At 120 years old, the Grand Army of the Republic Hall over in Litchfield is one of the last-standing halls of its kind in the nation. It’s an inconspicuous building: narrow, pallid, sunk between two ugly, newer structures in the middle of a residential block. It hardly looks deserving of all the festoons Litchfield will bestow on it this month for an anniversary celebration. Built in 1885 to resemble a fort, the building was intended to serve Civil War veterans, much in the same way a VFW hall serves veterans of our day. That noble purpose lasted just two years, though; in 1887, the hall was donated to the city of Litchfield and became the area’s first library.
Today, the Grand Army of the Republic Hall functions largely as a Civil War museum, thanks to a 1961 addition that houses period wedding dresses, artillery heads, and “hairwork.” (Wreaths and wall sculptures made of human hair were all the rage in the late 1800s.) In the front room, wall-to-wall shelves sway with Civil War-era books, mostly thick, dusty volumes recording engagements between the Union and Confederate armies. A middle room serves as a public meeting space and is often reserved by Girl Scout troops and book clubs. In the spirit of the original building, the Minnesota chapter of the Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic holds regular meetings there, too.
The walls of the hall are bedecked with portraits of Litchfield’s “Boys of ’61”—old black and white photos of solemn, bearded faces crowned with union army kepis. Many Ladies throughout the state are related to these fellows. “I have three here,” bragged Lois Morlock, who showed me her great-grandfather and two great-uncles. “I have two,” said Jeanie Shoultz Doran, a sixty-something woman with a head of windswept gray hair and an American flag-themed cardigan sweater. She pointed out a great-grandfather and a great-great-uncle.
The Ladies of the Grand Army of the Republic is not unlike the better-known women’s auxiliary, the Daughters of the American Revolution, except, of course, the Ladies must trace their lineage to a Civil War Union Army vet rather than one from the American Revolution. Many women belong to both organizations and a slew of others: Daughters of the American Colonists, New England Women, the Military and Hospitalier Order of St. Lazarus, or, in rare instances, United Daughters of the Confederacy. It all depends on who the dead ancestors are, and this can become a bit of an obsession. “Once you get into these organizations, it becomes a challenge to see how many you can qualify for,” said Morlock.
Maureen Minish and Roberta Everling, the youngest women at the meeting (sixty-five and forty-ish, respectively), met at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting a few years back and have sustained a friendship ever since based on their shared passion for genealogy. “We found that our ancestors were both at the Battle of Vicksburg,” said Everling. Her cheeks flushed a shade to match her pink pearl necklace.
“You know it’s an old group when I bring down the median age,” joked Minish. She and Everling sat side by side at the head table with Minish acting as interim president, leading this meeting of a dozen mostly seventy-plus Ladies. Normally a brusque, gravel-voiced woman, Minish eased into a purr while leading the Ladies through their rituals: recitals of “The Lord’s Prayer,” “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the Pledge of Allegiance, and “The American’s Creed.” When that was finished, she turned to Doran, the group’s pianist, and politely said, “At this point we usually sing a hymn. Do you know a hymn?”
“I know ‘Jesus Loves Me,’” said Doran. She quickly thought better of it. “I know! Let’s do ‘Amazing Grace.’”
Once the ceremony concluded, the ladies got down to business. “Since we don’t have any Civil War veterans anymore, we have to support other causes,” said Minish, smiling stiffly. The ladies agreed to disburse funds to the V.A. hospital, landscaping at Lakewood Cemetery’s Grand Army of the Republic memorial, and to send a twenty-dollar American flag to the National Armed Forces Service Center. They hurried through the financials, seemingly eager to eat lunch together around a table spilling with goodies.
As they cheerfully nibbled on turkey bun sandwiches and chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, the ladies took turns outlining their family trees for one another. They were ignoring the ominous “Boys of ’61”—who appeared cross-eyed, rogue, and unappetizing from their giant portraits overhead—and turned to one of their most important functions: shamelessly recruiting new members. They began speculating about the potential qualifications of their guest. “I bet you qualify,” chirped Everling.—Christy DeSmith
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