#Fort Jefferson

[kramlabs]

[lensandpenpress]

Clipper ship Berlin, north from the Dry Tortugas

A brick lighthouse replaced the original in 1858 – about the time Hogan was making land claims in the Ozarks. The Dry Tortugas lighthouse, along with the Garden Key lighthouse at Fort Jefferson, were the only lights on the Gulf coast that stayed in full operation throughout the American Civil War. It was decommissioned in December 2015. Having passed Key West, the next landmark was the Tortugas.…

[wonderlesch]

Amazing Travel Adventures - Florida

Amazing Travel Adventures - Florida shares a travel destination guide all things Florida. Explore and discover Everglades National Park, Fort Jefferson, St Augustine Lighthouse and Museum, Devil's Den and Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Let's travel!

Hello, and welcome to Amazing Travel Adventures – Florida. Read on to discover my travel destination guide sharing: Everglades National Park. Devil’s Den. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. And so much more. Let’s travel Florida style! Everglades National Park – Florida The Everglades National Park is located on the southern tip of Florida. Over 1 million acres of coastal mangroves, pine flat…

[macaron-n-cheese]

Today (April 13th) I am 18! It's also Neil's 18th anniversary of banging out the tunes (I gave him a little sweater hehe). Also Jefferson's 281st birthday. And surrender of Fort Sumter's 163rd anniversary.

Me:

(thank you person on pinterest who posted a bunch of photos of 1776 Jefferson)

[antebellumite]

jeff davis spent so much darn time just fucking shit up in west point.

[sheltiechicago]

Fort Jefferson Hallway, Dry Tortugas National Park, Florida, USA

By Michael Lewis

[jazzdailyblog]

Jerry González: Celebrating the Latin Jazz Legacy of a Musical Maestro

Introduction: Within the vibrant tapestry of jazz, few musicians have embraced the fusion of Afro-Cuban rhythms and improvisational jazz as profoundly as Jerry González. A renowned trumpeter, percussionist, and bandleader, González left an indelible mark on the world of Latin jazz. His innovative approach, rich musical heritage, and unwavering commitment to bridging cultures resulted in a legacy…

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[conandaily2022]

3 Fort Drum soldiers, 7 civilians charged with trying to exploit children online

The Department of the Army Criminal Investigative Division and New York State Police‘s Internet Crimes Against Children Task Force and Computer Crime Unit conducted an operation targeting adults attempting to exploit children online. The investigation started in September 2022 with the assistance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A total of 10 men were caught contacting children online…

[uvmagazine]

Former Texas officer sentenced to nearly 12 years in prison for the killing of Atatiana Jefferson

Aaron Dean, the former Texas police officer who was convicted of manslaughter in the 2019 killing of Atatiana Jefferson, has been sentenced to 11 years, 10 months and 12 days in prison.

Aaron Dean, the former Texas police officer who was convicted of manslaughter in the 2019 killing of Atatiana Jefferson, has been sentenced to 11 years, 10 months and 12 days in prison. Aaron Dean Sentenced for Atatiana Jefferson’s murder The ex-officer was sentenced by a Tarrant County jury on Tuesday, Dec. 20, less than a week after Dean was found guilty of manslaughter on Dec. 15. Dean was…

[theusarticles]

Jury deliberating on sentence for former police officer convicted of killing Atatiana Jefferson | CNN

Jury deliberating on sentence for former police officer convicted of killing Atatiana Jefferson | CNN

CNN  —  A jury began deliberations Monday on a sentence for the former Texas police officer who was convicted of manslaughter last week for shooting Atatiana Jefferson in her own home in 2019. Aaron Dean, the 38-year-old White former Fort Worth police officer, faces up to 20 years in prison for killing Jefferson, a 28-year-old Black woman. Prosecutors asked the jury to sentence Dean to the…

[kramlabs]

This tarpon broke me off along with 3 bonefish. At least I landed an aquarium fish:

[thezombieprostitute]

Dream Come True - Part 5

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Bullying, Fat shaming, Insecure reader, Violence mentioned and referenced but not written. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 4 -- Part 6

Series Masterlist

Ransom was shutting down his computer for the day, dismissing his new assistant. It was taking some time but they were working through what they each needed to have a good working relationship. She was a lot more expensive and whiny than Y/N but he had to make peace with that. He checked the mirror, seeing the last traces of the black eye Curtis had given him. It’d been over a week and he’d be happy to see it finally gone. 

He turned when his door opened, expecting his assistant, but stopped in alarm when he saw the familiar, mustachioed face of Lloyd Hansen. 

“Ransom,” Lloyd smiled, holding his arms out. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Lloyd,” Ransom hesitated. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What? Can’t I just visit?”

“Well, given your current status of “exiled” I think you can understand my confusion.”

Lloyd’s grin faded a little, “oooh, who finally got the balls to punch you, Ran? I’m surprised it hasn’t happened before.”

“Well,” Ransom stalled, “it’s only fair. I was harassing one of his employees.”

“Fair? Ran how hard were you hit? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’ve grown, Lloyd. Now, I’ll ask again, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

Lloyd’s smile widened, “always the kiss ass. No wonder the Bosses put you up in the elite tiers. Schmoozing the old ladies to get them to vote, donate, whatever. That was never my forte.”

Ransom huffed, “certainly not for a lack of willingness to talk. Can I get you a drink?”

“You got the good whiskey,” Lloyd asked before snorting a laugh. “Who am I kidding? Of course you’ve got the good stuff! Make it a double.”

Ransom turned to get the drinks and positioned himself so he could keep an eye on him while also seeming to not pay attention. He poured the drinks and handed Lloyd one before sitting down, gesturing for Lloyd to do the same. Lloyd took a long sip and nodded appreciatively. 

“So,” Lloyd remarked, “of course I am here on unfinished business.” Ransom nodded in understanding. “I was kicked out of my territory because the higher ups didn’t like how I handled things. You’d think guys with their background wouldn’t mind a little more blood on their hands. I got results, they kicked me out. I’ve finally got things sorted out and built up to take over everything. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Ransom's eyebrows shot up, “everything? You don’t want to be in charge of just the Gar- intel gathering anymore? The empire’s grown since you were last here. Are you sure you can handle it all?”

“That’s where you come in, pretty boy,” Lloyd retorts before taking another sip. “We both know public relations ain’t my thing. You be the face of everything, keep your nice lifestyle, maybe even make it cushier, and I’ll handle all the dirty work. You know, the fun side of things.”

“Such a generous offer. How long do I have to think about it?”

“By the time I’ve finished my drink.”

Ransom nods, “so I’d still be doing all the schmoozing and kiss-ass work?”

“Yes,” Lloyd acknowledged, taking another long sip. “But you’d have a much bigger allowance and a lot more support in the harassment of employees.”

“It’s a very tempting offer,” Ransom conceded. “May I ask the repercussions if I decline?”

“Well, I can’t exactly have you telling the others that I’m in town, let alone that I have plans.” He raises an eyebrow while opening his jacket, showing Ransom the gun he has strapped to his chest. 

Ransom nods and contemplates, watching Lloyd’s drink slowly disappear. “It is a good deal, but what assurances do I have that your plan will work? I’m already on thin ice with the Bosses. If they find out I helped you in any way, even by not mentioning your visit, it’ll be a death sentence for me, too.”

“Ransom, I’m hurt,” Lloyd mocked. “You think I would even tell you this much if I wasn’t certain of my victory?”

“In my defense, you’ve been found out before.”

Lloyd sighed, “I suppose you’re right. Fine.” Lloyd drinks the last of his whiskey and sets the glass down before standing up, “either you agree to help me and get a much more self-indulgent lifestyle, or you turn me down and end up dead. You have no other guarantees in life.”

“How do you know I won’t just tell them you’re here?”

“Because you know, damn well, I’ll do so much more than just give you a black eye,” Lloyd glowered. “I’ve got my own comm guys monitoring all of your devices as well as a few well placed bugs. You won’t be able to do anything to warn them without my knowing. And neither of us would really enjoy your screams as I make an example out of you.”

Ransom glared up at Lloyd, “well. I guess I don’t have much of a choice then. I’ll be expecting my first paycheck soon. I’ve got an assistant to win over.”

“That cute one who just left?”

“No, she’s the temporary replacement,” Ransom huffed. “My last assistant was the fat one?” Ransom searched Lloyd’s face for any sign he knew of the woman he was talking about but found none.

“Huh, never would’ve taken you to be interested in the bigger ladies,” Lloyd smiled. “That’s usually my demographic.”

“I have a new appreciation for them,” Ransom professed. “I blame you for getting the idea in my head.”

Lloyd laughed, “now that’s something I’ll happily take the blame for.”

“Hey, Jake,” you ask as you hesitantly approach Jensen. 

He looks up from his work, “Hey Teach! What are you doing here? I thought it was your day off?”

“I thought so too,” you admit. “This…this is going to sound weird, but I think Ransom might be in trouble.” Jake’s brows furrowed in confusion and you continue, “I’ve been getting a bunch of gifts from him. They’ve been getting delivered seemingly nonstop since yesterday. I was gonna just throw them out, let him waste his money, but then I…I may have picked up a pattern?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” you hesitate, “this is going to sound paranoid, but I noticed that all of the gifts he got me were the same gifts some of his characters used when they had to silently indicate they needed help. He sent me begonias. Begonias mean “Beware” in flower language so whenever Mrs. Nylund wanted to warn her secret lover her husband was home, she’d spend hours working on the begonias. He also sent me orange lilies. When Miss Petrillo sent her mother yellow lilies, it meant she was fine but orange lilies meant she was in danger.”

Jake was listening patiently, nodding, “I dunno, it could just be those flowers were on his mind.”

“I thought that, too,” you admitted. “But then the jewelry started coming in. A necklace and earring set that are an exact match for the ones Lady Devereaux would fidget with as a signal to her security to remove the person she was talking to. An amulet with a challenge coin, just like Mr. Bryson sent to his brother as a silent signal for help. The list goes on.”

“That is pretty strange,” Jake admitted. “Since he was put on notice by the higher ups we have had a couple bugs added to his place.” He turns to his computer and starts typing, “let me check if they’ve picked up any unusual ac– No. No, you don’t.” Jake’s demeanor suddenly gets serious as he gives the computer his full focus, typing faster than you can register. “Oh, you’re a feisty one. You’re not getting into my systems you bastard. Aww, you really think that’ll work? Well watch me counter with this magic!”

He goes on for several minutes before finally sitting back and letting out a big breath. He looks at you, “I think you’re right. I think Ransom is in trouble.”

Part 4 -- Part 6

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would. 

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@texmexdarling

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[dailyoverview]

Fort Jefferson is a former U.S. military coastal fortress located in the lower Florida Keys. It is the largest brick masonry structure in the Western Hemisphere, made with more than 16 million bricks. Fort Jefferson is on Garden Key, the second-largest island in Dry Tortugas National Park.

24.628611, -82.873205

Source imagery: Nearmap

[kemetic-dreams]

What happened to colored troops taken POW by Confederates in the Civil War?

Three-fifths of all African troops in the Union army were former slaves and those that fought in combat units did so at great risk to their lives (beyond the expected risks associated with combat). The Confederate government’s official position was that black POWs would be executed, reclaimed by their former masters or sold into slavery. Lincoln’s threats of reprisals helped minimize the impact of Confederate actions.

Details of the brutality African soldiers suffered are known, but with less specificity. We know of the multiple slaughters of surrendering or captured blacks that occurred. And, we know that armed Africans were the South’s worst nightmare as southerners were terrified that the example of these soldiers would “infect” the rest of the slave population and inspire them to take-up arms against their enslavers. In southern eyes, that alone warranted the harshest treatment for captured Africans.

What is clear is that these soldiers faced harsher and more cruel treatment at the hands of their captors than did their white counterparts. We know with clarity the physical violence that slaves suffered pre-war as well as after the war. Further, while 14% of Union prisoners died while being held as POWs and 11.8% of Confederate POWs died in northern captivity, historian Caroline Newhall notes that almost 35% of African POWs died in southern captivity. These data points converge with official Confederate statements and southern attitudes on slaves as property and provide strong evidence of the cruelty African Union soldiers faced.

Cruelty and atrocities against African Union soldiers were not random acts of war, but were legislated and directed by the Confederate Congress and Jefferson Davis himself.

In late 1862, Davis stated: “All negro slaves captured in arms be at once delivered over to the executive authorities of the respective States to which they belong.” A resolution later adopted by the Confederate Congress provided that all “negroes or mulattoes,” slave or free, taken in arms should be tried for inciting servile insurrection and be subject to the death penalty.

In a letter to General Beauregard on this issue, The Confederate Secretary of War pointed out that "Slaves in flagrant rebellion are subject to death by the laws of every slave-holding State" but that "to guard, however, against possible abuse...the order of execution should be reposed in the general commanding the special locality of the capture."

Lincoln responded to this by threatening to retaliate against Confederate prisoners whenever African soldiers were killed or enslaved.

Davis publicly denounced Lincoln’s order; but, it did have — for the most part — the desired effect, as most African prisoners were not treated with the harsh justice mandated by Confederate policy, even though the Confederacy never officially acknowledged African-Americans as P.O.W.’s. Instead, what emerged were inconsistent practices in dealing with captured African American troops, depending on the time, place and the commander into whose hands they fell. Indeed, some Confederate officers encouraged the killing of African-American soldiers rather than taking them prisoner, and the atrocities committed against surrendering African soldiers at Poison Spring, Fort Pillow and Petersburg are now well known.

If not executed, captured African soldiers often found themselves treated very differently from white prisoners. Instead of being confined to camps, many African-American prisoners were put to forced labor.

As Robert Jones, a African soldier captured at Milliken’s Bend, La., recalled, “They took me to … Rust, Tex., where they … had me at work doing every kind of work, loading steamboats, rebuilding breastworks, while I was in captivity.”

Near Fort Gilmer, Va., captured African troops were forced to work under enemy fire in the trenches. In retaliation, the Union general Benjamin F. Butler placed an equal number of Confederate P.O.W.’s on forward trenches. Within a week, the African prisoners were removed from the front lines.

The sentiment that Africans under arms aroused -- along with the ingrained hostility of many Confederate soldiers -- set the stage for wartime atrocities. The most notorious incident occurred at a small Federal outpost north of Memphis, Tennessee, where Confederate cavalrymen under Nathan Bedford Forrest attacked Fort Pillow, which was garrisoned by about 500 troops.

More than half of the soldiers were African. The superior Confederate force overwhelmed the fort's defenders; Union casualties were high. But after the Federals surrendered, Forrest's men shot and killed a number of unarmed soldiers and officers, both black and white.

In October 1864 Saltville, Virginia, Confederate soldiers executed unarmed African prisoners, even raiding a hospital on two separate occasions and murdering wounded Africans in their sickbeds.

High casualty rates in combat were also common for African American units — usually for two reasons. First, since Africans had not previously served in the military, they were inexperienced fighters. Second, feeling social pressure to prove themselves as men, they often took risks on the battlefield that their white counterparts would not.

But, despite facing intense racism and humiliating treatment from their own white colleagues in arms, Africans excelled in combat, providing an additional, critical edge in manpower to what the Union already possessed.

One Union captain explained the significance of African military participation on the attitudes of many white soldiers. "A great many [white people]," he wrote, "have the idea that the entire Negro race are vastly their inferiors. A few weeks of calm unprejudiced life here would disabuse them, I think. I have a more elevated opinion of their abilities than I ever had before. I know that many of them are vastly the superiors of those...who would condemn them to a life of brutal degradation."

Of the 180,000 African Americans who fought for the Union, 37,300 died. More than 20 African Americans were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the nation's most prestigious military decoration. Fourteen of those men earned their medals at Chaffin's Farm.

[spectacularspiderboy]

Natalie messaged Jefferson, "Hey, dad. Mom and Nora headed to work. I'm holding down the fort until you get back from dropping off Miles."