Few events in history have been more fascinating to me than the American Civil War. As an adolescent, I learned the names of all the corps commanders at the Battle of Gettysburg, and was even familiar with some of their quirks. For example, Confederate General Richard “Baldy” Ewell could not sleep in an extended position, but had to curl his frame, wooden leg included, around a stool, before he could doze off at night.
But in the Department of the Grotesquely Outrageous (or is it Outrageously Grotesque?), Baldy Ewell is nothing compared to Union General Dan Sickles whose birthday it is today.
Sickles was born to a wealthy and prominent New York family and quickly became accustomed to deferential treatment from those around him. Upon the outbreak of the Civil War, he used his political connections to wangle an officer’s commission in the U.S. Army. This was in spite of his lack of significant military training. The truth is, however, that he had already become famous before the war, having made headlines as a flamboyant politician and notorious womanizer.
His first political position was as an assemblyman in New York’s state legislature where he came to be known for his numerous love affairs and for escorting Fanny White, the well-known owner of a local brothel, into the Assembly’s chambers. He doubled down on this scandal by taking Fanny with him on a trip to Europe – leaving his pregnant wife home alone. According to Wikipedia, Sickles presented Fanny to Queen Victoria, introducing her with the name of one of his political opponents.
In February of 1859 Sickles discovered that his beautiful young wife was having an affair with Philip Barton Key, the son of the composer of America’s National Anthem, and the District Attorney for Washington, D.C. Sickles, a man of action, confronted Key one Sunday in Lafayette Square in the heart of Washington, and, crying out, “Key, you scoundrel, you have dishonored my home; you must die!” shot the unarmed Key multiple times, thoroughly killing him. (Reports that Sickles actually declared, “My name is Daniel Sickles. You have shagged my wife. Prepare to die,” are apparently unfounded.)
Washington’s District Attorney was now dead, of course, so Sickles promptly surrendered himself to the city’s surviving authorities and was taken to jail.
Again, from Wikipedia:
“He received numerous perquisites, including being allowed to retain his personal weapon, and receive numerous visitors. So many visitors came that he was granted the use of the head jailer's apartment to receive them. They included many congressmen, senators, and other leading members of Washington society. President James Buchanan sent Sickles a personal note.”
The murder trial took place in the spring of 1859 and Sickles secured as his defense lawyer Edwin M. Stanton, the future Secretary of War, a man of considerable political ambition. Stanton based his case on the idea that the infidelity of the beloved Mrs. Sickles had driven the Congressman insane with jealousy and, not being of sound mind during the shooting, could not be found guilty of murder. Sickles was acquitted on April 26, 1859, the first person ever to win a case on the basis of temporary insanity. Today, in reference to the Sickles acquittal, February 19 is celebrated as “Temporary Insanity Day.” I’m not sure why it isn’t February 27, the actual day of the murder, but, in any case, I understand that appropriate eCards are available.
As a Civil War general, Sickles clung to his outrageous ways. He maintained that he still loved his young wife, but he also found the company of other women (of varying reputations) irresistible. He was aided in his affairs by his friend and superior officer, General Joseph Hooker, who was so connected in the public mind with ladies of the night that a spurious theory arose claiming that the noun “hooker” was derived from association with this general’s name. Charles Hanna writes in his 2010 book Gettysburg Medal of Honor Recipients, that “Accounts at the time compared [the army headquarters of Sickles and Hooker] to a rowdy bar and bordello.”
At the Battle of Chancellorsville in May of 1863, Sickles, as head of the Third Corps, helped thwart a crushing blow against the Union Army, turning a potentially catastrophic defeat into a merely humiliating one. But it was at Gettysburg two months later where Sickles’ behavior stirred up some controversy. He had been ordered to maintain a solid line of defense along Cemetery Ridge, but he decided, on his own initiative, to advance his corps forward, thus leaving a gap between his troops and those of his fellow Yankee generals. When the Confederates attacked, Sickles’ corps was almost annihilated and Sickles himself lost a leg to a rebel cannonball. Though some commend Sickles’ maneuver, most regard it as a dangerous blunder that almost cost the Union the battle.
Sickles’ mangled leg was amputated, but it was saved as a relic of the battle, and it, or at least its bones, can be seen today at the National Museum of Health and Medicine in Silver Spring, Maryland.
After the war, President Grant made Sickles the U.S. minister to Spain. It may be that the president was hoping to put an end to the scandals that surrounded the former general, but if so, this plan was not entirely successful. For soon after arriving in Madrid, Ambassador Sickles, apparently undiminished in his raffish impulses, stirred up rumors of an affair between him and Queen Isabella II. America’s next war, of course, was with Spain, but I don’t claim any known connection between Sickles’ unremitting debauchery and the War of 1898.
Upon his return to the U.S., Sickles struggled for years to bolster his reputation as an outstanding general who made all the right moves at Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and the other battles in which he was a participant. He died in 1914 at 94 years of age, but, if he could communicate with us today from the beyond, he would surely claim for himself a “10” in the area of generalship.
That’s about all I have on General Sickles. I just thought it might be fun, in honor of the general’s birthday, to think back on a time when churlish, self-important blowhards held sway in Washington society.
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