O Say Can You See?

108 water meters

The National Museum of American history boasts what may be the world’s largest and finest collection of historic water meters—108 in all, each one made in the United States. Most of these meters came to the Smithsonian in 1965, a gift from A.A. Hirsch of Shreveport, Louisiana. An odd collection, perhaps, and yet an important one, reminding us of such key aspects of the American experience as the development of public water works and the related concern with water conservation. As there have been many hundred water meter patents, the collection calls attention to American ingenuity. And the history of water meter manufacturers and water meter scandals indicate the large sums of money to be made from urban infrastructure.

Except for a few early prototypes—namely that discussed by Frontinus in ancient Rome, and that designed by Leonardo da Vinci in the early sixteenth-century—the water meter story began in the early nineteenth century and expanded along with the growth of urbanization and industrialization. Water meters are conceptually simple but difficult to execute. Thus, a well-informed commentator observed in 1870: “Measurement of water flowing through pipes, under any and all circumstances of position, pressure, and velocity, has, perhaps, more difficulties than any other with which the modern mechanic can grapple.” Another observed in 1885: “Notwithstanding the demand the effort made by inventors to meet these desiderata, such marked success has not been attained as to make it a universal custom to sell water by the volume.” That situation, however, was soon to change as inventors devised meters that were accurate, reliable, durable and relatively inexpensive, and that would measure low flows as well as gushers.

This modern meter from 1971 is the 21 millionth meter made by the Rockwell Manufacturing Company.

The museum’s oldest meter is a Worthington duplex piston, serial number 55,542, that was probably made in the 1890s, and is a late example of America’s first successful meter. The form was designed, patented (in 1855), and produced by Henry R. Worthington (1817-1880), a New York manufacturer of pumps and other hydraulic machinery. The museum’s most recent meter, a 1971 gift from the Rockwell Manufacturing Company in Pittsburgh, features a sealed register magnetic drive that, according to the donor, kept the register clean, dry, and free from fog. It was also the twenty-one millionth meter made by that firm. The meters in between represent all the major American makers and most of the major forms.

Deborah Warner is a curator in the Physical Sciences Collection at the National Museum of American History.

Brother Washington’s apron – a Masonic mystery (part 3 of 3)

Editor’s Note: This is the third and final post in the series on “Brother Washington’s apron – a Masonic mystery.” See Part 1 and Part 2 for the whole story!

When faced with the resources that the Smithsonian Institution can muster, even the most mysterious objects will usually surrender their secrets. At the National Museum of American History, curators and conservators had given the “third degree” to a Masonic apron that was said to have belonged to George Washington, and the findings were not promising. All signs pointed to an apron that had been designed and made in the early 1800s, decades after the nation’s most famous Freemason had died in December of 1799. Still, much of the evidence straddled the 18th and 19th centuries. In the hopes of a definitive answer, we turned to the laboratory.

Curators had their doubts that this apron belonged to George Washington, but a close examination in the textile lab would provide a final answer.

The apron’s owner gave temporary custody to the museum and permission for closer inspection. Curatorial staff again examined the artifact, this time in the well-equipped textile laboratory in the Division of Home and Community Life. The apron was taken out of its shadow-box frame and removed from the velvet-lined backing board. Helena Wright and Joan Boudreau, curators with the museum’s print collections, confirmed that the design was a product of intaglio printing. Textile curator Kathy Dirks took tiny fiber samples from several areas in order to analyze the apron’s construction. She examined each sample under the microscope and noted the following:

• The body of the apron was a satin weave silk, known to be a good surface for textile prints.
• The light blue ribbon border was of plain weave “slight” silk. This was a common material used in both the 18th and 19th centuries.
• The sewing thread used throughout the piece was two ply silk. This type of thread was used for sewing silk fabrics throughout the 18th and 19th centuries.

Still nothing conclusive but there was one part of the apron left to examine—the backing fabric. It appeared to be original, with no areas of patching or replacement. When Kathy examined the sample fibers, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The backing fabric was all cotton weave, common to the 19th century. An 18th century backing would most likely be a linen-cotton blend or an all linen weave. More importantly, the backing fabric was machine woven. This put the date of manufacture no earlier than 1815. We had our answer. When Thomas Hammond purchased Washington’s Masonic apron in 1802, it wasn’t this one.

The apron under the microscope. Top left: Satin weave silk making up the body of the apron. Top right: Plain weave “slight” silk of the ribbon border. Bottom left: Two ply silk used as sewing thread. Bottom right: Machine woven cotton weave of the apron’s backing.

The story doesn’t end there. Although the Washington connection was now gone, it had served an important purpose. The apron had been prized by the donor’s family for generations, carefully mounted and stored. The ribbon border was complete and the strings were intact. The colors were not heavily faded. Ok, so it wasn’t Washington’s, but we now had the opportunity to accept a beautifully preserved printed Masonic apron dating to around 1820.

While the museum certainly holds many objects related to important and famous individuals, most of the collections consist of artifact that reflect the lives of everyday Americans, objects that can often open a window to understanding the larger currents and themes of the nation’s history. This apron touches on several aspects of a young America—expanding printing and textile industries, classical influence in the decorative arts of the Federal period, and the growth of fraternal societies. In the first two decades of the 19th century alone, American membership in Freemasonry increased from 16,000 to over 80,000—around 5% of the adult male population. With all this in mind, we asked that the owner still consider a donation and, thankfully, the apron is now part of the fraternal collections here at the National Museum of American History. I think Brother Washington would approve.

Tim Winkle is an associate curator with the Division of Home and Community Life at the National Museum of American History.

"If I could just get inside that glass, I could hear the song in there..."

Editor’s Note: Today’s guest blog is written by Kenneth Coultas, a Tennesseean who recently visited the museum with his family and had such an impactful visit that he sent us an email to tell us about it. That email is reproduced below.

I wanted to share this story of my son’s visit to the Star-Spangled Banner exhibit:

Today was the end of our much anticipated trip to Washington, D.C. Sally, the boys, and I have looked forward to it for quite some time now. A couple of weeks back, Sally who did a marvelous job of organizing and booking the trip, flights, train tickets, etc. ordered two or three guidebooks to aid us in our journey.

For some reason or another, Evan—our five year old—has been fascinated with the photos and information regarding the original “Star-Spangled Banner” that inspired Francis Scott Key, to pen the poem that became our national anthem. The two things on his “must see” list were “The Star-Spangled Banner” and "the government." On the first day we visited the Museum of American History, he was beside himself. As we walked up the ramp to view the flag, he was careful to listen as we read each and every word on the plaques and signs. He soaked it all up like a sponge.

As visitors enter the exhibition, they encounter the scene for a dramatic historic event that inspired Frances Scott Key to pen the Star-Spangled Banner: the Battle of Baltimore during the War of 1812, when this young nation survived an assault by the British.

As we rounded the corner at the top of the ramp, his face bore the same expression that it has on the past few Christmas mornings. He was truly in awe. He knelt down and looked at the flag for what seemed like ten minutes. He carefully listened as the museum worker explained about the missing pieces from the fly end of the flag and the missing star that is rumored to have been buried with Abraham Lincoln.

The-Star-Spangled Banner at the National Museum of American History

He was rather apprehensive about leaving the area, and became quite upset that the “Star-Spangled Banner” is not being played in the exhibit. The very last monitor of the exhibit plays a mega-mix of various artists singing the anthem, but it changes keys so often it is somewhat unrecognizable.

Throughout our stay in D.C., Evan would periodically get out the Smithsonian guidebook and turn to the pages where the flag was pictured and review all of the details that he had gleaned from his time at the museum. It was quite touching.

Fast forward to today, our final day in D.C. We visited the Lincoln Memorial and the Vietnam Wall to begin the day. Then, we took a taxi to the Museum of American History to see a few of the major things (i.e., First Ladies exhibit, transportation exhibit, Spark Lab, Julia Child’s Kitchen) that we had missed on our first visit. When we noticed that our time was running out, Sally asked the boys if there was anything else that they wanted to see before we headed to Union Station to catch the train.

Isaac and Ian wanted to see one of the art museums and Evan wanted to see the flag just one more time. Sally decided to take the older boys to the sculpture gardens, and Evan and I were left to see the Banner one more time.

As we entered the exhibit, Evan carefully reminded me of what each item on display represented—the bombs, the rockets, the fort, etc. As we rounded the corner at the top of the ramp, it was clear that this was a very special place to Evan. He walked up to the glass and again knelt down. He told me all about the missing parts that had been given to the soldiers as souvenirs and the missing fifteenth star. Then he leaned next to me and said, “Dad, I know if I could just get inside that glass, I could hear the song in there.” I got choked up. I was so proud to be his dad at that moment, and so thankful that he loves our country, its flag, and its anthem.

The first stanza of the national anthem is projected prominently on the wall above the Star-Spangled Banner.

I hated to leave that moment, but we had to go meet the others. As we walked out of the museum, I told Evan that I sure was going to miss being in DC, but that I was sure that we’d return in a few years.

“What are you gonna miss, Evan?” I asked, already knowing what his response would be.
“Well Dad,” he replied, “I guess, I am gonna miss that dang Star-Spangled Banner.”

On the train from DC to Baltimore, we read and reread the paragraphs about the flag that inspired our national anthem. And when we touched down in Huntsville, we had to stop in the middle of the concourse to dig out the book again.

Evan, I know that not many Americans today feel as passionate about the flag as you do right now, but I hope that, unlike the stripes on that “Star-Spangled Banner” behind the glass, your patriotic spirit will never fade…

Evan at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial

Editor’s Note: We were so touched by Evan’s story that we sent him a copy of our book, The Star-Spangled Banner: The Making of an American Icon. Have you ever had an amazing experience in a museum exhibit? Did you share your story with the institution? Tell us in the comments below!

Making room for blossoms and monuments

As a part of a project for an exhibition about the Civil War titled “So Much Need of Service”: The Diary of a Civil War Nurse, I had the opportunity to look at an antebellum map of Washington, D.C., seen in detail below.

Crop of map of Washington, D.C. by A. Boschke, 1857. Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress, g3850 ct001206.

Looking at the map, most of the streets followed Pierre L’Enfant’s layout for the Capital City. However, the National Mall was quite different with fewer buildings, more trees, and a canal running through it. What really caught my eye though was the part of the city west of the Washington Monument--or rather its absence. The land where the Lincoln, Jefferson, Vietnam, and Martin Luther King Jr. memorials now stand did not exist until 1890. There were no blossoming cherry trees and no Tidal Basin. I wondered, how and why did the land get there? Here’s what I found out.

Artist and naturalist, Titian Peale, took this photograph of the western part of the Mall giving us a good view of the water beyond the Washington Monument before the reclamation project occurred. Photo courtesy of the Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, University of Rochester Library, www.lib.rochester.edu/rbk

When Washington, D.C., was initially designed, the land currently known as West and East Potomac Park was a tidal wetland known as the Potomac Flats. In an 1863 panoramic photograph taken from the Smithsonian Castle tower showing the western view, the Potomac Flats can be seen beyond the incomplete Washington Monument (completed in 1885).

Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress, LC-USZ62-127632.

The Washington Canal, which incorporated part of Tiber Creek, ran along the north edge of the National Mall (now Constitution Avenue) connecting the Capitol with the Potomac River. The canal is clearly visible along the right side of the photo above, taken from the Capitol during the Civil War. Sewage was dumped into the canal and flowed to the river onto the flats just south of the White House grounds. Because sewage accumulated on the flats as opposed to draining out to the river, the area became extremely filthy, had a foul stench, and became a breeding ground of disease. While officials debated whether action should be taken to correct this health hazard, the final straw came in February 1881 when a huge snowfall melted causing the Potomac to flood across the Mall to the National Botanical Gardens at the base of the Capitol.

The Army Corp of Engineers dredge the river. Photo courtesy of the Smithsonian Institution

In order to clean up the flats and to make the Potomac more navigable, Congress directed the Army Corp of Engineers to dredge the river. Sediment removed within the shipping channel was used to fill in the flats. The work started in 1882 and continued until 1890. In the photo above, you can see the river being dredged in the area that would form the East Potomac Park and the waterway between the park and the docks that is now the Washington Channel. When the project was completed, Washington, D.C., had 628 new acres of land as seen below.

Potomac Park, pictured here in 1919, begins to take shape. Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress, LC-DIG-hec-12308

Over the years, the land became populated with many different attractions—memorials, a recreational center, and, of course, the cherry trees. The cherry trees were a gift from the mayor of Tokyo and were planted in 1912. This led to one of the most popular festivals in Washington, D.C., the National Cherry Blossom Festival.

Visitors take a stroll through Potomac Park to admire the cherry blossoms in 1919. Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress, LC-DIG-hec-12001

While the reclamation project aimed to prevent the 1882 flood from occurring again, the threat of a major flood still exists. The Army Corps of Engineers is now working on building a levee system to prevent another hundred year flood.

Editor’s Note: What are your memories of the cherry blossoms, Potomac Park, or the changing landscape of Washington, D.C.? Please share your thoughts in “comment” section below!

Drew Robarge is a museum technician in the Division of Medicine and Science at the National Museum of American History.

Moody and Dizzy, side by side

The great James Moody passed away on December 9, 2010. Today, Saturday, March 26, would have been his 86th birthday. In the jazz community, James Moody was universally known for his prowess on alto saxophone, tenor saxophone, and flute, as well as his vast contributions to the development of bebop. Moody, as he liked to be called, was certainly a Jazz Master.

Moody (center) and his wife Linda (directly above), with members of Smithsonian Jazz. From left to Right: James Zimmerman, David Baker, Lida Baker and Ken Kimery. Photograph by Hugh Talman.

Few people had as much of an impact, personally and professionally, on Moody as trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie. Gillespie’s virtuosity, innovation and humor allowed him to touch people all over the world during his 75 years—none more so than Moody.

Listen to short audio clip on the subject, excerpted from an oral history interview with Moody.

Making A Name
When 18-year-old Moody was drafted into the Air Force in 1943, he was already inspired to play jazz by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie’s records. One can only imagine Moody’s excitement when Gillespie came through to his base and played in the camp’s performance tent. It was during this visit that Moody would first speak with Gillespie, and received an invitation to audition for Gillespie’s new band:

So I met Dizzy and Diz said to me and Dave Burns… “When I get to New York, I’m going to form another band… so come and try out for it.” So that’s what we did.

After discharge in 1946, Moody earned a spot in the saxophone section of Gillespie’s seminal bebop big-band. Moody was a relative unknown at the time, as were fellow band members Thelonious Monk, Kenny Clarke, Milt Jackson, Ray Brown and Cecil Payne:

I was 21 years old. And I didn’t know that much, you know, about [the other players]…and I’m glad I didn’t ‘cause I would’ve, probably would’ve fainted.

From 1946 to 1948, Moody performed with Gillespie’s orchestra. In the studio, Moody notched his first recorded solo on the band’s performance of Emanon, a song spelling “no name” in reverse. For Moody, the first years with Gillespie not only elevated his reputation as a player, but also raised his spirit in a time when African Americans were second-class citizens:

A lot of the feelings that I had of inferiority, or being inferior, came from ignorance on the part of the government and the people…but the thing that got me out of that was travelling with Dizzy.

Dizzy’s Quintet
After leaving Gillespie’s orchestra, Moody recorded as a bandleader and toured with his own septet and orchestra. In 1956, he joined Gillespie’s new quintet, and spent a decade collaborating with his mentor and friend. The quintet toured the United States, including stops at the Newport and Monterey Jazz Festivals. In 1965, Gillespie’s quintet performed on the BBC’s Jazz 625, which showcased Moody playing flute on his own composition titled Mmm Hmm. The special highlights Moody and Gillespie’s complimentary musical talents and affection for one another (watch No More Blues and And Then She Stopped).

Jazz Diplomacy
Moody and Gillespie only recorded a few times together over the next two decades, but they reunited in the late 1980s for diplomatic tours on behalf of the United States government. In particular, Gillespie and Moody toured Africa in a sextet in 1989 to enthusiastic crowds and press. Shortly thereafter, Gillespie recruited Moody for his newly formed United Nation’s Orchestra. With the U.N. Orchestra, Moody entertained international audiences with his humorous rendition of Moody’s Mood for Love.

Left: Daily Champion article about Gillespie and Moody’s visit to Nigeria, January 28, 1989. Right: Moody (left) and Gillespie performing with United Nations Orchestra in Philadelphia, 1990. Photos courtesy of the Dizzy Gillespie Collection, 1940s-1993, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution. Gift of Charles Fishman.
 

Mutual Respect
On January 6, 1993, Gillespie passed away with Moody and a few close friends at his side. When asked about his relationship with Gillespie, Moody only ever spoke warmly of his dear friend and musical comrade:

Diz influenced me from every standpoint. He was a friend, a father, a confidante, just everything to me. I’m 78 years old and I’m still realizing how much he affected me. And man, a lot of times I’ll see something, and I’ll remember what Diz told me and I’ll go, ‘Ah, that’s what he meant!’ Diz, boy—he was just a nice guy, a good man. And he was a child, too; he never grew up. But he was a child like a fox. I’m just thankful to him every day for giving me a chance because he knew—he must’ve seen something in me to let me be in the band for a minute.

Photos from James and Linda Moody’s wedding in April 1989. Top: (From center, left to right) Linda, Moody and Gillespie. Bottom: Moody and Gillespie. Photos courtesy of the Dizzy Gillespie Collection, 1940s-1993, Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution. Gift of Charles Fishman.

The feeling was mutual. Gillespie once said of Moody, “Playing with James Moody is like playing with an extension of myself.” Gillespie once asked Paquito D’Rivera: “Do you know James Moody? …He is the sweetest person in the world.”

Moody’s life and career were remarkable, and a large part of both included Dizzy Gillespie. From a distance, one may focus on their musical synergy, but Moody and Gillespie were equally connected off the bandstand.

James Moody contributed his Jazz Oral History to the National Museum of American History in 1993. The Smithsonian Jazz Oral History Program is administered by Smithsonian Jazz and funded by the National Endowment for the Arts.

In January 2000, the Smithsonian Jazz Masterworks Orchestra (SJMO) featured James Moody for “A Bebop Celebration in the New Millennium.” 

Matt Lodato is an intern with Smithsonian Jazz at the National Museum of American History.