Sunday, October 25, 2009

Welcome to the preservation station!


When I was about 9 years old, one of my favorite books was Lyddie by renowned childrens' author, Katherine Paterson. The story is about a young girl who flees to the Lowell mills to earn enough money to save her family's farm. Her path to success combines elements of the American dream with the cruelty of unchecked capitalism in a compelling and simple work of historical fiction. I am mildly embarrassed to admit that this novel provided my only background regarding Lowell for many years, mainly because I never had occasion to delve further into the subject.

Fortunately, this week's assigned public history reading was The Lowell Experiment: Public History in a Postindustrial City by Cathy Stanton. Needless to say, it has replaced Lyddie as my point of reference for Lowell. Stanton's analysis of public history as conducted at Lowell National Historical Park provides a multifaceted account of the background of the site, the people who preserve it, and the surrounding community. She places special emphasis on the presentation of socioeconomic issues which were the root of the shameful practices at Lowell and the reality for many people living in the surrounding community.

My favorite chapter of the book, entitled "Rituals of Reconnection" contains Stanton's research into the backgrounds and motives of the public historians at the Tsongas Center, a partner of Lowell Park. She discovers that, while these historians are largely white, educated, and middle-class, their achievement of that status is recent. Many reported a background of a lower socioeconomic status and credited their education for their class mobility. Stanton states, "For these people in 'the generation that broke the cycle,' Lowell NHP is more than just a place where they can learn more about the Industrial Revolution. It is, rather, a ritual space where they can locate themselves within changing socioeconomic realities and allay some of the anxieties involved in those changes" (168).

A similar perspective exists from the crowds of visitors who tour the park. While Lowell supposedly shows the guests "how it used to be," Stanton discovered that a large number of visitors readily connected the experiences of Lowell workers to their own lives. Union members relate to the labor movements, factory workers sympathize with the long hours, and everyone relates to the daily struggles and fears of the working class.

However, Stanton also notes that the efforts to preserve the Lowell mills as a historic site also create a dilemma by ignoring the fact that the surrounding community still endures many of the same hardships as turn-of-the-century laborers. Stanton's main critique is the rift that exists between the present day community and public historians at Lowell. She commends the efforts of public historians to bridge this gap by developing a new "Run of the Mill" exhibit which addresses modern issues surrounding Lowell and poses the tough questions about exactly how far the industry has come from its boom during the Industrial Revolution. Yet, Stanton sees this exhibit as a first step in a process that requires many more "social projects and alignments" in order to create an appropriate and productive relationship between historical sites and their public (237).

In the introduction to A Richer Heritage: Historic Preservation in the Twenty-first Century, Diane Lea also addresses this difficulty. She describes public history sites as embodying, "some of the nation's most profoundly defining ideals." Lea provides a brief history of the movement to preserve historical sites in the United States and how these movements have faced opposition in interactions with communities. Her essay emphasizes the theme and constant struggle of public vs. private ownership of history and how public historians have striven to balance this authority.

Everything seems to have gotten awfully complicated since the first time I curled up with my copy of Lyddie and learned about a place called Lowell. But the conversations of Lea and Stanton are valuable in their complexity. If there's one thing I've learned about public history this semester, it's that history and its meaning are fluid. Lowell is no longer a site with a set of facts and a simple, motion-picture-length story. It is a key component to a culture, a relationship, and an image. And those who have the responsibility of weaving these concepts together for public consumption are in for a good many finger pricks and long days bent over the loom.

And, no, I could not resist that corny textile metaphor. It was just too easy.

Monday, October 19, 2009

The Tough Stuff


It seems as though there are two types of people: those who are shocked by nothing and those who are shocked by everything. Americans, as a society, are enjoying a time when controversies of all kinds are deconstructed, repackaged, and presented in the most appealing and appalling way possible. The public is left to either embrace or reject the information, per their preconceived notions of correctness.

The subject of slavery is no exception. From recent debates on reparations to Tracy Morgan's portrayal of Thomas Jefferson, slavery has been packaged as a harrowing but defining part of American history and present day race relations. However, as slavery becomes increasingly easier to address through a modern lens, historians face a dilemma regarding their responsibilities and abilities to present slavery, simply, as it was.

James Oliver Horton and Lois E. Horton collected a set of essays on this significant problem in public history. Their book, Slavery and Public History: The Tough Stuff of American Memory provides a comprehensive overview of how historians and educators regularly grapple with the issue of slavery. They begin with essays that examine the broad question of how slavery has fundamentally affected modern American society. A series of essayists then examine specific instances in which slavery has been handled at sites of public history.

The authors of the essays present a number of problems, including the comfort of public history consumers (similar to the previously blogged-about Amy Tyson article), the appropriateness of museum policies, and the constant pursuit of truth. Each essay advocates the use of education to dispel the stigma surrounding discussions of slavery and encourage open and honest discourse. However, none of the contributors offer practical solutions to the specific cases that they study.

Roger Launius isolates the main dilemma of uncomfortable public history exhibits in his essay, "American Memory, Culture Wars, and the Challenge of Presenting Science and Technology in a National Museum," (published in The Public History of Science in Winter, 2007). He asks, "How might we, seeking to be useful to the society we serve, respond to this situation? How might we best survive whatever scorn arises in this process without compromising our commitment to serving society?" (30).

This question is where I hop on the mental treadmill and run over the same span of thought repeatedly. How do historians present the uncensored and uncomfortable truth without challenging the public to the point where they resent public history? Is it the responsibility of historians to be comfort counselors as well as educators?

Monday, October 5, 2009

Since we were just talking about museums...

Standing behind Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, the National Constitution Center in bills itself as the third stop on the walking tour of Philadelphia’s role in the formation of the United States of America. This ideal location allows the surrounding, well-known historic landmarks to evoke sensations of patriotism and pride in visitors and, when guests arrive at the National Constitution Center, the museum provides opportunities to act on these sensations. The National Constitution Center picks up where the Liberty Bell leaves off and educates visitors about how distinct post-Revolutionary American values shaped the Constitution and how the Constitution shapes Americans’ daily lives.

The National Constitution Center provides a truly sensuous experience to visitors. The architecture, designed by Pei Cobb Freed & Partners, reflects the museum’s theme of continuity. The large circular room which hosts the museum’s permanent exhibit, “The American Experience” takes guests on a journey through the history of the Constitution through a series of interactive and engaging displays. The walls curve almost imperceptibly around the guests as the follow the exhibit from the signers of the Constitution to the election of Barack Obama and suddenly find themselves back at the beginning, demonstrating the incomparable, lasting significance of the Constitution.

The entrance to the exhibit is called the “Signer’s Hall,” a plain but stately space, filled with life-sized bronze statues of the signers of the Constitution, as though they were frozen in time. In the center of the room is a large copy of the constitution with an invitation for visitors to sign their own name. This reenactment of a historically significant moment effectively launches the visitor experience to the larger exhibit of the Constitution.

The exhibit itself is accessible to a wide audience. The informative and slightly controversial nature of the displays appeal to a range of adults (particularly American adults) and the fun, interactive displays successfully entertain children while providing subtle education. The exhibit moves chronologically, focusing on times in American history when the Constitution played a significant role in changing and developing law and society. The displays on the museum’s outer walls are colorful, filled with bold images and artifacts, intermingled with language from the Constitution. These are accompanied by text which provides relevant background information about the subject. Several portions of the exhibit also have a video display that can be listened to through headsets. Some videos contain historical television footage of key events, such as the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Others show commentary by modern political leaders or mock debates about past controversies.

The inner area of the museum boasts several more interactive stations that focus mainly on allowing the audience to become active participants in the history of the Constitution. A simulated voting booth allows guests to vote for their favorite presidents (unfortunately, they are compelled to choose from a short list). A display about the Supreme Court features the opportunity to try on a judicial robe and sit behind a judge’s bench. Perhaps most engagingly, throughout the museum, there are walls with large questions such as, “Should same-sex marriage be legal?” Next to these walls are stacks of Post-It notes and pencils, inviting participants to jot down their opinions, post them on the wall and, in a small way, become part of a topical national conversation.

The final segment of the museum’s permanent exhibit is a 4-D performance called “Freedom Rising.” The theater is in the center of the museum. As audiences wait to be seated, they are invited to circle the theater and view small artifacts from 18th century America, including children’s toys, clothing, and household goods. A mural depicting a Philadelphia street surrounds them and hidden speakers play snippets of staged conversations and sounds from the street scene on the painting. Inside the theater, audience seats are on a raised platform on the outer edges of a cylindrical room. A screen extends around the top half of the room. As the lights dim, a single performer enters the room and delivers a dramatic monologue about the Constitution, its creation, and its enormous impact on the evolution of the United States. Her performance is accompanied by a stunning visual production projected on the screen surrounding the room, as well as on a cylindrical screen that drops from the ceiling minutes into the show. Sound clips, some staged and some historical, complete the experience. The content of the show is a heavy dose of American pie but, based on observed reactions, this unique portion of the exhibit communicated successfully with its audience.

It is unsurprising that the National Constitution Center takes on an overwhelmingly patriotic tone and glosses over any serious Constitutional criticisms. The museum was founded as part of the Constitution Heritage Act of 1988 and two former presidents sit on the Board of Trustees. The building of the museum was initially state funded and was also given a substantial endowment. (Admission costs, a store museum, parking fees, facility rentals, and a cafe contribute to the operating costs of the Center.) However, despite the obvious financial ties to the state, the National Constitution Center maintains that it is an independent and non-partisan organization with a purely educational mission.

The National Constitution Center strives to provide a number of venues for education, from school tours to teacher resources. This mission is furthered by the museum’s continual efforts to offer free lectures and events for the public. Each month, they invite new speakers to deliver addresses on a variety of topics. These open lectures draw huge crowds and the museum hopes that their presence will lead to an increased awareness of the Constitution. Additionally, the National Constitution Center hosts a variety of traveling exhibits, most recently a tribute to Princess Diana, entitled, “Diana: a celebration.” New, rotating exhibits allow for constantly renewed interest in the museum and encourage repeat visitors. Furthermore, the National Constitution Center’s website (www.constitutioncenter.org) boasts extensive information about the Constitution for adults and several games and interactive pages for children. The Center’s dedication to education is shown through the variety of means in which its collection is accessible to the public.

The National Constitution Center exceeds expectations in terms of fulfilling its purpose of bringing awareness to the Constitution and constitutional issues in the United States. Its sensational multimedia approach, combined with elements of living history and traditional displays, successfully engages the public with some of the most notable constitutional debates over the last two-hundred years. The interactive nature of the exhibit, particularly the museum’s continual requests for guest involvement, provides visitors with a uniquely personal connection to the Constitution and a memorable experience. The National Constitution Center takes the traditional Philadelphia walking tour out of its purely historical context and creates an exciting, relevant experience for any audience.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Museums: Who, What, How, and Why?

We're on a museum kick this week in my public history course. Actually, the major course project is about a museum, but that's sort of a hush-hush, no-blogging-about-it, kind of project, so consider this a mysterious, veiled reference. The image of Scarlett O'Hara peeking coyly over her fan comes to mind.

Which brings me to slavery.

In her article, "Crafting Emotional Comfort," published in Museum and Society, Amy Tyson writes about two separate museums and how they address the history of slavery. Conner Prairie, in Fishers, Indiana, hosts an after-hours role-playing session entitled, "Follow the North Star." As part of this museum experience, guests are led on a 90 minute simulation of the Underground Railroad in 1836. The primarily white visitors morph into runaway slaves and endure dehumanizing treatment from the museum staff. For the psychologically delicate among the participants, everyone is given a safety sash that can be waved, should anyone need to escape the escape.

Tyson also examines Fort Snelling in St. Paul, Minnesota, where the topic of slavery is, at best, removed from sight. She notes that no re-enactors portray the black slaves who worked for Colonel and Mrs. Snelling. Moreover, when the subject of domestic labor is mentioned during tours, the guides refer to bonded women as "servants," taking no notice of their race or lack of freedom.

These two polar approaches to addressing slavery show a common thread in the museums' methods of customer service: comfort. Tyson underscores the fact that both museums take extraordinary precautions to ensure that their visitors feel emotionally at ease throughout their museum experiences. At the conclusion of the article, Tyson determines that the necessity of customer care in living history museums suggests a unique dilemma and suggests that historians of all kinds, "consider the extent to which the expectation of and preoccupation with emotional comfort has entered our own terrains" (258).

Stephen Weil addresses this question and many others in his book, Making Museums Matter. He provides a comprehensive study of the history, purposes, methods, and success of museums. His analyses enlightens the reader to the infinite decisions involved in creating and maintaining a museum that benefits its community. Like Tyson, Weil looks at museums with a critical eye and aims to provide a series of objective criterion which evaluate the quality of any given museum. He suggests that, one day, museums as a whole might have to defend their worth and he wants to be prepared.

The American Association of Museums 2008 Annual Report falls in line with Weil's concern. The report indicates new plans to bring agenda of museums to Capitol Hill and ensure the success of legislative efforts that benefit museums. Additionally, the AMA aims to raise itself to well-recognized "expert" status, to improve visibility. Perhaps these endeavors will succeed in accomplishing what Weil suggests: proving that museums have both aesthetic and commodified worth.

All of this weeks' readings cast into sharp light the difficulties facing museums and those who operate them. However, the attitude toward these problems is unabashedly hopeful. The authors recognize that museums must change to meet the evolving needs of their communities and, through their careful studies, present reasonable means to enact and evaluate these changes.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Counterculture Cures

Cold and flu season is rough. But along with the feverish, achy, misery comes the excuse to indulge in hot beverages, old movies, and layers of soft blankets. And, for certain graduate students, it's a chance to briefly put aside less desirable projects and eke out some productive work in what I like to think of as "comfort history."

Comfort history is the fun stuff. Instead of making us think, "Oh my, how significant this is in the historiography of the subject," it makes us grin and say "Cool!" Of course, comfort history is different for everyone but for me it's 1960s American counterculture.

This is actually very convenient, since I have recently embarked on a project for my cultural history research seminar about The Living Theatre, an experimental theater group founded in 1947 which, in the '60s, converged with the counterculture and produced fascinating and provocative art.



-What do you want?

-To stop wasting the planet.
-To stop dying of competition.

-To do useful work.

-To get to know God in his madness.
-To make the destination clear.

- The Living Theatre, "Paradise Now"

Due to certain conflicts with the IRS and local law enforcement agencies, the Living Theatre company decided to tour in Europe from 1964 until 1968. After missing four pivotal years in U.S. cultural history, they returned to a very different environment than the one they'd left. I hope to analyze how their 1968-1969 tour reflected the new "norms" of American society and how their art evolved to reflect these shifts.

For the moment, however, I'm savoring my favorite part of any writing assignment: the research. It's like directing a film, as I start to put together all of the pieces of the scenery, cast the extras, understand the plot, and glean motives. I especially enjoy celebrity cameos-- I got quite a thrill when I read a bit of a diary that revealed an affair between one of the Living Theatre founders and Abbie Hoffman!

And now I think it's time for another cup of tea, a new box of tissues, and another juicy counterculture memoir. Their road to revolution is my road to recovery!