An Obituary for Major Reno

by Richard S. Wheeler

  “I’ve heard, Benteen said it I believe, that the major was greatly smitten by young Ella. But that, Mr. Richler, is the very point. He let his feelings override all sense of appropriate conduct. I have no idea whether he was in his cups, probably was. But he affrighted the young woman and her mother, and said as much in his apology, and I haven’t the slightest doubt that it was, in military justice, conduct unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman.”

  Richler absorbed that, impressed by the old man’s sudden energy and unequivocal condemnation of Reno’s conduct, the final outrage against the code of military conduct, the act that resulted in Reno’s expulsion from the army.

  “General, had Reno not engaged in that last affront, might he have survived the other charges?”

  “The other charges were trivial. So he got into a fight or two. A slap on the wrist would have sufficed.”

  “I have the feeling that Reno had deteriorated by then. Whether from alcohol, or the abuse heaped on him after the Little Bighorn, or something else, maybe an abrasive nature. Do you have that sense, general?”

  Terry retreated into himself again, summoning memories. “You know, Mr. Richler, right after that battle, Major Reno hadn’t the slightest inkling that he would be criticized for his conduct in it. I remember how he was then, throwing his energies into restoring his command, identifying and burying the dead, reporting to me at length about what happened. I admired him. He’d been through a nightmare and survived.

  “Historians read dry reports and dusty papers, but the whole truth isn’t there in those papers. From the military reports they would learn nothing of the long private talks we had after it was over. They would learn nothing of the grief he felt for the fallen. I watched his anger at Custer turn into shock and sorrow. You know he and Benteen thought that Custer had abandoned them, and were spoiling for a tussle with the lieutenant colonel—until they found out what actually happened. And you won’t find any of that in the official reports.

  “I saw all of that, Mr. Richler. Yes, I saw it. When Marcus Reno realized he had saved his command from disaster, I saw the pride in him. Neither he, nor I, had any inkling of what was to come, the blame and accusations.

  “I myself thought that Custer must bear the blame for the tragedy. But that was not to be. No sooner did the world learn of it than Reno found himself in trouble. The man was suddenly the focus of half the world’s newspapers, most of the country’s politicians, and every superior officer up the chain of command. Not the least of that attention came from your paper, the Herald. And that’s just when that odd character of his began to falter. Not on the field of battle, not when bullets where whizzing by, but when stony stares landed on his heart and bruised it. I look back on all that followed not harshly, but with pity, Mr. Richler. Pity.”

  The old man turned silent again, lost in reverie, and Richler knew it was time to call it quits.

  He drained his iced tea. “Would you care to make a summation? Say what’s most important to you about all this?”

  “Marcus Reno was a gallant soldier who unfairly bore the blame for a military disaster not of his making. It is my deepest wish that his memory be respected and honored.”

  Richler penned exactly that in his notebook.

  “Anything else, general?”

  “Yes, Mr. Richler. I would say much the same thing of General Custer.”

  Richler carefully added that to his notes, folded up the notebook he always carried, and dropped it into his vest pocket.

  “Thank you, sir. This is most helpful.”

  “You’ll forgive me for not seeing you to the door, I hope,” the general said, offering a cold and feeble hand.

  Out on the streets of New Haven, Joe Richler knew he had gotten a key idea from Terry. In terms of the military’s strict code, Marcus Reno might not be a gentleman of honor, but in terms that ordinary mortals could live with and by, Major Reno had lived a life of duty and courage. And that was enough.

  He had one more interview still to do and then he would write.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  ROSS WAS VERY LATE. JOE RICHLER PULLED HIS TURNIP WATCH AND discovered it was almost one, and the lunch hour was fast vanishing. Just his luck, he thought.

  He settled into the lobby divan in the Lochiel Hotel and waited some more. The place was dark and cramped, not at all a grand hotel compared to New York’s best, and that fit Richler’s mood.

  Andrew Ross, Mary Hannah’s brother, had been reluctant to be interviewed, saying he had nothing to add. But he did, finally, agree to a lunch with the Herald correspondent.

  Richler knew why Ross tried to beg off: Reno had become an embarrassment to the Rosses, an officer several times court-martialed and found guilty of scandalous conduct. An albatross hung over the neck of a prominent and impeccable family.

  It would take all of Richler’s skill to take this interview where he wanted to go with it.

  Ross sailed in at ten after one, and Richler recognized him at once from family photographs. The man had thickened but had the same facial lines as Mary Hannah.

  The man offered no apology, so Richler led him into the hotel’s dark restaurant, so dimly lit that they could hardly see the menu.

  “Some spirits?” the correspondent asked.

  “Never. I’m in a bit of a hurry, Richler, and hope you’ll forgive me if I stay only a minute.”

  They ordered sauerkraut and corned beef from an acned young man, and Richler turned gently to the topic at hand.

  “I’m doing a … summation of your late brother-in-law for the Herald, and hope you might offer me your impressions of the major.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. I’m not prepared to talk about that.”

  “I can understand your reluctance. Tell me about Mary Hannah. She must have been a most gracious woman.”

  “Yes.”

  He waited for more, but nothing was forthcoming.

  “I’ve talked with various officers about Mary Hannah. She somehow made herself at home at the various frontier posts, endured hardships out there, welcomed other officers’ wives into her home, and all in all, was greatly loved and admired.”

  “She was all of that, sir,” Ross said. “She had a way of warming everyone in a room, you know. You would see her at dinner, the gaze of every unattached man in the room on her. She was superbly educated, you know, Pennsylvania Female College. I always thought she would have her pick of men, and I hoped she would pick the right one.”

  That was better, Richler thought. Andrew Ross might not wish to talk about Reno, but he loved his sister.

  “She was eighteen when she met Marcus Reno. The war was close and menacing, and there he was, a Union officer at your family’s table.”

  “Yes, and he had been in the middle of it. And out West, too.”

  “She had suitors?”

  “Not so many. Maybe that’s why she … found him attractive.”

  “By all accounts, it was a good match,” Richler said. “And that surprises me. She was open, warm, forthright; he was reserved, private, serious, dour, maybe even shy. I’ve been wondering ever since whether maybe they found something in each other that completed themselves.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that, sir.”

  The correspondent supposed it was time to try a gambit. “Major Reno’s reputation must weigh heavily on you and your family.”

  “Richler, I’d rather not …”

  “Yes, of course. You know, Mr. Ross, the years that Reno, Captain Reno then, was married to Mary Hannah were the best years of his life. He was at ease, his military career was splendid, his home was warmed by friends and fellow officers. It wasn’t until after, until her early death, that he fell back into, let us say, bachelor habits.”

  Ross grinned slightly and nodded. At least he was listening, Richler thought.

  “I think she fulfilled something in him; I think he was the sort of man who was incomplete without someone just like Mary Hannah at his side, with a child to care
for, responsibilities to leaven his conduct. She was good for him.”

  “Yes, I’ll agree.”

  “But maybe he was less good for her.” Richler let it hang there, between them.

  “The army was hard on her. Those outposts were especially hard on a girl born to comfort.”

  “I’ve become fascinated by Reno, and the more I probe, the more I discover several Renos, and the one most admirable was the one during those brief years of marriage to your sister. So I have come to think she had some magical effect on him, and that when she died, something died inside of him.”

  “The family was bitter that he didn’t come for her funeral,” Ross said.

  “He had no choice; he was in the field, and was denied permission.”

  “He could have wangled it one way or another.”

  “He tried, Mr. Ross. I’ve read his correspondence. He actually started to come to Harrisburg, but was stayed by the Department of Dakota. They needed him to complete his duties on the boundary commission.”

  Andrew Ross was frankly skeptical. “I think maybe he didn’t try very hard,” he repeated. “He barely contacted us; barely made arrangements for his son.”

  Ross had won his point, whether it was true or not, and that seemed to satisfy him as he slowly masticated the corned beef.

  “It was kidney disease that took her, I understand.”

  “She was frail, Mr. Richler. Fragile. I think that hard living on the frontier greatly shortened her days, and I confess I hold that against Major Reno. When she finally brought Robert back and raised him here, she rallied a while.”

  “No doubt you’re wondering why I’m interested in all this. You see, Mr. Ross, I’m viewing this as a very great and little-understood love affair. Mary Hannah was so fine and sublime that Marcus Reno’s nature found a solace and a home upon her bosom.”

  Ross laughed. “You have an odd way of looking at things, Mr. Richler.”

  “Major Reno’s dying wish, which he conveyed to me, was that I restore his honor. I promised I’d try. Doubted I could, I might add. I’ve been probing ever since, and what fascinates me is that there are several Marcus Renos, and the finest one of all is the one married to Mary Hannah Ross during the War of the Rebellion. The Reno beforehand was barely disciplined; the one afterward even less so, though it didn’t show up until after the Little Bighorn. So I guess what I’m saying, Mr. Ross, is that your sister had a profound and good effect on him, she was the angel in the life of Marcus Reno, and had she lived, he would not have fallen into disgrace. It suggests to me a love so sweet and true that it was the stuff of ballads and dreams.”

  For a long while Andrew Ross didn’t respond, and then it came, slowly at first, and finally in a rush.

  “They loved each other. They weren’t alike; I couldn’t imagine what they saw in each other. I thought it was his captain’s insignia and blue uniform, but I was wrong. I thought it was his adventuresome stories, and derring-do, but I was wrong there, too. She adored him, sat beside him, caught his hand, touched his cheek, smiled as she peered into his eyes, and he was just as smitten.

  “I didn’t like it, I didn’t much like him, I thought he was a bounder, but that was maybe just a brother’s suspicions. Our mother gave the blessing; she was quite satisfied and rejoiced in Mary Hannah’s happiness and fortune. I guess you’re right, sir; for as long as Mary Hannah Ross was there, beside her husband, Marcus Reno was a worthy man.”

  That left a few things unsaid about the widower, but Joe Richler didn’t push it. “That’s what I hoped to hear, Mr. Ross. That’s what gives me heart to write Marcus Reno’s obituary as kindly as I can.”

  “Well, don’t think the Rosses are pleased by how things came out,” Ross added, sharply. “Dishonorable conduct. Peeping Tom. You can’t imagine what those charges and the exposure in the press has done to my family.”

  “He never was a Peeping Tom, sir. A man who, probably in his cups, raps on the parlor window to draw the attention of a young angel he cares for is not a man … lurking in the dark for his private purposes.”

  “You can’t put any sort of justification on it, and that’s final,” Andrew retorted. “There’s no excuse.”

  Richler didn’t debate the issue.

  That afternoon Ross took him to the family plot, where Mary Hannah lay amidst the rest of the family. The Ross plot was full, and there had been no room for Marcus there, nor would Andrew permit young Robert Ross Reno and his wife, Itty, to move Mary Hannah’s bones from the Ross plot.

  Richler stood, quietly, looking at the solemn gravestone over the remains of the most beautiful thing in Major Marcus Reno’s life. It said,

  “Mary Ross Reno, wife of Colonel M. A. Reno, U. S. Army, and daughter of Robert J. & Mary E. Ross. Born Nov. 16, 1843. Died July 10, 1874.”

  Andrew Ross had affirmed the very thing that Richler had been reaching for all these weeks. Marcus Reno was somehow completed by Mary Hannah, and after she died, nothing inside of him was ever the same.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  JOE RICHLER CAUGHT A TROLLEY OUT TO GLENWOOD CEMETERY, ON Lincoln Road NE, on the edge of Washington, and found Major Marcus Reno’s unmarked grave easily enough. He had watched while Reno’s casket was lowered there. Reno’s son had bought no stone and now the place was both forlorn and anonymous, as if whoever lay there did not matter. Or whoever lay there was despised.

  Young locust trees were beginning to spread their leaves over the burial grounds, casting welcome shade and comforting those who walked tenderly through this place.

  Richler had come here immediately upon detraining at Union Station; he regretted not rushing into Nadine’s arms, but this would only take a few moments, and would be a fitting end for his trip. It was something he had to do, and wanted to do.

  The grave was not tended well, and had sunk slightly, leaving a hollow where there had been a slight mound.

  He took off his derby and held it in hand, trying to gather his thoughts. He wanted to speak to the dead, or to whatever restless spirit might hover there, if any. Or maybe he just wanted to put everything in perspective, so he could write his obituary sensibly when he got home.

  “Major, I’ve been tracking you down,” he said, tentatively. “I talked to people who knew you or commanded you or disliked you or admired you. I’ve read the official record. I’ve read your correspondence. I’ve looked at the files of the congressional committee that governs military matters. I’ve talked to your brother-in-law. I’ve paid my respects to Mary Hannah. I was very fortunate to win an interview from General Terry, especially since he’s in fragile condition. He was kind, and even affectionate toward you.

  “They were mostly kind. Your friend Colonel Benteen was blunt, as always. Captain Godfrey helped me understand what they have against you. I didn’t talk to Captain Bell or any of those in the Seventh who tried to throw you out; they weren’t available and weren’t worth talking to.

  “I’m going to defend your honor. I can’t change the army’s view. I can’t restore your rank to you posthumously. But I’m going to tell the readers of the Herald that you fought honorably and gallantly in the War of the Rebellion and the Little Bighorn. I’m going to tell them how much Mary Hannah meant to you, and how good your years with her were. And I’m going to leave the rest to history. I think maybe someday the world will understand how circumstances change us, and how we’re shaped by the tragedies that befall us. And I’m going to say something about how some people have trouble governing their impulses, as you did.

  “And major, I’m going to tell them that Marcus Reno was a gallant soldier and honorable and worthy of a better fate.”

  He stood, hat in hand, listening to the silence, and then walked slowly home, composing the first sentence of the obituary in his mind.

  EPILOGUE

  IN 1967, AT THE BEHEST OF CHARLES RENO, A GRAND NEPHEW OF Major Reno, the Army Board for Correction of Military Records convened a hearing to review Marcus Reno’s record. The board closely exa
mined his entire career, from West Point to separation from the army, and concluded that Reno’s dismissal for the offenses cited was excessive punishment. The board pointedly did not condone Reno’s conduct, but noted that the abuse and condemnation he had suffered since the battle of the Little Bighorn had eroded his character after a long and exemplary career.

  It decided:

  “That all of the Department of Army records of MARCUS A. RENO be corrected to show that he was honorably discharged from the United States Army in the Grade of Major, United States Army (Brevet Colonel, United States Army, and Brevet Brigadier General, United States Volunteers), on April 1, 1880.”

  The recommendation was approved, and Marcus Reno’s military honor was restored to him.

  The Montana American Legion undertook the cost of reburying Marcus Reno in the Custer Battlefield National Cemetery. The major’s remains were disinterred from the unmarked grave in Glenwood Cemetery, carried to Billings for a memorial service, and then paraded with full military honor. A Sheridan, Wyoming, Drum and Bugle Corps offered a muffled drum cadence and then played “Garry Owen.” Following the flag-draped caisson was a riderless horse with its boots reversed in the stirrups, led by an officer in a cavalry uniform.

  At the battlefield reburial, close to where Custer fell, there were tributes from Cheyenne, Sioux, and Crow grandchildren of those who had fought in the battle. That was followed by three rifle volleys. And then “Taps” was played over Marcus Reno’s remains.

  Home at last.

  But the assault on Marcus Reno’s honor and courage continues to this day in the literature of the battle, and Reno’s reinstatement to honor has not slowed down those who blame him for Custer’s death. Not far away from where Reno’s remains now lie, there is a monument on Reno-Benteen Hill to the men of the Seventh Cavalry who fought and died there. But the names of the two commanders there, Marcus Reno and Frederick Benteen, are not graven in that monument. The omission was deliberate. So the dishonor lingers there on that windswept Montana hill.