For Black History Month, the American Antiquarian Society is featuring historic objects from the collection that are associated with or depict Black Worcester residents. The Society’s portrait of John Moore Jr. was painted in Boston in 1826 when the sitter was in his twenties. He was the only son of John Moore Sr. (1751-1836), a Boston mariner, and his wife, Alice Niles. John Moore Sr. was born a free Black in New York City and moved to Boston as a young man. He supported the patriot cause during the Revolutionary War. In 1784 he retired from the sea and settled permanently in Boston where his son was born around 1800. When he grew up, John Moore Jr., who is depicted in this portrait, may have worked as a barber. A barbershop on South Russell St. listed in the 1827 ‘People of Color’ section of the Boston City Directory appears under the name John Moore.
In 1831, shortly after this portrait was painted, John Moore Jr., became the legal guardian of two young nephews, Frederick and William Brown. They were the children of his sister Alice (1793- 1866), whose husband had recently died. Other particulars of the life of John Moore Jr., including whether he married or had children, and when he died, are still being researched. The portrait of Moore passed to his nephew and ward William Brown (1824-1892), who, in 1841, moved with his family to Worcester, where he worked as a successful upholsterer and drapery expert and supported abolitionist activities and organizations. In 1974, descendants donated Brown’s personal and business papers and the painting to the American Antiquarian Society. At the time, the family believed the painting depicted John Moore Sr. However, conservation of the canvas in 1975 revealed the 1826 date on the verso, indicating that the portrait was in fact of John, Jr., rather than his father, who would have been seventy-five years old in 1826. The portrait has hung in the Reading Room of AAS since 1975. You can read more about the painting, including information on the artist and watch a video about William Brown produced by the Worcester Black History Project (below).
John Moore Jr. (b. c. 1800), 1826 William P. Codman (c. 1798-1878), oil on canvas Gift of Martha Jane Brown, Bernice Brown Goldsberry, John J. Goldsberry, Jr., 1974William Brown (1824-1892), carte-de-visite from the Brown Family Papers, 1762-1965. Gift of Martha Jane Brown, John J. Goldsberry, Jr., and Dorista Goldsberry, 1974 and 2019.
Most members of the American Antiquarian Society are aware of the enormous contributions made by the Salisbury family of Worcester County, Massachusetts. Stephen Salisbury II served as president of the Society from 1854 until his death in 1884, and his son, Stephen Salisbury III, served as president from 1887 until his death in 1905. (A half-length portrait of Stephen Salisbury III, as a young man, c.1856 appears below.)
Stephen Salisbury III also bequeathed his personal papers—a hundred bound volumes and sixty-seven boxes of materials collected over seventy years—to the Society. As archivists catalogued these items, they discovered an eight-page pamphlet, The Children’s Friend: Part III, A New-Year’s Present to the Little Ones from Five to Twelve, that had been a Christmas gift to six-year-old Stephen in 1841.
Published by New York bookseller William B. Gilley in 1821, The Children’s Friend contains the first visual depictions of “Santeclaus,” a warmly bundled and bearded gift-giver who traveled from house to house on Christmas Eve in a sleigh drawn by a flying reindeer. The publication, which will mark its bicentennial next year, quickly disappeared from public consciousness, but the story lived on as “The Night Before Christmas,” a poem written by Clement C. Moore, a neighbor of Gilley, in 1822. The fact that young Stephen saved the booklet his entire life is remarkable both because it illustrates the importance of the Society’s work to “collect, organize, and preserve the records of the lives and activities of people who have inhabited this continent” and because it allows us to document the arrival of Santa Claus in America in 1821.
The rediscovery of The Children’s Friend more than a century after its publication was announced by Charles W. Jones, a Berkeley historian widely viewed as one of the world’s experts on St. Nicholas, in a 1953 speech to the New-York Historical Society. Jones, however, treated Gilley’s book as little more than a historical footnote on the source of Santa’s reindeer.[1] Jones’ primary argument was that author Washington Irving “made” Santa Claus in A History of New York, an 1809 satire about the Dutch government of Manhattan.[2] “Without Irving there would be no Santa Claus,” Jones asserted. “The History contains no less than twenty-five allusions to him—many of them the most delightful flights of imagination . . . Santa Claus was a parasitic germ until the Knickerbocker History in 1809; after 1809 Santa Claus spread like a plague which has yet to reach its peak.” [3]
Although widely accepted by historians for almost seventy years, Jones’ thesis was premised on several demonstrable errors.[4] The most fundamental error was that Jones used the wrong edition of Irving’s History. The publication date is critical because the premise of Jones’ argument was that Irving’s History prompted publication of two poems about St. Nicholas in December 1810 and an 1813 book, False Stories Corrected, that sought to debunk the legend of “Old Santaclaw.”[5] Assuming that the references to St. Nicholas in Irving’s History were published in 1809, and conflating St. Nicholas with Santa Claus, Jones concluded that Irving was responsible for popularizing the St. Nicholas tradition in America.
Unfortunately, Jones was using the 1812 edition of Irving’s book rather than the 1809 edition. More than half of the twenty-five references to St. Nicholas cited by Jones, and all of the critical paragraphs about St. Nicholas’ gift-giving practices, were added by Irving in the 1812 edition. Because the Dutch poems were published before the second edition of Irving’s History, Jones could not fairly credit Irving with inventing anything, much less the story of Santa Claus. Nevertheless, virtually all of the historians who have written about the development of Santa Claus since 1954 have uncritically adopted Jones’ thesis, and none seems even to have realized Jones was working with the wrong edition of Irving’s book.
Even if one ignores that Jones was using the wrong edition of Irving’s History, however, the historical evidence does not justify giving Irving credit for creating Santa Claus. One flaw, noted above, is that Jones erroneously conflates Santa Claus, a secular figure who gives gifts on Christmas, with St. Nicholas, a Catholic saint who distributes gifts on his feast day, December 6. In fact, they were different figures with different gift-giving practices, and St. Nicholas had been known in Europe for centuries.
Another flaw in Jones’ thesis is that there was no plague of Santas following 1809, much less one that could be fairly attributed to Irving’s satire. When Moore’s “Night Before Christmas” was published on December 23, 1823, there were only two other works published in America about Santa Claus, and all of them belie the claim that Irving’s History played any significant role in the development of Santa Claus. Moore’s poem was republished about once a year in small town newspapers for several decades, but it would be the late 1850s before Santa reached plague proportions.
The earliest of these works, False Stories Corrected, sought to correct the myth of “Old Santaclaw, of whom so often little children hear such foolish stories; and once in the year are encouraged to hang their stockings in the Chimney at night.”[6] While Jones cites this book as an example of Santa Claus spreading like a plague, Jones assumed it was published four years after Irving’s History. The second edition of Irving’s History, however, would have been out only a year when False Stories Corrected was published in 1813, which is not long enough to conclude “Santaclaw” came once a year. The only logical interpretation of this evidence is that the legend of Santa Claus arose in the early nineteenth century through oral tradition among European immigrants.
The second work cited by Jones was The Children’s Friend itself, whose story of “Santeclaus” filling children’s stockings with treats on Christmas Eve owed no apparent debt to Irving’s History. The St. Nicholas described in Irving’s History dressed like a Dutchman, presumably clean shaven, with a low, broad-brimmed hat, a pair of Fleming trunk hose, knickers, and buckled shoes, a description that looks nothing like the illustration of “Santeclaus” in The Children’s Friend. Rather, Gilley’s book describes the gift-givers and practices that developed in the Protestant regions of Germany after use of a Catholic saint as gift-giver lost favor following the Reformation. These secular gift-givers, who went by at least two dozen different names, including several close variants of Santa Claus, were scruffy, bearded men who wore long fur cloaks or coats and typically carried a bundle of switches to deal with naughty boys. Gilley and illustrator Arthur Stansbury added the flying reindeer but the primary inspiration for “Santeclaus” was almost certainly the secular gift-bringers who followed the millions of Germans immigrants to America in the early 1800s.
The third work that Jones viewed as a descendant of Irving’s History was “The Night Before Christmas,” which used the name St. Nicholas to describe the Christmas gift-giver and included two stanzas which were clearly an allusion to Oloffe’s Dream, a scene in Irving’s History in which smoke from St. Nicholas’ pipe swirls around head. While these two facts that may have led Jones to assume Moore was more influenced by Irving’s History than he was, there is compelling circumstantial evidence that Moore lifted virtually everything but the allusion to Oloffe’s Dream and one of the eight reindeer from The Children’s Friend. Moore’s winter home and office at General Theological Seminary were only yards from Gilley’s printing shop on south Broadway, and Moore in all likelihood did business with Gilley both on behalf of the seminary and on his own account. One possibility is Moore bought a copy of The Children’s Friend in 1821 to give to his oldest daughter on Christmas but found the verse too mean-spirited and, therefore, wrote his own, child-friendlier version in 1822.
Even without direct evidence, the geographic proximity between the two authors, the temporal proximity between the two poems, the strong similarities between the two stories, and otherwise inexplicable details like flying reindeer in both poems, compel the conclusion that Moore borrowed the story from The Children’s Friend. It was Moore’s writing, however, that made the difference between a children’s book that came close to being lost in history and one of the best-loved works in American literature, a poem that is still read aloud by millions of parents every Christmas Eve and has the same literary appeal it did almost two hundred years ago. Gilley and Stansbury, however, deserve credit for the first visual depiction of the American gift-giver, creating the template for arrival of Santa in a flying sleigh on Christmas Eve and the family-centric celebration on Christmas morning.
These facts make The Children’s Friend one of the rarest and most significant Christmas documents in American history, and we owe its discovery to a six-year-old boy, Stephen Salisbury III, who saved a childhood gift of no obvious monetary or historical value and, many decades later, donated it to the Society.
Notes
[1] The speech was published in 1954. See Charles W. Jones, “Knickerbocker Santa Claus,” New-York Historical Society Quarterly, No. 38, 356-83 (1954).
[2] Washington Irving, A History of New York (New York: Inskeep and Bradford, 1809).
[4]SeeSanta Claus Worldwide: A History of St. Nicholas and Other Gift-Bringers (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland & Co., 2020), 212 n.6 (28 scholarly books and articles from 1954 to 2017 that credit Irving with creating Santa Claus based on Jones’ thesis).
[5]False Stories Corrected (New York: Samuel Wood, 1813), 68.
Birthday and Autograph Album. Bethlehem [Pa.]: Henry T. Clauder, 1874.
Partially printed books that were meant to be filled in by their owners have been of particular interest to AAS’s curators over many years. AAS’s online catalog already has more than 200 records with the genre term: Partly printed, partly blank books.
One example is a recently acquired blank birthday book and autograph album published by Henry T. Clauder of Bethlehem, PA, that has a separate page printed for every day of the year so people could sign on the day of their birthday. The full morocco binding with fancy gilt titling on spine and on both boards and with all edges gilt suggest it was intended to be gifted.
In fact, this particular example published in 1874 is accompanied by a letter from the album’s publisher, Henry T. Clauder, presenting it to the historian and popular author Benson J. Lossing. Perhaps Clauder hoped to gain the successful author’s endorsement? Endorsement or no, Clauder was still offering the Birthday and Autograph Album in his 1877 catalog of publications, which consisted primarily of German and Moravian publications. The longevity of the album in his catalogs was not necessarily a sign of successful sales. Clauder had only printed the month and day on each page, not the year, so that if left with unsold sheets only the title page would have to be changed to reissue an “updated” album in later years.
The gallery doors that opened, closed, and then reopened on the 2019-2020 traveling exhibition Beyond Midnight: Paul Revere have now closed for the final time.
In recent weeks, the exhibition’s many rare prints, paintings, and decorative arts objects were condition checked, packed, and shipped via art handlers safely back to their respective homes.
Split between two venues in Massachusetts—the Worcester Art Museum and the Concord Museum—the show opened in mid-February 2020, only to close one month later when both museums were shuttered due to COVID-19. Fortunately, both venues reopened months after their closure allowing visitors a second opportunity to view the show. Prior to opening in Massachusetts, the exhibition had enjoyed a good run from September of 2019 through January of 2020 at the New-York Historical Society where nearly 50,000 visitors strolled through its galleries. And while the final venue at the Crystal Bridges Museum of Art in Bentonville, Arkansas, had to be canceled due to the Covid Crisis, my colleague and show co-curator Lauren B. Hewes and I knew that it was high time for the objects to head back to their respective homes.
The deinstallation of an exhibition may not sound like much fun, especially when it entails the challenging circumstances of a pandemic, but the privilege of working up close with the special objects in this show helped make the process rewarding.
And while the stars of the show may have been the five versions of the Boston Massacre prints shown for the first time together, there were many other impressive objects that helped provide context for the range of products that Revere as artisan and entrepreneur took on over the course of his lifetime.
Here are just a few of my favorites that I recently got to spend time with during the exhibition deinstallations.
Borrowed for the show from the Massachusetts Historical Society, a copper printing plate allowed us to show viewers the very matrix that Revere used for making his own bookplate Displaying the copper printing plate along with the bookplate helped us illustrate how prints are made—and what better way to help viewers recognize that the maker had to engrave the image and the letters in reverse to make a successful print! But, regrettably, what museum visitors did not get a chance to see was the back of the printing plate. The reverse is covered with engraved letters of the alphabet, suggesting that it was used as a means for Revere or one of his apprentices to practice the art of engraving letters on copper. The ABCs in various font styles cover the plate and any spare space was used to practice cross hatching or border designs. It was truly a delight to see a surviving example of the rote practice that goes into the making of the printed objects that we so cherish in our collections.
Another favorite was the Templeman tea service on loan from the Minneapolis Institute of Art. This elegant service is one of Revere’s most impressive silver sets. It was a privilege to simply hold the individual pieces and to examine the seams and tool marks of the inner surfaces of the vessels. Careful examination of the objects is necessary for condition records prior to packing and shipping. Yet knowing that this silver set, made between 1792-93, was created from silver ore that was likely mined with enslaved labor long before it reached Revere’s shop and that it was ultimately polished by one or more of the Templeman’s twenty-five enslaved individuals in Maryland, made the pieces even more poignant to behold. These objects held stories much more complex and troubling than their beautiful craftsmanship could show. This silver service reminds us that hidden labor of art that must be registered to fully understand objects from the past. One additional note regarding this beverage service: the shipping crate that transported the set from Minneapolis to New York and then to Concord before heading back to Minneapolis, might itself be deemed a work of art! Each piece had its own specially crafted resting place to keep it safe for the journeys.
It is somehow fitting that the final object that was packed into its art crate at the show’s end was the Norfolk County courthouse bell made by the Revere Foundry in 1796. On loan from the Dedham Historical Society, the 224-pound bell was the largest, heaviest, and arguably the most fragile of the objects in the show. Suspended from hanging brackets on its original horizontal support stock, it was critical that the bell not swing causing potential damage to its frame and/or to the bell itself from movement of its wrought iron clapper. Similarly, the applied lettering “REVERE BOSTON 1798” had to be carefully protected from impact. It took a crew of four art handlers to get it safely wrapped and packed into its specially made shipping crate. It was the last Revere object to be put to rest, just as the “passing bell” rang out the number of years of his accomplished life at Revere’s death in May of 1818.
Reflections on the exhibition and its deinstallation brings to mind other positive outcomes of the show, despite the many setbacks due to the global pandemic:
The collaborations with the venue institutions and with the nineteen institutions and private collectors that loaned items for the show helped built our network of cultural outreach.
Scholars were invited to think of Revere and his legacy in new ways, leading to a symposium featuring some new perspectives on Revere. After the exhibition reopened at the two venues in Massachusetts, the Society hosted a virtual symposium over the course of three afternoons. The program’s four panels considered Revere’s role as an artisan and manufacturer, addressed global perspectives of luxury and labor, examined local perspectives involving prints and production, and discussed Revere’s legacy in the 21st century. One of the advantages of conducting a virtual program is that it can reach much larger audiences than those offered onsite. How gratifying it was to see that we even had an attendee from France, Revere’s ancestral homeland! (Revere’s father, an immigrant and French Huguenot, had changed his own name from Apollos Rivoire to Paul Revere so that it could be more easily pronounced.) All of the symposium panels can be viewed on our YouTube channel: https://www.americanantiquarian.org/chavic-revere-symposium-2020
Cuffe Lawton (b. 1789) was a free black man who was born in Newport, Rhode Island, and lived in New Bedford, Massachusetts. His son, Francis Lawton (1822-1885) was born in New Bedford and became a whale man, who eventually rose to the rank of mate and traveled to Hawaii. By the 1850s Francis was married to Isabella Lawton, with whom he had three children, and was working as a dry goods merchant in Newport, Rhode Island.
In this 1845 letter to his father from Lahaina, Hawaii, Francis discusses his dislike for his whaling ship’s captain, writing:
“As for our Capt. He is actually the worst man I ever saw there is scarcely a single crime that he is not guilty of and we have a very good reason for saying that. He has sailed in a certain class of vessels [probably slavers] which shall now be nameless. By his own confessions he says that if the English were to catch him . . . his time would be short.”
Later in the letter, he also discusses Native Hawaiians and the ineffectiveness of missionaries on the Sandwich Islands:
I suppose that you have heard a great deal about the Sandwich Isles about their learning enterprise talents and happiness why one to read their papers would think that he was reading the description of some Fairyland but I must say that they are the most miserable set of Islanders that I ever saw. When Cook discovered them the population was estimated to be about 800,000 now they scarcely number 160,000 and of that number about 300 are white and 4 or 500 half breeds. Now I should think that was a great decrease in the short space of 67 years perhaps you will inquire the reason for this decrease. . .. I ask them and they will tell you it is the white man’s curse it is the Rum and fire arms and Poison and a hundred of loathsome diseases that Christian nations bring among them. But it is the same wherever the white man goes there is a curse follows him where the print of his cursed footsteps are seen there you will see nations dying off by hundreds and thousands. We were at the island of Nooheva about 18 months ago and there it was the same they were dying off there some 20 and 30 in a day they mostly young persons
. . .
As for the missionaries I hardly know what to say of them. Were I to tell you the truth you would not believe me. There fore I shall merely say that they have not done so much good as what they might.
This month AAS produced four short videos introducing collections related to gravestones and cemeteries in the United States. Old burial grounds are treasure houses of American sculpture and of historical and genealogical information. Documenting gravestones through rubbings and photographs became popular at the end of the nineteenth century, and the Society preserves several collections of photographs that record stones ranging in date from 1625 to 1815.
The series — written by the Society’s Andrew W. Mellon Curator of Graphic Arts Lauren B. Hewes and produced by AAS Photographer and Media Producer Nathan Fiske — introduces viewers to Worcester area photographer Harriette Merrifield Forbes who worked from the 1880s to 1945, and Daniel and Jessie Farber who spent more than two decades making photographs of gravestones starting in 1958. Forbes wrote a treatise on gravestone art in which she stated, “I wish that it was possible for us to look at these old stones with the eyes of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries . . . They honored the dead and they taught the living.”
In keeping with the Society’s focus on the history of printing in America, the series also takes a closer look at the burial places of two well-known American printers: John Foster (1648-1681) and Isaiah Thomas (1749-1831). Foster, who is buried in Dorchester, Massachusetts, graduated from Harvard in 1667 and ran a printing press in Boston starting in 1675. Thomas, who is entombed in Worcester, published the Massachusetts Spy and was active as a patriot during the Revolutionary War. In his retirement, he founded the American Antiquarian Society.
Tales from the Tombstones: Harriette Merrifield Forbes
Tales from the Tombstones: John Foster
Tales from the Tombstones: Daniel and Jessie Farber
Curators look far and wide trying to find materials for their institution’s collection. Despite this, sometimes the most amazing items show up locally. AAS photographer, Nathan Fiske, brought to my attention a local estate auction that had two newspapers in it. As it turned out, both were newspapers published by Frederick Douglass. The first one was this issue of the North Star and the other was the Frederick Douglass’ Paper. We were outbid on the North Star and didn’t bid on the second. Two weeks later, the auction house contacted us and said the winning bidder had not paid for the item. We were able to get it for our last bid.
What makes this particular issue remarkable is that no other institution has a copy of this date. Until recently, the latest issue known was Apr. 17, 1851 and no one knew when the paper ended and Frederick Douglass changed the title. Further digging uncovered that the University of Rochester had acquired an issue dated June 19, 1851 (vol. 4, no. 26). Combined with the fact that the earliest issue known of Frederick Douglass’ Paper was June 26, 1851 (vol. 4, no. 27), we could determine when the title change occurred. Our issue of June 5 was not edited by Douglass but by his assistant. At that time Douglass was on the road giving talks and trying to drum up financial support for the North Star. He eventually merged the paper with another newspaper, the Liberty Party Paper from Syracuse. With the combined subscribers and a change of the name to Frederick Douglass’ Paper it continued publication until 1860.
On August 28, 2020, author Amy Hildreth Chen was a featured guest at the Virtual Book Talk series sponsored by the Program in the History of the Book in American Culture (PHBAC). Amy spoke about her recent publication, Placing Papers: The American Literary Archives Market, published in June 2020 by the University of Massachusetts Press. The work is part of the Studies in Print Culture and the History of the Book series.
The Virtual Book Talk showcases authors of recently published scholarly monographs, digital-equivalents, and creative works broadly related to book history and print culture. Each installment includes an informal presentation from the author and a Q&A with the audience. These talks are streamed live for registered participants and are recorded for posterity. Talks typically last about one hour.
Amy’s talk was well attended, and the Q&A that followed the presentation was a lively one. In the limited time that follows a presentation, our guests try to respond to as many questions as possible. Unfortunately, not all questions make it into these programs.
Luckily, these questions are recorded, and Amy has been gracious enough to continue the conversation started at her talk by answering a few of the remaining questions for this article.
For those interested in learning more about Amy’s recent book Placing Papers: The American Literary Archives Market, please visit the University of Massachusetts Press website.
1. Do you think that an author who has been published thinks differently about the research value of their personal archives from an unpublished author, who already protects their intellectual property — by not publishing?
Of course, I think that an author who has been published thinks differently about the research value of their personal archives than authors who haven’t yet been published. Frankly, an author who has not been published may think their papers are intellectually valuable, but the larger public does not. It’s only through the social proof of publishing that a writer can be visible as having an important contribution. And the more widely published an author is, the more society presumably respects and is interested in that person’s contribution. Thus, the more likely that society wants to know how that contribution came to be made. You can’t have one thing (a literary archive) before the other (a good publishing record).
I think there’s also a difference between how authors think about their intellectual property whether they’re modestly, moderately, or very successful. First, you have to define what successful is. I’d define very successful as being canonical – which, in my realm of work, means being taught at a college level. There are other ways to be considered very successful, such as one’s awards or sales, but I approach the literary archive market through the perspective of whether an author is of interest to academic researchers. For this reason, I find a writers’ likelihood of making it onto syllabi as more important than other types of cultural and financial impact.
Second, the more successful you are, the more your time is valued . . . and the more your papers are worth. If you’re able to command top dollar for your publications, your speaking engagements, and so forth, your intellectual property, which includes all of these components, is worth more. And that means your archives are worth more, too.
From my entirely anecdotal perspective, very few writers are savvy enough to know that they will make a big impact and tailor their expectations on how their intellectual property should be managed and compensated accordingly from the start and then follow through and actually make the impact they predict.
2. Can you discuss the origins of 19th century writers’ guilds, their relationship to literary agents, and their impact in the 19th and 20th century archival markets?
I’d be happy to discuss the origins of 19th century writers’ guilds, their relationship to literary agents, and their impact in the 19th and 20th century archival markets.
First, writers’ guilds, according to my research, were largely formed to protect authors’ intellectual property. Copyright didn’t exist in the same way it does now, at least in the United States and the United Kingdom. Current debates about how, say, the Chinese view intellectual property and copyright show that these concepts are culturally rooted and the result of years of legal precedent. They’re not an innate thing. Copyright and intellectual property as a whole are ways to guard who gets to make money. It’s a capitalist concept. If I made something, whether it’s a piece of furniture or a play, we now think that only I have the right to make money from it.
Intellectual property gets more complex when you have to defend that right from others. Authors quickly realized that they didn’t have the skill set to fight effectively against those who wanted to profit from their work. Plus, they were at the disadvantage of existing in a brand-new legal space. Their fight would determine legal precedent. Being at the start of a new social concept is much harder than defending your rights within an established framework.
Literary agents came about as a way to meet the need of authors to protect their intellectual property. The impact of strong legal protections (to be more specific, you’d need to research the history and difference between American, British, and other systems, as each have their unique quirks; here I’m assuming and generalizing from Anglo-American precedents) allowed authors not only to sell their books but also eventually to sell their papers.
Gertrude Stein was an early adopter in this field. She didn’t let what would become the Beinecke Library at Yale University get her papers too easily. Instead, Stein reserved the right to pull them if she changed her mind at a later date. That might have been problematic from the university’s perspective, but, as an author, she was savvy about her value very early on. Until much later in the twentieth century, most authors didn’t exploit the value of their papers very well because literary agents mostly focused on capitalizing on published materials’ intellectual property rights. Plus, and probably more importantly, literary scholars didn’t work on contemporary writing until the mid-twentieth century so the demand just wasn’t there.
3. Did you include writers from your dissertation? If you had to re-write the book who else might you include? And what other anomalies didn’t fit within your data schema who are interesting in their own right?
I did not include two of the three writers from my dissertation into my book. My dissertation covered Ted Hughes‘s, Seamus Heaney‘s, and Lucille Clifton’s path to placing their papers at Emory University. Since my book only discusses Americans, Hughes and Heaney were automatically disqualified from my data set. Lucille Clifton was included in the 7th edition of the Norton Anthology of American Literature, which formed the basis of my data set, but her case was not one of the ones I discussed at length. So, I mean what I say when I say I threw out my entire dissertation and started over. I think just a few paragraphs in the first chapter survived as a fossil from that earlier era.
If I could re-write the book, I’d leave it as is. I stand behind the Norton Anthology as the basis of my data set. I guess now it’s a question of do I expand the data set by getting every single Norton edition, transcribing their included authors, and making a data set of everyone who has ever been included and then redoing the study to expand it to find an even larger number of examples? Or do I go to a different American anthology (say, one that is better at representing people of color) to compare who is included and what their experiences were on the archives market? Or do I go abroad and choose a parallel anthology to the Norton and see what happened with that country’s top authors? I’ve thought about any of these three options in my next project. I haven’t decided yet. If you want to do this work, please do! The more the merrier. There’s a lot of research to be done on how we think about cultural heritage and financial value. Just, you know, clue me in so we don’t duplicate our efforts.
Regarding anomalies, I want to know more about authors the who chose historically black institutions (HBCUs). In my data set, only two of 79 authors made that choice–Toni Cade Bambara and Audre Lorde, who both placed their papers at Spelman College. Considering the current moment, it’s very, very important to think about how authors of color benefit, or don’t, from existing archive market realities. Therefore, I’d really like to study more what it means to have your archive at an HBCU rather than a predominantly white institution (PWI) and advocate for greater support going to HBCUs to make sure that their archives and special collections have the financial and human resources they need to highlight their collections to students, scholars, and the public.
Amy Hildreth Chen is an independent scholar from North Liberty, Iowa, and author of Placing Papers: The American Literary Archives Market (University of Massachusetts Press, 2020). She previously worked as an academic librarian at the University of Iowa and University of Alabama. Chen obtained her PhD in English from Emory University in 2013.
For those who missed Amy’s talk, a recording is available below and on the AAS YouTube channel. All PHBAC virtual book talks are recorded.
To learn more about the PHBAC Virtual Book Talk series and to view our upcoming schedule, please visit the AAS website. For more information, contact Kevin Wisniewski, Director of Book History and Digital Initiatives, at kwisniewski@mwa.org. You may also sign up to receive notifications about upcoming PHBAC programs by joining our mailing list.
We look forward to seeing you at our next program!
We love the moments when an artist fellow discoverssomething totally unique and profound relating to their research. Whether finding an outline of a pressed dandelion inhandwritten poem, a children’s book on natural philosophy, the diary of a freed slave who in 1822 sailed to Hawaii as a missionary, or early photographs taken in Yellowstone National Park, these “ah-ha” moments often lead to an unfoldment of ideas. One unexpected source often leads to another, and one of our favorite aspects of working at AAS is that we often find ourselves falling down these rabbit holesalong with the fellows, scouring the catalog for clues or anything else that may inspire them during their time at the Society.
First Lessons About Natural Philosophy for Children by Mary A. Smith. Used for research by Sara Smith (Baron Fellow, 2015)
Rags Wanted. Image taken by Carol Flueckiger (Last Fellow, 2009)
The Holy Bible: containing the Old Testament and the New. Image taken by Diane Glancy (Baron Fellow, 2020)
Photograph of Yellowstone National Park. Image taken by Janet Pritchard (Last Fellow, 2008)
A French map depicting Napoleon’s Vente de la Louisiane and the Louisiana Purchase of 1803.” Map used for research by Krista Elrick (Last Fellow, 2016)
Freedom’s Journal. Newspaper used for research by Melissa Range (Baron Fellow, 2013)
Just as each creative artist fellow brings a unique project to the reading room, each fellow also brings an individual process. Some methodically read books and pamphlets cover to cover. Some sketch. Others photograph. Some build out small exhibitions across several reading room tables to contrast and compare sources.It’s not difficult to see how these various processes become a thing unto themselves–pieces of artworkthat inspire the fellows and AAS staff alike. People walking through the reading room frequently stop and admire the work of our creative artists. These moments often lead to lively conversations between staff, fellows, and readers.
Janet Pritchard’s reading room table (2008)
Ellen Wiener’s notebook used during her fellowship (2002)
Brece Honeycutt comparing numerous sources relating to the natural world (2019)
Brece Honeycutt sketching from “Illustrations of the Nests and Eggs of Birds of Ohio” by Howard Jones (2019)
Laurie McCants (2019)
Janet Pritchard comparing digitized photographs of “Old Faithful” to Louis Prang chromolithographic reproductions of Thomas Moran’s water-color sketches of Yellowstone (2008)
Since the program’s inception in 1995, there have been 118 Creative and Performing Artists & Writers Fellows that have worked under the generous dome of Antiquarian Hall. When planning to celebrate the 25th anniversary began, we jumped at the chance to build a web showcase of the artists and writers and their work. So many fellows came immediately to mind. We reminisced about the projects we watched take shape source-by-source in the reading room. We wondered what grew from these discoveries and were excited to contact our past fellows and learn about the projects started here at AAS.
Over the past six months, our email inboxes have beenoverflowing with project updates from fellows that contain hundreds of images, links and videos, excerpts, and reflections on personal experiences working with the sources at AAS.
The result of this project is Artists in the Archive, an online showcase recently launched on the AAS website.
Granite Sofa (2010) by Celeste Roberge (Hearst Fellow, 2008)
Performance of A Slight Headache (2009) by Alyson Pou (Hearst Fellow, 2004)
Salem Lessons (2010) by Nicole Cooley (Wallace Fellow, 1999) and Maureen Cummins (Hearst Fellow, 2000)
Masterpiece Comics (2009) by R. Sikoryak (Baron Fellow, 2006)
The Age of Phillis (2020) by Honorée Fanonne Jeffers (Baron Fellow 2009)
A Bridge Dead in the Water (2007) by James Thomas Stevens (Baron Fellow, 2004)
As you browse through these pages, we hope that you too can draw inspiration from these powerful, imaginative, and beautiful works created by our fellows. We certainly have!
The Society’s collection of photographs of working print shops continues to expand (see blog posts on this topic from 2014 and 2017). Most of the photographs feature businesses in New England, New York, or Pennsylvania. This newly acquired photo, showing a tidy shop with a ca. 1882 Hoe flatbed newspaper press, was taken in Nebraska. The city of Norfolk, where the photographer was based, was founded in 1866 by German farmers from Wisconsin. The first newspaper, The Norfolk Journal, was printed in 1877 and by 1879 the town was connected to the railroad.
The mount is stamped with the name C.P. Michael, who had a photo studio in Norfolk in the 1890s. Around 1900 he made a series of interior views of businesses in Madison County, including a bank, a general store and a barber shop, all on identical mounts (copies in the Nebraska Historical Society). While this photo was acquired primarily for the details of the shop interior, research once the piece arrived in Worcester revealed more about Michael.
In 1903, the photographer was active as a member of the International Reform Society (a temperance and moral reform organization). Local reports of him threatening news dealers in Fremont with legal action for selling novels and periodicals like The Police Gazette and Vanity Fair appeared in the Norfolk papers. In his defense, Michael stated that the society was “determined to stamp out blood and thunder literature, stories of crime and immoral and sensational publications, to the best of its ability.”
In advance of my summer work placement at the American Antiquarian Society, I discussed a slate of proposed activities with Chief Conservator Babette Gehnrich while in New York City. On their list was a housing project for manuscripts, standardized treatments of broadsides, and an introduction to digitization workflows for the Society’s collections. “Also,” she mentioned at the end of our conversation, “I have a poster to work on. Perhaps you might be interested in assisting with that? It’s large, so we will be able to maintain social distancing!”
“Of course,” I said, thinking it might be at most the requisite six feet in length for recommended social distancing.
Not long after my arrival in Worcester, followed by a 14-day quarantine in the charming Montvale Cottage,[1] I saw the poster in the flesh. It sat in a pile of folded and tattered fragments (Figure 1). A note perched on top of the heap read, “Preservation Needed.” Babette explained to me that the poster awaited the completion of the new conservation lab; its dimensions were thought to exceed those of the old lab’s equipment.
Figure 1: The poster as it was formerly stored at the American Antiquarian Society, awaiting treatment. Photo: Lauren Hewes.
As we removed the fragments from the box, tigers, lion tamers, and large birds emerged. Typefaces of all kinds declared fantastic attractions: “King of the Vultures,” an orchestra containing fourteen musicians, and large cats “as docile as any of the domestic animals.” The printer’s name, Jared W. Bell, was clearly visible on what remained of the bottom edge (Figure 2). To our surprise, none of the large horizontal strips of the poster connected to one another. We estimated that the fragments comprised approximately fifty percent of a poster measuring about six feet wide and twelve feet tall. Only one smaller fragment, a very large “R” and the top of the elephant’s head, connected two of the large fragments (Figure 3).
Figure 2: The largest seven fragments, laid out in their proposed orientation. Photo: Babette Gehnrich.Figure 3: A composite image of the largest fragments before treatment, in their presumed positions in relation to one another. The grey outline shows the tentative border of the entire poster. Blue lines indicate seams where two sheets overlap. Note the large “R” in the upper right, connecting two large fragments.
We decided that the large sections would be treated and stored as physically separate pieces of the same catalog item. Smaller fragments would also be treated and reattached to one of the larger sections if possible. Also in the box were a number of bundles of densely multi-layered fragments (Figure 4). In the course of advertising on the same building, it was possible that multiple posters could have been pasted over each other.[2] We assumed that each laminated packet probably contained one or two pieces from the menagerie poster and many layers of older ephemera.
Figure 4: Detail of a fragment with multiple adhered layers.
As Babette and Curator of Graphic Arts Lauren Hewes discussed the poster’s relative treatment priority, it became obvious that this was a major undertaking, and in demand by scholars. The poster was printed for display on buildings lining the parade route of an early traveling menagerie. Part of an advertising campaign, these posters were not typically saved; the fragments of this particular imprint comprise the only known surviving copy. The American Antiquarian Society acquired the pieces somewhat inadvertently; a dealer would have thrown the pile away, had Hewes not recognized Bell’s work out of the corner of her eye.
The top two largest fragments show two tree trunks bearing the name “J. R. & W. Howe & Co.” J. R. and W. Howe were owners of a traveling menagerie based in New York that toured New England during the 1830s.[3] These menagerie proprietors solicited Jared W. Bell’s printing operation because he was an innovator in the nascent medium of large-scale advertisement.[4] The New York printer had invested the exorbitant sum of $4,000[5] in a steam-powered Napier Cylinder Press, which allowed for significantly increased scale and efficiency. On another large-scale poster in the collection at the Society, Bell boasts alongside his name and business address that his press is “The Largest in the World” (Figure 5). [6]
Figure 5: Another of large menagerie poster printed by Jared W. Bell in the AAS collection, measuring approximately 6.5 feet wide by 9.25 feet tall. Text along the bottom edge (not visible in the digital image) reads: “Printed by Jared W. Bell, Franklin Hall, 17 Ann-Street, on his Improved Napier Cylinder Press, the Largest in the World.”
The poster features woodcuts from multiple artists, including Alfred A. Lansing and Joseph W. Morse.[7] Morse’s contributions included the arching trees and the “Elephant Columbus.” After printing, posters would be shipped in multiple sheets to towns along the menagerie’s route, assembled by an advance man on-site, and posted on the sides of buildings. The poster exhibits yellowed adhesive residue at the seams, as well as possible nail holes, evidence of this history of use (Figure 6).
Figure 6a: Evidence of nails used in posting on the edge of the poster.
Figure 6b: Evidence of nails used in posting in the center of the poster.
The goal of conservation treatment was not only to stabilize the material artifact, but also to salvage and reconstruct unique visual information. Research interest in the poster is great; a photograph the lower right corner fragment, which shows a performance in an early circus ring, is already slated for publication.[8] If we needed a timelier motivation for our task, we couldn’t have asked for one; the work of my summer placement was set.
The white rag paper was strong in some areas and unstable in others. Mold had contributed to the breakdown of the fibers and left the sheet tissue-thin and delicate in patches. Overlapping areas of staining indicated that the poster had endured multiple “water events,” that is, periods of partial wetness and dryness (Figure 7). As dirty water containing impurities such as iron and organic debris travels through an absorbent piece of paper, it also solubilizes compounds present in the paper itself. Where the wetness stops, a brown stain or tideline occurs. The poster had been partially wet and dried many times.
Figure 7: The verso of one large section. The cloudy, dark brown lines near the top are indicative of multiple water events. Note the symmetrical pattern of both the lines, and the losses around the edge. This indicates that the sheet was folded when the damage occurred.
As we examined the largest fragments more closely, we discovered remains of overlapping sheets. The largest section was approximately 74 inches in width, with a single vertical seam in the middle. During the initial assessment, we were unable to determine the height of the sheets.
With care, we unfolded the sheets for surface cleaning. The procedure easily removed what appeared to be loosely-adhered, gritty, abrasive dirt, and dust. Powdered eraser crumbs were used in this process, and gently lifted up dirt as they rolled across the surface of the paper (Figure 8).
Figure 8: During surface cleaning. As eraser crumbs are gently rubbed over the surface, the paper appears more uniform in color, and the hazy effect of dust and dirt on the black printing ink is lessened. Photo: Babette Gehnrich.
After surface cleaning, a gentle washing procedure was undertaken. The goals were two-fold: to improve the aesthetic appearance of the paper by reducing staining, and to solubilize and remove acidic byproducts that occur naturally in ageing paper. Luckily, the oil-based printing ink was reliably chemically and physically stable. In the most degraded areas of the print, we found that the ink actually helped hold the paper fibers together.
Due to their extensive complex tears, the fragments were washed by spraying on top of a moisture-permeable sheet of Hollytex, over an absorbent layer of Tek-wipe.[9] These materials ensure a gentle flow of liquid through the sheet, wicking away staining. Spray-washing instead of immersion reduces the chances of accidental damage during handling or unintended distortion in structurally compromised areas. We mixed several liters of a washing solution with a controlled pH and conductivity. This tactic is used to reduce staining overall in paper more effectively than simply washing with deionized water. During washing, the solution released a dramatic flow of deep, rust-colored compounds from the heavily stained areas of the paper (Figure 9). A number of tidelines were reduced.
Figure 9: Babette Gehnrich lifts a section of the poster to inspect the release of discoloration, while Abby Slawik prepares the spray bottle of adjusted water for the next application. Photo: Nathan Fiske.
The results are consistent with the goals described above; legibility of the text and image contents is paramount. The appearance of a brand-new circus poster is not desirable, appropriate, or within the scope of treatment. Had a full restoration of the print been the goal, we would have targeted each stain individually in a more localized procedure and attempted to return the paper to an unstained appearance.
Figure 10: The upper left section, after washing and drying, in raking light. Note the deep horizontal creases.
Curiously, the wet treatment had less of an effect on deep creases in the paper than anticipated. After washing and drying, the paper returned to its crinkled state (Figure 10). The creases had a long memory. Babette and I mused upon the various causes of this. Perhaps they were present when the sheets were originally posted with paste on the side of a house. Perhaps they were from the poster’s second life in a basement or attic, folded and rolled over on itself, as it went through several cycles of wetting and drying over the decades.
After washing the sections, we returned to the smaller fragments. During humidification and delamination, we made a striking discovery: the bundles of laminated paper, crusty with dirt, were from the same poster (Figures 11 and 12). They were not, as originally assumed, layers from other prints, but rather a multitude of jigsaw puzzle pieces belonging to the main poster. We realized that more than fifty percent of the poster had survived as we arranged the smaller pieces (Figure 13). This discovery also threw light on the possible circumstances of the poster’s storage. Fragments were adhered face to face and back to back, from different sections of the poster. The packets appeared to be from areas that had endured multiple cycles of moisture and drying and had become adhered to one another.
Figure 11: Babette Gehnrich lifts the top layer of one fragment to reveal more imagery from the same menagerie poster beneath. Photo: Nathan Fiske.Figure 12: using a mylar sheet to delaminate a bundle of adhered fragments while wet. Photo: Babette Gehnrich.Figure 13: Babette Gehnrich places the bandwagon coachman fragment. Photo: Nathan Fiske.
As we uncovered more fragments from the laminated bundles and placed them into position, we were able to reconstruct edges and seams and determine the sheet size. The poster was assembled from three rows of horizontally printed sheets, with a bottom row slightly shorter in height: six 25 inch by 38 inch sheets, with two shorter sheets measuring 18 inches by 38 inches comprising the bottom row. We estimate that the poster measured approximately 6 feet wide and 7.5 feet tall when fully assembled (Figure 14).
Initially, we proposed to line the fragments with a strong tissue. However, as treatment progressed, the delicate state of many areas became more apparent. In addition, the great number of smaller and smaller fragments to be attached meant that the poster was a more complex object than we originally understood. A revision of the original treatment proposed was deemed necessary. Lining would require manipulating these very delicate, complex areas while wet, a risky proposition. Instead, the treatment was modified to simply repair the tears and reattach fragments. Then, housing would be determined based on each fragment’s size. They would be encapsulated in polyester film with a sheet of backing material for added stability.
Figure 14: A composite image of approximate relative positions of fragments during treatment. As smaller fragments were delaminated and washed, they were placed in proximity to their original location, if known. Repairing tears and reattaching pieces with tissue and wheat starch paste is the next phase of treatment, already underway. Blue lines indicate seams where two sheets overlap. The grey grid in the background indicates approximate sheet positions.
As my contribution to the treatment of this early menagerie poster ends, I reflect on the role of the conservator in 2020. One of the greatest privileges of this placement was to learn from the scholarly community of researchers and staff at the American Antiquarian Society. How can I anticipate the questions they might want to answer when investigating objects such as this poster? Advertisements were not meant to survive. Their nail holes and adhesive stains are not damage, but evidence of their original use as ephemeral media. Although impermanent, visual culture in entertainment advertising provides insight to the values of the broader public at the time.
In the course of this treatment, we chose to reduce evidence of the poster’s degradation and poor storage conditions, in favor of making the graphic media more legible and hopefully, prolonging the lifespan of the paper. In this case, the history of degradation and damage is less important than the image contents. But I also wish to acknowledge that even cleaning destroys artifactual information and such decisions should be made intentionally.[10] After all, museums are not neutral, libraries are not neutral, and conservation is not neutral. How might the preservation of one aspect of an artifact obscure its other histories and untold stories? I consider these questions as I continue my education and training in the profession.
I am tremendously grateful to the staff and council of the American Antiquarian Society for allowing me to learn and work during the COVID-19 pandemic. I look forward to the day when the poster is available for research in the digital catalogue and in the reading room at Antiquarian Hall.
Further Reading:
Wittmann, Matthew. Circus and the City: New York, 1793-2010 New York, and New Haven/London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2012.
Brooks, Mary M., and Dinah Eastop. “Matter Out of Place: Paradigms for Analyzing Textile Cleaning.” Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 45, (2006): 171-181. Accessed August 21, 2020. http://www.jstor.org/stable/40026689.
Rogers, Kory W. “Shelburne Museum’s Colchester Posters and Circus Advertising.” In The American Circus, edited by Susan Weber, Kenneth L. Ames, and Matthew Wittmann, 136-151. New York and New Haven/London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2012.
Abigail Slawik is an Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Fellow in Library and Archives Conservation, beginning her second year in the dual MS/MA program in Art Conservation and Art History at the Conservation Center in the Institute of Fine Arts, NYU. She received her BFA in Studio Art also from NYU, and completed conservation internships at the Minnesota Historical Society and KCI Conservation, a private art conservation firm in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
The author would like to extend special gratitude to Chief Curator and Curator of Graphic Arts Lauren Hewes, Photographer and Media Producer Nathan Fiske, Digital Expeditor Amanda Kondek, and Chief Conservator Babette Gehnrich for their particular insights and generosity during the course of her summer placement.
All photographs and graphics by the author except where otherwise noted.
[1] Address 0 Montvale Road, not recognized by Google maps and, therefore, problematic to even the most intrepid pizza delivery drivers during the COVID-19 pandemic.
[2] For an account of the removal of several layers of circus posters from the side of a house in Colchester, Vermont, see Kory W. Rogers, “Shelburne Museum’s Colchester Posters and Circus Advertising,” in The American Circus, ed. Susan Weber, Kenneth L. Ames, and Matthew Wittmann (New York and New Haven/London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2012), 136-151.
[3] Matthew Wittmann, Circus and the City: New York, 1793-2010 (New Haven and London: Bard Graduate Center and Yale University Press, 2012), 36-37.
[6] Quote transcribed from a reproduction of the same poster in the collection of the Shelburne Museum, Wittmann, Circus and the City, 108.
[7] Readers interested in a discussion of another of Bell’s circus posters in the American Antiquarian Society’s collection will find detailed technical information in Matthew Wittman’s article “Menageries and Markets,” Common-Place: The Interactive Journal of Early American Life 12, no. 1 (Fall 2011). http://commonplace.online/article/menageries-and-markets/, including discussion of the development of large-scale wooden type, innovations in wood engraving in the early 19th century, and Bell’s steam-powered Napier Cylinder Press.
[8] The image shows an early circus attraction in the ring: a “Dandy Jack,” or monkey trained to perform tricks while riding a pony or horse, Wittmann, Circus and the City, 28.
[10] For a consideration of paradigms of cleaning in textile conservation, see Mary M. Brooks and Dinah Eastop, “Matter Out of Place: Paradigms for Analyzing Textile Cleaning,” in the Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 45 (2006), 171-181.
Since the late 1960s, the American Antiquarian Society has been a sponsor of the Cooper Edition, a scholarly edition of Cooper’s works that conforms to the editorial principles approved by the Committee on Scholarly Editions (CSE) (formerly the Center for Editions of American Authors) of the Modern Language Association. To facilitate the production of the Cooper Edition, the American Antiquarian Society has long agreed to build the primary bibliographical collection of Cooper’s printed works during our collecting period, to permit use of the Society’s Hinman Collator, and to provide staff assistance for the project. With the Society’s help, the Edition has published over 25 volumes of Cooper’s works since 1980.
One of those works is Cooper’s second novel, The Spy, which was published in 1821. To celebrate the publication of The Spy and the role AAS has played in the publication of the CSE Edition, the Society will host a conference in May 2021. Held the weekend before the American Literature Association 32nd annual conference, the AAS conference will focus on questioning the authority of the scholarly edition and the role of scholarly editing in the twenty-first century. With keynote talks by G. Thomas Tanselle, John Bryant, and Jerome McGann, we expect that the conference will bring together scholars who are interested in textual editing, nineteenth-century publishing, and theorizing the role of canonical white male authors in contemporary scholarship.
The anniversary of the publication of The Spy will also give AAS an opportunity to hold a hands-on history workshop on spying in American history. Hands-on history workshops at AAS are after-hours events that provide historians, teachers, and members of the general public a chance to handle materials from AAS collections and work with a leading scholar on the workshop topic.
Please stay tuned to the AAS blog and social media for more information about the forthcoming 2021 workshop and conference, including a Call For Papers.
This summer, even amidst the COVID-19 pandemic, I was given the immense privilege to be the first Seiler Curatorial Intern at the American Antiquarian Society. Even through uncertain times, the Society and my supervisor Ashley Cataldo, Curator of Manuscripts, advocated for my internship and was able to offer me a blended virtual and in-person experience.
As someone who is at the very beginning of their career, I was not entirely sure what to expect when I first arrived (with mask on) to Antiquarian Hall. I had no idea just how incredible and vast the collection was, especially the book trades manuscript collection, one of the largest collections of book trades history in the United States. As an intern, my goal coming in was to soak up as much experience and information as I could, while also contributing to the overall mission of AAS, with a focus on accessibility. With the help of Ashley, I was able to take on a new project, on which I compiled all the manuscript book trades items into a complete, comprehensible web page.
My journey with working in this collection started with a few key manuscripts that really highlight the assortment of resources that the book trades manuscripts can offer to scholars. These manuscripts (as well as the collection as a whole) can provide bridges in the gaps of the archive by representing underrepresented voices like women and African Americans and give all of us a deeper understanding of our past.
These manuscripts also allow us to see connections within our own local community that we may have never seen before. The Whittemore collection is a perfect illustration of how the book trades intertwine with the Worcester community, including AAS. One of the local discoveries I found in the collections were John and Clark Whittemore, binders working in the Leicester, MA, area with had deep connections with the bookbinding industry in central Massachusetts. I worked to catalog nine account books in total as part of the Whittemore collection. I was surprised to find that not only did Clark Whittemore work with Isaiah Thomas, the founder of American Antiquarian Society, but also his son Isaiah Thomas Jr. At this time, Isaiah Thomas Jr. was helping with his father’s book store and bindery, even though he was kept at a distance because of his poor business skills. For this reason, Thomas’ son never really took over the family business, but these accounts prove that he was not exempt from participating at this time. It’s extremely exciting to see that these account books show the interconnected relationships between book binders in Worcester, Massachusetts, at the time.
Before coming to AAS, I didn’t understand how an account book from this time period could give such incredible insight, but these ledgers and waste-books prove to be an important piece of the book trades puzzle. They allow us to see the day to day, sometimes mundane transactions, as well as how much people were paid for their labor, and what titles or authors were most popular at the time. The book trades manuscripts aren’t just for bibliophiles, they give insight into popular culture, trends in labor and can inevitably show a holistic view of American life. Overall, these accounts prove that binders were part of a larger community, one that the American Antiquarian Society has deep roots in.
The importance of the account book again proves itself in one of the first objects I worked with and cataloged: the Ticknor and Fields account book, from the late 1850s in Boston. At first glance, it may look like any other binder’s account book, but, upon further inspection, it reveals itself as a valuable piece into how gender specifically played a role in the book trades collection. The account book actually has the names of twenty-nine different women book binders who worked on Ticknor and Fields titles. Some authors mentioned include the poets Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Alfred Lord Tennyson. A book entitled White Horse by Thomas Hughes also seems to have been one of the most popular titles of the time as it pops up on almost every page.
Women surprisingly played an absolutely vital role in book binding in the mid-nineteenth century. It was believed that because of their slenderer hands they could fold and sew faster than a man. Not to mention, sewing was already considered women’s work. Not only were they faster, but because they were women, they could be paid significantly less than a man. By the middle part of the century, binderies were employing hundreds of women to do work at a reduced cost. Although they were prevalent in this time it is rare still to find actual accounts of their work with their names attached. This account book gives us insight into how much the women were actually paid for work and can prove that the underpaying of women based solely on gender is embedded in almost every profession in the United States. I was especially happy to be able to bring this manuscript to life and make it an accessible piece for scholars to do more research with.
One of the main through lines in my experience here at AAS has been to shed light on, and make more accessible items written by or about women, African Americans, or indigenous groups. My favorite manuscript item, so far, that I researched and cataloged has been an autographed copy of a sermon by Lemuel Haynes.
Haynes was one of the most significant African Americans of his time. Born in 1753 in Connecticut to an evangelical family and used the Bible to improve his literacy. He then served in the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War, which then inspired his anti-slavery essay “Liberty Further Extended” calling for immediate emancipation; the essay is the earliest known work by an African American that attacks the institution of slavery. Haynes then went on to study theology and is believed to have been the first African American to become an ordained minister in the new United States of America. He then moved to Vermont to be a preacher where many of his sermons would become famous.
Delivered in 1805, this sermon in particular was a response to the dangers of universal salvation, one of the biggest theological debates among the ministry in this time. Shortly after the sermon was given, Haynes wrote it out in this manuscript copy for it to be published that same year by William Fessenden. This is one of only three manuscript copes of sermons written in Hayne’s own hand. It marks one of the most important shifts in religious thought in the United States, and serves to show us Haynes’ original thought before it went through the editorial process to be published. This manuscript, in my opinion, is one of the most valuable things at AAS. It is now searchable in the library’s catalog and I think will prove an exceptionally important piece for researchers. Something as simple as a manuscript version of a published sermon, part of the book trades for that reason, can provide us a more complete history of our country.
At the time in which I am writing this, we are not only going through a pandemic, but also the Black Lives Matter civil rights movement. It is especially important during this politically charged time to recognize that the way in which we collect and preserve history directly affects how we understand it. This internship has taught me that archives are meaningful and that being a part of them is an act of social responsibility that I (and my colleagues in the field) must take very seriously. By taking a closer look into a collection, like the book trades, we can recognize injustice in our past and begin to move into a more equitable future.
2020 Seiler Intern Ashley Tooke is a first year Dual Degree Master’s student in History and Archives Management at Simmons University, where she plans to research the history of visual print culture and it’s intersections with medicine in America. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English with a concentration in Early American Literature from University of North Texas, and worked as a bookseller for 3 years in both Boston and DC before beginning her graduate work.
This week we continue our Artists in the AAS Archive series. This installment offers a spotlight on four more past fellows: book artist Maureen Cummins; performer-scholar Anne Harley; playwright and screenwriter Jeffrey Hatcher; and playwright and performer Laurie McCants.
This series celebrates the 25th anniversary of Artist fellowships at the American Antiquarian Society. More information about these programs may be found at the following: https://www.americanantiquarian.org/artistfellowships.
Maureen Cummins
Anthro(A)pology
The month that I spent at AAS came at a pivotal time in my career as an artist. When I arrived at AAS, I was in my early thirties and experimenting with altering pages of books that I found in antique shops, flea markets, and dumpsters. Being allowed into the treasure trove that AAS represented was, for me, a nerd’s dream come true. Naturally, though, it was not an option to overprint, burn, or alter the precious books that I handled in the reading room, so being in residence pushed me to think about new ways to work with historical imagery and text. Ultimately, I ended up finding ways to reproduce the materials I found, which also led to editioning and making more books for a larger collector base. Since that original visit in 2001, I have returned to AAS repeatedly, and created three more projects based on the collections.
One object that influenced an entire project was a mezzotint print of a Native American skull with a bullet through it. The image was from Samuel Morton’s infamous book, Crania Americana, a racist, faux-scientific text which set out to prove the “inferiority” of Native peoples. The prints in the book were so fine and exquisite, so lovingly created and beautifully crafted, that when I learned what the book was about, it disturbed me for days. I wanted to apologize for what this man had done. A title came to me, spontaneously: Anthro(A)pology.I spent the next ten years gathering similar racist images from historical text books, many of which I also found at AAS, in geography books and primers for children, but it was that haunting Morton image that originally got me thinking, and feeling.
Other excerpts of the works Divide and Suffering by Cummins:
Maureen Cummins was born in 1963 and is a native New Yorker. She graduated with a BFA from the Cooper Union School of Art, where she studied printmaking and book arts. In 1993, following a series of apprenticeships with master printers and binders in New York and California, Cummins established her own printshop/studio in a nineteenth-century packing box factory in Brooklyn.
Since that time, she has produced over twenty-five limited-edition artist’s books. Her work is held in over one hundred permanent public collections internationally and has been included in exhibitions at the American Craft Museum, the Zimmerli Art Museum, the Rotunda Gallery, the Corcoran Gallery of Art, the Art Complex Museum, and the Brooklyn Museum. Cummins has received over a dozen grants and awards and has been an artist-in-residence at numerous venues, including the American Antiquarian Society and the Irish Museum of Modern Art.
Anne Harley received a Fellowship for Creative and Performing Artists and Writers at the American Antiquarian Society in 2012. The sound clips presented below are of Harley singing “The Morning is Up” and “Hail Columbia.” She is accompanied by Olav Chris Henriksen on guitar and Na’ama Lion on flute, both playing historic period instruments. These songs were recorded in Antiquarian Hall in May of 2015.
All three performers also presented a public concert entitled “‘Mild Melodious Maze’: Songs and Instrumental Music from Early America (1770-1830)” on Thursday, May 21, 2015, as part of the Society’s series of free public programs. This musical program celebrated some of the over 70,000 musical scores in the Society’s collections of American music and featured political songs of the Early Republic, shape note and Shaker tunes, popular hits from imported English stage shows, and the strains of the first art music composed on American soil.
Anne Harley is a prize-winning Canadian performer-scholar, director and educator based in Claremont, CA. She specializes in performing and recording music from challenging and groundbreaking contemporary composers, as well as researching and recording music from early oral and written traditions in Europe, North America and Russia. Her solo performances are available on Hänssler Profil, Naxos, Sony Classics, Canteloupe, Musica Omnia, einKlang and BMOP/sound, among others.
Harley is recognized internationally as a specialist in contemporary classical music and extended voice techniques. Over the course of the last two decades, she has premiered, performed and recorded works by contemporary composers Evan Ziporyn, John Adams, Ralf Gawlick, Lee Hoiby, Louis Andriessen, Peter Eotvös and John Harbison, Jodi Goble, Christine Southworth, Moshe Shulman, Yii Kah Hoe and Chaipruck Mekara, among others. In 2012, she founded the new music project Voices Of The Pearl, which transmits, in newly commissioned song cycles, texts by and about female spiritual practitioners from all world traditions. She also performs internationally in the area of historically informed performance, in medieval, baroque, early American, early Russian and Russian Roma music. She leads the pioneering early Russian music ensemble, TALISMAN with Dr. Oleg Timofeyev.
Since 2009, she is on faculty at Scripps College (Claremont, CA), teaching voice, music history and interdisciplinary humanities and in 2015, became Chair of the Music Department.
I came to the American Antiquarian Society in the Fall of 1995 to research and write a play called Sockdology about the actors who were in Our American Cousin the night Abraham Lincoln was assassinated at Ford’s Theater. I didn’t know quite what to expect when I arrived, what the AAS routines and rhythms would be. Most of the other fellows were engaged in research of a more traditional kind, or at least for more traditional kinds of projects: books, studies, etc.
As an artist fellow, there was something exotic about my presence, although I find nothing exotic about a playwright writing for the theater. Within days the rhythm of the place had asserted itself: coming in at 9:00, putting one’s things in the locker, the soft pencil and paper, the requests made on cards. There was information to be had, but some of the richest discoveries were in the realm of the atmospheric: programs, posters, the kind of typeface and coloring used in playbills and flyers; the ways in which actors, composers, and yes, playwrights, presented themselves in the 19th century.
Writers look for dates, facts, quotes, all vitally important, especially when working on a piece of dramatic invention based on fact. But there is as much or more inspiration in a handbill advertising a final performance or an advertisement using the image of an actor to sell a product. All this: the style of the time, its flair, its excesses and demurrals, make up the soil and seed from which a book, a play, a poem, a film script, may grow. I loved my month in Worcester at the American Antiquarian Society. Would that I could do it again.
Jeffrey Hatcher is an American playwright and screenwriter. He wrote the stage play Compleat Female Stage Beauty, which he later adapted into a screenplay, shortened to just Stage Beauty (2004). He also co-wrote the stage adaptation of Tuesdays with Morrie with author Mitch Albom, and Three Viewings, a comedy consisting of three monologues—each of which takes place in a funeral home. He wrote the screenplay Casanova for director Lasse Hallström, as well as the screenplay for The Duchess (2008), Mr. Holmes (2015), and The Good Liar (2019). He has also written for the Peter Falk TV series Columbo, The Mentalist and E! Entertainment Television. Hatcher was a 1995 Wallace Fellow at AAS.
Laurie McCants
My performance-in-progress is based on the story of Frances Slocum, a 5-year-old Quaker girl, kidnapped in 1778 by the Lenape, married into the Miami in 1795, and in 1837, reunited with her Slocum siblings, who found her in Indiana, the revered widow of a chief. They entreated her to return to Pennsylvania and “civilization.” She refused, living out the rest of her life with her people.
Her story was popularized through epic poems, ballads, family memoirs, historical studies, children’s books, melodramas, and public pageants. At AAS, I focused on what I could learn about the true story of Frances Slocum/Mahkoonsahkwa (her Miami name) and what the many tellings of that story over many decades reveal about how we Americans tell stories about ourselves.
My research revealed that the story has been mostly told through the “white” lens, which dominates the historical, literary, and pop culture archives. The story Frances actually told her relatives was one of kindness from her captors and eventual prosperity as a tribal elder. And yet a book about this mostly happy tale, written in 1906 by one of her Slocum descendants, is titled HISTORY OF FRANCES SLOCUM, THE CAPTIVE: A Civilized Heredity Vs; A Savage, and Later Barbarous, Environment. I learned a useful phrase from my fellow Fellow Elspeth Martini:
“Empirical evidence never dislodges his imperialistic views.”
At first, I felt (foolishly) intimidated by the scholars in the reading room, but that quickly vanished when they invited me to join them for their weekly RuPaul’s Drag Race watch party. My time at AAS was greatly enriched by my conversations/breaking bread/sharing drinks/telling stories with my fellow Fellows.
I sort my research into the Pot of Troubles and the Pot of Possibilities. The Frances Slocum story proved enthralling (“enthralling”!) for decades. What is so captivating about this captivity story? The answer, I think, lies at the bottom of that Pot of Troubles. The Pot of Possibilities contains staging ideas, the figurative and literal threads I want to weave together in the telling. Literal: I will do the Miami traditional craft of ribbon work as I perform. In my AAS research, I found what struck me as theatrical– those moments that ask to be performed, to be embodied (like this– Mahkoonsahkwa had an old scar from a wound received while dancing in her youth, and she was dancing when she caught a cold that took her to her death bed; so yes, this goes into the Pot of Possibilities! I will dance!). I also know that my own process must be a slow, cautious, eyes open, ears open, mind and heart open dance as I make my way through many cultural tripwires. I must be wary of what seems “theatrical,” lest I repeat the errors of my other white chroniclers—sensationalizing, sentimentalizing, obscuring with overly-dramatic flash. I think I can do it. I hope I can do it. I hope I can honor the truly human moments, the moments of real rage, confoundment, sorrow, and joy.
Laurie McCants at Frances Slocum State Park, Wyoming Valley, Pennsylvania. August 24, 2020.
Laurie McCants co-founded the Bloomsburg Theatre Ensemble (BTE) in 1978. BTE was named the “2016 Outstanding Theatre” by the National Theatre Conference. In 2010, Laurie was named an “Actor of Distinguished Achievement” through a Theatre Communications Group/Fox Foundation Resident Actor Fellowship. She was composer Julia Wolfe’s “coal region consultant” for the 2015 Pulitzer Prize winner, ANTHRACITE FIELDS. Her solo show INDUSTRIOUS ANGELS was created and performed at the Ko Festival of Performance. As a Baron Artist Fellow with the American Antiquarian Society, she is continuing research toward her new solo show about white captive child/Miami Indian elder Frances Slocum/Mahkoonsahkwa.
It should come as no surprise that the staff here at the American Antiquarian Society is passionate about books and prints related to American history. But we’re also deeply committed to our pets. From time to time, we’ll even share photos of our favorite furry or feathered friends on the AAS Instagram page.
Today is National Dog Day! In honor of this special day, we thought we’d take a quick glimpse inside our collections to acknowledge the role our furry friends have played in our lives, both publicly and personally.
National Dog Day is just one of many unofficial holidays to spring up in the late twentieth century. Founded in 2004 by Animal Rescue Advocate and Conservationist Colleen Paige, this holiday celebrates our deep appreciation for our four-legged friends. Today it is recognized worldwide and not only celebrates all dogs but also encourages adoption.
In the twentieth century, dogs found new public roles and a new public status. In World War I, they were employed as sentries, trackers, and messengers, and, not soon after that, they were trained as assistance dogs to aid those with disabilities. With the rise of radio, film, and television, they also became celebrities. We only have to think of Toto from The Wizard of Oz, Rin-Tin-Tin, and Lassie. However, dogs were depicted to symbolize guidance, protection, loyalty, and love well before these popular characters reached American audiences. Although our relationships with household pets have certainly evolved since the founding of our nation, one sentiment remains true: Americans love their dogs.
Although print media might first come to mind when imagining our collections, the American Antiquarian Society also holds a large photograph collection, which includes 219 daguerreotypes. Notable subjects for these portraits include Edgar Allan Poe, Clara Barton, and Dr. Samuel B. Woodward. The collection also includes rare views of San Francisco and Worcester and a number of unidentified portraits including this cute little one (above).
As we share selections from our catalog, we are reminded of the important part our dogs play in our lives, from observing our first president and nation’s founding to reminiscing about our first loves and first friends.
Our first president, George Washington, kept a large variety of dogs at his home at Mount Vernon from hunting dogs to working dogs to companion dogs. The American Kennel Club credits him as one of the people who helped develop the breed known as the American Foxhound. Washington’s writings reveal that he inspected the kennels each morning and evening, during which time he visited with the dogs.
The Marquis de Lafayette sent Washington seven French hounds, so it might not be much of a surprise that several works depicting the two at Washington’s home also show dogs running around the grounds. The engraving (by Thos. Oldham Barlow) shown above is based on a painting from Thomas Prichard Rossiter. It portrays the Washington family, with Lafayette, on the front porch of Mount Vernon. If you look closely on the left, two French hounds play in garden.
In another image, the lithograph (below)–published around 1875 by Fischer, Carpenter & Gusthal–depicts General Lafayette’s departure from Mount Vernon in 1784. In the foreground, on the piazza of Mount Vernon, George Washington and General Lafayette are shaking hands; one dog lies on the piazza, and another stands on the lawn looking back at the group.
Nineteenth-century prints, portraits, and engravings trace Americans’ evolving relationships with dogs. Each and every happy hound and playful pup is fun discovery, and to follow these dogs from one print to the next is to follow the course of American history. Take a moment to explore some of the images in the AAS collections in the gallery below.
Among my personal favorites are two lithographs created by artist Jean-Baptiste Adolphe LaFosse (1814-1879). A student of Paul Delaroche, LaFosse was a French painter and lithographer whose most famous American subjects included former president Andrew Jackson and American attorney and statesman Henry Clay. LaFosse also created lithographs based on Charles G. Crehen’s Young ’76 (1855) and William Sidney Mount’s The Bone Player (1856).
AAS holds a number of LaFosse’s lithographs, including The Young Teacher (c. 1858) andThe First Pants (c.1860). Both works are modeled after original paintings by Lilly Martin Spencer. Spencer sold a number of her genre paintings to print publisher Wilhelm Schaus, who commissioned these hand-colored reproductions and about a dozen others between 1853 and 1860. The girl and her furry friend (on the left) are models of innocence and respect; meanwhile, the boy on the right teases his puppy companion with something in his pockets.
These images offer but a glimpse of the visual doggy gems stored in our collections. Each reminds us that our national history is a personal one. By looking closely at some of these images portraying dogs, we are reminded of warmth and sweetness these animals bring into our lives.
Amy Hildreth Chen is an independent scholar from North Liberty, Iowa, and author of Placing Papers: The American Literary Archives Market (University of Massachusetts Press, 2020). She previously worked as an academic librarian at the University of Iowa and University of Alabama. Chen obtained her PhD in English from Emory University in 2013.
2020 Seiler Intern Ashley 
