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Quarter Miles Travel With Annita

Quarter Miles Travel With Annita

著者： Travel With Annita and Friends
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The Adventure begins when you reach into your pocket. Each U.S. Mint Commemorative Quarter design tells a unique story. Each quarter is filled with pride, from hometown heroes to iconic landmarks; wildlife and nature to music and culture. Reach into your pocket and let Quarter Miles Travel take it from there, we’ll turn that quarter into an adventure.Copyright Quarter Miles Travel 2021 旅行記・解説 社会科学
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  • Episode 52: Joe and The Alamo – Little Known Stories

    Episode 52: Joe and The Alamo – Little Known Stories
    2026/07/13
    Joe and The Alamo – Little Known Stories The Last Man Standing Joe the Battle of The Alamo, and the testimony that became history There were many stories on the wagon trail. To understand what Joe did, you first have to understand what he wasn’t supposed to do at all. He wasn’t a soldier. Nobody swore him in. Nobody handed him a rank. He was, in the eyes of the law and in the eyes of the man who owned him, property, a twenty-year-old enslaved man named Joe, body servant to a twenty-six-year-old lieutenant colonel named William Barret Travis. Joe pressed his master’s clothes. Saddled his horse. Drove his carriage into town. That was the job. That was supposed to be the whole of his story.Here on Quarter Miles Travel – Well say his name and we tell his story. In December of 1835, Travis was ordered to the Texas frontier, to a small town built around a crumbling Spanish mission, San Antonio de Béxar. He brought Joe with him. Not as a companion. As equipment – as property. They arrived on February 5th, 1836. Within three weeks, everything about that place would become permanent carved into American memory for two hundred years. The mission was called the Alamo. On February 23rd, Mexican forces under General Antonio López de Santa Anna poured into San Antonio far faster than the Texans expected. Santa Anna raised a blood-red flag over the bell tower of San Fernando Church, a message with only one meaning: no mercy, no quarter, no surrender terms. Travis answered with a single cannon shot. For the next thirteen days, roughly two hundred men, Travis, Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett, and the volunteers who’d gathered behind the Alamo’s crumbling walls, held out against a force that outnumbered them many times over. And for thirteen days, Joe was there too.He didn’t get a say in whether to stay and fight or to run. He shared every hour of it anyway, the cold, the hunger, the exhaustion, the slow realization that the reinforcements everyone hoped for weren’t coming. Historians will tell you plainly: an enslaved man’s presence during a siege like this wasn’t unusual for the era. What’s unusual, what’s remarkable is that we know what Joe experienced at all. Because almost nobody in that position ever got to speak afterward. Joe did. Before dawn on March 6th, 1836, the assault came. By Joe’s own later account, he was asleep in the same room as Travis when the alarm went up. Travis grabbed his rifle and his sword. He shouted for Joe to follow him. They ran together to the north wall. Travis called out to his men, one last order to stand and fight. He fired his weapon. Almost in the same instant, he was shot and fell inside the compound. Joe watched his master go down. And then he did the only thing that gave him any chance at all, he pulled back into one of the interior buildings and kept firing from cover as the walls came apart around him. The battle by this point wasn’t a battle in any organized sense anymore. It was hand to hand. Rifle butts, knives, bayonets. Men fighting for their own lives with whatever was in their hands. When Mexican soldiers finally broke all the way through, they moved building to building. And they called out, demanding that any Black men inside reveal themselves. Joe stepped out. Even so, in the chaos, a soldier struck him with a pistol and drove a bayonet toward him before a Mexican officer intervened and stopped it. He was one of only a small handful of people left alive inside those walls.The only adult male defender to survive. Joe was taken into Béxar as a captive. He watched a formal review of the Mexican army, a display, really, meant to communicate total victory. And then he was brought before Santa Anna himself. Joe apparently spoke some Spanish. So Santa Anna questioned him directly, about the size of the Texan forces, about Sam Houston’s army, about what was left to stand between the Mexican military and the rest of Texas. He was also asked to help identify the bodies of Travis and Bowie among the Alamo’s dead. Then, for reasons historians still debate, he was released. Think about the position he was in. A prisoner. Interrogated by the general who’d just ordered the deaths of everyone he’d spent thirteen days beside. No protection. No guarantee that walking out of that room meant walking out alive. And somehow, it was Joe, not a Texan officer, not a diplomat, who became one of the only living sources of truth about what had actually happened inside the Alamo. Joe made his way to Gonzales, traveling alongside Susanna Dickinson wife of a fallen Alamo defender, and her infant daughter. Together they delivered the news to Sam Houston and the gathering Texan forces there: the Alamo had fallen. Everyone inside was dead. It was the first confirmation Texas had. Houston, realizing Santa Anna’s army was still advancing, ordered Gonzales burned and its people evacuated east, the beginning of what Texans still call the Runaway Scrape. ...
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    17 分
  • American Cowboys: The Real Story

    American Cowboys: The Real Story
    2026/07/11
    American Cowboys: The Real Story SEGMENT ONE: THE AMERICAN COWBOY Hello, hello and welcome aboard Travel with Annita. I am so glad you’re riding with me today — because today we are going somewhere I have wanted to take you for a long time. We are going West. Not just geographically west, but historically west. We are going to the heart of one of the most powerful, most misunderstood, and most genuinely American stories ever told. We are talking about the American cowboy. Now, when I say “cowboy,” I want you to set aside for a moment everything Hollywood ever showed you. Set aside John Wayne. Set aside the rhinestone shirts and the singing cowboy. Set aside the lone white man on a white horse riding into the sunset. Because the real story — the actual, documented, fascinating history of the American cowboy — is so much bigger, so much richer, and so much more diverse than any movie ever captured. And today, we are going to tell it right. Let’s start at the very beginning — and I mean the very beginning. Before there was ever an American cowboy, there was a vaquero. Say that word with me — vaquero. It comes from the Spanish word vaca, meaning cow, and it described a skilled horseman who managed cattle across the open range. The vaqueros were Mexican. They were indigenous. They were mestizo — a mix of Spanish and Native ancestry — and they were doing this work in Texas, in California, in what would become the American Southwest, a full century before the famous cattle drives that most of us associate with cowboy history even began. Think about that for a moment. A century before. When the Spanish established missions in Texas in the early 1700s, they weren’t just building churches — they were building ranching operations. By 1721, there were nearly 5,000 head of cattle in the San Antonio River Valley alone, tended by vaqueros who had developed their craft into something extraordinary. By the early 1800s, California missions were operating herds that averaged 40,000 cattle each. This was an enormous, sophisticated cattle industry — and it was entirely run by people whose names Hollywood never put on a movie poster. And here is something important: every single tool we associate with the American cowboy came directly from the vaquero. The saddle with the raised horn for roping — Mexican. The lasso — that’s the vaquero’s reata. The chaps protecting a rider’s legs — from the Spanish chaparajos. The corral, the rodeo, the bronco, the rancho — all Spanish words, adopted wholesale by Anglo settlers who learned this craft by watching, by working alongside, and eventually by hiring the people who had been doing it for generations. By the 1870s, those tools and those techniques had become so common across Texas that everyone called them simply “American” — and the vaqueros who invented them got quietly written out of the story. Now. The moment that changed everything — that turned the cowboy from a regional ranch worker into a genuine American icon — was the Civil War. And specifically, what happened right after it. When Confederate Texas men left to fight, the people left behind tended those ranching operations. They were largely enslaved African Americans and vaqueros from Mexico. They kept those ranches going. And when the war ended, when emancipation came, those ranches sat in the middle of an astonishing situation: millions of longhorn cattle had roamed wild across Texas during the war years, largely unbranded and unclaimed. At the same time, the expanding railroad network was pushing north into Kansas and Missouri, and the cities of the North and East were desperately hungry for beef. So you had cattle. You had markets. And you had a distance of five hundred miles or more between them. And the solution — the human solution — was the cowboy. Between 1865 and roughly 1895, an estimated ten million Texas longhorns were driven north along famous routes like the Chisholm Trail, the Goodnight-Loving Trail, and the Western Trail. These cattle drives became the defining image of the American West. A trail crew typically included a trail boss, eight to twelve cowboys, a cook — who was arguably the most important person on the entire drive — and a wrangler managing the extra horses. They covered ten to fifteen miles a day. They crossed rivers with thousands of panicking cattle. They rode through lightning storms with no shelter. They worked in dust so thick you couldn’t see the rider in front of you. It was hard, physical, unglamorous work — and it built the cattle industry that fed a nation. But here is the most important thing to understand about that era: those trail crews were not the all-white crews Hollywood showed you. They were Mexican vaqueros. They were Native American riders, particularly through Indian Territory in what is now Oklahoma — men who knew that land better than any trail boss on earth. They were formerly enslaved Black men who ...
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    41 分
  • Episode 49: American Revolution Patriots In The Shadows

    Episode 49: American Revolution Patriots In The Shadows
    2026/07/03
    American Revolution Patriots In The Shadows Photo courtesy of U.S. Mint July 10th, 1777. Middle of the night. A small rowboat slips through British-controlled waters off the coast of Rhode Island. Forty men are packed into a handful of boats, oars wrapped in cloth to muffle the sound. Their target: a British general, asleep in a farmhouse a mile inland from his own troops. They land. They creep to the door. And when it doesn’t open fast enough, a man named Jack Sisson puts his own head down and rams it through. No shots fired. No alarm raised. British General Richard Prescott is dragged out of bed in his nightshirt and rowed back across enemy lines as a prisoner of war. Jack Sisson was an enslaved man from Rhode Island. And if you’ve never heard his name before; you’re not alone. Because for two hundred and fifty years, stories like his have been sitting in pension files and church records and old muster rolls, waiting for someone to go looking. I’m Annita Thomas, and this is Patriots in the Shadows, the story of the thousands of Black soldiers, sailors, spies, and guerrilla fighters who fought in the American Revolution. On both sides. In every colony. And in almost every major battle you learned about in school, even if nobody mentioned they were there. Let’s get into it. Before we even get to the war itself, we have to go back five years earlier to March 5th, 1770. Boston. A crowd is gathered outside the Custom House, taunting a group of British soldiers. Tensions have been simmering for months. And then, someone gives the order or maybe no one does, historians still argue about it, and the soldiers open fire into the crowd. The first man to die is Crispus Attucks. A dockworker, part African, part Native American, and by most accounts, right at the front of that crowd. He becomes the first casualty of what history will call the Boston Massacre, five years before a single shot of the actual war is fired. Fast forward to April 19th, 1775. Lexington Green. The war has officially begun. Among the colonial militia standing on that field is a man named Prince Estabrook, enslaved but permitted to serve. When the British volley hits the line, Estabrook goes down wounded. One of the very first men, of any race, hurt in the Revolutionary War. There were other Black militiamen at Concord that same day. We don’t have most of their names. That’s going to be a theme in this episode, and it’s worth sitting with for a second. The men who are remembered are often remembered by accident: a wound, a pension claim, an officer who happened to write something down. For every Crispus Attucks, there were probably a dozen men whose entire service is just… gone. Two months after Lexington, you get Bunker Hill, one of the bloodiest battles of the entire war. And this is where the historical record actually gets a little better, because so many officers on both sides wrote detailed accounts afterward. At least three dozen Black soldiers fought at Bunker Hill. Three dozen. Let that sink in for a second, next time someone shows you a painting of that battle with an all-white cast. Peter Salem, a man who’d been freed by his enslaver specifically so he could enlist, is credited with firing the shot that killed British Major John Pitcairn. This is the same officer who, weeks earlier at Lexington, had given the order to fire on the militia. Salem didn’t stop there either. he went on to fight at Saratoga and Monmouth. Then there’s Salem Poor. Also formerly enslaved. Poor fought so effectively at Bunker Hill, he’s credited with killing a British lieutenant colonel. that fourteen American officers, after the battle, signed a joint petition to the Massachusetts legislature. Fourteen officers, vouching for one soldier. They called him, and I’m going to read this because it’s worth hearing exactly as written: “a brave and gallant soldier” who “behaved like an experienced officer.” That document still exists. It’s one of the only formal, individual battlefield commendations we have for a Black soldier in the entire war. And there’s Barzillai Lew, six-foot-tall free Black cooper from Massachusetts, who served as a fifer and drummer. Story goes, during the actual fighting, Lew kept morale up by playing “Yankee Doodle” on his fife while the battle raged around him. He’d go on to serve at Fort Ticonderoga and was present at Saratoga when British General Burgoyne surrendered. His powder horn is still sitting in a museum in Chicago today. And here’s a fun fact, in 1943, Duke Ellington wrote a piece of music in his honor, after learning his story from his own high school teacher. Cuff Whittemore fought so bravely that day, he was allowed to keep a sword he’d captured off a British officer. Titus Coburn, Alexander Ames, Blaney Grusha, Cato Howe, Seymour Burr, all there too. All in the fight. Most of them known to us today only because somebody, somewhere, wrote their name down on a piece...
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    26 分
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