Georgia Gov. Nathan Deal recently decided to let Gideons International place Protestant Bibles in cabins at Georgia state parks, just as it does in hotel rooms all across the nation and around the world. What happened next should have surprised no one. An atheist rented a cabin for his family and found — you guessed it — Bibles. The atheist protested to the park manager, who removed the Bibles and asked the state for a legal opinion on what he should do in the future. The Georgia attorney general determined it was OK to have the Bibles there because the state did not pay for them. Deal ordered the Bibles returned and announced that any religious group was welcome to donate literature to put in the cabins. Hearing that, the New Jersey-based American Atheists organization began packing up copies of “Why I am an Atheist” to send to Georgia. One can quibble over whether atheism is a religion, but as far as the members of American Atheists are concerned, they have as much right to put literature in Georgia state parks as the Gideons. “We expect fair treatment, we anticipate fair treatment and we look forward to fair treatment,” said David Silverman, president of the atheist group. The organization’s managing director, Amanda Knief, added, “We appreciate the governor’s invitation to place atheist books in the cabins and look forward to providing visitors with the opportunity to learn about atheism when they visit Georgia’s beautiful state parks.” That’s not, we suspect, what Gov. Deal had in mind. Here in Alabama, the Department of Conservation and Natural Resources does not have a program that allows the Gideons or anyone else to place religious material in state park cabins. If visitors want to bring their own, they are free to do so. That is the way it should be. Gov. Deal, take note.

To find Harry Clay Egbert at McClellan, drive over to the three-story building that sits across the road from Silver Chapel. Find the main door, the one that faces Buckner Center. Look up, through the limbs of pine trees and climbing vines. There you’ll find H.C. This Memorial Day weekend, H.C. Egbert lives on at Anniston’s former Army post. The brass plaque affixed to his building — Building No. 144, it’s called — dubbed it Egbert Barrack when soldiers still lived on post. After nearly 15 years of base closure and McClellan redevelopment, Egbert’s plaque reminds us that these acres of Alabama land wield a history that is as vast as it is varied. Fitting, it is, that Egbert’s plaque sits hidden, almost out of view. He isn’t buried in McClellan’s military cemetery. He never visited Fort McClellan. He had nothing to do with the post’s creation. He was neither a Southerner nor an Alabamian. But his plaque, which, I am thankful, hasn’t been vandalized or innocently lost, is worth a lesson on this man who was a quintessential American soldier of his time. Born in Philadelphia, H.C. joined the 12th U.S. Infantry in 1861. His list of battles reads like a John Keegan textbook: Gaines Mills, Malvern Hill, Cedar Mountain, Gettysburg. Confederates wounded him once and twice took him prisoner. After the war, he remained in uniform, serving at several outposts in the American West, from Arizona to Alaska. He commanded units that fought against the Sioux. Discharged as a brigadier general of the U.S. Volunteers in 1898, H.C. became a lieutenant colonel in time to command the 6th U.S. Infantry during the Spanish-American War in Cuba. There, on a July day on San Juan Hill, he took a bullet “through his body,” records show. He survived. The next spring, and now a colonel, H.C. sailed to the Philippines, where America’s turn-of-the-century venture in colonialism rolled on. He landed in Manila on March 4, 1899. Twenty-two days later, he died during a battle with Filipino insurgents. The Army returned his body to the United States. He’s buried at Arlington National Cemetery. It’s no surprise, really, that memorials to his legacy dot the American map. In San Francisco, Egbert Avenue runs for three blocks just northwest of Candlestick Park. In Eagle, Alaska, near the Canadian border, sit the remnants of Fort Egbert, which President William McKinley established the same year H.C. died. In northern Kentucky in Fort Thomas, just across the Ohio River from Cincinnati, a 102-foot stone water tower reaches to the sky. Affixed to the tower is a bronze plaque that memorializes H.C. In the early 1900s in Newport, Ky., the Lansdale Cigar Co. produced “Colonel Egbert Cigars” and packaged them in a box adorned with his photograph and paintings of him leading troops in Cuba. Fort McClellan’s Egbert plaque isn’t as large or ornate as the stone tower plaque in Kentucky, it’s not part of the National Park Service like the Fort Egbert remants in Alaska, and it’s not as secure as the avenue in San Francisco. But it is McClellan’s, which makes it ours. It says, “EGBERT BARRACK, Named in Honor of COLONEL H.C. EGBERT, Brigadier General, U.S.V., who commanded the 22nd Infantry from July 1, 1898, to March 26, 1899, when he was killed leading his regiment in the attack on Malinta during the Malolos Expedition of the Philippine Insurrection.” As Fort McClellan methodically transforms from a deserted Army post into a 21st-century economic engine, H.C. Egbert and those like him deserve protection. I can’t help but wonder how many other McClellan namesakes have been lost over time. There is no official McClellan museum, a secure place open to public view. It’s a shame. Yet, Harry Clay Egbert, bronze, weathered, partially obscured, is as much a part of McClellan’s past as the soldiers who served there. This is his weekend. Monday is his day, again. Phillip Tutor — ptutor@annistonstar.com — is The Star’s commentary editor. Follow him at Twitter.com/PTutor_Star.