Human Rights Day 2016

This year, as every year, Amherst celebrated Human Rights Day, marking the anniversary of the promulgation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (10 December 1948).

Members of the Amherst Select Board have few ceremonial duties, none of them obligatory. Still, I do relish the ones that have both historical and civic meaning. Participating in this commemoration, like those held on Veterans Day, Memorial Day, and the 9-11 anniversary, is among such quasi-obligations that I value most. The others are held in spring or summer weather. This one, by contrast, is the most universal in significance but the least well attended, held on what invariably proves to be one of the most frigid days in December, as we remind ourselves that winter has not even begun. The fact that the event usually takes place after dark, by electric candle light, only adds to the sense that we are doing something important, keeping something very important alive.


"Many of the assumptions about who wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights are wrong"

Attendance is also low, however, because, whereas the other dates are established US holidays, this one is not. Few of us know of the Declaration, and even among those who are familiar with it, few are aware of the real story. At best, we "know" that Eleanor Roosevelt had something to do with it. Well, not that much, and she certainly was not the only one.  I always refer people to an admirable article by the equally admirable and courageous Gita Sahgal, a founder of the Centre for Secular Space. She reminds us of two crucial points:

(1) "Many of the assumptions about who wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights are wrong. The less known story of the men and women who wrote this foundational, emancipatory and anti-colonial document must be told in today's world."


(2) That in turn should serve as a rebuke to those on both right and left who dismiss the notion of human rights as, respectively, a sign of liberal elitist weakness or a reactionary bourgeois affectation, not to mention those who claim an exemption from these universal standards for a particular culture or faith.


Universal Human Rights--and now, more than ever, the rights of immigrants

This year's ceremony was a little bit different. Because the anniversary fell on a weekend, Human Resources and Human Rights Director Deborah Radway and the Human Rights Commission decided to begin in the afternoon and daylight, at 4:00 p.m.

And, given the toxic climate surrounding the recent presidential campaign and the rise of new nativist, anti-immigrant sentiment, the Select Board proclamation of the holiday explicitly reaffirmed the Town's decision (represented by a Town Meeting vote of 2012) to do the utmost to protect the rights of immigrants, including the undocumented, from what was regarded as unnecessary and excessively aggressive government intervention:

Key excerpt:

Then THEREFORE, BE IT RESOLVED that the Town of Amherst and its officials and employees,

to the extent permissible by law, shall not participate in federal law enforcement programs relating to immigration enforcement, including but not limited to, Secure Communities, and cooperative agreements with the federal government under which town personnel participate in the enforcement of immigration laws, such as those authorized by Section 287(g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act. Should the Commonwealth of Massachusetts enter into an agreement or Memorandum of Agreement regarding Secure Communities, the Town of Amherst shall opt out if legally and practically permissible. To the extent permissible by law, immigration detainer requests will not be honored by the Amherst Police Department. Municipal employees of the Town of Amherst, including law enforcement employees, shall not monitor, stop, detain, question, interrogate, or search a person for the purpose of determining that individual’s immigration status. Officers shall not inquire about the immigration status of any crime victim, witness, or suspect, unless such information is directly relevant to the investigation, nor shall they refer such information to federal immigration enforcement authorities unless that information developed is directly relevant. The use of a criminal investigation or arrest shall not be used as a basis to ascertain information about an individual’s immigration status unless directly relevant to the offenses charged.”

(Full text here)

Above: Amherst political notables take part in the reading of the Declaration. At left: Select Board Member Andy Steinberg, State-Representative-elect Solomon Goldstein-Rose, Town Manager Paul Bockelman.

For the record, this is the first time that I (or anyone else, as far as I can tell) can recall a Town Manager taking part in this event: big props to Paul, who doesn't even live here yet on a permanent basis and is still commuting from Somerville.

Human Rights Commission Chair Matthew Charity gives the nod to the next reader.

Amherst Health and Community Services Director Julie Federman and Amherst Survival Center Director Mindy Domb read the first two articles of the Declaration.



Resources

Human Rights Day in Amherst: the 2015 post, describing the origins of the Declaration, with still and video footage from Amherst commemorations, 2011-2014.

Even Scarier Than Halloween Bad History: Everyday Ignorance

Both kidding and serious concerns about bad documentaries notwithstanding: I know that, were I to lay out the reasons that "The Burning Times" is an atrocious travesty of history, I could have an intelligent discussion with my Hampshire College classes.

Sometimes we forget how lucky we here in the Five College Consortium are, privileged to work with students who are on the whole smart and well educated or at least educable.

Not everyone is as lucky.

Consider, for example, this footage from Texas Tech.

Sure, sure, these things have a sensationalistic "gotcha" quality about them and may well not be representative. Still, can you imagine how any American claiming to be educated could not know who won the Civil War? or even what the two sides were? See for yourself.


(h.t. wj)

Pandering ghost tours and bad witchcraft documentaries pale in comparison.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Getting the Christian Right

I recently mentioned David Sugarman, "Melville in Jerusalem," Tablet Magazine, 16 August 2012.

It's a fine piece, but there is one odd phrase, describing Melville as:

 The philosophically inclined child of a Christian father and pious Calvinist mother.

Yikes. This is the sort of thing I get from my students (though from them, it's usually: "Catholics and Christians"). Last I checked, Calvinists were indeed Christians. And pretty serious ones, too. Ever heard of the Puritans? or at least the Pilgrims?

Although Tablet describes itself as "a new read on Jewish life," I don't think this is what was intended.

Charitably interpreted, perhaps Sugarman meant merely that the father was of conventional generic Christian disposition in contrast to the more fervent mother. But then, one should say what one means.

A little proof-reading here? Please?

Amherst Politics and Podunk

"`Where is Podunk?' we asked, failing entirely to suppress a quiver of anticipation.

"`This is Podunk now,' said the small boy.

—from an article in the Worcester Telegraph, 1941

Just one final piece on our political culture in the wake of Town Meeting.

Much of the recent debate on the floor of our venerable assembly involved the proposed village center rezoning: how to focus growth in existing built-up areas in order to prevent sprawl, but without compromising their existing look and feel. Much of the debate outside the hall involved the frustration felt by each side regarding the presumed intransigence and narrow-mindedness of the other. Some proponents of the zoning changes, for example, blamed the defeat on "naysayers" allegedly resistant to any change, many of them new to and unfamiliar with the intricacies of both town planning and the political process. Some rezoning opponents (particularly the newbies), by contrast, saw themselves as waging a heroic fight against entrenched interests, high-handed practices, and old ways of thinking.

As I was looking over my book collection last week, I recalled that one volume contained the humorous old story, "The Politician of Podunk," which involves another such tale of political ideals and frustration from nearly a century and three-quarters ago.

The average reader is familiar with the term "Podunk" as a synonym for rural backwardness, but few know where it comes from. In fact, even supposed experts have long disagreed.

In the view of many, it does not exist, though that has not stopped others from trying to find it, or at least a plausible connection between the idea and a real place.

The Oxford Etymological Dictionary of the English Language (OED) lists both an adjective and a noun corresponding to the general understanding of the term: "Of or designating an obscure or insignificant town; out-of-the-way, small-town, provincial; insignificant" "A name for a fictitious, insignificant, out-of-the-way town; a typical small town." Examples:

1846   Daily National Pilot (Buffalo, N.Y.) 13 Jan. 3a,   Messrs. Editors: I hear you ask, ‘Where in the world is Podunk?’ It is in the world, sir; and more than that, is a little world of itself. It stands ‘high up the big Pigeon’, a bright and shining light amid the surrounding darkness. I look back, sir, with pride upon the day when I located in the then unincorporated burgh of Podunk. 

1846   Daily National Pilot (Buffalo, N.Y.) 6 Mar. 2b,   Podunk is a huge town, not distinguished exactly as the geographies have it, for its ‘fertile soil, salubrious and healthy climate’, but for some of the characters that here do congregate.

But it also lists Podunk as both an adjective and a noun associated with "a North American Indian people formerly inhabiting an area around the Podunk River in Hartford County, Connecticut."

Perhaps for the latter reason, efforts to get to the bottom of the mystery focused on our own central New England. In a 1988 piece, columnist "Cecil Adams" reviewed the evidence. He explains, "In 1925 philologist G.P. Krapp noted that no Podunk was to be found in the list of American post offices" but did find a connection with Native American geographic names. In 1933, the Boston Herald declared that the place did not exist. Soon thereafter, etymologist Allen Walker Read found the term applied to meadows, ponds, and small bodies of flowing water in the Hartford and Worcester area, as well as "throughout New York State." He "opined that Podunk derived from an Algonquin Indian word meaning 'a boggy place.'"

In 1941, the Herald thereupon resumed the quest, but as Adams explains, fobbed the job off on the Worcester Telegraph, whose dramatic quest led to the prosaic conclusion that it was (in his words) "an unincorporated area about six square miles in extent containing about 100 families" "located mostly within East Brookfield, a town about 15 miles west of Worcester."

Satisfying and plausible, but there the story does not end. Perhaps the clue, like the purloined letter, was right in front of our faces. One of the leading entries in the always entertaining though not necessarily reliable (or serious) Urban Dictionary traces the popularization of the term to the 1971 film, "The French Connection," via a reference to the backwardness of Poughkeepsie. Indeed, as the OED shows, the term seems to have a New York association, but it in fact goes back to the 1840s. However, few have looked hard enough and far enough back. The Dictionary of American Regional English (DARE)—a product of my  alma mater, The University of Wisconsin, I am proud to say—correctly traces the first known use to my aforementioned little story, thus reinforcing the connection with a New York location; there is in fact a real Podunk, a hamlet in the town of Ulysses.

"The Politician of Podunk" appeared in The Token and Atlantic Souvenir, a "gift book" published in Boston in 1839.

Gift books flourished in the UK and US from the early 1820s until circa 1860, and derived from the tradition of French and German literary annuals and almanacs, which arose in the second third of the eighteenth century. Containing a variety of literary pieces, usually embellished with engravings and elegantly bound, they were issued around the autumn season and intended, as the name suggests, as gifts for the Christmas and New Year holidays.

The editor of The Token was one Samuel Griswold Goodrich (1793-1860), a Massachusetts and Connecticut bookseller and publisher (later: diplomat) who also wrote under the pseudonym, "Peter Parley." (As chance would have it, some of Goodrich's papers are also housed in Amherst College Archives and Special Collections.)


At any rate, here, without further ado, is the story itself:

[p. 109] THE POLITICIAN OF PODUNK.

SOLOMON WAXTEND was a shoemaker of Podunk, a small village of New York, some forty years ago. He was an Englishman by birth, and had come over the water to mend the institutions, as well as the soles, of the country. He was a perfectly honest man, and of natural good sense; but, having taken pretty large doses of new light from the works of Tom Paine and the French Revolutionists, he became, like an inflated balloon, light-headed, and soared aloft into the unknown regions of air. Like many of his countrymen brought up under monarchical institutions, he was slow in understanding the mysteries of our political system; and, wanting the ballast of Yankee common sense, he nevertheless thought himself specially qualified to instruct the people of Podunk in every thing relating to civil liberty.

Accordingly he held forth, at first, over his lapstone, then at the bar-room, and finally at a caucus. He had some gifts, and more of the grace of assurance. He set up for a great man, became a candidate for representative, and was [110] triumphantly elected a member of the General Assembly of New York. With all the spirit of a true reformer, he set forth for Albany, to discharge the high functions of his official state. He went. He rose to make a speech. His voice failed, his knees tottered, he became silent; he sat down. The whole affair was duly reported in the papers. It was read at the alehouse in Podunk!

Solomon Waxtend came back an altered man. He went away round, ruddy, and self-sufficient; he returned lean, sullen, and subdued. He shut himself up for a month, and nothing was heard in his house by the neighbours, save the vigorous hammer upon the lapstone. At length, one evening, he appeared at the village inn. It was a sort of holiday eve, and many of his partisans were there. They looked at Solomon, as if they saw a ghost; but he had that calmness of countenance which betokens a mind made up. His late friends crowded round him; but Solomon, waving his hand, bade them sit down. Having done this, he spoke as follows.

"I trust I am duly sensible, my friends, of the honor you intended me, in sending me to the Assembly. If I have disgraced you, it has, at least, been a lesson to me. I find, that in order [111] to understand your institutions, and to cope with your Yankee people, it is necessary, like them, to live long in the country, and to study its history, and become familiar with its political system. I find that an Englishman, with his Tory notions, his hereditary love of monarchy, his loyalty, woven in with his first lessons of life, is like a 'fish out of water' in one of your democratic assemblies. I have, therefore, only one thing to say, and that will be told in the way of a story.

"Some people, digging in a sandbank by the seaside, in search of Kid's money, came to a chest, with the following inscription, —' Take me up, and I will tell you more!' This gave them fresh courage, and they continued their efforts. At length they dug up the chest, and on the bottom, they found the following inscription, —' Lay me down as I was before.'"

Having told this story, the cobler departed, leaving his hearers to apply the obvious hint conveyed by the legend.

No specific lesson for Amherst intended here.

Rather, it's just a useful reminder that the collision of ideals and desires with reality, and the mutual frustration of old hands and newcomers are nothing new.

the shoemaker as political amateur

The illustration accompanying the story:  "The Politician," by Henry Liverseege (1803-32), steel engraving by Oliver Pelton (1798-1882) of Hartford. As the record in the holdings of the American Antiquarian Society indicates, the engraving appears in several American literary annuals issued between 1839 and1853.



Resources

• The 1840 volume of The Token via Google Books

Libya: Looking For Despots in All the Wrong Places

As I just noted, the Libyan revolt has been a political and psychological roller coaster (couldn't avoid the stereotypical image, but did manage to shun the adjective, "emotional").

At first, it seemed that the struggle would drag on inconclusively. Then, just last weekend, the pace quickened, the rebels advanced, and the regime forces collapsed. But then it was back to uncertainty (and I don't mean all the incredible reports about Ghadafi's death). First, the rebels claimed they had Gadhafi's hated son in custody. Soon after, however, he reappeared in public, free, and taunting them. Within a short time, they seemed to have asserted their control over the capital—and yet, the dictator was nowhere to be found: neither cornered nor killed. Vanished.

We have a rather poor (or at least lackadaisical) record of hunting despots. For example, "Operation Just Cause" toppled the Noriega regime in Panama with relative ease, but the pineapple-faced general then eluded the US troops until he was cornered in the Vatican embassy. Blasting him (and the rest of the compound, to the irritation of the helpless Catholic clergy) with cheesy American rock was said to have broken him like a cheap champagne glass (1, 2). Saddam Hussein was an even tougher customer. It took some eight months before he was hauled out of his spider hole.

I was drafting this yesterday, when, as chance would have it, Benjamin Runkle, author of Wanted Dead or Alive: Manhunts from Geronimo to bin Laden, took up this very theme in Foreign Affairs. He tells us:

I found four surprising conclusions. First, although U.S. forces almost always enjoy an edge in technology over their quarry, this advantage is never decisive. Second, troop strength is less important than the presence of reliable indigenous forces. Third, although terrain can influence individual campaigns, there is no single terrain type that predicts success or failure. Finally, more important than physical terrain is human terrain, or the ability to obtain intelligence tips from local populations or support from neighboring states to assist in the strategic manhunt. 

As for how this applies specifically to Libya, you'll just have to read the rest of the piece.

One thing's for sure, though: You wouldn't want to rely on CNN in your quest for the quarry.

My inspiration was this horrifyingly inaccurate graphic:


Hint: He isn't in Lebanon, so if you're looking there, it's a sure thing you won't find him (and Hizbullah, despite its affection for other despots, has no love to spare for this one).

Now, I know I saw Sara Sidner reporting from Libya in body armor and oversized helmet (some Tweeps worried that she seemed more nervous under fire than were other, more hardened reporters). Anyway, she was there. I saw her. It's not her fault, and she sure as hell knows where she is.

But a screw-up of these colossal proportions really does make you wonder about both the higher-ups and the drones who churn out the stuff for the shows 'round the clock.

My guess is that some underling looked up "Tripoli" in a reference work and, because Lebanon comes before Libya in the alphabet, either chose that one or just looked no further (my attempt at a historian's source criticism).

But are they all culturally illiterate? And does no one check what the drones are doing?

To be sure, there are two Tripolis, one in Lebanon and one in Libya. Both date to antiquity and derive their (western) names from the Greek tripolis, or three cities. Beyond that, the similariites to our enterprise end. Bottom line: astoundingly stupid, embarrassing; inexcusable.

Bonus question: The "Marines' Hymn" (US Marine Corps Hymn) begins with the famous lines, "From the Halls of Montezuma/to the Shores of Tripoli..."

In the course of their history, the Marines have landed in both (present-day) Libya and Lebanon.

To which one does the song refer?

From Francophilia to Francophobia

Okay, so not everyone gets as excited about Bastille Day and Bonaparte as I do.

On the shelf in Second Story Books in Washington, DC, on Monday:

 Fun facts to know and tell:

Did you know that Death to the French (all right, under the rather more innocuous US title, Rifleman Dodd)  is on The Marine Corps Professional Reading Program List? For that matter, I'll bet you had no idea that list even existed. Read and enjoy.

Hey, Mom! Hampshire College is Totally Unique! In fact: more unique than the 9 other "most unique" colleges in the US!

I was of course delighted to see that  Best Colleges Online ranked Hampshire College the #1 entry among "10 U.S. Colleges That Are Totally Unique":

The search for the perfect college can be overwhelming, but also a lot of fun. Finding schools that mesh with your personality, study habits, educational preparation, and expectations for adventure is satisfying in a holistic sort of way. These schools take that philosophy to the next level. From colleges that cater to students in a particular field like engineering to universities that promote personal enlightenment as much as academics, these are some of the most unique colleges in the U.S.

Hampshire College: Located in Amherst, MA, Hampshire College allows its 1500 students to design their own curriculum. Favoring customized programs instead of "off-the-shelf" majors, Hampshire organizes students into three levels of study rather than categorizing students as freshmen, sophomores, juniors or seniors. Division I introduces students to basic principles and ideas in highly specialized classes, allowing them to experiment before settling into a concentration in Division II. Division III challenges students to complete an individual project and even teach and mentor other students while taking graduate-level courses.

A bit of hyperbole or missed nuance here and there, but basically a sound, accurate description. Fine with me.

However, some readers took umbrage at the piece on the level of language usage rather than content, as such.

Interesting, where the lines diverge.  What bothered me was not "totally unique," and instead: "most unique." The objection is the same, but the aesthetic or vernacular is different.  I myself was willing to give "totally unique" a pass, on the grounds that this was a popular site using a colloquialism: That's, like, the way we talk nowadays.  And who knows? here in New England, we might even—IMHO—be "wicked unique." I could live with that, too. In other words, "totally" here serves as a form of emphasis, rather than as an adverb to be taken in the literal sense.

The underlying issue, of course, is that some regard any modification of "unique" as anathema on the grounds that either something is unique or it is not.  Merriam-Webster's guide to usage predictably and provocatively accepts both the absolute and modified forms as historically justified as well as commonplace. I can understand that on one level. However, it's a bit slippery for my taste, given that "unique" has a clear origin and meaning—according to the Oxford Etymological Dictionary: "sole, alone of its kind." Merriam-Webster's examples (above and beyond the fact that a published author's [mis]use of a term does not necessarily justify it on any other grounds) are not totally compelling. More to the point, perhaps, we have other words that serve just as well for the comparative but not for the absolute. Why not just substitute "distinctive" or a similar traditional modifiable term for the absolute case? Personally, I suspect (though cannot prove) that a lot of modern language slippage is due to a desire for informality and convenience: although both "unique" and "distinctive" are Latinate terms, the former is more familiar and easier to pronounce (in the sense of: speak; fewer syllables, simpler use of the mouth and facial muscles).

None of this is anything to fight and die for, but when we have one word that is reasonably circumscribed in meaning, and a plethora of others that can convey the alternative sense, why do we feel so compelled to blur the distinctions?

Anyway, come to Hampshire, and we'll teach you how to write as well as think.

Are You Smarter than an Eighth Grader (from 1895)?

Serendipity is a fine thing. Having just posted about graduate school applications and college admissions, I stumble across a document on adolescent learning standards from 1895 (h.t.: McK66).  The person who posted it, a professor of education, explains:

This is the eighth-grade final exam from 1895 from Salina, KS. USA.
It was taken from the original document on file at the Smoky Valley
Genealogical Society and Library in Salina, KS and reprinted by the
Salina Journal.

It covers five areas: grammar, arithmetic, U.S. history, orthography, and geography.  I'll reproduce just history here:

U.S. History (Time, 45 minutes)
1. Give the epochs into which U.S. History is divided.
2. Give an account of the discovery of America by Columbus.
3. Relate the causes and results of the Revolutionary War.
4. Show the territorial growth of the United States.
5. Tell what you can of the history of Kansas.
6. Describe three of the most prominent battles of theRebellion.
7. Who were the following: Morse, Whitney, Fulton, Bell, Lincoln, Penn, and Howe?
8. Name events connected with the following dates:
1607
1620
1800
1849
1865

You can examine the rest for yourselves, and it's worthwhile, though possibly intimidating.  Can you "name and describe" Hecla, Juan Fernandez, and Aspiwall, or answer the question, "Why is the Atlantic Coast colder than the Pacific in the same latitude?" I'd like to give this one (from orthography) to my students (or, for that matter, a good many journalists, newspaper editors, and bloggers)

9. Use the following correctly in sentences, Cite, site, sight, fane, fain, feign, vane, vain, vein, raze, raise, rays.

Hell, I'd be happy if they knew the difference between "its" and "it's."

And under geography, we find:

1. What is climate? Upon what does climate depend?

We already know that the entire incoming Republican Congressional cohort would flunk that one.

Monday Morning Leaves: A Delayed Amherst Autumn and a Bouquet for Orra Hitchcock

Sept. 21
Neither when I crossed the Connecticut River at Hadley via the Calvin Coolidge Memorial Bridge nor when I paused at the "scenic" overlook above Holyoke on the way back from the auto glass shop in West Springfield did I see much fall foliage. However, here in the uplands, signs of the change were more common. I noticed them on the dog's morning walk (in fact: spotted the first ones, below, on Labor Day weekend, which is the symbolic if not astronomical end of summer).

Oct. 4
Last week, I would have written that we were still ahead of the game (and the season), but when I retraced that same route along I-91 today, there was still far more green than red and orange to be seen, even at the overlook.

Now people are starting to worry.  Just today, Springfield's Channel 22 quoted people in the hospitality trades expressing concern that the delayed leaf-peeping season was hurting tourism.  The foliage is supposed to reach peak color just after the Columbus Day weekend.

Coincidentally, the Library of Congress today posted its list of readings on "The Nature & Science of Autumn."

It's ironic that this year's season is causing worries because Yankee Magazine recently named Amherst one of the top 25 foliage towns in autumn New England:

(1.) Kent, Connecticut

(2.) Bethel, Maine

(3.) Manchester, Vermont

(4.) Williamstown, Massachusetts

(5.) Middlebury, Vermont

(6.) Camden, Maine (tie)

(6.) Waitsfield, Vermont (tie)

(7.) Conway/North Conway, New Hampshire

(8.) Sandwich, New Hampshire

(9.) Rangeley, Maine

(10.) Blue Hill, Maine (tie)

(10.) Woodstock, Vermont (tie)

(10.) Waterville Valley, New Hampshire (tie)

(10.) Amherst, Massachusetts (tie)

(11.) Grafton, Vermont (tie)

(11.) East Haddam, Connecticut (tie)

(11.) Walpole, New Hampshire (tie)

(12.) The Cornwalls, Connecticut (tie)

(12.) Litchfield, Connecticut (tie)

(12.) Jackson, New Hampshire (tie)

(13.) Jeffersonville, Vermont (tie)

(13.) Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts (tie)

(13.) Montgomery, Vermont (tie)

(13.) Stowe, Vermont (tie)

(13.) Hanover, New Hampshire (tie)

While we wait for the real thing, I thought I'd share some historical autumn imagery from one of our local nineteenth-century artists, Orra White Hitchcock (1798-1863).  The wife of famed Amherst College President Edward Hitchcock (1793-1864), she produced images for some of his scientific and religious works (he was Professor of both Geology and Natural Theology) and was a distinguished cultural figure in her own right, in the words of the Amherst College archivists:  "one of the earliest female artists and illustrators in a the U.S."  When the Historical Subcommittee of the Amherst 250th Anniversary chose subjects for the re-enactors at the graves in West Cemetery, Orra rather than Edward was the Hitchcock whom they selected.

This lithograph, "Autumnal Scenery, View in Amherst" (from the volume of plates for Edward Hitchcock's Geology of Massachusetts, 1833), depicts Amherst as seen from the east, in the Pelham Hills. Amherst College (Johnson Chapel; South, North, and Williston Halls) is at far left.  What is perhaps most noteworthy about the scenery is the relative paucity of trees compared with the view that would greet the traveler today.  Hitchcock painted the scene at the height of deforestation, by which time, as the Fisher Museum of Harvard Forest explains, "60 to 80 percent of the land was cleared for pasture, tillage, orchards and buildings. Small remaining areas of woodland were subjected to frequent cuttings for lumber and fuel."

Here, in her husband's Religious Lectures on Peculiar Phenomena in the Four Seasons. . . (Amherst:  J. S. &. C. Adams, 1850), she depicted the "Autumnal Scenery" at the "Confluence of Connecticut and Deerfield Rivers," to the west.

For Edward Hitchcock, as the volume's title implies, nature was a book to be studied for its spiritual message. Opening his lecture on "The Euthanasia of Autumn" (probably not a title that we would choose today, though it just means:  good death) with Isaiah's  'We all do fade as a leaf" (64:6), he finds that the season instructs: our bodily powers, beauty, and glory are fleeting.  Accordingly, autumn ought to teach us piety, strength in adversity, and preparation for both a beautiful death and eternal life to come.The frost, far from killing the plant, causes its organs to "develope hues still more brilliant, and make creation smile, though about to descend into her wintry grave." (98) And

    The gay splendor of our forests, as autumn comes on, may seem to some inappropriate, when we consider that it is the precursor of decay and death.  But when we remember that the plant still lives, and after a season of inaction will awake to new and more vigorous life, and that the apparent decay is only laying aside a summer robe, because unfit for winter, is it not appropriate that nature should hang out signals of joy rather than of sorrow?  Why should she not descend exultingly, and in her richest dress, into the grave, in hope of so early and so glorious a resurrection? (100)

Thankfully, Orra White Hitchcock's legacy is being recovered.  Last winter, in the context of the Amherst 250th and the Darwin 200th, Mount Holyoke Professor of Art History Emeritus Robert Herbert made mention of her work in a lecture on "Edward Hitchcock: Science and Religion in the Embrace of Nature," sponsored by the Emily Dickinson Museum.

Robert Herbert lecture:  art by Orra Hitchcock, March 2009

 He had lectured on Orra herself the previous year, after publishing A Woman of Amherst: The Travel Diaries of Orra White Hitchcock, 1847 and 1850. Next semester, the Mead Museum at Amherst College will mount a major exhibition, Orra White Hitchcock (1796–1863): An Amherst Woman of Art and Science, curated by Bob Herbert and former College Archivist Daria D'Arienzo.

Unfortunately, the historical landscape of the house of the Hitchcocks' scarcely less distinguished son, Edward, Jr., is under threat today as Amherst College proposes to remove an elegant 310-foot fence that frames the property.  The decision of the Amherst Historical Commission to impose a twelve-month demolition delay has sparked controversy in some circles but is also serving as a useful opportunity to inform and engage the public on the subject of historic preservation.

Mary Loeffelholz outruns the evidence when she (following Richard Sewall) postulates that the Hitchcock volume about flowers that Emily Dickinson recalled reading every autumn as a child was the Religious Lectures. A careful consideration of both the subject matter and the publication date precludes that.  Still, we do know that the book was in the Dickinson Homestead library, and in light of the poet's own views and works, as well as the connections between the two families, it is reasonable to assume that she had read and knew it. And certainly, like Hitchcock, she (though not without struggle) hoped for and believed in bodily resurrection.

I don't know about that, but like Dickinson, I do have faith that, even this year, as in others, autumn will arrive in its full glory and then:

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

Related articles by Zemanta

• Magazine: Kent, Conn. tops for leaf peeping (boston.com)
• Why Do Leaves Change Color in Fall? (thedailygreen.com)

Lighter Treatments of Heavier Things: fun with opera

A stray comment from a friend in an unrelated discussion about video reminded me of one of my favorite films in one of my favorite genres: the short but smart film that manages to be humorous because it is truly well informed.

This one is Kim Thompson's "All the Great Operas in Ten Minutes," which I've sometimes managed to bring into my teaching for one class or another. It provides students with a sense of classic opera plots while gently poking fun at the genre and at us by in effect applying our film rating system to this canon of classical music.  Anyway, you'll see.



Perhaps just the thing when the temperature is 90 (and AccuWeather tells me that the "RealFeel," i.e. with humidity, etc. is 97 [36 C]) and one needs a break from work or other burdens. And it only takes 10 minutes. Come on, as Kim would say. Give it a try.

Who's Trying to Strangle Obama? (Introducing Cultural Literacy Check)

No, that's not a question about his political enemies, but instead, a question about the representation of the question.

When I came across this cover on The New Republic, I was both amused and intrigued. To me, the point of reference was obvious because it's drawn from my field, namely European cultural history: the famous Hellenistic sculpture of Laocoön, priest of Neptune, and his sons, being strangled by serpents, as described in literary accounts of the Trojan War (notably the Aeneid).

For the pioneering aesthete and art historian Johann Joachim Winckelmann, writing in his immensely influential treatise of 1755, its "noble simplicity and quiet grandeur" epitomized the spirit of Classical Greek art. The sculpture entered still more deeply into the realm of aesthetic theory when Gotthold Ephraim Lessing employed it as the centerpiece of his famous critique of Winckelmann, Laokoon: oder über die Grenzen der Mahlerey und Poesie (Laocoon. An Essay upon the Limits of Painting and Poetry; 1766). Since Lessing's time, other critics have appropriated the title for aesthetic treatises of their own.

Once among the most famous works of art in the world—at any rate, among the cultural elites—the sculpture may not be anything like a common reference anymore.

Fortunately, in the case of the TNR cover, one doesn't really have to understand the allusion in order to get the point (though if one did, one might ponder the appropriateness of the analogy): It looks as if Obama is in trouble, and to help you out, there's a caption.

In other cases, knowing the reference may matter more.

This got me to thinking about the larger issue of cultural literacy: not in the sense of defending or opposing canons, but simply as a practical matter. It can have some import. For example, in the classroom, I cannot assume that the historical allusions I make—even if they deal, say, with the comparatively recent era of the 1960s and —will be readily understood.

This was brought home in striking fashion when Sam Wineburg, a noted scholar of historical pedagogy from Stanford, gave a series of workshops here earlier this semester. One of his fundamental points is that historical thinking is a skill that is anything but natural and has to be learned. In order for it to be learned, however, historians have to teach it. In order to be able to teach it, historians have to remind themselves that they cannot take what they do or say for granted. All too often, they approach a history class with the tacit assumption that students may lack historical knowledge but at least understand how to think historically. On the contrary, since no one has ever told the students that they have to do this, much less taught them how, the results are often disastrous or at the least unnecessarily but unavoidably frustrating.

One of Wineburg's noted techniques is therefore to watch how people teach and learn, film the process, and show it to them and others. He will ask scholars and students alike, for example, to read a passage of a historical document, but not in the ordinary way. Rather, he forces them to pause repeatedly to reflect on what they are doing as they are doing it: to state out loud how they are approaching the text, to explain their reaction—their assumptions and questions alike—as they encounter a given fact, formulation, or idea.

On other occasions, he will ask a diverse group to respond to an image. In one example, he showed us how a student and her parents offered their off-the-cuff interpretations of a photograph. This one happened to be a Vietnam-era demonstration by "hard hat" construction workers calling for support of the government and military. To any of us who are of a certain age (I am getting disturbingly familiar with that phrase) or have studied any recent history, the interpretation was obvious. It seemed equally obvious to the student, but it turned out she was dead wrong. She could could not conceive of such a thing as a pro-war demonstration (though they have occurred even in recent years), and believed that the workers were therefore demonstrating against the war. Accordingly, to the extent that their signs backed the President, she could only assume that he was an advocate of peace and withdrawal. Unfamiliar with the then-prevalent denunciation of soldiers as "baby-killers," she knew only the modern left's vapid and rather disingenuous call to "support our troops by bringing them home." Even the American flags were not a tipoff, because she had been raised in the era after liberals and leftists decided to reappropriate the flag rather than cede the symbol to the Republican right. To an older or historically literate audience, as I said, the message was all too clear: these were reactionaries whose idea of patriotism was not "dissent," but "America, love it or leave it!" and whose idea of a good time was breaking a few "hippie" or "pinko" skulls. All of that was completely unfamiliar to her.

A sobering lesson.

What do we talk about when we make cultural and historical allusions? Can we really be certain that we fully understand one another?

I'll return to the larger theme of cultural as well as the example of Laocoön here and elsewhere. In the meantime, let the quest begin.