Perhaps since I’m originally an Illinoisan, I’m a little sad at first to see the end of Abraham Lincoln Month. When March begins, the book stores return those Lincoln biographies along with related histories like Doris Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals to the shelves next to books on other 19th century Presidents. The onslaught of NPR feature stories about the Lincoln Memorial, Lincoln’s assassination, etc. begin to fade as well.
Fellow Illinoisans and perhaps some others bemoan the
passing of Lincoln month (Why can’t
every day be Lincoln’s birthday?) but my initial sorrow soon changes to relief.
Not only can I more easily find a copy of Andrew
Ferguson’s Land of Lincoln at a reduced price, but the natural
rhythm of my Lincoln appreciation
can return to its normal cadence. Instead of reading everyone else’s take on
him, I can gaze at my little desk bust of Lincoln when my mind drifts up from
my work, or if the spirit moves me, pull out the Moyra Davey book featuring an
excerpt from her exhibit 100 Copperheads
(a photo array of a 100 Lincoln pennies in various states of oxidation). Or
maybe I’ll finally go on that long-promised, off-season trip with my mother to Springfield
to take in the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum.
It’s like what sportswriter Tom Boswell’s says about baseball’s opening day: “Sure, opening day is baseball’s bandwagon. Pundits, politicians and every prose poet on the continent jumps on board for a few days. But they’re gone soon, off in search of some other windy event worthy of their attention. Then, once more, all those long slow months of baseball (or in my case, history) are left to us. And our time can begin again.”
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