Cape Girardeau: Development of a River City, Cape River Heritage Museum

 

Cape Girardeau: Development of a River City, Cape River Heritage Museum

Review by A.J. Medlock

Instructor: Dr. Criblez

4/16/2013

            Academic and public historians frequently remind one another that they are no longer interested in the lives of illustrious political and military leaders. Instead, they have shifted their focus towards large swaths of humanity that historical monographs have traditionally ignored. This dynamic approach has increasingly gained popularity in recent decades as a growing number of influential historians claim they are “doing history from the ground up.” If this is truly the case, then community-based history museums must be at the forefront of this relatively new approach. In many cases, these museums are integral because they provide one of the few outlets for historical inquiry catered to an audience that is largely skeptical of academia.

The Cape River Heritage Museum is one many museums throughout the United States that provides an essential outlet for historical inquiry. A not for profit museum located in the heart of Cape Girardeau, Missouri the Cape River Heritage Museum’s mission is to preserve and celebrate the history of Southeast Missouri. Museum staff and volunteers have recently revamped the Cape River Heritage Museum by increasing patron access to educational programs, tours and “ever-changing exhibits,” thereby reinforcing their dedication to the museum’s core mission statement.[1]  With these issues in mind, this essay evaluates the Cape River Heritage Museum’s presentation of the past through an assessment of its premier exhibit, Cape Girardeau: Development of a River City. This essay provides an overall summary of the exhibit, where the museum curators succeed and fail, and suggestions for future modifications.

Cape Girardeau: Development of a River City is the first exhibit visitors encounter, providing them with an introduction to Cape Girardeau’s history through three displays dedicated to commerce, education, and economics; this sets the stage for the rest of the museum as patrons visit various exhibits throughout the museum dedicated to the community’s founding and impact on Missouri and the United States. Although some museum professionals might critique Development of a River City for limiting its scope to commerce, education, and transportation, the Cape River Heritage Museum’s relatively minuscule budget and limited space prevents the museum’s curators from expanding the exhibit. Despite these limitations, the curators of Development of a River City manage to excel in certain aspects of the exhibit’s design by successfully conveying the exhibits “big idea” to patrons and creating interpretive labels.

            As Beverly Serrell notes, the ‘big idea” is essential for curators wishing to educate the public. The big idea is usually one sentence that concisely summarizes the subject of the exhibit, its narrative structure—Do the curator’s adopt an authoritative narrative or incorporate different points of view?—and what it intends to accomplish.[2] The curators at the Cape River Heritage Museum accomplish this by using the exhibit’s title, Cape Girardeau: Development of a River City, to convey the “big idea.” This straight-forward title informs visitors that the exhibit will focus on Cape Girardeau’s development throughout history through the prism of economics, education and transportation. The title also educates visitors on what they will most likely not find in the exhibit. For example, patrons will probably not find a comprehensive examination on medical advancements in Cape Girardeau amongst the artifacts.

            The “big idea” also establishes the interpretive nature of the exhibits labels, connecting each artifact’s story to the exhibit’s grand narrative. According to Freeman Tilden, exhibits should “…reveal meanings and relationships through the use of original objects, by firsthand experience…rather than simply to communicate factual information.”[3] This strategy not only reinforces an exhibit’s overall narrative, but engages and provokes museum patrons, creating an intellectually satisfying visitor experience.[4] In order to accomplish this task, museum labels must tell a clear and concise story behind each artifact that encourages visitors to read the next label. The Development of a River City accomplishes this task with the majority of its displays. For instance, the exhibit’s commerce section displays a steamer that Frank Carroll, a local entrepreneur, used to heat and sell hot tamales along Broadway Street during the 1920s and 30s. Using 42 words, the Cape River Heritage Museum’s curators were able to convey to Frank Carroll’s enterprising achievements selling produce in an era before large food chains.

            Despite the exhibit’s laudable achievements, the cumulative effect of Development of a River City is underwhelming. Although the Cape River Heritage Museum’s staff has created an extensive historical overview of commerce, education, and transportation as it pertains to Cape Girardeau, I left the museum asking myself, “So what?” When I asked myself this question, I became deeply troubled. I have dedicated nearly three years of my life as a graduate student in public history extensively studying the history of Cape Girardeau; would be a shame if all of my coursework turned out to be a waste of time. Upon further reflection, I realized that Development of a River City lacked historical context, an essential ingredient to creating meaningful museum exhibits. Historical context illuminates the events surrounding the period in question and provides meaning to those events. Without historical context, museum pieces simply become a collection of glorified art objects.[5]  

            On a basic level, Development of a River City manages to illuminate the historical context surrounding the exhibit. The curators arranged the artifacts in logical groupings reflecting the exhibit’s primary mission: educating visitors regarding commerce, education, and transportation in Cape Girardeau.[6] However, none of these displays delineate the broader context surrounding the importance of these themes. For instance, the commerce display spends an inordinate amount of time exhibiting the products local Cape Girardeau businesses produced in the early twentieth century. While this may elicit a momentarily nostalgic response from patrons, it immediately becomes evident that the display is nothing more than a glorified showcase for commercial goods from yesteryear. The transportation display takes a similar route, providing a showcase of steamboat and aviation artifacts rather than a contextual narrative that ties the whole exhibition together.  

This is unfortunate considering that Cape Girardeau’s downtown commercial district serves as a microcosm for the rise and fall of locally operated downtown businesses. Throughout the twentieth century, highways and automobiles became prevalent in large and small communities throughout the United States, quickly making traditional transportation technologies—Railroads and Steamboats—obsolete. Highways and automobiles also connected American’s in new ways, ushering in the advent of chain stores, eventually causing the decline of historic downtown business districts and locally owned stores, as businesses and residents migrated from traditional downtown businesses districts to be closer to major highways.[7] This theme has the potential to connect the commerce and transportation displays in a way that confronts patrons with the toll that new technological innovations, including mass transportation and chain stores have had on local businesses. Unfortunately, Development of a River City misses this opportunity.

The Development of a River City’s education display encounters similar problems through its presentation of K-12 schooling and higher education in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Along with photographs and artifacts from Southeast Missouri State University and various local K-12 schools, the curators dedicated a portion of the display to African American education, featuring photographs from the John S. Cobb School, Cape Girardeau’s primary school for African Americans before the Supreme Court invalidated segregated schools throughout the nation in 1954. The curators also decided to include a biography of Costella Patterson, the only remaining African American teacher in the Cape Girardeau school system after desegregation. Considering that American’s concept of race has played a crucial role in the development of the United States, it would be intriguing to learn how this affected education in Cape Girardeau. While Missouri was never historically apart of the old south, southern culture and racial mores exerted a strong influence on Southeast Missouri and Missouri, in general, after the Civil War.  Missourians primarily enforced segregation through social custom, restricting African American access to decent homes, medical care, and schooling.[8] An examination of racial segregation and desegregation in Cape Girardeau through the prism of Costella Patterson’s experiences would be an intriguing way to explore racial segregation. Unfortunately, the curators of Development of a River City have declined to take this route.

A large portion of these problems stems from the Cape River Heritage Museum’s mission statement. The museum staff and board members clearly state that they desire to “preserve and celebrate” the history of Cape Girardeau and Southeast Missouri. While this is admirable, celebratory history does encourage serious historical inquiry or require cognitive exertion from patrons. Although many local non for profit history museums remain wary of any discussion regarding racial segregation and community decline, the curators at the Cape River Heritage Museum may still find ways to discuss these issues without angering or overwhelming patrons. The curators at the Scott Joplin House State Historic Site achieved this balance by working closely with concerned community members, finding ways to discuss poverty, sanitation, and sexually transmitted diseases. For instance, many concerned citizens residing near the Joplin home feared that a frank discussion of these topics would reinforce common stereotypes of African-American behavior. However, by illuminating the context surrounding Joplin’s life, these issues became less contentious for community members as historians placed Joplin within the context of his times, illustrating that poverty, sanitation and sexual transmitted diseases were apart of larger social forces that affected African American life.[9]

Of course, the subjects museums and historic sites will be able to discuss will vary for each community (It is doubtful local patrons would appreciate the staff at the Cape River Heritage Museum discussing STDS setting). However, the staff at the Cape River Heritage Museum can take several small steps to modify Development of a River City. One possible solution would be to change the title to Cape Girardeau: The Development and Transformation of a River City. While Cape Girardeau’s development is an intriguing subject, the exhibit would become truly engaging if it included Cape Girardeau’s transformation throughout history; this would incorporate technological advancements such as automobiles and highways that have simultaneously encouraged growth and decline in the area. The Cape River Heritage Museum could also improve Development of a River City by section labels for each individual display case. Section labels explain how the display connects with the overall theme, what they will expect to find in the display, and provides a helpful segue to the rest of the exhibit.[10]     

 The popularity of local history museums will continue indefinitely as Americans become increasingly interested in historical figures traditionally ignored by texts. This being the case, their presentation of history will continue to be critical as the historians modify and progress beyond rote memorization and the study of military and political leaders. The Cape River Heritage Museum has partially achieved this by formulating a “big idea” and interpretive labels for Development of a River City, yet the curators will need to address the broader context surrounding the artifacts and delineate which themes and questions they want to ask patrons. This will create a more intellectually fulfilling visitor experience than before and ensure that Development of a River City will be more than simply a collection of artifacts.             

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[1] “Welcome to our Website,” http://www.caperiverheritagemuseum.com  (accessed April 1, 2013).

[2] Beverly Serrell, Exhibit Labels: An Interpretive Approach, (Walnut Creek: Altamira Press, 1996), 3-6. 

[3] Freeman Tilden, Interpreting our Heritage: Principles and Practices for Visitor Services in Parks, Museums, and Historic Places, (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1957), [insert page #] quoted in Michael Belcher, Exhibitions in Museums,  (Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institute Press, 1991), 155.

[4] Serrell, 12.

[5] Belcher, 147-148.

[6] Ibid, 148.

[7] Grady Clay, Close-Up: How to Read the American City (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1973), 46-49; Joel Rhodes, Historic Cape Girardeau: An Illustrated History (Texas: The Cape Girardeau Chamber of Commerce, 2004), 69, 79.

[8] Richard Stewart Kirkendall, A History of Missouri:  Volume V 1913-1953(Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1986), 10, 14-15.

[9] Timothy Baumann et al, “Interpreting Uncomfortable History at the Scott Joplin House State Historic Site in St. Louis, Missouri,” Public Historian 33, no. 2 (2011): 38-39, 54-57.

[10] Serrell, 22-24.

"Money talks and bullshit walks!"

     My grandpa Luecke has a wise saying: “Money talks and bullshit walks.” This phrase applies to various situations, including Robert R. Weyenth’s experiences writing and defending his interpretive history of Kapli’olani Park in Honolulu, Hawaii. Weyeth’s monograph revealed some uncomfortable aspects of the park’s history, including revelations that Kapli’olani Park’s supposed benefactors sold large portions of Kapli’olani to wealthy friends in the 1890s, thereby decreasing its overall size. As a result, the shit hit the proverbial fan when influential community members became displeased with Weyeth’s portrayal of their ancestors and sued Weyeth for libel. Although these legal maneuvers ultimately failed, the case illustrated that interpretive history has the potential to threaten narratives that many in the community “sacred.” The majority of Americans remain ignorant about what historians actually do; many continue to operate under the misguided assumption that historians primarily collect and disseminate facts. However, this only partially explains the backlash against interpretive history. In most cases, economics play an overriding factor. Traditional narratives usually form the economic backbone of a community, attracting attention from tourists with extra cash to piss away during the summer. When it comes to a choice between fresh, dynamic narratives, or “sacred” narratives guaranteed to attract tourists, bullshit will usually walk.  

Week something....

When I first moved to Cape Girardeau, my Grandma Medlock (the sane grandma) would take me with her to visit our Aunt Laura Lee Eaker, a vivacious ninety five year old woman who, despite being partially blind, deaf and physically handicapped, still loves to socialize. During one of our visits, Laura Lee, knowing my intense interest in family history, decided to divulge everything she knew about the Eaker clan. After nearly three hours of intense discussion, I thought Laura Lee had told me everything I needed to know about my distant relatives. As I began to leave, my aunt blurted out: “And then there was that time your Grandpa Eaker took his Grandpa Shelton to a whore house.” Despite the fact that I could sense my Grandma Medlock’s Lutheran butt cheeks puckering, I had to hear this one last story.

 

According to my aunt, Grandpa Shelton was Grandpa Eaker’s favorite Grandpa. Unfortunately, Grandpa Shelton was getting old and did not have much longer to live. So Grandpa Eaker, being the kind soul that he was, decided to take Grandpa Shelton on a road trip to East St. Louis to purchase the services of a friendly prostitute. After what was probably the best ten minutes of his life, Grandpa Shelton shuffled out of the brothel with a smile on his face. However, my Grandpa Eaker had to be sure that his favorite Grandpa got his money’s worth. When Grandpa Eaker asked the prostitute if she had earned her money, she sighed and replied, “Every last penny.”

 

Although I find this story to be entertaining, I am sure the majority of my family, including Grandma Medlock and her Lutheran cheeks, would not be so amused. Most Americans react the same way as Grandma Medlock and ignore the uncomfortable aspects of their personal and collective past. As Hurley notes, the Scott Joplin house in St. Louis, Missouri has experienced that same issues. For instance, the available evidence suggests that Joplin not only lived near prostitutes, but made his living playing ragtime music in brothels; some historians speculate that Joplin most likely contracted syphilis from a prostitute. Instead of ignoring this painful aspect of Scott Joplin’s life (many African Americans did not want visitors to associate black neighborhoods with prostitution), the staff at the Scott Joplin house decided to transform prostitution and ragtime music into a teachable moment with input from the  local community. Staff members contextualized the events surrounding Joplin’s interactions with prostitutes and brothels, noting that women did not possess the same rights as men in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In many cases, prostitution was one of the few professions in the United States during this period that provided working-class women with decent wages.

 

Of course, not every museum has patrons that are open to discussing such troubling aspects of American society. However, the staff at the Scott Joplin house took the best approach by consulting the surrounding community in order to reach a consensus over which topics would benefit an honest and open discussion. In some cases, these topics brought to light issues currently plaguing the community, including prostitution and sex crimes. Hopefully, the nation’s collective butt cheeks will un-pucker and small museums throughout the nation will be able to adopt the Scott Joplin House’s methods.     

Porn for Southerners

When I was younger, my mother watched Gone with the Wind incessantly. For some reason, a film centered on Vivian Leigh acting like a conniving bitch for three hours was not enough the first one hundred viewings. Gone with the Wind essentially became mom’s version of porn.  It may have been the same god damn thing over and over again, but mom still drooled over her battered VHS copy of the film much like a prepubescent twelve year old boy drools over his father’s secret stash. This all seemed harmless until I realized that millions of other Americans—northerners and southerners—viewed Gone with the Wind in the fashion. (I suppose the burning of Atlanta is the film’s “money shot”). Millions of Americans continue to lose brain cells as they watch Margret Mitchell’s plodding, three hour justification for slavery and the society it built.

After nearly eighty years in circulation, a large segment of the American population has absorbed Mitchell’s narrative. In most cases, the film reinforces their preconceived stereotypes of African Americans, which becomes challenging for public historians attempting to incorporate slavery into their interpretations. This usually engenders bitter outrage from Americans steeped in Mitchell’s, and other southern apologists’, bullshit. For instance, R. Wayne Byrd, the president of the Virginia’s Heritage Preservation Association, opposed Virginia’s official acknowledgement of the deleterious effects of slavery, claiming the State of Virginia was caving in to political pressure from racist hate groups like the NAACP (Think of Mr. Byrd as the Larry Flynt to Margaret Mitchell’s Hugh Hefner). Unfortunately, it is still controversial in some parts of this country to acknowledge that slavery was a terrible institution; only in America.

Of course, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that, for many other Americans, slavery is simply too painful because of the personal history involved. I cannot even begin to imagine the gamut of emotions an African American must feel when they see interpretations of slavery at museums. For some African Americans, the topic is something they would rather put behind them. However, James Oliver Horton notes that it is virtually impossible to make sense of today’s racial conflicts without a serious discussion about slavery, the institution that created the modern racial hierarchy in the United States. We could either do that or re-watch Margaret Mitchell’s epic porno. Let’s hope we all chose Horton’s alternative.     

Website Review

 

Presbyterians and the Civil War: Witness to a Great Moral Earthquake (produced by The Presbyterian Historical Society: The National Archives of the PC (USA)) http://www.history.pcusa.org/resources/exhibits/civil_war/, Created and Maintained by the Presbyterian Historical society, Reviewed March 27 to March 29, 2013

 

               During the last few decades, outreach has become one of the archivist’s most vital functions. As Laura A. Millar explains, archival outreach, including digitization, not only entails making archival holdings available, but also explaining the institution’s ‘…value and purpose.’[1] The Presbyterian Historical Society (PHS) has cemented their online presence by making selected materials from the Presbyterian Church’s national archives available through virtual exhibits such as Presbyterians and the Civil War: Witness to a Great Moral Earthquake. Although PHS explores the conflicts Presbyterians experienced during the Civil War through primary sources, they have focused on availability at the expense of educating the public on the value and purpose of their holdings.

               PHS uses several thematic concepts to convey their message: the Presbyterian Church in the Confederate States of America; the Presbyterian Church’s efforts to care for soldiers and freedman; the theological debates between Presbyterians over slavery and secession; and the individual stories of famous Presbyterians. Despite PHS’s efforts, the digital exhibit only superficially examines these themes. For example, PHS’s exhibit on Abraham Lincoln notes that, while Lincoln did not belong to a specific religious denomination, he spent the majority of his life attending Presbyterian services. While this may be an intriguing factoid, it does nothing to illuminate Lincoln’s place in history, or the Church’s effect on the Civil War. Did the Presbyterian Church’s doctrine somehow affect Lincoln’s policies during his presidency or his overall philosophy? This deficiency partially stems from PHS neglecting to define its audience. Is the exhibit supposed to be for school children and non-Presbyterians who know little about the church, or Presbyterians?

               Further problems arise due to PHS’s ineffective use of digital technology. Throughout the exhibit, PHS provides visitors with digitized images of documents pertaining to the Civil War. Unfortunately, visitors are not able to access more than one page of a digitized letter or sermon, nor does it not allow patrons to use magnification features to study the documents, or access transcriptions of the documents themselves. This severely limits the usefulness of the digitized items, relegating them to glorified set pieces for the text. This also prevents PHS from creating lesson plans for K-12 students; teachers will be able to do little with an 870 by 1086 image.  

               Although PHS has created a user-friendly website, it will need several revisions before it will become a quality exhibit. PHS will need to research what their materials say about American society during the Civil War; it will serve no one to state simply that Abraham Lincoln was a Presbyterian. The creators of Presbyterians and the Civil War will also need to define their core audience. Once they have answered these questions, they will need to reformat their digitized collections, allowing visitors to magnify documents and view more than one page of a document. Although implanting these changes will be a challenge, the society’s donation program could provide a possible solution, allowing PHS could maximize its resources and improve Presbyterians and the Civil War, thereby generating more visitors and future donors.         

 

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[1] Ibid, 193-195, 199.

Week Eleven...I think

               Throughout my long and illustrious career in the food and retail industry, I have always adhered to one basic axiom: the customer is always right. As most of you know, in reality, the customer is full shit ninety nine percent of the time, but that does not matter; what matters is that customers leave the store happy. While this philosophy has saved me from the wrath of obese soccer moms and senile old men, it does work well for museums. Unfortunately, the almighty dollar triumphs over everything else in most aspects of our daily lives, even in those areas we consider sacred, such as museums. While Colonial Williamsburg attempts to overcome these limitations by embracing the new social history, they continue to be limited by their allegiance to the cult of the customer. Of course, I am not saying that Williamsburg should not be concerned about making history accessible to the public; Dr. Criblez would have to bitch slap me if I believed that. However, Williamsburg’s concern over imparting “good vibes” severely hampers their mission, transforming frontline interpreters into glorified Wal-Mart door greeters. With this obsession over good vibes, history devolves into a simple narrative of progress (Things just keep getting better and better!) that Williamsburg’s social historians originally intended to avoid. While there will always be limitations to what public historians can do at museums and other historical sites, they should never become so timid that they lose sight of their original mission.  

“Well, boy, I guess you are up shit creek without a paddle”—Robert Clarence Luecke

*This week’s blog will most likely not be as insightful as I had originally hoped. I am currently trapped in St. Charles and forgot to bring this week’s readings with me.  Although I read the text last Monday, I usually need the readings on hand in order to write meaningful blogs. In the meantime, I plan to eviscerate the lying, treacherous groundhog who predicted that we would have an early spring.  

               For some reason, my grandparents always wanted to take me to Texas on vacations as a child. My mother has always referred to the Lone Star state as “nut country”, so it came as no surprise that my grandparents would want to spend their vacations in the state that produced such illustrious figures as Lee Harvey Oswald and George W. Bush. During one of our frequent travels to the asshole of the United States, we visited the Lyndon Baines Johnson Presidential Library and Museum. As we toured the museum, I made the mistake of touching one of the open displays out of curiosity. The museum’s alarm system immediately activated, startling everyone in the vicinity. My grandpa Luecke quickly rushed over and began interrogating me; his instincts told me I was the cause of the trouble. “Did you touch that goddamn display,” he asked. I responded by protesting my innocence, knowing my grandpa would give me a severe tongue lashing, not to mention the subsequent nagging from my grandma Luecke.  My grandpa stared at me for what seemed to be the longest two minutes of my life before deciding (thankfully) that, although I was guilty, it would be best to forget the incident. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said. We found my grandmother—we did not dare tell her what had transpired—and rushed through the rest of the tour as the museum.

               Although the museum profession has made progress in recent decades avoiding the debacles I experienced as a child, this week’s readings prove that more work still needs to be done. For example, Handler mentions the controversy surrounding the interpretation of African American life at Colonial Williamsburg. Relying primarily on oral histories, Colonial Williamsburg’s African American tour guides note the possibility that several of Williamsburg’s gentry probably engaged in mutual (or more likely coerced) sexual affairs with their slaves. These sexual liaisons often produced illegitimate offspring that slave owners never officially claimed as their own for fear of becoming a social pariah in the community. The majority of white tour guides counter that no documentation exists definitively proving any sexual affair between slaves and their owners. This frequently devolves into a recurring debate between both camps concerning the “facts” surrounding these alleged affairs. Unfortunately, in their quest for definitive facts to validate their arguments, both sides ignore the interpretive nature of history that scholars employ to explore and make sense of the past. Handler notes that these discussions usually devolve into debates over “facts” because museum staff fails to convey the full complexity of history to tour guides. The staff at Colonial Williamsburg would improve the overall quality of the site by refining their educational seminars for tour guides. Although conflict will always arise of historical interpretation, it will hopefully be more productive than what Handler witnessed during his study.