Monthly Archives: November 2025

Facts, Feelings, and Erasure

I really didn’t want to publish any more about the Salem City Seal saga here, but the closing meeting of the Task Force which has recommended its replacement was concerning in so many ways that I simply had to write about it (it was keeping me up at night). For those that haven’t followed this issue and are (really) interested, previous posts are here and here and here. I am going to write about the discourse and deliberations in this last meeting, but I’m not going to use names. I don’t see any need to get personal beyond public statements, but you can watch all of the recorded zoom meetings (which get very personal), including the November 1oth one, here. A very brief summary before I get into it. In the spring of 2024, several Salem residents, most of whom seem to be members of the North Shore Asian American and Pacific Islanders Coalition, expressed their opposition to the Salem City Seal, which features a depiction of a native of the Aceh province of Sumatra, a pepper plant, and an arriving ship, all of which represent the lucrative and impactful pepper trade which dominated Salem’s economy and society (and culture) in the first half of the nineteenth century and left a lasting imprint. The seal was adopted in 1839, and its central image was redesigned by Salem artist Ross Turner in the 1880s to represent a more general Asian figure, with the ship and pepper plant remaining. Those opposed to the seal perceived its central depiction as an offensive cartoonish character, and called for its replacement. The City’s Race Equity Commission voted to do just that, without consulting the residents of Salem in any way, but the Mayor and City Council recommended the appointment of a deliberative body to conduct historial research, gauge public opinion, and make a recommentation. And so the City Seal Task Force first met in March of this year, ostensibly for a period of 18 months, with members appointed from the Race Equity Commission and the Salem Cultural Council, two “credentialed” historians, and other mayoral appointees. By October they had concluded their business with a recommendation to replace the seal and since then they’ve been dealing with the cumbersome business of assembling their final report. The meeting on November 10th was the last meeting of the Task Force, and on the agenda was the approval of this report, which was created by the submission of individual sections by task force members and a editorial process to create a “unified” voice.

Paintings of the original seal and Ross Turner replacement, and the current seal. The former are in the public drive of the Task Force, where you can find presentations and other materials. I had never seen the original seal before.

The dynamic in this meeting was led largely by four people, the two designated historians and the editors of the draft final report.For reasons that were unclear to me, the charge to those writing sections of this report was to keep it short, very short: a page or two. This mandate was explained in the meeting by the two editors, who are the Chair and Vice Chair of the Task Force: attention spans. Anyone reading this report would have a short attention span. Since this report will be sent to the City Council for final approval I thought this was a little insulting to its members, and pretty condescending to the Salem public at large. Anyway, that was the charge and everyone obeyed, but the two historians had asked that citations be included in the report and excluded from the draconian word limitations since documentation is a requisite part of any historical analysis. Apparently that request was agreed upon, but the draft report has no citations: as the editors explained, they had included a bibliography which, in their view, was a sufficient replacement for footnotes. Now I am sure everyone reading this can understand the difference between footnotes and a bibliography. As I am typing this, I am taking a break (although I don’t really need one, as they are very good!) from a stack of rough drafts my students have submitted in our capstone seminar course, and I can assure you that these history students are documenting their assertions. What you have in the report are assertions without documentation, which to me looks like a device to render them mere opinion. Since there is a very stark contrast between the non-historical sections, in which the seal is presented in the company of strident images of nineteenth-century Orientalism and twentieth-century popular culture, and the historical sections which lay out the vastness of of the pepper trade and its impact in a more documentary manner, it’s almost impossible to discern between feelings and fact when you read this report unless you are independently knowledgeable about any of the information presented “in evidence.”

I’m going to let James Lindgren move my “story” along while demonstrating the use of a footnote, but I should say that the historians on the Task Force were trying to source and document primary sources as well as interpretive texts.

There was a lot of back and forth on this issue, and the citations are somehow going to be made public, but I don’t think they are going back in the text, because that would make it far too long for all those readers with short attention spans. But a larger issue loomed over all of this discussion, introduced at the beginning and never resolved. One of the historians asserted that his entire section had been rewritten by the editors, with the exception of one dangling (citation-less) quote!  Neither of the editors appeared to assume responsibility for this, and so the charge kept coming back, politely but assertively, with the final observation that the rewrite was so awkward that it must have been the work of ChatGPT. Immediately after this serious concern was raised, another task force member commented that the historians in the group were trying to dominate not only the discussion, but the report, with their voices—-immediately after her colleague declared that he had lost his! This exchange made everything so crystal clear to me: I had never seen erasure so up close and personal before. Generally historical erasure is about omission, or so I thought, but this seems much more pro-active. As soon as voices from Aceh, the people actually represented on the seal, spoke in its favor, they were diminished and dismissed. Salem’s long-running pepper trade was reduced to the Battle of Quallah-Battoo (Kuala Batu), a retaliatory attack by the US Navy on the Malays who had seized the ship Friendship and killed three of of her crew in 1831, an obvious overreaction which was questioned and even condemned up and down the eastern seaboard. A half-century of maritime history, with major reverbations on both sides of the world, reduced to one action, and attempts to introduce historical context rewritten, literally. Indeed, it seemed to me that the majority of the City Seal Task Force was intent on erasing not only Salem’s history, but the discipline of history itself.

200th Anniversary of PEM’s East India Hall this very year! At the dedication dinner in October of 1825, President John Quincy Adams gave a toast to Salem’s trade with the East Indies: No commercial nation has been great without it, may the experience of ages induce us to cherish this rich source of national wealth.

 


The Revolution in Color

I decided to celebrate the debut of Ken Burns’ new series on the American Revolution by getting out two old books which I always enjoy browsing through, and which I now realize were quite foundational in how I look (and I do mean look) at American history in particular and history in general. The two books are The Pictorial History of the American Revolution by Rupert Furneaux and The Colonial Spirit of ’76 by David C. Whitney, and they were both published for the Bicentennial by Ferguson Publishing of Chicago with ample illustrations, including watercolors of noted Revolutionary spaces and places by “visual artist” Kay Smith. That’s how she is always described, and she died just this year at age 102! Every time I look at her watercolor buildings, I remember when I saw them for the first time; it happened just yesterday when I took the books out. And so it has finally dawned on me that my lifelong pursuit of history through houses began with her. The two books have lots of other cool illustrations too, including prints of every single tavern along the eastern seaboard which has any sort of Revolutionary connection, but Kay provides most of the color. I don’t know about reading these books—they’re definitely rather dated and devoted to storytelling rather than multi-causal analysis, but they are fun to look at. No Salem at all, sadly: colonial capital or Leslie’s Retreat or privateers. The Pictorial History has a chronological/geographical format and the Colonial Spirit is supposed to be more of a social history, I think, but its basic structure is biographical. Here are some of my favorite illustrations—all by Kay Smith, and most of buildings, of course—from Boston to Yorktown.

Kay Smith could depict people too—-her take on Major Andre’s famous sketch of Peggy Shippen Arnold is very charming. Interesting illustrations are scattered throughout both books liberally: uniforms, of course, firearms, vignettes of “daily life,” a great presentation of a Declaration of Independence cover sheet juxtaposed with a facsmimile of Thomas Jefferson’s hand-written and -corrected copy (used by Burns at the opening of episode one of The American Revolution). These books made for just as pleasurable browsing as all those years ago. And what do we think of the latest take on the Revolution?

 


My Shaker Family

I am very excited about The Testament of Ann Lee, the new film about the Shaker founder, because its sounds like quite the experience and I am descended from a Shaker family. I know that sounds like an odd thing to say, because one of the most conspicuous characteristics of the Shakers is their celibacy, but my great great great grandfather James Valentine Calver sold off all his possessions and left his (rather large, I’ve seen it) home in Diss, England and traveled to America with his wife Susan and nine children, Ellen, Maria, Henry, James Jr., Thomas, William, twins Mariah and Jane, and Amelia, to take up residence near the Shaker community in New Lebanon, New York (generally called Mount Lebanon) in 1849. Five of the children were indentured to the Shakers, including my great great grandfather Henry:

SA 881.2         Henry Calver, age 5, indentured by his father James V. Calver to Frederick W. Evans of the New Lebanon Shakers; Henry is to be educated, and to be taught farming or some other suitable occupation; witnessed by George M. Wickersham and Moses Clement, August 28, 1850 (Winterthur Library).

At the end of their indentured terms, most of the Calver children left Mount Lebanon, some immediately, others later. James Sr. and Susan never lived with the Shakers, but nearby. Maria, Mariah (later known as Mary) and Jane (Jenny) all left pretty quickly and married. The boys left in phases, but all eventually wound up in Washington, DC with professional occupations. My great great grandfather became a lawyer (as did his son and grandson), Thomas became a physician and Treasury Department official, and the last to leave, James and William, became a dentist and inventor, respectively, in their forties.  James Valentine Calver, Jr. was a complex man: he seems to have thrived at Mount Lebanon and I wish I had more insight into his decision to leave. He was a teacher, a deacon, an assistant elder and craftsman, and left a material legacy: about a decade ago a wash stand made (and signed, which is unusual) by him fetched a notably high price at auction and the Shaker Museum has a box of toothpick holders (a more sustainable version of today’s interdentals) which were sold in the Shaker shop. He also had a patent for “toothache pellets” and a successful practice in Washington, but apparently failing health and a “nervous condition” drove him to suicide while in winter residence in Florida in 1901.

Postcard of “Group of Shakers in Costume” at Mount Lebanon, n.d. (before 1871), including James Calver (tall man upper left), Winterthur Digital Collections; Box of tooth-pick holders, Shaker Museum Collections.

The suicide of James in the world seems shocking; the earlier drowning of his sister Ellen while among her Shaker community even more so. Two years before James and William left Mount Lebanon, their sister Ellen committed suicide by drowning herself in the community’s pond. In the summer of 1869, this act was covered with sensational headlines on both sides of the Atlantic, primarily because a local Justice of the Peace, rather than the County Coroner, was called in to rule on the cause of death. Ellen was buried but questions lingered, and so in late August there was an exhumation and a Coroner’s inquisition, which in the end confirmed suicide but compelled the Shakers to be quite assertively defensive. Ellen was found to be clinically “pure” but also insane, and several newspapers (particularly those in Great Britian!) opined that all members of spiritualist sects were mad. I was particularly struck by the words of a London Daily Telegraph story, or should I say editorial: we can quite comprehend how the free, open, frank, social spirit of the States should strongly revolt against a system of silence, abstinence, and stern self-suppression, which not merely takes away the faculty of sound and active citizenship, but tempts the individual nature to seek refuge from a joyless existence in the desperate resources of madness.

The reference to “sound and active citizenship” in the Daily Telegraph piece really references with me as I cannot imagine a more sound and active citizen than the Calver family member who remained with the Shakers at Mount Lebanon throughout her life, clearly flourishing in their company: Amelia Calver. She was a devoted teacher and a published author. She kept bees at Mount Lebanon, wrote poetry and songs for her fellow Shakers, and traveled to Washington to visit her brothers. (I believe her mother was living in Washington as well, after the death of her father in the 1860s). Sister Amelia always came back to the Shaker community, throughout her entire life, and seems also to have cultivated both spiritual and “mind culture” there, to use one of her own phrases. I think she found joy there too. For a disciplined woman, she seems very free, at least in comparison to my largely unformed impression of a Shaker. Her book Every-Day Biography, published by a New York City publisher in 1889, was just that: a collection of brief biographies arranged for every day of the year. According to her preface, she was inspired to write it by the infinite variety of sea pebbles she found while walking along the seashore, and when she returned to her “mountain home” it took shape and flight. All sorts of biographies are inside, including those of many women from the past and her own time, illustrating the Shaker emphasis on gender equality. Sister Amelia seems like the “last Shaker” to me: when she came to Mount Lebanon as a small child in 1850 it was flourishing, with hundreds of menbers; when she died in 1929 it was in obvious decline. I think she thrived in her chosen world but would have been capable of transition if need be.

One of Sister Amelia’s teaching certificates from Columbia County and a stereoview of her classroom (she is at upper right), Shaker Museum Collections; the “Shaker Retiring Room” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art features Amelia’s desk, on the left; portrait photograph taken in Washington, DC, 1890-1910, Every-Day Biography (1889), and her autograph, Shaker Museum Collections.


A Sampler of Salem Folk Art

Salem is not particularly known for its folk art, I think. The standard for craftsmanship during the later eighteenth and early nineteenth century was so high, and production so prolific, that the curatorial and collecting emphasis always seems to be on the best and the brightest of the decorative arts rather than the more idiosyncratic. But I’m always looking for interesting examples of folk art, and every once in a while I do a round-up of samplers, silhouettes and signs. The Peabody Essex Museum has wonderful examples of Salem-made folk art in their huge collection, including my favorite trade sign, featuring a bust of Paracelsus made for James Emerton’s Essex Street apothecary shop, samplers from the famous Sarah Stivours school, and the “soft sculpture” (I’m not sure what else to call it) of textile artist, author and abolitionist Lucy Hiller Lambert Cleveland. And all manner of maritime objects of course. The amazing decoys of Captain Charles Osgood, carved while the Captain was biding his time waiting for his gold rush ship to set sail from San Francisco back to Salem in 1849 and hidden in a friend’s hunting lodge in Rowley for a century thereafter, are valued quite highly. Most are in the collection of the Shelburne Museum in Vermont, but one came up for auction recently with an impressive result.

 Lucy Hiller (Lambert) Cleveland, Sailor’s Home, mid-1800s, cotton, wood, leather, pigments, Gift of Mary T. Saunders, 1915, Peabody Essex Museum; Sally Rust’s Sampler from the Sarah Stivours School, 1788, Peabody Essex Museum; three Osgood decoys, Shelburne Museum.

But a lot of anonymous pieces crafted in Salem seem to sell for very little money. There’s a painting of Salem Harbor by an anonymous artist coming up for auction later this month at Eldred’s Auctions that is so beautiful I could fall into it—and it has a higher starting bid than I’ve seen before for folk art marine paintings. It seems worth it; this is not just a painting of a ship, but of life on land and sea. Contrast this with another nautical view below, a reverse glass painting of “Ship Siam of Salem / Built 1847 / Capt. Ebenezer Graves” sold by Jeffrey S. Evans & Associates Auctions. There’s certainly a lot more going on. Also from Evans, these two wonderful carved allegorical figures, which were apparently located at Salem Willows! I really can’t imagine where, precisely. Silhouettes cut in Salem appear at auctions frequently, but I’m not sure these would count as Salem art as such artists seemed to have been characteristically itinerant.

Folk art painting of Salem Harbor, Eldred’s Auctions; reverse glass painting and allegorical figures, Jeffrey S. Evans & Associations Auctions; Massachusetts cutwork silhouette “of S.P.H. of Salem, cut by S.A.D,” Dovetail Auctions.

Besides the first painting above, my favorite recent folk art finds are twentieth-century creations: a c. 1910 popcorn popper  and a wooden house purse made by Mercedes Hitchcock of Houston, Texas. You can find more about her business, “Houses by Hitchcock,” here. Apparently women from all over the country would send in photographs of their houses to her, and she would make scale model wooden pocketbooks for them! The owner of a Summer Street house commissioned a purse, and it came up for auction a few years ago. I’ve got to go for a walk–not quite sure which house it is. But it’s November, so safe now.

Scary Salem Popcorn Popper, c. 1910; Mercedes Hitchcock Folk Art Wooden Salem House Purse, Fairfield Auction; Salem Popcorn Popper, Bray & Co. Auctions.