♪ this week on "the civil war" actor stephen lang portrays battle of gettysburg lieutenant permanenten. he presents lieutenant permen as if he was speaking in 1913 in the battle of gettysburg. after the performance, mr. lang takes questions as an actor playing rolls in various eras. the event was part of the lincoln symposium in gettysburg,

pennsylvania. this is about an hour. >> may i have your attention, please! >> thank you, everett. that's what we needed. good morning, everyone, i'm howard holzer, vice chairman of the lincoln forum. we welcome you to what promises to be an extraordinary program. as you all know from your printed programs, what we're going to hear this morning is something entitled beyond glory. and before we begin, i wanted to acknowledge and introduce to you the writer whose book "beyond glory" was the inspiration for the program that our guests this morning developed. i'd like you all to say hello to larry smith. after i introduce the program,

you will hear it, of course, following in which there will be ample time for questions and comments about everything from gettysburg to gods and generals to beyond glory to anything that's on your mind, which our speaker has agreed to respond to. it was in the words of president woodrow wilson, no ordinary celebration. it must have been special indeed because the president canceled a much needed vacation in new hampshire to be there himself. after all, lincoln had gone there once, too, if wilson refused, people might think him an unsympathetic southerner. but celebration wasn't quite the right description. it was more of a commemoration. more of a reunion. extraordinary, it surely was. on july 1st, 1863, an astounding

53,407 living veterans of the battle of gettysburg, on july 1st, 1913 -- that is. [ laughter ] '63 wouldn't have been that amazing. [ laughter ] 53,407 living veterans of the battle of gettysburg, northern and southern alike. many dressed in faded and tattered original uniforms returned to this village for the 50th anniversary of the largest battle that ever shocked and awed the american landscape. now, the current congress may have no funds for a civil war ses quatennial on a scale that congress found funds in appropriation to house these old

men. the states kicked in nearly $2 million more to pay for transportation from all around the country. so every veteran, regardless of circumstances, would be able to travel here. from a massive tent stretched across the field where pickett had let his charge in 1863, president wilson gave his formal address independence day. his gettysburg address. we have found one another again as brothers and comrades in arms, he said. our battle is long past. our quarrel is forgotten. in that sentiment, not for the first time and not for the last time woodrow wilson proved incorrect. not even the passage of half a century had erased the memory of that experience from the minds of the 50,000 veterans, or fully healed the memories of war. even for the oldest among them.

as their reunion came to a close, participants paused for five minutes of silence. three minutes longer as historian david blight has pointed out than lincoln needed for his speech "seven score and eight years ago" this week. we know, of course, everything that wilson and the other political dignitaries said at the great semicentennial reunion of 1913. that's what it was called. but we know next to nothing about what the old veterans said to each other. and certainly, none of what thoughts crossed their minds as they walked these once bloody fields one more time. lieutenant james jackson permen of the 140th pennsylvania might have been one such veteran. he was a veteran of the battle of gettysburg. was he here for that reunion? we don't know for certain, but

he lived close enough to surely make attendance, both convenient and maybe even irresistible. he was a special veteran, indeed. one of the special few. a medal of honor recipient, with an extraordinary story to tell. but he never spoke publicly here on reunion day, as far as we know. did he speak to his old comrades? again, we just don't know. but what if he had? fueled by nostalgia, pride, maybe a drink or two for old time's sake, what would he have remembered? what would he have preferred to forget? today we have the opportunity to hear his voice again. the words are his. most of them anyway. but all of them are true to him. they have been reconstructed and all but channeled by an

extraordinary artist, a performer and playwright whose credit you all know well. but whose devotion to stories like this are his own secret weapon at getting close to the truth of wartime sacrifice. he has performed medal of honor stories from guam to guantanamo, for civilians and soldiers alike. it's a privilege to give you not a reading but an exercise in historical imagination and dramatic transformation. ladies and gentlemen, lieutenant james jackson permen as inhabited by stephen lang. [ applause ] are

i suppose -- i suppose that there are all sorts of ways to court a girl. perhaps there are better ways to court a girl. i know for a certain fact there are easier ways to court a girl. you know, i always said, well, i lost my leg, but i gained my better half. [ laughter ] and all in all, i believe i got the better of my bargain with fate. perhaps i'm getting ahead of

myself. if today is a bright and sunshine day in july of 1913, the events that i share with you occur occurred nye 50 years ago. but my memories of that time are as clear and as lucid as if it had transpired but yesterday. and -- and if it were possible that i should be here 100 years from now, speaking to you as i am now, i believe that my recollection would be just as vivid, just as sterling. so indelibly, the events stamped

on the coinage of my brain. my name is james jackson purmen, and and i was born in the air in 1841 in this great state of pennsylvania. i was trained as a printer, i set type for "the waynesburg eagle." desirous of advancing my situation in life, i attended waynesburg college with a view towards the law. however, in 1862, my junior year, mr. lincoln -- mr. lincoln put out the call for 300,000 more. and in august 1862, mine was the

first name enrolled in the greene county rifles. we were shortly to be united with the washington, beaver and mercy -- mercer county companies, as the 140th pennsylvania volunteers. we were part of zook's brigade, hancock's corps. my rank was first lieutenant. company "a." now, the service of the 140th is well documented. sufficed to say that we performed starwatch duty 1962, guarding the northern central railroad, that life line of men

and munitions. in '63, we were on skarnish line at chancellorville which is a story in itself. but today, i should share with you my experience on july 2nd and july 3rd of 1863. barely a mile from where we are here gathered. in a place you will surely recognize simply stated aptly named "the wheatfield." it was around 4:00 in the afternoon when the confederate assault began. it was massive. relentless.

lo longstreak's corps. hoods, texans and the claws, georgians to break our left flank from the peach from little round tuft to devil's den to the wheatfield. these names have become synonymous with death and sacrifice. when the union salient at the peach orchard was crushed, the fury shifted to the wheatfield. it has been called some of the bloodiest fighting of the war, and i believe that to be the case. the ground was lost, regained and lost again fully six times. during the course of three hours. what had been a field of amber

grain was trampled into a dyi dying -- a dying round of blue and gray and red. during one phase of the attack in which the confederates momentarily held sway, as i retreated from the southwest portion of the field, i came upon an unknown comrade, badly wounded, in the legs, who cried to me "comrade, carry me off." i replied, "i doubt if we can get away, but we'll do the best we can for you." accompanied by my orderly sergeant later captain, j.m.

pipes, we carried and placed the wounded man between two boulders, shuttered from enemy fire. and out at that -- and as out of harm's way as one could be. given the treacherous circumstances. grasping his hand, i said, go good-bye, comrade, and thought to put as much distance as possible between me and the enemy. but this delay proved my undoing. the enemy had been emerging from the woods into the field, and they had a point blank fire on me. i heard shouts "halt! you damned yankee, halt!"

the broad wheat field was before me. the enemy, behind. visions of andersonville flitted through my brain. if i halt, some careless or brutal fellow may well shoot me after i have thrown up my hands. better to move on the double quick. these thoughts determined my will. and i refused to halt. in less time than it takes to speak this sentence, i was brought down with an ounce of led through my left leg. i called out to sergeant pipes who was just ahead of me, i am stuck! and i went down among the tangled wheat. but a moment later, he, too, was

struck. many have attempted to tell how it feels to be shot. at first, there's no pain. no smarting, no anguish. it is very like the shock of an electric battery. but that delusion soon passes, and acute pain follows. i fell as the confederate regiment charged over me, and as it passed, i read from the floating colors "24th georgia." i had been hit four inches above the ankle, the ball passing through crushing bones.

the sun was now sinking behind seminary ridge, and as dusk came disputed. the dead and the wounded of both armies lay thickly strewn over the wheat field. and darkness came. never shall i forget that midsummer night. an almost full moon shone revealing a ghastly scene of cold, white, upturned faces. at intervals a passing cloud would obscure the moon as if

nature itself was ashamed to highlight to the dreadful carnage. and the eerie quiet was broken by the cries and the groans of the maimed and the wounded. one man repeatedly called for his regiment, "oh, 7th michigan." and so passed the night. and as night gave way to day, the sun rose hotly. the firing grew hotter still. our wounds more swollen and our thirst more intense. and the prospect of our relief became exceedingly hopeless. the michigan man was suffering

intensely. and he called to me, "have you any water?" i replied, "no, but sake, give me some for i am dying of thirst." i threw my canteen with all my force, but it fell midway between us. i heard that peculiar thud, and the michigan man called, "i am struck again." and then he softly called, "are you a praying man?" i replied, "i am." "then pray for me."

and i did. and he murmured, "amen." and that was the last he spoke. and so passed the morning of july 3rd. opposing lines of blue and gray, a crack of the rifles, the zip of the bullets and the pop, as they stuck the ground or the body of the wounded man. i had drawn my leg up to ease the pain when a ball struck me between the ankle and the knee of my right leg. i felt -- i felt i would never leave that field. now, i was much closer to the

confederate line than to my own. and soon after, i received my second wound, i saw a soldier in front of their lines, and i called to him. "i'm twice wounded, and i'm dying out here. won't you bring me a canteen of water?" the confederate replied, "if i attempt to come out there, sharpshooter will think i'm trying to rob you and they'll pick me off. k" "." i answered "crawl." [ laughter ] "crawl through the wheat and you'll not be seen." at chancellorsville i saved the

lives of many of your men who would have died from thirst." and this was true. and he did. he filled his canteen at plum run, the stream that runs through the valley of death, and he crawled to me, and from that day to this, it was the sweetest water that ever i tasted. i decided to push my luck. i said to him, "this is a pretty hard place for a man to lie. can you carry me to the edge of the woods?" he replied, "if i should attempt to lift you, we

would both be killed, and indeed, the balls were flying furiously around us. and i said, "crawl!" [ laughter ] and so he agreed to let me cling to his back and he crawled off the field. and this was my enemy. halfway to the woods, i fell unconscious from the pain and the loss of blood. and what did my enemy do? he crawled off of the field, he refilled his canteen at plum run. he crawled back and he brought

me to life again. and so we reached the woods and he placed me under a tree on a rubber blanket. and he left me his canteen of water and some biscuit. and i gave him my watch. as a souvenir from a grateful friend and enemy. and so it was from this shaded vantage that i watched men in blue massive into columns by division, the pennsylvania reserve brigade under colonel

m mccandless pull in volley after volley. i enjoyed the charge immensely. but it meant victory. it was sublime. and this charge across the wheat field was the last fighting of the battle of gettysburg. it was captain e.m. robinson of the 5th main infantry who put me on a stretcher and had me carried to a bar used as a hospital at the foot of roundtop. it was here on the next morning, i celebrated the 4th of july by the loss of my left leg. captain robinson has several years since answered the last road call. before the battle commenced, i

had been wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat which i felt was a conspicuous mark. and so, before going into battle, i exchanged my hat with james woods, the company drummer. i never met him again until at a reunion at gettysburg 26 years afterward. his first salutation was, lieutenant, where's my cap?" [ laughter ] the unknown comrade whom i'd placed between two rocks to shield from enemy fire, i have since learned was john buckley, company "b," 140th pennsylvania, a mercer county man.

he died on the field. from his wounds and exposure. for going out of the line of duty to aid a comrade, the congress granted me a medal of honor which is inscribed "for gallantry at the battle of gettysburg, july 2nd, 1863." i know that the confederacy did not confer medals. and each if they did, risking one's life to save the enemy would perhaps not qualify one for grateful recognition.

however, in my life, i have witnessed no graver, nor kinder, nor humane act of selflessness than that of thomas p. oliver of athens, georgia, adjunctive of the 24th infantry. yes, yes, i was able to ascertain the identity of my savior. and many times since the war, we exchanged letters and planned to meet each other to talk over the times that try men's souls. and then just several years