Following the Question, Part II: What I Brought Home from TCU

2026 LCpl. Benjamin W. Schmidt Symposium on War, Conflict, and Society

When I wrote my first post about the 2026 LCpl. Benjamin W. Schmidt Symposium on War, Conflict, and Society, I was heading to TCU with a notebook, my husband, a stack of books, and more excitement than preparation.

Now that I've had time to sit with the experience, I can say this: I came to TCU hoping to find answers and left instead with better questions, a longer reading list (several more books), and a renewed appreciation for how complex the American Revolution was—and still is—and for how many of its stories are still being uncovered today.

Sarah Botstein's discussion of the years of research, challenges, and collaboration that went into The American Revolution made me revisit the series with fresh eyes. I came away with a deeper understanding, a wish that women's stories had received more attention, and plenty of new ideas and research questions that will undoubtedly find their way onto this blog. Then again, I suspect everyone who watches the series will find a topic they wish had been explored a little more.

As an independent historian and museum professional, I sometimes find academic conferences feel a bit like showing up to someone else's family reunion. Everyone seems to know each other, the handshakes and hellos fly fast, and you're hoping nobody asks the one question you weren't prepared for.

Instead, I found a symposium that was welcoming, comfortable, and intellectually energizing. I didn't exactly put myself out there, but I didn't shy away either. Mostly, I was trying to take it all in and quietly asking myself: Where is my place in all this? That feeling soon passed, and I felt like I was in a community.

I couldn't tell you how many people attended, but there were plenty. My husband came with me…not because I made him, but because he was curious, and having him there made the three-hour drive home one long conversation about history, ideas, and everything we'd just heard.

I'm not going to give a play-by-play of the symposium. I don't think anyone wants that.

What I will say is this: as someone researching military history, military spouses, and the home front, I found myself scribbling notes furiously. These scholars weren't talking directly about military spouses, yet their work kept circling questions I've been asking for years:

Where do we draw the boundaries of war?

Who counts as part of military history?

And what happens when those boundaries are too small?

I came away with a long list of questions—some new, and some embarrassingly obvious in hindsight, especially concerning women, race, and class. Sometimes my traditional military studies get in the way of thinking sideways.

I had the opportunity to meet and chat with several of the speakers, but I was especially excited to speak with Lauren Duval, author of The Home Front: Revolutionary Households, Military Occupation, and the Making of American Independence (2025), which I had only recently started reading.

There is something wonderfully surreal about standing in front of an author whose book currently has seventeen sticky notes sticking out of it and saying, "Yeah, I just got it."

I also have to mention listening and seeing the LCpl. Benjamin W. Schmidt family there and the care and respect shown for both Benjamin and the study of War, Conflict, and Society. It made me tear up. I know that might sound corny, but if you've lived in the military world, you probably know what I mean.

One of the hardest parts of studying military history while also being part of the military community is understanding that these stories are never entirely in the past. We study wars, campaigns, and casualties, but behind it all is a name, and every name has a family whose loss didn’t end when the war ended, and the history books moved on.

When you're in the military, you often know the service member, their spouse, and their children. You don't always know the parents who raised them or the family members who carry that loss afterward. Hearing Benjamin's story and seeing his family there reminded me that military history isn't just about institutions or conflicts. It's about people and the communities that remember them.

When I wrote my first article about the symposium, I said I was following a question.

That question hasn't gone away.

If anything, the symposium confirmed something I've long suspected: military history is bigger than battlefields, campaigns, and generals. The home front isn't adjacent to war. It's an integral part of the military system itself. I know what I need to do next.

I arrived with a notebook.

I left with more books to read, a longer reading list (which my bookshelves did not need), more people to learn from, and… perhaps most importantly… the sense that I'm asking questions worth pursuing.

~Mel

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