A Brief Encounter:
On Friday, July 16, 2021, I embarked on a journey to Sharpsburg, Maryland, with the intention of spending the day hiking the Antietam battlefield, armed with my camera. Positioned at the heart of the Rohrbach Bridge, now known as Burnside's Bridge, I found myself on a historic three-arched structure with a 12-foot-wide, 125-foot span. This bridge, originally constructed in 1836, once served as a vital passageway over Antietam Creek for farmers transporting their produce and livestock to market in Sharpsburg. Its picturesque charm endured until 1966 when a bypass allowed for the restoration of the bridge to its 1862 appearance. But I digress!
Mr. Neal Lercey.
Lost in thought, I stood on the Rohrbach Bridge, captivated by the gentle ripples of the creek and the enchanting reflections of trees in the water. Suddenly, my concentration was shattered by a soft voice over my shoulder. "Good morning! Isn't it a beautiful morning?" To my amazement, an elderly gentleman stood beside me. What first caught my eye was an oversized military-style khaki hat and a pair of Maui Jim sunglasses. He sported a gray T-shirt cut off at the waist, revealing a portly belly. Dark gray hiking trousers, held up with black suspenders, completed his attire, along with modern hiking shoes and a trekking pole.
"I drove my first car across this bridge," he continued with a nostalgic smile. "I was sixteen, back in 1945, just after the war. It was a 1939 Chevy pickup. I used to bring Edith Platt down here to go fishing—no one used to come here back then, so I could steal a kiss and a cuddle."
Neal Lercey stood at the fishing hole where he and Edith Platt dated in 1948 before they were married—seventy-three years ago.
Born in Hagerstown, Maryland, in 1929, Mr. Neal Lercey relocated to Sharpsburg in 1931, where he has resided in the same house ever since. Now in his 92nd year, he makes a daily pilgrimage to the Rohrbach Bridge, embarking on the same one-mile route. With a mind as sharp as a tack, he shared remarkable memories, recounting a trip to Gettysburg with his grandfather during the 75th anniversary of the Blue and the Gray on July 3, 1938, when he was just 9 years old.
Standing amidst thousands of people lining what is now Hancock Avenue, Neal vividly recalled his grandfather sternly shaking his shoulder and telling him to pay attention—“this is history unfolding”—as the presidential cavalcade passed. He witnessed President Franklin D. Roosevelt in his Black Packard Twin Six with the top down. FDR waved with his right hand while holding his Fedora in the left. Neal went on to mention that his grandfather introduced him to numerous veterans throughout the day, ensuring he understood their roles in the battle and the broader significance of this historic event.
Neal continued with a captivating account of crossing the Emmitsburg Road, shared firsthand by Private Elisha Perry of the 5th Alabama Battalion, a participant in Archer's Brigade. Remarkably, he delivered a story to me that he received directly from a soldier who took part in the Battle of Gettysburg.
Neal exuded lucidity, intelligence, and a wealth of knowledge. Yet, his conversation leapt from one topic to another—not in the manner of someone struggling to keep track, but rather, in the poignant realization that time is limited, and there's much to express. Among the array of subjects, Neal recounted his father's deep disdain for Joe Kennedy during Kennedy's tenure as the United States Ambassador to the United Kingdom (1938 to late 1940). His father often labeled Kennedy a Nazi due to his open support of Hitler. Transitioning to personal matters, Neal spoke of his late wife Edith, who passed away in 2004; together, they had three sons and two daughters. With a discernible glint of pride, he shared photographs of his family, neatly stored on his iPhone—nine grandchildren and 13 great-grandchildren.
After roughly 25-minutes and an in-depth history lesson from someone present at those events, Mr. Lercey continued with his walk.
Ninety-two years old! The man still drives, walks every day, carries an iPhone, emails, and texts his family; shops for named brands on Amazon—hiking shoes, trousers, trekking poles, even Maui Jim sunglasses. He eats one meal a day precisely at 5 PM and remembers the names of veterans he met eighty-three years ago, at nine years old, with just a one-time introduction. I was fortunate in this chance meeting with Neil; the man possesses a remarkable mind—he is a walking encyclopedia of events, dates, and unbelievable detail. I feel enriched for having met him.
When Neal Lercey was stealing a kiss from Edith Platt along these banks, the Antietam teemed with brown trout. Today, those trout are long gone; the brown waters of the Antietam consist primarily of local sewage.
On September 17th, 1862, the Rohrbach Bridge, the southern flank of the Battle of Antietam, was the site of so much death and destruction. Antietam was the conclusion of General Robert E. Lee's first invasion of the North. Many statistics claim other engagements as the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. Yet, many of these claims calculate figures gathered over several days—the battle of Gettysburg, for example, 51,000 casualties over three days. However, at 22,700 casualties in one day—historic academics agree that Antietam was undoubtedly the bloodiest single day in American military history.