O Say Can You See?

Out of Storage: Fire hat, sewing machine, dress with cannons, and more

With over 3 million objects in our vast collections, the museum is only able to exhibit a fraction at any given time. Last week, a group of seldom-seen objects were taken out of storage and showcased on tables during a special “Objects Out of Storage” event. Artifacts on display ranged from glittering sewing machines and colorful coverlets, to eyeglasses and firemen’s hats.

Here’s a small visual sampling of some of the objects on display and their historical contexts:

 

TAYLOR HOSE COMPANY FIRE HAT

This painted fire hat belonged to the Taylor Hose Company, a Philadelphia-based volunteer fire company that got its name from Zachary Taylor, national military hero and 12th president of the United States. The pressed felt hat is not particularly hard, nor protective, but it would have been worn to fires until the 1830s or 1840s. The star pattern on the top of the hat depicts a code for the fire bell: for example, the vertex pointing north has one mark, representing one continuous peal that alerts fire companies of a fire to the north of the city.

 

CIVIL WAR-ERA CHILDREN'S DRESS

 

Made during the Civil War, this children’s dress features a waistband and a gathered skirt, which are characteristic of many of the dresses constructed during this period. The fabric is a repeating pattern of American flags and cannons, suggesting that the dress was worn by a child on the Union side of the line. The clothing item could have been worn by a boy or a girl.

 

PATENT MODEL OF FIRST PORTABLE SEWING MACHINE CASE

Invented by Boston tailor William Grover, this is an 1856 patent model of the first portable sewing machine case. The wooden model, which comes with a commercial Grover and Baker sewing machine positioned inside, features a small drawer and collapsible handle.

 

ENGRAVED WOOD BLOCKS

These engraved wood blocks were used for Civil War publications, and they depict camp construction and soldiers gathering and burning wood. The blocks were produced in the 1860s, and many were later printed in New York Sherman Publishing Company's The Pictorial Battles of the Civil War (1885). This wood engraving was produced on several blocks of end grain wood, such as boxwood, which were bolted together to allow for a larger printing surface.

MISER PURSE

The miser purse has two differently shaped compartments on opposite ends—one square, the other rounded on the edges—to allow the user to separate his gold coins from his less valuable change and know, by simply feeling the compartment, the contents of each side. Two rings slide up and down the middle of the purse to tighten the slits and secure the contents. Users of the miser purse, also known as the “wallet purse,” carried the bag by flipping it over their belts and folding it in half—the originating concept of the modern bi-fold wallet. The purse could have been used by a man or woman from 1840 to 1870.

 

What objects from the collection would you like to see taken out of storage? Share in the comments below!

Esther I. Yi is a Fellow in the New Media Department at the National Museum of American History.

Celebrating National History Day at the museum

Students at the hands-on history carts.

On an evening earlier this month, the museum came alive with the bustle of 5,414 National History Day participants and their proud family members and teachers. As a veteran of the program myself, I had the opportunity not only to relive the experience—though admittedly from the vantage point of an intern at the museum—but to also see how it has evolved since I first participated seven years ago.

National History Day (NHD) is an annual competition for middle and high school students in which participants research a historical topic related to the annual theme and present their conclusions as a paper, performance, documentary, website, or an exhibit. The final stage of a series of contests takes place during a five-day event at the University of Maryland, College Park. This year, a few students showcased their work for an afternoon at the museum, and all participants were invited to tour the museum for an exclusive, after-hours visit. 

Students pose with George Washington.

When I participated in NHD, my peers and I did not have the opportunity to display our exhibits at such a prestigious institution, nor did we have the privilege of an evening at the museum. But the fundamentals had clearly withstood the test of time: the students, hailing from all over the country, came together for five days to showcase their hard work and share their passion for history.

 As I observed the night events on June 15, I saw students actively engaging with historic theater programs, unabashedly approaching the hands-on history carts to learn more about the objects on display, and staring, in awe, at a simple 3-D image through a century-old stereoscope. In accordance with tradition, students sought out their peers from other states to trade state buttons, and the quest for these simple items sparked conversations among students from all corners of the country; some were even generous enough to offer buttons to museum staff as tokens of their appreciation. As the students explored, parents and teachers stopped by the History Explorer table which featured the museum’s online resources for teaching and learning American history.

Museum staff display the different state buttons given to them by NHD students.

I had the opportunity to speak with many of the National History Day participants, sharing my own experiences and learning about theirs. Many were seasoned veterans of the competition; others were participating for the first time and said that they could not wait to return next year. Those who had recently graduated from high school and will not participate in next year’s competition talked about planning college majors in a broad range of fields, such as journalism, medicine, forensics, and—of course—history. They all agreed that their participation in NHD had provided them with invaluable skills in researching and public speaking. As one student from Washington put it, “History Day has taught me that history is part of everything.”

It was fascinating to see how the students’ projects interpreted this year’s NHD theme of “Debate & Diplomacy: Successes, Failures, Consequences.” Many students had personal ties to their topic, whether it focused on their local area or family connections. A group from Guam, for example, created an exhibit on the English-Only Act—which enforces the use only of the English language—because a member of the group is Chamorro and cannot speak his native tongue as a result of the legislation.

NHD participants stand before their exhibit on women's suffrage.

This year’s National History Day is done, but the show must go on. The theme of next year’s competition is “Revolution, Reaction and Reform in History.” To prospective National History Day participants: I highly recommend that you listen to this podcast about how to develop a great NHD project, featuring interviews with museum staff who have judged at the national level in the past. 

Jessica Marine is an intern in Daily Programs at the National Museum of American History.

Collecting an Epidemic: The AIDS Memorial Quilt

Editor’s Note: This is the fourth post in a series exploring the 30th anniversary of HIV and AIDS. Beginning on June 3, the National Museum of American History will mark the anniversary of the emergence of the HIV and AIDS epidemic with a three-part display and companion website. This blog series provides additional context and includes the perspectives of people directly involved in the history the museum is documenting.

The AIDS Memorial Quilt on the Ellipse, 1996.

How does one go about collecting an epidemic? A disease is not a tangible entity like a stethoscope or a medicine bottle. Smithsonian curators have always been interested in the history of disease: the medical collection includes artifacts related to smallpox, diphtheria, cholera, and polio. My area of expertise is surgical instrumentation. Show me a 200-year-old amputation set or a 21st-century heart assist device, and I’m a happy camper.

I was attending the annual meeting of the American Association for the History of Medicine in New Orleans in 1988, when a small band of museum curators, archivists, and historians met to talk about recording and collecting material related to the AIDS epidemic. The AIDS epidemic was and is a unique opportunity for historians of medicine to document an epidemic from its beginnings.

The majority of AIDS material appeared to be ephemeral: posters, pamphlets, red ribbons, and photographs. It seemed to me that the most obvious artifact was the AIDS Memorial Quilt, which was just beginning to emerge as one of the symbols of the epidemic. A piece of the quilt can be found in our museum today.

The National Museum of American History was elected to collect this panel.

I saw the AIDS Memorial Quilt for the first time on a sunny day in the autumn of 1989. It was laid out on the Ellipse, a grassy area in front of the White House. Walking up and down the rows of panels, I remember thinking how large the quilt appeared.

Strolling silently, I took in the creativity of individual panels, the bright bold colors and textures, pieces of fake fur and twinkling sequins. Some of the panels were made from the personal belongings of the people they memorialized: toe shoes, cooking utensils, teddy bears, even pieces of clothing, neckties, and pajamas. Each panel was a very personal tribute to a victim of a frightening and incurable disease. The panels were obviously lovingly crafted, each one conveying the person’s interests and style, celebrating the lives of dear friends and loved ones.

A few of the quilt panels were dedicated to famous personalities like Rock Hudson, Liberace, and Perry Ellis. Mostly, the panels were just ordinary folks: men, women, children, babies, musicians, doctors, chefs, dancers, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, some anonymous. I remember looking at hundreds of birth and death dates. It was so incredibly sad; my generation seemed to be dying.

The AIDS Memorial Quilt with the White house in the background, 1986.

The AIDS Memorial Quilt is an extraordinary artifact. However, the Quilt's size and plethora of materials pose challenges for curators and conservators. The project brought to mind an important question: what other artifacts could we collect to represent the AIDS epidemic?

That first day I collected a few small artifacts, a red ribbon that had become one of the symbols of the epidemic, a few buttons, including a purple and yellow button imploring "FIGHT AIDS / NOT PEOPLE WITH AIDS." The most poignant artifact, a white Styrofoam cup with a green candle, came from a National Museum of American History staff member who carried it during the candlelight vigil held that same weekend. Some of these artifacts are now on display in HIV and AIDS Thirty Years Ago, currently on view in the museum.

AIDS buttons collected by the author over the years.

Over the years, I saw the Quilt several times, watching it grow larger as the deaths from AIDS increased. I was there for the Quilt's last appearance on the National Mall, a beautiful October morning in 1996. The Quilt stretched out across the grass on the National Mall from 14th Street to 3rd Street. It was enormous, so much larger than when I had first seen it seven years earlier. That day in 1996, I had a special mission. I hoped to find the panel representing my cousin Ira who had recently died of complications from AIDS.

Finding Cousin Ira turned out to be easy. The NAMES Project Memorial Quilt Organization had books alphabetically listing each person with a panel dedicated to his or her memory. I walked up to one of the tables and gave the volunteer my cousin's name. The volunteers handed back a piece of paper with the coordinates for finding his panel.

Come to find out, Cousin Ira's panel is shared with eight friends from New York City. The panel is simple in design with organic free-form splotches of bright colors appliquéd onto a white background. The panel is signed and dated "may 1996 love, patti s. fullerton."

Cousin Ira's panel. He is the second one down on the left.

I have never met Ms. Fullerton. But just in case she is out there reading this, I would like to thank her for looking out for Cousin Ira.

Judy Chelnick is Associate Curator for the Division of Medicine and Science at the National Museum of American History.

Cats with asparagus and "Forkery" in Julia Child's kitchen

Editor’s Note: Today's post is the last in a series about the museum's work in Julia Child’s kitchen. Caitlin Dichter is a Museum Studies graduate student at The George Washington University.

Outlines on the wall indicating where pots and pans belong.

Gently cradling the ceramic crock, I checked its condition. My gloved finger brushed along the strip of masking tape just beginning to show its age. On it—in bold, sure lines—was written one word: "Forkery." I smiled.

When I first stepped, in sock-clad feet, into Julia Child's kitchen, I kept my eyes trained for minute details and examined the objects for signs of age. I had assumed that I would grow familiar with the objects around me—but I didn't anticipate that I would get to know something about Julia as well.

All throughout the exhibit, I found signs of the culinary legend's warmth and humor, her unique personality. Julia favored order in her workspace, as evinced by the various visual aids that assign each object to a particular place in the kitchen. For example, pot-shaped outlines on the pegboard-covered walls indicate where the pots should hang, Polaroid snapshots show exactly where pans belong, and labels on containers identify where different kinds of utensils are housed.

Labeled containers for different kinds of utensils.

Next to the crock labeled "Forkery" is one dedicated to "Spoonery." Julia, who admitted she could never resist a good kitchen gadget, allotted certain utensils to overflow categories like "Misc + Spats" (for "Miscellaneous and Spatulas") and "Mostly Wood." Inside the latter—a personal favorite of mine—one can find wooden spoons, tongs, and even utensils whose purpose I remain uncertain of.

Guests in the kitchen would know not only the proper location of various kitchenware, but also how to use the electric disposal, thanks to detailed instructions affixed next to the sink on blue labels. I had already known that you don't put oil down the drain, but I never realized that artichoke leaves don't belong down there as well.

Detailed directions for using the electric disposal.

Julia did not seem fond of an empty space. Every possible nook and cranny in the kitchen reveals a memento, particularly cats expressing a wide range of emotions: there are happy cats, grumpy cats, sleepy cats, and even felines with asparagus.

Cat mementos in Julia Child’s kitchen.

More mementos on a counter in Julia Child’s kitchen.

The past few months have come and gone so quickly, a whirlwind of an experience that I won’t soon forget. While I learned a great deal about the state of the objects on display, the experience has been made all the more memorable because I got to know Julia through the idiosyncrasies scattered throughout her famous workspace. I am convinced she would have been a fascinating person to know—in fact, in homage to this charismatic woman, I think I will have to go label something!

Caitlin Dichter is a Museum Studies graduate student at The George Washington University.

The gun that won't exist until 2419

When you work in a room with over 10,000 firearms and weapons every day, people will inevitably ask, "Which is your favorite gun?" It’s hard to pick out a single favorite when there are so many to choose from—the answer might depend on a project I’ve been working on, a book I’ve been reading, a movie I’ve recently seen, or even music I’ve been listening to.

But I can say with certainty that one of the coolest guns we have in the museum’s collection was designed in 1935 but won’t be issued for another 400 years. It may have appeared on the cover of the Foo Fighters’ debut album in 1995, but it won’t really exist until the year 2419.

The U-235 Atomic Pistol used by science fiction character Buck Rogers.

That’s right—before Captain Kirk, Han Solo, or Buzz Lightyear, there was Buck Rogers in the 25th century. His weapon—prettier than the Phaser, more refined than the E-11 Blaster, cooler than whatever Buzz Lightyear uses—was the U-235 Atomic Pistol. The gun has a fluted barrel, flamboyant fins, and a gold finish; sparks light up the red "Fission Control Chamber."

Buck Rogers first appeared in 1928 in the science fiction magazine Amazing Stories. The next year, he debuted in the first science fiction newspaper comic strip, which was published until 1967. Buck’s influence was widespread: he spawned his own radio show from 1932 to 1947, a short film screened at the 1933-34 Chicago World’s Fair, and even a 12-part movie serial produced in 1939.

The fictional character’s increasing popularity led to advertising premiums and merchandising, such as the U-235 Atomic Pistol that we now have in our collections. The toy came to the museum in 1978 as part of a large gift from the Daisy Manufacturing Company (the one that produced the infamous "Red Ryder Carbine-Action, Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time").

The box that holds the U-235 Atomic Pistol.

Back in 1934, Daisy had hit a home run by producing the first Buck Rogers metal toy ray gun, the XZ-31 Rocket Pistol. The next year, Daisy introduced another huge success: the XZ-38 Disintegrator Pistol, a ray gun with a new art-deco design.

When World War II came along, manufacturers did not use metals for toy production, and Daisy followed suit by producing 37mm artillery ammunition for the war effort and creating wooden pop guns for the home front. After the war, Daisy banked on the public’s fascination with atomic energy and reintroduced the XZ-38 as the U-235 Atomic Pistol. It had come a long way since the first Buck Rogers ray guns that were cardboard cut-outs printed on the back of breakfast cereal boxes.

Along with the U-235, Daisy’s gift to the museum includes BB gun models named after real and fictional people, such as Buzz Barton and Red Ryder. The gift also features two WWII-era wooden pop guns (some days, these are my favorites) and several other pop gun models.

David Miller is Associate Curator in the Division of Armed Forces History at the National Museum of American History.