Controversy at the War Museum

I know what you all think this is going to be about - but it's not. Last week, I finally got the chance to go to Ottawa's War Museum with my boyfriend. There certainly was a controversy brewing, but it had little to do with strategic bombing campaigns. This disagreement simply centered around the limited amount of time we were able to spend in the Museum and the very different interests held by my companion and I.

There were a number of exhibits at the Museum that I could have spent hours looking at. War Brides: Portraits of an Era - showcasing paintings, photos, and the stories of a number of the 44,000 women who came to Canada at the end of the Second World War as brides - was a beautifully moving exhibit. Stitches in Time - which consisted of 15 quilted artworks interpreting the Second World War experiences of women workers - was not only fascinating due to its medium but was also done by Johnnene Maddison, a London, Ontario artist. My personal favourite, the rebuilt 1950s pre-fab kitchen complete with linoleum flooring, was the closest I'll ever get to my dream doll-house. My boyfriend's tastes were certainly concentrated in different areas. The guns/swords, machinery, and medals - centering around an obsession with finding all the Victoria Crosses in the Museum - were much more to his taste. Besides Hitler's car, it seemed that we didn't share any interests. However, there was one area where we came together.

One of the War Museum's greatest strengths is the interactive elements present in a number of its exhibits. Despite the varying content of the material, the inclusion of buttons, switches, telephones, and touch-screens, are all almost impossible to resist for any visitor. From the chin-up bar (where the voice of a very angry french drill Sargent nearly gave me a heart attack) to the Cold War command centre (where it was up to me to predict the outcome of a nuclear war) various interactive elements forced both my companion and I to explore realms of history that we would otherwise have avoided. The potential for interactive technology to draw visitors to unfamiliar or previously ignored historical genres should be of significant interest to practitioners of Public History. Now if they'd just take down that "please don't climb" sign on Hitler's car...

Images From:
1 - War Museum. "Canadian War Museum." http://www.warmuseum.ca/

2 - War Museum. "War Brides: Portraits of an Era." http://www.civilization.ca/cwm/exhibitions/epouses/warbrides01e.html

3 - War Museum. "Gallery 4 A Violent Peace." http://www.civilization.ca/cwm/gallery4_e.html

Locust Mount: Part II

I woke up this morning pretty grumpy. I hadn't slept well and I was thinking of all the things I needed to cover with the students in my tutorial today. Little did I know, my day was about to get significantly worse. Stumbling up the stairs on my way to the shower, I was quickly intercepted by my mother. "Gracie" she said, "There's been another fire at Locust Mount. I wanted to tell you before someone at school did."

I'm sure people out there are laughing (and I didn't even mention my mother's offer to fashion me a black-armband). How can a house mean so much? But it really does to me! Let us ignore my obsession with this particular house for a moment - though I should mention that I love this house so much that in high-school I fashioned a scrapbook in its honor; Locust Mount came to represent something bigger.

After years of watching the house slowly deteriorate, this past summer I had finally decided that I should make my peace with the fact the house was going to disappear and say goodbye. After acquiring my commemorative brick (which was no simple feat in a house that had been stuccoed), I informed all those close to me that I no longer wished to drive by the house and would appreciate it not being mentioned. It was then that a miracle happened.

The company who owns the house, Drewlo Holdings, agreed to restore Locust Mount due to city incentives. "(city's incentives) benefit the community by saving heritage structures without imposing the total financial burden on the individual property owner," a company press release stated. Now I was guarded in my previous post about Locust Mount, I wasn't ready to openly admit the house was safe at last but inside, I was thrilled. I finally thought that London had turned a corner. No longer would all of my beloved houses be torn-down, things were starting to change. The widely shared desire to restore Locust Mount made me feel like I had a real future in this city, not simply heartbreak after heartbreak. And now it feels like that's all gone.

The fire this weekend did a huge amount of damage. Started by an open-flame of some kind - most likely caused by one of the homeless individuals who have recently been calling the mansion home - the already damaged house may now be considered beyond repair. A house that was already on the brink has now been pushed passed it. My feelings about the whole situation are perhaps best summed up by what was described as a "heartbroken" Counsellor, Judy Bryant, "[Locust Mount] was a very important piece of the soul of this city."

Locust Mount may still be saved. Drewlo Holdings has yet to release a statement concerning their intentions with the property. It doesn't really seem to matter anymore. Perhaps in the end this case will simply make me feel more dedicated to the cause of Public History; but today, I think I would prefer to just wear a black armband and stare at my brick.

Images From:
1 - Heritage London Foundation. "Buildings on the Brink." http://www.heritagelondonfoundation.org/Buildings_on_the_brink.htm.
2 - O'Brian, Jennifer. "'Open flame' Sparked Fire." lfpress.com. November 12, 2007. http://lfpress.ca/newsstand/CityandRegion/2007/11/12/4649339-sun.html (accessed November 12, 2007).

Locust Mount: Part I

There has been another fire at Locust Mount. All restoration plans are now uncertain. At present I’m too disheartened to write more. Stay tuned for part two.

The Secret History

I have a secret; a part of me hates Public History, a lot!

Let me explain.

Ever since I was little, I have loved dozens of hidden history spots in London. These places might be houses (big surprise), ruins, fencepost's, boarded-up wells...anything really: that was old, in my opinion beautiful, and most importantly, hidden from the general public. I like driving through the city and thinking of the secret history that only I know.

Don't get me wrong. Places like Eldon House and Fanshawe Pioneer Village are great! I like that they get people interested and involved in local history and help create awareness surrounding heritage preservation but in my mind, they've always been like that. I was never alive when Eldon House wasn't a museum, or when the buildings at Fanshawe were largely in their original locations. If I had been, I think I would end up hating them. Something is lost in their transformation from historic entities into historical artifacts. They seem to lose their context, and tend to become - in some ways - less real.

Now the rational part of me knows that Public History is extremely important. Were it not for places like Eldon House, which completely captured my imagination at a very young age, I know I wouldn't be in the same place I am today. Furthermore, without Public History, a lot of my once secret places would be gone. Buildings that I've always admired would be ugly modern condos, completely impractical one-way bridges would be replaced, and unused graveyards would become overgrown and disappear. It takes public awareness for there to be ANY interest in many of these sites. Without interest, there would be no action and my secret history would be gone for everyone, including me! In the end, I suppose that Public History is a lesser evil than no history at all. Still, in an ideal world, the historic spots I love would remain my little secrets.

There, now you all know that I've been living a lie; I hate the "public" part of Public History.

The Address Archive: Locust Mount

One of the assignments for digital history last week was to create a proposal for a digital archive meant to collect experiences. In response, I propose a website - Address Archive - which acts as an archive for collective experiences surrounding an address. Following the basic format of the 'History of Your House' database found in the City of Toronto Archives, Address Archive would go further, allowing individuals to upload photographs, written memories, and any other location-relevant material focused around a specific address. The Address Archive site would also be searchable, allowing visitors to enter an address and view all previously uploaded information regarding that location. Historic homes would especially benefit from such an archive since their experiences often predate recent memory. Take the case of Locust Mount:

At London's 661 Talbot Street, sits Locust Mount. This landmark home was build in 1858 by former London mayor Elijah Leonard. Leonard can be described as one of the city's founders, setting up a foundry in 1838 and playing an integral role in bringing the railroad to the city. Also a founder of the Huron and Erie Savings and Loan Co. (which later became Canada Trust), Leonard acted as a senator until his death in 1890. After being vacated by the Leonard family, Locust Mount experienced a number of reinventions; a private girl's school, condominiums, and most recently a fraternity, have all called 661 Talbot Street home. A devastating fire in 2000 left the house vacated and open to the elements causing rapid deterioration. Since 2001, Locust Mount has been threatened with demolition by its owner, Drewlo Holdings, who would like to build condominiums in its place (though it seems this fate may now be avoided).

If in the future Locust Mount is restored, photographs and possible original blueprints - which could be found in the Address Archive - would prove an invaluable source for renovators. If perhaps, more realistically, the house is either demolished or altered beyond recognition, archival memories of the once grand home would become a much cherished source, commemorating a vanished landmark.

No matter how visitors and contributors plan to use it, I believe the Address Archive would be a fascinating source for both historians and the broader community.

Images From:
1 - Urban Exploration London. "Locust Mount." http://uel.minimanga.com/locustm/index.html
2 - London Fire Services. "London Fire Services Action Shots."http://www.fire.londo%20n.ca/Action_Shots.htm

Moore House

For the last few weeks I've been following the potential fate of Sparta's 'Moore House' with some trepidation. The 183 year-old home (which predates Eldon House's construction by a decade) is presently facing demolition due to the new property owner's decision to build on the site. The house was built completely from local materials and is considered one of the earliest remaining brick homes in Southwestern Ontario. The builder of the home, John Moore, was a Quaker whose father, a United Empire Loyalist, settled in the area after the American Revolutionary War.

It should come as no surprise to those who know me that I want this house saved. After the Central Elgin council voted 4-3 against protecting the home under Ontario's heritage law - despite Central Elgin's heritage advisory committee's plea for protection - I had resigned myself to the fact that Moore House would soon disappear, like so many of its predecessors, without so much as a commemorative plaque. It seems, however; that I underestimated the public's interest in our region's heritage.

In a letter addressed to Central Elgin's council from Colin Read (former president of the Ontario Historical Society), Read states: "keeping the best structures of the past for the socialization and edification of present and future generations pays large dividends in the form of tourism and, even more importantly, in an enhanced sense of community. This vital lesson is too easily missed by many in these largely ahistorical times." A similar sentiment was expressed in a letter to the editor by Joseph O'Neil, Chair of London's Advisory Committee on Heritage, on September 25th 2007: "The Moore House in Sparta has much deeper significance than just it’s age...Why such history is never taught in our local schools is beyond me, but it is an obvious reason why we have to fight so hard to preserve one of the few remaining links to a magnificent past." These letters were followed by dozens of others from both local and provincial heritage organizations and - in what seems too often a very rare turn of events - actually seem to have had an impact.

On Saturday Sept 22nd 2007, Ontario Culture Minister Caroline Di Cocco issued a stop order on the demolition of Moore House. Though the future of the house remains uncertain (a stop order only prevents demolition for 60 days while the property's historical significance is further reviewed), it is sites such as this which fostered my initial interest in history. Even the temporary protection of Moore House gives me hope for the future of other heritage properties and helps to remind me why making history relevant to non-academic audiences is a noble pursuit.

Image from:

Simunac, Daniela. "Council opts against protection for 183-year-old Moore house." lfpress.com. September 19, 2007. http://lfpress.ca/cgi-bin/publish.cgi?x=articles&p=197395&s=politics (accessed September 28, 2007).

Current Counterfeits?

Many of the assigned readings this week dealt with the lack of credibility which tends to plague online history sources. The issue of source legitimacy is perhaps a more discussed issue in recent decades; however, I would argue it is one that has been of primary concern to historians for centuries. Cohen and Rosenzweig's assertion that "Fake photographs long predate the web", reminded me of an image I've come across in a number of local history books. A plaque in London's Greenway Park commemorates the 1881 sinking of the ship "Victoria" which - primarily due to cumbersome clothing and the general population's inability to swim - resulted in the loss of approximately 182 lives. The event garnered international attention and it was Mr. John Barron's photo, romantically titled "The Last Trip of the Victoria", which gained the most significant circulation in papers.

According to Ken McTaggart's work, "London's Darkest Hours", the image is not what it appears to be. It seems that on May 24th, the day of the disaster, Mr. Barron had forgotten his camera and therefore simply combined two previously developed photos, one of the Victoria and the other of Ward's Hotel in Springbank Park, to create a new image. McTaggart's careful examination of the composite image unearthed numerous errors (including painted-in smoke, an impossible bow wave, and the lack of a captain at the wheel) which expose the previously famous photograph as a forgery. This photo was from 1881! Though identifying a forgery was perhaps more simple in this case due to the archaic technology used to meld the two photos, it would have taken a significant amount of time, sifting through various non-digitized archives to find the original sources.

With the sheer amount of information now readily available to historians on the web, authenticity is of course going to be an area of concern but then again, it always has been. Perhaps Daniel Cohen's discussion of Blogging sums up my feelings about digital sources best: "Blogs are just like other forms of writing, such as books, in that there's a whole lot of trash out there - and some gems worth reading."

images:
Ken McTaggart, London's Darkest Hours, ed. Debra Rogers (London, ON: Ken D McTaggart, 1999), 40 - 41.

Blog Title

"There should be no hesitation ever about giving anyone a book to enjoy, at any age. There should be no hesitation about teaching future teachers with books they will enjoy. No harm's done to history by making it something someone would want to read."

- David McCullough, 2003