There have been plenty of mentions during the impeachment process of Gov. Mark Sanford about an impeachment in 1877. The year struck us as meaningful, since it was when the old guard of South Carolina retook the government from the Federal occupying forces and the “Radical Republicans.” Former Confederate Gen. Wade Hampton III was inaugurated as governor, and a push began to throw out everyone elected or appointed during Reconstruction.

One of those under the gun was S.C. Supreme Court Asst. Justice Jonathan Jasper Wright. He was originally from Pennsylvania, and arrived in the Palmetto State after the Civil War to set up schools for freed slaves. After a brief return to Pennsylvania, he came back and became one of the first blacks to be admitted to the South Carolina bar in 1868. That year, he was elected to the Senate, representing Beaufort, and two years later was elected by his fellow legislators to the Supreme Court.

The 1876 gubernatorial race, though, proved to hasten his downfall. The race between Hampton and former Union 2nd Lt. Daniel Chamberlain was beset by voter fraud and violence, much of it perpetrated by a paramilitary organization known as the Red Shirts. These men were former Confederate soldiers who took up arms to reassert the old ways. One of their typical activities was shooting into and disrupting election rallies of the blacks and few moderate whites who were supporting the Republican ticket.

The decision about the winner went to the Court, and Wright and fellow Justice A.J. Willard voted in favor of Hampton. A while after, Wright tried to reverse his opinion, but it was too late. That drew the ire of Democrats who had flooded into office, and rumors ran around town that he was a drunk and susceptible to bribery. The House put together a set of impeachment charges and that spelled the end of Wright’s term on the Court. He knew his days were numbered, so he resigned and went on to private practice until his death in 1885. Wright’s also known for setting up a law department at Claflin University after leaving office.

One of the things that Fritz Hollings will have to answer for in the afterlife is putting the Confederate naval jack on top of the State House. The flag was an issue throughout the ’90s, and former Gov. David Beasley can consider part of the reason he lost his reelection effort was because of white men who wanted to punish him for trying to get the flag off the dome.

With the flag moved down behind the Confederate soldier memorial and squared off into the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia, it was hoped that controversies would slip off into the background. As it turns out, not so much.

As is well-known now, the Atlantic Coast Conference pulled its conference baseball tournament from Myrtle Beach because of that piece of fabric and stitching. Just recently, the Palmetto State lost another convention (this one a religious organization) because of the flag.

While we know quite well of our ancestors’ honorable service in the Confederate cavalry (specifically the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry, Co. B, under Gen. Wade Hampton III), we’ve had enough. Something we wrote several years ago seems to fit.

My friends have told me to just ignore these people and that they would just go away. Well, we’ve been ignoring them for some time, and they’re still here. They need to be brought out into the light and exposed for what they are. If these people have to keep denying that they’re racists and doing bad things, then maybe they are, and they need to check their actions. Don’t say I don’t know, because I do. I’ve known their type all of my life. They use code phrases like “politically correct,” mention the handful of blacks over history that have supported their side and put themselves in total denial about the nature of the Confederacy and of the South from then until now. Then they say that the “War of Northern Aggression” wasn’t about slavery, but states’ rights. States’ rights is another code phrase, meaning the right of whites in power to do what they want – this was true in 1860, 1960 and is true today.

Eventually, though, the flag will be gone from the stadiums, from the state houses and from the courthouses, and be placed in a Plexiglas case in a museum where it belongs. Then, maybe, we can all move forward into the future under one flag, the American flag.

Hey, we have no problem with descendants of Confederate veterans celebrating their heritage. While our family did own slaves (not really proud of that), many Confederate soldiers did not and were simply defending their homes.

However, that damn flag has been costing our state more money than we can afford. Maybe it’s time to come up with a new compromise?

During the next two weeks, the General Assembly is on furlough. WR will do its best to fill the time with stories, commentaries and analyses that are a little out of the norm.

This past Sunday, April 5, is a date that figures in my life in a strange way. I was supposed to be born on April 5, 1982, as predicted by the Italian co-owner of a deli my parents regularly visited in Birmingham’s Ensley neighborhood. She said I would be an Easter baby. Well, my birthday has fallen on Easter twice (1990, 2001), but not that year.

My paternal grandfather, an uncle and the Civil War veteran I am directly descended from were all born on April 5. Some sort of cosmic strangeness that I will never understand. And, it has become a day when I reflect over my family’s history here in South Carolina and in Alabama.

My grandfather, who passed away at the end of my first Spring semester at Carolina, was a person I never got to know very well, though I did spend a decent amount of time around him as I was a child. He was named Hampton, as was his father before him, and one of his grandchildren. Hampton has been a family name since a relative of mine was named after Wade Hampton II, when the Wolfes still ran a plantation in what was then called the southern part of Lexington District.

He attended Ensley High School, was involved in the art club there (which was bizarre to me when I learned of it) and was, for a time in his life, a postal inspector. He also served in the Pacific Theater of World War II. I never heard him talk much about the war, but my father told me of one time that my grandfather was tear-assing through where he was stationed (a base in the Philippines, I believe) and damn near ran over Gen. Douglas MacArthur.

The other story that usually comes to mind is of Alexander Hamilton Wolfe, who, with brothers Wade Hampton Wolfe (nicknamed Hampie) and James Wolfe left their home on the Congaree to enlist for South Carolina in the Civil War. Beforehand, both A.H. and Hampie had enrolled at Wofford, then transferred to Virginia, but did not have a chance to enjoy college life before the war.

As men of relative means, they brought their horses to the conflict and eventually found themselves in the Seventh South Carolina Cavalry, Co. B, under future S.C. governor and U.S. senator Wade Hampton III. James was an officer, while A.H. and Hampie served as NCOs. They served at places like the Siege of Fredericksburg, Cold Harbor and a number of other battles in the Old Dominion. A.H. was a part of the force that abandoned Richmond, escaping over the Manchester Bridge. A modern bridge over the James River stands near the same location. A.H. also was at the Battle of Williamsburg, a largely forgettable skirmish, except for the fact his horse got shot out from under him. While traipsing across Virginia, I managed to see a copy of the payment receipt from the Confederate government to him for his horse.

After the war, my family, unlike others in the Lowcountry, were not able to hang onto its ill-gotten wealth, but that did not mean they were not going to join the rest of the white aristocratic establishment and reassert the old guard. A.H. joined up with the Red Shirts, a paramilitary organization of which Wade Hampton III was one of the leaders. They rallied their partisans, harassed election rallies of free blacks, and were the foot soldiers of a movement that led to the highly contentious, and most would say corrupt, election of 1876 that restored the old guard and put Wade Hampton III as governor. As such, South Carolina was the only state that voted out Reconstruction before the Federal government ended it.

Perhaps A.H.’s lasting legacy is the fact he was a leader in the creation of Calhoun County. I guess our family and the others in the area (Stablers, Wannamakers, Geigers, Zeiglers, Otts, &c.) were tired of their decisions being made in Lexington and decided to put their power base, as much as it was, in St. Matthews.

When he died, his obituary, as was understandable, was printed in The State. The obit mentioned a number of things, and included a quote from notorious S.C. governor and U.S. senator Ben Tillman. Pitchfork Ben had a number of nice things to say about A.H., including calling him, and I am paraphrasing, a great cornfield lawyer.

If you think that, after lo these many years, getting the Wolfes back involved in S.C. politics after over 130 years, I am slightly conflicted about my family’s legacy in this state, as limited as it might have been, you would be right.

But, this happens every year.

On April 5.