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.      

“Gettysburg—there were some mistakes made there, it’s a sad thing and I’m not going to go into that.”

A couple of weeks ago a heated debate arose in class over the appropriateness of Disney’s proposed plans in the mid-1990s to construct a Civil War park adjacent to the Gettysburg battlefield. My overactive imagination immediately conjured up images of Disney characters reenacting the Battle of Gettysburg, with a Confederate Mickey Mouse at the center of the carnage eviscerating Donald Duck with a bayonet. As a result, I opposed the idea, arguing that the battlefield was “sacred” ground and should not be inadvertently altered by Disney’s crass commercialized endeavors. However, I realized that I missed the entire point of that week’s readings by using the term “sacred.” Whenever historians or the general public describe a public history site as “sacred,” they imply that the site is more of a religious shrine than a secular monument open to reinterpretation and revision. When perceived outsiders, such as American Indians, attempt to revise these cherished narratives, the defenders of the traditional narrative accuse them of heresy and treason (Savage, 4, 10, 14) (Linenthal, 144-148, 154-155, 160-161).

               This opposition to revisionism, of course, is the antithesis of historical thinking. Defenders of “sacred” ground view revisionism as a naive attempt by liberals to “right social wrongs” (Linenthal, 154). What these individuals fail to understand is that historical thinking is a fluid process, requiring historians to ask new questions perennially and revise their previous interpretations of the past. This process is crucial to the survival of the nation if we hope to become a more inclusive society and heal the wounds inflicted by past generations (Savage, 10). If we fail to do this, we risk becoming like “hardcore” Civil-War re-enactors. The Civil War will never end for these individuals as they continue to piss on their clothing and recite meaningless Civil War trivia in a futile to attempt to recreate what they view as a “simpler time.” While some individuals might find it appealing to dress in piss soaked clothing, historic sites must never devolve into the blatant hero worship evidenced from these readings (Horwitz, 9-17, 36-37). As I always like to remind my cousin, we are living in 2013, not 1853. We should treat our historic sites in the same way as the public continues to redefine what it means to be an American (Yes, I realize the previous sentence sucked. As you can tell, I am not the most articulate lad).  

Week 9

               Recreating the past on celluloid is probably one of the most challenging aspects of filmmaking. Like academics, filmmakers must consult the fragmented documentary record in order to make history come alive. However, the cinema’s broad public appeal increases the potential for a director to ignite a firestorm of controversy surrounding their chosen topic. With the majority of these films, public outrage usually centers on the director’s choice to infuse the material with blood, sex and violence at the expense of historical accuracy. One only has to examine Oliver Stone’s filmography to understand why filmmakers continually rely on this formula, and why the large segments of the public usually leave these movies pissed off. For instance, my father once became disgusted after watching JFK, noting that the only thing Oliver Stone got right was that Lee Harvey Oswald shot Kennedy in the head.

               Yet even the most historically conscious directors, such as Bruce Beresford, incur the public’s wrath. Beresford’s Black Robe, the story of a 17^th century Jesuit Priest in colonial Quebec, engendered the same controversy as any of Stone’s films. Ward Churchill—yes, the same Ward Churchill who made the disgusting comments about the victims of 9/11—claims Black Robe sanitizes the past by portraying colonists as noble, spiritual men with good intentions, rather than the brutal conquers portrayed in recent films. To make matters worse, Churchill believes Beresford consciously portrays the Indians in the film as brutal savages who prefer farting and fornicating “doggie style” to the spiritual pursuits advocated by father Laforge, the title character; it is up to the colonists to Christianize the “savages” and introduce them to the proper European sexual positions.

               Unfortunately, it appears Mr. Churchill’s emotions overtook him while he wrote his critique of the film. In fact, Black Robe makes no attempt to sanitize the past. According to Kristof Haavik, Beresford uses the film to examine what happens when a man’s arrogance distorts his noblest intentions. Throughout the film, Father Laforge fails to find any value in the native’s culture, which ultimately helps bring the destruction of Indian civilization as the imposition of the Christian religion destroys the Huron’s society. As for the sex scenes Mr. Churchill complained so much about, I subjected my virgin eyes to re-watching these scenes several times in order analyze Mr. Churchill’s critique. After several hours, I was able to determine that none of these scenes portrayed the characters as hedonistic savages. Instead, the characters exchange in sexual activity to express their love to a committed partner much like Europeans.

               Film is an inherently subjective medium; film goers see what they want to see. Mr. Churchill got out of Black Robe what he wanted: a film that reinforces his worst fears about an Eurocentric nation that glorifies the near extinction of native peoples. Perhaps filmmakers in the future would be better served by articulating their intentions to the public. Beresford and the film crew appeared to focus more on promoting the film’s aesthetics than publicizing its message. While this may not prevent individuals like Mr. Churchill from seeing what they want to see, a proper defense could possibly prevent misunderstanding among the broader public.    

Week 8

Before I began my current venture at SEMO, I purchased Public History: Essays from the Field in order to familiarize myself with the issues Public Historians face professionally. I had recently graduated from Lindenwood University, so I had a lot of time on my hands (I guess you could say I was trying to fill the void in my life left by my recent graduation, considering that no sane person would read this book for pleasure).  Being a virtual tyro to the archival profession, I decided it would be best to begin with the chapter on archivists and records managers. As I began reading the chapter, I was shocked by the revelation that archivists did not save every scrap of paper in their possession. I guess I had originally envisioned an archivist as someone like my Grandma Luecke: A nasty, bitter old hag obsessively hoarding documents for no logical purpose. Thankfully, this chapter fundamentally altered my initial misconceptions.

Since then, I have had several remarkable people mentor me as I attempt to improve my knowledge-base and skills. Unfortunately, I have encountered several archivists throughout the years who have not had the same opportunities afforded to me. For instance, I was visiting an archival institution several weeks ago and noticed a stack of newspapers lying on the table. When I asked the assistant archivist about the newspapers, he informed me that he had accepted them as a donation from a patron. This struck me as an odd decision until I remembered that this was the same person who thought nothing of bringing his dirty dog into the stacks on the weekends. I decided it would be best to say nothing at all.

Based upon this experience, I sometimes wonder if the profession still has much more to do to improve standards in the field. Currently, the profession does not seem to have an established set of criteria for the education required for professionals. Although the Society of American Archivists recommends that students pursue a Master’s degree, this varies from advanced degrees in Public History to Library Science. Hopefully, as the public begins to understand the importance of what archivists do, the profession will be able to standardize educational requirements.  

      

I hate you, Lawrence Welk

As most of you may recall, I had somewhat of a knee-jerk reaction towards the topic of Disney and the convergence of entertainment and education yesterday. I guess a part of me kept thinking back to my horrifying summer vacations with my grandpa and grandma Luecke during the 1990s. My grandma’s idea of the perfect mix of education and entertainment were 19^th century German immigrant villages in Wisconsin. These “historic villages” were nothing more than glorified clip joints staffed by twenty something heifers dancing in inaccurate period costumes to the groovy sounds of Lawrence Welk (I still throw up a little in the back of my mouth whenever I think back to those dark times). This somehow satisfied my Grandma’s demented sense of historic authenticity as she rummaged for junk in the gift shop to purchase and obsessively hoard. So I guess I have some issues concerning my grandmother and historic sites that will require a combination of Jack Daniels and an expensive therapist.

Fortunately, Joyce Thierer and John Salicco provide an intriguing way to merge entertainment and education that avoids Disney’s crass commercialism; not to mention my grandma’s batshit crazy ideas regarding history. Salicco correctly notes that most families visit living history museums to entertain their children while exposing them to educational activities. Children become quickly entranced as they witness staff recreate historic manufacturing processes and battles. While this has the potential to devolve into a glorified show-and-tell session, skilled interpreters are able to transform these activities into teachable moments that are relevant to the lives of their patrons. For example, a blacksmith could take the opportunity to discuss problems including forgery (identity theft) or the proliferation of horse manure in the streets (pollution). When interpreters embrace these methods, they are essentially adopting the same strategies educators employ in their classrooms. Children—and most adults—will not participate in learning activities just for the sake of absorbing new facts. They desire activities that are relevant and applicable to their everyday experiences.

Of course, Thierer notes that some dangers exist with this method. The majority of volunteers and employees at historic sites do not have a sufficient grasp of the historic context of the period they are interpreting. While some interpreters attempt to expand their knowledge-base, many become absorbed with the accuracy of their appearance, thereby missing the purpose of historic interpretation entirely. However, Meghan was correct to point out that even these superficial interpretations have the potential to inspire patrons to research historical topics independently. Maybe academic and public historians should fully embrace these methods and avoid the extremes of Disney and Lawrence Welk inspired German immigrant Villages. One can only hope.  

Week five or six...I am beginning to lose count.

                 My aunt once told my mother how much she enjoyed watching Gone with the Wind as a child and hoped to one day introduce the film to her children because of “the history.” Apparently, my aunt believes Gone with Wind accurately portrays the antebellum south as a blissful, bygone era where slaves and their masters lived harmoniously before those pesky northerners had to ruin all the fun. First, let me say this: I thank God every night that my relationship with my aunt is only by law. I wish I could say the same thing about several other branches of my family tree. Having said that, I also realize the majority of Americans consume history in the same fashion as my aunt. It is not that these people are stupid; instead, they consciously seek those museums or attractions that reinforce their version of American history. For the majority of Americans, this happens to be a hyper-nationalistic commemoration of the past, rather than an honest reflection and debate. Throughout the history of the United States, museums and historic sites have responded to these “market forces” by crafting a narrative that, while not necessarily true, satisfies their customer base.   In all honesty, “Mickey Mouse history” existed long before Walt created America’s favorite rodent.

               I realize the previous paragraph contradicts statements from my earlier posts. However, this week’s readings and Marla’s cogent observations have led me to revise my earlier beliefs. For example, the majority of Wallace’s article focuses on how corporations sponsoring Disney’s EPCOT center ingeniously borrowed from the 1939 World’s Fair formula, combining the industrial exposition with the carnival, creating an attraction that celebrated consumption and the march of progress with corporate entities at the helm. In the world according to EPCOT, history is simply a gallery of prominent men and the inventions they created. One need not worry about the problems currently plaguing humankind like pollution or world hunger, these ingenious inventors and their corporate benefactors will eventually solve them. While many historians decry this top-down approach, one cannot deny that a large segment of the public craves for this narrative. Disney would be bankrupt if this were not the case.  

               While many concerned citizens and advocacy groups claim to abhor Disney’s sanitized version of history, they frequently employ the same rhetoric and strategies to defend what they consider “sacred ground.” In essence, they create their own sanitized history to compete with what they consider “Mickey Mouse” history; one need look no farther than the Republican party to understand what I am talking about. Conservatives like Newt Gingrich frequently excoriate Disney’s portrayal of American History, yet the best they can offer is their own finite narrative.  From this point, the debate frequently devolves into something akin to a competition between McDonalds and Burger King, with both sides peddling variations of the same greasy shit.

               Therefore, I have become doubtful about my earlier suggestions that public historians compromise and listen to the other side to resolve this problem. It appears the other side does not want to reach a compromise: Museums and historical sites will either provide the “product” their patrons want, or they will take their dollars elsewhere. While one can hope that providing alternatives to the standard narratives will attract the public, I am afraid America’s hubris may be too much to overcome. Wallace does provide some intriguing alternatives such as providing exhibits decoding the historical narratives disseminated by Disney. Patrons might respond positively to these exhibits, investigating how Disney and others present the past.

In the meantime, I will have to be satisfied with smaller victories. Recently, my Grandma Luecke was regurgitating the standard narrative provided by conservative historians that the 1940s and 1950s represented a time when Americans had high standards of morality. My grandpa, irritated, finally looked at me and said: “Your grandma is full of shit. There was the same amount of whoring and boozing then as there is today; people just kept it quite back then.” I guess I will take what I can get. Go Grandpa.     

My some-what rambling blog (Maybe I shouldn't post at 12:32 a.m)

My four years as an associate at Borders Books and Music provided me with an unlikely introduction to public history. Although I spent the majority of my time cleaning fecal matter and reminding my teenage cliental that it was socially unacceptable to fornicate in the young adult section, I did manage to dedicate a portion of my time to assisting customers with their purchases. Most of my customers were highly intelligent—if not entirely pleasant—individuals with a voracious appetite for history. However, I quickly realized they were only interested in monographs that reinforced their own biases. Whenever I suggested relatively innocuous titles, they rejected my suggestions, claiming they were not interested in “liberal history.” To my customers, history was simply a collection of facts that commemorated the deeds of eminent men (and sometimes) women; anything that deviated from this formula was potentially treasonous. Judging by the reactions of my customers, I realized my future career would most likely place me at the frontlines of America’s bitter culture wars.

These attitudes have become increasingly problematic for museum professionals attempting to create innovative and thought provoking exhibits. As Talboys notes, we can no longer use material objects as show pieces, depriving them, in essence, of their historical context. Instead, museum professionals must place their collections in their historic context, enabling them to “provide a unique focal point for contemplation and uniquely multifarious starting-point for exploration.” At their best, museum exhibits like All in the Family provide the impetus to reflect on an era and the values and ideas the show represented. While not everyone may approve of these iconoclastic exhibits, their benefits outweigh their potential risks. However, at their worst, these museum pieces become a fire storm of controversy, offending those with preconceived notions of the “truth.”

Unfortunately,  exhibits garner more controversy than praise. The Enola Gay controversy, for instance, has become emblematic of the corrosive culture wars that have divided the United States. The exhibition’s detractors excoriated the exhibit’s creators for presenting an anti-American narrative of the events surrounding the nuclear attack on Hiroshima. In the minds of these detractors, the exhibit needed to be thoroughly revised to avoid dishonoring the military and veterans. The staff at the National Air and Space Museum—the exhibit’s sponsor—vehemently protested to the contrary, noting they relied on the latest scholarship and sought (although rarely acted upon) the advice of veterans groups to create an accurate portrayal of the past. The removal of the exhibit from the National Air and Space Museum represented nothing less than a capitulation to government and private censorship.  

As always, the truth lies somewhere in the middle. While the Smithsonian’s curators were cognizant of the sensitivities surrounding the Enola Gay, they created a narrative that was, in fact, biased. For example, while the section entitled “Delivering the Bomb” praised the patriotic service and dedication of the Enola Gay’s crew, the next section, “A Deadly New Threat: Radioactivity,” essentially erased the previous exhibit’s celebratory nature, focusing on the suffering of the victims of the nuclear attack. While the Smithsonian’s opposite position raised some salient concerns regarding the exhibits emotional impact, the staff of the Smithsonian did attempt to reach a compromise, revising the exhibit several times; however, veterans organization would not rest until the Smithsonian agreed to scuttle the exhibit in favor of a decontextualized—and essentially meaningless—museum piece.

The question remains: How do public historians create engaging and thought provoking exhibits while avoiding debilitating controversies like Enola Gay? One potential solution lies in museum staff having empathy for potential patrons. While this is no easy task, Talboys notes that it is crucial for the success of museums. While exhibits designed to provoke patrons is commendable, it has the tendency to overwhelm patrons who have never been exposed to historic thinking. Acquiring the skills associated with historical thinking is no easy task; it requires years of hard work and dedication, and not everyone will be successful. For many, it can be quite painful to confront and study narratives that fundamentally disagree with their worldview. As suggested by last week’s readings, it may be more advisable to focus on the big picture, leaving patrons with burning questions they will want to research on their own time. While this will not solve all of the problems public historians must face in the front lines of the culture wars, it is far better than resigning oneself to defeat. While fans of Rush Limbaugh—and some of my former Borders customers—might be unreachable—the majority of patrons are open to new narratives and ideas; the challenge rests in public historians and patrons finding common ground to disseminate these ideas while still commemorating the deeds of our ancestors. It will most likely require actually responding to concerns, rather than simply consulting and listening.           

Week 2 Readings!!!

Several years ago I had the opportunity to visit an old friend I had not seen in years. During the course of our conversation, he told me how relieved he was that he had chosen a career in the sciences. According to my friend, his course work at college involved a series of concrete facts that remained constant throughout human history. I found this puzzling considering that, throughout human history, the scientific community has revised and expanded their original conception of natural phenomenon. At the time, it was easy for me to disparage my friend; he obviously lacked my intellectual sophistication. However, I quickly came to realize that I held a similar view during my undergraduate years, so maybe I was not as intellectually superior as I had originally thought. This left me with a puzzling question: Why do intelligent people have such a narrow view of the world around them?

One cogent explanation is that humans absorb and process information that conforms to their biases, discarding conflicting evidence that does not conform to their worldview. Public historians must be cognizant of these inherent biases as they interact with a diverse public. Many visitors view history as a collection of facts celebrating their perception of a shared identity; they vociferously protest new interpretations that threaten their identity. For example, in the last few years conservatives have excoriated public historians who diverge from the traditional interpretation of the United States as a nation comprised of illustrious men who fought for liberty and justice for all. Recent scholarship has demolished this caricature of the past, but many conservatives remained bitterly opposed to these new interpretations, fearing they may destroy the fabric of the nation.

The question remains: How do public historians navigate this contested terrain while, at the same time, presenting diverse narratives and new evidence. Unfortunately, I do not have a satisfactory answer to this question. It is almost impossible to predict who will be offended by an exhibit. Of course, this might be the core of the problem. Instead of encouraging debate, public historians have resigned themselves to making history boring at the expense of creating dynamic new museums and historic sites. It might be advisable for public historians to become vocal themselves like Mr. Limbaugh (excluding the hyperbole and idiocy that comes with the Limbaugh brand) and aggressively promote and defend their institutions. As docents begin tours, they could briefly lecture about the historiography of a theme or topic, acknowledging conflicting views. While this has the potential to irritate visitors who simply want a neat and concise story, it seems to be the most advisable solution.     

                             

Chapter 1 and 2

The first two articles from Public History: Essays in the Field delineate the obstacles public historians have had to overcome to be accepted within academia and the public. Patricia Mooney-Melvin notes that, for most of the twentieth century, academic historians were an isolated community, focusing on training and developing professional ethics while ignoring their duty to educate the general public. Although many historians scoffed at the idea of interacting with nonprofessionals, the American populace displayed an insatiable appetite for history; as a result, historical societies and museums proliferated throughout the nation. While the academic community has revised much of their outdated thinking towards public historians, I cannot help but notice that many historians still view a career in public history as an alternative to a career in academia, rather than an integral component to their own profession. (Mooney-Melvin, 7, 10-12, 14). In my experience, some professional academics (Please note that I am not including SEMO in this observation) do not view archivists as esteemed colleagues who have developed their own professional organizations and code of ethics. When issues arise that may conflict with SAA (Society of American Archivists) ethics, they simply sweep them aside as if they did not matter.  Public history professionals will be unable to create and sustain a viable code of ethics if their colleagues in academia continue to view public historians as secondary in importance. I believe this poses significant challenges for academic departments that are attempting to establish viable public history departments and remains one of the biggest obstacles towards Mooney-Melvin’s goal of broadening the historical profession’s relationship towards the public (Shulz, 34).     

Readings from Gardner, Public History, Part II, pp. 43-230

Its Thursday, so I guess it is time for me to share my responses to the assigned readings! This week’s articles from Public History: Essays from the Field provides a brief summary of the opportunities and challenges public historians face in the field. Whether historians apply their craft as administrators, documentary editors, or museum educators, their primary goal is to disseminate complex historic ideas and make them accessible to the public. Nina Gilden Seavey’s chapter on film and media producers illustrates the many pratfalls public historians face. Increasingly, the only exposure Americans have to history is from superficial documentaries produced by the History Channel (Oh, hell. Who am I kidding? The History Channel only produces documentaries on ice road truckers). Seavey notes that, unlike traditional texts, filmmakers attempt to provide a definitive account of the past, rather than illuminate the broader debates concerning events. Most filmmakers unconsciously reinforce these perceptions by using authoritative talking heads to reinforce their interpretations (Seavey, 117-119, 121, 127). Museum educators face similar problems when they interact with the public. Museums educators, for example, must explain the “interrelationships between objects, spaces and the persons who once used them and placing them into a historical context” (Howell, 145). Yet educators must be willing to condense their tours and refrain from overwhelming visitors. Although the rigors of a masters or PHD program require students to be as detailed as possible, the museum setting requires some brevity; most patrons are on vacation and do not wish to attend a seminar on slavery. Museum Educators must be satisfied with introducing visitors to new concepts and ideas, providing the impetus for patrons to further study the topic (Howell, 151-152).

               As I examined these chapters, I began to reflect on how I will make archives accessible to the public when I enter the profession (God willing). Archivists have only recently discovered the importance of outreach and education in the last few decades as opposed to museum educators and curators. Although archivists such as Ken Osbourne and Sharon Ann Cook have made significant contributions to archival outreach, I still find myself grasping for a reliable method for archival outreach and education. However, as Mark Howell notes, the only reliable formula may be to become adept a gauging one’s audience for the most effective methods for outreach and education (Howell, 151).     

Greetings

In accordance with the instructions provided by my teacher, I have created this blog to express my views concerning the assigned readings from my applied history course. I doubt anyone besides my instructor will read this blog, but, if I happen to be wrong, I would appreciate any constructive comments visitors wish to provide.

Till next time.....