Elias Boudinot, a member of Congress in the new Federal Government, introduced a resolution in 1789, to form a joint committee that asked President George Washington to call for a day of prayer and thanksgiving. That joint resolution passed both Senate and House. Washington chose to respond.

On October 3, 1789, he called for a day of “Public Thanksgiving and Prayer,” that he set for Thursday, November 26, 1789. Washington celebrated that early Thanksgiving, by attending services at St. Paul’s Chapel, and giving beer and food to those in jail for failing to pay their bills.

Washington set another day of Thanksgiving late in his administration, in 1795, after armed forces defeated the Whiskey Rebellion.

Thomas Jefferson was elected President in 1800, but he refused to proclaim a day of prayer and Thanksgiving, based on that “wall of separation between Church and State,” spelled out in the First Amendment. He also believed it the duty of the states to determine special days of observance.

Yet, when governor of Virginia, Jefferson had declared a day of Thanksgiving and Prayer. The idea of a national day of Thanksgiving died though with Thomas Jefferson, and remained almost dead until the Civil War split the country apart, over slavery.

The one exception was James Madison who called for a single day of Thanksgiving.

Sarah Josepha Hale, editor at Godey’s Lady’s Book, a women’s magazine, had lobbied governors, Congressmen, judges, and presidents for four decades, pleading for a national day of Thanksgiving.

She asked the same thing of everyone, that “the last Thursday in November be set aside to ‘offer to God our tribute of joy and gratitude for the blessings of the year.’”

Lincoln was the first person with any authority to respond to Sarah Josepha Hale’s letter dated September 28, 1863, but then Lincoln faced a rebellion and a war and needed some good news, something positive to redirect the nation’s attention.

On January 1, 1863, Lincoln had issued the Emancipation Proclamation, freeing the slaves in the rebellious states. On July 3, 1863, at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, Union forces had stopped the Confederates’ attack on Cemetery Ridge, south of the town, dooming Lee’s march into the North.

On July 4, 1863, the Confederate Army of the Mississippi, led by Lt. General John C. Pemberton, surrendered to Union Major General Ulysses S. Grant at Vicksburg, Mississippi, after a 47-day siege, dividing the Confederacy into two parts. The Union now controlled the Mississippi River.

Partly as a result of the welcome news on both fronts, President Lincoln read Sarah Joseph Hale’s letter, and chose to act.

On October 3, 1863, the same day as Washington’s proclamation, Lincoln issued his proclamation, “to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

William Seward, Lincoln’s Secretary of State, drafted the proclamation, and Lincoln signed it. “A year later federal officials chose to sell that document of the proclamation, in order to benefit Union troops,” an archivist’s worst outcome.

On November 19, 1863, Lincoln boarded a train in Washington D.C. that carried him to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where he spoke for a few minutes at the dedication ceremony for the new national cemetery, a fitting burial site for those Union soldiers who had perished over three hot days in July.

Lincoln finished his address, “that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the Earth.”

A week later, on November 26, 1863, when back in the White House, Abraham Lincoln, with Mary Todd, and their sons, celebrated that day of Thanksgiving and prayer, as did countless other Americans across the country. What a monumental year 1863 had become! Thanksgiving began to bind the nation.

William August Muhlenberg, an Episcopal clergyman in New York City, read the President’s proclamation for a day of Thanksgiving, and on that day, he jotted down the lyrics for what he called a President’s Hymn, that he entitled “Give Thanks All Ye People.”

“Give thanks, all ye people; give thanks to the Lord. Alleluias of freedom, with joyful accord. Let the east and the west, north and south roll along; Sea, mountain and prairie, one thanksgiving song.”

May all of you, my dear readers, enjoy this Thanksgiving, as it binds our families and our nation together once again, over a noon meal on a Thursday, the last week in November, the way that George Washington and Abraham Lincoln wanted it.

Bill Benson, of Sterling, is a dedicated historian.

Gaston Leroux published his novel, “Le Fantome de l’Opera,” or “Phantom of the Opera,” in 1911.

Earlier he had worked as a theatre critic for a French newspaper, the “L’Echo de Paris,” and had heard talk of a chandelier, fastened above the crowd, in the Paris Opera House, that had crashed down, killing one, injuring others. He also learned of murders and kidnappings at the theatre.

He then heard rumors of a ghost that haunted the Paris Opera House, who lived near an underground lake, deep below the opera house, who in secret, interacted with audiences, theatre officials, and actors.

Leroux pulled these isolated facts and rumors into a tale of mystery and horror, in the same order as Edgar Allen Poe or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. In Leroux’s telling, the Opera Ghost instructs those with mediocre talents and brings out their best on stage, if they will allow him.

The Opera Ghost hesitates to show himself to many, because he suffers from a disfigured face, that he covers with a partial mask.

One current literary critic, Patricia Drumright, pointed out that Leroux’s story has remained popular for over a hundred years, because it offers “something for just about everyone,” mystery, Gothic horror, music, theater, melodrama, tragedy, and, above all else, romance.

In his mystery novel’s prologue, Leroux claimed that he had investigated the facts and rumors and concluded that it was all true, even though his novel is a work of fiction.

The romance is three-sided: Christine Daae, a young and dazzling soprano, from Sweden; Rauol, Christine’s childhood friend, who now professes his intense love for Christine; and the Opera Ghost, whom Christine calls her Angel of Music, who also professes his everlasting love for Christine.

Drumright says, “Rauol offers romance, but the Phantom offers passion.”

In Leroux’s beginning pages, Christine sings in place of Carlotta, who had failed to show for a performance, and Christine brings down the house. The audience is astonished at Christine’s voice, her exceptional talent, and wonders why she has not sung before.

Seated in the audience that evening is Rauol, a young man who recognizes Christine as a childhood friend. After the performance, he goes to her backstage room and is about to knock on the door, when he hears a conversation between Christine and a man, both inside the room.

The man says, “Christine, you must love!” She replies, “How can you talk like that? When I sing only for you!” He says, “Your soul is a beautiful thing, child. The angels wept tonight.”

Christine leaves the room, fails to see Rauol, who then steps into the room, wanting to meet and confront this mysterious man, whom he now despises, but the room is empty. When Rauol confronts Christine about the man in her room, she is vague, evasive, not forthcoming with information.

Gothic horror novels are “expected to be dark and tempestuous and full of ghosts, madness, outrage, superstition, and revenge.” Drumright says, “this tale contrasts ugliness with elegance, genius with madness, and ruthlessness with compassion.”

In 1984, Andrew Lloyd Weber, a Broadway musical producer, famed for “Cats,” was busy writing a different musical, when he found a copy of Leroux’s long-out-of-print novel in a second-hand store.

Lloyd Weber said, “I realized that the reason I was hung up was because I was trying to write a romantic story. With the Phantom, it was there.” The musical producer transformed Leroux’s novel into a spectacular musical extravaganza.

Drumright says that Andrew Lloyd Weber’s stage version of Leroux’s novel is now considered “the most successful musical of all time.”

But, “Phantom of the Opera,” Broadway’s longest-running show ever, after 35 years, will close on February 18, 2023, with a record 13,925 performances. “It has sold nearly 20 million tickets and grossed $1.3 billion.” “This winter the Phantom will haunt the Paris Opera house for the last time.”

I will say that Andrew Lloyd Weber’s music is haunting. The “Overture” features a pipe organ solo with crashing chords that step up the musical scale and then step back down. Think Vincent Price and Edgar Allen Poe. The two most admired songs are “All I Ask of You,” and “Music of the Night.”

In that latter song, the masked Phantom sings his love to Christine.

“Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses. . . . Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in, To the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night.” It is haunting.

Of Leroux’s novel, one critic pointed out that it is a story of “a misunderstood monster who only needs love,” a nod to “Beauty and the Beast.” Another said of the Phantom, “He had a heart that could have held the entire empire of the world; and in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar.”

Have a safe and happy—if not a Phantom-filled—Halloween! “Let the dream begin.”

In the year 2000, the horror fiction writer Stephen King came out with a different kind of book, a nonfiction book that he entitled, “On Writing: a Memoir of the Craft.” He begins with a series of scenes from his childhood, and explains how he launched his career of writing popular fiction.

King uses a metaphor, that of a toolbox, to describe how he works when he writes. At the bottom of the toolbox lie the fundamentals: appropriate vocabulary, sticking with accepted grammar, the use of active verbs rather than passive, and avoiding adverbs.

The toolbox’s second layer contains distinct styles: light, thin, and airy fluff; or serious and detailed information. Often the reading audience determines an appropriate style. King points out that dense and packed paragraphs are for scholars, but thin, underweighted paragraphs make reading easier.

King offers an opinion. “The paragraph, not the sentence, is the basic unit of writing.” In other words, he urges writers to write a functional paragraph—one with a topic sentence and a number of supporting sentences—rather than a series of sentences strung together without reason.

Winston Churchill once glared at a dessert, and shouted, “Take away this pudding. It has no theme.”

The toolbox’s third and top layer contains wisdom and good judgment; in other words, selecting the right tool for the job. A hammer will nail down a screw, but a screwdriver works better.

For example, leave out humor, satire, and ridicule when describing a crime or battle scene, and steer clear of a hostile, strident, or even angry tone. Leave that for the zealots and demagogues.

Stephen King advises all want-to-be writers to “Read a lot, and write a lot.” He says to read all kinds, good or even excellent written works, as well as mediocre and rotten, just to gain the experience of knowing what sparkles and what shines dim.

He says that he “reads seventy to eighty books every year, mostly fiction.” Because he writes for several hours every morning, he reads every afternoon.

King remains infatuated with Strunk and White’s small text of 78 pages, “The Elements of Style,” a standard for College Freshman composition classes. Although some writers have jettisoned this classic work, King believes that the list of 21 suggestions at the book’s end points writers in a good direction.

“1. Place yourself in the background. 2. Write in a way that comes naturally. 3. Work from a suitable design. 4. Write with nouns and verbs. 5. Revise and rewrite. 6. Do not overwrite. 7. Do not overstate. And, 21. Prefer the standard to the offbeat. ie. Steer clear of the eccentricities in language.”

Stephen King’s advice to writers holds merit, but not all enjoy his horror fiction. Others may prefer non-fiction: an essay, an opinion column, a history, a memoir, a sketch of an event, or a biography. Yet, King’s tool box remains, for the most part, the same for both fiction and non-fiction writers.

In 1946, a British author named George Orwell wrote an essay that he entitled, “Why I Write.” He gave four reasons: sheer egoism, a desire to seem clever; aesthetic enthusiasm, the beauty in words and phrases; historical impulse, a wish to identify “true facts and store them up for posterity’s use.”

His fourth reason, political purpose, is “a desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other people’s idea of the kind of society that they should strive after.”

Orwell wrote in the mid-twentieth century, a time when the democracies of the world were under attack, when totalitarian governments were on the rise, when the outcome of the conflict was unknown.

He said, “The Spanish war and other events in 1936-7 turned the scale. Every line of serious work that I have written since 1936 has been written against totalitarianism and for a democratic” form of government. “It seems nonsense to think that one can avoid writing of such subjects.”

Toward the end of the essay, Orwell underscores Strunk and White’s first suggestion. He writes, “And yet it is also true that one can write nothing readable unless one constantly struggles to efface one’s own personality.” In other words, he wants to “place himself in the background.”

Orwell then finishes the essay, with a startling sentence.

“And looking back through my work, I see that it is invariably where I lacked a political purpose that I wrote lifeless books and was betrayed into purple passages, sentences without meaning, decorative adjectives, and humbug generally.”

Orwell believed that he wrote his best pieces when he wrote with a political purpose, when he tried, “to push the world in a certain direction, to alter people’s idea about the proper society,” to suggest a better path for a government and its people to follow. Courageous he was.

Although Stephen King wanted to entertain, and George Orwell wanted to change the way people thought about political issues, yet each relied upon tools from similar toolboxes.

One final thought, writing well requires years of diligent effort. Chaucer said, “Not years enough, in life so short, to learn a craft so long.”

Bill Benson, of Sterling, is a dedicated historian.