Bruce Catton, Historian, 1899–1978 1972 Literature
As a boy growing up in Petoskey, Michigan, in the first decade of the 20th century, Catton had listened to the stories of old men who had actually fought in that bitter conflict. (His engaging 1972 autobiography, Waiting for the Morning Train: An American Boyhood, captures both the wonder and nostalgia of those years, when vivid memories of a simpler and—more heroic—time still lived lightly on the evening air in an unbroken continuity with the past.) The accounts of those desperate battles he was later to read as a student at Oberlin College near Cleveland were pallid in comparison with those gripping accounts. But it may have been his own stint in the Navy during World War I, along with his own talent for storytelling, that led him to seek out the more down-to-earth world of journalism. In 1920 Catton got a job with the old Cleveland News, and worked briefly for the Boston American before landing a position with the Cleveland Plain Dealer, where his first published work on the Civil War—a series on local veterans who had fought in it—appeared in 1923. From 1925 to 1939, he worked for the Cleveland office of the Scripps-Howard Newspaper Enterprise Association (NEA), turning out news stories, features, editorials, and book reviews for papers around the U.S. before moving to NEA's Washington office.
"No one ever wrote American history with more easy grace, beauty and emotional power, or greater understanding of its meaning, than Bruce Catton," wrote Oliver Jensen, who succeeded him at the magazine. "There is a near-magic power of imagination in Catton's work [that] almost seemed to project him physically onto the battlefields, along the dusty roads and to the campfires of another age." — Dennis Dooley
|
||
It was the fourth of May, and beyond the dark river there was a forest with the shadow of death under its low branches, and the dogwood blossoms were floating in the air like lost flecks of sunlight, as if life was as important as death; and for the Army of the Potomac this was the last bright morning, with youth and strength and hope ranked under starred flags, bugle calls riding down the wind, and invisible doors swinging open on the other shore. The regiments fell into line, and the great white-topped wagons creaked along the roads, and spring sunlight glinted off the polished muskets and the brass of the guns, and the young men came down to the valley while the bands played. A German regiment was singing “John Brown's Body." —A Stillness at Appomattox (New York: Doubleday, 1953) |
||
Cleveland Arts Prize
P.O. Box 21126 • Cleveland, OH 44121 • 216-321-0012 • email clevelandartsprize
home l about us l contribute l nominate l scholarships l archive l news l contact l site map l search