I'm now on my penultimate stop on my tour, and notching up another new city - Pittsburgh. My first impressions are of a very beautiful city, but I'll write of them in more detail later in the week. For now, I have a couple of weeks of events to catch up on. In that regard, it's probably a good job that most of those two weeks were spent tucked up safely in the library. Philadelphia, unsurprisingly, is the main hub of my research, and is home to two of the premier archives in America, at least as far as early US history goes.
The Library Company of Philadelphia is of particular interest, because it was the oldest 'public' library in Philadelphia. I use quote marks, for you still had to pay to join - but this put it a cut above the libraries of elite universities or rich planters. Indeed, it was to become characteristic of Philadelphia that culture of this sort was transmitted to some of the lower orders of society. As with many Philadelphia institutions, such as the American Philosophical Society, it was founded under the instigation of Ben Franklin (in 1731), as part of his general quest to promote knowledge in the city. His central role in the book trade in Philadelphia was no doubt intimately connected to this, though. Philadelphia is justly proud of having Franklin as its main historical hero. I say this because Franklin was involved in a remarkable array of different pursuits - having run away from home in his late teens, he learnt his trade as a printer, but was influential as a newspaper editor, a scientist, a philosopher, and a politician. He managed to keep his popularity amongst the workers in the city even as he rose to be one of the social elite. Indeed, it was this ability to play many different roles that was crucial to his rise, and in many ways the rise of America. His role as envoy to France during the Revolutionary War was crucial in securing financial and military assistance for the United States, and it was his ability to move in society as a popular, jovial figure that was instrumental in this.
That said, even for me there is a little bit of Franklin overkill in Philadelphia. Partially this is a result of 2006 having been the tricentennial of his birth, and there are still a number of lingering displays. The other drawback comes through the predeliction for statues of Franklin. Again, this wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, except for the fact that he is usually depicted in a toga (I can think of at least three statues in this vein). It isn't the most edifying sight!
I didn't spend all my three weeks entirely in Philadelphia, however. On the second weekend of my stay, I travelled up to New York for a second time, this time to catch up with my friend Nick. Such is the size and beauty of New York that I saw a totally different side to the city on this trip - taking in a vegetarian Indian restaurant (surprisingly nice), walking right through Chinatown to get to the South Street Seaport (a lively area with fantastic views of the Brooklyn Bridge) and finishing up with pizzas in Little Italy. In the middle of the day, we took a cultural break, too, visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It wasn't the absolutely amazing experience I'd expected it to be, but maybe I was a little spoilt after seeing such a good art gallery in Washington. That said, it's a huge museum, and certainly more than could be seen in one visit.
It also isn't exactly your typical art museum. Certainly the displays are far more than just paintings hung on walls. Perhaps the biggest attraction is the Egyptian temple that has been fully rebuilt - which is certainly displayed very prominently. The American Art section contains a couple of rooms which are little more than rooms - but deliberately decked out in period style. And there are a number of stained glass installations, too. It was very enjoyable to see a variety of different art being showcased. The signature memory for me is seeing the painting of Washington crossing the Delaware, but I also enjoyed the modern (1900-1945) section, and the mediaeval section was fantastic - including enormous church stained glass windows and other similar artefacts. So although it might have underwhelmed me, that's more a product of its fame than anything else. It definitely provided a varied and unusual afternoon's diversion.
Once back in Philadelphia, I had somewhat less to do from a tourist's point of view. One new experience for me was getting a thorough investigation of University City. Philadelphia is home to five universities (I think), most of which are based over the Schuylkill river (that is, adjacent to the Center City district, where I was staying, but a reasonable way from anything major in the Philadelphia's centre). I went there largely to meet a former tutor of mine, who was a visiting professor from the University of Pennsylvania.
Penn, as it is more commonly known, is the Ivy League school in Philadelphia, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, was started by Franklin, though it was after his lifetime that it moved to its current location. It was striking just how much of the architecture of the area was based on Oxford, with the buildings arranged to form quadrangles - though generally on a larger scale than in Oxford. Thus most of the humanities professors had their rooms in the main square, which is also home to the library. The central location means that there is a constant activity in the square that you wouldn't find in Oxford, but at the same time gave it a less intimate, more institutional feel. That said, at least the buildings are red brick, rather than built out of stone.
One thing that certainly surprised me was just how corporate the University experience was. There were certainly the smattering of independent cafes and bookstores that you would expect on a campus, but other areas seemed to be corporate machines masquerading as university institutions. The 'Penn bookstore', for example, turned out on closer inspection to be a Barnes and Noble, only with a particular emphasis on textbooks and university-emblazoned sweatshirts. Similarly, the "Inn at Penn" hotel turned out to be a Hilton. I'm not saying that international megafirms don't have an important role in Oxford. But at the same time, they don't try and make their fast buck by trading off the good name of the university. Maybe these tie-ins are one of the reasons why American universities have more money...
It seems a shame to report that much of the rest of my spare time in Philadelphia was spent watching sports in various locations. I made another trip to Citizens Bank Park, and kept up my record of not having seen the Phillies lose in person (this was just as well, given that they had been on the receiving end of two heavy defeats the previous two days). The more cultural experience, though, was spending one Sunday afternoon in a sports bar watching the various NFL matches. It is quite a strange experience; as seven or eight matches were taking place at once, people were watching big screens on all sides of the bar, so you had a lot of people gazing right across you. At the same time, this added to the atmosphere - as one group of people cheered for their team, everyone else would swing round to see what was happening. And despite the presence of some fairly vocal fans, the atmosphere remained cordial throughout. My favourite moment was when the fan of one team which was losing heavily went across to the supporters of their opponents and asked them to tone their cheering down on the grounds of mercy.
Sports are very much a public delight in America. Wearing a Phillies cap around the city was one of the best things I could have done in one regard - I was frequently stopped to be asked my assessment of their chances of making the playoffs. Anyone who wears team colours, indeed, is liable to be stopped for a discussion of the latest sports news. This goes as much for college sports as for professional sports - another aspect of American culture that feels strange to me as a Brit. The passion that is displayed for college football is hard to describe - but stadia of upwards of 80,000 will sell out every weekend for the games. There is big money in it for the universities, too. Pretty much every major TV network shows at least one college game on a Saturday; the sports channels show several, back to back. Such is the money that sloshes around that the head coach of the University of Alabama is being paid $4million a year. One wonders how much stronger the universities could be if that money was invested in professors and academic resources. At the same time, it is a powerful recruiting tool. Matches on the TV are interspersed with adverts showing off leafy campuses and students' academic prowess; such is the passion that the teams inspire that it almost certainly helps encourage children go to the same colleges as their parents, and that in turn will bring in donations that can be used for non-sporting pursuits.
That pretty much encapsulates my time in Philadelphia, which still remains one of my favourite cities. A return trip to New York helped me realise what it is that makes the city appeal to me so much. New York has a huge variety of sights, sounds, and smells to keep you entertained - but each group has its own subsection. The Upper East Side is for the posh museums; the lower tip has the Financial District, then Chinatown, then Little Italy. Everywhere is quite encapsulated. Philadelphia is similar, but in miniature. So the arts district is cheek by jowl with the upscale neighbourhood in one direction, but in the other direction you find the main commercial district, which borders a nightlife area - well, you get the impression. The point I'm making, though, is that the districts overlap and invariably run into each other, which gives a vibrancy to the city, without making it as unmanageable as New York. It's a shame to leave - then again, I will almost certainly be back before I finish my doctorate.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Labor Day Lock Up
Apologies for the amount of time since the last update. I'm still in Philadelphia, but the weekend has been quite busy. That's of my own making, and partly because I wished to take full advantage of NFL watching, given that Sunday was the first full day of the season (and I was able to go to a sports bar where I had the pick of what match I wanted to watch). Anyway, that makes me about a week behind on my travelogue; while I won't be up to speed by the end of this email - a man must sleep, after all! - I will at least have filled you in on my Labor Day weekend.
The US differs from much of the rest of the world, in that it doesn't recognise the International Worker's Holiday on May Day, but instead has its celebration at the end of summer. And in US culture, it really does mark the end of summer - children go back to school the next day; it marks the first weekend of the college football season. There is quite a noticeable festivity about the weekend, as families take the opportunity to make the most of the last summer time they get for another year. I scarcely need to mention the role it plays in rites of passage, either, given its intimate connection with the academic year.
Best of all, the weekend was bathed in glorious sunshine - the kind that is warm without being too hot. And so my plan of spending pretty much all the weekend outdoors turned out to be a good one.
On the 24th of December 1776, George Washington launched one of the most famous events in the Revolutionary War. Despite commanding a force that was ill-equipped, low on morale, and utterly frozen at winter camp in Pennsylvania, Washington figured an attack was the last thing that the British would be expecting. And so, in the dead of night, he marched his troops across the River Delaware, to launch a surprise attack on Trenton, New Jersey, and boost the morale of the flagging militia. On the 2nd of September, 2007, I made my very own crossing of the Delaware.
Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere near as dramatic as the more fabled crossing. Nor, indeed, was it as far upstream as Trenton. But it was significant in one small manner - it was the first time I had been to New Jersey to do something positive, as opposed to sitting in a bus, in an airport, or on one occasion getting horribly lost trying to get back to Philadelphia from Gettysburg (let's just say that New Jersey is much further than you want to go). My purpose for this visit was to watch another game of baseball - this time to go outside the auspices of Major League Baseball.
The last ten years has seen a proliferation of independent leagues. The minor league baseball that I wrote about in earlier emails is connected directly with the Major League franchises. Each team controls the rosters of teams at lower levels of the game, and promotes and demotes players accordingly. The independent franchises may not have the most talented or the most promising players (their stock-in-trade is the undrafted player who wants a couple of years playing professionally after college, or the second-chance who has fallen from grace in the major leagues). What they do have over other major league franchises, however, is a stable roster every year, and so fans feel they can identify with the players more than those who come and go on a whim.
I watched a contest between the Somerset Patriots and the Camden Riversharks (adding to a list of North American franchises such as the Seahawks and the Tiger-Cats, named after animals which don't exist). The Riversharks ballpark is one of the highest rated in Independent League baseball, and it isn't hard to see why - in the shadow of the Ben Franklin Bridge, certain spots around the ground offer lovely views of the Philadelphia skyline. It's not hard to see why the franchise succeeds, either. I turned up less than half an hour before the game started, and got the best seats in the house (genuinely, I wouldn't have switched for any other) for $10. That meant I got to sit directly behind the batters' box, and so had an excellent view of what the pitcher was doing. For comparison, I'd have been paying 8 times as much at just about any major league ballpark, and considerably more in places like Boston and New York. If, of course, those seats were still on sale 20 minutes before the first pitch.
The experience was spoiled slightly by an ear-splittingly bad rendition of the Star Spangled Banner - quite how the cars passing over the bridge didn't have their windscreens shattered by it is a mystery to me. (As a sidenote, this is a common experience at US sports events - when will people realise it is a military march, and is supposed to be sung quickly). Nevertheless, on a glorious day, it really was a pleasure to watch. Unfortunately the Riversharks pitcher had a horrendous habit of throwing pitches that were destined to leave for home runs (and some of them were enormous home runs), but that was something of a secondary concern.
Looking around the ballpark, most of the caps that were sported paid homage to the Phillies; indeed, the TVs around the ground were showing the Phillies game. It's clear that their stock in trade is tempting baseball fans to bring their families along, and to have a largely inexpensive day out at the baseball. The fans may not be as passionate, but there are far worse ways of spending an afternoon. And when the trip is rounded out by a ferry back across the Delaware with its clear views of Philadelphia's skyline and port, there really isn't much to complain about.
The next day was Labor Day, and although it was a shame not to get a little more time in the archives (Philadelphia is, unsurprisingly, the main hub of my research, and there is more here than I could ever hope to get through in three weeks), it afforded me a great opportunity to go and explore some areas of Philadelphia that I hadn't been to before. My particular visit was to the Eastern State Penitentiary. This was the world's first 'Penitentiary', or a prison that was designed to inspire penitence in its inamtes. From our 21st-perspective, it seems unnecessarily cruel. Prisoners were hooded when they entered the prison, so that no other inmate could see them and recognise them on their exit - the idea being that the reformed prisoner could have a fresh start. Their cells, too, were remarkably small, and were equipped with three things - a bed, some work tools for learning a trade, and a Bible. They were kept in silence, except when they spoke to a chaplain; and they were allowed outside for an hour a day. Even then, though, it was to their specific exercise yard, as small as the cell, and you were still alone. Anyone finding ways of speaking to other inmates - and there were some ingenious solutions found - were heavily punished. But for people in the early 1800s, this was considered progressive!
The prison became a major tourist attraction in the 19th century, and visitors from Europe made a beeline for the Penitentiary. Reactions were mixed; Alexis de Tocqueville wrote approvingly of the reformist creed behind the prison, but Dickens, in the 1840s, considered it harsh, and thought that it was incredible that anyone who stayed there for any length of time didn't go insane. The one thing I will say in defence of this 'Pennsylvania system' is that it seems considerably less cruel than the other progressive system prevalent at the time. That was the 'New York' system, based upon 'Sing-Sing' prison, which must have been an ironic nickname. For it allowed himan contact - indeed, the prisoners were chained together for work. But despite this close contact, silence was still strictly enforced. And such was the need to intimidate other inmates from similar indiscretions, the guards were known for their brutality.
Eastern State was, in theory, a model of design efficiency. Each wing was visible from a central hub, so the corridors could be viewed from the centre with a minimum of fuss - and moreover, the echoes could be heard if anyone was daring enough to want to talk. But really, the system never worked. The state wouldn't justify the expense for the small number of prisoners, so later wings were built two stories high, thus depriving inmates of their exercise yard. And it wasn't long before pressure of numbers demanded cellmates too. Silence was abandoned by the end of the 1800s; in the 20th century more wings were added; some of which were invisible from the centre.
The prison was eventually abandoned in 1971 - essentially, its 19th-century design couldn't cope with 20th century realities. A couple of riots, too, raised questions about whether it was sufficiently safe for the warders, though the rest of the displays showed that there was some harmony, to the extent that guards would take their families to the prison shop for a cheap haircut! One thing that surprised me was how quickly it decayed. It was designed to look like a castle from the outside; it could easily be mistaken for a decaying central European castle now. It can't have been well-maintained in 1971 - indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if it had been neglected for over 20 years by that point. Such is the state of decay that you have to sign a disclaimer before you enter - although that didn't seem particularly necessary.
I'd certainly recommend a visit to anyone going to Philadelphia. The displayswere varied and informative; there was an excellent audio tour; recent years have seen a number of artistic displays designed to get visitors to think about crime and punishment today. The most intriguing one was the cell that had been fitting out with a replica of a cell at Camp X-Ray, the original holding camp for prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. It was amazing to see the similarity of the dimensions. But the displays really are informative; they tell you about the change in recreation patterns, give perspectives by guards and inmates alike, and give you a sense of historical change, too, in particular considering the racial attitudes of guards and inmates alike.
After that, I went for a walk through Fairmount Park, along the River Schuylkill. I was amazed by just how much I ended up walking (if the maps they have up in the park are accurate, I must have walked at least 7 miles), but on reflection, it's hardly surprising. The park was lovely, and only spoilt by the fact it's kind of hard to get away from the road that runs by the side. The river itself, though, has wonderful views, and the park is littered with all kinds of interesting sculptures. Philadelphia as a city spends a lot of money on public art; by law, 1% of the city's budget is spent on it each year. My favourite (in the park at least) was the memorial to US history, with various figures representing the progress of the nation - from Puritans to Scientists. The park itself is one of the largest urban parks in the world, and the river is clearly where the rowing in the city takes place. Indeed, one part of the park is called 'Boathouse Row'. I don't need to explain that to you in any more detail; all I will say is that you can tell the money that must go into University sports, because they put the boathouses in Oxford to considerable shame.
Thus ended my day, with a slight detour via the steps of the Museum of Art, which affords a beautiful view down the Ben Franklin Parkway to City Hall, and the iconic image of the Philadelphia skyline, the statue of William Penn. Those steps, of course, are the most visited steps in the world - not because of the view, but because of the poster for the film 'Rocky', where Sylvester Stallone stands with arms outstreched. Needless to say, there were many imitators taking photographs while I was there. But despite my slight disdain for the fact that few of these people ever make it into the Museum behind them, I wasn't in a mood to feel bad about it. The weather was too nice and the view too good for me to feel anything other than thoroughly content.
The US differs from much of the rest of the world, in that it doesn't recognise the International Worker's Holiday on May Day, but instead has its celebration at the end of summer. And in US culture, it really does mark the end of summer - children go back to school the next day; it marks the first weekend of the college football season. There is quite a noticeable festivity about the weekend, as families take the opportunity to make the most of the last summer time they get for another year. I scarcely need to mention the role it plays in rites of passage, either, given its intimate connection with the academic year.
Best of all, the weekend was bathed in glorious sunshine - the kind that is warm without being too hot. And so my plan of spending pretty much all the weekend outdoors turned out to be a good one.
On the 24th of December 1776, George Washington launched one of the most famous events in the Revolutionary War. Despite commanding a force that was ill-equipped, low on morale, and utterly frozen at winter camp in Pennsylvania, Washington figured an attack was the last thing that the British would be expecting. And so, in the dead of night, he marched his troops across the River Delaware, to launch a surprise attack on Trenton, New Jersey, and boost the morale of the flagging militia. On the 2nd of September, 2007, I made my very own crossing of the Delaware.
Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere near as dramatic as the more fabled crossing. Nor, indeed, was it as far upstream as Trenton. But it was significant in one small manner - it was the first time I had been to New Jersey to do something positive, as opposed to sitting in a bus, in an airport, or on one occasion getting horribly lost trying to get back to Philadelphia from Gettysburg (let's just say that New Jersey is much further than you want to go). My purpose for this visit was to watch another game of baseball - this time to go outside the auspices of Major League Baseball.
The last ten years has seen a proliferation of independent leagues. The minor league baseball that I wrote about in earlier emails is connected directly with the Major League franchises. Each team controls the rosters of teams at lower levels of the game, and promotes and demotes players accordingly. The independent franchises may not have the most talented or the most promising players (their stock-in-trade is the undrafted player who wants a couple of years playing professionally after college, or the second-chance who has fallen from grace in the major leagues). What they do have over other major league franchises, however, is a stable roster every year, and so fans feel they can identify with the players more than those who come and go on a whim.
I watched a contest between the Somerset Patriots and the Camden Riversharks (adding to a list of North American franchises such as the Seahawks and the Tiger-Cats, named after animals which don't exist). The Riversharks ballpark is one of the highest rated in Independent League baseball, and it isn't hard to see why - in the shadow of the Ben Franklin Bridge, certain spots around the ground offer lovely views of the Philadelphia skyline. It's not hard to see why the franchise succeeds, either. I turned up less than half an hour before the game started, and got the best seats in the house (genuinely, I wouldn't have switched for any other) for $10. That meant I got to sit directly behind the batters' box, and so had an excellent view of what the pitcher was doing. For comparison, I'd have been paying 8 times as much at just about any major league ballpark, and considerably more in places like Boston and New York. If, of course, those seats were still on sale 20 minutes before the first pitch.
The experience was spoiled slightly by an ear-splittingly bad rendition of the Star Spangled Banner - quite how the cars passing over the bridge didn't have their windscreens shattered by it is a mystery to me. (As a sidenote, this is a common experience at US sports events - when will people realise it is a military march, and is supposed to be sung quickly). Nevertheless, on a glorious day, it really was a pleasure to watch. Unfortunately the Riversharks pitcher had a horrendous habit of throwing pitches that were destined to leave for home runs (and some of them were enormous home runs), but that was something of a secondary concern.
Looking around the ballpark, most of the caps that were sported paid homage to the Phillies; indeed, the TVs around the ground were showing the Phillies game. It's clear that their stock in trade is tempting baseball fans to bring their families along, and to have a largely inexpensive day out at the baseball. The fans may not be as passionate, but there are far worse ways of spending an afternoon. And when the trip is rounded out by a ferry back across the Delaware with its clear views of Philadelphia's skyline and port, there really isn't much to complain about.
The next day was Labor Day, and although it was a shame not to get a little more time in the archives (Philadelphia is, unsurprisingly, the main hub of my research, and there is more here than I could ever hope to get through in three weeks), it afforded me a great opportunity to go and explore some areas of Philadelphia that I hadn't been to before. My particular visit was to the Eastern State Penitentiary. This was the world's first 'Penitentiary', or a prison that was designed to inspire penitence in its inamtes. From our 21st-perspective, it seems unnecessarily cruel. Prisoners were hooded when they entered the prison, so that no other inmate could see them and recognise them on their exit - the idea being that the reformed prisoner could have a fresh start. Their cells, too, were remarkably small, and were equipped with three things - a bed, some work tools for learning a trade, and a Bible. They were kept in silence, except when they spoke to a chaplain; and they were allowed outside for an hour a day. Even then, though, it was to their specific exercise yard, as small as the cell, and you were still alone. Anyone finding ways of speaking to other inmates - and there were some ingenious solutions found - were heavily punished. But for people in the early 1800s, this was considered progressive!
The prison became a major tourist attraction in the 19th century, and visitors from Europe made a beeline for the Penitentiary. Reactions were mixed; Alexis de Tocqueville wrote approvingly of the reformist creed behind the prison, but Dickens, in the 1840s, considered it harsh, and thought that it was incredible that anyone who stayed there for any length of time didn't go insane. The one thing I will say in defence of this 'Pennsylvania system' is that it seems considerably less cruel than the other progressive system prevalent at the time. That was the 'New York' system, based upon 'Sing-Sing' prison, which must have been an ironic nickname. For it allowed himan contact - indeed, the prisoners were chained together for work. But despite this close contact, silence was still strictly enforced. And such was the need to intimidate other inmates from similar indiscretions, the guards were known for their brutality.
Eastern State was, in theory, a model of design efficiency. Each wing was visible from a central hub, so the corridors could be viewed from the centre with a minimum of fuss - and moreover, the echoes could be heard if anyone was daring enough to want to talk. But really, the system never worked. The state wouldn't justify the expense for the small number of prisoners, so later wings were built two stories high, thus depriving inmates of their exercise yard. And it wasn't long before pressure of numbers demanded cellmates too. Silence was abandoned by the end of the 1800s; in the 20th century more wings were added; some of which were invisible from the centre.
The prison was eventually abandoned in 1971 - essentially, its 19th-century design couldn't cope with 20th century realities. A couple of riots, too, raised questions about whether it was sufficiently safe for the warders, though the rest of the displays showed that there was some harmony, to the extent that guards would take their families to the prison shop for a cheap haircut! One thing that surprised me was how quickly it decayed. It was designed to look like a castle from the outside; it could easily be mistaken for a decaying central European castle now. It can't have been well-maintained in 1971 - indeed, it wouldn't surprise me if it had been neglected for over 20 years by that point. Such is the state of decay that you have to sign a disclaimer before you enter - although that didn't seem particularly necessary.
I'd certainly recommend a visit to anyone going to Philadelphia. The displayswere varied and informative; there was an excellent audio tour; recent years have seen a number of artistic displays designed to get visitors to think about crime and punishment today. The most intriguing one was the cell that had been fitting out with a replica of a cell at Camp X-Ray, the original holding camp for prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. It was amazing to see the similarity of the dimensions. But the displays really are informative; they tell you about the change in recreation patterns, give perspectives by guards and inmates alike, and give you a sense of historical change, too, in particular considering the racial attitudes of guards and inmates alike.
After that, I went for a walk through Fairmount Park, along the River Schuylkill. I was amazed by just how much I ended up walking (if the maps they have up in the park are accurate, I must have walked at least 7 miles), but on reflection, it's hardly surprising. The park was lovely, and only spoilt by the fact it's kind of hard to get away from the road that runs by the side. The river itself, though, has wonderful views, and the park is littered with all kinds of interesting sculptures. Philadelphia as a city spends a lot of money on public art; by law, 1% of the city's budget is spent on it each year. My favourite (in the park at least) was the memorial to US history, with various figures representing the progress of the nation - from Puritans to Scientists. The park itself is one of the largest urban parks in the world, and the river is clearly where the rowing in the city takes place. Indeed, one part of the park is called 'Boathouse Row'. I don't need to explain that to you in any more detail; all I will say is that you can tell the money that must go into University sports, because they put the boathouses in Oxford to considerable shame.
Thus ended my day, with a slight detour via the steps of the Museum of Art, which affords a beautiful view down the Ben Franklin Parkway to City Hall, and the iconic image of the Philadelphia skyline, the statue of William Penn. Those steps, of course, are the most visited steps in the world - not because of the view, but because of the poster for the film 'Rocky', where Sylvester Stallone stands with arms outstreched. Needless to say, there were many imitators taking photographs while I was there. But despite my slight disdain for the fact that few of these people ever make it into the Museum behind them, I wasn't in a mood to feel bad about it. The weather was too nice and the view too good for me to feel anything other than thoroughly content.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Ain't No Angel Gonna Greet Me
This latest missive finds its way from Philadelphia, which is rapidly becoming my home in September (the third year in four). Thankfully for my sanity, and no doubt the good of my research, I really like the city, and it's been a lot of fun rediscovering my favourite haunts.
One of those haunts is Citizen's Bank Park, home of the Phillies. Philly sports fans get a bad press - indeed, if you talk to most people about them, they will almost certainly mention the time that the Eagles fans threw snowballs at Santa Claus. It is certainly true that Philadelphia fans make for an intimidating atmosphere. On my first trip to Citizen's Bank Park, to watch what was ultimately a meaningless game in the broader sphere of the playoffs, a Phillies player who dropped a catch after being blinded by the sun in the first inning was greeted by a swift chorus of boos.
However, watching sport in America is a totally different experience to football matches in England. Last Tuesday, the Phillies were playing against the New York Mets - the closest team, both geographically and in their division. The distance meant that there was a sizeable New York presence in the crowd; certainly my section had a large number rooting for the Mets. This led to some heated exchanges between certain sets of fans - but at the end of the match those who had engaged in the banter made sure that they went over to their sparring partners and shook hands. This only went to confirm my general impression that even when the banter gets quite heated, it is largely good-natured. If events go over the top anywhere in the stadium, the other fans cease from their tete-a-tetes - it is pleasingly self-regulated.
The lively atmosphere was fitting for what was a closely fought game between the two best teams in the NL East division. As when I had visited Shea Stadium earlier in my trip, Tom Glavine (a sure Hall of Famer) was pitching for the Mets; he was taken out at the end of the seventh inning having shut out the Phillies, giving the Mets a two-run lead. And, as with the last time I saw the Mets, the relief pitchers resolutely failed to make the most of it - surrendering the tying run in the 8th inning (the 'Liberty Bell' had earlier been lit up when Phillies star Jimmy Rollins halved the deficit with a home run). Given the American aversion to the draw, or 'tie', the game was sent into extra innings when both teams failed to score in the 9th inning. And in the bottom of the 10th, last year's MVP Ryan Howard sent a ball flying deep into the stands to seal the game for Philadelphia. It's an exciting time to be a sports fan here - the NFL season is about to start, and the Phillies are well in the running for a playoff spot in baseball.
My other love of Philadelphia comes from its pivotal role in the American Revolution. By 1770, it was unquestionably the most important city in America, politically, economically, demographically and geographically speaking. As such, it found itself the location for two of the founding events of the modern world - the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitutional Convention in 1787. Both of these took place at what is now known as Independence Hall, although it shall forever be in my heart the Pennsylvania State House (at the same time as the Continental Congress was sitting, the Pennsylvania Constitutional Convention was sitting upstairs). The tour of Independence Hall is well worth doing. Partially, I admit, it excites me to be standing in the same room where such momentous events took place. The ranger tours, however, are generally excellent. Mine started off with us sitting in a room with a painting of the signing of the Constitution; we were then challenged to name as many of the signers as we could. I got to snigger at the instantaneous suggestions of Jefferson and Adams (who were serving as US envoys to France and Britain respectively), before adding some credibility to the group by suggesting names such as Roger Sherman and John Dickinson, although I resisted the temptation to reel off the entire Pennsylvanian delegation. I like to think it was my contributions that led to being given a round of applause for not being American (a rare thing over here!), but I think it was the rest of the group just being polite.
The real thrill, for me, though, was that on my tour this time the second floor of the State House was included - it isn't always open. And while the rest of the group may not have been thrilled to see the colonial Governor's office, or the long banquet hall where many colonial balls took place, but I was in heaven - because this was where the 1776 Constitution (the bedrock of my thesis) was debated and signed. The room isn't brilliantly preserved, unlike the chamber where the Constitution was signed, but just to have seen the room made me feel nice and warm inside.
Of course, there is far more to Philadelphia than just the Pennsylvania State House. There's also far more to the city than the Liberty Bell, which I made a point of not visiting, because I don't see that there's anything especially remarkable about a Bell that broke every time people tried to use it. The bulk of the remainder of my time was spent at the National Constitution Center, which was absolutely fantastic. It's a very recently built interactive museum that allows you to explore the history of America through the prism of the Constitution. It's a little off-putting going around as a non-American, as so many of the references are to "our rights" and other similar formulations, but in terms of its treatment of American history, I really haven't found anything better. I spent two and a half hours wandering round the exhibits, and I had been there two years previously.
Moreover, it was only such a short trip because I zoomed through the 20th century parts. The exhibition comes in two parts - one, around the outside, which charts the constitutional struggles of American history; the other explains the way that the political system works. The outer exhibit includes a recurring test to find out whether you would be eligible to vote at various stages in history (having passed the age of 21, my ability to vote extended approximately 200 years from my last visit), although the meat of the displays come through charting when the constitution was tested, and how the balance of power has swung between the various branches of government. It does a particularly effective job of showing how elected officials seeking to change beliefs as to how the constitution operated needed to appeal to the people to bring about such change. The real jewel in the crown of the historical rundown, though, is the "Counterpoint" exhibits, where contentious points in history are debated as if by contemporaries. This adds a refreshingly subversive note to the story of unhindered progress, giving an insight into the arguments of those who were against independence, or those who wanted to defend slavery, or those who stood against women gaining the vote. That the developments of history were difficult and controversial is something that often gets missed in American public history, and I was delighted to see it placed so prominently.
The inner display explains how the constitution actually operates today. This is the part of the exhibition clearly geared most towards children, but it has an abundance of good content. You start off with an "American faces" display where you can find out stories about the 'hidden heroes' of the constitution - such as John Bayard, who broke the deadlock in the election of 1800 and thus ensured that Thomas Jefferson was elected President (previously, electors in the Electoral College were given two votes for President, with the second placed candidate becoming Vice-President, as political parties were not envisaged. In 1800 this meant that Jefferson's running mate, Aaron Burr, received the same number of votes as Jefferson, and so the election was thrown to the House of Representatives, where Jefferson's Federalist enemies considered blocking him from being elected).
The rest of the exhibition is more fun and considerably more interactive. The Supreme Court section, for example, allows you to hear the evidence presented in key constitutional cases, such as whether the First Amendment, providing for freedom of expression, allows flag-burning. The section on how laws get made is particularly amusing - one option you can follow is the campaign of a pressure group to have the Turkey made America's national symbol (as Ben Franklin desired). This must have been great fun to write, because the pressure group is called 'GOBBLE' and they find a tame Senator to sponsor their cause. "Senator, Minnesota rears at least 10,000 turkeys for export every year and we feel making the turkey the national symbol would provide a big boost for such an important industry. We supported you at the last election, but if you do not sponsor this bill, we may have to take our support elsewhere". The tour finishes in a room where every one of the signers of the Constitution is immortalised in bronze statue, as well as the three delegates who refused to sign the document. This gave me another chance to indulge my historical nerdiness, getting my photo taken alongside the Pennsylvania delegation. Well, a man can dream!
The Old City area is chock-full of important sites, such as the Free Quaker Meeting House, which housed those members of the Society of Friends who risked ostracism from their peers by taking up arms in the patriot cause during the War of Independence. Across the road, you can visit the Christ Church Burial Ground, which is the site of Ben Franklin's grave. The grave is covered in pennies, because of a famous quote of Franklin's, that "when I die, even a penny will be of no use to me". The graveyard also contains the final resting place of four other signers of the Declaration of Independence, most notably Francis Hopkinson and Benjamin Rush, who was also a pioneering doctor in Philadelphia, saving many lives during repeated yellow fever epidemics.
One of my favourite unsung sites, though, is Carpenters' Hall. This was the site of the First Continental Congress. Delegates had eschewed the more prestigious State House because they felt that Carpenters' Hall would give them a little more secrecy in their deliberations. That it was the preferred location of the radicals in Philadelphia gave a signal of what was to come from the 1774 meeting - for it was in that building that perhaps the most significant document of the Revolution was produced. I refer to the Continental Association, which took the remarkable step of all the 13 colonies acting as one for the first time, entering into a non-importation and non-exportation agreement. That is to say, they broke off commercial contact with Britain until their grievances were resolved. Moreover, this agreement was to be policed by popularly elected committees in each city - thus massively expanding the number of people who were to play an active part in resistance to the acts of the Crown. In one fell swoop, the colonies had proven they could act in concert for a common goal, and in so doing gave vastly more people the vote, and an emotional attachment to the Revolution.
Of course, that is a story that you don't hear too often in Philadelphia. Attention still focuses mainly on the Declaration of Independence as Americans' birthright, rather than charting the rocky course that it took to success. As I've said before, it masks the real genius of the American Revolution - that such powerful documents could arise and build such a solid foundation for a nation when there were many profound reasons why it might fail. I wonder if I should set up my own walking tour of Philadelphia to give some of these stories a greater airing!
I've got more Philadelphian stories to tell, but they will have to wait for another day (my apologies - but I lost an earlier version of this e-mail). So in the next couple of days you can look forward to tales of my crossing the Delaware, a trip to prison, and a route march through Fairmount Park. For now though, I will leave you with all my best wishes.
One of those haunts is Citizen's Bank Park, home of the Phillies. Philly sports fans get a bad press - indeed, if you talk to most people about them, they will almost certainly mention the time that the Eagles fans threw snowballs at Santa Claus. It is certainly true that Philadelphia fans make for an intimidating atmosphere. On my first trip to Citizen's Bank Park, to watch what was ultimately a meaningless game in the broader sphere of the playoffs, a Phillies player who dropped a catch after being blinded by the sun in the first inning was greeted by a swift chorus of boos.
However, watching sport in America is a totally different experience to football matches in England. Last Tuesday, the Phillies were playing against the New York Mets - the closest team, both geographically and in their division. The distance meant that there was a sizeable New York presence in the crowd; certainly my section had a large number rooting for the Mets. This led to some heated exchanges between certain sets of fans - but at the end of the match those who had engaged in the banter made sure that they went over to their sparring partners and shook hands. This only went to confirm my general impression that even when the banter gets quite heated, it is largely good-natured. If events go over the top anywhere in the stadium, the other fans cease from their tete-a-tetes - it is pleasingly self-regulated.
The lively atmosphere was fitting for what was a closely fought game between the two best teams in the NL East division. As when I had visited Shea Stadium earlier in my trip, Tom Glavine (a sure Hall of Famer) was pitching for the Mets; he was taken out at the end of the seventh inning having shut out the Phillies, giving the Mets a two-run lead. And, as with the last time I saw the Mets, the relief pitchers resolutely failed to make the most of it - surrendering the tying run in the 8th inning (the 'Liberty Bell' had earlier been lit up when Phillies star Jimmy Rollins halved the deficit with a home run). Given the American aversion to the draw, or 'tie', the game was sent into extra innings when both teams failed to score in the 9th inning. And in the bottom of the 10th, last year's MVP Ryan Howard sent a ball flying deep into the stands to seal the game for Philadelphia. It's an exciting time to be a sports fan here - the NFL season is about to start, and the Phillies are well in the running for a playoff spot in baseball.
My other love of Philadelphia comes from its pivotal role in the American Revolution. By 1770, it was unquestionably the most important city in America, politically, economically, demographically and geographically speaking. As such, it found itself the location for two of the founding events of the modern world - the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitutional Convention in 1787. Both of these took place at what is now known as Independence Hall, although it shall forever be in my heart the Pennsylvania State House (at the same time as the Continental Congress was sitting, the Pennsylvania Constitutional Convention was sitting upstairs). The tour of Independence Hall is well worth doing. Partially, I admit, it excites me to be standing in the same room where such momentous events took place. The ranger tours, however, are generally excellent. Mine started off with us sitting in a room with a painting of the signing of the Constitution; we were then challenged to name as many of the signers as we could. I got to snigger at the instantaneous suggestions of Jefferson and Adams (who were serving as US envoys to France and Britain respectively), before adding some credibility to the group by suggesting names such as Roger Sherman and John Dickinson, although I resisted the temptation to reel off the entire Pennsylvanian delegation. I like to think it was my contributions that led to being given a round of applause for not being American (a rare thing over here!), but I think it was the rest of the group just being polite.
The real thrill, for me, though, was that on my tour this time the second floor of the State House was included - it isn't always open. And while the rest of the group may not have been thrilled to see the colonial Governor's office, or the long banquet hall where many colonial balls took place, but I was in heaven - because this was where the 1776 Constitution (the bedrock of my thesis) was debated and signed. The room isn't brilliantly preserved, unlike the chamber where the Constitution was signed, but just to have seen the room made me feel nice and warm inside.
Of course, there is far more to Philadelphia than just the Pennsylvania State House. There's also far more to the city than the Liberty Bell, which I made a point of not visiting, because I don't see that there's anything especially remarkable about a Bell that broke every time people tried to use it. The bulk of the remainder of my time was spent at the National Constitution Center, which was absolutely fantastic. It's a very recently built interactive museum that allows you to explore the history of America through the prism of the Constitution. It's a little off-putting going around as a non-American, as so many of the references are to "our rights" and other similar formulations, but in terms of its treatment of American history, I really haven't found anything better. I spent two and a half hours wandering round the exhibits, and I had been there two years previously.
Moreover, it was only such a short trip because I zoomed through the 20th century parts. The exhibition comes in two parts - one, around the outside, which charts the constitutional struggles of American history; the other explains the way that the political system works. The outer exhibit includes a recurring test to find out whether you would be eligible to vote at various stages in history (having passed the age of 21, my ability to vote extended approximately 200 years from my last visit), although the meat of the displays come through charting when the constitution was tested, and how the balance of power has swung between the various branches of government. It does a particularly effective job of showing how elected officials seeking to change beliefs as to how the constitution operated needed to appeal to the people to bring about such change. The real jewel in the crown of the historical rundown, though, is the "Counterpoint" exhibits, where contentious points in history are debated as if by contemporaries. This adds a refreshingly subversive note to the story of unhindered progress, giving an insight into the arguments of those who were against independence, or those who wanted to defend slavery, or those who stood against women gaining the vote. That the developments of history were difficult and controversial is something that often gets missed in American public history, and I was delighted to see it placed so prominently.
The inner display explains how the constitution actually operates today. This is the part of the exhibition clearly geared most towards children, but it has an abundance of good content. You start off with an "American faces" display where you can find out stories about the 'hidden heroes' of the constitution - such as John Bayard, who broke the deadlock in the election of 1800 and thus ensured that Thomas Jefferson was elected President (previously, electors in the Electoral College were given two votes for President, with the second placed candidate becoming Vice-President, as political parties were not envisaged. In 1800 this meant that Jefferson's running mate, Aaron Burr, received the same number of votes as Jefferson, and so the election was thrown to the House of Representatives, where Jefferson's Federalist enemies considered blocking him from being elected).
The rest of the exhibition is more fun and considerably more interactive. The Supreme Court section, for example, allows you to hear the evidence presented in key constitutional cases, such as whether the First Amendment, providing for freedom of expression, allows flag-burning. The section on how laws get made is particularly amusing - one option you can follow is the campaign of a pressure group to have the Turkey made America's national symbol (as Ben Franklin desired). This must have been great fun to write, because the pressure group is called 'GOBBLE' and they find a tame Senator to sponsor their cause. "Senator, Minnesota rears at least 10,000 turkeys for export every year and we feel making the turkey the national symbol would provide a big boost for such an important industry. We supported you at the last election, but if you do not sponsor this bill, we may have to take our support elsewhere". The tour finishes in a room where every one of the signers of the Constitution is immortalised in bronze statue, as well as the three delegates who refused to sign the document. This gave me another chance to indulge my historical nerdiness, getting my photo taken alongside the Pennsylvania delegation. Well, a man can dream!
The Old City area is chock-full of important sites, such as the Free Quaker Meeting House, which housed those members of the Society of Friends who risked ostracism from their peers by taking up arms in the patriot cause during the War of Independence. Across the road, you can visit the Christ Church Burial Ground, which is the site of Ben Franklin's grave. The grave is covered in pennies, because of a famous quote of Franklin's, that "when I die, even a penny will be of no use to me". The graveyard also contains the final resting place of four other signers of the Declaration of Independence, most notably Francis Hopkinson and Benjamin Rush, who was also a pioneering doctor in Philadelphia, saving many lives during repeated yellow fever epidemics.
One of my favourite unsung sites, though, is Carpenters' Hall. This was the site of the First Continental Congress. Delegates had eschewed the more prestigious State House because they felt that Carpenters' Hall would give them a little more secrecy in their deliberations. That it was the preferred location of the radicals in Philadelphia gave a signal of what was to come from the 1774 meeting - for it was in that building that perhaps the most significant document of the Revolution was produced. I refer to the Continental Association, which took the remarkable step of all the 13 colonies acting as one for the first time, entering into a non-importation and non-exportation agreement. That is to say, they broke off commercial contact with Britain until their grievances were resolved. Moreover, this agreement was to be policed by popularly elected committees in each city - thus massively expanding the number of people who were to play an active part in resistance to the acts of the Crown. In one fell swoop, the colonies had proven they could act in concert for a common goal, and in so doing gave vastly more people the vote, and an emotional attachment to the Revolution.
Of course, that is a story that you don't hear too often in Philadelphia. Attention still focuses mainly on the Declaration of Independence as Americans' birthright, rather than charting the rocky course that it took to success. As I've said before, it masks the real genius of the American Revolution - that such powerful documents could arise and build such a solid foundation for a nation when there were many profound reasons why it might fail. I wonder if I should set up my own walking tour of Philadelphia to give some of these stories a greater airing!
I've got more Philadelphian stories to tell, but they will have to wait for another day (my apologies - but I lost an earlier version of this e-mail). So in the next couple of days you can look forward to tales of my crossing the Delaware, a trip to prison, and a route march through Fairmount Park. For now though, I will leave you with all my best wishes.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Oh, Give Me A Home...
I have now departed Washington, and made my way northwards to the City of Brotherly Love, Philadelphia. I've been in the archives here for the best part of a week now, but as I imagine you are far more interested in my viewing the original copy of the Declaration of Independence than you are in my uncovering stories of a riot in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, in 1794. So this missive will focus on my last two days in Washington.
Before I spent my last day at the Library of Congress, I decided that I had to go and pay homage to the public vaults of the National Archives - home to the original copies of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, in addition to one of four original copies of the Magna Carta of 1297 (one thing I learnt from my visit was that each King signed a copy of the Magna Carta at the start of his reign so as to show the limits of his power). In truth, these displays weren't particularly illuminating - nor were they illuminated. Such is the condition of the documents that they are badly faded, and so they are placed in an airtight box for preservation. These boxes have only two footcandles worth of illumination - that is, the same amount of light you would get from a two candles a foot away. To put this in context, the brightest days outdoors can be as bright as 12,000.
The other problem with viewing the documents was that there was something of an assembly line feel to it. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of visitors to the Archives have one aim - and this leads to there being a bit of pressure to move through the exhibit quicker than I would have liked (though I resisted). One consolation for this was finding out what Americans don't know about their history. The family in front of me actually made some perceptive comments and showed genuine interest in the whole exhibit (that is to say, they didn't rush through and took their time over the explanatory display before the sacred documents), yet were amazed that only 12 states had signatories to the Constitution.
Historical sidenote - Rhode Island were the delinquents, mistrusting the motives of those behind the convention. Recognising that the Articles of Confederation demanded unanimous consent for it to be amended, they felt that by staying at home they would protect their own interest - not counting on the delegates at Philadelphia coming up with an ingenious, if illegal, method of securing ratification for their document (that is to say, calling for the Constitution to be ratified by popular conventions in 2/3rds of the states, thus laying a claim to it being sanctioned by the people themselves). It may not be common knowledge, but you would have thought that an education system that prides itself on instilling a knowledge of US history would get details like these right.
As another sidenote, one of the frustrating things about the US attitude to public history is that everything is portrayed as if it was solely about liberty, and divinely ordained for greatness. The story is actually all the more remarkable and brilliant for the fact that it was born out of all kinds of disagreements and different motives. Although there is much to commend about the veneration for history over here, it always disappoints me that some of the complexities get ironed out.
That said, the trip to the National Archives was worth far more than what I paid for it (it was free). Before getting to the vault, I had perused an exhibition on the early years of the 20th Century Presidents, including video clips of the Presidents reminiscing on their early years, and even some schooltime essays, including one by JFK where the first page was written in French.
The real highlight, though, was the permanent exhibition on the materials stored in the National Archives, based loosely around the provisions of the Constitution. Well-thought out displays included clips of light-hearted Presidential press conferences, interactive exhibits that allowed you to 'take part' in Congressional debates and votes, recruitment videos throughout the 20th Century and documents showing negotiations regarding the fixing of state and national boundaries. This was very much an example of how history should be presented.
Later in the evening I caught up with Todd, a friend of mine from the Masters course, now working in Washington in the field of environmental law. I'd last seen Todd as we disembarked from a punt the day after we finished our exam, and it's strange to think that our next meeting proved to be barely six blocks from the White House. We spent an enjoyable early evening discussing all kinds of topics from the fate of our classmates through the outlook for the 2008 election to the eccentricities of Oxbridge tuition. After that I took an early night in preparation for my journey to Mount Vernon.
Any long journey - or at least any journey outside of city limits - by public transport takes some preparation in America, but I couldn't have asked for a more efficient journey. I stepped out of the metro to be greeted with the sight of my bus pulling up, and even better, the journey was free. It may only have been a bus journey from Washington, but I may as well have been entering a different world. The side of the road was, as is customary anywhere in America, littered with adverts. These adverts, however, were for churches of any and every description - Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Methodist, Baptist, Unitarian - though I didn't see any for Scientology! More than that, though, the churches themselves were striking in their architecture, and in the prime spots of real estate. They clearly had set out to provide a visible presence of God on earth.
Mount Vernon was the home estate of George Washington, though there were large periods of his life when he never set eyes on the place, most notably the eight years of the Revolutionary War (his only return home was to plan the battle of Yorktown). The estate was his own, bequeathed to him by his half brother, but he was able to expand the holdings and the chief dwelling-house through marrying the wealthiest widow in Virginia, Martha Custis. The estate is stunningly beautiful, though I had turned up on one of the best (and hottest) days of the year. The entrance to the estate was constructed with an eye-catching symmetry; the house itself was built with a view of the Potomac. Had I found myself in the vicinity of the wharf at the right time, I'd have indulged myself with a boat trip on the river itself.
For all that Washington was an undoubtedly wealthy man, however, the house is nothing like those of minor English figures. While spacious enough to accommodate four guest bedrooms, the appearance of the house is more that of a wealthy golf clubhouse than the splendour of a Chatsworth or a Blenheim. The grounds, however, have a more natural charm. They've been set up deliberately to give an idea of the various enterprises that Washington engaged it - so you have a farm, complete with displays of Washington's own crop rotation, a flower garden with all manner of exotic flora, and a forest trail with boards lamenting the demise of native American animals. The veneration of Washington does go to excess, however. Pretty much any item is cited as evidence of Washington's visionary nature or splendid intellect. This goes so far as to one board outside a 18th century privy house declaring that "Washington understood the importance of proper sanitation". So if anyone ever tells you Washington didn't know shit, you can set them straight!
Perhaps I find this more surprising because Washington was by no means one of the great brains of the Revolution. A master military strategist, granted, but the minds belonged to Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Hamilton, and possibly Adams. Nevertheless, he provided the embodiment of the nation in a way that none of the brains could ever have managed. Indeed, it was his support that led to many of the more ambitious plans of the Founding Fathers ultimately being accepted.
I'd have spent more time exploring the grounds, but the day was blisteringly hot. Instead, I admired the view of the Potomac from Washington's verandah, saw the bed in which he died, and wished I had a study the size of his. The study was also notable for his 'fan chair', which had a device so that pressing pedals on the floor operated a fan above his head. The house was clearly designed to show off his opulence; in addition to the four guest bedrooms, most of the decoration in the public rooms was in garishly bright colours. The custom of the time was to have private dwelling quarters for the family, but a number of waiting rooms and bedrooms with which to entertain guests - and the bright paint was only affordable to those with quite some moolah.
I finished my tour with a trip around a museum that provided a narrative of Washington's life, touching all aspects of life from his religion, to his relationship with Martha, to some rather overblown descriptions of his Presidency - or perhaps that is just my Jeffersonian sentiment bristling at the injustice of seeing Federalist policies so highly venerated! Nevertheless, for all the hagiography that couldn't help but seep through, it was a thorough and broadly fair depiction of his life, and the trip out was thoroughly worthwhile. For the most part, it showed how well the Americans can display their history.
Before I spent my last day at the Library of Congress, I decided that I had to go and pay homage to the public vaults of the National Archives - home to the original copies of the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights, in addition to one of four original copies of the Magna Carta of 1297 (one thing I learnt from my visit was that each King signed a copy of the Magna Carta at the start of his reign so as to show the limits of his power). In truth, these displays weren't particularly illuminating - nor were they illuminated. Such is the condition of the documents that they are badly faded, and so they are placed in an airtight box for preservation. These boxes have only two footcandles worth of illumination - that is, the same amount of light you would get from a two candles a foot away. To put this in context, the brightest days outdoors can be as bright as 12,000.
The other problem with viewing the documents was that there was something of an assembly line feel to it. Unsurprisingly, the vast majority of visitors to the Archives have one aim - and this leads to there being a bit of pressure to move through the exhibit quicker than I would have liked (though I resisted). One consolation for this was finding out what Americans don't know about their history. The family in front of me actually made some perceptive comments and showed genuine interest in the whole exhibit (that is to say, they didn't rush through and took their time over the explanatory display before the sacred documents), yet were amazed that only 12 states had signatories to the Constitution.
Historical sidenote - Rhode Island were the delinquents, mistrusting the motives of those behind the convention. Recognising that the Articles of Confederation demanded unanimous consent for it to be amended, they felt that by staying at home they would protect their own interest - not counting on the delegates at Philadelphia coming up with an ingenious, if illegal, method of securing ratification for their document (that is to say, calling for the Constitution to be ratified by popular conventions in 2/3rds of the states, thus laying a claim to it being sanctioned by the people themselves). It may not be common knowledge, but you would have thought that an education system that prides itself on instilling a knowledge of US history would get details like these right.
As another sidenote, one of the frustrating things about the US attitude to public history is that everything is portrayed as if it was solely about liberty, and divinely ordained for greatness. The story is actually all the more remarkable and brilliant for the fact that it was born out of all kinds of disagreements and different motives. Although there is much to commend about the veneration for history over here, it always disappoints me that some of the complexities get ironed out.
That said, the trip to the National Archives was worth far more than what I paid for it (it was free). Before getting to the vault, I had perused an exhibition on the early years of the 20th Century Presidents, including video clips of the Presidents reminiscing on their early years, and even some schooltime essays, including one by JFK where the first page was written in French.
The real highlight, though, was the permanent exhibition on the materials stored in the National Archives, based loosely around the provisions of the Constitution. Well-thought out displays included clips of light-hearted Presidential press conferences, interactive exhibits that allowed you to 'take part' in Congressional debates and votes, recruitment videos throughout the 20th Century and documents showing negotiations regarding the fixing of state and national boundaries. This was very much an example of how history should be presented.
Later in the evening I caught up with Todd, a friend of mine from the Masters course, now working in Washington in the field of environmental law. I'd last seen Todd as we disembarked from a punt the day after we finished our exam, and it's strange to think that our next meeting proved to be barely six blocks from the White House. We spent an enjoyable early evening discussing all kinds of topics from the fate of our classmates through the outlook for the 2008 election to the eccentricities of Oxbridge tuition. After that I took an early night in preparation for my journey to Mount Vernon.
Any long journey - or at least any journey outside of city limits - by public transport takes some preparation in America, but I couldn't have asked for a more efficient journey. I stepped out of the metro to be greeted with the sight of my bus pulling up, and even better, the journey was free. It may only have been a bus journey from Washington, but I may as well have been entering a different world. The side of the road was, as is customary anywhere in America, littered with adverts. These adverts, however, were for churches of any and every description - Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Methodist, Baptist, Unitarian - though I didn't see any for Scientology! More than that, though, the churches themselves were striking in their architecture, and in the prime spots of real estate. They clearly had set out to provide a visible presence of God on earth.
Mount Vernon was the home estate of George Washington, though there were large periods of his life when he never set eyes on the place, most notably the eight years of the Revolutionary War (his only return home was to plan the battle of Yorktown). The estate was his own, bequeathed to him by his half brother, but he was able to expand the holdings and the chief dwelling-house through marrying the wealthiest widow in Virginia, Martha Custis. The estate is stunningly beautiful, though I had turned up on one of the best (and hottest) days of the year. The entrance to the estate was constructed with an eye-catching symmetry; the house itself was built with a view of the Potomac. Had I found myself in the vicinity of the wharf at the right time, I'd have indulged myself with a boat trip on the river itself.
For all that Washington was an undoubtedly wealthy man, however, the house is nothing like those of minor English figures. While spacious enough to accommodate four guest bedrooms, the appearance of the house is more that of a wealthy golf clubhouse than the splendour of a Chatsworth or a Blenheim. The grounds, however, have a more natural charm. They've been set up deliberately to give an idea of the various enterprises that Washington engaged it - so you have a farm, complete with displays of Washington's own crop rotation, a flower garden with all manner of exotic flora, and a forest trail with boards lamenting the demise of native American animals. The veneration of Washington does go to excess, however. Pretty much any item is cited as evidence of Washington's visionary nature or splendid intellect. This goes so far as to one board outside a 18th century privy house declaring that "Washington understood the importance of proper sanitation". So if anyone ever tells you Washington didn't know shit, you can set them straight!
Perhaps I find this more surprising because Washington was by no means one of the great brains of the Revolution. A master military strategist, granted, but the minds belonged to Franklin, Jefferson, Madison, Hamilton, and possibly Adams. Nevertheless, he provided the embodiment of the nation in a way that none of the brains could ever have managed. Indeed, it was his support that led to many of the more ambitious plans of the Founding Fathers ultimately being accepted.
I'd have spent more time exploring the grounds, but the day was blisteringly hot. Instead, I admired the view of the Potomac from Washington's verandah, saw the bed in which he died, and wished I had a study the size of his. The study was also notable for his 'fan chair', which had a device so that pressing pedals on the floor operated a fan above his head. The house was clearly designed to show off his opulence; in addition to the four guest bedrooms, most of the decoration in the public rooms was in garishly bright colours. The custom of the time was to have private dwelling quarters for the family, but a number of waiting rooms and bedrooms with which to entertain guests - and the bright paint was only affordable to those with quite some moolah.
I finished my tour with a trip around a museum that provided a narrative of Washington's life, touching all aspects of life from his religion, to his relationship with Martha, to some rather overblown descriptions of his Presidency - or perhaps that is just my Jeffersonian sentiment bristling at the injustice of seeing Federalist policies so highly venerated! Nevertheless, for all the hagiography that couldn't help but seep through, it was a thorough and broadly fair depiction of his life, and the trip out was thoroughly worthwhile. For the most part, it showed how well the Americans can display their history.
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