Brain cancer, battlefields and lessons in life

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The first call from my friend Nick Picerno came before Christmas, amid the joys and anxieties of the holiday. I didn’t answer, knowing that any call with “Big Nick” would require at least an hour of my time. Now I love talking with Nick, who seems to have some magical magnetic field that attracts Civil War artifacts and ephemera, especially from his beloved John Gould of the 10th Maine Infantry. But this just wasn’t that day.

Days later came another call. I answered, but part of me wishes I hadn’t. Our chat became a blur, like a conversation in a bar with Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side Of The Moon” playing at full blast.

“Brain cancer.”

“Months to live.”

“I wanted you to know.”

Wait… what?!

Nick Picerno (left) with Ronn Palm
(and other pals) at Palm's excellent
 Gettysburg museum in 2000. (Image
courtesy Ronn Palm)

Truth be told, I didn’t hear much more than that. My heart hurt. If you relish walking Civil War battlefields in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, yours should hurt a little bit, too. That’s because “Big Nick,” the longest-serving board member of the Shenandoah Valley Battlefields Foundation, has for years helped save battlefield land — places such as Third Winchester, Tom’s Brook, Fisher’s Hill, Cedar Creek and more.

In the past decade, Nick and I have had dozens of conversations, nearly all about the Civil War.

“You have something I want,” he told me over the phone a day after my acquisition of late 19th-century photos of the Antietam battlefield by John Gould’s son with detailed descriptions on the reverse in the veteran’s own hand. I had no intention of selling the images then, but that magical force field and Picerno’s remarkable Italian powers of persuasion eventually swayed me.

Two years later, I sold the images to Nick. On a rainy day on the porch of the Widow Pence farmhouse at the Cross Keys battlefield in Virginia, we sealed the deal. The date, appropriately, was Sept. 17, the anniversary of the Battle of Antietam.

Last weekend, “Big Nick” and I intended to visit Antietam, perhaps stroll about the East Woods, where Gould had fought. But it wasn’t to be. “He’s too weak,” his lovely wife Kathy told me.

And so we sat in his living room in New Market, Virginia, amid hundreds of Civil War books, artifacts and no doubt the spirit of John Gould himself. On a shelf stands a battlefield preservation award he recently received — a high and well-deserved honor. We talked for two hours, mostly about the Civil War and a little bit about life.

“Nick,” I said as he sat in an easy chair, covered by a white blanket, “I’ve never even talked with my wife for more than an hour over the phone.”

Later, I showed him my favorite photo of him, taken at Cedar Creek holding a sword of a Union officer who was wounded on that battlefield. He reminded me that the image was before “Big Nick” became “Not-So-Big Nick.” By dieting, he had lost weight. We both chuckled.

Then, after planning another trip to Antietam together, we hugged and I walked toward the door.

“Thank you so much for coming,” he said in a tone that melted my soul.

“God bless you,” he said.

“God bless you,” I told my friend.

Until we meet again this summer for that trip to Antietam… ❤️

LEARN MORE about Picerno’s Shenandoah Valley Battlefields Foundation.