near a second-story window.

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Artillery damage to stairs railing.

The circa-1854 Gloss House on East Chapline Street in Sharpsburg, Md., was damaged by artillery and gunfire in September 1862. A U.S. Army artillery shot penetrated an outside wall and broke a stairs railing — that damage and bloodstains are visible inside. Over the past 40 years, I’ve visited Sharpsburg dozens of times but didn’t know about the battle-damaged house until longtime Save Historic Antietam Foundation board member Dennis Frye pointed it out on a tour during the Center For Civil War Photography’s excellent Image of War seminar. Bullet damage appears on a window frame in the rear. Federal artillery struck the roof of this house. 

Private property. Do not trespass.

            GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Battle-damaged house at 111 East Chapline Street. 

Artillery damage on side of the house on East Chapline Street

Longtime historian Dennis Frye points to an inscription on a brick.

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