FIELDIANA Anthropology NEW SERIES, NO. 36 Curators, Collections, and Contexts: Anthropology at the Field Museum, 1893-2002 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman, Editors September 30, 2003 Piihlication 1525 PUBLISHED BY FIELD MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY Curators, Collections, and Contexts: Anthropology at the Field Museum, 1893-2002 FIELDIANA Anthropology NEW SERIES, NO. 36 Curators, Collections, and Contexts: Anthropology at the Field Museum, 1893-2002 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman, Editors Department of Anthropology Field Museum of Natural History 1400 South Lake Shore Drive Chicago, Illinois 60605-2496 U.Sj\. Published September 30, 2003 Publication 1525 PUBLISHED BY FIELD MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY © 2003 Field Museum of Natural History ISSN 0071-4739 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA CONTENTS Foreword 1 John W. McCarter Acknowledgmenls 3 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinnum Introduction: A Glorious Foundation: 109 Years of Anthropology at the Field Museum of Natural History 5 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman Part I A Context for Fiei.d Museum Anthropoi.ooy 1 A Natural History of Man: Reflections on Anthropology. Museums, and Science 1 1 Don D. Fowler 2 The Role of Museums in American Anthropology 23 Donald Collier and Harry S. Tschopik. Jr. 3 Creating Field Anthroptilogy: Why Remembering Matters 31 David R. Wilcox 4 "In Re: Founding of the Field Museum" 49 Edward Everett Ayer 5 The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum — A Review of Six Years 53 George A. Dorsey 6 A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 65 Warren Haskin. Stephen E. Nash, and Sarah Coleman Part II A Selection of Curators Interchapter 85 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinmann 7 George Amos Dorsey: A Curator and His Comrades 87 Tristan Almazan and Sarah Coleman 8 Albert Buell Lewis: Realizing George Amos Dorscy's Vision 99 Robert L. Welsch 9 Berthold Laufer 117 Bennet Bronson 10 Henry Field, Collections, and Exhibit Development. I926-I94I.. 127 Ed Yastrow and Stephen E. Nash 1 1 A Tale of Two Thompsons: The Contributions of Edward H. Thompson and J. Eric S. Thompson to Anthropology at the Field Museum 139 Donald McVicker 12 Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research at the Field Museum, 1928-1953 153 Raymond Codrington 13 Paul Sidney Martin 165 Stephen E. Nash 14 Recollections of the Department of Anthropology in the Mid- Twentieth Century 179 Elaine Bluhm Herold 15 Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 189 John E. Staller 16 My Life with Exhibits at the Field Museum, 1941-1976 199 Donald Collier 17 The Legacy of James W. VanStone in Museum and Arctic Anthropology 221 Jessica M. Rooney and Chapurukha M. Kusimba Part III Present and Future Challenges 18 The Changing Role of the Curator 237 Jonathan Haas 19 Information Management in the Department of Anthropology: History and Prospects 243 Dorren Martin-Ross and William K. Bamett 20 A Foundation for the Future of Field Museum Anthropology 251 Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman Part IV Appendices Appendix 1 The Field Museum's Anthropology Curators and Staff Members, 1893-2002 259 Appendix 2 The Field Museum's Anthropology Staff Members, 1926-2002 262 Appendix 3 Field Museum Administration and Trustees, 1893-2002 268 Appendix 4 Department of Anthropology Expeditions and Fieldwork 288 Appendix 5 Fieldiana: Anthropology Publications, 1895-2002 301 Appendix 6 Temporary Anthropology Exhibitions, 1940-2001 306 Appendix 7 A Summary of the Anthropology Photograph Collection 310 Literature Cited 319 Contributors 335 Tables 6.1 Department of Anthropology curators, 1893-present 66 6.2 Total Field Museum Anthropology staff members, 1926- 2002, by decade 71 6.3 Field Museum expeditions and fieldwork, 1894-2001 76 6.4 Fieldiana: Anthropology publications, by decade 79 6.5 Temporary anthropology exhibits, by decade 80 19.1 Field Museum digital information strategy 247 Figures In the following listing. Field Museum of Natural History photo negative numbers are identified in square brackets, while catalogue numbers of ob- jects appear in parentheses. 3.1 Alexander von Humboldt statue, Humboldt Park, Chicago 34 3.2 Marshall Field 1 36 3.3 Stephen Chapman Simms 37 3.4 Stanley Field and Samuel Insull at the opening of the Civic Opera House, November 1929 39 3.5 James Simpson 40 3.6 Frederick Skiff 41 3.7 William E. Curtis 43 3.8 Field Museum Anthropology curators, mid- 1920s [98869] 44 3.9 John McCarter accepting the replica of Olmec head no. 8 from the governor of Vera Cruz, Mexico, October 21, 2000... 46 4.1 North American Ethnology Hall, containing the Ayer Collection, Field Columbian Museum, Jackson Park, ca. 1896 [8191] 50 5.1 Field Museum of Natural History in Jackson Park, Chicago, 1907 [CSGN 19387] 54 5.2 European Archaeology Hall, North Court, Field Museum of Natural History, Jackson Park, Chicago, ca. 1907 [8065] 59 5.3 Hall of Archaeology and Ethnology of North America, East Court, Field Columbian Museum, Jackson Park, ca. 1896 [8193] 60 5.4 Hopi House diorama. Field Columbian Museum, ca. 1900 [CSA12721 61 5.5 Hall 9: Egypt, including mummy cases and mummies, canopic jars, and sculptures. Field Columbian Museum, 1903 ICSA81851 63 6.1 AnthrofX)logy staff members, by decade 71 6.2 Anthropology expeditions and fieldwork, by decade 76 6.3 Anthropology Department accessions, by year 78 6.4 Fieldiana: Anthropology publications, by decade 79 6.5 Temporary anthropology exhibits, by decade 80 8.1 Albert Buell Lewis [33644] 100 Vll 8.2 George Amos Dorsey [A108072] 101 8.3 William Henry Holmes [GN81425] 101 8.4 Stephen Chapman Simms [GN78249] 102 8.5 Charles L. Owen [CSGN 66994J 103 8.6 Wooden food bowl. Admiralty Islands, collected by A. B. Lewis (133629) [76526] 109 8.7 Wooden mask, German New Guinea (14103) [109781] 110 8.8 Fay Cooper-Cole with Negrito man during R. F. Cummings's Philippine expedition, 1907-1908 [CSA33853J Ill 9.1 Berthold Laufer [86222] 117 9.2 Berthold Laufer in Hankow, ca. 1904 [98299] 118 9.3 Objects collected by Berthold Laufer in China, 1908-1910 (1166127, 116618) [35424] 119 9.4 Tibetan temple brass lamp (122483) [93123-A] 120 9.5 Teapot of partially gilt copper collected in Darjeeling, India, 1908-1910 (122651) [100268] 120 9.6 Imperial dragon screen from the K'ien-lung period (127954) [76951] 123 10.1 Henry Field [CSGN 55549] 127 10.2 Trench A at Kish, with Henry Field [60139] 128 10.3 Hall of the Races of Mankind [CSA77747] 129 10.4 Malvina Hoffman [77674] 130 10.5 Malvina Hoffman in India [76580] 131 10.6 ''Homo erectus in Europe," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man [77809] 132 10.7 "Neanderthal family of Gibralter, about 50,000 years ago," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man [77809] 133 10.8 "Aurignacian scene: Cro-Magnon Man," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man [76950] 134 10.9 Swiss Lake Dweller diorama [77819a] 134 10.10 Neanderthal Man [76910] 135 10.1 1 Cap Blanc skeleton, or Magdalenian Girl (42943) [GN87406-5c] 136 11.1 Papier-mache casts of Mayan stele ruins. Mesoamerican sculptures made by Edward H. Thompson for the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 140 11.2 Temple of the Jaguars, Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico [8718] 141 1 1.3 An orange ware pedestal vase (48202) and a pottery incense burner (48590), Chichen Itza, Yucatan [44379] 141 1 1.4 Eric S. Thompson in 1967, the fortieth anniversary of the publication of Civilisation of the Maya [A 10 1036] 143 12.1 Ralph Linton with a large temple drum from the Marquesas Islands (59448) 159448) 153 12.2 Figured raffia cloth used as a himha (shroud or cloak) in Kaudreao, Madaga.scar ( 1 864 1 6) [96057] 154 12.3 Wilfrid D. Hambly alongside the S.S. Wcifjanda in Antwerp, Belgium 166227-3] 155 12.4 Map of principal exploration areas of Rawson-Field Museum West African Expedition (62939] 156 12.5 VoChokue potter near Elende, Angola (67578-132] 157 12.6 Ovimbundu man with club, spear, and pouch (67499] 157 12.7 Women burning and clearing the bush, Ganda, Angola (67513] 158 12.8 Hambly measuring the length of a human skull, 1940 (A88754] 160 12.9 Phillip H. Lewis holding Pi mask (252461) of northern New Ireland, with African figure in background (175736) (95909] 162 12.10 Leon Siroto, March 1965(100577] 163 13.1 Paul Sidney Martin in 1934 (86384] 165 13.2 Excavation of Kiva I at Lowry Ruin (73608( 166 13.3 Martin with motion picture camera in southwestern Colorado (75691 -a] 167 13.4 Lowry Ruin with mining car and chute in position [73612] ... 168 13.5 John B. Rinaldo in New Mexico in 1946 [91621] 169 13.6 Pithouse N at the SU site, showing beginning of stripping operation [90467] 170 13.7 John Moyer taking motion pictures of excavation of TUlarosa Cave [93203] 171 13.8 Multiple warp sandals with scalloped toes, from Tularosa Cave, New Mexico (260767, 260769, 260757) [93643] 172 13.9 Table Rock Pueblo, looking east [96625( 174 13.10 Table Rcx:k, with Table Rock Pueblo in background (96595(.. 175 13.1 1 View of majority of excavated rooms. Carter Ranch Pueblo, 1961 [98415] 176 14.1 Elaine Bluhm surveying with alidade and plane table at the Huber Site out-side Chicago, Illinois, 1956 (95726) 180 14.2 Lee Rowell working on diorama comp)onents in 1956 (95880) 181 14.3 Martha Perry of Chicago, camp cook, 1959 (97790) 182 14.4 Margaret Adler and Mark Winter classifying pottery and stone and bone tools, 1959 (97802) 183 14.5 Smoke from forest fire on Escudilla Mountain [93500] 184 IX 14.6 Tod Egan surveying Higgins Flat Pueblo, New Mexico [95083] 186 15.1 Donald Collier [103009] 189 15.2 Diorama of California Porno picking acorns, from Hall 6 [94082] 194 15.3 Diorama of Mesoamerican ballgame [A113646-9c] 195 15.4 Diorama of Aztec market at Tlatelolco, Mexico, a.d. 1515, by Alfred Lee Rowell [A97651c] 196 15.5 Catalogue cover for Ancient Ecuador exhibit 197 16.1 Field Columbian Museum exhibits in Jackson Park being removed to the new Field Museum building in Grant Park [CSGN 40466] 201 16.2 Field Columbian Museum exhibits in Jackson Park being moved to the new Field Museum building in Grant Park [CSGN 40496] 202 16.3 Alfred Lee Rowell with diorama of Mummy Cave, Canyon del Muerto, Arizona [90412] 207 16.4 Indian Art of the Americas temporary exhibit in Stanley Field Hall, 1959 [97858] 211 16.5 Rudolfo Martinez demonstrating how to hand-loom scrapes in the Mexican Marketplace section of the 1 969 temporary exhibit. Fiesta Mexicana [81614-11] 213 16.6 Balet Folklorico de Frederico Z. Rodriguez performing at Fiesta Mexicana, 1969 [81614-34] 214 16.7 Animal Life case in the Ancient Ecuador temporary exhibit, 1975 [103443] 216 17.1 James W. VanStone at a trapper's camp near Snowdrift, Northwest Territories, winter 1961 [107894] 222 17.2 The Spiritual World section of The Maritime Peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast exhibit, showing Kwakiutl clothing [A109209C] 230 17.3 Village and Society section, Kwakiutl House, Everyday Life diorama [A109290] 231 17.4 Fishing, Hunting, and Gathering section showing fishing technology. Case Bl [A108783] 232 17.5 Interior, Pawnee Earth Lodge replica [A 106 165] 234 Foreword The Field Museum's mission is to explore the earth and its people. Since 1890, when Fred- erick Ward Putnam began directing anthropolog- ical collecting expeditions for the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition, the story of anthropology at the Field Museum has been deeply intertwined with the history of Chicago. In addition to this deep local association, the lattice of Field Muse- um research, collections, and anthropological scholarship extends across space and through time to the far comers of the planet. For the past several years, the Department of Anthropology at the Field Mu.seum has enjoyed an unprecedented level of productivity. More cu- rators and permanent staff members now grace the offices and storerooms of the department than ever before. Publication and grant award rates are exceptional. Given these successes, the long and illustrious history of the department, and the American Anthropological Association's centen- nial in 2002, we thought this an appropriate time to examine in detail the department's history. As a result of generous funding provided by the Mu- seum's Cultural Collections Committee, a two-day event was held on October 22 and 23, 2(XX), to celebrate a century of Field Museum anthropolo- gy. This volume is the result. As we look to the future, we are eager to begin moving anthropology collections into a new, state-of-the-art, 70,000-square-foot storage facili- ty under the southea.st terrace of the Museum. Scheduled for completion in 2004, the Collections Resource Center will provide anthropology, for the first time in its history, with compactorized, climate-controlled storage space for most of its priceless collections. It is truly an exciting time to be associated with Field Museum anthropology. John W. McCarter President, The Field Museum Foreword Acknowledgments Any volume such as this depends on the con- tributions and hard work of many dedicated people. Our appreciation begins with those indi- viduals who helped plan and manage the two-day event. Celebrate a Century of Field Museum An- thropology, held at the Field Museum on October 22 and 23, 2(XX), that was the genesis of this vol- ume. We would like to offer our heartfelt thanks to Charles Benton, Dodie Baumgarten, Jean Car- ton, Connie Crane, Daphne Cunningham. Becky D'Angelo, Eileen Day, Laura Front, Peter Gay- ford, Leona Gray, Warren Haskin, Carolyn Schil- ler Johnson, Mary Lawton, Renee Logan, Carolyn Moore, John Shea, and Lisa Stringer, all of whom donated time, effort, and other resources to ensure that the event was a success. Museum staff mem- bers Beth Adams, Nancy Dedakis, Armand Esai, Steve Hines, Pat Kremer, John McCarter, Nancy O'Shea, Stephanie Powell, Amanda Reeves, Rob- in Ross. Megan Sweeney, and many unnamed members of the Audio-Visual. Education. Guest Relations. Institutional Advancement, Protective Services, and Special Events departments at the Museum deserve thanks. Department of Anthro- pology staff members who deserve recognition in- clude Elisa Aguilar-Kutza, Mavis Blacker, Anne Carpenter. Sarah Coleman. Lauren Fishman. Mar- tina Hough, Pat Kremer, Holly Lundberg, Dorren Martin-Ross. Will Pestle. Chris Philipp, Dan Schnepf. Isabel Tovar-Castro. Sheila Wheatlcy, and Amanda Woszczak. Many individuals contributed to the successful completion of this volume. Nancy Parezo, Ray- mond Thompson, and Richard Woodbury gra- ciously gave their time and expertise in reviewing the text. We also thank Linda M. Nicholas for her editorial assistance. John Aubrey of the Newberry Library, Chicago, granted permission to publish Edward Everett Ayer's paper. David Collier and the Collier family granted permission to publish their father's paper. The editorial board of Amer- ican Anthropologist should be recognized for making the papers by George Dorsey, Donald Collier, and Harry Tschopik available for inclu- sion. William Burger, Scientific Editor of Fieldi- ana, deserves thanks for his work in seeing this volume through to completion. Finally, Sarah Coleman of the Field Museum deserves special mention for all her work in photograph selection, data compilation, and the numerous other tasks that she performed with cheerful aplomb. Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman Acknowledgments Introduction: A Glorious Foundation: 109 Years of Anthropology at the Field Museum of Natural History Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman The seeds of the American Anthropological As- sociation (AAA) were sown at the winter meeting of Section H (Anthropology) of the American Association for the Advancement of Science (AAAS) in Chicago in 1901, when a committee of ten anthropologists (Franz Boas, Stewart Culin, Roland Burrage Dixon, George Amos Dorsey. Livingston Farrand, Jesse Walter Fewkes, George Grant MacCurdy, William John McGee, Frank Russell, and Frederick Starr) agreed to form the AAA at the next AAAS meet- ing in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in I9()2 (Bricker 2002; Hinsley 2002). When founded on June 30, 1902, the stated goal of the AAA was *'to promote the science of anthropology, to stimulate and coordinate the ef- forts of American anthropologists, to foster local and other societies devoted to anthropology, to serve as a bond among American anthropologists and anthropologic organizations present and pro- spective, and to publish and encourage the pub- lication of matter pertaining to anthropology" (AAA Articles of Incorporation). Dorsey, the Field Museum's curator of anthropology (Stephen Simms and Charles Owen were assistant cura- tors), was one of only five signatories to the orig- inal charter (the others were Culin, Fewkes, McGee. and Joseph D. McGuire). The Field Mu- seum thus played a crucial role in the founding of the AAA. In the early 20th century, when museums played a prominent role in anthropological re- search, universities played a lesser role and had just begun to create departments of anthropology (Welsch 1999). During the latter half of the 20th century, universities a.ssumed a dominant position in the development of anthropological method and theory; museums and the study of material culture were relegated to the scholarly back burner. Though the nature of the relationship between museums, universities, and anthropology has changed over time (see Conn 1998), museums are once again coming to the fore as foci for anthro- pological research as we enter the new millenni- um. In the fall of 2000, the Field Museum's Cultural Collections Committee, faculty and staff of the Department of Anthropology, members of the Museum's administration, and many di.stinguished guests gathered to celebrate a century of Field Museum anthropology. This event, intended as a precursor to the centennial celebrations of the American Anthropological Association in 2002, examined the central role played by the Field Mu- seum's Department of Anthropology in the devel- opment of anthropology as a global scholarly dis- cipline. This volume is the result of that event. On Sunday, October 22, David R. Wilcox of the Museum of Northern Arizona gave the key- note address, in which he examined in great detail the development of anthropology at the Field Mu- seum, particularly as it related to the growth of the city of Chicago. Jonathan Haas (Field Mu.se- um), Elaine Bluhm Herold (formerly of the State University of New York at Buffalo), and Don McVicker (formerly of North Central College in Naperville, Illinois) offered their own perspec- tives on the changing role of the curator, on life at the Field Museum in the 195()s, and the con- tributions of Edward Herbert Thompson and John Eric Sidney Thompson, respectively. Also on Sunday, Alice Beck Kehoe of the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee offered perspectives on Carl Akeley's role in the acquisition of Field Mu- seum collections. On Monday. October 23, symposium partici- pants toured the Museum's collections, met with Museum personnel, and examined archives and collections for their own research. That evening, after an introductory presentation by Museum President John McCarter and an exquisite dinner, department personnel presented brief overviews of significant research in the department's history. Curator Bennet Bronson examined Berthold Lau- Introduction fer's work in Asia in the first decades of the 20th century. Head of Collections Stephen E. Nash contrasted the role played by consummate collec- tor George Dorsey in the first years of the Mu- seum's existence with the role of the late James VanStone, a consummate curator in the traditional sense of the term. Adjunct Curator Sibel Barut- Kusimba examined Henry Field's Paleolithic re- search, and Curator John Edward Terrell consid- ered the historical significance of Field Museum research in the Pacific. The current volume builds on these presenta- tions, with some significant additions or modifi- cations. In addition to new chapters by Don Fowl- er; Warren Haskin, Nash, and Sarah Coleman; Tristan Almazan and Coleman; Raymond Cod- rington; John Staller; and Dorren Martin-Ross and Bill Barnett, a critical contribution of the present volume lies in the seven detailed appendices that bring together, for the first time in one publication, data on Department of Anthropology curators and staff members. Field Museum trustees, anthropol- ogy expeditions, Fieldiana: Anthropology publi- cations, anthropologically oriented temporary ex- hibitions, and synthetic data on the department's historic photograph resources. Unfortunately, nei- ther Kehoe nor Barut-Kusimba could participate in the final volume, though Barut-Kusimba de- ferred to Field Museum Associate Edward Yas- trow and Nash for the chapter on Henry Field. What This Volume Is The volume is divided into three parts. Part I establishes the context of Field Museum anthro- pology at increasingly refined levels of resolution. Don Fowler of the University of Nevada-Reno, who attended the event but did not present a pa- per, graciously contributed a synthetic overview of the worldwide development of the natural his- tory museum as a scholarly institution. His paper helps place Field Museum anthropological re- search in a broad scholarly context. Next, in a paper first published in 1954, Donald Collier of the Field Museum and Harry Tschopik of the American Museum of Natural History examine the place of museums in anthropology nearly half a century ago. Wilcox then narrows the focus to examine the Field Museum and its anthropologi- cal research within the confines of Chicago area philanthropy and high society, followed by his own personal insights into the development of the New Archaeology at the Field Museum in the 1960s. We then publish, for the first time, a paper written by Edward Everett Ayer in 1916 that pre- sents a first-person account of how, in 1893, he and others convinced Marshall Field to donate $1 million to develop a natural history museum in Chicago. George Dorsey then outlines, in a paper first published in American Anthropologist in 1900, the first six years of the department (Dorsey 1900). Haskin, Nash, and Coleman then chronicle significant events in the history of the department and offer some basic data that may be used to negotiate subsequent presentations in the book. Finally, Dorren Martin-Ross and William Barnett examine the history and future of the critically important task of information management in the Department of Anthropology. Part II includes 1 1 chapters that focus on spe- cific contributions by Field Museum curators from 1907 to 2002, among them two chapters of per- sonal reflections by a 1950s Field Museum staff member, Elaine Bluhm Herold, and a curator, Donald John Collier. Tristan Almazan and Sarah Coleman appraise the role that various assistants played in accumulating collections under George Dorsey's tutelage betseen 1895 and 1914. Robert L. Welsch examines Albert Buell Lewis's role, be- tween 1908 and 1940, in assembling one of the world's great collections of material culture from the Pacific, arguing that Lewis was fulfilling Dor- sey's grand vision for what a museum is and should be. Bennett Bronson examines the produc- tive yet semitragic career of sinologist Berthold Laufer, who served the Museum from 1907 to 1934. Yastrow and Nash then review the eclectic contributions of Henry Field, who served as cu- rator of physical anthropology from 1926 to 1 94 1. McVicker takes a comparative approach in com- paring the careers and scientific reputations of Ed- ward H. Thompson, who was not formally a cu- rator but who led a Field Museum Expedition (see Appendix 4) to Mexico in 1895-1896, and J. Eric S. Thompson, curator of Mexican and South American ethnology from 1926 to 1935. Ray- mond Codrington examines the scholarly career of Wilfrid Hambly, the Museum's first Africa cu- rator (1926-1952), who made significant contri- butions to ethnology and physical anthropology while at the Field Museum. Nash analyzes the long tenure (1929-1972) of Paul Sidney Martin, one of the pillars in the development of North American archaeology. John Staller then critically examines Collier's role in research and exhibit de- velopment in the department from 1941 through Introduction 1992. Jessica Rooney and Chapurukha Kusimba use an oral history approach to examine the as- tonishingly large number of scholarly contribu- tions to Arctic anthropology made by the late James VanStone. curator from 1966 to 1992. Part III, Present and Future Challenges, brings to com- pletion the curatorial perspective with Jonathan Haas's description of the multilayered life of a modem curator, followed by two chapters that ad- dress the significance of collections and infor- mation management in the Department of Anthro- pology. Even a cursory reading of these chapters re- veals that the hi.story of Field Museum anthro- pology is complicated. It constitutes a rich tap- estry of interweaving strands of scholarship, phi- lanthropy, politics, competition, cooperation, suc- cess, failure, ego. ambition, chutzpah, tragedy, and all the other vagaries and contingencies that make life, and particularly scholarly life, so inter- esting. The strength of the current volume lies in the diversity of analytical approaches to the sub- ject matter at hand. Some authors (Fowler, McVicker, Nash, Welsch, and Wilcox) have pub- lished extensively on the history of anthropology and are well versed to situate their analyses in broader scholarly contexts. Others (Haskin, Roo- ney, Staller, and Yastrow) are current Museum volunteers, associates, or students who have fo- cused their efforts on particular subjects or indi- viduals that interested them. Some (Ayer, Bron- son. Collier. Dorsey. Haas, and Herold) write with the authority granted them by years of experience at the Field Museum, while others (Almazan, Bar- nett, Codrington, Coleman, Feinman, Martin- Ross, and Nash) are comparative newcomers to this institution. Still others (Fowler, McVicker, Staller. and Wilcox) have never worked at the Field Museum but know a great deal about the history of the discipline and the institution. Two papers (Dorsey and Collier and Tschopik) were published more than a century and nearly half a century ago, respectively, while two others (Ayer and Collier) have never been published at all. Some researchers (Almazan, Bron.son, Codring- ton, Coleman, Haskin, Martin-Ross, McVicker, Nash, Staller, and Welsch) have made detailed use of Field Museum archives. Others (Fowler, Wil- cox, and Yastrow) have used the published record almost exclusively as their source material. Still others (Ayer, Bamett, Collier, Collier and Tscho- pik, Dorsey, Haas, Herold, Kusimba, and Rooney) used personal experience, expertise, or oral his- tories to guide their presentations. Two papers (McVicker and Welsch) take a comparative ap- proach to illuminate the contributions of signifi- cant curators and in so doing give the volume an additional layer of scholarly context. This diver- sity of approaches makes for an eclectic volume that should raise a number of new questions and answer a great deal of others, as good scholarship should. The fourth and final part of this volume consists of the seven appendices that, we believe, consti- tute some of the most important contributions of this volume. For the first time ever, summary data on all Field Museum anthropology curators (Ap- pendix I). Field Museum anthropology staff members (Appendix 2), Field Museum adminis- trators and trustees (Appendix 3), anthropology expeditions and fieldwork (Appendix 4), Fieldi- ana: Anthropology publications (Apf)endix 5), temporary exhibitions (Appendix 6), and a sum- mary of department photographic resources (Ap- pendix 7) have been compiled together in one vol- ume. Given the complexity of the subject matter and the fact that these data have been gleaned from published and unpublished sources of vari- able reliability, these appendices should be seen as a starting place for future research rather than an end point in and of themselves. This volume is not, and does not pretend to be, the definitive volume on the history of Field Museum anthro- pology. Definitions From a terminological standpoint, we must es- tablish some baselines in order to avoid confu- sion. The Field Museum of Natural History has undergone several name changes during its exis- tence. From 1893 to 1894, it was the Chicago Co- lumbian Museum. From 1894 to 1905, it was the Field Columbian Museum. In 19()5, it became the Field Museum of Natural History until 1943, when it became the Chicago Natural History Mu- seum. In 1966, it reverted back to Field Museum of Natural History, which still serves as the offi- cial legal title of the Museum, though the public title was shortened to the Field Museum in 1997. In most instances and in order to avoid confusion, we will refer to "the Field Museum" in this vol- ume, though other terms will be used if historical context requires it for clarity and to ensure accu- rate quotes and citations. With regard to departmental administration. Introduction ■i^sn^t " 'd> <:«ni\ 'Oae "^cmstKx d jmtfaropo3o^'~ for i^e nrjc kTr:>-dH»e ^vars ((1893-19361 of rije Xla- •-kiuals — Paul S. Mjatki .-.-:- d DomOd Colhea- (] 964-19^1— beid nii posoUjan. Id 1970. ihe carreiii stnicnare Bsn^ il Tc&aa^ departmeni chair posiiJon was aaaeA. Smx t^esn. diai posiDon has beexi held b\ liHKS ViaStcne. idan Ed«'ard Ten-ell Bennei Brmschl, Oiaiics Siani^ and Gar\ Feimaan. dioa^ sl^nihcam portkms of ThaT penod have seal aca^ .depamitexa chairs m |:^ace. Wiih rcsard to die physical location of the Mu- seum, from 1 893 to 192 1 die Museum *3S boused in die old Palace of Fine Arts building (now Mu- seum of Soence and IndustiA ) ai 57th Street and Lake Shore Drive in Jackson Park. In 1921. the neu" building at Roosevelt Road (12lh Street) at Lake Shore Dri\« in Grant Paik was oonapk^d^ and the department spent the next five years mov- ing the collection nonh along the lakefronL As this volume goes to press, construction has begun on a nra 70.000-square-foot underground storage fadHtj' iifflo wiiicii most of the anthropology col- lections -win move. This move uill occupy much of the department's attention for the next decade. Mocb work remains to be done, and the poten- tial for the fticure is more secure given the glori- ous legacy on «hi^ we have to build. iDtroaoctia* I A Context for Field Museum Anthropology A Natural History of Man: Reflections on Anthropology, Museums, and Science Don D. Fowler The purpose of this essay is to reflect on the historical development of natural history and anthropology museums as background to the papers herein on the history of the Department of Anthropology at the Field Museum. Although nat- ural history and anthropology museums continued to be created in the twentieth century, the Chicago Columbian Museum, founded in 1893 (Collier 1969; Dorsey 1901, this volume; Haskin et al.. this volume; Wilcox, this volume), was the last of the "great" museums that were nineteenth-cen- tury phenomena — institutions housed in grandiose physical plants and concerned to study and exhibit the natural world, including those human societies and cultures, past and present, thought to be part of or close to the natural world. There were, of course, other museums devoted solely to past and present human societies and cultures, usually called "museums of ethnology" or "museums of anthropology." Here we necessarily consider both types of museums together since some natural his- tory museums include anthropology and others do not. yet both share a common heritage. A survey of museums in I9(X) listed (in round numbers) 250 natural history museums in the United States, 150 in Germany, 250 in Great Brit- ain, 300 in France, and dozens more in other Eu- ropean countries and various cities of the Euro- pean colonial empires (Sheets-Pyenson 1988). These ranged in size from small provincial mu- seums to the great institutions, such as the Amer- ican Museum of Natural History in New York; the National Museum of the Smithsonian Institu- tion in Washington, D.C.; the British Museum and Natural History Museum in London, the Trocad- ero Complex in Paris, the natural history and an- thropology museums in Berlin, the great natural history museum in Vienna, and the Field Colum- bian Museum in Chicago, then just under way. A century later, the sixth edition of Museums of the World, current through mid- 1997, listed 27,380 museums under 250 subheadings (Bartz 1997). Of these, over 800 are ethnology museums and more than 750 natural history museums, many undoubtedly with anthropology collections. There are over 1,100 "archaeology" museums, 400 "archaeology, Greek and Roman museums," more than 100 "archaeology, Ibero-Americas mu- seums," and some 250 "indian artifact" muse- ums, primarily in Canada and the United States but including the Indianermuseum der Stadt in Zurich. Switzerland.' The figures from 1900 and 1997. ba.sed on different criteria, can realistically be taken only to indicate a great increase in mu- seums generally; half of them apparently have been created since the end of World War II. How- ever we interpret the figures, in 19(X) there were hundreds of natural history museums across the world, many with anthropology sections, as well as an unknown number of more strictly anthro- pology mu.seums. This continues to be the ca.se, and it is on these we reflect. Origins: Seats of the Muses In classical times, the Greek term mouseion (Latin: museum) meant the seat of the Muses {Ox- ford English Dictionary 1 97 1 : 1 880; Encyclopae- dia Britannica 2001), that is. a place within which scholars and artists pursued the learned arts that A Natural History of Man 1 are the provinces of and nurtured by the nine Muses, the goddesses presiding over the arts and sciences, including Clio (history) and Urania (as- tronomy).- As an aside, we may say that Clio nur- tures both natural and cultural histories and that Urania nurtures science in general; hence, both may be seen as the Muses of natural history and anthropology museums. In Hellenistic Alexandria, about 280 b.c.e., the rulers Ptolemy I and Ptolemy II established the Museum, a complex of build- ings and gardens, including the great Alexandrine Library. There were lecture halls, banquet halls, and chambers for scholars. Here the museum took on part of its modern meaning: a place where scholars do their work. But museums (although not so called), in the sense of collections of natural and cultural objects displayed for personal or public edification or en- joyment, preceded Alexandria. Leonard Wooley's excavations in sixth-century-B.c.E. levels of Ur demonstrated that the Babylonian kings Nebu- chadnezzar and Nabonidus collected antiquities, and the latter's daughter, Ennigaldi-Nanna, main- tained a small educational museum complete with clay tablet labels for the antiquities on display. The "treasuries" of classical Greek and Roman temples often contained curiosities from Asia and Africa. During the Middle Ages, the brilliant civ- ilizations of the Islamic world had collections of scientific instruments and books at the great cen- ters of learning such as Cairo, Baghdad, and Cor- doba (Blair and Bloom 1999; Dallal 1999) but few museums in our sense of the term. In Europe, during the same time, learning was kept alive in monasteries, but there were no museums as such. There were collections containing alleged relics of saints in cathedrals and shrines. Some rulers and members of the clergy collected classical statuary, and there was trafficking in art objects and curi- osities from the Levant during the Crusades, but these seemingly were for private enjoyment, not public display. When science and naturalistic learning were in- fused back into Europe from Islamic civilization beginning in the 1200s, interest in natural and cul- tural objects was rekindled and flourished throughout the Renaissance. By 1594, Francis Ba- con (cited by Impey and Macgregor 1985:1) de- scribed the facilities that every "learned gentle- man" should have to properly study the universe, its contents and processes: a "most perfect and general library [containing] the wit of man [in] books of worth." Next, "a spacious and wonder- ful garden" containing both exotic and useful plants, as well as stables for rare beasts and cages for "rare birds"; a "still house" containing vari- ous machines and instruments for use in experi- ments; and, finally, "a goodly huge cabinet, wherein whatsoever the hand of man by exquisite art or engine has made rare in stuff, form or mo- tion; whatsoever singularity, chance, and the shuf- fle of things hath produced; whatsoever Nature has wrought in things that want life and may be kept; shall be sorted and included." In modern terms. Bacon thought that the advance of secular knowledge required libraries, botanical gardens and zoos, scientific laboratories, and museums of art, industry, natural history, and anthropology. By Bacon's time, such cabinets had been filling up for a century, as European sailor-explorers brought back examples of the "exotica" — people, animals, plants, fossils, minerals, and artifacts from the New World, Africa, and Asia (Brockway 1979; Shelton 1994). The people often became slaves but were also exhibited in masques, pageants, street shows, and theaters (Altick 1978:270-301; Hodgen 1964:111-112; Honour 1975:63-64); the animals and plants went into zoological and botanical gar- dens (Duval 1982; Prest 1981), and the minerals, fossils, and ethnographic and archaeological arti- facts went into cabinets of curiosities. Some items were curious indeed, such as the hat purportedly owned by Pontius Pilate's wife's chambermaid's sister or the remains of cobbled-together mermaids and basilisks (Miller 1974:26). Significant collections of ethnographic artifacts from Africa and the New World had accumulated by the 1570s, such as in the great Uffizi Gallery in Florence (Miller 1974:21). There were some 250 natural history collections recorded in Italy in the sixteenth century. Other collections of natural history specimens and artifacts found their way into various royal cabinets across continental Eu- rope. By the late 1500s, some of these "good hugely cabinets" had come to occupy whole buildings. By the 1570s, treatises were being writ- ten on the proper formation of collections (e.g., Quicheberg 1571) and how they ought to reflect the systematic classifications of "all things in heaven and earth" that had been developed over the centuries by the great encyclopedists, from Pliny the Elder, to Isadore of Seville, to Conrad Gesner, and on to the Encyclopedie of Diderot and Alembert in the eighteenth century (Fischer 1966; Lough 1968; Neickel 1729). The cabinets and the 12 Chapter One concern with classification were the foundations on which modem museums were buih. The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archae- ology at Oxford University is perhaps the first ex- ample of a cabinet become museum and to be so named. John Tradescant, the Elder (d. 1638). and his son John, the Younger (1608-1662). had as- sembled a large cabinet of natural and cultural objects. Their collection was transmitted by deed of gift to Elias Ashmole (1617-1692). who added to it and conveyed (and later willed) it to Oxford University. In May 1683. "Ashmole's Museum" opened, consisting of a building housing the col- lection, a chemical labt^ratory. and lecture rooms. The general public was admitted to see the col- lections. But "museum" still carried its classical connotations. In an early dictionary. New World of Words, published by Edward Philips in 1706. "mu.seum" was defined as "A Study, or Library, also a College, a Publick Place for the Resort of Learned Men." A second definition was "Ash- mole's Museum, a neat Building in the City of Oxford" (Ovenell 1986). Following Ashmole's lead, by the 1750s "museum" was commonly used in the modem sense, such as the British Mu- seum: "a building or a portion of a building used for the presentation and exhibition of objects il- lustrative of antiquities, natural hi.story. fine and industrial arts, etc." (Oxford English Dictionary 1971:1880). Ashmole's Museum became much more of an anthropology museum when a large material cul- ture collection, made by George Forster. who was with Captain Cook on the 1772-1775 voyage to Oceania, was deposited there. In 1829, Keeper Philip Duncan and his brother John reorganized the natural specimens according to the tenets of "natural theology" (see the following discussion); ethnological specimens were pushed aside. At the same time, archaeological materials from Britain. Rome, and Egypt continued to be added. In the 1850s. the natural history specimens were trans- ferred to the new Oxford University Mu.seum of Natural History in its wondrous cast-iron-framed Gothic Revival building. Arthur Evans became keeper of the Ashmolean in 1 884 and soon trans- ferred the ethnological collections to the newly founded Pitt Rivers Mu.seum (see the following discussion), concentrating on the archaeological collections. Later still, a major art collection was donated to the museum (Ovenell 1986). The Ash- molean thus represents possibly the first combined natural history and anthropology collection to be called a museum. Like many later museums, col- lections came and went, and exhibits changed to reflect new holdings and intellectual fashions. Natural History, Science, and Anttiropology Before we continue, we need to discuss the et- ymologies and cultural contexts of the temis "nat- ural history." "science." and "anthropology." The terms "natural history" and "naturalist" were in u.se by the 1580s. The former is concemed with studies of "the properties of natural objects, plants, or animals; a scientific account of any subject writ- ten along similar lines." The latter is "one who studies natural, in contra.st to spiritual things; one who regards natural causes as a sufficient expla- nation of the world and its phenomena" (Oxford English Dictionary 1971:1899). One of the first great naturalists was the Englishman John Ray (1628-1705), who, along with his Swedish succes- sor Carl Linnaeus (1707-1778), laid the founda- tions for modern biological systematics. Ray (1704; see also Raven 1986) is regarded as perhaps the first proponent of "natural theology," the idea that God is best understood not by pemsing ca- nonical literature but by the active study of the created natural world. Linnaeus, also a promoter of natural theology, is, of course, of great importance for his overall method of hierarchical classification and use of binomial nomenclature (Linnaeus 1766- 1768; see also Koemer 1999). By the i760s, natural history began to be fash- ionable among both leisured amateurs and nascent professionals (Allen 1987:245; Hankins 1985: 113-157; Spary 2(XX):15-154). By the 178()s, a chair of natural history had been established in Edinburgh. There was a major battle for the chair and control of collections in a local natural history museum (Withers 1992), the first of many such contests to come in the museums of Europe and North America. In France, the Jardin du Roi, which had been directed and expanded for fifty years by the great naturalist Georges-Louis Le- clerc de Buffon (1707-1788). was converted by the Revolutionary Tribune into the great Museum d'Historie Naturelle in 1793 (Spary 2000:193- 239). Buffon's (1749-1804) ma.ssive Histoire Na- turelle. Generale et Particuliere, an attempt to synthesize all existing knowledge in natural his- tory, geology, and anthropology, stimulated re- search and disputes in those fields for nearly a century. For example, Buffon's assertion that New A Natural History of Man 1 3 World plants and animals were "weak and im- mature" vis-a-vis Old World forms stimulated re- buttals by Thomas Jefferson (1944) in his Notes on Virginia, published in 1784, and the Jesuit scholar Francisco Javier Clavigero's (1979) His- tory of Mexico, published in 1787. The term "science" has a long historical ety- mology but was being used in its present sense by about 1725: "a branch of study which is concerned either with a connected body of demonstrated truths or with observed facts systematically clas- sified and more or less colligated by being brought under general laws, and which include trustworthy methods for the discovery of new truth within its own domain" {Oxford English Dictionary 1971: 2268). Eighteenth-century science encompassed both natural history (studies of the earth and the living things thereon, including humans and natural philosophy) and studies of chemistry, physics, as- tronomy, and the mechanics driving a Newtonian universe. Between 1800 and 1840, natural philos- ophy metamorphosed into the specialized disci- plines later called the "physical sciences." By 1840, the process of mystifying "science" as the only objective, value-free knowledge-mak- ing system capable of discovering "real truths" about the universe, its contents, and its operations was well under way. The term "scientist" was coined in that year by the British philosopher and historian of science William Whewell (1967:1 13). The British Association for the Advancement of Science (BAAS) was organized in 1831 and its American counterpart (AAAS) in 1848 (Kohlstedt 1976). The creation of the BAAS and AAAS and the practice of linking related associations and so- cieties to them in various ways marks the orga- nizational beginnings of the modern sciences. The Heyday of Natural History The popular acceptance of and broad support for natural history museums in the nineteenth cen- tury derived in large measure from a natural the- ology cum natural history "craze" that swept Britain and to some degree northern Europe and North America (Barber 1980). Britishers of the late Georgian and Victorian eras studied natural history for the lessons it provided in the natural theology promulgated earlier by Ray and Linnae- us. The key popular work was William Paley's (1802) Natural Theology or Evidences of the Ex- istence and Attributes of the Deity Collected from the Appearance of Nature, reprinted and reissued numerous times throughout the nineteenth century in both Britain and the United States.^ Therein, Paley set forth his famous analogy of the watch as a means of "arguing from design" for the ex- istence of God. Anyone contemplating a watch will note its intricacy of design and infer that it must have had a maker. Similarly, anyone must infer a maker when contemplating nature, for "every indication of contrivance, every manifes- tation of design, exists in the works of nature; with the difference on the side of nature, of being greater or more, and that in a degree which ex- ceeds all computation" (Paley 1802:12). Paley urged the active contemplation of nature — the "lesson book of God's design of the world." As Barber (1980:13-26) shows, studying nat- ural history cum natural theology was socially ac- ceptable, morally uplifting, and very popular. The pious flocked to the countryside to net butterflies, pick and press flowers, impale insects on pins, and collect bird's eggs, mollusks, and mineral speci- mens. In Britain, hundreds of natural history trea- tises were published by amateur enthusiasts. Many were best-sellers and remained so for years despite the fact that the scientific information therein was often dreadfully inaccurate. There was a parallel interest in Britain in "antiquities," es- pecially standing stone circles, dolmens, and bar- rows, and in the United States in "Indian relics," especially the "mysterious Mound Builders" (Sil- verberg 1968). In both Britain and the United States, there were dozens of local academies of science, natural history societies, and related organizations attend- ed by hundreds of amateur biologists, geologists, and archaeologists. All this activity created an in- tense interest in natural history and archaeology and provided widespread popular support for the creation of natural history museums. There were similar developments widely across continental Europe, providing support for the transformation of the various royal cabinets of curiosities into natural history or anthropology museums. Anthropology and Natural History Anthropology fell within the realm of natural history and hence ultimately into the halls of nat- ural history museums. Why was this so? Why not solely into museums of culture? The answer de- pends on some very old assumptions in the ide- 14 Chapter One ology of Western civilization. Some additional et- ymologies are needed. The Oxford English Dic- tionary (1971:1899) defines "nature" as "1. The creative and regulative physical power which is conceived of as operating in the material world and as the immediate cause of all its phenomena; 2. The material world, or its collective objects and phenomena, especially those with which man is most directly in contact; frequently the features and products of the earth it.self as contrasted with those of human civilization." "State of nature" is defined as "the condition of man before the for- mation of organized society." "Nature." then, is both the noncultural world and a force that is on- tological and regulative, causally "governing" the operation of natural phenomena by "natural law." And prior to the emergence of "organized soci- ety," humans were "in nature" or were "natural beings"; hence their development and behavior also was governed by natural law (Fowler and Fowler 1991:38-39; Milton 1981:185-186). The long and complex articulation of nature and natural man in Western thought is termed primitivism (Lovejoy and Boas 1935). For our purposes, two assumptions are salient. First, "na- ture" is a standard of human values — that is, the good equals that which is "natural" or "accord- ing to nature." Since natural man lives a simple life in a state of nature, he is. ipso facto, "good" — at least in the eyes of members of "highly evolved, complex" societies who see their cultures as artificial, corrupt, and alienating (Lovejoy and Boas 1935:8-13, 447). Studying and possessing (or seeing in museums) objects made by "natural folk" becomes desirable to the alienated folk of high civiliz.ations (Fowler 20(X): 343-356). The second salient assumption involves the core of what anthropology is about: the search for "original human nature" and the "natural laws" governing human behavior. This requires knowl- edge of the range of human physical and s(Kio- cultural variability to be used as data in the de- termination of the commensurability of human groups. The search was begun in the eighteenth century by those wishing to develop a "science of man" (Hankins 1985:158-190). Scholars de- veloped the idea that living "savages" — that is. contemporary tribal peoples living as hunter-gath- erers or "simple farmers" — could serve as prox- ies or analogs for "original" humanity: "as they [living tribal peoples] now are, so our (collective human] ancestors once were." This idea assumed human psychic unity — human minds were origi- nally all the same and changed only as people progressed through stages of sociocultural devel- opment, from hunting and gathering to farming to civilization. Those .still living as hunter-gatherers were, by definition, psychically the same as "orig- inal" humans and therefore could serve as ana- logs for research purposes. Becau.se "savage" folk were seen to be "closer to nature" than "civilized" folk, they were con- sidered to be part of the natural world; hence, they fell within the province of natural history. This view is clearly represented in an 1894 letter writ- ten by Frank Hamilton Gushing to his good friend Stewart Culin soon after btith completed their work at the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 in Chicago: "Ours is a New World where things speak as in times primaeval, and our mu- seums become books and hi.stories, or should be- come so, for the History of Man in America is. thank heaven, a natural history, and an unwritten one" (quoted by Fane 1991:21). In short, studies of "savages," that is. living, mmliterate tribal peoples, and of the cultural re- mains of past peoples, all the way back to "the beginning" of protohumans, were seen to fall, properly, within the realm of natural history. This view is reflected also in the contents of numerous learned treatises published from the late 1 7()0s un- til the 1970s, each containing The Natural History of Man (or Histoire Naturelle de l' Homme) in their titles, such as Blair ( 1 803), Debay ( 1 845 (the only author to gallantly include "f/ de lafemme" in his title]), Desmoulins (1826), Kennedy (1851), Kinmont (1838), Le Clerc (1767), Prichard (1843), Quatrefages (1875). Van Amringe (1848), Virey (1801). Weiner (1971), and Wood (1870). Finally, the analogical uses of contemporary tribal peoples are reflected in the full title of one of the most widely disseminated anthropology btwks of the nineteenth century. John Lubbock's (1865) Prehistoric Times as Illustrated by Ancient Re- mains, and the Manners and Customs of Modern Savages. But there was fear (and sometimes the hope) that the "savages" who stood in the way of im- perialist expansion in the Americas, and later in Australasia and Africa, were "vanishing." Those concerned to develop a science of man, being good inductivists, .saw their duty to be data col- lection: to record as much as possible about the languages, cultures, and societies and to collect as many of their "traditional" artifacts as possible from the savages before they vanished, either by ethnocide or by acculturation. This theme is com- A Natural History of Man 1 5 mon from the late eighteenth century until the end of the twentieth and was the major rationale for the massive accumulations of ethnographic arti- facts by museums throughout the period (Fowler 1990). Ethnology, Anthropology, and Science If there was to be a science of man, what should it be called? Aristotle first defined "an- thropology" as "discourses treating of man," that is, of all humanity. His usage was followed by various scholars, including the French savant Al- exandre Andre Chavannes (1788), who published a 400-page treatise, Anthropologie, ou Science Generale de L' Homme, in 1788. The previous year, in another work, he had coined the term eth- nology: the history of the progress of peoples in civilization (Chavannes 1787). For Chavannes, anthropology is the inclusive, generalizing science of humanity considered physically, socially, and culturally; ethnology is particularizing, focusing on the comparative historical development of dif- ferent peoples toward and in civilization, a view later taken by James Cowles Prichard (1843) in Britain and by those who styled themselves as "ethnologists" (see the following discussion). The generalizing, scientific approach arose from attempts by political philosophers to develop a general stage theory of human cultural devel- opment. The roots of this approach lie in the works of Hugo Grotius (1962 [1625]), Thomas Hobbes (1965 [1651]), and John Locke (1960 [1690]) in the seventeenth century. All saw nat- ural man qua "savage" as being in the first stage of human development and contemporary "sav- ages" as living analogs or proxies for the earliest human societies. As John Locke (1960, 2:49, 1: 108:1-2) put it, "In the beginning all the world was America.'' By the eighteenth century, Adam Smith, Adam Ferguson, John Millar, and others had all proposed similar stage theories, usually four: hunter-gatherer, pastoralists, farmers, and civilized (see Meek 1976). In the nineteenth cen- tury, the four stages were reduced to three: sav- agery, barbarism, and civilization, as in the works of Charles Lubbock (1865), Lewis Henry Morgan (1877), and Edward Burnett Tylor (1871). From Grotius to Morgan, all assumed some form of psychic unity. All presented some form of change mechanism centering on the unfolding of elementary ideas. From Grotius to Millar and to some extent Lubbock, Tylor, and Morgan, this usually was seen as an innate propensity to ac- quire private property. The difference was that the ; nineteenth-century writers framed their stage the- ories in evolutionist terms. The fact that living ; peoples were seen to be at different stages of de- velopment was attributed to differential environ- ments or historical circumstances. Nevertheless, those in "lower" stages had the psychological i ability to "advance" in due time. Some evolu- tionists, such as John Wesley Powell (1878, - 1885), drew a parallel between societal stage de- velopment and the growth of the individual. Sav- ages were mentally "child-like" but would grow up to have adult mentalities in the stage of civi- lization." The ethnologists took a different tack. Their emphasis was on particularist interpretations. By the 1830s, "race" and racial differences were central concerns, especially the "place" of vari- ous races in the greater scheme of things, however defined. The German Counter-Enlightenment ar- - guments of Johann Herder (1966), Wilhelm von Humboldt (Sweet 1978, 11:3-107), and their fol- lowers— that the Bildung, the historical develop- ment, of each Volk (read "ethnic group," "na- tion," or "race") was the product of its own Geist (collective mind or spirit) interacting with its na- tive environment and affected by historical chance — were especially amenable to studies em- phasizing human physical, psychological, and cul- tural differences rather than similarities. Subse- quently, in the hands of Adolph Bastian, Freider- ich Ratzel, Leo Frobenius, and others (see Lowie 1937:30-39, 177-195), this approach led to the historical particularism of German ethnology (Schmidt 1973) and greatly influenced the ways in which German museums of ethnology were or- ganized (Koepping 1983). From the 1830s through the 1850s, arguments over race were framed in monogenist versus po- ly genist terms — whether there had been a single creation of humans, with subsequent division into "races," or multiple creations of individual races. In post-Darwinian times, polygenism versus mo- nogenism was argued in evolutionist rather than creationist terms. In either case, the central ques- tions were. Are "races" psychologically, socially, and culturally commensurable, and how might their commensurability, or lack thereof, be dem- onstrated scientifically? The real issues, of course, had to do with apologies for and campaigns against slavery, the subjugation of colonialized populations (including Native Americans), the in- 16 Chapter One temal sociopolitical structures of the recently freed colonies of Spain in Latin America, and in- ternal matters of social class, cast in racialist terms, especially in France, Germany, and Great Britain (Shipman 1994). The "science" of craniometry, the idea that skull form, metrically defined, was a sure indi- cator of race, was begun by Johann Friederich Blumenbach in the 1770s. His "racial" classifi- cation of humanity (Blumenbach 1865:235-243, 264-269. 298-300), published between 1776 and 17%, greatly influenced the development of both ethnology and physical anthropology in the nine- teenth century (Fowler and Parezo 2002).' Cra- niometry and, in general, anthropometry were major scholarly efforts throughout the nineteenth century to metrically, hence "scientifically," de- fine race (Garson 1887). In the end, however, the entire attempt was futile: craniometry was shown to indicate nothing of biological significance (Boas 1899; Cleland 1870a, 1870b; Gould 1981). The Ethnological Society of Paris was founded in 1839; its purpose was proclaimed to be the study of differences between and among human races (Blanckeart 1988). The Ethnological Society of Lx)ndon and the American Ethnological Society in New York, both founded in 1842 (Stocking 1971), also conceived of ethnology as concerned principally with racial differences. The Ethnological Society of Paris went defunct after a few years, replaced in 1859 by the An- thropology Society of Paris. Therein, anthropolo- gy meant the study of humans as physical entities but also the study of ethnography, linguistics, ar- chaeology, and folklore (Wilson 1891). In Britain, the Ethnological Society and a rival group were merged in 1865 into the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland (Stocking 1971). The British and American science associations and similar organizations on the Continent were or- ganized into sections, reflecting the ongoing dis- ciplinary specialization in .science of the time. The BAAS and, ultimately, the AAAS created sections of anthropology rather than ethnology. The terminological debate is reflected by ac- tions taken in 1879. In that year, John Wesley Powell received congressional funding for a "Bu- reau of Ethnology" (later Bureau of American Ethnology) under the Smithsonian Institution. The naming was deliberate since "ethnology" was much the better-known term publicly and in the minds of congressmen, who had focu.sed on issues of racial difference throughout the nineteenth cen- tury. On the other hand, in his first annual report. Powell (1881:xxxiii) stated that "it is the purpose of the Bureau of Ethnology to organize anthro- pologicfal] research in America." Powell, Mor- gan, and Fredric Ward Putnam saw to it that the AAAS created an anthropology .section rather than an ethnology section. In Britain, Tylor's (1881) overview of the discipline was titled sim- ply Anthropology. Putnam gave further cachet to the term at the World's Columbian Exposition by creating the Anthropology Building (Fogelson 1991). There was also a World Anthropology Congress at the exposition, following the prece- dent of similar congresses at previous expositions in Paris and elsewhere (Holmes 1893; Mason 1890. 1894; Wake 1894)." Both ethnologists and anthropologists saw themselves as scientists. As such, their task was to generate "objective, value-free, scientific knowledge" about humanity but especially about the commensurahility of races. Such knowledge was seen to be essential to resolving ongoing de- bates about race that swirled through national and international politics and colonial administrations throughout the nineteenth century. This knowl- edge was also u.sed in what Bruce Trigger (1989: 110-147) calls the "Imperial Synthesis," the es- sentialist justification for "Progress," meaning continued expansion of Western capitalism and industry through the exploitation of natural re- sources and cheap labor in colonial countries and regions. Anthropology museums and exhibits be- came loci for presenting and interpreting this knowledge. According to William Gowland, the president of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, in 1904, Our ethnological museums play an important part in the education of the nation, but their influence may be enormously increased. With our Imperial and Colonial interests and responsibilities, the study of comparative and kKal ethnology is of prime imptirtancc to us. not only because we are exceptionally favored in regard to the material for that study, which lies ready to hand, by reason of our dominant position in many and varied regions of the world, inhabited by races in all stages of culture, but still more because the proper under- standing of native races and their relationship to each other is a matter of vital interest to us. if we arc to govern justly and intelligently the very het- erogeneous people who come under our sway. Nor is this all. The great variety in the conditions of culture observable amongst the peoples and tribes of various regions, supplies it with a most valuable mass of material for tracing the developmental his- tory of human culture in general. Gaps in the ar- chaeological and historical record may, as is now fully recognized, frequently be filled by means of A Natural History of Man 1 7 a comparative study of modern races, the study, in tact, of the "Past in the Present," to use Mitchell's happy phrase. (Gowland 1904:13-14) Anthropology and natural history museums were also seen to have a definite role to play in justi- fying and maintaining the social status quo. As Henry Fairfield Osborn, president of the Ameri- can Museum of Natural History in New York, wrote in 1909 to his friend Madison Grant, author of the eugenics apology. The Passing of the Great Race (Grant 1916), the museum should become a "positive engine" for the "propagation of socially desirable views" (quoted by Kennedy 1968:154). The nineteenth century was also the time of the development of the great museums of art — the arts of Western Civilization — in the principal cit- ies of Europe, the United States, and some colo- nial centers. The differences in attitude supporting these museums is reflected in an 1888 editorial in the American Journal of Archaeology, the organ of the Archaeological Institute of America. A reader had complained that the journal focused only on the archeology of Classical civilizations and ignored the Americas. In reply, the editors wrote: by definition, people seen to be in an "inchoate, rudimentary and unformed condition" and having no "intellectual life" were still in or barely re- moved from the natural world and should, there- fore, be depicted in museums of natural history, ethnology, or anthropology. And so they were. Changing Exhibits Philosophies But how were indigenous tribal and colonial- ized peoples, as well as nonclassical civilizations, to be depicted in museum exhibits?^ The question has to do with systems of classification in relation to exhibits philosophies and which publics mu- seums ought to serve. The question can only be touched on here, but it is relevant since, after de- cades of debate and discussion, the basic princi- ples were established between about 1890 and 1910, the period when the Field Museum came into existence. Two examples and their implica- tions will suffice: the Pitt Rivers Museum and dis- cussions and debates centering on exhibits in the U.S. National Museum in the 1880s and 1890s. [T]here is a common popular delusion which had its source partly in ignorance, partly in a foolish misdirection of national conceit. The archaeology of America, even when it has to do with the re- mains of the former life of still existing native tribes, is essentially prehistoric archaeology, that is, it is busied with life and work of a race or races of men in an inchoate, rudimentary, and unformed condition, who never raised themselves, even at their highest point, as in Mexico and Peru, above a low stage of civilization, and never showed the ca- pacity of steadily progressive development. Within the limits of the United States, the native races at- tained to no high faculty of performance or expres- sion in any field. They had no intellectual life, (cit- ed by Dyson 1998:48; emphasis added) The "capacity of steadily progressive devel- opment" was exhibited principally by the heirs of Western civilization, the source of which lay in the classical Greco-Roman and Renaissance worlds. To gather into great museums, such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and many others elsewhere, the archaeology and "high art" of those worlds was to celebrate the origins — and the success — of European and Euro- American civilization. That success was further celebrated in the great industrial exhibitions/ex- positions and museums of science and technology created throughout the nineteenth century. Almost The Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford University Colonel Augustus Henry Lane Fox collected many types of artifacts throughout his career as a British Army officer. In 1875, he displayed his collection of weapons and other objects "illus- trating the development of prehistoric and [pre- sent-day] savage cultures" arranged on "typolog- ical lines" (Lane Fox 1875:293). After inheriting a very large estate and receiving an army pro- motion, he became Lieutenant General A. H. L. F. Pitt Rivers. In 1 884, he gave Oxford University his collection of some 18,000 objects ranging across the spectrum of human technological de- velopment. The gift specified that the items be perpetually displayed "typologically, that is grouped by form or purpose rather than by geo- graphical or cultural origin. This unusual layout developed from the General's theories concerning the evolution of ideas" (Pitt Rivers Museum 2001:2; see also Chapman 1985; Van Keuren 1984). The Pitt Rivers Museum epitomizes nine- teenth-century muscology until about 1880: row upon row of glass cases stuffed with specimens (or rows of objects attached to walls) to provide, "for the specialist," all possible variations of a given object or species of animal or plant or to 1 8 Chapter One demonstrate their presumed evolution. Current Pitt Rivers Museum publicity attempts to make the most of the situation: The Pitt Rivers still retains its Victorian atmo- sphere. The cluttered cases, the original small hand- written labels and the absence of intrusive text pan- els all contribute to the special experience it offers. The Museum is a fa.scinating place for those study- ing changing historical attitudes [toward museum exhibits). (Pitt Rivers Mu.seum 2001:2) The general public's attitude toward such ex- hibits was generally one of yawning ennui. Per- haps they were "of interest to the specialist," but they were mind numbing and confusing to every- one else. George Brown Goode and U.S. National Museum Exhibits At the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition in 1876, the Smith.sonian In.stitution presented long rows of glass ca.ses stuffed with animals, birds and artifacts, all "demonstrating evolutionary princi- ples." The exhibits were generally seen to be a failure (Trennert 1974, 1976). This led George Brown Goode, among others, to begin to rethink the purposes of public museums and their exhibits philosophies. Goode spent his professional career at the Smithsonian Institution, where he rose from assistant director of the U.S. National Museum to a.ssistant secretary of the Smith.sonian. He was monomaniacally concerned with systems of clas- sification for museums throughout his career As we saw, such concerns had begun as early as the 1570s. Those concerns multiplied over time as cu- rators coped with the floods of natural history and anthropological specimens deriving from the ex- ploration and colonization of much of the world in the seventeenth through nineteenth centuries. The Smithsonian's experience at Philadelphia led Goode to think about systems of classification per se. how classified objects should be displayed, and whom museums were for It is useful to briefly review Goode 's work since he had a major influence on museum development and drew on the latest publications and thinking in both America and Europe. Goode (1882:5-7, 1883:83) says museums exist for three purposes: "for record, for research, for education." Muse- ums of record originated "within the la.st 3-4 cen- turies . . . perhaps one of the results of the pro- mulgation of the inductive philosophy [i.e., sci- ence)." Museums of research contain "materials gath- ered together that they may serve as a basis for scientific thought. . . . Objects, which have served as a foundation for scientiHc study, or which, from their historical significance, are treasured up and preserved . . . that they may .serve purposes of record, permanent land-marks of the progress of the world in thought, in culture, or in industrial achievement . . . constitute the most valuable of all materials for future study" (Goode 1883:82). In Goode 's (1883:82) view, educational muse- ums are modem developments "an outgrowth of the modern industrial exhibition" beginning with the Crystal Palace Exhibition of 1851 in London. The U.S. Congress had funded a building to house many of the exhibits from the Philadelphia Ex- position of 1876 (the present-day Arts and Indus- tries Building of the Smithsonian Institution). GcH>de (1883:84) saw this new museum as the be- ginning of a comprehensive national educational museum, one "which shall show, according to one consistent plan, the resources of the earth and the results of human activity in every direction." But how should exhibits be organized for the general public? In "ordinary museums so much duplicate material is exhibited that the really in- structive objects are lost to view." The labels are poor, and the "wrong objects" are shown. Edu- cation museums must develop programs of "thor- ough labeling" (Goode 1883:85). Goode's famous muscology maxim follows: "An efficient museum . . . may be described as a collection of instructive labels, each illustrated hy a well-selected speci- men" (Goode 1883:85; emphasis in original). "Certain cardinal principles" should be followed in arranging all public museums: ( 1 ) Every article exhibited should illustrate an idea, and no two objects should be shown which illus- trate the same idea in a similar manner: (2) The idea which any object is intended to illus- trate should be explained upon its label in such a manner that any intelligent visitor, without previous special knowledge of the subject, may be able to learn (a) why the object is shown, and (b) what lesson it is intended to teach; O) The objects should be so carefully classified that their relations to each other may be recognized by the visitor, so that, taken together, they suggest certain general conclusions; in the formation of these conclusions he should be aided by certain general or collective labels which relate to and de- scribe groups of objects in a manner similar to that A Natural Hi.story of Man 19 in which the individual labels describe separate ar- ticles; (4) The labels individual and collective, should be supplemented by guide books and manuals for spe- cial departments. (Goode 1883:85-86) Goode (1882, 1883) also proposed an "Outline of the Scheme of Museum Classification" with eight major divisions divided into sixty-four clas- ses. A much more ambitious scheme for the World's Columbian Exposition (Goode 1893) had ten "Groups or Departments," each containing numerous "divisions" and subdivisions totaling nearly 1,000 categories! Museum Exhibits Philosophies Finally, we come to museum exhibits. Goode's maxim provides guidance for clarity of organi- zation, but not form and style, of exhibits. In 1887, young Franz Boas (1887a, 1887b), newly arrived in America and wishing to make a name for himself (Bunzl 1996; Liss 1996), published two brief articles in Science criticizing the eth- nological exhibits in the U.S. National Museum: glass cases stuffed with artifacts, arranged by Otis Tufon Mason to demonstrate presumed evolution- ary sequences (Jacknis 1985, 1996). Mason (1887) and Powell (1887) replied, thus initiating a dialogue that led to the development of ethno- graphic life groups by Mason and William Henry Holmes (who were also influenced by the work of William Temple Hornaday, then also at the Smithsonian, on "habitat groups" for natural his- tory displays). The Smithsonian's first life groups were shown at the World's Columbian Exposition. In the U.S. National Museum, these were later organized by "geo-ethnic provinces," or "culture areas" (Holmes 1903, 1914; Mason 1894, 1896). The subject of life groups and habitat groups and their impacts on natural history and anthropology exhibits is discussed elsewhere (Lucas 1921; Wonder 1990) and will not be further pursued here. The point is simply that systems of classi- fication have long been of central concern in the museum world and directly influence exhibit de- sign, as in the case of the Pitt Rivers collection and the Smithsonian's glass cases. A different sys- tem of classification, such as that promulgated by Franz Boas, led to exhibits much more likely to catch the interest and educate members of the public, as Goode had hoped. Summary The Field Museum came into legal existence while the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893 was still under way. Its founding directors, ad- ministrators, and curators were the heirs of the half millennium of ideas about natural history, ethnology, anthropology, nomenclature, classifi- cation systems, and exhibits philosophy touched on herein. They put the latest and best of those ideas into practice, as did the staffs of major and minor natural history and anthropology museums throughout the world. Wittingly or not, exhibits and publicity often reflected the ideas about sub- jugation of the natural world in name of Progress and about the "place" of natural man and colo- nialized peoples in the scheme of things current in 1900. In Chicago, for ideas about "civilized man," visitors went to the Art Institute or, after 1933, the Museum of Science and Industry. In New York, they crossed Central Park from the American Museum of Natural History to the Met- ropolitan Museum of Art. All that was acceptable (Collier and Tschopik, this volume) until about 1960, when indigenous peoples and, in the 1970s, postmodernist critics began to question the con- tents and implications of the exhibits and the sym- bolic purposes of natural history and anthropolo- gy museums alike. The Field Museum and other, similar institutions responded to the critics, but that is another story (Ames 1986; Durrans 1988; Fabian 1983; Freed 1991; Krech and Hail 1999; Simpson 1996; Tater 1995). Our purpose has been to provide background to the founding of the Field Museum and its Anthropology Department. The subsequent histories of the museum and the department are celebrated in the essays that fol- low. Notes 1. Some museums are cross-referenced, and the editors are certain they have not listed all ex- tant museums worldwide, including hundreds of small local history museums. For an even more expansive view of the world of museums in 2002, see the Virtual Library Museum Pag- es on the Internet. 2. The other Muses are Calliope, epic poetry; Er- ato, erotic poetry; Euterpe, lyric poetry; Mel- opomene, tragedy; Polyhymnia, sacred song; Terpsichore, dance; and Thalia, comedy and 20 Chapter One pastoral poetry (Howe and Harrer 1970:172- 173). 3. Paley's works were very popular with religious leaders and laity as well as nascent scientists. Charles Darwin claimed that studying Paley's work was the best course he had at Cambridge. 4. This view was al.so taken by others in debates as to whether savages and colonialized peoples had **pre-logicar' mentalities (e.g.. Levy- Bruhl 1923). 5. As an aside. Blumenbach (1865:243) coined the term "Caucasian" because he was enam- ored of a "most beautiful skull of a young Georgian female" from the Caucasus Moun- tains. 6. Usage varied at later expositions. For example. Buffalo in 19()1 had an Ethnology Building. but there were anthropology exhibits at St. Louis in 1904 and a major anthropology ex- hibit at San Diego in 1915. 7. 1 am aware that major "nonclassical" archae- ological collections from Egypt. Mesopotamia, China, and (sometimes) Mesoamerica are held by and exhibited in fine art rather than natural history or anthropology museums (e.g., the Metropt)litan Museum in New York, the Bos- ton Museum of Fine Arts, the Br(wklyn Mu- seum of Art. and the Art Institute of Chicago). Elsewhere, such collections are in anthropolo- gy museums, such as the University of Penn- sylvania Museum and the Hearst Museum at the University of California, Berkeley, or more "general purpose" institutions, such as the British Museum. A Natural History of Man 21 The Role of Museums in American Anthropology Donald Collier and Harry S. Tschopik, Jr. AnK*ricun museum unihntpology hcgun to assume its modem chuructcr in the 1 89(K under the aegis of Frederick Ward Putnam and Fran/ Boas. Field Museum curator Donald Collier and American Museum curator Harry Tschopik. Jr. writing fmm the perspective t>f half a century later, identify foundational personalities and events in the creation of the discipline and raise questions about the future of museum anlhropt>logy that remain very much alive t(xlay. This work takes stock at a critical juncture for American museum anthropology. — Eds. The Past Although it is scarcely necessary to trace the history of anthropology from the beginning, it would seem profitable, before considering the pre- sent relation of museums to the anthropological profession, to glance backward briefly to the for- mative peri(xl of American anthropology. As will be shown, .some of the most pressing problems facing anthropological museums can only be ap- preciated when seen in historical perspective. In a sense it is true that, just as anthropological science began as a miscellaneous collection of facts about primitive people, museums developed from miscellaneous collections of objects. The museum began, in fact, as the "cabinet des cu- riositds.** private collections of objects collected during the great peritxl of exploration in the six- teenth and seventeenth centuries. The transition from the private cabinet to the public, or semi- public, museum was achieved, however, by the end of the eighteenth century. Thus from the be- ginning the museum assumed the character of a repository, and although at first the objects housed in mu.seums were exhibited chiefly as curiosities almost at once they began to take on a far greater significance. This contribution was originally published in Ameri- can Anthropologist 56:768-799. 1954. It is not true, however, as has often been as- sumed, that the anthropological museums of America that are still in existence began their re- spective careers completely and entirely devoid of plan and theoretical orientation. At the time when these institutions opened their d(X)rs to the public, the theoretical climate of American anthropology was already well developed, as was dominated by the thinking of men such as [Adolf] Bastian, [Jo- hann Jakob] Bachofen. | Henry S.] Maine. | Lewis Henry] Morgan, and [Edward Burnett] Tylor. In fact the basic patterns of anthropological muse- ums in this country were established in the last decade of the nineteenth century. In 1890 the Pea- b(xJy Museum at Harvard and the anthropology departments at the American Museum of Natural History and the United States National Museum were about twenty years old. and the University Museum at Philadelphia had been recently estab- lished. During the 1 88()*s. museum programs had been concerned mainly with the acquisition of objects by purcha.se or gift, and the cataloguing, preser- vation, and display of specimens. The scanty in- formation available indicates that these collections were usually displayed typologically or geograph- ically. Before I89(). there was very little system- atic research or field investigation, notable excep- tions being the program of archeological fleld work during the eighties under the direction of The Role of Museums in American Anthropology 23 Frederick Ward Putnam at the Peabody Museum, research on the collections at the National Mu- seum, and the field investigations of the Bureau of American Ethnology, which operated as an in- dependent branch of the Smithsonian Institution under the able direction of John Wesley Powell. Several important personalities and events led to the great burst of museum research during the nineties. At this time, after having earlier reor- ganized the Peabody Museum at Harvard, Fred- eric W. Putnam also reorganized the department of anthropology of the American Museum of Nat- ural History and supervised the anthropological section of the 1893 Chicago World's Fair, which led directly to the founding of the Field Museum. Shortly after the turn of the century Putnam pro- ceeded to organize the department of anthropol- ogy and the museum at the University of Califor- nia. Putnam's influence extended also to the Smithsonian Institution where, according to a Sec- retary's report, the anthropological program was revised along the lines Putnam had established elsewhere. Of greatest significance is the fact that during the period of Putnam's museum-building activity, professional anthropologists in consider- able numbers began to occupy the curatorial po- sitions in museums, that were formerly held by interested amateurs. So great was his influence that in almost every museum where anthropology had a place there could be found a Putnam-trained student. Of equal importance was the arrival in this country of Franz Boas in 1 887, after fieldwork in the Arctic and on the Northwest Coast. The fol- lowing year Boas joined the faculty of Clark Uni- versity where, incidentally, the first Ph.D. in an- thropology in the United States was awarded to Alexander Francis Chamberlain in 1892. In 1890 a graduate department of anthropology was estab- lished at Harvard under the leadership of Putnam. This department was a direct outgrowth of the Peabody Museum program, and instruction was carried on within the museum. During this formative period pioneer expedi- tions were sent to Latin America. In 1891-92 the American Museum of Natural History sent [Carl] Lumholtz to Mexico and [Adolph] Bandelier to Peru, and the Peabody Museum initiated research at Copan, Honduras. These were the first large- scale, planned museum expeditions from the Unit- ed States to Middle and South America, and al- though they were designed primarily as collecting trips, they also produced publications of scholarly importance. One of the most outstanding events that fore- shadowed and led into the great period of devel- opment in the anthropological museums of the United States was the World's Columbian Expo- sition in 1893. As head of the Department of Eth- nology of the Exposition, Putnam selected Boas as his assistant in the vast enterprise of gathering anthropological collections and data, and of or- ganizing this material into exhibits. During the en- suing two years they carried out an unprecedented program of collecting and research that extended from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego. Altogether, ap- proximately a hundred persons were engaged in these activities. They included nearly all the an- thropology students from Clark and Harvard, as well as established ethnologists and archeologists, government officials, missionaries, and army and navy officers. Boas organized a program of phys- ical anthropology that collected skeletal material from both hemispheres and gathered anthropo- metric data from various Indian groups, as well as measurements of the children of different races from the United States, Canada, Hawaii, and Ja- pan. These data were organized in diagrams and charts for display in the physical anthropological laboratory at the Exposition. In addition to the numerous exhibits of the Department of Ethnol- ogy, the Exposition contained an Eskimo and sev- eral Indian villages, and various ethnological and archeological exhibits organized by foreign gov- ernments. The immediate results of the Exposition was the founding of the Field Columbian Museum, which took over most of the anthropological and natural history collections that had been assem- bled for the World's Fair. Of wider importance was the precedent of larger-scale, systematic an- thropological fieldwork, and the crystallization of a growing interest, both public and professional, in the ethnography and antiquities of the New World. The dual result was that more persons were attracted to the pursuit of anthropology and a great deal of private money was made available to support anthropological research. In 1 894 Putnam returned to the museum at Har- vard and also took over as curator of anthropology at the American Museum in New York, where he soon added Boas, [Marshall] Saville, and others to the staff and launched an ambitious research program. At this time there was a feeling among American anthropologists that the aboriginal cul- tures of the New World should be studied im- mediately, before the native way of life vanished forever. Professional anthropologists, moreover. 24 Chapter Two had begun to distrust the accounts of travelers and other untrained observers that had. hitherto, served as a basis for theoretical speculations. Un- der the influences of Boas, especially, therc was a growing demand for accurate, detailed, mono- graphic descriptions of native peoples. As a con- sequence, Saville was sent to work in Mexico, and Boas directed the Jesup North Pacific Expeditions of 1897-1902 to the Northwest Coast and Siberia. This large-scale, planned, problem-oriented, team research proved to be a milestone in American anthropology. While the Jesup Expedition was still in progress the American Museum initiated intensive Heldwork among the Plains tribes. With- in this same period [William Henry) Holmes and {George Amos) Dorsey were conducting expedi- tions for the Field Museum. Uhlc was working for the University Museum at Pachacamac in Peru, the Pealxxly Museum at Harvard was ex- panding its Heldwork in North and Middle Amer- ica, and other museums were supporting investi- gations in a number of areas. By 1900 the basic pattern of anthropt>logical activities in American museums, which was to flourish for the next thirty years, was well estab- lished. These activities consisted of programs of exhibition, research, scientific and popular publi- cations, contributions to journals, teaching, and popular lectures. A large proportion of the Held research during this period was performed by mu- seum men or as a part of museum-tinanced pro- jects. Museum research was guided in some ca.ses by the need for collections, and in others by the desire to follow up theoretical leads suggested by existing collections. In other instances, the collec- tions indicated whole regions where knowledge was fragmentary or totally lacking. At this time there developed the tendency for given museums to map out areas of research activity — for exam- ple, the Peabody Museum at Harvard in Middle America and in the Southwest, the Field Museum in the Southwest, the Plains and Old World, the American Museum of Natural History in the Plains. Mexico, and Peru, and the University of California in California and adjacent regions, and Peru. The large area projects fostered regional compari.sons and delimitations, and these, rein- forced by the growing collections, led to the cul- ture-area formulation, which, in turn, inspired fur- ther regional studies. The theoretical interests of museum men, as of most American anthropologists of the period, were empirical, strongly hi.storical, and anti-evo- lutionary, but with a considerable retention of the natural history approach of the nineteenth centu- ry. There was a strong emphasis on descriptive and comparative studies of material culture. Many of the most important theoretical contributions of the time came from museum men writing in their role of museum men: the importance of diffusion; the culture-area and age-area concepts, the rela- tion of man to nature, the denial of trans-Pacitic contact, and the autonomy of New World culture. As (Alfred Louis] Kroeber had pointed out. museums during this period were the centers of anthropological teaching; or rather, museum cu- rators formed the core of university teaching staff. The major university departments drew heavily on the staffs of their anthropological museums or es- tablished a working relation with a nearby large museum. Most of the important teachers were mu- seum men or former museum men: Putnam. Boas, Kroeber, Lowie, (Clark j Wissler, (Frederick) Starr, Sullivan. (Roland Burrage) Dixon. )Alds) Hrdli- £ka, to name a few. From an early date the museums recognized an obligation to educate the public. Their programs of popular lectures and publications achieved this objective with notable success. The theoretical positions that resulted from the great areal re- search programs in turn set the pattern for muse- um exhibits, and, by and large, these were dis- played geographically — by region or culture area — or chronologically. Through detailed (and often endless) labeling, the curators applied de- scriptive monographic treatment to anthropologi- cal objects, with no concessions to the limits of interest and attention span of the average visitor. These areally organized cxhibit.s — which we now think of as open storage — were arranged with a maximum of specimens and a minimum of inter- pretation. This was the empirical approach: the student was supposed to bring to the exhibits his own orientation, and to draw from them his own conclusions. At the time the question of whether the museum should exhibit for the professional or for the public at large seems not to have arisen. At lea.st no attempt at differentiation for these very different audiences was made in the exhibi- tion halls. To sum up this review of the pa.st, from 1 890 to about 1920, anthropological museums played a dominant role in the development of anthropolog- ical research, theory, and teaching in the United States. Before the period of the great philanthrop- ic foundations, they marshaled the financial sup- port that made possible the steady growth of an- thropology. Museum anthropologists organized The Role of Museums in American Anthropology 25 and influenced the direction of a major part of anthropological fieldwork of all types. Their the- oretical views they dispensed both in monographs and technical papers, and through the medium of museum exhibits. In teaching they reinforced the empirical tendencies of anthropology and empha- sized its place in natural science or as a branch of natural history. In large part they ignored or eschewed the humanistic aspects of the study of man and culture, which were left to museums of art and classical archeology. The Present During the past thirty-odd years the balance of influence has shifted from museum, or museum- oriented, anthropologists, who have increased rel- atively little in numbers, to nonmuseum anthro- pologists, attached to universities, government of- fices, hospitals, interdisciplinary programs, and the like, who have increased vastly. At the same time, the rapid growth of anthropology in the United States and the great proliferation of an- thropological interests and specialties has resulted in an ever-widening gap between the total range of anthropological activity and the more slowly changing, traditional interests of museums. Although nearly all archeologists and students of human paleontology have continued to utilize museum collections, most social and cultural an- thropologists have become less and less con- cerned with historical problems and descriptive ethnography, and have, generally speaking, lost interest in material culture and technology, the traditional and most fruitful stock-in-trade of mu- seums. Similarly, many physical anthropologists who have specialized in anatomy, genetics, con- stitutional studies, and the like, feel more affinity for the medical school than for the museum. On the other hand, museums have not gone very far in widening their programs in the direction of the current interests of anthropology. Exhibitionwise, an occasional museum display may illustrate a "functional" approach to the ethnological mate- rial. Certain others have dealt modestly with prob- lems of cultural evolution, man and his environ- ment, with diffusion, convergence, or other spe- cific mechanisms of culture growth. But, by and large, these exhibits have been tentative, experi- mental, and restricted in proportion to others ar- ranged along conventional areal lines. Most im- portantly, the newer exhibits have not, to date. reflected any systematic or integrated plan, and treatment of many problems of current theoretical interest has never been attempted. It is probable that the research output of mu- seum anthropologists is as great as ever. It is cer- tain that many conduct their investigations in the newest and most fashionable field of research and, in so doing, make important theoretical contribu- tions. Yet such research is usually pursued in ad- dition to, or in spite of, traditional museum activ- ities rather than as a part of a changing or ex- panding program. This is diametrically opposed to the position of the university anthropologist, whose research projects not infrequently represent direct outgrowths of his teaching, and vice versa. The relationship of the research program to the seminar room needs no further elaboration here. At best this schizophrenic role of the museum anthropologist is a difficult one to maintain, and at worst there is a tendency to slight curatorial duties by those curators who are concerned more with their professional standing as anthropologists than with the effectiveness of their museum work. Curatorial work, in the broadest interpretation, imposes very real and unavoidable obligations. It is often not easy for a museum man to broaden his research when he is aware of how much there is at hand to be done. If he does overcome this difficulty, he is apt to draw a sharp dichotomy between his museum work and his research, and to pour his creative energy into the research rather than in constructive and original thinking regard- ing the museum's program, since it is in the for- mer that he must seek the respect of his anthro- pological colleagues. There results the paradox that the better a man is as an anthropologist in terms of current value judgments of the profes- sion, the poorer he is likely to be in performing traditional curatorial duties and in contributing to a more vital museum program. Although museum anthropologists may, and usually do, keep abreast of the nonmuseum col- leagues in research, there is no doubt that the role of training professional anthropologists has. with few exceptions, passed from the museum to the university. This is not to say that museum anthro- pologists have abandoned teaching; far from it. Most, if not all, devote at least a part of their time to teaching in universities, and many have formal professorial status as well. Yet with the great pro- liferation of universities and colleges during the past thirty-odd years, many graduate students have been, and — particularly in ethnology and so- cial anthropology — are being, trained who have 26 Chapter Two '• never set foot in an anthropologicul museum, and see no reason to do so. While universities have largely assumed Che role of training the professional anthropologists, museums have, for the most part, been left the task of instructing the public. The day is not long past when it was not considered quite respectable, in professional circles, for anthropologists to write "popular" books. Public instruction, on the other hand, has been an obligation of museums almost since their inception in the United States, as wit- nessed by the excellent handbook series issued by most anthropological museums. This interest in public education is not dictated at the present lime entirely by sheer benevolence, nor exclusively by awareness that public knowledge of basic anthro- pology is desirable or necessary in the face of the present world crisis. The fact is that most muse- ums are becoming increasingly dependent upon public support, a situation reflected by the recent proliferation of public relations officers, popular membership drives, and the use made by muse- ums of mass media such as radio, television, and motion pictures. The publication record — both scientific and popular — of most anthropological museums are generally excellent and above reproach, but most museums have neglected their unique educational stock-in-trade, the visual presentation of anthro- pological materials. One of the main causes of the apparent conservatism in this respect is that mu- seums have vested interests — financial, intellec- tual, and occasionally, sentimental as well — in their collections and exhibits. The majority of these exhibits are out of date in terms of the pre- sent theoretical position of anthropology, in terms of educational effectiveness for either student or the public, and in terms of the role anthropology would like to play in the present world crisis. This lag is due in part to the factors discussed in the preceding paragraphs and in part to the high cost of exhibits, their rapid obsolescence, and the lag between planning and execution, which in turn results from understaffing and lack of money. It costs the work of many brains and hands and twenty to forty times more money to produce an effective anthropological exhibit than to pnxluce a sound popular book covering the same range of subject matter. The book had a good chance of paying for itself or even making a profit, but mu- seum exhibits can never pay for themselves under the present organization of museums. If it be asked, can we afford museum exhibits, and why not depend solely upon books, we would answer that we can afford museums; that exhibits, through their visual appeal, excite the interest and imagination, and offer experiences not found in btx)ks. Even if exhibits can never tell the whole story — and this has not been demonstrated be- cause it has never been attempted — they reach many persons who will not read the kind of books we are talking about. It is clear, then, that the relation of anthropo- logical museum to the field of anthropology has been changed radically in the United Slates during the past thirty years. Although they may hold their own in research and teaching, museum men. ex- cept through their writings, exert relatively little influence on the present trend in anthropological theory. How far this development has gone is ev- idenced by the number of graduate students and recent Ph.D.'s who think of museums as intellec- tually low grade, if they think of them at all. This attitude is due in part to trends toward speciali- zation, in part to the opinion of some university anthropologists that museums have nothing to of- fer their students, and in part to the failure of mu- seum men to keep their exhibits abreast of current anthropological interests. The Future Are anthropological museums doomed to stand on the periphery of anthn)pt>logy? Have they no choice but to become holding operations to pre- serve and study the remnants of past cultures, with periodic forays abroad to observe the death rattles of the fast-disappearing primitive societies? Once these have vanished, does the museum, eth- nographically speaking, close up shop? We do not think so. and will attempt to point up our beliefs by means of a series of questions. We do not claim to offer complete answers, but we have some convictions and suggestions. The ramifica- tions of these queries, quite naturally, overiap. hut this is inevitable. Although the complex problems of exhibition techniques are beyond the scope of this discussion, some reference to the content and organiz.ation of exhibits is unavoidable. Research and Theory Whal lines of research of importance to an- thropology are museums best fitted to pursue'/ The Role of Museums in American Anthropology 27 These are several uniquely suited to the museum, and one. now largely neglected, happened to be the museum's traditional stock-in-trade: namely the detailed documentation of primitive cultures before it is too late. On virtually every continent there still remain a number of primitive tribes, yet undescribed or only partially described, that could be studied profitably from an essentially ethno- graphic point of view. If this is not done, this knowledge will be lost forever, and who can say what descriptive material will be required for the anthropological theory of the future? Obviously an ethnographer of the 1950's will differ in the- oretical orientation from one of the 1920's; but he should at least amass comparably complete data, and it seems to us that in many cases this is not being done. Such investigation would be espe- cially appropriate for museums, because, today, it is very difficult to obtain funds from foundations for descriptive studies of primitive people. Since museums are traditionally acquisitive institutions, the possibility of collections should prove an ad- ditional incentive. While foundations favor investigations of folk culture, community studies, applied problems, and the like, most social anthropologists concerned with the study of acculturated peoples are either disinterested in material culture or believe, erro- neously, that "acculturated objects" hold no in- terest for museums. Actually, with such collections museums could provide a hitherto unexploited potential in accul- turation studies. Many aspects or processes of cul- ture change can be studied concretely in terms of material culture, yet few modern studies of this nature have been made. Investigations of contem- porary or recent acculturation would enrich our knowledge of culture change generally, and would add much to our understanding of changes in the past. Such studies would be particularly valuable to archeologists in providing insight into the meaning of comparable changes in the prehistoric past. Such a program would involve a deliberate policy of collecting material culture from contem- porary cultures in transition — in Latin America, Africa, Asia, and Oceania — with accompanying contextual data, in contrast to the more traditional policy of collecting only the "native and uncon- taminated" in art and artifact. Finally, museums might aim at collecting mo- tion picture and photographic records of primitive peoples, as well as sound recordings of their lan- guage and music. Not only are museums in a po- sition to take advantage, for ethnographic docu- mentation of this type, of the numerous and varied expeditions they are constantly sending to all parts of the globe; many museums have special- ized departments of photography, and a few have sound technicians as well. To the best of our knowledge, few university departments have so far attempted the type of audio-visual records now being sought by some museums. Is material culture, as a proper subject for an- thropological investigation, a dead duck? We be- lieve that material culture and technology have not yet lost their significance as subject matter for research. In fact, they offer a great potential for studies with a modern orientation. To point to a single example, anthropologists are showing an increased interest in art — its history, as well as the problems of style, function, and values. At the same time, artists and art historians are becoming increasingly interested in anthropology. Anthro- pological museums house the raw materials for such studies, and could come to be common meet- ing ground for this branch of the humanities and social sciences. Are there any museum needs that necessitate research? We think that there are, and that the anthropological museum itself is a fair and nec- essary field for investigation. In order to plan more effective displays, which, once constructed, represent large investments of money and time, research and experimentation in exhibition tech- niques are essential. If museum exhibits are to be modernized conceptually, new avenues must be explored so that ways and means of displaying these concepts may be found. In this regard the fields of advertising, window display, and the the- ater have a wealth of suggestions to offer. Systematic studies of audience reaction to ex- hibits would be equally profitable. Mass commu- nication studies are currently fashionable in social science. Why is not the anthropological museum as a medium of mass communication itself a suit- able object of study? Are research problems best left to the interest of individual staff members, or are co-ordinated projects more desirable? Here, obviously, there can be no unequivocal "yes" or "no," nor is it likely that an official ruling along these lines will ever be made in any museum. Yet the anthropo- logical museum, embracing as it does archaeolo- gists, ethnologists and physical anthropologists on its staff, is in an excellent position to tackle pro- jects that require knowledge of these three now highly specialized fields. Broad problems of cul- ture history and/or ecology necessitate closely 28 Chapter Two geared teamwork, and museums could well spe- cialize in assembling the data and carrying out research in these fields. Other types of useful co-operative enterprise come to mind. The natural history museum, em- bracing under one rix>f diverse subjects such as anthropology, paleontology, comparative anato- my, mammalogy, and ecology, is ideally situated to produce integrated studies of man the animal and to investigate his place in nature. This would require large-scale interdepartmental co-operation on the part of scientists from the several fields as well as the use of extensive study collections. Finally, museums, rather than anthropologists acting as private individuals, are in a better po- sition to arrange projects that require co-operation on the institutional level, both at home and abroad. In the latter case, the prestige of the mu- seum as a reputable and established institution is often in itself a factor of considerable importance, and one that greatly facilitates research. Can museums om-e more contrUmie important- ly to anthropological theory, apart from the pub- lished theoretical papers of their staff members? It is, perhaps, premature to attempt an answer to this question, but one outstanding example comes to mind. The special exhibition. "Across the Pa- cific," arranged by Gordon Frederick Ekholm at the American Museum of Natural History in 1949, .stimulated professional anthropologists to reconsider the important problem of trans-Pacific contact. The exhibition led directly to a sympo- sium held in Philadelphia in 1950, as well as to a series of technical papers on the subject of pos- sible Old World-New World connections. We see no reason to doubt that other museums' exhibits, dealing with current and controversial issues, would have equal influence on American anthro- pological theory. Teaching How can we resolve the old problem: does the museum exhibit for professional anthropoloffists and advanced students, for the s^eneral public, or for both? As stated earlier, the larger museums are already committed to programs of public instruc- tion, and are becoming increasingly dependent upon public support. Their obligation to the public can, and mu.st, be fulfilled. Museums arc poten- tially the most effective mechanisms for transmit- ting anthropological knowledge and concepts to the public at large, and in the execution of this task, exhibits are the museum's basic and unique fomi of ci>mmunication. Although some university museums may still be puzzled by the dilemma of whether exhibits should be designed for students i>r the public, most larger public and semipuhlic museums have taken a stand in favor of the layman, even though they aor uncertain where this dcvision is leading them. In our opinion, this dilemma has always been a false one. Experience has indicated that well-designed exhibits — exhibits that generalize anthropology — are nu>rc effective with students than the archaic 'open storage" displays and nar- rowly technical exhibits labeled with anthropolog- ical jargon. Certainly the newer types of exhibits mean more to the layman. In opposition to the policy of modernizing an- thropological exhibits along conceptual lines, some die-hards argue that "Exhibits btvomc dat- ed." Anything and anyone "become dated." What is wrong with most anthropological exhibits today is that they are dated — usually circa 1920. Yet many principles t)f anthropology, as well as processes and attributes of culture, arc now estab- lished beyond all rcasonable doubt. Fuiurc re- search may refine and clarify them, but essentially many will remain unaltercd. The argument thai exhibits "become dated" diws not apply, there- fore. \o the central core of anthropological knowl- edge. There arc many basic concepts of anthro- pology that may be put t)n public view withtHil fear that the exhibits which rcprc*sent them will be come obst)lete before the paint is dry. In the training of anthropology students, wc be- lieve that the museums' most important contri- bution, which is at prcsent imperfectly rcalizcd. lies in the leaching of ethnography and cullurc history. As long as cullurc remains an important unifying concept in anthropology, sludcnls need to know a gtKxi deal about ihc hisiory of culture, its varieties, and the way it has changed. And ev- ery anthropologist needs to attain a certain liter- acy in ethnography. Many university teaching programs arc* inadequate in these respects, and it is here that museums can be most helpful by cre- ating integrated and nKaningful exhibits. In order to present anthn>pology as it exists to- day, exhibits must be expanded far beyond the traditional culture hisiory — culture area appmach. It is likely that some phases of anthropology can never he demonstrated visually in museum exhib- its, but the limits of what can be done are not known. Carefully planned and organized exhibits The Role of Museums in American Anthropology 29 treating the following topics could be safely in- stalled at the present time. (1) The biology of man: a hall outlining our knowledge of human biology, morphology, and evolution. (2) The nature of culture: a hall describing the attributes and properties of culture, its varie- ties, and what it "does" for man. (3) Culture growth and change: a hall that would describe these processes, as well as outline cultural and social evolution. (4) A hall of cultural ecology: perhaps the utili- zation of a single locality or landscape by man as seen through time. These exhibits could be arranged with the col- lections and materials now existing in large mu- seums. In most of these institutions sufficient col- lections would remain for additional, although re- duced, halls arranged along conventional culture- area lines. Another way in which museums can contribute importantly to the training of anthropologists is to establish more effective programs for student learning by manipulation of and research on the study collections. Both students and professionals have needs which cannot be met by exhibits. Even in the most extreme "open storage" type of ex- hibit, total series of specimens are almost never displayed, and, in any case, most anthropological specimens cannot be studied effectively through glass. Well-organized storage is essential for stu- dents and professionals, but in order for collec- tions to be effectively used by scholars museums will have to improve the sadly inadequate ar- rangements of their study collections and the fa- cilities for using them. This is one of the most vital and difficult problems faced by museums, and the importance of solving it will have to be sold, in some instances, to museum trustees, to foundations, and to the donors who customarily give money for expedition or the purchase of col- lections. Can we stimulate the study of museum collec- tions as a substitute for the increasingly expensive field trip? Although all large museums are liter- ally mines of untapped material, encouragement is needed to induce gifted anthropology students to seek experience and do research in museums. The number of such students has fallen off no- ticeably in recent years, for reasons already dis- cussed. Such able students are important both as a stimulus to museum staffs and as potential mu- seum curators of the future. Presumably a revital- ization of museum programs would attract more good students. In the meantime, a series of fel- lowships offered by museums and by universities would help to attract first-rate students. At another level, museums, universities, and foundations could work together to encourage a greater quan- tity of high-quality research on museum collec- tions. How can museums keep abreast of current the- oretical trends in the face of the high cost of in- stalling exhibits? The obvious solution that comes to mind is the temporary exhibition hall. The an- thropological museum could devote one hall to current problems. This would serve both to focus attention upon these issues and to keep the mu- seum's displays up to date. It would also help to close the gap between current professional knowl- edge and that of the layman who, in science, at least, is traditionally several years or more behind. In these ways, and in others that have not oc- curred to us, it should be possible for anthropo- logical museums to serve more fruitfully both an- thropology and the public. This end cannot be achieved by museums alone. The active support and collaboration of universities and of the an- thropological profession as a whole is necessary as well. But in developing new programs and new approaches museums should not lose sight of their traditional and still fruitful role of linking anthro- pology with natural science. The natural science outlook had been one of the distinguishing char- acteristics of anthropology in the past. We believe that museums should strive to keep it a dynamic force in the anthropology of the future. Acknowledgments We would like to express our appreciation to our colleagues, Harry Lionel Shapiro, Paul Sidney Martin, Bella Weitzner, Gordon Frederick Ek- holm, James Allen Ford, and George Irving Quimby for useful advice and suggestions, as well as to the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropo- logical Research, Inc. for sponsoring the confer- ence on museums and anthropology. Marie Wor- mington and other members of the conference have also been extremely helpful and generous, and we wish to thank them as well. 30 Chapter Two Creating Field Anthropology: Why Remembering Matters David R. Wilcox In an age of networking, bandwidth, and glob- alization (Friedman 2(XX)). the connections made by the Field Museum after more than a cen- tury of dedicated community service have pro- pelled it into the twenty-first century determined to be the best museum in the world (McCarter 2000a). Under the presidency of John McCarter, the financial struggles of many decades have been ameliorated (McCarter 1999), the Museum's ac- cessibility in the new Museum Campus has in- creased (McCarter 1998), and the board of trust- ees has rededicated the Museum to the goal of creating knowledge through its research programs (McCarter 2000a). For anthroptilogy, one of the four scientific departments in the Museum, the challenge is clear: to go forth from this "sanctu- ary for learning, exploration and discovery" (McCarter 1996) and, by originality, creativity, and moral courage, bring back to it the informa- tion and collections necessary to create new con- tributions to knowledge, new ways of packaging that knowledge, and new ways of communicating it to the diverse publics served by a warld-cla.ss facility. The key player charged with creating this new knowledge is the curator, whose adventures away from the Museum have long been called "expe- ditions." But the curator's role is much greater and more complex than research alone (see Col- lier, this volume; Collier and Tschopik, this vol- ume; Haas, this volume). As a curator's curator, the paleontologist Edwin Colbert (1958) once ex- plained, a curator is also a "keeper" who cares for the collections of objects and archives brought back to a museum. A curator is active in public programs, including both lectures and exhibitions. and also must attend to a certain amount of ad- ministration. However, a curator's greatest impor- tance to an institution, as Colbert (1958) stressed. is in the role of researeher, which brings to an institution the authority and originality of its mes- sage. All these roles must be continually bal- anced, now one. now another, being foremost in the curator's daily activities. In most larger insti- tutions, the curator's role has become differenti- ated, shifting the balance to a purely research role with separate staffs being hired to handle the ex- hibition and education dimensions of the job (Col- bert 1958; Fenton 1960; Terrell 1979; sec also Collier and Tschopik, this volume; Haas, this vol- ume). .Such personnel bring the specialized train- ing now needed to the tasks of collections man- agement, exhibition design, and educational out- reach. In some cases the curator then becomes a team player, working closely with professional collections staff, exhibit designers, and educators, an approach that often prtxluces superior results (Terrell 1991a). In other cases, the curator has been shut out of the process, with results that may be pretty but that lack serious intellectual content (but sec Honan 1990). Allowing ttx) much auton- omy to professional staff who do not fully under- stand the relationships of the whole to the parts — the museum's mission to its individual activities — can have profound and regrettable effects in the areas of compuleriz.ation, repatriation, and archi- val management. On the other hand, curators of- ten need professional input on exhibit choreog- raphy, story lines, and simplicity. How to properly balance the traditional roles of the curator in a large, mtxlcm museum like the Field Museum is one of the principal challenges of the current mu- seum administration (see also Dickinson 1991). Creating Field Anthropology 31 It has ever been so. The goals of the Field Mu- seum today — to create new knowledge and to dis- seminate it — are nineteenth-century ideals em- braced by all institutions that would call them- selves a "museum" (see Fowler, this volume). The history of museums can be told in terms of the interactions among museum administrations of trustees and directors — or now president/chief ex- ecutive officers — and their curatorial staffs as they struggled to find the best balance among research, collections care, exhibitions, and education. At another level, the history of museums can be ex- amined externally in the ways its personnel inter- acted with the multiple communities it seeks to serve. What is expected of museums, and what would have to be accomplished today to be re- garded as a "world-class facility?" Is the civic purpose of museums today different from what it once was? How has the variable and shifting na- ture of expectations about the civic purpose of museums affected the internal interactions be- tween administration and curatorial staff and the trajectories of research, exhibition, and education programs? What does the current structure of the Museum's support system tell us about the kind of new knowledge curators are expected to create tomorrow? Are the expectations of curators as professional anthropologists/archaeologists con- gruent with those of the public and museum ad- ministration, or are they between a rock and a hard place, struggling mightily to exercise free ex- pression, teaching us things we would rather not know? What has been the relationship of the Field Museum to other institutions, such as the Oriental Institute and the University of Chicago; how do its contributions to knowledge and its programs of research compare with those of other institu- tions; and what can be done today to build more effective alliances and programs? Let us then look at the history of the Field Mu- seum, with a particular focus on its Department of Anthropology and its social context. My pur- pose is not so much to answer the huge questions I have posed as to sketch out some directions for answering them and to further entice our doing so. I shall try to show why remembering matters. Only then can we understand how we have come to be as we are. Although no comprehensive history of the Field Museum has been published, the broad out- lines of its history are fairly well known. It grew out of Chicago's success in hosting the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893. Agreeing with an idea suggested by Harvard's Peabody Museum curator, Frederic Ward Putnam (whose second wife was from Chicago), 64 local Chicago busi- nessmen (see Appendix 3) and others incorporat- ed a museum under the laws of Illinois that same year, and Marshall Field I was persuaded to con- tribute a million dollars for its endowment (see Ayer, this volume). First sited in the exposition's Fine Arts Building in Jackson Park, the museum opened in its present location in 1921. Stanley Field, a nephew of the founding benefactor, joined the board of trustees in 1906, the same year Mar- shall Field I died (leaving an additional eight mil- lion to the Museum [Goodspeed 1922]). Stanley Field became board president in 1908, a position he ably filled until his death in 1964. Another great patron of the Museum was Marshall Field III, the grandson, who personally sponsored many Field Museum expeditions beginning in 1922 (see Appendix 4). On reaching age 50, in 1943 — the 50th anniversary also of the Museum (Anony- mous 1943) — Captain Field came into his full in- heritance. That year he gave property to the Mu- seum that was to support it at a level he had been providing, and he asked that its name be changed to the Chicago Natural History Museum, which was done. Shortly after Stanley Field's death, in 1966, it was changed back to the Field Museum of Natural History. A woman's auxiliary board (Smith 1976) was then added, and many efforts were launched to keep up and expand the Muse- um's programs and to modernize its now historic building. In anthropology, a series of renowned cura- tors—from William Henry Holmes (1894-1896), George Amos Dorsey (1895-1914), and Berthold Laufer (1907-1934) to Paul Sidney Martin (1929-1972), Alexander Spoehr (1940-1952), Donald Collier (1941-1992), and George Quimby (1942-1965) and their assistant curator and re- search associate colleagues — brought back world- class collections, created and then transformed in- teresting exhibitions, and prolifically published valuable scientific monographs. Late in his career, Martin became world famous by embracing the so-called New Archaeology and by providing in- tellectual support and encouragement to its young practitioners, including the present writer — though I was then, and remain now, critical of certain aspects of the New Archaeology (see Wil- cox 1975). After Donald Collier stepped down as chief curator in 1 97 1 , a group of new hires set in motion a new series of research and exhibition initiatives funded largely with outside grants, an approach that continues today. 32 Chapter Three With this brief overview in mind, we can begin to probe more deeply into the history of anthro- pology at the Field Museum. To understand the importance of such endeavor to American siKiety. it is useful to look back to the origins of this area of interest, which was provoked in Western cul- ture by the explorations of the 1 5th century (see Fowler, this volume). Columbus's discovery of America in 1492 was part of a general thrust of European nations out- ward into the rest of the world, a priKess that produced multiple encounters between seemingly very different races and cultures. The intellectual effort to understand non-Western peoples led to the birth of anthropology, an attempt to address the great questions of commensurability and. in America, of origins (Fowler and Wilcox 1999; Wilcox and Fowler 2(X)2). Of related interest were issues about the management of these people. The Declaration of Independence by the American colonies in 1776 added urgency to these inquiries when it asserted that "all men are created equal." a proposition that would lead to civil war in the American republic, as Garry Wills (1992) elo- quently discusses in Lincoln at Gettysburg. Before then. Albert Gallatin. Secretary of the Treasury under both Thomas Jefferson and James Madison and then the minister to France, founded the American Ethnological Society in New York City in 1842 (Walters 1957). He had been in Washing- ton in 18()4 when the scientific polymath Alex- ander von Humboldt (Botting 1973). in a dramatic gesture, sailed from Mexico to meet Jefferson, the author of the Declaration of Independence, before returning to Europe. In France, Gallatin was part of von Humboldt's circle, and his interest in eth- nology was stimulated by those contacts (see Gal- latin 1836). Examining the "Semi-Civilized Na- tions of Mexico. Yucatan, and Central-America." Gallatin (1845) asked the question of "whether savage tribes can. of themselves, and without any foreign assistance, emerge from the rudest and lowest social state, and gradually attain even the highest degree of civilization known to us." Pointing to the Mayan successes in astronomy, mathematics, and the calendar. Gallatin (1845) af- firmed the independence of New Worid civiliza- tions, thus also implying that the new American republic, of which he was one of the founders, could also create a new civilization independent of the traditions of European autcKracy. There is a statue of von Humboldt in Chicago's Humboldt Park on Humboldt Boulevard (Fig. 3.1). Chicago in 1893 afforded the world two mea- sures of America's success as a civilization (I^*w- is 1997). The skyscrapers in its central business district, the LtH>p, symK>lizcd to Euri>peans our "go-ahead" values of "openness tt> change, act- ing with confidence, acting quickly, and assuming that each improvement or advancement would stH>n be supercc\lcd" (Lewis 1997:88). The Court of Honor at the World's Columbian Exposition, in contrast, and its relationship to the aiva of state pavilions, the Woman's Building, and the Midway Plaissance strikingly affirmed America's capacity to stand on the shoulders of Western cullua* and to reach farther than its intellectual prcdcccsM>rs (for this metaphor, see Mcrton 1993). Daniel Bumham (I895:ii-lii: see also Karlo- wicz 1970). the Chicago architect who was Di- rector of Works at the expt)sition, told his collab- orating architects and artists that |t|hc maicrial pn)grcss and comnKrcial supremacy of the ci>uniry seemed conceded, but. itHHigh ihe city of Chicago was one of iIk greatest centers of power in tinuncc. commca-e. and manufactures, our cultivation in higher and more rctined iniea'sis. and especially regarding iIk* tine arts, was denied; and there existed, however, a gri>wing appreciation »»f these interests, and that this feeling wtnild not he satisfied with nKrcly the extent and abundance of the Exposition, but that the designers would be strongly supported by the people in an endeavw to attain a superior result in ihc line arts themselves: and that the Chief of C«>nstruclion would therefore use all his power to remtive this stigma placed upon our country and especially upon tiK West. Not only did he agree that the Centennial Expo- sition in Philadelphia in 1876 had failed artisti- cally. Bumham was pmbably well aware of Ihc opinion of both Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kip- ling, after visiting Chicago, that Americans were barbarians and savages (cited in I^wis 1997:16- 17). And "elite Chicagtxins continually worried about the impression their city made on visitors from more cosmopolitan places" (Blucstonc 1991:3). One of the most beautiful of Ihc exposition buildings was the Palace of Fine Arts (now home to the Mu.scum of .Science and Industry), designed in Greco-Roman Imperial style by Bumham's a.s- sistant. Charles Atwtxxl (Condit 1973:10: Masters 1933:249). It was here that the Chicago Colum- bian Museum was first housed. Bumham soon had greater plans for Chicago, and after redesigning Washington. D.C., Manila, and other American tiiics — and becoming a leader in the City Beau- tiful movement (Hines 1972. 1974: Kahn 1979; Moore 1921; Wilson 1989) — he succeeded in Creating Field Anthropology 33 Fig. 3. 1 . Alexander von Humboldt statue. Humboldt Park, Chicago. (Photograph by David R. Wil- cox, October 23, 2000.) 34 Chapter Three gaining official acceptance of his Plan of Chicago in 1909. It called for the Field Museum to be re- located in the center of Grant Park, where it would be a principal icon of Chicago's civic life. This idea was blcKked. however, when Montgom- ery Ward (of department store fame) brought suit to stop it, arguing successfully that Grant Park was for the people and that the Field Museum wa-s an elitist organization (Anonymous 2(KK); Wille 1991). Why did that come about, and how was this problem overcome? Marshall Field I, a self-made man. at his death in 1906 was thought to be the fifth wealthiest man in America, with a fortune estimated at $120 mil- lion {Fortune 1936; Goodspeed 1922:27; Wendt and Kogan 1952) (Fig. 3.2). As was apparently customary (see Goodspeed 1922). once a million dollars was committed to the Museum's endow- ment. Field was able to reorganize the board of trustees with his own men. Nine (Armour. Black. Bullock. Bumham. Ellsworth, Farwell. Hirsch. Hutchinson, Roche; see Appendix 3) of the orig- inal 15 trustees resigned in January 1894. and their places were taken by friends or associates of Field, including his business partner Harlow Niles Higinbotham. his .secretary Arthur Jones, and Cy- rus Hall McCormick II (who became president of International Harvester Corporation). Norman Bruce Ream (a business associate of J. P. Mor- gan). William Chalmers (of Allis-Chalmers). Mar- tin Ryerson. and the banker Watson Franklin Blair. These men did constitute a significant seg- ment of the business and intellectual elite in Chi- cago in the 1890s (Horowitz 1976; Jaher 1982). Edward Everett Ayer, who had made a respect- able fortune selling railroad ties (Lockwotxl 1929; Webber 1984). remained as board president. Ac- cording to Ayer's often cited account (see Ayer. this volume), it was he who persuaded Marshall Field I to give that million dollars by pointing out to him in a closed-door .session that by thus es- tablishing a world-cla.ss museum his name would be perpetuated. Was elitism and vanity, then, what the Field Museum was really all about? I think not and that we should be skeptical of Ayer's claims about Field's motives. Marshall Field I did not indicate that he agreed with Ayer's pitch, and it was only after he and others of his family took a tour of the exposition that he agreed to the endowment. We should no- tice who was — to use a sociological concept — Field's "reference group." Field owned a con- trolling interest in his friend George Pullman's Palace Car Company (Goodspeed 1922:23). in which Andrew Carnegie was another partner On Pullman's death. Field's friend Robert Todd Lin- coln was installed as president. In 1902. when U.S. Steel was founded. Field was on the board, and it was he who would insist on the IcKation of its steel plants in Gary. Indiana, only 20 miles from Chicago. The principal organizer of both U.S. Steel and the International Harvester Cor- poration was Field's boyhtHxl acquaintance John Pierpont Morgan. Morgan was a founding trustee of the American Museum of Natural History in New York and became the president of the Met- ropolitan Museum of Art. spending nearly half his fortune (60 million dollars) to bring the treasures of world culture to America (Stn>usc 1999). John Davi.son Rockefeller Sr.. the wealthiest American, with about $9(X) million at his death, was the prin- cipal patmn of the University of Chicago, for which Marshall Field I gave much of the original land (Goodspeed 1922). Rockefeller and Field were business partners in the Vermillion iron range of Minnesota (Wendt and Kogan 1952:182). It was, therefore, a fitting civic gesture for Mar- shall Field I to also become the principal patron of a comparable civic institution, a world-class museum. Although he allowed it to bear his name, at the opening ceremonies he declined to say a word despite the numerous entreaties from the crowd (Chicano Herald 1894; sec also Bay 1929). A comparison with another Chicago institution, the Oriental Institute, is also instructive at this point. William Rainey Harper, the first president of the University of Chicago (Storr 1966). hired James Henry Brea.sted as a pmfessor of .Semitic languages (Brea.stcd 1943). Trained in Germany. Breasted was a member of an international elite of Orientalist .scholars that also included Bcrthold Laufer. the fourth curator at the Field Museum. With RcKkcfcller money. Harper spttnsorcd an ex- pedition by Brea.sted to Egypt, but with Harper's death in 1 906. Brca.sted had to return to Chicago. A brilliant writer. Brcasted's (1916) high school text Ancient Times became a best-seller, and Mrs. Rockefeller read it to her children (Fosdick 1956: 283). In 1919, Brea.sted wrote a letter to Rocke- feller Jr.. pointing out that the new era of oil de- velopment in the Near East following World War I would destroy many historic sites — would Rock- efeller help? He did, and over the next 16 years, Brea.sted (1935) articulated project after project directly to Rockefeller, all parts of a coherent pro- gram that he funded in the amount of 17 million dollars (see Wilcox 1988). Expedition houses were built in Egypt and several other Near Ea.stem Creating Field Anthropology 35 MARSHALL FIKLI) Fig. 3.2. Marshall Field I. (From Goodspeed 1922.) 36 Chapter Three Fig. 3.3. Stephen Chapman Simm.s (FMNH). countries, and at home the Oriental Institute build- ing wa.s erected in 1930 with a sculpture ikcu- pying the tympanum over the entrance that was "intended to suggest the transition of civilization from the ancient Orient to the West" (Breasted 1935:103). Tucked away in the midst of the Uni- versity of Chicago, this building may be mtxlest, but its program was powerful, and it has influ- enced the world's conception of what civilization is. By contra.st, the early Field Museum's pro- grams were modest, but its architectural presence sent an imposing message. How did the Field Museum, as Daniel Bumham wished, become an icon of American civili/.ation in Chicago? The Bumham Plan was the culmi- nation of many efforts to redefine the relationship between the city center of commercial skyscrapers and civic in.stitutions designed to cultivate unity among the urban masses (Bluestone 1991). Many of these efforts failed, but not entirely. In the face of ebbing civic idealism after 1900. when "people used their free time and wealth to explore more private, rather than public, concerns" (Bluestone 1991:199: May 1983:202). some Chicagoans clung to the earlier ideals. The successful rclcKa- tion of the Field Museum to its current kKation south of Grant Park and the later construction nearby of the Shedd Aquarium ( 1929) and the Ad- Icr Planetarium (19.30) arc a testament to their success. Just how the former was accomplished, however, remains something of a mystery (but sec Condit 1973: Willc 1991). Ycl its outlines can be sketched. An important step was taken in 1912. when the banker Norman Wait Harris (Gpening of the Civic Opera House. November 1929. (From McDonald 1962.) Creating Field Anthropology 39 (Blank ^ Stoller. Inc.. Photo) JAMES SIMPSON Fig. 3.5. James Simpson. (Photograph by Blank & Stoler, Inc.) 40 Chapter Three FREDERICK J. V. SKIFF Fig. 3.6. Frederick Skiff. Creating Field Anthropology 41 ed? Or is it simply that Putnam was regarded as an outsider or perhaps an inept administra- tor? Afterward, Putnam was bitter, and this may have stimulated his efforts in developing departments of anthropology to rival the Field Museum's in both New York and Berkeley (Dexter 1966a, 1966b, 1966c, 1966d; Hinsley 2(X)0). However, he apparently got over his bit- terness, and the Field Museum's trustees were subscribers to the Putnam Anniversary Volume in 1909. It would be interesting to know more about Putnam's interactions with the Field Mu- seum in the early 20th century when his stu- dent George Amos Dorsey was curator ( 1 897- 1914). 2. William Eleroy Curtis (NCAB 1907) was a Chicago newspaperman who was appointed by President Arthur as secretary to the South American Commission whose purpose was "to ascertain the best methods for promoting the political and commercial relations between the United States and the other American repub- lics"— the beginnings of the Pan-American movement (Fig. 3.7). He was appointed the di- rector of the Bureau of American Republics (1890-1893). He also was chief of the Latin American Department and Historical Section of the World's Columbian Exposition. An in- corporator of the Field Museum who became an honorary curator (Bay 1929), he played a key role in arranging to get the exposition's collections from Latin America to the Muse- um. This was a time when U.S. trade domi- nance over Latin America was being estab- lished (LaFeber 1963; Williams 1972), and Curtis was a key political operator in that pro- cess. It would be fascinating to know more about how the creation of the Field Museum might have been thought to further these aims. 3. Franz Boas was also bitter that he was not hired as the first curator of the Field Museum (McVicker 1999a). Sara Stevenson of Phila- delphia wanted to hire him at the University Museum there but could not meet his salary demand of $3,000 (Pepper 1893). Holmes was paid $4,000 to come to the Field Museum (McVicker 1999a), and when the American Museum of Natural History was considering whom to have come in and reorganize its an- thropology department, the two men consid- ered were Putnam and Holmes (Cole 1985). Boas later would become the acknowledged "father" of American anthropology, but in 1893 others were generally perceived as much more prominent (Darnell 2000; Meltzer 2000). Arguably, it was not until he left the American Museum for Columbia University and began teaching students that Boas's prominence be- gan to be established (Cole 1999). 4. George Amos Dorsey, Putnam's first Ph.D. stu- dent, replaced Holmes as curator. Regrettably, he did not exercise the kind of scientific rigor and intellectual control that men like Boas and his friend Berthold Laufer demanded (see Al- mazan and Coleman, this volume). In a letter to Boas dated April 13, 1908, Laufer scathing- ly reports that "[ajccording to the Dorsey method, ... it is possible for every ethnologist to work in any territory; he photographs a little bit, buys indiscriminately everything he can get his hands on, has a good time with the people, and that settles the matter" (Cole 1985: 340). William Fenton (1960:343), however, had high regard for Dorsey 's exhibit on the Pawnee sacrifice to the morning star. I think what would be particularly interesting is to in- vestigate Dorsey 's relationship with the press. In an age before anyone had taken a course in Anthropology 101, he sought to shape public opinion; Fay-Cooper Cole (1931) said of him that "no one of our generation has done more toward popularizing science" (see also Dorsey 1925). What, for example, was Dorsey doing working for the Chicago Tribune between 1909 and 1913 (Cole 1985)? 5. During Berthold Laufer's time as chief curator (see Bronson, this volume), the early years were spent packing up the Museum for its move to Grant Park (Bay 1929). Then, in the 1920s, many new expeditions were sponsored, begin- ning in 1922 with coordinated attention by all the Museum's departments on South America. Interestingly, the fledgling National Research Council in 1919 had identified South America as a particularly important field of study (Frantz 1985:89). One wonders whether this national goal affected decisions at the Field Museum. 6. During the 1920s, assistant curators came or went with great frequency (see Appendix 1), and many of these men became leaders in the profession: Fay-Cooper Cole, J. Alden Mason, Ralph Linton, and William Duncan Strong (Fig. 3.8). Why did they not stay? John Eric Sidney Thompson (Graham 1976; Thompson 1963; see McVicker, this volume), for exam- 42 Chapter Three Fig. 3.7. William E. Curtis. (From National Cyrlopaedia of American Bioffraphy.) Creating Field Anthropology 43 Fig. 3.8. Field Museum Anthropology curators, mid- 1920s. Left to right: Henry Field, Wilfred Hambly, J. Eric Thompson, and Berthold Laufer. pie, made significant collections in British Honduras, wrote an account of Mayan archae- ology in the Museum's popular series (Thomp- son 1927), and after leaving the Museum for the Carnegie Institution remained as a lifelong research associate. A curator who did stay, Al- bert Buell Lewis (see Welsch, this volume), has been the subject of a superb study by Rob- ert Welsch (1998). More critical appraisal of the work done in the 1920s is needed. A new era of stability in the Museum's De- partment of Anthropology began when Paul Sid- ney Martin was hired in 1929 (see Nash, this vol- ume). A freshly minted Ph.D. under Fay-Cooper Cole at the University of Chicago, he was a local Illinois boy who made good. In his early career at the Museum, Martin did brilliant work at the Lowry Ruin in southwestern Colorado (Martin 1936) and pioneered in the definition of the high- land Mogollon culture (Martin 1940). Reviewing "Fifty Years of Anthropology," Martin (1943b) praised the work of his predecessor as chief cu- rator, Berthold Laufer, but noted that "some of the leaders of expeditions have been wont to collect furiously and without much thought to selectivi- ty"— a clear reference to the Dorsey era. No lon- ger interested in expeditions that aimed only to collect well-documented objects, Martin (1943b) stated that the "anthropologist ... is interested in investigating and clarifying man's social relation- ships. . . . No proper solution of the world's prob- lems and psychoses can be made without the aid of anthropology." Self-reflective about the past, Martin was searching for new ways of doing anthropological archaeology. Factors that would soon bring the Oriental Institute, the Department of Anthropol- ogy at the University of Chicago, and the Field Museum into a favorable conjunction were to give him that chance. The results were so exciting that Martin (1971) proclaimed "revolution in archae- 44 Chapter Three ology" and was proud to act as the midwife of its gestation. The first moves in this prtKcss were that Robert Braidwood and Robert McCormick Ad- ams from the Oriental Institute, after they had done fieldwork in the Near East, each spent a summer with Martin in Pine Lawn Valley. New Mexico. Braidwood in 1941 and Adams in 1952. Why they did that would be interesting to know (Yoffee's [1997] excellent biography of Adams does not mention that summer). The circumstanc- es of Braidwood's (1949) publishing of Primitive Men as a leaflet of the Field Museum also need explication. In the mid-195()s, Braidwtxxl and Ad- ams began teaching together in the Department of Anthropology at Chicago, bringing with them Breasted's (1935) program of the Career of Man from the Paleolithic throu}>h the Befiinninf>s of Domestication to the Rise of Civilization. Many bright young graduate students interested in ar- chaeology were thus attracted to a department known more for social anthropology than archae- ology. From 1958 to 1961. the department's one full-time archaeologist was the graduate student Arthur Jelinek. In preparation for this paper. I interviewed Je- linek. who was my chief professor at the Univer- sity of Arizona; also William Longacre. for whom I worked at the Grasshopper Field Sch(x>l. where he introduced me to the feisty Susan Furer. who became my wife; and my colleague Charles Red- man, an Arizona State University professor, abt^ut what happened next. This is what they told me (see also Longacre 1976. 2(XX)). Longacre. a student of music and social anthro- pology at the University of Illinois, had many ar- chaeologist friends and had spent a summer in Arizona with John McGregor, but he went to Chi- cago to take graduate work in s(Kial anthropology and while there was employed by David Schnei- der in American kinship studies. Through Elaine Bluhm (see Herold, this volume), he got a job with Paul Martin in 1959 doing archaeological survey in the Little Colorado River Valley of Ar- izona. Looking for a fresh way to analyze the ce- ramics. Longacre and Martin showed the collec- tions to a social anthropology student. Constance Cronin. who started seeing some interesting pat- terns. She consulted with Jelinek about them, and he encouraged her. These patterns suggested to Longacre a synthesis of archaeology and kinship studies. He got very excited. Then-graduate stu- dent Lewis Binford replaced Jelinek at Chicago. When Longacre told his new professor about his and Cronin's ideas. Binford. ttx). became ex- cited, and Longacre took him over to the Museum to meet Martin. Binford charmed Martin and soon turned him on to many of his ideas. What Binford offered Martin. Longacre. and many other Chi- cago students were methods and methodologies for achieving their anthropological goals. With Longacre 's help. Martin had applied for and re- ceived the first of a scries of National Science Foundation (NSF) grants, beginning in I96(). and in 1965 until his death in eariy 1974. Martin re- ceived support for an NSF-sponsored undergrad- uate field sch(K)l that was headquartered in Ver- non. Arizona. It became the seedbed of the New Archaeology. Longacre became Binford's first Ph.D. student and was n. whose work was severely criticized by Binford. One of the students turned on by the Vernon experience was Charles Redman, who had come to Chicago from Harvard to study with Braid- wood and Adams. Someone, possibly Braidwood. recommended that he spend a summer, in 1967. with Martin. What was most wonderful and un- usual about Martin's tield sch(H)l was the freedom he gave to the students to design and carry out their own research projects. For Longacre. this meant being able to surface collect a Folsom site (Longacre and Graves 1976) and excavate the Cancr Ranch site "his way." using a table of ran- dom numbers to select collection or excavation units (Longacre 1970). To Chuck Redman, it meant learning about statistical sampling and re- search design, two of Binford's (1964) principal emphases. But Binford did not last long at Chicago. Too caustic, and at times even nasty to other faculty, particularly to Robert Braidw(Mxl (see Binford and Binft)rd 1966; sec also Binford 1968). he left in 1965. The movement he started was carried on by graduate a.ssistants and a "second generation" of tmc believers. Perhaps because Martin retired in 1964. becoming emeritus chief curator, few stu- dents any longer went over tt) the Field Museum. In his 1978 book. Ttie Rise of Civilization. Red- man ably synthesi/.ed the ideas of his pmfessors BraidwtHxl and Adams and brilliantly counter- posed them with those of his friends the new ar- chaeologists, transforming what had been an ad hominem and even anti-intellectual critique by Binford into a legitimate scientific debate. I^)n- gacre (1970) and James Hill (1970) in the publi- cations of their work in the Hay Hollow Valley also wrote brilliant and even-handed reports Creating Field Anthropology 45 Fig. 3.9. John McCarter accepting the replica of Ohnec head no. 8 from the governor of Vera Cruz, Mexico, October 21, 2000. (Photograph by David R. Wilcox.) that caused intense excitement among a genera- tion of new graduate students. The new archae- ology was growing up. And most of the New Archaeologists got good academic jobs — though, as Longacre points out, not in Eastern establishment universities nor at the Field Museum. Instead, the Museum hired new cu- rators (James VanStone [see Rooney and Kusimba, this volume], Stephen Gasser, Bennet Bronson. and John Edward Terrell; see Appendix 1) from the Eastern establishment, a move it would be inter- esting to know more about. Was this a conservative reaction to the ethos of the 1960s that became so much identified with the youthful new archaeolo- gists who were allowed to run free in the American Southwest? What effect, if any, did such conser- vatism have on the nature of the research projects undertaken and the support they received inside and outside the Museum? As a beginning of a self-reflexive process, I in- terviewed many of the present curators, from Ben Bronson and John Terrell, who began at the Mu- seum on the same day 31 years ago, to Antonio Curet. the most recent one hired (at the time of this writing') and many others. I found a fasci- nating ferment of ideas and aspirations about the future and a variable knowledge of and interest in the struggles of the past generation. There is a renewed determination by curators to become more centrally involved in the exhibition pro- grams, restoring the balance lost during previous administrations. Curators John Terrell (1991b, 1993) and Jonathan Haas (1996, 1998), in partic- ular, have shown leadership in realizing that re- patriation is about a new era of relationships with First Nations that can greatly increase the civiliz- ing power of museums in fostering greater human understanding and appreciation of accomplish- ments. The installation of the replica of Olmec Head No. 8 on October 23, 20(X), is a fine illus- tration of this kind of effort (Fig. 3.9). With the archaeologist Bill Bamett on board as Vice Pres- ident for Information Services (see Martin-Ross and Bamett, this volume), an exciting new initia- tive of reaching out and touching people world- ' Peruvianist Patrick Ryan Williams and physical an- thropologist Robert D. Martin were hired in 2001. — Eds. 46 Chapter Three wide through the Internet and in other ways is just beginning, promising to build individual relation- ships organized around user communities of in- terest that will evolve as the interactions thus cre- ated move forward. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, we mark the beginnings of the pt^st-cold war world order of globalization that has brought down walls of many kinds all over the world (Friedman 2()0()). Inside the Field Museum, too, the traditional de- partmental walls must also symbolically fall, or at least function differently, challenging curators and professional staff alike to forge new relationships to accomplish the Museum's mission. Such change is not likely to be easy, but it is stimulat- ing, and the likely rewards in new contributions to knowledge are great. Now the eve of tomorrow is at hand. The ad- ministration of the Museum is supported by a new board of trustees (see Appendix 3) notable for its comparative youth, much wider ethnic diversity, and more even balance among the sexes than at any previous time in the history of the institution. A new Center for Cultural Understanding and Change, directed by Alaka Wali, aims **io promote understanding and respect for cultural diversity" and "to lend . . . support to the many people around the world, as well as here at home, who are fighting to protect and preserve iheir cultural identities" (McCarter 2(XX)b). Leadership of the Department of Anthropology has been bestowed on Gary Feinman, a student of new archaeologists at the University of Michigan who were hired to teach there by another paragon of the old aa*hae- ology, James Griffin. What will Feinman do? How will he shape a wt)rld-class program in anthropol- ogy in a 2 1 si-ceniury Field Museum detennined to beconK the best museum in the world? That will be interesting to sec. and I believe we have all been invited to help him do it. Acknowledgments First I would like to thank my old friend Gary Feinman for asking me to deliver the first version of this paper as an address at the Field Museum; it has been a most challenging and stimulating assignment! Much thanks also goes to Warren Haskin. Steve Nash. Don McVicker. Curtis Hin- sley, and Raymond Thompson for their help in assembling data, suggesting ideas and improve- ments, and providing encouragement. Arthur Je- linek. William Longacre. Charles Redman. David Gregory. John Hanson, and James .Schtxrnwetter freely offered many insights about Paul Martin and his times, and I am most grateful to them all. I am also grateful to my institution, the Museum of Northern Arizona, and to Edwin Wade. Mi- chael Fox. and our new President/CEO. Arthur Wolf, for their support and encouragement. The curators and other staff at the Field Museum were most cordial and helpful, and I want to thank them one and all. For errors that may be found. I alone am responsible. Creating Field Anthropology 47 In Re: Founding of the Field Museum" Edward Everett Ayer Edward Everett Ayer, a Civil War veteran who made his fortune selling railn>ad ties, played a key role in the events of 1893 that eventually gained support from Marshall Field I to create a permanent museum for preserving and displaying artifacts exhibited at the World Columbian Hxpositiim. A prominent Chicago philanthropist. Ayer served as a trustee of the Field Museum from 1893 through 1927. the Newberry Library in Chicago (1892-1917). the Art Institute of Chicago (1882-1889). and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (1894-1917). Ayer's original paper' is aa-hived by the Newberry Library and has been dated by watermark to 1916. when Ayer was 75 years old and still a Field Museum inistcc. — Eds, At the time of the start of the great Chicago Exposition, and for a long time before and after there had been a certain party of gentlemen whom I had the honor of knowing and participat- ing in their sports and business life consisting of Marshall Field. George Pullman. C. W. Doane. W. W. Kimball, William Walker, the Sprague Broth- ers, and many others. We used to meet twice a year at our fishing Club at Pele Island on Lake Erie, and quite often had games of cards at each others houses, and of course, met almost every day at the Chicago Club. Early in the conception of the Exposition we recognized the fact that it would be a great op- portunity to get material at the end of the Fair to found a museum in Chicago. It was generally rec- ognized that we could not start it without two or three millions of dollars at Iea.st. The subject was often talked over by us, and it was evident that Marshall Field was the only man who could lake that much money out of his business without harm, consequently the subject was often broached to Mr. Field by Mr. Pullman. Mr. Ream and myself, but we were met all the tiine with the argument that he did not care especially for mu- ' Published with permission of the Newberry Library. Chicago. The figure has been added for this edition. seums. and was not interested and he would not subscribe a million dollars to start the fund. Probably this subject had been talked over be- tween our set thirty or forty times during the prep- aration of the World's Fair and its continuance. I being particularly interested in natural history and especially in the North American Indian: having made a very large collection of paraphernalia used by them, and which comprised pan of the exhibit at the WoHd\ Fair (Fig. 4.1). As you all reiTiember the World's Fair ended up during the panic of 189.3, which made it still more difficult, and it seemed impossible to raise the funds nec- essary for the purpose. Things drifted on in this way until about the last month of the Fair when there was a Committee appointed of about thirty people to take up the matter and sec what could be done, of which I was one. The first meeting of the Committee I was out of the City and could not attend, but the second I attended. The consensus of opinion was that it would be impossible to raise an amount of money large enough tt) found a museum, and they were trying to form an organization to raise $2()0.(XX) or $3(K).(XK) for the purchase of different collec- tions, and to get the different exhibitors and in- dividuals to present their collections to this Com- mittee so that they could box them up and store "In Re: Founding of the Field Museum" 49 Fig. 4.1. North American Ethnology Hall, containing the Ayer Collection, Field Columbian Museum, Jackson Park, ca. 1896. them, and when times got more propitious money could be raised to found the museum. After lis- tening to the many remarks on the subject I was asked my opinion. I told them as a collector that the scheme would not work, as everyone who made any kind of a collection did so with the hope and belief that it could be made useful, that their theory of boxing and storing a natural history col- lection was impracticable owing to the fact that everything except the stone and wood in such a collection would have to get constant care; that it had many enemies in the insect world, that it must be kept where it could be looked after, poisoned and have constant care to preserve it. I was asked if I would not give my great Indian collection for that purpose, and I said no, if they were to box and store my great Indian collection it would be worthless inside of a year. I further said that of course it was impossible to form a museum collection now for Chicago unless we could get some man to give a million dollars to start it, and that there seemed to be only one man in Chicago at that time and under the conditions at that time who was able to do it, and that was Marshall Field, but he had said many times that he would not, and that under the circumstances, in my judgment, the only thing to do is to raise what money we can, go to work energetically and get all the material we can to make four working collections of natural history for the [University of] Chicago, Northwestern University of Evans- ton, Beloit College, Beloit, Wisconsin, and Cham- plain University [Editors' note: Champlain Uni- versity is in Burlington, Vermont, and was estab- lished in 1878. Though this may be the correct referent, it seems more likely that this is a typing or transcription error and that Ayer meant to refer to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Cham- paign, which was chartered in 1867]. Under those conditions I said I would lead off by presenting 50 Chapter Four my great Indian Collection to the [University of] Chicago. I sat down and retired from the meeting. That afternoon a letter from the Committee was handed me by Mr. James Ellsworth asking me if I would not serve as Chaimian of the Finance Committee at least long enough to try Mr. Field once more. I told Mr. Ellsworth that I would but I felt it was hopeless. The next morning I was in Mr Field's office at 9:30, he arrived about ten, and I said to him, '*! want to see you tonight after dinner'" He said it was impossible that he was going out to dinner. I then told him I would see him the next night after dinner, but he said, "I am going out again." He said to me: "You want to talk to mc again abur great divisions of natural history in the Exposition with me." He said: "I will be very glad to do it." He said: "Mr. Pullman told me that he went Ihmugh with you and he was very much pleased." He said: "Brother JtK* is here and I will go thn>ugh with you tomorrow morning at ten o'clock." I immediately commu- nicated with the Chiefs of the divisions, and the next morning we went through these divisions, included in the party was brother Ji>c, Mr Field, the chief of each division while in his section and myself. When I got through I asked Mr Field if I could go and see him again at 9:30 the next morning, and he said: "Yes." I ttx)k Mr Ellsworth and Norman B. Ream with me. and he then said he would give the million dollars, provided we would raise another million. I immediately rushed off to Mr Pullman, who contributed SKXMXX). ap- pealed to Mr Leiter and others for several days. and found that it would be impossible to raise over S5(X).(XX). and Mr. Field kindly consented to give the million pmvidcd we got the other $50().0(X). They were willing that my great Indian collection should count as ca.sh. Mr Higginbtith- am kindly consented a few days later to put in $1(X).(XX). and we raised the money. The subject then came up of organization. Mr Field asked mc to serve as President, which I con- sented to do. and told him that I wanted two things. One was that the museum should be open Sunday and Saturday free. The other was that we should get the best talent that money could secure as Curators of the Divisions. The first object was to get a Director The friends of several men advanced their names, and after careful scrutiny Mr Skiff of the Colorado Exhibit was chosen for the following reason. His exhibit was one of the best, cleanest, and orga- nized collections in the Field Museum, and we thought that any man that could keep a collection in that condition and maintain it in that condition at the time of the exhibit would make a giMxl Di- rector, and he was chosen on that account. The largest single subject practically of natural history would be Anthropology. We approached William H. Holmes of the International Museum at Washington and he was secured. We chose Mr. Farrington for Geology as at the Chicago Expo- sition he seemed to have the qualifications nec- essary for it. Mr. Millspen in Botany was chosen. 'in Re: Founding of the Field Museum" 51 In looking for a Zoologist our mind immediately went to D. G. Elliott, a very cultured and accom- plished gentleman, and a great authority on ar- nathology [ornithology?] and mammals. Each of these departments under these chiefs was filled with able and capable curators. It gives me plea- sure to say that the splendid scientific and enor- mous strides of the Field Museum are due to these splendid men who were chosen for these promi- nent positions. Their splendid talent was a subject of gratification to all the people of Chicago, and every one always felt that everything done by this class of men could not help but be absolutely right, and through that confidence the talent en- gaged at that time enjoyed the museum has al- ways had a warm place in the hearts of the people of Chicago. We were also under great obligation to Profes- sor Putnam of Boston for his many valuable sug- gestions and work. We have been most fortunate in the selection of all the subordinates, men who would go through any trial of labor or suffering in the in- terest of their Department, and it gives me espe- cial pleasure to mention the unique Mr. Akeley, who Dr. Elliot selected for Taxidermist, a man whose name had gone into literature as the Mi- chelangelo of animal sculpture. Mr. Field imme- diately commenced to take great interest in the museum, and his interest continued to increase gradually year by year until his death, and one of the most gratifying thoughts of all of us connected with the museum is that Mr. Field lived to see the Field Museum take rank amongst the great mu- seums of the world. 52 Chapter Four The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum: A Review of Six Years' * George A. Dorsey George Amos Dorsey served as curator of anthropology at the Field Mu- seum from 1897 through 1914. This chapter provides a detailed personal chronicle of the first six years of the Department of Anthropology, and its emphasis on collections, collecting activity, and collections organization. The paper reveals Dorsey 's proclivities, which set the tone for the Depart- ment of Anthropology until his resignation from the Museum in 1914. — Eds. The Origin of the Museum The termination of the World's Columbian Ex- position in October. 1893. made imperative the founding in Chicago of a permanent scientific mu- seum. Not only had the chiefs of certain depart- ments of the Exposition, especially those of Mines and Metallurgy. Anthropology, and Transporta- tion, a.ssembled extensive exhibits which had been specially prepared with a view to the needs of a permanent museum, but opportunities were of- fered on every hand by domestic and foreign ex- hibitors for the immediate acquisition of valuable collections, which, under ordinary conditions, would consume much time and money for their a.s.sembling. The work of establishing a museum was given a new and irresistible impetus by the splendid gift, on October 26, 1893. of one million dollars by Mr. Marshall Field.+ Within a few months this fund had increased by cash contri- butions to the extent of nearly half a million dol- lars more. The Museum was incorporated on the I4th of September 1893, as the "Columbian Mu- seum of Chicago." On June 25. 1894, this name was changed to "Field Columbian Museum." Mr. Edward Everett Ayer was elected president of the * Originally published in 1900 in American Anthro- pologisl 2:247-265. + Discussed in Ayer. this volume. — Eds. board of trustees and Mr. Harlow Niles Higin- botham was chosen chairman of the executive committee; in October 1899. Mr Higinbotham was also elected president of the board. Mr. Ayer having resigned in January of that year During the fall and winter of 1893 the work of transferring the collections donated by the Expo- sition was being rapidly performed. The Fine Arts building of the Exposition had been decided upon as the temporary home of the new Museum (Fig. 5.1). and space was at once allotted to the differ- ent departments. In the meantime many donations of valuable collections had been made by various Exposition commissioners, and many other col- lections were bought outright, and by the opening of the year 1894 the work of installation had been entered upon in earnest. The Museum was dedi- cated and declared open to the public on June 2, 1894. by Mr Frederick J. V. Skiff, director An examination of the director's first report shows that the Museum consisted at that time of the departments of Anthropology. Geology. Bot- any, Zoology, Ornithology, Industrial Arts, and The Columbus Memorial, and of the divisions of Transportation and the Railway. By this time also (October, 1895) four courses of lectures had been given, a publication series, including a guide, had been begun, a library had been organized, a thor- ough system of records and departmental inven- The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 53 Fig. 5.1. Field Museum of Natural History in Jackson Park, Chicago, 1907. tories had been inaugurated, a section of photog- raphy and a printing office had been established, and several expeditions had been undertaken in the interests of the various departments. From the director's reports for the five years are extracted the following statistics showing the total expenditure and the attendance for each year: Year Expenditure Attendance 1895 1896 1897 1898 1899 Totals $156,909.97 156.999.53 104,804.88 111,940.50 128,936.50 $659,591.38 328,321 230,337 220,283 224,246 223,304 1,226,491 Examining the latest available reports of the American Museum of Natural History (1898), and the United States National Museum (1897), it is shown that their expenditures were $204,955.95 and $186,498.33 respectively. The attendance is not stated for the American Museum; for the Na- tional Museum it was 229,606. The Origin of the Department of Anthropology Confining our attention now to be the Depart- ment of Anthropology, let us first notice the ma- terial presented by the directors to the Museum at the close of the Exposition. These collections were obtained through special expeditions sent out under the direction of Professor Putnam, or by collectors resident in the field who were commis- sioned by the Department of Ethnology to under- take the work. The principal expedition to South America was under the direction of George A. Dorsey, who in 1891 was sent to Peru, Ecuador, Chile, and Bolivia. Other collections from South America were gathered through United States na- val officers, commissioned by the department to go to widely remote localities; the result of their 54 Chapter Five work is to be seen in the Scriven collection from Costa Rica, the Welles collection from Orinoco River, the Safford collection from Peru, and the Bertolette collection from Paraguay. The Central American field was covered by Mr. Edward Herbert Thompson, United States Consul to Yucatan, under whose direction a series of casts from Central American ruins was procured, as well as by the research conducted by Messrs Sa- ville and Owens. The archeological collection from southern California was obtained through the services of Stephen Bowers, of Ventura, Cal- ifornia. A .series of archeological investigations among the ruined structures of North American aborigi- nal peoples was also initiated by Professor Put- nam, and re.sulted in collections from Little Miami valley and the Hopewell group of mounds in Ross county, Ohio, collected by Warren K. Moorehead; the archeological collection from New Jersey by Ernest Volk, the Michigan collections by Harlan I. Smith, and the collection from Ohio by Dr. C. L. Metz; also the models of Ohio earthworks pre- pared under I*rofessor Putnam's direction. Expeditions were sent also to Alaska and among various Indian tribes of Canada and the United States, principally for the purpose of gath- ering anthropometric data, but incidentally to col- lect ethnologic material. The most important of these expeditions were those to northwestern America, where extensive collections were made by Deans, Jacobson, Eells, Swan, Morrison, and Hunt, all under the personal direction of Dr. Franz Boas. Other valuable ethnological collections were made by Cowie among the Cree, Wil.son among the Assiniboin, McLean among the Black- feet, and Hall among the Ojibwa. Chief among the collections presented to the Museum at its founding was that by President Ayer, comprising material from the Northwest coast, California, the Pueblo region, the Plains In- dians, the Great Lakes region. Mississippi and Ohio valleys, and Mexico, the whole forming an extensive and unrivaled exhibit, the result of many years of discriminate collecting. Valuable collections were also donated by the governments of British Guiana, Mexico, and Nicaragua. Among the collections exhibited at the Exposition and purcha.sed by the Museum should be men- tioned the following: the Montez collection, illus- trating the archeology of the Cuzco region of Peru; the Colombia collection of gold, silver, stone, and ceramics from ancient Chibcha graves; the Hassler collection from the Gran Chaco region of Paraguay; the Umlauff collection of cihnoK.p ical material from northwestern .Amerita and Iroin Patagonia. Africa, and Oceania; the Peace colk\ tion from Melanesia; the Finsh collection Iroin Polynesia; the Wyman collection of copper and stone implements from Wisconsin; the Boas col- lection of skulls and skeletons; the Remenyi col- lection from South Africa; the Pogosky collection from Siberia; the LumhoU/. Mexican collection; the Green cliff-dweller collection; the Harris col- lection from Peru; the Johnson collection of Irish jewelry; the Ward collection of skulls, skeletons, masks, etc., and the Cunningham collection of brain models. Naturally much o.steological material of great ethnic value was procured along with many of the collections donated by the Exposition, as well as with many of the collections obtained by pur- cha.se. As a result the department was in posses- sion of skulls and skeletons from Alaska, the Northwest coast, and several of the Plains tribes; from Ohio, New Jersey, and Arkansas mounds; from prehistoric graves in Costa Rica. Colombia. Peru. Bolivia, and Chile; and through the Boas and Ward purchases many specimens from Amer- ica. Europe. Asia. Africa, and the Pacific islands. It should also be stated that in the section of industrial arts and transportation the Museum pos- sessed a large amount of material which might be considered as a part of the anthropological exhib- it, and indeed at a later date the section of indus- trial arts was abandoned and its collections were transferred to the Department of Anthropology. Thus at the very out.set the Department of An- thropology began its existence with many exten- sive and important collections representing many widely .separated regions of the world, and illus- trating many and diverse stages of culture and pe- riods of time. Such was the condition of the de- partment in the summer of 1894, six months after the close of the Exposition. The work, however, was only just begun. To be sure all these collec- tions had been installed and the inventory had been commenced; but the installation had been hurriedly performed, many of the collections were in a state of confusion, the records of transfer and the collectors' original lists were more or less tan- gled, numerous varieties and styles of cases had been pressed into service, collections or parts of collections had been received which were discov- ered not to belong properly to a .scientific muse- um, and above all great gaps were to appear which must be filled in the future. Looking back on those memorable six months it seems incred- The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 55 ible that so much was accomplished so well, and too much credit can not be given to Dr. Franz Boas, who directed the work of installation until April 15, 1894, and to Prof. W. H. Holmes, who became the first curator of the department. 1894-1895 By the time of the appearance of the first report of the director (in October, 1895), the work of reorganization had been begun in a serious man- ner and an inventory of the material in the de- partment was undertaken. The system adopted was that of the card catalogue and inventory book, and during the year 15,000 objects had been catalogued and over 650 labels printed. In eight of the exhibition halls the cases had been made more serviceable; an additional court had been devoted to anthropology, and many new cases had been provided. Through the generosity of Mr. A. V. Armour, Professor Holmes, the curator of the department, visited several of the ruined cities of Mexico and Yucatan, where he obtained about a thousand archeological specimens and gathered considerable data which were embodied in the first two publications of the Department. Miner W. Bruce had been outfitted by the Museum and had made a most successful expedition to Alaska, as a result of which the department acquired an ex- tensive and valuable ethnological collection from the Eskimo. Through President Ayer extensive purchases of interesting archeological specimens were made in Egypt and Italy, and from the Na- ples Museum were secured 260 reproductions of Roman bronzes. A special hall was set aside for the Egyptian material. Other purchases during the year include the Keam collection for the Hopi of Arizona, thirty- seven paintings of American Indians by George Catlin, the Berlin collection of Egyptian and As- syrian casts, and the complete outfit of a Navaho medicine-man. 1895-1896 The second annual report of the director con- tains two statements which so admirably portray the activities not only of the Department of An- thropology but of the entire Museum, that I quote them: "Expenditures have been made more in the direction of classification than in reinstallation; in working over old rather than in purchasing new material, and in labeling, numbering, and cata- loguing specimens. . . . The great courts have been metamorphosed, not only providing requisite space for the growing collections, but substituting for an installation of the character of an exposi- tion, an arrangement on museum lines." The inventory of specimens was continued and to the card catalogue were added over 13,000 en- tries. The work of labeling was in general inter- rupted by other more essential work, but Dr. Breasted of the University of Chicago was en- gaged for a limited time and made label transla- tions of the numerous hieroglyphic texts of pa- pyri, grave tablets, etc., for the Egyptian section. Many important accessions of material were re- corded during the year. The curator [Holmes] vis- ited Rockland, Michigan, where he collected a se- ries of flint implements from an ancient copper mine. Mr. Bruce was again permitted to visit Alaska, returning with a more extensive collection of Eskimo products than had been obtained in the previous year. The exhibit showing the life of the Romans was further enriched by numerous spec- imens of bronze, including the two bronze bath- tubs and a circular table of remarkable beauty from a villa near Pompeii. An exhibit representing the Etruscan and stone ages of Italy and some Roman terracottas were added through the gen- erosity of Vice-president Ryerson. To the Egyp- tian collections were also added by purchase and gift many specimens of great interest, chief among which was a bronze sistrum in perfect con- dition which proved from its inscriptions to have been used in the temple of Ammon at Thebes. An unusually large bronze statue of Osiris is also worthy of special mention. Among other speci- mens from Egypt were a stone statue of Apet in black basalt, a series of grave tablets and tomb- stones, and a large number of figurines in faience. From Mr. A. V. Armour and Mr. Owen F Aldis were received over 300 objects of great archeo- logical value from the Valley of Mexico and Oa- xaca. A beginning was made in illustrating the antiquities of southern Illinois by the purchase of a large series of flint agricultural implements from W. J. Seaver, and President Ayer again manifested his interest in North American ethnology by pre- senting a number of specimens illustrating the arts and industries of the Plains Indians. Mr. E. L. Thompson of Merida, Yucatan, be- came associated with the department and began a series of excavations among the ruins of Xkich- 56 Chapter Five mook and Chichen Itza. which in the following years was to yield importani archeological mate- rial. The staff of the department was further in- creased by the appointment of George A. Dorsey to the position of assistant curator in charge of physical anthropology. This made possible the work of identifying and cataloguing the material in the division, much of which had remained in storage and none of which had been catalogued, although Dr. G. M. West had done effective work during the brief period that he was in charge of the collection at the opening of the Museum. 1896-1897 During the time from October 1896 and Octo- ber 1897, as we learn from the third report of the director, much was accomplished. The records of the department, it was realized, demanded heroic treatment, as new material had poured in at a steady rate and the old accessions had as yet by no means been put in creditable condition. Hence the clerical force of the department was increased and the work of cataloguing was pushed forward with all possible speed, especially during the four months preceding October. As a result it was es- timated that the card catalogue was increased to the extent of ten thousand numbers. The only expedition of the department during the year was by the assistant curator. During the field trip several tribes in the west were visited, in the following order: Blackftwt, Bkxxl. Flat- head, Kootenay, Haida, Tsimshian, Hopi. and Zuni. From all these tribes, except one, large col- lections illustrating many and varied industries were gathered. From the Blackfeet, BUxxis, and Haida was also collected a large amount of oste- ological material, while a small amount of similar material was obtained from the Kootenay, Tlingit. and Tsimshian. Mr. Thompson, who in the pre- vious year had undertaken exploration in Yucatan on behalf of the Museum, continued his excava- tions at Xkichmook and Chichen Itza, and from both ruins were obtained collections of the utmost value to the student of Mayan archeology. Mr. A. V. Armour placed the department under further obligations to him by presenting a collec- tion of Mexican archeologic objects, comprising notable sculptures, vessels and ornaments in stone and terracotta, and many specimens of copper, clay, shell, etc. From Mr. C. L. Hutchinson was received a most timely acquisition to the arche- ology of Italy, consisting of several huiuli^u Etruscan objects of earthenware and brmi/c. ex- cavated under the direction of Professor I roihine- ham. Another gift by Mr. Hutchinson consisted of a funeral couch of bone and ivory excavated from a tomb at Orvieto. To the rapidly increasing Egyp- tian collection were added several interesting specimens in terracotta and stone, a gift of Mr. E. M. Petrie of London. The only accession repre- senting American archeology was a gift from Mr. Clarence B. Mtx^re of an interesting collection of shell cups and ornaments, earthen vases, and stone implements from mounds of Georgia and Florida. From Mr. Guslavus Goward was pur- cha.sed a small but carefully selected series of specimens illustrating the ethnology of Samoa; while from Mr. D. W. Gill were purchased eigh- teen casts of Peruvian trephined skulls. The cu- rator of Zoology transferred to the department over 150 ethnological objects which he had col- lected in Somali land. In the matter of installation provision was made for new ca.ses for the Hutchinson collection, and in the division of physical anthropology the work of thoroughly rearranging the entire osteological collections, begun the previous year, was contin- ued until they had been placed in proper condi- tion. The material on exhibition was all with- drawn, and instead was submitted a series of ex- hibits, (x:cupying twenty-six cases, showing the normal range of variation of the human skeleton. This was to have been followed by a more exten- sive osteological exhibit based on ethnic princi- ples. The section of graphic arts and of mono- graphic arts were abolished during this year and the collections which composed them were trans- ferred to the Department of Anthropology. Thus the department was enriched to the extent of three halls containing important series of exhibits illus- trating mcxlem ceramic and textile industries. At the end of September the curator of the de- partment. Professor Holmes, resigned to accept the pt)sition of curator of anthropology in the United States National Museum. George A. Dor- .sey was placed in charge as acting curator, and four months later was appointed curator. 1897-1898 The office of the curator was removed into new quarters, near the end of the east court, and more convenient to the exhibition halls. The room made The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 57 vacant by the removal was put in order for exhi- bition purposes. Three new and much-desired workrooms were also added. Mr. Stephen Chap- man Simms, who had been connected with the Museum from the beginning and for two years with the department, was made assistant curator of ethnology, and seven additional preparators were added to the force during the year. With the force thus strengthened it was possible to make advances in the department which had been al- ready contemplated. The first work undertaken re- lated to the records, and inasmuch as up to that time the department was practically dependent on the recorder's files for information concerning original data for the entire mass of collections, and as the records on file in the recorder's office were in many instances defective and otherwise incomplete, it seemed best to withdraw temporar- ily the entire body of records relating to the De- partment of Anthropology. These were carefully examined, omissions supplied, new accessions added — in short the records were almost rewrit- ten. Duplicates were then made of all the records, and these were retained in the office of the de- partment, which was thus put in an independent position for all existing information in regard to its collections. Although the department was in possession of a card catalogue that covered nearly all the col- lections, this catalogue was found, for nearly ev- ery collection, to be more or less defective, owing to the fact that the curator had not been able, for financial reasons, to have at his command assis- tants experienced in work of this nature. In view of these facts it was decided to begin the cata- logue anew, taking the cards of one collection af- ter another and putting them in order, adding, changing, correcting, and often entirely rewriting them. Thus, including the additions to the card catalogues which were made from new acces- sions, there were handled 41,989 cards during the year. As rapidly as the card catalogue of any given collection was complete, it was referred to the as- sistant in charge of the records to be entered upon the inventory books and then to be filed away in numerical order according to the number of ac- cessions.- In this manner over 200 separate ac- cessions were catalogued, occupying 17,960 en- tries in the inventory books. The accessions of the year were many and im- portant. The only expedition by any member of the staff of the departments was that of the curator I Dorscy ] to the Hopi Indians of Arizona. On this trip he was accompanied by Mr. Melville, and the object was to make plaster casts of certain Indians for use in the construction of ethnic groups, and to obtain the proper accessories thereof, such as clothing, domestic utensils, etc. In both respects the expedition was entirely successful. Additional casts of aborigines for ethnic groups were also secured under most advantageous circumstances through the presence in Chicago of a party of Es- kimo from Port Clarence, Alaska, under charge of Capt. M. W. Bruce, who had just returned from that region with the third consignment of Eskimo material. In this latter collection was an especially large number of fine specimens of ivory and jade implements. The largest and most valuable acces- sion of the year was that obtained by President Ayer in Egypt and Italy. This included a large number of mortuary tablets and tomb fronts cov- ering a large period of Egyptian history, many beautiful and costly specimens of Egyptian and Etruscan jewelry, some unusual bronze statues, and two very remarkable stone tombs of the early Etruscan period. The textile collections were fur- ther enriched by several hundred fabrics, repre- senting the fifteenth to the eighteenth centuries. These specimens were collected in Venice by Vice-president Ryerson, who presented them to the Department. From Rev. T W. Woodside, a missionary to Portuguese Southwest Africa, was acquired an extremely interesting collection illus- trating the manners and customs of the Ovimbun- da, a minor division of the great Bantu stock, and not hitherto represented in the museum. The Poly- nesian collection was augmented by the purchase from W. T Shephard of over 600 specimens. In the division of physical anthropology more than 150 skeletons were accessioned, the most impor- tant single collection being one of fifty-two Pap- uan skulls from Gazelle peninsula. New Britain, received in exchange from Dr. Parkinson. Much new installation was recorded for the year. Twelve new cases were added to the north court, devoted to European archeology, six of which were installed with the content of Etruscan tombs (Fig. 5.2). The east court was entirely re- installed with material relating exclusively to American archeology, all collections not relating to the subject being transferred to their proper po- sitions (Fig. 5.3). Hall 7 was emptied of the paper images from a Chinese josshouse and was reno- vated and prepared for the reception of new ma- terial. The content of Halls 16 and 17 were rein- stalled. In the former were placed new cases after a standard design at that time adopted for the De- partment. Hall 17 was also equipped with new 58 Chapter Five Fig. 5.2. European Archaeology Hall, North C\)urt. Field Museum of Natural History, Jackson Park, Chicago, ca. 1907. standard cases and was devoted to the ethnology of the Hopi. A large group representing a Hopi domestic scene, and four smaller groups repre- senting certain religious customs, were added to the hall (Fig. 5.4). In connection with the work of installation it may be noted that 2270 prints labels were placed with the specimens. 1898-1899 Dr. Breasted of the University of Chicago was again employed for a limited time to prepare translations of Egyptian hieroglyphics for labels, and in January the services of Rev. H. R. Voth were enlisted in preparing labels for and in as- sisting in installing the Hopi Collection. The work of cataloguing and inventorying col- lections was industriously carried forward; as a result the card catalogue was increased by more than 10,000 numbers, and in the inventory books 15,912 entries were made. As in previous years the accessions were both numerous and important. To increase the exhibits showing the methods of the manufacture of flint implements, the curator (Dorsey) made two ex- peditions to aboriginal flint quarries. The first was to the Mill Creek quarry. Union county, southern Illinois, where over 2000 specimens were collect- ed, showing every stage in the manufacture of twelve specialized types of implements. This great quarry is of unusual interest, as here were made the great flint agricultural implements, of several forms, which in size and beauty are among the most remarkable known to archeologists. The quarry is also of great interest inasmuch as there was developed, in the excavation of the raw ma- terial and in the manufacture of the immense im- plements, special forms of mining tools, ham- mers, and grinding and polishing stones. The sec- ond expedition was to the great chert beds on the The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 59 Fig. 3.3. Hall of Archaeology and Ethnology ol North America, East Court, Field Columbian Museum, Jackson Park, ca. 1896. Peoria reservation, Indian Territory, where nearly 400 specimens of unfinished implements, ham- merstones. cores, and flakes were collected. Dur- ing the summer the curator also made an extended expedition in the west, visiting first the cliff-ruins of Walnut canyon, Arizona. From there he went to Ukiah, Mendocino county, California, where, accompanied by Dr. J. W. Hudson, local ethnol- ogist, he visited several tribes of the Pomo or Ku- lanapan stock in Mendocino and Lake counties. The result was a collection numbering over 300 objects of ethnologic interest, and representing nearly every phase of native life. From Ukiah he proceeded to Tacoma, Washington, where he was joined by Mr. Melville and his assistant. Through the cooperation of the Ferry Museum of Tacoma, casts of nine individuals were made which were intended for ethnic groups to show the native in- dustries of the people of Puget Sound. Incidental- ly the Nasqually, Puyallup, Muckelshoot, and Fort Madison reservations, and native settlements on Cedar River and at Squauk were visited and many objects of ethnographic interest were obtained. The expedition then proceeded to Vancouver Is- land, where additional casts were made for ethnic groups of the Kwakiutl. By purchase the Department procured a collec- tion of 380 stone and flint relics from Putnam County, Ohio, a collection of over 200 objects from the Sioux, a collection of over 100 speci- mens from the Cheyenne and Arapaho, and a most interesting collection of sixteen mural panel decorations and other specimens from Hadrian's villa. Through exchange with Mr. David Boyle, curator of the Toronto Museum, there was secured a valuable collection illustrating the archeology of Ontario; and by a similar method a full and com- plete series of tools, nodules, flakes, cores, etc.. 60 Chapter Five Fig 5.4 Hopi House diorama. Field Columbian Museum, ca. 1900. illustrating the method of the manufacture of gun- flints at Brandon, England, was obtained from Dr. J. W. Phillips of Northwestern University, Evans- ton. Of the many accessions to the department by gift, two deserve special mention. The first was that of Mr. Stanley McCormick, who presented a collection of over 16(X) specimens illustrating ev- ery pha.se of the past and present life of the Hopi Indians of Arizona. This collection was formed by Rev. H. R. Voth during many years as missionary among the Hopi, and is one of the most complete and representative collections ever assembled from any one tribe. Of the many excellent series comprised by the collection, of special interest are the dolls or tihu.s representing kalcinas, masks of katcinas, hahos or prayer offerings, stone imple- ments, tools and utensils representing every known form, and a large number of specimens of so-called cream-colored pottery excavated from Hopi ruins, and especially valuable for the sym- bolism represented. Through Mr. McCormick's generosity the department was also enabled to profit by Mr. Voth's .services for fourteen months in the preparation of a complete series of labels for the collection, and also in the construction of certain altars and sand mosaics which play so im- portant a part in Hopi ceremony. Mr. McCor- mick's liberal provision for this work was mo.st timely, for the Hopi, who for over two hundred years have successfully resisted the encroach- ments of the whites, seem about to be entering upon the pericxl of unrest and innovation which usually precedes the breaking up and gradual abandonment of the strictly aboriginal way of life. The .second donation, of almost equal impor- tance, was that of President Higinbotham, who presented a Korean ethnological collection of over 500 specimens, comprising many jade objects of rare beauty and workmanship; bronze utensils; clothing and uniforms, including head- and foot- gear representing every station of life; armor and implements of warfare, personal ornaments, etc. The work of rein.stalling all the exhibition halls The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 61 of the department and providing them with new cases, begun in the previous year, was carried for- ward as rapidly as time would permit. The acqui- sition of the McCormick Hopi collection, together with the altars in process of construction, neces- sitated an additional hall, hence two halls hitherto devoted to South American archeology were va- cated and into one were removed the ethnological collection from Venezuela, British Guiana, Brazil, and Paraguay, newly installed the previous year, and in the other were displayed the remaining eth- nological collections from South America, chiefly from Peru. The room thus vacated (Hall 16) was then devoted to an exposition of Hopi ceremonies, the other Hopi hall containing the archeological collections and those objects which pertain to ev- ery-day life. The halls (10 and 1 1) devoted to the Eskimo were entirely rearranged, new cases being supplied and a new installation made. They were also furnished with four groups, from life casts, illustrating certain phases of specialized Eskimo life. From Ayer Hall were removed all specimens not having their origin in the Indians of the Great Plains, and in their stead were substituted other specimens from the Great Plains tribes, acquired by purchase or exploration. These changes made a new arrangement of Ayer Hall necessary, and this was done along the lines of ethnic division. The addition of much new archeologic material and the transfer of the prehistoric collection from South America necessitated some few changes in the east court, and made possible its complete in- stallation, when it contained all the collections re- lating to American archeology. In connection with the general work of installation, over 3400 printed labels were placed with the specimens. In September the curator was permitted to visit the chief museums of central Europe, where many valuable ideas in regard to museum management were obtained and negotiations were entered into for the acquisition of material illustrating the pre- historic archeology of Europe. October, 1899, to March, 1900 During the five months work of a progressive nature has been conducted, such as characterized the year last described. The card catalogue has been increased 10,523 numbers, and 6136 entries have been made in the inventory books. The event of unusual importance had been the additional in- terest manifested in the department by the gift of Mr. Stanley McCormick of $5000 for the purpose i of making more complete the Hopi exhibit. Under this fund two expeditions have already been un- dertaken. Mr. J. A. Burt spent nearly two months in the exploration of several Hopi ruins along Lit- tle Colorado river, Arizona, and as a result the exhibit showing the ancient life of the Hopi has been increased by over 300 fine specimens of pot- tery, bone, stone, shell and textile fabrics. Part of Mr. Burt's time was spent in examining ruins hith- erto not represented in scientific museums, and while the full significance of his discoveries is not yet determined, it is safe to say that new factors have been added to our knowledge of the early movements of certain Hopi clans. The second Mc- Cormick expedition was that of the curator and Mr. Voth in December to six of the Hopi pueblos, at which time notable additions were made to the collections devoted to the modern life of their oc- cupants. While these additional specimens cover nearly every phase of activity, of special interest are the series of rare dolls, masks, prayer-sticks, and pipes. By the provisions of Mr. McCormick's gift the department is enabled to retain the ser- vices of Mr. Voth until the new specimens are labeled and until certain additional altars are con- structed. Provision is also made for further explo- ration of Hopi prehistoric ruins, especially of those not yet represented in the Museum's collec- tions. In February the assistant curator [Simms] made a visit to the Grand River reserve, Ontario, where he witnessed the complete ceremony of the sac- rifice of a sacred white dog by the pagan Iroquois, and obtained an interesting collection of ceremo- nial paraphernalia, including about twenty of the masks worn in the dance. Material of this nature was not hitherto represented in the Museum. The most important recent accession by pur- chase had been the Perrine collection, consisting of nearly 3000 specimens of stone, pottery, shell, and bone. This collection was made by Mr. T M. Perrine about twenty years ago in the mounds and of the village and quarry sites of Union county, Illinois. It includes many of the finest chipped and polished stone implements ever brought together from this interesting region. Of unusual beauty are several very large specimens of polished chipped < flint, a number of so-called bannerstones, stone pipes (one being of remarkable interest), and a - large series of hematite adze blades. But the most : valuable single object of stone is a statue of hu- | man form, of which a cast is figured in Wilson's | Prehistoric Art^ p. 48 1 . I 62 Chapter Five Fig 5.3 Hall 9: Egypt, including mummy cases and mummies, canopic jars, and sculptures. Field Columbian Mu- seum. 1903. Of pottery there are over a hundred speciinens illustrating the characteristic forms of the region. In the shell there are among other objects three gorgets, one a beautiful specimen of the spider effigy, the other two with a cross, one of the latter being figured in Holmes' An in Shell/ A collec- tion of over a thousand objects from prehistoric graves at Caldera, Chile was acquired by gift from Mr. Cyrus H. McCormick. Included in this col- lection are very interesting series of bone carv- ings, copper and gold ornaments, and a large number of the most beautiful spear- and arrow- points of jasper and chalcedony that are to be found in the department. The special value of the collection lies in the fact that hitherto the Museum possessed no collections illustrating the archeol- ogy of the western coast of South America south of Iquique, save a few specimens from Huasco. In the work of installation, the last five months have been productive of much that is of a pro- gressive nature, and one feature of the work is characteristic of the more recent trend of devel- opment in the Museum as a whole. I allude to the fact that Halls 8 and 9. which, since the establish- ment of the Museum, have contained the material transferred from the Exposition and known as the Columbus Memorial, have been emptied of their content and are now being installed with purely anthropologic collections. Hall 9, one of the four largest in the building, is already installed with the Egyptian collection (Fig. 5.5), while Hall 8 and the hall made vacant by the transfer of the Egyptian collection are to be devoted to the con- tinually increasing collection illustrating the cul- ture of the more primitive non-American races. The two halls devoted to the ethnology of the Northwest coast of America have also been dis- mantled, and the collections have been carefully examined and the objects compared with collec- tors' original lists, all preparatory to a reinstalla- The Department of Anthropology of the Field Columbian Museum 63 tion in new cases in the same halls, to which will be added four ethnic groups, for which casts have already been made, illustrating certain phases of the domestic and religious life of this very inter- esting and complicated region. Among the improvements which are to be in the near future, provision is already made for the reinstallation of the contents of Ayer Hall (devot- ed to the tribes of the Great Plains) in new cases and with the addition of three illustrative ethnic groups, for which casts for one of the Cheyenne are already made, and the complete overhauling of five halls, devoted to Old World ethnology, with the expansion and reinstallation of their con- tents into seven halls. With changes and improvements noted above an accomplished fact, the exhibits which comprise the department will be classified according to lo- cality or people; they will be in plain, simple, sub- stantial cases, safe from the ravages of dust and moth. But the work of the department will not be finished, for, has not Prof. F. Brown Goode de- clared that a finished museum is a dead museum? It is recognized that there are vast regions of America, and even one entire great continent and many regions of other continents, which are but poorly represented or not represented at all, and to these regions must be directed the energies of the future, if the high educational objects of the Museum are to be adequately fulfilled. Notes 1 . An Historical and Descriptive Account of the Field Columbian Museum, December 1894, and Annual Report of the Director to the Board of Trustees, Vol. 1, Nos. 1-5, 1895- 1899. 2. The method adopted for cataloguing and in- ventorying specimens, and of filing and index- ing accessions, was fully described in a paper on "The Anthropological Museums of Central Europe," American Anthropologist, N.S., Vol. 1, 1899, p. 473. American Anthropologist N.S., 2-17. 3. U.S. National Museum Report, 1896. Dr. Wil- son in this paper erroneously calls the original a clay statue. 4. Second Annual Report of the Bureau of Eth- nology, p. 270. 64 Chapter Five A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology Warren Haskin, Stephen E. Nash, and Sarah Coleman When the Field Museum was formed as the Chicago Columbian Museum, the Depart- ment of Anthropology became the principal ben- eficiary of the objects acquired from the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893. The more than 50,000 specimens acquired included, among other things, archaeological objects from the Hopewell culture, centered in the Ohio River Valley, and ethnographic objects from the Pacific Northwest and British Columbia, the latter featuring spectac- ular totem poles and house poles. Over the next 109 years, many different cura- tors and staff members have worked, at differing paces and with varying degrees of success, at gathering a world-class collection of material cul- ture, publishing significant anthropological re- search, and making the Field Museum one of the world's great anthropology museums. In this chapter we examine the department's history by presenting some facts and briefly analyzing a se- ries of data sets. First, we present and examine a list of the department's curators and a partial list of staff members. Second, we examine trends in expeditions and fieldwork conducted by curators and, in some cases, staff. Third, we examine trends in departmental accessions. Fourth, we ex- amine scholarly output in the form of Fieldiana: Anthropology publications. Fifth, we examine the Museum's temporary exhibitions that have an- thropological content. Finally, we summarize the department's photographic holdings. A Precis of Departmental History In 1893. the now legendary Franz Boas was named temporary curator of anthropology (see Table 6.1). He wanted, and expected, to be ap- pointed curator, but he resigned in early 1894 after the Museum's trustees (see Appendix 3) hired William Henry Holmes, who was then employed by the National Museum of Natural History at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington. D.C., as curator of anthropology. In late 1894 and early 1895. Holmes acted as coleader of an expedition to Mexico that lasted four months and acquired important Maya. Aztec, and Zapotec objects from visits to Chichen Itzd. Uxmal, Palenque, Mitla, Monte Alban, and Teotihuacan (see Appendix 4). In 1895, the department's curatorial faculty doubled with the appointment of George Amos Dorsey as assistant curator. Dorsey had collected materials in South America for the 1893 exposi- tion and then acted as the superintendent of ar- chaeology for that event. Once hired, he was im- mediately dispatched to the western United States to amass archeological and ethnological material (see Almazan and Coleman, this volume; Appen- dix 4). Holmes felt a great urgency to explore and col- lect. In a letter to F S. V. Skiff, the director of the Museum, in early 1897, he proposed "a some- what extended exploration of certain little-known portions of South America . . . [for] the acquire- ment of Mu.seum materials and the prosecution of the research work that properly accompanies the collection and use of such materials." He feared that the "museums of the world" were "sending expeditions to the most remote corners of every country" with the likely result that "the va.st body of the materials and data now available for the study of Anthropology are doomed to disappear before proper representations can be secured." The Field Museum, he asserted, "as a young and aspiring institution. . . . cannot afford to take a A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 65 i Table 6. 1 . Department of Anthropology curators: 1 893-present. Name Dates Title Boas, Franz* Holmes. William Henry Dorsey, George A. Simms, Stephen C. Owen. Charles L. Laufer. Berthod Lewis. Albert Buell Jones, Williamt Cole. Fay-Coopert Mason, J. Alden Gunsaulus, Helen C. Linton, Ralph Strong, William Duncan Field, Henry Thompson, J. Eric S. McGovern, William M. Allen, T. George Hambly, Wilfrid Martin, Paul S. Martin, Richard A. Wilbur, C. Martin Spoehr, Alexander^ Collier, Donald Quimby, George Rinaldo, Johnt Starr, M. Kenneth Force, Roland W. Lewis, Phillip H. Reinman, Fred M. Siroto, Leon Cole, Glen VanStone, James Gasser, Stephen Bronson, Bennet Terrell, John Moseley. Michael Whitcomb. Donald Stanish, Charles Haas, Jonathan Roosevelt, Anna Kusimba, Chapurukha Wali, Alaka Feinman, Gary Underbill, Anne Curet, Antonio Martin, Robert W. Williams, Patrick Ryan 1 893- 1 894 Anthropology 1894-1896 Anthropology 1895-1915 Anthropology 1898-1912 Ethnology 1900-1925 Archaeology 1907-1934 Asiatic ethnology 1908-1940 African and Melanesian anthropology 1906-1909 North America and Philippines 1912-1923 Physical anthropology and Malay ethnology 1916-1923 Mexican and South American archaeology 1918-1925 Japanese ethnology 1921-1928 North American ethnology. Oceanic and Malayan ethnology 1926-1929 North American ethnology and archaeology 1926-1941 Physical anthropology 1927-1935 Mexican and South American ethnology 1927-1928 South American and Mexican ethnology 1927-1935 Egyptian archaeology 1928-1952 Africa 1929-1964 North American archaeology 1936-1945 Near Eastern archaeology 1936-1947 Chinese archaeology 1940-1952 American ethnology and archaeology, Oceanic archaeology 1941-1970 South American archaeology 1942-1965 North American archaeology, exhibits 1950-1963 Archaeology 1953-1970 Asiatic archaeology and ethnology 1956-1961 Oceanic archaeology and ethnology 1957-1992 Primitive art 1964-1967 Oceanic archaeology and ethnology 1965-1970 African ethnology 1965-1992 Prehistory 1966-1993 North American ethnology 1968-1969 Oceanic archaeology and ethnology 1971-present Asiatic archaeology and ethnology 1971 -present Oceanic archaeology and ethnology 1975-1984 Middle and South American archaeology and ethnology 1979-1980 Middle Eastern archaeology 1987-1996 Middle and South American archaeology and ethnology 1989-present North American anthropology 1991-2002 Archaeology 1994-present African anthropology 1 995-present Ethnology 1999-present Mesoamerican anthropology 1999-present Asian anthropology 2000-present Circum-Caribbean archaeology 2001 -present Biological anthropology 2001 -present Scientific archaeology Note: This list was compiled by Bennet Bronson. Warren Haskin, Chapurukha Kusimba, and Stephen Nash. See also Appendix 1. * In a strict sense. Boas was never a curator for the Chicago Columbian Museum because it did not formally exist during his tenure. Given his impact, however, it is appropriate to list him here. t Wiliam Jones was killed in the Philippines while conducting research among the Ilongot, without ever serving as curator in Chicago. + Fay-Cooper Cole, John Rinaldo, and Alexander Spoehr also made significant contributions to the department before being promoted to the position of curator. 66 Chapter Six subordinate place in this field." Holmes wanted to send Dorsey to South America but had to be satisfied to send him on a shorter trip to the Pa- cific Northwest. California. Arizona, and New Mexico in 1897 and 1898. Holmes resigned in 1896 to return to the Smith- sonian, and Dorsey. at the age of 29, became cu- rator of anthropology; he held the pt)sition until 1914. Through his own efforts and those of others whom he directed, the Museum amassed a huge collection of objects, particularly those relating to North American Indians. He has been described as "the greatest museum builder of the period" (Cole 1952:163) and "the principal architect of Field Museum Anthropology collections" (Welsch 1999:450). Although the Museum is to- day the fourth largest natural history museum in the world, trailing only the British Museum, the Smithsonian Institution, and the American Mu- seum of Natural History, in its early years it was an upstart with a need to establish itself among its competitors as quickly as possible (see Dorsey, this volume; Wilcox, this volume). Dorsey felt the need to collect acutely and was determined to ad- dress it with all the means at his disposal. He was a relentless collector and a formidable and ag- gressive motivator of his assistants (see Almazan and Coleman, this volume). One of Dorsey 's acquisitions, almost unnoticed at the time, has a fascinating history and has made a la.sting impact. In the 1890s. the elements of a large, wooden. Maori meetinghouse in New Tjt'd- land named Ruatepupuke were sold to a dealer in Hamburg. Germany. Dorsey purcha.sed the meet- inghouse components in 1905 for $5,(X)0. but the Museum had no space in the Palace of Fine Arts building (now the Mu.seum of Science and Indus- try) for another exhibit. After the Museum moved to its new and current building in Grant Park, the meetinghouse was reassembled on the ground floor in 1925, where it was exhibited continuously until the 1980s. At that time, its fate became un- clear until the Maoris decided that it should re- main in Chicago as an authentic Maori outpost. It remains on display today, on the far west side of the balcony level, where it continues to be used for a variety of scholarly, educational, and enter- tainment purposes. The 1904 Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis aroused Dorsey 's interest in the culture of the various tribes of the Philippines, which had recently become an American colony. Over the next five years, no fewer than five department rep- resentatives— Dorsey. Fay-Cooper Cole, William Jones, Stephen Chapman Simms. and Laura Ben- edict— collected objects in the Philippines. In 1907. Berthold Laufer (see Bronson. this volume), who had received his Ph.D. in Germany and trained under Boas at the American Museum, was appointed assistant curator of Asiatic ethnol- ogy. Laufer was hired to conduct an expedition to China and Tibet using special funds donated by a benefactor. Laufer left for China before he ever visited the Mu.seum! When he returned three years later, he had collected more than 10.000 ob- jects. Laufer returned to China in 1923, acquiring objects to augment the Museum's already exten- sive collections. By the end of 1908, 14 years after the opening of the Museum, the Department of Anthropology had grown from a single curator to a faculty of seven: Dorsey. Simms. Charles Owen, Cole, Lau- fer, Albert Buell Lewis, and Jones. In 1908, Dorsey made a whirlwind collecting trip around the world, during which he visited what was then German New Guinea. Having de- cided that Melanesia was a promising area in which to collect, Dorsey obtained funding and sent Lewis, a 4 1 -year-old bachelor, to Melanesia; he did not return until 1913. In an eerie coinci- dence, on the day Lewis left Chicago, the Chicago Tribune carried the news of Jones's murder in the Philippines. Jones and Lewis had been students together at Columbia University. Lewis collected more than 14,000 objects in New Guinea that, together with the 2.(X)0 collect- ed by Dorsey in 1908 and several collections pur- chased by Dorsey from dealers and other collec- tors, gave the Museum the world's largest collec- tion of artifacts — about 25.(X)0 items — from Mel- anesia. This huge mass of material was not completely installed for exhibit until 1921. when the Museum was in its new home in Grant Park. From 1921 until 1986. the exhibit was the largest and best-known exhibit on Melanesia in the Unit- ed States. Ttxiay, 87 years after Lewis returned from Melanesia, the material culture he collected remains important and continues to inform an- thropological interpretation (Welsch 1999). Dorsey resigned in 1914 and was succeeded by Laufer, who worked at the Museum for 27 years, the last 19 as curator. Laufer is known today not only for his leadership of the department during years of far-ranging and extensive acquisitions, but also for his critically acclaimed scholarship in Asian archaeology and ethnology (see Bronson, this volume). Laufer, in fact, had achieved con- siderable prestige in his field before coming to the A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 67 Museum. He read and spoke Chinese and several other languages and was a scholar of great eru- dition as well as a prolific writer. By the time of his death, he was considered to be the leading Sinologist of his day. He received inquiries from experts and amateurs alike on questions of the ethnology, archaeology, history, and, in particular, the art of China and Tibet. As virtually the only anthropologist in the Western world who could read and speak Chinese, Laufer became the au- thority that other anthropologists consulted on questions concerning artifacts from China. During 1919, 1920, and the first few months of 1921, the department and the Museum were pre- occupied with the Museum's plans to move from its original site in the Hyde Park neighborhood to the Museum's present location at the south end of Grant Park. The new building opened on May 21, 1921, the first of three buildings to be erected on what is now the Museum Campus. It was joined by the Shedd Aquarium in 1929 and the Adler Planetarium in 1930. In 1923, the Field Museum began a decade- long collaboration with the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford University to excavate the ancient site of Kish near the city of Babylon in Mesopotamia (in present-day Iraq; see Yastrow and Nash, this volume). The agreement called for the Baghdad Museum to receive a one-third, representative sample of all objects recovered, while the Ash- molean Museum would get all inscribed objects and the Field Museum would get all other ar- chaeological, skeletal, and related scientific ob- jects. The expedition yielded more than 30,000 objects, though unfortunately a synthesis of the split collections has never been published and re- mains sorely needed. In 1933, the department installed two exhibits that became immensely popular (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume). The Hall of the Stone Age of the Old World was a series of dioramas depicting scenes of prehistory covering more than 500,000 years. They were the work of Henry Field, curator of physical anthropology, and artists and sculptors at the Museum. The exhibit remained in place for almost 60 years and was dismantled as a casualty of later scholarship that undermined the assump- tions on which the dioramas were based. The oth- er exhibit was the Hall of the Races of Man, which featured life-size bronzes sculpted by Mal- vina Hoffman under contract with the Museum. In all. Hoffman produced 104 bronzes, most of which were ready when the Hall opened at the same time as the Century of Progress world's fair in 1933. More than two million people visited the Hall in its first year. In 1967 the exhibit was taken down, although a number of the beautiful bronzes can be seen today on all three of the Museum's exhibit floors. Despite the economic depression that began in late 1929, the Museum continued to sponsor ex- peditions through 1934. By 1935, the effect of the depression was being felt, and no expeditions were undertaken in that year or the following year. In 1935, Paul Martin became chief curator of the Department of Anthropology after Laufer's death in 1934. He served in that capacity until 1964 and continued his association with the Mu- seum as curator emeritus for another eight years thereafter. In 1941, Donald Collier joined the Museum as assistant curator for South American ethnology and archaeology (see Collier, this volume; Staller, this volume). George Irving Quimby Jr. became assistant curator for North American archaeology in 1942. Both had long careers with the Museum. Collier eventually succeeded Martin as chief cu- rator of the department and was the last person to hold this title. Quimby served first as curator of North American archaeology and later became cu- rator of exhibits; eventually, he returned to his original position. The Department of Anthropology has benefited from the association of several distinguished scholars who carried the title of research associ- ate. These included Alfred Kroeber (American ar- chaeology; professor at the University of Califor- nia), John Eric Sidney Thompson (curator of Me- soamerican archaeology 1926-1935; later associ- ated with the Carnegie Institution; see McVicker, this volume), and Fay-Cooper Cole (curator of Melanesian ethnology; chairman of the Anthro- pology Department at the University of Chicago), among numerous others. Cole's role at the Museum provides interesting insights on the relationships between university academics and the department. Though his best- known Museum work occurred in the Philippines prior to 1923, Cole is now generally credited with setting standards for archaeological excavations while teaching numerous field schools at the Uni- versity of Chicago through about 1951. After that, he began to study more thoroughly the materials he collected during the 1907-1911 expeditions. Archaeological fieldwork at the Field Museum resumed in 1946 as Paul Martin returned to the Southwest after a World War Il-induced hiatus (see Appendix 4). In all, Martin operated in the 68 Chapter Six Southwest for 35 seasons, usually for a three-and- a-half-month period from June to September. In the American Southwest, he excavated 69 Ana- sazi and Mogollon sites in Arizona, Colorado, and New Mexico, bringing to the Museum more than 600,000 objects. Martin died in 1974, having de- voted 43 years, virtually his entire career, to the Museum. So extensive were his collections that almost half the artifacts were not cataloged until recently, when a grant from the National Science Foundation enabled Curator Jonathan Haas and Stephen Nash, now head of collections, to catalog the collection and create a searchable electronic database thereof, which is now available on the Museum's Web page (Nash 1999a). In 1968, Martin received the Alfred Vincent Kidder Award from the American Anthropologi- cal Association for his many contributions. He used his fieldwork to train dozens of archaeolo- gists, many of whom later became prominent in the field. Martin was known for his generosity in sharing credit with colleagues in his research and writings and for his collegiality and willingness to listen to the views of others, regardless of their status or years of experience, even to the point of self-mockery, as in his response to an inquiry from a student about his dissertation: "It is true that my thesis was on the Kiva, but I may as well frankly confess that I am much dissatisfied with this work and find it full of flaws" (Martin Cor- respondence, Field Museum Archives). In 1966, the first Department of Exhibits was established under the direction of the vice presi- dent for Museum affairs rather than the vice pres- ident for collections and research (now called ac- ademic affairs). The addition of an Exhibits de- partment occurred while Collier was chief curator (see Collier, this volume) and would have dra- matic consequences for the traditional role of the curator (Terrell 1979, 1991a: see Haas, this vol- ume). The attendant loss of control over exhibits, as well as the greater emphasis being given to special, "blockbu.ster," and traveling exhibits, had an effect on the Department of Anthropology and required adjustments in curatorial responsibilities. One positive result was that the curators had more time to pursue their research interests. James VanStone joined the department in 1966 as assistant curator of North American archaeol- ogy and ethnology after 15 years on the faculties of the Universities of Ala.ska and Toronto (see Rooney and Kusimba, this volume). VanStone's particular expertise was culture change during the 19th century among the Indians and Eskimos of Alaska and the Arctic, particularly the impact of Western culture on these groups. Don Collier, who succeeded Martin as chief cu- rator in 1964, served the department from 1941 until 1970 and thereafter as curator emeritus (he died in 1995). He is best remembered today for his contributions to Andean archaeology and for his work with a number of permanent exhibits in the museum. In the late 1940s, Collier was the first Field Museum curator to make materials available for radiocarbon dating, a significant step since the technique is destructive. Collier was a leader in the development of the ethical standards that many museums now apply to such issues as the acquisition of illicitly recovered antiquities and the representation of ethnic minorities in mu- .seum exhibits. The year 1970 marks the end of an era. When Collier stepped down as chief curator, he ended a 76-year period during which the department was led by only five chief curators: Holmes (1894- 1896), Dorsey (1897-1914), Laufer (1914-1934), Martin (1935-1964), and Collier (1964-1970). James VanStone then became the first leader of the department under a new system of rotating, four-year chairships, holding the position from 1971 through 1975. From 1975 through 1979, Phillip Lewis held the position. In 1980 and 1981, Lewis and Bennet Bronson shared the position in alternating six-month appointments. Glen Cole then became the full-time chair in 1981 and held the position until 1986, when John Terrell fol- lowed him. Terrell held the position for only one year, followed again by Lewis for one year. In 1988, Bronson again became department chair, holding the position until 1995. From 1995 through 1997, Charles Stanish was chair, followed by Alaka Wali, who was named acting chair and held that position from 1997 through 1999, when Gary Feinman was hired as the new department chair. In 1977. the Museum enjoyed its largest atten- dance in many years and the greatest number of people to visit a single exhibit when the "Trea- sures of Tutankhamun" (see Appendix 6) was brought to Chicago through the efforts of the De- partment of Anthropology and the Oriental Insti- tute of the University of Chicago. Jonathan Haas joined the Museum in 1989 as vice president of collections and research and cu- rator of North American anthropology and retains the latter position today. Anna Roosevelt joined the Museum in 1991, arriving from the American Museum in New York. A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 69 By 1993, Lewis, Cole, and VanStone had be- come curators emeriti. Lewis continued to study continuity and change in the art of Melanesia. VanStone was honored in 1998 when the Novem- ber issue of Arctic Anthropology was dedicated to a celebration of his work (Pratt et al. 1998). In 1994, Haas became Mac Arthur Curator of North American anthropology, giving up the po- sition of vice president of collections and re- search; Chapurukha Kusimba became curator of African archaeology and ethnology; and Alaka Wali became visiting associate curator and direc- tor of the Center for Cultural Understanding and Change. Stanish left the department to join the faculty at University of California at Los Angeles in 1997. In 1999-2000, Anne Underbill and L. Antonio Curet joined the department as assistant curators, as did Patrick Ryan Williams and Robert D. Martin in 2001. Martin is the department's first physical anthropologist since Wilfrid Hambly (see Codrington, this volume). Currently the depart- ment has 1 1 curators and one curator emeritus. Table 6.1 lists all the department's curators chronologically by date of initial appointment and duration of tenure. It does not include acting, vis- iting, or adjunct curators. As such, the dates listed in Table 6.1 indicate only the period during which these individuals were assistant, associate, or full curators. It does not list their time as curator emeritus, when applicable (these data can be found in Appendix 1 ). It does not include research associates, restorers, conservators, and collections managers or important professional staff members who may have made significant contributions, though a partial list of staff since 1926 can be found in Appendix 2. The dates listed do not cor- respond directly with each curator's total employ- ment history at the Museum. Many of the indi- viduals listed began working at the Museum in some other capacity (e.g., John Rinaldo was a vol- unteer in 1938 before being hired as assistant in archaeology in 1939 and promoted to curator in 1950; Alexander Spoehr was also an assistant be- fore becoming a curator in 1940). Individuals may have also retained research associate (e.g., Fay- Cooper Cole after 1923, when he left for the Uni- versity of Chicago) or emeritus (e.g., Paul S. Mar- tin from 1964-1972) status after leaving a cura- torial position. It is clear from Table 6. 1 and the ensuing chap- ters of this volume that many great names have graced the halls of anthropology at the Field Mu- seum. It is also clear that only specialists will rec- ognize the names of some of the more obscure curators. The average length of curatorial service is 13 years. The shortest service in Chicago is one year, by William M. McGovern, curator of South American and Mexican ethnology. William Jones, curator of North America and the Philippines, ac- tually never served as curator in Chicago because he was murdered while doing fieldwork in Luzon. The longest term of service is 36 years, by Phil Lewis (curator of primitive art), followed by Paul S. Martin (North American archaeology), at 35 years, and Albert Buell Lewis (curator of African and Melanesian anthropology) and Donald Collier (curator of South American archaeology), at 33 years. Lewis's record will almost certainly be bro- ken soon, as Bennett Bronson (Asiatic archaeol- ogy and ethnology) and John Terrell (Oceanic ar- chaeology and ethnology) currently each have 31 years of service and show no signs of retiring anytime soon. The only female curator until Anna Roosevelt was hired in 1991 was Helen C. Gunsaulus, who served as curator of Japanese ethnology from 1918 to 1925. There are now, at the end of 2002, two: Alaka Wali, curator of ethnology, and Anne Underbill, curator of Asian anthropology. As a simple indication of recent growth in the department, nearly 25% (1 1 of 47) of all curators ever employed by this department are currently employed, and the current complement of 1 1 cu- rators and eight staff members is far and away the largest number of permanent employees within the department at any given time. Staff Members Appendix 2 lists, as much as possible, all staff members employed by the department from 1926 through 2002. The list does not include students, interns, volunteers, or associates. The data were gleaned from catalog cards maintained in the De- partment of Anthropology office, annual reports, grants, and other records. The catalog cards begin in 1926; we have been able to find almost no re- cord of department staff members prior to that year. Appendix 2 also includes a separate listing of the numerous Works Progress Administration (WPA) employees in the department between 1933 and 1940, when the pace, tenor, and demo- graphics of work in the department were radically 70 Chapter Six Table 6.2. Total Field Museum Anthropology staff members, 1926-2002, by decade. 1920-1929 1 1930-1939 44 1940-1949 14 1950-1959 16 1960-1969 14 1970-1979 31 1980-1989 29 1990-1999 56 2000-2002 50 altered by the dismal economic situation of that era. Overall, there are 233 staff members listed in Appendix 2, of which 60^ (140) are women and 40% (93) are men. If we consider only the non- WPA years (prior to 1933 and after 1940), the ratio is more extreme: 67% (111) of the staff members have been women, while 33% (53) were men. During WPA years between 1933 and 1940, this ratio is reversed — there was a total of 70 staff members, of which 57% (40) were men and 43% (30) were women. This temporary departure from the Museum's longstanding tradition of hiring predominantly women staff members probably re- flected a broader societal belief that women in the workforce were depriving men — the heads of families — of jobs (see McElvaine 1993). Given that there have been only 47 curators in the department in its entire history and that a par- tial li.st of staff members covering just over 75% of the department's history includes almost four times that number, two things are immediately ev- ident. First, .staff members, especially in the mod- em era of grant-funded projects and term employ- ment, are much more transient than curators, who often obtain tenure and many of whom remain at the Museum for decades. It is also clear that a great deal of departmental work in exhibit devel- opment and maintenance, research, collections management, and conservation is conducted be- hind the scenes, away from the public eye. by an often talented and professional, yet comparatively invisible, cadre of technicians (Shapin 1989). Table 6.2 and Figure 6.1 present the staff data. The WPA-induced peak in the 1930s is clearly evident. The peaks in the 1970s and early 1980s stem from the move of collections into the new Central Anthropology Storage and an associated computerization project (see Collier, this volume). The doubling in the number of staff members in the 1990s results from two grants written by con- servator Catherine Sease and awarded by the Na- 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 K IZ3 I - ' i — 1 QJ H J H NH wn 17. Mi — WL -i. ,^ ^^ ,<^" .c,^" ,# ^-^ ,# ,# ^cP^ ,#' ,^' ,of^^' ,^' ,#' ,c,A^' ,<.^' ,#' ^' FiCi. 6. 1 . Anthropology staff members, by decade. tional Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) that have allowed the department to rehouse, in ar- chive-quality packaging, a majority of the collec- tions. Finally, the continuing high number of staff members in the 2(X)0s results from strategically planned permanent additions to collections-ba.sed staff and temporary projects, including new ex- hibit development projects, efforts to prepare for the move into the new Collections Resource Cen- ter, the acquisition of grants from the Museum Loan Network, the Getty Foundation and anony- mous donors, department fund-raising activity, as well as the continuation of the NEH project. Collections The Museum's anthropology collections con- tain more than 1.5 million objects, though the ex- act number is uncertain because some large ar- chaeological collections (e.g.. Nelson's Bay Cave) have never been completely catalogued. The col- lections also tend to reflect the history of the de- partment more than current curatorial research in- terests. They continue to be a vital resource for knowledge and ongoing research. More than 150 researchers and do/.ens of tribal delegations visit the collection each year, and research inquiries via telephone, e-mail, and personal visits easily num- ber in the thousands annually. Though we can only begin to scratch the sur- face in describing the collections, the summaries provided here have been written by current cura- tors and emphasize entire collections and their re- search potential rather than individual objects and their aesthetic or monetary value. A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 71 Collections from Asia (Curated by Bennet Bronson and Anne Underbill) Tbe collection from Cbina contains 23,500 ar- cbaeological, bistorical, and ethnograpbic objects made between 10,000 B.C. and a.d. 1980. Tbe col- lection is strong in textiles (more tban 3,000), rub- bings of stone inscriptions (more than 5,000), and utilitarian and decorative objects of the 18th to 20th centuries (ca. 10,000). Field Museum anthro- pologist Berthold Laufer acquired three-quarters of the collection in China between 1908 and 1923 (see Bronson, this volume). Well-known and often studied subcollections include some 400 stone and glass snuff bottles, 230 toggles, 130 rhinoceros horn cups, 500 puppets, 1,000 coins, 1,000 jade carvings, 1,500 folk embroideries, 30 early cast iron objects, 500 items of Daoist and Buddhist sculpture, 400 Han dynasty ceramics, 230 pewter objects, and 300 pieces of equipment for pets, mostly pigeons and crickets. The 4,700 historical and ethnographic objects in the Museum's Japan collection were acquired as gifts to the Museum. Approximately 200 items were exhibited at the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition. In the early 1950s, Commander and Mrs. Gilbert Boone of Monmouth, Illinois, ac- quired extensive collections in Japan and later do- nated them to the Museum. Their gift composes one-half of the current collection and includes 500 illustrated, woodblock-print books and 300 tradi- tional paintings from the 18th to the 20th century. Gifts from other Chicago-area collectors include more than 1 ,000 Japanese sword furnishings (tsu- ba, fuchi-kashira, and so on) in the Gunsaulus col- lection, 200 lacquerware items (with many inro) in the Kroch and Leslie collections, and 300 Ainu objects. The Tibet collection includes approximately 4,400 secular and religious objects that were ac- quired in China and eastern Tibet by Berthold Laufer in 1908-1909. Nearly all date from the 17th through the 19th century. The highlights of this collection include more than 1,000 traditional Tibetan books, both printed and handwritten woodblocks, 850 costumes and personal acces- sories. 800 ritual containers and images, and 350 Tibetan religious paintings, or Tangkas. These ob- jects constitute one of the largest and best-prov- enanced Tibetan collections in the United States. The 6,400 objects in Indonesian-Malaysian col- lection include approximately 600 objects gath- ered from Malay hunter-gatherer (Orang Asli) groups, 700 textiles and textile-related items, 400 iron and steel weapons, 300 wayang drama items, and one of the finest sets of gamelan musical in- struments outside of Java. Much of the Java sub- collection was assembled in the 1880s. The ob- jects from Sumatra, Borneo, and the Malay Pen- insula were collected in the 1920s, while the Su- lawesi Toraja subcollection came to the Museum more recently. Objects were collected by Field Museum anthropologists Cole, Dorsey, and Rob- ert Welsch; the English civil servants Ivor H. N. Evans and Alleyne Ireland; and the Dutch admin- istrator E. E. W. G. Schroder. Though the Field Museum collection may be smaller than similar collections in the Netherlands or Germany, it is one of the finest in the United States. The Field Museum's Philippine collection in- cludes more than 8,000 ethnographic-historical and more than 1,000 archaeological objects. Its collection of Luzon and Mindanao tribal material is considered the largest and finest in the world. Collected by Field Museum anthropologists Cole, Jones, and Simms between 1907 and 1910, this well-documented collection covers all facets of traditional Philippine culture. Many of the textiles in the 700- to 800-piece collection are unique and of considerable scholarly interest. The 400 specimens in the small Andaman and Nicobar Islands collection were purchased in the field by the noted British anthropologist Alfred Reginald Radcliffe-Brown and were illustrated in his book The Andaman Islanders (Radcliffe- Brown 1922). This collection consists of wood, bamboo, and rattan utilitarian and ritual objects reflecting the material culture of the Andamanese. This collection is the only one of its kind in the United States. The collection from Iraq consists of more than 30,000 archaeological objects excavated between 1923 and 1933 by a jointly sponsored expedition of Oxford University and the Field Museum at the former capital of Kish, led by Stephen Langdon, Ernest MacKay, and Henry Field (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume). Although most of the col- lection dates to the Early Dynastic period (middle 3rd millennium B.C.), it also includes a significant number of objects from the Sassanian period (ca. A.D. 200-600) and the Jemdet Nasr period (ca. 3000 B.C.). It is especially strong in everyday ar- tifacts such as ceramic and bronze items and flaked stone tools. This is one of the largest, most comprehensive and most systematic collections of 72 Chapter Six objects from Early Dynastic Mesopotamia in the United States. Collections from Africa (Curated by Chapurukha Kusimba) The African collection includes 15.4(K) ethno- graphic. 3.490 historic (mainly from Egypt), and more than I40.0(X) prehistoric archaeological ob- jects. The strongest collections are as follows. Ralph Linton collected the Madagascar Ethno- graphic Collection of 3.770 objects in 1925. It is well dcKumented and is the most systematic of the Museum's African holdings. All Malagasy tribes are represented, with special attention paid to the Imerina. Tanala, and Betsileo. While the 500 tra- ditional textiles in the collection have received the most scholarly attention, the collection is also strong in woodcarvings. weapons, and ironwork. This collection is the largest and best-prove- nanced Madagascar collection in the United States. Wilfrid Hambly collected the Field Museum's Angola Collection in 1929 while he was the Mu- seum's curator of African ethnology (see Cod- rington. this volume). The 850 objects are pri- marily from the Ovimbundu tribe. The Benin ethnographic collection of 4(X) ob- jects includes wood sculptures, hide fans, and cast brass, ivory, and beaten brass objects. It is one of the Museum's most significant African collections in terms of both artistic worth and monetary val- ue. Half of the collection was donated to the Mu- seum by Captain and Mrs. A. W. F. Fuller, and the remainder was purchased earlier in the 2()th century by the Museum. Except for a few recent ethnographic objects, the entire collection dates to the Benin Punitive Expedition of 1897. The Egyptian archaeological collection con- tains approximately 3,490 objects. Edward Everett Ayer began to assemble the Museum's Egyptian collections in Cairo and Alexandria in 1864. His purcha.ses included funerary objects, such as mummies, coffins, ushabtis. Books of the Dead, and canopic jars; wood, stone, and bronze images; and fragments of stone reliefs from the period of the Middle Kingdom through the Roman era. In 1907 and 1908, Ayer added two intact chapel rooms from the tombs of Unis-ankh and Netcher- user to the Museum's collections. Pre-Dynastic collections of pottery and stone vessels, flints, and other objects spanning early to late periods were donated to the Museum by Sir William M. Flin- ders Petrie, H. W. Seton-Karr, and Gertrude Caton Thompson. In 1944. the Egypt collection was fur- ther enhanced through the gift of the Gurley col- lection, which consisted of jewelry, scarabs, can- opic jars, ushabtis, and statuettes. Notable within the collection is the funerary boat of Sen-Wosret, one of only six known outside of Egypt. This comprehensive Egypt collection also includes Coptic textiles, stone, bron/.e. and pottery pieces. A field party from the University of Chicago gathered the 7.5(X)-piece Tanzanian archaeologi- cal collections in 1957 and 1958 while working at Isimila in the Central Highlands. A majority of these .specimens, recovered from the Acheulian levels of the site, were dated by the uranium-se- ries method as more than a quarter of a million years old but are now suspected to be consider- ably older. A smaller collection of Middle Stone Age and later artifacts was obtained from higher, more recent deposits at the site from neighboring localities. The South African archaeological collection is from University of Chicago excavations at the Nel.son Bay Cave Site along the southern African coast. The material was excavated from the Mid- dle Stone Age levels at the site, which are con- sidered to be more than 60.(X)0 years old and per- haps as much as 1 20,000 years old. Of particular interest are artifacts that are similar to those be- lieved by historians and archaeologists to be the work of the earliest anatomically mcxiem humans. Collections from Europe (Curated by Bennet Bronson) With only 1.360 Roman and Etruscan objects (of which 2(X) are replicas) in its collection, the Museum might not appear to be a significant ar- chaeological repository of CIa.ssical material. In fact, the Museum's 280 Etruscan objects represent several complete tomb groups and are. therefore, of great scientific and educational significance. Many of the genuine Roman objects come from the site of Boscoreale near Pompeii and include important fresco paintings, fine bronzes and jew- elry, and a good selection of well-preserved ob- jects illustrating everyday life during the Roman period. All were purcha.sed in Italy in the 1890s. The Western European archaeological collec- tion contains a total of 45,7(X) objects acquired by Henry Field in the late 1920s. The French prehis- A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 73 toric materials, including stone and bone tools, and artifacts of materials decorated by engraving or painting constitute a particularly valuable part of the collection and are of considerable scholarly interest. Collections from North America (Curated by Jonathan Haas) Since its founding, the Field Museum has de- voted considerable attention to the Native peoples of North America. The result is a series of col- lections of striking depth, strong in recent history and contemporary culture. Staff collaborate ac- tively with Native American groups, some of whom regularly visit and study the collections. The Museum's collections from the Arctic and sub-Arctic show the many-faceted adaptations of human societies to challenging environments. Among the types of collections we have from these areas are hunting and fishing paraphernalia, clothing, and ceremonial objects from the Davis Inlet and Barren Ground Naskapi of northern Lab- rador and from Native groups in Alaska and Can- ada, including the liiupiat, the Tlingit, and the Haida. Together with superb photographs and field notes, these late 19th- and early 20th-century collections are one of the world's most exception- al records of the traditional life ways of the far north's Native peoples. Prehistoric artifacts from the Aleutian Islands and from southwest Alaska constitute an invaluable resource for scholars in- vestigating both the migration of peoples into the Western Hemisphere and the texture of Native cultures before and after the arrival of Europeans. One of the Field Museum's largest and most comprehensive North American collections comes from the Plains, including representative material from the Cree, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Sioux, and Crow. The collection of Crow shields is particu- larly fine and continues to inspire and inform Crow traditional leaders, art historians, and an- thropologists alike. James Murie, who was of Pawnee descent, and George Dorsey made the well-documented collection from the Pawnee of Oklahoma. This collection includes artistic and utilitarian objects associated with mythology and oral traditions, linguistic texts, and written records of Pawnee religion and social organization. The Museum has recently entered into an accord with the Pawnee tribe that allows for the long-term care and preservation of important Pawnee sacred bundles. Prehistoric material from the Museum's South- western collections have played a key role in un- derstanding the origins of agriculture in North America as well as cultural adaptations to chang- ing environmental conditions. For over 40 years. Museum Curator Paul Martin was responsible for assembling systematic collections that stand today as a national resource for archaeologists working in the Southwest. Historic ceramics, textiles (blankets, sashes, dresses, and kilts), agricultural implements, and other artifacts constitute one of the largest assem- blages of material culture ever assembled for the Hopi tribe of Arizona. The Hopi material is the largest collection for any single culture group in the Museum. Recent acquisition of a magnificent collection of kachina dolls from the 1970s to 1990s reflects our commitment to ongoing aug- mentation of this important Hopi collection. An- other important collection from the Southwest comes from the White Mountain Apache Reser- vation and consists of baskets, ceremonial objects, medicines, clothing, and games. The Museum has developed a collaborative relationship with the White Mountain Apache tribe that actively in- volves tribal members in the use of the collection for exhibit and research purposes. Collections from Mesoamerica and South America (Curated by Gary Feinman, Antonio Curet, Alaka Wall, and Ryan Williams) The Department of Anthropology holds an ex- ceptional collection of ancient Aztec pottery col- lected in the 1 9th century by Frederick Starr. This collection consists of several hundred pieces of exhibition-quality decorated pieces, a number of which have been exhibited in the Field Museum's Mesoamerica Hall. As part of a major scientific study in the early 1990s, microscopic quantities of clay from several pieces were analyzed through neutron activation. The Department of Anthropology holds an ex- ceptional collection of ancient Peruvian objects purchased in the 19th century from a private Pe- ruvian collector. This collection consists of ap- proximately 1,200 objects, the vast majority of which are ceramic vessels from the Inca period. Field Museum collectors purchased the Muse- 74 Chapter Six urn's collection of rare Andean textiles, dating to the 18th and 19th centuries, in the late 19th cen- tury. These ethnographic textiles originate from the high Andean areas of Peru and Bolivia and represent an indigenous weaving tradition that is now virtually extinct because of the influence of industrial dyes and the effects of tourism on the local society. The Museum's important scientific and exhibit- quality collection of Maya archaeological speci- mens was collected at the turn of the 20th century firom the Yucatan of Mexico and sites in Belize (see McVicker, this volume). These archaeologi- cal objects were scientifically collected (according to the standards of the time) and are valuable be- cause there is reasonable provenance and docu- mentation available for the entire collection. In the late 1940s, Donald Collier excavated Cerro Narrio, an early agricultural site and one of the most important archaeological settlements in the northern Andes in Ecuador. The Field Muse- um holds the type collection from this site as well as thousands of objects from the systematic ex- cavations. The collection has been repeatedly studied over the years and serves as the basis for several critical theories on the early prehistory of Ecuador. In the 1920s and 1930s, anthropologist Alfred Kroeber excavated a number of important archae- ological sites on the Peruvian coast. The Field Museum possesses systematically collected and well-documented objects from these sites. The collection includes ceramic pieces and textiles from at least 1000 B.C. to a.d. 1300 and is exten- sively .studied by scholars. The Nazca collection of ceramic objects, in particular, ranks as one of the finest in North America. i The Department of Anthropology holds a fine collection of contemporary Guatemalan textiles purcha.sed throughout the 20th century. Guate- mala is known for the rich diversity of its indig- enous and mestizo ethnic groups and communities who express their social affiliation through dress. The Brazil collection is comprised of select, well-preserved archaeological and ethnographic objects from the Amazon and Central Brazil. It includes 50 important vessels of polychrome ar- chaeological pottery from Marajo Island, exca- vated around 1918 by anthropologist William Far- abee of the University Mu.seum at the University of Pennsylvania. The pottery, excavated from well-known artificial earth mounds at the mouth of the Amazon, dates to a.d. 400-1 100. The Bra- zil collection, specifically its ethnographic mate- rial, also includes more than 200 items of cere- monial paraphernalia and musical instruments from Tukanoan- and Arawakan-speaking Indians of the Northwest Amazon region, more than 200 articles of dress, artwork, containers, and tools for daily living from native tribes and rural peoples of the Middle and Lower Amazon and Northeast Brazil, including the well-known Caraja and Tap- irape Indians and lesser known groups such as the Karapana. Theodore Koch-Gruneberg collected many of the objects from the Northwest Amazon, while the Museum acquired its Caraja collection from collections of Eriand Nordenskiold, an im- portant synthesizer of South American anthropol- ogy. Collections from the Pacific (Curated by John Terrell) The Museum's ethnographic materials from Melanesia represent one of the world's finest col- lections of Pacific materials. The collection con- sists of approximately 36,000 objects, including tools, weapons, works of art, and clothing — most originating from the first two decades of the 20th century. Most of lowland and coastal New Guinea is represented, as are the islands of the Bismarck Archipelago. New Britain. New Ireland, the Ad- miralty Islands, the Solomon Islands, New Heb- rides (now called Vanuatu), and New Caledonia. Curator A. B. Lewis ama.s.sed half the total Mel- anesian holdings of the Museum, or some 15,000 artifacts, between 1901 and 1913 (see Welsch. this volume). The remainder is derived from other sources of the time, including ship captains. Ger- man dealers, and German anthropologists. The ethnological and archaeological collections from Micronesia in the Field Museum number 1 1 ,270 objects. Alexander Spoehr, curator of Oce- anic archaeology and ethnology, carried out an- throptilogical work immediately after World War II and collected ethnological and archaeological materials for the Museum's collections. Fred Reinman, a Pacific archaeologist and the Muse- um's Oceanic curator from 1964 to 1967. also conducted fieldwork and collected in these re- gions. While the collection is varied, it is com- paratively good, and the archaeological collec- tions from Spoehr and Reinman are noteworthy. The collection of Polynesian ethnological and archaeological objects numbers approximately 5,190 and covers most of the island groups com- A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 75 Tabu; 6.3. Field Museum expeditions and field- work. 1 894-2(X) 1 . by decade and continent. 1895-1899: 12 (North America 9, Central America 2. Africa 1) I9(X)-1909: 77 (North America 57, Pacific 12, Asia 6, Africa 1, Central Ameri- ca 1) 1910-1919: 12 (North America 6, Pacific 6, Asia 2) 1920-1929: 24 (Asia 9, North America 5, Central America 5. South America 2, Africa 1. Europe 1, Pacific 1) 1930-1939: 15 (North America 6, Europe 4, Asia 4, Central America 3, Africa 1, Pacific 1) 1940-1949: 9 (North America 5, Pacific 2, South America 2) 1950-1959: 22 (North America 18, Europe 1, Cen- tral America 1, Pacific 1, South America 1) 1960-1969: 27 (North America 20, Asia 3, Pacific 2, Africa 1, Central America 1) 1970-1979: 10 (South America 4, Pacific 4, Cen- tral America 2) 1980-1989: 22 (Asia 8, South America 6, Pacific 4, Africa 2. North America 2) 1990-1999: 53 (South America 17, North America 12, Africa 1 1, Pacific 7, Asia 6) 2000-2001: 26 (North America 7, South America 10, Asia 5, Africa 4) Total: 309 prising Polynesia, including New Zealand, Ha- waii, Easter Island, Samoa, Tonga, the Marquesas, the Cook Islands, and others. A significant portion of this collection originated in the A.W.F. Fuller collection. The Polynesia collection includes some outstanding individual objects, such as the Hawaiian "mate" to the Bloxam figure and the Hawaiian feathered war god Kukailimokur. The Hawaiian tapa is particularly noteworthy. The Maori collection is outstanding and includes the council house, Ruatepupuke II, one of only three council houses outside New Zealand. Many of the Maori weapons and implements are also of fine quality and of scholarly importance. Expeditions Appendix 4 lists chronologically by year and alphabetically by leader as complete a list as pos- sible of the expeditions and fieldwork that have been conducted by Department of Anthropology curators. Table 6.3 and Figure 6.2 summarize these data. .#.#.c,^\#,cp\<,^\##,c.^\##.o^^ fjfo rQ .O n^ oSi ►,# K^ K«i^ ►SS" ^' ^^ ^' ^ ^' ^ ^' nO" a cSi' aO' o&' rSi' rS)' xn>^ cx^-^or^^^-^cT ^c^A-^cT ^Cb^>^^ Fig. 6.2. Anthropology expeditions and fieldwork, by decade. For a number of reasons, the expedition and fieldwork data are "fuzzy" at best and incomplete at worst. During the early years of the Museum, record keeping was not as precise as we might like (see Martin-Ross and Barnett, this volume). As such, shorter and unnamed expeditions may have also occurred but may not be listed. Travel in the early part of the 20th century was much more opportunistic and subject to change (see Bronson, this volume; Welsch, this volume; Yas- trow and Nash, this volume). Early expeditions, such as A. B. Lewis's expedition to the South Pa- cific in 1909-1913, often took on epic proportions and lasted years. The count of other early expe- ditions, particularly in North America in the 1900s, may be artificially inflated because re- cords, such as are available, listed them by tribe rather than geography or calendrics. After about 1970, the nature of Museum fieldwork changed, with curators conducting research but not collect- ing objects, at least in large numbers, for the Mu- seum's collections. The Field Museum archives should be consulted for additional data on the ex- peditions listed. Though we have tried to focus exclusively on fieldwork conducted by curators during their em- ploy at the Field Museum, such an approach would delete incredibly important projects in the history of the Museum. Noticeably absent from Appendix 4 would be the Museum's excavations at the archaeological site of Kish, in Iraq, contin- uously between 1923 and 1933, except for 1925 and 1926, when Curator Henry Field joined those excavations. A similar difficulty arises when we try to tabulate Malvina Hoffman's expedition in 1931-1932 (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume), for she was technically not a curator — similarly with J. Ried Moir's expeditions to Ipswich, Eng- 76 Chapter Six land, in 1 930- 1 93 1 , Donald Lehmer's archaeolog- ical expedition to Sonora, Mexico, in 1949, and numerous other collecting trips in the l9(X)s. The expedition and tieldwork data nevertheless indicate a number of trends. The Museum's fledg- ling years, roughly coincident with Dorsey's lead- ership (1898-1914; see Alma/an and Coleman, this volume) are characterized by a massive amount of collecting activity. The l9es the European photograph collection, which has 2,700 prints. The North American photo collec- tion of I3,0(X) prints includes 4,500 shots taken by Paul Martin's Archaeological Expedition to the Southwest from 1930 to 1972 (see Nash, this vol- ume; Herold, this volume) as well as extensive and priceless ethnographic documentation from numerous expeditions to visit Native American reservations across the United States and Canada. The South American collection (ca. 3,0(X) prints) focuses primarily on archaeological objects and features, though some ethnographic prints are available. There is also an invaluable collection of more than 300 staff photographs, including, in ad- dition to curators, some less-well-known members of the department, such as conservator Christine Dan/.inger and paleobotanist Hugh Cutler. Some 2,600 photographs document past or current an- thropology exhibits in the Museum and can be exceedingly useful for information management purposes and catalogue problem solving (see Mar- tin-Ross and Bamett, this volume). Finally, there are more than 1,500 other photographs that are not so easily categorized but that diKument early postcards, exhibits at the old building in Jackson Park, the move from Jackson Park to Grant Park, and other interesting topics. ^A' i^ ^ This chapter concludes Part 1, which has erected the historical and organizational framework of Field Museum anthropology. Part II turns to the "works and lives" that flesh out the foundational skeleton. In the chapters that follow, current Field Museum curators, staff members, and asscKiates examine the lives and contributions of nine of the most influential curators — Dorsey, Lewis, Laufer, Field, J. E. S. Thompson, Hambly. Martin, Collier, and VanStone — ever to grace the halls of the de- partment. In addition, one former curator. Collier, and one former staff member, Herold, provide first-person commentaries on the vageries of day- to-day life both within the department and in the field. Taken together, these contributions offer a multilayered perspective on the many glories and occasional ignominies of a century of anthropol- ogy at the Field Museum. A Chronicle of Field Museum Anthropology 8 1 II A Selection of Curators Interchapter Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Fein man The Department of Anthropology at the Field Museum has had 47 curators during its his- tory. Some of these figures stood at the top of their profession and helped secure a prominent place for the Museum in American and worldwide scholarly circles. Others had but fleeting asscKia- tions with the Museum, and their contributions are recorded only more sketchily in the archives. The selection of curators for detailed treatment in this book was neither systematic nor random. The se- lection criteria had to do more with the research interests of potential authors than it did with a specific strategy to balance these treatments with respect to re.search area, time period, scholarly output, or some other criterion. Having said that, of the curators who enjoyed long (greater than 15 years) tenures at the Field Museum, only George Quimby, curator from 1942 to 1965, does not re- ceive his own chapter, although his work and his large scholarly influence are treated in some detail in the chapter by Donald Collier. The interests of the selection of curators who appear in the following chapters cut a wide swath across topics of importance to anthropologists and historians alike. Geographically, the chapters in this section consider research on all six inhabited continents, if New Guinea can, with some license, be considered part of the Australian continent. Temporally, the research emphases range from the Archaic Period of the American Southwest to Cla.ssic Period Maya and ethnographic research in Africa. Asia, and Alaska. It covers research span- ning the entire 2{)th century. Methodologically. A. B. Lewis implemented new systematic collection procedures while in New Guinea. J. Eric S. Thompson and Edward H. Thompson made sig- nificant contributions to Mayan studies while ap- proaching their subject matter from radically dif- ferent directions. Theoretically. Paul Martin was at the forefront of archaeological method and the- ory for decades, and James VanStone made sig- nificant contributions to the fledgling field of eth- noarchaeology. Demographically, the story of Field Museum anthropology is largely a story of European- American men. There have been only four female curators (Helen Gunsaulus. Anna Roosevelt, Alaka Wali, and Anne Underbill), one African cu- rator (Chapurukha Kusimba), one Native Ameri- can curator (William Jones), and one Hispanic cu- rator (Antonio Curet) in the department's history. All but Gunsaulus. Jones, and Roosevelt are cur- rently employed in the department. Given broader demographic trends in academe and the lack of turnover in any situation in which tenure is of- fered, increased diversity will naturally take time. As might be expected, however, the profession- al staff roster tells a completely different story. The majority (6()%. n = 233) of Field Museum anthropology staff since 1926 have been women. If we remove from the calculation the 1933-1940 Works Progress Administration staff, which was more evenly divided between male and female, the staff roster through time is overwhelmingly female (69%). Unfortunately, data are not avail- able on staff member ethnicity, nationality, or oth- er demographic criteria. Interchapter 85 George Amos Dorsey: A Curator and His Comrades Tristan Almazcm and Sarah Coleman Early in the history of the Field Museum, a curator and his enlisted comrades sha[>ed the future of the Department of Anthropology. George Amos Dorsey held the position of curator of anthropology between 1 899 and 1 9 1 5 — sixteen impressive years of collecting, traveling, and pub- lishing. From the beginning, the Museum in- grained in Dorsey the goal of turning the Field Museum into a world-renowned institution com- parable with other major natural history museums. As it is now the fourth largest museum in the world, we can say that Dorsey planted the seed for the Department of Anthropology by oversee- ing the early and rapid growth of the department's collections. He was just one man, though, and sur- rounded himself with a group of assistants who helped him develop the department. He accom- plished many of his goals through their actions, and their role in the history of the Department of Anthropology should not be overlooked. This chapter is divided into two major sections. The Curator and The Comrades. Both emphasize the work Dorsey and his assistants conducted in North America during the first half of his career at the Museum. Dorsey is most widely known for his expeditions and research among Native Amer- icans and the collections that he gathered. In the first section, we provide a brief overview of Dor- sey's career, followed by an examination of the collecting he and his assistants did in North America. Next, we look at one of Dorsey 's major focuses — his study of tribes on the Plains between 1901 and 1907. Then we di.scuss his information- gathering .strategies and his resulting publications. Last, we expand upon the partial leave of absence he took in the mid.st of his work in North America to labor in the private sector at the Fred Harvey Company. The second section of this chapter fo- cu.ses on some of Dorsey's assistants — his com- rades. These men fall into four categories: Field Museum staff members, trained anthropologists, .scholars from other disciplines, and Native Amer- ican informants. A short biography of each man is given along with a discussion of his role in the Department of Anthropology under the direction of Dorsey. A concluding section reflects on the impact both Dorsey and his assistants had on the history of the department. The Curator An Introduction to George Dorsey George Amos Dorsey was the first person in the United States to graduate with a Ph.D. in an- thropology, which he received from Harvard Uni- versity in 1894 under the tutelage of Frederic Ward Putnam. Before that, in 1888, Dorsey re- ceived an A.B. from Denison College in Ohio. While at Harvard, Putnam, who was also chief of the Department of Ethnology of the 1 893 World's Columbian Exposition, chose Dorsey to collect objects for the exposition in South America. Dur- ing 1891-1892, Dorsey went to Peru, Ecuador, Chile, and Bolivia. In 1893, Putnam named him Superintendent of Archaeology for the Exposi- tion's Department of Anthropology. After finish- ing his doctorate degree, Dorsey taught Anthro- pology at Harvard until he accepted the position as assistant curator in charge of physical anthro- pology at the Field Museum in 1896 (Calhoun 1991a). In 1897, the Museum changed his title to acting curator after the departure of William Hen- George Amos Dorsey 87 ry Holmes, and on January 1, 1899, he became the curator of anthropology. When Dorsey joined the staff of the Museum, it was apparent that he was ambitious, demanding, and driven, but also enthusiastic about advancing the Department of Anthropology. Shortly after be- ing hired, he led his first expedition for the de- partment in 1897, spending four months collect- ing objects from tribes in the northern and western regions of the United States and Canada. From December of that year to January of 1898, he traveled to Arizona to collect objects from the Hopi and to witness one of their ceremonies. From August to September of 1899, he returned to the Northwest Coast to visit more tribes and collect even more objects. He went to the far western areas of the United States in 1900, which turned out to be his last major collecting trip in the region. In 1901, Dorsey shifted his focus to Oklahoma, where until 1907 he studied Plains tribes, most notably the Pawnee, Arapaho, and Cheyenne. While working in Oklahoma, he gathered not only objects but also information on Native American material culture, society, religion, and language. To bolster his research, he received grants from the Carnegie Institution of Washington and made connections with informants and tribal members. In 1903, he took a partial leave of absence from the Museum to work for the Indian Department of the Fred Harvey Company, but he continued his studies and grant work during the leave. He returned as full-time curator in the spring of 1904 and continued his work among the Plains tribes until 1907. Soon after the death of Marshall Field in 1 906, a decade of feverish collecting in North America came to a close, and the direction of the depart- ment changed significantly. By 1906 and 1907, only a few expeditions were still being undertaken in North America. The R. F Cummings Expedi- tions had begun in 1906 after Mr. Cummings pro- vided a $20,000 donation to conduct investiga- tions in the Philippines, and Berthold Laufer was hired in 1907 to begin work in Tibet and China. Dorsey himself led an expedition around the world in 1908 (most notably in Asia), an expe- dition to Mexico in 1909, and an expedition to British India in 1915. Dorsey resigned from the Museum in 1915 af- ter his last expedition. He continued to work, though, using his rich anthropological training to address a new set of experiences and challenges. During World War I, he served as an Assistant Naval Attache in Madrid and Lisbon. He subse- quently became a correspondent for the London News and a lecturer on anthropology at the New School of Social Research in New York. He con- tinued to publish and became well known through his best-selling popular science book. Why We Be- have Like Human Beings (Dorsey, 1926). Much to the surprise of his colleagues and friends, he died suddenly in 1931 at the age of 72 (Calhoun, 1991a). Collecting in North America Dorsey began his career at the Museum by con- ducting expeditions in the western regions of the United States and Canada. He participated in many expeditions in North America for the De- partment of Anthropology but hired many others to do the same. From 1897 to 1907, he employed roughly a dozen assistants to help him gather ob- jects and information from Native American tribes. In the span of a decade, he and his assis- tants led over sixty ethnographic and archaeolog- ical expeditions within North America. The ob- jects collected on these trips, along with many purchases, gifts, and exchanges, resulted in a quantity of Native American specimens repre- senting 30,000 catalogue numbers. As the first major natural history museum in the Midwest, the Museum wanted to make a strong statement about its place among major mu- seums in the country. The Department of Anthro- pology was set to be the centerpiece of the Mu- seum, and although it had acquired a substantial number of artifacts from the 1 893 World's Colum- bian Exposition from which it was born, there was urgency for more collections. The fear that unique and genuine artifacts were disappearing at an alarming rate along with the indigenous cultures that made them (especially Native American cul- tures) increased this sense of urgency. The Mu- seum encouraged a strategy of rapid collecting and exhibit mounting to build its status as a sci- entific institution. The numbers above indicate that these strate- gies were not lost on Dorsey when he came to the Department of Anthropology. Two major goals guided him: to fill in the gaps of the collections, and to ensure that they would make good exhibits. Dorsey wanted the Museum to have the best rep- resentative sample of material from a given tribe, so he and his assistants sometimes went to great lengths to gather objects. In a letter dated January 88 Chapter Seven 31, 1900, to Stephen Simms, assistant curator of ethnology from 1898 to 1912, Dorsey states: When you go into an Indian's house and you do not find the old man at home and there is something you want, you can do one of three things; go hunt up the old man and keep hunting until you find him: give the old woman such price for it as she may ask for it running the risk that the old man will be offended; or steal it. I tried all three plans and I have no choice to recommend. (FMA/GAD) After asking another one of his assistants, Charles Newcombe, to study the Northwest Coast collec- tion at the Mu.seum before conducting work there. Dorsey suggested that Newcombe could ". . . then return . . . and . . . collect from tribe to tribe in a systematic manner, making special effort to till in the gaps in our collection and to visit those tribes, which are at the present time unrepresented here" (Letter FMA/GAD January 10, 1901). Not only did Dorsey want to gather complete collections, but he also wanted them to be worthy of exhibition at the Museum. Clearly his prede- cessor, William Holmes, instilled these goals in him with the instructions he gave Dorsey for his 1897 expedition: You are to endeavor in the first place to secure col- lections illu.strating the physical characteristics of the principal Ethnic groups visited, and in the sec- ond to collect material and data for the construction of certain culture groups illustrative of the great culture provinces into which your work may carry you. ... the latter contemplates the erection of Mu- seum group exhibits. . . . The general idea ... is that they should include life size models of the men. women, and children of the typical commu- nity selected to represent the group, and that these figures should be represented as engaged in some characteristic occupations and surrounded by such of their belongings as may be conveniently brought together and displayed. Photographs are essential, and casts of faces are very desirable. . . . The im- portance of securing a few complete and character- istic exhibition units rather than many imperfect ones should be kept constantly in mind. (Letter FMAAVHH May 12. 1897) Dorsey and his assi.stants collected objects for the Museum exhibits, but they also supplemented them with props to enhance their educational val- ue. Dorsey had casts made of Eskimo and Hopi peoples as well as of Native Americans around Vancouver Island in British Columbia. One of his assistants. Jesse Burt, made miniature dioramas of Native American dwellings and .scenes of cere- monies. H. R. Voth, another assistant, made life- size recreations of Hopi ceremonial altars for the Southwest exhibits. Both the collection of objects and the construc- tion of exhibits were important to Dorsey because, as with most collectors of Native American arti- facts during this period, he believed cultural char- acteristics and material of most tribes were rapidly disappearing. In a letter to Stanley McCormick. a private donor, dated February 5. I9{K), he states: **It is none ttK) swin that we are taking up this work, for it is my firm belief that within three or four years there will not be a ruin on the Hopi Reservation that has not been ransacked and dev- astated either by eastern institutions or by Arizona relic hunters'* (FMA/EV). Had the collections been made later, they would not have been as comprehensive and important to the study of these cultures as we now realize them to be. Nonethe- less, their strategies were a doubled-edged sword — they may have saved objects for present generations of Native Americans, but they also contributed to the loss of traditional ways of life by removing the objects that reinforced cultural identity. Focusing on the Plains In 1901, Dorsey began visiting Native Ameri- can tribes living in Oklahoma — an area that had not yet been studied by anyone else in the De- partment of Anthropology. His demanding duties as curator of a growing inuseum no longer al- lowed him to go on extended expeditions to the far reaches of North America; therefore, Oklahoma was the perfect place for him to con- duct field investigations. By then, he began to de- pend more heavily on field assistants to work in the out-of-the-way places — the Northwest Coast, California, and the Southwest — while he worked closer to home. He became interested in the cer- emonial life of tribes and began making trips to Oklahoma to witness Sun Dance ceremonies of the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Osage, and others. He continued his study of the Plains tribes until 1907. As in other regions, Dorsey needed assistants to help him conduct his research among the Plains tribes. The most impks and lines a big crowd got about me and nearly swamped me. One old chap brought up a club, gave it to mc. grabbed three fish lines and ran. I could not stand that and it looked like trouble for the moment. They were a greedy, wild lot. and never would let go of a thing till they had the trade equivalent in their hands. When I started to leave they tried to steal more than half of my plunder There is a great har- vest here, but a single man might be killed. (Dorsey I909a:22 August 19()8. Roissy Island) Lewis must surely have repeatedly found him- self surrounded by villagers wanting to sell him things, but only once in Simar on the Sepik River did he describe any difficulty, and even this in- cident was not interpreted as threatening: The men were quite bt>ld. almost impudent, in the way in which they pressed their things upon one. They were also given to thieving, and stole my noteb(x>k of specimens, which I had carelessly left in my pocket when I left the ship. (Lewis. 14 Au- gust 1910. in Welsch 1998:1:312) One su.spects that had the villagers not grabbed his notebook — a loss that troubled him greatly at the time — Lewis would not have found the inci- dent worth noting at all. Elsewhere he describes what must have been an equally intense morning of purchases, but Lewis di.splays his calm and pa- tient style throughout: Early the first morning after my arrival the natives began arriving at the mission house, where I was staying, with all sorts of specimens for sale. Herr Lehner having told them that I was here to buy such things. This kept up the greater part of the day. as well as the next forenoon, by which time I had bought representative specimens of practically all that they had. and was forced to refuse most of the things offered. Later I went through the village, and I tried to find if they had anything new. but found little. I also purchased some things from Herr Leh- ner, including 2 carved lx>ards from men's house. a number of charms, and several things from the Laewomba. a tribe inland on the Markham river, which Herr Lehner had visited several months pre- viously. (Lewis. 17 February 1910, in Welsch 1998: 1:197) Because Lewis worked calmly and methodical- ly in assembling his collection, its character as a research and study collection is far more valuable than Dorsey 's. We know that Lewis recognized this point because he mentions it in a letter to Director Skiff. Skiff had written Lewis during his second year in the field criticizing the first ship- ment of specimens to arrive because they con- tained only small, worthless-looking items of dai- ly life instead of the large, showy specimens that museum administrators so often admire: Many of the.se apparently common things have a deep interest when shown up in connection with the native's daily life. I fear that the possibilities of making exceedingly interesting and valuable exhib- its from many of my apparently worthless speci- mens have not been duly considered: but it can only be done by one who has studied native life, and never from such collections as Voogdt's or even Dorsey 's. Pardon me if I say that my studies also increase the value of such collections to the Mu- seum when 1 have had time to properly classify and label them. I am sure Dr Dorsey agrees with me in the above statement, as we have spoken of such things frequently. I do not take it that even a mu- seum should limit itself to show specimens, but should make its exhibit illustrate that sum total of the life and achievements of a people, whether showy or not. (Lewis to .Skiff. 5 December 1910. in Welsch 1998:1:351) These comments suggest that Lewis and Dorsey had discussed the goals of collecting and collec- tion building at some length, but they also suggest the ways in which Lewis built on and developed Dorsey 's ideas. By the time Lewis returned to Chicago, soine 30() boxes and crates awaited him in the depart- ment. His colleagues had been forced to close off one of the galleries ju.st to hold the collection. It contained types, varieties, and numbers of speci- mens and surveyed large sections of the New Guinea coast and much of island Melanesia as well. It contained many large, showy pieces as well as hundreds of small utilitarian items and ev- erything in between. Where other collections might contain two or three examples of an object type, Lewis brought back ten or twenty or fifty to document the range of variation he had observed in the many different villages he visited. His doc- Albert Buell Lewis 1 1 1 umentation seems thin by today's standards, but it is far superior to most other Melanesian collec- tions of its period. In all these ways, Lewis built precisely the kind of collection that Dorsey want- ed, and in the end received considerable praise from Dorsey, from Skiff, and from his fellow as- sistant curators. It was one of the best examples of what Dorsey hoped his assistant curators could do. And in this sense, the Lewis Collection was the realization of Dorsey's vision for the depart- ment's activities in the field. The Return from Melanesia: The End of the Dorsey Era A. B. Lewis's life, both personally and profes- sionally, is a bundle of contradictions. When he returned from four years in Melanesia with the largest collection ever obtained by a Field Mu- seum anthropology curator, his work received great praise within the Museum. The annual re- port of the director had repeatedly praised the size and quality of his collection. But while the next decade should have been a productive period for Lewis, he published almost nothing. The sum total of his publications during this period consists of two short book reviews and two anthropology leaf- lets, "New Guinea Masks" and "The Use of Sago in New Guinea" (Lewis 1916, 1919, 1922, 1923). He did not, of course, sit idle during the decade since he had a mountain of objects from his own collection to sort through and catalogue, not to mention the 10,000 objects Dorsey had collected in 1908 or had purchased soon after. But what happened to keep Lewis from taking up a more prominent role in the discipline than he actually played? There are several possible explanations, and the sheer volume of cataloguing must surely have played a contributing if not central role. As I have suggested elsewhere (Welsch 1998:l:566ff.), the discipline was changing in dramatic ways as local ethnographic studies won out over regional sur- veys as the major field method in the discipline. This shift certainly occurred, but it would not emerge in the United States until the late 1920s. Functionalism, which required intensive local studies of face-to-face communities, would not arise until the classic monographs of A. R. Rad- cliffe-Brown (1922) and Bronislaw Malinowski (1922) were published, though it would still take several years for the local ethnographic method to take over the discipline in American anthropolo- gy. Therefore, to understand Lewis's lack of pro- ductivity during his first decade back from the field, we must look to other factors to explain what happened to Lewis during this period. It is conceivable that Lewis was simply unable to write up his field experiences, either because he found these experiences too traumatic or be- cause he simply had difficulty writing. But the evidence suggests that he never found the expe- dition the least bit traumatic, since he gave several lectures about his fieldwork in the first two years after his return from Melanesia. In virtually ev- erything he wrote subsequently about himself, the Joseph N. Field Expedition was the one accom- plishment about which he was most proud. Sim- ilarly, while it is true that Lewis did not find writ- ing easy in the way that Dorsey or Boas obviously did, over his career Lewis managed to write quite a number of short articles, many of which dealt with the expedition. When given encouragement and museum time for writing, as he was in the late 1920s, Lewis produced both technical reports, such as his article on shell money (1929), and pieces for a popular audience, such as his mono- graph The Ethnology of Melanesia (1932). The most likely explanation for what appears to me to be a kind of professional lethargy seems to me to center on changes within the department after his return. In this way, Lewis's apparent in- ertia directly intersects with the department's his- tory. It also sets in high relief Lewis's abrupt shift in performance. The two most likely factors are that Dorsey's departure from the Field Museum undermined Lewis's confidence or that the de- partment developed a new vision after Dorsey left. These explanations are really two sides of the same coin, since Dorsey's resignation in 1915 co- incided with a striking change of tone at the de- partment. It is not clear where the department's post-Dorsey vision was focused, but after Dor- sey's resignation, not a single one of the anthro- pology curators set off on an expedition for the next seven years (i.e., 1915-1922). No longer \ were the halls of the department abuzz with news of who was going where to acquire new speci- mens. Instead, there were very few new acquisi- tions in the department, and it would appear that all the department's energies were focused on sorting through and cataloguing the material that had been collected in the Museum's first twenty years. From the annual reports we get hints of how many catalogue cards Lewis had entered over 112 Chapter Eight each of the next several years until 1919, when, after six years of cataloguing, he could Hnally say he had organized his collection. Two other factors must also have affected the mood around the de- partment: World War I, and construction of the new Museum building in Grant Park. Once this structure was completed, in 1920. the department was undoubtedly working full time, moving col- lections from Jackson Park and installing new ex- hibits for the opening on 2 May 1921. But neither of these factors seems sufficient to explain the de- partment's complete shift of focus. When Dorsey resigned from the Museum, he had not lost his enthusiasm for anthropk nor free himself from a certain impatient dis- dain for it." (Latourette 1936:55). This may have contributed to the harshness of his reviews and criticisms, which contemporary biographers all mention (Creel 1935-1936:488; Hummel 1936: 103; Latourette 1936:55). A third part of the problem was alienation. Lau- fer did not like Chicago all that much and disliked New York, or at least the American Museum of Natural History, where "the fossil rhinoceroses have not yet become extinct" (Boas-Laufer Cor- respondence, 1914). He did not like Germany, ei- ther. In 1917, he wrote an article titled "Germany Needs a Thorough Defeat." While the article could not have endeared him to his German col- leagues, the fact that he felt he had to write it shows that he was insecure in his American iden- tity as well. In his letters to Boas, the only place he wrote about with genuine enthusiasm was Chi- na: "Chinese culture is in my opinion as good as ours and in many things even better, above all in its practical ethics. ... If I regret anything, it is the fact that I was not born Chinese." And yet, as pointed out above, he returned to China only Berthold Laufer 125 once after 1910 (in 1923), and that was for a stay of less than five months. Thus, Laufer comes through to us as something of a misfit who, in spite of his prodigious talents, had few friends, no collaborators, and only a handful of intellectual successors. All those suc- cessors were sinologists, including Robert van Gulik and Edward Schaefer, both of them also brilliant scholars who were mavericks within their field. No anthropologists chose to follow him; one gets the impression, in fact, that the only young anthropologists he knew were the junior curators working in his department. Yet it could be argued that in muscology he did have a lasting influence. American museums now are outstanding among the world's museums for their wholehearted adop- tion of the approach that Laufer exemplified: that of listening carefully to the voices of those whose heritage is on display and teaching visitors to see an artifact in the same light as its maker. Back in the 1910s and 1920s, most Western museums were patronizing in their approach to all non- Western art. This was even true of the Field Mu- seum with respect to most of its exhibits, but not with respect to China: there, Laufer's warm ad- miration shone through his dry, didactic label style. He was a pioneer in discarding the old Western ethnocentrism that even now infests mu- seum exhibits. Modern museum professionals still can learn from him in that regard. Laufer's suicide was definitely due to cancer and not overwork. Henry Field says that it was the sculptor Malvina Hoffman, with whom Laufer "shared a mutual admiration and respect," who finally persuaded him to undergo surgery in 1934 (Field 1979). He went to Cleveland for the oper- ation. Three weeks later he returned, weakened and depressed. Shortly afterward, he killed him- self. Perhaps his depression was not solely be- cau.se of his cancer. His letters show him to have often been gloomy and sensitive, a driven worker with few relaxations, and, except for his wife. Bertha, about whom we know little, and Boas, no one to tell his troubles to. Yet his was an extraor- dinary mind: the greatest in his field then, and one that has had few equals since. One is happy to know that many of his contemporaries recognized this and that Laufer felt pleasure in that recogni- tion. Notes 1. This chapter is based mainly on Laufer's field letters and reports as preserved in the Field Museum's archives, notes on Edward and Lou- ise Sonnenschein and Kate Buckingham as- sembled by Elinor Pearlstein of the Art Insti- tute of Chicago, the Laufer-Freer correspon- dence kept at the Freer Gallery, and the exten- sive documentation, including the Boas-Laufer correspondence, reprinted by Walravens ( 1 976, 1979) in his definitive four-volume work, Klei- nere Schriften von Berthold Laufer. 2. The Field Museum's Laufer archives include a program of the celebration of the 50th wedding anniversary of his paternal grandparents, Sal- omon and Johanna Laufer, held at a synagogue in Krotoschin in Prussia, now Poland (Walrav- ens 1976:cxxx). It is unclear whether Bert- hold's parents. Max and Eugenie Laufer, were practicing Jews as well. Berthold himself was not religious. 3. Proof that Laufer usually kept his business cor- respondence separate from his museum corre- spondence and that his copies of the former were subsequently destroyed comes from Eli- nor Pearlstein, who found 62 letters between Laufer and the Detroit collector Charles Freer in the archives of the Freer Gallery in Wash- ington. Although a number of Laufer's letters to Freer are on Field Museum letterhead, there are no copies in the Field Museum's own ar- chives. Laufer was advising Freer about his collection, presumably for a fee. 126 Chapter Nine 10 Henry Field, Collections, and Exhibit Development, 1926-1941 Ed Yastrow and Stephen E. Nash Fig. 10.1. Henry Field. Henry Field (Fig. 10. 1) joined the Department of Anthropology as assistant curator of physical anthropology and archaeology in 1926 and held the position until 1941. During that de- cade and a half. Field played a critical role in the development of some of the most famous exhibits the Field Mu.seum has ever produced: the Hall of the Races of Mankind, which displayed the bronze statutes made by Malvina Hoffman, and the Hall of Prehistoric Man, which contained the world-famous dioramas of prehistoric humans in action and appropriate context. Field was also in- volved in the acquisition of some of the most im- portant Paleolithic and Neolithic collections cu- rated by the Field Museum. He was instrumental in the acquisition of the skeleton known as Mag- dalenian Girl from the site of Cap Blanc in south- western France. He collected objects at the world- famous Neolithic site of Kish in Iraq and at nu- merous Upper Paleolithic sites in Europe. Henry Field's unique career certainly benefited from the fact that his great uncle, Marshall, was the Mu- seum's founder and that his cousin, Stanley, was the Museum's president. Nevertheless, he au- thored significant scholarly contributions on the archaeology and ethnology of the Levant and Near East, thereby establishing his .scientific cre- dentials. Henry Fiei.d wa.s born in Chicago in 1902. When he was 6, his mother married for the sec- ond time. Her new husband, Algernon Burnaby. owned a 2,()00-acre estate in the beautiful coun- tryside of Leicestershire, England. It was at that estate that the 1 1 -year-old Henry discovered his first prehistoric artifacts. Many years later he elaborated on the significance of this seminal event: **No discoveries since have equaled those, for they were my first, [and] I knew then what I wanted to be — I would be an archaeologist" (Field 1953:18). Field enjoyed many advantages and opportu- nities because of his pedigree, not the least of which was a privileged and extensive education, beginning at the prestigious secondary school of Eton College in Windsor, England, followed by undergraduate and graduate work at Oxford Uni- versity in England and courses at Heidelberg Uni- Henry Field 127 Fig. 10.2. Trench A at Kish in its last stages. The workmen on the left are beginning to cut Trench Y lower down. The figure surveying the field like Napoleon is Henry Field, overlooking Trench Z2. (Photograph by Eric Schroeder.) versity in Germany. As a student, he often ex- pressed his desire to work in a museum and had said that he especially wanted to be associated with the Field Museum for both familial and sci- entific reasons. In 1925, before Field graduated from Oxford, his grand-uncle Barbour Lathrop provided him with a check for $ 1 ,000 to travel the world and work at the famous archaeological site of Kish, a 5,000-year-old city located between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers in Iraq. The Field Museum had been involved since 1923 in collaborative excavations at Kish (Fig. 10.2) with the Baghdad Museum and the Ashmolean Museum of Oxford University. Field's funding was sufficient that he was able to invite L. H. Dudley Buxton, a mem- ber of Oxford's anthropology staff, to travel on the 415-day excursion with him. Buxton's ex- pertise in excavation, as well as his professional associations with others working in the fertile crescent, helped make the 1925-1926 excursion an inspiring and memorable experience in Henry Field's career. In the summer of 1926, shortly after graduating from Oxford, Field enrolled at Heidelberg Uni- versity. He attended lectures on geology and anat- omy and acquired some basic knowledge of how museum specimens were catalogued, numbered, and recorded. He visited museums in Heidelberg and 17 other European cities. He reviewed mu- seum management techniques and examined their important archaeological and fossil specimens. The published version of Field's (1935) disser- tation research, titled The Arabs of Central Iraq, Their History, Ethnology and Physical Charac- ters, was written and submitted after he completed excavations at Kish and elsewhere in Southwest Asia in 1926, 1928-1929, and 1934. Field did not receive his doctor of science degree from Oxford University until 1937, however, because of that institution's traditional refusal to award doctorates to individuals younger than 35. 1 28 Chapter Ten .^ Fig. 10.3. Hall of the Races of Mankind, featuring Malvina Hoffman's casts. Exhibit Development In 1927, shortly after being hired by the Field Museum, Field was encouraged by Chief Curator Berthold Laufer to conduct research that would lead to new exhibitions in the Museum. Field had long had dreams for two new exhibits. The first was to portray, in lifelike form, the evolution of prehistoric humans and technology from 25().(XK) years ago to about 8,(KX) years ago. The second was to identify all the races of mankind — at the time he believed there to be more than l(K) living races of humans — and to depict each in sculpture. After consulting with Laufer, Stanley Field, and Marshall Field, Henry was charged with devel- oping both of these exhibits in time for the open- ing of the 1933 World's Fair, celebrating "A Cen- tury of Progre.ss." With great determination and enthusiasm, Henry in 1927 began to lay plans for exhibits that would do justice to the mass of vis- itors, the high aspirations of the Museum, and the extreme confidence that the Museum's leadership (and his family members) had placed in him. He was not going to cut comers. In a memo to Laufer, he wrote, "For both halls the finest artists in the world must be found. . . . When completed the two halls will be the most popular [exhibits], not only in the Museum, but on any continent" (Field 1953:132). Laufer forwarded the memo to Presi- dent Stanley Field with a covering letter of rec- ommendation. The latter urged them to begin work at once. Years later, Henry Field remarked, "ILaufer's) brief memo on one single sheet was to change my life for the next six years" (Field 1953:132). The Hall of the Races of Mankind Field's other vision, the Hall of the Races of Mankind (Fig. 10.3), required that he research the latest literature and collaborate with leading au- thorities to determine which races should or should not be represented in the exhibit. Field had hoped that each life-size figure in the exhibit would be morphologically accurate as well as emotionally expressive. Laufer suggested that Field visit other museums to learn how they had designed and implemented similar exhibits. Field traveled to San Diego to study the exhibit curated by Ales Hrdlit^ka, the highly respected expert in physical anthropology. Field was impressed by the details of the presentation and hired an artist to copy them during his five-day visit. As a result of this research. Field came to be- lieve that there were 155 separate racial types, although after conferring with the leading physi- cal anthropologists in the world, including Hrdlid- ka, Henry Fairfield Osborn and William King Gregory of the American Museum of Natural His- Henry Field 129 tory in New York, and Earnest A. Hooton of Har- vard University, he and Laufer ultimately con- cluded that there were in fact 164 races of man- kind. They had agreed on the content of the exhibit; now they had to find a sculptor to complete the charge. Stanley Field wanted "realistic portraits with an artistic flair" and suggested that Henry visit the Art Institute of Chicago to find an appro- priate artist. After a disappointing afternoon wan- dering the halls of that institution, Henry reported that he had not found even one full-length figure, bust, or head conveying the inspiration and reality he sought. In frustration, Stanley asked Henry if he knew of any sculptor who would meet his re- quirements. Henry could name only the bronzes that Henry Ward had created of African natives in the Smithsonian Institution. Unfortunately, Ward had died several years before. Marshall Field was aware of the problem and, when in New York, sent a telegram back to Chi- cago recommending sculptor Malvina Hoffman (Fig. 10.4). He also suggested that Henry visit her studio in New York. Two days later Henry Field stood before Hoffman's "Pavlova" at New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, at which time he recognized immediately that the amazingly life- like figure represented the "skill of a great artist" (Field 1953:190). The next afternoon Henry Field met Hoffman in her studio and was further impressed by her work and her background; she had studied with Herbert Adams, Gutzon Borglum, and Auguste Rodin, and was the recipient of many "gold med- als, awards, and foreign decorations" (Field 1953: 191). Learning of Field's plan to sculpt 164 fig- ures, she was both shocked and excited, for the sheer size of the potential commission was un- heard of. She was not able to give him a cost estimate, but she agreed to meet in Chicago short- ly thereafter for further discussion. After meeting with Laufer, Stanley Field, and anthropologist Stephen Chapman Simms, curator at the Field Museum, Hoffman dined with Henry and Stanley Field. Following dinner, she proposed a six-figure fee that stunned them both. As he walked to the door, Stanley said that he would (or could) not even attempt to raise such a large sum of money. Hoffman, a shrewd businessperson, fascinated by the scope of the unprecedented job, suggested that reducing the number of figures from 164 to 100 and reducing the number of full- length figures would allow her to substantially re- duce the cost of the commission. Fig. 10.4. Malvina Hoffman. Stanley, who had originally thought 164 to be too high a number anyway, instructed Henry to work with Laufer immediately to cut the less im- portant types and to submit a shortened list by noon the following day. After a sleepless night of negotiations, they presented a final list of 100 rac- es to the Museum president. Hoffman subsequent- ! ly revised her estimate, working in her posh room at the Drake Hotel at Michigan Avenue and Oak Street. Laufer, Field, and Hoffman were called to the director's office at 3:15 p.m. Henry Field later recounted their conversation: Stanley Field: Dr. Laufer, are you perfectly satisfied with this revised list [of 100 racial types for the commission]? Laufer: Yes, Mr. Field. It is a good working list, but we must not be held to it. because circum- stances may arise, especially in Asia, which may make it impossible to obtain a representative of some of these types. However, I'm satisfied with these reservations. Stanley Field: Thank you. Dr. Laufer. Henry, you've been working on this plan for a good long 130 Chapter Ten Fig. 10.5. Malvina Hoffman in India. time now. You have received advice and sugges- tions from top anthropologists all over the world. In your considered opinion, is this the best pos- sible plan you can prcxlucc? Henry Field: Yes. with certain reservations, and I have perfect faith in Miss Hoffman's ability. Stanley Field: Thank you. Henry. Miss Hoffman, do you think that you will have the physical sta- mina and courage necessary to complete this as- signment? Hoffman: With God's help 1 will. Mr. Field. Stanley Field: All right, my instructions from the Board of Trustees given at a meeting less than an hour ago are "full speed ahead." The money is raised. We'll draw up a contract tomorrow. Good luck to the three of you. Henry encapsulated the moment: "All three of us (Field. Laufer, and Hoffman) almost collapsed. The strain of the past few days and of the pre- ceding sleepless night was suddenly released. We staggered to our feet and went upstairs to begin the great project. We were at long last on our way" (Field 1953:194). The final agreement, signed by Hoffman on February 18. 1930, called for her to produce 20 full-length figures, 27 life-size busts, and KX) life- size "face masks" or heads, for a guaranteed sum of $109,000. With travel and other expenses, this .sum could not exceed $I25,(XX) (Contract on file. Field Museum Archives). The winter of 1929-1930 was devoted primar- ily to planning, coordinating assignments within the Mu.seum, negotiating contracts, and arranging travel accommodations and artists' studio space throughout the world. Hoffman returned to her studio in Paris to set up where the final stages of her work would be completed. The first task wa.s to travel to Africa, Asia, Australia, and other parts of Europe, sketching, photographing, and gener- ally studying the people whose images she would sculpt (Fig. 10.5). For her round-the-world trip. Henry Field 131 '%k Fig. 10.6. "Homo erectus in Europe," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man. Hoffman was given 122 official letters of intro- duction on Field Museum letterhead. When Hoffman completed the commission in 1934, she had produced the following: Abyssinian girl (bust) Afghan Kabuli (half-length figure) African Elephant Hunter (head) Ainu male (full-length figure) Ainu male (head) Alpine Austrian (bust) Andaman Islander (full-length figure) Absaroke (Sioux) Indian (head) Arab from Kish, South Arabia (head) Armenian Jew (head) Australian Bushwoman (bust) Australian Bushman (full-length figure) Aztec Indian (head) Bali female (full-length figure) Bali female (head) Bali female (bust) Basque male (bust) Benares Brahman (head) Bengali female (head) Berber of Morocco (head) Borneo cockfighter and youth (full-length fig- ures) Borneo (Sarawak) male (bust) Borneo woman with brass necklaces (bust) Breton woman (bust) Burmese male (head) Carib man (bust) Chinese coolie (full-length figure) Chinese male (Dr. Hu Shih; bust) Congo boy (bust) Dahomian male (head) Egyptian male (bust) Eskimo female (bust) Eskimo male (bust) Georgian male (head) Hamite Wahima male (bust) Hawaiian male (head) Hawaiian surf rider male (full-length figure) Hindu male praying (full-length figure) Hong Kong female (bust) Indian, American male (full-length figure) Indian, Pasi (full-length figure) Indian, Tamil (full-length figure) Ituri Pigmy male (full-length figure) 1 32 Chapter Ten Fig. 10.7. "Neanderthal family of Gibralter, about 50,000 years ago," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man. Ituri Pigmy female, with child (full-length fig- ure) Jaipur female (head) Jakun male (bust) Japan female (bu.st) Japan female, dres.sed (bust) Japan male (bu.st) Java boy (full-length figure) Java female (head) Java male (head) Javanese cockfighter and youth (full-length fig- ure) Kalahari Bushman male (full-length figure) Kalahari Bu.shman female and baby (full-length figure) Kalahari Bushman male (bust) Kalahari female (bust) Kashmiri male (head) Sir Arthur Keith, Anglo-Saxon (head) Korean man (head) Malay male (head) Manchu male (head) Mangbetu woman (bust) Mayan Indian male (head) Mongolian male (head) Nordic man (full-length figure) Patagonian Indian male (bu.st) Pakin male (head) Rajput Indian female (bust) Mr. Rudier. French (bust) Sakai male (head) Samoan male (bust) Sara Tribe, Africa, woman (full-length figure) Setnang Pygmy (full-length figure) Shanghai male (stone) Shilluk warrior male (full-length figure) Sicilian male (full-length figure) Ceylon Singhalese male (head) Solomon Islander male (full-length figure) Symbolic Group — Black Race (full-length fig- ure) Henry Field 133 Fig. 10.8. "Aurignacian scene: Cro-Magnon Man," from the Hall of Prehistoric Man. Fig. 10.9. Swiss Lake Dweller diorama. 1 34 Chapter Ten Fig. iO.lU. Neanderthal Man. Symbolic Group — White Race (full-length fig- ure) Symbolic Group — Yellow Race (full-length fig- ure) Tam Tarn of Senegal (full-length) Tibetan male (full-length figure) Tibetan female (head) Toda, southern India male (bust) Uganda woman (bust) Wedua male, Ceylon (full-length figure) Of the completed Hall of the Races of Mankind. Henry Field later wrote. No one can see these bronzes and fail to be im- pressed by the innate dignity of man. The Shiiluk warrior epitomizes the hunt. The liny African Pyg- mies portray the seriousness of family life. Daboa, the African dancing girl is a jungle Pavlova. The merchant from Lhasa. Tibet, wears the lcH>k of the philosopher Each race has its own distinction and its own dignity. (Field 195.^:226) The Races of Mankind exhibit was removed in 1968. By that time, the concept of race had be- come anathema to anthropologists: "The term *race' has been confused by so much emotion and false meaning that it is better not to use it at all in the ca.se of man" (Montagu 1959:101). As such, an exhibit that had been conceived in the 1920s and early 1930s to identify and distinguish racial difference could exist in toto no longer. Be- cau.se the Malvina Hoffman statues are so famous, however. 44 of them remain on display through- out the Museum. The Hall of Prehistoric Man Field's vision for the Hall of Prehistoric Man included a series of dioramas in which expertly sculpted, life-size models of our human ancestors would depict different eras in the evolution of ear- ly humans. At the time, anthropologists' under- standing of human evolution and culture tended to simplistically equate cultural and biological evolution and technological development in stag- es in a manner that proved convenient to the ex- hibit conceived by Field. Of the eight proposed dioramas, one would include Lower Paleolithic tools from Africa being used by Homo erectus. which was at the time the earliest known human ancestor (Fig. 10.6). Another would have Nean- derthals from southwestern France using Middle Paleolithic tools (Fig. 10.7). A third would have fully modem Homo sapiens using Upper Paleo- lithic stone tcx^ls. though the human nuxlels would be replete with ornaments and other artistic items that were unknown in earlier time periods (Fig. 10.8). A fourth diorama would include Swiss Lake Dwellers, known from archaeological sites in the Alps (Fig. 10.9). Fredrick C. Bla.schke, a distinguished sculptor with whom Henry had worked previously, was contracted to sculpt the figures for the eight di- oramas planned for the Hall of Prehistoric Man. The carved and hand-painted exhibit backgrounds provided the viewer with a perception of depth and greater size for the exhibit and included rep- resentative plants and animals of each period. Each of Bla.schke's life-size figures was expres- sive and realistic, adorned with real human hair (Fig. 10.10). Where appropriate, exhibit cases dis- Henry Field 135 Fig. 10.1 1. Cap Blanc skeleton, or Magdalenian Girl. played the tools, weapons, and decorative and symbolic objects that the respective people had made and used and the fossil remains of the ani- mals they exploited. The artifacts shown being "used" by the fig- ures in each diorama were scientifically accurate and. where possible, were actual artifacts from the Field Museum's collections. Lower Paleolithic tools came from Egypt, Somalia, South Africa, and India. The Swiss Lake Dweller material came from gifts made to the Chicago Columbian Mu- seum at the close of the world's fair in 1893. Mid- dle Paleolithic hand axes and cleavers had come from the famous excavations by the Abbe Breuil in the Somme gravels of central France. Upper Paleolithic artifacts came from Henry Field's own collecting work in Europe, especially in France, where Museum folklore has it that Field built a church for the townspeople of Solutre in exchange for the bulk of the collection from La Solutre, a famous Upper Paleolithic site. On May 30, 1933 the Century of Progress ex- position opened. As Field wrote, "On that day, to our own blaze of publicity, our two halls were at last thrown open to the world. . . . The Hall of Prehistoric Man was all I had hoped it would be, as I had dreamt it since my sixteenth year. Here within the space of a half hour, walking past the 1 36 Chapter Ten eight dramatic and colorful dioramas, a visitor might read in true-to-life chapters the past quarter of a milHon years of Man's history" (Field 1953: 210-211). The Hall of Prehistoric Man remained virtually unchanged for 55 years. Certain moditications. however, were made when new discoveries war- ranted change. A large case displaying casts of the Piltdown Man "discovery" was removed in the early 195()s when the original specimens proved to be fraudulent. In 1972. five Neanderthal statues were replaced when anthropologists dis- covered that their physical appearance was con- siderably different from what earlier experts had thought. (The first Neanderthal reconstruction, by Marcellin Boule in 1913. had been based on the skeleton of an elderly Neanderthal from the site of La Chapelle-aux-Saints. who was crippled by arthritis and was therefore severely stooped over even when trying to stand upright. More recent Neanderthals discoveries and more sophisticated paleopathological analyses forced scientists to re- vise their presentations of Neanderthals to a more upright, nearly modem gait.) In 1985. all of the exhibit labels in the Hall of Prehistoric Man were rewritten because some of the objects were inac- curately dated, cultural and chronological terms were no longer in favor, or countries had been renamed. In 1988. the exhibit was dismantled, marking the end of an era for Field Museum an- thropology. Some of the specimens, including the Magdalenian Girl, are now included in the Mu- seum's permanent exhibit. Life Over Time, where the history of life on Earth is described. Collections: Magdalenian Girl One of Henry Field's most significant acquisi- tions came to the Field Museum somewhat for- tuitously after he visited to the American Museum of Natural History in New York in the early 1930s. During that visit. Gregory told Field about a skeleton from the Upper Paleolithic site of Cap Blanc in the Dordogne region of southwestern France. The American Museum had been holding the skeleton on consignment for eleven years. The Cap Blanc skeleton (Fig. 10.1 1 ). now also known as the Magdalenian Girl, is the nearly complete skeleton of a teenage girl who lived during the latest part of the Upper Paleolithic (Magdalenian period) some 15.000 years ago. It remains the most complete Upper Paleolithic skeleton avail- able for study in North America. The skeleton was found buried below a mag- nificent frieze of horses carved on the limestone wall of the Cap Blanc rcKk shelter The owner of the site. Monsieur Grimaud. recognized the im- portance and potential value of the skeleton, and rumor has it that he smuggled it out of France during World War I as the remains of an Ameri- can soldier, replete with coffin and forged papers. In New York, he offered the skeleton to the Amer- ican Museum for $I2.(KX). but no transaction was ever finalized. Field was quite enthusiastic at what he saw as a "chance to fire the imagination of Chicago" (Field 1953:135) and recommended to Laufer that a representative of Marshall Field and Company then in Paris be sent to Grimaud. with the equiv- alent of $1.(XK) in cash and a receipt for his sig- nature. Once made, Grimaud accepted the offer, and Field hurried to New York to personally and carefully pack the skeleton in cotton wool and carry it, in a suitcase, from the basement of the American Museum to a compartment on the 20th Century Limited train to Chicago. Some years lat- er. Field reported the concurrent acquisition of "an ivory harpoon point, described as having been found near her ventral cavity" (Field 1953: 135). He referred to the object as the possible cause of death and so labeled it in the exhibit. On a Saturday morning, Magdalenian Girl was wheeled, in an exhibit case, into the majestic Stanley Field Hall, near the main entrance to the museum. In Field's words. The evening and morning paf)ers and ihe press ser- vices had carried the dramatic story of the arrival in Chicago on the \20lh\ Century [Limited] of a twenty-thousand-year-old Magdalenian girl [since redated to about 15.(XX) years) — "the only prehis- toric skeleton in the United States." which she was at the time. This was front-page news. The story went all over the world. There was much speculation. Why had she been buried beneath the frieze of horses? Was she killed by her lover's ivory lance point? Was it by another Cro-Magnon girl? Was her brother avenging the family's honor? Was she killed in battle? Why was she buried in the sanctuary? Was she the daughter of the sculptor-high priest? That Saturday 22,{X)0 visitors came to the museum, most of them to see "Miss Cro-Magnon." At noon the crowd was so dense around her that captain of the guard. Sergeant Abbey, notified the Museum director that two guards must be placed there to keep the people moving and orderly. D. C. Davies. Mu.seum Director, could hardly believe his eyes — Henry Field 137 nothing like this had happened before at the Field Museum. The press and photographers badgered Dr. Laufer, as Chief Curator, for interviews and pic- tures. This was the first exhibit in the new building to capture the pubic and press imagination. That night 1 went to bed very happy. The furor continued again on Sunday and to a less- er extent on the following weekdays and paydays. I am sure that "Miss Cro-Magnon's" obvious pop- ularity played a dominant role in deciding the pres- ident and trustees to look favorably upon our pro- posed Hall of Prehistoric Man. (Field 1953:135- 136) Most likely it did. But even if it had not been so glamorously "hyped" to account for record crowds, or even if it did not influence the decision to install the Hall of Prehistoric Man, the Cap Blanc skeleton was and is a superb acquisition. Recently, President John McCarter initiated an ef- fort to cast the Cap Blanc skeleton, and in mid- 2001 a replica was sent back to the site for ex- hibition. The Field Museum accession file on the 155 bones and fragments constituting the specimen in- cludes copies of the correspondence between the American Museum in New York and Grimaud, the French owner, from 1922 to 1925. In that cor- respondence, Gregory, at the American Museum, repeatedly and specifically asked whether any ar- tifacts had been found in direct association with the bones. Grimaud assured him that no such ar- tifacts had been found. This begs the question of where the ivory point, alleged by Field to have been found with the skeleton, actually came from. The data remain unclear. ^ ^ ^ Henry Field left Chicago in 1941 to take oath of his commission as lieutenant in the U.S. Navy in Washington. On arriving, he was informed that he had been assigned to other duties "on higher au- thority." President Franklin D. Roosevelt had ap- proached Field in the Museum a year earlier with questions concerning the Near East. Now, with the threat of war growing, Roosevelt wanted Field as a research specialist and adviser on that area. Field remained in Washington until late 1945. His assignment had been broadened to include other intelligence matters here and abroad at the direction of President Roosevelt and later Presi- dent Truman. Now, after the demands of govern- ment service and the nearly frenetic years at the Field Museum, Henry felt free to devote himself fully to anthropological research, the revision and publication of eight manuscripts on Southwestern Asia, and world travel. Field's dedication, enthu- siasm, and resources allowed him to make signif- icant contributions to the Field Museum in both research and exhibition spheres. Two of the most famous exhibits at the Field Museum in the twen- tieth century are the result of his indefatigable ef- forts, and the acquisition of much of the Muse- um's Upper and Middle Paleolithic collections from Europe are similarly attributable to this re- markable individual. Henry Field died in 1986. 138 Chapter Ten r 11 A Tale of Two Thompsons: The Contributions of Edward H. Thompson and J. Eric S. Thompson to Anthropology at the Field Museum Donald McVicker Edward Herbert Thompson (1860-1935) and John Eric Sydney Thompson (1898-1975) are known for their archaeological work in the Maya area, and both were associated with Chi- cago's Field Museum. Yet they appear to repre- sent opposite poles of Maya research: Edward Thompson the nineteenth-century era of roman- tic description and Eric Thompson the twentieth- century era of scientific classification. Today's asse.ssment of Edward Thompson is quite nega- tive: his name brings to mind the gutting of the I High Priest's Grave at Chich^n Itz^ and the dredging of the Sacred Cenote at the same site. Eric Thompson, on the other hand, is considered to have been the doyen of Maya archaeology: his name brings to mind his correlation of the Maya/ Christian calendar and his catalogue of Maya hi- eroglyphics.' This chapter reevaluates the reputations of these two Mayanists in the light of the work that they did for the Field Museum and the impact of Eric Thompson's as.sessment of Edward Thomp- son's place in the history of American archae- ology. It uses archival records to examine the scientific value of often underutilized collections 1 stacked in storerooms. These records also pro- vide insight into how collections were obtained and the role that institutions as employers played in the amassing of antiquities (see Welsch. this volume). Archival research indicates that the drive to gather objects for professional and fi- nancial rewards encouraged fieldworkers to carry out questionable maneuvers regardless of their public reputations. Edward H. Thompson Edward Thompson's Chicago connection began with the Chicago World's Columbian Exposition of 1893. In the 1880s he had been appointed American consul to Yucatan and had begun to carry out explorations for his patron Charles P. Bowditch and the Worcester American Antiquar- ian Society (Thompson 1929). He was soon con- nected with Harvard University's Peabody Mu- seum, and when Director Frederic Ward Putnam was appointed chief of the Anthropology Section at the Chicago fair, he retained Thompson to make molds of ancient Maya structures for his exhibits (Fig. 11.1). The recon.structed facades of Labna and Uxmal were quite popular at the fair, and Thompson caught the attention of a second pa- tron, Allison Vincent Armour, scion of one of the wealthiest families in Chicago — not. however, the meatpacking Armours (McVicker 1999b). Ar- mour was a guarantor of the World's fair and sat on the board of the newly founded Museum. He was also quite a yachtsman, sailed to visit Edward Thompson in Yucatan, and in 1894 "assisted" Thompson in the purchase of the hacienda on which Chichdn Itza was located. When William Henry Holmes joined the Field Columbian Museum as the first curator of anthro- pology in 1894, Armour proposed a joint archae- ological/botanical expedition to Mexico. In late December 1894, Holmes and curator of botany, Charles F. Millspaugh, .sailed for the Yucatan pen- insula on Armour's yacht, the Iiuna. On landing in Progreso, they were met by Edward Thompson, now known as Don Eduardo, who served as their A Tale of Two Thompsons 1 39 Fig. 11.1. Papier-mache casts of Mayan stele ruins, and Mesoamerican sculptures made by Edward H. Thompson for the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893. guide and mentor. The results of this expedition placed the Field Museum on the map of Mesoam- erican studies. Later, Armour supported the pub- lication of Holmes's Archaeological Studies Among the Ancient Cities of Mexico (1895, 1897) and provided the funds for the sizable collection of top-quality antiquities received by the Muse- um. Armour wanted Thompson to associate himself with the Field Museum and provide collections for it. He was willing to pay Thompson's salary — a tempting offer, since Thompson's consul posi- tion had not been renewed. Against Putnam's ad- vice that money alone would not make a scientific institution and that "in Chicago all would be drive and rush and largely sensational effects" (FWP/ WCE, Putnam to Thompson, May 19, 1894), Thompson chose Armour's patronage and the new museum. He was expected to continue his work in Yucatan, and his proposal to excavate at Xkich- mook and Chichen Itza (Fig. 1 1 .2) was accepted. Thompson worked at Xkichmook, submitted well-received reports, and "by the kind liberality of Mr. Allison V. Armour" sent a large collection of potsherds and other artifacts (Fig. 1 1 .3) to Chi- cago to be "placed at the disposal of the Field Columbian Museum (E. H. Thompson 1898:213). This collection remains largely unstudied, al- though Mayanist Charles Lincoln began research on it over ten years ago.- After Xkichmook, Thompson concentrated his efforts on Chichen Itza. Best known from this time is his excavation of the Mound of the Burial Shaft, now known by his later label The High Priest's Grave. The original reports that Eric Thompson later edited for publication (Thompson 1938) are in the archives of the Museum (FMA/ HPG). On December 28, 1 896, Thompson wrote to Holmes (FMA/HPG), "Every specimen was personally found by me and taken by hand from graves . . . and the notes made make the speci- mens . . . priceless and will give to the Museum at one blow the best existing collection of the kind from the ruined groups of the Yucatan." In a sub- sequent letter of September 23, 1897 (FMA/ HPG), he assures Holmes of the accuracy of his works and plans, and offers minor corrections as "sins of omission." Thompson's determination to gather the "best" collection for the Museum be- came a running theme that was to be repeated 140 Chapter Eleven Fig. 1 1 .2. Temple of the Jaguars, ChicMn Itzd, Yucatan. Mexico. Fig. 1 1 .3. An orange ware pedestal vase and a pot- tery incense burner from Chich^n Itza. Yucatan. Mexico. more than 30 years later in the work of Eric Thompson in British Honduras (now Belize). The extent of Thompson's work at Chichen Itzd is not generally recognized and is therefore un- dervalued. He did extensive survey and excava- tion in "Old Chichen." and his lengthy report on the Temple of the Tablets and Temple of the Phal- os remains archived and unpublished. His intro- duction to this report captures the flavor of late nineteenth-century archaeology and the tension between romanticism and science: About three-quarters of a mile south of El Castillo in the Chichen It/i group lies buried in the forest a terrace three hundred thirty feet long by three hundred feet wide. Great trees like those of the pri- meval forest cover its surface. A thick blanket of vegetable mould, the product of centuries, hides from view the greater portion of man's handiwork and only the formless mounds that loc^m up above its otherwise level surface and the ends of broken columns or sculptured fragments show that man once worked his will where nature reigns supreme. A Tale of Two Thompsons 141 The temptation was great to throw our system to the winds, select the spot most promising for find- ing specimens, and dig. Having been taught by ex- perience that any work to be well done must be systematic, and that haste to achieve brilliant results is the ruin of accurate data, I steadily resisted the temptation and commenced clearing the entire ter- race of its forest growth and vegetable covering un- til every outline of fallen stones or standing walls was visible and ready for intelligent investigation. (FMA/HPG, "Explorations in Chichen Itza") Although usually thought an amateur and self- taught,' Thompson had learned "all systematic methods of field work and general investigation" from Putnam (PMAC, Thompson to Putnam, De- cember 9, 1893). In 1894 he had been assured by Putnam, who did not have an advanced degree himself, that college graduation did not make a difference. "We care not whether a man is a grad- uate or not so long as he is at the head of his special line of work" (FWPAVCE, Putnam to Thompson, May 19, 1894). Perhaps if Thompson had not dredged the Sa- cred Cenote and removed its treasures, he might not be reviled by so many today. By the time he began, he had ended his association with the Field Museum"* and had been retained by Putnam and Harvard's Peabody Museum. Although the Field Museum did receive some specimens from the ce- note, the bulk of the booty went to the Peabody. Despite later suits by the Mexican government and the postrevolution seizure of his hacienda, old Don Eduardo remained unrepentant. In a paper he read before the American Antiquarian Society ti- tled "Forty Years of Research and Exploration in the Yucatan" (Thompson 1929:48), he concluded that "all those treasures of a past civilization are stored under the roof and between the walls of a great institution [Harvard's Peabody Museum], safe from the grasp of vandals' hands, saved for science to study and reveal for which I am thank- ful'" (emphasis in the original). An aspect of Thompson's career that is often overlooked was his devotion to the Yucatecan Maya and his ethnographic records of their life- ways. His recognition of the close relationship be- tween studying the present and reconstructing the past compares favorably with the later work of Eric Thompson. In his popular memoir, Thomp- son described himself as "the Yankee archaeolo- gist who became almost a Maya in the belief that a close study of the psychology of the descendants of the ancient builders and calendar-makers might be of aid in reconstructing the ideas and methods of times long past." Living most of his adult life in Merida and at Chichen he claimed fluency in Yucatec Maya — "and while I lived among them I learned their legends firsthand. About the camp- fire, on the jungle trail, or while at work in the ruined cities of their forefathers. The ancient Maya tongue became my second language" (Thompson 1932:11). Professional reputations in science often are built on publications. Thompson's bibliography is curious at best. Early on, Putnam had warned him \ against too great an involvement with Chicago, since he had "much to do in the future preparing ; of all your material for publication" (FWPAVCE, Putnam to Thompson, May 19, 1894). Despite Putnam's advice, Thompson seemed unable or un- willing to prepare a manuscript for publication without the aid of an editor. Even his best field report on his excavations at Xkichmook (Thomp- son 1898) was edited by Holmes, and his best- known monograph on the High Priest's Grave was prepared by Eric Thompson (1938) more than 30 years after the excavations. After Holmes left the Field Museum in 1897, he was sent Edward Thompson's existing manu- scripts to edit and prepare for publication. How- ever, after he "rewrote the Xkichmook paper," Holmes returned the other manuscripts and in- formed Curator George Amos Dorsey in 1 899 that he received no thanks from Thompson for it and that Thompson did not reply to his letters (FMA/ HPG, Holmes to Dorsey, November 22, 1899). "As he [Edward Thompson] does not desire to have other papers published as yet I am hardly justified in wasting more of my time revising them." Why there was a falling out with Holmes is not recorded. However, by 1 899 Armour had also left Chicago, and Thompson had once again placed his future in the hands of Putnam and the Pea- body. Despite all his work at the Cenote, after his 1904 Peabody paper on Archaeological Research- es in the Yucatan (Thompson 1904), Thompson was never again to publish the results of his re- search.'' Edward Thompson ended his archaeological career at Chichen Itza. Eric Thompson began his career at the same site. They were there at the same time in 1926 and obviously must have met, yet neither acknowledges having met the other. Eric Thompson's view of Edward was negative to ; a fault. In 1929, he wrote regarding Thompson's work at Chichen, "A fragment of truth hidden be- low the fantastic embroidery of a lurid imagina- tion. The romantic mind of Mr. Edward H. 142 Chapter Eleven Fig. 11.4. J. Eric S. Thompson in 1967 on the oc- casion of the 40th anniversary of the pubUcation of Civ- ilisation of the Maya. Thompson pervades the city of the Sacred Well to such an extent as to make it useless for scien- tific purposes" (FMA/JETEF. Folder 2 1).'' Later, in his edition of "The High Priest's Grave" (Thompson 1938:10), Eric Thompson remarked more diplomatically that Edward Thompson "be- longed to the old school that was content to con- sider archaeology as hi.story."^ John Eric Sidney Thompson Eric Thompson (Fig. 1 1.4) arrived at Chichdn Itzd in 1926 as a young scholar fresh from study- ing anthropology with Haddon at Cambridge to work for Sylvanus G. Morley and the Carnegie Institution of Washington. He surveyed and ex- cavated and made three trips to the largely un- known site of Cobd, convincing Morley that it was a Classic site predating Chichen. While there, he was in contact with the Field Museum and even proposed a cooperative endeavor between the two institutions. He also suggested that the Carnegie Institution get permission from the Mex- ican government to take to the United States from Chichen a duplicate plumed serpent masked panel that would be given to the Field Museum in return for cooperation the next season. "As you can see (enclosed photos] it is a most beautiful work and art, and would make a great addition to the Mu- seum" (FMA/DC, J. E. Thompson to Davies, un- dated 11926?)). The Field Museum did not re- spond to his proposal. Following his stint at Chicht^n Itz5. he served briefly as an assistant in the Department of An- thropology at the Field Museum. He resigned his post because he had promised to help British ar- chaeologist T. A. Joyce on the British Museum's second expedition to Lubaantun, British Honduras (Belize) (Thompson et al. 1927). While there, he proposed to Joyce, who was overseeing the ex- cavations, a cooperative arrangement between the British Museum and the Field Museum to work at Copan, Honduras. Joyce would have none of it, and in turn Thompson wrote a highly critical letter describing the British expedition (FMA/DC. J. E. Thompson to Laufer, March 27. 1927). Unhappy with his countrymen, in the same letter Thompson expressed his desire to reconnect with the Field Museum: "I would like to know if your offer that I could return to Field Museum, if I wanted to still holds good." Unfortunately, President Stanley Field was un- happy with "the rather abrupt manner in which [Thompson] left the Museum" (FMA/JETFE, Field to J. E. Thompson, August 23, 1927), and predictably Museum Director D. C. Davies also "was positively opposed to [his] re-instatement" (FMA/DC, Laufer to J. E. Thompson, September 24, 1927). Fortunately, Thompson's case was strongly supported by Curator Berthold Laufer." Thompson created a near disaster when the im- petuous young archaeologist wrote directly to Stanley Field that the Museum should drop the Maya area and establish itself in Peru. "Person- ally I would as soon excavate in Peru. . . . Exca- vation in the Maya area is a gamble, one cannot be assured of finding gom bugs and flies. The dago boys will tell me lies. but you can bet it's paradise. ^ ^ ^ Both Thompson.s were men of their time and pro- fession. In fact. Edward Thompson's early exca- vations, mapping, and photography were far in advance of many of his colleagues. The Field Mu- seum still profits from the results and the public from the objects displayed. In turn, scholars are indebted to his contributions to archives and storerooms. His removal of material from Mexico in violation of the antiquities laws is reprehensible but no worse than others of this time. Whether in Washington, Boston, or Chicago, London, Berlin or Paris, all were saving from modern savagery the remains of the past for the enlightenment of the Western world. '^ Edward Thompson survived in a world of pa- tronage. He was never fully employed by the Field Museum: his position was always that of an "outside agent." and the Museum anticipated that Allison V. Armour would supply the funds for sal- ary and collections. It was the collections that Thompson sent to Chicago that defined his suc- cess, not his own research agenda. He repeatedly informed Holmes that he could remove the ma- terial from Mexico if left to his own devices: "I do not need any concession if I can only have time sufficient to get in my work and get my spec- imens out of the country in a quietly secure way" (FMA/AF. Thompson to Holmes. December 28[?1, 1896). Thompson, the expatriate, rarely visited Chi- cago and the Museum. However, in Accession file number 491. relating to one of the largest assort- ments of "Ancient Relics from Chichen Itza" (and an Armour gift), curator Holmes noted that when Thompson was in Chicago in 1896. he made additions and wrote cards for all the speci- mens. These notes are still of value to researchers. Thompson never extended his excavations be- yond the northern lowlands of the Yucatan pen- insula, and by 1897 he had become almost exclu- sively identified with Chichen Itza. This afforded him few opportunities for comparative research. which could be used to address a broader range of anthropological interests. Although the site can be all-consuming, it offered him limited oppor- tunities for contributions to areas that were later to cinch the fame of Eric Thompson — hieroglyph- ics and calendrics. Although the art and architec- ture of the site are remarkable, neither is as ac- cessible or as attractive to the American public as are the artistic achievements of the Classic Maya of the southern lowlands, including much of Be- lize. Overall, it can be argued that Edward Thomp- son was one of many early researchers who were marginalized in the then professionalizing field of anthropology dominated by the Boasian agenda (McVicker 1989): this agenda demanded that all data be precisely gathered and objectively de- scribed, that all cultures be placed in their own historical context and be evaluated on their own terms. In addition. Thompson was demonized for dredging the cenote and removing its treasures from Mexico, work carried out under the aegis of the Peabody Museum at Harvard. Why Eric Thompson, not a noted Boasian. seemed determined to destroy Edward Thomp- .son's reputation at every opportunity cannot be explained in a satisfactory manner. Perhaps he viewed himself as representing a new generation of professional archaeologists, and did everything he could to disassociate himself from the per- ceived errors of his predecessors. As archaeolo- gist Raymond H. Thompson noted (personal com- munication. 2(X)2). "Eric may have felt that he had to disasstKiate himself from Edward H. Thompson — he told me that on his first trip to Mexico (Mexican archaeologist and architect Ig- nacioj Marquina advised him to u.se his mother's maiden name because "the name Thompson stinks in Mexico'!" Writing style also played a role in diminishing the contributions that Edward Thompson made to the Field Museum and to Maya archaeology. He began his career before the standards of scientific reportage had been fully formalized (some might say fossilized). He never clearly separated his sci- ence from romance, and as anthropology profes- sionalized his reputation suffered as a result. However, as reviewed above, he was adamant that his maps and descriptions were as accurate as pos- sible. Edward Thompson's collections are a signifi- cant part of his legacy. Certainly some of the most striking pieces in the Maya collection would not be held by the Museum had it not been for his A Tale of Two Thompsons 147 efforts. If he had not provided Holmes with his expertise on the Armour Ituna expedition, many of the finest pieces of Mesoamerican art would not have entered the Museum collections. How- ever, these exhibit pieces overshadow his exca- vated material, particularly from Xkichmook. It is this material that may prove to have the most en- during scientific value for contemporary archae- ology. In some respects Eric Thompson appears to have been the opposite of Edward Thompson. He was employed by institutions and was adept at balancing the conflicting demands of the scien- tific staff and the business dominated boards. Supported by Laufer, the Boasian, he was often able to promote his own research agenda. His early fascination with inscriptions and calendrics established him as one of the leaders in a pres- tigious specialty. In his memoir (1963:5-6), he recalls how "the ability to read and complete Maya hieroglyphic dates" was his chief asset in convincing Morley to hire him at Chichen in 1926, for "students of Maya glyphs were as scarce as hen's teeth." '^ Eric Thompson understood the significance of carefully excavated objects not only for complete collections but also as data for comparative stud- ies. He was equally clear on the significance of variation within the colony and sought informa- tion from the north to the south. Since each ex- pedition proposal required approval by the host government, when the Museum requested a con- cession for the Museum's third expedition to Brit- ish Honduras (1931), Thompson had the Museum director write to the governor of British Honduras (FMA/JETEF, Director to Governor of British Honduras [1930?]) that "one of the objects of the proposed expedition is to define Maya culture zones of the [colony's] districts, and to ascertain connections with the cities of Peten." Though Edward Thompson's work and inter- ests in "tombs and temples" remained remark- ably consistent throughout his long career, Eric Thompson was more in touch with changes in his profession. Before he left the Field Museum, he recognized the importance of digging in res- idences and wrote to Simms on February 16, 1934 (FMA/JETEF), "The mound I am excavat- ing appears to have served as the residence of persons of some importance, and in that respect represents a type of Maya building about which very little is known, since most excavations in the Maya area have centered on temple build- ings.' Eric Thompson was also sensitive to issues of chronology and origin. In the division of material at the end of his second expedition in 1929 (FMA/ JETEF, Thompson to Laufer, May 1, 1929), he is explicit concerning his interest in "pre-Maya" and his determination to get all the early material from his excavations for the Field Museum. As a curator and full-time employee, Eric Thompson was committed to the Museum's mis- sions. On April 21, 1928, he wrote to Laufer from the field (FMA/JETEF) that he would have plenty to do when he got back to Chicago: his ethno- graphic publication and installation of collections. "Personally I would be all for a season next year in Honduras, but work is accumulating so much from the last two seasons that I think I ought to put in a year at the Museum." This commitment continued until the end. In the annual report for 1933 (ANRD 1934:183), the reorganization of Halls 8 and 9 under the direction of J. Eric Thompson was recorded, a reorganization that would include 12 cases of archaeology and eth- nology filled with many objects never before dis- played. When Laufer reached the end of his ten- ure, Thompson even took over the responsibility of continuing his former curator's work on the ethnology of China and Tibet (ANRD 1936:322). Eric Thompson far exceeded Edward Thomp- son in writing and publication. Although he clearly had a flair for the dramatic and a way with words, he expressed himself appropriately in public, private, and professional communica- tions. His popular Field Museum leaflet The Civ- ilisation of the Maya was first published in 1927 and, by the time of his death in 1975, had gone through 57 editions. He also produced a similar leaflet on the archaeology of South America (Thompson 1936). Both Thompsons wrote mem- oirs toward the end of their lives (Thompson 1932; Thompson 1963). When these memoirs are compared, their contrasting styles and content il- lustrate different writers working at different times. Both Thompsons faced the tensions inherent in an organization where the aims of the board of directors to gather sizable collections and present dramatic exhibitions for the public and patrons were often in conflict with those of the scientific staff (see Terrell 1991). Scientific objectivity and emphasis on data collection to test hypotheses had less appeal to museum directors, patrons, and col- lectors than the search for attention-grabbing ob- jects, particularly when the objects excavated con- 148 Chapter Eleven sisted of fragments of tools and broken pieces of pottery. t For example, when Fran/ Boas resigned after his brief tenure organizing the anthropology col- lections from the Chicago World's Fair, he . claimed that Museum Director Skiff, acting for I the board of trustees, had refused to suppt)rt the , scientific staff in its research objectives. Follow- ing Boas, Holmes resigned after less than three years as curator and echoed Boas's accusations (McVicker I999a:46. 48). On the other hand. Ed- ward Thompson's responses to institutional de- mands aligned him closely with the board. He was both a product of his times and beholden to his patrons, although in context, he Kk) tried to bal- ance his understanding of science with his drive to collect. j^ Although Eric Thompson balanced science and r showmanship with greater skill than did Edward ^ Thompson, their attitude toward building collec- tions was surprisingly similar. As an assistant cu- rator in the Department of Anthropology, he could leave the campaign for science to Chief Curator Laufer. However, it is clear that he lcx> was ca- pable of putting collections enhancement as his primary objective. Perhaps it was Thompson's im- perial background that served him well in Brit- ain's Central American colony. He justified the removal of cultural patrimony using the same ar- guments that Edward Thompson used a genera- tion before — saving the objects from the fate they would suffer in backward countries. From the time of his first expedition to British Honduras, he understotxl that "a primary objective of the expedition was to obtain exhibitable material for the Field Museum" (Thompson 1963:160). In establishing their objectives, both Thomp- sons were responding to the philosophy that guid- ed public programming in the Field Museum. Al- though this collecting mentality was hardly unique to the Mu.seum, at times it may have been overslressed in Chicago. Chicago was always de- termined to be the first city, a ranking that de- pended on the excellence of its cultural institu- tions. The Chicago Museum was always compet- ing with New York. Philadelphia, and Washing- ton. Despite Putnam's warning to Edward Thompson, after he and Boas were replaced at the new Columbian Mu.seum by businessmen and a well-connected archaeologist (Holmes) from the Bureau of American Ethnology (McVicker 1999a), both Edward H. Thompson and J. Eric S. Thompson were unable to initially resist the hus- tle, bustle, and big show of the City on the Make. Notes 1 . For a brief biography of Edward H. Thomp- son, .see Brunhouse ( 1973). For a brief biog- raphy and select bibliography of J. Eric S. Thompson, see Hammond (1977:1-17). 2. Charles Lincoln (personal communication), who has done extensive work at Chichen Itza (cf. Lincoln 1986). finds that Xkichmook is a "fabulously interesting site" and considers Edward Thompson's collection quite valu- able. Lincoln conducted a surface survey at the site in the 1980s and was able to compare his collection with Thompson's material gath- ered l(K) years earlier. Thompson was "thor- ough, if nothing else." and the Field Museum collection is considerably richer than what can be collected on the surface today. 3. Ignacio Bemal (1980:155). in his History- of Mexican Archaeolof>y. mentions Thompson only once and refers to his Chichen It/a "digs" as the work of an amateur. On the other hand, he refers to Eric Thompson's re- search and publications many times and la- bels him "the greatest of the Mayanists" (1980:179). However, as a Mexican scholar, Bemal shared the continued bitterness of his colleagues and fellow citizens over the "loot- ing" of the Sacred Cenote by Edward Thompson. 4. In Anthropology Accession File 499 (FMA/ AF) is a letter of "resignation" from Thomp- son to Museum Director Frederick J. V. Skiff dated December 9. 1897. In the letter he states, "I think that the decision of your Ex- ecutive Committee is entirely a wi.se one. I think I know your desires in this matter, and I am sure that I cannot fulfill them so long as the laws of Mexico are as they are." Presum- ably the subject of this letter is the "export" of artifacts. It is ironic that Thomp.son shows such sensitivity to the laws under question and apparently stands against the Museum's desire to increase its collections; several years later he began the dredging of the Sacred Ce- note and engaged in machinations to remove the greatest number of jade and gold objects ever taken from Mexico. 5. It should be noted that the dredging of the Cenote was carried out with such secrecy to avoid cla.shes with the Mexican authorities that no official publication appeared analyz- ing artifacts recovered until 1952 (Lothrop 1952). In 1926, T A. Willard's account of A Tale of Two Thompsons 1 49 Thompson's activities at Chichen Itza was published. His book. City of the Sacred Well (Willard 1926), included Thompson's remi- niscences of treasures recovered by dredging and diving in the cenote of sacrifice. Coinci- dentally. in 1926 the Mexican government unsuccessfully sued Harvard's Peabody Mu- seum for the return of Thompson's collection and accused the Field Museum of "harboring stolen goods" (FMA/DC, Laufer to E. H. Thompson, September 8, 1926; cf. Coggins 1984:25). If Thompson had written any unpublished accounts, then they were probably destroyed along with his personal museum and other pa- pers when his hacienda at Chichen burned at the time of the Mexican Revolution. Accord- ing to Alfred Tozzer's friend, correspondent, and fellow Americanist Adela Breton, there was a manuscript. "I am glad you are going to bring out the Report on the Cenote and can imagine Mr. T's [manuscript] is difficult to utilize" (PMA/TC, Breton to Tozzer, Novem- ber 28, 1920). Tozzer's report was finally published in 1957 (Tozzer 1957). 6. Edward Thompson's contemporary Frederick Starr, the first anthropologist at the University of Chicago, had a considerably more positive view of Thompson's work and objectives. On one of his expeditions to Mexico, Starr met Thompson in Merida. "I was much interested in Mr. Thompson's work. I had never realized that it is his chosen life work. He has really done a great deal and has done it very well. . . . His farm at Chichen is close to the ruins and he has built it with some care and wants it to be a sort of scientific center and meeting and stopping place for workers" (FSFN/UC, February 1901:17-19). Alfred Tozzer had a less positive view. "Now Miss [Adela] Breton looks at the artistic side with a little archaeology thrown in, Mr. Thompson from that of a half-popular, half-scientific sci- entist. . . . Mr. Thompson has outlined his plans to me for his future work here among the ruins [Chichen]. They constitute a little of everything. This is his great trouble, he doesn't stick at one place but flits around, a hole dug here, another there" (PMA/TC, Toz- zer to his mother, March 12, 1902). 7. Less diplomatically, in the first proof of the High Priest's Grave manuscript, above the notes on artifacts, Eric Thompson remarks, "Here Mr. [Edward] Thompson disregards tradition which is unanimous in sending the shadowy Kukulcan back to Central Mexico during his lifetime and pays scant attention to the teachings of Mr. Plinsoll." Next he inserts a footnote quoting a poem by an anonymous English nautical author: I have often asked them as a kid "What was it Mr. Plinsoll did?" He did what's all too rare. In fine He taught us where to draw the line. When the verse was to be edited out, Thompson addressed a letter to Chief Curator Paul Martin (FMA/HPG, J. E. Thompson to Martin, October 4, 1937), "so I must make it clear that I won't have my comments pub- lished except with the footnote included. It is the redeeming feature of a dull paper almost swamped by old Eduardo's droolings." De- spite Eric Thompson's declaration, the editor deleted the poem. Michael Coe (1992:123) finds these irrelevant quotations from English poets and prose writers pretentious and most annoying. 8. Laufer supported his case by arguing that "the civilization of the Maya is poorly rep- resented in the Museum and has not the place which is due to it as the highest development of civilization ever attained on this continent. As to Maya civilization, the Field Museum compares very unfavorably with the Peabody Museum of Harvard University, The Ameri- can Museum of New York, the University Museum of Philadelphia, and the U. S. Na- tional Museum of Washington." These were fighting words to the Chicago boosters in charge of the Museum (see Wilcox, this vol- ume). To further emphasize his point, Laufer describes the Field Museum's Maya collec- tions as consisting of scanty materials, hap- hazardly gotten together, unsystematic and in- ferior to most American collections in Mu- seums. All of Edward Thompson's contribu- tions were ignored or forgotten (FMA/JETFE, Laufer to Davies, August 2, 1927). 9. For Eric Thompson's publications reporting on his four expeditions, see J. E. Thompson (1930, 1931, 1934). For summaries of the ex- peditions, see the annual reports (ANRD) for 1929 [1928]:415-417, 1930 [1929]:47-49, 1931 [1930]:324, 1932 [1931]:65-67, 1935 [19341:169-170). 10. At the end of his second expedition, Eric Thompson wrote from Guatemala to Director 150 Chapter Eleven Simms (FMA/JETSE. May 3. 1929) describ- ing the opportunity to purchase a "superb" ethnographic collection. "A couple of good cases of material could be obtained for the Mexican Hall without much difficulty, adding a bright touch of color to a hall, which from containing mainly archaeological material, is at present a little dull for the general public." 1 1 . Although by present standards Museums may be criticized for amassing great collections at the expense of other nations' patrimonies, in the context of the times discussed in this pa- per, the actions were not considered reprehen- sible from the curators' perspective. Today museums are making amends for past actions, and in the I96()s Harvard University returned the Cenote gold to Mexico and later returned a representative sample of jades to the re- gional museum in Merida. Another outstand- ing example of institutional and international collaboration is the bilateral agreement for the preservation, study, and display of the Wag- ner murals looted from Teotihuacan, smug- gled into California and left as a beque.st to the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco (Benin 1988). Certainly the "saving the trea- sures for humanity" argument is unaccept- able today. However, the legacy of 100 years of collection-driven expeditions and purchas- es is now of increasing scientific value. Vast collections in single locations offer opportu- nities for concentrated research and compar- ative studies that widely distributed smaller collections would never provide (Lambertino- Urquizo et al. 1999). 12. Laufer expressed almost exactly the same .sentiment in a letter to Eric Thompson (FMA/ DC, Laufer to Thompson. September 24, 1927): "I want you to understand that in the first place we do not care for a huge quantity of materia], but that we are primarily inter- ested in novel information based on solid re- search and in scientific results which will make a substantial contribution to our knowl- edge of Maya civilization." 13. Perhaps the most striking pieces of Maya .sculpture in the Field Museum collections is the half altar (no. 188205) Thompson ob- tained from Hatzap Ceel. part of the site of Mountain Cow. It has been on display in the Hall of Mexico and Central America. For a recounting of its removal from Belize, see Thompson (1963:169-170). 14. The Middle American Research Institute (then the Department of Middle American Research) at Tulane University in New Or- leans was chosen to create this remarkable .structure. An expedition was undertaken to Uxmal led by Institute Director Franz Blom, molds were made of buildings in the Nunnery Complex, and casts were erected on the Chi- cago lakefront (MARl/AF, Chicago's World Fair 1933). It was a great success with the public. Thompson seems unaware of the iro- ny that he is promoting this structure and the positive effects it will have on Maya studies and the Field Museum, when less than 50 years before, Putnam had commissioned Ed- ward Thompson to engage in exactly the same endeavor for the Chicago World's Fair As recounted above, the same Puuc-style buildings were erected from Edward Thomp- son's molds in 1893 at the fair. These were the casts that attracted Armour's attention and led to beginning of the Field Museum's out- standing Mesoamerican collections. 15. However, Thompson did not sever his ties to the Museum entirely. In the annual report for the year ending 1941 (ANRD 1942:352), it is recorded that "Mr. J. Eric Thompson, of the staff of the division of Historical Research at the Carnegie Institution of Washington, D.C.. was given an honorary appointment on the staff of Field Museum, as Research Associate in Middle American Archaeology." 16. Eric Thompson's departure left the limited re- sources for fieldwork to the new chief curator, Paul S. Martin. Although Martin had also be- gun his career with Morley at Chich^n in 1926, where he had met Eric Thompson (and presumably Edward as well), when he joined the Museum's Department of Anthropology, he shifted his focus to the American South- west (see Na.sh 2(X)1; Nash, this volume). 17. Unfortunately, the profit motive lay behind much of the "saving the remains of the past" arrogance. Despite rumors and concerns that Edward Thompson was pocketing treasures, particularly at the time of the Cenote dredg- ing, there is little evidence to support accu- sations of extensive personal aggrandizement. As Adela Breton recalls, "I saw nothing of his work (at the Cenote] as he wished no one to go there and kept it as secret as possible. This only caused wild reports of valuable finds among his workmen" (PMATTC, Breton to Tozzer, November 28, 1920). Tozzer in turn reports, "As much as I dislike to play A Tale of Two Thompsons 1 5 1 18. the spy. Professor Putnam intimated he wished me to find out just what he [Edward Thompson] was doing in the way of archae- ological work for the Peabody (PMA/TC, Tozzer to his mother, March 12, 1902). In Tozzer's correspondence, no major demean- ors are mentioned. Eric Thompson remarked in a letter from the field to Laufer dated January 28, 1929 (FMA/ JETEF), "A new date to me is like honey to the flies." His fascination with dates and hi- eroglyphics, clear during his first season at Chichen, endured throughout his life. Unfor- tunately, Thompson's view of the Maya as a unique peaceful people isolated in their jun- gle domains led by time-worshiping priests led him to insist that Maya hieroglyphic in- scriptions contained no historical or dynastic content. He defended his misguided position to the end and attacked viciously those who took a linguistic approach to "breaking the Maya code" (Coe 1992:139-140). 152 Chapter Eleven 12 Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research at the Field Museum, 1928-1953 Raymond Codrington Sub-Saharan African research has historically occupied only a sporadic presence in the re- search agenda of the Field Museum because of shifting research interests and priorities as well as the availability of funding. It was not until the 1920s that research interests concerning geo- graphical areas in Africa came to the fore. Before this time. North American anthropological re- search in the general sense heavily focused on Na- tive Americans (Stocking 1968:297). African eth- nology attained its most prominent place in Field Museum research activity during the late 1920s and 1930s. This chapter attempts to contextualize the most consistent period of ethnological re- search related to sub-Saharan Africa, dating from 1928 through 1953. which marks the tenure of Wilfrid Dyson Hambly. curator of African eth- nology, who was integral to the development of the anthropology of Africa at the Field Museum. The collection of sub-Saharan African material culture by Field Museum staff began at the turn of the century. In 1908. Albert B. Lewis became assistant curator of African and Melanesian eth- nology, but his re.search agenda in relation to Af- rica appears unclear, if not unstated, as the first expedition to expressly pursue African materials did not occur until 1925 and was headed by Ralph Linton, assistant curator of Oceanic and Malayan ethnology (Fig. 12.1). While in Madaga.scar, Lin- ton primarily studied the Hova in the capital of Antananrivo, the Betsileo in the central south of the country, the Sianaka near Lake Alaotra, the Betsimisaraka on the east coast, and the Tsimah- ety and Sakalava of the north. Linton was espe- cially interested in studying ancient burial cus- toms, religious beliefs and rituals, and marriage. Fio. 12.1. Ralph Linton with a large temple drum from the Marquesas Islands. From a collections standpoint, Linton focused on jewelry, prayer rugs, pottery, and textiles (Fig. 12.2). The textiles he brought back to the Field Museum are now thought to constitute the largest collection of textiles from the Malagasay ethnic group outside of France (Bronson 1996:8), espe- cially after a large fire at the Queen's Palace (or Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 153 Fig. 12.2. Figured raffia cloth used as a lamba (shroud or cloak) in Kaudreao, Madagascar. Manjakamiadana Palace) in Antananarivo, which burned to the ground in November 1995. In a curious twist of anthropological fate, Lin- ton's primary informant in Madagascar was killed because other informants in the area suspected that he had tried to poison Linton after the latter became severely ill. According to Linton, this event impeded a more detailed understanding of regional ethnology and gathering of additional collections (see Field Museum of Natural History Publications — Report Series 1926-1928). Never- theless, one of Linton's major ethnographic works, The Tanala: A Hill Tribe of Madagascar, (1933) came out of the expedition. While receiv- ing word of the museum's new hire in African ethnology, Wilfrid Dyson Hambly, Linton sig- naled a desire to work with the new anthropolo- gist to discuss his findings. Wilfrid D. Hambly The most focused and sustained contribution to sub-Saharan African ethnology and ethnography at the Field Museum was the work of curator of Af- rican ethnology, Wilfrid D. Hambly (Fig. 12.3), from 1926 to 1953. Hambly 's tenure marks the lon- gest continuous appointment of a curator for the African collection in the Field Museum's history. Hambly was born in Clayton, Yorkshire, Eng- land. Initially a schoolteacher, he took part in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan Archeological Expedition for the Wellcome Historical Museum of London. After an enlistment in the Royal Navy in World War I, Hambly became a lecturer in biology at Eastham Technical College as well as a research worker for the Industrial Research Board in Lon- don. During his tenure at the Field Museum, he received a doctor of science degree from Oxford University for his work in Africa. Hambly undertook a number of academic pur- suits during his time at the Museum, ranging from ethnology and physical anthropology to the writ- ing of a children's book (Hambly 1949). As an educator, he took part in regular lectures at the Museum and wrote several museum-based pam- phlets for academic and popular audiences dealing with multiple aspects of his work in Africa. Hambly is most noted for his lead of the Fred- erick Holbrook Rawson Expedition to Angola and Nigeria in 1929 and 1930. Rawson was a trustee of the First Union Bank and the Field Museum (see Appendix 3), and also contributed money for the development of the Hall of Primitive Man (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume), which included some of Hambly's collections. During the Rawson Expedition, Hambly traveled approximately 10,000 miles while crisscrossing Angola and Ni- geria (Fig. 12.4). His ethnologic work in Angola with the Ovimbundu is seen as the most signifi- cant outcome of the trip (see Hambly 1934). In all, the expedition collected over 2,000 specimens and recorded 550 photographs (see Appendix 7). For what he estimated to be one-tenth of their actual market value, Hambly collected much of the ethnological material that constitutes the Af- rica Collection at the Field Museum. Angola was chosen as the primary site for the expedition in order to acquire data and material culture that would complement the Museum's ex- isting collection of sub-Saharan materials from Cameroon and Benin. Three decades earlier, in 1898, the Museum had purchased the Angolan collection of Reverend T. W. Woodside, a mis- 154 Chapter Twelve k * 1 1 Fig. 12.3. Wilfred D. Hambly alongside the S.S. Waganda in Antwerp, Belgium. sionary who had worked with the Ovimbundu. His collection of 153 objects included bows and arrows, paraphernalia from a witch doctor, an- klets, head ornaments, and other objects of per- sonal adornment and included 75 photographs. Though the collection was valued at $350, veteran collector and negotiator George Amos Dorsey was able to purcha.se the collection for a mere $200. The Field Museum viewed the Rawson Expe- dition of 1929-1930 as an opportunity to establish the Museum at the forefront of anthropology in Angola in particular and Africa more generally. In relation to this expedition. Chief Curator Bert- hold Laufer stated, "The museum would acquire a well-explained and adequately illustrated collec- tion from an area which is totally unrepresented in most museums" (Field Mu.seum Archives, cor- respondence Laufer to Simms, January 7, 1929). In addition, the Museum saw Angola as a favor- able research area because there were both British and American consulates in Angola, thus making diplomatic and financial exchanges more readily possible. Throughout Hambly's time in Africa, this convenience was central to his success as he sent regular progress reports stating his need for aid in negotiating colonial relations and money transfers from the Museum in order to purchase and transport objects. At the turn of the century. Dorsey had begun to acquire art from the Benin in Nigeria but did so without gathering contextual data. As a result, though the Museum had a preexisting collection of art from the Benin Empire, it did not have a means to study the role of art in ceremonies in Benin society. In Laufer's words. We are still in ignorance of the historical back- ground, local conditions, processes, and symbolism relating to the artifacts from Benin, which merit a close study in relation to their environment. To solve the mysteries of Benin is one of the objects of the jRawson] expedition. (Field Museum Ar- chives, correspondence between Laufer and Simms, January 7. 1929) The Rawson Expedition had two primary di- Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 1 55 p^ \ — » "feacca <^ ^=\ ^ ^ ^ •^ iQBFf'^ "V ,<^>- A > SHAOeO Aff£AS I ARB THE J=>f?INC/PAL \ EXf^L O/fA T/ON A NO /?£3£A/?CH BY TH£ ^ /^R£:0£f?/C/r H./9A\/s/SOA/ £r//A/O/.0G/CAL £Xfso/r/o/^ TO W£ST Arfl/CA 0 0 ^ ^ t 0 ^ Fig. 12.4. Map of the principal exploration areas of the Rawson-Field Museum West African Expedition. rectives that included the acquisition of material culture as well as the analysis of the development of the cultural traits of the subjects. The expedi- tion placed special emphasis on the acquisition and documentation of the pottery, basketwork and weaving, games, and musical instruments of the groups it encountered. The objects taken from this expedition formed a large part of the exhibit in the Hall of African Ethnology in Hall D, which stood from 1928 to 1971. Hambly attempted to analyze the Ovimbundu's cultural traits by ex- amining them in relation to local history to deter- mine whether they arrived in the area by assimi- lation or independent invention. His approach was strictly comparative as it examined the cultural traits of the Ovimbundu in relation to the sur- 1 56 Chapter Twelve I I Fig. 12.5. VoChokue potter near Elende. Angola. Fig. 12.6. Oviinhundu man wiih club, s|x-ar. ami pouch. rounding tribes of the Congo ba.sin, Rhodesia, and South Africa. Photography A distinguishing point of Hambly's work was his use of photography for the documentation and classification of jaeoples and objects. In all. he took 550 pictures (see Appendix 7) of African peoples during the expedition. These pictures chronicle much of the expedition and include many images used for ethnographic purposes as well as more personal images that captured the general experiences related to conducting field- work. Hambly was explicit about how photogra- phy was integrated in his expedition and research: "Photography has been a subject for special at- tention. The importance of this work cannot be overemphasized. Scientific writing, publicity, and popular education are all dependant on successful photography" (Hambly 1929). Hambly photographed subjects involved in dif- ferent activities, some deliberately posed (Figs. 12.5 and 12.6); others captured more natural ac- tions without Hambly's direction (Fig. 12.7). The purpose of these photographs was to capture the range of motion in stages in order to illustrate the prcKCsses involved in any particular activity. Hambly's field notes expressed the difficulty in taking pictures in both settings (Hambly 1929a). Some subjects allowed themselves to be photo- graphed for rea.sons of vanity and compensation, while others refused for spiritual rea.sons — they thought that having their picture taken removed or stole part of their soul. Hambly, in fact, re- marked that one in three "natives" ran away or refused to be photographed. In any case, his task Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 157 Fig. 12.7. Women clearing and burning the bush, Ganda, Angola. was to classify, record, and collect ethnographic data for the Field Museum. His photographs, which can still be viewed in the Department of Anthropology, have been repeatedly used for sci- entific publication, exhibition illustrations, and general publicity. For public consumption, the pictures went into pamphlets, scholarly works, and popular articles. In Hambly's estimation, the photographs from this expedition would serve as both art and sci- ence: "The pictures, like the objects collected, have both artistic merit and ethnological value" (Hambly 1929b). Interestingly, the link, or ten- sion, between art and science would be taken up several years later in the work of sculptor Malvina Hoffman (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume; for a discussion of the tension between science and art at the Field Museum, see Conn 1998). Though Hambly attempted to capture people in a range of "natural" actions, his collection of photographs maintained the boundaries related to the construction of group identity consistent with physical anthropology of the period. Sixty of the expedition's photographs reflected standard im- ages of people taken as front, back, and side pro- files of males and females. According to Hambly, these images were to "give a fairly complete ac- count of the main racial types." In this sense, the expedition photography illustrates the methodo- logical and theoretical concerns of physical an- thropology that existed since the mid- 19th cen- tury. This is seen especially in his characterization of physical types as groups. I return to the pres- ence of physical anthropology in Hambly's work later in the chapter. Motion Picture Films Hambly took 2,300 feet of motion pictures of native dances, ceremonies, and the production of various objects. This footage is available in brittle form in the archives of the Field Museum. The film serves as a recording of events for documen- tation as well as for ethnographic purposes. The films highlight activities such as the transportation of materials by indigenous male and female "por- ters," the creation of music, and religious cere- monies. In one instance, an individual is recorded while he hits a tall drum with both hands. The focus of the camera is on the rhythm of the drum- mer's hands. The drummer looks around unen- cumbered by the camera as Hambly sits attentive- ly and obtrusively only a foot from the drummer's hands. Noting the significance of the footage, Hambly believed, perhaps prematurely, that he was the first person to "apply the idea of a "talk- ing movie" to scientific work in ethnology" 1 58 Chapter Twelve (Hambly 1929). The film serves as a useful com- plement to what Hambly documented in his field notes and the images in the photography collec- tion. Interestingly, this film footage adds a partic- ular depth to his research, as it allows the viewer to gain a framework in which to contextuali/.e the experiences and relationship between anthropol- ogist and subject. For example, the viewer is al- lowed to see the great pains and impracticality with which Hambly traveled and transported his materials. In one instance, his truck is transported across a river on a 50-foot boat with the aid of 1 2 indigenous people. While the 1 2 people stand up- right, they row and steer the boat with long oars, as Hambly watched idly. The footage was also used for educational pur- poses. As a member of the Committee on African Anthropology of the Division of Anthropology and Psychology at the National Research Council, Hambly made his ethnographic film footage avail- able for presentations dealing with the visual study of African life. Universities and other edu- cational institutions had access to this material as teaching and research aids. Physical Anthropology In Europe, especially Germany and France, during the second half of the 19th century, the rise of physical anthropology ushered in an era in which human groups were cla.ssified into types on the basis of physical characteristics. Though this movement would not take firm hold in academic anthropology in the United States until the post- World War II era (Spencer 1982), Hambly was involved in physical anthropology throughout his career at the Field Museum. His use of anthro- pometry (Fig. 12.8) was consistent with the gen- eral methodological and theoretical approaches of physical anthropology of the period. In this in- stance, anthropologists viewed groups and indi- viduals as fixed entities by characterizing physical features that were ultimately conflated with cul- tural features. This represented groups as static bodies with little contextual data to support ideas of behavioral and social change. As is evidenced by the remaining physical anthropology pictures stored at the Field Museum, anthropologists cre- ated similar forms of representations during eth- nological expeditions to Asia, South America, Eu- rope, and the Pacific, among other areas, as they gathered ethnographic data. In 1938, Hambly published his physical anthro- pology research in the Anthropometry of the Ovimhundu An}>olo (Hambly 1938). This puhli cation was Hambly 's attempt to observe and com- pare the physical characteristics of the Ovimbun du alongside other tribes outside Angola in the Congo region and southern and eastern Africa. He ba.sed this study on data collected during the Raw- son Expedition. At the lime, Hambly tiK)k mea- surements from the torso, head, face, nose, and ears of 53 adult Ovimbundu males. Because there were no comparative data concerning the anthro- pometry of the Ovimbundu available, Hambly compared these measurements to statistical mea- surements taken from four adjacent tribes approx- imately 15 years before his study. References to methcxls used by Harvard Uni- versity physical anthropologist Earnest A. Htx>ton in Hambly 's field notes suggest a consistency be- tween the two anthropologists in the link between the use of photography and physical anthropology. Hooton popularized studies of body types through the use of photography (Banta et al. 1980). To this end, Hambly stated, "Hooton of Harvard thought that a .set of 50 [measurements] would make a re- liable series from which to judge the racial char- acteristics of the people. I have made twenty-five close-up pictures of the full-face, profile, and back views (Field Museum Hambly Archives 1929, Box 12). Noting the subject's discomfort with being studied in this manner. Hambly stated, "Head mea- suring is not popular with the people, neither is close up photography" (Field Museum Hambly Archives 1929. Box 12). Hambly 's notes reveal uneasiness with the practice of lumping cultural groups together while conducting research in ethnology and physical an- thropology. At an initial point of his research, Hambly stated. The Ovimbundu are a people numbering possibly a million, distributed over the major portion of An- gola. Obviously there arc people not of the Ovim- bundu whose presence is a matter of inquiry. There are problems physical, linguistic, and scKiological. If a study is made at Elende there will be great interest in observing the resemblances and differ- ences of Ovimbundu culture over an extensive tract. Is the culture homogeneous? . . . There is great difficulty that a truly representative collection should be gleaned from a very wide area. (Third Report of the Rawson Field Mu.seum West African Ethnological Expedition) Hambly recognized the physical variation with- in and between the groups he studied, yet this variation is seemingly lost in the discussions of Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 1 59 Fig. 12.8. Hambly in 1940 measuring the length of a human skull African peoples in the Field Museum Bulletin and other publications. In an article titled "Africa, So Vital in World Affairs Today, Well Represented in Field Museum," Hambly (1942) discussed the representation of African peoples in the work of sculptor Malvina Hoffman (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume). In line with his own research conclusions, he continues to discuss the relevance of the African physique in the representation of Africans: The physical types of man in Africa, together with various personal ornaments, and in some instances bodily deformations are shown. . . . The most re- markable of the African types depicted are those 160 Chapter Twelve illustrating the physique of the Pygmies, the Bush- man hunters of South Africa, the exceedingly tall Shilluk Negroes of the Upper Nile valley, and the Zulus of South Africa. (Hambly 1942:5) He uses a base set of characteristics, in this in- stance the capacity to create music and dance, to describe diverse sets of people. Here, cultural and physical diversity are ignored, and instead identity is reduced to practices related to expressive cul- ture. Hambly 's approach to conducting physical an- thropology research attempted to include contex- tual data, including immigration patterns and in- lergroup contact in the analysis of physical types. When discussing physical types in Africa, he rec- ognized that inter- and intragroup contact within the African continent produced a range of physi- cal features among peoples. However, this obser- vation remained linked to the concept that phys- ical features were tied to "racial" or, to use his terminology, "group" characteristics. As previously mentioned, Hambly was aware of the difficulties in defining groups as particular races. He termed this a problem of nomenclature in naming and classifying groups based on the conflation of biological, linguistic, and cultural criterion. Hambly acknowledged the lack of clar- ity in using the term "race" and instead catego- rized subjects as African "peoples." This was his attempt to remove biology from discussions of group characteristics. In relation to this, he stated. We will at the present avoid the use of the term race and speak of people, employing the word ac- cording to the general everyday usage in the sense of persons and individuals. This will avoid the as- sumption that "race" has a clear connotation, and that definite biological ideas may be legitimately connected to the word. (Hambly 1937:161) economic one, rather than a purely biological one" (Martin I943b:c). Despite this more rclativistic stance, Martin re- turned to the idea that subgroups comprised racial categories because he stated, "We may lsely speak of the Negroid race; but we really mean the Negroid division of the Human Race" (Martin I943c:4). This perspective did not move away from the hierarchical nature of racial classifica- tion. A complete dismissal of biological factors in the construction of racial categories, in this case Negroes, did not (Kcur This was an especially egregious undertaking in relation to a continent that has historically been seen as stunted in the Western imagination. In both the pre- and the post-Enlightenment periods, the hierarchical rank- ing of racial groups was used to rationalize the supremacy of Western culture in relation to Africa and other parts of the world. This is reflected in the problematic relationship that anthropology and anthropologists had with the continent as Western powers defined its identity, culture, and geography. i%' i^ ^ Museums have historically contributed to the making of cultural and physical representation of various groups. In this instance. The selection of knowledge and the presentation of ideas and images are created within a power sys- tem. The sources of power are derived from the capacity of cultural institutions to classify and de- fine peoples and scK'ieties. TTiis is the power to rep- resent structures of belief and experience through which cultural differences are undersKxxl. (Karp 1992:2-3) However, his categorization of African peoples ul- timately relied on distinctions that corresponded to physical features. During World War II, Chief Curator Paul S. Martin (1943c) published an article in Field Mu- seum News that attempted to address the link be- tween race and biology by refuting definitions of race as physical characteristics distinguished by anatomical features. In his discussion of race. Martin stressed the inconsistency of existing ra- cial classificatory frameworks based on biological criteria: "The various divisions of the human race do not arise as purely biological entities, but rath- er through arbitrary and artificial cla.ssification. The racial problem is really a cultural, social and Here, the representation of various groups has led to a particular perception of the cultural devel- opment and physical features of groups. This cre- ates a particular view of African peoples and other indigenous groups as static cultural and political entities that are untouched by larger scKial and historical processes. Such a perception has histor- ical precedents: "In the past, museums frequently made the mistake of trying to preserve unchanged the cultures of people as represented by eigh- teenth- and nineteenth-century ethnographic col- lections" (Simpson 1996:251). Addressing issues of research and representa- tion is an active process because it is influenced by the changing research priorities of an institu- Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 161 FiCi. 12.9. Philip H. Lewis holding a Pi mask from northern New Ireland, with an African figure in the background. tion as well as the social context of the time pe- riod. The varied research interests of the Field Museum become apparent after the 1920s as the number of expeditions at the Museum slowed be- cause of economic concerns related to the Great Depression. At this time, the Field Museum and other cultural institutions like it began to increas- ingly rely on the exchange of materials between museums rather than direct acquisition by re- searchers. Funds were no longer available from the museum or private funding bodies to support large-scale organized expeditions to Africa. In ad- dition, museums began to occupy a less central role to the study of anthropology as universities became more central to an emerging university- ba.sed anthropology. In this instance, the push to develop more rigorous theoretical and methodo- logical frameworks for anthropology became ap- parent. After World War II, research interests changed again as the Museum began to rely more on private and government grants (Collier 1952). During the post-Rawson Expedition period, Hambly's main contributions to ethnology at the Museum came in the form of publications. He maintained a productive writing schedule, pub- lishing works roughly every two or three years during the 1930s. Contributions include Serpent Worship in Africa (1931), Th^ Ovimbundu of An- gola (1934), Cultural Areas of Nigeria (1935), and The Source Book for African Anthropology (1937). In addition, during the second half of his tenure at the Museum, Hambly prepared digests of information for combat forces and civil admin- istrations before and during and the American oc- cupation of North Africa. Hambly retired from the Field Museum on December 31, 1952. The post-Hambly period witnessed a general move away from ethnographic studies of Africa to a focus on the "primitive" art of African peo- ples. In 1957, Philip H. Lewis (Fig. 12.9) joined the museum as assistant curator of primitive art. The Museum committed to an anthropological 1 62 Chapter Twelve Fig. 12.10. Leon Siroto, photographed in March 1965. study of art that would link artistic activity "to society, to culture, and to the psychology of the individual (Field Museum News, February 1957). The Museum saw this as an opportunity to relate art in this context to wider issues. Here, the Mu- seum would ".systematically explore the relation- ships of art to .society by showing the actual ob- jects of art in the context of graphic analyses of these relationships" (Field Museum News, Feb- ruary 1957). The interest in primitive art coincid ed with that of the Museum's neighbtir. the An Institute of Chicago, which developed a Depan ment of Primitive Art at about the same time. The Field Museum hosted a temporary exhibit. What Is Primitive Art? in 1958. From 1965 to 1970 the Museum again had a Curator of African Ethnology. Leon Siroto's (Fig. 12.10) specialization was in African art and cul- ture. He was the first African specialist on staff in 22 years since Wilfrid Hambly's retirement. Most recently, the Field Museum has sought to address issues of representation and diversity of the African continent. Since the 1960s and 1970s, the social movements of people of color, women, and anti-colonialists have, among others, "fo- cused attention on the cultural needs of the ethnic communities and disadvantaged inner city resi- dents" (Simpson 1996:10). The opening of the new Africa exhibit in 1993 marks an attempt at a more contextual ly ba.sed approach to the repre- sentation of Africa by highlighting the geograph- ical, cultural, and historical diversity of the con- tinent. Africa's importance at the Mu.seum has al.so been recently addressed by the hiring the first full-time curator since Leon Siroto. Kenyan ar- cheologist Chapurukha Kusimba came to the Mu- seum in 1994 as curator of the Africa collection. The Field Museum will have to continue to ad- dress its demographics, research interests, and in- tellectual roles in a continuously changing social context. How it addresses these changes will in- fluence the way visitors perceive the African con- tinent and its inhabitants, just as they did in the past and will continue to do in future. Wilfrid D. Hambly and Sub-Saharan Africa Research 163 13 Paul Sidney Martin Stephen E. Nash Fici. 13.1. Paul Sidney Martin in 1934. Paul Sidney Martin (Fig. 13.1) served a.s a cu- rator in the Field Museum Department of Anthropology from 1929 to 1972, during which time he made significant contributions to North American archaeological knowledge, method, and theory. Martin professionally excavated more than 70 archaeological sites in Colorado. Arizona, and New Mexico for the Field Museum. He recorded hundreds more while overseeing six major ar- chaeological surveys in those states. He collected more than 585,000 artifacts, trained more than 50 individuals who went on to become professional archaeologists, and published more than 200 monographs, papers, and popular articles through- out his career Martin was one of the few scholars in any discipline who was willing to embrace rad- ically new developments in method and theory (see Wilcox, this volume). Though it is not easy to compartmentalize Martin's career, his work at the Field Museum did pass through three general phases: The early years (1929-1938) and Anasazi archaeology, the middle years (1939-1955) and Mogollon archaeology, and the later years (1956- 1972) and the New Archaeology. The F:arly Years (1928-1939): Anasazi Archaeology Bom November 20. 1 899. Martin graduated in 1918 from New Trier High School in Winnetka. a northern suburb of Chicago (Longacre 1976). He then enrolled at the University of Chicago, earned his bachelor's degree in English in 1923, and, after taking a year off, enrolled in graduate school in anthropology at the same institution in 1924. Though it is not clear how he became in- terested in archaeology, he conducted his first fieldwork in Wisconsin in 1925. In 1926 and 1927, Martin embarked on a typically ambitious project to conduct an archaeological survey of 450 Mound Builder sites in the area around Ga- lena, Illinois (Martin 1927a). During the winters of 1926, 1927, and 1928, he joined Sylvanus Mor- ley of the Carnegie Institution at the Maya site of Chichen It/a, where the Temple of Two Lintels soon became, and still is, dubbed "Martin's Tem- ple" (see Martin 1927b). Though Martin wanted to continue a career in Maya archaeology, simul- taneous cases of malaria, worms, and amoebic Paul Sidney Martin 165 Fig. 13.2. Excavation of Kiva I at Lowry Ruin. dysentery in 1928 precluded further work in the tropics (Martin 1974). In pursuit of more healthful environs and an- other archaeological career, Martin joined the Col- orado State Museum and the Colorado Historical Society to conduct research among the impressive Anasazi ruins of southwestern Colorado and southeastern Utah (Martin 1929, 1930). He used this fieldwork as the basis for a dissertation at the University of Chicago on the origin and devel- opment of the Anasazi kiva, in which he stated flatly that "the kiva grew out of the pithouse" (1929:370). He also presented the novel sugges- tion that site-to-site regularity in room-to-kiva ra- tios across the region might indicate that some aspect of prehistoric social organization was man- ifest in the ruins. In late 1928, Martin heard that the Field Mu- seum of Natural History in Chicago wanted to develop a southwestern archaeology research pro- gram. George Amos Dorsey had collected south- western archaeological objects for the Field Mu- seum three decades before (see Appendix 4), but his collecting expeditions cannot be considered "research" in the modern sense. In 1929, Martin accepted a position as assistant curator at the Field Museum and began a swift ascent to become act- ing chief curator in 1934 and chief curator in 1935, a position he held until his retirement in 1964. He was chief curator emeritus until 1972, when he moved to Tucson, Arizona. He died in 1974. At the Field Museum, Martin continued his work in southwestern Colorado and immediately focused his professional attention on Lowry Ruin, a 50-room, late 12th century Anasazi pueblo (Fig. 13.2). Though the recovery of exhibition-quality; artifacts for the Field Museum was certainly one \ of Martin's goals during the excavation, his re- search was in the mainstream of North American culture-historical archaeology as it was practiced in the early 1930s: I hoped, by exploring [Lowry Ruin] to . . . attain a historical perspective which would permit me to solve problems, such as the mechanics of growth of a particular pueblo, the architectural skill of these Pueblo Indians, the size of the population at various periods and its changes, the length of time that the pueblo was inhabited, the pottery sequence, and the cultural and chronological relationship of 166 Chapter Thirteen FKj. I3..V \*Au\ SkIiics Manin with a motion picutre camera in southwestern Colorado. this pueblo to other large villages in New Mexico and Arizona. (Martin et al. 1936:23) A detailed reading of the rest of the Lowry Ruin site report (Martin et al. 1936) clearly indi- cates that he was interested in more than just time- space systematics — he was also interested in pre- historic psychology and culture patterns (see Hawley 1937). Martin also reestablished an ana- lytical precedent set by John Wesley Powell in 1881 by hiring an architect, Lawrence Roys, to analyze the construction of Lowry Ruin (see Lon- gacre 2(XX)). Martin was one of the few archaeologists of the day to use motion pictures to document his ex- cavations (Fig. 13.3) and, in a more dubious dis- tinction, used horse teams, a mining car and chute, and narrow-gauge railroad track (Fig. 13.4) to expedite the excavation of Lowry Ruin. It was not uncommon for Martin's team to move 21 tons of dirt per day during the 1930 field sea.son. Room fill was removed in natural levels when these were discernible; otherwise, arbitrary one-foot-thick levels were removed. (The Lowry Ruin excava- tion was the last time that Martin used English measurement units during fieldwork.) Unlonii- nately, Martin's excavation technique, which Flor- ence Lister (2000:13) has described as "archae- ology by remote control" given Martin's penchant for the comforts of the laboratory rather than the harsh reality of fieldwork in southwestern Colo- rado, emptied Lowry Ruin and thus precluded fu- ture excavation of this important site using more modem and refined excavation techniques. To make matters worse, Martin saved only whole or reconstructable vessels, formal stone and bone tools, and a sample of the decorated sherds re- covered from Lowry Ruin. Though Martin spent four seasons excavating (1930, 1931, 1933. and 1934) Lowry Ruin, the Field Museum curates only 12,000 artifacts from the site, 11,500 of which are sherds. (By comparison, excavations di- rected by Cynthia Irwin-Williams in the 1970s that used more modem techniques at a similar number of rooms at Salmon Ruin, a Chacoan out- lier near Farmington, New Mexico, yielded more than 1.5 million artifacts and samples; Reed 2002). After a two-year (1935-1936) hiatus in field- work brought on by monetary constraints of the Great Depression as well as administrative ad- justments resulting from Martin's promotion to chief curator, the Field Museum's Expedition to the Southwest returned to Colorado in 1937 and 1938 to investigate smaller sites in the area of Lowry Ruin. In 1937, Martin examined a number of smaller sites dating to the mid- to late 800s to try to understand their developmental relationship to Lowry Ruin. Though he did not use the term, it is clear that one goal of this project was to better understand regional .settlement pattems (Martin et al. 1938). In 1938 (Martin and Rinaldo 1939), he continued this work on Pueblo I period sites and had Carl Lloyd conduct an extensive archaeolog- ical survey of southwestern Colorado to address the problem of the Basketmaker-to-Pueblo tran- sition. The year 1938 is significant in Field Museum anthropology for another reason, namely, the arriv- al of John Beach Rinaldo (1912-2000; Fig. 13.5). Rinaldo joined Martin as a volunteer in south- westem Colorado and continued in that capacity during the fall in Chicago, focusing on descriptive artifact analyses and report writing. In 1939, Rin- aldo's perseverance and dedication as a volunteer paid off, and he was hired as an associate in South- westem archaeology, thus beginning a professional collaboration with Martin that would last for a Paul Sidney Martin 167 ^"^t^-- V S*-'.-*-*^' ^ ^-'-Jt.^ -%>-^,--' .-^•Ji^'^«»^ '*-' ^.*-::^: ■ '^^''^**-« i-.r.'T^ ,. -- '-^ '--!<•» » ••- , ■• '■" • ;»•*' ^faiT'' ' ■■> Fig. 13.4. Lowry Ruin, with mining car and chute in position. quarter century. In Rinaldo, Martin found an able and willing assistant who could handle with aplomb the many practical matters of archaeolog- ical field and laboratory work (see below). After spending six seasons excavating Anasazi sites. Martin grew intellectually restless. Though he had been promoted, he was still a relatively young scholar seeking to make a scholarly mark on the profession. Martin's research did not occur in a vacuum, and he knew that a new intellectual challenge lay due south in the mountainous re- gions of west-central New Mexico and east-cen- tral Arizona, where his colleague and friend Emil Walter Haury of the University of Arizona had 1 68 Chapter Thirteen Fig. 13.5. John B. Rinaldo in New Mexico in 1946. recently discovered a new and controversial pre- historic culture: the pithouse-dwelling Mogollon (Haury 1936). In 1937, Martin (1937) published a glowing review of Haury *s (1936) Mogollon Culture of Southwestern New Mexico, in which his enthusiasm for Haury 's discovery was palpa- ble: "The results of [ Haury 's) work are so a.ston- ishing, so far reaching, and so unorthodox that the worth of this report and of the new data contained therein probably will not be understood or es- teemed for some years. . . . The hypotheses set forth in this excellent report will doubtless be scoffed at by many competent people. ... I am willing to go along with Haury" (Martin 937: 233-234). With these words, Martin jumped head- long onto the Mogollon bandwagon and went to west-central New Mexico to excavate the SU Site. The Middle Years (1938-1955): Mogollon Archaeology The SU (pronounced "shoo") Site, named for the Stevens-Underwood ranch on which it rests, is a 1,500-year-old pithouse village Uvaicd seven miles west of Reserve. New Mexico. Tlie site cdh- sists of more than 30 pithouses (Fig. 13.6) and three surface structures, of which Martin and crew excavated 26 during the course of three years ex- cavation in 1939, 1941, and 1946 (see Martin 1940, 1943a, 1947). The published goals of Mar- tin's research at the SU Site were to search for the possible origin of Abajo Red-on-Orange pottery, to investigate major characteristics of the newly de- fined Mogollon culture, and to examine the rela- tionship between Mogollon and the "San Juan Core (of Anasazi prehistory)" (Martin 1940:7). Because Martin was helping to define a newly discovered prehistoric culture, he adjusted his ex- cavation and recording techniques to stress the culture traits that would help differentiate Mogol- lon from other prehistoric cultures. During the 1939 field season, Martin collected 12,()(X) sherds, as well as formal stone and bone tools, from eight pithou.ses at the SU Site. More than half of the.se sherds were Alma Plain, the origin of which was deemed critical to determining the location of the earliest pottery in the Southwest. The 1941 season at the SU Site was e.s.sentially a repeat of the 1939 season: 10 pithouses exca- vated and 20,000 sherds and 750 formal stone and bone tools collected. After a four-year hiatus be- cau.se of World War il travel restrictions, Martin and crew returned to the Southwest to excavate more pithou.ses at the SU Site in 1946. The fol- lowing year, they returned to the Pine Lawn Val- ley in New Mexico to excavate sites representing the earliest part of the regional .sequence, which are now known to date to the Archaic period (Martin et al. 1949). The seeds of analytical change in Martin's re- search had been sown during the hiatus in field- work from 1942 through 1945 as a result of in- creased interaction with social anthropologists five miles to the south on Lake Shore Drive at the University of Chicago. In the 1947 site report for the la.st (1946) excavation .sea.son at the SU Site, Martin (1947:287) proffered surprisingly proce.s- sual research questions regarding prehistoric sub- sistence, social organization, and religion. The seeds of the New Archaeology of the 1 960s may indeed be found in the report's "Conjectures" section, in which he wrote. One of the main objectives in carrying on further excavation at the SU site was to gain more infor- mation as to how the former inhabitants of the vil- lage lived, how they grouped themselves socially, how they solved their sul>sistence problems, wheth- Paul Sidney Martin 169 Ik.. 13.6. Pithouse N at the SU Site. The beginning of the stripping operation is \isiblc. er they had developed any rehgious concepts, and what their particular interests were. In 1950, Martin described the source of these changes (Martin and Rinaldo 1950b:404): Several years ago [i.e., in the mid- 1940s] Professor Fred Eggan of the University of Chicago gave at the Museum a seminar on "Problems in South- western Archaeology and Ethnology." During the seminar, he made some suggestions concerning the methods of reconstructing the social organization of proto- and prehistoric cultures. That inspiration gave us food for thought and has been mulled over in our minds for some time. In 1949, Dr. [George Peter] Murdock published his Social Structure, which gave impetus to our thoughts and without which we could not have made much progress. Site in 1947 and 1948 (Martin et al. 1949; Martin and Rinaldo 1950a), coupled with excavations of aboveground structures at Oak Springs Pueblo, Wet Leggett Pueblo, and other sites (Martin and Rinaldo 1950b), Martin understood much of the relative sequence. Unfortunately, given the pau- city of tree-ring dates for Mogollon sites and the fact that radiocarbon dating had not yet burst on the archaeological scene, Martin did not yet have a secure chronological baseline for the sequence. He therefore set out to excavate a site with a long chronostratigraphic sequence on which to test the ; relative sequence he and Rinaldo had developed. : In 1950, he began excavating a truly remarkable site: Tularosa Cave. When compared to the published raison d'etre for excavations at the Lowry Ruin, each of these statements had a decidedly modern flair. By 1949, Martin had a secure material baseline on which to understand the development of Mo- gollon culture and the inter- and intrasite relation- ships thereof. The combination of pithouse exca- vations at the SU Site and the Turkey Foot Ridge Tularosa Cave Tularosa Cave (Fig. 13.7) is the largest of a series of small caves in Tularosa Canyon, approx- imately one mile east of Aragon, New Mexico (Martin et al. 1952). Prior to its excavation, only 170 Chapter Thirteen Fig. 13.7. John Moyer taking motion pictures of the excavation of Tliiarosa Cave. New Mexico. open-air Mogollon pueblos and pithouse sites had been excavated. Nonpeiishable ceramic and stone technologies of the Mogollon were therefore well understood, as were the spatial attributes of such sites, but botanical and faunal remains do not pre- serve well in these sites, and Mogollon subsis- tence was therefore poorly understood. The 2.8- meter-thick deposit at Tularosa Cave, the contents of which have always been protected from both precipitation and groundwater, contained exqui- sitely preserved organic remains and objects span- ning some 1,300 years of occupation (Fig. 13.8). Excavations in 1950 by Martin, Rinaldo, and crew yielded a remarkable assemblage, including 33,000 maize cobs; more than 1,700 pieces of string, netting, basketry, and wood; and 2,600 an- imal bone fragments in addition to the usual ce- ramics, chipped, and ground-stone tools. Martin and Rinaldo must have received a psy- chological boost when the chronology they estab- lished through superposition at Tularosa Cave ver- ified the chronology they had derived on the basis of seriation analyses of material excavated at open-air sites during the previous decade. The site report for Tliiarosa Cave remains a classic for its detailed and collaborative presentation and anal- ysis of the perishable remains from this important site. Unfortunately and inexplicably, Martin and Rinaldo never published, nor apparently recorded, a stratigraphic profile for Tularosa Cave, which they excavated in arbitrary 20-centi meter-deep, one-meter-square units, a technique that almost certainly oversimplified the likely complex stra- tigraphy of the cave. In addition, they cleaned out the cave of all cultural remains. These actions have diminished the analytical potential of the as- semblage recovered from Tularosa Cave. Having .said that, the collections remain available for new analyses, including DNA analysis, neutron acti- vation analysis, and others. On the basis of their analyses of Tliiarosa Cave and, in 1951, Cordova Cave, Martin and col- leagues discerned three major changes in material culture at the beginning of the Pine Lawn Phase (ca. 150 B.C.), the beginning of the San Francisco Pha.se (ca. a.d. 700), and the beginning of the Re- serve Phase (ca. a.d. 1000; Martin et al. 1952: 496). Though Martin was reluctant to identify a single cause of these changes, he pointed to dif- fusion as a causal factor in the introduction of Paul Sidney Martin 171 Fig. 13.8. Warp sandals with scalloped toes from Tularosa Cave, New Mexico. 1 72 Chapter Thirteen pottery and architecture in the region. He also in- ferred an increased rehance on wild plants during the Georgetown Phase (a.d. 500-700). evidenced by a 50% drop in the amount of maize present, and a decreased reliance on hunting after a.d. 7(X). These reconstructions constitute, for Martin, a shift in analytical emphasis away from the largely descriptive and speculative proclamations offered for the SU Site and other open-air Mogollon sites toward a na.scent cultural ecology emphasizing subsistence and human relationships with the en- vironment. Martin and Rinaldo continued their prior (Martin and Rinaldo 1950a) search for evi- dence of the social organization in the archaeo- logical record and indeed used the term "culture process" to characterize their goals (Martin and Rinaldo 1950b:496) During the 1950s. Martin increasingly began to engage other Field Museum scientists in the anal- ysis of faunal and botanical remains. In the site report for excavations at Higgins Flat Pueblo in 1953 and 1954 (Martin et al. 1956), Hugh Cutler described the plant remains and used the term "cultural ecology" while noting that "we can re- construct quite clearly the food habits of the peo- ple who occupied the site and can even identify directions from which some of the cultivated forms were introduced" (Martin et al. 1956:174). Despite these important contributions to the un- derstanding of Mogollon culture history, subsis- tence, and settlement patterns, Martin still could not determine what had happened to the Mogollon after about a.d. 1350. when the classic Mogollon characteristics disappear from or blend into the rest of the southwestern (and especially Anasazi) archaeological record. Curiosity got the best of him, and he headed west to excavate later sites in Hay Hollow Valley, near Vernon, Arizona. The Later Years (1957-1972): Revolution in Archaeology By the mid-1950s, Martin's professional career had entered a new and different phase. He had been at the Museum for nearly three decades and was nearing retirement age. Rinaldo had been pro- moted to curator of archaeology in 1950 and be- gan to take a more independent role in the field- work, analysis, and writing than he had before. Martin was named, formally and for the first time, lecturer in anthropology at the University of Chi- cago in 1955. In the next few years, he established new relationships with a host of influential ami charismatic professors, particularly I^wis \Vm ford. In stark contrast to his first 25 years at the Field Museum, Martin began working intensively with energetic and ambitious graduate students, including William Longacre. James Hill. Leslie Freeman. James Schoenwetter. and others. Where Martin had once been notoriously reluctant to ad- mit visitors and women to his excavations and field camps, he began to slowly admit both (see Herold. this volume). Elaine Bluhm (1957) and Rinaldo (1959) were allowed to publish single- authored site reports on the Sawmill Site and Foote Canyon Pueblo, respectively, both of which were excavated under Martin's direction and the auspices of the Museum's Expedition to the Southwest (see also Rinaldo and Bluhm 1956). It is clear that as his research became more demo- cratic. Martin had more time to reflect on the na- ture and meaning of his archaeology, though this existential and philosophical change was not in- stantaneous. In 1957. Martin and crew excavated four sites in the upper Little Colorado drainage of eastern Arizona (Martin and Rinaldo 1960a) to learn more about the area's culture sequence. They ex- cavated the Little Ortega Lake and Laguna Salada Sites, both of which had preceramic occupations: Site 30. a pithouse village, and Site 31. an incip- ient pueblo village. In 1958. they turned their at- tention to another remarkable site. Table Rock Pueblo (i.e.. Davis Ranch Site; Fig. 13.9). named after an unusually shaped and culturally modified rock formation near the site (Fig. 13.10). Table Rock Pueblo is a large, planned pueblo with more than 50 rooms arranged in two rows on the north and south sides of an irregularly shaped passage- way that runs along the spine of a sand.stone hill. Despite the changes in Martin's perspective in the 1950s, the site report for Table Rock Pueblo (Mar- tin and Rinaldo 196()b) is a classic in culture his- tory site report preparation and a comparatively conservative version of the typical Martin and Rinaldo publication. Gone are the ambitious, if brief, forays into cultural ecology, religion, and social organization at Tularosa Cave, the SU Site, and even Lowry Ruin. Present is a tentative reit- eration of possible connections between the pre- historic Mogollon and ethnographic Hopi and Zuni cultures (Martin and Rinaldo I960b:288). Given the conservatism inherent in the analysis and presentation of Table Rock Pueblo, it is ap- parent that the bulk of report was Rinaldo's, while Paul Sidney Martin 173 Fig. 13.9. View from Table Rock Pueblo looking east. Room 38 is in the foreground with a firepit. The arrow, 30 cm long, points north. A meter stick rests against the wall of Room 34. Martin's new colleagues were pushing the re- search envelope in other locations. In 1959, William A. Longacre began a three- year-long systematic archaeological survey of the upper Little Colorado drainage in Arizona, focus- ing on the triangle between Springerville, Show Low, and Saint John's (see Martin et al. 1962: 147-164; Martin et al. 1964:203). Though Rin- aldo had begun a search for sites in the area in 1956, his survey was not as systematic or as ex- haustive as Longacre's. Building on Martin and Rinaldo's prior publications and research, Lon- gacre published "A Synthesis of Upper Little Col- orado Prehistory, Eastern Arizona" (Martin et al. 1964:201-215), in which he identified a series of phases in the occupation of the region, differen- tiated on the basis of settlement types and pat- terns, architecture, subsistence practices, and ra- diocarbon and tree-ring dates. He was able to es- timate population levels for the region through time (Martin et al. 1964:206). Excavations in 1959 focused on the Mineral Creek Site and Hooper Ranch Pueblo (Martin et al. 1961), the analysis and presentation of which are fairly con- servative, though Martin had specialists at the Field Museum conduct petrographic analysis of clays and sherds found at the sites. In 1960, the scope and aspect of Field Museum research changed significantly. Martin secured one of the first National Science Foundation (NSF) grants ever awarded for archaeological research. The Field Museum also provided funds for tradi- tional excavations of five sites (Chilcott Ranch Sites, the Goesling Site, the great kiva at Hooper Ranch Pueblo, Rim Valley Pueblo, and the Thode Site). The NSF funding was directed toward the excava- tion of a preceramic site (Tumble weed Canyon Site), Longacre's systematic survey, and, perhaps more important, the revolutionary application of pollen analysis to the study of archaeological sediments by James Schoen wetter (Martin et al. 1962:168-209). It appears that Martin did not really know what to make of Schoenwetter's palynological report, in which the latter argued that a shift from summer- dominant to winter-dominant rainfall had occurred at about a.d. 1(XX). Martin wrote simply, "I find it suggestive and informative" (Martin 1962:4). Also in the 1962 publication is "An Analysis of Pottery Design Elements, Indicating Possible Relationships between Three Decorated Types," by Constance Cronin (Martin et al. 1962:105-1 14), a graduate stu- dent in cultural anthropology at the University of Chicago. This plainly titled paper constitutes the first foray into the ceramic sociology that later formed the basis of so much of the New Archaeology. Martin obtained additional NSF grants in 1961 and 1962, and as a result the field research took on an increasingly scientific aspect. Excavations focused on the critically important site of Carter Ranch Pueblo (Fig. 13.11), a roughly rectangular, medium-sized pueblo located along Hay Hollow Wash. The Pueblo was excavated in order to de- termine the nature of the environmental and cul- tural changes that occurred in east-central Arizona between 1050 and 1200 (Longacre 1968:93). The excavation of Carter Ranch Pueblo is in- teresting in the history of North American ar- chaeology for it straddles a cusp in the develop- ment of archaeological method and theory. The grant application submitted to the NSF for the 1961 season is largely grounded in the traditional culture history paradigm of pre- 1960s archaeolo- gy, with a smattering of cultural ecology thrown in. The first year's research proposal sought to ap- ply pollen analysis, fill in a gap in the known Hay Hollow valley archaeological sequence, trace the 174 Chapter Thirteen u. Hui. I3.U). lable Rock, with lablc Rock Pueblo in the background. relationship between the Hopi, Zuni, and prehis- toric (Mogollon) peoples in the region, and estab- lish a "stratigraphy" of traits for the area. The 1962 grant application has a more modem aspect, stressing cultural ecology and the processes of culture change. It includes sophisticated sampling techniques, statistical methods, and analytical computing technology. The year 1962 is critical in Field Museum and, by extension. North American anthropology. Though he had much to be proud of, Martin began to question more directly everything he had done as an archaeologi.st and scholar. The apogee of Martin's despair is recorded in a letter to one of his graduate students (Field Museum Archives, Paul Martin Papers), in which he wrote, "I have dumped all of my research prior to 1962." Martin felt that the largely descriptive field reports that he, Rinaldo, and their colleagues had produced over the preceding four decades had become noth- ing more than "boring repetitions of minute ar- chaeological details." Martin's change of heart did not, of course, occur in a vacuum. The 1960s was a turbulent decade in many disciplines, and new orders were established in everything from mathematics to physics and sociology. Rarely, however, has so senior a scholar, with such a stel- lar record of accomplishments, .so wholeheartedly and publicly rejected so much of a productive ca- reer (see Martin 1971). Lost in the coming shuffle, however, was John Rinaldo. Whether because of the shift to the New Archaeology, the arrival and prominence of a host of specialists and students in a research program he effectively led for two decades, or personal reasons, John Rinaldo left the Museum in 1963 to work with Charles DiPeso at the Amerind Foun- dation in Dragoon, Arizona, where he went on to make significant contributions in the excavation of Casas Grandes in Mexico (see DiPeso 1974). Martin continued to obtain NSF funding for his research throughout the 1960s, particularly through the NSF Undergraduate Research Pro- gram, which provided ftinding for more than 100 students to gain experience at Field Museum ex- cavations under Martin's direction. Graduate stu- dents played an unprecedented role in directing the excavations during this period, though Martin Paul Sidney Martin 175 Fig. 13.11. View showing most of the excavated rooms at Carter Ranch Pueblo, 1961. served as more than just the titular head of ex- cavations at a host of important sites after Rinal- do's departure, including Broken K Pueblo (Mar- tin et al. 1967; Hill 1970), the Vernon Site, the Hay Hollow Site, the Joint Site, and others. In one of the few blemishes on Martin's career, only one (the Joint Site) of the last 10 sites at which Martin directed excavations has been adequately pub- lished (Martin et al. 1975), and it was published posthumously for Martin by his students. Con- versely, in an achievement possibly matched only by colleagues Emil Haury at the University of Ar- izona or Joe Ben Wheat at Colorado, Martin trained a large number of professional archaeol- ogists, thereby helping to set the agenda and chart the future of southwestern, and indeed North American, archaeological method and theory for decades to come. ^<^ ^%^ ^ During the four and a half decades Martin was associated with the Field Museum, he established a record of contributions to southwestern archae-; ological knowledge, method, and theory that noi other scholar can match. He helped define the Mogollon culture. He facilitated the development of the New Archaeology. He excavated one of the largest known Chacoan outliers. He excavated one of the most remarkably preserved sites in North America. He trained more than 100 stu-, dents, nearly 50 of whom went on to become pro- fessional archaeologists. He recorded more than 5,000 years of southwestern prehistory in three states. He pushed culture historical research into new arenas, including studies of prehistoric social organization, religion, settlement patterns, and subsistence practices. He helped bring science to archaeology by welcoming botanists, ecologists, geologists, geomorphologists, palynologists, pe- trographers, and other specialists to his archaeo- logical projects. With the significant help of Rin- aldo, Martin published more than 40 site reports in 20 monographs, usually within two years of the cessation of fieldwork, all of which were reviewed favorably by his peers. He published nearly 200 popular contributions. In an astonishing testament 1 76 Chapter Thirteen to his perseverance, tenacity, and love of field- entire Martin Collection: in IWS). Stephen I work, he directed expeditions to the Southwest Nash successfully completed that task. We are during 34 of his 43 years at the Field Museum. pleased to report that information about the Mar In 1997, curator Jonathan Haas obtained a grant tin Collection is now available on the Museum's from the NSF to catalogue and computerize the Web site at www.fieldmu.seum.org. Paul Sidney Martin 177 14 Recollections of the Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century Elaine Bluhm Herald Elaine Bluhm occupied an unusual role in the Department of Anthropology. Hired in 1948 as an assistant to Paul Martin, she spent several seasons excavating in the American Southwest. While in Chicago, she also spent time working with George Quimby and Donald Collier As such, she ex- perienced first-hand the shift in the discipline from a concern with estab- lishing sequences to more processual questions and what would prove to be the forerunner to the New Archaeology. In the following account her personal experiences are refracted through her association with eminent archaeologists of the 1940s and 1950s. — Eds. In May 1 948, after completing a master's degree in anthropology, I was hired by Paul Martin as an assistant in the Department of Anthropology (see Nash, this volume) (Fig. 14.1). At that time the curatorial faculty consisted of Paul Martin, chief curator; Donald Collier, curator of South American ethnology and archaeology; George Quimby, curator of exhibits (and later curator of North American archaeology and ethnology); Al- exander Spoehr, curator of Oceanic ethnology; and Wilfrid D. Hambly, curator of African eth- nology. John Rinaldo, who had his Ph.D., was an assistant at that time, though he later became cu- rator of archaeology. In addition there was a support staff (see Ap- pendix 2) that included Agnes McNary, depart- mental secretary; Gustaf Dalstrom, an artist who worked with the curators in the selection of ob- jects for exhibits, planned layouts, and executed small drawings that made the exhibits more mean- ingful; and John Pletincks, the preparator, who re- stored pottery, cast objects, and in some cases prtxluced replicas of artifacts in plaster when orig- inals were not available. (For one exhibit, he man- ufactured a metate of plaster and baking soda that looked just like the original volcanic stone but weighed less.) Lee Rowell (Fig. 14.2), an engineer turned artist, planned and executed the miniature dioramas that gave three-dimensional perspective to the exhibit halls. Research was the primary activity in the Mu- seum program. It included gathering new data and writing scientific reports on topics of special in- terest by members of the curatorial staff as well as planning exhibits, presenting lecture programs to the public, and answering inquiries from the public and colleagues. The Museum had a longstanding exhibit pro- gram in anthropology at that time. The staff had just completed a hall that dealt with the prehi.story of North America that was associated with the textbook published by Martin, Quimby, and Col- lier (1947; see Collier, this volume; Staller, this volume). The exhibits introduced color into the exhibit world at the Museum and included small drawings to better explain the life of the Indians and the use of artifacts. Color in exhibitions was a dramatic innovation in an institution that for years had had exhibits of objects neatly arranged in rows on institutional beige backgrounds. Color was therefore introduced slowly, as there was some resistance to it on the part of the adminis- tration. Small dioramas were frequently included to provide a three-dimensional interest to the flat- screen exhibits. Working on the exhibits consumed a large por- tion of curatorial time. In those days each depart- ment had its own exhibit staff. An exhibit began with the story line, which was researched, and a script was written. When that was complete, the The Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century 1 79 Fig. 14.1. Elaine Bluhm surveying with alidade and plane table at the Huber site outside Chicago, 1956. actual exhibit layout began. There were long ta- bles that were about the size of the exhibit screens. The curatorial staff selected objects from collections, and the exhibit layout was planned. When the plan was approved, the screen was painted, objects and explanatory drawings were installed, and appropriate labels were prepared. One hundred words was the limit for a main label, according to Curator of Exhibits George Quimby. Labels were written and rewritten until they were clear, concise, and informative. Except for the main label, labels were not printed, but letters were attached one at a time in the days before transfer printing and silk screening. Another facet of research was the never-ending curatorial task of answering questions that arrived daily not only from visitors, who sometimes brought things in to be identified, but also from colleagues and schoolchildren who wrote letters to the museum. Incoming mail from the public was delivered to the director's office, where letters were referred to the departments for suggested replies. Frequently, the staff was confronted with letters that began, "Tell me all about . . ." or some equally general inquiry for which some informed reply was expected, even though such a question could never be answered completely. We also became aware of the times when anthropology students from Roo- sevelt College (now Roosevelt University) were facing exams on human evolution, for we would get telephone calls wanting to know about partic- ular fossils that might appear on a quiz. j Most of the inquiries were concerned with the! identification of objects. One incident I recall coni cerned the identification of a mummified fetus that • was brought into the Museum one morning. 1 heard on the late-night news broadcast one even- ing that a mummified "little man" had been found in a sealed cave in Wyoming. Supposedly, it had been found in an area where Eohippus (a small, primitive, four-toed horse from the Eocene period) once lived. This area, according to the 180 Chapter Fourteen Fig. 14.2. Lee Rowell working on dioramu components in 1956. news broadcast, was where tiny arrowheads had also been recovered. The owner of the specimen therefore concluded that the little man rode Eo- hippus and shot tiny bows and arrows! The news broadcast ended with the remark that the speci- men was going to be taken to the Field Museum the next day. The next morning, a man came in with the tiny "mummy" under a glass bell. He wanted the an- thropologists to confirm his conclusion as to its identity and age. Everyone looked at it. It resem- bled a small figure sitting on its heels. Dr. Martin concluded that it should be X-rayed. They took the specimen over to the Department of 2Loology, and the zoologists examined and X-rayed it. Hu- man fetal bones were found in the museum col- lections and compared to the X ray and specimen. The anthrof)ologists and zoologists were con- vinced that this was the fetus of an anencephalic individual, one bom without a skullcap. It prob- ably died at birth and had been placed in a cave where it was found. It had mummified naturally, as the area was very dry. The owner was disappointed. Paul somewhat reluctantly agreed to appear on a newscast the next evening that was broadca.st along the East Coast. Throughout the entire incident. Martin tried, with great patience, to explain the specimen to the owner without upsetting him, but the latter left the Mu.seum surely disappointed. Publishing was another aspect of Museum re- search. The Field Museum had a series of publi- cations. When I arrived at the Museum in 1948, Martin, Quimby. and Collier had ju.st completed their volume titled Indians Before Columbus, which was published by the University of Chi- cago Press in 1947. It was the most comprehen- sive summary of American prehistory at the time. No student of American archaeology could get along without it. The volume not only was a credit The Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century 181 to the authors who wrote it, it also reflected fa- vorably on the Museum. There were favorable re- views of it in American Antiquity by W. Duncan Strong (1947) and in American Anthropologist by Carl Guthe (1949). Guthe compared its usefulness to Wissler's book on the American Indian (Wissler 1940). Strong disagreed with some of the dating and interpretation, which is not surprising, given that the book came out about the time that radio- carbon dating began to be considered by archae- ologists (Libby et al. 1949). Probably the best-known aspect of Museum re- search was the actual field collecting of informa- tion— the expedition. Martin, Quimby, and Collier all participated in field research at various times. Quimby worked primarily in the Midwest and the Mississippi Valley, and Collier participated in re- search in Peru. Paul Martin had been engaged in several sum- mer expeditions in southwestern Colorado before coming to Chicago, and he continued that program for several years (see Nash 2001, and this volume). In 1938 he was looking for a new area in which to work and became interested in a lesser known culture of the Southwest, the MogoUon, which had been identified by Emil Haury (1936), who had been associated with the Gila Pueblo Archaeolog- ical Foundation in Globe, Arizona, before going to the University of Arizona (see Nash 1999a, and this volume). In 1938, Martin and Rinaldo visited Gila Pueblo and studied the collections there. They decided they wanted to work on the Mogollon and in 1939 began their study focusing on the Pine Lawn area located west of Reserve in west-central New Mexico (Martin 1940:9-11). There had been some earlier work in that area by Walter Hough in 1907 and in the Mimbres area to the south by Wesley Bradfield and then Hattie and Burt Cosgrove (Martin et al. 1949:17-18). Martin and Rinaldo selected the SU site, a Mo- gollon pithouse village (Martin 1940:8-10), as the place to begin their study in the area. At first they were interested in the earlier occupation, but their research in that area continued for a number of years while they excavated pithouses, surface pueblo sites, and caves. Each spring in Chicago, plans were made for the annual Southwest Archaeological Expedition. A list was made of the supplies and equipment required for the field season, and they were or- dered and packed for shipment. In late May, Paul and John departed. Alex Spoehr, Donald Collier, and others also participated in different seasons. Vehicles were rented in Gallup, New Mexico, and Fig. 1959. 14.3. Martha Perry of Chicago, camp cook. driven to Pine Lawn. A local crew did the digging (see Lister 2001). As they planned to spend several seasons in the area, Paul had a permanent camp built on the mesa alongside an arroyo in the Pine Lawn Val- ley. Camp included a comfortable frame main building that included the kitchen, Paul's bedroom and office, a bunk room for the men, and a large living/dining room with a stone fireplace at one end. There was also a cabin for camp cook Mrs. Perry (Fig. 14.3), a laboratory, and two privies. There was a porch on the front of the building overlooking the arroyo. Pine Lawn is situated at an elevation of about 5,500 feet. Days were warm and pleasant, but evenings and early mornings were cool, sometimes cool enough to freeze water in the washbasins. The fireplace was most wel- come in early morning and evening. Running water was pumped in from a storage tank that sat above the kitchen. One year we were given a dishwasher. Paul had calculated how much water pressure we needed to operate it and how much water it would take to run it in an area where water needed to be conserved. He felt that 182 Chapter Fourteen Fici. 14.4. Margaret Adler and Mark Winter cla.ssifying pottery and stone and bone Iik)1s. 1959. we would save water if the dishes were cleaned in a dishwasher. After many hours of studying the manual that came with it. we tried several times to connect the dishwasher, but could not get it to work. We finally concluded that despite Paul's calculations, we needed more water pressure to operate the dishwasher, and obtained a small pump that solved the problem. Paul frequently demonstrated his ability to combine the scholarly aspects of academic research and the practical as- pects of operating a camp in a field situation. Paul had some health problems that came about following his early pericxi of fieldwork in the Yu- catan. As a result he had dietary restrictions, which were resolved by having a cook in camp who could substitute ingredients Paul could tol- erate for the ones he could not. Ftxxl was ordered in bulk quantities, and Mrs. Perry set a good table. In a sen.se. the Pine Lawn camp was Pauls real home. He was more relaxed there than in Chica- go. In camp he entertained visiting colleagues — Bob and Linda Braidwood. Watson Smith and his family. John Otis Brew, and others. Bertha Dutton brought a group of Girl Scouts on a tour of south- western sites one season, and they camped on the mesa. The camp was well organized and followed a consistent routine from day to day. Meals began on time. Three meals were served each day; breakfast and dinner in the main building were more formal irtcals. Generally, each individual had an assigned seat, with Paul at the head of the table and Mrs. Perry at the fcMM. Lunch for those who were digging consisted of sandwiches in the field. John Rinaldo and some of the students in camp went to the dig five days a week, leaving camp about 7 a.m. Those who stayed in camp ate lunch there. Following lunch there was an im- posed rest period. Paul took a short nap every day after lunch, and at that time the rest of us were to remain quiet. The part of the crew that remained at camp worked on cataloguing (Fig. 14.4). ran errands, and did what needed to be done around camp. Days began rather early. Paul was up first. Each day began when Paul selected a record that was heard as a wake-up call. Usually this was Bach, Beethoven, Saint-Saens, or occasionally Brubeck. On rare occasions we heard the Peruvian The Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century 183 Fig. 14. ^. Smoke from a forest fire on Escudilla Mountain, New Mexico, as seen from the Chicago .Natural History Museum Archaeological Expedition Camp in Pine Lawn Valley. singer Ima Sumac, who had a tremendous vocal range, three to four octaves. She was always a jolt first thing in the morning. Paul's collection of phonograph records trav- eled back and forth from Chicago every year. Paul was a musician and earned his way through school by playing the organ for a local church. One year he had an old pump organ in camp that he hoped to get to play, but was not successful. Someone suggested that he try to use the vacuum cleaner as a source of air power, but that did not work. Mail was delivered in the town of Reserve, New Mexico, so it was necessary to go in and get it. Paul enjoyed going into town, visiting with the people he knew there. Some of our supplies were ordered locally, others had been ordered and sent out from the suppliers. Each day after the crew returned from the field and had time to clean up, dinner was served. After dinner everyone relaxed, dishes were done, and the kitchen was put in order. Most of us gathered on the porch in the evenings following dinner. As the temperature fell in Pine Lawn as the sun went down, we would sit around, adding coats or jack- ets as needed, to discuss the day's activities and listen to music. There was usually some shoptalk while we caught up on the progress of the dig. Life in camp was not all work. There were oc- casional picnics and visits to other sites in the Southwest and an occasional trip to Gallup to pick up a visitor. Paul was not much of an athlete, but he did occasionally enjoy a game of Ping-Pong on the table next to the house. Sometimes there were disconcerting events that had to be reckoned with, like the forest fires one summer that were close enough that we could see the smoke (Fig. 14.5) but not close enough that the camp was threatened or the crew pressed into service fight- ing the fires. The fires made Paul, who smoked, very nervous, and he made conscious effort to make sure that his and everyone else's cigarettes were extinguished. Another year we were invaded by a colony of skunks that moved up from Mrs. Crackels's yard across the road to new quarters under our houses. They had to be evicted, pro- testing all the time as only skunks can. One sum- mer it rained so hard in the mountains around us 1 84 Chapter Fourteen ihat the arroyo next to camp ran for a few hours, and we all went down to watch the water pour out of what was usually a dry stream. My first summer in camp was the summer of 1950. After a leave from the Museum in June and July to dig in Utah for Jesse Jennings at Danger Cave, I went from Salt Lake to Flagstaff to attend the Pecos Conference (see Wotxlbury 1993). Paul was there and asked whether I would be willing to delay my return to Chicago for a month or so to help them with the cataloguing at Pine Lawn. That was the summer they were digging in Tula- rosa Cave, and the quantity of the dry perishable artifacts they recovered was so great that ihey could not keep up with the cataloguing. That sum- mer an Antioch College student. Jim Barter, as- sisted with the cataloguing. We worked many days recording and packing corncobs, sandals. textile fragments, and numerous twigs wrapped with string, twigs wound together, and other items whose function was not known at that time. Never before had there been such a collection of perish- able artifacts recovered from a Mogollon site. Every summer, on return to Chicago, a press conference was held at the Museum, announcing the return of the expedition and its successful summer. That year the publicity attracted so much attention that we received calls asking when the objects would be available for viewing by the public. This prompted a sudden flurry of activity to install a temporary exhibit about the dig. Each fall Martin and Rinaldo worked through the collection from the summer to prepare a report on the field sea.son. They had established the prac- tice of completing the report in the winter before they departed for the following field season. With the greatly increased number and variety of arti- facts recovered from Tularosa Cave, the problem of accomplishing this was somewhat daunting. In addition to the usual stone and ptittery objects col- lected from the open sites, there were wooden, cloth, string, and fiber objects and the remains of wild fotxls utilized by the Mogollon. including some 33.00() corncobs recovered from the cave. In the previous years John and Paul had been able to handle the description, tabulation, and analysis of the material recovered by the end of March, and the report was in the hands of the editor by the time to leave for New Mexico in May. The Tularosa Cave situation was different. Even though the artifacts had been catalogued in the field, the great variety and new types of artifacts in the collection were more than could easily be organized by the two of them. In order to expedite the final reptm. Paul asked others to help with the analysis. I was asked lo work on the sandals, textiles, and basketry. Roger T. Grange, another University of Chicago suideiii who was on the staff at that time, agreed to lake on wcxxlen objects, sticks, twigs, and so on, most of which were unfamiliar and difficult to sort into meaningful categories. Hugh C. Cutler, curator in the Department of Botany, agreed to study the re- mains of vegetable food plants and in particular the corncobs. Paul and John handled the ceramic and lithic artifacts as well as the descriptive site material and other background information in- cluded in the report. It was not possible to com- plete the analysis and description of such a sizable collection in the eight months allowed, so the final report was delayed until the following year, with time out for another summer field expedition. Each of us worked on a particular segment of the collection, and we met peritxlically to report our findings and compare notes. It was exciting to see how conclusions ba.sed on the analysis of certain artifacts supported the results from the study of the others. The end result was a volume appropriately titled Mof^olUm Cultural Continuity and Change (Martin et al. 1952). which described the findings and the changes in the sequence of cxcupation in the area near Pine Lawn from earliest settlement until the Mogollon left the area. Earlier conclusions about the Mogollon (x:cupation in the Southwest that had been based on the analysis of stone, bone, and pottery artifacts were sometimes supported and .someUmes modified by the new data. Paul and John agreed that all authors should receive credit for the report by being identified as authors. This was somewhat appalling lo Lillian Ross, the scientific editor, as she was concerned about how librarians would index the rept>rt. and she thought the li.st of five authors — Martin. Rin- aldo. Bluhm. Cutler, and Grange — read somewhat like a brokerage firm, but she was overruled. To- day, multiple-authored papers are more the rule than the exception. Assembling a report was a rit- ual in the precomputer days. Paul. John. Agnes McNary. and several others would sit around a table, each with a copy of the report, numbering pages and inserting figures to get it into final shape for the editor. In the late 194()s and 1950s, connections be- tween the Museum and the University of Chica- go's Department of Anthropology were closer than they have been since. At that time the staff taught muscology courses at the Museum (see Collier, this volume). Small classes were intro- The Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century 1 85 Fig. 14.6. Looking out through a lateral entry. Tod Egan surveying Higgins Flat Pueblo, New Mexico. duced to the various activities of classifying, cat- aloguing, restoring, and storing museum speci- mens. In addition, there were the occasional sem- inars taught at the Museum or on campus. Martin, Quimby, and Collier served as advisers or on committees. The close association between the university and the Museum might have been stronger if the two institutions had not been so far (five miles) apart geographically. At that time few students had cars, and the only easy way to get from the university to the Museum was on the Illinois Central railroad trains. When I first knew Paul, he did not take college students with him to the Southwest, although he did have the occasional high school student to help out about camp. One — Tod Egan (Fig. 14.6) — handled the photography, for several sea- sons. When I asked Paul why he did not take col- lege students, his answer was, "They asked too many questions." After I left the Museum, I went to the University of Illinois, where one of our an- thropology students. Bill Longacre, was consid- ering going to Chicago for graduate work. I rec- ommended Bill to Paul because I felt that Paul might change his mind, and he did. In the years that followed, there were several summer pro- grams that involved college students and graduate students (see Nash, this volume). The early 1950s could perhaps be considered a growing period in a nonfinancial way for the De- partment of Anthropology. We were becoming aware of the need for more support from the pub- lic— hence the emphasis on more attractive exhib- its and more publications for the public, examples being Braidwood's Prehistoric Men (1949) and, later, Martin's Digging into History (1959). In ad- dition, there were a number of articles in what was then known as the Museum Bulletin (now In the Field). Archaeology at this time was changing. With the introduction and refining of radiocarbon dat- ing, the problems of time depth and chronological sequences became less of a concern. Archaeology, always considered a part of anthropology at the University of Chicago, attracted more students at the end of World War II. Many of them had had previous archaeological field experience. Some of them had written reports before the war. As the amount of archaeological information increased, various phases of occupations became better known, and the assemblages associated with them became more complete. Interests were changing, and more time was spent on interpretation. So it is not surprising that the concepts and data from ethnology and other fields of anthropology came to be considered, and in time the "New Archae- ology" became accepted. The opportunity to work in the Field Museum in midcentury was a valuable one. Those of us who were graduate students at the Museum in that period were very fortunate. We had an opportu- nity not only to learn about a vast variety of col- lections from all over the world but also to asso- ciate with senior colleagues on the staff who shared their knowledge with us. We learned to identify, curate, and catalogue artifacts, and on some occasions had a chance to learn about con- servation methods. Several of us had the oppor- tunity to write parts of reports, and in doing so we learned how to organize information for pub- lication and to edit it into acceptable form. Paul, originally an English major, was an excellent writ- er, and Lillian Ross, the scientific editor, was a real stickler for detail. Martin, Quimby, and Collier had different in- terests, but all were genuinely interested in ar- chaeology and anthropology and in the quality of the exhibits and the research produced at the Mu- seum. They willingly shared information with 186 Chapter Fourteen those of us who were starting out and discussed points of view and approaches to problems. Paul and John applied ceramic seriation to Pine Lawn area sites when tree-ring dating could not be ap- plied (Martin and Rinaldo I95()b:53l ). In the ear- ly 1950s, Paul considered ideas presented by Mur- dock (Martin and Rinaldo l95()b:556-568) in his discussion of Mogollon social organization. It is not too surprising that in time he became sup- portive of the New Archaeology. Paul was the more imaginative member of the team, John the more conservative. John had a fantastic memory, and I came to believe he could recall chapter and verse for almost every artifact in the literature on the Southwest. Their policy of publishing a report every year before undertaking another dig was a productive pattern for archaeologists to follow. Their reports were well organized and consistent. They used the same format for most rept^ns. ami the typology they employed was consistent iVoni year to year so that it was easy to work from report to report. Reports were well written and well illustrated. The plan of remaining in one rel- atively limited area until they came to understand the development and settlement in the area from early to late was articulated in the intrt)ductions of several reports (Martin and Rinaldo 195()a:237; Martin and Rinaldo I95()b:4().3); by carrying out that plan, they achieved their goal. The mid-twentieth century was a good time to be asstKiated with the Field Museum. Information in archaeology was increasing, and changes in an- thropology were taking place. It was a good time and a good place to start a career in anthropology. It would have been difficult to find another place with the breadth and .scope of that institution. The Department of Anthropology in the Mid-Twentieth Century 187 15 Donald Collier: A Curator's Life John E. Staller D Fig. 15.1. Donald Collier. kOnald Collier was curator of Middle and South American archaeology and ethnology at the Field Museum for 36 years, from 1941 until 1976, and remained actively associated with the Museum until 1991 (Fig. 15.1). His career spanned a period of significant reorganization within the Museum that .saw a fundamental trans- formation in the role of the curator. His delight in exhibit development, which benefited from his considerable knowledge of ethnography and in- si.stence on intellectual honesty in creating attrac- tive, popular exhibits, was much dimmed by the creation of a separate Exhibits Department in the later years of his service at the Museum. During his tenure, too, his familial connections with civic institutions in the nation's capital and throughout the length of the Americas brought great vitality to the Museum. This account introduces a few of his many contributions to the anthropology de- partment at the Field Mu.seum, and more broadly to the discipline as a whole. The notes provided here are fle.shed out in Collier's personal recollec- tions in the next chapter. Donald J. Collier was born on May 1, 191 1, in Sparkill, New York, to a family that over the de- cades contributed in diverse ways to anthrof)olo- gy. His father, John (1884-1968), was U.S. Com- missioner of Indian Affairs during the administra- tion of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and author of Indians of the Americas (Collier 1947). The youn- ger Collier's interest in anthropology and Ameri- can Indian culture was fueled in part by his early exposure to their cultures, particularly the cultures of the indigenous peoples of the American South- west, where he would often travel with his father. His wife, Malcolm Carr Collier (1908-1983), was a professional anthropologist who specialized in Navajo culture and was also the director of the Anthropological Curriculum Study Program of the American Anthropological Association. Donald Collier's brother, John Collier, Jr., became a lead- ing visual anthropologist. His brother-in-law, Rene d'Hamoncourt, was the first chair of the In- dian Arts and Crafts Board and for many years served as director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. These family associations with different branches of organized anthropology and Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 189 his own regular exposure to working anthropolo- gists undoubtedly nourished Collier's lifelong in- terest in anthropology and Amerindian culture. His success in scholarship, exhibit development, and museum politics can also be laid in part to the extended family's network of professional as- sociations. Collier's interests in the field led him to study anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley, from which he received a bachelor's de- gree in 1933. That same year he participated in excavations at the Wupatki site, north of Flagstaff, Arizona, as part of the Rainbow Bridge-Monu- ment Valley Expedition. In 1936 he served on a Department of Agriculture expedition to study the land use and terrace systems in Colorado. The fol- lowing year, as a Dumbarton Oaks Fellow, Collier began working in the Peruvian Andes for the first time, with Julio C. Tello, whom many consider to be the "father" of Peruvian archaeology. This fieldwork occurred in two phases. The first took place in the Casma Valley; the second included a survey transect from Huarmey to Huanaco. Other fieldwork that year focused on the coastal Chavin sites of Moxeke, Cerro Sechin, and Pallka. The entire experience appears to have left a lasting impression on Collier, and it may have motivated him to return to Casma later in his career (Collier 1956). Collier confided to John V. Murra that Tel- lo was a severe taskmaster. But in later years his attitude mellowed somewhat in that he would em- phasize the master's profound interest in Chavin religious symbolism — although, on a whimsical note, he confided to Donald Thompson that when he visited Tello's grave, he was uncertain whether to genuflect or merely remove his hat (Thompson 1996:45). In the late 1930s and early 1940s, Collier stud- ied Native American rituals and traditional meth- ods of folk healing and divination (Collier 1943a, 1944). His first publication was on the halluci- nogenic cactus peyote (Collier 1937). His master's thesis on Kiowa social organization, written while Collier was enrolled in the University of Chica- go's Department of Sociology (Collier 1938), was accepted by the Department of Anthropology. The shift from a career path in sociology to anthro- pology was in part a result of the article on pey- ote, which was written at the behest of his father, who presented the data at a hearing of the Senate Indian Committee. Collier studied under the bril- liant University of Chicago sociologist Robert Redfield, whose methodological and intellectual influence is particularly apparent in Collier's ear- lier publications (e.g.. Collier 1937, 1943a, 1944) and later in his work on exhibits. Before arriving in Chicago, in August 1941, Collier was affiliated with Washington State Col- lege at Pullman, where he served as associate di- rector of the Columbia Basin Archaeological Sur- vey (see Collier et al. 1942). In correspondence with Field Museum Director Clifford C. Gregg, Collier emphasized his commitment to finishing the Columbia Survey report before assuming the position of assistant curator in Chicago (Collier 1941). After arriving at the Museum, Collier left almost immediately on a five-month archaeologi- cal expedition to highland Ecuador (see Collier and Murra 1943), returning to Chicago just a week before the birth of his first child. He was promoted to full curator in 1943 and held that position until 1964, when he was promoted to chief curator, a position he held until 1970. In 1945, Collier, along with Museum col- leagues George I. Quimby and Paul S. Martin, designed and taught one of the first courses in museology. The course covered all aspects of mu- seum theory and practice and was offered in some form for a total of nine years, although it averaged only four or five students per year. Collier later built on this experience and wrote extensively on the role of museums in American anthropology (1959a, 1959b, 1961a, 1964, 1969; Collier and Fenton 1965; Collier and Tschopik 1954). In 1946, Collier joined the Viru Valley Project, which remains one of the most famous and influ- ential archaeological surveys ever conducted in coastal Peru and indeed had ramifications for the discipline as a whole. Gordon Willey's settlement survey of the valley set the methodological stan- dard on which all later surveys were based (Wil- ley 1953). Although the Viru Valley Project never produced an integrated final report, each of the participants, including Collier, published separate reports, and the excavations that Collier conduct- ed served as his Ph.D. dissertation, which was ac- cepted by the University of Chicago in 1954 (Col- lier 1955). Willey would later describe Collier as reserved, with a pleasing formality that was in no way condescending or imperious. In cocktail-hour debates at the Hotel Jacobs in Trujillo with vari- ous Viru Valley Project participants. Collier would express very definite but not overbearing opinions "in a pleasant discursive style" (Thomp- son 1996:46). In his first years at the Field Museum, Collier was invited to write a chapter for the Handbook of South American Indians on the archaeology of 190 Chapter Fifteen Ecuador (see Collier 1946). His synthesis of Ec- uadorian archaeology was later expanded in an article. "Peruvian Stylistic Influences in Ecuador" (see Collier 1948). At the time Collier published his later report, he was one of a very few archae- ologists who possessed a working knowledge of the early ceramics of both ancient Ecuador and Peru. During this [)eriod. Collier also did some Held reconnaissance with John Rowe and Willey at the site of Huari. near Ayacucho. The reconnaissance at Huari was a result of having taken advantage of a flying trip over the Peruvian Central Highway and making a brief visit to the site (Rowe et al. 1950:120). They were driven south along the coast and inland to Arequipa, then to the Titicaca Basin, and finally northward to Cuzco, where they were joined by John Rowe, who took them to Inca sites. It was Rowe's colleague Victor Navarro de Aquila who persuaded them to return to Lima through Arequipa, thus permitting their short visit to Huari and a resulting publication (Thompson 1996:45-46). Their descriptions of the architec- tural styles and pottery diagnostics in the Ameri- can Antiquity article represented the first system- atic depiction of the material remains from this important Andean site (see Rowe et al. 1950). This research expanded on earlier but unpublished fieldwork previously undertaken by Tello in the Casma Valley (see, e.g., Tello 1931, 1940:28, 1942). Unlike many of his colleagues on the Vini Pro- ject. Collier did not have many graduate students who would go on to become professionals in their own right. However, he appears to have been gen- erous with his knowledge and time with those stu- dents who had the privilege of working under his tutelage. It was in part Collier's contacts with some of the most prestigious and highly regarded scholars in the field and his familial contacts with elite circles in Wa.shington, D.C., and Latin Amer- ica that made him such a valuable a.sset to the Museum. These factors undoubtedly made him an attractive candidate when he was hired as assistant curator by Paul Martin. It is rather telling that al- though Collier's circle of colleagues included .some of the most powerful and influential schol- ars of their generation, he chose to focus his con- tributions on the Museum, the students, and the general public. He certainly had the intellect, skills, and academic pedigree to have taken a very different career path. Instead of pursuing field research while curator at the Field Museum, Collier was given the title of lecturer in anthropology at the Univorsits o\ Chicago between 1949 and 197.^ (Collier li>76) He typically taught one course per year between 1955 and 197.3. alternating between Mesoatneri- can Archaeology and Andean Archaeology, though between 1949 and 195.3 he taught a se- quential two-year course that included Human Or- igins, An Intrcxiuction to Anthropology, and Peo- ples of the World. He served on graduate com- mittees and passed along valuable insights not only to students and colleagues but also to part- time workers and volunteers in the Museum (Thompson 1996:47). When Collier returned to Casma, Peru, in 1956, he brought along his family and his graduate stu- dent Donald Thompson. They stayed in a house on Tortugas Bay, just north of the Casma Valley. The research methods developed in the Vini Val- ley Project served as the basis for Collier's re- gional survey, and he used analyses of architec- ture and surface pottery sherds to establish a rel- ative chronology. Thompson (1996:46) described Collier as a great mentor who demanded detail and accuracy, yet was good-humored and a "de- light" to accompany in the field. Collier's last fieldwork for the Museum occurred during a 1962 trip to Mexico. Donald Collier was always very active in pub- lishing articles in the Museum Bulletin, which is geared to a popular audience. Indeed, he wrote ably for both popular and academic audiences. He turned several of his exhibit projects into schol- arly publications, and one of his most acclaimed publications was a catalogue on an exhibition that he organized titled Indian Art of the Americas (see Collier 1959a. 1959b). After W F Libby devel- oped radiocarbon dating in 1949 (Libby et al. 1949). Collier became the first anthropologist to write on the technique and its potential applica- tions in archaeology (Collier 1951a. 1951b; John- son et al. 1951). His interest in the radiocarbon dating technique continued into the next decade (Collier 1961a). Unlike many of his North American colleagues. Collier made a point of publishing in Spanish in Latin American journals (e.g.. Collier 1958). and he appears to have had a particular sensitivity for and fascination with both Latin American and Amerindian cultures. Although Collier was best known for his writings on Andean archaeology, he was active early in his career in the ethnology of North America (.see Collier 1937, 1938. 1943; Martin et al. 1947). Collier served as editor of American Anthro- Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 191 polo^ist from 1949 through 1950 and American Antiquity from 1958 through 1962. Through his early years at the Museum (1949-1962), Collier served as a reviewer for both publications. He is one of the few scholars ever to serve in both ca- pacities, demonstrating his expertise in both social anthropology and archaeology. He was a founding trustee of the Council of Museum Anthropology, chairman of the Institute of Andean Research, and president of the Central States Anthropological Society. Donald Collier's central role in museum politics and the role of American museums within Amer- ican anthropology are clearly evident in his pro- fessional associations and publications (see, e.g.. Collier 1961a, 1964; Collier and Tschopik 1954; Collier and Fenton 1965). Between 1966 and 1971, Collier was a member of the executive board of the Committee on Anthropological Re- search in Museums (CARM). His active involve- ment in committees that worked through and with the federal government was no doubt influenced by his early exposure to the Bureau of Indian Af- fairs. Collier's ties to the federal government are apparent in his positions as representative to the National Research Council and, between 1949 and 1951, his service on the Committee on An- thropology and Psychology. His role in American museums and his interest in ethnographic research were also readily apparent in a number of articles on these topics addressed to both professional and popular audiences (Collier 1945, 1959c, 1961b, 1962, 1965, 1969, 1972a). Collier's family and his field contacts had deep connections with some of the most politically powerful people in academia and government cir- cles. Donald Collier was therefore influential in the politics of museums and their collections, par- ticularly through his brother-in-law, Rene d'Hamoncourt, who was director of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Collier's father, in addition to his role in government, was also well acquainted with the powerful political elites of Latin America, and it was through these con- tacts that Donald Collier was able to play a major role in bringing some important anthropology col- lections to the Field Museum. Collier's political associations and contacts helped make the Mu- seum one of the most politically prestigious and highly regarded natural history museums in the world. Collier was also one of the first curators in a major museum to recognize the importance and value of computers and computer-based data for museums. In 1970, he organized and hosted an international conference on museum computers and information systems through CARM at the Field Museum. The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research largely funded this conference. The activities of CARM led directly to the creation of the Council on Museum An- thropology in 1974, of which Collier was a found- ing trustee. In 1977, just after he officially retired. Collier received funding from the National Sci- ence Foundation and the Wenner-Gren Foundation to create a computer database of the Department of Anthropology's collection catalogue. Much of the collection was moved into the then new Cen- tral Anthropology Storage facility, which, 30 years later, remains the department's flagship storeroom. Collier was dedicated to making the Depart- ment of Anthropology at the Field Museum more visible to the general public and local scholars, and at the same time a better and more interesting place for the public to visit. His commitment to the institution is clearly brought out by his many popular publications, and particularly by his work with exhibits (see, e.g.. Collier 1959a, 1959b, 1969, 1972a, 1972b, 1990b; Collier and Robinyi 1968). Collier and Field Museum Exhibits During his long association with the Museum, Collier organized many major exhibitions (see Collier, this volume). His standards of excellence are still evident in the North America and Middle America exhibit halls and the Hall of Chinese Jades. These exhibits stand as testimony to his vision and creativity in presenting objects from the past. Perhaps because Collier was an ethnog- rapher, a first-rate field archaeologist, and a highly regarded teacher, he was able to use his expertise to translate a broad range of topics into exhibits that were accessible to the general public. In stark contrast to the highly specialized nature of an- thropological expertise today. Collier was part of a generation of scholars that understand anthro- pology to be a holistic science. As such. Collier may properly be seen as a "renaissance anthro- pologist" who was equally as adept in ethnology as he was in archaeology. This broad range of interests perhaps explains why his exhibits not only displayed artifacts but also incorporated them with traditional Amerindian clothing and 192 Chapter Fifteen dress. It was his expertise in bringing together the ethnographic and the archaeological that distin- guished the Museum's anthropology exhibits from those of many other major U.S. museums of the 1940s to 1970s. The North American Hall includ- ed original 19th- to early-20th-century paintings of Amerindians by George Catlin and others. Per- haps one of the reasons why Collier's permanent exhibits of North and Middle America have re- mained longer than any other anthropology exhib- its in the Museum was his dedication to writing for the general public and his natural ability to make complex and remote cultures come to life. In 1941, when Collier was appointed assistant curator. Chief Curator Paul Martin decided to re- design all of the American Indian exhibits. Martin hired Collier to carry out his proposed program, and Collier directed these efforts for the next 25 years. During his long tenure at the Museum, Col- lier worked on four major permanent exhibits: In- dians Before Columbus, Archaeology and Ethnol- ogy of Central America and Mexico, South Amer- ica, and the Hall of Chinese Jades. Collier also worked on .seven large temporary exhibits, one of which. Ancient Ecuador: Culture. Clay and Cre- ativity, became the core of the archaeology mu- seum of the Banco Central del Ecuador, in Gua- yaquil. The intense effort that went into the last of these, and the friendships Collier developed with the people of Guayaquil, are detailed in the next chapter. Indians Before Columbus represented a signif- icant departure from most museum exhibitions up to that time. Rather than merely presenting arti- facts from various cultures, region by region, the new exhibit sought to incorporate ethnographic and ethnohistoric perspectives to convey new ideas and anthropological concepts. The exhibit inspired Paul Martin, Collier, and George Quimby to publish an incredibly successful textbook, In- dians Before Columbus: Twenty Thousand Years of North American History Revealed by Archae- ology (Martin et al. 1947). This publication sig- nificantly enhanced the Field Museum's prestige in the academic world. In putting together Indians Before Columbus, Collier was specifically involed in background re- search on Indian economies and the arts, and he designed the exhibit's picture maps on clothing, transportation, and architecture. He also designed an Inca diorama showing irrigation terraces, a sus- pension bridge, and the recreation of an actual village, called Ollantaytambo, along the Urubam- ba River, which he had visited in 1936 while do- ing research on archaeological terraces uikI ci>l lecting kKal varieties of maize. For ihc huliims cj the Plains exhibit. Collier did background re- search on the maps that illustrated Plains Indian migrations into the Midwest as a result of pressure from the fur trade and the French and Indian Wars. He was particularly intrigued with how the spread of the horse dramatically changed Amer- indian adaptation and exploitation patterns across North America. He also supervised and re- searched a diorama showing a bison hunt and a Plains Indian encampment. This diorama was par- ticularly well conceived because Collier was an expert on the Blackfoot. Crow, Plains Cree, and Oglala Sioux, and on Kiowa s(x:ial organization (Collier 1938; see also Collier 1937, 1943. 1944). Collier also planned and supervised exhibit components for the Northwest Coast, Northern Plateau, and the southern California Coast exhib- its. His interest in the Northwest Coast was in- tense: he had written a Ph.D. qualifying paper on the cultures in that region (Collier I990b:5). He had also carried out fieldwork in the upper Co- lumbia River Basin in Washington and had un- dertaken ethnographic studies of the Indians who lived around Wanapum Lake. The dioramas of the Pomo Indians gathering live-oak acorns and pre- paring acorn mush in a Pomo village were his main contributions to the exhibit on California In- dians (Fig. 15.2). This scene was taken from a place about 120 miles north of San Francisco that Collier had visited while still a teenager doing un- dergraduate studies at Berkeley. Collier had a keen interest in Mesoamerica and designed and installed Indians of Mexico and Central America, a permanent exhibit on the ar- chaeology and ethnology of those regions (Collier 1959c). The exhibit was in preparation between 1955 and 1960, was very well organized, and in- corporated a wide variety of material culture as well as examples of hieroglyphic writing. Collier did background research for panoramas and di- oramas on ceremonial and secular life, and was particularly interested in the ancient Mayan ball game (Fig. 15.3). The dioramas were created by Collier in a.ssociation with the gifted dioramist Al- fred Lee Rowell. Collier believed that Rowell's finest work was the re-creation of the great Aztec market at Tlatelolco (Fig. 15.4). This diorama was constructed on a rapidly diminishing scale from front to back, in order to convey the massive size of the market. To re-create this scene, Rowell made some 270 human figures and 50 different market commodities, all meticulously adjusted to Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 193 Fig. 15.2. Diorama of California Porno picking acorns, from Hall 6. create the three-dimensional perspective (ColUer 1959c; Rowell 1959). Collier did much behind- the-scenes research for this remarkable work. In addition to Spanish eyewitness accounts drawn from the 1519 report of the conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo, all of the costumes and com- modities presented in the Tlatelolco diorama were based on Aztec codices and the Museum's out- standing collection of Aztec artifacts. Collier also worked out an exchange of collections with the Museum Antropologico in Mexico City in the 1950s through his association with the famed Mexican artist and art historian Miguel Covarru- bias. Some of these objects were renowned the world over and greatly enhanced the already for- midable Mesoamerican collection in the Museum. Since Collier was a Latin American specialist, he seems to have taken particular interest in pre- paring and coordinating important temporary ex- hibits of Pre-Columbian art. On the occasion of the Third Annual Pan-American Games in Chi- cago in 1959, Collier designed a temporary ex- hibit titled Indian Art of the Americas in collab- oration with the architect Daniel Brenner, who had previously designed exhibits for the Museum of Modem Art in New York and the Art Institute of Chicago. (Collier's personal reflections on his as- sociation with Brenner can be read in the next chapter.) The exhibit involved Field Museum specimens as well as others borrowed from four other major museums. Collier's family contacts in the Eastern art establishment played a large role in bringing this exhibit together. He published a 64-page, color-illustrated catalogue (Collier 1959a) for the traveling version of the exhibition, which was later shown at three other institutions (Collier 1990b). In 1968, Collier put together an exhibition of traditional and contemporary Indian art in the United States. The Festival of American and In- dian Art included contemporary and prehistoric American Indian art objects, a lecture series, a film series, and music and dancing. Native arti- sans were invited to the Museum to demonstrate their skill in crafting objects from the various me- dia (Collier and Rubinyi 1968). In 1969 a similar event. Fiesta Mexicana, focused on Pre-Colum- bian, Colonial, and contemporary folk art, and also included traditional dances, craftsmen, lec- tures, and a re-created Mexican market (Collier 194 Chapter Fifteen Fig. 15.3. Diorama of Mcsoamerican ballgame. 1990b). Also in 1969, Collier organized one of the largest and most comprehensive exhibits ever undertaken on the Cuna of Panama. Cuna Art and Life included artifacts borrowed from three mu- seums, two art galleries, and six private collec- tions (Thompson 1996:47). The continued popu- larity of Cuna textile art, which is sold in many shops and galleries throughout the city, may have been initially influenced by this exhibit. One of the most interesting and sensational pro- jects that Collier coordinated and installed was the 1975 traveling exhibit on the ceramics of For- mative period Ecuador — Ancient Ecuador: Cul- ture. Clay and Creativity 3000-300 B.C. (see Lathrap et al. 1975). This exhibit included 600 archaeological specimens and many photomurals and charts. Collier had the help of a very good scriptwriter and label writer. Bob Martin, who lat- er became chief designer for the National Ar- chives in Washington exhibits and publications. Martin produced not only some of the finest chro- nological charts but also comparative charts of re- lated regional chronologies. In keeping with his publication philosophy. Collier insisted that the exhibit labels and cata- logue for Ancient Ecuador be written in both Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 195 Fig. 15.4. Diorama of Aztec market at Tlatelolco, Mexico, a.d. 1515, by Alfred Lee Rowell. Spanish and English. Most of the archaeological specimens for this exhibit came from the Norton/ Perez Collection, in Guayaquil, which includes exquisite Formative period ceramics from coastal Ecuador. The exhibit had the enthusiastic support of the Ecuadorian consul general in Chicago and the Ecuadorian ambassador in Washington. It was favorably reviewed in American Anthropologist (Thompson 1976) and was strongly supported by Chicago's South American community in general. Collier collaborated with Donald W. Lathrap and Helen Chandra to produce the catalogue for the exhibit (Fig. 15.5). Lathrap wrote the text, which Collier heavily edited, and it has become one of the most widely cited studies on the Ecuadorian Formative ever published (see Lathrap et al. 1975). In 1980, thanks in no small part to Collier's efforts, the Norton/Perez Collection became a per- manent exhibit in the newly built Museo Arqueo- logico del Banco Central del Ecuador, in Guaya- quil (Thompson 1996:47). Ancient Ecuador was Collier's last foray into exhibit development as a curator at the Field Mu- seum. Insofar as his work on exhibits had begun 35 years earlier, with Indians Before Columbus, his legacy in this department is unmatched at the Museum. Few curators anywhere have such an impressive record in developing exhibits. Scholarship or Showmanship? The Media Debate Collier's role in the history of the Department of Anthropology at the Field Museum can be fully understood only by taking into account the sweep- ing administrative changes that occurred while he was chief curator, from 1964 to 1970. In late 1968, the Museum's administration created a new Exhibits Department. This marked a significant change in the Museum's structure, for exhibit de- 196 Chapter Fifteen Fig. 15.5. Catalogue cover for Ancient Ecuador exhibit. velopment had always been the purview of the individual academic departments. Collier always felt that curators were responsible for conveying their knowledge to the public through exhibits and popular writing, and indeed considered this an ethical calling of the position. Being a student of human nature. Collier also recognized that not all were equally up to the task, noting that while many curators demonstrated considerable enthu- siasm for planning and designing exhibits, not all were equally talented in the execution. (Collier's exact remarks can be read in the following chap- ter.) The creation of the Exhibits Department dra- matically changed the nature of the curatorial po- sition at the Museum to one in which the curator's Donald Collier: A Curator's Life 197 first and foremost task was to conduct research and disseminate newly produced scientific knowl- edge. With the shift away from exhibit develop- ment and education, anthropology curators at the Field Museum were increasingly restricted in their involvement with Museum exhibits. Eventually, this led to a period in which the traditional exhibit development philosophies, such as that espoused by Collier, and the newer philosophies of the Ex- hibits Department clashed. At one point, the local news media unfortu- nately reduced this complicated issue to a sim- plistic debate over "scholarship" versus "show- manship" (Pridmore 1990). Collier's exasperation with the situation is evident in a letter to his col- league, Robert McCormick Adams, of the Smith- sonian Institution: "to speak of showmanship ver- sus old fashioned scholarship is absurd. Curators have always been in favor of showmanship as far as they had the ability and means to create it. They do object to showmanship that lacks integ- rity and is intellectually and physically sloppy in execution" (Collier 1990a). Collier's legacy of anthropology exhibit devel- opment at the Field Museum is unparalleled, though slowly but surely his permanent exhibits are being replaced. His publications stand as last- ing testimony to his belief that curators have an ethical responsibility to disseminate knowledge to a variety of publics, and to the notion that anthro- pology is a holistic science. During his remarkable career. Collier used but did not take advantage of a widespread network of professional and familial contacts in anthropology and the museum world. Instead, he focused his efforts, skills, and creativity on giving back to the institution, thereby enriching the lives of those who saw his exhibits and read his writings. Collier was an extraordinary person, scholar, and, most of all, curator. His association with the Museum is a classic example of what it once meant to live a curator's life. ^ ^ ^ Collier retired in 1976 at the age of 65, although he served as curator emeritus until he moved to California in 1 99 1 . The curator's role at the Field Museum in the last few years of Collier's life was very different from what it was when he entered the field, and his gradual dissociation from the Museum in the later years of his life was almost certainly related to these shifting priorities. Don- ald J. Collier died January 23, 1995, at the age of 83 of complications from injuries sustained in a fall. 198 Chapter Fifteen J 16 My Life with Exhibits at the Field Museum, 1941-1976 Donald Collier The following selection offers Donald Collier's many and varied contri- butions to exhibit development during a period of significant transition in exhibit philosophy, both at the Field Museum and in the broader museum community. From the matter-of-fact, curator-developed Indians Before Co- lumbus exhibits of the late 194()s to the dynamic and often flamboyant festivals of American Indian Art (1968) and Mexicana (1969). Collier at once remained true to scholarly content and open to new developments in exhibit design and presentation. With amendments to the text by his son. David Collier, and others, this previously unpublished memoir offers first- person insights on a critical period in the history of American mu.seum anthropology and its public face. — Eds. In the narrative that follows, I offer some obser- vations and reflections on my career in work- ing with exhibits at the Field Mu.seum of Natural History between 1941 and 1976. This was an era when a central goal of the Mu.seum's curators was to create new exhibits, based on their own schol- arly insights and the most up-to-date knowledge in their respective disciplines. The curators saw their expertise and connoisseurship a.s essential ingiiedi- ents in crafting exhibits. Relatedly, they were also strongly committed to informing the general public through writing popular articles for the Museum Bulletin and through other museum publications. While my focus is primarily on my own years at the museum, I briefly sketch the earlier develop- ment of the Field Museum, especially in the fleld of anthropology. My goal in di.scussing this earlier period is to underscore the remarkable convergence of intellectual and flnancial leadership that went into establishing the Museum as an institution that sought to create exhibits and publications that brought to the general public the very best insights and thinking about natural history. Early Intellectual and Financial Leadership in Creating the Museum The Field Museum grew directly out of the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893, which was organized to celebrate the 4(X)th anniversary of the "discovery" of America by Columbus. The fair had great exhibits, unprecedented in size and quality, that focused on the ethnology and archae- ology of the New World. The State of Illinois chartered the Field Columbian Museum, later known as the Field Museum, on October 15, 1893, two weeks before the close of the fair. Among the many people whose dedicated efforts led to the creation of the Museum, let me mention three. The first was Frederic Ward Putnam, pro- fessor of anthropology and director of the Pea- body Museum at Harvard, who was chief of the Department of Ethnology of the Exposition. His involvement reflected the remarkable degree to which the ethnographic exhibits had attracted na- tional and international scholarly support and at- tention. Putnam led a three-year campaign for the formation of a new museum, to be based on the collections from the Exposition, and the scholars he drew into the enterprise included Franz Boas, later to emerge as one of the most prominent an- thropologi.sts in the United States. Second, the for- mation of a museum had the passionate support of Edward E. Ayer, the railroad-tie king and a prolific collector of American Indian art and ar- tifacts, who was a trustee of the Exposition. Fi- nally, Marshall Field contributed $1 million to launching the Museum, at a time when that was My Life with Exhibits 199 indeed a very large amount of money (see Ayer, this volume). The newly established Museum was housed in the Fine Arts Building of the Exposition, which subsequently became the only major structure to be preserved in Jackson Park after the close of the fair. The new museum acquired by gift and purchase nearly all of the collections displayed in the Exposition: (1) the foreign, federal, and state exhibits; (2) the collections from the fair's De- partment of Ethnology, which included extensive ethnographic and archaeological materials, many of which were acquired or excavated in 1 89 1 and 1892 by the largest anthropology task force ever organized; (3) the great natural history exhibit in the fair, supplied by Ward's Natural History Es- tablishment of Rochester, New York; and (4) a 2,000-volume anthropology library that Putnam had solicited from the foreign governments par- ticipating in the fair. This library included a sig- nificant portion of all the anthropology publica- tions in print at the time. The new museum in Jackson Park was on its way. It had collections, but it took time to build a curatorial staff. In the next 28 years, prior to the move to the present building in Grant Park, many gifted and pioneering curators joined the Museum and were centrally involved in creating the initial exhibits during a time of extraordinary activity and creativity. Their activities included productive fieldwork, the acquisition of important collections from many parts of the world, publication of many scientific studies, the organization of col- lections from the Exposition, and the presentation of the growing collection in exhibits. The Move to Grant Park in 1921, Expanding Exhibits, and Education In 1921 the Museum moved from Jackson Park, on the south side of Chicago, to its present home at the south end of Grant Park, close to the down- town center of the city (Figs. 16.1 and 16.2). The old exhibits were reinstalled almost intact, and all four scientific departments had active exhibit pro- grams during the ensuing two decades. Most of the great habitat groups in zoology, including mammals and birds, were created during this time, as well as exhibits on fishes, sea mammals, and reptiles. The Department of Geology, collaborat- ing with the Department of Botany, created new exhibits on paleontology and mineralogy, as well as a great diorama showing life in the Coal Age (the Carboniferous). My favorite exhibit was a Pontiac coupe shattered by a meteorite, with the meteorite still lodged in the car seat. Charles Knight, who began his paleontology murals in the 1920s, completed them under the supervision of Bryan Patterson in the 1930s. The murals covered two billion years of Earth's history from the time before life began (the Azoic), through the begin- ning of life, the rise of invertebrates, the age of reptiles, the rise of mammals and birds, and, fi- nally, the animals of the Ice Age (the Pleistocene). In botany, the exhibit showing models of flower- ing plants made of glass, wax, and plastic was more varied and wonderful than the famous glass flowers at Harvard. Botany also created fine di- oramas of Alpine flora, an Illinois woodland in spring, and a tidal habitat in the Bay of Fundy, and toward the end of this period the artist Julius Moessel painted his widely praised murals show- ing the human uses of plants. The Museum's plant reproduction project was close to the heart of Stanley Field, who was president of the Museum's board of trustees from 1908 to 1962. Prominent Anthropologists Create Exhibits The Department of Anthropology sustained an ambitious program of exhibits during the first 20 years in the new building in Grant Park, drawing on the talents of some of the great anthropologists and archaeologists of that era. A. B. Lewis in- stalled the Melanesian exhibit and wrote a guide to the peoples of Melanesia (see Welsch, this vol- ume). Ralph Linton put together the Polynesian and Madagascar exhibits, and Fay-Cooper Cole installed the Malaysian and Indonesian exhibits. Wilfred Hambly installed the African exhibits (see Codrington, this volume). Henry Field put togeth- er the European Prehistory exhibit in Hall C, as well as the Hall of Man exhibit in Hall 3. The latter featured the Malvina Hoffman sculptures ti- tled the Races of Man (see Yastrow and Nash, this volume), a project that Museum President Stanley Field funded and that included casting these bronze sculptures in Paris at a cost of $250,000. Richard Martin supervised the Sumerian exhibit on Kish in Hall K, the Roman and Etruscan ex- hibit, and a partial reinstallation of the Egyptian Hall in Hall J. In addition, Martin wrote a popular leaflet on mummies for the Egyptian exhibit. Bert- hold Laufer, chief curator of anthropology, created and installed the great collections from China and 200 Chapter Sixteen Fig. 16.1. Field Columbian Museum exhibits in Jackson Park being moved to the new Field Museum building in Grant Park. Tibet and wrote several popular leaflets on Chi- nese culture (see Bronson, this volume). J. Eric Thompson, who was for several decades perhaps the leading specialist in Maya archaeol- ogy, reinstalled the Mexican and South American exhibits (see McVicker, this volume). In 1927 he wrote a popular leaflet. The Civilisalion of the Maya, which went through ten printings and two revisions. He also wrote a handbook of South American archaeology for the Museum. Alfred L. Kroeber enhanced the South American collections with materials he excavated on the first and sec- ond Captain Marshall Field Expeditions to Peru, in 1925 and 1926. Kroeber, who was the founding chair of the Department of Anthropology at the University of California, Berkeley, also served as a research associate in the Museum's anthropol- ogy department from 1925 until his death in 196(). Finally, during the early thirties. Ralph Linton re- installed the Northwest Coast and Eskimo exhibits in Hall 10. The Museum Participates Again in a World's Fair The Field Museum was involved with another world's fair in 1933. which bore the rubric "A Century of Progress." The fair was built on Northerly Island, most of which is now Meigs Field, on the north side of Bumham HarfK)r. and it extended down the lake shore to 39th Street. Given the new location in Grant Park, the Mu- seum was right on the northern edge of the fair, as were the Shedd Aquarium, built in 1929, and the Adier Planetarium, built in 1930. (This was the first planetarium erected in the United States.) It was clearly unnecessary for the Museum to or- My Life with Exhibits 201 Fig. 16.2. Field Columbian Museum exhibits in Jackson Park being moved to the new Field Museum building in Grant Park. Note the buckets over skeletons" skulls for protection. ganize special exhibits — the entire Museum was close at hand for the fair's visitors, and attendance increased dramatically. The largest day's atten- dance at the Museum during the fair reached 65,000, a record that still stands. The Field Museum had on display in the Ex- position two important totem poles from British Columbia, too tall to be displayed in Hall 10. Hence, they were exhibited in the fair, outside of the Museum. Unfortunately, as this was the height of the Depression, they were subsequently sold for $150 apiece. One ended up in a YMCA camp in Illinois and the other in a Scout camp in Min- nesota. Thus, while the Museum made great strides in preserving the artifacts and collections entrusted to it, these efforts occasionally faltered. Children, Families, and Schools From the start, the Field Museum was "a place of wonder," attracting both young and old Chi- cagoans, along with visitors from the eastern sea- board as well as overseas. Some children fre- quented the Museum regularly, and it became an integral part of their environment as they grew up. A few were so inspired by the Museum and their contacts with the curators that they pursued scientific careers of their own. One such young- ster was Rupert L. Wenzel, who began visiting the Museum's zoology exhibits in 1925 at the age of 1 1 . He kept coming to the Museum throughout his youth, and finally contacted Dr William J. Gerhard, curator of insects. In 1934, after the De- pression terminated his second year in college, Wenzel applied to be a full-time volunteer in the Division of Insects, which meant working the same hours as staff, including Saturday mornings. After a year and a half as a Museum volunteer, Wenzel returned to college. He kept in touch with Gerhard and subsequently worked with Alfred Emerson, the great termite specialist at the Uni- versity of Chicago, under whom he later studied as a doctoral student. Wenzel was appointed as- sistant curator of insects in 1940 and served as 202 Chapter Sixteen chief curator of zoology at the Museum from 1971 to 1987. Since I didn't grow up in Chicago, I can only imagine what the Field Museum might have done to me during my youth. As it was, the two mu- seums that I frequented in New York, when I was between the ages of 5 and 8, left a strong im- pre.ssion. Particularly vivid are the memories of the great painted KwakiutI war canoe at the American Museum of Natural History and the Egyptian mummies at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The exhibits in these museums, along with my many other varied life experiences, contrib- uted to the interests and expertise that I subse- quently acquired and then shared — both with pro- fessional colleagues and with the general public — once I too became a curator at the Field Museum. The fa.scination that museums hold for children was important in motivating many of us in a num- ber of ways, not only through exhibits but through other Museum activities as well. For example, during the Museum's annual members' night, my two sons could explore all four department.s — bot- any, zoology, anthropology, and geology — to see the kinds of tasks in which curators and staff were engaged on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps stimulated in part by this experience, my son Bruce later worked as a Mu.seum volunteer one summer, help- ing to find tiny fossil teeth among large collec- tions of small pebbles carefully collected from ant hills in Wyoming. The work was interesting but very tedious, so Bruce would alternate this task with efforts to remove large fossil jaws from the stone matrix in which they had been discovered, using an old-fashioned dentist's drill for the pur- pose. Indeed, it is appropriate to mention here that the families of curators in natural history and an- thropology museums have always played an im- portant role in research and other museum activ- ities. This resulted from the great emphasis in these museums on field research and the frequent participation of families in fieldwork. Many re- search trips are to remote places, and usually a family unit works well there. Often a spouse has training in the curator's specialty and takes part in the expedition activities and in the analysis of the data and specimens collected when back at the museum. For example, my wife, Malcolm, who was also an anthropologist, was an active partner in my work on the Upper Columbia River in 1940 and on two expeditions to Peru in 1 946 and 1 956. This type of family involvement and collaborative work added to the holistic life of a curator aiui made research trips even more rewarding. The Museum's efforts to engage and cducaie both young and old often extended outside ihc Museum, involving what Kxlay we call outreach. In 1911 Norman Wait Harris endowed the Harris Public School Extension program of the Field Mu.seum, which designed and produced exhibits focused on themes of anthropology and natural history. The exhibits were housed in small, por- table, "child-proof" cases and distributed to about 8(X) Chicago schools. Two exhibits were de- livered monthly during each school year. The Mu- seum was thus beginning to do more for its visi- tors and to reach out to the school population, but the activities were meager compared to the rich spread of services and programs developed by the Museum's Department of Education after the First World War. During the 1920s and 1930s the Field Museum further increa.sed educational activities. Within the Museum's na.scent Department of Education, the James Nelson and Anna Louise Raymond Foun- dation for Public School and Children's Lectures was established in 1925 with a gift from the Ray- monds. This permitted expansion of "lectures, tours, moving pictures, and lantern slides provid- ed for the entertainment and instruction of school children, at gatherings both in the Field Museum it.self, and in the classrooms and as.sembly halls of the schools" (Gregg 1938). The motion pic- tures and lectures were often held in the Muse- um's James Simpson Theatre, Redoing the American Indian Exhibits, 1941-1982 In 1941, Paul S. Martin, chief curator of an- thropology from 1935 to 1964, formulated an am- bitious plan for redoing the Museum's exhibits on American Indians. I had first met Martin at a re- mote trading post on the Navaho Reservation in Arizona in 1933, and we shared deep commit- ments to learning and teaching about the cultures and societies of the American Indians that are so vividly present in the American Southwest. Mar- tin held the strong conviction that curators should use their .scholarly expertise in educating the pub- lic through exhibits and publications. He turned this personal philo.sophy into museum policy, in- sisting that exhibits reflect the best available scholarly insight. My Life with Exhibits 203 Martin also set an example by writing one or more articles annually for the Field Museum News, later entitled the Museum Bulletin, drawing upon his 30 field seasons of archaeological re- search in Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona be- tween the years 1928 and 1974. I was similarly committed to writing for the general public — I wrote 48 popular articles for the Museum Bulletin. Many of these articles grew directly out of partic- ular exhibits, such as "Aztec Trade" and "The Maya Ball Game," which were reprinted in Ar- chaeology. Others were unrelated to exhibits, as in the case of the "New Radiocarbon Method of Dating the Past," which was reprinted in the Mu- seum Journal and the Journal of Biblical Archae- ology. I wrote "Chicago Comes of Age: The World's Columbian Exposition and the Founding of the Field Museum" for the 75th anniversary of the Museum. Other prolific Bulletin authors in- cluded Edward Olsen, curator of mineralogy, who wrote an astounding 52 articles, as well as Austin Rand, chief curator of zoology, and Berthold Lau- fer, chief curator of anthropology. Martin was the inspiration and force behind the program to reinstall the American Indian exhibit in Halls 4-10, which was started in 1941 and completed in 1982, eight years after his death. Martin recruited the curators who did the work: Alexander Spoehr, North America and later Oce- ania; Donald Collier, Middle and South America and aspects of North America; George I. Quimby, who later became curator of exhibits. North America; John Rinaldo, North America; James VanStone, North America; and Phillip Lewis, primitive art. Stanley Field, the Museum's presi- dent, provided crucial support for Martin's pro- gram over the years. My Role in the Exhibits for Indians Before Columbus I arrived at the Museum in August 1941 as an assistant curator. I set out immediately on a five- month archaeological expedition to highland Ec- uador, but on my return in early February, a week before my son David was born, I plunged into work on the exhibits for Indians Before Colum- bus. This general exhibit on Pre-Columbian In- dians of the Americas placed special emphasis on the archaeology of the eastern United States and on an interpretation of the Field Museum's great Hopewell collection. The latter had been excavat- ed in 1891-1892 for the World's Columbian Ex- position at the type site on the Hopewell farm in Ohio. When we reinstalled the Hopewell exhibit in 1945, archaeologists still believed Hopewell dated from a.d. 500 to 1100; subsequent radio- carbon dates in the mid-1950s established that it dated back much earlier, to 500 B.C. I worked first on the introductory section of Indians Before Columbus, which surveyed Indian economies and arts, and then on the three picture maps dealing with clothing, transportation, and ar- chitecture. I planned and/or supervised exhibits in this hall on the Northwest Coast, Plateau, and southern California coast, as well as the Aztec and Inca exhibits. My previous archaeological field- work on the Upper Columbia River in the state of Washington, plus my ethnographic studies of the local Lake Indians and my Ph.D. qualifying paper on Northwest Coast cultures, provided an excel- lent background for this endeavor. I supervised the completion of the Maya ball game diorama and planned and supervised the Inca diorama showing a suspension bridge, farming terraces, and a village near Ollantaytambo in the Urubam- ba Valley. I had visited this site in 1936 while collecting Indian maize and studying agricultural terraces in Peru. At the time there had been no bridge there. In creating the exhibit we in effect "transported" it from another site. For Indians of the Plains, in Hall 6, 1 conducted the research for the historical map showing the migration of many tribes into the plains from the eastern woodlands as a result of pressures from the fur trade and the French and Indian Wars. I also studied the sources for and the spread of the horse in the plains region, realizing that by 1750 most tribes were well supplied with horses, which came mainly from the Spanish settlements in the Southwest. The horse drastically transformed plains transportation, economy, and military pat- terns. In addition, I planned and supervised two dioramas for this hall showing a bison hunt and an encampment. I was able to draw on my ex- perience on the Plains Indians, having done field- work on the Kiowa in 1935 as a fellow of the Laboratory of Anthropology in Santa Fe, as well as on the Blackfoot, Crow, Plains Cree, and Ogla- la Sioux. I had also written a master's thesis on Kiowa social integration. For the section of Hall 6 on the California In- dians, I helped plan the two Pomo Indian diora- mas showing the gathering of live-oak acorns and the preparation of acorn mush in a Pomo village. I had visited the site of this scene on the shore of Clear Lake, located 1 20 miles north of San Fran- 204 Chapter Sixteen Cisco, five times as a teenager and knew the lo- cation well — including the live-oak trees, where my parents and older brother used to hide Easter eggs on our Easter picnics. Collaboration with Martin and Quimby i George Quimby arrived at the Museum in 1942 as assistant curator of North American archaeol- ogy and ethnology. Quimby had been trained in archaeology at the University of Michigan and had worked for Louisiana State University on var- ious archaeological projects. He conducted geo- logical studies on the eastern shore of Hudson Bay. and studied the Eskimos on the Belcher Is- lands, which are al.so in Hudson Bay. In the early 1950s Quimby was appointed curator of exhibits in the Department of Anthropology. He planned all of the eastern archaeology exhibits in Indians Before Columbus and the Eastern Woodland eth- nology and Plains and California exhibits in Halls 5 and 6. The new installation of Indians of the Southwest in Hall 7 was planned by Paul Martin and John Rinaldo, a.ssistant curator of North American archaeology. This collaborative renovation of the American Indian exhibits led Paul Martin, Quimby. and me to undertake a joint writing project that produced a book whose title echoed that of our exhibit: In- dians Before Columbus: 20,000 Years of North American History as Revealed by Archaeology. The book was published as a 582-page volume by the University of Chicago Press in 1947. The Field Museum held the copyright and received the royalties, becau.se we had written the book on Museum time and had used the Museum's facili- ties to prepare the illustrations. For about ten years it was the only general book available on North American archaeology. It went through eight reprintings for a total of some 30,000 copies in about 15 years. Another enterprise that Martin, Quimby, and I undertook was the organization of a muscology course that began in 1946 in cooperation with the Department of Anthropology at the University of Chicago. The course, which met from 9 a.m. to 4 P.M. two days per week for three quarters, offered credit at the University of Chicago. It was both an academic and a tool course — that is, it dealt with both museum theory and practice. The course covered ideas about the organization and goals of museums, as well as the practical skills needed to implement those theories, which the students acquired through a variety i>f tasks, m eluding accessioning and cataloguing s|x\imciis. designing exhibits, writing exhibit labels, and sui veying visitor behavior ba.sed on observations and interviews. One of the conclusions reached through these surveys over a tive-year peritKl was that the 7- to 13-year-olds gained the most from the exhibits. These youngsters read more labels, had longer attention spans, and looked harder at the exhibits than any other age group. Adults sometimes seemed unable to put aside their pre- occupations to really see the exhibits. We had great confidence in this conclusion about the 7- to 13-year-olds, and developed strong convictions that they should not be "written down to" in the exhibits. Right after World War II a number of foreign students took our course, including students from Argentina. Colombia. Puerto Rico. Northern Ire- land. Norway, and Burma. Three of these students later became museum directors: at the Anthropol- ogy Museum in Oslo, the National Museum of Anthropology in San Juan, and the Anthropology Museum in Belfast. A fourth became a curator at the National Museum in Rangoon. In 1954 the muscology course was reduced to half a day per week for one quarter, representing one-twelfth its former length. This reorganization was part of a dramatic revision of the anthropol- ogy curriculum at the University of Chicago, which came to place far less emphasis on the study of material culture. The new short course in muscology was continued at the Museum until 1965. This drastic change from immersion in mu- scology to dabbling in muscology was clearly part of a long-term shift in the center of gravity of American anthropology from the natural history museums to the universities. Curators Work with Artists and Craftsmen, 1941-1960 One of the great pleasures in the preparation of exhibits at the Field Museum during these years was the opportunity to collaborate with the re- markable artists and craftsmen who worked with- in each department. In most ca.ses, while these artists were deeply engaged in the substantive knowledge that went into the exhibits, at the same time they brought unique skills to the task of cre- ating exhibits that were both informative and beautiful. My Life with Exhibits 205 A Dioramist Perfects His Art From 1941-1960 the Anthropology exhibition staff consisted of one carpenter/preparator, Walter Reese (?); a preparat or/ceramic restorer, John Ple- tincks; an artist, Gustaf Dalstrom; and a dioramist, Alfred Lee Rowell. Rowell created 13 splendid miniature dioramas, each approximately five to six feet in width, between 1941 and his retirement in 1961. These dioramas dealt with the archaeol- ogy of the Southwest, a Marksville temple mound in Louisiana, Plains and southern California eth- nography, the Aztec Market at Tlatelolco, a Ma- yan ball game at Chichen Itza, a Mayan dedica- tion ceremony in the Peten, and the scene (noted above) in the Urubamba Valley, Peru, showing an Inca suspension bridge, farming terraces, and a hamlet. Rowell had grown up in the bean fields of west- ern Colorado. He was an amateur Western genre painter when he was lured in the 1 930s by Works Progress Administration funds to the archaeology and natural history museum at Mesa Verde Na- tional Park to work on miniature dioramas of cliff dwellings and the Anasazi culture. During the next five years, Rowell developed his extraordi- nary skills as a dioramist, stimulated by the cliff- dweller milieu in which he worked and by visits from Paul Martin, who was digging near Cortez, Colorado, during those years, and from other Southwestern archaeologists such as Earl Morris. Early in 1941 the diorama project at Mesa Verde was coming to an end, while at the Field Museum, the Indians Before Columbus project was about to begin. When the Museum hired Rowell as a dior- amist, his first assignment was to create a diorama of the cliff dwelling in Mummy Cave, Canyon del Muerto, Arizona, in Hall 4 (Fig. 16.3). Throughout his career at the Museum, Rowell continued to perfect his skills and his art. Without question, he was the greatest miniature dioramist of his time. He combined great technical skill and a strong but flexible sense of scale with an ability to animate the figures in the diorama and to imbue them with a vital sense of humanity. Perhaps his supreme work was the great Mexican market at Tlatelolco, the important twin city of the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan, which was constructed on a system of forced perspective, with a rapidly di- minishing scale from front to back, in order to convey the vast size of the market. The diorama contained 270 human figures and 50 different market commodities that were all meticulously adjusted to the forced perspective. The re-creation of this market, which had contained up to 50,000 vendors and customers, was based on observa- tions made by Bernal Diaz del Castillo in 1519. The depiction of costumes and commodities in the market was based on Spanish eyewitness ac- counts, Aztec codices, and the Field Museum's outstanding Aztec collection. Dalstrom 's Colors Another important member of the Anthropolo- gy team was Gustav Dalstrom, a gifted etcher and painter, who worked on our exhibits from 1943 until his retirement in 1961. The style and bright color patterns used in Indians Before Columbus had already been developed by artist Ann Harding Spoehr in the two years prior to Dalstrom's arriv- al, and Dalstrom continued these patterns with his own palette. Dalstrom worked on three-fourths of the exhibits in Indians Before Columbus, as well as on those in Halls 5-8 which contained the East- ern Woodlands, Plains, California, Southwest, and Mexico-Central America exhibits. Throughout this time Dalstrom used subtly varied colored backgrounds to set off the specimens and to dis- tinguish the different topics covered within each case. The sections of a hall were color-keyed, so that, for example, in the Mesoamerican hall, the exhibit on Central America was yellow, the Maya areas were in shades of green, and the central Mexico display was in steadily darkening red tones, with the Aztec exhibit the darkest of all — symbolizing the rise of the Aztec civilization. These color keys were used as well in a separate case that displayed a chronological chart for Me- soamerica. Museum President Stanley Field took a strong interest in Dalstrom's use of color. He was in the habit of roaming the third floor once or twice a week in the afternoon, after lunching at the Chi- cago Club, to see what was going on in Exhibits. Field became very fond of Dalstrom's colors, and he eventually issued a dictum that the other de- partments should consult Dalstrom about the pig- ments they planned to use in their displays. There- after, anthropology exhibit screens, after being covered with shade cloth, were taken to the fourth floor south, where Design and Production is now located, to be primed and painted with the colors mixed by Dalstrom. 206 Chapter Sixteen J Fig. 16.3. Alfred Lee Rowell with a diorama of the cliff dwelling at Mummy Cave. Canyon del Muerto. Arizona. Exhibit StafT in Other Departments During the years 194 1-1960. other Museum departments likewise used artists, craftsmen, and technicians with unique skills that were especially matched to the challenges of preparing exhibits in each department. The Botany Department had one general preparator, one artist, and one plant-repro- duction preparator. This department had a long history of installing plant dioramas and models of flowering plants. In the 1940s, curators in botany installed two more plant dioramas, and in the 1970s and early 1980s they reinstalled Plants of the World and Economic Botany with the help of the Exhibition Department. The Department of Zoology staff prepared nu- My Life with Exhibits 207 nierous exhibits of habitat groups showing mam- mals and birds of the Americas and many other parts of the world. Those involved included a spe- cialist, Leon Walter, who cast in plastic fishes, reptiles, and amphibians, two taxidermists for fishes and birds, two taxidermist assistants, a tan- ner, the dioramist A. Rueckert, who crafted plant accessories for the habitat groups, and one or more outside artists working on contract. In ad- dition, the department had two taxidermists skilled in the Carl Akeley method of mounting mammals. According to this method, the skin is stretched over a meticulously sculpted mannequin based on careful anatomical observations and re- cording in the field. These groups were accurate, convincing, and beautiful. Carl Akeley himself had prepared the elephants in the early years when he was on the staff of the Field Museum, before he moved to the American Museum of Natural History in 1917. Similarly, Geology had a pre- parator and artist, as well as a specialist for pre- paring and mounting prehistoric skeletons, in ad- dition to two assistants. Creation of Exhibit Department in the 1960s The prior sections depict what I think of as a golden era of exhibits at the Field Museum, when scientists, working within the four academic de- partments of the Museum, drew on their expertise to create exhibits that reflected the most up-to- date scholarly understandings of natural history. They did this work in collaboration with artists and craftsmen who — as with Alfred Lee Rowell's deep experience in the American Southwest — themselves often brought great substantive exper- tise to their work. Under this system, many cu- rators showed considerable aptitude and devel- oped a zest for planning and executing exhibits. However, admittedly, some were mediocre in their exhibit talents, and a few resented being diverted from their own research. Yet nearly all curators did share the ethic that called for conveying their specialized knowledge and understanding to the public through exhibitions and popular writing, system was gradually superseded in the 1960s when a central Exhibition Department was estab- lished at the Museum. This transition was in many ways a difficult one, bringing important debates — and not a few conflicts — over the content and pre- sentation of exhibits. I was strongly committed to the earlier system in which responsibility for ex- hibits was in the hands of the scientific depart- ments, yet they became increasingly marginalized from the planning and execution of the exhibition program. However, as I acknowledge below, the Exhibition Department did provide valuable assis- tance with some of my final exhibits. Building ttie Collection: The Field Museum-Mexico Exchange In 1948 we launched the most ambitious inter- national exchange of collections ever undertaken by the Museum, and this event strongly affected my reinstallation of the exhibits on Mexico and Central America. As can be seen in the discussion that follows, such an exchange depends both on a high level of professional expertise on both - sides, and also on mutual trust between colleagues 1 who work in different national settings. The director of the National Museum of An- thropology in Mexico, Dr. Daniel Rubin de la Borbolla, and his advisor, the painter and author Miguel Covarrubias, proposed an exchange with ' the Field Museum. De la Borbolla wished to build up anthropology collections from outside Mexico in order to establish a museum that encompassed non-Mexican cultures. He proposed an exchange of Mexican archaeological material for archaeo- logical and ethnological material from the Amer- ican Indians of the United States and Canada. A = preliminary agreement was reached, and Covar- ^ rubias spent five weeks in 1948 at the Field Mu- seum picking out specimens. He had a strong in- terest in primitive art in general, and in ancient and contemporary Indian arts in the Americans in particular. He had studied these areas in European and American museums, and had a strong visual memory — he could make an accurate sketch of, for example, a Haida carving that he had seen in the Berlin Museum ten years before. The tentative selection included archaeological objects from the eastern United States, the Southwest, and the cir- cumpolar areas, as well as ethnological material from these same areas and from the Northwest Coast. In addition, Covarrubias selected some carvings from Melanesia. At the end of that year Paul Martin and I went to Mexico to work on the other end of the ex- change. Although there was air service from Chi- cago to Mexico City at the time, we preferred to go by train and then return from Tampico to New York on a freighter, and from New York to Chi- cago by train. Our travel expenses were covered 208 Chapter Sixteen by a subvention from the Wenner-Gren Founda- tion for Anthropological Research. I spent most of the month of January with Covarrubias in the storerooms of the National Museum, which was in the old Mint building near the Zocalo — the new museum in Chapultapec Park was still ten years away. Covarrubias had studied our Mexican ar- chaeology collection when he was in Chicago, and I had made lists of our major lacunae and weaknesses. With these areas in mind, we picked specimens that would strengthen the Field Mu- seum collection, both in terms of its value as a scholarly resource, and with an eye to using the collection for exhibits. The major gaps we were able to fill included ( I ) a complete series of fig- urines and ceramics from TIatilco. a Formative stage culture in the Valley of Mexico, contem- porary with Olmec; many of the TIatilco pieces had been excavated by Covarrubias; (2) Classic period Aztec ceramics; (3) figurines and pottery from Chupicuaro. in northea.stern Michoacan; (4) Late Classic Gulf Coast material and Late Classic Maya figurines from Jaina Island; and (5) Late Classic and post-Classic Zapatec and Mixtec ce- ramics. After the selection, de ia Borbolla. Covarrubias, Martin, and I discus.sed the balance of the ex- change, in which the Mexican specimens num- bered 1,126 and the Field Museum sp>ecimens numbered 651. It was agreed that the two insti- tutions were satisfied with the materials selected, and that the two directors, de la Borbolla and Clif- ford Gregg, would exchange letters of understand- ing and commitment. In anticipation of redoing the Mesoamerican exhibits. I took the opportunity while in Mexico to visit all of the major sites in the Valley of Mex- ico, as well as Cholula. Monte Alban. Mitla. and several sites in Michoacan. During the five weeks in Mexico City, I al.so renewed my friendship with Alfonso Caso. the excavator of Monte Alban and a student of A/tec culture and religion. I became well acquainted with four other Mexican archae- ologists as well, who were of great assistance to me in the years ahead during the planning and reinstallation of the Mesoamerican exhibits. After our return to Chicago at the end of Feb- ruary 1949. we packed up the Field Museum specimens in anticipation of a simultaneous ship- ment of the two parts of the exchange in May or June. However, in early May, Diego Rivera, the famous revolutionary painter, got wind of the ex- change and decried it in two scathing articles in radical Mexico City newspapers. He denounced de la Borbtilla for dissipating the national ircasuri.' for a handful of South Seas tourist trinkets. This furor delayed the exchange for a year, but ii \Ncni through at the end of 1951. The materials wc re- ceived made possible a richer and more coinpleie depiction of ancient Mexican cultures in the new exhibits. The Mexican exchange, which resulted from three and a half years of patient and persistent negotiation, was unique — nothing like it had been previously arranged with the Mexican govern- ment. Since the Mexican material was national property, the negotiation had to pass through the National Institute of Anthropology and History and the Ministry of Education, to be finally sanc- tioned by supreme Presidential decree. Primitive Art at the Field Museum After the Second World War a widespread in- terest in non-Western art emerged in the United States. This trend was .stimulated in part by the overseas experience of many Americans during the war in Africa, the Middle East. South and Southea.st Asia. China, and Oceania. In the United States these materials came to be called "primi- tive art." a label that might seem paradoxical, giv- en their aesthetic sophistication. These collections and their corresponding exhibits became so pop- ular that Phillip H. Lewis was appointed assistant curator of primitive art at the Field Museum in 1957. This was the (irst curatorship of primitive art in a natural history or anthropology museum in the United States. Because these precious objects were made of organic substances, stringent conservation mea- sures were applied that affected how one handled and studied them. In those days, such ethnograph- ic material was taken to "poison rooms" that were charged with ethylene dichloride. a toxic gas that was marketed as Dow Fume 75 and that called for special protection for those who ex- amined the collections. These precautions pro- duced some incongruous moments that I remem- ber fondly. For example, I have a vivid memory of a visit to the Museum by Rene d'Hamoncourt. my brother-in-law. who was director of the Mu- seum of Modem Art in New York, and Ralph Lin- ton, who at that stage of his career was a professor of anthropology at Columbia University. They had come to the Museum to .select material in preparation for an exhibit at the Museum of Mod- My Life with Exhibits 209 ern Art entitled "Arts of the South Seas," which drew heavily from the Field Museum's collec- tions. They both wore special protective masks while they examined and discussed the Museum's perishable Melanesian art held in poison room No. 5, on the fourth floor south of the Museum. Rene d'Harnoncourt was six foot six inches tall, and Ralph Linton was six foot two and rotund. They were both not only very tall but were great talkers, and they shouted at each other through the masks like giant creatures from Mars. In 1958 the Field Museum substantially ex- panded its holdings on primitive art by purchasing the great Captain A.W.F. Fuller Collection of Oce- anic art and ethnology. Roland Force, who suc- ceeded Alexander Spoehr as curator of Oceanic ethnology, negotiated this acquisition with Cap- tain Fuller in London. After Fuller's death in 1961, his wife gave the Museum a superb collec- tion of Benin art from Nigeria. Roland Force re- installed the Polynesian and Micronesian exhibit in 1961, using a large number of Fuller speci- mens. The exhibit was designed by Susan Schank, artist and preparator. As part of the purchase agreement, the Museum was committed to publish a fully illustrated catalogue of the Fuller Oceanic Collection. Force finished the catalogue after he left the Museum to serve as director of the Bishop Museum in Honolulu, and it was published in 1971 by Lund Humphris in London and by Prae- ger in New York. An Architect Helps Design Exhibits I first had the experience of working with the talented designer and architect, Daniel Brenner, in 1959. Brenner taught in the Institute of Design and the School of Architecture at the Illinois In- stitute of Technology and had worked on several exhibits for the Museum of Modern Art and the Chicago Art Institute. He designed my exhibit In- dian Art of the Americas, using great ingenuity in creating a coherent exhibit, which included many relatively small objects, within the massive space of the Museum's entrance hall, Stanley Field Hall (Fig. 16.4). The exhibit included 106 specimens from the Field Museum collections, as well as loans from nine other major museums. Two thirds of the specimens in the exhibit were Pre-Colum- bian and the rest were from the nineteenth cen- tury. The show was part of the Festival of the Americas on the occasion of the Third Pan-Amer- ican Games in Chicago. Arnold Maremont, pres- ident of the festival and a wealthy art collector who owned Midas Mufflers, personally paid Brenner's fee and the cost of the illustrated cata- logue. The Festival of the Americas exhibit was launched with a lavish opening event, attended by officials from both the festival and the Pan-Amer- ican Games, Mayor Richard J. Daley, and mem- bers of the Latin American Consular Corps. Brenner's architect's eye and his ingenuity in solving the daunting problems of staging the ex- hibit in the great entrance hall of the Museum were a revelation to me at a time when the Mu- seum had no adequate space for temporary exhib- its. The difficulties encountered in placing a large integrated exhibit in Stanley Field Hall convinced me of the need to establish an adequate gallery for temporary exhibits. In 1962 we took a step in this direction by using the west half of Hall 9 for the first King Tut exhibit, which was sponsored jointly with the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago in order to raise money to save Abu Simbal, an ancient Egyptian temple, behind the Aswan Dam. The space was freed by moving all of the South American cases from the west half into the east half, which meant that the South American exhibits were closed during the King Tut exhibit. During the following year, in 1963, I proposed to Director Lee Webber the conversion of the west third of Hall 9 into a temporary exhibit gallery to be designed by Daniel Brenner. Mr. Webber agreed and budgeted the cost of carrying out the plan. Brenner designed the partition separating the gallery from the rest of Hall 9 east with built-in spotlights, thus enabling us to install extensive photo exhibits on Andean archaeology and eth- nology. Brenner also designed the adjustable overhead lighting system for the gallery. The north wall of the gallery had three built-in wall cases; when not in use these could be covered with special curtains. There were two Mies van der Rohe glass-top tables, six Mies leather sling chairs, and ash stands, to create a spot of repose. This furniture can be seen today on the second floor south, although the ash stands have since been retired. This temporary exhibit hall was in continuous use for many years after it was finished in 1964. I put four temporary exhibits there myself: Fes- tival of American Indian Art, Fiesta Mexicana, Cima Art and Life, and Ancient Ecuador. The hall was not large enough, however, for the two block- busters. Ancient Chinese Archaeology and Trea- 210 Chapter Sixteen i r ' •* I nrr i r / 'NDlAN ART OF THE AMERICAS •^ / Fig. 16.4. Indian Art of the Americas temporary exhibit in Stanley Field Hall, 1959. sures of Tutankhamun, which were each installed in two vacated botany halls on the second floor, in 1970 and 1977 respectively. Exhibits and Education After 1960 A number of personnel changes took place in the 1960s. Gustav Dalstrom retired in 1961. He was succeeded by Chicago artist Theodore Halk- in. from 1961 to 1966, who designed and in.stalled China of the Ch'infi Dynasty and Culture of Tibet, and assisted me on some new South American exhibits and the installation of the photo exhibits on the east face of the Hall 9 gallery partition. The Chinese and Tibetan exhibits were planned by Kenneth Starr, but Starr left the Museum in 1965 when work on Tibet had only just begun. Research and label writing for the exhibit were conducted by Georgette Meredith, departmental assistant. During the early 1960s, Phillip Lewis installed two new exhibits in Hall 2: Primitive Artists Look at Civilization (1961), which showed how artists in "traditional" societies depicted the life of "modern" societies, and The Human lmaf>e in Primitive Art (1962). Lewis was assisted by Wal- ter Boyer, artist and preparator. In 1962 he orga- nized a temporary exhibit. Art of Benin, which was shown in the Hall 9 Gallery. The exhibit itself contained the Fuller Benin Collection and other Benin material from the Field Museum collection. The academic consultant who provided scholarly expertise on the collection was Philip Dark, a spe- cialist on Benin art from Southern Illinois Uni- versity and a research associate in the Department of Anthropology. He wrote the exhibit catalogue. Art of Benin, which consisted of 74 pages and 47 plates and was designed by Sue Allen. The exhibit My Life with Exhibits 211 itself was designed by Susan Schank. After the temporary show, the exhibit was moved intact down to the West Africa Hall L. In 1963, Harriet Smith, a long-time staff mem- ber of the Museum's Department of Education, organized a summer high school course in anthro- pology that was conducted in the Field Museum. It was funded by the National Science Foundation Program in Science Education, and was taught by Smith, members of the anthropology department, and outside lecturers. Included was a five-day dig in the Chicago area under the supervision of grad- uate students in archaeology, often a husband- and-wife team from Indiana University. The course was offered until 1979 with the continuing support of NSF. The project used the exhibits, the collections, and the Museum's library. It was the best high school course of its kind in the United States. My Work on Exhibits: Mid-1960s and 1970s In 1964 I succeeded Paul Martin as chief cu- rator and served in that capacity until 1970. Dur- ing these years, and in the following period up to the mid-1970s, my exhibit activity sped up, re- sulting in an exhibit of Mayan art in 1966, the Festival of American Indian Art in 1968, and the Fiesta Mexicana (Figs. 16.5 and 16.6) and Art and Life of the Cuna, both in 1969. In 1970-1971 I supervised the planning and organization of the Hall of Chinese Jades, and in the period up to 1975 I worked on a major exhibit on the archae- ology of Ecuador. Mayan Art and the Introduction of Audiovisuals In 1966 I organized the Mayan Art: Rubbings from Stone Carvings exhibit depicting the Mayan rubbings of Merle Greene, an eminent artist and student of Mayan art. By using the Chinese rub- bing technique on rice paper. Merle recorded all of the major Mayan carvings and inscriptions, in- cluding the great stone sarcophagus in the tomb beneath the Temple of the Inscriptions at Pal- enque. These rubbings are an important documen- tary source, because the sides of the sarcophagus had never been photographed due to the lack of room in the tomb for the camera and for proper illumination. Displayed with the rubbings were eight pieces of Mayan stone sculpture borrowed from the Museum of Primitive Art, the Chicago Art Institute, and four private collections. I designed the exhibit in which we used, for the first time at the Field Museum, a 35 mm back projector synchronized with a taped lecture that lasted about 12 minutes. I wrote the lecture and found someone else to record it. The slides were a combination of Merle Green's and mine. I ob- tained advice on the project from the head of au- diovisual services at the Chicago Museum of Sci- ence and Industry, and then I ordered the com- ponents. This audiovisual setup was designed with the help of the Museum's chief engineer, Le- onard Carrion, and then built in the Museum car- pentry shop. It effectively conveyed to visitors the general context of the stunningly beautiful rub- bings, and performed without interruption during the 40 days of the exhibit. We later used this back projector, and another like it that we also built, in Fiesta Mexicana. Engaging the American Indian and Mexican-American Communities in Exhibits The attitudes toward American Indians and their representation in museums changed over the years. Initially the focus had been on the artifacts, not the people. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Indians were all too often viewed, very myopically, as strange and barbaric, and as having no connection with contemporary American so- ciety. The natural history and anthropology mu- seums did little to dispel these views at first. The Museum's philosophy of presenting Indian cul- tures was not concerned with contemporary In- dians, who were back on the reservations; the im- portant thing was to save the precious Indian ar- tifacts and put them on display. After all, when the great museums got their start, Custer and the Battle of the Little Bighorn (1876) were only a few years past. The westward-moving settlers and miners and the federal government were still tak- ing land from the Indians, and in 1890, the Sioux tribes were being confined by the military to res- ervations. Fortunately, the situation is different today. The Indians have changed, American culture has changed, and museums have changed. Instead of becoming extinct, the Indian population in- creased, with 16,000 Indians in Chicago alone as of 1968. Federal Indian policy, court decisions. 212 Chapter Sixteen Fig. 16.5. Rudollb Martinez demonstrating how to hand-kK)m scrapes in the Mexican Marketplace section of the I%9 temporary exhibit. Fiesta Mexicana. and federal legislation, particularly the Indian Re- organization Act of 1934, have all given the In- dians independent status and the right to run their own affairs. After the Second World War many Indian families migrated to the cities in search of jobs, encouraged by Bureau of Indian Affairs pol- icy and by government subsidies. Suddenly the Indians were at the doorsteps of the big museums, with different attitudes toward museums — more critical and more assertive. Museums and anthro- pologists gradually responded to the changed cul- tural and political situation, as reflected in many different areas, including the new policy of mu- seums to interact with them as urban neighbors, not as relics of the past. The Field Museum was a leader in this policy transition, and an early sign of change was seen in the Indians Before Columbus exhibits discussed above. This Pre-Columbian display was widely recognized in the 1940s and 1950s as innovative, and it had considerable influence on natural his- tory and anthropology museums in the country. Rather than simply presenting objects, it used fig- ures in dioramas and attractively executed paint- ings to depict individuals using diverse tools, working at various tasks, and living in different My Life with Exhibits 213 Fig. 16.6. Balet Folklorico de Frederico Z. Rodriguez performing at Fiesta Mexicana, 1969. kinds of dwellings. It was an exhibit about "real people." These approaches were developed through the interaction of the curators and our art- ists, who were not expert designers initially but became so through necessity and experience. By the later 1960s, contemporary American In- dians began to have a more direct connection with Museum exhibits. For example, in 1968 the Fes- tival of American Indian Art, which was orga- nized in cooperation with the American Indian Center in Chicago, included exhibits on traditional and contemporary Indian arts of the United States, music and dancing, and a photographic essay on the Indian community of Chicago by Orlando Ca- banban that had been commissioned for the Fes- tival. The crafters included the Kwakiutl artist, Tony Hunt, who carved a house post in Stanley Field Hall. He did the preliminary carving in ad- vance, and Air Canada shipped the post free from Victoria to Chicago. Hunt also had some of his silver jewelry and his prints for sale. I designed the exhibits in the Festival with help from Theodore Halkin. Specimens were borrowed from the Institute of American Indian Arts. Santa Fe, the Indian Art and Crafts Board, the Depart- ment of the Interior, and eight private individuals. The Festival was supported by grants from the Illinois Arts Council, the Ernest G. Shinner Foun- 214 Chapter Sixteen dation. the Wiebolt Foundation, Reyonier Canada Ltd., Canada, and Air Canada, and it was orga- nized in cooperation with the American Indian Center in Chicago. Fiesta Me.xicana, which I organized in 1969, included Prehispanic art. Colonial art, and con- temporary folk arts, as well as crafters and danc- ers from Mexico. There was a lecture and film series, and another photo essay by Orlando Ca- banan that was commissioned for Fiesta Me.xi- cana titled "Mexicans of Chicago, 1969," as well as slide presentations, archaeology photo exhibits, and a Mexican market. I even included the re- cently finished Mesoamerican Hall as part of Fi- esta Mexicana. The exhibits were designed by Ben Kozac. The displays consisted of a generous loan from the Nelson Rockefeller Collection of Mexican folk art, material from the Milwaukee Public Mu- seum, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Smithson- ian Institution, the National Museum of Anthro- pology in Mexico, the Field Museum, and five private collectors. Fiesta Mexicana was supported by grants from the National Foundation for the Humanities, the Bertha Le Bus Trust, Illinois Art Council, Robert R. McCormick Charitable Trust, Mexicana Airlines, Consejo Nacional de Mexico, and the Department de Turismo, Mexico, with a substantial contribution by the Field Museum con- sisting of $4,500 in cash and $51,539 in staff time. In preparation for this exhibit, I made a two- week trip to Mexico to arrange support from the Mexican government and to find a weaver and a troop of dancers to bring to Chicago. The Mexi- can government presented me with an award fol- lowing the great success of the Fiesta. The staging of the Festival of American Indian Art and Fiesta Mexicana was thus a new depar- ture for the Department of Anthropology and for the Museum. The purpose of these festivals was to take a step toward putting the Mu.seum into a more meaningful relationship with the 16,000 American Indians and the 120,000 Mexican- Americans who lived in the Chicago area as of 1968, and to make better known to all the people of Chicago the cultural background and contem- porary life of these important ethnic groups. These projects were produced through a joint ef- fort on the part of the wider mu.seum staff. The success of the festivals, in terms of response of the public, including the Indians and Mexican- Americans, appears to have justified these efforts. ■ Another example of involving American Indi- ans in exhibits arose in 1976 when John White, a Cherokee Indian on the staff of the Department of Education, researched, designed, and super- vised the construction of the fu!l-si/ed Pawnee earth kxlge in Hall 6. He employed the advice and support of many elderly Pawnees. It is authentic and beautiful, and served as a wonderful cla.ss- room for school and adult groups. Cuna Art and IJfe and the Hall of Chinese Jades In 1969, I organized the Cuna Art and Life ex- hibit on Panama, which was the most comprehen- sive production of its kind ever shown in the Unit- ed States. The exhibit was designed by Robert Martin and the materials were from the Field Mu- seum's large representative collection, with spec- imens borrowed from the Museum of the Amer- ican Indian and other museums, the Staempfli Gallery in New York, and five private collectors. Scholarly expertise was provided by Regina Hol- loman, an anthropologist teaching at Roo.sevelt University who had carried on fieldwork for two years among the San Bias Cuna. She wrote a sev- en-page illustrated article on the Cuna accultura- tion for the Museum Bulletin. During these years, the Field Museum had a centralized exhibition staff of 28 to 30 individu- als, with an adequate complement of designers, preparators, etc. They helped me. after the depar- ture of Kenneth Starr, with my last three major temporary exhibits and the design and installation of the Chinese Jade Hall. Robert Martin designed the Hall of Chinese Jades, and the scholarly com- ponent of the jade exhibit was contributed by Louise Yuhas of the University of Michigan. The Ecuador Exhibit My final exhibit at the Museum, Ancient Ec- uador: Culture, Clay and Creativity 3000-300 B.C. (1975), contained 604 specimens and many pho- tomurals and charts (Fig. 16.7). 1 had the help of a very good script and label writer, Helen Chan- dra, and a superb designer. Robert Martin, who had worked on the Cuna exhibit and who later became chief designer of exhibits and publica- tions for the National Archives in Wa.shington. 1 was also assisted by a picture editor, who found My Life with Exhibits 215 Fig. 16.7. Animal Life case in the Ancient Ecuador temporary exhibit, 1975. and obtained the needed photographs from outside sources. Most importantly we had as consultant Donald Lathrap from the University of Illinois, who served as research associate in the Department of Anthropology at the Museum. Lathrap was a gift- ed and imaginative specialist on the Formative Stage of Ecuador and hence was exceptionally well qualified to write catalogue text. The exhibit was guided by a working group composed of my- self, the designer, the scriptwriter, and a represen- tative from the Department of Education, an ar- rangement that worked very well. Ninety-five percent of the specimens in the An- cient Ecuador exhibit were borrowed from a sin- gle private collection, the Norton/Perez Collec- tion, in Guayaquil, Ecuador. I met the owners at the archaeology meeting in Miami in 1972, and they were enthusiastic about lending the material for the exhibit. I traveled to Guayaquil in 1973 to study and photograph the collection and to make preliminary export arrangements with the govern- ment. At that time, I conducted some studies of the environment in Guayas Province, the original location of the material, and took extensive color photos of the landscape. I returned to Guayaquil in June 1974, having in the interim selected the pieces we wanted to borrow. I supervised the packing of the collection into 41 custom-made wooden boxes, prepared a catalogue list taken from the owner's index, and made the final arrangements to obtain the govern- ment permit to export the collection based on a supreme Presidential decree. I went back to sev- eral of areas where the Valdivia specimens, dating from 3000 to 1800 B.C., had been excavated, and took more color photos. I went to one of the few remaining mangrove swamps, known as mangla- res, on the coast of Guayes. There I engaged a crew of shell fishermen, who harvested the Ana- dara bivalves which were a staple of the Valdivia people, to take me into the mangroves in their 216 Chapter Sixteen dugout and to gather the shellfish. I photographed the crew at work, and the swamp itself. When we returned to dry land, we shucked the shellfish and ate them raw like oysters. 1 used in the exhibit the photographs of the swamp and the other habitats; five photographs were made into photomurals. There was no administrative mechanism in the Field Museum in 1974-1977 to handle large trav- eling exhibit.s — Ancient Ecuador went to six other American Museums, including the Smithsonian, and ultimately to the Museo Arqueologico of the Banco Central del Ecuador, in Guayaquil. Con- sequently, I totik on the entire task of negotiating with the borrowing museums, contracting with a major shipping company for the whole tour, ar- ranging insurance, keeping in contact with the conservators in the borrowing museum regarding breakage during shipment, and arranging for re- printing the catalogue part way through the tour At one point the Minneapolis Institute of Arts de- cided not to accept the exhibit, which would have deprived us of the $7,500 exhibit fee. After some difficult negotiations, they fulfilled the contract af- ter all. The Field Museum sent either a preparator or the set designer to each of these museums for two to three days to help install material contained in the 41 cases that traveled with the exhibit. All of these tasks are handled by registrars in most big museums today. In 1974, after my second trip to Ecuador, I had a conference with Museum Director Leiand Web- ber and Tom Sanders, who was head of develop- ment, concerning the financing of the Ancient Ec- uador exhibit catalogue. Donald Lathrap had agreed to write the text and we had begun to plan it; we had arranged for Cliff Abrams of the De- partment of Exhibitions to design the book. Mr. Webber was very negative about the catalogue. He said the Museum could not afford it, and he doubt- ed that we could raise the money. I explained that since the subject matter and conclusions of the ex- hibit were unknown to the public and to most ar- chaeologists, the catalogue was an essential part of the project. After half an hour of discussion that was getting nowhere, I declared that if we had to abandon the catalogue, I would not carry on with the exhibit, even though we already had a large National Endowment for the Humanities planning grant. I went off to my house in Door County, Wisconsin, for the weekend, not knowing whether there was going to be an Ancient Ecuador exhibit. When I returned to my office four days later, I found a note from the director saying we could go ahead with the catalogue, but I should not expect him to raise the money for everything I wanted ii> do. I replied that I was delighted to move ahoaii and that I would find the catalogue money if Ik- would so permit. Within a month I had raised $3,(KK). half the prtxluction costs of the catalogue, from the Illinois Arts Council and a private donor This was suf- ficient support to go ahead with the catalogue, since we could charge the cost of preparing the illustrations to our $5(),(KK) NEH grant. We decid- ed to have 88 text figures, with six in color, three maps, a complete catalogue listing at the end of the bcH)k with small photographs of each speci- men, and captions in English and Spanish. We found a young photographer, John Alderson. to take 604 photographs in black and white and a dozen in color. The collection arrived in Chicago in August 1974. Lathrap was going to Ecuador at the end of August for six months of fieldwork and would not be back for the opening in April 1975. A week before his departure he had not yet written the catalogue text. He declared that if Helen Chandra would come down to the University of Illinois at Urbana he would dictate the text. This she did and sat through two four-hour sessions while he dic- tated into a tape recorder. Her presence was es- sential, for he needed an audience. It was arranged for a stenographer in Urbana to transcribe the tape, and two weeks later I had the text. Because of the way it was produced it was more like a series of classroom lectures than a catalogue text. I edited it extensively, supplied the footnotes and bibliography, and planned the illustrations. Chan- dra and I prepared the complete inventory of specimens, to be placed at the end of the book with identifications provided by 12 members of the Museum's scientific staff and several out- standing experts. The catalogue went to press at the end of December and was delivered two weeks before the April opening. Ancient Ecuador received enthusiastic support from the Ecuadorian and Colombian populations and the Ecuadorian Consul General in Chicago, as well as from the Ecuadorian Ambassador in Washington, who energetically helped in over- coming many obstacles to displaying the exhibits at the Smithsonian Institution. About three-quar- ters of the Ecuadorians in Chicago in 1969 visited the exhibit, many of them several times during its three-month showing. A review of the exhibit by Donald Thompson, professor of anthropology at the University of Wisconsin, was the first of a series of reviews of anthropology museum exhib- My Life with Exhibits 217 its initiated by the American Anthropologist in 1975 and published in 1976. The catalogue went through three printings, with about 10,000 copies sold between 1975 and 1977. These included 6,000 copies in the United States, as well as 4,000 copies in Ecuador that were bought by Ecuadorians and American tour- ists. The best sales were during the six-week showing of the exhibit at the Institute of Inter- American Relations in New York, when 1,000 copies were sold. As of 1990, the Museum was still selling about 30 copies a year by mail order, since the volume was not carried in the bookstore. I never succeeded in obtaining an account of the sale, but I estimate that the Museum gained a sub- stantial amount of revenue from the catalogue, and would have easily recouped the amount need- ed for the original production costs. I retired in 1976 with the title of curator emer- itus and was pleased when the Norton/Perez Col- lection was purchased by the Banco Central del Ecuador in Guayaquil in 1978. With our encour- agement and assistance they made Ancient Ec- uador the core of their new archaeology museum. We reprinted 2,000 copies of the catalogue for them at cost and then another 2,000 copies of the new Spanish edition, for which we hold the copy- right. Lathrap and I flew to Guayaquil as guests of the bank for the opening of the new museum in 1980, and we participated in the symposium celebrating the event, at which I gave a paper en- titled "One Hundred Years of Ecuadorian Ar- chaeology." I came away feeling very close to the Province of Guayas in Ecuador, where the collec- tion originated, and to the many people I had dealt with there and had gotten to know. Epilogue By David Collier The Ecuador exhibit certainly brought together many of the elements that Donald Collier had most enjoyed in many years of work at the Mu- seum— along with, unquestionably, some prob- lems and crises. Donald Lathrap's text reflected the very best thinking about the Formative Stage in Ecuador. The catalogue was itself a contribu- tion to scholarship, thereby continuing a long- standing Field Museum tradition of linking new research and exhibits. At the same time, the ex- hibit commanded the attention of a wide public, and. as with several earlier exhibits. Ancient Ec- uador sparked the interest and pride of many Lat- in American visitors — who in this case lived not only in Chicago, but also in several other U.S. cities, and finally in Ecuador. This project posed complex challenges of collaboration both within and between museums, and fortunately here the successes and accomplishments outweighed the frustrations. It brought Collier's own work back to the Andean country on which he had worked three and a half decades earlier, and he continued his past practice of visiting the archaeological sites on which he was preparing exhibits, as well as linking the archaeological material to contem- porary ethnographic insights and documentation. Finally, although times had certainly changed in the organization of museum exhibition programs. Collier had the great pleasure of collaborating once again with creative and dedicated colleagues who loved museum work as much as he did. Acknowledgments By Donald Collier I am grateful for comments and suggestions from curators and curators emeriti in the Depart- ments of Anthropology, Botany, Geology, and Zo- ology: Bennet Bronson, John E. Terrell, James W VanStone, Glen Cole, Phillip H. Lewis, William Burger, John R. Bolt, Edward Olsen, William Tumbull, Emmet R. Blake, Melvin Traylor, Phillip Hershkovitz, and Ruf)ert Wenzel, as well as Car- olyn Blackmon, chair of education, and Fred Eg- gan, research associate in Anthropology. Outside the Museum I received invaluable help from Mai- ja May, Helen Chandra, William Thomsen, Mary Bush, Robert Yeomans, Sarah d'Hamoncourt, Da- vid Collier, and Bruce Collier. I am grateful to Mary Ann Johnson, Museum archivist, and Mich- ele Calhoun, reference librarian, for help in checking dates of careers and events; to Janice Klein, anthropology registrar, for discovering the number of the old poison room mentioned in the text; and to Vivian Ploense, secretary in anthro- pology, for her patience during the many stages of revision of this essay. I wish to express my gratitude to Paul S. Martin for supporting my ca- reer at the Field Museum and for giving me the opportunity to participate in an exciting period in the evolution of the Field Museum exhibits. I owe a great deal to the late E. Leland Webber, director of the Field Museum from 1962 to 1981. We were 218 Chapter Sixteen good friends, and working with him was a stim- ly shortened, in part to avoid overlap with other ulating experience. chapters on the history of the Museum that are iii- cUided in this volume. Editorial judgments vseiv Editors* Note: The present version of this essay based in part on Donald Colliers notes thai accom- was edited in 2(X)2 by Stephen Nash. Michelle Bon- panied his final drafts of the essay, which uere wrii- ogofsky. and David Collier. The text has been slight- ten in 199(). My Life with Exhibits 219 17 The Legacy of James W. VanStone in Museum and Arctic Anthropology Jessica M. Rooney and Chapurukha M. Kusimba The contributions of Jim VanStone to anthropological studies in the Amer- ican North are without precedent. No anthropologist, living or dead, can begin to approach the breadth and depth of his achievements. Prehistoric and historic archaeology, community studies, ethnohistories, Russian trans- lations, ethnological works, and editorial involvements represent examples. Will there be another VanStone in northern studies? I doubt it. (Wendell Oswalt, quoted by Pratt et al. 1998:1) James VanStone (Fig. 17.1) .served as curator of North American archaeology and ethnology at the Field Museum from 1966 until the time of his death, on February 28, 2001. In 1992 he became curator emeritus. He is best known for his work on the anthropology and history of the Arctic. In addition to pioneering a number of research meth- ods for understanding the lived human experi- ence, he was a prolific writer, publishing more than 40 books and monographs, 45 book reviews, and 100 articles and book chapters. Jim VanStone belonged to a fast-dwindling generation of anthropologists who were trained and remained steadfa.stly committed to holistic an- thropological knowledge — a complementary ap- plication of the four-field approach. His career spanned more than five decades and typified per- haps one of the final applications of Boasian an- thropology. Arctic studies have benefited from the attention of eminent scholars who studied and rig- orously applied Boasian theoretical and empirical anthropology, but who remained open to new de- velopments in the field. In addition to Fran/. Boas, they include Ales Hrdli^ka, Froelich Rainey, and Frederica De Laguna. Jim VanStone belongs to this august group. In some respects he was ahead of his peers in recognizing the importance of eth- noarchaeology in archaeology, a stance that later became more accessible with the work of Lewis Binford in the 1960s (e.g., Binford 1978) and Ian Hodder in the 198()s. Jim VanStone's long tenure at the Museum was marked by regular and important contributions in the form of curating special collections, interpret- ing these collections in the context of North American lifeways, and developing new exhibit halls. The.se local efforts, and the modesty and tact with which he conducted himself in often try- ing situations, should not obscure his larger con- tributions to the ever-broadening field of museum anthropology and his singular knowledge of Rus- sian-Arctic peoples' contact. In the following se- lection, we take on the rather formidable task of recounting the vie et oeuvre of an outstanding fig- ure in North American archaeology. Jamks VanStone and hi.s twin sister Suzanne were bom in Chicago on October 3, 1925, to Na- than Edward VanStone and Estella VanStone. His father was a chemist who worked on paint chem- istry in a Chicago laboratory. E.stella was bom in Battle Creek, Michigan, and studied music at a nearby conservatory. After marrying Nathan, Es- tella continued to pursue music and became a choir director in several Chicago churches until 1937, when the VanStones moved to Cleveland. Nathan accepted a job as paint chemist at Sher- win-Williams Paint Company. He worked his way The Legacy of James W. VanStone 221 Fig. 17.1. James W. VanStone at a trapper's camp near Snowdrift, Northwest Ter- ritories, winter 1961. up the coiporate ladder to become vice president and director of paint manufacturing. He died in 1970, at the age of 80, but was honored posthu- mously by the company and the American Chem- ical Society for his contribution to the develop- ment of water-based paints. Suzanne attended col- lege at the University of New Mexico but left a year later to marry Russell J. Stambaugh. The VanStones were pleased with her choice of hus- band. The senior VanStone called him a "good catch" because her father-in-law, Armstrong Alexander Stambaugh, was the president of Ohio Standard Oil, which later became American Oil Company (Amoco). At age nine, James came down with poliomy- elitis. He was sick for two years, bedridden for six months, and wore a brace for the next 18 months. Because he spent most of the two years listening to classical music and reading, this in- active period may have indirectly contributed to his future interest in anthropology (Lantis 1998). Indeed, VanStone acknowledged that his interest in history began then. Like many young people who eventually become archaeologists, VanStone was fascinated with Egyptian, Greek, and Roman archaeology, quite unaware that there were other types of archaeologies until he went to college (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). Thus, he could have become an Old World archaeologist, but his disinterest in Latin, then a compulsory language for classical archaeologists, discouraged him from venturing any further (Pratt et al. 1998:1). VanStone graduated from high school in 1944 and attended Oberlin College in northern Ohio, graduating in 1948. At the time, anthropology at Oberlin had not yet become a major, so he ma- jored in art history. There was only one professor of anthropology at Oberlin, Loren Eisley. Van- Stone took every course Eisley offered. Although Eisley's main interest was in prehistory, he was nevertheless intrigued by the broader aspects of social science and the humanities (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). A year before VanStone gradu- ated, Eisley left Oberlin to become the head of the anthropology department at the University of] Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. 222 Chapter Seventeen VanStone spent the summer of 1947 at the Field Museum, where he worked on the installa- tion of the Indians Before Columbus exhibit (see Collier, this volume). He also participated in an archaeological Held school on the Blue Hill site in Maine. His museum and fieldwork experiences were enjoyable enough to convince him to devote the rest of his life's career to anthropology. Be- cause he was keenly aware that he had not been a star student at Oberlin — he had received grades of B in Eisley's courses — he wrote to his former professor to explain his continued interest in an- thropology and his wish to pursue it in graduate school. At the time. Eisley was developing the new graduate program at the University of Penn- sylvania and needed students, so he urged Van- Stone to apply (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). VanStone was more successful in graduate school, where he decided to focus on archaeology (Lantis 1998:6). He found himself studying with the leaders of the discipline of anthropology at Pennsylvania and was. literally, at one of the epi- centers of the discipline as it was being developed and refined. VanStone worked with Louis Gid- dings. a fellow student, and professors Alfred Ir- ving Hallowell and Frank Speck, as well as Fred- erica de Laguna. from nearby Bryn Mawr Col- lege, who taught a number of classes at Pennsyl- vania. He took courses from the director of the University Museum. Froelich Rainey, as well as from Linton Satterthwaite and Carleton Coon. It was Speck who steered VanStone 's interest to- ward the Northwest coast, before the former died suddenly in the middle of the semester in 1947. Hallowell encouraged VanStone to study ethnol- ogy. However, it was Giddings, while later teach- ing at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, who pushed VanStone toward Arctic anthropology (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). Rainey helped VanStone hone his interest and appreciation for museum anthropology. After Speck's sudden death. Frederica ("Freddie") de Laguna was in- vited to complete his course on Native American anthropology. De Laguna was later to have a ma- jor influence on VanStone's career. She was one of the first anthropologists to work in Alaska, and one of the first anywhere to employ history, oral traditions, anthropology, and archaeology to un- derstand the Arctic cultures. VanStone generously acknowledged Freddie's influence on his thinking and work over the years. Their friendship was to last for the rest of their lives. Giddings had begun his fieldwork experience with Froelich Rainey and Helge Larson in 1939. He discovered and developed tree-ring dating ol Eskimo cultures, especially in northwestern Alas ka (Rainey 1965), and taught VanStone tree-ring dating (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1: see also VanStone 1953: Nash 1999a. 2(XK)). After receiv- ing his master's degree in 1950, VanStone accom- panied Giddings to excavate at Cape Denbigh in the Norton Sound region of Alaska (Pratt et al. 1998:1). This field experience made a profound impres- sion on VanStone. He went to Alaska interested in archaeology but was most impressed by the persistence of traditional lifestyles of native Alas- kan peoples. Unlike their counterparts in other ar- eas of the United States, who had been relcKated to reservations, the native Alaskans had remained on their ancestral lands for thousands of years. After this experience, VanStone realized he had received his calling: "as soon as I saw some liv- ing Eskimos I began to get less interested in ar- chaeology" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111). At the time, in the 195()s, most Alaskanists were pri- marily concerned with finding the earliest evi- dence of human settlements in the Americas. This was understandable because the Bering Strait served as the bridge linking the Old World to the New World and was a controversial and exciting place to conduct research, as it still is (Roosevelt 2(XX)). VanStone had the chance to build on pre- vious Paleoindian work (e.g.. Nelson 1935), there- by making a name for himself with splashy dis- coveries. Instead, he found himself increasingly fa.scinated by the living people, in whom he saw the opportunity to .study the effects of their rela- tive isolation from the Western world and their way of life. In 1951. VanStone conducted archaeological excavations at Kotzebue, Alaska (Pratt et al. 1998: I), in partial fulfillment of the requirements for his doctoral degree (VanStone 1954). That same year, Giddings accepted a position at the Univer- sity of Pennsylvania and returned to Philadelphia. Giddings's departure created a vacancy at the Uni- versity of Alaska, Fairbanks, that, thanks to Rai- ney's and Giddings's stellar recommendations, was offered to VanStone (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). VanStone remained at the University of Alaska from 1951 until 1958. During that period, he suc- cessfully completed and defended his d(Ktoral dissertation at the University of Pennsylvania, re- ceiving his degree in 1954 (Pratt et al. 1998:1). While doing field research in 1950 and 1951, he became acquainted with an Inupiat family and The Legacy of James W. VanStone 223 lived with them for two years. Elderly liiupiat were his primary informants on material culture, ethnohistory, and oral traditions. These two years in the field convinced him to begin paying closer attention to recent material culture not as proxy for understanding archaeology but as an important area of research in its own right. He began to incorporate the ethnography of living people into his research, a trend that remained a hallmark of his research agenda throughout his academic ca- reer and can be found in almost all his subsequent field-based publications. Despite his newfound interest in ethnography and material culture, VanStone did not completely abandon teaching and conducting archaeological research in Alaska. It was at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, that he met Wendell Oswalt. Oswalt not only excelled as a student of Van- Stone's, he also went on to earn his doctorate at the University of Arizona. He became a highly accomplished anthropologist in his own right, known for pioneering studies in the anthropology of technology (Oswalt 1976). Both VanStone and Oswalt were influenced by De Laguna, whose magnum opus. Under Mt. St. Elias: The History and Culture of the Yakutat Tlingit (1972), built on her earlier archaeological work, published in 1964 as The Archaeology of the Yakutat Bay Area, Alaska (De Laguna 1964; see De Laguna 1972: 4). According to VanStone, Under Mt. St. Elias was the finest work ever written in Arctic anthro- pology. Pratt and his colleagues credit De Laguna and VanStone with recognizing the importance of applying archaeology, ethnography, and ethnohis- tory in a complementary fashion (Pratt et al. 1998:3). In this sense, they were pioneers of the new ethnoarchaeology that became popular in the mid-1960s and early 1970s through the writings of Binford (1968), Gould (1978), Longacre (1994), and Yellen (1977). Ethnoarchaeology changed the thinking of many scholars who were wrestling with the lim- itations of traditional archaeology. Simply de- fined, ethnoarchaeology is ethnography performed by archaeologists using methods and theories bor- rowed from ethnology and ethnography. Oswalt defines ethnoarchaeology as "the study, from an archaeological perspective, of material culture based on verbal information about artifacts ob- tained from persons, or their direct descendants, who were involved with the production" (Oswalt n.d.:3). Archaeologists need ethnography's focus on material culture, which many sociocultural an- thropologists do not emphasize. As Oswalt points out, the term was originally spelled with a hy- phen— ethno-archaeology — as early as 1900, but both concept and term were then submerged for a number of years (see Orme 1973). The term reemerged in 1967 in The Ethnoarchaeology of Crow Village, Alaska, written by Oswalt and VanStone. In the following passage they describe their intent in using this term, and the approach it subsumes: The comparative information available for the re- cent past is virtually always more complete than for the more distant past. Thus, it is logical to de- velop an archaeological program in any particular geographical area by digging the recent sites and then working back in time to older sites. However, the overwhelming majority of archaeologists com- pound their already staggering interpretive prob- lems by being obsessed with antiquity. Thus many potentially useful sequences hang in uncertain lim- bo or are linked to history by frail suppositions and inferences. We hoped to avoid this pitfall through the kind of archaeology we undertook. (Oswalt and VanStone 1967a:v) Many prefer the expression "ethnoarchaeology" to similar ones such as "living archaeology," "action archaeology," or "ethnographic archae- ology" (Kramer 1979:12). During the 1970s, it became a popular way to gain archaeological in- sight. Watson (1979:277) further explains the im- plications of this type of methodology: The theoretical basis for ethnoarchaeology is the use of analogies derived from present observations to aid interpretation of past events and processes. The reason we archaeologists do this — make ob- servations in contemporary communities — is to provide ourselves with as many and as varied in- terpretive hypotheses as possible to help us under- stand (explain and predict) archaeological remains. Archaeological remains, of course, are the sole means of describing and explaining human behav- ior throughout those vast reaches of time and space where there are no written records. Yet in the early 1950s, these were only ideas on which VanStone would base much of his future research agenda and had not yet been realized. VanStone took advantage of the opportunity to live in an Alaskan community and excavate, as well as to study its culture for an extensive period of time, in 1955. VanStone and Oswalt developed a program to conduct community studies that in- volved examining Alaskan villages, focusing on ethnography. Oswalt went to the Kuskokwim Riv- er region and worked with the Napaskiak (Oswalt 1963), and VanStone went to Point Hope (Van- Stone 1962) in the far north of Alaska, where he 224 Chapter Seventeen I stayed for more than 18 months studying culture change as part of the popular community studies of the 1950s and 1960s (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). Proponents of community studies argued that anthroptilogists should go to the Held and record each community as it was in that moment. Ad- ditional studies would be undertaken in the same community over a number of years. Such studies would then be compared, and the data would be gleaned to determine the rates of change over time, called acculturation. VanStone confes.sed that his time at Point Hope "was the best two years of my life" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111) and had the greatest impact on his career. This is not surprising because he had a heavy teaching load at the University of Alaska. Fairbanks, teaching 10 courses a year. At the same time, he was able to find time to escape to the field. After .seven years of teaching more than 70 courses, he was burnt out and looking for a way to leave Alaska. Finding no way out. he finally quit his position in 1958 and went to Eu- rope looking for adventure. Unfortunately, he soon ran out of money and found himself living at home with his parents for the rest of that year. In 1959. VanStone accepted a position at the University of Toronto as assistant professor of an- thropology. Compared to the University of Alas- ka, his teaching load at the University of Toronto was only nine hours a week (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). He remained at Toronto for seven years, conducting ethnographic field research in Canada and collections-based research in the Royal On- tario Museum (ROM). He also honed his interest in collections research in the years he worked at the ROM (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). Van Stone's Point Hope: An Eskimo Village in Transition was published in 1962 at Toronto. This book is considered by some Arctic scholars to be "the best [study) on an Alaskan Native commu- nity at the threshold of modernization" (Pratt et al. 1998:4). Yet despite progress in community studies projects and the publication of some clas- sic community-based research, like Carl Withers's Plainville USA (1945), VanStone remained uneasy with the ahistorical nature of these ethnographic studies (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111; see also Lantis 1970). For VanStone 's research in the Arctic, the im- portance of historical documents in understanding the impact the Russians had on the Eskimos of southwestern Alaska in the 19th century was cru- cial; Alaskanists could not afford to ignore his- tory. De Laguna had successfully used art.hi\.il sources for understanding the Tlingii of ^'ukiitat. VanStone and Oswalt found archival and histori- cal data — including church records and eyewit- ness accounts — especially valuable in their re- search in the Kuskokwim River region. Their complementary use of historical, anthropological, and ethnographic materials in Tiie Ethnoanhaeol- <^}iy of <' Crow VHI(if>e (VanStone and Oswalt 1967) was a pioneering effort thai anthropologists found informative and refreshing. VanStone took three years of Russian at the University of Toronto in order to improve his knowledge about the history of Alaska during the years of Russian control (Kusimba and Stani.sh 1995:111). His tenure at Toronto was rewarding and productive. He had published four books and monographs and 32 articles, and had become one of the leaders of Arctic anthropology. He had won respect from his colleagues and teachers. His in- fluence on Arctic anthropology had began to emerge both in the quality of research and in methodological rigor. Curator of North American Archaeology and Ethnology: The First 20 Years Many academics would have been satisfied with what VanStone had accomplished and would have settled down to a comfortable career after earning tenure. Toronto is a beautiful city, and the University of Toronto is one of the best univer- sities in North America, but VanStone's career and personal philosophy had been guided by an intense need to avoid conflict. When we asked VanStone why he left the University of Toronto, he responded that he did so in order to avoid tur- moil in the Department of Anthropology. He felt that such turmoil was unnecessarily counterpro- ductive to the performance of faculty and had ramifications for students in the department. Be- cause he enjoyed working in museums at Fair- banks and Toronto, he began to look for a mu- seum position (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). While interviewing for an opening at the Smith- sonian, the interviewer mentioned that the Field Museum was looking for a curator to replace George Quimby, who had left the Field Museum to become director of the Burke Museum at the University of Washington in Seattle. VanStone ap- plied for the Field Museum position and was in- The Legacy of James W. VanStone 225 vited for an interview. Both Donald Collier, chief curator of anthropology, and Lee Webber, the di- rector of the Museum, were so impressed by VanStone that Webber offered him the position that same day (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). VanStone joined the Field Museum in 1966 at the rank of associate curator of North American archaeology and ethnology. In those days, there were fewer scholars willing to work in museums. There was an ironic disrespect for museum posi- tions in academia, and a lack of good anthropol- ogists in general led to a surplus of jobs in the market (see Collier and Tschopik, this volume; Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). Thus, the position at the Museum had been open for a year before VanStone accepted it. VanStone laughed as he re- called the difference between how it is now, with an abundance of qualified applicants for any scholarly position, and then: "The job had been open for a whole year, and Don [Collier] said 'Hey! We got somebody! We caught one, don't let him go' and Mr. Webber said 'Ok, I'll offer him a job at lunch. . . .' Now with equal oppor- tunity and the desire for diversity in the depart- ments, it has to be more complicated. And also there are lots of good applicants. My god! The stuff I read for [job applications in the 1990s]" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). VanStone's candidacy for the position was es- pecially impressive because of his knowledge of both archaeology and ethnology. When he was hired. Collier hoped VanStone would work on renovating the Maritime Peoples exhibit. Van- Stone was interested in the curatorship because of the freedom the position offered for expanding his knowledge and testing hypotheses he had devel- oped during decades of fieldwork. He would have unlimited contact hours with the collections. He also hoped he would have more time for re- search— at last, no students and courses to deal with. It was too good to be true! When Collier stepped down as chief curator in 1970, the Museum's administrative structure was altered (see Collier, this volume; Haskin et al., this volume). Instead of having long-term appoint- ments of chief curators, the system was changed to follow that used in universities, with rotating four-year term appointments as chair of the de- partment. VanStone gets the distinction of having served as the first chair of the Department of An- thropology from 1970 to 1974. VanStone admired and respected the way Collier ran the department and tried to emulate him. VanStone appreciated Collier for his selfless demeanor, for he was a boss who would go out of his way to "protect his staff from the administration" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). Looking back, VanStone felt that his reign as chair was just "a holding operation" and not especially successful, though he was proud of having made the decision to hire Bennet Bronson, currently the curator of Asian archaeology and ethnology, and John Edward Terrell, currently the curator of Oceanian archaeology and ethnology (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). VanStone's initial impression and attraction to the Field Museum was the fact that the institution not only emphasized but also respected the cura- tors' research time. He was, however, somewhat disappointed when he noticed a change in how the curators' responsibilities were perceived (see Collier, this volume). Tenure was also not in place when VanStone came to the Museum; in fact, he was hired with- out a contract. VanStone has the distinction of having consistently been a "jump ahead" of ten- ure wherever he went. He was hired as associate curator at the Museum on the strength of his re- search and teaching experience despite never hav- ing been reviewed for tenure at the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, or at the University of Toronto. When he felt that he was ready for promotion to the rank of curator, he told Collier, who agreed, and promptly had him promoted (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). VanStone made many important contributions to North American archaeology and anthropology while at the Field Museum. We will list only a few that clearly stand out: The best-selling Fieldiana author, and will prob- ably hold this distinction for a very long time to come (see Haskin et al., this volume). The first person from any museum to receive a National Endowment for the Humanities grant. His proposal to the NEH "called attention to a different kind of humanistic archaeology" (Ku- simba and Stanish 1995:111) and found support from peer reviewers in nonarchaeological dis- ciplines. The curator who had more available exhibit space than any other North American curator in the world (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). The scientific editor of Fieldiana (1969-1979, 1988-1989) and the associate editor (1984- 1988, 1990-1993) when he retired, although he continued to attend meetings until 1999. An associate editor of Arctic Anthropology from 1961 through 1989. 226 Chapter Seventeen The founder and editor of the Anihropolo^ical Papers of the University of Alaska from 1952 to 1957 and consulting editor from 1957 through 1967. While at the Field Museum. VanStone pub- Hshed 19 books and monographs and as many as 50 articles not directly related to the Museum col- lections. He also maintained an interest in teach- ing. He taught two courses at the University of Chicago — one was a seminar in 1967 and another in 1%9. He then taught at Northwestern Univer- sity for 10 years, starting in 1968. He wanted to teach specific courses on the Arctic or Subarctic, but they wanted him to teach introductory Native American studies courses. An agreement was reached in which VanStone would teach the Na- tive American courses every other year and a more specific Arctic class in the alternate years. He later published his Northwestern lectures in Athapaskan Adaptations (1974). For the first 20 years at the Field Museum. VanStone regularly conducted fieldwork. In 1978 and 1980. he carried out excavations at Nushagak (VanStone 1967b. 1970a. 1971. 1972a. 1972b). Between 1970 and 1979 he carried out three field sea.sons in the Yukon River region (VanStone 1976. 1978. 1979a. 1979b). His final trip to the field was in 1985 and 1986, when he followed up on earlier fieldwork at Akulivikchuk (see Van- Stone 1970b). Though declining health prohibited him from conducting additional fieldwork there- after, he continued to attend conferences in Alas- ka. VanStone also continued to enjoy working at the Museum because there were always other pro- ductive anthropologists (even if none were Arctic specialists) close by who inspired his work, as well as .students to talk to, teach, and influence (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111). Collections-Based Research When Jim VanStone was hired, the Field Mu- seum was considering revising the exhibit on the Northwest and Arctic cultures, called the Mari- time Peoples of the Arctic and Northwest Coast. As curator of North American archaeology and ethnology, the responsibility fell onto his shoul- ders. For various reasons, however, it took almost 10 years for the project to get under way. This delay provided him with an opportunity to explore the collections under his care. He wanted to de- vote as much time to field- and collections-based research as to teaching. The more he became ac- quainted with the field, the less he felt he kne\N about the material culture of North America. He was impressed by his senior colleagues' knowl- edge of materials under their care. He was espe- cially impressed by Donald Collier's encyclopedic knowledge of the entire Museum's anthropology holdings. Therefore, VanStone spent the next de- cade acquainting himself with the entirely of the North American collections. One of VanStone's initial curatorial responsi- bilities was to reorganize the old Eskimo Collec- tion storeroom. The storeroom was in a state when he began working on it: "It was a mess! At lea.st [now] the light shines in there. You should have seen it, it was a disaster." With the help of an intern from Antioch College, in Ohio, he devel- oped a system for evaluating the collections' in- tegrity, understanding their context, and teasing out information from the incomprehensible way in which materials had been stored. The old Es- kimo storeroom has since been converted into an office, and the Eskimo collection has been reunit- ed with the rest of the North American ethno- graphic collections. In addition to Donald Collier's unparalleled knowledge of the collections, VanStone also ad- mired Collier's administrative skill. Determined to emulate Collier's example, VanStone spent much of his time in the exhibit halls and storage rooms. Perhaps one of VanStone's Achilles' heels was his inability to be satisfied with his own knowledge. He became obsessed with the desire to learn ev- erything about the collections. He was the author of more monographs on North American material culture than any other curator in the history of the institution and knew more about the North Amer- ican collection than any of his curatorial col- leagues, but he still seemed convinced that his contributions were insufficient. A few years be- fore his death he confided to his colleagues that "even now, I don't know as much as I wish 1 did" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:1). This feeling of in- adequacy may have contributed to his unhappi- ness during his later years, when declining health prevented him from spending more time with the collections. VanStone strove to share his knowledge of the Museum collections with both the public and .scholarly communities. He believed the public had a right to learn and thoroughly understand the material culture of indigenous people stored in museums. He was a gifted and eloquent writer. In The Legacy of James W. VanStone 227 all of his monographs, he adopted a style in which he provided the background to the area of con- cern, explained the objects, analyzed their signif- icance— and left room for readers to draw their own conclusions. His work included illustrations almost without fail. Overall, he published 37 books and mono- graphs, in addition to 70 articles and over 34 book reviews, in the 35 years he was at the museum. That is 140 publications, more than four per year. He thus left an enviable record that no anthropol- ogy curator at the Museum can match. We there- fore requested him to name seven publications that he considered representative of the breadth and quality of his work. He returned the following list: 1960 A Successful Combination of Subsistence and Wage Economies at the Village Level. Economic Development and Cultural Change, vol. VIII, no. 2, Chicago. 1970 Ethnohistorical Research in Southwestern Alaska: A Methodological Perspective. In Ethnohistory in Southwestern Alaska and the Southern Yukon: Method and Content, edited by Margaret Lantis. University of Kentucky Press, Louisville. 1977 A. F. Kashevarov's Coastal Explorations in Northwest Alaska. Fieldiana: Anthropology 69. With D. H. Kraus. 1979 Ingalik Contact Ecology: An Ethnohistory of the Lower-Middle Yukon, 1790-1935. Fieldiana: Anthropology 7 1 . 1985 Material Culture of the Davis Inlet and Bar- ren Ground Naskapi. Fieldiana: Anthropol- ogy, New Series, Number 8. 1988 Russian Exploration in Southwest Alaska: The Travel Journals of Petr Korsakovskiy (1818) and Ivan Ya. Vasilev (1829). Ras- muson Library Historical Translation Se- ries, Volume IV. University of Alaska Press. With D. H. Kraus. 1993 The Ainu Group at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, 1904. Arctic Anthropology 30(2). He considered the 1979 Ingalik Contact Ecol- ogy monograph to be his best work. The mono- graph combines documented history, ethnohisto- ry, archaeology, and ethnography to discuss trans- formations that occur among the Ingalik during 135 years of contact with Europeans. This book was modeled after De Laguna's comprehensive work Under Mt. St. Elias (1972). The others rep- resent his work on the collections (1985 Naskapi material culture monograph), his concern for methodology ( 1 970 Lantis book chapter), his con- cern for the informants themselves ( 1 993 Ainu ar- ticle), and his contributions to history through translations (works with Kraus). These seven ar- ticles best illustrate how passionate VanStone was about the use of multiple methodologies, brilliant- ly melded together to understand each culture ac- curately. VanStone wrote other influential works. Mc- Clellan (1998:8) calls Athapaskan Adaptations "the first comprehensive survey of Northern Ath- apaskan cultures," which came from years of ar- chaeological, ethnographic, and historical study, and points out that later VanStone brought togeth- er northern specialists from two continents. Lantis (1998:6) also believes that VanStone's translations demonstrated his expertise in and respect for the history of anthropology. She cites his Preface and Introduction in V S. Khromchenko's Russian Ex- ploration in Southwest Alaska (1973) and his In- troduction to Russian Explorations on Southwest- ern Alaska: The Journals of Petr Korsakovskiy and Ivan Ya. Vasilev (see VanStone and Kraus 1988b) as two of his best publications. And Pratt and others (1998:4) have said that Point Hope is still "the best [study] on an Alaskan Native Com- munity." The sheer volume of publications on the col- lections, as well as those that continue to be in- fluential on Arctic studies as a whole, just scratch the surface of VanStone's contributions to anthro- pology. He represented the old and great school of curators who spent a lot of time with the col- lections and did not see them as a nuisance. He recognized that collections are housed in muse- ums in large part to be available to scholars and the public who want to use the artifacts to clarify the past and present of humankind's cultural and natural experience. VanStone felt it was his duty to deal with the collections but also genuinely wanted to get the information into the flow of knowledge. For example, in An Annotated Eth- nohistorical Bibliography of the Nushagak River Region, Alaska (VanStone 1968:150), he wrote, "This bibliography represents an attempt to draw sources together and present them in such a way as to indicate their value to the ethnologist, ar- chaeologist and ethnohistorian. These are materi- als for the study of culture history, studies that would provide a firm foundation for the consid- eration of contemporary Eskimo culture in the area." VanStone taught us by example to be more concerned with the knowledge the collections can 228 Chapter Seventeen provide for the world and less worried about what the Field Museum can do for us, treating the col- lections as if they were only in the Museum to be stored. The Maritime Peoples of the Arctic and Northwest Coast Exhibit The Maritime Peoples exhibit at the Field Mu- seum is arguably the best exhibition of anthro- pology of the Arctic and Northwest Coast Native American peoples in the world (Fig. 17.2). At 10.000 square feet, it is the largest anthropology exhibit at the Field Mu.seum. It is VanStone's brainchild and contains over 2.500 artifacts — more than any other Field Museum anthropology exhibit ever (Bronson 1998:10). The exhibit is di- vided into five sections: Environment, Hunting and Fishing, Village and Society, Spiritual World, and Art. The hall has an incredible level of detail and a variety of artifacts, dioramas, texts, photo- graphs, and videotapes. There are similar exhibits around the world, for example at the Muse Vol- kekund in Germany, but this one is the most in- formative, complete, and intriguing. When VanStone arrived at the Field Museum, the Maritime Peoples Hall was the oldest of the anthropology halls, having been assembled by Ralph Linton in the 1920s (Kusimba and Rooney 2000:1). People recognized the quality, beauty, and variety of the collections within the exhibit but knew it needed to be revised. According to VanStone, the ca.ses were extremely crowded, un- organized, dark, old-fashioned, and dilapidated, and did not tell any story well. Working with Ronald Webber, who was hired to assist in developing the new exhibit, VanStone began developing a plan in 1976 to rebuild the hall. Money was tight and work progressed slow- ly, interrupted by numerous "blockbuster" tem- porary exhibits. Finally, VanStone and Webber got grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Hu- manities that enabled the Exhibits Department to create a special team to complete the project. They hired an administrative assistant, Kristine Westerberg, to make sure everything was orga- nized properly. Although the exhibit could have been built in three or four years, it ended up re- quiring eight (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). Weber and VanStone began the process by writ- ing a 200-page exhibit design (Kusimba and Stan- ish 1995:11). When he presented this detailed script to the designers, he was surprised to heai them say that all they needed was an outline! So. he recounted later, he "sat down and wrote that in ten minutes, and that's why the hall looks the way it does. Each section of the hall is devoted to a major aspect of culture that 1 thought ought to be covered" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). VanStone chose the objects, he and Weber wrote the labels, and VanStone signed off on every case before it was installed (Kusimba and Rooney 2000:1). The entire exhibit cost more than $7 mil- lion, far more than was originally estimated, and it remains the most costly exhibit in the Field Mu- seum's history (Kusimba and Rooney 2(XK):ni). The exhibit was constructed in five sections be- cause VanStone thought that was the best way to organize it. The exhibit space can be accessed through many entrances, and although VanStone hoped people would walk through the exhibit from start to finish, he recognized the importance of making each section able to .stand alone while .still contributing to the whole picture of maritime life. The Exhibits Department wanted continuity no matter where viewers entered. They hoped to satisfy both viewers who wanted a "quick fix" and those who would spend more time in the ex- hibit. The Maritime Peoples hall was a state-of- the-art exhibit for its time; it includes graphic art and video monitors that display anecdotal stories, and it is much more comprehensible than the orig- inal (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:11). Because the Maritime Peoples hall was devel- oped as two parallel exhibits, with the Northwest Coast on one side and the Arctic on the other, it is ea.sy and interesting for the viewer to compare the different styles of material culture. There are dioramas of Arctic and Northwest scenery, pho- tographs taken in the field, television pre.senta- tions, historic time lines, diagrams of trade routes, textual explanations, colorful artifacts, multiple examples of similar collections to show variety, descriptions of how to do native crafts, maps, rep- lications of houses, and so on (Fig. 17.3). The dioramas display the interaction between humans and the natural world. Because it emphasizes en- vironmental differences, the hall features a com- bination of visual and textual information, allow- ing the visitors to choose what to examine. Arti- facts include totem poles, pottery, clothing, armor, baskets, children's toys, weapons, blankets, knives, spoons, hunting materials, boats, fishing nets and hooks, stuffed dogs, cooking tools, jew- elry, ceremonial masks, domestic containers. The Legacy of James W. VanStone 229 Fig. 17.2. The Spiritual World section of the Maritime Peoples of the Arctic and Northwest Coast exhibit, showing Kwakiutl clothing. 230 Chapter Seventeen Fig. 17.3. Village and Society section. KwakiutI House. Everyday Life diorama. carved ivory pipes and bows, furniture, and more (Fig. 17.4). VanStone again proved his commit- ment to dis.seminating knowledge by not only for- mulating this exhibit as a teaching device but also publishing on its artifacts. He wrote Eskimo Whal- ing Charms (I%7b), Masks of the Point Hope Eskimo (1969), Sealskin Bags of Unusual Con- struction from the Bering Strait Region (1984a). and Athapaskan Indian Clothing in the Collec- tions of the Field Museum (1983), among others, from the exhibited collections. VanStone felt the Maritime Peoples of the Arc- tic and Northwest Coast exhibit was "fairly suc- cessful" at achieving a balance between a simple outline covering a broad spectrum and detail that graduate students could use. and he once confided that he thought it the best exhibit at the Field Mu- seum, as do we (Kusimba and Rooney 2000:111). But it seems the exhibit's major strength is also its weakness: too much detail. Some have called the exhibit a fine example of artifact overkill. Are the cases so full that people cannot focus on the artifacts' significance? Do the visitors notice sub- tle differences in all the objects of the same type? Is the text too detailed and intimidating to the vis- itor? Although VanStone thought some of the cas- es are too crowded, he nevertheless admitted that the reason he did not return them to the collec- tions was his desire to show visitors how rich, diverse, and technologically accomplished the so- called maritime hunter-gatherers of the Northwest Coast and the Arctic truly were (Kusimba and Rooney 2000:1). The problem is that the Museum visitor gets to see less and less of the collections in the more modem exhibits, which typically use more technology than original objects. Ironically, this deprives the public of their right of access to collections. The Maritime Peoples of the Arctic and North- west Coast exhibit represents one of the best tra- ditionally inspired permanent exhibits at the Field Museum. VanStone organized it in such a way The Legacy of James W. VanStone 23 1 Fig. 17.4. Fishing. Hunting, and Gathering section showing fishing technology. Case Bl. that people could simultaneously learn about the two cultures. The Maritime Peoples hall attains a balance between assuming the visitors are edu- cated and interested while also making sure they are entertained at a superficial and visual level. It appeals to five-year-olds and graduate students alike and teases the imagination of those who be- lieve the Native Americans had no culture, and for these reasons we are proud of it. The Maritime Peoples of the Arctic and Northwest Coast exhibit is a gem. We should treasure and celebrate this rare jewel and in so doing honor the memory of the man, colleague, teacher, friend, and mentor who made it possible. A Summing Up: VanStone's Contributions Many museum scholars know or have an idea of what a great anthropology curator should do (see Colbert 1958; Terrell 1991; Collier and Tschopik, this volume; Haas, this volume). Yet when it is discussed, it seems an unreachable ide- al. Fenton (1960:332-333) outlined his concep- tion of the qualities of a curator as follows: (1) an interest in the study of humans, whether it be eth- nology, archaeology, or physical anthropology; (2) concern for the collections and their signifi- cance; (3) desire to do research in the field; and 232 Chapter Seventeen (4) desire to teach through exhibiting. Wilcox (this volume) agrees, writing, A curator is active in public programs, including both lectures and exhibitions, and also must attend to a certain amount of administration. A curator's greatest importance to an institution, however. Col- bert (1958) stressed, is the role of researcher, which brings to an institution the authority and originality of its message. All of these roles must be contin- ually balanced, now one. now another, being fore- most in the curator's daily activities. Clearly. VanStone was one of a small handful of curators who exemplified these qualities and had meticulously prioritized every separate aspect of a curator's job. He successfully accompli.shed all of the above by being interested in archaeology, material culture, ethnography, history, and trans- lations as well as spending time on the collections, creating exhibits, teaching, and being involved in administration. He enjoyed fieldwork and returned to the field to give back to the communities in which he had worked. During the mid-1970s. VanStone revis- ited the villages several times to participate in cul- tural awareness programs. During these educa- tional events, elderly people from the area would present to younger people. Mitzu hunters talked, and VanStone discussed his work. At one such event he even learned how to weave fishing net from elderly women (Kusimba and Stanish 1995: III). The Eskimo people received him well, for he appreciated their friendship as well as their con- tributions to his research. Some anthropologists rarely return to research areas after completing their studies; even fewer ever feel the responsi- bility to give back to those communities. Van- Stone not only revisited villages but also was ac- tive in the movement to assist Native American peoples' attainment of equal civil and human rights enjoyed by other Americans. VanStone felt that if he could pass on one piece of advice to all anthropologists, it would be how important it is that "researchers leave the villages and areas where they are with a good impression" because it helps the next group of researchers (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111). He always felt guilty be- cause informants he worked with thought he was going to write a book on them and make loads of money, and he was frustrated, but he could not convince them otherwise. He was keenly aware that he was using them to make a career for him- self, and as a result he felt guilty at times. He saw and appreciated how much better it is now that anthropologists need consent to work in a village. can rarely take artifacts, and have to explain lo the infonnanls how they will benefit. VanSionc said. "That's the way it should be" (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111), demonstrating his progressive attitude and genuine concern for the native peo- ple. VanStone created or was a part of three exhibits at the Field Museum, including the Maritime Peo- ples exhibit in 1982, Imlions Before Columbus in 1947, and the Pawnee Earth Ltxige (Fig. 17.5). VanStone also curated several collections away from the Field Mu.seum, including the Smithson- ian's acclaimed Crossroads of Continents exhibit, which toured several museums nationally and contained artifacts that had previously never left Russia (.see Fitzhugh and Crowell 1988). VanStone taught, at four excellent universities (Alaska at Fairbanks. Toronto. Chicago, and Northwestern), advanced theory and methtxlolo- gy. and published extensively. He recognized his contributions but exaggerated his weaknesses. He saw the errors of the past and his role in them, but he was never one to let those problems — per- .sonal or work-related — stand in his way. He con- stantly aspired to better the in.stitutions he was affiliated with, the villages he worked in, and the discipline of anthropology. When we visited him at his new home in Evanston, Illinois, shortly be- fore his death, he was quite jovial and was talking about an unfinished manuscript that he could not wait to get back to as soon as he settled down. He was not satisfied then, and we believe he never was. When asked what he would want a brand-new graduate student to do, he replied, I would like to see someone who did like me. only better than mc — who would spend a lot of time where there is rich archaeological material, where there are stable villages, and concentrate on one area for a long time. . . . And I think these intensive studies, of restricted areas using all of the meth- odology at your command is gtxxl. (Kusimba and Stanish 1995:111) That quote reminds us that VanStone was modest and that he was interested in the multitheoretical and multimethodological approach. Yet what made VanStone such an out.standing scholar was his relentless pursuit of knowledge. This can be seen in the .sheer number of articles, monographs, and books he published, as well as in his meth- odological approaches to anthropology. He was one of the pioneers of ethnoarchaeology. When he later felt this approach was in.sufficient, he pi- The Legacy of James W. VanStone 233 Fig. 17.5. Interior, Pawnee Earth Lodge replica. oneered the analysis of history and language translations in his anthropological research (Pratt et al. 1998:2). Personally, VanStone was articulate, shy, witty, and private, with a contagious smile. His writing was intense and flawless. He relished his time at the Museum. He remained loyal to Chicago, the Field Museum, and the Chicago Cubs baseball team, and he had a weakness for classical music. He was always focused on his career. He never let convention control his viewpoint. In fact, the tribute edition of Arctic Anthropology to Van- Stone was subtitled No Boundaries: Papers in Honor of James W. VanStone precisely because he was never limited by narrow ideas or lack of imagination (Pratt et al. 1998:2). He always sought more: more texts, more accurate informa- tion, more sensitive approaches, more complete sources, more useful data, more resourceful atti- tudes, and more imaginative ways to learn and to teach. As McClellan (1998:9) said, "I want to stress . . . that VanStone's work represents the kind of holistic approach to anthropology I hope will never be lost." Any of us can only begin to hope our careers reach the scope and importance of VanStone's. But if we have learned one thing from this extraordinary individual, it is that be- coming an ideal academic is attainable, as Van- Stone in his turn learned from Giddings, De La- guna, and Collier. We were fortunate for the op- portunity to learn how to learn from Jim Van- Stone. His legacy will be felt for years to come. 234 Chapter Seventeen Ill Present and Future Challenges 18 The Changing Role of the Curator Jonathan Haas I am writing this paper while sitting at a small desk in a motel room in a small town called Kayenta on the Navajo Indian Reservation in northern Arizona. I have just returned from a hike up onto two nearby mesa tops where I was look- ing for evidence of defensive fortifications dating to the period from a.d. 1250 to 1300. This is an area where I have worked in the past, investigat- ing the beginnings of intense warfare and social consolidation in the Four Corners region (see Haas and Creamer 1993). 1 have been eyeing the two mesas now for over 10 years, but this is the first chance I have had to climb them to look for archaeological sites. No luck in either case. 1 found a few scattered potsherds here and there, but no signs of ancient settlements. As I sat on top of the higher mesa, I realized that there was no water anywhere in the vicinity and no arable land that could have been farmed prehi.storically. I probably could have saved my.self the hike, but I wanted to be sure. This short field excursion is only a small part of my trip to northern Arizona. Yesterday I made arrangements with a IcKal Navajo family to guide a group I am leading to the magnificent ruins of Kiet Siel on Navajo National Monument early in the summer. This is an educational tour that also includes a potential benefactor for my other on- going research project on the coast of Peru. While I am here, I will also be visiting several people who are with the Office of Cultural Preservation for the Navajo Nation in Window Rock, Arizona. Again, there are a couple of rea.sons for this visit. I will be meeting with the director of the Navajo museum to make arrangements for a long-term loan and curation agreement for the storage of a large collection of archaeological artifacts. This collection is the result of my previous excavation and survey projects here on the reservation. Next door to the museum, 1 will be meeting with the director of the Navajo Nation's repatriation office to discuss the status of our efforts to repatriate two very important Navajo sacred bundles held by the Field Museum for over 100 years. Certain items in these bundles were treated with arsenic many years ago, and the nation is justifiably con- cerned about the impact of this contamination should the bundles be put back into use by Navajo religious leaders. The purpose of this somewhat lengthy exposi- tion is not to relay the specific details of a trip into the field but to illustrate graphically the range of activities that fall within job description of a mu.seum curator at the beginning of the 21st cen- tury. Curators today have three primary roles: re- search and writing, curation of collections, and exhibits and public programs. The present short trip embodies all these curatorial roles in one form or another. Research and Writing The field of anthropology emerged as a distinct social .science in the late 19th century. In these early formative years, there was a close link be- tween museums and the rest of anthropology (see Welsch 1999; Fowler, this volume). There was an unspoken consensus at the time that the goal of anthropology was to extract and describe the "es- sence" of the wide variety of non-Western cul- tures found scattered throughout the far comers of the world. There was also a general agreement that artifacts — material culture — provided valu- able and necessary tools for describing those var- The Changing Role of the Curator 237 ied cultural essences. Articles written in 19th-cen- tury anthropological journals were commonly il- lustrated with material culture and various schemes of cultural organization proffered in the 19th century used material culture as a primary axis for distinguishing one cultural level or type from another (see Morgan 1877; Tylor 1881). It is then not surprising that museums and museum curators played a central role in these beginning years of anthropology. Museums were the repos- itories of the numerous collections being made by anthropologists around the world. Museum cura- tors in turn were responsible for carrying out re- search to gather both data and artifacts and for acquiring collections of artifacts made by oth- ers— anthropologists and nonanthropologists alike — throughout the world. There was a sense back then not only that all the cultures could be described, but also that museums should strive for representative collections from all those cultures. Alas, an intervening century has shown that the 19th-century goals of anthropology were and still are unattainable. Anthropology no longer strives to extract the essence of an infinitely variable cul- tural world, and museums no longer seek repre- sentative collections of the world's ancient and contemporary peoples. What, then, of the curator? It is not unreasonable to question the research role of the anthropology curator in a 21st-century mu- seum. If their job is no longer to amass collections of material culture, what is it? The answer to this question comes in the evolving role of the mu- seum itself (see Colbert 1958; Terrell 1991; Col- lier and Tschopik, this volume). Although museums are often equated with their collections both within the profession and in the eyes of the public, there have been significant shifts away from this equivalency in anthropology museums at the end of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st. As museums seek effective and engaging ways to convey the knowledge and insights of anthropology to their visiting audienc- es, they are finding that their storehouses of ob- jects cannot serve as the sole medium of com- munication. Exhibits filled with ceramics, textiles, baskets, or religious icons can be wonderful ve- hicles for giving audiences an appreciation for the aesthetics and history of the art of diverse peoples around the world. Such exhibits, however, do not address the much broader range of social and cul- tural patterns that are the foci of contemporary anthropology and relevant to the lives of today's visiting public. Population growth, for example, along with immigration, warfare, human-environ- ment interactions, the changing face of the family, ethnicity, and racism, are among the kinds of is- sues being addressed by anthropology today and have significance for every visitor who walks in a museum's door. If museums are to avoid being marginalized as the sole purveyors of non-West- ern art, they have to address the issues and con- cerns of present-day visitor (be that visitor in the 20th. 21st, or 22nd century). This is where the role of the curator comes in. The anthropology curator in the museum of the 21st century, through research and publications, provides the academic leadership for the institu- tion. In this case, the comparison with a university is apt. In a university environment, the faculty sets the academic agenda. The teaching faculty deter- mines the content of the courses, the requirements for a major, the graduate examinations, and the standards for a degree. In a museum, the curato- rial faculty has similar responsibility for setting the academic agenda. Curators have responsibility for determining the focus and content of exhibits (though see Terrell 1991), educational program- ming, the publications, and even the gift shop of the museum. If we look at the anthropology mu- seum today as a place where an interested public comes to learn about peoples and cultures other than themselves, then the anthropology curators are the people responsible for guiding that learn- ing process. In order to set this academic agenda, a curatorial faculty has to be aware of and actively engaged in current research in the field of anthro- pology. Active research and concomitant publication accomplish a couple of different goals. First, they ensure that the curators remain in touch with cur- rent methods, theories, and the basic knowledge base of anthropology. Research in this context plays an even more important role in the museum than it does in the university. In a university, teaching is a day-to-day dialogue. The teaching faculty has the constant stimulus of an inquisitive, hungry, skeptical student body. To stay ahead of or even just abreast of that student body, profes- sors have to stay current. But in museums, the "student" body is a visiting public with whom curators have only a passing acquaintance. There is minimal dialogue in any meaningful sense. Without an independent source of stimulation, ac- tive research and publication provide the means whereby curators engage the issues of contem- porary anthropology and convey a sense of cur- rency and substance to the academic agenda of the museum. 238 Chapter Eighteen The second goal of research and publication by a museum's curatorial faculty is to serve in a very fundamental way to advance the institutional goal of increasing public understanding of the human condition. In a rapidly changing world tilled with cultural diversity, ever-more-complex social rela- tions, and environmental challenges, museum vis- itors need to be provided both with a better ap- preciation for the world's cultures and with basic tools for better understanding the causes of cul- ture change and the role of people in an evolving cultural and natural environment. The research of curators, to the extent that it directly addresses issues of public concern, provides immediacy to the institutional message of the museum. The mu- seum is able to rely on the research findings and publications of the curatorial faculty to engage the interest of the public and demonstrate graphically the relevance of anthropological research to the real world of the visiting audience. The exact focus of a curator's research is large- ly an independent decision. Some curators con- centrate on analysis of the material objects found in a museum's collections. This was certainly a primary focus for much of the 20th century, and it remains a viable option today. In contemporary anthropology, there has been a renewed interest in material culture studies, and new theoretical foundations allow for arriving at new insights into the arts and belief systems of the people who made and used the objects. At the same time, a growing number of anthropology curators at the start of the 2 1 st century are engaged in a variety of cultural, archaeological, and biological projects that may or may not involve collecting or analyz- ing material culture. Perhaps the biggest shift in contemporary museum anthropology is that col- lecting and collections are no longer seen as ends in and of themselves, but rather as one of many possible means to the end of increa.sed cultural understanding. Without the expectation of collections-based re- search, the spectrum of research possibilities has broadened greatly in the most recent generation of anthropology curators. How then does the re- search program of a museum's curatorial faculty differ, if at all, from research programs of faculties in universities and other kinds of academic set- tings? The answer to this question comes back again to the role of the museum. If the goal of a museum is to increase public understanding of the human condition, and if it is the responsibility of the curator to provide academic leadership in the museum, then it is not unreasonable that the re- search program of that museum curator uUiiiiak'U relate back to that goal of public understand iiiy. It is not enough for a museum curator to simply "increase knowledge" under the cloak of absolute academic freedom. By that standard, as a gratu- itous example, a curator could spend an entire ca- reer counting the libers in a single textile. Knowl- edge is increased, but toward what end? Knowl- edge alone, without anchor in the contemporary world, cannot ju.stify any and all research con- ducted in a mu.seum (or any other academic) en- vironment. In an in.stitution of public learning, then, the researcher/curator has the charge not only of conducting research and writing for a pro- fessional audience but also of being able to trans- late that research in a way that can be understtHxl and appreciated by a general public audience. This places a heavier weight on museum curators to conduct research that has an immediate con- nection to the issues and subjects of concern and interest to the visiting audiences. The Curation of Collections At the inception of museum anthropology, the role of the curator was self-defined: to "curate" collections. A curator was charged with acquiring objects for the collection, taking care of those ob- jects once they came into the mu.seum, and put- ting those objects on public display for the visi- tors. But, as noted above, the anthropological re- search in museums has progressively shifted away from an exclusive focus on collections and ma- terial culture. To some extent, this is ba.sed on recognition that material culture is not a window into the full spectrum of people's lives. Cultural anthropologists .seeking an understanding of con- temporary community politics, family organiza- tion, or religious movements, for example, do not look for that understanding to be somehow em- bodied or reified in clothing styles, cooking uten- sils, or even ceremonial paraphernalia. Material culture is certainly one part of any living cultural system, but it may or may not serve as a useful source of information for a researcher (see Cod- rington, this volume), depending on the questions being asked in the research. The roaring jets of globalization further com- plicate the research value of contemporary mate- rial culture today. With a growing global economy and international markets, there is an increasing level of homogenization of material goods that The Changing Role of the Curator 239 cuts across cultural lines and obviates the value of broad-spectrum collecting (see Friedman 2(XX)). The Pokemon lunch boxes carried by chil- dren going to school on the Hopi mesas in Ari- zona or Lima, Peru, are the same as the Pokemon lunch boxes carried by any number of Chicago schoolchildren — as are the peanut butter sand- wiches and apples (grown in Chile) contained within. Thus, as cultural anthropologists look at the relationships between people and their envi- ronment or at changing family organization or the melding of traditional healing with modern med- ical practices, the emphasis is not on material cul- ture. Nevertheless, there are still important reasons for continuing to collect modern material culture as part of a long-range curatorial research pro- gram working with living peoples. First and per- haps foremost among these is that the artistic and craft traditions of almost all non-Western people are still alive, well, and thriving. The material ob- jects coming out of these traditions reflect both the dynamics and the stability of diverse symbol- ic, social, and technological systems. Anthropol- ogy museums stand today as literally the only public repositories of material culture that do not fall under the somewhat vague aegis of "high art." Without active collecting programs, the global diversity of material culture that is already shrinking will be lost to humanity. Somewhat ironically, this is the same cry that drove the in- tense period of collecting at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th (see Welsch, this volume; McVicker, this volume). At that time there was a sense that the various non- Western cultures were endangered and soon to be extinct. If we did not gather together their material manifestations, there would be no record of these endangered peoples. Of course most of these cul- tures did not become extinct in the 20th century, and the situation today, while sounding similar, is quite different. Today, the issue is not the extinc- tion of the cultures themselves but the potential loss of the artistic and technological diversity ex- pressed in the wide range of living cultures. A related reason for collecting contemporary mate- rial culture is to provide museums with physical ("real") media for developing exhibits on living peoples. Although anthropology exhibits in recent decades have shifted from mass presentations of artifacts to more multimedia interactive exhibits, actual objects are an ideal medium for commu- nicating certain aspects of cultural reality and re- main as material touchstones for the visiting au- dience. Collection of prehistoric materials has also changed significantly over the history of muse- ums. Archaeological curators in the past had a charge similar to cultural anthropologists: go forth and amass spectacular and representative collec- tions (of objects or data) from the assorted ancient cultures that once inhabited the corners of the earth (see Fowler, this volume). Early excavations at the turn of the 20th century were little more than hunting expeditions designed to bring home artifacts that could be put on public exhibition (see McVicker, this volume). As archaeology it- self changed in the 20th century, so too did the nature of collections made by museum archaeol- ogists. The focus shifted from pretty, whole arti- facts to comprehensive collections of the assorted bits and pieces of detritus that make up the large majority of objects found in any archaeological site. Not very interesting to look at and certainly not something a museum would want to put on exhibit, these collections were (and are) neverthe- less the material foundations for reconstructing the cultural systems of societies long dead. Just within the past few years, even the acquisition of these comprehensive collections of broken stones and ceramics has slowed substantially. Because of growing concerns for retaining archaeological collections in the areas from which they originate (this is true even in the United States, where ar- chaeological collections often cannot be curated outside their state of origin), few research projects today result in large numbers of artifacts coming back to the museum. What often do come back to museums are nontraditional collections of floral, faunal, soil, and chronometric samples. With con- stantly improving analytical methods, such non- artifactual materials are found to contain more and more of the information available from archaeo- logical sites. Beyond the acquisition of contemporary mate- rial culture, the role of the curator has changed in many other ways in the past century. During the era of active collection building there was a per- sonal and possessive connection between curators and "their" collections. Although this possessive- ness persists to the present, as curators are as- signed responsibility to materials from a particular world area, the personal connection has dimin- ished considerably. There has developed over the years a cadre of trained, specialized professional staff who have responsibility for the actual phys- ical curation of collections held by a museum. 240 Chapter Eighteen Collection managers, registrars, and conservators now handle all aspects of collections mainte- nance, including the catalogue, accessions, inven- tory, security, conservation, and loans, and ac- commodating visiting researchers, artists, and del- egations from native groups whose material cul- ture is represented in the collection (see Martin-Ross and Bamett, this volume). A curator is then one part of a professional collections man- agement team. Rather than "curate" in a physical sense, a curator has responsibility, often mandated by the institution, for making decisions and rec- ommendations about diverse aspects of collec- tions care and use. These run from the substantive to the mundane and include such things as the appropriate use of collections for research pur- poses and exhibits, storage strategies (e.g., wheth- er to group objects by type or by culture group), identification of objects and nomenclature for the collection catalogue, assigning monetary value to objects for loan insurance purp>oses, accessioning and deaccessioning collections, repatriation, and weighing the inevitable conflicts that arise be- tween collections use and conservation. The level of engagement for an individual curator with the curation of collections, like an individual research agenda, varies considerably. Exhibits and Public Programs There is an interesting phrase in the mu.seum world that arises from the equation of a museum and its collection: "exhibits curator" (George Quimby was the first and only Field Museum an- thropology curator to hold this title, from 1943 to 1953.) The notion of an exhibit curator arose from the historic pattern of curators making collections, taking care of collections, and mounting exhibi- tions of those collections. This pattern continues to hold true in most art museums and other insti- tutions directly object-oriented, such as car mu- seums; however, the situation tcxlay in anthropol- ogy museums tends to be much more complex. To illustrate this complexity, I will relate a per- sonal case study. Several years ago the Field Museum proposed doing an exhibit on chocolate. As the exhibit would include both the biology and the cultural history of chocolate, a botanist and an anthropol- ogist, me, were brought on as exhibit curators. One of the first issues to be resolved at the onset of the exhibit was to define its educational focus. I What did we want our visitors to learn as iho\ went through the exhibit? While a simple answer to this question might seem self-evideni — wc wanted them to learn about the origins and histi^ry of chocolate — 1 argued that this was not enough. 1 felt the exhibit had to have a more substantive anthropological message. What my colleague. Cu- rator Alaka Wali, and 1 proposed was that the ex- hibit use chcx:olate as an example to talk about the prcKcss of commcxlification. How did chtKo- late go from being a natural plant in the rain forest to a hard commodity traded impersonally on the international commodities market? As an example of the process of commodification, chocolate re- sembles any number of other commodities, such as bananas, corn, oil, or even diamonds. It would offer our visitors a different kind of insight into the various kinds of economic roles played by nat- ural products in the evolution of cultural systems. After lively discussions about how a complex topic like commodification could come to be translated into visitor-friendly language and me- dia, the entire team then concentrated on devel- oping the parts of the exhibit. This was a dynamic interaction between exhibit developers, designers, educators, curators, and other content specialists. It was always understood that the Exhibits De- partment was responsible for the way the exhibit turned out and the ultimate translation of the con- tent mes.sages. My role was to help develop the initial themes of the exhibit as they related to the archaeology and history of chocolate use, ensure accuracy of content as it was developed and ar- ticulated by the exhibits team, help select artifacts, and .serve as a general watchdog to hold the ex- hibit to the main theme of commodification. It was also my job to bring chocolate delicacies to as many meetings as possible and not attend any meetings where chtKolate was unavailable. After all. we had an obligation to know our subject mat- ter personally. The Chocolate! exhibit is still under develop- ment as this is being written. We are now review- ing label copy in the context of three-dimensional m(Kk-ups of the exhibit components. While I can- not report on the success or failure of the exhibit itself, its development can stand as a highly work- able prototype for basically any anthropological exhibit today. Curators clearly have a central role to play in exhibit development, but it is not the independent, master-hand role it was in the past. As with collections management, there has been tremendous professionalization and specialization in exhibit design and execution. Anthropology cu- The Changing Role of the Curator 241 rators are trained to be anthropologists, do field- work, publish scholarly works, and advance our understanding of human thought and behavior. They are not particularly trained in how to get complex ideas into readable label copy, build in- teractives, conduct audience research, adjust light- ing, comply with disability regulations, or figure out what colors harmonize together and create the right "feeling" for the message being communi- cated. There are, however, exhibit professionals who are trained and experienced in these central aspects of increasingly sophisticated exhibits. As one part of the exhibit team, the curator has re- sponsibility for setting the anthropological and ac- ademic agenda for exhibits as the central media that a museum has for communicating with the visiting audience in an informal learning environ- ment. To the extent that curators participate in ex- hibit development, they have an unparalleled op- portunity to communicate with an audience many times the number who are likely to read any of their scholarly treatises. There are many other opportunities and respon- sibilities for curators in exhibits and public pro- grams, including public lectures, leading educa- tional tours, writing general audience publica- tions, and, more and more, helping to develop new communication and outreach tools through various cybermedia and the Internet. Curators play a critical role in engaging the interest and commitment of funding agencies and potential do- nors and in demonstrating directly the importance of the messages a museum is attempting to con- vey to the public. It is in the area of public pro- gramming that the role of the anthropology cu- rator in the 21st century is undergoing the most dramatic changes. There is a certain degree of ten- sion between the immediate goals of the museum to provide entertaining exhibits and programs that bring in larger audiences and the deeper goals of the institution to serve as a forum for public learn- ing and imparting the insights and knowledge of anthropology (see Terrell 1991). The curator has to find ways to relieve this tension, ensuring that content is not lost on the altar of economics and at the same time actively encouraging the inno- vative kinds of exhibits and programs that will attract audiences. Not fulfilling either of the goals of financial health and effective public learning is a mark of institutional failure, and the curatorial faculty of a museum must assume an active role in steering the institution toward success and away from failure on both fronts. While started in a motel room in Arizona, this paper is being finished in the offices of a tour and public learning organization in Santa Fe. I came here to work out the details of a tour we are de- veloping. I am planning to lead a group of Field Museum members on a combination culinary and archaeological tour of sites and cities in Mexico with a theme focused on what else but Chocolate! We will visit cacao orchards and a variety of pre- historic sites, tracing the origins and development of chocolate domestication and trade in ancient Mesoamerica. To make it more interesting, we will also study the culinary history of chocolate in Mexico by sampling drinks, candy, and the de- lights of mole. Yes, the role of the curator at the start of the third millennium is a tough one, but someone has to do it. 242 Chapter Eighteen f 19 Information Management in the Department of Anthropology: History and Prospects Darren Martin-Ross and William K. Barnett The museum registration system is the memory of the museum. Long after curators and registrars have come and gone, the records of the museum will speak. In keeping the historical story straight, they are as important as the object itself. A museum that fails to keep good records is failing in its primary function — some would say its only function. With gtx)d records, more than the object is preserved. With ptxjr records, something more valuable than the object it.self may be destroyed. (Reibel 1997:15-16) Information distinguishes museum artifacts and specimens from similar objects outside the museum. Ideally, a museum knows not only how it acquired an object but also the object's prove- nience. The purpose is not just to have an object but to know as much as possible about it. Through research performed by the museum's curators, visiting researchers, scientists, and conservators, additional information becomes as.sociated with a museum object: its history of use and manufac- ture, cultural information, field data, and scientific analysis. All this information accumulates over lime. When integrated, these data have the ability to bring our collections to life. Managing collections information has tradition- ally been the responsibility of a registrar. In a large institution like the Field Museum, the work is actually done by a team of people whom the public rarely sees, of whom the registrar is but one. Other important players are the curators, ar- chivists, librarians, computer specialists, collec- tions managers, clerks, interns, and volunteers who assist in the process. The Department of An- thropology has dedicated millions of person-hours to acquiring objects and recording the information it has gathered or generated in its 109 years of existence. The collections and associated docu- mentation are therefore a unique and irreplaceable resource that affords us the opportunity to ad- vance our mission as a world-cla.ss research and educational institution. Developing a system to preserve information, to aid in its retrieval and dissemination, and to relate that information to the objects and other data is a huge task. As with any project, it is af- fected by the technology, research program, in- dividuals, finances, ideas, and events that sur- round its creation and maintenance. The Depart- ment of Anthropology's rich history is bound up within the Field Museum's history. Their stories are closely reflected in the information manage- ment system that exists today. Record Keeping in the Department of Anthropology The Field Museum and its Department of An- thropology grew out of the World's Columbian Exposition of 1893. The management of the ex- position was centralized, with a lot of authority given to the various departmental heads for the actual organization of their area. This same sys- tem was adopted, with a smaller number of aca- demic departments, when the Chicago Columbian Museum was formally established in 1893. The collection records reflect this. The Office of the Recorder initially processed objects acquired by I Information Management in the Department of Anthropology 243 all departments in the Museum. The recorder for- mally accepted gifts on behalf of the Museum, accessioned them by recording the transactions and assigning unique tracking or catalogue num- bers, and turned them over to the appropriate de- partment for storage and further cataloguing. A duplicate of the accessioning paperwork was giv- en to the department for its own file (Annual Re- port [AR] 1894:14-15; Thomas 1933). This record-keeping system had several advan- tages. The formal process of accessioning trans- fers legal title to the museum. Ultimately, the col- lections are owned by the board of trustees, which holds them in the public trust. Having a central recorder secure legal title is therefore logical. It acknowledged, through its structure, that acquisi- tions are made for the Field Museum as a whole, not for any particular department. By the time an object reached a department, it was therefore mu- seum property. Any further work done on the ob- ject only enhanced its value to the museum. This centralization also allowed continuity in process- ing while curators were in the field, especially be- cause all the academic departments at that time had very small staffs. Additional cataloguing was often left for clerks or the departmental secretary to complete (Executive Committee Minutes, De- cember 2, 1895). The first time a person was hired specifically to manage the department's records was not until 1989, when Janice Klein became the first registrar in anthropology (see Appendix 2). Centralized control of accessioning appears to have slowly drifted into individual departments after the dissolution of the central recorder posi- tion in 1951 (Anthropology Department Archives, 1894-2001). Details are sketchy, but there ap- pears to have been a museumwide reduction in record keeping for 30 years starting around 1940, roughly coincident with Paul S. Martin's tenure as chief curator in Anthropology. Basic accessioning proceeded as usual, but other departmental re- cords are thin for these decades. There were also changes in emphasis in admin- istration with the retirement of the Museum's longtime president of the board of trustees, Stan- ley Field, in late 1961. Field and the directors who ran the Museum for him followed every detail of museum management. This control extended to museum records, planning and executing exhibits, and correspondence, all of which activities were overseen by the president's office. Subsequent leaders have given the departments more auton- omy. Within the Department of Anthropology, there were other concerns that might also have contrib- uted to the lapse in documentation. There was a new focus on renovating anthropology exhibits and constructing the Pacific Research Laboratory. Anthropology exhibits were produced within the department until 1965, when the central Exhibits Department was established, so this effort took much more departmental time than it does today (see Collier 1952:9). Historical events have certainly influenced the management of information at the Field Museum. World War I brought financial cutbacks, reduced staff levels, and prevented expeditions from trav- eling abroad. Between 1917 and 1922, most of the Field Museum's focus was on the construction of the Grant Park building and the subsequent move from the old building in Jackson Park. This resulted in improved conditions for the collec- tions, but it was also a deterrent to the time-con- suming, staff-intensive process of cataloguing. A brief heyday of expeditions and collecting came in the late 1920s, cut short by the Depression in the 1930s and later by the advent of World War II. The silver lining to these events was assistance the Museum gained from the Works Progress Ad- ministration project, which brought many extra hands to the Museum for cataloguing and physical management of the collections (AR 1932-1935) (see Appendix 2). The development of anthropology as a field of study, the growth of the Field Museum, and in- dividual interests have also influenced record keeping in the department. In the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, curators an- swered the needs of the institution by acquiring huge numbers of objects on far-ranging expedi- tions. Indeed, curators often competed with other : museums and private collectors for material. Ob- ject documentation was often not seen to be as important as amassing collections, although some of the department's early collections are excep- tionally well documented. Collections data and re- search became more of a priority as the century progressed, especially after Paul Martin came to the Museum in 1929. Politically, the colonial mind-set that had driv- en early anthropology declined as different groups and nations around the world became self-em- powered and more aware of their cultural heri- tage. This necessitated changes in record keeping, such as correcting the anglicized names of people and places or reflecting developments in nation- hood. Interpretations embedded in the records are also seen as outmoded. 244 Chapter Nineteen Muscology, like anthropology and archaeology, developed professional standards during the twen- tieth century. One way these standards are mani- fest is through the development of policy. Over the years, the Field Museum has developed poli- cies that regulate the acquisition, use, care, and disposal of objects in its collections. Nationally and internationally, laws have been passed that protect cultural patrimony, sacred objects, and hu- man remains from being the focus of museum ac- quisition, as they were in earlier times. The Field Museum has contributed to the development of key legislation, such as the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 199(). These events have put more importance than ever on keeping accurate records on objects. They also challenge us to find new ways of using informa- tion about objects that museums can no longer hold. In early 2002, the professional staff and fac- ulty codified and approved, for the first time in its history, a formal collections management policy for the Department of Anthropology. The sheer volume of material that came into the collections in 1894 would have challenged any person or process. Fifty thousand artifacts were displayed during the World's Columbian Exposi- tion (Collier 1952:7). Most of these were trans- ferred to the fledgling museum. Addressing this backlog became a priority during the late 1890s (Farrington 1930). In 1898, a new position was created in anthropology for someone to "place the records in proper condition" (Executive Commit- tee Minutes, January 29, 1898). At this time orig- inal tracking numbers from the World's Colum- bian Exposition were changed, and all objects were catalogued in one numbering system. Today, accessioning and cataloguing are done within each academic department. Departmental record keeping includes starting a file for each accession. Each accession is assigned a unique se- rial number for record-keeping purposes. An ac- cession is an entire group of objects acquired at one time from one source. Each individual object within an accession is assigned a separate, unique serial number called a catalogue number This al- lows information regarding an individual object to be recorded and utilized. The catalogue number and basic identifying information on each object are recorded in a large ledger book. The same or sometimes more detailed information on the arti- facts is written on individual catalogue cards. A copy of the records is sent to the archives for safe- ty, but there is no longer a central office monitor- ing the end process. Other collection information resources t>iiei nally maintained by the department included a li brary and archives (which have since been inei>i porated in the main Museum entities). phtXo- graphs. donor/collector cards, exhibit labels, and records of loans or deaccessions. A satellite li- brary system consisting of a main library and smaller departmental ones was envisioned from the beginning of the museum (AR 1894:14). The archives were a natural outcome of museum ac- tivities, slowly amassing a record over time of ex- peditions, correspondence, collection dtKumenta- tion, and business transactions. Visual diKumen- tation of the collections, field expeditions, archae- ological sites, exhibit installations, and Museum staff was organized in 1903, when a set of pho- tographic albums, organized geographically and by subject, was established to meet public demand for such materials (AR 1903:267). Careful nota- tion was made in the.se albums that linked the print with its negative. Exhibit labels, which were actually an extension of cataloguing information for the objects, were al.so preserved .starting in 1915 (AR 1915:11). By early 1 908, a categorization system was de- veloped to help bring meaningful order to the thousands of catalogue cards in their drawers (AR 1908:225). The cards are divided into three cate- gories: ethnology, archaeology, and physical an- thropology. Within each category, the cards are further subdivided according to their geographical origin and type of object or material. At the time, this system was referred to as the "Tribal Lists." Today we refer to it as the "subject code," since the original system was augmented with alpha- numeric codes for each category to enhance com- puterization. This coded card catalogue system expanded as needed over the years as new categories were identified. While it does aid retrieval of data, it al.so has inherent faults. It does not allow for ac- curate classification of multiple-use artifacts. As with any paper system, there is a constant struggle to update the classification as new attributions come from research. The categories themselves lack consistency, since they have grown haphaz- ardly through time. Some of the categories are determined by function, some by material, and some by type of object. There are many objects that are not adequately covered by the categories at all. All of the early records were recorded by hand. Forms were designed and printed to standardize and streamline the process. To handle the quantity Information Management in the Department of Anthropology 245 and repetitive nature of some of the cataloguing information, rubber stamps were frequently used. The first typewriter was purchased for the Field Columbian Museum in 1897 (Executive Commit- tee Minutes, March 20, 1895), although most col- lection record keeping continued to be done by hand. Many of the same turn-of-the-century forms and ledgers are still used today in the accessioning and cataloguing processes, although records kept on computer databases now supplement the infor- mation. In 1976, bicentennial planning prioritized the widespread incorporation of computers in records management. The Field Museum was among the first museums in the country that started to auto- mate its records, beginning about 1970. The De- partment of Anthropology joined in 1 975 by de- veloping the Anthropology Information Manage- ment System (AIMS), at first on the University of Illinois computer system and then transferred to the Museum on a donated DEC PDP-1 1/40 main- frame with a Unix operating system. AIMS fo- cused on data capture and inventory, using a co- lumnar format with six fields. At the time, the department was facing a major collections move, and AIMS facilitated the process well with its au- tomated inventory function. A second phase of AIMS was later undertaken to expand its purpose from simple inventory to include accessioning, cataloguing, loan process- ing, and tracking photography requests. In the late 1970s, the hardware was upgraded to a VAX computer, and in the mid-1980s, C-Base software was introduced. The speed of development in the electronic world quickly rendered this system in- efficient as more and more demands were placed on it for different types of information. In 1998, the Department of Anthropology, with the support of the Computer Services department, purchased a server and transferred all the data to FileMaker Pro software and expanded the number of fields in the database. The shift to automation is yet incomplete. Reg- istration and cataloguing procedures used in the department now constitute an odd combination of old processes and new technologies. Basic acces- sion tracking is still done by hand in the same bound ledgers used in the 1890s. The current da- tabase was never properly planned to perform all the functions currently expected of a collections management system. The large number of entries, limited design, lack of standardized terminology, inaccuracy, or sheer lack of data entry mean that the paper records — ledgers and card catalogues — are still the main means of access to information about the collections. In the modern day, this is unacceptable. Information is one of the main assets a museum has to offer the public, in addition to its collec- tions. Indeed, museums are expected to be a source of authenticity for information regarding their collections, research, and exhibitions. How can we perform this key mission-related function when our basic records are inaccessible to schol- ars and visitors through electronic media, contain numerous errors, and are difficult to update, track, and disseminate at the speed that today's business world requires? The Museum's existing information manage- ment system is now inadequate to deal with the growing quantity of and public demand for infor- mation within and without the Museum. It results in insufficient capacity to manage the collections, inefficient or wasted effort, and loss of informa- tion. The growth in information technology usage within the Museum and the burgeoning volume of data require greater overall planning, coordina- tion, and accountability from our collections man- agement system than ever before. The Museum has recognized this challenge by creating the In- formation Services area, which is now working together with all the collections-holding depart- ments within the Museum to address this chal- lenge. The success of the Internet has driven a world- wide shift to increased dissemination of digital in- formation. Information management systems are available or can be built that can enhance our col- lections management substantially. A new focus on the industries of the collection, management, and dissemination of digital information has pro- duced a raft of new tools and resources. Sophis- ticated content management tools, information ar- chitectures and standards, digital thesauri and me- tadata, and digital libraries are revolutionizing the structure and integration of digital compendia. Yet we must ask why this necessarily has relevance for Field Museum anthropology. This change comes at an important juncture for our discipline, when the acquisition of large collections through expositions and expeditions is being replaced by the production of information through the man- agement of existing collections and new partner- ships with foreign scholars and communities. As stewards of the collections, our scientific de- partments are also stewards of the information that adds critical value to the actual objects. That information is now seen as intellectual property 246 Chapter Nineteen Table 19.1. The Field Museum's digital information strategy. Scientific achievement Enhanced public experiences Integration Digital library, including collec- tions databases Advanced analytical research technologies Worldwide integration of field- work into the Museum Digital channels such as the Web and mobile computing Building constituency relationships MTEC (Museum Technology Experi- mentation Center) Technology infrastructure Enterprise resource planning Policy dcvelopmcni and new technologies that extends beyond simple object identification to provenience information, representations by im- ages or drawings. Held notes, as well as accession, loan, and usage data. Simultaneous access via in- formation systems allows greater access to the re- search communities we serve. Providing more in- formation about the collections can also protect physical objects by permitting more targeted use by re.searchers. Simply put, it has value that must be safeguarded. In order to help keep it.self relevant, the De- partment of Anthropology now has the challenge of keeping up with the changes that are revolu- tionizing the rest of the world. Expectations have changed. We must provide digital information to our research .staff, to visiting scientists, to edu- cators, and to the visiting public. We are using new analytical technologies that produce classes of information that will allow us to understand our collections in new dimensions. We must discover new ways of bringing information, instead of col- lections, back to the Field Museum, as well as opening communications channels among the mu- seum, field kx:ations, colleagues, and other im- portant constituencies. A relatively new Information Services area, led by the chief information officer, is responsible for undertaking many of these information manage- ment challenges for anthropology and other dis- ciplines. It oversees both strategic and tactical technology programs, both operational and pro- grammatic. Still quite rare in the museum world, it incorporates the technology service areas of telecommunications, computer services, photog- raphy, and media (audiovisual and multimedia) along with the information management areas of the institutional library and Web publishing. This area represents a strategic institutional commit- ment to the development of technology solutions for the Museum. It also allows us to think insti- tutionally and to integrate solutions across de- partments. The Field Museum's commitment to an insti- tutional Information Services area supports the anthropology information management goals as we look at future directions. Through a 1999 stra- tegic initiative, information technology was iden- tified as a strategic focus, and recommendations were made that included programmatic fcKus for this area and that it should be supported by a chief information officer at a vice-presidential level with responsibilities for data management across the institution. It is all the more relevant for this discussion that the individual now filling that of- fice (Bill Barnett) is a research archaeologist and an adjunct curator in the Department of Anthro- pology. The institutional digital strategy at the Field Museum is logically divided into three areas, as ttiandated by the strategic initiative: scientific achievement, enhanced public experiences, and integration (see Table 19.1). Within each of these areas, there are three general initiatives for infor- mation services. We emphasize initiatives in sci- entific achievement, as they are particularly rele- vant to the challenges faced by anthropology. The digital library initiative covers the princi- pal area of information inanagement in anthro- pology, although there are other contributing ar- eas. This initiative focuses on the massive chal- lenge of managing the information that inakes our collections meaningful and accessible. It is a liv- ing knowledge management approach that cin- phasizes the constant accumulation and change of scientific information and the multiple groups that seek to interact with that information in different ways. Additional benefits of digital information man- agement lie in its ability to move beyond collec- tions management functions to support the entire research enterprise. Digital libraries integrate di- verse information sets in new ways to support re- .search. education, and public outreach. For ex- ample, use records can help justify the investment in our collections and help us better manage them. The ability to overlay site information on digital Information Management in the Department of Anthropology 247 k maps displaying relevant ecological reconstruc- tion data can help us plan excavation strategies and greatly advance our understanding of the evo- lution of ancient societies. The further addition of field journals can provide insight on research. When integrated with the scholarship surrounding the area, this digital library can be the core re- source for managing our collections and for un- derstanding past and present societies, and it can be a magnet for research. There are multiple categories of information that need to be considered in constructing such a digital library. As mentioned previously, site lo- cation, artifact information, geographic data, an- alytical data, and scientific writings all contribute to the exponentially greater value of an integrated data repository. In addition, correspondence, ed- ucational and exhibit programming, photographs and other media, and information resulting from the interaction of people with the library, such as patterns in integrated data retrieval, information on how people use the repository, and news sto- ries and other third-party publications, all contrib- ute to this living repository. The successful construction and operation of such a digital repository requires several types of institutional commitment. The most obvious is the investment in technologies to acquire, store, man- age, access, and interact with digital information. More important, it will require a change in the way scientists and other users of digital libraries go about their business of managing collections, engaging in scientific research, and publishing the results of their efforts. We will be challenged to move from a dependence on handwritten journal entries to digital entry of information. We will need to think in new ways about recording obser- vations on our collections. More important, to maintain the scientific integrity of our collections, we will have to carefully consider how we will establish the authority to contribute collection notes, interpretations, and publications. There are innumerable opportunities to advance our mission through a digital library approach, but we will have to consider the implications to the way in which we do our work. Advanced analytical research technologies, from GIS (geographical information systems) to three-dimensional imaging of objects to dating and materials analysis data, have already revolu- tionized anthropology, creating opportunities to ask and answer questions once beyond the reach of the discipline. In order to accomplish the re- search mandate of these new analytical approach- es, it is necessary to provide the proper analytical program, including instrumentation, methods for validation, and access to comparable data sets. This has become a critical foundation for the op- eration of a modern anthropology department. These analytical capabilities and the information they produce present a whole separate set of chal- lenges for the Field Museum. Not only must an- alytical data integrate with other information, but the nature of the analytical data represents whole new classes of information that must be managed well if they are to be utilized productively. Integration of information with an active field- work program is another great opportunity for in- formation management to serve the Field Muse- um. The Field Museum, like nearly all modem museums, is shifting emphasis from a focus on collecting physical objects to collecting informa- tion. This is particularly true as countries that have traditionally been the location of field ex- peditions have discovered the value of their own cultural patrimony. New approaches are needed to effectively incorporate these concerns into our re- search program. These new approaches will nec- essarily depend on the fluidity of data in an in- formation-driven world. It is important to consider wisely our approach even to data collection, as we can envision concerns about the patrimony of content following closely on the heels of the pat- rimony of objects. The opportunities to provide venues for the col- laborative use of information with colleagues, ed- ucators, and the public are exciting. With the growth of digital libraries and the production of new classes of analytical data also comes the op- portunity to provide the same type of interaction with information during fieldwork as we enjoy in the museum. Access to collections information, digital maps, images, analytical data, and scholar- ship from fieldwork sites can greatly improve our capabilities and opportunities. Curator Gary Fein- man began a regular series of e-mails to Museum members from his annual expeditions to Oaxaca, Mexico, and Shandong, China. These communi- ques fill a research role by providing timely news of discoveries to colleagues and an even more im- portant educational role by informing the public about our scientific research. This program has been expanded in 2002 with the "Expeditions® fieldmuseum" project, which will incorporate live video reports from field sites. In the future, the op- portunity to provide digital library data and access to analytical instrumentation and analyses will per- 248 Chapter Nineteen mil even better integration of field efforts and sci- entific communication and collaboration. A great deal of experimentation and investment will be necessary to provide effective information management solutions to support our fieldwork. In order to move toward the goal of "always on" worldwide access to our collections, we need to begin to consider several conditions. What is the nature of the need for data in the field? What types of research collaboration can most effec- tively support a research program? What are the educational opportunities of delivering informa- tion about live research from field Uxations to the Museum? How do we need to change how we collect, document, process, and use information to be able to build these strategic investments in our intellectual property? What arc the available tech- nologies for accomplishing these tasks, where arc they going, and where can we begin to assess the true value of the integration of field information management? As we evaluate how best to move inftirmation management forward at the Field Museum, it will be critical to understand where we are and where we want to go. The acknowledgment of our cur- rent technology and museum culture is critical to the understanding of what will be required of us to be able not just to capitalize on the opportu- nities the information economy is making possible but also to continue to fulfill our mandate to be effective stewards of the collections we house and the science we represent. Information Management in the Department of Anthropology 249 20 A Foundation for the Future of Field Museum Anthropology Stephen E. Nash and Gary M. Feinman We live and work in a diverse and complex world, one that, even with accelerating rates of globalization, is still characterized by many different f)eoples and cultures. In the face of the numerous political, economic, ethnic, and religious conflicts of the twentieth and now the twenty-first centuries, we believe that anthropol- ogy ought to have a central role in helping us understand the human condition, its origins, and the development of the complex world in which we currently live (see Gledhill 2000). One might expect that museums, as caretakers of the material culture that illustrates some tan- gible examples of humankind's cultural differenc- es and as centers of public learning, would be the ideal place in which to address the anthropologi- cal issues behind current events. This has not al- ways been the case, especially during the middle part of the twentieth century, when museums lost ground to universities as foci for cutting-edge an- throplogy as a whole, a number of general trends reveal how the nature of museum work in general and Field Mu- seum anthropological work in particular has changed radically since the early 1890s. The col- lection of papers in this volume also raises a num- ber of important questions. Where curators once used individual patrons' mon- ey to embark on wide-ranging expeditions to gather ri museum-quality specimens for study and exhibition in the museum, l