One of the things our tour guide showed us was the place where the fire first leapt over the river during the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. I hadn’t given this fire much thought since learning about Ms. O’Leary’s cow in school, to be honest, but it was really interesting to hear about the series of unfortunate events that turned this barn fire into a citywide catastrophe and forever changed this city’s trajectory.
First of all, most of Chicago was made of wood at the time, including its sidewalks, bridges and roads. And there had been a drought that year that kept everything nice and dry. And, of course, Chicago is known for its wind.
When the fire started in the vicinity of the O’Leary farm, it didn’t take long to spread to nearby buildings. To set the record straight, (spoiler alert!) there’s actually no concrete evidence that allows us to place the blame on the shoulders of the poor cow, who most assuredly died in the conflagration and was given no opportunity to defend its honor. Having said that, though, I am pleased to report that the city council officially exonerated the O’Learys and the cow in 1997. It’s a pity that didn’t happen during Ms. O’Leary’s lifetime, because after all the accusations, she died a recluse. As Dr. King said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
The O’Leary’s home, which, ironically, survived the blaze. The barn did not.
We were told about the fire whirls (a better name would be fire tornadoes) that sprang up and launched flaming debris over the south branch of the river, thus igniting the city center. Fire whirls also allowed the blaze to jump the main branch of the river later on, which spread the destruction northward and more than doubled the size of the catastrophe.
One of the most unfortunate buildings to be destroyed was the city’s waterworks. It was engulfed within minutes, and this caused all the water mains to go dry. By then it was all but impossible to do anything to stop this conflagration.
Another piece of bad luck was that flaming debris struck a train that was carrying kerosene on the city’s north side. Needless to say, the explosion from that was epic. It added energy to an already relentless blaze which burned for two days, and took many more days to cool.
In the end, 3.3 square miles of the city had burned. It is estimated that 300 people died, 17,000 structures were destroyed, and nearly 100,000 residents were made homeless.
To avoid looting, price gouging, and chaos in the aftermath of this tragedy, the city was placed under martial law for two weeks. Aid came in the form of money and supplies from all over the world. The few structures that remained in the city were opened as places of refuge, but many of the homeless never fully recovered because all their personal papers and belongings had been destroyed.
Interestingly enough, along with food and clothing, book donations arrived by train from all over the continent, and thanks to a donation of 8,000 additional volumes from England, the city was able to establish its first ever free Chicago Public Library a few months later. (I like the thought of a library rising from the ashes.)
This fire explains why you see very few structures in Chicago that were built before 1871. And I’d wager it’s also why you now see so many buildings made of brick, stone, and concrete. The city improved its building codes and rewrote its fire standards after this disaster, and other cities took note. This piece of history makes you look at this city in a different way.
Ironically, the Chicago Fire Academy, as well as a monument commemorating the great Chicago fire, are what stand today on what used to be the O’Leary Farm. There was talk of relocating the academy in 2019, but then, you know, COVID. Personally, I hope it stays right where it is.
To this day, Chicago has one of the best fire-fighting forces in the country.
The Chicago Fire Academy and monument.
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
An eclectic and chaotic jumble of architectural gorgeousness!
I have already written multiple posts about our visits to Lawrence, Kansas and Kansas City, Missouri, but I must confess that the portion of that particular trip that I was most looking forward to was our time in Chicago. In all my years, I’ve never actually been to this city, unless you count changing planes at O’Hare (which I most definitely do not.)
Before we get started, I have to say that if you’re going to be sightseeing in the city for 3 days or more, I highly recommend that you purchase the Chicago CityPass. We used it at least 4 times in different venues, and it was a great savings. Okay, commercial over. (But I swear I’m not getting paid to tell you about this.)
Our first full day in the Windy City began with the perfect experience: The Shoreline Sightseeing Architecture River Tour. We boarded a vessel called the Bright Star. It was docked on the north shore of the Chicago River, next to the Equitable Building on Michigan Avenue. Our tour guide was “Super Dan”, and he really knew his stuff. Not only did he have his spiel down pat, but he encouraged questions. (I believe he was an architecture student.)
I’m glad we took this tour first, because it was a great way to orient ourselves within an unfamiliar city. It also taught me what to look for when attempting to distinguish the many architectural styles that Chicago is well known for. In addition, Super Dan was able to give us a great deal of historical background that we might have otherwise overlooked (see my upcoming blog posts about the Great Chicago Fire and Spider Dan), so this 75-minute experience kind of felt like a freshman orientation, and it added depth and color to our whole Chicago experience.
Here are just a few of the architectural styles we saw on the tour. I got their descriptions directly from the Chicago Architecture Center website. That’s another place I hope to visit if I ever get to return to the Windy City.
Art Deco (My Favorite!)
Art Deco has come to represent opulence and glamour. One striking example is Chicago’s Carbide and Carbon Building, designed to look like a Champagne bottle and finished with real gold. Other notable examples include the Merchandise Mart and the Chicago Board of Trade Building.
International Style
The International Style is a type of modern architecture born after World War II, known for its steel-and-glass exteriors, minimal (if any) ornamentation, and open interiors. Notable examples include One Illinois Center, and 330 N. Wabash.
Mid-Century Modernism
Mid-Century Modern takes the technical precision of the International Style and experiments with new materials like concrete and more sculptural, organic forms (like the iconic Marina City corn cobs). Notable examples: 875 N. Michigan Ave., Willis Tower, and Marina City.
Chicago School
After the Great Chicago Fire, the city began to rebuild at an extraordinary pace, leveraging the latest techniques and technology to take the city’s architecture to new heights that were previously unimaginable. Architects finished these structures with decorative elements and delicate details, making Chicago School instantly recognizable. Notable examples: Reliance Building, Monadnock Building, and Sullivan Center.
Postmodernism
While the International style adheres to clean lines and minimal decoration, Postmodernism is all about being creative, eclectic, and sometimes a little quirky. Think curved forms, asymmetry, bright colors, and generally breaking with tradition. Notable examples: James R. Thompson Center, Harold Washington Library, and 333 West Wacker Drive.
Gothic Revival
American architects first introduced Gothic Revival style buildings to the United States in the mid-19th Century. Borrowed from a popular revival that first began in 18th Century Britain, the style spread through building pattern books. Medieval castles and cathedrals of 11th-13th Century Europe were reinterpreted as picturesque churches, homes and university buildings in the United States.
One example of this style is the Chicago Water Tower. Gothic skyscrapers are less common, but Chicago has three good examples, including: Tribune Tower, Chicago Temple and the Fisher Building.
But since I’m a bridgetender, the most fascinating structures were Chicago’s many drawbridges and their accompanying tenderhouses in their various styles. I could imagine being a bridgetender in the Windy City and having these spectacular views. And then walking home along those bustling streets, picking up a deep dish pizza along the way. It’s a nice dream, except these bridges are rarely operated anymore and therefore do not have full time staff, and I could never afford to live in the city center. I will be blogging a lot more about these bridges at a later date.
When I started writing this post, I intended to go into great detail about some of the most unique buildings, and divide my photos out into the various styles, but I’m beginning to learn that not everyone wants as much information as I tend to give, so I’m exercising restraint and just lumping all the photos together and letting you figure them out. (Actually, let’s just call it restraint with a heavy dollop of laziness, because that level of organization would have taken me hours.)
And with that, Dear Reader, I hope you enjoy it the same way we did: in a big old eclectic and chaotic jumble of architectural gorgeousness!
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
My mother taught me many things, but the one lesson I use on a daily basis is what I call “The Power of Mmm…”
When I was young, she explained to me that people always want to think that you agree with them. Therefore, when they say something outrageous or silly or downright stupid, and you don’t have the energy or the desire to get into a debate, you simply respond, “Mmm…” and it’s like a get out of jail free card.
They will interpret your response as, “I couldn’t agree more!” or “How fascinating!” and they’ll be satisfied and move on to other things.
In fact, my mmm could be interpreted in a variety of ways. For example, it might mean, “Oh my God, please shut up, you idiot.” That’s the kind of mmm I give when someone says something like, “You know, Biden stole the election…”
It’s also my stock response when someone starts talking about sports. In that case, mmm means “Rah, rah, rah. Yay team. Whatever.”
When a coworker said, “I once ate manatee meat,” my mmm was a desperate attempt to not react in horror about something that happened in the past that can’t be changed and is likely to never happen again (thank goodness).
I’ve also used mmm as a response to “Do these shorts make me look fat?” or “Isn’t he cute?” or “I sure do miss polyester bellbottoms!”
And the older I get, the more mmm becomes, “I wasn’t really paying enough attention to weigh in on this topic.”
The only downside to the mmm gambit is that once you employ it regularly, you quickly realize that most people don’t really care what you think. They just want to be heard and validated, and if you provide just enough framework, they’ll do all the heavy lifting themselves.
Try it. You’ll be amazed at how effective it is. Consider it a free gift from my mom.
A mash up of delightful little things about KC in one post.
As per usual when I visit a city, there are several things about the visit that I’d like to tell you about, but they don’t constitute a full blog post. What I wind up doing is sort of a mash up of these little things in one post. So here’s some tidbits about Kansas City.
Book lover that I am, I’ve wanted to see the mural on the Kansas City Public Library for years. The whole wall is a row of gigantic books. How cool is that? So Dear Husband and I made a point of stopping by there. Sadly, we had no time to visit the interior, and that nearly killed me, but finally, finally I got to see the mural!
What I was expecting to see was what I’ve pretty much seen in every online image of this mural. Something like this:
Instead, what we saw was this:
But in fairness, a lot of iconic tourist views are not what you expect when you finally see them with your own eyes. But there was an unexpected plus side as well. I never knew that the stairway up to the library parking garage also looked like a stack of books. That was fun.
And we of course got to examine all the books close up. They were amazing in their detail, and they were faithful to the editions in question, too. We were so charmed by this mural that we even drove past it during our night drive.
Dear Husband and I love driving around at night to explore a city. There’s less traffic, fewer people, and the night lighting can magically transform an edifice. Here are some additional photos we took during our night drive.
Another thing we did was drive past the Bott House. It was designed by my favorite architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. I do love art deco with its bold, geometric designs. It’s my favorite architectural style.
The Bott House is a private residence, so you can’t go in. I’m sure the owners and their neighbors get sick and tired of people driving slowly past and taking pictures, but how could anyone resist? I mean, isn’t this amazing?
I almost wish I didn’t just Google “Bott House interior”, because the images are so stunning that I’m tempted to go back there and press my nose against the windows. I suspect that wouldn’t end well, though. (If you see a GoFundMe campaign to raise bail for me, you’ll know why.) The house’s official website states that it still has all the original Frank Lloyd Wright furniture, too.
One last thing. Anyone who goes to Kansas City and doesn’t try their signature barbeque is a fool! This city is known for it, and there are plenty of BBQ joints to choose from. We met some of our family at Arthur Bryant’s Barbeque, and it was an unforgettable experience. The company, of course, was wonderful, the smoked meat was mouthwatering, and I loved the sauce. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.
I was really impressed that Barack Obama had visited the place while he was still president. But that made my nephew (Hi, Ryan!), who is a longtime KC resident, laugh. He said that Obama pretty much visited every Kansas City barbeque, so as not to play favorites. Apparently, it’s much more notable in these parts if Obama hasn’t been to your BBQ establishment. I certainly can’t blame him for making the rounds, though. Barbeque is one of the many things that makes this city worthwhile!
Watch this space for blogs about the next city we visited: Chicago!
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
I’m sure that you’re feeling very proud of yourself for jumping across an opening drawbridge just like they do in the movies. You’re probably sitting at some bar, bragging to your buddies, even as I write this. That’s why I feel the need to write this.
Just so you know, I have been a bridgetender for 22 years. I am extremely proud of the fact that no one has ever gotten hurt on my watch. I don’t think I could continue to do this job if that ever changed. It may seem like I just sit up here and occasionally press a button, as if a trained monkey could do my job, but my coworkers and I take the safety of the traveling public very seriously.
I understand that the cultural norm these days is to not consider consequences, and to just do what one wants without taking other people into consideration. (And when did we stop teaching about critical thinking in schools? I’d really like to know.) In that way, you’re right on the cutting edge of society. But I’d like to point out the many potential consequences of your cute little act of rebellion. You’re sitting there, drinking your beer and bragging, but things could have ended very differently.
First of all, when you jumped over the already closed traffic gate, you could have caught your foot on it and fallen face first onto the concrete. Then you’d be drinking your beer through a straw for months until they unwired your jaw, set your nose, and replaced your teeth.
Dozens of people saw your antics, just as dozens of people are hearing you brag. Some of them may be just as stupid, but less coordinated than you are, and they might try what you did and get really hurt. Or perhaps some young person gets encouraged to make the attempt because you got away with it, and they wind up dying in the process.
If you had stumbled center span, your foot or arm could have become trapped and most likely amputated at the pinch point. You seem to overlook the fact that you just took on about a million pounds of concrete and steel in motion. You lived to tell the tale this time. Next time, you might not be so lucky. Don’t believe me? Google “Death and Drawbridges” some time. You’ll get lots of hits.
Fortunately for me, the opening in question was for a sailboat, so I was able to abruptly stop mid-opening without further consequence. But twice a day I open the bridge for a 3000 gross ton gravel barge. The captain can’t exactly slam on the brakes or make a u-turn if I say, “Hold on. I’ve got a pedestrian acting the fool.” So then I’m presented with the question that I hope I never have to answer:
Do I stop the opening to improve your chances of survival, thus potentially killing the barge captain, damaging the bridge by his vessel’s impact, and causing gridlock in town for years as the bridge gets replaced to the tune of millions of tax dollars, or… do I continue the opening and potentially kill you?
There’s no way to predict what I’d do in that highly charged moment, but intellectually, if I have no other choices, I’d choose the path of least damage and consequences, and concentrate the suffering on the one person who made a poor choice. I’d have to kill you. Then I’d write up a report and pray I didn’t lose my job and my livelihood over something that YOU chose to do on a whim. You. Not me. (But it’s probably a moot point, because I’d be so emotionally devastated that I most likely would have to quit anyway. And pay for therapy for the rest of my life.)
Your actions did have three very definite consequences: 1) The adrenaline dump I experienced made me want to throw up my lunch, and I went home and slept for 12 hours. 2) I was so rattled at the end of the shift that I wound up having to take the next day off to recover, because that level of stupidity is something I’ll never get used to. And 3) since I had to stop in the middle of my bridge opening for you, you held up traffic for about 1000 commuters, some of whom might have had legitimate reasons to be in a hurry.
In light of all the above, I hope you’ll avoid ever pulling that stunt again. It doesn’t make you look like a hero. It’s nothing to brag about.
Sincerely,
A bridgetender who is simply trying to keep everyone safe.
Oh, and P.S.: Most guys can’t pull off a black spandex bodysuit and bright orange tennis shoes, and you are definitely no exception. Just Sayin’.
There’s the fool I described above, and then there’s this fool. Don’t try this at home, folks. There’s nothing worse than being best known for your own idiotic death..
You can tell a lot about a city by its public art.
For about a decade, I would travel from Jacksonville, Florida to Kansas City, Missouri once, sometimes twice a year, to visit my niece and nephew. Apologies in advance to all Missourians, but yours is not one of those states that I would have had a burning desire to go to otherwise. Between its deplorable politics, repressive school system, and its total lack of stimulation, I can’t imagine why anyone would live there. The lack of both hope and opportunity that I feel when I’m there is heartbreaking, and it settles down on me like a wet, woolen blanket. But I kept going back because that’s what you do for the people you love.
Parts of Kansas City are actually rather nice, though. You just have to make an effort to overlook the unfortunate Missouri-ness of it. One thing I definitely have to say about this little city is that I have always been extremely impressed with its public art.
When I lived in Jacksonville, it was so conservative that its governing body considered art to be too controversial to display publicly. If people started exposing themselves to artistic concepts, they might get open minds, and the city could not have that. My goodness, it might lead to dancing, or something. (I haven’t been to Jacksonville in nearly a decade. Perhaps they’ve entered the modern world since I left. I hope so.)
After living in that art-deprived atmosphere for the bulk of my adult life, seeing the sculptures and murals and fountains of Kansas City was always a bit of a shock as well as a huge breath of fresh air for me. I have often said that you can tell a lot about a city by its public art. The art I’ve encountered there doesn’t necessarily give you the impression that its residents have a sense of humor or that they’re willing to poke fun at themselves, but it is colorful and vibrant and extremely well made. It makes you stop and think. It shows that this city appreciates all things beautiful, and that is a wonderful vibe to foster in any metropolis.
I’ll leave you with some of the public art Dear Husband and I encountered during a recent visit to Kansas City. Enjoy!
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
Andy Warhol predicted that we’d all get 15 minutes of world fame. I always took this artist with a grain of salt, but I’m really starting to believe him in this particular case. I’ve had a few seconds of fame in my lifetime, and I’m beginning to think it might be adding up. It’s always unexpected, and it’s always disconcerting, but it has occurred much more frequently than I ever anticipated that it would. (Okay, calling my snippets of fame “world” fame is quite a stretch, but still, it’s pretty intense.)
It happened again the other day. A friend of mine (Hi, Sheryl!) posted on my Facebook page, “I just heard your wildlife story on The Wild on KUOW!”
Wait. What? This was news to me.
Yes, I listen to that podcast and love it. Yes, Chris Morgan, the show’s host, put out a request for listeners to mail in our own wildlife encounters. I had one, so I did so. It was basically an abbreviated version of my blog post, A Rare Gift from a Dolphin, that I actually posted about 10 years ago.
I heard nothing back from The Wild, and you know, life does have a tendency to go on. I forgot all about it. But it turns out that they used it!
Unfortunately, I didn’t happen to be listening on that particular day, so if my friend hadn’t told me about it, I’d have never known. And what are the odds of that, really? She just happened to be listening, and even though my last name wasn’t mentioned, they provided enough details for her to know it was me. Amazing!
I contacted Chris Morgan via Facebook to find out if there was any way for me to listen to it. He responded that his podcasts get posted on their website, and the one that mentioned my encounter would be up soon!
And here it is! You hear him mention me, starting at 00:40! Check it out!
I know, it’s only a few seconds, but it makes me smile. Don’t we all want to be recognized, heard, acknowledged in this life?
I wish I had footage of the two times I was on my local Jacksonville evening news about 30 years ago, but I fear that footage is lost to time. The first one was interviewing me about the fact that I had an unlisted phone number for security reasons, and yet a phone book company printed it anyway. (This was way back in the dark ages when everyone had landlines, phonebooks, and a reasonable expectation of privacy.) The story resulted in the phone company giving me a new phone number for free.
My second TV interview was about my xeriscaped front lawn. I had covered it in local, ground hugging vines rather than grass. (Little did they know I simply did it because I hated mowing. I mean, yes, I believe in doing what I can for the environment, but I’m even more motivated when my efforts result in increased convenience for me.)
It turns out that my fame seconds have been adding up quite a bit. Yours can, too, you know, if that’s something that interests you. Everyone has a story. If you don’t tell people yours, no one will ever know it’s worth sharing. At a bare minimum, if you have an interesting true story to tell, contact me, and I might share it on this blog.
At the risk of sounding horribly self-aggrandizing, here are some links to some more of my fleeting brushes with fame. For the sake of clarity, I’ve listed them in chronological order. Enjoy!
This story is a short one. But it requires a long setup, and then afterwards I provide extra details if you’re interested. So, bear with me.
The Setup
Once upon a time (about a year and a half before I started writing this blog and looking at all unique experiences as potential blog fodder), I had an unexpected opportunity to spend the summer in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, operating the Ben Sawyer Bridge. From there you could see Charleston, so whenever I had the day off, I would explore that gorgeous old city.
That summer was a strange one for me. I have never thrived in blistering heat, for starters. In addition, I had no idea where my life was going. I had lost a lot of money in a bad investment. My finances were circling the drain. And I didn’t know it at the time, but I was being cheated on. All I knew was that something wasn’t right.
To add to my inner turmoil, I have very mixed emotions about Charleston. It’s one of the prettiest cities in America in my opinion, but it has a very dark history. It was the largest slave port in the United States by far, and it is close to historic plantations that should actually have been called forced labor camps, where slaves could expect to experience brutality on an incomprehensible scale.
Throughout the l800’s, the majority of the population of Charleston (and in fact the majority of the population of the entire state of South Carolina) was black. If you live in a place where the bulk of the population is experiencing extreme abuse, that makes for a very tense atmosphere. And the abusers themselves would not have escaped that tension, either (although I have no pity for them).
Slave owners and whites in general would have had to operate under a crushing amount of cognitive dissonance to live like that, so it’s safe to assume that those in power were mentally warped. (Most of us have had the luxury of living in blissful ignorance of that feeling until 2016 rose up and slapped us in the face, yet I’m sure we have only gotten a mere sliver of a taste of what South Carolina felt like in the 1800’s.) That feeling that the inmates are running the asylum, too, makes for a tense atmosphere.
As an autistic person, my spidey-sense for tension is, unfortunately, always turned up to full blast. Whether you believe in that stuff or not, I’m convinced that historical tensions have left a residue on Charleston. It coats all the beautiful architecture with a taint that can never be fully washed away.
So, on the day in question, I was already experiencing inner and outer turmoil. It felt as though my nerves were on the surface of my skin. Now that you have a sense of my mindset, here’s. . .
The Story
I decided to visit the historic Aiken-Rhett House, a beautiful antebellum home that was built in 1820 and owned mainly by a former Governor of South Carolina, William Aiken Jr. It is historically significant because it’s one of the few homes in Charleston in which the outbuildings, mainly the domain of slaves, are intact.
The interior of the house itself has been preserved in an “as found” state. In other words, it hasn’t been restored. You’re looking at what’s left of the actual paint and wallpaper and light fixtures and furnishings from the 1850’s. That was disconcerting in and of itself, because most historic homes that I’ve toured have been restored and beautifully appointed. But in this house, there’s no separation between you and what’s real and original, albeit deteriorated. Somehow that makes it more real. While the passage of time is quite obvious, you can tell that the Aikens lived in grand style, indeed. They even took a grand tour of Europe at one point and brought back many pieces of art that are still on display.
To maintain this opulent lifestyle, the Aikens, at the height of their slave ownership, housed 19 slaves in the outbuildings out back. While those slaves probably lived under much better conditions than Aikens’ 839 field slaves did, they still experienced far from enviable conditions.
I got to look at their housing. Each family, regardless of how many members, was allotted one windowless room that must have been stiflingly hot in the summer and cold and damp in the winter. These rooms were in a row, almost like horse stalls. Each room let out into the hallway, which, at least, did have windows.
These slaves most likely worked 18 hour days and had to be on call 24 hours a day to respond to their owner’s slightest whim. And let’s not forget that they lived in tension-filled Charleston, where it was common practice to “rent out” your slaves to others. In exchange, all the money they earned would go to you.
So, yeah. Not good. That was all on my mind while I took this tour.
When I entered the warming kitchen, where the slaves had to toil in order to keep the Aikens fed, the hair stood up on my neck. I mean, it was a really, really bad feeling place. The walls were crumbling, the place was dark and had low ceilings and they had to keep the ovens on constantly, even in the midst of the blistering Charleston summers. I could feel the stress, the urgency, and the despair of seeing decent food that you’d never get to eat yourself.
It’s hard to explain, but in that room I felt the entire system. The evil. The pain. The helplessness. The fear. The anger. The greed. All of it felt like one huge, hot, heavy, condensed ball of enslavement closing in on me. This was worse than feeling as if the place were haunted by spirits with unfinished business. (That old trope.) It was more like being force-fed a situational awareness that was straight out of hell. That room was imbued with negativity.
I had to get out of there. I practically ran into the courtyard and tried to gather myself. My heart was pounding.
Before leaving, I took this courtyard picture. When I got back to my extended stay hotel, I looked at the image and nearly deleted it, because of the tourist who had blundered into the shot from the right. (She, too, seemed to want to get out of that warming kitchen in a hurry.)
Then I looked closer at the photo. That figure in the center window must be a fellow tourist. Right? Right?
Happy Halloween.
The Extra Details
William Aiken Jr is a bit of an enigma. Not only did he serve as governor of South Carolina 20 years before the Civil War, but he also served in the US House of Representatives for seven years while the slavery debate that would spark that war was at its height. He owned the historic house in Charleston, but he also had a plantation, Jehossee Island, which was one of the largest rice plantations in the state. He had 853 slaves total, and was one of the 5 biggest slaveholders in American History.
How did he treat his slaves? It’s hard to know, but based on the living conditions of the house slaves, I can’t imagine the horrors the field slaves faced.
I did come across an interesting article about a study that was done of pre-Civil War medical journals, which indicates that slaves were subjected to cruel medical experiments much more often than we have been led to believe. In it was the following paragraph:
“The physician and slave owner William Aiken of Winnsboro, North Carolina, reported an 1852 experiment on a slave named Lucinda, who suffered from a bony growth around her right eye. Aiken and other doctors disfigured her by boring holes in her head — without chloroform, a gas that was used at the time for anesthesia — to remove the growth.”
I asked the Historic Charleston Foundation if this was “our man”, and they replied that it was not. However, this torturer was Governor Aiken’s nephew and namesake. It’s not a stretch to think that if that family tree could produce such twisted fruit, the Governor could have shared that total, horrific disdain for his slaves as well.
We do know that one of “our” Mr. Aiken’s house slaves, Dorcas, had her first child at age 11. That’s horrific. But she was educated enough to run the Col. Shaw Colored Orphan Asylum after emancipation, and could sign her name, so Aiken either was oblivious to her illegal education or chose to look the other way. (It sounds like quite a bit of looking the other way was going on if Dorcas was impregnated at such a tender age. I suspect a DNA test of Dorcas’ descendants might prove very embarrassing to the Aiken family.)
I also stumbled upon a very interesting article entitled, First Families of Hilton Head: The Aikens. It is a very large family that descends from South Carolina slaves, and since many slaves took the last names of their masters, well… it’s a safe bet that they have ties to William Aiken Jr., like it or not. For generations, they lived as proud Gullahs on the island. They even have one story of an ancestor, Joseph Aiken, who escaped to Hilton Head, so he’s one of the founding fathers. I’m sure William was furious about this escape, but Joseph went on to produce what looks to be a very large, successful family that values education, so good on him, I say.
But here’s where things get more confusing. William Aiken Jr was a loyal Unionist during the civil war. He never believed that South Carolina should secede from the union. This from a slaveholder who did not share the same political party as Abraham Lincoln.
But define “loyal unionist.” To quote this article:
“Although opposed to both nullification and secession, Aiken gave financial support to the Confederacy during the Civil War. On the defeat of the Confederacy, he was arrested and briefly detained in Washington.”
As much history as we glean from documents, we’ll never truly know what was going on in the minds of Aiken or his slaves. They have left us a rather fraught legacy in the form of Charleston, though. The slaves built it, the slaveholders bankrolled it and profited from it, and we are left to stand in its wake and wonder how things really were. A lot of people would prefer that we never know, but I believe the truth is the only way we can learn from our horrible mistakes and move on. That’s why I believe that the whitewashing that is going on in our public schools does a disservice to all of us.
As this National Geographic article attests, the echoes of slavery still remain in Charleston, right down to the children’s fingerprints in many of the handmade bricks. Sweetgrass baskets, which are still made by the descendants of slaves to this very day, are now considered the South Carolina state craft. I blogged about mine long before they got that designation. The baskets I purchased still hold pride of place on my bedroom wall. I try not to focus on the fact that these baskets would not even exist if slavery hadn’t existed.
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
Lost for 132 years, the re-discovery of this steamboat is an epic treasure-hunting story.
The height of the Steamboat Era was from 1820 to 1870 here in America. They plied most of the major lakes and rivers in this country. Averaging 5 miles per hour, they were the quickest form of transportation at the time. On the Missouri River, they were the primary source of supplies and human transport for much longer than you’d expect, given the fact that the average steamboat on that waterway only lasted for 3 years. Being aboard one was a risky proposition on the best of days.
These vessels were very cheaply built to maximize profit, and it was not unusual for their boilers to explode, which could either disintegrate the entire ship or set it on fire. There was also a legitimate fear of Indian attacks. It was also possible to be sunk by ice or striking rocks.
But the biggest danger of all were the snags, which could consist of roots or logs from a downed tree or remnants of a boat wreck. This debris could puncture your hull and rapidly sink your ship. These snags were constantly on the move due to the strong current, and therefore could turn up in very unexpected locations.
Ironically, it was the steamboats themselves that caused the snags in the first place. In order to produce the steam needed to run the engines, these vessels required massive amounts of wood to burn. As steamboats became increasingly popular, more and more trees along the banks of the river were chopped down to burn on the ships. The lack of living trees to support the river’s banks meant a drastic increase in erosion, and the roots and remnants of those downed trees washed into the river itself. Boats that crashed and sank on these snags then became snags themselves.
Nearly 400 steamboats were reported to have sunk along the stretch of river from St. Louis to Kansas City during the steamboat era, and many other vessels followed suit. The Missouri was not only a primary transportation route, but it was also a graveyard. In addition, it has turned out to be a very effective time capsule.
On September 5, 1856, the Steamboat Arabia became yet another casualty of the treacherous snags on the Missouri River. The vessel was almost completely covered in silt and beneath the surface of the water within less than 24 hours of sinking. Fortunately, the 130 people who had been on board all survived. The same cannot be said of the poor mule that had been chained to the deck.
The vast majority of the 200 tons of food and supplies that were aboard were impossible to recover, despite many attempts by fortune hunters of that century. After the last unsuccessful salvage attempt in 1897, the vessel was all but forgotten for the next 91 years, as it was covered by more and more silt. The river slowly rerouted itself a half mile to the north, leaving the Arabia behind. By the time it was finally located again, the wreck lay 45 feet beneath a cornfield.
Five partners pooled a million dollars in order to dig the steamboat up, but the farmer made them wait until after that year’s fall harvest and insisted they be done before the next year’s spring planting. They were able to excavate the steamboat and its contents in about 4 ½ months. Due to the constant temperature, the lack of oxygen, and the silt, much of what they found was in excellent shape. This salvage produced a treasure trove of items that tell us a great deal about what life was like for 19th century pioneers. The partners knew they had found something unique, so they came up with another million dollars to house these incredible discoveries in the Arabia Steamboat Museum in Kansas City, Missouri.
I had been wanting to visit that museum for about a quarter of a century, because it contains the largest collection of pre-Civil War artifacts in the world. I finally got to see it a few months ago. It was a fascinating experience for a nerd like me. As you can see, Dear Husband and I took a lot of pictures.
140 tons of cargo looks almost like new. 60 more tons are being restored. You can watch the restoration being done and ask the technicians questions in real time.
It felt like time travel to be able to look at shoes, clothing, tools, and preserved food, some of which, according to the discoverers thereof, is still edible. (They actually tried the preserved pickles and apples and state they were delicious. They’re braver than I would be.)
You can also see buttons and beads for trade, fine China, weaponry, hats, cutlery, glass bottles, keys, doorknobs, jewelry, pens, spurs, clothes pins, irons, sewing notions, and pots and pans. Basically, the Arabia was carrying just about anything that was fit to be sold in a mercantile or a trading post. I bet the owner/investors were furious to lose so much merchandise!
The museum also houses a paddle wheel, and you can also see portions of the ship with traces of its original paint. They also have the actual steam engine, as well as the actual snag that did the boat in. The most unsettling items were the abandoned belongings of the fleeing passengers, and the skeleton of the poor mule.
The museum’s lease runs out in 2026, and they’re scouting out other locations because they want to expand. If successful, they will call themselves the National Steamboat Museum. It seems that many of the wrecks from steamboats are accurately mapped along the former banks of the Missouri River, so the recovery team is now working on salvaging the Steamboat Malta.
If the museum does expand, a return visit will definitely be on my bucket list, because I can’t imagine how it could get even better than it already is.
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
The Kemper was the first contemporary art museum in the state of Missouri.
Whenever I’m in a big city, I try to visit their main public library, their Unitarian Universalist Church, and any contemporary art museums they may have. Our time in Kansas City was rather limited, so we only saw the library and the church from the outside, but I’m really glad that Dear Husband and I got to see this art museum.
According to their website, the Kemper was the first museum established to collect and present contemporary art in the state of Missouri. That’s shocking to me, because it has only been around since 1995. Basically, the whole state was experiencing contemporary art deprivation until then, but they probably didn’t even realize it (too busy farming, most likely.)
Better late than never, I say. The Kemper is about 23, 000 square feet of unique building design and fascinating contemporary art. (That’s rather small compared to two that I visited in Minneapolis. The Minneapolis Institute of Art is a jaw-dropping 545,000 square feet, and the Walker Art Center is 65,000 square feet. But then Kansas City is no Minneapolis.)
During our visit, we were treated to two temporary exhibits. The first one, Spandita Malik: Jāḷī—Meshes of Resistance will remain at the Kemper through February 25th, 2024, and it is best appreciated in person. There is a fascinating back story to the exhibit that adds depth to the experience.
Malik is a photographer who traveled across Northern India, meeting with women who were survivors of domestic and gender-based violence. Once she got to know these women, she asked if she could photograph them in their homes. She then printed these images on some sort of tapestry, and had the women embroider within their own photographs. Since each community that she visited had a distinct embroidery style, each embroidered portrait is unique.
I’ve never seen work like this before. Since it combines my love of contemporary art with my love of textiles and activism, I’d give it three thumbs up if I could. Here are some of the photos we took of their work on display, but keep in mind that a two dimensional photo doesn’t do this textured art justice.
The second temporary exhibit will remain at the Kemper through January 7th, 2024. It’s called Julie Blackmon: A Life in Frame and it’s some of the most unique and playful photography I’ve ever seen. I’ll be following this photographer’s work from now on.
At first glance, her photographs are simple scenes of unremarkable everyday life in Springfield, Missouri. But you quickly realize that there’s something a little off about them. That’s because Blackmon isn’t just taking spontaneous images. She arranges the scenes she wants to photograph, using her long-suffering nieces and nephews. Her work often mimicks the styles of artists of the past, anything from 17th century Dutch painters to Diane Arbus. Into the mix, she adds unusual elements that tell stories about social issues such as feminism, climate change, and gun control.
I love how I could make up my own surreal stories about every image I saw. These photographs should be book covers or movie sets for Fellini films. They transport you to a strange new world. Here are some of our photos of this exhibit. (You’ll have to forgive some of the strange angles. It wasn’t easy keeping reflections off the glass. I wasn’t always successful.)
Naturally, the museum has a permanent collection as well, but I’ll let you discover that for yourself. Some things should be left to the imagination. But I will say that even driving by this place is a treat, because they have several outdoor sculptures:
This museum is well worth a visit. My only regret is that we didn’t think to drive past it at night. Check out this amazing photo from their website!
Are you wondering what to bring to Thanksgiving dinner? How about my book, Notes on Gratitude? Place your orders now! (Or any other time, since we’re on the subject.) And… thanks!
The View from a Drawbridge 