Loyola Passes the Test(in)

This past semester, a group and I have been working on a digital exhibit about the Loyola History Department for our final project. With the loss of full access to the archives thanks to an extra-long Corona-induced Spring Break, our vision has changed over the past few weeks. We have finally decided to focus on similarities between the current online class situation and the Loyola Home Study Division, particularly as it existed just after WWII. 

Part of the research for this project took me to the Loyola Digital Archives, which include high-quality scans of many historic yearbooks. I was very excited to find the familiar face of my grandfather, Jim Testin, featured as a sophomore in the 1950 yearbook.

Both of my paternal grandparents and one of my great uncles attended Loyola in the 1950s at Lewis Towers, which is a part of the Water Tower Campus today. 

Grandpa and his brother were commuter students from Glen Ellyn, a suburb just west of the city. Grandpa studied accounting and Great Uncle Bob studied psychiatry. They chose Loyola over the University of Illinois because tuition was less expensive at Loyola (imagine that!) and they were able to live at home. My grandpa worked in the grocery department of Jewel during college to pay his tuition, and was hired in the accounting department of Jewel after graduation. 

Grandma commuted from the Northwest side of the city and earned her degree in elementary education. She taught at a local Chicago school for a couple of years after graduation. Unfortunately, the digital archives are incomplete, so I was not able to find pictures of my grandma or great uncle in the yearbooks.

I emailed my grandparents the picture of Grandpa and link to the 1950 yearbook. I received in turn, a reiteration of all the stories I have heard about my grandparents’ glory days at Loyola over the years. From my great uncle’s antics in English class to nights at the Cloverleaf bar, swimming in the old Illinois Women’s Athletic Club pool to Friday morning Mass, the mythos of Loyola that has been passed down to me inspired my college decision nearly 70 years after theirs. 

The central structure in all of these stories is the “inverted mine shaft” that is Lewis Towers. Afterall, it was in a Zoology class in this building that my grandparents met. (They still recommend a biology minor to anyone looking for love…). 

8 kids and 21 grandkids later, someone finally decided to carry on the Loyola legacy. I have followed in my grandparents’ footsteps by attending their alma mater, and have thus secured my spot as favorite grandchild. 😉

Last fall, I took my grandparents on a virtual walk around the Lake Shore and Water Tower Campuses, even before video chatting was cool. It is incredible how the little commuter school my grandparents attended has expanded into the institution it is today. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know the Chicago my grandparents knew through the eyes of a Loyola student for a semester and a half, and hope to continue discovering the city in the fall. 

Czechs and Balances

This week’s readings brought me to the familiar territory of post-WWII Czechoslovakia and the gates of the Terezín concentration camp. This camp held 32,000 political prisoners during the war, including the civil engineer mother of Radek and Joseph Masin, whose oral histories are available through the National Czech and Slovak Museum’s digital collection.

By the early 1960s, a memorial museum was proposed for the “Small Fortress” Gestapo prison in Terezín, however, its opening was impeded by the communist government of Czechoslovakia. Communism is about shared ownership, but the government was unwilling to share the country’s history. Only after the Velvet Revolution and Divorce 30 years later was the museum able to be dedicated and expanded in the new Czech Republic. 

A major dispute between public historians is the role of activism in the historical process. While the communist rejection of a Terezín museum was by no means the sole cause for the overthrow of the communist government in Czechoslovakia, it is certainly an example of how history sways public opinion. For those imprisoned at Terezín, their stories remained locked up as long as Terezín was absent from Czech history. Suffocating decisions of the communist government such as this caused Czechs to seek an alternative to communism. Terezín was finally acknowledged under President Václav Havel, who famously promoted, “The Power of the Powerless.”

Not all public historians are called to jumpstart revolutions, but all public historians are expected to present the past in an honest manner that incites intersectional discussion. Rather than shy away from controversial topics, it is a public historian’s job to present all the facts and give the audience space to process and discuss. Everyone views history with different biases, and discussion can allow these different perspectives to create increased engagement and deeper understanding.

Another of the readings this week mentioned the Facing History and Ourselves National Foundation. Facing History is a paragon of what it means to acknowledge and admonish historical atrocities, while at the same time, bringing these themes into discussion of the present. I recently read their book A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism by Phyllis Goldstein. I was well acquainted with Jewish struggles from the Bible and Holocaust, but many of the stories in between, and especially those deemed “Antisemitism Today”, shocked me. As a Catholic raised in a post-Vatican II world, I had not been exposed to blame placed on Jews for the death of Jesus. Likewise, I had evaded any theories that seriously denied the Holocaust or blamed Jews for 9-11. 

This book helped me realize that antisemitism is a universal and transcendent theme. Antisemitism is not confined to the book of Exodus or a concentration camp, it is a real issue that requires discussion today. Publications like A Convenient Hatred do an exemplary job of presenting uncomfortable, and sometimes controversial, history as part of the past, but also as a relevant concern for the present and future. Antisemitism and hatred are alienated as attitudes of the past, without being denied in the present. Balanced history is created when public engagement and discussion checks its presentation.

Choose Your Own Adventure

For our digital exhibit final project, my team and I plan to create an interactive quiz game. Always committed to providing the best blog experience, I have decided to use this week’s blog post as an opportunity brush up on my coding skills in anticipation of this task. 

The Centralia Massacre, discussed in class this week, is an example of disputed history. Click through the choose your own adventure story to see history from multiple perspectives!

History is like Sand: it’s Coarse and Rough and Irritating and it Gets Everywhere

The moment I became serious about studying history was in AP US History class my junior year of high school when we covered the Sand Creek Massacre. 

My teacher divided the class into groups and assigned each a different primary source describing the 1864 events at Sand Creek from which each group prepared a report of the occurrences. The accounts varied, and debates broke out across the classroom over casualty reports. Colonel John Chivington reported 500-600 men killed, Cheyenne interpreter John Smith claimed 100 families had been murdered, Lieutenant Joseph Cramer counted 350 women and children among the dead, and Cheyanne defector George Bent’s reports varied by interview.

“I killed them all… not just the men, but the women and children too. —Anakin Skywalker”

John Chivington

This was a frustrating exercise for me as I had always experienced history in facts and enjoyed the permanence of the subject. I wanted my notes to read simply, “Sand Creek Massacre: 500 dead”, but the history behind the event was much more complicated than a k/d ratio. 

As frustrating as it was, the realization that history goes beyond absolutes also made history a lot more interesting. History is no longer a boring field in which everything that has happened is recorded and there is not much left to do but wait for another year of events to occur that can be added to the textbook. History involves creativity, research, and storytelling. It is not just a list of facts and vocab terms; true history must be learned through research and experimentation. 

If I were a vocab term, I would be hard pressed to fit my 18 years of life into a one sentence definition, yet people and events far more complex than me continue to be taught as such. It is necessary to analyze controversial points in history to impress the idea that history goes beyond the succinct, conflict-free paragraphs of a textbook. Current events today are seen as extremely complex, and it must not be forgotten that events were just as messy all throughout history.

When history is taught in schools, it is often done so without the discussion aspect of my APUSH class. This does not prepare students for facing controversy in the real world. Textbooks can come with their own ‘flavor’ of history. As Paul Boyer describes, Americans are divided on their opinions of the A-bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, (just as they are divided on the pronunciation of ‘Hiroshima’) often depending on their education. Some see a necessary action to end WWII, where others observe an unnecessarily violent measure taken in aggressive response to the Pearl Harbor attack. Discussion between stalwarts in both camps would most likely yield the truth which undoubtedly lies somewhere in the middle. An historian’s addition to the discussion may lend factors such as growing tensions with the USSR. Unfortunately, conversations like those in my APUSH class on Sand Creek, which encourage creative thinking and unbiased discussion, do not happen universally. 

Students are done a disservice when history is presented as though it is set in stone (unless the topic is petroglyphs). This method of teaching prevents students from developing an interest in history as they never see beyond the dusty, biased textbooks of their classrooms.

Global Panic? Guess I’ll Draw

I have gone 4 days without leaving my neighborhood block and I have since discovered that the only thing able to lure as many Midwesterners outside to stand on their driveways and yell across the street at one another as a tornado warning, is a pandemic.

As I sit at home and watch the news, it is easy to reflect on what I am doing during this global crisis. Inevitably, the spring of 2020 will be one of those moments about which people will ask me, “What were you doing when…?” I often ask my dad these kinds of questions regarding the Vietnam War or Moon Landing. His response is usually, “I don’t know, I was 5.” 

Unlike major events such as the 9/11 terror attacks, Hurricane Katrina, and Boston Marathon bombing, I cannot write off the Coronavirus as an event I am too young to remember well. The consequences of this pandemic are directly affecting my life. So, what am I doing right now, during an historic outbreak? Drawing cartoons. 

The cartoon is an oft overlooked but extremely important primary source. Cartoons give a look into popular culture and make news more palatable and engaging. Visual media in the form of drawings and images entices readers to engage with written media more closely. 

My group and I are taking this spirit into our History of the History Department project. As information is now limited, we must figure out how to create an exhibit with what we have already uncovered in the archives and what is available in Loyola’s digital archives. Therefore, we will put more effort into engagement and audience interaction. The goal is to excite the audience about broad, general topics so they will be motivated to learn more of the specific details awaiting all of us in the archives.

Though my weekly cartoons may seem to serve only as supplementary images and jokes, I see them as an indispensable part of my blog.

Cartoons are universal and may resonate with audiences for a variety of different reasons. My fellow classmates can most directly connect with the cartoon I have drawn for this week, but most college students will be able to relate to leaving behind a necessary part of their learning experience at campus, whether it be a library, lab, studio, or gym. Parents and teachers may look at this cartoon and understand that many students are legitimately upset to be leaving behind learning opportunities, and would rather be back at school than quarantined at home for the next five months. Everyone else hopefully can find some enjoyment and humor in the various mischievous facial expressions. 

My cartoons generally depict experiences that are personal or only directly apply to a small group of people, but their appeal is universal and encourages engagement. Cartoons have an infinitely important role in documenting personal experiences during historical moments. Perhaps high school students will be analyzing my cartoon on their AP US History exams 20 years from now.

(coughs) I’m in Danger.

As Tony Horwitz and Robert Lee Hodge explored monuments to one of the darkest times in American history, the Civil War, in chapter 10 of Confederates in the Attic, my mind wandered to the current dark moment in history, COVID-19. It is hard to think about much else as I post this from a dorm room littered with moving boxes. It is one of those unique moments when I can tangibly feel history being made; the illness, college closures, and event cancellations will undoubtedly find a place in future history books. 

Much like the hitchhikers who got more than they bargained for getting into Hodge and Horwitz’s car and subsequently joining their ‘Civil Wargasm’ road trip, the Coronavirus is like a ride on which many would rather not go. 

Not to make an insensitive comparison, but I imagine many Americans at the time of the Civil War felt similarly regarding their own circumstances. Maybe their lives were not particularly dependent on whether they were governed by the Union or the Confederacy, but the war was despised for compromising the very foundation of freedom that defines the United States. I hope to be able to maintain this role of an inconvenienced outsider in the COVID War, but the effects on my freedom to go to college are already causing me to develop a more personal loathing for the virus. 

I imagine Hodge’s ‘Wargasm’ would have been canceled this spring as spending a week traveling around the country in an unwashed Civil War uniform, sleeping outside, and eating near ancient pork fat sounds like a surer way to get the Rona than licking a door handle in Milan. In this uncertain time of restricted travel, it is critical to think about adapting history for digital engagement when trips like these are made impossible. 

As classes, meetings, and jobs, move online, it is questionable as to what museums and historic sites will do amidst the chaos. Even if they remain open, tourism will be very minimal through the spring and summer, the most important seasons for these sites in the US. The only sites which remain safe for travel are websites.

In these times, the blog and online exhibit projects for this Public History class become infinitely more relevant. The experience I have gained writing (and drawing) for this blog has already claimed a spot on my resume as the ability to curate content for a digital audience is an important skill for Public Historians today. With the spread of the virus, the ‘Civil Wargasm’ road trip would now contain a more authentic element of danger, but dying of Coronavirus is something even a Hardcore like Hodge would not risk. For a while, the only way to view artifacts and learn about history will be via the internet, so it is the historian’s job to ensure that a wealth of historical content is available online. 

This blog is one of the few assignments immune to the impact of the Coronapocolypse. Welcome to a foretaste of the future of digital history.

Drawing on History

Monuments have evolutionary interpretations that develop over time with rising and falling relevancy. Monuments of public art tend to have more interpretive flexibility than statues or architectural works. Public art projects showcase a historical memory through the perspective of an artist, and in some cases, allow the public to be the artist. 

When the topic of memorialization through public art came up in class, I simply could not refrain from once again gushing about the Berlin Wall and replica Berlin Wall I worked on last summer at the National Czech and Slovak Museum. 

The Berlin Wall was a monument of oppression, but it was also a blank canvas. One method of dealing with objectionable monuments is countering them with representation of other perspectives. West Berliners countered the stifling communism for which the Berlin Wall stood, by turning it into a piece of public art, covering stark concrete walls with colorful protest art.

The Berlin Wall eventually went through one of the most dramatic and highly anticipated monument removals in history, though colorful chunks of the barricade remain as memorials in Berlin to serve as reminders of the resilience of citizens who protested against oppressive communism. 

A replica of the Berlin Wall was constructed outside the NCSML last spring to bring this energy of protest to Cedar Rapids, IA. This Berlin Wall was not constructed to divide Riverside Park and Czech Village, it was built exclusively as a public art memorial. Just as Krysztof Wodiczko’s Bunker Hill Monument Projection showcased modern stories projected onto the monument, modern stories were painted onto the surface of this Wall. Over the summer, the Wall was painted and repainted by visitors who, by constantly changing its appearance, transformed the experience for each subsequent visitor. Each visitor’s interpretation of the Berlin Wall relied on what words, images, and colors stood out most.  

One space on the Wall remained unaltered all summer. This section on the was left blank to commemorate the east side of the Berlin Wall, blank from the tyranny of communism. This blank space stood in sobering contrast to the vibrancy of the rest of the wall. It reminded visitors to value the freedom many risked their lives for 30 years prior. I vigilantly kept this space free of wayward spray paint and brush strokes so it could be interpreted as such. 

At the wall, I assumed the role of interpreter. The story of the Berlin Wall was barely mine to tell. Celebrating just 30 years after the fall meant many visitors with whom I interacted lived through the Cold War. No number of photos, videos, articles, and books could ever give me the perspective of being in Berlin on November 9, 1989, living under communism in Prague, or fighting in Korea and Vietnam. The wall provided survivors with space to convey their own history into interpretive artwork.

The NCSML’s Berlin Wall was torn down on November 9, 2019. The monument’s fall was its final offering of interpretation. Bittersweet to see months of artwork crushed, the cheering crowd told a story of empowerment and patriotism as the community joined together to assert their freedom.

A Rumor of Growth

Occasionally the image of my 9-year-old self dressed in the gaudy fashion of leggings layered with shorts, leg warmers, and neon Converse, burns itself into my mind at 3am, the overall cringey-ness keeping me from falling asleep. For my readers’ sanity, I will abstain from including a visual of this iconic look, but this week’s chapter, “Dying for Dixie” in Tony Horwitz’s Confederates in the Attic, convinced me to reflect on uncomfortable parts of history such as this. 

How is it that outfits on which I prided myself in 2010 can be the cause of such embarrassment for me a decade later? The simple answer is that I have learned from my mistakes and grown. It is only from the vantage point of a closet full of neutral colors that I can be upset by my youthful fashion choices. 

It is the same when reflecting on history as a whole with the advantage of hindsight. Certain events will always hold embarrassment and discomfort, which many choose to avoid.

One example of uncomfortable history is modern conflicts of racism as leftovers from the Civil War. Horwitz’s chapter tells this story in the form of the murder of a Confederate flag wielding redneck by a group of black teens. 

Another example of uncomfortable history is the Vietnam War, an outline of which is provided in Philip Caputo’s memoir A Rumor of War. Caputo’s account is the story of his company’s descent into feral madness in the jungles of Nam and the subsequent atrocities committed at their hands. Caputo says himself, “I wanted A Rumor of War to make people uncomfortable.”

These stories blur the lines between hero and villain, complicating the reader’s view of events. 

Are the heroes of Horwitz’s story teenagers who stand up for one another by murdering a bully? Is the villain a new father who hardly knows the meaning of the Confederate flag he flies?

Are the heroes of Caputo’s story US Marines who unflinchingly burn and raid villages? Is the villian an elderly Vietnamese woman beaten for not understanding English?

Much of the discomfort surrounding these stories stems from the reader’s realization they empathize with both parties. The conflicts are just as real and complicated now as they were when they occurred, and the reader must make their own imperfect judgements with the aid of hindsight. Just like me looking back and wondering why I dressed like a Jazzercize instructor in elementary school, looking back at history and becoming uncomfortable, anxious, and confused, signifies growth. 

So, should history make people uncomfortable? For museums and other venues which present history to the public, the foremost goal must be engagement, hence it may be less appropriate to present history in all its controversial gory glory. Last week’s blog post discussed this topic at length. However, historians should never shy away from offering all sides of history in honest, uncensored detail critical to the study of history. These stories can be tactfully presented in formats like books which audiences are free to work through at their own pace.  

Discomfort, anxiety, and embarrassment are natural and proper reactions to history since history taught the world how to be a better place.

[Confederates in the Attic, Tony Horwitz 1998. A Rumor of War, Philip Caputo 1977.]

To Farb or Not To Farb

In his 1998 book, Confederates in the Attic, Tony Horwitz recounts the lives of Civil War reenactors and living historians, some of whom are referred to as ‘farbs’:

“’Farb’ was the worst insult in the hardcore vocabulary. It referred to reenactors who approached the past with a lack of verisimilitude. The word’s etymology was obscure; Young guessed that ‘farb’ was short for ‘far-be-it-from-authentic,’ or possibly a respelling of ‘barf.’ Violations serious enough to earn the slur included wearing a wristwatch, smoking cigarettes, smearing oneself with sunblock or insect repellant—or, worst of all, fake blood. Farb was also a fungible word; it could become an adjective (farby), a verb (as in, ‘don’t farb out on me’), an adverb (farbily) and a heretical school of thought (Farbism or Farbiness).”

To hardcore living historians, like the legendary Robert Lee Hodge, farby anachronisms which make history more tolerable, fun, and accessible, spoil reenactment events. But can farbiness be considered failure if it encourages increased engagement with history, even if it lacks authenticity?

I have encountered both farbs and hardcores at reenactments. While it is intriguing to see thoroughly invested hardcores sleeping in pup tents and eating 80-year-old C-rations, the public engages mostly with farbs. Hardcores fade into the background like pieces in a diorama; hardcores may enjoy roughing it, but it is not an ideal way to engage with others. 

The appearance, smell, and lifestyle of a hardcore is overwhelming. Observers are more likely to engage with friendly farbs, dressed in mismatched uniforms stained with cherry juice, than to approach men who appear three weeks deep into trenches of the Battle of the Somme. The goal of a battle reenactment, like any display of public history, is to engage audiences. This goal cannot be achieved if audiences are too intimidated to learn from certain historians. 

Though I have yet to participate in a reenactment, I appreciate the spirit of preserving memories through recreation. Hardcores have their place in authentic preservation, but accessible history today requires farbiness through romanticism, humor, drama, and other sentiments that inspire personal connections to persons and events. 

Farbily, I tend to collect artifacts with personal connections in mind over historical accuracy. Two of my favorite items come from a piecemeal WWII Naval Undress Uniform. The first is a ‘Dixie cup’ hat from Msgr. Mervin J. Hood, a local priest and family friend who served aboard the USS Mertz. The second is a jumper from Wayne V. Paustain, a local medic who served as a Pharmacist’s Mate, 2^ndclass. Uniform pieces are not for the purpose of a costume (though last week’s blogpost exposed me for wearing the hat while touring the USS Iowa), but serve to curate a collection of personally meaningful artifacts. 

Why not take advantage of modern comforts soldiers fought so hard for future generations to enjoy? Maybe someday I will be more hardcore, but for now I am content to attend reenactments where living historians employ the use of modern deodorant. Though farbs do not depict history authentically, they make history palatable, which successfully makes observers want to learn more in the future.

 [Definition from Chapter 1 of Confederates in the Attic, Tony Horwitz 1998.]