Wrong

Way to go smart ass!

Had the pleasure on Monday of being wrong about something I was sure I knew. Nothing better for a historian. Seriously. Not only do you get to learn something you didn’t know, you get reminded to approach your subject with the respect it deserves, knowing you might have to adjust your understanding based on contravening facts and evidence. That still matters — even in the current national funhouse. It matters a lot.

The issue at hand was a small and obscure point:  whether there was snow on the ground during the German blitzkrieg into Poland in 1939. I was certain that there was not, for two reasons: The campaign ran September 1-27; and I’d never heard anything about snow on the ground in September 1939. The first is a legitimate basis for questioning the point. The second is lazy-ass stupid. Anyway, I was presented with photographic evidence, then I dived headfirst into the rabbit hole myself and came up with more. Well I’ll be damned…

Yes, there’s snow on the ground dammit…

Now, I don’t want to give the impression that I possess any particular virtue in the arena of being proved wrong. I fucking hate it. My mother used to say, “You’d rather be right than be president,” which is an odd way of putting it, since I’d rather be a proctologist than be president, but you get the point. It makes no difference if the point is obscure; that just makes me a pedantic bastard. Nevertheless, I have learned, through experience of course, to swallow my pride and at least fake a graceful concession to the facts. Truly, it’s good for you. So are burpees. You don’t have to like ’em.

Wonder what Ol’ Waylon has to say about this?