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I'll Lock Up
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Throwaway History
When History Meets Consumerism, History Loses
By Will M.
It was over 100 degrees in the middle of Iowa that late July day two summers ago. The sky was clear and the sun beat down but I didn't really notice while I was under the massive trees of the courthouse lawn. Like an authentic World War Two reenactor, I was wearing wools and profusely drinking from two canteens weighed down with water in a successful attempt to stay hydrated. I felt sorry for the American Civil War reenactors who had only one canteen per man and had been running drill all morning.
I was the only World War Two reenactor on the scene; a WW2 GI group was scheduled to arrive and take part in the ceremony but the heat scared them away. I was an anachronism at a purely 19th century affair.
My hometown was celebrating the founding GAR, or Grand Army of the Republic Association. Reenactors representing American soldiers from all periods had been invited to take part in the living history display, though only a dozen Civil War reenactors and myself showed along with a private military vehicle owner. Even so, the display was accurate and overwhelming. Several Civil War era tents dotted the lawn along with weapons and equipment spread out on blue blankets. A full-size replica cannon stood guard on the perimeter, booming at unseen enemies every so often. Passersby performed doubletakes and gazed in shock to see a small antiquated army marching and resting within the city limits. Some even stopped and wandered the camp, asking questions and handling equipment and even firearms with the owners intently watching close by.
But the turnout was disappointing. The pathetic 30 chairs set up for the official ceremony were more than enough for the small crowd of roughly a dozen in a town of 12,000. The organizers mostly blamed the heat for the lackluster interest in the historical anomaly. Yet the occasion was doomed to mediocrity before the heat wave had begun, before the event had even been announced in the local newspaper the week before. Unfortunately for us the GAR ceremony was scheduled on the same day as the so called "Crazy Days" when the downtown vendors hold special sales on the sidewalk under the bright summer sun. Hundreds if not thousands showed up to browse the sale goods while merely a dozen came to remember those who served in the Union, many being their very own ancestors.
After the courthouse ceremony what was described as a parade in the newspaper (actually a small convoy of three vehicles led by a National Guard HUMVEE) snaked along a predetermined and publicly announced route, meeting only five bystanders before rolling into the peaceful cemetary for the final event of the day and, unknown to the participants and organizers alike, the last event of what was meant to be a two-day celebration. After listening to a reading of the names of those from the county who had served in the Civil War, including a rebel along with the man who built my house where I know type this, the reenactors loaded up onto the air conditioned bus and headed back to the courthouse. Sitting next to a plump Union man with my M1 rifle resting vertically between my legs, I spoke with and listened to the others around me who were just as disappointed if not more so at the turn out or lack thereof, some having driven an hour to take part in the barely viewed event.
"You know, those folks at Crazy Days are so damn interested in buying crap they'll throw away within a week that they willingly missed remembering their own history" bellowed the reenactor organizer, dressed in an elegant officer's blouse and sporting an impeccably trimmed moustache. The other reenactors, including myself nodded and babbled in agreement. "You remember several years ago at Pufferbilly Days (another local celebration commemorating the town's railroad heritage) when they dumped us in favor of expanding the beer tent? They haven't had us back since. Follow the dollar and you'll find the snakes in the grass".
The lack of historical awareness in my hometown is probably an extreme case of uncaring. Recent trends show that historical museums, reenactments and publications are on the rise. Books and pamphlets dealing with history in one way or another often top best selling lists. Yet history today is becoming a consumerist item: history for the sake of making a buck. While people are generally still very interested in history they must jump through the hoops of commercialism to obtain what they seek and often it is watered down.
As David Roberts points out in his book In Search of the Old Ones national historical sites like Mesa Verde National Park, famous for its impressive Anasazi ruins, are becoming more like hokey tourist traps made to make a profit rather than places of real information and education. Roberts illustrates this point by recounting a recent trip to Mesa Verde where he watched supposed expert park rangers quickly herd groups of tourists through sites where, at times, they recite incorrect and cliche information and call Richard Wetherill, the discoverer of Mesa Verde and arguably the father of modern North American archeological technique a "vandal" and "pothunting cowboy". No longer can those obsessed with the Anasazi linger at these breathtaking sites; no longer can one gaze and wonder at ancient fingerprints pressed into the prehistoric mortar of Cliff Palace or most of the other 600 ruins. At only one major site, Spruce Tree House, are visiters able to loiter around the sterile and partially reconstructed ruins left by a mysterious and rather sophisticated civilization. Even the museums at Mesa Verde are void of any real information, the artifacts on display having been removed from their context and all information being regurgitated so visitors can easily understand without having go through any real thought process. Skeletons and mummys once on display are now hidden away in storage rooms out of political correctness and cultural sensitivity. The plight of Mesa Verde, where everything is prepackaged and real history is being scaled back in favor of more snack bars and gift shops, is being multiplied by other historical sites and events across the country.
Yet who can blame them for becoming commercialized when most everything else in society is already? 43 years ago Charles Schulz warned us about the growing trend of commercialism and consumerism with "A Charlie Brown Christmas". And while we reminiscently watch Schulz's innocent cartoon every Christmas we unwittingly fall into the very thing about which it warns us. Our economy is now built upon a shaky and crumbling foundation of buying what we cannot afford with money we do not have. Yet it is a double-edged sword: the consumerism that is destroying us allows us in part to remain relatively free and live exceedingly comfortable lives, thereby continuing our need for consumerism. As Yossarian observed, "That's some catch..." So why not consumerist history for a consumerist people? Anything else would just be too difficult and worthwhile.
Sitting on the bus, having exhausted our once raucous conversation against 'those people', we reenactors made our way back in air conditioned comfort. I removed the hot and heavy M1 helmet from my damp head and unstrapped my sweat-stained haversack, sighing with relief. Then it hit me. Was I part of 'those people' we had so viciously berated? For one, as a reenactor I put on a historical show for those willing enough to come and watch. In mock battles we shoot real guns but fake bullets at one another and die with our boots on, invisible blood pouring from our makebelieve wounds, all for the sake of 'informing' an easily entertained crowd.
Hanging my head with disdain for the state of affairs, I mourned our history's future and quietly muttered under my breath.
"That's some catch."
When History Meets Consumerism, History Loses
By Will M.
It was over 100 degrees in the middle of Iowa that late July day two summers ago. The sky was clear and the sun beat down but I didn't really notice while I was under the massive trees of the courthouse lawn. Like an authentic World War Two reenactor, I was wearing wools and profusely drinking from two canteens weighed down with water in a successful attempt to stay hydrated. I felt sorry for the American Civil War reenactors who had only one canteen per man and had been running drill all morning.
I was the only World War Two reenactor on the scene; a WW2 GI group was scheduled to arrive and take part in the ceremony but the heat scared them away. I was an anachronism at a purely 19th century affair.
My hometown was celebrating the founding GAR, or Grand Army of the Republic Association. Reenactors representing American soldiers from all periods had been invited to take part in the living history display, though only a dozen Civil War reenactors and myself showed along with a private military vehicle owner. Even so, the display was accurate and overwhelming. Several Civil War era tents dotted the lawn along with weapons and equipment spread out on blue blankets. A full-size replica cannon stood guard on the perimeter, booming at unseen enemies every so often. Passersby performed doubletakes and gazed in shock to see a small antiquated army marching and resting within the city limits. Some even stopped and wandered the camp, asking questions and handling equipment and even firearms with the owners intently watching close by.
But the turnout was disappointing. The pathetic 30 chairs set up for the official ceremony were more than enough for the small crowd of roughly a dozen in a town of 12,000. The organizers mostly blamed the heat for the lackluster interest in the historical anomaly. Yet the occasion was doomed to mediocrity before the heat wave had begun, before the event had even been announced in the local newspaper the week before. Unfortunately for us the GAR ceremony was scheduled on the same day as the so called "Crazy Days" when the downtown vendors hold special sales on the sidewalk under the bright summer sun. Hundreds if not thousands showed up to browse the sale goods while merely a dozen came to remember those who served in the Union, many being their very own ancestors.
After the courthouse ceremony what was described as a parade in the newspaper (actually a small convoy of three vehicles led by a National Guard HUMVEE) snaked along a predetermined and publicly announced route, meeting only five bystanders before rolling into the peaceful cemetary for the final event of the day and, unknown to the participants and organizers alike, the last event of what was meant to be a two-day celebration. After listening to a reading of the names of those from the county who had served in the Civil War, including a rebel along with the man who built my house where I know type this, the reenactors loaded up onto the air conditioned bus and headed back to the courthouse. Sitting next to a plump Union man with my M1 rifle resting vertically between my legs, I spoke with and listened to the others around me who were just as disappointed if not more so at the turn out or lack thereof, some having driven an hour to take part in the barely viewed event.
"You know, those folks at Crazy Days are so damn interested in buying crap they'll throw away within a week that they willingly missed remembering their own history" bellowed the reenactor organizer, dressed in an elegant officer's blouse and sporting an impeccably trimmed moustache. The other reenactors, including myself nodded and babbled in agreement. "You remember several years ago at Pufferbilly Days (another local celebration commemorating the town's railroad heritage) when they dumped us in favor of expanding the beer tent? They haven't had us back since. Follow the dollar and you'll find the snakes in the grass".
The lack of historical awareness in my hometown is probably an extreme case of uncaring. Recent trends show that historical museums, reenactments and publications are on the rise. Books and pamphlets dealing with history in one way or another often top best selling lists. Yet history today is becoming a consumerist item: history for the sake of making a buck. While people are generally still very interested in history they must jump through the hoops of commercialism to obtain what they seek and often it is watered down.
As David Roberts points out in his book In Search of the Old Ones national historical sites like Mesa Verde National Park, famous for its impressive Anasazi ruins, are becoming more like hokey tourist traps made to make a profit rather than places of real information and education. Roberts illustrates this point by recounting a recent trip to Mesa Verde where he watched supposed expert park rangers quickly herd groups of tourists through sites where, at times, they recite incorrect and cliche information and call Richard Wetherill, the discoverer of Mesa Verde and arguably the father of modern North American archeological technique a "vandal" and "pothunting cowboy". No longer can those obsessed with the Anasazi linger at these breathtaking sites; no longer can one gaze and wonder at ancient fingerprints pressed into the prehistoric mortar of Cliff Palace or most of the other 600 ruins. At only one major site, Spruce Tree House, are visiters able to loiter around the sterile and partially reconstructed ruins left by a mysterious and rather sophisticated civilization. Even the museums at Mesa Verde are void of any real information, the artifacts on display having been removed from their context and all information being regurgitated so visitors can easily understand without having go through any real thought process. Skeletons and mummys once on display are now hidden away in storage rooms out of political correctness and cultural sensitivity. The plight of Mesa Verde, where everything is prepackaged and real history is being scaled back in favor of more snack bars and gift shops, is being multiplied by other historical sites and events across the country.
Yet who can blame them for becoming commercialized when most everything else in society is already? 43 years ago Charles Schulz warned us about the growing trend of commercialism and consumerism with "A Charlie Brown Christmas". And while we reminiscently watch Schulz's innocent cartoon every Christmas we unwittingly fall into the very thing about which it warns us. Our economy is now built upon a shaky and crumbling foundation of buying what we cannot afford with money we do not have. Yet it is a double-edged sword: the consumerism that is destroying us allows us in part to remain relatively free and live exceedingly comfortable lives, thereby continuing our need for consumerism. As Yossarian observed, "That's some catch..." So why not consumerist history for a consumerist people? Anything else would just be too difficult and worthwhile.
Sitting on the bus, having exhausted our once raucous conversation against 'those people', we reenactors made our way back in air conditioned comfort. I removed the hot and heavy M1 helmet from my damp head and unstrapped my sweat-stained haversack, sighing with relief. Then it hit me. Was I part of 'those people' we had so viciously berated? For one, as a reenactor I put on a historical show for those willing enough to come and watch. In mock battles we shoot real guns but fake bullets at one another and die with our boots on, invisible blood pouring from our makebelieve wounds, all for the sake of 'informing' an easily entertained crowd.
Hanging my head with disdain for the state of affairs, I mourned our history's future and quietly muttered under my breath.
"That's some catch."
