Category Archives: Culture

The Salem Seal and Social History

Thomas Carlyle: In a symbol there is concealment and yet revelation

I probably promised that I would not write about the Salem city seal in a previous post but here I am again writing about the Salem city seal. I just can’t help myself: the process through which it will likely be discarded has resumed again with the Salem City Council and frankly, the seal and its context, past and present, is really the only Salem topic I’m inspired to write about these days. I’m working on a much longer piece for an academic journal, so I’m using the blog as a trial run, and consequently I would love your questions, comments, and critique!

A short introduction and recap because it’s been a while. If you are new to this blog and to Salem you might presume that our city seal would depict a witch on a broomstick. This image is everywhere, including on our police cars, but in fact our official city seal, marking city documents and correspondence, depicts an East Indian merchant at its center, flanked by a ship and a pepper tree with an olive-branch bearing dove above and an assertive motto (“To the Farthest Point of the Rich East”) below. Of these two Salem emblems, you would think that the witch would be the objectionable image: the victims of 1692 were not practicing witchcraft so why are we representing them with a figure of a witch? We killed them because of that identification; they died asserting their innocence. But no, it’s the figure at the top that has been deemed “harmful” because its central figure represents an Asian stereotype or caricature (both terms are used) and its pacifist dove conceals the violence that accompaned Salem’s incredibly prosperous trade with the East Indies in the first half of the nineteenth century. In this view, the First and Second Sumatran Expeditions of the U.S.. Navy (1832 and 1838), retaliatory campaigns after Malay attacks on American ships which were indeed very violent, block out the entire extent and impact of Salem’s lucrative 40-year pepper trade, the revenues from which literally built this city.

To address concerns about the seal, a Task Force was created by the Mayor and City Council and given the charge to conduct historical research, gather public input, and review design considerations before submitting a final report with recommendations. This committee was supposed to be comprised of 11 members and sit for 18 months; it had 8 members who deliberated for 6 months. As the first charge was deemed quite important, two historians were appointed to the task force, including an academic who is an internationally recognized expert on Islamic society and culture in Sumatra. In my view, historical documentation and analysis was given short shrift repeatedly in favor of nineteenth and twentieth century images (most of which dated after the seal’s creation) curated to demonstrate an increasingly negative western depiction of Asian people over the period. Things became very interesting last summer when a succession of people from Aceh, Sumatra’s westernmost province and the region where the pepper trade was the most active, began lobbing for the seal’s preservation with assertions that they were honored by this representation. Salem’s Acehnese figure showed up on the cover of an Indonesian book entitled The Pepper Coast. A Historical, Archaeological and Economic Study of the Spice Trade in Bandar Susoh and Kuala Batu. 

Nevertheless, critics of the seal maintain(ed) that this was a local issue. Even though they are the ones represented on the seal, the opinions of the Acehnese don’t count! So much for worldly Salem. The Task Force completed its report (which excluded all documentary footnotes originally—thankfully put back in as an appendix) and submitted it to the City Council with a recommendation to change the seal. Months went by and a practically new council was was elected, which took up the matter only last week. I attended the meeting expecting to hear a vigorous debate, but instead there was a successful motion to simply accept the Task Force report and recommendation and change the seal. Despite the historical research charge embedded in the original order, several councillors asserted that the historical context of the seal was irrelevant: my own ward councillor repeated the assertion that history shouldn’t matter several times. And here we are: there has to be another vote but I think Salem’s venerable seal is history.

I find it sad that these councillors can’t see a bigger picture, because the seal has opened up all sorts of windows for me, or I should say, the figure on the seal has inspired questions and the search for answers. Who is this person? Why does the clothing change in depictions? Why does the gender of the figure change in the mid-19th century, as it appears in print and other genres? The evolution of an 1830s Sumatran figure in the original seal (top left), featuring clothing that its creator, City councilor George Peabody, would have seen, to a more generalized Imperial China depiction in Ross Turner’s 1888 “refresh” (bottom left) is particularly fascinating. Turner hadn’t been to East Asia, presumably he based his depiction on images and textiles he saw in the Peabody Museum. People in Salem in 1888 were likely far less familiar with Asian people than their predecessors were a half-century before, and the next generation would be even more removed. But certainly not disinterested. We have a great chapter in Salem’s Centuries by my colleague Michele Louro and the Salem State Library Dean Elizabeth McKeigue on Walter G. Whitman, a professor of Physical Sciences at Salem State who spent a year at the University of Nanking in 1925. During that time he traveled throughout Asia and collected and created a portfolio of images which he presented in a series of popular slide lectures when he returned home. Whitman was just one local collector/connector, illustrating the continuing ties between Salem and the East in the twentieth century.

Walter G. Whitman papers (M.7) at Salem State University Archives and Special Collections.

But even back in the “Golden Era” of Salem’s trade with East Asia a century earlier there is more to know, more to explore. I’ve been captivated by a quote from Captain Stephen Phillips about the presence of Asian “Lascars” for years, and just a cursory glance at the digitized crew lists for Salem ships from 1799-1979 at the Mystic Seaport Museum indicates there were East Asian seamen onboard—and presumably in Salem. (“Lascar” is a British term for seamen from pretty much anywhere in the entire Indian Ocean region).  Of course I’d like to know a lot more about the “servants” Phillips references as well. Who were all these people? What are their stories? Did they remain in Salem or go elsewhere to find their fortunes? Are their descendants still around?

Stephen Phillips miniature, Historic New England; Salem Crew lists at the Mystic Seaport Museum.

For me, history is about people, so the new seal, likely stripped down to as few unobjectionable objects as possible, will cease to be inspirational. The councillors of nearly two centuries ago who approved our present city seal were seeking a human connection; our current councillors are looking for something else. I’m not sure what. I just hope they don’t employ AI as was the case with that damn anime cat chosen as the mascot for our 400th anniversary! I whipped up this slop in 2 seconds and am not impressed.


Salem’s Quadricentennial Parade

I have been looking forward to Salem’s 400th anniversary parade all summer so my expectations were high and definitely a bit unrealistic when it finally unfolded on this past Saturday. I’ve been so steeped in Salem’s history in general, and the spectacular Salem Tercentenary in particular, that I expected a lot of elaborate floats about big historical moments, which was definitely the case in 1926. There was a lot of comparison between past and present in that year as well (very well represented by these two ladies featured on the Salem Gas Light Co. float below) and I thought I’d have the opportunity to compare 2026 and 1926. The parade was themed “Salem through the Centuries,” so my expectations were not completely unfounded, but it was also labeled as the return of the traditional Heritage Days parade, which had not been held for over twenty years.

There were a couple of floats and I saw a couple of dates pass by, but mostly it was just a community parade: local politicians, businesses, institutions, organizations, people. Marching bands, fire trucks, and Shriners: just what you expect to see in a summer parade in a small American city. There were also a lot of boats, as the parade ended at the Salem Maritime National Historic Park, which held its annual maritime festival and cardboard boat regatta and so several entries marched in the parade. Here’s a few shots from my spot on Lafayette Street: there were larger crowds downtown but I walked way up towards the beginning of the parade route. A highlight for me came fairly early in the parade: History Alive, Inc., which has been presenting immersive historical productions for Salem residents and tourists since 1992, outfitted an army of historical Salem people in crafted costumes. It was really thrilling to see John Remond, Luis Emilio, and Samuel McIntire stride down Lafayette Street.

The History Alive contingent: these costumes were gorgeous!

So I settled in to watch more people (and the occasional animal) pass by: a delegation from the venerable student exchange program between Salem and Ota, Japan, representatives of the Salem Chamber of Commerce, Salem Main Streets, the Essex National Heritage Area, the League of Women Voters, the Salem Boys and Girls Club, the House of the Seven Gables, the North Shore Asian American and Pacific Islander Coalition, and the Saint Nicholas Russian Orthodox Church. (this is not a complete list). Nathaniel Hawthorne represented the Salem Athenaeum. Marching Masons too!

Several notable businesses really showed up for the parade, including Rockefella’s Restaurant, which is located in the historical Daniel Low’s building which was also the original site of Salem’s First Church, the Hawthorne Hotel, Cinema Salem, and O’Donnell’s Funeral Home, which featured an antique horse-drawn hearse! There was an array of witches, of course, pink, green, and dancing, as well as the ever-present Halloween buskers, and the Salem Witch Museum featured a tree float representing the millions of descendants of Witch Trial victims. Two public departments, The Salem Parks, Recreation and City Services Department and the Salem Beautification Committee, went all out with their truck floats featuring the famous cement slide at Forest River Park and the Ladies of Salem figurehead installations.

And now for the vessels. Both the Peabody Essex Museum and the Salem Maritime National Historic Park featured ship floats and there was also the flotalla of cardboard creations destined for the regatta later in the day. I was so hot after the parade that I skipped that, but it has become a HUGE attraction over the past few years and I can see from various posts that it was bigger than ever this year. The parade was closed very appropriately and very well by the Salem High School Marching Band, but I didn’t get a good picture!

An Appendix: a group shot of all the History Alive parade stars! Kristina Stevick, artistic director of History Alive, is in front. The Company’s wardrobe manager is Carrie Midura. You can be sure that this photograph is going into the archives: I’m going to print it out and put it there!


Summer Reading 2026

I’ve been super busy this summer so just getting around to posting my summer reading list—on the eve of August! For those of you that have followed the blog for a while, this list might be a bit surprising as there is quite a bit of fiction on it (and rather unserious fiction at that). Usually I’m a pretty serious reader, but I’ve written two books in five years and I am really tired; I need to lighten up. I’ve got another list of books I’m reading for the next semester, but this is my bedside stack right now. As always, I would love your recommendations: I’ve got a whole month of summer left.

Let’s start with some “light” history: two books written for general audiences in this semiquincentennial year.

Both books were easy, interesting reads. Beverly Gage is a professor of modern American history at Yale, and This Land is Your Land is an account of her road trips to heritage sites across the US. Now, this is exactly what I do with much of my free time, so I have a natural interest in this book. I was hoping Gage would make it to Salem, but none of her road trips were in New England. As a resident of Connecticut, maybe she thought she would be biased? Pilgrimages to New England are nothing new, but she visits well-trodden sites in New York, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. My attention to her insights definitely waned when she visited a place I had been to before, and increased when she was describing someplace new to me. So I went pretty quickly for about a third of the book and then slowed down when she got to Texas, where she found it impossible to buy a t-shirt (at first). Early on in the book, in her Philadelphia chapter, Gage asserts that she will be exploring both sites and memories of sites, and this is the through line of her book. Brooke Barbier wrote my favorite biography of my favorite founding father, John Hancock, and you must know I like my cocktails, so Cocked and Boozy is another book in which I had a natural interest, and it did not disappoint!

After I finished This Land is Your Land, I picked up Alice Loxton’s Eleanor. A 200-Mile Walk in Search of England’s Lost Queen and couldn’t put it down! Alice Loxton is very, very good. I thought I might be starting a summer of reading about history travel but nothing could top Loxton so my trend ended with her. Joseph Luzzi’s Botticelli’s Secret is trade history too, but I’m going to assign it for my Renaissance and Reform course as it’s very readable (so the students will actually read it) and it hits the major historiographical note of the “discovery” of the Renaissance. And I have bought Lucy Worsley’s latest book, but not read it yet. Frankly, I’m more of a fan of her broadcasting than her writing, but this latest one promises to be a bit more tied to her curatorial career so I’m looking forward to reading it.

I’m interested in all forms of print, and am trying to be more precise when identifying them, so I bought Holly Black’s Story of Printmaking, which looks really good. I’m not sure if it’s going to be a read-through or reference text, but it is certainly comprehensive! This Little World is a new Tudor-Stuart textbook, so it probably should be on my more academic booklist, but I’m also trying to figure out if it’s readable enough to be useful for courses, or just for reference.

And on to fiction!

Three very different examples of historical fiction. Murder Most Foul is an amusing mystery, a romp really, written by a screenwriter (which shows). After Christopher Marlowe is murdered, his rival William Shakespeare is a suspect and seeks to clear his name by teaming up with Marlowe’s sister Ann (his former lover) to expose the true murderer. Their alliance and progress give Shakespeare much material. The Beheading Game is all about Anne Boleyn’s quest for revenge, which proceeds after she wakes up in a makeshift coffin following her execution and sews her head back on. Somehow it works. Someone recommended Matthew Kneale to me, so I picked up his most recent book, Pilgrims, as well as an earlier book, much celebrated, entitled English Passengers. I devoured Murder Most Foul and Beheading in a matter of hours; I think these two Kneale books are going to take me a bit longer.


Pen to Flag

Of course, flags are historical artifacts and also sources; history has evolved as a discipline to consider material culture as well as texts. But what about a flag with writing on it? That’s like a doubly powerful source, a testament to the era but also to the personal beliefs or acts of a particular person who lived in said era. This occurred to me when I looked (longer) at a Salem parade flag from the later nineteenth century; it was an auction lot a few years earlier, but now it’s on the market again, and suddenly it looked more interesting to me.

And here it is, at Jeff R. Bridgman American Antiques, the place to go if you’re interested in antique American flags. Bridgman not only has great stock, but offers up his considerable knowledge of antique flags so you can really learn a lot by just reading his descriptions. This particular flag is described as an antique American flag with 13 stars arranged in a 6-pointed great star/star of David pattern, of a type made for the 1876 Centennial of American Independence, worn and hand-inscribed by the owner in 1896, in Salem, Massachusetts, in celebration of the victory of Republican President-elect William McKinley; illustrated in “The Stars & the Stripes: Fabric of the American Spirit” by Richard Pierce (2005). So quite a famous, published flag. And here’s the writing: Worn Nov. 6, 1896. At the Prade in Salem to celebrate the Republican Victory. Josh rode Baby (a horse I presume) in this parade. McKinley and Gold. Wolcott Governor. 

The flag was “worn,” not carried. Josh rode Baby! So personal. It occurs to me that people felt differently about flags in the past: they wore them, cut them up and made mementos, wrote on them, kept them close, saved scraps. I have a family flag from the very same year (so inscribed) which I do keep close, but I would never wear it or write on it. I drape it from a window from time to time but that’s about it. I found more inscribed flags, all very evocative of their eras. I’m including some stamped (?) campaign flag below, probabaly a whole new “medium,” but the writing seems more powerful in its personal testimony.

Lincoln and Hamlin Campaign Parade Flag, 1860s, Freeman's Auctions

Freeman’s Auctions

           

I can’t imagine anything more poignant than this Civil War flag above,  memorializing the death of a New York soldier at Andersonville: it’s a miracle it survived, but also an indication of its value.

What could be more American than a 48-star flag referencing fireworks and a baseball game in Maine on July 4, 1903 from Bonsell Americana?

Perhaps a flag commissioned by the Grand Army of the Republic to mark the heroism of the Massachusetts 54th at the Battle of Fort Wagner on its 50th anniversary, below.

Writing on a flag was obviously a way to mark (literally) a very notable occasion, as in the cases below: Armistice or “Victory Day” in Milwaukee, November 1918, and the death of President Roosevelt in April of 1945 (and Joe West, whoever he was, in the next year). The juxtaposition of relative mundane acts and notable event is quite striking in the first one! Both scribes seem to want to express their patriotism, and in a more permanent way than taking pen to paper.

Jeff R. Bridgman American Antiques

 


What I Want Now: to return to these perspectives

I haven’t written a What I Want Now post for a long while: this one is another expression of earnest materialism but also of a desire to return to a world and a nation in which “corporate art” was not a contradiction in terms and could also possess civic goals, there was no AI, and renderings of regional views could still capture something regional. What I want now is a portfolio, or prints (or even just torn-out magazine pages) of compositions commissioned by the Container Corporation of America in the 1940s of every US state and territory as part of its United States series. I’m obsessed. The Container Corporation was a national manufacturer of paper boxes founded in the 1920s which developed a reputation for artistic and modernist advertising quite early on. For a quarter of a century, from 1950 to 1975, the Corporation published nearly 200 advertisements featuring quotes from historical figures in scenes depicted by very notable avant-garde artists under the title Great Ideas of Western Man, following its post-war series the United Nations and the United States. You can see a range of all the Container Corporation art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum. During our current climate of frenzied commemoration and Trumpstopian farce, the images of the latter series seem so appealing, even therepeutic. And I love that the Corporation chose artists who were natives of the state (or territory) in question—like Jacob Lawrence of New Jersey. The end results seem both simultaneously national and regional, which is truly American to me.

 James F. Minnicks, Washington DC, from the United States Series, 1949, gouache and pencil on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Container Corporation of America

 Arthur Williams, Massachusetts, from the United States Series, 1946, gouache and pen and ink on paperboard,Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Container Corporation of America, 1984 (the published image—below— was in color, as were all the CCA ads).

E. McKnight Kauffer, Montana, from the United States Series, 1946, gouache on paperboard,  Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Container Corporation of America

 Morris Graves, Oregon, from the United States Series, ca. 1948, pastel and ink on paper mounted on plywood,  Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Container Corporation of America

Monmouth Memorials

I was down in New Jersey for a celebration of life event for a cherished member of my husband’s family over the weekend, and as the region where he grew up, Monmouth County in the central part of the state, is a veritable crossroads of the American Revolution, I took advantage of a free and beautiful afternoon to see a recreation of the 1778 Battle of Monmouth on its preserved battlefield. It was a large gathering of Patriots of different-colored coats and Redcoats, who also featured variant regimental uniforms. And there were also Revolutionary medical officers, chaplains, cooks and assorted camp followers. Everyone was very dedicated to their tasks at hand, and so I was inspired to look around the county for more Revolutionary places, including the Englishtown Inn which served as General Washington’s headquarters as well as the site of the retreating General Lee’s court-martial two days after the battle and the beautiful Old Tennent Presbyterian Church which became a shrine to the battle dead. In contrast to the battlefield, all was very quiet at the Church, which is surrounded by a graveyard with the marked graves of Revolutionary veterans, including two young men from Massachusetts and a British Lt. Colonel buried far from home.

The Battle of Monmouth’s most famous (composite) heroine, Molly Pitcher, was everywhere of course, including my sister-in-law’s house when I got home late in the afternoon—at the center of a battle watercolor in one of my favorite aesthetics, “mid-century colonial”! She (my sister-in-law, not Molly Pitcher) wasn’t really sure of how she came to possess this scene or its artist, so if you have any clues about the latter, let me know. I really like this depiction, and compared to the works of  Currier & Ives and their successors, it is very measured Molly: generally she is depicted as the central figure.

Currier & Ives, “The Heroine of Monmouth,” 1876, Museum of the American Revolution.

The weekend ended on a poignant note when other sisters-in-law took me to see the County’s 9/11 Memorial in Atlantic Highlands, atop Mount Mitchill with the surviving and new towers of New York City in the distance. An eagle clutching a beam from one of the fallen towers, with the names of all the (147) victims from the towns of Monmouth County inscribed below, it manages to merge the national and the local very effectively, just like the Revolutionary memorials to the south.


The Art of Privateering

So my title is a bit lofty and deceptive. There are beautiful miniatures of privateersmen and of course maritime paintings of great sea battles, but most of my post is going to be focused on a pen-and-ink “picture book” of privateering written and illustrated by a western New England medical doctor. I just had big book week, presenting Salem’s Centuries with my co-editor at the State Library of Massachusetts, and one of its chapters with my co-author for Historic New England’s Phillips House (where I also work in the summers). Both events went so well, and were even enjoyable; the staff at the State Library (an absolutely beautiful space in the Massachusetts State House) were just lovely and appreciative, as were my colleagues at the Phillips House. This latter talk was a bit more casual; it was actually a “conversation” between my co-author, Maria Pride, and I about Salem privateers, based on our piece on Jonathan Haraden in the book. Maria completed her Ph.D. dissertation on Massachusetts privateering just a few years ago at the University of Sterling in Scotland. We had our conversation outside near the Phillips Carriage House, and were followed by an amazing group of Salem musicians named Crowninshield Punch who sang some period maritime songs. Since we were outside, I decided to have a little program because we had some good quotes that we wanted to share (mostly by the privateers themselves, about their personal patriotism, which is often difficult to discern) and as I was putting it together I came across Pirates and Patriots of the Revolution. An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Colonial Seamanship by Dr. C. Wilbur Keith while looking for illustrations. It looked at first like a child’s book, and I imagine it probably is, but the illustrations were charming, and when I started reading some of the entries I was really surprised at the detail (and the writing). So I kept reading! Dr. Keith was obviously very interested in his topic, and very talented. You can find it at the Internet Archive and I just purchased on old copy on ebay.

Well, these images will give you a taste of what Dr. Keith offers up in case you want to find your own copy of his little book. And everything is sourced—he referenced logbooks well before they were digitized. Along with Maria, I do not like to refer to Revolutionary privateers as “pirates” in any sense: they were certainly more regulated than the Elizabethan privateers I explored in my MA thesis. Instruction # 6 in the Continental Congress’s “Instructions to Privateers” essentially says:  don’t be a pirate! If anyone demonstrated the “art of privateering”, it was Jonathan Haraden, but I did want to share some material art too. I love Howard Pyle, and Howard Pyle loved pirates, and so I think he portrayed privateers as such, but still, An American Privateer Taking a British Prize (1908) is a great image.

A very famous “Jolly Tar” figurehead of a Virginia privateer was captured perfectly by WPA artist Mary E. Humes in 1935 (Now in the National Gallery of Art ). And there are quite a few miniature portraits of ship captains who started out as privateers, like Salem’s own Nathaniel West and the handsome Jasper Ely Cropsey in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum. So many ships: single portraits like that of the Avon at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and in battle scenes like Robert Dodd’s famous depiction of the Battle off Halifax (1782) in which the Salem privateer Jack‘s Captain David Ropes was killed.

A View of His Majesty’s Brigg Observer, Commanded by Lieut. John Crymes (to whom this print is inscribed) Engaging the American Privateer Ship Jack, John Ropes (commander), by Night on the 29th of May 1782, Off the Harbour of Hallifax, Nova Scotia”. Aquatint by Robert Dodd, 1784


Three Irish Takeaways

How to summarize a long trip all around Ireland? I’ve got lots of photos—and thoughts—but I always think it’s better to focus when presenting anything, any way, so I’ve narrowed much of it down to three takeaways covering three topics that I feature on this blog consistently: architecture, gardens, and public history. So here I go with: more Pugin please, highlights from the Wild Atlantic Way, and bifurcated Belfast. If you’ve been following the blog for a while you know that I’m not really one who goes on and on about the glories of nature, but the coast of Ireland is so beautiful that I couldn’t top myself from taking lots of photos on the trip or sharing them now, so this is a bit of a dump, I’m afraid!

More Pugin please. 

I’ve always loved the Gothic Revival style which is so associated with the English architect Augustus Welby Pugin in nineteenth-century England as well as Ireland, where he designed around 18 buildings, mostly ecclesiatical commissions, between 1837 and 1850. Under British rule, the building of Catholic Churches in Ireland was restricted until the 18th century, but Catholic emancipation in 1829 initiated a building boom consisting of over 3000 churches. I was always looking for these “new” churches in every town and city we visited, right from the beginning of our trip when I became entranced by a Dublin church designed not by Augustus Pugin, but rather by his son and successor, Edward Welby Pugin: St. Augustine and St. John the Baptist Church (generally referred to as John’s Lane Church). I had made my way through the (crowded) Anglican St. Patrick’s and Christ Church Cathedrals when I saw the spire of Pugin’s church soaring in the near distance and went right there, where I was wowed. The pictures are not going to do the interior justice: there was something about the medieval motifs and smaller scale (than an actual medieval church) that was stirring.

I WAS wowed by the Pugin (Jr.) church, and it influenced me to search out more Pugin and more mid-19th century Gothic structures in Ireland, like St. Mary’s Cathedral in Killarney and these gatehouses. But I shouldn’t diminish St. Patrick’s (last picture above),  or Christ Church, which are both epic, of course, and I want to shout out the 

Along the Wild Atlantic Way:

The “Wild Atlantic Way” proceeds along the western coast from Cork to Donegal, which we did as well, but we couldn’t drive around ALL those peninsulas and we took some other shortcuts. Next time, I think I will follow it more precisely because it is a stunning coastline, interspersed with cliffs, beaches, colorful towns, island views and lots and lots of sheep. We used the inland town of Killarney as a base, went all around the Dingle peninsula, and then took the ferry over the river Shannon so did not go to Limerick. Then it was up to Galway, via the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare. Galway seemed like the New Orleans of Ireland to me on this particular trip, but I loved its very new (1965) cathedral, the last great stone cathedral built in Europe. It seemed very Romanesque revival to me, but I have to say I was less impressed by the Normanesque Kylemore Abbey up the coast (weird AI interpretation) but I did love its walled garden and cute little Gothic Revival cottage. Three medieval revivals in quick succession! Then it was on to Donegal Town and Northern Ireland.

In Kenmare, and Ross Castle in Killarney. Inch Beach on the Dingle peninsula and more Dingle coastline. The one llama on this Dingle sheep farm cracked me up; he was watching the herding from above as we watched below. Cliffs of Moher and Galway City. Kylemore Abbey and its Victorian walled garden. Classibawn Castle in County Sligo, and the parish church of Donegal Town.

Bifurcated Belfast:

I have not been in Northern Ireland for twenty years, and its major cities, (London)Derry and Belfast, struck me as thriving compared to my last visit, although Derry was a little quiet as we walked along its walls on a Bank Holiday Monday. Belfast was bustling, and of course it’s much bigger. I’m using the word “bifurcated” to describe it in this post because I was so struck by the two stories it presents to visitors: the Troubles and the Titanic. Two very different stories, but the city seems to embrace them both! Its massive City Hall seemed to me to occupy a central space between the West Belfast murals and the rising Titanic Quarter but I was very centered on downtown with the exception of a foray out to Queen’s University. I wasn’t really looking forward to going to the City’s biggest attraction, Titanic Belfast, because I thought it would just be a Disney experience, and it is essentially was (complete with a ride inside), but its interpretation also drew in the more comprehensive recent history of the city, for “Linenopolis” to the near-present. I just didn’t have enought time in Belfast; I need to go back, which is exactly how you want to feel when you leave a place.


Philly Love

We were in Pennsylvania for the last leg of our spring road trip, principally, but not exclusively, in Philadelphia. I’ve been to Philadelphia many times for different reasons, but this was definitely my favorite visit. It certainly wasn’t the weather—it was as unseasonably cold as it was elsewhere for most of the time we were there. Since we really slowed down and confined most of our touring, eating and drinking to the Old City it was most definitely the architecture, but it was also seeing so many people coming for the history, and being awed by it. Being a Revolutionary War tourist is really fun: I plan to keep on doing it all year long. There were crowds and crowds of color-coded t-shirt-wearing middle schoolers along with many foreign tourists in Independence National Historic Park, and the rangers handled it all in stride, with joy actually. We saw all the usual things, took in some special tours on historic preservation and taverns, made our own little Benjamin Franklin tour, visited the Museum of the American Revolution for the first time, and ate and drank at some great restaurants. The one thing I was a bit surprised about was all the construction going on—I assumed that projects would be completed for Philly’s big year—but it certainly did not detract from our experience. I’m looking forward to going back more often.

Just walking, beginning with Elfreth’s Alley. Philly seems to have figured out how to accomodate tourists and residents at the same time. Very clean streets, no huge walking tours (I saw no more than 20), no microphones.

Independence National Historic Park, including the Benjamin Franklin Museum:

I now have seen Declaration of Independence exhibits in SIX states and the These Truths exhibition at the American Philosophical is my favorite: it’s small but mighty, and manages to be incredibly dynamic by showing how the Declaration changes over time. This was certainly emphasized by the commissioned “Re-Declaration” project of Johanna Drucker, whose Declaration is a historical/contemporary study of the power of graphic design and punctuation. Then we were off to the Powel House, as it was on my punch list of mid-eighteenth-century mid-Atlantic Georgian houses. The home of Samuel Powel, the “Patriot Mayor” who served as the last colonial mayor of Philadelphia and the first “American” one, the highlight for me was the second-floor ballroom.

And finally, my first visit to the relatively new Museum of the American Revolution! There is an extended chronological exhibition which takes you through the Revolution in most of the building, a gallery for rotating exhibitions currently featuring a thoughtful examination of the Declaration of Independence’s “journey,” and then of course Washington’s Tent, the centerpiece of its collection. We ended up here on a rainy Saturday, so it was quite crowded, but the museum’s design seemed to handle everyone very well, and still provided a bit of intimacy in some of the galleries—I managed to be almost alone in the privateering gallery, sitting on a model ship with only a woman and her adorable baby in view (I was searching for Salem here and didn’t find much). The main exhibition had a very effective ending: with the amazing photographs of Revolution veterans and combatants from the mid-19th century on one wall, adjoining an assortment of mirrors surrounding the statement: MEET THE FUTURE of the American Revolution.


The Wilton House

Virginia was the second leg of our southern road trip: we visited family in Richmond, toured historic gardens, and saw several Lost Cause and revolutionary exhibitions. I am enjoying the regional America 250 interpretations. For example, the Virginia Museum of History and Culture has branded Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and George Washington, Virginians all of course, as the “Voice, Pen, and Sword” of the Revolution. Now I am a big Patrick Henry fan, but I think we can identify a few other notable voices—perhaps the Adamses of Massachusetts? Different messaging in Philadelphia–which I’ll explore next week. I thought I’d just spotlight a beautiful house today: the Wilton House, also in Richmond, thought its original location was 15 miles outside of the city. It’s a very high-style Georgian mansion built in 1753 for William Randolph III and his family. Threatened by industrial development in 1933 (the year after the bicentennial of Washington’s birthday, cresting an intense Colonial Revival wave) it was purchased by the National Society of Colonial Dames, dismantled, and carefully resurrected on a beautiful site overlooking the James River in Richmond’s west end. Its detaled resurrection, or re-erection, is extremely notable in the history of historic preservation, and I wanted to learn about that as well as see the house. The story, as well as the house, did not disappoint.

I tried, but my amateurish photography can’t really do this house justice: it’s so textured and there was only natural light in many of the rooms. Every single room, downstairs and up, is panelled, and those amazing windowed alcoves seemed to let in different shades of light. The black walnut staircase was astounding! The largest and most public of the downstairs rooms—photos four and five above—was so gorgeous I gasped but I don’t think it’s really captured here. It is set up for General Lafayette, who stayed at the Wilton House just before Yorktown. The interpretation was both architectural (both design and construction) and historical in terms of the Randolph family history and general history, because this was a conspicuous house, visited by many, including George Washington. Ultimately the decline of the Randolph family fortune led to the decline of the house and the derelict status from which the Colonial Dames rescued it. But both the family and its restoration were set in a broad historical and social context, so we see the list of people enslaved by the Randolphs as well as family portraits (in close proximity), and photographs of those who contributed to the restoration of the house and that story too. A dual narrative, encompassing many “smaller stories,” exemplified by a beautiful house.