The Poor Little Rich Boy

Wealthy and connected, James Tallman’s recklessness cost him everything

Season Two of Company D is sponsored in part by:

Ep15: James H. Tallman

Show Transcript

New Year’s in Washington, D.C., was cold and windy. Off the North Carolina coast, the first ironclad Navy ship, the USS Monitor, fought the Confederate ship Virginia to a draw, but sustained heavy damage.

The sinking of the Monitor was a fitting end to 1862, one of the darkest years of the Civil War. The war was going badly for the United States. There had been staggering Union losses at Antietam and Fredericksburg, and public confidence in the North was beginning to fray.

But in Washington, people still tried to celebrate. Politicians and military leaders attended private parties across the city. Taverns and barrooms were packed. At Brown’s Restaurant on 13th Avenue, a brawl broke out, and four men were arrested. Police struggled to keep order as crowds spilled into the streets.

At midnight, church bells rang in the new year; revolvers cracked into the night.

One of those gunshots may have spooked Captain James H. Tallman’s horse.

We don’t know why Tallman was riding that night. He may have been heading to a gathering or returning home. What we do know is that he was thrown from his horse and badly injured.

The next morning, Tallman called for the surgeon of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment, Dr. Thaddeus Hildreth, who found a significant shoulder injury. Tallman was granted a leave of absence and returned home to Bath, Maine, to recover. By spring, he was back at work as a quartermaster attached to the Army of the Potomac.

But the fall from his horse on New Year’s Day 1863 would prove to be a turning point in Tallman’s life. For the son of one of Maine’s richest men, the worst was coming. Much worse.

INTRODUCTION

Hello, and welcome to another episode of Company D, the narrative history podcast about the soldiers who served with Company D of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment. This is the history podcast that focuses on microhistory—getting up close and in detail about the lives of individual, everyday soldiers who fought in the American Civil War.

Company D focuses on families, relationships, and social history rather than politics and military tactics. Our goal is simple: One Regiment. One Company. Countless Stories. We preserve stories that otherwise would be forgotten.

Why Company D? Because this is personal. My great-great-grandfather served as a corporal in Company D. Charles F. Snell, 18 years old when he volunteered, kept a diary of his experiences in the American Civil War. That diary inspired and became the foundation for this podcast.

I’m your host, George F. Snell III. You get three for the price of one.

The Tallman mansion in Bath, Maine, located on High Street, still stands.

It boasts eight bedrooms, four baths, a formal dining room, and seven chimneys. It was once one of the grandest houses in the city.

But today it is empty, vacant, and in disrepair. Peeling paint mars the exterior. The stone walkway leading to the front door is crumbling.

At one point, the Tallmans were among the wealthiest and most powerful families in Bath, if not in the entire state of Maine.

But misfortune, much of it caused by the American Civil War, ended the Tallmans’ reign in Bath. Decades after the war, most of the family had scattered, the mansion had been sold, and then it fell into neglect and disrepair.

The family is still remembered, but relegated to a footnote in the history of Bath and Maine.

The Tallman family’s ascent began with Peleg Tallman, a scrappy working-class kid who would become a U.S. Congressman, a Maine State Senator, a shipmaster, a bank president, and a real estate mogul, amassing a vast fortune.

And its descent came two generations later, as the American Civil War drew to a close and James H. Tallman, Peleg’s grandson, returned to Bath, broken and sick, to find the family fortune squandered and his reputation tarnished.

The family’s ascent—its quick rise to fame and fortune—began during the Revolutionary War, with 16-year-old Peleg fighting for his life aboard the gunship Trumbull.

CHAPTER ONE: THE GRANDFATHER

Peleg Tallman was born in Tiverton, Rhode Island, in 1764. His mother died when he was eight, and his father, a ship’s carpenter, remarried and moved, leaving the 12-year-old Peleg behind.

Peleg became a sailor during the Revolutionary War, serving on privateer vessels. Privateers were privately owned armed vessels commissioned by the U.S. government to raid and capture British ships.

When he was just 16, Peleg was hired as a petty officer aboard the Trumbull, a 28-gun frigate. The Trumbull was sailing in the North Atlantic off the coast of Virginia, about 400 miles north of Bermuda, when it encountered the 34-gun British ship, Watt. The Trumbull closed to within a hundred yards and opened fire.

The two ships locked into a deadly firefight for nearly three hours. The Watt managed to escape after the Trumbull’s mainmast collapsed. The Watt suffered 92 casualties, and the Trumbull 39.

One of the injured was Peleg.

As the battle raged, Peleg replaced one of the gun captains and took charge of the men manning two of the Trumbull’s cannons. A load of grapeshot from the Watt exploded through the side of the ship. Peleg’s shoulder blade, he said, “shattered to pieces.”

His arm was amputated at the shoulder, but after six months of recovery in a Boston hospital, he returned to privateering.

In 1771, he and twelve other seamen were captured by the British and imprisoned in Kingsdale, Ireland, for nearly fourteen months. Nearly half of them died of smallpox and other diseases, but Peleg survived and was released when the war ended. He ended up in France, penniless, but somehow made it back to the United States.

“I landed in rags,” Peleg later remembered. “I stood without friends and only one arm, and knew not where to get a meal.”

He ended up back in Boston. Peleg befriended the doctor who had treated him during his hospital stay after losing his arm. Dr. Joseph Gardner became his patron, educating Peleg in mathematics and helping to finance the building of a trading brig that Peleg later captained. Peleg also became a U.S. Navy lieutenant.

After his Navy commission ended, Peleg turned to what he called “mercantile pursuits.” He began to manage Dr. Gardner’s considerable holdings in Maine, including a large farm in Woolwich.

Despite having only one arm, Peleg became quite fashionable, wearing beaver hats and carrying silk handkerchiefs. He began to captain many trading vessels and became extremely wealthy in the process.

Peleg married Eleanor Clarke, the daughter of a shipbuilder, in 1790, when he was 26, and she was 16. They had nine children, five sons and four daughters, including James H. Tallman’s father, Henry. Peleg proved to be a shrewd businessman and politician. He was a trader, shipbuilder, banker, and real estate speculator. He purchased large tracts of land in Maine, Massachusetts, and Rhode Island.

He split his time between Bath, Boston, and Portsmouth, Rhode Island. He hobnobbed with the rich and famous. He was elected to the U.S. Congress and the Maine State Senate. He was appointed to the Board of Overseers for Bowdoin College.

And he made a fortune, most of it through his control of shipping routes in what was known as the Triangle Trade. His ships took lumber from Maine to the South and the West Indies, then returned to New England and Europe, carrying slave-produced goods such as sugar, molasses, and cotton.

Peleg was a big man with blue eyes and a light complexion. He stood 6 feet tall, weighed more than 200 pounds, and even as he aged, he favored stylish clothing. Generous with his family, he was also quick to anger and a strict disciplinarian. Once, his son Scott forgot to fill a pitcher of water as part of his father’s bedtime routine. Peleg rousted him from bed, sent him outside to fetch water, drank his fill, and then dumped the rest over his son’s head as punishment.

At the end of his life, Peleg complained about paying too much in taxes and fretted about his yearly expenses, which were more than $6,300, the equivalent of about $230,000 a year today. This was at a time when the average laborer made about $225 a year, and a skilled worker no more than $450.

Despite his vast riches, he even applied for a military pension from the U.S. government. “You may wonder, then, why I apply for augmentation of my pension?” he wrote to a friend. “Why, sir, because I think I deserve it.”

Toward the end of his life, Peleg often portrayed himself as a victim of the government, tax collectors, his tenants, and even his family. He described himself as a poor, one-armed invalid, doing his best in a world of two-armed people.

When he died in 1841 at the age of 77, Peleg did not divide his fortune evenly. He left his Bath property to his wife, Eleanor, and his large real estate holdings in Boston to his favored daughters, but left relatively little to his surviving sons, completely cutting off his oldest surviving son, Scott.

The bulk of his fortune went to his youngest son, Henry “Clancy” Tallman. It would be Henry’s job to carry on his father’s legacy. Unfortunately, Henry proved to be unfit for the task.

CHAPTER TWO: THE FATHER

When Peleg Tallman died, his son, 34-year-old Henry Tallman, known as Clancy, was the golden child. Peleg’s favorite. The youngest and favored son of the richest man in Maine, Henry inherited a fortune and, for the first time in his life, was out from under the thumb of his domineering father.

Henry was thought to have inherited $250,000 from his father, which would be nearly $10 million today. It was enough to make Henry among the richest, if not the richest, man in Maine at the time. He wasted no time losing most of it.

Henry James Tallman was born on August 2, 1806. He was educated in private schools and by private tutors in Bath and Boston. He attended Bowdoin College, where his father was a trustee, as a member of the Class of 1828. Henry was a classmate of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and future U.S. President Franklin Pierce.

Yet Henry could not finish his studies and dropped out during his sophomore year. He was sent to study with several lawyers in Bath and, in 1832, went to Harvard Law School. At Harvard, Henry was considered slovenly and, unlike his fashion-conscious father, wore clothes that made him look poor. His classmates even considered taking up a collection to buy him new clothes before realizing how wealthy his family was.

Henry didn’t graduate from Harvard either, but was admitted to the Maine bar in 1833. His father gave him $600, and he used the money to open a law office in Bath.

Henry developed a reputation as a gregarious, charming man and became active in town affairs.

His father urged him to marry Sarah Fitts, the daughter of an old Bath family, but Henry was smitten with another woman and refused. So, Peleg strong-armed him, bribing his son by promising he’d be his primary heir and would leave him half a million dollars if he married Sarah Fitts.

So Henry married Sarah.

Henry was 27, and Sarah was 25 when they were married in Bath on August 15, 1833. They had three children: Peleg, James, and Georgianna.

But Henry Tallman was not like his father. He was careless and lacked his father’s business acumen. Eight years after inheriting a fortune, Henry had squandered most of it, making terrible financial decisions and investing in losing propositions. He was forced to sell off real estate in Boston and Rhode Island in order to stay solvent. His financial affairs grew so worrisome that his political connections helped him secure an appointment as Maine Attorney General in 1849, so he’d at least have a steady income.

An old acquaintance wrote of Henry, “He lost every penny of the great fortune his father left him… Trouble with him was ‘a rich man’s son’ brought up by a father who ran the family as he captained a frigate.”

Henry’s arranged marriage to Sarah Fitts ended in 1856 when she died after a lingering illness. It doesn’t appear that Henry mourned long; within months, he quietly remarried a widow, Elizabeth C. Wilkerson, who was 18 years younger and had two sons. The marriage happened quickly and quietly. A biography of the Tallman family, written years later, conveniently omits the date of the marriage, and Henry didn’t announce it in any local newspaper.

Years later, Elizabeth said of her husband, “When I married Henry, his property was all gone… Money was scarce.” She said the family couldn’t even afford a maid.

But she praised Henry’s kindness. “I never heard him speak a cross word,” she said.

At the outbreak of the American Civil War, Henry was a Copperhead, a vocal critic of the federal government and a staunch supporter of the Democrats and the South’s right to secede. But as the war progressed, Henry’s beliefs evolved. He found religion and became an active member of the Winter Street Congregational Church. He also stopped drinking, closed up his wine cellar, and became a temperance advocate.

His political support for the war may also have been influenced by his second son, James H. Tallman, who, at 23, volunteered as a corporal in the Third Maine Infantry Regiment.

CHAPTER THREE: PRIVILEGE HAS ITS PRIVILEGES

James Henry Tallman was born on February 2, 1838. His legendary grandfather, Peleg, died when he was three years old.

Tallman was the middle child, nicknamed Jemmy by his mother. His older brother was named Peleg after their grandfather, and his younger sister was Georgianna.

The three siblings posed for a portrait in the American folk tradition when Tallman was about six years old. They stand in a triangle, with Tallman’s sister in the front. They wear matching puffed finery and long, tightly curled blond hair, looking every bit like young aristocrats.

When Tallman was 11, he was sent to a private boarding school in Farmington, Maine, with his brother. Tallman showed a knack for carpentry and mechanics, and their father built a workshop for them at the family homestead.

His brother enrolled at Bowdoin College at 16 as a member of the Class of 1855, and James followed two years later as a member of the Class of 1858. Both became members of Delta Kappa Epsilon, an elite Greek-letter organization, and were known as Dekes. When Peleg was a senior and Tallman a sophomore, they roomed together in Appleton Hall.

On July 26, 1856, Tallman’s mother, Sarah Fitts, died, destabilizing the family. After his mother’s death, Tallman dropped out of college and never returned, instead joining his father’s law office in Bath.

It was an unusual circumstance: Tallman married the younger sister of his father’s new wife. Her name was Ann Brown.

Tallman was 21, and Ann was one year older at 22. Now he and his father were married to sisters.

Shortly after Tallman’s wedding, James and Ann moved to Texas with his father and his new wife. His father had developed a cough and moved South for health reasons.

The Tallmans lived in Galveston and then in Houston before settling for a time in Richmond, a town just north of Houston. But with a civil war brewing and their wives feeling homesick, Tallman and his father moved back to Bath after about a year in Texas.

Their return may also have been a matter of economics. It was becoming clear that the Tallman family fortune was nearly depleted, and Tallman and his father needed to earn income. His father entered into a law partnership shortly after returning to Bath, and Tallman worked for him.

When the Civil War started, Tallman volunteered, clearly not holding the same political beliefs as his die-hard Democratic father. He joined Company D of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment.

CHAPTER FOUR: CONNECTIONS, CONNECTIONS

When the war started, 23-year-old James Tallman was a member of the Bath City Grays, the city’s volunteer militia. He was among the first wave of volunteers to enlist, becoming a private and being assigned to Company A of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment.

But Tallman didn’t stay long with Company A. He was promoted to corporal within days and transferred to Company D.

He didn’t stay long with Company D either, just over a month, after which he was transferred to the Third Maine’s quartermaster corps and promoted to second lieutenant.

Six months later, Tallman was promoted to captain. When the war started, social status and political connections often determined how officers were selected and promoted. James’s rapid rise in rank showed that his family still had enough name recognition and political clout to hold sway.

James proved to be an intelligent and energetic officer, but unfortunately, he had inherited his father’s penchant for recklessness and carelessness. His record in the Quartermaster Department was deeply troubling, and his family connections may have helped shield him from harsher consequences.

He faced two court-martials in two years and was ultimately dismissed from service for failing to render official returns to the Quartermaster General.

Like his father before him, James’s ambition was repeatedly overshadowed by lapses in judgment.

CHAPTER FIVE: THE OLDER BROTHER

Tallman’s older brother, Peleg, seemed to share his father’s and brother’s disposition. He was described as being “highly ambitious,” but with a kindly temperament. He was tall, with a light complexion and a messy mop of hair, not unlike his father’s, and one female acquaintance said he was very good-looking, though not as handsome as his brother James. In fact, with his wild hair, hollow eyes, and pale complexion, Peleg bore a striking resemblance to a young Edgar Allan Poe.

At 21, Peleg left Maine for Iowa in 1857 to start a land speculation business. He had grand plans to strike it rich and become a self-made man, fully realizing at this point that his inheritance was gone and that the only way he’d become rich was to do it on his own. But he arrived in the Midwest at one of the worst possible times as the Panic of 1857 triggered a nationwide financial crisis that devastated western land speculation and sent the American economy into turmoil.

Peleg returned to Bath a few months later to get married.  His bride was 19-year-old Maria Hay Hudson of Bath. Maria’s cousin described her as “very vivacious, with bright dark eyes, and attractive to all the beaus.” Maria was witty and loved to make people laugh with her sharp wit and amusing comments.

Maria was the seventh of eight children born to John Hudson and his wife, Mercy Bradley. Her father was a furniture maker and retailer and served on the Bath City Council. Her brother, George, served with James in the Third Maine, rising to the rank of lieutenant with Company A. Another brother, John Bradley Hudson Jr., briefly served with the First Maine Infantry Regiment and became a notable landscape painter, with his work now preserved at Colby College and the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

After the marriage, Peleg returned to Iowa with his wife, and they settled in Dubuque, a river town on the Mississippi River. Peleg opened his land-speculation firm with funds he raised in Maine and Massachusetts and, along with a business partner, began buying land in the Midwest, including in Pennsylvania and Wisconsin.

The western land boom proved far less stable than Peleg had imagined. He was an ambitious investor, but like his father and brother, he seemed to lack the discipline and care needed to succeed in business. He aggressively invested in frontier real estate and manufacturing ventures, including a troubled shot-tower venture in Pennsylvania that revealed both his optimism and bad luck. He lost money and seemed more adept at chasing opportunities than at mastering them.

Peleg and Maria had three sons born in 1858, 1860, and 1861. Their oldest son died before he reached the age of two.

With the setbacks in his land-speculation business, Peleg secured other jobs to help solidify his finances, including becoming the superintendent of construction for Dubuque’s custom house.

When the war started, Peleg did not volunteer to serve in the U.S. Army like his brother and brothers-in-law. Instead, he became a war correspondent and wrote articles and dispatches for the Louisville Journal, New York Herald, and the Chicago Times. Using his connections from Bowdoin College and membership in the Masons, he connected himself to General Ulysses S. Grant’s Army of Tennessee in the Western Theater of the war.

Peleg reported from Illinois, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Mississippi. During Peleg’s stint as a war correspondent, Maria and her two surviving sons moved back to Maine to live with her parents. Peleg was stationed in Columbus, Kentucky, in 1863, when he fell ill with pneumonia. He was sick for only four days and died on April 15 at the age of 27. He was given a funeral by his fellow Masons with more than 200 guests in the funeral.

procession. His remains were sent to Bath, and he was buried at Maple Grove Cemetery.

Upon his older brother’s death, what was left of the Tallmans’ fortune would now go to James.

THREE AUDIO BOOKS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!

CHAPTER SIX: THE COURT-MARTIAL

As a quartermaster for the Third Maine, James H. Tallman’s role centered on logistics, paperwork, and supply. He was responsible for procuring, safeguarding, and distributing essential supplies to the regiment—from camp equipment and uniforms, to transportation, rations, and other critical military supplies.

It didn’t take him long to find trouble. Just three months after officially enlisting in the Third Maine, Tallman was court-martialed. He was charged with “absence without leave” and neglect of duty after leaving camp near Washington, D.C., and remaining away longer than authorized. Granted a one-day pass on September 28, 1861, he did not return until October 3—a full five days later.

His superiors argued that he had abandoned his responsibilities while the regiment remained in active field service.

Testifying against him was his own commanding officer, Colonel Henry Staples, the Third Maine’s colonel. Staples testified that Tallman failed to return for nearly a week and that he sent Major Edwin Burt to Washington to retrieve him, but Burt couldn’t find him. When Tallman finally did return, he was arrested.

Tallman claimed he couldn’t get back because of a closed bridge, which delayed his return, and that illness further prevented him from rejoining the regiment. Dr. George Brickett of the Fifth Maine Regiment testified that he saw Tallman on October 2 and that Tallman complained of that he had suffered from “troubled bowels” for several days.

A military panel of seven officers found Tallman guilty and sentenced him to two months’ suspension from rank and pay.

But the punishment was never enforced. Brigadier General Samuel P. Heintzelman reviewed the case and disapproved of the outcome, overruling the findings in light of mitigating circumstances and Tallman’s prior character.

For now, James Tallman escaped the full consequences of his actions.

CHAPTER SEVEN: SETBACKS

Despite being court-martialed in the fall of 1861, James Tallman was promoted to captain on March 24, 1862. It seemed as though even a court-martial couldn’t derail his military career.

But his personal life was another matter.

After being thrown from his horse on New Year’s Day in 1863, severely injuring his shoulder and requiring time in Maine to recuperate, Tallman’s life seemed to come apart.

First, his brother, Peleg, died. Then an even worse blow. On August 13, his only child, his daughter Sarah, named after his beloved mother, died of unknown causes. She was buried in the family plot at Maple Grove Cemetery in Bath.

Losing his brother and then his daughter within months must have been emotionally devastating for Tallman.

Despite his court-martial and personal setbacks, Tallman’s military career continued to prosper. He was transferred to the First Division Cavalry and was named Assistant Quartermaster in 1864. But then even his career faltered. He was soon court-martialed again. His second.

CHAPTER EIGHT: OOPS… I DID IT AGAIN

In August of 1864, Tallman was charged with “disobedience of orders” and court-martialed for a second time. He was accused of ignoring direct orders from Brigadier General Daniel H. Rucker, his boss and the chief quartermaster in Washington, D.C.

Tallman was in charge of a critical transportation train for the First Cavalry Division during the Shenandoah campaign to supply troops as they moved toward Harper’s Ferry, Virginia.

He was charged with ignoring direct orders from General Rucker not to start the train without orders and an escort, but he did anyway, moving his supply train without authorization, proceeding beyond Washington’s defensive fortifications, and then failing to turn over the transportation property when ordered to do so.

Basically, Tallman was court-martialed for going rogue.

General Rucker and his administrative staff were shocked to discover that Tallman and his train had left Washington without an armed escort. One witness testified, “The next morning, I learned that the train was not turned in. I sent a man to hunt for it, and it could not be found anywhere.”

That’s because Tallman took the train to Harper’s Ferry.

The court ultimately rejected the harshest accusations against Tallman, but still found portions of the charges credible. The trial reinforced a pattern already visible earlier in the war: Tallman was not a coward or criminal, but an impulsive and administratively unreliable officer whose judgment repeatedly drew scrutiny from his superiors.

But once again, Tallman avoided severe discipline for his actions. He was ultimately released from his arrest and returned to duty, with only his reputation damaged, not his military career.

He had survived yet again. Tallman had now beaten back two court-martials in two years.

CHAPTER NINE: HIS LUCK RUNS OUT

When the war ended, Tallman stayed in the U.S. Army. In many ways, quartermasters became even more crucial after the war as the U.S. government shifted from active combat operations to an occupying force in the South with a need for supplies, transportation, and logistics.

After two court martials resulting from his carelessness and reckless disregard for the chain of command, one would think Tallman would have learned his lesson.

But his discipline problems with the U.S. Army continued. And, finally, the U.S. Army had had enough.

On February 20, 1866, Tallman was formally dismissed from duty for failure to submit his official returns. Official returns were the paperwork required of quartermasters to submit regularly so the government could properly audit and account for supplies and finances.

Tallman failed to complete those bureaucratic obligations and was removed from the service.

His disregard of his duties certainly fit the pattern of his military career thus far, but this time, Tallman may have had an excuse. He was gravely ill. For months leading up to his dismissal, Tallman was showing signs of tuberculosis—physical exhaustion, sporadic fevers, and a severe cough.

He may simply have not been physically able to complete his duties. When he returned to Maine, he sought out treatment, but the disease had progressed to such a state that he was unable to recover.

He died in Bath on April 1, 1866. He was buried next to his daughter in Maple Grove Cemetery. He was 28 years old.

His obituary said Tallman had been worn away by consumption in the flower of his years. It also mentioned that many of his friends and family had worried about his delicate constitution and slender frame when he originally volunteered in 1861. Friends felt he was offering himself to “certain sacrifice.”

“And so it proved,” the obituary concluded.

James H. Tallman was buried in a modest grave in Bath. No monument. No mausoleum. Just a simple gravestone bearing his name. A reflection that his family—once the richest in Maine—was no longer in that stratosphere.

He left his wife, Ann, a widow. Ann had lost a daughter and a husband within three years. She would live the rest of her life as an unmarried widow, living with Tallman’s father, Henry, until she died in 1891 at the age of 53.

Henry Tallman outlived both his oldest sons. He died of cancer in 1885 at the age of 78.

Henry was remembered as a “nice, old gentleman” who lost nearly every penny of the fortune he inherited. The rich man’s son couldn’t live up to the expectations of his father and the community where his legendary father was lionized.

His son, James H. Tallman, spent much of his life protected by privilege, family reputation, and connections that repeatedly softened the consequences of his mistakes. Again and again, he escaped disaster: court-martials, professional embarrassment, and personal upheaval.

But the Civil War had a way of stripping away illusion. Beneath the wealth, charm, and social standing was a fragile young man whose judgment never fully matched his ambition.

In the end, the poor little rich boy who once belonged to one of Maine’s most powerful families died at just twenty-eight years old, his military career in ruins, his health destroyed, and much of his family’s fortune already gone.

By the spring of 1866, the Army had finally given up on him. And only weeks later, his body did too.

Thank you again for listening to another episode of Company D. A special thanks goes out to Joe Miniott of Bath, Maine, for his invaluable insights into the Tallman family.

This episode of Company D is sponsored in part by Libro.fm. Company D has joined with Libro.fm to promote reading. We love history books. Libro.fm creates beautifully produced audiobooks designed for families to enjoy together. Through our partnership with Libro.fm, our listeners can enjoy three audiobooks for the price of one when you start a membership at Libro.fm and use the code COMPANYD. See our show notes for more details.

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We want to take a moment to thank our Patrons, whose support has helped make this season possible. A special acknowledgment goes out to: Pritesh Ghandi, Trapper Markelz, Jeff Parent, Alex Mueller, Michael Scelfo, Erik Snell, Andy Polansky, Mike McGrail, Scott O’Donnell, Lisa Furnald, Jay Hanley, Art Trapotsis, and Jeff Govoni.

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Join us again soon for another episode of Company D.

I’m your host, George F. Snell III. See you next time. And remember – money can’t buy you happiness, but it sure helps to buy everything else.