The Lovely Libbie Custer

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m Dr. Moustache, a professor of history at Honey Buffting University, where I specialize in American art and aesthetics. I am sad to inform you that Miss Kleio has been, how does one say, detained. I believe that her skin is … melting. Something about a camera flash. Quite unfortunate. Quite …

Well then, in our hostess’s absence, I will be your docent. Our first stop will be several portraits of the beautiful Libbie Custer, wife of George Armstrong Custer of Little Bighorn Fame. Quite an elegant woman indeed.

Here’s a picture of Mrs. Custer with her husband …

… a man whose appearance can only be likened to that of the late Duane Allman. Let us assume, then, that he must have had quite a stellar personality. Yes, quite.

After her husband bumbled into his demise at Little Big Horn, Libbie worked tirelessly on behalf of her husband’s memory. Libbie’s non-stop published several books and lectured tirelessly, in an ongoing effort to retrieve Custer’s name from ignominy. Amassing a fortune in the process, Libbie’s lectures and books helped transform a military mishap into a story of American character and fortitude.

Here’s a portrait of the elder Mrs. Custer.

Martha, George, and Jacques …

Oh! You’re back – well then, where to start? I know. Here, look at this beautiful lady: Mrs. Martha Washington. Isn’t she lovely!

Of course, the portrait was painted before my time. I knew Martha, certainly, but she was quite homely when by the time I made it to Mount Vernon. I was just a little boy then. Oh! And how quickly she ripened!

Doesn’t her face look like a bloated apple in that portrait? Wicked, Kleio, wicked. But she was such a saucy woman, you know! Such bad language, she and George – Ah! Here are two of my favorites, it’s the poet, Mr. George Gordon, Lord Byron. He was quite handsome, as you can see.

I knew him quite well – I was in my forties, I suppose. He had a fondness for older men – well, he had a fondness for everyone, really – but before we could … consummate … our romance, I got a little woozy at the thought of his club foot. I was very shallow then – today, I would be happy to have the attention of half the man as he! My – even less!

Yes … he was so youthful. Terrible death and – Oh my! Here’s the French philosopher, Monsier Jacques Derrida.

Doesn’t he look like that feller from The Police? Yes, we had a conversation once. His grammar was very poor – I didn’t understand a thing he said. And my word, in his old age he began to look like Detective Columbo!

A Meeting at the van Wyck Residence

… now where did I put my beet scrubber? I couldn’t have — Oh! Oh my! Hello there! You must be my readers! Oh, how very rude of me — please, come in, have a seat … oh dear, I’m so glad all of you could make it! Don’t be shy! Yes, that’s it — no need to rush, my friends. There are a few seats left near the fireplace … yes, right there — next to the gentleman in the top hat. Are we all settled? Yes? Very good! Well then, please let me introduce myself: my name is Miss Kleio van Wyck and this is my “weblog”: Miss Kleio’s History Kitties, a lovely little roadside museum dedicated to the most beautiful women and men I’ve encountered throughout my long life. And that’s not all. If you’ll indulge my vanity, I will gladly offer my humble perspective on some of the day’s most pressing issues, as well as present short fiction by my many friends and colleagues.

As for myself: well, there’s very little to say. I’m two-hundred-and-thirty-three years old. And I’m from Hoboken, New Jersey. Have any of you been there? No? Well, it’s quite … it’s quite — ah, yes! Would you care to see a picture of Miss Kleio in her youth? Yes? I see some of you nodding your heads. Very well then … let’s see if I can find my scrapbook. Now where did I – ah, here it is!

That’s me on the right, you see, in 1866, when I was a mere 90 years old. Those were sad days, friends, let me tell you! I had just reunited with my brother Ebenezer — that’s him on the left, you see — and — what’s that? Oh! You’re wondering why I’m wearing men’s clothing! Ha! Yes, well, I was Kletus then. I became Kleio in 1917 when my nephew Gordon warned me that I might be drafted. The Great War, you see. Surely you remember? It was hardly yesterday — ah well, you can imagine how silly I must have felt. Shortly after I bought my first women’s wardrobe and legally changed my name, I realized that my age might disqualify me from military service. Sure enough, after checking with the local recruiting office, I discovered that they weren’t looking for one-hundred-and-forty-one year olds anymore. But by that time, I found that I quite liked my new life and new identity, and so Kleio I remained.

Well now, I can see that you’re all growing restless. Before we adjourn for lunch, however, I’d be happy to address any questions or concerns? Do we have any questions … any at all? Ah, yes! There in the back – in the blue turtleneck, what’s you’re question? A picture, you say? With me? Oh no, impossible, I’m afraid. My doctor warns me that a camera flash may … damage my skin. I’m rather old, you understand. Any others? No? Well then, enjoy your tea and biscuits! We’ll reconvene in twenty minutes.