When it comes to writing steamy love letters, you really gotta hand it to Elizabeth and George - even though they handed it to themselves...
This is an unofficial transcript meant for reference. Accuracy is not guaranteed.
Because the way I heard it is now a book of the same name, and because that book is now a New York Times best seller. He said with great modesty I am using the incredibly valuable space in front of the store you're about to here to invite you to pick up a copy for yourself now. It is tempting to point to the many hundreds of five star reviews that the way I heard it has so far received, but that feels to self congrats dilatory. So, let's just say, let's just say that the way I heard it makes a heck of a Christmas present, which you can order right now at micro, dotcom, Slash book that Micro Dotcom, Slash book. Honestly, if you like the podcast, you're gonna, love the book and if you'd like an autograph copy for Christmas, perhaps we still have a few of those left at micro, dot, com, slash book. Having said that, this is the way I heard.
George was horny, sorry to be indelicate, but there is really no polite way to put it. He hadn't seen Elizabeth in weeks, and he missed his wife with the white hot intensity of a thousand sons he's me, sir, but a letter has arrived, George leaped from his chair and ran to the doorway and it over my good man with all due speed. The courier complied and George lock the door behind him, then, with trembling hands, he opened the envelope the sight of her handwriting quickened his pulse, the smell of her perfume wafted up from the parchment, leaving him
Phyllis. Oh my gallant champion, it began how I miss you, if only we could be together for just a few hours, if only I could sit tomboy for quick ride with you behind me. George swallowed hard gripping the page with his free hand by God his wife could really turn of phrase he try to slow things down, but when he got to the part that red I know of a soft place upon somebody's carpet that yearns for a gentle touch. Well, that was simply too much George had to collect himself and then start again from the top. The second time is better and always was George Red
slower savouring every syllable, pausing between paragraphs to fully embrace the imagery his wife had so cleverly evoked when he finished. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and tried to return the favour good more In my rosebud he wrote Little John has been making constant and earnest inquiries. For his bunk ii for a very long time and this morning, he seems more persistent than ever. I too who yearn to be in the saddle behind you holding on for dear life, and yes, I know just where I'd kiss a certain sum one if I was with her tonight, two weeks later. His letter arrived in Monroe Michigan, where a butler delivered it to the boudoir there it listen.
With devoured his words in much the same way. He had devoured hers, hungrily greedily, then after multiple readings she reached for her and in paper and got busy crafting another flurry of phrases carefully concocted to help her husband release the tension. During their long periods of separation, in other words, George and Elizabeth, were sexting, victorian style, sorry to be indelicate, but There is really no polite way to put it there. Letters were the nineteenth century equivalent of naked selfies, packed with enough double, Entendu to make Anthony Wiener blush, there were
references to long extended, gallops writing under the cropper and getting back in the saddle. In one letter, Elizabeth alluded to the possibility of quote breaking in a new Philly for their mutual pleasure and discuss the pros and cons of being ridden hard and put away wet. Through George was a famous equestrian, but nobody could read this kind of innuendo and conclude. The topic was horses and, of course nobody did because George was not only a horny husband. He was a careless, Husband at a time when a man's reputation and a woman's virtue were still fragile things George failed to protect both you see, Elizabeth letters were stolen, then they appeared in the pages of the Richmond Gazette and soon the entire country was
reading all about little John and the pleasures of riding tomboy and that soft place upon someone's carpet in need of a gentle touch. One can only imagine how Elizabeth must have felt seeing her private words in public print, but she survived the scandal and over time people forgot all about it. Likewise, they forgot all about her husband's other shortcomings. They forgot all about his impetuous nature They forgot all about his need to always be the centre of attention. They forgot about these things because once again, Elizabeth put pen to paper this time, exe
holding the virtues of her husband in a series of best selling books about his life on the frontier and his exploits on the battlefield, but Time she died at ninety years of age. Elizabeth had single handedly transformed Georgia's reputation not for that of a careless husband who famously embarrassed his own wife, but from that of a careless commander who famously killed his own men in the movie. George
died with his boots on fighting heroically right up to the bitter end in real life. Nobody knows his body was found three days after the smoke cleared naked, blackened bloated and covered with flies. One of the first responders said a finger had been cut off and kept as a souvenir. Another said his eardrums had been pierced with a sewing needle punishment for his failure to listen. Some said he appeared to be smiling in death, while others claimed and arrow had been forgive me, forced into his rectum pushed through his intestines and into his little John leaving. His corpse in a state of perpetual.
Readiness, even as it petrified under the Blue Montana sky. Sorry to be indelicate, but there is really no polite way to put it. Some of Georgia men were skinned alive. Others were dismembered and rearranged on the ground. President Grant called the entire debacle a completely unnecessary and totally avoidable slaughter made possible by the unforgivable hubris of a narcissistic glory, hound and yet the soldier who March his men into that valley of death is remembered today as an enduring hero of the American West, thanks to a devoted wife who never stopped grieving, never stop writing and ever stop believing her horny husband with some kind of euro. In spite of his unforgivable arrogance on the banks of a river called the little bighorn
exactly a happy ending for the boy general, but a far better legacy than he deserved, made possible by his blushing bride. Who really could turn of Phrase Elizabeth Custer anyway? That's the way I heard it.
Transcript generated on 2019-12-30.