After 24 months of exhaustive research and design, we have completed the interpretive strategy and the initial implementation for the Neill-Cochran House Museum Slave Quarters in Austin. Over the past two years the Quarters has been restored, we have completed the interpretive plan, we have finished the initial introductory brochure that is available at the museum, and now our panels are at the fabricator. The interpretive panels will be installed by April when the Texas Historical Commission Real Places conference will join us at the Quarters for lectures and a tour.
This project has evolved into a remarkable team effort among Dr. Rowena Dasch (executive director for the NCHM), Dr. Tara Dudley (Assistant Professor at UT), and myself. The interpretive strategy I developed ranges from impersonal to personal and utilizes didactic as well as dialogic techniques within the space of a large suburban yard.
In addition, I chose to cover the entire span of the African experience in Texas, from Esteban in November 1528 to the present. In four years, we will commemorate the 500th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved African in Texas. By 2028, I hope to have a Texas historical marker installed in Galveston that memorializes his arrival. Galveston is the alpha (Esteban) and omega (Juneteenth) of the enslaved African experience in Texas, and hopefully we at the NCHM Slave Quarters can join with Galveston in honoring the occasion.
If you have the opportunity, attend the THC Real Places conference this April in Austin and join us at the NCHM Slave Quarters for our talk and tour. Use the link below for more information about the conference.
Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals. Martin Luther King, Jr.
The Rev. Jacob Fontaine (1808 – 1898) lived his first 55 years as a slave. For a time, he and his wife lived on the Woodlawn Plantation, part of which is now Pease Park. With emancipation, the Rev. Fontaine became one of Austin’s most notable residents.
From this building on San Gabriel at West 24th, he operated a number of businesses, including The Gold Dollar, one of the state’s first black newspapers. Black newspapers such as The Gold Dollar served a number of purposes. Newspapers help freed slaves learn to read, keep up with current news that concerned them, and contact family members that were alienated by slavery.
For example, Rev. Fontaine place the following ad in the first edition of The Gold Dollar:
Aney one wishing to inquire for thir kinn send ten cents to the gold dollar…J. Fontaine.
This building is one of the few structures left from Wheatville, one of Austin’s freedom towns that arose after the Civil War. Wheatville corresponded to present-day West 24th Street to the south, West 26th Street to the north, Shoal Creek to the west, and Rio Grande Street to the east. In other words, Wheatville was wholly contained within the Shoal Creek watershed.
Rev. Fontaine and his family lived in the building from 1875 to 1898. Currently, the building is a bar and smokehouse, Freedmen’s Bar. The chandelier over its front bar was reportedly a part of the historic Pease Mansion, where Fontaine’s wife kept house during the 1870’s.
The University of Texas and its students have subsumed virtually all of Wheatville, an irony I assume would not be lost on the Rev. Fontaine. He tirelessly campaigned among African-Americans in Texas to support the establishment of a state university in Austin, a university that would not completely desegregate until after the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
My youthful reading naturally gravitated to history. In fact, I cannot remember when I didn’t have three of four history books in some stage of completion. Now, armed with a Kindle and an iPad, my consumption has eclipsed what is possible ingesting only words on paper. I am awash in digital history.
My preferences are for world periods that I know little about, and for American conservation history. At the moment I am reading Reston’s Defenders of the Faith. Are you curious about the origins of conflicts between the Christian and Islamic world, between Charles V and Suleyman the Magnificent? Reston is an encyclopedic source. As for American conservation history, I rarely leave the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Roosevelt, Dock, Pinchot, Bird, Rothrock, McFarland, and Lacey inevitably suck me into their vortex.
Recently I have been exploring place as a way that we Americans consider ourselves, in fact, define ourselves. A song that captures that notion for me is America the Beautiful. Consider the first stanza. What could be more evocative of place?
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
Amber waves of grain, eastern Colorado
I decided to look closer at the origins of this seminal piece of American patriotic composition. Not surprisingly, I found myself back in this frenetic high-period of American progressive politics. At the outset I knew very little about Katherine Lee Bates, the lyricist, professor, social activist, and poet whose words are memorialized in the song. Bates spent her life teaching at Wellesley College, and in addition to her teaching she wrote children’s books, travel books, and poems. Only one of her poems is famous, but, in her case, one is enough. Here are notes that she wrote about her first thoughts about this poem:
One day some of the other teachers and I decided to go on a trip to 14,000-foot Pikes Peak. We hired a prairie wagon. Near the top we had to leave the wagon and go the rest of the way on mules. I was very tired. But when I saw the view, I felt great joy. All the wonder of America seemed displayed there, with the sea-like expanse.
Purple mountains majesty, Pike's Peak
Bates would continue to craft the poem, first published in 1895, for another eighteen years. In 1910 Bates lyrics were combined with the music of Samuel A. Ward as America the Beautiful. The music began life as Ward’s hymn Materna. Ward would never meet Bates, and he died in 1903. Ward never heard America the Beautiful, his music or not. Bates is a different matter.
As I have continued to read about Bates, there are aspects of her life that are surprisingly contemporary. Bates is often described as an ardent feminist (although at that time I suspect suffragette to be more likely.) In addition, although the details of their relationship are sketchy, Katherine Lee Bates spent most of her adult life as the partner of another woman in a “Boston marriage.” While on staff at Wellesley she met Katharine Coman and began a relationship that lasted for 25 years. Most historians have described the relationship as a “romantic friendship,” but there is no doubt that they enjoyed an intensely loving partnership that lasted until Coman died of breast cancer.
Let this soak in for a moment. The author of America the Beautiful, considered by many to be the most stirring anthemic affirmation of our nation, one of the few that most Americans can sing at the drop of a hat, came from the poetry of an educated, progressive, liberated woman who spent her life in a loving relationship with someone of the same sex.
Although I said that most Americans can sing the anthem at the drop of a hat, few make it past the first verse. Sad. Bates wrote her poem at the height of the progressive movement. Here are the second and third verses, as germane and cutting now as then.
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self the country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!
Katherine Lee Bates found her passion for this country as she traveled west across the Great Plains to the Rocky Mountains. Her love of country is rooted in a love of American places. Roosevelt’s passions for America were similarly kindled by the landscape, by the wildlife, by the place.
Scott's Bluff, Nebraska
We have fallen heirs to the most glorious heritage a people ever received, and each one must do his part if we wish to show that the nation is worthy of its good fortune…Theodore Roosevelt
Who would have the temerity to question Roosevelt’s love of country? Who would challenge the patriotism of the amazing woman who authored America the Beautiful? Can you imagine telling either to “love it or leave it?” Yet, in these polarized times, a time when fair and balanced are neither, these are precisely the charges they would suffer. Consider how this statement from Roosevelt would be treated by some in the press today:
To waste, to destroy, our natural resources, to skin and exhaust the land instead of using it so as to increase its usefulness, will result in undermining in the days of our children the very prosperity which we ought by right to hand down to them amplified and developed…Theodore Roosevelt
Or, what about this quote from Gifford Pinchot?
The earth and its resources belong of right to its people…Gifford Pinchot
Little Missouri River, North Dakota Badlands
How would the words of these two stalwart Republicans be welcomed today? The judges may have changed, but not the principles of the ones being judged. There is a well-worn trail for us to follow, one blazed by these unequaled men and women of the past. The country may at times feel lost, but never should we. A life in conservation embraces a love of nation, a love of neighbor, a love of the wilds, a love of place. As our poet wrote,
O beautiful for heroes prov’d
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.
Thank you, Katherine Lee Bates, for your wonderful song and beautiful life.
Here is Ray Charles’ live rendition of this soul-stripping, heart-charging song. Note that he begins with the third verse, not by accident. If this doesn’t drip with irony, with raw passion, you have no pulse.
Joining a few close friends at the White House Easter Egg RollThere are times when travel catches up with me, and I cannot remember exactly where (or who) I am. Surely you have had the same out-of-body experience. You wake up early one morning, and wonder whose bed you are sleeping in and how did you get there.
Today I am in Washington DC. I speak at Penn State on Wednesday, and I decided to bring my youngest grandson, Woodrow, with me. Woodrow lives in Palos Verdes (near Redondo Beach), and is enjoying his spring break. We decided to combine business with pleasure on this trip, and we are squeezing in DC before we go to State College.
My grandparents brought me to DC for the first time nearly 50 years ago. How interesting to now be repeating that tradition. I suspect that I am about the same age as my grandfather then, and he did not live long after our trip.
Washington Monument framed by cherry blossomsWoodrow and I joined the countless thousands crowding the Mall (combination of fantastic weather and the White House Easter Egg Roll). As we neared the Tidal Basin we noticed that the cherry trees were still in bloom. I suspect that we are about a week late, but I still enjoyed the color that remained. Only a couple of weeks ago I photographed cherries in Kyoto, and now I am half way around the world doing the same.
Which world am I in?
Lincoln Memorial
We finished the day at the Lincoln Memorial. This has always been my favorite of the collection (although the Korean War Memorial is extraordinarily moving). While contemplating his monument I thought back to Nara and the Buddha there. Perhaps the Lincoln Memorial is the American version of the Buddha at Nara. America invested over 700 thousand lives to rid the country of the sin of slavery, including the life of Abraham Lincoln. To share this moment with my grandson, like my grandfather did with me, is an American tradition worth repeating.
View of Nara and the Ikoma mountains beyond the Yamato Plain
Although I have traveled extensively in Japan, I do not profess to have deep insight into the culture or the people. As a westerner (and a Texan, for God’s sake), Asia is blithely enigmatic.
There are certainly cultures in the world that strive to remain apart. The Japanese, for all of their western trappings, do not have to work hard to remain distinguishable. The radical differences in language are, in part, responsible. Although English is commonly seen in Japan, most of it is related to the perplexing English tag lines, slogans, and non sequiturs that Japanese marketing whizzes concoct. Otherwise, Japan is for the Japanese.
Of course we feel welcome. But with a Japanese family we are at a decided advantage. Otherwise Japan is a test for someone who does not speak the language or have entre to the culture.
For example, we are staying in a roykan near our granddaughter’s apartment in Ueno. We walked downstairs for breakfast this morning, and I spent several minutes at the front desk trying to explain that the one-size-fits-all slippers do not fit a size-14 foot from Texas. No matter, the rules are the rules, and they insisted that I shoe-horn a size 6 on before being fed. I ate my breakfast wearing slippers that barely fit my big toes.
The train system in Japan is a marvel, but it does take some time to master scheduling, ticketing, and such. This trip we purchased (as usual) JR rail passes for our time here in country. We also bought the green car pass for a premium, which allows you to reserve a seat in the first-class “green” cars. To our dismay, we learned (and I do not remember this from past trips) that only certain trains are available to rail pass holders. The Nozomi line, for example, is restricted (even though there were many occasions when the line would have worked best for us). We were told that since the JR rail pass represents a significant discount (of course, depending on how many times you use it during your stay), JR is justified in limiting where and when you can travel.
My impression is that while the Japanese love to travel the world, they would be just as happy if the world did not travel to Japan. The domestic travel market here is enormous, and, to be blunt, they do not need international leisure travelers to keep their hotels full. In this entire 2 ½ week trip, traveling from Okinawa to Nagasaki, Hiroshima, Kyoto, Nara, Osaka, and Tokyo in peak travel season (cherry blossom time), we have not seen more than 50 foreign travelers.
The two places where we did see a few foreigners were Kyoto and Nara. Anyone with an interest in Japanese history and culture knows about these two adjacent cities, with their extensive museums, shrines, art, and cuisine. The two are among the most recognized Japanese cultural centers. Virginia and I had visited Kyoto first many years ago, yet this would be our first trip to Nara. Cassady, who is beginning her third year as an art history major at Tokyo University (Todai), took particular interest in these two cultural icons. Of course, it did not hurt that Kyoto is among the shopping meccas in Japan as well.
In contrast, I would rather be tortured than to shop. One of the reasons I love the internet is that it allows me to avoid entering stores. Thank you, UPS, just place my package by the front door.
While Virginia and Cassady spent their first day in Kyoto scouring the shops, I spent my first day lounging around our wonderful roykan, Mume. There is an exceedingly funny phrase that my granddaughter uses to describe my method of travel. In Japan a person like me is a “mypasu” guy, one who operates at their own pace. I now remind Cassady and Virginia several times a day that I am a “mypasu” fellow, and to please not ask me to join them shopping ever again. We can always meet for dinner.
Let me share a few more Japanese phrases that I learned from Cassady. The Japanese are exceedingly sharp students of and commenters on their fellow citizens. I suspect in part this comes from living in such close quarters. For example, the Takahashis have been the neighbors of Cassady’s grandparents for nearly 50 years in Utsunomiya. You get to know people fairly well in that time.
We spent our one evening in Utsunomiya with family around the kotatsu gathering a collection of phrases. For example, I learned that a man under his wife’s control is called “shiri ni shikareru,” a man who is a woman’s cushion (in the US, hen-pecked). A couple consisting of a large woman and a small man is called a “nomi no fufu,” a flea couple. A person who follows around someone who is popular (such as at school) is “kingyo no fun,” dung following the goldfish. Funny people, these Japanese.
At times the humor is at your own expense. During dinner one evening I noticed that I had forgotten to zip my fly (this is what happens when one turns 60). Cassady quipped “shakai no mado ga aiteru,” that my window to society is open. Chuckle, chuckle.
Sakura in Kyoto
When we first arrived in Kyoto the cherry blossoms were beginning to swell. Two days later, after a couple of toasty afternoons, the cherries burst into bloom. I spent our last morning in the Gion district near our roykan photographing the sakura, as well as the maiko in their traditional costumes.
What we had not counted on were the hordes of Japanese enjoying the warm spring break weather in Kyoto as well. Therefore I looked forward to a more unobtrusive respite in the roykan in Nara, although the accommodations at Mume could not have been nicer. There we would be staying outside of the city in a roykan, Mikasa, adjacent to the Nara Keon.
The weather gods favored our Nara visit. Our one day walking down the Wakakusa-yama trail to the Nara temples (officially the Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara) reminded me of Pennsylvania in the spring. The trail bisects some of the oldest and most monumental forest (the Kasugayama Primeval Forest) that I have seen in Japan, with immense spruce, oak, and pine. Blink your eyes and you would think that you were back on the Longfellow trail among the hemlock and white pine.
As we walked the trail I noticed the first slight signs of spring. Fiddleheads were beginning to emerge, and the wood violets were sprinkled about in first bloom. The uguisu (Japanese bush-warbler) were tuning up, and the magnolias tinted the landscape in white and rose.
Japan’s first permanent capital was established in the year 710 at Heijo, the city now known as Nara. As we reached the extensive temple and monument grounds above the city we decided to start by visiting Kasuga Taisha, the Kasuga grand shrine. This shrine houses a dazzling collection of lanterns: some gilded, some greened with a copper patina, hundreds carved from oiya stone. As Cassady and Virginia wandered down toward Todai-ji, I stayed behind to photograph a few of the lanterns and smaller shrines and temples above the Daibutsuden (the Buddha’s Temple).
As I wandered down from Wakakusa-yama, I came on another of the temples, the Nigatsu-do. Around the outside of this grand hall were wood cuts and paintings of eclectic variety and design. The porch of the hall offered a splendid view of the temples and monuments below, as well as the Ikoma mountains beyond the Yamato Plain. “Each spring there is a water-drawing ceremony at the Nigatsudo Hall has lasted for more than 1,200 years without a single break. The “Water-drawing Ceremony” is formally called the “Shunie.” It is a Buddhist memorial service intended to pray for world peace and a good harvest for all through the repenting of one’s sins.”
The crowds in the upper reaches of Nara were sparse, but by the time I arrived at Todai-ji people were snaking through the main gate like one of the serpents slain by the Bosatsu inside. There are a number of buildings within the Tadai-ji site, but the main attraction is the Daibutsuden. This is the largest wood building extant in the world. The structure holds the Daibutsu, the bronze Buddah that dates to 752. The Daibutsu is around 15 meters high, and the head and neck were cast in the mid-700s as a single piece! There are several bosatsu that accompany the Daibutsu, including two carved figures of impressive stature and complexity.
Religion is one of those confusing, enigmatic issues in Japan (like train schedules and dinner attire). My impression is that most Japanese practice religion-lite. The saying in Japan is that you are born a Shinto and then die a Buddhist (there are virtually no Shinto cemeteries). But I also believe that this casual approach to religion is also a reflection of Shinto traditions. In Shinto, once the official religion of Japan, there is no absolute right or wrong. Shintos believe that people are inherently good, and that evil in the world is due to mal spirits. Working along with humans are the kami, a variety of gods and forces (such as wind, waves, mountains). Neither Buddhism nor Shintoism demands that a follower formally practice, so there is a low-key aspect to religion here that I, to be honest, admire.
Osaka basho
Where one does enjoy the formality of Shinto ritual is in sumo. There are six Grand Sumo Tournaments (honbasho) each year, with the one in Osaka occurring in March. After Nara we continued on our journey to Osaka to attend one day of the basho. I confess; I am absolutely crazed about sumo. There is something about the tradition (the origins date back perhaps 2000 years), the formality of the match before and after, and the violent brevity of the match itself. While the preparations may take 10 to 15 minutes, the actual match itself may only last seconds. Each move has a name and tradition, each preparatory move has a name and tradition (such as hand clapping, leg lifting, and salt throwing), and each piece of clothing (brief as it may be) has a name and tradition.
Like baseball, sumo must be seen in person. Old men in the crowd yell in support of their favorite rikishi. The crowds swell at the entrance to the hall as the rikishi march in, with girls shrieking with glee as they would if seeing a rock star. The basho lasts most of the day, and many come to see the entire set of matches.
I drifted away from our seats and down near the dohyo to photograph the bouts. As I have studied the photographs I again recognize elegance, beauty, and athleticism in what appears to Americans to be near-naked fat guys in a brawl.
Yes, the rikishi are enormous, but there are shockingly agile as well. The first blow of each bout, the tachi-ai, shakes the walls with its force. Rikishi are pushed, shoved, bounced, and forced around the ring as though they were weightless, often resulting in one of the fighters being ejected from the ring itself. In the midst of this violence (and it is a violent sport) stands the referee, the goyji, in his fantastic Shinto wardrobe. The simple pointing of his glistening fan, the gunbai, confirms the winner.
We were joined by a friend, Asaka Shinagawa, who works for the Osaka tourism department. Asaka will be coming to Austin in April, and we were put in touch by a mutual friend, Rebecca Burgman. Neither Cassady nor Asaka had ever attended a basho in person, and yet both are big sumo fans. We arrived early and stayed until the last match (between the yokozuna, Hakuho, and a rikishi from Estonia, Baruto). FYI, Baruto lost only one match this basho, and will be promoted to ozeki, only one level below yokozuna. Please enjoy the photos, although I do know that fat men battling each other wearing thongs may take some getting used to.
