The Bigger Picture: Visual Archives and the Smithsonian
Posts tagged with: World History
This is the first part of a three-part series on George C. Wheeler and the relationship of science and tourism in the Caribbean by the Archives' former Research Fellow, Blake Scott.
On May 31st 1924, a young scientist by the name of George C. Wheeler boarded a steamship in Brooklyn, New York. Five days later, he was in the Caribbean for the first time. He writes:
June 4, Docked at Havana at about 7:30 a.m. The city is beautiful from the harbor in the morning. One of the first things one sees is the huge electric sign ‘Ford’ on the assembling plant. One gets a good view of Morro Castle on entering the harbor.
Went on an automobile sight-seeing trip with the cruise passengers… University – beautiful buildings. Old cathedral. New cathedral. Paseo de Marti. Parque Central. Parque de la India. Cigar factory. Malecón (seawall). Piña Colada (strained pineapple juice) very good – 20 cents.
Next stop – beer garden near the cervecería where Cerveza Tropical is brewed. The beer is free here and freely do the Americans imbibe. Next to the country to see pineapples and bananas growing. Country magnificent. Mariano district – beach.
In his journal, in shorthand, George C. Wheeler reveals himself to be a man of science and also a man on vacation. On his first day in the Tropics, he went sightseeing and drinking with a group of tourists. The next day, June 5th, he was in the field collecting ants on the outskirts of Havana. He was on a research fellowship with the United Fruit Company (UFCO) to study and collect insects. Over the course of three months, Wheeler studied and toured his way across the Caribbean – from Cuba to Costa Rica to Panama.
The record of that trip (Record Unit 9560 - Oral history interview with George C. Wheeler, 1989) is part of the Smithsonian Institutional Archives. It includes George C. Wheeler's travel diary, personal correspondence and photos, along with scientific pamphlets, maps, and an oral interview. As a predoctoral fellow at the Smithsonian Institution Archives, I studied the tropical travels of U.S. scientists to better understand the relationship between science and tourism in the Caribbean. During the summer of 1924, George C. Wheeler traveled and drank with tourists, studied with fellow scientists, and relied on countless locals and foreign nationals to produce his travel experience.
Entangled History, Science and Tourism
Wheeler's Caribbean trip highlights an important yet overlooked aspect of U.S.-Latin American history. Social and natural scientists often think of scientific fieldwork and tourism as distinct kinds of travel. Wheeler's personal journey, however, shows science and tourism to be deeply entangled in the early twentieth century.
His presence on a tourist steamer was not an anomaly. U.S. scientists and tourists shared modes of transportation, labor, and information throughout the twentieth century. On the ships of UFCO's "Great White Fleet" passengers luxuriously traveled and mingled on the upper "Promenade," "Cabin," and "Saloon" decks. Down below – on those same ships – billions of pounds of bananas, coffee, and cacao returned to markets in the United States. Tourists and scientists followed the same lines of transportation that brought bananas to U.S. consumers and colonial officials and businessmen to Latin America.
The microcosm of Wheeler's experience – as a 27 year-old white-male scientist traveling in the Tropics – illuminates a larger history. With the War of 1898 and the building of the Panama Canal (1904-1914), the U.S.' southern "frontier" moved to the forefront of public interest. In the 1910s and 1920s, there was an immense thirst for knowledge about newly acquired territories in the Caribbean region: Puerto Rico, Haiti, Cuba, Panama, Nicaragua, Costa Rica. In this context, U.S. teachers and researchers with international experience became important sources of information. How could one govern, exploit, or enjoy the fruits of U.S. expansion without knowing about the region's culture and nature? Scientists like George Wheeler had the infrastructural and financial backing to travel, in large part, because of the Caribbean's heightened geopolitical and commercial relevance to the U.S.
The knowledge scientists gained from their travels was useful to the U.S. government, the scientific community, U.S. companies, and also future tourists. When Wheeler returned home to Syracuse University, he became a recognized expert – a sort of local celebrity. Newspapers published flattering articles about him and he received a number of invitations to share his story. For the student Science Club, he gave a lecture entitled "Biological Work in Central America." For the Faculty Club, he gave a similar presentation with "illustrations."
Wheeler brought the Tropics home to a domestic audience. Although the specific notes from his lectures are not in the Archives, a collection guide at Rice University – "George C. Wheeler: Correspondence, Scrapbook, and Biology Lecture and Laboratory Notes, 1915-1957" – affirms that Wheeler's travel experience supplied him with lecture material and entertaining stories for decades to come. His journal, which is at the Archives, documents some of his more memorable travel encounters. Personal observations and photos, supplemented with maps and scientific data, became the basis of a new tropical expertise.
Travelers like Wheeler were more than objective men of science. During the first decades of the twentieth century, entertainment was interwoven into science and teaching. Scientists became cultural leaders, introducing the U.S. public to new and old ideas about the Tropics.
To learn more about Wheeler's travels, see the upcoming Part II of this article, "From Plantations to Islands of Science: Travels in Costa Rica and Panama."
- Record Unit 9560 - Oral history interview with George C. Wheeler, 1989, Smithsonian Institution Archives
I was hoping for skulls and mummies, but I got apocalypse and 'brain paralisis' [sic] instead.
It was an otherwise uneventful day in the Smithsonian Institution Archives, and I was looking for human remains from Peru in the archives of the old National Institute for the Promotion of Science. The National institute was chartered by Congress in 1842, but in 1862 it folded, and its collections went to the Smithsonian.
It was in a folder marked 'miscellany' that I found a document that didn't quite belong: written in April 1866, four years after the National Institute's transfer, it was nothing less than an apocalyptic prophecy by one "Benjamin, the Anti Christ," recorded in San Francisco.
Then, as now, America was no stranger to millenarian sects and doomsday predictions, embedded with contemporary political messages. The one laid out by "Benjamin, the Anti Christ," was particularly flamboyant, however:
"The End is now on hand; the forthcoming Epoch, or Grand Change and Revolution, and Bloodshed, awaits Mankind, at every door, most horrible to relate."
It would start March 4, 1867 with a change of office: President Andrew Johnson would leave the government and the Senate would fill his vacancy.
Before another president could be elected, however, on February 22, 1871 a massive Earthquake would sink the Western coast of North America, from Washington to Mexico. "Two millions and One half of human beings" would die. Two plagues would follow: Cholera Infantum, and Brain Paralisis [sic.]
A landbridge would link the State of Florida to Panama, achieving what for many was a great American dream: the Caribbean as a U.S. lake. Canals would run from Lake Superior to New York, cut across Florida, and through Mexico to the great new bay of Arizona, where the "Holy City of the New Jerusalem" would be founded -- home of the United States' new government.
A General Congress would meet there, then annex Mexico, Honduras and Canada, and Great Britain. Austria and Italy would join the U.S. as well. Vice Governors would rule beneath a "Grand Head King," who would be crowned in Dover, England, govern the Seven Tribes of Israel, and live in Arizona.
Against the united transatlantic protestant nations of U.S. and England, the Catholic countries of Europe, Africa and Asia would wage war, until God would sweep them from the Earth. The Protestants and Jews would then unite as "one Body Politic" and 190 years of "Univeral Liberty, universal Freedom and universal Love" under the Banner of God and the American Eagle.
And then, on March 4, 2057, there would be a Flood, inundating all the Earth save that occupied by the children of the Seven Tribes of Israel.
Who was Benjamin the Anti Christ? Was he just a more jingoistic and fanatic version of San Francisco's famed Imperial Majesty Emperor Norton, who wandered the streets in a beaver hat topped with a peacock feather, ruling the U.S. -- and protecting Mexico -- in his mind before he died in 1880? What happened to him?
There are a number of clues that San Francisco history buffs can help us with. There is a scan and transcript of the entire nine-page document, which includes no less than twelve names signed by witnesses and a notary, over at The Appendix: A New Journal of Narrative and Experimental History, a new web-based archive-devoted history journal that just started up.
We would love your help. Email the editors if you can help solve the mystery -- or post your ideas below.
- Record Unit 7058: National Institute, Records, 1839-1863 and undated, Smithsonian Institution Archives
In New Haven, Connecticut, right now there is a rare opportunity to get a taste of the world of the Smithsonian's founding donor, James Smithson. At the Yale Center for British Art, an exhibition that was years in the making recently opened, after a stint this past spring at the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, England. The show is about an English ship--the Westmorland--that was captured in 1779 after leaving Livorno, Italy, loaded down with treasures that young English gentlemen had purchased on the Grand Tour.
The Grand Tour, a trip to the European continent, with Italy as the prime destination, typically lasted a year or more. It was part of virtually every wealthy young Englishman's education--offering a chance to soak up the culture of classical antiquity and the Renaissance (and to party on the Continent, where the rules of society were a little more permissive).
The way that we pick up postcards and trinkets today, young men like Smithson bought prints by Giovanni Battista Piranesi (there were 40 volumes of prints by Piranesi on the Westmorland!), antiquities fresh from recent excavations, copies of ancient statues, books, marble tabletops and much more. Typically, these handsome young bucks had their portraits painted, too, usually with some ruins or some other icon of Rome in the background.
The French (who were at war with England in 1779 on account of having joined the U.S. in the Revolutionary War) took the Westmorland, their "English Prize," to the nearest port (Málaga, Spain) to sell the contents. The anchovies, parmesan cheese, olive oil, and other goodies were sold right off the dock, but most all the Grand Tour treasures were bought by the King, who deposited them in the Real Academia de Bellas Artes in Madrid. And there they stayed, for over two hundred years.
In the late 1990s, scholars at Madrid's Royal Academy began to piece together this amazing story, which had been essentially forgotten. Thus began a real detective story, trying to match the objects with their original owners--the British lords who were known only by the initials that were stamped on the packing crates. One of their first successes involved "H.R.H.D.G." - which turned out to be His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, the younger brother of King George III. Historians still haven't identified all of the owners, but the exhibit highlights some of the discoveries they have made so far, and the exquisite objects collected by these men.
James Smithson was abroad about a decade after this episode (he was only 14 years old in 1779). He spent almost seven years on his Grand Tour, including several in Italy (the French Revolution and the war that followed coupled with Smithson’s dread of sea travel meant he stayed in Europe much longer than he might have otherwise).
Smithson was a little different than your average English aristocrat abroad, as he was interested in building his mineral cabinet and connecting with scientific circles across Europe. "It is only by exchange and mutual assistance that naturallists [sic] can possibly ever succeed in assembling together a collection of subjects of their study," he wrote to one of his Italian scientist friends.
But Smithson was no stranger to the perils that faced a fashionable Grand Tourist in the late 18th century. He lost a trunk full of books in Italy, which he was never able to recover ("The French deranged all my plans, and I have not heard a word of my case of books since," he told one friend). And when he was back on the Continent again in the early 1800s, he had his passport stolen--by a French policeman who was convinced Smithson was a spy and snuck into his room and took it!)--but that’s another story for another day...
The English Prize: The Capture of the "Westmorland," an Episode of the Grand Tour is on at the Yale Center for British Art until January 13, 2013.
- Smithson's Library, Smithsonian Institution Libraries
- The Lost World of James Smithson, by Heather Ewing
- Record Unit 7000 - James Smithson Collection, c. 1974, 1981-1983, Smithsonian Institution Archives