Editor's Note: This is the first in a series of weekly blog posts exploring the 10th anniversary of September 11. Learn about the museum's commemoration plans.
A unique forum took place last night at the National Building Museum. "The Public Memory of September 11" offered engaging and often riveting presentations on designing and building the three major memorials to the people who died in New York, Pennsylvania, and Washington, D.C., in the tragic attacks on September 11, 2001. The panel for the forum included Alice Greenwald, Executive Vice President for Programs at the National September 11 Memorial & Museum; Jeff Reinbold, Site Manager for the Flight 93 National Memorial; and Jim Laychak, President of the Pentagon Memorial Fund. As the 10th anniversary of that dramatic day approaches, I thought it was important to bring together, for the first time, the people who have provided leadership in creating these memorials. They more than fulfilled my expectations.
Construction image of the National September 11 Memorial & Museum. Photo by Joel Woolhead.
Unlike other anniversaries in American history we are observing this year (the Civil War, for example), we are not nostalgic about September 11. Yet, even before the dust had settled and the grim task of investigating the events of that day had been completed, there was a public consensus that we should memorialize the people who died on that day. That consensus was fragile, however, and a vigorous public debate followed that continues today. A wide range of questions emerged during the planning and building of these memorials:
Where should we build these memorials?How should we select the design?What story will we tell?What information should we include or leave out?
Landscape of the Flight 93 National Memorial. Photo by Chuck Wagner.
The answers to these questions and many others reveal much about our own times—our aesthetics, our politics, and our language. The process of building memorials to September 11 also forces us to consider the role of religion and spirituality. In creating memorials to the victims of the September 11 attacks, we are engaged in what sociologist Janet Jacobs describes as a process of transforming sites of violence and death into sacred ground. In a secular society that prides itself on tolerance and diversity, this is a profound challenge, made even more difficult when we are continuously reminded—on September 11, 2001 and this past week in Norway, for example—of the violence and death that takes place in the name of religion.
At the conclusion of the forum, Alice Greenwald made a distinction between a memorial and a museum. While the memorial will honor the dead, the museum must tell a story about what happened and why. As a historian, I am intrigued by the "why" question. Why did this happen? Why did all these people die? These questions arise at critical moments in our history. At Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln transformed the meaning of the Civil War from a conflict to preserve the Union to one that would fulfill the promise of the Declaration of Independence and that the carnage of war would bring about "a new birth of freedom."
The Pentagon Memorial. Courtesy of the Pentagon Memorial.
Less famously but equally profound was the conversation I witnessed between a father and his young son near Ground Zero at the New York Fire Department Memorial at the firehouse of Engine Company 10, Ladder Company 10. The memorial is a large bronze bas relief mural that honors the 343 firefighters who died on September 11. It graphically illustrates the scene as they rush into the burning towers of the World Trade Center. The little boy asked his father to explain what was happening in the scene, and the father tried to recreate the horrific events of that day. The boy was patient but persistent.
"Why are the buildings on fire?"
"Because some men flew planes into them."
"Why did they do that?"
"Because they were very angry."
"Why were they so angry?"
I could sense the father's growing frustration at this point, but I could not hear his response. Or if he responded at all.
We all share that frustration of trying to make sense of history, explaining the causes of events that often defy explanation. And we must try to understand not only the causes but the consequences of major turning points in our history. Certainly, September 11, 2001 is one of those turning points.
Remembering September 11 and honoring those who died is vitally important. It is equally important that we try to understand the meaning of that day and how it continues to shape our lives and our times.
Brent D. Glass is the Elizabeth MacMillan Director of the National Museum of American History.
Posted at 04:40 PM in Director's Notes | Permalink|Comments (0)Digg This | | | July 25, 2011Theater Preview: "Time Trial of John Brown" and "Am I a Pirate?"When you read a textbook, glance at a grainy photograph of a legendary historical figure, or gaze at an artifact locked behind a protective wall of glass, it's sometimes easy to feel as though history is over there and not here, a distant and removed past that lacks tactility in the present.
Here at the museum, we're always looking for ways to close this gap between our visitors and American history—and the historical theater program, called History Alive!, is likely the most visible result of this mission. On any given day, you can see a different show in operation about every hour and a half in different quarters of the building.
“Time Trial of John Brown”
The educational theater program, which began in late 2008, marries the academic side of museum studies and American history with the artistic and performative nature of theater production to get people talking about history. Our theater program recently unveiled two new programs: "Time Trial of John Brown" and "Am I a Pirate?" In the former, visitors serve as jurors in a short hearing for abolitionist John Brown, who advocated violence to combat slavery during the early 1800s and led armed insurrections that would lead to his execution. Jurors have the opportunity to debate the historical legacy of Brown and how he should be remembered. "Am I a Pirate?" discusses piracy and privateering in the Americas from the early 18th century to the early 19th century, and features shanties from maritime history.
“Am I a Pirate”?
Along with the two new shows, the museum will continue to present "Join the Student Sit-Ins" and "Broad Stripes and Bright Stars." The first, one of our most popular theater programs, transports visitors to 1960 just after four college students began a protest against racial segregation at the Greensboro Lunch Counter.
The program involves audience members by re-creating a sit-in training session based on a written manual from the 1960s and invites them to consider the ordinary Americans who put themselves on the line to change the nation during the Civil Rights Movement. In the second program, Mary Pickersgill, who sewed the flag that inspired the Star-Spangled Banner, discusses life during the War of 1812 and the history behind the flag.
"Join the Student Sit-Ins"
The museum uses theater to create a safe space in which to discuss historical topics that may be difficult to broach otherwise. Interactive theater has the ability to suspend disbelief and transport viewers into a different place and time in American history; we hope the audience encounters history in a dynamic and intimate manner, perhaps even gaining an emotional connection with an historical figure or a time period.
For those of you interested in viewing any of the shows, below is a quick round-up of the different programs and their time, date, and place:
Join the Student Sit-Ins: Thursday-Monday at 11:30 a.m., 1:30 p.m., 3:00 p.m., 4:30 p.m. at Greensboro Lunch Counter, 2nd floor.
Broad Stripes and Bright Stars: Sunday-Wednesday at 10:30 a.m., 12:30 p.m., 2:00 p.m., 3:30 p.m. in Flag Hall, 2nd floor center.
Time Trial of John Brown: Tuesday-Saturday at 11:00 a.m., 1:00 p.m., 2:30 p.m., 4:00 p.m. in Price of Freedom theater, 3rd floor.
Am I a Pirate?: Tuesday-Thursday at 11:30 a.m., 2:00 p.m. in the On the Water exhibition, 1st floor.
Please check the website for schedule updates and changes.
Esther I. Yi is a Fellow in the New Media Department at the National Museum of American History.
Posted at 09:39 AM in Public Programs | Permalink|Comments (1)Digg This | | | July 22, 2011One word: PlasticsAs you wander through a museum, do you ever wonder about the story behind a collection or object? How did something so intriguing or beautiful ever come into a donor's possession? Why did the donor part with it? These stories can be surprising, convoluted, and, on occasion, even incredible. If you're lucky enough to see the display of celluloid on the first floor of the museum, you'll see a collection with a particularly interesting story.
Celluloid game pieces.
Dadie and Norman Perlov, long-time residents of New York City, have always had the "collecting bug." Early in their life together, they acquired artifacts made of iron, but the objects tended to be large in size and began to overwhelm the apartment, which was soon being shared by their three young daughters. This prompted Dadie to look for an inexpensive collectible that could be handled by and would be of interest to her children. During the 1960s, she settled on celluloid, a new material developed by American inventor John Wesley Hyatt in 1869.
Considered the first semi-synthetic plastic, celluloid was invented to replace ivory in billiard balls, but it proved unsuitable for the purpose. This sent its inventor to look for other applications. Because celluloid could be made to imitate expensive or rare materials—such as ivory, tortoiseshell, and mother-of-pearl—it was soon employed in the manufacture of fancy goods affordable for the growing middle class. As celluloid became more plentiful and inexpensive, its applications expanded, and by the 1880s, it was everywhere. To provide just a few examples, it was used to make post cards, game pieces, toys, advertising novelties and souvenirs, jewelry, knitting needles, straight razor handles, and imitation linen collars and cuffs. (To learn more about celluloid and other historical plastics, check out the Syracuse University Library Special Collections Research Center.)
Celluloid brooches and pins.
It turns out that Dadie made an excellent choice of material. Daughters Nancy, Jane, and Amy enthusiastically joined their parents on collecting trips, visiting flea markets, antique stores, and rummage sales in the United States and abroad. Dealers and store owners came to know Dadie and her daughters, and would set aside celluloid items to display later for the Perlovs. By the 1970s and 1980s, celluoid-collecting had become an obsession, fueled by the Perlovs' increasing knowledge of the material's history and their appreciation of celluloid's impact on society in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. (An interesting aside: one of the books they read was Pioneer Plastic: The Making and Selling of Celluloid [1983] by Robert Friedel, who began working on the book while he was a Fellow at the National Museum of American History.)
Dadie and Norman Perlov in front of the celluloid exhibit at the museum.
By the time the Perlovs stopped amassing celluloid in the late 1980s, the collection numbered 7,500 pieces. This is where the National Museum of American History comes in. Since her girls were grown and had families of their own, Dadie decided it was time to downsize her collection. She wanted to share it with the American people, so who better to give it to than the Smithsonian Institution!
In 2006 I received a letter from Dadie, offering her marvelous celluloid collection to the museum. I told her I'd be happy to travel to New York City to take a look at the collection, and my colleague Eric Jentsch and I wound up making three trips over the course of several months. During our second trip, we spent three days in the Perlov apartment. We took over the living room, unpacking box after box so we could examine, photograph, and list every item.
The author in the Perlovs' apartment, about to unwrap celluloid artifacts for examination.
Celluloid objects spread out on a table in the Perlovs’ living room.
In the end, we collected 1,755 pieces. You might ask how we selected fewer than 2,000 objects out of over 7,000. Well, it certainly wasn't easy! We tried to collect examples of each type of artifact, but in the case of the post cards and advertising materials, we collected all the pieces that were available and in good condition. I probably shouldn't admit this, but once I was there and looking at all of the wonderful objects, I stopped thinking about whether I had enough storage space—I just figured I'd find the space afterward, and luckily, I did.
Ann Seeger is Curator of Chemistry in the Division of Medicine and Science at the National Museum of American History.
Posted at 10:03 AM in Now on View | Permalink|Comments (1)Digg This | | | July 21, 2011Speaking out about HIV/AIDS, one button at a timeEditor's Note: This is the fifth post in a series exploring the 30th anniversary of HIV and AIDS. Beginning last June 3, the National Museum of American History has been marking the anniversary of the emergence of the HIV and AIDS epidemic with a three-part display and companion website. This blog series provides additional context through the perspectives of people directly involved in the history the museum is documenting.
Miguel Gomez, wearing the AIDS vigil button, stands before his board of buttons.
Miguel Gomez is the director of AIDS.gov, a program of the Office of HIV/AIDS Policy, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, that works to increase HIV testing and care among people most at risk for, or living with, the disease. In his office in Washington, D.C., Gomez has a bulletin board showcasing an amazing collection of buttons from projects and events related to the HIV and AIDS epidemic. Buttons are an efficient means for documenting history because they distill complex messages into concise language and graphics, and capture diverse points of view (the National Museum of American History has over 33,000 pin-backs in its collection). We asked Gomez to elaborate on his button collection—and here's what he had to say.
—
If inanimate objects could speak, the buttons on the bulletin board in my office would tell many stories. Each button has only a few words or a single image to "speak" to those who stop to take a look. But, if you care to listen, these small pieces of metal and plastic tell tales of nearly unbearable sorrow—as well as stories of courage and hope.
Buttons used to do what Twitter does now: share with the world, in a very few characters, an important message about the person who displays or wears them. You might call them low-tech "micro-tweets."
I have collected buttons since I was a child. I think I got my first one at the Detroit Auto Show in 1970; it featured an image of the brand-new AMC Gremlin. Over the years, I collected others. I still have one from my first trip to Washington, D.C. for a march. But the bulk of my collection is made up of the buttons I have collected over the 30 years of the HIV and AIDS epidemic.
I have over 500 buttons, and all of them are meaningful in some way or another—but the one that memorializes an early AIDS vigil is my favorite. The button is black with white lettering. It says "National AIDS Vigil, October 8, 1983" and shows a hand holding a candle, which makes up the "I" in "AIDS."
AIDS vigil button, 1983.
At that time, we still didn't know what caused AIDS. It would be another year before HIV was identified as the cause of so much suffering and death, and many more years before treatments were available. All we knew then was that people we loved and cared for—friends, family members, co-workers—were dying.
Soon after that vigil took place, I came to Washington, D.C. to begin working at an organization that advocated for Latino issues, but they didn't want to address the issue of HIV and AIDS then. The stigma was too great. I am convinced that stigma kept us from responding quickly enough to the epidemic—and caused untold losses that might have been prevented.
The button encapsulates that history for me. It continues to be a stark reminder of how much HIV and AIDS has cost us. When I look at it, memories of the friends and colleagues I have lost to AIDS come flooding in—and I am reminded that approximately 18,000 people still die of the disease in the United States each year.
Miguel Gomez, 1984.
That button continues to inspire me in my work at AIDS.gov every day.
Other buttons remind me of events that have been important in the history of HIV and AIDS in the United States and the world. There are buttons from ACT UP rallies, which pushed the U.S. government to respond more rapidly and effectively to the epidemic here at home. There are buttons from multiple International AIDS Conferences, where I have met with thousands of people from around the globe who are responding to HIV and AIDS or living with the infection.
The buttons are of different colors, shapes, and sizes. They reflect multiple languages, perspectives, and goals.
But they share one, overarching message: we must respond to the HIV and AIDS epidemic, and we must do so in ways that honor those we have lost and protect those who are living with the disease now.
A button may not reach as many people as a tweet—but I would say it performs pretty effective "messaging" for something that can fit in the palm of your hand.
Posted at 09:43 AM in Musings, Now on View | Permalink|Comments (0)Digg This | | | July 20, 2011Denis Leary and Peter Tolan gift the museum with objects from "Rescue Me" setAs longtime players in the entertainment business and the two masterminds behind the critically acclaimed television series Rescue Me, Denis Leary and Peter Tolan are no strangers to accolades and honors. Here's a taste: the pair earned an Emmy nomination for co-writing Rescue Me, in addition to individual nominations—Leary for his portrayal of a dyspeptic New York City firefighter, and Tolan for his directing. During a special ceremony last week at the National Museum of American History, however, Leary and Tolan found themselves giving—instead of getting—in honor of their work.
Peter Tolan (left) and Denis Leary (center) sign the deed of gift at a special ceremony in the museum last week.
The co-creators of Rescue Me stood before the gathered guests to sign the deed of gift officially transferring to the museum objects from the set of the show: the firefighter costume worn by Leary, firefighter helmets worn by the cast, photographs from the firehouse set, and firefighting tools, including an axe, a carbon monoxide detector, and Halligan bars. (Before signing the documents, Leary needed some reassurance: "This is just donating stuff, not my kidneys, right?" he asked.)
Firefighter costume worn by Denis Leary.
"I do find that the greatest honors are the ones that are the most unexpected and the ones that come without any cash gift or an actual award, or even a small certificate—which, apparently, isn't going to happen either," Tolan said in jest. "This is a great honor to us, and it really did turn my head. I'm actually a little speechless—other than the jokes."
Rescue Me, which premiered in July 2004 and will close its seven-season run this September, follows the personal and professional lives of a group of New York City firefighters working in Ladder 62 / Engine 99. The show is notable for its melding of drama and comedy, a combination that Leary said reflected the experiences of real firefighters who use humor to help overcome the turbulent emotions that attend the job. The focus of the show is the tortured Tommy Gavin (played by Leary), a veteran firefighter haunted by the loss of his cousin, who died while responding to the September 11, 2001 attacks.
Photos, firefighter helmets, and firefighting tools on display at the ceremony.
Script from the Rescue Me set on display at the ceremony.
In December 2001, Congress officially designated our museum as the national repository for collections related to September 11. Over the years, the collecting efforts have expanded from the attacks and recovery endeavors, to the nation's response to the events—even if that means the creation of a fictional television series. The Rescue Me acquisitions, which will join the popular culture history collections in the Division of Culture and Arts, represent the pivotal role played by popular culture in remembering and shaping the country's most significant moments.
"Some people raise flags, others made banners, still more sent cards and volunteered their services to the public," said Cedric Yeh, the Deputy Chair and Associate Chair of the Division of Armed Forces History, about the aftermath of September 11. "Denis and Peter chose to create a TV series, one that is consistently recognized for its accurate portrayal of a post-9/11 world amongst the firefighters of New York City."
Lenny Clarke (left), an actor on Rescue Me, Denis Leary (center), and Peter Tolan (right) after the ceremony.
After facing the loss of his cousin and friend in a fire, Leary created the Leary Firefighters Foundation in 2000 to provide fire departments with funding and resources. His close involvement with fire departments in the Worcester, Boston, and New York City areas led to the development of Rescue Me. During last week's ceremony, Leary came to the podium and used the opportunity to recognize, by name, the individual firefighters that he has met and worked with over the years. "I like to mention firefighters because this show is about them," he said. "When people walk into this museum and they see this bunker gear, especially kids, I hope that it reminds them of how great these guys are and what they do."
The museum will be marking the 10th anniversary of September 11 with a series of events and a special display, September 11: Remembrance and Reflection, on view from September 3 to 11, daily from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m.
Esther I. Yi is a Fellow in the New Media Department at the National Museum of American History.
Posted at 09:51 AM in From the Collections | Permalink|Comments (1)Digg This | | | Next»
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