Historic Preservation: Personalism vs. Professionalism, and Scientific vs. Postmodern

The two articles for this week discuss the interpretation of material culture associated with great white men significant in local and national history.  Lindgren focuses on the preservation of the Thomas Lee house from the 17^th century from a personal and professional perspective.  The conflict here is a microcosm of the larger trend of professionalization as men increasingly became involved in the preservation movement.  Nolan and Buckman’s article looks at the interpretations of Monticello and Montpelier as scientific versus postmodern, respectively.  I understand why the preservationists at Monticello wanted to “restore” the building and grounds, but attempting to control Monticello’s interpretation as static does not give the public much understanding of how Monticello has developed over the years.  Although Monpelier’s interpretation is more complex, I feel that this type of postmodernist viewpoint is more accurate to the property’s history.

The postmodernist view includes multiple narratives of Montpelier’s owners over the years, including the additions to the main house and changes of the landscape.  While this may confuse some visitors, this is a much more inclusive interpretation that shows the evolution of the home from Madison’s ownership until 1983.  Although Monticello has a more traditional and static history of the house, the scientific approach is not as traditional.  This trend towards scientific “discovery” of history comes when men begin to take over historic preservation from the women who had started the movement by saving George Washington’s Mount Vernon home.  Lindgren’s piece really makes this transition clear as a move from personalism to professionalism. 

Although some men practiced personalism, women overwhelmingly used this approach to preservation.  Even in the 20^th century men received training as anthropologists and pseudo-scientists, which led to a different approach to historic homes and the development of public history.  Women did not have as much access to this type of training, since women were part of this Republican Motherhood that valued the learning and appreciation of history, but not formal education in scientific preservation.  The largest issue between women and men’s approach to public history in the early 20^th century comes from differences in educational opportunities.  And while the Monticello interpretation comes from this scientific tradition that developed over the 20^th century, Montpelier’s use of postmodernism is more in line with the reclamation of multiple narratives.

The Enola Gay Controversy

     According to Dubin, controversy over museum exhibitions is a good thing, although controversy does present unique complications.  I agree with this assessment, because conflict indicates that the audience is engaging with the subject and they are invested in museum’s interpretation.  Without controversy, how would the dialogue about the Enola Gay become part of American consciousness? 

     What I found particularly interesting about the Enola Gay exhibit was the generational line between opposing sides.  The veterans supported a “victory culture” of hero worship and clearly delineated ‘good’ and ‘bad.’  The ‘disenchanted’ baby boomers, however, had a more postmodernist view of world culture that did not dictate the superiority of any specific group or people.  A comical point for me was when the veterans claimed the Smithsonian was taking too long to restore the plane and threatened to move it to the Truman library.  There was no winning!  If the Smithsonian meticulously restored the plane’s 1940s appearance they were taking too long, but if they did not do it correctly the vets would have been upset with the misrepresentation!  Contemporary issues over Japanese dominance in the world marketplace also affected the atmosphere of the Enola Gay exhibit.  Racial prejudice and fears of an Eastern takeover in the 1980s and 90s strangely mirrored some of the anxieties present during World War II.

     The second chapter of this Dubin excerpt also made sense, but I did not really understand the title.  I get that the Enola Gay has become an exhibit which public historians can all look to as an example of protest and controversy, but as a verb?  Yes, most museums enjoy plenty of visitors and community support without controversial exhibits, but why do researchers focus on the complicated cases?  I can answer my own question here.  The controversies provide wonderful examples of what to do, and what not to do, when dealing with a difficult exhibit, but why not have examples of the successful, peaceful museums?  This is probably my own concern talking because I am in the middle of planning a wedding and must choose the least resistant route in order to maintain my sanity, but besides the free publicity, the only benefit of a controversial exhibit seems to be the dialogue it sparks.  Mostly the exhibits cause heartache and anger without benefiting those who will not budge in their interpretation. 

     I’m sympathizing with the old curmudgeons supporting the victory viewpoint – not my usual.  It must be due to my cynical postmodernist sentimentality.

Slavery and Public History

     “The Tough Stuff of American Memory” is the subtitle for James and Lois Horton’s edited volume Slavery and Public History.  A very simple and colloquial phrase, but it gets to the heart of the issue.  Slavery and American history developed side-by-side, but frequently public presentations of history ignore this tension-fraught subject in order to make the visitors’ experience more palatable.  This book explores how public historians have attempted to integrate black history, specifically about slavery, into their interpretations since the mid-1980s according to the larger New Social History trend.    

     The two chapters I found the most interesting were Lois Horton’s look at the inclusion of Sally Hemmings in Monticello’s history, and Dwight Pitcaithley’s chapter on the National Park Service’s interpretation of what caused the Civil War.  Both of these chapters deal with an idealized look at our past that filters out the less-than-savory incidents.  The problem with this white-washed view of history is a lack of context.  Referring to slaves as “servants” and discussing their contributions in a passive voice in order to avoid the truth of their presence also avoids the affect slaves had on life at Monticello.  The response to this “integration” of slave history in the Monticello tours and history was mostly positive, as guests acknowledged the importance of slavery to American history overall.

      The visceral response, however, from Southern groups to the NPS inclusion of slavery in battlefield interpretations differed greatly from the Monticello case.  They claimed that the federal park system was insulting the South both today and for their part in the Civil War due to the ‘supposed’ immorality of slavery.  Those who opposed this change in interpretation claimed that the federal parks were judging the South harshly and unfairly desecrating half the soldiers whom had fallen on those very battlefields.  This reminded me of the conversation in class on September 7^th when we read the news article on the gentleman separating the horrors of slavery from Southern heritage pride in his role as Frederick Douglass.  No, you cannot truly separate the history of the Civil War from the history of slavery, just as you cannot separate general American history from the history of slavery.  For accurate and inclusive representations of history, public historians, or any historians for that matter, cannot cherry-pick according to their own agenda while ignoring the larger cultural context.  That type of history is irresponsible.

Levin's Defining Memory

     Are the roadside attractions claiming to have the world’s biggest ball of string really museums?  According to Levin and the fifteen other contributors to her book, Defining Memory (2007), YES.  As I read, I was reminded of a museum I once saw in Gatlinburg, TN.  They even have a website (http://thesaltandpeppershakermuseum.com) and a sister museum in Guadalest, Spain.  There are over 20,000 salt and pepper shakers in their collection. 

     The difficulty of defining public history also extends to defining a museum.  As Levin mentioned, the American Association of Museums has multiple guidelines, one of which is a $25,000 annual operating budget.  Those institutions that do not meet the official requirements, though, are still museums, right?  I agree that the definition of museum should be inclusive rather than exclusive, but categorizing all of the off-the-wall roadside stops as “local museums” seems a bit of a stretch to me.  There should be an additional category of “strange, weird, and unrelated” museums that do not discuss local history. 

     This collection of essays focuses more on the local museum that engages with the community, and I found that the feedback concerning the Dillinger museum was a wonderful example of local museums responding to their communities.  Changing the exhibit to feature a spotlight more on those who fought crime, rather than those breaking the laws, was different from the initial concept of a ‘Robin Hood’ character from the Depression era.  The addition of a police memorial next to the Dillinger museum’s entrance to garner support from law enforcement is a clear response to the community’s dislike for the “hero” status of a career criminal.

     The challenges of incorporating the community’s viewpoints, as well as including a worldview of multiple cultures are the major hurdles for today’s museums.  The democratization of history museums, and the inclusion of multiple institutions as museums all lead to defining memory as a joint public and private venture.  Levin’s book is an attempt to clarify the function of a local museum, and I believe that Defining Memory achieves this on a basic level.