I can still do those lyrics start to finish, as long as my hair is curly enough. It's the jumping up and down part in the draft office that's harder for me.........and yes, my only child is named Alice.
The push for less powder burning also demands another step, at least to me, and adds a meaningful dimension. So often, we do not take the effort required to research a unit, find it's casualty list, and issue name specific fate cards. That keys your 'hit rate' to appropriate levels.
Three years ago, at the Westville Georgia series of events I 'saw' a particular man march off amoung the unit recruits. Further research told me he was an orphan and a batchelor. A year into the war he is dead. I wonder if anyone mourned him in 1862. I do know that today, I think of him often, wonder what his life was, working at his trade, wonder about his hopes and dreams before the war swept that all away.
I cannot mourn him as a friend, son, or brother. But I can continue to value his life, what little I know of it, and know that this one is not forgotten in the dust. He echoes in my memory as much as those fresh faced young men who were my schoolmates, whose graves I tend at home. In my mind they are still young, and dusty worn letters tell me they are Still in Saigon.