April 18, 2010

Dr. Ian Russell Albert Lees

Postdoctoral Fellow M.A. Candidate, 2010
John Nicholas Brown Center John Nicholas Brown Center
For the Public Humanities and For the Public Humanities and
Cultural Heritage Cultural Heritage
Brown University Brown University
Providence, RI. Providence, RI.

Essay and Site Visit:

Select a location associated with popular culture and a local

heritage site (different to the one selected two weeks ago) and
compare and contrast modes of experience and reception.

Springtime in Southern Florida is alive with activity;

snowbirds, not quite ready to leave their warm, comfortable nests

for the flight north clog roadways and beaches alike, spring-

breakers vying for surf, sun, and suds, and baseball fans, who

ritualistically enter the temples of the ‘Boys of Summer’ in an

annual pilgrimage to one of more than a dozen parks. It is this

latter group that I identify with most, as I am too young to be old,

and too old to fit into a Speedo. Thankfully, neither is a

prerequisite in order to experience, or appreciate, the magic of a

major league Spring Training game… a Boston Red Sox game.

The experiential qualities of a springtime game are

electrifying, placing all of one’s five senses on perpetual overload.

From the moment of entry through the shiny turnstile gates made

ever so by the constant attention of the ticket-taker, even the

most jaded individual is captivated by the sights, smells and

sounds contained within the iron gates that surround the concrete

edifice which encircles our imagination. For the thousands in

attendance, the game is not a passive activity but rather a

participatory vehicle through which our past dreams and present

hopes may once again be realized. We are in a time warp of sorts -

a place where the past, present and future converge in a strange

interplay of the familiar and the unknown.

We are also part of a community, Red Sox Nation, whose

social construction is very much a part of who we are. We identify

with its members, who collectively exhibit many of the traits that

constitute large group identities described by Volkan, Freud and

others.1 Our cohesion is based on our identification with a leader,

which in this case is not an individual but a team of individuals.

Regardless of its construction, the team is focal, a rallying point

from which to express ourselves. Our shared responsibility is to

continually support and nurture our leader, while theirs is to fulfill

our egos, our higher level of self-esteem. When they win, we

1Russell, Ian. Freud and Volkan: Psychoanalysis, Group Identities, and Archaeology.
Antiquity, vol. 80. no. 307, 185.
rejoice (usually for ourselves). When they lose we are unfulfilled.

We identify with our community in other ways as well, even

though we do not necessarily know its members or will ever be

with them again. We share a common language, although we

make speak in different tongues. Symbols and icons, that of a Red

Sox emblem on a hat or vest or T-shirt, bond us together, as well

as the physical space of green grass, white lines, and the perfectly

placed bases, guarded by men in white uniforms. These objects of

external materiality unify and reinforce our bond to the group and

to Red Sox nation - those who are present, those who came before,

and those who are yet to be.2

The experiential qualities of this public event illustrate the

seductive power of accessibility. By this I suggest that, as humans,

our reality is socially constructed. Our desire to connect with

others and share common experiences is part of our psychological

make-up. Our need to connect, to an individual, or social group, or

a higher power is at the core of most humans fundamental belief

system, In this context, it is group affiliation, this sense that we are

a part of something larger than our selves is what sets us apart

from most other species. An event such as the one described

above is carefully and thoughtfully orchestrated to allow us access,

2 Ibid.188.
not only to the tangible objects that confront us but also to the

intangible aspects of our inner self. Through it, we become

emotionally connected to the past, present and future, in a

continuum of history that, quite honestly, makes us feel content

with our spatial and temporal interconnectedness to others.

In contrast, I traveled an hour or so south to Chokoloskee, a

small town on the edge of the Everglades, to Ted Smallwood’s

Store.3 Few people have ever heard of this place, although it is on

the National Register of Historic sites. Since 1982, when it finally

closed, Ted Smallwood’s store has served as a time capsule of “old

Florida life” on the edge of the wilderness, inviting people to

experience first hand an historic past in its own context. As I

walked to this old wooden stilted structure and ascended its stairs,

I allowed my mind to enter an imagined past. Though physically in

the present, envisioning the construction of this frontier society

from this vantage point brings into stark relief the notion of

percolating time and our multilayered historical existence.4

The scene was surreal. My eyes confronted an essentially

intact time capsule, in situ, of an early 20th century trading post. As

3http://www.florida-everglades.com/chokol/smallw.htm
4Witmore, Christopher L. “Symmetrical Archaeology: Excerpts of a Manifest.” World
Archaeo;ogy. 546-562. 2007. http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/section?
content=a786949480&fulltext=713240928
the old screen door creaked shut, the past confronted me in the

present. On every wall, on every shelf, in every case were objects

and ephemera of an authentic past. This was not a simulated

space, curated as an historical representation, nor is it a contrived

cabinet of curiosity. Ted Smallwood’s store is a quirky museum

that does not seek to be ‘real’, for it is.

Of course one might argue that as a former trading post, it

cannot be authentic in the sense that it no longer exists as such. I

argue, however, that objects, in this case the entire space, do

change over time and that this reconstitution is not a de facto

misrepresentation of the object itself. Instead, the store’s intact

nature begs the visitor to viscerally connect with its materiality

individualistically, in contrast to the ballgame, which almost

demands a collectivism of group experience. Visitors wandered

through the space quietly, almost reverentially, observing and

sometimes commenting about this or that. For some, the objects

conjured memories of their own past, while, for others, they

represented a foreign and culturally inaccessible cultural heritage.

Regardless, I observed that the few who journeyed there, myself

included, were genuinely glad for the experience, although at the

time I found little need to return. I argue that this is the conclusion
for most visitors, satisfied yet not compelled to return.

My thoughts returned to this place last week after I had the

opportunity to hear about Francis Bacon and his studio.5 The

similarities between the two were striking, and caused me to

envision Ted Smallwood’s store in an entirely new light. No longer

was this a dark and dusty place full of antique materiality, an

historical mortuary, it became an opportunity to gain access into

the cultural and social practices of those who produced and

acquired them. Just as Bacon’s studio became an archaeological

excavation site intent on interpreting the painter and his life,

Smallwood’s store offers us the same opportunity to ‘dig’,

catalogue and interpret, which enables us to develop a richer

sense of the past; yet unlike Bacon’s studio, this place is not a

simulacrum. It is authentic. It is exciting to think of the possibilities

that this museum has to connect with its audience in new and

important ways.

I observed a strange dichotomy between these two

experiences. In the first instance, there is presence in the moment,

where one becomes emotionally connected to the event through

the interplay of large group dynamics and their memories. The

5http://www.hughlane.ie/kids_club.php?
type=Moving+the+Studio&heading=Francis+Bacon%92s+Studio&rsno=5
second is more cerebral, connecting us to the past in the present

in an individualistic manner. Where these two experiences

intersect, I suggest, is the connective tissue of culture and

heritage, and our subconscious awareness that the past does

resonate in the present. Whether it is reliving an imagined past at

a baseball game, or imagining an authentic past in the edge of the

Everglades, it is the responsibility and challenge for us as humans

and public humanists to create an environment that allows this to

occur. This is the excitement and gift of who and what we are.