I’m only supposed to write two posts for the Post this time–one this week and one next–but I sneaked in one about Leander Woods. Once you read it, you’ll know why I couldn’t just not try to tell the nation about him.
I feel a tiny bit bad about imposing on them. But I also feel like you have to take your shots when they’re lined up perfectly.
I didn’t have room to put in how he had enlisted at the same time as a William Woods, who died in the war, or how I also found a couple of Williams who seemed to fit the bill enslaved by the Cumberland Iron Works, but that’s out there for someone else to also find.
It’s hard to explain what a rush it is to search for someone and find him. Like, knowing Leander was from Georgia, it gave me a big clue about what types of situations he might be enslaved in in Tennessee and finding a “Leander,” no last name, which people born into slavery farther south often didn’t have, working under a guy named Woods. Well, that was amazing.
But the bigger rush was finding this guy who I could find before the war, during the war, and after the war, a guy with a large chunk of traceable history and Googling him to see what other researchers had written about him only to find nothing.
Whatever I was going to write, beyond that brief mention of him in the archaeology report, that was going to be the first thing written about him since he died.
Whatever happens to his story from here will happen because I wrote some shit and imposed upon the Post to run a third thing from me.
That’s fucking awesome and delightful. That’s some heady shit, right there.