Walking toward the Wagner Free Institute of Science near Temple University in Philadelphia in October, I was a little nervous. My friend Hannah and I thought we were going to go back in time and never return.
Why the concern, you ask?
We attended an annual magic lantern slide salon, of course. You can think of magic lanterns as the pre-cursor to slide carousels, projectors, and perhaps even motion pictures. When they first became popular in the eighteenth century, magic lanterns projected their scenes on glass onto walls or other backgrounds using an artificial light source. In the nineteenth century, as the Brooklyn Museum explained, the slides and the machine provided a way for lots of people to learn from the new photographic medium. (Not all slides are of photographs, though.) Modern machines, like the one we saw at the festival, are electrified. The projector we saw holds two glass slides at a time that are swapped out manually. The Wagner was an exciting place to attend such a salon, as the auditorium dates to 1865 and has hosted many a magic lantern presentation.
I learned a lot from this event. Quite frankly, I thought the presentation would be more transformative (see reference to concern about going back in time). But in fact, the visual experience of seeing the slides merely echoed projector or slide carousel presentations. The images did appear more crisp than what contemporary projectors seem to be capable of reproducing. What I found most interesting was the breadth of lantern slide collections in the region and how underutilized they are as archival sources. There may be good reason for this. If you ever handle these slides, you sense immediately how fragile they are. You drop it, it breaks (speaking from experience at an antique mall last year).
But that did not stop these archivists from institutions as varied as the Chemical Heritage Foundation, Penn Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, and Philadelphia Museum of Art from generously bringing their fragile collections to the Wagner and putting on a show. Some archivists used historic scripts. Others created wholly contemporary interpretations of old slides. Some mixed the two. We learned about how workers at the Stetson hat manufactory, which was based in Philadelphia, made its famous hat. We took a tour through the galleries at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. And we all cooed over a basket of baby lions born at the Philadelphia Zoo.
The festival was part of Archives Month Philly. Looking forward to more fun events next year, even if we do not go back in time or confront magic. This was, after all, held at an Institute of Science.
En route to our hotel the first night we spent in Brussels, Belgium, this past June, I stopped dead in my tracks in front of a store window despite the fact that I was more than ready to hit the sack after surviving our marathon day of trans-Atlantic travel and touring. It didn’t take long for Tyler to realize why I was so engrossed. There, in the middle of Brussels, a Bandagiste (or a store that sells orthopedic and related supplies) displayed a mix of historic and contemporary examples of objects that feature (along with their users) prominently in my dissertation. From crutches to wheelchairs, the Bandagiste had it all, beckoning prospective customers (and one historian) in one of the busiest parts of Brussels.
Tyler and I planned to visit specific sites in Belgium and the UK on our trip, but I hadn’t really picked out any disability-related stuff to see.
It turns out it didn’t matter, because it found me.
On a train from Bruges to Brussels, for instance, I overheard one woman explain to her travel companions that there is a rail worker at one of the stops she frequents who is notorious for grumbling about providing the moveable ramp that links the platform to the train for her wheelchair. She also recounted how a friend’s commute lengthened by a half hour recently because the station he used was no longer accessible. Their anecdotes were endless. And during the remainder of our trip abroad, the insights kept coming.
The amputated limb became a focal point for many likenesses made of Nelson even after he died from wounds received at the Battle of Trafalgar during the Napoleonic Wars in 1805. Check out this late ninteenth-century decanter below, for instance. It was difficult to choose which artifact to include here. Nelson adorned a lot of stuff, suggesting how much people liked having him around. Think George Washington or Abraham Lincoln in the American context.
Getting better acquainted with Nelson suddenly made Desire seem less unusual (but not less unique).
And so in honor of the twentieth anniversary celebration of the Americans With Disabilities Act, here are some of my recent #disabilitystories (the social media “hashtag” for today) from abroad. My encounters with disability history and material culture on our recent trip started with that Bandagiste but did not end with Nelson. More importantly, they won’t end back in the States, either. I can’t wait to dive back into the archives today, on the lookout for hard-to-find but oh-so-fascinating early American #DisabilityStories.
Politely traipsing through privately-owned early nineteenth-century houses in Historic New Castle, Delaware, last May, I enjoyed the opportunity to take a peep as some strangers’ lives (and their glorious views of the Delaware River).
In its 91st year, A Day in Old New Castle traditionally supported historic and other non-profit organizations based within the “old” city limits. As the New Castle Historical Society’s New Castle audio tour explains, the National Historic Landmark District, established in 1967 and expanded in 1984, includes buildings associated with land and events surrounding early Dutch and English settlement.
This vintage Day in Old New Castle ticket in my collection speaks to that European settlement history.
I love New Castle so much I lived there for about two years while I was completing my PhD coursework, and I would consider moving back if the opportunity presented itself. New Castle boasts one of my favorite historic houses, the Read House, which is run by the Delaware Historical Society. The house, which you can tour, is well-documented and preserved. The house’s history is fascinating, but don’t miss the breath-taking view of the Delaware River from the second floor.
The “Day in Old New Castle” (DIONC) tour allows visitors to check out the homes and/or gardens a handful of current residents choose to open to the public for a few hours during this annual tradition. For the next few years, DIONC will be particularly critical for introducing Delaware’s new National Park (dedicated in 2013) to the public. The park encompasses the Woodlawn Tract (a patch of undeveloped land open to the public in northern New Castle County preserved by nineteenth-century cotton mill owner William Bancroft), the New Castle Court House (built in the 1730s, making it the oldest extant court house in America, and served as Delaware’s capitol building until the capital moved to Dover), the New Castle Green (the beautiful public space in the heart of Historic New Castle), and the Dover Green (plotted in 1717 and surrounded by historic sites such as the place where DE delegates met to agree to ratify the Constitution in 1787).
The sites that comprise the new National Park and the well-maintained private homes are, without a doubt, historically significant. But like all places, there is a lot more to Old New Castle than buildings associated with founding fathers. Perhaps the one that intrigues me most because it is now condemned and in danger of being demolished is the Mouth Salem Methodist Episcopal Church at 138 E. 4th Street.
Places like this deserve more attention than they get.
Built to replace the original 1857 wood frame worship space, this 1878 Gothic Revival structure served as New Castle’s second black church. (Bethany UAME Church had been established first in 1817.) According to a National Register nomination prepared in 1983, the church retains some original furnishings such as carved wooden clergy stalls. The surrounding burying ground at Mount Salem includes several gravestones that commemorate African American soldiers—such as this one for Jerry Myers–who served in the Civil War.
Now, as the notice affixed to the front door suggests, the Church is endangered.
The New Castle City Board of Health condemned the church last February due to “visual verification of mold infestation caused by moisture and flooding in the basement area” and “a strong odor of mildew through the structure,” as the notice states. The notice also explains that there is “probable cause to the believe that the church may be structurally compromised.” The Church’s congregation worships elsewhere.
I don’t know what progress has been made in mitigating or otherwise addressing the Board of Health’s orders. And one can’t help but wonder what will become of the civilians’ and soldiers’ graves here too. Next year’s Day in Old New Castle, then, may include one less building and therefore one less opportunity to learn about African American history in Delaware.
One might conclude African American history sites in Delaware face a bleak future. Yet the Delaware Historical Society recently established the Center for African American Heritage. I hope initiatives like will prevent future deterioration of Delaware sites associated with African American history. So here’s to a bright future for raising public awareness of and appreciation for African American history in the First State.
I have been blogging about antiques and material culture since 2010, about a year after I graduated from the Winterthur Program in American Material Culture. I’ve found that blogging is a fun way to reflect on my adventures at flea markets and antique malls while providing readers–most of whom seem to come from the general public, though I have been cited in a published book about Italian interiors(!)–with an accessible scholarly perspective on what I observe and buy. My readers seem to dig it too. I’ve received emails from collectors asking me for my expertise on Berlin work, and I’ve received notes from people researching their ancestors who owned some of the objects I have acquired.
I want to continue to pursue this line of blogging. So this new blog, housed on my academic website or e-portfolio, is meant to provide me with a more regular outlet for publishing my thoughts on the field (history) and what I do (teach, research, write, present, and visit museums and other culture heritage sites). I’ll still maintain the antiquing blog, of course. I simply didn’t want to clutter it with topics too far afield from Revolutionary War battle relics and why I didn’t buy a giant papier-mâché boar. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to suggest that antiquing is tangental to my scholarly work. In fact, it’s a fundamental part of how I learn about the material world I study.
So all that aside, I’d like to introduce myself to you via a John Lewis Krimmel sketch of a woman attending to her laundry around 1820. Kathleen Brown included it in her recent book Foul Bodies. There, she discusses the concept of “body work” as a central theme in eighteenth and early nineteenth-century American culture. I agree that the image, focusing on the labor involved in cleaning textiles the body used, very much reflects this idea. It also reminds me a bit of my own workflow – something going on in every corner, all the time. I look forward to sharing some of that with you.
John Lewis Krimmel’s sketches and drawings at Winterthur are digitized here.